Chapter 32
When in doubt, just make another pot of soup.
DWINDLE’S FARMERS MARKET
RETURNS IN TWENTY FOURTEEN NINE FOUR THREE DAYS
We awoke in a tangle of limbs and sheets, the early morning sun blanketing us in hues of pink and yellow.
Yellow!
I darted out of bed and ran to the half-moon window and let out a sigh of relief at what I saw. It was still there; it had survived the storm.
“Are you all right?” Hesper asked groggily. I motioned her over to me and pointed to the garden below. She rubbed at her sleepy eyes and looked closely. When she finally saw it, a huge smile spread across her face.
“Let’s get to growing, princess.” For there was a buttercup blooming in the midst of the garden. A tiny, insignificant thing in the grand scheme of all that grows. But in the end, nothing alive is insignificant. In fact, it was the most miraculous thing in this hard, odd, wonderful life.
The next two days were spent in the garden, laughing and growing.
I no longer had to fight my magic or beg it for anything.
I merely had to tell it where to flow, and it did.
Soon enough, there was a pumpkin patch—a little out of season, but who was complaining?
The radishes abandoned their teenage sprouting stage and opted for mature, ripened adulthood.
The squash patch went a little overboard, simply because Hesper gave me a peck on the cheek right when I was in the middle of growing that part of the garden, the once respectable squash mountain no longer neatly stacked and instead in danger of toppling over and sending the world off its axis.
Carrot tops sprung from the ground in no time at all, and they made me fondly think of Helda Ninnus and that fateful day.
Did I just fondly think of Helda Ninnus?
Huh, my heart really had changed.
There were ruby-red nestleberries, glistening strawberries, and perfectly round blueberries. An apple tree even sprung up in the back garden, its roots latching on to the magic I’d poured onto the willow tree for good health. That was a lovely surprise.
Before we knew it, the garden was plumb full (oh, there was a plum tree, too).
Every garden bed overflowed with harvest; the front of the cottage was adorned with lavender, rosemary, lupines, and buttercups.
Tulips of all colors grew around the edge of the garden gate, wisteria wound itself around tree trunks and fence posts, and an impressive array of thornless rosebushes cropped up where there was room.
Our garden was bountiful; our home was cozy; our hearts were full.
There was only one instance that soured the comfort.
Near the back of the garden, some type of disease kept trying to take hold.
The nestleberry bushes became laden with black leaves.
I thought it might be due to an overgrowth of ripened berries too quickly for the plant’s natural growth time.
Hesper inspected it and seemed concerned, but with a little extra effort, I was able to keep the disease at bay with my magic.
It was a continuous battle, but I’d fought much harder wars.
Soon enough, the garden was complete, and Hesper and I hugged as we looked on the honey-yellow cottage, barely visible through the mess of vegetables, fruits, and flowers. The market would be here soon enough, as would the day Hesper had to return back to Eldrene.
But we would face both.
Together.
DWINDLE’S FARMERS MARKET
RETURNS IN TWENTY FOURTEEN NINE FOUR THREE ONE DAYS
“I need your help,” I said.
I never thought I’d hear those words come out of my mouth. But alas, when you had the equivalent of three harvests growing in your cottage garden, help was warranted.
Angus, whom I had just roused from a lie-in (well, the sun was barely up, but to a gardener, that’s half the morning), looked at me with concern.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, pulling his sleep robe embroidered with slumbering bunnies tighter around him.
“Oh, yes,” I said happily. “Very much so. But Hesper and I can’t carry everything by ourselves.”
“Carry what, my dear?”
“The garden.” I winked.
Angus’s brown eyes widened, his eyebrows disappearing into his hair.
“It’s—it’s—”
“It’s market ready,” Hesper finished for him.
“THE GARDEN IS READY!” Angus yelled into the square, startling both Hesper and me.
I didn’t expect anything much to happen. The streets were mostly empty at this time of day, and folk were used to Angus saying whatever he was feeling aloud. But then, cottage doors began to swing open one by one, elated faces poking out from inside.
A slow murmur began.
“The garden is ready!” someone whispered.
“The garden is ready,” another said.
The garden!
The garden!
Almost like magic, folk filtered into the main square, their whispers turning into shouts of joy. Tears ran down my face; they ran down Hesper’s, too. And as I looked out at the gathering Dwindlers, their eyes shone brightly along with mine.
Angus directed everyone into an organized glob of chaos, and we all marched toward the cottage.
Turns out, Angus had hosted a town meeting that neither Hesper nor I were invited to and created a plan for when the garden was ready.
He anticipated that many hands would be needed and requested volunteers.
Everyone volunteered. So, on an exceptionally sunny day in the middle of summer, all of Dwindle showed up at the honey-yellow cottage and spent the day together, harvesting a whole host of fruits and vegetables.
I had to spend the first hour instructing everyone on the correct way to harvest each crop, but folk were happy to learn.
Thankfully, everyone brought their own version of gardening tools with them.
Charles the Blacksmith had spent the last few weeks forging garden trowels, hand forks, and even a few pruning shears for this very moment.
All along, Dwindle never lingered on the bad side of a what if. They never thought for a moment that the garden might be impossible. They always chose the light, the endless, hopeful possibility of what if. They believed. And because of them, I did, too.
Hesper and I were shunted to the side, Angus demanding that we rest after all our hard work. Neither of us had the ability to sit still while others toiled, so we took to the kitchen. There, Edge and Warty drummed up a recipe from one of the old tomes Edge had been flipping through.
A SOUP FOR THE HEART
Summer vegetables, warming seasonings, a bit of spice, a heap of lemon. And in the margins of the recipe book was a helpfully scrawled note indicating measurements to feed anywhere from one to two hundred folk.
Hesper and I had a pot big enough for eight servings.
Twenty-one pots of soup later…
Everyone was sipping out of empty gourds and pumpkins with a few bread bowls (donated by Giddy) in the garden. The day ended with all of us heading back into town and setting up market tents.
The main square looked grand and sprawling, each table like its own little world.
Our tables were set up right in the middle of it all, the center of the entire market.
Angus had managed to build tables, but in true Dwindle fashion, they were not regular tables.
Each one was shaped like a different vegetable, and there was even a gourd-shaped shelf for stacking purposes.
“You did good, princess.” Hesper slung her arm over my shoulder, planting a kiss on my forehead as we walked home after what was arguably the best day of my life.
“We did good,” I patted her hand affectionately.
“And we are naught but mealworms,” Edge said under his beaky breath. Warty gave a disgruntled squeak.
“And we couldn’t have done it without you,” I self-corrected. “Edge, thank you for ensuring our safety each day. Warty, thank you for keeping Dwindle’s cracker sales soaring.”
DWINDLE’S FARMERS MARKET
RETURNS IN TWENTY FOURTEEN NINE FOUR THREE ONE DAYS TODAY
“Clara, love, wake up.” A gentle hand caressed my face, the gesture so achingly sweet until the hand began wiping away my crusted slobber from sleeping soundly. I grumbled my reply, longing for a few more moments of slumber. “It’s market day.”
Oh my Goddess.
It’s market day!
The end of the quest!
I bolted upright.
What happened now? Did lightning strike and Eldrene appear? Did Hesper immediately have to leave? Did—
“Don’t fret too much about what happens next.” Hesper read my thoughts. “Let’s just enjoy today.”
She was right. Whatever was to happen would happen whether I dithered on about it or not. I tried to get up from the bed, but she pressed me back down onto the mattress, a hungry look in her eyes.
“We have to get ready for the market,” I said, dragging her on top of me, unlacing her tunic.
“Yes.” She kissed me. “We do.” She nipped at my neck and began kissing down my chest until she lifted up my nightdress and…
We were late to the market.
But only by a few minutes.
The town was in an uproar of joy. Each shoppe had their tents up for display—save for Mabel, who hadn’t managed to set up her library booth.
I made a note to check in on her later. Folk tittered and chattered for hours on end, and by midmorning, we sold out of everything (save for the squash).
Soon enough, flower boxes were bright and cheery again, pumpkins rested outside cottages, and Giddy set up an open hearth where she was prepping courgette-based pies and pastries.
Angus taste-tested each creation with a sparkle in his eye. Giddy’s cheeks remained blushing.
By afternoon, a cold wind started blowing through the square, seemingly at odds with the blaring sun.
A few of Charles the blacksmith’s wind chimes tinkled ominously.
The chill didn’t dampen Dwindle’s warmth, though.
They kept on chatting and celebrating. But then everyone’s tents began to jostle, scattering our wares.
We all jumped to catch the bits and bobs that were falling over.
A gray cloud blotted out the sun, casting the market in a dim gray.
For a moment, my heart skittered in my chest. Could this be Eldrene?
Perhaps she really would steal me away. I didn’t think I could bear it.
Dwindle had crept into my bones, uprooting everything.
To leave it so soon felt like leaving a beginning in favor of an ending.
And the old Clara would have much preferred that—there is stability in a happy ending.
But this place had many more chapters to read, more gardens to plant, more friends to make, more love to have.
If—when—Eldrene did come, I would just have to tell her that I meant to stay for a bit longer. Then, I would plead on my knees for Hesper to be freed of her bargain, but I would deal with that later.
“Another storm be rolling in it seems!” Bortie called out in the midst of the crowd.
I hadn’t even noticed that Thandor and he had finally left their tavern and were passing out pints.
They were expert at fading into the background, mostly so they could collect gossip discreetly.
But there they were, holding trays high into the air and squabbling with each other in between serving.
Another gust of wind blew through the town, sending the precariously placed pints to the ground. Glass shattered everywhere.
“Fret not!” Murt busted out of his flowerpot with a miniature broom at the ready. “I’m on cleanup duty today! Keep marketing, I’ll have this cleaned in no time!”
My magic toppled in on itself, sensing and waiting for something. I kept checking and rechecking my surroundings.
“Is everything all right?” Hesper asked, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.
“Something feels off,” I replied, reorganizing the squash for the third time in the last few minutes.
A harried squawk filled the air. The screech stilled all of Dwindle.
Edge.
Hesper ducked out of the tent, a look of fear in her eyes.
“What is it?” she called up into the sky.
“The Prince, madame! The Prince is—”
Edge, to my horror, fell out of the sky. Whether from sheer exhaustion at his journey or from an unseen attacker, I did not know. Hesper caught him before he could meet his end.
And then darkness fell upon Dwindle.