Jeslynn pushed the cloth covering the doorway from the tap room to the kitchen aside with her elbow, her arms full of root vegetables.
“Traders are here,” she said as I went to help her. “Oh, and Som found old
Tiria dead at her well this morning.”
“Tiria?” I put potatoes into the bin and followed her out the back to the farmer’s wagon.
“The old widow who lived on the edge of the forest? Down past Som’s farm?”
She raised an eyebrow at me and then turned to gather an armload of carrots.
“Oh, the witch.” Grabbing a load of lettuce heads and a sack of onions, I followed her back in just as the butcher showed up, impatiently scowling at Som to get his wagon out of the way.
We hustled to get everything unloaded before the ire of the butcher, noted valleywide for his grouchy demeanor, fell.
“She wasn’t a witch. She was just an eccentric old lady,” she added after the wagons had left and we started to prep the meats for storage.
“I heard that she cursed Torgood’s mother when he was a baby so that she
couldn’t feed him, so that’s why he’s so skinny now.”
Jeslynn made a face at me and shook her head.
“It’s true. Torgood will tell you himself.”
She snorted her low opinion of all things related to Torgood, who was known for exaggerating the veracity of things. ‘A born bard,’ as my mother would say.
“Shall we have lamb stew or fowl pie tonight?” She asked, examining the meats on the cutting block and effectively changing the subject.