When Edith hesitated, Alida smiled and said, “The widower’s name is Alan. He is taller than your father and very handsome. He will not go long without a wife. I must soon travel to the home of Gilbert Rasher. Perhaps I can stop there and tell him of what a good, faithful, dutiful, obedient daughter you are. Of how useful you are and how you help me when I most need you, that you are trustworthy to the ultimate degree.”
She stroked Edith’s cheek. “And I will tell him how very pretty you are. By the time I stop talking I will have his name on a marriage contract. I am sure of it.” She gave a little laugh. “Think of it, Edith, by this time next year, you could be heavy with your own child. Would you like that?”
Her mother’s words took Edith’s breath away, and for a moment her hands trembled at the thought. Her own house to manage! Her own husband, her own child. “I will keep the secret. I will see that this boy receives lessons and…” She could not call the girl by her name or she’d remember that the girl was probably her sister. “I will see that she manages the Poison Garden.”
“Ah, good,” Alida said and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “I am glad we agree. You may go now,” she said abruptly. She was finished with Edith for now; she’d got what she wanted from her: blind obedience.
Later, when Alida was alone with Penella, who had been eating steadily for four days now, she said, “Remind me to look for a husband for Edith. Although it will be difficult to find one for her. She is as dried up as a two-year-old apple.”
“Mmmmm,” was all Penella said, her mouth too full to speak.
29
You are indeed handsome,” Alida said to Talis, looking up at him. She had taken extra care with her dress this morning, knowing that she was going to see this boy privately for the first time since he’d come to Hadley Hall. For just a moment, she had a feeling of envy that that tiny dark girl could have produced a beautiful boy like this when her own sons were so delicate and frail. And how did Gilbert Rasher father such as him?
Looking at Talis, it was almost as though sunlight radiated from him. She would have known even if she hadn’t been told that this boy would rather die than betray what he believed in. He was like something out of an ancient story of great deeds and men too good for the world. For just a moment she shivered as she remembered that all those beautiful young men died very young.
“You are not well,” Talis said softly, then put a strong young arm under hers and led her to a chair. When she was seated, he knelt by her and looked deep into her eyes. He looked at her as none of her own family had ever looked at her.
In the next moment he had placed a robe about her knees and had stoked the fire, and when he turned back to her she knew that he knew she was dying. Again, it ran through her that she wished this boy was hers.
She did the best she could to straighten herself. She must not give way to self-pity. In just months she was to meet her Maker, and she had a great deal to atone for. She could not go to God knowing that she had left her children’s lives dependent upon someone who was not her blood relation.
“Come, my son,” she said weakly, “you must sit by me. Let me look at you.”
Instantly, he sat at her feet and she held his face to the light. Perfect skin, perfect teeth, open, honest dark eyes.
She took her hands away from him. “You have asked to marry Callasandra.”
“Yes,” he said. “It is what I most want in the world. Callie is—” He hesitated and blushed, then looked at the fire.
“She is very young,” Alida said sternly.
“Not too young,” he said, smiling.
She could feel his conviction, his feeling that this was something he must have.
“You are the son I always wanted and never had,” she said softly.
Talis frowned at that. “Philip and James are—”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “They are good and kind but no matter how many children a woman has, to lose one leaves a hole in her heart. Do you know that my hair turned white after I thought I had lost you in the fire? Do you know that all of us were demented over the loss? Your father never fully recovered.”
“I had heard,” Talis said softly.
She stroked his hair, so soft, the curls twining about her fingers. There was a time in her life when she was capable of great love. If she had been able to bear her husband a son like this from the first, her life would have been very different.
“And now you wish to leave me so soon after I have found you? To marry and leave me?”
“We will remain here if that is your wish.”
She smiled at him. “If you marry you will give me none of your time. Young men think only of the young wife waiting at home in bed for them.”
At that Talis gave a soft laugh and looked back at the fire. She could see that his mind was full of touching his sweetheart, kissing her, and, seeing this, Alida’s heart was further hardened. Once she had thought of the same things as this boy, but look how her life had turned on her! Kisses did not last; property did.
They were silent a moment, alone in the room, Talis sitting on the floor, Alida leaning back in the chair. The only light in the room was from the fireplace, its glow enclosing them.
“Do you know that I am dying?” she asked softly.
“Yes,” he answered, not looking up at her.
“How do you know?”
“You forget that I did not grow up in this rich place. I have lived on a farm. You learn to look into the eyes of an animal and see when it is in pain.”
“Only three people know: you, my maid, and a soothsayer I consulted. She says I have at the most two years.”
When she said no more, Talis’s hand crept upward and took her small one in his large, dark one.
“Will you help me?” she asked, her voice pleading.
“I will do whatever I can.”
“I have missed all of your life. I missed holding you as a baby, watching you take your first steps. I have been able to spend no time with you as I have with my other children.” She clasped his hand in both of hers. “Oh, Talis, I love my children so much that I am very selfish with all of them. I cannot bear for my daughters to marry and leave me.”
She paused to see if he was going to believe this and he did. Obviously he was not used to deceit. As far as Talis was concerned, people told the truth.
“I…I know,” she said hesitantly, sounding as though pain ran through her breast. “I know that you love this girl very much but I want to ask a favor of you. Let me get to know you. Let your brothers and sisters get to know you before you pledge yourself to another. Before you have children of your own who take all your time. If you marry now and have children, we, my husband, my children, we will not get to spend any time with you.”
She paused. “I know it is a lot to ask of you. I have no right. I have not been here to be a mother to you. The night you were born I nearly died in the birthing. You were so very, very large and I am a narrow woman.” She laughed and put her hand on his head. “You nearly split me asunder with the size of you.”
Talis was frowning, not looking at her, embarrassed by this talk and feeling bad that his entry into life had so hurt his own mother.
“I am not complaining, but I feel I must explain why I was not as attentive to you as I should have been that night you were born. I was nearly insensible with the pain.” She lowered her voice. “And the blood. I lost a lot of blood that night. Your birth is the reason I had no more children. I was unable to bear more children after that night.”
Talis was feeling heavier and heavier. He owed this woman so much. He had nearly killed her, robbed her of her ability to have children, deprived her of the company of her own child.
“When I heard that, after all I had been through to bring you into the world, you had died in a fire, I nearly lost my mind. I was not well for a long time after your birth.”
She stroked his hand and looked into the fire. “I am telling you these things because I want to ask something of you
. I want to ask you not to marry until…until after I am gone.”
“But—” Talis began, but she cut him off.
“I know what I am asking. I know the hot blood of youth, how it rages. I had hoped you could control yourself, but perhaps not.”
“I can control myself,” Talis said, sounding affronted.
“Yes, of course you can. I did not mean to imply that you could not. Talis, my dear son, it is just that your father and I want to see you.”
All Talis could think of was Callie. Holding her, being near her. In the last weeks, since the day he’d first met John Hadley, having her with him had become an obsession. In fact, he was finding that being a knight was not as important to him as was Callie.
“How will you support her?” Alida asked.
“Pardon?”
“How do you mean to support your wife?”
At this Talis’s heart sank. He had two choices: farming with Will or relying on his father’s generosity. If his father did not want him to marry, then Talis would have to take Callie back to the farm—and see her spend her life wringing the necks of chickens.
Alida tipped Talis’s face up to hers. “If you will do this thing I ask, I will leave to you in my will my own estate of Peniman Manor.”
While he sat there blinking, she went on to describe the place: a stone house only fifty years old, gardens she had spent years on, with intricate knots of herbs, a rose garden. She talked of the stables, the cottages for the farmworkers. “With your knowledge of farming, think what you could do with the acres of land that go with the house.”
She could see the light in his eyes. “Have you thought of the people who raised you? They are not young and it will be hard for them to continue farming, will it not? Peniman Manor is large enough for them to live with you, to see your children.”
At that Talis smiled, thinking how much Meg would love to have a dozen grandbabies to dandle on her knees. She could feed them until they were bursting. And Will could still have his vegetable patch.
And Callie could have a fine house, beautiful clothes. She would not be burdened with a life of hard work. Their children would have the finest education, the best horses.
“Is it too much to ask that you wait two years before you marry, when the reward is so great?”
“No,” he said. “It is not too much to ask.” His mind was reeling with the thought of telling Callie about all of this. They could plan their future, plan what kind of horses to buy—or, knowing Callie, talk endlessly about the names of their children. Just the idea made him smile.
“You must not tell her,” Alida said, seeming to read his mind. “You cannot tell Callasandra.”
He looked at her sharply.
“You cannot tell her. If you did, then you would have to tell her that…about my health, and she must not know. She is no relation to me. I could not bear to have her look at me in pity. And she would. I am sure she has a soft heart.”
“Yes,” he said, “the softest. But she will not tell. I—”
“Talis! Listen to me. I am relying on you as I am on no one else. Not even my husband knows how ill I am.” To emphasize this, she fell into a fit of coughing, and, holding a handkerchief to her mouth, it came away with traces of blood, which she showed to Talis.
When she spoke again, her voice was lowered and harsh. “You must listen to me. You are a man now and you must behave as a man. You cannot be a boy and tell everything that you know. Part of being an adult is that you have and can keep secrets. If you are man enough to get married, then you are man enough to protect that girl you want to marry. Are you that man?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“Then you must listen to me. You cannot tell anyone what you know. My family loves me very much, just as you love the woman who raised you. What do you think you would feel at her death?”
Talis could not even think of Meg dying.
Alida continued. “When I die my family will come apart. They will not know how to manage without me. So I must look to you to take care of them for a while. I must place the burden of my death on your head and yours alone. You cannot be so cruel as to give this awful knowledge to the girl you love, could you?”
Talis shook his head.
“And you cannot tell her you have asked to marry her.”
“I must tell Callie that,” Talis said. “You do not know her. She will think that…that I…”
“That you don’t love her?” Alida asked, her eyes sparkling. “Do you forget that I was a woman before I was a wife and mother? Oh, she will nag you. She will pout and complain, tell you that she thinks she means nothing to you.” She chuckled. “Does that sound so bad?”
“No,” Talis said, smiling, thinking that it all sounded rather wonderful. Sometimes he thought Callie was too sure of him.
“The truth is, I must persuade my husband to this marriage. You see, Talis, Callasandra’s parentage is not as yours. This man who is her father is not someone who is desirable as a father-in-law. When my husband came to me about your marriage, he was against it. He wants to send Callasandra to her father and—” She broke off at Talis’s gasp.
“You cannot send Callie away! I will go with her.”
“And do what?” she asked sharply. “Become a wood-chopper?”
For a moment Talis drew in his breath as he remembered Callie’s story of a boy and girl who ran away and nearly starved to death.
“You must trust me,” she said. “You must trust me. I want what you want and what is best for you. I will persuade my husband; I will leave you rewarded for all your help. But in the next two years you must help me.”
“Yes, I will do all that I can.”
“I want you to swear to me some things.”
At that Talis’s eyes widened. Knights made sacred vows. Knights swore oaths to ladies who needed them.
“Hand me the Bible there,” she said, raising her arm weakly and pointing to a heavy book bound in ancient ivory. When he had the book in his hands, she said, “You must swear to me that you will tell no one of my approaching death.”
“I swear it.”
“Now kiss the Bible.”
He did so, solemnly and with great reverence.
“Swear that you will not tell Callasandra that you have asked permission to marry her. If she asks, you must tell her that you have not decided who you will marry.”
At that Talis hesitated, but at Alida’s frown, he swore it and kissed the Bible.
“Swear that you will leave her a virgin until you are married.”
Talis’s eyes widened.
“You cannot think to take what does not belong to you, can you? What if she were to get with child and then you fell off your horse and broke your neck before you could marry her? What would happen to her and your child? Have you no concern for her? Or are you interested only in your own baser needs? Or have I misjudged you and you are just a boy and not the man I thought you were?”
Talis still hesitated, but after a while he kissed the Bible again and made his third vow.
When he had finished, Alida looked at him, so earnest, obviously taking what he did with utmost seriousness. “You must stay away from her,” she said softly. “Already people talk of her. They say she is not of good character, that the two of you have known each other many times.”
“That is not true!” he said.
“I know it and you do, but that does not keep people from talking.” She looked into his eyes. “They do not talk of you, but of her. You will never be hurt by these malicious words. It is a hateful truth but such words will enhance your status as a man, but the same words will make her look as though she is a woman of less than perfect reputation.”
Alida cocked one eyebrow at him. “But then you might not care that people talk of her. Most men would not.”
“I am not most men,” he said, his back rigid. “I would not want her hurt on my account. I will see that she has no reason to be talked about.”
“You are a sweet b
oy. Now, I find that I am very tired and must rest.”
“Yes,” he said quickly and was all concern for her. “I will leave you now.”
Moments later, after Talis was gone, Alida told Penella to send Callasandra to her.
30
From the moment Alida saw Callie, she knew that the girl had a spine of steel. This was no Edith who she could entice with empty promises of a husband and her own home; this was no girl who would do whatever someone asked merely because the word honor was mentioned. Nor would the word death sway her.
On some level, Alida knew that here was the daughter who was closest to herself, but the older woman did not want to acknowledge that. Like any person who was trying to get her own way, anyone who thwarted her was considered obstinate and unreasonable.
Now, looking at Callie, Alida knew that she was going to have a difficult time with this girl. Callie had an inflexible look about her that Alida knew was going to cause trouble.
“Come, sit, eat,” Alida said sweetly.
Callie did not sit, did not eat. Yesterday, all in a dither, Edith had gone to her mother, and when she had returned, she had been a different person. Since that time, she had done everything possible to make Callie’s life hell. Callie had gone from being one of a group of superfluous females to being picked out for ridicule and harassment. And this morning, with embarrassment she could not conceal, Edith had informed Callie that she was to be in charge of a bunch of poisonous weeds, saying that, since she was a farmer, she was to take care of these plants.
Callie well knew that Edith was too weak to make any decisions on her own. Until now, Callie had felt sorry for the woman, drying up from want of love and companionship, not allowed to have the things that every woman wanted. But after the last two days Callie no longer felt sorry for her.