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feeling
her eyes widen with surprise.
    He laughed. :I have seen more
than three hundred harvests come and go. Do you think I wouldn't recognize the
signs of an especially good one? And of course, if the harvest is good, your
father will have hired extra hands at the hiring fair and still you and every
person in the Manor will need to add your labor.:
    She
echoed his laughter. "Of course. I keep
forgetting you are as old as the hills themselves," she replied teasingly.
    :Not quite as old as the hills, but old
enough.: He gave her another of those brief, feather-light touches to the cheek with his
nose, so close to a kiss that they gave her chills. :Go in good conscience and do your
duty. I'll miss you,
but remember what I've told you.:
    He
didn't need to repeat it; anything she did to add to the peace and happiness of
the lands about the Manor made a difference in the lives of the Faerie folk. So
when she made her way back from the forest for what she knew would be the last
time for many days, she had the comfort of knowing that though she would
sacrifice a little freedom, she would still be adding to the peace of her
friends.
    The
hay was the first of the crops to be gathered in, and it needed a steady space
of at least a week with hot sun, no rain, and little dew, for once it was cut,
it had to cure before it could be brought into the barns. First the reapers
made their way down the fields like an advancing army, sweeping at the succulent
grasses with their scythes and leaving the green stems flat on the ground
behind them like a vanquished army. Every harvest— though thankfully, never at
Swan Manor—reapers lost limbs and lives to a careless swipe of the blades. A
good hand with a scythe was worth any three common laborers, and Lord Kaelin
rewarded his reapers well.
    It
was the job of the less skilled to come along behind them and rake the hay into
neat rows for the turning, while the harvesters moved across the fields with
the precision of clockwork, stopping only to sharpen their instruments. In
fields already harvested, where the hay had sufficiently dried, the hay-wains
lumbered, with their own crews of rakers, forkers (who tossed clumps of hay up
onto the wagons), loaders, and a driver. The hot, still air was full of the
sounds of insects buzzing, the reapers chanting, the rakers humming, and the
sweet scent of newly mown hay. All of this was thirsty work, and Ariella and
Lady Magda labored up and down the rows with the old women and small children
with their buckets of cool water. For once Lady Magda eschewed her heavy black
and gray gowns for a simple linen chemise and apron, bundling her hair up beneath
a kerchief and leaving her dignity back in the Manor.
    When
the hay was in, it was time for the grain—oats, wheat, barley and rye—all three
scythed and harvested in much the same manner as the hay. The weather remained
perfect, hot and still, and the golden grain fell before
the scythes, rich with the promise of the well-fed winter.
    From
the fields, the wains went to the threshing circles, where threshers beat the
sheaves to loosen the grain from the straw. Ariella worked with the winnowers,
tossing basketfuls of grain into the air for the breeze to carry away the
lighter chaff while the grain dropped back to the ground.
    The
harvest wasn't over yet—in fact it was just begun. Next came peas, beans, and other vegetables that would be dried for winter preservation.
Ariella was out in the rows with the other women and children, filling her
apron with pods and emptying it in the barrow a boy brought up. After the beans
and peas came the root vegetables, turnips and mangle-wurzles, beets, onions,
and leeks. Then came the hops, then the berries,
apples and nuts. Nor was this the end; rushes had to be cut and dried for
strewing on the floors, herbs gathered and hung to dry, honey gathered from the
hives. Not even the blossoms were spared the gathering-in; lavender, roses and
other flowers were stripped of their