Soldier at the Door(24)

Mahrree blinked in surprise.

“Yes, I read it!” Hycymum proclaimed proudly. “Or tried to. Most of it. The important parts. But you see, no one remembers anymore. But,” she leaned conspiratorially towards her daughter, “we do!”

Mahrree squeezed her mother’s arm. “I knew it! Do you think anyone else still has their family histories?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Hycymum confessed. “Such a document would be too dangerous to discuss. I like to believe others may have been warned too. When you’re feeling better, though, I want you to make a copy to keep safe. Add our names, and the names of your children.”

“Of course!” Mahrree beamed. “My recipe book could use a few additions.”

“And Mahrree,” her mother said somberly, “I hope you understand when I say this—I don’t think you should tell Perrin. Not that I don’t trust him, but . . . I don’t think his position as corporal will allow him to keep such a family secret.”

Mahrree stifled a smirk at ‘corporal’ and nodded.

“I’ve seen that already,” she said sadly. “And Mother? Thank you, for everything today. And for trusting me.”

Oh, the secrets women keep, she thought to herself. If only we had the power to organize them.

“I’m just glad I actually helped,” Hycymum said, sounding as if she’d passed her first math exam in thirty years. “You know, being a mother is so much easier when your babies are small.”

Mahrree groaned. “Oh, you did not just say that . . . Really? I’ve been thinking nothing could be more difficult than two small children!”

Hycymum shook her head. “My poor daughter, I’ll never understand how someone as bright as you can be so dim.”



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Mahrree’s recovery from the effects of The Drink was really quite simple. She reminded herself how blessed she was, how adorable her two babies were, that she had a caring mother and a wonderful husband, and once she put her mind to it she could get over her deep sense of loss and easily move on.

Except her heart didn’t believe a word of it.

So Mahrree spent the next several weeks living in a pit of hopelessness.

She half-heartedly nursed her son, vaguely watched her daughter, and stared at her house from her bed or from the sofa.

Without any comment, mothers and grandmothers—most of them Hycymum’s friends—came in each day and straightened up Jaytsy’s messes, took her for walks, or cradled Peto while Mahrree napped. This service had been given to them as well. They knew the pain.

They also knew that in a few weeks the heavy sorrow would start to lighten, Mahrree would begin to sit up more often, watch her children more carefully, and begin to smile again.

In the meantime, the women took turns in her home until Perrin returned each evening. They would touch him on the arm, tell him what was cooking for dinner, and inform him who would come the next day. Hycymum came in daily to brush her daughter’s hair, do the washing, and add herbs to the dinners.

But Perrin was at a complete loss.

“No one told me this would happen,” he said resentfully to Tabbit when she came over with loaves of bread four days after Mahrree took The Drink. “I’ve already received two letters from my mother telling me to wait. Wait for what, Auntie? This has destroyed Mahrree!”

She lay on the sofa, staring at nothing, not noticing the conversation between her husband and his great aunt in the eating area. She only hazily watched Jaytsy tearing paper that might have been important, while Peto slept in the cradle.

“She’ll come out of it, Perrin, I promise. I’ve seen it happen dozens of times before. Eventually, her heart will come to terms—”

“Why didn’t anyone warn us?” he snapped at her.

“What good would that have done, Perrin?” Tabbit said, remarkably composed considering the commander of the fort was threatening to explode.

Then again, when you’ve changed someone’s soiled cloths as a baby, that tends to lend you a bit of authority over them, no matter what their position later in life.

“No man really wants to know,” she told him evenly. “Certainly not the Administrators or anyone else in authority. Women don’t fight battles, or hold positions of power, or even challenge the Administrators. We’re not a threat, but barely an asset. So what happens to us is irrelevant.”

“Well, I don’t feel that way!” he said, softening slightly.

“No, Perrin, you don’t, for which I thank the Creator. Neither does Hogal, nor did Cephas, and neither does your father. Your birthing was quite difficult on Joriana—more than two days, because you were an enormous baby! Relf was quite distressed to see how much your mother suffered with you, so he convinced her to take The Drink early so as to not risk another expecting. He, too, was stunned and angry at how deeply The Drink affected her. I know because I was there. Your grandmother had already passed and I knew Joriana would need my help.”