“Keturah ...,” he called after me.
“I have a plan,” I called back, “to win me Best Cook!”
Along the way, Gretta and Beatrice intercepted me. “Do you go to find John Temsland, Keturah?” Beatrice asked as they matched their strides to mine.
“First I must go to Lord Temsland’s kitchen,” I said.
“His kitchen?” Gretta exclaimed.
“But why are you going to the kitchen, Keturah?” Beatrice asked.
“To obtain a lemon.”
Both Beatrice and Gretta stopped. “A lemon?” they asked at the same time.
“A lemon,” I said, continuing briskly.” ‘Tis a fruit, dears. Grandfather spoke of it once, after he went to the king’s court with Lord Temsland.”
“A lemon!”
“They say it is as yellow as the sun,” I said.
“We know that,” Gretta said, “but...”
“And more sour than a crabapple.” My plan was becoming clearer to me as I spoke. “Yet with it I could make a dish that would cause Ben Marshall to forget all other dishes, a dish that would cause him to forget all other foods and all other women. It will make me the Best Cook of the fair, and he will ask me to marry him, and I will say yes.” I looked at my friends and smiled.” ‘Tis said the queen has lemon in her tea at Easter and Christmas. I am hoping Cook has one.”
“So your true love is—Ben Marshall?” Beatrice ventured.
“Yes,” I said, “or at least the charm gives me hope that it is so. I shall do all in my power to love him. With all my heart. Undyingly.”
“Then we shall come with you,” Gretta said.
Once at the manor kitchen, I knocked, and old Cook came to the door. “Who is it, then?” she asked, peering at me. She was so farsighted she could not tell a face. She could smell, though. “Must be the Reeve girl. Much gossip about you today. You still smell like the forest. And Beatrice and Gretta are never far behind. Thank heavens you’ve all come.”
“Cook, we cannot stay.”
“You must stay.” As she spoke she herded us into the kitchen. “I have the aches today, and it is today of all days the lord receives a messenger of the king. Dinner must be ready, and it must be fine.”
“But Cook,” I said, “I came only to fetch a lemon.”
Cook stopped. “A what?”
“A lemon, Cook, so that she can win Best Cook at the fair,” said Beatrice. “So that Ben Marshall will marry her, so that—” Gretta nudged Beatrice, and she fell silent.
Cook laughed. Her teeth were all brown but strong. “A lemon!” she said to me. “Is that all, child? Well, let me check the larders for a stray one. But they are very dear. If I give you a lemon, first you must cook. You and your friends.”
She dragged me along, grinning ferociously, as if she were twice my size and not half of it. “You will do pastries today. I know you can do pastries. And watch the pig, too.”
As Cook led me into the bowels of her kitchen, I thought that this was how Jonah must have felt in the belly of the great fish. It was dark and hot, and slimy with blood and guts and grease. Smoke and fire filled the room, and the smell of rot and garbage overcame the smell of roasting. Someone shouted and someone else moaned.
Cook set me to my task, and I worked pastry and turned the spit until my back was a rigid board of pain. In the flames of the fire I thought I saw Death’s fine face, and sometimes I thought I heard his laughter. Cook set tasks for Gretta and Beatrice as well. I told myself the pastry was not a bad price for a lemon, the prize that would foil Death’s plan.
After what seemed hours, I grabbed Cook as she scuttled by me. “Cook, surely by now I have earned my lemon,” I said.
“No, not yet,” she said. “Keep going.”
“How do I know you even have a lemon?” I asked, knowing she was a sly old thing.
“Oh, I do, I do.”
“Let’s see it, then,” I said.
“Oh, I don’t show my precious lemons to just any village girl,” she said.
So I made pies until I had repented of every sin I had ever committed, including coming for a lemon before I had asked John to do something to stay the plague. I confessed every sin out loud to the roasting pig. Whenever the pastor spoke of death, in the same breath he spoke of hell and fire. If death was anything like Lord Temsland’s kitchen, I had no desire to go there. I wondered if Lord Death ruled the good or the bad, and while I could remember no evil in the darkness of his eyes, I could tell they had seen much suffering. But then, it mattered not whether he was lord of the happy dead or the sad; I wanted no part of either.
At last Cook came and declared the pastries fine and the pig perfectly done, and I collapsed onto a stool.
“Now gravy,” she said, putting a buttery finger under my chin.
“No,” I said resolutely. “I know nothing about gravy.”
“Can you not cook, then?” she asked. “Shall I tell this to Ben Marshall?”
“Please, no! I can do pies. Meat pies and fruit pies. Pies. Only pies, but I am better at pies than Padmoh.”
She studied me, realizing perhaps that she had met a soul as stubborn as her own. “Come,” she said. “With the face of an angel you will serve, then. You can walk and carry a tray, can you not?”
I stood. “Yes. But before I take another step, I shall have my lemon.”
“Nay, but only serve, lass, and I shall find you my greenest lemon.”
“Green! But lemons are yellow.”
“That is what I meant—yellow.”
“You don’t have one!” I exclaimed. I grabbed her by the nose. “Confess, old brown tooth, you don’t have any lemons.”
“No, I don’t, foolish girl,” she said, smacking my hand. “There is not a one to be had in these parts, though I’ve heard one can be bought for its weight in gold in the Great Market. But if you love Lord Temsland and do not wish to disgrace him before the king’s messenger, then you shall serve!”
“Then I will ask the lord myself for a lemon,” I said stubbornly to Cook.
“Ask,” she said cheerfully. “And while you are at it, ask for half his holdings, an equally small thing.”
Gretta, Beatrice, and I were given heavy trays of trenchers to carry into the great hall. We were mournful at first, but when we saw the crowd, and saw that we would have a server’s close view of the messenger, Duke Morland, our hearts were cheered. The duke was dressed in turquoise silk, a man very different from Lord Temsland, who dressed in woolens and furs and had little time for much else but the hunt. Beatrice blushed when she served the messenger, and whispered to me that he smelled like a begonia.
The duke surveyed the feast before him, then smiled as one would who was served mudcakes by a little child. He concentrated on his food, chewing thoroughly, as if the meat were tough. Young John Temsland picked at his meat and ate nothing. Lady Temsland, too, ate lightly. Only Lord Temsland seemed to enjoy his food, licking his fingers and sopping up the sauce with Cook’s good bread, as if he were alone in the room, relaxed and unconcerned.
Lady Temsland and the duke exchanged pleasantries. As I served, I tried to attend more to the needs of John. I had not forgotten my gratitude that he had found me at the wood’s edge and carried me home, nor that he had promised me an interview.
“Keturah,” he said, smiling, when he saw that it was I who served him at table. “Are you well?”
“Well enough, sir,” I said, and returned his smile.
The messenger noted John’s kind words to me, a peasant, and frowned in obvious disapproval. John flushed at this and then said, with seeming care that Duke Morland hear him, “You are far too lovely to serve, Keturah Reeve, and too recently recovered from your adventure. Please, take off your apron and sit at table with us.”
“Oh no, sir, I...”
“It is my express desire,” he said, and I knew by his tone that I would anger him if I did not obey.
Numbly, I sat down at the table, but I did not remove my apron with it
s precious charm. Many villagers had gathered in the corners and shadows of the common room to see a messenger of the king. I could feel their eyes full upon me now, though I stared at the table and would not look up. Of all the eyes, it was those of the messenger’s, full of disdain, that I felt most.
Lord Temsland also seemed somewhat surprised, but he said nothing. The gracious Lady Temsland behaved as if everything was as it should be.
Gretta served me once, saying “Ma’am” with a little smile.
I stole glances at John. He had always been mischievous, but brave of heart. Though he was bucked off several times as a lad, he’d never learned to fear a horse and had become a masterful rider. Once he’d climbed a great tree and couldn’t get down. He had to be rescued by Cass
Porter, and his father made him chop Cass’s wood for a month as punishment. John had done it in good humor, and had even chopped the wood another fortnight—as his own apology, he had said.
I confess that I ate little, instead holding the eye while I looked at the men in the crowd. Soon, though, I could not bear its quivering, and I took my hand away.
It was not until the pastries were all passed that Duke Morland stated the king’s business.
“The fame of your land reaches the king,” the man said in a voice loud enough to be heard throughout the hall.
The room fell silent. Tide-by-Rood, famous?
“I am honored, sir,” Lord Temsland answered in his deep, gruff voice. John, his mouth half-full of food, glanced uncomfortably at his mother.
The duke dabbed at his mouth, laid his napkin down primly, and leaned toward Lord Temsland. His voice was haughty. “The king has heard of the, ahem, great things you have supposedly done with this corner of the kingdom which he so generously gave you. He has heard”—here the messenger cast a dubious eye around the room—”that you have the best corner of all.”
Lord Temsland smiled broadly, stretched back in his chair, and put his arm on the back of his son’s chair. “Indeed I do,” he said. “The king was generous. There is no hunting anywhere as fine as in my forest lands.”
Everyone in the village knew how Lord Temsland had come to be lord of these lands. Many years before, the king had invited him to a hunt in the royal woodlands. The king did well that day, felling a six-point buck. All praised him until Lord Temsland, returning last, was discovered to have landed an even bigger buck. Soon thereafter some lords who were jealous of Lord Temsland used the moment of the king’s displeasure to persuade him that Lord Temsland should be humbled. His great lands near the court were taken away, and he was given a tiny manor in the southwest corner of the kingdom with only two villages, Tide-by-Rood and Marshall. “I have thought that with a good lord to oversee these lands, much could be done with them,” the king told him. “But at least it is rich in forest lands and teeming with game. With your hunting abilities, you’ll surely be happy there.”
Indeed, once he got over his resentment at being virtually banished from the court and from titled society, Lord Temsland was happy enough here, and his wife and son loved their lands and people. But it was well known that Lord Temsland was the poorest of the lords, and whenever he went to court, many mocked him for his misfortune. Since neither the king nor the lords ever ventured this far, Lord Temsland had taken to making up stories about his lands—how the villagers were as fair and good as the people of Great Town.
“In particular, the king has heard that you have a fine fair each year,” the messenger said.
“That, sir, is true,” John Temsland said. John seemed glad that something the duke had said was true.
“I am sent to announce that the king will come to Tide-by-Rood at fair time,” the duke said, “with an entourage of his greatest lords. He wishes to see your lands and your village and witness for himself how .. .fine they are.” He cleared his throat. “Since he comes at fair time, I am instructed to say that His Majesty offers a prize—his shoe full of gold and a wish granted—to the one who most delights him at the fair.”
The entire hall rang with silence for a moment. Lord Temsland flushed and ran a hand over his whiskers. At last Lady Temsland said in her soft, gentle voice, “Please tell the king we are deeply honored, and we look forward to his visit.”
Duke Morland nodded once, and stood. “Now, if you will grant me leave.” He did not wait for permission. His eye took in the shabby manor, the shoddily dressed servants, and he positively smirked as he strode out.
There was a hush among the noble family and the servants alike. All at once everyone began to speak: “The king is coming to Tide-by Rood! The king is coming to our fair!” But I heard Lady Temsland say to her husband, “You have been boasting, my dear.”
John Temsland beside me said, “We are doomed.”
V
Showing how I lost my fear of nearly everything;
what passes in the woods between me and a mysterious
poacher, which chapter must be hidden from
the eyes of blushing young maidens.
“Sir,” I said quietly, my voice completely lost in the hubbub.
“John,” said John glumly to the table.
“John, sir, forgive me if I remind you that you were so gracious as to grant me an interview.”
“Of course,” he said distractedly. “I have not forgotten. I will send Henry for you. Soon.”
“It is of the greatest importance. It has to do with the safety of the village.”
“That sounds very important indeed,” he said. But I could plainly see that he felt that nothing could be as important as what the messenger had just announced.
“Why shouldn’t I boast?” Lord Temsland said loudly to his wife and the audience. “Is this not the best parish in the king’s dominion?”
We glanced furtively at one another’s unmended clothes, and at our shoes and stockings, stained and muddied by our untended pathways. We cast our minds with shame upon our unpainted doors and shutters that hung crookedly, and upon the refuse piles in our yards that had been allowed to grow too large. Even the manor walls wanted chinking. The straw on the manor floor was clean—Lady Temsland saw to that—but somewhere the roof leaked and dripped into our silence. Just then a cow that had escaped an unrepaired corral shoved her head into the doorway and lowed.
Gradually everyone’s excitement died away. I felt sad for them, and for me. There had been so much life in everyone’s enthusiasm for the king’s visit. People were still gathering into the hall, but as they came, their smiles faded to see the somber faces of their fellows.
Suddenly I had an idea—one that could well humble Death’s proud look and accomplish my desire. The king’s visit was surely willed of God, I thought, and I gathered the courage to express my idea.
“If you please, lord, this is the best parish in Angleland,” I said. “But for small things, who could be richer than we? We all have full bellies, and warm fires to sit by, and Choirmaster’s beautiful music of an evening. We have many old men and women, and our lord judges us fairly...”
“Sit down!” someone called. “Who are you to speak so?” called another. “She has cast fairy dust on young John,” someone else said.
But Lord Temsland seemed pleased by my words. “Let her speak,” he said, and the crowd fell into a sullen silence. “It is the Reeve girl, is it not? Speak.”
“We are a happy people, just as happy as those in Great Town,” I said, trying to sound brave, though my knees shook. “But will the king and the great lords see what we see? We must prepare for the king. We must rid the mill of rats, and build a road, and pave the square—”
“That would cost dear,” Lord Temsland interrupted, with a finality that made me take my seat.
But John took up my argument. “Father, it is a fine idea. For this you should open your coffers.”
“That gold, my son, is to buy you better lands than these that have been my exile,” Lord Temsland said.
A hush fell over the crowd, and John flushed at the words of his fath
er, spoken so publicly.
“You think of your lands as exile, Father. But I was born here. These lands are my home and my inheritance. Let us open the coffers to prepare for the king. We could indeed build a road and pave the square—and improve the church, and repair the cottages! Why should the king’s favorites come to gloat?”
Lord Temsland’s face exuded pride in his son’s words, but he was a stubborn man. “I have a better plan. I will go to the king and make my excuses. I will ask him to delay his visit indefinitely.”
“To ask the king to delay his visit will only assure that he will come,” Lady Temsland said mildly.
“Nevertheless, I go,” said Lord Temsland. He arose and gestured to several of his men. “I will tell him—tell him there is plague or something.”
Lord Temsland roared as he strode out, “Roberts, get the horses ready. Webster, make haste to pack what is necessary for the journey.” Servants ran to help, and the villagers scattered before him. He did not look back or bid his son or wife adieu.
After he left the hall, the villagers began to chatter like field gulls after the harvest. Lady Temsland stood and raised her hand for silence. She said nothing and seemed to be listening, so we all listened as well. At last we heard the horses of Lord Temsland and his men as they sped away to the king’s court.
Lady Temsland now lowered her hand—it trembled a little—and took a ring of keys from her waist. Removing one, she said, “Son, an ancient law tells us that when the lord of the manor is away from his lands, his heir becomes steward of key and coffer. This key, you may find, opens the chests of coin your father has been saving to purchase better lands for you.”
John took the key in his hand and smiled at his mother. “The coin will purchase better lands indeed, Mother,” he said. “Though not perhaps as my father imagined.”
He turned and smiled at me then.
“Sir, we could make this year’s fair the best we have ever had—the best in the kingdom,” I said.
“Cheeky bold, ain’t she?” someone said.
“The young lord don’t seem to mind,” said another. “P’raps she’s tranced him with her stories.”
Keturah and Lord Death Page 5