Friends (2013) - Adams, Robert

Djoh quickly dried his face with the bedclothes before the water froze, then hopped out of bed and began dressing. His room was in the eaves, with little between him and the shingles. It was almost as cold as outside. He only fell twice before he had his trousers on, then pulled on his homespun shirt and made his way down the ladder. If he didn’t reach the kitchen before his father had finished, there would be no breakfast this morning.

He managed to arrive in time. Nee, his older sister, was serving hot porridge. His younger sister, Lilia, hung on to his mother’s dress. She was only four years old, but even she had her chores; there were no idle hands in Peetuh the carpenter’s house.

His father cleared his throat. “Today I want the joists for the supports on Oskah’s bam done. I've already trimmed the logs and stacked the lumber.”

Djoh shook his head in wonder. No matter what else could be said about his father, he never asked more than he gave. This morning he must have used some of their precious oil for light to get so much done before dawn. Oskah was a wealthy farmer and an important man in the area; his goodwill was worth having. Clearly Peetuh meant to earn it.

Not that Djoh had any complaints about that. It would give him another few minutes with Oskah's daughter Marthuh. She was the beauty of Blue Springs, and Djoh’s mindspeak let him know that she thought well of him. His brief visits with her were moments of light in a life that was otherwise mostly dark routine and hard work.

After breakfast his father showed him what was to be done and left on horseback for Oskah’s farm. Djoh worked furiously all morning with a speed and deftness that might even have made his father smile. By not stopping for lunch, he managed to finish the first load by early afternoon. With some help from Nee he loaded it into the wagon and headed out.

Djoh reached Oskah’s farm by late afternoon. He was surprised to see how much it had grown. Unlike most local barns, Oskah’s new barn was built of stone, by the combined effort of all the stonemasons in the Blue Springs country. With the walls finished, Djoh saw that it was also three times as large as any other barn he’d seen. It could probably hold a good part of the town’s population under its roof. Surely it had to be the largest building to go up in these parts since the Wasting.

“I see you’re early,” said his father. He immediately set his two apprentices to helping Djoh unload the wagon.

When that job was done, Djoh expected more work. It was too bad that Marthuh hadn’t come into view while he was working, but you couldn’t expect good luck in everything.

“You’ve done a good job, lad,” said Peetuh. “Take the rest of the afternoon off.”

Djoh tried to thank his father without stammering or staring. His father had never done such a thing before. Had he just possibly guessed his son’s hopes of a match with Marthuh? With his father’s support, Djoh’s hopes wouldn’t be totally vain. Peetuh was Blue Springs’ only carpenter and a man widely respected for sobriety and hard work. His son and heir would be a fit match for any farmer’s daughter, even a farmer like Oskah.

Djoh walked to the big sycamore in the northwest field, the place where he and Marthuh had first talked last fall. Snow blanketed the field, and the tree was only a skeleton’s arm and hand stretching toward the gray sky. The sun’s hint of warmth was already fading, and his breath swirled white. By the time he reached the tree, he was beginning to wonder if he should have used the time working. It would have kept him warm, at least.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand brushed his shoulder. “Just me,” said a familiar voice, teasingly.

“Hello, Marthuh. I was hoping you’d come.” And if he hadn’t been daydreaming, his mindspeak would probably have told’ him she was waiting. To hear another’s thoughts, Djoh had always needed to concentrate.

Marthuh’s blond hair and fair skin were almost as white as the fresh snow. She might have looked colorless, except for her sparkling green eyes, bright as gemstones. They made her the most alive and beautiful thing Djoh had ever seen—or ever would see, he suspected.

“The baking’s done, so I can stay awhile.”

“Me too,” he replied. Unconsciously he moved around to the rear of the sycamore, where no one might see them accidentally from the house. Marthuh followed. Djoh’s breath was becoming labored, and he no longer noticed the chill air.

“I don’t like it out here,” said Marthuh. “1 want to move back into Blue Springs where it’s not so lonely.”

Oskah was so rich that he usually spent only spring and fall at his farm. This year he’d stayed on into the winter, to see the new bam completed. Djoh was the last man to complain about that, since it allowed him many more visits with Marthuh. His father had a countryman’s disdain for Blue Springs and seldom stayed overnight even when work took him there.

Djoh had never spent a night in the town in all his eighteen

years.

“If it was up to me, I’d build you a big townhouse . . Djoh trailed off in midsentence as he realized how hopeless that wish sounded, even to himself. It would take a miracle to even put them into a small cottage together.

“Do you mean that? Oh, Djoh, I wish we could spend more time together, but . . . every time I mention your name to my father, he just glowers.”

Marthuh moved closer, until Djoh could feel her heart beating. Without thinking or trying to read her thoughts, he took her in his arms and kissed her. Her lips opened in response, until he felt as if he’d fallen into a whirlpool. He tightened his grip and ran his fingers through hair that felt like new comsilk.

Before he knew what had happened, his coat was on the ground and then the two of them were on top of the coat, limbs twining. His fingers groped for the hooks at the back of her dress. She moaned softly. He was drowning in her warmth, her scent, her softness—

“What in Peeoryah’s goin’ on here?” roared a male voice. Djoh lurched to his feet, suddenly aware of the halfdressed girl on his coat and the stinging cold. “I—I—I don’t know! Nothing, really! We were just——”

“I can see, damn you!” Oskah punched Djoh in the chest, knocking him hard against the tree. He could feel the bark through his shirt. Then Oskah was trying to hit him again; he tried to push away the fist. Something jarred his head, and his nose began to bleed. His watering eyes made out half a dozen figures headed toward the tree, one of them in billowing skirts.

“You no-count half-caste!” shouted Oskah. “We know what you are! And everybody knows about your mama and that storyteller who came to town and stayed at her daddy’s farm. We had to run that sumbitch off when we found him talkin’ to one of the horses. Should of burned him like in the Old Days, but people hereabouts have gotten soft. Maybe you’re a Witchboy yourself!”

“Watch who you call Witchboy!” said Peetuh. His tone boded ill for rich farmers who left the hard work to hired hands. “What’s going on here?”

“That pretty-boy son of yours was ’bout to bundle with my

little Marthuh. I aim to put a stop to that kinda crap, if 1 have to geld the little bastard!”

“Girl don’t look like she was pushin’ him away none,” said Peetuh, his voice clear and cold. “I say we let bygones be bygones and I’ll keep him clear of here.”

Even through tears and blood, Djoh could see that Marthuh’s red-faced father wasn’t buying that idea.

“That little storyteller’s get you call your son needs a good lesson, or he’ll be back like an egg-suckin’ snake that’s got its first taste of yolk—”

A fist the size of a blacksmith’s hammer sacked into Oskah’s jaw. He fell as if he’d been laid out with a fencepost. He lay twitching for a few moments, then shook his head and tried to rise. His wife began to howl.

“You fat hunk of blubber,” growled Peetuh. “You ever say another word about my son’s blood or bein’ ‘cursed’ and I’ll come back here and pull your head right off’n your shoulders. Hear me?”

Oskah nodded cautiously. He was feeling his head as if surprised to find it still attached to his body.

Peetuh’s arm rose again, this time to brace Djoh as they walked back to the wagon. Djoh’s last sight was of a slackfaced Marthuh still lying on his jacket, a blubbering and cursing Oskah being helped to his feet by his hired men, and a wailing Marthuh’s mother.

Djoh found he was still dazed. Was it the beating, or was it seeing his father throw away probably the best job of his life to stand up for a despised son? And what was all this about a storyteller?

About the time they reached the wagon, they heard a bellow from Oskah.

“Don’t neither of you ever put foot on this land again! Hear me? You do and I’ll have my man Jacot put an arrow twixt your eyes. My man in town’ll settle our accounts, Peetuh. You hear me?”

Peetuh shook his head in disgust and helped Djoh up onto his seat. To Djoh the trip back home was like a dream. He was still half dazed, and something new ached every time the wagon jolted.

There were so many things he didn’t understand—his mother, the storyteller Oskah talked about, his “curse.” Since he’d been able to understand her, his mother had always cautioned him about his mindspeak. She’d told him it scared most people and that bad things might happen if they learned of it, but she’d never said that he was “cursed.”

And why was his father so calm? He’d just been thrown off the best job of his life and he wasn’t even swearing! It would also mean the loss of all future work from Oskah.

Of course, the Blue Springs people would have to go a long way to find a better carpenter than Peetuh. Enough of them also disliked Oskah to give Peetuh extra work just to spite the florid farmer. Still, it wasn’t like Peetuh to take adversity this quietly, let alone defend a son he usually didn’t have much time for.

One question was answered the moment they reached home. “Unharness the horses and put the wagon away,” said Peetuh. “Then wait for me in the bam.”

Djoh unhitched the team as if he were sleepwalking. His father’s tight-lipped order to wait in the barn told him only too well what was coming. He also knew better than to spin out the work to delay his punishment.

He was waiting quietly in the bam when his father entered, carrying the whip and trailed by his mother and older sister. Djoh felt his knees beginning to tremble.

His father spun around to face his wife and daughter. “Leave us! We’ve men’s work to do.”

Nee fled. Uncharacteristically, his mother stood her ground. “What are you going to do to him? Just because he took a boy’s liberty! What kind of man are you?”