by Jean Winter
Blow-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
You never know-oh-oh-oh-oh
When we will go-oh-oh-oh
Out of con-------------------trol!
Out of control!
This tart will—
Don't make me blow.
The coy, understated finish was nearly drowned out by boisterous applause. Kade didn't waste any time taking Lyra by the arm, handing her microphone off to Frett, and leading her away.
“Well done, Lyra!” Sal quickly had the mic again, but comically pretended it was quite hot to the touch. “What a sizzling little number! You are a lucky man, Kade.” Kade barely offered a forced smile as he hurried Lyra through the main door to which Sal responded with the same energetic humor, “Well, okay, she is all yours, brother, if you can handle the heat. So, you know where the nearest guest room is. I will no' wait up for you—”
Blissfully, the door closed and Sal's voice got cut off.
Lyra was having trouble keeping up with Kade's long strides as he hustled her to the library, but he didn't let up. He yanked her inside and thrust her back against the wall with a bit more force than he intended. “What was that all about? That is no' what I call keeping a low profile!”
“What was I to do?” she defended, eyes wide. “'Submission at all times', my lord. Remember? Sal was not going to take no for an answer. You know that.”
“But, you did no' need to sing it that way.” Kade didn't bother with her unintentional slipup of using Sal's familiar name. He let her go and began to pace angrily. “Gods, Lyra! Was that a song about pastry or a call for a khar uprising?”
“I don't know what happened! It never sounded like that before. It's just supposed to be a funny song.” Lyra sank to the floor and curled her knees up to her chest. “It was only ever meant for fun. At least everyone seemed to like it.”
“Oh, aye,” Kade agreed dryly. “The High Lord's son thought it was great. You should have seen the smug look on his face. Is it no' possible for you to make one public appearance without doing something stupid in front o' the whole world?”
A spark flashed in her eyes. Then it left, and Lyra lowered her head. Miserable. The fight gone.
With a growl, Kade spun and threw himself onto a high-backed sofa chair. “This is no' going to help your cause regarding Malig'ahnt's charges, either. There were some very disconcerted faces out there—very influential ones—and you can be sure word will get back to him, and to the committee.”
She didn't answer. Kade let the silence lengthen as he brooded to himself, certain beyond all measure that she must be sabotaging herself on purpose. Unconsciously perhaps, but sabotage nonetheless. What else could explain this circus of errors she kept committing? She was making this so hard for him!
A while later (he may have dozed off once his seething ebbed), he cast his eyes around and found Lyra still there, in the exact same position as before: hunched, dejected, looking pitiful. It made Kade grimace. It was some innate talent born to women to make themselves appear so downtrodden as to compel men to forgive them quickly. They must do it knowingly. And it took all the fun out of being angry at them.
Even as Kade thought this, he knew it was working on him, and without his permission his choler began to wane. In resignation he rubbed at his temples. “Come here, Lyra.”
She came, kneeling somberly before him, her whisper having a tremor as she entreated, “Forgive me, my lord.”
Henna's dark side! How do they do that? Now all he wanted to do was hold her and comfort her—for the second time, tonight!
A giggling couple strolled in, their intent for finding a secluded spot clear. The party must have graduated to the gradual breaking up stage.
“This space is already occupied,” Kade called out over the back of his chair.
More giggling with an apology, and the couple left to search elsewhere.
“I ought to get back,” Kade told Lyra. “Help Sal steer out the dawdlers.” He also wanted to see if D'Pendul was still hanging around. And he needed to check on the kids. Enough time had passed, anyway, that Sal would be able to gleefully make his conclusions about what he and Lyra had been doing.
He rose and Lyra rose, too, making herself ready to follow, but Kade stopped her. “No. Your day is done. You stay here and rest out o' sight until I come fetch you.”
“Yes, my lord.”
And the evening had begun with such promise. (Sigh.)
# # #
A soft throw blanket pulled over her exhausted body felt wonderful as Lyra stretched herself across the library's sofa. Normally, she would be drooling with anticipation over spending time in such a room. There must be at least a thousand books in here. But not now. She was too worried. And exhausted.
Some time later, J'Kor was waking her to go home.
“I am sorry, again, my lord, about tonight,” Lyra told him somberly as they made their way out. “Did I lose deal number one?”
“No, Sugarpip. You did no',” he answered quietly back.
Mejhisk was seeing his last guests out the door when they approached the foyer. “Well, that was no' such a drab chore after all!” he happily concluded after the door was shut behind them.
“You sure that is everyone?” J'Kor said.
“Oh, I am fairly certain I will be feeding a few in the morning once they emerge from hiding, and I still have no' been able to rouse that one passed out under the table,” Mejhisk pointed with a grin. “Ah! All signs o' a successful event.” With that he turned to Lyra and planted his lips fully on hers in a most unreserved goodbye kiss. “Lovely, thank you for gracing my home with your presence. Take care o' my boy, will you? And I will see the both o' you again soon.”
“Aye, in work leggings, a dirty shirt, and holding a pair o' shears,” J'Kor said quickly, pulling a flushed Lyra away before his best friend thought to take any more liberties. Mejhisk's nose wrinkled at the reminder of the bargain he had made. Then, they were saying goodbye and leading a very sleepy Jos'lie out the door while Breht skipped ahead in rather high spirits.
Upon arriving back home, Lyra led Jos'lie to bed. The sweet, bleary-eyed thing mumbled on and on about the fun of the party and how she loved the dancing, but let Lyra tuck her in with a kiss to the forehead. “I love you, Mama,” came the half-asleep murmur.
Lyra hesitated, then just replied, “I love you, too, Sweetness,” and turned to leave.
“Dev'r say he wants see you speh-shul book, too.”
The door frame had to be grasped as a violent shudder crashed over Lyra. When she spun around, Jos'lie was fast asleep.
By the time she climbed into bed, she had been able to brush off the random words of a delirious, mentally challenged child. Every part of her begged for rest. The nap in the library had not nearly been enough, and once Lyra was cuddled comfortably under the covers, the peaceful submerging into slumber quickly commenced. She hardly even noticed when J'Kor climbed in next to her. She hardly noticed his light stroke of her hair a moment later.
If he was thinking of trying something, it wouldn't matter much at this point, anyway, because she could probably sleep right through it.
He didn't.
The morning brought on not only another cheerful wake-up call from Jos'lie, but a light spring rain, as well. There was not much time to talk. The children needed to get back to school today and they couldn't be late for the taxi. A flurry of activity followed: breakfast, repacking, helping Jos'lie move through her morning routine in a timely manner. The girl was not enthused. She wanted to stay home and play with her new mama.
But after assurances by her father that Mama Lyra would still be here, waiting for her when she returned, and the suggestion that she try really hard to do a good job at school so Mama Lyra would be proud of her, Jos'lie became more cooperative. She gave Lyra one more big hug before letting her papa load her onto the taxi.
Before Lyra knew it, she was alone with J'Kor once again. The man had been brusque with her all morning, and seeing that she was much reco
vered from … everything, he judiciously launched into a dictation of her task list for the day. It was a long one. Evidently last night's perturbations still hovered between them like a dark cloud.
Humbly, Lyra acknowledged each item until he was finished and a thought struck her.
# # #
“My lord … is today Vend'?”
Kade paused in donning his boots and a raincoat near the front door. “Aye.”
He had kept distant and businesslike all morning, still needing to unwind from the events of last night. It translated into some shortness of speech today, but so what? Now more than ever she should be motivated to show her gratitude for his patience and protection of her. With the growing danger to his family, she should be reaching for him, fondling and kissing him, whispering assurances of making it worth his while as she invited access. Well, he'd gotten nothing. Not at Sal's, and not through the night.
He waited impatiently for some context to explain her sudden question, but all she ended up saying was, “Oh,” and she ducked her head, going for the kitchen to begin breakfast cleanup.
“What?” Kade said. Something was bothering her.
Lyra shook her head dismissively. “Nothing, my lord.”
“What?”
Knitting her brows, Lyra said, “It's just that … today is the Sabbath, my lord. I just lost track of the days. That's all.” And she bent to wipe the table.
Whatever the Sabbath was, it was not “all.” It didn't take that much energy to wipe up crumbs.
“The Sabbath?” It was probably some stupid religious rite.
“My lord, I am sorry I even mentioned it. It is of no concern. Forgive me for keeping you from your work.”
Well, now that she did mention it, he might as well know. He might just welcome a good argument now, anyway. He had some frustrations of his own to get out. “Well, apparently it is o' concern to you,” he prodded, “so please educate me.”
Lyra finally set her rag down. “Vend' is the Sabbath Day, my lord. A day to be set aside for worship and rest, in remembrance of the six days it took God to create the world. 'And on the seventh day He rested from His labors.'”
That must be some quote from Perc text. She had done it now. Oh, where to start?
Kade folded his arms across his chest. “You believe your God created this entire planet in just six days?”
“Well, a more direct translation would be more like periods—of time—separated into six creative periods. You know, first He divided the light from the darkness, then the water from dry land, then He created the plants, and so on.” She continued her wiping now, but slower.
“And the whole process just happened to conveniently coincide with our seven-day week?”
Kade was surprised by her short laugh. “My lord, the knowledge of the creation is exactly from where the tradition of the seven-day week stemmed. Like God, we are commanded to work six days and set aside the seventh for spiritual and physical rejuvenation. Then the sequence starts all over again. Why else would mankind have decided centuries ago to follow a seven-day pattern?”
“It works out conveniently with the changing o' the seasons and moon phases.” Kade vaguely remembered some primary school natural science class from years ago to that effect.
Lyra moved on to the dishes in the sink. “In all actuality, my lord, a more elegant system for our three hundred and eighty-four day year and the Mother's phase period would be a six day week,” she corrected. “The number seven was not a concoction of scientific observation.”
Blood began to rush to Kade's face. “Well, thank the stars that mankind has since learned to study nature more scientifically.”
To his surprise and displeasure, she resisted the urge to argue back. She ducked her head again, focusing hard on stacking dirty dishes. Kade, however, wasn't ready to let it go yet.
“And I suppose you expect to be able to take every Vend' off.”
“I expect nothing of the kind, my lord.”
“Then why did you even bother to ask about it in the first place? You must have been holding out some hope that I might let you practice your despicable rituals within the walls o' my home. Well, you can forget it. Come to think o' it, you should no' be praying, either.
Now he was getting a rise.
“I am sorry I let it slip, my lord. It was a mistake. I would not kid myself to hope for any understanding from you in the matter, which is why I tried to squelch the subject five retorts ago!”
Interesting. How was it that her release of anger made him less so? Kade was almost disappointed when she suddenly turned pale.
“I am so sorry, my lord! That was out of line.” Her skirts swished as she hurried toward him, submissive and fearful.
She was going to kneel before him, lowly and demure, so easy for the taking!
You must protect her.
Grrr. Kade flung the door open before she could reach him. “I will be back for midmeal at half past eleven o',” he declared, and left, stalking down the wet porch steps, muttering to himself.
# # #
Through the window, Lyra anxiously watched him cross the yard in long angry strides, splashing through forming puddles on his way to the corral. Then J'Kor stopped, looked around him as if he didn't know where he was, and quickly turned, continuing in the opposite direction.
Somehow, seeing that made her feel better. It was probably a good thing if he was still wrestling with himself over their situation. Lyra figured that the longer he remained uncertain, the safer she likely was.
She made sure he had disappeared entirely into the shed before she went to the middle of the floor to kneel in prayer. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him and she would take this small liberty for just a few minutes. She needed direction and the emotional boost just in case he didn't come back in a better mood. Or worse, if he came back resolved. His promise of a week, after all, was only a token. They both knew he might revoke it at any time.
Several hours later, the chore list had been whittled down to something less substantial and the meal was nearly arranged on the table when J'Kor returned. Lyra was struck by his appearance: bare chested, his tunic slung over a shoulder, and dripping wet, not from the continued rainfall, but sweat. His breathing was labored, too. Lyra quickly presented him with a cold glass of water she'd had waiting in the ice box and he drained it in one swig.
“Thank you,” he said, “I was chopping wood.” Then he strode to the bathroom to wash up.
He spoke no more words to her. During the meal, Lyra became aware of his eyes on her for a while, but then he went back to his plate without comment. At least he didn't seem as angry anymore.
It was only when he was ready to return to work outside that he did get out one thing. “I suppose I would no' mind you taking a small break this afternoon for yourself,” he mumbled, his hand on the knob, his back to her. “Whatever you think you need to be content.” He exited speedily after that, not even giving Lyra a chance to say thank you.
After that, she hurried through cleaning up the food, spirit positively soaring as she thought about how she could spend her time. A regular Sabbath meeting of group singing, instruction, and partaking of the sacrament would not be possible, not without the proper priesthood authority. A modified version might work, though, starting with prayer.
The time on her knees ended up largely spent in seeking wisdom regarding God's purpose for her continued internment here. It seemed only logical that He must have a work for her to do before she would be shown the way home. He needs you. J'Kor has a “need.” Okay, but surely they were not talking about base physical fulfillment, here.
Lyra thought of Jos'lie and her special needs. She thought of Breht, coming of age, and of J'Kor's home and farm that could certainly use the hand of a woman watching over it. She also thought about J'Kor himself—his need for a companion. These things she already understood, yes, but really those were long-term needs. Fulfilling those things simply could not be it. She was not supposed to be stay
ing that long.
Please Father, Lyra prayed, lead me back to my children again soon.
Next was music time. Despite J'Kor's unusually vehement response of last night's performance (he was agitated about something more than just how the song turned out), the joy of singing was coming back again. The draining afterward had still been there, but was that really a surprise given the high anxiety of an impromptu recital under duress of recovering from a coma? Lyra picked up J'Kor's six-string.
The happiness of hymn singing lasted a little while. Lyra didn't know many of them on this instrument and it took a while to work out the chords by ear. Even when she just started singing a cappella, she was discouraged by her lack of memorization beyond a first verse. It had been a few weeks since her last meeting with her reminding hymn book in front of her.
It was sunny, and Jon was singing softly in my ear, teasing me by changing some of the lyrics—
Enough music time.
Now she would move on to the scripture reading and instruction part. Lyra had already been sneaking in time every morning to recite what scriptures she could remember and visualize the stories she knew, but as she gazed out the window into the quiet, melancholy gray, Lyra wished for more than that. There were hundreds of pages of history and teachings she simply did not have memorized.
I need my Book of God.
Then suddenly, her breath caught in her throat. She didn't have her copy of scriptures, but she did have— Lyra scurried to the vanity closet, her gaze leading directly to the top corner shelf and a musty pile of stacked sheets.
Oh, Godly Father, wouldst Thou allow it?
The prophet and his counselors were the only ones permitted to handle the Tohmu'vah, and to her knowledge, that privilege had not been granted to anyone else in a thousand years. Lyra's stewardship as Bearer only meant that she was supposed to keep it within easy access and not stray farther than twenty yards until her turn for the week was up.