Mia kept her eyes on the ladle, careful to scoop from the sides to get the hottest portion of the stew to please Bjorn. She ladled it into his bowl then pushed the ladle deep into the center of the pot, touching bottom, scraping up thick chunks of the best meat and depositing them in his bowl. She picked a soft leaf of sage from the plate on the table and tore at its edges, dropping the bits in a neat cluster in the center of the stew. Her mouth watered at the thought of her own bowl, and she fantasized about a chance to sit and rest as she ate it. But she would wait.
Alma gnawed her bread, taking bites then holding it out for inspection, fascinated by the marks her teeth made. She bit the bread at a new angle, delighted at the new shape she crafted. Margarite sat forlorn, her hands folded in her lap. She stared at her bowl as if it had been responsible for some great sorrow. Mia left her to her quiet thoughts. Not all sadness needed an immediate remedy. Mia had learned to sit with her own sorrows on many nights and had discovered that very few sorrows needed anything at all from her. They came and settled in her soul while Mia tended to her work, like quiet companions, like birds in the town square. They came and settled in, right in the middle of life, with no hope of scattering off into the winds.
Bjorn watched her, his hands clasped together, one finger raised and laid over his mouth. “What is the gossip? What do the women say?”
She set the bowl before him and began tearing free a thick chunk of bread to serve him. Their earlier argument still pierced her heart. He would say nothing more of it, she knew, and he would not allow her to bring it up. She put the entire loaf before him and sat, feeling the pain of blood rushing into her feet as they left the floor. She was exhausted from her soles to her head.
“Well?”
When Mia had exhaled, letting the pain pass, she answered. “I’ve heard no gossip.”
“Really?”
“None.”
“I will tell you what I have heard, then. The Inquisitor, this man named Bastion, said Catarina was a witch. That she bewitched another man, luring him to sin, that it is her own fault she died. He says the Devil murdered her.”
Mia’s body went numb. Her mouth dropped open, and she took small, hot breaths.
He waved a hand at her as he ate. “Is this what the women say?”
Mia reached down, rubbing her calves. “I have no idea. But it sounds more tale than truth.”
“You went to the market today, did you not? There’s meat in the stew, I see. I want to know what people are saying. I want to know if they believe the Inquisitor.”
“I went to market,” Mia admitted. “I bought the meat and came home after Mass.” She gave great attention to stretching her legs, keeping her head bent low so he would not read her expression. She told him the truth, but not all of it. Women had been whispering, and she had heard some of what they’d said, but she had not listened well. She had interrupted them, asking if anyone knew of a new remedy to try for precious Alma. She’d said that Alma had kept Bjorn awake again, and that would not do. Husbands can be so ill-tempered if they don’t sleep. She meant it as a joke, but the stone faces around her just stared, immobile. She apologized, letting her shawl cover her face, running away, not stopping when she heard Dame Alice calling after her.
Bjorn chewed, nodding. “No matter. I heard him myself last night. Father Stefan hired him, did you know that? I told Stefan not to. But I could be wrong. There might be truth in his words.”
Mia wished she had served herself stew. Her feet hurt too much to get up again now that she had sat down, never mind her back. Too many nights without sleep lately, too many errands and chores; her body could not recuperate from one day to the next. The aroma tortured her. Just as well that I hurt, she thought. She could not eat in front of Bjorn. He might think she took too much from him, wasted his money, forgot that he alone saved her and held them all together. Hunger shamed her.
“I am glad you are not angry with Stefan,” Mia said. Stefan might blame her for that, too.
“I only went to make sure he kept order. I didn’t plan to listen to this man Bastion. I had hoped to arrest him, in fact. If the people became agitated.”
“I’ll do a better job of listening for you. When I go to market.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He grinned at her, and this second shock, this sudden burst of pleasure, shot through her like a new pain. “Perhaps nothing that happened is as we thought. But you should hear Bastion. He said women are prone to the Devil’s temptation, that the Devil woos a woman like a man might.”
Mia laughed; she couldn’t help it. If the Devil wooed women, then he, too, had avoided Mia entirely. A woman like Mia waited her whole life for someone to notice her. If the Devil had courted her, she would not have missed it.
Bjorn watched her, then pushed back from the table and let his head fall back as he laughed. Perhaps he would not scowl if she ate just a small bowl of stew. She edged toward the bowl.