No, her magic hadn’t been enough to help her save Mama’s life as she lay dying in their root cellar so many years ago, but it was enough to lead Blue to the flowers and herbs that wanted to be harvested. It was enough to give her an instinct for which ingredients would work best together in the science of alchemy she loved so much. And as Grand-mère was fond of saying, it was useless wasting your time wishing for what you didn’t have instead of using what you did.
When she was through gathering for the day, Blue returned to the farmhouse, left her gardening boots under the front bench, and carried her basket into the kitchen, where dinner was already set out on the small, polished kitchen table. Papa took the basket from her and set it beside the door that led down to the root cellar. Blue swallowed against the sudden hard knocking of her heart and looked away from the door as she washed her hands and sat down beside Grand-mère. Pepperell hurried to the corner of the room where a bowl of minced fish waited for him.
“How did the deliveries go?” Papa asked as he passed a basket of freshly fried oatcakes to Blue.
“They took forever, but I got them done.” Blue took two cakes and slathered them with honey. “I hope Ana comes in tomorrow, because I don’t have time to run packages across the city again.”
“I’m sure she will,” Papa said around a mouthful of fike. “She’s been mostly reliable.”
Blue savored her own bite of fike before saying, “I know. And I’ve also promised to teach her how to read and do her sums. I think she’s excited about that. It would go so far in helping her to find an apprenticeship. She’s nearly ten, and most merchants want apprentices to start at the age of twelve. That only gives us two years to fill in the gaps in her education and get her ready.”
“Does she want an apprenticeship?” Grand-mère asked.
“Why wouldn’t she?” Blue stared at Grand-mère while she swallowed a mouthful of turnips. “What other hope does she have? She’ll be too big soon enough for begging. Too old for the wealthy to be willing to hire her for odd jobs here and there. If she doesn’t have an apprenticeship, she’ll end up working for the brokers, like so many homeless children who’ve gone before her, and you know that ends in violence more often than not.”
“I know,” Grand-mère said, her gaze finding her granddaughter’s and holding. “But I also know that you can’t save people unless they are willing to be saved. Maybe the thought of giving up the life she knows for the life of an apprentice scares her.”
Blue slowly put her fork down on the table. She’d thought Ana was excited to learn the skills she needed to find an apprenticeship. Could Ana have skipped her job at the shop today because she was afraid of change? Was she so used to a life of desperation and faint hope that she couldn’t see herself living any other way? If that was true for her, how many other children out there were struggling to envision anything better for themselves either?
Looking up from her plate, Blue found both Papa and Grand-mère watching her. Firmly, she said, “The only reason Ana or any of the other children would be scared of going after an apprenticeship is because they’ve lost hope that there’s something better out there for them. If we give them shelter and decent food—if we treat them like people who are worthy of dignity and respect—then they’ll be able to see that a better future is possible.”
Papa’s smile was wide and warm. “That’s my girl.” He reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “More turnips?”
“I’m full.” Blue pushed her plate away and braced herself for the protest that was sure to come as she said, “And I need to figure out the next step in my experiments on turning lead into gold. Grand-mère, you can help with that.” Blue drew in a breath and then said quickly, “I think it’s time I had my own wand.”
The older woman’s gaze snapped to Blue’s. “We’ve discussed this.”
“I’d like to discuss it again.” Blue held Grand-mère’s eyes, though heat squirmed through her, and she had to concentrate on not shifting her weight.
Papa leaned forward. “Blue—”
“I can handle this, Pierre.” Grand-mère’s voice was soft, but there was stone beneath it as she ran her fingers along the wand she kept in a slim sheath beneath her left sleeve. “I’ve told you before, Blue. No wand for you. You don’t need one. You already focus your magic with the touch of your hands. That’s good enough.” Her voice was firm.
“It’s not good enough!” Blue’s voice rose, and a swift look of disapproval from Papa had her struggling to speak calmly again. “I can’t figure out how to change lead into gold. My hands aren’t telling me the secret. And if I can’t figure that out, I can’t buy shelter and food and tutors. I can’t help Ana, or the other children on our streets, and somebody has to. I have to.”
“And why do you have to?” Grand-mère pointed at Blue. “Who made that your job?”
“You did.” Blue lifted her chin as Grand-mère blinked in surprise. “You’re the one who always told me if I see something wrong, it becomes my responsibility to make it right.”
Papa laughed, and then quickly choked it down as Grand-mère shot him a look. “She has you there, Destri.”
Grand-mère snorted, but her eyes softened as she looked at Blue. “Your mind is so bright. So curious. Always hunting for something to understand, something to create, or something to fix. I know you look at a wand and you think you see all the possibilities, but I see the possibilities too. And not all of them are good.”
“But—”
“If you use a wand in the shop and someone sees you, they could report you,” Papa said quietly.
“I could use it only after hours, when the shop is locked up.”
“It’s too dangerous.” He rose from the table, moved to her chair, and wrapped his arms around her. “I will not lose my daughter because of magic. You’re a brilliant alchemist, Blue. You’ll figure out how to help the children without risking exposing your magic to others. I believe in you, and I’ll help you in any way I can. Something should’ve been done to help them long ago, and I’m ashamed it took my own daughter to open my eyes to it.”
“Thank you.” She leaned into him, and he held her for a moment before stepping back and reaching for her gathering basket.
“Shall we go down to the root cellar and store these together?” he asked as he did every time she brought in a harvest.
Her gaze flew to the root cellar door and skittered away as sharp teeth of panic scraped at her.
One day, she’d go back down into the root cellar, where she’d sat beside her mama’s dying body when she was seven, unable to climb up the broken, twisted ladder to get help. Helpless to do anything but wait for her papa to return home far too late to even say good-bye to his beloved wife.
“I’m tired,” she said, her voice a faint shadow of itself as the panic threatened to close her throat.
Papa smiled gently, though sorrow was in his eyes. “Perhaps tomorrow, then.”
She nodded her thanks as he opened the door and descended into the root cellar with her basket.