Cook, who was plodding along, breathing heavily, didn’t say anything; however, she did manage a nod in response to Luff’s cheerful comment. Janna faced fixedly ahead and tried to imagine herself in a mountain clearing—a dry mountain clearing—but even her imagination had its limits. Walking in the rain for hours without anything to prevent a constant stream of raindrops from trickling down her face was not her idea of fun.
Every now and then, her hair got so heavy that she’d grab the long wet strands and wring what she could out of them, muttering to herself. Cook didn’t say anything then either, though she did wait for Janna to finish so she could continue to walk beside her. It was doubtlessly a demonstration of sympathy from the reserved woman, but toward the end of the day, communication of every sort died away.
They sloshed steadily onward, and Janna came to the firm conviction that the going-up side of a hill was longer than its going-down side. Such an insight should be more widely known, and she dared anyone to disagree with her about it. In fact, she whispered a brilliant rebuttal to any such disagreement. When Cook glanced worriedly in her direction, Janna ended the debate, though she did first declare herself the winner.
Finally, the rain petered out and Luff called a break. Janna and Cook sank onto the nearest flat-surfaced rocks. They didn’t care that the rocks were wet. What difference did it make? They couldn’t get any wetter. This was much worse than riding on Madow and the other horses through that cloud. Janna was sure that she had never been this wet, not even when bathing in the huge castle tub or swimming in one of Mount Pasture’s waterholes. It was having wet, soggy clothes on that made the difference, clothes that squelched against her body and—
The shepherds and Luff had stopped farther up the hill, but they weren’t so far away that she couldn’t hear when they started talking about her.
“How long’s Janna been this way?” one of the shepherds asked in a low voice.
She couldn’t tell which one had asked the question. It didn’t matter; all three were waiting expectantly for an answer.
“Eh, what do you mean?” asked her father, though he sounded as if he knew exactly what the man meant.
“You know, thinking things are, that ain’t,” said the man.
Janna identified him this time. It was Muck. She’d always felt sorry for the man because of his name, but no longer, she vowed, as she shot to her feet and headed up the hill. He deserves it!
“What I told you was true,” she said hotly, elbowing her way into the group. “We did meet high-home horses, but only the cream-colored ones can talk, which is mentioned specifically in the history books if you had ever bothered to read them. The mares you saw couldn’t talk because they were brown, but they were different from normal horses, and I can prove it. Alissa and Petten didn’t have saddles or bridles. It was the mares who decided where to go, not the riders. Didn’t you see that?”
Janna waited for their answer expectantly.
She had figured this argument out as she trudged through the rain. Surely, it would convince these country men. It was their type of reasoning. They shuffled in their boots and cleared their throats, sounding remarkably like her father when he didn’t know what to say. Then Bandy muttered something about good riders guiding horses by moving their knees in certain ways.
“That’s ridiculous,” Janna said, but her father gently corrected her.
“It’s true, Janna. Not every good rider would know how to do it, but a scout like Petten certainly would.”
“Dad, you know I’m right about the horses. Tell them.”
“She is right,” he immediately said to her great relief. “We met cream-colored horses who could and did talk. We wouldn’t have made it here without their help.”
Janna glared in triumph at the shepherds, but they weren’t making eye contact again. Muck started to say something, but Roni nudged him and whispered something about the whole ordeal being hardest on the family.
It was hopeless, and Janna completely humiliated herself for all eternity by starting to cry. She didn’t shed a few decorous tears either. Oh no, great, heaving sobs were what burst out, sobs that shook her whole body.
When she was finished with her cry, she was going to die. Never would she return to a kingdom where people didn’t believe what she said. She’d go back to the Fern Queen’s castle and live by herself until the poisonous fumes got to her. She’d find the horses’ valley and beg them to take her in for the rest of her life, which wouldn’t last long because she wouldn’t be able to find enough food and would die of starvation. She’d go to live with Alissa, and if she died because she didn’t know the way to Green Waters that would show them, that would show everyone, and serve them right too.
Janna felt her father putting his arms around her and heard him tell the shepherds, “Go on without us. I know the way to Roni’s from here. You’re sure about putting us up for the night, Roni?”
Roni must have nodded his reply because she could hear the shepherds leaving, but she refused to lift her head. They weren’t even worth a glare. She hated shepherds. She hated shepherds’ children. She hated Mount Pasture.
When she’d finished her cry, Janna was too exhausted to resist when her father urged her onward. He walked on one side of her and Cook on the other, and the fernwoman took her hand. Nothing really helped. They were still walking toward an unfriendly kingdom infested with shepherds.
Oddly enough, it was the first sight of Mount Pasture that made her feel better.
They had struggled up a hill that was hard to climb because of loose rocks that slid out from under their feet, making them stagger every few steps. Janna couldn’t keep track of the times she almost fell. When she finally reached the top, she had to bend over, hands on knees, to catch her breath.
Then the sun slipped away from the clouds that had hidden it all afternoon. Wearily, Janna straightened up, intending to close her eyes and let the light bathe her face. Her eyes widened instead. Her lips parted.
Stretching out in front of her, the familiar low hills of her kingdom had been transformed into shining emerald-green rivers that flowed up and down the swelling curves of land. Janna stared breathlessly for a full minute. Then the golden glow of sunset faded and the green rivers became grassy pastures again, but she smiled a real smile for the first time that day.
Here, the thought came. Even here.
****
Roni’s cottage was one of the homes in the southeastern corner of Mount Pasture that had lost lambs that year. King Luff was sure it was the Fern Queen’s people who had stolen them.
“It’s been a week since anybody missed any,” Roni figured.
“Did we stay that long in the valley?” Luff said, shaking his head. “A week! Well, you can’t put wool back on the sheep. We were tired and the days passed without us realizing it. In any case, the Fern Queen is dead now. You should have no more problems with stolen lambs.”
Roni’s wife had prepared a supper of hot stew, applesauce, and homemade bread. She was apologetic about what she considered simple food, but everything tasted delicious to the travelers after their steady diet of roots, fish, and berries. Even Cook got second helpings and asked about the seasonings.
Janna was too tired to eat much. The emotional ups and downs of the last few days had drained her, and now there was another worry on her mind. She had lost weight during their imprisonment in the Fern Queen’s castle. Lots of small meals had done it. Her mother didn’t cook small meals—ever.
When she didn’t take seconds, her father, who was on his thirds, asked if she felt sick.
“I want to watch my weight,” Janna said, which triggered the standard comment from people who had no intention of doing the same thing themselves.
“I’m watching my weight too,” boomed Roni, staring down at his stomach. He and his wife laughed as if those words had never before passed human lips.
Luff shifted uneasily, and Janna knew exactly what he was thinking. She had never been able to resist
her mother’s cooking either. That was the problem.
Cook was the only one who supported her.
“You’ll do it. I’ll help,” she said.
Janna wondered what the former cook thought she could do. Queen Berta was firmly established as the castle cook and quite happy in her role, but it was really too exhausting to think about anything but bed.
Early the next morning, they set off on the winding roads that would lead them home. Mount Pasture was large. It would be a full day’s journey, even though the castle was in the southeastern part of the kingdom.
Caramel Brute had disappeared when they went into the cottage for the night, but Cook hadn’t been concerned. He wouldn’t want to be confined inside a strange place, she’d explained, and sure enough, he joined them as soon as they got out of sight of the cottage.
Most dogs prefer to lead the way, and the big dog was no exception. He swaggered a few yards in front of them as if in charge, glancing back casually to make sure they were still following. Whenever there was a fork in the road, Caramel Brute strutted down one of them hopefully. If his humans went the other way, he had to scramble to reach the right road; however, if they followed him, he swaggered on in the grand role of leader.
It was funny, and so were the dog’s frequent side trips to investigate anything that had an interesting smell. Inevitably, he got left behind and had to run to catch up, bursting between Janna and Cook like a hairy blast of wind, all for the sake of being in his favorite place, out front, pretending to lead the way.
Cook laughed at her dog’s antics and declared outright that she liked this kingdom. Low hills were easier to climb than mountains. In fact, the older woman was almost talkative, though the only thing she and Luff wanted to talk about was how wonderful Mount Pasture was. Cook would ask about something, and Luff would answer with more details than anyone could possibly want to know, in Janna’s opinion.
Still, she was in better spirits than the day before.
A good night’s sleep had helped. She was willing to admit that the low hills of her kingdom were easier to climb; however, the warmth of Mount Pasture’s air didn’t interest her as a conversational topic, and when the talk turned to the relative merits of a small herd versus a large one, she dropped behind so she wouldn’t have to hear anything about sheep.
Finally, the sun slipped behind a mountain. All three of them were walking much slower, but it didn’t matter because they had reached the slopes of the final hill. The castle was on the other side. They were almost home, and Luff huffed up the incline. Cook followed him with a will. Janna just followed.
She had her head up, listlessly watching the other two; consequently, she was the first to spot someone coming over the top of the hill, someone whose shape was round and whose face was wreathed in smiles.
“Mom,” she shouted, and her father’s head snapped up.
“Berta!” he bellowed and waved wildly as he ran to meet her.
Janna ran toward her mother too, laughing at her dad’s sudden energy. Her up-and-down spirits were soaring again and she was glad. Time enough later to think about…nope, wouldn’t go there. Not now.
Chapter 20
Potluck
“Not now either,” Janna said the next day as she ducked behind a bush, but her efforts not to think about a certain problem area weren’t working as well as they had last night.
That had been a good evening, one to remember fondly when she was old and gray—friendless too, of course, because she didn’t possess the gift of making friends, no matter what Petten and Alissa said.
Her mother had tearfully hugged her husband and daughter. Then she had greeted Cook and found out within seconds that her real name was Grissie, to the complete astonishment of Janna, who had never dreamed Cook might have another name. Afterward, Berta had fed them, giving a rambling summary of the goings-on in Mount Pasture. Janna had listened with varying degrees of interest, but one news item had fully caught her attention.
Alland and Benk had gone on a camping trip into the wild country east of Mount Pasture. What a relief that had been—and still is, Janna thought from behind her bush. She wouldn’t have to worry about meeting Alland or Benk today, not that she was a coward. She would face the people of Mount Pasture and face them bravely, but that didn’t mean she wanted to face them right away. She would take her time about—
“Hey, Janna, is that you?”
Uh oh.
“Yeah, hi, I was looking for a hair ribbon,” Janna said as she came out from behind the bush. “How are you two?”
The girls in front of her were older sisters to one of the five-year-olds whose lips had quivered when Janna told the Stalker story that last day at school. Janna braced herself.
“I didn’t know you wore hair ribbons,” the younger of the sisters said suspiciously. “You’ve always said they were too fussy.”
“Changed my mind,” Janna announced brightly. “What’s a little fuss!”
“Where’ve you been?” the older girl asked in a more friendly voice than her sister had used.
“I was captured by the Fern Queen and put to work in her castle,” Janna said stoutly, determined not to avoid a direct question. “Another princess and a prince were there with me, then Dad came, and Cook helped us escape while she was a fernperson.”
The two girls glanced at each other.
“That’s what they said you were saying,” the younger one muttered nervously and edged away.
“I’m saying it because it’s true. Have you ever known me to lie?” Janna asked. The hair ribbon doesn’t count, she told the Maker.
“We don’t think you’re lying,” the older girl said kindly. “We think you’re confused.”
“You told our little brother that the old stories were true,” the younger one pointed out.
“That’s because they are,” Janna said, but she knew they wouldn’t believe her. It would take a miracle to change the wool-clogged minds in Mount Pasture, and actually, Janna was afraid the Maker Himself would have trouble doing it.
The next few days were hard. Some people were nicer than others, but none of them believed her. Her mother was the one exception, but Berta wasn’t much help in changing people’s minds. Her focus was directed elsewhere.
The morning after they’d arrived at the castle, Cook had wandered into the big Mount Pasture kitchen with such a forlorn face that warmhearted Berta couldn’t resist inviting her to stay. As a result, there were now two cooks in the castle. Berta produced her usual feasts and Cook counterbalanced them with low-fat creations.
A competition rapidly developed targeting Janna, who had started counting the number of bites she took from each woman’s dishes so they’d come out equal. She couldn’t favor her mother because Cook was trying to help Janna watch her weight, but neither could she favor Cook because Berta was her mother, for sheep’s sake, and she didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
The situation was becoming worse too. Lunch was served earlier and earlier in the day, as each woman tried to sneak in before the other in order to take over the meal.
“We’ll be eating lunch before breakfast soon,” her father said with a chuckle to Janna.
Janna didn’t laugh. She supposed the whole thing was funny, but she was feeling left out and lonely again, exactly as she’d predicted. Nobody had time for her. Her mother and Cook were focused on their stupid competition, and her father was busy catching up on the affairs of the kingdom. Janna knew he was backing her whenever he could, but the people of Mount Pasture avoided talking with him about his daughter’s mental state, and he didn’t press the issue.
“Give them a few months,” he told Janna one afternoon a week after their arrival. “They’ll come around.”
“I don’t think so,” she said.
Someone called him away then and she was left alone the rest of the afternoon.
Luff returned in time for supper. He was beaming as if he’d solved the major problem of the mountain world. “The shepherds
want to celebrate our safe return. We decided to have a kingdom-wide potluck supper before winter blows in.”
“When will it be?” asked Berta with a hand over her heart, as if this were a life-or-death question.
“Tomorrow night,” Luff announced grandly.
Berta and Cook each took a deep breath, straightened shoulders, and focused on the wall opposite them. There was no use trying to talk further to either woman. Doubtlessly, they were lost in a world of recipe options.
Luff winked and smiled at Janna. She tried to smile back, but her heart was sinking. Mount Pasture loved its potlucks. A big crowd would gather, and every single person in that crowd would think Janna was mentally confused, if not dangerous. She knew the latter was true, because some of the mothers had begun keeping their younger children away from her.
The next morning, cereal and milk were laid out for breakfast on the buffet in the dining room. Berta had always specialized in big old-timey breakfasts, the sort of breakfast that shepherds ate when they were preparing to shear sheep throughout the day. Cereal was what Janna and Luff ate when Berta was sick and Luff was responsible for the meal. Nobody was sick now, but it wasn’t hard to figure out why they were having cereal.
Potluck was the name of a group picnic that involved people contributing whatever they happened to have in their pots. If it was good, others were lucky; if it was bad, not so lucky. In this case, luck had nothing to do with it. The two cooks had risen before dawn to start their culinary masterpieces.
Luff walked into the dining room while Janna was pouring cereal into her bowl. In a low voice, he warned her to stay out of the kitchen.
“I thought this would be fun for your mom and Cook—maybe bring them together—but I went in for a glass of water and felt as if I could hardly walk. The tension was so thick, I had to push my way out.”
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