The moon hung low in the sky now. Ivana wondered how long she had been inside the bathhouse with the three old women. Stars glittered above her. The ice she had forgotten stung her feet and the cold air stung her lungs. She darted back to the inn as quickly as she could, returning the key to its hiding place and slipping up the stairs to slide beneath the coverlet of her bed. Warm and safe again.
The next day Ivana thought carefully as she went about her chores. “How shall I get the seeds into Susanna’s food or drink?” she considered. Something in the tone of those old women, something in their cautions about how the truth could never be retracted, worried her. “I have to be sure that only Susanna gets the seeds. Not David. Not me.” She thought about everyone else who ate from the food in the kitchen. “Not Jan and his wife and children. Not the guests of the inn. Only Susanna. Should I bake a cake for her as she did for David?” The irony of that solution to her quandary struck her as especially appropriate.
But there was no way that Michael would let her bake a cake in the inn, not while he was preparing the breads and cakes for the Epiphany feast in addition to the daily baking for the needs of the inn. “If I want Susanna’s truth to be revealed before that, I will have to find another way,” Ivana realized.
Ivana carried the glass vial of seeds in her apron, but no opportunity to use them presented itself to her that day. Nor the next. The inn was much too busy preparing for the Epiphany celebration in two days. There was washing and cooking and baking and scrubbing and cleaning to be done. Michael kept David in the kitchen working, working, working. At least Ivana wasn’t forced to watch him gaze longingly at Susanna. Neither was she forced to put up with Susanna, as both girls were busily going about their own chores and tasks, attempting to accomplish everything Jan thought necessary for the proper celebration of the Epiphany. It was only at night, in their room as they prepared for sleep, that Ivana had to bear with Susanna’s smug grin and arrogant bearing. Though no words passed between the girls, Susanna’s declaration of triumph could not have been clearer.
Ivana crawled into her bed and smiled to herself. “The truth will come out,” she promised herself. She recalled the words of the Gospel, which Fr. Krystof had repeated once in Czech during a sermon. “The truth will set you free.”
It was Epiphany Eve. Everyone in the four towns was busily going about their errands, making the preparations for the Zjevení tomorrow, the culmination of the Christmas season. Jan sent Susanna with Michael and David to the market to help bring back the ducks and geese and sausage and eggs and other foods that would be prepared.
“No chance to expose the truth about Susanna today, either.” Ivana sighed. Although that disappointed her and she was jealous of Susanna’s opportunity to spend the day with David, she was caught up in the excitement of preparing the inn for the holiday. The children ran up and down the stairs, bringing wine bottles up to the kitchen as their mother and Ivana pulled them from the wine racks in the cellar and wiped them clean.
While the cook was at the market and his wife was in the cellar, Jan stood before the chests and drawers of his family’s clothing. He stared at them, unsure of where to begin.
“She made me promise to keep it,” he said to himself, trying to reconstruct in his memory the events that followed the birth of his twin daughters almost a dozen years ago. Where had they put it?
When his wife’s labor had begun, he had gone for the midwife and for his mother-in-law. The other women had come along as well, his sister, his sisters-in-law. They had all come to help his wife through her first experience of childbirth. It was in this very room.
He had been downstairs, forbidden by custom—and the ferocious midwife!—to be present at the birth, but his shirt had been demanded of him. “To catch the child in,” explained the midwife. He had gladly given his shirt to her and, donning another, went about his work as he anxiously awaited the news of the arrival of either a firstborn son or daughter. He certainly never expected twins! He remembered that clearly, and the thrill that shot through him when the midwife gave him the news.
The next day, while the midwife and all the women were still there but he was finally invited to see the children and congratulate his wife on not just one but two successful deliveries, his mother-in-law had pulled him aside and pressed the bloody shirt into his hands.
“Never wash it!” she ordered him. “Never! Put it away and never forget where it is!”
“Why?” He wondered if this was another piece of the arcane lore of women, one of the customs of childbirth that men learned of only indirectly. “Does the next child need to be caught in the same shirt? Does it protect the next child?”
“No, foolish man!” his mother-in-law snapped. She looked at him as if he were a youth, unsure and unsteady in the ways of the world.
“Why?” he repeated. He did not enjoy the scrutiny of his mother-in-law’s eyes, weighing his worth and finding him wanting.
She leaned to whisper in his ear. “Anna was born first. The midwife caught her in this shirt, your shirt, and then I wrapped her in the swaddling bands. We thought the delivery was done. Then the pains began again and Milena was born. The midwife caught her, as she was born, in this same shirt. Your shirt. We were lucky to have enough swaddling bands to wrap the second girl with.” She wiped her brow. “But this shirt is worth a great deal of money now. Take it before the midwife claims it or one of the other women here steals it. You may need it someday—either to sell or to use for protection.”
He stared at her. What was she talking about?
She wiped her forehead again and straightened her apron before leaning in even closer to tell him the secret. “If any of these girls here doesn’t already know, I do not want to give them a reason to take it,” she explained. “A father’s shirt, used to catch twins born of his wife, will guard whoever wears it from witchcraft or magic for as long as it is not washed.” She looked into his eyes. “Do you understand me? Keep it safely hidden. Someone in the family may need it someday.”
He had taken it and hidden it carefully, never washing it, as she had directed. “But maybe I hid it too well?” he asked himself. He hadn’t thought of it in years. But now he wanted it.
As he had planned the Epiphany feast with Michael the cook this week, he had remembered both the old woman’s curse as she burnt at the stake as well as his mother-in-law’s warning. “May all their feasts be traps and snares!” “You may need the shirt someday—for protection!” He did not want his Epiphany feast, his annual feast for his friends in the Little Town, to become the target of the old woman’s words. “Maybe the shirt will guard everyone,” he hoped. “If I can only find it!”
He began to go through all the drawers and shelves, carefully looking between garments to see if the old shirt had been folded and placed between other clothing. He hadn’t told his wife that he wanted to find it. He had not wanted to frighten her.
“She’d know where it is,” he growled in exasperation.
Finally he located it, carefully folded among the children’s swaddling clothes and small blankets. He lifted it gently and opened it on the bed.
It looked exactly as he had remembered it, only older. The blood and other stains had faded into large dark spots and shadows in the cloth. He put it on. It still fit, but the cloth was stiff. It scratched his skin.
“I’ll wear it under my holiday shirt,” he decided. “No one will know I have it on.” He folded it up again and put it away until tomorrow.
The next morning, the staff of the inn—Michael, David, Ivana, and Susanna—all went to the early Mass. Jan and his family would attend the later, more splendid Mass for the feast, but the work that needed doing at the inn would remain undone if the workers did not attend the earlier, briefer service. Ivana was sorry to miss the crowded church, the singing, the preaching by Fr. Krystof. But still, the holiday had come and with it the citizens of Prague—the great and the low, the masters and the apprentices, the noble and the humble—all rejoiced.
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Once back at the inn, everyone hastily prepared for the feast. Michael and David were in the kitchen, chopping and slicing and stirring and basting. Ivana and Susanna were setting out the tablecloths, the bowls and dishes, the goblets and utensils. They brought out the wine that had been carried upstairs and put away in the cupboards and sideboards. Ivana scattered rushes and bay leaves on the floor, which would release their scent when crushed under the feet of the banquet guests. Susanna polished some of the silver pitchers one last time.
David was expected to stay in the kitchen with Michael for the duration of the banquet, helping cook and prepare each course, which would then be taken into the banquet room and served by Ivana and Susanna. As the guests began to arrive, the leading merchants and a handful of the lesser nobility, the girls dashed up to their room to change into their festal dresses for serving. They would eat in the kitchen while the guests continued to arrive and then run about all afternoon, back and forth from the kitchen to the banquet table to the kitchen again while the guests ate.
Susanna seemed to be having a difficult time brushing her hair and braiding it with the ribbons she had gotten for this occasion. “You go down and eat,” she told Ivana. “I will come down in a moment, as soon as I get this last braid completed.”
Ivana did not need to be told twice. The less time she spent with Susanna, the better. She flew down the stairs to the kitchen. Two bowls of stew were laid out on the table, with a mug of ale and a spoon to the side. David was already half-done with his.
“Thank you, Michael.” Ivana slid into her seat, made the sign of the cross, and lifted the first spoonful to her lips. “It smells wonderful!”
The cook grunted his acknowledgment. David winked at Ivana and her heart fluttered. Her stew was hot, and she sipped it slowly. It was wonderful—thick and hearty, rich and flavorful. She loved the inn’s cook at holidays.
David stood from the table, his bowl empty.
“Go down to the cellar, David,” barked Michael. “Bring me another bottle of the wine to season the goose with. You remember, the one in the green bottle.” David nodded and darted out of the kitchen.
Ivana and Michael remained silently together in the kitchen. He stood with his back towards her, tending to the pots hanging over the fire and the pans roasting in the ovens. She continued to sip her stew. Several minutes passed.
“What is taking that boy so long?” Michael demanded. He stormed out of the kitchen to find David.
Ivana could hear the guests coming into the banquet hall. She and Susanna would be needed there soon. “Where is Susanna?” Her thoughts mimicked Michael’s complaint about David. “What is taking that girl so long?”
She was done with her stew and stood from the table. She was alone in the kitchen. She glanced around. This was her chance!
She pulled the vial of seeds from the bathhouse from a pocket and poured them into Susanna’s stew, still steaming on the table. Then she darted into the banquet hall to see if Jan needed her yet.
Michael reentered the kitchen, pulling David by his ear. David cradled the bottle of wine in his arms as Michael threw him across the kitchen and swung a wooden spoon at his nose.
“How dare you?” he stormed. “Hiding in the cellar with that girl! I don’t care if you are betrothed! Today is no day for such play! There is too much work to be done!” He had found David and Susanna kissing behind the wine racks, eagerly fondling each other.
David stammered, “There is much work to be done. If Susanna hadn’t been hiding in the cellar waiting for me, this would never have happened.”
“Trying to blame the girl?” roared Michael. “Even if she were Eve and you Adam, that would be no excuse. Eve sinned with the serpent and yet both she and Adam were flung out of Paradise! Don’t think you can get off so easily!”
“No, sir,” David agreed.
“Open the wine and pour a third of the bottle into each of the roasting pans!” the furious cook ordered his apprentice. David reached for the corkscrew to open the bottle.
Michael looked around behind him. Susanna had not followed them into the kitchen.
“Not that I am surprised by that,” he fumed. “I don’t doubt but that she’ll make herself scarce around here this afternoon. Let her stay away today, of all days, and Jan will have her out by the end of the week.”
David reached into the oven to pull out the first roasting pan and cried out. In his haste to placate Michael, he had not wrapped his hand carefully enough in the towel and burnt his hand. He dashed out of the kitchen.
Deciding Susanna was not coming to eat her supper, Michael picked up the bowl of stew from the table and poured it back into the cauldron hanging over the fire.
“My friends and neighbors.” Jan was making his usual welcome speech to his guests. They all stood listening to it, politely, holding their wine glasses, ready to toast their host when his speech was done.
Having put the protective shirt under his fine holiday garments that morning before attending the Mass, Jan discovered that the shirt no longer scratched him and he was able to move his arms about as easily as he always did. This encouraged him to make the speech longer, extolling the virtues of each of his guests and how honored he was that they were attending his Epiphany banquet. He hoped they would all remember to invite him to the banquets and parties they would be hosting in the weeks to come until Ash Wednesday arrived.
Michael stirred the stew again and lifted the spoon to his lips, to see if any last pinch of a spice or a dash of an herb was needed to make it perfect. He blew the steam away from it and touched the edge of the spoon to his lips.
Ivana darted back into the kitchen. “They are sitting down, ready for the first course, Michael!” she announced. “Jan says to bring in the stew!”
She looked around. No one was there. She glanced at the table. The bowls from which she and David had eaten were still sitting there. The one meant for Susanna was gone. Ivana still hadn’t seen her. Had she come in, eaten quickly, and run away? Where had David and Michael gone?
Suddenly a large black dog leaped onto the table, snarling and barking at Ivana. She screamed. The dog’s dull yellow eyes had a wild, furious light in them. Flecks of foam and drool hung about the animal’s lips and flew about the room as it howled and tossed its head about.
David appeared in the door that led out behind the kitchen, one hand wrapped in a towel. Jan appeared behind Ivana.
“What is going on?” demanded the innkeeper. Then he saw the dog on the table and he turned pale. “Where did that animal come from? How did it get in here?”
The dog howled again and then raised its head, cocking one ear toward the ceiling as if listening to a call that none of the rest of them could hear. It leaped across the kitchen, knocking over bowls and skillets and sending crockery skidding across the floor. Snapping at Jan and Ivana, who shrank back against the wall, it jumped through the door and up the short flight of stairs toward the door onto the street. Its tail lashed the innkeeper as it sped past. Gobs of saliva hit Ivana’s apron and a trail of droplets showed where it had gone. They heard a cry upstairs, a door slamming, and then silence.
The three of them—Jan, Ivana, and David—stood rooted to the floor. Then Jan gathered his wits.
“I will go see if the children and the guests in the common room are safe. You two begin serving the stew and find Michael,” he instructed them. Shaking his head and keeping his eyes on the floor, following the trail of spittle, he went to see if his family and other guests of the inn had been attacked by the mad dog on its way toward the street. David and Ivana entered the kitchen and stared at the kettle of stew.
“Where did Michael go?” asked Ivana.
David shook his head. “I burnt my hand on a roasting pan and went out to cool it in the barrel of water in the courtyard,” he said. “Michael was here when I left. Then I heard you scream and ran back to see what had happened. That’s when I saw the dog.”
“He must be here somewhere,” mu
ttered Ivana. “Did he go to the latrine?”
“No,” snorted David. “I would have seen him come past me.”
Ivana hoisted a great serving bowl and ladle down from a shelf. “We need to serve this stew. Michael will return in a moment, no doubt,” Ivana announced. “I’ll hold the bowl while you ladle the stew into it. Then I will take it out to the banquet while you prepare to serve the next course. Is it the goose? I’ll come back and help you if Michael hasn’t returned by then.”
David nodded and began to ladle the stew with his unburned hand.
The stew splashed into the bowl. The rich aroma tickled their noses. It smelled even more delicious than earlier. Ivana and David worked silently together. It was awkward for David, having the use of only one hand, but Ivana was comfortable with him. She could easily imagine spending her life here in the kitchen, cooking beside him.
“Have you seen Susanna?” she asked him as she turned, about to take the stew out to the banquet.
David shook his head.
“Did she and Michael run away together?” Ivana asked herself. She giggled, imagining how they would appear together.
She set the bowl on a sideboard in the small banquet hall. Jan had returned and came over to her, whispering, “The dog ran out into the street. Anna was on a stool near the door. She was scared but the dog did not bite her. I told everyone that a dog had run through the inn and startled us but that it is gone now. I said nothing about it looking as if it were mad. Be sure you say nothing of it either.” Ivana nodded. He reached for the bowl and carried it to the banquet table. Ivana followed him and ladled the stew into smaller bowls for his guests, which she then placed around the table in front of each finely dressed gentleman. The hearty aroma from the bowl wafted about the table.
“It smells wonderful, Jan,” called one man from the opposite end of the table.
“Your cook has outdone himself!” cried another.
Come Hell or High Water: The Complete Trilogy Page 58