“What happened to him, Sam? What did they do to him? Why didn’t you stop them?”
Samuel rubbed his throat. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t. I—”
Claudette’s eyes watered, and she wiped them aggressively. “You would’ve stopped them, right? If you could have? I know that he was stealing, but he didn’t deserve to die. He was only trying to help us. I saw his body, Sam.”
Samuel nodded stiffly. He hated that she was in pain, and he hated lying to her. He hated how Zei had turned into the mayor’s butcher. He hated the mayor for making her that way. Most of all, he hated himself.
Claudette dug her fingernails into the wood underneath her. “My mom is going on like nothing happened. All she talks about is work. And how now we’ve got to figure out better ways to cut down on spending. I don’t understand her. Why is she so heartless? Doesn’t she feel anything?”
“My dad was like that too. About my mom.” Samuel slouched back into the hard bench, his stomach bubbling. “My whole life. He never wanted to talk about her death. She was executed because of me. Because she had a child with a cleric. I wanted him to explain it to me. Tell me what happened to her. How she died. If he tried to save her. If he even cared. But he never told me anything.”
Claudette looked at him. “That’s terrible.”
Samuel breathed deeply. He wanted to see his father again and hold him to the promise he’d made in the woods. His father was never one to break his word. If he said he was going to do something, he’d do it. Every night Samuel went to sleep imagining what information his father might share. He didn’t know if the truth about his mother would bring him any fulfillment, but he wanted to know more than anything. It’s what he’d always wanted.
And yet he was holding back the truth from Claudette because he didn’t think he could bear the weight of her pain anymore. He couldn’t risk losing her. Fear had strangled him to silence, and the guilt continued to swallow him whole.
“Maybe that’s all he could do,” he mumbled. “Try to forget. Maybe it’s the same for your mom.”
Claudette nodded.
The bench underneath them began to tremor, and soon after, the entire structure around them was quaking. They both turned their heads to the south, noticing the faint black machine chugging its way toward them. The railway worker came out from his station, joining them on the platform. He was a tall gentleman dressed in a black coat and corduroys. He was the only other person in Haid Samuel had met who wore glasses, but his frames were much thinner.
The railway worker leaned out to face the oncoming train and cupped his hands over his head, shielding his eyes from the sunlight. “I’m hoping this will be a big one. Our shipments have been delayed for a while now.”
Claudette stood, and Samuel followed suit. As the train drew closer, the wooden deck underneath his feet shook more rapidly, and the squealing of the metal wheels running along the track was enough to force Samuel to cover his ears. The circular steel front of the locomotive churned down the track like a sluggish bullet, the smokestack pushing out gray clouds and the bell behind it dinging loudly. The squealing grew as it got closer to the depot. The train was slowing. The crew of loggers made their way alongside the tracks, their heads watching the carts pass by. One of the loggers turned back and waved for the loading trucks stacked full of lumber to move closer.
When the train came to a halt, the conductor popped out of the cab and trudged out onto the platform. He was an elderly man with gray hair, a thick beard, and bare arms stained with soot and dirt.
The railway worker walked over to the conductor, who was now up on the pavilion. “Shipments have been late. Not to mention the carts keep getting smaller and smaller. Anything to do with those riots I keep hearing about?”
The conductor shook his head, wiping his hands with a filthy rag he’d stashed in his back pocket. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, but perhaps the furnace from the train’s engine kept him warm enough.
“I just drive the thing,” he said in a cracking voice. “It’s chaos down there, if that’s what you’re asking. Damn near got raided by a crew of starving greenies in Borem. Getting too old for this.”
“Aren’t we all?” the railway worker countered as he received the necessary paperwork. He looked at Claudette. “Yours is on two. One crate of chickens and a goat.”
The conductor guided the crew of loggers to the empty carts near the rear of the train, warning them he wouldn’t be able to fit the usual haul. Before Samuel and Claudette could make their way to collect the shipment, another man emerged from the cab of the locomotive. The man was shorter than most northerners. He was dressed in dark pants, black boots, and a tan shirt that fell to his knees. His hair was black, like Samuel’s, and his bangs fell down his cheeks. His body was lean yet exceptionally toned, and despite a smaller stature, his gait commanded a certain level of respect. Claudette scooted herself a bit closer to Samuel as the man marched up the wooden steps, stopping directly in front of them.
“Greetings,” the man said in a warm voice. He bowed low, but he held out one of his arms as if he were extending a gift. Samuel and Claudette bowed in response. When he came up, he poked out his chest slightly. He was handsome, and his high cheekbones made it hard for Samuel to approximate his age.
“My name is Mikael. Would either of you be able to offer assistance?”
He spoke in an accent that Samuel had never heard before. It was almost as if every syllable he spoke was smoother, more drawled and rhythmic than what he was accustomed to hearing. His olive-toned skin left Samuel with the assumption that the man was from the redlands. Claudette said nothing, perhaps waiting for Samuel to respond. He was too enamored of the stranger to speak. He’d never met someone from the redlands before, and his skin reminded him of his mother’s photograph.
The stranger sighed. “The rumors are true. Whitelanders are cold.”
Samuel pushed up his glasses. “Sorry. Forgive me. How can I serve?”
“I am looking for the mayor of this town,” he said. “It seems he is too busy to provide an escort for his guest.”
The town square was packed to the brim. The loggers had been sent away from their work sites, some of them still lugging around their hatchets and gear. A few men griped about having their day interrupted, but most seemed relieved to have the unexpected break. The blacksmith had been commissioned to set up the makeshift stage in the center of the square, and a few bored loggers helped him haul out the broken pieces and reconnect them with temporary nails. Shop owners gathered directly outside their businesses, as all work in Haid had been canceled for the rest of the day. Patrolmen had been posted around the congregants and near the stage, their weapons exposed in case of any unruly activities.
Samuel rested his back against the butcher’s shop, scanning for the sheriff. The large crowd reminded him of the festival, and this time he had no intentions of policing anything. Claudette and her mother stood beside him. Their deep breaths turned to fog the moment they left their mouths.
“Must be important,” Laura commented.