Chapter Twenty-Five

From the Fan Fiction Unbound Archive,

posted by conTessaofthecastle:

A woman came in from the other room, startling Daphne, who reached for Astoria, prepared to utter the shape-shifting spell again.

Astoria spoke in her ear. “You shifted me to her when you said the spell in the forest.”

Daphne peered up at a wrinkled face, a kind smile, and a hand holding out the mug of tea Astoria had set down.

“You’ve had a long journey,” said the spell-caster.

Soph.

I wake up before Tess. There’s so much I want to ask her, I’m almost buzzing with anticipation, pressed up against her back. But it feels so good lying close to her while she sleeps that I try not to move. I never thought about this part before, what it would be like waking up next to someone you don’t want to be apart from. She wakes up slowly, something I didn’t expect from her. I’m lying on my side with my arm over her waist.

“You’re up with the cows,” she jokes. She turns on her back, her right side up against me.

“Tess,” I ask, “why did you keep trying to bring Chris into the fold?”

“Interesting phrase, Soph.” She yawns and ducks her head closer to me. “Do you know what ‘the fold’ is?”

I’ve heard the phrase, but I don’t know what it really means. She continues.

“A ‘fold’ is a fenced-in area, like a paddock. You bring the herd or the flock in so that they are safe and together.”

I chuckle. “So, you were trying to bring Chris safely into the fold on Thursday night when the power went out. Only that’s not exactly what I meant. You said then that you weren’t supposed to leave a soldier on the field. But you went further than that. Even though she was horrible to Orly and wouldn’t cooperate with your group, you offered to teach her to skate. You invited her to go sledding with us. A few days ago, I thought you were going to shove that carrot up her nose. Then, yesterday, you had her in here and got her to make up with Orly.”

“Soph, a baby calf was born at home right before I came here.”

Tess tells me about struggling with the mother to get her to nurse her baby, and how she left the calf too long and it got kicked into a corner of the barn.

“Putting feed on Angie, that should have attracted her mother. We had to try something else. And then, when her mother still wouldn’t learn, we had to take care of Angie a different way.”

I don’t get it.

“Soph, even if Angie lives, she won’t be as strong as the rest. The herd might not accept her. I don’t know if her mother really hurt her when she kicked her away, and that’s on me. I shouldn’t have left her alone. I didn’t do the job Daddy trusted me to do. She could still die.”

I still don’t understand. “But, I mean, Angie’s mother is supposed to feed her own baby, right? You shouldn’t have to do that in the first place.”

“In a way, yes. But Angie’s mother didn’t do it. We can’t let a cow die if we can save it. They’re worth money, but they’re also… I don’t know exactly how to explain this, but calves are part of the farm. They’re ours, not just their mothers’. So it is my responsibility. Mine and Daddy’s and Molly’s and Mom’s. And we have to keep trying with the mother, even when she’s wrong and stubborn about being wrong. The same way, even though Daddy was mad at me, he still gave me another chance to get it right.”

Tess.

Soph lets go of me and rolls onto her back. She stares at the ceiling. “Tess, you’re going to make a great cadet.”

I shake my head. “I doubt I’ll be admitted.”

“Why?”

I remind her. “I’ve got my interview next week with the admissions panel. I still don’t have a good answer for that leadership question. That’s enough for them to reject me.” I don’t want to admit, even to Soph, even now, here, how much I want to get in.

She sits up suddenly. Cold air hits me when she pushes back the covers. “Come on, Tess, you must see it!”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what you just told me, what you did here with Chris. How can you not see this?”

“No, you don’t understand, Soph. It’s not about just doing the right thing.” She makes a face. “I didn’t take everyone here and save them or anything.”

“I think you don’t understand, Tess.” She puts her hand in mine, still tangled in the blankets. Her palm is warm. “You stood up in front of everyone and confronted Chris. Then, when no one else thought about it, you went to make sure Chris was safe. When we found her, you insisted on making her stay with us.”

“I don’t think that’s quite what West Point has in mind, Soph. All I was trying to do was understand both sides and not leave anyone out. Besides, it’s not like Chris and Orly ended up friends.”

“I’m not even finished. You were like a general or something, mediating differences between Chris and Orly. We learned in American History about how Eisenhower did that when he took command in World War II. You got Chris to speak directly to Orly when no one else would because you kept trying to understand. Maybe Chris and Orly didn’t end up being friends. But you and Orly did.”

I’m quiet for a few moments. Then I sigh. “I need to think about it. It doesn’t sound like a very traditional answer.”

“Oh, god, tradition. You had to say that word?” She must be thinking about her mother, because she flings herself down next to me again, still holding my hand. I smile at the drama.

“Soph, you’re more of a traditionalist than you think.”

“I’m not!” she insists.

“What’s your big passion, Soph? I mean besides social justice, coming out, and texting?”

I smile to show her that I’m kidding. Her face is close to mine, and she smiles too. “Writing, I guess.”

“Yuh, writing. What kinds of poems?”

“Oh. Sonnets. Okay. Sonnets from the thirteenth to the sixteenth centuries. But I don’t use the same language or the same topics.”

“No, you don’t. You take the tradition and you adapt it. But that’s part of what traditions are, right? Like Orly’s piece about Christmas. Every family does it a little differently, but the part everyone understands is how people look forward to it every year in the same way.”

“Tess.” She looks at me seriously. “You also showed great leadership when you kissed me first.”

“Shut. Up.” I say, as I push a pillow at her face until she pushes back and laughs that glittery laugh.

* * *

From Soph Alcazar’s Writing Journal,

February 17, 2018

I know I can’t give her a directive.

She shows me the value of collective.