“He had a wife and baby before he became a priest,” I explain. “He took his vows after my mother died.”
For the first time, Timon’s dark eyes lose a bit of their shine. “Oh. I’m sorry. That makes me sad for you. Do you miss your mommy?”
“I never really knew her,” I say, washing the last of the suds from my hands. “She died a few days after I was born, but… Yes, I do, I guess. I think you can miss things you’ve never had. Don’t you?”
Timon’s brow furrows as he rolls that over in his clever head.
Finally, he nods. “Yes. I do think this. I miss learning how to be a blacksmith with my father. I was too young to start before the curse came, but I imagine how good it would be to make the fire with him and shoe the horses and come home with soot on my face and get the biggest piece of meat as a reward for working so hard. Papa always got the biggest piece of meat.” He sighs as he scuffs a shoe through the dust. “Now we never have money for meat. Mending clothes and selling oranges doesn’t make as much money as being a blacksmith. Did you know this thing?”
My lips part, but before I can answer, Timon chatters on. “I did not know this thing before, when I was a small boy, but I do now. And I don’t like it. Papa sews all day and Mommy works as hard as a mule, selling oranges and cakes and bread to the village. We should be able to have pork chops, at least—”
Timon’s tirade is cut off by a call from the kitchen window. “Don’t talk off his legs, Timon,” his mother says. “And be sure to use soap.”
“I did, Mommy, please. I’m not a baby!” Timon calls, before turning back to me to add in a whisper, “You won’t tell that I did not use soap?”
I shake my head. “It’s our secret.”
Timon beams. “Good. I can keep a secret, too. I will get one from you before you go. I’m good at finding secrets.” He beckons with a hand. “Come. I’ll show you the hay loft where you will sleep. It’s very nice. I sleep there sometimes when I’m tired of hearing Adrina snore like an old man.”
I cut a sidelong glance his way. “Your sister snores?”
“No,” he says, with a diabolical giggle. “But I tell the boys in the village that she does so none of them will marry her. I hate it when people get married.” He pulls a face, sticking his tongue out and crossing his eyes. “Yuck. So stupid. Don’t you hate this?”
“I don’t know. No one I know has ever been married.”
Timon’s eyes widen again, then his lips turn down hard at the edges as he grunts. “Well, you’re a lucky one, then. My two oldest sisters are already married, and they are both very boring now. They don’t run or play or make jokes. All they do is talk about crops and sheep and when their babies are coming. They are both having babies soon.” He sighs heavily as he stops to unlatch the barn door. “It’s very stupid. I would say all people should not get married, unless they want to be stupid, too.”
“Sound advice.” I fight a smile, knowing Timon’s feelings about marriage will likely change once he’s older. But I know better than to voice that aloud. I was eleven not too long ago and remember what it’s like to find grown up things a little scary.
And stupid.
Timon leads the way past several empty animal pens to the ladder leading up to the loft, showing me how to climb without putting too much weight on the two loose rungs and where the blankets are stored in the eaves.
“I’ll fix the ladder for you before we leave,” I say once we’re back on solid ground and he’s shown me the kittens, the breathlessly old mare in the last stall, and the goats grazing on scrub grass in the fenced area behind the barn. “And anything else you need mended. I help out with repairs for my da. Can fix just about anything except a broken window.”
Timon grins. “Oh, yes. That will be nice. Our fence is also not so good. The goats got out twice last week and it took hours to get them back from the mountainside. Goats are very smart and very fast.”
I nod. “They are. And they have those crazy rectangle eyes. One of the many reasons they’re better than cows.”
“Yes!” He slaps me on the shoulder with a laugh. “See! I knew it would be good to have a brother. Adrina says boys and girls are not so different. But she is wrong, I think.” He sighs heavily. “But she’s a good sister. So is Maria, my sister who goes to school in Rome. She is very, very smart. Taught me to speak English and Spanish and some French, too. But I have forgotten most of that. It sounded too much like honking.” Timon tucks his hands under his armpits, flapping his arms and honking as he struts across the yard toward the house.