Free The Sweetest Spell by Suzanne Selfors Page A

She grabbed a small jug from the tray and held it out. “Go on, take it. I’ve got better things to do.” She pursed her lips and shook her head—her disapproval as visible as a black sheep in a snowy field. I held tightto the blanket. “Drink. The sooner you get better, the sooner you can go back to where you belong.”
    My arms trembled slightly as I took the jug. A sweet, warm scent rose from the clay. My insides felt hollow. I knew hunger, but this was worse than normal. If I’d been asleep for three days, then I hadn’t eaten for as long. Putting the jug to my mouth, I sipped.
    “That’s the best milk you’ll ever taste,” the woman said, folding her arms. It was true. I gulped as fast as I could, not caring that she watched, her foot tapping all the while. With each swallow, my insides warmed. Strength flowed down my limbs. I took the final drink, then held out the jug. The woman snatched it from my hands.
    “Thank you,” I said.
    Another woman hurried into the room and stood at the end of the bed, her arms spread wide. Her brown hair tumbled out from her lacy white bonnet. “Oh, my dear girl, you’re awake.” A big smile burst across her face. “Get her something to eat, Nan. Get her some eggs and porridge. Bring yogurt with dewberries and cheese. Lots and lots of cheese. We need to fatten her up.”
    “Yes, Missus Oak.”
    Like night and day were these two women—the old one with her pinched thin face, the middle-aged one soft and dimpled. As Nan left the room, Missus Oak sat close to the bed. Her nightfrock and robe draped over the sides of the chair. “Can you speak? The surgeon wasn’t sure if you’d be able to speak. He wasn’t sure how the cold water might have affected your brain. But you’re looking at me and your eyes are alert. I think you can understandme. Oh, you’re trembling.” She reached out and took my hand. “Don’t be frightened. You’re in a safe place.”
    Though the act surprised me, I didn’t draw back. No one had taken my hand since my mother’s death. This woman’s hand was warm and soft, not covered in calluses like mine. Her nails were short and filed, not jagged like mine. It was such a simple gesture to take someone’s hand, but it almost took my breath away.
Why was she being so nice to me?
I wondered, as two fat tears rolled down my cheeks.
    “My dear, dear girl,” Missus Oak whispered. “There, there. Whatever is the matter?”
    “I don’t know where I am,” I said.
    She pulled her hand away and clapped. “Wonderful! You can speak.” She leaned forward. “How do you feel? Oh dear, that’s a very big question, isn’t it? How does your leg feel? Let’s start there.” She pointed to my right leg, hidden beneath the blanket. “You gashed it on a rock, that’s what the surgeon said. He cleaned and stitched it. Does it hurt?”
    “A little,” I said, wiping away the tears.
    “What about the rest of you? Is there any pain?”
    “A few aches, but no real pain.”
    “Very good. The bruises will go away. The surgeon said they were from your trip downriver. That must have been very frightening.”
    I nodded, then asked again. “Where am I?”
    “You’re in the Wanderlands, just down the road from the town of Wander. This is the Oak Dairy. I’m Missus Trudence Oak. My husband owns this dairy.”
    So many questions swirled in my head. “How …?” My voice felt waterlogged and weak. “How …?”
    “How did you get here?” Missus Oak asked. “Is that what you want to know?” I nodded. “You were lying on the riverbank, almost dead. Then you were found and brought here. You’ve been resting for three days. Do you remember what happened?”
    “The river grabbed me.”
    “That’s what we thought,” Missus Oak said. “We heard about the flooding.”
    “My village,” I said with a sudden surge of panic. “My father’s farm. I need to get back.”
    “You can’t go anywhere, not in your condition. You’ve been through a terrible