by T J Muir
Sometimes they’d play games that Tilly could join in, board or card games. Tilly clearly understood the rules and strategies for playing, and the twins let her win often enough to keep her spirits high. From the way they engaged, the lack of talking didn’t seem to be an issue. They gave her instructions and made comments, patting her on the back and congratulating her when she did well.
Tilly was comfortable and at ease with them, probably because they didn’t pressure her at all. Diya nodded to herself, satisfied that what she’d been doing was similar and was yielding the same result.
Without a doubt, there was a special and strong bond between the siblings, but watching them, she couldn't help but think of herself at that same age, surrounded by people her own age. There had always been a cluster of friends to laugh and play games with: Linna and Minna, Leanna, her cousin Jomar, and later Trey and Findal as well-- even though they were not part of the same Da'harat. The twins needed their own gaggle of friends so they could have a break from worrying about everything. Where would she even find suitable companions for them? The village was small, but perhaps there were a few other suitable families in the area.
At lunch, Korina carried the tray into the solar. Once their plates were set out and Diya had her tea in hand, she cleared her throat politely. “This looks very nice,' she said. “I was just wondering about the children. They seem so isolated up here all by themselves. Aren't there other children in the area they could play with?”
Korina straightened, head tilted. “They seem to be doing well enough.”
“But they're children. They need to have people their own age around.”
From the tightening of her jaw and her pursed lips, Korina appeared to be considering Diya's statement. Then her face cleared and she shrugged, brightening. “Well, the Beddo be comin this next week for spring work. There be plenty of folks and kids for them then.”
Beddo? Diya frowned and tried not to flinch. That wasn't what she had in mind. “But they need suitable friends.”
“I h'ain't got much love for the Beddo, but the children all do right well whenever they are here, runnin around, laughin and playin while the works a gettin done. They like helpin out.”
“Oh well, alright,” Diya said, trying not to sound as shocked as she felt. Korina nodded and went back to the kitchens.
I've been here for almost two months and none of them have left the property once.
She continued to mull it over even after Korina retreated to the kitchen. The twins came down as they were finishing lunch.
Diya straightened up, trying to sound casual. “I have an idea. Why don't we all take a walk down to the village?”
“Why?” One word, flat and uninterested.
“It's a nice day. I'd like someone to show me where the seamstress is and maybe there is a baker or confectioner. She could tell from the narrowed eyes that Pasha was not about to relent. She paused and thought for a moment. What might he want enough to relent? “I bet Tilly would love to get some sweets, and you could bring some back for your mother.”
Even without saying anything, Diya could see Tilly perk up and look interested.
Tilly's mouth tightened, eyes wide, as close to a smile as Diya had seen. She looked from Tilly over to the twins. Perfect. If they refused to go now, they would look bad. Diya didn’t wait for them to distract Tilly. “Go get your boots and sweater.”
Esha's eyes narrowed into a scowl, but she didn't argue.
“You don’t have to come,” she said, “but I’m sure Tilly would like it if you did, and I don’t know what your mother likes.” She could tell from the shift in Esha’s expression that the girl was going, even if it was against her will. Fine. Diya didn’t care if the kids got angry about it, at least it got them outside and away from the house for a while.
It only took them a half-nibbin to get down to the village, crossing the river that separated the Applewood lands from the small town. There was a central village green with a blacksmith shop, town building, message station and a pub. Down along the river she could see a gristmill, and a little further down, she could see docks. Beyond that was a lumber mill where logs were being pulled out of the water. She tried to think back to her early studies. The northern forests were prized for the pine and cedar as well as nut woods. The logs were floated down the river and milled into lumber before being sent down towards Old Fall lumber merchants.
Her three charges headed straight towards the baker’s shop. Diya followed them in, where they picked up some maple candies and lemon drops.
“Can we get some maple cream for my mother?” Pasha asked.
The baker smiled. “Of course you can,” then she paused. “Do I know your mother?”
From the look on their faces, both of them seemed confused.
“My mother, up in the manor. Applewood.”
“Oooh, right,” the baker said, looking back now toward Esha. “You two must be the twins. You've gotten big. I h’aint een recognizin yas.” The baker’s confusion brightened, looking slightly embarrassed not to recognize them. Diya also saw a hint of pity as well. Evidently, the family’s situation was known in the village.
“I'll also take some of the hard candies,” Diya said once the twins had finished. “What kinds of flavors do you have?” What she really wanted was some of the spiced chocolates, but she didn't expect to find them here.
“You'd be the new governess?”
“Yes. Hello. My name is Cazze’en,” she said.
“The same as came two months back?”
By the look on the baker's face, it seemed that the twins’ reputation was well known.
“The same,” she said, nodding with a twinge of pride.
“I'm Lushal, and the hard candies is cherry, berry, orange, peppermint, grape, lemon ---,” she rattled off the various flavours in rapid succession.
“Oh, just give me some of each,” Diya said.
“Hard candy or gumdrop?”
“Both.”
“Does Tilly have a favorite?” Diya asked.
“Tilly, go look at the candies and show the shopkeeper which ones you want.” Esha said, nudging Tilly forward.
Tilly looked at Esha but watched Diya from the corner of her eye.
“Go ahead, pick something out for yourself,” Diya said, giving her other shoulder a tiny nudge.
While Tilly was pointing to the maple ginger candies, Diya asked the baker, “Is there a seamstress in the village? Now that the weather is changing, I'll really be needing some new clothes.”
“At be Old Widow Rualla. Up by the footbridge.”
“Where is that?”
“Don't worry. We'll show you,” Esha offered.
“Thank you,” Diya said, “and thank you for the candies. How much is it, for everyone's?”
From the surprise on the twins' faces, they hadn't expected that Diya would offer to pay for their treats. Diya settled up with the baker and then headed back outside, popping one of the gumdrops into her mouth.
Once they were outside, Esha walked toward the river. “See this path, there? It follows past the mill, just beyond that are a few cottages along the river. The widow's place is the last one before the footbridge.”
“Well, aren't you coming too? We should all stay together.”
“It's okay. We want to get back to the house. Tilly can come with us.”
Diya wanted to protest, then she saw the worried look on Esha’s face. Well, at least I got them off the property for a little while.
She looked back and forth between them and nodded. “Okay. But be careful, especially by the river. Don't let Tilly get too close.”
Esha stepped in, putting a hand on her brother's arm. “Oh, and if you cross the footbridge and then follow along the river to the fork and then stay left, that will bring you out to the bottom corner of the lower sheep meadow.”
Diya watched until they disappeared and then walked up the river road until she came to a small cluster of cottages. She found the wido
w's cottage right before the bridge, spotting a couple of smaller rundown cottages on the other side of the bridge.
The woman was sitting outside on a carved bench, carding wool.
“Good afternoon,” Diya said, walking up. “The baker said you might be able to help me with some new clothes.”
“You're the one from up in the manor,” the widow said.
“Oh, how did you know?” Diya asked, surprised.
“I know my own stitchin,” she said. “I made the skirts and leggings you're wearing right now.”
The boxes of clothing that had been waiting for her on arrival. “Oh. Thank you,” Diya said, surprised. “Could you make me some clothes that will be good for spring?”
The two talked back and forth about colors and fabrics and what Diya would be doing. Then they went inside and Diya chose some fabrics, making suggestions about styles. The widow told her she would send the things up to the manor when they were done. After paying her and thanking her, Diya left, still undecided about which way to take back to the manor.
When she got out, she looked across the footbridge. The path was wide and looked clear, following the far side of the river and then crossing a meadow. Diya looked at her shoes, wondering about mud and puddles when she heard loud voices from the far cottages.
She looked towards the commotion, spotting Letta, fighting with someone who was obviously drunk. Her mother? The woman looked a bit like Letta, only older and disheveled. The cottage was dilapidated and looked abandoned, a shutter hung loosely and a broken wagon sat in the front.
“I dinnit take all the coin,” the older woman said, sounding defensive.
“That was for the shopping!” Letta snapped back. “How am I supposed to buy food now?”
“Right ingrateful slut you’ve become. I growed you up from a baby and fed ya. You ungrateful little sprit! Deny yer mum a bitta bitta o comfort.” The woman’s words were both angry and pathetic, whining indignation.
Feeling embarrassed for the girl, she ducked her head and headed back through the village instead.
Her legs were feeling sore by the time she got back to the house which felt strangely quiet. So Diya went on a casual stroll in search of her three charges. She had learned that anytime it was too-quiet, it often ended badly with one of the three yelling or in tears. Having gone through the house, she went upstairs to look out and see if they were down in the meadow or out by the barns.
As she passed the south window, she caught a glimpse down below. All three of them were sitting out on the private veranda with their mother. So they had been telling the truth about the candy. Jinna was nestled outside on a couch that Ben or Chak must have carried outside. She was sitting up but blanketed against any chill.
Diya was too far away to hear what they were talking about but she could see the changes in all three. Tilly was curled up on her lap while Esha and Pasha talked back and forth, animated and laughing.
She dashed off to grab her drawing pad and to move to a lower window where she might hopefully have a better vantage.
When she settled in, she was just in time to watch Korina bring all of them hot tea and cakes with a lunch tray. She put Korina into the sketch first before she left, and then she added in each of the others, including the garden behind them along with the chiseled stonework as a background. In the upper corner, Diya threw in a few birds and a bird feeder to balance out an empty space. For the most part, she thought she’d done a nice job of capturing the family together.
Even from a distance, Jinna's frailty was obvious. Diya looked down at her drawing pad and then back at the family. Then she redrew Jinna, trying to capture her essence and the vitality she must have had years before.
She started a few more drawings, from different angles, after they had finished lunch and had begun playing a game on the ground at Jinna’s feet. From the closer angle, she saw the strained breathing and heard Jinna’s occasional cough. Jinna would turn her head away, protecting the children, but each time she wheezed, their concern was clear. They spent the rest of the afternoon there until the sun began to lower and the veranda was about to lose the sunlight.
Diya could only imagine their conversation as their shoulders slumped and Tilly clung to her mother and as Jinna struggled to her feet, blanket clutched around her shoulders. She seemed so tired and strained as the twins moved to either side, helping her back inside. Diya realized that the children understood intrinsically how ill their mother was, and they cherished their time with her.
CHAPTER Fourteen
As expected, both Pasha and Esha seemed moody and withdrawn after spending the afternoon with their mother. They visited with their mother once or twice every week and Diya noticed they were always more prone to arguing afterwards. They disappeared into their own rooms and Diya decided to let them be.
Tilly disappeared into a corner, but Diya could see she carried paper and pencils so she wasn’t overly worried. All the same, she stayed in the playroom, settling into the window seat with just enough noise to let Tilly know she was there. As she took out her drawing pad and let the pencil take over.
Diya’s window seat looked out towards the barns where Benua was tossing hay down from the wagon. It landed in clumps between the baler and the draft horse that was turning the contraption. She watched his steady rhythm as her pencil captured his likeness. The boy couldn’t be much more than sixteen, but he worked as hard as any full grown man. She realized it shouldn’t strike her as anything unusual. The staff and families in the soh’arat all had children that pitched in and worked right alongside the adults. Ben just looked so young.
By the time she lost the light, she had filled her sketchpad with four sketches of the barnyard and Benua, one with him leaning on the hayfork and one with him playfully tossing hay up onto his puppy who leapt after it like it was a game.
Then she spent a few minutes making new practice sheets for Tilly. Much to her surprise, the drawing sheets had become one of the highlights of the day. The girl soaked it in like a wet sponge in desert sand, having mastered all her letters and numbers easily. So now, instead of just writing the first letter of a word, Diya wrote out the entire word, creating a dozen of the practice sheets. Looking at her dwindling supply of paper, she reminded herself that she should order more soon so she wouldn’t run out.
Dinner was quiet with the twins tending to Tilly. Diya just did a quick bedtime check, as usual. Watching her there, curled up under the blanket, reminded her of Jay. He also had that wary look that covered over something that was lost and sad. Those glimpses of vulnerability were what drew her to him. Underneath his aloof friendliness was a tender heart.
Sinking into her own funk, Diya headed back to her room and drew Jay as she remembered him. She also drew Jay and Trey, Jay on the boat when they’d gone swimming and Jay working on the fliers. Recreating and pinning down her memories of him, she wanted to secure them firmly by putting them on paper. Then she decided to write a letter to him. There were so many things she wanted to tell him. At least she could write it down in the hopes that she’d be able to get it to him somehow. Writing to him was almost like having him there and it made her feel closer to him. She fell asleep remembering all the times they had spent together.
“Wake up!”
Jay? Was that him calling her?
“Wake up! By the gods! WAKE UP ALREADY!”
The world shook and Diya jumped, jolting awake. She sat up, looking around frantically. Where was he?
Sleep and waking muddled together and it took her a moment to sort her thoughts out. But no, it wasn’t Jay.
“Pasha!?” It was him calling her, and by the way he stood, he must have kicked her bed.
“What's wrong?” she asked, now coming instantly awake, worried. “Is Tilly okay? Is there a fire?”
Shaking his head, he turned. “Come on. Get dressed.”
Throwing on a sweater over her night clothes, Diya asked, “What? Why?” Looking up briefly to make sure that Pasha wasn't sneak
ing a peek, she pulled on her leggings. “Okay. I'm up. What's going on?”
“Here,” he said, shoving her boots at her and reaching for her cloak.
“Tell me what's going on,” she insisted as she laced them up, but he’d already left the room.
She hurried to catch up down the dark hallway which was lit only by the two moons. She finally caught up as Pasha opened the door onto the veranda and stepped outside. Concern and curiosity competed in her as she followed him into the crisp night air. She was about to scold him and warn him against any pranks, but the chilled beauty of brilliant stars caught her off guard. A light dew lay on everything, making the world glitter in a dull silvery-grey sheen. The moons were fat crescents peeking over the roof behind them.
“This is beautiful,” she exclaimed. It had never occurred to her that one color alone could be so mesmerizing. “Was this what you wanted to show me?” she asked, turning to him.
Pasha’s attention was focused on the sky as well, but he was scanning the horizons for something.
Was Marrick flying in? If so, how would the boy know? The silent mysterious routine was getting annoying. “Pasha—”
Then she saw it, a vivid strand of turquoise and magenta streaming across the sky. Diya gasped, bespelled and felt her jaw drop. At a loss for words, she just soaked in the moment.
“Is this one of those surges Korina warns you about?”
Pasha shook his head. “No. This is just a normal flow. But magic is running,” he said, turning back towards her.
“This is incredible. Thank you.”
Head tilted to one side, Pashas face scrunched in confusion. “What? Oh, you thought this is why I brought you out here?”
Now it was Diya's turn. She rubbed at her face, pushing her hair back. “I'm confused. It wasn't?”
Pasha laughed with a hint of disdain. “Well, I had no idea you'd never seen this before. So no, I didn't wake you to stare at the sky.” Pasha, exasperated, said, “Magic is running. I wanted to check first, to be sure.”