CoffeeShop Blues
Derwen is still having his doubts; Eirwin is sure from his eyes
fixed ahead. She had insisted on the waterfall, turning right outside
the farm when they should have turned left for the village. A hired
hand, her father called him; Derwen would not contradict her, the
second and final daughter to be married. But not a servant.
The drumming from the waterfall grows louder, pulsing through
her veins. She can feel her body beginning to tingle, her heartbeat
quickening. With a neigh from the horse, the cart slows to a halt.
Derwen steps off and holds out his hand to steady Eirwin. They
touch fleetingly as she adjusts her dress. His skin is streaked with the
brown earth of the farm, its roughness grating her own. He must
have been ploughing in the morning, she thinks. Eirwin inspects her
dress of white lace, her arms bare. It was an early wedding present
from her sister. She swallows hard, feeling guilty at what must
happen next.
Half following her down the path to the waterfall, Derwen returns
to the cart when she maintains her pace instead of slowing for him.
From the corner of her eye, she sees him sit on the front bench of the
cart and gaze at the surrounding hills, already lost. She follows the
path downward through the rocks, taking care not to slip. Pausing
with her arms held out for balance, she breathes in the mist from the
water and prepares herself.
The crank of a wheel shaft interrupts her. Alongside the farm’s
cart a carriage has appeared, its paintwork gilded in silver. A
footman in red livery opens its door and a family clatters out, two
children chattering and jumping away. For a moment, Eirwin
wonders if Derwen will be jealous of the footman, but he is focused
on his private reverie.
Eirwin waits to be sure that the family have not changed their
mind then checks the path. She is still alone. Craning her neck, she
follows the stream of water cascading through the rocks above her, a
thin line of white blurring through the greenness of the moss. She is
reminded of milk, but shakes her bonnet and carries on navigating
between the glistening rocks. Future brides, her mother said, are not
supposed to think too much.
74