The Safe-Keeper's Secret (4 page)

“Victoria tires so easily,” the man said, apology in his voice. “But I understand you're having quite a party here! A birthday celebration for these two young folks, is that right?”

“Yes, sir. We're ten, sir,” said Reed. He had already moved to the front of the wagon and was inspecting the horses. “I like your team! Matched bays! May I pet them?”

“Very gently. The gelding on the left is a little edgy, but the mare on the right won't mind.”

Fiona was still looking up at the new arrivals, thinking no one should be tired if all she'd done all day was sit in a wagon, when her aunt's voice
came gently in her ear. “Fiona, you remember Robert and Victoria Bayliss, don't you?” she said. “They live near me in Lowford, and they came by to visit two summers ago when you were staying with me.”

“She wasn't home that day,” Reed volunteered, his hand busy against the arched neck of the mare. “Remember? She'd gone off to the dress shop with your friend. But I was home. I remember you.”

“Well, and I remember you! You've grown half a foot since that day, though,” Robert said genially.

“You're sure you won't come in just for a bit?” Damiana said. “I could brew some tea, Victoria. It will pick up your spirits a little. And there's wonderful pie.”

“Thank you. It's not my spirits but my body that's frail,” Victoria said, again making the effort to smile. “If I could rest for just a while—”

“I've got everything I need,” Angeline said briskly. “Go on into town. Thank you so much for the ride!”

“We'll be back in a few days to pick you up,” Robert said, gathering the reins. “Young man, if you'll step aside, we'll be on our way. Happy birthday to the both of you!”

And with a wave, he set the horses in motion. Victoria could not be bothered to wave, but she did smile again and give them a little nod before the wagon pulled out of sight.

Reed went running back to the party, but the two women stood there a moment as if to gossip, and Fiona stayed beside them to listen.

“She's no better, then?” Damiana asked. Fiona supposed she was referring to the wan Victoria.

“I do think she is in pain much of the time,” Angeline said. “I try not to hold it against her that she is such a poor and sickly thing. But Robert is so hale and energetic! It is a little sad to see him tied to her like that.”

“Though I think he loves her,” Damiana said.

“He is certainly good to her,” Angeline replied.

“Who is she? Who are they? Why does she act like that?” Fiona interrupted.

The woman exchanged glances and private smiles. “They are friends of mine from Lowford,” Angeline said, her hand coming to rest on Fiona's head. “Robert is my landlord, and charges me almost no rent at all. Victoria has me sew all her clothes, because she says only I know how to set a stitch that doesn't scratch her. Indeed, their patronage has made it very easy for me to live in Lowford all alone and not worry very much about money.”

“But why does she act that way?” Fiona asked. “All bent over and hurt-looking like that?”

“I suppose because she really does hurt,” Angeline said. “There was an accident when she was a young woman. She got swept out of her father's boat and washed downriver. She was missing for weeks, and everybody thought she was dead. But then she returned, bruised and broken, having fetched up some miles downriver in a town where she knew no one, too sick to speak. It was only when some kind people there nursed her back to health that she could tell them where she belonged.”

“Robert was quite taken with grief in the weeks she was missing,” her mother added.

“Why?” Fiona said. She didn't think Victoria seemed like the kind of person anyone would miss.

“Because she was engaged to marry him, and he thought he had lost her forever.”

“I don't think I'd have wanted her to come back if she was going to come back like that,” Fiona said.

“Fiona!” her mother and her aunt said at the same time. Her mother added, in the voice of gentle reprimand that was her harshest form of punishment, “That's an unkind thing to say. You, with all the advantages of youth and health, should be kindest of all to someone who is weak and in pain.”

Fiona shrugged. “I'll try,” she said, “if I ever see her again.”

Angeline shook her head a little, as if to say,
What can you expect from a ten-year-old girl?
“Now,” she said, more briskly. “Where's this food I've been hearing about? I'm very hungry—and unlike Victoria, I can certainly eat!”

After the meal, it was time for gifts. Between them, Fiona and Reed opened box after box of treasures, including dolls and soldiers and a variety of games. They were both well pleased with the assortment. Indeed, Greg and Reed and a few of the other boys immediately set up a round of ring-toss and began running back and forth across the lawn with as much energy as they had shown at the start of the very long day.

“Doesn't sit still too much, does he?” Thomas inquired, coming to sit by Angeline and Damiana and Fiona.

Damiana laughed. “I would say never,” she said. “He's like a bright fire on the kitchen hearth. He burns without ceasing.”

Thomas nodded at Fiona, though she kept her eyes on her new doll and pretended he had not joined them. “And this one?”

Damiana reached out a hand to stroke Fiona's hair. “This one is like a coal in the firepit. Cool to look at but blazing with heat within.”

Fiona could feel that the Truth-Teller was still watching her. “Come with me to the front of the house,” he said. “I have a present for you, but it needs explaining.”

The two women looked over at Fiona, for they could tell, if he could not, that she had set her mind against Thomas and might not be eager to go. But she shrugged and laid her doll aside and stood up.

“All right,” she said.

A few months ago, he would have taken her hand and led her around the house, but today he did not try. He just walked in silence beside her as they passed the garden and rounded the corner and came to rest under the still, spreading branches of the kirrenberry tree. Kirrenberry trees never grew very tall or very broad, but their flat, dark leaves were wide and dense, and if you stood beneath one on the sunniest day, you would stand in absolute shadow.

“Last time I was here,” Thomas said, running his hand down the smooth bark of the thick trunk, “your mother allowed me to trim a couple of branches and take them with me for whittling. I made two whistles, one for your brother and one for you.”

Fiona frowned a little. “I've never heard of anyone making a whistle from a kirrenberry tree,” she said.

“No, and I'll show you why,” he agreed. He pulled a small flute out of a pocket in his vest. The wood was light colored and prettily marked with darker swirls and flecks the size of a bird's eye. He had strung it on a black silk cord so she could wear it around her neck. “Here. Blow into it and make a melody if you can.”

Fiona gave him a sharp glance, then took the whistle from his hand. Putting her mouth against the blowhole and her fingers on the openings of the pipe, she breathed in.

But no sound came out.

She tried again and again, each time blowing harder, but the whistle would issue no music. “I don't understand,” she said at last. “Why doesn't it work? Is it broken?”

Thomas shook his head. He was still standing with his hand against the trunk of the tree, watching her with his shadowed eyes. “Because a kirrenberry tree won't make a sound,” he said. “You can cut its branches to make two sticks that you hit together along with the beat in a reel—but they make no sound. Hit it with an ax and the tree yields up no ringing noise. Fell it in the forest, and you will not hear it toppling to the ground. A whistle makes no music. Birds who land in its branches forget their own songs.”

Now she was frowning. “That makes no sense.”

He nodded. “That's why the kirrenberry tree is planted in front of the house of every Safe-Keeper in every village from here to the Cormeon Sea. Because a kirrenberry tree signifies silence.”

She lifted her head; now she understood the lesson. If she did not like this mute whistle, she could not be a Safe-Keeper. If she was afraid of silence, she could not learn her mother's trade. “Thank you very much,” she said distinctly. “I will treasure my kirrenberry flute forever.”

Now he smiled at her, more amused than she had expected. “I was sure you would,” he said. “Now, I'm about ready for more of that pie—how about you?”

Chapter Two

I
t was going on toward midnight before the last of the birthday guests left. Greg had fallen asleep on a blanket by his grandmother's chair, but Reed was still parading around the back lawn, his new whistle held to his mouth, producing unheard music for an invisible audience. Elminstra sighed and pushed herself to her feet.

“Well, I'm the last one here. I'd better be getting back,” she said. “Greg! Wake up, child, we have a little walk home.”

“He can sleep on the floor in the big room,” Damiana offered.

Elminstra snorted. “You've got a houseful already,” she said. “He can wake up long enough to stumble a quarter mile down the road. Greg! Gregory! Open your eyes!”

But Greg snored on. The women laughed. “I'll carry him,” Thomas said, and scooped the sleeping boy into his arms. Greg never woke. “I'll be back in a little bit,” he said to Damiana, and walked off with Elminstra into the soft dark.

Damiana stood up. “Reed! Fiona! Time for bed!”

For Fiona, this was the best part of the day. Every day.

She cleaned herself up at the sink in the kitchen, then hurried up the open stairs to her room. She was dressed in her nightclothes and under a light sheet when her mother came into the room, holding a single candle. Her mother settled on the edge of the bed and patted the covers around Fiona's shoulders.

“All tucked in? All comfy?”

Fiona nodded, tangling her hair on the pillow. Damiana smoothed the loose curls from her forehead, her hand cool as spring rain. “So what made today special?” she asked, as she always asked.

“A lot of things, today,” Fiona said. “All the people. All the food! All the presents. Angeline.”

“Turning one year older,” her mother suggested.

“I don't
feel
a whole year older,” Fiona said.

Damiana smiled. “No. You never do, on your birthday. On your birthday you feel exactly the same as you did the day before and the day
before. Six months from now you'll feel older. In two years you'll feel older than you do right now. But it's slow. It's an invisible process.”

“Like summer,” Fiona said. “One day it's just there.”

Damiana laughed. “Exactly like summer. And then, eventually, like winter. But not for a few months yet.”

“How long will Angeline stay this time?”

“Just two or three nights, I think.”