Story: Fellyans (part five)

Fellyans

(part five)

When the alms collectors knocked, she had to wait with her mother behind the door, because Jorinda would say, “My loves, it is all wishes with the charity people. And no, you may not speak to them.”

“Alma, do you wish…”

“King of the Hutterers,” Bede threw in. “And what does Huttering amount to? Is it a kind of singing, or weapon-crafting, or a language—”

“Huttering is to live in a hut.”

“Ah. On what sort of terrain, then? I think you mentioned keeping a garden. And I’d been going to say, regarding beans, that if your soil has got tired…”

“A hut is not a house. A hut is practically a…a molehill, of large proportions, if you can picture it. A modest grooming of the earth it stands on. Earth, a few sticks and brush, such as can be raked from the scrub. And the Queen’s Assessors have seen no value in scrub. They see no value in mud! But build yourself a home from mud and scrub, and they call it a house!”

Bede felt an embarrassment. They were arrived at his own door, where Jorinda had a lamp under the lintel (a gorgeous piece of Melchior’s carving). One of the dogs barked. Jorinda, coming to the stoop, but looking towards the kitchen, said: “Bunting, she’s right here. Safe with Bede, and he’s collected one of yours. And who…”

She turned, showing her hair under a scarf, and her robe on.

“…are these guests, Bede?”

“Alma, and I believe, Vincent.”

“And Marshhawk,” Marshhawk said. “What a fine house! It seems to rise to the sky!”

“It’s a wonderful house,” said Finch. “Mother and I have a whole floor to ourselves.”

“How many thousands,” said Vincent, tightly, “do you pay in taxes?”

“Oh, not thousands.”

“But hundreds.”

“Well. Twelve of them.”

“One thousand and two hundred, then. I have a question. How many mud huts, stacked one on another, do you think a house of this size would equal?”

“Hello!” Bede’s mate intervened. “I’m Jorinda. Are you Vincent? And are you Alma?”

“Jorinda! She’s poor!”

“Finch, that is no concern of yours. Vincent, Alma, shall I feed you breakfast? Soon be too light not to call it morning.”

Bede woke from a nap, taken on the cot beside the kitchen fire. He heaved himself sitting, found his socks, found his shoes, found two cats nudging him to vacate the warm sink made by his midsection on the feather mattress.

There were no immediate voices. The sundial in the herb bed told him he’d had a good sleep…

5

Fellyans

Fellyans (part six)

(2021, Stephanie Foster)