Women Winding a Ball of Yarn
“Don’t fidget!” snapped Aunt Elisabeth.
The silence was what was making Ursula fidget. Usually her aunt gossiped away about the neighbors as they wound balls of yarn together for her knitting work, but not today. Ursula didn’t mind winding so much as spinning. True, her arms got tired from holding the skeins looped around her hands while her aunt wound the wool into balls that would run smoothly while she knitted. But they did it down by the fire, so it was much warmer and more comfortable than the attic with the spinning wheel.
Ursula hadn’t gotten a scolding when she had got home from the Christmas market the night before, but that was for two reasons, neither of which bode well: one, she had gotten back after her aunt had gone to bed because she had run into Sidonie von Neubeuern in the market.
“Well, if it isn’t Ursula von Koppl as I live and breathe!”
Ursula had turned, surprised, to find the burgermeister’s daughter standing behind her in a gorgeous deep-green wool coat with a white rabbit-fur hood and muffler, her blond hair twisted into two long, glossy braids.
“Hello, Sidonie,” Ursula said and then bobbed a curtsey as an afterthought because, while they had been born to the same rank, Ursula’s star had set while Sidonie’s had risen, and everyone in the burg knew it. But Sidonie had never scorned her after her father’s death, unlike some of the other girls of their set. And indeed, now the burgermeister’s daughter looped a gloved hand through the arm of her old friend and drew her into the market after her.
“It’s so good to see you! You never come out of that old, musty tower.”
Ursula bit back a sharp reply about how some people had to work. She eyed her empty mug of glühwein and set it down on a barrel they passed. Best to keep her mouth shut and let Sidonie do the talking.
Which she did. The burgermeister’s daughter rattled on about the dresses she was getting for Christmas and how her father was taking her in a carriage to Salzburg for the New Year and the holiday feast her mother was throwing. Then, she suddenly squeezed Ursula’s hand, startling her. “You should come! Of course you should. I’ll tell my mother to invite you….”
“But…” Ursula felt her face reddening as Sidonie stared at her. The girl had an absolutely perfect complexion, cherries and cream, with plump cheeks and sky-blue eyes. “I…don’t have anything to wear.”
“I’ll let you borrow a dress. I have loads. Come before mass and I’ll dress you up, just like a doll!” She stepped back, holding Ursula’s hands, and looked her up and down. “How did you get so skinny, Ursula!” she pouted prettily. “Your aunt really is working you to death. Your hair, though…” she raised an admiring hand and patted one of the two chestnut buns atop Ursula’s head. “You did always have the best of any of us. Oh, with a little doing-up, you’ll look just fine. I can introduce you to any of a number of young squires. We’ll spring you from that wretched tower in no time. I, of course,” she sighed dramatically, “am already ruined.”
When Ursula didn’t say anything right away, Sidonie shot her a sharp look. “Um, what do you mean, ruined?” Ursula stammered, thinking how out of practice she was for all this romantic talk, and how she didn’t miss it one bit. Sidonie sighed again and literally put a gloved hand to her brow.
“The graf, of course.”
“Oh, of course,” Ursula murmured, but Sidonie was already off at a gallop again, talking about how rich he was and how it was only a matter of time until he proposed marriage to her father, perhaps even at the Christmas feast…. Ursula tried to listen. But mostly she was thinking of Gletscher’s hooves flashing over her head, of Leopold’s smile as she scratched the stallion’s nose. Had that really happened? And only a few hours before? She shook her head to clear it and found that they were back at the edge of the market. She pulled free from Sidonie and muttered something about having to get back to her aunt. Sidonie waved as she went.
“See you Sunday!” she called. “Don’t forget.”
Ursula pondered that as she watched the skein between her hands grow smaller and smaller. Did Sidonie really like her still? Were they friends? How could you tell? She shifted in her chair, noting her aunt’s stony silence still held unbreached. Yes: the other reason Elisabeth was likely still angry, aside from Ursula coming back late, was that she had probably heard from every neighbor in the quarter about who had brought her home from the fields, and how. Sure enough, her aunt suddenly blurted out: “You’re making yourself ridiculous, Ursula.”
“I’m sorry…I’m…what?”
“Don’t be smart with me.” Elisabeth yanked at the yarn, her mouth set in a hard line. “You know perfectly well what I mean. Galavanting about town with the graf as if you were a lady courting.”
“I wasn’t….”
“Even if your father were still alive, you wouldn’t have a chance. You know that, don’t you? Even if he laid claim to the von Koppl arms,” Elisabeth spat it out like she doubted the claim, “he wasn’t landed gentry. Now that he’s gone–” She didn’t even bother to cross herself as she mentioned her brother-in-law’s passing– “The best you can hope for is a match with a merchant who can keep his books and hold his drink. The graf,” she coughed out a laugh. “You just steer clear of him, you hear me? A man of his rank turning his eye toward a girl like you has only one thing on his mind, and it’s not a marriage contract.”
Ursula blinked back hot, furious tears. She had so many things to say to her aunt that they all jammed together in her throat like logs in a spring flood: Don’t talk about my father like that. Leopold isn’t a man like that. A girl like me? She stood, shrugged the skein off her hands, and walked toward the stairs. As she went up, she heard her aunt hiss, “Ungrateful. After all I’ve done….” She went to the cramped bedroom she shared with her aunt and shut the door. Then, she wrapped up in both her shawls, got under the freezing quilt on her bed, turned toward the wall, pulled her knees up to her chin, making herself as small as she could, and shut her eyes tight.
The Rookery 