It took me almost an hour, and the whole time I was jumpy, expecting her to walk in on me at any moment and demand to know what I was doing. I found the most amazing items among her store of secret treasures, things I could not believe she had kept. The painted miniature of Princess Arisande, of course. A letter from Melinda, written to us one year at Summermoon when we were quite small. A wooden baby rattle that must have been ours when we were infants, though she could certainly have no memory of holding it. Two thin, gold-blonde braids—one from my head, one from hers—cut when we were six years old. A sketch of the palace in Wodenderry, acquired when we had gone to the royal city four years ago. A newly minted gold coin with an excellent profile of the queen. A ring that Roelynn had given her one year. Inch-long strips of ribbon from some of her favorite dresses, now too old and ragged to wear. A poem I had written when I was eight. A silver-veined black stone I had found in the river and given her one day so many years ago I could not remember. A handkerchief with my initials on it, ripped almost in half and of no use to anyone. A sketch that nine-year-old Roelynn had made of me, that looked nothing like me, identifiable only because my name was written at the top of the page. A broken brooch that had belonged to our mother. A buckle from one of our father’s shoes.
Silly, pointless, sentimental reminders of friends and family and intimate history. You would never have expected to find such things among Adele’s possessions. Or maybe you would. You certainly would not have expected to find them among mine.
I had almost given up when I thought to look under her pillow. I myself can’t abide a lumpy pillow, so it would never have occurred to me to hide something under my head, but it was clear Adele had different notions of comfort and importance than I did. As soon as I slipped my hand under the cotton slipcase, my fingers encountered the smooth feel of a richer fabric. I tugged, and out came a flat, slim parcel of satin about the size of my hand. I could feel small objects tucked inside but could find no way to get at them, since all four edges of the bag were sewn shut.
I crossed the room, pulled my scissors from a drawer, slit one seam, and dumped the contents of the bag on the top of my bed.
Four items fell out, and I examined them one by one. The first was a hollow gold heart hung on an incredibly fine chain. I pursed my lips into a soundless whistle, for this was a rather expensive piece—not the sort of thing our parents could afford to give us or that Adele or I could buy for ourselves. It had been a gift, then. And it took no kind of genius to realize that it was a lover’s token.
Adele had a secret beau. Who in the world could he be?
The second item was a beautiful, heavy envelope with “Adele” written on the front of it. I looked inside—she had not saved the letter, or if she had, it was somewhere else in the room—but clearly she had not been able to throw away this memento that featured her own name written in her beloved’s handwriting. I studied the script; not a hand I knew. I sniffed at the open flap. No scent. Nothing to indicate the person’s identity.
The third item was a length of ribbon, thin and dainty, an iridescent white shot through with threads of silver and gold and turquoise. This was a piece I recognized—she had used just such ribbon to trim the Summermoon dress she’d worn three years ago. I hadn’t been with her when she bought it, so I couldn’t guess why it was so significant that she had saved a scrap of it with her most precious treasures. Perhaps her young man had helped her pick it out; perhaps he had paid for it. Perhaps, the day she had worn the dress, he had told her he loved her.
The last item in her hoard was a round flat disk of white stone, worn through in the center so that it formed a fairly symmetrical circle. Unlike the other things in the packet, it was not in pristine condition. It was blackened with soot as if it had been rescued from a fire; a small scrap of singed ribbon was still wrapped around one portion.
I held this between my fingers for a long moment, frowning. It looked familiar, but I could not at first say why. A white stone hung on a fancy ribbon that had been thrown into and then saved from a fire. . . .
“A lover’s quarrel?” I said out loud in a very quiet voice. “A gift from him that she tossed in the flames and then rescued when she repented? But everyone knows that stone won’t really burn. Wouldn’t you throw it into the ocean if you really wanted to get rid of it? But maybe she didn’t want it to burn. Maybe she threw it for luck into a Wintermoon fire. . . .”
As soon as I said the words, I remembered. Wintermoon, two years ago. Micah and Roelynn bringing Melinda back to our house, and staying for the burning of the wreath. Micah pulling this white stone from his pocket, claiming it offered the gift of a complete life. Adele offering him a ribbon to tie it to the greenery.
Had this been one of the years Adele and I had gotten up early the next morning to sift through the cinders of the Wintermoon fire? I couldn’t remember. But she at least had made her way to that cold bonfire the next day and poked through the ashes till she found the piece she wanted.
Micah’s stone. Adele was in love with Micah Karro.
Micah Karro was drowned.
I knew now why my sister’s heart was breaking.
We had guests at the inn, so the morning was busy. There were beds to strip, piles of laundry to do, grates to clean, and all sorts of preparation to be done for the next few meals. We had fed lunch to our guests before any of us had a chance to take an afternoon meal, but then I wheedled for a treat.
“It’s such a beautiful day,” I said to our mother. “Can’t Adele and I eat outside? We’ll come right back in to help with the afternoon chores.”
“Yes—fine—but I’m going to make a new recipe tonight, and I’m going to need your help in the kitchen,” Mother said, already distracted by the next task on her agenda. “Come back in as soon as you’re done.”
I organized bread and cheese and dried meat while Adele filled a jug with water. She was gathering up some stained linen napkins, suitable for outdoor dining, when I headed out the back door with a blanket over my arm. I spread it out under the silent green leaves of the kirrenberry tree.
When Adele stepped outside and saw where I was, she hesitated just a moment before coming over to join me. I waited till we had arranged our feast and built our sandwiches before I spoke.
“If you don’t eat every bite, I’m going to tell Mother and Father,” I said calmly. “If you get up in the middle of the night and throw it all back up, I’m going to tell them. If you try to leave the house without me, I’m going to follow you. If you walk anywhere near the harbor and look like you’re going to jump in the water, I’m going to grab your arm and haul you back. If you so much as glance at a knife, I’m going to scream as loud as I possibly can, and everyone will come running.”
She looked at me. Even her hands, folded in her lap, looked parched and thin. “I’m not trying to kill myself,” she said.
“You’re not trying to live, either.”
“I don’t feel like living.”
“How long have you been in love with Micah?” I asked.
Now she looked away, but she didn’t try to lie. “Forever. As long as I can remember. Except when we were children, it didn’t feel like love. It just felt like—” She made a small gesture and then instantly stilled her hand again. “It was just that we were friends, and no one else was such a good friend. It’s just been the past few years that I’ve thought—that I’ve known—that I knew to put the word to it.”
“How does he feel about you?”
She gave me a quick look, for the tense I had used, I suppose. “The same.”
“Does his father know? Does Roelynn?”
She shook her head, then shrugged. “Roelynn has guessed, maybe, by now. Neither of us ever told her, and we wouldn’t think of telling Karro. There was never any chance that Micah would be allowed to marry me. I knew that. His father would have made a grand match for him, as he is trying to do for Roelynn. I never thought we had any future.” She dropped her head in her hands, and her blond
e hair spilled across her cheeks to cover her face. “I just didn’t think the future would be so completely empty of everything,” she whispered.
I moved over and put both my arms around her. I could feel her shoulders shaking. The imperturbable Adele was sobbing.
“I know,” I said, whispering into her hair. “I know. I know.” Useless words, of course, but at least they were true. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
CHAPTER TEN
I didn’t tell our parents what Adele and I had discussed under the kirrenberry tree, but perhaps our mother, at any rate, suspected some of it. Over the next few days, I noticed her gazing at Adele with a narrow attention, making sure she had an extra piece of bread on her plate at dinner or a cup of hot chocolate before we went to bed. It was possible she took her cues from me, for I watched my sister all through the day and at random intervals through the night for the next ten days.
Adele tried very hard during that time to get better. I can’t say she succeeded particularly well, but at least she got no worse. She ate a little more; she slept a little longer. If I insisted she go for a walk with me, she obediently got to her feet and followed me out the door. She did not recover to the point that she was lively or amused, but I didn’t expect that.
I found myself hoping that Melinda would come to Merendon soon, for I knew what I would wish for if she did. Some way for my sister to be happy again. Something to take away the heartache. While I was at it, I would wish the same things for Roelynn, who had grown just as haggard and waifish as Adele.
It was not a dream that I could expect to come true. So, in the absence of miracles, I made a great but human effort to see that my sister and my best friend survived their grief. Mostly this meant spending as much time with them as my duties at the inn and classes at school allowed—but I would have done that anyway. Perhaps I did nothing to ease their lives at that point except exist and remind them that I loved them. Perhaps that’s all anyone can do at such a time.
One day about six weeks after Micah had disappeared, Adele and I went over to Roelynn’s house as soon as school let out. Karro’s rules had grown lax in this past month and a half. He didn’t care so much these days that an innkeeper’s daughters ate in his dining room or played in his orchards, and Roelynn liked to have us over to fill up the empty days. The three of us went directly to the kitchen, where we snatched hot pastries straight from the pan and made the head cook smile. She was a kind, ample, older woman who had clearly been doing her best to take care of Roelynn during this bitter time, and she always greeted Adele and me with heartfelt welcome.
“Don’t burn your tongues now,” she admonished. “That filling is hot! It’s good for you, though. Each of you eat two or three of those.”
“Don’t you have to save some for dinner?” Adele asked.
The cook shook her head. “No company tonight, and there’s plenty here for those who have any interest in eating.” She looked meaningfully at Roelynn and then glanced up at the ceiling, where Karro’s office was one floor above us.
“I’ll have another, then,” I said.
The three of us withdrew to a small table in the corner to consume our tarts and drink glasses of fresh milk. Karro’s kitchen was an inviting place, huge and high-ceilinged, with three stoves and two fireplaces and all sorts of interesting pantries and cabinets. Hanging from the exposed beams of the ceiling were copper-bottomed pans and sprays of dried herbs, and jostling between the tables and the stoves were usually three cooks and two or three assistants. And nothing—not the fancy restaurants of Wodenderry, not the streets of Merendon on Summermoon Eve—smelled as wonderful as Karro’s kitchen on baking day.
“How’s your father today?” Adele asked eventually.
Roelynn shrugged. “About the same.”
“Is he getting any business done?” I asked.
“A little. He met with a couple of ship captains yesterday, and I think he signed another contract. I only know what the steward tells me.”
“Your father doesn’t talk to you?” Adele asked.
Roelynn shrugged again. “He never talked to me much. He really only talked to Micah.”
We were all silent a moment. “What about Summermoon?” I finally said. “Is your father going to do anything?”
Roelynn shook her head. “I don’t think he’ll be able to summon the strength. And I think—I can’t either. I can’t help plan a dinner or a ball, and greet people at the door, and laugh, and pretend I’m happy.” She looked out the window. “I don’t even know how I’m going to get through the day,” she whispered.
“You can come to the Leaf and Berry on Summermoon,” Adele said. “We can always use extra hands in the kitchen. You can put on a plain white apron and serve dinner to the guests.”
I was scandalized, but Roelynn was smiling. “Can I wear a little lace cap and speak with a country accent?”
“I’m sure people will expect it,” Adele said.
“I hope Melinda comes for Summermoon,” Roelynn said. “She doesn’t always.”
“I heard a story the other day,” Adele said. “That Melinda had been in Tambleham shortly after a woman there had a baby girl. And the woman was moping around the house because she was so depressed. She had wanted a baby boy instead. And then Melinda passed through town. And the next time the woman went to change the baby’s diapers—” Adele paused for effect. “—the girl had changed into a boy!”
“No!” Roelynn exclaimed.
“Yes! That’s what I heard, anyway,” Adele said.
They were both smiling—the first time in weeks—so I didn’t bother to point out that the story was patently false. I had heard the tale, too, from a traveler who’d had one too many glasses of ale in the taproom, and I hadn’t believed it for a second.
“I heard that when Melinda left Thrush Hollow, a troupe of mimes and jugglers came to town,” Roelynn said. “And they’d never been to Thrush Hollow before. And some little boy—ten years old—had wished for that every day since he was five years old. No one else cared that they were there, but he was the happiest boy in the kingdom.”
“I think maybe we should ask Melinda about some of these stories,” I said dryly.
“Why?” Roelynn said. “She’ll tell you herself, she doesn’t have the power to choose which dreams come true and which ones don’t. She just has this—magic—in her body that sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t.”
Roelynn fell silent. We all knew what she would be wishing for right now, and what Melinda would most decidedly grant, if the Dream-Maker had the power to make such decisions.
“So!” I said, just to be saying something. “Do you think your father will be taking you to Wodenderry anytime this year?”
“I don’t know. He hasn’t mentioned it. I know he wants to renew his shipping contracts with the queen, though, so I expect he’ll have to go to the royal city sometime.”
“Would you want to go?” Adele asked.
Roelynn made an indecisive gesture with her hands. “Maybe. I don’t know. A trip like that would be good for me—give me something to think about.”
“Maybe you could come to school with us,” I suggested, trying to come up with practical distractions. “We’re studying foreign history right now.”
“Thank you, I’d rather be trampled by horses from a runaway carriage,” she answered politely.
“Work in the dress shop,” Adele suggested, getting into the spirit. “Wait on haughty and indecisive customers who always ask you if you can give them a better discount.”
“Or the stables,” I said. “You’re good with animals.”
“And you like the grooms and the coachmen,” Adele murmured.
That actually made Roelynn laugh. “All excellent ideas,” she said. “I have to come up with some kind of activity, I suppose. I haven’t wanted to do much of anything since Micah died.”
“He’s not dead,” I said absently. I was trying to think of an even more outrageous pursuit to suggest.<
br />
It was a moment before I realized that Roelynn and Adele were staring at me in utter, shocked silence. It was another moment before I realized what I had just said. I put my hands across my mouth, as if to check for untrue words, but my lips were blameless. I felt that pressure against my chest, diamond-hard and just as precious, that always signaled absolute certainty.
“He’s not dead,” I whispered. “You know I can’t say the words if they’re false.”
“How do you know?” Roelynn whispered back. I had thought she was pale before, but her face was completely bloodless now. “Please don’t—if you’re not sure—please—”
“I just know,” I said. “I don’t know where he is. But he’s alive.”
Roelynn put her head down on the table and started sobbing. The cook bustled up, concerned and motherly, and put her arms around Roelynn’s shoulders. The look she split between Adele and me said she would never welcome us back in her kitchen to upset her darling again.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my tongue tripping over my words. “I said something—I didn’t mean to make her cry—just give me a few minutes to explain. . . .”
“I think it’s time for you and your sister to go home now,” the cook said in a severe voice. “I think I’ll just put Miss Roelynn to bed now. Maybe you’d better not come by tomorrow.”
“But I—” I started, but Adele grabbed my hand and rose to her feet. “Tell her to come to the inn if she wants to talk later,” I called over my shoulder as Adele towed me past the stoves and tables and out the back door of the kitchen.