by Lisa Shea
Alicia could feel the chill that had settled over him, and she let the topic rest. In just a few minutes Martinus called out for the group to break for lunch, and by the time she set up a campfire near the small stream he’d returned from a hunt with a medium-sized hare. It made a lovely addition to the cheese and bread they’d brought with them. Alicia was comfortably full as she finished off the last nibble and stretched out against a rock by the stream.
Martinus brought over a flat, grey rock to lay beside her, then picked one of the sticks out of the fire. The tip was black with soot. He stared at a twisted-branch oak across the stream and began sketching its trunk on the rock.
She smiled as he worked. “An artist, then?”
He chuckled. “Just an idle way to pass the time. Sometimes it’s just a stick in the sand. Then the tide comes in and washes your slate clean.”
He got to the big, bushy ball of green spreading out like a child’s unruly hair, and his movements became small and delicate.
Alicia stared at the rock in confusion. “What are you drawing there?”
He raised an eyebrow. “The leaves.”
She blinked, looking up across the stream. True, she could see the thick brown line of the trunk, and then the large green mass where the tree top was. But she certainly couldn’t make out leaves. “That’s not what it looks like, though,” she pointed out reasonably.
Martinus turned to look at her more closely. “What do you mean?”
She laughed. “Well, you can’t see the leaves from here, now can you.”
He looked between the tree and her, and his gaze became focused. “Yes, I can.”
Alicia grinned. She turned to where Benet was rinsing out his hands in the running stream. “Benet! Can you see the individual leaves on that oak tree across the way?”
He glanced back at her. “Sure, why do you ask?”
She spun on Ethelfleda. “And you? Ethelfleda?”
Ethelfleda giggled in glee. “Of course I can, silly. They’re the wiggly kinds of leaves, and there’s even a bird on that lower branch!”
Alicia blinked in surprise. It had never occurred to her – not once in all her years – that the way she saw the world was not simply the way it was; the way that all saw it. She drew to her feet, Martinus rising with her. She turned to the road, pointing at a wagon in the distance with a multi-colored blur over it. “How about that?” she demanded. “Can you see that stuff that is over the wagon?”
Martinus nodded. “It’d a tinker’s cart. He’s got a patchwork of fabrics making up the covering, with squares of red, green, brown, and other colors.”
Benet came up at her other side. “Why, what do you see, lass?”
She spun in the other direction. “And there! Can you make out the harness on that team of oxen?”
Martinus gently lay his hand on her arm. “Alicia, it’s all right.”
She wrapped her arms around her chest, looking up and down the road. “What is wrong with me? Why can’t I see what you see?”
Benet shook his head. “I’m sorry, Alicia. I never thought to ask you about it. I just figured if you had issues with your eyesight that your parents would have known about it.”
She pressed her lips together, fighting off panic. “They never asked me about anything like that,” she muttered. “Just told me to feed the pigs the older corn, or carry in the baskets with the walnuts, or whatever. And then scolded me if I made a mistake.”
Benet sighed. “My mother – your grandmother - was this way as well. Her vision was simply not as good as other peoples’.”
Alicia hunched her shoulders. “I thought that was just because she was old.”
Benet gave a low chuckle. “Well, certainly, by the time you left for Canterbury she was in her mature years,” he agreed. “But unfortunately, her eyesight had always been like that, even when she was young. My father used to joke that the reason he only wore bright red tunics was so she always knew where he was. He didn’t want her accidentally wrapping her arms around the wrong man at one of those harvest dances.”
Alicia’s throat went dry. “So I’m stuck this way? I can’t fix it?”
Martinus gave her a reassuring smile. “I’ve traveled all over the civilized world. I’ve met people with the sight of a hawk, the sight of a blind mole-rat, and everything in between. One thing nature does is it helps you balance for what you have. Those with exceptional sight often don’t pay attention to their hearing, because they are so used to their eyes giving them all the information they need. Those with poor sight often learn to compensate with more attention to their other senses.”
He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Your sight is just a bit fuzzier than most. Still plenty good to enjoy life with. And your other senses are there to be used.”
Alicia strove to ward off the pout which desperately fought to push out her lips. “How would I know?” she pointed out. “Maybe my hearing, and smell, and everything else is awful too, and I just never knew it. Maybe all of me is flawed.”
Martinus turned her to look at him, and his gaze became serious. “Alicia, every one of us is unique. We each have our strengths. Your uncle is a talented woodworker. You are an excellent cook. Ethelfleda has the voice of an angel. We need to give blessings for the areas we shine in, and, where possible, work on the areas we wish to improve in. If there’s a subject that we simply are at a certain level in, then we need to accept that with equanimity. Things could always be worse, and it would be greedy to want to be the best in every aspect of life.”
Alicia sighed. “I suppose you are right,” she agreed. “Still, it’s all still a shock to me. I simply assumed the way I saw the world was the way everyone saw it.”
Martinus chuckled. “That is true in so many ways, for so many people,” he countered. “We tend to assume that the way we see an issue, or a person, or a situation, is the way others see it. One of the biggest lessons in life is to realize that our view is just one of many, and that other angles can be vastly different from our own.”
Tibault strode over, his fair hair askew, his eyes bright with pleasure. “Simon is putting the last of our things in the cart. Are you all ready to go? We’ve got gorgeous weather for the last leg of our journey.”
Martinus’s gaze brightened. “Tibault, maybe you can lend a hand. Alicia and I would like to do some experiments this afternoon with our hearing. Would you mind singing for us as we travel, at different volumes?”
Tibault’s smile spread across his face. “What, spend the afternoon singing songs for a beautiful maiden? On a glorious day like today, when we’re nearly at our destination? I couldn’t ask for anything better!”
*
The sun was still lingering in its late afternoon stupor as they pulled up in front of a beautiful storefront. There were polished wood edgings to the mullioned windows, an intricately carved wooden door, and a row of window-boxes sporting golden marigolds.
Alicia’s heart glowed with pleasure. The afternoon’s travels had shown that her hearing was not only as good as Martinus’s and Benet’s, but in some cases even better. She was still upset at realizing the fuzzy world she saw was only a shadow of what the others could perceive, but the hurt of it was fading. It was simply a part of her, and one she would have to accept. At least knowing this issue was there was a step in the right direction. She wondered just how many of the issues she’d experienced in the past had been caused by this challenge of hers.
She turned to Martinus – and her heart fell. All at once she remembered that this was where they were parting company. She, her uncle, and cousin would be staying here, or perhaps at the well-tended inn immediately across the cobblestoned street. But Martinus and his two friends would continue on to the dockyards.
And perhaps never return.
Martinus stepped forward, running a hand gently along her hair. “Don’t look at me like that, Alicia,” he softly chided. “You know this is how it has to be.”
She twined her fingers into his other
hand. “It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
His breath left him, and he drew her in close, his arms tenderly holding her against him. He brought his mouth close to her ear. “I’ll be back for you,” he murmured. “No matter what it takes, I’ll come back.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she brushed them away on his shoulder. “That’s what Dylan said.”
Martinus stilled, and his arms drew her in even closer. “Oh, Alicia, you have had to shoulder so much.” He pressed her gently away. “I will send a messenger for you on the third day, to let you know how things stand. Either I’ll be able to ride back to Canterbury with you, or I’ll follow along later. But one way or another, I’ll see you back in Canterbury.”
Her tears made Martinus’s face even more shimmery than usual, and she strove to keep her voice steady. “Promise?”
He smiled at that, then leant forward to press the very gentlest of kisses against her forehead. Golden energy was streaming through her body by the time he drew back again to fondly gaze at her.
“I promise.”
A step, a turn, and he was gone.
Chapter 10
It took only a few minutes to get the ox and wagon safely stowed at the stables next door, and then Benet was pressing open the door to his friend’s shop. Alicia stepped in.
And stopped, her mouth open wide in awe.
She had always thought of Benet as the highest craftsman there could be. His elegant carvings and curved surfaces were far beyond anything in her experience.
Here was another level altogether.
She stepped across the polished wood floor to the shelf to the left, brightly lit by the sun streaming in the windows. Before her was a delicate robin carved in a textured, dark wood that she’d never seen. The detail, from the gleam in his eye to the lines in his feathers, was staggering. She had to remind herself that this was what she saw with her less-than-perfect eyes. It might be that the reality of the sculpture was even more fantastic than she thought.
Another shelf held an intricately mosaicked bowl with interlocking pieces of birch, mahogany, and oak. She had no idea how he’d gotten those pieces to hold together.
A picture hanging on the wall portrayed a quiet rural landscape, complete with farmhouse, grazing cattle, and a run-down stone wall. It was all done with tiny pieces of wood arranged so artfully that she barely knew where one ended and the next began.
A booming voice came from the far side of the room. “Benet!”
Benet’s face lit up with a warm smile. “Gilbert! It’s been too long!”
The men heartily embraced, then Gilbert turned to Alicia. “And who is this beauty?”
Alicia’s face glowed with heat as Benet took her hand and brought her forward. “Gilbert, meet my niece, Alicia. She’s quite the help around my shop.”
Gilbert took her hand and lowered his head to brush his lips against it. “I am delighted to meet you, Alicia. Welcome to my humble storefront.”
Alicia looked around her with wide eyes. “Humble?”
Gilbert laughed in merriment. His eyes swept to Ethelfleda. “And my dearest Ethelfleda! It is always a joy to see you. How are you enjoying your trip to London?”
“It is amazing!” she gushed. “It’s so big!”
He grinned. “That it is, my dear. That it is.” He swept a hand. “The guest rooms are all ready for you upstairs, and Mathilde has got a veal stew simmering over the fire. So I hope you brought your appetites with you.”
A kitten mewed from the kitchen and Ethelfleda’s eyes glowed in joy. “You have kittens?”
Gilbert chuckled. “A whole box of them. Mathilde told me they’re good luck –”
His words were lost on Ethelfleda who had vanished around the corner in the blink of an eye.
Benet grinned. “That’s my Ethelfleda. Just the sight of a tiny kitten and –”
His jaw dropped as he looked past Gilbert to a multi-wood box sitting on a pedestal. “Good God, is that –”
Gilbert’s smile stretched across his face. “It is indeed. The wood came in last fall from Morocco, and as you can see I –”
Alicia continued her tour around the room, taking her time, as the men fell into a discussion replete with the intricacies of grains and burls, of water content and expansions. She was happy to see her uncle so engaged, able to talk with someone who seemed a mentor to him. She would be content to explore this museum of a room. The sculptures seemed to brim with life. That squirrel could easily step off the shelf and scamper off with an acorn or two. The small kitten curled up on a corner shelf might begin purring at any moment.
And the boxes! They were like puzzles. She stared at one for a few minutes, wondering how it could possibly open.
Gilbert’s voice called over to her, rich with warmth. “Go ahead, lass, pick up anything you like. Play with it all you wish.”
Alicia carefully reached out and picked up the beautiful item, its wood almost glowing. The reddish-brown lid held an inlay of delicate maple and ebony in the shape of a hummingbird. She moved to the window seat, curled up on the soft, crimson cushion, and began gently pushing and prodding at its pieces.
Candles had been lit and the sun was nearly down when a plump, smiling woman with a white shawl over her hair stepped into the room. She laughed in merriment. “Ethelfleda and I have long since eaten. You two would starve to death with your wood-talk, if it weren’t for me,” she teased. “And here’s poor Alicia! Come on in – the stew is ready!”
The dinner was delicious. Alicia enjoyed cleaning up afterward with Mathilde and Ethelfleda. When the three of them finally went up to sleep the voices of Benet and Gilbert followed them up the stairs, their enthusiasm only growing with each passing mug of ale.
*
Alicia came down the polished wood stairs with a smile. Benet and Gilbert were still lounging side by side on the bench in the kitchen, deep in conversation, seemingly not having moved since the previous evening. Benet glanced up in surprise at her approach, then over at the window. “Is it day already?”
Mathilde came down the stairs behind Alicia, chuckling. “Not that you two wood-heads would notice,” she grinned. “Surely by now you’re ready for another meal, though. Give me a few minutes and we’ll get you some eggs and ham.”
Soon Ethelfleda had joined them, and the obligatory kitten-cooing time gave Mathilde the opportunity to create breakfast. The woman was a talented cook, and Alicia found herself going back for seconds. Once the meal had been finished and the three women had cleaned the kitchen back up, Mathilde turned to Alicia. “Those men will be at it all day long. I think I should take you out for some shopping.” She turned to Ethelfleda. “Would you like to come along, my dear?”
Ethelfleda was back with her kittens – a pair of them clambered over her lap while a third purred against one leg. Ethelfleda shook her head, enraptured with her little friends.
Mathilde chuckled. “All right, then, Alicia, it’s me and you.”
Alicia looked to Benet. “Would you mind, Uncle?”
“Not at all,” he smiled. “And in fact, Mathilde, you should take her by the glassworks shop, around the corner. Have the shopkeep there show her how some of the lenses work. I think she’d be interested in that.”
Mathilde nodded. “Absolutely.” She winked at Alicia. “Shall we have an adventure?”
Alicia grinned. “Lead on!”
The day was gloriously sunny, with streams of golden light adding a shimmer to the cobblestone streets and the signs hanging in front of each shop. Alicia stared with interest at the variety of options around them – a cloak-maker, a leatherworker, a potter, each with a sign showing tools of trade or the finished product.
The glassworks shop was easy to recognize – not only were the walls of windows some of the finest she’d ever seen, but the items hanging within were mind-bogglingly beautiful. She held her breath as they stepped inside, concerned that even a stray exhale might destroy the beauty of the fragile items.
; A rail-thin, elderly man with thinning hair stepped forward with a warm smile. “Mathilde! It’s always a pleasure to see you. Your husband makes the best stands for my glass objects. How are you both doing?”
“We’re doing fine, Joseph,” she responded. “This is a friend who is staying with us for a few days. Her name is Alicia.”
“Well met, Alicia,” greeted Joseph. “Feel free to ask me any questions about what you see here.”
Alicia didn’t know where to look first. There were glass balls the size of her fist hanging in the window with swirls of color in them. A shelf held a glass mug with a squiggly mark carved into one side. Another shelf held a glass serving platter decorated with lilies. She had no idea that glass could be shaped in such a manner.
Mathilde stepped over to Joseph. “Alicia’s uncle, Benet, thought that she might be interested in seeing some of your lenses.”
He waved a hand. “Absolutely. I keep those back on this counter, here. Come and take a look.”
Alicia went with Mathilde to the finely polished wood counter, much like the one her own uncle had in his shop back in Canterbury. Joseph reached beneath it to bring out a tray lined in velvet with an array of fist-sized glass discs on it. Each one was not quite flat, but had some sort of bowing to it.
Joseph handed her a fabric glove. “Here, put this on. It makes it easier to handle the lens.”
She dutifully slipped her fingers into the glove.
He tilted his head, looking into her eyes for a moment, then looked down to the tray. “Try the top row, the third from the left.”
She picked up the lens. “What do I do with it?”
He grinned. “Look through it, out the window of my shop, to that tinsmith’s shop across the street. While you do, I want you to chant, ‘hold on to the glass.’”
It seemed a strange request to Alicia, for she could barely see Joseph’s own window from across his shop floor, never mind out the street and into his neighbor’s shop. Still, she began her chant and raised the lens.
