My rotten luck. Why does he always have to find me at my worst?
“You were serious.” Christian said, staring down at me.
“About what?” I struggled to get up, my tired muscles not being all that cooperative.
“You really sleep here?”
“Yes. Sleep being somewhat of a subjective word.” I rubbed my arms as the draft from the half-open door reached me. Cristian rushed to close it. I noticed, with satisfaction, that his friend didn’t appear to be with him.
“At least it’s warm by the fire,” I said.
“But haven’t you at least a cot or something?”
I shook my head. “Nor a pillow or a blanket. All the extras are in use for the wedding company.”
This really seemed to bother him, and he turned away from me. For a minute I feared he might leave.
“Have you seen the apples I gathered?” I asked. “A full six bushels. They were too heavy for me to carry, so I left them in the orchard.”
“Henrie and I will add to that number today,” Cristian said. “I wanted to help yesterday, but—”
“No worries,” I assured him, peeking in the oven to check the bread’s progress. “Mason tells me how busy you all are out at the stables.”
“Mason?”
“The milk boy.” I turned to face Cristian, again thinking it odd that no one seemed to know one another by name around here. “Or should I say the milk boy for now, court jester in the future. He’s the animated one— likes to tell tales.”
Cristian nodded. “Ah… skinny little fellow.”
“That’s him.” Taking up a towel, I removed the first pan from the oven. “I hope the royal families won’t mind plain bread this morning. I was all out of ideas for sweets.”
“How about another berry cobbler?” Cristian suggested.
I raised an eyebrow at him. “How did you know about that?”
Guilt flashed across his face. “I…”
Sounding an awful lot like Maggie, I clucked my tongue at him. “Stealing some of the royals’ food, are we?”
He hung his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen, Adrielle. It’s not what you’re thinking. I need to explain, but I’m not—”
“I know.” I glanced up at him so he could see that I’d been teasing. I softened my tone. “I know you’re not a thief. And with the waste that goes on around here, honestly, I’m grateful someone is eating the leftovers.”
A banging started at the door. “That will be the milk. Mason’s early today. Help him, will you?” I asked Cristian, as I turned to the oven to retrieve the second loaf of bread.
Behind me I heard the door swing open and the thud of the pails as they were placed on the table. But by the time I’d turned around with the bread, both Cristian and Mason were nowhere to be found, and once more I was left alone with my work.
I tamped my disappointment and hoped it was only the urgency of his own tasks that had taken Cristian away so suddenly— and not anything I’d said.
That evening, Cristian, Henrie, and I picked apples well past dark. Somehow they’d managed to find a wagon already, and it stood parked at the south slope of the orchard, filling quickly as the three of us worked as fast as possible.
Henrie wasn’t much for conversation, and I didn’t object when he placed himself a distance from us. Cristian, however, followed me from tree to tree, reaching up to the higher spots I couldn’t, handing the fruit down so I could place it carefully in the baskets. We worked well together and emptied twice as many trees as Henrie.
“Think you’ll be able to spare any of these for a tart tomorrow?” he asked, halfway through the evening.
“Depends on if I get any visitors— or help.” I tilted my head back, looking up at him. “Neither you nor Mason stayed around this morning.”
“We’ve got responsibilities, too,” Cristian reminded me. “Why are you the only one working in the kitchen so early anyway? Aren’t there more girls who might help?”
“I don’t really mind doing the baking myself. I do enjoy company, though— someone to talk to.”
Cristian started to respond when Henrie came upon us, clearing his throat loudly. “Speaking of responsibilities, isn’t it time we headed back?”
Cristian jumped from the tree, landing a few feet in front of me. “Right you are,” he said, dusting his hands on his breeches— breeches that looked too fine for harvesting. A glance at Henrie, and I realized he, too, was dressed much better than the first time we’d met. Feeling self-conscious, I looked down at my worn dress.
“Where are you two off to at this hour?” I asked, wondering what sort of duties they might have at this time of night.
“We’ve a conference to attend in the castle,” Henrie said.
“O— oh,” I said, more curious than ever.
Cristian tugged at the top of his shirt, looking uncomfortable.
“There are a lot of wedding preparations yet to be made,” Henrie added.
“Well then, have a good time.” I turned my back to them and pulled the last few apples from a low branch. I was beyond curious now, but not about to let them know that. It was obvious Henrie wanted to say more and equally obvious Cristian wished he’d said less. Liking Cristian more, I decided not to pry. Though I was beginning to understand that their position here was quite higher than mine.
Their footsteps grew fainter until I could no longer hear them at all. Placing the apples in the basket, I sighed.
How fortunate for Cristian, that he can get inside the castle. If I could, I might find Merry Anne or even Cecilia—
I stood upright as the obvious struck me. Cristian had been readily willing to help me with the orchards; it seemed likely he’d be willing to make inquiries for me inside the castle.
Or perhaps even get me inside.
… that her feet may be swift
And carry her to safety.
The following afternoon I waited outside the stables with Cristian and Henrie. I’d seen them earlier, exercising the horses belonging to the visiting royals, and I feared they might be too tired to join me after all. I hoped a little wager might goad them into it.
“Race you to the orchard,” I called when they’d come into view and were close enough to hear me.
“I don’t race girls,” Henrie said grumpily. He patted his hair, tucked in his shirt, and brushed the dust from his sleeves. I couldn’t help but think how ill-suited he was to be helping with the animals.
Cristian paused as if considering my offer. “Something tells me I shouldn’t race a girl, but— all right, I accept your challenge. Henrie, you call it.”
Henrie rolled his eyes in an exasperated sort of way but asked, “Where to?”
“The wagon,” Cristian said. “We’ll stop there so we don’t have to run uphill at the end.”
I was more than used to running up and down the hills near my home but decided not to push my luck. “We haven’t determined what the winner gets.”
“What do you want, Cristian?” Henrie asked.
I contained my scowl at his assumption and listened while Cristian spoke. “Well— the loser should have to do something really awful, some task the winner abhors.”
“Mopping the kitchen floor,” I said. It was my most dreaded task now, and Maggie required I do it each and every morning after the baking was done.
“Mucking out a stall,” Cristian shot back. “Belonging to the largest animal.”
“Agreed.” I held my hand out, and he shook it. A little thrill that had nothing to do with the race shot through me.
Henrie used the toe of his boot to draw a line in the dirt. “Wait here until I wave at you from the wagon. Then you can count down and start together.”
“You don’t want a head start?” Cristian asked, looking at me.
“Hardly.” I placed my foot behind the line and stood ready. Cristian joined me as Henrie walked away. From the corner of my eye I looked him over, trying to judge how good a runner he’d be. It wa
s possible I’d end up mucking out a stall, but I knew the race would at least be close. Until Mother had insisted I stop racing, I’d always been able to outrun my brothers.
Henrie reached the wagon and waved to us.
“From three,” Cristian said. Together we chanted, “Three, two, one— go!” I let him start a second ahead of me, to make certain he hadn’t plans for me to run by myself. Then on his heels, I took off.
I caught him soon, and we ran side by side, the cool autumn air rushing past my face, sending my hair streaming out behind. Cristian glanced over, saw me gaining, and edged ahead. I ran harder, my feet became lighter, though my worn shoes offered little support. I hoped this race wouldn’t be the end of them and too late realized I ought to have run barefoot to preserve what sole was left.
I caught, then passed Cristian. He caught up with me.
I could tell he was really trying, and not just letting me win. I felt joyful and free, and I laughed out loud.
We ran neck and neck across the field toward the wagon. Henrie wore a look of consternation as he watched us approach. With a final burst of speed, I flung myself across the finish line— at the same exact second as Cristian.
He stopped, bending over and breathing heavily. I resisted the urge to show off by continuing up the hill. There’s something to be said for being a farm girl, I thought with immense satisfaction.
“You tied,” Henrie said, sounding utterly disgusted.
“Not tied,” Cristian said. “She beat me. I had a head start.”
I’d forgotten about that. “Looks like it’ll be the mop for you tomorrow morning,” I said brightly.
“You wouldn’t,” Henrie started but was interrupted by the appearance of a short, stout woman clapping her hands.
“Well done, well done.” She pranced over to us. “Ah, Adrielle.” She stopped in front of me, a look of delight on her face. “You can run, can’t you dear?”
“You’re the driver,” I gasped, recognizing her. “The one who brought me here.”
“Zipporah at your service.” She executed a speedy curtsy as my eyes darted to Cristian. He shrugged as if to say he didn’t know her. Henrie was looking all around the wagon, trying to determine where she’d come from. She had appeared rather suddenly.
Out of thin air, almost.
Zipporah grinned and began skipping back and forth in front of me. Fascinated by this odd woman, I allowed my eyes to follow her movements. Though she was sort of roundish in body— not unlike Merry Anne and Florence— she appeared very light on her feet, rising high off the ground with each step. And on her feet were the most unusual pair of shoes I’d ever seen. They appeared to be leather on top and had laces that crisscrossed up toward her ankle, but the bottoms were thick and white and— bouncy. Each time her foot rose in the air, I glimpsed a pattern on the sole.
“Aren’t they lovely?” She asked when she’d noticed my staring. She stopped, pointing a wide, curved toe at me.
Lovely wasn’t exactly the word I would have chosen. The shoes were, in fact, quite ugly.
“So comfortable, and so fast.” Her eyes sought mine. “Would you like a pair? I could get you one next time I go?”
Go where? I guessed it must be far away— probably in another kingdom— for no cobbler I’d ever met made anything remotely like the apparatus covering her feet. But never having been one to choose fashion over comfort, I nodded. “Yes, please.”
Behind me, Henrie cleared his throat. “I’ll be heading back to the castle now. Cristian.”
I caught Henrie’s unspoken question. Would Cristian join his friend— or would he help me as promised?
“You’re not staying to pick apples?” The woman took a step toward Henrie. Her eyes narrowed, making her face look almost comical, what with the way her brown hair hung in loopy braids on either side of her head.
“It’s getting cold out, and I’m tired,” Henrie said defensively.
“Build the poor boy a fire, Adrielle,” Zipporah ordered.
“Yes. Yes! Build a fire.” Another smallish woman appeared behind the wagon. She had the same build as the first, but her hair was flaming red and curly and hung well past her shoulders. It stood out against, but somehow complimented, her bright yellow dress.
“Who are you?” Henrie demanded.
“Kindra.” Turning to me she said, “Do build a fire, Adrielle. I’ve seen the smoke from the kitchen, but I’ve waited ever so long to see you make flames.”
Instead of heeding her request, I stood there flabbergasted. Henrie and Cristian seemed to be in much the same state. “You’ve waited to—” I began.
“Nice, sister.” The first woman elbowed the second.
“Zip it, Zipporah.”
“Can’t,” she said in a sing song voice as she skipped around us. “Zippers haven’t been invented yet.”
“Didn’t keep you from bringing back that appalling footwear,” Kindra said.
Zipporah circled us again. “It isn’t my fault I’m so fast that I ran into the next century. And if you think my shoes are strange, you should see—”
“Wait,” I held up my hand, wanting to stop the conversation before I became any more confused. I backed up to the last thing they’d said that made any sense at all. “Wait a minute. You two are sisters?”
They looked at one another and nodded. “Unfortunately,” Kindra said.
“And would you happen to be related to Merry Anne and Florence?”
“How’d you ever guess?” Florence asked, popping up from— behind the wagon, of course.
Henrie marched around to the back side of the wagon and stood there— presumably to catch the next woman who magically appeared.
“We look nothing alike,” Florence said. “And those two don’t even act like they’re—” A whack on the head from a bent stick in Kindra’s hand silenced her.
Eyes on Kindra and her stick, Cristian moved closer to my side, took my arm and gently pulled me out of striking distance. Realizing he meant to protect me, I felt warm all over.
“And where might Merry Anne be?” I asked the trio of women.
“Not here,” Henrie called, as if his patrolling the wagon had somehow stopped the
appearance of any more odd personages. He marched back and forth, running his fingers along the
side and peeking under the bed every few steps.
“Oh she’s about somewhere,” Kindra said. “Now please, Adrielle, build your fire.
“Right next to an orchard?” Florence asked. “Are you mad? Do no such thing, Adrielle.”
“You’re just jealous,” Kindra said. “Because you can’t see your gift.” This time it was Zipporah who interrupted. The swift kick she applied to Kindra’s backside both quieted her and sent her stumbling forward.
“Stop it, you two,” Zipporah said. “You’re both being ridiculous.”
“Merry Anne will not come.” Florence spoke with authority. “And I daresay she would be most displeased to find us all here together.”
“You leave then. I was here first,” Zipporah said.
Kindra stamped her foot in the dirt. “I’m not leaving until I see her build a fire.”
“No fires,” Florence reiterated. “Not here. Not anywhere out in the open, Adrielle. That is most important. Now—” She turned to her sisters. “I gather what you’re after. And we can settle this easily with a question.” She looked at me again. “Adrielle. Please tell us which gift you find most useful— your ability to run fast, your aptitude with fire, or your instinct with regards to flora.”
Again I was speechless. Which gift? What does she mean by that? Certainly I was good at each of the things she’d mentioned, but only because I did them so often— right? I ran fast because I’d been running for years. It was the thing I’d done to keep up with and then get away from my older siblings.
If I was good at starting fires, it was from recent practice. As for my knowledge of plants and herbs— I knew I wasn’t the only one with such skills. As
farmers, our family had relied on nature for nearly all our needs. Jars of herbs and spices were not purchased where I came from. If I wanted something, I had to grow it myself or find it in the forest. How to properly prepare and use such flora had been something taught to me the same as with all the farming girls’ skills… hadn’t it? I frowned, deep in thought, realizing that my mother never had come out to the woods, collecting with me. Nor could I ever recall her with mortar and pestle in hand.
“What do you mean… gift?” I asked the women standing in front of me.
Florence gasped. “Did I say that? I meant talent. Which talent do you prefer?”
“Sister,” Kindra tugged on Florence’s sleeve. “Look.” She pointed her stick, a gnarled twisty thing with a blackened end, at the sky.
Along with Cristian and Henrie, I looked up. I saw nothing and turned back to the sisters.
“Now you’ve done it,” Zipporah said. For the first time since her arrival, she was still.
“We’ve all done it,” Florence said solemnly. “It doesn’t matter who was here first. You know what Merry Anne said.”
With slumping shoulders, they began walking into the orchard. I looked to the sky once more, to see what had caused this change, but again saw nothing. And when I glanced again at the orchard, they had disappeared.
“What?” Henrie raced to the closest trees, darting in and out, searching. Cristian and I followed at a slower pace.
“Where’d they go?” Henrie asked. “They can’t just be gone.”
Cristian knelt, looking at the ground for footprints— footprints that ended suddenly. “It’s almost as if they— vanished.”
Having nothing to add to their assessment, I kept quiet. Admittedly I was still thinking about— and disturbed by— Florence’s use of the word, “gift.”
Henrie walked over to me, an accusatory gleam in his eye. “You keep strange company, Adrielle.”
First Light (Forever After Series) Page 12
