The Alleluia Files (31 page)

Clearly, she was reading too many romances. In the past, such a thought would never have popped into her head.

“I never knew I was the type to read them, either,” Tamar said a little ruefully. “But I really, really like them.”

“Have you read
Edori Angelica
? That’s about Gabriel and Rachel, and it’s so good. Maybe that’s my favorite. That or
Susannah the Stolen
.”

“
Edori Angelica
? No, I’ll have to look for it.”

“I’ve got a copy, I’ll lend it to you. But I know once you read it, you’ll want a copy for yourself.”

They talked books awhile longer, then regretfully came to their feet; time to return to work. At the door, Tamar impulsively turned to Jenny and said, “I have the day off tomorrow. If you’re not scheduled, maybe we can go into town together and shop. Or go to a conceit. Or something.”

“Oh, that would be great! I need a new blouse, I spilled gravy all over my good pink one, and I just
can’t
get it clean. I have to work the evening shift, though, so we’d have to be back early.”

“Fine with me,” Tamar said, smiling. “Let’s do it.”

And it was amazing how such small things—a conversation in the garden, a plan for entertainment the following day, an assignation with a friend—could make the pleasant world that much more enjoyable. Tamar felt herself smiling all evening as she worked, caught herself humming that night as she went to bed. Anticipatory elation. For such a small joy …

But the next day, she and Jenny laughed their way through the bazaar, bought more clothes than either one had intended, ate more rich foods than was good for them, and generally had a splendid day. When Jenny returned to the Berman House, Tamar accompanied her, too tired to stay out the rest of the evening on her own. Instead, she lay for hours in her bedroom, reading
Edori Angelica
and dreaming over the stern, sculpted beauty of the Archangel Gabriel.

Over the next couple of weeks the friendship between the two young women prospered. As it turned out, there were many things Jenny knew that Tamar did not: how to flirt with strange men in public cafes, how to identify rich men over poor ones, who the most prominent merchants of the city were, and the names of their wives and children. When they stood on the more well-traveled street corners of Semorrah, Jenny would point
them out to her and name them off; she even knew the names of visiting Manadavvi and a few of the Luminaux celebrities who came to town. It did not occur to her that she would ever meet and mingle with these people. She was merely fascinated by their wealth and their air of royalty.

“Though I
will
go to the Gloria someday,” she told Tamar one evening as they worked in the kitchen preparing to serve the evening meal. “Anybody can go, you know, and
everybody
who matters is there. Bael and Mariah, Omar, Jared, Mercy— all the great angels, and men of course Christian Avalone and Ben Harth and all the Manadavvi—”

It had given Tamar a start to hear Jared’s name drop so casually from Jenny’s lips; it made him seem real, substantial, alive, and that made him seem dangerous. But she could not bring herself to ask about him, could not admit she had met him. How could she ever explain those circumstances in Ileah? Best to forget the meeting ever happened.

And yet, not ten minutes later, he was to seem even more alive and more dangerous than ever.

Jasper had come into the kitchen, a rare event, and gravely watched them a moment to make sure they were hard at work. “We have angelic guests tonight,” he said finally. “They must be served with particular dispatch and courtesy. Which of you wishes to wait on them?”

“Oh, me, me, please, me,” Jenny said instantly, then quickly gave Tamar a guilty look. “I’m sorry, of course if you want to, you can take the tray out. It’s just—”

Tamar smiled and shook her head. “Please. You. The thought of serving angels terrifies me.”

Jasper nodded. “You must take great care to step around their wings, as their feathers will trail on the floor by their chairs,” he said. “On no account brush up against their wings, for they hate their feathers to be touched. Other than that, treat them with the same degree of civility you would give any guest.”

Jenny was almost dancing in place. “I will—I know—I won’t touch anybody,” she promised. “Oh, this is so exciting! Tamar, is my hair in place? Are my eyes smudged?”

“And try to behave with dignity and calm,” Jasper added.

Jenny nodded, her attention on Tamar. Tamar reached out to pat some of the brown curls in place, but really, there was no
fault to be found in Jenny’s bright eyes or eager smile. “You look perfect,” she said.

They loaded up the tray and Tamar helped her through the door, then turned back toward the kitchen. But curiosity made her pivot again and slip into the hallway that led to the dining room. If she was careful, if they were sitting at just the right table, she could get a glimpse of these majestic visitors and still remain in shadow herself.

Yes, there they were, at the best table at the far end of the room, closest to the fire. The first person she recognized was Christian Avalone, who sat facing her, though he was looking at one of his companions. The angels sat in profile to her, a man and a woman; Jenny was bending over the man, so she did not immediately see his face, but the woman looked kindly and amused. Not the expression Tamar would have expected on any angel’s face. Her wings were small enough to imply that she was short, and they were flecked with spots of amber, beige, and copper. She looked, Tamar thought, well-worn and comfortable, and at the moment she was smiling broadly.

And then Jenny stepped back and Tamar was staring at the angel Jared. Who appeared engrossed in conversation with his host and not interested in inspecting the shadows for lurking Jacobites. Nonetheless, her heart had immediately exploded inside her rib cage; her throat closed down in astonishment. She backed quietly into the hallway till she was invisible from the dining room, and then ran into the kitchen. And there she stood, gulping for air and trying to think, till Jenny burst into the room.

“It’s Jared! Did you see?” Jenny exclaimed, practically throwing her tray to the counter and waltzing around the stone floor. The docks working over the steaming stove looked over in astonishment at her antics. “He’s the most handsome of all the angels, and so polite! He thanked me every time I laid a piece of silverware on the table. His eyes are as gray as storm clouds. He’s wearing his emerald bracelets, the ones he always has on in formal pictures. I can’t wait to take out the second course.”

He had not seen her, of course; he had not come here looking for her. There was no need to panic, no need to run. “Who is with him?” Tamar managed to ask, amazed that her voice sounded so steady.

“Well, Christian Avalone, of course. And the angel Mercy,
who leads the host at Cedar Hills. She’s really the nicest angel of them all, so everyone says, and she comes to Semorrah all the time. She and Christian Avalone are great friends.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying this so much,” Tamar said, now producing a smile. Her heart was slowing; she was feeling a little calmer. He had not seen her.

“Well, but I feel guilty. Do you want to take out the salads?”

“Oh, no! Angels make me nervous. I’d be sure to step on their feathers or drop the spoons in their laps. You do it, and then tell me everything they say.”

They seemed to stay at the inn forever, Christian and his divine guests, debating the god knew what policy or trade agreement. It was exquisite torture to Tamar to have the angel so close, to feel so at risk, for such an extended period of time. Yet she knew she was safe. He was unaware of her existence. He would be gone in a few hours, and then all would be well again.

The angels left the inn without encountering the Jacobite, but the incident left Tamar deeply shaken. It had been stupid to think she was safe in Semorrah. It was one of the great cities of Samaria; at any point it could be filled with visiting angels or touring Jansai. Perhaps there was no reason to think they would recognize her—even if Zeke had been captured and forced to betray his friends, how would they know her face? But if she was filled with this much fear every time she saw a pair of arching wings, she would be in for a miserable existence in the river city.

Accordingly, and with great reluctance, she made plans to leave. She found herself unwilling to walk off in the middle of the night, leaving Jasper and Jenny to wonder at her whereabouts, so she wrote herself a letter and mailed it one afternoon when she was running errands. Jasper himself brought it to her when it arrived at the Herman House the following day. He looked, even for Jasper, unwontedly serious.

“I hope it is not bad news,” he said.

Of course it was. She opened it and read it in the kitchen, right in front of them, and felt her face grow pale. “My sister has taken ill,” she said. “They don’t know if she—and she has three babies, and there’s no one to take care of them—”

“Oh, Tamar, do you have to go?” Jenny wailed, but Jasper silenced her with a look.

“I must. As soon as I can, I think,” Tamar said. She put her hands to the bow at her back that held her apron in place, as if she would strip if off now and flee from the house. Then she dropped her arms, took a quick, indecisive pace around the kitchen, and came to an abrupt halt. “I must check the bus schedules. Maybe I can leave in the morning.” She gave Jasper a pleading glance. “That is—if it’s all right that I leave so soon. I know this isn’t much notice—”

“Do what you must,” he said, in such a kindly voice that she felt even more wretched for leaving. But she had to. She had no choice.

That night, as she packed her sparse belongings, Jenny came to the door and asked mournfully what she could do to help. Tamar was edgy and weary and just wanted to sleep, but she was touched by Jenny’s obvious sadness and did not have the heart to send her from the room. They stayed up most of the night talking.

Therefore, when Tamar left the Berman House early the next day, she was exhausted and a little depressed. She took a ferry to Westgate on the Bethel side of the river, because she had decided to explore that province; she wanted to be as far from Breven as possible. Westgate, almost a mirror image Of its sister city, offered few amenities but Tamar wanted only one: a bus station. She found it quickly enough, and spent a few minutes studying the roster of schedules.

Not that it helped her; she knew very little about Bethel, and none of the destinations sounded familiar. She wanted a town that was small and sleepy, a place where angels were unlikely to drop by and news of the world was infrequently reported. The town of Shepherd’s Pass sounded promising, and when she checked its location on a nearby map, it seemed perfectly suited to her needs. It was situated in the heart of the province’s rich farmland and appeared to be miles from any major crossroads. She would buy a ticket to Shepherd’s Pass.

During the two-day bus trip, she mostly slept, although she did read one of the books Jenny had insisted she take. It did not hold her interest as much as she had hoped; perhaps she had outlived the brief phase of her life when she could read for mindless pleasure. When she could neither sleep nor read, she
stared out the window at the gentle green countryside and tried not to brood too blackly.

Shepherd’s Pass was everything she’d hoped for, half a dozen intersecting streets lined with the requisite grocers, bankers, and general stores. There appeared to be two hotels, and she chose the least prosperous-looking one. She had saved most of the money she’d earned, but she was by no means rich; a few weeks of idleness would see her bankrupt. She must spend wisely, and find work again immediately.

Therefore, the next morning she made the rounds of the shops, looking for employment. To her dismay, she found that there wasn’t much need for labor in Shepherd’s Pass, not even at the stables where she could almost always count on a job.

“But they’re hiring at Isabella Cartera’s spread, so I heard,” a groom told her.

“Hiring for what? Who’s Isabella Cartera?”

“She owns the biggest farm holding in Bethel. Inherited it from her husband, but she’s done a fine job of running it. Must be a hundred people working there, house and fields, but they’re always looking for more hands.”

“I’ve never farmed,” she said. “Do they use machines?”

He nodded. “To plant and harvest. Big and scary. Give me a horse any day. But she’s got stables, if you truly want to work with horses, and the house is huge. They must need cooks and chambermaids. I’d go out to Cartabella and give it a try.”

He rented her a horse and gave her directions, and she rode out to Cartabella that afternoon. He was right; the place was monstrous. The house itself was palatial and gracious, but most of the other buildings looked industrial, efficient, and impersonal. She counted two dozen barns, stables, milking sheds, warehouses, and other unidentified structures before she gave up.

And one woman owned all this. Wealth, indeed.

She rode straight to the section of property where the livestock appeared to be quartered, then dismounted and tied her horse to a convenient fence. She had decided that, this time around, she would avoid the kitchens and the living areas where there would be the greatest concentration of people. If there was work in the stables, that was what she would take. Animals were less likely to recognize or betray her; and she would not feel any rush of sadness if she suddenly had to leave them behind.

The first person she saw was a young man, a boy, really, who said sure he could direct her to the head ostler and that wasn’t much of a horse she was riding, was it? No, she agreed, it had been rented, but it had gotten her here in one piece and that was all she asked of it. He had his own horse, he confided, a two-year-old gray mare, though he didn’t have much time to ride. Still, he was allowed to stable her here for free, so he could visit her every day and bring her an apple from the dinner table.

Tamar cared very little about his joys and grievances.

“The head ostler?” she reminded him gently, and he led her into the maze of corrals and stables that had to cover a full square mile of property. The head groom was deep in conversation with another man, but ended that conversation soon enough and came over to inquire civilly about Tamar’s business. He looked only slightly taken aback when she said she was looking for work (some men, she had found, were reluctant to hire women for the stables) but admitted that he could always use another pair of hands.