She sat up a little more and wrapped one of her blankets around her shoulders. As she propped her knees up, one possibility came to her.
You know, it occurs to me that Mum’s problem is less with bloodstains and more with the notion that it isn‘t ladylike for a girl to do things that would get her hands bloodied on a regular basis. I mean, even at slaughtering time, Mum doesn’t get into the butchering until the carcasses have been bled out and gutted.
That brought up some new things to think about; with Shandi gone, Sidonie would only have one female child to concentrate on rather than two. Now, that meant more than simply having the number of domestic helpers halved. Shandi had been as dainty and ladylike as her mother could have wished, relieving Keisha of the need to be either of those things. Now, though -
Now she’s going to be at me to get a suitor, to act like a proper lady, to start having children. Besides all the chores, she’ll want me to spend my free time doing needlework and making pretty clothes, putting together a dower-chest, not studying my books or making medicines.
She groaned softly. It seemed that Shandi had saved her from more than she ever realized. Just by being there and being what she was, Shandi had kept their mother’s attention fixed on her, leaving Keisha freer than she would be now.
I’d thought my life was complicated before!
It was so hard to balance all the demands that were made on her. If they had their way, her parents wanted her to help with the domestic chores, the farm work, get married, have children. As far as the people of Errold’s Grove were concerned, the villagefolk wanted her to concentrate on nothing but their injuries and ailments, or the hurts and illnesses of their animals.
Not that I don’t prefer the animals, when it comes to that. They don’t spend most of their time complaining! But that was unkind; of course people complained, it kept them from feeling quite so afraid. When they were sick or hurt, they lost control over their very selves, as they perceived them, and had to rely on the skills and tools of someone else - so it was only natural that they would complain. Up to a point, the more they complained, the more frightened they were known to be.
Past that point, they’re too paralyzed with fear to do anything. I guess I should be grateful that they ‘re still complaining. Handling the dead is worse than listening to the living.
Healer Gil, on the other hand, never lost the opportunity to let her know that he still felt she should be at the Collegium; that he had no real confidence in her ability to get beyond herb- and knife-Healing if she didn’t go.
Well, he’s got a good point there. I am making no headway with those books. How I wish that old Wizard Justyn was still around! Surely he could have helped me make sense of those pages!
Perhaps she would have to go, but who would take over for her? Could she train someone like Alys?
Oh, no one would take this on who wasn‘t a volunteer, and if anyone had been willing to volunteer before, they wouldn’t have needed me. As for Alys, she’d made it quite clear that she was in no way willing to extend her services beyond the animals in her charge.
Not that I blame her. She is far more reticent and shy than I am.
Now how was she to reconcile all these differing plans for her future? Obviously, someone was going to be angry with her, no matter what she did.
Something else occurred to her as she worried at her thoughts like a puppy with a bit of rag. This was the first morning in months when she hadn’t woken up with the claustrophobic feeling that her entire family was closing in on her. It always seems as if they’re right beside me, breathing over my shoulder, even when they ‘re in the next room. Now that might have been because the cubby she had shared with Shandi was scarcely bigger than a closet. . . .
But it might not. People are all beginning to irritate me lately. How many times have I gotten away from someone feeling as if they’ve been rubbing my nerves raw? How many times have I wanted to shove them away? For that matter, how many times have I been feeling as sick as the person I was treating until I got away from them?
Not that she was all that comfortable around people; that had always been Shandi’s gift. Shandi could make a friend out of a stranger in the space of a few words; unless Keisha was giving explicit instructions to someone or bargaining with a merchant, she always felt tongue-tied and awkward with strangers and friends alike. She actually preferred to be around the sick and injured, in a way, because then she had complete control over the situation.
For that matter, you couldn‘t really say that I actually have friends, not like Shandi’s. For me, a friend is someone I can get along with, like Alys of the Fellowship - but you don’t see her inviting me to dinner or sharing confidences.
She had to chuckle a little at that, despite the morose turn of her thoughts. Sharing confidences, indeed! And what sort of confidences would Alys be likely to share? Stories about the love lives of the chirrasl
Still and all, maybe that was why she got along better with Alys than her neighbors or her family. Neither of us is very good with people. Animals are simpler, I suppose. Animals certainly have less complicated emotions, and are never upset when you say the wrong thing.
In the thin, clear light of dawn, she saw yet another whole new side of Shandi that she hadn’t really expected; Shandi as her guardian. In retrospect, Shandi had spent a lot of time protecting her from having to deal with other people in day-to-day matters.
A thousand memories came flooding back, of Shandi responding to silent summons or unspoken entreaties as if she heard them, and taking the attention of others off Keisha with a word or a laugh.
And Shandi spent a lot of time keeping Mum and Da from worrying at me.
How had she not noticed, all this time? And now what was she going to do without that protection?
She frowned at herself for being such a coward. Cope, that’s what I’ll do. I’m a big girl.
She would just have to steel herself and learn how to interact socially with other people. She wasn’t stupid, after all, she could learn.
For a moment, though, it almost seemed as if her best option wouldbe to travel to Haven in Shandi’s wake and enroll in Healer’s Collegium!
Oh, yes, and just how am I to do that? I’ve nowhere near enough money to travel that far, and there’s no magic Companion to carry me off and see that I don’t get into trouble along the way -
No, that was a specious argument, and she knew it. Lord Breon would not only give her the money to travel on, he’d probably assign one of his guards and two horses to take her there. And if he wouldn’t - she had only to get as far as the nearest House of Healing, and the Healers there would see to it.
That was the trouble with arguing with herself - she had to be honest. She chuckled sourly and adjusted her blanket. I’m so bad with people I can’t even win an argument with myself.
All right, the obvious problem of leaving her people without someone at least marginally qualified to help them, was an excuse. She had to face it; the real reason she didn’t want to go was -
I don’t want to leave, to go off somewhere among total strangers for at least two years, to some huge city where I would be totally lost.
The very idea made her skin crawl. All those strangers, and nowhere she would know to go where she could escape them! All those strangers. . . oh, gods. No, and it’s no good to say that at least Shandi would be there, because she’s going to be at Herald’s Collegium. She’ll be so busy becoming a Herald that she‘d be just as far from me there as she is now.
She just was not like her sister; she didn’t make friends easily, and she never would. She’d get so tongue-tied with the people at Healer’s Collegium that they’d probably think she was feeble-minded! It could be months before I managed to say anything sensible to strangers. And I’d be so lonely. . . .
The larger the crowd around her, especially of strangers, the more she withdrew and wanted to hide. The only time she didn’t feel that way was when she was on ground familiar to her - actu
ally, or metaphorically. She was able to make desultory conversation with people she knew, with strangers in her own home, or if the topic had to do with things she already knew. At the Faires she invariably hung around the outskirts; at celebrations - well, generally she did exactly what she’d done last night, go to bed early. I’m just no good at social chitchat, I suppose.
She was absolutely certain her own nature would condemn her among the expert teachers at Healer’s Collegium. Until they actually gave me something that I already knew how to do - I’d look like a right idiot, I know it. And worse, I’d sound like one, too. She could just imagine being called on in a class to recite something from a lesson - it would be worse than when she’d had her lessons with the other village children! The old woman who’d taught them had soon learned not to call on Keisha for any recitations; any time she’d wanted to know what Keisha had learned, she’d have Keisha write it out.
But that was here - they wouldn‘t give me that kind of special consideration at the Collegium. How could they? I’d be nothing special there, just another student, not someone they were going to rely on to tend their ills.
Shandi, on the other hand, would be fine in Haven even without the Companion. That’s what Mum doesn’t understand about Shandi; everyone likes Shandi at first sight and goes out of their way to help her. They always have, and probably always will. That’s why she has so many suitors; they all think they’re in love with her just because she smiles at them and they‘re enchanted. They don’t realize that they feel that way because she’s just that way and can’t help being so nice to them that it makes them feel as if she’s nice only to them. Shandi has always assumed the best of everything, everyone, and every situation, and more often than not, they live up to it.
Keisha shook her head, and reckoned that she must have been born somber, or at least, without humor. Without humor, I suppose; I never can see what most jokes are about. Havens, I generally can’t tell when someone is telling a joke! And no one seems able to figure me out, that I don’t really enjoy noise and carrying on like everyone else seems to.
Even her mother complained constantly that Keisha was far too inscrutable, and that she could never tell what Keisha was thinking or feeling, not that Keisha always wanted her to be able to do so. If Mum knew what 1 was thinking - oh, would I ever get in trouble.
But she also complained that Keisha was always taking everything too seriously. So did her brothers. And so, for that matter, did her father, even though he seldom complained about or even commented on anything.
Am I putting people off? I suppose I must be.
Well, just look at the difference between the number of suitors Shandi had and the number - none - that Keisha had. There’s no other reason why. Shandi and I look an awful lot alike - we share similar features, the same hair and eye color, and her figure is no better than mine. Oh, granted, she does generally dress better than I do, but I’ve worn pretty things without getting the attention she gets. It has to be that I’m putting people off.
Now she had to ask herself as she often did - Am I jealous of Shandi?
She thought back over the selection of young men available in Errold’s Grove and shook her head, thought about the sort of things that Shandi and her friends did for amusement and knew she’d be utterly bored. No, I’m absolutely not jealous! There’s only so much discussion of bodices and embroidery patterns that I can stand. And as for coquetting and flirting about - why bother?
No, it was just another sign that she just didn’t fit in with other people. Without Shandi’s vivacity, animation, and sunny smiles, Keisha attracted about as much attention as a piece of furniture. Which is, after all, the way I prefer things. How would I get anything done if I had young men mooning around after me the way they follow Shandi about? What a nuisance!
So she wasn’t entirely unhappy with the situation. Not entirely. It would have been nice to have one friend, or one suitor. Someone sensible, someone she could actually have a conversation with, someone who had an interesting life of his own.
Well, this is wasting time. I’ve been slothful long enough. She threw off the blankets and flung open the lid of the chest that shared the loft with her bed. Quickly she got out clean clothing, and just as quickly scrambled into another oversized tunic and worn pair of breeches, shivering in the chilly air.
She half-climbed, half-slid down the ladder to the main room, ducked her head under the pump at the sink and performed a shivery wash-up, then stirred up the fire. In a reasonable length of time the room was warm, and a decent breakfast of bread and butter and tea was inside her. She put three eggs on to boil, picked out a withered apple to finish her breakfast, and with a grimace of determination, opened the book still on the bench to the last place she’d gotten stuck.
It was time to go to work.
She was interrupted four times before she gave up, still baffled by references to “shields” and “grounds.” Once it was because she had to take the eggs off to cool, three times because children came knocking on her door with injuries. By then she was hungry again, and threw together a salad of young greens from her garden to eat with her eggs.
When she’d washed up afterward, she tidied up the workshop, then looked around and sighed. She couldn’t put it off any longer; she had to go back to the house.
Bother.
Knowing that with all the work last night’s celebration had generated, Sidonie would still be at home, her conscience goaded her into going back to pick up some of the work. I can’t say “my fair share,“ since I wasn ‘t generating any of the mess, but it’s not fair to leave Mum with all of it, I suppose.
With reluctant steps, she made her way back through the village, to be greeted at the door with the expected, “Where have you been?” from her mother at the sink, up to her elbows in soap and water.
“Working, Mum, and studying.” She didn’t feel any guilt over that - after all, that was her job! - and although she didn’t put on a defiant air, she did face her mother’s eyes squarely.
Sidonie sighed. “Well, next time the entire village decides to celebrate something, I hope they choose someone else’s house. I’ve been here all day, and I’m beginning to think we ought to move back to the farm.”
“Well, I’d have to stay here - ” Keisha began, and her mother interrupted her.
“I know, and that’s why I haven’t said anything to your father.” Sidonie rinsed a plate and stacked it with the rest to dry. “Go clean up the yard, would you? I’ve been that busy in the house, I haven’t had time to get to it.”
Since that was a better job than washing dishes by Keisha’s way of thinking, she was perfectly happy to go back outside and take care of the tidying up.
It was rather amazing, the amount of trash people could generate. Portable fireplaces had just been tipped over and the cold coals and ashes dumped before their owners carried the fireplace home, for instance. Sticks used to toast sausages were just littered about, and bits of kindling, the odd kerchief or scarf, and a wooden cup. The village dogs had already taken care of discarded food, and what they hadn’t gobbled up, the crows had - good enough reason to put off clean-up! Keisha worked her way methodically across the yard; coals and kindling went into the Alder’s own kindling stack, ashes were scooped thriftily onto the flower border, and other folks’ belongings placed on a window ledge where the owners would presumably find them. She swept gravel back onto the path, put ornamental stones back along the border, and put the tiny plot of herb garden back to rights. Where markers had been inadvertently knocked over or flattened, she replaced them, where sticky stuff - of unknown origin - had been spilled, she dusted a little ash over it so it wouldn’t attract insects.
She’d just finished when her mother emerged, bearing a basket full of wet clothing. Sidonie thrust it into her hands and bustled back into the house without a word.
Oh, dear. I suppose she’s pretty irritated with me.
Better say nothing, then, and stay out of further trouble. S
he took the heavy load of clothes and set it down next to the rosemary hedge.
Sidonie had her own order of things, one that was not to be deviated from. Keisha followed that order as faithfully as any medicinal recipe. She spread shirts and underthings on the top of the hedge where the sun would bleach them; since today there was little or no breeze, there was no need to pin each garment to a branch to keep it from flying away. Stockings and breeches she pinned to the clothesline with wooden pegs her brothers carved during long winter nights - but they had to go on the section of line that would be in the sun. Anything embroidered or made with colored cloth went on the line in the shade to preserve those precious colors.
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