Discoveries

     Fourteen-year-old Emma had gone into a restless sleep beside the sputtering fire, waiting for one of the other seamstresses to wake her, to feed her, or to stumble over her on their way to open the shop the next morning.  She dreamt of ocean waves, the salty wet air, of the herring beneath them that her father would catch in large nets, and of the quick slash of his knife to open and de-bone their breakfast in one quick motion.  In her mind, she was eight years old, softly being rocked in her early-morning sleep under a blanket on her father's boat, having stolen from the house shortly after midnight in her father's old clothes that her mother had altered.
     "Henry Archer, it is my pleasure to tell you that you have a son," her mother had laughingly said to her father as she pulled the old workshirt down over Emma's head. Her father crossed the room contemplatively, then raised his eyebrows, pulling at Emma's blond braid hanging halfway down her back.
     Her mother had rolled her eyes as she had taken the braid and piled it up under the felted knitted cap that had finished drying only the night before.
     "Picky, picky!" she commented, and her father had burst out laughing when she twirled Emma, completely outfitted, around for display.
     The memories of her parents' voices faded slowly from her foggy head.  She was cold, and in her waking mind, she knew that the fire was going out.  From the set of the logs when she'd arrived, she knew that about four hours had passed.
     She roused herself for the job, holding her cloak up around her shoulders as she stoked the fire and raised it back to a comfortable height.  With no one around to tell her not to, she decided to keep warm in her sleep.
 
     She had been awoken the next morning again by the cold, but also by the light streaming in the window.  People outside hurried around to their tasks, but the Seamstress Shop remained closed and quiet.  She prepared the fire to stoke later for cooking and decided to look around.
     The stairs leading to the living quarters upstairs had seemed private and unapproachable to Emma when she had arrived last night, and now they seemed even moreso.  She imagined that the old seamstress who had known her mother for years might be dead in the bed above -- how old was she again?  What would she do, if she had to tell others before she had even met them about some emergency?  Her father's friend, the ship's captain, would not be coming back to Lightbridge for a month; he had made it clear that he would check on her upon his return.  Her godparents were often in Calais, but she did not know when they would be back through Lightbridge.  In her mind, she was truly on her own, with the world turning speedily around her.

     She timidly climbed the stairs, moving slower as she approached the line-of-sight landing.  But the room was empty, the bed made.  She walked slowly, touching the brocade fabrics, smelling the sweet potpourri pots scattered around the room that could be a Lady's, admiring the rich details that her parents had never brought into their home: a fancy mirror, and the chamber pot had its own seat.  Her eyes focused on various objects around the room, attempting to take it all in.  She noticed that there was, on a small fine table, a slip of paper that turned out to be a note for her.

"Deerest Emma -- Wee apologize that Wee ere not heer for thine Arival.  My Sister fell ill wi' th' Fever, an I musted leeve on a sydden.  Goody Talbot musted leeve too Days hence for personal Reesons, so I bee especial sorry that I could not heer bee for Thee.

"I asked th' yong Sohn of th' Stable owner cross th' Way to come inn an mayke thee a Fyre on th' Nyte of thine Arival, so I hop that Hee did this wyll for thee.  Mayke thyselfe a Home an Wee shud shortlee hither bee.

--  Sincerely, Goody Seamstress, NPC"

      Emma exhaled slowly, feeling as though she were breathing for the first time since she left the sea air of the port.  Thank the Virgin: no dead bodies to find.  She decided to wash herself up and look in the cupboards for some breakfast.



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Sources
* Davies, A., R. Lipton, D. Richoux et al. "Thou, Thee, and Archaic Grammar: Pronoun Paradigms."  Alt-Usage-English.org List Website.
* Kent Coast Sea Fishing Compendium.  "Boat Fishing." Hagstone.net
* --  "Hythe, Dymchurch, St Mary's Bay, Littlestone, Greatstone & Lydd."
* "Kieser," "Sofya la Rus," SCA participant.  "Medieval Knitting Notes."
* Museum of London.  "Split-Brimmed Slashed Cap." Object description.
* Sweetinburgh, Sheila. _Later Medieval Kent, 1220-1540._  Preview at Google Books.