If Wishes Were Horses

by Anne McCaffrey

  Although the sight of Tray reassured both Mother and me, we nevertheless greeted the new arrivals with such men as we had left and three of the largest women. Sir Minshall had been unable to stoop sufficiently to use the secret door, but he manned one of the long rifles bristling through the slits of the shutters.

  “The Effestrian force perished at the rapids, Mother,” Tray said, dismounting by the expedient of standing up on his long legs and letting the pony walk out from under him. His face was filthy and he had scrapes on his face and arms where the sleeves were torn, but his blistered hand was still protected by a very dirty bandage. “I’ve left pickets both north and south,” and he pointed, “and we met a scouting party from Princestown who came to see how far south the Effestrians managed to push. We are advised that Prince Monteros is moving his forces north as fast as he can. Though some say,” and now Tray sounded quite cynical, “that he is not apt to pursue anyone past his own borders.” He had been moving towards her as he spoke and now embraced her, “It’s all right now, Mother. Mallafret is safe.”

  “And you will be hungry, no doubt,” Mother said smiling as if he had been on an outing with friends. “We can certainly do something about that!”

  Tray waved his good hand diffidently. “If you will pack it up for us, please. We will quarter ourselves in the village to be sure the enemy does not return, seeking the cannon which we caused to fall into the Shupp.”

  “Oh!”

  I believe that was the first time I ever saw my mother at a complete loss for words. Then she gripped Tray by the arms, her face beaming with pride. “So it wasn’t running that pony through the woods that caused you so many scratches?”

  “Indeed not, milady,” said the scion of another family, grinning from ear to ear. “Thought Tray’s plan a capital one, since most of us know the ways of our river and how to cross safely. I am Keffine, son of Lord Hyland.” He gave as courtly a flourish as if he had been clad in silks instead of torn and soot-smutted leathers.

  “How are you for ammunition?” Mother asked.

  “Sufficient, milady,” Keffine said, tapping bulky saddlebags.

  “Much of the village is burned,” she added.

  “We’ll fare well, milady,” the scion said and jerked his head at Tray. “We must settle in for the night and set our watches.”

  “All are safe here?” Tray asked, looking at the tightly boarded house.

  “We shall be quite safe.” My mother kissed his cheek, a maternal salute that he bore with considerably more poise than he would once have managed.

  The pony had come back to stand beside him, and swinging his leg wide and across the little beast, Tray reined him about and led his tatterdemalion troop back down the avenue.

  “He deserves a proper horse,” I heard my mother mutter as we made our way back to the secret door — scarcely a secret now, but useful with every other entrance to the house barricaded. “I shall just have to see what I can do about that.”

  “We’ve more than a year till we’re sixteen, Mother,” I said.

  “I know.” Within that sad acknowledgement was her unspoken knowledge that this was not likely to end before the sixteenth anniversary of our birth, I felt almost guilty that I would wear my crystal but Tracell, who had shown such mature fortitude and intelligence, would be disappointed.

  * * * *

  While Mallafret Hall had over twenty bedchambers, it did not have sufficient warm coverings for so many unexpected guests. Even bringing all the horse rugs in from the stable did not suffice and, for the second time in a single day, I saw my mother thwarted in her incredible ability to cope with any crisis, disaster or problem.

  “I shall have to do something,” I heard her murmur, clutching her crystals and furiously rubbing them, forcing them to provide an answer.

  “Mother, is it possible there’re some usable things stored in the presses and trunks in the attics?” All of us children had played up there on rainy days.

  “Ooh, milady,” Tess said, brightly, “there’s ever so many things up there. We had to turn out all the old curtains and things before Lord Emkay left.”

  Mother’s face lit up. She was so delighted that she hugged us both indiscriminately.

  “The very things indeed. All those dreary, dreary tapestries that I couldn’t bear to throw out! They shall do admirably.”

  If there was a slight musty smell from being stored so long, no one minded for the heavy brocaded draperies as well as the tapestries were good insulation against the cold. And all, even the rugs that were also discovered in at the apex of roof and rafter, had been carefully wrapped against the moth and provided covering for even the flagstones of the Great Hall. With fires in every hearth, everyone would be able to sleep with more comfort than they would have had even in the snuggest of cottages.

  We also discovered carefully preserved garments of long-ago fashions. While some of the gaudy costumes sent people into giggles and smirks, most of the fabrics — having been of the highest quality — remained in good condition. So many of the villagers had fled in their nightclothes from the cannon barrage that they stood in grave need of warmer garments. Best were trunks of liveries and house dresses that had been packed away when Mother had chosen more modern ones. The women and children had a marvelous time sorting out and trying on the apparel.

  The sight of Mistress Cooper enveloped in yards of a gauzy material had us all in tears of laughter, especially when she tried to essay a court courtesy and fell flat with an oof that also split the back of the dress. She was so distressed that it took Mother nearly half an hour to reassure her. Finally, Mother took a piece of fragile gauze in both hands and, with only the least pressure, split it easily.

  “It must be well over a hundred years old, Mistress Cooper. Even the best of fabrics will deteriorate in that long a time.”

  “A hundred years, milady?” Mistress Cooper’s distress was replaced by astonishment.

  One chest was stuffed with the voluminous petticoats of the last century which could be turned into night-clothes. Another was full of men’s shirts and knee britches. Fortunately many were made of good heavy cloth, and it was decided they could be lengthened against the wintry weather.

  “And, I think,” Mother said as people departed to their various sleeping chambers, “tomorrow we will see how to alter the old liveries and maids’ dresses to fit. Unless there are other calls upon our time and effort.”

  * * * *

  There were not, though feeding and clothing one hundred and eighty-five homeless people required considerable organization and patience the next day. Mistress Cooper was up almost before Livvy, and the pair wakened four more women to start bread. Livvy did insist on reclaiming her largest cauldron to the kitchen after its night on the ramparts with oil, no longer boiling or needed. She remarked on the depth of the frost on the roofs and had a narrow escape falling into one of the gutters, but there had to be sufficient porridge and she would have braved much worse than mere frost to do her duty as Mallafret’s cook. That report of the bitter cold worried Mother. Not that the Shupp had ever frozen solid, since it ran so swiftly. All was snug inside Mallafret Hall and Mother had to be content that she had accomplished that much.

  Stuffed with hot porridge and tightly bundled with scarves and heavy capes of yesteryear’s fashions, Andras and Achill led the older lads out to bring in more wood to replenish the fires which had to be kept burning. Even gloves were found in one wide storage drawer — though they were of such fine leathers that I saw Mother blanch as she handed them out — but cold fingers could fumble and this was no time to try to preserve the antiquated when present need was greater. Mind you, I had to go call the boys in when they were suspiciously long at a task that should have been completed more quickly. At that, Andras and Achill admitted that they had been first tempted to skate on the pathways — which were hoar-frosted and made excellent slides.

  We spent the rest of the day inspecting the wealth within the trunks and presses under th
e eaves. Mother did return several of the more magnificent ball gowns to the cambric in which they had been swathed. The formal court wear, stockings, knee britches and such like were also set aside. The rest of the garments — the full sleeved fine cambric and muslin shirts, the long-skirted jerkins and vests, broadcloth jackets which could be dyed more suitable shades than buttercup yellow or pale green, blue, lavender and gray, and such breeches as there were of the durable fabrics — came out at once.

  Every ground floor room became drapers’ shops. Garments festooned tables, chairs, firescreens or waited in orderly piles. Such needles, threads and scissors as we possessed were kept busy until late that night, and it was nothing short of amazing how many people were clad in more modern fashion the next morning.

  The intense cold continued. I heard it murmured often that some good had come out of the bombardment, for never would they have been so warm and comfortable in the homes they had lost.

  Tray and Keffine returned midmorning for more supplies. They were red-cheeked and merry with their new responsibilities, but both had somehow cleaned up their garments and washed their faces. Keffine was mounted on a sturdy well-bred cob while Tray still rode the pony. Old as the venerable fellow was he too seemed to find his new occupation to his liking for he pranced and danced on his hindquarters as much as the cob did.

  “We’ve some good news for the cottagers, Mother,” Tray said, once again putting down his feet and letting the pony walk out from under him. Keffine’s merry glance caught mine and I coughed into my hand rather than laugh outright. “You may laugh, Tirza,” my brother said with such sublime arrogance that Mother and I both dissolved into gales of laughter.

  “Thank you,” I said, when I had quite exhausted myself with hilarity. “Bread’s baked and some pies are ready and will only need to be reheated.” I said, retreating into the house to assemble the victuals.

  It was when I returned with my helpers, dressed in their new finery, that Tracell and Keffine Hyland gawked with surprise.

  “Have you a troop of mummers, too?” Tray asked, though he accepted the baskets of food readily enough. In fact, he had the pony so laden that there was no room left for him to sit on the sturdy back. Keffine, likewise, dismounted because it was far more important that the food reach the hungry recipients than that he rode comfortably.

  I glanced at our unusually clad assistants. “We have been able to do what we could to clothe them all decently,” I replied, “by turning out all those old trunks in the attic.”

  “What a splendid idea,” Tray agreed, winking at me for the times we had played with the contents of those selfsame discards. “Some came in little more than their shifts, shawls and clogs on their feet.”

  “Save some shirts and vests for us, would you?” Tray said, regarding his torn and battered raiment.

  “You might tell the villagers that we have found quite a few things that survived the fires,” Keffine said. He had the merriest blue eyes.

  “Which is why you both look as if you’d been sifting through ash and dirt. Well done, well done,” my mother said.

  “One way of keeping warm,” Tray remarked diffidently.

  “But kindly thought of,” Mother said.

  “There’s more usable than we’d’ve thought,” Keffine said, accepting the basket of breads. “Though we did have a spot of trouble when an Effestrian patrol ventured to the riverbank and tried to interrupt our labors. We sent them off with such a rain of arrows, they fell over themselves running away.”

  “More slipping and sliding down the bank,” Tray added, grinning.

  Mistress Cooper and Mistress Chandler arrived just then, their arms full of cloaks.

  “You will need these,” Mother said, draping a cloak across Tray’s shoulders.

  Astonished, he held a fold up, almost sputtering with indignation. “Why, this has to have been last worn by great-great uncle . . .”

  “Never you mind who wore it last, Viscount Mallafret,” my mother said firmly. “It will doubtless deflect arrows as well as keep you warm.”

  Keffine Hyland bent his knees to allow Mistress Cooper to bestow one on his broad shoulders. He looked quite elegant.

  The rest of the warm garments were carefully draped across cob and pony.

  “They are indeed welcome, milady,” Keffine said, bowing gratefully.

  “And these will undoubtedly be as welcome while they hold together.” Mother passed each a pair of heavy mailed gauntlets, so ancient that the cloaks were almost modern in comparison.

  “Now, these are more suitable for warriors like us,” Tray said, stuffing the gloved fingers as far down as he could force them. Then they made their way, proud and tall, down the avenue, leading the laden animals. I wasn’t certain in my mind who looked more elegant, my brother or Keffine.

  * * * *

  The bitter cold lasted a full week, so that Andras, Achill and some of the sturdier lads had to take cross saws and axes into the home woods to keep us supplied with firing. Under Mother’s command, we took the oxen and the heaviest wagon left in the village tithe-barn and brought back more wheat which had to be hand-ground, as the millwheel was frozen solid in the weir. Several of the men came back from the village and, with our gamekeeper and Tray to guide them, brought back deer and cleared the snares of whatever had been trapped and frozen to death.

  While the worst of the cold held, we did not fear renewed attacks from the Effestrians, and Lord Monteros sent messengers to Mother, and from us to Princestown, that he had reinforced the riverbanks of his province to prevent enemy incursions. The returning courier brought very welcome letters from all our brave soldiers so we spent Solstice in a merriment that was far from the doleful occasion it might have been.

  Not as bitter but still cold, the winter remained. On such fair days as there were, new dwellings began to rise in the village, replacing those burned to the ground. As Tray had said, iron pots and pans, skillets, even some crockery had survived the fire. And the chimneys.

  Mallafret, in its turn, provided occupation for all to replace what was lost. Mother turned everything out of the attic spaces: chests, presses, tables (that might lack a leg or a brace), chairs that needed rerushing or regluing. She organized those handy with tools to make up additional stools or tables and arranged for the skilled carpenters to replace the lost dower chests. Mallafret was a hive of activity.

  Rather than lose valuable space by setting up the big looms, Mother devised a clever and easier method of replacing bedding. In the course of refitting old-fashioned clothing to modern bodies, many pieces and hems and oddments had been cut off. These Mother gave to the youngest and oldest women to piece together into wide bedspreads. Then she had some of this year’s wool crop carded fine and stitched in place on one side, while a backing was firmly stitched to provide a triple thickness. Some of the defter needlewomen, having finished redesigning clothing, made interesting patterns of the available colors so that some of the patchwork was quite beautiful as well as warm. All were delighted with the illustrious future use of what might have been discarded as rags.

  * * * *

  Spring was late in coming that year, as if even the weather was at war with us. Fair days found everyone who could do anything, even if only holding a ladder steady, helping to rebuild the cottages. The fields were too wet or still too deeply frozen to be ploughed. Everyone worried about planting and so complained to Mother.

  “Well, I shall just have to see what can be done,” Mother said and, putting on her oldest boots, mounted Courier, whose stately walk was slow. The best that Tray could say about him was that he eventually got where he was going. And he was very comfortable to ride.

  Several times on Mother’s tour, he became mired down and had to be hauled out of the mud. Mother spent several days out, going from farm to farm. Pausing in the village on her way, she noted the rise of new habitations. That cheered her, I know, because to have so many people about us constantly in Mallafret had lost any charm. The earlier comra
deship in disaster had altered to squabbles that Mother had to arbitrate time and again, taking her away from more urgent planning.

  After her inspection tour, she called all together: farmer and villager.

  “Where there is too much water, we must dig little channels for it to run to the edges of the fields. Perhaps even line some depressions with stones to preserve the water should we need it in the summer. If this winter has been so wet, we may very well have a very dry summer.”

  So sensible was the suggestion that despite the very hard work to implement her scheme, it was accomplished. If not all of a field could be ploughed, enough was drained so that seed would not rot. Once such planting was done, work turned back to rebuilding the cottages. And in this regard, Mother had a great deal to say to improve the interiors, the major improvement being her insistence that local slate be used for the roofs rather than the traditional thatch. Since Bart the Thatcher’s house had also burned, he allowed as how he could accept the change. By raising all the roofs by two feet, there was sufficient loft space under the eaves to provide more sleeping space and, for those on the ground level, considerably more privacy.

  The inn was reconstructed next, with kitchens and nooks snug and open before the next story was completed. There were not yet many travelers but often couriers passed, and they were grateful for a full night’s rest. Mother, in grave conversation with Matt the Innkeeper and his wife, decided that, all things considered, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a large room added to one side of the Inn, suitable for village meetings, assemblies, Solstice dances, and any other functions that required a large indoor space.

  “It will, of course,” my mother said in the mild way she sometimes used to such good effect when trying to get her way, “be grand for our Victory Celebrations.”

  And so she had all the enthusiastic help such a project required. However, the large room first saw use as a hospice as walking wounded began to make their way to distant homes. They were grateful for the food and shelter at Mallafret Village, and Mother supervised such nursing as their injuries required.