“How would you know that, Dun?” Hadrian asked, chuckling. “The wife’s kicked you out a few times?” This brought a roar of laughter from the crowd.
“Haddy, you, my friend, can sleep in the rain.”
“Come along, Wife.” Royce pulled Arista to her feet.
Arista looked up at him and winked. “Oh right, sorry. Forgot who I was.”
“Don’t apologize, honey,” Armigil told her. “That’s why we’re drinking in the first place. Ya just got there quicker than the rest of us, is all.”
The next morning, Arista woke up alone and could not decide which hurt more, her head from the drink, or her back from the lumpy flour bags. Her mouth was dry, her tongue coated in some disgusting film. She was pleased to discover her saddlebags beside her. She pulled them open and grimaced. Everything inside smelled of horse sweat and mildew. She had brought only three dresses: the one worn through the rain, which was a wrinkled mess; the stunning silver receiving gown she planned to wear when she met Degan Gaunt; and the one she presently wore. Surprisingly, the silver gown was holding up remarkably well and was barely even wrinkled. She had brought it hoping to impress Gaunt, but recalling her conversation with Royce about how the Nationalist leader felt about royalty, she realized it was a poor choice. She would have been much better off with something simpler. It would at least have given her something decent to change into. She pulled off her dirt-stained garment, removed her corset, and pulled on the dress she had worn at Sheridan.
She stepped out of the storeroom and found Arbor hard at work kneading dough surrounded by dozens of cloth-covered baskets. Villagers entered and set either a bag of flour or a sackcloth of dough on the counter along with a few copper coins. Arbor gave them an estimated pickup time of either midday or early evening.
“You do this every day?” Arista asked.
Arbor nodded with sweat glistening on her brow as she used the huge wooden paddle to slide another loaf into the glowing oven. “Normally Dun is more helpful, but he’s off with your husband and Haddy this morning. It’s a rare thing, so I’m happy to let him enjoy the visit. They’re down at the smithy if you’re interested, or would you rather have a bite to eat?”
Arista’s stomach twisted. “No, thank you. I think I’ll wait a bit longer.”
Arbor worked with a skilled hand born of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of repetitions.
How does she do it?
She knew the baker’s wife got up every morning and repeated the same actions as the day before.
Where is the challenge?
Arista was certain Arbor could not read and probably had few possessions, yet she seemed happy. She and Dunstan had a pleasant home, and compared to that of those toiling in the fields, her work was relatively easy. Dunstan seemed a kind and decent man and their neighbors were good, friendly folk. While not terribly exciting, it was nonetheless a safe, comfortable life, and Arista felt a twinge of envy.
“What’s it like to be wealthy?”
“Hmm? Oh—well, actually, it makes life easier but perhaps not as rewarding.”
“But you travel and can see the world. Your clothing is so fine and you ride horses! I’ll bet you’ve even ridden in a carriage, haven’t you?”
Arista snorted. “Yes, I’ve certainly ridden in a carriage.”
“And been to balls in castles where musicians played and the ladies dressed in embroidered gowns of velvet?”
“Silk, actually.”
“Silk? I’ve heard of that but never seen it. What’s it like?”
“I can show you.” Arista went back into the storeroom and returned with the silver gown.
At the sight of the dress, Arbor gasped, her eyes wide. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. It’s like—it’s like …” Arista waited but Arbor never found her words. Finally, she said, “May I touch it?”
Arista hesitated, looking first at Arbor, then at the dress.
“That’s okay,” Arbor said quickly with an understanding smile. She looked at her hands. “I would ruin it.”
“No, no,” Arista told her. “I wasn’t thinking that at all.” She looked down at the dress in her arms once more. “What I was thinking was it was stupid for me to have brought this. I don’t think I’ll have a chance to wear it, and it’s taking up so much space in my pack. I was wondering—would you like to have it?”
Arbor looked like she was going to faint. She shook her head adamantly, her eyes wide as if with terror. “No, I—I couldn’t.”
“Why not? We’re about the same size. I think you’d look beautiful in it.”
A self-conscious laugh escaped Arbor and she covered her face with her hands, leaving flour on the tip of her nose. “Oh, I’d be a sight, wouldn’t I? Walking up and down Hintindar in that. It’s awfully nice of you, but I don’t go to grand balls or ride in carriages.”
“Maybe one day you will, and then you’ll be happy you have it. In the meantime, if you ever have a bad day, you can put it on and perhaps it’ll make you feel better.”