Belladonna - The Past (Patreon)

“You stupid, good for nothing, piece of off colored detritus. You had one job! One job and you failed to accomplish even that mediocre task.”

Gripping the stalk of wheat tight, Belladonna crouched down, putting her full weight on her haunches and pulling back. The wheat stuck stubbornly into the ground, refusing to budge. Brown booted heels slid across the ground, embedding deep grooves into the soil, splitting roots in half and displacing pebbles.

“I am a farmer's daughter,” Belladonna grunted. “I know the ways of the Lord and he provided me strength to pick the likes of you. What is wrong with you that you will not do your damn job!”

The wheat slide through her fingers, sending Belladonna sprawling backwards to land harshly on her butt. She let out a growl of frustration, huffing her hair from her eyes as she narrowed her gaze at the offending piece of wheat.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

Eyes ticking upwards, Belladonna gritted her teeth.  Of course a man was the one to come out here. Damsel in distress and they could not resist.  “What? You see a woman and you decide she needs help? Is that how it is?”

The man was tall and broad shouldered, kissed by the sun.  His hair was tucked beneath a wide brimmed hat, sleeves rucked up to his elbows. He had workers hands. Calloused and leathered.

“No, I saw someone struggling to pick some wheat properly and wondered why you weren’t using any tools.” He held out a sickle, the blade curved at the end and the handle made of raw wood.

Belladonna kept her face even, despite the embarrassment rising on her cheeks.  Getting to her feet, she brushed off her skirts. Stomping over to the man, she grabbed the sickle and tilted her head upwards.  “The wheat on my farm is something you can pick with your hands. It is not my fault that your wheat is faulty.”

The man nodded, a smile quirking at the corner of his lips. “Right.”

Hiking up her skirts, Belladonna went over to the offending stalk of wheat and clipped it through with one swipe.

“You the pastor's daughter that’s gone missing?”

She looked over her shoulder. The sun cut across her, keeping the man before her in shadow.  “Of course not. Would a pastor's daughter be out here?”  A pastor's daughter was supposed to be darning socks. Sitting within the pews and praying on their knees. A pastor's daughter didn’t have a name such as Belladonna. They had something pretty they were called. Something pious.

“Can I give you some pointers on how to use that thing? I’m kind of afraid you’re going to chop off your hand,” the man said.

Belladonna turned her nose up. “I know how to use it.” Occasionally she had tended the fields behind the house. When they were still cared for. She had been so young then. Back when there had been time.

“Don’t doubt that. But sometimes, we all need some pointers to improve ourselves.”

“Is this an excuse to touch me?”

The man's brow rose through his hairline. “No, ma’am. Some of the other workers using those excuses on you?”

Belladonna had stayed away from the other workers.  It absolutely wasn’t because she was afraid or because she was not allowed to be near boys without an escort.

The man held up both his hands, taking a wide step back. “Ma’am, my name is Olden. I own this here field and employ the ones who work here. If anyone is mistreating you, we have a no nonsense policy on that. Even if you did sneak onto my fields and started working without actually being hired.”

Belladonna tensed. The braid her auburn hair was twisted in hung heavily over one shoulder, fraying in the middle. “I thought I should prove my worth, first.”

He nodded. “Appreciate that. But no need to do so. Anyone that needs a full belly at night gets to work. No questions asked. I got too much going on here to go worrying about qualifications.”

Of which she had none. They both knew it.

The sickle tapped against her thigh, the midday sun beating down on her and sending sweat dripping uncomfortably against her spine.  She had run away from home three days ago and hadn’t even made it that far. The next town over. Because she couldn’t stomach going any further.

“You eaten?”

Yesterday. She had used the last of her reserves she had stolen from the larder.  “I’m getting by.”

The man snorted, angling his head. “Come on. Let’s get you to the main house. Get some food in you. Maybe get you something to wear to protect you from the sun. Got a sister who is about your size.”

“Everyone always says that,” Belladonna spat. “Everyone always has a sister or an aunt or a mother about your size.”

Olden nodded. “You’re not the trustworthy type. That’s probably a good thing. Now come on.”

He began walking off, making his way towards the big blue farm house at the edge of the field. For a moment, Belladonna didn’t follow. She considered taking her sickle and running.  But her stomach was growing and she really didn’t know where her next meal was going to come from. On top of that, if she was trying to impress this man to get paid for the four stalks of wheat she had pulled, she probably shouldn’t be stealing his tools.

Stomping across the field, she followed him, her skirts wrapping against the stalks as she stumbled around.  They reached the house just as the sun was becoming too much, the lazy drawl of the overhead fan providing luke warm air that felt amazing all the same as they burst inside.

The kitchen was large with powder blue cabinets and tanned scuffed wood floors. A large table was situated in the middle, big enough to fit twelve or more people. Olden gestured for Belladonna to sit as he went to the counter, pouring a large glass of water and gathering a plate of bread and cheese. He placed it in front of her.  Belladonna reached for it, tucking into her food with gusto.

“Why’d you run?”

She froze.  The food felt heavy in her stomach, weighing her down.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Without a word, he reached into his pocket, unfolding a paper that was weather worn on the edges. It was a drawing of Belladonna. The likeness incredibly accurate.  A reward was posted at the bottom.

Her eyes ticked up towards Olden. “Are you going to return me?”

He tucked the paper away. “None of my business why you aren’t home with your daddy.  I just don’t like seeing someone so young out in the fields with no food and nothing to protect themselves. That’s how mistakes happen.”

“I wasn’t hit, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She had an urge to make that clear. She wasn’t running because she needed to.  Belladonna had a good life. A caring father. A community that loved her.

“I wasn’t thinking anything,” Olden said.  “Just worried about you.”

She shifted in her seat, feeling herself tense.  “There is no need to be. I’m fine.”

“Alright.”

“Oh, don’t you alright me,” she snapped.  There was this itch. This desire to run. To find out who she was outside of her community and the church.  “Is it so wrong to try and live for yourself? Or is it my duty as a woman to continue to do what I’m told?”

Olden leaned forward, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “Ma’am, like I said, more concerned about you walking around without a plan. You are lucky you stumbled onto my farm and not the Fulton’s down the way.”

“What’s wrong with the Fulton’s?”

“Everything you can think of.”

Belladonna slumped back in her chair. At sixteen, she wanted more. So very much more than what was being provided for her.  “Why should I have to take care of babies all day and wipe the brows of the sick? Why is it that I cannot go to school and find out who I am? Why do I need to follow in my fathers footsteps all because my mother died?”

Olden shrugged. “Don’t think you need to.”

“You’re the only one.”

“Your father pushing that on you?”

No. It was an easy answer. He wasn’t.  It was just what everyone had told her. When her mother died, they had said she had to pick up the slack. Take over her role. Help her father. But she didn’t want to. She wanted to find her own way in the world.  But how was she supposed to break her father’s heart and do so.

“Look, I’m not in the business of forcing people to go places they don’t want to go.  But, can I ask you to stay here until you figure things out a bit more? My sister is going to be home soon. She has the house across the way. You can stay under her roof if that makes you more comfortable. You want to work in the field, we can discuss it. Just don’t go wandering off in this world without food, coin, or a weapon.”

She narrowed her gaze, crossing her arms and mirroring his position. “I’m to believe you aren’t going to collect on my reward?”

“You can believe whatever you want,” he told her. “In general, I don’t think you should believe words so much as actions but you don’t know me so I don't think you can really make a distinction of either.”

The sun was bright outside, heating the land and causing the wheat to shine golden on the horizon. Home was only two towns over. She could be home by tonight, if she wanted to. Collect the reward herself.  But there was an entire world out there. One in which she was so small when compared to. Belladonna didn’t want to be small. She wasn’t like Madeline. The week girl who just did as she was told. Who was destined to live forever at her father's farm.

The chair scraped loudly as Olden stood. “Take your time and eat. You can let me know what you decide. If I come back in and some of my food is stolen and you’re gone, I won’t hold it against you.”

Belladonna watched him go. He ducked his head as he went back through the front door, his booted feet thunking down the steps.

Sitting alone, Belladonna sat alone in the stranger's kitchen, her hands shaking, her mind scattered.  For the first time in her life, she was faced with a decision and she didn’t know what to do. How anyone did this to begin with. She should have just gone home. Her father would open his arms and hug her, asking no questions. Ms. Timely down the road would have brought over stew.  Mr. Cardel would have asked if there was anyone he needed to shoot.

But there was more to the world, wasn’t there? There was so much more.

“Olden! It’s too hot. Call the workers in,” a woman’s voice called from outside. The sister, she assumed.

Grabbing the bread and a few of the supplies from the pantry, Belladonna slipped out back.  The sickle was still at her hip.