“But they taste like dirt.”
“They taste like the earth,” Sidra said in a gentle tone. Spirits below, she was so tired. Her head was throbbing, her foot was aching. . . . “They taste of life and bright sunshine and the secrets that hide deep down in the soil. Secrets that make you strong and smart once you eat them.”
Maisie’s pout eased. She poked at her kail with careful interest, but as soon as she put it in her mouth, she spat it out onto the table.
“Yuck!”
“Maisie Tamerlaine,” Sidra said sharply. “That is enough. You have always eaten your kail.”
Maisie frowned and shook her head. “I don’t wanna eat it.”
Sidra closed her eyes and rubbed the pain in her temples. Her patience was fraying, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so exhausted, so worn out.
She tried to tell herself this weariness arose from how hard she had worked that day to find a remedy. She had ground her herbs and mixed blends she had never tried before. She had steeped them into stout teas and turned them into salves. She had rested her foot on a cushioned stool. She had also exercised the foot, walking across the hills to visit her patients. She had wrapped her foot in warm linen and then held it beneath cold river water until it went numb.
Sidra was attempting everything she could think of, hoping to halt and reverse the blight that was spreading on her heel. But she feared that only time could reveal if any of her methods were successful, and time was not on her side. Judging from how swiftly Rodina’s hand had been overtaken, she predicted that she might have another week before the blight claimed her entire foot.
Rodina had also said that recently she had more headaches and stomach troubles, which Sidra was now experiencing. Her entire body felt exhausted, and she had no appetite. All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep.
You’re tired because you worked so much today. You slept poorly the night before. The weather is changing . . .
She tried to convince herself that there was some other reason for her fatigue. That her gnawing exhaustion and headache and short temper were not due to the blight gradually creeping along the arch of her foot.
“What’s wrong?”
Maisie’s voice brought Sidra back to the evening. How long had she been sitting there, eyes closed, leaning into her hand? Long enough for a stubborn six-year-old to grow concerned. Sidra tried to smile at her daughter, to reassure her, even though she felt as if she might crumble into tears.
“I think I’m just tired, Maisie.”
“Then eat your kail, Mummy.”
Sidra blinked, realizing she had not eaten much of her dinner. Her stomach was churning.
She had to tell Torin tonight. She had to tell him she was infected. If he ever came home, that is. He had failed to come home the night before, and his absence had worried her, more than she liked. She had remembered all the nights she slept alone, when he worked the night shift.
Sidra suddenly felt divided. She wanted to see him and was waiting for him intently, listening for the sound of his boots on the front stoop. She was waiting for the door to swing open. To feel his gaze touch her, his hands not far behind. Until she imagined his face when he learned the truth.
How do I tell him?
“Are you sick, Mummy?” Maisie persisted, her brow furrowed in concern.
“I just have a little headache, sweet lass.”
Sidra had been very careful that day. When Maisie was at the house with her, she had kept her stockings and boots on, to hide all trace of her infection. It was only when Maisie visited Torin’s father, Graeme Tamerlaine, at his croft next door that Sidra worked herself into a sweat trying to uncover an antidote.
But children have a keen way of things. Sidra made herself lower her hands from her brow and eat her kail.
It seemed as if Torin would not be joining them for dinner.
Sidra rose and scraped everything off his plate, feeding it to the dog. Why did she even cook for him? Why couldn’t he send her a note with a raven if he was so intent on remaining at the castle?
When she decided to put Maisie to bed early, the child’s whining intensified. The lass wanted one of the cats to sleep with her, which Torin allowed only on certain days. Sidra decided to let two cats in. Then Maisie wanted a story, but none of the ones in Sidra’s lore book. Only a new one would do. Sidra’s eyes were so tired she could hardly see the words on a page, let alone create a story spontaneously. But she scrounged up a legend about Lady Whin of the Wildflowers, adding that she grew the finest kail yard and diligently ate her greens every night.
“I want a different story,” Maisie said.
“Tomorrow, if you are a good lass,” Sidra said, blowing out the candles. “I will tell you another story. Now. Go to bed, Maisie.”
Sidra shut the bedroom door and leaned on it, staring at the table. All the food and dirty plates were still set out. She contemplated leaving everything where it was. Perhaps Torin would clean it up whenever he decided to come home?
Sidra snorted. Knowing better, she carried a few dishes to the wash barrel. One of the teacups broke when she began to scrub it. She stopped, surprised when she realized she had cut her finger. She watched as her blood left a small trail in the water.
Sidra was still staring absently into the wash barrel when Torin finally arrived.
He removed his boots and hung his plaid. His face was haggard, his eyes bloodshot when he looked at Sidra. And then his gaze dropped to the table, which was still a mess.
Sidra’s heart softened toward him as she sensed how weary he was.
But then he briskly said, “Where’s my dinner?”
It took everything within her not to slam and break all the dishes in the wash barrel.
“I fed it to the dog.” She returned to her scrubbing, the cut in her finger throbbing with her pulse.
“Of course you did,” Torin muttered, and Sidra, again, thought she might lose her mind. But she held her tongue, her temper simmering just beneath the flush of her skin. She watched as Torin heaved a sigh and sat down in Maisie’s chair. He began to eat his daughter’s cold dinner until he noticed the half-chewed kail sitting on the table beside the fork. “Never mind this. I should have remained at the castle.”
Sidra whirled, intentionally breaking a plate against the cupboard this time. Torin had always known her to be a gentle spirit, and whatever he saw in her eyes gave him a moment’s pause as pottery shards cascaded to the floor.
“If I knew when you were coming home, I could have dinner ready for you,” she said.