The day is crisp and cool, and Rose pulls her shawl tightly about her shoulders as she heads up the road to the old tavern near the mill. She figures she'll find Cuthberd there, and a quick look around as she passes through the doorway proves her right. Hoping to get him moving, she quickly heads to the table and looks down.
Cuthberd looks up as Rose approaches, his customary scowl lifting only slightly. "I ain't goin' up to that Pony today," he says without preamble. "Leg's achin enough already. And th' beer here may be piss, but it ain't much worse than what that fat barkeep serves and I don't got t' slog halfway 'cross Bree t' get to it. And there ain't so many loudmouths an' foreigners here." He nods decisively.
Rose looks at the set of Cuthberd's face and then around at the dimly lit tavern, watching as one of the lamps flickers along a wall that hadn't seen the damp side of a cloth in some time. "Well," she says, sinking into a nearby chair and waving for a serving girl, "There's not much to recommend this place, but I've nothing that needs done in Bree today."
Cuthberd stretches his injured leg out with a slight groan. "I see you've started workin' on th' mill. Yer plan t' fix it up for sail if Rastellion ain't buyin?"
"No,” Rose shakes her head. “But if your son is buying the mill, I want to get it presentable enough that he'll not regret his decision. Even if I've had to run up a tab with the lumberyard and a couple of the local vendors to do so. Besides, it gives me something ... something else to think on." She looks off into the distance, before turning her gaze back to the man sitting across from her. "I've shown you where a few of the shops are in town, but has there been anything in particular you've been looking to see?"
Cuthberd shakes his head slowly. "I'm a man o' simple means an' tastes. I don't need no fancies t' be content." His eyes move off toward the water beyond the hazy window. "Jus' need Rastellion t' come home," he adds, very softly.
The serving girl come up to their table and, looking away from the view of the stream, Rose orders a pair of ales, along with some bread and cheese, before turning back to Cuthberd. "We'll all be glad when they're home. That baby misses her mother. And that fellow, Rath, well he keeps watching the road when no one's looking." She reaches out to briefly squeeze Cuthberd's hand.
Cuthberd is just reaching for what's left of the bit of bread brought with his earlier ale, and misses the gesture. "Hmm," he says, "young folk don't work hard these days. Lazin' around starin' off when they should be doin' their jobs, hmmm?"
"Works hard enough, better than most I'd say. Can't imagine some of the ones that spend their days at the tavern doing half what he does." She stretches her back out and stifles a bit of a yawn. "Still and I've yet to sit down with them and explain how the mill works. Merry's supposed to be watching the baby, but lately she's been needing as much watching as Althessia."
Cuthberd frowns slightly. "Tha's the blonde on wit' curls? Aye, she seems more than a bit scatterbrained that one. Like t' leave Zandrianna's baby down an' forget about her, if ya ask me....
"Red, not blonde. And usually the girl's alright. Something's got her bothered though and I'm not sure what it is. I figure if she doesn't say soon, I'll have to sit her down and have a talk with her about it." A set of footsteps and the rattling of a tray announces the return of the serving girl, who sets down two mugs and a platter in the table before being called away by the barkeep again. "Now, and come to think of it, you said you had some experience with mills yourself but that you'd not gone past apprenticing? What all did you learn?" she asks as she picks up a small chunk of bread and cheese.
Cuthberd chews thoughtfully. "Been a fair number of years since that," he answers. "Learned m' way around it, right enough, but rarely set my hand more t' more than liftin' or sweepin' or cleaning. I'll know what most o' th' mill is t' look at it, e'en what it's for, but I ain't never been in charge."
Rose is apparently pleased with this, as she nods and takes a swallow of her ale, her nose crinkling at the old flavor of it, before replying. "Not much has changed since you learned it, so you'll be able to pick things right up. And I've learned a fair bit from Gillis, so if you need answers, you've only to ask."
Cuthberd reaches for a bit more food. He washes the bread down with a swallow of ale, giving no indication if he notices its poor quality. "I suppose. Don't know why I'd bother, though. 't ain't my mill. Ye'll be gettin' a foreman for it, I 'spect, or Rastellion will if he buys it. Not like I'd have anything t' tell the fellow he didn' already know."
Rose snorts at this. "If I were to choose someone to foreman the mill, it'd be someone that already knows one end of it from another. Someone who's also farmed and knows the difference between rye and barley, and the different kinds. Someone mature, settled ..." She finishes speaking and looks at Cuthberd. "And I imagine your boy's going to agree with me."
"Eh, well, you'd not want one o' these young whippersnappers, tha's fer sure." He takes another helping of the food, leaving the last for Rose, and talks a bit indistinctly around he mouthful, apparently reverting back to his bachelor manners without thinking. "I 'spect Rastellion - if he ever gets back an' gets himself out o' this world o' trouble he's in - were t' be interviewin' candidates, I could set in. GIve my impressions. Don' know how much help it'd be but..." He shrugs, swallows, and reaches for his ale.
"Well," Rose says, as she takes the last bit of bread and cheese, "You'll have to make sure to sit in on your own interview as well, since you're the top candidate for the position."
"Gack?!" Cuthberd chokes at this, spewing a fine mist of ale and a few bits of bread and cheese onto the table between them. He coughs and thumps his chest. When he can finally speak, his wide, startled eyes are watering slightly from the alcohol that's gone up the back of his nose. "I'm.. I'm wha'?!"
"Indeed, Cuthberd," Rose replies calmly, despite the sparkle in her eye. "If I were to pick anyone to bring the mill back, it'd be yourself. And I think you're ideal for the task of it too."
Cuthberd grabs his low-quality beer and takes a long pull. "Lady," he says, when his throat's clear. "Yer outta yer mind."
Rose flinches, her eyes flickering hurt. "Say what you will, but I know when I'm right about matters concerning the mill. And I've never been more right than I am now." The smile fades into a serious expression and she studies his face. "If the mill's going to succeed, I need someone like you overseeing it. So, call me what you will, but don't discount it."
Cuthberd grimaces and pushes himself to his feet -- well, foot. "Look a' me," he says, face a mask of wretched frustration. "Can't even stand on m' own without this damn stick t' prop me up. How'm I t' tend th' cogs or lift a sack o' meal when I can scarce lift m'self?" He pulls the crutch under his arm and winces. "Were't someone else as said it, I'd think they were havin' a laugh at me. You, I s'pose, are jus' tryin' t' be kind. But I know m' limitations now. I'm sure y' mean well, but ain't kind t' rub a man's face in what he's lost." He grits his teeth and starts up the hill path back toward Rastellion's rented room. "Now, if you'll pardon me, but I got t' put this damn leg up, as it's achin' somethin' awful t'day." Back straight - or as straight as it can be while using the crutch, he turns and starts the painful limp home.
Rose leans into her hands, still stinging from his earlier retort and sighs. "You can do a lot more than you let yourself believe," she says to herself, then looks up as he walks away. She grabs two silver from her pouch and places them on the table, before standing and heading up the road; she slows her step as she catches up with him. "You think running a mill is about just the cogs and sacks? It's not even 1/4 of what's important. It's the knowing ... knowing what grain will grind, and how fine to grind it. Knowing when the cogs aren't working right, and when they are. Knowing the right pressure to grind the grain to get an even consistency. If the mill just needed a strong back, I imagine that Giles fellow or Rath would be enough. But it's a lot more, and those are things you can do. Do you think your brains disappeared with your leg? You'll have help to do the lifting and repairs, but you, your knowledge of not just milling, but farming is what that mill needs right now. What I need right now. I can't let everything my husband built, everything he did, simply fade away because ..." Rose purses her lips, and brushes the back of her hand against her eyes. "I may as well be arguing with the millstone, and it might even listen." she finishes through clenched teeth, before heading towards the bridge.
Cuthberd stares after her. "Fine," he mutters to himself. "Then run th' damn thing yerself. Seems ya know more 'bout it than I do anyway." He shakes his head. "Daft old bird." He readjust his crutch and continues on his way.
Rose stares out at the water, aware of Cuthberd's departure though she doesn't say anything more to him, simply clenches and unclenches her fists. “Well, I made a right muddle of that, didn't I?” she mutters finally, and reaches up to rub her forehead. “And how am I going to fix it?” The only answer is the lapping water beneath the bridge and, with a sigh of frustration, Rose makes her way back to the mill.
((Big thanks go to Rastellion, who also does the voice of Cuthberd (Rastellion's father), a character that I absolutely adore. As always, hugs, kisses, and lots of love to him.))
