Just Beyond the Hills...

Just Beyond the Hills….

Prologue
The Browns

Mrs. Brown lived in a tiny little thatched hut just beyond the hills, from the little town of Toraskald. Mrs. Wilma Brown was widowed, and had four daughters. They were Amelia, Clara, Chloe, and Evelyn. Amelia and Clara were twins, but not at all alike. They were both sixteen, and that was the only similarity between them. Chloe was thirteen and Evelyn was only nine.
The Browns were the town clothers. That was a word made up for them by the townsfolk. That was because the Browns did every job there was to do with clothing. They weaved cloth, they spun thread, the patched and sewed, and they made clothes, and washed clothing. The Browns, try as they might, could barely support themselves. They had a goat, and some pigs, and a black cat with white paws named Alcestis, and a dog named Aegina. Even without having to buy milk, or meat, they still had buy flour, and almost everything else.

Second Prologue
The Sterwells


The Sterwells were quite the opposite of the Browns. They were rich, owned the entire town, lived in a mansion, and had only one son, Fred. They owned a successful shipping business. Toraskald was merely their country retreat. But Fred was there permanently, because he couldn’t stand the city. They never paid much attention to the tiny Brown family that lived just beyond the hills, except when to collect tax. Mrs. Sterwell gloried on tax day, hoping to throw some poor farmer and his family off their land, because they couldn’t pay the tax. She was very cruel, heartless, and pitiless. Mr. Sterwell was never there in the first place, so we needn’t tell you about him. Fred, on the other hand, was kind, handsome, but not vain. All the town’s girls swooned over him, except for two. Amelia and Clara Brown didn’t heed him, because he never even came near them at all, and they didn’t ever see him.







Chapter One


Fred Sterwell wasn’t planning on anything today. He didn’t feel like having girls awe over his impressive strengths, amount of money, and his good looks. He wanted to stare and wonder at the strange cloud of smoke rising just beyond the hills. He had not noticed it before. Perhaps the only reason that he indeed had noticed it today was the fact that his mother was bringing in some lovely girls for him. Or rather, he was going to them. He didn’t actually think he would have noticed it, if it hadn’t been for that silly meeting. He was in the mood to think, and marvel at the strange trail of smoke rising from behind the hilltop. He was to dawdle, as well as one possibly could. He wanted to delay the meeting with those lovely girls. He read their names again.

Elizabeth Harte of Yorkshire
Sixteen years of age
Heiress of the Black Death Apothecaries

Mary Vivaldi of Sicily
Fifteen years of age
Heiress to the Duchess of Sicily

Miss Rebecca Landon of Kent
Seventeen years of age
Heiress to Taji Spice trade

Miss Abriella Teagen
Sixteen years of age
Heiress to the Sugar Trade of The Southern Steppes


Fred didn’t want to marry any stuck-up girls that were filthy rich. He wanted to marry a kind girl, an intelligent one too. She had to be able-bodied, and strong. Throw caring and beauty into it, and you had a deal. Fred put the ideas of marriage out of his way, and snuck out of the house, which wasn’t hard to do, as it was so large. He went around the town, looking for someone to come, carrying basket loaded with clothes. One of his family’s maids, Loretta, came strolling down the road from his house, carrying a basketful of clothes. She was obviously headed in the hills, and the string of smoke coming up just beyond the hills.
“Loretta!” She looked around, when her eyes fell on him; he saw disapproval, shock, and bewilderment.
“Mister Fredrick? What are you doing out here? Your mother is going to be like a grizzly bear when she finds out!”
“Loretta, PLEASE. Where are you going?” he asked her, eyeing her armload of laundry.
“Oh, me? That’s beside the point, Mister Fredrick. But if you must know, I’m headin’ for the Browns’.” She opened her mouth to continue, but thought better of it. “Must you know?”
“Who are the Browns?”
“Why, the Browns are the clothers, of course!”
“The what?”
“The Clothers. It’s a term made for them. Tis’ an occupation, that is.”
“An occupation?”
“Yes, the Browns, as in Missus Wilma Brown, and her four daughters. They do everythin’ there is to do about clothes, see. They bring the color back into things, stitch, and weave and spin, and clean. You can come with me if you’d like.”
Fred hesitated for a moment. Did he want to pay the price of hiding from that beastly mother of his? He decided that he’d take the chance. He had never even heard of these ‘Browns’.



* * * * * * * * * * * *




Clara Brown absolutely HATED her life. Her family worked their behinds of every hour of the stinking day. They barely scraped by. Barely. Barely at all. But today, she was the only person here. With her mother and her sisters gone for the day, she was the only person there. The little shack never felt empty before, but today it did. Though it was overflowing with objects like clothes and books, it felt empty, without four more people adding to the daily turmoil at the house. Clara was around the back of the shack, in the garden, picking rosemary for the dinner. Just a bit of her great to do list her mother had set for her. She ran over her great “3 miles Long” to do list.




Clara’s to do list

1. make the dinner
2. feed the goat,
3. milk the goat,
4. feed the chickens,
5. wash the clothes,
6. weed the garden,
7. practice your French,
8. work at the loom,
9. spin some thread,
10. weave a shawl
11. iron
12. deliver the clothes
13. go to the bakers to get some bread
14. stop at the farmer’s stall and buy some grain
15. feed Aegina
16. feed Alcestis
17. read the Odyssey and the Iliad



Clara had done two things on the list. She had weeded the garden, and washed a fresh load of laundry. That was an 18th of it. She was plucking the weeds between the celery stalks now. She wondered if she could hear people coming up the path. Now she was sure that she could.
“Hello?” she called, uncertain of what she would hear.
“Missus Brown, would that be you? Oh no, It’s darling Clara. How do ya do on this fine morning?”
“Miss Loretta, would that be you? I'm doing fine today. Yourself?"
"As well as it ever get's, my dear. I have a new load for'ya t'day, and a fine gentlemen keen on meetin' ya."