Hannah tipped her head to one side. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way, but I think I can understand it. And I think you’re right.”
Greer sighed. “She never stops amazing me. I like that.”
CHAPTER 26
Fall stretched toward winter. It had been so many years since Greer had enjoyed a temperate winter that she had to keep reminding herself that extensive storage and woodcutting were not necessary; that no snow would blanket the valley floor and winter crops would grow right through until spring harvest. It was difficult to remember a winter without snow. She had a feeling she would miss it.
Abel reported progress on their ambition to make paper. From a brief description pieced out of the ancient encyclopedia—a word they had great difficulty pronouncing—they had sought and finally found a reed that grew along the stream sides which, when stripped and mashed, could be converted to a fibrous paste that dried into uneven but serviceable sheets. The search for a better method and a better product would go on, but the rough sheets at least afforded them the luxury of planning and designing in a visible medium.
Initially Greer had thought Hannah’s school would have to be suspended during the heavy harvest time, releasing the older children for field work, but that turned out not to be the case. Not only was there not the crushing, critical amount of work to do, thanks to the promise of mild winters, but there were also many more adults doing useful but uncritical jobs that could be pulled off for harvesting. So the school seemed free to continue, until the population began to soar in numbers.
“It must be a sign,” Hannah told Greer one late evening after she’d spent all that day midwifing a new mother. “I’ve never seen so many births in all my experience, especially so many big, healthy babies and happy mothers. Obviously, people began to anticipate prosperity even before your return, for these babies were conceived last winter. Before now, this number of live births would have been incomprehensible. We have more births and pregnancies right now than I’ve witnessed in all my life.”
“Yes, it does seem to be a sign, doesn’t it?” Greer agreed. “I’ve heard that before the Shift women could bear almost continually if they chose, but after so many years of no births or only stillborns, this does seem miraculous. With all the time you’re giving to the new mothers, do you think the children will suffer?”
“No.” Hannah shook her head, obviously exhausted but in good spirits. “Two of the girls have even asked to apprentice with me and learn the art of midwifing, and all the children seem to be fascinated by the process of reproduction. What little time I’ve been able to spend with them has been full of important new learning. It’s actually turning out to be the best lesson time we’ve had yet.”
Greer had expected hardly any less. “I’m glad. It seems almost silly to teach children how to live, yet if we didn’t, how much would be overlooked and forgotten, left to chance? We can give our children no greater legacy than the ability to reach their potential.”
Hannah concurred. “I’ve had a thought, though,” she began slowly. “They all worship you, of course, but don’t necessarily understand who you are. I’ve wondered if you would care to take the class some day when I am needed to attend a birth and just talk to them, answer their questions. I think they would be thrilled.”
Greer grinned at Hannah. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. Who knows? I might learn something, too.”
The next time Hannah was called to the final stages of a woman’s lying-in, she immediately sent the runner on to notify Greer. The Sibling found her charges sitting atop the escarpment, enjoying the sun-warmed rock and the clear, cold day. Feeling a twinge of nervousness—she had never had the affinity for children that Hannah had—she settled amid them and asked what they should do that day.
At first the children were quiet and unsure of themselves. With no adults there to model proper behavior toward the Sibling, they were unwilling to act alone and perhaps risk erring. Finally, Zam, the young daughter of a recent newcomer, spoke up.
“Will you do a miracle? My daddy says you can.”
Greer smiled. “That depends. What sort of miracle would you like to see?”
Zam looked perplexed. For a moment, she and Greer sat and stared at each other.
“I think,” Greer said finally, “we need to back up a little. Do you know what a miracle is?”
Too young to be embarrassed, Zam shook her head.
“Ah.” Greer looked around at the other faces. “Can anyone tell Zam what a miracle is?”
“It is something wonderful,” Kyra said readily.
“Something Goddess-sent,” older Zak said.
Greer waited for more qualifications but the children seemed satisfied with what had been said and fell silent.
“Something wonderful and Goddess-sent,” she repeated after a moment. “Let’s see ... ah, I know.”
Sitting straight and tall, she took a deep breath into her lungs, held it a moment, then released it. Smiling, she glanced at Zam. “How was that?”
Zam made no attempt to hide her puzzlement, but Kyra was quick to cry foul.
“That’s not a miracle,” she said sourly. “That’s just breathing.”
“And breathing is not a miracle?” Greer asked.
Kyra stubbornly shook her head.
Greer sat back and silently thanked the Goddess for delivering the all-purposeful encyclopedia to them. “Do you know what happens when you breathe?” she asked. A few of the children shook their heads. “You take in air and pull it down into your lungs. There, your lungs pass it to your blood, and the blood carries it to all the parts of your body. When those parts—your muscles and bones—have used what part of the air they need, they give the depleted air back to your blood. Your blood takes it back to your lungs and from your lungs you breathe it out again and take in fresh.” She looked around. “Isn’t that wonderful?” she asked. To Zam, she said, “Could you create something that can do all that?”
Zam shook her head.
To Zak, she asked, “Isn’t that Goddess-sent?”
Zak had to agree it was.
“Well, then,” Greer said. “That is a miracle. Except I’m not the only one who can do that; you all do it, every moment of every day.”
Zam’s eyes grew big at the idea of performing miracles herself and she breathed deliberately, holding a pudgy hand flat to her chest so she could feel the motion.
“But what about the other things you do?” Jonathon said. “Like making visions in the Goddess-stone or making all the birds and insects hum?”
Greer smiled and shook her head. “I am afraid you don’t understand. I don’t do those things; the Goddess does them through me. I am no more miraculous than any of you. I am only open to Her, and willing to be Her servant.”
There was a moment of uneasy silence, then Anna asked, “Will you die?”
“Oh, yes,” Greer said. “Just like everyone else.”
There were some odd glances exchanged between some of the children, perhaps disappointment, perhaps understanding. Greer waited.
“Greer,” young Mitanni said, “will you show me how to find a crystal?”
“We could look.” She addressed the entire group. “Shall we go rock-hunting for a bit?”
Unanimously, with a new sense of familiarity, the children agreed.
Later, Hannah was glad to hear the day had gone well. She’d helped deliver a big, strong-voiced boy while Greer and the children had become friends. It seemed that the accomplishments of the day were all good ones.
“But I’ve been thinking,” Greer said, echoing Hannah’s earlier words, “I’d like to be more available to the people. I’d like to get out more and talk with them like I did with the children today.”
“Be more available?” Hannah repeated. “You are always here for anyone who comes. You’ve never turned anyone away.”
“Yes, but what about the ones who may be too timid to come here? What about the ones who misunderstand me, as some of the c
hildren did? No, I’d like to walk about more, tour the residential areas. After all, I’ve only seen the plans for the newest area and Abel says it’s almost completed. I think I’ll do that.”
“Would you care for company?” Hannah asked, grinning.
A few unforeseen incidents delayed the tour by several days. One of the first hunting parties carried back one of their young men whose misstep had plunged him down a steep, rocky grade and all Hannah’s skills were needed to patch him up. When he began to recover, another birth was imminent, and this one was breech. Hannah divided her time between nursemaid and midwife for days, taking only momentary naps as exhaustion overwhelmed her. Greer took the children, then when Hannah’s work was finally done, she restricted the healer to bed for a full day and cared for her as singularly as Hannah cared for others.
“You are more important to the colony than I am,” Greer grumbled good-naturedly as she sat at Hannah’s bedside and watched her eat a full meal.
“Oh, no,” Hannah said quickly. “Not more important; just busier. Meg and Cananea are both learning the healing arts quickly, though, and soon they’ll be able to see to some of the small ailments themselves. That will help tremendously. It’s just too bad the training takes so long. It’ll be years before they can learn it all.”
“Especially with as little time as you’ve had lately for pure instruction.” Unbidden, an idea occurred to Greer. “Would it speed things up if the girls moved in here with us? They could each have their own room and then whatever time you had could be put to good use immediately.”
The brightness of Hannah’s eyes belied her restrained reply. “Are you sure, Greer? Two more people here? I know how important privacy is to you.”
“If I want privacy, I’ll go to my own room,” Greer pronounced. “Of course it’s all right. If I say so myself, I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
Hannah grinned agreement. “I’ll ask them tomorrow.”
The two girls were ecstatic. Cananea, a sweet girl of sixteen, jumped at the chance to live and learn so closely to Hannah and Meg, at eleven, thought it would be fun. Hannah helped the girls pack their belongings to the Sanctuary, yet once there, Meg turned anxious.
“What is it?” Hannah asked. “Don’t you want to stay here?”
Meg nodded, yet her green eyes mirrored her discomfort.
“You’ll be quite safe here,” Greer said, “and have your very own room.”
Meg’s eyes widened at the thought.
“Don’t you want your own room?” Hannah asked patiently.
“At home, I slept with my sisters,” Meg said.
“Oh, I see,” Hannah smiled. “Would you feel more comfortable if you shared a room with someone else?”
Meg nodded, obviously relieved that her fears were being taken into account, still anxious over their resolution.
“We can share,” Cananea offered off-handedly. “I shared a room with my grandmother at home, anyway, so I’m used to it.”
“Does that sound all right to you?” Hannah asked Meg.
Grinning, Meg nodded.
So the girls settled in and for a few days all but the necessary chores were suspended as the four females became used to each other and forged a new routine. Both of a helpful nature by birth, the girls asked for and were given daily tasks and they adjusted easily to the tides of the Sanctuary. Greer and Hannah adjusted as well, once they remembered there were two extra bodies in the house. After only a few days, the newness of the situation wore off and the thread of life continued.
Finally, Greer came back to her idea of touring the colony so she could meet and be available to people who might have hung back from the Sanctuary. From Abel she acquired the plans of all the building that had been done, and she marked out a path through the residential areas that would take her to the most people. Finally, inviting Hannah, the girls, and all the children to come along, she set aside one whole day and planned her walk.
The day was a good one. Although the sky was shrouded with clouds, there was no wind and the low ceiling seemed to hold the valley in unusual midwinter warmth. Bundling up only minimally, the odd troupe set out on its tour.
“Could we stop and see Carol?” Cananea asked Greer. More comfortable with the Sibling now, she could ask Greer directly instead of going through Hannah as she might have before. “She had that darling baby boy we helped Hannah with. Could we stop by and see them?”
“By all means,” Greer said. “That’s what this outing is all about. Where does she live?”
“In the eastside huts. It’s not far. I’ll show you.”
The unlikely troupe made its way to the older—earlier this year—residences, and Greer was amazed at the transformation that had taken place. Although the homes were of necessity small and simple, they were by no means plain. People had developed unusual pride in their little homes and had planted flowers around them, painted pictures on them and adorned them with sweeps of greenery. The heart of the eastside area was alive with color and pattern and individual expression, and Greer laughed with pleasure.
“This is wonderful!” she said. “I had no idea. You see, Hannah, how much I’ve missed? I don’t ever want to close myself off from this again.”
Cananea led them to Carol’s simple, squat home that, although poor, still had a gather of dried flowers on its door. Cananea knocked on the door and waited anxiously for the new mother to open it. When Carol did, new babe in her arms, she looked out at the group in surprise, recognized Greer, and dropped to her knees. The baby, jostled by the abrupt movement, began to fuss.
“Please,” Greer said, “rise up. Cananea has told us of your new son. May we come in for a moment?”
Shocked beyond words, Carol gasped, nodded, climbed to her feet and backed away from the door. She rocked the fussing baby and he quieted some, but his mother’s nervousness still pricked his mood and he fidgeted silently.
“May I see?” Greer asked. Holding out her hands, she let Carol give the baby to her, and she laid him back and soothed him. He immediately stopped fidgeting and tried valiantly to fix his wide blue eyes on Greer’s.
“How is he?” Hannah asked Carol.
“Loud,” Carol said with a smile, her eyes still wonderingly on Greer. “Fine, but loud. I’m surprised the old woman next door hasn’t complained.”
Greer looked down at the tiny boy in fascination. He was dark-skinned—much more so than the blonde Carol—but had startling blue eyes. He gurgled happily at Greer.
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“Ladon,” Carol said. “Although I’ve been calling him Donnie.” She shrugged. “Perhaps that will be his name after all.”
Greer met the wide open, not quite focused blue eyes and felt as though she could see eternity in them. The miracle of the Goddess was there; the long dark hall of mirrors that reflected the face of Life again and again and again. She found herself overwhelmed with wonder and awe, with appreciation, and with deep peace. Slowly, reluctantly, she dragged herself up out of the depths of little Donnie’s eyes and addressed his earth mother.
“Has Donnie a father?”
“Not here,” Carol said, a little embarrassed. “He would not come to the valley with me. He chose to turn his back toward this place.” And Greer understood her embarrassment.
“No matter. I would like very much to be considered Donnie’s second mother, not to displace you but to stand behind you; to be connected to him only after your own connection to him; to cherish him in my own small way after you have cherished him.”
For a moment the house was silent with only the sound of breathing audible from the tableau of women and children. The moment stretched out interminably.
“I ask you, Carol,” Greer said softly. “What do you answer?”
Carol floundered, but only through shock. “I—I say yes.”
“Yes!” Greer shouted it, and bounced Donnie on her arm. The boy laughed and squealed.
“Yes!” the children echoed. As a group t
hey moved forward and surrounded the three women in a circle of uncontrollable excitement and joy. Together, all of them experienced the miracle of the Goddess that was new life.
After that day, Greer resolved to wander the residences several times a month. She often visited Carol and Donnie, but just as often did not and walked other lanes and other areas so that she could experience as many of the people as possible. It became a regular event for her and Hannah and the children to be seen parading randomly through the streets, and all the people who were capable came to their windows or doors, or stood out in front of their houses and waved and called out as they went by. Sometimes people would even fall into line behind them and tag along, the procession growing longer and longer as it went its serpentine way. It was not uncommon to see scores of joyful, spontaneous people dancing and singing along the lanes.
The winter came and went. The valley was largely unaffected by it. The mild weather encouraged the winter crops, and temperate snows in the mountains left the hunting still abundant. The winter solstice passed gently, the ceremony in the Sanctuary marked by peace and calm, while the day of the vernal equinox saw Greer again become the oracle of the Goddess and she gave out good tidings to many.
With the spring and the lessening of cold in the high countries, the passes again disgorged their flow of pilgrims and the migrations resumed. People came already knowing of the oracle, of the welcome of the non-believer, of the school that taught children that love and life is boundless. It was as if the events that happened in the valley were stones dropped in a pool and the ripples extended far beyond seeing. It was at once a wonder and totally accepted by those who knew the Goddess.
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