ELEVEN

 

Perhaps William had taken her luck with him. Or perhaps Veluwe was cursed. The salt waters which had left Veluwe untouched for so long were now claiming the land for her own. Four years of increasingly poor harvests, losing field after field to salt. There was not even enough fodder for the dairy cows. If Julia did not go out fishing every day, she might have no meat at all for her table.

She did not keep a fine table, not like her Father did, but even she had seen the stores in the cellar dwindle, never quite replaced by the next year's harvest.

Men who had worked the fields at Veluwe all their lives, like their fathers and grandfathers before them, melted away, likely to seek work with the Count of Gelderland, and Julia could not blame them. They had families to feed, and she had little to spare.

It wasn't until she headed to the orchard to oversee the apple harvest that she saw just how bad things had become. Instead of apples, the trees sported a coat of salt crystals, turning the leaves to brown parchment and the branches to sticks only suitable for kindling. She wanted to weep, for the fertile lands lost, but she knew her people looked to her, so instead she stood strong and ordered the dairy herd reduced to salt beef, for she could see no other way to survive the winter.

Today, standing atop the tower, she could see nothing but desolation. There was no sign of the rolling green fields her mother had loved. The only things rolling now were storm clouds, mirroring the waves below, as the first winter storm brought what could only be a new spate of flooding to her already ravaged lands.

A sob caught in Julia's throat. She had failed. Failed her people, failed her land, failed her mother. Now, her only hope was to head home to her father's house, and beg for his help to restore her mother's lands. For without a miracle, she was about to lose Veluwe to the sea.

She allowed herself time only to pack her things, before saddling Epona and heading back across the bridge.