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“What are you doing, lying there like a slob!”
Jonalla shouted, shoving Verdeyan as she lay resting on the floor near Asabet at the hearth.
“Get up! If I ever catch you slacking like this again, I will-“ she grabbed Verdeyan’s ear –“ EVER catch you—“
“Jonalla,” Asabet croaked suddenly.
Jonalla stopped mid-sentence to turn her face to her mother, still holding a panicked Verdeyan by the ear.
“Yes, mother, I will get you whatever you need,” Jonalla raised a hand to strike Verdeyan—
“Jonalla? “ Asabet interrupted before she had time to hit Verdeyan. Jonalla turned again to her mother, sighing.
“Yes, mother! I will get you whatever you need—“
“Jonalla. I need you to put her down,” Asabet commanded, her voice strained.
“Of course, mother,” Jonalla returned, dropping Verdeyan roughly to the floor.
The woman’s eyebrows pressed together in puzzlement, her silhouette a forbidding shadow above Verdeyan, blocking the gleaming afternoon sunlight that filtered through the shutters.
“Child, there is something Gattlin bid you fetch from his room, on his bed. Go on, now.” Asabet made a shooing motion with her hand, and Verdeyan quickly got to her feet, running breathlessly into Gattlin’s room, where she snapped the door shut behind her, collapsing on his bed.
As Verdeyan’s footsteps ceased to echo on the floor, Asabet crossed her arms, sighing “I’m waiting, daughter.”
“Yes?” Jonalla tilted her head to one side, a look of mixed annoyance and bewilderment passing over her face.
“Well, sit,” Asabet shrugged, a raised eyebrow connoting sarcasm.
Jonalla sank onto a beaten chaise stuffed with dry leaves, reclining with her fingers spread over her eyes.
“Oh, mother…” she trailed off, sighing deeply, letting her head fall back into the cushion.
For several minutes she sat with her eyes lowered as she watched in her mind’s eye, the images of a young man with deep brown hair and orange eyes laugh, then a dark-haired woman in a green robe, smiling, taunting… She blinked and the images flashed once, and were gone.
Presently, she stirred, snatching the twine from her hair which held it in its low bun at her neck. The long dark strands slithered down, brushing her shoulders, creating a tired scene around the sad young woman.
“Was Shakoba well today?” Asabet queried, her eyebrows raised in curiosity.
Jonalla sighed, her hands clenched in her lap. “Yes, Shakoba was indeed well. However, her news of Lesu was less than convenient.”
“Ah. I see you aren’t happy at her news.”
“Happy? Lesu, the merchant’s son, has taken up with some man from New Locher, and plans to go tramping about into the Eastern territory. He claims he will be far too busy seeking fortune and glory to dabble with a woman!” Jonalla trembled, beginning to sob.
“Ah, Jonah, he is a fickle man. Follow whatever your desire is, but choose well for Aspen’s sake.” Asabet reached to raise her daughter’s face, her chin in the old woman’s gnarled fingers, saying softly “Unlike him, your will is not fickle.”
Jonalla nodded, rising.
“Aye, men are fickle,” she said, turning to walk away.
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