Fruit of the Golden Vine (4 page)

“Is that so?” Mother sat upright and inhaled from the bottle, her nostrils flaring. “Then you’ll have to tell me all about them.”

Adelina spilled a powder into a cup of water and stirred with a spoon until the colorful dust dissolved. “Well, her name is Silvana, and his name is Rafael.” She gave the medicine to her mother, who sipped at the discolored water. “They both have odd tattoos on their faces, and they’re quite good-humored. I think they’re laughing at us a little behind their hands, but not in a malicious way.”

“Foreigners always do. What’s custom to one is comedy to another.” Mother extended her wrinkled hand, and Adelina placed a dark red leaf on her palm. Mother stuffed it into the corner of her mouth and chewed. Within seconds, her lips and teeth were stained crimson. “For once your cynical judge of character may be of use to me. How is this Rafael taking to Irena? Honestly, now.”

“Well, she’s madly in love, and he’s humoring her.”

“Is his proposition faithful, do you think? Is he a godly man?”

Adelina smiled as she combined two vials and gave her mother the resulting amber liquid. “No. I don’t think either of them is especially godly. But as far as his personality goes, he seemed tolerable.”

“Hmm.” Mother wiped a liquid trail from her chin. “It’s unfortunate that he’s not pious, but if a malicious creature like you can speak of him without spite, then he must have some redeeming character. The purple-tipped vial, please.”

“Yes, Mother.” Adelina unplugged the stopper and winced as the heady aroma infiltrated her lungs. What the hell was in this one? “Is this even safe to drink?”

“It revives my lungs. Quickly, girl.”

Adelina surrendered the hideous substance, and Mother took three quick sips before holding the vial at a distance, her eyes watering. “I’ll admit it’s quite potent.” She folded her hands on her chest and puckered her lips. “The sister. What manner of woman is she?”

“The kind you’d certainly disapprove of.”

“Do elaborate.”

Adelina dragged a stool to the bedside and sat. A splinter prodded her buttock, and she shifted to seek comfort. This was the longest part of the medicinal ritual, the endless hours spent informing Mother of every event observed and word overheard that day, and there was no escaping it. “She wears her hair very short for a woman, and she arrived in a shirt and pants. Oh, and she has a sword and claims to be better than her brother with it.”

“Impious to the bone, by the sound of her. Fetch me a mirror, child.”

Adelina took a mirror from the side table. As she carried it to the bed, she glanced at her own pale reflection. It was singularly unfair that both her sisters had elegant cheekbones, pointed chins and refined noses, and that she alone had been stuck with a round, childish face. Her nose, far from being graceful, was round and snubbed, and her mouth seemed perpetually sullen. At least there two small blessings: her olive skin had lately rid itself of pimples, and she’d inherited Mother’s thick black curls, unlike poor Felise, who was stuck with Father’s wispy blond hair—

“Adelina! Vanity is a sin!”

“I’m sorry, Mother.” Adelina put the mirror in Mother’s waiting hands. If only she were bold enough to point out the hypocrisy.

Mother inspected her face. “I’m growing thinner by the year. I’ll have to eat more.”

Ogre that her mother was, likely she’d round up the village children for the purpose. “Yes, Mother.”

“Well, don’t just stand there, sit down again.” Mother tapped the stool. “Tell me about their arrival. Where were you? What was the expression on his face? What did he say when he saw Irena?”

Adelina sat on the splinter and yelped.

“Yowp? Is that what he said?”

“No! It’s this stupid splintery stool!” Adelina fidgeted. “There are so many stools in this house, Mother. Why do you have to keep this one at your bedside?”

“Because it’s comfortable, girl!” Mother gave an exasperated huff. “Now don’t make me repeat myself. Tell me what happened.”

Adelina fought the urge to invent an absurd story. Mother always found out, and the consequences weren’t worth the brief entertainment. “Well, don’t scold me for this now, but we crept up to the balcony to watch them come in…”

After an interminable hour by Mother’s side, Adelina dashed down the staircase and hurried along the slender corridor to the dining room. Twilight pressed against the hallway windows, and the humming of cicadas was audible even from indoors. Evening already! Why did Mother have to spend so much time talking?

Irena was in the dining room, overseeing the setting of the table. The twins were making sport of their task, as usual, competing to set places the fastest. Irena looked up from her indulgent supervision of the servant boys and smiled. “Ada! You wonderful sister. I had the most glorious afternoon.”

“And you know very well what kind of afternoon I had.” Adelina walked around the edge of the long, ornate dining table, taking care not to knock her head on the lighted candelabras jutting from the walls. She bumped into one of the boys and growled at him. “Go help your mother in the kitchen, you little nuisances. I’ll finish up here.”

“Yes, Ada,” said the boys in near-harmony, before dashing from the room, still racing and giggling.

Irena sighed as she shook her head. “You shouldn’t let those scoundrels talk to you so informally. Of course, you’re equally a scallywag yourself.”

“Unabashedly so. Did Father give you any orders with the placements?”

“No. Just the usual.”

Adelina nodded. Father always seated the men of the household at one end and the women at the other, believing that there existed such things as feminine and masculine conversation, and that the two could never meet without some great catastrophe. “May I ask you a favor?”

“You don’t have to.” Irena’s eyes twinkled. “I put you next to her. And you’ve the corner seat so you don’t have to endure the neighboring company of anyone else.”

Adelina blushed. “You can tell?”

“That you’re taken with her? Oh, yes, completely. You look like a puppy adoring its master.” Irena frowned at a crooked fork before prodding it into a new position. “I’m not surprised. She seems very tomboyish, but she’s also very mature. I didn’t realize women like that even existed.”

“It gives me a little hope for the world.” Adelina refolded a maroon linen napkin and placed it beside an ornamented china plate. “So what tales did Rafael beguile you with?”

“I wouldn’t dare repeat them. He’s a consummate storyteller. Silvana interrupted now and then to set him right on certain points, and their banter was quite amusing. I think I do like her as well.” Irena closed one eye and examined a heavy silver spoon. She inched it a little to the left. “Mother will be scandalized though. An unmarried woman of her age, strutting about in pants and brandishing a sword, wearing her hair almost like a boy…”

Adelina giggled. “Stop it. You’re making me breathless.”

“I wish you’d react that way when my suitors come around. There’s no point whispering and gossiping with Felise. She doesn’t understand anything about adult relations. She thinks a husband exists to give her endless piggyback rides whenever she wants them.”

“You know, I’ve been feeling sorry for you.” Adelina adjusted Father’s place setting, where Irena had overlooked a crooked edge on the napkin, no doubt distracted by thoughts of Rafael. “But now I’m rather envious. Imagine living in the North, away from Father and his friends, looking at snow and being allowed to read and walk and do whatever you want to.”

A sympathetic frown creased Irena’s forehead. “You’re right, you know. It truly isn’t fair. You’d love to have that kind of liberty, whereas I’m happy with needlework and caring for children. I almost wish he could marry both of us.”

“Ugh.” Adelina tossed her hair. “I’d rather marry her instead.”

Irena’s skin pinked. “Ada, really. Don’t talk nonsense.”

“Wouldn’t it be perfect though? You’ll marry Rafael, I’ll marry Silvana, and we’ll live together among the wolves. And we’ll smuggle Lise with us in a trunk.”

Despite her growing blush, Irena giggled. “That’s such an absurd joke. Don’t dare repeat it before Mother.” Voices echoed in the hall, and she straightened up. “That sounds like Father. Is everything arranged?”

“I think so. How many of his usual guests does he have tonight?”

“Three.”

“I wish he wouldn’t bring them here.” Adelina plucked at the embellished edge of the damask tablecloth. “They make me uncomfortable.”

“I know. But Father would never let anything happen to us.”

The main dining room doors opened, and a group of men entered. Father took the lead, his fat face glowing with homeowner’s pride. Behind him were three of his regular cronies, whose names Adelina only knew by eavesdropping. The skeleton draped in black silk was Matheus, the town judge, and the red-whiskered leviathan beside him was Orfeo, the owner of the town’s largest inn. Trailing behind them was Marconus, a lean tax collector who never seemed to cease grinning.

“It’s the strangest thing,” Father said as he guided the men to their usual seats. “The designs are inked right beneath their skin. It’s a remarkable effect.” He waved to Irena and Adelina. “My dear daughters! Will you go stir the servants into hurrying our meal?”

Orfeo’s gaze lingered on Adelina’s body, and Adelina shuddered. He was the worst of them, always leering from the other end of the table, sometimes a piece of gristle hanging from his teeth. Marconus was decent enough, if rowdy when drunk, and Matheus was practically a corpse. He’d once touched her on the wrist, and she’d found that even his hands carried the chill of death. “Let’s go,” said Adelina, tugging on Irena’s arm.

They left through the side door and walked the short distance to the kitchen. Their cook, Bruna, was busy within, bent over a seething pot and shouting orders to her identical twin sons, who scampered about the room piling food onto platters and stumbling over each other’s feet.

“It’s almost ready,” said Bruna without lifting her eyes from the brew bubbling before her. “Maybe ten minutes.”

“I think he’ll want a lot of wine tonight, Bruna.” Adelina stole a grape from a bowl. “There’re five guests dining, and Father looks like he’s in a benevolent mood.”

Irena laughed as one of the sons darted past her with a steaming tray of pork. “Careful, there!” She tugged her skirts around her. “Ada, I’m going to tell Mother to come down for dinner. I’ll also find Rafael and Silvana and tell them the same.”

“If you like. I’ll help Bruna with the serving if she doesn’t mind me getting underfoot.”

Bruna wiped her glistening brow. “I wouldn’t object, Mistress Ada. One woman and two lads shouldn’t have to cook for ten.”

“I wish we had more servants to help you.” Adelina took a ladle and approached an aromatic pot of soup. “What’s this?”

“Leek and pumpkin, dear.”

“Ooh.” Adelina ladled the flecked broth into a series of silver tureens. One of Bruna’s sons pushed by with a bowl of dried dates in his hands, and she snatched a piece of fruit as he passed. “What’s the dessert tonight?”

“Fig pudding.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Adelina sipped from the ladle. Just enough salt. “What would we do without you?”

“Eat like the rest of us sorry lot, I assume.” Bruna shouldered one of her sons aside. “Out of the way, you. And Ada, behave yourself! Must you taste absolutely everything?”

Adelina smiled as she placed lids on the tureens. She enjoyed that the servants of the house treated her without deference, whereas in the presence of the rest of her family they scraped and groveled. She was never averse to helping clean or cook—it only seemed right, given the amount of work the servants did relative to the paltry wages Father paid them.

With the help of Bruna’s sons, Adelina loaded the trolley with steaming platters and gleaming tureens, and together they wheeled the food into the dining room. Everyone had arrived. On the men’s side of the table, Father, his companions and Rafael hunched together in a conversation broken by loud laughter and cheering. On the female end, Mother sat with pious stiffness, her eyes not leaving Silvana, who sat opposite her. Irena sat beside Mother and listened to Felise as she prattled and waved her hands, no doubt retelling some imagined adventure.

Both Silvana and her brother still wore their casual traveling garb, a fact Mother no doubt found reprehensible. She was dressed in her usual grim black dress—not a hint of lace—while Irena and Felise wore matching white dresses with pink frills. Felise already had a stain on her bodice, the little beast. The men, of course, had dressed as they pleased, in expensive garments worn with a casual disregard that Adelina could only envy.

Adelina navigated the table, placing tureens and transferring food to plates. Father grunted as she set a tray of dates within reach.

“You’re a good girl, Ada,” he said. “Never too proud to put in a helping hand, even when it’s not asked for.”

“Anything to seem a little less respectable, Father.”

Father chuckled and patted her arm. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes merry. Presumably he’d downed at least a glass of wine before dinner. “You have my blood in you, there’s no denying it. It’s made a devil out of you, but it still makes a man proud.” He nudged Marconus. “What do you think, Marco? She takes after me, don’t you think?”

“Undoubtedly,” said Marconus. “She has much of your distinctive character.”

Adelina refrained from stabbing Marconus with a butter knife. He’d intended to offer a compliment, after all, and it was what Father wanted to hear.

Father tugged on Rafael’s sleeve. “Eh, Rafael. Adelina here—what do you make of her? As a man of the world, speak. Do you think that one day she’ll make some man happy?”

Rafael smiled at Adelina. Unattractive as she found him, it was hard not to be charmed by the gentle humor lighting his eyes. “I certainly believe she’ll make somebody happy,” he said. The implication behind his vague phrasing was obvious to Adelina, and she blushed.

Father chuckled. “Now, now, you’ve made her crimson. Don’t court both my daughters at once, you cad!” He reached for a date. “Try these, Rafael, they’re divine.”