Thirteenth Child Read online

  “And sometimes that’s not such a bad thing,” Wash commented. Mr. Lewis and Papa both gave him startled looks, but he just smiled. “It all depends on the authority and the opinions, doesn’t it?”

  That put paid to the discussion, and nearly to the tour of the settlement. Mr. Lewis showed us a few more things, but you could see his heart wasn’t in it any longer. We saw a few more folks out of doors, and now that I was paying attention, I could see that at least half of them were giving us dark looks of one shade or another. The rest mostly had on polite faces, though one or two of the younger ones looked curious.

  Mr. Lewis pointed out one of the little dug-in houses that was maybe a tad bigger than the others, and said that was his, and he’d be pleased if Papa and Professor Jeffries could join him for dinner. And Mr. Harrison, too, he added, just late enough that it was obvious he’d all but forgotten about him. Professor Jeffries accepted right off, but Papa said he’d see once he’d talked to his daughter, which reminded everyone why we were supposed to have come. Mr. Lewis nodded and handed us all over to Brant and wished us a fine visit. Then Brant took us down the street to a tiny house that looked just like all the others. He pushed the door open without knocking and called, “Rennie? We’re here!”

  CHAPTER 26

  RENNIE CAME TO MEET US WHEN SHE HEARD BRANT. MY STOMACH turned over when she stepped out into the sunlight. I’d thought some about meeting her again, but actually seeing her was better and worse than I’d expected. Rennie had always been my bossy older sister. I hadn’t always liked her, but I’d always figured she meant well, right up until she ran off with Brant. Then I didn’t know what to think. Part of me wanted to hug her, and part of me wanted to yell at her, but I wasn’t thirteen anymore, and I couldn’t do either one, especially not in front of Wash and Professor Jeffries and Mr. Harrison.

  Luckily, I didn’t have to do much except stand there and nod. Rennie started babbling nervously the minute she saw us, and the next few minutes were mostly exclamations over how tall Lan had gotten, how grown up I looked, how good it was to see everybody, and what a shame it was that Mama and Nan and Allie couldn’t have come, too. Then Papa introduced Professor Jeffries and Wash and Mr. Harrison, and Rennie brought her children out to meet us.

  Albert Daniel Wilson was a midsize four-and-a-half-year-old; Seren Louise was a tiny two-year-old. Both of them kept trying to hide behind Rennie’s skirts. I couldn’t quite tell whether they were just shy or really afraid. The baby was two months old, and looked to be ready for a nap and cranky about not getting it. Rennie had all of them dressed up in their Sunday best, and when she wasn’t shoving them forward to say hello, she was nagging at the older ones to keep their clothes nice, which didn’t make any of them any happier. It seemed a lot of fuss to make over meeting only one grandfather and two out of fourteen-plus aunts and uncles, but that was Rennie for you.

  After the first flurry, I stepped back and let Lan and Papa and William do most of the talking while I looked around. The house was tiny, just two rooms, and neither one as big as our second-best parlor in Mill City. The outside walls were peeled logs, but the wall between the two rooms was made of planks.

  The dirt piled around the outside walls shaded the windows and made the glass dusty, so looking out was like peering through a tunnel. It also kept the inside of the house cool and damp, which was pleasant enough for a hot day in mid-July, but I wondered how it would feel on a cold, rainy April or September day.

  Rennie herself looked older, but not the way Sharl and Julie and Diane had looked older when we went back to Helvan Shores. Rennie didn’t look grown-up older; she looked worn-out older. There were hard lines around her mouth that I didn’t remember seeing before, and she moved just a little bit slow and stiff, like she’d spent the day doing laundry without any housekeeping spells. Then I realized that she’d likely had to do just that, and not just for laundry—the Rationalists wouldn’t want her using housekeeping spells for anything.

  That thought startled me, and I took a second, longer look around. This time, I noticed the jars and tins on the shelves by the stove—all things that mice and bugs couldn’t get into, even if you didn’t have a spell to keep them away. A thin rope ran back behind the stove, where you could hang damp dish-towels and cleaning rags to dry faster if you couldn’t use a hurry-up spell. The curtain that served as a door between the front room and the back was a double layer of fly-block netting, each piece tacked down around three sides so you could pull them apart to walk through, but they’d fall back together and overlap completely to make it harder for the flies to get around.

  Then I blinked. The fly-block netting was shimmering slightly, and I realized that I’d slipped into Aphrikan magic sensing without noticing. And the netting had a spell on it.

  It was just a whisper of magic, not a strong spell like the ones on the windows and doors at home, but it was definitely there. I looked around for a third time. Nothing else in the room had the shimmer of active magic, but some things—the washtub in the corner, little Albert’s trousers, and some of the kitchen pots—had a sharper edge to them that meant they’d had magic used on them not so long ago. And there was only one person in this house who could or would have done such a thing: Rennie.

  I wasn’t sure why that bothered me so much. It wasn’t like she’d run off to join the Rationalists because she believed in their ideas…at least, I didn’t think that was why she’d run off with Brant. But after all the fuss the Rationalists had made about making a go of the settlement without using magic, and all the trouble everyone else was taking to make sure nobody cast spells in the settlement, what Rennie was doing just seemed wrong.

  I stewed about it all afternoon, while the boys unloaded some of the supplies from the wagon and Papa and Rennie settled the dinner plans. Everyone but me would go to Mr. Lewis’s for dinner, to talk out the best way of investigating the old settlement spells without irking people like that Mrs. Stewart. Rennie couldn’t help looking relieved to know that most everybody would be going to Mr. Lewis’s and she wouldn’t have to cook for so many people. I felt relieved right along with her; I knew good and well who’d have ended up helping with all the work.

  Of course, I ended up helping Rennie with dinner anyway, but with only the three little ones and the two of us, it wasn’t so difficult. The hardest part was keeping the childings from getting underfoot. Rennie chattered on the whole time, asking about Mama and the family and her particular friends from back in Mill City, and then interrupting me in the middle of my answers. It took me a while to catch on that she always interrupted when it looked like I was going to say something about magic.

  After that, I paid more mind to my conversation, and Rennie relaxed some. As soon as we finished clearing up after dinner, we put the childings to bed and went out to sit on the step, waiting for Papa and the boys and Brant to come back.

  The sun was down behind the settlement palisade, but the sky hadn’t begun to darken yet. Rennie looked up and sighed. Then she turned to me and said, “That Graham boy is growing up well and then some. Is he sparking you?”

  “What? Of course not.”

  Rennie raised her eyebrows at me. “Why ‘of course’?”

  I sighed. “Rennie, I’m barely eighteen. I haven’t even gotten through school yet. And he spent the last year out East getting educated, like Lan. He’s only been back a week or two.”

  “A week or two is plenty of time, if you’re of a mind to it,” Rennie said, and looked away.

  There was a short silence while I groped for the right words to ask what I wanted to know. I didn’t find any, and in the end I just blurted out, “Why?”

  Rennie knew what I meant. “What does it matter now?” she said angrily. “It’s nothing to do with you.”

  “Nothing to do with me?” I started getting a sick feeling in my stomach, and I clutched at the wooden charm Wash had given me. “Do you have any idea of all the things that happened because you ran off with Brant like that?”


  She stared at me, plainly taken aback. “I didn’t—”

  “You didn’t think,” I said flatly. “Not then, and not since. Well, if you don’t know, it’s past time somebody told you.” And it all came pouring out of me—the way Mama had looked when she came in to tell everyone that Rennie and Brant had eloped, the way she’d grieved, the cruel things the aunts had said, the row Diane had with Aunt Mari, the whispers at the wedding dinner after, and the whole awful fight with Uncle Earn.

  “So don’t tell me it’s nothing to do with me,” I finished. “Or with Diane or Robbie or Lan or any of us. Because—” I choked up at last, half from remembering and half from an anger that I hadn’t even known I’d built up over all those years.

  The anger and pain were so strong that I felt a flash of fear, thinking I might do to Rennie what I’d almost done to Uncle Earn at Diane’s wedding. I felt it building up and didn’t know how to stop it. I clutched at Wash’s charm and held my breath. And then I heard Rennie’s voice say softly, “I’m sorry.”

  All the anger drained out of me. Rennie was gazing out into the shadows between the houses. “I was young and scared, and I did the best I could at the time.” She hesitated, then sighed and went on. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  I stared in surprise. The Rennie I’d known five years before would have fired right up with some excuse. This Rennie wasn’t giving out excuses, or at least…

  “Scared?” I said finally. “Scared of what?”

  “Lots of things.” Rennie shivered. “Losing Brant. Losing…other things. Being stuck in Mill City forever. Becoming an old maid.” She glanced at me for the first time since I’d started in on her, then looked away again. “If it’s any comfort, I’ve paid for it.”

  Paid? I didn’t say anything, just sat there for a long time while the shadows deepened. Then Rennie sighed. “Eff, do you have any idea what it’s like to live a life without magic?”

  I shook my head.

  “I’ve been trying for five years.” Her voice sank to barely more than a whisper, though there was no one near enough to overhear. “It’s hard. Harder than I’d ever have believed. These people—most of them grew up this way. They don’t understand; they’ve never known anything else.”

  “They’ve only been out here for five years,” I said. “They must have seen plenty of magic before that.”

  “Seeing isn’t the same as doing.” Rennie’s voice stayed low, and I leaned forward to be sure to hear. “Brant’s a dear, and more understanding than most, but even he—everything takes twice as long and three times as much effort to do. Even dusting! And everything has to be planned out ahead of time—so long for the dough to rise, so long for the wash water to heat, or the bread won’t be done ‘til an hour past dinner and the clothes will still be on the line at midnight, because you can’t use magic to hurry anything along or make up for lost time.

  “But it’s the little things that are the worst. Do you know how horrible it is to climb into a stone-cold bed every night in winter? Or to hear a mosquito whining around your head in the dark when you’re trying to sleep? Or worse, to find your baby crying and covered in bug bites every morning, when all that’s needed to prevent it is a five-second spell that any twelve-year-old can do without thinking?”

  “That’s why you put the spell on the fly-block netting,” I said softly.

  Rennie gave me a startled look. “I couldn’t stand it anymore. Brant doesn’t know; he thinks the bugs have stopped because of some nasty herbal mixture I soak the netting in every week.”

  “It’s not just the netting, though, is it?”

  “How did you—” Rennie stopped, took a deep breath, and shook her head. “Never mind. I forget sometimes just how much magic can do, if you put your mind to it. The people here…well, a few of them know enough to sense a strong, active spell if they go looking for it, but most of them haven’t had enough training even for that. That’s why I stick to small spells.”

  “I can see why you’d want to magic the fly-block netting,” I said. “But the other things—is it really worth breaking the rules, just to make things a little easier?”

  “Yes.” The word had the intensity of a shout, though Rennie’s voice couldn’t have carried past the edge of the stoop we sat on. “And it’s not just to make things a little easier.”

  “It’s not?”

  Rennie raised her chin, and I saw a flash of the old, bossy sister I remembered. “No, it’s not,” she said firmly. “I don’t expect you to understand, because you’ve never had to go without spell casting. But going without magic is like…like going without your eyes, or your hands, or your legs. Sometimes it builds up inside me until I could just scream. The first three years, I used to sneak away from everyone when we were outside the palisade, just so I could cast a couple of measly little fifth-grade learning spells where no one would notice. But then Albert got too big and Seren came and I couldn’t get away anymore.”

  “That’s awful,” I said. But Rennie had always been one for seeing a mule and saying it was a mammoth, so I asked, “If it’s that bad, how can anybody stand to be a Rationalist at all?”

  “It’s different for the ones who believe what the Rationalists say,” Rennie said. “If you really do think magic is a crutch, then wanting to use it just proves how much you’ve been leaning on it and how important it is to give it up. And the ones who’ve been Rationalists all their lives, like Brant, don’t know what they’ve missed.”

  “I suppose,” I said. I fingered Wash’s pendant again, and wondered if what Rennie was talking about was anything like what had been happening to me. If it was, it wouldn’t do me any good at all to join the Rationalists. All the magic I’d been so worried about wouldn’t stop building up just because I wasn’t using it; in fact, if Rennie was right, not using it at all would only make things worse.

  We sat in silence for a while, until Papa and Wash and the boys came back from dinner. Professor Jeffries and Mr. Harrison had been invited to stay with Mr. Lewis, since Brant and Rennie really didn’t have room for all of us. As it was, we had to shove the table over and lay out bedrolls in the main room for Wash and the boys. Papa got the big bed, Rennie and Brant used a hay mattress they’d made up ahead of time with the baby in its basket beside them, and I shared with the two little ones. There was hardly a bare spot wide enough to step on by the time we finished laying everything out, but at least everyone had somewhere to sleep.

  I lay awake for a long time that night. First I thought about all the things Rennie had said. I didn’t feel mad at her anymore, though I was still of the opinion that she might have thought a little less about her own self and a little more about all the rest of us. But she’d always been like that. I couldn’t get her voice out of my head when she’d said she’d been young and scared. She’d only been two years older than I was now.

  Whatever had been in her head when she ran off with Brant, it was five years too late for anything except saying “sorry,” and she’d done that. I could hang on to what was left of the hurt, or I could decide to let it go and move on. I remembered Aunt Mari saying that Papa should write Rennie out of the family, and the way Aunt Janna and some of the others had talked, and I decided that whatever else I was going to do, I wasn’t going to turn out like them. Rennie claimed she’d done the best she could at the time, and that would have to be good enough for me now.

  Once I had that settled in my mind, I rolled over. I could tell from the sounds of their breathing that everyone else was asleep, but I still couldn’t get to sleep myself. So I started the concentration exercise Miss Ochiba had taught me back in the day school, when I’d been so worried about losing my temper with Uncle Earn. It was a good way to relax even when I wasn’t fussed or upset about something.

  It only took me ten or twelve deep, slow breaths to get the first floaty feeling that meant the exercise was working. I kept breathing, counting six in, pause for a three-count, six out, pause, and let my mind float in the dar
kness.

  Then I realized that even though my eyes were closed, I could see a glow in the dark. The wooden charm Wash gave me was glowing.

  My eyes flew open. The room was pitch-black. I couldn’t see a thing. I fished the pendant out from under my chemise. It still felt like it was glowing, but there wasn’t any light at all.

  I was so startled that I lost my grip on the concentration exercise. The feeling faded, and I was just lying there in the dark, holding Wash’s charm. I thought about that for a minute, then closed my eyes and started counting my breathing again.

  It took me a lot longer to get the floaty feeling this time, but when I finally did, I got the glow feeling back right along with it. I didn’t bother opening my eyes. I just kept breathing, and tried to do the Aphrikan world-sensing at the same time.

  I expected it to be difficult to keep doing both things—the concentration exercise and the Aphrikan sensing—especially since Miss Ochiba had said the concentration exercise was a Hijero–Cathayan technique. But the two went together like molasses went with pancakes. All of a sudden, everything was much clearer. I could sense Rennie’s fly-block spell, and what was left of the spells she’d used to patch Albert’s trousers and lighten the washtub and keep the pots from boiling over.

  But the spell on the pendant was different. I could tell what all the other spells were or had been, but Wash’s charm was…slippery. Every time I tried to look at it, it slid away. So I stopped trying to look at anything in particular, or even think about looking. I just breathed and floated and let whatever I could sense just be.

  All of a sudden, the spell on the charm came clear, just for an instant. It wasn’t one spell; it was a gathering of spells all layered together. Some of them felt like Aphrikan magic, some like Avrupan magic, and some like nothing I’d ever seen or felt before. All of them worked together, hiding and absorbing and using and feeding and changing the magic that fed through it.