After leaving the gypsy camp, Mina wonders how much she should tell Edvard, and how much she really knows.
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The warm day grew hotter, and by the time they stopped for a late lunch, the horses were sweaty and balking. After the meal, they walked the animals for three hours, and then rode the last three before making camp for the night.
The day had seemed especially long to Mina, and she wondered if it was because they were back on the road or that they had each been preoccupied with separate thoughts and spoke little. Yuila had hummed only occasionally, a semi-frown wearing on her face as she pulled at the jojoba beads hanging from her neck.
Mina hadn't tried to make conversation with the girl, but had noticed her despondency. If it was not Xapita on Yuila's mind, perhaps it was Menino, Mina thought. She had her own baby brother on the way, and her own mother to whom she had to explain a very long absence.
Edvard would also have a lot of explaining to do, perhaps.
Mina looked to where he was checking the horses and mule tethered to a clump of young trees. Camp was in a thicket of poplars that surrounded a grassy area off the trade road and surrounded with heavy boulders, similar to half of the other campsites they had made during their trip. The horses had enjoyed their day of rest and were reluctant to take up the journey again that day. Makka was more than reluctant, and Edvard had spent at least an hour of their travel over the day coaxing the unwilling animal.
Mina rolled out the cloth of items Edvard had bought the day before. She had not been present for most of his trading, and he had spread a little coin, as he put it, along the whole line of gypsy wagons. She glanced at the wok-like pan over the campfire. She knew it was Noen's work without Edvard saying it, and had to admit to herself it would be a change in cooking from the copper pot she had been using.
So would the chopsticks. She spread the four pair of sticks on the cloth, separating them into sets. They had been a purchase from Xapita's family wagon. Yuila had shared supper with the young girl's family, and had been so taken with the manner of eating she had convinced Edvard to buy some for their own use. He had agreed after a long hesitation, convinced the Crone was fabricating the story. Most eating with the gypsies had been done with spoon or by shish kabob stick. When Yuila returned with the chopsticks, however, Mina had to smile in recognition. It would be curious to see the girl master the eating utensils.
Yuila ran over to Mina at the fire and dropped to her knees. "I found corks, Sapo. Can we eat them?"
Mina took one of the plug-looking mushrooms the girl handed her and studied it, then smelled it for a moment. "Yup. We can eat these."
"Good. I'll get the rest."
Before Mina could say anything, the Crone was gone again. Supper was coming together, but it didn't look like something that would require the chopsticks. She arranged the bamboo pieces back in the cloth and rolled them up and tied it with a string. She wondered if her mother had ever made a rabbit stir-fry. Probably not. Maybe Grandma Tanako.
Edvard joined her and built up the cooking fire. "You don't want to use those? I'm sure we can learn. If Yuila can, we can."
"You think she learned?"
He shook his head, grinning. "Nope." He tipped the wok pan, then looked to her. "Not using that tonight?"
"I don't know what to put in it yet." Mina groaned at her own choice of words. "I meant that the sausage and venison is already cooked. I suppose I could heat one of them up."
He frowned. "What about the salted mouflon?"
"I didn't know we had any."
He nodded. "From Ona's wagon." He dug through the saddle packs and gave her a tightly rolled burlap bag. "It's coated with salt, and won't last more than a few days in this weather, so we should use it soon."
She removed the outer layer of the rough material to reveal a white, cracked layer of salt. Beneath this was the mouflon shank. She knocked off the salt and nodded. "I think this will work." She looked up in time to catch a large onion he tossed her.
"From Ona."
Yuila returned with another skirt load of mushrooms and deposited them beside Mina. "Can I go to the brook?"
Mina looked to Edvard, who was sitting several yards away, examining one of the maps. "Go ahead," she told the girl. "But don't fall in."
"I won't."
Mina heated a small amount of oil in the pan, satisfied with the light, nutty smell from it. Gypsies certainly had a variety of wares and foodstuffs to trade, she thought. She cut up the mouflon into bite size pieces and wiped the onion clean.
"We'll have to go to the valleys before I can take you home, Mina."
She closed her eyes for a moment, relieved Edvard couldn't see her face. She focused on the pale yellow onion, rubbing the exterior with a cloth. "Maybe I should just go by myself," she said quietly. "I don't want to interfere with your family, Edvard, and you've done—"
"How would you interfere?" He knelt beside her, watching her eyes that she kept on the onion. "I'm inviting you. That counts for something, even if I am second born."
She looked to him, perplexed. "What would being second born have to do with anything?"
He shook his head quickly. "Sometimes nothing. Why do you want to split?" He sat back on his heels. "You do want to go with the gypsies. Well, they're a day behind us now, and Anren said they're not going to move for a few weeks. You wouldn't be any farther ahead with them. You'd be no closer to home any sooner, Mina."
She sighed. "I don't want to go with the gypsies, and I don't really want to travel alone, but I know your family is a prominent name here, and I don't want to . . . well, give the wrong impression. For you."
He nodded and glanced to the Crone by the curve of the brook near the horses.
"I'm surprised you're taking the chance to return her after the other girl's story." Mina estimated his response, still cautious about his reaction. She rubbed the cloth over the onion's smooth peel. "And now there are two of us, and we just dropped off a baby. With gypsies."
"I know it's not the best of circumstances," he said slowly, turning his attention back to her. "And I know it doesn't look good, to most people, but I don't think it's a good idea for you to go on alone."
"I agree, Edvard, but it might be better if I did." She breathed easier, reassured he wasn't upset she had broached the topic. She wiped the tiny roots off of the onion.
"Well, I think you should stay with us. And I want you to come to the valleys for Elian's birthday, and then we'll get you home from there." He stood abruptly, clearing his throat and looking to the horses and mule. "So stay." He saw a timid smile come to her lips, and grinned. "Please."
She was tempted to tell him the rest of her plight, but decided it would sound more outlandish to him than it did to her. "Thanks, Edvard."
"I'll let you finish polishing that onion."
After he left to the horses, Mina frowned at the onion, which had actually begun to take on a gloss. Well, at least she knew how he felt about that view of their travel.
Ona had told her a few details the last night during one of Menino's feedings, and it took her a few moments to comprehend what the gypsy was telling her. Only a handful of the clan elders knew the story about Elian, but Ona and several of the women had recognized Sammis' name immediately as connected to Elian and the neighboring valley family.
Mina sliced the onion into sections, working quickly before her eyes watered. The story of Elian and the girl had given her a new view into Edvard's predicament in taking her—or Yuila—home. If word of the baby reached Sammis before Edvard did, he would have even more explanations to make.
She dropped the onion pieces into the hot pan and cleaned the mushrooms. Edvard certainly is digging himself a hole, she thought. She tipped the mushroom ends and added them to the pan. Maybe she could get home before he had to make a decision about his brother's celebration and her presence there.
But she didn't know how. Home seemed farther and farther away now. She wondered what her mother thought of her. Did she know she hadn't run away? Of course that's what she'll think, Mina told herself. Her eyes began to water and she blamed it on the onion. How would she ever explain what had happened if she didn't know? How long would her mother wait? It had already been weeks. Her eyes dropped to the wok pan and she stirred it with the new wooden spoon.
Maybe there would be a way home soon. Hopefully.
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