Now then, we are come to the story of the four Januarys: the one who died, the one who went to prison for killing her (though she didn't), the one who became the Queen of England and the fourth, my grandmother. They were born of the union of Mackarias the Traveler and Naomi, the butcher's daughter.
As the Traveler told his story Naomi, Samuel and Sarah exchanged glances of incredulity and then joy. When he was done, Naomi told her tale, at which the Traveler was amazed and then fiercely excited. He, too, saw the implications of what their union could bring to pass, that kindness could save their children yet not enslave them. Mackarias the Traveler became Mackarias the Butcher and married Naomi while Samuel and Sarah gladly retired from active life, though for several years Mackarias was still learning the trade and required Samuel's help, while Sarah continued to work in the shop off and on until she became too infirm for this. Naomi learned from Mackarias that one need not listen to every woe, so she grew more slender and ever more able to do the things a person of average girth can do. He learned from her that even if someone discovers that he must be kind in order to live a normal life, he was under no obligation to be kind on command. In other words, they both thrived in the others' love.
Naomi bore four girls. The first was born on January 1 and was named January. (When asked what would have happened had she been born the day before, Naomi joked, "Why, she would have been named Eve, of course!"). The second was born almost exactly a year later, but on January 2. Though her given name was Sarah, after her grandmother, it wasn't long before the wags began to call her January the Second, and this name stuck to her, especially when her younger sister was born January 3 of the following year and, inevitably, the fourth sister 366 days later. Though these latter two were given their own names (Clara and Rose), they were never known as anything but January the Third and January the Fourth. By this time, the names were no longer said with humor but with a sort of trepidation, for it was taken to be a sinister sign for them to have been born in a sequence so improbable.
The girls gave no one any cause to think them anything other than odd, either, for they were nearly always together, silent, and appeared grim and humorless. While other children played on the green, the girls sat in a row, always in descending order of birth, with January on the far right and Rose (the Fourth) at the other end "as if," said their father, with a bemused shake of his head, "anyone who came upon them could read them properly, from left to right." They seemed to make up a complete being only in the presence of one another. The Four Januarys became legendary throughout their land and eventually through many lands. You have no doubt heard of them, for they became healers of some renown. Though each had inherited her mother's capacity for removing the sting of misfortune through hearing of a tale and their father's of bestowing kindness, it was when they were in a foursome that their true powers were manifest, for then they could heal those who were gravely ill or take away madness or melancholy. You, reader, may be skeptical of this, thinking it mere superstition, but the record as I have studied it seems to point to the certainty that these things came to pass; oh, perhaps the tales are exaggerated--when are such tales not? But that they could do works seemingly beyond human ken is without doubt.
January was their undisputed leader and it fell to her to determine when what they were asked to do was right and when it was not. This was her special power. As my grandmother explained it to me many years later, "It simply is not always the right thing, to heal. It seems it would be, but it was clear to us at a very young age that this was not so. Some people are meant to die; it is their time. Taking the feeling of grief from one who has lost a loved one is neither kind nor skillful, you understand? It was a hard task to put upon young girls and normally we would not have had the maturity to make such a judgment, but January was equal to the task. When we came to a place where we had been bid to go, we would gather in a circle around the bed or couch of the sufferer and hold hands. We would pray, silently, then in unison look to January. We never spoke; I suppose that is one of the things that made us so thoroughly spooky to others, but to us it was perfectly natural, for since we were born we could communicate to one another without words. So January would indicate in that wordless dialect whether we were to proceed or not. I doubt even she knew how she made the determination, but once made she could not be swayed. Often we were cursed, and crockery or even stones were thrown in our direction if we left a house without doing the ceremony of healing, but the projectiles invariably fell far short of us, for the people were afraid we had the power to curse them, though we did not. We could only do or withhold good; we could do no harm beyond that. But January was never wrong, never. Many times we would find out later how valuable the death or the suffering had been, though we could not have guessed it at the time."
January the Second, Sarah, was my grandmother. He special gift and in some ways her curse was to feel deeply the motives and secret thoughts of others. "No, no," she assured me, "it's not as if I can hear what you are saying inside your head. God forbid I should hear the thoughts of little boys! Both boring and scurrilous, no doubt!" She caused me to blush. "No, but right now I know beyond doubt you are embarassed and a bit angry that I have made you so. Ah, and now a bit more angry that I have read these things! Well, never mind. I have learned over the years to block it from me when I wish, though in the many years before I had this skill I was tormented by the uncontrolled waves of feeling coming at me from all quarters. Now, now, I will read no more of you, don't worry." But I was nonetheless always wary around Grandma, and she no doubt liked it this way.
The Third, Clara, was a sensitive child who could see the spirits of people, both living and dead, so it is said. Because it had been no other way for her, ever, she was not disturbed by this, or so it seemed. She was never at a loss for playmates, though the other girls could never see them. But this inability to divide the real world from the world of spirits came to be her downfall, for the veil between them became more and more diaphanous until it fell away completely. In her kingdom of spirits she was married to King Henry and became the Queen, his seventh wife. She bore him many sons in that realm, it seems, and made him very happy. But she came to prefer that world and left this one behind. She lived for many years with my grandmother and was invariably pleasant to us. She insisted on being called Your Highness, or course, but was not as haughty as one might think the Queen of England might be.
The Fourth, Rose, was the most beautiful of them, with sleek, dark hair that hung to her waist and flashing, dark eyes that intimidated all who came near. She was the fierce one of the four and had the special ability of being able to detect a threat and meet it with her mind, cause it to turn away or, if it was a determined foe like a man intent on doing one or all of them harm, causing him to writhe in pain without touching him. She did not misuse her skill, though, and once word got around that she was capable of this, she rarely had to use any power at all, but merely glare at the miscreant for him to cringe and turn away.
It was the girls' special joy to travel the countryside to carry their healing spirits to those who required them. At first these were special trips by invitation, but as the girls grew into young women they simply traveled on their own roundabout the country. Wherever they went there were those who needed what they had to give. When is it ever not so? They would accept no payment and no gift beyond simple beds for the night and a simple meal, then they moved on to the next town. This went on from the time Rose was four until she was 14, at which time death and love caused it all to come crashing down.
Chapter Ten is here.
As the Traveler told his story Naomi, Samuel and Sarah exchanged glances of incredulity and then joy. When he was done, Naomi told her tale, at which the Traveler was amazed and then fiercely excited. He, too, saw the implications of what their union could bring to pass, that kindness could save their children yet not enslave them. Mackarias the Traveler became Mackarias the Butcher and married Naomi while Samuel and Sarah gladly retired from active life, though for several years Mackarias was still learning the trade and required Samuel's help, while Sarah continued to work in the shop off and on until she became too infirm for this. Naomi learned from Mackarias that one need not listen to every woe, so she grew more slender and ever more able to do the things a person of average girth can do. He learned from her that even if someone discovers that he must be kind in order to live a normal life, he was under no obligation to be kind on command. In other words, they both thrived in the others' love.
Naomi bore four girls. The first was born on January 1 and was named January. (When asked what would have happened had she been born the day before, Naomi joked, "Why, she would have been named Eve, of course!"). The second was born almost exactly a year later, but on January 2. Though her given name was Sarah, after her grandmother, it wasn't long before the wags began to call her January the Second, and this name stuck to her, especially when her younger sister was born January 3 of the following year and, inevitably, the fourth sister 366 days later. Though these latter two were given their own names (Clara and Rose), they were never known as anything but January the Third and January the Fourth. By this time, the names were no longer said with humor but with a sort of trepidation, for it was taken to be a sinister sign for them to have been born in a sequence so improbable.
The girls gave no one any cause to think them anything other than odd, either, for they were nearly always together, silent, and appeared grim and humorless. While other children played on the green, the girls sat in a row, always in descending order of birth, with January on the far right and Rose (the Fourth) at the other end "as if," said their father, with a bemused shake of his head, "anyone who came upon them could read them properly, from left to right." They seemed to make up a complete being only in the presence of one another. The Four Januarys became legendary throughout their land and eventually through many lands. You have no doubt heard of them, for they became healers of some renown. Though each had inherited her mother's capacity for removing the sting of misfortune through hearing of a tale and their father's of bestowing kindness, it was when they were in a foursome that their true powers were manifest, for then they could heal those who were gravely ill or take away madness or melancholy. You, reader, may be skeptical of this, thinking it mere superstition, but the record as I have studied it seems to point to the certainty that these things came to pass; oh, perhaps the tales are exaggerated--when are such tales not? But that they could do works seemingly beyond human ken is without doubt.
January was their undisputed leader and it fell to her to determine when what they were asked to do was right and when it was not. This was her special power. As my grandmother explained it to me many years later, "It simply is not always the right thing, to heal. It seems it would be, but it was clear to us at a very young age that this was not so. Some people are meant to die; it is their time. Taking the feeling of grief from one who has lost a loved one is neither kind nor skillful, you understand? It was a hard task to put upon young girls and normally we would not have had the maturity to make such a judgment, but January was equal to the task. When we came to a place where we had been bid to go, we would gather in a circle around the bed or couch of the sufferer and hold hands. We would pray, silently, then in unison look to January. We never spoke; I suppose that is one of the things that made us so thoroughly spooky to others, but to us it was perfectly natural, for since we were born we could communicate to one another without words. So January would indicate in that wordless dialect whether we were to proceed or not. I doubt even she knew how she made the determination, but once made she could not be swayed. Often we were cursed, and crockery or even stones were thrown in our direction if we left a house without doing the ceremony of healing, but the projectiles invariably fell far short of us, for the people were afraid we had the power to curse them, though we did not. We could only do or withhold good; we could do no harm beyond that. But January was never wrong, never. Many times we would find out later how valuable the death or the suffering had been, though we could not have guessed it at the time."
January the Second, Sarah, was my grandmother. He special gift and in some ways her curse was to feel deeply the motives and secret thoughts of others. "No, no," she assured me, "it's not as if I can hear what you are saying inside your head. God forbid I should hear the thoughts of little boys! Both boring and scurrilous, no doubt!" She caused me to blush. "No, but right now I know beyond doubt you are embarassed and a bit angry that I have made you so. Ah, and now a bit more angry that I have read these things! Well, never mind. I have learned over the years to block it from me when I wish, though in the many years before I had this skill I was tormented by the uncontrolled waves of feeling coming at me from all quarters. Now, now, I will read no more of you, don't worry." But I was nonetheless always wary around Grandma, and she no doubt liked it this way.
The Third, Clara, was a sensitive child who could see the spirits of people, both living and dead, so it is said. Because it had been no other way for her, ever, she was not disturbed by this, or so it seemed. She was never at a loss for playmates, though the other girls could never see them. But this inability to divide the real world from the world of spirits came to be her downfall, for the veil between them became more and more diaphanous until it fell away completely. In her kingdom of spirits she was married to King Henry and became the Queen, his seventh wife. She bore him many sons in that realm, it seems, and made him very happy. But she came to prefer that world and left this one behind. She lived for many years with my grandmother and was invariably pleasant to us. She insisted on being called Your Highness, or course, but was not as haughty as one might think the Queen of England might be.
The Fourth, Rose, was the most beautiful of them, with sleek, dark hair that hung to her waist and flashing, dark eyes that intimidated all who came near. She was the fierce one of the four and had the special ability of being able to detect a threat and meet it with her mind, cause it to turn away or, if it was a determined foe like a man intent on doing one or all of them harm, causing him to writhe in pain without touching him. She did not misuse her skill, though, and once word got around that she was capable of this, she rarely had to use any power at all, but merely glare at the miscreant for him to cringe and turn away.
It was the girls' special joy to travel the countryside to carry their healing spirits to those who required them. At first these were special trips by invitation, but as the girls grew into young women they simply traveled on their own roundabout the country. Wherever they went there were those who needed what they had to give. When is it ever not so? They would accept no payment and no gift beyond simple beds for the night and a simple meal, then they moved on to the next town. This went on from the time Rose was four until she was 14, at which time death and love caused it all to come crashing down.
Chapter Ten is here.
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