3.1 - Remara and the Musicians' Daughters

Rosin Grentleyard pokes her head out of the doorway of her bedroom. It is dark, but she knows every plank of wood on the floor. Which ones creak. Which ones sigh. Her parents' room has been quiet for at least two forevers, so they're probably asleep. She clings to the wall and edges along it for six steps, then takes a step sideways and continues forward. There are another couple of boards to skip on the way to the cellar. It takes Rosin three very careful steps to get around the same area that Mommy can avoid in one.

When she gets to the cellar stairs, Rosin relaxes. The steps are packed earth lined with stone and will not creak. She keeps her hands flat against the wall as she takes the steps one at a time down. Down. Down.

It is too dark down here. Mommy always brings a candle or a lamp and lights the wall-candles that way, but the wall candles are all out of reach for Rosin and she has already mapped a blind path to her own special light source. She holds her hands out and takes six double-big steps forward until her fingers touch the wooden block in the center of the room, the one that's taller than her and that the adults use when they're making food down here. She slides around the right side and follows the long edge of it for another five big-steps to its end. From there, she turns right a little bit, just enough to walk the invisible line from the corner of the counter to the back corner of the room.

Eight regular sized steps later, her outstretched fingers bump into something. She's run into a ring of crates, two crates high and two stacks deep, but it's no obstacle to her. She valiantly climbs the stack and feels her way across the top of that one and another stack behind it before sliding down behind them. Finally, her hands find a thick tarp and the hard object underneath. She tugs the tarp off sets it aside. Immediately, the darkness is thrust back.

It is only a pinprick of light, but Rosin squints at the sudden shift from her blind groping. She smiles, shielding her eyes so they can adjust.

"Hello, Lady."

It is a statue of a woman. She can see through it, so it must be made of glass. There is a ball of bright yellow light no bigger than her thumbnail at the center of the woman's chest. The woman is bigger than Rosin but smaller than Mommy. Or, she probably would be if she stood up straight, but this woman is sitting down all bunched up like a ball with knees drawn up to her chest and arms crossed over those knees and face hidden firmly against her arms.

Rosin has never seen the woman's face, but the feet are delicate, with individual toes carved in and even little lines like skin have been cross-hatched on the surface. That texture extends all over the body, except around the torso where everything becomes smooth and undefined. But once she gets over to the hands, the same attention to detail is there. The fingers clasp the opposing forearms tight, with fingernails digging in the same way they would if they were squeezing skin.

Grentleyard's local sculptor, Mr. Jarr Grentleyard, always complains about making ears and hair and how difficult the details are. Rosin thinks that this ear looks so real, the glass woman must hear every word Rosin says. The Lady's hair is a rampant, thick mane of clear curls that tumble down to the shoulders.

And the light. She still can't understand how the artist made the light stay alive inside the statue like that. She thinks she should ask Mr. Jarr about it, but she doesn't want to share her special sculpture. Besides, everyone knows the dragon that lives just outside of Grentleyard collects statues and if the dragon finds out, it might try to take the Lady away from her. Not that it's hers, it's really Mommy's and Daddy's, but she thinks they have forgotten about it and that makes it hers, and that makes her glad.

Her eyes have adjusted by now. She reaches behind the Lady for the candle stub and matches she keeps there. She'll need to scrounge another candle stub soon, but there's enough for tonight. The Lady already provides just enough light to see, but she has another secret. Rosin strikes the match against the crate and lights the candle.

Candlelight pours into the Lady and flies out of her, breaking apart into all kinds of different colors that dance across the cellar. Reds and greens chase each other along walls of shelves laden with vegetables awaiting preparation and bouncing off jars of honey and jam. Blues and violets swim over cabinets with large bottles Rosin is forbidden to touch. Yellows and pinks scatter over the herbs and sausages hanging from the ceiling. With the stroke of a match, the cellar becomes a wonderland.

Rosin peeks out over the crates to see it all. The crates are arranged around the Lady in the corner, hemming her in on all sides. Rosin has no idea why she's hidden away down here. She's never seen anything as lovely as this.

Daddy's violin music is almost this lovely. She relishes every time he puts a bow in her hand, showing her how to draw it across the strings. He says that someday, she will be able to make it sing like he does. She wants that very much. Most days. But sometimes, when she visits the glass Lady in the cellar, she imagines growing up to be a sculptor. She would add a name and become… Marble? Or Clay? Caliper! Caliper Rosin Grentleyard. And she would make statues so beautiful that they would come alive and dance with her.

She sits down and snuggles up against the glass. It's cool down here. Snagging the tarp, she pulls it up over herself like a blanket. Next time, she will bring a coat. Maybe she will hide a blanket down here. Maybe even her second pillow. Watching the lights play games across the cellar while sitting next to the Lady is nice. She stops thinking about the other children in Grentleyard and their mean words. She stops thinking about how hard she is trying to keep her best friend, who laughs at her. She stops thinking about the lies those boys told. There is only her and the pretty lights.

She comes at least once a week. Night is best, though sometimes everyone is occupied enough in the daytime that she can slip down to the root cellar for half an hour. Sometimes she says nothing, content to sit by the Lady and watch the lights.

Sometimes she doesn't even light the candle. She sits next to the Lady, leaning against her as if she could hide in her closed-up arms. Tonight is one of the nights when she seeks the comfort of arms that cannot open to her, bundled up in her favorite blanket.

"She said she wouldn't tell because I was embarrassed about it, but she told about it anyway, and she laughed," Rosin whispers. "And then everyone laughed at me."

The Lady listens to the embarrassing thing and doesn't laugh.

Rosin hides her face in her arms, copying the Lady's pose. She wonders if the Lady is hiding from laughter too. Maybe that's why she's down here, behind the crates instead of up in the sitting room where Daddy plays the violin and Mommy sings. She would be perfect up there, shining along with the music. But if everybody laughs at her, she's right to hide away.

Rosin lifts her face and strokes the Lady's arm. "It's okay. You don't have to go out there. You can stay here as long as you want. I'll talk to you, and I won't laugh about what makes you sad. I promise."

One night, Rosin comes nearly tumbling head over heels down the stairs. She trips over the corner of the table and scrapes her legs scrambling over the crates. She barely has the tarp off before she's babbling, "It's a girl! It's a girl, just like me, and her name is Bow! I have a sister!"

She clutches the tarp, ecstatic, tasting the words in all their sweetness. "I have a sister. Oh, I have a sister! Mommy says I have to be very careful for a long time because she's tiny, and I will! I'll be so careful, but later we can play! And… and… and she'll be just like me! And we can laugh together and play and… and… I have a sister!"

She flings her arms around the sad-looking Lady, nuzzling her smooth neck. "I'll still come down here all the time, I promise. And someday I'll bring her here and introduce you, and then you'll have two friends instead of one!"

As often as she can manage, Rosin spends a nighttime hour or two with the glass Lady, telling her everything about her day. Her stories are less about the hurtful words from children and more about the new baby, Bow. How many times Bow laughed today. How often her parents had to clean her up. The look on the parents' faces when Bow spat up all over Mommy.

"She's so big!" Rosin exclaims one night. "I mean, she's really tiny, but the first time I saw her she was even tinier and now she's so big! How'd she get so big so fast? Maybe she can talk to me soon. I talk to her, but she doesn't talk back yet. Mommy says it's too soon for her to talk. I can wait. I have a lot of practice talking to you and you don't talk back, so it's okay if Bow doesn't talk to me yet."

Many, many nights pass, with stories flowing easily from Rosin. As months go by, the stories begin to ebb. A wrinkle forms in between her brows, and she carries a worry she doesn't have words for. Silence begins to stretch out between Rosin and the glass Lady.

Nearly three years after her sister's birth, Rosin slumps next to the Lady and leans on her. "Bow still isn't talking. She won't look at anybody either. I've been really patient, but she doesn't talk. She screams instead. I can wait, I know how to be patient, but it's not right. I know it's all wrong because Mommy and Daddy are scared. Is it me? Did I do something bad? She's my sister. Why won't Bow talk to me?"

Rosin begins to spend all night in the cellar, creeping back to her room in the morning. She has a nest next to the glass Lady, with three blankets, a floor of cushions, and a pillow. She stops lighting the candle, afraid of catching everything on fire when she falls asleep.

"Doctors come all the time, now. Some of them from other villages. They spend a lot of time with Bow, trying to make her stop screaming and talk and look at them. Mommy and Daddy are sad. And they're tired all the time." She hesitates, catching on that sentence. She struggles with her words, digging her fingers into a cushion.

"I'm… not angry. Bow needs lots of help. I'm okay. I can do my schoolwork and I have lots of books to read. I… I'm pretty good, so I can practice the violin by myself. I don't need much help. And I have you. I'm okay."

Her voice cracks a little. She wipes her nose. "Bow needs them more. It's okay. I'm just… sometimes I'm just lonely about it."

She peeks up at the glass Lady. Funny how she used to think nobody could see the glass Lady's face, because clearly anyone can see the corner of her eye and mouth, as if the Lady is turning her head to some invisible speaker on her right. That's why Rosin always sits there and always has, so she can be the one the Lady is peeking at from the crook of her arm. The eyelashes are delicate glass filaments, so thin Rosin is afraid to touch them. The eye is carved so meticulously that Rosin can tell the difference between all three parts of it. The corner of the mouth points down, heavy with sadness.

Rosin leans against her, swaddled in blankets. "It's okay. The doctors can fix Bow, and then we'll be sisters."

Rosin is taller. She takes fewer steps to get to the back of the cellar and she's had to push the crates further out from the corner to make room for herself. She's added a few empty crates on top to make another row, so her head isn't visible. Everybody knows this is her spot, but she can pretend it's still a secret if it's shielded enough.

One of the crates has all her favorite books in it and nearly every inch of the nook is cushioned. Rosin's favorite coat is wrapped around the Lady to keep her warm while Rosin is gone. Sometimes Rosin has to borrow it back, but she always returns it to the Lady's shoulders when she's done.

Today she slides down into her nest with a hairbrush in hand. She's just tall enough to lean over the Lady's bent-over frame and run a brush over her frozen locks. It does nothing, but it soothes Rosin to imagine the soft brush bristles bending as they comb through rippling, sunrise-red hair. Or maybe the Lady would have hair the color of honey in the noon light? She would look lovely whether her hair was as brown as the rich, plowed earth or as black as the dark of the cellar.

"Bow looked at the doctor's eyes the longest she ever has, today," Rosin says, running the brush from the top of the Lady's head to the end of the curls resting around her neck. "They gave her sweets for it. And she said the name of each sweet instead of just pointing at them. But she still won't let anyone brush her hair or take care of her nails. We have to force her, and she screams and hits."

She continues ministering to the Lady's hair in silence for a while. When she decides it has had enough, she slides down and sits on a cushion, turning the brush on her own hair. "She likes to listen when I play music, or when someone reads to her. Sometimes she repeats parts of the story back, but it's just repeating. She still can't talk to me. And she tries to take my violin. She almost broke it, once."

Her knuckles tighten on the brush handle. "Lady, sometimes I think she's not a real person. I've seen other peoples' little brothers and sisters, and they can talk. They scream sometimes, but not all the time. They play and run around and hug people. Not Bow. Sometimes… I think I didn't really get a sister. She's just another mean joke."

Rosin begins to play her violin in the hall at the top of the cellar stairs. She doesn't want to play music in there and draw attention to her hideaway, but she wants the Lady to hear her play. Of course, the Lady can't hear any more than her rag doll can, but sometimes Rosin plays for her rag doll too because it brings her comfort. She's told the Lady many times how much she has improved, but she's never proved it. Now she serenades the Lady daily from her spot, and since she isn't screeching across the strings, nobody reprimands her or asks her to find another place to practice.

One day, as she approaches the doorway, violin in hand, she hears a crash from below. She leans the violin against the wall and scrambles downstairs.

The Lady's soft light illuminates the bare edges of everything, allowing Rosin to see the scene at a glance. One crate forming the little corner-barrier is knocked over and the Lady's tarp is off. A small, curly-haired head is just visible through the gap in the barrier.

Shock. Then, anger. Molten fury floods Rosin in a split second. She storms across the room, yanking more crates out of the way. Bow stands there, right in the middle of Rosin's nest, bold as any bandit, staring at the glass Lady. She doesn't react as Rosin clears a path to her, as if Rosin doesn't exist. Rosin grabs Bow by the wrist, and finally Bow reacts with an ear-splitting scream, yanking her hand back without looking away from the Lady.

"No!" Rosin shouts, grabbing her by both arms and dragging her out. "This is my place! You have your own things, go play with your dolls!"

Bow howls, digging in her heels. Her little fingers go to claws, scratching at Rosin's arms, and Rosin grips much harder than she needs to, shaking with rage. "Mine!" she shouts, hauling Bow an inch at a time across the room. Bow fights her for every step, until both hear the heavier footsteps of their parents approaching. Then Bow goes limp, wailing and kicking her feet.

Rosin lets go. She knows exactly what is going to happen, now. She's going to be told she's older and wiser and needs to share. How she has to understand her sister's needs are different than other children. How she needs to do better than this to help Mommy and Daddy take care of Bow. How, maybe, it would be nice if the two of them could play in the cellar nook together from now on.

All Rosin can see in her head is torn up pages of her books and chips and scratches on the glass Lady. She just knows her favorite coat will go missing and her blankets and cushions will end up with stains on them. As Mommy and Daddy enter the cellar, Rosin closes her eyes and makes a terrible wish. She wishes it was just her and the glass Lady and Mommy and Daddy.

And no Bow.

Rosin strips her nook bare of anything she cares about. She can't move the glass Lady, but all her books, blankets, and cushions are removed. She doesn't go down to the cellar for two weeks, hoping her absence and the lack of comfort will keep Bow from wanting to spend time there.

The one time she peeks down there, she sees Bow standing next to the glass Lady with a strawberry in one hand, gently smushing it against the Lady's face. Rosin waits for two hours until Bow wanders back to her room, then rushes down to clean the Lady. The stains are concentrated around the half-mouth that is visible and they wipe off quickly, but there are pieces of moldy, smashed fruit all around the Lady. Gritting her teeth, Rosin gathers it all up in the hem of her blouse so she can throw it out.

She pauses, then lets go of the blouse hem, dropping the trash right back on the ground. The Lady is wearing a hat. That isn't Rosin's hat. It's Bow's hat, the one she can't stand wearing but likes to walk around with in her hands. For a moment, Rosin wants to knock the hat off and stomp it flat.

Instead, she takes it down, carefully. She looks from the hat to the Lady and back again. She thinks about what it might mean, that the hat has been placed on the Lady's head. Quietly, she asks, "Lady… does Bow talk to you? Does she… is she a real person?"

The Lady doesn't say anything, but the hat in Rosin's hands—even the smushed fruit—seem to be her answer.

The corner nook's structure evolves. The crates block off the entire corner of the cellar and are stacked four high, minus one stack where the crates would have formed an opposing corner. That gap serves as a doorway into the cautiously negotiated space. A few of the less favored cushions are on the ground. Those books of Rosin's that Bow most seems to enjoy hearing are nestled inside a sideways facing crate that serves as a makeshift shelf. A few dolls from each girl lean up against the glass Lady, who wears both a coat and a hat now.

Daddy has made a special contribution to the space: a child's wall-candle lighter. The long rod that reaches up to the wall candles is tucked away in a cupboard only Rosin can reach, so that she can make the cellar a little brighter if the two of them want to read.

Right now, Rosin stands on her side of the nook, swaying a little as she draws a bow across her violin's strings. Little Bow doesn't look at her, only at the Lady's half-turned face, but she is silent and so very still. The silence is how Rosin knows that Bow likes something.

Daddy says that Rosin will be in high demand all over Grentleyard when she is finished learning everything he has to know, and maybe even beyond. It is still difficult to find enough time to learn those things from him, but he has some more time now that Bow spends most of her day with a special tutor. Rosin gets to spend a little time with Mommy and Daddy again and that feels… good. Mostly.

The song draws to a close and Rosin lets the bow drop, the tip touching the ground. She counts off five seconds of silence.

At five seconds, Bow pipes up. " 'And he said, "Let us have music! Dancing! This is a night for cel-e-bra-tion!" '," she says, not looking at Rosin.

Rosin sighs, sinking down onto a cushion. It's what the great King says in The Princess and the Bard, a fairytale Rosin got when she was five. Bow has heard it over twenty times. She has made a language of other peoples' words.

"I'm tired, Bow."

" 'And he said, "Let us have music! Dancing! This is a night for cel-e-bra-tion!" ',"

"Bow. Please. I'm done."

Bow's face furrows, but she doesn't repeat the line again. Rosin closes her eyes and leans against the wall on the other side of the Lady.

" 'I com-mend you, good bard, for your music could charm the stars them-selves.' "

A tiny smile lifts the corner of Rosin's mouth. "Thank you."

Bow stands, turning her head right and left, her mouth puckered oddly. " 'I com-mend you, good bard, for your music could charm the stars them-selves.' "

Rosin raises an eyebrow. "I said thank you."

" 'I com-mend you, good bard, for your music could charm the stars them-selves.' " Bow peers at the glass Lady's face, then wanders over and begins checking the makeshift bookshelf.

"Bow, that's my side. Don't touch my books."

" 'I com-mend you, good bard, for your music could charm the stars them-selves.' " Bow's voice is insistent, troubled. She turns around and, for a split second, her sea green eyes meet Rosin's. Then her gaze drifts off, and Bow shuffles out of their little fort and toward the stairs, still mumbling to herself, " 'I com-mend you, good bard, for your music could charm the stars them-selves.' "

Rosin's eyes sting as she lays her head back against the wall. "Just when I think that maybe, maybe we can understand each other, she does something like this. Every time. Why can't she just…" she folds her arms over her knees and puts her face down into them, copying the Lady. "Why can't she just talk to me?"

Complimenting the bard is Bow's new favorite phrase for weeks. She says it often, sometimes quietly to herself, and sometimes wailing it while tears streame down her face. She wanders through every inch of the house, then moves out to explore the yard. Rosin's face burns when Bow begins going up to shopkeepers, spouting the phrase at each of them in turn.

Bow's special tutor can't make her stop saying it. The tutor thinks Bow is looking for something, but when anyone asks Bow what she wants, she just cries about the bard's music.

Worse yet, when Rosin or Daddy practice near her, now Bow walks in, shakes her head, and echoes the Princess from her favorite story, " 'Nay, you are but a false pre-ten-der.' "

The first time she says that to Rosin, Rosin almost throws her violin at the wall. A pretender indeed! As if Rosin hasn't practiced making music every day since before Bow was born, while Bow can't even hold the violin properly. What music has Bow ever made? Why does she get to say that? Rosin has a hard, angry knot in her that gets a little bigger every time Bow says anything about music, now.

The more time Bow spends in the cellar nook, the less time Rosin spends there. Rosin retreats to her room, taking her coat and books with her. She feels a little guilty leaving the Lady alone with just Bow, but she can't stand hearing those lines one more time. She takes The Princess and the Bard and shoves it as far under her bed as she can. She swears she'll never read it again.

" 'I com-mend you, good bard, for your music could charm the stars them-selves.' " A brief pause, and then, " 'Who are you, stranger?' "

Rosin sits at the top of the cellar stairs, refusing to go down. Bow has been saying the two sentences together for months, now, directing them to the glass Lady.

Rosin hasn't spoken to the glass Lady for nearly half a year, now. She knew this would happen. She doesn't get to keep anything for herself, or even shared properly. It all goes to Bow, just because she needs it more. Well, she does need it more, and Rosin hates herself for resenting that, but why does Bow have to need everything and everyone so much more than Rosin does?

" 'Who are you, stranger?' "

This is the question the princess in the book asks her beloved Bard when he comes in disguise to her at the ball. She knows him so well already that she can almost tell who he is, but she isn't quite sure.

" 'Who are you, stranger?' "

As if the glass Lady will ever be able to give Bow an answer.

"Re. Re… Re… ma..."

Rosin's head jerks up at Bow's halting voice.
"…ma…ra…"

Bow can read a little. It is easiest for her to read stories she has long since memorized by ear, but she can read new sentences as well. New words and sentences are sounded out laboriously, as if she has to fight for every syllable.

"Re… ma… ra."

Remara? That's not even a word. It's certainly not from any book either Rosin or Bow has. Rosin would know. Despite herself, Rosin creeps down the stairs, skulking in the dark and sliding along the left side of the counter. She peers around the end of the counter, squinting in the soft light the Lady generates.

Bow stands at the Lady's right side, where the face is visible. She runs fingers along the Lady's arm the way she does on a page when she's trying to read a new word, her entire face tense with concentration.

"Rema. Ra. Remara."

She tries it out a few more times, then pats the Lady and adjusts the hat to sit straighter on the Lady's head.

Impatience wins out. Rosin leaves the cover of the counter and draws closer, stepping loudly so Bow won't get scared and start screaming. Bow flinches, but kept patting the Lady's head.

"Bow, what do you mean? What's Remara?"

" 'Who are you, stranger?' " Bow says, stroking the Lady's face. "Re. Mara."

Rosin frowns. "You can't just make up a name for her, she's the Lady. What kind of name is—"

" 'Who are you, stranger?' Remara!" Bow yells, grabbing Rosin's hand and jerking it. Startled, Rosin pulls back, but Bow lays Rosin's hand on the Lady's arm. "Remara!"

Rosin's skin prickles. The Lady's surface has changed. Along the exposed upper arm, just under the place where nearly three quarters of the Lady's face is visible, a word has appeared, as if it melted itself into the glass. It is faint, but clearly visible where there was nothing before, and it spells out Remara.

Rosin yanks her hand back, her breathing shallow. She wants to blame the damage on Bow, but that makes no sense. There aren't even any tools in the house that could do this. Even if they had such tools, nobody would leave them in Bow's reach!

So much of the Lady's face is turned to watch her. She hasn't let herself think of it, but suddenly she recalls with complete clarity that when she first came down here, she couldn't see any of the Lady's face at all.

"Remara!" Bow's voice soars into the range where it screeches, and Rosin knows she will be screaming any moment now. " 'I com-mend you, good bard, for your music could charm the stars them-selves!' "

Rosin turns and pelts back upstairs as Bow's words fall apart into desperate sobs. Nothing makes sense. Bow knows how to speak to the Lady? The Lady can speak back to her? The Lady can move?

The Lady chose Bow to speak to?

That might be the thing that hurts the worst.