Chapter 2

 

The doorplate jangled when the door shut. Serah was on the porch again, alone. Tears spilled and splashed across her cheeks. Those of relief were few compared to the droplets of sadness with which they mixed. What do I do for the next two weeks? And where do I go?

Stomach grumblings preceded a torrent of fresh tears. Serah untied her headscarf and pulled it loose, freeing the dark braids underneath. She sobbed into the headscarf, soaking every inch of tattered cloth as she stepped across the forest’s fringe. Hiking through the snarl of underbrush and trees was difficult during the daytime, but she’d fought her way to Machin’s cottage with sunshine reaching through the canopy of trees. Now, the last beams of daylight dappled tree trunks, and great horned owls hooted to their mates. Serah trembled, imagining what else hid in the forest that didn’t sleep at night.

Leaves, browned and decayed, crunched underfoot. Serah pressed lightly, avoiding roots and sinkholes hidden beneath the leaves. Focus overrode fear, leaving room for a renewed awareness of hunger.

In an attempt to smother the twisting and cramping of her stomach, she tightened the scrap of apron around her middle. The pressure on her stomach did nothing to soothe the dryness of her lips and throat. How stupid of me to think it rude to ask Machin for a mug of water. There’s no stream or surface water anywhere. But, maybe…

Serah snapped a dry, low limb from a tree and poked the ground. She repeated the motion as she walked, searching for a soft spot in the soil. The stick crunched through leaves and struck dry ground and roots. After many failed attempts, Serah’s stride shortened. She staggered, depending on the limb for its support as a walking stick. Her cheeks flushed and body temperature rose despite the evening chill, but she was too weak to notice.

The edge of a rock caught the front of Serah’s foot. She stumbled forward. Both hands grabbed for the walking stick. Ragged breath scratched her lips as the stick hit the forest floor, and then kept going. Her knees met the ground with a squishing, sucking sound.

Serah shook the dizziness that clouded her sight and smiled as if awoken from a dream. Still kneeling, she cleared the surrounding leaves and pulled the stick from a gooey puddle of mud. A half-crazed cry echoed from her lips. “Groundwater!”

She dug a hole next to the mud puddle, rounding out the edges until the opening was too large for her hand to cover. Slowly, moisture seeped through the soil and filled the hole. Cupping her hands, she scooped out as much of the muddy water as she could. She licked her lips and waited for the hole to fill again.

Serah dipped her hands in the tiny, homemade well and scooped out another handful of liquid. She watched carefully as it trickled through her fingers beneath the light of the moon. Frowning, she resisted the urge to taste what she knew was still too cloudy to drink.

Gray-brown water and chunks of mud splashed as she emptied the hole a second time. The insides of her mouth and throat itched. She swallowed back a dry cough. Having water so close, but not quite ready, burned her tongue more than not having found any at all.

The next collection resulted in a clearer liquid, and the next clearer still. Unable to wait any longer, Serah scooped a double handful and pressed it to her lips. She drank hungrily, sighing when the well was empty. After drinking through a second helping, Serah sat back against a tree to rest. Eyelids half closed. She would have smiled had her stomach not chosen that moment to rumble and twist in a knot. She rubbed the cramp from her middle and narrowed her eyes. Shapes blurred and blended in the darkness.

Frowning, Serah returned to the mud puddle. She pressed her hands to the soggy ground and brushed back more leaves to measure its reach. The puddle led to trees and bushes, roots, and more trees. Boughs drooped from a pair of bushes that had intertwined. Each bough was filled with clusters of dark berries. Serah puckered her lips. If Machin knew my situation, maybe he’d take me in early. Or, maybe I could wait here and live on berries and water. She plucked a berry, brought it to her lips, and stopped. But if they are poisonous—

Her lower lip quivered. Tears fell, accompanied by ugly sobs.

The bough she’d plucked the berry from rustled.

“Who’s there?” she squeaked.

After more rustling and a yawn, a male voice called out, “When are you goin’ to learn to stop with the blubberin’? The blotches dwarf your eyes.”

She rubbed her face and squinted at the bush.

The bough shook with laughter. “That’s even worse!” A youth stepped out from a hollow space within the bushes. His scrawny build made him appear more boyish.

“Graham, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to know if you got the ’prenticeship.” The darkness wasn’t strong enough to hide the pink in his cheeks. “If not, I thought I might apply.”

He popped a handful of berries in his mouth.

“Wait! How do you know those are edible?”

“They’re elderberries.” He shrugged. “I’d know them anywhere.”

Serah scowled at him until she was convinced he wasn’t lying. Then, she tucked as many berries as she could in the folds of her apron.

“At least you could have washed them first,” she muttered. “Have you been hiding in there all this time?”

Graham cracked a smile, eying the mud on her hands and dress. “Yes. You woke me from my nap, but I’m hurtin’ to know what’s happened to you.”

“Fine then, come on,” said Serah, leading him to the well.

Minutes later, Graham knelt for a long draft of water. “Nice work. Explains the mud, too.” He sat back and wiped his lips with his sleeve, watching Serah intently.

She washed the elderberries by the handful and stuffed them in her mouth.

“You know,” she said, once her stomach pangs settled and began to fade. “You could have saved yourself the trek out here.”

Graham raised a rust-colored brow. “So, you got it—the ’prenticeship?”

Serah curtly nodded.

“Then why were you cryin’?”

Not wanting to admit that she was upset about not being able to identify the berries, Serah remained silent for a moment before stating another truth—one that led to where she was now. “I was hoping Machin would let me start right away.”

“Did you ask him to?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I wanted to leave him with a good impression of me.”

Graham snorted. “From what I’ve heard, no one who applies for Machin’s ’prenticeships is known for leavin’ good impressions.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her eyes grew large. “What have you heard?”

“Happy people keep livin’ their lives as they are. Those of us who aren’t go knockin’ at Machin’s door, lookin’ for somethin’ better.”