Chapter 1 #2
In fact, it appears he’s avoiding it on purpose.
For some reason, it strikes me as funny. I keep looking, hiding a smile as he pretends to stay busy rearranging blocks of cheese on his table.
Without warning, he glances up, his eyes landing on me. His expression changes, and I realize he must see that I’m secretly laughing at his avoidance of his future mother-in-law.
His mouth twitches just slightly, although the rest of his stern expression doesn’t change.
I snicker and drop my eyes just as Lorraine turns to see what has distracted the target of her attention.
Aria is glaring at me as I approach. “It’s about time, Teresa. We’ve been waiting all day. You better have found something decent despite all your lazing about.”
If I had even a modicum of Annabelle’s spirit, I would have snapped back about how I’ve been scouring ruins all morning while Aria spends her life sitting on her ass. But I have no spirit.
Maybe I used to, but it’s long gone now. I’m simply too tired to deal with an argument and the negative consequences that will undoubtedly follow.
I’m too tired to do anything but exist.
And arguing has never made the world better.
“You could have at least tried to make yourself presentable before you came into public,” Aria adds, scowling as she eyes me from head to feet.
Half my long hair has slipped out of its one braid, and I’m hot and dusty from the scavenging and the walk back.
I know I don’t look good. I never do.
Ignoring the comment, I show her my basket topped with those bouncy balls. “I got some good stuff today.”
“Oh good. Those balls are popular. What else do you have in there?”
What happens next is mostly Aria’s fault. I’m convinced of that fact. Maybe I could have clung to the handle of the basket tighter, but she yanks the other side far too hard and without warning.
She pulls the basket right out of my hand.
It falls.
I grab for it and manage to snatch it back, but one side has already toppled open, spilling out all the balls.
They do what bouncy balls inevitably will. They bounce wildly and roll everywhere. All over. Under tables and against people’s shoes and from one corner of the village square to the other.
Aria starts screeching at me, laying into me for my stupidity, my clumsiness, my incompetence. All the normal stuff.
I try to block out her voice as I run around and collect the spilled balls.
It wasn’t my fault, but everyone in the village is going to assume it was.
A few kids are squealing with excitement as they pick up balls and bounce them as far as they’ll go.
The butcher’s dog is barking with pure glee as he bounds around and tries to pick up one ball after another.
Another dog, this one a fierce-looking stray, runs out from an alley to join in the hunt, joyfully bewildered by the unexpected abundance of treasure.
Old Henderson, the oldest person in town, is laughing his head off from his normal position on a bench outside the bake shop.
I might have laughed too had Aria not still been screaming at me, making it clear to everyone around that I’m the cause of this disaster. My cheeks are hotly flushed as I scramble around collecting balls. I have to crawl under tables and chase balls that the kids are still bouncing.
I’m attempting to coax the butcher’s dog to let me have those he’s hoarded between his paws when the butcher comes to retrieve the animal.
Then I spot a few more balls across the square, so I hurry after them.
Mason beats me to them, leaning over to pick them up. He’s already picked up five of them. He drops them gently into my basket when I get close enough.
“Thank you,” I mumble, even more embarrassed than ever by his sober expression and his assistance.
No one else has bothered to help me at all.
I catch a glimpse of yellow green in the alley, so I run toward it.
It’s the stray dog, lying on the ground with two balls between his front legs and another in his mouth as he pants happily around it with one of his triangular ears cocked back.
He’s got a big body, a blocky head, and a face that almost looks mean, but he doesn’t growl as I approach. His expression changes. I recognize it. Feel it.
It breaks my heart.
It’s exactly how any creature who has nothing feels when the little they’ve found is about to get taken away.
“Oh no,” I gurgle, ridiculously emotional. I can’t imagine the severity of my punishment if Lorraine finds out I gave up three balls, but I’ll have to take them away from this poor, battered animal. “I’m so sorry, buddy. I have to. Lorraine will—”
I break off my irrational plea when I realize Mason has followed me.
He takes in the situation quickly and then tosses a slice of cheese far down the alley—one of the pieces he cuts as samples at his stall—and the dog yips around the ball in his mouth and jumps up to chase the snack, snatching it while managing to keep one ball in his mouth. Then he disappears from sight.
I grab the other two balls, relieved to at least get those.
“Teresa!” That’s Lorraine in her most domineering voice. “Teresa! Where are you, girl?” She appears at the opening of the alley and sees me and Mason. Her annoyed expression darkens. “What are you doing back here, pestering Mason?”
“I was getting the balls.”
“You better have retrieved them all. They’re worth far too much for you to handle so thoughtlessly. Did you get them away from that disgusting mongrel?”
I glance toward Mason, who covertly raises one finger to his lips in the universal gesture for quiet and then covers it by coughing into his hand.
Keeping my eyes downcast as I turn toward Lorraine, I say, “I found them all, yes. Mason helped me.”
“You should never have bothered him with such a task. Your duties are your duties. Not anyone else’s.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I learned early on that that response alone can shorten the duration of Lorraine’s lectures.
“What a scene you’ve made in front of the whole village. No wonder no one wants to marry you. Get this junk over to Aria and then go home. The floors need scrubbing before we’re done for the day. You know me and Aria work so hard we can’t do those kinds of chores ourselves.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
For some reason, knowing that Mason was hearing this conversation makes it a hundred times worse. I’ve been dealing with this treatment for years, but it grates on me and mortifies me more because he’s standing right there, staring with his normal serious expression.
Glad for an escape, I slip out of the alley, hearing Lorraine say, “I’m so sorry you had to deal with her. My late husband’s daughter. Not very bright and often lazy, but I take care of her anyway. The things we do because they’re our duty.”
A couple of hours later, I’m on my hands and knees, scrubbing the floor.
I snicker as I remember Mason’s secret sign to keep quiet about the dog absconding with one of the balls instead of fessing up to Lorraine.
He tossed some of his valuable cheese to the poor animal. He must have some sort of kindness lurking beneath his stoic detachment. And he obviously recognized that Lorraine would react negatively to my losing one of the balls.
Why he wants to marry Aria and get stuck with Lorraine as a mother-in-law is beyond me, but Aria is beautiful and healthy. Men often care more about that than behavior.
It’s not my problem, and Mason isn’t my concern.
I hope the dog is all right.
At least he got a piece of cheese and kept one of the balls.