Expiring Covenant (Black Lake Book 1)

Chapter 10
Gladys
~

A wagon wheel fell into a wicked rut and jarred me hard. I grunted and readied myself for the rear wheel to hit the same little canyon, but it somehow avoided the crevasse.

“Tell me again why you felt it necessary to ride the entire day in a wagon to go fish in this lake.”

“Gladys.” The dolt may have sighed, a bit. If he’d done it more blatantly I woulda clubbed him. “Do we have to do this again?” Wilbur mumbled. “You could have stayed home.”

“There’s a trout or two in the near creek, and catfish in the pond on Newberry’s farm. The creek is a ten-minute stroll, the pond a twenty-minute mule ride. This trek makes as much sense as campin’ out all night with the boys, when you can lie in your own bed after a short ride.”

“Why do you own twenty smocks, when two would do?” Wilbur asked.

“Tisn’t the same thin’. It puts you out none, and I enjoy the variety.”

“I’m not allowed a little variety?” he demanded.

I clenched my jaw, holdin’ back a stern retort. There were words on the tip of my tongue the pastor would’ve chided me for. “You have the tailor make you as many suit coats as you want. Won’t bother me none.”

“Kind of you, woman. Shocked you miss the point. I don’t wear my Sunday suit jacket but once a week, so all I need is one, and I enjoy my fishin’.”

“You didn’t fish for fifty years. Why’s it so important to you now?”

“Because I didn’t have the time to fish, for fifty years,” he grumbled, allowin’ his last word to dangle a long moment.

“Didn’t you sell the store so you can relax? Here you are breakin’ into a sweat drivin’ this team when you could be rockin’ on the front porch, enjoyin’ a breeze.”

“I don’t wanna enjoy no breeze. I wanna see what kind of fish they got in that Black Lake.” Wilbur smiled, probably from simply thinkin’ about throwin’ a line in the water. Old coot.

“And what am I supposed to do?” I asked. That question might’ve been a bit redundant. But with his memory, likely wouldn’t even remember.

My husband shook his head but didn’t answer. So maybe he remembered.

“I hear tell an elfish character runs the inn,” I said. “That more unsavory sorts live near. We’ll be lucky to wake up in the morn’ with one head and two arms apiece, your silver in your pocket. Payin’ to sleep somewhere else when you worked your life to afford our lovely little home makes no sense to me.”

“As I suggested, you could’ve stayed home.”

The wagon jolted again, and I grunted, elbowed Wilbur, as though he planned the discomfort. He winced at the poke, otherwise ignored it.

“I’ve spent my life takin’ care of you,” I said. “All I need is to have you go into one of your fits alone out here and die unattended. I’d never forgive me self.”

“I’d forgive you.” He smiled, but looked straight ahead. “Why doncha consider how nice it’ll be not havin’ to worry ’bout makin’ a bed, sweepin’, or cookin’. It’ll be pleasant for you, I suspect, sittin’ back and rockin’ your own self. You have such a fondness for rockin’.”

“You don’t need to go worryin’ your stubborn head about what I’ll be doin’,” I said. “Because I know what I’ll be doin’. Wringin’ my hands, is what I’ll be doin’, fearin’ your heart is gonna stop tickin’ again, and you’re gonna fall into that Black Lake and drown. I have no delusions of that.”

I slapped my lap with both hands and looked into the woods, feelin’ thoroughly flustered. A wolf howled off in the distance. “Oh—my—Lord.”

“Plenty of coyotes on the plain. Will you relax and ease that restless mind of yourn for one moment?” Wilbur pleaded.

Wasn’t no coyote. I glared at him before turnin’ to watch the changin’ forest scene. “We’ve gone a long way since lunch. Are you hungry yet? Shouldn’t we be nearly there? The sun is gettin’ a might low, Wilbur. It’s comin’ on dinner time. You sure you know where this place is?”

Wilbur pulled on the reins. “Whoa, girls.”

“Why ya stoppin’?” I snapped.

He pointed toward the steep slope ahead of us, but didn’t explain.

“Am I supposed to read your simpleton’s mind? What are you pointin’ at?”

“The hill,” he said.

I pursed my lips and elbowed him. “And?”

“I’m gonna let the girls catch their breath before we take on that slope.”

I crossed my arms and slumped, jerkin’ my chin to maybe send a signal that this delay was the final straw to ruin my day. After a moment I set my hands on the bench and lifted up an inch to give myself a break from the pressure.

“There you go woman. Get the blood flowin’ to your brain again.”

Not in the mood for his adolescent wit. I dropped down on the seat and gave him a wicked one in the ribs, before climbin’ out of the wagon. I gathered up my dress to keep the hem off the ground, lifted my chin defiantly, and strode up the hill.

It irritated me Wilbur sat quietly without tryin’ to talk me out of my irritation. Worried about scuffin’ my finest shoes, blisterin’ a heel as I ploughed forward at a brisk pace, but decided the risk worth it, to edge out my boredom and frustration.

Travelin’ this far to throw a string in a pool of water—that’s just like a man.

The physical effort allowed my mind to roam. Imagined ruffians skulkin’ about my empty home, how my husband’s old store fared, of my daughter Juliana and son Timothy.

The slope eased without me noticin’. I walked on, losin’ track of time, enjoyin’ the sights and sounds of the forest. I squinted against the glare of the late afternoon sun. Felt a tad warmer than comfortable, in truth, but that was a relief after a particularly dreary winter, even in the shadows we had ridden through the last two hours.

My steps secure in the deep pine needles coverin’ the shoulder of the rutted road, I closed my eyes tightly to enjoy the whisperin’ of the breeze through the tops of the trees, the kiss of it on my cheek, the tickle as it ruffled the loose hair that escaped my scarf. A gust brushed my face. The change in the air made me open my eyes.

A wedge of what had to be the infamous Black Lake peeked through the clouds far below. The majesty of it nearly took my breath away. I stopped and took it in. If I had to describe it, I’d say it was somethin’ of a religious experience.

“Oh, my. If it’s this beautiful from up here, what’ll it look like down there?”

I’ll never tell him it’s beautiful. I can be as stubborn as him. And he’d never let me forget it. As though there was anythin’ wise about this endeavor.

I still stood enjoyin’ the view when the wagon approached. Wilbur stopped so I could climb back in. As I sat on the bench seat beside him, I gave him another elbow in the ribs for his last insult, not yet forgotten. Not good to let a man get away with an insult.

He grunted. “That be a sight.”

“You seen one lake, you seen ’em all,” I said. But my eyes remained on the faceted stars that danced on the water, visible even from here. “My back is achin’ somethin’ awful. That inn better have a proper bed.”

“You saw those comforters Tinker Bick’s been cartin’ up here. Finer than what we sleep on.”

“You sayin’ I haven’t made you a comfortable home?” I challenged.

He let out a long breath, shook the reins a little to remind the girls they yet had a ways before they could relax. He sat tall and took in a fresh breath.

“The air smells a little conjured, if you ask me,” I said.

“Conjured?”

“You know, not natural.”

“Smells pretty to me,” he said.

“Pretty is for the eyes, not the nose,” I said.

“Then this sight is pretty, and that smell beats your bacon fryin’ on a Sunday morn.”

“Somethin’ wrong with my bacon?” I hissed.

Wilbur slumped forward and closed his eyes. He looked up and gave the reins another shake. “Get on girls,” he muttered, and shook the reins again.

~

The wagon cleared the crest of a shallow rise, and the trail fell steeply into the valley below.

“Slow ’em down, you old coot. What do you wanna do, get us both killed?”

“It might be a relief,” he said, stiffenin’, no doubt preparin’ for a jolt to the ribs.

I elbowed him since he expected it anyway. The wagon bumped along a little too briskly. He tugged on the reins and pushed the brake lever forward a tad more. It took several moments before the wagon noticeably slowed, and I gave him a piece or two more of my mind until it did. Shortly later we pulled out of the trees and the expanse of Black Lake opened before us, curlin’ west into the horizon. Both of us sucked in a lung of air.

“Oh, she’s beautiful,” Wilbur said.

“One’s as wet as another,” I said.

The horses threw their heads as they approached the inn.

“What’s gotten into ’em?” I asked.

We cleared the corner of an enormous, three story barn and turned up toward the even more ginormous inn. The sight of a troll and an ogre standin’ with an elf in conversation made me gasp. Don’t know why. Tinker Bick had told enough tales. Still took me back a little. I pointed not so subtly, and grabbed at Wilbur’s arm.

“I might have forgotten to mention somethin’ the tinker told me,” he said. As though I hadn’t had my own conversation with the handsome coot.

But this gave me another tidbit to be angry about, which I could blame on him. “A little late, you old fart. You’re gonna pay for this, Wilbur Donningham.”

“I suspect I will at that.”

Wilbur struggled to calm the horses, but the ogre and troll strode away after a glance. The horses quieted, until a flurry of squeakin’ gnomes—I’d never seen a gnome before in my life, but they couldn’t have been anythin’ but—surrounded the wagon. The horses stamped. It seemed the little creatures knew what to say though. The gnomes spoke a language I’d never heard, but the horses responded to them. A moment later a gaggle of the beasties descended on our thin’s.

“Get your hands off of that!” I shrieked.

“Won’t do much good, ma’am,” the elf said, walkin’ up to the wagon. “They hold an obsession with unloadin’ a wagon. Seems they can’t stand to see one sittin’ with a stick of baggage or cargo. Welcome to The Hamlet, and Black Lake Inn. I’m Braes, the proprietor.”

The two of us sat, eyes goin’ back and forth between the elf, the lumberin’ ogre walkin’ off in one direction, the troll in the other, and gnomes trailin’ off into the inn with our belongin’s. Wilbur finally convinced me it was safe to get down, and more gnomes walked the team and wagon toward the barn.

Wilbur stood with his mouth open for a moment, but I figgered he couldn’t rightly put his finger on exactly what it was he didn’t approve of. Wilbur and I followed the quiet elf up the grand stairs. We both stopped when we reached the veranda and turned around, gawked at the view of the lake.

“Everyone does that,” Braes said.

“Seen one, seen ’em all,” I mumbled. Hopefully St. Peter wouldn’t call me on my little fib.

“How’s the fishin’?” Wilbur asked without turnin’ around.

“Yoso says he’s been findin’ the eels plentiful in the shallows.”

I grimaced, and felt Wilbur’s shudder.

“Understand the pike are strikin’ from boats out in the deep,” Braes continued. “A friend brought me three dozen striped bass this mornin’, so they’re not bein’ bashful. Had one for lunch. That’s what we’ll be havin’ for dinner. Hope ya have an appetite. I’ve got ’em smokin’ now.”

“I can smell it.” Wilbur grinned, turnin’ around, raisin’ his face into the air and inhalin’ heartily. “Can’t say I’ve smelled anythin’ so good in ages. Has my stomach growlin’.”

“You haven’t complimented my cookin’ like that as long as I can remember,” I hissed.

The old goat ignored my complaint. “You suppose I might find a local willin’ to row me about and show me a favorite fishin’ hole or two?”

“I’d be surprised if I couldn’t,” Braes said. “After we get ya checked in, I’ll walk over and ask Yoso if he’s interested. He appreciates most any excuse to get out on the lake.”

My nose jolted into the air. “This Yoso fellow. Might he be one of the, gentlemen, visitin’ with you when we rode up?”

Wilbur turned on me, fixin’ me with a glare. Not his everyday irritation. “Gladys! Shush. I’m not here just for the fishin’. I intend to meet people. I miss that I don’t get a chance to jaw with a stranger or two every day, since I sold the store.”

His words sounded confident, but his body defied him. Shoulders shook a little, hands flitted nervously at his side. Forty years together, I knew he was talkin’ braver than he felt. Goat.

So be it. As long as I don’t have to get in the boat with ’em. As we ambled to the front desk, the elf gave us a warnin’ that the giants don’t care to be referred to as men. “As in, gentlemen. In their world, they’re bulls and hens.”

~

The next mornin’ I walked halfway down to the pier in-construction and watched Wilbur climb into a boat behind the gigantic troll. Bull. I smiled as Yoso rowed off, his end of the boat sinkin’ lower in the water, which made Wilbur look as though he preened on an exalted throne in the air a tad.

That’ll be a picture in my mind I’ll savor for years.

~

I sat on the veranda and knitted. Read. Napped. My irritation waned as the mornin’ passed. A dozen humans checked in while I waited for Wilbur to reappear around the far point. I chatted with the newcomers, and actually found fun, watchin’ the gnomes appear from nowhere each time a new party arrived, flittin’ about obsessed with settlin’ them in.

The voice of the grumpy dwarf workin’ on the pier wafted up the hill from time to time. He grumbled angrily at the gnomes, too interested in his every move. The gnomes disappeared for a few moments, only to reappear to help him move some heavy plank.

Tis a beautiful place. But I won’t admit that to Wilbur.

Near lunch, I could no longer restrain my curiosity of the aromas comin’ from the kitchen. Walked toward the rear of the inn a couple of times only to return to the veranda to sit. But sittin’ wore tiresome. I’m not one to just sit. Thirty minutes later I walked back and slowly pushed at the swingin’ door of the kitchen, and peeked in.

There was a bank of deep porcelain sinks along one short wall, each with its own well crank. A bust-high workin’ surface stretched down the middle of the at-least sixty-foot-long kitchen. Above it hung dozens of pots and pans of every description. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen ’em. Had stood outside the general store and watched ’em bein’ loaded on the tinker’s wagon. Against the far side of the kitchen sat a long array of wood-fed stoves and ovens. A door led into what I knew had to be a cold cellar.

“Hello,” I called.

The squeaks of a dozen gnomes appearin’ from nowhere, only to quickly disappear, made me jerk in surprise. My fingers trembled against the smooth, oiled surface of the door.

“Come on in.” I recognized the voice of the elf, and frowned.

A man, male, bull, in the kitchen. Whoever heard of such a thin’? Ah. Go on in, Gladys. You’ve come this far.

I pushed the door open wide and took a tentative step in. Stopped dead still when a homely face peered back at me. I might have run for my life, but saw true terror in the female troll’s eyes. Hen. Needed to remember.

A troll, afraid of me?

I feared the hen would faint. Four heads taller, shoulders wider than two men, she shook, a leaf in a March breeze. The tiny elf came trottin’ around the corner and took the hen’s hand, whispered gentle words that had to be elven or trollish ones. They certainly weren’t Standish.

I remained still as the queer-lookin’ elf eased the fears of the giant. The troll hen worked hard to raise her chin. Tears flowed off her long, chubby cheeks and fell on the shoulders of the elf. He was gettin’ soaked. It made a smile cross my face, while my own eyes glistened for the troll’s outpourin’ of emotion.

I’d always thought of trolls as hideous thin’s. Well. This hen wasn’t anythin’ I’d call attractive, but she was far from hideous. Somethin’ pushed me forward. Found myself reachin’ up high to pat the female’s shoulder. I placed my other hand on top of her enormous hands. The elf said a few more words in his peculiar language and backed away, leavin’ the two of us alone.

“Never thought of myself as a frightenin’ sort,” I said softly.

The hen slowly peeked up, rather down at me, as her hands gave another shake. “I must appear the proper fool,” she mumbled—a deep garglin’ kind of song. “This is only the second time I’ve left my home in decades. The birds singin’ outside frightened me to death when I came here last week.”

“Oh my, then I can see why I frightened you so,” I said.

The hen smiled at my gentle sarcasm. “I guess ya aren’t gonna eat me.” The troll’s eyes darted up a moment to meet mine, but she turned her face back toward the floor. “My name’s Eina,” she said softly.

I introduced myself and quickly shifted the focus of our words to the food Eina prepared, and the troll eagerly described the meat and herbs she used.

“My Yoso hunts the woods-about for days on end to find what he calls the weeds I send him off for. But let me cook without ’em, and he whimpers like a younglin’.”

The elf returned and began preparin’ plates for lunch.

I fluttered my hands at him. “Tis a woman’s place. Get yourself out of our way.”

Braes stepped away with a knowin’ smile. Minutes later a routine was in the makin’ between me and Eina, to keep the elf supplied with lunches to shuttle out to waitin’ diners. The troll and I fell into busy conversation, each tellin’ of our respective children—she called ’em younglin’s—and complainin’ about our mates. I shared of my decades splittin’ time between home and keepin’ the books for my husband’s store. Eina described her life of self-imposed exile, livin’ in the wilderness away from the mines, family, and her kind. The afternoon rushed past.

~

I rose the next several days invigorated, a new sense of purpose replacin’ the loss of bein’ away from home, the familiar. What did I truly miss? Daughter married-off and livin’ in another village on the West Plain.

Son, infected with the wanderlust, explored the Wildes, who knew where. Home had become nothin’ but sterile walls, never-endin’ monotony. I hadn’t realized I was goin’ through the motions of livin’. Shockin’, as the revelation was to consider, it was also, so stinkin’ liberatin’ a truth.

Workin’ with Eina in the kitchen, havin’ purpose again, a kind friend beside me, rushed along the blood in my veins.

I hurried downstairs that mornin’ eager to greet Eina. The troll hen nodded her head meekly and studied her toes, until I placed my hand over the troll’s much larger ones. Eina looked up at me with a big grin, which painted her face with joy.

We chatted and cackled non-stop through the breakfast flurry. Later we sat in Braes’ garden behind the inn and shared our own simple breakfast of sausage and biscuits. That’s where Wilbur found us.

“You aren’t makin’ a bother of yourself, are you woman?”

I stuck my tongue out at the goat, but didn’t try to hide my grin.

He greeted Eina with a modest little bow. “I’m off to the lake with Yoso,” he said.

“Don’t let the door catch you on the way out,” I called.

Eina giggled, in that gravely way of hers, and a new sense of familiarity washed over me. A smidgen of a tear collected in an eye, chest hardened a bit. I didn’t even notice if Wilbur waved as he vanished.

Eina and I let the rest of the mornin’ disappear in conversation, before returnin’ to the kitchen to prepare for lunch. The gab didn’t slow for an instant. Each passin’ minute Eina gathered confidence in her speech I thought impossible days earlier. Rarely any more did my friend’s eyes stray toward the floor when our expressions met.

“Your days of facin’ no one but your mate day-after-day are over,” I told the troll.

“Oh, but I’m only here helpin’ Braes get accustomed to runnin’ a kitchen. In a few days ya’ll be off, back to yar beautiful home in the village.”

I smiled as I ladled a fat fish fillet onto a platter, and tore a sprig of parsley off to adorn it. “I don’t think the good Lord meant us to raise a family, then go off in a corner and die, do you?”

“Of course not,” Eina answered in her guttural song of a voice. She looked down at me, with a question set in her forehead.

“If Braes would have us, what would you say to the two of us runnin’ this kitchen together permanently?”

Our hands worked quietly for a few moments as we set out another round of meals for the elf to deliver.

“Ya’re sayin’ ya’d leave yar village, yar home behind, to live here at Black Lake?” Eina finally asked.

“It seems to fit into place for me. There’s somethin’ natural about this, and I don’t think Wilbur will mind havin’ to fish year-in, year-out. Actually, I believe it will be hard to pull him away anyway. Your Yoso and he have seemed to become quite the pair.”

~