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“Thank you, Master Burgess. You sustain me and Gram, and we are ever grateful.”
He hides his face with his hand for a moment, my flattery always the cause for his blushing, then busies himself with a leather coin pouch he was stretching when I walked up.
“You never have to thank me for the matches, Milla. After all, you’re the one who has to sell them, and it’s a small gesture, considering how well your Gram tends my aching shoulder. Please thank her again for the fine poultice she blended for me the other morrow. It feels much better.”
“I certainly will. I’m so glad you’re feeling better.” I place the matches in my large pouch. “Thank you, Master Burgess. I should take my leave before the bakery closes.”
“Good evening, Milla. I’ll see you overmorrow, yes?”
“Yes.”
Master Burgess has supplied me with matches practically from the first morning we met when I was a wee girl. He had admired my effort to sell a deep cooking pot that was almost bigger than my person. He handed me a clutch of matches that day and said they would be easier to sell. He promised to ever supply me with more when I needed them.
And he has kept that promise to this very day. His friendship is a treasure.
When I’m almost to the bakery, I see a young girl sitting on the side of the street with a very small boy, most likely her brother. Their clothes are tattered, and the boy’s teeth are chattering. His face is dirty, except for two white lines running from his eyes and down his sunken cheeks—no doubt his trail of tears. His sad testimony. His way of life laid bare for this cruel world to see, and yet still ignore. But not me. Never me. They are obviously hungry—much hungrier than Gram and I have ever been. I touch my coin pouch.
“Hello,” I say to the girl, bending down to meet her eyes. “My name’s Milla. What’s yours?”
“Collette,” she replies. “Are we offending you, mistress? We can move along.”
“No, not at all,” I say, her words pricking my heart like a splinter too deep to free. “I was simply wondering if you and the fine little gentleman here have had any nourishment today?”
“No, mistress,” she says, her voice like velvet and rain. “And we’re awfully hungry.”
I sigh and finger one of the blonde curls cupping her face. “Well, we’ll just have to do something about that, now won’t we?” I reach in my coin pouch and retrieve two of my three bits. “Here, take these. The vegetable vendor has made a fine potato stew. He will serve you each a bowl and give you three carrots for two bits if you join him on his corner before curfew. Enjoy the stew now for your supper and roast the carrots in the morning to break your fast. Sleeping on a full belly will be most pleasant, yes?”
The young boy smiles, his face looking as though it will crack from the dried dirt and smut that has accumulated there.
“We are ever so grateful to you, mistress,” the girl says. “I fear we will eat the carrots raw, though. I have no fire to cook them. But we don’t mind, do we, Tomas?”
The boy shakes his head. “Raw or cooked, I like carrots,” he blurts.
“Tomas…what a fine name for such a strapping young fellow.” I cup his chin and then turn to the girl again. I pull out five matches and hold them out to her. “Here, young miss. There are four matches for you to burn, but this fifth match here, well, it’s a special match.”
Their eyes resemble saucers, both hanging on my every word.
“Special?” Collette asks. “How so, Mistress Milla?”
I motion for them to move in closer as I hold up the single match. “Well, this one here, this one is a wishing match. Make a wish and then strike it. Watch it burn for a moment, and then blow it out.”
“And will the wish come true?” Tomas asks.
I connect eyes with young Collette, realizing that she understands the ritual more than her little brother ever possibly could.
“Maybe,” I reply. “And maybe not. But to wish is to hope. And we must always have hope. Now, be on your way. You have some lovely potato stew waiting for you.”
Tomas wraps his arms around my middle. “Thank you so much, mistress.”
Collette nods and takes her brother’s hand. “I can never express our gratitude. Thank you so much.”
“No need to thank me,” I say. “But, if you ever need me, ask someone if they have seen the match girl. You’ll be sure to find me.”
She nods and they take their leave. I watch their backs as they head in the direction of the vegetable vendor. I reach in my pouch and retrieve the single coin I have left. Hopefully Jordy will have a little something extra for me today.Oh,Jordy…
The smell of the bakery makes me weak in the knees. It’s like salt and spice, and every sweet sensation all at once. It fills my nostrils and rumbles my tummy until I rub my middle to relieve the pangs. Jordy’s father meets me at the door and takes my water flask.
“Good evening, Milla. Let me fill this for you.” He makes his way to the water barrel and dips the ladle until my leather flask is full. He hands it back to me.
