Shorn: Chapter 22
Melda was quiet and withdrawn the whole way home while the children chattered happily and Rascal snoozed on Shorn’s lap. He could see something was bothering her, but he had no idea what to say that would help, so he stayed quiet.
Once the children were in bed, she came outside to sit by him. She fidgeted in her chair for a while, obviously wrestling with what she wanted to say.
“What is it?” he finally asked.
She started and stopped a couple times. She stood up and paced. Her words surprised him. “Why don’t you want your own room?”
“There is too much to do. The barn roof needs work. I am not finished with the well. Both are more important.”
“That’s called farming. There’s always too much to do. Is there another reason?” She was staring at him in the darkness. He could feel her eyes on him.
Shorn was still uncertain what was going on. “What other reason would there be?”
She didn’t answer right away but turned away and stared at the sky. Shorn did not press her.
“Maybe because you’re planning to leave.”
“Leave?”
“Go back to Qarath or wherever.”
“I have no plans to.”
“But what about the hack’in dragh? When it’s over, won’t you go back home?”
In truth, he hadn’t given it any thought. So far, his hack’in dragh hadn’t gone at all like he’d imagined it would. From what he’d learned from his grandfather, the hack’in dragh was a journey one took alone. He’d had this idea that it meant years in the wilderness, that his answers would come while he sat on top of some lonely mountain.
Alone.
Was he still walking the hack’in dragh?
“I do not know what I will do. I do not know if I still walk the hack’in dragh. But I do not think of Qarath as home. I never did.”
“But Netra is there.”
“I wish to see her again someday.”
“So?”
“But not now.”
“I’ll just ask right out. Are you going to leave? Is that why you don’t want to build a room? Just tell me so that I can prepare for it.”
Shorn didn’t have to think about it. “I do not know what my future holds, but I do not wish to leave here.”
Melda was quiet for some time. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For putting these demands on you. I realize they are not your children, and we are not your family. We have no right to expect more from you than you have already given. I know you have a path to walk. I don’t want to stand in the way of that. I guess I’m afraid that you’re just staying because you feel obligated. I don’t want that. You swore no oath. You are free to live your own life.”
Then it was Shorn’s turn to ponder. Why was he staying? In the beginning, he’d felt sorry for this widow and her children. He’d helped them because they needed help.
It was much more than that now. He felt close to them in a way he’d never felt close to anyone before. Even with all he and Netra went through together, there was still much she kept locked away. He trusted her, and he supposed he loved her, but he didn’t know her.
Melda stood up. “Good night, Shorn. I won’t bother you about your plans again. Just know that you are always welcome here.” She started to walk away but turned back. “And if you are determined to spend the winter in the barn, we’re going to have to do some serious work to the barn. I won’t have you freezing out there.”
The next few days were uneventful. Rascal was fascinated by watching Shorn chop wood with his new axe. He’d sit up on his haunches and stare with surprising intensity. He picked up wood chips and sniffed them. He sniffed the axe when Shorn put it down. Lysa worried that he would get hurt, but she calmed down when she saw how careful he was to stay back.
The children decided that Rascal should ride Patience. When they put Rascal on the horse’s back, he froze, all four feet firmly holding on. Patience swung her head to look at him. Rascal trilled a question. Patience went back to cropping grass.
Rascal soon discovered that he liked his new perch. He stood up on his hind legs and surveyed his world. He eyed Old Croakey, who was standing on top of the house, watching him. When the crow took flight and came his way, Rascal crouched down, eyes moving as he looked for an escape. The children shouted and Old Croakey veered off.
“He’s just a cranky old crow,” Lysa said, lifting Rascal down. “Don’t mind him.” Rascal buried his face in her hair.
Shorn was putting the last few stones into place lining the new well one morning when a wagon rolled up to the house. Sitting on the seat were Dale and Jesup. It was a large wagon. The back was full of freshly-peeled logs.
Jesup set the brake, and the two men climbed down.
Kit ran inside to tell Melda. She appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands with a towel. “What brings you here?”
Dale spoke. “It seems word got around that Shorn has no place to live.”
Shorn, walking up, simply pointed at the barn.
Jesup shook his head. “Not good enough.”
Another wagon rolled into the yard, followed by a third. Behind the wagons were a few people on horseback. Then came another wagon.
Fergus was among those who arrived, along with Hal. Moll was there too, her bow slung over her shoulder. There were a dozen others, people Shorn remembered from training but had forgotten their names. Several of the wives were there as well, and as the men began unloading tools and materials, they produced covered dishes and pots of food.
“I don’t know what to say,” Melda said, clasping her hands over her heart. “This is so…so unexpected.”
“We can’t let the hero of Sweetwater sleep in the barn!” Moll cried. “He deserves better than that.”
Lina, Fergus’ wife, was among the women. She took Melda’s hand. “In truth, we should have been here sooner, back when your husband died. We knew you were out here alone with your children. We should have been better neighbors. Let this be an apology.”
Melda wiped her eyes. “That’s…thank you so much.”
Shorn was speechless. No one had ever done anything like this for him before. Nothing in his experience came close. Yes, he and his fellow warriors fought and died for each other, but there were no selfless acts like this.
Jesup clapped him on the shoulder. “Where do you want it?”
Shorn blinked. “What?”
“Your room. You must want it somewhere.”
“I…have not thought about it.”
“I have,” Melda said. “We’ll put it around back and cut a new doorway into the main room. I’ll show you.”
Soon the air was filled with the sounds of axes, saws and hammers. The new doorway was cut. The logs were notched and laid, leaving space for a window and a door to outside. Rafters went up and shingles were nailed across them.
Midday, they all sat around makeshift tables. Hearty stews, mashed potatoes with thick gravy, fresh bread, ears of corn, and several large wedges of cheese.
“Thank you, friends,” Melda said when they were all seated, their plates piled high. “My heart is full this day.”
Cheers and whistles met her words. Jesup looked at Shorn and started chanting, “Speech! Speech! Speech!”
Others joined in until finally Shorn stood up. “I am…deeply honored.” He sat back down.
“That’s all?” Moll asked, disappointed.
“Our massive, terrifying friend is a man of few words,” Jesup observed. “We’re lucky to get that much.”
“You talk enough for the both of you anyhow,” Fergus put in. His words drew a laugh from the others.
By the end of the day, the new room was mostly finished. It still needed a proper window, but Dale said he’d ordered one and it should come in with the next caravan. Everyone loaded up. The wagons left. Eventually, it was just the six of them.
Shorn and Melda stood in the room, looking at it.
“What do you think, Shorn?”
Shorn put his hand on a new wall. The words were stuck. There was a funny feeling in his chest. “This…is this something humans do for each other?” He’d never seen anything like it while living in Qarath.
“Yes. For a friend.”
For a friend. Shorn thought about those words. “I have friends.”
“Yes, Shorn. I believe you do.”
He nodded. “It is a good thing.”
(If you're interested in reading more of Shorn's story from the time before this current one, go check out Wreckers Gate. It's book one of Immortality and Chaos, the series where we first meet Shorn. I will warn you that he doesn't appear until book 2, though!)
Leave a comment