Maybe Micah was homesick, or Mr. Lark was being hard on him at the stables. Maybe he was getting tired of me; maybe he was beginning to realize what a horrible mistake he had made in sacrificing himself for me. If this was the case, I could take it. I would accept whatever fate delt my way, even if it meant moving to a new town or letting Micah return to the village. Just the thought of this was enough to make my face turn white, but after I reminded myself stubbornly of all the things Micah had wasted on me, I resisted. I had to.
“Micah,” I said thoughtfully one night. “Do you think your village would let you back in if you were to return?”
My question had taken him by surprise; he paused and stared at me for a long time before he finally spoke. “No, Azalea. With me missing and Elijah injured, it doesn’t take much to piece together.”
I’d been expecting his answer, so the sympathy was not as overwhelming. I reached out to comfort him, but he turned away hastily with a fake yawn to end the conversation.
“I’m getting tired. I think I’ll go to sleep a bit earlier tonight, if you don’t mind.”
“No, I don‘t mind,” I lied. “Go ahead.”
I watched as Micah’s eyes fell shut, and he rested his hands on his lap. I wished there something I could do to ease the pain I knew was tearing him apart. The wind blew a lock of his hair to stick onto his sweaty forehead, so I reached over and tucked it back behind his ear.
He opened one eye. “Azalea?”
“Sorry,” I whispered. Micah curled onto his other side, turning his back to me, and I frowned.
There were so many things we’d never gotten around to discussing. I missed the light in his eyes that he used to get when he talked to me. I missed the way the corners of his mouth turned up - not in a smile, but just enough to let me know he was happy. Now, his face was always blank.
I reached out again, tapping one finger on his burly shoulder. He didn’t respond.
I curled into a ball, wrapping my arms around my knees and hugging myself tightly. Tears threatened to spill, but I blinked them back. There was no reason to be sad - I was here, with Micah. That’s all I could ask of life.
Micah’s steady breathing slowed, and my tensed bones began to relax at the sound. I stretched my fingers, rotated my shoulders. I was always so stiff.
The sun was low over the ground, and the trees’ shadows were barely visible. I began to lay beside Micah, snuggling as close as I dared, when I heard it.
“Gabrielle?”
I froze, mouth open with terror.
“Gabrielle? Is that you? Gabrielle?”
I examined the darkness, searching for the face that I’d been fearing since our last encounter. The sight of it was not so terrorizing anymore; I was merely cautious. And curious…
“Who are you?” I whispered, frozen with fear.
“Gabrielle, it’s me. It’s Isaac.”
I stiffened again. “Isaac,” I repeated. The name was not familiar.
And neither was the figure that stepped out from the shadows. As it drew nearer, I could see him more clearly. Blue eyes, freckled face, wavy hair, dimples. His profile looked innocent enough, but trusting him could be a mistake. I hesitated.
“It’s alright, I’m here,” he whispered. “We’re together now.” He was right - his huge steps had brought him less than three yards away from what I sat.
“Go away,” I hissed, trembling. I was afraid to wake Micah; I didn’t want him to be hurt. I would rather this stranger kill me now then lay a single finger on him.
Isaac’s face twisted in a grimace. “Please, Gabrielle. I don’t understand.”
“I’m not Gabrielle.”
“You are. I know you are.” He reached out, offering his hand to help me up. I accepted the gesture - there was nothing left to be afraid of.
He pulled me to my feet, sighing in relief. “Come with me,” he pleaded. “Please. Talk to me.”
No doubts held me back. I nodded. “I’ll go with you…but Micah stays here.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Who?”
And then he followed my gaze, searching the forest floor until he saw Micah’s still, sleeping form. His eyes widened in shock, and he leapt back several feet. “Who the hell is that?” Isaac demanded, his voice rising dangerously.
“Shh!” I hissed. “He’s…a friend. He’s looking after me, for a short while.”
Isaac’s eyes seemed to soften at these words, but he continued to glare at Micah with a snarl. I felt surprisingly defensive - a scowl began to taint my own expression. “Leave him alone,” I commanded, “or…or…”
He shook his head. “I don’t care anymore. I just want you to explain.”
“Fine,” I sighed. But there was no way to explain everything fully without introducing Micah, and I wasn’t sure how much to say on his account.
“I’m not sure where to start,” I admitted.
“How about when you ran away?” he suggested, brushing my cheek with his fingertips. I forgot to flinch away from his touch because I was staring in awe. A vague memory took place at his words. Sprinting through the streets, running, gasping for air…
“How did you know that?” I asked, marveling.
His eyebrows creased. “I don’t understand. Was it supposed to be a secret? Were you trying to hide from me?”
I shook my head, taking a step back. Isaac allowed me my space, but I could see from his expression that was impatient.
“I…can’t…remember,” I choked. “Anything.”
His eyes widened, then narrowed with suspicion. “Explain.”
“I remember running,” I gasped. “I was running away, from something. But I can’t remember why…I can’t remember anything.”
Isaac was gaping at me by the time I was finished. “I - don’t - understand,” he growled. “Why can’t you remember? Don’t you know who I am? Who you are? Don’t you remember us?” He reached forward again, cupping my chin in his soft hands.
“No,” I choked. “No!” I struggled to free myself from his grip. This wasn’t right, why was he so close, why didn’t anything make sense?
“NO!” I shouted, kicking my legs helplessly. But my cry of defiance had made him freeze in his tracks; his eyes were wide, and he was staring at something on the ground, some ten feet away. I heard something moving. No, someone…
“Micah,” I realized. “Micah!”
Isaac released me in an instant. “Gabrielle,” he hissed, angry. I watched as Micah began to stir, and then as Isaac disappeared into the dark. I threw myself at the ground, hiding conspicuously in the shade of a nearby birch tree. I held my breath, waiting…but Micah’s eyes had drooped shut again in a matter of seconds. There was no sign of Isaac anywhere; I wanted very much to forget this event had ever happened, but at the same time my blank memory was burning to know the truth.
“Isaac?” I whispered, and the complete and utter silence was my only answer.
He was gone.
I crawled back to Micah’s side, straining my ears the whole time. Nothing but the soft sounds of mother nature - nothing. The word made me feel dizzy.
The dizziness made my head spin, or maybe I was just delirious with sleep deprivation. Even as my body was crumpled into a little ball on the bare earth, my mind was drifting, and I was barely aware of my head hitting the ground.
The constant rain seemed to be holding a dreary stupor across the town; I was only vaguely aware that I had a lot of things to be worrying about. But everything seemed so unimportant, and so I spent the better part of my day lounging around on the grass, watching the water droplets fall to the earth.
Micah did not speak much to me anymore, unless it was an occasional “So how was the weather today?” or a brief hello when he came back from work. But I could see how half-hearted these attempts were, how there was nothing but emptiness behind the words. Some tiny, microscopic part of me felt guilty for letting him become so depressed, but mainly I was selfish, uncaring, and emotionless.
Would it really cause him any pain at all once I’d left? Or was he waiting for me to go, tired of my free-loading?
Occasionally my thoughts would wander to Isaac, and I couldn’t hold back the desperate curiosity that engulfed me afterward. There were so much I didn’t know, and it hurt to think that after everything I’d been through, I would have to live on without knowing.
I’d had so many close calls already, after all. To purposely seek him out would be begging for trouble, and trouble was something I already had a good dose of.
Luckily, I had distractions. I had a doomed future to plan for, and I had to stay focused. Leaving would not be an easy thing to do - far from it - but the thought of Micah struggling kept me going. I would not make him struggle any longer; this was a promise I intended to keep.
By sneaking into town and making small talk with travelers, I was able to learn my options. Figuring out where I wanted to go was easy. There was no place I wanted to go. I was a nomad - I could not stay in one place for too long, but I had to find a way to earn clothes and food and shelter.
“Micah,” I said conversationally a week later. “How is a woman supposed to earn money?”
He gave me a quizzical stare. “Women don’t earn money, Azalea.”
“Oh.” I looked away to hide the disappointment in my eyes. I did not want to be a free-loader anymore, and if I couldn’t make money myself, I could not stay alive. Death was inevitable.
“Why?” he asked.
“No reason,” I said quickly, my stomach plummeting. But he misunderstood.
“There’s no reason to panic,” he said gently. “I know we don’t have much, but it’s enough. We can manage.”
“Okay.” No need to mention my real reasoning behind the question. Apparently, I did not look convinced.
“There’s nothing you can do. I apologize…” he trailed off. “I need to work harder.”
“No,” I protested. “You’re doing the most you can do. I’m fine. Really.”
But this did not shake the melancholy from his expression. I wasn’t sure what would.
Micah had been right, in saying that it was nearly impossible for a woman to earn pay, but there were other ways of getting what I needed. Thievery.
The only justice in my plan was that, at least, I would be taking the money from someone who did not deserve it. I spent three days time mapping it out in my head; if I was caught, the penalties would be severe.
I chose Mr. Lark as my target. He was a wealthy man, which was good, but he had a brain the size of a peanut, which was even better. Surely he wouldn’t notice, if I only took a small amount? Just enough for cheap travel, and paper and a pencil. Not much, not at all. He spent money like I breathed air, with expensive drinks and tailored clothes and slaves and racing horses and gambling wages. He would never know.
Nobody would ever know.
It was easy to find his house, since he was somewhat famous in the town; all I had to do was mention his name and a grubby-looking farmer pointed me off in the direction.
However, awareness began to slow my every step, and soon I was rigid with terror in the middle of the street. Thief, I thought to myself, and scowled. I did not want to be a thief any more than I wanted to be a nomad, a homeless wanderer. Why should I be forced to sin?
It was not worth the risk. Every day brought me closer to the end, and the end was becoming more and more unpleasant. I would have to suffer, no matter my decision. Even if I ran away from Ashburgh, from Micah, even, it would solve nothing. I would die before too long…
No, this was not worth it. I veered in the opposite direction, and hurried into a desperate sprint. The grubby farmer was still there, but customers were driven away by his grimy hands and filthy clothes. There was a cow tied on a rope behind him, with sad eyes and a drooping tail. I wanted to comfort the farmer somehow, as if he deserved an explanation or an apology for his unfortunate life.
Half-conscious of my actions, I was about five feet away from confronting the farmer when a smiling blonde woman pushed in front of me and hurried to his side. She pecked his cheek lovingly, then turned to give the cow a tender pat on the back as well. She was just as dirty and sick-looking as either of them, but her bright smile and wide eyes made her seem worldly somehow.
I stared in disbelief as the farmer returned the gesture, hugging her tightly to his side and brush his lips against hers. Passerby rushed on in disgust, but I was mesmerized. And then I was angry.
Here I was, ready to console the farmer, when he had so much more than I did! He was loved, at least. He knew who he belonged with, and he wouldn’t have to die soon. He was lucky.
I had to jerk out of the way before jealousy could completely take over. There was no pity left in my heart for the man - only a kind of bitter resentment.
My cheeks felt noticeably warm, and after a minute the tears returned and left streaks through the dirty skin. I sniffled loudly, and a few people’s heads turned. One lady frowned sympathetically, and another patted my shoulder and handed me a worn handkerchief. I nodded my thanks and rushed through the crowd, the white linen muffling my choked sobs.
Why should I wait around, if I was only stalling for time? Why not leave now…I might as well curl up on the side of the road and wait for death. I would wait with open arms, even. I had been through too much for death to be much worse.
So I ran. My lavender gown billowed behind me like a flag, the wind blew knots through my hair, and my feet bled as they were battered and scraped against the pavement. I clutched the handkerchief in my fist, breathless.
Wham! I ran into a wall. No, not a wall, a man. I hadn’t run into him - he’d grabbed me, snatched my arm. How was that possible, when my feet were moving at the speed of light?
I squirmed, but he tightened his grip and left finger marks on my bare arm. “Oh, no you don’t,” he growled. “You’re not getting away. Thief.” He spat in my face.
“I’m not a thief,” I protested.
“Of course you aren’t.” He chuckled unpleasantly. “Just an ugly little bandit who runs around stealing things….”
“I didn’t steal anything.” My tone was cold.
He ignored me, but proceeded to pin my arms behind my back and unclench my hands from around the handkerchief.
“What’s this?” He was confused. “No food? No clothes? No silver?”
I shook my head. “I’m not a thief.”
He let go of my arms, and I stumbled. “What did you do with it?” he howled, his face turning red with malice. “Where did you hide everything, damnit - !”
I gasped as his hand raised in the air, and came down slowly to slap hard across my cheek. The air blew out of my lips, and this time I fell over and crumpled onto my side.
“Jason!” a woman screamed. “Jason, what are you doing?!”
“Caught another one,” he said grimly. “Another thief.”
I was in too much shock to say anything in my defense, but the woman seemed to understand the truth.
“JASON!” she shrieked. “This is no thief! Look at her, Jason! Do you see any stolen items?”
“Well, no,” he grumbled uncertainly. “But she was sprinting off like a bat out of hell.” His green eyes narrowed. “How’d you explain that?”
The woman moaned, swaying on the spot. “Jason, you idiot, you complete idiot!” She knelt to my side, pressing her hand to my forehead. Her skin felt cool, and she pulled away too quickly.
“That poor girl, look at the state of her! And you hit her! Just watch, the town will come pouring in and have you be-headed for hurting that innocent little thing!”
I clutched at the woman’s dress and crawled unsteadily to my feet. She held me upright, brushing the hair out of my watery eyes.
“Poor girl, poor girl,” she crooned. “I’m so sorry, my husband thought you were a thief, he didn’t mean to hurt you…”
“I’m fine,” I said. My voice sounded strange. “I have to go now.”
“No, no,” she insisted. “Let me fix you something to drink, or something to eat. I just made vegetable soup, you’re welcome to stay with us.”
“Sharon,” the man grunted. “Leave the poor kid alone.”
“You stay away!” Sharon snapped. “Go back to the stall and sell the rest of those god-forsaken potatoes!”
My blurred vision made it hard to walk, but Sharon was able to guide me into their home a few streets away. The whole time she chattered apologetically, and I nodded and blinked and assured her that I was fine.
“Really,” I lied. “I’m okay. I have to go now.”
“No, no, have a seat.” She helped me into a chair, then rushed over with a steaming bowl of broth. “Have some soup. Drink some water.” She arrived with a glass of well water. “Take some medicine, you look ill.” She dashed off to find some remedies for my swollen cheek and red eyes.
I sighed, but the smell of the warm vegetable soup was enough to keep me preoccupied, if only for a few minutes. The taste of carrots and leeks and cabbage and broth and spices was enough to fill my hunger, but there was another kind of hunger shredding my stomach to pieces.
A kind of hunger not easily fed.
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