D. A. Houdek

Deb Houdek Rule

Web designer - Science Fiction author - Civil War historian - Genealogy researcher

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Of All the Western Stars

by Deb Houdek Rule

Chapter 16

The journey back was far slower, for the horses could manage no more than a walk. Lisette cared not. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. No need for hurry remained. Sitting sideways on the saddle of the black horse, Geraint riding his roan mare, they made their way back through the length of the dark forest. Several times Geraint seemed on the verge of speaking to Lisette, but each time, upon seeing her anguished expression, remained silent.

By the time they emerged into the familiar fields and pastures surrounding Houghton, the sun painted the western sky in rose, and the first stars of evening twinkled in the indigo twilight. Lisette watched the sky as Geraint led them the narrow way through the village toward Weston Manor.

The clatter of hooves in the courtyard drew Lisette’s mother and father out to meet them. Behind them, in the candlelit glow of the entryway Lisette saw servants dabbing at their eyes. Even the young stableboy, who came running to take the horses, was sniffling. He wiped his nose on his sleeve as he took the reins and listened as Geraint gave him instructions on caring for the tired horses.

Lisette sank trembling into her parents’ arms, her mother’s red-rimmed eyes brimming afresh with tears when she saw her daughter. "Oh, Lisette! How could you have frightened us so?" Katherine Weston cried out. "When Geraint appeared, saying his horse had been taken, and then we couldn’t find you… well, we suspected what you were doing and feared the very worst." Thomas Weston just hugged his daughter closely.

As they led her into the manor house, her father leaned close to Lisette’s ear and whispered, "‘Twas a brave effort, and for that I thank you." But Lisette felt no pride, only the miserable sense that she’d failed. She knew her father wanted to chastise her for the worry and fear she’d added to their burden.

After mumbled words of condolence, Geraint retreated to a corner of the Hall when they entered, giving the family privacy. At her mother’s instructions, the servants brought him food and drink. A cup of warm wine was pressed into Lisette’s hands. She drank it without tasting it. As she looked around her at the familiar and comfortable surroundings, she wondered how they could have transformed into something so strange and alien. It was as if a vital bit of the spirit of Weston Manor, a part that turned the stone and wood into a living entity, was gone, leaving a hollow shell with mute ghosts, mere specters of the people they had once been, creeping about its rooms.

Vaguely, Lisette stared at the door to her room and tried to remember when they’d climbed the stairs. Thomas Weston pushed open the door to his daughters’ room then stepped aside to allow the ladies to enter first. Lisette entered the bedchamber, feeling as though her feet were not even touching the floor, but moved her forward as a puppet in someone else’s control.

Dizziness filled her and she looked down at the bed from a great, numbing height. Surrounded by candles, Alyce lay in the bed. Her face, rosier in the golden light than it had been in her last days of life, wore a serenely peaceful expression, a soft smile on her lips. She’s not dead, she’s only sleeping, Lisette yearned to cry out when she looked upon her sister’s still face. The lump in her throat stopped the words. She’d thought she’d cried all the tears there were left in her, but new ones spilled down Lisette’s face as she looked at Alyce.

Surrounding her were the roses Lisette had picked, so that Alyce lay in a nest of sweet smelling flowers, the delicate petals caressing her cheeks. Lisette gulped. Never again would she look upon roses with joy, nor take pleasure in their scent.

After a few moments, her parents led Lisette from the room. At the end of the hallway, in the window seats below the large, diamond-paned windows, they sat on either side of her, one holding each of her hands.

"I know how hard this time is for you, dear child," her mother began, "how close you and Alyce were. We’ve sent messengers to our relatives. They’ll be coming here for the funeral the day after next. And we thought…" Her voice trailed off and she looked away.

Her father picked it up. "We thought, seeing as how your wedding was to be only two weeks hence, that to ask everyone to leave off their summer work and travel so far twice in so short a time… well…"

"We want to hold your wedding at the same time," her mother finished.

Lisette nodded slowly. It was right… painfully, miserably right. She stared down the shadowy hallway toward the door to the room that had belonged to Alyce and her, and thought of the happy days and nights they’d shared. How could she sleep in that room ever again? Or even in this house?

She tried to speak, cleared her throat and tried again. "Yes," she said in a low rasp. "Yes. It’s for the best." Her marriage and a funeral together… how more appropriate could it be? And how more fitting to the strange, elusive prophecy of a star that had shattered her life.

After one sharp glance toward Lisette, Geraint accepted the news with his usual, sedate quiet. "I’m sure my parent’s will think you wise to be so… thrifty."

Thomas Weston’s face darkened. "Thriftiness has nothing to do with the matter. Where my daughters are concerned I’ll spare no expense. It is for consideration of others that my lady and I feel this the best option."

"Indeed. Indeed," Geraint said. "Forgive me. I meant no affront."

"None taken," he answered gruffly. "No doubt it’s your father’s frugal nature speaking through you."

A rare, but mirthless, smile crossed Geraint’s lips. "No doubt at all, sir. Nevertheless, a wise plan." He hesitated. "I do have but one doubt, and that is whether my father will have yet returned from his business in London."

"Hmmm… I would not like to proceed without him."

Geraint shrugged. "Think it no matter. My father’s, as you say, ‘frugal’ nature will appreciate your actions, even if he does not arrive in time to witness them." He glanced at Lisette. "If I may, Mistress, a moment of your time?"

Thomas and Katherine discretely withdrew, leaving the couple in privacy.

"Let’s go out," Lisette said. "I need air."

They crossed the courtyard in silence, passing beneath the outer gates to the open land beyond. Geraint picked their path through the darkness, guiding their feet, his hand firm on Lisette’s arm, while Lisette stared upward at the splendor of the heavens displayed above them, remembrances of Ashur chasing unbidden through her mind. At the stone fence by the sheepyard, they stopped.

They stood in silence for several minutes, each pursuing their own thoughts, chasing their own demons. At last Geraint spoke. "Though we are to be wed the day after morrow, I understand that this is a time of grief for you, not rejoicing. I… I wanted you to know, that I won’t intrude on your mourning... that I won’t press you for… uh… marital duties…"

Had this been another day, Lisette knew the world would see a crimson blush on her face, but now, in the leaden dullness that had overtaken her, she only nodded. "You are kind. Thank you." After a moment she added, "I’ll be sorry for you if your father cannot attend."

Geraint snorted softly. "It’s no matter. You know well enough that I’m naught but a bargaining chip for him, a business tool to lay hold of the abundant dowry your father is providing. Such is the role of children in this wicked world in which we live."

Lisette stared at him. She’d never heard such honesty, nor such bitterness, from him before. It was true enough that her own father hoped for advancement through her marriage, but she just couldn’t lay to him such mercenary motives as Geraint attributed to his father. Pieces of a puzzle coalesced in her mind. Certainly the Staffords had the titles and noble ancestry, but did that mean they had wealth as well? Her father’s businesses thrived and grew each year, filling the family coffers with gold and fine things. What revenues did a rundown castle bring in, or did it only offer expenses? With the titles were there also revenues? Inwardly, she shrugged. No matter. Each party to this marriage was getting what it desired, save she and Geraint. Their duty was to fulfill the obligations regardless of their personal wishes.

"Shall I escort you back to the house? I want to go and check on my horse before retiring."

She looked at Geraint, his face silvery in the light of the just-past-new moon. "I think I should like to stay out here a while longer. But I wouldn’t keep you. I’m near to the gate. I’ll be safe."

He bowed to her, raised her hand and kissed it. "A good night to you, Mistress."

As he turned to go, Lisette called out softly, "Geraint." He turned back toward her. "How is it that you were here this morning? With your horse tied in the bushes by the stream."

A long silence answered her query and Lisette wished she could see his face more clearly, to tell what expression he wore.

"I was on my way to see you. And, uh, only paused there for a moment, to, uh, water my horse. If you’ll pardon me, now. Good night." He hurried away into the darkness before she could question him further. His story rang hollow to her, his mare had been tied away from the water, but she could see no reason for him to lie. With a surge of indifference she shrugged off her doubts.

Gazing upward and to the west, Lisette watched the stars arrayed above her. Venus slipped from sight below the line of trees, ever near the sun’s position. If that book she’d read was true, it circled not the earth, but the sun, as did the earth itself. It was hard to think that the earth may not be the center of all things, that it might be nothing more than a ball hanging in someone else’s sky as was the moon to earth. How small and insignificant it made one seem, not to be the center of all creation, all mankind’s sorrows mere trifles, a dust speck on the vast tapestry of creation. And if heaven lay not above the flat plain of the Earth, where then did little Alyce’s soul now reside?

As she watched the stars, Lisette noticed one of them move. A tremor shook her from head to foot at the sight. Not another sign. Not another portent. "Ashur," she whispered. "Is this another sign of you?" It came as plans for her wedding to Geraint were advanced, as had the falling star that first led her to Ashur. Meant it to lead her away from Geraint, to the arms of another man, the man she truly loved and wanted? Lisette shivered as suppressed longing swept over her. She wanted Ashur’s arms again, his lips, his touch. She wanted his voice caressing her ears as he told her of his many mysteries. Lisette wished she had the bewitched crystal so she could see his face smiling at her beneath a sky aswirl with color. Ah, fool that she was, she wanted this strange, dark man heralded by a star.

"Please, God," she raised her clasped hands to the heavens where the point of light moved. "Give me a sign. If Ashur is meant to be mine, and I his, send him to me in time to stop this marriage. Please, show me in your heavens if this is meant to be."

But this was no falling star, she saw, for it did not streak downward leaving a trail of light. Instead it tracked across the sky from the south to the north, holding a steady line. Lisette stared at it for several minutes, her mouth hanging open, until it passed from her sight to the north. Even in Copernicus’ heretical universe the stars did not move thus. "God in heaven," she breathed, "What sign is this?" And of good or evil, joy or sorrow, Ashur or Geraint, did it speak?

Dressed in fresh, clean clothes and feeling fine, Ashur joined the Duchess at breakfast. Agnes rose gratifyingly late in the morning, not at that miserable crack of dawn the Stafford household favored. The Lady Agnes looked like the emitters of a fusion jet about to overload, he thought, bowing over her hand and graciously complimenting her attire.

She simulated self-deprecating modesty, examining Ashur with the most wholly carnivorous expression he’d ever seen. He was wryly tempted to strip off his shirt and bare his teeth for her inspection. "So kind of you," she said. "Do be seated. It’s such a pleasure to have a man to breakfast with again after these long years."

Sitting down at the ornately furnished table, he picked up a hot roll and buttered it. He bit into the bread. The taste astonished him, such flavor and aroma. Even the best synthesizers on his world couldn’t reproduce the subtleties in this. And the butter… why, it must be real. Eagerly, he reached for the jam. After his stay with the Staffords he’d suspected that the only cuisine this era had to offer was stale bread and mutton stew.

"If I may ask, milady, have you been widowed long?"

"Six years now."

"I’m sorry."

Agnes laughed. "Oh, don’t be. For a woman, there’s not quite so fine a thing as to be a wealthy widow. All other women are bound by law in obedience to husband or father, but I am quite free and mistress of my own destiny and wealth." She paused. "It may get lonely, though. Fond though I am of my servants, I may not properly be as familiar with them as I may with one of my own station." Her eyes narrowed, showing painted lids, as she scrutinized Ashur. "You’ve not said what your own station in life is, my lord," and Ashur noticed the way she came down on ‘lord,’ putting a question mark in her tone.

Ashur concentrated on buttering his second roll. Should he be honest with the snoopy old crone? Tell her that he was, in fact, second son of the rulers of an empire of seven advanced planets and twenty or more colony worlds, the least of which put this dismal, primitive world to shame? What would she make of that?

Instead he sniffed the air. "What is that smell? Is it coffee?" Goodness, he didn’t think coffee had even been invented yet. Certainly there’d been no trace of it, or even tea, at the Stafford’s, nothing but bad wine and sour ale.

Agnes clapped her hands delightedly. "It is indeed coffee. I wondered if you would recognize it. Brought all the way from Africa at great expense, and with many bribes, for the infidels value it greatly and don’t wish it to be taken from their lands." She studied him appraisingly and Ashur realized he’d just passed another test, for a commoner would not know of so rare an object.

A servant, surprising Ashur again with his attentive willingness, poured the coffee into fine china cups. Ashur added cream so thick it barely poured. He leaned back with a sigh and savored the wondrous beverage. Perhaps being trapped in this era wouldn’t be the nightmare it first appeared. True, recreations were few, and none of them holographic, but this house was comfortable, and the servant girls here were clean and pretty. If they were as willing as the others he’d met, Ashur was sure he’d manage to keep himself entertained, get his mind off of Lisette — though he still needed either her, or Geraint, to find his ship. Yes, that was the only reason she plagued his consciousness.

A page hurried into the room, leaning to whisper to Agnes. She looked startled, stood up abruptly. "Excuse me," she said and vanished before Ashur could react.

Leaning far to his left, he could see a sliver of the entryway from his seat. A horse snorted out front and a boy stood on the steps. He handed a paper to Agnes. She tore it open and read quickly.

"Yes, yes… tell them I’ll be there," he heard her say. As the boy turned she called out, "Take a fresh horse from my stable. That one is worn out. And I shall send one of my boys with you. Tom! Fetch the lad some food and drink. Quickly, now."

When she returned to the breakfast table, Agnes was dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Ashur scrambled to his feet. "Madame, are you all right?"

Instead of answering, she said, "I have to take a short trip. I’ll be gone three or four days. I apologize for abandoning you so soon. The servants will tend to your needs. Don’t hesitate to ask for anything you may require."

"Is there anything I may do to help?"

"No… no, not yet."

Within the hour a couch carrying Agnes and a large number of her staff pulled away from the estate. Ashur hadn’t thought it possible for a woman to prepare for a trip so rapidly without mechanical aids.

After she was gone, the house seemed very large and quiet. With methodical thoroughness, Ashur began to snoop every corner of the estate. In the Duchess’s bedroom he found, crumpled in a corner, the paper that had been the cause of the sudden upheaval. His studies of the Staffords’ financial accounts let him read the flowing text and odd spelling easily. Though encrypted in the flowery and indirect writing style of the day, the letter basically said that Agnes’ niece was dead. Lisette? Ashur’s heart skipped a beat. He read further. No. It wasn’t. He let his breath out with a long, slow sigh. It was the other one, Lisette’s sister, who was dead and her funeral was tomorrow. But that didn’t cheer Ashur’s heart, for further down he read that Lisette’s marriage to Geraint would take place the same day.