She should burn it, to protect them all, but she could not, as it was all Rivergrace had left of her beginnings. Someday her other daughter might want this. She folded it carefully, pressed it into the box, and buried it deeply in a corner under the edge of a rack.
Chapter Nine
NUTMEG WOKE TO FIND her bed shaking. Rubbing her eyes against the crust of heavy sleep, she blinked in the twilight, a gleam of splintery moonlight coming in through the tiny attic window, and saw the other lying on her stomach, her body shuddering. Nutmeg put her hand out, wondering, and touched her. The girl turned her face toward Nutmeg, cheeks dripping with tears, nearly soundless with her sorrow, her thin body quaking with need.
Nutmeg reached for her, her heart filling with ache. “Derro,” she whispered greeting softly, the Dweller word for hello, how are you, good-bye, take care, all in one. “It’s all right. I found you.”
“Aderro,” the girl echoed, her eyes opening wider in the moonlight, and she put a slender hand up to scrub the tears away.
“Derro,” repeated Nutmeg firmly, correcting her.
The girl buried her face on Nutmeg’s shoulder as they hugged, and her tears made a very damp spot on Nutmeg’s nightgown. She didn’t know what could be wrong, and she didn’t want to wake anyone and make the stranger more afraid than she already seemed to be. Nutmeg waited a moment, then said as she pulled back, “Are you hungry?”
Rivergrace stared at her, biting her lip, her eyes welling up.
“Hungry?” Nutmeg rubbed her stomach through her cottony nightgown and then brought her fingers to her mouth and made nibbling sounds and motions.
The other nodded wearily and then sighed, as if nothing could be done about it. Nutmeg clambered to her feet, and tugged the other out of bed with her. “Come on!” Then she brought her hand to her mouth, saying, “Ssssh.”
Rivergrace nodded, her long hair all in a tangle about her face, and Lily’s nightgown dragging in a pool about her feet, and followed Nutmeg down the loft stairs, one at a cautious time, as if she’d never seen wooden stairs before. Feeling a bit like a mouse, Nutmeg scurried the two of them through the main house and to the larder. She found a candle nub near the cooking hearth and lit it carefully, bringing a soft glow to the room. Grace hung back a little, and Nutmeg squeezed her hand reassuringly. Her newfound sister nodded slightly as she followed her lead.
“You can eat anything,” Nutmeg declared, throwing the cupboard door open, and Grace reeled backward with a gasp, landing on her bottom on the floor, flinging both hands to her mouth.
She got to her feet, crying soft, wordless sounds, grabbing at Nutmeg and pulling her away, shutting the cabinet doors clumsily, hiccuping as they flew open again and she fought to shut the doors and find the latch for them, and pull Nutmeg out of harm’s way all at the same time.
Nutmeg caught her flailing hands. “No, no. It’s all right. It’s all right,” she repeated slowly. She held her quietly for a few moments, watching the girl shiver as rapidly as a tiny, captured bird with its wings fluttering, mouth open, eyes so wide that they looked as if they’d swallowed the moon. She waited a bit longer, till Grace squeezed her hands, then took a long, quavering breath.
Nutmeg let go of one hand only to unhook the cabinet door. She opened it carefully, stood on tiptoe, and took out a cloth napkin wrapped about a bit of soft cheese she knew had been left over. Then she reached back and found the box of smoked strips. Pushing the napkin into Grace’s open hand, she balanced the box on her knee and managed to get it open and free three strips from it before the lid slipped back into place and she replaced it on the shelf.
Then she latched the larder doors and sat down, pulling on Grace’s hand again. She fed the soft cheese to her in small bites, taking one for herself now and then, and they both
Chapter Nine
NUTMEG WOKE TO FIND her bed shaking. Rubbing her eyes against the crust of heavy sleep, she blinked in the twilight, a gleam of splintery moonlight coming in through the tiny attic window, and saw the other lying on her stomach, her body shuddering. Nutmeg put her hand out, wondering, and touched her. The girl turned her face toward Nutmeg, cheeks dripping with tears, nearly soundless with her sorrow, her thin body quaking with need.
Nutmeg reached for her, her heart filling with ache. “Derro,” she whispered greeting softly, the Dweller word for hello, how are you, good-bye, take care, all in one. “It’s all right. I found you.”
“Aderro,” the girl echoed, her eyes opening wider in the moonlight, and she put a slender hand up to scrub the tears away.
“Derro,” repeated Nutmeg firmly, correcting her.
The girl buried her face on Nutmeg’s shoulder as they hugged, and her tears made a very damp spot on Nutmeg’s nightgown. She didn’t know what could be wrong, and she didn’t want to wake anyone and make the stranger more afraid than she already seemed to be. Nutmeg waited a moment, then said as she pulled back, “Are you hungry?”
Rivergrace stared at her, biting her lip, her eyes welling up.
“Hungry?” Nutmeg rubbed her stomach through her cottony nightgown and then brought her fingers to her mouth and made nibbling sounds and motions.
The other nodded wearily and then sighed, as if nothing could be done about it. Nutmeg clambered to her feet, and tugged the other out of bed with her. “Come on!” Then she brought her hand to her mouth, saying, “Ssssh.”
Rivergrace nodded, her long hair all in a tangle about her face, and Lily’s nightgown dragging in a pool about her feet, and followed Nutmeg down the loft stairs, one at a cautious time, as if she’d never seen wooden stairs before. Feeling a bit like a mouse, Nutmeg scurried the two of them through the main house and to the larder. She found a candle nub near the cooking hearth and lit it carefully, bringing a soft glow to the room. Grace hung back a little, and Nutmeg squeezed her hand reassuringly. Her newfound sister nodded slightly as she followed her lead.
“You can eat anything,” Nutmeg declared, throwing the cupboard door open, and Grace reeled backward with a gasp, landing on her bottom on the floor, flinging both hands to her mouth.
She got to her feet, crying soft, wordless sounds, grabbing at Nutmeg and pulling her away, shutting the cabinet doors clumsily, hiccuping as they flew open again and she fought to shut the doors and find the latch for them, and pull Nutmeg out of harm’s way all at the same time.
Nutmeg caught her flailing hands. “No, no. It’s all right. It’s all right,” she repeated slowly. She held her quietly for a few moments, watching the girl shiver as rapidly as a tiny, captured bird with its wings fluttering, mouth open, eyes so wide that they looked as if they’d swallowed the moon. She waited a bit longer, till Grace squeezed her hands, then took a long, quavering breath.
Nutmeg let go of one hand only to unhook the cabinet door. She opened it carefully, stood on tiptoe, and took out a cloth napkin wrapped about a bit of soft cheese she knew had been left over. Then she reached back and found the box of smoked strips. Pushing the napkin into Grace’s open hand, she balanced the box on her knee and managed to get it open and free three strips from it before the lid slipped back into place and she replaced it on the shelf.
Then she latched the larder doors and sat down, pulling on Grace’s hand again. She fed the soft cheese to her in small bites, taking one for herself now and then, and they both
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