They made him feel small, and Silas didn’t like it. Still, he needed them, needed their insight, and he wanted to look upon the tapestry, their great work, to “see what may be seen,” as they might say.
Silas entered the large beamed chamber at the top of the long staircase. He did not immediately see the three ladies, but he could hear the clicking of their bone needles and the low hum of the spinning wheel, ever turning. As Silas stepped closer to a familiar corner of the tapestry, he noticed three figures embroidered at the edge at the Millpond, one with a walking stick, one with a shawl, and one he knew, just from the proud angle of the neck, representing his mother. Silas felt his anger stir again, annoyed even at the symbolic depiction of others meddling in his business.
“You have strong women in your life. Strong women who care deeply for your safety,” three voices spoke in chorus as they stepped out of the long shadows of the room. The women wore tight-fighting gray gowns that spilled onto the floor in tendrils and wisps of fraying fabric. Their sleeves came to points over the backs of their white hands, and it was hard to tell where their fingers ended and their sharp bone needles began.
Silas kept looking at the tapestry, trying to be nonchalant. “I can take care of myself.”
“Truly? Then why do you keep coming back here to visit us?” asked the first of the three pointedly. “Are you so addicted to the wonders of the textile arts? Do you adore the sound of our voices?”
“Is it love?” asked the second, her voice trailing off in a little laugh.
Their warm banter putting him briefly more at ease, Silas said, “Indeed, it must be the pleasure of your company.”
“That is well. That is most well. We like admirers,” the three said together.
“But,” Silas began, “now that I’m here . . .”
“Here it comes,” said the first of the three a little wearily. “All right, then. How may we help you? You know how we live for your little queries.”
“I am looking to learn something about a house once owned by my family.”
“Oh, yes?” said the second knowingly. “And what house would that be? The Umbers have made homes in many houses.”
“Arvale.”
At the speaking of that name, the three began to laugh. “He means the house. He has eyes but sees nothing!” They stepped back, behind him, farther away from the tapestry.
“Silas Umber, look again.”
“What am I supposed to be seeing?”
“It’s already before you. Right there. Close your eyes and look again, squint if you must, tilt your head. The angle of approach is everything.” Silas backed up and turned his head one way, then another. Slowly, by half-closing his eyes, he began to discern elements of the tapestry he hadn’t noticed a moment before. Nothing had changed. Not a stitch had been added or subtracted, but he could see that some buildings, taken together as a whole, formed parts of a greater structure. The more he studied the tapestry, the farther back he stood, the more of this other building he could discern. It seemed at once both isolated and connected to everything else in the weaving.
Silas noticed that the ladies now stood with him on both sides, one to his left, two to his right. They were admiring their work.
His mind bubbled with so many questions that he could draw forth only the most obvious. He had accounts of the house’s history, and had found references by his father and other Undertakers that suggested Arvale’s significance, but many of the pieces didn’t seem to fit together. Silas could tell by their smiles that the ladies knew much more about Arvale than he did.
“Can you tell me what I’ll find when I arrive at this place?”
“You know we cannot. That depends very much on you and why you are going. You know this already.”
“It is a family visit,” Silas said hesitantly. He didn’t want to tell them he had been invited, that the name of the house had been carved
Silas entered the large beamed chamber at the top of the long staircase. He did not immediately see the three ladies, but he could hear the clicking of their bone needles and the low hum of the spinning wheel, ever turning. As Silas stepped closer to a familiar corner of the tapestry, he noticed three figures embroidered at the edge at the Millpond, one with a walking stick, one with a shawl, and one he knew, just from the proud angle of the neck, representing his mother. Silas felt his anger stir again, annoyed even at the symbolic depiction of others meddling in his business.
“You have strong women in your life. Strong women who care deeply for your safety,” three voices spoke in chorus as they stepped out of the long shadows of the room. The women wore tight-fighting gray gowns that spilled onto the floor in tendrils and wisps of fraying fabric. Their sleeves came to points over the backs of their white hands, and it was hard to tell where their fingers ended and their sharp bone needles began.
Silas kept looking at the tapestry, trying to be nonchalant. “I can take care of myself.”
“Truly? Then why do you keep coming back here to visit us?” asked the first of the three pointedly. “Are you so addicted to the wonders of the textile arts? Do you adore the sound of our voices?”
“Is it love?” asked the second, her voice trailing off in a little laugh.
Their warm banter putting him briefly more at ease, Silas said, “Indeed, it must be the pleasure of your company.”
“That is well. That is most well. We like admirers,” the three said together.
“But,” Silas began, “now that I’m here . . .”
“Here it comes,” said the first of the three a little wearily. “All right, then. How may we help you? You know how we live for your little queries.”
“I am looking to learn something about a house once owned by my family.”
“Oh, yes?” said the second knowingly. “And what house would that be? The Umbers have made homes in many houses.”
“Arvale.”
At the speaking of that name, the three began to laugh. “He means the house. He has eyes but sees nothing!” They stepped back, behind him, farther away from the tapestry.
“Silas Umber, look again.”
“What am I supposed to be seeing?”
“It’s already before you. Right there. Close your eyes and look again, squint if you must, tilt your head. The angle of approach is everything.” Silas backed up and turned his head one way, then another. Slowly, by half-closing his eyes, he began to discern elements of the tapestry he hadn’t noticed a moment before. Nothing had changed. Not a stitch had been added or subtracted, but he could see that some buildings, taken together as a whole, formed parts of a greater structure. The more he studied the tapestry, the farther back he stood, the more of this other building he could discern. It seemed at once both isolated and connected to everything else in the weaving.
Silas noticed that the ladies now stood with him on both sides, one to his left, two to his right. They were admiring their work.
His mind bubbled with so many questions that he could draw forth only the most obvious. He had accounts of the house’s history, and had found references by his father and other Undertakers that suggested Arvale’s significance, but many of the pieces didn’t seem to fit together. Silas could tell by their smiles that the ladies knew much more about Arvale than he did.
“Can you tell me what I’ll find when I arrive at this place?”
“You know we cannot. That depends very much on you and why you are going. You know this already.”
“It is a family visit,” Silas said hesitantly. He didn’t want to tell them he had been invited, that the name of the house had been carved
Similar Books
