“That’s what you’re sorry about? That Rurik had to carry me out?”
Glancing over, she saw Amelie wince, and she regretted her words. “Oh, Amelie . . .” Walking over, she drew her sister further inside. “Forgive me. I’m just upset.” She hesitated. “Is it . . . is it done?”
Amelie nodded. “Jaromir made sure it was quick. That’s why I stayed, too.”
Céline sighed quietly, no longer certain what was right or wrong. Perhaps it had been the right thing to kill Ramsey. It just seemed so unfair.
“Rurik thinks we need an outing,” Amelie went on. “He says a few of the men told him there’s a small meadow not far to the east. He and I are going to lead all four of our horses there so they can graze for a few hours. He says it’s not good for them to live on a diet of straight grain.”
“He seems to know a good deal about horses.” Even as the words left Céline’s mouth, it seemed odd to be speaking of outings and horses when a man had just been killed while tied to a stake.
“His father is Prince Lieven’s gamekeeper, but I think he grew up with horses, too.” Amelie reached for her red cloak. “Why don’t you come with us? At the moment, there’s nothing we can do here.”
Céline glanced at her supply box. “I promised some of the miners that I’d come back today. There are a few people I need to check on.”
“Oh . . . do you want me to stay and help?”
“No, no. You go with Rurik. He needs your help more. I just want to look at a few of the children with coughs and some of the men suffering in their joints.”
“You’re sure?”
Céline could tell from Amelie’s voice that her sister would much rather be outside with Rurik, away from this camp, sitting in a meadow and letting the horses graze. But Céline found herself looking forward to some time away from all her traveling companions—even Amelie.
“I’m sure. You go ahead.”
As Amelie slipped out, Céline wondered what Jaromir was going to do with his day, but she didn’t wonder for long. Donning her own red cloak, she slipped the apples into the large front pockets. After gathering up the soiled wool dresses from their journey, she hefted her box of supplies. Once she had everything in her arms, she headed out, walking north through the tents and to the path through the trees.
As the path emptied into the open area of the miners’ encampment, she couldn’t help being struck by a feeling that the camps were almost separate worlds, joined only by a small stretch of cleared ground between them.
She looked right to the shacks and huts and then left to the collection of covered wagons. Her gaze stopped on the largest wagon, with its painted shutters.
Gripping her box, she headed left, wondering how her reception was going to be after last night. Several of the Móndyalítko milling around outside glanced her way, and she smiled in greeting. As she reached her destination, Mercedes opened the door and looked down at her with an unreadable expression.
“I’m sorry about Mariah and Marcus being dragged to the soldiers’ camp last night,” Céline said immediately. “I had no idea that was going to happen.”
Mercedes’s expression seemed locked in a quiet brand of eternal anger, but she nodded. “I know you didn’t. Marcus told me.” Her eyes moved to the supply box. “And even if you had, I’d be a fool to turn you away.”
Her black-brown hair hung loose this morning, making her look younger. She motioned with one hand. “Come on up. Marcus is off hunting, but I’ll have word spread that you’re here.” She reached out. “Let me put those gowns with the wash.”
“Where’s Mariah?”
“I don’t know. I rarely know where that girl is off to. She’s as wild as a deer.”
Céline climbed the few steps, passed off the gowns, and stepped inside. She took off her cloak and began setting up at the table as Mercedes prepared to head out.
“I’d like to see the boy with the broken arm,” Céline said, “and certainly that older man with the swollen finger joints. I want to send some of this monkshood home with him.”
The afternoon progressed from there, and burying herself in work proved a good outlet for Céline. She lost herself in helping others.
She was pleased to see her rose petal cough syrup had done well for the afflicted children, and Mercedes had managed to find a few small bottles so that some of the mixture could be sent home.
The boy with the broken arm was in discomfort, but that was to be expected with a newly set bone, and as he complained more about the bandages itching than anything else, Céline thought him on the road to recovery. His father thanked Céline three times—to her embarrassment.
She spent the remainder of the afternoon massaging more of the monkshood into sore or swollen joints, and again Mercedes went out and scavenged some small containers so Céline could send the liniment home with those suffering the worst.
As the sun began to wane, after the last patient had been seen, both women sank into chairs. Céline reached into the box and pulled out a pouch.
“Do you think you could manage one more thing,” she asked, “and get us some hot water?”
Mercedes leaned forward. “What is it? Some other herb I haven’t seen you use?”
“No.” Céline smiled tiredly. “It’s spiced tea. For us.”
“Spiced tea? We haven’t seen tea in over a year. I’ll be right back.”
As Mercedes went outside, Céline took the apples from the pocket of her cloak and found a knife. She sliced them into pieces and cut out the seeds. When Mercedes returned with small pot of boiling water—from the fire outside—and produced two mugs, Céline made them tea.
As Mercedes looked down at the tea and sliced apples, some of the anger in her face faded as sorrow took its place. “You make me remember so many things I’d forgotten. You make me ashamed of what I’ve come to accept.”
Céline pushed over a mug of tea. “Marcus says he’s going to take you out of here in the autumn. When he’s finished out his brother’s contract.”
Mercedes looked over. “He told you that? I mean . . . I knew his plan. He’s just normally not one for talking.” She sat and picked up an apple slice. “We should have left years ago. I should have shown some spirit and shouted the roof down. Just before coming here, we’d hit . . . hard times, very hard times. Hearing of this place, it seemed wise for the men to sign contracts and try to earn some money. The captain back then was a fair man. But a year went by, and some of our men, including my father, signed new contracts, and then we were locked in for another year . . . and then another.”
“Your father is gone now?” Céline asked softly.
Mercedes nodded. “Died from a fever, and we had nowhere to go. I could see that Mariah was growing into a wild thing, with no sense and no purpose, and yet we stayed.” She lowered her eyes. “When I was a girl, my mother once told me that if you drop a frog into hot water, it will jump out. But if you put a frog into cool water and then slowly, slowly heat the water, it will stay there until it dies. I let myself become the frog.”
“What else could you have done? The rest of your people were here.”
“I should have fought harder for Mariah. When Keegan came last spring, I shouldn’t have let him near her.” The anger in her face was returning. “I’d given up the fight by then. But you . . . you make me remember things, that helping others, that decency, that a life worth a fight, those things all still matter.”
Céline had no idea what to say. She badly wished to help Mercedes and Mariah . . . and Marcus. She simply didn’t know how yet.
“Well,” she said finally. “I think you’ve done the best you could with the hand you were dealt.”
Mercedes shook her head but didn’t answer.
Céline stood up. “I should be getting back or my sister will come looking for me.” She leaned over and touched Mercedes’s arm. “I’ll be back.”