To Map The World [4]

'You, I believe,' I said with caution, 'were a kind aid to me yesterday.' (He bowed.) 'For that, I wish to thank you...And how shall I express this?'1

'Be welcomed. Don't fail to inform if I may be of service again.'2

I barely nodded. He stood still. 'I wish that you would tell me what was the matter with me yesterday,' I said stiffy, ashamed that I did not know.3

'Very ill, really, my lady. From cold, and that's a rare thing. Not safe. No one was around, and I assumed the duty of carrying yourself to your room.'4

'Did you speak to anyone?' Immediately as I heard how the question sounded, I wished to unsay it.5

'No.' Knowing that he'd considered the little he'd spoken as being of little significance, I nodded. I tried to stop hearing, in my mind, the exact words he had used.6

'There is nothing I may do in gratitude?'7

'Nothing, Madame.'8

'Thank you, again.'9

It seemed that an overflowing force drove my feet to my room, that I could speak with Thérose immediately. 'He speaks French,' I said, my voice a high surprised gossip as I came around the corner. My maid looked at me. 'Who?' she desired to know. 10

'Oh, you know which one,' I said. 11

Her face fell sharply, and she pulled me close. 'I think it would be better,' said she, 'if you spent no more words with him.'12

'Thérose,' I said. 'My own judgement will be adequate.' 13

My maid paused, then sighed slightly and dipped her head in deference.14

-----------------------------15

'Miss Barriled,' said Thérose softly. 'Miss.' 16

I opened my eyes, not daring to set aside the blanket. 'Your father determines to leave for Barrilet,' said my maid. I nodded. I could hear the sounds of her clothes being changed, and turned to face the wall. The air was freezing. I lay on my back and drew up my knees.17

As she was done, I requested of her the whereabouts of my parents. She said that both were gone, though she didn't know what business about. I sat up slowly, dressed, and directed Thérose to the packing of my effects. 18

The conversation between my maid and I entertained me, for a while. Home was bright upon my mind. At last, however, my cold fingers made me think of fire, and then my stomach called to break the fast, and I left her alone.19

As my parents were not around, I felt it best to remain at the inn, and so bought a little feast there. It was a poor inn, because the keeper of it would not come to the tables that respectable folk might place their orders. I was obliged to approach the bar instead.20

I saw, and it was a disheartening thing (a thing that causes the spirit of one to feel chipped or lowered) to observe Simon in the shadow of the doorway. I turned briskly away without waiting a second after I had placed my order. 21

'Lady!' came a bold appeal. I lifted my head reluctantly. Further contact with him was one thing I'd hoped bravely to avoid - I didn't trust him, and had a vague feeling of dislike toward him at present. Also, Thérose was not a girl to be worried needlessly; her warning was beginning to take stock with me.22

I turned back. 'Madame, I pray you won't be offended,' he said, his face open and alert. 'Here are three works - the best, that I have ever penned. They're worth their price.'23

'I do not make such decisions,' I said, and stepped back.24

'It wasn't your father that rescued them!' he called. 'And unless I'm mistaken...'25

If he said anything about my having a soft heart, as he was sure to do, I knew I would be angry. 'Tell me not about myself, Simon,' I said.26

'About myself, then?' He pointed to his heart.27

'You fool yourself,' I said slowly.28

'I've acted a fool, it's true. But it was a necessary role. Were I not absolutely sure of the value of these, I'd allow you to pass them by.'29

'The author's not the best of judges,' I said. 'And I've not the authority, and I've just spent...'30

'No, Madame. Leave Joel's asking to my hands; time, I have plenty of.'31

'That's a great loss of dignity to me,' I said coldly.32

'From winter, I have learned to judge what is needed, and sacrifice accordingly.' He lifted his hands over the bar. In sharp contrast to the rest of his thinly clad body, his hands were wrapped warmly. 33

I put the tip of my first finger to the single page of script he had presented, to see what I could read; it was written in a fast hand. The writer looked around to see whether the keeper of the bar would return, and rested his hands on the bar - inadverdantly crushing my finger. He jumped back. 'Mary!' he said, 'I'm sorry.' He sighed and made to draw the page away, but I kept my finger there. 34

'Very well, poet,' I said, 'speak to me.' His face brightened beautifully; I braced myself. 'Say some verse unwritten.'35

He bent his head for a moment. I was hotly aware of the stares focused on me. 36

'A morning,' he began, then stopped. 'I was - it was - dark...' I bit my lip fiercely, afraid of the laughter that was sure to shiver from me.37

'And I am sleeping at the morning's break,' he began again eagerly, giving me confidence that he was about to redeem himself. He paused.38

'When rises my soul, my own wife good39

And hears a sound that brings me full awake:40

A flying bird, unnesting blocks of wood.41

Which are these blocks, shattered by the bird42

To which my soul, a hopeful soul, gave ear?43

They were a heart, empty, blocking word44

Which took my own when love to me drew near.'45

He was walking, and when he ceased to speak more I discovered how little of his scattered, desperately-sought rhymes I had actually realized. Oh, why was I never done hurting myself? And all this time I'd just been watching the man's pride and mind and tongue work together to spin out his soul. I wouldn't be able to remember any of these words, had I not heard them at a later date. 46

'There's more,' he said assertively, while obviously trying to write the rest of it in his head. My heart felt as hot as wax and it melted my cheeks. I bent my head, feeling his eyes on my smiling face. 47

'I have not the pieces with me, but I will in half an hour,' he said hopefully. I nodded, then left him to notify the keeper of the inn that I'd not be paying directly for breakfast. The deal stung me like a cut, but it also left me with a feeling of falling - tumbling, as though I'd just made a poor decision in matters of which I knew less than I thought I did.48