estdeus_innobis | Make hay while the sun shines

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Make hay while the sun shines

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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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.

I laugh with Wanda. "I haven't been furious with him...yet." I'm sure a day will come, though. Perhaps being furious in bed would be fun. But perhaps not.

She looks so beautiful in the sunlight, all milky skin and shining hair. And she asks me about Jamie. I look down at my own rough, brown hands, remembering my mother painting them with mehndi for my wedding. "I don't think I'll ever lose interest in Jamie," I say softly. "But we can't--we didn't make that-that marriage."

I look up at Wanda, feeling tears in my eyes in spite of the wonderful day. "We did make something else, though, and I'm not, not keeping it. When he finds out about that, I doubt he'll want anything to do with me." I think I know what kind of man he is, and he'd say it was ours and want to keep it, never mind that it's growing inside me.

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.

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.”

"I don't think I'll ever lose interest in Jamie, But we can't--we didn't make that-that marriage."

Feel my own throat tighten a little, and my heart twist. Oh, I think I know that feeling. "Well, there's still hope. Dreams may not make a marriage..." Take a moment to clear my throat, I will not be sad. Not now. "but dreaming about what may be is a great way to start." There, stay positive. And find Jamie and kick his ass for not tracking Jane down.

"We did make something else, though, and I'm not, not keeping it. When he finds out about that, I doubt he'll want anything to do with me."

It take a minute, to put together her bright, wet eyes with the words she's saying. Oh.... OH. I straighten up and try to figure out what to say. "Ah... well..."

I was in the same position she's in now. Maybe not exactly the same, but that decision... it's not easy. Rub the back of my neck with my hand. "I'm sorry. For the position you are in." I say quietly, touching the back of her hand lightly.

I can see that she's thinking about her own marriage as she tries to reassure me about mine, and I feel terrible that I've dragged up her sadness on this bright day.

When she touches my hand, I sniffle a little. I know I'm being terribly maudlin, and it isn't helping a thing. "I wish life were like baking," I say when I've composed myself a little. "So you could set out all the things you needed and mix them together and time everything to come out perfectly."

(con't below)

"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.

"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?"

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."

"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."

"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.

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.

"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.

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.

"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?"

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.

"It...doesn't have to hurt very much, does it?"

Well, I suppose if I had never really cared---

"What you did, I mean."

Oh, right. That.

"It doesn't have too, I suppose." But, what's the fun in that? Smile, but it's more to myself. "Boss him around, tie him up, make him do your bidding." Kiddie stuff, but I am guessing it's more Jane's speed. Now I am wondering if Dorian would have enjoyed some time down in the basement... pity we never got to find out.

"As long as I'm myself in clothes he chooses,"

"You should be yourself in whatever your wearing. But as I said, he does have good taste..." Chuckle a little, but my lightness for the day is gone. Too many heavy thoughts.

"Wonder if Rose has managed to charm the whole Abbey yet?"

I give Wanda a doubtful look at the idea of making Dorian do anything, but maybe I could do it in bed. That's the sort of thing we're talking about, after all. "He has excellent taste, most of the time," I agree, and we laugh a little together.

Wanda mentions Rose, and I look around for the baby. Surely it's time she had a nap. I stand up, smoothing my tunic. I should be getting home. "I'll see you tomorrow," I tell Wanda. "I'm looking forward to those scones."

"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."

"Better than before, from what she tells me," and I guess I'm sorta glad ta find that Wanda's talking to her about it. Seems a lady who's both sensible and kind, and it's a good combination. She adds gravely, "Marriage is a holy thing, but only if both parties have the same intentions."

Nod to that, and find I'm sticking my hands in my pockets, which just seems a bit clumsy; pull one out and wave a little at Rose, instead. "Were you ever married, Miss-- Noma? If you don't mind my asking, I mean."

"The divine works through us, and when a community acts together - yes," and I'm smiling, can't help it.

"Best we can be, I guess," I say thoughtfully. "Waterkey--man I knew once, ma'am--used ta say the destiny of man was to become more than man. Not... quite sure 'bout that--mean, I think people can be pretty damn good, an' the idea of becomin' more'n that seems ta sell them a bit short--but it's a good sentiment." And she says somethin' about bein' optimistic an' I look out across the yard and grin. "It surely is."

"Were you ever married, Miss-- Noma? If you don't mind my asking, I mean."

"Yes," I say, "but he -" there's no word for it, really, that applies to humans, so I settle for - "died. And my children," I say, "which is the worst, though I lost them all long ago." I know I look like a woman in her middle-thirties, and so I smile a little and say - "I am a bit older than I look. Being a mother suited me better than being a wife. I miss them." I do; so much more since I came to have a body again. Bodies seem so good at carrying grief.

"Waterkey--man I knew once, ma'am--used ta say the destiny of man was to become more than man. Not... quite sure 'bout that--mean, I think people can be pretty damn good, an' the idea of becomin' more'n that seems ta sell them a bit short--but it's a good sentiment."

I smile back at him.

"Sometimes people need to learn to be human, it seems to me. And then there are people who aren't human who have a great deal more humanity than the average man," and I touch my hand to his sleeve very lightly.

After one more laugh about Dorian, Jane stands up and smiles back down at me.

"I'll see you tomorrow, I'm looking forward to those scones."

"Tea and scones and lunch. You got it." I nod back and wave as she moves away. Look around and see Noma chatting with Deputy Hollow, and Rose settled happily between them. I probably should go and collect her...

in a minute.

"I am. 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."

She smiles and shakes her head, and while I don't know quite what she means in terms of specifics, I understand that this is one of those things that falls in that broad category of 'it's complicated.' Hell, half the people in this town seem to have A Story, and that's well above the average in my experience. Most of what's left in the world just tries to keep its head down enough to not attract a lightning strike.

...Come to think of it, have any more than one or two of the people I've met since I got here actually been from here? It's one more interesting wrinkle to this strange place.

"I work out at the Carnaval Diabolique; lovely place, grandest show just outside of town, although I have to tell you, we don't get a lot of competition these days."

I can feel my face light up with interest. "You're with the show?" Yet another place I'd yet to explore. "Fascinating. What do you do? I've heard about the Diabolique from some of the townsfolk," I add, thinking of the bookstore's proprietor, "but haven't visited it yet. Haven't had the time." I think about that, and bark a laugh. "Scratch that. Had the time, just not the motivation. Things here got...complicated, fast."

That's an understatement. Strange visions, explosions in the woods, talk of the death and return of gods in the taste of blood...

"I've run into several shows elsewhere in my travels, over the years. Maybe even yours, come to think of it," I bite my lower lip as I think, but try as I might I cannot summon a name, not even of the place where Mr. Sagert and I first encountered one another. "I remember them as thoroughly intriguing studies in collective seduction and consensual illusion. And funnel cakes," I add, after a moment's wistful reflection. "Great big ones. Like beignets got loose from some mad scientist's kitchen, met in the wild, and raised their young on a diet of fry oil and powdered sugar."

"Yes, but he died," and there is a little hitch there, but I ain't calling any attention to it. "And my children, which is the worst, though I lost them all long ago," and I guess I blink a bit at that, although a woman aging well sure ain't the strangest thing I've seen.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," I say softly. "I can't..." Well, I can't imagine, can I? There's that feeling when someone dies, but it ain't the same, I can tell it ain't the same just from how other people take it. Nothing even close ta the same. "I'm very sorry," I say again. "Hope you were happy."

"Sometimes people need to learn to be human, it seems to me. And then there are people who aren't human who have a great deal more humanity than the average man," an' she touches my arm and I look at her, an' I imagine I am seeing her very clearly, somehow. Not sure exactly what that means, but....

Smile at her, and shrug a little. "I guess some people who aren't human have an easier time of it. Bein' human. They... maybe don't take it for granted, you know? But people--real people, ya know?--get ground down, I guess, and sometimes it's hard for them ta remember what's important." Not saying it's not their fault. What they do's on them, and sometimes it breaks my heart, but people getting ground down... It has ta be hard, sometimes. Mostly I just get glad they come back to their senses.

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Make hay while the sun shines

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