Stalemate

Chapter 9

Ashtin slept. She didn't know when or for how long, but somehow through the silent weeping, the stale, acrid stench of urine and body odor, the dry lingering scent of fire that had bathed them all, she found herself slipping away. Surprisingly, she hardly thought of much. She was just so tired.

    What she did think of was independent of the events of this day. It was better that way.

    She thought of the sweet scent of blooming cherries and how their flowers coated the brook that sliced through the mountain, carried on with the current. Where the water flowed, so did they. She thought of the way the hardwood floors creaked in the house and how the sun cast a golden glow on the bleached kitchen table. She thought of that pretty bluebird that landed on the windowsill days ago, the one that breathed life back into the winter. And last, she thought of her oak and how summer rain trickled down the leaves.

    Only the comfort of Cherry Hill could put her to sleep.

    But then light pierced her eyes. When she opened them, she could see her dangling arms and the clammy bodies that surrounded her. Several heads hung and lolled, some stared ahead, their black eyes unbothered by the sun's harsh rays. And there, standing where Ashtin had, was another young girl, as Ashtin was. The same bored Dordan man trapped her hands in iron and pushed her inside. Ashtin stared at the girl. She was familiar, though covered head-to-toe in slate gray ash. But as she crawled in sheepishly, down by all the feet because there were no more seats, the girl looked up and found Ashtin's weary gaze.

    And Ashtin saw that the girl was Maud.

    At the sight of her, Maud's eyes softened. A single look between them communicated what they both knew. That Maud had been right.

    Then Maud looked away and turned over so she was sitting with her knees to her chest, her shackled hands limp in her lap. Ashtin noted the bloodsoaked place in the back of her head. She noted how Maud looked up at the Dordan as he took the handles once more. Ashtin watched Maud's defiant, hateful stare. Of course, the man did not regard her. He stared past them all, off somewhere in the low rotting ceiling. And then the doors slammed shut and it was black again.

    In the darkness, Ashtin felt a hand rest on her knee, the coldness of the iron resting against her leg, and she knew that it was Maud. It couldn't be as comforting as Maud hoped, but it provided Ashtin with some peace. Though it was dark and the darkness is the best secret keeper, Ashtin knew that Maud would not cry. She would not cry as Ashtin was.

The tears stung her hot cheeks. The box had become a hearth, cooking them all like a stew. The soot and ash still choked her, but the sporadic coughing that erupted throughout the cabin was hoarse. It was like the miner's cough. She wondered if this would become normal like it did for the miners. If all that debris made its permanent mark on all of them.

Instead of the coughing, Ashtin tried to listen to what was outside. Mostly it was the constant whirring of the wooden wheels turning, snapping twigs and bouncing over rocks in the path. Or the crop telling the horses to pick up speed. There was no talking.

In the darkness, Ashtin imagined what was outside. They must have been far beyond Cherry Hill now, and that made her curious. She'd never been so north to pass the working fields or so south to pass where the miners picked away at the surrounding mountains. Cliffs and sea flanked the rest. The Dordans had made sure of that. Only those as old as Pa remembered what lay beyond their limits, and only those as old as Ms. Effridge talked about it. And those as old as Doon and younger hated all of it.

"You don't hate Cherry Hill, Doon," she'd said one day, "you hate them."

He'd been indignant. "If you knew what I knew you'd hate it too."