"Where is Trinda today?" Miss Mariss asked, trying to make the question sound entirely casual, as she always did, and Baker Hollis looked nervous and fidgety, as he always did.
"Must know there's work to be done," he said. "Any time there's somethin' needin' done, she turns invisible."
"Those her age can be like that," Miss Mariss said, despite not believing any of what he said. "I'll be making double the usual amount of sausage breads, and I'll need triple the usual baked loaves for the Challenges. That won't be a problem will it?"
"No problem at all," Baker Hollis said, and he looked over his shoulder as if expecting to see Trinda. Miss Mariss was as surprised as he that she had not shown herself. It seemed whenever Miss Mariss came to the bakery, Trinda would make a point of making herself seen. "Everyone's sayin' this year'll be better than any before. I suppose we'll have to rise to the challenge," he said.
"I'll send Strom over in the morning for the daily order," Miss Mariss said as she turned to leave. Before she reached the door, though, a small, sweat-soaked head peeked around the corner and briefly met her eyes. Miss Mariss could read nothing from Trinda's expression; it was the same bland and sullen look as always. With a sigh, she left the bakery behind and soon forgot about Trinda as the responsibilities of running her inn once again consumed the majority of her thoughts and time.
Sitting on a bale of hay with his knees pulled to his chest, Chase kept to the shadows, not wanting to cause any trouble for Strom, who was busy saddling a pair of horses. So many things had changed in such a short period of time that Chase could hardly believe it. He no longer felt safe in places where he'd once felt quite at home. People he had considered friends no longer met his eyes, yet he could feel the stares that lingered on his back as he walked away.
"Sorry about that," Strom said once the customers had ridden around the corner.
Chase just handed him the jug of huckles juice they were sharing. "Do you remember when things used to be normal?"
"I remember," Strom said. "I remember things were sometimes good and sometimes bad, but it always seemed like things would get better. Now…"
"I know what you mean," Chase said. "I really made a mess of things."
Strom laughed. "You're still blaming yourself for all of this? You sure do think a great deal of yourself. Are you so powerful that you can control everyone else? I don't think so. You need to face the fact that you're just as helpless as the rest of us. Whatever happens just happens, and there's not a thing you can do about it."
"Thanks for the uplifting speech," Chase said. "I feel much better now."
"Don't come to me if you want sunshine and roses. That's not how I see the world. You could go talk to Roset. She still lives in a land of buttercups and faeries; maybe she could make you feel better."
"She won't even talk to me," Chase said, his mood continuing to be dour in the face of Strom's humor.
"You see? You're utterly powerless. Therefore you can't possibly be at fault. Doesn't that make you feel better?"
"If I said yes, would you stop talking about it?" Chase asked.
"Probably not."
Catrin spent the next few weeks throwing herself into every task her father assigned. Master Edling did not return, despite her father's many requests. Benjin and her father did what they could to teach her, but what they remembered of their own lessons was fragmented and disjointed. Catrin learned other things from the extra time she was spending on the farm. Benjin taught her the basics of shoeing horses along with other farrier skills. She was an apt student and excelled with little practice. It interested her because she loved horses, and they had always been part of her daily life. She had seen it done a hundred times, which helped her to quickly master even the most difficult techniques.
Forge and anvil became outlets for her frustration. She coerced the hot bars into the desired form, shaping them with her will. The song of the hammer and anvil soothed her, and she quickly replenished their supply of horseshoes. Benjin also taught her to make shoeing nails, whose shape was critical. Wide heads prevented the shoe from slipping over the nails, while the tapered edges prevented injuries by forcing the nail to turn outward to the edge of the hoof against the taper.
As long as a farrier is careful not to drive one backward, the nail will always poke back out of the hoof, a finger's width above the shoe. The farrier would clip most of the tip of the nail then crimp the remains against the hoof. The technique provided a secure fit and better protection from sprung shoes.
"A horse will always spring a shoe at the worst possible moment, and it's good to know how to handle it," Benjin said. "You seem to handle the hammer well. Would you like to make a farrier's kit?" he asked. Catrin was delighted with the idea.
The hours she spent at the forge with Benjin were the only times she forgot her worries. Using tools to create new tools enthralled her, and she was immensely proud of her new implements. In a way, they brought her freedom. There were always coppers to be made shoeing horses and trimming hooves at local farms, and the knowledge that she could earn her own way was comforting. She would take pride in whatever work she did with them. Smiling, she tucked them into her saddlebags with care.
The weather was becoming unusually volatile, and intense storms confined Catrin to the barn or the cottage much of the time. Clear skies could quickly turn dark and foreboding, and fierce winds drove the rain. One afternoon, the sky was an eerie shade of green, like nothing she had ever seen before. Hail made her run for cover, each stone growing in size as she ran, some even larger than her fist. Benjin and her father sprinted into the barn just behind her.
Wind howled so fiercely through the valley that it lifted a hay wagon into the air and over a fence, depositing it, unharmed, in a pasture. When the storm passed, they checked for damage. Catrin helped her father and Benjin repair the roofs on the cottage and barn. The chicken coop had also suffered damage, but Benjin mended it quickly.
Abe Waldac, a local cattleman, drove his wagon behind a team of mules to the front of the barn. "Anyone hurt?"
"Luck was with us, Abe. We're fine. Thank you for checking on us, though. It's much appreciated," her father replied.
"You've always been good neighbors. I'm glad to see you all well. A funnel cloud ripped through the lowlands; looks like it made a boiling mess of things. I'm going to see if anyone needs help."
"We'll go with you. I'm sure they could use some extra hands down there. Catrin, you stay here and mind the farm. We'll be back late. Gunder may come for his mare. She's in the second stall," her father said, and the men rode off in Abe's wagon, leaving her alone. She knew someone had to watch the farm, but Catrin could not help feeling ashamed. Her father did not want to be seen in public with her.