Character Sketch

She shuffles along the slippery cobblestones, watching the raindrops ‘splat’ on the paving.  Her old brown cloak, littered with gaping holes, sags under the weight of the cumbersome, falling rain.  Her legs are tired, and she feels as if she hasn’t eaten for a week.  As a fearsome lightning bolt races through the sky, she wipes aside a stray strand of dark, soggy, wet hair out of her face.  Her thin hood is pulled up over her head and her face lurks in the haunting shadows of a European night.  The girl’s shabby leather shoes, many times patched, hardly protect her from the vicious wind and voracious rain.  Her eyes appear to be clouded and blank, and her face shows no apparent expression.  She stops to rest on a doorstep behind a large manor, but a heartless woman-the master of the home-beats at the child with a tattered broom, and the mysterious girl scampers away fearfully.  The nine church bells ring out the hour with their crisp, clean tone, cutting through the silence of the night.  The girl knows that she must find a safe warm place to spend the night-or face the city rats, who have been known to gnaw off fingers and toes in a disturbing manner.  She wraps her cloak around her more tightly, and begins to run.  A baker, about to pitch the day-old bread, stops her, and gives a generous amount of bread to the child.  She twists her face into a crooked half smile, thanks the man, and continues on her way, halting only when she discovers a safe place to rest.  Her only option is an abandoned house and barn, so she creeps inside.  The house is dark and foul-smelling, but the girl doesn’t care. She walks to the barn and discovers an old cow in need of milking.  The girl relieves the cow, gathering some of the hay to make her bed.  Once back inside the house, she settles down on her makeshift bed to her supper-milk and bread.  The milk settles warmly in her stomach, and she cannot resist falling asleep.

Rising early the next morning, she gathers her cloak and tramples out of the house.  The sun shines happily down on the child, and her down turned mouth almost changes direction.  Maybe today she would find her destination, the chapel, with its stone spires rising high into the sky.  Yes, maybe Alice Tuckfield will arrive at York today.