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This time, the kiss is on my lips. It is warm, and soft, the scent of musk and leather filling my nostrils and my soul.
He looks full on my face when the kiss is through. “I shall see you on the morrow’s eve, then? At the harvest dance?”
“Aye, you shall.”
I shake the dust from my skirts and step inside the cottage. “Gram, guess what I have for us? Master Burgess paid me with a cleaned duck. I’ll set to roasting it now. I can taste it already. Oh, excuse me,” I say when I realize she is with a patient. “My apologies for going on and on.”
“No need for apologies at all,” the man says, buttoning his shirt. “Your grandmother is all finished with me. And I would be excited about roast duck too. Sounds delicious.”
His cheeks are rosy, and his smile is pleasant. I’ve seen him in the market square before but can’t recall his name.
“Here you are, mistress,” he says to Gram. “My thanks for your expertise.”
Gram jiggles the contents in her hand. “Coins? I don’t usually get paid with coins. This is too much.”
“It’s not enough,” the man corrects. “You are a fine healer, better than the doctor I would dare to say. And you listen to your patients. I am eternally grateful to you.” He tips his hat in my direction. “You and your grandmother enjoy the duck, mistress. Good morrow.”
“Good morrow,” Gram and I say in unison.
Gram coughs the moment he’s out the door, like she’s been holding it in. And this cough is rough and deep, like her throat is full of sand.
I rush to her side. “Gram, are you all right?”
She holds a hand up to ease me. After several seconds, the coughing fit is through.
“I’m fine, child,” she manages to croak out, but her face says something different. The coughing spells are taking more out of her, and it frightens me. Her skin is ashen and pale, her color as lost as her voice.
I take her hands in mine. “I have the duck for us. Allow me to start the roasting, all right?”
“Sounds heavenly, dear.”
I step into the kitchen before she sees the tears. The thyme tea isn’t making as much progress with the cough as I’d hoped. I’m running out of potions to try, unsure of what else might cure her progressing cough. I know as sure as breathing that I can’t lose my gram.
But I don’t know how to heal her.
I plunk the last bite of duck in my mouth, savoring the flavor I haven’t enjoyed in a while. Gram baked some pears for dessert, and I sigh when I take the first bite of the sweet goodness.
“You spoil me, Gram,” I say when she sprinkles the rest of my pear with the last of the brown sugar.
“Nonsense. You landed the duck.”
I take her hand from across the table. “I mean it, Gram. You spoil me, love me, take care of me. You’ve filled my head with more knowledge than most of the maidens who’ve had proper schooling. I know I don’t say it enough, but thank you for everything you do for me, for what you’ve done for me my entire life. I love you, Gram.”
“And I love you, my precious Milla. I’m not sure you’ll ever really know just how much I love you. Now eat your pear before it gets cold.”
“Yes, mistress.” I take another bite, then tell her the news I’ve been waiting to share. “You know, Jordy asked me to be his escort for the harvest dance morrow’s evening. Do you feel up to going?”
The smile lights Gram’s eyes before it reaches her chafed lips. She used to smear on beeswax to soften them, but she hasn’t bothered in days. She is fragile and bruises almost to the touch, but she still works in the apothecary like a woman in her youth. Her skin is so wrinkled, at times it looks as though it could slide right off her tired face. I feel guilty for asking her to go to the dance, but the smile is now wide on her lips as well, although no words have escaped them.
“Yes, we will go to the dance,” she finally says. “I wouldn’t miss it. And, since I was paid with coins today, I see no reason for you to sell at market on the morrow. You will stay home with me and we will get you ready for the dance. And with those words, I have something for you, Milla. Wait here.”
I wait for several moments, rather impatient as to what Gram could possibly have for me. Maybe some bauble or trinket I can pin on for the dance. Gram is rather sentimental with her trinkets and pins. I make swirls on the table with my finger, the anticipation maddening. I am excited at the prospect of being home with Gram for a full day to prepare for the dance. Time spent with her is time I cherish.
“Now, close your eyes,” Gram calls into the room. “And cover them with your hands for good measure. No peeking.”
I do as she instructs. “I’m not looking, I swear it.”
After a moment she says, “All right. Open them.”
