When Una awoke, it took several minutes to float up from the unconsciousness of sleep to grasp where she was. Her head rested on a net of branches within the protection of a large flowering bush. She wasn’t surprised to wake up amidst leaves; she had spent enough time in the courtyard garden at home. What was unusual was the change in scent. None of the regular scents of the Official Residence were present: the heavy smell of breakfast, the clean smell of the washing, the syrup smell of Ovid. Only the smell of branches and leaves surrounded her, sunshine and clouds above, dirt and moss below.
It should have been delightful to wake up in a flowering bush, but the memory of the previous day pushed through and she felt the losses keenly. She was tempted to stay in this place with its pleasant air and shade. But if she stayed here, how would that be any different from her life at home? She still wouldn’t have her mother. Her father still wouldn’t see her for who she was. It would be harder here—not easier, not better—because here she needed to find water and food, too. Neither of those necessities would be handed to her.
And there were angel’s wings to find.
She rose from her bower, picking out a few stray leaves that stuck in her coarse hair. How hard would it be to find some angel’s wings? While it was true that she had spent most of her days unsuccessfully tracking her mother’s scent, it was also true that she had been limited to the Official Residence. Out here, she should be able to smell them from far off. On the way, she would find water, and maybe some berries, so she could keep the rest of the dried pears for later.
Una began walking, uphill, then downhill, then through some bushes and grass and a patch of light. The scent of growing things showed her the way, beckoning to her until a different scent snuck in. A liquid sort of woodsmoke. On the tail of the smoke came a spice and hot tang. This scent intrigued her. It wasn’t the men cooking in their camp. It smelled just like the soup in the city yesterday morning when she and Cassius left. Her stomach felt very empty. But this seemed promising. Better than berries, even.
Una’s feet turned toward the spice and hot tang. She followed it around boulders as big as she was and then across a stream. On the other side of the stream, just at the edge of the trees, she saw a wooden cart that held a big pot. Underneath it were some glowing coals. Steam rose from the pot as an old woman with a lopsided bundle of white hair on top of her head stirred the contents. Behind her was a small stone hut.
Una hung back, feeling uncertain about asking for food. This woman looked so poor that Una’s dried pears made her feel rich. As she remembered the pears, she wondered if she could trade some for whatever the woman was cooking.
Una stepped out from behind the greenery, and the woman jumped.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Una said.
The woman laughed, her wide lips opening into a bright smile. “No harm done, child.” She studied the girl, tipping her head to the side. “You look a bit peaky.”
Without meaning to, Una looked at the pot in the fire.
“Wait one moment.” The woman rooted around in the cart and pulled out a chipped enamel bowl. “You need soup.”
Una nodded. “Yes, please.”
The woman dipped her ladle into the pot and poured some soup into the bowl. “I am Vita,” she said, handing the soup to Una.
“I’m Una.” She took the bowl and raised it to her face. The scent was so strong that it brought tears to her eyes. “What is this?”
“My special recipe. It brings life when it’s needed. Looks like you need some.”
Una nodded and sipped gratefully, feeling the spice burn down her throat and into her belly. When she spoke next, it was with the exhale of the fire that she had just consumed. “Thank you,” she said, certain that the words were flames in her mouth. She had never felt so alive.
Vita sat on a rock. “Now, tell me, why is it that you are here so early in the morning?”
Though Una had never seen this woman before, she had the sense that she could tell her anything, and she found herself wanting to tell her everything. “I’m not sure where to begin,” Una said.
“Well, I always try to begin at the beginning, but sometimes beginning at the end is easier.”
Una took another sip of the broth and tried to grab hold of what might be a beginning, but decided the ending might be an easier place to start. So she told Vita her story, working her way backward, though it both ended and began with the scent of her mother, the scent of an angel. “I’m sorry my story is so mixed-up.”
Vita laughed. “It wasn’t mixed-up at all. I understand perfectly. I, too, lost someone when I was very young, and have wished my whole life for a remembrance of him.” Her face clouded briefly. When Una put her hand over Vita’s, Vita simply squeezed it and stood.
“I need to get to the market to sell my soup. No soup, no customers. No customers, no money. No money, no more soup. With soup comes life!” Vita stirred the pot on the cart one last time. “You will come with me today, I think.”
Una wanted to laugh at how she had avoided returning to the city with Julien, and now Vita was suggesting that very destination. But Una found herself wanting to go with Vita, at least for a little while. It felt like the right thing to do, and maybe if she was lucky, she’d find angel’s wings on the way. So the two set off, Vita leading the way and Una pushing the cart.
