May 12, 2013

“So.” The eldest held her hands before her waist, looking down at Vinca. “You're the one our Mavi picked.” Her expression went ill with the abstract flowers spattering the cloth of her hijab.

“She's rather short.” Another one said. This one wore a cap, plain and black edged, with yellow white braids showing beneath it. She looked down her nose, too, standing the tallest of them by half a head, for all she leaned heavier on her cane than the Archbishop did.

“Are you sure she didn't pick Mavi out? He is considered rather a catch, being the Archbishop's son after all.”

The oldest dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. “Have you ever tried to convince him to do something he didn't want to do?”

“Maybe she's pregnant?” This one wore a turban as ornately wrapped as the Archbishop's, though it looked to be a printed fabric, not a fancy weave.

Vinca began to feel a bit of sympathy for the rats the boz qu stalked. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. These women were a part of Mavi's family. He'd be upset if she slaughtered them. At least the Pachem didn't consider private thoughts the sin that words or actions were.

“She'd not be here as his intended if she were pregnant.” Another one said. This one featured a scarf tied under her chin, emphasizing her round, friendly face. “She'd be here as a bride, Mother Sariah's approval bedamned.” She clasped her hands over her rounded stomach smugly.

A chorus of nodding heads followed that. “Mother Sariah does dote on her grandchildren.” Braids said.

The eldest looked at Vinca. “You're not pregnant, are you?”

“No.” Vinca resisted the urge to fold her arms. Goodwife Melton'd warned her it could be taken for aggression. She kept her arms loose at her side, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, wishing she'd managed to talk Mavi into letting her wear her boots. The shoes were sturdy enough, but she doubted it'd heft a really good kick. “Are you?”

The pregnant one hid a giggle behind her hand. “Well struck. I think she drew blood on you, Sister Karli.”

The eldest sniffed. “Not much.” She extended one hand to Vinca. “I am Goodwife Karli Mora, my husband is young Mavi's eldest brother.” She said that as if she expected Vinca to know who that meant immediately.

Vinca didn't take it. “I haven't met any of Pastor Jeremiah's family.”

The hand fell. “None of them?”