Page 27 of Song of the Dawn
“Gods of the seasons.” She pointed. “Spring, summer, fall, winter.”
I followed her finger. Spring was the flute, summer the harp, fall the violin, and winter the piano. Interesting. I knew nothing of those gods. Perhaps another folktale?
“What about the instruments they play? What meaning do they have?”
Namen studied me out of narrowed eyes. “Do you not know the histories?” She snorted in disbelief. “The gods use their instruments to change the weather and call forth the blessings of each season. If you are curious, you should read more or listen to your elders.”
I stared at the statues again. For some reason, I sensed there was something I should know. “Will you tell me about them?”
“No time now.” Namen waved her hand. “Ask when you return, or speak to Giselle. She knows the truth.”
Giselle, who was friends with everyone and knew everything. I determined to ask her as soon as possible.
Mila
Rachelle was wandering about the store when I reappeared, fingering different materials, a smile on her face. She seemed happier than earlier, as if new clothes were a momentary distraction.
She smiled as we left. “Isn’t Namen great? I mean, she’s a little strange, but the clothes she makes are lovely. I’ll have to send all mine back though. She made evening gowns and riding outfits, all clothes meant for a grand lady. I guess I hoped that because she was making them, I’d become that lady, but now I’m just here.” She shrugged.
“Maybe you will,” I suggested, well aware of the dangers of planting false hope. “Is it common for Namen to do what she wants without input from you?”
“Yes, and you’ll love everything she makes you.”
“What about the bill? Does it come out of our wages?”
Rachelle bit at her bottom lip. “I don’t recall. I never pay much attention.”
Nodding, I decided to ask Ginger. It would be less awkward than asking Ezra. Besides, it was Ginger who ran everything, and with that thought, a thread of unease shivered down my spine. I had a hunch that the key to finding out more about Ezra included Ginger. She was some sort of unmovable force in his life, but her importance and the reason were impossible to gauge.
Giselle pulled up just then, the wagon empty, all smiles. “Productive morning?” she called.
“Very,” Rachelle responded.
We clambered into the wagon and started back to the inn. When we arrived, Dusty came around to take the wagon back to the carriage house, and Rachelle drifted away. I tried to catch sight of the workers in the grove, but it was difficult to see them through the trees.
“You’ve been thoughtful.” Giselle nudged me.
“I have a lot on my mind,” I told her.
“I’m always open to talk. In fact, why don’t you come to the vegetable garden? I have some new seeds to plant and could use some company.”
“I’d like that,” I said immediately.
“As long as you don’t mind getting dirty,” Giselle said.
“I’m not afraid of hard work,” I told her.
I’d walked past the vegetable garden countless times but had never been inside. Rows of vegetables poked up, some shooting taller than me. We passed rows of golden corn, and I imagined playing hide-and-seek in them. That was what Aveline and I would have done when we were young. I’d never been remorseful about my upbringing, but as I walked past the green tomatoes and the vines of peppers, I wondered what life would be like in the countryside for children. There were places to run and play without being stifled inside, waiting for the next outing.
Giselle knelt beside a bare patch in a far corner and patted the freshly tilled dirt. “Look at that,” she said. “Dusty already tilled it for me.”
A wheelbarrow sat beside the patch, full of tools and brown shapes with white roots.
“Potatoes,” she explained. “They grow all the time, but I figured it would be good to plant them later this year, in time for winter. No one wants to eat potatoes all summer, and they are a hearty food.”
I recalled winters with potatoes and how Mother would make them in different ways. If one got creative, there were plenty of ways to make filling meals from soups, a hearty baked potato, or mashed potatoes to go with a portion of meat or fish.
“We’ll just bury each one in the ground, cover it with a mound of dirt, and that’s it. I’ll come around and water them later, since the sun looks like it wants to stay out all day today.” Giselle plucked a root from the wheelbarrow and buried it. Soon her hands were covered in dirt up to her wrists, but she didn’t seem to mind.
