April 13, 2013

At least she could still wear her boots. Vinca looked at the clothes she'd lain out for the trip and wished she hadn't given Mavi her word. But she had, so she started putting them on. The outermost layer was dark gray wool and a lighter gray shirt, the black socks reached halfway up her thighs and tied off to a belt that went under her skirts.

Mavi came in when she'd barely started, tying the stockings to the belt. “Do you need help?”

“I know how to get dressed.” She got the socks secured and tugged on the second layer of shirt. The Pachem wore too many clothes. Shift then belt and socks, second shirt, under skirt, the wool overdress and an apron over that. There was no satisfaction in knowing that as a Pastor, Mavi had to wear more clothes than her.

“You're not doing it right.” He came into the room and sat on the bed. She'd dressed Nasim already, and the toddler'd gone back to sleep already, drooling on the pillow. Storing energy for later, probably.

“What?” She remembered the kid barely in time to stifle her voice to a squeak.

“Come here.” He gestured her over, and stood her between his knees. He tugged her close and pressed a kiss to the space between her breasts. “You're frightened, aren't you?” He settled his hands at the base of her spine.

“I am not.” She put her hands on her hips, glaring down at him.

He leaned his head against her. “Yes you are, I can feel your heart racing.”

“That's not fear.” She held his head close and kissed his bald spot. “So what am I doing wrong?”

He hugged her, then began tugging on her shirt. “You're putting them on in the wrong order.”

The correct order, apparently was socks, smock, drawers, shirt, underskirt, then overdress and the clean white apron he'd bought for her yesterday in the city. She fingered the drawnwork on the lower edge and wondered how long it would stay clean with Nesim at a grabby age. He helped her dress, pausing from time to time to make sure the clothes fit. While she was lacing up the overdress, he picked up the hem, flipping it up and examining where she'd turned it up. She was skinny as Goodwife Melton had been, but she was a good decimeter shorter, and that meant folding it up and hemming it. At least she'd matched the thread color. Goodwife Melton's eldest granddaughter had helped, trying not to be too obvious in her amusement at Zinca's incompetence.

“So I can't sew.”

He fingered a darker spot where she'd stabbed herself and bled all over the cloth. The stain had set, unfortunately, although it didn't show on the outside. “She thought well of you.”

“She just didn't want to give Goodwife Rice more fodder for gossip.” Vinca knotted the laces and tucked them down inside the dress. “That's all there is to it.” But she smoothed the skirts down and remembered the old woman and her wheezing laugh.

“Goodwife Rice sees two chicks scratching in the dust and will tell a windstorm.” He released her skirt and picked up Nesim. “Shall we get going?” The toddler yawned and thumped his head against Mavi's shoulder.

“Guess so.” She rubbed her hair, and wished she could cover it to hide its length, but Pachem women only covered their heads when they married. She didn't qualify.

She looked at Mavi's back, at the sleepy child draped bonelessly on his shoulder, at the way theskirts of his cassock moved and flared as he walked, well, not until autumn.