Page 15 of Much Ado About Mistletoe
“—And the kitchen and the sewing room next to it completely rebuilt. The building stinks and smoke has stained the ceilings. Praise God the chapel is undamaged and most of the sleeping areas escaped harm. A few weeks of work, a lot of laundry, and the children can move back, those that aren’t old enough to be placed with tradesmen as apprentices. They’re unripened, but there’ll be no choice now. I know we’ll be taking thefanciullawewere promised, although until she’s grown, she won’t be good for more than delivering bread.” Julia turned her neck from side to side, as it made her head feel better. “It looks as if we’re running out of loaves for trenchers. After I eat, I’ll take her to the shop and we’ll bring all this morning’s bread.”
“That’s so generous!” It was, for I knew the holiday would normally bring in a week’s worth of income.
“At least it wasn’t me who carried a tank of water to the top of the building to wet down the roof.”
“Who did that?”
“Bartholo the blacksmith.” She looked around, searching for him. “Have you seen him? Did he make it down?”
From behind in the line, Basso Forina called, “The roof collapsed under him. Broken leg. Four stout men are bringing him hence on a litter.” Bartholo was a massive man, as befitting a blacksmith.
I glanced up to see that Friar Laurence had heard. He nodded at me and hurried to meet the brave blacksmith. Any but the most basic of broken legs were beyond my skill, but I could assist, and for that I also needed aid.
One skinny, surly-looking, short-for-her-age half-feral girl-orphan watched me from afar.
CHAPTER TEN
Evella, and clearly she recognized me.
I beckoned her over.
She pointed her thumb at herself. “Who, me? I didn’t do nothing wrong.”
I knew how to handle children like her—she reminded me a little of myself at that age—so I said, “You’re not doing anything atall, Evella, and I need help.”
She stared suspiciously, then skittered close. “I owe you,” she acknowledged.
“Yes, you do. Show me your hands.” She did and, when I wiped her gritty palms clean with a wet towel, squirmed as if I’d invented a new torture. “Now. I need strips of cloth about this long.” I handed her a roll of bandages, and held out my hands to show the length, long enough to wrap around a break in a man’s stout leg. “Can you do that?”
Scornfully she said,“Certo.”
“I looked at you and thought, ‘That girl can help me.’ You have that air of competence, you know?” Having bolstered her spirit and, I hoped, won myself the assistance I needed, I turned away so she would know I trusted her. I spoke to the next person in line, yet I watched out of the corner of my eye and saw the girl stare at the bandages, stare at me, stare at the bandages, then measure off the first strip and tear it with her teeth. Without looking around I said, “Place all the strips in that basket, and hurry before Bartholo arrives in the square.” I gestured the next person forward, and as I worked on him, I eavesdropped on the conversations.
“Did you see Lady Giustina run into the burning building and come out leading the whole class of eight-year-olds?” Fioriana held a bloody rag to her chin, but her pain must not have been too bad, for she added, “I didn’t know she concealed a heart in her skinny, shriveled chest.”
I smothered my laughter. It was true. Lady Giustina was a widowed, middle-aged martinet who expected correct behavior at all times and passed judgment as easily as most people passed gas. “It’s not heart,” I said. “She has her own perception of the right thing for her to do, and she does it.”
The townsfolk stared at me in surprise, as if a lap dog had sat up and spoken wisely. Heads nodded, and from down the line I heard Passafiume the boatman say, “Mayhap the prince had good reasons for marrying an old virgin witch.”
I leaned forward, looked around the line, and gazed at him. Just gazed at him.
And he, who was holding his ribs as if it hurt to draw breath, realized that recklessly angering the woman who would repair him might lead to unwanted anguish.
He bowed sketchily, and winced.
“Never insult someone who has the choice to cure you or poison you,” I told him.
“I take heed,” he assured me, and scrunched down as if to vanish into the paving stones.
Laughter rippled down the line, and conversations picked up again. “Lord Romeo and Lord Baldissere have nobly done their part.”
I nodded at that. I never had a doubt.
“The monks and nuns made each older child responsible for a younger one, and…it worked!” the widower Hieronimo marveled. “The older children brought the younger ones out.”
“How about that?” Evella muttered.
“Anton Maria is well?” I asked her.
