She's the One Who Cares Too Much

by S. R. Cronin

  I’d fretted over my best course of action for days when he surprised me with a second visit to the farm. With the wedding only four anks away, I wondered where I’d live afterward. I could stay with my folks, though married women seldom did so. I hadn’t figured Davor would look for a solution but he arrived one morning to announce he’d found a house for me he liked.

  We rode to it slowly, in consideration of my pregnancy and the morning sickness that now lasted all day. When we reached the small cottage, I loved it as soon as I saw it because it had a big covered front porch and large trees. Davor had hired workers to fix it up, as it had been empty awhile, and he’d already arranged to have furniture made for it. Furniture for me.

  “Best of all,” he said “it’s less than a ten-minute ride to your school. Do you think some of the older students, or perhaps your youngest sisters, would watch the baby for you while you teach?”

  “You don’t mind if I keep teaching after the baby is born?” This was far better news than I expected.

  “Of course not. I won’t be around much; you won’t need to care for me. And I’ve heard you’re uncommonly good with the little ones. I’ll put in a word, let them know how strongly I feel about your getting to use your talents. I think if I twist a few arms…” he gave me that charming smile, “… they’ll let you teach until you near your time to have the baby. Then you can come back after he’s born, whenever you’re ready.”

  Well. This made my decision easier. I’d once thought falling in love with a man would be the most important thing in my life, but it now appeared Davor and I didn’t have to love each other for me to get almost everything I wanted. My own house. My own baby. A husband almost everyone else adored. The rare chance to keep teaching after my child was born. And my time to spend as I pleased.

  Did it matter that I already knew our marriage would be a sham? It didn’t, at least not nearly as much as I would have guessed.

  I didn’t expect Davor to stay, but he spent two nights at the farm. He made a noticeable effort to converse with my father, who made the same effort back.

  “So, you must have been the one who named your daughters,” Davor said, not knowing of the family controversies hidden in the topic.

  “I named most of them.” Dad wasn’t going to give details. Mom felt otherwise.

  “He started the whole thing off by naming Ryalgar after some obscure rock,” she said.

  “A perfectly lovely red mineral often found in mines,” dad interjected.

  “So I named our second daughter after the beautiful peach-colored necklace from Persia he bought me when we were married. The stone is the color of a soft setting sun.”

  “Coral is not a stone. It’s organic. It comes from sea creatures.”

  Davor maintained a vacant smile as they argued.

  “Then he got even by naming the next child Sulphur. Horrible name. Horrible smell. My sweet daughter.”

  Everyone turned to Sulphur, a strong young woman with hair the color of the stone dad had named her for. She shrugged. “I like my name. No one else has it.”

  My fourth sister, Olivine, joined us. She and her twin both had dad’s slight build and gentle nature, but Olivine was more shy. She looked down and said nothing as she set another jug of wine on the table and added some sliced peaches and soft cheese for us to nibble on while we waited for the meal.

  Later that night, Davor and I sat by the fire, listening to the dry logs crackle as they gave off sparks. The rest of the household had tactfully gone to bed. He held my hand, the friendliest gesture he’d exhibited so far.

  “So how are things in Pilk?” I asked. A good wife is supposed to show an interest in her husband’s profession.

  “Eh. Politics.” He gave a disgusted shrug. “As the Mozdol with the most fighting experience, I thought I’d be in charge of training the troops for this coming invasion. Then the rulers got together and picked some stupid prince to oversee what I’m doing. Just because he’s got royal blood; blood he’s never shed a drop of.”

  “I’m sorry Davor. You don’t need any Royal looking over your shoulder.”

  “You bet I don’t. The men appreciate me, and they know I understand battle. Nobody respects this prince and the cushy life he’s lived.”

  I was pretty sure this stupid prince was Nevik, my sister’s lover. So much for the idea of him and Davor becoming friends.

  “Is this the same prince everyone is talking about? Recently engaged to a princess from another realm?”

  “Yup. Marrying a foreigner. Got only half his brain on the Mongols while the other half is occupied with what’s happening between his sheets.”

  I said nothing. He got up to put another log on the fire and kept talking.

  “I’ve been thinking about this invasion, Coral. If we get word they’re getting close, I want to move you to safety until the battle’s over. My baby too, if he’s been born.”

  “What for? My little house couldn’t be safer.”

  He looked annoyed with me again. “Surely you understand something about war. No place in Vinx will be safe. It sits on the only path leading from our entrance to where our riches lay.”

  “So what will happen to Vinx? And the people in it?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll move those we can to safer areas, I guess. Don’t get me wrong; we don’t want to lose any Ilarians, but things don’t always go as you’d like in a battle. I want you to be somewhere else when the time comes.” He stopped, and he seemed to be counting on his fingers. “When exactly….”

  “Right around Svi. The coldest night of the year.”

  He sighed. “The Mongols always attack in the winter. It could be this year. We’d better think about moving you to safety before you get too close to having the baby.”

  “But I want my mother there when the baby is born. My sisters.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Fine. We’ll find a way. Tonight, let’s just enjoy the fire.”

  I understood the conversation had ended. I reached back and took his hand again. He let me hold it, and we sat in silence. As he stared into the flames, I wondered what, or maybe who, he thought about.

  When Ryalgar arrived at the farm a few days before my wedding, I welcomed having someone to talk to about something other than the upcoming ceremony.

  I hung up the freshly washed bedding as she rode up. She gave her horse to Sulphur to tend to and hurried over to me, standing next to me behind the billowing sheets so we could talk privately amidst the smell of fresh soap and the loud flapping of the linens in the wind.

  “I’ve learned more about luskies for you,” she whispered in greeting.

  “There’s no need for that.” Of all the things we needed to talk about, this power I didn’t have sat low on the list.

  “I’m not so sure. There’s a persistent rumor that we Velka can recognize a luski, but it’s not true. It takes another luski to tell. And it takes another to train a new luski, too.”

  “Why would this matter to me?”

  “Because your friend could be right. I’ve learned not all luskies are mothers, not in the real sense of the word. The rare man has this talent. A few childless women do, too. It has to do with being a nurturer.”

  “So ….”

  “So, what I’m saying is, I was wrong. You could be a luski.”

  Hearing Ryalgar admit she’d been wrong constituted quite an event in our relationship. Yet … “I’m getting married in three days. I don’t need this now.”

  She gave me a sympathetic look. “You don’t have to do anything about it. I’m looking for a luski to talk to you. They’re hard to find; most go to extraordinary pains to hide what they can do. But I’ll find one.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “Thanks. I think.”

  Chapter 5. Questions and Answers

  Davor arrived the day before the wedding, with his parents, a younger brother, and two of his best friends. My trip to Lev to meet his family had never materialized but I knew Davor had
a second brother, a sister, several more pals, and other close relatives. I supposed some would follow later or the next morning.

  Everyone in his party greeted me with warmth; these people had manners. His parents inquired about my health, and I surmised the child I carried interested them more than anything else about me. Honestly, Davor acted the least happy to see me of anyone. If he regretted agreeing to the wedding, it was too late to back out now. For either of us.

  Thankfully, they were too many for us to house, so they all took lodging at a nearby inn. Before we parted for the night, he told me no others would arrive from Lev.

  Really? His own brother and sister wouldn’t attend? What an unbelievable lack of interest in our ceremony. Such a thing would never happen in Vinx.

  I simmered at the news. My parents expected only two things of him regarding the wedding: a generous dowry and an ample showing of enthused attendees. They’d planned for at least twenty from his side, so now the seating would be adjusted. No parent wanted the humiliation of empty chairs at their daughter’s wedding.

  The next day, the group from Lev came to our farmhouse for an early morning breakfast, so we could travel together to the place my parents had rented. Mom oversaw a sumptuous feast, but I watched Davor’s two friends and his brother exchanging smirks as they looked around our place. I guess we weren’t fashionable.

  Davor’s mother kept pointing out how much she appreciated our “rustic charm” and a sharp glance towards Davor’s younger brother punctuated her comment more than once. I knew the look. It meant I told you to behave. The brother ignored her.

  Customs vary throughout Ilari, but by tradition, we follow those of the bride’s family at a wedding. In Vinx, a Royal from the nichna always performs the ceremony. Because of my dad’s stature as a teacher and scientist, the father of our Ruling Prince presided. Sakina squealed with delight for me when she learned of the honor and our other guests were all impressed.

  Davor, however, seemed annoyed by it.

  “Who would you have preferred to marry us?” I whispered to him once I recognized his frustration.

  “Another Mozdol, of course. In Lev, a retired Mozdol would have been found; and great effort would have gone into securing the most senior man as an honor to me. It never occurred to me ….”

  Ah, well. One more thing we didn’t understand about each other.

  We made our way through the celebration with smiles pasted on our faces. I don’t know what emotions lurked under Davor’s façade but by the time we said our vows, disappointment had overtaken everything else within me. A woman looks forward to this special day her entire girlhood. No matter what had transpired between Davor and me, why couldn’t our wedding have at least gone well?

  Then one more incident challenged us. Before it got too late, everyone expected us to leave for our new home, where we’d both already moved some things. Custom dictated that before we left we walk together to each table and thank the guests for coming. This courtesy meant a lot in my community, yet when the time came, I couldn’t find Davor. My family’s search for him became increasingly frantic until one of his friends approached me.

  “He’s waiting for you in the carriage. He says he can’t walk around with you. He, uh, has a little problem. He’ll explain it when you get there.”

  When I demanded to know exactly what the little problem was, his friend told me Davor had no pants.

  “What happened to the ones he was wearing? Never mind. Go give him yours. Right now. You sit in the varmin carriage without your pants while he joins me in thanking our guests. Do it.”

  The friend looked at me, then slinked off to give Davor his trousers. A flustered Davor appeared a few minutes later.

  “This is important to me,” I hissed. He said nothing, and we walked around the room together, our smiles more strained than before. Once we finished and got to our carriage, Davor returned his friend’s pants, then pulled a blanket around his bare lower half.

  “What happened to your clothes?” I asked.

  “I spilled something. Don’t ask me for details.”

  I dropped it, figuring the day had brought enough trouble and the specifics didn’t matter.

  “Don’t ever order one of my friends around like that again,” he added.

  That annoyed me. I hadn’t ordered anyone around.

  “Your bargain included finishing this wedding,” I replied. “Thank you for doing so.”

  We barely said another word to each other for the rest of the night, and when I woke up the next morning he was gone.

  I spent the next two days helping my parents move my remaining possessions to my new home. I kept the tears away by remembering when I was nine, barely older than the children I now taught.

  Our whole family had gone out together to celebrate a holiday. Mom held the hands of her six-year-old twin daughters, while Dad carried frail Iolite on one hip and held little Gypsum’s hand. Ten-year-old Ryalgar, eight-year-old Sulphur, and I had been ordered to hang on to each other and stay close.

  Vendors in the marketplace offered us tempting treats while couples fawned over each other and groups celebrated the day with wine and ale. A lone man stumbled into our path. As an adult, I recognize he was drunk and probably jilted by whatever lady he’d hoped to spend the night with. He tripped trying to avoid my mother and the twins. After he fell he looked up, furious at my mother.

  “Get the Heli out of my way, you foolish pruska,” he said.

  Mom stood tall, glaring down at the man.

  “And take your little pruskas with you,” he added. “All of them.” He waved his hand at me and each of my sisters. “Pruskas, every varmin one!”

  My mother turned to my father, expecting him to defend his family’s honor from what must have been a deep insult. My father was and still is smart, funny, and kind. But even as a child I knew he was no fighter. He let go of Gypsum, turned to the stranger, and with the sort of thoughtfulness he so often showed, he offered the man his hand.

  “Let me help you up, dear sir. Clearly, the day has not gone your way. Get some rest this afternoon and sober up. Perhaps in a few hours the holiday will turn more to your liking.”

  My mother cried out in indignation.

  The man took my dad’s hand and stood, muttered something I couldn’t hear, and stumbled off. My father turned to face my mother’s wrath.

  “Be reasonable, dearest. What would have been accomplished by arguing with a drunk who won’t even remember the incident in the morning? Come now. Let’s not let him ruin our celebration.”

  I remember how my mother’s eyes narrowed and she said nothing to my father for the rest of the day. I saw the hurt in his face and felt sorry for him. Later, when I thought my mother couldn’t hear me, I whispered in his ear that I thought he was the nicest man ever.

  However, I was old enough to understand that I shouldn’t ask my father the meaning of the word the man had used. Girls asked their mothers such questions, although I worried mine wouldn’t respond well to my inquiry.

  By the next day, though, my curiosity overcame my fear. As we sorted laundry, I asked.

  “Mama? What’s a pruska?”

  She inhaled and the color went out of her face.

  “Don’t you ever use that word again.”

  “I won’t, I promise. Just tell me what a pruska is.”

  The second time I said it she slapped me across the face. “I said never say it.”

  My parents seldom did that sort of thing, so I think the unfairness of the punishment upset me more than anything. I looked at her and before she could say anything more, I burst into tears.

  “It’s a girl who thinks men should be able to treat her mother offensively and her father need not do a thing about it,” she said. “It’s a girl who comforts her father when he acts like a scared bird and she thinks her mother isn’t looking.”

  She hauled off and slapped me again, harder this time.

  “And she’s a who girl cries about it,” my
mother added, her voice filled with contempt. I was already sucking back my tears.

  “That’s right. You better straighten up, or you’ll turn into one of those women who cares too much and weeps all the time.”

  I ran from the room and hid from Mom for the rest of the day.

  Then a few days later, my mother and father spoke to each other again and she began to hug me and compliment me and give me little treats. I understood she felt bad for the way she acted to me and I didn’t care. I didn’t forgive her then and all these years later I still do my best not to cry in front of her.

  My mother thought the house Davor bought was too small, but then again she thought it was meant to be a home for two adults and a child. I’d pushed my parents to move me soon after the wedding because I wanted to get back to teaching and it was a shorter ride from my new home to the school. My little ones had been put in with an older class in my absence, and that always caused problems.

  I could tell my parents worried about me being alone, especially after Davor left so quickly. Both tucked small treats and extra provisions into the cart to help me get by and neither asked me why Davor hadn’t stayed to help me finish moving.

  Yet, I was hardly destitute. He’d left me a large handful of coins for buying food and supplies. It appeared he didn’t have stinginess as a fault. The school also provided me with pay. It wasn’t much and, in the past, I’d given most of it to my parents who fed and housed me. Now, I would use it.

  For the first time, I realized they’d miss my contribution to our family purse, as well as the many chores I did. I’d never shirked my household duties, often filling in for sisters who were less industrious or at least less domestically inclined. So. The dowry compensated my parents for their loss.

  This change in perspective made me feel better. If all Davor ever did for me was give me a healthy child, provide me with a house, and buy me my freedom to leave home, I could be happy enough with his contribution.