[Eleanor]: 668.Amelia.Chapter IV

IV.

As the sun rose and the day brightened, so did Amelia’s spirits for the first time since before Nana’s final illness. When her feet started to hurt, she gladly accepted a ride from the driver of a wagon that overtook her. The farmer was on his way to market in a neighbouring town and agreed to take the boy, as he assumed his passenger to be, that far. As Amelia clambered aboard, he looked at her more closely and saw through her attempt at disguise. He was one of the farmers from whom her father bought produce, one of the honest few with whom she had not had to haggle to bring down an inflated price. He waited until she was settled comfortably, then clucked to his horse to continue on its way.

“You don’t make a very convincing lad, you know,” he said conversationally. “At least, not after first glance.”

Amelia smiled shyly. “I couldn’t very well be a woman traveling by myself, now, could I?” she asked. “I understand that wouldn’t be very wise on my part.”

“True enough,” responded the farmer. “My name is Gregor, by the way. I remember you from your father’s grocery. Your name is Emily, right?”

“No, I mean, yes,” stammered Amelia. “Emily. Yes.” She tried the name on for size and decided it fit well enough, for now.

“So what brings you out on the highway this fine October day?” asked Gregor. It was a fine day, the trees lining the road clad in brilliant autumn colours, the sky a clear blue with hardly a cloud to be seen. “You’re not running away, are you?”

Amelia didn’t answer at first. What could she say that wouldn’t be a lie but wouldn’t also give her away? In her desperation to leave, she hadn’t given much consideration to the story she would tell when she encountered strangers. She remembered someone saying—was it her father?—that the best lie was the truth. But what was the truth? There were so many versions of recent events being spread now in her village, she herself did not even know which was the right one. Finally she answered, “I have decided to seek my fortune.”

Gregor laughed and clapped her on the back, “Bravo! I wish you luck, Emily. You’ll need it out there.”

The good-natured farmer left Amelia off at the next town where he had a load of cabbages to sell. She wandered around the market where she bought some fruit for her lunch, when she came across an older couple loading up their wares to drive to the next market town. Amelia offered to pay for passage, but they wouldn’t hear of it, instead making a space for her among the large round cheeses piled on cushioning hay. They were a pleasant couple, and the older woman took a motherly interest in their young passenger. She reminded Amelia of her grandmother, and she found herself wanting to confide her recent sorrows, but forbore, afraid that rumours had already spread concerning her disappearance. Instead, she answered questions as cheerily as she could while giving away little personal information.

That night she stayed at an inn, eating a meagre supper and renting a cheap room. The money she had received from the wigmaker was not as plentiful once she was spending it as it had been when she first felt its weight in her pocket. Looking at herself in the bit of mirror over the washbasin in her small room that evening, Amelia realized that she could not continue to masquerade as a boy, but she had to find some way to hide her face and its fatal beauty. The memory of her unlucky suitors’ deaths haunted her, and she feared lest tragedy strike again on her account.

In the common room of the inn at supper she had noticed a man with his face half-swathed in a rag. He seemed to be a regular customer, knowing the innkeeper and his wife by name, and joining a table of workmen where he ate and drank, laughing and arguing with his friends. Amelia shyly asked the serving girl why his face was covered, and the girl said, “That’s Old John. He suffered the pox when he was a boy, and it was a terrible thing. He got an infection in his eye and lost it, and most of that side of his face, too. So he covers it up so as not to frighten the customers as don’t know him.” 

Amelia stared at the reflection of her face in the mirror and tried to imagine half of it eroded by disease. She squinted closed one eye and wondered what the world would look like if she could only see through the other. It would be horrible. But she would no longer be the object of beauty and admiration that she was now. Perhaps there was a way she could merely pretend that she had suffered a misfortune similar to Old John’s and mask the ghastly results. 

Using the skills Nana had taught her and a needle and thread from her hastily-packed satchel, Amelia tore a sleeve off one of her spare blouses and began fashioning a half-mask for herself. She sewed a close-fitting hood that completely covered her cropped hair, the left side crossing her face diagonally from forehead to jaw, leaving her nose and mouth exposed. She tried it on and found that she could not bear being blind in one eye, so cut an opening that allowed her to see with both. Finally, she attached straps to each side so that it could be tied securely under her chin. 

Amelia regarded the finished result in the mirror, not yet satisfied. A bit of burnt wick lay on the edge of the candlestick and she crumbled it between her thumb and forefinger, then carefully applied some soot underneath her right eye. That one smudge provided exactly the effect she needed. Amelia observed her transformation, pleased that she would not be recognized for the beauty who had run away from home in disgrace.