He sighed. “I warned you not to get involved.”
“How can I help it?”
He cut the sprig and gave it to her. “Let me arm you, at least. I’m sure you know my vincibilities by now.”
She put it carefully in her basket, preserving the berries. “I will never hurt you if I can help it, Ash. Please believe that.”
“But as we’ve seen, the best intentions can be disastrous.”
He used a ladder propped against the tree to harvest it with brutal efficiency. “This stuff’s a parasite,you know. It lives off the tree. If allowed, it will suck all life out of it, and thus die itself. A very stupid plant.”
“Tell me a clever one.”
He looked down at her, startled, then laughed. “You will never let me get away with an idiocy, will you, Genova?”
She should make a light rejoinder, but she said, “I’ll try not to.”
He cut the last branch of mistletoe and climbed down. “A penny for your thoughts.”
“A guinea. No, ten.”
“Agreed.”
She glanced at him, then across the misty, darkening orchard, where laughter and chatter were clear, but where everyone but Ash beside her looked like a wraith.
“I was thinking that I feel on an edge. Scarce able to hold my balance. I don’t even know what the edge is, what lies to either side.” She pulled a wry face at him. “These wanderings are not worth even a penny.”
But he was looking at her seriously. “I know what you mean about an edge. Sometimes it feels that I live on the edge of a sharp sword.”
She shivered, but said, “Not for me. For me the danger comes from what’s on either side. Often everything is shrouded in mist, so it’s unclear which side is safe, which is dangerous.”
“But do we always want the safe side?”
“Ah.” She inhaled it, understanding at last why she’d felt such turmoil. “No, not always. It feels wrong not to want safety, but the edge is where everything happens. The edge is where things change. It’s decision, and action, and creation. It’s birth and death. It’s life. Doesn’t everyone live on the edge, anyway?”
“Probably wise people try not to.”
“Then I don’t think I’m wise,” she whispered.
“Nor I. But it doesn’t need to be dramatic, I don’t think. A man can live on the edge in one room, studying the stars, like Galileo.”
She turned to him, surprised by this whole conversation, but especially that he’d understood her unformed problem. “So he can. I was worried for a moment that I’d have to go traveling again or die.”
“One room and an idea will suffice. Everyone’s leaving at last,” he said, taking her basket and touching her to guide her across to the other side of the orchard.
“For you?” she asked.
“I am compelled to walk the perilous edge through many rooms. It is my destiny. I have to admit that I often enjoy the thrill.”
This let her say, “So do I. I have enjoyed much of my life, despite hardship and war. I am finding my new life tedious.”
“Really?” he asked, and she laughed.
“Not the last few days, I must admit.”
“Good. Above all, I would hate to be boring.”
“I need to find the edge,” she said, as much to herself as to him. “To do useful things and see tangible results.”
