First Light

Copyright © 2016 Michele Paige Holmes

E-book edition

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles. This novel is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialog are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

Interior Design by Heather Justesen

Edited by Cassidy Wadsworth and Lisa Shepherd

Cover design by Rachael Anderson

Cover Photo Credit: Ilina Simeonova/Trevillion Images

Cover Photo Copyright: Ilina Simeonova

Published by Mirror Press, LLC

eISBN-10: 1-941145-68-X

eISBN-13: 978-1-941145-68-5

Counting Stars

All the Stars in Heaven

My Lucky Stars

Captive Heart

A Timeless Romance Anthology: European Collection

Timeless Regency Collection: A Midwinter Ball

Between Heaven and Earth (Power of the Matchmaker series)

Hearthfire Romance Series:

Saving Grace

Loving Helen

Marrying Christopher

Twelve Days in December (novella)

… that she may always be warm

And have light to guide her home.

The day my life changed forever began as any other. Mother and I argued. But this time it was different. Our disagreement wasn’t about my slouching or lack of refined speech; it wasn’t even about my penchant for running across our fields with wild abandon.

We fought over a box of silver that had appeared— seemingly out of nowhere— on our kitchen table. We were nearly starving, and Mother was hoarding silver.

“Each course has its own utensil,” Mother was saying as my eyes bulged at the rows of glistening forks, spoons, and knives nestled between layers of black velvet. “The outer fork is used for—”

“Everything—
anything
,” I said, giddy as possibilities flooded my mind. Oh, the things a single fork might buy. Before us was more wealth than I’d ever imagined seeing in my lifetime. Likely it was more wealth than our entire province could ever expect to see.

“How many times must I tell you not to interrupt?” Mother scolded.

“A few more, possibly.” I knew I was being impertinent, but this mysterious treasure had me feeling bold and forgetting my usual, downtrodden place. I stepped forward and picked up a spoon. It had fancy script and was heavier than our tin. A slight tarnish tainted the handle. It had to be real. It seemed the answer to our problems, the miracle we needed.

“The first thing we should buy is flour,” I said practically. “Lots of flour and some sugar, too.” Well, maybe not the sugar. I still knew where to get honey, and that worked well enough for sweetening things. But we could have flour for bread, the kind that was moist and light, instead of the heavy, coarse loaves churned out from our pathetic rye crop.

Mother snatched the spoon from my hand and placed it back in the box. “This isn’t to be used for flour.” She turned away, covering her mouth as she coughed. I dipped a cup in the half-full water pail and handed it to her.

“And surely there’s enough to buy a milk cow, too,” I persisted. Ours was so old it hardly gave any milk at all. “And we should hire some help.” The workers could dig another well, one nearer the garden, so something might actually grow. My mouth watered as I imagined fresh bread, cream, and a fine crop of vegetables.

“I suppose we will have to sell some of it.” Mother sounded sad, of all things. I felt ready to do a jig around the kitchen. “A few soup spoons should be enough to get you a decent gown and some shoes—”

“
Shoes?
And a
gown?
" What did I want with those? I faced her, hands on my hips. “How about a cow? I’d much rather have a full belly than a full skirt.”

“This isn’t about what you want, Adrielle. This silver has been in my family for generations. If I’m to part with it I’ve the right to choose how it’s spent. And you
need
a new gown.”

“But—” My mouth hung open.
Generations? She’s had it all along, while we’ve nearly starved?
“This has been sitting around here for
years
while we’ve wanted for so many things?”

“Do not judge me.” Mother’s tone was severe. “There are things you don’t understand. I have not dared use this before. Even now, it must be done with great care.”

Care is wasting it on frivolities?
“Don’t spend it on me.” I folded my arms across my chest. “Where did it come from anyway?” The more I stared at the silver, the more exquisite it looked. I’d never seen anything so fine or fancy, nor, I doubted, had anyone else for miles around.

Mother pulled herself up to her full height and smoothed her worn apron over her too-thin frame. When she spoke it was with a haughty sort of air about her. “It was my mother’s, and my grandmother’s before that. When it was given to me, it was fully expected that I, too, would live in circumstances where it would be used frequently.”

“I don’t understand,” I admitted.

“I realize that.” Mother closed the box and fixed the clasp again. “You know only life here and are not able to see— or even imagine— beyond the fence lines of this miserable farm.”

That wasn’t true or fair. I left our property often to wander the surrounding forest, searching out the plants and herbs we needed, and while searching I sometimes allowed myself to imagine— mostly that I had plenty to eat. And our farm wasn’t miserable— at least, it hadn’t always been.

“There is so much beyond this, Adrielle. Life in the capital, where both your father’s people and mine are from, is quite different. Our life before was uncommon— better. Your father even knew the king. They were great friends.”

I did not have a ready answer to throw back at her. This was a side of my mother I rarely saw. My parents hardly ever spoke of their past, and because I was their youngest and born many years after their marriage, both sets of my grandparents had died before my arrival. That I never thought on this much— on where my parents came from or who they had been prior to our existence here— suddenly seemed neglectful and selfish. But reality was, I thought on little beyond our daily needs save for my time spent on lessons with Father each day.

“Why did you leave the capital?” Now that I
was
thinking of the past, I wanted to know everything.

“It is of no import.” Mother’s lips pressed into a thin line— a look I’d seen before. She

would not be speaking more on this subject.
“Don’t you
want
a nice gown, Adrielle?” her voice was softer, almost pleading, as if she feared my answer.

Of course I wanted a gown. What seventeen-year-old girl who had to dress in rags didn’t? But I couldn’t think of luxuries like that when life was consumed with survival. How could she? What had gotten into her?
What has happened to make her think of her old life?
I
couldn’t
think of it
.
“A gown won’t feed me.”

“It will do more than that,” Mother said. “Being dressed properly will allow you to meet the right people, to move in their circles.”

I held in a bitter laugh. I’d met everyone for miles around, and they all dressed as we did. Should my wearing a fine dress happen to turn a young man’s head that would not change anything. Whether on my family’s farm or his— either way I’d be poor.

Mother continued her fantasy. “And that will lead to opportunities beyond your wildest dreams.” A smile that was half-wistful, half-secretive curved her lips. “Someday you may even meet a prince or princess.”

“I don’t believe they exist.” I picked up a basket of soiled clothes, shoved the kitchen door open with my shoulder, and lugged the laundry outside.

Mother followed me into the yard. “Come back here, Adrielle. We are not finished.”

We nearly were, though. How were we to survive the next few months without money from that silver? There was only so much I could forage from the forest, and what was left of our meager harvest wasn’t likely to last through the coming winter. Why couldn’t she see that?

I dropped the basket of laundry with an unceremonious thud, sending a cloud of dust into the air— a reminder of the decade-long drought. I stared hard at Mother. Frustration and hurt were visible in the lines of her face, and she wrung her hands in her apron, unshed tears hovering in her eyes.

I lifted my hands to the kerchief covering my hair and turned a slow circle, taking in the withered garden, neglected farmhouse, and barren fields. “I’ll never leave here. I’ll spend my life caring for you and Father. I’ve accepted that. Why can’t you?”

Her hurt expression remained. I turned away, sighing and sorry that I’d upset her, but still angry at her inability to face our situation, baffled that she had the means to improve it and would not. When I looked back, she shook her head and pressed her lips together once more, as if fighting to hold in—
what?
I held my tongue, willing her to use hers, to tell me something more, to explain why she felt so strongly about
my
manners and appearance and discipline. She’d never been so demanding with any of my other siblings, and I wanted her to tell me why, to justify her absurd expectations and hope.