K. D. Wentworth - As You Sow

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K.D. WENTWORTH

AS YOU SOW

The market stalls teemed with chattering wives and white-bearded old men whose

arguing voices vied with the screech of the gulls overhead in the ice-blue

spring sky. Ungern smelled the salt spray in the breeze and wished he could

watch the boats in the harbor instead of returning to break his back in the

landlord's endless flax fields.

"Birdseed!" a querulous voice rose over all the others. "Come and buy my fine

seed!"

Ungern craned his head, trying to see to the end of the cobbled street. Yes,

that was him, Konstantin Poeg, the last birdseed merchant in all of Estonia.

felt a surge of relief. Sonya would have flayed the hide off him if he had

arrived too late.

The old peddler, a small, bristly man with wild-looking eyes, plucked at the

burlap bags laid out before him on a wobbly plank table. "So, friend, what

sort

of birds shall you plant this year?"

Ungern reached into his pocket. "Nightingales." He laid a single copper coin

down on the peddler's table.

"Nightingales." Poegstroked his bushy write beard. "Well, if I had some left,

they would cost two coppers a seed. As it is, I'm afraid I sold all I had

three

villages ago."

"Oh." In his mind, Ungem saw how his wife's raisin-black eyes would stare

holes

through his body if he came home without her seeds. She meant to have

nightingales this summer, and if she didn't get her way, there would be no

peace

or comfort in his one-room cottage for much longer than he cared to think

about.

He cleared his throat. "Haven't you got something else for one copper?"

"Now, let me see." The old man poked through his heap of burlap sacks, then

picked one up. "What about some fine fat geese? I can let you have two of my

best grays for one copper."

A tantalizing vision of roast goose and golden-yoked boiled eggs floated

through

Ungern's head~ then he sighed and slid the lonely coin back into his pocket.

"My

wife has her heart set on songbirds and one copper is all we have."

"One copper will not even cover my expenses on songbirds!" The peddler leaned

over the plank table. "I suppose you think just anyone can harvest birdseed.

Well, if you don't find the eggs before the new life quickens, they hatch all

themselves in the ordinary way. Have you ever tried climbing a towering tree

find a nest, not to mention a cliff, or fought your way into a bramble

thicket?

Why else do you think harvesting birdseed is a dying craft? It needs a young

man's strength."

Ungern lowered his gaze. "Thank you anyway." He turned to go.

"Wait!" The peddler's hand flashed out and gripped his shirt. "I may have just

the thing!" With his other hand, he reached below the table and brought up a

small grimy bag tied shut with a bit of string.

"What kind of seed is that?" Ungern squinted at the bedraggled paper label,

but

the written characters were little more than faded squiggles.

"Something very special left over from several years ago." The old man's

wrinkled face beamed. "A little exotic for some folk, but you have the look of

man who can appreciate life's finest. I can't guarantee that all of it will

sprout, so I'll let you have a full one half of this bag for one copper."

"Half?" Ungem picked up the tiny bag, feeling the seeds shift inside. There

must

be dozens. He had never been able to afford more than four birdseeds at a time

in his whole life.

"All right, the whole thing then." Poeg folded his arms across his bony chest.

"I must say though, sir, you drive a hard bargain. It's not often a man gets

the

best of me."

A smile stole over Ungern's face as he replaced the single copper on the

table.

"Thank you!"

"Well, I need to clear out my stock." The peddler leaned closer and lowered

his

voice. "Frankly, my bones are getting too old to harvest seed anymore. I love

it, but it's really a young man's craft. I need someone to take over the

collecting end of the business. Why don't you spend a few weeks in the forest

with me and learn the trade?"

"Leave the fields?" Ungem's forehead wrinkled at the thought. "That would be

wonderful!" But then he considered the consequences--if he did that, the

landlord would take back their cottage. He and Sonya would have to live in a

hut

in the forest, and he could not see her agreeing to anything as drastic as

that.

"But I'm afraid I have responsibilities."

"That's what they all say." Poegscowled. "Time was when people knew what was

important. They wanted a little beauty and song in their life, but no one

cares

anymore. After I die, no one will be left who remembers how to find seeds

before

they hatch. Where will people go for birds then?"

No more birdseed? Ungern tucked the bag inside his shirt, trying to imagine a

spring in which the only birds he saw were there by chance. It was a lonely

thought.

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