Something Peculiar

2.12

The gravel road wound down at a steep incline. I wouldn't have known I was going the right way if I hadn't heard the goats bleating.

When I rounded the bend, I saw the small cottage nestled into the side of the bluffs. Vines and bushes covered it so much that I might not have noticed it if it weren’t for the smoke coming out of the chimney.

The pasture for the goats leveled out a bit more than the rest of the bluff, so it was sitting on a plateau. A wooden fence kept them enclosed. The long fur on the goats was dingy white.

The overcast sky and the chill in the air didn’t help bring out the color, though. Even the leaves, which had turned golden and red, appeared faded as they littered the yard around Lisa’s house.

Now that I was here, I wasn’t sure what I should do. I wrapped my arms around myself and swallowed hard. Did I go knock on the door? What did I even have to say to her? She left. She made her choice, and I already knew that.

I looked toward the palace, deciding it might be better if I went home without seeing Lisa. A woman's voice stopped me, though, and I turned to Lisa’s house.

"I’ve already fed you," a woman was telling the goats.

She walked through the pasture, coming from the small barn on the far side of the field. Her worn dress dragged on the ground, so the hem was filthy. A dark cloak hung over her shoulders, and her brown hair had been pulled up in two tight buns. The goats swarmed around her, begging for a handout, and she’d been too busy gently pushing them back to notice me right away.

When she saw me, her steps slowed so much, she nearly stopped. Her eyes were as black as Lisa’s, and while she was very pretty, her face was more tired than any other I had seen here. She couldn’t be more than forty, but her skin had the worn, tanned look that came from a lifetime of hard work.

"Can I help you?" she asked, quickening her pace as she came toward me.

"Um..." I hugged myself more tightly and glanced up the road. "I don’t think so."

She opened the gate, making a clicking sound at the goats to get them to back off, and stepped outside of it. She stopped a few feet in front of me, sizing me up in a way that I knew wasn’t approving, and she wiped her hands on her dress, cleaning them of dirt from the animals.

Nodding once, she let out a deep breath.

"It’s getting cold out here," she said. "Why don’t you come inside?"

"Thank you, but I—" I started to excuse myself, but she cut me off.

"I think you should come inside."

She turned and walked toward the cottage. I stayed back for aminute, debating whether or not I should escape, but she left the cottage door open, letting the warm air waft out. It smelled deliciously of vegetable stew, something hearty and homemade and enticing in a way that food hardly ever smelled.

When I stepped inside the cottage, she’d already hung up her cloak and gone over to the large potbellied stove in the corner. A black pot sat on top of it, bubbling with that wonderful-smelling stew, and she stirred it with a wooden spoon.

The cottage looked as quaint and humble as I’d expect a troll’s cottage to look. It reminded me of the one where the seven dwarves lived with Snow White. The floors were dirt, packed down into a smooth black from wear.

The table sitting in the center of the kitchen was made of thick, scarred wood. A broom sat propped in one corner, and a flower box sat below each of the small round windows. Like the flowers in the garden at home, these bloomed bright purple and pink, even though it was way past the season for them.