MOONRISE: SWEETNESS

Sure that Rike would be busy for at least an hour, Bast took his time. He hopped a fence to cut through the Forsens’ fields. He climbed a tree and found a pine cone that he liked. He ignored a cat. He chased a squirrel. He found an old well covered by a dozen badly rotting planks.

The Williams farm wasn’t a farm in any proper sense, not for a long while at any rate. The fields had been fallow so long, it was hard to see that they had ever been plowed at all, overrun with brambles and spotted with sapling trees. The tall barn had fallen into disrepair, and half the roof gaped open, a dark hole against the clear blue sky.

Walking up the long path through the fields, Bast turned a corner and saw Rike’s house. It told a different story than the barn. It was small but tidy. The shingles needed some repair, but otherwise it looked well tended-to. Yellow curtains were blowing out the kitchen window, and the flower-box was spilling over with fox fiddle and marigold.

There was a pen with a trio of goats on one side of the house. On the other side was a large garden. The fence was not much more than lashed-together sticks, but Bast could see straight lines of flourishing greenery inside. Carrots. He still needed carrots.

Craning his neck a bit, Bast saw several large, odd shapes behind the house. He took a few more steps to the side and eyed them before he realized they were beehives.

Just then there was a storm of barking and two great, floppy-eared black dogs came bounding from the house toward Bast, baying for all they were worth. When they came close enough, Bast got down on one knee and wrestled with them playfully, scratching their ears and the ruffs of their necks.

After a few minutes of this, Bast continued to the house, the dogs weaving back and forth in front of him before they spotted some sort of animal and tore off into the underbrush. He knocked politely at the front door, though after all the barking his presence could hardly be a surprise.

The door opened a couple inches, and for a moment all Bast could see was a slender slice of darkness. Then the door opened a little wider, revealing Rike’s mother. She was tall, and her curling brown hair was springing loose from the braid that hung down her back.

She swung the door fully open, holding a tiny, half-naked baby in the curve of her arm. Its round face was pressed into her breast and it was sucking busily, making small grunting noises.

Glancing down, Bast smiled happily at the baby. She followed his gaze down and stared fondly at her nursing child for a moment, too. Then she looked back up to favor Bast with a warm smile. “Hello Bast, what can I do for you?”

“Ah. Well,” he said. “I was wondering, ma’am. That is, Mrs. Williams—”

“Nettie is fine, Bast,” she said indulgently. With the notable exception of Crazy Martin, most of the townsfolk found Bast pleasant enough, though most of them also considered him somewhat simple in the head, a fact Bast didn’t mind in the least.

“Nettie,” Bast said, smiling his most ingratiating smile.

There was a pause, and she leaned against the doorframe. A little girl peeked out from around the woman’s faded blue skirt, nothing more than a pair of serious dark eyes.

Bast smiled at the girl, who disappeared back behind her mother.

Nettie looked at Bast expectantly. Finally she prompted, “You were wondering…?”

“Oh, yes,” Bast said. “I was wondering if your husband happened to be about.”

“I’m afraid not,” she said. “Jessom’s off checking his traps.”

“Ah,” Bast said, disappointed. “Will he be back any time soon? I’d be happy to wait.”

She shook her head, “I’m sorry. Odds are he’ll do his lines, and spend tonight skinning and drying up in his shack.” She nodded vaguely toward the northern hills.

“Ah,” Bast said again.

Nestled snugly in her mother’s arm, the baby drew a deep breath, then sighed it out blissfully, going quiet and limp. Nettie looked down, then up at Bast, holding a finger to her lips.

Bast nodded and stepped back from the doorway as Nettie stepped inside, deftly detached the sleeping baby from her nipple with her free hand, and carefully tucked the child into a small wooden cradle on the floor. The dark-eyed girl emerged from behind her mother and went to peer down at the baby, hands clasped behind her back.

“Call me if she starts to fuss,” Nettie said softly. The little girl nodded seriously, sat down on a nearby chair, and began to gently rock the cradle with her foot.

Nettie stepped outside, closing the door behind her. She walked the few steps necessary to join Bast, rearranging her bodice unselfconsciously. In the sunlight Bast noticed her high cheekbones and generous mouth. Even so, she looked more tired than anything, her dark eyes heavy with worry.

The tall woman crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s the trouble then?” she asked wearily.

Bast looked confused. “No trouble,” he said. “I was wondering if your husband had any work.”

Nettie uncrossed her arms, looking surprised. “Oh.”

“There isn’t much for me to do at the inn,” Bast said a little sheepishly. “I thought your husband might need an extra hand….”

Nettie looked around, eyes brushing over the old barn. Her mouth tugging down at the corners. “He traps and hunts for the most part these days,” she said. “Keeps him busy, but not so much that he’d need help, I imagine.” She looked back to Bast. “At least he’s never made mention of wanting any.”

“How about yourself?” Bast asked, giving his most charming smile. “Is there anything around the place you could use a hand with?”

Nettie smiled at Bast. It was only a small smile, but it stripped ten years and half a world of worry off her face, making her practically shine. “There isn’t much to do,” she said apologetically. “Only three goats, and my boy minds them.”

“Firewood?” Bast asked. “I’m not afraid to work up a sweat. And it has to be hard getting by with your gentleman gone for days on end.” He grinned at her hopefully.

“And we just haven’t got the money for help, I’m afraid,” Nettie said.

“I’m supposed to get carrots,” Bast said cheerfully.

Nettie looked at him for a minute, then burst out laughing. “Carrots,” she said, rubbing at her face. “How many carrots?”

“Maybe…six?” Bast asked, not sounding very sure of his answer at all. “Is six a good number of carrots?”

She laughed again, shaking her head a little. “Okay. You can split some wood.” She pointed to the chopping block that stood in back of the house. “I’ll come get you when you’ve done six carrot’s worth.”

Bast set to work eagerly, and soon the yard was full of the crisp, healthy sound of splitting wood. The sun was still strong in the sky, and after a few minutes Bast was covered in a sheen of sweat. He carelessly peeled away his shirt and hung it on the nearby garden fence.

Leaving aside the fact that most folk in the town would be surprised to see him doing any sort of work at all, there wasn’t anything particularly odd about how Bast went about the chore. He split wood the same way everyone did: you set the log upright, you swung the axe, you hit the wood. There wasn’t room in the experience to extemporize.

Even so, there was something in the way he went about the task that caught the eye. When he set the log upright, he moved intently. Then he would stand for a small moment, absolutely still. Then came the swing. It was a fluid thing. The placement of his feet, the play of the long muscles in his arms….

There was nothing exaggerated. Nothing like a flourish. Even so, when he brought the axe up and over in a perfect arc, there was a grace to it. The sharp cough the wood made as it split, the sudden way the halves went tumbling to the ground. He made it all look somehow…dashing.

He worked a hard half hour, at which time Nettie came out of the house, carrying a glass of water and a handful of fat carrots with the loose greens still attached. “I’m sure that’s at least a half a dozen carrots’ worth of work,” she said, smiling at him.

Bast took the glass of water, drank half, then bent and poured the rest over his head and the back of his neck. He shook himself off a bit, then stood back up, his dark hair curling and clinging to his face. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you could use a hand with?” he asked, giving her an easy grin. His eyes were dark and smiling and bluer than the sky.

Nettie shook her head. When she looked down, loose curls of dark hair fell partly across her face. “I can’t think of anything,” she said.

“I’m a dab hand with honey, too,” Bast said, hoisting the axe to rest against his naked shoulder.

She looked a little puzzled at that until Bast nodded toward the mismatched hives scattered across the overgrown field. “Oh,” she said, as if remembering a half-forgotten dream. “I used to do candles and honey. But we lost a few hives to that bad winter three years back. Then one to nits. Then there was that wet spring and three more went down with the chalk before we even knew.” She shrugged. “Early this summer we sold one to the Hestles so we’d have money for the levy….”

She shook her head again, as if she’d been daydreaming. She shrugged and turned back to look at Bast. “Do you know about bees?”

“A fair bit,” Bast said softly. “They aren’t hard to handle. They just need patience and gentleness.” He casually swung the axe so it stuck in the nearby stump. “They’re the same as everything else, really. They just want to know they’re safe.”

Nettie was looking out at the field, nodding along with Bast’s words unconsciously. “There’s only the two left,” she said. “Enough for a few candles. A little honey. Not much. Hardly worth the bother, really.”

“Oh come now,” Bast said gently. “A little sweetness is all any of us have sometimes. It’s always worth it. Even if it takes some work.”

Nettie turned to look at him. She met his eyes now. Not speaking, but not looking away either. Her eyes were like an open door.

Bast smiled, gentle and patient, his voice was warm and sweet. He held out his hand. “Come with me,” he said. “I have something to show you.”