“It smells so good in here.” The stable boy hung his barn coat on a peg beside the back door.
The girl was turning the bacon in the three-legged skillet in the hearth. The boy stepped behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. She straightened and turned to face him. He kissed her forehead.
“Flirt!” she scolded, smiling.
“Always. Would you like me to cut the bread?”
“That would be nice. How many eggs today?”
The boy checked the bowl There were six eggs left. “Three is fine.”
“Fried or scrambled?”
“Scrambled, please. Could you add a bit of cheese?”
“I could. Or would you rather have mushrooms?”
“Can I have both?”
“Greedy guts!” the girl laughed. She started cracking the eggs while the boy sliced bread.
—
They sat elbow to elbow at a corner of the work table, eating eggs scrambled with cheese and mushrooms, and bacon, and toast. They drank strong black tea from chipped mugs. The girl told the boy about the Wizard’s latest annoyances, and he told her about the horses.
“Poor things, spending their days as lumps of rock,” said the girl.
“Easier for me, though, with only two to tend.”
“There is that.” She smiled, and he reached over to stroke her hair.
“You’re still wearing the hair clip, I see. Would you like me to make you another?”
“If you have the time. And the inclination.”
“I always have the inclination.”
Her reply was interrupted by a flutter and a thump as an origami crane landed in the butter dish.
The girl sighed as she unfolded it. “Let’s see what Himself is wanting for dinner, then.”
The two young people peered at the creased parchment, deciphering the Wizard’s spidery writing.
“Does he think it’s still Spring, with lambs and peas and strawberries lyin’ about for his convenience? Does he even look out the bloody window?”
The boy shrugged. “He doesn’t care. Let’s go talk to the Gardener.”
—
They found the Gardener, in his long gray smock and wide-brimmed gray hat, hoeing the potato patch.
“Dinner orders,” said the girl. She held out the parchment. The Gardener studied the Wizard’s list as he listened to the girl’s complaints.
“We’re in luck with the new potatoes,” he said. “Those, at least, are in season.” He rubbed the side of his pointed nose and tapped the list. “Peas, mint, young onions and strawberries, we have in the Greenhouse. Three months back, in May. I trust you still have garlic? As for the lamb…” He sighed, and brushed his brindled hair back away from his eyes. “Not much we can do about the lamb. We don’t raise the beasts shifted, like the plants. Do you suppose he’d be content with a nice roast chicken?”
“He’ll have to,” said the girl. “Or else he’ll go bloody hungry, won’t he?”
“Content or not, he’ll eat it,” the boy predicted. “But he’ll make remarks, and make our lives generally miserable until something else distracts him.”
“It is what it is,” said the Gardener, with a shrug. “Pick up a basket, and we’ll go have a look at those peas.”
—