Diana held the donkey’s rope while the others adjusted the load. She found it strange that women in a family way walked around the village, attended church, and now, Sophia was accepting guests? In London, such a woman would remain in confinement as she waited for a baby to be born.
Agatha glanced up the mountain road, and her eyes squinted into a scowl. “Let us be on our way.” She started toward Tsímova, motioning with a swipe of her hand for the other to hurry.
Kyros’s face darkened as he looked back up the road.
Diana stepped around the cart, following his gaze, and saw two men walking toward them. They wore thick stockings beneath white kilts. Each man had a saber at his waist and a musket over his shoulder.
“Klephts,” Kyros muttered, glancing at the girls.
Diana didn’t understand the word or their reaction. Were the men strangers? Perhaps it was their weapons that caused the reaction. She walked faster, catching up to Elena and Stella. The girls’ arms were linked, and they chattered. The men on the road didn’t seem to bother them. But they were certainly not making an effort to be friendly.
Diana glanced back. The men maintained their original pace and didn’t seem to be threatening.
“What is a klepht, Elena?”
“Klephtopólemos,” she said.
Elena shook her head to show she didn’t understand.
“It is wise to leave them alone.” Agatha joined the group, pursing her lips. Diana wasn’t sure if the expression was typical of the woman or if the men were the cause of worry.
When they entered the house, Sophia was delighted to see them. She rose up from her bed on the couch, but Agatha motioned for her to remain. It was a testament to how poorly Sophia felt that she did not argue.
Kyros moved the wood to the storage building, then took his leave in order to finish a few hours’ work at the olive orchard with Gregori before it was time to accompany his mother and sister back to Limeni. Diana and Elena quickly made up a meal for the two cousins to share at the orchard. He thanked them and departed.
Diana scooped the creamy soup into smaller bowls while Elena sliced warm white bread. When Sophia insisted on joining them at the table, Agatha assisted her across the room, placing a pillow behind her as she eased into a wooden chair. Stella brought a stool for her feet.
Diana moved back and forth between the cooking area and the kitchen table, carrying bowls, the butter dish, and the honey pot. Elena took wooden spoons from the drawer and poured goat milk into cups.
Once she was certain the women had everything they needed, Diana walked toward the door, but Elena called her back.
“Please join us, Missno.”
Diana hesitated, glancing at the four women. She was certain the relatives did not want an outsider intruding on their luncheon. “I thought to feed the chickens,” she said. “And we did not fetch eggs this morning.”
“Of course you will join us.” Sophia motioned to a chair. “The chickens can wait.” The woman’s smile was tired but genuine.
“Thank you.” Diana scooped some soup for herself and sat at the table, wishing Agatha and Stella were not studying her. She did not like to be the center of attention.
Sophia prayed over the food. She took a spoonful of soup, then let out a contented noise. “Agatha, you knew exactly what I needed today. I do get lonely, and you make the best avgolemono in Laconia.”
Agatha’s face warmed into a pleased smile. “Stella baked the bread.”
Sophia lifted a slice, inhaling deeply, then spread on butter and honey before taking a bite. Her brows rose, and she nodded while she chewed. She swallowed and smiled. “Delicious, Stella. You’ll make a fine wife.”
Stella grinned and Elena giggled.
“But not too soon,” Agatha said. “Her father would be very sad.”
Sophia smiled as she nodded. “True. Themis acts strong, but a daughter softens a man’s heart like nothing else can.”
Diana lifted her wooden spoon, attempting to look dainty as she scooped the creamy soup with the thick utensil. She sipped carefully at the edge of the rounded wood. Chicken soup with lemon? She chewed the bits of chicken and rice as she thought of what the women had said and tried to keep shock from showing on her face. Themis was Stella’s father? This lovely young girl was the daughter of the pirate that had kidnapped her? She did not think the father’s heart had been soft when he’d held a blade against her neck.
She studied Stella, searching for a resemblance to her father. Diana took another bite. Now that her mouth was prepared for it, she found the mixture of flavors less shocking and actually rather delicious.
“Stella, perhaps your father will allow you to learn to read,” Elena said. “Missno is teaching me.”
Diana smiled at the look of interest in Stella’s eyes. She seemed every bit as bright as her cousin.
Agatha’s expression grew tight again. “This is her grandfather’s doing, no doubt?” she said to Sophia.
Sophia took a drink of milk. “The idea was Elena’s. But, yes, Petrobey did agree to it.”
“What possible use could she have for such a thing?” Agatha rubbed her brow as if the very idea were giving her a headache. “She would do much better to learn skills that will make her a good wife.”
A familiar burning started in Diana’s chest. The circumstances were so different but the advice nearly identical to that given to Molly by the officers’ wives.
“And reading will not?” Elena asked.
Sophia darted a look at her daughter, who lowered her eyes in apology. “Elena knows that if her household duties suffer, she will need to stop.”
“And perhaps a husband will have need of a wife who reads.” The words popped out of Diana’s mouth before she had even finished thinking them.
The four women looked at her, and she felt her face flame with heat. Diana held herself tightly looking at her soup as she waited for a reprimand. Why can I not keep my mouth quiet? When the reprimand didn’t come, she risked a peek at Agatha.
Agatha regarded her for a moment. “I had not thought of that.” She turned down the corners of her lips as if she were considering Diana’s words. “But, still, her father will not allow it.” She took a bite of soup, swallowing before she spoke. “Less than two weeks remain before Calantha Michalakiáni and Socrates Grigorakiáni’s wedding.” She turned to Sophia. “I cannot imagine you will feel up to making kourabiedes.”
And just like that, the moment passed. Nobody was angry with Diana’s opinion. Agatha, in spite of her curt personality, had even considered it and, though she didn’t agree, had responded politely. Diana was more surprised than when she’d tasted lemon in the chicken soup. Did these women actually care about what she said?
Sophia’s laughter brought Diana’s thoughts back to the conversation. “No, I am nearly certain I will not be making wedding cookies for a few months. Perhaps Stella could come help Elena and Diana with the baking?”
The cousins grinned and shared an excited look. Whether it was because of the wedding or their opportunity to spend time together, Diana wasn’t certain. She listened to the women’s discussion as they continued their meal. They gossiped and argued, and even though she was not able to follow some of the conversation, Diana was coming to recognize the direct talk was not intended to offend. Arguments and disagreements were natural, and she decided she quite preferred this blunt honesty to manipulation and backhanded compliments.
After an hour, Agatha assisted Sophia back to the couch. “We should not have kept you so long. You look tired.”
“I am tired.” Sophia adjusted the pillows and rested back, lifting the beads at her waist and clicking them together absentmindedly. “But never too tired for a visit.”
Diana took the bowls from the table and stacked them in the washing basin while the young girls whispered and giggled. She thought she heard the name Spiros Sássaris mentioned in their conversation.
Agatha sat on the edge of the couch and brushed a lock of hai
r from Sophia’s forehead in a tender gesture. “We go to the Sássaris house now.”
Sophia’s expression fell. “And young Costas? He remains ill?”
“Yes.”
“Poor Daphne. She has only her daughter, Theodora, and one healthy son, Spiros.” Both women crossed themselves.
Diana did not miss Elena’s glance darting across the room at the sound of the name.
After saying their good-byes, the relatives took their leave.
As Sophia slept, Elena and Diana delivered lunch to the young goat tenders and then made their way back through the village toward the church. In anticipation of her reading lesson, Elena walked quickly with bouncing steps.
Inside the church, Father Yianni showed them the shelf where the sacred texts were kept. Diana studied the small selection of books. Eusebius, a book of etymology by Nikolaos Glykis. Neither seemed appealing to a young girl. She looked at the next volume and smiled, glad to see the familiar lettering of a Septuagint Bible. She had studied a Greek Bible in Reverend Delaney’s library and knew the language of the Gospels was simple enough for Elena to learn.
She reached for the book, but the priest put his hand over hers, stopping her from removing it. He shook his head, pushing the book firmly into the shelf, indicating the Bible was not an option.
Diana knitted her brows but did not argue. She touched the spine of a book of Psalms and glanced at him with a question in her eyes.
Father Yianni nodded.
Diana pulled two straight-backed wooden chairs into the dim light of a small window and sat in one, patting the other for Elena to join her. Luckily the sun was bright today, but in the future, they would need to either read outside or bring a lantern.
The two bent over the book, Elena carefully pronouncing each sound, and Diana studying the sentences, using Elena’s help and her own knowledge of the verses to decipher the words.
After an hour, Elena rubbed her eyes. “We should see to supper.”
“You did wonderfully.” Diana slid the book of scripture back into its spot on the shelf. She could tell reading had been more difficult than Elena had anticipated, and she didn’t want the girl to become discouraged. If only they had access to the level primers Diana taught from at school.
Stepping outside, Diana closed the heavy wooden door behind them. When she heard her name, she whirled around. The sound of Alexandros’s voice brought a flutter of agitation that muddled her mind and heated her cheeks.
He approached across the square. “Good afternoon, ladies.” He bowed when he reached them. “Have you been reading?”
Elena nodded. “Yes. Father Yianni let us practice with the Psalms and Patristic Writings.” Her eyes dimmed. “They are a bit difficult.”
“And I can’t imagine very interesting,” he said.
Elena’s eyes opened wide at his irreverence regarding sacred texts, then she laughed.
“How is the other student’s progress?” Alexandros tipped his head as he directed his words to Diana.
“I am understanding quite a lot when I listen and read,” she said in careful Greek, “but speaking is not as easy.” She lifted her gaze and saw that he watched her thoughtfully. His eyes were soft, sending a shiver over her skin.
“You speak my language beautifully,” he said in English. The low husky sound of his voice made her heart flip over.
She took a step back, practically pressed against the door. Enough was enough. Diana straightened her shoulders, feeling as though she needed a barrier between herself and this man whose every word and expression disconcerted her to the point of distraction. “Excuse us, Mr. Metaxas.” She dipped in a curtsey. “We must get home.”
“I’m looking for Father Yianni,” Alexandros said. “Is he within?”
“You’ve no doubt come for confession,” Diana said in English. She knew her words were rude, but self-protection was her driving force and pushing him away felt safer than allowing him to get close.
Instead of looking offended, one side of his mouth lifted. “You truly think I’m a villain, don’t you?”
“How could I not?” She lifted her chin, looking down her nose at him, hoping her expression showed disdain instead of the uncertainty she felt.
Elena looked back and forth between them as they spoke in English, her brows pulled together. “Father Yianni may be with the Sássaris family. Their son Costas is very ill.”
“I see.” Alexandros pushed his fingers through his thick curls. He glanced at the church behind them, squinting his eyes.
A man strode into the square. Diana recognized him as one of the pair from the hills. Now that she had a better view, she saw he was still a youth. Certainly, he was as young, if not younger, than Elena. His face was dark from the sun, and a white scar ran down his cheek. She tried to remember the word Kyros had used. “Klepht,” she said in a quiet voice.
When she said the word, Alexandros turned toward her. He raised his brows. “You know of the klephts?”
Diana dropped her gaze, embarrassed that she’d spoken aloud. But she was curious about the men in their strange uniforms. “Just the name. I do not actually know who they are.”
Alexandros glanced across the square. “Guerillas, independence fighters hiding out in the hills. To the Turks, they are outlaws.”
“They sound dangerous.”
“Their reputation is not flawless. Most consider them heroes but still keep a distance—and a close eye on their daughters.” He turned and lifted his hand, waving to the man.
The klepht returned the gesture.
“He is here for you,” Diana said. It was not a question. She reverted to her scornful mannerisms, not wanting him to see the disappointment that grew heavy in her stomach. “I should have guessed.” A part of her wanted Alexandros to be honorable, but wishing wasn’t enough to make something so.
“I am meeting with his kapetan at their camp in the hills.”
“Of course you are.”
He ignored her sarcasm. “I must go now, but I will return in a few days.”
Diana glanced around the square, afraid to look at his face. She was frustrated that her heart had begun to beat faster and terrified that he might notice—and worse, know his words had caused the reaction. She pulled down the sides of her mouth, thinking of something to say to cover her discomfiture. “Use caution in the hills, lest you meet mágisses.”
Alexandros’s eyes widened, and his chin dropped in a look of surprise.
Diana couldn’t help but feel a bit of triumph. He may be a scoundrel, but he did not know the dangers of the Greek wilderness as she did. “Elena and I had an encounter just a few days ago.”
His brows pulled together. “You saw . . . mágisses?”
Elena heard the word and began to speak rapidly.
Diana hardly understood what she said, but by her hand motions, she knew Elena was speaking about the venomous spider.
He turned back to Diana. “And you believe this?” He spoke in English.
She stared at him. “Believe? In a spider?”
Alexandros’s face fell slack. His lips quirked, and laughter burst from his mouth. “A spider? Miss Snow, mágisses are witches.”
“Witches? But . . .” Her words trailed off as her mind turned over the information. Did the children believe witches put the spider in her way? “Surely . . .”
“Maniots are quite superstitious. Misfortune during the noon hour is often blamed on witches.”
Diana opened her mouth, then closed it, not sure what question she would even ask. All this time she’d worried about poisonous spiders when Elena and her brothers had been concerned about witches? “But witches are not real,” she finally said, aware that her statement sounded like one a child would say.
“The klepht there,” Alex raised his chin in the direction of the man, “he most likely planned our journey to begin in the afternoon to avoid traveling at midday. Their fear is real, even if it seems unbelievable to us.”
He excused himself,
and Diana watched Alexandros cross the square, greet the klepht, and depart with him. The more she learned about the Maniots, the more confused she became. Bandits who feared witches, kidnapping pirates that attended church with their families, and a weapons smuggler who behaved like a gentleman and somehow managed to leave her flustered with each encounter. As soon as she returned to the house, she planned to fold some clothing and perhaps line up the pots in the storage room. Thinking of the chores she could perform and the small things she could put into order pushed her emotions back into the proper cupboard. She linked arms with Elena as they walked back through the village.
Chapter 9
Alex walked through Tsímova with the klepht soldier, Private Gerontis. From the corner of his eye, he studied the young man. The private, in spite of his youth, strode with confidence, hand on his weapon and shoulders straight. Though his chin was smooth, lacking a man’s whiskers, scars on his arms and face indicated he had seen his share of battle.
“How long have you served under Kapetan Karahalios?” Alex asked.
“Four years. Since I was eleven.” Private Gerontis didn’t look at Alex but continued to scan their surroundings.
“Where are you from?”
“A small village near Sparti.”
“Your family?”
The young man’s jaw tightened. “My father was killed when he could not pay the sultan’s tax. He had no brothers to marry my mother, and so she remains a widow.”
“You became a klepht to fight the people that destroyed your family.”
Private Gerontis dipped his head once, his jaw still tight.
Many of the freedom fighters Alex had met had similar stories. He himself—Alex’s breath caught in his throat, and he forced away the memories.
The pair passed the house where Diana Snow was staying, and he smiled, glad to think about something that eased the aching in his chest. He remembered her reactions at the church. Her blush. The fluster, the rudeness of her words. He could see bits of her mask falling away, and with each meeting, he understood her better. But so much still remained hidden. Instead of frustrating, the challenge was invigorating. His lips twitched when he thought of her warning to avoid witches.
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