8. Penny
Penny
A fter four days on the road—first jostled around in a crowded transport cart, and then put on our feet to walk the remaining ten miles to my family’s farm—I was ready to be home.
My hips ached, my feet hurt, and my head swam with all the information Kit had spent the last four hours imparting to me.
He said I’d need it when we reached the Bone Men’s encampment, but I didn’t know how I would remember any of it.
He hadn’t appreciated when I suggested that I wasn’t going to be there long enough to need to know the specifics of how the cult ran things.
“They’ll expect you to know at least something about the cult and Eeus,” he’d chided. “Something other than the rumors of his curse.”
I’d kept to myself the fact that I thought I already knew as much about the Bone Men as I ever wanted to.
When the thatched roof and slanted chimney of my family’s cottage came into view, a smile spread across my face. Reaching over, I tugged on Kit’s sleeve and pointed. “That’s it! ”
I considered pulling him along as I picked up the pace, but instead, I raced ahead and left him to catch up.
The sights and smells of home filled me with equal parts nostalgia and sorrow. Excited as I was to see my mother and sister, I dreaded my father’s absence. My stomach churned as I stopped before the door.
The window down the wall was open, so I could have peeked inside and would have if I’d had time before my sister, Sayla, flung open the door.
Blonde curls bounced around her face, and her green eyes glittered. “Pen! You’re back!” She lunged into me, wrapping me in a tight embrace while turning her head not quite far enough from my ear before shouting, “Mother! Penny’s home!”
I could easily see into the living area of the cottage and spotted my mother as she emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
She looked tired, worn down by months of caring for my ailing father, and now by mourning his death.
Her graying hair looked paler, and her cheeks were gaunt.
Despite that, joy lit her face when she saw me.
“Oh, Penny!” She rushed forward, and I met her halfway, dropping the bag off my shoulder and relishing another warm, welcoming hug. Pulling back, she held me by the arms while looking me over as though I’d been gone much longer than a couple of weeks.
After a brief survey and a fuss over my tousled blond locks, she kissed my cheek. “How was your trip? Successful?”
Our reunion was cut short by a comment from Sayla. “Well, would you look at that.”
My mother and I turned toward the doorway framing Kit’s tall, brawny figure coming up the walk.
Sayla’s smile turned wily as she lowered her voice to say, “You finally brought a man home, and a dashing one, at that. It’s about time.”
Mother eyed me as well, though she was more surprised than ornery. “I didn’t realize apprenticeships involved house calls.”
Blush warmed my cheeks as I shushed them both.
Sayla’s teasing and my mother’s suspicion were not things I imagined Kit would take kindly.
I’d had no time to get a letter to them to explain things before my arrival, and I faced a similar dilemma when Kit crossed the threshold before I could speak another word.
“Come in!” Sayla crowed to Kit’s arrival. She followed the greeting with a curtsey and gesture toward the interior of the cottage where Mother and I stood. “Welcome to our humble home. Always a pleasure to have guests.”
Kit’s dark eyes swept the space with no small amount of trepidation. He’d fought me on this, saying he would rather sleep on the road than inconvenience my family with a visit. But I missed my mother and sister and owed them a warning that my brief venture from home was being extended.
Kit’s inspection ended on Sayla, who stood with her hand on the door.
I watched him notice what everyone else did the first time they met her: burn scars covered one side of her face, leaving the skin patchy red and white.
Further evidence of old injuries was hidden by the dress she wore, but I knew they ran all the way down the front of her body.
And every time someone’s focus lingered on the disfigured flesh or the spot on her scalp where her blonde hair was missing, I felt so guilty I couldn’t breathe.
Finally, Kit came inside. Sayla rushed to slam the door at his back, making him flinch. She had a devious look that I didn’t trust .
On second thought, I trusted it; I trusted it to mean nothing good.
“Well, Pen,” she began straight away, “why don’t you introduce us to your handsome suitor?”
Kit coughed, a strangled sound, while protest spilled from my lips in a jumble. “Kit is… Mister Mosel is a blacksmith. He’s going to teach me… blacksmithing.”
Sayla snorted a laugh. “Is that so?”
My toes curled in my boots. I felt like I was shriveling, shrinking until I thought I might disappear into my borrowed clothes.
Mother walked forward and clasped Kit's hand for a shake.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mister Mosel. I'm Amelina Oliver. This is my daughter, Sayla.” Her head swiveled toward me. “Smithing, you say, Pen? That’s an interesting choice. Were there no… other options for apprenticeship?” She looked embarrassed and turned to Kit to clarify, “No offense to you, Mister Mosel. It's a fine trade.”
Kit shook his head. “None taken.”
“In fact, we have several tools made by our local blacksmith,” Mother continued, then seemed to change tack. “There’s an idea, Pen. You could apprentice under Amos Elsher. That way you can be close to home?—”
“Why would he work with Amos when he could work with Mister Mosel ?” Sayla cut in. The exaggerated way she said Kit’s name made me cringe. I tensed even more when she followed the question up with, “Your son has eyes, Mother.”
Across from them, Kit observed with a smirk. The sight of it stirred up my stomach with something vastly different than the shame from Sayla’s teasing.
Smoothing her skirt, Mother turned back to Kit. “Mister Mosel, may I show you around? You can put your things down and get settled in. We’ll have supper after a while. I’m sure you’re tired and hungry.”
The amusement fled Kit’s face, and he shot me an almost desperate look at the prospect of being alone with my mother. But she already had a hand on his arm and was guiding him down the short hall toward the bedrooms.
They had barely gone before my sister crossed the room to me. She glanced over her shoulder to ensure we were alone before she spoke. “He’s more handsome than the rumors made him sound. And he must have had quite a bit of valuable information if you went to the trouble of bringing him home.”
She paused as a grin split her face. “Unless that’s not it at all. You know, if you like him, you could pursue him directly instead of pretending you’ll ever be able to work over a forge.”
I huffed a breath. “You want me to pursue the ex-cultist?”
Sayla gasped, and her eyes stretched wide. “What if you marry?” She cupped her chin in one hand in a pensive pose. “Are we to provide a dowry for you? Must I decide how many cows you’re worth?”
“ Sayla …” I dragged her name out in a pleading groan.
My eyes darted toward the hallway where Mother and Kit had gone. Our cottage was small, and the walls were thin. I knew from experience very few things went unheard in this house.
“No, you’re right.” Sayla flapped a dismissive hand. “Mother should decide. Or perhaps Merrick.” She bumped her shoulder into me as she walked toward the kitchen.
Of all the things I’d come to say, I’d managed none of them. Leave it to my sister to run roughshod over me at the first hint of something interesting happening in our otherwise monotonous farm life.
With Kit and Mother occupied, I followed Sayla into the kitchen, where the makings of the evening meal were laid out.
Sayla took an apron from a hook on the wall and tied it around her waist before moving to the lump of floury dough on the counter and beginning to knead it.
I washed my hands, then donned an apron of my own and allowed myself to be guided by my sister’s point toward a bowl of string beans waiting to be snapped.
“You know I’m not going to be smithing,” I grumbled as I set to the task. “This was your grand plan, after all.”
Sayla punched into the dough and left her fist buried in it as her head whipped toward me. “I sent you to find the man, not to bring him to our door.”
I chewed my lip as my sister’s usual good humor was restored.
She gave an impish smile. “He is dashing, though. I’m certain you noticed.”
Blush burned my cheeks as I thought of the first time I’d seen Kit in his home’s doorway.
It had been a strange introduction, spurred by Kit’s obvious desire to scare me away.
I was scared of plenty of things, but a tall man with dark, curly hair, a strong, stubbled jaw, and dark, soulful eyes was not frightening in the least. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“Of course, I noticed,” I replied.
Sayla hummed acknowledgment while reaching for the rolling pin. “What does he think of you?”
That was a sorer subject. I wasn’t ready to confess to Sayla that my adventures in Forstford had been, frankly, disastrous. Running out of money and sleeping on strangers’ front porches was not the success story I wanted to convey. But I owed my sister some portion of the truth.
“He finds me an annoyance, if anything.” I shrugged. “And he didn’t want to come.”
Sayla snickered. “You’ll change his mind. People find you quite charming until they get to know you.”
“Don’t you mean once they get to know me?” I broke the end off another green bean, then squinted at her.
“I meant what I said,” she replied. “Job well done, all the same. He’s here, and he’s taking you to get Father.”
I shied away from her inspection. The things Kit had warned me about felt daunting. I wasn’t eager to immerse myself in the ranks of the Bone Men, but Kit had been clear that was the only way to find my father’s remains.