Chapter 5: The Goodness of Strangers

And a smooth drive it was. Hajule's cart had larger, thicker wheels, caked with mud and turning easily. The axels were smoothed with oil and didn't screech. The wagon had a caged bed in the back, with bits of wheat scattered on the seats. The two women had enough room to sit up front with a foot in between and a foot before the armrest. Domo would have to step up his game if he really wanted her to visit.

"It's good luck that you came this month," Hajule told her at the start of their journey. "My husband and I typically send the harvest for three months of autumn, right after the Military Police collect their taxes. We split the excess into three wagons and take turns travelling, so when my cousin sent her letter, we thought we'd meet you at market, and save Domo the trip."

"He's fond of traveling," Edie inferred, "and talking."

"We grew up together, in a way. His father used to take him on mountain and lowland journeys, training him in those bargaining ways. Of course, I didn't live at the farm until I married Larmie, but my father was a welder and sold small tools at a few markets. I always begged him to take me on the weeks Domo would be in town."

"Did you like him?"

"Oh, heavens no. There's many reasons why his wife left him." Hajule laughed to herself. "You think Domo is brash, but his father was larger than life. It was such a treat to watch my father and the other sellers talk him down from the mountain, and hear him argue what a hero he was. As if there'd be titans on a mountain."

"There's plenty of places to hide."

"I'm sure," she relented, "but in fifty-six years of life, I've never heard of a titan in the walls, much less those snowy hills. Lots of people coming down without memory, though. Seems that you knock your head in the hills and forget who you are. Most families come to our farm every day for months when someone goes missing, because my cousin always sends them here."

"Do you mind?"

Hajule hesitated, a slight grimace on her face. "There's two kinds of people who come down from the mountain with no memory. Cadets who lots their company, and young men on a bet. They're usually loud, smelly, and good help on the farm, until their families come find them. Not all get found, of course, and you'll meet Corini when we arrive. But never young women."

Edie smiled. "We're a bit too bright for that."

"I wish that were true. Typically, if a woman goes into the mountains, it's not of her will, and she doesn't come back."

"I'm lucky, then."

"And we'll make sure no one from your forgotten past comes back to haunt you. If anyone starts lurking around the farm, I promise you, my husband will fight them tooth and toe. We don't want that kind of company around our village, and certainly not around Jamie."

"Your son?"

Hajule nodded with a smile. "He's nine now, about to turn ten. He's a sweet boy, and so very excited to meet you."

"Do you and your husband have any other children?"

"No, we were only blessed with the one. Larmie and I married right out of school, like most people, but between family deaths, other marriages, business, changes in Wall Sina—lots of little things, really, we didn't get around to children for a few decades. We kept saying, 'Next year, when things are calmer,' because we didn't want to raise him in a hell. We wanted to give him our full attention, help him with schoolwork, train him to work the farm and succeed in whatever he decided to pursue. We wanted to raise him in a calm."

"And now things are more peaceful?"

"Oh, no. We just got drunk."

Edie snorted. "That seems to be every couple's downfall."

"No one's making good decisions after a bottle of Jexta's finest." She pinched her fingers and kissed them. "It's only for special occasions, for us farm-folk, at least. But Larmie's sister sent us a bottle for our twenty-fifth anniversary, and, well, we had ourselves a little son." Hajule leaned back and sighed. "The birthing was so difficult, nearly twenty-six hours of labor, and I'm not as strong as I used to be. Larmie stayed the whole time, not even leaving to potty himself, and decided he would be our only."

"Do you want another?" Edie bit her lip. "Sorry, if that's too personal."

"No, no, no, I'm glad you ask such things. I…I don't know, in truth. Jamie is perfect, although a terrible troublemaker with a flaming mouth. He gets ahead of himself. But I always wanted a little girl. My mother always said I was her best friend as we got older. She passed away in that first decade of marriage, and talked endlessly of what it was like to raise me and my brothers. Since Lana married Karmen, though, I haven't had many friends."

"Is it lonely?"

"On a farm surrounded by two miles of field? Yes. During summer, Larmie and Jamie work the fields, and I work around the house. We see each other for half an hour in the morning, at lunchtime, and a few hours at dinner. It's peaceful, kind work, but ever-so lonely." Hajule wrapped the reins tighter on her hands. "So, I hope it's not too forward or painful to say, but I hope your family takes a long time finding you. Lana described you as a lovely companion, and I know she's even more lonely than I with that dreadful bore Karmen."

"He's not a bore," Edie defended, but she smiled still. "Just a bit…closed off."

"They've come down from the mountain twice in their marriage. No children there, either. We're quite a family. Hopefully you'll be a bit different."

"…likely not."

Many stories later, the farm crested into view. The farmhouse was down a jut in the road, a smaller dirt road that barely fit the oversized wagon. But the horses knew where to go, and Hajule knew how to lead them. Dents in the dirt carried the wheels right to the home.

In the distance, a little fleck flung open the door and began barreling down the path, as fast as his little feet could take him. Edie laughed right away and pressed her hand over her stomach. His long, tan hair flew like a kite's tail and made an S-pattern behind him. He came closer and closer, red-faced and drenched in sweat. He was no taller than a blueberry bush, and twice as sweet. When the boy reached the wagon, he grasped the handle instinctively and swung into the seat next to his mother and wrapped his spindly arms around her waist. "You're back! You're back! Father said you would stay at the market for a few days at least, but you're back after only one!"

"Well, our goods sold quickly. Apparently, there's some kind of shortage. And I didn't have to wait on wicked old Domo, either." Hajule kissed her son's head and pointed at Edie.

The boy gasped and crawled over his mother's lap, kneeling in the space between the two women. He ignored his mother's instruction to sit on his rump and beamed at Edie. "Auntie Lana said you were coming! She said you knew how to chop wood and sew and make nice tea and even put up with Uncle Karmen! She said you were really funny and fought off a bear!"

"Jamie, she said nothing about a bear."

"Oh, Hajule, did I forget to tell you that part?" Edie scrunched her nose at Jamie, and he giggled. "It was just a usual afternoon."

"I keep telling Mother that we should move to the mountains and live with Aunt Lana, but she says my fingers and toes would freeze off in a minute." He took Edie's right hand and studied her fingers. "But you've still got yours, and you're almost as small as I am."

"Jamie!" Hajule chided. "Don't talk like that to our guest."

"But you told Father that she might as well be family, if Aunt Lana sent her instead of Domo." Jamie looked between the two of them, then looked Edie right in the eyes. "Are you going to stay for a while?"

"Unless my family comes and finds me, I don't have anywhere to go."

"Then you should stay forever!" He crawled back over his mother and jumped onto the dirt path. They were at the house now, and he bolted up the steps. "I'll take care of it now, so you don't think about your family again!"

He disappeared through the front door.

Edie felt a laugh bubbling in her stomach, but Hajule looked mortified. "He's so excitable," she murmured. "He's excited, that's all. He's always tried to take to Corini as an older brother, but Corini was never interested in him. Always thought he was in the way."

"Jamie's delightful."

"I'm glad you feel that way, but let me know if he gets on your nerves."

From the front door stepped a man, identifiable as a farmer by his tan skin and dirty cuffs. He swiftly stepped down the stairs and swept his wife in his arms, kissing her deeply. Edie got off the cart and waited patiently, a hand on her elbow.

Hajule put her hand on his mouth and pushed him to elbow's length. "Larmie, we have a guest."

"Eh? Ah!" Larmie turned. "You must be Edie. Lana said you'd be coming." He pointed at his wife. "I thought since you were here sooner, that it meant—that she—never mind." He held out a dusty hand to their houseguest. "Wonderful to meet you, Edie. I'm sure all this must come as a shock to you."

"Jamie could scare a bear all on his own," Hajule stressed.

"Oh, he's a child," Larmie dismissed. "Well, welcome to our farm. It's our little pocket of the world for anyone in need, so you are never a burden. You are welcome to stay as long as you need, even if that's forever."

"Thank you."

The three walked up the steps, running straight into Jamie, who shoved a paper into Edie's hands. "There's a copy maker in the village! We can go there tomorrow to make a bunch of them, then put them all over the area, and you won't have to think about it no more."

"Any more," Hajule corrected. "You listen to those Garrison men in two too much."

Edie studied the drawing. It was done on a rough page with charcoal, a terrible caricature of her. She recognized her short stature in relation to a tree and double braids, but little else. He'd scrawled a misspelling of her name (Eddy) and the farm's relative location in the margins. She folded it and smiled. "Tomorrow, then."