“No,” Garrett said, voice low. “It doesn’t.”
The woman handed him her armful of kindling before she opened the door to her home. “How about this. I’ll feed you supper, let you sleep in my barn, and send you off with some food if you chop me a few days’ worth of wood, muck the goat pens out, and milk Astrid for me.”
For just a loaf of bread, Garrett was willing to do just about anything. The fact that he’d get a place to sleep out of the elements and some food to take with him felt almost too good to be true.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said before offering a hand. “My name’s Garrett.”
A small smile tugged at her mouth. “Melodee.” Her hand was dwarfed by his as she shook it. “Get to work, lad, I’ll get supper going. Start with the wood, if you could. I’ll need it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Garrett set his pack by the door and headed into the yard where he found an ax resting against a chopping block. A few splintered logs lay around it, as if Melodee had tried to chop some herself before giving it up as a lost cause.
He tsked, wondering what kind of village would leave an old woman to struggle alone after losing someone. Ursa had lost her husband and son in the same week, but he was comforted knowing the clan would rally to support her. And with his absence, they’d even do it honestly rather than out of some sense of clan loyalty.
Garrett set a log and swung the ax up and over his head, splitting it cleanly in half. After two weeks of walking, it felt good to move his body in a different way. There was plenty to get through, and if Melodee didn’t have anyone helping her, he wanted to leave her with as much as he could. He stacked the chopped wood under the shelter by the house and didn’t stop until it was packed full.
When Melodee came to fetch him, she looked at the full supply of logs in surprise. Garrett wiped his brow before storing the ax in the barn. She wouldn’t need it for some time, and he didn’t want it to rust out in the snow.
“The rest can wait until tomorrow,” she said. “Come on in. Leave your boots at the door.”
Garrett grabbed his pack and did as told before ducking under the low door frame to follow Melodee inside. Her house was small and cramped, but all the more comfortable for it. A straw bed laden with quilts rested against the far wall, and a small table sat under the single window, surrounded on the three remaining sides by chairs. A stove crackled in the center of the house, and Garrett couldn’t stop a sigh of relief at the warmth.
Melodee glanced at him over her shoulder. “Go sit by the stove. I’ll get you something warm to drink.”
“Thank you for your hospitality, ma’am.”
He made his way carefully past the baskets filled with winter provisions of squash and onions, dodging the drying garlic cloves that hung from the rafters. He lowered himself to sit on the hot stones that lined the bottom of the stove, and after endless days of cold, the heat felt like it was thawing his very soul. He groaned, resting his head on his knees as he hugged his legs.
“You must have been out there some time,” Melodee said, and he looked up to see the steaming wooden cup she offered. He took it with a word of thanks, catching the scent of pine needles and chamomile. When he took a sip, he tasted sweet tree sap and was touched by the small kindness. It warmed him from the inside out.
“Two weeks,” he admitted.
“And all you have is that little pack? Where’s your tent, lad? Your blankets? You’re going to freeze to death!”
Garrett couldn’t meet her eye. “I don’t feel the cold so much. As long as I have food and a wood ax, I’m fine.”
The old woman’s scoff turned to a cough. “You should take more care.”
Garrett swallowed another mouthful of hot tea but stayed quiet. He knew he should, but turning a good idea into reality was hard to do with his current means. He drained his cup and was grateful when Melodee wordlessly refilled it.
Silence settled over the small cabin as Garrett watched her work. Something savory cooked inside of the brick stove, and the smell of it made his mouth water. As Melodee pulled out a couple of fresh baked loaves of bread to cool, he listened to the small but persistent dry cough make an appearance a few more times.
“I don’t mean to pry, but has that cough been going on long?” he asked, breaking the quiet.
Melodee glanced over at him. “I’m not sick, if that’s what you’re asking. The cold isn’t kind to me.”
“Does it get better in warmer weather?”
Melodee shrugged. “At least until the ragweed starts to bloom. It’s a problem I’ve always had.”
Garrett frowned. “Does it ever get so bad you have a hard time breathing?”
She didn’t seem to like the line of questioning, but she answered anyway. “Sometimes.”
Garrett reached into his pack to pull out a small clay jar, the top sealed with wax. “When it gets bad like that, put a spoonful of this in boiling water and breathe the steam. It may help.”
As she took the little jar, she gave him a perplexed look. “You some kind of healer?”
