“You aren’t here to clean, are you?” he whimpered.
“No, Hermit. I am here to see if I love you.”
I heard a terrified squeal, and his head disappeared. Boldly I entered his house. He was half-hidden beneath a pile of straw that served as his bed. I could see only the lower half of him, and it was trembling.
“Be a man, Hermit Gregor,” I demanded, “and look at me.”
“Why would you want to love me?” he cried from beneath the straw.
“So I might marry you, of course.”
“Marry!” He wiggled farther under the straw.
“Look at me,” I said, “or I shall call my friend Lord Death to visit you.” Slowly he emerged from the straw and sullenly looked in my eyes. The eye rolled so hard it almost wrenched from my grasp.
I shuddered and ran thankfully away.
Evening had fallen and the lanterns had been lit and the music and the dancing begun when I returned slowly to the common. I hovered on the fringes of the crowd, hopeless, until Gretta and Beatrice found me and drew me into the thick of things. I was immediately asked to dance.
I tried to love every boy and bachelor who requested a dance, to no avail. A calmness had settled over me. Somewhere, as Soor Lily said, I already loved someone.
Everyone, married and unmarried, asked to dance with me, and all were kind and gracious. But it was hard to enjoy my honor when I was half in forever, and when the eye jittered and rolled in my hand for every man.
Grandmother and her old friends watched as I danced, and I saw her shine with pride for the gentle things they said of me. Sometimes the dancing stopped for acrobatics and singing, and there was even a play. It was a glorious night.
At the height of the festivities, I was asked to dance again, this time by John Temsland.
My friends, and indeed all the other villagers, stood agape as John led me onto the dance floor. Gradually, in an effort not to stare, some couples joined us in dancing, but
Gretta and Beatrice continued to stare at me and would not pay attention to anyone who asked for a dance.
John was wearing a tunic the color of pale straw and breeches the green of the forest. His hair was loose and long, his skin browned by the labor on the road, and his eyes were blue as the banners that hung from the manor.
“Sir,” I said.
He twirled me, then drew me in a little closer. “I want to extend my personal thanks, Keturah,” he said.
“That is unnecessary, sir,” I said. “You do me honor enough with this dance.”
“Please, Keturah, say my name.”
“John,” I said shyly, “do not thank me.”
“I do not understand everything that happened today,” John said, “but I saw with my own eyes the great swellings on Goody and the child. I saw him sicken, and then with my own eyes saw him heal as the rain came.”
I said nothing, thinking of the rain and of Lord Death.
“Tales of this day will be told for generations,” he said, “but I hope that sometime you will tell me the real story.”
“Of course—John,” I said. “But you must know that in me is no great courage, but only, perhaps, a great love for my people.”
“As befits a lady,” John said. He twirled me again and then stepped closer to me. “I asked my mother, Keturah,” he said, very low, “how a lord’s son might go about marrying a commoner.”
“What commoner?” I asked, astonished.
“I know you think it is impossible. Even Mother is doubtful. But listen—who is the one person with the power to turn a common woman into a lady? The king! His Majesty the king, the very king who is coming to Tide-by-Rood for the fair.”
“John,” I said, shaking my head, “the king does not raise up commoners except for war heroes or wealthy merchants.”
“Remember, Keturah, remember what the king promised to the one who wins top prize at the fair?”
“His shoe full of gold and a wish granted.”
“Yes. And I will win,” he said.
“Truly? And with what will you win?” I asked, smiling at his confidence.
He gestured sweepingly. “Tide-by-Rood is what I will contribute to the fair, Keturah.”
“Sir, it is a glorious contribution. But what common woman will receive this honor, if I may ask?”
“You, Keturah.”
I stopped still and began to dance again only when I saw people staring.
“You helped me see what Tide-by-Rood could be,” he said. “You inspired me, Keturah. For this you will be made a lady. My lady.”
A lady!
Suddenly all weariness left me. I found myself swirling to the music.
A lady!
The villagers honored me, and my friends were in love, and—and I was loved by a lord’s son!
I gazed in the direction of the forest and smiled. Could it be that John had been the one all along? I stopped dancing.
“Sir, you are a lord, and I a peasant. This will never be.” But even as I spoke, I put my hand slowly into my apron pocket.
The eye was not moving!
But wait... No, it did not move back and forth as if it were looking.
And yet it moved. It throbbed in my hand, and then I felt in horror that it squeezed out tears, so that in a moment my hand was wet with them.
I pulled my hand away and wiped it on my skirt, and I could not have been more repelled and appalled if it had been blood upon my hand.
John had been talking about his hopes for the king’s understanding, and now he watched me, curious, expectant, and... lovingly.
“Sir—John, I must go home, I—I must think.”
“Think and dream, Keturah, as I will,” he said.
I ran away, up the hill toward home, my mind still dancing with disbelief.
I gazed out my window and watched the lanterns flicker and listened to the music and laughter that rose like field butterflies from the village. A fairy tale had happened to me—I was the told instead of the teller.
It was not long before Gretta and Beatrice appeared at my door. They regarded me in silent wonder for a time, and then Gretta said, “So the mystery of your true love is solved.
And he is John Temsland, a lord’s son!”
“He is a beautiful man!” Beatrice exclaimed.
“He is,” I said, smiling.
“And he is good and upright,” Beatrice said. “And he is smitten with you, that is clear.”
“So it seems.”
“And he is a lord’s son!” said Gretta again.
“Amazing,” I said.
“Did he propose, Keturah?” Beatrice asked, smiling.
“He did,” I said, half in wonder myself.
“And you answered?”
“I—I believe I forgot to answer.”
Beatrice giggled, but Gretta stared at me. “Did you consult the charm?”
“It throbs and weeps,” I said, “but it does not search.”
“At last!” Beatrice said happily. “You are safe, Keturah!”
“But what does that mean?” Gretta asked. “Why does it weep?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I know this—fair day is a day of weddings. Now home with you, to dream of your loves. And let me dream of mine.”
They left then, and I stayed awake the night through, trying to answer for myself Gretta’s question.
XIII
The king and the fair with its trappings
and delights; the cooking contest,
what I ask of the king.
The day of the fair began with drums.