Excerpt ~ Chapter 21, Book 5
Adria Gittel did not admonish Rojah for declining several of her previous invitations as he expected she would. Instead, she welcomed him.
“Rojah, how good of you to come,” Adria said. “Denarri tells me that you have been quite the busy young man. I do hope you have not encountered too many difficulties during the completion of your father’s business?”
“Thank you, Lady Gittel. Everyone has been more than helpful,” Rojah said, taking the chair Adria offered.
“Does this mean you are leaving us soon?”
“My ship does not sail for two more months, Lady Gittel.”
Adria laughed softly. “Of course, how forgetful I am. Winter brings snow in El Nath and is hardly the time for traveling. I believe that is what I have missed the most — the cold of winter and the warmth of a cozy fire in the hearth. Continuous summer wears away one’s memories — everything blurs indistinctly into a tropical timelessness. How much easier it is to mark the events of life by each season’s vintage.”
Vintage? Did she say vintage? Rojah was quick to catch the odd phrase. Yes, she had said vintage, of that he was certain even though he was only half listening and thinking instead of having seen Captain Girard and Jonquil together earlier.
“Will your daughter join us today, Lady Gittel?” Rojah asked.
A slight pucker appeared between Adria’s delicate copper eyebrows.
“I saw Jonquil earlier this morning with Captain Girard,” Rojah continued.
“I hardly approve of my daughter’s choice of friends,” Adria replied.
“If you disapprove, then why?”
“My daughter rarely heeds my advice. Jonquil and I are too much alike. As a child, she rarely approved of many of my choices of friends — except for Sir Crispin. Jonquil worshipped Crispin as if he were her own father,” Adria said and then she quickly smiled and reached for the teapot to fill the waiting teacups. “But come! Let us talk about you, Rojah. You know my fondness for your El Nath wine especially the wine vinted at the Cloisters. I would love to hear more about the vineyards and how the wine is made. Is the vineyard still held by the Tourney family?”
“Tourney?” Rojah watched the steadiness of Adria’s slender hands as she filled the two white teacups upon the silver tray and set the teapot down. Steam rose in white whorls from the cups. “The Tourney family has not controlled the Cloisters for many years, Lady Gittel.”
“May I ask who oversees the vineyards?”
“My cousin — Chaeran,” Rojah replied.
Adria’s spoon rattled against the side of the porcelain teacup that visibly trembled in her hand and clattered upon the saucer she held.
“You cousin, Chae—” Adria hesitated upon the name’s pronunciation — or perhaps it was more her hesitancy to voice the name aloud.
“Chaeran,” Rojah said, repeating the name.
Adria briefly closed her eyes as if to steady herself. Rojah half rose from his chair wondering if she was feeling faint.
“Lady Gittel? Are you well?”
“I am fine — fine!” She laughed softly and waved aside Rojah’s concern. “It is a momentary weakness, which comes and goes. Please, tell me more, Rojah. How did your cousin — Chaeran — gain control of the Cloisters? Are there no Tourney relatives?”
Rojah smiled, picked up the waiting teacup and saucer and settled back into his chair. “If there were any more Tourney relatives claiming legal rights to the Cloisters and its vineyards, there would not be enough land to parcel off among them all, Lady Gittel.”
“Surely the Cloisters has not been parceled? The vineyard has been left whole? Surely, Jantz would not allow the land to be divided among a greedy lot of relatives eager to stake their claim since—” Adria paused.
A scowl tugged at Rojah’s eyebrows. What had she been about to say? “My father has done everything within his power, along with the Village Council and Mead Worthington, to keep the vineyards and estate intact despite the yearly petitions.”
“Petitions?”
“The petitions to deny Chaeran’s rightful claim which Anton Tourney’s will entitled him,” Rojah explained.
“Anton, ah, yes. I remember Anton Tourney and his sister,” Adria murmured. “Anton married—”
“My father’s sister, Jarutia. She is Chaeran’s mother. After Jarutia’s death, her brother, Martin Fayerfield, became Chaeran’s legal guardian.”
“And not your father?”
“My father was away at the time. His absent years as my father calls that particular time.”
“And Anton’s sister?”
“Bethana Tourney?” Rojah asked.
Briefly, Adria’s emerald eyes fluttered closed. “Yes.” She sighed. “What became of her?” She lifted her tea cup to her lips and took a sip.
“I am not sure. According to Father and Master Worthington, Bethana Tourney’s body was never recovered from the charred ashes of the fire that destroyed my father’s family home.”
“Rosenhall,” Adria murmured. “The names are all so familiar. Forgive me. I am grieved to hear that the Cloisters has become an issue of conflict and controversy between your cousin and the Tourney kinsmen. I remember so many pleasant times spent at the Cloisters.”
“You knew Bethana Tourney?”
“Yes, almost as well as I know myself.” Adria smiled over the rim of her teacup, a tiny mysterious smile. “There were few to whom Bethana confided her heart’s desires. Yes, she and I were extremely close. She was very much in love with your father.”
Intrigued, Rojah asked, “Did my father love her?”
“Does it bother you — to know that your father may have loved someone other than your mother?”
“My father rarely speaks of his past, Lady Gittel.”
“Not even about the night Rosenhall burned? Is Bethana Tourney held responsible for the death of — Martin Fayerfield?” Martin’s name was a trembling whisper.
Rojah scowled thoughtfully. “No, Lady Gittel, she is not.”
“Not even for the blow that took Martin’s life?”
“According to my father, Martin Fayerfield died in the fire, refusing to leave the burning house. Even Worthington claimed much the same. As far as I know, Bethana Tourney was never held responsible for Martin Fayerfield’s death or anyone’s death.”
Adria sighed, almost sobbed. “Except her own,” she murmured softly.
Rojah set his cup of tea aside. “Lady Gittel, I can see my visit has overtired you. Perhaps, I should leave.”
“Yes, that might be best. Thank you for coming,” Adria murmured. “Please, do not worry that your visits over tire me. Quite the contrary. You bring a measure of comfort and memories too long forgotten.” She laughed a wistful note that struck him as sorrow laden. “Yes, I do miss the heat of a crackling fire during the deep, dark cold of El Nath’s winter, and sipping hot mulled wine. Your father always told the scariest ghost stories during the holiday season of the lights.”
Rojah smiled, said, “Father still tells the scariest ghost stories, Lady Gittel.”
“Your father must be quite relieved that Old Maybelle Flower is no longer alive to torment him with her mad ravings?”
“Oh, but, Maybelle Flower lives still, Lady Gittel.”
“Indeed? She still lives? The old witch must be at least 200 years old!” Adria laughed.
“Father said once that Maybelle lived solely to haunt him. Good night, Lady Gittel. Thank you for the tea.” Rojah rose to his feet. “I shall see myself out.”
Copyright 2018 #work in progress #voice of the wind
