“Here. I have two more. It’s a small blade, but it cuts clean. For next time.”
His father hesitated a bit before taking hold of the tiny knife. Samuel gave a quick bow before turning away. He jogged his way back into town, nearly catching up with the crowd that had left the funeral.
Over the next few weeks, Samuel got back to his normal routine. He resumed his writing lessons with Zei, who had learned well over fifty words. He knew that she enjoyed the lessons, because he was getting better at reading her. When she was happy, or relatively pleased, subtle divots would form in the center of her freckled cheeks, and her hand would move in gentle strokes. Every time he would show her a new word, she would hover over the page, her cheeks dimpled, and watch his writing as if it was the most exquisite art piece. She would delicately trace her finger in the air and mimic the motions of his pencil as he scripted the word.
Samuel became more strategic with the words he taught her. He showed her words like hungry and tired, poorly drawing his own depictions of the words and explaining them as well as he could. He wasn’t sure if she would ever use words to communicate, but he was hopeful. He tried bribing her with the promise of a book at the conclusion of his lesson on greetings.
“If I tell you ‘Hello’ in the morning and you write back ‘Hello,’ then I’ll buy you your own book. You’d be able to read something other than what I write. It’ll be fun.”
To his surprise, the bribe worked. He greeted her with a chipper “Hello,” and she turned to a blank page and wrote “Hello.” He told her how happy he was that she’d done it and raved about how smart she was. He went to the square later in the afternoon to special order a children’s book from the dry-goods and specialty store. He browsed through the printed catalogues and picked a book titled Winds of Mercy. From the description he read, it was about a magical wolf that became an orphaned girl’s guardian. The postman told him it would take a few weeks for the order to make it onto the train cart.
“Shipments come through here every three or four days,” he said as he filled out an order form and took Samuel’s payment. “But Medda’s the closest city to us that has these things in stock, and for some reason it’s taking them a long time to get their orders through. I heard some rumor about the greenlands being in some trouble, but that could be just a bunch of gossip.”
Samuel nodded dumbly, deciding it was best not to mention the riots.
Zei wasn’t the only person he spent time with. Every few days, Charles would drive by the jailhouse to hang out with Samuel, but he no longer moseyed into the building. Instead, Charles would bump the jeep’s horn until Samuel came outside. They’d sit inside the jeep as Charles ranted about politics, complained about the weather, and bragged about the new garments he’d gotten shipped up from the south. He’d always insist that they go back to the estate, where they could relax, but Samuel made excuses why he couldn’t go over. He was too tired, he had more work to do at the jailhouse, the sheriff was supposed to come by soon, and he’d be in trouble with him if he left. It wasn’t that he didn’t like being with Charles, it was just that he wanted to be close to Zei. It was his job, and it felt good to be around her.
One day, Charles asked Samuel to teach him how to throw knives. They stayed outside the jailhouse, and Samuel took him to a tree he’d already marked.
“My dad keeps talking about you,” Charles muttered. “About how proud of you he is. I bet he wishes you were his son.”
Samuel didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”
Charles rolled his eyes. “It’s not your fault.”
“I know. But I’m still sorry.”
He handed Charles another knife. Charles nibbled on his lip before clumsily throwing the blade forward. It landed several meters from the tree.
“It’d be better if we’d just go back to my place,” Charles said, his face pouting in a way that reminded Samuel of a small child. “Smoke some tobacco, drink, do fun stuff. Not work. Don’t you like hanging out with me?”
“Of course,” Samuel said. “But I have responsibilities. This is my job. Your dad is my boss.”
“I could pay you extra cash from my allowance if you need.”
“No. We’re friends. I can’t do that. I won’t.”
“Friends,” Charles said, kicking his loafers across the grass. “Sure.”
“Maybe some other time?”
Things had been quiet since the mayor’s return from the political assembly in Kairus, and Samuel hoped it would stay that way. The last thing he wanted to do was run into him at the estate. He didn’t want to face the mayor unless he absolutely had to.
Samuel also made a habit of visiting the butcher’s shop. If things weren’t busy, he would stay and chat with Claudette. If she was too busy helping her mother with the work, he would buy a small item and leave. Claudette would always greet him with a warm smile, and his blood would always rise when she did. One day they talked for more than an hour, and Laura Litten burst out from behind the swinging doors to dryly pick on their flirtations.
“Are you of wedding age?” she asked as Claudette showed him more of the fancy ways she braided her hair.
“Not yet,” Samuel said weakly. “Less than a year away.”
“I look forward to the day you can ease my daughter’s suffering.”
Claudette rebuked her mother; her face flushed red. Samuel was so embarrassed he couldn’t say anything the rest of his time there without stuttering.
“I think I’ve got it this time.”
Samuel folded three sections of Zei’s red hair over one another, the movements slow enough to ensure every lock was tidy. She sat still with her legs crossed together and kept her head up and straight. Samuel squatted lower, trying hard to make sure he was doing it right. Before he’d cross a new section over the center of the hair, he’d grab some additional strands on the side he was working on and include them in the crossover. By the time he’d reached the nape of her neck, all of her hair was wrapped into a tight braid. His insistence on watching Claudette rebraid her hair had paid off. Zei looked nothing like the wild creature she seemed to be the first time he’d met her. Her face and body were washed clean, she was wearing a white top and a fancy floral-patterned skirt that stopped right at her knees, and now her hair was fixed in a style that looked good enough for a politician’s daughter to wear. She looked like a normal girl, except for her eyes. And her missing arm. And the scars. And the shackles around her ankles. But it didn’t matter. She was beautiful.
“You look pretty.” He tied the end of her braid together with an elastic band. “I can get the mirror. Do you want to see?”
Zei nodded.
Samuel left the inside of the cell and went over to the hope chest, fumbling around for the portable mirror. He’d brought it over to the jailhouse weeks ago but had forgotten about it. The mirror was stained and cracked, but he got it at a cheap price. He moved around some of the clothes until he felt the wooden handle. He made his way back to Zei, turning the mirror so that the glass faced her.