She’d also need soap to keep herself clean. Paste to keep her teeth healthy.
But before any of that, she needed food. Fruit, vegetables, bread, milk, cheese, meat.At least enough to last until we’re self-sufficient,she thought. Once she figured out how to garden and fish and had the basics for hygiene and medicine, she wouldn’t need outside supplies. A little voice inside her whispered that it wouldn’t be that simple, but she resolutely pushed it away.I just need enough to get by for now.
One trip into the village.
She’d use the coin she had to purchase the bare essentials, and then they’d hole up here and not bother anyone, and no one would have any reason to bother them.
Looking at what they had and didn’t have, Kiela didn’t see any way around it. It was foolish to think she could build a life here just from what they found and what they brought. Besides, the fantasy of living here unnoticed had already been broken when their neighbor had discovered her sleeping.
No, there was no denying it.
She was going to have to talk to people.
Chapter Four
Kiela put off her trip to the village until sundown, by which time it was, of course, far too late to go anywhere and she was far too exhausted from all the work they’d done anyway. After eating half a jar of peaches and several fistfuls of pecans, she collapsed into the daybed and slept far more soundly than she ever had in the library. She didn’t even hear the owl outside.
At dawn, she woke to a tickle on her cheek.
“Don’t scream,” Caz said in her ear, “but he’s back.”
Her eyes popped open, and she shivered. She should have grabbed an extra blanket. She’d grown too used to the always-the-same warmth of the library. She’d forgotten it was cooler on Caltrey in the mornings, even in summer. “What?”
“Who,” Caz corrected. “Him.”
Him . . . Wait, did he mean their neighbor? Larran? Why was he back? She thought her scream had been enough of a hint that she didn’t like impromptu visitors, especially while she was asleep. Couldn’t he just leave them alone?
Sitting up, she peered out the window. It was still coated with grime.We’ll have to clean that,she thought, though she knew they had other priorities, such as food. Her stomach grumbled in agreement. Through the streaks of dirt, she saw their tall and broad neighbor striding away toward the path he and his scythe had created. It looked as if he’d come, seen they weren’t awake, and then left.
“At least he didn’t let himself in this time,” she said. Why had he come? Couldn’t he just stay in his own house and she’d stay in hers? Did she need to put up a fence or a large “Keep Out, No Trespassing” sign? She waited until he was out of sight before she got out of bed and padded to the door.
On the front step, before the mostly broken door, was a basket with several glazed cinnamon raisin buns, as well as three chicken eggs and a wedge of cheese. “Okay, well, that’s nice,” she said.
Fine. He was a nice, friendly neighbor who didn’t understand property lines.
She scooped up the basket and scurried back into the house, closing the door behind her. Sitting on a recently cleaned chair, she bit into one of the buns. Sugary sweetness exploded in her mouth, and she sighed through the bread. Closing her eyes, she savored every morsel. It was light, fluffy, sweet, and perfect. Had he made this? How? She added “baking” to the growing list of useful skills she didn’t possess.
Eagerly, she picked up the wedge of cheese and bit into it. Sharp, woody flavor filled her mouth, and she swayed a bit as she shoved more into her mouth. Cheese in the city was typically soft and bland, intended to be spread or melted, a side note to the main dish, but this . . . It demanded to be devoured.
After she’d polished off half the wedge, Kiela discovered a note in the basket:
Welcome home,it said.
She felt her stomach clench.
Home.
Was this home?
Kiela placed the note down and stared at the words. She couldn’t name all the emotions that the simple two-word note made her feel. Hopeful? Terrified? Sad?At least I’m not still hungry.
She contemplated the eggs. If she could start a fire in the wood-burning stove, then she could cook them and have protein inside her. It would be easier to face the village with protein.
How hard could it be to start a fire?
The revolutionaries hadn’t had any trouble doing it.
Remembering the smell of the smoke in the library, Kiela squatted in front of the stove without doing anything for a very long minute, then she shook herself and took the fire-starter off the little hook by the hearth.
