“You want a hat—” he started.
“Actually, no. I don’t really wear hats.”
He stared at her perplexed, then smiled. “I meant, if you want a hat. If you want a hat, there isn’t just one shop in the region; you have your choice of over a dozen shops.”
“And how many hats do you buy each year?” Mahrree squirmed. The question wasn’t on her list, but then again, she didn’t think something like that would be.
His irritation slipped away, replaced by amusement. “I don’t buy the hats.” He started to chuckle. “My mother does.”
“Ah!” Mahrree understood. “You’ve suffered having to be her porter one too many times?”
He nodded. “Yes. On my father’s command. And, Mahrree, I want to thank you now for not wanting to buy hats. That means I can cross off number eight on my list.”
He started to do so but stopped.
“I mean, my mother would try on one, ask me what I think, then try on another that looks just the same . . . I tell her they all look fine, but does she believe me?”
Mahrree giggled. “How long ago was that?”
“After I finished upper school. My mother wanted to spend some time with me before I left the house. She really needed a daughter.”
“Wait, so it’s been more than ten years?” Mahrree asked. “And you still haven’t gotten over it?”
He gave her a playful glare. “I was eighteen, Mahrree. How many eighteen-year-old young men do you see enjoying women’s hat shops with their mothers? Some things just stay with you.”
She kept laughing. “So I need to worry about your mother wanting to go shopping?” she hedged, finally relieved to hear something about her, number three on her list.
“Oh, no. Not here in Edge. Everything is several years out of date, so she says. But don’t worry about her. She’s great.”
“That’s the fourth time,” she pointed out, “that you’ve said that about your parents. I’ve been counting since you arrived. You can express your opinion on anything—even hat shops!—but you can’t tell me anything more about your parents other than, ‘They’re great?’”
He squinted. “I don’t think we’ve reached that number on your list yet, have we? We were talking about Idumea, remember?”
“You like to do things in order, don’t you?” she probed. “Make your list, have your plan, stick with it. No deviations?”
“Something wrong with that?” he asked stiffly.
“Only if you’re inflexible when you shouldn’t be. As a teacher I often take the lesson plan and toss it for the day when a student comes up with a really good question. Plans need to be flexible.”
“I’m not inflexible.” His shoulder twitched.
Mahrree smirked. “Really.”
“Go ahead. Ask me anything. Deviate from your ordered list.” He fought the twitch, almost successfully.
“All right . . . but first, anything else about Idumea I should know about? Or any more opinions about Edge?”
Perrin’s face softened. “Only that I think Edge is the most perfect place in the world. I’ve already told my father that I want to serve here as long as possible. I could probably be promoted up to colonel without having to transfer. We can be in this house for many years. And I’ve found everything I could wish for here.”
“Mmm, really?” Mahrree leaned against his arm.
“Oh yes.” He put his arm around her and kissed her head. “I’ve been to every village in the world, and I have to say that I’ve never been as happy as I am here.” He sighed in satisfaction. “The fishing is absolutely amazing.”
She slowly pulled away to look at him.
“Must be something about being the first village the river runs through,” he continued with a faraway look in his eyes. “Or maybe it’s the way the warm waters from the springs feed into it. Must help with the growing the fish to such enormous sizes.”
Mahrree put her hands on her waist.
Something glinted in his eyes.
She pursed her lips and pouted.
He grinned and pointed at her face. “Oh I like that look. You don’t have to practice that one at all.” He gave her pout a quick kiss.
She laughed. “And I assure you I will remember that look in your eyes! You won’t fool me again.”
“What look?” he said, confused.
“That one, right there. I’m on to you, Perrin Shin!”
“Good. You’re paying attention. My father always says more is expressed with the eyes than anything else. You could have been trained as the first female officer.”
She snuggled into him. “Would be a disaster for men. If I were an officer, no soldiers would ever listen to anyone else but me forevermore. My logic and intelligence are simply overwhelming.”
Perrin snorted.
“Yes,” she sniffed in feigned arrogance, “every woman knows the reason we’re not allowed any power is because we’d take over the world. I’d be High General in less than a year, Chairwoman Mahrree a season later.”
Perrin chuckled. “You may be right. You can certainly exaggerate like an officer.”
Mahrree giggled. “Speaking of the High General, tell me more about your father,” she said. “That’s my number two question.”
Perrin’s jaw moved a little and she thought she heard a small groan.
“He’s the general—”
“Something I don’t know.”
“Uh, he’s fifty-three. Oh. You know that as well. Uh . . . he’s a good man. I’m told I look a bit like him. He’s very honest. Trustworthy. Um . . .”
She chuckled. “This is really hard for you, isn’t it?”
Perrin shifted uncomfortably. “I respect him, Mahrree, more than any other man. But he’s always been . . . Let me put it this way: my first words were ‘ma’ and ‘sir.’ He’s always been ‘sir.’ Kind of hard to describe a man like that. ‘General’ pretty much sums it up.”
“So” Mahrree began, “if we have a child . . .” She skipped to number five on her list and braced for the response.
“I will not be ‘sir’! I want to be a different kind of father. I like children. I think that’s what I first found attractive about you. If you’re a teacher you have to like children, right?”
Mahrree laughed. “Usually. Then there are days you’re grateful you don’t have to spend any more time with that boy or that girl anymore! But yes, I do want to have our own child. Maybe even two?”
He hugged her. “Sounds great to me.”
Mahrree grinned in delight, until another thought came to her.
“Uh,” she hesitated, “I see a pattern in the naming in your family. Your grandfather Pere’s name became Perrin for you. I understand that—I was named for my paternal grandmother Morah. But I’m just wondering, um, I see potential for Relf, but . . . how important a family name is Ricolfus?”
Perrin smiled, understanding her concern. “You can see why Pere shortened Ricolfus to Relf. Don’t worry—there need not be a Ricolfusin in our future, or even a Relfette. I don’t hold with traditions just for tradition’s sake.”
“Thank you!”
He chuckled. “We can come up with names that our grandchildren will cringe at. And actually, the question of children was my first one, so I can scratch that off. About being a father, though, I have to warn you—”
“I know, I know,” Mahrree said. “You won’t change cloths, you won’t give them baths, and if the baby spits up on you, I clean you up first. When the child finally has something interesting to say, that’s when you’ll become involved. I’ve heard plenty of men at the congregational midday meals state the rules of fatherhood.”
Perrin was silent for a moment. “Really?”
“Really, what?” Mahrree asked.
“Really they don’t want to give the baby baths? I thought that sounded like fun.”
Mahrree sat up and looked in his dark eyes. There was no glint. “You’re serious?”
“Well, yes. What’s the poin
t of having children if you don’t experience the whole thing? It’d be like preparing for a fishing trip, setting up camp, sitting by the river, but then never dropping your line. What’s the point? And it’s not a successful trip unless someone gets soaking wet. Besides,” he continued, suddenly sheepish, “Hogal once argued with my father that children aren’t here to be our legacy, or honor us, or even entertain us. They’re here to educate us—”
Mahrree just stared at him.
“—in how to be more like the Creator.” He shrugged. “Leadership is actually service-ship. I supposed I could use a bit more education, especially in that regard.”
“So,” she said, now confused. “What were you going to warn me about?”
“That I have no idea how to change the cloths, so I’ll need some help the first few times. Now what’s that look for?”
“Someone will have to teach me first,” she murmured.
“What?”
“Nothing. Perrin, have I told you yet that you are absolutely the most perfect man in the entire world, and that I love and adore you beyond words can express?”
A grin slowly grew on his face. “I’m sure I would have remembered. That’s a good line. Feel free to remind me anytime.”
Mahrree felt the opportunity was also perfect. “Can I ask you another question, not on either of our lists?”
“After calling me the most perfect man in the world, how can I deny you?”
Chapter 14 ~ “Keep a closer eye
on this one.”
Mahrree had him right where she wanted him.
“Perrin, the other night when we were talking, you started to say something about the Administrators.”
The spark in his eyes dimmed. “So?”
“You don’t entirely trust them, do you?”
His eyes softened, but the spark didn’t return. “The army and the government rarely see eye-to-eye. You have enough history books on your shelves to know that.”
“I’m not talking about the past, Perrin,” she said with sweet determination, “I’m talking about now.”
He searched her face. “I haven’t told you yet, but you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And I’m not just saying that because I want you to marry me,” he winked. “You’re truly exquisite.”
He slipped his thick fingers through her light brown hair, gently twisting the ends around.
“Your little nose, those incredible pink lips, your green—No, wait—gray eyes. But there’s some brown. Your eyes—”
So desperate he was to avoid discussing the Administrators that he was about to attempt—Mahrree suspected and feared—poetry.
“Your eyes remind me of a . . . of a field of green after a rainstorm, when the mushrooms pop up, all brown and beige—those poisonous one, you know? The ones that—”
He must have noticed her mouth twisting in amusement.
He sighed in exasperation. “Clearly I’m not skilled in romantic talk.”
“Fortunately for you, neither am I!” She laughed. “Comparing a woman’s eyes to lethal fungus?”
He smirked. “So exactly what color are your eyes?”
“Might as well ask me the color of the sky.”
“Well, anyway,” he tried again in his attempt to sidetrack her, “you must have turned many men’s heads over the years. They just couldn’t turn yours, and for that I’m most grateful you think me perfect. You’re perfect for me.”
“Thank you!” she blushed. She recognized his diversionary tactic, although he did seem sincere about his compliments and she enjoyed his flattery.
Besides, it gave her an idea.
She’d read a few silly love stories when she was a teenager, trying to understand her friends and their longings for admirers. Most of the secretive tales were slid from girl to girl under desks where teachers wouldn’t notice, and were so sappy that she was surprised the well-worn pages weren’t stuck together from the goo. She’d taken to skimming pages of uncomfortable details, hoping her eyes would fall on something interesting or even useful. She was always disappointed. But it was strange how bits and pieces of things she really didn’t want to read were the parts that were so difficult to purge from her memory.
And yet, she considered, a couple of those bits just might come in handy right about now . . .
“That someone like you would even notice someone like me . . .” She sighed. “Can I do something I wanted to do the first moment I saw you?”
“Perhaps,” he said slowly. “Depends on what that is.”
“Well, at first I wanted to hit you with a stick—”
“You wouldn’t have been the first female.” He rubbed the faint scar on his forehead.
“Really? And what did you compare her eyes to?”
“They weren’t like yours, all brownish-gray, with green, and bits of gold like straw—” he tried again.
“Hmm. I think you just described the colors of horse manure,” Mahrree decided.
His face lit up. “Yes!”
He realized his mistake a second too late.
“I mean, no!”
But Mahrree was already laughing. “The affect you have on women!”
Perrin growled quietly, but smiled. “I do believe her eyes were blue—”
“All the more reason you insulted her by declaring her eyes to be the color of manure.”
His growling grew louder. “I didn’t—” He gave up before trying. “Go ahead and believe I have no influence with women.”
Mahrree had a worrying thought.
“She . . . uh, wasn’t pretty, was she?”
The lines around his mouth did closest thing to possible to a swagger. “What would you expect from a girl who falls for me? But I must confess she was quite unappealing. Of course, what kind of a judge of beauty was I when I was only eleven?”
Mahrree didn’t mean for her relief to come out in such a loud exhale.
He chuckled. “Weren’t you about to do something a minute ago?” he reminded.
“Oh, yes! What I really wanted to do at that first debate was this.” Satisfied that her only competition was seventeen years ago, she slowly ran her fingers through his black hair.
He closed his eyes partway.
“And here I thought Hogal was being silly about my not wearing my cap. Anything else you wanted to do?” He grinned.
“Actually,” she blushed again as she stroked some of his short hairs on his neck, “do you remember the second Holy Day meeting? I purposely sat a few rows behind you.”
His eyes opened. “Oh, I remember. I was watching for you to come in, until Hogal motioned that you were already behind me.”
“I did that on purpose,” she confessed. “I didn’t want you to see me turning red whenever you looked at me.”
“I love watching you blush.” He slid a finger over her cheek. “That’s why I started winking at you. Gave me hope that maybe you thought of me as much as I thought of you.”
“And here I was hoping you hadn’t noticed the effect you had on me!”
“Oh, I noticed,” he said earnestly. “So what about that Holy Day meeting? I swear I could feel you staring at my neck.”
She grinned. “I have no idea what Hogal talked about that day. Actually, I was staring at this.” She ran her finger over the curve of his ear.
His eyes closed partway again. “Mmm—anything else, Miss Peto?”
“Yes,” she leaned in closer until she breathed gently on his ear.
She never thought she would’ve been grateful to remember a few painfully awkward passages from How to Sway a Boy in Six Simple Steps.
Perrin’s eyes closed completely and goose bumps rose on his neck.
Mahrree almost smirked. Well, what do you know—the stories were correct. He was quite literally swaying.
“I also wanted to say this,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear in accordance with Step Five.
“Yes?” he breathed in anticipation.
She couldn’t reme
mber Step Six anymore, but she didn’t need it. “I recognized your diversionary tactic, Captain. So I’ll try something else.” She kissed his soft earlobe.
More goose bumps.
“Tell me, Perrin . . . what does your father think about the Administrators?”
His throat gurgled as if he were being strangled.
Mahrree pulled away and smiled sweetly.
Perrin blinked and exhaled, as if to jar himself from her effect.
“Yes—definitely NOT an interrogation technique my father ever considered.” He sighed. “That was just cruel, Mahrree.”
“Hmm, interrogation . . . maybe women should be in the army,” she mused.
“Not you!” he pointed at her. “Shouldn’t mess with a man’s mind like that, giving my thoughts whiplash—”
“Well?” She ran her hand along his solid neck.
He rubbed his forehead and groaned. “Mahrree, Mahrree . . . you don’t need to worry about any of that—”
“The condition of my civilization? The attitudes of my future husband and father-in-law towards our leaders?” she scoffed. “Next you’ll say something inane like, ‘Don’t trouble your exquisite little head with such details!’”
He smiled partially. “You’re something else, you know that? How could I fall in love with anything less?”
“Again, thank you. I think.” She furrowed her brows wondering what “something else,” meant. “But Perrin,” she shifted into debate form, “when you came over last night, you said you would be honest with me in everything from now on. We’re here tonight trying to be sure this union will succeed, and if you begin by going back on your previous declaration of honesty, how can I trust anything else you tell me? I’ll be honest with you first—until a few weeks ago I believed the Administrators truly were making great strides in improving the world, but then you told us about the suggestions in education. That struck a bit close to home for me. It may be silly, but I’ve always loved debating about the color of the sky. It’s far more than an exercise in assumption and observation. So now that the Administrators are suggesting that we don’t need to teach how to observe—even now my stomach is lurching at the idea, and I’m not sure why. If you have any light to shed on my discomfort, I’d like to have it.”
The Forest at the Edge of the World Page 22