Soldier at the Door(52)

Then kiss them again.

Then check their cloths which she had just changed.

Then remind Shem, for the fourth time, all about feeding them if they should return late.

Then she was about to do something else that no one would ever know about, because that’s when Perrin finally picked her up and hefted her over his shoulder like a bag of grain. He carried her to the open wagon he borrowed from the fort while Jaytsy happily waved and called “Bye-bye” to “Ma” and “Dog!” from the door. Shem held Peto, who didn’t even notice her leaving. He was too busy poking Shem’s face to make him say “Ow!” in silly ways.

Perrin plopped his wife on the front bench of the wagon.

“Stay!” he commanded in the same voice he used on the dog, and she sat there obediently, albeit grumpily. He never took his eyes off her, as if she might bolt if he did, and he climbed in next to her and slapped the reins on the horses. Soon they were off towards the south end of the village to see what all the new house excitement was about. Mahrree was sure she could hear her babies crying in the distance, but Perrin refused to turn around.

“This will be good for you, I promise.”

“How?” Mahrree asked miserably.

“I’m not sure yet, either,” he said, fighting the urge to glance behind him.

Mahrree noticed. Her husband was always slightly paranoid; it was part of his job. Maybe he was concerned about Guarders visiting his home when he wasn’t there.

“The private—I mean, Shem—didn’t wear his sword,” she massaged her hands. “And he won’t know where yours is hidden.”

Perrin patted the long knife secured in his waistband under his brown leather jacket. “I’m sure he has his long knife somewhere on him. And I showed him where the other knife is in the secret drawer of the eating table.” He began to smile. “Then Zenos put on that overly-grave expression of his and said, ‘Sir, I don’t believe in letting children play with knives.’”

Mahrree couldn’t help but chuckle. “He’ll be all right with them, won’t he?”

Perrin shrugged and nodded at the same time. “Said he has more experience with children than I do. That might be true, depending on how much he watched his nieces. I suppose our two most important possessions are safe. He’s becoming quite skilled with the sword. Nearly bested me the other day in practice. I’ll have to sharpen up a bit.”

Mahrree sighed. “It’s not that I don’t trust Shem, but I feel like I’ve abandoned our babies.”

“Maybe we can remember what it was like when we were courting,” Perrin suggested.

“Courting? We never courted properly!” Mahrree reminded him. “We debated until you got tired of losing to me, then you showed up on my doorstep when you got tired of missing me. Now we’re both just tired!”

Perrin smiled and wrapped his arm around her. “Now this is something I haven’t been able to do for awhile without someone small becoming jealous.”

It took her some time, but eventually Mahrree agreed that it was pleasant to look up and around her for once, instead of always down and into someone’s changing cloths. As the horses trotted through the village, she and Perrin realized how much they’d been missing. Poe wasn’t the only young man in fancy clothes. Scattered here and there were other people in ‘outfits’ in vibrant colors and extravagant textures. Mahrree had seen some people dressed up at the market in the late morning, but now in the afternoon there seemed to be even more examples of impractical clothing.

Then again, she was never one to pay attention to what people wore. It didn’t seem worth noting, unless someone wasn’t wearing anything at all.

When they passed a man in bright purple suit coat and trousers, Mahrree nudged Perrin. “Do you think you’re a purple man?”

Perrin glanced down at his rough cotton brown trousers and his comfortably worn leather jacket. “Do I look like a purple man? I didn’t even know that was a color you could wear! Maybe they think that’s ‘progress,’ but I certainly don’t. No, I don’t want to worry about mussing up my ‘outfits.’ And I like knowing exactly where my clothing came from. Did you hear that silk is worm vomit?”

Mahrree curled her lip and gave him a withering sidelong glance. “First, that purple suit wasn’t silk. It looked more like worsted wool. And second, I doubt silk is worm vomit! How do these stories get started, anyway?”

He grinned. “That’s how I explained the origination of the silk cocoons to Poe. He confided to me that he was worried about where his shirt was really from. His friends kept telling him it was bug droppings. He was rather pleased to hear it came from the other end.”