thorough seeming of someone born under a player’s cart and never away from it since then. But Joliffe had that same seeming, he knew, and for himself at least, it was not the truth. So Basset’s seeming could likewise be not the truth. And Master Penteney’s seeming, too.
But since none of that was something about which he could question Basset—and certainly not Master Penteney—he shoved his wondering away as useless.
The gap proved to be a short, narrow alleyway, with at its farther end a closed gate between the sheds’ back walls and too high to see over. The laughter that had drawn him came from beyond it, and Joliffe, not in the least bothered to be spying, put his eyes to the thin opening between the gate’s latch-edge and the gatepost. On the gate’s other side was the garden he had seen from Master Penteney’s study yesterday. From what he could see now by shifting a little, he could guess it stretched along the back of the house and sheds to where a high wall cut it off from the lane behind the barn. He could glimpse a gravelled path and flower beds but what he mostly saw was a stretch of the close-cut green grass with three birch trees in the middle, their shade and the round bench set among them surely making a pleasant place to be through much of a summer’s day. Even now, in the thick gold light of the westering sun, the low-swept branches gave a flickering shade, and Mistress Penteney and her daughter-in-law were sitting there, with sewing in their laps but watching their husbands and Simon, Lewis, Kathryn, and a very little boy playing catch-and-chase around the garden with a large canvas ball. The ball had to be lightly stuffed, to judge how even the little boy could lift it, big as his head though it was, and throw it, albeit he sat down on his bottom thereafter and had to scramble up, laughing, to run after Simon who had caught it and was trying to dodge being tagged by everyone else, only at the last moment before Master Penteney laid hands on him throwing the ball to Kathryn who squealed with delight and horror and raced to put her mother and Geva between her and everyone else until—as her brother and father came around for her from both sides—she threw the ball at Lewis who caught it surprisingly well but promptly threw it at Master Penteney too wide aside for him to catch it so that there was an immediate free-for-all of everyone after it at once, with Mistress Penteney and Geva laughing so hard that Mistress Penteney was wiping tears from her eyes and Geva had wrapped her arms around her hurting sides.
Joliffe, watching unwatched, smiled at their pleasure, at first surprised by, then ignoring the unexpected pang in him that was not jealousy but sharp awareness of how there had been a time when something like that much happiness with family had been a possibility for him. Just as John Thamys yesterday had been a reminder of yet another way he could have taken his life instead of the way he had. But everyone’s life always came down to choices. He was living out his choices and still preferred them to the ones he might have made and nonetheless was still smiling at the Penteneys’ pleasure as he drew back from the gate and returned to the barn.
He was stretched out on his pallet, a pillow comfortably under his head but no need for a blanket yet, the evening still warm though the sun was finally down, when Basset came into the barn, carrying a sleeping Piers. Joliffe, who had drifted to somewhere between thinking and dozing off, roused and rolled onto his side, propping up on one elbow to ask, “Just you and Piers?”
“Just us,” Basset said softly, laying the boy down on his bed. Piers did not waken, merely sighed happily, rolled onto his side, and curled up into deeper sleep.
“Talked somebody into playing nine-penny merels with him, did he?” Joliffe said, not trusting Piers’s happiness even in sleep.
“He did.” Basset straightened with a sigh of his own and pressed
But since none of that was something about which he could question Basset—and certainly not Master Penteney—he shoved his wondering away as useless.
The gap proved to be a short, narrow alleyway, with at its farther end a closed gate between the sheds’ back walls and too high to see over. The laughter that had drawn him came from beyond it, and Joliffe, not in the least bothered to be spying, put his eyes to the thin opening between the gate’s latch-edge and the gatepost. On the gate’s other side was the garden he had seen from Master Penteney’s study yesterday. From what he could see now by shifting a little, he could guess it stretched along the back of the house and sheds to where a high wall cut it off from the lane behind the barn. He could glimpse a gravelled path and flower beds but what he mostly saw was a stretch of the close-cut green grass with three birch trees in the middle, their shade and the round bench set among them surely making a pleasant place to be through much of a summer’s day. Even now, in the thick gold light of the westering sun, the low-swept branches gave a flickering shade, and Mistress Penteney and her daughter-in-law were sitting there, with sewing in their laps but watching their husbands and Simon, Lewis, Kathryn, and a very little boy playing catch-and-chase around the garden with a large canvas ball. The ball had to be lightly stuffed, to judge how even the little boy could lift it, big as his head though it was, and throw it, albeit he sat down on his bottom thereafter and had to scramble up, laughing, to run after Simon who had caught it and was trying to dodge being tagged by everyone else, only at the last moment before Master Penteney laid hands on him throwing the ball to Kathryn who squealed with delight and horror and raced to put her mother and Geva between her and everyone else until—as her brother and father came around for her from both sides—she threw the ball at Lewis who caught it surprisingly well but promptly threw it at Master Penteney too wide aside for him to catch it so that there was an immediate free-for-all of everyone after it at once, with Mistress Penteney and Geva laughing so hard that Mistress Penteney was wiping tears from her eyes and Geva had wrapped her arms around her hurting sides.
Joliffe, watching unwatched, smiled at their pleasure, at first surprised by, then ignoring the unexpected pang in him that was not jealousy but sharp awareness of how there had been a time when something like that much happiness with family had been a possibility for him. Just as John Thamys yesterday had been a reminder of yet another way he could have taken his life instead of the way he had. But everyone’s life always came down to choices. He was living out his choices and still preferred them to the ones he might have made and nonetheless was still smiling at the Penteneys’ pleasure as he drew back from the gate and returned to the barn.
He was stretched out on his pallet, a pillow comfortably under his head but no need for a blanket yet, the evening still warm though the sun was finally down, when Basset came into the barn, carrying a sleeping Piers. Joliffe, who had drifted to somewhere between thinking and dozing off, roused and rolled onto his side, propping up on one elbow to ask, “Just you and Piers?”
“Just us,” Basset said softly, laying the boy down on his bed. Piers did not waken, merely sighed happily, rolled onto his side, and curled up into deeper sleep.
“Talked somebody into playing nine-penny merels with him, did he?” Joliffe said, not trusting Piers’s happiness even in sleep.
“He did.” Basset straightened with a sigh of his own and pressed
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