by Pam Brondos
“We’ll pay your entire tuition for next year if you help Benedict.”
Nat’s eyes widened, and tea dribbled into her lap from the mug that dangled in her hand. Andris scoffed.
“Leave her be, Andris. She’s had enough, and she’s already done us a great service. We can’t expect her to return for nothing.” Estos turned away from the soldier. “Would you agree to return in exchange for the money?”
Nat looked at her bandaged wrist. His words stung. Did he truly think she was solely motivated by money? “Estos, that’s twenty thousand dollars if I keep my scholarships.”
“Extortion!” Andris spat on the floor and took two long strides toward the bench. “We don’t need her. We know what the problem is. I’ll go in,” he said to Estos. “Gennes will do anything I ask once he sees me. He’s not going to lift a finger to help Benedict or this imposter.” He thrust a finger at Nat.
“You heard her, you’d be dead before you got to Benedict’s.” Annin hopped off the counter and moved quickly between Andris and Estos. “Or worse, they’d take you to Mudug and force you to talk.”
“I’d die before I talked.” Andris’ voice was cold as he glared at Annin.
“Are you certain, Andris?” Ethet nervously touched her short gray hair. “I know the Chemist. If Mudug’s men captured you, he’d see you stayed alive until you told him everything. Your strength and training are no match for him.” Andris scowled at Ethet. Her long, lithe figure leaned over the work table as she addressed Andris. “If you were captured, if any one of us were captured, everything we’ve worked for and everything and everyone we’ve lost would be for nothing.”
“Don’t speak to me of the dead, Sister.” Andris’ voice was cold. “All you’ve lost is your precious power and your precious House. I lost much more.”
“No more than I did, Andris.” Estos spoke in a low voice. “I’ll not add you to their names.”
The room was silent. Nat looked from face to face. Riler, Kroner, and Oberfisk looked very much like they wanted to be anywhere but in this room. Barba’s knuckles were white as she held Cairn’s hand. Annin turned away. Ethet’s face was flushed.
Estos broke the silence. “Cairn, can we pay her what I’ve offered in advance?”
Cairn nodded.
“Annin, can you pathway the Sisters to Natalie’s dream space to train and teach her before she returns?”
“Of course,” Annin said.
“It’s up to you, Natalie. Will you help us?” Estos’ pale eyes settled on her.
She nodded before she could think.
“It’s settled, then.” Estos stood.
Everyone but Nat began talking. She slumped against the wall, feeling slightly ill.
Estos approached Andris. The soldier looked past Estos’ shoulder, refusing to meet his eyes. “She will squeal the minute they catch her.” Andris’ voice was hard but pleading.
“No one will catch her, and unlike you, she has nothing to tell them,” Estos responded so only Andris could hear.
“If you send her in, she is as good as dead.” Andris spoke softly. He studied the young king intently.
“I wouldn’t send her in if I didn’t think she had a good chance of coming back.”
“A chance?” Andris scoffed. “She has as much a chance as a long-eared rabbit in a Rustbrook stew kitchen.”
Estos looked over at Nat, who was now deep in conversation with Sister Barba and Ethet. “Barba is no fool. She’s confident in her choice.”
“Intelligence over strength, I heard her. But where does complex thinking get you if a Nala’s about to jump on your back?” Andris wore a troubled expression.
“She can run. You just need to teach her how to fight and get away.” He patted his friend on the shoulder. “We picked her for a reason, Andris. If you train her, she’ll have more than a chance. She’s up to the task.”
Andris raised his eyebrows. “You won’t interfere with my training?”
Estos held up his hands. “No. I promise. I’ll have Annin pathway you.”
“I wouldn’t tell her ahead of time.” Andris watched as Nat listened tiredly to Barba. The girl glanced up and found him observing her and looked away quickly. “She doesn’t like me much.”
Estos laughed. “Can you blame her?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Eric, who lived on a nearby farm and attended school with Nat, maneuvered his beige Toyota truck down the slick road leading to Nat’s house. The bare cottonwood trees surrounding the small house were covered in snow. A brown-and-white collie barked as the truck approached.
Nat grabbed her bag from the narrow space behind the bucket seats. “Thanks for the ride, Eric.”
“No problem. Tell your folks hi. Let your dad know I’ll be going out of my mind at home and to call if he needs any help.” His thick arm tugged the strap of her bag free. She nodded. He was trying to be nice. Nat knew he had more than enough work at his family’s place to keep him insanely busy through their break.
“Mom says he’s doing better. Almost back to normal.”
“Uh-huh. Tell him anyway.”
Nat jumped out of the truck and unhooked the latch on the white gate.
“Do you need a ride back up after break?” Eric called out as Nat stepped through the gate and began ruffling the fuzzy head of her bouncing dog.
“No, I’m taking the bus the day after Christmas. I’ve got a weird interim-term class that starts early in January.”
“You getting more credit for that?” He put the truck in gear.
“Kind of.” Nat smiled.
“That’s what I thought. Take an hour off, Nat Barns.” He waved and pulled around the drive that circled the house and barn. Nat watched as the tail end of the truck disappeared up the hill. She still wondered if the college and her parents would buy Barba’s and Cairn’s crazy scheme for her January-term class. The Gates assured her they would take care of getting the fake course authorized by whoever authorized January-term classes. Her parents were her problem.
She gently shoved her dog away and rubbed the nose of a bay horse that appeared expectantly, pushing against the fence opposite the house. “Sorry, no treats.” She held up her empty hands. The horse snorted. Nat opened the back door of her house and walked into the mudroom. A cluster of heavy work coats and caps hung on pegs above a neat line of boots. She sat on a red-vinyl padded bench and pulled off her shoes. Opening a small cabinet next to the bench, Nat retrieved a pair of dusty house shoes from the far corner. She remembered the cabinet in Benedict’s house and shuddered. How could she trust someone who locked children away?
“Nat?” Her father’s voice came from around the corner.
“Hi, Dad.” His leg was propped up on a worn green cushion. Purplish toes stuck out from the graying cast. He held a fist-sized chunk of wood in one hand and a small carving knife in the other. She kissed him on his bearded cheek, and he gave her an awkward hug. The kitchen-table chair scraped the linoleum as she pulled it out and sat down.
“How’s the leg?” She pushed little wood shavings into a pile.
“Fine. I need to find the right kind of prop for my leg to use in the shop. Your mom brought me some pieces to work with in here until I get that figured out.” He held up the chunk of wood, and Nat could see the shape of a broad wing. Two boxes of carving tools cluttered the counter behind the kitchen table. He must not be able to get out to the shop much at all if Mom is letting him take over part of her kitchen, Nat thought.
“I’ll figure out something for you.”
“I thought you might say that.” He smiled. The lines around his eyes were deeper than she remembered.
“I need a cup of something hot. How about you?” He nodded, and Nat brushed his flannel-covered arm as she passed by him to the sink, filled a kettle, and placed it on the stove. She opened the pantry door and rummaged
around for the hot cocoa. The shelves seemed a little emptier than usual.
“Where’s Mom?” She pulled two chipped coffee cups from the cabinet. She wanted to tell them at the same time about returning to school right after Christmas.
“She was going to take Marie Claire Christmas shopping after work. Cal is helping Marjorie Evans get the greenery up at church. She said she’d be late.” Her father pulled the knife in a swift movement across the wood.
“Well, that’s not new.” Steam rose from the mugs. Nat crumpled the cocoa wrappers and tossed them into the garbage. “Are you sure Cal’s at church?”
He took a sip, and a bit of foam clung to his brown mustache. “Your mom called Marjorie to check.” He chuckled.
“Do you know if Mom had plans for dinner? I could start something.” She scanned the kitchen and spotted an empty stew pot on the stove.
He pulled his leg gently from the chair. “I was supposed to start the stew an hour ago so it can ‘simmer properly,’ whatever that means.” He hopped over to the refrigerator and grabbed a package wrapped in white butcher paper. Nat took the package and let him balance on her shoulder.
“Sit down, I’ll do it.”
“I’m not an invalid, Nat.” The look in her father’s eyes told her not to push the offer.
“I know.” She swallowed the sudden urge to tell him everything that had happened to her. She looked down at the floor and pushed a clump of dog hair with her slipper. “Let me start this. Then we can go to the barn and look at your shop. All you need to do is tell me what you want done and I’ll do it.” She ripped the paper and turned when her father didn’t answer. She knew immediately she’d said something wrong.
“I’m tired of people doing everything for me, Nat. This thing should’ve been off by now.” He slapped the cast, making a dull thud as his fingers hit the hard surface. He slumped in his chair, looking up at the ceiling.
Nat cut some butter into the pot. “Could be worse, Dad.” She stirred in a little flour. White streaks covered her purple flannel shirt as she added another tablespoon of flour. “You could’ve broken both legs. Then I’d have to build you a body sling out of that nasty leftover stretchy fabric Mom used for Cal’s coed dress last year.” Nat poured in broth and watched as the roux bubbled. “To quote someone who happens to be my parent, ‘Think of how lucky you are.’” She added the meat, wiped a splatter of roux from her hand, and glanced at him. “I’m taking a theater class in January.” She turned. Her father’s nose crinkled like he smelled something rank.
“More theater?”
“Yeah, it’s just for J-term. But get this.” She slid into the seat next to him, keeping her voice upbeat and excited. “The shop I started working for this fall wants me to help with a show they’re costuming up in Canada. I’ll fill my last fine-arts credit and get paid. And . . . drumroll, please.” Her dad tapped his hands on the table. “I got another scholarship, and not just any scholarship. It covers full tuition for the next two semesters! No loans for next year.” Nat smiled so wide it made her cheeks hurt.
“Wow.” Her dad’s expression morphed from surprise to confusion. “How did . . . ? That’s great, Nat. I wasn’t sure how we were going to . . . That’s great.”
“I’ll have money from work now that won’t have to go to tuition payments.” She let the information hang in the silence. She would send it home, but she wasn’t going to say that right now. Nat hopped up, put the lid on the pot, and grabbed the single crutch leaning against the corner. “Come on. Let’s go to the barn.”
When they returned from the barn and shop, her dad was in a much better mood. They’d modified an old sawhorse by lowering the legs, adding little wheels, and strapping a ripped horse blanket around the body. He could scoot it easily from place to place and rest his leg while he worked. Nat was not so upbeat. Materials, buckets, feed, and empty pellet bags were strewn around the barn and shop. She’d nearly twisted her ankle on a degreasing gun by the tractor. She knew he’d trip on something before he made it to any of his machines if the shop stayed the same disaster. Cal should have the place in order, she thought. MC was taking care of the sheep, and she was only nine. Her mom was working and trying to keep the place running. What was Cal doing?
Piano scales greeted them as they entered the house. MC hunched over the old Acrosonic piano, playing scales. Nat’s mom was putting away a few groceries.
“Nat!” The piano bench fell backward as MC leapt up and hugged her. Her mom gave her a quick hug as well.
“Were the roads okay coming down?” Her mom’s thick hair was clipped back with a long silver hair clip. A few strands hung in her face, which reminded Nat of Barba’s wispy red tendrils. She handed Nat a half dozen potatoes and a peeler and continued to whiz around the kitchen without pausing.
“Pretty good,” Nat replied. “Dad, that reminds me.” She turned to her father, who had resumed his position at the kitchen table, wood in hand. “Eric wanted to come over if it was okay with you. He can’t get his dad’s lathe working and thought you might let him borrow yours in exchange for whatever you might need him to do around here.” She’d need to remember to tell Eric his dad’s lathe wasn’t working. She wasn’t even sure if his dad had a lathe. She watched her father, looking for the suspicion in his face. He bought the lie.
“I’ll give him a call after Christmas. He can help me move that panel I’m working on if I get done with it.” He continued working on the wooden wing. Nat’s mom looked over her shoulder at her husband.
“You think you can finish the panel now?” Deep lines formed on her forehead above her dark eyebrows.
A car door slammed. The sound of boots hitting the wall came from the mudroom.
“What’s for dinner, Mom? Hi, Nat.” Cal, blonde hair whipping around as she barely acknowledged Nat, brushed past her and lifted the lid on the pot. “Yuck. I’ll pass.”
“No, you won’t. Set the table.” Her mom pointed to the utensil drawer.
“My fingers are all cut up from hanging the pine boughs, and now you want me to set the table?” Nat had forgotten how ugly her sister’s face became when she whined.
“I’ll do it.” MC’s ponytail flipped from side to side as she scurried to the cutlery drawer. Nat waited for her parents to say something, but neither of them did. Cal flopped into a chair and stretched out her long legs. Nat walked to the mudroom and grabbed a pair of worn leather work gloves. She tossed them into her sister’s lap.
“Mom, dinner in about an hour?” Nat asked, and her mom nodded. “Since you’re not doing anything, put those on and come with me. They’ll protect all that tender flesh.”
Cal snatched the gloves and followed her sister into the mudroom and out the back door. “I’m home five minutes, and you’re already telling me what to do.” She pulled up the zipper on a ripped work coat.
“Somebody needs to. Been in the barn recently?” Nat said. Cal shrugged. “Didn’t think so.” Nat pushed open the dented main door to the barn. She gestured to the shop strewn with equipment at the back of the barn. “How do you expect Dad to get better and get any work done when he can’t even walk a straight line to his shop? Mom has enough on her plate, and MC is picking up more than her share.”
“What do you know, Nat?” Cal kicked a bright-orange bucket, which ricocheted off a spool of sheep wire. “You haven’t been here, you have no idea what’s going on. You’re off at your expensive college, stressing Mom and Dad out about how they are going to pay for it when they don’t have enough to pay for my dance lessons.”
“They don’t have to worry about that anymore, Cal.”
Cal got quiet. “Did you drop out?” Her voice sounded expectant, almost hopeful.
“Of course not, you idiot. I just figured out a way to cover my tuition.” Before Cal could ask more questions, she quickly continued, “Now start with the mess by the tractor. Dad’s never going to be able
to pay for your stupid dance lessons if he can’t get down here.”
Cal sulked throughout dinner but brightened when Nat told her parents she was leaving right after Christmas.
“Where in Canada is all of this again?” her mom asked while pushing a clump of potato around her plate.
“North of Quebec somewhere, which is another reason I have to go back early. It will take a few days to get there. They have to haul a bunch of stuff up.” She turned the subject to MC’s part in the Christmas pageant and hoped they wouldn’t ask any more questions.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Nat tucked the fleece blanket around her legs and listened to the sounds of the sleeping house. Little squeaks emanated from the mudroom where her dog slept. He’s probably dreaming of chasing sheep, she thought and wondered where her dreams would take her tonight. The furnace kicked on, spewing hot air out of the old green grate with a low-pitched whine. She heard her little sister’s steps padding across the wood floor of the living room.
“It’s ten o’clock, MC.” She placed her book on the floor next to the couch.
“I can’t sleep.” A line formed across MC’s forehead.
“Why not?” She lifted the blanket, and her sister snuggled under the covers. Nat had to shift her hips to make room. At nine, MC was almost up to Nat’s chin.
“I’m worried.” She nestled next to her.
“About what?” Her sister’s silence spoke volumes. “Hey,” Nat said as she brushed her hand over MC’s hair. MC lifted her chin. “Too many worriers just make more worries. Dad’s going to be okay.”
MC pushed her tousled hair away from her splotchy cheeks. “I’m not just worried about Dad, I’m worried about you, too. You don’t come home like you used to or call like you used to or write back to me. I’ve only talked to you three times since you left for school and that was about Mom and Dad and the bank, and now you’re leaving right after Christmas.”
