May 1
Roy frowned down at his notebook. He was running out of pages; he'd need to pick up a new one soon.
Speaking of which…
Yes, he had enough. He glanced at the clock. It was still early, he had no lesson today, and the sun was shining cheerily outside. As good a day as any for a walk into town. After carefully tearing the pages from his notebook, Roy tucked them into an envelope.
He plodded down the stairs, determined not to go about as silently as Miss Hawkeye always did. If she was in the kitchen again, he would give her fair warning this time. If he wasn't sneaking up on her, then she could avoid him if she wanted to.
She wasn't in the kitchen, and Roy's heart sank just a little. Perhaps she really was avoiding him.
However, she'd left a covered plate of something sitting out on the table where she usually left his meals. He peeked under the cover. Sticky buns! And they were the kind with a thick layer of caramel syrup and chopped walnuts on top, too. Well, if she'd gone to all this trouble, then he might as well take a moment to enjoy them, he thought with a grin.
As he started the kettle for a cup of tea, Roy noticed that there were no dirty dishes in the sink this morning. And the counter tops and floor were practically sparkling. So, Miss Hawkeye had a proud streak after all, eh? He snickered. What a meticulous little housewife!
Keeping this in mind, he washed his own dishes when he'd finished, and left them on the drying rack before setting off.
The postmistress was a middle-aged woman of the soft, round, and motherly type. By this time, she'd taken an interest in the polite and charming young man who wrote so diligently to his female relatives. His letters were always nice and thick, and his family had already sent him several in return. She did her best to fish for some personal information, but she was no match for the nephew of Chris Mustang. Roy gave her just enough to satisfy her basic curiosity without actually revealing anything she didn't already know, and was careful to do it in such a way that she thought him more polite and charming than ever.
From her, on the other hand, he learned that there were in fact several kids in town near his age, that these boys and girls attended a small country school located near the train station, and that they spent their afternoons (once school was over for the day) either working on their respective family farms or making such mischief as they could around town. Not much chance he'd run into them accidentally, unfortunately. But good to know all the same.
Taking the steps of the post office two at a time, Roy headed next to the dry goods store. It was something of a general store which carried just about anything a person could want, from clothing to hardware to candy to paper. He bought himself a new notebook, and then spent several minutes loitering in the front of the store, coveting a thick navy blue scarf on display in the window. The balmy spring nights weren't cold enough to justify such an extravagant purchase, and it would be summer soon…for all he know, his teacher would grow tired of him before the weather turned cold again in the fall. But it was such a handsome scarf, and reminded him in some vague way of this father. Perhaps he'd worn a similar scarf, when he was alive? Roy couldn't quite remember.
Sighing, he turned away from the window at last, only to slam right into someone passing behind him that he hadn't noticed. He made an impressive dive to catch the package he'd knocked out of the someone's hands as the someone staggered but managed not to topple to the ground. Straightening, Roy found himself looking into the startled face of his teacher's daughter.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Hawkeye," he cried, completely appalled. Both apologetic and anxious, he took hold of her arm as though to assure himself that she was still intact. "I should've looked where I was going; I didn't hurt you, did I?" Miss Hawkeye turned an appealing shade of pink as she shook her head. At the same moment, the hairs on the back of Roy's neck prickled.
Perturbed, he glanced around, only to find every eye down the whole street riveted on the pair of them. Roy didn't particularly mind their stares on his own account—he was already used to the townsfolk eyeballing the new kid in town. But it bothered him that his actions, however unintentionally, embarrassed Miss Hawkeye in front of her friends and neighbors. "I really am sorry," he said softly enough that only she could hear him, and he withdrew his hand from her arm.
Mute, she reached out to take the package he'd caught for her. Though her face was still faintly pink, the expression in her dark eyes was an odd mixture of fear and defiance. Pretending he hadn't noticed her outstretched hand, Roy tucked the bulky package under his own arm instead. He needed to ask her a question that would require something more than a yes or no head shake.
"Are you heading back home already, or is there something else you needed here in town?"
"I'm just on my way to the market," she replied, barely audible.
"Well, then, let me help you carry your things back," he said quickly. "To make up for barreling into you like that. Please?" She hesitated, and Roy held his breath. To refuse him now would border on rudeness, but it would tell him what he needed to know—whether or not she really wished to avoid him. She finally inclined her head.
"Thank you. I'd appreciate the help."
Roy beamed with such sincerity that her lips quirked upwards almost in spite of herself. He could practically hear the collective intake of breath from the various onlookers at her smile. He hoped Miss Hawkeye didn't notice the way people were suddenly whispering all around them. Ah, small town gossip.
She had noticed. But she surprised him with her reaction. Rather than blushing and stammering and acting like the shy young girl she was, she simply straightened her spine, threw her shoulders back, and walked right past the whispering horde with the poise and dignity of a queen. The whispers died down at once. Roy was left to be mildly impressed as he followed meekly in her wake. This girl was really something else, wasn't she?
As they visited the various stalls in search of meat and milk and bread, Roy found that his quiet companion was no more disposed to idle chatter here in town then when they were at home. The townspeople were certainly still keeping a sharp eye (or two) on him. But in spite of the silent scrutiny, he had the impression that they were carefully maintaining some kind of distance.
They waved and smiled as they passed, but no one stopped to engage Miss Hawkeye in conversation. Various shopkeepers spoke familiarly with her, calling her "dear" and "sweetie," and offering her a few extra apples or slices of bacon or what have you, but she was no warmer or friendlier toward them than she'd ever been to Roy. She was polite, of course, and accepted their offerings gracefully and with appropriate expressions of gratitude, but she was the same reserved and gentle girl he had seen up until now. This behavior puzzled him.
It struck him like a lightning bolt when he finally figured it out.
None of these people were actually friends with Miss Hawkeye. Berthold Hawkeye, the famous scholar and alchemist, was accorded a sort of elevated status in his small country hometown; Roy had already noticed as much. His neighbors treated him as though he belonged to a different class than they did. And by association, they treated his daughter differently as well. The little gifts, the extras, might be viewed as neighborly gestures of affection. Or they might be payments towards past or future debts, given in exchange for services that an accomplished alchemist could provide them.
Roy wondered, not for the first time, whether Miss Riza had any real friends at all in this town; whether there was anyone here who actually cared about her and not just about the favors her father could do for them.
With all of these ideas churning in his brain, Roy found that he didn't mind the silence that had fallen between them. Honestly, it wasn't an awkward or uncomfortable silence, but a peaceful one. And for the first time, Miss Hawkeye seemed relaxed in his presence
Roy didn't speak again until they had started walking back, his arms heavy with her purchases.
"By the way, the sweet rolls you left out this morning were amazing. I don't suppose you'd be willing to share the recipe?" Her eyes flicked to his, surprised, and then away.
"Do you bake?"
"Oh, not me. One of my aunt's employees likes to bake. Juliet's always looking for new things to make for her roommates."
"I see. I don't mind sharing. And the recipe is fairly simple," she replied after a second's pause. She had gotten a little tense, again, Roy noticed. But he thought of what his sisters had said in their last letter—he was still a relative stranger to her. And to judge from the way the townspeople behaved around her, she probably didn't interact a whole lot with people her own age, much less with boys. Everyone else held her at arm's length, after all, and even her father's previous students mostly ignored her, by her own admission. Perhaps she simply didn't know how she was supposed to talk to him.
"Thanks! I'll copy it out in my next letter home," was all that he said.
"Were you in town to mail a letter, then?" she asked, tilting her head a little. It was the first personal thing she'd asked him.
"Mm-hm. I write to my aunt almost every day, and I try to send the letters home once a week," he explained.
"To your aunt?" she echoed, curiosity piqued. Not to your mom or dad? –was obviously what she wanted to ask, Roy just knew it.
"Yes. My aunt's raised ever me since my parents died," he said matter-of-factly. Stricken, she turned to face him.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked; it's really none of my business."
And it was back: that odd whisper of fear, that sudden tension shimmering in the air between them. It was as though she were bracing herself for a hot lash of anger. Confused but trying hard to understand how she must be feeling, Roy hastened to reassure her.
"No, it's all right. They died in an accident when I was little, so I don't really remember them well. I'm very lucky, really, to have an aunt like Chris; she's my dad's younger sister and she's been awfully decent to me. Without her support, I'd never have been able to learn alchemy at all, much less leave home to study with a proper master," he explained earnestly.
"I see," she said softly.
Roy could almost feel her retreating, withdrawing back into that hard cold shell of hers. He had to do something, or say something, that would leave even just a crack open.
"Speaking of which, what are you studying, these days?" he asked, thinking of that heavy book she'd been reading in the garden.
She hesitated again, but seemed to decide it couldn't hurt to answer.
"Drachman literature, mostly. My father wants me to learn to read and write in Drachman, eventually, but only after I've gotten a firm grasp on Cretan, which I've just started. I'm supposed to start studying sixteenth century history once I finish with the Great Cretan Wars."
"Wow, all of that? That's advanced stuff!" A calculating look from beneath her lashes.
"Do you really think so?" she ventured to ask.
"Yeah!" Roy answered enthusiastically. "Learning a different language, especially one so complex as Cretan? I know university students older than the both of us put together that never bothered with it. And Drachman literature is pretty heavy…all that philosophy and psychology! At least, I know I struggled with the little bit of it I've had to read. So, yeah. I think it's pretty amazing that you're learning all of that."
"Well, I can't do alchemy, so I have to make up for it somehow," Miss Hawkeye replied. Before Roy had quite processed that surprising statement, she tilted her head slightly so that she could look up at him again. "So have…have you read anything Drachman, then?" she asked, shyly.
"Only Leonovski. The Brothers."
"That's the book I'm reading right now," she said, surprised.
"Oh yeah? So what do you think of it? I mean, I liked the story and most of the characters, but I remember having a hard time keeping all the names straight. Which part are you on?"
"I've just finished the chapter where Alex has the argument with his second brother, the one who thinks he might be going mad but is afraid to admit it?"
"Oh, right! I remember that part. The tension between them as the fight plays out was so intense…but you can still see how much Alex loves his brother John, and how concerned he is for his well-being, even in the heat of the argument. Isn't that where Alex's old girlfriend shows up and ruins everything?"
"Yvette? Yes! I can't stand her."
"I didn't like her either! She's such a hypocrite, breaking up with Alex once the rich old man dies, don't you think?"
The discussion on literature lasted all the rest of the walk. It wasn't until Roy unloaded the last of the packages onto the kitchen table that Riza seemed to notice: she'd talked more to him in the past half hour than she'd done in the past three weeks put together. A little awkwardly, she thanked Roy for helping her with the shopping.
"Least I could do, after nearly knocking you down," and he smiled at her. He was still just thrilled that she hadn't run away as though afraid to catch his stupidity or something. She seemed uncertain of what to do next.
"Um, are you hungry? I could start lunch now, if you'd like…" It was still early, and Roy knew that his teacher probably wasn't even awake yet.
"Nah, don't trouble on my account. How about some tea, though?" Roy said, while moving towards the kettle himself. She blinked, and then reached for the teacups. While they waited for the water to boil, she even let him help put away the groceries, though she tried at first to protest.
"You really don't have to—yes, the top shelf there. And the sugar goes just beneath it," she said, as the kettle began to squeal.
"I don't mind," he said, standing on tiptoes to reach the spot she'd indicated. "We aren't meeting for a lesson today, so I'm not in any rush. Ah, thanks," he accepted the cup of tea she'd poured for him. "I was just going to spend the rest of the morning reading, actually, so don't let me get in your way if you have studying or anything to do."
He plunked himself down in the chair opposite hers and fished a cheap dime store novel out of his coat pocket. It was one Claire had recommended in the last letter from the girls: a rather improbable thriller about a woman who was shut up in an insane asylum under a case of mistaken identity. He had just reached the part where the woman's half-sister was breaking into the asylum to save her, and he was curious to see how it would all end up.
Roy could still feel Miss Hawkeye's eyes on him, but he kept his gaze firmly on the page. If she wanted him to leave, she would have to say so. If she wanted to leave herself, then he wouldn't stop her. She needed to let him know where he stood, here. It was exhausting to be so uncertain all the time.
Miss Riza hesitated only a moment before drifting across the room, where she plucked her own book from the shelf. Slowly, she settled herself at the table across from him. The two teenagers read in companionable silence for the remainder of the morning.
"I think I've finally convinced Miss Hawkeye I'm not a complete monster…" Roy wrote late into the night, happier than he'd been since he'd stepped off the train onto the platform of this little town.
A.N. Progress at last! Next time, we'll hear what Roy's sisters think of all this.
Side note-can anyone guess which novel Roy is reading? I've summarized it poorly, as the whole asylum bit is only one small part of an intricate, melodramatic mystery plot, but I'm still curious to know whether anyone recognized it.
xoxo Janie