The orchard where Karli sat was freckled with wild poppies. Freshly dyed angora wool was spread out around her on the shabby quilt. A drop spindle spun in one hand, the other held a book. Honey bees strayed from the skep to gather, undisturbed, on the small bouquet of orange blossoms pinned in her hair. The blooming period was coming to an end and the floral scent was fading.
She had spent the last few days weaving crowns from the sweet smelling sprigs to sell to the giddy brides of Sol and Månen. Combined with her share of last season’s jam earnings, she finally had enough money to buy a goat.
Horst had suggested she use her earnings to purchase the material for a new dress or two. When she offered to make him something as well, he refused. He was still berating her for the leather she had bought him over a year ago, though he obviously appreciated replacing the worn out boots and gloves he used for work.
When she had told him she planned to bring home a nanny he had argued that it would be too much trouble to keep it fed. The thought of milk alone was enough to keep her stubborn on the idea and when he came home that evening there was fresh cream and butter on the table.
In Karli’s mind it had been a ridiculous suggestion. So what if her clothes were a little worse for wear and the fabrics were somewhat mismatched; if it was good enough for Horst it was good enough for her as well. After all, it was she who was indebted to him (whether he saw it that way or not) for taking her in and raising her like a daughter.
She had always felt like a burden and had a need to recompense. That’s why she spent most summers washing and carding fleece for Fraulein Katz in exchange for a few skeins of her own. And why she had broken several laws acquiring cuttings from damn near every fruit tree in the kingdom to start the orchard that is now their bread and butter.
Before Karli, Horst was a poor woodsman living on whatever small forest animals he managed to trap. They were still a long way off from wealthy, but they could afford wheat for baking and needles for sewing. A great accomplishment, though wasted on Karli’s conscience.
~ Comment and Votes are much appreciated ~
YOU ARE READING
Hinterland
RomanceKarli doesn't remember her mother. She was raised as the daughter of a poor woodsman. Thorben, had barely had time to morn the loss of his own mother when his aunt stepped in to take her place. They may be strangers living in two different worlds, b...
