Princess of the Midnight Ball - Jessica Day George [5]
The younger sister, Kathe, sniffed. “We made do. I repaired the leak in our roof myself, if you recall.”
“And nearly fell to your death on your way back to solid ground, as I recall,” said Zelda, coming in with a tray of raisin-filled cookies. She slid three onto Galen’s plate and then put the rest in the window of the shop.
“Have you any family here in Bruch, Galen?” Zelda stopped by his table again. “Judging by the way you’re tucking in, I’d say that you haven’t reached home yet.”
Feeling guilty about his bad manners, Galen swallowed the rest of his cookie too fast and choked. Jutta pounded him on the back, and her younger sister brought him water.
“Afraid not,” he wheezed when he could breathe again. “I don’t have a home. I never did: my father was a soldier, and my mother was a laundress with the army. They’re both dead. But Mother had a sister in Bruch, and I’m here looking for her.”
“Oh, eh?” The widowed baker nodded her head. “What’s the name? I’ve lived in Bruch all my life.”
“If Mother hasn’t heard of her, she doesn’t exist,” Kathe said with a snort.
Galen gave her a little bow. “Then I’m very fortunate that I caught your notice, goodfrau,” he said. “Mother’s sister married an Orm—Reiner Orm. My aunt’s name is Liesel.”
Kathe’s mouth made a little O of surprise. Zelda grunted, looking him over with renewed interest. “I see.”
Galen felt a surge of embarrassment. Were his mother’s family famously disreputable? She hadn’t talked about them all that much. Maybe they were horse thieves or drunkards or some such, and here he had proudly said their name in this respectable shop.
Jutta gave a low whistle. “The Orms are your kinfolk? Reiner Orm?”
Kathe let out another snort. “Well, at least we can tell you for certain that they’ll have work for you. And a place to sleep.”
“Hold your tongue, girl,” Zelda said, frowning at her younger daughter. She nodded at Galen. “I know the street where Reiner Orm lives,” she told him. “Jutta can take you there. The house will be easy enough to find.”
“I could take him,” Kathe complained.
“You should go in the back and start cooking dinner for your husband,” Zelda snapped. “Jutta is less likely to gossip on the way there and dawdle on the way back.” The pastry cook went over to Galen and took his hand in hers. “You are welcome anytime, my lad. And should you see any of your companions from the war, tell them to come to the Weisses’ shop, and they will be treated to raisin cookies too.”
“Thank you, goodfrau … Zelda.” He stood, still holding her hand, and gave her a bow. “You have been very kind, and I haven’t tasted such fine baking… well, ever.” It was true: his mother had not been known for her cooking.
Zelda blushed and smiled, and told him again to come back. Then she hurried into the kitchen to take care of something in the oven, dragging her sulky younger daughter with her.
Alone, Jutta and Galen exchanged awkward smiles. He lifted his heavy pack to his back without embarrassing himself by groaning, and Jutta led the way out the door and down the street. They walked for quite a distance in silence, until they were within sight of the palace. The palace was tall and angular, with diamond-paned windows like the common houses of Bruch, but it was the size of four houses put together and the walls were of pink stucco, making it look like an ornate confection resting in the center of the city.
Finally Galen got up the courage to ask about the Orms. “Is there something wrong with them?” he blurted out.
“Wrong with whom?” Jutta looked startled at the outburst.
“With my mother’s kin. The Orms. Your mother—your sister—their faces when I said the name…” His voice trailed off.
Jutta laughed aloud, and then, seeing his continued discomfort, she stopped and put a hand on his sleeve. “There is nothing wrong with your family,” she said firmly. “It’s just that they are well known throughout