The Sister Who Turned Away

Somewhere a rooster crowed. Lizzie's eyes flew open. All around her it was pitch-dark. Dawn was still a long way off.

Careful not to wake Juhwan, she sat up, and something brushed her leg. She felt along it with her hands and found a child. Dorothy, who had certainly fallen asleep in the other bed, lay right at her feet.

Honestly. A child who never even wakes once she's asleep—how did she...

Surely she had not rolled all the way over to this bed. It was strange. Lizzie lit the oil lamp, brought the blanket from the child's bed, and covered her.

When she rose at dawn, she went straight to preparing the meal. She collected the stew she had asked the inn for the evening before, set out the vegetables and wine bought at the market, and that was the end of it. By then, Juhwan always woke.

"Lizzie."

"You're up?"

She drew close to the bed and kissed him lightly. Juhwan rose at an unhurried pace and stretched his arms into the empty air. His bare torso drew out in a long, easy curve.

Juhwan's body was not like other men's. The muscle seemed to lie on him differently. She had never once thought a man's knotted muscle handsome, and yet his was different. If she looked too long, she felt her eyes might be pulled right in. She kept looking.

She had meant only to steal a glance, but he seemed to have caught her. His eyes were narrowed, and he was smiling at her.

Flustered, she pretended, for no good reason, to check the laundry hung on the wall. It was not dry yet. Of course it was not—she had hung it only last night. Juhwan knew that too. Behind her, she heard him laugh.

If there had been a mouse hole, she would have crawled into it. She had never been so ashamed.

…

She had never eaten at an hour like this before, but Juhwan took his meals without fail—in the morning, around noon, and in the evening.

Watching quietly the way he did things, she could tell he had always lived like this. He seemed to have come from some strange country.

Sometimes she wondered where. She never asked. The further from this country the place he named, the more it seemed the distance between her and her husband would grow. He was already a Santa's Contractor, a man who stood as high as that far sky. She did not want the difference between them to widen any further.

Besides their meals, Juhwan always bought things that could be eaten lightly. Dried fruit, raisins most of all, and most of it was expensive. Was it really all right to spend so much money on something that was not even a meal? Now and then the thought left her uneasy. In the village where she had lived, no one spent money that way. Even the Village Chief, the richest man there, had never laid in dried fruit merely to nibble it whenever the mood took him.

And Juhwan did not even buy the expensive things to eat himself. He mostly gave them to her and to Dorothy. When a sweet mouthful loosened her face before she knew it, he was glad just to see it. What a strange man he was.

Even now he was picking up a few dark raisins and pushing them into her mouth. They came in with his thick fingers. Salt and sweetness arrived together.

Under those narrowed, watching eyes, her face gave way to the sweetness again. She hated being treated the same as Dorothy, and yet the moment the sweet thing touched the tip of her tongue, the corners of her mouth lifted. Delicious. She thought it, glanced at Juhwan, and found him smiling once more.

She was not a child, and yet there was a part of him that thought of her as a little girl. It felt a little unfair. She shot him a sidelong look, and he stroked her hair and called her cute. He really was treating her like a child. Before she knew it, her lips had pushed forward in a pout.

After that small exchange, once breakfast was finished, they headed for the guild or went out to work. Today they had to go to the guild. The commissions Juhwan had taken, and her own as well, were all done. They needed to find new ones.

Juhwan half-raised Dorothy, who was sleeping with her arms and legs flung out in some strange shape, and Lizzie pressed in close to dress the child. The small arms flopped and dropped. Each time Juhwan shifted her this way and that for Lizzie's sake, another piece of clothing went onto the little body. Last came a thick coat and a fur hat, and that was the end of it. Dorothy's eyes opened halfway, then closed again.

Juhwan smiled and lifted the child into his arms, and Oz sprang up onto them. It was the daily life that had gone on, ever since they returned to this village.

Only last year, she could never have imagined a life like this waiting in the near future. Who could have pictured a wretched woman, sold off to a strange and brutal hunter, becoming this happy? Her heart was so full of happiness that it frightened her.

Leaving the inn side by side with her husband, Lizzie linked her arm through Juhwan's as if she were hanging on him. Something was a little odd, though. There were more people on the inn street than usual.

"What's going on?"

Juhwan murmured it, and a woman Lizzie had grown close to while mending secondhand clothes, on her way toward the square, caught sight of her.

"Lizzie! Aigoo, and your husband too. Still so sweet on each other."

The woman laughed and came closer.

Lizzie grew a little shy. She slipped her arm free of his, and this time Juhwan reached for her shoulder. The woman laughed again, loudly.

"Honestly, I wish that man of mine would take a lesson from your husband. He's a rotten log. Not one tender word out of him in my whole life."

She sighed, then turned to Lizzie.

"Are the two of you headed for the market in the square too?"

"There's a market in the square?"

"Ah, you're from outside, so you wouldn't know. Every few months a fair goes up, and all the nearby villages take part. Folk come even from villages a long way off, so it gets fairly large. People gather, the merchants come, and it's a real commotion. Things are cheapest then, so it's worth going at least once."

With that, the woman was off to the market. She had things to buy, she said, and had been waiting for this very day.

Lizzie's gaze turned toward the square of its own accord. The village shops were well enough, but she had always nursed a quiet yearning for a great market. She wanted to see one.

The sister just above her, married to an older man, had been well-off in her own way. Looking back now, that household had been poor beyond all measure, but whenever they met and Lizzie heard her talk, the sister's life had sounded like tremendous wealth.

One of the things that sister spoke of was the great market. After what went for taxes, she said, they sold a portion of the crops there. And every time, her husband gave her cloth, or some pretty ornament—so she boasted, and the boasting was no small thing. She never tired of repeating how loved she was, how preciously she was treated. The things she held out to show off had looked, to Lizzie's eyes, beautiful beyond words.

When her heart grew restless with excitement, Juhwan smiled and asked if she wanted to look around. The thought did cross her mind that they ought to go to the guild and find new commissions. She could not resist the temptation, and she nodded.

"Shall we go to the market, then?"

"What about the guild?"

"That can wait. We can even go tomorrow. From now on, we work when it suits us."

Now that he said it, that was true. The Red Sword's term of tutelage was over. They still heard a useful thing now and then, but there was no longer any need to go about together.

"Today, enjoy yourself as much as you want, Lizzie."

"...All right. Thank you."

Walking beside Juhwan, she saw the women she had grown close to through her sewing come swarming past in a crowd. Greetings turned into talk of whether they might all go around together. She glanced at Juhwan, and her husband nodded.

"But be careful. Don't get separated on your own."

At his words the women burst out laughing and said he worried too much. She was not a child. Why fret so over a grown woman?

Lizzie thought so too. Juhwan always worried too much. And yet, strangely, it made her glad. She had never been someone people worried over. If anything, she had been treated as a person it made no difference to have or to lack—an unneeded soul, who did nothing but eat. Perhaps that was why, every time Juhwan worried for her, she felt she had become someone precious.

Dorothy had opened her eyes, so Lizzie asked whether she ought to take the child along, but the answer came back light and easy: go and enjoy herself with the others. Dorothy did not seem to mind those words. She was stuck fast to Papa's neck.

"And take Oz with you. Dorothy, could you ask Oz to look after Mama for a little while?"

Juhwan asked Dorothy. Lizzie thought it was going a bit far, but Dorothy agreed at once, and so she ended up carrying Oz as they went. Really, what a worrier he was.

After that she went around with the women, looking at goods. There were people selling crops, people selling bamboo baskets made at home, and people who had brought pickled vegetables or leftover cloth they had woven themselves. Several peddlers who traveled the villages had come as well. The wares ran from gleaming pots all the way to necklaces and bracelets carved from pretty stones. There were things she had never seen in her life, things whose use she could not even guess. Just looking was enough to set her heart racing.

They had been chattering and browsing for a good while when someone spoke up out of nowhere.

"Is a wife really that wonderful?"

They meant Juhwan. Her face went red, and another woman chimed in, yes, yes.

"I'm dying of envy. I really am."

"I know."

"He's a mage, so he earns well, doesn't he? I heard he's already Rank 2."

"The rumors are everywhere."

"I heard it from the inn folk. What was it—he waits on her better than a princess?"

"Forget a princess. My husband thinks I'm some kind of slave."

"Well, they're all about the same. Sometimes I want to beat mine to death, I tell you."

The envy turned quickly into grumbling. Even so, the husbands of the women in this village were on the decent side. Villages out in the country, where outsiders hardly ever came, were far worse. Looking back now, she could see how truly hard a woman's lot had been in the place where she had lived.

They looked at goods while talking of this and that. Nearby, the women were each examining whatever had caught their interest. Lizzie wandered too, looking at one thing and another.

Then, all at once, her eyes went to one place.

An old man, a young woman, and a man about the woman's age were unloading goods from a cart. Sacks of grain stacked one by one on the ground. They must have been heavy, and still the woman unloaded them, handling the loads with the ease of long practice. Her face was terribly worn. She looked ten years older than Lizzie. Twenty.

There was also a little coarse cloth on the cart, woven at home on a loom. Surely the woman had woven it. She had been good with a loom since she was small. Just as Lizzie had been clumsy, the woman's skill at the cloth stood out all the more.

Sister.

It was the sister just above her, who had gone as a second wife to an old man.

Of all the daughters, the one who had married best was the youngest. At sixteen she had gone to a man about her own age.

The man had no property of his own, but he had a skill instead. The youngest sister's husband had been learning the trade under a carpenter since he was small. Someday he would set up on his own, and by then he would be earning a considerable sum.

She, on the other hand, had gone in as second wife to an older man. Her husband's children were about her own age. He was rich enough by the village's measure, and still the difference in years was too great. It wounded her pride. From childhood she had been praised for doing everything well, with nothing about her lacking—and yet she had ended up with a worse man than the youngest, whom she had watched sniffling with a runny nose. She thought it unfair.

What had kept her from feeling wretched was the sister just below her. Lizzie, frail and poor at work since she was small, had been no different after she grew up. Even when she came of age and it was the season for marriage, not a single person reached out a hand to her.

If things had gone wrong, she herself might have ended the same way. There were women to spare. No one wanted an older woman for a wife. Yes—she had married well, she thought. Every time she met Lizzie, the pride that had scattered settled back into place and became whole again.

Her much older husband was a hard, coercive man. If she did not do exactly as he ordered, he raised his hand. He hit her. But in front of other people he acted like a man who doted on his young wife. His children, her stepsons, looked down on their young stepmother. They too, though, put on a courteous face before others. Like father, like son.

When she felt her heart might shatter to pieces, she went in secret to see her younger sister. She showed off the cheap bracelet and the cloth her husband had bought so that others would see them, and after she had lied to her heart's content about how tender he was, it began to feel as if the lie were true.

Every time Lizzie wore a look of envy, a secret joy grew in her. Even if this was what her life had come to, her heart whispered that she was still better off than a sister who had not yet married.

After she heard that her sister had been sold for a single worn rabbit pelt, she pitied her a little.

Rumors had been circulating about that hunter. It seemed someone with a daughter had heard a peddler's talk and asked around here and there. Once they learned he had beaten a wife to death, no one was willing to send a daughter. Only their father had snapped the offer up.

But why...

Halfway through ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠setting down a sack of grain, she stared blankly at the woman.

It was, without question, her sister Lizzie.

But she did not seem like Lizzie. It could not be. The sister who by now ought to have been living in misery, beaten by her husband—why was she standing over there in expensive, pretty clothes, her face bright?

She had changed too much from before. A luster had come over skin that used to be dry and lifeless, and the eyes that had only ever been large were glittering. Her white skin looked moist, as if milk had been smoothed across it. The clothes she wore, the shoes on her feet, were surely expensive. She could have been called a young lady of some noble house, and one would have believed it. And her own appearance, by contrast...

Then a curt voice came from behind her.

"What are you standing there gaping for!"

Her husband spoke in a voice thick with irritation and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shoved her in the back. Her body lurched and tipped forward.

No one here knew them. Because of that, he did not bother with the act. He spoke and moved roughly, the way he always did.

Lizzie, looking a little startled, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a little lost, started toward her.

She jerked her head away. No. That was not her sister. A Lizzie smiling with a glowing face was some woman she did not know. Yes. That woman was a stranger.

Another possibility came to her, too late. Sometimes a woman who ran from home ended up in a brothel wagon. A woman on her own—what she could do was obvious. Perhaps Lizzie had ended up that way too. That so-called husband of hers must have been the worst of men. Yes. That had to be it.

I'm still better off.

At the very least, she had a proper husband and was living a normal life. Yes. She was still better than that girl.

She glanced toward Lizzie. Lizzie seemed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to have realized she was not welcome. She had stopped mid-step and lowered her head a little. At the sight, the strength in her heart revived at last. It felt as if she were restored by exactly as much as Lizzie was hurt.

That was when a very large man came quickly toward Lizzie. He was enormous, and frightening to look at. She thought he might be the brothel wagon's pimp.

The corners of her mouth twitched up before she knew it. Even dressed so prettily, the girl was living a far worse life, and she herself a much better one. She felt sorry for her.

The big man bent a little toward Lizzie and looked into her face. He seemed to be asking what was wrong. When Lizzie shook her head, he quietly stroked her hair. The man's expression was far too tender.

…

Lizzie turned without looking at her. The man put an arm around her shoulders as if she were something precious, and said something, the way one soothes a child.

The women nearby seemed to have come with Lizzie. They turned toward the pair and laughed.

"She really is loved, isn't she."

"It's a face you see every day. What's so wonderful about it?"

Lizzie and the man drew farther and farther away. What? What just happened? How did it come to this? Who is that man? He can't be the hunter the peddler talked about.

She was staring blankly after them when her husband's hand flew in from behind. He struck her hard across the head.

"What are you doing, not working!"

At the sound of his rough voice, she lifted a sack. She saw her own rough hands. Her face would be the same, surely. As she was now, she would look ten years older than Lizzie. Twenty.

And there's only a year between us.

A tear dropped onto the back of her hand. Seeing it, her husband barked at her even more harshly.

"Why the hell are you crying, you unlucky bitch."

…

A person comes to know where they stand by looking at someone else. Would Lizzie now look at her the way she had once looked at Lizzie, and feel how happy she herself was?

The words her sister sometimes came and gave her had been, to Lizzie, like a magic that let her dream of a future.

Not tales of nobles in far lands, or of people she did not know—the real life of a sister she had grown up beside. If such a thing was possible for her sister, then someday the same might happen to her. Because she had thought that, she had guessed a little of what lay in her sister's heart, and still she had been glad.

But it had not been true.

She understood it the moment their eyes met.

Long ago, everything her sister had told her had been a lie. She had not been happy. She had said those things only because she wanted to forget her own situation, because she wanted to see envy in Lizzie's eyes.

Lizzie had thought that at least a little affection was being offered her. It had not been that. The memory that had been the only treasure of that house had been false. Nothing remained now of the house where she had been born and had lived.

Her husband's voice, pouring tender words over her without even knowing what had happened, rang through her heart with unusual force.

Now all that remained to her was one thing alone: her husband, and Dorothy.