I used to hate my life, up until yesterday. Now my old life suddenly looks pretty good to me, and I wish I could go back. But, no, not possible. I turned 17 yesterday, and you can't keep living at the orphanage when you are 17.
Last week, they took me to see some gnome in Ironforge. That was kind of nice, what with all the new shops to explore and all. Mostly, though, I didn't have time to shop. They took three of us to visit the gnome. He hooked us up to wires and flashing lights and what-all. After awhile, I got pretty sleepy watching the pretty lights, so I just stopped thinking about the gnome and started thinking about that green dress I saw on the way over there. Green goes well with my hair and eyes.
A day or two later, I was called in to see Matron. She handed me a bundle of clothes and a letter to someone in some hick town called Northshire. She wished me well, but I could see her rolling her eyes at me when I walked out of the room. There was a cart waiting out front to take all three of us who had gone to Ironforge to Northshire. The other two were excited. I was not. Matron's plan, whatever it was, was going to mean work, I could tell.
Anyway, after a long uncomfortable ride, we arrived at our hick town destination. Another big stone building. Like that's supposed to be impressive in the middle of nowhere. I delivered my letter, and it turns out they think I should be a mage. As if.
If I were a mage, I would be expected to do things, study and the like. I would have to sacrifice how my clothes looked for how well they helped me do mage things. I would have to go out into battle, where I could die. Or be horribly disfigured. Plus, it's a lot of work, the sweaty kind that leaves dirt under my nails and a furrow in my brow. No thanks.
Now at the moment, it's not like I have a lot of choices. My bundle contains three changes of clothing, a tiny amount of copper, a little food and water, and a note from Matron reminding me that there is nothing for me in Stormwind. Well, there never has been much for me there.
So my choices seem to be do this stupid mage thing and get myself killed after a short difficult dirty life, go to a larger city and sell myself, or find a job. While I don't like the idea of more work, I like the idea of putting myself at the mercy of strange men even less. And there is just no way I am going to be a mage.
Without stopping to think about it, I made my way to the nearest not-so-tiny hick town, some place called Goldshire. There I poked around long enough to find a farm with a couple nice women standing around outside a house. I asked them for advice, with my best going-to-church manner, and they actually had some decent things to say. One of them gave me a sack of apples, too. And a pork pie.
Following their directions, I made my way to a big old house, which is apparently the residence and headquarters of a bunch of heroes. Not that I care. They gave me a small room and some things to do. They apologized for the amount of work they dumped on me, and I didn't tell them that the orphanage made me do a lot more, and more icky, work all the time. I can clean anything, but they don't need to know that.
Things could be a lot worse, I guess. I have a warm place to sleep in my very own bed that I do not have to share, even if I do have to share the room with a scullery maid. She doesn't snore, so what do I care? And they will give me money every week in return for my work, as well as feeding me. I figure I'll have enough money to go shopping in Stormwind in just about a month. And maybe by then, I'll have figured out something else to do besides run errands and make deliveries and sweep things and be nice to a snooty old butler.
....
Just when I thought I had landed in clover, it got even better! They have mending that needs doing. Perfect! The snooty butler (his name is Johnson and he keeps telling me he is "the major-domo, Deyla, not the butler") handed me a pile of sheets to repair. I asked him when he needed them and he said he was sorry to have to tell me that they would be required when the servants' beds were made up two whole days later. Whoo-hee, there was no more than half a day's worth of work in his whole pile!
But I just nodded and curtsied in the awkward way I use with Johnson, to make him think I'm as stupid as I am young. I took the basket of sheets and the other stuff he gave me and found a nice window seat in some remote part of the Hall and sat down to mend the sheets.
I'm pretty sure some of these heroes never had to mend a sheet before in their lives. There are tears that can only have come from someone sleeping with their spurs on. Anyway, I set myself a nice comfortable pace and laid in neat darns, and repaired ripped seams with stitches more even than the ones that were torn out. It's not that I don't know how to do stuff. I just usually prefer not to have to.
Anyway, since Johnson essentially gave me permission to spend two days doing the mending, I did it nice and slowly, and let myself daydream some while I was doing it. Then I realized that he had also provided me with all kinds of thread and other stuff in the sewing basket. I decided to use some of it to update my three new dresses.
I'm pretty sure that the dresses came from the poor box at the Cathedral, because none of them fit right. I went ahead and altered one to be skin tight and nice and low-cut in case I ever need to be completely obvious. The other two, well, I'm no dummy. I learned a long time ago that letting a man think he might possibly be the only one who has noticed my charms gets me a lot farther than throwing myself at him. I know how to stand so that a man sees the curve of my hip without realizing I arranged for him to see that. And I know that a seemingly modest dress that reveals the body underneath only from certain angles is far more tantalizing than the more obviously revealing kind. One of them is a kind of deep blue color which makes my eyes look deeply green. I'm saving it for my trip to Stormwind.
Even with the free-lance sewing I did along with the required mending, I was hard-pressed to stretch the work over the allowed two days, so I spent some of the time exploring the place. These heroes are so serious! Except for the gnome with the twinkling eyes and his nasty little imp friend. I mean that in the nicest possible way, you know? The imp, who calls himself Pipniff, or something, has a chip on his shoulder the size of Ironforge itself. At the same time, he has clearly landed in clover, with a master who accepts the imp at his own valuation of himself. Unlike some of the other warlocks around here, who are as vicious and nasty to their slaves as they are to me and the other servants, Boswell is unfailingly kind and cheerful, and believes Pipniff when he tells him he is his best friend and advisor.
Pipniff took one look at me and suddenly looked very thoughtful indeed. Whatever he was thinking is bad news for someone, but probably not for me. It might even help me figure out how to get out of here. While slow piles of mending aren't the worst things I ever saw, they are not exactly how I intended to spend my life, either.
Other than Boswell and Pipniff, I didn't meet anyone who appears to know how to have any fun, besides the children. But I'm done with children for the time being. Living in an orphanage will do that to you, you see. There are people obsessively pursuing their work, others who are deeply involved in learning stuff, and others who are just quiet and morose. Something bad happened here recently, but I don't care, I'm sure I can find a way out of my stupid life here, if I just look hard enough. And in the meantime, I managed to make Johnson both impressed by my sewing skills and irritated by my el-fake-o resentment of this "onerous" duty, so I feel sure I will get a lot more sewing to do. It really could be a whole lot worse.
I have only two more weeks before I will be ready for my first trip to Stormwind. I plan to buy a pair of pretty shoes and some ribbons, too.
....
Things are still going pretty well here, even though it's a lot of work. Less work than it was before I got assigned to the mending detail, admittedly, but still more work than I really like, especially since so much of it benefits other people, not me. At least not directly.
Boswell continues to be nice to me. He somehow convinced Pipniff to get me a communicator so I can know what's going on with these heroes. This should be useful, even though I haven't figured out quite how it will help me yet.
Johnson snottily told me that my sewing skills were surprisingly competent for a mere slip of a girl from an orphanage. He has apparently never met Matron, who has strong opinions about the benefits of working for one's keep as well as the kind of eagle eye and heavy hand that ensured that I, at least, did my damnedest to meet her every exacting standard. I hate being cuffed around even more than I hate working, but what can you do? Anyway, the butler has started giving me basic clothing repairs for the soldiers in the band of heroes, too.
There are two kinds of soldier here. The ones who take it as their due to be waited on hand and foot, and who hardly notice the people who do the waiting. The others are more do-it-yourself types who chafe against Johnson's desire to put them in a box labeled "People we wait on hand and foot". They are also the ones who notice that their clean clothes are delivered by people, not gnomish automatons.
Pipniff managed to let me know he understands me, perhaps as well as I understand him. The last time I took a pile of robes to Boswell, Pipniff was muttering something about a farmer. But I was too busy laughing and chatting with Boswell to pay close attention to his imp. I don't think Pipniff would tell me the truth, even if I asked him. Whatever he's up to, I will turn it to my own advantage as well as I can.
I received a note from the mage person in Northshire wondering where I disappeared to. In order to avoid burning any bridges, including ones I am pretty sure I don't want to walk over, I walked back to Northshire on my half-day and talked to him in person. I explained that I had taken on some personal obligations at the moment, and that while I understood that this was going to delay my training as a mage, well, it couldn't be helped. I simply exuded sincerity and a sort of naive helplessness that worked like a charm. He actually apologized for inconveniencing me and assured me that when I was no longer obligated, he would be glad to see me again. He also taught me to cast a couple spells.
I don't expect I will ever use the spells the way he intends, and they won't really hurt anyone with any power, but the shock of having me cast them may someday stop some event long enough for me to regain my balance. I can't imagine I'll ever want to conjure water, though.
I think I was wrong about the scullery maid. She doesn't snore, but she is way too chatty and friendly. I need to get her out of my room, but without drawing any attention to myself. She seems a bit squeamish, so I have been saving up crumbs of food from dinner. I put them down near the baseboards just before we go to bed and wait for the mice that inevitably live in the walls of a stone and wood building like this one to come out and snack. Then I wake her up with a squeal and say "What's that? Did you hear that?" She's starting to notice that we have scrabblng scrambling nighttime visitors. It should not be long before she asks Johnson to reassign her sleeping quarters. It will be easier for me to be mostly invisible if I don't have any particular friends among the staff here, or even people who think they are my friends.
While I was in Northshire, I sold all my things I don't want, and ended up with more than 2 silver worth of copper coins! When I add that to the coins Johnson gives me every week, I think maybe I will be able to get two pairs of shoes. Or maybe one pair of shoes, some ribbon and some lace to trim up one of my dresses. The key to being able to indulge myself is going to be getting someone to take me to Stormwind, so I don't have to spend my entire two-day holiday on the journey, and also don't have to pay for transport.
Things could definitely be going worse than they are. I could be training to be a mage or working for someone unkind or even reduced to taking strangers to my bed for a pittance. Instead, I am warm, well-fed, hardly overworked (even by my standards), and paid enough that I will have some lovely things very soon now.
....
I've been working on a stupid project that Johnson gave me. For some reason, he's decided all the heroes need clean handkerchiefs. Perhaps he watched Menshk blow his nose, or maybe he decided to irritate me, I don't know. I do know I cut out, hemmed and monogrammed hundreds, no thousands, of fine lawn handkerchiefs. Rolled hems and everything.
Then he sent me out to distribute them. What a frustrating activity! First of all, there is an astonishingly large number of heroes who don't know what a handkerchief is. Second, I ran into trouble with the heroes themselves, especially the gnomes.
Johnson says I have to call all the heroes "Sir", "Ma'am", "Lord", "Lady", "Warden", or "High Lord". Some of the heroes object to this in strenuous terms. "Call me Lizzy!" they say, or "I'm not Sir!" Have they never met Johnson? If he catches me calling them "Miss Lizzy" or heaven forbid just plain "Robbyn", I'll be in serious trouble.
How can I be invisible when people are always yelling at me to call them something different? And if Johnson notices me doing it, I'm going to get all kinds of guff from him.
Anyway, I finally finished the handkerchief project, for which I am grateful.
My room is now mine alone! Johnson called me over to him after supper a week ago to tell me that he was sorry that he could not re-assign me, too, but there are no more places for lower servants to sleep. He told me not to let the mice bother me, but now that I sleep alone, I don't put down food, so they never come out anymore. I pretended to be sullen about it, however.
I've never has a whole room to myself before. And a place to hang my dresses where no one will "borrow" them.
I spent my half day this week wandering around Goldshire. There isn't much to do there, but there are a lot of people. Admittedly, most of them seem to be relatively inexperienced adventurers of various kinds. I guess this makes sense when you realize it's walking distance from that stupid big stone building they call Northshire. After all, that place is crawling with trainers and orphans and people who have run away from home to learn some profession or other. Once they are barely able to take care of themselves, they seem to congregate in Goldshire. Like children let out of school for the summer, some of them are a bit rowdy. For a hick town, it's not as boring as you might think.
Still, none of the people I met there seemed like they could be very useful to me. And many of them seemed to be suffering from delusions of various kinds. I met three people who told me that they are "vampires", whatever that is. They seem to think that they drink blood, but I saw them drinking mead. Perhaps it's just a side-effect of drinking too much mead, that you might start thinking you are drinking blood?
I did mange to attract the attention of many of the young men, of course. It's reassuring after dealing with Johnson-the-impervious to know that I still know how to pour it on. There's something that feels very close to power ringing in my blood when I can draw the attention and desire of a man while he thinks it was all his idea, and has convinced himself that I am totally unaware of his so-called-covert interest.
Boswell has been away from the Halls gathering materials for some project, so I haven't seen Pipniff. it's probably just as well. The heroes don't seem to trust Pipniff very much. I continue to believe he will help me, not because he's helpful but because doing so will advance some impish agenda of his own. Still, it's probably better not to deal with him directly any more than necessary. Not least, it will keep heroes from helpfully advising me that Pipniff is bad news. He sure is. Just, at the moment, his target is not Deyla.
Only a week until my 2-day holiday! I'm still trying to figure out how to get to Stormwind. There is a pair of leather shoes for every day and a pair of silken slippers there, both just waiting for me to acquire them.
Good things about my life at the moment: safe, warm, well-fed, my own room, not too much work, people to pass the time with when I get bored, the potential to put Pipniff to use in furthering my own interests (or to benefit while being used by him, whichever), a growing store of coins that I can use to buy myself nice things.
Bad things about my life at the moment: boring work, Johnson, work that mostly is for other people not me, no real future, more work than is ideal.
It could be a whole lot worse.
....
I snuck out of the Halls tonight while I was supposed to be sleeping. Actually, it all started a couple days ago. I couldn't sleep or didn't want to or something, so I pulled on the robe they gave me to wear to the bathing room, and wandered the hallways a bit. I decided to find all the kitchens -- heroes are always hungry so if for some reason I ever needed to find a hero, it would be useful to know where all the kitchens are. When I finally started to get sleepy, and I was making my way back to my attic room, I ran into Johnson.
Of course I did.
Now why Johnson was wandering the Halls in the middle of the night, fully dressed, I will never know. He seemed to take instant umbrage at finding me wandering around (which he would never have known about if he had not been wandering around, too!), so I pretended to be asleep. I don't know whether he believed me or not, but he made it crystal clear he had better not find me wandering around alone at night again. I don't think he would have believed I was only interested in the kitchens, actually. I guess it's just as well I didn't try to find out by, say, telling him the truth.
But yeesh! Does that man have even one strand of humanity in him? I imagine his own journal . . .
Purchased waistcoats today. One of them was a hair longer than the others. Had it altered so that I always look the same.
Bought more hair shellac.
Invented more useless tasks for the servants to do. It amuses me to set them dancing to a tune only I can hear.
Anyway, he thinks I'm some combination of unreliable and stupid, which was my intention, after all. Still, whether he admits it or not, I sew better and faster than any of the other servants, and I do everything I am told to do in the time I am allotted for the tasks. With so many people wanting to go out and have adventures (ick!), I think he is harder up for help than he lets on. After all, he hired me, when I showed up with no references or experience (other than being one of Matron's little slaveys).
Where was I? Oh! Tonight. Couldn't sleep again, or didn't want to. I didn't want to risk running into Johnson so I stood at the little window of my room and looked out into the night. I could see stars and the bulk of the trees, and faint patches on the ground where enough starlight got through the canopy to shine on the forest floor. It would have been beautiful, I suppose, if I were a druid or something. Since I am not, it just seems so empty to me. No real action.
Then I noticed a branch just outside my window, and to make a long story short, I managed to get down the tree, and was reasonably certain I could climb back up. I made my way to Goldshire, pretty sure that something would be happening there. And indeed, something is! A traveling fair is setting up just south of town! Maybe it won't matter if I can't get to Stormwind this month: I can just go and enjoy the fair.
I stood and watched them setting up the grounds, and fell into a conversation with a young soldier. We spoke of nothing in particular, and he stole glances at my body when he thought I was not looking. The usual...
Anyway, he made some reasonably uncrass attempts to get me to come upstairs with him, and since he wasn't as crude as many men, I was kind in wishing him pleasant and solitary dreams. I hadn't noticed but two people were listening to our conversation, and after he left, the fun really began.
First, a woman dressed in Twill but imbued with extreme arcane power approached me. She struck up a conversation, and soon had led the talk around to a band of heroes to which she belongs. In the most subtle way possible, she let me know that all the members of that band are not only women, but women who do not engage with men in any sort of intimate way. She certainly did not describe them as celibate, either, so I suppose I know what to make of this.
She was clearly leading up to asking me to join this group (having somehow mistaken me for a person who wants to be a hero and also wishes to eschew intimate contact with men), when the other listener took great umbrage at her words. He was a man of moderate bulk and loud voice, red-faced and rather abrupt. He seemed to feel that by merely inquiring whether I would be interested in joining her group, my new buddy was insulting me in the most deadly way imaginable.
He immediately offered me the protection of his band of comrades to protect my innocent self from the "perversions of this harlot". Well, that's not my definition of harlot, but whatever. In a very short period of time, both of them lost interest in me, as their conflict escalated until I was certain one of them would punch the other.
It was amusing, in a way. I was the cause of a major conflict in Goldshire, and I did it by pretending to be considerably more naive and unperceptive than I actually am. Sometime later, Twill (having disposed of her opponent in some way I didn't quite follow, not being as advanced a mage as she is -- well, not being a mage at all in any real sense) began another conversation with me. Even after I explained that I had a commitment to Johnson's band of heroes, she was quite kind to me, offering to make me new clothes.
If she were a man, I would probably have accepted. After all, new clothes are new clothes. But in a world that surely looks down on women like her, it seemed beyond even my capabilities to take her offered gifts under such entirely false pretenses. I thanked her kindly, wished her well, and left town to return to the Halls.
It turned out I was wrong. I couldn't climb the tree back up to my window, but then I remembered the large swing doors built into the Beast Wing entrances, for the use of druids when they are animals. I crawled through one and made my way back to my room, this time being careful not to let Johnson find me.
And in a couple of days, there will be a fair to enjoy! It could definitely be a lot worse than this.
....
The last week was fairly exhausting. I worked hard all day and snuck out every night to go the Faire. The Faire is endlessly fascinating and quite odd, too.
It seems to be run by a band of folks cast off from what you would think was their usual path in life. They are taciturn, somewhat stand-offish, and carry an air of recklessness about them. They travel around the world, taking their own little Faire universe with them, and make a living off people giving them money and items in return for a good time. All told, it's a relatively raffish atmosphere, which I am sure is part of its appeal.
And it certainly is appealing. The place was crawling with humans, elves, gnomes, and dwarves, and there were plenty of taurens there, too. I even saw some undead visitors! People were eating and drinking too much (and puking in the bushes to prove it), shooting themselves out of a cannon, buying pretty things for their sweethearts, and playing all kinds of off-color Faire games.
I encountered a number of pleasant young men there. Some lovely women, too, for that matter. I chatted, and flirted, and giggled, and had a grand old time. I did not waste any of my own silver on purchases for myself, and hardly needed to anyway. I bought some fruit for a lost child, but otherwise, I kept my purse closed.
It was a marvelous week, and yet. Somehow, it was like eating too much candy. Darned fun while I was doing it, but ultimately unsatisfying. I spent much of today, while I was sewing, trying to figure out why.
I had fun, no doubt about it. I enjoyed the company of not a few young, attractive people, who were charming to me, and charmed by me. I laughed, I flew through the air out of the cannon, I had my fortune told, I chattered as if I had no cares in the world. And then the faire left town, and my new friends went off to adventure. I have no doubt they will forget me soon. After all, they are already fading from my mind, leaving only the memories behind.
Well, maybe not forget me, but tuck me away as a pleasant memory.
I find I don't really want that. It's not safe enough. Plus, I really did get exhausted, what with the full days of work and full nights of fun. But mostly, it's not safe enough. I've never been safe, you know? I am not an orphan of the recent wars, with memories of a family to sustain me. I was just a foundling, at a time when orphans and foundlings were not terribly common, or at least not as common as they are now. Me, a blanket, 6g "for her upkeep until she comes of age", and a plain silver chain around my neck.
I'm lucky that the priests who found me on the steps of the cathedral kept the chain for me until my 15th birthday. And that they doled out the 6g to Matron over the years. Even in the hardest times, I got to eat meat at least once a day. And I still have the chain, although I never wear it. How could I?
And so I lived 17 years in an orphanage with no idea where I came from or where I might be going. I learned to work, I learned to be self-sufficient, I learned how to use what I have to get closer to having what I want. But I realized today, I've always thought of what I want in terms of what I don't want it to be. I don't want to be a prostitute. I don't want to be a scullery maid or even a lowly seamstress all my life. I don't want adventures or heroism.
So I asked myself, what DO I want?
I want to be safe. And I want to have something that is actually mine.
In the meantime, my belly is full, my work for the day is done, and I have nowhere in particular I want to go. I can sleep the night away and be -- I hope -- less exhausted tomorrow. It could absolutely be worse than this.
....
Johnson is sending me to Stormwind! Oh oh oh, I am so happy that I am almost giddy. It seems he ordered some fabric from a draper there, and they sent the wrong stuff. He sent it back and they sent more wrong stuff. So he wants someone to go return the wrong stuff and get the right stuff. He said this to a group of us working on sewing new tabards for the heroes (explain to me why gold on red wasn't good enough for them, and they had to change it to gold on white? sew sew sew....). I immediately saw the other two girls' faces light up and saw him stiffen, so I kept my face as blank as possible and asked him when the proposed trip was.
"Tomorrow."
I frowned and chewed my lip. "That's my half day. Let Jessie or Ramona go instead. I am meeting someone in Goldshire for tea."
Jessie laughed out loud, and chided me for preferring Goldshire to Stormwind. I just frowned again and kept sewing.
Johnson looked at all three of us in that frozen way he has, and told me, "You can have your half-day the day after tomorrow, Deyla. You shouldn't become too familiar with the rabble in Goldshire. I'm sure you would do better to travel to Stormwind, sort out the errors at the draper, and pay your respects to Matron Winsock."
I rolled my eyes, and pointed out to him that both Jessie and Ramona wanted to go, and would certainly be able to handle the task. He just narrowed his eyes a bit and told me that when he made an assignment, he was not accustomed to being argued with. Well, I imagine not! So I looked sullen and asked if I could run to Goldshire before supper to leave a note for my friend about tomorrow.
He grandly agreed, adding that if I missed supper, I must make do with leftovers.
There is no friend. There is no tea. But there are things in Goldshire I want to get. I saw some lovely ribbons there, in an odd mauve color that I really really like. I want to get a piece of fabric that goes with them to make a new sleeping shift, and I need to have the ribbons with me when I get to Stormwind.
I suppose I really will have to visit Matron. Luckily, she will be satisfied with a short courtesy call, and if I am speedy about the draper business, I should have an hour or two to shop. What with my wages and a few wagers I won at the Faire, I have just over a gold piece to spend, and nothing to spend it on except myself!
Tonight, a little shopping in Goldshire, and tomorrow, Stormwind! I've already convinced the groom who will be driving the dog cart that we should leave early. It was easy: a little shifting around on my feet so my hips rocked back and forth, lowering my eyes, and acting like I cared. Whee! A trip to Stormwind, and gold in my pocket.
It may get better than this, but not all that often.
....
So I went to Stormwind, just like I planned. Smitty had the cart out front just when he said he would, and we had a very pleasant ride into the city. Once I convinced him that he should view me as his little sister who needed to be protected from the big, bad world, we got along fine. When we got to the coaching house where he was leaving the ponies and the cart, he even tossed me a silver coin and told me to put it in my shoe in case of an emergency.
My first order of business was to haul the wrong stuff to the draper's and convince them to send the right stuff to Johnson. The right stuff turns out to be this heavy, dreary greenish grey material that apparently we will be sewing into something Johnson thinks that the heroes or their Halls need. Yawn.
Luckily, that did not take long. I was still in innocent little sister mode, so it was perfect for the stolid woman running the counter. Apparently, she also has a flighty little sister who needs taking care of. Anyway, she sorted out the issue relatively quickly, and then looked at my rather plain white blouse and blue skirt. She wrinkled her nose and then handed me a length of red ribbon, a lovely deep red. She said, "Sew it along the collar and sleeves of the blouse and you won't look so drab". I'm sure she is right, so I thanked her for her kindness. But I won't be sewing it on a dress that serves its purpose of making people think I am younger and more vulnerable than I really am. Instead, it will adorn one of my new nightgowns.
Yes, I am making myself a set of lawn nightgowns. It occurred to me in Goldshire the night before I went to Stormwind. When I was there buying the length of ribbon I planned to put on a new sleeping shift, I overheard a couple of rich girls giggling over materials in the little shop there. They were talking about making items for their trousseaus. I didn't know what that word meant, so when they left the store and I was alone with the proprietor, I turned on the charm and asked him. He told me it's a collection of things young girls make to take with them when they get married. He said that some girls even have special wooden boxes to store these things in, called "Hope Chests".
I like the sound of that: a place to store up things for a hopeful future, so I decided to make myself one of these trousseau things. Someday I might even find a way to have a Hope Chest. It seems that what girls put in Hope Chests are household items and sleeping clothes. I guess that makes sense. Once you are married, not only do you need to hold household, but there is someone who sees you in your nightclothes all the time.
So I spent some of my time on the way to Stormwind deciding how to allocate my funds. I decided to make three lawn sleeping shifts. One will have the deep red ribbon trimming it, one will have a shirred edging of the mauve ribbon I bought in Goldshire, and the third is going to have cutwork. I haven't designed my own cutwork pattern before, although of course I know how to do it once the pattern is designed. I was looking for a pattern to base mine on, when I saw Boswell draw some lovely images on the ground, in purple light, to call Pipniff back from wherever he goes off to. How cool would that be, to make the little gnome's patterns into the basis for my own handiwork? See what Pipniff thinks of me now!
I also bought some soft-but-sturdy cotton to make dish towels, and some tightly woven linen for bed sheets that I will trim with like on like embroidery. See? Household goods and sleeping clothes.
Thinking about a Hope Chest, I did come to the conclusion that for the future to have much hope in it, I shouldn't spend down all my money, so I got myself a little wooden box with a lock on it. Like a tiny Hope Chest, I decided, and I will store my money there. It's a long, flat box, made of some lovely wood, so dark and shiny that it's almost black. And it has silver metal hammered into the wood in a pretty pattern on the top. The hinges and the bracings and the supports are all silver, too. I couldn't afford expensive metal, so I will have to polish the metal to keep it from tarnishing, but I can do that. The key I wear around my neck now on a narrow black ribbon that matches the wood of the box. The box itself is flat enough to fit under my mattress where no one can see it, and still not make the bed uncomfortable.
Once I had my supplies and the box, I made my way back over towards the Cathedral. As I drew nearer to the Orphanage, it felt like my feet were getting heavier and heavier. Still, I knew that Johnson would catch up with me if I did not make this call. I carefully waited until the hour right after the noon meal when Matron likes to lecture the girls who have not worked up to her standards about the wages of slovenliness. I heard many such lectures, you can bet!
I was in luck, too. The doorman did not recognize me, and simply told me that she could not be disturbed. I came prepared and handed him a note to give to her, and beat a hasty retreat. I was so glad to get away without having to see the woman that, well, I wasn't really looking where I was going. I turned a corner and ran into an immovable object. When I looked up, it was a largish man, solid and stolid, and wearing one of the new tabards I had sewn only a week or so ago. My mind raced, but I could not place him, and I concluded that he was not someone I had encountered.
Under the circumstances, I chose not to introduce myself, but stammered some kind of apology. My taking the blame for our collision seemed to embarrass him, as he responded by blushing just a little and then telling me to never mind, neither of us was hurt. I curtsied to him like a random serving maid, and took off at a run. As I left, I thought I heard him mutter something about an "old farmer", which kind of reminded me of Pipniff's mutterings, but I couldn't make any of it out, so I just kept going.
When I finally got to my favorite spot in the Park, I noticed that a lot of people were milling around, and when I made my way to the front of the crowd, I found that the firekeepers were setting up the festival fires. Glory be! I hadn't realized that the year was so far advanced!
Like all festivals, this one had attracted a crowd of people of all sorts, so I got to make a lot of new acquaintances, just hanging around watching them build and prepare to light the fires. I could not stay for the lighting, since I had to make my way back to the coaching house so we could come back to the Hall. Still, I managed to supply myself with festival ale (some of which I gave to Smitty, since his errands hadn't taken him anywhere near the Park or near the free ale tables set up near the fountain) and some lovely dried sausages from Redridge. Oh, how I love these things! They last forever, but when you shave them over a plate of vegetables, the flavors come alive in the mouth like no other flavor I have ever experienced. It almost makes peeling and slicing and boiling all the vegetables worthwhile (and you know how much I hate anything resembling work!) I wrapped them in oilcloth and then in a scrap of felted wool leftover from some project Johnson had me working on, and stored them in the Little Hope Chest with my money. They will be worth more than gold if I ever do have a home of my own.
So here I am, back in my small room at the Hall, with several projects to occupy me, and a Little Hope Chest with 1 whole gold coin and a few silver pieces, too. Another couple years of this, and I might finally be able to buy myself some real safety.
Life could be a whole lot worse, indeed it could.
....
Boy am I glad I have my Little Hope Chest! Not only does it give me a place to store this journal, but its contents are there to tide me over when disaster hit. It seems that the band of heroes has disbanded. Idiots. This is enormously inconvenient for me, and that is once I worked out how to keep it from being a total disaster.
Before I figured out a plan, it was simply a disaster. I didn't have enough money in my Little Hope Chest to make a difference, in the long run, and so I had to go looking for more work. I had a stroke of luck, however.
The day we all packed up and left the Hall, I started on my way to Northshire, on the theory that even if I don't want to be a mage, at least if I were training as one, I would have a place to stay and stuff. Mind you, I didn't intend to stay there one second longer than necessary, but when needs must, then it must.
On my way, I stopped in Goldshire, just to read the board in the inn and see if there were any other interesting options. Why the inn is always full of swaggering junior adventurers, I don't know. Maybe it's that job board, full of stupid errands for brave folks to run. Go get candles from the kobolds. Collect ferns from under the murloc houses. Find my pencils that I left in the pig pen. Weird stuff, but these adventurers seem to eat it up. Eventually, I guess they get bored doing this scutwork for the local alchemists and move on to bigger and (one hopes) more interesting things. Or maybe not. Maybe that's all adventuring is, anyway, just retrieving things people lost in dangerous places, and picking flowers where there are those who might be inclined to argue about the ownership of said flowers.
Anyway, as I left the inn, I ran into one of the nice women who had directed me to the heroes in the first place (but not the one who gave me the pork pie). She remembered me, too. She shook her head at me when she saw me with my bag (it's a much bigger bag than I had when last she saw me, though), and asked me if I had been dismissed. I said, no, not really, just the heroes have disbanded and so they don't need a seamstress anymore.
She was shaking her head in commiseration when I said the word "seamstress". Then her head jerked up a bit and she asked me if I could sew. I said yes, and she asked me if I had any samples with me. Well, I did, since I had all my worldly goods with me, so I showed her the tea towels I had made myself, and then I showed her the partly finished sleeping shift with the Boswell-inspired cutwork on it. She looked at me as if I were a present sent from the Light itself, and practically dragged me into a tea shop and bought me a snack. Well, she called it a snack. I called it breakfast and lunch, and counted myself lucky that the packet of food I brought away from the Hall with me would last a bit longer.
Anyway, she explained that her nephew was going to marry a young woman from a neighboring farm, and they were going to get married in a real hurry. I guess I knew what that meant, but I just nodded politely with a small smile plastered on my face like I was interested in what she was telling me. It seems that in order to make it all seem less, uh, hurried than it's going to be, they want the bride to have a complete trousseau, even though she's only 15 and hasn't had time to make a full one. So to make appearances all right, the women in both families are sewing their fingers to the bone trying to make a whole trousseau in only three weeks. She offered me a deal I couldn't refuse. They would give me a place to sleep (it turns out to be a little cubby hole in the attic of "Granma's House", but it's cozy and private and well-ventilated, so it suits me fine, even if my bed is a pallet on the floor), my meals, and 1/4 of the things I sew for them. They can't afford to pay me money, but they have beautiful materials, left over from some old people who died, who were drapers of some kind.
But it has bought me some time. Even if this can't be stretched out beyond three weeks (and given the state of young Maybell's belly, I don't think it can be), it gives me a safe haven from which to figure out what to do next. I think that the best thing for me to do is to try to find out where the heroes went. Maybe one of them can point me at something stable. But if not, well, there's always Stormwind. I have enough money now to rent a very tiny, very closed in, room in a boarding house, and when I leave here, I will have enough sewing samples that I should be able to secure myself work sewing things. and if worse becomes worst, I will go to Redridge and learn how to make those sausages!
It's not great, but by golly it could be a whole lot worse. I could be learning to be a mage!
....
Mkay, the wedding happened. Five of us spent long days sitting in the parlor of the big house and sewing stuff for that spoiled brat Maybell, while she sat there and whined. Her feet hurt. She is getting FAT. Sewing is boring. Yeh yeh yeh.
No one told you to run off and get pregnant, you twit. You're just lucky that you have family who is willing to put aside their differences and help you out of the mess you landed yourself in.
But it is working out okay for me so far. I have a nice pile of household goods for my own trousseau, neatly folded and packed in my bundle. I can use them as samples now -- and there is some really nice work.
One good thing about Maybell is that she doesn't know jack about quality. Now, I like shiny and pretty as much as anyone, but I do realize that to be useful, things like tea towels and potholders need to be well made. I wanted the best samples of my work for myself, because that will impress people who hire seamstresses more than pretty embellishments (although I snagged some of those, too, of course). I did my best quilting for the potholders, for example, on the plain grey ones. The pretty red and white ones won't protect from the heat as well, but when she got to choose which ones I could keep, of course she palmed off the boring ones on me.
So it was easy to get useful, well-made items for my trousseau-and-sample-collection. Getting her to let me have the pretty stuff was harder, but I overheard her badgering her fiance one night about what colors for this that and the other in the small house they will live in on his father's farm. He was annoyed to be asked such a "girl" question, but he finally allowed as how he likes red and orange. So I made four really pretty wraps. There was a gorgeous sunset-like fabric in the stash of stuff from the dead old people that I used for two of them, with the bottom edge dark reddish blue like the sky right after the sun goes down before the light is all gone. The color brightens as it rises up the wrap towards the neckline, where it is a nice bright yellowy orange. I made them in two very different shapes, and while I would LOVE to have one, I knew she would choose them both. I also made a rich red velvet wrap, which was a cinch for her to choose, too. All three were basic in design and moderate in execution.
The fourth one is a deep green color, in a soft soft wool that I just want to cuddle up to forever. I knew the color would mean I got to keep it, so it miraculously fits me better than it fits her (she never even tried it on, so sure was she that her "Joey" would like the other ones better -- little does she know that the cut of the green wrap is such that no normal man would be able to tear his eyes away from any woman who was wearing it -- I really am good at stuff like that). And the stitches are so tiny that they are nearly invisible. I put a bunch of old lace on the collar and sleeves, too, so it's really beautiful. Her mother tried to convince her to choose it instead of the second sunset one, but she balked because of his favorite colors.
Anyway, we finished the sewing in time for the wedding, and they asked me to stay and help out with that event, so I did. I was planning to leave the next morning, when something wonderful happened. Well, wonderful for me anyway.
Granma Stonefield, whose attic I've been sleeping in, drank a bit too much apple cider at the wedding and fell down and bruised her hip. It's not broken or anything, but it hurts a lot and she can't really take care of herself until it heals. The priest who came to visit said it can't be healed with the Light because it's just an ache and pain (can that be right? from the way the priests at the Cathedral act, you would think that they could fix anything...), and it will take about six more weeks to fix up. Miss Bernice told me if I would stay on and keep Granma's cottage clean and cook her some simple meals until she's feeling better, they would continue to feed and house me. If I wanted to, I could even use more of the dead people's stash of cloth to make myself some winter clothes.
So I have an pretty good deal right now. I get along okay with Granma, even though she seems to like that airhead Maybell. She told me what she likes to eat, so I cook that. Every morning, I help her out of bed to a big cozy chair in the parlor, and set her up with a book and some knitting. (She's making baby clothes, of course.) Then I cook a couple meals, clean a couple things (while Granma provides a running commentary on how I do it, but I just grin at her and keep her little cottage spotless for her), and sit with her and sew. She tells me stories of the old days, when she lived in the big house with Granpa. She tells me what a looker she was when she was girl. Hard to imagine her any way other than old and mildly cantankerous, but the stories pass the time while we do our work.
Every couple days, Joe carries her over to the big house for supper and I am free to run to town and see what's what. Maybell spends a lot of time over here whining about her feet, her belly, and how dreary the work of a wife is. She should try being a homeless orphan if she doesn't like her life, is what I say. Even Granma, who dotes on her, finally told her to settle down and make some stuff for the baby. So she is hemming diapers. Right about her skill level, too, I think.
I'm sewing several new dresses, a jacket, and a warm cloak. I also decided to make myself some clothes to wear when doing really nasty cleaning jobs, in case I ever get stuck doing that again. I made a shirt and some canvas overalls. They will get in the way of cleaning a lot less than a skirt, and the canvas is very sturdy. When I tried them on for the final fitting, Joe saw them and his eyes got very big. I think I did manage to make them cradle my bottom just right, then. He's still besotted with Maybell, but she better watch out. That boy has a wandering eye and if she becomes too tiresome, I imagine he will wander right on out.
In the evenings, when the light in the parlor is bad, I knit socks and other things for myself. Depending on how long this all takes, I might need two bundles to carry my belongings with me when I go.
Once my current stack of clothes is made, I'm going to make tea towels, well-made and with pretty lace trimming. I will keep some and sell some, so that my stash of coins starts to grow again. Still, all this new stuff without having had to spend much money on the materials is a Light-sent blessing.
Granma was telling me about her travels when she was younger and she used to go to various trade places to buy and sell stuff from the farm. One place she went was a tiny little town that is now apparently more of a military outpost. Granma says that there is an amazing tailor there who might be able to teach me some new sewing tricks. I'd like to see that. Maybe I will get Boswell and Pipniff to help me get to Thera-more, if I ever see them again.
It surprises me how much I miss the heroes. I even kind of miss Johnson. He was so predictable and so easy to rile, and it was so fun to do it, considering how much he valued his dignity and unflappable demeanor. I knew I would miss Boswell and his imp, of course, but I also miss the general feeling of the place, full of energy and life. While I have no interest in adventuring myself, I do like the company of those who travel out in the world and try to fix it. Goodness knows the world can use a lot of fixing!
And for whatever reason, I miss the gnomes and their incessant "call me Lizzie!" and giggling. I miss that shy young soldier who blushed whenever he saw another person. I miss the elves and their unstudied arrogance and self-assurance. I even miss the dwarves.
And I miss having a room that is all my own, with a door to shut out the world. But even without a door, I have a warm place to sleep and reasonable work to fill my days, and I'm not having to spend coin to get food.
I hope for better from the future, but I'm not complaining about this, at all.
....
Granma's hip is almost better, but good news continues. It turns out that she likes being waited on, and Big Joe (her son who lives in the big house with his family, except for Granma in her cottage, and Joey and Maybell in theirs) thinks that it's better that she not live alone. So they asked me to stay on for awhile.
I wish they had a bit more money, because they can't really afford to pay me, actually. So we came to an agreement: they will turn the attic into a real bedroom for me, and give me room and board and generous time off. In addition, I can keep making clothes and other items using all that old cloth. Finally, Big Joe and his youngest son Jamie (who is very good at this sort of thing) will make me an actual Hope Chest. Big Joe says that when the harvest is all in, he pays bonuses to all his hands, and if there is one this year, I will get it, too, even though I mostly don't get paid in cash. We also agreed that I can sell things I make with their materials from the dead people if I want, and I don't have to share the money with them.
So basically, this is a little less work than the heroes gig, although it doesn't pay as well. On the other hand, a bunch of the "work" is sitting with Granma and listening to her stories, cheering her up when she's down, and stuff like that. I can sew while I do that, and this time, the sewing is mostly for me. I repair stuff around her place that is getting worn, too, because her eyes are not what they use to be, so she mostly likes to knit and crochet and make lace, because she can feel with her fingers how that is going.
Granma makes lovely lace, both the pin kind and the bobbin kind. She says she will teach me to do it, and that sounds useful. Lace is cheap to make and expensive to sell, so it could be profitable for me.
She mostly enjoys ordering me around, and telling me how I do things wrong. Of course, I can clean just about anything, and I'm smart enough not to let things get too dirty. It's a small cottage, she's naturally a neat person, and there's no heroes tramping in mud. The work part is easy, and despite her hectoring me while I am cleaning stuff, she seems happy enough with my work. I like her fine.
In fact, it would be about perfect if it weren't for that twit Maybell. She isn't even a blood relative, but Granma dotes on her. So she spends just about all her time over here, whining. I think in four weeks, she has managed to hem about 5 or 6 diapers, and the hemming is just ugly. I could do better than that when I was 8 years old. Perhaps there was some advantage to being hit by Matron when I did a bad job, after all.
The worst part is when Granma decides that since "poor Maybell" is in a family way, she can't be expected to cook for her own husband. The girl is only about five months gone! What it will be like when she's actually close to term, I can't imagine. However, it's clearly in my best interest for Granma to keep liking me, so I am pleasant to Maybell, and I cook meals for the two of them. So far, I have managed not to be forced to do it in her kitchen. I just make extra of what we are eating and wrap it up for her to take home. I'm pretty sure she pretends to Joey that she cooked it herself, but whatever. Sometimes she shows up with fish or something that he caught and I make it into enough food for four people. There is no way I am cooking extra meals for that little brat and her husband.
The vegetables are plentiful and good, there is unlimited cheese and milk, and every day, the big house sends us some meat or fowl to cook, too. Granma has a starter she says she got from her grandmother when she got married, and I use that to make bread. I make thick chewy brown bread for every day and fluffy white loaves for when she goes to dinner with Big Joe and his family. Some of the white dough I make into dinner rolls that she can take with her so she doesn't feel like she is coming empty-handed, and the rest I used for loaves to make sandwiches with during the week.
Me, I like heavy sandwiches: thick slices of sausage on brown bread with mustard and bitter lettuce. Granma likes thinly sliced tomatoes with sweet lettuce, butter, and either a little chicken breast or some cold fried bacon, on thin white bread. We both love white bread with fresh cheese and herbs grilled until the cheese is all melted and runny. And I love making bread. It takes time, and when you are making it for only two people, it's not an onerous job. First, the magic of kneading it until it is silky smooth. Then the miracle of seeing it rise, first in the bowl and then on the baking sheet. Finally, it fills the whole cottage with a wonderful smell, and makes it feel like home, even to me, who has never really had a home. Hot from the oven, it tastes wonderful. We slather it with fresh butter and honey, and wolf it down.
One thing Granma doesn't have much of is canned stores. They said I could look at the root cellar at the big house and take what we will need for the winter months, but there is not much variety there. As the various vegetables and fruits hit their prime, I am canning up a storm. That root cellar was FULL of jars and rings and lids, and Granma does have a canning kettle so I am good to go. So far, I have stewed fruits of various kinds, and late summer berry jams. I made some pickles so that my heavy sandwiches can taste even better, and I'm canning up a storm with beans, late corn, and tomatoes.
I'm getting tired of working with the tomatoes. I've made stewed tomatoes, tomato sauce, thick paste, and even dried a bunch out in the sun under cheesecloth. We'll have lots of good stews and stuff, but not until I get done being tired of tomatoes!
Really the only thing we don't have yet is stewed apples and that has to wait until they are ripe. You know, at the orphanage, we bought cheap produce, often that had be damaged in transit and canned it all up for feeding 100 hungry children and their keepers. It was brutal. I now see that on a more reasonable scale, there is great pleasure to be had from this kind of work. True, it's hot and miserable in the canning stage, but the rows and rows of jars with their many different jewel-like colors make me happy. I put a row of them in the kitchen window near the herb box, and the sun shines through them, and it's pretty, and I feel satisfied with my work.
Cooking is kind of like sewing: the better the materials and the more careful you are with what you do, the better the outcome. And as the jars of food accumulate, and the piles of Hope Chest items grow higher, too, I feel a sense of accomplishment that has something to do with the fact that this work is for me (and Granma), not for other people. Work like that is kind of satisfying in a different way that work someone just bosses you around into doing.
The bedroom alterations are almost done. I have a small room in the attic now, not just a cubby hole. It has an old iron bed, a small table and a wooden chair in it, as well as a rail to hang my clothes on. While they were doing the work, I cleaned up the table and begged a bit of paint from Jamie. I painted it a dark green. The chair was already a nice cheerful yellow. I am using some of Granma's old sheets, even though I have a nice new set I made. Those are for my Hope Chest, and while it's nice to have a place to stay, this is not what I'm hoping for, so they stay unused for now. There is also a small mirror, a little window that looks out away from the farm down towards the river, and a DOOR. The door doesn't exactly lock, but it does have a bar on the inside, so that I can lock myself in there. And best of all, there is a place for the Hope Chest.
The Hope Chest will be very simple, but that's okay. I showed Jamie my Little Hope Chest (after I took out the money and the journal -- he thinks I just store dried sausage in it), and he said he had some wood just like that. He can't do the silver chasing on it, but he told me where to get a silver lock for it. He said he can make it so it looks like it belongs with the little one, even if they don't match. And he's building in a special place to hold the little chest inside the big one. He told me to use that little one to store my money, and I told him that was a good idea, if I ever got any.
So I went to the shop he told me about and bought a silver lock that looks almost exactly like the one on the Little Hope Chest. I now have two keys to wear around my neck. I was threading the new onto the ribbon that held the one for the Little Hope Chest, when I remembered my silver chain. I rummaged in my bundle and found the thing.
I've never worn it. I don't know what to feel about it. On one hand, it's the only thing I have from the people I came from. The gold for my upkeep is long gone, and Matron would not hand over the note that came with me, so this is it. On the other hand, the people I cam from did not want me. So I've always thought I did not want them, either. So I never even tried on the chain.
But the keys sort of match the metal of the chain, and it's long enough that the keys themselves will lie down between my breasts. No one will see the keys, but they might see the slight sparkle of the chain. That would draw the eye, and that is always a good thing.
So I carefully threaded the chain through the holes in the keys and drew it down over my head. The metal of the chain is not cheap, and it tingles. When it first lay against my skin, I could feel it, like it had a spark in it or something. Later, when that died down, I was sure I had imagined it, so I took it off, put it on the table, and five minutes later put it on again. And again, there was the unmistakable feeling, just like a spark. When I hold it in my hands, it doesn't do that, which is why no one noticed it before, I guess. But when I put it around my neck, it tingles against my skin like it's settling in or something.
So there we are. In a week or so, I will have a Hope Chest for storing my dreams in. Meanwhile, my wardrobe continues to expand. It's not a long-term solution for me, but it will do while I figure out what is a long-term solution. I have a couple ideas, so some of my sewing just now is to help me with those ideas.
I'm still mad at the heroes for disbanding, but maybe this isn't all that bad.
....
Except for Maybell and her stupid husband, everything is fine. I'm so mad at Joey, though. I'm not sure what he said to her, but she's decided to be totally jealous of me. Whenever we are alone together, she hisses at me like an outraged kitten and tells me to leave her "man" alone. Hello? He's a moron and a lug. Why would I want him?
For fel's sake, the guy knocked up Maybell. Proof positive that he's a moron. He also has no ambition, not even to make a decent life for himself and his family. Granma was telling me they practically had to force him to move into the cottage when he got married, because he couldn't see why a married couple with a baby on the way might want their own place. His concern? "What if Maybell can't cook as good as Aunt Bernice?" Doofus. Should have thought of that before you did the dirty with her.
I suspect Maybell *can't* cook very well, since he is now apparently complaining that her cooking is "sometimes good and sometimes bad". But the worst part about Joey is his lack of genuine interest in his own wife. He eyes all the serving women around the place, and when I see him in town, he's gazing at the girls on the street, too. I mean, he does seem infatuated with Maybell. If she walks by when he's eyeing someone else, his eyes go to her and he gets this goofy look on his face. But if she's not in the vicinity, it's like he forgets she even exists.
So I think he was caught by a pretty face and an accommodating body and never bothered to think about the person underneath. I don't like Maybell much myself. I think she's a whiny, lazy, spoiled rotten little brat, but she doesn't deserve what she got. And he doesn't deserve what he got, either, I suppose. They can't see one another clearly, and while the honeymoon lasts, I suppose they will have fun together. How much fun they will have when there is a baby to care for and no one to talk to but each other, I'm guessing not much.
The thing Maybell doesn't understand is that even if I *did* want Joey, I don't want him in his current state. He belongs to someone else, all tied up nice and legal. If I went after him, even if I got him, I could never have that. He would not be mine in any real sense, and that would make me just a plaything.
I can be a man's plaything anytime I want, and to men who have a lot more to offer than Joey Stonefield. Her fantasy is safe from me. I won't poach.
Besides, I don't think Joey knows how to play the game. Like I said, he's a moron. He wouldn't know how to flirt with danger and not get sucked in. He wouldn't know when to stop or how to read the signs that I was stopping. It would be a big ugly mess, and not just a lot of fun. There are plenty of boys and girls who hang out in Goldshire, and many of them *do* know how to play the game. They know how to make a girl feel special and how to have a good time without endangering anyone's heart or future. And they know how to give value for value received.
So I spend my free time up there, with them. And doing so has given me an idea.
There are plenty of girls in Goldshire who clearly want more than just some fun and games with the adventurers who are passing through. They offer more than I do, and they give free samples, usually. But I can pull a man (or the right kind of woman) off one of them in a split second.
The problem they all have is that they are way too obvious, and they can't compete with subtlety. One time I was up there watching a couple of them hold court at a table in the inn. And it irritated me for some reason. So I went to the ladies' retiring room and rearranged my hair and clothes just a bit. I still looked entirely respectable. I can't risk word of any outrageous behavior getting back to the Stonefields, after all, but more importantly, subtle just works better. A flash of cleavage when it looks like I am not showing any. Bending over just right. Thinking of ice and tightening up my nipples when I am talking to someone. All these things draw attention in a way that obviousness can't beat. Five minutes it took, after I wandered up to the table and asked if anyone knew where I could buy milled oats in town (you can't buy them there, and I knew it). They were all soft butter in the palm of my hand, and the obvious girls were left wondering what happened. So I tossed them their audience back, thanked everyone for trying to help me and wandered off.
Went back to the ladies' retiring room to put myself back into a less seductive state, and ran into someone pretty amazing. It was an older woman who had me beat on all suits. More respectable looking than I could ever be, and then in the flash of an eye, she turned herself into a living breathing magnet of desire. I could feel it welling up in me, and I had to fight to keep from falling into her hand like a ripe plum falling off the tree. She didn't even have to rearrange her clothes or her hair.
I stood there and stared at her, breathing heavily, and considering breaking all my rules, and she stopped. Then she grinned at me, and said, "You could learn to do that, you know." I must have gaped at her.
"I saw what you did. Rough around the edges and unpracticed, I think, but the talent is there. You could easily become the highest priced courtesan in all of Stormwind if you wanted to."
I swallowed hard. "Thank you, but I don't want to."
"No," she said, "I didn't think you did." Then she looked thoughtful. "You might change your mind. If you do, come to Stormwind." She handed me a card, and to my shame, I have never gotten rid of it. Just an address is written on it, in purple ink.
But the other day I was putting some of my recent projects into my Hope Chest, and I found the card. I turned it over in my hands and thought about that woman. If she is, or is associated with, the highest priced courtesan in Stormwind, then she knows someone who needs clothes of a very special kind. A kind I am very good at making. And someone who is probably willing to pay a very high price for that kind of clothes.
I can make dresses that the most uptight spinster would look at and think are respectable, but which are nothing of the sort. They allow the wearer to offer controlled glimpses of flesh, they reveal the shape under the fabric while pretending not to. They seduce while claiming to be all about modesty. And while low rent street girls don't need that kind of stuff, high end courtesans do.
I may have to pay the owner of that card a visit the next time I am in Stormwind after all.
I went up to the big house today to take them some of my preserves. It surprises me that they have so much less variety in their cellar than we have in our stores, but it's only fair to share what we can spare, since I'm using their produce to make it all. Miss Bernice had me put it down in the cellar and when I was rummaging around down there, the weirdest thing happened.
I had just put my pickles on the shelf, and had turned around to pick up the tomato sauce when my necklace shocked me. I was so startled that I almost dropped the jar. By the time I managed to get the jar under control, the feeling was gone and I could not make it happen again. Which is probably just as well.
All in all, things are fine. Once that baby comes, I suppose Maybell will be out of my hair, and that can only be a change for the better. Whiny and petulant was bad enough. Whiny, petulant, and jealous is worse.
Luckily, Granma is not an idiot. She told me not to take "Maybell's crotchets" seriously, that women having their first baby often act like that. Yeh, whatever. I personally think what I see is what there is, when it comes to Maybell, But at least I don't have to worry that Granma thinks I want Joey.
For the time being, warm and cozy in my attic room, with my Hope Chest slowly filling up, and a nice collection of things I can sell at the fall bazaar in Goldshire, things are looking up. I'm content to be where I am for the moment.
But I do miss Boswell. And his imp.
....
So the baby came early. Nearly 6 weeks early Maybell says, but I don't think so. The orphanage had a place where "wayward girls" sometimes came, and they left their babies behind to be raised in the orphanage when they went away. I've seen a reasonable number of babies in my life, and that baby was not 6 weeks early. No way, no how.
My theory, for what it's worth, is that Maybell lied about when she got pregnant, for some reason I don't know. Perhaps because Joey is not the father and she had to lie about the timing in order to get married. Perhaps because she didn't come clean with her parents when she first had to tell them, and she lied (she does it so easily), and then never found a way to reverse the lie. Whatever else, Joey doesn't seem upset by the early birth. He's walking about with a swagger that could knock over a whole city if he got close enough, he's so proud of himself and his virility.
Personally, whatever else I think of Maybell, I think that Joey is not the one who did all the work here, she is, and it would be nice to see him actually giving her credit for it. Not him, though. He's wandering around the farm, talking to the hands, and to all the visitors they are getting, about "my boy". Since his father is called Big Joe, and he's called Joey, they're already calling this one Little Joe. I hope he grows up to be the tallest and biggest of them all.
Granma is now watching Maybell a lot less dotingly, though. She narrows her eyes at her sometimes when she talks, she has her bring the baby over for an hour or so a day, and then she shoos them away. "Don't you have work to do?" she asks the new mother.
Me, I am keeping my head down, cooking, cleaning, and sewing like always.
The trip to Stormwind happened, and I did make my way to the address on the card. When I was standing on the porch, ready to knock on the door, my necklace started tingling really a lot. I've kind of gotten used to it doing that, but this was a lot more than usual. I thought about it more, and decided that I did indeed want to knock on the door, but the necklace got more annoying and painful, so I tried to take it off. I could not.
I know, that sounds bizarre, and so it was. First I went to lift it over my head and my hands stayed down by my sides. Then I forced my hands up to touch it, and when I tried to lift it, it was too heavy to remove.
So I was a bit freaked out, as you can imagine. Clearly, the tingling I had been feeling from time to time was not a figment of my imagination, which I had hoped it might be. While I was standing there, trying to decide what to do next, the door opened and that same woman came out of the house. She looked at me, and clearly recognized me. She seemed a little surprised to see me, and asked me if I wanted to come in and have some tea with her. I said I would rather she were my guest at a sandwich shop down the street, and she agreed.
So we left her porch, and the necklace calmed down, for which I was grateful. As we ate our sandwiches, I explained about my sewing, and she asked if I had any samples. I said I did, and she said, "Well, I need to see them on you. You really are going to have to come back to my house with me, you know."
I sighed and said I did know, and so off we went. The necklace by this time seemed a little more subdued, although I could still feel it against my skin. I knew I had to decide whether to trust her or not, because from the Goldshire time, I knew she could control me with my desire if she wanted, and I didn't think I could control her with hers. Still, I really wanted the money that I could make if this worked out, so I followed her back down the street.
We were almost to her house when the necklace poked me and I yelped. She was startled and turned around, and I was so shocked, I had my hand on the chain. Her eyes narrowed, and then before I could be sure I really saw the flash of fear in her eyes, her face took on a pleasant expression again.
She said, "Perhaps this will be more comfortable all the way around, if we find a different, private place for our conversation."
I sighed and said I thought that would work better. She thought for a moment, and then suggested I choose one. So I led her through some alleys and side streets until we came to the draper shop that Johnson sent me to last summer. I asked the lady to wait outside for a moment, and then I went in, best little sister demeanor cloaked around me. I was in luck. The woman who gave me the ribbon was behind the counter, and the shop was not too busy, so she had a few minutes to talk with me.
I thanked her for the ribbon that she gave me for my other dress, chattered a bit about the sewing I was doing to try to get a nest egg, and then told her I needed a place to show some samples to a potential customer, and did she have a private parlor I could rent from her for an hour or so. She said she thought she could help me, and so I beckoned in the other woman.
The proprietor looked hard at me when she saw who my companion was and I said in a whisper, "I only want to sell her dresses!" and she relaxed a bit, but she told the other woman behind the counter that she was taking a break and to watch the shop while she was gone. The other woman looked surprised, like my new big sister is not in the habit of taking breaks during the work day, which I believe.
Anyway, she led us to a neat, clean room up a flight of stairs, over the shop, furnished with simple, heavy chairs and a sofa, and a fire all laid in the fireplace. She quickly lit the fire, and then sat down in a chair in the corner and picked up her knitting.
"Go ahead, then," she said. "You can have all the privacy the two of you desire for doing business over samples of clothing."
Well, this was sort of complicated for me, but I'd come this far, I wasn't going to stop now, so I stripped down to my shift and then put on my first sample. It's the green wrap I made for my Hope Chest, the one that I tricked Maybell into not choosing for her trousseau. I could see that my prospective customer completely understood what I was trying to do with the design, and that she approved. She had me turn around and stand in several different positions, and all the while the draper watched us carefully.
I learned a great deal about subtlety that day, and I had thought I knew a lot already. But we managed to discuss the actual purpose of the clothes and the designs without being so blatant about it that the draper became alarmed. I modeled three other dresses, all with the same design sensibility, in a variety of fabrics, and she was impressed with my work.
She then asked me if I could work with silks without harming the fabrics, so I showed her a silk nightgown I had made for my trousseau. I told her, loud enough for the draper to hear, that I would not model it, since it was for my Hope Chest, but she was welcome to examine the workmanship, which she did, with an eagle eye.
At last, she looked up, and said, "You are hired. Write your name and address here." She pointed at a blank card, like the one I had in my pocket, and I complied. "I will send you fabric, general descriptions, and measurements. You will return finished garments. If they are acceptable, I will send you payment. If not, I will send a letter explaining why not, sell them to a local shop and send you any money left over after I recoup the cost of the materials."
I smiled a little tentatively at her, and noticed that my necklace was entirely calm at this point. She thanked me, thanked the draper, and left us.
I tried to pay the draper for the use of her room and for her time, but she was having none of it. "I'm glad to see you only wanted to sell her clothes in truth, Deyla," she told me. "She's a dangerous woman, and don't you forget it."
"No," I said, truthfully, "I won't."
I thanked her for her help, hugged her quickly and ran back to the market where Big Joe asked me to meet him. As I left, I saw her looking at me, much as one would look at a wayward younger sister of whom one is not sure one entirely approves, but can't help liking anyway.
A week later, a bundle was delivered to me at the farm, containing two lengths of silk, matching thread, and a page of closely written instructions. One is a deep midnight blue shot with just barely lighter blue, that will glow beautifully in the candlelight. The other is a clear yellow. For the first, there is no trim provided but for the second, there is a gorgeous ivory lace, yards and yards of it. The dresses will be beautiful beyond anything I have ever seen before, and certainly beyond anything I have sewn. How I would love to own such things!
I wish I knew why my necklace was so unsettled at the porch of my customer, or why it is now so quiescent. I wish I could take it off and forget about it, but it continues to refuse to allow me to remove it.
I feel more confused than I like to own, but I am settled here for the winter, with pleasant work to do and reasonable company. Things are fine. Aren't they?
....
I finished the first dress. The blue silk slipped through my fingers as I folded the dress carefully, wrapping it in clean cheesecloth to protect it during its travels. Where the light touched the midnight blue fabric, it glowed, shot with lighter threads that were only visible at the proper angle. I knew it would look astonishing in a room lit by a hundred candles, or by lanterns.
After I folded it carefully, I packed it with great care, and wrote out that address. Despite the War and the general feeling of unsettledness since it ended, the mail system works beautifully, perhaps a holdover from the days Before, when things were not so uncertain. I placed the package in the hands of the mail courier myself, and grinned at him. He grinned back and tipped his hat to me.
And then I waited. For days, which seemed to me to pass so slowly as if time were actually standing still. I hesitated to start sewing the second dress until I received a response to the first. If there were errors, I wanted to know about them before I had the chance to make the same mistake twice. So I left the yellow silk and the ivory lace alone and worked on finishing the cutwork sleeping shift for my Hope Chest, and then I made myself five pairs of soft fluffy bed socks, in white lambs-wool, tied with brightly colored ribbons. I sat at Granma's knee and had my first lesson in making bobbin lace, and learned that my hands are capable of being quite clumsy when I try something new.
We laughed and I tried again. As I painstakingly made my first piece of lace, hours of work for only 6 inches of basic lace, she told me more stories of the world as it was in her youth, and I wondered, not for the first time, what it is like to be old, to live in a world you did not expect. I cooked meals for us, kept the cottage clean, and carefully pieced together about half my quilt top. And then a letter arrived. It was written on heavy vellum, in Her signature purple ink. And it was short and to the point.
"Lovely. Carry on. And do come have tea with us the next time you are in Stormwind."
I turned the letter over in my hands, before I realized where the payment must be. On the back of the envelope was a heavy seal pressed into dark violet wax, in the shape of a sprite darter, and burnished with golden dust. I carefully removed it from the heavy parchment envelope, and turned it over. On the underside of the wax, I found two gold coins.
Two. Gold. Coins. I sat there with the coins in the palm of my hand, while my necklace twitched where it lay on my skin. I looked at the coins, and knew they were worth more than the whole store of coins in the Little Hope Chest upstairs.
I was pleased, even relieved, to learn that my work was as good as I had promised her it would be. I leaned back in my chair for a moment and felt the shakiness in my legs and knew then, though I had not known it before, that I had been terrified of not meeting her standards. Three or four more dresses and I would be able to move to Stormwind and rent a sunny, safe set of rooms, with a kitchen, a sitting room, and a separate bedchamber. I might even be able to afford one with one of those new-fangled gnomish automatic chamber pots. And I would have enough money to stay there for three or four years, while I sorted out an actual future for myself.
At the thought, the necklace stopped with the twitching and actually stung me. How I have come to fear my necklace! It isn't any good at communicating anything directly, but it is very good at startling me, hurting me, and communicating its sense of not-all-right-ness. Often, I have no idea what it is objecting to, only that it is interested in what I am doing and thinking, or that it does indeed object quite strenuously.
There is a man in Goldshire who comes from somewhere in the desert. He is human, but not like those of us from around here. He is smaller, browner of skin, slanted of eye, and has straight heavy black hair that he wears tied back from his face, but which still falls below his knees. His eyes are so dark that they are nearly black. It is only in the fullest sunlight that one can see the hint of brown in them.
This man speaks with an accent that I suppose is from the desert, too. He has the scent of cooked spices clinging to him. I first met him at the peddler's table, both of us buying spices. Unlike me, he seemed to know just what he wanted, and he and the vendor babbled at each other in some language I could not understand.
He is famous among the townspeople for being able to cure headaches, when potions and even the ministrations of the priests of the Light cannot reach the ache. He says such a person has acquired a bad wind, and that the bad wind must be removed from the body before the headache will retreat. He rubs the face of the victim in a way that looks to me as if it must hurt worse than the headache, and then he pulls the bad wind out, from the spot between the eyebrows of the sufferer. A red spot appears there, varying in size and shape, depending, the man says, on the amount of bad wind that had to be removed. The mark fades within the day, and I know of no one whose headache has ever failed to be cured by this treatment, nor who had the headache return for many many months.
He cannot explain what a bad wind is, or how he knows who has it. Some people go to him with headaches and he shakes his head at them sadly, saying, "No, no, you have no bad wind!" But somehow he knows when you do have a bad wind, and if it is there, he can remove it.
My necklace reminds me of that. It can sense something, although since it can't speak, it cannot tell me even something so obscure as "you have a bad wind, Deyla". But it lets me know when something is wrong.
Once I was about to step into the barn on a sunny fall day, but the necklace started acting up, shocking me harder and harder as I got closer to the barn. So I gave up and went back to the cottage. Later, I learned that one of the farmhands had discovered a nest of vipers in the barn, and had been badly bitten by them when he stepped in through the side door -- the exact door I had meant to use! Well, he's recovered now, but it was unpleasant for him to be so ill, and for awhile they thought he might lose his foot, or at least the use of it. When I found out, I could feel the necklace preening itself, lazing against my skin in such a self-satisfied way.
I just wish it could talk.
Maybell and Joey have settled into some kind of routine. She seems dimmed somehow, as if motherhood and marriage are not quite what she expected them to be. And he isn't the least bit different than the first time I met him. I wonder if it's always the woman who gets diminished by a poor marriage?
And then I remind myself that she is a spoiled rotten little brat who could stand to do some growing up. Granma said to me the other day "Fifteen is not an ideal bride for 28, but they made their bed. I hope they learn to lie in it with some grace." I just nodded, thinking that the problem with Maybell is not that she is 15, but that she is self-centered and lazy.
I'm not a huge fan of Joey's, but if I had married him, you can bet I would make something better out of it than what she is making out of her marriage. After all, she had other good choices. She has a family who love her, and she had a place with them, which she gave up to marry Joey. She has some kind of obligation to make of it something at least as worthwhile as what she gave up.
And I would not have married him, anyway. It is neither a great romance nor a working partnership, and if a marriage can't be at least one of those things, what is it worth? Not much. You can't really forge a partnership with a man as vapid and foolish as Joey, I suppose. Value for value, I always say. And I don't take risks with men of Joey's stamp, no matter how attractive they might be, because I don't want to be faced with unpalatable choices.
There are girls in town who are "saving themselves for marriage", as a commodity to bargain with. I am saving myself for myself. If I ever decide to marry, I will give good value, and demand good value. In the meantime, there is plenty of fun to be had.
And my little store of coins grows now, seemingly by leaps and bounds. Sometimes I wonder how I got here, and then I laugh at myself for trying to understand fate. I simply do the best I can with what I have in any given moment, and hope it all turns out for the best.
Right now, I am midway through making the second silk dress. The dress itself is all sewn together, and I am now applying the lace as an overlay on the bodice, as deep ruffs along the bottom of the skirt, and forming the sleeves wholly out of falls of lace. I cannot imagine a life where I could wear such a dress, and I wonder if I am making a mistake in not letting Her teach me what she knows.
I just don't think that would be a very safe road to travel. So I dance on the tightrope of my own making, sewing dresses for Her, and hoping not to get trapped by it.
At this very moment, though, the sky is closing in. We'll have snow before morning, and when we do, I will be doubly grateful for the warmth of my little room, the protection of Big Joe and his family, and the grace of fortune that brought me here for the winter.
It could decidedly be worse. After all, I could be Maybell.
....
Granma decided to have her family over for breakfast one weekend day after the harvest was in. We spent all week getting ready. I made any number of things in advance, but the main attraction was to be a sticky gooey tea cake and a fry up, both of which had to be cooked on the morning.
The night before, I made a flaky pastry dough and put it to rest overnight. First thing in the morning, I rolled it out flat and cut it into triangles. I brushed each with melted butter and then sprinkled caster sugar, some of my cinnamon, some chopped nuts and some dried chopped apricots on each one. I rolled them up and made a pinwheel pattern in a cake pan that was already lined with melted butter, more caster sugar and a shot of brandy. While I did the fry up, I baked it, then turned it out upside down on a plate. The butter and sugar on the bottom had become a thick caramel, and the flaky, rich pastry stood up well to the strong flavors of the filling.
Meanwhile, I was frying rashers of bacon, scrambling eggs with herbs and mushrooms, and making Granma's Surprise. I don't know why it's called that, because it's just fried potatoes, onions, and apples, with a lot of black pepper. You fry them in some of the fat from the bacon rashers.
We also had cherry buns, bran muffins, plates of ham sandwiches on dark bread, slices of sweet fall melons, and pickles and chutneys to go with the eggs. Miss Bernice brought a tray of cheeses, too. Jamie and Joey helped me set up a long table out front of the cottage the day before, and all the family and help sat there and ate food nearly as fast as I could make it. Granma tried to get Maybell to help me out, but she wasn't having any of it. So then Granma tried to help me out herself, and I wasn't having any of that. She was having such a good time sitting at the head of the table, I couldn't bear to drag her away from it.
It was a lot more like cooking in the orphanage, but the food was a lot better. It was also more satisfying, because you could tell Granma was pleased to be able to host this party. Apparently she'd done it for years but had to give it up a few years back, because she couldn't do all the cooking and wouldn't accept help from the Big House. It was actually kind of nice to do something that made her so happy, because she has been very good to me.
Still and all, the cooking (and later, the cleaning up) reminded me why I don't want to do that kind of heavy work all the time.
At the end of the meal, Big Joe stood up (he was at the opposite end of the table from Granma) and said that the harvest had been very plentiful and profitable, even with Liam having needed so much care and medicine for the viper nest thing, and he handed an envelope to each hand, and one to me, too! There were jars of store bought special foods for all the kitchens on the place, and for Granma's kitchen a new mortar and pestle. Miss Bernice got a new salt cellar and bag of special salt form somewhere in Kalimdor. And then he had one of the stable boys pass out mugs of the newly pressed cider. It's not aged yet, so rather sharp tasting, but boy howdy! It packed a real punch!
Soon, people had musical instruments out and there was dancing on the lawn in front of our cottage. I tucked my envelope in my pocket and danced with the others. Later, I looked in my envelope. There were several silver coins, many more than I expected, given how generous they have already been to me, but I tucked them away in my Little Hope Chest, where between the money from the two dresses, my profits from the fall bazaar, and other savings, I now have nearly 6g pieces. That's as much money as was left with me when the priests in the Cathedral found me.
I've always wondered whether that 6g was a lot of money to the person who tucked it into my blanket. It's certainly a lot of money to me. But I'm not ready to abandon this temporary harbor yet. I promised Granma I would stay through the winter. I finished tying off my comforter last night, and packed it away in the Hope Chest. I have now got several lengths of lace I made my very own self. And yesterday a new package came from Her.
There is a sumptuous wine-colored velvet in there along with a slightly lighter length of shiny silk. The note says "These fabric go together well. Figure something out." The measurements are different this time: a more buxom figure than the last two dresses were made to fit. As I ran my clean hands carefully over the plush pile of the velvet and imagined different ways of combining the two fabrics, I could not keep my imagination from wondering what it would be like to wear such a dress. What are the lives of these women I have never met really like?
I remembered that both notes with payments had invited me to tea, and I started to think maybe I should accept that invitation. Just, you know, to see what I could learn about what happened to my dresses after I shipped them off to Stormwind.
Of course, you can probably guess that my necklace didn't like THAT idea at all. Ouch!
So I busied myself sketching ideas for the dress, and pretended that I haven't become oh! so curious about the fate of my work.
Tomorrow I will start sewing the new dress. I'm going to use the satiny silk to make thin cording that will lie along the seams of the garment, which I am placing strategically, since they will now be a design element as well as a structural necessity.. The shininess will catch the light and draw the eye momentarily to the part of the body where the fabric is. But the dress will mostly look like a proper, modest wine colored velvet dress. This is something I am all too good at.
And as I carefully cut out the pieces of fabric according to my plan this evening, I wondered if I could set aside enough money to make myself one of these wonderful dresses. In my hoped-for future, there will surely be a time and place to wear one, won't there? Zing! went the necklace, and I realized that if it does that often enough, I will learn to ignore it. Then it REALLY zapped me.
One of these days, I am going to have to find out more about this necklace. It's either my best friend or my worst enemy, or maybe both. But it unsettles me, no matter what else is true about it.
Anyway, the root cellar is full of provisions for the winter, I have good and pleasant work to keep me occupied and earning money, and Granma is excellent company. Even the necklace isn't bugging me all that much.
Like I said, not a place to settle, but a dashed nice place to winter over. When I think of sorcery, prostitution, even Maybell's arid marriage, I know I am doing very well for myself.
....
It's Hallow's End.
In the orphanage, we used to make costumes out of butcher paper and old newspapers, paint and glue, and run around the city terrorizing the general public. Adventurers would come visit to make sure we had all the candy we wanted. I used to wonder why they never visited any other time, to make sure we had the things we really needed.
But now I sort of understand. It's been many months, and I often go days at a time without thinking about the orphans and their lives in that place. And if I, who have every reason to be aware, can let it slip my mind, I understand better and better how it doesn't ever occur to anyone who's never had to live there.
So I decided to make Winter Festival presents for the children in the orphanage where I grew up. I will send them anonymously, so that no one knows it's me, and I will send them by way of the priests in the Cathedral who guarded my necklace so carefully. But I will send them, and do my best to see that the children there receive them.
I have knit a bunch of plain white socks, which I am turning into stuffed bunnies for the girls. And an even bigger pile of grey socks with white heels and toes that I am turning into stuffed gorillas for the boys. The older children will pretend to think they are silly, but I imagine more than a few of these toys will become close friends, confidantes, and companions of a sort.
I'd say I wish I could do more, but I don't, really. I can't stem the tide of all those orphaned lives, but maybe I can do something to make their time in that place a little less bleak.
And I do know that I'm doing this to make myself feel better as much as for the kids still there.
Granma says what I have is "survivor's guilt", the sense that I lived through something that destroyed other people, and the worry that I don't deserve to have come out on top when so many people don't. I think she's crazy, but I'm making the toys anyway.
She just smiled at me with something like pity in her eyes and dug out a spool of gorgeous ribbons, all different colors, that I am using to decorate the bunnies.
There is a carved pumpkin head in our window, with candles burning brightly inside it. There are roasted pumpkin seeds, all seasoned with some of my precious spices, in a bowl on the table at Granma's elbow. There are pumpkin muffins that I made with the eyes and nose and mouth of the carved head. I put plump raisins and walnuts in those, too, and pie spice. I prefer muffins to pumpkin pie, although I will probably make one of those out of the carved head when we are done with it.
My days are serene, and I am feeling, if not precisely content, at least not anxious to move forward, I feel as if I am waiting for something to happen, but in the meantime, the rhythm of my duties and my recreation carry me along, almost soothing me. I am husbanding energy for whatever comes next, And money, too. Nearly 10g now. Unimaginable riches to a girl who this time last year was running through the streets of Stormwind, playing tricks on those who would not treat her.
I wonder what will happen next, and what I will make of it?
....
I'm bone-deep tired. Yesterday, a band of outlaws came through, and it pretty much wrecked my day, my night, and most of today, too.
Now understand, the woods are heavily populated by a band of folks who call themselves "freedom fighters" but who also seem to prey upon other people who are just trying to live their lives. Some people on the farms sympathize with them. And it's not hard to understand why, because life itself has been damned hard for most people since the War.
So many people died. The orphanage, which wasn't all that great a place before the War, went from having 25 orphans in it to having hundreds. Eventually, we had to split up into more than one Orphanage, and move into new digs in the rebuilt city. It was a chaotic time, the War. We'd evacuated the city, of course, when the attacks came, and were living in a refugee camp in the dwarf lands. We slept in piles of dirty children, huddled under shared blankets, keeping each other warm, and bruising ourselves on one another's sharp elbows and knees. Still, the dwarves were generous, and we ate fairly well, although we did have to skin, clean, and cook our food over open fires. I spent a lot of time gathering fuel for those fires. The work kept me warm and kept my mind off the surprising fact that I felt displaced. I wouldn't have thought I would, being as it was just the stupid Orphanage we were evacuated from, but it was all we knew.
And then the dying started back in the city, so I guess we were lucky not to be there. And first a few new children came to join us, and then we were overwhelmed. So were our hosts -- food got plainer and less plentiful, although we never really starved. My memories of that time are not my favorite memories, in a lifetime that hasn't provided all that many good things to remember. But I was just a little girl then, even though I thought I was pretty grown up. And when they say children are resilient, they are right. Plus, we were lucky to have Matron, even though she's a mixed kind of luck. Whatever else I could say about her (and I could say a lot!), she kept us together, safe, organized, and fed. And when the city was rebuilt, she led us back again.
So in a way, the War wasn't so bad for us. None of us died, and although a lot of the new orphans had been through a lot of horror and terror and real scary times, those of us who'd never had families actually survived the War okay.
Still, the new city cost money to make, and lots of people in the Kingdom had suffered real losses. So some of them can't see the point in paying to rebuild the city, and those ones tend to sympathize with the outlaws.
Others of the farm folks don't care at all for the outlaws, and they fight them and try to keep them contained. Me, I never cared much one way or the other. No scruffy outlaws would have dared approach the band of heroes, and I've been so busy on the farm since I got here, I hadn't really thought all that much about them.
Meanwhile, families are trying to get along without the sons and daughters they lost in battle, and care for those who did come home, but not the same as they left. There are people like Joey, who was a little older than Maybell is now when the War was going on. He did not go to fight, because he had two older brothers who did go, and someone needed to stay on the farm and help his daddy. After all, during the War, most people who COULD fight did, and there wasn't a lot of help to be had on the farms. Even so, the farms had to produce food and supplies for the people on the front lines. And maybe not getting to go fight when he wanted to so badly is part of why he turned out like he did. But I guess it's a good thing he didn't go. One of his brothers died, and the other one who went to fight, well they think he was taken by the Plague, and don't know if he survives in any form, and if he does, whether he even knows who he is.
Also, the farms were the refuge of people who had to flee the burning city, and who were lucky enough to know someone with a safer place to run to. The problem, of course, is that Elwynn was not nearly as safe as the dwarf lands. We had a horrible journey to the land of ice and snow, and then when we got there, I was never really warm again until we came back. But it was safe.
So here we all are, trying to pick up and go on, most people acting like the War never really happened, or it was only a bad dream. But even I know it changed everything. The world is a scarier place than it was Before.
And here, part of the reason is the outlaws. They get hungry, too, but outlaws don't seem to be real big on farming or hunting or other things that normal people do when they are hungry. So they sort of expect the farm folks to contribute to their cause by feeding them and supplying them. It's ironic, I think. Their big complaint is that the nobles are taxing the farmers and other little people to death, but they do the same thing. They just call it "contributions" instead of taxes.
And near as I can tell, there's not a heap of difference in what happens if you don't pay. The city guard collects taxes by force, if they have to. And the outlaws punish those who don't contribute. I guess it's easier, a little, if you actually think one side or the other is right. Me, I don't know who is right, I just know that everyone suffers. So I am not comforted by the thought that at least half my taxes and contributions are going to a cause I can support, I just have to watch my hard earned money dribble away.
Well, and that's part of why I'm so tired. I don't really want to give up my gold, or even my silver or my copper coins. So when the city guard came through to collect taxes, and they made an offer for something different, I jumped at it. Seems that non-land-owners (like me) either have to hand over money, or we have to do "voluntary community service". I chose the latter, as I'd far rather pay with my muscles than with my money. So I got sent to the logging camp, where I lived ten days lodged in a bunkhouse with other women, and spent twelve hours a day lugging wood around the place. It was brutal. The food was worse than orphanage food, and sparse, too. You could get more food by sleeping with the foremen and lumberjacks, but I don't do prostitution, and I'm not changing my mind for the possibility of two servings of thin tasteless soup instead of one.
So at the end of the tenth day, I spent one more night in that bunkhouse, and then (with no breakfast, since I wasn't on service anymore, so not entitled to food), I dragged myself back to the farm, where Granma greeted me happily, and sat me down to my first real meal since I'd left. I had just finished the bowl of stew, and was sopping up the sauce with some cornbread she'd baked for me, when we heard a horrid sound coming from the direction of the Big House. I pushed away from the table to fast that the chair and my bowl both ended up on the floor, but even Granma didn't mind -- she just hobbled over the Big House as fast as she could. I got there first, being able to run okay, even though I was tired.
It seems that the outlaws had come through and decided to help themselves to the entire contents of the preserved food in the cellar. Miss Bernice wasn't having any of that, and she got into it with one of the outlaw leaders. They were screeching at one another when another outlaw decided to shut her up, and smacked her hard across the mouth. It worked, too. She spent the next little while huddled on the ground, sort of whimpering, while the band removed all those lovely jars of food, the garlands of dried onions and shallots, the sacks of ground grain.
Granma got very quiet, just as my necklace started to buzz. "Deyla," she asked me, "Can you get to the barn without them seeing you?"
I nodded. "Take your satchel that you had for the logging camp, and go to the barn. Climb up in the loft and hide under the hay. Don't come out until I send one of the women to get you."
So I did.
The straw was itchy, and the day got hotter as I hid there, but I didn't come out. Eventually, the heat started to die down, and the light faded, too. Around a million years after I'd crawled up there, Ma Stonefield (she's married to Big Joe) came into the barn and whispered my name.
I crawled out from under the straw and scampered down the ladder. She looked defeated as she led me out of the barn without a word. But when we got to Granma's, neither she nor Miss Bernice looked defeated. They looked like some of the heroes did when they headed out to fight something, with that glow in their eyes that said, well, Granma might be old and frail, and Miss Bernice might have a mighty big bruise coming up on her face, but they were not defeated, and had no intention of being defeated.
Granma looked at me for awhile, without saying a word, and I stood there, so tired and stiff, and stared back at her. Then she finally said, "There is another cellar."
I could hear Miss Bernice gasp, as if she never expected Granma to tell me that. But the old lady just shushed her daughter. "We need her strong arms and legs. Maybell is worse than useless and can't be trusted. But we need at least one young woman, and so Deyla is our only choice." Something in me sung for a moment to hear Granma say that about Maybell, but I soon forgot about it.
Miss Bernice and Ma Stonefield led me across the fields and up into a hilly area, where rocks jutted out of the earth. Eventually, we wound up at the base of a cliff, totally blank with no marks on it at all. None of us had said a single word as we made our way from the farm to the cliff. We were very lucky that it was a full moon, because else we would never have been able to make that hike.
At the base of the cliff, Miss Bernice started talking, in a low, urgent voice. She pointed out to me how to find this particular spot in the hills, by lining up three landmarks, which she called "triangulating". Then she showed me a smallish outcropping just behind where we stood. Hidden in that pile of rock were several rocks which had been specially carved, with funny shaped protrusions. There were eight of them. And there turned out to be eight funny shaped holes in the blank cliff wall. Which I'm sure you will be shocked to hear fit the rocks perfectly.
Ma Stonefield told me that there is a second set of rocks hidden on the farm, if anything ever happens to these, but that in all her lifetime of coming up here, nothing has ever happened to them. I'd think not, since I can't think of much reason why anyone would make the effort to come to a desolate, stupid cliff face. But just as I thought that, Miss Bernice, reached out and pushed the cliff, and it moved.
Someone in the past of the Stonefield family was a stone mason of extraordinary skill and cleverness. The eight rocks unlocked a perfectly counterbalanced door, and behind it was a small storeroom. On its shelves were more canned goods (not the ones I'd made, of course, so a limited variety, but a lot), and a whole bunch of metal bins. There was a sledge, too, and some tarps and rope, for which I was very grateful. Because it became clear that we were going to move a whole bunch of this stuff back to the farm. And we were going to do it then, in the middle of the night. When I was already so tired and stiff I could hardly walk.
But I knew why Granma made me hide, and she was right, and I knew I owed these people my loyalty, if not my life, for the care they have shown me since midsummer. So I did my damnedest not to sigh, and helped load up the sledge. Miss Bernice showed me how to tie the tarp over the stuff. Then we shut the door, removed the rocks from the keyholes, put them back in the pile of scree around the little outcropping, and started off back towards the farm.
It had been a moderate walk up to the cliff, but the return trip, dragging that sledge, was awful. On the downhill part, it tried to slide away from us, and we let it go in front of us, while we walked behind, holding ropes to keep it from actually sliding down the hill. My arms and shoulders and calves hated that. Then we got it onto more or less flat ground and it did not want to move, so we pulled on the same ropes and dragged it.
I did see, of course, why it could not have any wheels on it, but a sledge is hard going, even when a person is not already plumb tuckered out from all that voluntary service. And the older ladies wore out pretty quickly, too. So we panted and heaved and pulled, and around dawn we got that thing back to the farm.
"We'll put these things in the cellar below Granma's house for a couple days," Miss Bernice said when she'd caught her breath, and I nearly screamed with frustration as I realized that mean that in a day or so, we'd be moving all the goods to the Big House.
This morning, they sent me up into the hills with the almost empty sledge, to return it to the storeroom. Which I did. It took me a bit of time to find it in the daytime, and I was interested to note that it's just as invisible in the full light of the sun as it had been in the full moon last night. There's still a lot of stuff in the storeroom, and now it even has some of my canning in it, too. Because "Since you are going up there anyway, Deyla, you might as well replenish the supplied there with some of the jars from my cellar," Granma said to me.
I'm grateful that they trusted me to help them, and bound and determined never to reveal their secret, but I'm bruised and battered, and stiff, and just tired. I haven't slept since the logging camp, and I exhausted when I got here from there. I'm about to put my pen down and crawl into bed, but I wanted to write this all down, because I think I learned something important.
Like I said, I was surprised that they shared their secret with me, and sort of gloaty that they didn't share it with Maybell, who is even a member of the family. But then I realized that it meant that I AM kind of a member of the family. Because there are other serving women around the place, and they picked me. And even if it's not a real family, it's the closest I've ever come. And that feeling of even sort of being in a family is worth the bruises, the soreness, the stiff muscles, and the days of aches and pains I know i have in store for me now.
It could be worse, in so many ways I can't even tell you.
....
I slept for quite a long while. When I woke up, it was full dark, and I knew I had slept the afternoon and most of the night away. Although my stomach rumbled, I stayed in my bed, with the covers wrapped around me like a cocoon.
So much to think about, all of a sudden. I don't remember ever being trusted with someone's serious secret before. In the Orphanage, we traded our childish secrets or held them to our chests and hoarded them, since often our secrets were our only possessions. Since then, I hadn't thought much about the value of secrets. Or of trust.
It strikes me that my sojourn here is quite different than my time with the heroes. (You know, before they disbanded, which I used to think was a disaster.) They took me in, and from the very beginning, they trusted me to sleep in the same cottage as their well-loved Granma. Then when she got hurt, they trusted me to look after her. They trust me with the dead people's fabric. And now the women of the family have trusted me with a secret that they didn't even share with Maybell, who is actually part of the family.
Johnson never trusted me for a second. He never trusted any of us, without stopping to find out if we were trustworthy. So I cheated on him. I took all the possible time he would allow me to do tasks, I pretended to be a different person than I am for his benefit, and I allowed him to believe false things (even lied once or twice).
But the Stonefields have trusted me, in increments, giving me reason to be trustworthy. And I have been. Other than winking at Maybell's lies to Joey about just who is cooking her dinner, I can't think of a time when I've been less than honest with any of them. And it's paid off, for all of us.
I never realized that Johnson (and Matron, with whom he has a great deal in common) might have been creating some of the deceit around them. I won't apologize for lying to Matron whenever I could, or for deceiving Johnson. They were in positions of power over me, and both of them were willing to use that power to their own advantage. In that kind of situation, I'm pragmatic enough to do what I think I have to do in order to protect my best interests. After all, under the condition where the person with all the power has set it up as an adversarial relationship, I'd be a fool to give away my only weapons.
I don't think I am the most honest person who ever lived, but I am interested to see how being treated as if I am actually elicits that kind of behavior from me.
So, when the heroes disbanded, I thought it was a disaster. And maybe it was. I doubt I will ever stop missing Boswell and Pipniff, for instance. But look what I have gained!
Johnson would never have let me spend the time he was paying for making dresses for Her, or filling up my Hope Chest. He would not have ever said "thank you" when I did my job, but it's nice that Granma does. And he would certainly never have trusted me with any secrets of the Halls. All in all, I'd be a poorer person for having stayed there, in every single way. I'd have far less money, far fewer items put away for my hopeful future, and far less of the intangible goods like this sense of belonging.
I guess I'm glad they disbanded. Because had they not, I'd be a lot worse off, and I wouldn't even know it.
....
Granma and I are going on a trip. Everyone expects me to be excited, because after all, it's an adventure. Puke. If I wanted adventure, I'd be in that hick stone building learning to cast spells and throw fireballs around. See how I have a comfortable place to stay instead, how I like cooking and cleaning and sewing better than adventure? Yeh.
Anyway, we're going to Westfall. Seems we need oats and corn, since we lost all of ours in the raid, and there's a small farm there owned by Granma's youngest son. We're taking them supplies that don't grow well there, stuff that needs an orchard or a vineyard to grow.
Jamie is taking us. He's out back right now packing up the wagon with the supplies we will take with us, and our gear. There's apparently a hostel on the edge of this district where we can stay before we cross the river, but we'll need to camp out one night on the way there. The only time I camped out before was when we were evacuated during the War. Jamie assures me this will be much more fun and a lot more comfortable, but I dunno.
Maybell is pouting because she wants to come with us, but Granma told her not to be ridiculous. She's a nursing mother and needs to stay with her baby, and Granma also told her that she wasn't about to take a ten day trip with a squalling baby. So that little twit is pouting. Boo hoo. She hissed at me and I told her I would be glad to give her my spot in the wagon and I would even stay home and take care of the baby, but I can't feed him, so she's kind of stuck.
I love doing that to her: she gets all up in my face about something and I puncture her pretension like poking an inflated bladder with a pin. Poof! goes all her oh-so-righteous indignation and she just stands there and sputters at me.
Westfall is supposed to be even more overrun with the outlaws than here, so we had to get chits from the outlaw leaders here to prove we've paid our contributions. Otherwise, we might have to give up our supplies we are taking with us to more outlaws. We have a letter from the local head outlaw honcho and also three little metal things on a leather thong. Granma says we have to carry both the little chits and also our personal proof of having paid our taxes. So I have a little leather pouch tied around my waist with the chit in it, and also the certificate of my stint at the lumber camp.
We'll be working hard when we get there, I bet, unloading this wagon and then collecting the things we are going to get, and loading it up again. Granma sent a letter to her son to tell him we are coming, and he answered and said he would find places for us to sleep. It didn't sound like he was all that happy about having us come along.
I dreamed about Boswell and Pipniff last night. Pipniff was dancing in the parlor of Granma's house and cackling more. My necklace was purring, if you can believe it. It purred so much, like a happy kitten, that it woke me up. Which was ind of too bad, when you stop to think about it. Because I like Boswell, and I was glad to see him, even if it was only in my dreams.
My sole consolation today is that in two weeks, this whole adventure trip thing will be in the past and we can settle in for the winter. And I've lived through a winter in a tent in the dwarf lands. This won't be worse than that winter, for sure.
....
Tonight, we are camped with three other groups near where the river runs out of the south end of Mirror Lake. We made our way today along the river, crossing it when we reached the road and there was a bridge. But other than the bridge, we were on cart paths all day, not really roads. I know that the main road west from Goldshire passes a garrison and then into Westfall, but this is not the route we will be taking. Apparently, Jamie's Uncle John lives in a very remote part of Westfall indeed.
In fact, from talking to the other people in the camp tonight, it sounds like most of Westfall is in horrible shape. I can't really imagine how Granma thinks that going to a place that appears to be full of burned out farms and mechanical horrors, not to mention more outlaws than have ever graced Elwynn . . . well, let's just say I can't understand how this can possibly be a good idea.
Apparently we have two more full days of travel left. Jamie prepared the wagon for our trip. I suppose I should describe it as it is quite different than the other wagons used around here. He won't say where he got the idea to build it from, but he did create it all, except for the wheels, because he is a woodworker, not a wheelwright.
Anyway, the main part of the wagon is made of a metal and wood frame through which axles are threaded. The main box of the wagon is suspended from this frame by a system of pulleys, springs and leather that confuses me just to look at it. Jamie says he can make the suspension "tight" or "loose" or anywhere in between. For this trip, it is fairly loose, since we are traveling on rough roads. In the front of the box are two bentwood frames, reinforced by springy metal. From these, leather straps support a seat. Therefore, the seat is well-sprung, indeed. I hardly noticed the roughness of the paths we followed along the river's shore today, which is saying something.
Although we had a good fall day for our trip, there is a retractable "bonnet", Jamie calls it, that can be set up over the seat to shield you from rain or too much sun. Normally, the box in the back is used to carry goods to Goldshire, which is a very short trip, even going cross country with a heavy load, so mostly the box is left open. However, we are traveling some distance, and weather is uncertain late in the year, so Jamie installed three bentwood arcs over the wagon. I don't know exactly how to describe them, but over the contents of the wagon, he placed a tarp, tied down carefully. He explained to me that if rain falls on the tarp when it is touching something, that eventually -- like in an hour or two -- the water will soak through the tarp. To keep water off goods, you need a cover that is taut and does not touch anything. Well, that's what the three arcs do: they support an oilskin cover that is more or less the shape of about a third of a circle, braced up off the wagon box itself. Even if the box were empty, you couldn't quite stand up in the wagon under this roof, unless you were a dwarf, I suppose. But it will keep our belongings dry as we travel to Jamie's uncle's farm.
Jamie packed the wagon, but I packed the boxes to be packed in the wagon. The boxes with jars in them are lined with straw and every bottle is wrapped in straw and then cotton flannel. I'd say that if we hadn't had to pack them against breakage, we could have gotten twice as many jars in each box. The boxes are nailed shut. There are also sacks of dried fruits and vegetables, as well as some bolts of cloth and large amounts of spun wool, in various grades. It's all arranged so that the top is pretty flat, but also so that a person can lie down on the items and be relatively comfortable, which you will see is important.
There are outlaws in camps around Mirror Lake. which is why there are four groups camping all together. Each group has to provide one person to stand watch, and of course Jamie is insisting on doing it for us. They are standing watch in pairs, according to some convoluted schedule. We left this morning after a hearty breakfast that Miss Bernice made for us. As we left, she kissed me on the forehead and told me to take care of myself and Granma. I blushed.
We crossed over the river in the later morning, and after that, the traveling slowed down greatly. I asked why we could not go into Westfall on the road, which has to be faster, and then turn north to reach the farm we are visiting, but Jamie said I would see. Around noon, we stopped in stand of trees and got off the wagon to eat our noon meals. I had made meat pasties, with chopped beef, roasted potatoes, fried onions, and lots of black pepper in them. We also had cheese and apples. For tomorrow's lunch, I have similar pasties, but this time filled with mushrooms and broccoli and cheese, which we will eat with apples and pears. For the third day, I have dried beef strips, cherry leather I made in the sun, and hard cheese. I took Jamie's advice about what kind of food would travel well, as he apparently makes this trip once or twice a year, but he says that the food I made is better than what he usually brings for himself.
Anyway, we cooked rice over the fire for supper and ate it with a roasted rabbit Jamie caught in a snare. Tomorrow morning, I will make pudding out of the leftover rice, with two eggs I brought with me and some raisins and cinnamon. Jamie says he will catch fish for supper tomorrow, and I have dried bacon we can fry up for the last breakfast. I'm not a big expert on camping food, but I trust that Jamie has given me good enough advice that we will get it right.
The stuff in the wagon is arranged so that the top of it is very level, so we are sleeping under the cover. Since it's too short to stand in, we have to crawl over the top of the seat to get back there, and it's very close indeed. But it's also cosy and warm, which is good, because there is quite a chill in the air. Since it's not really safe to wander into the woods in the night, Jamie put a honey pot over by the banked fire in case anyone needs it before morning. I suppose it will be my job to bury its contents before we break camp and leave.
I don't much like the other people we are camping with. I don't dislike them, mind you, but they are taciturn, perhaps even morose. They are all going to various places in the hills on the northern part of the border between Westfall and Elwynn, and they all seem as if they have been beaten down by their lives. From what they say, it does sound like Westfall is in a terrible way. I can't quite figure out how coming here is going to improve our provisioning, but Granma seems sure it will. If the farms are all destroyed or stolen by the outlaws, it's hard to imagine that Jamie's Uncle John will have anything to offer us in return for the jars of produce, boxes of dried fruits, and other things we brought with us. I guess we will see.
Jamie just gets a twinkle in his eye and tells me I will be surprised, and I suppose I will. Granma has proven to be resourceful and brave, and I do trust her. But I still wish I were back in my bed in the attic in her cottage, and not getting ready to bed down under an oilcloth canopy in a makeshift campsite with people who I don't really know.
Still, I've been a refugee, and this is better than that, even if we aren't perfectly safe, or terribly comfortable tonight.
....
Last night was okay, if you like sleeping in cramped spaces with two other people and a bone-chilling breeze running through the length of your sleeping space, freezing your nose every time you poke it out from under your coverlet. Still, I slept soundly, straight through 'til morning, once I learned not to stick my nose out.
I was the first one up. Jamie ended his second shift as camp scout about three hours before dawn, and he had warned me he would need to sleep past dawn in order to be able drive us where we needed to go today. So I got up as the sun was starting to light up the sky. Without being told, I took the honey pot into the woods and buried its contents, then I put it aside to wash with the water I used for the breakfast dishes, after they were all done.
I blew the fire to life and started making breakfast. I had a large pot of water warming on the side of the fire, and some water boiling up for tea, as well as dried fruit plumping up in some hot water by the time Jamie and Granma woke up. When I heard them begin to scrabble around, I drained the fruit and mixed it into the pudding, which I then put on the fire, covered, to steam and so that the bottom would get all crispy, which is the best part of rice pudding, after all.
Granma came up next to me, and took the tea pot off the fire and put in the tea ball. She also got out the field kits that we are using to eat from on this trip. They are pretty cool, and if it weren't that they were leftover from the War, they would a lot nicer to have around. Basically, there's a metal plate, a knife, a fork, a spoon, a cup and a bowl, and they are all made so they cleverly fit together, so it's easy to carry a single person's utensils. Jamie says you can use the plate as a frying pan, too, but we don't have to do that, since we brought pots and pans with us.
By the time Jamie was out of the wagon and had gone down to the lake and washed his face off with cold water, we had breakfast served up. I sat on a stone not too far from the fire, so I wouldn't get chilled, and ate my breakfast. Jamie seemed to like the rice pudding -- he sure ate plenty of it! When he was done, he sat back with a big satisfied sigh and said, "Food never tastes as good as it does at a campfire." I think he's nuts. Food never tastes as good as when you eat it in a safe, warm place where you belong. Outdoors is nice for a picnic, but cooking over a fire is a pain in the neck and bugs get in the food and stuff.
Granma told me that it's nice to have someone along who knows how to cook, because when Jamie cooks camp food, it's not as good. He just grinned at us, and started washing the dishes. I'll say this for him: he knows how to do dishes pretty well. He washed our kits first, then the pots I used to cook, then he took the water and the honey pot into the woods and washed it, too. Which was pretty nice of him when you come down to it.
We'd saved a bit of warm water to wash our hands and faces, so it wasn't too bad as camping out goes, I guess. We struck camp, reloaded the wagon and climbed into the seat while Jamie hitched up the horses. It wasn't more than 2 hours past dawn when we were well on our way.
We followed along the south edge of the lake for most of the morning, but around an hour before noon, we struck northwest, up into the hills. At first, they were sort of rolling hills, covered by the kind of woods I'm used to in Elwynn, but it wasn't long before the hills became a bit more sharp and the woods sparser. Instead of fruit trees and fir trees, there were aspens and hardy pines. The undergrowth died away, too, and the cart path became even harder for me to see. Jamie apparently knew right where we were going, though, because he never even stopped to look around.
After awhile, we came to a clearing in the woods, with a small pond near one edge of it. Jamie pulled the wagon over by the edge of the pond and put on the brake. He jumped off the seat and unhitched the horses and one at a time led them over to the pond to drink. Then he hobbled them in a grassy area and spread some oats around on the ground, too. I didn't know why he had done that, and it must have shown on my face. He told me that lots of travelers used this stopping place, and it was a courtesy to put down food for the horses so that they didn't eat the grass all the way away.
I must have looked really disbelieving, which makes sense when you realize that once we left the lake shore, we hadn't seen any more people of any kind. Most of the people we camped with last night had taken the direct west route at the edge of the lake, when we struck northwest, and the cart track looked rarely traveled, too.
Jamie took me by the hand and walked with me about 50 yards back down the way we had come. He pointed to the ground. "There is very little ground cover here, Deyla. It's much harder to see the traces of other travelers, but look at this, and this."
Sure enough, when I looked where he pointed I could see that the pine needles on the ground were broken up more than in the surrounding areas. When I looked closely, I could see that there were traces of at least three sets of wheels.
I thanked him for showing me, and went back to the wagon, where I got out the picnic I had packed for the second day's luncheon. Jamie got out two carafes of cool apple cider from this year's pressing. We sat on a flat rock, warm in the sun, considering the time of year, and ate our cheese and vegetable pasties, and chatted about nothing of much import. I watched two ducks swoop down from the sky and land on the pond's surface, where they swam companionably for awhile before taking flight again.
After lunch, we clambered back onto the seat of the wagon while Jamie rehitched the horses. I can tell you that I was getting tired of the trip, and we were only about halfway from the Stonefield's farm to where we were going. Anyway, after lunch, our path took us away from the pond and up more into the raggedy hills. They never really became mountains, not like the ones on the way to the dwarf lands. But they did get higher and more sparsely vegetated and the horses slowed down even more. A couple times, Jamie had me get out with him and walk by the horses, leaving them only Granma and the supplies to haul up a particularly steep slope or something. It was even sort of nice to stretch my legs, and then after the short, steep walks, nice to get back in the seat, too.
Eventually, the pathway flattened out, and we seemed to be on some kind of plateau. To the right of us was a high stone cliff, much like the one in which the Stonefield's secret storeroom is hidden, only a lot bigger. I amused myself by imagining a larger storeroom in this cliff. On the left, there were some small stands of hardy fruit trees, and some fields, too, not under cultivation at the moment, but then it's not cultivation season. The pathway we were on widened some and showed signs of a lot more traffic, and then we came around a corner, and there were actually a few people walking along the road. One of them appeared to be a peddler, walking along beside a horse who was wearing quite full packs. The others, in smaller groups, looked more like people who lived nearby. I was startled to find myself thinking that -- this is the middle of nowhere, after all. And then a pack of small children ran across the road a bit in front of us, and I went from startled to bemused. Apparently the "hostel" Jamie mentioned was quite a largish settlement, considering it had been a day and a half since we'd seen so much as a single cottage.
We kept on, and the cliff to the right remained there, brooding, looming over the road. I thought to myself that the sun must come up here later than down on the farm, because of the cliff getting in the way. But off to the left, more signs that in growing season, this land was used for growing thing, too. And then the roadway curved around the cliff to the right again, and I gasped. Ahead of us was a walled compound. I would say a keep, or a village, if I knew what the place was, exactly. I still don't.
We drove up to the gate, and Jamie greeted the guard there by name. They were all "Good to see you!" and "Long time, sucka!" to each other, and it was nice to see their obvious affection for one another. Then they had a short quick conversation in a language I did not understand, and we turned the wagon away from the walls of the place and started to drive around the edge of it that is not all up against the cliff wall.
It took some time, being as the compound, or whatever it is, is not tiny, and that the road was not empty. When we came to the other side, there was another guard, also known to Jamie. More "Dude! Long time no see!" and other similarly unenlightening conversation. Again, the quick exchange in the language I never heard before, and this time, Jamie had Granma and me get off the wagon. He unloaded our personal belongings and handed the wagon over to the guard. I was shocked by this, that he would just let someone walk off leading his horses, and his wagon and all our stuff. But he did.
Anyway, we then walked a bit farther along the wall and found a gate the size to let people (even elves) walk through it, but not wagons, so maybe that was part of the reason. We came to a place that even I could recognize as a lodging of some sort. There is a large common room and boards on the wall with chalk lists of foods for sale. It all smelled, good, I can tell you!. And Jamie talked to the guy behind the long bar, and then came over to us with three keys in his hand. He gave us each one and said he had ordered dinner for an hour later, and shooed us up the stairs. I walked up slowly, looking around, trying to understand where we were. Within the walls, certainly, but it had not escaped my attention that the only two exits were the one we came in through (which was in the outer wall of the place) and a locked on behind the bar.
Around the time I sorted out the upper hallways and found the room whose number matched my key, Jamie had found his, and clearly washed himself at least in a cursory manner, and changed his shirt. He ran past me without even really recognizing me, heading for the stairs at a nice jogging rate. I watched him go by, wondering what he was so excited about and then went into my own room.
It was a small cell, really, with a slit in the wall to let in the night air, but not big enough to put even an arm through let alone a body. There was lantern in it, all lit and making it sort of cozy. The outer wall (the one with the slit in it) was the same grey stone of the walls of the compound. The other walls were smooth wood, some random color like oak or maple, perhaps. There was a bed in it, just the right size for one person, and a little table next to it. There was also a note nailed on the wall, telling me where the bathing room was. I threw my bag on the bed and hastily grabbed a clean shift and the towel on the bedside table, and my key, which I hung around my neck from its leather thong, after locking my door behind me.
I easily found the ladies' bathing room, and it was a doozy. There was a cistern of hot water and a pool of cool water, and lots of creamy soap. There were several wooden tubs and a fancy contraption so you could fill each one with hot water from that cistern. There was a keg of warm water, not as hot as the cistern. There was a slatted wood floor and pictures showing how to "bathe".
I stripped to the skin (which was pretty grimy) and folded my things, putting them all in a cubby hole. Then I walked over and stood on the slatted part of the floor. I got a pitcher and filed it with water. Then I used a large sponge and some yummy almond smelling soap to wash myself. When I ran out of water, I refilled the pitcher and used it to rinse myself. Then I carefully filled a large tub with very hot water, and threw in a handful of scented leaves, rosemary and mint, mostly. It was hard to get into, the water was so hot, but 30 seconds after I entered it, a calmness came over me that I can hardly describe. I sat sleepily in the hot, scented water for a good twenty minutes or so, and then I knew I was starting to get hungry, so I got out of the tub, and carefully pulled the plug and watched the water run out. I jumped in the pool of cool water, because that is what the wall showed people doing, and it was COLD! But it woke me back up. After that, I wiped myself off and put on my clean clothes and made my way back to my room.
Now here's what is odd about all that. I wasn't the only one there. While I was in the bathing room, half a dozen other women came through and did more or less what I was doing, only differing in the scents they chose for their baths (we all used the creamy almond smelling soap). And no one ever spoke. It was not a strained silence, either, but a very comfortable one, as if talking were not required or desirable, so we did not do it. I enjoyed it all very much, and felt much cleaner and more relaxed, but also more alert, than I had been after our long days of travel.
Soon, it was time to go downstairs, and so I did. I found Jamie and Granma seated at a table with one more chair, which was a welcoming thing. I sat down at that table, and soon the food came out. We had a thick creamy puree of zucchini soup with fresh thyme and lots of garlic in it, and toasted cheese sandwiches. I know lots of people think those are lunch food, but that's about my favorite supper in the world. The cheeses were a combination of something sharpish and something mild. Maybe some fine aged cheddar and something from the south, with a name I would not know. Whatever the milder thing was, it smoothed out the sharpness of the cheddar and made it melt beautifully. The outside of the bread was fried in butter, which I have never tried, but you can bet I will try it now that I have had it brought to mind. Toasted cheese sandwiches are good, but fried ones turn out to be better! Then we had cherry tarts and tea after, and my stomach was as happy as the rest of my body had been made by the lovely bath.
While we ate, Jamie teased me about the fried fish for supper and bacon breakfast that we don't have to have tomorrow. He said that this place is one of his favorite places, and he wanted to surprise me, so he made up the story about the fish and the bacon. And it's dried bacon, so we can use it on the way home anyway, which is true. The supper was so good, I would have forgiven him a much bigger deception, and when you add the bath, well! Anyway, we laughed a bit, but mostly the three of us just ate quietly, so we could enjoy the food as much as possible. I especially noticed how I felt comfortable with Jamie and Granma, not even the least bit alert to make sure everything was okay.
After we ate, a couple of guards came into the common room and greeted Jamie, who excused himself and went over to sit with them and drink ale. Granma also excused herself and went up to bed. She said, "The common room is perfectly safe, Deyla, but don't linger too long. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow." I nodded and sat back, quite replete and very content to watch the goings on with the other travelers in the room.
Eventually, however, my eyelids started to grow heavy, so I picked up my tea cup and took it over to the bar. I put it down and said to the woman behind it, "Is there some place I should put this, before I retire, mistress?"
She looked up at me, and as she did. my necklace started humming. Now, I have gotten used to my necklace purring (which is not actually a sound, so much as a silent vibration), or shocking me, or generally making a nuisance of itself, but I had never heard it make a sound. I looked down at my chest in shock, but the hum did not stop. The woman looked at me, and a look came into her eyes. She said, "What is that sound?" and even I knew she already knew it was my necklace.
Under the circumstance, I could not lie, and to tell the truth, my relaxed and contented mood inclined me to honesty anyway, so I said, "I think it's my necklace." I smiled a little bit. "It's never done that before."
She looked grim suddenly, and started to say one thing. Then she stopped herself, and put a hand on my wrist, not ungently. "Stay here," she said in a way that I could not have disobeyed, had I wanted to. With a flick of her wrist, she unlocked the door behind the bar and disappeared. Shortly, she returned with an older woman in tow. I mean that literally: she had the other woman by the hand, and seemed to be pulling her through the door.
The hum had softened some when she left, but not stopped, and now that she was back, it got louder again. The second woman, dressed in a green velvet dress that was more of a robe than anything else, and wearing a heavy insignia around her neck, stopped at the sound and stared at me. "Who are you?" she whispered.
"Deyla," I replied. "I have no other name."
"Well, Deyla." She grimaced for a moment. "Take good care of the necklace, pray you."
Then she disappeared through the doorway, and as the door swung shut behind her, I heard a metallic click that sounded more than a little ominous. The humming in my necklace immediately stopped, and its absence also frightened me. But mostly, I was tired, so I turned and walked out of the common room, climbed the stairs, and let myself into my little room, where I quickly prepared for bed. And now that I am done writing about my day, I will go to sleep. Tomorrow is meant to be a long day, as we descend from the hills into Westfall proper.
....
I don't think I like Westfall very much. The vegetation is sparse and more rugged than Elwynn. A lot of it looks tinder-dry, as if it could catch fire just from the sun beating down on it. The few stands of trees are solace to my eyes, but really, it's mostly a bit too desolate for my taste. Add to this the fact that the so-called Defias have trashed the place, and I'll be just as glad when we are gone.
We woke up early and went outside the inn, where a number of travelers, including our group were being reunited with their wagons and horses. As we hitched up the horses to Jamie's wagon, I watched the other people, too. There was a striking woman I had noticed in the common room last night. She had been sitting in the corner drinking an aromatic, bitter-smelling something and eating a berry tart. This morning, she was dressed for travel, with an enslaved imp bouncing around at her side.
Unlike Boswell, she wasn't letting the imp run the partnership, but she wasn't horribly mean to it, either. Just sort of firm and in control. As I watched, she mounted up on an armored ram, an oddity amongst warlocks. I recall when Boswell learned to summon his second and faster demonic mount, and I thought all warlocks did that, but this woman climbed onto a dwarven mount as if she did it all the time. Then she left in a cloud of dust, and I climbed up onto our wagon, so we, too could leave.
Thinking of Boswell made me smile, especially remembering his attachment to those two demon mounts. He called the slower one "Tony the Pony" and the faster one "Florsie the Horsie", names that made Pipniff roll his eyes and laugh mockingly at his fellow demons, so demeaned by Boswell's cheerful names for them. I wonder what he and Pipniff are up to these days?
While my thoughts were wandering, Jamie started the horses moving, and our final day of travel began. You know, until we turn around and come back in a few days.
The morning started out fairly cool, largely because we were so high in the hills, but as we descended slowly along the banks of a small creek, and the sun rose higher in the sky, it got quite warm, especially considering the time of year. After awhile, Jamie stopped the horses and put the canopy up over the bench seat we were sitting on, and then we continued. The shade was nice, I admit.
After about four hours, we stopped for our lunch. Instead of the dried meat I'd planned on when I didn't know about last night's accommodations, we had sandwiches filled with a deviled egg spread and cucumbers. The spread was spicy and yet very smooth, and I noticed that Granma liked it a great deal. I will try to figure out how to make it when we get home. There were more of the cherry tarts from last night, which made me happy, and the fresh water from the creek next to us washed it all down nicely.
As the afternoon wore on, we drove by three or four abandoned farms, buildings burned to the ground, and fields left fallow, with various farm implements rusting and rotting under the beating sun. Jamie growled as we passed the second one, and muttered about the outlaws and the damage they are doing to Westfall.
It's clear that in Elwynn, the outlaws are more of a nuisance, where as here, they are a danger. I say that, even after having spent a day under straw and then having to do the back-breaking labor of restocking the cellar from the secret provisions. We would not even be on this trip if it weren't for the outlaws. But then just as I get all outraged about them, I recall the ten days of "community service" at the lumber mill, and I know that being poor is just no fun, no matter what. People respond to it differently, some railing against the system and not noticing that they are becoming so much like what they despise, what with the "canvassing" for "contributions", and others knuckle down and work harder, hoping to remain safe and unnoticed. Me, I plan to escape the whole mess once I can afford to move to Stormwind.
Around the time I came to the conclusion that Westfall was all destroyed and abandoned, we came to a place where a smaller creek joined with the one we'd been following all day. Jamie turned the wagon to follow the little rivulet up the hill it flowed down. After another 30 minutes of slow going, we topped the rise, and before us, in a bowl-like valley, was a small group of farms, these ones whole and untouched by the devastation we had witnessed earlier.
There are neat buildings, houses, barns, and storage towers, as well as a cistern for the whole lot of the holdings. The fields were all harvested and plowed, but in perfectly good order. In a couple pastures, a few cows and horses grazed as if they had no care in the world.
I wondered how these people came to be passed over by the outlaws, seemingly so hell-bent on destroying Westfall, when I noticed that the whole area was patrolled by big blue demons. And indeed, when we turned up a drive and made our way to one of the farmhouses, I also saw imps and the occasional felpuppy. Curious, but I suppose it would work. It would be hard for outlaws to overrun a compound protected by so much demonic power, but it also suggested that the inhabitants of the small valley were themselves people to be reckoned with.
As we drove up, two men came out of the house, one of whom looked so much like Big Joe that I knew immediately that he was Granma's son. And he seemed happier to see her than his letter had suggested he would be, plucking her off the wagon bench and twirling her around in a big bear hug. Jamie said "That's my Uncle John," as if I needed to be told. He jumped down and hugged his uncle, too, with a look in his eye that I didn't quite recognize. I got down off the bench and was duly introduced to Mr. Stonefield, who told me I might as well call him "Uncle John", too.
While all this hullabaloo was going on, I hadn't noticed the other fellow who had come out of the house. This one was taller and thinner than Uncle John, and was wearing an apron that he was wiping his hands on fussily as he hurried out of the house to greet us. Granma said, "Well, Clive, and how are you doing?" and Jamie, shook his hand heartily. He told me to call him Clive, and to ignore the imp at his feet.
We immediately set to unloading our personal items from the wagon and taking them into the house. Well, Granma and I took ours into the house, as we are sharing a bedchamber there. Jamie is going to be sleeping in a bunk above the stable, I gather. In any case, he took his rucksack in there right after he unhitched the horses and turned them into the pasture behind the house.
Once our own bags were settled, we went back and started unloading the supplies we'd brought with us. Uncle John and Jamie carried all the boxes down to their cellar, and Clive and I unpacked them all, while Granma sat in the parlor with a cup of tea and a cat on her lap, occasionally calling out instructions to us, and teasing the men.
Clive was very impressed with the variety of canned goods we brought, and was even more impressed when I told him I had done all the canning myself. He showed me his own stores, which were mostly vegetables, since they grow well here. That's why we brought the fruits, after all, because they have no orchard or vines.
After all this work, Uncle John suggested that a "quick dip" might be nice, so we went for a swim in the pond, which was certainly refreshing and washed away the grime and sweat fairly well. After I braided my wet hair, I wandered into the kitchen, where I ended up helping Clive cook our dinner. Mostly, I just chopped vegetables and stirred pots at his instruction.
He had made two beautiful roasted chickens, with some kind of aromatic paste beneath the skin that flavored the meat with a lovely herb flavoring. There was also a lovely barley pilaf with tiny chopped vegetables, and a salad with a tart dressing. And for dessert, rhubarb crumble. It was nice to eat a family meal that I hadn't had to cook, and I have to admit he's a fine cook. I never ate with two imps underfoot before, but both Clive and Uncle John seemed to keep their familiars under control, so there wasn't much in the way of wayward fire, and nothing bigger than a few sparks, anyway.
After dinner, we sat in the parlor and the family exchanged news. Jamie was not very kind about Maybell (well, who would be?), but he said that Joey seems happy. Eventually, the conversation moved on to sharing news about more distant relations, garnered from letters and such, and since I don't know those people, I sort of lost interest. A grey tabby cat climbed up on my lap and I sat idly petting her while I thought about how odd it was to be in a family group like that when less than a year ago, I was just an orphan.
After awhile, people started to yawn, and we made our way to our bedchambers, Granma and I to the room with the two neat small beds, Jamie to the bunk over the stables, and Clive and Uncle John to their own room. I'm writing by candlelight as Granma snores softly in the other bed.
It was a long day of travel, but this seems like a fairly nice place. I'll be glad to get home, but so far the trip hasn't been that bad.
....
Woke up this morning long before Granma, and after lazing in bed for a bit, I decided to get up, as I heard the sounds of breakfast being made. I wandered into the kitchen, where Clive bade me pull up a stool and thrust a mug of hot tea into my hands.
He was making some kind of corn flatbread, just finely ground dried corn, salt and pepper, mixed with some water, then kneaded and rolled into little flat rounds, which he was cooking on a dry griddle and then immediately adding to a pile stacked under a damp tea towel. He called them "griddle cakes", a term I am accustomed to hearing as an alternate to "flapjacks", which these certainly were not.
Once the bread was all cooked, he set about half of it aside and then used the rest to make breakfast, a spicy concoction of egg, tomato, and hot peppers, served over the little flatbreads with some sour cream over the top. He sprinkled it with a green leafy herb I never saw before that added something else to the dish. Wow. The tomatoes and peppers here are so flavorful. Uncle John says it's because of the heat, which I guess makes sense. They have a garden with late tomatoes in it now, and fresh peppers, too.
After we all ate, Uncle John and Jamie went out to do stuff with the animals, and Clive and I set about doing more kitchen chores. There's an old comfortable rocker in the corner of the kitchen, too, which is a big old sunny room with the cooking space, a big table where they eat all their meals, and an herb garden in the corner window by the rocker. Granma sat in the rocker and knit away on some socks for Little Joe while I washed the breakfast dishes and Clive prepared what he says will be tomorrow's supper.
He tore the leftover flatbread into pieces, and chopped up the chicken left from last night's dinner. Then he made a creamy sauce with roasted green peppers in it and some new onions, all chopped up. He then layered the sauce, the chicken,the flatbreads, and some grated cheese several times, ending with a whole bunch of cheese. When it was all layered, he poked it all over with a knife and poured a little milk over the top, which drained down into the knife holes. Then he covered his dish and put in the cellar on a block of ice. I asked him how he had a block of ice, and he said that one of the neighbors is a mage who stops by every once in awhile and freezes up some water for them. It's handy, especially in this hot place, to have a way to keep food from spoiling. I bet it's nice in the summer to be able to put ice in your water, too.
I never really stopped to think about it, but one of the baby spells that the mage guy in Northshire taught me was a bolt of frost. It wouldn't freeze a whole block of ice like that, but I bet I could make ice cubes. If I worked at it, I could probably make enough to freeze up some ice cream. Now that would be a treat!
Once the casserole was "setting up" as he called it, we made bread and set it to rise. Once all that was done, it was getting to be time for lunch, so he had me chop up a bunch of vegetables which he sauteed in an odd, deep, rounded pan, very fast over high heat with only a little oil. He added ginger, a little garlic, and some thick dark liquid that tasted mostly of salt. Right before he served it up, he sprinkled some vinegar over it all. We ate it over fried cakes made of noodles, something else I never had before. The whole thing tasted wonderful, but very different.
It occurred to me as we worked in the kitchen that there are all kinds of ways to cook. I think I am a pretty good cook, and I know how to make a lot of stuff, but that's three meals (if you count tomorrow's supper) where Clive made something I never even imagined. His cooking is more exotic to my taste than mine, but very very good. I said both things to him and he laughed and said that the canned goods and dried fruit and especially the fruit leathers we brought seemed very exotic to him. Maybe it's all about perspective.
Jamie and Clive are out fishing now, with the promise of fresh trout for supper. Granma is dozing in the chair by the kitchen window. Uncle John has gone out to invite some other people to a big party in three days from now, and I am sitting under a willow tree with my bare feet dangling in the pond, writing in my journal and thinking about how even when I spend part of the time working in a kitchen, maybe a vacation isn't the worst thing ever. If nothing else, I may learn a few new cooking tricks to use this winter.
....
I had a disturbing conversation tonight. I don't like disturbing conversations.
Clive and Uncle John threw a big party for their neighbors today, starting around mid-day, and still going on now. Some people have already bunked down over the stables, and others have made their way back to their own farms, but there is a group of people singing together by a bonfire, and smaller groups of quieter conversations.
I spent the morning running around doing the things that Clive needed to have done. I even got to cook some of the food for the party, although most of the guests also brought food. So it wasn't a massive undertaking like the time Granma had the entire farm to breakfast. Instead, we provided two cauldrons of soup, and lots of nibbles. Most guests brought covered dishes, and one of them brought everything we needed to make ice cream, including a mage to make water into ice to line the churn.
Clive reminded me yesterday of my comment about how exotic his food is, and said again that he imagined that my cooking would be exotic to many of the guests, in terms of it not being what they ate every day. So I made an apple spice sheet cake with a simple browned sugar topping, and then I stuffed some dried apricots with creamy cheese from their larder. I made one of the pots of soup, too, a rich vegetable melange, with some of my precious sausage shaved into it for flavor.
Clive made all kinds of things I never ate before, including fried triangles of breaded cheese that he served with a spicy tomato sauce, and chunks of chicken marinated in heavily buttermilk overnight and then grilled in a very hot smoking oven until the outsides were almost (but not quite) burnt and the insides were tender and juicy and very strongly flavored.
In fact, most of the food was not what I am used to, again partly because they (like the rest of us, really) cook with what they have. For the most part, the flavors people created were strong and spicy, and very delicious.
Anyway, this was the first time I met any of the people from the other farms. I guess, based on the number of people who showed up, that there must be seven or eight other farms in the valley. It's an enormously self-sufficient group of people; I met a farmer's wife who is also the blacksmith and farrier for the region, and a midwife, and other people with specialized skills.
It's interesting to me, because it doesn't seem to be a communal setup, but perhaps necessity has driven them to rely on one another as much as they do. There's even a fellow who was a school teacher in Moonbrook (which I guess is a town in Westfall somewhere) before the outlaws destroyed the place. He now has a farm, but in the winter, I gather he runs a school a couple days a week for whatever children happen to need to learn. At the moment, there are only two school-aged children in the valley, a brother and sister. The little girl told me her older sister wanted to be a scholar, so when she was 13, she went to Refuge for more schooling. (Refuge, I learned, is the name of the settlement whose hostel we stayed in on the second night of our journey.)
Protecting the valley, though, is done as a group. There are several powerful warlocks in the community, and they have set demons to guarding the place. I'm told that when the entire valley comes to a party, extra demons are sent to guard the empty farms.
At first, the party made me feel shy, something I don't feel all that often, but then I don't usually get into a group of people who have all known each other for years. Everyone here was already known to Jamie and Granma, too, and it felt lonely to be the only stranger.
Then I noticed I was not the only stranger. There was another, the same warlock I had seen mounting up on the ram the other morning while we were hitching up our horses to our wagon. She seemed just as aloof and strangely self-contained as she had in the common room.
And she hates the outlaws. I walked behind a small group of people in conversation, and she made a comment about the activities of the group she called, in a sneering sort of voice, "the Defias", which is indeed one of the grandiose names they give themselves. Remembering Miss Bernice's bruised face, I could not help but think that's a mighty fine name for what amounts to a bunch of thugs. Still, things are complex, and so are people. Whatever I might think of them. the warlock's opinion is much lower. And while I couldn't tell you why I think it's so, I am sure that her vitriol is personal, as well as political.
She spoke of her opposition to their methods, and that may be so, but I got the impression that their politics and methods are not the only thing she resents. And Clive told me later, she is famous for her successful forays against bands of outlaws, that she has cleaned out many an occupied farm of what he calls "those vermin". And like I said before, it's much less possible for me to think of this as a difference of opinion between the government and the so-called "freedom fighters" when I think of the burned out farms we drove by on our way here.
Later, when I was replenishing some of the plates of food, she wandered up and refilled her own plate. She made some polite comment, and I responded in kind. But instead of moving on, or going back to the group she had been speaking with earlier, she stayed there and made inconsequential conversation with me.
When I was done with my task, I picked up my glass of water, which had ice in it. Maldora asked me where I got the ice, and I blushed. See, earlier, when they were churning ice cream, I thought again that maybe the little spells I learned could be used to make ice cubes, anyway. So I tried it, and sure enough it worked. I explained this to her, and she asked me to show her. She held out her own glass of water, and I suddenly did not want to do this. Still, I could think of no polite way to decline without drawing unwelcome attention to myself, so I held out one hand and closed my eyes and concentrated very hard. As I felt the power build in my hand, I opened my eyes and watched a tiny frost bolt leave my fingers and leap into her glass, where it froze a very small part of her water into a perfectly spherical ice cube.
She grinned and laughed, a sound that was surprisingly more girlish than her features or demeanor would suggest she could make. Then she clinked her glass softly against mine and toasted both our futures. I took a drink of my own water, and assumed that the subject would now be closed. Alas for assumptions.
That's when the conversation became disturbing to me. (And can I just say, through this whole disturbing conversation, my necklace lay quietly on my neck, indulging in not histrionics whatsoever. This makes no sense to me, because the thing practically screams when it thinks I should be upset. But if I [b]am[/b], it just sits there.)
Anyway, Maldora said, "I see you are indeed just learning, but even I can feel the power in your hands. I hope you have a very skilled teacher. Are you still at Northshire?"
"I am no mage," I told her firmly. "I learned a few cantrips because it was easier to learn them than to excuse myself from the lesson, but I am a seamstress by inclination, and a housekeeper by wage."
She seemed taken aback by this, and said to me, "I do not know why you chose not to study as a mage, Deyla, but it seems very dangerous to me. The studies of those of us who use magics of any kind do not create in us the powers we learn to express, Instead, these studies harness and control the powers we were born with."
Suddenly I felt very angry, at her, at the world, at the circumstances of my life. "I don't care," I shot back at her. "I decided a long time ago that I would not let my life be controlled by circumstances beyond my control. I didn't choose to be an orphan, but I overcame that. And I didn't choose to be poor, but now I am not as poor as I once was. And I didn't choose to have 'magical power', but having it doesn't mean I have to be a mage. I don't want to be a mage, and I will not."
Her eyes flashed for a moment, and the imp at her heels jumped up and down excitedly, but then her expression gentled. "I hope the shape of your life allows you to make that choice, Deyla. But be careful. Great power of the kind I sensed in you earlier is a burden much more than it is a gift. And untrained, wild power can destroy more than you might imagine."
Before I could reply, she smiled sadly at me, placed the back of her fingers against my cheek for a moment, and wandered off, a subdued imp following along behind.
As she walked away, I felt a great weariness come over me, as the anger drained out of me. I sat down on my heels, and fought back tears I did not want to acknowledge were even there. And now, as the bonfire burns lower, and the singing becomes less raucous and more soothing to the ear, as the hum of conversation fades softly into the night, I am taking myself off to bed.
There are all kinds of things I don't like about my circumstances, not least some of the memories I carry with me, but the one thing I do like is that I am not a mage. Please the Light, I am not a mage.
....
The day after the party, we got out of bed rather late and cooked up a nice hearty brunch to feed all the random people who were still around. By mid-afternoon, the guests had all wondered back to their various farms, and the four of us had finished cleaning up all the various party detritus while Granma watched and crocheted on some blanket for Little Joe.
Clive poured us glasses of cold ale, and as we sat in the shade and drank them, we discussed exactly what we would be bringing back to Elwynn with us. Granma stopped plying her hook and started making lists, and once they were made, all five of us began the work of sorting out and packing up the supplies we will take home with us. I was surprised to find that I am a bit reluctant to leave here. Clive in particular is very good company, and Granma seems happy to be around the son she sees so rarely. However, I will also be glad to get back to Elwynn, where the forest and farms are more to my taste, and where I can get back to work on my sewing projects.
That was yesterday, mostly a lazy day. Today, we packed up crates and bins and barrels, and loaded up the wagon. We refilled the boxes of canned goods with jars from Clive's cellars, mostly pickles and chutneys and sauces, much more heavily flavored than the things I make, but they will add variety to the meals I cook (and the ones Miss Bernice cooks up at the Big House; I don't believe Maybell knows how to open a jar, so I doubt she will use any of these things -- plus, she's afraid of new things, as if unfamiliar food might reach out and bite her on the nose or something).
There are metal bins with rolled oats in them, and a barrel of wheat flour. We have two sacks of dried corn, which we will have ground when we get home, as well as smaller sacks of dried beans. All in all, it's a fairly decent replacement for the stores we lost in the raid, and will make our winter meals better and more healthful.
Clive introduced me to some new flavorings, including things that won't grow at home because it doesn't get hot enough. He did give me seeds for the herbs that will grow in my window garden (like the green leafy stuff he put on the eggs the first morning we were here -- and did I mention? that casserole he made with the leftover chicken and cheeses was soooo good!) He also gave me a couple dried roots and a large selection of dried mushrooms, of types that are not found in Elwynn. I was go grateful for his gifts from his personal stores that I gave him one of my precious Redridge sausages in return.
Tomorrow morning, we are leaving what I have taken to calling "Warlock Valley", since the demons patrolling the place make it clear that there are many locks here, indeed. And that means that after two more nights on the road, I will be back in my little attic bedroom. The adventure will be over. I guess I'm not sorry I came, but I'm glad it will be over soon.
A quiet winter with the Stonefields isn't the worst thing that could happen to me at all.
....
Home again.
How odd it seems to me to call this place "home" and mean something by it other than "the only place I have ever lived, except for the refugee years during the War". We arrived home mid-afternoon yesterday, and although the weather in Elwynn had taken a sharp turn towards winter in our absence, and it was much colder than it had been in Westfall, the house was stuffy and needed to be aired out, and of course, there was a great deal of stuff to be unpacked and put away.
Lucky for me, Big Joe put Maybell and Joey on unpacking duty. Both of them balked a bit, but a stern look from his father got Joey to working, as it usually does, and Maybell did a bit, even while maintaining an edgy whine under her breath the entire time. Near as I could tell, her whole complaint was "I didn't get to go on the adventure, why should I have to do any work related to it?"
Because you want to eat bread and porridge and beans this winter, you twit? Did she fail to notice that large portions of her family's harvest were stolen from them? Or that there simply wasn't enough of the right kind of food to get everyone healthy through the winter? Now that I wrote that down, I think, yes, she did fail to notice, she is that stupid and self-absorbed, and she isn't going to stop annoying me until that day comes when I never have to see her again.
In the meantime, I swept and aired the cottage, made up the beds with fresh linens provided by Miss Bernice, who had kindly washed ours with theirs while we were gone, and cooked a simple dinner for Granma, Despite her obvious pleasure at being home (and the patent enjoyment she had gotten from the trip, especially the visit with Uncle John), she was just as obviously exhausted, so I made a simple roasted tomato soup and some fresh biscuits with honey, and left it at that. Once she's her usual self again, I'll start experimenting with what I learned from Clive. I noticed Granma never had any trouble finishing his meals, the way she sometimes does with what Ma Stonefield calls "Plain Hearty Fare".
The trip home was sort of uneventful. Well, mostly uneventful and partly me skittishly avoiding potential events. When we got to Refuge and I came down to the common room for supper, all clean and still a bit damp around the edges, I noticed that the woman behind the bar recognized me and was watching me closely. She was clearly trying to see whether I still wore my necklace, which of course I was, since the darned thing won't let me take it off.
When we finished supper (tender chicken fried in a spicy batter and served with mashed potatoes and pan gravy -- another simple but wonderful meal from those kitchens), I saw her start for the door behind the bar, and I had this sudden certainty that she was off to fetch the robed woman I had spoken to the first time. I really didn't want to revisit that conversation, so I let Jamie and Granma know I was oh, so tired from the trip (which was actually true), and tat I was going upstairs to try to get an early night (which I actually did; I fell asleep the instant my head hit the pillow).
In the morning, I rushed through my breakfast and hurried outside to help get the horses and wagon ready for us to depart, which we did, in very good time. As we drove off, I saw Maldora come out of the inn, too, and I wondered briefly why she keeps showing up where I am.
Otherwise, the trip was three long days of slow driving, camping with strangers at the foot of the lake again, and silences between the three of us that were not the least bit fraught, as if we had now spent enough time together that lack of active conversation didn't make us anxious anymore. When we finally arrived, I leapt off the wagon bench and stretched my legs and back, which were starting to stiffen up from the combination of sitting still while Jamie drove and the constant bouncing around (although of course it's not as bad on Jamie's fancy wagon as it is on many farm carts).
The sky is lowering and it will certainly snow before morning. Unlike the sprinkling of snow we had about six weeks ago, which barely covered the ground, and which was well gone by noon, this is going to last I think. It would appear that the last gasp of autumn is over and we are about to be grasped by winter, which I dare say will not let us go for months.
I'm glad to have a pile of dead people's cloths, and a dress project for Her to keep me occupied while I am not cleaning, cooking, or paying attention to Granma. Sometimes I think that the real value I bring to them all is the companionship for the old woman they all love so well. Because loving her doesn't mean they don't have a lot to do, and the need to do it now (because gravid cows won't wait, and stuff). I'm useful. I think one of the things I learned her this fall is that one way to carve a place for yourself is to be useful, so that someone knows his life will be poorer or more work if you are gone than if you stick around.
I see now that work of the right kind build one a place, even in a situation where there was no place for me to start with. I expect this is a lesson that will come in handy.
But even if there is a place for me here, even if I do call it "home" for now, I want something of my own, something that is my home because it is mine, not because I use it as a home.
When that day comes, things will be better than they are right now. But that doesn't mean they are bad right now, because they are not.
....
The winter is passing away, and I am fairly bored. It's not bad boredom, exactly, not the excruciating kind of boredom that makes me want to rip my head off. I have tasks to keep me occupied that I find interesting, and pleasant enough conversation with Granma. I receive occasional massive infusions to my gold collection when I send a dress to my employer. I've been entertaining myself experimenting with the spices and other goods I got from Clive, and my cooking repertoire is significantly expanded. But basically, nothing ever happens.
I find this frustrating, even though for most of my life, "something happened" was usually bad news. Having to flee Stormwind in the War, the time that the bears attacked the refugee camp, having to leave the orphanage, the stupid heroes disbanding . . . eventful times are not my favorite. I was talking to the fellow in Goldshire who cures headaches, and he told me in his hometown, the most horrible curse you could lay on someone was "May you live in interesting times."
I see his point and all, but I do live in interesting times. I am subject to all the disadvantages of such times, the food shortages, the attacks by outlaws, and what have you, but I have very little of interest in my life. And while I sometimes go days at a time in a state of activity and contentment, I am often bored, and wishing for a bit more excitement.
The other day, the snow had all melted for a bit, and we were having a relatively warm stretch of weather, so I went to Goldshire for the afternoon. Even the adventurers are fewer and farther between than they were in the summer or the autumn, as if they have all taken off for warmer places to do their retrieval tasks for people. I mean, I assume that there are job boards in other inns, including inns where there is no snow on the ground.
It was a nice change of scenery, and it was pleasant to have a meal someone else cooked and cleaned up, but the inn was quite empty compared to its usual summertime crowds. There was no faire, no cluster of adventurers, no young girls trying to get the attention of the young men. I struck up conversation with a few people, but none of them were in the mood to tell interesting stories, so it was more of the same: pleasant conversation, but nothing to take my mind off the fact that while I am securely settled for the winter, it is not a permanent solution.
A permanent solution would be something that belonged to me. A farm? A business? A family? Even a solid plan, I guess. At this point, I am saving my gold (and spending a few coppers here and there on a non-home-cooked meal to break the monotony of my winter days) and hoping for better times.
For example, in the inn, I had conversations with the innkeeper (an old friend of mine at this point), an older couple who were on their way to visit their daughter and her family in Westfall, a solitary farmer with a very sharp sword by his side, and a couple of local roust-abouts. Thing is, this time of year, even the local roust-abouts are pretty subdued. Or maybe the real hardcore ones have moved elsewhere for the season, leaving these fellow behind to pretend to be what they are not.
I won't pretend to be what I am not. I am an orphan who has found a secure place for the winter, useful work to do, and an income stream that may one day change things for me. All good things. But somehow, I never expected my first winter out and about in the world to be so, domestic, I guess is the right word.
Still, cold or hunger or pure unadulterated poverty would all be worse than this.
....
Another afternoon in Goldshire to partially ease my boredom. I wandered the shops, not seeing anything interesting enough to justify parting with coin to buy, but it occupied a couple not-entirely-unpleasant hours. Then I took myself to the inn for a meal of mushroom pasty and ale. It's a good meal, and one that is a little heavy for Granma's tastes these days, so I was pleased that the pies were on the daily board.
As I finished up the last spoonful of mushrooms and gravy, I noticed that my friend from last week, Harald the farmer with the sword has come in and was sitting at a table, waiting for someone apparently. As I was considering whether to go over and say hello, the front door to the place opened again and in walked Maldora.
Now, I'm not sure how I feel about her. I don't suppose she meant any harm in Warlock Valley. In fact, perhaps she meant well. But I was disturbed by our conversation, and I can't quite make myself forget what she said about wild power. Nevertheless, I am going on with my life as I had chosen before she spoke to me, and so far, all I am is a little bored. As well as busy and earning money.
Anyway, while those thoughts were flitting across my mind, she wandered over to Harald's table and sat down. The innkeep came and took their order and then sent the barmaid scrambling to fill their table with an array of fruits and cheeses, some bread, and a carafe of white wine. I sat in silence and watched them eat for awhile, and finally decided to make my way home. It gets dark early in winter, and as the ground was damp, I wanted to be home and in bed before the nighttime temperature drop froze any puddles of water in my path and made the walk home treacherous.
So I got up and went to the bar to pay my tab. Joshua was as chatty and friendly as ever, quizzing me on the quiet evening I had spent, after the more boisterous ones he'd seen me enjoy earlier in the year. In his usual friendly way, he commented on each of the few patrons in the place as he counted out my change. When he got to Maldora's and Harald's table, he said, "And those two, obsessed beyond belief with the outlaws. Well, each has good reason, I suppose, and there's no denying that cleaning out the nests of bandits is only to the good."
Well, if nothing else, I suppose it's good to know that my intuition did not fail me -- that Maldora does indeed have something personal against her "Defias".
And that's what I've come to, nothing to write about save a little gossip with the innkeeper. I remind myself that I am well-housed, well-fed, and making a decent income. Because otherwise, this would seem a lot worse than it is.
....
It turns out that the farmer with the sharp sword, Harald, is a friend of Uncle John's and therefore, fairly well-known to both Granma and Jamie. She told me that Jamie and a guest were coming for dinner, so I prepared a nice winter meal of thick slices of fresh sausage I'd made that morning, fried up with potatoes and apples and onions. I also made a creamy spinach dish to go with it, and some thick dark bread. Finally, we had a pound cake with stewed cherries soaked with rum, from one of the jars I canned in the summer. Dinner was all ready to serve up when Jamie knocked on the door.
I opened it, and was a little surprised to see Harald on the stoop with him. I let them into the house, and when Jamie went to introduce us, Harald blushed and told him we'd been introduced in the common room of the inn not too long ago. The blush was kind of nice, because it means he remembered me a little more than just in passing.
Over dinner, Granma told Harald about our recent trip to Warlock Valley. She was pretty cagey about the reasons we'd decided to make such a trip on the very edge of winter like that, but he seemed to know right away that we wouldn't have done it if there had not been need. And either his own animosity towards the Defias, or his common sense, or some combination of those, seemed to lead him right to a fairly complete and accurate understanding of the situation.
I saw a muscle in his neck tighten when he realized we had been attacked by the outlaws. He muttered under his breath, "It just is never enough. We clean out their nests, and drive the younger less corrupt of them out of the outlaw life, but it is as if a hundred rise up to replace every ten we get rid of."
I knew he was talking about his raids with Maldora, then, but everyone else acted like he hadn't made the comment, so I did, too.
After supper, we retired to the parlor, where we played some old fashioned games that I never even heard of until I came here to live and work. It turns out that growing up in the orphanage is a disadvantage in more ways than I realized while I was doing the growing up. There are all kinds of things that people who grow up in families know that I never learned.
About Hope Chests and trousseaus. About games to play in the parlor on dark winter nights. About how to cook for small groups of people, and how doing so might be a pleasure, not just a chore. Much more often than I would have expected, I find that people talk about or do things I never imagined. It's like there is this whole culture that associated with having lived in a family, and I never even knew it existed. Probably just as well, because when I was a child, I had no way to have it, and I suppose it's better not to know what you are missing if there is no way to rectify the situation.
I know that families differ, that different families play different games in their parlors, but I never even knew they did that. At the orphanage, we were sent to bed at sundown (or earlier, in the summer) and they locked the doors on the dormitory room, and we were left alone. Sometimes we played games, sometimes, we slept. More often than not, we slept, but even when we talked or played games, it was all children. I never knew that grown ups played games with children, or with just other grown ups, like we did tonight.
After awhile, Jamie, had to leave, but Granma and Harald were having a good time talking about some people they both knew. As they talked, I learned more about him, but not really any details, exactly. I know now that he seems like a farmer because he is a farmer, that he used to have a farm in Westfall, but it was destroyed during the war when he was off fighting on the front lines. He came home to find it burned and derelict, with no idea where he wife and two young sons might have gotten to. I gather from what he said, that he now knows what happened to them, but he never really talked about it, so I can only surmise that it was a bad end of some kind.
Now he seems to live a sort of wandering life in Elwynn, doing I am not sure what, except when he hooks up with his warlock buddy and they go "clean up" Defias.
Eventually, the conversation died down, and the three of us sat by the fire in a very comfortable silence, which surprised me, too. I did not know I could be comfortable like that with someone I don't know well.
Anyway, after a bit of that, Granma started to nod off, and in a very polite way that did not draw attention to her lapse of good manners, Harald excused himself, thanking both of us for the pleasant evening. Granma said, "Now that you mention it, I should probably be heading for my bed. Deyla will show you out. It is always wonderful to see you, Harald. Don't be such a stranger!"
So I walked with him to the hall, and handed him his coat and hat, and made some polite conversation with him while he bundled up for the cold dark walk back to wherever he is staying. Without really realizing what I was doing, I tilted my hip in his direction; I didn't mean to catch his attention, it was more like I was occupied trying to decide what I think of him, and my body just fell into its old habits.
I only realized what I had done when I saw the look in his eye get more intense all of a sudden, and then I found myself blushing. I never blush!
Anyway, we both pretended there was no added something between us all of a sudden and he took his leave.
I went back to the parlor, but Granma had already retired, so I came upstairs. Now I am almost ready for sleep myself, but I am kept awake by wondering why I acted towards Harald like I do when I am out looking for a pleasant evening of flirting and dancing and laughing, as that was not on my mind at all.
Still, it's a least a bit more interesting than wondering whether anything our of the ordinary will ever happen. Something did: I flirted with a man without deciding in advance to do so. Very odd.
I'm glad to have a warm bed to snuggle down into tonight. It's going to freeze hard before morning. I usually leave the little window in my attic open just a tiny bit because I love the feel of fresh air, but not tonight. It's just too cold, and instead I will treasure the warmth and coziness of this little room, that at least for now, is all mine.
....
It's the middle of the winter. We have snow on the ground most days, and the occasional heavy fall. The animals have all grown shaggy coats to help keep them warm, and I never go outside without a heavy cloak to keep me warm.
I spend most of my time indoors, with Granma, knitting or sewing, caring for her house, listening to her stories, telling her some (sanitized) stories about my life in the orphanage and (less sanitized) tales about the people I met with the heroes. She loves stories about Pipniff, and likes to speculate about what he was plotting involving me.
I also cook. I love winter food, the hearty kind that is just too heavy to eat in the heat of the summer, and that is a waste to make in the spring with its new fresh produce or the autumn with its harvest bounty. In midwinter, I make stews that use the preserved goods I put up all summer and fall.
In summer, given a chicken to roast, I would chop up fresh herbs and mix them with some rendered chicken fat and perhaps some dried citrus peel if I have any. I pull up the skin on the breast and smear the mixture all over the meat, then pull the skin back into place. Stuff the chicken with a chopped onion and the stems from the herbs, and roast. Simple, fragrant and heavenly.
In winter, that same chicken gets stuffed, by golly. A little day old bread, some sauteed onions and celery, and a lot of black pepper and dried sage. Maybe I'd even feel ambitious and mix in some old corn muffins, too. Roast on a bed of root vegetables, and it's a whole different experience. Much heartier and heavier and so warming in the dead of winter.
The last time I went to Goldshire, the peddler was back with his spices and other food products from far away. I bought a jar of black liquid, heavily salted and slightly sweet and fermented tasting. I also got a package of some kind of paste, slightly reddish in color, that also tastes of far away. He told me how to use it to season a chicken that I first steamed and then smoked in a closed pot with tea leaves and sugar providing the smoke. Soooooo good, and too heavy for summer, also. But in the middle of a snow storm, it brought to mind places that are perpetually warm and so different than here that I can hardly imagine them.
I also ran into Maldora. She's been to some place so far away, she says it's not even on this world, but somewhere out there beyond the night sky. I guess that a lot of the enemies from the last War are there, so heroes go there to fight. She says that Boswell is there, with Pipniff, and that they are doing well. But she couldn't stay there, even though she is a great hero when she wants to be. She said that staying there left the Defias to grow here unchecked.
I asked her why not let Harald handle the Defias while she fights demons, and she said he can't handle them alone, that he is really a man of peace. But then the two of them went out and cleaned out two more camps of the outlaws. I guess it's a good thing they are doing, given what happened in Westfall when the outlaws gained the upper hand over the people who were just trying to live their lives.
But I don't really like to think about it, because I was very scared that night. I don't want to be scared again like that. So I pretend that if I stay snug in my little room, and do my work, and live quietly, that I will be safe. But what I really want is for the safety not to be an illusion.
It's safe enough for now, but it's not really good enough to last a lifetime.
....
Harald invited Granma, Jamie, and me to a "winter picnic" yesterday. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground, but not enough that a carriage could not safely travel over the roads. So Jamie hooked up the wagon again, and put the round top over the back part. Then we bundled up Granma and me in warm clothes and blankets, and he drove us down the river to a small backwater area where part of the river is diverted into a sort of little lake.
The backwater is surrounded by large boulders, and there is an area there where the boulders form a sort of wall against the prevailing winds. It's not really a cave, because it doesn't have a roof, but it is very protected. In that area, Harald had set up some logs to sit on and built a nice fire.
He made us a sort of camping meal, which I actually enjoyed a lot more than I enjoyed the ones where we were really camping when we went to Westfall. He had wrapped potatoes in some find of leaves and put them in the coals on the edge of the fire. When they were cooked, he dug them out and scooped out most of the potato, leaving just the skins. Then he mixed the potato with some milk and butter and cheese and dried herbs and a bit of dried sausage (sort of like my Redridge sausages, but a different kind). He filled the potato skins back up with this mixture and then wrapped them up in leaves again, and put them back in the coals for a few minutes until the cheese got all melty.
We ate them with hot tea. They tasted wonderful and the company was pleasant.
Well, it really was, even though I was terribly nervous. I couldn't help remembering that last moment in Granma's front hall when Harald came to dinner that time, and I was very self-conscious pretty much the whole time we were there. I know he was watching me, too, and that made me even more nervous.
Anyway, we stayed out there a couple hours and then Jamie brought us home. I spent the afternoon finishing a lacy wrap for Her, which should bring me another gold coin or two. I couldn't help thinking more about what it would be like to wear clothing like that, but for whatever reason, thinking about that made me blush. It didn't used to.
I made a simple supper of squash soup and biscuits this evening -- those potatoes were really filling. As we were eating, Granma told me about how she and her husband had known Harald's parents quite well. She kept saying how tragic his story was, and I guess it is. But the thing is, the world is so ravaged by the Wars that I hardly know anyone who is untouched by the tragedy. You'd think now that the fighting is calmed down, things would go back to normal, but maybe that's the worst part of War, where nothing is ever the same again.
And then I realize I don't really know enough about the way things used to be to know. Perhaps things are always uncertain and dangerous.
What I do know is that Granma's cottage is a safe haven, warm and cozy, with good company and the right kind of work. It could be so much worse.
....
The first signs of spring are making themselves visible. They tell me that means we're in for a couple weeks of mud when the snow finally melts for good. However, I don't care. I'm tired of the winter, wanting to move on into spring and summer and all.
We're a couple weeks away from the spring bazaar in Northshire. It's supposed to be an interesting time of year up there in hicksville. at the beginning of the summer, a bunch of people will graduate (or wash out of) their training programs and need to move on out into the world. At the same time, a new intake will be settling into the Abbey to start their programs. Both sets of people need stuff.
So they hold a big fair, with wagons they drag out of storage in the Abbey, where vendors can set up for a week of selling stuff. I've heard that it's mostly utilitarian stuff, so I've been stocking up on warm socks, gloves and scarves for those headed to Northrend. After seeing the field cooking kits we used on the camping trip, I've sewn sturdy sacks to carry those. I've got little grooming kits, that have slots to hold toothbrush, comb, and razor. Those are all for the ones leaving on adventures. For the ones who are settling into school, I've got pen wipers, toiletries kits, shifts, and cozy (but utilitarian) dressing gowns.
I'm planning to spend a whole week up there. In return for also selling Miss Bernice's stuff (mostly socks and nets), I've arranged with her to make sure Granma is properly fed while I'm gone. Jamie is going up there, too. He sells small boxes and small portable secretaries. I guess even heroes need to write letters on the road. He'll drive me up, and we'll camp in the wagon. Jamie assures me that for a few coppers we can use the bathing facilities at the abbey, although he warned me that they are primitive, by which I take him to mean cold water and harsh soap. No matter. I grew up bathing in cold water, and I can ring my own soap.
Anyway, I'm packaging up my goods now, in hopes of a profitable week outside that crazy big stone building in the middle of nowhere. I may not want to be a hero, but I am perfectly happy to make money off those who do.
By the time we get back, the spring produce should be well available, which will mean the start of canning season again. I'm glad. I've been working on some ideas for using the techniques and spices I got form Clive last summer with Elwynn produce, and I think we're in for some real treats. The ones that work out, I'll can and preserve for even more variety of food next winter. I do have to say that some days, the colorful and tasty jars of food I put up were the only thing that got me through the winter. I'm tired of stews made with dried beef, and old stringy chickens.
Still, and all, the promise of spring, the patch of daffodils blooking outside my kitchen window, the sound of birds returning from wherever they go in winter . . . all that seemsvery hopeful to me. And when there is hope, nothing is as bad as it could be.
Last week, they took me to see some gnome in Ironforge. That was kind of nice, what with all the new shops to explore and all. Mostly, though, I didn't have time to shop. They took three of us to visit the gnome. He hooked us up to wires and flashing lights and what-all. After awhile, I got pretty sleepy watching the pretty lights, so I just stopped thinking about the gnome and started thinking about that green dress I saw on the way over there. Green goes well with my hair and eyes.
A day or two later, I was called in to see Matron. She handed me a bundle of clothes and a letter to someone in some hick town called Northshire. She wished me well, but I could see her rolling her eyes at me when I walked out of the room. There was a cart waiting out front to take all three of us who had gone to Ironforge to Northshire. The other two were excited. I was not. Matron's plan, whatever it was, was going to mean work, I could tell.
Anyway, after a long uncomfortable ride, we arrived at our hick town destination. Another big stone building. Like that's supposed to be impressive in the middle of nowhere. I delivered my letter, and it turns out they think I should be a mage. As if.
If I were a mage, I would be expected to do things, study and the like. I would have to sacrifice how my clothes looked for how well they helped me do mage things. I would have to go out into battle, where I could die. Or be horribly disfigured. Plus, it's a lot of work, the sweaty kind that leaves dirt under my nails and a furrow in my brow. No thanks.
Now at the moment, it's not like I have a lot of choices. My bundle contains three changes of clothing, a tiny amount of copper, a little food and water, and a note from Matron reminding me that there is nothing for me in Stormwind. Well, there never has been much for me there.
So my choices seem to be do this stupid mage thing and get myself killed after a short difficult dirty life, go to a larger city and sell myself, or find a job. While I don't like the idea of more work, I like the idea of putting myself at the mercy of strange men even less. And there is just no way I am going to be a mage.
Without stopping to think about it, I made my way to the nearest not-so-tiny hick town, some place called Goldshire. There I poked around long enough to find a farm with a couple nice women standing around outside a house. I asked them for advice, with my best going-to-church manner, and they actually had some decent things to say. One of them gave me a sack of apples, too. And a pork pie.
Following their directions, I made my way to a big old house, which is apparently the residence and headquarters of a bunch of heroes. Not that I care. They gave me a small room and some things to do. They apologized for the amount of work they dumped on me, and I didn't tell them that the orphanage made me do a lot more, and more icky, work all the time. I can clean anything, but they don't need to know that.
Things could be a lot worse, I guess. I have a warm place to sleep in my very own bed that I do not have to share, even if I do have to share the room with a scullery maid. She doesn't snore, so what do I care? And they will give me money every week in return for my work, as well as feeding me. I figure I'll have enough money to go shopping in Stormwind in just about a month. And maybe by then, I'll have figured out something else to do besides run errands and make deliveries and sweep things and be nice to a snooty old butler.
....
Just when I thought I had landed in clover, it got even better! They have mending that needs doing. Perfect! The snooty butler (his name is Johnson and he keeps telling me he is "the major-domo, Deyla, not the butler") handed me a pile of sheets to repair. I asked him when he needed them and he said he was sorry to have to tell me that they would be required when the servants' beds were made up two whole days later. Whoo-hee, there was no more than half a day's worth of work in his whole pile!
But I just nodded and curtsied in the awkward way I use with Johnson, to make him think I'm as stupid as I am young. I took the basket of sheets and the other stuff he gave me and found a nice window seat in some remote part of the Hall and sat down to mend the sheets.
I'm pretty sure some of these heroes never had to mend a sheet before in their lives. There are tears that can only have come from someone sleeping with their spurs on. Anyway, I set myself a nice comfortable pace and laid in neat darns, and repaired ripped seams with stitches more even than the ones that were torn out. It's not that I don't know how to do stuff. I just usually prefer not to have to.
Anyway, since Johnson essentially gave me permission to spend two days doing the mending, I did it nice and slowly, and let myself daydream some while I was doing it. Then I realized that he had also provided me with all kinds of thread and other stuff in the sewing basket. I decided to use some of it to update my three new dresses.
I'm pretty sure that the dresses came from the poor box at the Cathedral, because none of them fit right. I went ahead and altered one to be skin tight and nice and low-cut in case I ever need to be completely obvious. The other two, well, I'm no dummy. I learned a long time ago that letting a man think he might possibly be the only one who has noticed my charms gets me a lot farther than throwing myself at him. I know how to stand so that a man sees the curve of my hip without realizing I arranged for him to see that. And I know that a seemingly modest dress that reveals the body underneath only from certain angles is far more tantalizing than the more obviously revealing kind. One of them is a kind of deep blue color which makes my eyes look deeply green. I'm saving it for my trip to Stormwind.
Even with the free-lance sewing I did along with the required mending, I was hard-pressed to stretch the work over the allowed two days, so I spent some of the time exploring the place. These heroes are so serious! Except for the gnome with the twinkling eyes and his nasty little imp friend. I mean that in the nicest possible way, you know? The imp, who calls himself Pipniff, or something, has a chip on his shoulder the size of Ironforge itself. At the same time, he has clearly landed in clover, with a master who accepts the imp at his own valuation of himself. Unlike some of the other warlocks around here, who are as vicious and nasty to their slaves as they are to me and the other servants, Boswell is unfailingly kind and cheerful, and believes Pipniff when he tells him he is his best friend and advisor.
Pipniff took one look at me and suddenly looked very thoughtful indeed. Whatever he was thinking is bad news for someone, but probably not for me. It might even help me figure out how to get out of here. While slow piles of mending aren't the worst things I ever saw, they are not exactly how I intended to spend my life, either.
Other than Boswell and Pipniff, I didn't meet anyone who appears to know how to have any fun, besides the children. But I'm done with children for the time being. Living in an orphanage will do that to you, you see. There are people obsessively pursuing their work, others who are deeply involved in learning stuff, and others who are just quiet and morose. Something bad happened here recently, but I don't care, I'm sure I can find a way out of my stupid life here, if I just look hard enough. And in the meantime, I managed to make Johnson both impressed by my sewing skills and irritated by my el-fake-o resentment of this "onerous" duty, so I feel sure I will get a lot more sewing to do. It really could be a whole lot worse.
I have only two more weeks before I will be ready for my first trip to Stormwind. I plan to buy a pair of pretty shoes and some ribbons, too.
....
Things are still going pretty well here, even though it's a lot of work. Less work than it was before I got assigned to the mending detail, admittedly, but still more work than I really like, especially since so much of it benefits other people, not me. At least not directly.
Boswell continues to be nice to me. He somehow convinced Pipniff to get me a communicator so I can know what's going on with these heroes. This should be useful, even though I haven't figured out quite how it will help me yet.
Johnson snottily told me that my sewing skills were surprisingly competent for a mere slip of a girl from an orphanage. He has apparently never met Matron, who has strong opinions about the benefits of working for one's keep as well as the kind of eagle eye and heavy hand that ensured that I, at least, did my damnedest to meet her every exacting standard. I hate being cuffed around even more than I hate working, but what can you do? Anyway, the butler has started giving me basic clothing repairs for the soldiers in the band of heroes, too.
There are two kinds of soldier here. The ones who take it as their due to be waited on hand and foot, and who hardly notice the people who do the waiting. The others are more do-it-yourself types who chafe against Johnson's desire to put them in a box labeled "People we wait on hand and foot". They are also the ones who notice that their clean clothes are delivered by people, not gnomish automatons.
Pipniff managed to let me know he understands me, perhaps as well as I understand him. The last time I took a pile of robes to Boswell, Pipniff was muttering something about a farmer. But I was too busy laughing and chatting with Boswell to pay close attention to his imp. I don't think Pipniff would tell me the truth, even if I asked him. Whatever he's up to, I will turn it to my own advantage as well as I can.
I received a note from the mage person in Northshire wondering where I disappeared to. In order to avoid burning any bridges, including ones I am pretty sure I don't want to walk over, I walked back to Northshire on my half-day and talked to him in person. I explained that I had taken on some personal obligations at the moment, and that while I understood that this was going to delay my training as a mage, well, it couldn't be helped. I simply exuded sincerity and a sort of naive helplessness that worked like a charm. He actually apologized for inconveniencing me and assured me that when I was no longer obligated, he would be glad to see me again. He also taught me to cast a couple spells.
I don't expect I will ever use the spells the way he intends, and they won't really hurt anyone with any power, but the shock of having me cast them may someday stop some event long enough for me to regain my balance. I can't imagine I'll ever want to conjure water, though.
I think I was wrong about the scullery maid. She doesn't snore, but she is way too chatty and friendly. I need to get her out of my room, but without drawing any attention to myself. She seems a bit squeamish, so I have been saving up crumbs of food from dinner. I put them down near the baseboards just before we go to bed and wait for the mice that inevitably live in the walls of a stone and wood building like this one to come out and snack. Then I wake her up with a squeal and say "What's that? Did you hear that?" She's starting to notice that we have scrabblng scrambling nighttime visitors. It should not be long before she asks Johnson to reassign her sleeping quarters. It will be easier for me to be mostly invisible if I don't have any particular friends among the staff here, or even people who think they are my friends.
While I was in Northshire, I sold all my things I don't want, and ended up with more than 2 silver worth of copper coins! When I add that to the coins Johnson gives me every week, I think maybe I will be able to get two pairs of shoes. Or maybe one pair of shoes, some ribbon and some lace to trim up one of my dresses. The key to being able to indulge myself is going to be getting someone to take me to Stormwind, so I don't have to spend my entire two-day holiday on the journey, and also don't have to pay for transport.
Things could definitely be going worse than they are. I could be training to be a mage or working for someone unkind or even reduced to taking strangers to my bed for a pittance. Instead, I am warm, well-fed, hardly overworked (even by my standards), and paid enough that I will have some lovely things very soon now.
....
I've been working on a stupid project that Johnson gave me. For some reason, he's decided all the heroes need clean handkerchiefs. Perhaps he watched Menshk blow his nose, or maybe he decided to irritate me, I don't know. I do know I cut out, hemmed and monogrammed hundreds, no thousands, of fine lawn handkerchiefs. Rolled hems and everything.
Then he sent me out to distribute them. What a frustrating activity! First of all, there is an astonishingly large number of heroes who don't know what a handkerchief is. Second, I ran into trouble with the heroes themselves, especially the gnomes.
Johnson says I have to call all the heroes "Sir", "Ma'am", "Lord", "Lady", "Warden", or "High Lord". Some of the heroes object to this in strenuous terms. "Call me Lizzy!" they say, or "I'm not Sir!" Have they never met Johnson? If he catches me calling them "Miss Lizzy" or heaven forbid just plain "Robbyn", I'll be in serious trouble.
How can I be invisible when people are always yelling at me to call them something different? And if Johnson notices me doing it, I'm going to get all kinds of guff from him.
Anyway, I finally finished the handkerchief project, for which I am grateful.
My room is now mine alone! Johnson called me over to him after supper a week ago to tell me that he was sorry that he could not re-assign me, too, but there are no more places for lower servants to sleep. He told me not to let the mice bother me, but now that I sleep alone, I don't put down food, so they never come out anymore. I pretended to be sullen about it, however.
I've never has a whole room to myself before. And a place to hang my dresses where no one will "borrow" them.
I spent my half day this week wandering around Goldshire. There isn't much to do there, but there are a lot of people. Admittedly, most of them seem to be relatively inexperienced adventurers of various kinds. I guess this makes sense when you realize it's walking distance from that stupid big stone building they call Northshire. After all, that place is crawling with trainers and orphans and people who have run away from home to learn some profession or other. Once they are barely able to take care of themselves, they seem to congregate in Goldshire. Like children let out of school for the summer, some of them are a bit rowdy. For a hick town, it's not as boring as you might think.
Still, none of the people I met there seemed like they could be very useful to me. And many of them seemed to be suffering from delusions of various kinds. I met three people who told me that they are "vampires", whatever that is. They seem to think that they drink blood, but I saw them drinking mead. Perhaps it's just a side-effect of drinking too much mead, that you might start thinking you are drinking blood?
I did mange to attract the attention of many of the young men, of course. It's reassuring after dealing with Johnson-the-impervious to know that I still know how to pour it on. There's something that feels very close to power ringing in my blood when I can draw the attention and desire of a man while he thinks it was all his idea, and has convinced himself that I am totally unaware of his so-called-covert interest.
Boswell has been away from the Halls gathering materials for some project, so I haven't seen Pipniff. it's probably just as well. The heroes don't seem to trust Pipniff very much. I continue to believe he will help me, not because he's helpful but because doing so will advance some impish agenda of his own. Still, it's probably better not to deal with him directly any more than necessary. Not least, it will keep heroes from helpfully advising me that Pipniff is bad news. He sure is. Just, at the moment, his target is not Deyla.
Only a week until my 2-day holiday! I'm still trying to figure out how to get to Stormwind. There is a pair of leather shoes for every day and a pair of silken slippers there, both just waiting for me to acquire them.
Good things about my life at the moment: safe, warm, well-fed, my own room, not too much work, people to pass the time with when I get bored, the potential to put Pipniff to use in furthering my own interests (or to benefit while being used by him, whichever), a growing store of coins that I can use to buy myself nice things.
Bad things about my life at the moment: boring work, Johnson, work that mostly is for other people not me, no real future, more work than is ideal.
It could be a whole lot worse.
....
I snuck out of the Halls tonight while I was supposed to be sleeping. Actually, it all started a couple days ago. I couldn't sleep or didn't want to or something, so I pulled on the robe they gave me to wear to the bathing room, and wandered the hallways a bit. I decided to find all the kitchens -- heroes are always hungry so if for some reason I ever needed to find a hero, it would be useful to know where all the kitchens are. When I finally started to get sleepy, and I was making my way back to my attic room, I ran into Johnson.
Of course I did.
Now why Johnson was wandering the Halls in the middle of the night, fully dressed, I will never know. He seemed to take instant umbrage at finding me wandering around (which he would never have known about if he had not been wandering around, too!), so I pretended to be asleep. I don't know whether he believed me or not, but he made it crystal clear he had better not find me wandering around alone at night again. I don't think he would have believed I was only interested in the kitchens, actually. I guess it's just as well I didn't try to find out by, say, telling him the truth.
But yeesh! Does that man have even one strand of humanity in him? I imagine his own journal . . .
Purchased waistcoats today. One of them was a hair longer than the others. Had it altered so that I always look the same.
Bought more hair shellac.
Invented more useless tasks for the servants to do. It amuses me to set them dancing to a tune only I can hear.
Anyway, he thinks I'm some combination of unreliable and stupid, which was my intention, after all. Still, whether he admits it or not, I sew better and faster than any of the other servants, and I do everything I am told to do in the time I am allotted for the tasks. With so many people wanting to go out and have adventures (ick!), I think he is harder up for help than he lets on. After all, he hired me, when I showed up with no references or experience (other than being one of Matron's little slaveys).
Where was I? Oh! Tonight. Couldn't sleep again, or didn't want to. I didn't want to risk running into Johnson so I stood at the little window of my room and looked out into the night. I could see stars and the bulk of the trees, and faint patches on the ground where enough starlight got through the canopy to shine on the forest floor. It would have been beautiful, I suppose, if I were a druid or something. Since I am not, it just seems so empty to me. No real action.
Then I noticed a branch just outside my window, and to make a long story short, I managed to get down the tree, and was reasonably certain I could climb back up. I made my way to Goldshire, pretty sure that something would be happening there. And indeed, something is! A traveling fair is setting up just south of town! Maybe it won't matter if I can't get to Stormwind this month: I can just go and enjoy the fair.
I stood and watched them setting up the grounds, and fell into a conversation with a young soldier. We spoke of nothing in particular, and he stole glances at my body when he thought I was not looking. The usual...
Anyway, he made some reasonably uncrass attempts to get me to come upstairs with him, and since he wasn't as crude as many men, I was kind in wishing him pleasant and solitary dreams. I hadn't noticed but two people were listening to our conversation, and after he left, the fun really began.
First, a woman dressed in Twill but imbued with extreme arcane power approached me. She struck up a conversation, and soon had led the talk around to a band of heroes to which she belongs. In the most subtle way possible, she let me know that all the members of that band are not only women, but women who do not engage with men in any sort of intimate way. She certainly did not describe them as celibate, either, so I suppose I know what to make of this.
She was clearly leading up to asking me to join this group (having somehow mistaken me for a person who wants to be a hero and also wishes to eschew intimate contact with men), when the other listener took great umbrage at her words. He was a man of moderate bulk and loud voice, red-faced and rather abrupt. He seemed to feel that by merely inquiring whether I would be interested in joining her group, my new buddy was insulting me in the most deadly way imaginable.
He immediately offered me the protection of his band of comrades to protect my innocent self from the "perversions of this harlot". Well, that's not my definition of harlot, but whatever. In a very short period of time, both of them lost interest in me, as their conflict escalated until I was certain one of them would punch the other.
It was amusing, in a way. I was the cause of a major conflict in Goldshire, and I did it by pretending to be considerably more naive and unperceptive than I actually am. Sometime later, Twill (having disposed of her opponent in some way I didn't quite follow, not being as advanced a mage as she is -- well, not being a mage at all in any real sense) began another conversation with me. Even after I explained that I had a commitment to Johnson's band of heroes, she was quite kind to me, offering to make me new clothes.
If she were a man, I would probably have accepted. After all, new clothes are new clothes. But in a world that surely looks down on women like her, it seemed beyond even my capabilities to take her offered gifts under such entirely false pretenses. I thanked her kindly, wished her well, and left town to return to the Halls.
It turned out I was wrong. I couldn't climb the tree back up to my window, but then I remembered the large swing doors built into the Beast Wing entrances, for the use of druids when they are animals. I crawled through one and made my way back to my room, this time being careful not to let Johnson find me.
And in a couple of days, there will be a fair to enjoy! It could definitely be a lot worse than this.
....
The last week was fairly exhausting. I worked hard all day and snuck out every night to go the Faire. The Faire is endlessly fascinating and quite odd, too.
It seems to be run by a band of folks cast off from what you would think was their usual path in life. They are taciturn, somewhat stand-offish, and carry an air of recklessness about them. They travel around the world, taking their own little Faire universe with them, and make a living off people giving them money and items in return for a good time. All told, it's a relatively raffish atmosphere, which I am sure is part of its appeal.
And it certainly is appealing. The place was crawling with humans, elves, gnomes, and dwarves, and there were plenty of taurens there, too. I even saw some undead visitors! People were eating and drinking too much (and puking in the bushes to prove it), shooting themselves out of a cannon, buying pretty things for their sweethearts, and playing all kinds of off-color Faire games.
I encountered a number of pleasant young men there. Some lovely women, too, for that matter. I chatted, and flirted, and giggled, and had a grand old time. I did not waste any of my own silver on purchases for myself, and hardly needed to anyway. I bought some fruit for a lost child, but otherwise, I kept my purse closed.
It was a marvelous week, and yet. Somehow, it was like eating too much candy. Darned fun while I was doing it, but ultimately unsatisfying. I spent much of today, while I was sewing, trying to figure out why.
I had fun, no doubt about it. I enjoyed the company of not a few young, attractive people, who were charming to me, and charmed by me. I laughed, I flew through the air out of the cannon, I had my fortune told, I chattered as if I had no cares in the world. And then the faire left town, and my new friends went off to adventure. I have no doubt they will forget me soon. After all, they are already fading from my mind, leaving only the memories behind.
Well, maybe not forget me, but tuck me away as a pleasant memory.
I find I don't really want that. It's not safe enough. Plus, I really did get exhausted, what with the full days of work and full nights of fun. But mostly, it's not safe enough. I've never been safe, you know? I am not an orphan of the recent wars, with memories of a family to sustain me. I was just a foundling, at a time when orphans and foundlings were not terribly common, or at least not as common as they are now. Me, a blanket, 6g "for her upkeep until she comes of age", and a plain silver chain around my neck.
I'm lucky that the priests who found me on the steps of the cathedral kept the chain for me until my 15th birthday. And that they doled out the 6g to Matron over the years. Even in the hardest times, I got to eat meat at least once a day. And I still have the chain, although I never wear it. How could I?
And so I lived 17 years in an orphanage with no idea where I came from or where I might be going. I learned to work, I learned to be self-sufficient, I learned how to use what I have to get closer to having what I want. But I realized today, I've always thought of what I want in terms of what I don't want it to be. I don't want to be a prostitute. I don't want to be a scullery maid or even a lowly seamstress all my life. I don't want adventures or heroism.
So I asked myself, what DO I want?
I want to be safe. And I want to have something that is actually mine.
In the meantime, my belly is full, my work for the day is done, and I have nowhere in particular I want to go. I can sleep the night away and be -- I hope -- less exhausted tomorrow. It could absolutely be worse than this.
....
Johnson is sending me to Stormwind! Oh oh oh, I am so happy that I am almost giddy. It seems he ordered some fabric from a draper there, and they sent the wrong stuff. He sent it back and they sent more wrong stuff. So he wants someone to go return the wrong stuff and get the right stuff. He said this to a group of us working on sewing new tabards for the heroes (explain to me why gold on red wasn't good enough for them, and they had to change it to gold on white? sew sew sew....). I immediately saw the other two girls' faces light up and saw him stiffen, so I kept my face as blank as possible and asked him when the proposed trip was.
"Tomorrow."
I frowned and chewed my lip. "That's my half day. Let Jessie or Ramona go instead. I am meeting someone in Goldshire for tea."
Jessie laughed out loud, and chided me for preferring Goldshire to Stormwind. I just frowned again and kept sewing.
Johnson looked at all three of us in that frozen way he has, and told me, "You can have your half-day the day after tomorrow, Deyla. You shouldn't become too familiar with the rabble in Goldshire. I'm sure you would do better to travel to Stormwind, sort out the errors at the draper, and pay your respects to Matron Winsock."
I rolled my eyes, and pointed out to him that both Jessie and Ramona wanted to go, and would certainly be able to handle the task. He just narrowed his eyes a bit and told me that when he made an assignment, he was not accustomed to being argued with. Well, I imagine not! So I looked sullen and asked if I could run to Goldshire before supper to leave a note for my friend about tomorrow.
He grandly agreed, adding that if I missed supper, I must make do with leftovers.
There is no friend. There is no tea. But there are things in Goldshire I want to get. I saw some lovely ribbons there, in an odd mauve color that I really really like. I want to get a piece of fabric that goes with them to make a new sleeping shift, and I need to have the ribbons with me when I get to Stormwind.
I suppose I really will have to visit Matron. Luckily, she will be satisfied with a short courtesy call, and if I am speedy about the draper business, I should have an hour or two to shop. What with my wages and a few wagers I won at the Faire, I have just over a gold piece to spend, and nothing to spend it on except myself!
Tonight, a little shopping in Goldshire, and tomorrow, Stormwind! I've already convinced the groom who will be driving the dog cart that we should leave early. It was easy: a little shifting around on my feet so my hips rocked back and forth, lowering my eyes, and acting like I cared. Whee! A trip to Stormwind, and gold in my pocket.
It may get better than this, but not all that often.
....
So I went to Stormwind, just like I planned. Smitty had the cart out front just when he said he would, and we had a very pleasant ride into the city. Once I convinced him that he should view me as his little sister who needed to be protected from the big, bad world, we got along fine. When we got to the coaching house where he was leaving the ponies and the cart, he even tossed me a silver coin and told me to put it in my shoe in case of an emergency.
My first order of business was to haul the wrong stuff to the draper's and convince them to send the right stuff to Johnson. The right stuff turns out to be this heavy, dreary greenish grey material that apparently we will be sewing into something Johnson thinks that the heroes or their Halls need. Yawn.
Luckily, that did not take long. I was still in innocent little sister mode, so it was perfect for the stolid woman running the counter. Apparently, she also has a flighty little sister who needs taking care of. Anyway, she sorted out the issue relatively quickly, and then looked at my rather plain white blouse and blue skirt. She wrinkled her nose and then handed me a length of red ribbon, a lovely deep red. She said, "Sew it along the collar and sleeves of the blouse and you won't look so drab". I'm sure she is right, so I thanked her for her kindness. But I won't be sewing it on a dress that serves its purpose of making people think I am younger and more vulnerable than I really am. Instead, it will adorn one of my new nightgowns.
Yes, I am making myself a set of lawn nightgowns. It occurred to me in Goldshire the night before I went to Stormwind. When I was there buying the length of ribbon I planned to put on a new sleeping shift, I overheard a couple of rich girls giggling over materials in the little shop there. They were talking about making items for their trousseaus. I didn't know what that word meant, so when they left the store and I was alone with the proprietor, I turned on the charm and asked him. He told me it's a collection of things young girls make to take with them when they get married. He said that some girls even have special wooden boxes to store these things in, called "Hope Chests".
I like the sound of that: a place to store up things for a hopeful future, so I decided to make myself one of these trousseau things. Someday I might even find a way to have a Hope Chest. It seems that what girls put in Hope Chests are household items and sleeping clothes. I guess that makes sense. Once you are married, not only do you need to hold household, but there is someone who sees you in your nightclothes all the time.
So I spent some of my time on the way to Stormwind deciding how to allocate my funds. I decided to make three lawn sleeping shifts. One will have the deep red ribbon trimming it, one will have a shirred edging of the mauve ribbon I bought in Goldshire, and the third is going to have cutwork. I haven't designed my own cutwork pattern before, although of course I know how to do it once the pattern is designed. I was looking for a pattern to base mine on, when I saw Boswell draw some lovely images on the ground, in purple light, to call Pipniff back from wherever he goes off to. How cool would that be, to make the little gnome's patterns into the basis for my own handiwork? See what Pipniff thinks of me now!
I also bought some soft-but-sturdy cotton to make dish towels, and some tightly woven linen for bed sheets that I will trim with like on like embroidery. See? Household goods and sleeping clothes.
Thinking about a Hope Chest, I did come to the conclusion that for the future to have much hope in it, I shouldn't spend down all my money, so I got myself a little wooden box with a lock on it. Like a tiny Hope Chest, I decided, and I will store my money there. It's a long, flat box, made of some lovely wood, so dark and shiny that it's almost black. And it has silver metal hammered into the wood in a pretty pattern on the top. The hinges and the bracings and the supports are all silver, too. I couldn't afford expensive metal, so I will have to polish the metal to keep it from tarnishing, but I can do that. The key I wear around my neck now on a narrow black ribbon that matches the wood of the box. The box itself is flat enough to fit under my mattress where no one can see it, and still not make the bed uncomfortable.
Once I had my supplies and the box, I made my way back over towards the Cathedral. As I drew nearer to the Orphanage, it felt like my feet were getting heavier and heavier. Still, I knew that Johnson would catch up with me if I did not make this call. I carefully waited until the hour right after the noon meal when Matron likes to lecture the girls who have not worked up to her standards about the wages of slovenliness. I heard many such lectures, you can bet!
I was in luck, too. The doorman did not recognize me, and simply told me that she could not be disturbed. I came prepared and handed him a note to give to her, and beat a hasty retreat. I was so glad to get away without having to see the woman that, well, I wasn't really looking where I was going. I turned a corner and ran into an immovable object. When I looked up, it was a largish man, solid and stolid, and wearing one of the new tabards I had sewn only a week or so ago. My mind raced, but I could not place him, and I concluded that he was not someone I had encountered.
Under the circumstances, I chose not to introduce myself, but stammered some kind of apology. My taking the blame for our collision seemed to embarrass him, as he responded by blushing just a little and then telling me to never mind, neither of us was hurt. I curtsied to him like a random serving maid, and took off at a run. As I left, I thought I heard him mutter something about an "old farmer", which kind of reminded me of Pipniff's mutterings, but I couldn't make any of it out, so I just kept going.
When I finally got to my favorite spot in the Park, I noticed that a lot of people were milling around, and when I made my way to the front of the crowd, I found that the firekeepers were setting up the festival fires. Glory be! I hadn't realized that the year was so far advanced!
Like all festivals, this one had attracted a crowd of people of all sorts, so I got to make a lot of new acquaintances, just hanging around watching them build and prepare to light the fires. I could not stay for the lighting, since I had to make my way back to the coaching house so we could come back to the Hall. Still, I managed to supply myself with festival ale (some of which I gave to Smitty, since his errands hadn't taken him anywhere near the Park or near the free ale tables set up near the fountain) and some lovely dried sausages from Redridge. Oh, how I love these things! They last forever, but when you shave them over a plate of vegetables, the flavors come alive in the mouth like no other flavor I have ever experienced. It almost makes peeling and slicing and boiling all the vegetables worthwhile (and you know how much I hate anything resembling work!) I wrapped them in oilcloth and then in a scrap of felted wool leftover from some project Johnson had me working on, and stored them in the Little Hope Chest with my money. They will be worth more than gold if I ever do have a home of my own.
So here I am, back in my small room at the Hall, with several projects to occupy me, and a Little Hope Chest with 1 whole gold coin and a few silver pieces, too. Another couple years of this, and I might finally be able to buy myself some real safety.
Life could be a whole lot worse, indeed it could.
....
Boy am I glad I have my Little Hope Chest! Not only does it give me a place to store this journal, but its contents are there to tide me over when disaster hit. It seems that the band of heroes has disbanded. Idiots. This is enormously inconvenient for me, and that is once I worked out how to keep it from being a total disaster.
Before I figured out a plan, it was simply a disaster. I didn't have enough money in my Little Hope Chest to make a difference, in the long run, and so I had to go looking for more work. I had a stroke of luck, however.
The day we all packed up and left the Hall, I started on my way to Northshire, on the theory that even if I don't want to be a mage, at least if I were training as one, I would have a place to stay and stuff. Mind you, I didn't intend to stay there one second longer than necessary, but when needs must, then it must.
On my way, I stopped in Goldshire, just to read the board in the inn and see if there were any other interesting options. Why the inn is always full of swaggering junior adventurers, I don't know. Maybe it's that job board, full of stupid errands for brave folks to run. Go get candles from the kobolds. Collect ferns from under the murloc houses. Find my pencils that I left in the pig pen. Weird stuff, but these adventurers seem to eat it up. Eventually, I guess they get bored doing this scutwork for the local alchemists and move on to bigger and (one hopes) more interesting things. Or maybe not. Maybe that's all adventuring is, anyway, just retrieving things people lost in dangerous places, and picking flowers where there are those who might be inclined to argue about the ownership of said flowers.
Anyway, as I left the inn, I ran into one of the nice women who had directed me to the heroes in the first place (but not the one who gave me the pork pie). She remembered me, too. She shook her head at me when she saw me with my bag (it's a much bigger bag than I had when last she saw me, though), and asked me if I had been dismissed. I said, no, not really, just the heroes have disbanded and so they don't need a seamstress anymore.
She was shaking her head in commiseration when I said the word "seamstress". Then her head jerked up a bit and she asked me if I could sew. I said yes, and she asked me if I had any samples with me. Well, I did, since I had all my worldly goods with me, so I showed her the tea towels I had made myself, and then I showed her the partly finished sleeping shift with the Boswell-inspired cutwork on it. She looked at me as if I were a present sent from the Light itself, and practically dragged me into a tea shop and bought me a snack. Well, she called it a snack. I called it breakfast and lunch, and counted myself lucky that the packet of food I brought away from the Hall with me would last a bit longer.
Anyway, she explained that her nephew was going to marry a young woman from a neighboring farm, and they were going to get married in a real hurry. I guess I knew what that meant, but I just nodded politely with a small smile plastered on my face like I was interested in what she was telling me. It seems that in order to make it all seem less, uh, hurried than it's going to be, they want the bride to have a complete trousseau, even though she's only 15 and hasn't had time to make a full one. So to make appearances all right, the women in both families are sewing their fingers to the bone trying to make a whole trousseau in only three weeks. She offered me a deal I couldn't refuse. They would give me a place to sleep (it turns out to be a little cubby hole in the attic of "Granma's House", but it's cozy and private and well-ventilated, so it suits me fine, even if my bed is a pallet on the floor), my meals, and 1/4 of the things I sew for them. They can't afford to pay me money, but they have beautiful materials, left over from some old people who died, who were drapers of some kind.
But it has bought me some time. Even if this can't be stretched out beyond three weeks (and given the state of young Maybell's belly, I don't think it can be), it gives me a safe haven from which to figure out what to do next. I think that the best thing for me to do is to try to find out where the heroes went. Maybe one of them can point me at something stable. But if not, well, there's always Stormwind. I have enough money now to rent a very tiny, very closed in, room in a boarding house, and when I leave here, I will have enough sewing samples that I should be able to secure myself work sewing things. and if worse becomes worst, I will go to Redridge and learn how to make those sausages!
It's not great, but by golly it could be a whole lot worse. I could be learning to be a mage!
....
Mkay, the wedding happened. Five of us spent long days sitting in the parlor of the big house and sewing stuff for that spoiled brat Maybell, while she sat there and whined. Her feet hurt. She is getting FAT. Sewing is boring. Yeh yeh yeh.
No one told you to run off and get pregnant, you twit. You're just lucky that you have family who is willing to put aside their differences and help you out of the mess you landed yourself in.
But it is working out okay for me so far. I have a nice pile of household goods for my own trousseau, neatly folded and packed in my bundle. I can use them as samples now -- and there is some really nice work.
One good thing about Maybell is that she doesn't know jack about quality. Now, I like shiny and pretty as much as anyone, but I do realize that to be useful, things like tea towels and potholders need to be well made. I wanted the best samples of my work for myself, because that will impress people who hire seamstresses more than pretty embellishments (although I snagged some of those, too, of course). I did my best quilting for the potholders, for example, on the plain grey ones. The pretty red and white ones won't protect from the heat as well, but when she got to choose which ones I could keep, of course she palmed off the boring ones on me.
So it was easy to get useful, well-made items for my trousseau-and-sample-collection. Getting her to let me have the pretty stuff was harder, but I overheard her badgering her fiance one night about what colors for this that and the other in the small house they will live in on his father's farm. He was annoyed to be asked such a "girl" question, but he finally allowed as how he likes red and orange. So I made four really pretty wraps. There was a gorgeous sunset-like fabric in the stash of stuff from the dead old people that I used for two of them, with the bottom edge dark reddish blue like the sky right after the sun goes down before the light is all gone. The color brightens as it rises up the wrap towards the neckline, where it is a nice bright yellowy orange. I made them in two very different shapes, and while I would LOVE to have one, I knew she would choose them both. I also made a rich red velvet wrap, which was a cinch for her to choose, too. All three were basic in design and moderate in execution.
The fourth one is a deep green color, in a soft soft wool that I just want to cuddle up to forever. I knew the color would mean I got to keep it, so it miraculously fits me better than it fits her (she never even tried it on, so sure was she that her "Joey" would like the other ones better -- little does she know that the cut of the green wrap is such that no normal man would be able to tear his eyes away from any woman who was wearing it -- I really am good at stuff like that). And the stitches are so tiny that they are nearly invisible. I put a bunch of old lace on the collar and sleeves, too, so it's really beautiful. Her mother tried to convince her to choose it instead of the second sunset one, but she balked because of his favorite colors.
Anyway, we finished the sewing in time for the wedding, and they asked me to stay and help out with that event, so I did. I was planning to leave the next morning, when something wonderful happened. Well, wonderful for me anyway.
Granma Stonefield, whose attic I've been sleeping in, drank a bit too much apple cider at the wedding and fell down and bruised her hip. It's not broken or anything, but it hurts a lot and she can't really take care of herself until it heals. The priest who came to visit said it can't be healed with the Light because it's just an ache and pain (can that be right? from the way the priests at the Cathedral act, you would think that they could fix anything...), and it will take about six more weeks to fix up. Miss Bernice told me if I would stay on and keep Granma's cottage clean and cook her some simple meals until she's feeling better, they would continue to feed and house me. If I wanted to, I could even use more of the dead people's stash of cloth to make myself some winter clothes.
So I have an pretty good deal right now. I get along okay with Granma, even though she seems to like that airhead Maybell. She told me what she likes to eat, so I cook that. Every morning, I help her out of bed to a big cozy chair in the parlor, and set her up with a book and some knitting. (She's making baby clothes, of course.) Then I cook a couple meals, clean a couple things (while Granma provides a running commentary on how I do it, but I just grin at her and keep her little cottage spotless for her), and sit with her and sew. She tells me stories of the old days, when she lived in the big house with Granpa. She tells me what a looker she was when she was girl. Hard to imagine her any way other than old and mildly cantankerous, but the stories pass the time while we do our work.
Every couple days, Joe carries her over to the big house for supper and I am free to run to town and see what's what. Maybell spends a lot of time over here whining about her feet, her belly, and how dreary the work of a wife is. She should try being a homeless orphan if she doesn't like her life, is what I say. Even Granma, who dotes on her, finally told her to settle down and make some stuff for the baby. So she is hemming diapers. Right about her skill level, too, I think.
I'm sewing several new dresses, a jacket, and a warm cloak. I also decided to make myself some clothes to wear when doing really nasty cleaning jobs, in case I ever get stuck doing that again. I made a shirt and some canvas overalls. They will get in the way of cleaning a lot less than a skirt, and the canvas is very sturdy. When I tried them on for the final fitting, Joe saw them and his eyes got very big. I think I did manage to make them cradle my bottom just right, then. He's still besotted with Maybell, but she better watch out. That boy has a wandering eye and if she becomes too tiresome, I imagine he will wander right on out.
In the evenings, when the light in the parlor is bad, I knit socks and other things for myself. Depending on how long this all takes, I might need two bundles to carry my belongings with me when I go.
Once my current stack of clothes is made, I'm going to make tea towels, well-made and with pretty lace trimming. I will keep some and sell some, so that my stash of coins starts to grow again. Still, all this new stuff without having had to spend much money on the materials is a Light-sent blessing.
Granma was telling me about her travels when she was younger and she used to go to various trade places to buy and sell stuff from the farm. One place she went was a tiny little town that is now apparently more of a military outpost. Granma says that there is an amazing tailor there who might be able to teach me some new sewing tricks. I'd like to see that. Maybe I will get Boswell and Pipniff to help me get to Thera-more, if I ever see them again.
It surprises me how much I miss the heroes. I even kind of miss Johnson. He was so predictable and so easy to rile, and it was so fun to do it, considering how much he valued his dignity and unflappable demeanor. I knew I would miss Boswell and his imp, of course, but I also miss the general feeling of the place, full of energy and life. While I have no interest in adventuring myself, I do like the company of those who travel out in the world and try to fix it. Goodness knows the world can use a lot of fixing!
And for whatever reason, I miss the gnomes and their incessant "call me Lizzie!" and giggling. I miss that shy young soldier who blushed whenever he saw another person. I miss the elves and their unstudied arrogance and self-assurance. I even miss the dwarves.
And I miss having a room that is all my own, with a door to shut out the world. But even without a door, I have a warm place to sleep and reasonable work to fill my days, and I'm not having to spend coin to get food.
I hope for better from the future, but I'm not complaining about this, at all.
....
Granma's hip is almost better, but good news continues. It turns out that she likes being waited on, and Big Joe (her son who lives in the big house with his family, except for Granma in her cottage, and Joey and Maybell in theirs) thinks that it's better that she not live alone. So they asked me to stay on for awhile.
I wish they had a bit more money, because they can't really afford to pay me, actually. So we came to an agreement: they will turn the attic into a real bedroom for me, and give me room and board and generous time off. In addition, I can keep making clothes and other items using all that old cloth. Finally, Big Joe and his youngest son Jamie (who is very good at this sort of thing) will make me an actual Hope Chest. Big Joe says that when the harvest is all in, he pays bonuses to all his hands, and if there is one this year, I will get it, too, even though I mostly don't get paid in cash. We also agreed that I can sell things I make with their materials from the dead people if I want, and I don't have to share the money with them.
So basically, this is a little less work than the heroes gig, although it doesn't pay as well. On the other hand, a bunch of the "work" is sitting with Granma and listening to her stories, cheering her up when she's down, and stuff like that. I can sew while I do that, and this time, the sewing is mostly for me. I repair stuff around her place that is getting worn, too, because her eyes are not what they use to be, so she mostly likes to knit and crochet and make lace, because she can feel with her fingers how that is going.
Granma makes lovely lace, both the pin kind and the bobbin kind. She says she will teach me to do it, and that sounds useful. Lace is cheap to make and expensive to sell, so it could be profitable for me.
She mostly enjoys ordering me around, and telling me how I do things wrong. Of course, I can clean just about anything, and I'm smart enough not to let things get too dirty. It's a small cottage, she's naturally a neat person, and there's no heroes tramping in mud. The work part is easy, and despite her hectoring me while I am cleaning stuff, she seems happy enough with my work. I like her fine.
In fact, it would be about perfect if it weren't for that twit Maybell. She isn't even a blood relative, but Granma dotes on her. So she spends just about all her time over here, whining. I think in four weeks, she has managed to hem about 5 or 6 diapers, and the hemming is just ugly. I could do better than that when I was 8 years old. Perhaps there was some advantage to being hit by Matron when I did a bad job, after all.
The worst part is when Granma decides that since "poor Maybell" is in a family way, she can't be expected to cook for her own husband. The girl is only about five months gone! What it will be like when she's actually close to term, I can't imagine. However, it's clearly in my best interest for Granma to keep liking me, so I am pleasant to Maybell, and I cook meals for the two of them. So far, I have managed not to be forced to do it in her kitchen. I just make extra of what we are eating and wrap it up for her to take home. I'm pretty sure she pretends to Joey that she cooked it herself, but whatever. Sometimes she shows up with fish or something that he caught and I make it into enough food for four people. There is no way I am cooking extra meals for that little brat and her husband.
The vegetables are plentiful and good, there is unlimited cheese and milk, and every day, the big house sends us some meat or fowl to cook, too. Granma has a starter she says she got from her grandmother when she got married, and I use that to make bread. I make thick chewy brown bread for every day and fluffy white loaves for when she goes to dinner with Big Joe and his family. Some of the white dough I make into dinner rolls that she can take with her so she doesn't feel like she is coming empty-handed, and the rest I used for loaves to make sandwiches with during the week.
Me, I like heavy sandwiches: thick slices of sausage on brown bread with mustard and bitter lettuce. Granma likes thinly sliced tomatoes with sweet lettuce, butter, and either a little chicken breast or some cold fried bacon, on thin white bread. We both love white bread with fresh cheese and herbs grilled until the cheese is all melted and runny. And I love making bread. It takes time, and when you are making it for only two people, it's not an onerous job. First, the magic of kneading it until it is silky smooth. Then the miracle of seeing it rise, first in the bowl and then on the baking sheet. Finally, it fills the whole cottage with a wonderful smell, and makes it feel like home, even to me, who has never really had a home. Hot from the oven, it tastes wonderful. We slather it with fresh butter and honey, and wolf it down.
One thing Granma doesn't have much of is canned stores. They said I could look at the root cellar at the big house and take what we will need for the winter months, but there is not much variety there. As the various vegetables and fruits hit their prime, I am canning up a storm. That root cellar was FULL of jars and rings and lids, and Granma does have a canning kettle so I am good to go. So far, I have stewed fruits of various kinds, and late summer berry jams. I made some pickles so that my heavy sandwiches can taste even better, and I'm canning up a storm with beans, late corn, and tomatoes.
I'm getting tired of working with the tomatoes. I've made stewed tomatoes, tomato sauce, thick paste, and even dried a bunch out in the sun under cheesecloth. We'll have lots of good stews and stuff, but not until I get done being tired of tomatoes!
Really the only thing we don't have yet is stewed apples and that has to wait until they are ripe. You know, at the orphanage, we bought cheap produce, often that had be damaged in transit and canned it all up for feeding 100 hungry children and their keepers. It was brutal. I now see that on a more reasonable scale, there is great pleasure to be had from this kind of work. True, it's hot and miserable in the canning stage, but the rows and rows of jars with their many different jewel-like colors make me happy. I put a row of them in the kitchen window near the herb box, and the sun shines through them, and it's pretty, and I feel satisfied with my work.
Cooking is kind of like sewing: the better the materials and the more careful you are with what you do, the better the outcome. And as the jars of food accumulate, and the piles of Hope Chest items grow higher, too, I feel a sense of accomplishment that has something to do with the fact that this work is for me (and Granma), not for other people. Work like that is kind of satisfying in a different way that work someone just bosses you around into doing.
The bedroom alterations are almost done. I have a small room in the attic now, not just a cubby hole. It has an old iron bed, a small table and a wooden chair in it, as well as a rail to hang my clothes on. While they were doing the work, I cleaned up the table and begged a bit of paint from Jamie. I painted it a dark green. The chair was already a nice cheerful yellow. I am using some of Granma's old sheets, even though I have a nice new set I made. Those are for my Hope Chest, and while it's nice to have a place to stay, this is not what I'm hoping for, so they stay unused for now. There is also a small mirror, a little window that looks out away from the farm down towards the river, and a DOOR. The door doesn't exactly lock, but it does have a bar on the inside, so that I can lock myself in there. And best of all, there is a place for the Hope Chest.
The Hope Chest will be very simple, but that's okay. I showed Jamie my Little Hope Chest (after I took out the money and the journal -- he thinks I just store dried sausage in it), and he said he had some wood just like that. He can't do the silver chasing on it, but he told me where to get a silver lock for it. He said he can make it so it looks like it belongs with the little one, even if they don't match. And he's building in a special place to hold the little chest inside the big one. He told me to use that little one to store my money, and I told him that was a good idea, if I ever got any.
So I went to the shop he told me about and bought a silver lock that looks almost exactly like the one on the Little Hope Chest. I now have two keys to wear around my neck. I was threading the new onto the ribbon that held the one for the Little Hope Chest, when I remembered my silver chain. I rummaged in my bundle and found the thing.
I've never worn it. I don't know what to feel about it. On one hand, it's the only thing I have from the people I came from. The gold for my upkeep is long gone, and Matron would not hand over the note that came with me, so this is it. On the other hand, the people I cam from did not want me. So I've always thought I did not want them, either. So I never even tried on the chain.
But the keys sort of match the metal of the chain, and it's long enough that the keys themselves will lie down between my breasts. No one will see the keys, but they might see the slight sparkle of the chain. That would draw the eye, and that is always a good thing.
So I carefully threaded the chain through the holes in the keys and drew it down over my head. The metal of the chain is not cheap, and it tingles. When it first lay against my skin, I could feel it, like it had a spark in it or something. Later, when that died down, I was sure I had imagined it, so I took it off, put it on the table, and five minutes later put it on again. And again, there was the unmistakable feeling, just like a spark. When I hold it in my hands, it doesn't do that, which is why no one noticed it before, I guess. But when I put it around my neck, it tingles against my skin like it's settling in or something.
So there we are. In a week or so, I will have a Hope Chest for storing my dreams in. Meanwhile, my wardrobe continues to expand. It's not a long-term solution for me, but it will do while I figure out what is a long-term solution. I have a couple ideas, so some of my sewing just now is to help me with those ideas.
I'm still mad at the heroes for disbanding, but maybe this isn't all that bad.
....
Except for Maybell and her stupid husband, everything is fine. I'm so mad at Joey, though. I'm not sure what he said to her, but she's decided to be totally jealous of me. Whenever we are alone together, she hisses at me like an outraged kitten and tells me to leave her "man" alone. Hello? He's a moron and a lug. Why would I want him?
For fel's sake, the guy knocked up Maybell. Proof positive that he's a moron. He also has no ambition, not even to make a decent life for himself and his family. Granma was telling me they practically had to force him to move into the cottage when he got married, because he couldn't see why a married couple with a baby on the way might want their own place. His concern? "What if Maybell can't cook as good as Aunt Bernice?" Doofus. Should have thought of that before you did the dirty with her.
I suspect Maybell *can't* cook very well, since he is now apparently complaining that her cooking is "sometimes good and sometimes bad". But the worst part about Joey is his lack of genuine interest in his own wife. He eyes all the serving women around the place, and when I see him in town, he's gazing at the girls on the street, too. I mean, he does seem infatuated with Maybell. If she walks by when he's eyeing someone else, his eyes go to her and he gets this goofy look on his face. But if she's not in the vicinity, it's like he forgets she even exists.
So I think he was caught by a pretty face and an accommodating body and never bothered to think about the person underneath. I don't like Maybell much myself. I think she's a whiny, lazy, spoiled rotten little brat, but she doesn't deserve what she got. And he doesn't deserve what he got, either, I suppose. They can't see one another clearly, and while the honeymoon lasts, I suppose they will have fun together. How much fun they will have when there is a baby to care for and no one to talk to but each other, I'm guessing not much.
The thing Maybell doesn't understand is that even if I *did* want Joey, I don't want him in his current state. He belongs to someone else, all tied up nice and legal. If I went after him, even if I got him, I could never have that. He would not be mine in any real sense, and that would make me just a plaything.
I can be a man's plaything anytime I want, and to men who have a lot more to offer than Joey Stonefield. Her fantasy is safe from me. I won't poach.
Besides, I don't think Joey knows how to play the game. Like I said, he's a moron. He wouldn't know how to flirt with danger and not get sucked in. He wouldn't know when to stop or how to read the signs that I was stopping. It would be a big ugly mess, and not just a lot of fun. There are plenty of boys and girls who hang out in Goldshire, and many of them *do* know how to play the game. They know how to make a girl feel special and how to have a good time without endangering anyone's heart or future. And they know how to give value for value received.
So I spend my free time up there, with them. And doing so has given me an idea.
There are plenty of girls in Goldshire who clearly want more than just some fun and games with the adventurers who are passing through. They offer more than I do, and they give free samples, usually. But I can pull a man (or the right kind of woman) off one of them in a split second.
The problem they all have is that they are way too obvious, and they can't compete with subtlety. One time I was up there watching a couple of them hold court at a table in the inn. And it irritated me for some reason. So I went to the ladies' retiring room and rearranged my hair and clothes just a bit. I still looked entirely respectable. I can't risk word of any outrageous behavior getting back to the Stonefields, after all, but more importantly, subtle just works better. A flash of cleavage when it looks like I am not showing any. Bending over just right. Thinking of ice and tightening up my nipples when I am talking to someone. All these things draw attention in a way that obviousness can't beat. Five minutes it took, after I wandered up to the table and asked if anyone knew where I could buy milled oats in town (you can't buy them there, and I knew it). They were all soft butter in the palm of my hand, and the obvious girls were left wondering what happened. So I tossed them their audience back, thanked everyone for trying to help me and wandered off.
Went back to the ladies' retiring room to put myself back into a less seductive state, and ran into someone pretty amazing. It was an older woman who had me beat on all suits. More respectable looking than I could ever be, and then in the flash of an eye, she turned herself into a living breathing magnet of desire. I could feel it welling up in me, and I had to fight to keep from falling into her hand like a ripe plum falling off the tree. She didn't even have to rearrange her clothes or her hair.
I stood there and stared at her, breathing heavily, and considering breaking all my rules, and she stopped. Then she grinned at me, and said, "You could learn to do that, you know." I must have gaped at her.
"I saw what you did. Rough around the edges and unpracticed, I think, but the talent is there. You could easily become the highest priced courtesan in all of Stormwind if you wanted to."
I swallowed hard. "Thank you, but I don't want to."
"No," she said, "I didn't think you did." Then she looked thoughtful. "You might change your mind. If you do, come to Stormwind." She handed me a card, and to my shame, I have never gotten rid of it. Just an address is written on it, in purple ink.
But the other day I was putting some of my recent projects into my Hope Chest, and I found the card. I turned it over in my hands and thought about that woman. If she is, or is associated with, the highest priced courtesan in Stormwind, then she knows someone who needs clothes of a very special kind. A kind I am very good at making. And someone who is probably willing to pay a very high price for that kind of clothes.
I can make dresses that the most uptight spinster would look at and think are respectable, but which are nothing of the sort. They allow the wearer to offer controlled glimpses of flesh, they reveal the shape under the fabric while pretending not to. They seduce while claiming to be all about modesty. And while low rent street girls don't need that kind of stuff, high end courtesans do.
I may have to pay the owner of that card a visit the next time I am in Stormwind after all.
I went up to the big house today to take them some of my preserves. It surprises me that they have so much less variety in their cellar than we have in our stores, but it's only fair to share what we can spare, since I'm using their produce to make it all. Miss Bernice had me put it down in the cellar and when I was rummaging around down there, the weirdest thing happened.
I had just put my pickles on the shelf, and had turned around to pick up the tomato sauce when my necklace shocked me. I was so startled that I almost dropped the jar. By the time I managed to get the jar under control, the feeling was gone and I could not make it happen again. Which is probably just as well.
All in all, things are fine. Once that baby comes, I suppose Maybell will be out of my hair, and that can only be a change for the better. Whiny and petulant was bad enough. Whiny, petulant, and jealous is worse.
Luckily, Granma is not an idiot. She told me not to take "Maybell's crotchets" seriously, that women having their first baby often act like that. Yeh, whatever. I personally think what I see is what there is, when it comes to Maybell, But at least I don't have to worry that Granma thinks I want Joey.
For the time being, warm and cozy in my attic room, with my Hope Chest slowly filling up, and a nice collection of things I can sell at the fall bazaar in Goldshire, things are looking up. I'm content to be where I am for the moment.
But I do miss Boswell. And his imp.
....
So the baby came early. Nearly 6 weeks early Maybell says, but I don't think so. The orphanage had a place where "wayward girls" sometimes came, and they left their babies behind to be raised in the orphanage when they went away. I've seen a reasonable number of babies in my life, and that baby was not 6 weeks early. No way, no how.
My theory, for what it's worth, is that Maybell lied about when she got pregnant, for some reason I don't know. Perhaps because Joey is not the father and she had to lie about the timing in order to get married. Perhaps because she didn't come clean with her parents when she first had to tell them, and she lied (she does it so easily), and then never found a way to reverse the lie. Whatever else, Joey doesn't seem upset by the early birth. He's walking about with a swagger that could knock over a whole city if he got close enough, he's so proud of himself and his virility.
Personally, whatever else I think of Maybell, I think that Joey is not the one who did all the work here, she is, and it would be nice to see him actually giving her credit for it. Not him, though. He's wandering around the farm, talking to the hands, and to all the visitors they are getting, about "my boy". Since his father is called Big Joe, and he's called Joey, they're already calling this one Little Joe. I hope he grows up to be the tallest and biggest of them all.
Granma is now watching Maybell a lot less dotingly, though. She narrows her eyes at her sometimes when she talks, she has her bring the baby over for an hour or so a day, and then she shoos them away. "Don't you have work to do?" she asks the new mother.
Me, I am keeping my head down, cooking, cleaning, and sewing like always.
The trip to Stormwind happened, and I did make my way to the address on the card. When I was standing on the porch, ready to knock on the door, my necklace started tingling really a lot. I've kind of gotten used to it doing that, but this was a lot more than usual. I thought about it more, and decided that I did indeed want to knock on the door, but the necklace got more annoying and painful, so I tried to take it off. I could not.
I know, that sounds bizarre, and so it was. First I went to lift it over my head and my hands stayed down by my sides. Then I forced my hands up to touch it, and when I tried to lift it, it was too heavy to remove.
So I was a bit freaked out, as you can imagine. Clearly, the tingling I had been feeling from time to time was not a figment of my imagination, which I had hoped it might be. While I was standing there, trying to decide what to do next, the door opened and that same woman came out of the house. She looked at me, and clearly recognized me. She seemed a little surprised to see me, and asked me if I wanted to come in and have some tea with her. I said I would rather she were my guest at a sandwich shop down the street, and she agreed.
So we left her porch, and the necklace calmed down, for which I was grateful. As we ate our sandwiches, I explained about my sewing, and she asked if I had any samples. I said I did, and she said, "Well, I need to see them on you. You really are going to have to come back to my house with me, you know."
I sighed and said I did know, and so off we went. The necklace by this time seemed a little more subdued, although I could still feel it against my skin. I knew I had to decide whether to trust her or not, because from the Goldshire time, I knew she could control me with my desire if she wanted, and I didn't think I could control her with hers. Still, I really wanted the money that I could make if this worked out, so I followed her back down the street.
We were almost to her house when the necklace poked me and I yelped. She was startled and turned around, and I was so shocked, I had my hand on the chain. Her eyes narrowed, and then before I could be sure I really saw the flash of fear in her eyes, her face took on a pleasant expression again.
She said, "Perhaps this will be more comfortable all the way around, if we find a different, private place for our conversation."
I sighed and said I thought that would work better. She thought for a moment, and then suggested I choose one. So I led her through some alleys and side streets until we came to the draper shop that Johnson sent me to last summer. I asked the lady to wait outside for a moment, and then I went in, best little sister demeanor cloaked around me. I was in luck. The woman who gave me the ribbon was behind the counter, and the shop was not too busy, so she had a few minutes to talk with me.
I thanked her for the ribbon that she gave me for my other dress, chattered a bit about the sewing I was doing to try to get a nest egg, and then told her I needed a place to show some samples to a potential customer, and did she have a private parlor I could rent from her for an hour or so. She said she thought she could help me, and so I beckoned in the other woman.
The proprietor looked hard at me when she saw who my companion was and I said in a whisper, "I only want to sell her dresses!" and she relaxed a bit, but she told the other woman behind the counter that she was taking a break and to watch the shop while she was gone. The other woman looked surprised, like my new big sister is not in the habit of taking breaks during the work day, which I believe.
Anyway, she led us to a neat, clean room up a flight of stairs, over the shop, furnished with simple, heavy chairs and a sofa, and a fire all laid in the fireplace. She quickly lit the fire, and then sat down in a chair in the corner and picked up her knitting.
"Go ahead, then," she said. "You can have all the privacy the two of you desire for doing business over samples of clothing."
Well, this was sort of complicated for me, but I'd come this far, I wasn't going to stop now, so I stripped down to my shift and then put on my first sample. It's the green wrap I made for my Hope Chest, the one that I tricked Maybell into not choosing for her trousseau. I could see that my prospective customer completely understood what I was trying to do with the design, and that she approved. She had me turn around and stand in several different positions, and all the while the draper watched us carefully.
I learned a great deal about subtlety that day, and I had thought I knew a lot already. But we managed to discuss the actual purpose of the clothes and the designs without being so blatant about it that the draper became alarmed. I modeled three other dresses, all with the same design sensibility, in a variety of fabrics, and she was impressed with my work.
She then asked me if I could work with silks without harming the fabrics, so I showed her a silk nightgown I had made for my trousseau. I told her, loud enough for the draper to hear, that I would not model it, since it was for my Hope Chest, but she was welcome to examine the workmanship, which she did, with an eagle eye.
At last, she looked up, and said, "You are hired. Write your name and address here." She pointed at a blank card, like the one I had in my pocket, and I complied. "I will send you fabric, general descriptions, and measurements. You will return finished garments. If they are acceptable, I will send you payment. If not, I will send a letter explaining why not, sell them to a local shop and send you any money left over after I recoup the cost of the materials."
I smiled a little tentatively at her, and noticed that my necklace was entirely calm at this point. She thanked me, thanked the draper, and left us.
I tried to pay the draper for the use of her room and for her time, but she was having none of it. "I'm glad to see you only wanted to sell her clothes in truth, Deyla," she told me. "She's a dangerous woman, and don't you forget it."
"No," I said, truthfully, "I won't."
I thanked her for her help, hugged her quickly and ran back to the market where Big Joe asked me to meet him. As I left, I saw her looking at me, much as one would look at a wayward younger sister of whom one is not sure one entirely approves, but can't help liking anyway.
A week later, a bundle was delivered to me at the farm, containing two lengths of silk, matching thread, and a page of closely written instructions. One is a deep midnight blue shot with just barely lighter blue, that will glow beautifully in the candlelight. The other is a clear yellow. For the first, there is no trim provided but for the second, there is a gorgeous ivory lace, yards and yards of it. The dresses will be beautiful beyond anything I have ever seen before, and certainly beyond anything I have sewn. How I would love to own such things!
I wish I knew why my necklace was so unsettled at the porch of my customer, or why it is now so quiescent. I wish I could take it off and forget about it, but it continues to refuse to allow me to remove it.
I feel more confused than I like to own, but I am settled here for the winter, with pleasant work to do and reasonable company. Things are fine. Aren't they?
....
I finished the first dress. The blue silk slipped through my fingers as I folded the dress carefully, wrapping it in clean cheesecloth to protect it during its travels. Where the light touched the midnight blue fabric, it glowed, shot with lighter threads that were only visible at the proper angle. I knew it would look astonishing in a room lit by a hundred candles, or by lanterns.
After I folded it carefully, I packed it with great care, and wrote out that address. Despite the War and the general feeling of unsettledness since it ended, the mail system works beautifully, perhaps a holdover from the days Before, when things were not so uncertain. I placed the package in the hands of the mail courier myself, and grinned at him. He grinned back and tipped his hat to me.
And then I waited. For days, which seemed to me to pass so slowly as if time were actually standing still. I hesitated to start sewing the second dress until I received a response to the first. If there were errors, I wanted to know about them before I had the chance to make the same mistake twice. So I left the yellow silk and the ivory lace alone and worked on finishing the cutwork sleeping shift for my Hope Chest, and then I made myself five pairs of soft fluffy bed socks, in white lambs-wool, tied with brightly colored ribbons. I sat at Granma's knee and had my first lesson in making bobbin lace, and learned that my hands are capable of being quite clumsy when I try something new.
We laughed and I tried again. As I painstakingly made my first piece of lace, hours of work for only 6 inches of basic lace, she told me more stories of the world as it was in her youth, and I wondered, not for the first time, what it is like to be old, to live in a world you did not expect. I cooked meals for us, kept the cottage clean, and carefully pieced together about half my quilt top. And then a letter arrived. It was written on heavy vellum, in Her signature purple ink. And it was short and to the point.
"Lovely. Carry on. And do come have tea with us the next time you are in Stormwind."
I turned the letter over in my hands, before I realized where the payment must be. On the back of the envelope was a heavy seal pressed into dark violet wax, in the shape of a sprite darter, and burnished with golden dust. I carefully removed it from the heavy parchment envelope, and turned it over. On the underside of the wax, I found two gold coins.
Two. Gold. Coins. I sat there with the coins in the palm of my hand, while my necklace twitched where it lay on my skin. I looked at the coins, and knew they were worth more than the whole store of coins in the Little Hope Chest upstairs.
I was pleased, even relieved, to learn that my work was as good as I had promised her it would be. I leaned back in my chair for a moment and felt the shakiness in my legs and knew then, though I had not known it before, that I had been terrified of not meeting her standards. Three or four more dresses and I would be able to move to Stormwind and rent a sunny, safe set of rooms, with a kitchen, a sitting room, and a separate bedchamber. I might even be able to afford one with one of those new-fangled gnomish automatic chamber pots. And I would have enough money to stay there for three or four years, while I sorted out an actual future for myself.
At the thought, the necklace stopped with the twitching and actually stung me. How I have come to fear my necklace! It isn't any good at communicating anything directly, but it is very good at startling me, hurting me, and communicating its sense of not-all-right-ness. Often, I have no idea what it is objecting to, only that it is interested in what I am doing and thinking, or that it does indeed object quite strenuously.
There is a man in Goldshire who comes from somewhere in the desert. He is human, but not like those of us from around here. He is smaller, browner of skin, slanted of eye, and has straight heavy black hair that he wears tied back from his face, but which still falls below his knees. His eyes are so dark that they are nearly black. It is only in the fullest sunlight that one can see the hint of brown in them.
This man speaks with an accent that I suppose is from the desert, too. He has the scent of cooked spices clinging to him. I first met him at the peddler's table, both of us buying spices. Unlike me, he seemed to know just what he wanted, and he and the vendor babbled at each other in some language I could not understand.
He is famous among the townspeople for being able to cure headaches, when potions and even the ministrations of the priests of the Light cannot reach the ache. He says such a person has acquired a bad wind, and that the bad wind must be removed from the body before the headache will retreat. He rubs the face of the victim in a way that looks to me as if it must hurt worse than the headache, and then he pulls the bad wind out, from the spot between the eyebrows of the sufferer. A red spot appears there, varying in size and shape, depending, the man says, on the amount of bad wind that had to be removed. The mark fades within the day, and I know of no one whose headache has ever failed to be cured by this treatment, nor who had the headache return for many many months.
He cannot explain what a bad wind is, or how he knows who has it. Some people go to him with headaches and he shakes his head at them sadly, saying, "No, no, you have no bad wind!" But somehow he knows when you do have a bad wind, and if it is there, he can remove it.
My necklace reminds me of that. It can sense something, although since it can't speak, it cannot tell me even something so obscure as "you have a bad wind, Deyla". But it lets me know when something is wrong.
Once I was about to step into the barn on a sunny fall day, but the necklace started acting up, shocking me harder and harder as I got closer to the barn. So I gave up and went back to the cottage. Later, I learned that one of the farmhands had discovered a nest of vipers in the barn, and had been badly bitten by them when he stepped in through the side door -- the exact door I had meant to use! Well, he's recovered now, but it was unpleasant for him to be so ill, and for awhile they thought he might lose his foot, or at least the use of it. When I found out, I could feel the necklace preening itself, lazing against my skin in such a self-satisfied way.
I just wish it could talk.
Maybell and Joey have settled into some kind of routine. She seems dimmed somehow, as if motherhood and marriage are not quite what she expected them to be. And he isn't the least bit different than the first time I met him. I wonder if it's always the woman who gets diminished by a poor marriage?
And then I remind myself that she is a spoiled rotten little brat who could stand to do some growing up. Granma said to me the other day "Fifteen is not an ideal bride for 28, but they made their bed. I hope they learn to lie in it with some grace." I just nodded, thinking that the problem with Maybell is not that she is 15, but that she is self-centered and lazy.
I'm not a huge fan of Joey's, but if I had married him, you can bet I would make something better out of it than what she is making out of her marriage. After all, she had other good choices. She has a family who love her, and she had a place with them, which she gave up to marry Joey. She has some kind of obligation to make of it something at least as worthwhile as what she gave up.
And I would not have married him, anyway. It is neither a great romance nor a working partnership, and if a marriage can't be at least one of those things, what is it worth? Not much. You can't really forge a partnership with a man as vapid and foolish as Joey, I suppose. Value for value, I always say. And I don't take risks with men of Joey's stamp, no matter how attractive they might be, because I don't want to be faced with unpalatable choices.
There are girls in town who are "saving themselves for marriage", as a commodity to bargain with. I am saving myself for myself. If I ever decide to marry, I will give good value, and demand good value. In the meantime, there is plenty of fun to be had.
And my little store of coins grows now, seemingly by leaps and bounds. Sometimes I wonder how I got here, and then I laugh at myself for trying to understand fate. I simply do the best I can with what I have in any given moment, and hope it all turns out for the best.
Right now, I am midway through making the second silk dress. The dress itself is all sewn together, and I am now applying the lace as an overlay on the bodice, as deep ruffs along the bottom of the skirt, and forming the sleeves wholly out of falls of lace. I cannot imagine a life where I could wear such a dress, and I wonder if I am making a mistake in not letting Her teach me what she knows.
I just don't think that would be a very safe road to travel. So I dance on the tightrope of my own making, sewing dresses for Her, and hoping not to get trapped by it.
At this very moment, though, the sky is closing in. We'll have snow before morning, and when we do, I will be doubly grateful for the warmth of my little room, the protection of Big Joe and his family, and the grace of fortune that brought me here for the winter.
It could decidedly be worse. After all, I could be Maybell.
....
Granma decided to have her family over for breakfast one weekend day after the harvest was in. We spent all week getting ready. I made any number of things in advance, but the main attraction was to be a sticky gooey tea cake and a fry up, both of which had to be cooked on the morning.
The night before, I made a flaky pastry dough and put it to rest overnight. First thing in the morning, I rolled it out flat and cut it into triangles. I brushed each with melted butter and then sprinkled caster sugar, some of my cinnamon, some chopped nuts and some dried chopped apricots on each one. I rolled them up and made a pinwheel pattern in a cake pan that was already lined with melted butter, more caster sugar and a shot of brandy. While I did the fry up, I baked it, then turned it out upside down on a plate. The butter and sugar on the bottom had become a thick caramel, and the flaky, rich pastry stood up well to the strong flavors of the filling.
Meanwhile, I was frying rashers of bacon, scrambling eggs with herbs and mushrooms, and making Granma's Surprise. I don't know why it's called that, because it's just fried potatoes, onions, and apples, with a lot of black pepper. You fry them in some of the fat from the bacon rashers.
We also had cherry buns, bran muffins, plates of ham sandwiches on dark bread, slices of sweet fall melons, and pickles and chutneys to go with the eggs. Miss Bernice brought a tray of cheeses, too. Jamie and Joey helped me set up a long table out front of the cottage the day before, and all the family and help sat there and ate food nearly as fast as I could make it. Granma tried to get Maybell to help me out, but she wasn't having any of it. So then Granma tried to help me out herself, and I wasn't having any of that. She was having such a good time sitting at the head of the table, I couldn't bear to drag her away from it.
It was a lot more like cooking in the orphanage, but the food was a lot better. It was also more satisfying, because you could tell Granma was pleased to be able to host this party. Apparently she'd done it for years but had to give it up a few years back, because she couldn't do all the cooking and wouldn't accept help from the Big House. It was actually kind of nice to do something that made her so happy, because she has been very good to me.
Still and all, the cooking (and later, the cleaning up) reminded me why I don't want to do that kind of heavy work all the time.
At the end of the meal, Big Joe stood up (he was at the opposite end of the table from Granma) and said that the harvest had been very plentiful and profitable, even with Liam having needed so much care and medicine for the viper nest thing, and he handed an envelope to each hand, and one to me, too! There were jars of store bought special foods for all the kitchens on the place, and for Granma's kitchen a new mortar and pestle. Miss Bernice got a new salt cellar and bag of special salt form somewhere in Kalimdor. And then he had one of the stable boys pass out mugs of the newly pressed cider. It's not aged yet, so rather sharp tasting, but boy howdy! It packed a real punch!
Soon, people had musical instruments out and there was dancing on the lawn in front of our cottage. I tucked my envelope in my pocket and danced with the others. Later, I looked in my envelope. There were several silver coins, many more than I expected, given how generous they have already been to me, but I tucked them away in my Little Hope Chest, where between the money from the two dresses, my profits from the fall bazaar, and other savings, I now have nearly 6g pieces. That's as much money as was left with me when the priests in the Cathedral found me.
I've always wondered whether that 6g was a lot of money to the person who tucked it into my blanket. It's certainly a lot of money to me. But I'm not ready to abandon this temporary harbor yet. I promised Granma I would stay through the winter. I finished tying off my comforter last night, and packed it away in the Hope Chest. I have now got several lengths of lace I made my very own self. And yesterday a new package came from Her.
There is a sumptuous wine-colored velvet in there along with a slightly lighter length of shiny silk. The note says "These fabric go together well. Figure something out." The measurements are different this time: a more buxom figure than the last two dresses were made to fit. As I ran my clean hands carefully over the plush pile of the velvet and imagined different ways of combining the two fabrics, I could not keep my imagination from wondering what it would be like to wear such a dress. What are the lives of these women I have never met really like?
I remembered that both notes with payments had invited me to tea, and I started to think maybe I should accept that invitation. Just, you know, to see what I could learn about what happened to my dresses after I shipped them off to Stormwind.
Of course, you can probably guess that my necklace didn't like THAT idea at all. Ouch!
So I busied myself sketching ideas for the dress, and pretended that I haven't become oh! so curious about the fate of my work.
Tomorrow I will start sewing the new dress. I'm going to use the satiny silk to make thin cording that will lie along the seams of the garment, which I am placing strategically, since they will now be a design element as well as a structural necessity.. The shininess will catch the light and draw the eye momentarily to the part of the body where the fabric is. But the dress will mostly look like a proper, modest wine colored velvet dress. This is something I am all too good at.
And as I carefully cut out the pieces of fabric according to my plan this evening, I wondered if I could set aside enough money to make myself one of these wonderful dresses. In my hoped-for future, there will surely be a time and place to wear one, won't there? Zing! went the necklace, and I realized that if it does that often enough, I will learn to ignore it. Then it REALLY zapped me.
One of these days, I am going to have to find out more about this necklace. It's either my best friend or my worst enemy, or maybe both. But it unsettles me, no matter what else is true about it.
Anyway, the root cellar is full of provisions for the winter, I have good and pleasant work to keep me occupied and earning money, and Granma is excellent company. Even the necklace isn't bugging me all that much.
Like I said, not a place to settle, but a dashed nice place to winter over. When I think of sorcery, prostitution, even Maybell's arid marriage, I know I am doing very well for myself.
....
It's Hallow's End.
In the orphanage, we used to make costumes out of butcher paper and old newspapers, paint and glue, and run around the city terrorizing the general public. Adventurers would come visit to make sure we had all the candy we wanted. I used to wonder why they never visited any other time, to make sure we had the things we really needed.
But now I sort of understand. It's been many months, and I often go days at a time without thinking about the orphans and their lives in that place. And if I, who have every reason to be aware, can let it slip my mind, I understand better and better how it doesn't ever occur to anyone who's never had to live there.
So I decided to make Winter Festival presents for the children in the orphanage where I grew up. I will send them anonymously, so that no one knows it's me, and I will send them by way of the priests in the Cathedral who guarded my necklace so carefully. But I will send them, and do my best to see that the children there receive them.
I have knit a bunch of plain white socks, which I am turning into stuffed bunnies for the girls. And an even bigger pile of grey socks with white heels and toes that I am turning into stuffed gorillas for the boys. The older children will pretend to think they are silly, but I imagine more than a few of these toys will become close friends, confidantes, and companions of a sort.
I'd say I wish I could do more, but I don't, really. I can't stem the tide of all those orphaned lives, but maybe I can do something to make their time in that place a little less bleak.
And I do know that I'm doing this to make myself feel better as much as for the kids still there.
Granma says what I have is "survivor's guilt", the sense that I lived through something that destroyed other people, and the worry that I don't deserve to have come out on top when so many people don't. I think she's crazy, but I'm making the toys anyway.
She just smiled at me with something like pity in her eyes and dug out a spool of gorgeous ribbons, all different colors, that I am using to decorate the bunnies.
There is a carved pumpkin head in our window, with candles burning brightly inside it. There are roasted pumpkin seeds, all seasoned with some of my precious spices, in a bowl on the table at Granma's elbow. There are pumpkin muffins that I made with the eyes and nose and mouth of the carved head. I put plump raisins and walnuts in those, too, and pie spice. I prefer muffins to pumpkin pie, although I will probably make one of those out of the carved head when we are done with it.
My days are serene, and I am feeling, if not precisely content, at least not anxious to move forward, I feel as if I am waiting for something to happen, but in the meantime, the rhythm of my duties and my recreation carry me along, almost soothing me. I am husbanding energy for whatever comes next, And money, too. Nearly 10g now. Unimaginable riches to a girl who this time last year was running through the streets of Stormwind, playing tricks on those who would not treat her.
I wonder what will happen next, and what I will make of it?
....
I'm bone-deep tired. Yesterday, a band of outlaws came through, and it pretty much wrecked my day, my night, and most of today, too.
Now understand, the woods are heavily populated by a band of folks who call themselves "freedom fighters" but who also seem to prey upon other people who are just trying to live their lives. Some people on the farms sympathize with them. And it's not hard to understand why, because life itself has been damned hard for most people since the War.
So many people died. The orphanage, which wasn't all that great a place before the War, went from having 25 orphans in it to having hundreds. Eventually, we had to split up into more than one Orphanage, and move into new digs in the rebuilt city. It was a chaotic time, the War. We'd evacuated the city, of course, when the attacks came, and were living in a refugee camp in the dwarf lands. We slept in piles of dirty children, huddled under shared blankets, keeping each other warm, and bruising ourselves on one another's sharp elbows and knees. Still, the dwarves were generous, and we ate fairly well, although we did have to skin, clean, and cook our food over open fires. I spent a lot of time gathering fuel for those fires. The work kept me warm and kept my mind off the surprising fact that I felt displaced. I wouldn't have thought I would, being as it was just the stupid Orphanage we were evacuated from, but it was all we knew.
And then the dying started back in the city, so I guess we were lucky not to be there. And first a few new children came to join us, and then we were overwhelmed. So were our hosts -- food got plainer and less plentiful, although we never really starved. My memories of that time are not my favorite memories, in a lifetime that hasn't provided all that many good things to remember. But I was just a little girl then, even though I thought I was pretty grown up. And when they say children are resilient, they are right. Plus, we were lucky to have Matron, even though she's a mixed kind of luck. Whatever else I could say about her (and I could say a lot!), she kept us together, safe, organized, and fed. And when the city was rebuilt, she led us back again.
So in a way, the War wasn't so bad for us. None of us died, and although a lot of the new orphans had been through a lot of horror and terror and real scary times, those of us who'd never had families actually survived the War okay.
Still, the new city cost money to make, and lots of people in the Kingdom had suffered real losses. So some of them can't see the point in paying to rebuild the city, and those ones tend to sympathize with the outlaws.
Others of the farm folks don't care at all for the outlaws, and they fight them and try to keep them contained. Me, I never cared much one way or the other. No scruffy outlaws would have dared approach the band of heroes, and I've been so busy on the farm since I got here, I hadn't really thought all that much about them.
Meanwhile, families are trying to get along without the sons and daughters they lost in battle, and care for those who did come home, but not the same as they left. There are people like Joey, who was a little older than Maybell is now when the War was going on. He did not go to fight, because he had two older brothers who did go, and someone needed to stay on the farm and help his daddy. After all, during the War, most people who COULD fight did, and there wasn't a lot of help to be had on the farms. Even so, the farms had to produce food and supplies for the people on the front lines. And maybe not getting to go fight when he wanted to so badly is part of why he turned out like he did. But I guess it's a good thing he didn't go. One of his brothers died, and the other one who went to fight, well they think he was taken by the Plague, and don't know if he survives in any form, and if he does, whether he even knows who he is.
Also, the farms were the refuge of people who had to flee the burning city, and who were lucky enough to know someone with a safer place to run to. The problem, of course, is that Elwynn was not nearly as safe as the dwarf lands. We had a horrible journey to the land of ice and snow, and then when we got there, I was never really warm again until we came back. But it was safe.
So here we all are, trying to pick up and go on, most people acting like the War never really happened, or it was only a bad dream. But even I know it changed everything. The world is a scarier place than it was Before.
And here, part of the reason is the outlaws. They get hungry, too, but outlaws don't seem to be real big on farming or hunting or other things that normal people do when they are hungry. So they sort of expect the farm folks to contribute to their cause by feeding them and supplying them. It's ironic, I think. Their big complaint is that the nobles are taxing the farmers and other little people to death, but they do the same thing. They just call it "contributions" instead of taxes.
And near as I can tell, there's not a heap of difference in what happens if you don't pay. The city guard collects taxes by force, if they have to. And the outlaws punish those who don't contribute. I guess it's easier, a little, if you actually think one side or the other is right. Me, I don't know who is right, I just know that everyone suffers. So I am not comforted by the thought that at least half my taxes and contributions are going to a cause I can support, I just have to watch my hard earned money dribble away.
Well, and that's part of why I'm so tired. I don't really want to give up my gold, or even my silver or my copper coins. So when the city guard came through to collect taxes, and they made an offer for something different, I jumped at it. Seems that non-land-owners (like me) either have to hand over money, or we have to do "voluntary community service". I chose the latter, as I'd far rather pay with my muscles than with my money. So I got sent to the logging camp, where I lived ten days lodged in a bunkhouse with other women, and spent twelve hours a day lugging wood around the place. It was brutal. The food was worse than orphanage food, and sparse, too. You could get more food by sleeping with the foremen and lumberjacks, but I don't do prostitution, and I'm not changing my mind for the possibility of two servings of thin tasteless soup instead of one.
So at the end of the tenth day, I spent one more night in that bunkhouse, and then (with no breakfast, since I wasn't on service anymore, so not entitled to food), I dragged myself back to the farm, where Granma greeted me happily, and sat me down to my first real meal since I'd left. I had just finished the bowl of stew, and was sopping up the sauce with some cornbread she'd baked for me, when we heard a horrid sound coming from the direction of the Big House. I pushed away from the table to fast that the chair and my bowl both ended up on the floor, but even Granma didn't mind -- she just hobbled over the Big House as fast as she could. I got there first, being able to run okay, even though I was tired.
It seems that the outlaws had come through and decided to help themselves to the entire contents of the preserved food in the cellar. Miss Bernice wasn't having any of that, and she got into it with one of the outlaw leaders. They were screeching at one another when another outlaw decided to shut her up, and smacked her hard across the mouth. It worked, too. She spent the next little while huddled on the ground, sort of whimpering, while the band removed all those lovely jars of food, the garlands of dried onions and shallots, the sacks of ground grain.
Granma got very quiet, just as my necklace started to buzz. "Deyla," she asked me, "Can you get to the barn without them seeing you?"
I nodded. "Take your satchel that you had for the logging camp, and go to the barn. Climb up in the loft and hide under the hay. Don't come out until I send one of the women to get you."
So I did.
The straw was itchy, and the day got hotter as I hid there, but I didn't come out. Eventually, the heat started to die down, and the light faded, too. Around a million years after I'd crawled up there, Ma Stonefield (she's married to Big Joe) came into the barn and whispered my name.
I crawled out from under the straw and scampered down the ladder. She looked defeated as she led me out of the barn without a word. But when we got to Granma's, neither she nor Miss Bernice looked defeated. They looked like some of the heroes did when they headed out to fight something, with that glow in their eyes that said, well, Granma might be old and frail, and Miss Bernice might have a mighty big bruise coming up on her face, but they were not defeated, and had no intention of being defeated.
Granma looked at me for awhile, without saying a word, and I stood there, so tired and stiff, and stared back at her. Then she finally said, "There is another cellar."
I could hear Miss Bernice gasp, as if she never expected Granma to tell me that. But the old lady just shushed her daughter. "We need her strong arms and legs. Maybell is worse than useless and can't be trusted. But we need at least one young woman, and so Deyla is our only choice." Something in me sung for a moment to hear Granma say that about Maybell, but I soon forgot about it.
Miss Bernice and Ma Stonefield led me across the fields and up into a hilly area, where rocks jutted out of the earth. Eventually, we wound up at the base of a cliff, totally blank with no marks on it at all. None of us had said a single word as we made our way from the farm to the cliff. We were very lucky that it was a full moon, because else we would never have been able to make that hike.
At the base of the cliff, Miss Bernice started talking, in a low, urgent voice. She pointed out to me how to find this particular spot in the hills, by lining up three landmarks, which she called "triangulating". Then she showed me a smallish outcropping just behind where we stood. Hidden in that pile of rock were several rocks which had been specially carved, with funny shaped protrusions. There were eight of them. And there turned out to be eight funny shaped holes in the blank cliff wall. Which I'm sure you will be shocked to hear fit the rocks perfectly.
Ma Stonefield told me that there is a second set of rocks hidden on the farm, if anything ever happens to these, but that in all her lifetime of coming up here, nothing has ever happened to them. I'd think not, since I can't think of much reason why anyone would make the effort to come to a desolate, stupid cliff face. But just as I thought that, Miss Bernice, reached out and pushed the cliff, and it moved.
Someone in the past of the Stonefield family was a stone mason of extraordinary skill and cleverness. The eight rocks unlocked a perfectly counterbalanced door, and behind it was a small storeroom. On its shelves were more canned goods (not the ones I'd made, of course, so a limited variety, but a lot), and a whole bunch of metal bins. There was a sledge, too, and some tarps and rope, for which I was very grateful. Because it became clear that we were going to move a whole bunch of this stuff back to the farm. And we were going to do it then, in the middle of the night. When I was already so tired and stiff I could hardly walk.
But I knew why Granma made me hide, and she was right, and I knew I owed these people my loyalty, if not my life, for the care they have shown me since midsummer. So I did my damnedest not to sigh, and helped load up the sledge. Miss Bernice showed me how to tie the tarp over the stuff. Then we shut the door, removed the rocks from the keyholes, put them back in the pile of scree around the little outcropping, and started off back towards the farm.
It had been a moderate walk up to the cliff, but the return trip, dragging that sledge, was awful. On the downhill part, it tried to slide away from us, and we let it go in front of us, while we walked behind, holding ropes to keep it from actually sliding down the hill. My arms and shoulders and calves hated that. Then we got it onto more or less flat ground and it did not want to move, so we pulled on the same ropes and dragged it.
I did see, of course, why it could not have any wheels on it, but a sledge is hard going, even when a person is not already plumb tuckered out from all that voluntary service. And the older ladies wore out pretty quickly, too. So we panted and heaved and pulled, and around dawn we got that thing back to the farm.
"We'll put these things in the cellar below Granma's house for a couple days," Miss Bernice said when she'd caught her breath, and I nearly screamed with frustration as I realized that mean that in a day or so, we'd be moving all the goods to the Big House.
This morning, they sent me up into the hills with the almost empty sledge, to return it to the storeroom. Which I did. It took me a bit of time to find it in the daytime, and I was interested to note that it's just as invisible in the full light of the sun as it had been in the full moon last night. There's still a lot of stuff in the storeroom, and now it even has some of my canning in it, too. Because "Since you are going up there anyway, Deyla, you might as well replenish the supplied there with some of the jars from my cellar," Granma said to me.
I'm grateful that they trusted me to help them, and bound and determined never to reveal their secret, but I'm bruised and battered, and stiff, and just tired. I haven't slept since the logging camp, and I exhausted when I got here from there. I'm about to put my pen down and crawl into bed, but I wanted to write this all down, because I think I learned something important.
Like I said, I was surprised that they shared their secret with me, and sort of gloaty that they didn't share it with Maybell, who is even a member of the family. But then I realized that it meant that I AM kind of a member of the family. Because there are other serving women around the place, and they picked me. And even if it's not a real family, it's the closest I've ever come. And that feeling of even sort of being in a family is worth the bruises, the soreness, the stiff muscles, and the days of aches and pains I know i have in store for me now.
It could be worse, in so many ways I can't even tell you.
....
I slept for quite a long while. When I woke up, it was full dark, and I knew I had slept the afternoon and most of the night away. Although my stomach rumbled, I stayed in my bed, with the covers wrapped around me like a cocoon.
So much to think about, all of a sudden. I don't remember ever being trusted with someone's serious secret before. In the Orphanage, we traded our childish secrets or held them to our chests and hoarded them, since often our secrets were our only possessions. Since then, I hadn't thought much about the value of secrets. Or of trust.
It strikes me that my sojourn here is quite different than my time with the heroes. (You know, before they disbanded, which I used to think was a disaster.) They took me in, and from the very beginning, they trusted me to sleep in the same cottage as their well-loved Granma. Then when she got hurt, they trusted me to look after her. They trust me with the dead people's fabric. And now the women of the family have trusted me with a secret that they didn't even share with Maybell, who is actually part of the family.
Johnson never trusted me for a second. He never trusted any of us, without stopping to find out if we were trustworthy. So I cheated on him. I took all the possible time he would allow me to do tasks, I pretended to be a different person than I am for his benefit, and I allowed him to believe false things (even lied once or twice).
But the Stonefields have trusted me, in increments, giving me reason to be trustworthy. And I have been. Other than winking at Maybell's lies to Joey about just who is cooking her dinner, I can't think of a time when I've been less than honest with any of them. And it's paid off, for all of us.
I never realized that Johnson (and Matron, with whom he has a great deal in common) might have been creating some of the deceit around them. I won't apologize for lying to Matron whenever I could, or for deceiving Johnson. They were in positions of power over me, and both of them were willing to use that power to their own advantage. In that kind of situation, I'm pragmatic enough to do what I think I have to do in order to protect my best interests. After all, under the condition where the person with all the power has set it up as an adversarial relationship, I'd be a fool to give away my only weapons.
I don't think I am the most honest person who ever lived, but I am interested to see how being treated as if I am actually elicits that kind of behavior from me.
So, when the heroes disbanded, I thought it was a disaster. And maybe it was. I doubt I will ever stop missing Boswell and Pipniff, for instance. But look what I have gained!
Johnson would never have let me spend the time he was paying for making dresses for Her, or filling up my Hope Chest. He would not have ever said "thank you" when I did my job, but it's nice that Granma does. And he would certainly never have trusted me with any secrets of the Halls. All in all, I'd be a poorer person for having stayed there, in every single way. I'd have far less money, far fewer items put away for my hopeful future, and far less of the intangible goods like this sense of belonging.
I guess I'm glad they disbanded. Because had they not, I'd be a lot worse off, and I wouldn't even know it.
....
Granma and I are going on a trip. Everyone expects me to be excited, because after all, it's an adventure. Puke. If I wanted adventure, I'd be in that hick stone building learning to cast spells and throw fireballs around. See how I have a comfortable place to stay instead, how I like cooking and cleaning and sewing better than adventure? Yeh.
Anyway, we're going to Westfall. Seems we need oats and corn, since we lost all of ours in the raid, and there's a small farm there owned by Granma's youngest son. We're taking them supplies that don't grow well there, stuff that needs an orchard or a vineyard to grow.
Jamie is taking us. He's out back right now packing up the wagon with the supplies we will take with us, and our gear. There's apparently a hostel on the edge of this district where we can stay before we cross the river, but we'll need to camp out one night on the way there. The only time I camped out before was when we were evacuated during the War. Jamie assures me this will be much more fun and a lot more comfortable, but I dunno.
Maybell is pouting because she wants to come with us, but Granma told her not to be ridiculous. She's a nursing mother and needs to stay with her baby, and Granma also told her that she wasn't about to take a ten day trip with a squalling baby. So that little twit is pouting. Boo hoo. She hissed at me and I told her I would be glad to give her my spot in the wagon and I would even stay home and take care of the baby, but I can't feed him, so she's kind of stuck.
I love doing that to her: she gets all up in my face about something and I puncture her pretension like poking an inflated bladder with a pin. Poof! goes all her oh-so-righteous indignation and she just stands there and sputters at me.
Westfall is supposed to be even more overrun with the outlaws than here, so we had to get chits from the outlaw leaders here to prove we've paid our contributions. Otherwise, we might have to give up our supplies we are taking with us to more outlaws. We have a letter from the local head outlaw honcho and also three little metal things on a leather thong. Granma says we have to carry both the little chits and also our personal proof of having paid our taxes. So I have a little leather pouch tied around my waist with the chit in it, and also the certificate of my stint at the lumber camp.
We'll be working hard when we get there, I bet, unloading this wagon and then collecting the things we are going to get, and loading it up again. Granma sent a letter to her son to tell him we are coming, and he answered and said he would find places for us to sleep. It didn't sound like he was all that happy about having us come along.
I dreamed about Boswell and Pipniff last night. Pipniff was dancing in the parlor of Granma's house and cackling more. My necklace was purring, if you can believe it. It purred so much, like a happy kitten, that it woke me up. Which was ind of too bad, when you stop to think about it. Because I like Boswell, and I was glad to see him, even if it was only in my dreams.
My sole consolation today is that in two weeks, this whole adventure trip thing will be in the past and we can settle in for the winter. And I've lived through a winter in a tent in the dwarf lands. This won't be worse than that winter, for sure.
....
Tonight, we are camped with three other groups near where the river runs out of the south end of Mirror Lake. We made our way today along the river, crossing it when we reached the road and there was a bridge. But other than the bridge, we were on cart paths all day, not really roads. I know that the main road west from Goldshire passes a garrison and then into Westfall, but this is not the route we will be taking. Apparently, Jamie's Uncle John lives in a very remote part of Westfall indeed.
In fact, from talking to the other people in the camp tonight, it sounds like most of Westfall is in horrible shape. I can't really imagine how Granma thinks that going to a place that appears to be full of burned out farms and mechanical horrors, not to mention more outlaws than have ever graced Elwynn . . . well, let's just say I can't understand how this can possibly be a good idea.
Apparently we have two more full days of travel left. Jamie prepared the wagon for our trip. I suppose I should describe it as it is quite different than the other wagons used around here. He won't say where he got the idea to build it from, but he did create it all, except for the wheels, because he is a woodworker, not a wheelwright.
Anyway, the main part of the wagon is made of a metal and wood frame through which axles are threaded. The main box of the wagon is suspended from this frame by a system of pulleys, springs and leather that confuses me just to look at it. Jamie says he can make the suspension "tight" or "loose" or anywhere in between. For this trip, it is fairly loose, since we are traveling on rough roads. In the front of the box are two bentwood frames, reinforced by springy metal. From these, leather straps support a seat. Therefore, the seat is well-sprung, indeed. I hardly noticed the roughness of the paths we followed along the river's shore today, which is saying something.
Although we had a good fall day for our trip, there is a retractable "bonnet", Jamie calls it, that can be set up over the seat to shield you from rain or too much sun. Normally, the box in the back is used to carry goods to Goldshire, which is a very short trip, even going cross country with a heavy load, so mostly the box is left open. However, we are traveling some distance, and weather is uncertain late in the year, so Jamie installed three bentwood arcs over the wagon. I don't know exactly how to describe them, but over the contents of the wagon, he placed a tarp, tied down carefully. He explained to me that if rain falls on the tarp when it is touching something, that eventually -- like in an hour or two -- the water will soak through the tarp. To keep water off goods, you need a cover that is taut and does not touch anything. Well, that's what the three arcs do: they support an oilskin cover that is more or less the shape of about a third of a circle, braced up off the wagon box itself. Even if the box were empty, you couldn't quite stand up in the wagon under this roof, unless you were a dwarf, I suppose. But it will keep our belongings dry as we travel to Jamie's uncle's farm.
Jamie packed the wagon, but I packed the boxes to be packed in the wagon. The boxes with jars in them are lined with straw and every bottle is wrapped in straw and then cotton flannel. I'd say that if we hadn't had to pack them against breakage, we could have gotten twice as many jars in each box. The boxes are nailed shut. There are also sacks of dried fruits and vegetables, as well as some bolts of cloth and large amounts of spun wool, in various grades. It's all arranged so that the top is pretty flat, but also so that a person can lie down on the items and be relatively comfortable, which you will see is important.
There are outlaws in camps around Mirror Lake. which is why there are four groups camping all together. Each group has to provide one person to stand watch, and of course Jamie is insisting on doing it for us. They are standing watch in pairs, according to some convoluted schedule. We left this morning after a hearty breakfast that Miss Bernice made for us. As we left, she kissed me on the forehead and told me to take care of myself and Granma. I blushed.
We crossed over the river in the later morning, and after that, the traveling slowed down greatly. I asked why we could not go into Westfall on the road, which has to be faster, and then turn north to reach the farm we are visiting, but Jamie said I would see. Around noon, we stopped in stand of trees and got off the wagon to eat our noon meals. I had made meat pasties, with chopped beef, roasted potatoes, fried onions, and lots of black pepper in them. We also had cheese and apples. For tomorrow's lunch, I have similar pasties, but this time filled with mushrooms and broccoli and cheese, which we will eat with apples and pears. For the third day, I have dried beef strips, cherry leather I made in the sun, and hard cheese. I took Jamie's advice about what kind of food would travel well, as he apparently makes this trip once or twice a year, but he says that the food I made is better than what he usually brings for himself.
Anyway, we cooked rice over the fire for supper and ate it with a roasted rabbit Jamie caught in a snare. Tomorrow morning, I will make pudding out of the leftover rice, with two eggs I brought with me and some raisins and cinnamon. Jamie says he will catch fish for supper tomorrow, and I have dried bacon we can fry up for the last breakfast. I'm not a big expert on camping food, but I trust that Jamie has given me good enough advice that we will get it right.
The stuff in the wagon is arranged so that the top of it is very level, so we are sleeping under the cover. Since it's too short to stand in, we have to crawl over the top of the seat to get back there, and it's very close indeed. But it's also cosy and warm, which is good, because there is quite a chill in the air. Since it's not really safe to wander into the woods in the night, Jamie put a honey pot over by the banked fire in case anyone needs it before morning. I suppose it will be my job to bury its contents before we break camp and leave.
I don't much like the other people we are camping with. I don't dislike them, mind you, but they are taciturn, perhaps even morose. They are all going to various places in the hills on the northern part of the border between Westfall and Elwynn, and they all seem as if they have been beaten down by their lives. From what they say, it does sound like Westfall is in a terrible way. I can't quite figure out how coming here is going to improve our provisioning, but Granma seems sure it will. If the farms are all destroyed or stolen by the outlaws, it's hard to imagine that Jamie's Uncle John will have anything to offer us in return for the jars of produce, boxes of dried fruits, and other things we brought with us. I guess we will see.
Jamie just gets a twinkle in his eye and tells me I will be surprised, and I suppose I will. Granma has proven to be resourceful and brave, and I do trust her. But I still wish I were back in my bed in the attic in her cottage, and not getting ready to bed down under an oilcloth canopy in a makeshift campsite with people who I don't really know.
Still, I've been a refugee, and this is better than that, even if we aren't perfectly safe, or terribly comfortable tonight.
....
Last night was okay, if you like sleeping in cramped spaces with two other people and a bone-chilling breeze running through the length of your sleeping space, freezing your nose every time you poke it out from under your coverlet. Still, I slept soundly, straight through 'til morning, once I learned not to stick my nose out.
I was the first one up. Jamie ended his second shift as camp scout about three hours before dawn, and he had warned me he would need to sleep past dawn in order to be able drive us where we needed to go today. So I got up as the sun was starting to light up the sky. Without being told, I took the honey pot into the woods and buried its contents, then I put it aside to wash with the water I used for the breakfast dishes, after they were all done.
I blew the fire to life and started making breakfast. I had a large pot of water warming on the side of the fire, and some water boiling up for tea, as well as dried fruit plumping up in some hot water by the time Jamie and Granma woke up. When I heard them begin to scrabble around, I drained the fruit and mixed it into the pudding, which I then put on the fire, covered, to steam and so that the bottom would get all crispy, which is the best part of rice pudding, after all.
Granma came up next to me, and took the tea pot off the fire and put in the tea ball. She also got out the field kits that we are using to eat from on this trip. They are pretty cool, and if it weren't that they were leftover from the War, they would a lot nicer to have around. Basically, there's a metal plate, a knife, a fork, a spoon, a cup and a bowl, and they are all made so they cleverly fit together, so it's easy to carry a single person's utensils. Jamie says you can use the plate as a frying pan, too, but we don't have to do that, since we brought pots and pans with us.
By the time Jamie was out of the wagon and had gone down to the lake and washed his face off with cold water, we had breakfast served up. I sat on a stone not too far from the fire, so I wouldn't get chilled, and ate my breakfast. Jamie seemed to like the rice pudding -- he sure ate plenty of it! When he was done, he sat back with a big satisfied sigh and said, "Food never tastes as good as it does at a campfire." I think he's nuts. Food never tastes as good as when you eat it in a safe, warm place where you belong. Outdoors is nice for a picnic, but cooking over a fire is a pain in the neck and bugs get in the food and stuff.
Granma told me that it's nice to have someone along who knows how to cook, because when Jamie cooks camp food, it's not as good. He just grinned at us, and started washing the dishes. I'll say this for him: he knows how to do dishes pretty well. He washed our kits first, then the pots I used to cook, then he took the water and the honey pot into the woods and washed it, too. Which was pretty nice of him when you come down to it.
We'd saved a bit of warm water to wash our hands and faces, so it wasn't too bad as camping out goes, I guess. We struck camp, reloaded the wagon and climbed into the seat while Jamie hitched up the horses. It wasn't more than 2 hours past dawn when we were well on our way.
We followed along the south edge of the lake for most of the morning, but around an hour before noon, we struck northwest, up into the hills. At first, they were sort of rolling hills, covered by the kind of woods I'm used to in Elwynn, but it wasn't long before the hills became a bit more sharp and the woods sparser. Instead of fruit trees and fir trees, there were aspens and hardy pines. The undergrowth died away, too, and the cart path became even harder for me to see. Jamie apparently knew right where we were going, though, because he never even stopped to look around.
After awhile, we came to a clearing in the woods, with a small pond near one edge of it. Jamie pulled the wagon over by the edge of the pond and put on the brake. He jumped off the seat and unhitched the horses and one at a time led them over to the pond to drink. Then he hobbled them in a grassy area and spread some oats around on the ground, too. I didn't know why he had done that, and it must have shown on my face. He told me that lots of travelers used this stopping place, and it was a courtesy to put down food for the horses so that they didn't eat the grass all the way away.
I must have looked really disbelieving, which makes sense when you realize that once we left the lake shore, we hadn't seen any more people of any kind. Most of the people we camped with last night had taken the direct west route at the edge of the lake, when we struck northwest, and the cart track looked rarely traveled, too.
Jamie took me by the hand and walked with me about 50 yards back down the way we had come. He pointed to the ground. "There is very little ground cover here, Deyla. It's much harder to see the traces of other travelers, but look at this, and this."
Sure enough, when I looked where he pointed I could see that the pine needles on the ground were broken up more than in the surrounding areas. When I looked closely, I could see that there were traces of at least three sets of wheels.
I thanked him for showing me, and went back to the wagon, where I got out the picnic I had packed for the second day's luncheon. Jamie got out two carafes of cool apple cider from this year's pressing. We sat on a flat rock, warm in the sun, considering the time of year, and ate our cheese and vegetable pasties, and chatted about nothing of much import. I watched two ducks swoop down from the sky and land on the pond's surface, where they swam companionably for awhile before taking flight again.
After lunch, we clambered back onto the seat of the wagon while Jamie rehitched the horses. I can tell you that I was getting tired of the trip, and we were only about halfway from the Stonefield's farm to where we were going. Anyway, after lunch, our path took us away from the pond and up more into the raggedy hills. They never really became mountains, not like the ones on the way to the dwarf lands. But they did get higher and more sparsely vegetated and the horses slowed down even more. A couple times, Jamie had me get out with him and walk by the horses, leaving them only Granma and the supplies to haul up a particularly steep slope or something. It was even sort of nice to stretch my legs, and then after the short, steep walks, nice to get back in the seat, too.
Eventually, the pathway flattened out, and we seemed to be on some kind of plateau. To the right of us was a high stone cliff, much like the one in which the Stonefield's secret storeroom is hidden, only a lot bigger. I amused myself by imagining a larger storeroom in this cliff. On the left, there were some small stands of hardy fruit trees, and some fields, too, not under cultivation at the moment, but then it's not cultivation season. The pathway we were on widened some and showed signs of a lot more traffic, and then we came around a corner, and there were actually a few people walking along the road. One of them appeared to be a peddler, walking along beside a horse who was wearing quite full packs. The others, in smaller groups, looked more like people who lived nearby. I was startled to find myself thinking that -- this is the middle of nowhere, after all. And then a pack of small children ran across the road a bit in front of us, and I went from startled to bemused. Apparently the "hostel" Jamie mentioned was quite a largish settlement, considering it had been a day and a half since we'd seen so much as a single cottage.
We kept on, and the cliff to the right remained there, brooding, looming over the road. I thought to myself that the sun must come up here later than down on the farm, because of the cliff getting in the way. But off to the left, more signs that in growing season, this land was used for growing thing, too. And then the roadway curved around the cliff to the right again, and I gasped. Ahead of us was a walled compound. I would say a keep, or a village, if I knew what the place was, exactly. I still don't.
We drove up to the gate, and Jamie greeted the guard there by name. They were all "Good to see you!" and "Long time, sucka!" to each other, and it was nice to see their obvious affection for one another. Then they had a short quick conversation in a language I did not understand, and we turned the wagon away from the walls of the place and started to drive around the edge of it that is not all up against the cliff wall.
It took some time, being as the compound, or whatever it is, is not tiny, and that the road was not empty. When we came to the other side, there was another guard, also known to Jamie. More "Dude! Long time no see!" and other similarly unenlightening conversation. Again, the quick exchange in the language I never heard before, and this time, Jamie had Granma and me get off the wagon. He unloaded our personal belongings and handed the wagon over to the guard. I was shocked by this, that he would just let someone walk off leading his horses, and his wagon and all our stuff. But he did.
Anyway, we then walked a bit farther along the wall and found a gate the size to let people (even elves) walk through it, but not wagons, so maybe that was part of the reason. We came to a place that even I could recognize as a lodging of some sort. There is a large common room and boards on the wall with chalk lists of foods for sale. It all smelled, good, I can tell you!. And Jamie talked to the guy behind the long bar, and then came over to us with three keys in his hand. He gave us each one and said he had ordered dinner for an hour later, and shooed us up the stairs. I walked up slowly, looking around, trying to understand where we were. Within the walls, certainly, but it had not escaped my attention that the only two exits were the one we came in through (which was in the outer wall of the place) and a locked on behind the bar.
Around the time I sorted out the upper hallways and found the room whose number matched my key, Jamie had found his, and clearly washed himself at least in a cursory manner, and changed his shirt. He ran past me without even really recognizing me, heading for the stairs at a nice jogging rate. I watched him go by, wondering what he was so excited about and then went into my own room.
It was a small cell, really, with a slit in the wall to let in the night air, but not big enough to put even an arm through let alone a body. There was lantern in it, all lit and making it sort of cozy. The outer wall (the one with the slit in it) was the same grey stone of the walls of the compound. The other walls were smooth wood, some random color like oak or maple, perhaps. There was a bed in it, just the right size for one person, and a little table next to it. There was also a note nailed on the wall, telling me where the bathing room was. I threw my bag on the bed and hastily grabbed a clean shift and the towel on the bedside table, and my key, which I hung around my neck from its leather thong, after locking my door behind me.
I easily found the ladies' bathing room, and it was a doozy. There was a cistern of hot water and a pool of cool water, and lots of creamy soap. There were several wooden tubs and a fancy contraption so you could fill each one with hot water from that cistern. There was a keg of warm water, not as hot as the cistern. There was a slatted wood floor and pictures showing how to "bathe".
I stripped to the skin (which was pretty grimy) and folded my things, putting them all in a cubby hole. Then I walked over and stood on the slatted part of the floor. I got a pitcher and filed it with water. Then I used a large sponge and some yummy almond smelling soap to wash myself. When I ran out of water, I refilled the pitcher and used it to rinse myself. Then I carefully filled a large tub with very hot water, and threw in a handful of scented leaves, rosemary and mint, mostly. It was hard to get into, the water was so hot, but 30 seconds after I entered it, a calmness came over me that I can hardly describe. I sat sleepily in the hot, scented water for a good twenty minutes or so, and then I knew I was starting to get hungry, so I got out of the tub, and carefully pulled the plug and watched the water run out. I jumped in the pool of cool water, because that is what the wall showed people doing, and it was COLD! But it woke me back up. After that, I wiped myself off and put on my clean clothes and made my way back to my room.
Now here's what is odd about all that. I wasn't the only one there. While I was in the bathing room, half a dozen other women came through and did more or less what I was doing, only differing in the scents they chose for their baths (we all used the creamy almond smelling soap). And no one ever spoke. It was not a strained silence, either, but a very comfortable one, as if talking were not required or desirable, so we did not do it. I enjoyed it all very much, and felt much cleaner and more relaxed, but also more alert, than I had been after our long days of travel.
Soon, it was time to go downstairs, and so I did. I found Jamie and Granma seated at a table with one more chair, which was a welcoming thing. I sat down at that table, and soon the food came out. We had a thick creamy puree of zucchini soup with fresh thyme and lots of garlic in it, and toasted cheese sandwiches. I know lots of people think those are lunch food, but that's about my favorite supper in the world. The cheeses were a combination of something sharpish and something mild. Maybe some fine aged cheddar and something from the south, with a name I would not know. Whatever the milder thing was, it smoothed out the sharpness of the cheddar and made it melt beautifully. The outside of the bread was fried in butter, which I have never tried, but you can bet I will try it now that I have had it brought to mind. Toasted cheese sandwiches are good, but fried ones turn out to be better! Then we had cherry tarts and tea after, and my stomach was as happy as the rest of my body had been made by the lovely bath.
While we ate, Jamie teased me about the fried fish for supper and bacon breakfast that we don't have to have tomorrow. He said that this place is one of his favorite places, and he wanted to surprise me, so he made up the story about the fish and the bacon. And it's dried bacon, so we can use it on the way home anyway, which is true. The supper was so good, I would have forgiven him a much bigger deception, and when you add the bath, well! Anyway, we laughed a bit, but mostly the three of us just ate quietly, so we could enjoy the food as much as possible. I especially noticed how I felt comfortable with Jamie and Granma, not even the least bit alert to make sure everything was okay.
After we ate, a couple of guards came into the common room and greeted Jamie, who excused himself and went over to sit with them and drink ale. Granma also excused herself and went up to bed. She said, "The common room is perfectly safe, Deyla, but don't linger too long. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow." I nodded and sat back, quite replete and very content to watch the goings on with the other travelers in the room.
Eventually, however, my eyelids started to grow heavy, so I picked up my tea cup and took it over to the bar. I put it down and said to the woman behind it, "Is there some place I should put this, before I retire, mistress?"
She looked up at me, and as she did. my necklace started humming. Now, I have gotten used to my necklace purring (which is not actually a sound, so much as a silent vibration), or shocking me, or generally making a nuisance of itself, but I had never heard it make a sound. I looked down at my chest in shock, but the hum did not stop. The woman looked at me, and a look came into her eyes. She said, "What is that sound?" and even I knew she already knew it was my necklace.
Under the circumstance, I could not lie, and to tell the truth, my relaxed and contented mood inclined me to honesty anyway, so I said, "I think it's my necklace." I smiled a little bit. "It's never done that before."
She looked grim suddenly, and started to say one thing. Then she stopped herself, and put a hand on my wrist, not ungently. "Stay here," she said in a way that I could not have disobeyed, had I wanted to. With a flick of her wrist, she unlocked the door behind the bar and disappeared. Shortly, she returned with an older woman in tow. I mean that literally: she had the other woman by the hand, and seemed to be pulling her through the door.
The hum had softened some when she left, but not stopped, and now that she was back, it got louder again. The second woman, dressed in a green velvet dress that was more of a robe than anything else, and wearing a heavy insignia around her neck, stopped at the sound and stared at me. "Who are you?" she whispered.
"Deyla," I replied. "I have no other name."
"Well, Deyla." She grimaced for a moment. "Take good care of the necklace, pray you."
Then she disappeared through the doorway, and as the door swung shut behind her, I heard a metallic click that sounded more than a little ominous. The humming in my necklace immediately stopped, and its absence also frightened me. But mostly, I was tired, so I turned and walked out of the common room, climbed the stairs, and let myself into my little room, where I quickly prepared for bed. And now that I am done writing about my day, I will go to sleep. Tomorrow is meant to be a long day, as we descend from the hills into Westfall proper.
....
I don't think I like Westfall very much. The vegetation is sparse and more rugged than Elwynn. A lot of it looks tinder-dry, as if it could catch fire just from the sun beating down on it. The few stands of trees are solace to my eyes, but really, it's mostly a bit too desolate for my taste. Add to this the fact that the so-called Defias have trashed the place, and I'll be just as glad when we are gone.
We woke up early and went outside the inn, where a number of travelers, including our group were being reunited with their wagons and horses. As we hitched up the horses to Jamie's wagon, I watched the other people, too. There was a striking woman I had noticed in the common room last night. She had been sitting in the corner drinking an aromatic, bitter-smelling something and eating a berry tart. This morning, she was dressed for travel, with an enslaved imp bouncing around at her side.
Unlike Boswell, she wasn't letting the imp run the partnership, but she wasn't horribly mean to it, either. Just sort of firm and in control. As I watched, she mounted up on an armored ram, an oddity amongst warlocks. I recall when Boswell learned to summon his second and faster demonic mount, and I thought all warlocks did that, but this woman climbed onto a dwarven mount as if she did it all the time. Then she left in a cloud of dust, and I climbed up onto our wagon, so we, too could leave.
Thinking of Boswell made me smile, especially remembering his attachment to those two demon mounts. He called the slower one "Tony the Pony" and the faster one "Florsie the Horsie", names that made Pipniff roll his eyes and laugh mockingly at his fellow demons, so demeaned by Boswell's cheerful names for them. I wonder what he and Pipniff are up to these days?
While my thoughts were wandering, Jamie started the horses moving, and our final day of travel began. You know, until we turn around and come back in a few days.
The morning started out fairly cool, largely because we were so high in the hills, but as we descended slowly along the banks of a small creek, and the sun rose higher in the sky, it got quite warm, especially considering the time of year. After awhile, Jamie stopped the horses and put the canopy up over the bench seat we were sitting on, and then we continued. The shade was nice, I admit.
After about four hours, we stopped for our lunch. Instead of the dried meat I'd planned on when I didn't know about last night's accommodations, we had sandwiches filled with a deviled egg spread and cucumbers. The spread was spicy and yet very smooth, and I noticed that Granma liked it a great deal. I will try to figure out how to make it when we get home. There were more of the cherry tarts from last night, which made me happy, and the fresh water from the creek next to us washed it all down nicely.
As the afternoon wore on, we drove by three or four abandoned farms, buildings burned to the ground, and fields left fallow, with various farm implements rusting and rotting under the beating sun. Jamie growled as we passed the second one, and muttered about the outlaws and the damage they are doing to Westfall.
It's clear that in Elwynn, the outlaws are more of a nuisance, where as here, they are a danger. I say that, even after having spent a day under straw and then having to do the back-breaking labor of restocking the cellar from the secret provisions. We would not even be on this trip if it weren't for the outlaws. But then just as I get all outraged about them, I recall the ten days of "community service" at the lumber mill, and I know that being poor is just no fun, no matter what. People respond to it differently, some railing against the system and not noticing that they are becoming so much like what they despise, what with the "canvassing" for "contributions", and others knuckle down and work harder, hoping to remain safe and unnoticed. Me, I plan to escape the whole mess once I can afford to move to Stormwind.
Around the time I came to the conclusion that Westfall was all destroyed and abandoned, we came to a place where a smaller creek joined with the one we'd been following all day. Jamie turned the wagon to follow the little rivulet up the hill it flowed down. After another 30 minutes of slow going, we topped the rise, and before us, in a bowl-like valley, was a small group of farms, these ones whole and untouched by the devastation we had witnessed earlier.
There are neat buildings, houses, barns, and storage towers, as well as a cistern for the whole lot of the holdings. The fields were all harvested and plowed, but in perfectly good order. In a couple pastures, a few cows and horses grazed as if they had no care in the world.
I wondered how these people came to be passed over by the outlaws, seemingly so hell-bent on destroying Westfall, when I noticed that the whole area was patrolled by big blue demons. And indeed, when we turned up a drive and made our way to one of the farmhouses, I also saw imps and the occasional felpuppy. Curious, but I suppose it would work. It would be hard for outlaws to overrun a compound protected by so much demonic power, but it also suggested that the inhabitants of the small valley were themselves people to be reckoned with.
As we drove up, two men came out of the house, one of whom looked so much like Big Joe that I knew immediately that he was Granma's son. And he seemed happier to see her than his letter had suggested he would be, plucking her off the wagon bench and twirling her around in a big bear hug. Jamie said "That's my Uncle John," as if I needed to be told. He jumped down and hugged his uncle, too, with a look in his eye that I didn't quite recognize. I got down off the bench and was duly introduced to Mr. Stonefield, who told me I might as well call him "Uncle John", too.
While all this hullabaloo was going on, I hadn't noticed the other fellow who had come out of the house. This one was taller and thinner than Uncle John, and was wearing an apron that he was wiping his hands on fussily as he hurried out of the house to greet us. Granma said, "Well, Clive, and how are you doing?" and Jamie, shook his hand heartily. He told me to call him Clive, and to ignore the imp at his feet.
We immediately set to unloading our personal items from the wagon and taking them into the house. Well, Granma and I took ours into the house, as we are sharing a bedchamber there. Jamie is going to be sleeping in a bunk above the stable, I gather. In any case, he took his rucksack in there right after he unhitched the horses and turned them into the pasture behind the house.
Once our own bags were settled, we went back and started unloading the supplies we'd brought with us. Uncle John and Jamie carried all the boxes down to their cellar, and Clive and I unpacked them all, while Granma sat in the parlor with a cup of tea and a cat on her lap, occasionally calling out instructions to us, and teasing the men.
Clive was very impressed with the variety of canned goods we brought, and was even more impressed when I told him I had done all the canning myself. He showed me his own stores, which were mostly vegetables, since they grow well here. That's why we brought the fruits, after all, because they have no orchard or vines.
After all this work, Uncle John suggested that a "quick dip" might be nice, so we went for a swim in the pond, which was certainly refreshing and washed away the grime and sweat fairly well. After I braided my wet hair, I wandered into the kitchen, where I ended up helping Clive cook our dinner. Mostly, I just chopped vegetables and stirred pots at his instruction.
He had made two beautiful roasted chickens, with some kind of aromatic paste beneath the skin that flavored the meat with a lovely herb flavoring. There was also a lovely barley pilaf with tiny chopped vegetables, and a salad with a tart dressing. And for dessert, rhubarb crumble. It was nice to eat a family meal that I hadn't had to cook, and I have to admit he's a fine cook. I never ate with two imps underfoot before, but both Clive and Uncle John seemed to keep their familiars under control, so there wasn't much in the way of wayward fire, and nothing bigger than a few sparks, anyway.
After dinner, we sat in the parlor and the family exchanged news. Jamie was not very kind about Maybell (well, who would be?), but he said that Joey seems happy. Eventually, the conversation moved on to sharing news about more distant relations, garnered from letters and such, and since I don't know those people, I sort of lost interest. A grey tabby cat climbed up on my lap and I sat idly petting her while I thought about how odd it was to be in a family group like that when less than a year ago, I was just an orphan.
After awhile, people started to yawn, and we made our way to our bedchambers, Granma and I to the room with the two neat small beds, Jamie to the bunk over the stables, and Clive and Uncle John to their own room. I'm writing by candlelight as Granma snores softly in the other bed.
It was a long day of travel, but this seems like a fairly nice place. I'll be glad to get home, but so far the trip hasn't been that bad.
....
Woke up this morning long before Granma, and after lazing in bed for a bit, I decided to get up, as I heard the sounds of breakfast being made. I wandered into the kitchen, where Clive bade me pull up a stool and thrust a mug of hot tea into my hands.
He was making some kind of corn flatbread, just finely ground dried corn, salt and pepper, mixed with some water, then kneaded and rolled into little flat rounds, which he was cooking on a dry griddle and then immediately adding to a pile stacked under a damp tea towel. He called them "griddle cakes", a term I am accustomed to hearing as an alternate to "flapjacks", which these certainly were not.
Once the bread was all cooked, he set about half of it aside and then used the rest to make breakfast, a spicy concoction of egg, tomato, and hot peppers, served over the little flatbreads with some sour cream over the top. He sprinkled it with a green leafy herb I never saw before that added something else to the dish. Wow. The tomatoes and peppers here are so flavorful. Uncle John says it's because of the heat, which I guess makes sense. They have a garden with late tomatoes in it now, and fresh peppers, too.
After we all ate, Uncle John and Jamie went out to do stuff with the animals, and Clive and I set about doing more kitchen chores. There's an old comfortable rocker in the corner of the kitchen, too, which is a big old sunny room with the cooking space, a big table where they eat all their meals, and an herb garden in the corner window by the rocker. Granma sat in the rocker and knit away on some socks for Little Joe while I washed the breakfast dishes and Clive prepared what he says will be tomorrow's supper.
He tore the leftover flatbread into pieces, and chopped up the chicken left from last night's dinner. Then he made a creamy sauce with roasted green peppers in it and some new onions, all chopped up. He then layered the sauce, the chicken,the flatbreads, and some grated cheese several times, ending with a whole bunch of cheese. When it was all layered, he poked it all over with a knife and poured a little milk over the top, which drained down into the knife holes. Then he covered his dish and put in the cellar on a block of ice. I asked him how he had a block of ice, and he said that one of the neighbors is a mage who stops by every once in awhile and freezes up some water for them. It's handy, especially in this hot place, to have a way to keep food from spoiling. I bet it's nice in the summer to be able to put ice in your water, too.
I never really stopped to think about it, but one of the baby spells that the mage guy in Northshire taught me was a bolt of frost. It wouldn't freeze a whole block of ice like that, but I bet I could make ice cubes. If I worked at it, I could probably make enough to freeze up some ice cream. Now that would be a treat!
Once the casserole was "setting up" as he called it, we made bread and set it to rise. Once all that was done, it was getting to be time for lunch, so he had me chop up a bunch of vegetables which he sauteed in an odd, deep, rounded pan, very fast over high heat with only a little oil. He added ginger, a little garlic, and some thick dark liquid that tasted mostly of salt. Right before he served it up, he sprinkled some vinegar over it all. We ate it over fried cakes made of noodles, something else I never had before. The whole thing tasted wonderful, but very different.
It occurred to me as we worked in the kitchen that there are all kinds of ways to cook. I think I am a pretty good cook, and I know how to make a lot of stuff, but that's three meals (if you count tomorrow's supper) where Clive made something I never even imagined. His cooking is more exotic to my taste than mine, but very very good. I said both things to him and he laughed and said that the canned goods and dried fruit and especially the fruit leathers we brought seemed very exotic to him. Maybe it's all about perspective.
Jamie and Clive are out fishing now, with the promise of fresh trout for supper. Granma is dozing in the chair by the kitchen window. Uncle John has gone out to invite some other people to a big party in three days from now, and I am sitting under a willow tree with my bare feet dangling in the pond, writing in my journal and thinking about how even when I spend part of the time working in a kitchen, maybe a vacation isn't the worst thing ever. If nothing else, I may learn a few new cooking tricks to use this winter.
....
I had a disturbing conversation tonight. I don't like disturbing conversations.
Clive and Uncle John threw a big party for their neighbors today, starting around mid-day, and still going on now. Some people have already bunked down over the stables, and others have made their way back to their own farms, but there is a group of people singing together by a bonfire, and smaller groups of quieter conversations.
I spent the morning running around doing the things that Clive needed to have done. I even got to cook some of the food for the party, although most of the guests also brought food. So it wasn't a massive undertaking like the time Granma had the entire farm to breakfast. Instead, we provided two cauldrons of soup, and lots of nibbles. Most guests brought covered dishes, and one of them brought everything we needed to make ice cream, including a mage to make water into ice to line the churn.
Clive reminded me yesterday of my comment about how exotic his food is, and said again that he imagined that my cooking would be exotic to many of the guests, in terms of it not being what they ate every day. So I made an apple spice sheet cake with a simple browned sugar topping, and then I stuffed some dried apricots with creamy cheese from their larder. I made one of the pots of soup, too, a rich vegetable melange, with some of my precious sausage shaved into it for flavor.
Clive made all kinds of things I never ate before, including fried triangles of breaded cheese that he served with a spicy tomato sauce, and chunks of chicken marinated in heavily buttermilk overnight and then grilled in a very hot smoking oven until the outsides were almost (but not quite) burnt and the insides were tender and juicy and very strongly flavored.
In fact, most of the food was not what I am used to, again partly because they (like the rest of us, really) cook with what they have. For the most part, the flavors people created were strong and spicy, and very delicious.
Anyway, this was the first time I met any of the people from the other farms. I guess, based on the number of people who showed up, that there must be seven or eight other farms in the valley. It's an enormously self-sufficient group of people; I met a farmer's wife who is also the blacksmith and farrier for the region, and a midwife, and other people with specialized skills.
It's interesting to me, because it doesn't seem to be a communal setup, but perhaps necessity has driven them to rely on one another as much as they do. There's even a fellow who was a school teacher in Moonbrook (which I guess is a town in Westfall somewhere) before the outlaws destroyed the place. He now has a farm, but in the winter, I gather he runs a school a couple days a week for whatever children happen to need to learn. At the moment, there are only two school-aged children in the valley, a brother and sister. The little girl told me her older sister wanted to be a scholar, so when she was 13, she went to Refuge for more schooling. (Refuge, I learned, is the name of the settlement whose hostel we stayed in on the second night of our journey.)
Protecting the valley, though, is done as a group. There are several powerful warlocks in the community, and they have set demons to guarding the place. I'm told that when the entire valley comes to a party, extra demons are sent to guard the empty farms.
At first, the party made me feel shy, something I don't feel all that often, but then I don't usually get into a group of people who have all known each other for years. Everyone here was already known to Jamie and Granma, too, and it felt lonely to be the only stranger.
Then I noticed I was not the only stranger. There was another, the same warlock I had seen mounting up on the ram the other morning while we were hitching up our horses to our wagon. She seemed just as aloof and strangely self-contained as she had in the common room.
And she hates the outlaws. I walked behind a small group of people in conversation, and she made a comment about the activities of the group she called, in a sneering sort of voice, "the Defias", which is indeed one of the grandiose names they give themselves. Remembering Miss Bernice's bruised face, I could not help but think that's a mighty fine name for what amounts to a bunch of thugs. Still, things are complex, and so are people. Whatever I might think of them. the warlock's opinion is much lower. And while I couldn't tell you why I think it's so, I am sure that her vitriol is personal, as well as political.
She spoke of her opposition to their methods, and that may be so, but I got the impression that their politics and methods are not the only thing she resents. And Clive told me later, she is famous for her successful forays against bands of outlaws, that she has cleaned out many an occupied farm of what he calls "those vermin". And like I said before, it's much less possible for me to think of this as a difference of opinion between the government and the so-called "freedom fighters" when I think of the burned out farms we drove by on our way here.
Later, when I was replenishing some of the plates of food, she wandered up and refilled her own plate. She made some polite comment, and I responded in kind. But instead of moving on, or going back to the group she had been speaking with earlier, she stayed there and made inconsequential conversation with me.
When I was done with my task, I picked up my glass of water, which had ice in it. Maldora asked me where I got the ice, and I blushed. See, earlier, when they were churning ice cream, I thought again that maybe the little spells I learned could be used to make ice cubes, anyway. So I tried it, and sure enough it worked. I explained this to her, and she asked me to show her. She held out her own glass of water, and I suddenly did not want to do this. Still, I could think of no polite way to decline without drawing unwelcome attention to myself, so I held out one hand and closed my eyes and concentrated very hard. As I felt the power build in my hand, I opened my eyes and watched a tiny frost bolt leave my fingers and leap into her glass, where it froze a very small part of her water into a perfectly spherical ice cube.
She grinned and laughed, a sound that was surprisingly more girlish than her features or demeanor would suggest she could make. Then she clinked her glass softly against mine and toasted both our futures. I took a drink of my own water, and assumed that the subject would now be closed. Alas for assumptions.
That's when the conversation became disturbing to me. (And can I just say, through this whole disturbing conversation, my necklace lay quietly on my neck, indulging in not histrionics whatsoever. This makes no sense to me, because the thing practically screams when it thinks I should be upset. But if I [b]am[/b], it just sits there.)
Anyway, Maldora said, "I see you are indeed just learning, but even I can feel the power in your hands. I hope you have a very skilled teacher. Are you still at Northshire?"
"I am no mage," I told her firmly. "I learned a few cantrips because it was easier to learn them than to excuse myself from the lesson, but I am a seamstress by inclination, and a housekeeper by wage."
She seemed taken aback by this, and said to me, "I do not know why you chose not to study as a mage, Deyla, but it seems very dangerous to me. The studies of those of us who use magics of any kind do not create in us the powers we learn to express, Instead, these studies harness and control the powers we were born with."
Suddenly I felt very angry, at her, at the world, at the circumstances of my life. "I don't care," I shot back at her. "I decided a long time ago that I would not let my life be controlled by circumstances beyond my control. I didn't choose to be an orphan, but I overcame that. And I didn't choose to be poor, but now I am not as poor as I once was. And I didn't choose to have 'magical power', but having it doesn't mean I have to be a mage. I don't want to be a mage, and I will not."
Her eyes flashed for a moment, and the imp at her heels jumped up and down excitedly, but then her expression gentled. "I hope the shape of your life allows you to make that choice, Deyla. But be careful. Great power of the kind I sensed in you earlier is a burden much more than it is a gift. And untrained, wild power can destroy more than you might imagine."
Before I could reply, she smiled sadly at me, placed the back of her fingers against my cheek for a moment, and wandered off, a subdued imp following along behind.
As she walked away, I felt a great weariness come over me, as the anger drained out of me. I sat down on my heels, and fought back tears I did not want to acknowledge were even there. And now, as the bonfire burns lower, and the singing becomes less raucous and more soothing to the ear, as the hum of conversation fades softly into the night, I am taking myself off to bed.
There are all kinds of things I don't like about my circumstances, not least some of the memories I carry with me, but the one thing I do like is that I am not a mage. Please the Light, I am not a mage.
....
The day after the party, we got out of bed rather late and cooked up a nice hearty brunch to feed all the random people who were still around. By mid-afternoon, the guests had all wondered back to their various farms, and the four of us had finished cleaning up all the various party detritus while Granma watched and crocheted on some blanket for Little Joe.
Clive poured us glasses of cold ale, and as we sat in the shade and drank them, we discussed exactly what we would be bringing back to Elwynn with us. Granma stopped plying her hook and started making lists, and once they were made, all five of us began the work of sorting out and packing up the supplies we will take home with us. I was surprised to find that I am a bit reluctant to leave here. Clive in particular is very good company, and Granma seems happy to be around the son she sees so rarely. However, I will also be glad to get back to Elwynn, where the forest and farms are more to my taste, and where I can get back to work on my sewing projects.
That was yesterday, mostly a lazy day. Today, we packed up crates and bins and barrels, and loaded up the wagon. We refilled the boxes of canned goods with jars from Clive's cellars, mostly pickles and chutneys and sauces, much more heavily flavored than the things I make, but they will add variety to the meals I cook (and the ones Miss Bernice cooks up at the Big House; I don't believe Maybell knows how to open a jar, so I doubt she will use any of these things -- plus, she's afraid of new things, as if unfamiliar food might reach out and bite her on the nose or something).
There are metal bins with rolled oats in them, and a barrel of wheat flour. We have two sacks of dried corn, which we will have ground when we get home, as well as smaller sacks of dried beans. All in all, it's a fairly decent replacement for the stores we lost in the raid, and will make our winter meals better and more healthful.
Clive introduced me to some new flavorings, including things that won't grow at home because it doesn't get hot enough. He did give me seeds for the herbs that will grow in my window garden (like the green leafy stuff he put on the eggs the first morning we were here -- and did I mention? that casserole he made with the leftover chicken and cheeses was soooo good!) He also gave me a couple dried roots and a large selection of dried mushrooms, of types that are not found in Elwynn. I was go grateful for his gifts from his personal stores that I gave him one of my precious Redridge sausages in return.
Tomorrow morning, we are leaving what I have taken to calling "Warlock Valley", since the demons patrolling the place make it clear that there are many locks here, indeed. And that means that after two more nights on the road, I will be back in my little attic bedroom. The adventure will be over. I guess I'm not sorry I came, but I'm glad it will be over soon.
A quiet winter with the Stonefields isn't the worst thing that could happen to me at all.
....
Home again.
How odd it seems to me to call this place "home" and mean something by it other than "the only place I have ever lived, except for the refugee years during the War". We arrived home mid-afternoon yesterday, and although the weather in Elwynn had taken a sharp turn towards winter in our absence, and it was much colder than it had been in Westfall, the house was stuffy and needed to be aired out, and of course, there was a great deal of stuff to be unpacked and put away.
Lucky for me, Big Joe put Maybell and Joey on unpacking duty. Both of them balked a bit, but a stern look from his father got Joey to working, as it usually does, and Maybell did a bit, even while maintaining an edgy whine under her breath the entire time. Near as I could tell, her whole complaint was "I didn't get to go on the adventure, why should I have to do any work related to it?"
Because you want to eat bread and porridge and beans this winter, you twit? Did she fail to notice that large portions of her family's harvest were stolen from them? Or that there simply wasn't enough of the right kind of food to get everyone healthy through the winter? Now that I wrote that down, I think, yes, she did fail to notice, she is that stupid and self-absorbed, and she isn't going to stop annoying me until that day comes when I never have to see her again.
In the meantime, I swept and aired the cottage, made up the beds with fresh linens provided by Miss Bernice, who had kindly washed ours with theirs while we were gone, and cooked a simple dinner for Granma, Despite her obvious pleasure at being home (and the patent enjoyment she had gotten from the trip, especially the visit with Uncle John), she was just as obviously exhausted, so I made a simple roasted tomato soup and some fresh biscuits with honey, and left it at that. Once she's her usual self again, I'll start experimenting with what I learned from Clive. I noticed Granma never had any trouble finishing his meals, the way she sometimes does with what Ma Stonefield calls "Plain Hearty Fare".
The trip home was sort of uneventful. Well, mostly uneventful and partly me skittishly avoiding potential events. When we got to Refuge and I came down to the common room for supper, all clean and still a bit damp around the edges, I noticed that the woman behind the bar recognized me and was watching me closely. She was clearly trying to see whether I still wore my necklace, which of course I was, since the darned thing won't let me take it off.
When we finished supper (tender chicken fried in a spicy batter and served with mashed potatoes and pan gravy -- another simple but wonderful meal from those kitchens), I saw her start for the door behind the bar, and I had this sudden certainty that she was off to fetch the robed woman I had spoken to the first time. I really didn't want to revisit that conversation, so I let Jamie and Granma know I was oh, so tired from the trip (which was actually true), and tat I was going upstairs to try to get an early night (which I actually did; I fell asleep the instant my head hit the pillow).
In the morning, I rushed through my breakfast and hurried outside to help get the horses and wagon ready for us to depart, which we did, in very good time. As we drove off, I saw Maldora come out of the inn, too, and I wondered briefly why she keeps showing up where I am.
Otherwise, the trip was three long days of slow driving, camping with strangers at the foot of the lake again, and silences between the three of us that were not the least bit fraught, as if we had now spent enough time together that lack of active conversation didn't make us anxious anymore. When we finally arrived, I leapt off the wagon bench and stretched my legs and back, which were starting to stiffen up from the combination of sitting still while Jamie drove and the constant bouncing around (although of course it's not as bad on Jamie's fancy wagon as it is on many farm carts).
The sky is lowering and it will certainly snow before morning. Unlike the sprinkling of snow we had about six weeks ago, which barely covered the ground, and which was well gone by noon, this is going to last I think. It would appear that the last gasp of autumn is over and we are about to be grasped by winter, which I dare say will not let us go for months.
I'm glad to have a pile of dead people's cloths, and a dress project for Her to keep me occupied while I am not cleaning, cooking, or paying attention to Granma. Sometimes I think that the real value I bring to them all is the companionship for the old woman they all love so well. Because loving her doesn't mean they don't have a lot to do, and the need to do it now (because gravid cows won't wait, and stuff). I'm useful. I think one of the things I learned her this fall is that one way to carve a place for yourself is to be useful, so that someone knows his life will be poorer or more work if you are gone than if you stick around.
I see now that work of the right kind build one a place, even in a situation where there was no place for me to start with. I expect this is a lesson that will come in handy.
But even if there is a place for me here, even if I do call it "home" for now, I want something of my own, something that is my home because it is mine, not because I use it as a home.
When that day comes, things will be better than they are right now. But that doesn't mean they are bad right now, because they are not.
....
The winter is passing away, and I am fairly bored. It's not bad boredom, exactly, not the excruciating kind of boredom that makes me want to rip my head off. I have tasks to keep me occupied that I find interesting, and pleasant enough conversation with Granma. I receive occasional massive infusions to my gold collection when I send a dress to my employer. I've been entertaining myself experimenting with the spices and other goods I got from Clive, and my cooking repertoire is significantly expanded. But basically, nothing ever happens.
I find this frustrating, even though for most of my life, "something happened" was usually bad news. Having to flee Stormwind in the War, the time that the bears attacked the refugee camp, having to leave the orphanage, the stupid heroes disbanding . . . eventful times are not my favorite. I was talking to the fellow in Goldshire who cures headaches, and he told me in his hometown, the most horrible curse you could lay on someone was "May you live in interesting times."
I see his point and all, but I do live in interesting times. I am subject to all the disadvantages of such times, the food shortages, the attacks by outlaws, and what have you, but I have very little of interest in my life. And while I sometimes go days at a time in a state of activity and contentment, I am often bored, and wishing for a bit more excitement.
The other day, the snow had all melted for a bit, and we were having a relatively warm stretch of weather, so I went to Goldshire for the afternoon. Even the adventurers are fewer and farther between than they were in the summer or the autumn, as if they have all taken off for warmer places to do their retrieval tasks for people. I mean, I assume that there are job boards in other inns, including inns where there is no snow on the ground.
It was a nice change of scenery, and it was pleasant to have a meal someone else cooked and cleaned up, but the inn was quite empty compared to its usual summertime crowds. There was no faire, no cluster of adventurers, no young girls trying to get the attention of the young men. I struck up conversation with a few people, but none of them were in the mood to tell interesting stories, so it was more of the same: pleasant conversation, but nothing to take my mind off the fact that while I am securely settled for the winter, it is not a permanent solution.
A permanent solution would be something that belonged to me. A farm? A business? A family? Even a solid plan, I guess. At this point, I am saving my gold (and spending a few coppers here and there on a non-home-cooked meal to break the monotony of my winter days) and hoping for better times.
For example, in the inn, I had conversations with the innkeeper (an old friend of mine at this point), an older couple who were on their way to visit their daughter and her family in Westfall, a solitary farmer with a very sharp sword by his side, and a couple of local roust-abouts. Thing is, this time of year, even the local roust-abouts are pretty subdued. Or maybe the real hardcore ones have moved elsewhere for the season, leaving these fellow behind to pretend to be what they are not.
I won't pretend to be what I am not. I am an orphan who has found a secure place for the winter, useful work to do, and an income stream that may one day change things for me. All good things. But somehow, I never expected my first winter out and about in the world to be so, domestic, I guess is the right word.
Still, cold or hunger or pure unadulterated poverty would all be worse than this.
....
Another afternoon in Goldshire to partially ease my boredom. I wandered the shops, not seeing anything interesting enough to justify parting with coin to buy, but it occupied a couple not-entirely-unpleasant hours. Then I took myself to the inn for a meal of mushroom pasty and ale. It's a good meal, and one that is a little heavy for Granma's tastes these days, so I was pleased that the pies were on the daily board.
As I finished up the last spoonful of mushrooms and gravy, I noticed that my friend from last week, Harald the farmer with the sword has come in and was sitting at a table, waiting for someone apparently. As I was considering whether to go over and say hello, the front door to the place opened again and in walked Maldora.
Now, I'm not sure how I feel about her. I don't suppose she meant any harm in Warlock Valley. In fact, perhaps she meant well. But I was disturbed by our conversation, and I can't quite make myself forget what she said about wild power. Nevertheless, I am going on with my life as I had chosen before she spoke to me, and so far, all I am is a little bored. As well as busy and earning money.
Anyway, while those thoughts were flitting across my mind, she wandered over to Harald's table and sat down. The innkeep came and took their order and then sent the barmaid scrambling to fill their table with an array of fruits and cheeses, some bread, and a carafe of white wine. I sat in silence and watched them eat for awhile, and finally decided to make my way home. It gets dark early in winter, and as the ground was damp, I wanted to be home and in bed before the nighttime temperature drop froze any puddles of water in my path and made the walk home treacherous.
So I got up and went to the bar to pay my tab. Joshua was as chatty and friendly as ever, quizzing me on the quiet evening I had spent, after the more boisterous ones he'd seen me enjoy earlier in the year. In his usual friendly way, he commented on each of the few patrons in the place as he counted out my change. When he got to Maldora's and Harald's table, he said, "And those two, obsessed beyond belief with the outlaws. Well, each has good reason, I suppose, and there's no denying that cleaning out the nests of bandits is only to the good."
Well, if nothing else, I suppose it's good to know that my intuition did not fail me -- that Maldora does indeed have something personal against her "Defias".
And that's what I've come to, nothing to write about save a little gossip with the innkeeper. I remind myself that I am well-housed, well-fed, and making a decent income. Because otherwise, this would seem a lot worse than it is.
....
It turns out that the farmer with the sharp sword, Harald, is a friend of Uncle John's and therefore, fairly well-known to both Granma and Jamie. She told me that Jamie and a guest were coming for dinner, so I prepared a nice winter meal of thick slices of fresh sausage I'd made that morning, fried up with potatoes and apples and onions. I also made a creamy spinach dish to go with it, and some thick dark bread. Finally, we had a pound cake with stewed cherries soaked with rum, from one of the jars I canned in the summer. Dinner was all ready to serve up when Jamie knocked on the door.
I opened it, and was a little surprised to see Harald on the stoop with him. I let them into the house, and when Jamie went to introduce us, Harald blushed and told him we'd been introduced in the common room of the inn not too long ago. The blush was kind of nice, because it means he remembered me a little more than just in passing.
Over dinner, Granma told Harald about our recent trip to Warlock Valley. She was pretty cagey about the reasons we'd decided to make such a trip on the very edge of winter like that, but he seemed to know right away that we wouldn't have done it if there had not been need. And either his own animosity towards the Defias, or his common sense, or some combination of those, seemed to lead him right to a fairly complete and accurate understanding of the situation.
I saw a muscle in his neck tighten when he realized we had been attacked by the outlaws. He muttered under his breath, "It just is never enough. We clean out their nests, and drive the younger less corrupt of them out of the outlaw life, but it is as if a hundred rise up to replace every ten we get rid of."
I knew he was talking about his raids with Maldora, then, but everyone else acted like he hadn't made the comment, so I did, too.
After supper, we retired to the parlor, where we played some old fashioned games that I never even heard of until I came here to live and work. It turns out that growing up in the orphanage is a disadvantage in more ways than I realized while I was doing the growing up. There are all kinds of things that people who grow up in families know that I never learned.
About Hope Chests and trousseaus. About games to play in the parlor on dark winter nights. About how to cook for small groups of people, and how doing so might be a pleasure, not just a chore. Much more often than I would have expected, I find that people talk about or do things I never imagined. It's like there is this whole culture that associated with having lived in a family, and I never even knew it existed. Probably just as well, because when I was a child, I had no way to have it, and I suppose it's better not to know what you are missing if there is no way to rectify the situation.
I know that families differ, that different families play different games in their parlors, but I never even knew they did that. At the orphanage, we were sent to bed at sundown (or earlier, in the summer) and they locked the doors on the dormitory room, and we were left alone. Sometimes we played games, sometimes, we slept. More often than not, we slept, but even when we talked or played games, it was all children. I never knew that grown ups played games with children, or with just other grown ups, like we did tonight.
After awhile, Jamie, had to leave, but Granma and Harald were having a good time talking about some people they both knew. As they talked, I learned more about him, but not really any details, exactly. I know now that he seems like a farmer because he is a farmer, that he used to have a farm in Westfall, but it was destroyed during the war when he was off fighting on the front lines. He came home to find it burned and derelict, with no idea where he wife and two young sons might have gotten to. I gather from what he said, that he now knows what happened to them, but he never really talked about it, so I can only surmise that it was a bad end of some kind.
Now he seems to live a sort of wandering life in Elwynn, doing I am not sure what, except when he hooks up with his warlock buddy and they go "clean up" Defias.
Eventually, the conversation died down, and the three of us sat by the fire in a very comfortable silence, which surprised me, too. I did not know I could be comfortable like that with someone I don't know well.
Anyway, after a bit of that, Granma started to nod off, and in a very polite way that did not draw attention to her lapse of good manners, Harald excused himself, thanking both of us for the pleasant evening. Granma said, "Now that you mention it, I should probably be heading for my bed. Deyla will show you out. It is always wonderful to see you, Harald. Don't be such a stranger!"
So I walked with him to the hall, and handed him his coat and hat, and made some polite conversation with him while he bundled up for the cold dark walk back to wherever he is staying. Without really realizing what I was doing, I tilted my hip in his direction; I didn't mean to catch his attention, it was more like I was occupied trying to decide what I think of him, and my body just fell into its old habits.
I only realized what I had done when I saw the look in his eye get more intense all of a sudden, and then I found myself blushing. I never blush!
Anyway, we both pretended there was no added something between us all of a sudden and he took his leave.
I went back to the parlor, but Granma had already retired, so I came upstairs. Now I am almost ready for sleep myself, but I am kept awake by wondering why I acted towards Harald like I do when I am out looking for a pleasant evening of flirting and dancing and laughing, as that was not on my mind at all.
Still, it's a least a bit more interesting than wondering whether anything our of the ordinary will ever happen. Something did: I flirted with a man without deciding in advance to do so. Very odd.
I'm glad to have a warm bed to snuggle down into tonight. It's going to freeze hard before morning. I usually leave the little window in my attic open just a tiny bit because I love the feel of fresh air, but not tonight. It's just too cold, and instead I will treasure the warmth and coziness of this little room, that at least for now, is all mine.
....
It's the middle of the winter. We have snow on the ground most days, and the occasional heavy fall. The animals have all grown shaggy coats to help keep them warm, and I never go outside without a heavy cloak to keep me warm.
I spend most of my time indoors, with Granma, knitting or sewing, caring for her house, listening to her stories, telling her some (sanitized) stories about my life in the orphanage and (less sanitized) tales about the people I met with the heroes. She loves stories about Pipniff, and likes to speculate about what he was plotting involving me.
I also cook. I love winter food, the hearty kind that is just too heavy to eat in the heat of the summer, and that is a waste to make in the spring with its new fresh produce or the autumn with its harvest bounty. In midwinter, I make stews that use the preserved goods I put up all summer and fall.
In summer, given a chicken to roast, I would chop up fresh herbs and mix them with some rendered chicken fat and perhaps some dried citrus peel if I have any. I pull up the skin on the breast and smear the mixture all over the meat, then pull the skin back into place. Stuff the chicken with a chopped onion and the stems from the herbs, and roast. Simple, fragrant and heavenly.
In winter, that same chicken gets stuffed, by golly. A little day old bread, some sauteed onions and celery, and a lot of black pepper and dried sage. Maybe I'd even feel ambitious and mix in some old corn muffins, too. Roast on a bed of root vegetables, and it's a whole different experience. Much heartier and heavier and so warming in the dead of winter.
The last time I went to Goldshire, the peddler was back with his spices and other food products from far away. I bought a jar of black liquid, heavily salted and slightly sweet and fermented tasting. I also got a package of some kind of paste, slightly reddish in color, that also tastes of far away. He told me how to use it to season a chicken that I first steamed and then smoked in a closed pot with tea leaves and sugar providing the smoke. Soooooo good, and too heavy for summer, also. But in the middle of a snow storm, it brought to mind places that are perpetually warm and so different than here that I can hardly imagine them.
I also ran into Maldora. She's been to some place so far away, she says it's not even on this world, but somewhere out there beyond the night sky. I guess that a lot of the enemies from the last War are there, so heroes go there to fight. She says that Boswell is there, with Pipniff, and that they are doing well. But she couldn't stay there, even though she is a great hero when she wants to be. She said that staying there left the Defias to grow here unchecked.
I asked her why not let Harald handle the Defias while she fights demons, and she said he can't handle them alone, that he is really a man of peace. But then the two of them went out and cleaned out two more camps of the outlaws. I guess it's a good thing they are doing, given what happened in Westfall when the outlaws gained the upper hand over the people who were just trying to live their lives.
But I don't really like to think about it, because I was very scared that night. I don't want to be scared again like that. So I pretend that if I stay snug in my little room, and do my work, and live quietly, that I will be safe. But what I really want is for the safety not to be an illusion.
It's safe enough for now, but it's not really good enough to last a lifetime.
....
Harald invited Granma, Jamie, and me to a "winter picnic" yesterday. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground, but not enough that a carriage could not safely travel over the roads. So Jamie hooked up the wagon again, and put the round top over the back part. Then we bundled up Granma and me in warm clothes and blankets, and he drove us down the river to a small backwater area where part of the river is diverted into a sort of little lake.
The backwater is surrounded by large boulders, and there is an area there where the boulders form a sort of wall against the prevailing winds. It's not really a cave, because it doesn't have a roof, but it is very protected. In that area, Harald had set up some logs to sit on and built a nice fire.
He made us a sort of camping meal, which I actually enjoyed a lot more than I enjoyed the ones where we were really camping when we went to Westfall. He had wrapped potatoes in some find of leaves and put them in the coals on the edge of the fire. When they were cooked, he dug them out and scooped out most of the potato, leaving just the skins. Then he mixed the potato with some milk and butter and cheese and dried herbs and a bit of dried sausage (sort of like my Redridge sausages, but a different kind). He filled the potato skins back up with this mixture and then wrapped them up in leaves again, and put them back in the coals for a few minutes until the cheese got all melty.
We ate them with hot tea. They tasted wonderful and the company was pleasant.
Well, it really was, even though I was terribly nervous. I couldn't help remembering that last moment in Granma's front hall when Harald came to dinner that time, and I was very self-conscious pretty much the whole time we were there. I know he was watching me, too, and that made me even more nervous.
Anyway, we stayed out there a couple hours and then Jamie brought us home. I spent the afternoon finishing a lacy wrap for Her, which should bring me another gold coin or two. I couldn't help thinking more about what it would be like to wear clothing like that, but for whatever reason, thinking about that made me blush. It didn't used to.
I made a simple supper of squash soup and biscuits this evening -- those potatoes were really filling. As we were eating, Granma told me about how she and her husband had known Harald's parents quite well. She kept saying how tragic his story was, and I guess it is. But the thing is, the world is so ravaged by the Wars that I hardly know anyone who is untouched by the tragedy. You'd think now that the fighting is calmed down, things would go back to normal, but maybe that's the worst part of War, where nothing is ever the same again.
And then I realize I don't really know enough about the way things used to be to know. Perhaps things are always uncertain and dangerous.
What I do know is that Granma's cottage is a safe haven, warm and cozy, with good company and the right kind of work. It could be so much worse.
....
The first signs of spring are making themselves visible. They tell me that means we're in for a couple weeks of mud when the snow finally melts for good. However, I don't care. I'm tired of the winter, wanting to move on into spring and summer and all.
We're a couple weeks away from the spring bazaar in Northshire. It's supposed to be an interesting time of year up there in hicksville. at the beginning of the summer, a bunch of people will graduate (or wash out of) their training programs and need to move on out into the world. At the same time, a new intake will be settling into the Abbey to start their programs. Both sets of people need stuff.
So they hold a big fair, with wagons they drag out of storage in the Abbey, where vendors can set up for a week of selling stuff. I've heard that it's mostly utilitarian stuff, so I've been stocking up on warm socks, gloves and scarves for those headed to Northrend. After seeing the field cooking kits we used on the camping trip, I've sewn sturdy sacks to carry those. I've got little grooming kits, that have slots to hold toothbrush, comb, and razor. Those are all for the ones leaving on adventures. For the ones who are settling into school, I've got pen wipers, toiletries kits, shifts, and cozy (but utilitarian) dressing gowns.
I'm planning to spend a whole week up there. In return for also selling Miss Bernice's stuff (mostly socks and nets), I've arranged with her to make sure Granma is properly fed while I'm gone. Jamie is going up there, too. He sells small boxes and small portable secretaries. I guess even heroes need to write letters on the road. He'll drive me up, and we'll camp in the wagon. Jamie assures me that for a few coppers we can use the bathing facilities at the abbey, although he warned me that they are primitive, by which I take him to mean cold water and harsh soap. No matter. I grew up bathing in cold water, and I can ring my own soap.
Anyway, I'm packaging up my goods now, in hopes of a profitable week outside that crazy big stone building in the middle of nowhere. I may not want to be a hero, but I am perfectly happy to make money off those who do.
By the time we get back, the spring produce should be well available, which will mean the start of canning season again. I'm glad. I've been working on some ideas for using the techniques and spices I got form Clive last summer with Elwynn produce, and I think we're in for some real treats. The ones that work out, I'll can and preserve for even more variety of food next winter. I do have to say that some days, the colorful and tasty jars of food I put up were the only thing that got me through the winter. I'm tired of stews made with dried beef, and old stringy chickens.
Still, and all, the promise of spring, the patch of daffodils blooking outside my kitchen window, the sound of birds returning from wherever they go in winter . . . all that seemsvery hopeful to me. And when there is hope, nothing is as bad as it could be.
