Sixth Entry, April 27
When Roy saw her next, Miss Hawkeye was half reclined on a wrought iron garden seat, surrounded by fragrant curling stands of honeysuckle.
"Oh—good morning, Miss Hawkeye," he said cheerfully as he approached. She looked up at him with something like horror, and he quickly dropped the hand that he had raised in friendly greeting. "I'm sorry, am I intruding?" he asked, unnerved by the expression on her face.
"Not at all," she murmured. But she had already risen to her feet and clutched her heavy book defensively against her chest. Honestly, she looked as though she wanted to run away.
"I, er, didn't realize you were home during the day," he tried again, smiling at her.
"Why wouldn't I be? I do live here," she rejoined, her voice sweet and gentle in spite of the rather cold words. She hadn't moved in the slightest, but he could see that she was coiled as tight as a spring and still poised to flee.
"Well, yes, I know that. I just—I assumed you were in school during the day, that's all," he answered. "I never see you around during school hours." Or at all.
She studied him silently for a moment before she spoke again.
"I'm home-schooled. My father teaches me whenever he's not working on his own research or busy with a student."
Just when the hell would that be? Roy thought, but he knew better than to say it aloud. He suddenly had the impression that she was waiting for him to make a disparaging remark and had steeled herself to hear whatever it was. How strange…
"Huh, I had no idea," he said lightly. "But you never seem to study in the library. Is this where you read instead?" He glanced around approvingly.
The arbor was a lovely, secluded little spot. The cushions on the garden seat looked soft and comfortable, and the heavy vines of climbing honeysuckle provided ample shade from the warm spring sun. Tucked between the kitchen gardens and the neglected orchard at the back of the house, he might never have realized this place existed if he hadn't set out to explore the gardens more thoroughly today.
"No, not always," she said evasively, shifting her stance slightly. "But you're right; I really only go into father's library to clean."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"Why do you ask, Mr. Mustang?" Her eyes had narrowed, suspiciously. Roy's heart sank. She really didn't like him at all, did she? He rubbed at the back of his neck, self-consciously, and thought about the advice his sisters had given him. Be yourself. Be honest. Keep being friendly and polite.
"Well…it does get a bit lonely studying all by myself. And I thought—I mean, it'd be nice to have company," he said. Why was she staring at him like he had said something weird? "I'm just trying to get to know you, Miss Hawkeye," he said, a little awkwardly.
"You want to get to know me?" she repeated, in a tone of genuine curiosity. "Why?"
Roy was rendered nearly speechless. How was he supposed to answer that? Because I'm lonesome and homesick and I don't have any other friends here?
"Well, I'm staying in your home, after all, and, you know, accepting your hospitality," he stumbled over his words, unprepared. "I thought—I mean, I wanted to…shouldn't I try to get to know the family I'm living with?" he finished rather desperately. He was aware he'd sounded a bit stupid, but her question had caught him off guard. How was one supposed to explain the desire to be friends, anyway?
"Regardless of the living arrangements, my father's students don't normally bother getting to know me," she replied. "I'm certainly no one of consequence; befriending a little girl wouldn't much benefit a serious scholar."
Roy was distracted from his own poor choice of words by her matter-of-fact tone…did Miss Hawkeye really think that? That she wasn't worth befriending because she wasn't an important enough person? Or was she testing him somehow?
"What do you—I don't understand," he began to say. What had those other students said to her? Miss Hawkeye seemed to think she'd said too much, and her face flushed pink.
"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Mustang, I have some work I really must attend to," she said, and turned to go.
"Wait!" Roy cried. She paused. "Don't leave on my account," he said hurriedly. "I was just going anyway, if you wanted to stay."
At that, she looked back over her shoulder at him, still holding her book to her chest like a shield. Roy took a breath and forged ahead. Honesty. All right.
"Look, I didn't know that you were here reading; I really didn't mean to disturb you or chase you away or anything like that. I just smelled the honeysuckle from the back door and came looking for it, cuz it reminds me of…well, never mind that. Point is, I don't want to be a bother, or not more of one than I already have been. So don't feel like you have to go just because I've blundered in to your secret spot."
Her lips parted in surprise, but Miss Hawkeye didn't reply.
"Let me put it another way, then," he murmured, running a hand through his hair. "I'm going to look around the woods for a bit, now. See you later, maybe?" And he gave her a jaunty little half-wave before marching resolutely towards the cool shady trees that bordered the Hawkeye estate.
Geez, what kind of people did her father normally teach,if his daughter thought she had to kowtow to them and give up her place when they came, or stay out of sight unless called for?
"Poor kid; she's probably always being bossed around by a bunch of conceited, self-important jerks," he grumbled to himself. "I bet she thinks all alchemists are just the same. No wonder she wants nothing to do with me. How could she know that I'm any different?"
When he chanced a glance back over his shoulder, Miss Hawkeye was already gone. But it wasn't the last time he'd see her that day.
"I explored more of the garden this morning after breakfast, and I stumbled upon the part that Miss Hawkeye looks after.
Most of the property has sort of a forlorn, abandoned feel to it, as I've said before. I already mentioned the old barn, right? There are some fields around it, naturally, but they aren't being used now. I would think Hawkeye-sensei could sell them or rent them out if he needs the money, but maybe he prefers keeping other people at a distance.
Between the house and the barn there's a little grove of fruit trees, all overgrown and in sore need of pruning, as well as the kitchen gardens.
And tucked between the orchard and the garden is a little spot that I think must have been a favorite of Mrs. Hawkeye's when she was alive. (It reminded me of that one scene in The Secret Garden, Claire, with the walled garden full of flowers and things. You know which part I mean.) Anyway, right behind the neatly tended beds of vegetables and herbs that Miss Hawkeye uses, I found a little arbor of honeysuckle tangled around a garden seat. And who do you suppose I found there, reading and basking in the sun?
I remembered what you girls said, and tried to just be my normal self. We talked a little bit about her education, and it turns out she is mostly self-taught, although she calls it being home-schooled. We didn't talk long, since she had work to do, so I didn't get a chance to ask her what subjects she's studying.
But coincidentally, this afternoon's lesson with Hawkeye-sensei went a bit later than usual. Just as we were finishing up, Miss Hawkeye came into the library. She apologized for disturbing us, and would have backed out again if her father hadn't gestured for her to stay. He told me I could go, but I was really curious about what he wanted her for, since he pays so little attention to her otherwise. And so I stopped just outside the door and listened. Discretely, of course.
Apparently sensei called her in to examine her on what she's been learning lately. He asked all kinds of difficult questions, about history and literature and math, and as far as I know she answered all of them right. She knows all kinds of things I've never even heard of; I couldn't have answered half of the questions he asked her! He didn't praise her at all for being such a good student, but when she left his study, she looked really happy… I suppose she could tell how pleased he was with her work. She's cute when she smiles like that; I wish she'd smile more often.
A.N. Poor lonely, misunderstood Roy. Maybe he'll have better luck next week? Maybe...