Two pairs of bright, inquisitive eyes looked up at her from kindly faces. Both women were bundled against the cold, wearing knit caps and scarves of red and blue with matching mittens peeking out from the ends of their long woolen coat sleeves. She recognized the younger of the two—a motherly sort who reminded her a little of Queen Clarice, but without the sharp edges that came with a crown—as the woman who had sold her the shack. She guessed the other woman to be older, though there were not enough wrinkles on her face to match with the white hair that peeked out from under the edges of her cap.
“Mrs. Finnlapp, how can I help you?” Lizzie didn’t bother putting on her court smile.
After all, she wasn’t at court anymore.
“Good morning, Eliza. We were just in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by and see how you were getting along.”
Lizzie raised an eyebrow at that. Part of the reason she had chosen the rundown shack was that it was located on the very edge of Schnebel, closer to the sea than it was to any of the other buildings in town.
“You say, as if checking on the little chick weren’t the entire reason we were in the area in the first place.” The older woman clucked her tongue. “Remember Norva, ‘A truth that travels by wandering paths arrives as a lie.’”
“Remind yourself of that the next time I ask where all my scones have gone,” Mrs. Finnlapp retorted before giving Lizzie her full attention once again. “How are you, dear? Staying warm?”
“Warm enough.” Lizzie’s fingers protested her answer, but she ignored them.
“She’s lying.” The old woman pointed to the dying fire that was just barely visible behind Lizzie. “Those flames are hardly fit tobe called candles. I’d bet my wooden teeth that it’s just as cold in there as it is out here.”
“You don’t have any wooden teeth, Mormor.”
“But if I did, I’d bet them.”
Mrs. Finnlapp sighed, looking at Lizzie as if she expected commiseration. Lizzie blinked stoically. “What she does with her teeth is none of my concern.”
Mormor cackled. “I knew I would like you. Now, the topic that Norva is tiptoeing around is that we’re concerned about you staying out here all alone, and with no way of looking out for yourself.”
“I can look after myself.”
Mormor clucked her tongue again. “‘The empty money sack scratches hardest on soft hands.’”
Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “And by that you mean…?”
“Just that you’re probably not used to the climate,” Mrs. Finnlapp jumped in. “The weather here is much harsher than wherever you come from.”
Mormor huffed. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. The girl looks like she hasn’t done a day of hard labor in her life. Whoever let her wander all the way out here without even a pair of proper gloves has a lot of answering to do.”
“Yes, well, what I said was more—”
Lizzie cleared her throat to interrupt, putting on her best court smile as she dismissed them. “I appreciate that you took the time to stop by.” She stepped back to close the door.
“Oh, none of that, missy.” Mormor waved her finger at Lizzie’s face. “You might be new here, but in Schnebel, we take care of our own. You’re coming with us.”
She crossed her arms. “Why?”
“Because my old bones are tired of standing in the cold, for one. And because you’ll need to start doing something to learn a trade if you expect to survive for long here. As I always say, ‘Atern who refuses to build his nest will soon take a turn for the worst.’”
Lizzie considered for a moment.
She’s correct. I need a way to learn a marketable skill, and the only way I can do that is if someone teaches me.
“Alright.” She stepped through the door and closed it behind her. There was no lock, but since the only thing of value she owned was the pouch with a few coppers in her skirt pocket, it was unnecessary.
The two women exchanged a glance, clearly unprepared for her ready acceptance. Mrs. Finnlapp cleared her throat and clapped her mittened hands together cheerfully. “Alright then, dear. Right this way.”
Warmth enveloped her as soon as Lizzie stepped into Mrs. Finnlapp’s home. The sod-roofed building was warm and cozy inside, with patchwork cushions on the chairs, quilted blankets hanging on a rack by the crackling fireplace, and a large fur rug on the wooden floor. Something savory bubbled on the stove, and Mormor shuffled over and put a teakettle on as soon as her coat and scarf were hung by the door.
“Make yourself at home,” Mrs. Finnlapp directed, gesturing to the pair of rocking chairs set near the fire. “Sit down and thaw a bit while we get everything ready.”
Lizzie pulled off her coat, adding it to the flock of others on the rack that looked like it might topple from the weight at any moment. She wandered over the chairs, sinking slowly onto the seat closest to the fire. Her fingers began to tingle with pins and needles as the feeling returned, replacing the numbness with a dull ache. She looked around the room with a clinical eye,noting the tiny, carved wooden statues and painted vases that were tucked away into every available nook and cranny, and the bundles of herbs and flowers that hung from the low ceiling.
