Eleanor placed a tentative hand on the cover of the book. “Are these your recipes?”

Sarah nodded. “I don’t let on to many that I can read and write. Some in this village made life hard enough that I came from Away, let alone had education. Well, you know a little about that. ‘Twas worse before the Old Man came – that’s Lily Smith’s pa. He showed the value of people from Away; and you and Cadan have both had an easier time of it than some of us earlier arrivals.”

Eleanor bit her tongue. If this was easy, she hated to think what hard had been like. Martha was the only one who was openly hostile, but many of the others, at the morning baths, over laundry, or walking through the village, avoided, or carefully didn’t see her.

Over the following days, Eleanor discovered why Sarah had so little interest in producing more of her soothing balm. Each batch was small, and the steps that went into creating it were fiddly and time-consuming, made even moreso by the constant interruptions – all the wounds and ailments in the village appeared at Sarah’s door.

Sometimes Eleanor missed the mindless ease of the carding sessions, and she did miss the visits from the village children demanding stories of places and creatures they didn’t believe in. They weren’t allowed inside the healer’s cottage for fear of destruction, and a couple of days after Eleanor stopped going to Maggie’s, several of the parents had a quiet conversation with Sarah over the washing.

Sarah shook her head as they walked home for lunch. “You’ve gone and spoiled those children, or to be more accurate, their parents. They were liking having you keep their young ones quiet, away, and clean of an afternoon and are unhappy you’re no longer available.”

The next morning, Maggie spoke from within the steam of her favourite bathtub. “Seems you’ve had a good bit of time with the healer, and that my other assistant only shows up when you do. I’d like you with me every other day, and I’ll allow the children in for tales on those days so you can keep up your role as village storyteller as well.”

Eleanor glanced at Sarah, who shrugged. “Half a helper is better than none. You’ll need to commit fully to one path or the other before Spring though, so we can decide on the apprentices we need to find at the Blossoming Faire.”

Tilly giggled. “Martha’ll be mad as fire to hear you haven’t given up. She’s been strutting worse than my chickens this past week.”

Eleanor said. “I’ll do it. And choose over Winter. I’ve some tasks to finish for Sarah this afternoon and will come across to Crafter’s Clearing tomorrow if that’s acceptable.”

Of course, she’d made her decision before Tilly’s comment. Martha’s behaviour was nothing to her.

Maggie grinned. “I’ll let the young ‘uns parents know.”

When Cadan heard about the new arrangement over dinner, he said nothing, but the crease between his brows was still there when they went to bed.

She glared at him. “What?”

He looked confused. “What, what?”

She sat on her side of the bed and tucked her feet under the blankets, then turned to plump her pillow. Hard. “You don’t like that I’m sharing my time between Maggie and Sarah, and I want to know what the problem is.”

He sat beside her. “I haven’t said a thing. How can you say I don’t like it?”

She poked the furrow at the top of his nose. “That grump-line right there says you’re unhappy.”

Cadan cautiously rubbed the offending area, then sighed, went to turn off the lamp, then groped his way into the bed. “You’re used to doing so many different, clever things. You’re restless now, with two vocations to learn, what happens when you’re down to one and over the first learner’s hill?”

She frowned down at him, then also lay down. “It’s not like there are any other choices. Or are there things you aren’t telling me about?”

He said. “There’s Samuel and the weasels.”

She growled and turned her back on him.

Related posts