Ch. 222 A Day for Mary

Chapter 222: A Day for Mary

Mary had arranged the letters to the kingdoms in three piles.

Sent.

Ready to send.

Waiting for a reliable route.

I stood beside her desk while she explained why one letter could go south with Halen and another could not.

“They’re going to different cities,” I said.

“Yes.”

“I had understood that much.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“I thought there might be a shorter answer.”

“There is. No.”

Melody, standing behind me, made a sound that might have been a cough.

Mary tied the next packet.

“Was there anything else?”

“Not at the moment,” I said.

Melody followed me into the passage.

“She’s forgotten,” she said.

“What?”

“Her birthday.”

I looked back at Mary’s door.

“When?”

“Six days.”

“How do you know?”

“She told me the first winter we were here. She was annoyed that she’d spent the entire day counting blankets.”

“That does sound like Mary.”

“She got the count right.”

“That sounds even more like Mary.”

Melody folded her arms.

“We should do something.”

We found Evelyn in the chapel.

She was helping Liora practice distinguishing an ache from the effort of standing too long. Liora stopped the working when we entered.

“What have you done?” my wife asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

“That is not a reassuring answer from either of you.”

“It’s Mary’s birthday soon,” Melody explained.

Evelyn’s expression changed.

“Does Mary know?”

“She knew once,” Melody said.

Liora pulled out a chair.

“Sit down. This sounds as though it will require planning.”

“We thought you could help,” I said.

“I can. Mary has helped everyone in this room.”

By evening, we had a list.

It was not Mary’s kind of list.

There were no supply totals or watch assignments.

Only things people wanted to give her.

Beatrice offered a cake.

Perrin wanted to make a box for her pens.

Eleanor said the box needed room for the pens Mary found behind her ear after insisting she had lost them.

Ivara offered to bind the pages Mary had filled since the Accord was signed.

Eliza offered to cover her duties for a day.

Mary would object to that.

“She can object after we’ve done it,” Eliza said.

“That may take most of the day,” Melody replied.

Garrick Valewood listened while he smoothed the bow of the twins’ new boat.

“Are you celebrating Mary or assigning her a rest?” he asked.

“Both,” I said.

“Then ask whether she wants one.”

“If we ask, she’ll say she has work.”

“Does that make her wrong?”

I had no immediate answer.

He passed the boat to me.

“Check this.”

I ran my thumb along the bow.

Smooth.

“You’re saying we should tell her?”

“I’m saying she gets to know what people plan to do with her birthday.”

Helena, sitting nearby with the sails, nodded.

I looked at Melody.

She looked disappointed.

Then thoughtful.

We told Mary the next morning.

She was in the lower yard discussing the new well with Bren and the Castellan.

“We know your birthday is coming,” Melody said.

Mary looked at her.

“I had forgotten.”

“We thought so.”

“What are you planning?”

“A meal,” I said. “People want to give you gifts. Eliza offered to take your duties for the day.”

“Which duties?”

I began naming them.

Mary interrupted after the fifth.

“She has her own duties.”

“We can divide yours among several people,” Melody said.

“That sounds as if you’ve already tried.”

“We have a list,” I admitted.

Mary held out her hand.

I had not brought it.

“That is probably fortunate,” she said.

We walked back toward the castle together.

“Melody says you spent your birthday counting blankets once,” I told her.

“Did I?”

“You were annoyed.”

“I remember the blankets. Three families had arrived in the snow, and we needed enough for them.”

“Do you remember your birthday?”

“Someone brought me a pear.”

“Was it good?”

“Yes.”

Mary glanced at Melody.

“You gave me that.”

“I did.”

“I should have thanked you.”

“You did. You also said the count was wrong and went back to it.”

“It was wrong.”

“I know. I helped you correct it.”

They walked a few steps in silence.

At the stair, Mary turned to us.

“I don’t want a decree.”

“We hadn’t written one,” I said.

“You were considering it.”

I looked at Melody.

Melody looked at me.

Mary sighed.

“I don’t want everyone required to celebrate me. I don’t want work stopped if people need the road or the chapel.”

“All right,” I said.

“I would like supper with my friends.”

“We can do that.”

“And I would like to see whatever you put on that list before you promise my time to anyone.”

Melody smiled.

“That is a request we can manage.”

Mary took the first step.

“Also, if Beatrice has offered cake, tell her I like pears.”

We gave her the list.

She crossed out two items.

One was an afternoon of speeches.

“I never suggested speeches,” I said.

“Perrin did,” Melody replied.

“He said three sentences.”

“From twelve people.”

I understood Mary’s objection.

The other crossed out item was a day free of all duties.

“I’ll take the afternoon,” she said. “If Eliza can cover the urgent messages.”

“I can,” Eliza said from the doorway.

Mary looked up.

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to hear the part that concerns me.”

“You are becoming like Melody.”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t mean that as praise.”

“I know.”

We could have left it there.

Instead, Melody and I spent the afternoon walking through Greykeep.

We asked people what they remembered Mary doing for them.

The answers came readily.

A carpenter remembered that she had found room for his family when they arrived with no wagon and no warning.

A guard remembered her checking the roster after he broke his wrist, so he could keep his place while he healed.

Liora remembered the letter Mary had written to Southmere promising that her work in the chapel would not take her from the village without her agreement.

Bren remembered that she had changed the street when he found the place for the well.

“That was for the water,” I said.

“It was also for the people who’ll carry it,” he replied.

A woman in the market told us Mary had corrected a tax record three years ago.

“She made me bring the old receipt,” the woman said. “I thought she didn’t believe me.”

“Did she?” Melody asked.

“She believed me. She wanted proof no one could set aside later.”

At the western watch, a guard said Mary had made him take a full night’s sleep after three shifts with too little rest.

“She wrote it on my roster,” he said. “I couldn’t pretend I’d missed the instruction.”

“And did you sleep?” I asked.

“Yes.”

He seemed mildly embarrassed.

I understood.

I found a book in the archive that evening.

It had blank pages and a plain blue cover.

Ivara showed me how to prepare it so people could write without leaving marks on the pages beneath.

“You want to collect their words?” she asked.

“Yes. Mary keeps everyone else’s records.”

Ivara ran a hand over the cover.

“She should have one that belongs to her.”

“Will you write in it?”

“I will.”

She opened to the first page.

You gave me a place to keep the truth where people could find it.

She showed me before closing the book.

“That’s a good beginning,” I said.

“It is what I wanted her to know.”

The gods signed in their own time.

Some wrote a sentence.

Bren drew the well as it would look when finished, with a low stone wall and a place to set a bucket.

Isel wrote that Mary had checked the market measures because accuracy mattered to the people buying grain.

Miren left her page blank for half a day.

Then she wrote about the chair Mary had offered her during her first night at Greykeep.

No one had asked Miren to stand before them while she told her story.

I did not read that page twice.

It felt like enough to know it was there.

Two days before her birthday, Mary found us with the book.

She walked into the council room while Evelyn was writing.

My wife closed it too quickly.

Mary looked at her.

“You are holding a book you don’t want me to see.”

“Yes.”

“Is it about my birthday?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to let me inspect it for errors?”

“After people have finished.”

“That is a dangerous offer.”

“You may correct their spelling,” Evelyn said. “You may not correct what they remember.”

Mary studied her.

“That sounds like something you agreed upon in advance.”

“We did.”

For a moment, Mary looked as though she might ask another question.

Then she went to fetch the city plans.

On the morning of her birthday, the first frost reached the lower yard.

The twins discovered it before breakfast.

Carol crouched beside a white patch on the stone.

Garrick touched it and pulled his fingers back.

“Cold,” he announced.

“Yes,” I said.

He held up his hand for me to warm.

I wrapped mine around it.

No working.

He seemed satisfied.

Across the yard, Mary came toward us carrying her book of duties.

Melody stepped into her path.

“Good morning.”

Mary narrowed her eyes.

“How many people have you told?”

“Enough.”

Breakfast was ordinary until Beatrice brought in a little plate of sliced pears.

She set it beside Mary.

“I remembered,” she said.

Mary looked up.

“Thank you.”

“Save room for supper.”

“That sounds like a warning.”

“It is.”

Beatrice went back to the kitchen.

The Castellan moved a chair closer to the table for Mary.

“Do I normally sit too far away?” she asked.

“No. The children are coming.”

Garrick arrived with a wooden block in each hand.

He gave one to Mary.

Carol gave her the other.

Mary placed both beside her pears.

She worked through the morning.

At noon, Eliza came for the duty book.

Mary held on to it.

“I left you a page of instructions.”

“I’ve read it.”

“There’s another page.”

“I’ve read that too.”

“The letters—”

“Can wait unless a messenger comes. If one does, I’ll send for you if the answer cannot wait.”

Mary released the book.

Eliza tucked it under her arm.

“Go eat lunch with your friends.”

“I was going to.”

“Good.”

Melody appeared behind Eliza.

“We’ll make certain she does.”

The afternoon was quiet.

Mary sat with Melody by the hearth for a while.

Later, I saw her walking with Aurelia along the covered gallery. She had no papers in her hands.

I was still looking when Evelyn came beside me.

“You’re checking on her.”

“Someone should.”

“She’s speaking to Aurelia.”

“I can see that.”

“Then leave them to it.”

I did.

Beyond the walls, I could feel snow moving over the northern hills.

It remained there.

Below us, Aldren’s crew worked on the road while the light held.

The day had room for both things.

At supper, Beatrice brought a pear cake.

There was no speech.

Perrin looked relieved.

We ate together.

Mary opened the blue book after everyone had finished.

She read the first page.

Then the next.

For a long time, the only sounds were the fire, the turning pages, and the twins quietly arguing over which of them had placed the first block beside her plate.

Mary stopped at the page from the market woman.

“I remember that receipt,” she said.

“I thought you might,” Melody replied.

“She brought it folded into the lining of her coat.”

“She still has it.”

“Good.”

Mary turned another page.

At the end, she looked up.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to make a speech,” I said.

“I know. I crossed it out.”

That drew a laugh from the table.

She rested her hand on the cover.

“I thought most of these things were simply what needed doing.”

“They were,” Melody said. “You did them.”

Mary looked at her.

“Thank you for the pear.”

“It took you a few years.”

“I was counting blankets.”

“You were.”

After supper, Mary asked me to walk with her.

The hall had grown noisy behind us.

She carried the blue book beneath her arm.

“I know what you wanted to do,” she said. “The decree.”

“We didn’t write one.”

“I’m glad.”

“Melody and I still want people to have a day for you.”

“I had one.”

“I meant every year.”

Mary stopped beside a window.

The yard lay dark beyond it.

“A day that takes people away from their work because it has my name on it would make me unhappy,” she said.

“I know that now.”

She thought for a while.

“Let people choose one day each year to thank someone whose work they depend on. Give them the afternoon if their duties allow. If you want, you may begin it on my birthday.”

I looked at her.

“Will you let us tell people it was your idea?”

“Yes.”

“Will you let us tell them why that day?”

She considered.

“Yes. I think I will.”

We called it the Day of Thanks.

Mary insisted that Beatrice be consulted before anyone promised a yearly cake.

Beatrice agreed to make one for the hall if someone else would wash the pans.

Perrin volunteered too quickly.

Eleanor wrote his name beside the task before he could reconsider.

As we returned to supper, Mary put her hand on the blue book.

“Keep the birthday part,” I said. “The day can belong to everyone. This belongs to you.”

She looked down at it.

“I will,” she said.

Then she went inside to show Melody the page Bren had drawn of the well.