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a handkerchief, and soft skin oiled with pork fat. Even her speech sounded superior, crisp and sharp, unlike their father’s muddy mixture of Catalan, Occitan, and Spanish.
    Hard to believe this finely dressed blue-eyed beauty was related to her at all.
    “You look well,” Poncia said, fluffing her deep blue skirts. She sat on the bench. Her six-month trip to help her new husband acquire stock for his spice trade had taken her all through the country—even to Paris itself.
    Auda hadn’t known when her sister would return, had secretly feared that Poncia wouldn’t leave merry Paris at all. Why would she? Her life now was so different from the drab routine she had had here at home, stuck taking care of a sister who lived in the dark.
    No, that wasn’t fair. Poncia had never once complained about the burden. But it was clear to all who knew her that the fair girl wanted fine clothes and a rich life. She had stayed at home longer than she should have, to take care of Auda. Any other girl her age might not have found a man to marry. But Poncia had undertaken the task with vigor, doing favors for old women in church and taking advice from matronly mothers wishing to pass on their wisdom. It was not long before one of them introduced Poncia to the handsome Jehan. Months later, they were married.
    Auda dropped her basket, wiped her face dry, and hung up her sackcloth cloak beside her sister’s new surcoat. She fingered the soft blue cloth that matched Poncia’s laced kirtle—so this is what marriage to a fine merchant brought! She pushed away a pang of envy and sat next to her sister. Lifting her hands, she rolled them around each other in imitation of wagon wheels and pointed to her mouth.
    Your trip. Tell me . She smiled and touched her sister’s arm for a response.
    Poncia shook her head. “Pull up your sleeves, Auda,” she said. “I can’t see your fingers.”
    The sisters had developed the crude sign language long ago. Her father had picked it up too, despite grumbling that he’d gone through the effort of teaching the girls their letters. Waxtablets hung in every room, but pressing words into the wax with a stylus took too much time to accommodate real conversation.
    Auda smiled at the memory of learning her letters. Reading and writing were common enough among nobles, and Narbonne boasted a small school where boys could learn the basics of grammar even if they were not destined for the clergy. Of course girls were not admitted, not that Martin could have afforded the hefty fee. Instead he had taught her and Poncia how to read and write himself.
    “It will be our secret language,” he’d said to the both of them, though his eyes met Auda’s.
    She had mastered reading and writing with ease, and was soon poring over books borrowed from the stationer on physicking and philosophy while Poncia still struggled to spell common words. Auda never gloated over her ability, but secretly was glad she was skilled at something that eluded her pretty sister.
    Auda rolled up her sleeves and mimed the motion of rolling wheels again.
    “Oh, the trip.” Poncia waved the request away. “Later. First I want to know what you were doing out by yourself. Don’t tell me it was to buy bread.” Her voice grew apprehensive. “It’s not safe out there now.”
    Auda shook her head in exasperation. Like their father, her sister worried too much.
    Poncia frowned at her. “Where’s Papa?”
    Feeding the animals. Just back from scribing . She signed the image of a goat with her left hand and fed it with her right, then mimed the motion of writing.
    “He took you to the stationer’s with him?”
    Auda crossed her arms over her chest. It’s safe .
    Poncia pursed her lips. “Well, while both of you were out, Ipulled greens from the kitchen garden, and brought in the eggs from the barn—only two mind you.” She nodded at the basket on the table. “You have to learn these things, Auda. You can’t just shrug them off anymore,