I gaped at him. “Dear sufferinggods, are you ever not a bull in rut?”
“Are you calling yourself a cow, wife?” He drew my body close to his, and I bemoaned that we were both dirty and smelled of smoke.
I let him kiss me as I was stunned by the fire, but a wave of sadness for Magda flooded me and put out any ardor he had ignited. I pushed him away and said, “Perhaps I should tell you what I think this was.”
He nodded. “I assumed you would not want to tell me. You have shown me so much of your heart already. I understand you may want to keep some things to yourself.”
“Do I tell you too much?” I ventured. Had I been too naked too often with him? Had my outpouring of what was my innermost self been an overindulgence on my part?
He put his forehead to mine. “There is no such thing as ‘too much Robbie.’ Not for me at least.”
We bathed without lingering, stripping off our clothes for washing, although my dress would have to be scrapped for patchwork as it was nearly destroyed. Somehow the skin of my legs had not been injured.
As our dinner had been destroyed, we ate cheese, bread, and apples. Avery packed his pipe with his regular dried clove, but added lightleaf to it. As it was a chillier autumn night, he, hesitantly, lit a new fire in the hearth, making it small and manageable. He lit his pipe from it and puffed, then handed it to me. We sat at my worktableand passed his pipe back and forth. When I was loose from the leaf, enough to tell him the full tale of Magda’s death—not just the truth of her burning, but my role in it—I did.
“You have fire magic,” he said when I finished.
I opened my mouth to make a weak protest, but he spoke over me.
“I have seen it. Take it from a godless Ecclestonian. I have just seen it in you, and I saw it in one back home. It exists. You may have your soil skills. Those I think are natural even. What lets you see the doors in god trees is not just Mother Earth or even her at all. It is that fire god. I think your blood was a mercy on the old woman. It was a quick death, likely painless if your memory is true.”
“What did you see in Eccleston?”
“A blacksmith more blessed than you. He could prick his finger and pray aloud for flame, and then the blood would flicker into flame like light on a candle. People claimed it was a sleight of hand trick, but I think it was real. Ever tried that?”
“What did he say?”
“‘Father Fire, I am in need’ or something.”
I went to a box I kept things for sewing in, shears, thread, and needles. I pricked my right forefinger, and we watched a small drop of blood well up on the tip.
“Father Fire, I am in need,” I said aloud, and then I winced and put the finger into my mouth.
“What?” asked Avery.
“It just got very, very hot. I think you’re right, I don’t have the same blessing, but perhaps I do have fire magic. But I need a flame that already burns. I cannot conjure one myself.”
72
THEN: JADE
My worry over my husband’s possibly being unfaithful led me to my first true friend. It was an unusual way for two women to meet, but my friendship with Jade was perhaps the most prosaic relationship of my life. We were two women of a similar age with a similar outlook on life, bound together by our alikeness and mutual affection.
But before I welcomed her into my home, I sought her out and accused her of stealing my husband.
I began to notice Avery left for the smithy early on some mornings. And on those same mornings, he would return later. I also began to notice him walk into Nyossa on his own when he thought I was distracted in the gardens or pressing oils in the house.
What I mostly took note of was the smell of fish about him. It was slight and barely there, but I could scent it now and then, and it confused me. Fish did not bite in the river as it ran through Sheridan. They were not lured in by any bait, nor did they get caught in nets. The fast pace of the rush that spun my father’s waterwheel and ground the town’s wheat into flour did not allow for easy fishing. The butcher in town never soldthem.
I had often thought that the slower creeks, streams, and tide pools of Nyossa would have made for excellent fishing, but I had not the skill nor the equipment to do so.
When he brought a fish home, I was beside myself with confusion. I decided to open a door for him, allowing for him to offer up some explanation.
“Where did you get such a treat?” I said, watching him gut the silvery thing on my worktable as I gathered what herbs would roast best on lighter meat than poultry or pork.
Avery hesitated and then said, “Butcher. Someone had a lucky fishing day, maybe down or upstream, further outside town?”
I scented the lie on the air the same way I smelled the fish.
