by Sandra Kopp
Arris put his arm around Merewyn. “Isn’t he grand?”
Merewyn beamed at the foal, rich chestnut in color with a black-spotted white blanket on his back and rump. “He certainly is.” She giggled. “I feel like a grandmother. My little girl’s had her first baby.”
“Father said Barada and Windrunner would produce some curious looking foals, but this little fellow got only the best from both.” Arris stopped and peered toward the door as drumming hoofbeats slid to a stop just outside. Seconds later Davon burst into the barn.
“Come in, come in!” Arris urged. “Meet our newest addition.”
Davon’s troubled frown relaxed. “So, the big day has arrived. Do we welcome Dayspring or Thunderbolt?”
“Thunderbolt.” Arris sobered. “Your face speaks of trouble. More Wyar unrest?”
Davon sighed. “Even with the tyrants dead and the war ended, the fighting continues; only now Liedor, not Barren-Fel, stokes the fires.”
Arris narrowly regarded his brother. “What happened?”
Davon hesitated and then motioned to a young man waiting in the doorway. Cautiously the man entered, and as he limped toward them Arris noted his bruised and swollen face and tattered, bloody clothing. The man hobbled up beside Davon and stopped.
Davon’s lips tightened. “This is Pharen. He worked for a young farmer named Eldor Rand. Last evening Rand beat him senseless for no apparent reason.”
“I tend the cattle,” Pharen said brokenly, “but Mr. Rand say I do nothing right. I tell Mr. Rand I tend cattle all my life in Barren-Fel, I know what I’m doing. . .I not hurt his cattle but he not listen. He get mad, he yell, he hit. I try fight back but. . .”
“Rand’s a relative newcomer to the landed community,” Davon broke in. “A good enough farmer, but no patience with anyone and entirely self-absorbed. Pharen needs work, but he can’t go back to Rand.”
“Eldor Rand kill me.” Pharen hung his head.
“I have all the hands I need,” Davon continued. “I was hoping you could take Pharen.”
Arris pursed his lips. “I could use more help but you’re in no condition now. Where do you live?”
“In my camp in the foothills.” Pharen pointed toward the northeast.
“Alone?”
“With my clan.”
Arris nodded. “Good. Take time to heal and then come back. You’ve worked with cattle, you say?”
Pharen nodded proudly. “All my life.”
“Well, I have cattle. You can start when you’re ready.”
Pharen stepped forward and grasped Arris’ hand. “Thank you, thank you, Mr. Arris. I get better fast. And I do good work for you. You will see.”
“I know you will.” Arris rubbed his lip as he regarded Pharen’s injuries. “I have medicine that will reduce the swelling and relieve the pain. Come with me.”
Nodding his thanks, Pharen followed Arris to the house. And with every step, Arris felt the Serpent’s brooding presence closing in.
The coach from Langhorn lumbered down the bumpy red dirt road to Teptiel. Rolling emerald hills swelled to the south and west. To the north, barely visible through a ghostly haze, loomed the snow-capped peaks of the towering Alpenfel Mountains.
Melinda glanced at the man and two women across from her. Blonde, blue-eyed, and fair skinned, they appeared too delicate for arduous frontier life. The women, especially the younger, seemed better suited to a palace. Their crisp pink frocks and fine leather shoes bespoke a privileged life.
With Luwanna’s help, Melinda had arranged her hair into a loose braid tied at the end with a white ribbon. The skirt of her blue dress was only slightly smudged and she had washed on the ship, so Melinda felt somewhat presentable—until a whiff of dried sweat reached her nostrils, driving her to tighten her arms to her sides while hoping her fellow passengers didn’t notice. The women stoically retained their composure, but amusement tugged the man’s mouth into a knowing smile. Melinda felt her cheeks redden.
After boarding the coach in Langhorn the man had briefly introduced himself as Francis Glendon, a Langhorn businessman accompanying his sisters, Della and Marna, to Teptiel. If he deemed Teptiel suitable he might, he said, relocate his family and business there. The conversation had waned then. Francis and Della seemed pleasant enough, but spoke only to each other, quietly so as not to be overheard. Marna remained silent, her icy stare riveted upon Luwanna, who pretended not to notice and focused on the passing scenery. Melinda stared out the opposite window, trying to will the carriage on faster.
By late afternoon they saw clearly the Alpenfel’s verdant foothills and spectacular white cliffs. Melinda pressed a hand to her chest and pointed to a rocky crag. “People live up there?” she whispered to Luwanna.
Luwanna nodded. “The Nimbians do.”
“Ah, two Nimbians dwell in Teptiel,” Francis told them. “We’ll probably meet them at the gathering.”
Melinda gulped. The gathering, hosted by established residents for newcomers seeking mates, would determine her future. According to Luwanna’s cousin, Teptiel even boasted an accomplished matchmaker, ready to assist those too shy to take the first step. What would she find there? Hopefully not another Sam Shaw, she thought grimly.
The sun settled onto the horizon as the coach topped the hill overlooking Teptiel. Smaller than Garris, the village nonetheless boasted new homes and shops nestled amid scattered pines. The steep rooftops glowed softly in the dying sun, exuding a sleepy tranquility that warmed Melinda. It must have touched Luwanna as well, for an expression of rapture filled her face as she pressed closer to the window.
Moments later, the coach rattled down the rutted streets past buildings in various stages of construction. Window boxes hung from many of them, although Melinda saw no flowers yet. Streetlamps sprang to life in the growing dusk. Cobblestones piled at regular intervals awaited the paving crews for placement in the red dirt streets. People strolled down the board walks.
The coach turned onto a side street, passed an apothecary shop and another building Melinda could not identify, then turned left at the smithy and stopped at Flanders Inn, near the end of the street. Miraculously spared from wartime destruction, the famed yellow building remained a welcoming haven for weary travelers.
The passengers disembarked and waited as the coachman unloaded their bags, beginning with the Glendons’, who immediately gathered their belongings and hurried inside. Melinda peered through the dusky light. The shops on this street all appeared open for business. Indeed, several shopkeepers were just closing up for the night.
“Here you are, miss.” The coachman grunted as he set Melinda’s oak chest down on the board walk. “You’ll need help with that, I’m sure. Talk to the innkeeper; he’ll get someone.” He climbed back into the seat, took the reins, and chirruped to the horses. Melinda watched the coach rattle away into the darkness and then glanced at the chest.
“Need some help?” Francis Glendon appeared in the doorway.
Melinda nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
“It doesn’t look too heavy. Let’s give it a try.” Francis took hold of the chest, tested its weight and then deftly hoisted it onto his shoulder. “There we are.” He glanced at Luwanna’s large trunk and added, “I’ll need another chap to help with yours. Let me take Melinda’s in first. I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared through the door. A moment later he returned with another man, and together they picked up Luwanna’s trunk. Francis nodded toward the door. “Follow us, ladies.”
They entered a spacious room already filled to capacity. Patrons occupied every chair around the long tables, feasting on roast beef, smoked ham or fried chicken, potatoes, fresh vegetables, and steaming hot bread. Others lounged in the four chairs arranged in a semicircle around the massive fireplace at the far end. The clatter of silverware on plates mingled with the hum of conversation, and a most delicious aroma set Melinda’s stomach rumbling.
Della and Marna had just started up the long staircase overlook
ing the innkeeper’s desk as Melinda and Luwanna stepped up. “Please, sir, we need a room,” Luwanna told him, indicating herself and Melinda.
The innkeeper gave them a regretful smile. “Sorry, ladies,” he said, shaking his head. “We’re full up. I don’t even have an extra cot, or the space to put it in if I did have one.”
Luwanna’s shoulders sagged. “What do we do now?”
Melinda glanced at the staircase. Marna Glendon had stopped halfway and now regarded them with a haughty smirk. Meeting Melinda’s gaze, she tossed her head and flounced upstairs.
Francis sighed heavily. “Forgive my sister. She hasn’t the best manners.” He turned to the innkeeper. “Have you nowhere for these ladies? I would gladly give up my room.”
“I’ve already put you in with three other gents,” the innkeeper returned. “However, I do have a solution, provided these folks still have room. Peter and Gilda Rainer offer lodging in their home. They’re fine people. Peter owns the mercantile and Gilda the fabric store next to it. I’ll send someone to inquire.”
The innkeeper craned his neck as he scanned the crowded room and then beckoned to a lanky lad waiting on one of the tables. “Thomas! Run to the Rainers and see if their room’s still open.”
The lad nodded and bolted for the door.
“He’ll be back in a minute. In the meantime, you ladies wait here. Let’s just hope no one got there ahead of you.” To Francis, he added, “Don’t worry, young man. I won’t put them out on the street.”
Francis pursed his lips. “Very well then, I’ll be off. Good night, ladies. We’ll meet again at the gathering.”
“Goodnight,” they murmured. Luwanna sank down on one end of her trunk and motioned for Melinda to sit beside her. For several minutes they silently watched a stream of patrons come and go. Obviously, Flanders Inn enjoyed an illustrious reputation for fine food. And, much to Melinda’s satisfaction, no one regarded Luwanna with suspicion or disdain.
The innkeeper moved from table to table, stopping here and there to take a request while keeping a watchful eye on his desk and the front entrance.
The door soon burst open and Thomas strode past without so much as a sideways glance.
Luwanna groaned. “Oh, no,” she whispered, and Melinda felt her own heart plummet.
At that moment another man, as lanky as Thomas but much older, entered. Sun and age had wrinkled his rugged face, shades of gray tinged his thinning dark hair, and he wore a kindly, thoughtful expression. In his blue cotton shirt and peasant’s trousers he resembled a farmer. He looked straight at the weary figures sitting on the trunk and smiled.
“You young ladies look like you need a place to stay.” His mellow tone instantly put them at ease.
The innkeeper hurried over. “Ah, Peter, I was hoping you’d come. Your room’s not taken, is it? These ladies have traveled a long way and I’ve no place to put them.”
“My room’s still open and my wagon’s outside.” The corners of Peter’s mouth and eyes crinkled as he smiled broadly and extended his hand. “Peter Rainer at your service, ladies.”
Gratefully Luwanna and Melinda rose and shook his hand as they introduced themselves and conveyed their thanks. With Thomas’ help, Peter loaded their baggage, after which he handed Thomas a coin and helped the women into the wagon. Climbing into the seat then, he picked up the reins and chirruped to the horse. The wagon lurched forward.
“Probably best you’re with Gilda and me,” Peter told them. “We’re well acquainted with these gatherings. Next one’s in two days. You ladies just stay with us. We’ll furnish you hot meals and warm beds, acquaint you with our town, and get you to the grange hall for the festivities.” He paused. “Lot of fine folks moving in. I think you’ll both like it here.”
They rounded a corner onto a newly paved street skirting a residential district on the west edge of town. The horse’s hooves clipped-clopped smartly between the flickering lampposts lining both sides of the narrow street and illuminating the tidy cottages behind them. Each home sat in the middle of a sizable lot large enough, Peter explained, for a garden, some chickens, and even a cow or two. Low stone or rail fences surrounded each one, with gates providing access to the front door. Lamplight glowed softly behind crisp new curtains, and flowers bloomed in the window boxes gracing the front windows.
Overhead, an endless carpet of stars stretched out in all directions, the twinkling expanse broken only by the waxing moon hovering over the distant foothills. The evening breeze brushed chilly fingertips over Melinda’s hot cheeks, and she tightened her arms to her sides and shivered.
Peter glanced over and smiled. “Almost there,” he said.
The road curved east, back into the business district. A large rustic building bearing a sign proclaiming ‘MERCANTILE’ stood on the corner. Peter guided the horse off the road onto a narrow lane leading to a well-lit cottage behind the store. The open front curtain revealed a tastefully decorated sitting room. A welcoming fire danced on the hearth, which was flanked by two big chairs. By the front window stood a table set for dinner, and two chairs.
A plump, gray-haired woman with a round, pleasant face and dressed in a floral-print cotton dress opened the door and stepped onto the porch. Peter drove up to the house, stopped the wagon and swung out of the seat. Gilda reached the wagon just as the women alit. “Welcome, welcome,” she said. “I’m Gilda Rainer. And you are—”
“Luwanna Frye and Melinda Greene,” Peter finished. “They just got in from Langhorn.”
“Well, Luwanna Frye and Melinda Greene, welcome to our home!” Gilda stepped between them, tucked their arms in hers, and ushered them inside.
Within minutes they were seated at the table enjoying a delicious meal of beef stew and fresh hot biscuits with butter. Peter and Gilda sat beside the fire, regaling them with stories about the town.
“You’ve timed your arrival perfectly,” Gilda told them as they finished their meal. “We’ve as many eligible men as women this time, so your prospects are especially good. Best of all, they’re young men—not old goats like Peter here.” Gilda playfully nudged her husband, who gave her a wry look.
“Hopefully you ladies will treat your men better than what I’ve put up with these last thirty years,” Peter admonished.
“Oh, you!” Gilda laughed and squeezed his hand.
Noting the women’s startled expressions, Peter grinned and winked. “Don’t mind us. We joke back and forth like this all the time.”
Luwanna smiled then and Melinda, despite her fatigue, laughed heartily.
Gilda sobered. “You both look utterly spent. I’ve a big comfortable bed in the room upstairs. Sleep as long as you like tomorrow, and when you are ready come to my shop. It’s just around the corner next to the mercantile.”
“Thank you, Mistress Rainer.” Luwanna stood and gathered her dishes.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Gilda protested. “You’re our guests. And my name is Gilda.”
“We’re paying guests who are not averse to doing chores,” Luwanna returned firmly. “You kindly took us in and provided a delicious supper for which we’re both grateful.”
Dishes in hand, she and Melinda followed Gilda to the tiny kitchen. Gilda picked up a pot that was hanging over the fireplace and poured some water into a large basin sitting on the table near the wall. With Luwanna washing, Melinda drying, and Gilda putting dishes away they finished quickly.
“Ah, thank ye.” Gilda put the last plate into the cupboard and closed the door. “Now it’s off to bed, both of you.” She briskly herded them upstairs to a cozy room nearly filled by a large feather bed. A small table holding a basin, two towels and pitcher of water stood in one corner, and a cupboard for their clothing graced the wall near the door.
“Here you are,” Gilda announced. “If you need anything, let Peter or me know.” She started to leave but turned back and smiled. “Thank you again for helping with dishes. Now get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow we’ll acquaint you with your new home.”
Singing cheerily, she closed the door and went downstairs.
The girls undressed and crawled into bed. Melinda rolled onto her side and snuggled deeper into the mattress’s embrace. As she drifted off to sleep she thought she smelled something burning.
CHAPTER FIVE
Davon trotted up the red dirt road toward Arris’ estate. The big white stone house glittered like snow against the clear blue sky. A carpet of flowers surrounded the house and spilled down the gentle slope to a large garden spot, tilled but as yet unplanted. Beyond the house three young weeping willows swayed gracefully in the morning breeze. Davon smiled. Arris had said that he finally acknowledged his feelings for Merewyn among the willows at Greene’s Willow Inn. Now these symbols of abiding love graced his home.
Davon glanced at the yard as he passed the house, but seeing no one, continued to the barn. Windrunner trotted to the fence, ears erect. Young Thunderbolt, steady on his feet now, loped along beside her. Davon chuckled. “You’ve a fine foal there, Borea-Ramina,” he called.
Windrunner nickered and Davon’s horse neighed in response.
Davon laughed and patted his horse’s neck. “Trevor thinks so, too.”
His sweeping gaze took in the sleek fat cattle on the hillside beyond, grazing and lazing in the knee-deep grass. Halfway up Arris, astride Barada, surveyed his herd. Davon urged Trevor into a gallop and rode to him. Arris grinned and waved. Davon waved back and slowed to a trot.
“What news today?” Arris asked as Davon reined in beside him.
“Are you attending the gathering tonight?” Davon asked.
Arris shook his head. “Hadn’t planned to.” He smiled knowingly. “I suppose Felicia will drag you there if she has to.”
Davon chuckled. “She loves this sort of thing—cooking, decorating, meeting the new arrivals.” He shrugged and then sobered. “A courier from Edwin Greene came to the house. It seems his niece has run away to escape a marriage of convenience to a man she doesn’t care for. Her mother is beside herself. Edwin believes she came to Teptiel. If so, I’ll likely see her at the gathering tonight.”
