Caudley & Higgs

Sarah Caudley: Goodwife Caudley is an average age, plump woman. Round and soft in every way. She has pink cheeks and sandy blond curls that are barely contained under her cap. Caudley is the mother of at least 6 or perhaps its 7 children. It's so hard to tell with them all running every direction and there always seems to be another. She's a soap maker by trade, running her own business while her absentee husband is away at sea. Caudley is generally a cheerful sort, though dangerous with a wooden spoon. Sarah Higgs: Goodwife Higgs is an overly tall, lanky woman of about average age. Everything about her is lean, long legs, long fingers, long nose. She resembles a horse at times and has the sharp laugh to go along with her looks. Higgs has flat dark brown hair kept too short for a woman really. She runs the dye works in Lascars Bay, which explains her strangely colored hands. She has never married, has no children and shows little desire to do either. Higgs has a sharp, cynical wit and enjoys seeing the irony in life.

“Common en.” Sara Caudley called cheerfully. She didn’t turn from the pot she stirred on the stone hearth. She knew exactly who it was blocking the morning light through her window. Same time every day, it never failed. “Mornin’ Goodie Caudley.” “Morn’ Goodie Higgs. ‘Ow goes da dye pots taday?” An apple cheeked child darted near the cook space, too close actually. Caudley’s pudgy hands grabbed the loose knot at the back of the child’s dress. He landed with a thump back at a safe distance. “Stay out da way Jonas boy!” she reprimanded as the boy scrambled off. “Fair, fair. My en-dentured girl run off agen.” Sara Higgs made herself at home in the small room, as she did every morning. Tattered basket and straw hat were set down on the central table, the knot on the scarf at her neck loosened. Clay pitcher of small beer was tipped into the waiting clay mugs. Higgs sipped the drink slowly; today she was in no rush. “Thray time this munth eh.” Caudley frowned. The expression made her round cheeks puff out like two pink pillows. The still steaming wooden spoon in her hand waved about as she spoke. “Yup.” “If ye’d ‘ad wun o yer own dis wonna be a problem. Much as dey like, kids kent get way frum der mudder.” The skinny girl, who until then had been quietly knitting in the corner, gave a little laugh at her mothers comment. Caudley raised a sparse brow at the child, “Ow, git on. Brin’ dat brudder o yers ‘is supper!” Wooden spoon waved at the child until she scattered out of the house and down the hillsides dirt path. Higgs laughed at her friends antics, her sharp cackle matching her horse like grin. There was never a dull moment at Caudley’s house. They were an unlikely pair, Caudley and Higgs, as opposite as two women of their age could be and yet the closest of friends. “I keep telling ye. Gev me one o yers. Honour, o even Martha mehbe.” Higgs countered as she always did when Caudley suggested she marry or have her own family. The truth was, Higgs’ liked her feme sole status too much. The thought of giving up her freedom for a couple of kids and a man, just didn’t interest her. “Bah! All ways wan da good uns ye do Goodie Higgs. Why not Patience eh. Shay’s not dat bad. Eh, Eh!” The mother called as three barefooted children raced through the room on each other’s heels “Tek it ow-side ye lot! N don go gettin en Goodman Cranston’s garten agen neither!” “I best be goin too. Kent leave da pots fer too long ye know.” Higgs gathered her things again before wishing her friend good day. “Till ta-morrow den” Caudley knew the answer, of course. There hadn’t been a morning in their decade long friendship that Higgs hadn’t stopped by for a chat. She’d even come by the day a few years back when it had been so cold frost covered the side of the hill. “Yup.” Higgs called out of habit as the heavy door shut behind her.