Catherine, Called Birdy

by Karen Cushman

Why is a lady too gentle to climb a tree or throw stones into the river when it is lady’s work to pick maggots from the salt meat? Why must I learn to walk with a lady’s tiny steps one day and sweat over great steaming kettles of dung and nettle for remedies the next? Why must the lady of the manor do all the least lovable tasks?

My mother makes the best cider in Lincolnshire. She swears it is because she always includes a number of rotten apples in the mix. I was wondering if this could be true of people—if the world needs a few rotten people to make the sweetest mix. This would explain the problem of God allowing evil in the world.

Morwenna says that fairies have the faces of beloved dead and that some people who have seen fairies recognize their faces.

Now I know it is like happiness—it is there or it is not, you cannot hold it or keep it.

“It is said, A silent woman is always more admired than a noisy one.’

I know priests say lepers are paying for their great sins, but I know plenty of great sinners who still have their fingers and noses.

It is 1291.

She must not show anger, nor sulk, nor scold, nor overeat, nor overdrink, nor swear. God’s thumbs! I am going out to the barn to jump, fart, and pick my teeth!

I think sometimes that people are like onions. On the outside smooth and whole and simple but inside ring upon ring, complex and deep.