from his fatherâs battle. And the fever gave her over to broken conversation, so Elias had to work twice as hard to puzzle out what she was saying.
Nedra sat in her straight-backed chair in front of her little stove, a small bundle on her lap. He thought quickly to come up with a story to cover why he was hollering. âI . . .â he began. âSometimes itâs just a fair bit too quiet in here.â
Nedra stared past him, like she wasnât seeing him at all. âYou have a new friend.â
Elias startled.
âYou heard him?â Elias asked carefully, wanting, surprisingly, to protect the pestâs secret.
Nedra smiled, almost wickedly. âSuch a clamor, always a clamor, though no worse than before.â
But the voice always whispered so quietly, almost so Elias could barely hear him. How could she have heard?
âDid you name him?â
âNameââ Elias caught himself. Why would he name the boy?
âEverything should have a name. Even a birdââ
Bedivere! She meant the pigeon!
âHeâs called Bedivere,â Elias managed. âAfter Arthurâs knight. And heâs eating good at least. Gobbled up most of the corn I got off Pennyrile already. Heâs a pig, that one.â
âA pig and a pigeon,â she muttered.
Elias thought she appeared more strung out, drawn thinner than she had a couple of days before. Daddy had done that toward the end. Every day when Elias went in to see him in the morning, heâd look different, like a little more of him had forgotten to wake up, gotten lost in the night.
âHere,â she said, holding out the bundle.
âWhatâs this?â
âItâs green,â she said nonsensically. âLike Gawainâs knight. Like the sash.â
Elias was almost more worried that he could follow her thoughts. He let the scarfâs length drape to the floor, felt the soft scratchiness of the wool, recognized the yarn sheâd been working with when he first met her the day after he arrived.
âItâs nice,â he said, holding it up to the light, admiring the way the little stitches acted as much like perfect little knots as anything else.
âWear it,â she commanded. âItâs so cold.â
Elias wrapped it around his neck loosely. âThank you, miss.â
âTake care on your quests, squire,â she whispered, leaning forward. And the way she said it, Elias was sure sheâd seen him leave with Mat three nights ago, maybe even seen him chase the ghost last week.
âYes, maâam. Thanks for the scarf.â
She didnât reply but took up her needles and some blue yarn, and began to knit again. Elias decided he had been dismissed.
When he reached his room, he found Bedivere pecking at something on the table.
It was the fraying end of the little cloth tied around the piece of salt pork.
Pest. Or friend. Elias was so out of practice in having friends that heâd forgotten how hard it could be to tell the difference.
âBoo,â the voice whispered as Elias settled back on the bed.
âI know you ainât no ghost,â Elias said, but he couldnât help but smile. âAnd stay outta my room.â
âYou donât know nuthinâ! Canât even get eyes on me when you tryââ
âI know ghosts donât make shadows. And they donât leave chunks of bacon for folk they haunt.â
âYou worried I was, though.â
âDid not.â Even this Elias had missed. The bickering. If people did get near enough to him to talk when heâd gotten sick, they never argued with him. Even Tillie gave up fighting with him. Elias picked up his book.
âDonât you get tired of reading all the time?â
âDonât you get tired of lurking round windows?â
âI do moreân talk to you,â the voice said, adding, âI get myself all over.â
Bedivere hopped
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