November 1346

Dunwich, Suffolk

Petra considered throwing another log on the fire, then changed her mind. She needed to keep the fire going during the day for cooking, baking, and heating water for laundry, but in the evening, she let the fire burn down, huddling under woolen blankets to keep out the cold. She’d always been mindful of practical matters, but over the past month, the need for economy had become more urgent. Cyril had left a bit of money upon his death, but after paying for the burial and the stone cross to mark his final resting place, the wake, and buying some necessary supplies, Petra’s funds were greatly diminished. She’d cut down portions and allowed the children only one slice of bread smeared with fat when they broke their fast in the morning, but the savings wouldn’t last much longer.

Petra checked on the children, who were fast asleep, and sat at the table across from her mother, glad to be off her feet at last. She was weary, but not quite ready for bed.

“You must remarry, Petra, and soon,” Maude said to her daughter, bringing angry spots to Petra’s pale cheeks.

“Yes, so you keep telling me, Mother,” Petra retorted. “I am well aware of our situation.”

“Don’t think I don’t feel for you,” Maude said, reaching out to cover Petra’s hand with her own. “I know what it’s like to be a woman, my girl. You’re not the first to make sacrifices to feed your family and protect your children.”

“Haven’t I sacrificed enough?” Petra cried, but she knew what her mother was thinking even though she didn’t say it. There was no point; it’d been said often enough. She’d made her bed. She’d lain with a man who wasn’t her husband, got with child, and had to marry the first person who asked, desperate to avoid disgrace and possible banishment. She had no one to blame but herself. She couldn’t even blame the father of her child, since he was a man, and it was practically his responsibility to try to seduce a beautiful young girl, according to her mother. If only Maude knew the truth. Petra had never revealed Edwin’s father’s name. She had to protect him, and she had to protect herself. She hadn’t uttered his name since the day they said goodbye, walking along the beach, seagulls screaming above their heads and the bitter wind drying Petra’s tears.

Her lover was being sent away to a place she couldn’t follow. If he defied his father, he would be cast out, and unable to provide for a wife and child without a useful trade to rely on. He had to go, and she had to remain behind and find a way to survive. Petra had never laid eyes on him again, but he still lived in her heart, the handsome boy with soulful dark eyes whose slow smile pierced her heart and made her reckless. She’d known the risks, but somehow, when looking into his face, they seemed minor compared to not enjoying those moments with him and not knowing what it was like to lie with a man you loved rather than some suitor-turned-husband who was a stranger in every way.

Petra sighed, feeling like an old woman despite the fact that she was barely twenty-seven. She wasn’t old yet, but the flush of youth was long gone. At twenty-seven, she was considered middle-aged, a woman who was no longer expected to bear children for a new husband. Her main purpose would be to look after his comforts and act the parent to the children he already had, especially if they were still young and needed mothering. At this stage, marrying her would be a practical decision for a man, not an emotional one, and for her, marrying again and giving up her hard-won freedom would be a fate worse than death. Would life never give her a break? “I’ll sell Cyril’s tools,” she said.

Maude scoffed. “And how long will the money last? Winter is almost upon us. We’ll need extra wood, and Elia’s shoes are worn through. I’ve darned Edwin’s hose more times that I can count, and he’s outgrown his jerkin.”

“Edwin can wear Cyril’s clothes. I know he’s much thinner and shorter than Cyril was, but you can take in the garments to make them fit. Leave enough room for him to grow into them. And I will go to the cobbler and see if I can trade Cyril’s boots for shoes for Elia and Ora. They won’t be new, but they’ll last through the winter at the very least,” Petra said. The cobbler was a good man, and would trade Cyril’s worn boots for two pairs of used botes for the girls, Petra was sure of it. Perhaps the laces would need to be replaced, but the leather would still be good, and the botes would come up above the ankle, keeping the girls’ feet dry during the winter months. Maude nodded, pleased by her daughter’s pragmatic thinking. She’d taught her well.

“I’m for my bed,” Petra said, desperate to put an end to the unsettling conversation. It was one of many, and her head ached with tension brought on by constant fretting. They’d never been well-to-do, but she supposed they’d been comfortable enough. They dined on beef or pork at least once a week, and Cyril grudgingly allowed Petra to buy cloth once a year to make a new gown for herself. She even had a cloak trimmed with vair, an extravagance she permitted herself on her twenty-fifth birthday, with Cyril’s blessing, of course.

Her old gowns were recut into clothes for the children, but Petra insisted on buying a length of linen to make new undergarments for the family. After a year’s wear, the shifts and braies were worn through, and the children did grow, making new garments necessary. Cyril was less generous when it came to shoes, decreeing that the children wear their shoes until there were holes in the soles. Cyril inserted bits of leather to cover the holes, therefore squeezing a few more months of wear before finally agreeing to new footwear. Petra hated those little economies, but now she realized that they had been necessary, and were nothing compared to what she’d have to give up if she didn’t find a source of income. There would be no new gown or undergarments this year. Cyril’s much-worn and darned hose would have to find new life with Edwin, at least until the winter was over, and the girls would have to make do with their old shifts. They were too short and threadbare, but would have to last a while longer.

Petra climbed wearily to her loft. She would have to find something for Edwin, and soon. He would need a way to support himself once he came of age, and possibly his sisters as well should anything happen to Petra. The girls were still young, but in a few years’ time, they would be of marriageable age and would need to be dowered. Where would she find the money to make them desirable to a prospective husband? They were comely of face and docile of manner, but that wasn’t enough to secure their future. If Petra hoped to marry the girls off to journeymen, she needed to offer something worth having, something that had value. Everyone was poor, and had no desire to be poorer still. Love was a luxury few could afford. Even the wealthy married to further their family’s goals and forge alliances. Children were nothing more than a commodity to be traded for the best price.

Petra removed her headdress and gown and unbraided her hair before climbing into bed in her shift and hose, shivering from the cold. A bitter draft seeped right through the walls, making her blanket feel woefully inadequate. Petra would have been better off sleeping in her woolen gown, but she couldn’t afford to put extra wear on the garment, so she hugged her knees to her chest and shivered pitifully until she finally fell asleep.