Because I have not returned to this chronicle for several weeks, it may be well worth reviewing for you that the four Januarys, my grandmother and her sisters, were born to Mackarias the Butcher and Naomi his wife and that they were born in sequence on January 1, 2, 3, and 4 each in the year subsequent to the prior. They became prodigious healers. For ten years they roamed the countryside healing both illness and sorrow when they felt it beneficial, but refusing to do so when they did not.
Rose, the youngest and most beautiful, was fiercely independent in her thoughts, though no less melded in spirit than any of her sisters one to the other. But she expressed herself in terms that were not always considered maidenly or proper in one of her age or station. My grandmother vividly recalled their conversations.
"What do I care what they think?", she would say when my grandmother, Sarah, would chide her gently. "We do for them a great service and they think us their slaves. Well, I for one am not that, nor will I pretend to be. Though joined together with you three for all eternity, or so it seems, I will not be subject to any other lord, not ever."
"But my dear Rose, we must make our way in the world. It does no good to alienate those who depend on us. They already fear us...".
"And well they might. I tell you, that pig farmer last week, I almost smote him. Such arrogance in one so thoroughly smelly!"
"They already fear us and it will do neither you nor us any good to antagonize them. We are girls on our own and even you cannot protect us against all ills. We depend upon the good nature of those around us."
"Bah! We are sacrificing all so they can evade what comes to all people. Tell me this, sister, why do they deserve our offices any more than, say, a tribesman in Africa?"
"Oh, sister..."
"Don't say 'oh, sister' in that tone, as if I were a moral cripple. Tell me! Why?"
"There is no why, dear Rose, it just is, don't you see?"
"I do not nor will not. I care not a jot for anyone or anything that is not us four and our parents. They can go hang for all I care. If I were the one making the judgments rather than January..."
"And I say 'thank God' your are not", my grandmother murmured.
"And I say if it were me, one would have to pay us in the coin of decency and kindness before they got one whit of help. That's what I say."
On and on and on. The impetuous Rose and the sensitive Sarah wrestled unceasingly with the nature of their gifts and the correct way to bestow them. Rose annoyed and angered many people, but they dare not touch her, for her powers were legendary (in truth, greater in legend than in fact, though she could do sufficient harm if pushed to it).
Despite these minor disagreements, though, and the increasing separation from reality Clara experienced, the foursome were devoted to their calling. They may grouse and complain from time to time (and who would not?) but were compelled to carry on with it by a force none of them understood.
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When Rose was 14 January was 17 and a budding young woman, full of the same desires and questions any young woman has. Because their rounds always led them back to home, at least one day each week was spent in the family home and January could find the comfort of her mother's arms and her wisdom, as did my grandmother. Clara was not enough present to benefit by this and Rose, well, about Rose....
I must give Rose her own chapter to explain herself. We are fortunate that Rose lived long enough to tell her own story and leave it in my hands, so I can pass it on to you. You may question her objectivity or her veracity but as one who knew her, I can tell you with all certainty that her sincerity was never in doubt.
Chapter 11 is here.
Rose, the youngest and most beautiful, was fiercely independent in her thoughts, though no less melded in spirit than any of her sisters one to the other. But she expressed herself in terms that were not always considered maidenly or proper in one of her age or station. My grandmother vividly recalled their conversations.
"What do I care what they think?", she would say when my grandmother, Sarah, would chide her gently. "We do for them a great service and they think us their slaves. Well, I for one am not that, nor will I pretend to be. Though joined together with you three for all eternity, or so it seems, I will not be subject to any other lord, not ever."
"But my dear Rose, we must make our way in the world. It does no good to alienate those who depend on us. They already fear us...".
"And well they might. I tell you, that pig farmer last week, I almost smote him. Such arrogance in one so thoroughly smelly!"
"They already fear us and it will do neither you nor us any good to antagonize them. We are girls on our own and even you cannot protect us against all ills. We depend upon the good nature of those around us."
"Bah! We are sacrificing all so they can evade what comes to all people. Tell me this, sister, why do they deserve our offices any more than, say, a tribesman in Africa?"
"Oh, sister..."
"Don't say 'oh, sister' in that tone, as if I were a moral cripple. Tell me! Why?"
"There is no why, dear Rose, it just is, don't you see?"
"I do not nor will not. I care not a jot for anyone or anything that is not us four and our parents. They can go hang for all I care. If I were the one making the judgments rather than January..."
"And I say 'thank God' your are not", my grandmother murmured.
"And I say if it were me, one would have to pay us in the coin of decency and kindness before they got one whit of help. That's what I say."
On and on and on. The impetuous Rose and the sensitive Sarah wrestled unceasingly with the nature of their gifts and the correct way to bestow them. Rose annoyed and angered many people, but they dare not touch her, for her powers were legendary (in truth, greater in legend than in fact, though she could do sufficient harm if pushed to it).
Despite these minor disagreements, though, and the increasing separation from reality Clara experienced, the foursome were devoted to their calling. They may grouse and complain from time to time (and who would not?) but were compelled to carry on with it by a force none of them understood.
***********************************************************************
When Rose was 14 January was 17 and a budding young woman, full of the same desires and questions any young woman has. Because their rounds always led them back to home, at least one day each week was spent in the family home and January could find the comfort of her mother's arms and her wisdom, as did my grandmother. Clara was not enough present to benefit by this and Rose, well, about Rose....
I must give Rose her own chapter to explain herself. We are fortunate that Rose lived long enough to tell her own story and leave it in my hands, so I can pass it on to you. You may question her objectivity or her veracity but as one who knew her, I can tell you with all certainty that her sincerity was never in doubt.
Chapter 11 is here.
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