Winterkill (16 page)

I glance around, thinking on a way out.

“Emmeline!” Macy insists.

As I join the group I realize one of the south-quarter boys is Kane.

“This is Henri,” Macy says all meaningful, and gestures toward a nice-looking boy across from me. She's risking a talking-to or worse; she's not even sixteen yet and she's
hanging about with age-mates from other quarters. Mayhap she thinks she can get away with it because her pa's a Councilman.

I mumble a hello. The rest of the group does quick introductions—the Textile girls' names are Annabell and Mirabell. Bad luck, those names. There's Charlie Jameson, Brother Jameson's son. He's like his pa: suspicious, thinks he's above the rest of us. My eyes linger on Kane's face by accident, and the corner of his mouth twists into that funny smile.

I hide mine.

The other boy from the south quarter, who introduced himself as Robert, speaks up. “Anyone know what he did, then?”

They
are
speaking on Jacob. I don't want to be here, don't want to even be thinking on it . . .

Macy seems real pleased to be in the know. “He was already being watched for not showing at settlement events. Stole some eggs beginning of summer. Then last week got in a scuffle with another shearer.” She's repeating what her pa told her no doubt, but the way she's telling it—it makes my skin crawl. Like she's happy he was found out. I didn't know Jacob, sure, but the way he fought . . . “The last straw?” She pauses for effect. “He forced himself on a bound woman from the south quarter.” She throws a quick look my way.

My face goes hot.

“But they killed him? I mean, before putting him at the Crossroads?” Robert asks. He either doesn't know exactly how my grandma'am was Wayward or he's more interested
in the awful details, because he doesn't look my way. “Why'd they do that?”

“Had to,” Macy states. “He was putting up a fight and there was a crowd. It was for the best.”

For the best.
Was Council worried they couldn't control the crowd?

“I heard it was awful,” Annabell or Mirabell says, eyes too big.

“I heard it was right skittering.” The other -abell shudders.

Charlie smirks. “I heard he choked like an overfed ram.”

“Oh!” Macy's mouth drops.

Jacob swims before my eyes, clawing at his throat, screaming that horrible, garbled cry.

Charlie's smirk gets wider. “He must've looked like a trussed chicken by the end.”

Bulging eyes, struggling in the dirt. I close my eyes for a heartbeat, trying to wipe the picture clean.

“Bleed it, Charlie,” someone curses. My eyes fly open and I see Robert frowning. I wonder how Kane feels about this; his face isn't letting on, it's all closed.

“What? It's misfortunate is all.” Charlie looks around the circle defiantly, then jerks his chin at me. “Macy heard you saw it, Emmeline.”

I nod slow. “I saw it.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What'd the shearer look like?”

“His name was Jacob,” I say.

Kane's eyebrows raise.

“Well, then, what did
Jacob
look like?”

Scared eyes, that horrible, desperate cry . . . “I'm not one for speaking on that kind of thing.”

“Why? Your kind stick together?”

Jacob vanishes. There's a pause, like the whole group takes a breath.

“Beg pardon?”

“Your kind: Wayward.” Charlie smiles, but his eyes are all bite.

I raise my chin and look round the circle. Macy drops her eyes and digs a toe in the dirt. Henri and Robert look off into the distance and AnnaMirabell titter. And then I meet Kane's eyes. He's watching for my answer.

I turn to Charlie. “Don't know what you mean.”

“Doesn't much seem you think that shearer deserved what he got. Mayhap you don't think your grandma'am deserved it, neither.” His eyes narrow, but his mouth is curved in that mean smile. “Your Stain's showing, Emmeline.”

The words slap at me like
La Prise
.

“Shut your maw, Charlie.” Everyone looks to Kane, who is standing with his arms crossed. He's staring at Charlie real calm, but his face is dark.

The girls shift.

“Say again?”

“Shut. Your. Maw.” Kane's voice is low, but there's a river of violence in it. “I need to tell you another way?”

Charlie's smirk falters. He looks around the group. No one is meeting anyone's eyes. “What if I said you do?”

Kane cocks his head to the side. “
Are
you saying that?”

No one speaks.

Charlie barks a forced laugh. “Settle down. I'm just having one over on Emmeline, here.”

Kane's eyes don't leave Charlie's face.

“Don't have to get prickly.” Charlie looks to Henri, but Henri just stares at the ground. The ground has become right interesting to most of the group, as a matter of fact.

Kane doesn't drop his gaze, doesn't move.

Charlie snorts again, then turns around and stalks away.

There's another silence, and then Anna- or Mirabell speaks. “We'd better get home.”

Robert makes a similar declaration and the three melt away. In a few quick seconds it's just Henri, Macy, Kane, and me left. Kane's arms are still crossed, but he's softened his stance; he's not full to bursting with anger anymore. Henri and Macy are lingering—obviously hoping to speak together alone for a moment. Shame is bright in my chest. And something else too—something for Kane . . .

I don't want to owe him a debt, and I don't want his pity.

But when I look at him, those concerns wash away. His mouth is in that funny twist again, like we're sharing a secret joke. Like the secret joke is Charlie.

I wrap my arms around my waist and nod at the ground, but as I turn to go, I can't stop my mouth from echoing his smile.

“Affirmation is in less than two weeks, Em,” Pa says.

I stoke the fire. “I know.”

“You been thinking on the proposal, then?”

I nod, keeping my eyes on the flames.

“And?”

I turn to look at him. We didn't speak on the Wayward shearer. He doesn't even know I saw it. I think he prefers to think on what gives him hope—and all that gives him hope these days is Brother Stockham's proposal. He's sitting at the table with wary eyes. With his scruffy hair sticking this way and that he looks like a ruffled-up barn owl.

I remember another time he looked at me that way—like he was begging me to understand his meaning. It was the day my foot was crushed. He visited me at the Healing House, tried to explain what the east-quarter girl who'd pushed me was accusing. I sat there with my foot in an herb bath, watching my pa fumble with the word, watching him tell me my grandma'am was Wayward for something I couldn't understand at the time.

But when I asked him how him and Ma ended up bound, his eyes had gone wide, remembering. He said he chose her for her smile, didn't care what everyone else thought. He said that Ma was kind and brave, that he knew it would be the right choice. He looked so hopeful when he said it. He hasn't looked that hopeful again until now.

He followed his heart when he chose Ma. A flicker of hope springs to life in my chest. “Pa, I know it'd be real good for us. But . . .” I swallow. “I'm not so sure.”

There's a long pause. The fire pops and crackles in the hearth. I turn back to him, force my eyes to meet his gaze, and see how wrong I am. In his eyes there is despair so deep, it's going to drown me.

“But why, Em?”

Jacob flashes into my mind. Brother Stockham's eyes.
I need you.
I trip on my words. “I'm—I'm not sure. I feel like . . . like there are other things that could be good for us.”

“Like what?” He looks at my bad foot.

I try to stand straighter. What can I tell him? What will he hear?

“Sometimes it's hard to see what's best, my girl.” He looks at me, his eyes full. Warning me to take his meaning.

And at once I can see what Pa thinks is best. I can see he wants so bad for my Stain to be washed away, he'd rather I bind to a man I don't want. It's plain on his face.

“We'll talk again, all right?”

I nod. It's childish to feel betrayed. Pa hasn't known my mind for years. Even so, I must've been holding out hope he'd understand me because I can feel a piece of my secret heart—the part that keeps my child's memories of a pa who danced me around the kitchen—dying a slow, icy death.

Feels like the winds of
La Prise
railing in my chest.

IN THE MORNING I CHOP AT THE WATER BUCKET
with an axe.
La Prise
is heavy on the wind. I suffer through morning chores, Charlie's voice ringing in my ears.

Your Stain's showing, Emmeline
.

Shame curdles with rage in my stomach. Tom's wrong about me caring more about my Stain than other people do. He's wrong about me worrying too much over Council watching me. I think about Brother Stockham, watching me for years.

And there it is. My way out of all of this. Binding to Brother Stockham—it's the one thing that'll change the way people look at me.

I put the thought in a box in my mind and bury it deep.

I focus careful on Soeur Manon's instructions for making medicines today. Can't let myself think on much else.

I'm banging out the hearth rug back at our quarters before free time when Sister Ann appears, Edith trailing behind.

“These bundles of sage go to the Kitchens.” Her pinched
face looks more tired than usual. She offers some cursory instructions about where and who to deliver them to and dumps the bundles on the ground, then heads back inside.

Edith lingers, her round blue eyes watching me.

“What do you want, little mouse?”

She puts a finger in the corner of her mouth and smiles.

I smile back. “Scoot.” I nod at her ma's retreating back.

On my way I meet a runner who is also heading for the Kitchens.

Inside, large vats sit on tabletops waiting on heating or spicing. There are three clay ovens and, judging by the blazing heat in the Kitchens, each is stocked full of wood. Sister Lucy, alone, mixes something on the center prep table. Her workers must be at the barns. The runner heads toward her with his message.

I make my way through the loops of drying root vegetables toward the far wall, where someone is waiting outside the Storages tunnel.

It's Kane, leaning against the wall easy-like, with a soft smile. Like he's waiting on me. He pushes off the wall as I approach.

“Sage,” I say, tossing one bundle at his feet.

He nods. “Obliged. Been waiting.”

I drop the second bundle.

“But I was expecting the usual runner. This is a good surprise; Matthew's a little hard on the eyes.”

I bite my lip to fight a smile. “Need help taking them to Storages?” Bleed it! Course he doesn't need help.

“It can wait. I'm on free time now.” He leans against the wall again. “You?”

“Emmeline! Kane!” Sister Lucy calls from the center of the kitchen. Coarse speckled flour covers her apron and hands to her elbows. She gestures to the large bowl before her. “These life day cakes need to be baked by noon.” She wipes her hands on her apron and nods at the runner beside her. “There's a problem with the curing and I need to see to it. You can handle this task—it'll go faster with two. Mix it well. The saskatoons are there.” She gestures to a clay bowl. “Waste nothing.”

She bustles out.

I shrug out of my cloak and walk over to the washbowl.

Kane appears beside me, rolling up his sleeves. As I dry my hands, he washes, and I drop my eyes. Why are his hands and forearms unsettling? I've seen him without a shirt—

I close my eyes and push the thought from my mind.

We take our places at the prep table. The dough stares back at me from the bowl, lifeless. I hate baking. I throw a handful of rough flour at the table, sprinkling the surface.

“Not exactly how I was picturing free time,” he comments, watching me stir the thick dough with a wooden spoon.

“I'll say.”

“What were you going to do?”

I shrug and turn the dough onto the wooden surface.

“I was going to play hoopball,” he offers.

“I'm sure,” I say, sprinkling more flour on the dough.

“Thought you might want to join.”

The other day on the riverbank floods in. “Pass me the berries.” I nod at the bowl in front of him.

He passes it slow. I can feel his eyes on me. “So . . . no?”

“Why are you asking?” I snap, my eyes on the table. “I
mean, I know I'm not a
regular
girl . . .” I swallow and grab the slab of dough, pulling it rough into two pieces. I shove one piece at Kane and punch the dough hard.

“That's certain,” he says. “Never met anyone like you.”