Mrs. Finnlapp ducked back outside and returned a few moments later with a large basket of straw-like material that she dropped unceremoniously onto the floor in front of Lizzie. “What do you know about willow baskets?”
“In general, I know they are commonly regarded as useful household tools.” Lizzie folded her hands in her lap. “But if you’re speaking to the manufacturing of them, I admit that I know nothing, Mrs. Finnlapp.”
Mormor joined them, settling into the chair across from Lizzie with a grunt. “Well, you’re honest; that’s at least a promising start.”
Mrs. Finnlapp dragged a chair over from a small table in the corner of the front room. “It’s nothing too complicated. If a couple of old goats like us can handle it, your young fingers will catch on before too long. And you can call me Norva, dear. She,” she hooked a thumb at Mormor, “is Svedie, but everyone around here calls her ‘Mormor.’”
Memories of hours spent with Hadrian in Freddy’s library flashed through her mind, shuffling like the vocabulary cards she would help him memorize. “It means grandmother, doesn’t it?”
Mormor looked at her with a pleased expression. “So it does. You’re familiar with our language?”
“Only a few words. An acquaintance of mine is a scholar of languages, and I absorbed a few things while helping him study.”
“Ooooh, a male acquaintance?” Norva’s voice reminded Lizzie of the girls at court when they would gather together and gossip about the young men at a ball. “Is he handsome?” She reached into the basket and began pulling out strands of willow.
Lizzie tilted her head. “I suppose some might think so.”
“But not you?”
“I’m not interested in marriage.”
“That’s not the question I asked.” Norva wiggled her eyebrows up and down. “Doyouthink he’s handsome?”
Lizzie considered her answer. She knew Hadrian’s dark hair and eyes were generally pleasing to look upon, though before her curse she had always felt a strong preference for Freddy’s blonde hair and blue eyes. Hadrian was serious, capable, and honest to a fault. Freddy was bright and funny, the type of person who lit up a room as soon as he walked in.
Once again, regret whispered in the back of her mind.
She froze it out.
“He’s nice to look at,” she finally answered, noting that the eyes of both women were trained on her, waiting for her response. “He’s very smart and takes his job seriously. He doesn’t smile much.”
“Oh no, that won’t do.” Mormor shook her head. “A sense of humor is very important. As I always say, ‘A man without laughter is like an ocean without fish.”
Norva handed her a bundle of willow shoots and demonstrated how to prepare the base of the basket. Lizzie’s fingers fumbled in their attempts to recreate the deft movements of the older women, and by the time she was ready to begin the actual weaving process, she had already stopped and restarted her project a dozen times.
“This is my favorite part. Now we get to watch the basket come to life.” Norva held out her own basket, showing Lizzie how to weave the shoots over and under the base spokes.
Lizzie narrowed her eyes in concentration as she worked. Her fingertips were soon sore from pulling on the willow shoots, and no matter how hard she tried, her attempts at weaving remained uneven and misshapen. It became even more pronounced onceMormor tried to explain to her how to stake the sides and form the walls of the basket.
She sat in silence, content to let the women talk over her. Though her hands and fingers ached, there was something methodical and soothing about the repetitive task. Her mind wandered, and she found herself wondering if Freddy had heard the news yet.
Would her father bother to tell him?
Surely if he didn’t, someone else who was there that night would spread the news. It wasn’t every day that a king gave his daughter away to a beggar.
It makes no difference whether Freddy knows or not. I don’t love him; I made sure of that.
“You’re rather quiet over there, Eliza.” Mormor leaned forward and poked Lizzie’s knee with a willow shoot. “As I always say, ‘The silence of heavy thought speaks louder than the ramblings of an old woman.’”
Norva snorted. “Do you always say that? It feels oddly specific to this situation.”
“I will say it from now on. I might even embroider it in a pillow for you, so you can look at it every time you start rambling on about your rhubarb.”
“I do not ramble about my rhubarb.”
“You do, but that’s beside the point.” Mormor cleared her throat and went back to her basket, which was already nearly finished. Her fingers flew almost as fast as her mouth. “Tell me, Eliza, what brings you to Schnebel? It’s been a few decades since we had a runaway.”
Lizzie blinked. “I never said that I ran away.”
