Free Breath (9781439132227) by Donna Jo Napoli

died and Father sold Eike and Hilde, no one visited anymore. Now Hugo’s a young man, taller than me and darker, too. I watch him in Mass sometimes. I’ve waved to him before. He always waves back. “I’m waiting for Großmutter.”
    Hugo looks at the caraway and mustard hanging around my neck. Maybe he knows it’s banned. I’m tempted to take it off and throw it away.
    Right then Großmutter comes through the gate with Pater Michael. Two boys walk behind, carrying a vat between them. They’re the altar boys that help at Mass. They put the vat on the ground in front of the herd. A cow tries to stick her muzzle in the vat. Another follows. The two boys have their hands full shoving cows away.
    Großmutter goes to lift the sack of blackberries from the shoulders of the cow I was riding, but Hugo beats her to it.
    â€œWhere do you want it, ma’am?” he asks.
    â€œDump them in the holy water,” she says.
    â€œSlowly, though,” says Pater Michael. “Dont splash.”
    I don’t even give pretense of helping carry the sack. I’m useless, with how weak I am. Instead, I stand beside the vat of holy water and spread my fingers around the mouth of the sack, trying to keep the berries flying straight.
    Großmutter stirs the berries around in the vat with her arm. Then she squashes a single berry between thumb and finger and drops it into her cupped palm. She scoops holy water into that palm and gently rolls the berry around till it plumps up a little.
    A nosy cow pushes her muzzle over Großmutter’s shoulder. Großmutter grabs the cow by her upper lip and yanks. The cow lifts her head and opens her mouth. Großmutter throws in the blackberry. “Bring me another,” she says to me. “And you boys, as I finish with a cow, lead her down the road.”
    We do the whole herd that way, with Hugo and Pater Michaels two altar boys helping.
    â€œWill this make the milk come back?” asks Hugo. He s talking to Pater Michael.
    â€œIt can’t hurt,” says the priest.
    â€œThere are plenty of berries in here,” Großmutter says to Hugo. “Hundreds. Go get your herd.” She waves an arm blue from stirring the berries.
    Hugo hesitates. He’s looking again at the herbs hanging around my neck. My chest convulses and I fight it—this is the wrong moment to cough. The wrong moment to remind Hugo of my sickliness.
    â€œGo on, boy,” says Pater Michael. I’ll stay here. I’ll feed your cows the berries. Go tell everyone.”
    â€œI will, then.” Hugo suddenly grins. “We’ll have cheese again.” He runs into town.
    The altar boys help me up onto a cow’s back, with my rolled blanket in place. Großmutter drives our herd home. I’m convulsed with coughs, bathed in sweat.

Burial
    Großmutter pours the mash of onions, pork liver, and rue into the mushroom-shaped mold. She garnishes the top with sprigs of parsley and carefully sets it in the basket. “Get a round of cheese,” she says to me.
    I’m surprised. The cows have given hardly any milk for weeks, so we aren’t making new cheese or butter. Poor Hugo was wrong—cheese has become a luxury. We leave what little milk there is for the calves. And I steal some for Kuh, of course. In fact, lots more bad has happened beyond the milk drying up. That’s why we’re having a coven meeting. Father would be furious if he knew Großmutter was giving away cheese. But I set the round in the basket anyway.
    We walk through the woods and I’m the one carrying the food. I’m strong again. Finally. I was still sick when the barge came up the Weser, so I had to miss my lesson in Höxter—and miss the cinnamon treat. I won’t miss it next month, though.
    The traveling merchant who promised to bring back Arab medicine hasn’t returned to Hameln’s market yet. But he will. He got a schilling. One