Section 5

Chapter 5


"Kestrel!" Wren yelled running toward her.

Kestrel rolled her eyes. It sounded urgent, but she was used to that with Wren. Her sister was the earnest one in the family."What is it?" Kestrel said. "Does Mom need us to run to the green grocer for more potatoes before dinner?"

"I can't believe you're making jokes at a time like this," Wren puffed. She bent over a little, her hands placed just above her knees for support. "You've got to come to the house right away."

"I will," Kestrel told her. "But why? Is something wrong?" For a minute, she thought of Mallee. Maybe something really was wrong. Is someone sick?

"You have a letter," Wren gasped. "And it's from the matchmaker."

Kestrel's throat went dry. For a moment, she froze. She couldn't think. The matchmaker? Was this a good thing or a bad thing? She didn't know. Certainly, after three weeks of nothing, it was an improvement. But the matchmaker? Had they even tried to put her on Route B for an apprenticeship? On the other hand, had it taken three weeks for anyone to respond to her file? If she had to answer Mr. Cherrywood's questions about when she was going to find something useful to do one more time, she'd scream. Suddenly, a horrible thought struck her. "Did Mom open it?"

Wren managed a smile and shook her head. "No, she was waiting for you. She started to tell us that it would be a good thing to open it immediately so that we could prepare you for the news, but encouraged her to let you open it." Kestrel nodded her thanks. "But we'd better hurry," Wren continued. I'm not sure how much longer she'll last.

The two sisters ran into the house. Their mother was pacing the kitchen floor, tapping the letter in her hand and looking thoughtful while Mallee stirred some her flour and water dough in a bowl on the floor. She would keep herself busy until she started to smear lumps of sticky paste onto the floor.

"Ah Kestrel," her mother said, the relief in her voice obvious. She held out the envelope. "I can't tell anything from the outside. It could be anything. Anything." The way she said it made Kestrel think of earthquakes and floods. Feldspar walked in, "What's going on?" he asked. "Is Kestrel in trouble?"

"Not yet," Wren said with a smirk.

"Oh hush," their mother said, flapping her hand at them. "Your sister has what could be a very important opportunity," she announced to Feldspar. "You'll learn more about it when you are of age."

"Oh that," he said, enthusiasm dying. "Is it an apprenticeship as an engineer? That's what I'm going to do."

"That would fit you perfectly," she said dryly. "Then maybe when you take something apart, it might actually work when you tried to put it back together again."

"It's true," agreed Wren. "Mom, I forgot to tell you, but a couple of days ago, Feld took my alarm clock and had all of the gears out."

"I was building something," Feldspar protested. "I needed the crystal in it."

"You broke it!"

"Now, now. A happy home is one where..." their mother intoned.

"...hands are busy and tongues are kind," the three children chanted together. Mallee was too young to be forced to join in, and she didn't look up from her game.

Their mother smiled. That's right. Now we're here to support your sister, so no squabbling. She turned with a determinedly happy and expectant fact toward Kestrel. "I think now would be a good time for you to open your letter," she suggested firmly. For a moment Kestrel toyed with the idea of suggesting that they wait until after dinner when her father would be around, but she decided not to push her luck. She paused to look at her name on the envelope. It wasn't even hand-written. It had been typed. It made the envelope look formal and unlike letters from friends or family.

She turned the envelope over and slit the flap with her finger. Her fingers touched heavy, textured paper. She pulled out the single sheet and unfolded it. The letter had been typed as well. She looked more closely. Among the even, regular letters were a few hand-written words. She realized that the page had been mimeographed with blanks for specific details.

Her family waited impatiently while she skimmed over the letter, looking for the most important information. "It's from Slade Terrain," she said at last. The...appointment is for the House Gala  in two weeks."

"The House Gala!" Her mother nearly shrieked it in her joy. "Everyone will be there. I went to the House Gala twice, before I married your father." This last was added quietly. Kestrel looked at her, thinking about how her mother had once been in the same position. What kind of solicitations had she received? She had eventually chosen a man with no rank but a solid fortune--after her father died and she had nothing. Had she loved him?

And then she didn't have time to think any more because her mother was squeezing her too tightly. "I knew you would amount to something!" She pulled back. "Oh, but your dress! We have to decide on your dress!"

Immediately, Feldspar pretended to be modeling dresses and going through a checklist for Kestrel in a high, squeaky voice while he waggled his shoulders and hips and did his best to embarrass Kestrel. There was so much going on that it took Kestrel a moment to notice how quiet Wren was. Her face was white, and she had quietly found a chair to sit on. Kestrel eventually caught her eye and sent a wordless question to her. Wren shook her head and then looked pointedly at their mother. Kestrel nodded. She would have to wait until later to find out why Wren was upset. Did she know something about Slade and why he was a bad choice? But then, Kestrel considered, at the moment he was the only choice.

As her mother talked about lace versus no lace and what to do about a shoulder line, Kestrel wondered how much she really knew about Slade. Not much. She had met him. He seemed nice enough. Could he really want to marry her? Had he been interested in her all along, but had never said anything? Did it work like that?

Of course, Slade didn't compare with Boron at all. But until Boron spoke, how could she not go? What would her mother say if she tried to back out with no good alternative? She would have to go, that was all there was to it.

She had to endure her mother's plans and obvious joy all through dinner. Her father smiled at her, but he didn't say much.

As soon as she could, Kestrel escaped upstairs, saying that she had a lot to think about. "Like Slade?" Feldspar asked with one hip stuck out, flipping his imaginary long hair.

Kestrel sat in her room in the near darkness. The Lumicube sat dark, extinguished next to the glowing candle. She needed warm light tonight, not utilitarian brightness that made her feel alone. She touched the rough edges on the side of the envelope where she had been too impatient. Now she wished that she had used a letter-opener. The ragged edges would never be smooth again, and she could never open that letter a  second time and get it right.

She waited four seconds to make sure that she could feel the little flutter that was a mix of excitement and dread, Kestrel pulled out the letter. And there it was. Someone wanted her. Well, at least wanted to meet her, at least wanted to give her a chance. And it probably wouldn't work,and anyway, she was against the whole marketing girls anyway. It was like sending to a store--flour, nails, and a wife--will pick up Tuesday. Kestrel told herself very firmly that she should scoff at this letter. She really ought to rip it up. To even consider marrying someone that she hadn't met was ridiculous. She wanted to marry Boron, and it didn't seem right to accept a solicitation from anyone else. The trouble was that she wasn't absolutely sure about Boron. What if he didn't intend to ask her? She was still pretty sure, but not entirely sure about it. Slade was good-looking. He had a good farm, and he was in the House. She would have to ask Wren if there was something about him that she didn't know that should keep her from going, or at least going with any serious intentions.

Mentally, she compared Slade to Boron. They were both nice looking. Boron had a more educated, smooth look. Slade was more ruggedly handsome. He had more muscle, from working all his life on his family farm and recently on his own farm. He had sandy-blond hair where Boron was dark. Neither one was a problem as far as the outside went. But there was no comparison between a Domini's son and a farmer from the Yellow House.

She read the letter again.

"...your company at the House Gala of Realm, to be presided over by the head of the Philosopher's Council..." Her eyes read on, but her thoughts had gone somewhere else. She had heard of it somewhere before. And then it clicked. Everyone would be there. Boron. Boron was going to be at that party. She would have a chance to talk to him after all. She stood up. Then she sat down again. Her thoughts felt frozen, but underneath the unmoving surface ideas were churning, connecting. She only needed a few minutes alone with him. Surely. Surely if she could just talk to him. Kestrel felt like she would start shivering in a moment, but she was also sweating. Suddenly there was a chance, a real chance. She picked up the Lumicube and switched it on. Then she set it on her desk. She would need light if she were going to write a reply.