I simply nod and Orla’s thin lips curl into a tender smile before sadness glosses over her eyes. Her fading auburn hair blows in the breeze that sweeps across the path, and she ties it back with a ribbon as we begin the short trek to the greenhouse.
Orla wasn’t always in the gardening and botany trade; until recently, she was a shepherd and shearer. An old knee injury thatprogressively worsened made it impossible for her to keep up with the physical demands of her old post.
“It’s raid week,” she says. “Are you prepared?”
Raid week—at some point in the next seven days, people hired by the crown will search our homes for what they consider the greatest threat: magic. If they find none, they seek something else orsomeoneincriminating, especially those unable to contribute to society. Unfortunately, both Taig and I would be lumped into that category.
I shrug at Orla. “I’ll survive.” I hope.
“You always do. Have you gotten a chance to start a sweater for yourself?”
I’ve lost track of how many times Orla has tried convincing me to make myself a sweater. There was one year when my mother and I made our entire family sweaters for the winter solstice. These days, however, I’m usually working on expanding Taig’s wardrobe. He’s a growing child, after all.
“No, but I may get started on it soon.” I won’t.
“I can’t wait to see. You’re talented, you know. You really ought to relocate to Ballybaeg.”
Not this again.
“For all you know, you’ll get commissioned to make sweaters for Mainland. Imagine how different your life could be!”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m fine here.”
“But are you happy?”
I hesitate and cringe inwardly at her knowing smile. “I’m alive. And safe.” More importantly, Taig is safe. “Areyouready for the raid this week?”
“Am I ever?” she asks, her lips tugging downward. “During the last Quarterly, Shon was taken away for the possession of a scroll. An incantation or something. Foolish boy. So youngtoo. Such a shame.”
Shon was Orla’s neighbor. A boy of just sixteen. He’d been living on his own after both parents were arrested for harboring an Undesirable—his younger sister. Nothing out of the ordinary there, but I can’t imagine losing two parents and a sibling at once. Losing one loved one at a time is painful enough.
The cool air summons goose bumps along the back of my neck as we walk down the broken stone pathway toward the large, domed greenhouse. It’s seen better days. A combination of small and large windows—some spider-webbed with cracks, some completely broken—make up the walls. It’s a wonder the structure remains standing. Orla opens the door, letting me in first. The humidity hits me, despite all the cracks, as soon as I step inside.
The scents of moist soil, flowers, and savory herbs fill the interior. It’s almost overwhelming but oddly comforting at the same time. I push my loose curls off my forehead, trying to tuck them into my braids as we make our way across the cracked brick floor. Beams of sunlight filter in through the large, overarching floor to ceiling windows, illuminating the racks of bundled plants mounted to panels between the glass. Wooden shelves stand akilter, packed to capacity with gardening supplies.
Two dark-haired young women raise their heads from where they’re bent over some plant boxes. The taller of the two, Grawnye, waves to me and the other, Eemer, beckons me to them. Eemer says something that I can’t decipher from her distance. I glance sidelong at Orla who relays the message. “She says it’s about time you showed up.”
I nod my thanks and respond to the women, “Better late than never.”
We cross the greenhouse to meet up with them. Grawnye holds scissors in one hand, her other pressed against a visibly pregnant belly. Eemer gestures toward a small clump of leaves and white buds; half of the leaves are a sickly yellowing color, the other half, darker green as they should be.
“It didn’t look so bad yesterday,” Grawnye says.
The row of the other primrose clusters mirror the same unhealthy appearance. With a frown, I fiddle with my stray curls. “We can prune the diseased parts and lay down fresh soil. It’ll take a while, but that may solve it. It’ll just be a matter of trying a few different solutions.”
Eemer’s brown eyes are wide, but I swear I can see my words going into one ear and out the other. Grawnye, however, nods in understanding and holds up the scissors. “I better get started then.”
We all grab pruning scissors from the shelves and take responsibility for one planter box each. Carefully, we sever the diseased parts of the plant from the parts that still appear healthy. Hopefully, they’ll continue to grow normally. Replacing the soil is a longer and messier task, but together, we get it done.
I glance up often to ensure that I catch any ongoing conversations, sometimes adjusting my position to read someone’s lips. I still miss bits and pieces, but years of gradual hearing loss have gifted me with the ability to piece together clues to draw the right conclusions.
I happen to lift my head just as Grawnye speaks again. “The raid should happen any day now. Did you hear about the Renwicks? Turns out they’ve been harboring an Undesirable.”
Here we go.I steel my face and swipe the back of my dirty hand across my sweaty forehead.
“No way.” Eemer’s eyes go wide again.
“Yes, the wee lad has a strange little face. Doesn’t look quite human, if you know what I mean.”
