Kethin’s arms were as full as his love life was empty. His arms couldn’t hold another item, he was sure. His romantic future…everyone in Frydael seemed to think it needed immediate attention, and most were quite happy to provide their assistance. At twenty-seven, Kethin wasn’t impressed. Or interested.
“Oh, Kethin. A letter for you.” Mr. Raeson pivoted on his stool behind the Mercantile counter.
Kethin balanced the weight of baby-toned fabric, sheep’s medication, and paper packages of salt and soda. “A letter! Exciting.”
“I hope so. It’s from your sister, after all.” Mr. Raeson finally slid the bronze-hued envelope between Kethin’s two empty fingers. “Hope she’s well.”
“As do I.” Kethin slipped the missive into his tunic pocket and readjusted his load. “It’s seemed like forever since she’s visited.”
“I know how that goes. Why, my own little Milli was a youngster running ’round this place just yesterday, and now she’s way off to the ends of the earth in all those places I never did see. Me and the wife do miss her every blessed day, we do.”
“Families change,” Kethin acknowledged. “And what a blessing to know that the young ones are living lives that our parents and grandparents never thought they would live.”
“You take care who you call a young one now.” Mr. Raeson swatted his glove in Kethin’s direction. “I remember that first day your pa came in here after you were born. Young one.”
“Now, now,” Kethin shot back. “We young ones will be carting you around in your elderly years, you know.”
“Oh, I know. I know. Don’t I know, Helda?” The question was directed towards the owner of a long blonde braid that swished into the store.
“Oh, you know,” the newcomer obliged. “Be careful how you ruffle up dear old Kethin. He’s not the baby you make him out to be.”
“Rather rapidly entering the state of confirmed bachelorhood, I should say.” Another womanly figure slid in through the still-ajar door. “Say, is that your life-calling? No one would have thought it of you.”
Kethin’s laugh rang against the pots and pans hanging on the back wall. “Oh no. Not my calling but my current state. One can’t claim one’s calling in that area so early in life.”
“Very true,” Helda replied, her voice smooth and lilting. “For all one knows, one may be on the very cusp of the life event that should precipitate him from blessed singleness into happy matrimony. One’s state might alter in a fortnight. Kethin’s, especially.”
Kethin once again shifted his load, stepping towards the door as Helda edged towards him. What was it about him that made girls speak this way in his presence? It wasn’t as if he was about to marry anyone. Especially her.
“Thank you, Mr. Raeson. Good day, Helda and Olive. Pleasant shopping to you both.” Nudging the door with his elbow, he backed out, leaving a parting grin shooting into the shop before he turned to the street, knocking the door shut with his toe as he pivoted.
“Kethin! Kethin! I’m glad I caught you.”
“Ted.” Kethin nodded in the direction of his rapidly advancing friend and lifted a finger in greeting, that being all he could manage in his currently loaded condition.
“Kethin. I have a proposition from my father. He’s been looking out for you. Knew you’d be in town today.”
“You nearly missed me. I’m headed home.”
“I was detained. Business, as always. But what I came to say: My father wants to speak with you. Urgently. Something to propose. Oh, it would be jolly. But I can’t say. He wants to. World is up and sky is down, as one might say.”
“Whatever you’re driving at, it sounds profound.” Kethin’s grin flashed. “I’ll come. Now, I assume.”
“Now’s the dog’s ears, as they say.”
“Truth be told, I’ve never heard anyone say that.” Kethin fell into step behind Ted.
“Except me.”
“Except you.”
“And Red. Red says that all the time.”
“Except you and Red. Congratulations, you’re ‘they.’ What ‘they’ say is what you’ve said. Redman and Theodore Hawkins, the official ‘they’ of Taerna.” Kethin quirked his mouth in Ted’s direction. “Now we know. How’s Rosy?”
“Just swell, just the dog’s ears—except don’t tell her I said that. No, it’s the dog’s ears to have a girl like her. You couldn’t imagine.”
“I’m sure I couldn’t. She seems like the perfect companion for someone like you.” And Kethin’s eyebrow rose. It took a spunky girl like Rosy to handle Ted’s flighty yet innocent craziness.
“Heh. Don’t tell Red. He thinks his little mouse is the most stunning piece of creation within the Four Countries.”
“Oh, Rue suits him. Couldn’t have the two of you acting just alike now. I’d be worried if you found identical girls.”
“Come, when’s it your turn?” Ted swung his head abruptly towards Kethin. “You’re, what, twenty-nine now?”
“That’s Kelton, not me. I’m not nearly so ancient as that.”
“Him, too. Are you planning to settle down together as a pair of bachelors?”
“Ha! Far from it!” Kethin chuckled. “Sounds pretty attractive, actually. Compared to the hubbub we currently live in. No, Kel’s enthralled with his learning and studying, and whatever it is he does up there on the mountain sometimes—visiting the hermit or taking a break from the farm, I suppose—and teaching Tae and spelling Liliora on shifts with small squalling people—no, I’d say he has no time to meet anyone, let alone pursue them. He’s happy. He’s always been that way. Let him live his own life.”
“And you?”
Kethin swallowed. Him. “I’m busy enough, too. Someone’s got to take care of the animals and the cooking.”
“You just choose to. You wouldn’t be the first to put creatures before people.”
“That’s not fair…” Yet a smile lurked at the corners of Kelton’s cheeks as he followed Ted up the path towards the tall stone-built house.
“Fair, too. I’ll believe it when I see you with a woman.”
“Ted. Come on. I’ve told you before, I don’t know anyone I would want to spend the rest of my life with, and until I do, I’d rather stay as I am than pursue women I don’t want to marry.”
“Don’t believe you.” Ted yanked the door open.
“Believe it or not. It matters naught to me.” Kethin’s tones were light and jesting, and he followed Ted into the spread-out front room of the parsonage.
“Father, here’s Kethin. Almost missed him.”
“Ah, thank you, Ted. Run along now, while we talk. I’ll call you later.”
“Oh, I shall! See you, Kethin.” And Ted abruptly bowed himself back out, the door shaking behind him with the force of being suddenly shut.
Kethin stood alone in the presence of Ted’s father, a preacher with erratic habits and even more erratic speech, yet the only true preacher who had remained in Frydael the past few years. Mr. Hawkins was rather on the short side, alternating between absentminded and cuttingly sharp-witted. A rim of gray fluff crowned his head, descending into a frame around his chin characterized by unruly curls that somehow became his rounded features. His eyes sparked small yet stunningly bright blue in his face, and his forehead crinkled one moment in deep thought and the next in mischievous fun suitable for one young enough to be his grandchild. The father of four, he’d long since learned to parent his lively brood without the wife of his youth, who’d left earth long before Kethin had met the family. Redman, Theodore, Cora, and Flori—or Red, Ted, Cor, and Flor, as they were familiarly known—had somehow blossomed and thrived into young adulthood, each with brilliant prospects of soon beginning families of their own.
“Preacher Hawkins.”
“Kethin. Sit.” He jerked his head towards an empty chair, his tones kind. “Oh. Dump your things on the table. No matter.”
Kethin slid his armload onto the one table corner that was currently visible, then slipped into a chair. “Good day to you. I hope all is well with your work and study?”
“All well, very well, well, certainly well enough. Or, no, perhaps not well at all. You see, the work of Adon Olam goes forth, but the laborers are few. The needs are many. He says pray for laborers, and I’ve been praying.”
“That’s good to hear. Then surely He will send what is needed.”
“Red and Ted, they do well enough, but they’re aiming to start their own families now. They aren’t around much anymore. Yet how shall they hear without a preacher?” He broke off, seemingly irrelevantly.
“Indeed, I’m grateful for your services in that capacity. You don’t know how the whole town has brightened since you moved in here. I hear someone mention it nearly every time I’m in town.”
“Truly?” The eyebrows lifted in clear delight. “Praise Adon Olam for that. I wouldn’t think it. Still don’t. But any rate. To business. You, Kethin. You’ve been on my mind for some time.”
“Indeed.” Why did everyone seem concerned for his welfare today? The whole town wanted to run his life. But they didn’t know him. Not that well.
“Adon Olam has called you for a very specific purpose. Oh no, don’t think I’m about to propound to you what that is. No, I couldn’t tell that any more than the next man. He’s got to tell you. But I have a suggestion. A proposition.”
“Ted told me as much.”
“Oh, did he tell you what it was? That rascal. I’ll have to—”
“No, no, he told me nothing else. Just that you had something to ask me. That’s all. He wanted to tell me, certainly, but he didn’t.”
“Ah, fine son, there. Anyhow. It’s kind of a messenger thing. There’s a town nearly two days’ journey to the west. Needi, they call it. Someone there received a copy of the Word of Adon Olam from someone in Frydael—I don’t know, a relative, a friend—and started reading it. They’re rather a tiny, secluded town, and it was new potatoes to them. Now they’ve asked for someone to teach them. I can’t go—I’m called here—and I can’t send Ted nor Red, not with their ladies here. Most of the young sprouts hereabouts have a lady or a family or something or ’nother. But you came to mind. And that’s the proposition. If you don’t mind it.”
“You want to send me to a small town—for what?” Kethin asked evenly.
“As a messenger person. An evangelist. A proclaimer. Ambassador. They need Adon Olam. They’re asking. You can do it. Tell them His words and bring them to Him.”
Blankness washed over Kethin. What was Mr. Hawkins asking of him? This was no job for him… “Sounds like something Kelton would be good at,” he muttered, but even as he spoke, he knew Kelton couldn’t do it. Kelton wouldn’t travel that far for so long, and he couldn’t draw a crowd, keep a crowd, or speak to a crowd. Kaelan would have been a better fit, but now his family needed him.
Mr. Hawkins didn’t seem to hear. “What about it? What think you?”
Kethin licked his dry lips. “I have no answer for you just now. It’s something to consider, indubitably. I’m not certain it fits with my life at the moment. But I will think it over and let you know.”
Mr. Hawkins leaned forward, his big fingers tapping the arm of his chair. “It’s more than just the messenger. It’s a chance to know Adon Olam—to live for Him—to see Him work in and through you—to know Him as reality in you.”
Kethin blinked. “Understood. I’ll pray about it.”
“Thank you, Kethin. That’s all. Either way, let me know. I’m praying for you. I want you to know His reality… He loves you.”
The final three words whispered softly in the silent room. Kethin shifted, a bit uncomfortably. Why was the preacher singling him out to preach to this afternoon?
“Amen,” Kethin replied at last. “Thank Him for that. If that’s all, I’d best be getting these things home.” Standing, he swept his load off the table into his arms once more, tucking fabric under his elbow and balancing paper packages between his chest and forearm. “Thank you. I shall look forward to seeing you again at meeting time.”
Mr. Hawkins didn’t reply, just nodded his head at Kethin. With a backward glance, Kethin found himself outside the door once more.
That was odd. Wonder what to make of it.
Yet every interaction with the preacher was always unique. Kethin had never quite been able to figure him out. Sometimes he spoke so similarly to Ellrick, to Kaelan, to Kelton, to those Kethin knew and loved best and who knew and loved Adon Olam. Other times, the preacher’s ramblings left Kethin wondering if he was even speaking of the same Adon Olam. And now this erratic preacher wanted to send Kethin to some tiny town? He’d certainly need confirmation from Adon Olam if he was to pursue that route anytime soon. He wouldn’t mind traveling, but it would need to be for a purpose. And he wouldn’t mind teaching people, but…
How could he teach other people about knowing Adon Olam?
Sure, he knew Adon Olam well enough. It was a phrase he’d heard spoken commonly in his home since babyhood. Usually the word had dropped from his mother’s lips, but later Kaelan, Laelara, Liliora, and especially Kelton had picked it up as well. Kethin had heard the Word read and spoken many times. He knew the stories about Adon Olam working. He’d listened to the testimonies of His power. And yet…
Surely Adon Olam never worked the same way twice. Surely that was why Kethin had never quite understood the passion with which other family members had thrown themselves into the Word and prayer. Certainly, the Word and prayer were important. He himself read the Word and prayed, at least most days. But his brother Kelton… Kelton had forsaken the family to live on a deserted mountaintop for who-knew-how-many years. Something about a monkish life seemed to appeal to him. But here he was, at twenty-nine, still living at home, still only surviving, helping the family, and secluding himself in his room whenever he could.
Kethin didn’t want to be like Kelton.
But somehow, he envied Kelton, too. Kelton was at peace. He was always so calm, so wise, so unhurried. He always knew what to do. He never seemed to be bothered when he needed to drop his own interests and help others. Kelton might not be popular, but people respected him. People gave him space. The person Kelton was inside couldn’t be hidden for anything. He showed his real self to everyone, and people treated him accordingly.
Kethin, on the other hand, didn’t feel a bit that way. He couldn’t deny that he made friends easily. Everyone seemed to open up in his presence, to tell him how they truly felt and what they faced—who they were inside. Saying all the right words to them was easy. Making them feel understood—it came naturally to him.
Yet Kethin himself never felt understood. He was putting on a front, a false self—yet was it truly a false self? He didn’t even know, but the Kethin inside felt trapped, never visible to the world, never known by anyone, never truly loved for who he genuinely was. People admired his looks. He couldn’t deny that, annoying though it sometimes was. They seemed drawn to his personality. Still, that wasn’t the real Kethin, and he knew it.
No wonder he was twenty-seven years old and had yet to meet any woman to whom he’d give a second look as a potential life partner.
He didn’t even know himself. How could anyone else?
And how could he encourage other people about the state of their soul when his own soul felt so unsettled?
He needed to find his place in the world. But that wasn’t here.
He swung the barn door open with two fingers.
Here was the only prospect he had at the moment, and so far it had sufficed. He wasn’t about to make a huge change without a reason.
At the familiar scent of hay and sheep wool, he let out a long-drawn sigh. Here was a rather splendid place, after all.
Abel, the Icelandic sheepdog, bounded up to him, tail wagging and mouth panting in delight. He thrust his cool nose into Kethin’s hand, and Kethin dropped his load onto the bench to wrap his arms around his dog and bury his hands in the long, soft fur.
Here was a friend to fill his heart. Abel understood the real Kethin.
A sheep bleated. Chickens scratched and clucked. A goat banged his head against the fence twice. In the haystack, something rustled and then was still. Birds tweeted their shrill cheery calls, and cicadas drummed somewhere in the distance.
This was his happy place. As exciting as people were, it was hard to compare them to the familiar comfort of his barn companions.
With one final hug for Abel, Kethin tore open the sheep medication and set to work.
Red and orange spread across the western sky before Kethin remembered the letter. Nudging Abel to the side, he pressed his fingers into his tunic pocket. Yes, it was still there.
After washing his hands rapidly at the barn spigot and drying them on the towel hanging on a nail from one of the support posts, he sank down into his favorite corner of the hay—the one where he could witness the sun descend through two broken-off boards—and ripped open the envelope. Why had Laelara written to him and not to the rest of the family?
Dear Kethin,
Greetings! We are well. As busy as usual. Goodness knows that Jaemes and Kaia make enough clamor and busyness for a large number of adults, but it keeps me occupied and I like it that way. Jaemes is looking forward eagerly to his sixth birthday next month, and I think Kaia is nearly as excited as he is.
The honey harvest promises to be bountiful this year, and you should see how pleased Braelyn is. I am anticipating expanding my candle business this winter.
Of course, he is busy at the academy preparing for the upcoming term. That is why I set pen to paper today. Because he has a proposition for you.
Another proposition? It wasn’t only Frydael that wanted to plan his life, evidently.
An opportunity has opened up. A teaching position in agriculture. They need someone to take over the teaching of animal handling, interaction, and care. It is something that has not been taught here before, but the school council has agreed that there is a need for it. Braelyn recommended you, and they have agreed to hire you, provided you agree. See the included note from Braelyn with all the official details, but the term starts three weeks from today, so I shall hope to see you before that time with your affirmative answer.
Just between you and me, I do think this is perfect for you. You have always wanted to work with animals on a more permanent basis, and you would be excellent at teaching. The students here are an amazing group. You would fit right in. I say this to assure you that I am not just writing on my husband’s behalf. This is something I know you will love. Kethin Ellith, animal-care educator…
The words on the page faded away, and it had nothing to do with the quickly dying light beyond the West Taernan Hills.
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