Later that afternoon, after the shock of the family connections wore down to merely an astonishing reverberation, Peto got directions from Yudit on how to find Rector Yung’s house. He hadn’t had time to talk to him the day before—too overwhelmed with visitors and food—but he had a suspicion that Yung knew where he could find peach pits. Besides, Peto hadn’t visited the lonely widower, and after so many weeks he figured Yung would appreciate a visitor . . .
All right, Peto knew he had to be more honest than that in Salem. His frequent visits before to Yung hadn’t been about checking on the old man, but using him as a grandfather who could help Peto sort his thoughts. Peto needed more sorting, and hoped Yung wouldn’t mind being bothered yet again.
Yung’s place was less than two miles north of the Shins, and Peto wasn’t sure if he had the right place when he saw the large house.
Peto hesitated to approach, until he saw a girl scamper from a nearby chicken coop. “Excuse me, but I’m looking for Rector Yung?”
“You found him. Follow me.”
Disbelieving, Peto followed her up to a side door. His mouth fell open when she called out, “Grandpa Great, visitor!”
“Grandpa Great?” Peto murmured as he saw the swirl of a dozen people, all ages, gathering around a large eating room table. It must have been a different Yung—
“Peto, my boy!” Rector Yung, the familiar one, rushed over and caught him in a hug. “I was hoping for a chance to speak with you.”
Peto gestured, confused, to the crowd that was now watching and smiling at him. “Who are all of these people?”
“My family,” Yung announced. “That’s my son, my daughter-in-law—” Names were given, relationships stated, but Peto just stared at the people who were supposedly Rector Yung’s . . .
“You have a family?”
“Of course.”
“But Shem said you were a lonely old widower.”
“Yes, I’ve been lonely without my wife, and I’m old—”
“You have a family!”
The rector’s son chuckled and came over to shake Peto’s hand. “Part of his cover story, no doubt, to make it sound as if he doesn’t have four children, twenty-three grandchildren, and forty-one great-grandchildren.”
Rector Yung smiled. “And the first great-great is due shortly after Jaytsy’s baby.”
“You have a family!”
Yung’s daughter-in-law, setting down a bread basket, said, “Not as if we’ve been able to keep him here, though. He’s always been too adventurous. And when Shem and Guide Gleace came by a few years ago looking for someone to serve as rector in Edge, we’re sure they were asking him for suggestions, not looking for a volunteer.”
“How could I have resisted such a temptation? After I lost my dear wife,” he gestured to a painting on the wall, and something caught in his throat. “I needed something to do.”
Peto took a few steps closer to the startlingly lifelike painting of a younger Rector Yung—black hair, narrow and gentle eyes—and his wife: blond ponytail, fiery blue eyes. Peto glanced behind him at the various family members still watching him, and noticed the resemblances. A few had eyes like Yung, combined with the fire of his wife.
“I just never realized . . . never imagined, that . . .” he started but stopped, knowing his ignorance sounded stupid.
Yung’s son, a larger man with the coloring of his father, chuckled. “Papa always said he was good at covering his tracks, and apparently he’s as good an undercover scout as the corps claimed he was.”
Yung waved that away, a bit embarrassed. “And what can I do for you, Peto?” And, because he still knew how to be a rector, said to his son, “I feel like a little walk. Start supper without me,” and he escorted Peto out of the house.
“Rector, I didn’t mean for you to miss your supper.”
“Not a problem,” Yung said easily as they wandered in the yard. “They’ll try to force me to eat too much, then fawn on me too much, and will continue to be overly merry because afterward . . .” His voice grew quieter. “After, we’ll plan the memorial for Dormin.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Peto mumbled. “Sorry about all of that. He was supposed to come for dinner, right?”
“Supposed to stay the whole weekend,” Yung said, his gait slowing to a crawl. “He was supposed to tell your father all about his adventures—” A few moments passed before he started again. “Dormin kept an open journal which he freely shared. I suppose I could show that to Perrin, although it won’t be the same.”
Peto didn’t know what to say. Yung had always been cheering Peto up, not the other way around. “Sorry,” was all he could come up with.
“It’s all right,” Yung said. “As Asrar is fond of saying, it’s all good. Dormin wouldn’t have wanted to go any other way. He and my wife must be sharing so many stories right now.” Yung was smiling, but Peto, watching him askance, could see a tear trickle down his cheek. “Both of them were so good in the trees. I always got lost. I always needed one or both of them to see me through.”
Peto got the impression he was talking about something more besides the forest.
They walked a few more slow steps and Yung muttered, in a barely audible whisper, “I envy them.”
Peto knew it would be useless to say, once more, “Sorry,” so he just kept up the slow pace to wherever they were going.
Eventually Yung said, with forced cheeriness, “Well now, you came to visit me for a reason. What can I do for you, son?” He stopped and turned to Peto, his ready grin as wide as ever, as if he’d easily shelved his own grief.
Peto felt doubly stupid for what he was about to ask. “I . . . I came for . . . peach pits?”
“You didn’t bring any from Edge?”
“Was I supposed to?”
“No,” Yung smiled. “Besides, we have far better varieties.” He gestured around him. “Do you realize where we are?”
Peto stopped abruptly. They were in an orchard. Was that even a big enough word? The scent of the blossoms hung heavy in the air, tickling his nose. Rows of carefully pruned trees went on from all directions, for acres.
Yung definitely knew his way around trees, if not around randomly planted forests. The old man reached up and caressed a white blossom, smiling in anticipation. “Apricots will be plentiful this year, as long as we don’t have a late frost.”
Peto nodded, as if he knew what apricots were.
Indicating a large shed on the edge of the orchard, Yung said, “I have seeds and pits of all kinds, Peto. In our family we have thirty acres of orchards. Tell me what you want. Cherries, pears, apples, apricots, plums, and certainly peaches. I also have walnuts, cashews, almonds—”
“No wonder you knew so much about trees and, and, and . . . stuff,” Peto managed, staring in awe. “Maybe I want to plant more than just four peach trees.”
“An orchard for yourself? Splendid idea! May I be so bold as to ask to help you?”
Peto shrugged. “I really don’t want to drag you away from your family, especially at a time like this—”
“Especially at a time like this,” Yung said, gripping his arm and steering him to the shed, “I need a project. I ran away to Edge after I lost my wife, I freely admit that. But now they say I’m too old to do that again, and besides, they don’t want rectors in the world. Peto, as an old friend—meaning that I’m an old man so you had better listen—I’m begging you. Please let me help you plant your own orchard.”
“But the land’s huge, and we have rocks to clear, and weeds to pull, and holes to dig—”
“Sounds wonderful, doesn’t it? Don’t make me get on my knees to beg, Peto. It’s getting harder to get back up. What do you say? Tomorrow night’s the memorial, then the next day, after school, we get started?”
Peto could see the pleading in his eyes. Not that he wanted to, but it would have been cruel to give him any other answer than, “Of course.” Then he added, “Do you know where I can get a shovel?”
Yung pointed to his she
d, which Peto soon discovered was full of carefully labeled boxes containing every kind of seed and pit found in Salem.
“You may have one of mine for now. I’ll write you a list of supplies you’ll need from the storehouse, and you can pick them up tomorrow when it’s open again. Oh, Peto—we’re going to have so much fun!”
“If that’s what you want to call it. Oh, by the way Rector, tomorrow morning we have something planned. As a family that is, and I know that Father was planning to visit and invite you, but . . .” It was odd how difficult it was to get out the words.
“Wait, are you talking about a baptism? Already?”
“Father wanted it today, but Guide Gleace told him to wait until tomorrow—”
“Why, that’s wonderful!” Yung exclaimed. “Of course, I suspected your family would be one of those quick to take the plunge, figuratively and literally, that is. But I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Before the memorial, I’m assuming?”
“Yes, I think that’s the plan.”
“And who all is being baptized?”
Peto hesitated. Father had told him to be back by the evening when their rector would be over with Shem to discuss the baptism, but until that moment Peto hadn’t thought too much more about joining his family in a public river bath.
Now the thought of not doing struck him as cold and empty, and when he said the words, his chest swelled with happy heat.
“All of us. By the way, I have something interesting to tell you about Shem’s family and ours . . .”
---
When Peto returned home, with a list from Rector Yung as to what he would need to request from the storehouse for his new orchard, he found his family and Shem sitting on the sofas, chatting.
“Are you waiting for the rector to discuss tomorrow’s baptism?”
“Not yet,” Perrin said. “Apparently there’s yet another new development, and Yudit and Noch are trying to bring over Boskos to explain it.”
“Explain what?” Peto wondered.
Shem shrugged. “For once, I don’t know anything about this. I went home with Yudit, we told Papa that we’re all family, he looked at the family lines, and started sobbing. He sent me over here and said he’d be over to explain.”
“Not very fun being left out of everything, is it?” Perrin said.
“How many more times do I need to apologize for keeping you in the dark about things?”
“About seventeen more years’ worth, I’m guessing.”
“Boys, boys,” Mahrree exhaled. “Enough. Honestly, you’re acting like teenagers. I don’t need any more of those.”
The men chuckled at Peto’s insulted expression, and the front door opened again.
There stood Boskos Zenos, puffy-eyed, his daughter Yudit on one side, and his son-in-law Noch holding him up on the other.
“Look at you all,” he blubbered. “Our family.”
“Oh, dear,” Yudit sighed, gently leading him into the house. “He’s already started again.” They sat him in a stuffed chair, and Noch handed him a fresh handkerchief.
“Deep breaths, Boskos. Remember, deep breaths,” Noch told him. “Slower . . . very good, I think you can start now.”
“Is he all right?” Mahrree worried.
“This is quite normal for Papa,” Shem said, but his brow was furrowed in worry.
Boskos blew his nose loudly and said, “Shem, what you told me about the Shins took me by surprise, all the way back to when your mother was expecting you. You were our seventh child, and we were thinking of names. For another girl, obviously. One night, Meiki woke me up with the words, ‘Bos, I know what his name should be.’ And I said, ‘His? His who?’ And she said . . .”
His chin began to wobble again.
“ . . . she said, ‘Our son.’”
Noch knelt beside him as his eyes bubbled over again. “You can do it, Boskos. That was good. Just keep the words flowing.”
Yudit was already heading to the kitchen to get him a mug of water.
To the family waiting anxiously on the sofas, Noch said, “We practiced this at home. It’s going quite well,” he assured them.
Boskos gulped down the water Yudit brought him, wiped his face, and said, “She’d had a feeling. Maybe a dream, I don’t recall. But she said this baby was a boy, and he needed a special name. A family name . . .”
Wobble, wobble.
“Breathe, Boskos. Breathe . . . and . . . keep going.”
“And she said . . . she said it should be . . . Shin.”
“What?” Shem exclaimed.
No one else could speak.
“I know! I know!” Boskos cried. “That’s not one of our family names! That’s what I told her. And oh, I did not want that name. You know whose name it was? The High General of Idumea, that’s who!” Wringing his hands in despair, he continued, “I never argued with Meiki, oh never. She was just too perfect a woman, but we argued that night, oh did we. Why name our boy after the generals in the world? What a terrible thing to do! She insisted, and I insisted, and, and . . . well, I won.”
He looked up wretchedly at his son.
“I told her we should change a few letters, so it wouldn’t be such an unusual name. I suggested that the first two letters could be from Shin, but then use the last two letters from Salem. Put together, it’s Shem.”
Jaytsy smiled. “Why, that’s rather clever, using the name of Salem. What a nice pairing!”
But Boskos still looked miserable. “Oh, I wasn’t trying to be meaningful or anything. I just really did not want to have to say the word Shin every day!” To Perrin he said, “You understand, right? Things were different back then—”
“Of course,” said Perrin genially. “I—”
But now that the words were flowing, Boskos couldn’t hold them back. “And then . . . I tried to forget about all of that. And I did, for many years. I really did forget, son, that she wanted your name to be their name, until today. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. Because I now see why. Shin was a family name. I need to sit—”
Yudit was already bringing another mug of water, and Noch patted him on the back. “You are sitting, Boskos. Good job.” To the stunned family on the sofas he said, “I thought this would take a lot longer. At least he’s not hyperventilating anymore. Oh, wait . . . spoke to soon.”
“I should have been named,” Shem paused, “Shin?”
Perrin cleared his throat. “Mr. Zenos? Boskos? May I thank you for not naming him Shin? It was confusing enough at times for his first name to be so close to my last name. Had you not prevailed against your dear wife, life at the fort would have been far more complicated for us all.”
“I should have been named . . . Shin?”
“So I did the right thing?” Boskos said, between gasps.
“Yes, sir,” Perrin grinned. “The absolutely right thing.”
“I should have . . . been named . . . Shin.”
“Shem,” Yudit said, “I think you’re missing the point. Think about this. Over thirty-eight years ago, Mama knew. She knew who were the missing vines in our family, and even knew their family name. She also knew you would be the one to retrieve them.”
“How I wish I could have met your mother,” Mahrree breathed. “She must have been something.”
“She was, as Papa said, a most perfect woman,” Yudit told her.
“I guess it’s a good thing I wrote down those names of Lek and Lorixania legibly, isn’t it?” Peto chuckled.
“Peto, I just came up with a theory!” Yudit squealed. “What if it was my mother who influenced your grandfather to find that file? Then told you to write down those names, so we could have them today! To complete this massive circle of . . . I don’t know what, yet, but to make sure we all knew what we know now!”
“Hey, I like that!”
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Shem announced loudly. “But naming me Shin?”
Perrin chuckled quietly.
“Oh honestly, Shem,” Yudit put her hands on her w
aist. “Can you just get over that and see the bigger story here?”
“But . . . but it’s so weird. Everything I knew . . . my identity. Mama saw me as someone different, in a way. It feels all so sideways somehow, like I don’t quite know myself, and it’s very disconcerting—”
“And there it is!” Perrin announced, and clapped his hands. He stood up and pumped Boskos’ hand vigorously. “Thank you, Mr. Zenos, so very much. And Mama Zenos—” he looked up to the ceiling.
“Her name was Meiki,” Boskos offered uncertainly.
“—Meiki Zenos, thank you very much as well,” Perrin called, “because now you,” and he spun to point at Shem, “know a little bit of what I’ve been going through for the past several days. Disconcerting? Who you think you are, completely shaken up? Do you get it now? Do you?”
Shem blinked up at him. “All right,” he said slowly, “but I don’t think this is the same thing—”
“Oh, I completely agree. This is still only a small bit compared to what you’ve put me through. Seeing things sideways? I’d have to stop spinning first to see things only sideways, Shem. Or should I say, Shin?”
Everyone chuckled as Shem glared at Perrin, but his glare soon softened, and he said, “So does this make us even yet?”
Perrin bobbed his head. “No, but it’s getting there, Shin.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“Why not? It’s what your mother wanted.”
Shem fidgeted and hesitated. “Because . . . that’s you. Because I’m not you. I could never hope to be. Because . . . it feels like taking an honor that doesn’t belong to me.”
Perrin sat down slowly. “You just had to spoil my glee, didn’t you?”
Shem smiled weakly. “However, I must say, I was never quite sure of my name before—where it came from, why no one else was named that. But today, suddenly I really appreciate it. In a way, my name has always been my calling.”
“So,” Mahrree said, “Boskos really did get it right by putting Shin in Salem for your name. He was as inspired as your mother, he just didn’t know it.”
Boskos burst out in a new round of sobbing.
He didn’t have the strength to go back home for another hour.
Chapter 19--“I’m going to have to keep a close eye on the two of you, aren’t I?”