Harry patted me on the back and simultaneously led me to the counter. The desk stood shorter than us, and a beautiful young woman with a waterfall of dark locks pouring down her back sat behind it. As we approached, she immediately set down her quill, clasped her fingers together, and met us with a broad smile. I was pleasantly surprised at the stark contrast she was in comparison to the first inn worker we’d encountered.
“How may I help you two?”
“Yes, yes. My wife and I need a room for a couple nights. What are your rates like?”
“Wife?” I hissed.
He flashed me a warning look to play along. I bit my tongue. I didn’t like it, but Harry usually knew what he was doing better than I did.
The girl didn’t seem to notice my confusion. “What type of room are you looking for, sir?”
“What is the cheapest you have?”
Without even needing to search through her papers, she answered by memory. “The cheapest that is vacant, sir, will be a gold plus one silver each night.”
I pursed my lips, knowing now not to interrupt Harry’s attempts to negotiate with the young woman.
His face remained impassive as he leaned forward and whispered, “I can give you one silver for each night.”
The girl’s expression didn’t change either as she leaned forward and lowered her own voice as well: “Negotiating is not something you can do here.”
Harry chuckled and rested a hand on the desk, knocking a few pieces of parchment off from her neat stack. The girl scowled at his hand and tried to shoo it away. He didn’t budge.
“My wife and I got married last night.”
The girl’s amber eyes sparkled as if a fire ignited them. “Oh! Congratulations,” she directed to both of us. My hands began twitching at the lies Harry told her, but I forced a smile in gratitude.
“And we don’t have a lot of money. You know, having had to throw a wedding and all,” Nick continued.
I lowered my eyes to the floor, feeling my cheeks begin to warm, but I looked at the girl through my lashes. She darted her eyes about the room, then gestured for Harry to come even closer.
“I can do one silver and two copper for each night. But that is it.”
Harry stood upright with a grin on his face. “Deal.” He dug out the correct amount of change and handed it to the girl as she scribbled something down with her long, feathered quill.
“Past the dining area, down the hall on your right, then the fifth door on your left,” she said.
I looked to where she pointed and tried to gulp down the lump forming in my throat.
“We have to walk past all those people?” I whimpered.
“Oh, come on,” Harry said, pulling on my arm like usual. “You’re actually getting better at it.”
His words encouraged me, and I rolled my shoulders back and strolled past the other guests, only once getting splashed by two or three drops of ale by an over-excited man drunkenly singing about his beautiful wife. When we reached the hall the girl had pointed out, I exhaled loudly.
Harry laughed at me. “Were you holding your breath?”
“I guess so. I didn’t realize I was.”
He turned the rusted knob to the door and gestured for me to enter first. A hint of disappointment struck me as I saw a cot. It was larger than my bed at home, but it wasn’t a real mattress with springs and a pile of quilts like the last inn.
I shook my head, frustrated that I was saddened by the lack of luxury. I should be grateful to have any shelter for the night. I turned my attention to Harry as he studied the splintering chest of drawers next to the small powder room.
“Harry,” I said with my arms folded. “Why did you have to say we were married?”
He didn’t make eye contact with me and shrugged, moving his studious eyes to the wooden floor.
He whistled. “When was the last time they swept this place?”
“Harry! We can’t share a room.”
He moved to sit on the cot that creaked loudly from age and finally met my gaze. “Ellie, we can’t afford two rooms. We have to stretch out your money as long as we can. Besides, I’ll just sleep in there.” He pointed to the powder room.
My eyes widened. “That little thing? There’s hardly any leg space, not to mention anything soft to sleep on!”
Harry scratched his chin with his finger and looked at the two small pillows on the cot. With a smile, he scooped up one of them and brandished it to me as if showing off a sword of exceptional craftsmanship.
“This will do. Besides, I’m used to sleeping in uncomfortable places.”
I squinted my eyes shut in regret for making him sleep in such a situation. “Here,” I said, moving to grab the second pillow. It felt hard in my grip, barely a step up from what I imagined the floor might be like. “You might as well take both of them if I’m to take the bed.”
Harry’s large eyes crinkled at the corners. “You are so generous, Miss Ellianne.”
I beamed at his use of my full name. Ellianne. It rolled off the tongue gracefully. My name really was suited for a princess, just as Mother always said.
Mother…
My face fell, and my shoulders slumped forward. The chaos of the day had made it hard to think of Lucinda at all. Now that things had calmed down, thoughts of her, and the overwhelming anxiety and sorrow that accompanied such thinking, were beginning to return tenfold.
With a sudden rush of exhaustion through my entire body, I moved to lie down next to where Harry sat. I could feel a searing pain in my heart as my eyes welled up with fresh tears. I bit them back, refusing to cry so much in front of Harry.
The sides of his mouth turned down in worry as he looked down at me. He hesitated for a moment, but then stretched his fingers to my cheek and began stroking it. I closed my eyes against his touch. His hands were rough from what were probably many years’ worth of calluses, but he was warm and gentle. The feeling sent pleasant shivers down my spine.
“You should rest,” he whispered.
I didn’t want to nod in agreement, in fear of him retracting his hand, so I just grunted.
“Would you like me to leave the room so you can change into something to sleep in?”
I snorted. “What I’m wearing is all I have with me.”
“Oh. Me too. Looks like we have that in common!”
I chuckled at his ridiculous joke and felt my heart warm with gratitude towards him and his own, very different way of comforting me. Just as soon as I began to laugh, however, he took his hand away from my face. The absence of his touch made me feel cold. My eyes flew open as he stood up and walked away from the bed.
“I’m going to let you sleep,” he said, the two yellow-stained pillows in his hands. I didn’t even want to know what the linens looked like upon the cot I rested on.
“Okay,” I said reluctantly, unable to push the thought of his hand on my cheek out of my mind.
I turned over to my side and wiggled my way into the thin covers. I barely caught a glimpse of him as he entered the powder room, but I saw him stretching out and relaxing the hand he used to stroke my face. It was as if the lingering feeling of our closeness was plaguing him just as much as it did me.
Chapter 11
I was drawing invisible circles on the glass of our little window. The ceiling of our room barely reached above Harry’s head, so staring through the window wasn’t very difficult, even though I was considerably shorter than a lot of women.
I watched as passersby went about their lives without a care in the world. Many were laughing with each other; I saw a few couples holding hands and stealing a kiss, children running around the streets chasing each other… What would it have been like to live a normal life? Where would I be? Who would I be?
Those questions were nearly all that occupied my mind for the last few days. We had already used up all our money for the room, having stayed for two nights, and I was starting to feel nervous about what Harry and I would do next.
“Elli
e, I have incredible news!”
“What’s the news?” I asked half-heartedly.
My lack of enthusiasm didn’t faze him. “I got us jobs!”
I whirled around in surprise. “For both of us?”
“Yeah, the innkeeper was more than willing to trade us longer accommodations with a little help around the place. I’m going to be stocking new deliveries of food supplies every morning, along with any other physical help he needs. And he said you can work in the kitchen.” He paused. “You can work in the kitchen, right?”
I nodded. Cooking and cleaning were the only skills I really had.
“Not only will he let us stay here, but he’ll give each of us one silver piece a day!”
My excitement started to grow as his was contagious. “That’s wonderful! I’ve gotta admit, I was getting worried.”
Harry raised his nose in the air and snorted, feigning offense. “Come on! When you’re with me, you never have to worry!”
I started to giggle, but then it turned into peals of laughter— more to do with the relief I felt than the quips from Harry.
“When do we start?”
Harry flung the door all the way open and threw himself into a deep bow, gesturing for me to exit first. “Right now.”
“You are a scrawny little thing, aren’t ya?”
I stood before the chef, arms clasped behind my back and shuffling my feet nervously. The round woman was just as tall as me, maybe a tad shorter, but the intense look she gave me with lips drawn into a thin line and dark eyes studying me with disdain made me feel less than comfortable.
“Yes, ma’am,” I agreed.
She scowled at me and tapped the ladle clutched in her grip against her forearm. “I doubt you can hold up those serving trays when they’re laden with tankards and plates of steaming food…”
I disagreed, knowing I was much stronger than I looked. I had often chopped the wood at home when Jacob and Jared didn’t feel like it, but I decided it best not to outwardly contradict the woman.
The chef sighed and wiped the sweat off her forehead and onto her apron. Her cheeks were red from the heat of the kitchen, and her graying hair was plastered to her skin from sweat.
“What’s your name, child?”
“Ellie,” I squeaked.
“Well, Ellie. I am Chef Ruth. Don’t call me ‘Ruth,’ don’t call me ‘ma’am.’ You call me, ‘Chef Ruth.’ Got it?”
I gave a fervent nod.
“Mr. Polthouse wanted me to give you a job. I guess you can start with the dishes over there.”
My eyes followed where she pointed to the towering stack of plates, bowls, silverware, pots, and every other dish in existence it seemed like. They spread all along the long counter in that side of the kitchen, making the room look much smaller than it already did. How did the chef and her two assistants have any space to make as much food as they did? And with only two stone ovens and one wood stove?
“Don’t just stand there gawking. Get started!”
Chef Ruth’s growling words brought my legs into motion, and I marched quickly to the pile of dishes. I froze once again, searching for a basin, or water, or something to get started. After moving and sliding plates about the surface, I finally found a large, wooden basin that had been hiding under the mess.
“Water,” I muttered aloud. “Where’s the water?”
I roamed around, staying close to the walls in fear of getting in the chef’s way. I didn’t want to know what meeting Chef Ruth’s wrath would be like. All the way across the kitchen was a hearth. It was finely constructed but smaller than the one at home. A large cauldron sat on top of the coals. I shuffled over to look inside and found at least a few gallons worth of boiling water.
“Can I use this for the dishes?” I asked, pointing at the water.
Chef Ruth and her bustling assistants— one a young woman with odd-looking, orange hair and the other an old man with the most painful-looking hunched back I’d ever seen— looked up from their jobs and scowled at me in turn.
“That’s fine,” the chef snarled at me. “Please don’t talk anymore.”
She glued her eyes back onto the chicken she was preparing for the oven, sprinkling a multitude of spices I could smell even from where I stood. I closed my eyes, inhaling the aroma. There was oregano, paprika, garlic, and… was that cinnamon? Interesting.
“Hey!” the chef snapped. “Get going!”
I speedily began to search for a bucket and something to scoop the water with. Within seconds, I found a long metal ladle with a deep scoop at its end, and a bucket sitting right beside the hearth. I sighed in relief at the convenience of their placement.
Careful not to splash my unprotected arms with the scalding water, I held the ladle out at about two feet from myself and poured one scoop after another into the bucket. It took me longer than I wanted, and I kept glancing at the chef to see if she was watching me with frustration. She did throw a glare or two my way, but she didn’t say anything.
I heaved the handle of the bucket into my grip and carefully carried it over to the dishes. With a hiss, I cursed myself for filling it too high as a few drops landed on my arms and even my face. I pulled the bucket as far away from myself as I could once I reached the basin, and slowly poured the water. I watched the steam warily, nervous about getting more than just a couple drops of the liquid on my skin.
I peeked my nose over the lip of the basin, satisfied. It was filled about a third of the way, allowing room to add some cooler water so as not to sear my hands off when cleaning the dishes. I gulped, realizing I didn’t know where to find colder water in the kitchen, and I really didn’t want to ask Chef Ruth any more questions.
“You’re going to kill yourself if you start washing in that hot water,” the young woman assistant called to me from one of the ovens as she pulled out a steaming loaf of bread. “There’s some fresh water in the pantry on your left.”
I sighed in relief, grateful for the assistant’s insight before I dared to ask more questions. I moved to send a smile her way, but she refused to make eye contact with me and shook her head, muttering something about the inexperience of children. I wasn’t much younger than her, by my guess, but she wasn’t half wrong.
Taking the assistant’s direction, I found a second bucket half full of cool, fresh water. I heaved it over the basin and poured a fifth of the water inside of it. After replacing both buckets where I found them, I finally was able to start with the washing. I never minded cleaning. Disgust and boredom was not something I was typically prone to when doing chores— it always gave me time to think. But as I dropped one dish after another into the warm water and scrubbed at them with a grubby cloth, my present thoughts were not things I wanted to dwell on.
Sadness was the most overwhelming emotion for me in the last few days. My life as I knew it had been ripped away from me, and there were many times I felt no desire to continue. I was lost, and I was empty. The only thing that could help me forget, even just a little, was Harry and his silliness. Working in the kitchen for hours on end made it so I wouldn’t see him as often as I’d grown accustomed to.
I was grateful for the job, however— to work for a roof over my head and a little extra money. If ever the opportunity arose to find my real parents, or even achieve a means to a better life someday, keeping this job for a while might allow me to take advantage of such things. As I reasoned those thoughts in my head, I found myself smiling, but only a little. I almost was able to convince myself that there is an end to everything, even days filled with sorrow.
The back door to the kitchen burst open, and I almost dropped the glass mug in my grip. I scrambled to maintain my hold of it, then quickly set it back on the counter once I did. I turned around to see what the commotion was. A few young men and even younger boys filed into the kitchen, each with stacks of boxes and packages in their arms. Chef Ruth and her assistants hadn’t been startled from the entrance. They continued their work without even glancing up at the newcome
rs.
“Delivery for today is here!” the freckled boy at the front hollered, louder than necessary.
I perked up, standing on the tips of my toes to find Harry in the line. He said this morning that he would be helping with deliveries. And then I saw him, in the very back of the group, a stack of boxes swaying precariously in his grip. He ran back and forth, trying to stabilize the stack. I snickered. He was much clumsier than his confidence let on.
His teeth were clenched as he tried to focus on the boxes while he followed his companions through the kitchen and to the spacious pantry I found the fresh water in. After proceeding into the pantry and unloading the produce from his boxes, he finally noticed me as he exited.
“Ellie! Fancy seeing you here!” he exclaimed, even though he knew where I would be, having gotten the job for me himself.
“Truly is a pleasure,” I tried to say with a straight face, but I felt my lips begin to twitch from an oncoming chuckle.
Chef Ruth cleared her throat loudly from the other side of the room. “Ellie, there are still a lot more dishes to do.”
Harry took a sweeping step towards the chef. “You must be the famed, beautiful, and talented Chef Ruth! I’ve heard so much about you!” He approached her and swiftly brought her dimpled hand to his lips.
The chef’s ruddy cheeks grew even redder as he kissed her hand. “Oh, you can just call me Ruth.”
I raised an eyebrow and bit the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning. Harry always laid the charm on a little too thick, but for some reason, people still loved it. But then again, when it was directed towards me, I couldn’t deny that I enjoyed it myself…
I shook my head. Charming, witty, and personable was just who Harry was. It didn’t mean anything when he complimented or charmed me into blushes. Especially since he was flirtatious with everyone, including the bitter Chef Ruth.
“Ruth,” Harry said with a wink, “if you would allow it, maybe I can help Ellie with the dishes. I mean, she’s doing a great job by herself, but I’m sure such an amazing chef like yourself needs the space as soon as possible.”
Pumpkins and Princesses (The Tales and Princesses Series Book 3) Page 6