Young Writers Society

PART TWO

The day was as clear as the last had been, and David and I were eager to find my mystery girl. When we were just out of sight of our house, we raced down the plain, until we got to the foot of the mountain; there we slowed our horses, and climbed higher and higher, until we got to the place I had been the previous afternoon.

We wandered all about the area, searching behind the trees and boulders, peering up into the dark foliage, calling to her; we looked for hours, but couldn’t find her. After a while David peered up into the sky, at the sun directly over our heads. “I’ve got t’ go, Timmy. I’ve got t’ get t’ th’ palace by two.”

I sighed. “Alright, thanks for helping.”

He nodded. “No problem...we can look again t’morrow.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

David mounted his horse, and then looked at me expectantly. I hadn’t moved. “Are ya comin’?”

“Nah, I think I’m going to stay here for a bit.”

David shrugged. “Alright, suit yourself...but you’d best get home by dark. Mam will’na be as forgivin’ t’night.”

“I know.”

I watched David ride down the path, and then I sat down on the bank. I pressed my back against the bark of a large tree, and watched a yellowish leaf float down stream lazily, allowing the cool water to take it where it would.

“Was that your brother?”

I jumped, startled, and looked around; the girl was crouched on a boulder across the river from me.

“How-what-when did you get here?”

“I asked you first...Oh, come now. That’s a question that should be easy to answer.”

I stood up. “Yeah, he’s my brother.”

“He doesn’t talk like you, nor look it.”

“He’s adopted.”

“Oh...” She leapt down from her perch. “Where’s he from?”

“Shirr.”

“He seems nice.”

“He is.”

“How long has he been your brother?”

I shrugged. “It’s not really official, even now...he came to Sector Twelve when I was ten, but I didn’t really consider him my brother for a while.”

“So he’s been with you a while...seven years? Eight?”

“Nine.” I said resentfully. “I’m not seventeen.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being seventeen.”

“There’s nothing right about it.”

“Says who? I like being seventeen.”

“You’re only seventeen?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes.” She replied simply. “Why?”

“You don’t seem that young.”

“Are you saying I look old?”

“Yes. No!”

She raised her eyebrows at me.

“You tricked me. You don’t look old. You just act...mature.”

“I am mature,” she said, as she hopped across the river, balancing on rocks that broke the surface. “Maturity

comes with experience, not age.”

“I suppose...” I agreed slowly.

There was a silence as the girl evaluated me. Her eyes took in my fitted cotton shirt, my clean trousers, and fairly new boots, and she snorted. “You sure wear nice clothing to go tromping through the woods.”

“I wanted to look nice.”

“For what?”

“In case I saw you again.”

“What made you think you’d see me? I never told you that you were allowed.”

“I was really hoping you’d change your mind.”

She smiled. “Good answer.”

“Was it?”

“No.”

I recoiled slightly, and she laughed. “If you ask a stupid question, you’ll be met with a stupid answer.”

“Touché.”

She spoke a sentence in perfect Ecnarian, leaving me staring at her stupidly. She giggled. “Don’t switch languages, unless you’re fluent in both.”

“How did you learn Ecnarian?”

“What makes you think I’m not Ecnarian by birth?”

“You don’t have an Ecnarian accent.”

“How about now?” she asked, imitating an Ecnarian accent perfectly.

“So you can imitate one well. That doesn’t prove you’re from Ecnar.”

“No, but it proves I could be.”

“How?”

“Well, you don’t know. I obviously speak it well, and can have an Ecnarian accent when I choose; so it might be

natural. You can never tell about those things, until you know somebody well. Who knows? I might be imitating a Lytiasian accent, with Ecnarian being my natural. I’m clearly very good at both, aren’t it? Maybe the question you should be asking is how I learned Lytiasian.”

“Well how did you learn Lytiasian?”

“Oh, I’ve spoke it since birth.”

I growled in irritation. “But you just said that you had to learn Lytiasian.”

“No, I said that you shouldn’t assume that I’m not from Ecnar. I never said that I wasn’t from Lytias.”

“So you are from Lytias?”

“No. I’m from Neko.”

“But you just said that you’ve spoken Lytiasian since you were born.”

“Lytiasians and Nekoians speak the same language, as you should know.”

There was another silence, as I tried to think of something smart to say. I didn’t succeed. “So, can you do any other accents?”

“Yes.”

“Which ones?”

“All of them.”

My eyes grew wide. “You can imitate all the different accents?”

“Yes...I’m not very good at the Sevalsian accent, though.”

“Well that doesn’t really count as a real country, anyway.”

“Why not?” She seemed offended.

“Well...they’re the servile breed.”

“They’re not a ‘breed’,” she snarled. “They’re people, just like you and I. It’s not their fault that they have an inferior military; they don’t really have a chance. People come in and kidnap their children before they have a chance to train a new generation of soldiers. You think they like being exploited? That they like being ‘servile’?”

I swallowed hard, trying to figure out a way to defuse the disaster I had caused. “I-I guess not.”

“Yeah, I guess not either.” She agreed sarcastically.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you liked the Sevalsians.”

“I like anybody who doesn’t try to take advantage of other people.”

“...Do people take advantage of you?”

“They used to.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m left to do as I please.”

“You answer only to yourself,” I stated, remembering what she had told me the previous day.

“That’s right.”

“Well do you want to go for a ride with me?”

“I thought I discouraged that yesterday,” she taunted playfully.

“Well how about we ride slow?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Then why should we go?”

“Why not?”

She grinned, “You’re learning.”

“I’ve got a good teacher.” I replied, beaming at her compliment.

“Who?”

“A girl of many secrets,” I replied, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“...Alright...we can ride.”

We mounted and lazily rode down the path, to the plain. We chatted about everything- my family, our horses, nature in general. We watched as the sun began to sink behind the far hills, when she turned to me, smiling. “You’d better get home, Timothy, son of John- it’s getting late.”

“Can I walk you home?”

“No.”

“It’s getting dark.”

“I see that, but I’m not afraid of the dark.”

“I am...will you walk me home?”

She giggled. “Nice try.”

I sighed contentedly, not expecting her to agree. “Will I ever see you again?”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

“Then you might.”

“Will I if I ask nicely?”

“Maybe.”

“Can I see you again?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Mmhmm...Meet me over there by the pond, under the oak tree, tomorrow after you finish your chores,” she said, gesturing towards our west. “Good night.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Did she meet you there the next day?” I asked eagerly.

“Aye, and the next day, and the day after that; we met under that oak tree every day for the rest of the summer

and well into the fall.”

“Was that fall when you asked her to marry you?”

“Well I asked her, but she refused.”

My eyes grew wide. “She refused? Why?”

“Because she said I had more things to learn before I was ready to be a husband and father.”

“That’s awful Father!”

“No, she was right. I wasn’t ready for it then-but she taught me. She taught me what it meant to be an adult- self-respect, dignity, honesty, responsibility; I even learned how to read fluently, to please her.”

“But when you asked her, the first time, she said that you were too irresponsible?”

“Pretty much...I had approached it the wrong way.”

“What did you do?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a cool autumn afternoon, and I had gotten to our meeting place early. I was more nervous than I had ever been, my breathing was a bit too fast, my palms were sweaty, and I was pacing back and forth, waiting for her to get there. I didn’t have to wait long before I saw her galloping across the plain, her crimson hair billowing out behind her, her face filled with joy- I’d never seen anything more beautiful than that. I swear she got lovelier every time I saw her.

She leapt off of her horse, taking his bridle off and letting him graze. “Hey Tim!”

“Hello Susan.”

She peered up into my face worriedly. “Are you okay? You seem rather scared.”

“I’m fine. I- um...Gosh you’re pretty.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

I nodded, awkwardly, a bit too quickly. She sobered and looked at me carefully. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” I repeated. “I’m just- I was- I mean to say-“

“Calm down Tim. Take a deep breath. What is it?” She asked worriedly as she stroked my arm comfortingly.

“Will you marry me?” I blurted out.

Her eyes grew wide and she backed up a step. “What?”

“Will you...be my wife?

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” she said softly.

“Yes I do.”

“You’ll be the man of the family. You won’t have Papa to blame for your mistakes anymore.”

“I know, and I’m okay with that.”

“You won’t have your Papa’s money anymore...He might give us a bit, I don’t know, but...” she sighed.

“He won’t. He...doesn’t approve of our marriage...he said that I will be on my own, if I marry you.”

“Don’t do that to yourself.”

“I’ll make my own. I’ll make you just as rich as him, I promise.”

“I don’t care about money.”

“You won’t have to worry about anything ever again. I’ll buy all of your meals, and I’ll buy you nice clothing, and

you’ll have all the books you can read-“

“You’re not listening to me. I don’t care about money.”

“I know, but I’ll get it anyway, so you can have everything you want.”

“I had everything I wanted,” she shouted. “I was richer than you are! I left because I wanted a real life. I wanted

a man who would love me, not a boy who could buy me things.”

I hesitated; shocked that she had once been rich. “But I do love you.”

“Prove it.”

“Prove it?” I repeated incredulously.

“Yes. Prove your love to me, and then I’ll marry you.”

“How can I do that?”

She whistled, calling her horse over to us. “Here’s a hint: prove that you don’t love your money.”

“I don’t love my money.”

She picked up a fold of my shirt. “You’re always wearing fine clothes, and bringing fine food...it sure seems like

you love money.”

“But I don’t.”

She mounted her horse. “Then prove it.”

I bewilderedly watched her gallop down the plain, and disappear into the forest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How did you prove that you didn’t love money?” I asked.

“It was hard.” Father admitted. “I realized that I did love my money. I loved being able to get whatever I wanted,

whenever I wanted-and I loved the respect and popularity that came with it. For the few weeks after that, Susan-your Mama- wouldn’t talk to me, and neither would my Papa. He was mad that I wanted to marry a poor girl, and told me he’d disinherit me if I did...I was scared.”

“What did you do?”

“For the first few weeks I didn’t do anything. Then, one day, I realized how Susan wanted me to prove my love. She wanted me to give up my money, to prove that I loved her more than I did it- which took me a while to decide whether I really did love her more.”

“But you did, didn’t you?”

“I did. Finally, long after I should’ve, I stated that I was going to marry Susan, no matter what; and my Papa kicked me out. I worked for Myrond’s father, in his bakery, for several months- saving every penny I earned, until I had enough to buy a few acres of land across town from where my Papa owned.”

“Here?”

“Aye, here,” he agreed.

“Did you build this house?”

“I did. Over the year I bought as much lumber each month as I could with my wages, and, in the afternoons when Myrond’s father didn’t need my help, I built this house. It took me a long time to buy enough materials to even build a single room; even longer to actually build it. By the time I was twenty-one, two years after I had met Susan, I only had a single-room cottage with a small fireplace, a cheap mattress-no bed frame- and a few, shameful pots.”

“Did Mama take you back, when you told her what you had?”

“Actually, your Mama and I had stopped talking. I periodically would return to our meeting spot, but she never came out to talk to me- though I’m sure she was watching me.”

“But you eventually found Mama?”

“No, she found me.”

“How did she find you?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a hot evening; all of my windows were open, in an attempt to make my house less stuffy- and to clear out the burnt smell of my dinner that evening. My ‘smoked’ trout had turned into charred trout, my baked potatoes into ash, and my grilled corn into a soot covered mess; the only thing that had turned out well was my bread. I had gotten use to eating mostly bread, as that was really the only thing that I could fix decently.

I was attempting to eat a bite of the trout, trying not to gag, when I heard a knock at my door. I walked over to it and yanked on it, barely making it open- several errors in measurement had landed me with a cock-eyed door that was too big for its frame. I was surprised to see who was standing on my doorstep.

“Susan!” I exclaimed. “Why-how are-what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk.”

“Oh...Please come in.”

I pulled the door open wider, and she walked into my small cottage. She looked around with her knowing eyes,

examining my poor craftsmanship and meager belongings, and then up at me.

“I’m sorry; I know it’s not very good. I’ve been trying-“

“It’s perfect.”

“What?” I asked incredulously.

“It’s perfect.” She repeated.

“You don’t have to tease.”

“I’m not teasing.”

“Well surely you can see how badly I’ve built this house.”

“It looks sound enough to me.”

“But it’s not attractive. I wanted an attractive house for my bride to make a home in.”

“I find it attractive...and you know why?”

I shook my head.

“Because it’s yours; it might not be pretty, but you worked hard to build this house, going without things yourself,

while you were building this house. That makes it perfect.”

I stared at her with wide eyes. “Really?”

She nodded. “I’m proud of you for depriving yourself to build this.”

“Oh, it wasn’t anything, really. I just lived with the baker while I built it.”

She raised her eyebrows and looked around again. “Where are your clothes?”

“I-erm-um- I-I don’t really- I mean- Papa wouldn’t let me take anything when I left, and I haven’t been able to afford any new ones.” I stammered, my face flushing red, embarrassed that she had noticed.

To my surprise she smiled. “Are you still working for the baker?”

I nodded. “I am, though I’ve started weaving in the evenings. I hope to switch careers, once I’m a successful weaver.”

“How are you buying your materials?”

“Well, I gather my own boughs- I guess that chore wasn’t so bad of a thing after all,” I laughed nervously. “And I’ve started carving most of my own tools, that way I don’t have to buy much, so I can save more.”

“And your parents?”

I took a deep breath. “Papa still won’t talk to me, and he rarely allows Mama to visit me, even though she’s forgiven me for moving out. David and Kenna come fairly often, though.”

“What do they think of your home?”

“Mama thinks I should’ve waited until Papa was ready for me to move out, so he would’ve bought me a nice house. David says that if he wasn’t learning Papa’s trade, he’d want to move in with me; and Kenna thinks I’m crazy for living in this ratty little place, when I could still be living in my comfortable room, not having to work.”

“What do you think?”

“I think I should’ve started working when I was younger, so I’d have a nice house for you to move in to, once I’m mature enough to lead a family.”

She started crying.

I nearly panicked, awkwardly taking her into my arms to comfort her, uncertain what I had done to make her cry. “I’ve said something wrong...I’m sorry Susan, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t.” She sniffed.

“Then what’s the matter.”

“I-I just...I think you’re ready. I’m so happy.”

“I’m ready for what?”

She pulled away from me. “To lead a family.”

My eyes grew wide. “Does that mean that you’ll...you’ll marry me?”

She nodded, “Yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And then they got married, and Ol’ Timmy quit Pap...May I come in?” Myrond’s voice asked from outside our door.

I leapt to my feet and looked at Father. He nodded. I hurriedly un-did the latch, letting the door swing open.

Myrond nodded to me, “Good morning, Tasia.”

“Good morning, Mr. Myrond. May I get you something to drink?”

He smiled, “No thank you.”

“Have a seat, Myrond,” Father invited, offering him the chair adjacent his wheeled chair.

Myrond sat down and looked at the Bible in Papa’s hands. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Well, you should’ve, but Tasia got me off on a story about how I met Susan.”

“I heard the last bit of it.”

Father nodded. “But how can I help you today, sir?”

Myrond looked at me. “Hey Tasia, why don’t you go outside and play? Your Pap and I need to have an adult

conversation.”