I was needed at home more, anyway. My mother had decided that one way to supplement her income would be to take in travelers, and so she had worked out an arrangement with the local inn that she would accommodate visitors whenever their own rooms were full. She also discreetly advertised this service with a small sign set in the parlor window, and we often caught the attention of customers who did not want to pay the prices the innkeeper charged. So, in a typical week, we might have four days when strangers slept at our house. Naturally, they all required fresh bedding and tolerable meals, as well as a fire in the grate, so there was much more work to do around the house.
The new enterprise also required us to rethink our own sleeping arrangements, for the house was small and boasted only two bedrooms. Guests were accommodated in the one that used to be mine, which meant I needed somewhere else to store my clothes—and somewhere else to sleep. At first I brought an uncomfortable cot into my mother’s room and set it up at the foot of her bed, but I found her dreams troublesome. She spoke often during the night, pleadingly and with great urgency, and now and then she cried out. Questioned in the morning, she could never recall what pictures had stalked her sleep, but listening to her in the dark made me sad and uneasy. Consequently, I looked for another bed. I tried the parlor sofa, but it was too soft; I tried the attic, but it was too cold and full of spiders. Eventually I settled on the kitchen floor, next to the stove as it cooled, and I found this both comfortable and somehow comforting.
Naturally, a young girl couldn’t be sleeping out in the open when there were strangers in the house, particularly when they were men, so it became even more essential that I be presented as male. Paying customers, I soon learned, cared very little who cleaned their rooms or brought in the wood for their fires; they just wanted prompt and uncomplaining service. If I was anonymous and efficient, I was invisible, and this suited me fine. I did my work, said very little, and appreciated the additional money that came in.
I had less time for schoolwork and less time for Gryffin, but I managed to combine them as often as possible. That is, when I had missed a few days of school and was hopelessly behind in my lessons, I would spend an afternoon in the room above the tavern, and Gryffin would tutor me as he had tutored Sarah Parmer. I made enough progress to graduate to the middle grade by the time the school year ended. Mr. Shelby was proud of me, and my mother celebrated by buying me a new pair of shoes. They were boxy and thick, suitable to wear while tramping through deep woods or dirty city streets, and I loved them.
Gryffin gave me a ribbon, scarlet and shiny. I laughed and threaded it through my hair, where the red made a vivid contrast against the black. “Where did you get this?” I asked. “You haven’t even left the house for days, as far as I know.” The snow had finally retreated, now that spring at last was here, but rain had kept inside everyone who didn’t have urgent business.
He smiled. “Peddler man was downstairs having a drink a few days ago. I was in the kitchen, helping my aunt Dora, and he came in to see if she wanted to buy any of his goods. When he got out the buttons and ribbons, I saw this.”
“I don’t know that I’ll ever have a chance to wear it,” I said.
He was still smiling. “You’re wearing it now.”
“What were you doing to help your aunt?”
“She likes to have me work in the kitchen sometimes. I sit at the table and chop vegetables, or mix bread. As long as she brings me whatever I need to work with, I can do a lot.” He extended one hand and made fist. “My arms are strong,” he said. “I can work with my hands all day.”
“You should make your uncle pay you.”
He made a face. “I think he thinks this is how I earn my keep.”
“So you’ll be working in the kitchen all summer?”
“Some of the time. Mr. Shelby is having summer classes for some of the students who need to make up missed work. I’m going to study with him until I catch up. And I’ll help him tutor some of the smaller children. He said he could pay me a little for that, so my uncle was happy with the idea.”
“You’ll be busy,” I commented.
“Not too busy,” he said. “Not when you have time to come by.”
I found, despite all the inconveniences, that I rather liked to have company at our house. It made a nice change from my mother’s madness and my own solitude. Some of the guests were taciturn and ill-tempered; others were quiet and kept to themselves. But a few were outgoing and talkative, and over meals would describe their adventures on the road. One young man, traveling between Merendon and Movington, told us of the great ships he had sailed on and the fabulous foreign cities he had visited. I would not have believed him, except that he carried exotic jewels in his saddlebags, which he showed me after dinner. Before he left in the morning, he gave me a small gift, a coral-colored disk carved with such an intricate design that my fingers could not resist tracing the patterns over and over in the smooth stone. While my mother was out of the room he told me that it was an ancient symbol for femininity.
“In a few years, find yourself a girl, and give her that, hey?” he said, winking at me. “It’ll make her fond of you, if you catch my meaning.”
“Maybe you should keep it for yourself,” I said, rather unwillingly. My hands already loved the smooth feel of the stone, the complex text of the indentations.
He waved his hand. “Brought twenty of them back with me. I’ll sell a few in Wodenderry. Keep a few for myself, too.” He laughed.
“Thank you, then.”
He winked again. “Don’t tell your mama.”
My mother was unhappy enough with him without that provocation, for it turned out he had departed without paying his shot. On the other hand, he had left on her pillow a short necklace of tumbled onyx beads, which even I knew she could sell for enough money to cover one night’s lodging. She didn’t sell it, though. She kept it and, now and then, she wore it, always looking both embarrassed that she loved such a simple thing so much, and pleased that it was actually hers.
I never showed her my own rusty red prize. But sometimes I slept with it under my pillow, and on those nights my dreams were different.
Chapter Six
Summermoon came, and a certain amount of turmoil with it.
The town was full, because Summermoon was that kind of festival. Farmers from outlying acres came to town; cousins dropped by to visit their families; anyone with any product to sell crowded into the central square. Thrush Hollow had always had a Summermoon Fair—small, of course, by the standards of bigger towns, but plenty festive for us—and this year was no different. So there was a sprawling marketplace of peddlers and merchants set up on the edge of town, and there were musicians hired to play on the street corners. Everyone who owned an inn, a tavern, or an eating establishment bought extra provisions and hired additional help against the onslaught of customers.
My mother was excited because she had figured out a way to make extra money during the holiday. She would raise her prices a little on the bedroom, and she would rent out the parlor couch for someone who wasn’t too particular about privacy or comfort. Meals usually came with the accommodations, but for this one week of the year, she would charge for them separately. Thus she could, in a few days’ time, make almost as much as she made during an ordinary month.
The bedroom was claimed almost immediately by a young couple who had not been married long. She was starting to swell with what she informed us was her first pregnancy, and they had decided to come to town for Summermoon this year since they weren’t sure they’d have the energy for it next year, what with the baby and the farm and all. The day before Summermoon, the sofa was let to a slightly tattered older man who announced he did magic tricks. He was going to set up a booth in the marketplace and dazzle all the fairgoers with sleight of hand. Over dinner he gave us a preview, making spoons disappear and pulling a coin out of the pregnant woman’s ear. He also did a little juggling and was able to balance a knife on the edge of his forefinger for
an amazingly long period of time. If I had had a few spare coppers, I would have thrown one to him. As it was, I gave him an extra helping of pie after the meal.
At dawn on Summermoon itself, a third stranger appeared at our door, asking for a place to stay.
My mother and I were already up and working in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for our three guests. We both were startled to hear a gentle rapping at the back door, accompanied by a soft voice. “Hello? I knocked at the front, but no one answered.”
I wiped my hands on my shirt and opened the door, and a man stepped inside. He was of middle height and rather boxy build, with short dark hair and a rather dreamy expression. For a moment I thought he might be as young as the newlywed couple now sleeping in my bedroom. Then the sunlight fell oddly on his cheeks, and I thought he might be my mother’s age. Then he smiled down at me, and again I was unsure. But there was something inviting in his expression. It was impossible not to smile back.
“Hello,” he said again. “I’m glad I didn’t wake you. After no one answered my first knock, I thought maybe it was too early to try. But I’ve traveled most of the night and I desperately need some sleep.”
My mother patted the flour from her hands and looked dismayed. “I don’t think we have a place to put you,” she said. I could tell she was trying to figure out a way to make that sentence false. “There’s even someone sleeping in the parlor.”
He sighed, then smiled again. “And the inn is full, and so is the residence up at the edge of the town, where someone already directed me.”
“The Parmer house?” I asked. They had been known to take in travelers now and then. Thrush Hollow must be even more crowded than I’d thought if the Parmers didn’t have any spare room.
He nodded. “I believe that’s what it was called. I left my horse and cart with them, but they had no place for me. Several people recommended I try the Carmichaels. That’s you, I believe.” My mother and I both nodded. He continued in a coaxing voice, “I don’t require much, really. A place to lie down. A mat in the hallway. I promise that I’m quiet and easygoing.”
My mother bit her lip. “I wish we could accommodate you.”
“Will you sleep on the floor in the kitchen?” I asked him. My mother shot me a look of surprise that modulated to hopeful calculation.
“Gladly,” said the stranger.
I nodded. “Mother, I’ll stay in your room. We’ll let him sleep here.” I gave him a warning look. “We’re up early, starting the bread. You can’t expect to sleep late.”
“I will rise happily when you do.” He glanced around, his expression dimming a little. “Though I can see that I will have to wait till nightfall before I can rest, since you are obviously busy in the middle of my bedchamber.”
“Let me make up a place in my room,” my mother said. “If you don’t mind the floor. Sleep as long as you like.”
“You are very good,” he said gratefully. “I’m ready to drop.”
“Where are your bags?” my mother asked.
“On the front porch.”
“Kellen, you fetch his things,” my mother directed. “You, sir, give me a few moments to freshen the room. You may sit here in the kitchen while you wait. Are you hungry? There’s fresh bread and some nice jam.”
“Famished,” he said, sinking to one of the sturdy chairs around the kitchen table. “But please call me by my name. I’m Ayler.”
“Why are you in Thrush Hollow, Ayler?” I heard my mother ask as I ducked out of the door. His voice was lost to me as I darted around the house, but I thought I heard him mention the Summermoon Fair. It would be the reason anyone came to Thrush Hollow at this time of year.
Two rather dilapidated bags huddled where they’d been dropped before the front door. They were much patched and of a drab olive color. Looped around one worn handle was a leather thong attached to a hollow wooden ball. It was cut and pierced so you could see little wooden chips inside. Absently, to hear it rattle, I lifted the ball and shook it, but it produced no sound. I shook it again, harder, watching the chips fling themselves against the ball’s curved interior. Still silent. The wood was so soft, or so strange, that it was incapable of making a sound.
I felt a tickle in my stomach as I examined the sphere more intently. The light stain of the finish did little to hide the close grain of the wood, and I was fairly certain that I held a toy made from the trunk of a kirrenberry tree.
A Safe-Keeper had come to Thrush Hollow and was staying at my mother’s house.
When I returned to the kitchen, Ayler was still sitting at the table, eating bread and jam with great satisfaction. My mother had disappeared, no doubt back in her own room making the bed and arranging a pallet on the floor. I heard a few muffled bumps and curses from the parlor, so I knew the magician was up and moving about and would soon be in the kitchen looking for food. Not much time to talk.
I set Ayler’s bags down in front of him and pointed at the ball. He smiled at me, the dreaminess of his expression very pronounced.
“You’re a Safe-Keeper,” I said.
He nodded and swallowed. “Do you have any secrets you wish to confide?”
“No. But if I did, I could tell you and you would never repeat them to anyone, ever, and you would die and they would still be secrets.”
He considered this as he cut himself another piece of bread. “Sometimes secrets only need to be kept for a time,” he said. “Sometimes my role is to protect them until they are strong enough to stand on their own.”
“If I told you a secret, I would never want you to repeat it.”
He nodded. “And some secrets will go with me to my grave.”
“I’m a girl,” I said, all in rush. I was a little surprised to hear myself say the words. I had not bothered to give this information to any of our other guests, and there was no reason Ayler needed to know it.
“And is that a secret?” he asked gravely.
“Not exactly. Some people know it, some people don’t. My mother wishes I was a boy.” Before he could speak again, I added dryly, “That’s not a secret, either.”
“And what do you wish you were?” he asked.
I had never actually thought about it that way before. “I wish I was a girl who could do whatever she wanted,” I said at last.
He swallowed another piece of bread. “And isn’t that what you are?”
I had never actually thought about that, either. “Maybe,” I said, my voice uncertain. “But there are days I don’t like who I have to be.”
“There are days all of us don’t like who we are,” Ayler replied serenely. “And there are days we work to become people we like better.”
I came a step closer. “What would happen,” I asked, “if I told you a secret that wasn’t true? Would you know?”
He shook his head. “I’m no Truth-Teller. I am not blessed with the ability to recognize a lie.”
“But then, if I told you something false?” I persisted.
He laughed. “Then I would forever keep a lie in my store of secrets.”
“I wonder if anybody ever has,” I mused.
“In my experience,” he said, “when someone is desperate enough to seek a Safe-Keeper, what he has to say is true. Or he believes it to be true. Or it becomes true. It is the dreadful truths that needed to be shielded. The dreadful lies may run about in the sunshine all day long and no one will care.”
“Some things are dreadful even when they’re not secrets,” I said.
Ayler nodded. “This is also true.”
My mother came bustling back in. She was glowing with the happiness of good fortune. Another paying guest! Such luck! “The room is ready anytime you want to go back and sleep,” she said. “Let me know when you’d like me to wake you.”
Ayler rose to his feet, then bent to retrieve his bags. “If I’m not up wandering about by mid-afternoon, I would consider it a kindness if you would call for me,” he said. “Thank you so much for your hospitality.” He nodded in my direct
ion. “I have enjoyed my brief conversation with your son.”
My mother glowed briefly brighter. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
She guided him back to her room while I resumed my work in the kitchen. I was smiling.
But the day held some ugliness. I was returning from the market fair, having bought dried spices there for my mother, when behind me I heard running footsteps and a sudden shout. I spun around, not quickly enough, and was instantly in the middle of a nasty little brawl. There was Carlon, of course, and two of his friends from school. Maybe they’d gotten hold of some Summermoon wine and were feeling more than ordinarily boisterous. Maybe they had been lying in wait for me; maybe they were just roaming the streets of Thrush Hollow, looking for distractions. In any case, I was not a match for all three of them. I was soon a mass of pain and bruises where I had dropped to the ground, curled in a ball to shield myself from the worst of the kicks and blows. The spices were lost somewhere in the scuffle, trampled into the grass and mud.
The fight didn’t last all that long. It was Summermoon, and the streets were crowded, and I heard a man’s voice shouting out. “You boys! Stop that! Get along, now, and don’t cause trouble.” Carlon gave me a last quick kick in the ribs, then they all laughed and ran down the street. My rescuer came a few steps closer.
“Are you badly hurt, son?”
“I don’t think so,” I said, slowly pushing myself to a sitting position. Nothing was broken, anyway, though I was a mess of blood and dirt. I rose to my feet a little shakily. “Some cuts and bruises, I guess.”
“Well, go on home, now, and try to stay out of fights,” he advised me. His good deed done, he turned and hurried off to the fair.
More slowly, I went on my way. My face hurt and my lip burned, and I could taste blood in my mouth. The worst was my right leg, which was painful to walk on. But I imagined how much harder it must be for Gryffin, and I gritted my teeth and kept moving.