“There will still be misery?”
“I promise.”
“But it will be transformed?”
“It already is.”
She nodded, trying to understand, to accept the force that was pulling her away from the comfort of her loneliness, but all her defenses were gone: he had destroyed them with his eagerness, and her head spun around. So she merely repeated, “It already is.”
III
CHARITY
“For the lover is never isolated from what he loves; he belongs to it.”
- Hannah Arendt
10
The Nian Family
Two months later, when Trinian rode into the walls of the city with his new wife Adlena sitting on the horse before him, he watched her intently, with the all-consuming gaze of a man in love. She looked all about with round, frightened eyes; yet, for all her fear, they could not help but glisten with wonder at the bustle, rush, and sheer size of the ancient city. She was cowed by what, to her, was a vast number of people, and Trinian chuckled to himself, reflecting that it was best they had not arrived on market day.
He rode through the downtown shops directly to his brother’s house, his old family home, which was nestled in the south-eastern corner of the city among the other agricultural manors. Trinian’s family was old and well-established and did well for itself, though they were not particularly wealthy, and their home reflected that fact. The house was two and a half stories, with an added wing curving around the back, a vaulted roof over the kitchen and parlor, and a plentitude of front and back stained-glass windows facing north and south; it had many gables, overhangs, and turrets, and vines that grew up the walls. Behind it stretched the mighty red wall of Drian, with a small blue gate that led out into the pastures beyond the city.
When Trinian pulled up before the front door, Adlena gazed at it in wonder. “This is where you live?”
He smiled. “Don’t get used to it. The palace is five times this size.” As he lifted her down and led her up the front step, Adlena stared in awe at the intricate wood paneling, crown molding, tiny buttresses, and two carved wooden pillars that stood guard at the entrance. They waited a long moment before someone answered his knock, and when the door opened, they were accosted by a beautiful girl with the most glorious head of elaborate curls. She was dressed richly, and her eyes narrowed when she saw Trinian.
“Well, you know well enough you do not have to knock, brother!” she said at him, her head held high on her neck at an antagonistic angle, as if everything below her were too good for her; her green eyes were pale, icy, and stabbed threateningly at them. “Oh, you have got a woman with you. About time: we were worrying you meant to bachelor it the rest of your life. Cila! Come and see! Trinian’s brought a girl home!” And so it was in this abrupt way that Adlena met Lavendier, the oldest sister of Trinian’s family, and had her first jolt of fear in her presence.
A petite girl with the same features as her sister, though not so striking, and the bleached blond hair of her brother ran round the corner, drying her hands on a towel. It was immediately apparent that she was gentle and kind, and far more like her brother than her sister in her warm-hearted nature.
“Trinian!” she cried, leaping joyfully into his arms. “Are you going to make them stand on the stoop all day, Laven? Come in, come in. Jeroe can see to the horse.”
A young servant stepped out of the shadows and slipped past them outside.
“What happened to Kerg?” asked Trinian in surprise.
“The plague,” Cila said shortly.
They all trooped to the kitchen which was in the back of the house, where it was clear from the scent that preceded them that Cila was in the midst of baking bread.
“I did not expect to see you here,” said her brother with happy emotion as they filed through the hallway.
“Just a visit,” Cila told him. “Afias and Astren are in the fields.”
When they all stood in the spacious room, Cila turned expectantly to be introduced to her brother’s companion, but Lavendier was not so polite.
“So who are you, then? My brother’s sweetheart?” She tilted her nose up, and ran her pretty white hands over the large floral pattern on her skirt. “No need to look so frightened. We are not snakes who bite their victims.”
“Cila, Lavendier, allow me to introduce you to Adlena – my wife.”
The pride in Trinian’s voice barely contained itself beneath his boyishly happy smile. Adlena, too, gave a small smile and her head, always so erect on her white neck, lifted a little higher. Lavendier bit her lip and looked over her new sister in astonishment, but Cila, polite enough not to gape in her surprise, immediately stepped forward and took the woman’s hand in her own.“Adlena, it is a joy to meet you and let me be the first to welcome you to our family. I can see how happy you make him,” she added confidentially, “he has not smiled like that in years.”
“Thank you,” whispered her new sister.
“This must be overwhelming for you,” Cila guessed, who was also naturally quiet and reserved. “We have plenty of time to get acquainted, but for now, please sit down and rest. I will get you something to drink. I do wish,” she looked reproachfully at her brother as she went to the cupboard, “that you had gotten married here.”
Trinian grinned. “It could not be helped. We had to travel alone together, so it would not have been proper.” Cila did not look convinced, but Trinian said nothing else. He did not explain how uncomfortable Adlena had been with him, and with the idea of entering civilization, and how they needed several weeks in the forest, with Gladier close enough for her to run to, before she thoroughly trusted him to take her to Drian.
“And did you know he was only a common soldier when you married him?” asked Lavendier abruptly.
From her seat by the fire, Adlena met the eyes of the tall, dark-haired sister. With that gaze she saw into the very depths of her brother’s sister, to her soul. “He is no common soldier.”
“Did not he tell you?” she cried, flushing and growing more bitter to hide her distress at the other woman’s penetrating eyes. “He must have played up his role in the family fortunes – oh, wait,” she spat at her brother, “there aren’t any. Are you rich? Did he marry you for money?”
“Enough, Laven.” Trinian broke in sternly. “You will not speak so.”
“I will speak however I please. I do not have to answer to you or anyone else. I could leave this house whenever I choose – for there are plenty of men who would take me away! You just wait and see: I will show up with my own husband out of the blue.”
With that she ran from the room, her footsteps pounding down the passageway until they heard the outer door slam. Adlena jumped, and there was an uncomfortable silence.
“Where has she gone?” asked Trinian.
“To find comfort in the arms of another man who will never marry her,” said his sister sadly.
Trinian sighed, but accustomed to the dramatics of his sister, he passed on to a new subject. “You said my brothers were in the fields?”
“The north pasture. Planning their work now that the plague has left us some peace.”
“I think I will ride out to them.”
“Oh, they will like that.” She bent over the oven to pull out several golden loaves. “I’ll send you with one of these.”
“Wrap it up. I will go tell – Jeroe? you said – to saddle Mary.” He kissed Adlena and told her, “I will be back in an hour or two.” She said nothing, but when he left the room and she had sat for a moment without him, she started up and ran down the passage until she fell against his broad, comforting back in the dark shadows.
“Must you leave? I know not what to say or do. Since we were married I have not been without you. Please let me come with.”
He smiled at her. They stood nearly eye to eye, and, as he had many times already in their brief time together, he found it odd that such a regal, tall, graceful woman, who held her head so erect, could feel awkward or
uncomfortable.
“You must get accustomed to being without me,” he told her. “We w will not always be together. But I could leave you in no more capable hands than Cila’s. She is gentle, kind, and good, and will love you first for my sake, but I know that it will soon be for your own. Please, do the same for her?”
Adlena watched Trinian disappear around the corner before returning timidly to the kitchen, and standing awkwardly in the doorway.
“So,” said the petite, busy sister, who had transitioned from bread-making to pounding out meat on the table, “you must tell me how you two met. Where was it?”
“In the woods. I was walking and he was hunting in the early morning.”
“I like it! It is very romantic – and unconventional. You know, all these months we had no idea where he was. He told us not to worry and he was only gone away on retreat, but,” she shook her head, “that could have just been a cover for something more dangerous. I was sure the government had sent him somewhere. Never did I imagine that he was pursuing someone.” Cila lifted down a bin of flour to bread the meat.
“Can I help you?” Adlena asked.
“Thank you, but I am sure you are very tired after your journey. You just sit and talk to me.”
Adlena was indeed tired, so she sank back into the wicker chair by the fire. “You have a lovely house,” she ventured.
“I am glad you like it. It is the one I grew up in, although I do not live here now.”
“Why not?”
“My husband is a ranger. We live near the soldier barracks. We will be close neighbors soon, since that is where I am sure you and Trinian will live.”
Adlena said nothing. Trinian had asked her to keep his secret until he could reveal it in his own way. After reflection, she ventured, “I hope we will be close. Whether we live near each other or not. I have never had a friend or a sister.”
Cila’s reaction to that simple statement was much stronger than her visitor had anticipated. Cila immediately cried out and ran over to take the woman’s hands in her own, much to Adlena’s surprise, who did not realize how sad it is to say she had never had a friend.
“Of course we will be friends! And sisters. Pay no mind to Laven: she is very, very lonely, and since she is the oldest girl, she is bitter that others have married before her. Me first, and now Trinian too. But I know you and I will be wonderful friends. And you will find love in our other siblings, I know. Viol, our little sister, is not here now, for she is staying with our aunt and uncle in the outlying regions to escape the plague. But she will be returning home soon, and you will find her the sweetest, kindest creature you ever met. And Afias, too, is a brother to love, for he is a bulwark for our family and a leader in his own quiet way. With all our mingled love, we will make this a home for others to envy! Just wait and see!”
Adlena smiled and was no longer nervous. In fact, the isolated spirit of the wood was surprised at how comfortable she was. She felt a sensation wholly new to her: of safety, comfort, and love. For the first time in her life, she belonged to a family.
11
A Domestic Dinner
The shadow of the kitchen table stretched far across the wooden floor when Cila, now alone in the kitchen, finished preparing the meal. She set it prettily in bowls on the table, untied the apron strings that had familiarized themselves in the creases of her hips, and peeked at her flushed face in the glass above the washstand. She had shown Adlena to Trinian’s old room so her sister-in-law could refresh herself before dinner. Breaking upon her in her moment of dusk and silence came from outside the loud, bantering voices of the men coming in from the fields, and Cila, smiling to herself, opened the back door and stepped out onto the porch.
“Ah! There she is! My lovely woman.” Her red-headed husband Asbult dashed lightly up to her and wrapped his arm into the groove where her apron strings had just nestled. “Your brother was telling us about the pretty quarry he caught on retreat. I should go on retreat; have nothing to do but hunt, lounge, and love my woman. Who knew that Trinian – the active, the brave, the rash – could find time to sit and do nothing?”
“You may find that I have many hidden talents,” said his brother-in-law, laughing at him.
“It must be this new wife of yours,” observed Afias, their brother, carefully taking off his boots and hanging up his shovel. “She has changed you.”
“That is more true than you know.”
“Yes, yes, this mysterious wife. And where is the elusive beauty?” demanded Asbult. “You must produce her before we begin to doubt her existence.”
“She is upstairs,” said Cila. “Dinner is ready; come in, act like gentlemen, and I will call her down.”
Adlena heard the voices of the men from the open window of the upstairs bedroom, and trembled. She ought to go down, she knew, but her hands shook as she paced the room, the sight of Lavendier’s black heart rising in her inner mind, unbidden, unsought, and haunting her. She cursed her inner vision now as she had never done before, for she had only ever seen the pure hearts of Trinian and Gladier, who had only small vices to color their otherwise magnanimous and great souls. When Trinian and she rode through the city, she had made eye contact with no one, and seen into no one’s inner being, but on looking this new girl in the eye, she had seen to the black depths of her soul. And she had never seen one so dark. Cila’s heart was calm and kind, only little darknesses like Gladier and Trinian and herself. There was nothing surprising in her. But Lavendier’s roiled and shouted, and was more black than light, and Adlena, her heart racing in fear, gripped the dresser against the wall, trying to still the world that tipped about her. She never wanted to see such evil again.
How could she love this girl, who was now her sister, if she had such evil in her? The thought that she might be confronted by such a blackness of other individuals overwhelmed the innocent nymph, the spirit of the wood. She clenched her hands into fists, remembering Trinian’s words to her in the forest. He had said she was mortal, as well as a daughter of the trees, and she could put aside what set her apart. She had not understood at the time – not realized what he meant – but now, she saw. She saw it was impossible to live among mortals while knowing their faults. It was impossible to find peace in oneself when there was so much turmoil in another. She would wither up, be consumed, or drown – something dreadful would happen if she allowed her inner vision to portray to her all the truths of other’s souls. But – if she could put it aside? Yes - she could, and she would. She had given her word to Trinian. Indeed, she loved him now more than she loved herself, and she would find a way to live within his world.
With an effort to still her quaking knees, she straightened, standing tall and gazing toward the door that, once she went through, would take her irrevocably into this new world. With new resolve, she made the firm decision to never use her inner vision again. She went out the door.
Downstairs, the family was gathering around the long kitchen table, waiting for Adlena to join them. They were mainly a happy family, bound together as only children of loving parents can be. For even when those parents were dead, even when the children had their differences, and even when life took them down separate roads, their ties bound them irrevocably to one another. If one sibling was missing, they all felt it. If one returned after a long absence, they all welcomed them with open, forgiving arms. They were neither perfect nor blind in their love, but only struggling to follow the instilled path their parents had taken such pains to form in them.
The farm, which had been in the family for generations, had come to Trinian and Afias at the death of their father; but it now belonged, in all effect, to Afias. He loved the life, the house, the tenants, and the earth, and could imagine no other existence. Unlike his older brother, who had barely kept from fleeing hearth and home as from a prison, he could not comprehend leaving.
Yes, Trinian had very much wanted to flee, and owed the patience and fullness of his present life to the understanding of his mother, for she had
taught her impatient eldest son the value of working with a purpose, waiting for the right moment, and acting when the opportunity was ripe. “You can always leave,” she had told him once, when his eyes starved for the world beyond their farm; “but the trick is to know when leaving will bring reward. Prepare yourself, watch, and one day soon, your chance will come.”
It had come when Trinian was just eighteen in the shape of a visiting general. The man, Cartnol by name, was a cousin of their neighbors’, and he came one day to dinner, where he noticed the intelligence and astuteness of the young man who eagerly fired questions at him, and inquired if he was interested in the army. “More than anything!” was his immediate answer, and the two spoke together well into the early hours of the morning. By the time the sun suffused her early glow on the horizon, Trinian sought out his mother, and she nodded when he explained that his chance had come at last. “This man will help you,” she affirmed; “his good word will carry you far. Treasure it, and do nothing to jeopardize his good faith. Then I will not worry about my oldest son.” But for all her brave words, there had been a catch in her throat when she sent him away.
When Trinian left, Afias had seamlessly taken on management of the estate. Although only seventeen, his level-headedness allowed the land and farm to flourish more than it had since even his father governed it. So it was that now, when all the children were grown and their mother passed on to be with her husband, they referred to home as Afias’s Farm. To them, he was their stability; the person they most trusted; the father that Viol barely remembered; the conscience that Lavendier abhorred; and the rock of counsel upon which Trinian stood firm.
And so it was that, in the waning light of evening, Afias took his seat at the head of the table, while the rest filed into the benches along the sides. The chair at the other end they left empty, as was always the case when Lavendier was absent. It had been their mother’s chair, and when she passed, no one felt right sitting in it. Sometimes, Lavendier asserted her place as the oldest girl, but she was always insecure about it, and took it out on everyone as they ate.
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