Keturah and Lord Death

“Your beloved village is safe,” Lord Death said, and I heard his voice clearly over the storm. “You have until the end of the fair, and then I will send the hart for you.”

I wondered if he had spoken not aloud but into the airless places of my secret mind.

The rain woke Tobias. He stared at me with eyes too wide open and did not move and did not look about.

Lord Death mounted his horse and in the next moment was gone, and I knelt beside Tobias.

“Is he... ?” Tobias asked.

“He is gone.” I stroked his hair. “The plague is taken from us.”

He lay crying for a little time, and I could not tell the rain from the tears on his face. Then, slowly, he sat up. The rain had already begun to spend itself, and the sun began to glint through the clouds.

He stood, testing each limb as if sensing the life within. He swayed on his feet a moment and then smiled. “I will live,” he whispered. “I feel it, I feel it sure. You did it, Keturah!” he said. “I owe you my life.”

I put my hand over his mouth.

“Not I, Tobias. Not I. Lord Death gave it to you, as he

does every day. Never forget this.” But...

“Never forget.”

Tobias smiled. “All I know is, I am alive, and I feel well, Keturah. There is no sickness in me at all.”

“Come,” I said, “let us go see to the others.”

XII

Many startling confessions, and I am saved from a terrible fate.

When Tobias and I emerged from the forest, we were not where I thought we would be. We were south of the village, at the place where the cart path turned into our newly cobbled road.

Tobias and I took our way silently into the village. It was strangely quiet and still, and my heart smote me a moment, fearful that Lord Death had lied to me.

But there walked Tobias beside me, strong and whole and ruddy, and even if he had not been with me, as evidence, I knew I need not doubt Lord Death’s word. My village was saved.

And yet those words did not echo in my heart as I had once thought they would. I had made friends with death, and it would no longer hold fears for me.

Thomas Red was walking alone with his mule. He saw me and Tobias, and bowed as if I were a titled lady.

“Keturah Reeve,” he said. “Well met. Would you do me the honor of riding my mule into town, where the villagers gather? It would be my very great honor, for I have heard and seen that you have saved us from the plague.”

“Not I,” I said, “but one I know.”

“But he would not have saved us without you,” Tobias said.

I had not the strength to contradict both of them, and a ride seemed a good thing just then. And so I rode upon the mule, along our beautiful cobbled road, and soon we saw the villagers in a throng ahead of us. When they saw us, they parted and stood on either side of the road. They fell silent as we approached.

A child threw a handful of posies onto the road before me, and others began to whisper my name. Soon there was laughter, and someone cheered, and then they all cheered. I looked about me in wonder until we came to the square.

At the high end stood John Temsland. Tobias led me to him, and I dismounted from the mule and curtseyed.

The villagers gathered in a circle around us. Goody Thompson and her husband were closest to me.

“Forgive us,” Goody said, while her man twisted his cap and looked at the ground. I smiled to see them healthy and whole with their beautiful boys.

I glanced round at the crowd, whose faces seemed suddenly unfamiliar. The air of the village shimmered with an angle of light I did not recognize. I searched for Gretta and Beatrice, and when I found them they smiled and nodded encouragingly.

“I would reward you, Keturah. What favor might I grant you?” John said quietly. “Ask anything. If it is in my power to give it, I will.”

In that moment I wished for nothing more than to be the girl I had once been—a girl with hopes of love and a peasant baby of her own to hold, a girl with her whole life clear before her. I wished only for everything to be as it had been before I followed the hart into the forest, before I knew the shadow that the forest could cast in my heart.

“Sire, if you would do ought for me,” I said, “I would wish it to be this: that you speak no more of it—that we forget past sorrows and ready ourselves for the fair and for the king’s visit.”

John Temsland studied me for a long moment, then said, “So be it. The king comes tomorrow, but tonight, when all is ready for the fair, there will be dancing.” He looked around at the crowd. “Go. Ready yourselves.”

And so the villagers filed away, the men nodding and the women dropping small curtseys to me as they went. Gretta and Beatrice made their way over to me, and we watched as people set up their booths. Some of the men erected a stand over the common for the king and his entourage and for Lord Temsland and his wife so they might watch the races and games and dramas that had been pla

Soon people forgot me in their haste to ready for the fair—all but Gretta and Beatrice.

“We don’t know what stories to believe,” Gretta said.

“Someday I will tell you the story as it really is, not how others will tell it, my friends,” I said.

“When you wish,” said Gretta.

“If you wish,” said Beatrice.

I did not have the heart to tell them of my bond with Death. Besides, there was yet hope—did I not have lemons at home?

“Now I must go home and make my lemons into pie. But before I do, we have some errands to do, we three. Come.” I led them to Tailor’s house.

“But I have already delivered the gown, in your name, Keturah,” Gretta said when she perceived where we were going.

“Just so,” I said, and continued on. As we approached Tailor’s home, his children came to greet us, but it was only Gretta they crowded around.

Tailor came out and welcomed us into his home. The children all followed. I stared in awe at the beautiful gown that hung ready for Lady Temsland. Tailor followed my gaze.

“It is fine work, Keturah,” he said. “You have many surprising gifts.”

“Sir, I have something to confess, and this is the reason for our visit,” I said. “The gown is not my handiwork but Gretta’s. The explanation of our deception is too long and complicated to give, but please accept my apologies. It is Gretta’s fine work.”

“Keturah!” Gretta exclaimed. “That is not true.”

“Ah,” Tailor said. Then he smiled. “Of course I knew, Gretta. Did you think that I could not recognize your fine seams?”

Gretta spluttered and blushed. “Keturah did it...”

Tailor continued, “No one else could do such work. In this whole piece there are not more than three faulty stitches.”

Gretta’s blush turned to paleness. “Three?” Her eyes narrowed. “Three? First five faulty stitches, and even now three! Come, children,” she said huffily. “Let’s go play.” And she led them into the yard.

“She is a fine woman, but a proud one,” Tailor said to the open door. “She told me not to wear orange.” He smiled.