Sitka seemed distracted lately. Angeni got the sense sometimes that she was itching to leave, that something outside The Land was pulling at her. She’d asked Erik if he’d noticed, but he said no. He wasn’t nearly as intuitive as Angeni, though. He could be so blissfully unaware of things that Angeni saw so clearly. It was one of her greatest frustrations with him—she was often miles ahead, waiting for him to catch up to her.
“Recipes. For my book,” Angeni said.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Sitka said.
“I think it’s a great idea,” Aurora reiterated.
They had reached a dead end on that topic, so Angeni decided to bring up the childcare arrangement for Freya.
“Sitka, I wanted to talk to you about a set schedule for you to help with Freya while I’m working on the book,” Angeni said.
Aurora went to the stove to tend to the chicken liver, though it didn’t need much tending. Angeni knew she was still a bit hurt that she wouldn’t be the primary caretaker for Freya while Angeni worked. Aurora loved Freya, but Angeni sensed Freya had a more natural connection with Sitka. Besides, what better way to integrate Sitka more into their community than to have her help with the baby?
“Okay,” Sitka said.
Sitka sat on the floor next to the bouncer, her flowy skirt hiked up to her upper thighs, long dark legs stretched out in front of her. Her skin always seemed to be gleaming, probably thanks to the vanilla balm Angeni had made for her and told her to use liberally all over her body.
“I’m thinking of turning the sunroom into my writing room. I’ll just add a desk and make a little creativity altar,” she said.
She would start collecting things from the forest for her altar—heart-shaped stones and leaves and bird feathers, anything she found inspiring.
“I love that idea,” Aurora said, turning around to share her enthusiasm.
“Okay,” Sitka said again. She was now playing with Freya, pulling back and releasing the little elephant rattle, much to Freya’s delight.
“I don’t feel good about being away from Freya, obviously,” she added. “So I was thinking I could create a play area in the sunroom next to my desk, and you could sit and be with her for my writing time.”
Sitka looked up, met Angeni’s eyes. Angeni could not tell what she was thinking. Her stare just looked blank.
“Okay,” she said. It seemed to be the only word she was capable of saying.
“I’ll only write for an hour or so a day. I don’t want it to be totally boring for you. Or for Freya.”
“That’s fine. I don’t mind spending time with her,” she said. Then, as an afterthought: “And supporting you with the book.”
Was it disapproval Angeni was sensing? Did Sitka not think she should write the book? She decided to ask, practicing what she so often preached about authenticity.
“Can I ask ... What do you think of me writing this book?”
Sitka’s attention was back on Freya. When she spoke, she didn’t look at Angeni.
“I think it’s a great opportunity for you.”
“But do you think I’m ... I don’t know ...worthyof it?”
“Of course you’re worthy of it,” Aurora interjected. Angeni ignored her, kept her eyes on Sitka.
Sitka looked up, surprised. “Worthy?I don’t think I’m one to judge that.”
But that was exactly what Angeni sensed—judgment.
Angeni tried again: “Do you think my mission, my teachings, are deserving of a book?”
Sitka stood, her skirt falling to her ankles, hands on her hips.
“You’ve said it yourself. I’m not your target audience. I’m not a mother. So I don’t really know. But you have millions of people who think so. My opinion shouldn’t matter.”
But it did matter. For whatever reason, it did matter.
