Hearts Return - Part 10

The walk up to the dressmaker's cottage was pleasant and, despite Zandrianna's quick steps, she pauses to take in a large flowerbed, brimming with colors. The sight brings a smile to her lips and she moves forward to examine the bed closer. Upon seeing several athelas plants she reaches down and grabs several of the leaves, tucking them into her pouch. She steps through a gate and pauses, looking at a tiny house nestled towards the back, unsure if she is at the right spot, until she sees Delliah waving from a window.

“Here!” The young woman calls out and then disappears from sight, only to reappear moments later in the doorway.

Delliah beckons Zandrianna to come down the path, then turns to answer some unheard comment. "No, ma'am, it's the healer I told you of. From the Tankard. The bard... No, not yard, bard... I mean, yes she's in the yard but... oh!”

She turns as Zandrianna reaches the stoop, giving her a relieved look. "I’m glad you could visit. She’s having a flare-up today and... well, come in and see for yourself." She starts to step back, then pauses. "Just, be sure t' speak clear and slow," she adds, before turning and leading the way inside.

Zandrianna follows Delliah into the house, noting the well-worn but tidy furnishings before turning towards the fire to see a small, silver-haired woman hunched over rubbing her hands. Zandrianna steps around a large chair and crouches down to take one of the gnarled hands gently in her own. "Well met," she says, in a clear voice as she looks up at the woman. "Delliah said you are having problems with your hands?"

The older woman jerks her hand back. "Here, who're you?" she demands, suspiciously.

Delliah, standing behind the dress-makers chair, puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Madame Greenvale," she sooths - though in a fairly loud voice. "This is the healer I told you about."

Madame Greenvale looks Zandrianna up and down. "I seen healers, and they ain't done me no good." She points at a pile of discarded snakeskin near one corner of the hearth.

Delliah gently takes a small sewing basket off the older woman's lap. "No harm in letting her look, now is there?"

Madame Greenvale mutters something under her breath, but then reluctantly offers her hand back to Zandrianna.

As the old woman holds out her hand, Zandrianna turns it over and examines it carefully. The woman's joints are swollen and hot, and Zandrianna shakes her head in sympathy. "Whoever these healers are that were treating you wouldn't know arthritis from a dog bite," Zandrianna says, holding the woman's hand between her own to warm it up. "Delliah, could you start some water heating for me? And I'll need a bowl big enough to soak her hands and a small mug as well."

Delliah nods and, after a moment's hesitation, scurries off to the small kitchen where the kettle already contains warm water from the late morning tea. "I've been usin' the snake skin regular," Madame Greenvale insists petulantly. "And it was that expensive sort the last healer sold me. So don't be telling me I've not been tending m'self!"

Zandrianna rubs the woman's hand a bit longer, before setting it gently in her lap and reaching for the other. She examines it and finds it in far better shape than its mate, though still a bit red and swollen. “I've never heard such thing as snakeskin before. Heat is what works best, plus a tea to ease pain and swelling. And it's not you as I would be lecturing about tending, but those that were supposed to be helping you.” Zandrianna sets the other hand down, before reaching into her bag for the fresh athelas leaves, and a small bundle of simple herbs.

The older woman smirks at Delliah, who's just returning with the basin of hot water. "I told you they was charlatans, the lot of them," she says, triumphantly. But her expression turns slightly puzzled as she returns her attention to Zandrianna. "Meat, you say? I'm not overfond of it, nor what it does to the digestion. How much meat?"

“Not meat … heat.” Zandrianna replies as she watches Delliah set the basin on a small table by the chair. She tests the water’s temperature with wrist and nods, before crushing and adding several of the athelas leaves, filling the air with their clean, mild scent. She opens the bundle of herbs and adds them to the water as well, before mixing them with her finger. “Bring your hands and soak them in the water for a few minutes, madam.”

She looks at Zandrianna dubiously, then shrugs and puts her hands into the bowl as instructed. "Well, feels better than the snakeskins," she allows. She sniffs. "Smells a mite better too." She wiggles her fingers in under the leaf-flecked surface, then starts to pull them out. "That it?" she asks, disappointed. "Don't feel no different."

Zandrianna takes the woman's wrist and guides the hand back in.. “That's because you must leave them in the water for a few minutes. Also,” Zandrianna adds, “While they're in there, I want you to slowly open and close your hands as so.” Zandrianna opens and closes her hand into a fist to demonstrate.

The other slides her hands back down into the bowl. "Well, why didn't you say for a few minutes," she mutters to herself, before raising her eyes to fix Zandrianna with an intent blue-eyed gaze. "And I've not seen you around these parts before..." she observes, leadingly.

Zandrianna motions for the woman to move her hands in the water. "I'm not from this area," she answers, as she turns to look for the mug she'd asked for. "I'm only here because I'm a traveling bard, and I heard about the wedding. I thought mayhap there'd be a place for music there."

Madame Greenvale nods sagely. "Oh, one of them out-o-towners. Well, doubt you'll get to see her, not having an invite and all, but the bride'll be wearing one of my dresses at the wedding." She shakes her head. "Poor thing. Delliah here saw her; says she seems half scared out of her wits. I'd be too, if I had t' marry that black buzzard. Still, she'll be coming into some money by it, I've no doubt." She pauses to suck at a loose tooth and move her hands in the water as Zandrianna had instructed.

"Saw her?" Zandrianna repeats, before turning to Delliah and speaking up. "You saw the bride? What does she look like?” She swallows, then adds, more casually, “It seems that none are allowed to see her, which seems strange since most men wish to show off their future wives."

Delliah looks over in surprise at being addressed so suddenly. She shrugs slightly. "Only saw her a few minutes, as I was helpin' her try on her dress. Seemed a pretty enough thing ... but quiet, maybe a bit sad?" She shakes her head. "You've not seen that Sallastin, the way he glowers at you. Looms. Hard to notice what else is in the room when he's scowling." She shakes her head, expression growing harder. "And then he said he was going to have one of his own girls do the hemming, that Marybelle, instead of paying us to do it proper."

At these words Madame Greenvale makes a disgusted noise, and a bit of the water sloshes out of the basin. "Going to ruin my beautiful dress, like as not," she growls, her earlier good humor slipping away. "And it'd be that one, too," she adds, darkly.

The frown on Zandrianna's face deepens as she hears the news about Immalaine. Safe, but this man Sallastin ... Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Zandrianna turns to Madam Greenvale with a quizzical expression. "That one?"

Delliah interrupts. "Don't you start on that," she says. "Your cousin's a suspicious old bag, though I shouldn't be saying it, and no doubt she's just spinning stories."

But Madame Greenvale's warming to the gossip. "That Marybelle. Little dark-haired one. See, my cousin came up to visit last month, up from down Tanner's Ford way, and saw her with a bunch of the servants come into town one day. And my cousin stares, and then turns to me and says: 'That girl there? She's supposed to be dead!" She nods her head a few times, vigorously, apparently impressed by the significance of this pronouncement.

"Dead?" Zandrianna asks, reaching into the water to massage the old woman's hands. "What led your cousin to believe this?"

The dressmaker leans forward, her voice lowering. "Because less than a year ago, way my cousin told it, the cottage where they lived burned to the ground. Was the talk of the village for weeks. And then she shows up here - if it's the same girl, an' my cousin swears it is - workin' for this Sallastin and not a burn on her." She leans back, looking smug, and raises her hand to waggle one finger at Zandrianna. Her expression becomes one of surprise. "Well now there's a thing... don't ache to move them like that!" She waggles her fingers a bit more.

Zandrianna takes the old woman’s hand bends each of the fingers as she watches her face for any signs of pain. "So, your cousin really believes this girl - Marybelle - to be the same one that lived in her village?"

Madame Greenvale nods, distracted by Zandrianna's manipulation of her fingers. "Well, my cousin seemed sure... Course, I'd never seen the serving girl before, not to notice anyway, so I've no way of knowing."

She takes her hand out from between Zandrianna's and tries wiggling the fingers on her own. "Coo. Been weeks since I could move 'em so well. Been a right bear trying to do the finer stitchin' with them aching up a storm." She pushes herself to her feet. "I'm right grateful. Now you just sit there by the fire for a spell an' I'll make us some tea!" She turns and steps across the small cottage to a pot-bellied stove in the corner.

Zandrianna opens her mouth to speak but, finding herself staring at the old woman's back, she stretches, stands, and follows. "And everyone thought she was dead?"  

Several pots clatter and fall off the shelf as the older woman rummages for her tea. "What's that?" she calls as she bends down, a bit stiffly, to retrieve them. "Got for a bed? Why, that pallet over in the corner. Don't need to keep m' hands in a bowl of water overnight, do I?"

Zandrianna shakes her head, "No you don't keep your hands in water overnight," Zandrianna says, speaking louder. "Why did everyone think she was dead?" she tries again.

"Well, on account of the fire. Burned the place to the ground. Way my cousin told it, neighbors got there in time to pull the brother free, though him badly burned, but was too late for the others. Seems there weren't no sign of her body, an' the brother got a bit worked up about it. 'Course, he was never quite right in th' head after that night, least, so my cousin said." The kettle begins to whistle and Madame Greenvale fills the pot. "Not an image I'd want to dwell on." She puts the pot and three mugs on a small tray. "Don't just hover there Delliah! Help me with this tray!" She walks back over to the fire, leaving her assistant to follow with the tea. "So... Delliah says you've come up for the barding?" Madam Greenvale asks as she resumes her seat.

Zandrianna follows in a daze and sits opposite, her mind reeling with everythig she'd heard. Marybelle dead, but not dead? Lost in thought, she doesn’t respond to Madam Greenvale's question until she felt a thump on her knee. Looking down at the spoon been tapped on her leg she nods. "Oh ... yes, I'm here for the barding. Tis something I enjoy doing," she says, and takes the mug Delliah is handing her.

The woman nods. "Well, you can thank the mayor's wife for that. Way I heard it, him up at the manor just asked for a few players. Was Mistress Brackenbush who thought of this business with a competition. She told me so herself, when I had her in at my shop a few weeks back. Getting a new periwinkle dress for the occasion, she is."

"Lavender, ma'am," Delliah interjects. "She decided on the lavender."

Madame Greenvale waves her hand dismissively. "Right, right, now I recall. An' I’ve yet to put the trimming on it.” She lifts one hand free of the tea mug she's been cradling and moves her fingers again, a pleased expression on her face, before retrieving the thread of the conversation. "Course, her husband the mayor just goes an' pretends it was his idea all along. But isn't that just like a man? Quick to blame us if aught goes wrong, but we say anything clever, an' they're always the ones who thought of it first!" She blows out a breath in a disgusted huff and takes a long sip of her tea.

Only half listening to the conversation, Zandrianna continues to think about what Madam Greenvale had said. Mary's dead – brother pulled out – too late for the others. Others? She looks up, her eyes wide. “Madam Greenvale – what others died in that fire?”

The dressmaker has just drawn a breath to continue her harangue, and she stares at Zandrianna blankly for a moment as the question interrupts her train of thought. "Fire? Which fire, dear?"

"The fire your cousin spoke of, and everyone thinking that Marybelle was dead."

Madame Greenvale blinks a few times, then her expression clears as she understands. "Oh, you mean that serving girl still." She frowns for a moment, thinking back. "Well... everyone. Don't know that she gave a list..." She taps one finger against the mug, still frowning. "Oh, wait, now I recall. Yes, was the whole family gone, even the baby. All except that brother. Step-brother really, on account of the girl's mother remarrying." She leans forward again, voice more animated. "Now, there's a story, and it just goes to show what I was just saying about Mistress Brackenbush. What I heard was..." She breaks off as Zandrianna unexpectedly springs up, mind racing.

'Whole family gone. Whole family? Father? Mother? But didn't Ceolfred say they were to save Mary's mother? If the woman was already dead in a fire …' Quickly finishing her tea, she sets the mug up on top of the mantle. “I thank you for the tea, and I'd love to stay longer, but... but the exhibition before tomorrow's competition is this evening. I must get ready.”

Mistress Greenvale stares up at Zandrianna for a moment, then pushes herself to her feet to show the younger woman to the door. "Oh, of course, of course. I heard about that. Getting everyone in the town square to play a bit for the locals before the competition tomorrow. Maybe I'll even come down to hear a bit, me and Delliah." She flexes her fingers a few times. "And I ought t' be getting back down to my shop..." She looks suddenly anxious. "It is okay for me to be sewing today, isn't it?"

Zandrianna pauses and nods. “Of course it is, though take lots of breaks and remember to soak your hands again before you sleep.” She then briefly gives instructions to Delliah on how to create the soak for Madam Greenvale's hands, before gathering her bag. “Remember, no more snakeskin!” she says.

The dressmaker steps out to the stoop to see Zandrianna off. "No, I've had my fill of snakeskin an' snakeoil both," she says with an ironic chuckle. "Stop by my shop before the wedding, and I’ll see if I have anything that might suit you."

Zandrianna waves good-bye and barely manages to walk out the door and down to the gate, before breaking into a run.

Mistress Greenvale watches her go. "Nice young thing," she muses, "though a bit flighty..." She shrugs and starts back into the house. "Delliah! Come help me pack up my bag, girl. I'd best go finish that stitching I promised Mistress Brackenbush."

As she heads towards the town square, everything Zandrianna learned races through her mind. They were depending on Mary to help them - had trusted her - but ... no. Zandrianna wasn't sure what to believe now. She had to get to Ceolfred and talk to him.

She pauses at a tree and leans against it as she catches her breath. He'd said he was meeting the girl today but Zandrianna couldn't recall exactly when. She rubs her calf and resumes her run, almost missing the turn to town square in her harried state. Swearing, she turns back and races up the road until she sees the town square.

As she approaches, she looks around and spots Ceolfred standing with the young woman, already deep in conversation. She gasps. “Oh no!”

((OOCly - I haven't done this in awhile but I want to thank Rastellion for lending his voice to the npcs in this piece. Hugs and lots of love to him, whom I couldn't do these stories without.))