Remembrance

When they were ten years old, it had been Meg who had insisted that Will tell the children some of the truth of their births. When Talis was ten a prosperous farmer had made an offer of marriage for him with his only child, a daughter. He wanted Talis to come and live with him and to inherit half the farm upon marriage and the other half at his death. Since all the village assumed Callie and Talis were brother and sister, on the face of it this sounded like a good arrangement. Callie’s husband could inherit Will’s farm.

Meg could not bear the thought of the children being separated, nor could she bear for them to leave her and Will. With her mind set, Meg told Will he must tell the children that they were not brother and sister and that they were meant to stay on the farm (that being as close as she could come to saying that they were to marry). At this news, Talis merely nodded, but Callie had laughed outright. Talis never thought of a future that included marriage to anyone, but Callie thought of it often and the idea that she might have to live with anyone other than Talis had worried her.

When Nigel arrived, he changed things. He said that Callie and Talis were not as other children and he wanted to separate them. At first he wanted to give lessons only to Talis but Will wouldn’t allow that. When Nigel had pointed out that a female could not learn as well as a man, Will had laughed at him and said he was younger and dumber than he looked. After the first month with Callie as his pupil, Nigel never again mentioned dull-brained females.

Teaching them both did not keep Nigel from wanting to separate the children in other ways. He didn’t want them to sleep together, or run off for many hours alone together. “You do not know what they can get up to,” Nigel had said pompously to Meg and Will. There was a hint of mystery in his voice, as though only he knew what could happen when two healthy young people of the opposite sex were alone together.

Will didn’t tolerate Nigel’s arrogance. “Aye, lad, we bumpkins in the country know nothing as to what a lad and lassie can get up to alone all day. We cannot read books so we know nothing.”

Blushing, Nigel had shut up for the moment, but that hadn’t kept him from continuing trying to separate the children, for he seemed to see sin at every turn. At one point Will said it was like the Garden of Eden, there was no sin until Adam and Eve were told there was. “You should tell them, lad,” Will said, “what could happen when they are alone together. I don’t think they know.” To Meg, Will said, “I think that boy did some things he is ashamed of when he was younger.”

Meg hesitated. “You don’t think he’s right, do you?”

Will shook his head. “What if he is? Would you mind a hasty wedding and grandbabies to rock?”

At that Meg perked up, and since then she had amused Will greatly by shooing the “children” out of the house at every opportunity. Like Will, she knew that Talis’s body was ready and Callie’s mind was. Someday soon, the two were going to catch up with each other.

But what to Meg and Will was amusing, was to Callie infuriating. She had no idea what she was feeling, what was plaguing her night and day. At night, Talis whispered to her to come get in bed with him, saying that he was cold. Callie refused to go to him because she knew that he wanted her with him because he was cold.

Now, under the spreading tree, she was frowning ferociously at Talis. He had been playing with that blasted rusty sword—or another one—for as long as she could remember. In the village all he wanted to do was talk to the other boys about any men on horses who had ridden through the village. He wanted to know what they wore, what they said, whether they laughed or frowned. He had an extensive repertoire of knightly knowledge, saying a knight says this and a knight says that. He pestered Nigel about knights until the man was screaming with impatience.

“What’s wrong with you?” Talis asked suddenly, giving a mighty thrust at the air near her head.

“I don’t know,” she said petulantly. “It’s something. I feel strange inside. Angry. Sad. Happy. I don’t know.” She was leaning against the tree, her head to one side, looking away from him.

Talis didn’t show much concern at her words, but it annoyed him when she didn’t want to play. In the village, because he was so large, he had to pretend to the other boys that he was a man, with a man’s knowledge. But with Callie he didn’t have to pretend. Sometimes she made believe she was a lady held by a dragon and he would rescue her. But the last time they’d played that, at the end she’d acted very strange, talking about how they must now get married and make babies. It was very confusing to him and since then they hadn’t played that game or any other.

Now he was trying to interest her in what he was doing. Thrusting hard, he jammed the sword into the tree by her ear. “Now you are my prisoner, princess.”

She knocked the sword away. “You’re such a baby,” she said with great contempt.

“Me?” He was incredulous. “You’re no bigger than a baby,” he said, starting to grab her.

This physical teasing was normal for both of them, something they had always done. In public they kept their hands off each other but in private they loved to touch. When they escaped Nigel’s watchfulness, they did their lessons, studied their Greek and Latin, their astronomy and mathematics, while sitting close together, one whole side of their bodies touching.

But today Callie angrily moved away from him. Having never before experienced her not wanting to touch him, Talis didn’t have any idea that she was serious. He grabbed her again and even when she started twisting away from him, he still thought she was teasing.

When Talis did at last understand that she was genuinely fighting him, he thought she was afraid of something. This pleased him, as he liked to think of himself as a great, strong knight. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said in his deepest voice. “I will protect you.”

“And who will protect me from you?” she snapped back at him with great sarcasm.

“From me?” Talis was shocked. How could she think that he would hurt her? She had done horrible things to him, such as embarrass him in front of the entire village, yet he had never harmed her in any way. “I would never hurt you,” he said softly, then turned away from her. Callie had hurt his pride at times, but she had never insinuated that his honor was such that he could think of hurting something as small and weak as she was. Is this what she thought of him?

Right away Callie knew how much she had injured his pride. She always knew just how far she could go in her teasing of him. But now she had done something to bruise that ridiculous sense of honor that was so important to him. A

nd she knew that he’d starve rather than betray what he thought was his honor.

She ran to him, moving to stand in front of him, her hands on his forearms, gripping him hard. For all that he bent she could have been holding on to a piece of rock. His back was rigid, his head held high above hers, his eyes looking over her head.

“Talis, I’m sorry. So sorry. Of course you wouldn’t hurt me.”

All her feelings of restlessness were gone, all her sense of pride. She could bear most anything in life except that Talis was unhappy with her. It didn’t happen very often, but when it did, it was the most miserable feeling in the world.

Standing on tiptoes, then having to lean against him for support, she started to kiss his face, all of it that she could reach.

“Tally?” she said, whispering. “Tally, honey, my love, I’m sorry.” He didn’t respond in any way so she tried harder, kissing him more and more, putting her arms around his neck, then, because he was so rigid, she lifted herself off the ground, her full weight suspended by her arms around him.

“You would never harm me, I know that. I know I’ve been awful lately and you’ve been a saint to me, and I apologize. I really don’t know what’s wrong with me.”