Flight of the Wounded Falcon
Page 17
The large table in the eating room of the Briter house had been filled to capacity while the Briters were away at the memorial service. Yudit had organized the rest of the Zenoses, neighbors, and the rectory to bring enough food to keep all three extended families fed for a few days. That’s where the families began to slowly make their way after Peto’s dedication of the grave. Eating had kind of been forgotten since dinner was missed yesterday. Breakfast was an afterthought that morning, and midday meal had been skipped.
But now, after the little ones tossed the last of their flowers, and their parents quietly walked them to the Briters to feed them, the crowd around Perrin’s grave began to dwindle. After half an hour all that were left were Mahrree, Peto, Jaytsy, and Shem.
Relf stood to the side, his tools in hand, hoping to get in a few more hours of work before sunset. Tomorrow he’d return to his regular job carving stone for a new rectory in the southwest of Salem, so the time he could spend on the boulder would be limited to just the evenings. But it didn’t seem right to continue working on the stone until Muggah was ready to leave.
Mahrree noticed him standing nearby. “It looks wonderful already, Relf. You should have his name finished by this evening, I imagine.”
“But there’s much more to put on it, Muggah. Plenty of stone. I hope you’ll be happy with it.”
“How could I not be?” But she stared at the pile of dirt.
“Mother,” Jaytsy said gently, “you really should eat something. Lilla said you missed breakfast. You look rather peaked.”
Mahrree was tempted to say, “What does it matter?” But she had already promised her father she would at least try. Instead, she nodded. “I will. I just need a few more minutes. Why don’t you three go ahead? I promise I’ll come to the house in a bit. I’d like a little time alone.”
Peto and Jaytsy looked at Shem who nodded to them. They reluctantly stood up, but Shem kneeled down in front of Mahrree. He took her hands into his and kissed them. “All of this will make sense someday. I promise. Oh, Mahrree, I just can’t bear to see you so sad.”
Mahrree tried to smile, but wasn’t sure what twist of muscles appeared on her face. “What would I do without you, Shem?” Then her smile became genuine as she remembered something. “Do you realize we never did tell him about the sedation we gave him during his trauma when he couldn’t sleep in Edge? I actually planned to tell him about that one day.”
Shem managed a grin. “I think I just heard someone in the woods groaning in frustration and rubbing his forehead. He knows now!”
Mahrree looked up. “We had to, Perrin! We needed to sleep!” She patted Shem’s cheek. “Go, get something to eat. And thank you, for everything. You did a wonderful job today, as usual.”
Shem nodded, touched her cheek, then stood up. He put his arms around Peto and Jaytsy and walked them back to the house.
And so Mahrree sat, regarding with contempt the dirt which was slowly beginning to settle. Relf had wandered over to the barn to give her privacy, but now that she was alone she didn’t know what to do. He really wasn’t there.
She had planned to say some kind of goodbye but it didn’t seem appropriate to do so now, and she couldn’t understand why.
Suddenly her thoughts filled with Young Pere. He had stood next to the grave, put in a few shovelfuls of dirt, but then after the prayer he’d bounded off to the end of the garden where some of the married grandchildren’s homes were. Something was in his hands, but Mahrree hadn’t thought at the time to look at what it was. Now she felt an urgent need to see what he was up to.
She stood up from the chair and Cephas came jogging over from his house.
“Ready to get something to eat, Muggah? I can help you.”
She could always count on Cephas Briter to look after her. She often thought it was no accident he was named for her father. He was taller than the original, but had the same gentle gray eyes that now watched her with great concern.
“Actually, no. Cephas, did you see where your cousin went? Young Pere?”
He exhaled. “Muggah, he’s not doing well at all. I saw him walk off. I know he went past Relf’s house, but I lost sight of him after that. I can go find him—”
She squeezed his arm. “I think I’ll take a little walk and see if I can find him myself.”
“But you’re supposed to go in and eat something.”
“I will. I’m not hungry yet. I’ll just go down to the end of your garden and back. You go to the house and finish eating.”
He stepped uncertainly. “Sure I can’t go with you?”
Mahrree shook her head.
---
Young Pere sat between the thick pine trees that created a little forest thicket. The younger children loved to play in there, but none of them would be bothering him today. He opened the book and skimmed the last few chapters again.
The probation imposed on Colonel Shin for trying to kill Gadiman and taking the food to feed Edge. The meeting of the northern commanders worried about the build-up of Guarders in Moorland. The research into people missing from the world. The planning of the offensive at Moorland. The two hundred Salemite men that no one knew were in the trees waiting for the escaping Guarders. Colonel Shin breaking his probation after the explosions that burned Moorland. His saving of Captain Thorne, Major Yordin, and more than a dozen other soldiers. Their injuries. The pox outbreak. The land grab. The copy of Terryp’s map, made and sent out secretly by Colonel Shin. The excursion sent to Terryp’s land. The Administrators’ presentation calling it poisonous and claiming that the Creator was nothing more than an ordinary man. High General Shin. Mahrree Shin protesting the findings in public and trying to tell the village it was all a lie—
“There you are! For some reason I had a feeling I’d find you here, Young Pere.”
He slammed the book shut and stared up through the branches to see his grandmother. She seemed so small and frail today. Hardly the fierce and determined woman he was just reading about who tried to proclaim to the world that the Administrators were liars. He couldn’t picture her as that woman, either. Maybe Calla had those details wrong as well.
“Muggah. What are . . . what do you want?”
“I want to know how you are,” she said kindly. “This has been such a strange few days. We haven’t spoken for so long.” She tried to push her way into the tight stand of trees but thought twice about it. Instead she knelt, a little stiffly, on the ground. “So?” she asked him through the branches.
“I’m fine,” he said shortly.
Mahrree sighed. “How can you be, Young Pere? I’m a complete mess. I know you must feel that way, too. You and me, we always feel the same ways.”
“All right, I’m not fine,” he admitted. “But I will be,” he added in gentle defiance.
Mahrree nodded slowly. “I suppose we all be, in time. What are you reading?”
“Uh, oh, um . . . I just was—” He realized it was useless to put it off, and he held up Calla’s book.
Mahrree smiled. “I was wondering when you might be interested in that. Discover anything thought-provoking?”
Young Pere scoffed. “Yeah, you could say that.”
Mahrree narrowed her eyes at him. “Such as?”
“He did a lot more than I realized.”
“He wasn’t always just an old man, was he?” Mahrree said. “That was just a recent development, you know. He was one of the greatest men who ever served in the army. He could have been anything, done anything. But instead he chose to do the right things.”
Young Pere couldn’t help but groan as he said, “Sure, Muggah.”
“What do you mean by that tone, ‘Sure, Muggah’? That seems to be all I hear you say lately. Young Pere, where are you going?”
His head snapped up. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you seem so distant,” Mahrree said. “You hardly give me more than a couple words of an answer, but we used to chat for hours about your plans. So . . . what do you have planned next? I real
ly could use a diversion right now, you know. Something else to keep my mind off of . . . everything else.”
Young Pere offered a half-hearted smile. “Not entirely sure of my next plans right now.”
“Still want to fly?”
“Oh, most definitely.”
“Working on new wing dimensions?”
“You could say that.”
“Young Pere, will you promise me you’ll come tell me before your next attempt? I know I’m not nearly as strong as your grandfather, so I won’t be carrying you home, but I do want to watch you try.”
Young Pere sighed. “Of course. I’ll tell you before my next flight.”
Mahrree nodded. “What else are you planning? About your future, your first career? Not long until you’re eighteen you know.”
“Yes, I know. I’m not sure yet.”
Mahrree waited for something else from him.
He watched for her response.
An uneasy silence hung between them. That never happened before.
“Anything else, Muggah?” Young Pere finally said.
“Come get something to eat with me?”
“I will later.”
“Promise me?”
“Yes. I’ll be home in a little bit.”
Mahrree smiled dimly. “I can still hide pie for you, you know. Most of the pieces I hid I never intended to give to Perrin—” Something caught in her throat, and if it were possible, she appeared to be even more fragile.
She was right about them always feeling the same ways. The idea that she’d never again hide his pie for Young Pere stabbed him with unexpected grief.
It was her tears that startled him. Although she was staring down at her hands, as if to compose herself, there were too many tears to ignore. She was too much to ignore.
Young Pere leapt to his feet, forced himself through the thicket of trees, and knelt to wrap his arms around her. She gasped in surprise, then collapsed like a wilted flower against him.
“I’m so sorry, Muggah,” Young Pere whispered, trying to keep his own tears in check, but knowing he was failing. “I don’t think I’ve told you that yet. You’ve been through so much. It’s just not fair. I’m so sorry.”
Mahrree gripped his arm and kissed it. “Thank you, Young Pere.”
“I want to fix it all, Muggah. Somehow.”
“Young Pere, there’s nothing that needs to be fixed, but healed. We’re starting that, right now.”
He kissed the top of her head and sat down next to her, keeping a supporting arm around her, but not meeting her eyes. He couldn’t focus on anything just yet. “I can do much more than that, Muggah.”
“What do you mean?” she asked and sniffled.
Young Pere sighed. “I don’t know yet. But I promise, when I figure it out, I’ll tell you.”
“Young Pere, all I need you to do is hug me and talk to me. This, right now, is all that we need.”
She didn’t understand. She didn’t dare even try. But maybe it was because she was simply too sad right now to think of anything bigger.
“Sure, Muggah.”
“There’s that answer again.” She chanced to look up into his eyes, and he glanced over at her, sure that his eyes were as red and puffy as hers.
He shrugged. “It’s an easy answer.”
“Remember, there are no easy answers. Only lazy ones.”
Young Pere rolled his eyes. “You just never quit, do you? Are you going to ask me the color of the sky now?”
Mahrree glanced up. “Looks to be rather unsettled, don’t you think? Sunny here, cloudy over there. A storm may be approaching. We should get in, get something to eat,” she hinted.
Young Pere glanced down at the book he dropped on the ground when he wriggled his way out of the trees to his grandmother. He was nearly finished with it, but . . .
“You’re right, Muggah. Let’s go eat.”
---
Everyone looked immensely relieved when Mahrree and Young Pere came into the house.
Peto and Jaytsy exchanged looks that Mahrree couldn’t interpret, and Cephas picked up a plate of food he must have set down moments before, probably on his way out to look for them.
Peto came over and put an arm around Young Pere. “Mrs. Ost brought over that spicy dish you like so much. I set aside part of it in the kitchen for you.”
“Thanks, Papa,” Young Pere nodded to his father and walked into Jaytsy’s kitchen.
Peto beamed at Mahrree as she sat down and took a plate of food Sewzi brought her. “How’d you do it, Mother? How’d you get him in?”
“I’m not really sure, Peto. I think I just got the timing right. I also think his stomach was more persuasive than anything I said. I’m sure I heard it growling.”
Peto smiled sadly. “We still have a way to go with him, don’t we?”
Mahrree nodded and noticed the potatoes on her plate. For some reason, at every burial this shredded potato dish showed up. If it was some odd Salem tradition or not, she wasn’t sure, but they always tasted like death to her. Especially this batch: someone made them with onions. Perrin hated onions in potatoes.
And then it hit her again. She didn’t have to warn him about them. Didn’t need to steer him to get a large spoonful from another dish.
She watched her family as they finished eating, as the little ones laughed and played, forgetting what happened that day, as the teenagers talked quietly with each other and occasionally chuckled, as her son and daughter spoke with and smiled at their spouses.
She ate the potatoes that tasted like ash.
---
Jaytsy couldn’t bear to watch her mother anymore, looking so frail, pale, and picking helplessly at her plate of food. It was almost as if Mahrree was trying to die, too, and Jaytsy understood her desire. So what she should say to her, she wasn’t sure.
Her attention was drawn to two-year-old Fennic Zenos, who was sitting on the floor and picking berries out of his pie. Jaytsy winced. He’d be wiping his sticky fingers on his tunic at any moment, and Salema would be waddling over with a damp cloth just a moment too late—
Fennic’s head popped up, as if he’d heard something, and Jaytsy strained to listen for what caught his attention. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Mahrree watching him, too, having given up on her meal.
Jaytsy had already started for Fennic, intent on cleaning his fingers before Salema noticed his mess, when Fennic jumped to his feet. This time, Jaytsy heard it too. Thunder.
“Puggah!” Fennic cried and ran for the front door.
Jaytsy’s heart sank, and several people around Fennic stared at him, Mahrree included. Jaytsy would try to fix that later, but in the meantime she ran after her grandson who had headed out the door to the front porch.
“Puggah! I hear you!” he cried to the approaching storm clouds.
“No, no Fennic. Oh sweety—it’s not Puggah.” Jaytsy scooped him up and held him close. Tears fell as she looked at his happy little face. “Sweety, it’s just a storm. It’s not . . . he can’t . . .”
But Fennic was watching the clouds rolling in, with great anticipation.
Jayts, he thought my singing—yes, I confess, I did sing with them—he thought my singing sounded like thunder.
Jaytsy gasped as the words filled her.
Another rumble reached them, and Fennic waved happily.
If he needs to hear me in the thunder, then I can be in the thunder. Wherever he needs me to be, just let me be.
Then can I have you anywhere as well? Jaytsy thought back.
Of course. But I think you’d rather I be right here.
The feeling was unmistakable. She’d experienced it many times before: her father’s arms wrapped around her from behind in a great big hug. She could even smell him, earthy sweet, as if the coming rain carried his scent with the wind.
“Puggah,” Fennic whispered to his grandmother.
Jaytsy nodded. “I feel him too, sweety.” She sighed in the feeling of comfort
that nearly overwhelmed her.
Joy, pure joy.
“Can everyone feel you, Father?” she whispered.
I’m trying to reach everyone. Some don’t believe it’s me they feel. They’re not expecting it. It took me a while to reach Deck this morning. He couldn’t understand why he kept thinking about me while he was pushing on the rump of that big bull to get him out to pasture. I kept telling him to get his hands off my steak. Suddenly he heard me. I’d never seen him jump so quick. That got the bull out, though.
Jaytsy couldn’t help it—she laughed. The thunder laughed back.
“I miss you. I miss you so much, I don’t know how it’ll ever stop hurting,” Jaytsy murmured as her face became wet with tears and now raindrops.
It will, my darling daughter. Remember—this is only temporary.
“Take care of yourself.”
I don’t need to. I’m perfectly fine. My calling now is to take care of all of you.
---
Mahrree fell asleep that night on the sofa in her small gathering room. For some reason that was where his scent, slowly fading, was still the strongest.
---
Young Pere stayed up late reading the last few pages of the book. The confrontation at the Shins’ house. The resignation. Uncle Shem’s spying on General Qayin Thorne in Idumea. Idumea’s decision to try the Shins as traitors. Their escape with the help of the Hifadhis. Captain Thorne’s failed pursuit, and murder of Dormin. Their arrival in Salem.
The End.
He didn’t like the end. It seemed almost cowardly somehow. Exactly who was the coward, he wasn’t sure, nor did he want to decide that.
But there were a few things he was sure about. In the past, whenever Perrin Shin saw a problem, he confronted it. He defied those in authority, again and again. He made plans without consulting those above him. He escaped the artificial and illogical boundaries they imposed, and he was wildly successful. He changed their world.
If one Perrin Shin could do it, so could another. That would be the legacy.
No, no, no Young Pere! You’re reading it all wrong! Young Pere, are you listening? YOUNG PERE!
---
No one was surprised when, the next morning after the burial, Clark didn’t move at all.
He hadn’t been up in two days. Kanthi, Tabbit, and Deck had tried half-heartedly a few times to tempt him with something, but his eyes had gone glassy, and he wouldn’t acknowledge them, even as they gently splashed water on his lips.
Kanthi and Tabbit and many other grandchildren patted his still form one last time, sobbing as they said goodbye to the horse who had always been an extension of their Puggah. One more painful loss.
Mahrree came to the fence and sighed as she looked at the massive, lifeless animal.
“Of course he’d get to go on,” was all she said after a while. As much as she hated horses, she’d tolerated Clark.
Everyone who had gathered around the pasture was surprised next to see her dip under the fence, walk over to his body, and pat him on his bowed back.
“Take care of Perrin, all right?” she said. “You and The Cat and Barker the barkless dog? Interesting how all of you were dark, shadowy animals. He always loved black creatures. I suppose you can follow him anywhere, and no one will notice. Thank you for bringing me to Salem, and for the many rides to the temple ruins and back. You, Clark, were a decent horse that I really didn’t mind riding.”
The butchers were considerate enough to heft Clark on to a wagon with their pulley system and haul him away before they did their work, so that none of the families would have to witness the old horse becoming food for the sheep dogs.
Peto and Deck were the last to leave the road as the wagon trundled down it. Neither of the men said a word, but watched with tears slipping down their faces.
Eventually they walked back to their houses, arm-in-arm.
There were chores to do.
---
It was three days later, after midday meal, when Sam and Con Cadby stepped out of their houses to walk together to the weaving barn. Since the two Cadby families returned from the Eztates on the far west side of Salem, they’d been trying to get back into a normal routine.
Con had gathered the young husbands together the night of the burial and told them of his conversation with Perrin on the trail, his apology, and his praise of all of them. Lek also told them about his last conversation with Perrin, and his apology for his threats. The result was teary-eyed young men, and a Wes who was more confused than ever before.
Sam and Con had comforted their weeping wives during the eight-mile wagon ride home. Lori and Jori didn’t want to leave their parents and grandmother the day after the burial, but Muggah insisted it was time for them get back to their sheep, and their little ones needed their own beds. There was nothing more to do, except visit when they could.
The two fathers made their way through the garden where cousins Ensio and Cori were playing with their toddler sisters Gersh and Annly. They patted their children’s heads as they usually did, but paused outside the garden gate, because something seemed odd about their play.
Lori came from the henhouse with a basket of eggs and saw her husband and brother-in-law watching the children. Sam waved his wife over.
“Listen to them,” he whispered.
She stopped at the low fence by the men and watched the four little children. What they were doing wasn’t so unusual. They had dug a little trench and filled it with pebbles. Then Ensio took a mug of water and poured it down the trench while Cori and the girls tossed sticks in it to watch them float away.
Lori looked up at the men. “They do this all the time,” she whispered back.
“No, listen.”
“Over here, Captain! The storm’s coming!” Ensio called.
“All right, Colonel!” answered Cori.
Lori’s mouth dropped open in surprise.
Her sister, seeing them from her window, came out to them. “What is it?” Jori asked as she reached them.
The three of them gestured to the children.
Two-year-old Gersh dropped bits of moss on to the rocks. “That help, Cor-nal?”
Jori looked in alarm at her sister. “Colonel?” she mouthed.
Lori nodded.
Ensio filled the mug again with water from a nearby bucket. “Deluge is coming, men! Prepare the dikes!”
The three younger children stopped and stared at him.
Ensio seemed confused himself.
Con cleared his throat. “Uh, Perrin?” he ventured. “They don’t know what ‘deluge’ means.”
Ensio’s face brightened. “Lots of water coming, men! Walls might break. Here it comes!” And Ensio poured the mug of water down the trench.
The children squealed and laughed as the bits of moss washed away.
“Again! Again!” Annly cried.
“Whatever you say, ‘Tenant!” Ensio said cheerfully. “Puggah says we need more rocks! The trench should be longer so the sticks and moss float farther.”
“More rocks!” Gersh cried and went to pick up pebbles.
Jori, her hand in front of her mouth, murmured, “Ensio said ‘Puggah,’ didn’t he?”
“Remember when we played Flood with him?” Lori whispered. “He’d even get out the pickaxe and dig a proper trench. We’d use buckets of water.”
“And Salema would lecture us on getting dirty,” Jori replied, “but Cambo would throw rocks to splash her on purpose. He knew to throw the rocks when Puggah yelled—”
“Deluge coming, men!” Ensio called again, pouring more water that splashed Cori unexpectedly.
“Hey!” Cori cried out. “Mama, did you see that? Puggah didn’t wait for me to move.”
Jori sniffled. “I did, Cori. That’s just the way . . . he plays.” She looked at her sister for confirmation.
Lori nodded at her nephew.
Cori scowled, then ran to get more bits of moss.
Sniffling in miserable
happiness, Jori said, “I got promoted all the way to lieutenant colonel before I decided I was getting too old to play that. I think I was eleven.”
Lori smiled faintly. “I only made it to major before I started listening to Salema. Puggah always called her the Administrator when she left to tell on us for getting dirty.”
Jori snorted at the memory and Lori laughed softly.
Lori cleared her throat. “Puggah?” she said quietly, “will you let us know if anyone gets in trouble?”
Are dirty clothes considered ‘getting in trouble’?
The sisters stared at each other, trying to read on each other’s face to see if the other had heard the words as well.
Jori said, “Uh, no Puggah. That’s only at Salema’s house. Her boys are the ones who can’t get dirty.”
That will change. This next son that’s coming, he’s one messy boy.
Lori grinned at Jori. “Next son?”
Jori grinned back. “Messy boy!”
Their husbands chuckled.
“Poor Lek,” said Sam.
Poor Calla. She so much wants another granddaughter. But that one’s coming as well. Go back to work—I’ve got things under control here. And by the way, ‘sumpin’ is what Cori says when he doesn’t know the name of something. ‘Sumpin’ then can mean anything and everything. That doesn’t help a whole lot, does it?
“Thank you, Puggah,” Jori said, looking around, not sure where to direct her words.
Lori, Con, and Sam nodded.
“Longer, men! Make the trench longer!”
---
I think you mean for that to be a C, not an O. You best stop chiseling.
Relf stopped and looked at the stone in the twilight. “Oh yes. You’re right. I think I’m getting a little tired.”
Go home for the evening. Give that wife of yours a few moments of quiet. Grunick’s been a bit difficult today. This boulder’s not going anywhere.
“I suppose that’s true. Thanks . . . Puggah.”
---
Did you check up on the hillside?
The hillside? Twelve-year-old Banu Briter thought to herself.
Her eight-year-old sister Yenali sighed and looked around. “She’s not here anywhere, Banu. She’s gone!”
“No, she’s not. I know she’s somewhere. She never goes this far.”
Go check on the hillside.
“Maybe we should check the hillside,” Yenali suggested.
“Why are you saying that?” Banu snapped, and immediately felt guilty for it.
“Because it seems like . . . the right place to check,” Yenali insisted.
She’s right, Banu. Go check the hillside. It’s getting dark and your mother will start to get worried.
Banu sighed. “All right . . .” She hesitated to say the name.
“Puggah told you to check the hillside, didn’t he?” Yenali smiled.
Banu didn’t respond, but rushed up the hillside behind the herd, her sister in tow. There they saw the goat, chewing on the rope she bit through to escape in the first place.
“You are the dumbest goat in the world!” Banu yelled in relief as she walked up to it and took it by the collar.
Now, now, Banu. Who’s the one who tied her up and forgot about her for the entire day? By the way, you’re welcome.
---
I know your cousin jumped off the schoolhouse, but why does that mean you should jump off the shed roof?
Atlee Briter, holding the blanket he hoped would catch the wind and ease him slowly to the ground, looked around. He was alone, but felt the words distinctly.
You’re only ten. I thought you wanted to see eleven. Do you have any idea what a broken leg feels like? Remember how much pain Young Pere was in last year when he broke his arm? Again? That’s what you’ll be feeling the moment you hit the ground. But it will be your leg. Don’t do this, Atlee. Just turn around and go back down that ladder. Right now. I’m watching you. Now, Atlee. That’s right. Step back. Watch your footing there. Don’t kick the ladder! Boy, that was close. Put the blanket down first. No, no, no, not on top of the shed. Throw it on the ground. That’s right. Now climb down the ladder. And put it away when you’re done. Don’t want Young Shem following you— Atlee! I said to put away the ladder! Atlee! Get back here!
---
Salema, you’re too far along to be doing that. Isn’t that why your sister-in-law is here?
Salema, kneeling in the middle of her garden, sat up on her knees. The humidity of the Weeding Day steamed over her, making her feel hotter than she already was. She pushed away a sweaty lock of dark curly hair and glanced at Lek’s youngest sister Huldah.
The fourteen-year-old weeding next to her was watching her.
You hate kneeling in the dirt and you know it.
Huldah’s eyes grew big. “You hate kneeling in the dirt.”
“I never understood why my mother enjoyed this,” Salema admitted quietly.
You might want to check the bread. You’ve lost track of time. Huldah knows what to do here.
Salema stood up. “I should check on the bread. Do you mind?”
Huldah shook her head. “I know what to do. Don’t pull the carrots!”
Salema and Huldah scanned the area as if expecting someone else to be there before Salema started for the house.
By the way, Salema, prepare for another son. The third one’s usually the hardest I’ve been told, but if anyone can handle him, you can.
She stopped in her tracks as she reached the back door. “What did you say?” she whispered.
You better check the bread before it overbakes.
Slowly Salema opened the door and walked into the kitchen. “That’s not what I meant . . . Puggah?”
Yes. And I know what you meant. I’m right about the bread, aren’t I?
Salema pulled out the loaves just in time, her eyes growing moist. “Another boy? Oh, Puggah . . . I just . . . Another boy? I had five younger brothers before I finally got a little sister. I really was hoping for . . .” She sat down hard on a chair and stroked her large belly.
He’s adorable, Salema. He’ll melt your heart, even as he dirties your floors. You really want to tell this little boy that you’d rather he not come?
“No!” She said loudly and gripped her belly tighter. “No, of course not!”
That’s what I thought. I also thought you’d appreciate a little warning.
Salema began to cry.
No, no, no. Salema, don’t do that. I know you’re expecting and everything, but—
“That’s why I get to do this, Puggah!” she laughed in her sobs. “And you’re right—I do appreciate the warning. I never told you this, but I’m sorry about the name: Puggah. If only I could have said my ‘r’s better when I was a toddler—”
Not at all. Best name in the world.
---
Grab that piece of paper.
Zaddick had gone into Shem’s office to retrieve a file his father had forgotten to take to the council meeting, but he found himself staring at the desk.
The one at the end. It’s upside down, that’s why Shem didn’t recognize it. Now get it to your mother. She was going to bring him dinner at the main storehouse before the meeting. One of the assistants will need that sooner than Shem realizes. He can’t wait until tomorrow like he thinks he can.
Zaddick picked up the file, looked around the office, nodded once in gratitude to it, and slipped out the door.
---
Lilla, smells wonderful as usual. Be ready for Peto tonight. Shem and the council are going to give him my position, but he doesn’t feel ready for it. I can’t imagine anyone who could do a better job. You’re going to have to help him realize that. He practically did my job for me.
By the way, your father and I have had some wonderful conversations. He’s still watching you.
---
Mahrree, I’ve reached almost all of them.
It was late at night and Mahrree was sitting up in bed,
reading. She used to do it all the time when she was single, but quit after she and Perrin were married because he didn’t like the candle light when he tried to sleep. When she picked up her old habit again, a few days after he passed, she felt guilty about it. But then she remembered what Calla told her: “It’s all right to start living how you need to live.”
Mahrree set down the book. “I know,” she whispered. “I’ve been receiving reports the last few weeks. It’s been wonderful to hear how you’ve gotten around. I went to Salema’s house today and found her and Calla crying at the kitchen table. You want to know what they told me?”
Mahrree thought she heard a chuckle.
“You were there earlier, and Salema’s going to have another son. She thinks they should name him Perrin. Perrin Zenos.”
How many Perrins do there need to be in Salem?
Mahrree grinned. “So far there are four new baby boys named Perrin. Calla told me yesterday that one of Shem’s assistants has started making a list to see how often you’re honored. And wait until you hear this—there’s even a baby girl that was named Perrinia.”
Oh that’s just tragic. What were her parents thinking?
Mahrree laughed softly.
I thought Peto and Lilla naming their first daughter Lorixania was cruel, but at least they could shorten it to Lori.
“I suppose the family could call their daughter Perri.”
Perhaps. I’m not even there to apologize to the poor girl when she’s older. Will you do it, if you ever run into her?
“Of course. You said you’ve reached almost everyone?”
Except one. Want to guess who?
“I know, Perrin. He promised he’d tell me what he’s up to, but he hasn’t said more than half a dozen words to me since we spoke after the burial.”
It’s not good, Mahrree. I follow him around all day when he’s haying, but he’s not listening, not one bit. I can’t force him to hear me. It has to be his choice. But he’s nearly past feeling. He’s too busy planning.
“What is he planning to do?”
I can’t bear to tell you.
“He wants to go to Edge, or somewhere else in the world, doesn’t he? Just to get away for a time.”
How did you know?
“He’s you at that age.”
I know. That’s my biggest worry.
Chapter 17--“How long has this been in here, Father?”