It was nearly two weeks since Anne’s rescue from Moss and the orchard was littered with the last windfalls of the season. The need to get the harvest in quickly had interrupted the final picking, and the first autumn gales had caught them on the boughs.
Anne was slowly moving from tree to tree, seeking the best of the damaged fruit and putting them in her apron. Deborah had taught her well as a child: nothing must go to waste.
“What will you do with them? Aren’t they too bruised for use?”
Anne stood up carefully. Parts of her still hurt, though the pain was less with every new day. She smiled at Leif as he came toward her with another empty basket. “Would you say that I am too?”
He smiled nervously. It was a black joke after all she’d been through. “No. You’re sound. Lots of use in you yet. Deborah asked me to give you this.” He put the basket down and Anne allowed the contents of her apron to tumble into it.
“Anne?”
She turned to him. “Yes?”
“Show me?”
Trustingly, she allowed him to cup her face in one hand. He turned it, very gently, this way and that. “Can’t see much anymore. You heal well.” It was true: most of the discoloration had faded and the cut over her eye had healed cleanly.
Anne patted his hand in a distracted way, then bent down to gather more apples to fill the new basket. “Arnica and woundwort. And comfrey poultices. Very basic treatment, really, but I’m feeling much better.”
Leif started to say something, but stopped himself. Anne was spending too much time alone. That was not healthy. Her body was healing but her spirit was another matter; it was burdened by the monk’s poison and the shadow of Edward Plantagenet. He would lift the shadow and drain the poison. If she’d let him try.
“Deborah sent me to bring you back to the Hall. She has hot food for us all and Edward’s hungry. You can fill that later. Or I can.”
Anne dropped a few more apples into the basket. Already it was half full. “All right. I’ll leave it here. We can come back after we’ve eaten and fill it together if you like.”
Leif brightened. At least she’d said “we.” He bent down and shouldered one of the full baskets that were placed neatly beneath a naked pear tree. “What do you want all this for anyway? Windfalls won’t preserve well.”
Anne matched her pace to his long stride. Part of her wanted to reach out and claim one of his hands; part of her didn’t. “Meggan has told Deborah of an apple wine they make here. You peel the apples, crush them and add honey and water, then leave them to ferment. The longer you leave them, the more potent the wine becomes.” She smiled up at him. “They use it at weddings. The guests become cheerful very fast, or so they say in the village.”
“Well, then, I think you should make as much as you have crocks for. I’d like to see you cheerful again.” He took a deep breath. “And I’d like to see you married. To me.”
Anne stopped and so did Leif. They turned toward each other and she gazed up into his eyes but said nothing. He could not read her expression.
“Anne? Did you hear what I said?”
“Wissy, Wissy, you have to hurry or it’s all going to get cold. And I’m very, very hungry. Come on.”
Edward, spying Leif and Anne from the kitchen, had hurried out to meet them. He pulled hard at the skirt of Anne’s apron, trying to shepherd her toward the kitchen.
Anne spoke very softly. “I heard you, Leif.” But she picked up her son’s small hand and allowed him to lead her toward the Hall. “We’re coming, Edward. We’re hungry too, I promise you.”
Leif called out to Anne’s departing back. “And?”
She turned for a moment, but was helpless to resist her son’s determination. “Talk to me tomorrow, Leif. Let me think. I need to think.” But she smiled at him. It was tentative, but still a smile. Leif’s heart lifted. Tomorrow could not come too soon; it would be a good day. He was certain of that.
Whistling, he hefted the basket and followed the woman and the small noisy boy toward the Hall.