Messenger - Lois Lowry [33]
Frolic went to the base of a wooden post that was entwined with a purple-blossomed vine, and lifted his leg to proclaim his presence and authority here.
The door to the cottage opened and Kira appeared there. She was wearing a blue dress and her long dark hair was tied back with a matching ribbon.
"Matty!" she cried in delight.
He grinned at her.
"And you've got yourself a new pup! I hoped you would. You were so sad, I remember, after Branchie died."
"His name is Frolic, and I'm afraid he's watering your..."
"Clematis. It's all right," she said, laughing. She reached for Matty and embraced him. Ordinarily uncomfortable with hugs, he would have stiffened his shoulders and drawn back; but now, from exhaustion and affection, he held Kira and to his own amazement felt his eyes fill with tears. He blinked them back.
"All right, stand back now and let me see you," she said. "Are you taller yet than I am?"
He stood back grinning and saw that they were eye to eye.
"Soon you will be. And your voice is almost a man's."
"I can read Shakespeare," he told her, swaggering.
"Hah! So can I!" she said, and he knew then for certain how changed this village was, for in the earlier days, girls had not been allowed to learn.
"Oh, Matty, I remember when you were such a tiny thing, and so wild!"
"The Fiercest of the Fierce!" he reminded her, and she smiled fondly at him.
"You must be very tired. And hungry! You've just made such a long journey. Come inside. I have soup on the fire. And I want news of my father."
He followed her into the familiar cottage and waited while she reached for her walking stick that leaned against a wall and arranged it under her right arm. Dragging the useless leg, she took a thick earthen bowl from a shelf and went to the fire where a large pot simmered and smelled of herbs and vegetables.
Matty looked around. No wonder she had not wanted to leave this place. From the sturdy ceiling beams dangled the countless dried herbs and plants from which she made her dyes. Shelves on the wall were bright with rolls of yarn and thread arranged by color, white and palest yellow at one end, gradually deepening into blues and purples and then browns and grays at the other. On a threaded loom in the corner between two windows, a half-finished weaving pictured an intricate landscape of mountains, and he could see that she was now working on the sky and had woven in some feathery clouds of pinktinged white.
She set the bowl of steaming soup on the table in front of Matty and then went to the sink to pump water into a bowl for Frolic.
"Now. Tell me of Father," she asked. "He's well?"
"He's fine. He sends you his love."
He watched as Kira leaned her stick against the sink and knelt with difficulty to place the bowl on the floor. Then she called to Frolic, who was industriously chewing a broom in the corner.
When the puppy had come to her and turned his attention to the bowl of water, Kira rose again, sliced a thick piece from a loaf of bread, wedged her stick under her shoulder again, and brought the bread to the table. Matty watched the way she walked, the way she had always walked. Her right foot twisted inward, pulling the entire leg with it. The leg had not grown as the other had. It was shorter, turned, and useless.
He thanked her and dipped one end of the slice into his soup.
"He's a sweet puppy, Matty." He half listened as she chattered cheerfully about the dog. His thoughts had turned to Frolic's birth and how close to death the pup and his mother had been.
He glanced down at her twisted leg. How much more easily she would be able to walk—how much more steadily and quickly she would be able to travel—if the leg were straight, if the foot could be planted firmly on the ground.
He remembered the afternoon after the puppy