The cool evening breeze smacked Meredith in the face again and again as she struggled to hang the rest of the sheets. Her freckled face was pale and her skin was stiff, thanks to the cold air. Her blue eyes struggled to remain open, and her frail fingers continued to twitch. The skin around her exposed arms and legs was covered with goosebumps, and her breath was short and laboured.
She was exhausted.
She finished hanging the last sheet and sighed in relief, then picked up her bowl and took quick steps towards the door of the small house where she lived with her parents. "Meredith?" called her mother from the makeshift kitchen, which was just a corner of the living area. "Is that you?"
"Yes, Mother," came her brisk reply as she rubbed her arms to reduce the chill. She made a beeline for the kitchen, where she found her mother making some porridge. Again.
"That would be the last portion we have, wouldn't it, Mother?" she asked while peeking into the jars, hoping that by some magic there was some little food they could survive on for one more day.
Alas! There was nothing.
"Yes, Meredith. This might just be our last dinner," Meredith heard her mother say, and she placed the jars back in their corners before turning around to face her mother's back.
"It won't be our last dinner, Mother. I will go out early tomorrow and ask Mr. Willinks if there's any work I can do for a few coppers. I am sure he will find something for me."
"Today makes it the third day you're without work. Tomorrow will be no different." She watched her mother scoop some of the meagre porridge into two bowls and set them aside. From where she stood, Meredith peeped into the pot and found it empty.
Seems like she would sleep hungry again today.
"Mr. Willinks promised that I would surely find some work tomorrow. He says I might even earn a silver or two if I do well."
Her assertion was met with silence as her mother busied herself with other things, and Meredith watched the older woman move around their small kitchen. There was an apron around her waist, and it had been visited with several holes and tears. Her gown was no different, now looking nothing like how it was when Meredith first got it from the market for six coppers. Her black hair was tied up in a bun, as it always was whenever she entered the kitchen, and her bony feet were hidden in worn sandals.
Meredith sighed, looking at the sandals which had long served their purpose and were due to be thrown out. If only she had two coppers—just two—she would have gotten a better-looking pair of sandals for her dear mother.
"Call your father to dinner."
Meredith left the kitchen, and it took only six steps before she reached the room where her father was busy plucking out the hair growing out of his nose, albeit with much difficulty.
He was a little man, her father—short and skinny, reaching only a little above Meredith's shoulder when they stood next to each other. He had little to no hair on his head, and the few strands that could be seen looked grey and weak. His small face was wrinkled and crumpled further whenever he pulled on the strands of hair in his nose. His appearance was no different from her mother's: shabby and a tad bit unsightly.
"Mother calls you to dinner, Father," Meredith spoke, finally making her presence known to the old man.
He stopped pulling on the hairs and regarded Meredith with contempt.
"You came back with nothing today?" he spat out angrily, and Meredith instinctively took a step back. These three days without working had been hectic for her, and her father had made it no better with his unceasing anger. Hopefully, he wouldn't hit her today.
"I am sorry, Father." Her head was bowed. "Mr. Willinks promises a better opportunity tomorrow."
Like it was with her mother, her father's silence was the response she got.
"Tell your mother I'll be there shortly." He went back to picking the hairs in his nose, ignoring Meredith like she was air.
Meredith went back to the living area and found that her mother had already set the table for them. She sat at a corner, looking at the two meagre bowls of porridge on the rickety table, and her mouth watered. However unappealing it looked, Meredith wanted a bite—no, she needed a bite. After all, it was the third day she was going without food.
Soon, her father stalked into the living area, his small, skinny frame swaying as he moved, leading Meredith to wonder if a man of his stature would be able to withstand the wind outside.
"Do you want some, Meredith?" The sudden question caught her off guard, and she looked at her mother with wide-open eyes before nodding slowly.
"Do not give her any!" came her father's angry order, and Meredith's eyes grew teary. What did she expect? She came home with nothing for three days.
"Don't be like that, Maxwell," said her mother as she passed the bowl over to Meredith. "It will be her last night here. I should at least let her have this bowl."
If Meredith was confused or shocked, she did not show it, as she was much more focused on the bowl of tasteless and watery porridge that had been given to her.
While she ate, her mother patted her hair and rubbed her back soothingly. When she finished eating, her mother took the empty bowl from her and made her drink some water.
The sudden act of affection left Meredith warm on the inside. It was an unspoken rule in their family that whenever she came back with nothing, she wouldn't eat, but today—the third day she came back with nothing—she was served a bowl of warm porridge.
"Meredith, my dear," her mother began while still rubbing her hair, "your father and I have something to tell you."
Meredith's back straightened and her ears perked. After being fed, she had no excuse to slouch.
"Your father and I have found a way to help us all. We wouldn't have to wait on you every day to bring a few coppers before we can eat. Your father and I can wear much better clothes, and we wouldn't have to live off porridge like we always have. And if luck is on our side, we may even move to a better home."
Meredith's confusion was evident from the crease in her brows and the tilt of her head. Whatever was her mother talking about? How was it possible to change their luck? Meredith had tried and worked for so long but had yet to do so, so how was it possible?
As though her confused thoughts were read by her father, the little man cleared his throat and stopped rocking the chair.
"We will be going to the slave market tomorrow. Hopefully, you will be sold for a few hundred silvers—or even gold, if we are lucky".