Everything else was beyond me: I didn't know who Father owed money to, or in what quantities, and could not myself go to make good the debts. The night I paid off the Noble bill, Father returned to the Crossroads to say he had brokered an agreement with the bank and his debtors that we would sell the cargo.
Given that much leeway, I insisted we bring the salt-roughened silks, in equal parts, to the dressmaker who had taken my perfumes, and to the ones we had most often frequented when we lived in the city. As with the perfume, as with the furs, the added value of gossip made them pay more than they might have otherwise, and on top of that, the silk had been through adventures. Its roughness could be seen as a fashion statement, and as such, had greater worth still. Furthermore, in only two days and despite the steadily falling snow, the story of my perfume had spread, and the other dressmakers bought vials from me as entirely separate transactions. We left more flush with cash than either of us had expected, and Father, once we were safely back at the Crossroads, looked at me in astonishment.
"If I'd had any idea you could bargain like that, Amber, I would have brought you into business with me before the troubles began. They might never have happened."
"I don't know that I could bargain like this before our troubles, Father. I learned it in the village, not the city."
Father shook his head and smiled. "The bank was reluctant to let me be the one to sell the cargo, for fear our bad name would taint it. But banks won't drive a hard bargain themselves. They see the money as already lost, and whatever they can get against it is an unexpectedly pleasant offset against the losses. They valued the silk at two thirds of what you've gotten for it, and if you can do that with the jewels…."
I could. The jewels were easier, in a way: salt didn't damage them, and pirates, storms, and having been lost at sea made a magnificent tale for any centerpiece of a necklace or ring. I traded perfume for trinkets for my sisters: a pearl ring for Pearl, and an opal necklace for Opal, and both the jewelers and myself felt we'd come out well. Little by little we paid off debts, until the cargo was gone and even the Spidersilk's remaining crew—a skeleton of what it had once been—had been paid. The evening after we paid them, my father counted what little cash we had left onto a table in our inn rooms, then sat back with the money between himself and me.
"Tell me what you would do, Amber. Send Stewart and the Spidersilk back out? Try to recoup our losses, begin again? Or take what we have and return home a little wealthier, perhaps a little wiser?" His smile had bitter edges, all his mockery directed inward.
I sat across from him, hands steepled against my lips, and considered not only his question, but the other money: the coin from selling my perfumes, and the furs that had brought cash to us free and clear of Father's debts. "It's enough," I said behind my fingers. "Perhaps only just, but it's enough to refurbish the Spidersilk and send it out again." I lifted my eyes to his. "Or we could offer the ship to Stewart for a nominal cost, let him take on the repairs and the risk of future ventures, and take what we have home again. I meant what I said at midwinter, Father. We've done well enough, at the lodge, and both my perfumes and your furs will sell if we want to come to the city once a year with them. In autumn, not winter." I cast an eye toward the window. We had been in the city two weeks now, and it had snowed nearly every day. Even Beauty would be slow, pulling the wagon home on roads filled with snow.
"Farming is a hard life," Father said quietly. "Full of new risks every season—"
"Unlike mercantile investment," I said dryly, and he laughed, surprised.
"There is that. But if I could make back our fortune, you girls could marry well. Live a gentler life."
"This," I said with a gesture at our earnings, "is nothing, here. But it is a fortune at the lodge, Father. It could buy us a cow and pigs. If we come back with furs and perfumes for a few years, and no further debts to pay here, it could buy Flint horses to breed, and a future for the boys."
"But you girls."
"None of us will be outrageously old in another two or three years, Father. If we've done well and want to come back to the city to find suitors and marry, there will be time yet." I thought, but did not say, Pearl is a witch, and in the stories, witches never seem to marry, and I had hopes for Opal and Glover, even if I was the only one sporting them. "I think we're better off without the Spidersilk. And," I added, suddenly cheerful, "if the others disagree, in the end, you can blame me. I'm sure Pearl will enjoy eviscerating me."
To my surprise, Father laughed again, and said, ruefully, "Ah, Pearl. It's good she's so beautiful."
"Perhaps if she wasn't she wouldn't be quite so…Pearl-ish."
"But imagine if she was, without the beauty."
"I suppose we would love her anyway."
"But would anyone else?" Father took my hand and squeezed it. "Very well, Amber. I'll heed your advice, and tomorrow, offer the Spidersilk to Stewart, at whatever cost he can afford. Then as soon as the weather breaks we'll go home. I miss your mother." A furrow creased his forehead, and I breathed a smile.
"Maman is my mother," I said gently. "The only one I've ever known."
Father nodded, but after a moment, said, "I miss your mother, too. You look like her, you know."
I shook my head. "I don't. I've seen paintings. She looked like Opal."
"Paintings flatter where they shouldn't always. Her smile was like yours." He gestured at my mouth, at its slight unevenness and the way it made even my sweetest smile look like a smirk. "A little crooked. The painters gave her more even features, like Opal has, but she looked more like you. Ah, I see her in all of you, though. She was often kind, like Opal, but she could be so haughty and reserved that in comparison Pearl looks like the most approachable of women."
"You never talk about her," I said softly.
"I wasn't good enough for her." Father lifted a hand, stopping my protest, and chuckled. "In truth, I wasn't. I met her during the Border Wars, while she nursed for the army. Her family wouldn't come to the wedding. She said they were furious with me for taking her away from them, and her for marrying me."
"Mother had family?" The idea struck me like a gong, reverberating astonishingly in my mind. "We have other family?"