Chapter Seventeen

Once the airship was out of sight, I finally went back into the store, which felt huge, drab and empty. I sat down in the chair by the stove that Locke liked, looked at the letter, and finally registered that the handwriting was Celes's. My hands were shaking as I ripped open the envelope, and I dropped the sheets – two pages, was that a good sign? – in my lap, taking a moment to calm down. Then I started reading, skipping over words, barely able to follow the sense of them.

Dear Terra,

I have several reasons why I should be angry at you. You must have been aware of the feelings I once had for Locke, else why be so secretive about your own? If you tried to hide your feelings for him from me, you must have felt it was wrong to pursue them at all.

But that line of thought leads to the expectation that you play matchmaker for us. I wouldn't have wanted that a year ago, let alone now. I've changed, and while I may find your behavior in the matter irritating as a matter of principle, I should be able to set it aside before too much time has passed. And I am grateful that you never told him how I felt – I'd prefer he never know. It would be helpful if you'd let the matter drop.

I reread those two paragraphs a second time, then a third, dropped the sheets in my lap and covered my face, letting out a long sigh of relief. She still sounded distant, and she was obviously still unhappy with me, but there were two things she did when she was angry – she'd either cut you out of her life entirely, or she'd let it drop, whether or not she was satisfied, and move on until she'd forgotten or forgiven privately. I'd feared the former.

There was more to the letter – Sabin had apparently asked about the weather in Mobliz and its population, which sounded to her and to me like he wanted a place to set up a dojo of his own – and while she still sounded a bit short, she was holding to her word about letting it go. I sighed again, relieved and sad at once, and reread it. I was about to start it over once more, but the bell jingled and I tucked the letter into my pocket – a group of kids from the school, come in to buy penny candy and look longingly at the few toys I had on display. Margie marched in just behind them, tried to help herself to the penny candy, a tendency I'd tried to nip in the bud months ago. She was trying to lord it over her classmates, another tendency I needed to work on.

I helped with dinner that night, and with their studies, and tried to keep myself busy. Several times I caught myself staring out the window, wondering about Locke's dig, the weather in the caves or in Narshe. Several other times I didn't catch myself, and I was dragged back to reality by a poke or a piping and thoroughly annoyed "Mama!" I read the bedtime story for the first time in quite a while, and felt guilty for the hiatus when I saw how happy everyone seemed to be. Even the boys, who professed to be too old for such things, stayed around, and so did Isabella, hanging at the door of the nursery until I was done.

"I'm a horrible mother," I said mournfully to Katarin after they were all tucked in, as I nursed a cup of chamomile tea and watched her sweep the kitchen.

"No you're not," she said. "You're just distracted."

"There's a difference?"

"In intent," Duane offered.

"That's not comforting," she chided. "She's a fine mother. The kids are fine. They just appreciate you a little more now."

"They should be able to take me for granted," I said. "Because I'm supposed to be around all the time. Isn't that what mothers are for?"

"Something was wrong, wasn't it? Other than Cole." I looked up at the concern in Duane's tone, and found him looking at me intently. I looked down again, hastily, feeling my eyes prickling.

"Sort of," I said. "Was it obvious?"

"We live with you, Terra," he said. "We notice."

"It was little things here and there," she said. "You wanted to keep it under cover?"

"Uh huh."

"Are you all right now?" he asked.

"I'm getting there," I said. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you what was going on. I just didn't want to worry you, or..."

"You still haven't told us," he pointed out.

"She doesn't have to," Kat put in before I could speak. "You can if you need to, you know," she added.

"I know," I said. "It's just... complicated. My memories are starting to come back, and some of them are— they're.... bad." I looked up at them, finally. "It's just hard to deal with."

"If you need me to take over the bedtime stories again, I'm available," Duane said, and I smiled and squeezed his arm.

"I'm doing better, Duane. But thanks. And thanks so much for being there for the kids when I just wasn't. Both of you."

"You were there," Kat said, stubbornly. "You just needed the backup. That's why we're here."

"Yeah, but—"

"No arguments," she said firmly.

"And there's no need to thank us," he added. "You did the same for us. It's just part of being a family."

"But can't I feel guilty?" I asked, smiling a little.

"Absolutely not!" Kat insisted. Duane wrapped an arm around me, grinning, and Kat came over to hug me from behind.

"We really are a family, right?" I asked.

"Hell yeah," Duane said. Kat squeezed my arm, leaned down to kiss him on the cheek, and I leaned back into both of them.

The next morning was when I really started missing him. I woke up, made the bed, and realized with a pang that he wouldn't be around as I was buttoning my blouse. I didn't have time to mope until all the kids were off to school, and then I threw myself into the morning tasks at the store – inventory, sorting the mail, going over my books backward and forward in case I'd been lax there as well. I hadn't. Nothing too severe, anyway. So around mid-morning I found myself with nothing to do except feel lonely. The store was at its least busy, since anyone who had to work outside tried to get everything done as early in the day as they could and saved errands for later. The youngest kids were with Katarin. I couldn't concentrate on the Queen's diary, though I'd brought it with me, fearing something like this would happen.

So I paced around the store a bit, and went back to the counter, and fidgeted, and finally pulled out a piece of paper and hunted down a pen from the back room where I'd been working with the ledgers, and I wrote the date, and Dear Locke, and then I wrote I miss you already. I lifted my pen to cross that out, and I hesitated, and then I just added As you can tell from the date, you've only been gone one day, so there's no news. Not that it stopped me from filling half a page in small writing with my news of nothing much.

I finally made myself stop around midday as people started trickling in, and Katarin came by to deliver a sandwich and leave Charles and Rosie with me. I kept myself busy all afternoon – playing with them, tending the store, talking with the family at dinner and after. Once we got the kids tucked in I worked on the diary for a bit.

That's how all my days went. The queen's days were as uneventful as mine, and she wasn't seeing much of Odin. She did mention that she wasn't seeing much of him, which I took as progress – I was starting to wonder when she'd ever fall in love with him. She must have had time on her hands, because she documented everything – skirmishes amongst the servants, Odin's troops apprehending some bandits, their problems baking bread at high altitudes. I could see why, because I was the same. If something happened – and I defined "something happening" so loosely it could include rain, or one of the kids asking when Locke would be back – it went in my letter.

After about a week and a half I got my first letter from him, and I went on to bake the biscuits to a rock-like crustiness because I had to read it four times and start adding my reply to it into my letter. He'd signed it Love, Locke and I was all but racing to the end on mine so I could do the same before I lost my nerve. It wasn't much, but it was something – or it would have been if I hadn't noticed the smell and had to spring into action. Fortunately I'd more or less salvaged the situation before Duane came in.

"Having problems?" he said, smirking a bit.

"It's under control," I replied, too distracted to get annoyed with him.

"You got a letter, didn't you?"

"Ow!" I'd cracked open one of the biscuits, planning to try it and see if they were edible, only to find that they were far, far too hot to sample. I'd driven my thumb and forefinger into the middle of it, and I stuck them in my mouth as I turned to face him.

"Terra, why don't you let me take care of it?"

I needed cold water. I decided to sacrifice the glass I'd been drinking from. "No, it's okay," I said. "I can leave a reply for a bit."

"I just want to make sure the meal's edible," he said. I gave him a sour look, and he sat down. "Everything all right?" he asked.

"Why?"

"You didn't throw anything at me."

"I don't normally, do I?"

"You looked like you were ready to."

"Don't worry, I was." I cocked my head at the door, where Henry was watching. "I have to set a good example. Come on in, honey."

He came over to my side and reached up for one of the rolls. I batted his hand away, then wiped my wet hand on my apron. "Bad idea. Trust me."

"Can I have some candy from the store, then?"

"You'll spoil your appetite!"

"It must be something you're born with," Duane said.

"What?"

"Sounding like a mother."

"Must be, since I never knew mine."

"Mama, what's a love letter?" Henry asked.

I could feel my face flush. "Well, it's, um, it's..."

"Because Margie said that's what you were writing. Can I read it?"

"No!" I shot a helpless look at Duane, who was grinning broadly.

"Why not?"

"It's— it's private, that's all! It's not a love letter."

"Well, see, there's your problem," Duane offered helpfully. I tried to shoot him a withering glare, and he heaved himself off the bench, not trying hard enough to stifle a chuckle.

"And where do you think you're going?" I demanded.

"I think Katarin needs to hear all this too."

"Oh no she doesn't!"

"Is that it?" Henry asked, and I snagged him around the waist as he headed for the unfinished letter, swung him around and steered him towards Duane. Once I could have just carted him off.

"You're going to go bring in the kindling Duane's about to split," I informed him.

"Whoa there," Duane retorted. "You have heaps of kindling. Explain love letters to the boy."

"Is that like when Duane and Katarin used to sneak off to the old shop together?"

Duane sort of made a choking noise. "You weren't supposed to follow us!"

"Kindling," I reminded him over Henry's head, then turned my son around, my hands on his shoulders. "Love letters are not at all like Duane and Katarin sneaking off to the shop together when they were supposed to be minding the lot of you."

"They're a bit like it."

"No they're not," I said. "Now go. Get me some more kindling."

The summer passed surprisingly quickly; long muggy days spent with every window in the store open, punctuated by decisions that it was too hot to stay indoors and so I ought to close the store and take the kids to swim. Most of the other businesses in town were the same; it wouldn't have worked in Figaro, but then, Figaro was near mountains, and cooler for it. At least we got the breeze off the water, but it wasn't enough. More than once I'd strip down to my underthings and shift and fling myself into the water with the kids, splash around and get my feet muddy.

Locke's letters arrived like clockwork, around every week and a half, and the effect on me was such that if my family noticed I was in an unusually good mood or at all energetic, they'd assume I'd received a letter. Even if I hadn't. I tried not to mind this too terribly much. I was hearing from Celes again, and she was behaving normally; I didn't mention Locke to her at all, though, and it occurred to me that if he came for another visit I'd feel guilty not being able to tell her about it, and I'd feel guilty telling her about it. And it'd be worse if I really could tell him how I felt.

I hadn't done that in letters. I'd thought of it, but it seemed impersonal and awkward. Things hadn't gotten awkward in the letters yet, and I didn't want to risk any changes.

So I wrote my letters, and worked on the queen's diary. She took to calling him "Odin," not just "Sir Odin" the "the knight Odin," and once she gave him a favor to carry into battle. "Simple play at gentilesse," she called it, "as if the courte were at peace," but of course she was protesting too much. I was hoping, reading the diary, to see how it happened, how you fell in love. I didn't understand it, still, even with the fierce protective joy I took in my kids, even with the way I felt about Katarin and Duane, about Edgar and Celes and Sabin. About Locke. I knew how I felt, but I didn't know where it began or when.

I wanted to make sense of it, but I wasn't sure you could, because the queen just wrote one entry about a battle – "too close to our keepe," she said – and the next, "I realize now that I am in love with Odin." She was going to tell him how she felt about him after the fighting was over. Their enemy was approaching them, from what she wrote, and he'd have to fight to defend them. And she'd been turned to stone, and until we came, he never knew.

I looked out the window at golden sunlight, harvest weather, and tried to imagine that while trying not to; trapped in stone or ice, the way Odin had been, and Tritoch, waiting forever. Thinking of someone you loved – he had loved her, I was sure of that, I'd felt it when the statue crumbled and turned to magicite, even before I'd found her diary – and knowing you hadn't protected her.

I wrote something like that to Locke, and then the final line, about knowing you hadn't protected her, I scribbled out so vigorously that no one could have made sense of what was once there. And then I thought it over and rewrote the letter, except for that line, on a fresh sheet. That was her last entry, I added. I suppose that means I'm done. But I was thinking more of their story.

I'd been hoping to make sense of it, to see how it started. But she didn't say what made her realize she loved Odin, she didn't say that he'd smiled at her in a certain way, or that she realized when he looked at her as he handed her down from some elegant royal carriage, or that they'd talked or argued or that he'd comforted her after her husband died – she'd stopped even mentioning the king and I had no idea what had become of him. Maybe she hadn't known, either.

And what had it been for me? Was it when Locke danced with Celes and then kissed me, both of us half drunk and reeling with both relief and loss in different ways? Was it earlier than that, something I hadn't even recognized because I couldn't attach love to its name until I realized I needed to fight for the children? I couldn't remember rightly now if I'd missed him more, worried over him more than the others during that year in the cave with no sign of them all. I remembered worrying about him, though, and I remembered the shock of happiness when I saw that familiar back in the cave where he'd found Phoenix, and I remembered talking to him that night on the deck as he told me something different than he'd been able to say to Celes. I remembered his smile at me before he told the others he'd go with me to Crescent Island. I remembered our shoulders touching as we crouched over the diary in the ruins.

I need to see you, I wrote. I'm going to call in that favor from Setzer, so I should be visiting within a month or so, but I'll wait to hear from you in case it's a bad time. And I waited, with absurd nervousness, for his reply. Come as soon as you can, he wrote. It's an unusually mild autumn, so we're staying as long as we can, but we'll be leaving with the first storms.

I sent the notes to Setzer – to all the destinations he'd given, just in case – that same day. We saw the airship in the sky on the first day of the Harvest festival.