Once they were all finished with "Customs," whatever that was, and had new purple stamps on the cards, the red-haired woman led them down the street. This was scary. The little town looked like the backwater village where she'd grown up, where she'd have been whipped till her legs bled for walking around wearing shoes and looking at people . . . but here were men and women, dressed almost decently, except that they all wore shoes, and the women didn't keep their eyes down.

People looked at her, but with hope, not distaste. She recognized the admiring glances at the children.

They turned into the open doorway of a two-story building, and the red-headed woman yelled, "Ronnie! Raffaele!" Immediately, a woman yelled back. "Lady Cecelia! Just a second-I'm coming!"

Then a clatter on the stairs, and a slender young woman with dark hair and eyes came running down, and gave the red-headed woman a hug. Then she looked at Ruth Ann. "I've got dinner on-we're so glad you came; I hope you'll like it here. Ronnie's out trying to see why a machine won't work or something . . . he'll be back soon."

Ruth Ann recognized, in the woman who introduced herself as Raffaele, the same signs of abomination she had seen in Brun. This woman had never lowered her eyes in respect; she had never stood back keeping silence; she had never been denied access to anything she wanted to learn.

But-from the smells coming from the kitchen-she had also never learned to do more than push buttons when she wanted something to eat.

"And we hope-" Raffaele was still talking, when Ruth Ann interrupted.

"What were you trying to cook?"

"Just some . . . some meat . . ."

"Let me take a look." Ruth Ann sailed into the kitchen on a wave of unexpected delight. Sure

enough, the place was a mess, sticky implements cluttering the counter-and not a big enough counter, either, that would have to change-and a stove leaking smoke from a badly-hung oven door.

"Secunda-Shelly Marie, you get that counter cleared. Tertia-Terry, get this floor clean. Benji-"

Her oldest son stared at her, wide eyed. "Benji, we need that stove fixed."

"Pri-Mama?"

"Now, Benji." She could feel her confidence coming back. "Simplicity, honey, you take the littles out into the garden-you do have a garden, don't you?" she asked Raffaele.

"Y-yes, but it's not-it's kind of a mess."

"Not for long." Messes she understood, and what to do about them. "Simplicity, just you start the littles weeding, and make sure nothing bothers them."

The dark-haired young woman was fluttering now, like a gaudy butterfly in a net. "But-but Sera-Ruth Ann-I didn't mean for you to go to work-I was making dinner for you-"

"Never you mind-why don't you go set the table or something?"

"Come on, Raffa; I'll explain about Ruth Ann." The tall lanky redhead led the younger woman away.

In a kitchen again at last, a real kitchen. Too small by far for all of them, but bigger than any of the cubbyholes called kitchens in the spaceships and space stations. Shelley had found a kettle and had water heating on the stovetop; Benji had already taken off the oven door. Inside was a lump of meat, charring on one side.

Shelley handed Ruth Ann a couple of folded towels, and she pulled out the cooking pan, wrinkling her nose at the smell. Raw inside, burnt outside; the girl had built up the fire too much too fast, trying to compensate for the ill-hung door. Probably she'd never cooked without the electric, and the electric was off.

Ruth Ann looked around for a worktable-none. It would have to be the counter, where Shelley swept aside the clutter to make room for her, then began rummaging in drawers for the knife she knew Ruth Ann would want. "We're going to need a worktable," she told Benji. "They said they had plenty of wood, so that's something to start planning."

"Cecelia, I feel terrible-but the twins kept me up last night-"

"You haven't found anyone to take them-?"

"No." Raffa blushed, a becoming color, Cecelia noted. "I-we-we sort of-decided to keep them ourselves. And one of the nursemaids ran off with a farmer, and the one with children wanted to start a school, and besides she has her own children to care for . . ."

"You?" This was an unexpected complication. "Er . . . do you think that's wise?"

"You mean, will Brun mind when she finds out?" Raffa had always been too sharp. "I don't think she will, but if she does, too bad. I quite understand her not wanting to keep them. It must have been horrible, and I wish it had never happened. But I like-no, I love the boys, and I even love it that they're part of her. The way things are, Ronnie and I may never get off this planet again-and that's all right, but I do miss some things-"

"My dear-you don't have to stay here-"

"Yes, we do, and don't argue. We wanted a life of our own, and we're getting it. It's not anything I imagined, but-whether you believe it or not-we're happy. But the thing is, children . . . it'll be years, because . . . well . . . I don't fancy having babies without modern medical support.

This way, we're helping Brun. And ourselves."

Clearly it would do no good to argue. "What did you name them?" Cecelia asked.

"The redhead's Peter, for Ronnie's great-uncle, and the brown-haired one's Salomar, for my mother's brother."

Cecelia felt her eyes stinging unexpectedly. Family names-and names she must know were in Brun's family line as well. "So-when do I see the little demons?"

"They're napping. They've had some illness-I know it's only a childhood thing, and all children do this . . . out here, I mean."

"Well, we'd better set the table then. One thing I've found out about Ruth Ann, when she makes up her mind, things get done."

"Was she one of the-one of the ones who hurt Brun?"

"No. Her husband was, but she knew nothing about it until long afterwards. Where's your table linen?"

"Used it for crib sheets," Raffa said. "All we can do is dust this off." This had been an elegant dining table when Raffa and Ronnie brought it downside, but it had spent several years as a work surface, and looked it. Cecelia forbore to comment on the state of the floor-with no glass in the windows, let alone any household machinery, how could Raffa keep dust off the floor?-and helped wipe down the scarred tabletop.

"I still have most of the china," Raffa said. She unlocked the big cupboard in the corner, and took down stacks of plates. "Even if they look a bit silly on this bare wood."

Incongruous was the right word, but Cecelia said nothing, laying out Pierce & Samuelson's famous "Coronation" pattern, with the gold wavy rim. Partway through, she noticed that the smell from the kitchen had changed from singed meat and something sour to a delicious blend of roast and something that almost smelled like bread.

Suddenly Ruth Ann appeared in the doorway. "Oh-you don't use tablecloths?"

"We don't have any left," Raffa said. "We had to use them for the beds-"

"Deary me! And us with all more than enough in the luggage. Cecelia, where are the boxes, do you know?"

"No, but I'll find out. Which box?"

"The one with the table and chair on the side."

Cecelia headed for the shuttle and, from the piles of boxes being unloaded, located the one with the table and chair on the side. One of the crew carried it back for her; she set it on the table and opened it carefully. Inside, it was stacked full of folded linens, brilliant with hand embroidery.

Cecelia lifted out the folded cloth. "However did you have time to weave this?"

"Oh, that's not our weave," Terry said. "We had no space for looms. But Prima-Ruth-says we mustn't be idle. She got that Miss Waltraude to get us some cloth, and we embroidered it. Do you think it's good enough?"

Cecelia shook out the folds. On plain white cloth, the women had embroidered a broad band of flowers, trees, birds, stars, and what she supposed were religious symbols. "It's . . . more than good enough." It was splendid, and the Coronation pattern looked even better that in had before.

By this time the kitchen smells had attracted the twins from upstairs. The twins were much more mobile than before, and although they might have been sick the day before, they were full of life now. They made straight for the table, and Raffaele tried to intercept them. Terry grabbed Salomar just as Raffa caught Peter.

"What big boys!" Terry cooed. "Yours, ma'am?"