Chapter 22 – Past Tense

Wherein Bosra shares something about her past with Rose.

Bosra came home with the trappings of dinner under her arm. One of the day’s customers had been a merchant with fresh produce that was on the brink of going bad, who had paid Reggie with part of that. Bosra had taken some of it home, and bought a nice leg of lamb to go with it. It was her turn to cook, anyway.

The first thing that was off as she walked in was the quiet.

The second was Rose's bookbag standing unattended in the middle of the hall.

The third was the smell. If disaster had a smell, today it smelled like beeswax, minty soap, drying coats and fresh biscuits.

Something was wrong.

The fourth thing was that she had to go in search of her friends, because neither was making a sound, yet their wet coats on the rack – one a really nice fur-lined, waxed cloak, which she had never seen before – announced their presence in the house.

"Pupper? Tina?" she called out. She kicked off her dirty boots on the mat, hung up her own waxed overcoat and proceeded to the kitchen.

Tina was flitting about, trying to bake something, though there was already a plate of biscuits on the counter. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face shiny. Her hair was a dishevelled mess, as if she had been tugging it repeatedly.

"What's up?" Bosra asked suspiciously.

"It's so terrible!" Tina burst into tears.

Bosra put down her groceries. "What happened?" She didn't like this melodramatic expressionism in her otherwise steady friend.

"My cousin broke Rosa's violin."

Bosra opened and shut her mouth. Questions that might or might not be wise to ask wanted to pour forth. "Why was your cousin near Rose?" was the first that made its way out.

This made Tina pause. She blinked several times and wiped her nose on a dishcloth. "She’s in Rose’s class. Rose mentioned her before."

"Who?" Bosra honestly had no clue. Pupper chatted about college, but she never said anything about a cousin of Tina’s.

"Brittany of Chaumes?"

Bosra shrugged. The name didn’t ring a bell.

"That bitch?" Valentina tried, feeling hopeless. Bosra could be thick sometimes, only remembering what struck her as important.

"Oh. Her." It did strike a chord with Bosra. "What happened?"

"She slammed the door on Rose's violin case. Hard enough to ensure everything got smashed to bits."

"And then?" It sucked for Rose, but instruments could be replaced. Bosra would get Rose one as a Midwinter gift.

"And then? Rose is heartbroken!" Tina sounded terse. Flour fluttered up as she squeezed something sitting in a mixing bowl.

"Okay." Bosra eyed the rising white cloud. She decided she would check in on Pupper first and cook dinner second. "Can you grate the carrots?" she asked, cautiously eyeing the earthenware dish.

Valentina looked down at her hands, extricating them from the gluey mess of flour, butter and lemon zest. "Yes, I can do that."

With Tina distracted from a baking mishap, Bosra exited the kitchen in search of Rose and found her in the music room. The overly quiet music room.

Rose sat in Bosra's chair, curled up like a pup. Full mug of cold tea on the edge and crumbs on her skirt. She didn't look up as Bosra entered, which was another one of those little oddities.

"I keep thinking I could have just moved a few steps further into the room..." Pupper said in a raspy voice. A broken, staggered voice. "If I had just moved... there would have been nothing for the door to hit except the jamb."

Bosra took a deep breath. She could see that it wasn't going to be as simple as she had thought in the kitchen.

"Can you still go to college?" she asked the first question that popped into her head, remembering Rose telling her weeks – months – ago that voice was not an accepted instrument at Bardic.

Rose answered with a nod, her endless gaze trained on water droplets forming torrents on the window panes. "It’s only two more days until I’ve got two weeks off anyway."

"Can it be remade?" was the next question Bosra asked. Wizards could do a lot.

The Pupper shrugged. Slowly, her head turned, eyes wide and dark with shock. "Maybe..."

Bosra lifted and dropped her brows in understanding. She let out a big huff. It shouldn’t be hard to find a wizard that could.

"How much coin you got?"

"Set aside?" Rose’s gaze returned to the darkening day beyond the glass. "Not much, after buying that pretty necklace and those lace gloves." Both part of a plan that now seemed as unattainable as rewinding time.

Bosra let out another huff. She started feeling that burning anger deep inside. It was a familiar feeling. An old friend. One that gave her pig-headed determination.

The point wasn't that this thing couldn't be replaced. It was that Rose could not do it on her own. She couldn’t play for coin. Music was all that filled Rose’s head. Music, and a bit of magic.

"It was my grandmother's, you know." The Pupper spoke softly. "And her grandmother's before that."

"Legacy," Bosra chuffed. She knew about that.  

"Legacy," the Pupper agreed softly, stroking the buttons on the backrest of the armchair. "Tangible history."

A connection to generations past. Maybe there was a scribble here or there, a portrait painted, something else that would remind Rose of the ones that came before, but that purely physical connection of holding something that had been held by hands of the past, given forward to be enjoyed by a new generation, had been lost today. The violin would never be passed on to Rose's own grandbabies. With that, something that had never previously garnered thought had been suddenly ripped away. A cornerstone had been lost.

Bosra understood what that was like. She put a big grey hand on Rose's shoulder and squeezed, joining her in mourning. This was not something that could be replaced.

Rose looked up and put her arm around Bosra's sizable waist. It was then Bosra realised she was leaking tears as well.

"It's not that bad..." Rose tried to comfort her.

"I had a son," Bosra found herself croaking.

Rose's grip on her tightened.

"He was three when..." Bosra couldn't get the other words out. It had never been a secret, but it had been private. It felt wrong to keep it from Rose now.

"He turned ever more blue over a few weeks’ time. Had trouble breathing. He went blind. He was in pain. So much pain." Suddenly, the words spilled forth like a dam had burst. "Clan tried everything. I tried everything." Nothing had helped. She understood now why it hadn't.

"I brought him to the Soul Tree. Buried him under rocks." Tradition. Tradition for those who could no longer live but needed help in passing. A fresh shoot with bright yellow leaves had sprung up above his head as his last breath left him.

It had been the hardest thing she had ever done. At the time, it had felt as if it had been herself she buried.

"Oh, darling," Rose breathed, holding on tighter. Suddenly the loss of her violin felt... diminished. It was a thing that could be replaced. A new instrument – if she obtained a good-quality replacement – that could be passed on. The old tunes played by a new generation.

She did not have children of her own. She knew her mother had had a stillborn babe, and a miscarriage or two. Sad events that had been accepted, mourned, and given a place in the grand wheel of the seasons as life on the farm went on.

"I am sorry for your loss." The words felt empty. As empty as words could be.

Bosra squeezed her in return. She took solace in Rose’s presence and compassion.

"He could never have grown old. Medicine man said that. It was a thing in the make-up of his body."

Rose could hear acceptance in Bosra’s words, feel it in her posture.

"I couldn't stay with my clan after that. Couldn't look at all those same faces, same plains, same tents."

"You were different after that," Rose breathed. She could fully understand that.

Bosra nodded. "I carried him. Cared for him. Buried him."

"He will always be with you. The love is still there." Rose got up. She stood on the chair to hug Bosra face to face.

Bosra's arms found their way around the Pupper's slender yet sturdy frame. After a long moment, she let go of Rose.

"I'm cooking dinner." With her usual brusqueness, Bosra marched off to the kitchen.

Rose followed. "Let me help you. Dinner should be a family affair." It always had been at her home. And today... Today she missed her family more than ever. But she was finding out that she was among family at this very moment.

They may not be connected through blood ties, but Valentina and Bosra were her sisters nonetheless. 

~

If you’re interested in a signed paperback copy of Three of Cups, and are willing to pay the extra shipping costs, contact Zanna Bear directly to set up a private sale. You will receive a slight discount to the Amazon retail price.