Hannah Mitchell's Arc

Chapter 3 of 8

At dawn Hannah carried her bread share toward the gophers' tree. She stopped at the cypress first, where Periwinkle left the loaves each morning. The basket held only two small rounds. Yesterday it had held six. Hannah's stomach tightened. Two loaves would not feed the gophers and her travelers both. If she took the bread for the gophers, no one else would eat. If she left it, her mint supply would end tonight. She found Periwinkle at the bakery, sliding a paddle into the lit oven. The winged woman worked alone, her white robe dusted with flour, her wings folded tight against her back. Hannah had built beds beside her once, but they had never spoken of what happened when the flour ran low. "There were only two loaves," Hannah said. Periwinkle did not turn. "The mill sent no flour this week. I bake what I can. Every loaf is spoken for." Her voice stayed gentle, but her hands moved faster. "I swore to feed the lost. I cannot give bread away for leaves." Hannah's face went hot. She had tied her tea to this oven, and the oven had faltered. "My travelers wake with nothing warm. The gophers only trade for bread." "Then find them something they want more than bread." Periwinkle finally looked at her. "I keep my oath. You must find your own way to keep yours." Hannah walked out with the two loaves still in the basket. She left them at the cypress for the lost. Then she stood in the grove and thought about what the gophers truly needed. Bread filled their bellies. But winter was coming, and small animals hoarded more than food. A glimmer moved through the branches. Luna dropped down, wings catching the light, the same fairy who had led Hannah to the copper kettle weeks ago. She hovered near Hannah's shoulder. "You look like you lost something," Luna said. "The bread's gone. The gophers won't trade without it." Luna flitted to the hollow tree and peered into a burrow. "They line their nests for the cold. Dry grass, soft things." She plucked a strand of wool from Hannah's sleeve, left there from stuffing the travelers' beds. "You have blankets full of this." Hannah understood. She ran back to the travelers' house and gathered the loose wool from the bedding, more than the beds needed. She carried an armful to the tree and laid it at the roots. A gopher crept out. It buried its face in the wool and dragged a tuft toward the burrow. Others came. They ferried bundles of dried mint down and stacked them by Hannah's knees. That night nine travelers drank hot tea. Hannah's supply no longer hung on another woman's oven. She traded wool now, and she had wool to spare. But the beds had lost their padding. By morning the sleepers shivered on bare straw, and Hannah knew the guardian would count more of them cold before long.