Sylvia
it, I would not have instructed you as I did.’
    â€˜But I am grateful that you did!’ I protested. ‘For lack of a mother I know nought of such things.’
    â€˜Yours is a cautionary tale, Sylvia. I must make sure my own daughters are not so ignorant when the times comes.’ She smiled. ‘It is I who am now grateful to you. Come, let me show you how to make and fit the strips of cloth that will cope with your womanhood. But first you must have a slip so that you can attach them.’ She reached over and handed me a linen undergarment. ‘It is old, my own when I was your age, but the linen is still good and I shall give you pins to keep against the time.’
    The three girls were up well before sunrise and we broke our fast on a bowl of gruel and pickled cabbage and made our way to the square. Frau Johanna asked me if I knew what the promised miracle might be, but I couldn’t say. ‘I do not think his flute, no matter how good the melody, will get me dancing in the morning cold,’ she laughed.
    â€˜Oh we shall dance, Mama!’ Gerta, the eldest of her children, cried, hopping ahead of us with her two sisters following and crying out in imitation of the older, ‘We shall dance! We shall dance!’
    â€˜Nor will I be able to sing,’ I replied. ‘He has a silvered tongue and I hope only that what might happen will not disappoint and will be worth the early rising.’ I clutched at the neck of my new second-hand dress with both my hands. ‘Today is almost winter come,’ I shivered.
    Several dozen village folk were waiting at the oak tree, stamping their feet, their arms folded about their breasts, their vapoured breath rising in the morning cold. They nodded to the widow Johanna who seemed well respected, and also to me, but did not speak.
    Reinhardt and Red the Belly had not yet arrived when the sun was past the rim of the hills. The birds in the nearby woods were well into their morning song and a large crowd had assembled when at last the two men came towards us. It was clear to see that both were the worse for wear, with Red the Belly’s hair aflame and wilder than ever and his nose a bulbous lighted globe, while the ratcatcher’s pretty face appeared a ghostly white, his hat askew upon his tousled head. Reinhardt came up to me, his eyes red-rimmed and raw, indicated the oak tree and in a whisper said, ‘Come stand with me, Sylvia, the cider has destroyed me and my head throbs like the clappers of hell.’
    Frau Johanna next to me cried out in a jolly voice for all to hear, ‘Good morrow, young man! Is it not a perfect day for a miracle? We come with the greatest expectations!’
    A murmur rose from the crowd and Reinhardt the Ratcatcher gave her a sour look. I followed him to the base of the tree. ‘That one has a raspy tongue,’ he growled, then groaned, ‘Oh, my stomach is full of speck and cabbage that wishes to return to the cook!’
    â€˜We have come to witness a miracle!’ a strident voice in the crowd complained. ‘You said it would be at sunrise!’
    â€˜Aye!’ several others called. ‘The miracle at sunrise!’
    â€˜I think there will be worse than your sore head and regurgitating stomach to come if you don’t do as you promised!’
    I whispered, then added, ‘Nor do I look forward to my share of their wrath.’
    â€˜Can you not sing?’ he begged.
    â€˜No! It is too cold, my voice is not yet warmed to the high notes. Anyway, singing is not a miracle!’
    â€˜I think I’m going to be sick,’ he groaned again.
    â€˜Be sick then!’ I cried, my voice trembling. ‘That will finally do it! We shall be lucky to get out of this place alive!’
    â€˜Can you do nothing?’ he begged plaintively. ‘Something to calm them while I recover? My mouth is as dry as monk’s parchment – I cannot play the flute!’
    â€˜It is

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