3.2 - Remara and the Musicians' Daughters

Mommy and Daddy hurry downstairs as the sobbing becomes a full-scale fit. Daddy gathers Bow into his arms, crying so hard she's nearly retching, and takes her upstairs. Mommy stays downstairs with Rosin, inspecting the Glass Lady.

Rosin can't recall a time when Mommy has ever done more than glance in the direction of her little nook. Daddy helped with the crates when Rosin asked them to be higher, but he also never showed interest in the glass Lady, beautiful as she is. Now, Mommy kneels beside the statue and studies the face, brushing her fingers along the etched arm just like Bow did. She doesn't speak for a long time.

"When I was a little girl," she finally says, "we had a very strange visitor. She stood outside in the rain and there was a cloud of steam all around her. She had no clothes, but there was nothing to cover. She was orange all the way through, like she carried her own fire. I started crying because all the sadness in the world was in her face. She asked Mother if she could please stay somewhere dark and quiet, that she did not need any food or water, that she brought no trouble with her, and that all she wanted was to be alone and forgotten. She spoke like she didn't have to breathe, without pausing once. When Mother accepted, the visitor sat down right away, just like this, and all the color went out of her. Water turned to steam for yards in all directions for a long time, but soon enough the rain was hitting her like everything else outside. I touched her head and she wasn't any warmer than this. My Mother got help to carry her inside and we brought her downstairs and covered her up, just as she wanted. No trouble came after her and she never needed a thing, so we did our best to forget about her."

Rosin can barely breathe. "You knew she was alive."

Mommy chews her lip, still studying the arm. "It was so strange, I half-thought I dreamed it when I grew up. I was so little, who knew? And nobody ever spoke of her again. I thought it might have just been a childish fancy?"

Rosin thinks about how she convinced herself that the face had always been visible as it slowly turned over the years. She forgives Mommy just a little bit for not telling her this story.

"You know, she doesn't look so sad anymore." Mommy brushes a thumb under the eye. "More thoughtful. Maybe she needed company more than she thought she would."

Rosin's fingers ball into fists. "She told Bow her name," she blurted. "Remara. Bow's been asking who she is for months, and she finally told Bow, right here on her arm. She never said anything to me, not once in all these years, and I've been here talking to her in the dark a lot longer, but Bow—" she cuts herself off, struggling not to cry over the fact that even the glass Lady doesn't like her, doesn't want to be friends with her. That the glass Lady prefers her sister, who probably needs the glass Lady more than Rosin does, too.

Mommy finally looks at her. Her lips part once or twice, as if testing certain words and dismissing them. She studies Rosin with those deep brown eyes, as if she can hear Rosin's unspoken thoughts. Rosin lifts her chin defiantly, but her mouth quivers. She knows what she knows.

Instead of speaking, Mommy pulls Rosin into her arms and holds her there for a long time, running her fingers through Rosin's long, straight hair. Rosin melts into her arms, wishing she could stay like that forever.

"I don't have any performances tomorrow," Mommy says into Rosin's hair. "Why don't you come with me to the lake? We'll make a picnic of it, just you and me. Maybe you can tell me some more about Remara and what you've been doing down here with her and…"

And Bow, Rosin's thoughts fill in, but the thought is more tired than angry, now. It isn't enough, but it is a good thing, and she wants to spend time with Mommy. It can't be both Mommy and Daddy at the same time since somebody needs to be with Bow, but maybe Daddy will set aside some violin time this week if she asks. She nods her head into Mommy's shoulder. She would like a picnic by the lake very much.

She gets the picnic by the lake with Mommy and the extra violin lessons with Daddy. It happens more often than it used to, and she feels guilty-glad of it.

It's especially good because she can't bring herself to go back downstairs anymore. Can't bear to speak her heart now that she knows the Lady—Remara—would rather talk with Bow. She just knows that if she goes down there, she will start yelling at Remara, and that wouldn't be kind. And she wants to be kind and good and patient, so she stays away. It's the best solution.

Time passes.

The hurt fades.

In another year, Bow's lessons break through some wall inside her, and slowly she collects more and more words of her own. They are still mixed with other peoples' words, but she begins to construct sentences she's never read before. Rosin hears her practicing with her parents and the tutor, but Rosin doesn't try to talk to her. She gave up a long time ago.

Instead, Bow finds her and starts a conversation, and it rattles Rosin all over again.

Bow walks into her room one day, peering around. She often does this, but instead of commending the Bard on his wonderful music, today she asks, "Where's the music?"

"Knock on the door!" exclaims Rosin. "I'm not showing you my violin and I'm not playing right now."

Bow shakes her head, impatiently repeating, "Where's the music? Remara music."

Rosin frowns. "Remara doesn't make music. She's silent."

Bow shakes her head again, her eyes wandering over the walls. "Remara doesn't make music. Music make Remara."

Gaping, Rosin demands, "Who told you that?"

"Music told," Bow says, matter-of-factly. Her eyes brush Rosin's for half a second, then wander off again. "Where's the music?"

"No, don't change the subject! Who told you that music made Remara? Music doesn't make statues or people, that doesn't even make sense!"

Bow's brows pull together and her lips pucker like a storm is brewing, but she just repeats, "Music. Music told."

Rosin stares at her. Bow is still asking merchants and strangers about the music, too. The tutor tries to get her to stop, but some things Bow won't budge on yet. Rosin has heard the tutor talking to Daddy, worrying about the music only Bow seems to hear. That maybe it means Bow has more wrong with her than they thought.

Then again, Bow was the first one to understand that Remara was more than a statue.

Carefully, Rosin forms her question. "Bow, do you hear music right now?"

Bow nods her head at Rosin's bed.

"Are you looking for where the music comes from?"

Another nod.

"Do you know who is making the music?"

A quick head shake.

"How long have you heard the music?"

A long pause. Hesitantly, Bow hunches her shoulders and pulls a quote, " 'It seems as if I have known you forever!' " Her eyes dart guiltily to Rosin's for a moment, then away again.

Rosin sinks to the ground, sitting hard. She's at a loss. Bow is peeking at her out of the corner of her eye every few seconds. It's almost like she's holding her breath.

Bow answers her questions. All of them, even the last one. Bow understands what Rosin asked. This is a conversation.

And Bow claims that she hears a music that made Remara, and has heard it for a long time. What music can make a living statue?

Rosin says, "I don't know what to think. I… need to be alone. Please go."

Bow's expression goes flat and still. She turns and thunder-stomps out of the room, slamming Rosin's door extra-loud. Rosin doesn't yell at her to be careful this time. She sits there, thinking that if there is a Lady who can be a statue living in the cellar, then maybe there is a music only Bow can hear.

She is almost angry all over again, but she can't quite make it there. Bow's face is in her mind, and she can't stop seeing it. The furtive glances Bow can't sustain. The flat-faced look of… what? Why does she think Bow was disappointed?

Rosin picks herself up and, for the first time in nearly a year, wanders down the cellar steps. It used to take her much longer, easing down steps one leg at a time. Now she could take two stair steps together, if she was being reckless, and crossing the room takes seconds. She's not as tall as Mommy yet, but she might be in a few years.

When she peers into their nook, she stops breathing. Remara is sitting a little straighter, her upper body lifted away from her knees. Bow's hat still sits on her head. The face still has sadness in it, but there is less heaviness around the eyes and mouth than there used to be. The arms are still crossed over the knees, but the hands do not clutch the arms as tightly as they used to. They rest, the fingers loose and relaxed, on top of the arms.

There is no name carved into the arm anymore. The letters have smoothed away.

Rosin stays by the nook's opening, out of Remara's line of sight. Then again, how does she know the eyes are how Remara sees? They are solid glass, like the rest of her, and all one piece at that. In all her years of inspecting the glass Lady from every angle, Rosin has never once found a seam where two pieces had been joined.

A single piece of glass.

A person with a name.

Rosin has nowhere else to put her words, but she can't bring herself to spill them out to the glass Lady anymore.

Her eyes wander around the nook. There are more of Bow's toys in here, all of them either facing Remara or snuggled up against her legs. A small wooden cow nestles between Remara's shoulder and neck. There are several books, most laying on the floor. It looks like Bow has been in Rosin's room and found The Princess and the Bard. She doesn't have the heart to be angry about it. She should have just given it to Bow years ago.

There are two sitting cushions still in the nook. One is empty. The other has Rosin's old coat carefully folded on it. Surprised, Rosin enters the nook and picks it up, shaking it out. She forgot it was down here.

She sits on the cushion, still holding the coat to her chest. Bow has put toys here to keep Remara company, like Rosin used to. Has dressed Remara, just like Rosin did. It seems like Bow has been reading to Remara in Rosin's absence. Rosin shuts her eyes and rocks a little on her cushion.

Bow is a real person.

Bow wants to have a friend like she saw I had.

Bow is lonely.

Does Bow wish she had a real sister, too?

How do you be a sister?

Rosin formally returns to the nook. She asks permission from Bow, as it has been Bow's place for so long, now. Bow bursts into several quotes about celebrations from different stories she has read and drags Rosin's cushion over for her to sit on. By this, Rosin takes it that she is still welcome.

She spends a few nights a week down there with Bow. She has less time now that she has become serious about stepping into the family profession. Violin practice and maintenance fills most of each day. But she makes sure to visit the cellar a few times a week. It has become the place where two very different sisters try to understand each other. Some days that is easier, some days that is harder.

One day, Rosin offers to show Bow something special. She warns Bow never to do this by herself and repeats that over and over until Bow acknowledges what she says. Then, she takes a candle down, sets it right next to Remara, and lights it.

The light bends into Remara and bursts on its way back out. Bow's face splits into a wild grin like Rosin has never seen in her life. As rainbows ripple around the room, Bow lifts her hands and dances in and out of the nook, chasing colorful specks around the cellar and laughing. Rosin remembers how she felt the first time she saw this happen and is warm from her head to her toes to be able to share it with Bow.

Bow returns to the nook and flops down, still grinning so wide her face can barely hold the fullness of her smile. Rosin leans against the wall, watching her. She hasn't heard Bow speak of the music for several months.

"Bow, do you still hear the music?"

Bow's smile fades a little. "Yes," she answers the ceiling, a trace of sorrow in her voice.

"Is the music…" Rosin searches for the words. "Is it like normal music, or special music?"

"Special music."

"Like magic? Like a secret code? Like…"

Bow nods hard. "Magic conversation life music."

Rosin purses her lips. "Conversation. Do you understand what it says?"

Bow makes a twisted up face that Rosin recognizes. It means she is having trouble finding the right words to answer with.

"Take your time," Rosin reassures her. "Mommy's not coming to get us for bed for a while."

The twisted-up look relaxes a little as Bow focuses on the ceiling, searching it for words. When they come, they come slowly in ones and twos. "Not… says… not words. Not words… to me. To me is… like… feelings. Maybe…" Bow gestures a hand at Remara. "Maybe words… to her… to me… is only… sad feeling. Missing someone. Come back, please. Music makes… makes me feel that."

Rosin tilts her head. "Is the music singing to you, or to her?"

Bow shrugs. She rolls her head back and forth, humming quietly. Abruptly, she asks, "Have a question? For Remara?"

Rosin looks away quickly. There's only one question she has for Remara, and it is an angry one. Rosin shrugs.

"Long time answer. She answer," Bow insists. "Ask!"

Quick as she can, Rosin switches the subject back. "Remember you said the music made Remara? How do you know? I mean, you said the music isn't a conversation, but 'making Remara' isn't a feeling. That's a detail, like someone would tell you."

Now Bow's face is really in a knot and Rosin half regrets her deflection. Bow's face keeps scrunching down harder with each passing second. Bitter tears glitter in her eyes.

Rosin mumbles, "I'm sorry. Hard question. Maybe… maybe think about it and come back to me. Doesn't have to be tonight, okay? Maybe… look for the right words. Tell me someday. When you can."

One tear falls, but the rest of Bow's face melts in relief. "Remember question? Rosin?"

"I'll try."

Rosin is jerked, half-awake, from her bed and yanked halfway down the hall before she smells the smoke. Mommy has her hand and there's no time for questions. The center of the wood-plank floor is charred black with little glowing specks but she's moving too fast to avoid them. She cries out as her feet scald on the embers, but Mommy doesn't slow. The two of them follow the char-path to the front door and burst out in a billowing gray and black cloud, coughing as they stagger away from the house. Rosin doesn't see any fire, just a lot of smoke.

She also doesn't see Daddy and Bow.

She lunges for the door, shouting their names, but Mommy holds her back. Rosin is almost as big as Mommy now, but Mommy is still stronger. A few moments later Daddy bursts out with Bow in his arms.

Families from all the nearby houses scurry around, organizing a dust-bucket chain. It doesn't take long to cover the embers. There is not much damage and no actual fire, they say, just a lot of scorch marks in the cellar, burnt up crates, and a trail of charred floorboards from the cellar to the front door.

Mommy goes to look. When she comes back, she says the glass statue is missing.

Rosin hears this, that her own dear glass Lady is gone, and all the things she ever felt had been taken from her by Bow surge up from the past and fill her throat to suffocation. She rounds on Bow, still clinging to Daddy, and spews the feeling on her. "You did something, didn't you? What did you do? Did you light a candle? Did you? I told you! I told you not… you… it's your fault!" Mommy grabs Rosin's arm, but Rosin shakes her off and keeps shouting. "She's never coming back! You have to take everything, don't you? I hate you! I hate you!"

She doesn't wait for Mommy to gasp, or for Daddy to scold her, or for Bow to cry. She just runs. Away from the house. Away from Bow. She hears footsteps behind her for a while, and Mommy's voice calling, but she keeps running. Mommy might be stronger, but Rosin is faster and can run longer. Soon, there aren't footsteps behind her anymore.

She leaves all the houses and their warm lights behind. She goes far beyond the edge of Grentleyard. She is scraped by branches and trips over tree roots she can't see. Picking herself up, she keeps running. After the fourth fall, she limps. After the sixth, she stays sprawled on the ground, gasping short little breaths that barely keep her from crying.

Her ankle hurts. Her skin stings. She's not sure how long she's been running. She is cold. She is burning with anger hot enough to turn the rest of her house to ash. She is drowning in the aloneness that is never far from the surface. She has gotten so, so very good at pretending the aloneness away and filling all the spaces with books and violin practice, but there it is again, coiling around her lungs and squeezing them flat.

She is angry with Remara, yes, but at least Remara is always there. Like the sun, like the moon, Remara in the cellar is an immutable fact of life.

Gone.

Just before daylight breaks, someone from the search party that Daddy pulled together finds Rosin. She is sitting at the base of a tree at the edge of the forest. She is covered in mud and scratches lace every bit of exposed skin. Her nightgown is in shreds and stained red and brown. She keeps one hand closed tightly. She says it's hard to walk and her ankle is puffed up. The rest of the search party quickly descends on her location. Daddy scoops her up on sight, scolding her harshly as he squeezes her tight.

"I wasn't going to freeze," she answers only one of his many objections to her running off. "The glass Lady stayed with me all night. She left, right before they found me." She points to the ground a little ways away. A clear swath of small vegetation has burnt to ash, with burnt-black footprints leading toward and away from that bald spot of earth.

"She's very sorry, Daddy. She says she will bring payment for the house damage soon, and that she left quickly so that she wouldn't cause any more. You don't have to worry, she won't be using our cellar again. She wanted me to thank you and Mommy for letting her stay so long." She pauses a moment, then adds, "I'm sorry, too. I was angry. I think I've been angry a long time, it just burst all at once last night."

Daddy has nothing to say about this. He cradles her close, and even though she's much too big for it, he carries her off like he used to. She puts her closed hand into his pocket and releases something. "Keep these safe for me?" she murmurs, then lays her head on his shoulder and falls asleep.

She wakes when Mommy takes her from Daddy and pulls off the tattered nightdress. Mommy's eyes are red but she isn't asking ten thousand questions, so Rosin guesses Daddy has told her what he knows. Mommy brings Rosin to the "Family-soup pot," a large wooden tub in the kitchen. Rosin is scrubbed in its lukewarm, sudsy water with a soft cloth. The soap stings Rosin's cuts, but she bites her lip and stays quiet.

After Rosin dries off and changes into a clean dress, Mommy wraps her ankle tight in strips of cloth and helps her over to the kitchen table. She wraps a warm blanket around Rosin, chair and all. She slices an apple, several wedges of tangy yellow cheese, and some pungent dry sausage onto a plate, setting that in front of Rosin, who reaches out of her cocoon and grabs slices of apple and cheese, wolfing them down together. She barely slows enough to chew the sausage.

Every few moments, she is sure she sees something or someone at the doorway. A couple of times she's sure she catches a fraction of a face peering in, but when she looks straight at the door, no one is there.

Exhaustion seeps back in. Rosin has barely slept and everything about last night was strange and momentous. Even so, she has to give Bow a little something to hold onto. She owes it to her.

Rosin raises her voice louder than is necessary. "Mommy, I know I said it to Daddy, but I'm sorry about last night. I shouldn't have said things like that and run off."

Mommy hesitates, her eyes flicking to the empty kitchen doorway. "Thank you, Rosin, but I'm not the one you really need to apologize to."

"I know. But that's going to take a lot longer if I'm going to do it right, and I'm really tired right now."

Mommy nods, a small smile at the corner of her lips. "I see. Well, I'll help you get to bed. Rosin? Is it true that… Remara won't be staying with us anymore?"

Rosin's chest twinges. "Yes, Mommy."

There's a half-choked sound from the hallway. Both of them keep their eyes off the doorway this time.

"Well. I hope you tell me more about your conversation with her when you're rested. I'm very curious."

"I will."

"Then let's get you to bed."

She can't give Bow more than that right now. She's tired, so bone-achingly tired, and there's something important she has to do before she can face her sister again.

When she wakes, there is a doctor bent over her leg, tending her foot. He tells her not to walk on it for several days and to ask for help with everything she needs to do. There are several light bandage wrappings on her arms and legs. He sets a carefully carved Y-shaped crutch against her bed and repeats his warnings. As soon as he leaves, Rosin closes her eyes again.

The next day, Rosin asks for paper and pen and something hard and flat. Assembling a makeshift writing surface, she painstakingly pens words she has come to despise. The words of The Princess and the Bard are seared into her brain. At this point, she believes she will die with the correct inflection of every syllable in mind. However, her copy of the book was last seen in the cellar nook and according to Remara's account last night, that whole area burned up. She needs somewhere to start her apology to Bow, so she writes the story down.

As the afternoon rolls by, Mommy comes in for a little bit. She brings in a metal statue that was left in front of the house. It is a woman, sculpted to scale, about the size of Mommy's arm from fingertip to elbow. The woman is set on a circular base, standing on a single tiptoe, the other leg curled back and both arms flung up to the sky as if to embrace the sun or the moon. The dress she wears is so fluid-looking that Rosin has to touch it to assure herself it really is metal, and it is set around the neckline and waist and hem with chips of colored stone. The words "not alive, just a gift" are engraved on the underside of the base. Mommy says she will have to discuss it with Daddy, but she thinks it is so beautiful and the repairs won't be too costly, so they will likely keep the statue. Rosin nods and doesn't say very much.

Rosin keeps working on the story, writing each word as cleanly as she can. It is early evening by the time she puts the finishing touch on it. Pulling a ribbon free from her favorite rag doll, she uses it to tie the pages together. That night, as she waits for sleep, she tries to picture how she's going to start the conversation she will have with Bow.

The following day, Rosin places the ribbon-laced bundle of papers into a small sling Mommy fashioned to help Rosin carry small objects. She pulls herself up out of bed and slides the crutch under one arm, drawing the sling over her neck and shoulder on the other side of her body. She hobbles around the house, looking for Bow. She makes one circuit of the house by herself before she gives up and follows the sound of a violin to where Daddy practices in the music room.

"Daddy? Have you seen Bow?"

Daddy hesitates, the strings falling silent, then says, "Bow has been down in the cellar a lot. We try and bring her back upstairs whenever we can, but she runs back down when we're not looking. I keep the cellar lit all the time, so she isn't sitting in the dark. I can tell her you want to see her. Maybe that will get her to come up."

Of course Bow would still be in the nook, scorched ruins or not. Rosin shakes her head. "I should go down there."

"You'll never make it with that crutch, let me–"

"I can scoot down. I'll be very careful, I promise. I'll shout if I need help. Please. I need to say some things to Bow and that was our place."

Daddy studies Rosin. "I think you're right. And I think she's been trying to keep a message ready for you down there."

Rosin lifts an eyebrow.

Daddy shakes his head. "You should see for yourself. Just know that we have tried to stop her, and we leave plenty of blankets and clothes nearby."

Blankets and clothes? Rosin is confused, but she nods. "Thank you. Can I have the marbles I gave you?" Daddy's face is blank, and for a moment Rosin's stomach drops. "The ones I put in your pocket when you found me," she clarifies. His eyes light up and he turns to the fireplace mantle, grabbing two glass marbles and dropping them into her sling.

She thanks him and hobbles toward the cellar door. Once there, she sits at the top and calls down the stairs, "I'm coming down." She slides the crutch ahead of her, listening to it clatter all the way to the bottom where it thunks on the ground, then scoots down one step at a time.

As promised, the cellar is already lit. At the bottom of the stairs, Rosin pulls herself up on her good foot and tucks the crutch under one arm, making her way along the familiar route. Halfway across the cellar, she freezes, her heart creaking painfully at what she sees.

The crates are gone and so are the toys. The whole corner is blackened and there's a scorch trail up and around the wall back to the floor in another spot. Bow sits at the center of the blast mark, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms folded across the knees, and her face hidden in her arms. She is naked except for a hat and a coat. The fire must have claimed the first hat-and-coat set, because this is a new hat and a different one of Rosin's coats–probably pilfered while Rosin slept.

For a moment, it's so ludicrous that Bow is wearing a hat at all that Rosin barely registers the rest of the details. As they trickle in, Rosin's eyes fill with tears. Grimly, she crutches the rest of the distance. There are no crates, but someone dragged two new cushions downstairs and laid them nearby, so Rosin carefully seats herself on one of them. As Daddy said, there are blankets and a small pile of Bow's clothes nearby. Rosin wonders how often they have tried to keep Bow dressed in the last few days.

Bow doesn't move. Not a twitch.

Rosin breaks the silence. "Remara told me. She said you came down here and lit the candle."

A tiny intake of breath.

"I wish I'd seen it. You shouldn't have done it without me here, but… I didn't even think you could light a candle at all. She said you did, and that I would have been proud of you because you were so careful. She said you only dropped it because the lights startled you."

Bow shivers. Rosin snags a blanket with one hand and leans forward, draping it around Bow. Immediately, Bow shrugs it off, allowing it to pool around her, and resumes her fetal posture.

Rosin sighs. "Bow… you don't have to replace the glass Lady. I'm… I said things I shouldn't have said. I'm really sorry. I was so angry. I still am, but… maybe we can talk about things like that? Or try? I never even tried before. At least, I didn't try talking to you about it. And I think you've been trying to talk to me for a long time." She pulls the bundle of papers, still crisp and new-smelling, from her sling and lays them at Bow's feet. "I thought this could start my apology off right. Remara said everything went up in flames before she sucked them all into herself, so I thought your favorite book must be gone. I can't do the illustrations, but I have the story written down for you."

Bow peeks up over her arm, a sliver of her green eyes visible in the candlelight. She stares at the bundle by her feet but doesn't move to take it.

"I'm sorry," Rosin says softly. "You don't have to forgive me right away, but think about it. In the meantime, I have a message for you from Remara."

Bow lifts her head straight up and locks eyes with Rosin so intently that Rosin flinches.

"She, um… she found me out in the dark when I was very lost. She wanted me to tell you that she's sorry. She said you dropped the candle and everything caught fire around her, and she saw you looking surprised and shocked like you weren't going to run. So she pulled all the flame into herself. That made her very hot, too hot to touch, but it also let her move. She said that when she moved, you started walking toward her. She doesn't want you to think she ran away because she hates you." And here, Rosin points at the strange scorched trail that moves up the wall and curves around to a different spot on the floor, "She ran away because if you touched her when she was that hot, it would have hurt you very badly. So she ran all the way out of the house and far off so she couldn't hurt you. She asked me to say that she loves you very much and she really enjoyed wearing your hat."

Now Bow is crying. Her crying is unabashed air-gulping interspersed with sad noises. There's no hint of trying to hide it or suppress it, her sadness is loud and messy and open. It makes Rosin uncomfortable, but she bites her lip against the urge to make her be quiet.

Gingerly, Rosin scoots closer and touches just the tips of Bow's toes. "It's okay. She thinks you're wonderful and she was happy whenever either of us came down to visit, and even happier when we were both down here getting along. She wishes she could stay and watch us get to know each other better, but she has to go." Rosin leans forward. "She talked to me about the music, Bow."

Bow's mouth moves, goldfish-like, her eyes and nose both running at once.

"She said the music that made her has never stopped calling her out into the world, asking her to see everything her feet can take her to see and meet everyone she can. It's just that she got very tired and hurt and broken from doing that, and so she hid herself away in the dark and hoped the music would stop asking anything from her. But it never did. She rested a long time here, and now she knows that it's time to follow the music again. And, Bow, you were an important part of that decision. Remara got very good at ignoring the music, but you could hear it too and you kept asking her about it. You made it impossible to ignore the music."

Bow gives a guttural cry of grief and puts her face in her hands.

Immediately Rosin pulls Bow's arms down. "No, Bow, that's not a bad thing. I'll miss Remara and you'll miss Remara, but she needed to be reminded. The music… she says it's the most wonderful thing. She's never found anything like it in all her travels and it's right for her to follow it. She just got overwhelmed and discouraged, and you helped her come back to listening. You did that, Bow. You helped the glass Lady." Rosin gives a little smile. "And then she helped me, because I told her how I said something terrible to you, and she told me that whatever I do next, it shouldn't be hiding in the cellar for forty years even if I feel like I want to."

And Bow laughs, a weepy, hiccupy laugh, but there it is. She rubs the heels of her hands into her eyes, grinding away the tears, and reaches for the blanket, wrapping it around herself. She bats the hat off her head with a grimace. Lastly, she pokes a hand out between the folds of the blanket, seizes the bundle of papers on the ground, and pulls it close to her body.

"There's one more thing. Remara dropped these." Rosin pulls out the marbles, two perfectly spherical, cloudless glass drops. She sets one down on the ground and waits for Bow to scoop it up. "To remember her by. I think they were part of her, but they don't glow the same way."

Bow gives another wavery laugh, reaching up to tug at her own curly hair and then pointing with that same hand to the marble she holds. Rosin laughs too, more than a little surprised that she understands the gesture. "Probably, yes."

Bow inspects the marble for several minutes, rolling it around the palm of her hand. Then she closes her fingers around it. Taking a few shaky breaths, she taps the sheaf of papers against her mouth and shakes her head several times.

Rosin hesitates, making a careful leap. "Can't talk right now?"

Bow nods hard.

"That's alright. I know this is all a lot. Maybe it's enough to think about for now. Maybe… want to help me make another nook? I can't…" she gestures at the crutch. "I can't carry much right now so I need help. Tomorrow?"

Bow nods again, double hard.

Rosin nods back. "Until tomorrow. Can, um. Can you pull Daddy down here? I think it's going to be harder getting upstairs."

The stone cellar floor has been thoroughly scrubbed and the walls and ceiling have fresh coats of paint. New crates have been stacked up and secured to each other to form an even larger, stronger nook that encompasses a good fifth of the cellar. The gap to walk through is right up against the wall so that the five-high layer of crates offers maximum privacy. New dolls and toys have migrated in, and the books in the special sideways crate are joined by a ribbon-bound sheaf of papers.

There are two cushions for sitting on and plenty of blankets and pillows for sleepovers. There's a special third cushion shoved right up against the furthest corner that cradles a small clay bowl with two glass marbles in it. There's an overturned crate that migrates around the nook, serving as a table if they bring a snack down.

Bow sits on one side of the nook, making a ragdoll and a wooden pig dance to the sound of Rosin's violin practice. Rosin's foot has long since healed, and she stands, playing the violin with her eyes shut. She wonders if someday, she'll be able to hear the music Bow speaks of.

Some days are better and some days are harder, but good days or bad, they always come back to the nook to sort everything out.

Today is different, though. Rosin brings her practice piece to an end, then rests the tip of the bow on the ground. "Bow?"

Bow turns her rag doll to face Rosin without lifting her own eyes.

"What do you think about what Mommy said this morning? That it's your turn to be a big sister?"

Bow turns the doll away and resumes the dance of the toys, even though the music has stopped. Rosin sets the violin and bow against the wall and sits on her cushion, waiting.

It is a long time before Bow says, "Don't know. It's big. New. Why?"

Rosin hedges, "Why… did they make another sister? Why did I ask? Why–"

"Make another sister."

Rosin shrugs. "You have to ask them that."

Bow grunts, setting the rag doll on top of the wooden pig and riding her around. "How?"

Rosin catches herself before she answers the wrong question. Bow's mouth is still moving, still forming up her sentence a word at a time.

"How… be… big sister?"

"You're asking me?" Rosin groans. "I barely know. I don't think I can explain it."

Unexpectedly, Bow's face relaxes. "Good."

Rosin blinks. "Good?"

Bow nods. "I will watch you."

At that, Rosin drops her eyes to the ground. "Bow… I don't think that… you won't learn much that way, I'm not… not a good…"

There's a huff from Bow, and a few seconds later a rustle of papers. The ribbon-bound copy of The Princess and the Bard is thrust under Rosin's nose and waved around.

Gingerly, Rosin takes the story, staring at her own handwriting. It's a decent rebuttal.

"Wish… Remara is… still here. New baby… won't know."

At this, Rosin smiles. "We'll just have to tell that story ourselves. And maybe Remara will visit someday."

Bow nods. "New story. I make." She tugs at her rag doll, pulling out a long piece of yarn. "I do, too. Like you."

Rosin smiles. "I think the new baby will like that. It might be a long time before the baby can understand the story, but I bet they'll love hearing it even before they understand."

Bow nods faster, her hands a little shaky. There's a smile at the corners of her lips and her gaze is distant. "Lots. Lots of stories. For the baby."

Rosin looks at her for a moment. "Wait here." She leaves, gathers a few supplies from the main floor, and returns to the nook. Nudging the table-crate over in front of Bow with one foot, she sets down clean paper, pen, and ink. "You'll need a lot of practice. It's hard to write cleanly enough to read. You practice writing the story." She steps back and picks up the violin again. "Daddy's been showing me how to create new music. Maybe I can compose a new lullaby for the baby."

Bow tilts her head, glancing at Rosin from the corner of the eye. "This how?"

How to be sisters. Rosin gives a lopsided smile as she lifts her violin. "I don't know. Let's find out."