On a Lute’s Strings

By late afternoon the clouds had cleared into a cool spring evening. A fire stood ready in the centre of the Carpenters’ backfield. Cassie stood close to the flames letting the warmth wash over her. The air was heavy with smoke and the smell of roasting crackling. Steam from a heated water butt powered the contraption, slowly turning the piglet upon the spit. It was another of her mother’s strange inventions that made the villagers grimace and whisper. Though the pig was still roasting, the nearby table already overflowed with food. 

Amelia had created a feast of every flavour. Casseroles, stews, various breads, pies, and dishes of mixed vegetables filled nearly every inch of the long table. Jam tarts covered the dessert platter, crumbly and sweet. A ring of sawn-off stumps circled the fire for seating, but Cassie preferred to stand. She watched the fire dance in the breeze, lulled by the crackle of burning wood and the rush of the nearby river. The faint whistle of steam interspersed the distant tinkling of voices and laughter as Nell started barking.

“Hello, is anyone there?” A harried voice shattered the stillness of the world. “Yes, yes. There you go. There’s a good girl!”

Cassie rounded the corner of the house to see Father Kenin Coat scratching Nell’s belly as the hound rolled on her back, her paws up and her tail thumping the ground. He was a skinny man with a portly belly and bright green eyes that always seemed befuddled, but his spirit was indomitable where matters of joy were concerned. Behind him, two very tired-looking donkeys pulled his cart.

Cassie ran to his open arms, accepting the tight squeeze of his hug. “Father Kenin!” His woollen preacher’s robe smelled of damp and probably should have been replaced long ago. 

“There’s my girl. Is it you cooking that hog? I could smell it from up the lane!”

He released her, and Cassie turned her attention to the overladen cart. “Jack was supposed to be watching it, but he left me in charge because he had to help Ma.” Standing on tip-toes to peek over the side, she inspected the rows of earthen jugs. “Father, there’s too much scrumpy here.”

“Smart boy, leaving you in charge.” Kenin sidestepped the reprimand with the grace of a fire dancer. “Help me carry these over so your father and I can remedy that situation.”

As they unloaded the cart, Cassie noticed a single muddy boot print on the white stone of the cottage, about two stories up. It was a man’s footprint, and she was sure the grain of it would match the bottom of a certain young blacksmith’s boots.

Cassie regarded the overflowing table when they arrived with the jugs. There was barely a gap between the plates. “I’m not sure there’s enough space.” 

“Nonsense!” Father Kenin moved a dish onto one of the stumps by the fire. “There’s always room for cider.”

They made space for the heavy clay jugs, and Cassie eyed the liquid inside with a vague distrust.

“Is that you I hear, father?” Amelia wiped her hands on her apron as she came out of the kitchen. “Cassie, are you watching that spit?”

Cassie glanced at the piglet still rotating over the fire. “I’m looking at it right now, Ma.”

“You’re starting to sound like your sister.” Amelia shook her head but greeted the preacher warmly. “You look well, father.”

“Not so well as you, Amelia.” He smiled at her warmly. “But you do not come to the temple, and it has been too long since I saw you last.”

It wasn’t a reprimand, more an entreaty. 

“Your God is not my Gods,” Amelia replied, cocking an eyebrow. “And my gods are to be feared, not worshipped.”

Father Coat laughed. “Let us not speak of such things, this is a night for merriment not moralising.”

“Speaking of, I have something I must show you. I made a filter to improve your distillation process.” Amelia’s eyes drifted over the jugs crammed into every free spot on the sagging table. “Though by the looks of it, you don’t need any help.”

He gestured for her to lead the way. “I would be delighted to see it.” 

Amelia glanced back at Cassie over her shoulder as she made for the workshop. “Make sure the mechanism doesn’t jam. I greased it before winter, but who knows how it’s held up in the barn.”

Cassie knew better than to protest and gave the gears a cursory examination as her mother led Father Coat away. She stood alone in the fading dusk, listening to the gentle call of the forest, the whisper of the wind through the trees, and the song of the wild birds. As she watched the river rush by, her thoughts lost in distant dreams, she felt the prickling sensation of eyes watching her. Turning, she glanced across the field. 

Their old horse Albert, stood there happily chewing on a long clump of hay from his trough. Across the river, the trees of the Wilds stared back at her. For once, the sense of being watched did not come from the trees. Turning again, she caught a pair of amber eyes amongst the bushes surrounding the growing field. Smiling, she held out a beckoning hand. The fox padded up, its shoulders hunched in suspicion. Cassie bent down as the beast warily sniffed her. 

Its rough tongue slid over her fingertips. “Good evening, Sir Fox.” 

Cassie grabbed a small mincemeat croquette from the table and offered it to the little beast. The fox’s ears drew back as he sniffed at the pastry, his nose twitching before he snapped it out of her hand and gulped it down.

“Cassie, watch out!” 

A stone flew past the edge of her vision, and the fox yelped in pain, disappearing in a blur of red fur as he raced away. The Smiths had arrived. 

Cassie whirled, her throat tight with fury as Thom sneered and hefted another rock. “Don’t throw that!” 

Thom Smith was gangly, almost six foot, with sandy hair and the same deep blue eyes as all the Smith boys. She hated him. Oh, how she hated him. Benny stood behind his older brother, his hands intertwined as he shifted on his feet.

“We thought it was going to bite you,” Benny said, his voice cracking. “Are you alright? It didn’t, did it?”

She folded her arms as the boys drew closer. “He wasn’t going to bite me!” 

“Don’t be silly, Benny.” Thom sniffed, shaking his head. “She was trying to feed it. Don’t you know those things carry plague?”

Cassie truly didn’t know what she had done to deserve his enmity. She buried the twinge of pain in her chest, not allowing herself to feel it. The emotion would be wasted. She refused to spend a single moment more being sad because of him.

“So do people!” She tilted her chin up, narrowing her eyes. “Where’s the rest of you?”

“Piggy, Piggy!” A streak came running around the side of the house as Daniel, the youngest of the Smith boys, raced towards the fire. 

Benny grabbed him mid-stride to stop the little boy from falling into the flames. 

Daniel squealed in indignation. “Want to see Piggy!” His small fingertips stretched over Benny’s shoulder towards the spit. 

A cruel light flashed in Thom’s eyes, brighter than the fire. “Dan! That’s no way to talk about Cassie.”

Cassie wondered how much trouble she’d get in for hitting him. 

“You can see the piggy later.” Benny rocked his brother in his arms to calm him down. “Look, Cassie’s here! Say hello to Cassie, Dan.”

Daniel’s round blue eyes fixed on her. “‘Lo, Cassie.” The boy threw his hands out, one of his elbows hitting Benny in the face. “Cassie hug?”

Cassie gently lifted him from Benny’s arms. “Come here, you little beast.” She squeezed the child as he giggled in delight. 

Thom snatched the boy out of Cassie’s arms, and Daniel began to cry at the unexpected jolt. His older brother rocked him from side to side, shushing him. 

“Don’t touch him with your dirty hands,” Thom said to Cassie over his shoulder as he turned away. “Go and wash them.” 

The babe in Thom’s arms was the only thing that stopped Cassie from hitting him, but it was still a near thing. She imagined hitting him hard enough to break his nose. If only she didn’t always miss. If she tried, Thom would laugh at her and she could not abide the thought of his mocking laughter.

“Fine.” She spun away fast enough to lift her skirts. “Since you’re here, you can watch the spit. Make sure it doesn’t jam.” She left the brothers and went to wash her hands in the stream. 

The gentle chirp of birdsong rang in her ears as she submerged her hands in the cool water. The shrill cry of a hunting lizardhawk echoed from the Wilds, and though she tried hard not to look, she found her gaze drawn to the trees. Lazy currents tugged her fingertips as familiar amber eyes glinted from the shadows, the wet fox watching her with a fierce intelligence. A shiver of ice crept up the skin of Cassie’s arms, forming goose pimples that had nothing to do with the cold water. The beast’s lips drew back, and it let out a shrill echoing bark as it turned away. Faint voices drew her attention elsewhere.

“You must be careful, Amelia.” Father Coat’s voice echoed along the water. “There are too many strange faces around town, and a High Priest at the monastery.” The warning in the preacher’s tone pulled Cassie closer to where he and her mother huddled at the entrance of the workshop. “His presence has the monks behaving strangely.”

“The monks often behave strangely,” Amelia said, but despite the dismissal, she sounded wary. “He will move on along the route of his pilgrimage. Strangers never stay long in Riverfowl. It’s one of the town’s few charms. The Emperor has never even stirred himself to station a civic regiment here.”

“We both stayed, strangers though we once were,” the preacher reminded her. “Even still, you know what it’s like beyond Caernwrythnir’s hills. I fear evil has reached us.”

Amelia’s sigh echoed along the water.

“Yourself and Willem would be advised to avoid town for a few moons,” Father Coat warned. “You’ll make sure he’s careful, won’t you? He listens to you.”

Cassie brushed aside her feelings of unease, returning to the gathering just after Father Coat, who joined her father and Jonas Smith where they sat on the tree stumps around the fire. One of the large cider jugs had migrated from the table to the priest’s side and each man had a thick clay mug in hand. They wasted no time in starting the celebration. Nell lay at her father’s feet, his steadfast guardian.

Cassie turned towards the boys with a twinge of frustration. Could they do nothing right? “Shouldn’t you be watching the piglet?”

Benny began to nod enthusiastically, but it was his father who replied.

Jonas Smith smiled at her as she took a seat on the stump next to her father. “Cooking is a woman’s job, you should know that, young miss.” 

Benny quickly dropped the hand he had been raising, his mouth closing. Jonas Smith was a large man, built of muscle from a life spent labouring over his forge. His dark hair was cut short, and his hairline was just receding at the sides. It had been that way as long as Cassie could remember. He had the deep blue eyes of his sons, but Cassie had always thought his gaze was colder than it ought to be.

Father Coat offered her one of the empty mugs. “Cassie dear, would you like a cup?” 

“Are you feeding my daughter cider, preacher?” The warmth in Willem’s eyes belied his tone.

Jonas’ lip curled as Cassie took the full mug from the preacher’s hand. “The girl don’t need any of that, do you?” He shook his head. “It’s not good for your stomach.”

“My stomach?” Cassie didn’t particularly like cider, but the look of disdain on Jonas’ face made her want to drink the whole cup.

Jonas shook a finger as thick as a mallet at her. “Cider plays havoc on a young girl’s stomach; you mark me you’ll have a belly ache after that!” 

“Nonsense,” Father Coat insisted as Cassie sniffed at the mug. “That’s good cider, that is! I brewed it myself, and I tell you I blessed it with the All-Father’s favour. It won’t be hurting anyone’s belly.”

The heavy thump of another plate hitting the creaking wooden table interrupted the conversation, and Cassie breathed in the smell of fresh bread.

“I expected you to at least eat some of the apples we send you, Kenin,” Amelia said, handing the preacher a lute as Mildred smith laid another plate on the table behind her. “I found it inside—you don’t mind playing a bit, do you?”

Father Coat had three passions in life: the third was the All-Father, and the second was cider. But above and beyond all else was his love for music. He accepted the lute, delicately pinching a string between two skinny fingers as he offered Amelia the same impish smile that had saved him from many scoldings. 

“The All-Father says to feed all men. I must bend to his will, and see all the people of Riverfowl watered at the least.” As if he felt her watching eyes, the preacher shot Cassie a wink. “It’s all down to the interpretation you see.” 

As Father Coat played the first ringing chord, Daniel clapped his small hands in delight. All gathered paused to listen to the preacher—a far more attentive audience than his normal congregation. The melody of a fast jig filled the air until Daniel ran over to tug at the man’s sleeve, and the song died out with a rough discordant twang.

“Can I help you, Daniel?” Father Coat waited patiently for the boy’s reply.

Daniel peered around the edges of the lute, searching for the hiding song. 

“Dan, leave Father Kenin be!” Mildred said. 

“It’s no bother at all, Milly. He’s just curious, aren’t you, Daniel?” Kenin ruffled the boy’s baby blonde curls.

Daniel looked up at the Preacher with wide, serious eyes. “I want to play.” 

“And a fine bard I bet you’ll be!” Father Coat leant forward with a conspirator’s smile. “Here, let me show you how.”

He took the time to show the small boy a few chords. Daniel played with the instrument in delight, his indelicate fingers scratching against the strings, and Cassie couldn’t stop the shuddering flinch that rippled up her spine. Nell covered her ears with her white paws and let out an unhappy whimper.

“There now, Dan, that’s enough,” Benny said, holding out his hands. “Why don’t we give Father Coat back his lute, and we’ll go see the horsey?”

The boy was silent for a moment, considering his brother’s words as he held tight to the instrument. After long deliberation, he jumped with excitement. “Horsey, horsey!” The lute slipped from his hands. “Oh no, I dropped it.” 

Daniel set off at a run to the paddock as Benny followed. The child was unsteady on his feet, and it wasn’t long before the older boy caught him, picking him up and swinging him over his shoulder as he squealed.

Jonas thumped Willem on the back, almost knocking the cup of cider out of his hand. “He played the lute about as well as you used to!” 

Willem grimaced. “That he does. I never had much skill.” 

There was a silence between the men as Father Coat collected his lute. The preacher brushed the dirt off the face and tuned its strings.

“Here, have a play.” Satisfied with the sound Father Kenin passed the instrument to Jonas. “I remember you won the spring prize! Back when you were courting Milly—it was a lovely song you played to her.”

“Yes, I remember—it was the day they laughed Willem off the stage!” Jonas chuckled as he struck a chord. “What was the song you sang? The shepherd’s wife?”

Before her father could answer, the smith’s fingers jumped into action, dancing over the strings with the ease of a master musician. The song he played was beautiful, but Cassie noted that the dancing chords did not bring a smile to the face of Mildred Smith. She stared into the distance, watching her younger sons. The pale melancholy of her thoughts marred her features as she clasped her shawl around herself tightly.  

“That was lovely, Jonas,” Sarah-Ellen said, kissing the cheek of her future father-in-law in greeting as she and Jack finally joined the group. “May I play?” 

“It’s not proper, Sarah-Ellen,” Jonas said but grinned as if he couldn’t help himself.

“Oh no, Dad, you should listen to Sarah!” Jack beamed with pride, his hand resting at the centre of her back. “She’s the best lutist I’ve heard. Go on, let her play.”

Jonas handed over the lute, looking surprised to find himself doing so. Cassie had never heard him say no to Jack. Sarah-Ellen took a seat on a stump as her fingers teased and tested the strings, slowly running through a scale, feeling the weight of the notes. Her song was gentle, with slow intricacies, like a pattern woven in lace. The strings of the lute whispered words on a tinkling breath of music that wrapped and coiled itself around a heartbeat. It danced with the fire in a flickering rhythm that bought a tear to the eye and a smile to the soul. As the final chords of Sarah-Ellen’s song died away, they left behind a thoughtful silence.

“Sarah-Ellen.” Amelia’s voice was stern.

The young woman looked up, and it seemed as if her eyes glowed silver for a moment. In a blink, the strange effect was gone, nothing more than a trick of the firelight.

Father Coat opened his eyes, blinking as if waking from a pleasant dream. “That was beautiful.”

Sarah-Ellen beamed at the priest, studiously ignoring her mother as she handed the lute back. “It is nothing—if it weren’t for you, Father, I wouldn’t be able to play a note. It was a delight to repay the kindness of your lessons with a song.”

Jonas nudged Willem in the ribs. “You certainly play better than your father! I think a few of the village children started crying when you were on stage.”

Willem brushed the comment aside with a tight grin. “Just the one.” His temper was wearing thin; Cassie could see it in his eyes.

“Willem’s talents lie elsewhere.” Father Coat thoughtfully examined his lute, testing the strings. “If I remember correctly, he was a brilliant archer.”

“Not as good as our Cassie.” Willem’s face lit with a proud smile. “She could hit a moving target at a hundred yards.”

Warmth filled Cassie’s chest as she sat straighter on her stump.

“Surely the girl’s not as good as you were? No offence to you Cassie.” Mildred looked back from where her sons were trying to draw the old horse’s attention. “I remember the year you started coming to town. The shot you won the spring fete with, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

In his paddock, Albert turned his flank to the younger Smith brothers with a dismissive raspberry. 

Jonas’ frown touched the corner of his eyes. “A fluke.” 

The word whispered of suspicion. It sounded more like cheat. 

“A fluke, you say?” Cassie’s father leaned forward, a hard expression in his eyes. “What fluke was it that my arrow hit the target and yours did not?”

The spring air became colder, and the fire’s warmth could no longer abate its chill. Beneath all the pleasantries and laughter, there was a yearning for violence, an old sleeping anger that now stirred. Jonas had always been the favourite son of Riverfowl. He had been the first to bully and sneer at the poor boy who lived on the edge of the Wilds, and if ever Willem had ventured too close, he had been ready with a fist to drive him back to the forest. It was where they said he belonged, amongst the beasts and monsters.

“An unfortunate happenstance, that you know all too well—you would not have beat me in a fair contest.” The smith’s brows drew together. “Had that bird not grabbed my arrow from the air, I would have won.”

Sometimes it paid to be a friend of The Wilds.

“It was all such a long time ago.” Mildred smoothed her hands over her skirts, placing a tentative hand on her husband’s shoulder as the muscles in his thick neck strained. “Let us not show our age by dwelling on things that happened before Jack was even born. Let’s celebrate this for the joyous occasion it is.”

“I quite agree—how about I play the Miller’s Song?” Father Coat left no time for a reply, his fingers striking a fast pace as the men relaxed, drawn out of a feud as old as Riverfowl before the sparks could turn to real flames. 

The festivities continued from there unmarred, with music, dancing, and more food than anyone could eat. With cider and mirth, the families celebrated the love of the couple that brought them together. Once seconds and thirds were had, and laughter had lulled, the women began to clear the feast. The kitchen was warm from the hearth, and Cassie was happy to escape the chill evening air. Mildred squeezed Cassie’s shoulders in a half embrace as Sarah-Ellen laughed at a joke her future mother-in-law told her. 

“Cassie, go and grab the rest of the plates, would you?” Amelia’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Honestly Mildred, however, do you get away with saying such things?”

“It’s the darndest thing, all I need to do is open my mouth and say them.” Mildred threw her hands in the air as she turned back towards the dishes in the basin. “If I don’t let them out somewhere I think they might fill up my throat and suffocate me.”

Cassie slipped out of the kitchen, returning to the brisk air as she headed for the bright light of the lonely fire. The task her mother had given her should have been simple, but the men were more than a few ciders down and had much to say.

“Would you take the horse back with you to the forge tonight?” Willem nodded to the paddock. “He needs re-shoeing.”

Jonas waved the statement away. “Of course.” 

For the peace of their families and the sake of their children, they had learnt to let the past lie.

Cassie held out a hand. “Can I take your plate, Jonas?” 

“What lovely daughters you have, Willem!” Jonas’ eyes were bright and cheerful, warm with the glow of firelight and cider. “So polite!”

“Cassie is a brilliant young woman, yes.” Willem winked at her, and Cassie straightened her shoulders, tilting her chin up.

“You’ll make someone a lovely wife, soon!” Jonas said as he handed her his plate. 

Despite the warmth of the fire, Cassie’s cheeks felt cold. She wanted to be sick. “You think so, sir?”

“Why of course, you’re a delightful creature. I’m sure the boys in the village will be lining up for you in no time!” 

Cassie smiled thinly as she placed his plate upon the pile of dirty crockery. Turning to Thom, she held out a hand, hoping he would just hand his plate over. The youth grimaced, his expression matched her own disgust.

“When will you start thinking about getting her married off?” Jonas said, turning to Willem. 

Willem’s eyes widened in surprise at the words, as if the question of who his younger daughter might marry had never occurred to him.

Daniel clapped his hands together, almost letting his plate fall off his lap. “I want to marry Piggy!” 

Cassie winced as Thom’s face split into a wide, malicious grin. Benny handed her his little brother’s plate, and she took it without dropping her enemies’ gaze. 

“At least someone wants to marry you, Piggy.” Thom watched her expression closely as he reached out a careless hand to ruffle Daniel’s hair. “Poor thing must be overtired.”

Cassie took a deep breath as the blood rushed to her cheeks, and her vision blurred. She couldn’t tell if she was angry or embarrassed. She didn’t want to marry anyone, but the idea that Thom found her so abhorrent felt like sharp claws scratching inside her chest. If only she could break a plate over his head.

“Thom, don’t talk to her that way!” Jack knocked his brother on the shoulder. 

Thom dropped his plate, and it hit the ground with a wet thump. Jack bent down to grab it, handing it to her. 

“Don’t bother Jack!” Cassie spun around, desperate to get back to the kitchen and away from the sound of Thom’s mocking laughter. 

She tried not to hear him teaching Daniel to make a sound like a pig. “..and push your nose back with your thumb..” 

Daniel’s laughter followed her retreat, accompanied by a chorus of oinks. Cassie straightened her shoulders and raised her chin, refusing to let the corners of her mouth quiver.

“Thom, stop it!” Jack said angrily.

Rounding the corner, Cassie headed into the kitchen and away from the boys. She hated Jack for trying to help her—it would only make it worse. Next time she went to the village, Thom and his friends would greet her with a chorus of oinks, she just knew it. She placed the soiled dishes in the kitchen basin, wiping a hot tear from the corner of her eye with a clean patch of her apron. She hated that she had to clean up after people who mocked her. She hated the boys for their cruelty, hated Thom for his mockery, Benny for his stupidity, and Jonas for his belittling. 

But she hated Jack most of all. She hated him for proposing to Sarah-Ellen, for ruining their happy life, for taking all the dreams that she and her sister had shared and replacing them with his awful brothers. 

The silence in the empty kitchen was deafening as she tried to convince herself that she was angry, but a cruel feeling of shame brought bile to her throat. She shook her head to clear the grating memories. Thom could oink at her all he wanted; she didn’t care what he thought, not anymore. Maybe she had once, back when she had counted him as her friend. When his jokes had made her laugh, not cry. Before he had turned so cruel.

The sound of laughter drifted down the narrow staircase, a welcome distraction. Cassie climbed the creaking wooden steps, passing a collection of small vases filled with wildflowers that were fixed to the wall. Crocuses still fresh with the scent of spring tickled her nose as she inhaled. The door to her parent’s bedroom was ajar and a slither of light spilt into the hallway. Cassie entered to see her mother and Mildred sitting on the bed, looking to the side. She followed their gaze, finding Sarah-Ellen. 

Her sister was a sight to behold. A silken dress fell from her shoulders to the floor. It followed every curve of her body and was ringed with bands of lace as delicate as a spider’s web. On the back, a line of tiny white buttons ran from her shoulders to the base of her spine. As Sarah-Ellen spun, the dress shimmered, the white silk turning golden in the candlelight as the swish of her skirts rustled in a breeze of joy.  

“Cassie.” Amelia beckoned for her to join them on the bed. “Your sister is just trying on her wedding dress.”

“It’s beautiful,” Cassie said.

Her mother put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her in for a hug as Sarah-Ellen beamed, staring at herself in the old spotted mirror.

“It truly is,” Mildred said. “What princeling did you flee to end up with a wedding dress like that?”

“Oh shush!” Amelia laughed. “It was my mother’s dress!” She squeezed Cassie. “It’s the dress I wore when I married your father.”

Tonight her mother smelled of cut herbs, sage, and sweet rosemary, the familiar scent of home.

“Are you sure it looks all right?” Sarah-Ellen lifted her skirts, turning to look at herself from every angle the old spotted mirror could show her.

Amelia let go of Cassie and rose to her feet, approaching her fretting daughter and taking her by the arms to stop her twisting and fidgeting. “It is a beautiful dress and you wear it well—but it is your joy that makes you radiant.” 

Sarah-Ellen’s face broke into a true smile, and they embraced. Cassie swallowed her woes. This moment was far too important to Sarah-Ellen to ruin with tales of the insignificant cruelty of little boys. 

“But it suits me…” Sarah-Ellen’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Right?” She turned to Cassie, looking for the approval that only a sister could give.

“You look beautiful, Sarah-Ellen.” Cassie’s throat felt tight as a different kind of tears prickled at the corners of her eyes.

Later that night, when the Smiths had left and Cassie’s eyelids were heavy, she wound a thick blanket tightly around her and listened to the even sound of her sister’s breathing. Sarah-Ellen had fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, but Cassie was awake still. Her lidded eyes watched moonlight drift across the ceiling. Downstairs, her parents and Father Coat were talking. Late though it was, the occasional song from the lute would drift up to her, accompanied by whispers of heartfelt laughter. 

It was the kind of night when Cassie fell asleep before she realised she was falling. The last thought in her head was of little consequence, yet vast importance. For there could be no fleeting moment more perfect than all the world’s joys drifting upstairs on the strings of a lute and the shimmer of a white dress in a young woman’s eye.