“Yes, I did. It’s a topaz. Belonged to my gran and her motherbefore that.”
This is not a token gift. Few things mean more to Tom than kin,and the fact he’s offering a family heirloom to me brings tears to my eyes. I’mhonored. I send him an intense rush of emotion. Gratias tibi ago.
“You’re welcome. Gran said the stone protected her from harm.Let’s hope it does the same for you.”
Te amabo semper, Thomas.
Te amabo semper, Veritas mea.
Time passes sweetly in his arms, and then he takes me home andwe are separated until the next night.
From this point on, my life becomes an arduous routine. Istrengthen my mind in the daylight, learning to sign with Kelly and Cordelia,followed by night practices which test the limits of my physical endurance. Istruggle through it, sleeping when I can, and give my best every time. In anodd way, I feel empowered—as though I am gaining an edge I never had before. Anadvantage.
Who would ever think that a dumb, blind girl could bedangerous?
12
Caveat.
Beware.
Dr.Kelly visits my mother on Sunday evening. I sit in a chair near Mama’s bedwhile they talk. He’s concerned about her fatigue and swelling.
“Not too unusual, I suppose, but most women feel morethemselves at this point, once the early sickness is over.” Kelly asks Cordeliafor his coat. “I’d like you to eat foods that are rich in iron and protein,Mrs. Grayson.”
Mama agrees, and Cordie and I walk with the doctor to the frontdoor, where the butler is ready with his hand on the knob.
Maybe he and the cook have fallen out.
Kelly isn’t prepared to leave, however. Instead, he asks aftermy studies. “You’re being industrious, I hope?”
I nod and sign. Work hard.
“Here’s an idiom, then,” he says. “In keeping with yourpersonality. My sister Rachel uses it a lot with me.”
He makes the sign and describes the accompanying facialexpression. I practice it a few times, knowing that I will use it with Kellyjust as Rachel does.
“The sign means what precisely?” Cordelia asks.
“You’re full of hot air,” Kelly replies, deadpan. “Now, let’ssee. What’s another? How about—I need sleep? You seem rather weary, Hester.”
I perform this phrase until he’s satisfied.
“A triumph, minx.”
Full of hot air.
“I may regret showing you that one.” The doctor laughs andsqueezes my arm. “You winced just now. Are you hurt?”
Only the after-effects of knife-throwing… Very tired.
“I won’t detain you further. Goodnight, ladies.”
After Kelly leaves, Cordelia and I practice signing for awhile, and then get ready for bed. I have my companion read from TheHistories by Herodotus, expecting her to doze off immediately, but she isgalvanized by his words, puttering around her room until nearly twelve.
I wait under my duvet for the snoring to begin. When at last itdoes, I gently push back the curtains around my canopy bed and climb off thefeather mattress. Next come thick stockings, my oldest but warmest dress, and apair of sturdy boots. I’ll need the extra coverage since it’s snowing outside.Cordelia looked out the window before reading Herodotus to me and complainedabout the snow. My companion never fails to surprise. I expected her to bemoanthe ancient Greek historian rather than the weather.
When I am dressed, I wrap one of Cordie’s wool scarves aroundmy throat, drape another over the top of my head, and don my winter cloak. Tomis waiting for me when I emerge from the house, and we steal away like banditsthrough the night.
Once we reach Stonehenge, he places the case of throwing knivesin my hand. “This is your own set, Hettie. We’re trying the real thingnow—letting you get some experience with an actual blade.” He lights his clankylantern and turns me north. “I brought up a bunch of burlap sacks earlier todayand filled them with snow and dirt. Those’ll be your fifteen targets. Each ofthe stone pillars has one. They sit at the base, ’bout three feet high.”
The bit on Tom’s belt clanks against the buckle as he takes itoff and then he cinches the belt around my waist. Rather puzzled, I jump whenmy skirt is lifted, a gust of cold air blowing across my legs. Tom hikes thematerial up and tucks it under the belt. The length of my calf is exposed,woolly stockings and all.
Excuse me?
“Better access, love.”
Access to what?
He removes one knife from the carrying case and gives it to me.The handle is so cold my fingers hurt. I touch the flat side of the blade. It’scoated with frost, but I wipe it clean. My breath catches as Tom touches mygarter, lingering there for a moment. Then his hand moves higher, and I feelhim strapping the knife case to my thigh.
“Too tight?” he asks.
I swallow and shake my head. No, but I’m freezing.
“Sorry, Hettie. You’ll warm up once we get to work.” Tom findsa place to sit, far out of range. “You know the layout of the stones. Directlyahead of you is number one. Go clockwise, and I’ll retrieve the weapons afterthe third throw.”
The snowy weather heightens the sense of solitude and smotherssound. It makes things more difficult for me to locate.
“Hold the point between your fingers,” Tom says. “It won’t cutyou if you’re careful.”
I’m assured by the solid weight in my hand, and I review thesteps Tom has taught me, the moves I’ve been practicing. I lift my arm, drawback, and throw.
Tom claps. “Very nice. Severed an artery at the least.”
Although my skirt is tucked up somewhat, it still covers theknife case, and I’m awkward at getting the blades from under the flounces ofwool. Blasted clumsiness. I throw again and the knife just nicks the edge ofthe bag. But the third attempt slices straight through the middle.
“Dead center,” Tom says, his voice dulled by the snow.
He brings the knives back, and I try again with mixed success.All the practice and trial-and-error kicks in on the next round. Every throw isgolden.
Then I hear a horse whinny and extend my hearing to pinpointits location. The animal isn’t far distant, just past the clearing, but Tomseems oblivious.
A rider’s coming from the south.
He grabs my arm, pushes me toward the nearest pillar. Hide.I’ll
