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“Good, very good! I would be doing better if Jo-Jo would stop eating my linen napkins in her sleep. Do you hear that, you wretched goat?” Grandmother Guri said, using a broom to hit one of the support beams holding up the roof.

Jo-Jo baaed, a sound that was audible even through the greenery growing on the house.Advertisement

“What cheese are you making?” Gemma asked, eyeing the bubbling pot.

“Prim. I would offer you tea, but I can’t heat a thing until the prim sets into a spread. Would you like milk? Jo-Jo dropped some before she hauled her fat udders onto my roof.”

“Yes, please,” Gemma said, sitting down on a rickety but comfortable wooden chair that was smooth with use. Everything in Grandmother Guri’s house was well-made and old, but majestically beautiful.

“I brought you something,” Gemma said, reaching into her basket.

“Oh?” Grandmother Guri said, squinting in Gemma’s direction.

“A jar of Bard’s applesauce,” Gemma said, placing the jar on the table. “I know it’s your favorite.”

“It is. As I always say, ‘It takes a worm to know an apple.’ Thank you, my girl!” Grandmother Guri said, setting Gemma’s mug of milk on the table.

“Of course.”

“So, you need help with something?”

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“What makes you think that?” Gemma asked, sipping the rich goat milk.

“I may be old, but I’m not stupid. That applesauce is a bribe if I ever saw one. What has you troubled?”

“Can’t I just come to visit you?” Gemma said, tilting her head as she studied the older woman who had taught her so much.

“Not unless you’re planning to have a picnic on that mighty fine velvet you have in there,” Grandmother Guri said, sticking her head into Gemma’s basket. “That color will set off Linnea’s hair just right.”

“You think so, too?” Gemma said, her joy breaking through her bland mask, making her smile in delight.

“Mmm, of course. You have my eye for color. Now, what’s the problem?”

“I need the gown—the velvet—to fluff out without the extra volume of the kirtle.”

“My girl, even that noble miss of yours has got to have a kirtle. She can’t go running around like a naked jay bird.”

“I never said she wouldn’t have a kirtle,” Gemma said, not at all scandalized by the phrase that would make most fair maidens blush appealingly. (As previously mentioned, Grandmother Guri had taught her so much. The older woman’s blunt way of speaking stopped shocking Gemma before she was old enough to reach the reindeer carving on the door.) “But I want to make the dress more mobile, so I planned to make slits in the side. However, I’m not certain the skirts will fill out then.”

“I see. So she’s still a bloodthirsty miss, then?” Grandmother Guri asked, lifting the violet velvet out of the basket.

“She wants to join the army, yes.”

“Whatever floats your apples. Even nobles are entitled to happiness,” Grandmother Guri said. “Get my sewing basket, would you?”

Gemma ran around the table to pick up the massive basket that was weighed down with threads, scissors, needles, pin cushions, and kinds of sewing materials. After she set down the basket, she retrieved an oil lamp to shed more light on the material.

Grandmother Guri was not related to her—Gemma’s family was one of the few that was not distantly tied to the clever woman—but ever since Grandmother Guri found Gemma crying in a corner of the mill when Guri was coming to pick up her flour order, Grandmother Guri was a part of Gemma’s family. The older woman gave Gemma little gifts for her birthday and the holidays, wiped Gemma’s tears, and mended her hurts. Grandmother Guri even gave Gemma the skill and passion that drove her. She taught Gemma how to sew and continued to help her with the beautiful but complex dress patterns Gemma designed.

Even if the majority of those in Ostfold didn’t believe in Gemma’s skills at sewing, Grandmother Guri did. And Grandmother Guri was more than enough for Gemma.

Gemma drank her milk and watched her teacher fold the cloth.

“If I’m picturing it right, I think you’ll be fine. The slits shouldn’t compromise the volume too much, unless you’re planning to cut actual chunks out?”

“I thought of it, but that seemed like it would be too obvious.”

“It would. No, your idea should work well. You’ll do drooping cuffs?”

“Lined with white fur, yes.”

Grandmother Guri nodded in approval. “It should be a pretty sight when you finish it,” Grandmother Guri said, frowning up at the ceiling when Jo-Jo baaed.

“Thank you,” Gemma said. The faint uptick of her lip betrayed how pleased she was.

“Now. How’s your love life?”

“What?”

“I didn’t say it loud enough? HOW IS YOUR LOVE LIFE?”

“Grandmother,” Gemma frowned.

“Hm? You’re a young and pretty thing; you’re allowed to be in love. Mind you, I’m not sure I know any strapping young men who could match you well,” Grandmother Guri said as she lowered herself into a cushioned chair. pqdm.com