Not a feather, fur, or piece of silk in sight.
"All right," the woman said grimly, "I was summoned. What's happened here?"
7
"Are you Lady Emma?" Paisley asked nervously, eyeing the woman uncertainly. Dominic was hovering at her side, watching her closely. His scrutiny made her feel uncomfortable. Why was he looking at her like that? Was he waiting for her to make a mistake, somehow?
She couldfeelhis eyes on her, and it made her shiver.
She turned her attention to Lady Emma again. The woman certainly didn'tlooklike a lady of any description. While Thomas dressed plainly, there was a sort of graceful, regal air about him. This woman would not have looked out of place crawling through the undergrowth.
Judging by the grass stains on her skirts and a stray leaf caught up in her dark hair, shemighthave been crawling through the undergrowth.
"Just Emma will be fine," the woman said briskly. "Let's see that hand, eh?"
Paisley offered her injured palm dumbly. The woman – Emma – took it gingerly, turning her hand this way and that, inspecting the injury.
Dominic gestured to Thomas, who seemingly interpreted the movement and went to serve the customers gathering at the counter.
Paisley found herself mesmerized by Emma's green-tinged fingers. The discoloration started at the second knuckle, faint and almost imperceptible, and darkened to a noticeable, vivid green around the fingertip. All ten fingers were discolored this way.
"What..." Paisley coughed awkwardly. "What happened to your fingers? Why... why are they green?"
Emma glanced briefly up at her. "Ah, they said ye were new in these parts. If yer accent hadn't given it away, that question certainly would."
"Wait, who said I was new here?"
Emma ignored that question. "Healer's fingers," she said briskly, withdrawing a clean, square piece of linen cloth and cleaning away the blood from Paisley's palm. "After about five or tenyears of diligent healing, it's considered a mark of honor to have green hands."
"But... but why? We have physicians back home, andtheydon't have green fingers." Paisley bit her lip, hoping that she didn't sound too disrespectful.
Emma seemed unperturbed. "We collect and make our own medicines. Herbs, roots, flowers, leaves, ye name it. I have pastes to stop infection setting into an open wound, powders that can be mixed with boiling water to settle a fever, herbs to bring on a baby or scare it off. I have to pick them and mix them meself, and that involves putting me hands in a lot of green things. All day, every day. Some herbs and leaves need to be crushed between the fingers to make them work. Don't ask me why, but there it is. So, green fingers."
"Oh," Paisley managed. "And... and you still do this, even now that you're married? Now that you're alady?"
Emma flashed her an amused smile. "Oh, aye. Healin' is a callin'. A vocation. Getting married, on the other hand, is nae. I love Thomas with all me heart, and I'm settled in me position. I can use it to do a lot of good, but I can do far more good out here in the wilds, makin' up me potions and healin' the sick. I'd nae swap healin' for all the world."
A lump rose to Paisley's throat. What must it be like, to have a calling like that?
Marriage is not a vocation?Paisley could hear her mother's voice in her head, shocked and angry.Why, becoming a wife and a mother is the finest calling in the world for a woman! Is there any other vocation?
Her voice came again through Paisley's memory, angry this time.
What, Paisley, do you think you can while away your life playing cards with your Papa? You are all but an old maid! Tell her, William! She always listens to you.
Paisley swallowed hard, pushing away the memory. She could see the scene now, her papa and herself still hunched over their card table, her mother uncharacteristically angry. Alex and Eliza, the twins, peered around the doorway, summoned by the sound of angry voices, wide-eyed.
She gave her head a little shake, bringing herself back down to the here and now.
"That sounds marvelous," she managed. "It must be wonderful to have such a noble calling."
Emma flashed her a mischievous smile. "Ye wouldnae call it noble if ye had seen me trudgin' through mud and rain after sunset, to explain to an old man he's not bleedin' when he passes water, he's just eaten too many beets."
Paisley smothered a giggle. "Is... is that possible? Eat too many beets?"
"I'm afraid to say that it is, aye."
Emma whipped out a thin pair of tweezers, and nimbly plucked out a few shining pieces of glass from Paisley's wound. It hurt, little pinpricks of pain exploding all across her palm, but she was quick and effective, and the process was over in a blink.
