Make hay while the sun shines

[goddessnanshe.livejournal.com]

Mid-afternoon of Tuesday, 29th June
The Abbey

It's a bright warm day, and the church, my church, rings with the sound of a community in song. Every pew is filled, and there are even people standing at the back of the church and spilling onto the porch, leaning into the doorway to hear Ash's words, and singing out familiar hymns of summer and farmwork through the stone of the church and out into the bright air. Some of our farmers - I know them all by name, John Hale, Jasper Thornton, Lucille Cliff, Alex Brown, their dreams familiar to me as neighbours - bring a bale of new hay to the altar in offering, and my throat is tight.

Please, I pray. Please let their prayers be granted. May I still be able to do some good.

It's strange, to be able to feel such joy and such grief at once. I have such pride in my people, and such helpless frustration at what I have become.

The service ends, and everyone goes into the fresh air. Tonight they will dance together at the new hall, kick up tired heels and shake out aching muscles into new, pleasanter aches of dancing and socialising and celebrating after hard labour. For now, our community here has moved tables out from the dining hall into the yard, and the congregation has brought pies and cider to share. Children run giggling between the tables, hay in their hair, and I laugh looking at them, and feel a terrible tender pain in my heart, wanting them to be as safe as this always.

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[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

Most of the shops are closed today, dur to the Abbey's summer celebration. Rose and I lingered in bed late, then made a late lunch, then took a stroll through the park...

until we ended up here. I can't say I am a member of the church, but the service sounded lovely even from outside, and the after serice is certainly lively. Rose gurgled and waved towards all the people, and even if I couldn't understand her thoughts I would know what she wants to do.

I find a table to sit at, and let Rose taste small bits of pie filling off my fingertip, and play with random pieces of hay. I know many of the farmers wives, and they stop to say hello and smile at Rose, who is fascinated by everything around her. I chuckle and kiss her dark curls, oddly content for the moment.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

It's so nice to finally be able to sit down. I feel like I've been running around all week, what with all the extra baking for the celebration and helping Papa with the haying on top of that. The work has made it blissfully impossible to think, though, and I haven't missed the worrying.

I smile as I help myself to a piece of one of my own pies and go to look for a place to sit down. I spot Wanda with Rose and wave to them both as I come over. "Do you mind if I join you?"

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

Jane makes her way through the mingling people and running children and waves.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"Not at all." I say warmly, shifting over. She certainly looks hgappier that the last time I saw her.

"How have you been?"

[goddessnanshe.livejournal.com]

"Wanda," I say, coming over. "And this must be Rose." I smile at the baby, who looks at me with surprisingly intense eyes, but otherwise looks like a perfectly ordinary child. "How are you both?" I don't recognise the other woman, I don't think. "I'm Noma," I say to her.

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

Just as Jane is walking over, so does Noma. She smiles down at Rose, who waves a chubby fist which is clenching hay at her. "Yes, this is Rose." I say, smiling broadly, bouncing her on my knee a bit.

"We are doing well, thank you. Enjoying the lovely day. And you? How are you settling in?" I shift over again, so Noma may sit as well as she intriduces herself to Jane.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

I offer Rose my hand to play with as Wanda Asks how I've been. "Busy," I tell her lightly. "But it didn't rain during the haying, thank heaven for small mercies."

Another woman joins us, and I nod to her. "I'm Jane." She isn't familiar, but I don't come out to the Abbey often.

I turn back to Wanda. "Is...everything all right at the Dormouse?" I know what people have been saying, but I'd rather hear about the remodeling from her.

[goddessnanshe.livejournal.com]

"We are doing well, thank you. Enjoying the lovely day. And you? How are you settling in?"

"I feel very at home here," I say, smiling, and I nod in greeting to the other woman. "I'm pleased to meet you, Jane. And isn't it a lovely day?"

"Is...everything all right at the Dormouse?" Jane asks, as if expecting it not to be, and I look at Wanda, curious.

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

Not a follower of Nanshe, sure, but glad ta come by and see folk coming together. It's a good time of year, an' I feel clearer in myself. Part of it's the work, sure, but...

Everywhere, the smell of hay and sun.

Grinning a bit as I wander through the yard, hands in my pockets. Stop ta let a handful of kids run by shrieking and laughing, and wave as they do. Mood the way it is, guessing even tonight might be pretty quiet, an' right now it's just looking like a damn good day.

[goddessnanshe.livejournal.com]

I take Rose to meet a couple of the monks - they don't have much to do with babies, and are both perplexed and delighted by her - and then I carry her over to Jack.

"Deputy," I say, smiling. "It's a nicer day than when we last met. Are you well?"

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

"Miss Noma," I say, straightening and dipping my head and... awh, hell, don't have my hat on me. Run my hand back through my hair and offer her a slightly awkward grin. "I am, thanks. It's a good time a'year. Miss Rose," I add to the baby in her arms. 'Member the fairy wings, last time I was at the Dormouse.

"It's good of you t'mind her for a bit," I add, looking over ta where Wanda and Jane are talking. "How've you been since we spoke?" Lord, I sound a bit awkward. "Mean, recall you said you were settlin' in well; like ta think that hasn't changed." Okay, that might be more'n a bit awkward. Guess it's the day; maybe I'm feeling a tiny bit giddy.

[goddessnanshe.livejournal.com]

I smile at the way he greets me.

"You may just call me Noma if you like, Deputy," I say. "I see you've met Rose before," I say.

"How've you been since we spoke? Mean, recall you said you were settlin' in well; like ta think that hasn't changed."

"I've been well," I say. "This place is -" I think about it. "Good," I settle on. "There's a mix of people, and the usual range of complaints and strains, but... goodness runs through them." My people. "I think, though," I add thoughtfully, "I would like to be more involved in the town. It's easy to stay here, and working for this community is good, but... I would like to do more for Excolo as a whole." Jack seems like a person to whom such things can be said simply, without irony.

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

"You may just call me Noma if you like, Deputy," and I nod again, though it seems a bit familiar-- still, guess she asked? "I see you've met Rose before."

"Ah, yeah," I say, smiling at the little girl. "Stop by the Dormouse, sometimes; she gets a lot of attention. She'n Mrs-- Miss Wanda seem ta be doing well." I can hear the relief in my voice, and I might feel a bit bad for bein' so glad her husband was gone, if he wasn't what he is.

Wonder if she'll go back ta her maiden name. Kinda hope so.

"I've been well," and I'm glad ta hear it. "This place is - Good. There's a mix of people, and the usual range of complaints and strains, but... goodness runs through them."

"Well," I answer, "town's words are est deus in nobis. Worse things for people ta live up to, I guess." Standing there in the sunlight and smiling and I realize sort of quietly I ain't wondering if I should be explaining that in English. Nice to feel someone understands, I guess.

"I think, though, I would like to be more involved in the town. It's easy to stay here, and working for this community is good, but... I would like to do more for Excolo as a whole," and that is not the kind of thing you hear a lot of so I take a minute to sort it out, nod slowly.

"Tend ta think of Excolo in terms of the people," I say thoughfully. "But that's... maybe missing the forest for the trees. The town's had a bad year, some ways. I mean, it's doing better," I add hastily. "But not sure we're-- not sure the town's quite back on its feet?"

[goddessnanshe.livejournal.com]

"Stop by the Dormouse, sometimes; she gets a lot of attention. She'n Mrs-- Miss Wanda seem ta be doing well."

I can hear his relief, and I smile a little.

"Better than before, from what she tells me. Marriage," I add quietly, "is a holy thing, but only if both parties have the same intentions."

"Town's words are est deus in nobis. Worse things for people ta live up to, I guess."

That probably depends on the god, I think, but I don't want to spoil his mood.

"The divine works through us, and when a community acts together - yes."

"But not sure we're-- not sure the town's quite back on its feet?"

"I know what you mean," I say. "But it's easy to be optimistic on a day like today, isn't it?"

[samuel-durand.livejournal.com]

Always a great reminder, rituals. So many things wrapped up within them. The first and most primitive of institutions. The power of belief. Intersubjective dynamics. The regulation of spheres. The intersection of rationality with-- I do not think 'irrationality,' not because it is unkind, but because it is inaccurate.

I have seen hundreds of these rituals. A thousand. Everywhere different, and everywhere the same. Attempting to bring the infinitely complex and recursive chains of interaction of the cosmos within the breadth of human hands and hearts. Offering. Sacrifice. Divination.

What I do not expect, as I stand against the back wall writing snatches of the hymns and ceremonies within my book, is to feel warmed by something other than the simple press of bodies. It is... discomfiting. I opted not to wear my habit to the service, feeling that it might be somehow disrespectful, and not entirely certain why I cared. But here I stand, in my traveling clothes, the smell of sweat and breath and freshly cut hay heavy in my nose-- and it is not entirely unpleasant.

When the service ends, I take a seat on the back pew and close my eyes for a long moment, enjoying both the stillness inside, and the stir of voices humming just at the edge of my hearing. In a minute I will make my way outside. For now, for a moment, this place that smells of home makes me remember for the first time in a long time being a child, and hearing voices raised in song.

I-- cannot.

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

Well, hell, it's Tuesday, right? It's a slow day to start with and with all the work everyone's been doing, it's not exactly the first one we've had. So I figured, hey, I might as well wander in and I hear there's going to be dancing later, I can make an afternoon and then an evening out of it.

The skip into town's enough to give me that good sunlight-in-skin feeling, and after I get to the Abbey and get a glass of cider and spend a bit talking to Lucille about a thresher, I head inside for a moment. The air's got that funny light-is-waiting look you get, coming into shadows from the light. I'm not the only one inside, either, and after a minute I sit down on the other end of the pew, hook my ankles up to cross my legs (after dusting my feet off, 'cause come on), and give him a minute. I guess he's maybe just sitting here to sit here, but...

"Hey, honey?" I say softly, after a minute. "You okay?" I mean, I guess most people know how to handle the sun, but I haven't seen him around before, so he could maybe be from a line of work where he doesn't get the practice. He needs a glass of water or something, I can go find one.

[samuel-durand.livejournal.com]

Sister Rahna had the best voice, the voice of an angel. Sang my first Latin lesson to me. She used to sing to herself when she went about her bookkeeping duties, too, and though I would never have told her, I loved to sit in the upper-story stacks of the library we called home, my feet dangling over the balcony’s edge, and listen. Told myself I was just working on my Latin.

Brother Nicholas was the worst. One of those people with a tin ear who could only alter the volume of their voice when they attempted to alter the pitch. Didn’t help that his voice was so deep, either. Sounded like a bullfrog in the bottom of a coal mine. But it was Nicholas who gave me my first taste of philosophy. All men by nature, Samuel, desire to know.

“Hey, honey? You okay?”

My eyes snap open, and I make myself take a long, slow breath through my nose before I turn my head to see who spoke. A younger woman, one I do not know. The mote-filled shaft of sunlight that falls between us obscures as much as it reveals, to just-opened eyes, but I blink it away enough to see that the concern appears to be genuine.

“I’m--” My voice rasps, even the murmur echoing too loud in the acoustics of the place. I clear my throat as quietly as I can, and try again. “I’m fine.” A couple of beats of silence go by, and I pass my hand across my face. It feels like waking. “The ceremony surprised me, and I just found myself thinking of home.”

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

Poor guy, he starts like someone woken out of a sun-doze, the kind of deep one where your whole head feels snore-y for five minutes after you wake up. But he's holding himself together pretty well, gets his breath back and looks over. “I’m-- I’m fine,” and I nod, give him another minute to finish grounding down. “The ceremony surprised me, and I just found myself thinking of home.”

"I get you," I say, and-- well, I do, kind of. Home is the Carnaval, but the trails and patterns of rain and dirt in the ground, those just feel wrong. Gibtown, the actual buildings were fine there, and that was home a little, but... Well, it's at least not like I'm alone, even if we're not in quite the right place. "Been a while, I guess? Since you were there. But the town's pretty friendly, as it goes." I offer a smile and hold out my hand. "I'm Zann, Tereixa Zann, but just Zann's fine."

[samuel-durand.livejournal.com]

"I get you," she says, and for a moment I meet her eyes and I feel like she just might. But in the moments of silence that follow I think of every step I've taken in twenty long years, and... There are times when justice ceases to power your arm, and the purity of will no longer sets your feet to moving. You're just a cosmic projectile, then. An object on an age-old course. No heart or purpose. Just a trajectory.

This. Today. It's not so much about loneliness, it's about the rightness of the ground on which you find yourself. Not even the physical ground, but the ground of being. That portion of place inseparable from self. Nothing is wrong, but everything here feels wrong.

"Been a while, I guess? Since you were there. But the town's pretty friendly, as it goes."

"It has. Twenty years, or near enough. I've almost forgotten what it looked like. But you're right. There's few enough places out there that would give the sort of welcome I've found since I got here."

"I'm Zann, Tereixa Zann, but just Zann's fine."
I lean over to take her hand firmly, but the smile I return is heavier than it ought to be. "Good to meet you, Zann. Samuel Durand." I almost add my old title by reflex, but stop myself. In this room, on this bench, I am the worst sort of mockery of a Friar Observant. "You're a stranger here too?" I ask, studying her. She doesn't have the local look, now that I can see her better. "I haven't seen you in town, but I've not been here long at all."

[tereixa-zann.livejournal.com]

"It has. Twenty years, or near enough. I've almost forgotten what it looked like. But you're right. There's few enough places out there that would give the sort of welcome I've found since I got here."

"Now that is entirely true," I say cheerfully. "And there's so much going on here; we used to joke, for a bit, they they should be selling us tickets. Lovely place," shame about some of the people, "always so interesting."

He takes my hand and shakes my hand, and although I wouldn't call him exactly cheerful he's nice enough. "Good to meet you, Zann. Samuel Durand. You're a stranger here too?" and I cock my head a little to one side. I mean, I am, but... "I haven't seen you in town, but I've not been here long at all."

"I am," I say cheerfully. "I mean, I didn't grow up here, and I've been here for a year now, but we're not really with the town." I think. It's... strange, now, hard to tell, and I grin a bit, shake my head and leave the question for later. "I work out at the Carnaval Diabolique; lovely place, grandest show just outside of town, although I have to tell you," I add, lowering my voice conspiratorily and leaning in a bit, "we don't get a lot of competition these days."

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

"I wish life were like baking, so you could set out all the things you needed and mix them together and time everything to come out perfectly."

"Then there would be no pleasant surprises." I sigh, and manage to give her a smile. "After all, for every souffle that falls, there's a strawberry shortcake that is sweeter than you can imagine." I think I'll leave brownies out though... brownies are wickedly bad. I shouldn't miss brownies.

There's a slight lull, and I feel like I should say something about her and Jamie. Or that I should go drag Jamie here right now...

"Anything I can do?" I think that's the safest question I could ask right now.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

"I don't like surprises," I grumble, but she's gotten me thinking about strawberry shortcakes now. Those would sell very well, and the strawberries are ripe just now.

I can see Wanda's thinking, so I try to prepare myself for whatever she might ask about. It's seems she's at as much of a loss as I am right now, though. "I'll take a cup of tea from you tomorrow morning," is all I can think of to ask for.

I pick at my pie for a bit before asking, "What are you going to do with your basement now?" I think I know her well enough to ask that, and I am curious.

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

Nod my head at her request. "Done. I'll even make my strawberry scones with clotted cream." Food fixes everything. Momentarily at least.

"What are you going to do with your basement now?"

Geeez, I go for the safe question, she goes for the throat.

"Do what most people do with their basement I suppose. Use it to store the things you don't have any use for any---" My voice catches. Dammit. Damn Him. Deep breath and bright smile. "Storage, I suppose."

Just another part of me to pack away, at least now I have somewhere to put it.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

"Really?" I can't help smiling when Wanda offers scones as well as tea. It'll be nice to eat something I didn't have to make, and I've heard she's a good baker.

I probably shouldn't have asked about the basement. Wanda's carefree sounding answer breaks down right in the middle, and I see her pull herself together. "I'm sorry," I say quickly, and reach out to touch her hand. "It's none of my business. It's just, um, does Dorian like the sorts of things you used to do down there? Because I don't know if I can, um, do that." And she must know what an imperfect idea I have about what exactly that is.

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

She apologizes and touches my hand, and while I smile gratefully, I curse myself for showing the momentary weakness. I'll have to get better at getting a handle on that.

"It's just, um, does Dorian like the sorts of things you used to do down there? Because I don't know if I can, um, do that."

"Dorian's never been in my basement." I say almost automatically, then curse inwardly again for speaking so freely. But then again, it is the truth. There was that one time with Dorian and Lucien, but I don't think that was "the norm", as it were.

"I don't think Dorian's into that. There weren't many, that were. Not really." Not the way I wanted it, anyway.

"Just be yourself, that's probably what attracted him to you in the first place." I think that's the best advice I can give.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

I am quite pleased to hear that Dorian never took advantage of the services she offered in her basement, though I try not to show it. Dorian does whatever he pleases and both of us know it.

She sounds sad, which I suppose I can understand. Perhaps Mr. Whitman was the only one, and now he's gone. "It...doesn't have to hurt very much, does it?" I ask cautiously, thinking aloud. "What you did, I mean." I can feel my face getting hot.

"As long as I'm myself in clothes he chooses," I add to Wanda's, because it's Dorian. She knows how he is.