Ruby sat on a sturdy wood bench at the riverbank as Tyra reached deep in her apron pocket and pulled out a heaping handful of bread crumbs.
“Do you wanna feed the ducks?”
“Oh, yes,” Ruby answered enthusiastically, noting idly how such little things made children happy. What happened to people when they became adults, that they lost this ability to savor the little gifts of life—a beautiful sunset, a laughing child, ducks waddling on a summer afternoon, the love of a good man?
Dozens of ducks soon converged on the scene. The girls laughed delightedly at the antics of the gluttonous animals who shoved each other aside in their efforts to get the food.
The girls slowly inched closer to the bench, and finally Astrid, the oldest girl, perched at the other end from Ruby and asked, “Did Father say your name was Ruby?”
Ruby smiled. “Yes. Ruby Jordan.”
“Like the jewel?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Never have I heard that used as a name afore.”
“Lots of girls are named after jewels in my country,” Ruby explained, “like Emerald, Opal, Pearl, Garnet and Jade. But actually, I wasn’t named after the jewel. My mother named me and my sister—” She never got to finish her explanation because a wild squawking commenced and Tyra came clambering quickly up the riverbank, complaining that a duck had almost bitten her, just because she held the last crust out of its reach.
“You know, Tyra, your bread crumbs remind me of a story my children used to love about a boy and girl who got lost in the forest even though they had a plan involving—can you believe it!—bread crumbs. Would you like to hear the story?”
“Yea! Yea! Yea! I love stories ever so much! Almost as much as ducks! Or puppies! Or strawberry tarts!”
“Shush, Tyra,” one of her sisters said. They’d all moved closer, and it seemed Tyra wasn’t the only one who loved storytelling. Some slid onto the bench beside her and others sat on the grass in front.
“The name of my story is Hansel and Gretel,” Ruby began. “Once upon a time…” When she finished the beloved children’s story, the girls begged her to tell it again.
“Will you be staying with us long?” Tyra asked.
“I don’t know. King Sigtrygg has a foolish notion that I might be a spy for some enemy called Ivar.”
“Ivar the Vicious!” several of the girls gasped simultaneously and moved away from her in horror. “A spy!”
“Actually, the king is more interested in investigating my claim of kinship with the Viking Hrolf in Normandy.”
“You’re related to Hrolf?” a once-again fascinated Astrid asked. “I saw him years ago in Hordaland. Massive built he was. Even taller than my father. And handsome as all the gods.” She blushed then at her overexuberance.
“Girls, your mother needs your help,” Olaf called from the back of the house. His daughters turned and ran up the yard to hug him once again. Ruby laughed to hear certain names mixed in their excited chatter, like Hansel, Gretel, Ivar, Hrolf and Ruby.
Olaf raised questioning eyes to Ruby after the girls went into the house by a back door. He sauntered down the yard, looking very pleased with himself, and sank down onto the bench beside her, legs outstretched, totally relaxed.
Men! They were the same throughout the ages. Give them a little love and they became putty. Out of the blue, a niggling idea crept into Ruby’s mind. Maybe she should have done a lot more of that with Jack during the past year. In fact, there was no question about it.
Shelving that guilty thought to the back of her mind, Ruby turned to Olaf and said, “So, it’s that good to be home again?”
“Better,” he countered and smirked. Then he added, “In my excitement over being home, I neglected to take precautions over you. ‘Tis my good fortune you did not escape. In the future, one of my servants will guard you at all times.”
“Humph! That’s not necessary. Where would I go? Down to the harbor? I can see it now, me trying to stowaway on a ship bound for America. It probably isn’t even discovered yet, for heaven’s sake!”