“Are ye out of the Jesuit bark, Sassenach?” He lifted his chin in the direction of the open medicine chest I’d set on the ground near him. “Do ye not use that for Lizzie’s tonic?”
“I do,” I said, rather surprised that he’d noticed. “I used the last of it three weeks ago, though, and haven’t heard of anyone going to Wilmington or New Bern who might get me more.”
“Did ye mention it to Roger Mac?”
“No. Why him?” I asked, puzzled.
Jamie leaned back against the cornerstone, wearing one of those overtly patient expressions that’s meant to indicate that the person addressed is not being particularly bright. I snorted and flicked a gallberry at him. He caught it and examined it critically.
“Is it edible?”
“Amy says bees like the flowers,” I said dubiously, pouring a large handful of the dark-purple berries into my mortar. “But there’s very likely a reason why they’re called gallberries.”
“Ah.” He tossed it back at me, and I dodged. “Ye told me yourself, Sassenach, that Roger Mac said to ye yesterday that he meant to come back to the ministering. So,” he went on patiently, seeing no hint of enlightenment on my face, “what would ye do first, if that was your aim?”
I scooped a large glob of pale-yellow bear grease from its pot into the mortar, part of my mind debating whether to add a decoction of willow bark, while the rest considered Jamie’s question.
“Ah,” I said in turn, and pointed my pestle at him. “I’d go round to all the people who’d been part of my congregation, so to speak, and let them know that Mack the Knife is back in town.”
He gave me a concerned look, but then shook his head, dislodging whatever image I’d just given him.
“Ye would,” he said. “And maybe introduce yourself to the folk who’ve come to the Ridge since ye left.”
“And within a couple of days, everyone on the Ridge—and probably half the brethren’s choir in Salem—would know about it.”
He nodded amiably. “Aye. And they’d all ken that ye need Jesuit bark, and ye’d likely get it within the month.”
“Are ye in need of Jesuit bark, Grand-mère?” Germain had emerged from the woods behind me, a pail of water in one hand, a bundle of faggots clutched to his chest with the other, and what appeared to be a dead snake hanging round his neck.
“Yes,” I said. “Is that a—” But he’d forgotten me, his attention riveted on his grandfather’s macerated leg.
“Formidable!” he said, dropping the wood. “Can I see, Grand-père?”
Jamie made a gracious “feel free” gesture toward his leg, and Germain bent to look, eyes round.
“Mandy said that a bear bit your leg off,” he said, advancing a tentative forefinger toward the line of stitches. “But I didn’t believe her. Does it hurt?” he asked, glancing at Jamie’s face.
“Och, nay bother,” Jamie said, with a dismissive wave of the hand. “I’ve a privy to dig later. What kind is your wee snake, then?”
Germain obligingly removed the limp serpent and handed it to Jamie, who plainly hadn’t expected the gesture, but gingerly accepted it. I smiled and looked down into my mortar. Jamie was afraid of snakes but manfully disguised the fact, holding it up by the tail. It was a big corn snake, nearly three feet of orange and yellow scales, vivid as a streak of lightning.
“Did you kill it, Germain?” I frowned at the snake, pausing in my mashing. I’d explained repeatedly to all the children that they ought not to kill any non-venomous snake, as they helpfully ate mice and rats, but most adults on the Ridge considered that the only good snake was a dead one, and it was an uphill battle.
“Oh, no, Grannie,” he assured me. “It was in your garden and Fanny went for it with a hoe, but I stopped her. But then your wee cheetie sleeked through the fence and jumped on it and broke its …” He frowned at the snake. “I dinna ken whether it was its back or its neck because how could ye tell, but it’s dead all right. I thought I’d skin it for Fanny,” he explained, glancing back over his shoulder toward the garden. “To make her a belt, maybe.”
“What a lovely idea,” I said, wondering whether Fanny would think so.
“Do ye think I might be able to buy a buckle for it from the tinker?” Germain asked Jamie, taking back his snake and redraping it round his neck. “The belt, I mean. I’ve got twopence and some wee purple stones to trade.”