CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Marytè

She inhales the sweet scent of stewed fruit, drizzling a little extra honey over the compote to bring all the flavours of autumn – apples, gooseberries, raspberries and vibrant red bilberries – into a cold, sweet soup. A special treat for them all. Austėja collected the assortment from the woods and Marytè placed them in the hot pot on the hearth and crushed the fruit with a spoon as it heated and softened, juices oozing, colours transforming. The smell, delicious. The heady scent of autumn is what she needs to pull herself out of her stroppy mood once and for all.

With the benefit of hindsight, Marytè recognises just how low she let herself fall. She permitted an injured knee to keep her immobile, to drown her in her past; and then glugging down the mead just pulled her under deeper, quicker.

Well, no more of that. Her mother had been lost forever. Marytè was only lost for a few days: she took the wrong path but found her way back again. She knows to be careful where she treads now.

The arrest of Krystupas sobered her quickly, and then the frightening ordeal with Tomas. Marytè will not allow herself to think about what could’ve happened if she’d not been clear-headed enough to follow her instincts. That niggling feeling she had about Tomas. The one she shared with the bees. Imagine if she’d not gone into the forest? What then? Her daughter, her beautiful strong daughter, would’ve married a tyrant, she would’ve sacrificed her happiness to protect the family. Or worse, he could have …

Marytè breathes in the fruity scent, stirs, focuses on the task at hand. She is not deluded: she knows she has some work to do, to stay on the right path. Austėja has done so much for the family and now Marytè must do her part too.

As if on cue, a knock on the door drags her gaze from the rainbow-coloured stew to the priest’s face.

Margusz.

She blinks, focuses her vision. Yes, definitely Margusz. Here to keep her on the righteous path.

He clears his throat and Marytè sees his attention drifts to Senelè, breathing deeply through her nose and the air catching in her throat. Her chest shakes and rattles as she emits a phlegmy cough. As if in sympathy, Marytè’s own throat thickens and huffs. A cacophony of coughs vault across the insulated walls of the house. They are little forest creatures in a hollow, and the walls are the trunks muffling the sound for the outside world.

Margusz remains at the door, concern etched into his forehead. She takes the pot from the hearth and sets it aside to cool. Hmm. Shall the soup be dessert or the main tonight? She’ll leave it up to the girls to decide.

Outside, they stroll along to the Scots pine and sit upon the bench underneath its shaded canopy. There was a time when she spent hours sitting here with Albertas. No matter what happened with Albertas, she misses their conversations. She’s always been a reserved person, but she’s been able to keep her emotions in control for so long and not go off path, because she had the regular, safe space to explore what was in her head and mind. She wants that again.

‘What would you like to talk about today, Marytè?’ Margusz asks. He speaks in a gentle but firm tone. She has come to see he is not as naive and detached, or too much the creature of the Duke, as she once thought. He is kind and he is here for their people. He is here for her.

Last time, Margusz had apologised, on behalf of Albertas, for what transpired between them. She’d told him she’s forgiven his predecessor; they were both to blame.

Today, Margusz is pleased with her progress, her desire to let go of the anger and resentment, to focus on the future.

‘I suppose I’ve had to adjust my expectations of my work,’ she says, massaging her knee, which remains tender and vulnerable to sudden movements. She’s been forced to slow down and be mindful of the way she uses her body.

‘Ahh. In what way?’

‘I believed I must be able to do it all to be a beekeeper, but now I see there are many aspects of this profession, and I do not have to perform them all. At least not in the way I thought.’

‘Hmm.’ He doesn’t prompt her further. Allows her mind to wander to other possibilities.

Jonas has told her about the log hives. What a revelation. No more climbing! He says he’ll help her collect logs before winter to store in the threshing barn so she can carve the hollows while the bees hibernate. She is thrilled with the prospect of tasks to keep her mind and hands occupied when the temperatures drop.

Austėja is capable of caring for the hollows, the ones high up that Marytè will not be able to reach until she’s made a full recovery, and a full recovery may not be for some time, or at all. Her body no longer springs back the way it once did. This thought should send her deeper into despair, but Austėja is here to take the reins. Marytè, at a similar age, took over the care of her family hollows, and Austėja will now do the same.

It might be that the only way Austėja has been able to flourish is through Marytè taking a step back. Perhaps this is how it has to be.

‘Perhaps this was God’s plan all along,’ Margusz says, as if he has read her thoughts.

Marytè soaks in the sun’s rays, which warm her face. There will only be a few more weeks of warmth before the forest prepares for winter. ‘You know, Margusz, I think you are right.’