They made their way in silence: Nanny fearful, Melena angry at having to miss her afternoon dalliance, and Elphaba like a windup toy, one foot solidly in front of the other. The margins of the lake had receded, and some of the crude docks were now walkways over pebble and drying greenrot, with the water pulled back beyond their reach.
Gawnette’s was a dark stone cottage with a roof of moldering thatch. Because of a bad hip, Gawnette was no good at hauling the fishing nets or at kneeling over the wasting vegetable gardens. She had a mess of small children in various stages of undress, squawling and sulking and trotting around the dirty yard in a little pack. She looked up as the minister’s family approached.
“Good day, and you must be Gawnette,” said Nanny brightly. She was pleased to open the gate and be safely inside the garden, even of this hovel. “Brother Frexspar told us we would find you here.”
“Sweet Lurline, what they say is true!” said Gawnette, making a holy sign against Elphaba. “I thought it vicious lies, and here she is!”
The children had slowed to a walk. They were boys and girls, brown-faced and white, all of them filthy, all of them keen on something new. Though they kept walking, playing some game of endurance or make-believe, their eyes never left Elphaba.
“You know this is Melena—of course you do—and I am their Nanny,” said Nanny. “We’re pleased to meet you, Gawnette.” She slid a glance at Melena and bit her upper lip and nodded.
“Very pleased, I’m sure,” said Melena stonily.
“And we need some advice, for you come well recommended,” said Nanny. “The little girl has problems, and the best of our thinking just doesn’t seem to bring forth any good ideas.”
Gawnette leaned forward, suspicious.
“The child is green,” whispered Nanny confidentially. “You may not have noticed, being attracted by her charm and warmth. Of course, we know the good people of Rush Margins wouldn’t let a thing like that bother them. But because she is green, she is shy. Look at her. Little frightened spring turtle. We need to draw her out, make her happier, and we don’t know how.”
“She’s green all right,” said Gawnette. “No wonder useless Brother Frexspar retired from his preaching for so long!” She
threw back her head and laughed raucously, unkindly. “And he’s only now had the nerve to take it up again! Well, that’s balls if ever I heard it!”
“Brother Frexspar,” interrupted Melena coldly, “reminds us of the scriptures—‘No one knows the color of a soul.’ Gawnette, he suggested I remind you of that very text.”
“Did he now,” mumbled Gawnette, chastised. “Well then, what do you want with me?”
“Let her play, let her learn, let her come here and be minded by you. You know more than we do,” said Nanny.
The cunning old cow, thought Melena. She is trying that rarest of strategies, telling the truth, and making it sound plausible. They sat down.
“I don’t know if they’d take to her,” said Gawnette, holding out a while. “And you know my hip doesn’t let me hop up and stop them when they get going.”
“Let’s see. And of course there’d be some payment, some cash, Melena fully agrees,” said Nanny. The barren vegetable plot had caught her attention. This was poverty. Nanny gave Elphaba a push. “Well, go on in, child, and see what’s what.”
The girl didn’t budge, didn’t blink. The children came near to her. There were five boys and two girls. “What an ugly pug,” said one of the older boys. He touched Elphaba on the shoulder.
“Play nicely now,” said Melena, about to leap up, but Nanny kept her hand out to say, Stay down.
“Tag, let’s tag,” said the boy, “who’s the greenfly?”
“Not it, not it!” The other children shrieked, and rushed in to brush Elphaba with their hands, and then raced away. She stood for a minute, unsure, her own hands down and clenched, and then she ran a few steps, and stopped.
“That’s the way, healthful exercise,” said Nanny, nodding. “Gawnette, you’re a genius.”
“I know my chicks,” said Gawnette. “Don’t say I don’t.”
Herdlike, the children rushed in again, tapping and darting away, but the girl would not chase them. So they neared her once more.
“Is it true you got a Quadling muckfrog staying with you too?” said Gawnette. “Is it true he only eats grass and dung?”
“I beg your pardon!” cried Melena.
“That’s what they say, is it true?” said Gawnette.
“He’s a fine man.”
“But he’s a Quadling?”
