Elena spoke to her, and even though Diana recognized only a few of the words, she knew the daughter was scolding Sophia for not waking her earlier. She took the paddle from her mother’s hands and motioned toward the sofa near the table.
Sophia’s lips spread in a grateful smile as she crossed the room to sit. A string of stone beads hung from her waist and clicked together as she walked.
Another son, the oldest of the boys, entered the house with a bucket of fresh milk. Georgi, Diana remembered from the day before.
Diana and Elena sliced the bread and covered it with honey, then poured the warm milk into wooden cups. Elena sat at the table with her brothers, scolding them and rolling her eyes at the things they said. She motioned for Diana to join them.
Diana ate her warm bread and honey and drank the milk. The flavor was strange and the consistency thicker than any she’d had before. She’d seen goats outside the house and wondered if she were drinking their milk.
The family talked together, the boys teasing and laughing. As she watched them, she couldn’t help but smile. She glanced at Sophia and saw her wince as she shifted her position on the wooden sofa. She lifted the string of beads and worked them through her fingers as she laid back and closed her eyes.
While the children ate, Diana slid a low table across the floor, close to where Sophia reclined, then brought over a plate of breakfast.
“Efcharistó.” Sophia’s eyes closed for a moment as she took a deep breath.
“You must rest today. Elena and I will manage everything.”
Sophia opened her eyes, drawing her brows together. Her expression clearly showed that she did not understand, and Diana searched through the brief list of Greek vocabulary in her mind, finally coming up with the words: sleep, she turned over her palms, making a motion as if pressing downward; us, then motioned between herself and Elena; finish, then finally swept her arm around the room.
Understanding dawned in Sophia’s eyes, and she moved as if she would rise.
Diana repeated her pantomime, glancing behind when she heard children’s voices repeating the words, “sleep, us, finish,” and mimicking her motions. They all performed the routine with laughter, embellishing with their own flourishes. But instead of mocking, she saw sincerity in their faces, a concern for their mother that made her heart warm.
After the chanting had repeated a few more times, Sophia threw her hands into the air and tipped her head back, laughing as she looked to the ceiling, clearly surrendering.
The boys cheered, and Elena ran up the stairs, returning with an armload of pillows. Sophia kissed each of her boys on the forehead before they bid her farewell and left the house.
Diana wondered what type of work young boys did. The oldest, Georgi, was tall, but she did not think he was above thirteen or fourteen years. She guessed the youngest was perhaps four. All had similar coloring—golden skin and chocolate-brown eyes. She would have to work hard to distinguish between the younger boys and learn their names.
Sophia leaned forward while her daughter slid pillows behind her and then settled back into the sofa. She motioned toward a chest on the other side of the room, speaking too quickly for Diana to understand.
Elena lifted a sky-colored dress from the chest and brought it, with a basket of thread and needles, to her mother.
Diana looked closely at the gown and saw that Sophia was embroidering a colorful design onto the hem and sleeves of the cotton damask fabric. “Beautiful,” she said.
Elena smiled. She pointed to the dress and then to herself, sweeping her hands down and out as if she wore the full skirt.
Diana did not understand the words she said but knew from her actions and the way her eyes sparkled that this must be part of her trousseau. Her wedding gown. “It is so lovely, Elena.”
“Lovely,” Elena repeated.
Diana nodded. She lifted the skirt. “This dress”—she released the fabric, clutched her own dress, and then motioned toward Elena’s—“is lovely.” Clasping her hands in front of her chest, she let out an appreciative sigh as she said the last word.
Elena nodded. She imitated the motions, indicating the dress. “To fórema,” then clasped her hands, “eínai ómorfo.”
Diana repeated the sentence, and Elena grinned.
She smiled at the girl. A clever young lady who was thoughtful to her mother and kind to her younger brothers would be a delight to spend time with. Many at the finishing school were spoiled and selfish. She’d observed the happy mood this girl brought to those around her. Yes, she liked Elena very much. For just a moment she was reminded of Molly, and a pang tugged at her heart. She missed her friend.
Diana pushed down the sentiment and cleared off the breakfast dishes, smiling as she thought of the children joking with one another as they ate. She’d not shared a meal with children since she was one herself, and thinking of mealtimes at the orphanage made her shudder. Her memories of that place were always accompanied with feelings of hunger and cold. A small, skinny child was a victim, and she’d learned to push food into her mouth as quickly as she could, knowing it would be stolen from her if she didn’t. Her instructors at the finishing school had been disgusted, and they scolded her for the appalling table manners. But the habit had been a difficult one to break. Years had passed before she stopped hiding food in her bedchamber.
Elena joined her in the kitchen area, explaining patiently the tasks for the day and repeating herself in a game of charades until Diana understood. They straightened the kitchen, prepared for the evening meal, tossed corn outside for chickens, then Diana fetched water for the house while Elena searched for eggs.
Diana found the routine and the completion of chores brought a calmness she craved. Everything in its place. After ensuring that Sophia had what she might need for the next few hours, they gathered soiled clothing and washed it in the stream behind the house.
As they moved around the house and yard, Elena would point to an object, saying its Greek name and waiting for Diana to repeat. A few times, Diana surprised her by knowing the word before she was told, and Elena clapped and praised her student. Each time she did, Diana’s heart warmed.
Once the wet garments hung from a line between two trees, they returned to the house and packed meals of bread, cheese, and pears to deliver to the boys for their midday meal. From what Diana understood, the younger boys were in the hills tending to the goats. In his father’s absence, Georgi helped with the harvest at his uncle’s olive orchard.
Following Elena’s lead, Diana placed a large, triangle-shaped kerchief over her head, crossing the corners beneath her chin and tucking them over her shoulders. Though it was not a bonnet, she was grateful for the scarf. She’d felt exposed and vulnerable without a head covering.
The pair walked through the town. Sophia’s family farm was near the edge of the village, surrounded by rugged mountains, and so on her arrival, Diana had not seen much of Tsímova. The roads were so narrow she did not think a wide carriage could pass through. Everything, from the street to the buildings to the walls along the roads, was made of the same light-colored stone, but Tsímova was far from colorless. Vivid flowers poked between the paving stones, and trees shaded the road, growing from behind garden walls in soil surrounded by low curbs. The flowers were the most brilliant shades of pinks, purples, and yellows she’d ever seen.
Many of the buildings were constructed in the same style as Sophia’s house, stacks of different-sized cubes with stairs leading up the outer wall to a flat roof. Some included an attached tower, making them look like small fortresses. Other shops and village homes were built more simply with a red-tile roof.
All around them, villagers called in friendly welcome to one another as they went about their days. Donkeys brayed, cicadas keened, and birds chirped. Tsímova was tidy, with painted doors and flowerpots adding even more color to the view and a charm that showed the pride the people felt in their home.
They passed through the main square, where Diana saw a well
and a stone church with its large, round dome; bell tower; and heavy double doors.
A plant Diana did not recognize seemed to grow everywhere. It had no leaves, but pink flowers grew atop flat, rounded pads that looked like swollen stems and were about the size of a saucer. Diana reached to touch the plant and felt a prick of pain. She yelped and pulled her hand away. A drop of blood grew on the tip of her finger. Looking close, she saw needles poked out of the green discs.
Trying again, more carefully, she rubbed her finger over the smooth flesh of the strange plant. Is it a vegetable? she wondered, but when she turned to ask Elena, she saw the girl’s gaze was upon a house on the other side of the road.
“Is this your friend’s house?” Diana asked in halting Greek.
Elena’s cheeks turned pink, and she looked down, shaking her head with a small smile. She opened her mouth to reply when they heard a shout.
A young man waved from the doorway of the house Elena had been watching, and Diana could see precisely what—or whom—had brought about Elena’s blush. He walked toward the wall separating the house’s garden from the road.
“Spiros Sássaris,” Elena whispered.
Diana read volumes in the way she said the name.
He was a few years older than Elena, possibly nineteen or twenty. Spiros’s eyes were dark, his nose straight, and the casual way he leaned his arms against the gate and smiled gave the impression of an easygoing person.
“Elena.” He waved.
The two spoke for a moment, and Elena introduced Diana, explaining that the Englishwoman didn’t understand much of what was being said. Spiros greeted her. His smile was friendly enough, but it was clear he preferred speaking with Elena.
Diana listened to the conversation, unable to pick out more than a few words. Elena seemed to ask about a family member, and Spiros’s smile faltered as he answered. A moment later, a woman’s voice called from within the house. A young girl came outside and motioned to him, and he bid them farewell.
Elena watched as he departed, her head tipped and her eyes soft.
Diana smiled to herself, remembering Molly wearing the exact same expression when she thought of Lieutenant Ashworth. Diana waited a moment before touching her friend’s arm. “Elena?” She raised her brows.
The girl blinked and pulled back her head as if awoken from a dream. The pink returned to her cheeks. “Georgi.” She pointed toward the olive grove on the hill beyond the village. “He is waiting for his lunch.” She walked at a quicker pace, and Diana did not tease over her obvious fondness for the handsome young man.
They hurried toward the orchard, stopping only for a moment at a roadside shrine. They had passed another shrine when they’d entered the town the day before. Diana did not want to seem disrespectful and so did not examine the monument too closely. From what she could see, it was about the size of a birdhouse, built on a stone pillar. Inside the glass door was a cluster of candles before a miniature painting of Mary and Jesus. Golden halos surrounded the figures. Elena paused, bowed her head reverently, crossed herself, and then continued on—just as she had done the day before.
They left behind the village and climbed up a hill toward the orchard. Diana recognized the silvery oblong leaves of the olive trees. She had never seen more than one olive tree here and there in Corfu and along the shores of Italy. The grove was beautiful. The trees grew in orderly rows, their branches gnarled like an old woman’s knotty hands.
Some men were picking ripe olives, others sorting them into sacks. Diana picked Georgi out with a sack on his shoulder. He lifted it into a donkey cart, then straightened and wiped his brow. When he looked up and saw Diana and his sister, he waved, then jogged over to join them, placing a few purple-black olives in both their hands before taking the parcel of food from Elena. He sat in the shade, stretching out his legs with a sigh. The women sat beside him.
Diana took small bites of the tart olives, eating around the pits, while she watched the men working in the orchard and listened to Georgi and Elena.
Elena inquired about his work and asked a few more questions that Georgi answered with grunts and one-syllable answers between mouthfuls of food. Elena did not seem put off by his manner, and Diana did not think he was acting rude, simply tired. She envied the comfortable way the brother and sister had with one another, and she let herself wonder, as she ran her fingers through the pleats on her skirt, how much different her life would have been if she’d had a brother.
Once Georgi was finished, he rose, bidding the women farewell and thanking them for luncheon before he returned to his labor.
Elena rose also, pointing at the rocky path that led past the olive grove and up into the hills.
After just a few steps, Diana realized “path” was a relatively loose term for the route. She felt as though she were stumbling the entire way up the hill. Small rocks slid beneath her feet, and more than once she caught herself before falling. The light-colored stone around them was not smooth, and the scrubby bushes caught on her dress. She was grateful for thick stockings and a woolen dress. Above them, they heard the jingle of the goats’ bells, and Diana followed Elena from the path, toward the sound.
Stepping carefully over and around rocks, Diana kept her eyes on the ground. When she lifted her gaze to locate Elena, she saw that she’d nearly walked into an enormous spiderweb. A black-and-white spider—larger than any she’d seen before—sat in the very center. Diana gasped and stepped back. Her foot landed on a loose rock, and she lost her balance. She fell hard, hitting her knee and her palms on the rocky ground.
Elena rushed down the mountain. “Missno!”
Diana stood, wiping dirt from her palms and wondering if her knees were destined to be eternally covered with bruises. She raised her skirt and touched her knee, but it wasn’t bleeding. “Do not worry, Elena. I was simply startled by the . . . the aráchni.” She pointed at the disgusting web and its vile inhabitant.
Elena looked at the web and nodded solemnly. She glanced at the sun as if determining the time. “Mágisses,” she muttered, knitting her brow and pursing her lips together. She motioned for Diana to hurry after her.
What is Mágisses? Diana wondered, glancing back at the spider. And why did Elena look so worried? Was the spider poisonous?
A few moments later, they found the boys, sitting in the shade of a sparse tree as the goats around them climbed over the rocks, chewing on the scant blades of rough grass and scrubby bushes.
The boys cheered when they approached. They sat together, happily eating their lunch and sharing with Diana and Elena.
Elena spoke to the boys, and between the words she understood and Elena’s actions, Diana knew she was telling them about the spider and her fall.
“Mágisses,” one of the boys—Mikhail—whispered.
Elena nodded.
The boys’ mood dampened, and Diana wished she hadn’t been the one to discover the dangerous spider and frighten the children. But maybe knowing it was there would help them to avoid it.
After they had eaten, Diana stood, ready to descend the hill and return to the town, but Elena stopped her. She pointed to the sun and motioned for Diana to sit. “Mágisses,” she said again as if a poisonous spider were an explanation for remaining where they were.
Diana was tired, her hands stung from washing the clothes in cold water and then scraping them on the rocks. Her thighs hurt from climbing the steep hill, and she thought it would not be unpleasant to remain in the shady spot for a bit longer if it made the children happy.
She searched around briefly for a stick then indicated for Elena to slide closer to her. Diana tucked her legs beneath her and brushed her hand over a patch of reddish dirt, smoothing it out as well as she was able; then she used a stick to draw an A. She pointed to the letter. “Alpha.”
Elena’s face lit up. “Alpha,” she repeated.
Diana brushed away the letter with her hand, then gave the stick to Elena. She pointed at the smooth dirt. “Alpha.”
Elena drew the symbol.
“Very good,” Diana smiled and nodded, brushing away the letter. “Now Beta . . .”
When they left the hills an hour later, Elena had drawn and said the names of all twenty-four letters in the Greek alphabet. She sang to herself as they walked toward the village, and her excitement was contagious. She linked her arm through Diana’s.
Diana pushed down the urge to sing herself. She realized that in merely one day, her entire outlook on her situation had reversed. She’d left the pirate ship full of discouragement and feeling rather sorry for her misfortune, but after only a little time with this family, her feelings had changed. She felt needed and valued. She wanted to help Sophia with her household, to teach Elena to read, to make sure the boys were fed and their clothes clean. She felt glad to be in Greece where she could make a difference and be appreciated. Even if the entire situation was temporary.
A tendril of worry wound its way through her chest. She did not know how long she’d be permitted to remain. What would happen when Petrobey realized a ship was not coming for her? When Sophia’s husband returned? When the baby arrived and Diana’s help was no longer needed?
The joy that had seemed like sunlight in her heart was now tempered with a rain cloud. They passed the church and Spiros Sássaris’s house, and the anxious feeling that she could not control her situation made Diana’s hands clench, and she itched to straighten a curtain or rearrange a dressing table.
As she fought against the fretfulness inside her, the pair rounded a corner, and her unease grew into a torrent of apprehension.
Alexandros Metaxas was approaching from the other direction.
Chapter 7
Alex felt a rush of relief when he saw Miss Snow walking arm in arm with Petrobey’s young granddaughter, Elena. She appeared happy and unharmed. Even though she’d rejected the offer, he would keep his vow to protect her. Her angry words had both amused him with her stubbornness and struck him with unexpected force. The lump of guilt he carried ever since she became involved—he smiled wryly at the term—in this business grew heavy inside his chest.
A Place For Miss Snow Page 6
