A Turn of Light (71 page)

She wanted to be back in Night’s Edge. She’d dig her toes in the fragrant grass and confess all her worries and hopes. Wisp might tickle her neck with flower petals to make her laugh and play with her hair. But Wisp and the grass and flowers were gone.

And it hadn’t been play, when Bannan put his hands in her hair.

Her breath caught.

Wainn’s pony whinnied again, louder.

It was morning, not night.

Night was for scandalous letters and moon dreams. Morning, Jenn told herself, was for what was real. Real meant accepting responsibility, as Uncle Horst had said, not knowing how right he’d been, for herself, her actions, and their consequences. She must learn what to do at the Great Turn. She must—she would—endure three more sunsets, without putting anyone else at risk.

Most of all, Wyll. Her truest, first friend depended on her. She would not fail him again.

Jenn pulled out the bundle of letters from Bannan Larmensu, secured by a well-washed yellow ribbon. His latest was there; their shared envelope sat on top. She ran her fingertip over the dots of cool wax along its flap, counting, remembering. Ten dots. One for each day she’d written him and he’d written her.

Squaring her shoulders, she went down to the kitchen.

Her feet barely touched the second rung when Peggs said, in no happy tone, “Must you?”

As shameless as his letter-writing rider, Scourge stood with his big ugly head shoved through the Nalynn kitchen door, as he’d done every morning to nicker plaintively for a bit of toast or, better still, sausage. Having forbidden him rabbits, Jenn had been unable to refuse, though her sister and aunt pointed in mute accusation to drifts of brown hair on the floor.

Jenn felt guilty about those too, though it was Bannan’s job to groom the creature, not hers, and the once she’d done it . . .

She went briskly to the stove, opened the fire door, and tossed in her bundle, trying not to notice how quickly the yellow ribbon turned black, or how Peggs’ understanding eyes held regret too.

“Shouldn’t you be on the road, Scourge?” Jenn asked, forestalling any questions. She put hard-boiled eggs on a plate. “The tinkers are coming.”

If the tinkers were coming, why, so would Bannan Larmensu, whose letters crackled and burned.

And Wyll would come too, she added to herself firmly. The harvest drew everyone to the village.

“Are you sure?” whispered a sly breeze, as Scourge daintily lipped her offering. The eggs were in their shells; he preferred them crunchy. “Are you like Wen, and understand the little horse?”

“If it isn’t them,” Peggs countered, “it’ll be Uncle, with the twins and the livestock. In which case you,” as she took the empty plate from Jenn and patted Scourge’s neck, “need to be somewhere else.”

The villagers had grown accustomed to Scourge, though few heard him speak. The old kruar was particular. He spoke to Peggs, but not Aunt Sybb, which was just as well; Wainn but not Kydd, much as the beekeeper longed to ask questions; Tir, of course; and Gallie Emms. For the first few days, Gallie had endured more than her share of Scourge’s attention, the great beast having discovered she was the source of his beloved sausages. Loee being the size of a rabbit, her mother’d kept a wary eye on her baby when Scourge came begging, but it hadn’t taken long before everyone realized it was more a case of protecting Scourge. Whenever Loee’s tiny fingers clamped on one of his fetlocks, he’d stand paralyzed and trembling until someone took pity on him and coaxed the baby, who thought this a fine game, to let go.

It was such a sight, Jenn had written Bannan about it. He’d replied he couldn’t wait to see for himself, but it did explain how he and his sister had survived crawling through the paddock. Tir, who might have teased Scourge unmercifully on the matter, could not, having been trapped himself for the better part of lunch by Loee’s unrelenting grip on his little finger. With the current batch of sausages now safely locked in the smokehouse, Scourge had returned to pestering soft-hearted Peggs.

“I am somewhere else. I am here. Tir warned me there will be cows on the road. I avoid cows,” the breeze assured them with a chill nip. “Revolting, smelly things. I don’t see why you allow cows.”

“You like cheese, don’t you?” Peggs observed.

The answering purr was so deep it rattled cups. “Do you have more?” hopefully.

“None to spare.” Her sister swept off her apron and hung it from its hook. She paused, her eyes searching Jenn’s face. “I missed you at supper yesterday, Dearest Heart,” she said, meaning, because Peggs was the most perceptive of sisters, sunset.

“I wanted to finish before dark,” Jenn replied truthfully. “I was fine,” she added, glad when Peggs looked more at ease.

And not as glad when Scourge turned his great head, to regard her in silence.

“Fine,” she insisted.

“Well, then,” Peggs nodded. “Are you ready to go, Jenn? We’d best hurry, if we don’t want to be last to the gate.”

Last would suit her, this once. Jenn decided she’d be even happier if everyone arrived and settled and totally ignored her, until, until . . .

Imagination failed. She’d just find a way to speak to Mistress Sand alone, avoid Bannan, and be with Wyll, that was all. As for tonight . . . there’d be dancing. There was always dancing. Risky, that. She’d best break a toe—really break one, if necessary—

“Coming?”

Jenn followed her sister into the parlor, gloomily eyeing the legs of chairs for their toe-breaking potential.

Aunt Sybb looked up from her writing desk, quill poised in midair. Her smile faded as her wise eyes searched Jenn’s face. “Not so happy as we’d hoped, I see,” she said quietly. “You look exhausted, Dear Heart. We missed you at supper last night. Is something wrong?”

If ever their beloved aunt must be saved from knowing too much about Marrowdell and magic, this, Jenn decided, was the time. But what to say?

“Jenn’s dress,” Peggs volunteered, doubtless realizing it too. “This one, not the lovely one you gave her, Aunt.”

Jenn attempted to look concerned and not puzzled. Her dress was fine. Welcoming the tinkers was an event and those who wouldn’t head into the fields today prepared for the occasion. Peggs wore her third best, while Jenn, after an exhausting turmoil over her choices, since her new dress must be saved for the dance and her third best was too short, had given in and put on her second best, with the little blue birds and new white ribbons.

“Not all the stains came out,” her sister said meaningfully, gesturing at the skirt, which was perfectly clean and even pressed.

Clever Peggs. “It’s terrible,” Jenn said. She gathered a handful of fabric and held it up. “I shouldn’t be seen in it.”

“Indeed.” By what effort their aunt hid her astonishment, Jenn couldn’t guess, though Aunt Sybb was surely more accustomed to her youngest niece being oblivious to stains on her knees, elbows, and nose, let alone a hem. “You’re welcome to stay with me, of course.” She lifted her quill, then added calmly, “I expect there’s no reason for your young man to be anxious upon his first return to the village.”

She hadn’t thought of Wyll’s feelings. Or Bannan’s, for that matter. Jenn smoothed her skirt, fairly caught. “Thank you, Aunt, but I should be there,” she replied. “To be sure they—he—so everyone’s happy.”

“That’s the spirit.” Aunt Sybb gave them a fond smile. “Now off with you. You don’t want to be last.”

They weren’t. When Jenn and Peggs stepped from their porch, Alyssa and Cheffy were still squirming by the fountain while Hettie straightened their collars, and, as the sisters passed by the Uhthoffs’, Wainn stepped out with his father and uncle.

Once, Jenn would have waved then hurried on, determined to beat everyone to the gate. When younger, if she’d managed to sneak out, she’d be sitting in the oak by the river already.

This time, she stopped. Peggs gave her a grateful look.

The three walked up to them. “Fair morning, dear ladies,” the eldest Uhthoff greeted. They aged well, Jenn decided as they returned greetings. Master Dusom’s dark hair had grayed over his temples but remained thick, and he moved with the same courtly grace as his younger brother and son. If not for a slight bookish stoop, he would have stood a little taller than Kydd. His eyes fooled many a student, Jenn thought as she smiled at him. The lids were half closed most of the time, as if Master Dusom were sleepy or unaware, but the eyes glinting through those slits were fiercely intelligent and missed not a thing.

Meeting those eyes, Jenn remembered she hadn’t actually asked Kydd not to tell his brother. Had he? She couldn’t tell.

Meanwhile, Kydd had taken Peggs’ hand and the two stood gazing at one another in mute wonder, as if they met for the first time. Jenn coughed impatiently and Master Dusom chuckled. “To the gate?”

She nodded and started toward the commons.

“Not that one,” Wainn informed them.

“So this year it’s the twins first,” his father said cheerfully. “I believe you owe me a week’s dishes,” with a smile at his brother.

Having gathered her courage for Wyll’s sake, Jenn felt cheated. “Do you think so?”

Wainn frowned, so slightly she almost missed it. “They’ll be here soon,” he said, which wasn’t terribly clear, and started walking the way Jenn and Peggs had come.

Hettie called, “Wait for me!”

Peggs hesitated. “Go on,” she said to Jenn, “I’ll keep her company.”

Because the twins were coming home, and Hettie had something to say to one of them. To Tadd. “I’ll wait too,” offered Jenn with a sigh, though she loved being there when the livestock first lifted their heads, smelling home, and began to low and neigh and call to the family they’d left for the summer.

Kydd smiled, still holding Peggs’ hand. “And not be first?”

He teased her. Jenn eyed her future brother-by-marriage, who now knew all about her, or more than anyone but Peggs, and decided being teased was a good sign. “Never,” she retorted, and ran to catch up with Wainn, who hadn’t delayed.

In fact, he was in a hurry. She skipped and half jogged to keep with him as they passed Old Jupp’s house. “You don’t have to go so fast,” she told him. “We’re ahead of everyone else.” They weren’t the only ones impatient for the new arrivals, she noticed. Riss stood on the porch, shading her eyes with one hand. The morning sun poured down the road, making it all but impossible to see what moved on it.

She waited for Horst.

Who should rush to take her in his arms, Jenn thought with a pang. Instead, she just knew, he and Riss would nod civil greetings to one another, then Uncle would deliver the mail from Endshere and help settle the livestock. He’d inform Aunt Sybb about her escort and take part in the harvest. He’d stay busy and in sight and forbid himself the longings of his heart and hers until certain of privacy.

Which wasn’t fair.

Tir Half-face emerged from the mill to stand beside Radd Nalynn, eyes as wary as if he was part of the village and the twins, newcomers. They’d get along, Jenn knew. Allin and Tadd were friendly, curious sorts. They’d be coaxing stories from Tir the first chance they got, and always had some of their own.

Wainn stopped at the open gate. “Here we are,” he announced.

“And first.” Satisfied, Jenn clambered to the top rail and sat, swinging her bare feet. No doubt Horst and Roche had told the twins the news; when had there last been such an eventful summer in Marrowdell? The farm, now in Bannan’s capable hands. Tir at the mill. Wyll—though they may not have said all there was about Wyll. Last and not least, the upcoming weddings. Considering what the twins had been up to with Hettie, they’d no reason to be disappointed that the Nalynn sisters were officially spoken for, though one twin was completely out of luck. “Do you see them yet?” she asked impatiently, shielding her eyes to squint down the road.

Wainn looked up at her. “Who do you think is coming, Jenn Nalynn?”

“Who—” she broke off. Why wasn’t he smiling? She gripped the railing, suddenly unsure of her seat. “Who is?”

He shook his head. “Scourge should have guarded the road.”

Another fair morning. Having spent a restless night listening for he knew not what, Bannan was up at the first hint of dawn. He was determined to be ready before the tinkers, or Wyll, could claim his attention. Nine days as a farmer had left him scruffy and unkempt; he’d shaved, what, twice? Jenn Nalynn deserved better. If she noticed. Of course, she’d notice.