Free Wings over Delft by Aubrey Flegg Page A

up the stairs to her room. There Louise sat motionless, looking unseeing at the wooden panels on the wall and breathing through her mouth until it felt as dry as summer’s dust.

    The worst part was admitting to herself that Annie was right: right about Father, and right about poor Mother too. That comment of Annie’s about Mother had been a slip of the tongue. Annie loved Mother – she loved them all – which was why she was so hard on them, and on herself too. Poor Mother, she had once been so strong, so gay, and so indestructible. When Louise was little, they would walk together out beyond the town walls, Mother laughing up into the wind, while her cloak billowed and her beautiful fair hair streamed behind her. Reynier would sometimes come too, but he seldom lasted more than the first broad field. Then they would be on their own, and while Louise picked wild flowers and jumped puddles, Mother would sing nursery rhymes and the folk songs of the Lowlands. They didn’t talk much, but they shared the wonder of everything from the bright pink of the ragged robin, to the chestnut brown tufts on the lance-like rushes that grew beside it in those marshy places. They would wait patiently, hand in hand, for a butterfly to open its wings … peacock? … red admiral? Or they would spend long minutes following the rasping cry of a corncrake as it moved invisibly through the high meadow grass.
    Then, one April, far from home, they both got soaked to the skin in an icy shower. Louise soon warmed up when they got back to the house, but Mother didn’t. She went straight to bed and she stayed there; Louise was kept away. Eventually she evaded Annie’s guard, crept into her mother’s room, and slid into bed beside her. Resting herhead on her mother’s burning chest, she heard a crackle, like the rustle of dry tissue, accompanying every laboured breath. Spring passed; it shouted for Mother to get up and get better, but she remained in her room. Summer came and went. Gradually Louise came to realise that her mother was now an invalid and that their walks together in the countryside were a thing of the past. Louise was just ten.
    She had to stop thinking for a while as she clenched her eyes against her rising tears. She took a deep breath and turned her mind deliberately to the subject of Reynier. As so often happened when she thought about him, her own inadequacies rose to the surface like bubbles from the canal. She was constantly at odds with Annie, while he always treated her with the most courtly respect. Annie pretended to disapprove, but in fact loved the attention. Thoughts of Pieter and what Reynier had said about him intruded – he really did look like a puppet, and he did get his strings crossed. She tried to remember how awkward he had been when they had climbed together on the walls, but all she saw were Pieter’s hands drawing pictures for her in the air. A treacherous glow of happiness spread through her. Verdorie nog aan toe – don’t be a fool, she told herself. This was ridiculous, comparing an acquaintance of a few hours to Reynier, whom she had known all her life. She closed her eyes and measured the words out in her mind. She would learn to love Reynier, for Father’s sake, and to make Mother happy.
    She opened her eyes. The wooden panels still stared blankly back at her, but inside she felt a brittle calm. Shecongratulated herself on the clarity of her thoughts. If Reynier repeated his proposal, as he surely would when he returned, she would accept him. Until then there was nothing she could do or say. She was certain now that the merger of the potteries depended on her, and she would do anything for Father’s happiness. Mother’s health would improve as the weather got warmer; she would tell her of her decision then. Louise considered the details of her plan; there was only one thing more that had to be done. She went over to her table. Her elegant little portable desk had become submerged under books,