Page 67 of Changeling
With that in mind, I began to feed again and, once I’d regained my strength, set about becoming the useful proprietor my staff deserves. I hadn’t forgotten my meal with Sebastian so soon after his arrival—he was shocked to learn we threw out our scrap food. He was right about that practice being needlessly wasteful when surely a reciprocal arrangement could be made.
So I’d taken to venturing up the hills east of Pest over the farmland to speak with the farmers and developed a mutually beneficial relationship with the Toths. They grow vegetables in the summer, and along with barley fields, they harvest potatoes, sugar beets, and grapes. They keep pigs and chickens, both of which I’ve been assured would eat practically anything, so I bring them our scraps in return for fresh eggs for The Twig.
Clever Sebastian. Why we hadn’t worked out an arrangement like this before, I don’t know, but I’m glad he spoke up. The walks to and from the farm clear my head, allowing me to daydream about living up here one day among the fields and trees. The air smells of pine and frost, much preferable to the stale scent of the city streets, where snow immediately turns black from the grime.
I approach the farmhouse from the side where I know the path to be, though now a crystal white blanket hides it from view.
Fulop has already spotted me from where he’s splitting wood for the fire. He sets down his ax and meets me halfway, a wide grin on his bearded face.
“Ho there, Dominus. Brought dinner for the animals, did ye?”
“As promised, Fulop. Hope they’re hungry.”
He lifts the pole from my shoulders, and we put the contraption on the ground. “They’re always hungry.” He chuckles the words out merrily.
Fulop never seems to be in anything but a great mood. Of course he would be, with a life as happy as this. His wife is a kind woman who always has a warm smile for me along with a basket of eggs in trade. His children are young and free-spirited, running amok throughout their modest farmhouse. All his livestock are well cared for, grunting or pecking excitedly from their enclosures as I approach.
I envy the man and his busy, joyful life.
“One of these days, you ought to come in the morning so you can collect the eggs yourself.”
“Could I?”
“Of course.” Fulop gives me a pat on the back. He’s often amused at my interest and utter lack of knowledge about farming. “Let’s go see what Mira has for you tonight.”
We head to the house and stomp snow off our boots on the porch. Fulop opens the door and calls inside. “Mira. Got Dominus here for his basket.”
A high-pitched squeal echoes from the rafters, and clomping such as I’d imagine from a herd of stampeding elk rumbles down the stairs.
“That’ll be the kids,” says Fulop. “You’re on your own, I’m afraid. Need to finish the firewood before dark.” He’s still laughing as he abandons me just inside the house.
I don’t want to go any farther with my shoes on, but I don’t have to wait long before the imps are on me like the little squirrels they are. I scoop one child up in each arm.
“Hello, mighty beasties, are we being good for Mummy today?”
Their wild giggling is answer enough.
Mira comes from the kitchen, a basket in her hand and a baby on her hip. “Evening, Dominus, sorry about the wee ones.”
“Don’t be. I can handle wee beasties easily enough.” I set the children down and take the basket. They scamper off to do whatever small children do. I don’t even know why they like me, but I always get an enthusiastic greeting from them. “What’s this?”
“Just a little something extra I thought you might like. Homemade.”
“Thank you.” A loaf of sweet-smelling bread, still warm from the oven, has joined the eggs in my basket. “I appreciate that.”
“You’re welcome, Dominus. Now get on. You’re letting the chill in.” The baby blinks sleepily as if just noting the cold air from the door left slightly ajar.
“Night, Mira, thanks again.”
I leave the farmstead with high hopes. The scent of the sweet bread reminds me of Sebastian. Has he gotten my letter yet? What has he made of it? I hope I haven’t interrupted his life too much with my words. At Ivaz’s insistence, I’d told him the truth. Most of it anyway, though I was careful in the wording. I invited him for a visit come springtime, when the weather is decent for travel. I hope he’ll come, though I don’t want to tear him away from his life with The Dozen. If we could have a few visits, perhaps a couple each year, then I’d always have something to look forward to.
I can only wish he feels the same.
I take another whiff of the delicious-smelling bread and think of his messy hair, his bright, amber eyes, and his radiant smile.
If I weren’t stuck in Hungary, I could make the trip myself instead of asking it of Sebastian.
The walk back to The Twig is quiet, with only thecracksof branches snapping under the weight of the snow in my ears. The sun has gone down, though it’s still quite early. Within the next couple of hours, guests will arrive in the parlor, and Annais will be there to greet them. It’s been nice to turn over my hosting duties, though now that I’m not spending all my time moping in bed anymore, it does leave me with a certain lack of responsibility and an abundance of free time I don’t know what to do with.
