Sleepwalker

Chapter Thirty-Four: Homecoming

“You alright, Miss?” The coachman asked me. “Haven’t heard a peep out of you in the three days we’ve been traveling, even at the inns.” He turned back to me. When I offered nothing, he sighed, the way our conversations usually ended. “I can only take you as far as Yondrin. The snow is too heavy; the roads too slim. The horses can’t take it.”

“I understand,” I replied. “The walk is not too far.” When he raised his eyebrows in surprise before turning back to the road, I apologized. “I’ve been thinking.”

He chuckled, flicking the horses on. “I can imagine you have. I’m sure the boy has been too. I saw the look he gave the cart as we rode off,” he mentioned.

My eyes widened, my heart stopping. “What do you mean? Dill…he—he told me that he did not want to see me off. Well, his exact words were to see me ever. What do you mean he was there?” I gripped the wooden side, willing the carriage to turn back.

“Sorry, Miss. I thought you’d known and said your goodbyes then and there. Why’d you leave him without saying anything?” He asked, his voice as upset as mine.

I peered at the approaching horizon of Yondrin. “We were in an argument. Idiot! Have you ever had to pick between what you really want and an obligation?”

“I haven’t, but I can only imagine how you feel.”

I exhaled, watching the roofs become small buildings and the specks become villagers. “Here is far enough.” I handed him the payment for the last leg of the journey as I clambered out. Throwing my knapsack over my shoulders, I hopped into the ankle-deep snow. I groaned at the thought of the familiar and long walk ahead of me.

My energy focused on home, the fireplace in the main area, the creaking wooden floors, my own bed and not a hastily assembled camp bed. I tried to push any thoughts of Dill and my mother from my mind. There were cracks in my positive thoughts though, I had failed, failed to find my mother, failed to notice Dill as I left, failed to experience the world. The tears only made my cheeks colder as the wind whipped at my face.

Snow poured down, blinding me. I continued to walk, wishing someone would drape an arm over me shoulder or light a small fire or kiss me again. He’d been there and I hadn’t even noticed. Guilt prodded me. Why hadn’t I apologized that morning?

Another thick gust of wind ripped through my clothes. Crumbs of snow stuck to my face, clumping in my eyelashes. The grey sky dimmed as I lost track of the time. A golden ruddy light shined far off, home. Shivering and soaking, I walked more quickly.

When the inn finally stood before me, I stared at it, as if refusing to believe it was real. I entered, warmth filling me. The bell didn’t ring, frozen in place. With a shiver, I rubbed my arms. Walking through the entry room into dining area, the few travelers in there did not find another cold body seeking salvation and sustenance out of place.

Next to the bar, I dropped my knapsack and loped into the kitchen. “Professor.”

Professor Lester turned to me. Her hair hung loose about her face, silky as ever. She lowered her eyebrows. “Jenny, what are you doing here? I told you that it was not worth it for you to come home. You said your travels were going so well—”

I replied simply, “It does not matter. Papa is more important to me.” Worry overcame me. “Where is he? Is he well? Is he even aware? Could you take me to him?”

She dried her hands on a rag, looking so out of place in our kitchen, almost like an intruder. I kept this thought locked away while she led me to the room where I’d led her so long ago. A lump snored on the far side of the bed; the rumpled sheets closer to me did not go unnoticed. “He must’ve just fallen asleep. I was up here about ten minutes ago.”