Expiring Covenant (Black Lake Book 1)

Chapter 23
Bick

~

I knocked on the kitchen door as I dabbed the sweat off my forehead with my kerchief. Poked my head in as a pair of come-ins echoed. Gladys peered up and smiled. She looked lovely despite the black smock and skirt she still continues to wear for her late husband.

“Ya’re back already? That was a short trip to the Wildes.”

“Didn’t make it that far,” I said, which prolly wasn’t necessary. I hefted the basket I carried in the air. “I came across a farmer with some of the best early produce outside of the western lowlands. It was the raspberries and blueberries that convinced me to turn back.”

“Ya knew we couldn’t live without ’em, did ya, tinker?” Eina quipped with a twinkle in her green eyes.

The hen is always sayin’ with her face five times more than she says with words. “That was it exactly.” I nodded my head gravely. The troll was teasin’ me, but not sure how.

“Ya be a good man, Master Bick,” Eina said, embellishin’ the lunch plate she prepared.

I watched the two females work, thinkin’, no wonder Master Braes had to expand the dinin’ room. Gladys and Eina’s food got better as the two competed day-in and day-out—in taste and presentation, and drew evermore visitors to the Inn. It’s been fun watchin’ it all transpire over the years.

I peered over at the very pregnant orc, Kincere. She stood on a platform in order to use the same work surface. Her arm moved gracefully about a four-layer cake as she set a creamy frostin’ to it.

“What ya need, Kincere, is some of these fresh raspberries to make that thin’ shine,” I said.

“Listen to the new pastry chef,” Eina bellowed. “Quick! Get ’im an apron.”

The two other females laughed. And I came on my own to get teased like this? Pretty sure a huge grin spread across my face.

Kincere reached over her huge belly and pointed to a sink. “Get over there and wash ’em then.”

I walked over, pulled off my vest, and rolled up my sleeves. Gladys bumped me and set an enormous colander in the sink in front of me. “When ya’re ready to give up the tinkerin’, we’ll put ya to work full time.”

Her smile made my knees falter and my stomach tighten. Wasn’t right to be so enamored with a woman still wearin’ mournin’-black. If she knew, would it irritate her?

I scrubbed up and rinsed the fruit as gnomes floated in depositin’ baskets of additional produce—mostly settin’ them in the least practical place. I hurried about to move them to keep the three ladies-hens from trippin’ over them.

I carried the colander full of washed raspberries to the orc.

Kincere grabbed a mixin’ bowl and placed it in front of her. “Fill ’er up with the best lookin’ fruit,” she said without preamble.

Not the first time I’ve been assigned as kitchen help. I chuckled and did as she directed. Before long, they had me dressed in a flowin’ apron, takin’ plates out to the overworked elf. Braes caught on, and in no time had me deliverin’ them directly to the diners.

~

The lunch rush over, I leaned up against the front counter chattin’ with the elf, who sat with his head cradled on his arm in front of him.

“I’m gonna kill myself doin’ this,” the elf said. “Gettin’ old to be workin’ so hard.”

“Ya need to bring on more help,” I said.

The elf sat up and looked me over, startin’ at the top of my apron to the hem of the thin’. He grunted.

“I wasn’t talkin’ about me,” I said.

“Why not?” Braes asked. “Ya spend all yar time in my kitchen anyway.”

Heat coursed across my face.

“I’ll be glad when the year is up so ya can properly begin yar courtin’,” Braes said. “Ya humans have such odd ways. Gonna catch a horsefly in that open mouth. Don’t go thinkin’ no one has noticed ya’re fond of Mistress Gladys. If we all weren’t fond of ya, we would’ve run ya off a long time ago. We aren’t gonna let just anyone sweet talk our Gladys.”

I maybe stammered, words failin’ to form.

“Ya must be in love. Ya sound like a fool,” Braes mumbled. “Three years ago ya told me ya were soon to be retirin’ from yar tinkerin’. Imagine Black Lake is about to have a new, year-round resident.”

Maybe, I continued to stammer, but couldn’t find it in myself to argue a word my friend said. I finally opted to skip most of the elf’s assertions and jumped to the crux of the matter. “Ya suppose Gladys has noticed?”

“Unless she’s blind and deaf, and to the best of my awareness, she’s neither.”

The rest of my body warmed to match my face and sweat tickled my sides. “Ya elves are known for bein’ romantic. What should I do?”

“We’re known for bein’ practical,” Braes answered. “I’d tell Gladys to forget about the required twelve months of mournin’, and the six months of courtin’, and plan a nice little weddin’. But I guess that isn’t gonna happen. There are thin’s I simply don’t get about ya midlin’s.”

Funny. I almost laughed out loud. Had never been called a midlin’ before. Didn’t even know that was a thin’. The elf didn’t refer to my age. Taller than the little-people, elves, dwarves, gnomes and orcs. Shorter than the giants, ogres, trolls, goblins and daemons. My mind returned to the current priority. Gladys.

“Ya be willin’ to sell me a parcel in yar woods, where I could build me a place?” I maybe surprised myself with the question.

The elf’s brow rose. His expression deepened. Should I worry? Elves are known to have a deep awareness of—subtle thin’s.

“Ya keep me supplied in produce and the humans’ spices, keep helpin’ me serve meals durin’ the rush three times a day, and I might be willin’ to do that.”

I smiled. That seemed like a lot, to buy a parcel in the woods. “I got a better idea.”

I left the Inn and walked over to Birs and Tiff’s place. The door hung wide open and the ogre bull sat on the stoop with a big mug in his hand. His shirt was soaked with sweat and he dripped from his brow.

“Ya come a visitin’ without yar wagon, Tinker?” Birs’ eyes followed up and down the long apron I’d neglected to take off.

“Not a-visitin’, not that way. I had a proposition for yar daughter, and that number one son of yars, if ya’d allow ’em to hear it.”

“Ren. Torc,” ogre Birs bellowed. “Ya got a visitor.”

A few moments later Ren rounded the corner holdin’ a pair of chickens. Dinner no doubt. Likely a side dish, considerin’ how ogres eat. Torc ran from the barn with a pitchfork in his hand, the younger brother on his heels carryin’ a rake. The two are like a stone and its shadow.

I voiced my suggestion without a bit of preamble, wonderin’ if the ogrelin’s would even be interested in takin’ on more work—maybe I hadn’t thought this through. I tried to read their quiet expressions. The two merely looked at their father for permission to accept, I think. Figgered, the idea of findin’ themselves around folk besides their family and critters sounded more entertainin’.

“As long as ya keep up yar own chores,” Birs said.

~

The two were cleaned up and in spotless smocks and knickers for dinner. The visitors at the inn seemed intrigued to be served by an ogre hen, who picked up in a flash the skill of linin’ six plates down her long arms as though born to the task. Torc rushed about bussin’ tables and helpin’ with every task that needed doin’.

“Ya should hire me to run this place,” I told Braes, as the elf took a break, watchin’ how seamlessly his new partners worked the huge dinin’ room.

“I thought I did,” the elf said without a smile.

I looked at him and squinted an eye.

“For the place ya’re gonna pick out in my woods,” Braes continued.

I smiled, thinkin’ how I may have organized somethin’ different on my own—without the wise mind of an elf directin’ me. Produce vendor. Resident of the Range. Future pursuer of the lovely Gladys. My smile tightened and I walked toward the kitchen, to see if there was anythin’ I could do to help Gladys, Eina, and Kincere, as a pang of guilt struck my heart.

How would Rueti and Tueti take to livin’ in the highlands come winter?

My mares are long of tooth. They require a breather after every hillock. But—a little produce in the summer would be a lot less weight to pull than a wagon full of everythin’ a settler requires.

~

By the end of the summer the rough framin’ of a big barn built for Rueti and Tueti set in a little dell a twenty-minute stroll from the Inn. Instead of a loft for hay alone, I had the dwarves insulate a nice little apartment—perfect for a grisly old bachelor like me—for the time bein’. I could pull open a wide slidin’ door and look down on my good friends below, throw them an apple before I even had my first cup of mornin’ coffee. How much better could life get?

Yoso joined me the mornin’ after the dwarves completed the finishin’ touches on the place. We stood with our hands in our pockets against the comin’-autumn, mornin’ chill, surveyin’ the ten-odd acres snuggled between the hills that gently sloped toward us. A proper little trout stream trickled nearby, into the pond that settled on the eastern corner of the glen. Only a hint of the breeze murmurin’ its song through the tops of the pines touched my cheek.

“I saw she wasn’t wearin’ her black smock yesterday,” Yoso said.

I grinned.

“Of course, we’ll all miss Wilbur for ever,” Yoso said. “But I wish ya enjoyed fishin’. It’d make it easier for me. Losin’ a fishin’ partner is hard.” A tinge of dissatisfaction crimped his face. “But ya and Gladys walk around with smiles that gladden the hearts of everyone who see ya.”

I looked over at my giant-friend, amused by his mixture of yearnin’ and compliment. “Ya’re welcome to join me in droppin’ a line anytime, right over there.” I grinned, pointin’ at my private little creek.

“Ya aren’t a superstitious kind, are ya?” Yoso asked.

“I’m thinkin’ I’ll stay out of boats on the Lake,” I said.

Yoso chuckled, the rumble rattlin’ the jays and crows that hung about. “Don’t ya human’s offer yar visitors a cup of hot tea in the mornin’?”

I gave him a brisk wave to follow, quickly gettin’ my hand back into a pocket. The visit was cut short though. I was eager to get down to the Inn.

The dinin’ room was packed with guests eager for their last opportunity of the season to enjoy their escape in the highlands. No one overlooked the threat of winter, though. The creeks that meandered into the Lake froze over at night, and never fully melted durin’ the day. The first few feet or so along the shores did the same, but the waves broke it up by mid-mornin’. The pilin’s of the pier had rings of ice around them too. Yet the late-visitin’ humans remained committed to hookin’ their pike and striped bass.

Siblin’s Torc and Ren no longer merely served and bussed the dinin’ room. I gave them the fancy titles of shift managers, and they supervised the teenage humans I brought from a northern village, eager for the rewardin’ distraction of summer work, and the excuse to get away from their parents. The latter prolly of higher interest.

The new cottages I planned with Master Coedwig would properly house the expanded staff next summer. It’d give a new sense of professionalism to the place. The locals who helped Braes the first few seasons couldn’t have been happier.

I considered searchin’ for a professional pastry chef from up North, interested in settlin’ down. Prolly find someone who wouldn’t mind the casual environment up here, workin’ only a few months full-time.

My thoughts were brought down to earth as Gladys bumped me playfully.

“Ya’re thinkin’ too hard, Master Bick,” she teased. “I could smell yar mind burnin’ all the way from the kitchen.”

“Runnin’ an inn is indeed heady stuff,” I said.

“I heard Master Braes mumble somethin’ a little stronger just the other day, as he stumbled over a pesky gnome.”

“Those plates hittin’ the granite floor, I was told, made quite the racket.” I smiled.

“Wish ya’d been here,” she said.

“I hear the whole place erupted in applause.”

“We humans can be a mean crowd. Eina and Ren glared about for an hour. They couldn’t relate to the humor of it, the poor darlin’s.”

That gave me a smile. “And Braes swore off gnomes in the kitchen.”

“Was a lost cause the moment he swore it,” Gladys said. “The irritatin’ little creatures heed no one. Ask Coedwig. He gave up tryin’ to influence them a long time ago.”

We remained quiet a few moments. She shifted from one foot to the other. Was it eagerness to return to the kitchen, or somethin’ else on her mind? I waited long enough. And then a few moments longer.

“Spit it out, woman. I know those late-summer melons I brought from the west were overly ripe. But there were none to be had anywhere else.”

“I’ve asked Eina and Yoso to join me for tea after dinner,” she blurted. “It would be pleasant if ya could join—”

“I’ll be there,” I was sayin’ before she finished the invitation.

“Good then.” She turned and rushed back to the kitchen, careenin’ off one of the servers. Luckily one who didn’t carry an armload of plates.

I tried not to watch her walkin’ away, but I couldn’t keep from it. Eyes locked spellbound by the way the bottom of her skirt twitched this way and that. Her narrow waist. The tightly woven braid of her hair with its silver streaks that swayed rhythmically.

I’m so smitten. Grisly old bachelor heart stolen by a widow. Wait. Tea. This had to be the start of the wooin’ stage. Really? That’s—long in comin’.

~

The four of us sat on Gladys’ broad porch sippin’ at tea that cooled too briskly from the icy breeze that flowed around and through the four of us. The two females had blankets lyin’ over their laps. A throw alone wouldn’t do it.

I willed myself not to shiver, but it was a difficult task. There was very little conversation. I am certain the others, like me, didn’t want the chatter of our teeth to be heard in our words.

Propriety keeps me from steppin’ into Gladys’ home still. Propriety is goin’ to send us all to our graves with the croup.

The minutes eked by as we sat lookin’ out across the black of the Lake. The image failed to portray its usual beauty. Instead it instilled the cold of the early night.

“I’m a troll, but I’m freezin’,” Yoso blurted. “Ya humans call this romantic, I call it crazy. Let’s go sit in the Inn’s hall and be warm, and play a game of cards.”

Gladys laughed as she stood. Everyone rushed to stand with her. “Excellent suggestion. Leave yar cups here,” she said, settin’ hers on the banister as she headed down the stairs.

~

We never picked up a deck of playin’ cards. Dozens of other guests congregated around the grand fireplace, fillin’ what settees there were, sittin’ on the hearth, and on blankets on the floor, takin’ turns tellin’ tales. The four of us joined them. There was no need to know the personalities in the stories. The twistin’ plots and humor, as well as the drama from time-to-time, introduced all the listeners to them, and made us all feel like old friends. I sat next to Gladys on a couch a little farther from the hearth, Yoso and Eina facin’ us, yet the intimacy wrapped us all together.

I imagined the evenin’s to come, as the Inn emptied for the season, and the hall became the community’s gatherin’ place to wait out the long winter, over checker boards and card games with wagers such as tins of peanut brittle, batches of brownies, picks of the litter or tribe, and artist Janding’s carvin’s.

The passage of the comin’ months of wooin’ are goin’ to be the longest of my life. But the happiest.

~