Linen is a fairy tale including the after following the "happily ever after" line. It is the story of a foundling girl. Following a life of torment and little joy, she is rescued by the man of her dreams. For a period of time she is blissfully asleep, conscious in an alternate reality where she experiences love and sorrow to an unmitigated degree. Upon awakening, she becomes intimately acquainted with both desperation and denial. Although unable to resolve all troubles, she chooses to live life completely. The novella's title, Linen, represents the fabric of one life, all threads intimately woven into a perfect work. Linen literally winds through the story serving the functions of comfort, cleanliness and concealment for that which must not be seen. The word, linen, represents one complete life and one life is completed with linen. The story is a metaphor of codependency. The primary character learns early that her survival is dependent upon the approval of her benefactor. She clings to this illusion as proof of her own worth. The metaphor parallels the lives of women who are unaware of their personal greatness and live yearning for the approval of others. Some live filled with sorrow, unable to resolve their pain. Some are fortunate in their unconsciousness, ultimately finding happiness in a prescription bottle. A blessed few confront unbearable emotional pain, rip bandages from tender flesh and allow their wounds to heal. It is my hope that you, dear reader, are one of the few.

Linen

a metaphor of codependencyBy Lea Frances

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Lea Frances
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4389-3910-0

Chapter One

I woke abruptly; eyes open, staring at the fingers of light filtering through an opening high in the stone wall. I was suddenly alert, completely still, prone upon the wide stone shelf worn to a smooth polish by the occupancy of previous visitors. Awareness of my circumstance grew with the deepening of my breath. I sat upright, breathing deeply in the crisp morning air. Thoughts began to form.

My heart filled and overflowed triumphant peace. It was finished. I had not before conceived a greater joy. I leaned to rest my face and shoulder against the rough-hewn wall forming the interior of the crude stone hut. I let my mind wander back to the life I had enjoyed. My thoughts caressed the memories as the mist caresses the horizon during early moments in spring. I had lived a life endowed by God's grace. I had embraced precious moments of uncommon happiness. There need be nothing more than this final reward.

During the coolness of the earlier hours, I had wrapped myself lightly in the thoughtfully supplied, although somewhat musty, linen sheet. There had been also in the room a generous supply of parchment, ink, and a quill. I had collected such and now held in my hands a wooden tablet, a piece of parchment, and the quill. I had placed nearby the pot of black ink. I rested upon the warming stone surface while my thoughts continued to travel lazily into the past. Sunlight shone through the single opening in the otherwise opaque block wall. A soft glow illuminated the close interior of the shelter.

I had no one to whom I should write the customary letter. Instead, with the unknown space of hours at hand, I had decided to write, as was my custom, for myself. I had before enjoyed recording my thoughts in this way. Since the time when I had learned of its existence, parchment had provided substance to the meaning of my life. There were secreted about my living areas an untold number of pages.

The lingering, pungent aroma of the linen brought forgotten memories into sharp focus. I knew the stories of my life. That which I did not know from my part, I had learned from the speaking of others. Content in the solitude, I allowed remembrance to come. Soon the words began to be scratched upon the page

THE HEALING WOMAN

A single candle burned feebly, powerless to illuminate the heavy darkness of the chamber. The old woman stood silent. Despair filled her heart, her bones felt heavy, useless in helpless flesh within which they hung suspended in the stillness. She watched with dead eyes as life faded from the valiant young girl. No herb or healing ritual would save her now. The battle had been lost. "Where are you, earth mother?" she whispered in defeat. There had been too many deaths.

The courageous young woman lying prone upon the straw-filled mattress had been many hours in labor to birth the squalling girl child. She lay as if asleep, but her benevolent observer knew that, though her flesh was warm, she was without life. The before uncontrollable gushing of blood had ceased. The birth of the child had marked two entries: one to this earth, and the other to the unknown place of mysteries. The old woman hoped - in fact, fervently understood - that there existed another world of peace and light.

It was this intuitive sense that afforded her tolerance to the ways of her people. Her certain knowledge that the events of before would influence the happenings of afterward nurtured her patience. She knew that the pain of the world ultimately brought forth love as surely as she knew that a flower will bring forth fruit and that passion will bring forth a child.

The old woman had true awareness that the ways of the people of her existence were not the ways of all people. She knew that even the ways of these people were an evolution, ever changing, forming to what would be. This knowledge afforded her the ability to practice and to share the ways of healing regardless of her beliefs concerning the circumstances.

The desperate ignorance of the people amongst whom she lived brought inevitable sorrow. The habit of some masters to manhandle inferiors met, oft times, with dire consequences. Particularly the women, the infirm and the weak, suffered. To the healing woman, it seemed ever a waste of dear life. To these ignorant men, death simply meant fewer mouths to feed. Those who could not work were of no purpose, regardless of the manner in which they had become unable to labor.

Through no fault of her own, this young girl now lay lifeless upon the wide bench. Allowing the platter of meat to fall from her arms into the lap of the head overseer had been unforgivable and necessarily punished. Her master had wheeled in his chair, catching the girl's cheek with the powerful back of his hand. When she had collapsed to her knees, he had risen to cast her by the shoulders toward the rock hearth, where she had landed heavily on her back. Her head had cracked loudly against the cooling grate. It was perhaps the blow to her back from the jutting rockwork that had started her labor. When the attention of the master was at last elsewhere, the other servants had gathered around the still form of the girl. Discovering shallow breath, they had brought her to the old woman in the deep of the night.

The serving girl, not yet a woman in any real sense, had been with child for the better part of the year past. As her time had neared, she had been had been less and less constructive in the household of her master. She had weakened noticeably in the latter part of her childbearing. Still, she had worked without complaint. Often she had sung or laughed while completing her duties. Her presence had brought a bit of brightness into the otherwise dreary existence of her fellow servants. They were common servants, moving from one overseer to the next. They were, in fact, under the employ of the Lord of the manor. These people were a benefit, given by the Lord to the overseers of the manor lands. They were dependent upon the given permission of the overseer to reside near the dwelling to which they had been assigned by the lord. They were transient. Their class was not that of the cherished servants of the manor; those who served our lord and lady. These people were ever fearful of losing their position and being cast aside.

It had been a man and two women who had brought the young girl to the dwelling of the woman of healing ritual and midwifery. She lived in a small hut tucked into the edge of the forest. It had been built in the same manner as other of the village dwellings, with the central fireplace, the work area, and the sleeping area. At this dwelling, none could enter from the rear, as the trees and undergrowth of the forest formed a protective wall. Unlike the other dwellings of stone, her hut was covered with lichens and mosses which, in conjunction with the sod roof, caused it to blend into the shadows of the forest. These casual concealments afforded her some privacy in her work of cheating the man of the unclean in his gathering of the dead.

Though the knock came well past sleeping time, the servants were bid enter. There were but a few short steps past the threshold to lay the girl upon the wide bench near the still-glowing hearth that was ever prepared for such an event. Many others had lain and healed and birthed in this place. Finished with their task, the servants had stood clustered near the door, not speaking.

The...