Read Online The Care and Feeding of Griffins by R. Lee Smith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: R. Lee Smith
Tags: Erótica, Literature & Fiction
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“And things you can’t. Come with me.”
Taryn went, bemused, and watched with no small amount of awe as her grandmother reached into the cupboard in her little kitchen and took down a cast iron cauldron easily large enough to boil a whole turkey in.
“Cliodhna,” Granna Birgit murmured, her gnarled hands stroking the dull black rim. “A wedding gift for my mother’s mother, and old even then, I’d warrant. It came west with her, oh, 1843, that was. Cliodhna and a set of sewing needles was her only dowry, and with them, she was one well-made bride, ha!” The old woman laughed, then sighed, and turned to face Taryn with a broad smile. “It’s been pot and kettle, oven and, aye, bathtub and baby basin in its day. And now it’s yours.”
“ I’ll lose it,” Taryn said, backing away.
“ So lose it.” The aged shoulders rose and fell nonchalantly. “But use it first, aisling. It has a noble history. Let it have a noble legacy before it becomes just another tired antique for my grandchildren to squabble over.” Granna Birgit curled her lip to expose, for a moment, the perfect white teeth of a denture-wearer, and then she smiled again. “So come and take it, aisling. If nothing else, you can sell it when you get to where you’re going for a mated pair of goats or geese or whatever they have.”
Taryn reached out reluctantly and closed her hands around the curved handle, feeling the awesome weight of the cauldron dragging at her already.
Granna Birgit gave her an old woman’s sunny grin, the sort that said plainly that she saw her granddaughter’s lack of enthusiasm well enough and chose to ignore it. “And now to fill it,” she said, and headed for the door.
“ I have to carry everything,” Taryn protested, but she was already following her.
“ A few day’s discomfort will buy you a full belly for the rest of your years,” Birgit called back uncaringly. “You were willing enough to lug an air mattress and all that other pointless frippery around, weren’t you?”
Out of the cabin and across the immaculate yards they went, with Granna Birgit ’s hands worn and warm on Taryn’s arms. They went past rows of flowers and neat little patches of pumpkins and corn to a greenhouse, lightly bustling with other old gardeners. Inside, midway down the second aisle of growing green, Birgit stopped and retrieved a tray from the potting tables.
“ Here we are,” she groaned, and Taryn moved to take the weight of the tray and clear a place for it and the cauldron. “Good Irish potatoes, those are. Grow anywhere. You take them, aisling. As many as you can stand to carry.”
While Taryn began to load the small, sprouting seed potatoes into her cauldron, Birgit hobbled away, stopping to confer often with the others she met. When the old woman returned, she had dozens of paper seed packets in her hands. “Pumpkins, carrots, tomatoes, zucchini, musk melon, kale, bok choy—oh, Edward, you and your heathen vegetables—sugar peas, green beans, turnips, lettuce and corn. Won’t all grow, I imagine, but something surely will. Get the potatoes in the ground just as soon as you can, and mix the ashes of your first fire in with them when you plant them so they’ll know you mean business. And sing to them, aisling. They’ll be in a new place same as you and be wanting the comfort.”
Birgit ’s hands, soft as roses, cupped Taryn’s face and pulled her down to accept a kiss. “You’re wanting to be on your way, I see that sure enough,” she said. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give for one more adventure of my own! Those days are set now, I suppose, but it does my old heart good to see the fire in you, Taryn.” She stroked at strands of Taryn’s hair, smiling mistily, and then said, “One more thing, to remember me by.”
When she reach ed for her neck, for the claddagh that had been her wedding ring and that she now wore on a gold chain, Taryn
Taryn went, bemused, and watched with no small amount of awe as her grandmother reached into the cupboard in her little kitchen and took down a cast iron cauldron easily large enough to boil a whole turkey in.
“Cliodhna,” Granna Birgit murmured, her gnarled hands stroking the dull black rim. “A wedding gift for my mother’s mother, and old even then, I’d warrant. It came west with her, oh, 1843, that was. Cliodhna and a set of sewing needles was her only dowry, and with them, she was one well-made bride, ha!” The old woman laughed, then sighed, and turned to face Taryn with a broad smile. “It’s been pot and kettle, oven and, aye, bathtub and baby basin in its day. And now it’s yours.”
“ I’ll lose it,” Taryn said, backing away.
“ So lose it.” The aged shoulders rose and fell nonchalantly. “But use it first, aisling. It has a noble history. Let it have a noble legacy before it becomes just another tired antique for my grandchildren to squabble over.” Granna Birgit curled her lip to expose, for a moment, the perfect white teeth of a denture-wearer, and then she smiled again. “So come and take it, aisling. If nothing else, you can sell it when you get to where you’re going for a mated pair of goats or geese or whatever they have.”
Taryn reached out reluctantly and closed her hands around the curved handle, feeling the awesome weight of the cauldron dragging at her already.
Granna Birgit gave her an old woman’s sunny grin, the sort that said plainly that she saw her granddaughter’s lack of enthusiasm well enough and chose to ignore it. “And now to fill it,” she said, and headed for the door.
“ I have to carry everything,” Taryn protested, but she was already following her.
“ A few day’s discomfort will buy you a full belly for the rest of your years,” Birgit called back uncaringly. “You were willing enough to lug an air mattress and all that other pointless frippery around, weren’t you?”
Out of the cabin and across the immaculate yards they went, with Granna Birgit ’s hands worn and warm on Taryn’s arms. They went past rows of flowers and neat little patches of pumpkins and corn to a greenhouse, lightly bustling with other old gardeners. Inside, midway down the second aisle of growing green, Birgit stopped and retrieved a tray from the potting tables.
“ Here we are,” she groaned, and Taryn moved to take the weight of the tray and clear a place for it and the cauldron. “Good Irish potatoes, those are. Grow anywhere. You take them, aisling. As many as you can stand to carry.”
While Taryn began to load the small, sprouting seed potatoes into her cauldron, Birgit hobbled away, stopping to confer often with the others she met. When the old woman returned, she had dozens of paper seed packets in her hands. “Pumpkins, carrots, tomatoes, zucchini, musk melon, kale, bok choy—oh, Edward, you and your heathen vegetables—sugar peas, green beans, turnips, lettuce and corn. Won’t all grow, I imagine, but something surely will. Get the potatoes in the ground just as soon as you can, and mix the ashes of your first fire in with them when you plant them so they’ll know you mean business. And sing to them, aisling. They’ll be in a new place same as you and be wanting the comfort.”
Birgit ’s hands, soft as roses, cupped Taryn’s face and pulled her down to accept a kiss. “You’re wanting to be on your way, I see that sure enough,” she said. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give for one more adventure of my own! Those days are set now, I suppose, but it does my old heart good to see the fire in you, Taryn.” She stroked at strands of Taryn’s hair, smiling mistily, and then said, “One more thing, to remember me by.”
When she reach ed for her neck, for the claddagh that had been her wedding ring and that she now wore on a gold chain, Taryn
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