"Marina Fitch - The Scarecrow's Bride" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fitch Marina)

about her, about how no man would have her. She sat alone at night, the old people
said, and patched her husband’s ragged clothes. Each winter she asked for clothing,
scraps of cloth and straw, and each spring she presented the new scarecrow to the
people of the village. By creating and ensuring the life of the scarecrow, she ensured
the fertility of the fields.
On celebration and feast days, someone drove the ceremonial cart to fetch
Mollie Scarecrow for the festivities. Just as her husband’s watchful presence blessed
the fields, so her presence assured the fruitfulness of a marriage or promised a baby
long life. Each year she grew quieter and more bitter, until at last she refused to
come. Brides and mothers went to her to ask her blessing, many returning to
comment on her aloofness. People shook their heads, saying, “Why is she so
ungrateful? She wants for nothing. She is well provided for.”
As was I. But I wanted to do more than watch over the village without taking
part.
****
The air smelled of rich summer must. Sunlight baked the soil, drying it so that
it crumbled beneath my hands. I pried a weed from the dirt and set the plant on the
cloth at my side.
“A lovely garden, Chloe Scarecrow,” someone said.
I shaded my eyes with my hand and looked up into the face of Thomas
Halpern. “Thank you,” I said. “It’s a small garden, but it could well feed two.”
Thomas squatted beside me. “Feed them and satisfy them. You’re a clever
woman, Chloe Scarecrow.”
His arm brushed mine as he reached across me to pluck a weed from a row of
onions. He drew his hand back slowly, his fingers straying along my arm. “Perhaps
you can contribute something to the wedding feast,” he said. “No doubt you will be
there to bless the marriage.”
My heart stilled. “And who is to be married?”
“Why, Ger Malins, in three weeks’ time.”
The breath went out of me. I gazed at the garden, at the vegetables and herbs
that sprouted along the widely-spaced, mounded rows. The garden bore far too
much food for one, far too little for a growing family. I raised a fisted hand. My
knuckles shone white; dirt squeezed through my fingers. I looked out across the field
of corn and glared at the scarecrow, grown thin in the summer breeze. It flapped and
shuddered in the wind, its head lolling back, pinned between the pole and crossbar. I
flung the dirt aside and snatched at my crutch. I pulled myself to my feet.
“You will go to the wedding?” Thomas said, rising.
My jaw ached as I gritted my teeth. “I will. It’s is my duty.”
“I can come for you, if you like,” he said. He touched my cheek.
“I would not,” I said, stepping back. I pivoted on my crutch and, with one
last hateful glance at the scarecrow, retreated to the cottage.
****
Two nights before Ger Malins’ wedding, Mother came to me. She sat across
from me, stirring her tea and blowing on it, stirring it again. “Will you go to the
wedding?” she said.
I pushed my cup aside. “I will.”
“It is your duty,” she said, “as the scarecrow’s wife.”
“Mother, I will go.”
“I know it will be hard for you to bless Ger Malins and his bride,” Mother
said. “But you must go. You must.”