Soulstar

by C. L. Polk

  We hardly spoke for the whole trip, and I was fighting the urge to fidget by the time we climbed out of the sleigh. The horses trotted away, leaving us to stare at the green-and-white-painted house fronted by a porch with its furniture packed up for the winter.

  “This is the home of Clan Thorpe,” I said. “The door never locks and you are always welcome.”

  Zelind watched the front windows filling with curious faces.

  “How many people live here?” Jean-Marie asked.

  “Permanently? About sixty.” I led the way up the walk and looked back to see if Jean-Marie followed.

  She stood on the sidewalk, her arms hugged around her middle.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Jean-Marie stared up at the house. She had to be freezing, even with two more sweaters on. “What if they don’t like me?”

  “They’re your family,” I said. “You’re bound to squabble with one or two. Tell one of the elders if it gets out of hand. Tell me, if you don’t think you should bother the elders.”

  She didn’t look satisfied by this comment, but she joined us on the porch.

  The door burst open, wafting out the scent of roasted goose. Amos bounced up and down, grinning like he’d light the stars on fire.

  “You brought witches home!” He let go of the doorknob, and a pack of children tumbled out of the chilly front parlor to stare.

  “That’s our clan pattern,” Halima said, pointing at Zelind.

  “It is,” Zelind replied. “Your aunt Robin made it for me a long time ago.”

  “Second cousin.” She tilted her head and gazed at Zelind skeptically. “But it’s our clan pattern,” she persisted.

  “Well,” Zelind said, smiling, “there’s a reason for that. But we can’t tell until everyone is in the second parlor to hear it.”

  Halima’s eyes lit up and she herded everyone out of the way, shouting at them to move.

  Jean-Marie watched it all with big eyes, staring at the wide central hallway and the clutter of shoes, jackets, skis, and mittens, past it to the front staircase that led to the bedrooms and suites that slept everyone in the clan. She backed up until she stood flush with the front door.

  “Is meeting everyone at once too much?”

  She looked at me with panic widening her eyes. “What if they don’t like me?”

  “Then we’ll figure out something else,” I said. “We’ll go up and find you a room, Jean-Marie. Then we’ll come down for supper.”

  I only got as far as the first stair before Aunt Bernice’s voice rang out.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Jean-Marie spun around, gasping for breath. Zelind flinched. I turned to face our questioner. “Jean-Marie needs a room.”

  “Time for that later. Come here. Now.” Aunt Bernice beckoned us inside. We stopped just inside the door, and I gave the elders a shallow bow.

  “This is Zelind. Some of you know kher,” I said, and before anyone could ask, I pushed Jean-Marie forward. “And this is Jean-Marie Thorpe, daughter of Ophrah Thorpe, who was named by her mother—”

  “Mahalia,” Aunt Glory said. “You’re the spit of her, girl. I thought I was seeing a ghost, you look so much like her.”

  Jean-Marie patted her hair. She dug one slippered toe into the parlor rug, and her voice came out like she was a long way off. “I never knew her,” she said. “I’m sorry. Zelind told me khe knew who I was related to, but I don’t—I’m sorry.”

  “You’re a Thorpe. You are Mahalia’s granddaughter. Come and meet your family.” Aunt Glory took her feet off the small tufted stool and gestured for her to sit.

  “Don’t distract us, Glory,” Bernice said. “Did you know about this foolishness twenty years ago?”

  I stepped back. “How did you—”

  “Did you think you could just announce to half of Riverside that you got married—married!—and someone wouldn’t run straight to our doorstep to ask if it was true?”

  I licked my lips. “Carlotta Brown?”

  “She was the one who got here first,” Aunt Glory said.

  Zelind and I exchanged a glance. I hadn’t thought—I never thought, when it came to Zelind. I never took the time to reason it out. I just went ahead and—

  “Married? What in the world were you thinking? That the Bays would just give over?”

  “Plainly we were wrong, Aunt Bern,” Zelind said. “But I don’t take it back. I won’t.”

  “Who married you?”

  “Captain Errol Brown of the Sandpiper.”

  “A ferryman?” Aunt Bern exclaimed.

  “A ship’s captain is a captain no matter the vessel,” I said. “Did you think anyone else would dare?”

  “What’s done is done,” Hiram said. “Tell me you would have objected.”

  “That’s not the point,” Bernice snipped. “The point is that if we had known, we could have supported them.”

  “We were going to tell you,” I said. “We were going to tell you the next morning.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  The lump rose in my throat so quickly it hurt.

  “Because Zelind was gone by then,” Aunt Glory said.

  “I walked into an ambush,” Zelind said. “They were waiting right outside Bayview. They took me that very night.”

  One of the older children looked on in horror.

  “Examiners, lurking in front of the Bays’? They were looking for you,” Eldest said. “And your family didn’t buy your way out?”

  “Is that possible?” Zelind asked.

  Uncle Hiram nodded, his bald head shining like he polished it. “They did it for Charles William, oh, thirty-five years ago. He walked right out of that jail and got on a ship and his feet never touched land again, but they bribed his way out.”

  Zelind’s deep brown complexion went gray.

  “They didn’t buy my freedom,” Zelind said. “They didn’t even try.”

  “Maybe they did,” Aunt Glory said. “Maybe it wasn’t possible.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Zelind said. “I was inside the sentry points. They arrested me in front of that clan house. Someone in that family allowed them to come through. Someone in that family wanted me gone. I am not a Bay. They are not my clan.”

  “You didn’t ask your elders permission for the marriage,” Eldest said. “And if you left for home after the rite, then you didn’t get the chance to seal your marriage. It’s not complete.”

  No. They could forbid it. They could apply for an annulment, and—

  Zelind swallowed and nodded. “That is true. But I spent every minute inside that asylum a Thorpe. I have come home to my clan and my wife. Do you deny it?”

  The eldest Thorpes exchanged glances. Bernice set her jaw. Glory gave her a withering look. “Now you know why Robin never brought home a sweetheart.”

  Bernice sniffed. “I thought the doctor was a fine-looking man—”

  “You’re not so sharp if you didn’t see how he stammered the first few times he met Handsome Michael,” Uncle Hiram cackled. “Give over, Bern. They kept faith with each other for twenty years.”

  “Twenty years together is different from twenty years apart,” Bernice objected. “They were married to ideas. Now they’re flesh and blood together, and—you grew differently. Both of you did.”

  “Bernice, can’t you see the beauty of it? The romance?” Hiram asked.

  “Of course I do,” Bernice said. “That’s the problem. It’s romantic. It’s not practical. They don’t have what they had when they defied everyone and married. They—”

  I wasn’t listening to another second of this.

  “Aunt Bernice,” I said, and unclenched my fists. I smiled. “I thank you for your caution. But if you forbid the welcome of my spouse to the clan, we will find our own roof.”

  “Now see what you’ve done, Bernie,” Glory grumbled. “This is what looking for rain in a clear blue sky will get you. Can’t you be happy? Zelind has returned to us!”

>   “I don’t forbid it. Zelind Thorpe is welcome here. I’m just pointing out—”

  “You’re just poking holes,” Hiram grumbled. “Zelind Thorpe is welcome here.”

  “Zelind Thorpe is welcome here,” Aunt Glory said, beaming bright enough to light the room. “Rosabelle.”

  Rosie stood up. She crossed the room, her first child bundled in her arms. Rosie had barely been old enough to walk the last time Zelind was in this house. She put the sleeping, serene Zola in kher arms. Zelind handled the baby like khe did it all the time, swaying as khe gazed down at the youngest infant in the clan house.

  “You are now this child’s clan-parent,” Hiram said. “You are charged with her protection. You are to teach her, guide her, be her confessor. She will be a sister to your own children, when they come.”

  That was just part of the charge, but it slid between my ribs.

  Zelind nodded. “I will. This child has the strength of my arm and all the wisdom I bear. I promise. What’s her name?”

  Hiram answered. “She is Zola.”

  Zelind smiled at the baby. “Ahoy, Zola.”

  Aunt Bernice nodded. “Welcome to Clan Thorpe, Zelind. This day was long in coming.”

  Zelind lifted kher tear-streaked face to smile at the Thorpes gathered around the newest of the clan.

  Hiram levered himself out of his chair, took up his cane, and made a slow plod to the door. “What are you waiting for? Come to the kitchen. We need to feast.”

  * * *

  The children raced to line up and be chosen to sit at the big table. A line of Thorpes covered the table with dishes that had been baked in the enormous ovens or simmered over the gas burners in the kitchens. Cousins exclaimed over the new arrivals, and Cousin Delia laid her hand on Zelind’s shoulder when she saw kher.

  “Here you are at last,” she said. “I see you’ve been charmed by my grandbaby.”

  “I’m completely under her spell.” Zelind twisted around to smile at Delia, who had a tear in her eye.

  “There’s another one coming,” Delia said in a conspiratorial tone. “Lorne’s wife is expecting for Summerstide. Can’t keep a bite of food down before noon, poor thing, and after that she eats everything in sight.”

  “Congratulations,” Zelind said. “I look forward to meeting the new little one.”

  “Robin,” my cousin Jedrus said, sounding a bit irritated. “Will you please pass the salt?”

  I used it as an excuse to look away.

  The children shouted and poked at each other at a low table of their own. I passed dishes to the right, holding them for Zelind, so khe could serve kherself one-handed. Khe passed the dish to Delia in time to catch the next plate and dish out some duck breast.

  Baby Zola watched every move Zelind made. Zelind talked nonsense at her the way one does to babies and smiled at me as I passed kher a dish of pan gravy.

  “You’re supposed to put food on your plate,” Jedrus said. “Do I have to dish you up while you moon over your spouse?”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “I’m not really hungry.”

  “You should have something anyway.”

  “I couldn’t eat if I wanted to,” I said, and passed a bowl of blackberry sauce to Zelind.

  Zelind didn’t take kher eyes off Zola for the entire meal, eating one-handed. Khe laughed when Cousin Delia took a knife and cut kher meat into bites. I chewed bread spread with sweet butter and set the crust down when my throat spasmed in protest.

  “What is wrong with you?” Jedrus asked. “You have to eat more than that.”

  I stood up. Jedrus huffed and offered kher shoulder for support as I climbed over the bench. “I’m going to get started on tidying.”

  I left the dining hall to a chorus of questions.

  Fifty-nine people make a lot of dirty dishes, and with no aether, we couldn’t just load the washing machines. I turned on the water, and steam billowed up around my face. I added vinegar to the bubbles carrying the lemon-fresh trademark scent of Mrs. Sparkle’s Squeaky Soap.

  No children. I scrubbed pots. Soft steam from the water dampened my face. No grandchildren. I concentrated on the texture of the pot smoothing out under the efforts of my scrubbing off the burnt bits, handling the pot with careful fingertips when I dunked it in the scalding water and dropped it on the rack. I tested the pot soaking in the soap, putting some muscle behind the scrubbing steel.

  It hadn’t bothered me. I would never let it. But all those years were gone. Gone—

  “Robin.”

  “What?”

  I kept scrubbing, even though khe came closer. Zelind didn’t have Zola any more. Khe stood five feet off. “Everyone is worried about you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Because after a long day of hard work, you always eat half a slice of bread and volunteer to do the dishes.” Zelind leaned on the pantry door. “You hate dishes.”

  “Everyone hates dishes.”

  “Just tell me what’s wrong,” Zelind said. “Or I’ll have to guess.”

  “Everything’s fine.” I slid pots into the sink, plunging my hands into the too-hot water. “And your supper’s getting cold.”

  “I ate it.”

  “Already?”

  “I learned to eat fast.” Zelind picked up an oiled linen towel and wiped the first iron pot to come out of the wash. “These still go under the stove?”

  “Yes. The catch sticks.”

  “Is the toolbox still where it was?”

  “Yes.”

  Zelind took the green wooden box down and had the drawer catch dismantled in a trice. Khe could rebuild a simple thing like a spring catch without even thinking. Khe had built the wireless that still sat in the second parlor when we were still in school at the academy. Khe put the device back together, and the pot drawer worked like new.

  “I’m not going to badger you,” khe said, standing up and shoving the pot drawer closed with kher toes. “We’ll just wash dishes.”

  “All right.”

  I scrubbed four more pots. Zelind strolled across the kitchen to put them where they belonged. We worked in quiet, the same way we had when Zelind first came to Clan Thorpe for dinner and we volunteered to get an early start on the dishes, and therefore a chance to be alone. I scrubbed down a roasting pan, bathed it in clear rinsewater, and Zelind tugged it free of my grasp with kher power. The pot floated across the air to kher hands.

  I used to be used to that. I went back to washing the dish in front of me.

  Zelind cleared kher throat. “It was Zola.”

  I nearly dropped the roasting rack into the water. “What?”

  “You were thinking our grandchild should have been at that table,” Zelind replied.

  Zelind had once had a knack for seeing into me, seeing the thoughts that hurt to voice—the selfish, angry, unfair things that I felt ashamed for feeling. But khe never made me feel like I should be ashamed. Zelind accepted my petty feelings, holding them gently. Today, though, I couldn’t feel anything but hurt.

  “We should have had the chance to discuss our child’s future with their would-be spouse.”

  “We should have.” I wrapped the dishcloth around a kitchen knife and carefully cleaned the edge. “We should have had our own babies. We should have a line of descent—”

  “There’s still time.”

  I shook my head and rubbed at the twinge of pain in my chest. “Women my age rarely get pregnant.”

  “But—”

  “Because when they do, they risk their lives and their baby’s lives. High blood pressure. Early delivery. Complications in pregnancy. It’s too late.”

  “Then we’ll have Zola,” Zelind said. “And little Unknown, when Lorne’s nameless wife finally has her child.”

  As I scrubbed cooking tongs, something awful lurked in the back of my thoughts. “Zelind. Did you—are you a parent already?”

  Zelind shook kher head. “They only bred the channelers. They’d never want my child. I was too dangerous.”


  “It’s so atrocious. Solace hold them all.” I pulled water-wrinkled hands out of the sink and let the water drain. “Did they get Jean-Marie?”

  A shadow passed over Zelind’s face. “It’s still too early to know.”

  I dug my teeth into my lip. “Blast them. She’s a baby. Fifteen?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Still. She shouldn’t have gone through that.”

  “She shouldn’t. And she won’t. She’s safe now. You made her safe.”

  “I just brought her home where she belonged.”

  “Yes,” Zelind said. “You did.”

  Zelind gazed at me, and it was like all the times I would notice, and when I noticed, I would say—

  “What?”

  And Zelind would say—

  “I’m just—”

  The door from the dining room swung open, and Jedrus led the way with a stack of dirty plates.

  “You’re excused,” khe said, “since you made a head start already. There’s enough left over for sandwiches at midnight. Go.”

  * * *

  Zelind had spent many an evening perched on the roof of the clan house, but khe had never climbed the wide walnut stairs that led from the clan house’s public floor to the private rooms above. We moved quietly, as if someone was going to catch and scold us.

  Zelind stayed behind me, past the second floor that kept families grouped together, to the third floor, where my rooms were tucked into a corner at the back of the clan house.

  “This is it.” I moved all the way into the room and opened the curtains, catching what little light was left.

  My view gazed out to the Ardelia Densmore Canal, now frozen, leveled, and scuffed by hundreds of ice skate blades. Three panes of glass separated the frigid outdoor air from my modest little sitting room, a chamber insulated by books climbing to the ceiling and an oval rug braided from torn-up bedding and outworn clothes.

  Zelind took a deep breath before crossing the room to sit in the rocking chair with the best light. Khe gripped the chair arms, looking all about the room.

  “You still have Saria’s adventure stories.”