Unsettled

[Adelaide]

Rye for the winter, apples on the way to town. She filed it away and looked around her with the peculiar feeling of knowing it was all hers. She'd never really owned anything substantial before. A car for certain, but nothing like land, or even a home. So it felt extra strange that she should own this and that it should be so far from anything she knew. But that was the point, wasn't it? That it was a foreign land were things were new and she could get lost in the work and lost in the learning.

She had been thrilled to see the barn, what was a farm without a barn, logic asked as she walked arm in arm with her guide. But then as they neared the impressive structure revealed itself to be in no better shape than the small cottage had been in. It was a daunting sight. For a moment she felt a wavering in her control, a moment of panic when she understood what a big job this was and how ill-equipped she was to be on this venture. She might have panicked for truth were it not for the solid feeling of Ciprian's arm through hers. She'd imposed on him, making the connection without asking and he'd bourn it. She knew full well she was going to impose on him again and again as time passed and she hoped he remained as patient and unflappable as her was proving to be.

She knew next to no Romanian, the words for good morning being the rare example of her linguistic prowess, but there was no mistaking the intent of the words that came from the barn. A quick staccato of words, with syllabus that rang with vulgarity and vehemence could be nothing but swear words. She fixed on them like a child hearing an uncle use forbidden words, with careful nonchalance but they slipped through her comprehension and were taken up by the breeze, lost to her and she didn't dare ask her sweet guide for a translation.

Before she could even consider the merits of asking for one, the men were coming out. She brightened, smiled and tried to be authoritarian if friendly farm owner. She might as well have not been there. One of them spoke and the strangest thing happened to Ciprian's expression. She couldn't pinpoint what had changed but suddenly he didn't look like himself. She felt her hand on his forearm tighten in reflex and then she forcefully loosened it and took a step from him as she was introduced. She lifted her hand to offer to shake a heartbeat after she realized she shouldn't have bothered as the men were looking past her through her as if she didn't exists even though all three of them had nodded. But then she realized that they weren't looking past her, but through her. This was something that shouldn't have felt any different, but did. They directed their words to Ciprian and while she felt a stab of annoyance she mostly knew that he'd have to translate regardless.

A moment, some awkwardness and then in a heartbeat, fueled by her good mood and her energy she decided if it was going to be awkward it might was well be and instructional awkward.

"Do I get to see the tractor?" she asked brightly.

 

[Discordant]

He heard her question but didn't immediately answer. His mind was still thinking about Necu's words. The big man had said the Romanian equivalent of, I bet she's a real firecracker in bed. Though Ciprian's face remained calm, inside he raged. Of course, he couldn't do much right now but ignore the man. Anything else would cause a scene, and he didn't want to make Margret uncomfortable. He would deal with the situation later.

"Oh yes, of course you can see the tractor," he finally answered, and then spoke to the men in Romanian again. By the inflection of his voice, it must have been a question and no doubt concerned the tractor. It was Stefan who spoke, but when he did so, it was in a language that was neither English nor Romanian.

Ciprian nodded and relayed the message, "He says he has made good progress on the tractor. He has high hopes it will run again."

As the group moved into the barn, Ciprian positioned himself between Margret and the three hands. He didn't do this out of a sense of protection, as if the men might randomly attacker her, but because he felt it was the natural place for a translator.

The inside of the barn made the outside look like the Taj Mahal. A slight smell of mold permeated the air, and copious amounts of rat droppings hinted that at least a couple dozen of the critters had taken up residence here. While there were some tools hanging from one wall, most looked like they might break if anyone dared to use them. All that paled in comparison to what passed for a tractor. With more rust then metal and parts strewn all over the barn floor, it looked more like a piece of experimental art than functioning machinery.

Stefan patted the tractor and smiled proudly. Clearly he didn't see the tractor as a hunk of junk but rather as his master work.

He said something excitedly, and Ciprian doubtfully translate, "He says one week, maybe two."

 

[Adelaide]

Her nose twitched when she entered the barn but did little more than that. The smell of mold was something she could identify easily enough but not the other, unpleasant smell. Having lived a life that was not often in the company of rats she could not place it beyond understanding that it was a very animal smell and unpleasant. She kept her face smooth after the nose twitch not wanting to insult these men who worked for her. She wanted to show them the same courtesy she strove for with Ciprian having no sense that they had already crossed lines.

The tractor was… disheartening and she wasn't able to keep that from her expression fully though she tried. There seemed to be more of it spread out on the ground than in the tractor itself. But the older man spoke and patted the hulk with something like affection and she had nothing to base her sinking feeling on. She looked to her guide and not feel as bleak as the place made her want to feel. She had doubts, big ones that started to fray the edges of her determination. But she smiled and lifted her chin before turning to Stefan and thanking him, knowing Ciprian would translate for her.

She turned to him after that was done.

"Ciprian," she began so that he wouldn't start translating. "Are there plans to fix up the barn?" She looked overhead nervously as if the place might fall on her at any second. "And does the tractor look as bad to you as it does to me?"

 

[Discordant]

Ciprian wanted to smile, maybe even giggle slightly, at the way she asked about the barn and the tractor. It wasn't that he found her apprehension amusing. It was as if, in those words, she was asking another, hidden question. Something like… This looks like shit, but is that the way it's supposed to look?

But Ciprian kept his expression neutral, not wanting to give the hands the wrong impression about their relationship. Already he regretted not disentangled their arms before the three men saw them.

"Stefan is the only one who knows anything about the tractor," he explained. "The other two will be working on the barn over the next couple weeks. I expect it will be in much better shape soon. As for the tractor," and here he hesitated a moment, "I would be lying if I said it had better than a fifty-fifty chance of working. Stefan is good at what he does, but in this case the task may be too monumental for him. We will see. If not, I will try to find a replacement, but we may lose time if that is the case. Still, nothing to fear."

Ciprian turned his attention back to the hands who had been listening to the unintelligible words with blank faces. He spoke to them briefly.

Turning back to Margret, he said, "Meg, I've got a few more things to go over with the men. Perhaps you'd like to wander around your orchard? I can meet up with you there. It shouldn't be more than ten minutes."

Ciprian hoped this didn't sound suspicious, but he needed some time alone with the hands.

 

[Adelaide]

Nothing to fear. He'd said it and she wanted to believe it, so she did. She smiled brightly and nodded at him, accepting his re-assurances. He was her guide here after all and he'd given her no reason to doubt his word.

"It is very nice to meet you." She said to the men, knowing Ciprian would translate. "I look forward to working with you." That seemed like enough so she got quick directions from Ciprian to the Orchard and left the barn, happy to be out of the stink and into the cooler air.

This were so green here, she noted as she blinked into the rising daylight. She hadn't a clue what time it was, her internal clock was still so screwed up. She'd just go with things, let Mr. Iliescu be her guide in biorhythms as well as in Romanian at least until things settled inside her head. An orchard was trees and she supposed that she'd have found it on her own given time but the pointing and verbal cues given by Ciprian let her set out at a nice jog with confidence in her steps. It wasn't her running attire by any means but her clothing was comfortable enough, moreover her shoes would do so she picked up the pace. She needed to run, she could feel the energy coursing through her. She was always so high-strung, so tense until she'd had her run and it had been days since she'd been able. She still felt like she was not caught up because of her recovery time.

Recovery. Flashes of hospitals and the face of the Nurse when she'd realized what she'd let slip so bluntly. The pain of it, the physical pain on top of the mental anguish. To lose something you never knew you wanted until it was too late. She shuddered and picked up her pace, not jogging, but running. It was enough to make a girl uproot herself to seek out a new life half a world away. Was this whole thing an act of madness? If so then she embraced it fully.

A figure in black stepped out from between two trees so suddenly that Margret shouted and had to pinwheel her arms to stop herself before careening into the person. She veered around them, barely missing them and falling to her butt on the grass beside the lane.

Catching her breath her heart racing she looked up to see who it was who nearly gave her a heart attack.

Mother Theresa? She asked herself as a thing, leathery face with piercing black eyes smiled toothlessly down at her. Well not toothlessly there may have been one or two towards the back of her mouth. She cackled some Romanian at Margret shaking a bony finger at her in admonition. She wore a black scarf wrapped around her head and a long black dress. She walked with her hand tight around a very knobby cane, a cane which she now shook amiably (or so she hoped) at Margret before cackling again.

"Sorry, um, Grandmother." She said wrinkling her nose trying to remember what the hell the Romanian word for Grandmother was. She'd paid a fortune for those useless CDs.

"Bună dimineața, Bunică" she tried hesitantly. The Woman stopped shaking her cane and harrumphed. Margret used the momentary cessation of things being waggled at her to scramble to her feet. When she righted herself she found the woman was holding an apple out to her. No doubt it was one of her Apples she thought wryly as she reached for it. The apple was large and very red, deep red with no hint of green or yellow to it. It was well shaped and shiny enough that it caught the morning light perfectly. It was, in a word, perfect. And it came from her Orchard, she thought with pride. Not that she'd had anything to do with it, but there was some connection. "Thank you." She said staring at her reflection in the shine on the apple's skin. The words were English but the tone was rather universal. She looked up, almost reluctantly from the apple only to find the old woman gone. Her eyebrows rose. "That was a spry old woman…" she muttered, taking a step forward to see if she could spot her.

 

[Discordant]

Ciprian stood in silence as Margret left the barn. Even though she wouldn't be able to understand him, he wanted to wait until she was out of earshot before addressing the farm hands. The sound of her footfalls slowly receded into the background, but then something rather strange happened. At the tail end, just before the sounds became inaudible, Ciprian swore she started running. Was she scared of something? Why run?

He was about to follow after her, to find out what was wrong, but Necu's words brought him up short. "You lucky bastard," the man chuckled gruffly. "Maybe when you're done with her I'll take a turn."

Turning away from the barn door, Ciprian looked venimously at Necu. His face, normally filled with an almost appealing melancholy, turned suddenly dark and dangerous. He took one quick step and slapped the man hard across the face. Necu had to outweigh Ciprian by at least sixty pounds, but the bigger man did not lash out. In fact, he took a stunned step backward, holding his cheek in surprise.

The other two hands, seeing Ciprian's piercing gaze, also took a few steps away. What they saw were eyes that hinted at a man capable of an almost unimaginable level of viciousness.

"I…" Necu began, but Ciprian stepped forward and slapped him again.

"She is your employer," Ciprian hissed. "You will treat her with respect."

He knew that under ordinary circumstances, the bigger man could have easily beaten him into submission. Ciprian had never been much of a fighter. But he also knew there was no choice. Unless he asserted his dominance now, the man would never respect him, and who knew what the oaf might try with Margret.

"You know how you win a fight?" his father had once said during one of his many drunken stupors. "You prove to the other guy that you're willing to go farther than him. You show him that he may want to get into a tussle, but you're willing to go to jail or kill if need be. It doesn't matter how big he is. It doesn't matter how tough he thinks he is. If he sees that in your eyes, he will back down."

As much as he hated to admit it, Ciprian had just proven his father right.

Necu lowers his gaze. "I'm sorry," the big man said, and a great wave of relief washed over Ciprian.

He looked to the other two men and offered a smile, one they looked grateful to receive. He thank them both for their hard work and then left the barn.

All the way to the orchard, he fretted about what the repercussions of that little incident might be. The knots in his stomach only loosened when he caught sight of Margret holding an apple. She looked at the fruit with an almost mesmerized stare. Seeing such a thing immediately lightened his mood. Yes, trouble might follow, but he wouldn't worry about it today.

"They are fine apples, yes?" he said as he approached, making sure to greet her with a warm smile to hide the last vestiges of worry on his face.

 

[Adelaide]

She'd meant to look for the vanishing old woman, she had. She'd taken a step forward, peering down the rows of trees to her left and right calling out "Bunică?" But the luscious weight of the apple in her hand pulled her attention back and she looked down at it again. It was beautiful, it was perfect. It was the right shade of red, the right shape. Did they have apples this nice back in the states? Or was this a European thing, this lovely apple she held in her hand. This was the sort of apple Disney or the Brothers Grim or whoever must have seen when they put it in Snow White.

She ran her thumb over the flesh, momentarily blotting out her sanguine reflection from the shiny skin. If it looked this good, how would it taste? Could she bring herself to eat such a fruit?

She looked up when Ciprian called to her, snapping her out of her contemplation, At the sight of him with his too long hair and crisp shirt her mouth curved into a crooked smile. She held the apple up for his inspection.

"They are beautiful." She'd seen a few blots of red among the green of the trees but hadn't stopped to look. "This one was a gift." She said turning to face him fully and offering him the apple. She felt a moment of possessiveness that was such a strong sure she was startled by it. Unsettled, she forced it aside and handed him the apple out of stubbornness.

"A little old woman with a face like a walnut came out of nowhere and scared the pants off of me. She must have taken pity on me because she gave me this lovely apple. Then she snuck off. I can't believe how fast she moved. Too bad she didn't wait, you've just missed her, I could have thanked her properly."

She sighed dramatically, her crooked smile still in place, humor dancing in her eyes. "I think that you will find the tractor and the barn are easy things compared to teaching me Romanian."

 

[Discordant]

Ciprian accepted the apple and rolled it in his hand, examining its perfection. "So you wanted to thank an old woman for giving you one of your own apples," he said, playfully raising an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I would call that a particularly special gift. At least now I know what to get you for Christmas."

Moving to a nearby tree, he reached up and plucked a second apple. It was not as perfect as the first, but he suspected it would taste just as sweet.

"There are plenty for the both of us," he said, offering her the choice of the two apples. "Now as for Romanian, it is not so hard. The problem is that to be truly effective here, you will need to learn Hungarian as well. Most people speak Romanian, but for the older ones like Stefan, Hungarian is their native tongue. You will get on their good side much quicker if you can say a few phrases. We can work on some vocabulary tonight at dinner if you like."

He took a bite from the apple he was left as he returned to the discussion of the gift. "What exactly did this woman look like, Meg? I'm afraid the town is teaming with old, walnut faced women. Without a more detailed description, I'm afraid I couldn't say for sure who it was."

Ciprian found it surprising how easy it had become to slip into a more casual cadence of conversation with Marget. Going to first names had been key to dropping the formality of their relationship. Such a simple thing really, but it made all the difference in the world. He was very glad she suggested it.

 

[Adelaide]

"Well I suppose." She muttered. "If you put it that way it was a little silly, and she did scare a few years out of me. So it was best she took herself off or I'd have shown her a thing or two." She absently rubbed at her bottom where she'd fallen, a few bits of grass and some detritus fell to the ground at the gesture.

She flashed him a broader version of the crooked grin and took back the apple she'd been given, her thumb absently skimming over the shining surface. Her grin turned into a grimace when he told her of the second language she'd need to brush up on but she made no further complaint. She'd come here knowing she was going to have to learn a language, she wasn't going to grumble. He was the one who was going to have to endure teaching her. He was such a sweet man, she hated to torture him with such a herculean task, but someone had to.

She walked alongside him in the bright morning, her pace easily matching his. It was a good pace, efficient without being taxing. He seemed like a man who was comfortable walking, she liked that. She needed to move and be active or she got a little stir crazy. Seth… No she wasn't going to think of him. Then Ciprian was saving her from her bitter thoughts by asking her about the old woman. Her crooked smile returned at the distraction.

"The village is filled with walnut-faced old women, huh." She said. "Well I don't have much to add to the description but let's see." She looked up towards the blue sky, her face seeming to go distant as she recalled the moment.

"She was wearing all black and had a scarf over her head. I didn't see her hair color but her eyes were dark. And beady." They had glittered like a crow's when they'd looked at her, almost more than could be accounted for by the morning light. She shook off that thought. "She carried a very knobby, rather menacing looking walking stick." She added. "I'm certain I would recognize that."

 

[Discordant]

Passing out of the orchard, they emerged onto the open front lawn of the house. Ciprian didn't bother heading for the car. Rather, he turned toward the dirt road that lead into town. Margret's house may have been on the outskirts of the village, but it hardly warrant driving. Besides, a walking was good for the spirit, and the day was downright gorgeous. Rolling green hills spread out before them, punctuated by small dwellings and the occasional grove of trees. All of this under a cloudless blue sky. Even the wind provided the perfect amount of refreshing coolness without ruffling their hair. It wouldn't be this way forever. When winter came, this place would lose some its magic, becoming a desolate and far less habitable place. For now though, it was good to enjoy the morning.

"Unfortunately, that's not much to go on," he said between bites of his apple. "Black is a very popular color in rural Romania, and old women here tend to wear scarfs as a course of habit. Perhaps we will see her in town."

But Ciprian was wondering… Last night he'd felt someone watching him from the orchard. Was it the same woman? Doubtful, but if so why was she so interested in Margret or the orchard? But it was silly to jump to conclusions. They were most likely two separate incidents.

Unconsciously, Ciprian reached out and took Margret's free hand. It just seemed the natural thing to do on such a leisurely stroll. He realized his mistake almost immediately and snatched back his hand. His face reddened with embarrassment as he took a few side steps away from her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not sure what I was thinking."

But he knew that small gesture could not be undone, the moment never erased, and he was afraid she would be angry with him.

 

[Adelaide]

She was, admittedly, startled by the gesture. It was over almost before she'd realized it had happened. He snatched his fingers away as if burned while she was still catching up to the moment. So she stopped, blinking as her mind changed tracks from old women with menacing walking sticks and walnut faces to the fact that her guide had just held her hand and what exactly did she think about that. She felt too the sting of his hand ripping from hers on a more personal level, it made things that had been healing want to open up and bleed again.

She made herself look at him. Relieved she noted that he looked embarrassed but not upset, timid like he expected to be scolded. When Ciprian apologized she felt a crooked smile curling her lips. She found herself wanting to soothe him even as she came to the realization that she hadn't minded one bit. She'd taken his arm after all. She'd always been somewhat physically demonstrative, too much so Seth had told her, preferring more reserve than she'd exhibited. She'd scaled it back for his sake and then missed the casual touches and hand-holdings. It had been a natural impulse to slip her arm through Ciprian's on the way to the barn, she liked that it had been a natural impulse for him to catch her hand as they walked. Friends did that, didn't they? She liked this somber-faced, shaggy haired man. She enjoyed his company which was a blessing since she was going to be in his company so often. It was good to know he enjoyed hers too. They could be friends.

She slipped the apple into her pocket, her thumb swiping over it one last time. Her crooked smile grew, evening out as she slipped her hand into his in a very deliberate manner and resumed walking. His hand felt very good in hers, their fingers fit well, their paces complementary. It was nice.

"Nothing to be sorry for Ciprian." She squeezed his hand lightly with hers. "I don't mind in the least, if you don't."

It was a gorgeous day, perfect. It was just the sort of day she needed, new land, new life, new friends. She squeezed his hand lightly again.

 

[Discordant]

Ciprian was so awash with competing emotions that he could hardly distinguish one from another. There was embarrassment, or perhaps it would be better to call it shame. There was anger at such a foolish mistake. Sorrow, grief, and even a hint of longing were all wrapped in a package that made his stomach churn and a sheen of sweat instantly materialized on his brow.

To say that all that doubt melted away when Margret turned out to be understanding, would not be the whole truth. Yes there was relief. No doubt about that. However, the shame would live on much longer. No matter how accepting she was, he knew he'd crossed a line.

In response to her kind words, he could only manage to say again, "I'm sorry."

When she took his hand, it felt strange to him, somehow forced. They walked that way, hand in hand, until they reached the baker's shop. Then Ciprian gently removed his hand from hers. He didn't want the townsfolk to get the wrong idea.

Introducing Margret to the village provide a welcome distraction from the discomfort of the walk. She was marvelous as well, and he believed most people came away with a very favorable impression of this adventurous young American. They met Mr. and Mrs. Ardalean who ran the bakery, Mr. Unger the town's butcher, and Ms. Bogza, who it was said made the best apple pies in a 20 kilometer radius. They even passed Mr. Dobre, the nice old man whose sheep grazed on Margret's property. They did not, however, run into either the mayor or his wife. Ciprian was thankful for that. While a nice enough couple, Ciprian didn't have the composure to do the political dance necessary to deal with them.

They returned home near lunch, and Ciprian excused himself. He explained that there was much he had to take care of that afternoon, and that perhaps Margret might take some time to herself to explore the grounds, the house, or just relax. Of course, this was a lie. He was feeling rather awkward around her and felt the need to regroup. By dinner time he had beaten himself up enough over the incident and committed to making their evening together as relaxed as he could.

 

[Adelaide]

It was a mistake and it didn't take all that long to figure it out. His hand was like lead in hers, stiff and unresponsive. She couldn't make herself let go of it, not wanting to make the awkwardness more awkward. So she endured, gritting her teeth and ignoring the sinking in her belly. She was too demonstrative. She'd taken a momentary impulse of his and made it into this horribly stiff, uncomfortable time all because she couldn't let things go and couldn't read people. She didn't know this man, at all, and she was trying to make him hold hands with her? What was wrong with her? Was she so needy? She flayed herself over and over the whole walk and when it finally dropped her hand it was as much a blow as it had been a relief.

Somehow she managed to navigate the meet and greet in the town with what passed for grace and charm. That she needed to be translated was probably her saving grace. She smiled and shook hands and nodded pleasantly and all the while she was dying slowly inside. When they finally extracted themselves it didn't take long for Ciprian to make his excuses and leave her needy company. She smiled, her eyes overly bright as he left her and made her way slowly to her room, telling herself she would lie down for a nap. She was exhausted still, her body on a different timeline than the reality she lived in.

She let the door close behind her, not bothering to fumble for the oddly placed light switch and slumped over to the bed wondering if this strange room would ever feel like home. She threw herself down onto the bed and let out a grunt of pain. A hard lump prodded her hip, she rolled over and reached into her pocket and pulled out the apple, still as perfect, still as shiny despite having a grown woman land on it. Well the bed cushioned it some and she wasn't that heavy. She held it above her, her thumb slipping over the shiny skin and wondered if she was hungry. With a sigh she reached for the nightstand and set the apple on it before kicking off her boots, curling up on her side and closing her eyes.

Sleep wouldn't come and she found herself staring up at the strangely carved headboard. The angle didn't do it any favors, nor did the dimness, it seemed to be writhing almost, or was that the light filtered through striped curtains? Eventually she sat up with a soft curse. If sleep wouldn't come she would need to chase it, it is what always worked before. She slipped on her sneakers and then slipped out of the house, unwitnessed by any but Mr. Dobre's sheep who didn't even pause in their grazing as she passed. To the orchard she ran figuring she could lose herself running laps in the rows of trees and maybe meet up with the walnut faced grandmother again. She was successful in the one endeavor but unsurprisingly unsuccessful in the other but the success left her worn and weary and ready for bed as much as she was for a meal. She paused on her front lawn, strangely hesitant about going in and chiding herself for her foolish hesitation as well as the situation that made her hesitate in the first place. She honestly thought she'd flayed herself enough earlier, but clearly she was not done. She sat down on the steps, the sheep still ignoring her. She sat and stared into the middle distance as the light faded and evening approached. It was only when the skin on the back of her neck began to prickle that she snapped out of her cycle of self-recriminations. She sat up straight, her eyes darting through the dimness trying to find the source of her feeling and finding none yet growing ever more unsettled.

"Ciprian?" she called, hoping that it was he as much as she was dreading it.

 

[Discordant]

Ciprian wasn't nearby when Margret called out for him. Instead, he stood in the kitchen, oblivious to the fact that she was just out on the front porch.

He'd spent the day hiding from his employer. It was a childish thing to do, but he didn't know how else to avoid the awkwardness. He briefly visited the farmhands again. Of course, they were surprised to see him for a second time that day. Necu especially looked apprehensive, as if he feared this smaller Romanian might strike him again. After that, he went to the servants' cottage and did some repairs. Since no one planned to live there now (though that might change if things got more uncomfortable between Margret and him), so fixing the place up was pointless. When he finally returned to the main house, he snuck in like a mouse trying to pilfer a piece of cheese while the cat stood guard.

Unbeknownst to him, Margret had already left for the orchard. He stood in the empty entryway, staring at the portrait of the dour faced man, as if the painting could somehow tell him where Margret had retreated to. While he stood there, he thought he heard the crying again, not the sobs of an adult but the whales of a baby. It was the same sound he'd heard the night before. It was distant, barely audible over the sound of his own breathing, but there was no denying it was real. When he finally thought he'd pinpointed its direction, the crying stopped, the house becoming quiet once more.

He did not dwell on this though. He felt exposed in the entryway. Margret would pass by here on her way to pretty much anywhere else in the house, and he still hadn't figured out what to say to her. So he did exactly what any coward would do. He went to the basement to do some more meaningless maintenance.

Having come to his senses sometime before the sun went down, Ciprian now stood in the kitchen, determined to reject the tension between them. He had a pot of water boiling for mamaliga, a cornmeal porridge that had always been a favorite of his growing up. It wasn't difficult to make, far below his capable culinary talents, but nothing beat comfort food to make amends for real or percieved wrongs. The key to the porridge, as his mother explained it, was to gradually pour in the corneal while continuously stirring. She claimed it was important to always stir in a clockwise direction. Under no circumstance were you to reverse the direction in the midst of preparation, but Ciprian suspect that was a bit of Romanian superstition rather than solid cooking advice. Still, he prepared the dish exactly the way his mother taught him. Near the end, he added some fresh herbs and some of the cheese from last night to the mixture.

He began to set the table as the kitchen, and shortly after the whole house, filled with the delicious smell so reminiscent of his childhood. He wished he had some sour cream to dollop on top of the porridge, but sadly he hadn't been able to get any yet.

He briefly considered calling out for Margret, but decided against it. There were still a few more minutes before the meal would be ready.

 

[Adelaide]

Ok, she told herself. Not Ciprian. She took a deep breath tried to calm herself but the creeping, crawling feeling on her skin didn't abate. If anything it only increased as she sat. She knew that she was spooking herself out, that she was in the middle of letting her imagination run away with her but knowing that didn't do a damn thing to stop the sensation. She had been running all day, not just physically but running away and as a result she was tired and worn and spooking herself out. She leaned forward and peered into the darkness, telling herself she needed to stop running. She stood and made herself take a step away from the house, towards the lowering dark and the spot beneath the trees that seemed to be just a little too dark.

She tried to recall the names of the farm hands, thinking it had to be one of them, but then why hadn't they made themselves known? But with the way her blood roared in her ears she couldn't seem to pull the names of her employees out of her memory. Guilt added to her swirling emotions as she took yet another step, against all instincts towards the darkness. The light from the windows behind her cast long, reaching fingers across the sheep mowed lawn but they did not reach as far as she would want them too. Another step and she thought maybe, just maybe she could make something out. A burst of movement to her left made her gasp and stumble back, a spike of adrenaline coursing through her. A sheep bleated and skittered towards the house and the small mobile enclosure that seemed to be there to provide shelter for the animals. She laughed and glared at the silly creature, it had spooked itself just as she had.

With her heart, impossibly, racing harder she put her hand to her chest and looked back towards the trees. It was just as dark there, just as impenetrable but something had changed. It felt empty now. The sheep's example seemed sensible and she turned and headed up the stairs, her legs shaking from her fright and the skin on the nape of her neck crawling despite the empty darkness behind her. She laughed at herself, but it was a hollow sound and when the door finally thudded closed behind her in a very satisfying manner, the sound echoing through the house, she leaned against it and closed her eyes.

"You are just overtired." She explained to herself. "Overtired and pushing too hard." It hadn't been so long since she'd left the hospital and she'd never called up the therapist that had been recommended to her. She'd just withdrawn and then fled. "What a mess you are." She chided herself. Pushing herself away from the door she resisted the urge to flee to her room. She was a mess, having spent far too long running and fleeing, she had a legitimate excuse to flee and take a shower but she knew she wouldn't make herself come down afterwards. She was starved too, she'd skipped lunch. She'd have to face Ciprian sometime or her idiotic moment when she'd forced the hand-holding would ruin everything. She couldn't do that.

She made herself take one step and then another towards the kitchen where she heard movement which was somehow harder than stepping towards the dark trees had been. She undid her hair, ran fingers through it and quickly braided it so she didn't look too much a mess and then chided herself for her vanity. When she finally stepped into the kitchen she tried to look like she was fine, comfortable and confident but she didn't manage it. She looked pale, worn and worried despite the bright smile she wore.

"Hey." She said to the somber-eyed, shaggy haired caretaker bent over a pot on the stove.

 

[Discordant]

Ciprian turned from the stove, an intentional but not insincere smile plastered across his face. He was committed to making this a pleasant dinner. It was a chance to evaluate their visit to town, go over some basic Romanian vocabulary, and reestablish the rapport they so easily slipped into the day before.

But when he saw Margret, his smile froze awkwardly in place. She was standing there, smiling as well, but clearly something was wrong. His first assumption was that her haggard look was the result of his little social mishap this morning. Clearly this would not be as easy to get past as he hoped. But that didn't seem quite right. Oh it might be part of the reasons, but there was something else going on, and Ciprian became immediately concerned.

"What's wrong, Meg," he said, moving the large pot of porridge off the burner and stepping toward her.

 

[Adelaide]

She had always sucked at deception, she reflected wryly as he took one look at her and knew immediately that she was not doing well. She sank a little that she was so easily read by a person of such short acquaintance. She kept a tight hold of her smile as he approached her though it looked more like a grimace than a smile. The brightness of her eyes was not the sparkle of good-humor of before but something closer to unshed tears.

He'd called her Meg thought. That shot right through her, she hadn't completely ruined everything. If he'd called her Miss Ashford she knew she'd have got right onto the phone to book a ticket home. She waved a hand dismissively to buy herself some more time to gather her composure because she knew that if she spoke right away her voice would crack and she would lose it. If holding her hand was so uncomfortable she imagined Ciprian would die if she fell weeping into his arms.

"I'm alright." She said and forced out a little laugh. "I just ran too much and exhausted myself. I spooked myself just now, one of the poor sheep too."

Which was sorta, mostly, kind of what happened so it wasn't exactly a lie. She hoped it would pass. Her stomach let out a soft, lady-like rumble as her over-extended body made its needs known. She flushed, which looked strange on her too pale skin, and put a hand to her abdomen, her hand softly resting against the toned curve of it.

"I'm famished and that smells divine."

 

[Discordant]

He relaxed visibly when he realized there was no immediately emergency, but he didn't entirely believe her assurances. Something did seem to be bothering her, but Ciprian was simply not the most intuitive person when it came to people, so he couldn't quite put his finger on what it might be. He suspected after a day of being here, and certainly after the hand holding incident this morning, that Margret was second guessing her decision to come and perhaps even getting a little homesick for America.

"I have been spooked many times by sheep," he joked, a poor attempt to lighten the mood.

The truth was that he'd been spooked by this place a few times since their arrival yesterday. There was that feeling of being watched from the orchard last night, the crying baby he'd heard twice, and the strange, perfectly straight crack that had appeared in the upstairs hall. All of them insignificant things, but put together they left him slightly uneasy. Of course, there was no way he would mention any of that to Margret. She needed reassurances right now, not his own doubt added to hers.

He gestured to the table and said, "Please sit. I will bring you some food."

Returning to the stove, Ciprian filled the two bowls he'd taken out with some of the porridge. He set these on the table and sat down in the chair opposite Margret.

"This is called mamaliga," he explained. "It's a very common dish in Romania, simple but very filling. My mother made an excellent version. I'm afraid mine is only average. Normally, we would dress it up a bit, but I had no sour cream to put on top."

Ciprian wanted to go over some vocabulary with her, but he didn't necessarily want to launch into that right away. So instead he tried to engage in small talk while they started eating.

"You enjoy running?" he asked, latching onto the first subject that came to mind.

He never understood running as a pastime. He had nothing against it per se. He just couldn't figure out the appeal. There were dozens of ways to keep active and fit, ones that seemed far more entertaining.

 

[Adelaide]

She was glad he didn't press. She wasn't feeling up to offering any explanation more elaborate than the flimsy one she'd given. In the house, in the warm light of the kitchen with the fright leeching out of her, replaced by a comfortable exhaustion her fears outside felt rather foolish. She was happy to set them aside. She walked to the table and sat into the seat, resisting a groan as pressure was taken off of her pounded joints. She rolled her ankles and smiled at the pleasant pulling of well used muscles. She even went so far as to toe her sneakers off under the table. Her toes exulted.

She looked down at the bowl full of the porridge which Ciprian named Mamalgia like it was an adventure. Hunger and her typical high spirits and curiosity returned to the fore, tempered with a little exhaustion.

"Mamalgia." She said and picked up a spoon to test the surface of the porridge. "Is it like Polenta? I love polenta." She said and licked her lips waiting for him to sit across from her before actually beginning to eat. She wasn't sure about all the rules of manners and politeness here in Romania but she seemed to recall Nona being a little cranky if someone ate before everyone was sitting down. It seemed polite and she knew he'd fill her in if erred.

It was very good, not gourmet but it filled her and was tasty to boot. She found the warm smoothness of it perfect for easing into her and putting to rest the last of her fears. How could she be uptight with such a homey dish in her belly?

She looked up when he asked her about running. She wrinkled her nose, softly shook her head and finished swallowing her mouthful as she formed an answer.

"Not enjoy exactly, more like I need to run." She stirred the Mamalgia idly as she considered the best way to explain without sounding like a spaz.

"I get a little jittery if I don't run, restless I suppose. I need it mentally and physically or I get a little stir-crazy. Sometimes I break the routine a little and do other things, but since there aren't likely to be any basketball leagues here I will run." She laughed a little though when she was without her run it didn't feel funny at all.

"After all that time on the plane I had a lot of moving to get out of me but I think I over did it. Do you run?"

 

[Discordant]

"Yes, very much like polenta," he said, digging into his own bowl. It was good, but no match for his mother's. When was the last time he ate her version? More than half a life ago, yet still he remembered the taste as if he'd just had it yesterday. He drove thoughts of his mother quickly from his mind. They always led to bad places, and he wanted to focus on the here and now.

He nodded as Margret explained her need for running, but truth be told, he didn't get it. While she was speaking, he realized he forgot to get drinks for them. Rising from the table he fetched two glasses from the cabinet and filled them from the sink. The house's water supply was derived from a well on the property. It was both clean and very cold.

"You know, basketball is actually very popular in Romania," he said, placing one of the glasses in front of her before returning to his seat. "But that is more of a city thing. You are right. You will not likely find people to play with out here. But perhaps in the spring, when we've caught up with some of the work, I can build you a court. It won't be much, but at least it will give you something to do when you cannot run."

He paused to take a few more mouthfuls of porridge. Then he raised his spoon and pointed to it with his index finger. "Lingură" he said, giving her the Romanian word for spoon. Next, he tapped the spoon on his bowl and said, "Castron." Arguably they weren't the most useful words to learn first, but at least it was a beginning.