Strands of Starlight Read Online Free PDF Page B

said the midwife. “What do you want?”
    “Who cares?”
    “I care.”
    Miriam said nothing for some time. The wagon creaked and Esau snorted, and those were the only sounds. The land was open and bare, stretching from nowhere to nowhere and back again. If her life were a landscape, this was it. Eight years before, she had stumbled through the streets of Maris, ten years old and homeless, her eyes nearly swollen shut from tears. She had stopped crying, but that was the only change.
    “I want . . . I want people to leave me alone.” The emptiness of the pastures suddenly frightened her. Was that all? Was that her life? Her tongue loosened. “I want to be able to walk into a marketplace and not worry that the Church is going to drag me off before I can say an Ave Maria. I want a . . . a home. I want a mother who won't throw me out of the house because I can heal like I do. I want . . .” The fever must have weakened her, because she felt her throat constricting. There was dampness in her eyes, but she fought the emotion down.
    “Those are good things to want,” said Mika. “I can't supply freedom from the Church or from other people, and I can't change the past, but I can supply a home. Will that be sufficient?”
    “You're still not telling me why?”
    “Do I have to? Well, then, let this be my reason: when I found you by the side of the road you were bloody and broken and wet, and you look about thirteen, which is how old my Esther was when they dragged her from the river . . . bloody and broken . . . and . . . wet . . .except that you're alive and she—“
    Miriam could feel that the midwife was weeping. “I'm not your daughter,” she said.
    “That's not the point,” said Mika softly. “I couldn't save her. But I could save you. I do what I can.”
    “I won't be able to stay with you.”
    “As long as you like, child.”
    Miriam flared. “I'm not a child, dammit.”
    Mika looked over her shoulder. “I don't know what else to call you,” she said. “You never told me your name.”
    Miriam saw kindness in her eyes and wished that she could acknowledge it, but her heart had grown cold, as though the iron of the blades that had torn her legs had imparted something of themselves to it. She looked away quickly, back at the landscape, and noticed that it was not totally empty: there were trees, low shrubs, even an occasional house. And to the west was the dark forest of Malvern, and beyond that the mountains.
    “My name is Miriam,” she said.
    ***
    Miriam said little more the rest of the day. Toward evening, they came in sight of Furze, but Mika was still unwilling to risk an inn, and they spent a third night by the side of the road. Miriam fell asleep over a supper of gruel and a little salt meat. The weather was cold, but the dark green cloak was warm.
    Mika's house was set back a distance from the road, overlooked by two tall oak trees, and surrounded by well-tended gardens. Winter was not yet done, but there were green shoots poking up and even a spot of color here and there at the borders where an optimistic crocus was blooming. The house itself was good and sturdy, of woven willow carefully plastered with mud. The crucks supporting the roof were tall and straight, and the thatch had recently been beaten in.
    Mika helped Miriam to the door and began loosing the latch fastening. “Jeanne has been here today,” she said. “Smell the straw? I told her I'd be home. She's always doing things like that for others.” She swung open the door to reveal a clean, well-kept room. There was fresh litter and herbs on the earth floor, and the fire on the hearth had been carefully banked.
    Miriam smelled something else, too. “Fresh bread! Who is Jeanne? A neighbor?”
    Mika put some cushions by the fire and made Miriam comfortable while she talked. “A neighbor, yes. Her sister is due in another month or so, and Jeanne is helping her.” She straightened, hands on hips, and surveyed the house. “And taking