Date  Spring: 1275

Location:  A Tavern on the Western edge of England’s border with the Debatable lands  

Stefan Alwin opened the front door to the Pig & Pipe. The only occupants of the large room were the worn, age-scarred, solid oak chairs and tables, each one made by his father’s hand And of course what Stefan called the bar. A single slab of curly maple polished to an unbelievable shine by years of wear and careful waxing with his mother’s special formula for cleaning wooden surfaces. But full as the room was, it felt oddly empty. Not a sound, not one person, not even the stray cat that had adopted the tavern as his home stirred the still and stuffy air. The alehouse had been closed for the entire month that his parents had taken to die of the plague brought to their village by a traveling tin-smith. Stefan had caught the disease as well, but for whatever reason, God had decided Stefan’s time to die had not arrived. 

This day, a week since their deaths, Stefan’s turn had come to bury his parents and comfort his younger brother. The village had lost more than half its population, and the graveyard had been a very busy place as one-by-one the survivors laid their family members in the ground then prayed and wept but received little solace. The local priest had been one of the first to succumb. An itinerant friar came by occasionally but none knew when he might arrive next. 

There’d been no one who knew the right words and gestures to shrive the dead and comfort the living. Soon that would be his job. A tavern keeper always bent a listening ear to his customers. Often, he need say nothing other than indicate his attention was focused on whomever was speaking with him. People who frequented the Pig and Pipe wanted empathy, and that took no words to convey. 

After the burial, Stefan insisted Jeremy visit a distant cousin in Carlisle. The lad needed a measure of joy and fun. That could not be found in their home village. 

“It’s not right to leave all the work of re-opening the Pig & Pipe to you, Stefan.” Jeremy had objected. 

“I need the time alone to grieve, brother, and the work will help me get through. Running the Pig & Pipe requires a lot of work. There will be labors aplenty to share when you return. As head of the family, I insist you go.” 

Jeremey had left a week ago. 

The first few days alone, Stefan had done naught but sit and stare. Today would be different. Today he would begin his life again and do what must be done. Jeremy would return soon, and all must be ready by then. Stefan planned a celebration to welcome his brother home and for re-opening the tavern. 

But that was next week. Today, Stefan hung his cap and coat on a peg near the door and made his way through the public room, into the kitchen, past the small bedchamber that once belonged to his parents and out the back door to the shed where tools, rags and other implements were kept. He found a bucket/pail, some scrub brushes, rags and a pair of heavy gloves. Then he scooped a portion of lye soap, from the tub where his mother kept it, placed the soap in the pail and headed back toward the building that he had called home for his entire twenty-three years. Just outside the kitchen he paused long enough to haul water from the well and add it to the soap in the pail. From there he continued on into his home and began the dreary task of cleaning or removing everything his parents had touched. Which meant pretty much everything. Those items too awkward to be cleaned were set in a pile just beyond the hedgerow that marked the border of the tavern yard. He would burn them later, after he’d washed down every surface. He would rest a little as he watched the fire. By the time all had become ash night would have fallen. 

After extinguishing the coals and burying them, Stefan returned to the tavern, Weary to the bone from labor, Stefan made his way to the small attic that had been his room since he’d been old enough to walk. His ocean of grief had shrunk enough for him to pause and look into the room his parents had shared. Tears threatened, but he held them back.  Someday, he might move into their old chamber, but not tonight. Tonight, he needed something familiar, something that confirmed life would continue even though two of the people he loved were gone. 

The only thing he owned was the attic chamber and two sets of clothing. One to wear while the other was washed. Stumbling into bed he corrected himself. For he was now the owner of the tavern. That realization broke the dam he’d been using to hold back the tears and do what was needed. With nothing to occupy his mind and hands, he wept shamelessly, crying out to an unjust god for solace and understanding. Why had two of the people he loved most in the world, people who loved him without condition, been taken from him. Eventually he cried himself to sleep, like the child he’d once been. In sleeping, he dreamt of his parents smiling down at him and laughing at some bit of silliness he’d done. They may be dead, but they would always love him. And that thought was with him when he woke the following morning.