Authors: Anne McCaffrey
“Are you willing to mind her?” Rhyssa was surprised. She had half planned to take the child into her home. Install her with two parental figures. That is, until Dorotea caught sight of the little waif.
“Well, you’ve moved Tirla out on me,” and Dorotea gave a disapproving sniff, “though she enjoys the life with Lessud and Shria in their Linear.” Dorotea gave another sniff, for she certainly wouldn’t have fancied such a lifestyle. “You have enough on your plate with the Center and being pregnant. And you certainly don’t need another child in the house when your son arrives.”
Involuntarily Rhyssa’s hand went to her abdomen. “Well, I have no objections to accommodating her.”
“I do,” said Dorotea. “I think I’m the right person for her. We can review this in a few weeks’ time.” She shook a finger at Rhyssa. “No one wants you overburdened, my dear. There! That’s settled. You’d better get back to your house. Dave’ll be in soon and he’ll want to hear all about this.”
He will?
Rhyssa said with great amusement.
“I think he will,” Dorotea said firmly, and finished off her drink. “Now,” and she settled in her chair, the control panel of her household unit appearing in front of her, “I’ll just order in some necessities.”
“What? And usurp Tirla’s prerogative?” Rhyssa said with a laugh as she rose from the chair. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“Tirla said she’d come back in the morning to assist me. Meanwhile the child must have something clean to wear tomorrow morning.” Dorotea gestured to the unit. “As she’s come from the sunbaked plains of Bangladesh, I’d say that shopping in a Mall tomorrow might cause severe culture shock. We’ll introduce her gradually to such pleasures.”
“Does Tirla have it all planned?”
Dorotea chuckled, glancing up at Rhyssa. “You know, I think she might and her instincts are invariably correct. She needs a break from wall-to-wall Teachering. Shopping for someone else will provide it. Amariyah! Such a lovely name! Tirla took instantly to the child and you know how unusual that is. I think we’d be wrong to interfere with that budding friendship.”
Reflecting briefly on Tirla’s complex personality, Rhyssa agreed. It was
a wonder the way the girl had shaken off the trauma of the kidnapping and the physical abuse by that wretched Flimflam. Her feet showed no scars from the bastinado whipping that he had inflicted on her.
Tirla’s a survivor, dear
, Dorotea said reassuringly. Then she shooed Rhyssa away. “You’ve still got all those files to deal with. I can still handle something simple like this. Peter’ll be back from that warehouse of Lance’s soon and I’ll need to fix him a snack.”
With Dorotea headed for the kitchen, Rhyssa knew it was time to leave. The walk across the lawn to the main house, and the wing she and Dave lived in, gave her a chance to organize her thoughts for the work that did indeed lie in wait on her desk.
T
he next morning Tirla was back at Dorotea’s almost before the woman had arisen from her own bed. Certainly well before Peter was up.
She’s still asleep
, Dorotea said, finger on her lips, as she met Tirla in the hallway.
“I thought she’d be up by now. It’s well into day where she comes from,” Tirla said in a quiet voice. She could “hear” Dorotea, as well as Peter, but she had never quite got in the habit of responding mentally. In her estimation, telepathy was something to be used in an emergency. “Did you get her something to wear?”
The previous evening Tirla had been indignant over the little sleeveless dress that Amariyah had arrived in.
“I did indeed. In the living room,” and she stepped aside to let Tirla through.
I’m getting breakfast. Did you wish something?
“What are you having?”
I’ll just see what falls out of the fridge
.
Tirla smelled the frying eggs and the toast as she finished inspecting the essential wardrobe that Dorotea had procured.
“I couldn’t have done better,” Tirla said, beginning to set the round kitchen table for three, then adding a fourth setting.
“Is she awake?” Dorotea asked, one hand hovering over the egg bowl.
“Coming to.” Tirla slipped out of the kitchen.
“I’ll let you handle it,” Dorotea said to the empty air, and wondered if eggs were part of a Bengali breakfast. Eggs were produced by hens no matter what country they inhabited.
She heard the murmur of girlish voices, one a little high-pitched at first that settled into a less agitated tone halfway through the first sentence. She heard water in the hall bathroom and then the two girls entered the kitchen. Amariyah stopped in the doorway, all eyes but not alarmed as she surveyed the room.
“Good morning,” Amariyah said, giving a polite Bengali bow, folding her hands up to her chest.
“You don’t need to do that anymore,” Tirla said. “It is not the custom here.”
“Sister Kathleen is saying that there is no country that is not having good manners,” she said mildly. Tirla stared at her in surprise. “This one says I am to call you Dorotea. You are not a Sister?” The cadence in which she spoke was Bangla, her vocabulary unusual.
Dorotea thought her manners quaint and most acceptable, a change from Tirla’s blunt, almost impudent ways.
“I am not a religious Sister,” Dorotea said.
“You may call her ‘dida,’ ” Tirla suggested.
That means ‘grandmother,’
Tirla explained, ’pathing on this occasion.
It is very courteous for a much older woman
.
Thank you for that translation, Tirla
, Dorotea replied at her drollest. Tirla had the grace to flush.
Oblivious to the rapid flash of thoughts, Amariyah nodded. “Thank you, dida. Thank you very much for the clothing, too.”
“You may sit, Amariyah. I will help the dida,” Tirla said.
From her I will accept the appellation, Tirla, but you will call me Dorotea or I will not serve you this good breakfast
.
“I will help Dorotea,” Tirla repeated circumspectly. She put the plate of eggs and toast in front of Amariyah. “Isn’t Peter coming to breakfast?
Peter!
” she shouted down the hall without waiting for an answer.
“I’m here, I’m here. Oh, good morning, Amariyah,” Peter said, surprised. He had obviously teleported himself into the kitchen although the child had not seen him materialize. Now he “walked” to the table. “Ah, did you sleep okay?”
“I slept very soundly, thank you, Peter.”
The girl waited until the others were served, bowing her head over hands clasped on the table edge. Dorotea hastily thought of a quick grace.
“Let us be thankful for the food we are about to enjoy,” she said.
She came to us from a Catholic orphanage. A little grace never hurt anyone
, she added to a surprised Peter.
If Amariyah hesitated another second, it was to observe how the others addressed their food. Tirla ate with gusto, thickly buttering and spreading jam on the toast, cutting up her egg into manageable portions, drinking milk almost noisily, and chasing egg pieces around on her plate with her toast. Amariyah did not look up from her plate until nothing was left, then folded her hands in her lap.
“You wouldn’t happen to have another egg, would you, Dorotea? Or more toast?” Peter asked plaintively. “D’you want anything more, Amariyah?”
She gulped and shook her head. “Oh, no thank you very much, Peter.”
I gather that seconds were never offered at the orphanage
, Dorotea remarked repressively, resuming her position at the range.
Like Oliver Twist?
asked Peter with a grin as he physically took his plate to her rather than ’porting it.
Amariyah watched as Peter consumed two more eggs and three slices of well-buttered and jammed toast.
“I’m a growing boy,” Peter said in an almost apologetic tone to her.
She quickly ducked her head away, flushing with embarrassment to be caught staring at anyone.
“Dida, what are my duties now? Tirla has served the meal. I am careful with dishes. Where does one wash them here?”
“In the dishwasher,” Tirla said, pointing. “We have better things to do with our time than wash dishes.”
Amariyah’s eyes went round in surprise.
“That is so, dear,” Dorotea said gently as she rose. “Come, we must select more clothing for you.”
“You have already given me these.” Amariyah touched the blue coverall.
“Jerhattan is much colder than Bogra,” Dorotea said, holding out her hand. “Peter, you may fill the dishwasher.”
“Sure.” He paused, a devilish glint in his eye, and then meekly added, “Dorotea.”
You’d better, young man. I want no didas out of you either
.
Just thought I’d make Amariyah feel at home!
“You’d freeze outside, wearing just that,” Tirla said, also holding out a hand to the child. “Come. We will see what’s to be had,” and the light of acquisition enlivened her face.
Oh, Lord, let’s hope the treasury can stand it
, Peter said. Tirla pretended she didn’t hear that.
F
or Amariyah the morning was sheer magic. Either Tirla or the dida kept her hand in theirs as they watched the selections slide across the screen. They encouraged her to choose the colors she liked, the styles that she seemed to prefer. The ordering seemed to be done by speaking into the big screen. A small window at one side then confirmed the purchase. It took Amariyah a little time to realize that there was no bargaining with the vendor. She found that odd though the other two did not. Dida Dorotea was so kind, so generous, and Tirla was so much nicer than any of the other older girls at the orphanage that Amariyah couldn’t believe her change in circumstances. She had even been able, for a few moments in the rapture of owning more than one dress, to forget her dead garden.
“Now, we do have some tasks,” Dorotea said briskly. “Off,” she added and the screen went dark. “If you will put this on, Amariyah,” holding out a warm fleece-lined jacket, “we will go outside. Tirla will come, too.”
“I will?” Tirla was taken aback. “But I thought I would access Teacher from here.”
“The fresh air will do you good, too. Dida commands, Tirla,” Dorotea said at her sweetest. She shrugged on an old jacket, shoved worn gloves in one pocket, a measuring tape in another. “I believe you like gardens, Amariyah.” She was amazed by the vivacity flooding the child’s solemn little face.
“Oh, I do, dida.”
Dorotea took her hand. “Right now, of course, only the spring flowers are coming up but there’s a lot of maintenance to be done. This house faces southeast so we have good sun on most of the beds all day. Things do not grow with quite the profusion that they do in Bangladesh, but I have reason to be proud of my green thumb.”
That unfamiliar idiom made Amariyah regard Dorotea’s slender hands with surprise.
“It’s an expression, my dear, meaning that one is good at gardening.”
“I have a black thumb,” Tirla muttered, closing the front door behind them. “Oh! Look at the tools, Amariyah! Just your size.”
Dorotea beamed with satisfaction as Amariyah gazed with rapture at the child-sized wheelbarrow, equipped with rake, fork, spade, trowel, and watering can. She had to be encouraged to examine the tools and reassured that, yes, these were for her to use. Surely there’d been some toys in that orphanage. Or had her garden been her only toy?
“Try them, Amariyah,” Tirla said, pushing the child toward the barrow. “See, just the right size for your hands!” She had to close Amariyah’s fingers about the rake handle. “See? They were made for you!”
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” exclaimed Amariyah, hands clasping the rake in a grip that made her knuckles turn white, tears flowing down her cheeks.
“Now, now, it’s no big thing, dear. I do need help, you see, and Tirla’s best at shopping.” Dorotea reached into her coat pocket to find a tissue. “Tirla, go get my trug and my stool from the shed. We’ll need to rake some of last year’s leaves away, Amariyah. Let’s make a start, shall we? Just wheel your barrow over here, will you?” Dorotea gently ushered the dazed little girl toward the garden where the green spires of daffodils poked through the mulch.
Tirla, returning with Dorotea’s equipment, regarded Amariyah with consternation.
She’s still crying
.
“Don’t cry, Amariyah,” she said aloud, folding a sympathetic arm about the girl’s slender shoulders.
She’s not sobbing. She’s just letting tears run down her face. How does she do that?
“I told you you’d have a garden.”
“It’s the dida’s garden,” Amariyah murmured. Rake in hand, she took the final steps. “But I will make it neater.”
“That’s the girl. This dida needs help with her garden,” and Dorotea artistically groaned as she bent down. Amariyah was quick to help her to her knees. “I can trust Tirla to find shopping bargains but I wouldn’t trust her to weed.” Dorotea could not resist flashing a sour look at Tirla.
“Why are you trusting me?”Amariyah asked.
“Because,” Dorotea said slowly for emphasis, “I know that I can. Here, let’s just clear the leaves from this patch. Do you have daffodils in Bangladesh?”
Setting the little rake carefully to the ground, Amariyah dropped to
her knees beside Dorotea, oh so patiently coaxing the dead stuff away from the green shoots.
“I have never seen these before.”
For a moment, Tirla thought that Amariyah was sniffing the leaves, she had her face so close to them.
“Tirla, why don’t you go get my gardening book?”
“Why don’t we access the screen?”
“That would mean we’d have to go inside,” Dorotea said, well aware of the ploys Tirla could come up with in order to get back to a screen. “I think one of those printed books you find so obsolete will do nicely”
“Which one?” Tirla asked in a put-upon tone.
“Get the
Encyclopedia of North American Flora
first,” Dorotea said firmly. “The title is printed on the spine, you know.” She turned back to her eager student. “Now, there are five varieties of daffodils around the house, and eight of narcissi. They’ll be coming up next.”
Tirla brought the book and, while Dorotea was turning the pages to the section on bulbs, she sneaked back to the house, to turn on Teacher. The avid gardeners stayed out for the entire morning. Tirla had a peek from the front window from time to time, seeing two rear ends waggling above the flower beds. Amariyah was evidently oblivious to everything but her hands in dirt and muck and making certain that she’d cleared the last little bit of debris from the emerging plants.