Starcounter

Eiluned lay sprawled on the grass, her strawberry blonde hair making a wreath around her freckle-sprinkled face and golden eyes. She looked at the clear night sky and the stars above her. She knew that any night could be her last. War raged, hitting and slaying any person or thing in its way. Her father had left Ireland to go fight for the USA. By now, all of Asia was in ruins; Canada and America battled Europe, Africa, and most of South America. Eiluned’s father died because of a nuclear bomb in Brazil, where he had been deployed. Eiluned and her mother had been left with the family bakery and the depression of the father’s passing. She tucked her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around herself. She wept. She wept, and her face was tearstained once again. She splayed her arms and legs out on the soft grass, letting the soil know her pain. She cried until she had no tears left then fell asleep in the field. She could no longer fight her exhaustion. 

Eiluned awoke to the sun gently touching her eyelids, its warm fingers begging her tired limbs to move, to work. Her mother called her and they walked to the bakery, though they wept as they did so. They baked, though it pained them without the father. Many days went by as that one.

One day was different. The sun shined through the window despite the misery of Eiluned’s world. She awoke reluctantly, for she was not aware of the temporary joy to come that day. She cried as she walked to the bakery, passersby not heeding her sorrow. She endlessly folded and kneaded dough and rolled cinnamon rolls. She fought back tears, putting her sorrows in her baking. The doorbell rang, and a boy walked in using a crutch, arm in a sling, nose clearly broken. To her, it was like a star on a cloudy night, a light in the darkness. 

Aneirin had been fighting the war for a year, but he was now exempt from duty due to his injuries. He walked over to her and she kissed him. They embraced, equally glad to see each other. He leaned on the counter with his good arm, his brown curls hanging just above his summer green eyes; she continued kneading with renewed vigour. They talked as only old friends and lost lovers could. She told him the most important of what had happened, and he hung on every word she said. 

Finally, he asked about her father. Tears glisted in her eyes and he understood, pushing her no further on the matter. He took his bread and cinnamon rolls and left, and the bakery closed shortly after. She collapsed on her bed, half even more upset about her father, half overjoyed by Aneirin’s arrival. He came later that night, and she told him everything. Her pain, her sorrow, her misery, her joy, her worries, her happiness. He listened. He listened intently, even sat on the bed next to her and comforted her. He wrapped his good arm around her shoulder and let her weep on his chest. She fell asleep in his embrace, and he laid her carefully on her bed and pulled the covers over her. What he had not told her was that he had to go back, he only had one day with her. The army had given him a day to say goodbye, to give his family some comfort and consolation.

She did not see him for many miserable years of war after that. Her mother died of an illness incurable by man and Eiluned inherited the bakery. She worked even though war still raged and still killed and destroyed all in its path. She worked even though she had no one to work for, even though sugar, flour, and milk got more expensive and business went slower by the day. She worked, never tiring; she worked ever growing older, even if she was not getting wiser. She worked for her father and her mother, though they were gone. She worked especially for Aneirin, though she had no tidings of his fortune. 

Just as she thought it would never get better and couldn’t get worse, she heard the bakery door’s bell ring. She looked up wearily and there, in front of her, was Anereirin and several other boy-men from his war regiment. He walked over to her and she embraced him, remembering the days so many years ago. He leaned against the counter, with both arms this time, asking for rolls and biscuits for “me hungry lads” and she baked many for them. She baked them with something she hardly remembered the sensation of: love. She had missed love more than anything. The regiment of Aneirin ate hungrily; the army had nothing more than hard bread, cured, flavorless meats, and stews. She gave them glasses of apple cider and napkins folded in intricate patterns. She baked rolls, cinnamon and croissant, bread, anything she had the materials for, and poured them glass upon glass. These hearty Irish lads deserved it for what they had been through. She sat with them, dusting off her apron, and begged for war stories and old legends long forgotten by most. She laughed with them; she felt the pain of their losses. She told them tales her mother had spun herself when Eiluned was young. She sang songs for them, her melodic and beautiful voice carrying farther than just the bakery. She refilled their glasses and plates over and over until none could eat a morsel or drink a drop more. She loved them like the family she had lost. 

He picked her up and spun her around, they kissed, then they sat down again, telling any story they had not yet told. Though war raged around them, this bakery was a haven, a safe place, for any person with hurt or in need of help. They returned night after night. The bakery started doing more and better business and the expenses of flour, sugar, milk all became affordable, along with many pleasures that had not been affordable since the war started. Many of the regiment returned to families, wives, girlfriends, but always he came back. He came back because he cared about her and she needed him; he knew that. 

He followed her home one day, and out to the field where she always lay and looked at the stars, pondering life and death, love, anything. He followed her to her enchanted place; her soft grass and knowing soil. He proposed to her that day, and forever after they lay on the grassy hills of Ireland together, pondering many things and counting the stars.