Page 28 of Like Matches for Wishes

“She liked olive loaf,” I say, my voice shaking from the cold and nerves. “No matter what you sell today, Milla, bring home an olive loaf, she would say. And she hummed as she worked in the apothecary. She hummed all the time, when she was happy or sad. It made no difference, really. Sometimes she preferred to take cold baths rather than warm ones just to know that she was alive. She had patience in spades, but little tolerance for tomfoolery. The bagpipes were her favorite instrument, and she played the flute when she was a girl. She made a promise to my mother to protect me and to always care for me, and she did. Always. And one of the last things she said to me in this world was this.” I lock eyes with Jordy. “Even when something is hard to believe, believe it anyway.”

Jordy’s face falls and he looks at the ground, wearing his shame like a death shroud of his own.

I place the lit torch I am holding back in its brace by the river and make my way to the raft. I give Gram a final kiss on the cheek.

“I love you, Gram. Your work is done. Rest well.”

I pull some posies from my hair and place them in her dress pocket. I back away from the raft and take the torch again. I nod to the priest.

“For this godly woman we have gathered, and now I commend her spirit. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”

A few men gather around the raft. Master Burgess is with them but stops when he reaches me.

“I am so sorry about your gram, Milla. If you need anything—”

“I know, Master Burgess.” I grasp his forearm and give it a light squeeze. “I know.”

He places a kiss on the top of my hand, then joins the other men.

The men who have gathered pour oil along the sides of the raft, dousing the sprays of flowers and Gram’s body as well. They push the raft into the river, a trail of oil behind it. I go to the riverbank and touch my torch to the water. The flames ignite the oil and reach the raft, engulfing it. I watch the burning raft floating on the river, the castle tower in the backdrop like a silent observer. The villagers blow out the candles they are holding and walk to the river one by one, dropping their flowers into the water. I turn my back on the display, unable to watch any longer. The pain of losing Gram is too great and threatens to consume me. I look at the tree line in the distance as I head for higher ground and see a face from behind a tree that resembles Sir Victor’s. I stop and blink, looking at the tree again, and he’s gone. My mind is playing tricks. What I really need is sleep.

“Milla,” Jordy says, running to catch up with me, “wait.”

I stop and turn around. His face is wet from tears and it humbles me. He reaches for my hands and I allow him to hold them.

“I am so very sorry about your gram. Truly. I never wanted you to lose her. I know what she means to you.”

“She is everything I have in this world.”

Jordy slides his thumb across my cheek and places a delicate kiss on my forehead. “Not everything, my lady. I’m sorry I doubted what the knight said to you, Milla. Whether it hold no truth at all, or be as right as rain, make no mistake…I know your worth. Your worth is something you will never have to prove to me. The knight’s words are hard to believe, but I believe them anyway.”

And I believe him. “Thank you, Jordy.”

He extends his elbow. I loop my hand inside it but pull back a little when he starts to walk. We both turn around and gaze at the river one last time as it lights up the sky, flowers dancing on a sea of flames.

The cottage is too quiet. I miss Gram’s humming. Waves of emotion wash over me when I think about her coughing that wore so soundly on my nerves when she was here. I never thought it could be so, but I miss the coughing. Gram has departed this world, has settled into her eternal slumber. So, what am I left to do now? I have never been more alone in my life. I’m not sure how to exist without her, how to exist so completely and utterly alone.

Although I know it is wise to keep normalcy, I will not be going to market to sell my wares on the morrow. I wish to stay in the cottage for one more day, surround myself with Gram’s things and grieve the only way I know how. I had hoped to find more items that belonged to my mother, or maybe writings that Gram had kept with more details about our lineage, but there are none. My mother’s dress had been kept in a locked trunk that Gram never opened until the very day she gave the dress to me. Gram’s final words keep running through my head.She was a powerful mage, yet unaffected by madness.Could Gram have been speaking madness herself? There has never been a mage that did not lose their mind to madness. The more powerful they became, the more their minds slipped away from them. That is why the king took the magic away from Timberness. Magic is declared witchery, and witchery is forbidden.

Every time I think about my mother, I wonder what truly happened to her. Gram said my mother made her promise to take care of me, to protect me. She also said my mother died. Maybe she was sick, knew she wasn’t long for this world. But why did Gram have to keep her a secret, keep my entire bloodline a secret, if my mother was merely sick? And where is my father? Is he dead too? I still crave answers, and I am no closer to finding them. I may never know the entire truth about my mother, may never know my family, and it eats at me like locusts in a field. Did my mother succumb to the power of magic? My mother… A mage?

What happened to you,Willow?

I reach into my chemise and pull out the match Gram gave me. It gives me an odd sense of comfort. I hold it for several seconds, then put it back. I need to grasp my situation, need to assess how I am to proceed in this life without Gram. One thing is certain, I can not give in to a single drop of rest. I must survive in my predicament, somehow.

My rations are the first order of business. I busy myself taking stock of my food supply. Jordy’s mother sent over an olive loaf and sweet bread. Master Burgess sent some salted meats, and I still have the apples I picked up at market. I have butter and three carrots. There are two bottles of ale and a jug of cider. I have enough tea leaves to brew tea for weeks, and enough spices to make any dish taste divine. The vegetable stew has gone rancid in the pot. I carry it behind the cottage and dump it near the outhouse. The village cats will be grateful. There won’t be a smidge remaining by morning.

I wash the cooking pot and set it back over the fire pit. I will not cook this night. I will help myself to three slices of olive loaf and butter, and a piece of salted meat. I will wash it down with a cup of ale and have half an apple for dessert. I can bake the other half of the apple to break my fast come sunup and treat myself to a piece of sweet bread. Hot tears wet my cheeks when I think of how much longer the food lasts with just me.

Justme.

I lose my breath. I am now truly an orphan.

When my meal is through, I go into the apothecary. I haven’t stepped foot in here since Gram died. I lift the bottles one by one from the shelves, examining the labels inscribed by her hand. I admire how intricately she organized each medication by the illnesses they treat. I glance at the basket that holds the items that Gram received for payment. There are only enough wares to count on one hand. I still have a few coins left, and I know I can sell some of Gram’s things that hold no sentimentality, but that doesn’t add up to much. Gram and I share most of our valuables, neither one of us having very many items that are ours alone. Without Gram’s talent for healing, I will have no wares to trade, except the matches Master Burgess so freely gives me.

Will folks still come to me when they are ill or hurt and expect me to treat them? I do know some techniques and remedies for healing illnesses and setting broken bones. Gram was an excellent teacher, but I’m not Gram. I was her apprentice. There is still much for me to learn. Trial by fire. That was what Gram used to say. She learned to be a healer with a little trial by fire. I suppose if folks trust me, even knowing that I am as green as fresh Spring grass, then I will heal them as best I know how when the need arises.

I lift the jar of beetroot and recall the night that Gram died. Sir Malek stole her poultice to make a statement to Jordy. And his statement killed my gram. I wonder if it would have made a difference if I had stayed up that night and made Gram some fresh poultice. Would she still be here? I know it is a silly notion, but I loved her, so I question everything—every step I made the night she was dying that might have made a difference. I do know one thing as sure as I know there are clouds in the sky and leaves on the trees. Had Sir Malek not taken her poultice, I would’ve used it on her, and it may have prevented her coughing from becoming so violent. His thievery caused her to suffer more. Maybe one day, I will make him suffer too. I remember the raven feather on the bedside table. I step into the bedroom and retrieve it. I turn it over in my hand, then tuck it inside my chemise next to my flintstone. This black feather will find Malek again. It is my solemn vow.

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