Chapter 4: Goat Milk and Pond Frogs

Days on the farm were broken down by the mealtimes. The day began at dawn. Goats needed milking, all animals fed, and the eggs gathered from the chickens and ducks. When Violet asked why they didn't have a milk cow, Etta explained that cows were not suitable for single families. A single milk cow at as much as four to six goats and only had one calf a year. If that cow grew sick and died, that was it. If one of their five goats died, there were four others left. Plus, it was easier to use the meat from one goat before it went bad.

Violet tried her hand at milking at Lettie's urging one morning. As the matriarch of the herd stood placidly eating her morning hay, she grasped the enlarged teat and gave it a good squeeze. Nothing came out. Lettie giggled and the nanny goat twitched her ears in irritation.

"Not that way," the girl told her. "You have to squeeze the milk into the teat first."

Lettie demonstrated the correct technique, then Violet tried again. This time, she was rewarded with a quick squirt of warm milk. Right to her face. Lettie collapsed into peals of laughter as Violet wiped the liquid off her face with the hem of her skirt. The nanny goat turned her head to look at Violet with contempt, never stopping her chewing. After a few more tries, and some well-placed kicks from the nanny, Violet was able to get just over an inch of milk in the bottom of her bucket.

Lettie took her place and almost doubled the amount of milk in less than half the time.

"You better do the rest, or we'll be late for breakfast," Violet told her with a smile.

"Ye'll get better with practice," the girl assured her.

"Well, I can't get any worse," she replied.

In addition to the goats, the family raised two pigs to be butchered in the fall. Each spring they traded for a new pair from the village.

"That's Clover," Meg pointed out one with a cluster of spots on his side that looked like his namesake.

"And that's Yummy," Haim pointed to the other. "I named him," the boy told her proudly.

"That's an excellent name for a pig," Violet smiled.

"What's yer favorite part? I like the cracklins," Haim asked.

"I like the tails," Meg said from her other side.

"Tails?" she asked, thinking the girl was referring to how cute the curly appendages were.

She nodded, "me-maw roasts them over the fire until the skin cracks and we share them."

"Oh," Violet wasn't sure how else to reply.

"I'll share mine with you, this year," the girl told her.

"She's not gonna be here, silly," her brother butted in. "She's going to Highmoon to see the lie-berry."

"What's a lie-berry?"

"It's where they keep all the books in the whole world. An' all the important folks come to read them," Haim told her.

"Haim," Lettie ruffled his hair, "it's a library and it doesn't have all the books in the world. Just a whole bunch of them."

"Are ye really leaving?" Meg asked Violet.

"I have to eventually," she answered truthfully. "I have to figure out how to get home."

"Ye can live here with us," the little girl suggested.

"Don't ye be a goose," Lettie put in. "Violet has her own family waiting for her. They're probably worried sick."

But Violet didn't have a family waiting for her. In fact, except for Chi-chi, nobody would have even noticed she was gone. Thinking of Chi-chi, she felt a pang of guilt for not remembering her sooner. She prayed to the goddess that the feline was safe.

Only after the livestock was tended to, did the family sit down to a breakfast consisting of leftover bread smeared with rich butter made from goat milk and jam from wild berries.

After breakfast, there was the garden to tend to, cleaning, laundry, cooking, and multiple other chores that needed doing around the farm. For the first few days, Violet shadowed either Etta or Lettie, helping them with their chores. Violet had believed she lived a rustic life, but soon realized that she took many things for granted. For instance, her washing machine. Ancient by the standards of day and having to be treated with care least it overheat or throw a belt, it was still better than the method Etta and Lottie practiced. A large wooden tub, filled with buckets of well water laboriously pumped and carried across the yard to the wash area under an expansive maple, and a ribbed board were the extent of the equipment they used as they scrubbed their dirty clothes with homemade lye soap. After her first day helping with the chore, her hands were chaffed and raw. Etta offered her some ointment smelling of lavender that helped somewhat.

In the garden and kitchen, she and Etta talked about the differences in the plants that Violet grew versus those in Etta's garden. Many were the same, but there were one or two in Etta's garden that Violet wasn't familiar with. There were red tubers that she first mistook for beets, but her host called them red turnips. They didn't have a lot of flavor but absorbed flavors amazingly, making them great additions to stews. Another strange vegetable was a scuud, a tuber that tasted like a cross between a potato and a radish.

Lunch was typically leftovers from the meal the night before. After lunch, as the heat of the midsummer day beat down, more sedentary tasks were performed such as mending, weaving and sewing. Digging through her rag basket, Etta pulled out several pieces and showed Violet how to fashion herself some gloves that would protect her hands against blisters and splinters.

Dinner was eaten just before sunset. Typically, a stew or baked casserole served with fresh bread and whatever fruit was available from the garden or nearby forest. Afterwards, Lettie supervised Haim and Meg washing the dishes, then Etta worked with them on their numbers or reading. Their book was threatening to fall apart at the bindings and had to be handled with care. Etta explained that it was the same book she had learned to read with and had used to teach her daughter. As far away from the city as they were, books were hard to come by and the few they possessed were cherished but well used. She proudly showed Violet a less battered book with pictures and descriptions of various plants from around Faerun. It had been a wedding gift from her mother. Violet carefully opened the slim volume to a page titled "Sweet Laurel" and read the text.

"Sweet laurel oil can be blended into an unguent that hath many applications. Applied to the scalp it can ease flaking and itching. Applied to the skin, it can soothe muscle and joint pain. Excellent for the treatment of furuncles."

In the margin, a small, precise handwritten note added "soothing balm for inflamed udders and teats."

"Is that your note?"

"Aye. Me family lived close enough to Highmoon for me and my brothers and sister to go to school," Etta told her. "We only got to go betwix the harvest and first planting, but twas more than these wee ones get. I try to teach 'em as much as I can, but it's hard with only one book and naught else. I think everyone needs to know how to read and write more than just their name."

"What do you use for writing?" Violet asked. She hadn't seen any paper or pens around the farmhouse.

"Usually just a stick to scratch in the dirt. Paper and ink are a luxury we poor folk can't afford."

That struck her hard. In her world, things she couldn't afford were precious gems and other expensive spell components, fancy appliances, and a new car that didn't need to have the battery charged before she started it. Here it was items she took for granted and not just paper and ink. The plates and bowls Hamish and his family used were mostly carved from wood, worn smooth and well stained from use. The utensils were hammered out from discarded pieces of metal. There were two ceramic mugs, gifted to the old couple on their wedding day and chipped along the rim, that set on a shelf to be used for special occasions or an important guest.

Anything broken that could be repaired or repurposed was saved. Hamish had a small smithy in a lean-to that sufficed for small items and quick repairs. For anything major, it had to wait until a trip to the nearest village and the blacksmith. All their clothes were mended until they were beyond saving, then cut down and used to make something else. The chest of clothes from Etta's daughter was being saved for Lettie. Lettie's clothes that survived were handed down to Meg. Hamish's old clothes were cut down for Haim. Nothing was wasted.

In the fall, or leaffall as they called it, Etta traded goat cheese, goat milk soap and lotions, and other farm produce such as jams and preserves for the items they needed but couldn't produce themselves. Paper and ink, china, drinking glasses, and other luxuries were not on that list.

While feeding the goats her second morning on the farm, she was surprised to hear a familiar yowl from the rafters of the barn.

"Chi-chi?" she called out. "Kitty, kitty?"

A shadow separated itself from the rest over her and Lettie's heads and launched itself at her. Mindless of the cat's claws, Violet caught and hugged her tightly, almost in tears that she was safe.

"How did you get here?" she asked the cat, not expecting an answer. She would have to ask Nori tonight.

Chi-chi meowed pitifully and twitched her tail in annoyance.

"I know," Violet cooed. "I didn't mean to leave you, I promise."

"Violet?" Lettie asked from the milking stand. "Are ye talking to that cat?"

"Yes," she told the girl, "but don't worry, she doesn't answer."

"Good," Lettie nodded, "I'd thought ye god touched, otherwise."

"God touched?"

"Ye know," she tapped her head with her finger, "not right in yer head."

Finished with the goat she was milking; Lettie stood and came over to Violet's side.

"Never seen that one around here before."

Violet looked over at her, "I'm not sure how, but this is my cat, Chi-chi."

"Yer cat?"

She nodded, "she must have followed me somehow."

"Mayhaps the gods wanted ye to have something familiar here?"

"You think the gods are responsible for my being here?" Violet asked.

Lettie shrugged, "who knows. They're beyond our keen. But something powerful brought ye here, tis certain."

Violet kind of liked the idea that the gods (or god) were responsible. If that was true, then there was a purpose for her being here and not just some strange cosmic fluke.

"Chi-chi isn't going to be a problem being here?" she asked, returning her attention to the animal purring in her arms.

"Nah, cats are good to have around. Keeps the vermin down, ye know." She paused, "just don't have her in the house. Me-maw don't abide with animals in the house."

"I'll keep that in mind, thanks."

After Etta showed her the precious book on plant lore, Violet began to openly discuss her knowledge of plants with the woman. Etta showed Violet how she prepared her salves and tinctures, while Violet shared her methodologies. Sometimes, Violet learned new techniques and other times she suggested improvements to Etta's. For the most part, though, the two women's methods were surprisingly similar. Violet guesses there were only so many ways to use the parts of plants.

Still, Violet hesitated to broach the practice of magic with the woman that was fast becoming a good friend. She had learned quickly that the family believed its existence in the world around them. They also believed in fae and told her numerous stories about their supposed encounters with the other-worldly creatures. Some of their stories were a little too far-fetched to believe and others could be explained by scientific processes that they were unaware of.

Mental disorders were uniformly attributed to either the gods or fae mischief. The unaccountable death of infants, or SIDs as Violet knew it, was the work of foul spirits. Strokes, heart attacks, bad acne, still born livestock, drought, wayward storms; all the work of the supernatural. There were times when Violet fought to hold her tongue, knowing that her ancestors were much the same. In Daróma and Fínola's grimoires, there were pages dedicated to charms and spells to prevent many of the same afflictions.

The family was also aware of the existence of magic users. Lottie whispered about powerful mages and sorcerers in distant lands as if saying their names aloud would summon them instantly. They even believed entire races of people to be magically inclined, such as the elves.

The first night elves were mentioned, Violet thought she had heard wrongly.

"Did you say there are elves living among the people of the Dales?" she asked cautiously.

"No, they have their own villages and such, but they trade with those of us that live here. Ye'll see them regular like when ye get into the village and Highmoon," Hamish told her.

"Not that we can afford any of their goods," Etta grumbled.

Violet's astonished expression had them giggling.

"Aren't there elves where ye come from?" Lettie asked.

"No," Violet answered, "In my world, there are only humans."

"No elves?" Etta scoffed. "Well, I'll be. What about dwarves? Gnomes? Halflings? Orcs? Giants?"

Each time Violet shook her head, "no. None. Except in fairy tales and stories."

"How do ye have them in stories and tales, but they dinna exist?" Etta asked incredulously.

"That's up for debate. Some think it's a shared cultural memory from a time when they did exist. Especially since some of the beings and creatures cross thousands of miles and are appear in cultures that hadn't ever interacted. Like dragons. Almost every culture worldwide has some version of a dragon in its folklore."

"There's na dragons there either?"

"None."

The conversation continued as Violet and the family cataloged creatures that were found in Faerun but not on earth.

Violet had been with the family for over two ten-day periods. Getting accustomed to a ten-day week with no names for the days was confusing. She kept trying to figure out what day they were on according to the seven-day system she was used to, but that made it worse, so she just focused on each day as it came. She had no way to mark the passage of time, which bothered her to no end.

She was inside with Etta, kneading the bread for the day, when a scream rent the air. Both women dropped what they were doing and rushed out of the house. The screams came from a small pond at the back of the farm used to stockpile water during the rainy season for use during the dry season. Violet raced ahead of Etta, catching sight of Lettie kneeling on the grassy bank and Meg hovering nearby. As Lettie screamed again, she hunched over a still form lying in the grass: Haim.

Dropping to her knees beside Lettie, Violet asked between pants, "what happened?"

"He was face down, not moving," Lettie sobbed.

The boy was face up, his eyes closed, with a waxy complexion. He was soaked through his clothes.

"How long was he in the water?" she asked as Etta stumbled to a stop and collapsed with a wail.

"Haim!" Etta started shaking the still boy. "Haim!"

Lettie sobbed harder, trying to curl up in a miserable ball in the grass.

"Lettie!" Violet snapped, grabbing the girl and giving her a shake. "How long was he in the water?"

"I don't know!" she cried.

Shoving the useless girl aside, she stopped Etta from gathering him, "no, leave him."

Listening closely at his mouth, she couldn't hear anything over Etta and Lettie, but from his color it was obvious he wasn't breathing. Tilting his head back, she followed the steps of the CPR brochure she had brought home from Vancouver one day. Pinching his nose closed, she breathed two quick breaths into his mouth.

"Child, what are you doing?" Etta grabbed her arm, but she shook her off.

Positioning herself over the boy, she administered fifteen chest compressions, then gave him two more breaths. Three times, she repeated the sequence as the other women watched with their mouths open. At least they had quit sobbing.

She checked his pulse after the fourth set, but there was nothing.

"Please, goddess, let me save him," she pleaded before starting the CPR again.

This time, she envisioned his lungs filled with water and that water being pushed out by her compressions in her mind. Instead of counting, she chanted "breathe" with each compression, feeling her own lungs hurt from the effort as if they were the ones filled with water. After her second set of breaths, Haim's chest heaved and he spasmed as water fountained from his mouth. Coughing violently, the child expelled more water from his lungs. Violet rolled him over onto his side and backed away for Etta and Lettie to take her place by his side.

Haim vomited and gasped for breath, his color getting better with each inhalation, until he could sit up with the help of his grandmother.

"What happened?" Lettie asked him, her eyes still red from tears.

"I saw a frog and wanted to catch it," he told them, then turned accusing eyes towards his sister. Pointing at her, he said, "she pushed me in!"

"Nuh-uh!" Meg exclaimed, backing away from the group. "I was over there, playing with the baby goats through the fence."

Where she pointed was a good fifty feet away from the pond.

"I felt you! You pushed me!" Haim insisted.

"Liar!" Meg yelled at him, starting to cry.

"Lettie," Etta turned her attention to the older girl, "did you see anything?"

She looked at both children, "I was mucking out the barn an' couldn't see Haim, but I did see Meg. She was playing with the goats, just like she said."

Both her and Etta looked at each other Haim's head. The boy, angry that nobody believed him, crossed his arms across his narrow chest and huffed, making himself cough.

"We better get ye to the house," Etta announced, pushing herself off the ground.

Violet got to her feet also but swayed unsteadily. The adrenalin that had spurred her into action and sustained her while performing the CPR was gone, leaving behind a weariness down to her very bones. She felt that she could lay down right here and sleep through the rest of the day. Pausing for one last look at the pond, she thought she saw a flicker of something pale under the surface near the bank. Taking a step closer to look, she saw it again further out. Focusing on seeing what it was, she took two more steps. One of her feet sank into the mud at the water's edge.

If only she could get a bit closer, she thought, lifting her other foot to take another step.

"Violet!" Lettie's shout snapped her back to the present.

She realized she was about to walk into the pond. Shaking her head and stepping back, she called, "I'm coming," before turning her back on the still water and whatever lay below its surface.

In the house, Etta bundled Haim up and made him a soothing tea for his throat and had him swallow a spoonful of one of her tinctures. With the stagnant water filling his lungs, she was worried about the boy catching lung fever. Violet assumed she was referring to pneumonia. Every time she stepped forward to help, Etta waved her away, until she retreated to the kitchen and resumed kneading the bread she had abandoned.

After his grandmother was sure she had done all she could, she sent Lettie and Meg back outside and went over to stand by Violet in the Kitchen. Violet wiped her hands on a towel and turned to face Etta, worried about her reaction.

"Child," she started, "what did ye do to me grandson?"

"It's called cardiopulmonary resuscitation," she said the words slowly, "or CPR for short. It's a way to get air into the lungs of someone not breathing and force the blood through the heart so they don't die." It was an oversimplification, she knew, but it would suffice for now.

Etta contemplated her answer for a moment before responding. "Tell me true, did ye use magic? And is that me grandson laying in there or some foul specter that's taken root in his body?"

Violet was taken aback by the question.

Before she could say anything, Etta continued, "I know dead when I see it, and he was dead."

Violet nodded, "it is true that he wasn't breathing, and his heart had stopped," she started, choosing her words carefully, "but where I'm from, that doesn't mean a person is truly dead. If you can get them breathing and their heart beating again quickly enough, they'll survive. As themselves. Not a specter."

"How long?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"How long can they stay like that before they can't be brought back?"

Violet thought about it, "the consensus is that after seven minutes without air, the brain starts to die. After that, the chances are slim."

"An' ye did no magic? I heard ye praying to yer goddess."

"I always pray to the goddess for help and sometimes she answers my prayers."

"What goddess is that?"

"Annan," Violet answered. "She is the earth mother, goddess of all things good."

"Ach, but ye just call her goddess when you pray?" Etta shook her head, "what kind of foolishness is that? How does yer goddess know when ye are praying to her if ye don't call her by name?"

"Because she can see into my heart and knows that I am hers," Violet answered truthfully.

"Gods with no names and the dead that ain't," Etta pursed her lips. "I dinna know what to believe anymore."

"Can you believe that your grandson is alive? That the goddess answered my prayer?" Violet asked in exasperation.

Etta sighed, "forgive an old woman will ye?" Her eyes shown with unshed tears. "I thought that bonny boy was lost to us," her voice cracked, and she covered her face with the towel.

Violet wrapped her arms around Etta's shaking shoulders and held her tightly while she cried. When she stopped, Violet led her to her chair at the table and made her some mint tea. Handing over the cup, she sat down beside Etta.

"I have a confession to make," she started.

"Nay, lass, ye don't have to explain," Etta patted her hand.

"No, I do," she said firmly. "You and your family have taken me in, not knowing who I was, where I was from, or what I was doing out in those woods that day. You deserve the truth."

Violet told Etta about being a witch and her simple spells. About her mother and grandmother and their deaths. How she was alone in the world now. She told the other woman about her familiar, Nori, and the other fae of the forest surrounding her home. Finally, she spoke about the sprite, the blight, and the major spell she cast to cleanse it right before she fell asleep and then woke up here in this world. Through it all, Etta listened attentively, even taking her hand and giving it a pat.

"Ach, child," Etta said, "I should have known ye were a child of magic. Tis the only explanation for ye being here. Mayhaps yer goddess sent ye here for a reason. Mayhaps to save that boy in there."

"Maybe," Violet replied. "But please know, I mean you and your family no harm."

"Ach, I don't have to have the site to see that ye have a pure heart."

The heavy weight that had settled on Violet's shoulders lifted and she managed a true smile. "I will do everything in my power to make sure Haim survives this," she promised.

They talked long into the afternoon about the gods in Faerun and the ones Etta and her family worshipped. Violet found that the gods of the land were much like those of the Hindu religion back in her world; there was pretty much a god for every aspect of everyday life and the world. The god most commonly worshipped in Deeping Dale was Chauntea, the goddess of farmers. Mielikki, goddess of the forest was also common, as was Waukeen, goddess of trade. Of course, individuals could have their own favored god.

When Hamish returned from the forest, Etta told him about Haim, and he rushed to check on the boy. Haim, thankfully, was sleeping peacefully and breathing normally. Afterwards, the family had a quiet dinner then went to bed for the night. Violet was a long-time finding rest despite the weariness that soaked through her bones. She kept thinking about what she saw in the pond and wondering if it was connected to what had happened to Haim.