Frustrated that she seemed to be missing the point he was trying to make, Son’s face grew flush and his voice raised even more. “That’s what I’m trying to explain,” he said. “You don’t want to do your part but you certainly want to eat your fill.”
Just then, a strange half-smile began to curl upward from the left side of Maren’s mouth. It was as if an unseen finger was pushing it, and a quiet chuckle forced its way out through her nose.
Offended that the girl seemed to find humor in his frustration, his cheeks burned and his blue eyes narrowed. “This isn’t humorous!” he snapped. “Why are you laughing?”
Maren seemed genuinely surprised by Son’s anger. She massaged her ear more aggressively, swallowed, and answered, “I was thinking about Smarmy Kidd Black.”
Son glared at the young girl. He was beside himself with the feeling that she neither desired to do her part, nor cared how her distraction impacted his burden of responsibility. He wanted to accuse her of laughing at him. He wanted to scold her harshly and send her to bed. His inability to discern whether he was dealing with Maren’s graymind or just rude behavior made choosing a response difficult.
Finally, he took a deep breath, exhaled, and admonished, “I’m glad that you like your books. Fantastic stories of pirates and adventure are exciting and fun. However, we live in a real world where chores need to be done, your clothes need to be washed, and your hair needs to be brushed. Ignoring the things you need to do now only brings more trouble and work later.”
The girl continued to stare at Son with a vacant expression. Eventually, her eyes focused on his. As they did, she cleared her throat and said, “I like my stories. They’re my friends.”
The young caretaker tried hard to comprehend what the girl meant. He wished to impress upon her some sort of virtue that she would grasp, so he began, “You are part of the Great Father’s story. It is the greatest tale ever written and you get to choose your role in it.” He then paused to consider his words. “Will your role be that of a character who spends their days in a trance, shackled by entertainment and indulgence? Or will it be that of a hero, choosing the difficult yet rewarding challenges of life? Do you want to be a main character or a footnote? The choice is yours, Maren.” Feeling satisfied with his speech, he then relaxed and lifted a spoonful of soup to his mouth.
Maren’s eyes slowly turned downward to her soup. She stirred her spoon in the bowl, causing the vegetables to race around the sides of the bowl as they crashed into each other. She then finished her dinner without saying another word.
That evening, as Maren lay down in her bed, she gazed into the darkness of her modest bedroom. As she did, she spoke out loud, as if someone was there with her. “I’m an excellent gardener,” she said. “In fact, I’m one of the best. But someone has to keep the farm safe from pirates. They’re an ever-present danger!”
The girl couldn’t understand why Son seemed so upset at dinner. It was unreasonable for him to be cross just because she didn’t do her chores right away. After all, she said she would do them and her word was her bond. If he was impatient, then that was his problem. “Maybe if you spent more time patrolling, then I wouldn’t have to,” she continued to argue. “And who else is going to keep Earl company?” she added. “You know he’s fragile.”
As the night drifted on, Maren’s thoughts shifted. It had been a couple of years since she had lost her parents on the road from Ahmcathare to Blackcloth, and she still missed them dearly. Though she struggled to recall specific experiences, she pined for her mother’s calm voice and friendly flow. “What a wonderful drawing!” she said in her best grown-up voice.
“Why thank you, Momma,” she answered back in her own. “I drew it for you.”
“You are very special to me and Daddy,” the grown-up voice added.
With that, a tear found its way out of the young girl’s eye and was followed by a burning sensation. She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and then touched her tongue to the tear so she could taste the saltiness. “Uh huh,” she said back in her own voice.
Another tear came, and then another, until her tired eyes grew heavy and she succumbed to dreams and shadows.
The next morning, Maren sat reading a book on the back of her mule as it grazed about the farm. It was still early in the season and patches of tender grass weren’t easy to find. As Earl roamed about, the young girl made sure to steer him away from places that Son could easily see as he was working in the garden.
“We can’t be seen by Dirtclod McGee,” she warned the donkey.
Why not? she imagined the mule asking before he gathered another mouthful of cold, damp grass.
“Because he will enslave us and force us to work in the potato mines,” she explained.
Ah, the potato mines. I’ll never go back there, Earl declared. Your safety is my first charge, m’lady.
“Then ride on,” Maren ordered before returning to her book. As she read the tale aloud, she lost herself within a world of magic heroes and devious enemies, acting out each scene as if she were experiencing everything the main characters were experiencing. Though there was peril and adventure on every page, she somehow felt safe in that world. The wind was never too cold, the labor never too hard, and the people were as lovely and colorful as she imagined them to be. She never really feared the villains because they always lost in the end, and the brave champions had no flaws, never raised their
