“I don’t love him. I can’t.”
Norva smiled sympathetically. “I know it can be frightening, but friendship is a wonderful basis for romance.”
Lizzie shook her head but didn’t care to argue the point any further.
It doesn’t really matter what they think. Freddy is gone. I am here. The only thing that matters right now is finding a means to earn a living.
She stood, tossing her handiwork onto the floor. “Thank you for the lesson, but I don’t think basket weaving is the trade for me.” She reached her sore fingers into her skirt pocket for her coin pouch and pulled out one of her last two copper coins. “I hope that this will cover the cost of the materials and your time. I will be on my way.”
“Put that money away, child,” Mormor demanded. “And don’t you think for a second that we’re going to let you go back to that pathetic little shack.”
“You’re going to stay here,” Norva added. “I’ve a loft you can sleep in—my grandchildren like to use it when they come to visit. It might be a bit cramped, but it’s warm.”
Lizzie tilted her head, struggling to make sense of the offer. Her father had drilled the importance of profitable tradebargains and economic policies into her brain from a young age. Exchanges were not made without an advantage on both sides; every offer came with an ulterior motive.
“But I can’t pay you for that.”
“Oh, tush. As I always say, ‘The only gift that should come with strings attached is a kite.’ We take care of one another here in Schnebel.” Mormor took Lizzie’s hand, still outstretched, and closed it around the copper coin. “You’ve been through enough.”
The simple gesture, the unexpected generosity, and the warm, honest glow of care in the old woman’s eyes all combined in force, and Lizzie felt a stirring of emotion deep inside her chest.
A tiny crack appeared in the icy barrier around her heart.
“Today is a spinning day,” Norva announced cheerfully as Lizzie climbed down the ladder from the loft the next morning, feeling more rested than she had in weeks. It was truly amazing the difference that kindness and a warm blanket could make.
“I know exactly as much about spinning as I did about basket weaving.” Lizzie watched as Norva bustled around the small kitchen.
Polite manners dictate that I should offer to help, but I am certain that I would be unable to carry out even the simplest of tasks. I never realized how unprepared I would be for life outside of the palace.
She cleared her throat. “How would you like me to assist you?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, dear. You just sit over down there and keep me company until Mormor comes along. She always breaks her fast with me on spinning days.”
As if summoned by her hostess’s words, a knock at the door announced Mormor’s arrival. She entered immediately withoutwaiting for an answer, stomping the snow off her boots and unwinding her long, red scarf from her face.
“I swear, spring feels more like a second winter every year. I’ll be surprised if the ground thaws enough for me to plant the garden before midyear.”
“You’ve been saying that for fifty years, Mormor,” Norva responded pleasantly, not even bothering to look up from the pot she was stirring on the stove.
“And I’ll say it for the next fifty, because it’s true.” The old woman pulled out a chair beside Lizzie at the table and sank down with a grateful sigh. “I would tell you not to grow old, Eliza,” she said, patting Lizzie’s hand, “because it’s terribly uncomfortable. There are some mornings where I have to bend my own knees to get them moving. But it does have its perks. As I always say, ‘Wisdom is hidden within the wrinkles of age. Youthful faces are much too smooth for it to stick.’ You don’t get to be as old as I am without having learned a thing or two.”
Norva set down a pot of bubbling porridge and three bowls. “That’s your cue to ask her how old she is,” she whispered to Lizzie.
“How old are you?” Lizzie dutifully asked, nodding her thanks as Norva served her breakfast.
“I’ll be one hundred and twelve next month.”
Lizzie paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “Really?”
“Oh, yes.” Mormor nodded proudly. “Good sea air—that’s the secret. Sea air and a spoonful of fish oil every morning and night.”
The porridge was still too hot to eat. Lizzie folded her hands in her lap, mindful still of the table manners that had been drilled into her since childhood. “Have you lived here your whole life?”
She was caught off guard by her own question. It had been years since she had taken more than a shallow, cursory interest in another person, years since she had felt the urge to connect.
Something is happening.
Lizzie retreated into herself, barely registering Mormor’s answer.
