Chapter 85: A Happy, Blessed, and Functional Family
Chapter 85: A Happy, Blessed, and Functional Family
Within one month of adopting Lodia's family, I had learned two things. One: The Kohs were a happy, blessed, and functional family. Two: Happy, blessed, and functional families left no room for a well-intentioned sparrow to improve their lives.
Although Lodia's mother had died several months back, her father and grandmother had stable, well-paying jobs and weren't doing anything to jeopardize them. They neither drank nor gambled, nor had workplace meltdowns, nor spent lavishly to cope with their grief. (Presumably Lodia's father, at least, felt grief.)
No, they spoke politely, carried out their duties, brought their wages home, budgeted and tracked their expenditures, and paid their servants on time. They even owned their bizarre house-on-stilts! I couldn't find the slightest hint of financial difficulty!
As for improving their personal lives, Lodia's father, Rohanus, could use a new romance, but he was just so – nice. That was his defining characteristic. Niceness. Admittedly, it made for a more peaceful household than if he, say, fought with his mother or beat the cook, but it did lead to a distinct lack of variety. Who'd marry such a bland man?
On the other hand, Lodia's grandmother, Missa, wasn't not-nice, but I'd describe her as more…pointy. Some grandmothers were warm and huggable (according to children's tales, anyway). Not the Maga Architecta of Lychee Grove. Like Mistress Jek, she didn't take any nonsense from anyone – but unlike Mistress Jek, she rejected aforementioned nonsense in the most courteous way possible. Actually, in that sense, she reminded me of Aurelia.
I didn't want reminders of Aurelia.
Mostly because they led to reminders of Taila and Bobo and Stripey and – nope, not thinking about that. I'd already made up my mind to give Lychee Grove a shot.
Since Rohanus was hopeless and Missa needed no help, I'd see what I could do about Lodia.
"Loddie! Loddie! Art thou home – urp! Uh, good day, Mistress Fan."
Taking off from Lodia's shoulder, I flew to the window that overlooked the street. The cook had just thrown open the front door and was scowling at a young man. He was returning a winsome smile.
Oh hey! It was that "Katu" whom I'd seen in my first life as a sparrow! The young man who'd been sent to the market to buy green onions and ended up spouting treason instead. I settled down for another round of street entertainment.
The cook wasn't nearly as happy to see him. "Master Len Katulus. Why are you shouting up at windows? The whole world can hear you."
On cue, Lodia's baby brother woke up and started wailing. Unfortunately, the wetnurse was watching him upstairs, which meant that only the ceiling separated him from me – and he was loud. Next, the baby who lived next door heard him through the shared wall and joined in. I hopped from side to side, wishing I could clap my wings over my ears.
Behind me, Lodia laid aside the mirror cover she'd been embroidering.
Since his smile obviously wasn't working, Katu swept a florid bow. "Forgive me, Mistress Fan. I bear tidings of great import, and in my excitement, I fear I have offended."
Fancy phrasing failed to impress her. "Tidings of great import? For whom, pray tell?"
His eyes widened as if he couldn't believe that she needed to ask such a question. "Why, for Miss Lodia, of course! The fair and gracious Lady Anthea hath come to visit the Lady of the Lychee Tree once more!"
Ugh, seriously? Again? Weren't there other tree spirits for that raccoon dog to harass?
Lodia, however, did not share my disgust. "Lady Anthea?" She pattered across the room to lean out over the sill. "What news, Katu?"
Surrendering, Mistress Fan stepped back and waved the young man into the house before he could hold an entire shouted conversation on the street. By the time Lodia hurried down to the kitchen with me riding on her shoulder, Katu had already found a chair and draped himself over it. Mistress Fan was opening a jar of preserved plums and picking out the largest ones to serve him. When she saw us, she redirected her ire at me.
"Lodia, how many times do I need to tell you? Don't let that dirty sparrow into my kitchen."
"Forgive me, Mistress Fan." Lodia took several steps closer to Katu, putting more distance between me and the cook.
At her arrival, Katu leaped to his feet and swept another dramatic bow. A scrap of parchment fell out of his sleeve, and he snatched it and stuffed it into a pocket. But not before I recognized the handwriting.
Ha. Why did it not surprise me that our resident political firebrand and forgetter of groceries also wrote love poetry?
"What news, Katu?" Lodia repeated. "What news about Lady Anthea?"
"Why, that she desires to dress as we do while she is here! Dost thou not see, Loddie? If thou send her something and it pleases her, then she may take thee to court! Thou canst speak to the Queen!"
"To the Queen? Truly?" At first her face lit up, but it clouded over almost at once. "Oh, no, Her Majesty would never speak to the likes of me. And there are so many young ladies in Lychee Grove who have so much more talent than I. Lady Anthea would never wear anything I could make."
"Of course she will, Lodia! If she has eyes, she will! And once thou arrive at court, thou can make the Queen listen to thee. I know thou canst!"
"Humph," grumbled the cook. "Wasn't it thou who called the queen a 'dreamer' and her court a 'troupe of traveling jesters'?"
(If it consisted of courtiers like Anthea, I agreed.)
Unabashed by his own inconsistency, Katu declared, "Be that as it may, 'tis a chance for Lodia to – urp!" At the cook's death glare, he cut himself off. "Loddie, thou must send Lady Anthea a token at once!"
Lodia gulped. "Unsolicited? Oh, no, that would be too…too…. I'd be shamed if such a great lady laid eyes on my work…."
Wow, Lodia really was the anti-Taila, wasn't she? Not only did she lack the confidence that her handiwork could impress Anthea – and knowing Anthea, it would – but she didn't even want to try?
All right. I knew what I had to do.
I could have spoken directly to Lodia. Pretending to be a spirit hadn't worked out so badly last time. But for this life, I had a different idea.
Normally, I left right after dinner and returned in the morning. This evening, after eating rice grains twice (courtesy of first Lodia and then her grandmother, who didn't realize I'd already been fed), I perched on a shelf in the sitting room and preened my feathers. This, I believed, should indicate that I was becoming even tamer.
"Grandmother," Lodia whispered. "She's staying."
Missa glanced up from the blueprints for a new pavilion. "Indeed," she agreed with a smile. "Don't stare too much. Thou wilt scare her. Thou should think of a name for her."
"A name." Lodia sank back into her chair and purposely looked away from me, then peeked out the corners of her eyes.
I was curious what sort of name she'd come up with. Whatever it was, it had to be step up from "Mr. Turtle." Or, in this case, "Mr. Sparrow."
"Oh, what shall I name thee? Shall I ask Katu tomorrow?" (Here she ignored a chuckle from her father, who obviously expected an unpronounceably grandiloquent suggestion from the poet.) "The feathers on thy head are honey colored…so Honey?"
That wasn't a bad option. I cheeped at her.
"Or…they look like a cap on thy head. Cap? Dost thou like that?"
I cheeped again.
"I could also name thee…Cheep – no, that sounds too much like 'cheap.' Chirp? Peep? Pip?"
Not exactly the most original of names, but any of them would do. I cocked my head from side to side, stared at her with my bright, round eyes, and continued to cheep. The feedback seemed to encourage her.
"I like Pip," put in Rohanus.
She bit her lip, looked at him uncertainly, then back at me. "Pip?"
Well, it came surprisingly close to "Piri." I cheeped and hopped, towards her this time.
She broke into a smile. "Pip it is! Here, Pip."
She stretched out a finger, and I hopped onto it and met her eyes. With a gentle fingertip, she stroked the top of my head and back. I cheeped at her some more, making her smile grow broader.
All right, befriending and influencing Lodia was off to a good start! Now for part two!
After the family had gone to sleep, I left the box that Missa had prepared for my bed and flew upstairs. Lodia's sleeping figure, in the same room as Baby Silvus and the wetnurse, was easy to identify. I landed on her pillow, used my beak to pull strands of hair away from her ear, and whispered into it.
Lodia…. Lodia….
I made my voice sound distant and mysterious, trailing off at the end.
She stirred, although her eyes didn't open. "Mmmmm?"
I nearly said, "Listen to me," but I caught myself. Lodia…. Lodia…. Heed my words….
Look at me, picking back up the older speech style even after spending so much time in the Claymouth Barony!
"Mmmm!" she complained and flopped over, nearly crushing me.
I backwinged hastily. Hmm. This wasn't working as well as I'd thought it would, but I persevered. (After all, I wasn't Anthea. I didn't have the attention span of a raccoon dog.)
I put a slight edge into my tone. Heed my words, Koh Lodia. Thou hast talent for all with eyes to see. Believe in thyself. Do not clip thy own wings. I desire to see thee fly.
All right! That sounded appropriately divine and inspiring, right?
Before she could flop over again and crush me to death, I lifted off from her pillow and returned to my bed.
I'd see what effects I'd had in the morning.
In the morning, Lodia didn't act any different. She didn't say a word to anyone about the mysterious voice that had addressed her in the middle of the night. After her usual breakfast of rice porridge with pickled cucumbers, boiled peanuts, pork floss, and fried wheat gluten, she took up her embroidering, also as usual.
Hmm. I guessed I'd have to try again.
Koh Lodia. Koh Lodia.
"Hmmm?"
Thou hast talent. Thou wilt please the gods if thou would let thyself fly.
"Mmmmm."
Rustle. Flop.
And I had to backwing again before she crushed me.
This went on for several more nights, by the end of which I was frazzled and ruffled, not to mention sleep deprived, and Lodia even more so.
"Eeek!" she yelped.
Dropping her mirror cover, she squeezed her thumb. She'd stabbed herself under her nail with her needle.
I winced too, in sympathy. No one had ever jabbed needles under my nails, of course, but I had seen it done and observed that it was extremely painful.
My expression must have been pretty odd on a bird, because she blinked at me. "Pip, art thou – perchance – a spirit?"
Sigh. I had all the subtlety of a rampaging Taila these days, didn't I? What repeated reincarnations had given me in my capacity to empathize with people (ugh, I hated the phrase), it had taken away in my ability to manipulate them. It was as if the soul held only so much room for personality.
I rolled my eyes. At Flicker and the Bureau of Reincarnation, but Lodia misinterpreted it.
"Forgive me, spirit! I meant no offense!"
Sigh. Why did she have to be such an anti-Taila? She'd be so much easier to work with if she'd develop an opinion or throw a tantrum from time to time. If she wouldn't be this quiet little bowl of plain rice porridge.
All right. Let's work on your presentation. Say it again, but not like you're scared I'll peck you.
"Eeek! You talked! Eek!"
The second "eek" was because when she jumped, she knocked her fabric scissors off the table.
Sigh. We had a long way to go.
A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, BananaBobert, Blacklark57, Celia, Charlotte, Hookshyu, James, Jojiro, Lindsey, Michael, TheLunaticCo, and Anonymous!
Within one month of adopting Lodia's family, I had learned two things. One: The Kohs were a happy, blessed, and functional family. Two: Happy, blessed, and functional families left no room for a well-intentioned sparrow to improve their lives.
Although Lodia's mother had died several months back, her father and grandmother had stable, well-paying jobs and weren't doing anything to jeopardize them. They neither drank nor gambled, nor had workplace meltdowns, nor spent lavishly to cope with their grief. (Presumably Lodia's father, at least, felt grief.)
No, they spoke politely, carried out their duties, brought their wages home, budgeted and tracked their expenditures, and paid their servants on time. They even owned their bizarre house-on-stilts! I couldn't find the slightest hint of financial difficulty!
As for improving their personal lives, Lodia's father, Rohanus, could use a new romance, but he was just so – nice. That was his defining characteristic. Niceness. Admittedly, it made for a more peaceful household than if he, say, fought with his mother or beat the cook, but it did lead to a distinct lack of variety. Who'd marry such a bland man?
On the other hand, Lodia's grandmother, Missa, wasn't not-nice, but I'd describe her as more…pointy. Some grandmothers were warm and huggable (according to children's tales, anyway). Not the Maga Architecta of Lychee Grove. Like Mistress Jek, she didn't take any nonsense from anyone – but unlike Mistress Jek, she rejected aforementioned nonsense in the most courteous way possible. Actually, in that sense, she reminded me of Aurelia.
I didn't want reminders of Aurelia.
Mostly because they led to reminders of Taila and Bobo and Stripey and – nope, not thinking about that. I'd already made up my mind to give Lychee Grove a shot.
Since Rohanus was hopeless and Missa needed no help, I'd see what I could do about Lodia.
"Loddie! Loddie! Art thou home – urp! Uh, good day, Mistress Fan."
Taking off from Lodia's shoulder, I flew to the window that overlooked the street. The cook had just thrown open the front door and was scowling at a young man. He was returning a winsome smile.
Oh hey! It was that "Katu" whom I'd seen in my first life as a sparrow! The young man who'd been sent to the market to buy green onions and ended up spouting treason instead. I settled down for another round of street entertainment.
The cook wasn't nearly as happy to see him. "Master Len Katulus. Why are you shouting up at windows? The whole world can hear you."
On cue, Lodia's baby brother woke up and started wailing. Unfortunately, the wetnurse was watching him upstairs, which meant that only the ceiling separated him from me – and he was loud. Next, the baby who lived next door heard him through the shared wall and joined in. I hopped from side to side, wishing I could clap my wings over my ears.
Behind me, Lodia laid aside the mirror cover she'd been embroidering.
Since his smile obviously wasn't working, Katu swept a florid bow. "Forgive me, Mistress Fan. I bear tidings of great import, and in my excitement, I fear I have offended."
Fancy phrasing failed to impress her. "Tidings of great import? For whom, pray tell?"
His eyes widened as if he couldn't believe that she needed to ask such a question. "Why, for Miss Lodia, of course! The fair and gracious Lady Anthea hath come to visit the Lady of the Lychee Tree once more!"
Ugh, seriously? Again? Weren't there other tree spirits for that raccoon dog to harass?
Lodia, however, did not share my disgust. "Lady Anthea?" She pattered across the room to lean out over the sill. "What news, Katu?"
Surrendering, Mistress Fan stepped back and waved the young man into the house before he could hold an entire shouted conversation on the street. By the time Lodia hurried down to the kitchen with me riding on her shoulder, Katu had already found a chair and draped himself over it. Mistress Fan was opening a jar of preserved plums and picking out the largest ones to serve him. When she saw us, she redirected her ire at me.
"Lodia, how many times do I need to tell you? Don't let that dirty sparrow into my kitchen."
"Forgive me, Mistress Fan." Lodia took several steps closer to Katu, putting more distance between me and the cook.
At her arrival, Katu leaped to his feet and swept another dramatic bow. A scrap of parchment fell out of his sleeve, and he snatched it and stuffed it into a pocket. But not before I recognized the handwriting.
Ha. Why did it not surprise me that our resident political firebrand and forgetter of groceries also wrote love poetry?
"What news, Katu?" Lodia repeated. "What news about Lady Anthea?"
"Why, that she desires to dress as we do while she is here! Dost thou not see, Loddie? If thou send her something and it pleases her, then she may take thee to court! Thou canst speak to the Queen!"
"To the Queen? Truly?" At first her face lit up, but it clouded over almost at once. "Oh, no, Her Majesty would never speak to the likes of me. And there are so many young ladies in Lychee Grove who have so much more talent than I. Lady Anthea would never wear anything I could make."
"Of course she will, Lodia! If she has eyes, she will! And once thou arrive at court, thou can make the Queen listen to thee. I know thou canst!"
"Humph," grumbled the cook. "Wasn't it thou who called the queen a 'dreamer' and her court a 'troupe of traveling jesters'?"
(If it consisted of courtiers like Anthea, I agreed.)
Unabashed by his own inconsistency, Katu declared, "Be that as it may, 'tis a chance for Lodia to – urp!" At the cook's death glare, he cut himself off. "Loddie, thou must send Lady Anthea a token at once!"
Lodia gulped. "Unsolicited? Oh, no, that would be too…too…. I'd be shamed if such a great lady laid eyes on my work…."
Wow, Lodia really was the anti-Taila, wasn't she? Not only did she lack the confidence that her handiwork could impress Anthea – and knowing Anthea, it would – but she didn't even want to try?
All right. I knew what I had to do.
I could have spoken directly to Lodia. Pretending to be a spirit hadn't worked out so badly last time. But for this life, I had a different idea.
Normally, I left right after dinner and returned in the morning. This evening, after eating rice grains twice (courtesy of first Lodia and then her grandmother, who didn't realize I'd already been fed), I perched on a shelf in the sitting room and preened my feathers. This, I believed, should indicate that I was becoming even tamer.
"Grandmother," Lodia whispered. "She's staying."
Missa glanced up from the blueprints for a new pavilion. "Indeed," she agreed with a smile. "Don't stare too much. Thou wilt scare her. Thou should think of a name for her."
"A name." Lodia sank back into her chair and purposely looked away from me, then peeked out the corners of her eyes.
I was curious what sort of name she'd come up with. Whatever it was, it had to be step up from "Mr. Turtle." Or, in this case, "Mr. Sparrow."
"Oh, what shall I name thee? Shall I ask Katu tomorrow?" (Here she ignored a chuckle from her father, who obviously expected an unpronounceably grandiloquent suggestion from the poet.) "The feathers on thy head are honey colored…so Honey?"
That wasn't a bad option. I cheeped at her.
"Or…they look like a cap on thy head. Cap? Dost thou like that?"
I cheeped again.
"I could also name thee…Cheep – no, that sounds too much like 'cheap.' Chirp? Peep? Pip?"
Not exactly the most original of names, but any of them would do. I cocked my head from side to side, stared at her with my bright, round eyes, and continued to cheep. The feedback seemed to encourage her.
"I like Pip," put in Rohanus.
She bit her lip, looked at him uncertainly, then back at me. "Pip?"
Well, it came surprisingly close to "Piri." I cheeped and hopped, towards her this time.
She broke into a smile. "Pip it is! Here, Pip."
She stretched out a finger, and I hopped onto it and met her eyes. With a gentle fingertip, she stroked the top of my head and back. I cheeped at her some more, making her smile grow broader.
All right, befriending and influencing Lodia was off to a good start! Now for part two!
After the family had gone to sleep, I left the box that Missa had prepared for my bed and flew upstairs. Lodia's sleeping figure, in the same room as Baby Silvus and the wetnurse, was easy to identify. I landed on her pillow, used my beak to pull strands of hair away from her ear, and whispered into it.
Lodia…. Lodia….
I made my voice sound distant and mysterious, trailing off at the end.
She stirred, although her eyes didn't open. "Mmmmm?"
I nearly said, "Listen to me," but I caught myself. Lodia…. Lodia…. Heed my words….
Look at me, picking back up the older speech style even after spending so much time in the Claymouth Barony!
"Mmmm!" she complained and flopped over, nearly crushing me.
I backwinged hastily. Hmm. This wasn't working as well as I'd thought it would, but I persevered. (After all, I wasn't Anthea. I didn't have the attention span of a raccoon dog.)
I put a slight edge into my tone. Heed my words, Koh Lodia. Thou hast talent for all with eyes to see. Believe in thyself. Do not clip thy own wings. I desire to see thee fly.
All right! That sounded appropriately divine and inspiring, right?
Before she could flop over again and crush me to death, I lifted off from her pillow and returned to my bed.
I'd see what effects I'd had in the morning.
In the morning, Lodia didn't act any different. She didn't say a word to anyone about the mysterious voice that had addressed her in the middle of the night. After her usual breakfast of rice porridge with pickled cucumbers, boiled peanuts, pork floss, and fried wheat gluten, she took up her embroidering, also as usual.
Hmm. I guessed I'd have to try again.
Koh Lodia. Koh Lodia.
"Hmmm?"
Thou hast talent. Thou wilt please the gods if thou would let thyself fly.
"Mmmmm."
Rustle. Flop.
And I had to backwing again before she crushed me.
This went on for several more nights, by the end of which I was frazzled and ruffled, not to mention sleep deprived, and Lodia even more so.
"Eeek!" she yelped.
Dropping her mirror cover, she squeezed her thumb. She'd stabbed herself under her nail with her needle.
I winced too, in sympathy. No one had ever jabbed needles under my nails, of course, but I had seen it done and observed that it was extremely painful.
My expression must have been pretty odd on a bird, because she blinked at me. "Pip, art thou – perchance – a spirit?"
Sigh. I had all the subtlety of a rampaging Taila these days, didn't I? What repeated reincarnations had given me in my capacity to empathize with people (ugh, I hated the phrase), it had taken away in my ability to manipulate them. It was as if the soul held only so much room for personality.
I rolled my eyes. At Flicker and the Bureau of Reincarnation, but Lodia misinterpreted it.
"Forgive me, spirit! I meant no offense!"
Sigh. Why did she have to be such an anti-Taila? She'd be so much easier to work with if she'd develop an opinion or throw a tantrum from time to time. If she wouldn't be this quiet little bowl of plain rice porridge.
All right. Let's work on your presentation. Say it again, but not like you're scared I'll peck you.
"Eeek! You talked! Eek!"
The second "eek" was because when she jumped, she knocked her fabric scissors off the table.
Sigh. We had a long way to go.
A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, BananaBobert, Blacklark57, Celia, Charlotte, Hookshyu, James, Jojiro, Lindsey, Michael, TheLunaticCo, and Anonymous!
