“This one’s from Kimber,” she said after a moment. Kimber was another of Jizell’s apprentices sent abroad, this one to Farmer’s Stump, a day’s ride south. “The cooper’s rash has gotten worse, and spread again.”
“She’s brewing the tea wrong; I just know it,” Leesha groaned. “She never lets it steep long enough, and then wonders at her weak cures. If I have to go to Farmer’s Stump and brew it for her, I’ll give her such a thumping!”
“She knows it,” Jizell laughed. “That’s why she wrote to me this time!”
The laughter was infectious, and Leesha soon joined in. Leesha loved Jizell. She could be as hard as Bruna when the occasion demanded, but she was always quick to laugh.
Leesha missed Bruna dearly, and the thought turned her back to the bundle. It was Fourthday, when the weekly Messenger arrived from Farmer’s Stump, Cutter’s Hollow, and points south. Sure enough, the hail of the first letter in the stack was in her father’s neat script.
There was a letter from Vika, as well, and Leesha read that one first, her hands clenching as always until she was assured that Bruna, older than ancient, was still well.
“Vika’s given birth,” she noted. “A boy, Jame. Six pounds eleven ounces.”
“Is that the third?” Jizell asked.
“Fourth,” Leesha said. Vika had married Child Jona—Tender Jona, now—not long after arriving in Cutter’s Hollow, and wasted no time in bearing him children.
“Not much chance of her coming back to Angiers, then,” Jizell lamented.
Leesha laughed. “I thought that was given after the first,” she said.
It was hard to believe seven years had passed since she and Vika exchanged places. The temporary arrangement was proving permanent, which didn’t entirely displease Leesha.
Regardless of what Leesha did, Vika would stay in Cutter’s Hollow, and seemed better liked there than Bruna, Leesha, and Darsy combined. The thought gave Leesha a sense of freedom she never dreamt existed. She’d promised to return one day to ensure the Hollow had the Gatherer it needed, but the Creator had seen to that for her. Her future was hers to choose.
Her father wrote that he had caught a chill, but Vika was tending him, and he expected to recover quickly. The next letter was from Mairy; her eldest daughter already flowered and promised, Mairy would likely be a grandmother soon. Leesha sighed.
There were two more letters in the bundle. Leesha corresponded with Mairy, Vika, and her father almost every week, but her mother wrote less often, and oftentimes in a fit of pique.
“All well?” Jizell asked, glancing up from her own reading to see Leesha’s scowl.
“Just my mum,” Leesha said, reading. “The tone changes with her humors, but the message stays the same: ‘Come home and have children before you grow too old and the Creator takes the chance from you.’” Jizell grunted and shook her head.
Tucked in with Elona’s letter was another sheet, supposedly from Gared, though the missive was in her mother’s hand, for Gared knew no letters. But whatever pains she took to make it seem dictated, Leesha was sure at least half the words were her mother’s alone, and most likely the other half as well. The content, as with her mother’s letters, never changed. Gared was well. Gared missed her. Gared was waiting for her. Gared loved her.
“My mother must think me very stupid,” Leesha said wryly as she read, “to believe Gared would ever even attempt a poem, much less one that didn’t rhyme.”
Jizell laughed, but it died prematurely when she saw that Leesha had not joined her.
“What if she’s right?” Leesha asked suddenly. “Dark as it is to think Elona right about anything, I do want children one day, and you don’t need to be an Herb Gatherer to know that my days to do it are fewer ahead than behind. You said yourself I’ve wasted my best years.”
“That was hardly what I said,” Jizell replied.
“It’s true enough,” Leesha said sadly. “I’ve never bothered to look for men; they always had a way of finding me whether I wanted it or not. I just always thought one day I’d be found by one that fit into my life, rather than expecting me to fit into his.”
“We all dream that sometimes, dear,” Jizell said, “and it’s a nice enough fantasy once in a while, when you’re staring at the wall, but you can’t hang your hopes on it.”
Leesha squeezed the letter in her hand, crumpling it a bit.
“So you’re thinking of going back and marrying this Gared?” Jizell asked.
“Oh, Creator, no!” Leesha cried. “Of course not!”
Jizell grunted. “Good. You’ve saved me the trouble of thumping you on the head.”
“Much as my belly longs for a child,” Leesha said, “I’ll die a maid before I let Gared give me one. Problem is, he’d have at any other man in the Hollow that tried.”
“Easily solved,” Jizell said. “Have children here.”
“What?” Leesha asked.
“Cutter’s Hollow is in good hands with Vika,” Jizell said. “I trained the girl myself, and her heart is there now in any event.” She leaned in, putting a meaty hand atop Leesha’s. “Stay,” she said. “Make Angiers your home and take over the hospit when I retire.”
Leesha’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
“You’ve taught me as much as I’ve taught you these years,” Jizell went on. “There’s no one else I trust to run my business, even if Vika returned tomorrow.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Leesha managed.
“No rush to say anything,” Jizell said, patting Leesha’s hand. “I daresay I don’t plan to retire any day soon. Just think on it.”
Leesha nodded. Jizell opened her arms, and she fell into them, embracing the older woman tightly. As they parted, a shout from outside made them jump.
“Help! Help!” someone cried. They both glanced at the window. It was past dark.
Opening one’s shutters at night in Angiers was a crime punishable by whipping, but Leesha and Jizell gave it no thought as they threw open the bar, seeing a trio of city guardsmen running down the boardwalk, two of them each carrying another man.
“Ay, the hospit!” the lead guard called, seeing the shutters open on the lamplit room. “Open your doors! Succor! Succor and healing!”
As one, Leesha and Jizell bolted for the stairs, nearly tumbling down in their haste to get to the door. It was winter, and though the city’s Warders worked diligently to keep the wardnet clear of snow, ice, and dead leaves, a few wind demons invariably found their way in each night, hunting homeless beggars and waiting for the occasional fool that dared defy curfew and the law. A wind demon could drop like a silent stone and then spread its taloned wings in a sudden snap, eviscerating a victim before grasping the body in its rear claws and swooping away with it.
They made it to the landing and threw open the door, watching as the men approached. The lintels were warded; they and their patients were safe enough even without the door.
“What’s happening?” Kadie cried, sticking her head out over the balcony at the top of the stairs. Behind her, the other apprentices were pouring out of their room.
“Put your aprons back on and get down here!” Leesha ordered, and the younger girls scrambled to obey.
The men were still a ways off, but running hard. Leesha’s stomach clenched as she heard shrieks in the sky. There were wind demons about, drawn to the light and commotion.
But the guards were closing the distance fast, and Leesha dared to hope that they would make it unscathed until one of the men slipped on a patch of ice and went down hard. He screamed, and the man he was carrying tumbled to the boardwalk.