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It was early autumn when the stranger arrived at the cottage. It wasn't unusual to get an unknown or unexpected guest at the home of the coffin maker; strangers often came and went from their small home.
The coffin maker was out, harvesting fresh lumber from the neighboring forests, and Bella stood in her garden, her back aching slightly from being curled over the soil all afternoon. At her foot, a harvest of sweet berries gleamed proudly.
"Goodday!" the stranger called, sliding off his tall brown stallion.
Bella wiped her hands on her apron. Her fingertips were stained purple from the berries.
"Goodday, sir." She watched as the unfamiliar man led his horse by the bridle toward her gate.
"My horse is in need of watering," he said, looking her over.
She nodded. "Certainly. There is a pasture just beyond the garden. Let me take you."
She wiped her hands once more on her apron and approached the stranger. He was a tall, thin man, with dark hair and eyes that were difficult to read. She motioned for him to follow her as she led him toward the area where they kept water and fresh hay for their animals. "Your horse will be safe here."
The stranger nodded. The air around the meadow smelled of sweetgrass and honeysuckle that grew along one area of the fence.
"Thank you, madame." He released his horse to the pasture before turning to her.
"How can I help you today, sir?"
He cleared his throat. "Yes, I am hoping to see the coffin maker."
Bella expected this. "He is gathering lumber this morning, but you are welcome to wait for him in our home." She motioned toward the cottage. "Have you eaten?"
He shook his head. "Thank you, madame."
She guided him back to the garden, gathering her harvest of fresh berries before leading him into the cottage. She didn't fear a strange man in her home; she was a tough woman and this was her home. Any attacks here would be at her adversary's disadvantage.
The scent of freshly baked bread still lingering in the air, and herbs drying from the ceiling in small bundles greeted them as she opened the door. Her home smelled of soft smoke and beeswax and the unmistakable combination of her and her husband: sweet, earthy, and warm. These were her favorite perfumes in all of the world.
She moved into the cottage, heading straight to the small stone fireplace in her kitchen. She crouched by the hearth, stoking the fire back to life as she set the kettle over the flame. "Have you come to seek my husband's services?" she asked, turning back to the stranger.
He nodded, looking grave, and she motioned for him to sit at the small table. He was too tall, and when he settled himself down, it reminded her of a frog, folding its long legs together to squat on a lily pad.
"I have indeed." He cleared his throat. "My mistress is ill."
Bella's brow dipped in sympathy. "I'm sorry," she murmured.
He cleared his throat once more. "I should take heart," he said after a moment. "She will be with the Lord soon." He paused, crossing himself, and Bella nodded, bowing her head in a small silent prayer. The stranger was quiet a moment, and Bella busied herself with unwrapping the thick loaf of bread she'd baked that morning. She cut a hearty slice, the heavy sawing of her bread knife matching the crackling of the fire.
"I'm sorry for my ill manners," the stranger said, and Bella looked back at him. "My name is Garrett Reynolds." He dipped his head in her direction and she nodded.
"Bella."
She plated the thick bread, gathering a bowl of berries and cutting off a wedge of firm salty cheese. She offered the food to Mr. Reynolds who took it appreciatively. "Thank you, madame."
She nodded, and when the kettle began to whistle, she poured him a cup of tea. When her guest was settled at the table, she sat across from him, a mug of mint tea in her palms.
"Tell me, madame," Mr. Reynolds said, his eyes flickering up at her. She nodded for him to continue. "I've heard your husband produces the finest coffins in the entire kingdom."
Bella smiled. "He does." She was boastful of her husband's work, but it was not without reason. Her husband was an artist at his craft.
Mr. Reynolds nodded, sliding a dark berry into his mouth. "I've heard he is so skilled a carpenter, he is able to even customize the coffins to hold precious items?"
At this, Bella froze, her dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "What is it you ask?"
He cleared his throat, caught off guard by her directness. He sipped his tea, his long fingers drumming on the table before him. "Perhaps this is a conversation best left for your husband," he said quickly.
Bella looked him over. In the greater kingdom, women didn't have much voice or way to be heard. She knew this, though it made her blood boil with the injustice of it. She had never once been treated so by her husband. They were in all things, partners.
She hated being dismissed in her own home, and her mouth began to open, ready to fight against his words when she heard the unmistakable sounds of the lumber cart coming down the road outside. Bella stood from the table and opened the door, her heart lifting at the sight of her husband.
Now that she could see him again, all would be well.