me, Mama?”
Ravenna, far from surprised, replied instantly. “Have you gone mad? You know very well he doesn’t hate you. Your father hates me.”
Her tone was not dismissive, her gaze even tender and patient. Yet it was with a deeper chill that Meridia greeted the distance between them.
“I’m not a child anymore, Mama. When I was little you always told me that some things are better left as dreams, but I’m old enough now to know the truth. What happened between you two? Why did you stop loving him?”
“Because he stopped loving me,” said Ravenna on the dot. Then jerking her eyes wide, she raised a hand to Meridia’s temple. “Are you unwell, child? You look rather flushed. What’s gotten into you? Why are you carrying on in this manner?”
Her heart sinking, Meridia understood that the veil, without her noticing it, had indeed fallen after all. Ravenna would guard her secrets to the grave. What happened next took place in a heartbeat. The sweet scent of lemon verbena, combined with Ravenna’s ghostly look, her shoulders thin as paper and her hair twisted so tightly in a knot, became too much for Meridia to handle. Against all instructions, tears spilled from Meridia’s eyes.
“I need to know why…you…and Papa…Why, Mama, why?”
“Child, you’re crying! Have I taught you nothing? Pull your shoulders up. Tilt your chin. Keep your spine stiff.” Ravenna was scouring her daughter’s face with narrowed eyes when the idea hit her like a bolt of lightning.
“Holy Mother of Heaven, you’re in love!”
Startled by the tumultuous mechanism of her mother’s mind, Meridia put her hand out blindly. Ravenna took it at once.
“You do love him, then? This young man the matchmaker proposed?”
Meridia nodded.
“Does he love you?”
She nodded again, propelling tears to slide from her chin.
Abruptly, Ravenna raised her eyes to the ceiling. Her long, pale throat contracted as she swallowed, and when her eyes returned to Meridia, they were not those of someone absent and forgetful, but of a woman strong enough to drive a stoop into a man’s shoulder.
“Stop crying this instant,” she commanded. “If it’s marriage you want, then it’s marriage you’ll get.”
Ravenna turned to the chopping board and pointed her implacable knot at Meridia. Before the knife resumed its beheading, she threw one last lesson over her shoulder.
“Whatever you do, do not repeat my mistakes.”
Too stupefied by the turn of events, Meridia could only watch as the dark and private language once again flooded the kitchen. In the midst of her bafflement, she realized that Ravenna had not asked for the name of the boy she wanted to marry.
THAT EVENING, AS SOON as the yellow mist whisked Gabriel away, Ravenna went down to the kitchen in her plain black dress and stayed there for the next twelve hours. All night long the stove groaned and the oven rumbled, countless bowls clanged, knives clattered, skillets jangled. At midnight, awakened by the commotion, the two maids appeared in the kitchen with metal pokers in their hands, but Ravenna shooed them away with a stern warning not to disturb her. More terrified of their mistress than of thieves, the maids scurried to their beds and drew the blankets up to their heads. The steep drop in temperature told them that the house was bracing for something momentous, and they did not sleep for fear of missing it. Upstairs in her room, Meridia heard nothing, though she spent the night anxious without rest.
In the morning, when the blue mist delivered Gabriel in his long coat and top hat at the door, Ravenna was waiting for him in the dining room. In sixteen years he had not missed a single breakfast she had prepared for him. Although it was never voiced, their pact went as follows: As long as she still cooked and served him breakfast without the aid of her maids, and he still ate whatever she gave him without burying some in his napkin (these dishes, after all, might contain
Ravenna, far from surprised, replied instantly. “Have you gone mad? You know very well he doesn’t hate you. Your father hates me.”
Her tone was not dismissive, her gaze even tender and patient. Yet it was with a deeper chill that Meridia greeted the distance between them.
“I’m not a child anymore, Mama. When I was little you always told me that some things are better left as dreams, but I’m old enough now to know the truth. What happened between you two? Why did you stop loving him?”
“Because he stopped loving me,” said Ravenna on the dot. Then jerking her eyes wide, she raised a hand to Meridia’s temple. “Are you unwell, child? You look rather flushed. What’s gotten into you? Why are you carrying on in this manner?”
Her heart sinking, Meridia understood that the veil, without her noticing it, had indeed fallen after all. Ravenna would guard her secrets to the grave. What happened next took place in a heartbeat. The sweet scent of lemon verbena, combined with Ravenna’s ghostly look, her shoulders thin as paper and her hair twisted so tightly in a knot, became too much for Meridia to handle. Against all instructions, tears spilled from Meridia’s eyes.
“I need to know why…you…and Papa…Why, Mama, why?”
“Child, you’re crying! Have I taught you nothing? Pull your shoulders up. Tilt your chin. Keep your spine stiff.” Ravenna was scouring her daughter’s face with narrowed eyes when the idea hit her like a bolt of lightning.
“Holy Mother of Heaven, you’re in love!”
Startled by the tumultuous mechanism of her mother’s mind, Meridia put her hand out blindly. Ravenna took it at once.
“You do love him, then? This young man the matchmaker proposed?”
Meridia nodded.
“Does he love you?”
She nodded again, propelling tears to slide from her chin.
Abruptly, Ravenna raised her eyes to the ceiling. Her long, pale throat contracted as she swallowed, and when her eyes returned to Meridia, they were not those of someone absent and forgetful, but of a woman strong enough to drive a stoop into a man’s shoulder.
“Stop crying this instant,” she commanded. “If it’s marriage you want, then it’s marriage you’ll get.”
Ravenna turned to the chopping board and pointed her implacable knot at Meridia. Before the knife resumed its beheading, she threw one last lesson over her shoulder.
“Whatever you do, do not repeat my mistakes.”
Too stupefied by the turn of events, Meridia could only watch as the dark and private language once again flooded the kitchen. In the midst of her bafflement, she realized that Ravenna had not asked for the name of the boy she wanted to marry.
THAT EVENING, AS SOON as the yellow mist whisked Gabriel away, Ravenna went down to the kitchen in her plain black dress and stayed there for the next twelve hours. All night long the stove groaned and the oven rumbled, countless bowls clanged, knives clattered, skillets jangled. At midnight, awakened by the commotion, the two maids appeared in the kitchen with metal pokers in their hands, but Ravenna shooed them away with a stern warning not to disturb her. More terrified of their mistress than of thieves, the maids scurried to their beds and drew the blankets up to their heads. The steep drop in temperature told them that the house was bracing for something momentous, and they did not sleep for fear of missing it. Upstairs in her room, Meridia heard nothing, though she spent the night anxious without rest.
In the morning, when the blue mist delivered Gabriel in his long coat and top hat at the door, Ravenna was waiting for him in the dining room. In sixteen years he had not missed a single breakfast she had prepared for him. Although it was never voiced, their pact went as follows: As long as she still cooked and served him breakfast without the aid of her maids, and he still ate whatever she gave him without burying some in his napkin (these dishes, after all, might contain
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