Feather shook her head stubbornly. "Master Vinegar doesn't like being thanked, mistress. He never likes being thanked. Just as I told you about my own brother and the barn raising and the cider and everything. But he liked being thanked by you, mistress." The girl paused to look down at the floor, her eyes flickering back and forth as they followed her own internal thoughts. Whatever thoughts she was trying to express were clearly taxing both her vocabulary and her intelligence. Looking up again, she added simply, "He said 'you're welcome.' Master Vinegar never says that to anyone. And... and... and when he was looking at you, he saw how beautiful you are. Like when I look at Stone and see how kind he is." Biting her lower lip, Feather tried again. "Just now, Master Vinegar looked like Stone, mistress. He never looked like Stone before."

Then, as though the conversation had never happened, Feather began clearing the table. "I will clean up now, mistress. I know how to save leftovers for another day. Leftover should never be left over for too long, though. That's what my Ma always says. Then I will get you washing water for you to wash in."

***

Victor continuously pumped the foot treadle on the grind stone, the rasping wheel squeaking on its axel as it went round and round speedily. Sparks flew up from the broad ax head as he moved it smoothly back and forth. Three axes down, five more to go. There were a lot of different types of axes and hatchets used in an orchard, not to mention the assorted saws and clippers. With all the care he had given to his weapons over the years, he liked to ensure blade was keenly sharp and ready to serve. Many of the villagers liked bringing him their farming tools for sharpening as only Victor could make them so sharp as to near last the entire season! A small payment, a little coin or a bit of trade, was all that he ever asked. Only now there was an additional aspect to the chore he hadn't ever considered: it gave him time to think. There wasn't much brain power involved in honing axes. Usually he thought about the next chore to be done or what he needed to buy next time he went out or which of his neighbors he might barter with. Now, he thought about a pair of eyes looking up at him from the table.

Why had he told her to go out to Grandfather Apple? It was his own sanctuary, his own little place to rest and relax. When working the back lots, the many-times great-grandfather of the orchard's trees served as his half way point. Sometime in the distance past, someone had erected stone benches in a semi-circle about the ancient fruit tree as though to make it a meeting place. No one in town seemed to know anything about it. The benches (low tables almost) had always been there as far the townsfolk of Arbordale were concerned and there was nothing strange or unusual about them because... well, because they had always been there. Victor, on the other hand, could only wonder at who might have erected the ancient stones around the tree. And his imagination did not only extend as to what purpose the benches might have served, but to the foresight the planners must have had to put the structures so far out from the trunk in its infancy. It was as though in their plans they had expected the tree to grow as large as it had. 

He had no business that he could think of in the furthest rows of the orchard today, no trees back there that needed additional pruning or doctoring. Yet he found himself thinking that perhaps... just perhaps... he might load up the cart and head out that way. Just in case Mistress Kijani got herself lost. Yes, that was it. In case she got lost and needed assistance. She was a city woman, after all, unused to the openness of the outside world without its confiding skyscrapers and smog filled streets and skies. It could be disorientating. Victor set down the ax in hand to pick up another, resolving that as soon as he finished with the ax heads (just before lunch time or so) he would head out to check on her. Riding in the cart pulled by his newly acquired gelding would be far fast than walking, and she might be too tired to walk back anyway...

And maybe... maybe she'd like an apple for lunch...