The Rowan

"Except for Ian, none of us have more than one change of clothes right now." At the best of times the Rowan rarely paid much attention to what she wore, but footwear, appropriate for walking between Tower and her quarters on Callisto, was coming apart at the seams.

"I think I can help you there," Isthia said and passed Ian over to the Rowan who had never held a baby in her life.

The child regarded her with solemn wide eyes and his fist crept up to his mouth.

You can trust me, the Rowan said carefully, wondering how you reassured a nonverbal infant. She was rewarded by an astonishingly jubilant smile so infectious that she grinned back in an idiotic fashion.

"Yes, he has that effect on one," Isthia remarked, rummaging in a small chest that also served as seating.

"Ah. You've small enough feet. Maybe these will fit." The Rowan had grown accustomed to Isthia's openness so that when it shut down completely, as Isthia handed her a pair of country boots, she looked at her questioningly.

"A granddaughter's," was Isthia's terse response. Then she repossessed Ian, who squirmed about to watch the Rowan try on the boots. "She'd be thrilled to think her beloved uncle's wife could use them. Put them on." The moment of closure passed, but the grief behind it had not.

The Rowan carefully put them on, folding over the flap and standing up to test the fit. A little loose but a thicker pair of socks would solve that problem.

"I should have some socks around here, too," Isthia said and those, too, were passed on to the Rowan.

"This is becoming a most salutary visit for me," the Rowan said.

"One gets accustomed to taking ordinary things for granted, like socks and shoes and a change of clothes." Isthia smiled warmly at her, taking Ian's fist out of his mouth. "A new baby helps, too," she added in the same thoughtful tone. "A new life means continuity. In one way I'm sorry he's the last of them. However, an even dozen was all I promised their father.

The Rowan felt an unexpected shaft of pure envy for Jeff. To be one of a large and, from what she'd now seen, extremely congenial, loving family was truly enviable.

Lusena's two children, Bardy and Finnan, had been much older, so she'd missed a true sense of family. Turian had also had a similar deep familial attachment.

"You had no family at all?" Isthia asked, surprised.

Shaking her head, the Rowan dropped the eye contact.

"I was the sole survivor of a mining camp that was buried in a freak mud avalanche," the Rowan said quietly.

"The Company office narrowed it down to three possible sets of parents…" "But surely, you'd remember?" "I was three. When I cried for my mother, an entire planet heard me." The Rowan managed a weak chuckle.

"They had to shut me up so all memory of the tragedy was blocked out." "And no-one's removed the block?" "Yes, they tried once," the Rowan said, frowning as she remembered the occasion. "The block was well constructed. I resisted and they couldn't go deep enough. So," and she firmly changed mood, "that's it." "Is it?" Isthia remarked cryptically as she left the room.

Startled, the Rowan probed but she came smack up against Isthia's formidable shield.

It took the concerted effort of his entire remaining family to get Jeff, complaining that he had a lot of catching up to do, to retire at a reasonable hour. But he surrendered gracefully. "Not that I had any choice," he muttered to the Rowan as she preceded him into their room.

"At that, we're lucky," he added.

"We are?" and the Rowan heard the faint sibilant shushes and loud whispers for "silence". "We've got a room with a lock." He yawned mightily, wincing. The wounds across chest and ribs remained tender.

Cautiously he lay down on the bed, then negligently reached out to draw her close to him. "I made them all promise to knock, too. "Will they?" the Rowan asked, experiencing a sudden inhibition. She'd been looking forward to some privacy after the comings and goings of the hospital. "Will they, Jeff?" A gentle snore informed her that the convalescent was already asleep.

Living in the boisterous Raven household was at first a novelty for the Rowan, totally foreign to anything in her experience. His various brothers and sisters, their mates, children, occasionally in-laws, orphaned nieces, nephews, and some elderly relations of both Isthia and Josh Raven lived happily in each other's pockets. The accommodation wasn't even quiet late at night since some of the residents worked late shifts. While there may have been an understanding about knocking on the door, in practice a knock was usually immediately followed by the door being opened to admit anyone who wished to speak to Jeff. The first day, the Rowan took it in good part: she remembered what Isthia had said about "sharing". But she was unused to continual babble and certainly all the touching that went on, friendly though it was and meant in the nicest possible way, made her edgy. She firmly suppressed the irritation and sublimated it into hard work.

Along with manning the Tower for 'porting men and supplies out to the platinum mine, the Rowan did some judicious investigation into what could not be found in the salvage sheds. No-one had fully inventoried what had been saved from the ruins so, when she learned from Rences that he had spent fruitless hours trying to find certain unusual bolts and fasteners, when she heard Rakella complaining about the lack of some surgical instruments, or from Isthia which size of work boot was no longer available, she discreetly contacted other Primes and, pledging her credit, made up the shortages. She respected the fierce independence of the Denebians but they could carry it too far, even if the planet was poor. A few bits and pieces could be added without offending anyone's pride.