My Voice for My Heart

Chapter 26: Unwanted Guests

Keela

I watched the grey sky with narrowed eyes. The rain slanted sideways, wind blowing at the thatched roof. I stood on my toes, trying to peer around the roof top to the lake, but I knew I wouldn't be able to see it.

I was torn. I wanted to see my swans, but I knew I could damage the work I'd completed if I did. I sighed and turned back to my cot, sitting on the mattress and unwinding the thread. It was time to start weaving the shirts. Seeing my swans, knowing we were creeping closer and closer to another full moon made me work harder and faster. I stabbed my finger with a nettle and sucked at the small bead of blood that appeared on the pad. My hands were ruined, but they still did the job. I looked at the self-fashioned loom I'd made. I'd pinned my distaff thread vertically against a stiff board, and then attached another thread to a wooden needle I'd use to weave between each vertical thread.

I had seen looms here, and watched one of the women as she'd woven a blanket out of soft wool. I didn't trust that my thin, fragile thread would hold up to the vigorous push and pull of a loom such as hers.

My fingers fumbled with the needle, pinching too hard and then not hard enough. I concentrated, biting my lip, and finally propped it between three fingers. I used the mobility in my wrist to move the needle in and out, over and under. The day grew darker as the storm seemed to intensify. I needed to light a candle, but didn't want to bother with it and instead moved closer to the window. Shouts and loud voices in the courtyard distracted me, and I looked up from my work, glancing out the window. A group of riders were dismounting from their horses. Stable hands ran out into the downpour, grabbing the reins, and pulling the horses into the shelter of the stable. I saw one man look up, his eyes meeting mine. Even from this distance I could see that they were black, and cold. I pulled back quickly, shivering.

While I still wasn't positive what this place was, over the days that I'd been here, I'd worked out some of its purpose. People came and went. It seemed to be a way-station and place of learning. Kind of. Groups arrived; they restocked. I saw horses fed and watered before the men and women turned around and left in whatever direction they were headed, while others stayed. Phillip often had visitors, and the time he took explaining things, the way he described each and every step he made, and the history behind those steps, made me think that he was a teacher.

That was one of the confusing things about this place. There were only a few people that seemed to be in charge. Given the humble state of Phillip's cottage, I hadn't identified him as one of those leaders right away, but watching the deference and politeness of others, suggested that he was. There was a housekeeper, a woman who checked in with me from time to time, bringing me Phillip's salve for my hands, or seeing if I needed any other supplies. Her name was Magda, and she had a strange accent with a unique cadence and rhythm, but she was kind and thoughtful.

Food appeared at my room, and the plates were gone when the morning arrived. I'd snuck into the kitchen at times, looking for places to clean, tasks to complete, something I could do that would help with the day-to-day functioning of the house. I wanted to do something to show my gratitude to the people who were giving me a place to stay and to complete my work, even if I hadn't asked to be brought here.

I'd found small ways to contribute, often after my work was done and it was too dark, and my hands too frozen to continue. I swept the stalls, gave the horses fresh hay. I cleaned the kitchen, the hall, stairways. I was generally able to stay unnoticed, especially now that I was working at the lake, or keeping to my room.

There were some people that noticed me. It was strange, but the groups of women, many of them carrying books with etched Latin titles such as "Mathematics," and "Astronomy," were the meanest.