16

Labor

Tenskwa-Tawa watched from the trees as Dead Mary, Rien, and La Tia uncovered the crystal ball.

"We got to do something good for Alvin, all he do for us," said La Tia.

"Maybe we should ask him what he wants," said Dead Mary.

"He not here," said La Tia.

"Men never know what they want," said Rien. "They think they want one thing, then they get it, then they don't want it."

"Your life story, Mother?" asked Dead Mary.

"I name her Marie d'Espoir," said Rien to La Tia. "Marie of hope. But maybe Marie de la Morte is the right name. She the death of me, La Tia."

"I don't think so," said La Tia. "I think men be the death of you, and that don't come from the crystal ball, no."

"I'm too old for men," said Rien.

"But they never too old for you, Caterina," said La Tia. "Now we look to see what Alvin want the most in his heart."

"Can you command it to show what you want?" asked Dead Mary.

"It always show me the right thing," said La Tia.

"But I would still find a way to do the wrong thing," said Dead Mary.

"You see?" said Rien. "My fille n'a pas d'espoir."

"I have hope, Mother," said Dead Mary. "But I have experience too."

"Look," said La Tia. "Do you see what I see?"

"We never do," said Dead Mary.

"I see Alvin with a son. That what he want most."

"I see him with a woman," said Rien. "That is what he miss the most."

"I see him kneeling by a child's grave," said Dead Mary. "That is what he fears the most."

"I can make a charm for this," said La Tia.

Tenskwa-Tawa stepped out from the tree. "Don't make a charm for him, La Tia."

"I knew you was there, Red Prophet."

"I knew you knew," said Tenskwa-Tawa. "That crystal shows you want you want to see, not always the truth."

"But the truth what I want to see," said La Tia.

"Everybody thinks they want to see the truth," said Tenskwa-Tawa. "That's one of the lies we tell ourselves."

"Him heart more dark than Dead Mary, him."

"Alvin knelt by the grave of his firstborn," said Tenskwa-Tawa. "The child came too early to live. Don't meddle this time."

"Give him the woman he love," said Rien. "I know you have the charm for this."

"He has the woman he loves," said Tenskwa-Tawa. "She's carrying his child right now."

"Give him the power to keep the child from dying," said Dead Mary.

"He has the power," said Tenskwa-Tawa. "He figured out what the baby needed. He just couldn't do it fast enough. The baby suffocated before he could get its little lungs to breathe."

"Ah," said La Tia. "Time what he need. Time."

"You have a charm for this?" said Rien.

"I got to think," said La Tia.

"Leave him alone," said Tenskwa-Tawa. "Let his life be what it is. Let it be what he makes of it."

"Did he leave our lives as they were?" said Dead Mary. "Or did he heal my mother?"

"He heal me better than I was before," said Rien. "I had the Italian disease, long time, long before the yellow fever, but he fix that too."

"Did he leave black people in chains, him?" asked La Tia.

"But he knew what he was doing," said Tenskwa-Tawa.

La Tia reared back and roared with laughter. "Him! He don't know what he do! He do the best thing he think of, and when that go wrong he do the best thing he can think of then. Like all us, him!"

Tenskwa-Tawa shook his head. "Don't meddle with his baby or his wife," he said. "Don't do it."

"The Red Prophet command the Black Queen?" said La Tia.

"Lolla-Wossiky was a slave to hate, and blind with rage, and Alvin made me free, and Alvin let me see. I never set him free. I never gave him sight. He is in the world to bless us, not the other way."

"You do what you think with him," said La Tia. "I gonna bless him back, me."

Margaret spent all day preparing for her journey to Vigor Church. Not that she owned that much-packing was the least of it. But she had letters to write. People to summon from here and there. Those who should know that Alvin was going to build the City of Makers now. People who should come and take their place beside him, if they wanted, if they could get away.

And then there was the carriage to arrange. She had seen many paths in which the journey was too much for her, and caused the baby to come early. This baby must not come early again. Already it had lasted longer in the womb than their firstborn, but not long enough. If he was born on this journey the child would die.

So she hired the finest carriage in town, the one belonging to the young doctor. He tried to refuse, telling her that any carriage was out of the question in her condition. "Stay here and have this baby," he said. "To travel now would only endanger you and the child. Do you think you're made of iron?"

No, she had no such fancy. Nor did her torchsight show her everything clearly. The futures of this child were as foggy and confused, almost, as Alvin's futures. There were great gaps. So even though the child had nothing like Alvin's gifts, it was caught up in the same mystery, the same defiance of the laws of cause and effect. She did not know with any kind of certainty what would happen to the child if she stayed or went. But she knew that Alvin needed her in Noisy River, and on the far side of the fog, she saw a few paths that had her holding a baby in her arms, standing with Alvin on a bluff overlooking a fogbound river. Those were the only paths where she saw herself holding that baby. So she was going to Vigor Church, to Alvin's family, to invite them-and any others from the school of the makers-to come to Noisy River to help Alvin build the Crystal City. And with them traveling with her, she would go the rest of the way well accompanied.

Alvin's brother Measure was the one in the world most like him. Not in power-though Measure was a good student of makery, within his limits. He was like Alvin in goodness. Perhaps he was Alvin's better in compassion and patience. And far Alvin's better in judgment about other people's character. Let Measure stand beside Alvin, and Alvin would never lack for wisdom. Who could know better than I that foreknowledge is a poor chooser, for it gives too great a weight to fear. While a generous heart will make choices that, at the very worst, do not poison the heart of the chooser.

Perhaps that was why she was sure she had to go to Vigor Church and on to where Alvin was. Because fear told her to stay, but hope told her to go. Her hope of being a good wife to Alvin and a good mother to her baby. A good mother being, at the very least, one that gave birth to a living child. As a woman who had given birth to a child too soon born to live, surely she should be a one fit to make such judgment.

So she spent her day cushioning the carriage while workmen resprung it. Choosing a team of horses that would pull evenly and not run faster than she could bear. Packing her few things, writing her letters. Until at the end of the day she was ready to drop with exhaustion. Which was good, she would sleep without fretting, she would rise early and refreshed and set out to meet her husband and put a baby in his arms.

She was just undressing for bed when the first labor pain came.

"No," she cried softly. "Oh, please, God, no, not yet, not now." She laid her hands upon her own womb and saw that the baby was indeed coming. He faced in the right direction, all was well with him, but she saw no future for him. He was going to be born, like his brother, only to die.

"No," she whispered.

She walked to the door of her room. "Papa," she called.

Horace Guester was serving the last round of drinks to the night's customers. But he had an innkeeper's ears, to hear all needs and wishes, and in a few moments he came.