The woman snorted as if that weren’t possible, and Li-Na imagined a dark streak of gray blow out of the woman’s nose. “Work is work. I promised himself that I’d see you outside or something. Away from that clickity-clackity thing. I said I would.”
Li-Na didn’t know how to respond to that. She had a hard enough time figuring out the words through Mrs. Hocking’s accent.
“I said I would,” Mrs. Hocking said, with extra emphasis.
She would what? See that Li-Na stopped her work. Li-Na set the abacus aside, hoping that would be enough.
Mrs. Hocking tucked in her chin. She was surely a woman born during an oxen year. “Now get yourself outside. I’ve not gone to the post for your package on account of my youngest having a fever. I went to the witch woman for medicine.”
She paused for a moment and glared at Li-Na as if daring her to say something. Li-Na did not.
“There’s more than my boy who’s got the fever, so no one’s got time to entertain you. You’ll have to walk the moors or kick at some stones. Whatever it is you London people do, but you can’t work in here.”
“There’s illness in the village?”
“Some. Worse for the adults, but it clears.” She grunted. “It clears faster if you get the powders to lower the fever. Now I got to clean, and you can’t be here when I do it. The master says so.”
Li-Na could see that her work was done for the day. She had no idea about any package which meant she had the rest of the day to do what? Wander. Explore.
Learn.
She smiled politely to Mrs. Hocking and set aside her work. She would go explore while the sun was up and the landscape so different from London.
She made her way outside and walked carefully around the castle. Lord Daniel was correct. The half they lived in appeared solid, but the other half had cracks and unsteady stones along the impressive structure. She could imagine a dozen young children crawling all over the huge place, finding every nook and cranny. Someone would get hurt, but many others would find excitement in every bolt hole. She even smiled as she imagined it. How odd that no one was here but her and Mrs. Hocking.
She was tempted to climb just to see how unstable it was, but chose instead to wander further afield. There was a wildness to the wind, she realized. It didn’t blow down the street as happened in London where buildings blocked the thing in. Here, the wind seemed capricious, light enough today to tease at her like a little boy. One minute it touched her from the left, the next from behind. Sometimes she lifted her face to it only to have a breeze press down from above. How wild this was!
It wasn’t a long walk to the edge of the land. The castle was built on a thumb-shaped push of rock and grass. The round castle was a large thumbnail upon it, built high to see out over the water. The edge of the thumb was a rocky cliff that cut down to a tiny strip of sand and waves below. She would bet that during storms, the waves beat at the stones, but today the waves seemed very far away and the sand like an untouched slice of parchment.
She had to see it. She had towalkon it. It was as compelling to her as a blank canvas that begged her to paint on it.
It took some time for her to find the path down. Once located it seemed obvious. A narrow stairway hewn in the rock like a jagged rip along the side of the thumb. She saw stunted brush and prickly plants along the path that could help stabilize someone who walked down, but on the whole, it appeared like the exact opposite of a safe walk. Even the most dangerous London streets were flat.
But she remembered paintings in the Zhong household. Her favorite had been of one of the Goddess peak in the Wu Gorge. Tall gray cliffs, set in clouds, with the tiniest elder walking along a miniscule path halfway up the side. Water below, Heaven’s enlightenment above, or so she had been taught.
Here now was another such path. It would be like returning to China to walk along it. Though she had been a servant, her childhood had been happy.
She began the descent, her mind absorbed half in her steps, half in her memories. How many times had she painted this landscape, trying to imitate a place she had never seen? The twelve peaks along the Wu Gorge were famous, and now she was descending the path of one such peak in England. She had not thought such things existed here.
Before long, the path required most of her attention. Few people walked this way and the vegetation often obscured what had never been well travelled, or so she surmised. She stopped several times to catch her breath. If going down winded her, how would she ever make it back up?
It was a fair question, but she could not stop herself. She wanted to walk on the pristine sand, so she persevered. Then, when she finally made it to the narrow beach, she held back from stepping on it. She was too mesmerized by the flat expanse. It was more rock than sand, and yet, she knew exactly where she wanted to place her feet and what she wanted to trace with her toes.
The Goddess Yao Ji would lay here, she decided, exactly like she stretched upon the Goddess peak in China. Or at least how the lady did in Li-Na’s imagination. Li-Na’s first tiny steps would make the cloud as it wisped through the Goddess’ hair. Heavier footfalls would drag down the Goddess’ arm and curve across her elbow. There would be thick strokes, softer trails, and heavy dots. She understood exactly how she would do this with a brush on paper. She had less understanding of what to do with her feet.
Quickly stripping off her shoes, she began her task with joy. The sand was rocky, but she didn’t care. She dragged or jumped all over it. She dropped to all fours and brushed her hands through the wet as she tried to stroke in detail. And she wriggled her feet and knees where she wanted deeper, darker marks.
The end result was a failure, as were all her paintings. What she envisioned was nothing like what appeared on the sand. And the water now washed high on the Goddess’s body. Soon her efforts would disappear, as they should. She was a girl playing at painting, but it had been an enjoyable way to pass a beautiful day. And something she could never have done in London.
She sat back on her heels. Her knees were wet and aching, but her breath flowed easily. She did not want to think of walking back up the cliff face. Right now, she would enjoy her labors for as long as it remained on the sand. She could maneuver herself to the side for a better view.
She stood up and brushed the sand from her skirt. Clumps of sand scattered and ruined the lines of the goddess. Silly to think she could damage something the weather would destroy in a few hours. But she had enough pride to take care as she crossed back to the path. And she could not resist stooping down to adjust a line here, a stroke there.
It was during one such moment—two thirds of the way back to the path—that she glanced at the opposite side expecting to see the white of emptiness. It was where the goddess looked, and nothing should be there. The viewer should not see what she found so enchanting because no one truly knows what catches divine attention.
Lord Daniel stood there. His hands were lax, his eyes wide, and he had the air of one who had stood transfixed. She stiffened when she saw him. Would he be angry at what she had done? Had she trespassed on land that belonged to him alone?
She straightened quickly, using her feet to brush across the goddess’s shoulder. “The water will wash it away soon, but I will brush it—”