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It's early spring, and Vesta is sowing seeds. The winter compost did its job; the soil is dark and rich, crumbling like moist cake between her fingers. Perfect for the tomatoes and strawberries they've got going this year. Vesta's hands are stained with dirt, and though her back is starting to ache - years of hard labor catching up to her 34 years-young spine - this is her favorite time of year. Even crouched over her lovingly planted seeds, she has a great view of the river as it carries this year's cherry blossoms gently towards the sea. The pink flowers are beautiful atop the clear-blue water, and everywhere else too. The bridge, the rooftops, the dirt paths all over town. Even her clothes! Each time one sticks to her overalls, Vesta plucks it off and places it next to the last seed she planted. She's always done this, even back when she was a kid on her grandfather's farm.
Vesta is starting to sweat, and in such comfortable weather that means she's been working hard. Marlin isn't feeling well today, and she gave Celia a half-day; she wanted to make more progress before lunch, but she's just one person. Everybody's got to eat! Vesta stands, wincing a little, and heads back to the house to wash up. When she gets there, the house is empty. Celia must be out, and Marlin is probably asleep. The first thing Vesta does is walk up to his room and place her ear against the door. When she finally hears a snore, she can breathe. She can't help but worry about him. Her brother's health has always been a concern, but she can tell his loneliness is making it worse. Depression can have that effect on people.
Vesta sighs as she scrubs her hands in the sink. It's not that she's unhappy. She loves her life, and she loves her little farm family. She might say that getting older is making her more sentimental, but that's not true. Vesta has always struggled with closeness, especially romance, and its absence has always hurt.
She looks out the window as she finishes at the sink, immediately blushing and averting her gaze when she spots Flora, one of the archeologists up at the waterfall, crouching next to the goddess drops growing at the foot of the windmills. As much as she wishes these feelings would go away, Vesta desperately desires a companion. Someone she can share her life with, her most intimate thoughts and feelings, her dreams. She wants someone to see her as more than just a farmer, a caretaker, a provider. But who would? Girls like Celia attract suitors left and right, but Vesta has always been big, with broad shoulders and a deep voice. She's never fit in anywhere, except on the farm, where her strength, both emotional and physical, is constantly relied upon. And she likes it that way; it feels good to be needed, to know her place. But when Flora comes around on one of her post-dig walks while Vesta is working in the field, sometimes they can talk for hours. Vesta doesn’t have anybody else like that in her life. And when she looks at Flora, with her loose, messy ponytail, her thoughtful expressions, her constantly crooked glasses, her passion for her work - Vesta imagines a different version of her life.
She wills herself not to look out the window again before she checks the fridge for food. Looks like Celia made a big salad earlier with greens and vegetables from the greenhouse, enough for Vesta and Marlin to each have a serving. She even put the dressing on the side – a treasure, that girl. Vesta serves half of it in a bowl for herself and puts the rest back in the fridge for Marlin.
She's eating her salad at the kitchen table when there's a knock at the door. Mid-bite, she's still holding the bowl as she goes to greet whoever it is. Probably the new farmer - she's always getting the house and the shop confused.
"Good afternoon," Flora says, in her usual professional manner. Vesta nearly chokes, but Flora doesn't notice. Vesta has learned how hide her emotions well, especially to save herself from an uncomfortable social encounter. “I have a few questions concerning the local vegetation in this area," Flora says. "May I come in for a few moments? Oh, uh, sorry if I’m interrupting your meal.”
"No!" Vesta says, still chewing. She swallows and steps back. "I mean, no, I don't mind! Come on in."
"Thank you." Flora enters the house and retrieves a small notebook from her back pocket. Vesta is completely thrown off by her presence. She's never nervous around anyone, especially in her own home, and she's starting to second guess herself - also something she never does.
"Please, make yourself at home," Vesta says, setting her salad on the counter. "Haven't seen you around much lately; that old professor isn't working you too hard, is he?"
"Not more than usual," Flora says. Vesta loves the way her eyes flit back and forth, never resting for too long. Flora's brain is always working, and she never hides it. Vesta admires this about her. "I've been working at something else, actually," Flora continues. She opens her book and hands it to Vesta, which looks even smaller in her hands. The open page contains a hand-written recipe, with margin notes in different handwritings.
"Have you been cooking?" Vesta asks.
Flora nods. "The professor is dissatisfied with my culinary aptitude. I have requested advice from many reputable sources in town, but my abilities have not yet improved."
"I see," Vesta says. "Well, I'm a pretty good cook myself, knowing so much about fruits and vegetables. Is that what you wanted to ask me about?"
"Yes, well, I have been encouraged to forage for fresh herbs, but I'm afraid my knowledge bank is limited to archeology. I know embarrassingly little about plants," Flora says sheepishly. "I was hoping you could assist me in identifying and cooking with foraged plant materials. I... honestly have no idea what I'm looking for."
Vesta lights up, happy that she can be useful. "Sure, I can help with that!"
"Excellent." Flora looks relieved. "I've gathered a few specimens here - may I have that back?" She reaches for the notebook, which Vesta hands to her. She flips through it, then hands it back. "Can you identify these?"
"Wow, you're a great artist, Flora," Vesta says. The open pages show detailed sketches of various plants that can be found around town. "Got a pen?" Flora retrieves one from her pocket and hands it to Vesta, who sits at the table to work. "My penmanship isn't perfect," she says, self-conscious as she labels Flora's intricate sketches.
"Oh, don't worry," Flora says. "The professor calls mine 'chicken scratch' which I assume to mean that it resembles what it would look like if one dipped a chicken’s feet in ink and presented it with paper.”
Vesta laughs. "You're pretty funny, Flora. You know, you're really going through a lot of effort for Professor Carter. Is cooking for him really part of your job as an archeologist? You can have a seat if you want, by the way."
Flora nods and sits at the table. "Not technically, no. But he is my boss, and our living situation mimics that of a married couple, though I assure you our relationship is strictly professional." Vesta nods, believing her, and Flora looks down. "He expects his assistant to cook for him, and I love my work too much to risk being replaced."
Flora's words make Vesta angry. She hates injustice and is getting the feeling that Flora's dedication is being taken advantage of at the dig site. She pushes it down, though. "Here," she says, showing Flora her notes. "This one is called 'mugwort'; it's bitter on its own, but aromatic. It's also used medicinally, something I learned years ago from Nina, may she rest in peace. It's good for anxiety and can help you get a good night's sleep. Great in soups. I've made pancakes with it before. I wrote all this in your book. I can show you sometime, if you want."
"You want to cook together?" Flora asks, seeking clarification. This makes Vesta blush so profusely she can't push it down. Luckily she has naturally rosy cheeks.
"Sure, practice is the best way to learn." Vesta smiles through her blush, nervously scratching the back of her head. “I don’t know what kind of cooking set-up you’ve got in that tent, but I’ve got everything we’ll need here. Just let me know when you’ve got some free time!”
“Thank you, Vesta, that’s very generous of you,” Flora says. Vesta loves the way Flora says her name. It sounds so soft coming from her. “I quite enjoy our talks on my walks by your farm. You are good company. I’m sure cooking with you will be far less disastrous than my solo attempts. Are you free tomorrow around this time?”
“Thanks,” Vesta says, beaming. “Yeah, I’m free tomorrow. I’m happy to help!”
Flora smiles. “Good! I’m glad I came by. Thank you, Vesta.” She nods and pockets her book, standing. “See you tomorrow?”
Vesta moves to get the door. “Yeah! See you tomorrow,” she says.
After Flora is gone, Vesta grabs her salad and sits back down at the table. She rests her elbows on the table and squishes her cheeks into the heels of her hands, which pushes her lips together like a fish. She exhales as she puts her hands down. Vesta likes Flora, that much she can’t deny at this point. And though she doesn’t show it in the usual way, she can tell that Flora values their friendship, too. They’ve been a calming presence for one another for a while now, even when they aren’t talking, even when they’re just sitting in silence, Flora journaling or napping while Vesta works. She’s glad she is the one who gets to give Flora cooking lessons. Vesta finishes her lunch with a smile.