Master Tailor had neither food nor drink nor a wife who loved him to occupy his hands. No surprise. He couldn’t eat with the mask on with all of the unrelated women about. But he could talk. “Didn’t they marry before the Returning?” Mistress Tailor looked up between bites of the roll she was stuffing into her mouth.
“I believe they got wed seven years before the Returning.” Alvilda, Master Tailor’s sister, gulped down most of the contents in her cup, which I suspected to have some pretty strong liquor. She sloshed the little remaining. “Vena was nine-and-twenty when she Returned Elweard’s love.”
Luuk’s puppy face actually tore away from Nissa, and he made a little choking noise. I wondered if he was gasping behind his mask. “So it’s not too late for you, Papa!”
Master Tailor laughed. “Your mother’s a bit older than nine-and-twenty, sweetheart.”
Mistress Tailor, her jaw clenched, knocked against him as she made her way back to the buffet table.
My gaze followed her, even as Mother jumped to pick up the conversation with Master Tailor with some unimportant comment about the Great Hall’s decorations. Mistress Tailor grabbed another roll and watched the crowd, her gaze resting on first one coupling, then the next. Although she was the mother of the Returned, although her other son had just found his goddess, no one spoke to her.
Alvilda was also watching. She nudged me with her elbow and lifted a finger off of her cup in Mistress Tailor’s direction. “They shame her. Even more than they shame me.”
“Is it really so bad not to Return love to your husband?” At least she didn’t risk killing him before she was sure.
“Of course.” Alvilda still hadn’t finished the drink. She seemed fixated on creating little waves of turmoil within her cup. “It’s expected for you to Return love to your husband. If you can’t, you’re supposed to be honest about it and refuse him.”
“Dooming him to the commune? Isn’t it worse for a man to live like he’s dea—” I realized who I was talking to and clamped my mouth shut.
Alvilda laughed, and not out of mirth. There was something a little awkward about the way she spoke, and I wondered if she’d drunk too much. She wasn’t normally the type who did. “I know, I know. I sent a man there.” I noticed she didn’t refer to him as her man. She sloshed her cup again. “Better that than being constantly reminded of my failure to love him.”
“Then why do some women marry their men, if they don’t love them?”
“Who knows?” Alvilda leaned her head back and poured the last of the drink down her throat. She looked around for a place to toss the cup and dropped it on the edge of a nearby pillar. “Maybe they just want children? No other man but theirs will help them with that. Maybe they feel guilty about dooming a man to the commune?” She squinted at Mistress Tailor picking up a cup and filling it from a flask of wine. “Or maybe … maybe they truly hope they’ll love them someday, even though deep down they know it’s just a lie they tell themselves?” She patted me on the back. “Well, take care, Noll.” She gave one last pat on my shoulder. “I think I’m done celebrating for the day.”
I glimpsed Jurij with his arm around Elfriede as they hugged yet another couple of almost strangers from the village who had come for the free wine and food. I was done celebrating for a lifetime.
As Alvilda hugged her brother goodbye and rubbed a hand in Luuk’s mop of dark curls, Mother whispered something in Father’s ear and the two broke apart, Father’s face clearly full of the reluctance in his heart. He moved across the room to Jurij and Elfriede, and Mother came to visit me, sticking an arm through mine. She fanned a hand over her chest. “It’s hot in here. I thought we might take a walk.”
You mean perhaps I should explain to you in private what I’m doing here in a damp, torn, dirty dress. We made our way through the crowd, Mother smiling and nodding at the few who looked away from their beloveds long enough to offer congratulations. When we broke free of the Great Hall door, I saw that night had already fallen. It was quiet in the village center. For once.
“Is there anything you want to tell me?” asked Mother.
Do you want to know why I’m a mess on the outside or on the inside? I clenched my jaw, looking forward. We walked westward, a wise move for a pair of women who might want to scan the horizon from time to time.
“You know, your father wasn’t the first man I loved.”
That made me look at her. “I doubt that!” I wondered if I should point out that their mouths were practically sewn together most of the waking day. And the sleeping night.
Mother grinned. “No, it’s true.” The edges of her mouth drooped somewhat. “Of course, it was a doomed love. One man for every woman.”
“Or no men for one woman.”
Mother rubbed her shoulder into mine and tilted her head. “Come now, Noll, you know what I think about that.”
I shrugged. “It’s all right. I don’t mind, I was just … ” Being angry. “So. Tell me about this man of yours.”
“He wasn’t my man.” She, of course, took what I said literally. “He was Alvilda’s.”