Page 41 of A Land So Wide
“Someone left it while we were at Reaping. They…they used a knife.”
It took her father three attempts to free the blade from the door.
When they got inside, Greer began lighting the hurricane lamps and building up a fire in the cast-iron stove. She expected Hessel to join her, but when she turned, he was already disappearing into his study. The door closed with a firm finality.
“Father?” she called out anyway. When he didn’t answer, she knocked on the door, pounding the wood with the side of her hand.
“What?”
Ignoring his tone—harsh, and devoid of any of the concern he’d just shown—Greer twisted the handle and invaded his sanctuary. He sat behind the desk, reading the missive by the light of a single taper. Strange shadows were cast along the shelves of books and journals lining one wall.
She said nothing, waiting for him to feel her presence, forcing him to look up and acknowledge her. A full minute passed. Then another, and Greer finally broke first. “You said I might have a concussion.”
He glanced up from the letter, his expression distracted. “What? No. I’m sure you’re fine.”
“What does it say?”
He looked back to the note, then folded it closed. “Nothing of importance.”
“Who was it from?” she persisted.
“No one.” He folded it in half again, running his nail along the paper to press it into submission.
“No one used a knife to stab a note of no importance to our door?” She blinked.
Hessel’s sigh was pained. “It’s nothing for you to fret over. You should rest. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“The Hunt.”
Greer let out a humorless laugh. “Are you in jest?”
“We need something to distract from all this…unpleasantness. The Benevolence will restore order soon, I’m certain.”
“I’m sure the Calloways would love to be distracted from all their unpleasantness,” she snapped.
“Greer.” His voice was heavy with warning. “For the good of the town, the Hunt will continue as planned. I know it seems callous, but if you only—”
“For the good of the town?” she echoed in disbelief.
“For the good of the town.” He tucked the paper into his coat pocket as if the matter was settled.
Greer waited for him to say something more, to say anything at all, but those words did not come. She curled her hands into fists. “I’m going to bed.”
Hessel nodded, relieved. “A fine idea. Dawn comes early for us all.”
12
The dream beganthe way it always did.
It was night, spring now. The air was sweet with newly blooming coltsfoot, lupine, and harebell. The sky was, too, an impossibly vivid velvet, wild with stars and the throaty calls of great horned owls.
Greer stood at the top of Barrenman’s Hill, looking down at Mistaken, at the cove it hugged as tight as a comma. Beyond the cove, beyond the Narrows, was the Great Bay, and beyond even that was everything Greer desperately wanted but could not have.
Dots of lights moved across that watery horizon. She knew they weren’t falling stars but great ships, full of people, and was struck by the terrifying realization that every one of those many people, on all those many ships, had a life so much fuller than anything she could ever imagine.
She envied the things they’d all seen, and hungered for the things they all knew, and wondered if any of them grasped just how damned lucky they were.
