Keturah and Lord Death

“Keturah, you make the best pies I have ever tasted, but every woman in the village can make pies of this variety. If you want to win Best Cook, you will need to make a new kind of pie, one that will make every woman clamor for your recipe.”

“Tobias says he will find me lemons.”

“Do so, and Ben Marshall will be yours. If you want him.” She peered at me and wiped her mouth with her apron. “Are you sure you want him?”

“And why should I not?”

“Because he wants a cook, not a true love, and you want a true love.”

I drew in my breath. “How—how did you know?”

“John Temsland told me so.”

I stared at her in her nightgown and apron. “John Temsland spoke of me to you?”

“He did.” She gazed at me sideways with her eye that still had some short vision in it. “He mentioned you more than once.”

I was helpless to think of a reply, and attributed my lack to fatigue. “I must go home,” I said at last.

“Wait.”

She woke her son, insisting that he accompany me home. The poor man grudgingly complied, and was so sleepy he saw neither my more powerful escort nor the men who watched me in the shadows.

Within sight of the cottage, Cook’s son turned back, crossing himself as he did so.

IX

Another story;

the extraordinary price Soor Lily exacts

for a little of her foxglove and which price I pay in full,

though not without the deepest trepidation.

The stars had come out again.

I had heard tales of scholars who said the stars were really great suns, but so far away they appeared as pinpoints of light. Everyone knew that it was impossible and laughed at the scholars.

But now, as I gazed upward, I hoped it was true—hoped that the cold, empty sky could be filled with such heat and light, that the universe could be something impossible, something beyond my eyes and imagination, something unholdable.

No, I could not leave these stars just yet. I entered the cottage.

The fire was low. “Grandmother?” I called. She was not in her bed. And then I saw that she was lying on the floor.

“Grandmother!” I went to her side. She was awake but pale as a candle, and there was a film of sweat on her forehead and upper lip. “Grandmother?”

“Keturah, I’m glad you’ve come,” she said quietly.

“You are ill!” I said.

“Help me to my bed.”

Slowly I helped her to her bed and covered her well.

She settled under the quilts, and I took her hand. It shook in mine like a captured bird. “I am afraid, Keturah.”

“Grandmother, I will protect you,” I said.

She glanced all about the room, fear in her eyes. “Do you see him, Keturah? Is he close?”

“No, Grandmother, he is not close.”

I gripped her hand with both of mine.

“Grandmother, wouldn’t I tell you if he were near?” I said gently. “All is well. Here, let me brush your hair.”

“Keturah,” she said with weary surprise. “I am dying.”

“No, Grandmother,” I said.

She looked at me long in silence.

“No,” I said again, more firmly.

“Will you let me die alone?” she asked.

Angrily I said, “Grandmother, it is only the ague, that which vexed you last winter.”

She frowned slightly and gazed out the window. “It is not truly death I fear. It is leaving you behind. As long as I am alive, the memory of your revered grandfather protects us. As long as I am alive, Lord Temsland remembers to give us a small pension. But when I am gone, you are alone. You will be vulnerable when the reputation of your grandfather dies with me.”

“Do not fear, Grandmother,” I said. “Sleep now.”

I unwound her braid that fell to the floor and brushed her hair, smooth as silver silk. Then I began to plait her hair again. It felt warm and comforting to have my hands in her hair, as when I was a little child. At last she fell asleep, but she seemed at times to forget to breathe, and she slept terrifyingly still.

I left her then and ran into the forest, black and dark as a nightmare. He was waiting for me, his horse, Night, beside him. “Do you think by flaunting your power you will make me love you?” I cried when I saw him, rage killing my fear.

He stood tall, composed, lordly. “Your grandmother is very ill, Keturah,” he said calmly. “I told you she would die soon. I told you in the forest when you were lost. It has begun.”

It was true that he’d told me this, but it made no difference. Warning made no difference. “Why must you hide in shadows? Why am I the only one who sees you? Are you a coward?” Oh, how good it felt to rail against him.

“I am here for all to see, Keturah, if they wish it,” he said, still calm. “I have touched them all in some way.” He stepped closer to me. His tone had an edge to it now. “They think my realm is far away. Would they sleep at night if they knew how close I was? Would they sing so roundly by the fire if they knew I was waiting in their cold beds? Would they be so glad of the harvest if they knew I rested in their root cellar? It is not I who am the coward.”