In the bottom of Fand’s trunk was a carefully wrapped wooden box with birds carved on it. She pulled it out and a pang shot through her. In her little girl dreams her true love would wed her in her mother’s dress. Her true love was not coming. She opened the box. In gentle folds lay her mother’s wedding dress. The over dress was made of intricate silk threads that her mother had spun herself. From the threads she had tatted the lace. The pattern was of delicate roses interspersed with spider like vines. The under dress was a simple white silk shift. Fand pulled it from the box. The last time she had held this dress or put it on had been when she was thirteen. She had grown taller since then and she was afraid the dress would not fit.

She slipped the shift over her head. It fit, not perfectly, but it fit. A little alteration would be needed but not much. Next, she put on the over lay dress of lace. It too fit. The dress itself was a tad short. A ruffle would have to be added for modesty’s sake. Her ankles must not appear on her wedding.

In the not so long ago past that now seemed like an eternity ago, Fand would have gone to Zolla for help with the fitting. In fact if she had accepted Pyre’s proposal she would have helped her with the entire wedding. That was past. It only made now harder if she dwelt on what might have been. Mrs. Zwart would help her alter the dress. She was a quiet woman and a fine seamstress. In her capable hands the dress would fit to perfection. At least this is what Fand hoped.

As much as she disliked Gregor and his father, she did like Mrs. Zwart and she always had. Her quiet steadiness and her dedication to the Keeper gave Fand hope. The hope was that of survival. Somehow Mrs. Zwart had managed to carve out a life for herself despite her husband and large brood. How the brood came into being was something Fand never let her thoughts rove beyond. With each passing day her own wedding drew closer as did the wedding night. She couldn’t and wouldn’t think of that night. Once again she forced herself to focus on the dress, the food, the guests, but never the night...never the night alone with Gregor.

*

A fire burned low in the hearth to keep out the damp that clung to the sturdy granite walls of the Zwart house. It was a large house, not as big as the Holz house, but close. Fand stood in the wedding dress on a chair in the kitchen. Mrs. Zwart was letting out the hem of the shift. A ruffle would not be needed. As for the lace dress, it would have to remain as it was. The snip of Mrs. Zwart’s scissors clipped away. When the hem was let down, she said, “Now then, there is just enough fabric left for me to do a whip stitch around the hem. You can get down now.” She extended her rough work worn hand to Fand and Fand took it. When she was on the floor Mrs. Zwart gave her a smile and a hug. Softly she said, “Ah, you look like your mother. I bet she looked as lovely as you do in the dress.”

Her comment brought Fand’s mother very close. For an instant she wished her mother could be at her wedding but the instant quickly faded. What would her mother think of her marrying for penance? Fand managed to say, “Thank you,” and give Mrs. Zwart a reciprocal hug before she went into the pantry to change. The pantry was well stocked as was Zolla’s. Too soon, Fand would be sharing this pantry and this house with Gregor and his family. She did no let her thoughts advance to what else she would be sharing with him.

When she came out of the pantry, Mrs. Zwart said, “Leave the dress with me I will finish up. You best be on your way before the men come back.” This was another oddity of Mrs. Zwart. She never encouraged Fand to spend time alone or in the family setting with her future groom.

Fand said, “All right, if you are sure you don’t mind. I could do it.”

In a tight controlled voice, Mrs. Zwart said, “Never been surer of anything else.” She paused and lowered her voice, “I know what it be to marry a man not of my choosing. I know what it be to live with a man, a Zwart man. I love my babies, but not my man.” Her lips pressed closed as if they were a door that had been shut never to open again.

Had there been someone else, someone Mrs. Zwart had loved, still loved? It was a question Fand would never know the answer to. She wasn’t sure if what she had just been told was a cautionary tale or a warning to flee this marriage and all that would come with it. Fand said, “Thank you for your kindness. You are a dear.”

“As are you my child, as are you.” There was no hint of warning in the older woman’s response. A bit confused, Fand hugged her again and exited through the kitchen door.

Outside it was a bright summer’s day and for a moment, despite the future that hung over her, Fand felt light and hopeful. It was the feeling she got when Zog was happy. It had been a long time since she had intuited his happiness. Was Zog happy? She hoped so.

As she made her way down the dirt road she saw Rehn Holz approaching on his horse. He was whistling. He sounded like the most skilled song bird. When he reached her, he reigned in his horse and said, “I stopped by the house to tell Wert the good news. We received a formal letter from the Council from Doctor Kran. Pyre is on the mend. Looks like he is going to survive after all.”

A wave of delight passed through Fand. Pyre was well! Pyre was alive! Praise the Keeper! To Rehn she said, “That is such good news! I am so happy. I hope that Zolla is better.”

He smiled and said, “She is, but she still wants him home.” The light sputtered in his eyes as he said. “Of course he has to take his Transferrance exam again. If he fails it could kill him. I wish he would come home too.”

Fand wished the same, but she dare not say it aloud. Zolla’s angry accusatory words still rang in Fand’s heart and her head.

Rehn continued, “Zolla nor I will enjoy a shred of peace until we know he has safely completed that dangerous practice.” He shook his head. “I don’t hold with sending a body through the void and having it turn up else where. It is unnatural and dangerous.” He tipped his hat to her and said, “Keep him in your prayers.”

“I will!” Pyre was always in her prayers. Always.