The Dream-Maker's Magic (7 page)

“Easier to get something to eat if you're hungry late at night,” he agreed.

“But do people know?” I said. “I mean, I can't think the mayor—and Mr. Shelby—and the Parmers—well, they would be appalled to find out what's going on here at the tavern.”

“Obviously some people know,” Gyffin said with a ghost of a smile. “But I don't know about all the respectable people. It's not like I'm going to tell them. My uncle Frederick would just hate me even more.”

“He couldn't hate
you
as much as I hate
him
,” I said instantly.

Now Gryffin laughed out loud. But he said, “I've never found that hate does much good. It's better just to figure out what you can do to get out of the situation.”

“Study hard and go to Wodenderry,” I said.

“That's my plan.”

“Maybe Ayler will help you,” I said. “I like him.”

“Yes,” he said. “I have a feeling Ayler might help us both.”

“Although sometimes it seems both of us have too many problems to be fixed by anybody,” I said with a little laugh.

“That's what Summermoon is for,” said Gryffin. “To convince us to believe in magical possibilities.”

Ayler was gone two days after Summermoon, none of our problems resolved. But it did seem that, as was true with so much in my life, events were put in motion during those lush green months. I practiced my boxing skills, finding an unexpected and useful sparring partner in Sarah's youngest brother. The first time I successfully punched Carlon in the nose, drawing a satisfying amount of blood, was the last time he ever attacked me.

Gryffin continued to spend the occasional evening outside on the back bench, or inside on the kitchen floor. I continued to despise his uncle, and to mull over what I might do to make him improve his treatment of my friend.

My mother continued to rent out the parlor sofa as well as my bedroom, bringing more money to the household and more chaos to my life.

And bringing more strangers through our door.

C
hase Beerin arrived late on a blustery fall day and told us he would stay a couple of nights on the sofa in the parlor. He was in his early twenties, with blond-brown hair that had a romantic curl, and brown eyes so dark they could not help but appear brooding. I had turned thirteen at the end of summer and was starting to look more like a girl, especially if I didn't dress in disastrously ill-fitting clothes. I had started to spend time thinking about Sarah's younger brother and two of the boys in class, wondering if they would notice me if I wore frilly dresses and tried to do something about my abysmal hair. I blushed for no reason and laughed at no provocation, at least when I was talking to one of the boys I admired. For the first time in my life, I really, really,
really
wished to be someone other than who I was.

Chase Beerin was the handsomest man I had ever met.

The first night he stayed with us, I honestly didn't think I'd be able to breathe if he looked at me. I was afraid to serve him dinner because I thought I might accidentally touch his hand, and then I would start with mortification, and then I would drop the entire tureen of soup in his lap, and then I would have to die. When he asked me simple questions—about the price of the accommodations, the layout of the town—I turned a hot red and found it difficult to answer.

He acted as if he didn't notice my giddiness and infatuation. Maybe he was just used to such treatment from all the young girls he met; surely everyone must see him as an unparalleled paragon of perfection. Or else he thought I was a girl with mental deficiencies who actually functioned fairly well given that she couldn't put together two coherent thoughts. During the three days he stayed with us, he always treated me with gentle courtesy and never, not even once, said anything that might be construed as flirtatious.

He knew I was a girl, though, and I didn't even have to tell him. Maybe it was because the shabby clothes were not hiding my figure as they should. Maybe because I laughed too much or played with my hair when he was in the room. Maybe because he had trained himself to notice people and their physical conditions.

He was on his way to Wodenderry to study to be a doctor. Thereby adding to his godlike stature in my eyes.

He gave us this information during the second night's dinner, when I had somewhat recovered myself, though I still felt fluttery in his presence. We had a second guest in the house just then, an older woman renting my room. She had stayed with us several times in the past. She was stick-thin and cold-natured, but even she was batting her eyes and smiling at Chase Beerin.

“I think it must be very hard to learn everything you'll have to know to be a doctor,” she said, giving him her warmest smile. “What made you decide to pursue such a career?”

“I felt so helpless two years ago when my sister was sick,” he replied in his earnest way. “We nursed her back to health, but it took so long, and we were afraid we were going to lose her. I never wanted to feel that useless again in the face of illness.”

“Was she very young?” the woman asked sympathetically.

He glanced at me. “About Kellen's age, I would guess. Kellen looks a little like her, too.” He smiled briefly. “She's not quite as wild as my sister, though.”

The other guest dismissed me with a quick, disbelieving look. “So you've been accepted at the Physicians' College in Wodenderry? You must be very clever.”

I was still stunned at the revelations that Chase knew what I was and thought I looked like someone related to him. My mother, handing around the potatoes from the head of the table, frowned briefly at his observation, but decided not to comment. Chase continued to tell us about his family and confided that he was a little nervous about his upcoming medical education.

“For you're right. It will be very hard. But I have always managed to do everything I set out to do, even if I had to try a few times before I succeeded. So I'm determined to do well at doctoring, too. I have actually been studying for the past year with a physician in Merendon—informally, you know, but learning what I could. He said I had great potential and that I could come back and work with him once I've attained my degree.”

“And will you?” my mother asked.

“I don't know. I might go back to my hometown instead. Or I might stay in Wodenderry for a few years. I shall have to see how I like the royal city.”

After the meal, he asked for directions to the tavern, where he was meeting a friend who had moved to Thrush Hollow.

“I can lead you there,” I offered. “I've got to take Gryffin his assignments, anyway.”

A few minutes later we were walking through the quiet town—well, I was trying hard not to skip in my excitement at spending a few moments alone with Chase Beerin, but he was strolling along quite casually. Early dark was in the process of stamping out the last of daylight, and the air was cool enough to make a brisk walk advisable.

“So who's Gryffin and why does he need assignments?” Chase asked after we had walked a couple of minutes in silence.

“Oh! He's my friend. He lives above the tavern. He goes to school with me, but he couldn't make it today, so our teacher gave me work to bring him.”

“Why couldn't he make it? Was he sick?”

“He has—there's something wrong with his legs,” I said. “And sometimes they hurt him so much he can't walk. That's what happened today.”

Chase Beerin glanced down at me, and I could see a professional interest lighting his dark eyes. “What's wrong with them?”

I shrugged. “I don't know. They were twisted when he was born.”

“Can I—do you think he would allow me to look at him? I don't know if I could do anything to help him, but it's possible.”

I smiled. How could anyone help
adoring
this man? “Let's ask him.”

Gryffin, found lounging on his bed surrounded by books and candles, greeted Chase Beerin's offer with polite doubt. “I've been like this a long time,” he said. “I don't know that anyone can help me.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “What have others done for you?”

“I don't know if my mother called in anyone when I was a baby,” Gryffin said carefully. “But I haven't had a chance to consult a doctor since I've lived in Thrush Hollow.”

I thought I saw a good deal of comprehension in Chase's eyes, but he merely nodded. “Kellen, you might want to leave the room,” he said. “I'm going to ask Gryffin to take off his trousers.”

“I don't mind seeing his legs if Gryffin doesn't mind my seeing them,” I said.

Chase laughed. “That wasn't exactly what I was worried about.”

Gryffin was grinning, too. “Kellen can stay if she wants,” he said. “I'll keep on my underthings.”

Now I was blushing
furiously
, because it had never exactly occurred to me to think about Gryffin being a boy. I mean, he was, of course, but in the same sort of way that I was a girl—a way that no one particularly noticed. “I just thought maybe I'd be able to do something to help,” I said in a strangled voice.

“And so you might,” Chase said. “Do you suppose there's any kind of ointment or salve in the house? I have some with me, but it's in my bag back at Kellen's.”

“In the kitchen cupboard,” Gryffin said. “My aunt puts it on her hands after she's done all the washing.”

“Perhaps Kellen can bring us some,” Chase said.

I flew down to the kitchen, where fortunately not even Dora was stationed at the moment, found a can of herb-scented cream, and ran up the stairs again. By this time, Gryffin's trousers had been removed and he lay barefoot and half-naked on the bed. His legs were so thin, so white, and so frail-looking that for a moment I was speechless. They were also twisted and marred with great, painful-looking lumps, and I saw places that looked purple as from permanent bruises. I wanted to cry.

I didn't. “Here's the cream,” I said.

Chase nodded. “Good. Can you set it in the fire for a little while, so that it heats up? Not too hot. Stir it with your finger, and bring it to me when it feels warm to your skin.”

While I did this, Chase sat at the edge of the bed and began to methodically straighten Gryffin's legs. Once in a while I heard Gryffin gasp with pain, and several times I heard Chase ask, “Did that hurt? How about this? Does this hurt?” Most often the answer was yes, but sometimes it was no. I thought Gryffin sounded breathless, as if the pain was too great to allow him to take in much air.

Soon enough I carried the can of salve back to Chase. He scooped out a big glob and rolled it between his hands, then spread it on both of Gryffin's legs from his toes to his swollen knees.

“Have you ever had a massage? No?” Chase asked. “I'm going to see if that helps a little. Sometimes it relaxes the muscles and makes the spasms go away. Let me know if any of this is painful. It's not supposed to be.”

And he slowly and methodically began to rub the cream into Gryffin's malformed legs. I saw Gryffin's hands clench and then relax, and the tense expression on his face eased as well. “No, that doesn't hurt,” he said in a wondering voice. “In fact, it feels good.”

“Good,” Chase said.

I crowded as close to the bed as I could, watching how Chase placed his hands, where he applied pressure, where he did not. “Could I learn to do that?” I asked.

Chase glanced up at me. “Probably. It takes some strength to do it right, though.”

“My hands are very strong,” I assured him.

Chase shifted. “Then sit down here a minute.” I brought over the battered ottoman and perched on the edge. “Put some cream on your hands. Now place them—like this—on Gryffin's leg and exert a little pressure….”

Under my fingertips, Gryffin's skin felt oily with lotion, but thin as paper. I was afraid cause it to split and tear. Beneath the insufficient flesh lay the knotted muscles and the fragile bones, just as likely to fray and break. I was used to doing hard work but nothing this delicate, nothing freighted with so much consequence. I looked up from my hands and saw Gryffin watching me.

“I don't want to hurt you,” I whispered.

He shook his head. “I don't think you can.”

“A little more pressure, Kellen,” Chase directed. “Now move your hands—like this—yes….”

We worked on him for about an hour, by which time I was exhausted and Gryffin had relaxed into a sort of blissful silence, head thrown back, eyes closed. Not until Chase nodded at me and we both lifted our hands did Gryffin open his eyes again.

“That was wonderful,” he said. “I feel like I could get up and dance.”

“Better not,” Chase advised. He smiled and cleaned his hands with a cloth pulled from his back pocket. I was just wiping mine on the front of my shirt. “But I think you'll find that your legs feel stronger in the morning. Walking will be easier.” He glanced at me. “If you could get a massage like that once a week, I think you might even make a little progress. And the more you use your legs, the better they'll function. I don't know that you'll ever improve to the point where you don't have to use your canes, but walking will become easier, perhaps.”

“Once a week? I can do that,” I said.

“Or perhaps your mother or father? You mentioned an aunt—”

“No,” Gryffin and I said in unison.

“Well, then. Kellen, if she can.” Chase smiled at me and stood up. “And now I suppose I'd better go hunt up my friend. He'll be wondering what's kept me.”

I made a face. “And I'd better get home. My mother will be looking for me. Gryffin, I brought your books and some notes from Mr. Shelby. I'll come by in the morning to get you.”

“I'll be waiting.”

Chase and I felt our way down the dark stairway and emerged into the chilly night. My hands smelled like flowers and bark and whatever other scents had been stirred into the lotion. My original plan had been to return the salve to the kitchen, until I realized that I would be needing it in the future when I tended to Gryffin. I figured Dora could blame some barmaid or her own carelessness for the disappearance of the container.

“Can you find your way back to my mother's house?” I asked.

Chase nodded. “I'll be back late, though. Don't wait up.”

I grinned. “Don't be surprised if I wake you up in the morning when I start breakfast. Even if I don't mean to.”

“And don't
you
be surprised if even the promise of a meal isn't enough to get me off of the sofa.”

I smiled and half turned to go. Chase had taken a step toward the front of the building when I spoke again. “Thank you,” I said. “That was so—Gryffin always has so much pain. That you can take it away like that—it's almost like magic.”

Chase shrugged in the dark. “Kindness is a form of magic,” he said. “So everyone should be capable of at least a little. Good night. See you in the morning.” And he nodded to me and strode off.