Sunday
March 11, 251
Mama's so quiet now! I thought it was just the long wagon ride back that wore her out yesterday, but she hasn't said much at all this whole day. She's so different from how she used to be! She used to be busy always, bustling about the house and giving orders with each breath. Miria, wash the dishes. Laci, check on the baby. Jack, don't put your shoes there! Now she sits quietly and doesn't speak and just stares off into space.
When Papa returned from training today, I cornered him by the door and whispered, "I don't think Mama is well. She just sits there, and she doesn't say anything to us."
Papa sighed. "Give her time, Laci. The work farm is a harsh place. She needs to get used to being around us again."
I understand, I suppose. It's just disappointing that life is taking so long to return to normal.
Miria and I cooked dinner and cleared the dishes with Daneel. Then the three of us settled down at the table to do our homework. Mistress Painter, her as lost a son to the Shadow Snake, started a little school for Lower City children a few years back. She's a mage, not a very Gifted one, but she decided to do something for the little ones in honor of her boy. To keep us off the streets while our mamas and papas are busy, she used what she had earned from her potions and fortune-telling to rent a room just off the Rogue's Court. Word is that the Rogue himself gave money to Mistress Painter to buy chalkboards and books. He cares for his people that way, unlike Kayfer Deerborn before him. Rosto is a good Rogue, for all that he's in love with Beka Cooper.
But anyway, Papa started sending us to Mistress Painter when he began his Dog training so someone would watch over us. He's afeared the slavers will get us. Miria and I hated the school at first – Daneel was too little to care – but we started to make friends and then it became more fun. Miria always reminds me that I have the added advantage of seeing Ersken from time to time.
Ersken Westover is a Dog, Cooper's partner and a good friend of the Rogue, so he visits the Court sometimes when he's off duty. As our schoolroom is right by, we see him too. He is twenty-one years of age, a few inches taller than I am, with gentle blue eyes and curly brown hair. I met him when I was ten and Papa had vanished and our landlord had thrown Miria and Daneel and me into the streets with naught but the clothes we wore and a bowl to beg coins. We were starving and furious at Cooper for destroying our lives when she came strolling by with her friend Ersken. She had never begged in the streets, we thought. She had a job and a home and friends and could even afford to keep a pet cat! And what did we have? A wooden begging bowl that no one cared to fill and a mama who was far away and a papa who – we thought – had deserted us.
I had Daneel tied to my waist, so I couldn't do anything, but Miria snatched up a clump of scummer and flung it at Cooper. She stalked towards us, her pale blue eyes freezing me all over, but I stood my ground and met her glare. What did I owe her? Miria, who was as impetuous then as she is now, threw herself at Cooper, but Ersken grabbed her and held her while Cooper interrogated us. She gave us a silver noble, but he was the one who bought us food.
Very well. To be fair, she also took us home, but probably only from guilt.
I didn't like Ersken then. How could I? He was Cooper's friend. Liking him would constitute so many kinds of betrayal of Mama that I didn't even want to count them. I remembered the gentle look on his face, though, and when I saw him again through the doorway of our schoolroom, I remembered him –
"Laci!" Miria poked me. "Do you need help on your math? You've been staring at that problem for five minutes!"
"Um," I refocused on the page and saw a bunch of x's and y's. Miria and I had progressed through addition and subtraction, multiplication and division so fast that Mistress Painter had started us on something called algebra. She only had one book on it, though, so Miria and I had to do our homework together. Unfortunately for me, I'd been so busy daydreaming about Ersken that Miria had gotten ahead of me and wanted to turn the page. "Right." I quickly scribbled out the problem and boxed the answer. "Done." Miria flipped the page and we kept working.
Across the table, Daneel put the finishing touches on his writing assignment, lips silently forming the words as he wrote them.
I glanced up and saw Mama and Papa sitting together by the fireplace. He was talking to her softly, probably about his day. Her face showed no emotion. Only her eyes were fixed on his. I nudged Miria. "How long do you think she'll be like that?" I whispered.
She paused in the middle of the next problem and looked over at them, her expression troubled. "I don't know," she whispered back.
Daneel dotted his last period so emphatically that the tip of his pencil snapped off.
"Daneel!" I scolded. "I told you not to do that! Pencils are expensive."
The little mumper ignored me the way he always does and clambered off his chair, his paper clutched in one hand. "Papa! Mama!" he called, trotting across the room. "Look what I wrote!" He shoved his paragraph under their noses.
Mama looked surprised but took it. Daneel bounced in excitement. "We were supposed to write about something that happened," he explained importantly. "I wrote about you coming home!"
Papa cast a worried glance at Mama. "Would you like to read it to us, Daneel?" he asked.
Daneel was only too happy to oblige. Snatching the paper back, he began, "Yesterday my mama came home. Laci, Miria, and I went to the kennel to see her. Papa was there already. Lots of Dogs were there too. Mama came in a wagon. Papa hugged her. Then we all came home."
Listening to his innocent, childish recital of the day's events, I felt a lump rise in my throat and sniffed a little. Beside me, Miria shifted and looked down. I saw a tear drip from her cheek onto her math homework. Mama was crying too, to my shock. Mama never cries! It just doesn't happen!
"What's wrong, Mama?" Daneel cried. "Mama? Don't you like it?"
Papa hugged Mama and helped her to stand. "Nothing's wrong, Daneel. Mama's just tired from the long trip. That's a fine essay you wrote." He smiled at Daneel and helped Mama into their bedchamber.
Miria, Daneel, and I packed away our schoolwork and went to bed in silence.