Free Gathering Blue by Lois Lowry Page A

been looking for a stream but found nought." Matt's voice piped beside Kira; she had almost forgotten that he was there.
    Annabella led them to her well behind the cott, and they drank gratefully. Matt poured water into the crevice of a curved rock for his dog, who lapped eagerly and waited for more.
    Finally they sat together in the shade, Kira and the old woman, Annabella. Matt, gnawing his bread, wandered off with Branch at his heels.
    "You must come each day," Annabella repeated. "You must learn all the plants, all the colors. As your mum did when she was a girl."
    "I will. I promise."
    "She said you had the knowledge in your fingers. More than she did."
    Kira looked at her hands, folded in her lap. "Something happens when I work with the threads. They seem to know things on their own, and my fingers simply follow."
    Annabella nodded. "That be the knowledge. I got it for the colors but never for the threads. My hands was always too coarse." She held them up, stained and misshapen. "But to use the knowledge of the threading, you must learn the making of the shades. When to sadden with the iron pot. How to bloom the colors. How to bleed."
    To sadden. To bloom. To bleed. What a strange set of words.
    "And the mordants too. You must learn those. Sometimes sumac. Tree galls are good. Some lichens.
    "Best is — here, come; let me show you. See you make a guess to its birthplace, this mordant." With surprising agility for a woman of four-syllable age, Annabella rose and led Kira to a covered container near the place where a large kettle of dark water, too huge for cooking food, hung above the smoldering remains of an outdoor fire.
    Kira leaned forward to see, but when Annabella lifted the lid, she jerked her head back in unpleasant surprise. The smell of the liquid was terrible. Annabella laughed, a delighted cackle.
    "Got you a guess?"
    Kira shook her head. She couldn't imagine what was in the foul-smelling container or what its origin might be.
    Annabella replaced the lid, still laughing. "You save it and age it good," she said. "Then it brings the hue to life and sets it firm.
    "It's old piss!" she explained with a satisfied chuckle.
    Late in the day, Kira set out for home with Matt and Branch. The bag she carried over her shoulder was filled with colored threads and yarns that Annabella had given to her.
    "These'll do for you now," the old dyer had said. "But you must learn to make your own. Say back to me now, those you keep in mind."
    Kira closed her eyes, thought, and said them aloud. "Madder for red. Bedstraw for red too, just the roots. Tops of tansy for yellow, and greenwood for yellow too. And yarrow: yellow and gold. Dark hollyhocks, just the petals, for mauve."
    "
Snotweed,
" Matt said loudly with a grin and wiped his own runny nose on his dirty sleeve.
    "Hush, you," Kira said to him, laughing. "Don't play foolish now. It's important I remember.
    "Broom sedge," she added, still remembering. "Goldy yellows and browns. And Saint Johnswort for browns too, but it'll stain my hands.
    "And bronze fennel — leaves and flowers; use them fresh — and you can eat it too. Chamomile for tea and for green hues.
    "That's all I remember now," Kira said apologetically. There had been so many others.
    Annabella nodded in approval. "It's a starting," she said.
    "Matt and I must go or it will become dark before we're back," Kira said, turning. Looking at the sky to assess the time, she suddenly remembered something.
    "Can you make blue?" she asked.
    But Annabella frowned. "You need the woad," she said. "Gather fresh leaves from first year's growth of woad. And soft rainwater; that makes the blue." She shook her head. "I have nought. Others do, but they be far away."
    "Who be others?" Matt asked.
    The old woman didn't answer the boy. She pointed toward the far edge of her garden, where the woods began and there seemed to be a narrow overgrown path. Then she turned toward her hut. Kira heard her speak in a low voice. "I ne'er could