Seeing Talis tossing Callie about was a familiar sight to the people they lived with, but not to the fifteen or so men standing in the farmyard. With mouths agape, the men stood and watched the girl go spinning through the air, hair whipping out about her like a windmill. More than one man held his breath that Talis was going to catch her.
He did, with ease and expertise, then, oblivious to everyone else, he grabbed Callie’s hand and they went running into the house.
25
The first sight Callie and Talis had of Hadley Hall struck them dumb. For two days they had been riding together, Callie in front as they made their way back to what was to be their home. For them it had been days of trying to settle themselves to the prospect of their new life. Callie had cried for some time at leaving Meg and Will, who had refused John’s offer to go with them.
“Our place is here,” Will had said. “We will be here if you need us.”
Meg had been too upset to say a word.
Talis had done his best not to show the wrench he was feeling at leaving his home. Part of him wanted this great adventure and part of him despaired at leaving Will, who had taught him so much and whose quiet wisdom had always been there for him.
However, neither Talis nor Callie had shed tears at leaving Nigel behind. Lord John had given him a couple of gold coins and he’d gone on his way.
While riding on the horse toward Hadley Hall Talis had talked to Callie at length, softly telling her that she was going to be separated from him and that she must be strong. “I will not always be there to take care of you,” he said. “You must learn to do without me every minute of every day.”
Swallowing, Callie had nodded. “Will you miss me?”
“Yes, of course, but we are not children any longer. We must be adults. Promise me you will behave. You will obey my father?”
Callie nodded. She would try. She would make Talis proud of her and would be very adult and grown up about their new lives. No more sleeping just a few feet apart. No more—No more anything, she thought, remembering the days when they had belonged to just each other.
“When will we see each other?” she asked.
“As soon as I can arrange it. I will have to impress my father first. I will have to make him care for me before I ask him things about…About us.”
She was not sure what Talis meant by those words, but she hoped—prayed—that he meant marriage. If they were not married they would not be allowed to stay together as they had at the farm. She knew that just from what she had seen of the members of the upper class who had ridden through the village.
She snuggled her head back into Talis’s shoulder. She did not know how she was going to live without touching him every day. It was painful to her when Nigel made them sit apart during lessons. Neither Meg nor Will minded when she and Talis ate with their ankles entwined at the table.
As always, Talis knew what she was thinking and he put one of his hands over both of hers on the saddle. “Soon,” he whispered. “Soon. I promise you. I will do what must be done as soon as possible. It will be more difficult if we have caused trouble. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she answered, and she did understand. Angry adults did not give younger people permission to do what they wanted. If it meant she could have Talis all to herself in the end, she would stay away from him for a year. She would, of course, die a little bit each day, but she would do what must be done.
For the days of travel toward his home, John Hadley had done little except stare at his son, his head reeling with all the things they would now do together. At last his life would hold some meaning; he’d have someone to leave all his worldly goods to. He discounted those two weakling boys his wife had given him. At nineteen and twenty, his sons weren’t as big or as healthy as this handsome, dark boy who hovered so protectively over the pale girl.
In his silent watching, John was thrilled to find out that the boy was as likable as he was beautiful. Last night at the inn, he had not been shy. If the truth were told, John had feared that being raised by peasants would have made him into a peasant, but this boy was a prince even though his hands were stained and hardened from manual labor. No matter that his clothes were rough and crude, discolored by the barnyard, he carried himself as though he were destined for the throne of England.
Silver tongue. That’s what one of his men had said that Talis had: a silver tongue. He talked and joked and laughed with men twice his age last night, and when they said he was too young for the beer they were drinking, Talis showed them all by drinking twice as much as they did and still being able to walk up the stairs. He said that Will’s beer was stronger than the innkeeper’s; Will didn’t water his beer.
Oh yes, John thought, the boy was a wonder: good to look at, personable, talented, strong (he had beaten three men in arm wrestling, then made them all laugh when Talis had accused them of soft living). Talis was a son any man could be proud of.
The only oddity about him was the way he kept the girl near him, that pale shadow of a girl who watched everything. John had ordered her to bed, but Talis, without so much as turning, had said, “Callie may stay.”
Just like that. For a moment, John’s temper had started to rise. He did not allow anyone to talk to him in that tone. No one countered his orders. But some part of him knew that if he told Talis he could not have the girl near him, the boy would leave them. In a flash he would walk out of the inn and no offer in the world would bring him back.
With great interest, his men watched him, and John knew he needed to establish his authority, but the outcome could be too serious. After a while, he laughed. “I defer to my son,” he said, then saw the way Talis looked at him in puzzlement. The boy had not known that, in countermanding John’s orders, he had issued a challenge. It was just that no one had ever before suggested that Callie be taken away from him, not Will, not Meg, no one. Nigel had mentioned the idea, but no one had listened to him. To Talis, Callie was his, and she belonged with him and she was going to stay near him as long as possible.
John looked at the girl with distaste, and for the first time in his life, he felt jealousy. Until now, there had never been anything he’d ever wanted to possess so completely that he wanted to share it with no one else. But he wanted this boy. He wanted Talis as he’d never wanted anything else. And he wanted him for his own. John did not like it when Talis spoke so often of that farmer, Will Watkins, as though he were a man of great standing in the world. John didn’t like it when Talis mentioned Will; nor did he like the way the girl followed Talis everywhere.
Without a thought of what he was doing, John decided that he would separate them as soon as possible.
Callie and Talis looked up at the house, their mouths open in awe. “Have you ever seen such?” Callie whispered.
“Never. I did not know a house could be so large.”
John had spent the last sixteen years in a frenzy of building. John put every bit of his energy into this house. This house had become his family, his very reason for living. In spite of all the children he had produced, to him, his life was barren. He dismissed the daughters, despaired of his weak sons, so he had done the best he could to leave something behind.
The stone house spread out over a long L shape that from the outside looked solid but actually hid several beautiful and useful little courtyards. There was a courtyard for the retainers, one for the kitchen, one for private family use, and another off the large hall court.
Not far from the house were many smaller buildings in a matching gray stone, and everywhere people were moving about, men with scythes on their shoulders, women carrying skeins of wool, all looking prosperous and busy.
Following John’s example, Callie and Talis dismounted and gave the horse’s reins to the boys who were waiting to take them. Curiously, the servants looked at the newcomers, not dressed as nobles but riding a horse meant for a nobleman. If nothing else, the rare smile on John Hadley’s face was enough to make them step back in wonder.
“Come on,” John said fondly to Talis when he and Callie walked slowly through the courtyard, looking up at the three stories of the house around them. Glass windows winked at them in the sunlight, and curious faces appeared now and then to look down on them.
They entered a huge hall with a stunning hammer-beam ceiling that rose majestically overhead. The plaster walls were covered with every manner of arms and armor, ready to be used in case of trouble.
Tables were set up, covered with huge platters of food, richly dressed people laughing and talking as they ate. At one end was a raised dais, two ornate chairs set in the middle. In the smaller of the two chairs sat a once-pretty woman who was now soft and past her youth. In the larger of the two chairs sat a boy, maybe older than Talis, but not much. He was tall, thin faced, underdeveloped, and when he saw his father, what pleasure there was on his face disappeared.
It did not take much to bring the diners to a halt. John Hadley was not known for his generosity. He wanted people to eat and get back to work. When he was away, the household was much more relaxed and everything was easier.
Now, they could not believe the happiness on his face. With long strides, he went straight toward the head table where his wife sat, one of her sons on either side of her. John did not so much as offer a greeting to his two sons, who looked at their father as though begging for approval. The people saw Lady Alida’s hand go out to touch the sleeve of her eldest son. For all that John cared nothing for his imperfect sons, his wife loved them very, very much.
“Behold, wife,” John said, as though he were a performer at a fair announcing the magician’s coming act. “I have found our true son.”
With a great flourish, he stepped back so everyone could see Talis and Callie standing in the middle of the room.
In England, the classes were divided in every way: clothing, houses, even in food. People who could afford it ate the most expensive food, which was meat and sugar. Upper classes separated themselves from lower classes by never eating vegetables if they could help it: Peasants and animals ate vegetables. Eating fruit raw showed that you could not afford a cook to stew the fruit in a sugar sauce. Brown bread with the bran still in it showed you could afford only the cheapest grain.
The Hadley house was rich, with the inhabitants living on meat, white flour, and sugared pastries. As a result, they suffered from what the continentals called the English Disease of blackened, loose, rotting teeth. No amount of cleaning could compensate for the sugar-laden diet.
Callie and Talis had been raised by farmers on a diet of vegetables, little meat, fruit eaten raw from the trees, and sugar eaten so seldom they hardly knew the taste of it. Added to their diet was a lifetime of physical activity—running, climbing over fences, chasing chickens.
The result of all this was two people of dazzling good health: strong bones, lithe muscles, glistening white teeth, hair that shone from good health and sunshine. They stood straight and strong, their limbs supple and glowing.
Talis with his dark handsomeness, Callie with her blue-violet eyes and hair to her waist, looked like a couple from a fairy story: the knight and his maiden fair.
All eyes were drawn to Talis. He looked like every man’s dream of a son: healthy, strong, tall, broad, his dark eyes gleaming with intelligence. What he did not look like was John Hadley’s son. John was a tall man, broad shouldered, but his was not a body that carried much weight. In his youth, his hair had been red and his skin white; sun burned him, it did not tan him. There was no doubt that his sons now flanking his wife at the table belonged to him: They were slighter versions of John. But now, this young giant standing next to John looked like a bear beside a golden-haired deer.
But, of course, no one dared say such out loud.
Alida tried her best to remain calm. Even though she was seeing the end of her life, the end of her children’s lives standing before her, she tried to remain calm. But the emotion was too much for her.
She tried to rise, to offer her hand in welcome to this boy who was laying claim to what belonged to her children, but she could not. The moment she stood, the blood left her head and she fainted.
She had no idea that Talis, ever quick in an emergency, leaped across the table and picked her up into his strong young arms before she hit the floor.
Speechless, the audience looked at him as he held Lady Alida, her arms hanging limply at her side.
“Sir?” Talis asked, looking at John, wanting to know where he was to take the woman he held.
Had there been any part of John’s heart that did not already belong to Talis, this incident would have claimed it. “Come, son,” he said. “I will show you where to take her.”
Pandemonium. That’s what broke forth in the Great Hall when Alida fainted after the announcement of her son’s return from the grave. People began talking at once, everyone speculating on what had happened and what was going to happen. Anyone who knew, or thought he knew, anything about the events of sixteen years before was in great demand as a speaker and considered a font of knowledge.
As Talis carried her up the stairs, Alida awoke from her stupor long enough to say to her oldest unmarried daughter, “Keep her busy.” Then, with one more look at the dark young man carrying her up the stairs, she lapsed back into her swoon.
It took Edith, the eldest, a while to understand who her mother meant when she said, “her.” If there was anything less interesting than yet another unmarried woman in the Hadley household, one would be hard pressed to discover it.
After Edith did figure out who her mother meant, it took her a while to find the girl. She was so close to the young man who was their new brother that Edith couldn’t at first see her.
Dorothy, the youngest of the unmarried daughters, standing behind Edith, looked at Talis hanging over their mother’s bed and gave a great sigh. “Why does he have to be our brother?” she said, tears of exasperation in her voice.
“Be quiet! He’s too young for you anyway,” Edith, ever practical, said.
At that Dorothy gave a nasty little laugh that said what all the daughters thought: She’d take any man she could get; none of them were too young or too old, too anything.
Edith didn’t allow herself to think about what was going on around them, nor did she look at her new brother. Edith took her responsibilities very seriously. “Come along,” she said to Callie, and when Callie started to protest, Edith took her firmly by the arm and began to pull her from the room.
As Callie was being forcibly led from the room, she looked back at the crowd of people around Talis. Immediately, his head came up as he frowned at her, not wanting her to leave. But before he could say anything, Alida gave a groan that sounded as though she were dying.
“My son,” Alida said. “My son. It is a miracle.” With amazing strength for one so weak, she pulled Talis’s head down toward her own. “Let me look at you.”
By the time Talis could pull away from her, Callie was gone.
Callie was frantic. She hadn’t seen Talis in two days now. Two days of doing the most inconsequential, most boring, most useless nonsense she’d ever not known existed. There were lute lessons, and dress fittings and scheduled walks in the garden, during which there was a lot of talk about what went on at Queen Elizabeth’s court. There was endless talk about who was getting married and who wasn’t. The oldest of the unmarried sisters still left at home constantly made declarations that she wouldn’t have so and so man if he were offered to her on a platter.
The youngest sister (who Callie rather liked) said Edith would take a man if he had one eye, one arm, and no legs.
“And you?” Callie asked.
“Mmmm,” Dorothy said, thinking. “I’d really like for him to have at least one leg.”
Callie laughed, which made Edith stop walking and reprimand them for being frivolous.
Once, Callie heard the clanking of swords and immediately started in the direction of the sounds, but Edith, with an astonishing burst of speed, caught her. “Ladies
do not consort with men without chaperons.”
“We could all go?” Callie asked tentatively, making Dorothy giggle.
By the third day, Callie felt as though she would explode. Of course the steel corset the daughters had laced her into didn’t help her feel settled. At the first feeling of those hooks being closed around her ribs, she nearly fainted. Catching herself against a windowsill, she managed to whisper, “Why?”
Dorothy didn’t have difficulty figuring out what she meant. Why bother with a corset when Callie had nothing on top to tame, was what she meant. “All of us are like that,” Dorothy said. “At sixteen I had nothing, then within three months, everything popped out.” With a delighted smile, she glanced down at her own plump bosom. “Don’t worry. You’ll be just like us.”
Callie started to point out that there was no reason to compare her to these women because she wasn’t their sister. She was the daughter of some man named Gilbert Rasher, a man no one wanted to speak of. But when she looked at the five unmarried daughters of John Hadley, she knew that they were like her. They were thin and blonde just as she was. Even the two boys she had glimpsed briefly the first day were like her. Talis, who was supposed to be their brother, when compared to them, looked like some great black bull let loose in a sheep pen.
“Why? Why? Why?” Dorothy was saying as she leaned out the window, staring down at the courtyard. Dorothy was eighteen and never married. Neither were her four older sisters because their father refused to part with money for a dowry. And none of the five were pretty enough to make a man take them without a dowry.