Casted

Chapter 21

I woke with a jolt, startled out of my fitful sleep by a firm hand on my leg. Glancing around, my gaze fell on the young girl. She was squatting near me with one hand resting on my knee, long black hair falling in front of her eyes like a curtain. I had fallen asleep on a bed of hay in a cozy corner of the poll building shortly after Joseph left, lulled by the chirping of crickets and the silent assurance of safety. But now the tranquil feeling in the air had changed. The horses were awake and standing alert, ears pricked as if they knew what was coming. The old wagon had been pulled out into the center of the floor and Mama V was slowly loading wooden crates into the back. The sunlight had vanished long ago, leaving us to bask in the eerie orange light of the oil lamps. The girl's expression told me everything I needed to know; it was time to leave.

She stood and silently offered me her hand. I stared at it for a few seconds, fighting back the scraps of sleep that still lingered at the edges of my mind. In the dimness of the room, I could just make out the rough skin of her palms, callused and scarred from work. I could almost see the indents where the splintered edges of wooden crates had rested. I blinked a few times before taking her hand in mine and allowing her to pull me to my feet. She was stronger than she looked, and lifted me as one would lift a sack of coal.

"Thank you," I muttered, but she was already turning away.

I glanced down at my own hands, pale and coated in dust. The same calluses textured my palms, the same old cuts peaked around every finger. I looked back to the girl, who was now climbing into the back of the wagon and taking a crate from Mama V. These people are either very lucky, or very good at what they do because there is no way they were born and raised in Class 2. "Not with hands like those," I whispered to no one but myself. If anyone could get me to Class 3, it was them.

After dusting myself off and pulling the loose hay out of my hair, I wandered over the wagon. Mama V waddled back and forth between it and a stack of crates, handing the boxes up to the girl to be loaded onto the back. As she rushed past, I noticed beads of perspiration on her brow. She breathed through her mouth, long, wheezing breaths.

"Here, let me," I said. I placed my hands on the handles of the crate she was carrying and offered her a smile. She returned it, gratitude plain on her wrinkled face. She let me take the crate and waddled over to a bale of hay to rest for a minute. I handed the crate up to the girl, who fixed me a classic dark stare before stacking it alongside the others. For a moment, as she turned, I noticed something. Something about her face- the slope of her nose or the angle of her jawline- seemed familiar. But it was gone as quickly as her back was turned to me. I shook my head to myself. It could have very easily been my imagination.

I hurried back over to the dwindling pile of crates, not wanting Mama V to feel like she had to get back up and help. But the old woman still rested on her bale of hay, smiling as she watched me. I paused before picking up the next crate, stooping beside her to retrieve a stray potato.

"What's the girl's name?" I asked quietly, although I wasn't sure she even spoke English.

Mama V's smile widened by what seemed like a million miles. She raised a crooked finger to point at the girl. "Sofia," she told me an accented voice.

I nodded slowly. "And is Sofia your daughter?"

She answered with a word I didn't understand, but her vigorous nodding was enough to tell me I was right.

I smiled gently. "Well your daughter is very beautiful."

She nodded and grinned some more, wrinkles scrunching so deep her eyes all but disappeared.

After we'd finished loading the crates into the wagon, Sofia and Mama V got to work hooking the horses up to the front. I would've offered to help, but Mama V made it clear that I was to stay seated in the very spot she'd put me: in the back of the wagon, right in the middle of the stacks of crates, hidden from sight. I didn't mind really. The smell of old wood and ripe vegetables was comforting and familiar, almost enough to put me to sleep.