A Heart in the Hills, page 13
Sam walked out and shut the door behind him.
“I don't know where you find the patience for him,” Elizabeth said.
“He doesn't really hurt anyone,” Isaac replied. “He might be stupid, but he's not mean-spirited.”
“Well, I've had enough. It's time he learned to take care of himself.”
Isaac gave her a moment to cool off. He didn't think she would leave Sam out in the cold permanently. She loved her brother no matter what she said, but it would be a few days before she was ready to accept an apology.
Elizabeth had developed a hard edge during their time in Kinedwyn. It was her way of dealing with Giselle and moving past what had happened in Tannersfield. She'd never become truly bitter, but the enthusiastic, hopeful girl she'd once been seemed long gone. She was more cynic than optimist these days. It saddened Isaac sometimes. She could have been so much more than a servant, but the drive to reach beyond her humble origins had left her. Perhaps she thought she'd aspired to too much and been punished for it? The more she hoped for, the more she stood to lose.
Elizabeth had money and security now, but it didn't seem to be making her happy. Not many people saw it, but Isaac did. She could put on a smile and work studiously from dawn till dusk. She went to church, talked with Elspeth at Hartwin's, and attended the weekly tale-telling night they were both fond of. But when she came home in the evenings, there was always a dull-eyed weariness to her. She wasn't content with life.
“You need to get out from under Giselle's roof,” he said once he judged her mood had settled.
“What's the point? All I'd get is the same kind of work somewhere else for half the pay.”
“You're too clever to be a servant. Your reading and writing's been coming along well. There has to be someone else who needs you.” In truth, Elizabeth's literacy had stagnated since they left Tannersfield. She still took lessons from Isaac and Kaylein every once in a while, but the speed of her progress had slowed to a crawl. She didn't have the passion for it anymore.
“Who could possibly need me? Sir Roger can write for himself. So can Giselle and John. Father Thomas has Kaylein. None of the tradesmen want a woman working for them, at least not for anything that doesn't make her back ache and her hands bleed.” She hefted one of their cooking pots into her lap, splashing a cup of water inside and scrubbing it with a rag. “I'll probably just end up marrying someone. At least then I'll have more time for myself.”
With a sinking heart, Isaac realised she was probably right. Marriage was the best way for a woman to advance herself in a place like Kinedwyn. There were plenty of eligible young men from respected families, and Elizabeth usually turned a head or two when she came into Hartwin's. She could wed a tradesman's apprentice or the son of a prosperous farmer and turn her talents to helping them with their work. But Isaac doubted she'd be happy with that, either. Deep down, she wanted to be her own mistress.
“I won't get married if you don't,” he said.
That coaxed a small smile out of Elizabeth. She'd never approved of Isaac's relationship with Rona. “What's happened with her?” she asked. “You've got that look about you.”
Isaac felt a little embarrassed that she could read him so easily, but it quickly passed. The pair of them had grown comfortable talking about intimate matters. Part of it was Elspeth's influence, blunt and irreverent as she was. The rest was simple familiarity. Isaac had learned it was more trouble than it was worth to leave things unsaid when you lived with someone like Elizabeth.
He told her about what he'd done with Rona behind the stables and how she'd been nagging him about marriage.
“If you married her, that would make Rufus your brother-in-law,” Elizabeth said. She had a knack for pointing out the uncomfortable truths Isaac preferred to overlook.
“Do you think that would be better or worse for me?”
“He might invite himself into your house and start bothering you for money.” Elizabeth gave the pot a particularly vicious scrub and glared at the door. “It's hard to get rid of relatives once they've latched on.”
“You're just angry with him. You'd be sad if he ran off again.”
“Would I?” Elizabeth huffed. “I'd be a good few shillings richer, and I wouldn't have to keep worrying about him all the time. There's a reason I haven't told him where the money's buried.”
“I remember how you were the day you found him back in Tannersfield. I don't think I've ever seen you so happy. You might think you want him gone, but you'd miss him.”
Elizabeth frowned and shook her head, staring into the pot. “That was a long time ago. Back then I barely trusted you. These days I'd sooner have you around than Sam.”
“Well, I'll try not to go anywhere. And I'll keep trying to make your brother a better man than he is, not that I expect I'll have much luck.”
Another fleeting smile touched Elizabeth's lips. “If Larmond does call you away, don't just disappear. Promise me you'll come back someday.”
“Of course I will. And I'm sure Kaylein will do the same.” He yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Part of me hopes the war goes on forever so he never calls us.”
After a quiet moment, Elizabeth said: “Me too. We really shouldn't. It's a sinful thing to wish war upon the kingdom.”
“I know. I suppose we can't live in fear, no matter what happens.”
They stayed up talking while Elizabeth finished cleaning the burnt oats out of the pot. Isaac had a lot on his mind when he went to bed. Encouraging Elizabeth to find new work had made him realise that things had to change. He wasn't sure how, but their lives couldn't stay still forever. If they kept treading water like this, they'd both end up unsatisfied.
The next morning Isaac recalled how he'd sought out Sir Roger's friendship because he wanted to make a name for himself. He'd wanted money, status, and influential friends he could call upon if there came a day when he needed to stand up to his father. Becoming a knight's stable master had been the first step on that path, but where was he to go next? There was little prospect of upward mobility in Kinedwyn. Sir Roger was already the lord, and the community was small and quiet enough that other municipal positions such as reeves and bailiffs were not formally recognised. Local governance, such as it was, was handled by a village council that included Sir Roger, Father Thomas, Hartwin, John and Giselle, and a handful of other prominent locals. Elizabeth said Elspeth could have been a member if she wanted, but the eccentric old woman flatly refused. As lord of the manor, Roger had the final say on things, but he rarely exercised that right if the majority were against him. If John took his money elsewhere, or if Thomas complained to his superiors in the church, or if the local tradespeople banded together to form a guild, he would have far bigger headaches than the village council to worry about. Thus it was easier to rule by a form of soft consensus.
The answer of where to take himself next seemed obvious once Isaac started thinking about it: he would have to become a member of the village council. But how in the world was he going to manage that? He wasn't rich enough to buy his way in with promises of funding for village projects, nor did he have any respected relatives in the community.
He did have the beginnings of a reputation, though. Everyone who owned a horse had been in his debt at one time or another, and the village huntsmen respected him as a man who knew how to handle dogs and bring down fowl with a longbow.
He was walking Sir Roger's pony to the communal paddock that morning when an idea began piecing itself together in his mind. He made this journey regularly, as did all of Kinedwyn's horse owners. It wasn't a particularly difficult trek to the paddock, but it was long enough that many people neglected to make it as often as they should. He always felt sorry for the horses that got left out in driving sleet or sweltering sunshine. Even though the owners had their own stables, plenty of them were poorly kept. He'd noticed that the horses with persistent hoof problems often came from the worst stables. It would be better for everyone if Kinedwyn had a proper stable house; a communal building where the horses could be tended year-round. Such a house would need a master to run it. If that master did his job well, he would quickly become a pillar of the community.
A tingle of excitement spread through Isaac as he surveyed the land around the paddock. A stand of trees obscured it from the farms west of the village, but the land on the eastern side was flat and uniform. There would be room here for a large building overlooking the paddock. His idea could work.
Such a project would be expensive. Along with a dozen or more stalls, the house would need living space for the stable master and his assistants. Isaac wouldn't be able to pay for it even if Elizabeth helped. Then there was the issue of getting the village council to agree. This wasn't a small building on unoccupied land; it was a project that would transform a regularly used common area. All the horses would have to be moved elsewhere during the construction period. It would be expensive and inconvenient for everyone. Isaac wondered whether there were enough builders in Kinedwyn to see such a project finished in a timely fashion. Masons were out of the question; Isaac knew from his time labouring in Tannersfield that stonework would represent a prohibitive cost for a project like this. They'd have to rely on Nathan Carpenter and his family.
All told, Isaac was going to need money, approval from the village council, a team of builders, and the backing of the community at large. He felt confident that Sir Roger would take his side, but the other leading citizens might not be so enthusiastic. They were a conservative bunch, resistant to change and wary of unnecessary expense. Father Thomas would likely be against the idea on principle, and his was the most influential voice in the community. If he denounced the idea in church, it might end up dead in the water.
But Isaac had a friend who was close to Father Thomas. With a smile, he let Roger's pony into the paddock and went to see Sister Kaylein.
Chapter 9
Not for the first time, Kaylein entered the clergy house to find Sam curled up with the cats on their pile of straw in the corner. Even when the door was locked, he always found some way of slipping in. She would have scolded him if it hadn't brought a smile to her lips to see his messy brown hair tussled over his face and a cat purring against his belly.
“You silly boy,” she said under her breath, opening up the shutters one by one so the light would wake him. The clergy house had changed a lot since she arrived. No longer did it resemble an indulgent lord's parlour; now everything was neat and ordered, with the table tucked away against one wall and a writing desk against the other. The documents room had brand new shelves and a locked chest at the back. Every letter, deed, and writ was grouped appropriately and organised by date wherever possible. Several of the books had been restored by Kaylein's hand, and Father Thomas had ordered gilded covers made in Rambirch to replace the old ones. Kaylein hadn't agreed with that particular expenditure, but it made Thomas proud to carry the impressive tomes up to the pulpit when his congregation gathered, so she'd let him win that battle.
Despite having turned some of the church's finances to more productive ends, Thomas still liked to indulge himself with expensive food and wine. Pride and self-indulgence warred with his faith constantly. He was the kind of priest who needed the rigour of a structured parish to keep him on the path of piety. Kaylein had tried her best to provide that structure, but there was only so much she could do. He neglected to take her seriously unless her arguments were water-tight, and even then she had come to dread the words: “what would a novice know about such things”; Thomas's favourite way of shutting down a discussion
Thankfully, Thomas was the only one who still treated her like a novice. To everyone else in Kinedwyn, she was a fully-fledged nun. Her knowledge and piety had endeared her to the locals, the women in particular. They often sought her out for spiritual guidance on things they felt unable to tell Father Thomas–or on subjects he was incapable of helping with.
Kaylein had gradually learned to suppress her prudishness as woman after woman came to her asking for God's guidance on subjects like children, marriage prospects, affairs, ailments, family strife, and squabbles with neighbours. To Kaylein's surprise, she discovered she was a good counsellor. It wasn't that she understood her parishioners exactly–more often than not she had to conceal her judgement and embarrassment when they confessed their sins–but when she cleared her mind and thought rationally, she was often able to recall passages from the scriptures that offered relevant guidance. It was like her academic discussions with Mother Jane, except this time she was the one taking the lead. Her noble voice carried an air of authority that made people listen, inspiring faith in the young and quiet admiration in the elderly. Novice or not, she was a good nun, and she took great pride in serving the spiritual needs of Kinedwyn. God needed a voice like hers in this village. He had brought her here to do His work; of that she was now certain.
She heard Sam groan behind her as one of the cats mewled. The door to Father Thomas's room was still shut, as was the door to the kitchen area where Alis kept her bed. Kaylein rarely saw Thomas in here unless he was taking a meal, for he preferred the privacy of his own chamber.
“Up you get,” she said chidingly, giving Sam a light shake as she walked past. “Would you like to ask God's forgiveness for whatever you did to make Liz throw you out again?”
“Can you ask God to brighten her mood for once?” Sam murmured.
“She is always in my prayers.” Kaylein pulled out a chair for Sam and knocked lightly on Alis's door before going in to fetch a wheel of cheese and some cups of weak beer. Kaylein had left a loaf of bread from Cecil Baker's cooling on the parlour table when she came in, and by the time she returned Sam was tucking into it. She waited patiently for him to finish eating before asking her question again: “What did you do?”
Sam explained a fiasco with a borrowed cockerel that made Kaylein suppress a titter of laughter. She tried her best to remain stern, for she didn't want to encourage Sam's wayward behaviour, but it was always difficult with him. His company brought an easy smile to her lips every time she saw him. She still thought fondly of their kiss two years ago. Sometimes, when they were alone together, she caught herself staring at him, her thoughts blank and her heart warm. Thankfully, Kinedwyn kept her busy enough that she rarely had time to dwell on those thoughts. They were just a pleasant, if confusing, distraction.
Sam had a good heart. He'd taught her that a man could behave foolishly–even break the king's law–and still possess a soul worthy of heaven. He wasn't a respectable man or even a particularly competent one, but he was kind to her in a way no one else ever had been. Sometimes he brought her buckets of crayfish, pegs for her washing line, berries from the woods, stalks of wheat he'd woven into pretty wreaths, or sometimes just a beautiful stream-smoothed pebble he'd found in the woods. The wholesomeness of his spirit reminded Kaylein that there was good to be found in many unexpected places in the world. She wondered if she might persuade Sam to become a monk someday. The discipline of monastic life would smooth out his rough edges and untangle his wayward spirit into something taut and strong. But there was no monastery in Kinedwyn, and so it was Kaylein's job to guide Sam along the path to becoming the beautiful person she believed he could be.
“Can I stay here until Liz calms down?” he asked when his tale was finished.
“You should ask Father Thomas. This is his house.”
“He wouldn't let me. I've tried before.”
Thomas had been fond of Sam ever since he'd helped Kaylein organise the documents room, but he rarely let anyone stay in the clergy house. That was why Sam had to let himself in without knocking, trusting that Kaylein or Alis would rouse him before Thomas got up.
“Then you'll just have to go to Hartwin's,” Kaylein said.
Sam grimaced. “I don't have any money, and I think Rufus might be looking for me. Can I stay with you instead?”
Kaylein hesitated to respond. Last year she'd convinced Father Thomas to tear down the sister's cell and replace it with a proper house for nuns. It had been a hard-won argument, but the cell was a miserable place to live, and she was tired of bringing her bedding to the clergy house every time the weather was bad. In the end, she'd mentioned asking Elizabeth to loan her the money instead, at which point Thomas's attitude had abruptly changed. It would have been shameful for a nun in his care to beg money from the villagers, so he began boasting loudly during service about taking it upon himself to rebuild the once prosperous Kinedwyn priory, starting with a new house for visiting nuns. She doubted he planned on rebuilding anything more than his bruised pride, but it would have been churlish of her to complain. Thomas opened up his coffers to fund a plain but sturdy house using stone from the old cell. It would have cost a fortune to build the whole thing in the same fashion as the other church buildings, but there was enough stone for a floor and hearth, while the rest was strong, well-aged timber. When it was finished, Kaylein felt guilty that she lived in a more substantial house than most of the village natives. She had to remind herself that it wasn't just for her, but for all of God's servants who came to Kinedwyn after. Allowing Sam to stay in the nuns' house didn't seem appropriate.
“It would not be–”
“Appropriate?” Sam said the word at the same time as her.
Kaylein fought back a smile. “Indeed.”
“You've had plenty of other people sleep over with you.”
“Women, Sam. Women in need of peace and security during difficult times.”
“I need peace and security, and Liz can be as difficult as any woman's husband.”
“I'm really not sure. I'm afraid people would gossip.”
“If you leave the window unlocked I'll slide in after dark when no one's looking.”
The silliness of the idea made Kaylein cover her eyes with a palm. “You are dreadful. That really would make them gossip.”
Sam clasped her free hand and gave her a hopeful look. He wasn't what many people would call a handsome man, but behind his sharp features he had large, soft eyes, and every time Kaylein looked at his mess of hair she felt the urge to stroke her fingers through it until it lay neatly upon his head again.
