Coracle, Chapter Three (Patreon)

This one needs an illustration of Chandelier! I will do that soon. Meanwhile, enjoy!

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CHAPTER THREE

THE LETTER

Savior’s Greetings to you, friend!

I’ve never written that before, and it was so exciting. I hope you don’t think that’s silly! My aunt says I should talk about my day, and the things I see out my window, and oh, my name is Sendra, but everyone calls me ‘Cheevy’ because when I was a toddler I was very mischievous. My parents used to call me that but I couldn’t pronounce it, so I just said ‘cheevy’ and it stuck.

Anyway, I live in the Chandelier Mountains, the ones that stretch downward into space. We still have night and day just like everyone else! But we don’t have lawns or anything. If we leave our houses, we fall into the Stream! And then someone has to come fish us out. I’ve done that before, it’s embarrassing. But the Stream is kind of nice. It’s cool, and it tickles a little, and when you leave it your skin sparkles for a few days. My aunt says that’s because it’s got starstuff in it. That’s what it looks like, too, kind of purply and pinky but with a glimmer.

We live in the long, thin roots in the mountains, so our houses are tall, and we carve them out of the stone. We have a beautiful view of the other islands! We see the seasons change how they look, though if we want to walk on grass and touch trees we have to take a coracle or ship.

Speaking of coracle! My brother came back from his first year at the Outremers’ school and he had his vigil and a Saint chose him just like in all the stories! He’s going to be a Scout, like Scout Toby from the Savior’s Companions. I’m so happy to see him. I missed him while he was gone. I don’t want to be an Outremer, but I’m excited that there is one in the family! And my parents are proud of him! He’s proud too. They pay us while he’s at school, so he feels like he’s helping out. And he says he’s learning a lot, and next year he gets to quest for his animal! Having a talking animal friend is almost enough to make me want to be an Outremer! But I’d much rather stay home. I like the mountains. My father cuts gems, I’m hoping to learn to do that.

I’ve included a little one I found myself! It’s a smoky quartz. Quartz comes in so many colors, even pink! But I like the smoky one the best, because it looks kinda mysterious. I hope you like it, friend. And that you write me back!

Sendra Jewelsetter

The Isle of Chandelier

***

Marda picked up the smooth stone and turned it in her fingers: it looked like it had a cloud in it. Did Sendra’s home have clouds? If so, were they upside down clouds that shrouded the downward-pointing fingers of her mountain home? The idea tickled her fancy. She should ask—could ask now, because this was her dandelion letter and if she answered it, she and Sendra might become letter friends. Pleased, Marda went through her desk to find some paper. A few minutes later, she started writing by the window, the afternoon sun dappling her page with the shapes of songquince leaves. She told Sendra about the farm, about how Mama sang to the trees to ripen the fruit, and how some trees preferred solemn hymns while others liked funnier songs. She wrote about the pearly crows that brought luck; and the fussy hens, who never ceased with their little clucking noises as if reprimanding everyone for infractions venal and mortal; and all the little creatures that ran through the rustling underbrush: the foxes and squirrels and quails and tiny red mice.

Marda looked again at the gray stone, rubbing her thumb over its polished surface. She would have to find something to send back. A leaf, maybe? A quince? Could she send jelly by mail or would that be too heavy for a dandelion letter? She wouldn’t want to have to pay for the extra postage. Re-reading the letter, Marda stopped. And read the last paragraph again.

The Outremers paid families while their children were there?

Suddenly, all Sendra’s other tidbits fell away in importance. Why had Sendra not told her more about her brother? How much money did the Outremers give? Would it be enough to pay for someone to help Mama around the farm? Or for Susen and Patric to have new clothes more often? Maybe it would be so much money that Mama would have leisure to sit with Father, or send for a doctor more often when he was in pain.

Marda sat back in her chair, wide-eyed.

***

When Marda trotted down the stairs, she found Mama setting the cake on the table, all pale yellow with frosting and smelling like summer citrus and sugar. “Oh, Mama!”

“It came out rather well, if I do say so myself,” her mother said, beaming. “And I do. Go, wake your father. He won’t want to miss this.”

No one knew what was wrong with Father. For as long as Marda could remember, he’d been unable to stand for long. Most of her memories of him involved the bed on the first floor, by the large window that overlooked the orchard. Marda peeked into the room to find him awake, hands resting on top of the covers and several pillows propping him up. At the sight of her, he said, “Ah, here’s my birthday girl. Come here, sweetling.”

She perched on the side of the bed, taking his hand. “Hi, Father! Mama says it’s time for cake.”

“Well, we can’t miss one of your mother’s cakes!”

“Definitely not this one,” Marda said. “It’s got lemons.”

“I can smell them from here.” He leaned on her as she helped him up, and together they walked slowly into the kitchen, where Susen and Patric were already seated—and nearly vibrating with anticipation. “Look at that,” Father said. “It’s almost like they think it’s their cake.”

Marda giggled. “It’s our cake.”

“It is your cake,” Susen said primly. But added, “But oh, I hope I can have a big slice.”

“Why can’t we always have cake before dinner?” Patric wanted to know.

“Because it’s not always someone’s birthday,” Mama said.

“It’s someone’s birthday somewhere!”

“And if you can find that someone and invite them over,” Mama said, bringing out the knife and plates, “then I will bake them a cake. Otherwise, we will have dessert after dinner, as God intended.”

“How do we know that God intended it that way?” Patric wanted to know.

Mama looked at Father with an expression that made Marda want to giggle, because it was almost as if Mama was saying, ‘help, please.’

“God intended it that way to teach young boys self-discipline,” Father said, unperturbed. “And also, because if you ate dessert before dinner, you’d never eat dinner. Just think of how sad the chickens would be.”

The cake was everything Marda had hoped for: three layers tall! And thick with lemony frosting. She licked her spoon when Mama wasn’t looking and asked for—and got!—seconds. She didn’t even have to clean up the table… Mama asked Susen to do it, so that Marda wouldn’t have to do the extra chore.

“I see Patric brought his Scout to the party,” Father said as Marda helped him back to bed.

“I think Susen was afraid her doll would get dirty,” Marda replied. “While Patric’s doll already looks like it’s rolled downhill a few times.”

Father laughed. “That was a kind thing you did.”

“It was a selfish thing,” Marda insisted. “Because I really enjoyed being able to buy things for them.” She thought again of the money the Outremers offered families. She could send presents like that more often, if she had her own money. “I got a dandelion letter from the post office… would you like me to read it to you?”

“I would love that.”

Marda ran upstairs for the letter and the stone while Father settled in. Should she tell him that she was curious about the money? Would he know? But she didn’t like to worry him. She knew it pained him that he couldn’t help Mama with the farm. Returning to his room, she drew up the stool and perched on it. “Here,” she said, passing him the stone, “It came with the letter!”

“Very nice,” Father said. “A quartz, and prettily polished. Your friend went through some trouble there.” He smiled. “Let’s hear the letter.”

Marda read it for him, pleased to see him relaxing on his pillows. When she was done, he said, “Ah, that was lovely. Did you write young Miss Sendra back yet?”

“I’m almost done with my answer,” Marda said. “I thought I’d finish it tomorrow.”

“Because… you are thinking of sneaking into the kitchen and having more cake?”

“Father!” Marda exclaimed. And then, giggling. “Well, yes.”

He grinned. “Why don’t you sneak into the kitchen now and bring us both back an extra piece.”

“But what about the chickens who will be sad if we don’t eat our dinner?”

“Young ladies don’t turn fourteen every day,” Father said solemnly. “I’m sure the chickens will understand.”