From the lighthouse, January

My dear!

I have been lying in wait for the mail carrier in hopes he would come this far out into the snowy wastes. Finally he brought me your letter, sent so long ago! Brave man. I made him come inside and thaw out and drink a mug of tea for his heroic efforts, but I do not think he enjoyed it, given the lioness's dislike of strangers. She lay by the fire eyeing him mistrustfully the entire time, while he dripped melting snow from every fold of his clothing.

Do not worry, as I am better now, but I fell ill in a terrible storm just past the turn of the year and spent weeks in a fever. Indeed, only the lioness saved me. She went out into the storm and dragged back driftwood. I had blocked the door open when I felt the fever coming upon me, and tacked a heavy canvas over the doorway, so that she could come and go and should not be trapped inside with me. Nor indeed did I like the idea that she might eat my remains, to be honest, as surely any animal would if trapped. I confess my mind was not quite right as the fever mounted, so I was sure I was dreaming the lioness bringing me driftwood, but I put it onto the fire anyway and it kept us both warm. But I'm afraid I became terribly weak and thin during this time. My health has only just begun to return. The lioness also brought me chickens and strings of fish, which I fear she must have stolen from some neighbors. You can see why I was afraid I was going mad, but the feathers and bones remain to tell the tale.

The scriptorium has been hard hit with illness and injury this winter! I hope that no more have come to harm in this harsh time of year. But here in the snows I like to imagine you all surrounded by warm sands under a comforting sun. I am so sorry for your losses and hope the rest of you are well.

Beans, corn, and squash sound glorious! The lioness and I--I call her Murra, for that is the contented sound she makes when she is cozy and comfortable and taking up far more than half the bed--will be forced to decamp as soon as the weather permits, I'm sorry to say, for I have come to like this lighthouse very much, especially the fine views over the ocean, when the wind relents enough to permit me to open the shutters. The blue and white glittering shores will be imprinted on my memory forever.

The captain we spoke of previously has not yet made his way to port, the postman tells me. So I have hope that I might catch him yet! I regret to say I traded my box of paints to a farm wife with five small children in exchange for the most tremendous quantity of sausages and dried greens. At least, it seems tremendous to me. The greens are especially welcome. I am going up and down those stairs again, very slowly at first, I admit, to try to gain back the strength I lost. We must travel into town soon to try to catch the captain when he docks. The postman says the captain always stays in town for a few days, but then again weather must always be a factor. I would hate to miss him.

The farm wife says that Queen Ellie down at the Anchor will always let a young lady stay over in the winter months for free in exchange for cooking and teaching the kitchen girls new dishes, so I can certainly try that, so I will be close enough when the captain arrives. If I feed her enough, Murra will be happy to sleep in any warm corner for as long as you like. Come to think of it, I would be happy to sleep in any warm corner, if fed enough. I feel I shall never be full and I am so starved, I am always cold. I'm wearing every stitch of clothing I own! Maybe Queen Ellie will trade me some old woolen dresses for teaching the maids new embroidery stitches. A girl can dream!

I have sent a note off to the Anchor with the postman and will send this as soon as he returns. I hope you are doing well with your researches and finding the answers to your queries! Do you plan to search farther afield, or will you stay at the scriptorium? I will write to you there, so I hope the other scribes will forward mail on for you if you strike out for richer resources.

This winter has been hard on you, my friend! Sending you all good wishes and hopes,

A.

From the Scriptorium, just past the New Year

From the Scriptorium, just past the New Year

Hello, my friend!

Your letter made me laugh to image the mail carrier’s expression! If the lighthouse was even half as run down as you’d described it when you first took up residency, I can only imagine the townsfolk must have thought it abandoned long ago. Perhaps he thought he was going to come face to face with a ghost!

Your lioness sounds like a wise creature not to go out in weather like that! It’s cold even here. It must be bitter and bone-chilling by the sea. Does the lioness have a name? Well, certainly she must have a name she calls herself; if only we could understand more of what they say! I wonder what our animal friends name us?

Ha! Your sister is adept at getting to information that doesn’t want to be discovered. She should work as a spy. I am glad she’s doing well. Maybe you should give her the most boring version of the truth possible. Perhaps that will stop rumors and allow actual fact to surface which could be of some use to you. Of course, I don’t know her or the villagers nearly as well as you do, so I could be way off, but that tactic has worked for me in the past quite admirably!

Some odd things have happened here of late. First, Keith, the elderly and much beloved former stable master, took a bad fall down some steps and broke his hip. The physician did all he could and the old man is resting in reasonable comfort. In a younger person, it would be a bad but recoverable injury, but in such an old one, well…we are waiting.

As if his accident wasn’t enough, the whole court has been laid low with a bad illness. I hesitate to call it a plague, for it is not that same dreaded pestilence from history, nor does it seem as deadly. It has hit the old ones hard, though, and those who were already sickly or recovering from an illness or injury. Hence why we are doubly concerned for Keith. We lost a handful of elders suffering from a lung disease, an injured sentry whose wound had begun to fester, and a woman recently brought to childbed with a difficult delivery. As hard as these deaths are to bear, there are three that I find terribly disturbing: the head cook, her assistant, and the head scribe who had given me my job in the scriptorium. Aside from my personal sadness, for she had taken me under her wing since my arrival and was excellent in her duties, these three were in excellent health. I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel something is wrong here. Maybe I’m just unsettled from all the other things that have been happening. We have all been taking extra work in the scriptorium and in the kitchens to help cover the work that needs doing in the absence of these women.

At least we have had a bountiful harvest of squash this season. The Three Sisters – beans, corn, and squash – are the staple foods in the desert. We should have plenty of stores to get us through the drought of summer, but we’ll have to be careful. How odd to consider summer the season of short supply! But it’s so hot and dry here that nothing can grow, so they store up food in preparation for summer… I imagine I shall be as tired of the Sisters as you are of fish before long!

I hope you are happy in your research, despite the weather, and that my letter hasn’t unsettled you as well. I shall be glad when spring arrives. One of the other scribes, Miri, has become a friend. She has her first baby due near the spring equinox. I am looking forward to playing the doting “auntie.”

Off to the kitchens with me, which is strange…

~X