Tzila's Story (don't have a good title)

    The day of the rejected offering, Tzila slept.
    The day after the rejected offering, Tzila slept.
    The day after that, Tzila regrettably woke with sunrise and went about her day. Cup of tea, a quick meal, prepare and serve breakfast for the guests, and then chores. Much had been neglected during her brief hibernation. It is no surprise much needs to be cleaned with a steady traffic of inn guests and tavern patrons. On that third day, her hours awake were spent catching up.
    The fourth day was a disaster.
    Woke with sunrise, cup of tea, meal, prepare and serve, chores. But by 11 the day could be hers. She wanted to be outside.
    “I’ll pick up anything you need,” she offered her mother, taking a basket in hand.
    Judith’s hands were always occupied in the large kitchen. Today, she worked a large mound of bread dough. “You should wait two more days.”
    “Two more days will make me insane.”
    “Those people out there,” she gestured to the window with her elbow, “They understand what they know and nothing else. And right now, you are not understood.”
    “What, they’re going to stone me?”
    Judith did not respond. Debating with her mother rarely ended in a success for Tzila. Truthfully, she couldn’t handle a response to her question. Tzila slipped through the kitchen door before her mother protested.
    Summer was at its peak. Even in the morning, the sun cooked the earth below Tzila’s bare feet. But the fresh air seemed to immediately cure her mood. Mother was always a pessimist. Tzila fed her arm through the basket handles and took the cart path towards town.
    “Town” was a very generous word for the center of Hamer life. “Town” conjures images of grid-patterned streets with a multitude of storied shops and the constant bustle of foot and non-foot traffic. But what sufficed for the beating heart of the community was an informal intersection. The cart path that ran from the main road and skirted next to the inn ended somewhere in a field. It was bisected by the only cobblestone road for miles. A now-deceased resident was so captivated by big city roads he made it his sole mission to pave the streets of his hometown. He died after having his foot smashed by a cobble and later infected. The cobble road began at the bland Protestant-built church and slowly died as it approached the river. Houses lining these two roads were built in various aesthetic movements with available materials. So the butcher worked from a plasterd waddle and daub built by his great-grandfather, while the dry goods store owner splurged on a new brick façade.
This intersection held all the for sale goods within town limits. Those not fortunate to own a shop would pull their carts along the side and make do. And as these were people who were all familiar, they would cajole and merrily insult shoppers until they made purchases.
    But there was no merry noise when Tzila’s presence was noticed. Conversations universally halted as vendors, customers, and loiterers watched her progress toward town.
    In a panic, Tzila realized her mother never gave her a list. Should she return home? No. There was a chance she wouldn’t leave for quite some time. She steadied her nerves and applied a large grin to her face.
    Her voice was steady with her “good mornings”. Only a few of the passing shoppers replied back, nervously as the rushed by. Some refused to make eye contact. Up ahead, she spied her good friend Johanna trapped in conversation with Frida Borchard, doing her best to be interested. Poor Frida. Johanna would appreciate the interruption. But when Johanna spied her approach, she shook her head, her lovely blonde curls bouncing. Frida blanched.
    Tzila altered her course, pretending she meant to visit the vendors on that side of the road. The first vendor had a load of summer plums. Father didn’t like plums, so she only spoke her admiration to the vendor. Both he and the next vendor (with a pitiful crop of cabbage) spoke no words and only watched unblinking. Mother always needed carrots so she purchased a bundle. This vendor had a smile on his face but his eyes betrayed his emotions. His hands shook as he gave her change.
    As she continued on, she was aware of every pair of eyes on her and her movements. Some were whispering, too quiet for her to hear the words. Others had grabbed the hands of their children and rushed home. Years ago, the town had the same reaction when Harvey Mottle was accused of being a leper (turns out, he had a rather bad sunburn).
    She approached the bakery. In the summer, the baker made little elderberry tarts beloved by Tzila and her sisters. Sometimes the man would slip an extra one into the box and deny if Tzila brought this to his attention. This same man now stood in the doorway. There was no need for him to speak. His folded arms and stern expression let her know she was not welcome inside.
    Tzila looked into her basket, at the sad bundle of carrots. “Looks like I have everything I need!” she exclaimed as loud as she could.
    Though she held her head up and nodded at everyone she passed, tears were forming. She could hear the noise rise behind her and knew every word was about her. When she passed the last house,     Tzila started running and did not stop until the kitchen door slammed shut.

    Tzila’s father was always fond of teasing the girls when they cried over something petty, like a stubbed toe or missing ribbon.
    “Just when you think life is terrible, it can always get worse,” he would lecture with an evil grin before tickling his daughters. Martin had a way to lighten melodramatics.
    But he was right. Life has a way of getting worse when - by all appearances - it could not. And Tzila was reminded when her fiancé dropped by and ended their engagement. Or “postpone”. He used that word.
    Theodor was sweating in the evening heat but still chose to deliver the news in his wool suit. He tugged at the pressed collar of his shirt. The pains of a tailor’s son. Yet he still greeted her with “darling” when he entered the inn, kissing her cheek. Tzila was in the middle of folding linens and had no desire to move to a quieter spot as he suggested. Whatever he said could be said here, near the ear of twenty-or-so dining patrons, her parents, and scatterings of drinking townsfolk who now set aside their pints for some good gossip.
    The understanding had not been long. He spoke to her father in the beginning of summer and the wedding was planned for the fall. His father and her mother had since been negotiating where the two would live, the dowry, and the other considerations of marriage. And the two childhood friends did their best to understand each other as man and wife.
    He kept his voice low, launching into a very rehearsed speech. “I have had many hours of discussion with my good father regarding our agreement. Though I would marry you tomorrow if allowed, my father has advised patience. He would prefer us wait and monitor the change in our fortunes. That way, we can be joined with a harmonious and blessed union.”
    “I agree. We were taking this too fast.”
    “We have to be prudent. There are new considerations.”
    Tzila grunted. “For god’s sake, Theodor. Speak plainly. Everyone already knows.”
    “My father says it would be a mistake. And I don’t want to have children if our offering isn’t accepted.”
    “That would be so sad for you. Imagine the embarrassment.”
    He then leaned in, keeping his words low. “Have you heard what they’re saying about you? I’m among many who know this is something that will pass. But a few are talking about getting you out of town. How you’ll hex us all if you aren’t handled. Us level-headed folk will keep the peace. But I need to appear impartial. This is all to save you.”
    Despite her growing bitterness, Tzila appreciated his misguided drive. “I’m still mad at you. But I’m not mad at you because you’re scared.”
    “I’m not scared.”
    She stared into his eyes until he broke away, uncomfortable and wiping the back of his neck.
    “We are getting married,” he stated, and it sounded like confidence. “Our engagement is just postponed until this is sorted.”
    He then kissed her cheek, explaining he had to return home and update his father. She accepted the kiss without a reply, moved her eyes to the linens as he retreated.
    She could feel heat rising to her face as the inn’s conversations returned. The long tables stuffed with friends of her father and her own former playmates. Leering, nudging, placing their hands and fingers in various arrangements to ward off evil spirits. Yes, there were many level-headed folk in town. But what if a crop failed? What if a baby was born with a prominent birthmark? They would all point to her as the culprit. Harbinger. Too happy to kick her out of town or worse.
    One of the gossiping groups ate away at her remaining calm. Four young men, slightly older than her. She didn’t need to hear their words to understand. Now that she was no longer a person with respectability, they were free to malign and mock. But one member of the group had no right.
    Setting aside now-folded linens, Tzila approached the group. Sweet as sugar. Was there anything they required? Another pint of ale, perhaps? Something to eat? The four were dead silent, every eye big as the moon.
    “In that case,” she focused her gaze on Pieter Veite, “I believe you left behind your hat in your last visit, Pieter.”
    Color drained from Pieter’s face. “Did I?”
    “I’m not sure if it’s yours. Want to check?”
    Slowly, Pieter rose from the bench, his long legs stumbling as he followed Tzila into the kitchen. Tzila shut the door behind them and then smacked Pieter’s face.
    “That wasn’t nice!” He rubbed his reddening cheek.
    Tzila grabbed his jaw firmly, forcing him to look at her. “I should kill you.”
    “Slapping’s not going to do it!”
    “Do you know what I’ve gone through these last weeks?” she hissed. “Seeing you join the jolly fun makes it much better.”
    He tried to pull from her grip so she tightened it. “If I defend you, they’ll suspect something.”
    “Because you’re a selfish idiot?”
    “Probably.”
    She finally released him, not wanting to make any more physical contact with him. “This is so much worse than I planned. It was just a candle left behind. ‘Tzila’s a silly girl. We have so many silly girls in Hamer.’ Maybe there would be a penalty? I’d wash the church windows or make treats for the elder’s council meeting? There’s talk of banishment.”
    “I know,” Pieter sighed. “I haven’t been joining that conversation.”
    “You might be the reason I wasn’t forgiven. After all, you forgot the candle.”
    “It was late and you made me very tired.”
    “Still not my fault.” Tzila hopped onto the counter, legs dangling as she reached for the nearest item to eat. “Why did you want to have sex in the Lover’s alter?”
    Pieter shrugged, eyes on the floor. “Some of the fellows and I were talking, and Mikael said girls sometimes like forbidden spots.”
    “Mikael said?” Tzila still had much to learn in life, but taking romantic advice from Mikael was not advisable. “Well, next time it would be best to ask the girl what she wants.”
    “I could go into the woods, trap a few rabbits, and we could together make an offering.”
    Tzila hid her smile. That’s why she approached Pieter back in the fall. He was a sweet fellow and didn’t think ahead. “That would certainly fix our phantom issue. But what about the rest of them? I’d still be impure but in a different way.”
    “We could always-”
    She interrupted his proposal with an astonished laugh. But she sobered at his very earnest and now hurt expression. “You wouldn’t want me as a wife. It’s very possible I’ll poison my husband.”
    “Poor Theodor.”
    Thoughts went to her now ex-fiancé, with his squinty right eye and small torso. “Yes, poor Theodor.”
    Crossing to her, Pieter clasped both of her hands into his. “I will forever be in your debt. You’re protecting me from the same embarrassment and doing it very honorably. If I can do anything.”
    She knew his promise was strong. But would he be so steadfast if she admitted the truth? That she - the girl who ripped away his virginity - had lost hers long ago? He assumed they had an unbreakable bond. She knew he was just another boy.
    Tzila adjusted her hands, wrapping her fingers around his wrists and cradling his pulse point. Her gaze held his eyes. It was one of her mother’s favorite tricks when she wanted something from another.
    “Someday,” she promised, “I will ask you for a favor. I don’t know what it will be. But you will say ‘yes’ and do it without question.”
    His nod of agreement was large, like his head moved of its own accord.
    At least Tzila had one ally.

i hope tzila slaps more people.

Chapter Six (I read a little bit during last Skelly Chat)
The plan took shape over a pint of ale and some divine intervention.
Tzila could have been born the daughter of a farmer or a money lender. She was born to an innkeeper, and that birthright gave her some unique information.
One: there must always be someone on duty. Martin wanted his guests to feel welcomed during their stay. Clean linens and a hearty meal not only soothed a weary traveler, it also provided a positive reputation for the business. Customers would journey that extra bit of road because the Gerste inn had a good name. To provide that service – and so he could get some sleep – Martin always had a night watchman. This young man would assist late-arriving guests, fetch food or ale, and keep an eye on any mischief. Though it could be a dull job, it paid well.
Young Mikael was the current watchman as the previous one took up a trade. He spent every shift whittling though it was more shaving down a stick than artwork. Judith and Tzila took the table farthest from his hearing.
They didn’t discuss the advantages and disadvantages of her departure. It was a given she must leave. The question was about how. Should she run away? Martin would despair. Plus, half-a-day’s journey by cart equaled about a day or more by foot. What if she were off to visit cousins? Martin would want to come too.
Mother and daughter were stumped. They scooted their pints across the table, thoughts weary and pessimistic. It was too bad Tzila’s father cared so much for his children.
Both jumped when the inn’s main door flung open. The late traveler was clad in the dark blue of a military uniform, tossing his traveling jacket onto a nearby peg.
“Young lad,” the man commanded, his voice tinged with a foreign accent, “I require a room, some food, and as much ale as you can spare!”
Mikael set aside his work and ran into the kitchen. Over his heavy tread, Tzila realized her mother was laughing.
“Pasquale! Have you been traveling all night?”
The man turned to them, his face cheering with recognition.
“Is that Madame Gerste? And that cannot be young Tzila!” He rushed to their table, kissing their cheeks. “What keeps you so late tonight? Has your cur of a husband finally driven you to breaking? I will kill him with this sword and take you as my war bride, Madame Gerste.”
Pasquale was the only man who could make her mother blush. “You talk foolishness. What brought you hear so late?”
Sighing, the man dragged a nearby chair to their little table. “Aiy, my captain had to test my temper this morning. It is he who is foolish. I’ve slit men in the throat for less. That set me on the road late. And to prove God has a sense of humor, my poor horse threw a shoe. I walked alongside him these many hours tonight. But I must complete my journey so that I may see Mama one last time.”
Every visit was under the presumption Pasquale’s dear Mama was on her deathbed, waiting to see her son one last time before passing. Judith confided to her family that Mama likely had a constitution to match her son’s. She would escape death many times. That was how the family became acquainted with Pasquale (he refused his formal title of Captain De Palma). He made this pilgrimage twice a year, crossing many territory borders, worried it would be too late to say farewell.
“You must be exhausted. Promise me you will sleep in. Your mama would be devastated if you were robbed on the road.”
“Unfortunately, I am a man of war. I wake when the trumpet calls. Being at war for so many years, that trumpet call is in my blood. But I am not the only one being kept at such a late hour. Can I assist?”
Two: A good percent of guests were strangers and would remain strangers. Their business would remain their own. But a few – Captain De Palma for example – would become known. Martin would make note of what could please these repeat visitors. A glass of mulled wine before bed. An extra wool blanket as they preferred to sleep warm. Pasquale, besides the insistence of going by his Christian name, paid a few extra coins in exchange for laundered shirts. These guests would become friends, intimates of the family.
Tzila felt the thunderbolt of inspiration.
Shaking her head, Judith grasped Pasquale’s hands in gratitude. “It’s something trivial.” She leaned in. “Love problems.” Her gaze darted to her daughter.
“Ah, young men.” He made a hacking noise. “They are only good for cannon fodder. My dear Tzila, this child is not worth your headache. Let your friend Pasquale assist. I will find you an old but wealthy general. He will treat you like a duchess. And he will die gloriously in battle. You will never have another worry.”
Laughing, Judith smacked Pasquale. “You are scandalous!”
Pasquale’s yawn brought their conversation to a close. “Forgive me, my friends. I must to bed.”
He kissed both women on the cheek, and bounded up the stairs two at a time.
“If you leave with him tomorrow, I will be forced to end your life,” warned the mother as she watched their friend depart.
“Mother.”
Judith turned to her now-beaming daughter. It was the first time Tzila smiled in nearly two months. The muscles in her face were immediately fatigued.
“You have a plan?”
“I have a plan.”

Clarimonde Weisbach was the only child of Mr. Weisbach, owner of the dry goods store. And by all reckoning, she was the most spoiled child in Hamer.
Every year on her birthday, Clarimonde and her parents took their newer carriage to the nearest large town. The birthday girl was treated to a spectacle. Sometimes it was a troupe of actors, other times it was a man with a trained bear. They would visit the dressmakers. She would receive dolls and any toy she desired. The day was capped with a decadent bakery visit.
The town was aware of her birthday celebration because she would spend the next month recounting it to anyone in her proximity. On and on about the bakery treats she selected or how many dresses were on order for her. Mr. Weisbach would proudly puff his chest. Nothing was too expensive for his little girl.
Her birthday party was the peak of boasting. Every child of Hamer near her age received the invitation. Three years older than Clarimonde, Tzila was always delighted to be asked. A large cake from the town baker was guaranteed and there were always many new toys to test. Queen for a Day held court over her subjects, regaling them any insignificant detail of her new presents and “lovely day in town”.
One such party, Martin had business with Mr. Weisbach and ended up escorting his daughter home. Never once had the father raised his hand to his children, or even offered the threat. He vowed to do so if Tzila ever acted like Clarimonde.
The Gerste birthday celebrations were simple compared to little Clarimonde. A favorite dinner followed by a small cake. Gifts of new ribbon or stockings, possibly some candy, would accompany the celebration. Judith and Martin made sure their children had clean, warm clothes and a few diversions. Spoiled children would not work hard, they believed.
So there wasn’t much for Tzila to pack. Three everyday dresses, her good Sunday outfit, undergarments and her winter wool, nestled in the bottom of a satchel. After those necessities she didn’t have a lot. She had long ago given Anamarie and Eugenia her toys. Her school lesson books were ashes. And as it had been assumed Tzila would leave home in the fall, she had no trousseau.
Johanna’s sketch of a tiny fawn was sandwiched into the unused journal gifted by the twins. A handkerchief poorly embroidered with daffodils. A necklace of small glass beads. Some other collected items as consequence of being a young girl. These small treasures also went into the satchel. One more check through the room ensured no stray item was in a corner or drawer. And that was it. The room’s furniture, porcelain washing dish, and bedding would stay here to be used by one of the twins. Everything she owned in a small leather bag.
The twins met her outside the door, very put out their sister was leaving. They cried and clung to her. Anamarie’s arms locked around her waist. Eugenia on her back, hollering in Tzila’s ear. Whispering calming words to them, Tzila tried her best not to join their commotion. It was rare the twins ever showed signs of liking their older sister.
Judith shook the twins off and plied them with fresh sweet rolls, shutting off their wailing. She hadn’t slept all night. And the fruits of her labors were breakfast and dinner for the inn, the sweet rolls, and a food parcel. Taking Tzila’s bag, she shoved the wrapped package in the top.
“You don’t know how long the journey will take, or if they will stop for you to eat. So don’t snack all day. There’s plenty but not enough.”
Tzila’s small canister of tea also went inside.
“This will last you two months. Afterwards, you’ll need to gather some more supplies. The recipe and needed ingredients are inside. If you can’t get something easily, you post me and I’ll take care of it.”
Picking up a sweet roll of her own, Tzila did her best to concentrate on her mother’s instructions. But her attention was diverted to the kitchen, taking it in because it very well could be her last time. The large wicker basket of eggs atop Mother’s sturdy pine workstation. Heat radiating from the cast iron stove. The constant smell of flour and cooking meat. She grew up here, washing plates, slicing vegetables, sneaking treats when Judith wasn’t looking. Anything else in the world couldn’t be more home.
Martin entered through the back door. “Wagon’s ready,” he informed, taking one roll and waiting for Judith’s turned back to swipe another. He pulled Tzila into a bear hug as he ate. “You’ll want your cloak for the trip. There’s a chill in the air.”
If Tzila cried, she knew Martin would cancel the entire trip. He had initially forbid the plan and it took a whole day for him to see otherwise. Even after relenting, he insisted he go with.
The twins were given their instructions. Stir the soup and keep the oven warm. Through her full mouth and sticky hands, Anamarie complained about staying home. Eugenia complained about having to work. By now, they forgot about their sister leaving and barely looked away from their breakfast as she kissed them goodbye. She kept her eyes on them as she shut the door.
There was enough room for parents and daughter to squeeze onto the wagon bench. Clicking his tongue, Martin instructed the family horse to get moving. The horse pulled the wagon in a large circle and moved towards the road in a trot.
It was barely sunrise and a light mist clung to the structures and road. Tzila wished their path would go through town. She wanted to give a proper goodbye to her home. To drive down the partially-cobbled road and see those buildings one more time. To smell the first batch of baking bread wafting from the baker’s chimney. But the path didn’t go through town. She turned backward and watched what she could. The cart hit the main road and the inn disappeared into the mist.
Martin launched into a speech soon as his body felt awake. He was of two minds. First, he was troubled and uncomfortable about sending his daughter away. And to live amongst strangers? What if there was an emergency? No one but family could be trusted to care for his Tzila. And yet, this was an amazing opportunity. To live in Dortmund and be a shopkeeper’s assistant! Herman Rhinehart would be a good employer. He had always been a faithful customer of the inn. Though she had never visited the inn, there was no doubt Herman’s wife Lise was a good woman. They would care for his daughter. But if only Dortmund were closer!
Calm and collected, Judith responded to her husband’s monologue appropriately. To agree with his points and shake her head at the right moment. She and her daughter made a point to avoid eye contact. There were no Herman and Lise Rhinehart. Yes, a couple by that name might exist but they had never been customers of the inn. Martin did, at first, admit to not remembering such a name. But by now he had crafted a face and personality in his mind. Herman was an old friend and a kind man despite being fictitious.
“I knew it was a gamble, Martin, but this is a great chance for Tzila. Herman has vowed to train Tzila in business and introduce her to their society.”
He huffed. “They’re not Hamer society.”
“And Hamer has treated her so kindly. We could only hope the barbarians in Dortmund would do the same.” She pushed a stray hair out of her face. “When I wrote to our friends for help, the Rhineharts were the first to respond and quite enthusiastically. Herman knows Tzila is a good girl and a hard worker. I would hope you would be happy for our daughter. How many of her playmates will ever adventure outside of town, except to be slaughtered in war?”
Conceding the point, Martin fished under the wagon bench for his clay bottle of ale. He took a gulp and handed the bottle to his daughter.
Tzila took a long, healthy drink. She was still butterflies besides her father very invested in this story. A silent thank-you was sent to Captain De Palma for his inspiration. Martin loved all his friends and trusted them more than he should. And he counted good customers of the inn as friends.
Martin smiled at his daughter as she returned the bottle. “I regret not giving you finer clothes.”
“I look nice, Papa.”
“Your dress may be clean, but it’s the dress of a country girl. I hope they don’t stare at you in town.”
“Well . . . I’ll have some money soon. And I promise to visit any dressmaker recommended by Lise. Herman always said she was the most fashionable lady.”
Nodding at the fake memory, Martin laughed. “Ah yes, he’s very proud of her! Even when you become a stylish city lady, you must promise to write your dear Papa. He won’t sleep well until he knows you are settled.”
Smiling but not showing her teeth, Tzila rested her head on Martin’s shoulder. Buried in a bag of lentils at home was Tzila’s first letter. After a few weeks, her mother was to fish it out and mix it in with the normal post. Tzila made sure the letter was enthusiastic towards her new home with little touches of homesickness. Letter two – hidden in an old boot - invented a new friend. Letter three – under an old bottle of port - talked of a modest party Tzila attended with said new friend and the Rhineharts. Hopefully by the time letter four was due, she would have figured out how to post from her new home.
The conversations were kept small and light. Judith distributed some apples and cheese after a few hours. Their wagon passed through unfamiliar wheat fields and orchards. Though trees covered most of the path, the day grew warm, summer not fully relenting to fall.
Like the woman had said, by midday they reached a fig orchard. The teardrop-shaped fruits were heavy and caused the branches to sag. Martin and Judith bickered for a moment whether this was the proper field. Why? There was no wagon or carriage to meet Tzila.
This moment would be the biggest boulder. Over their midnight planning, Tzila and Judith spent much of their time orchestrating these next few minutes.
“This is very unlike Herman,” huffed Martin. “He or his man should already be there.”
“Very.” Judith stepped from the carriage, squinting her gaze down the road. “Tzila dear, do you recall who should be meeting you.”
Reaching into the side panel of her satchel, Tzila pulled out the letter scrawled by her mother. She ran her fingers over the lines. “It’s his apprentice.”
“Ah. A young man. No work ethic. Probably took a nap on the road and reckoned he would make it in time.”
“This is why I only gave you daughters, Martin.” Judith climbed into the wagon bed. “Well, we will give him a good talking to when he arrives.”
Again, the plan. Judith and Tzila were to lay down for a nap. Martin would water and look after the horse. At the half-hour point, Judith rose from her nap. She climbed down and stretched her limbs. Back into the wagon and an attempt to read. A little amble down the road and back. Back into the wagon. Look up at the sun. Look back in the direction of the inn. Make little circles in the dirt. Finally, Martin noticed his wife’s agitation.
“Something wrong.”
She shook her head. “Nothing, I . . .” Trailing off, she looked back toward the inn.
“You’re not thinking of dinner?”
“The twins should be fine.”
“Yes. Yes, they should.” Martin’s brow furrowed, and he too looked down the road.
Judith turned towards her husband. “If something were to happen to the soup, there’s plenty of bread and butter for the guests. It will be fine.”
Her words were magic. This play agitation in Judith became real for Martin. His thoughts, at first towards his departing daughter, now went to his guests. Bread and butter for dinner? Certainly not in his establishment. He was proud in his wife’s food, how it soothed weary travelers. Bread and butter was a meal for someone sleeping in a barn. It could ruin his reputation as an innkeeper.
Glancing at her daughter, Judith did her worst to calm Martin’s mind. A few side remarks about some of the twins’ misadventures, that time they spread a whole container of flour across the tavern . . . no, surely today would be different.
“Tzila!” He waved towards his daughter. “What day does the lad meet you?”
She glanced again at the letter. “Today.”
“Is it guaranteed?”
“He underlined the date twice.” She held out the letter for him to see.
Martin grabbed the letter and skimmed the content, muttering select phrases. He then set firm his mouth. The decision was near. Under her cloak, Tzila crossed her fingers.
“I hate to do this,” Martin said to his eldest, “But I trust Herman more than I trust your sisters.”
“Papa, I don’t mind.”
“I bet that lad is at that bend in the road, taking his merry time.”
“Herman will be told how long I had to wait.”
Helping her down from the carriage, Martin embraced Tzila. “My sweet girl. You’ve always been my sweet girl. Stubborn like your mother. Don’t let the city change either. Be a friend to anyone who deserves it. Be sweet, but do not let it sway your judgment.” He kissed both tear-stained cheeks. “I pity any person that crosses you.”
Tzila sniffled, using the back of her hand to wipe her eyes. Judith kissed her as well, holding her for a long time. “If you don’t know how much your father and I love you, we haven’t raised you right.”
That caused Tzila to sob.
“No, none of that.” Judith released Tzila and wiped her face. “We aren’t going to part in tears. This is a new adventure for you.”
But Judith’s shaking hand betrayed her words. She was terrified for her, realized Tzila. She pulled her mother in for one more hug.
“I will be safe,” Tzila whispered into Judith’s ear. “I promise.”
Her satchel was deposited on the side of the road. Helping guide the family’s horse, Tzila and Martin turned the carriage around so it could return home. One more embrace, and the parents climbed into the wagon. Their pace was slow, Martin and Judith reminding their daughter to bathe regularly, not drink too much, make offerings to the phantoms, never gamble, write regularly, with shouts of love and farewell mixed in. Tzila waved until the wagon became a small dot.

Chapter Nine
That scream echoed in the cavernous entryway, ringing until it faded.
It was still awkwardly long before anyone – Tzila or the four women at the door – did anything. They looked as shocked as her. A strange girl screaming in their home would puzzle any person.
Four women. They were dressed for traveling but in much finer clothes than anything Tzila owned. Whatever their starting place, it had to have been magnificent. Their posture, the way they clutched their valises, the artful construction of their hair proved they were of class above the innkeeper’s daughter.
For a moment, Tzila wondered if her whole adventure had been misinterpreted, and she was currently occupying someone else’s home.
But that worry was only momentarily. One of the women – with porcelain skin and curly brunette hair – suddenly grinned. She threw open her arms and enveloped Tzila in a hug. She was talking to the other women, they were talking back, and she was then addressing Tzila. The tone was friendly, but the words were gibberish.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
The brunette stared at Tzila, as if she understood the words spoken.
“I . . . I don’t speak your language.”
Light returned back in the woman’s eyes. Her attention was on her traveling partners. There was a hint of frustration as the women conversed, especially the blonde with the hawkish face. Another woman – quite possibly the most beautiful woman Tzila ever beheld – ran up the staircase into the depths of the house.
Returning her attention to Tzila, the brunette placed a hand on her shoulder. She spoke a little more gibberish but seemed content to conserve her words. The blonde and the fourth woman, a petite woman looking as fragile as glass, sounded like they were arguing. The brunette butt in, chastising one of them, just as the beauty returned.
Grabbing Tzila’s hand, a small ring was placed on her middle finger.
She felt a pressure in her ears, like water getting in her ear. It was followed by a sudden pop. It took a moment to realize Tzila now understood the brunette.
“-remind you, Elina, that you weren’t the most cultured when you arrived here!”
“What did you just say?” asked a dumbfounded Tzila.
The brunette grinned. “Are you inquiring as to the content?”
“I can understand you!”
Taking Tzila’s hand, the woman studied the ring. “Aren’t these things marvelous? I, myself, know four languages but it certainly saves from the headache of translating.”
“What’s your name, dear?” asked the fragile woman.
“Yes! Tell us your name!”
All four stared at her eagerly.
“Tzila.”
“Lovely name! Exotic. Is it Turkish?”
Tzila frowned. “What’s Turkish?”
The brunette’s laugh echoed. “You are a de-light. I’m looking forward to becoming friends. My name is Josephine Genevieve Midori Lumley-Capaldi. Of course, you can shorten that to Josephine. No need for formalities in this place.”
Josephine then introduced the other woman. Of course, the stern blonde was Elina. Chandra was the name of the beauty. And the fragile woman was Gemma.
Still holding Tzila’s hand, Josephine held it to her own chest. “We all welcome you, lovely Tzila, into our family. It’s been a rather long time since we’ve had a new resident. Natalie left ages ago. We didn’t think it would take so long but – ah – here you are!”
Elina, the blonde, interrupted Josephine. “Must we do this now? I’m hungry.”
“I’m famished too, Josephine!” whined Chandra.
“Are you hungry?” Gemma asked Tzila.
When Tzila shrugged, Josephine pulled her from the steps. Their trek through the house was more confident than Tzila’s earlier creep. While they walked, the other women argued over the menu. Some wanted fish, others wanted pheasants. But they had pheasants yesterday. As long as there was no meat jelly, anything was fine. On and on until Josephine got them to agree on lamb, turnip soup, stuffed cabbage, and olives.
Josephine flung open doors to the largest dining room. Tzila had explored it earlier. The oversized table did not fit alongside the hand-painted floral arrangements on the walls. It was as if a cow had been placed in Tzila’s dress. But the room had been bare, candelabras on the table empty, when Tzila first saw it.
But it was a room fit for dinner when the five entered. Tablecloths, fine dishes, the warm glow of candlelight, and a large rack of lamb centered on the table. Tzila followed the women as they sat at the table and immediately passed dishes around. At the inn, one of Tzila’s tasks was to fill the plates of lodgers. But here, they all did the work.
Tzila was not, at first, part of the conversation. The women were discussing a recent adventure. They had been to some place called Minsk. And some man named Grand Duke Casimir slipped into a pond. He frightened a flock of sleeping geese with his splash. It was still very funny to them. Tzila couldn’t help but join the laughter, it was so infectious. Then, the conversation moved to a scandal on the trip, how the Grand Duchess may have bedded a musician.
“What scandalizes you more, Elina? That she took on a lover, or that lover was a musician?” asked Chandra.
Gemma shrugged. “Who here hasn’t bedded a musician?”
Laughing so hard, Elina choked on her wine. “The more I hear of your lovers, Gemma, the more I fear for your nethers.”
Josephine turned to Tzila, seated at her left. “Though she may not look it, Gemma is an accomplished seducer of men. She claims not to know how many she’s taken into her bed. Though I’ve been keeping count and the number would shock you.”
“There’s no need to be prudish, Josephine.”
“Darling, nobody in this room could be fairly accused of prudism.”
Gemma raised a glass to Josephine in acknowledgment.
“Speaking of,” Chandra turned to Tzila, “What brought you here?”
“Yes! Do tell, Tzila. What was your wish?”
The four looked at her expectedly. But Tzila was puzzled. Was she supposed to have a wish? She asked the question.
Elina rolled her eyes. “The wish that brought you here.”
“Your service to Esther.” Gemma nodded to Tzila, as if that would spark remembrance.
“I don’t know what you are talking about, the wish or Esther.”
Josephine wiped her mouth, setting the napkin next to her wine glass. “Then you must regale us the tale of how you ended up here.”
She started her story at the beginning, her midnight tryst with Pieter and the burning down of the Lover’s alter. There was no attempt to shade any of the details. Given the women lived in a home with mysterious servants, the idea of phantoms might not shock them. The talk with the Kohenet, the carriage without driver – she told everything. The women absorbed the story, their faces animated but ultimately confused. The story ended with the women walking through the main door.
Silence. Elina reached for the bottle of wine, pouring herself a generous glass.
“I’ll explain,” Josephine said to the group before turning back. “Darling Tzlia, while your story is incredible, it shares nothing with why the four of us are here.
“We are in this home because of Esther. See, Esther grants wishes. Some small, and some not so small. Our wishes were of the latter variety. Apart from granting wishes, Esther is a gambler. She likes a wager. We are here because we entered a contract. If we complete the amount of years on our contract, our wish is granted. There are consequences if we do not.
“This chateau is one of Esther’s extensive properties, now used as a boarding house for women in our situation. Every few weeks, one of Esther’s men will collect us and we must fulfill our part of the wager. Until our wager is completed.
“If I am to understand you entirely, you are here to meet this cosmically-ordained fiancé. That is a situation different from ours. It sounds as if this fiancé is a man. Another curiosity, as men are not allowed in this chateau except under Esther’s direct order.”
She paused to sip some wine. Tzila could tell Josephine was used to being the center of a room and knew how to use the position.
“I am to determine you are here without Esther’s knowledge. But do not fret, my new friend. We will keep your little secret. I am very curious to see how it all works out.”
The other three nodded with various levels of enthusiasm.
It was the word “friend” that overwhelmed Tzila. She smiled and ducked her head down.
“Come on, ladies,” Josephine commanded. “Let us finish our repas and retire to the lounge. I need a port, and we need to show Tzila the proper way to wear panniers.”
“What’s a pannier?”
Laughing, Josephine patted the top of Tzila’s hand.
“You are going to be so much fun, dear girl.”
The rest of the evening passed with laughter and a bit too much wine. When Tzila went up to her room, it was to voices bidding her good night. She fell asleep with a grin on her face.

Chapter Ten
“Knock knock, dear! It’s Josephine! Good morning, Tzila! I see you have finished breakfast. Wonderful. Then there is no point in delaying our fun today. Oh! I hope you are as excited as you should be. No, no, no, leave the dishes there. What’s the point in having magical servants if you don’t use them?
“I suppose we should start with the house. You mentioned seeing a little bit of it yesterday. Forgive me, but knowing your status I’m sure much of it was overwhelming. Personally, I was raised in an estate very much like this one. It was like coming home.
“First off, you are standing in the grounds of Chateau de Barbier-Noel. According to lore, a member of the nobility designed this chateau with the intention of moving court from Paris. By luring the king here, it would increase the clout of this particular nobleman. Well, he spent so much money that he went broke and ended up killing himself. Funny enough, the court did take possession to clear his remaining debts though I don’t know if a king has ever stayed here. Then it was given to Esther as a gift.
“Oh! That painting. This is quite exquisite. Maelwael gave this to Esther personally. Don’t know why. Most everything found here was gifted to her. Personally, I find all Pieta art unnecessary. And so gruesome! But look how beautifully it was designed.
“Anyway, Esther has many castles – that’s what chateau means, darling – and other land possessions. She doesn’t like staying in one place and is always moving her court. They come here occasionally but not once since we’ve been placed here. Chandra’s been here the longest and no one has visited.
“Stop! Hold on one moment. Your stockings are a mess. Are . . . are they the same from last night? Magical servants. You aren’t a bar wench anymore. Yes, yes, your father owned the bar so you aren’t . . . we at the chateau expect more from ourselves. That’s why we are in constant training. By the time you depart, we will make you a lady. Esther’s other houses can’t speak to that. It’s very lucky you ended here.
“I lead etiquette training. I have the most experience using it. My father’s family can trace their linage back to Henry I, though it’s from one of his bastard offspring. I was expected to be a lady from birth and had that training. Comportment is my specialty. It does feel a little wasted. Though we are landed gentry, my father won’t inherit much beyond some money. A great deal of money. The downside of being the second son’s child. The title’s going to my father’s eldest brother. His legitimate children are not that smart. I would have the entire court wrapped around my finger. But must settle for invitations.
“Oh! That’s the ballroom. When large parties are held in the chateau, it is used for dancing. We use it for training too.
“It’s a shame my mother’s family has no noble claims. She came from a family of respected painters, and in Nippon that holds a lot of value. I’m sorry! You might know it as Japan. Japan? It’s . . . it’s a long way from here.
“This is my reason for taking Esther’s wager: I will inherit barely anything. It was sheer luck my grandparents acknowledged my birth. Being both the second son’s barely legitimate daughter and the product of two separate races – especially a commoner mother – does not make for many marriage prospects. In court, my mother is exotic. I am an oddity.
“Now for a tour of the grounds. I’m sure you noticed the old brick wall when you first entered. That marks the territory for the chateau and its extensive property. If – for any reason – you go beyond that brick wall without permission from Esther, I’m afraid you will not be able to find the chateau again. Don’t ask me how that works. My knowledge of magic does not extend beyond the legends of my home countries.
“All of Esther’s magic is astonishing. Even beyond the wish. That ring, for example? We call it a bauble here. It helps to translate whatever is said into something you understand. Though it does make life in the chateau easier for us, the purpose is so we can comprehend Esther. I once slipped off the ring in her presence. I understand four different languages but I did not understand hers.
“What is my wish? Oh, I’ve been talking all day. Tell me about . . . look over there! I’ve been watching that robin all year. He crafted a nest, found a mate, made three little babies, and saw them all fly into the world. The little man is probably off to warmer land. Let’s watch for him in the spring!
“Where were we? My wish!
“Obviously I cannot marry anyone of consequence. And that certainly dashes any of my hopes. I was born to rule court.
“Once I finish my contract, Esther will bump my father to first son. I suggested changing the birth order. Apparently, that is too complicated. So my uncle and two cousins must go. This distresses me to no end. I . . . love my family.
“Don’t give me that shocked look. None of us are saints.
“I say we wander over to the fountain! There are some lovely . . .
“Avert your eyes. Avert your eyes, Tzila! That means look away! Eyes on the ground. Don’t look at him. Let him pass. Let him pass.
“ . . .
“Hell! I hate when he sneaks up on us! The least he could do is whistle or wear a bell. What? His name is Jubal and he is not someone you can befriend.
“You must understand this: while we all have contracts, he has a sentence. How ever many years ago, he did something to incur Esther’s wrath. So he’s must work the gardens here until his sentence ends. He lives in that greenhouse down by the wall. Upon arriving here, we were to neither speak nor look at him. Those are instructions from her. I have spent too much time on my contract to have it voided by a technicality.
“Darling! You don’t have to be frightened. Jubal will also do his best to avoid you.
“Piss on the fountain. I’m starving. Let’s go back to the chateau for some luncheon.
“Do you understand how court works? The king is the very heart of the court, but in reality his advisors are the ones to hold power. My uncle has one of these roles. There are five others right now, first is . . .”