Now they were stitching, and their faces were filled with worry. Grandmother was sleeping still.“I have been to see Soor Lily,” I said quietly, and I began steeping foxglove tea.“The charm is not working, is it?” Gretta said flatly.“She says it is because I am in love already.”“It must be Ben.”“It must be, but the eye does not stop for Ben—it only slows.”“It is waiting for your pie,” Beatrice said hopefully.“Perhaps,” I said. I sat on the edge of Grandmother’s bed with the foxglove tea and stroked her hair until she woke with a smile.While I helped her sip the tea, Gretta and Beatrice whispered together. Before Grandmother had finished the tea, the color had come back to her face and I had persuaded her to have breakfast.“You were right, Keturah,” she said. “Death is not as near as I had thought, perhaps.”After she had eaten, she took up her spindle and assured me that she might feel well enough to make supper also.“If you are well enough, Grandmother Reeve,”
