Shades of Surrender by Lynne Gentry Page B

quick to tease the stick-straight child who thrived on the attention. But it had been years since she’d peppered him with questions while he hammered sea snails and boiled the soft, juicy glands into a purple brew that stank up the whole neighborhood. Even if by some small chance he did realize she’d reached a marriageable age, she had already used up every bit of her dowry to take care of her mother. Love and marriage were luxuries she could no longer afford.
    “I’ve brought you a surprise, Ruth.” Caecilianus gripped Brutus’s leash firmly with one hand and reached inside his cloak with the other. He pulled out an orange kitten whose feet were splotched with gray. “A good mouser.”
    Every Tuesday morning Caecilianus appeared at her rug shop with some sort of small gift. Sometimes he brought cheese or a crock of wine. Sometimes it was a skein of yarn he’d cleared from his drying racks to make room for new inventory. Caecilianus was a good-hearted man and he’d been a wonderful next-door neighbor to her family for years, but Ruth knew he ventured into her new neighborhood every week out of a sense of duty. He was the deacon tasked to check on the widows.
    The stigma attached to her father’s lack of provision was difficult, especially when there were others in their little church in far worse need of the kindness and generosity that would doubtless get Caecilianus elected to the office of bishop one day. The only way she knew to free him of his obligation was to do the honorable thing and get on her feet as quickly as possible. Once she completed her father’s final tapestry, Cyprian’s father would pay the rest of its handsome price. She could then pay Metras the back rent she owed and have more than enough left over to purchase yarn to start a new piece. But how could she accomplish this task? She had inherited her father’s artistic ability to create unusual designs, and her long, slender fingers were perfect for tying the tiny knots, but she didn’t have her father’s speed with the weaving hook . . . or any more yarn.
    Ruth held out her hands, and Caecilianus dropped the kitten into her grasp. “Did you pull her from your potash pile?” She rubbed at the gray smudges on the kitten’s silky feet.
    “Brutus found her out behind my shop.” The dog tugged at the leash, sniffing at the kitten. “This mutt always has his nose buried in something he shouldn’t. I searched behind your old place but couldn’t find the poor little thing’s mother.” Caecilianus stopped short, pulled the dog close, and nervously rubbed his ears. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories—”
    “Don’t apologize, Caecilianus. This smaller place is easier to keep organized.” She brushed the kitten against her cheek. Contentment purred beneath the soft fur. “Besides, you can’t take her back. I’m already in love.”
    “It is another mouth to feed, and I didn’t know if—”
    “You were right to bring her to me. She will be good for Mother.” She nodded toward the woman staring at nothing. Her mother was only two years older than Caecilianus, but after she’d discovered Ruth’s father dead at his loom, she’d shriveled like a grape left too long in the sun. She ate just enough to stay alive. In some ways, Ruth felt she’d buried her father and her mother in their family tomb.
    “Look, Mother. Something for you to love.” Ruth gently lifted her mother’s hand and dragged her fingers over the fur. “Soft, isn’t she?” Her mother tried to smile. Not with her lips, but with one of those rare flickers of her former self that occasionally flashed in her eyes. Ruth placed the kitten in her mother’s lap. “Something living to hold on to.”
    Caecilianus whispered into Ruth’s ear, “Good to see her out of bed.”
    Ruth swallowed. “I can only pray she’s in there somewhere. Buried beneath the grief, but still there.”
    “She’ll find her way back.”
    His words were meant to be a