Califia's Daughters by Leigh Richards Page B

followed the smells and the voices past dining room and library to the cool veranda. The veranda was large, wrapping around two sides of the house and fully ten feet deep, but this morning it was packed, with more people standing outside the screened walls—theoretically, one adult from each house, so all the forty-odd families might be represented, but it looked as if the entire population was here, even the babies.
    Remnants of breakfast lay on the long table in the room just inside the veranda, and Dian paused to pick over what was left, peering into the empty coffee carafe with chagrin, then carried her plate to the door, where a couple of women shifted to make room for her. There was no sign of the man or his son, but Miriam and two of her women were sitting at the far end with Judith, Kirsten, and Ling. Peter was there to represent the menfolk, with Anthony, the senior male in the Valley. Laine sat in another corner and nodded to Dian, although there was no sign of Jeri, who had also been up all night.
    Miriam was describing her band’s trip through the destroyed cities on the other side of the hills; her narrative seemed to be drawing to a close. Dian watched her covertly as she ate, studying the woman’s black hair and eyes and her strong, compact body. The stranger spoke with an air of authority and self-assurance, her voice quiet and even. Only her posture in the chair revealed her discomfort, as she sat stiff-backed in its softness.
    â€œI’m very sure they didn’t know that Isaac and Teddy were with us,” she was saying. “If they had, they would never have let us get away so easily. They were just probing, and it was only bad luck that two of us got in the way of their arrows.” She paused. “We had gambled on that, of course. We decided to send a small enough caravan that people would think us of little importance. As it was, we were almost too small.”
    That seemed to mark a good pausing place, for Judith stood up and began to organize a flow of dirty plates and utensils toward the kitchen. When most of the dishes were out, Judith looked down the length of the veranda at Dian.
    â€œWe wondered if you were going to join us.”
    Dian hastily swallowed her mouthful of sweet roll. “Sorry if I held things up. But you did get your revenge—to think I missed coffee because of a few lousy rabbits.” General laughter was followed by shouts of triumph as Lenore came from the kitchen bearing a solitary cup of tepid, greasy-looking coffee and presented it to Dian, who held it up, sniffed it deeply, and finally slurped it with exaggerated appreciation.
    â€œAh, the nectar of the gods! Bless you, Lenore.” She placed the coffee on the floor between her feet and wiped the last smear of egg from her plate before adding it to a passing stack of empty plates. She retrieved the cup and savored the contents while the room was settling down again. When it was quiet enough to hear children playing in the pond, she lowered the half-empty cup and looked across the intervening heads at Miriam. “I’m sorry I missed your story,” she said in a carrying voice. “I was looking forward to it. Perhaps we can get together sometime, so I can ask you a few questions?”
    Which was a roundabout way of asking, What do you want and how long are you going to be here?
    Miriam looked down at her hands, fiddling with the narrow silver band around the ring finger of her left hand, then met Dian’s question head on.
    â€œI won’t be staying for any longer than it takes to rest my women and patch up the lesser wounds. I may have to leave behind Sonja and Jenn, the two in your infirmary. I can’t wait for them to heal; our village needs us back.” Here she looked up to face Judith. “Isaac and his son will stay here, if you will have them. They are, to put it bluntly, a gift from my people to yours.”
    The silence was suddenly complete,