Facing the Gray

by Carol Beth Anderson

  Jenevy groaned. “How could I forget?”

  “I never asked, why did you bring it to school instead of keeping it at home?”

  “I was afraid my mother would find it at home.”

  “And you didn’t think that would happen at school, with so many people around?”

  “It made a lot more sense when I was eight than it does now,” Jenevy admitted, laughing.

  Tullen stared into the distance, remembering. “Selliana was the instructor, right?” Seeing Jenevy’s nod, he said, “I think she was teaching us multiplication. She must have been what, sixteen? She never could control our class. Then we all started laughing, and she didn’t know why.”

  “Until she realized the whole class was staring at her ankles, and she looked down . . .” Jenevy was laughing too hard to continue.

  “I thought the snake looked very nice, wrapped around her ankle like jewelry,” Tullen said. “And she wouldn’t touch it, so all she could do was scream while it slithered further up her leg.” Jenevy was laughing so hard she was shaking in her seat, and as Tullen watched her, he started to laugh too, reacting more to her uncontrolled merriment than the story itself.

  Jenevy giggled once more, and the smile remained on her face. “Those were good days, weren’t they?”

  “They were. Can you believe that was eleven years ago?”

  Jenevy shook her head. “Sometimes it feels like yesterday, and then I look around me, and it’s like decades have passed.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  They settled into a comfortable quiet. Tullen picked up a candle and walked to the doorway. He held the light up to the clock above the door. “Twenty ‘til twelve.” He returned to the kitchen table and set the candle back down.

  It was the night before Jenevy’s birthday, and Tullen had invited her to celebrate in Meadow fashion. At nine o’clock, when the other residents of the house were settling into their rooms, the two of them had come to the kitchen. They’d lit one candle, following it up with two more for each hour that passed. When midnight came, they would light the last candle. They didn’t have any barley beer, the traditional birthday drink of the Meadow, so they’d settled for the weak wine the midwives kept on hand.

  Tullen caught Jenevy’s eye and smiled. There was something comforting about indulging in Meadow tradition with a friend he’d known since they were infants. They shared many of the same memories, and they’d recalled several of the best ones as they watched the clock and sipped their wine.

  “I love sitting here with you, talking about old times,” Jenevy said, as if reading his thoughts.

  “Me too.” Tullen sat on one side of the tiny table, with Jenevy on a neighboring side. He reached for her hand and gave it a quick squeeze before letting it go. They sat in silence again, and Tullen let his mind wander. He looked up. “How many days has it been since you met Wrey?”

  “Seventeen.” Jenevy smiled. “Not that I’m counting.”

  “It’s getting close to the three week mark. Are you getting excited?”

  “More nervous than excited. Reba reviewed the layout of the house with me and described all the Grays. But I’m not sure I’m right for this kind of subterfuge. What if I get caught?”

  “I felt the same way when Tavi and I went to the farmhouse to rescue Narre,” Tullen said. “I barely ate anything that day, and I hoped the others didn’t notice, because I didn’t want them to know how nervous I was.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course! What you’re planning is risky, Jen. And you shouldn’t feel obligated to go forward with it if you’re uncomfortable. You can bring her the tea and handle this like you would any other home visit. We’ll find another way in.”

  Jenevy looked toward the window, her brows knit together. When she returned her gaze to Tullen, she said, “I want to do it. I’m scared, but I know what we’re fighting for.”

  Tullen gave her a smile. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re perfect for this role.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “I’ve seen how happy you are when you get to do a home visit. You love it.”

  Jenevy nodded. “More than I ever thought I would. When I went with that young girl to tell her parents about her pregnancy, it was difficult, and they didn’t respond how we wanted them to. But I loved supporting her through it.”

  “See? You’ll do great because when Wrey looks at you, she won’t see an evil spy.” He got a smile from Jenevy with that phrase. “She’ll see a caring midwife. She’ll trust you, because you’re trustworthy. Your job is your calling. That’s all she’ll see.”

  Tullen couldn’t see the nuances of Jenevy’s expression in the candlelight, but he thought her eyes shone a little more than usual. “That’s what I needed to hear,” she said. “How did you know?”

  He responded by holding his hand on the table, palm-up, an invitation. Jenevy put her hand in his, and this time, Tullen didn’t let go.

  He and Jenevy had always been friends, but things had changed since they’d moved to Savala. They were closer now than they’d ever been. Tullen had moved slowly, because he couldn’t seem to decipher how he felt about her. This state of uncertainty would have been frustrating under any circumstance. But Tullen felt like a true louse, because he knew Jenevy cared for him. How deeply, he didn’t know. Deeply enough to display a patience he didn’t think he deserved.

  Tullen turned his attention back to Jenevy. She was watching him, and he wondered what she saw in his expression. He also wondered how much time had passed. In the dark, with everyone else asleep, sitting next to someone he felt so relaxed with, he couldn’t tell if they’d been quiet for two minutes or ten. “Should we check the clock?” he asked.

  “I’ll do it.” Jenevy took a candle and performed the same check Tullen had. “Five ‘til,” she said as she sat down again.

  “Five more minutes as an eighteen-year-old.”

  Jenevy shook her head. “Nineteen sounds so old.”

  “I prefer to think of it as wise.” They both laughed softly. “I agree that nineteen feels somehow closer to being a real adult,” Tullen said. “Have you thought about what you want out of the next year of your life?”

  Jenevy reached around and gently lifted Tullen’s hand up to the table. She interlaced her fingers with his and examined their joined hands in the candlelight. When her eyes shifted back to Tullen, a sudden bout of nerves hit him. He regretted the question he’d asked, but he didn’t pull his eyes away from hers as he waited for the answer.

  Jenevy’s quiet voice contrasted with her bold gaze. “You know what I want, Tullen.”

  He swallowed and waited.

  “I want you.” She leaned forward, and her eyes held a hopeful question. She was lovely in the candlelight, all soft skin and shining hair and dark lips.

  Why me? But he didn’t ask the question. Instead, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. She responded with a smile.

  He was tired of analyzing this. Jenevy was strong and caring, full of passion for what she was learning. He was drawn to her frank vulnerability and was more comfortable with her than with anyone outside his family. He wanted to accept what he felt and she felt, and allow those two things to match up.

  “It must be midnight,” Jenevy whispered.

  Without a word, Tullen let go of her hand, relieved for the distraction. He took a candle to the doorway, held it up, and read the clock. “Twelve o’clock exactly,” he said.

  Tullen turned around and found that Jenevy was standing inches away. He stretched his arm toward the countertop and placed the candle on it, and then he brought his hand up to her hair and touched it, something he’d wanted to do for so long. Her tight curls tickled his fingers, and he smiled.

  Then her hand was on his cheek, and it moved to the back of his neck, her fingertips brushing the sensitive skin of his hairline. He shivered, and she took a step toward him. She was lovely and kind and so very close.

  So Tullen stopped thinking, and he k
issed her. He could feel her smile as his lips touched hers, and then both his hands were in her hair, and she was leaning into him like he was a tree and she was the wind.

  And despite his resolution not to think, a word whispered in Tullen’s mind, a word that had run through his thoughts moments before as he’d sat at the table, considering Jenevy. Comfortable. That was what this was. Not passionate, but comfortable.

  Tullen pushed the thought away, and he continued to kiss Jenevy, but his mind was active now, and even as he wanted to focus on her lips and her hair and her hands, all he could think about was whether comfort could ever turn into passion.

  And then someone else’s face and an accompanying name entered Tullen’s mind, and he knew he must stop. He pulled away and, with a trembling hand, picked up the candle he’d set down. He nearly dropped it on his way to the table.

  “It’s time. It’s—it’s midnight,” he stammered. He avoided Jenevy’s gaze and lit the final candle, placing it in a metal holder. Then he sat back at his seat and buried his face in his hands. When his palms hit his eyes, he found unshed tears there. “Jenevy, I’m sorry,” he said.

  Tullen heard her pull her chair out and sit. He couldn’t stay like this, unwilling to even look in her eyes when he’d just had the boldness to kiss her. He pulled his hands off his face and kept his elbows on the table, raising his head.

  When his gaze met Jenevy’s, Tullen found the last thing he’d expected there. Compassion. When she spoke, her voice cracked, just enough for someone who’d known her all her life to catch it. “It’s Tavi, isn’t it?”

  It wasn’t an accusation; in fact, her tone held no rancor at all. Tullen wished she’d tell him what a heel he was and leave in a huff. But if she insisted on offering him understanding, the least he could give in return was honesty.

  “Yes.”

  Jenevy nodded and smiled, but her chin trembled.

  “I was confused, but that’s no excuse, I never should have—” Tullen’s words stumbled around in his head, and they fared no better as they jostled each other on their way out of his mouth. “I care about you, and so I hoped I could—but I don’t think I can, and, well, you deserve someone who does, Jenevy. Someone who cares in . . . a different way. Oh, Sava, I’m going to make a mess of this. I’m sorry.”

  Her hand found his again, but this time it wasn’t a gesture of tentative romance; it was a firm hold, one that urged him to stop talking. He listened to that touch and obeyed it.

  “You’ve already made a mess of it,” Jenevy said, a small smile on her face. Her voice was calm and strong again. “But I had to tell you what I wanted tonight, Tullen. I couldn’t continue to make myself crazy, wondering how you felt.”

  “But I never should have—”

  This time, it was her finger on his lips that stopped him. “We were caught in the moment. And it sounds like”—she took a deep breath—“like that kiss told you what you needed to know.”

  Tullen nodded; he doubted whether anything else he said would help.

  “I hope that sweet, stubborn girl comes to her senses,” Jenevy said. “I’m half-tempted to tell her how miserable she’s making you.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “I won’t. Probably.” Jenevy gave him a real smile then, and he managed a small one in return.

  “Happy birthday, Jenevy.” Tullen pulled the last candle out of its holder. He held it in one hand and lifted his wine glass with the other. The candle salute was supposed to come at midnight, but this night had already gone so far off-track that he didn’t think a small delay made it any worse. “You’re singular, kind, and generous. My greatest wish for you is for your year to be filled with as much happiness as you give others.”

  Jenevy smiled and mirrored his gesture with her own wine glass. She spoke the traditional response: “I accept your wish with gratitude.”

  “Happy birthday.”

  Jenevy nodded. She reached out her hand as if she’d touch him, but then she redirected it, taking a candle. She didn’t look at him as she exited the room.

  Tullen slowly washed the wine glasses, then blew out two candles. He carried the remaining one upstairs. At the top of the steps, he stopped, eyes drawn to the dark room where both Tavi and Jenevy stayed. He blew out the candle, released a deep sigh, and turned toward his own bedroom.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  When I was a young apprentice, I assumed practical midwives were less effective than Karian midwives. How could a practical midwife give quality care without magic?

  Then I assisted at a birth with two midwives, one practical and one Karian. The practical midwife freed the baby after it had been stuck in its mother’s pelvis for a terrifyingly long time. Afterward, the Karian midwife whispered to me that the child would likely have died were it not for the practical midwife’s skill and wisdom.

  That experience changed everything for me. On that day, I realized magic has little to do with a person’s competence in their profession or in life.

  -From Midwife Memoirs by Ellea Kariana

  The wooden chair in the midwife house’s sitting room was just uncomfortable enough to keep Jenevy awake. She yawned and struggled to keep count of her stitches on the blanket she was knitting.

  Pala entered the room. “I bet you’re ready for some sleep.”

  Jenevy smiled. “It’s not time for your shift.”

  “I woke early and thought you’d appreciate an extra half hour of rest.”

  “Thank you.” Jenevy put her knitting in the basket next to her, but she didn’t move toward the stairs. Tullen’s bedroom was up there, and in the two days since her birthday celebration, she’d developed an aversion to walking past the room. It was a silly, childish reason to avoid sleep. But she couldn’t bring herself to rise from her seat.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Jenevy started and looked at Pala, who’d taken up residence on a settee and was watching her apprentice expectantly.

  “I don’t know,” Jenevy said.

  Pala patted the seat next to her. “Why don’t you come tell me about it?”

  Jenevy only hesitated a moment before rising and situating herself on the settee. Months earlier, she’d discovered that Pala’s no-nonsense exterior often melted into kindness when a laboring mother needed assistance. And then, to Jenevy’s surprise, Pala’s sympathy had extended to her as well. They’d had countless long conversations in the sitting room while the rest of the house was asleep.

  Pala was the only one who knew just how much Jenevy missed her parents. Somehow, the middle-aged midwife soothed a bit of the loneliness Jenevy had felt ever since leaving the Meadow.

  Pala studied Jenevy for a long moment before saying, “It’s not homesickness today, is it?”

  Jenevy gave a little laugh and shook her head. Her vision blurred with tears.

  Pala reached out her arms, and Jenevy accepted the embrace. Then Pala’s gentle voice reached her apprentice’s ear: “I know it hurts. But it will fade, and you’ll find someone who’s better for you. You will.”

  Jenevy cried then, and most of her tears weren’t due to her disappointment with Tullen. They were tears of relief that someone understood her, without her having to explain. She gripped Pala tighter.

  Several minutes later, she released Pala and whispered, “Thank you.” Then Jenevy walked upstairs, passed calmly by Tullen’s room, and went to bed.

  A knock on the bedroom door woke Jenevy. She rubbed her eyes. Based on the light in the window, she guessed two hours had passed since she’d laid down.

  “Come in,” Narre called, yawning.

  Pala entered, the lines of her face softened by an excited smile, and turned to Jenevy. “A milkman, not our normal one, came by. He brought this for you.” She held out an envelope.

  Jenevy opened it and pulled out a folded note on cream-colored paper. After scanning it, all her exhaustion vanished, and a squeal escaped her mouth.

  “Read it!” Narre and Pala said together.


  Beaming, Jenevy read, “ ‘Dear Jenevy, I request your assistance at your convenience. With gratitude, Wrey.’ And her address is here, as if I’d forget it.”

  Narre let out a whoop of excitement, and Jenevy laughed. “I’d better get dressed. Pala, can you please prepare some veneta leaves for me? Maybe a bit of lindflower too?”

  Pala agreed and exited. All four of the bedroom’s residents got out of bed and began to dress.

  “You’re going to do great today,” Tavi said.

  Jenevy’s eyebrows rose. “Thanks.” Tavi had been making friendly overtures lately. While Jenevy appreciated the change, she wondered if Tavi would act the same if she knew what had happened between Tullen and Jenevy. Putting the thought out of her head, she said, “I admit, I’m nervous.”

  Her roommates’ encouraging responses didn’t help much. There were so many unknowns at the Gray House, and she would be there alone.

  “I’ll make sure Tullen is up,” Tavi said. “We’ll be listening at the same café as before. If anything goes wrong, we can be there in a few minutes.”

  Jenevy smiled. “I hope that won’t be necessary, but I’m glad it’s an option.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Jenevy was walking up the path toward the door of the Gray House. She knew Tullen and Tavi were nearby, listening. “Here we go,” she whispered.

  Wrey answered the door immediately; she must have been waiting next to it. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said in a voice barely more than a whisper. “I woke up this morning, and, well . . . I’m glad you came so quickly.”

  Jenevy smiled. “May I come in?”

  “Oh yes, of course.” Wrey opened the door wider and stepped aside. “You can put your coat and hat on the rack there.”

  Jenevy examined her surroundings as she removed her gloves, hat, and coat. The house looked like a bachelor residence, with nothing on the walls and no furniture in the entryway. It was immaculately clean, however.