Chapter 4
My eyes slowly take in the face of the knife's owner. They stop at a pair of gray eyes. The gray seam eyes staring back at me are familiar but not that of my brother or mother. As he took in my predicament the first thing he did was laugh. I finally had the presence of mind to yell at him.
"Asher! It's not funny. Stop pointing that stupid knife and get me down from here." He tried to straighten his face, but he couldn't keep the amusement out of his eyes.
"You should ask me politely." He tucks the knife into his pants, walks over to the side of the tree and is about to undo a knot when he looks back at me expectantly. I roll my eyes and reply through gritted teeth.
"Asher can you PLEEEAASEE get me down from here?"
He laughs again and undoes the knot, which releases the snare from the tree. I unceremoniously fall to the ground with a thud. The dog, happy to see me back comes closer as I try to untangle myself from the rope. As soon as I'm free, Asher helps me up to my feet. I mumble a thanks, but it's drowned out by his laughing outbursts. I know after my struggle, I must look messy but standing in front of Asher makes me more aware of my appearance. I quickly rake through my hair, brushing out the leaves and twigs caught in it. I even try to tuck in my shirt. As his laughing dies down, I assume I look somewhat normal now. We stand there for a while as my brain processes seeing Asher in the woods. For some reason, he doesn't fit here. Sure I see him at school but he does not even acknowledge my presence except to call me Hazelle's friend.
The bakery is where he fits into my life. His laughter, voice and jokes belong there, swirled in with the smells of baked bread, cinnamon and home. It feels awkward to look up into his face without a cake or pastry between us to discuss. He must feel it too because he shares the same look of discomfort. Finally I clear my throat and break the silence.
"I have to head home. I'm going to be late for dinner." I start walking and he easily falls into step with me as if we do this all the time. He replies casually.
"I'll walk you home. Don't want you falling into anymore bear traps." I suddenly stop and look at him. Anger starts getting the better of me as I yell at him.
"A bear trap? How did you know? Did you set that trap? Is that what you're doing out here?" He puts up his hands in mock surrender as he replies.
"Whoa! I just came out here to find the dog. He's Dylan's new pet. His name is Dax. He let him out of the house without a leash. As far as the trap, I know what it is because my dad showed me how to make one when I was younger, but the whole hunting thing is not for me."
Dahlia finally calms down and looks for the dog. She spots it a couple feet behind them. It's sitting on its haunches with its head cocked to the side as if studying our exchange. I start walking again and both Asher and Dax accompany me out of the woods, through the meadow and up the steps to my front porch. When I get to the front porch I kneel down to pet the dog who gives a happy bark in reply. Asher takes the opportunity to slip the leash on him. We rise to stand face to face again and I find it hard to find words…that form a coherent sentence.
"Thank you for the snare…err I mean…getting me out of the snare. And…and ah… walking me home, with Dax. No! I mean you and Dax walking me home…thank you." He is about to reply when the door opens and dad comes out.
"Dahlia where have you been? Dinner is…" He stops as he takes in Asher and I standing there on the porch. Asher quickly excuses himself.
"Hi Mr. Mallerk. I guess I'll head home now. Thanks for saving the dog. I'll ah see you later Dahlia."
As he walks down the steps and onto the road, I can't help but smile at him using my name. He never calls me by my name but after hearing it, I wouldn't mind hearing him say it again. I turn around to see my dad looking at me with a knowing smile and I feel myself blush. I reply to his unanswered comment.
"Dad. It's definitely not like that." He just shakes his head as I brush past him into the house. I hear him mumble something about me being as oblivious as my mother, but I ignore it as I run up the stairs to get changed for dinner.
When I get to the kitchen, my family is already half way through dinner. I grab a bowel, scoop out the stew mom cooked and sit down next to my brother who is plowing his way through his second helping. Before I have the spoon to my lips my father tells me I have permission to go to the capitol. I knew this from my eavesdropping but I try to act surprised and thankful. My mother crushes my excitement with a huge "but."
"But your father and I have decided that I should go with you as a chaperone for the trip."
As I process what my mother said, I hear my brother snicker into his soup. I give him a swift kick under the table. Was having my mom go with me, worst then not going? I play through all the scenarios in my head of a trip with just my mom and me. The thought makes me shudder. I look back at them trying to convey concern in my response.
"Mom you hate the capitol. Wouldn't that make your nightmares worst being there? Maybe dad should go instead?"
I see my mom's jaw clench as she bites back her anger for pointing out her nightmares. I don't know why, but I thought more explanation would help the matter.
"You don't really like crowds or…people, so it makes more sense for dad to go." I could see my brother shaking his head out of the corner of my eye. Mom's attention suddenly turns on him.
"Jonathan don't you have chores to attend to? Tidying up your room. Working on the garden before it gets to dark?"
John just as annoyed, as I am, when my parents ask us to leave a discussion, replies back almost immediately.
" I can't Dahlia is using the shovel right now to dig herself a hole." At that my father bellows "Out" and John quickly gets up and leaves. The three of us sit there in silence until my father speaks.
"Dahlia. The capitol holds bad memories for both of us. We've seen and experienced a lot of atrocities that occurred at the old capitol's hands. It's still really hard for us to separate that capitol and the one we have today. And it's almost unbearable to willingly send our daughter to it. This is more for us to know that you're safe."
My mother takes my father's hand as they share a look of sadness. As if our discussion brought up a painful memory. I begin to feel guilty at my light treatment of a trip to the capitol. I immediately regret the words I spat at my mother and the sadness I caused my father, forcing him to explain their decision. As if my guilt hadn't eaten me up enough, I am awoken in the middle of the night, by my mother's new night terror. She screams out for John and me; pleading with someone to leave us alone.
"Please don't take my children!" Echoes over and over again in the house. The sound of my mother's screams ring in my head long after dad is able to quiet her down.
