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“But –”
“No, please. I insist. And you’re Eldon’s wife?”
The woman bows her head in deference. “Yes, I’m Daysa.”
“Thank you for having me to your home. I’m very pleased to meet you.” My eyes must bulge at the sight of the child struggling to pour a cup of something from a large earthen ware jug because Daysa lurches forward just in time to stop the spill.
At the very least I expect to witness a scolding, but am pleasantly surprised when she only helps her child complete the task. “Would you care to sit . . . Rina?” Daysa’s tongue trips over my name, seeming uneasy with the informal address.
Smiling brightly, I limp my way across the hard-packed dirt floor to the table, ignoring the brutal ache in my leg.
“Are you hurt?” Trudy asks.
“I’m fine,” I assure her, taking the proffered seat. “I just rode my horse a bit too hard and now I’m sore.”
“Oh.” A line forms between her brows, making her appear adorably grown-up. “Papa says I can’t ride the pony yet. ButDonny’sallowed to,” she informs me bitterly.
“Donny’s your brother?”
“Yes. His real name is Eldon like my Pa’s, but that’s confusing, so we call him Donny. He’s a whole year older than me. I wish it was the other way around. If I was older, I wouldn’t lord it over him like he does to me. But Mama says that boys are sometimes very competitive. Do you have a brother?”
“Ah, no, not anymore.”
The sweet girl nods gravely with understanding. “A brother of mine died last year. I don’t much remember him, but Mama and Papa were ever so sad. Mama says sadness isn’t bad, but that I shouldn’t let it swallow me.” She lets out a giggle, going from serious to light-hearted in a single heartbeat. “That sounds so silly, doesn’t it? Like it’s a monster under the bed.”
From there she launches into a treatise on Patty the goat, and I can’t help but be completely charmed by her. I’m sure little Trudy would talk until the sun rose tomorrow if it weren’t for a baby’s squawk coming from a back room.
“Trudy, bring me the baby, please,” Daysa says, and as soon as Trudy leaves, she exchanges the cup of milk in front of me with one filled with warm, fragrant wine. “This will help with the leg.” She gives me a conspiratorial wink and my heart tugs at her kindness.
“Thank you,” I say, lifting the cup. I allow myself a few sips of delectably strong and spicy wine while I take in the room, which has a homey, lived-in feel. The large, open stone hearth where the pig is roasting is the focal point of the room. I follow the trajectory of the smoke curling its way up to an opening in the thatched roof. It lets some light in, but with the only window shuttered tight against the cold and only a few lit candles on the table, much of the room remains in shadow. I can make out a spinning wheel and behind that, a large frame for weaving though.
Daysa sits across from me, taking up a knife to continue her task of cutting up carrots. “How can I help you?” I ask.
“You can stay right there,” she tells me, wiping at a wisp of blonde hair that’s come free from the braids she has arranged in a crown. “You’re our guest.”
Trudy emerges from the back of the house, struggling under the weight of an infant. Scared she’s going to drop him, I get up to take the child. The baby stares closely at me, probably because my face is not one he recognizes, then grabs a lock of my loose hair and stuffs it in his mouth. I laugh, retaking my seat as Daysa comes for her son. “Oh, may I hold him?” I ask, hoping she doesn’t hear the pleading in my tone. She doesn’t know me and has no reason to trust me with her child.
“Youwantto hold him?” she says, sounding doubtful as she pulls my wine out of the baby’s reach.
“If I may.”
Shrugging, she goes to a work bench set against the wall and returns with a bowl containing what must be mashed carrots and turnips. “He mostly likes to feed himself,” she warns as the little boy reaches eagerly and fists some mash.
Trudy, not wanting to be left out, climbs onto the chair next to me and proceeds to list her brothers’ shortcomings, the worst of which is their lamentable gender. Soon I forget my troubles and the pain in my thigh, and I enjoy myself more than I have in years. Daysa and her children are sweet and sociable and I don’t remember being so readily accepted anywhere in my life. I learn that Eldon and Daysa have been married since they were eighteen and it’s obviously a happy union. She speaks of Eldon with loving exasperation and I admit it sparks a twinge of jealousy in my heart. I very much wish I could claim such an experience for my memories.
It must be the influence of the mulled wine, but when Eldon and his son come in from the cold, followed by Luka, I smile at my betrothed with genuine warmth. I may not have someone who will greet me with a loving kiss like Eldon does Daysa, but I do have a grumpy someone who almost beat a man to death in my name. Things could be worse. Much worse.
And my smile only grows broader as Trudy runs for him again, yelling, “Uncle Luka!” He lifts her up high into the air, setting off shrieks of happiness from the girl. Once she’s settled on his hip, he seeks me out as if to reassure himself I haven’t run off. He doesn’t get a chance to say anything, though, because the baby lets out a loud screech of joy at all the commotion.
“Well,” Daysa says. “If little Anton thinks we should have more wine, I don’t see how we can refuse.” She pours the men their cups as Luka sets Trudy down so he can sit next to me.
From his spot at the head of the table, Eldon takes a long swallow, then gives his youngest son, who’s still on my lap, a once over. “Ah, Anton, messing up the ladies already, I see.”
I giggle, re-directing the baby’s mash-filled fist to his own mouth. “He just likes to share, don’t you, little man?”
Luka pulls a clump of squishy carrot from my hair and, his expression softer than I’ve ever seen it, offers it to Anton.
It becomes apparent that Trudy’s penchant for talk comes from her father. Eldon ultimately takes over the conversation and has us all laughing with his jokes and affectionate banter. Much to my delight, Luka isn’t safe from his cousin’s teasing. And even better, Luka not only allows it, but needles Eldon right back. I barely recognize him as the man I’ve gotten to know over the past almost three weeks. He’s relaxed and open . . . and his laugh. Mother help me, but his laugh is rich and deep, which makes it almost impossible to keep my eyes off of him. And every time he catches me staring, I blush. I can only hope that the wine and the low lighting camouflage the effect he has on me.
