Read Online Assassin's Curse by Debra L Martin, David W Small - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Debra L Martin, David W Small
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or your little ones. I just heard them fussing and thought you might need a helping hand.”
Jeda thought on Clara’s words and glanced down at the twin strapped to his chest. Both had strangely quieted when Jeda had confronted the woman.
“I guess I could use a hand and maybe a place to rest.”
“Well, if you put them knives away, I’ll take you to my house. It’s already warm with the morning fire, but I have to get some more water for the day’s cooking first. Come along. You and the babies can rest in the kitchen and get a bite to eat.”
“Thanks,” Jeda replied, making an exaggerated effort to put his knives away and ease the tension he saw in the woman. He picked up his sack of supplies and followed her to the well.
“I did stop at the healer’s hut to try and get some help, but she slammed the door in my face.”
“Yep, sounds like old Bertha,” Clara replied. “That’d be the day she helps anyone that ain’t near dead. You’re lucky that’s all the old witch did to you. As you can guess, she’s not very friendly. Most folks round here rather suffer through their ailments than go see her. She can be one nasty woman, that one.”
Clara seemed the amicable type, chatting nonsense and gossiping about the old healer as they walked to the well. Jeda sized her up along the way, ensuring that she posed no danger to him or the children. She was medium height, a big-boned woman with ample curves. Strands of loose, dark hair were escaping from her headscarf, and her apron was covered in grease spots, exactly what he would expect to find on a baker. Her hands had trace amounts of flour stuck to them and he began to relax, believing her story.
Clara got her water and led Jeda and the babies back to her home. Along the way back, when they passed the old healer’s hut, Clara told him that the only reason Bertha was still the healer in the village was because they could not get another one to replace her. Jeda spied candlelight shining through one of the healer’s windows and wondered what she was up to. It was not long before they reached Clara’s house and, as promised, the inside was warm and smelled of the fresh loaves already cooking in the large oven.
The front room was a cozy kitchen with a large table where Clara kneaded her dough, a wall of shelves where she stored the baked bread to sell, and a small table and chair for her to sit and enjoy her meals. Clara motioned Jeda to the table and chair and retrieved one of the hot rolls already cooling on her shelves. She cut up the bread and offered it to Jeda, along with a battered cup of water.
“I’m sorry but I don’t have much more than that,” Clara told him as she began preparing more bread. “I don’t have any food for babies. I haven’t had cause for any of that kind in quite a while.”
Jeda sat down in the chair and removed the papooses, setting them on the table in front of him. “I have milk for them,” he replied, opening his supply sack. “We just need a place to rest for a bit and then we’ll be on our way. I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
Clara began to make the next batch of bread, watching Jeda out of the corner of her eye as he struggled to prepare the milk for the girls. He didn’t seem the fatherly type and, when the babies began to fuss, it became apparent he didn’t have a lot of experience in taking care of children. What could have happened to their mother? Whatever it was, she did not want to pry into any personal business. The knives that Jeda had brandished earlier in the street were still fresh in her mind. He had an air of danger about him and the only reason Clara was willing to help was because of the babies. Finally, after a few, frustrating moments watching him, Clara decided that the babies’ welfare was more important than her fear.
“There’s actually an easier way to feed them, you
Jeda thought on Clara’s words and glanced down at the twin strapped to his chest. Both had strangely quieted when Jeda had confronted the woman.
“I guess I could use a hand and maybe a place to rest.”
“Well, if you put them knives away, I’ll take you to my house. It’s already warm with the morning fire, but I have to get some more water for the day’s cooking first. Come along. You and the babies can rest in the kitchen and get a bite to eat.”
“Thanks,” Jeda replied, making an exaggerated effort to put his knives away and ease the tension he saw in the woman. He picked up his sack of supplies and followed her to the well.
“I did stop at the healer’s hut to try and get some help, but she slammed the door in my face.”
“Yep, sounds like old Bertha,” Clara replied. “That’d be the day she helps anyone that ain’t near dead. You’re lucky that’s all the old witch did to you. As you can guess, she’s not very friendly. Most folks round here rather suffer through their ailments than go see her. She can be one nasty woman, that one.”
Clara seemed the amicable type, chatting nonsense and gossiping about the old healer as they walked to the well. Jeda sized her up along the way, ensuring that she posed no danger to him or the children. She was medium height, a big-boned woman with ample curves. Strands of loose, dark hair were escaping from her headscarf, and her apron was covered in grease spots, exactly what he would expect to find on a baker. Her hands had trace amounts of flour stuck to them and he began to relax, believing her story.
Clara got her water and led Jeda and the babies back to her home. Along the way back, when they passed the old healer’s hut, Clara told him that the only reason Bertha was still the healer in the village was because they could not get another one to replace her. Jeda spied candlelight shining through one of the healer’s windows and wondered what she was up to. It was not long before they reached Clara’s house and, as promised, the inside was warm and smelled of the fresh loaves already cooking in the large oven.
The front room was a cozy kitchen with a large table where Clara kneaded her dough, a wall of shelves where she stored the baked bread to sell, and a small table and chair for her to sit and enjoy her meals. Clara motioned Jeda to the table and chair and retrieved one of the hot rolls already cooling on her shelves. She cut up the bread and offered it to Jeda, along with a battered cup of water.
“I’m sorry but I don’t have much more than that,” Clara told him as she began preparing more bread. “I don’t have any food for babies. I haven’t had cause for any of that kind in quite a while.”
Jeda sat down in the chair and removed the papooses, setting them on the table in front of him. “I have milk for them,” he replied, opening his supply sack. “We just need a place to rest for a bit and then we’ll be on our way. I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
Clara began to make the next batch of bread, watching Jeda out of the corner of her eye as he struggled to prepare the milk for the girls. He didn’t seem the fatherly type and, when the babies began to fuss, it became apparent he didn’t have a lot of experience in taking care of children. What could have happened to their mother? Whatever it was, she did not want to pry into any personal business. The knives that Jeda had brandished earlier in the street were still fresh in her mind. He had an air of danger about him and the only reason Clara was willing to help was because of the babies. Finally, after a few, frustrating moments watching him, Clara decided that the babies’ welfare was more important than her fear.
“There’s actually an easier way to feed them, you
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