“Yes, my supplier in Haiwella raised their prices again. Gemma wants to try her hand at making a batch herself.” He looked at me. “She plans to gather the lavender this afternoon. I’m certain she’d love your company, Miss Devale.”
“Tell her I’ll meet her at the fountain once I help Mistress Penniwell put away her purchases.”
“I will.”
The widow signed her tab, and we left the store.
“Thank you for your help, dear.”
“It is my pleasure.”
“You’d think I could carry my own basket for a few minutes, but my bones feel the years. I think I’ll make a cup of willow bark tea when I get home. A nap would serve me even better, but that’s impossible.”
“Is there anything I can do to make a nap possible?”
She scoffed. “Can you teach the smith to hammer quietly?”
“Is the noise very loud in your house?” I knew she lived near the smithy, but hadn’t realized her home was close enough that the noise from the forge would prevent a nap. I wondered if I’d get to see Alan as I walked her home.
“Yes, yes. Always the pounding. Every day: bam, clang, bam. Over and over.”
“Every day?” I licked my lips, trying to plan out a rational argument that could slip past the charm ruining Alan’s life. It had taken so much to make the Wrisons re-examine their own beliefs, but maybe I had taken the wrong approach.
“Oh, he usually leaves the hammer alone on Solsday afternoons, but every other day it is all I hear.”
I wanted the widow to draw logical conclusions for herself. Instead of arguing, I needed to nudge. “You must appreciate when Master Powell visits Haiwella, then.”
“What is there to appreciate? He’s still hammering all day.”
“Who is?”
“The smith, dear. Aren’t you listening?”
“But you said this hammering is when the smith is in Haiwella.”
Mistress Penniwell was quiet for a few steps. We reached her house, in a row of similar homes right behind several businesses on the village square. She was a single dwelling away from the one sharing a yard with the forge.
I suspected the charm had twisted her around enough that she had forgotten my question and wondered if I should ask again as we entered the house. But the widow suddenly stopped, staring in the direction of the smithy, though the walls blocked it from view. “Must be that boy, Alan. I should give him a piece of my mind. Interrupting my rest! The boy doesn’t know how to respect his elders.”
I winced. Getting Alan in more trouble with the villagers had certainly not been my plan. But I couldn’t ignore this opportunity. “I thought Alan didn’t do any smithing?”
“Well then, who is always making that noise? Powell spends his day lounging around the shop. It must be the boy.”
I wanted to clap my hands together. Mistress Penniwell had gone as far as admitting that Alan was the one in the forge when Powell was in Skorsa, too. I considered pushing more, but decided not to risk going too far. She had reached a conclusion on her own, with only a few guiding questions from me, far more easily than the Wrisons had adapted their thinking when I pointed out the flaws intheir logic. I didn’t need Mistress Penniwell to admit that Alan had skill. For now, it was enough for her to acknowledge that he did all the work in the forge.
I unpacked the basket and brewed a cup of willow bark tea. I brought it to the widow where she sat in the back room. A particularly loud ka-thump echoed through the house as I handed her the mug.
“I need to have a word with that boy,” Mistress Penniwell muttered.
???
Gemma was waitingfor me by the time I reached the fountain, two baskets dangling from her arm. I took one from her and smiled. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long. Mistress Penniwell never seems to run out of things to say.”
She laughed. “Don’t worry, when Pa said you were helping her, I knew it would be a while.”
“So, where do we find lavender?”
“There is a patch east of the village.”
