by Jean Winter
Clearham, the grocer, went on the defensive. “You do no' have them lurking about yer establishment every day like I do, just waitin' fer you to turn your back. Like vermin, they are!” However, the boy was let go with a small push who frantically grabbed at the one piece of fruit within reach and scurried away.
Kade started helping to clear the walkway of bruised poms and cantlahs while Shasmae counted out a few notes from her purse to offer the grocer. He looked at them with hesitation. “My Lady Pryn, that is more than what that produce was worth.”
“I know,” she said simply. “This is also for your trouble.”
The big man blushed, but took the money. “Thank you, my lady. You are very generous.”
“Here you go.” Kade presented Clearham with an armful of the slightly mushed and oozing fruit, who quickly pocketed the money and held out his apron to receive it. “Perhaps you can salvage some o' it.”
“Aye.” Clearham nodded. “The missus ought to be able to make some good jam. Er, thank you, as well, my Lord …” The grocer looked Kade over, wondering if he should know him.
“J'Kor, Mr. Clearham,” Shasmae answered for Kade, giving him a shy smile. “You have heard o' his mother, the Lady J'Kor, o' course.”
“Ah! Well, I thank you, Lord J'Kor. Lady Pryn.” He nodded to each of them. “A good day to you both.”
The man hurried inside his shop with his loaded and soaking apron while, regarding his own sticky mess, Kade pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his hands.
“Do you need another, my lord?” Shasmae softly offered.
She was a vision of white blond comeliness. Her smooth hair was pulled back, arranged meticulously at the nape of her neck and her gaze upon him was with exquisitely slanted violet eyes. She had grown into her straight nose quite well—it used to carry a spattering of freckles, if he recalled correctly—and Kade couldn't help but take in how well she had also grown into her formerly shapeless frame. Hello, Lady Pryn!
“Er, aye. Thank you,” Kade said, grinning as he took her handkerchief from a delicately gloved hand. “Why, Miss Shasmae, you grew into a woman while my back was turned.”
Her flush of pleasure at the compliment was extremely gratifying.
This was more like it. Kade's confidence in his ability to charm had begun to wither under Lyra's steady rejection day after day. He put his crinkle lines to work. “So, do you regularly come to the rescue o' mischievous, young street urchins?”
She replied with a coy smile, “Do you regularly clean up for grumpy grocers?”
“Shas, hurry, or we will be late for our reservation!” a smartly dressed young woman chittered as she approached, three others following closely behind.
“Aye, I am coming,” Shasmae said, disappointment passing across her lovely features. “Well … good bye, my lord.” She looked up at him. “It was very nice to see you again. Perhaps another day.” She turned away.
“Er, Miss Pryn,” Kade said. “I was just about to go find some lunch, myself. I do no' have a reservation anywhere, but I know a great little cafe just about a half mile across the park there.” Finished with wiping his fingers, he regarded her soiled handkerchief. “Would you possibly like to join me?”
There was not a long pause. “I would like that. Very much, my lord.”
Her smile was absolutely charming and Kade nodded. “Good—if you are sure, that is. Will your friends miss you?”
“Oh, no' at all.” And Shasmae began to wave them away, who, with giggles and whispers, complied.
“Catch up with you later, Shas!” one shouted before traipsing out of sight.
Suddenly they were alone and Shasmae was patiently waiting for him to keep leading the way. What are you doing? You are at least twelve years older. Kade held up her delicately monogrammed handkerchief. “Perhaps I can rinse this out for you somewhere before I give it back.”
“Oh, you do no' have to do that, my lord. As a matter of fact, keep it if you want.” She laughed. “I have a million o' them.” The bat of her eyes. The flush of her cheeks. Kade caught it all.
He was taking a beautiful woman out to lunch, that's what he was doing. He had had it with working so hard to impress Lyra, letting her call the shots, being so careful around her. Kade wanted something … easier.
Like Yaslyt?
Maybe. His one affair about a year before Ahna died, Yaslyt had kept things very simple for him. And very convenient. Oh, to feel so free again. Kade put on his charm grin.
“Well, I do no',” he said, offering his arm while he tucked her personalized square of linen neatly into a back pocket. “Shall we?”
Did the day suddenly seem brighter? More colorful?
They began a pleasant stroll of the nearby grassed park and Kade asked her again about the incident with the little thief. He had been impressed with her actions.
“I see them huddling together sometimes in doorways on chilly mornings. Children without parents or homes. It is haunting,” was her thoughtful answer. “Then I go home and am greeted by the butler who opens the door and takes my things for me. I walk into my reception room that is so long I cannot throw a ball to hit the far wall. Maids are cleaning around me, nightly five-course meals are cooked for me. It just does no' seem right sometimes, you know?”
Kade understood. When his parents moved him to the city, he used to secretly watch a skinny teen in too short pants go through their garbage bins looking for leftovers at night. Eventually Kade sometimes started leaving out his plate—especially on nights when he didn't like what was being served—and he would wait and watch for the youth to come around. Everything would get eagerly gobbled up. Every single time.
When he told her this, Shasmae laughed at the image he painted of himself in bright red, wool footy pajamas hiding in the curtains as he spied. She soon started in on her own nighttime escapades as a young girl, pilfering treats from Chef's personal pantry, and peeking out from behind furniture to watch the elegant parties her parents would often throw.
At the cafe, Kade was begged to order for her. Shasmae had never been here before. Then they sat outside in the warm afternoon sun, looking out across the long expanse of treed green that was one end of the capital's great city park.
The conversation turned easily to her recent endeavors and hobbies and his current livelihood and children. She expressed enthusiasm for his unusual set of circumstances. In fact, she already seemed rather well-informed of his sheep, his rabbits, Breht and Jos'lie, and even his best friend.
“Your mother speaks o' you often. She is a regular guest at my parent's home and … I am an avid listener.” She began to toy with her soup spoon in her near empty bowl. “I guess I have kind o' had a crush on you since I was seventeen.”
Shasmae Pryn? The current belle of Caldreen'n high society?
Kade's ego, already boosted by this coincidence of a meeting, was rocketing toward space now, and he began to entertain thoughts—crazy thoughts. What was Peerz's sentiment about not believing in coincidences?
“Well,” he said, his grin slanting scampishly as he laced his fingers through hers, “you are most certainly no' seventeen anymore, are you?”
# # #
“Lord J'Kor has arrived to fetch you, Mistress.”
“Thank you,” Lyra mumbled from Maryn's sewing machine.
She stared at the seventh dress she had altered today. It seemed silly to do this. J'Kor was done with her now. Even if he did keep her on as a servant, she would not wear most of these. They were party dresses and he wasn't going to want her to accompany him anywhere anymore. She would be ordered to stay home and work.
She had been alone most of the day. Maryn had shown her what supplies she had at her disposal and brought her some food, but otherwise did not stick around much. Lyra got the feeling that Mejhisk didn't want his khar talking to her anymore. She quickly straightened up the mess she made and collected her things.
In the foyer, she found Mejhisk and J'Kor speaking quietly to each other
, and when J'Kor looked up, he only gave a short gesture with his head that she go outside. He joined her a minute later.
Not a word was spoken the entire drive. At his home, J'Kor climbed out, paid the driver, and walked inside, while Lyra solemnly followed with her pile of clothes. Then swallowing back a heavy lump, she put away her backpack and the travel supplies.
Short, necessary orders were his only words to her that evening and they both seemed quite content to go to bed early. Breakfast the next morning was equally as pleasant as he spoke of the need to make a trip to the market since his usual day yesterday was missed.
“Must I drag you along with me, Mrs. Woodrose, or can I trust to find you still here when I return?”
Her mumbled return: “You know a simple trip to the market would not be sufficient time for me to get far enough, sir. I won't try to run. But do you not wish me to come along? You talked about teaching me to take over the shopping—”
“No' today … Mrs. Woodrose.”
It was not until after dinner that night that he said anything again. Having retired to his chair while Lyra washed dishes, he told her, “I have invited a guest over for tomorrow, for a dawning.”
“A 'dawning,' sir?” She was not familiar with this term.
“She will be spending the night.”
J'Kor put on his reading glasses and casually picked up a book.
“Oh.” Lyra said, startled by the realization of all that the simple sentence implied.
He added, “She will also stay through the next day to accompany me to my mother's spring rally event. You remember the Lady J'Kor's mention o' it when she was here?”
“Uh, yes, sir. I remember something being said.” You're just paid labor now. Act like it! “And how do you wish me to accommodate your guest, sir?”
“Oh, the usual. You will help her with her things, have the house particularly clean. I think I would like you to prepare that special lamb roast o' yours with that nutcake for dessert, and those pop tarts in the morning would be nice.” He paused a moment, flipping pages to find his spot. “And otherwise, just stay out o' the way.”
“Of course, sir.”
Wasn't this a good thing? What she wanted? The pressure was off! She was safe, the Tohmu'vah was safe. She should be ecstatic!
By the time Lyra drifted off to sleep that night, she had nearly convinced herself that she was.
“Jon?”
There was the tall, white curtain again, quite transparent like last time, but Jon's figure was not there. No, he was away off to her right, already passed through, and waiting for her. Smiling through her tears, Lyra ran to him. “There you are! I was afraid that you would be stuck on the other side again.” She buried her face into his chest in a hug. He still looked—and even smelled—the same. Eternally her Jon.
“No. I am here, Twitterbug.” Jon rubbed her back as he held her against him.
When Lyra finally pulled away, the scenery had changed. They were in the mountains—but not just in general. This was their spot, by the river near their settlement where she and Jon would visit when they wanted to sneak off for some privacy. Jon took her face in his hands for a long kiss.
“I am proud of you,” he told her. “You were worthy to open it.”
Lyra grimaced. “The combination was my dumb tattoo. Did you know that?”
His laugh was soft and heartfelt. “Well, I thought it was funny. Didn't you?”
“No.” But Lyra had to kiss him again so he wouldn't see her grin trying to form.
He led her to their spot—a flat, mossy patch right near the water's edge—where she sat at the water, dipping her toes into the cold, clear runoff. Jon placed himself at her back, his hand going round her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. Gloriously contented, Lyra leaned into him.
“What good is it, though?” she said after a minute. “In J'Kor's home? Where I am the only one with access to it?”
Jon didn't answer.
“I tried to run away,” she told him next. “I thought I had found my opportunity, but I failed. Miserably. I didn't even get out the front door.”
“I guess that was not the right way, then.”
“Well, what other way is there?” she demanded.
Jon's mouth nuzzled the skin at her neck. “Patience, my love. The right option will be presented in time.”
“How much time? You were the one telling me that I need to figure out how to get back to the kids.”
“But, I didn't say how soon.”
Huffing, Lyra stared hard into the water and Jon gave her an affectionate squeeze.
“You can afford a little time,” he told her. “Right now you need to be thinking about other things, anyway.”
“Like what?” She twisted to peer at him, and Jon kissed her lips gently.
“Your singing,” he said. Then he rested a hand over her heart. “And Kade.”
Reeling and tumbling, Lyra came to in Jos'lie's room.
“Just another dream,” she whispered sadly, though she had liked where the previous one was heading much better.
J'Kor arose to the day in much better spirits. They still hardly talked, she didn't get much more than one or two glances, and he continued to call her Mrs. Woodrose, but as he strode out the house to begin his morning chores, Lyra heard the unmistakable sound of whistling.
She did her best to make everything perfect for her boss's special guest. She wanted this evening to go as well as he did, right? The floors were swept and mopped until they shone, then it was on to meal prepping. She probably ought to see what she could do with J'Kor's bedroom, too.
She remade the bed with fresh, clean sheets and fluffed the pillows. Then she polished the furniture, shook out the rugs, reorganized the closet to make space for whatever this mystery woman might bring with her, and arranged some fresh flowers on the table. She thought flowers for the great room and dining table would be a good idea, too.
The morning evaporated into afternoon and by the time Lyra finished washing windows, crawling on her hands and knees through plantings for the best blossoms, washing more dishes over a humid sink next to a hot oven, and accidentally staining parts of her skin and clothes with wood polish, she didn't feel much fresher than when she'd fallen into that sheep poop.
“It looks good,” J'Kor appraised as he came in to get himself cleaned up. “How is dinner coming?”
“As planned, sir,” Lyra reported from the floor next to a book case. She placed another dusted volume back on the shelf.
“Good.” Off he strode into the lavatory.
The frosting of her special nutcake was coming along nicely when J'Kor sauntered over for a quick swipe with a finger, fresh and clean from his shower. Lyra held her breath so she wouldn't notice how good he smelled.
A little while later, she was rummaging through a cabinet for the special tea platter when a carriage rambled up the drive—a very stylish carriage with blazoned crest flags and everything. Evidently J'Kor had heard it, too, for he came striding through the great room, swearing softly to himself as he tried to finish tying his neck sash over his lavender dress top.
“Wait, wait,” Lyra called, scuttling over. She turned him about, straightened it for him, then looking up, noticed a short lock of hair askew across his forehead. Tentatively, she combed it back into place with her fingers. “Good luck,” she said, forcing on a smile.
Their eyes locked and J'Kor took a quick breath, as if he might say something, but then he just lowered his head and walked out.
Through the window Lyra spied J'Kor hastening down the steps to meet the sleek foursome-drawn carriage with all pomp and grace. What took his hand for the step down was the epitome of fashionable beauty—from the designer buckles on her cropped boots to the clasp brooch of precious stones at her snow white neck for her half cape. He said something in greeting, she responded with a giggle, and then he took her by the waist to kiss her. The woman's response was to wrap her pearl white, gloved fingers around the base of his
neck in encouragement. Something clenched like a fist in Lyra's stomach. Her face warmed and she whisked herself back to the kitchen.
The heavy, silver platter had to be hefted from its place in the cabinet and when she brought it around, Lyra happened to catch sight of herself in the dull reflection. She almost gasped. Great gutlins! I look awful! Her hair was a frizzled mess, her face was flushed red with dark polish and white flour smudges, the front of her frock was stained, and her hands were rubbed raw from today's scrubbing and washing.
The handsome pair walked in, all smiles and gay geniality. “Oh Kadent, your home is quite cozy and quaint, just like I imagined,” the vision of loveliness that couldn't be thirty praised in a soft, high voice like sweet birdsong.
“Well, it is no' much, but I hope you will be able to make yourself comfortable during your stay.”
“I am sure it will be no trouble at all.” She beamed up at him. Then expressive violet eyes were laid on Lyra who, in an embarrassing fit of self-consciousness, stooped to concentrate on the tea set she was putting together.
“'Na Lyra,” J'Kor said, “please assist the Lady Pryn with her luggage and help her get settled.”
“Yes, my lord.”
A prompt bend of the knee and Lyra was past them in a flash for a couple small trunks the driver had left on the porch. Unfortunately, the Lady Pryn had to be addressed once they were in the closet and arranging her things. It was excruciatingly awkward for Lyra. The young woman hung in the doorway, studying her every move—relishing in her superiority, no doubt.
“I can see why Kadent paid so much for you, 'Na Lyra,” the lilting voice finally said. “You are quite beautiful. And quite skilled, it seems, as well. Dinner smells delicious. Thank you for working so hard to prepare for my coming.”
Lyra was shocked by the compliment—compliments.
She was sweet. Drat. No wonder J'Kor liked her. Something inside sank. “My lady is too kind. I am just doing my job.”
“But a job done well is still worthy o' praise,” the woman countered with a kind smile.