An Arranged Marriage - 15

    How far they walked, Ilona did not know.  But suddenly, Knut stopped in front of a weeping willow tree.  Ilona gazed at the tree.  Long, soft branches draped to the earth, creating curtains of pale green.

    Knut swept an armful of branches to one side.  “After you, my lady.”

    Ilona hesitated and then pressed into the willow.  The branches tickled her arms and draped over her head.  She parted them and walked into the shelter of the tree.  There were more branches, and she parted them as she continued.    Everywhere she looked, the green boughs hung around her.  She couldn’t even see Knut anymore.  The farther she went, the more branches there were.

    And then suddenly, the branches thinned again.  She parted the last ones and stepped into a clearing.  It was sheltered on all sides; the forest itself had created a courtyard – a hidden refuge for these people.

    Men, women, and children of all ages were scattered through the clearing.  Some were cooking.  Some were weaving.  Some were spinning.  One was sweeping.  Another was fashioning clay.  They all looked up when she entered.

    Ilona froze with all eyes on her. 

    A little girl stood up and pointed at her.  “Is that Ilona?”

    For a moment, no one else moved.  Then an older woman hurried forward and gathered the surprised Ilona into a warm embrace.  “Ah, dear!  You look just like Amalia!”

    A stout man with graying hair laughed.  “Are you blind, Flora?  She is the river image of her father!”

    Ilona pulled away from Flora’s arms, trying not to panic.  “How do you know my parents?”

    “Not your father, dear.  Only your mama.  There’s not a day that we don’t miss our little Amalia.”  Flora patted her hand over her heart.

    Ilona looked around at each person.  What were they saying?  She was so confused.  And a little bit frightened.

    Another woman stood up – a younger woman.  “Welcome to the Derwald village, Ilona.  You are quite safe here.”  She held out a hand.  “I am Verana…Amalia’s little sister…your aunt.”

(by Esther Brooksmith)