|
The Man of Straw
Alva stirred the pot as she gazed out of her kitchen window at the white surroundings, clear sky and frozen ground. Tall trees grew heavy with the weight of snow on their branches. Grey boulders had white caps. Tall grass that grew in summer was now buried under snow. The stream that tinkled over smooth pebbles was now iced over. Everything that once had life was now covered in a bleak colour. Alva couldn’t help but feel the same.
A hand made from straw placed itself upon Alva’s shoulder. Alva patted it, as she turned to the man of straw.
"It’s okay, my love. I’m just thinking."
The man of straw looked with his painted-blue eyes on Hessian fabric, trying to express compassion. If his red-painted lips could move, he would speak words of warmth and comfort. But he couldn’t. He was only a man made from straw.
Alva took the pot from the stove to a wooden table and poured its contents into a clay bowl. She sat down on a rickety chair and waited for the soup to cool.
Alva stared with longing at the silent man sitting opposite her, at his features that she had used her secret arts to conjure a likeness of the only man she loved.
"If only I wasn’t myself."
Alva considered herself ugly with frayed hair, a crooked nose and blotchy complexion. She felt pudgy and not what a real man would want to love.
"I am who I am, and who I am, is not who I want to be."
She sipped the hot broth from a wooden spoon and felt the trickle of warmth find her belly. The taste was bland and Alva decided she wasn’t hungry. She stood from the table and opened the front door.
Alva stepped out and felt the crunch of snow beneath her black boots. She trudged past the evergreen and the place where wild flowers grew in warmer climates. She went back to where she had met her love. Alva sat down upon a bare boulder, under the cool shade of an overhanging branch. She hugged her knees as she watched the muddy road.
On this very road, some time ago, a wagon had become stuck. A man named Dwight levered a bogged down wagon wheel with a length of timber. He had been there for a long while and was just about to give up when Alva had approached from out the trees.
"Are you okay?"
"My wagon," said Dwight, "it’s stuck and I need to be at the markets by
midday."
Alva had hesitated. Not many people came this way and for reasons she knew all too well. Yet the man was obviously in trouble and he seemed like a kind soul.
"Here, let me help."
Alva had stepped up on to the wagon and grabbed the reins.
"When I count three, push on the wheel as hard as you can."
"Okay," said Dwight, thankful for the help.
"One, two, three!"
Alva flicked the reigns, sending the horse to power forward. Dwight pushed hard on the wheel until it jolted free. With the sudden movement, he overbalanced and fell face first in the mud.
"Ah!"
"Are you okay?" Alva had rushed to his side.
The man struggled to his knees and laughed at his misfortune, "Well that didn’t
go according to plan. I’m a mess!"
The young woman gave a nervous smile. She was intimidated by Dwight’s cheerful beauty.
"I don’t suppose you live around here do you?" He smiled at her.
"Why?"
"Because I’m afraid I’ll need a bath, else I take a likening to all this
filth."
"Uh, yes this way." With that, the young woman promptly got up and walked into the tree line, leaving the muddied Dwight gazing after her.
"What’s your name?" he called out.
"Alva," said the disappearing voice.
"Alva," said Dwight liking the name. He got to his feet, "Hey, Alva, wait
up!"
"So, why do you live out here, away from everyone?" Dwight, wrapped in a warm blanket, nestled into a padded chair next to the fireplace.
Alva strung out Dwight’s soaked pants and tunic above the flames to dry.
"People see me differently," said Alva, going to roll some dough in the kitchen. She wished she didn’t have to speak about herself.
"Different? How?"
"I have certain traits. I’m just an alone person."
Dwight found the statement a bit odd.
"Surely someone as beautiful as you would have someone in their life?"
Alva blushed. She wasn’t used to compliments, "I’m not beautiful. You shouldn’t say such
vanities."
"Oh, come now, don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m sure with the right smile you would
glow."
Alva gave a shy smile. He was so charming.
"See, there you go, you’re simply radiant. Now, what’s for dinner?"
"You’re staying?" said Alva, shocked that he would wish to do such a thing.
"Yes, why not? I’ve missed the markets and it will be too late, by the time I get home, to prepare
dinner."
"Oh …"
"And besides, it will allow me to get to know the mysterious Lady
Alva."
Alva looked away sadly, "I have secrets I don’t wish to be
told."
"Don’t we all? Now, let me help with dinner. What shall I chop, the turnips or
onions?"
"Onions," she said, happy to have this newfound friend.
As the evening wore on, in the setting winter light, words of discovery found each other’s mouths and minds alike.
"Well, it was nice meeting you, Alva, and thank you for your
hospitality," said Dwight, beneath the starlight.
"It was my pleasure," said Alva, sad that he was leaving.
Dwight hoisted himself up on to his wagon and took the reigns. He circled the wagon back the way he had come.
"So how does tomorrow sound?" he asked, "After the markets, I could
stop by for lunch. You make a mean honey bread."
Alva was taken back, "I would like that very much."
Dwight flicked his reigns, "Ya!" The wagon rolled along the bumpy dirt road.
"See you tomorrow!" he called out with a wave.
"Yes!" Alva laughed as she returned his wave.
Days rolled into weeks. Weeks became months. Love grew from out the shade of Alva’s lonely heart. Life felt better than it had for a long time. But Alva knew herself, and she knew she would ruin things for good.
Alva stood and walked away from the dirt road into the tree line. She crunched her way, up the garden path, to the cottage. Alva opened the cottage door and was greeted by the man made from straw. And that’s how it all ended.
In what seemed like yesterday, because the wound still felt deep, Alva remembered her desperation.
Dwight was away on a long-term goods trade and she felt lost without him. The fireplace burnt warm yet the cottage seemed cold and empty without his presence. So, with a secret spell, she had created a straw man in Dwight’s image to comfort her in his absence.
Then one day, unexpectedly, her love walked through the front door. The shock caused Alva to drop a plate at the washbasin. But it wasn’t the sudden arrival of Dwight’s return. It was that she had been exposed for what she really was.
The man made from straw turned to look at this new person who stood in the doorway in shock.
"What is this thing?" Dwight looked aghast.
"Dwight, please. It’s not what you think!" said Alva, desperate to try and make him understand.
"To the heavens be, what manner of dark magic is this?"
Alva rushed to Dwight’s side with pleading in her eyes, "Please understand Dwight. I did this to remind me of you. Can’t you see? I’m lost without
you."
Dwight glared at his once love who was now someone to be feared, "Get away from me you evil witch. Break this spell of love you cast upon
me!"
"No!" Alva cried.
Dwight stormed out the doorway and slammed the wooden door behind him. Alva collapsed into a heap, her heart crushed in pain and sorrow.
"I don’t want to be me," sobbed Alva.
So there her love had tragically ended. Alva, since that day, resolved herself to the fact she was cursed and her soul to be put in isolation forevermore. Solitude would be her only friend.
In time, Alva would break the spell she cast on the man made from straw, turning him into feed for the cows. Only her love’s face she kept in her memory.
Then one day, after picking wild berries in the forest, she returned to her cottage. Alva was surprised to find a tulip lying on her doorstep. Tied to the flower, with yellow ribbon, was a note. She picked up the tulip and unfolded the card. It read:
"I still love you, Alva. I just need some time."
A tear formed in Alva’s clear, blue eyes. She held the note from Dwight to her lips and let the tears fall.
"He still loves me," she whispered.
One day Dwight returned and they found each other’s love again and a firm bond was formed. Dwight came to accept Alva’s magical secret. And, although the stigma of Alva being a witch tainted people’s minds, it didn’t blind Dwight to the unique and magical love she held in her soul.
Stillwater Cottage
Limited Edition
Kinkade, Thomas
Buy at AllPosters.com
Reviews
(applause received) 
Alison Pearce
Australia
"A very
unique and wonderfully told tale! Bravo!"
Be
the next to review this story - click here.
|
