Chapter 3
The night had been long, and Shmi'a had barely slept a wink once she had returned to her room. She had tried her best to ensure that Kala was comfortable, warm and well hydrated, but the thought of her sleeping with one arm chained to the wall was devastating. It had made Shmi'a feel guilty. So guilty, in fact, that she had slept on the floor with only one blanket and no pillow. A silent protest. A fellow sufferer.
Once the sun rose, Shmi'a pulled her achy body off the hard desert floor and began her morning routine. Make the bed. Sweep her room. Collect the dirty clothes and linens in a basket, then leave the basket in the hall for her father to put out his own once he awoke. Despite having no job and not being the breadwinner, Shmi'a had gotten up before her father and prepared his breakfast since she was 5 years old. Her father was not a conventional man by any standards, and that went for his food.
Same thing, every meal.
Everyday, vegetable stew. It didn't really matter so much what the vegetables were, he settled for whatever was seasonal, and mostly anything that would grow either out in the sandy, hot countryside, or what Shmi'a could coax to grow in her cellar garden. Besides, everything tasted the same in the end anyway - undernourished, sandy and bland.
Shmi'a glared across the table at her father, silently. He just sat there, shoveling forkfuls of vegetables into his mouth, staring down at his plate. Shmi'a couldn't take the silence anymore.
"I saw that you put something up in the cellar, Father," she said, conversationally, as if an innocent child had happened upon something she didn't understand.
"I didn't want to tell you until I was sure," Tan spat, between forkfuls, "but I've secured us a working girl. The time will come soon where you'll find someone and I'll-"
"Father-"
"Now let me finish, Shmi'a. I'm a working man. Your mother looked after me until we lost her, and then the Skywalkers helped raise you until you were big enough to look after yourself... or well enough. If I hadn't had Shmi Skywalker around, I don't know what I would have done. You wouldn't have lasted a day, the state I was in over losing Havi." He pushed another hearty scoop of vegetable muck into his mouth. "She was a good woman, your mother. I wish you could have known her."
Shmi'a looked down at her plate. Yes, early life had been hard for her. Life in general hadn't been the adventure she read about in books. But she was lucky that the closest neighbouring family -Shmi Skywalker and her son Anakin - had had a fond spot for Tan after he had helped them escape a life of slavery. He had pitied Shmi, being alone with a young boy, and never having a son of his own, reached out to the family and included them in his own. His wife became close with Shmi over time, and when Havi passed away giving birth, Shmi thought it only right that she return the favour and help with the new baby girl. After all, Tan was incapable.
For days, weeks, months, it was impossible for Tan Vaarkpart to look at his daughter without bursting into tears, reminded of what he had lost.
"Tan," Shmi cooed softly one day, while nursing the infant Shmi'a with a bottle. "What if we named the baby after Havi? It would be a nice tribute."
"I can barely look at the child as it is, Shmi. I can't see any of my friends, everything just reminds me of her. You're the only one I can stand anymore!"
And so, Shmi'a was named after her guardian. Her tutor, for those first years. A mother figure, who rocked her to sleep, and mended her scraped knees. Everyday she would cook breakfast for Tan and then leave with the children for the day, and Anakin and Shmi'a would play in the sand, weaving tracks for his wooden cars while Shmi did the daily chores before returning back to feed Tan and put Shmi'a to bed. Shmi'a grew up thinking she was a Skywalker, until abruptly one day, Shmi did not show up to pick her up. She and Anakin had been taken back into slavery and yet again, Shmi'a was left to fend for herself. Over the years, she eventually learned that Shmi had been re-sold to a man who freed and married her, and that Anakin had been taken in by the Jedi. Shmi'a always felt a little jealous of the fairytale ending that the boy she considered her "brother" had ended up with. One in a million. But she was proud, and thankful that at least someone could get out of this godforsaken desert alive.
"So this girl is going to look after the house, do labouring and chores?" Shmi'a asked, finally looking up at her father. "So then... why didn't you choose a boy? Why did you buy a twi'lek slave?"
"I'm a simple man, Shmi'a. I'm not a dark, brooding schemer. And I'm not certainly not a pervert, if that's what you're implying. This girl is to work. And if she happens to be someone for you to talk to, then I didn't see that as such a bad bonus. I know I'm not the best company to keep, a crotchety old man like myself. You need someone... you need a friend. Another woman to talk to, for goodness' sake! I had hoped Shmi Skywalker would have been that over the years, but..."
"Yes, I know, Father."
"This twi'lek had been problematic for her last owner, so he gave me a bit of a bargain. Wasn't so much of a "sit down and shut up" kind of a slave as he'd have liked. She has her opinions about things, and she lets them be known. She's a hard worker, but she's also a pain in the backside. That's why I got the shackles, y'know, just to make sure we didn't lose her. Despite the bargain, she weren't cheap," he added, scarfing his last mouthful. "But I'd rather some personality and spark then one of those droids. Can't stand the things. They give me the creeps."
Shmi'a stood and cleared the plates while her father brushed food scraps off his vest.
"Bottom line is, I'm a decent man. She's safer here with me than in some two-bit bar belly-dancing for her living, with vultures drooling all over her. I can give her some semblance of dignity here."
"Dignity?"
"Don't give me lip, girl. A man has a right to some help about the place, especially a widower. Do you think I should just be left here to rot on my own?"
For the first time in her entire life, Shmi'a stopped what she was doing and walked to her room, slamming the door behind her.
