from becoming lost in dust storms. She cocked her head and listened and waited for the sounds of voices. She felt certain she would recognize her children because they would be brought home to her by a chorus of angels, or, given the bells, perhaps camels, or both.
Instead, it was her husband who returned through the open gate of the compound a little after midnight. He wore bells strung about his neck as if he were a beast of burden. She pressed her fingertips against the chilly glass. No dust swirled in the courtyard, and first he was not there and then he was. He wore his long traveling coat like a cowboy from the American West and over it the dead animal fur that he seemed to like. The worst of winter was upon them with bright, chilly days. At night, a sparkling frost covered the ground, and the moist air cut to the bone. She was glad he had the warmth of the hide, although he appeared weighed down by its heft. From her secondstory window, she noticed that he walked with bowed head and down cast eyes. Two donkeys trailed behind him, and after that came Ahcho, bent lower still by their journeys.
Another trip, another return, and still no sign of the boy. In his ongoing search, Grace's admirable husband had become a haunted apparition. Had she not heard the actual tinkle of bells, the footfalls of their animals, the clapping of the pouches and bags attached to the Reverend's belt, she might have believed he was made only of sorrow and air. In the silver moonlight, he appeared to be a ghost man indeed.
"Master returns with a heavy heart," Mai Lin said.
Grace startled, not having noticed that her amah had risen from the cot in the corner. "It is he, though, isn't it?" she asked. "You see him, too?"
Mai Lin put her hand on Grace's thin shoulder and said, "Yes, he is home. Mistress can sleep now."
Grace tipped her face into the oil lamp. "Do I look all right? Pleasant enough, I mean?"
Mai Lin was too good to her, Grace thought. Her old amah's eyes did not let on about the dark shadows that Grace knew puffed under her eyes. Nor did Mai Lin mention how Grace's light brown hair had lost its sheen, or that her neck had become as thin as a chicken's and the corners of her mouth shot downward too much of the time. At seven months pregnant, her clothing bound her uncomfortably, and while her cheeks were sallow and drawn, her whole being felt bulky and unappealing. But Mai Lin chose not to dwell on these disagreeable truths.
Instead, she said, "Mistress most beautiful."
"Luckily, beauty is within. The Reverend knows that. He will not be taken in by surface appearances. His mind is much on the soul." Grace stood and held Mai Lin's arm to steady herself.
"You need rest."
"I am perfectly all right. You run along now. Sometimes a wife must see her husband alone."
Mai Lin looked sternly at her mistress.
"It was not long ago that we were newlyweds," Grace said. Then, in a smaller voice, she asked, "Perhaps you have something to help us?"
Mai Lin made a clucking sound with her tongue, but Grace felt her heart quicken as she watched her amah reach into one of the many pouches that she wore. Mai Lin brought out a handful of fine powder which she sprinkled over Grace's bed. Then she touched her mistress's forehead with a finger that bore the same potion and touched her large belly with it to protect the child inside, too. Grace studied each of these magical gestures, and when Mai Lin was done, she reached for the old woman's hand and kissed the bony back.
"Thank you. You are too good to me."
Grace then heard the Reverend's heavy footfalls rising up the stairs. She was surprised that he had entered the house so quickly and had not stopped in his library on the first floor. He had taken to sleeping on a cot in there, but on this night, he must have been mad for sleep in a true bed. Still, she hoped he would pay her a visit on his way to his bedroom at the end of the hall and not wait to see her until the morning.
"Mai Lin, open my door," she said.
Mai Lin did as she was told just as the Reverend was passing.