Wildwood Dancing

There was a silence after I had finished. Looking from one sister to another, I saw the same look on all their faces. It perfectly reflected what was in my own heart: the cold realization that our worst fears were coming true. Grave concern. Severely debilitated. Could well prove fatal. Those phrases seemed to add up to only one thing: we’d probably never see our father again.

After a little, Florica carried the teakettle over to the table and set it down with a rattle. “Praise God, your dear father is still with us,” she said, raising a hand to wipe her eyes. “Master Cezar, will you take tea?”

“I’ll pour it,” I said, wanting a job to help me stay calm.

“R?azvan? Daniel? I’m afraid we have only bread to offer you.”

“Ah, how could I forget?” Cezar got up and fetched a capacious basket that had been set by the door. “I’m sorry there isn’t better news to celebrate, but Florica is right—we should be glad Uncle Teodor is still clinging to life. I brought you some supplies, a few little delicacies. I had a feeling you might be running short. Here.” He set the basket on the table and unfolded the cloth that lay over its contents. A delicious smell 136

arose. “Our own store cupboard is amply stocked,” Cezar said.

“My steward attends to it diligently. We can certainly spare this. Nuts, honey, a little wine for you older girls, some preserved fruits . . . And I had our kitchen people make some spice cakes. We could sample those with the tea. You look as if you need a treat.”

I wonder what he wants.

Gogu’s suspicions mirrored my own. I was uncomfortable with Cezar in the role of benefactor. His good deeds were seldom performed without some expectation of gain for himself.

“Oh, Cezar, how lovely!” Iulia’s cheeks were flushed with pleasure. I noticed R?azvan staring at her in what appeared to be admiration. When she leaned forward to examine the basket’s contents, he was taking in the view down the front of her day dress. I frowned at my sister, but she did not seem to notice.

It was clear that Tati wasn’t going to say anything. Daniel was seated opposite her. She sipped her tea and stared through him.

“Thank you, Cezar,” I made myself say. “I’m sure I speak for all of us when I tell you how welcome these small luxuries are.”

I noticed that he was wearing his father’s gold chain again, the one with the miniature hunting horn—perhaps he wore it all the time now.

“Jena?” The little voice was Stela’s.

“What is it, Stela?”

“Is Father dying? Is that what it means, severely debil—

debili—”

137

“Debilitated just means tired and weak.” Paula spoke firmly.

“Father needs more rest, that’s all. He’ll be home in springtime.”

We sat awhile over our feast. Cezar did most of the talking. I had several questions in my mind, questions I could not ask. It seemed to me impossible that Gabriel would have opened my private letters; my father’s secretary was the soul of propriety. Yet, if he had not, how could he have shielded Father from learning of Uncle Nicolae’s death? Evidently Gabriel himself had been given the sad news. Had Cezar had a hand in censoring my correspondence? Gabriel had said, if you write to your father—if, not when. Was it possible that my letters had never reached Father in Constan?ta? And who had decided that we didn’t need Dorin back? An able-bodied young man to help Petru would be worth his weight in gold right now.

I waited for an opportunity to ask Cezar about this, but he was holding forth on the perils of the wildwood, one of his pet subjects, and I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Nobody was arguing—today, none of us sisters had the energy or the heart to challenge him. After a while my attention drifted, my thoughts going over the events of last night: the look in Tadeusz’s eyes, the honey in his voice, the things he had told me. I could not think why I was the one he had singled out, nor what he hoped to gain by it. In the ancient tales of Transylvania, Night People were not known for doing people favors.

“You’d do well to let me deal with the lower reaches of the Piscul Dracului forest as well, Jena,” my cousin was saying.

“Since I’ll be hiring men to fell the trees around my own house, 138

they may as well be put to work on Uncle Teodor’s land straight afterward. We could have the immediate area fully cleared by the end of spring. And the timber would fetch you a tidy profit.”

“What?” I must have sounded stupid. I had only just realized what he was talking about.

“My project, Jena.” Cezar’s tone held exaggerated patience.

“Rendering my property, and Uncle Teodor’s, safe from the ma-lign presences that haunt these woods.”

Your cousin wants a hand in everything. He wants control.

“You can’t do that, Cezar. Folk may be afraid of the beings that dwell in the wildwood, but I doubt very much that the people of the valley would support what you suggest.” I glanced at Florica; she had gone extremely pale. “Felling the trees over a wide area would only anger those presences. It could bring down retaliation on everyone in our community.”

Then, seeing the way Cezar was looking at me: “At least, that’s what most folk will believe. As Florica said once, if you give respect, you get respect back. If you offend, you get . . . retribution. Nobody will be prepared to work for you on this. Anyway, you can’t do anything here at Piscul Dracului without Father’s permission.”

Cezar’s mouth went thin, his eyes turned cold. “It offends me to hear such sentiments issuing from your lips, Jena. I will do you the favor of putting it down to your innocence.”

He means ignorance.