People of the Lightning(48)

Kelp’s eyes widened as understanding dawned. “Oh. Well, good-bye, then. I’ll see you later.” She scrambled to her feet and ran.

Pondwader smiled as he watched her cross the village, weaving around shelters, and Moonsnail scowled at him. “How did you know what I wished to speak with you about?”

Pondwader suppressed his smile, picked up the comb and ran it through his wet hair. “Well, I will be married in less than two hands of time, and since my mother isn’t going to—”

“She wanted to, let me tell you! It was the glee in her voice that made me refuse her the right. I had to order her out of the shelter, bellowing that it was my right, since I had raised you. No telling what she would have said. Knowing her, she would have terrified you so badly you wouldn’t have had the strength to do anything.”

“Grandmother,” Pondwader said, “I barely have the strength to stand up by myself, let alone—”

“Well, you won’t be standing up! At least I don’t think so, and surely Musselwhite realizes your frail condition and will accommodate it, which means you’ll be lying down. I know you’ve never been with a woman. Every girl you ever looked at twice ran away screaming, but—”

“Not every girl, Grandmother,” Pondwader objected.

“—but surely you understand the general idea.”

Pondwader sighed, “Experience isn’t everything, I have observed dogs mating, and wolves and—”

“It’s not the same,” Moonsnail said. To give herself courage, she reached over for her walking stick, but didn’t stand. She propped the stick on the floor in front of her and leaned against it, staring down at her grandson. Pondwader squinted his pink eyes at her. “Dogs and wolves do things … Trust me. Musselwhite will expect more refinement. Do you understand what is required of you, or shall I describe it in detail?”

Pondwader flushed and bowed his head. “I understand, Grandmother.”

“Good. Women like to be treated gently. Don’t rush her. She’s just lost her husband and if you jump on her like a panting dog, she’s liable to dart you in your most vulnerable spot—which would certainly make the rest of this discussion pointless. In more ways than one.”

“I wouldn’t rush her, Grandmother!” Pondwader defended. “I love her.”

Moonsnail eyed him severely. “Love is not so easily had, Pondwader, though I don’t doubt your earnestness. But you must realize that despite what you feel it will take Musselwhite much longer to grow fond of you. In fact, she may never—”

“Yes she will!” he answered suddenly. “Oh, yes, she will love me, Grandmother. I can make her. I promise you. If she will let me.”

The burl head of Moonsnail’s walking stick felt cool beneath her gnarled old fingers. After summers of use she had worn it smooth, and the oils in her hands had turned the pine a deep dark brown that revealed the intricate swirls of the wood grain. She stared at the swirls now. The desperate longing and sincerity in Pondwader’s voice made her heart ache, but what did he know of love or its difficulties—which were many, no matter how much two people cared for each other? He was a ten-and-five-summers-old boy who had never so much as kissed a girl. Not that she knew of, anyway, and since girls scattered at the sight of him, she figured she was probably right. How could he understand the complexities of love?

“Well, I hope it works out exactly that way, but sometimes it does not, Pondwader. No, don’t interrupt me. Listen for a few moments. Musselwhite loved her husband very much. Old Seedpod, withered stick that he is, told me he feared Musselwhite might actually take her own life after Diver’s death. That is how much she loved the man. She does not really want to live without him.” Her voice softened, as she thought of her own dead husband. She had never stopped missing Sandbur. To this day, he filled her dreams, talking with her, loving her. “I understand. I felt the same terrible grief when your grandfather died. So, you must accept the fact that you are a poor replacement for a man Musselwhite lived with and loved for more than half her life. She may come to love you one day. But you should not expect it for a long time. It may take three or four summers before she lets herself think about loving you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Grandmother,” he said obediently, but he sounded unconvinced, and perhaps that was just as well. If he wanted to make her love him badly enough, he just might.

“One last thing,” Moonsnail said.

Pondwader looked up at her from beneath pale lashes. “Yes?”

“Musselwhite is accustomed to being touched in certain ways. Lovers do that. They train each other. Ask her what she enjoys, and listen if she tells you she does not enjoy something.” Moonsnail pointed her walking stick at him. “This will not be an easy thing for you to hear, but I feel it necessary to say. In all probability, my dear grandson, whenever her body is loving you, she will close her eyes and see Diver.”