together. But, when House Yen speaks it will be with the voice of Lady Darla.”
“But mother, I am only 15,” says Darla.
“And, I am only 35 and already a widow,” says Shara. “When life serves the meal, we are obliged to eat it. Let us add our own spice and make each course as agreeable as we can.”
Chapter III
Two boys continue a debate as they walk toward the Yen Manor House. Jalan is taller and thinner than Tomac. Tomac, nine months older than his foster brother, is built wide and solid like his late father, Lord Hallis Yen.
“Mother won’t let anyone go near it,” Tomac says.
“Why not?” asks Jalan. “If she hates it so much why doesn’t she have it torn down? We could do it for her.”
“I don’t know. Mother doesn’t like to discuss it. You know that.” says Tomac.
“Well, I say tear the windmill down or fix it. Father died supervising the building of it. How does it honor his memory to let it set until it falls down?”
“It has been two years,” concedes Tomac. “We could bring it up with Darla. She must have talked to mother about it. Maybe she knows something mother hasn’t told us,” says Tomac.
“She always knows something mother hasn’t told us. Not that Darla will tell us either.”
The pair walk past the summer kitchen and their conversation stops long enough to examine the food being prepared for dinner. Mistress Dahlia is busy with baking and cutting vegetables. She shoos the boys away after letting each of them snatch a hard roll. Tomac and Jalan laugh and bow to her from a safe distance before entering the manor through the winter kitchen. The large room is dark. The hearth and ovens are cold. Various bowls and culinary implements sit upon two worktables, the only signs that Mistress Dahlia is working here as well. The boys know from experience that the cook has granted them their only concession prior to the evening meal. Interfering with her always turns out to be more trouble than it is worth and they move on without searching for additional stray morsels.
As they climb the back stairs to the second floor, Jalan asks, “Shouldn’t we look for Darla in the office?”
“She wasn’t expecting any visitors today. I’m sure she will be in her study. Vee said Darla is working on a special project and wants to be left alone. Her study is where she goes when she wants privacy.”
“Darla might not want to see us then,” says Jalan.
“Nobody ever wants to see us unless we’re in trouble,” says Tomac with a smirk. “We might as well bother her now as later.”
The boys swallow their last bites of roll and rap on Darla’s door. Their older sister opens the door after a few moments and frowns at them.
“I thought you two were helping Gref,” says Darla.
“We finished,” volunteers Jalan.
“Did you? Then tell me how you managed to stay so clean while you mucked out the stables?”
“Well, you see, Master Gref didn’t have us muck out the stables. He told us he didn’t need us and that we could run along.”
“Master Gref was in such fine spirits that he decided to muck the stables all by himself and let two boys have leave to roam freely about the estate?” asks Darla.
“After he tripped over the rake Jalan dropped, he told us we could leave,” offers Tomac.
“Hey! I didn’t drop that rake until you pushed me,” protests Jalan.
“Well, you stepped on my foot!”
“Boys...”, says Darla.
“Well, if you hadn’t hit me with that bucket I...”
“Boys! Stop it! I’m sure I’ll hear all about it from Master Gref later.”
Tomac stops glaring at Jalan as a look of concern flashed across his face. “That’s not what we came to talk to you about anyway.”
“No, I imagine not. Why don’t you tell me why you are both here and let me get back to work?”
Jalan and Tomac look at each other. Jalan feels sheepish and Tomac seems to be at a loss for words.
“Well,” says Darla, “are either of you going to tell me what this is
“But mother, I am only 15,” says Darla.
“And, I am only 35 and already a widow,” says Shara. “When life serves the meal, we are obliged to eat it. Let us add our own spice and make each course as agreeable as we can.”
Chapter III
Two boys continue a debate as they walk toward the Yen Manor House. Jalan is taller and thinner than Tomac. Tomac, nine months older than his foster brother, is built wide and solid like his late father, Lord Hallis Yen.
“Mother won’t let anyone go near it,” Tomac says.
“Why not?” asks Jalan. “If she hates it so much why doesn’t she have it torn down? We could do it for her.”
“I don’t know. Mother doesn’t like to discuss it. You know that.” says Tomac.
“Well, I say tear the windmill down or fix it. Father died supervising the building of it. How does it honor his memory to let it set until it falls down?”
“It has been two years,” concedes Tomac. “We could bring it up with Darla. She must have talked to mother about it. Maybe she knows something mother hasn’t told us,” says Tomac.
“She always knows something mother hasn’t told us. Not that Darla will tell us either.”
The pair walk past the summer kitchen and their conversation stops long enough to examine the food being prepared for dinner. Mistress Dahlia is busy with baking and cutting vegetables. She shoos the boys away after letting each of them snatch a hard roll. Tomac and Jalan laugh and bow to her from a safe distance before entering the manor through the winter kitchen. The large room is dark. The hearth and ovens are cold. Various bowls and culinary implements sit upon two worktables, the only signs that Mistress Dahlia is working here as well. The boys know from experience that the cook has granted them their only concession prior to the evening meal. Interfering with her always turns out to be more trouble than it is worth and they move on without searching for additional stray morsels.
As they climb the back stairs to the second floor, Jalan asks, “Shouldn’t we look for Darla in the office?”
“She wasn’t expecting any visitors today. I’m sure she will be in her study. Vee said Darla is working on a special project and wants to be left alone. Her study is where she goes when she wants privacy.”
“Darla might not want to see us then,” says Jalan.
“Nobody ever wants to see us unless we’re in trouble,” says Tomac with a smirk. “We might as well bother her now as later.”
The boys swallow their last bites of roll and rap on Darla’s door. Their older sister opens the door after a few moments and frowns at them.
“I thought you two were helping Gref,” says Darla.
“We finished,” volunteers Jalan.
“Did you? Then tell me how you managed to stay so clean while you mucked out the stables?”
“Well, you see, Master Gref didn’t have us muck out the stables. He told us he didn’t need us and that we could run along.”
“Master Gref was in such fine spirits that he decided to muck the stables all by himself and let two boys have leave to roam freely about the estate?” asks Darla.
“After he tripped over the rake Jalan dropped, he told us we could leave,” offers Tomac.
“Hey! I didn’t drop that rake until you pushed me,” protests Jalan.
“Well, you stepped on my foot!”
“Boys...”, says Darla.
“Well, if you hadn’t hit me with that bucket I...”
“Boys! Stop it! I’m sure I’ll hear all about it from Master Gref later.”
Tomac stops glaring at Jalan as a look of concern flashed across his face. “That’s not what we came to talk to you about anyway.”
“No, I imagine not. Why don’t you tell me why you are both here and let me get back to work?”
Jalan and Tomac look at each other. Jalan feels sheepish and Tomac seems to be at a loss for words.
“Well,” says Darla, “are either of you going to tell me what this is
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