Hedge of Thorns: Crafting
Tumble propels the rocker across the floor with fierce pushes, grabs up the empty bucket, and returns. I trade the bloodied snag with its caught hairs, for the bucket, step backward out the door, and close it behind me.
For the second time today, I tap into the rain barrel. Blood and water run off my face, but I don’t dare re-open the wounds on my scalp.
Three steps away from the bucket, I loosen the high collar of my leather shirt and pull it up over my head. It’s much safer to leave the ticks that crawl along the seams out here. The shirt will remain draped over the wheelbarrow tonight.
Tumble opens the door again. “Mercy, could I have more willow bark tea?”
“In a minute.”
There’s no avoiding the delays that crop up tonight. I’m in no mood to let him rummage through my medical supplies. How much of this congealing blood will I be able to get out of my hair without needing to shave around the scratches? Only time in front of the mirror will tell me.
I carry the bucket indoors again, on through into my room, formerly the one my parents occupied, but examining my wounds will wait. Instead, I collect the carpenter’s scribe, handsaw, hammer, and hand drill from dad’s tool chest, and set to work.
Rhythmic hammer taps clatter the thorns into a deepening pile on the floor. When a foot of the tapered end is bared, I cut that off, to use for handles. It’s not difficult to eyeball the center of the shaft, and in moments I’ve divided it into two even lengths.
There might be some merit to making myself another one that retains the thorns along its shaft as a last-ditch weapon. For now, though, these canes top my list. I continue to clean away the thorns. When the last one falls, I sweep them into a basket.
“Here you go.” I stand and stretch. “Now I’ll brew you that tea.”
Tumble scoots the chair forward until he’s sitting alongside the table. He stirs the basket of thorns with one finger. Then he reaches for the broken drawing thorn and holds the pieces on his palm in the lamplight.
I put water to boil for both of us, clear sawdust off the table, and measure out ingredients for more biscuits. The dough comes together before the water boils, so I take time to scribe the ends of the canes.
A few saw cuts shape tenons on the canes, and mortises into the handles. The water boils, interrupting my work, and I add one of my last six packets of willow bark to the medicine kettle. I fill a mug with water and add a twist of dried mint leaves and bergamot for myself.
“Tumble, come stir your tea. When it gets red, put the kettle aside to cool for at least ten minutes. If you rush it, you won’t get the full value of the dose.”
Hedge of Thorns: Crafting is a segment of a serialized story that posts on Fridays.
Check the menu on this blog for other, previously posted serialized stories, here.
Ruth
Heidi Kortman
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Heidi Kortman