Cress

Farthen's Leap lay sprawled along the side of the valley, rosy and warm in the last glow of sunset, the sandstone ledges below it stepping down from dusky pink to rich purple to foggy blue in the ravine. Golden lights twinkled from doors and windows, smoke curled from chimneys... I knew it was only a tiny pin-dot on the map, but it always looked huge to me. So many people all shoved up against each other, living so close I had to wonder if they could hear one another breathing.

The usual bunch of ruffly women weren't out and about at that hour. There weren't any men out, either, and the alley behind the surgeon's quarters was blessedly quiet as I hopped down from the Gopher's cab and stretched the kinks out of my behind.

Doc Starling came through the back door of his kitchen to stand at the top of his porch stairs. He was drying his hands on a towel, but he didn't seem to be in any rush to get rid of me, so I gathered the towel was meant for mopping up his dinner dishes, not his surgical table. I was glad. I didn't want an audience. The townsfolk all thought I was a bit touched already. No sense giving them more chaff for their gossip mill by parading a dead chaghara in front of them.

"What have you got there, Miss Montgomercy?" Doc drawled, that rich Ronyran accent sending a shiver through me.

I hid my reaction with a smile as I opened the lower tailgate section on the high-wall. "Bet you ten lyr you're never gonna guess," I said, grabbing the handles of the insulabox.

"That's not Jimmy's head, is it?" Starling asked dryly.

My smile broadened to include teeth. I jerked the icebox out of the truck bed. "Close. But no."

"You've made me some beer," Starling said, coming down the porch steps to take a handle. His eyes widened and he grunted as I gave him half the weight. "How did you pick this up? It's heavier than you are."

I rolled my eyes and started moving toward the porch stairs.

Doc followed suit, and together we hauled the icebox into his apartment.

There was some clumsy maneuvering as Doc shoved his only chair out of the way so we could set the box on his rickety old dining table.

He stood back and put his hands on his hips, easing his spine for a moment while he caught his breath. Then he let out a little, self-deprecating chuckle. "I'm getting stiff in my old age."

He didn't have more than five years on me. I raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything, waiting to see his face when he opened that lid.

Doc eyed me for a moment. "You're very quiet. I'm not going to like what I find in here, am I," he said, reaching for the latches anyway.

I pinched my lips together, fighting a smile. He would like it. I already knew that. Even if he didn't have the money to spare for it, he'd take one look at the chaghara and he'd be smitten.

There was a quick hiss as the lid popped up and the seal released.

I bit my lower lip.

Doc made a small production out of raising the lid, acting all wary, his eyes first on me then on the widening gap beneath the lid, murmuring, "I swear, if something jumps out at me -" He got a glimpse of the contents of the cooler, swore abruptly and slammed the lid down, eyes wide.

I couldn't help it. I started giggling, for a moment forgetting all the problems looming over my head as Doc's lean face went slack, and his dark brows shot up to his hairline.

"How did you... It is dead, isn't it?"

"No. I brought you a live chaghara. The ice is just to make it sleepy," I laughed. Then, when he gave me a look that said he could just about believe that, I relented. "Of course it's dead. Take another look."

"After my heart begins beating," he muttered. But he was already reaching for the ice box again, that scientific brain of his working full tilt. "Where did you find it?"

"It decided to make a home under the chicken coop. I was afraid it would only come back with friends if I took it up the mountain. And there was no way I was losing any more chickens..." I grimaced. As deadly as the critter was, it had only been trying to survive, and a tiny twinge of regret twisted through me.  

Doc paused in opening the lid, his aquamarine eyes meeting mine. "You killed it yourself?"

I nodded. "Beckett helped."

His expression changed a little, hardening with disapproval, but he knew me well enough not to say anything. With a shake of his head he opened the ice box, then bent over the chaghara's corpse, peering intently at it. "I've never seen what they look like with the creature still inside. Amazing. I didn't think it would be so blue."

I stared at him, my heart warming in my chest. He always saw the incredible where others missed it. I saw a dead predator. He saw a wonderland of new discoveries and possibility.

"Where do they come from?" I asked, moving to stand across from him, his interest grabbing mine.

"I'm not sure," he murmured, running a finger along the joint of one of the chaghara's many spiny iridescent blue-black legs. "This is incredible, Cressydhe."

My heart skipped a beat and my breath hitched at the sound of that velvety voice saying my full name. I was suddenly very aware of the fact that we were alone. With a start, I stepped back and cleared my throat. "Ah, I'd like fifty lyr for it. If you've got it," I forced out, hating the taste of deal making on my tongue. I had no trouble wheedling with the owner of Lynderopes, but for some reason it always felt awful asking Doc for money. 

Doc glanced at me, but I saw no hint of anything other than kindness in his eyes. He nodded, then straightened and moved to the shelves above the ancient round-stove on its hearth of bricks in the corner. I looked away when he reached for that familiar little clay cup among his jars of spices. There was a jingle of money as he counted several large silver coins into his palm, put the cup back, and came to stand in front of me.

"That thing is worth ten times what I've got," he said, taking my hand and pressing five quarter-marks into the hollow of my fingers. 

I recognized the rare feel of solid silver, and tried to pull my hand away. "I just want the fifty lyr-" I started to say, but he held on and closed my fingers around the coins, refusing to back down.  

"Take it," he said firmly, his touch gentling when I stopped fighting. "I only wish I could give you more. I may be able to find an anti-venom. The skin alone will help old Gharron with his rheumatism for a year, and I'll bet I can even use the blood because you thought to pack it in ice... This isn't charity, Cress. You deserve it. Take it."

I could feel the heat of a blush racing up my neck to bloom across my face. I couldn't look away from those surgeon's hands wrapped around my fist. Steady hands. Hands that could slice through flesh and sinew with skill and precision. His skin was soft. Smooth. There was no grime engrained in the creases of his knuckles. Even his nails were perfect, trimmed close to keep from accidentally spreading disease. Beneath those fingers, my own seemed like hooves, coarse and hard as the stones I picked out of the soil every spring. Scarred. Ragged. Filthy no matter how hard I scrubbed. 

Silly girl. As if he would ever want to hold your hand for real. Him, with his high education, and his beautiful mind.

 Slowly, Starling let go, leaving the money in my hand. He was looking at me. I could feel it, the weight of his gaze on the top of my head. We were close. Too close. I wanted so much to lean closer, to let my forehead rest on his chest. It would have felt so good to lose myself for a moment in the shelter of arms that had only ever helped me. 

Before I could do anything so foolish, Doc backed up a little. I heard him swallow, but I didn't look up at him. I bit my lip and gave him half a nod as I turned around and made for the door. Taking his money, dragging my pride behind me with a heartful of longings I could never put into words. 

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Old Mallush looked up when I came sneaking in through the back door of the Mercantile. 

"Hey-oh, Cressy," he said. His voice always reminded me of dry leaves scraping across pavement - raspy and breathy, more air than sound. "Come for the usual?" 

I nodded. 

Mallush crinkled his face into a smile and pushed himself up off his three-legged stool to hobble down the center aisle to the front door. Without a word he turned the "Open for Business" plaque around so it would be black from the outside. He had started doing that whenever Momma came to shop, and he just kept right on doing it for me. "I got a new batch of pepper jelly for you to try," he said. "Don't trust nobody with it but you." 

I grinned and started looking down the aisles. I usually just pondered where everything came from and how it was made, without ever daring to buy it... but those quarter-marks were burning through the pocket of my denims. I knew I should save it, but it wasn't a spit in a lake compared to what we owed Caulley. Might as well get something decent out of it. Maybe some good jackets. The boys need new boots, too... 

I started picking through the second-hand bins, looking for useful things while Mallush went in the back room to start filling my usual late-summer order: fuel canisters for the Gopher and our old cultivator, jugs of lamp oil, felting for winterizing the water shed, baling line, canvas bags for grain and feed, packs of tea and jars of spices, rolls of wire, and several other odds and ends a farm needed to make it through the harvest season. As always, my stomach went hollow thinking about the cost of it all. This time, though, I really did have the money. There was an odd mix of elation and caution eddying around in my chest as I listened to Mallush piling goods into the packing crates I had lugged in when I arrived.  

"You bring me veggies again?" he called. 

"Yes sir I did," I called back. "Two full bushels. And a crate of eggs." 

Mallush hummed at that, his way of saying things were good. 

He came back out to the storefront, a milk-glass jar of pepper jelly in one hand and a spoon in the other, with an urn of cream tucked under his arm. He put it all down on the counter-bar and dragged two stools over. 

"You're lookin' for good shoes I got a new shipment of Dogfoot boots over in the back corner. Haven't cracked the container open yet, so there should still be plenty of sizes for your boys." 

I nodded and pulled a pair of faded but still-servicable denims out of the bottom of the men's bin. They looked about Jimmy's size, and if they were too long I could always take them up some. 

Mallush watched me quizzically. He knew better than anyone that I didn't buy anything whim-like, so the sight of me digging through the clothes bins must have been fairly odd. "I got some sheddings money from Doc Starling," I explained, examining a patched up but well-made woolen coat. 

"Ah," Mallush said, nodding. "You know... you should find something nice for yourself. Not sayin' you aren't nice to look at just as you are, just that I bet your Momma would be happy to see you wearing something prettier than Jimmy's castoff pants."

I gave him a wry look askance, but he had already started for the women's bin, either unaware or not caring a fig what I thought of being told I needed to be prettier. "Pretty" was pretty much useless on the farm. You could dress sweaty-dirty-and-tired in all the pretty you wanted, but it wouldn't look any better. That, and I would paint myself green and walk naked before I wore the leftovers from any of the town women. 

Still, I followed him over to the bin, trying to ignore the little flutter of nerves in my belly as I thought of Doc seeing me in a dress. It was ridiculous to think I'd look any different to him in a bit of combed cotton than in my patched up pants and sacking shirt, but I swear it felt like Doc was right there, watching me while I let Mallush hold various dresses up to my shoulders to see if they were too long. To my surprise, most were a tad too short. I didn't feel any taller, but I must have sprouted up another inch or two. After the fourth or fifth dress came out of the bin, I finally sighed and shook my head. 

"Just stop. I'm fine with what I've got, Mallush. I really need to be going or it's gonna be well past midnight before I get back."

Mallush squinted at me, lower lip working. "You sure? You don't maybe want a skirt? There's some nice muslin ones from Mrs. Tallpin." 

Definitely not. 

Mallush read the lift of my upper lip and shook his head. "No then. Howabout a bolt of something? I've got some nice gingham... here. This calico. You take this calico and the boots for the boys, and we'll call it even for the eggs." 

With a sigh, I let him parade away with a bolt of bright blue fabric - the entire thing - heading to a big crate in the back corner where he rummaged around a bit before finding two pairs of boots. He gave my feet a quick once-over and added a third, smaller pair, then went in the back to put those things with my mountain. I trailed him in there and helped unload the vegetables and eggs from the back of the Gopher, then loaded up everything I had ordered. 

I paid for whatever the produce didn't cover, and still had a few lyr left over, so I bought some sour chew for the ride home. Then I took a few minutes to sample his new pepper jelly, which was as much of a tradition for us as me sneaking in to town to shop at night. I oohed and ahhd over it, gave him a nod that it was indeed what Momma's recipe was supposed to taste like, then said goodbye and climbed back in the Gopher to start the long trek home in the dark. 

I had barely gotten beyond the spill of lights from Red's Alehouse before everything landed on me in a rush.

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