Chapter 16: Summer Letters

In the second week of June, Riza had a letter from Gareth Hughes. When she saw the salutation, a contrite pang of disappointment bit into her heart. She had hoped that Ben might dictate a letter to his literate brother, but instead Gareth wrote in his own words. They read:

Dear Miss Hawkeye:

How lovely to hear from you! It is so Good to know that you're Well
and content in Central! What a surprise to learn that you are up
There. Maes never writes these days, so we haven't had much News lately.

To be honest, I was glad to hear you had left Hamner. You
see, we won't be able to head North this Year, and Ben was heartbroken,
thinking he would Disappoint you. When I showed him your Letter he
was very proud: you're quite the Young Lady now, with a nice job and
your own place. You're growing up so quickly! I remember when you
were six years old, playing Cat's Cradle by our Campfire.

Ben wants me to tell you that he's just Fine; that he's happy
and healthy, and he hopes you are too. I don't think that's Fair. You
deserve to Know that he hasn't been very well. He caught a Chest Cold
before New Year's and it settled in his lungs. He hasn't Really shaken
it yet. I'm sure he will, though. Surely he Must.

I'm not certain if the question of his Drinking has come to mind, but I
wanted to tell you there's no Bad news there. He hasn't gone off on a
Jag in over a year now, and he's down to four Ounces a day when he
doesn't have the dreams. Dad figures I shouldn't Worry you with that,
but I think you're old enough for the Truth. And I know you love Ben dearly.

I wish I could bring him to Central to visit you. It would do him a World
of good, and we could see Maes, too. It won't be Possible this year, but I
hope you'll write again. We're staying in South City this
summer, so we'll get your letters Straight away.

Take care of yourself. I mean, I know that you can, but
sometimes it's Nice to be reminded how Important that is.

Your servant, ma'am,
Gareth W. Hughes

Riza liked Gareth. Ben was her bosom friend, a kindred soul who in his own dark and silent pain understood hers, but Gareth was a good man. He had been the "mother" of the family since the death of Mrs. Hughes, and Riza found his affable practicality comforting. It was he who had explained to her the lunar mysteries of womanhood, when death had left her bereft of her mother and the loving village doctor, and it was Gareth who nursed and watched over Benjamin.

Gareth's words about her companion's ill health frightened Riza. Ever since she had reached an age at which she could understand Ben's affliction, she had been haunted by an irrational fear of his death.

They had first met a year after her mother's death, when six-year-old Riza had been all but alone in the world. Her father had no use for her. Eleven-year-old Roy was busy with his alchemy studies and with his own friend to have much time to spend with a little girl. One day Riza, anxious to be free of the gloomy house and the morose old man in his study, had followed him down to the tinkers' camp in the woods. She had known that she wasn't wanted by the boys, but she had so desperately needed a break from the close atmosphere at home. And there, in the clearing above the creek bluffs, she had met Ben. He hadn't made any demands, but accepted her quiet nature with the ease that came from true understanding of it. He had taught her cat's cradle, and the tricks of the forest, and how to wield a sling and throw a push knife. As she grew older, he had listened to her read, they had talked of history (which Riza knew well) and of travel (which was in Ben's realm of experience). They understood each other. They comforted each other. They cared about each other.

But Ben was old – forty-six years old, in fact. He was sad and tired and he had been ill for so long that Riza wasn't sure that he had ever been well. Already there was a trail of dead loved ones through Riza's short life: her older brother Davell, whom she scarcely remembered; her mother; Doctor Bella Greyson; Mordred Hawkeye... was Ben next?

The matter was still weighing heavily on her mind when Mr. Mustang came to visit her on Thursday evening.

"Maes is livid," he said, chatting in his easy way as he sat on cross-legged on the rickety chair in her room. "He wanted Criminal Investigations for his placement, and instead they stuck him in Education Admin. I don't think I'm ever going to hear the end of it!"

Riza had no idea what he was talking about. "Placement?" she asked quietly, adjusting her seat on the bed. Sometimes it was nice just to listen to the sound of Mr. Mustang's voice, but tonight she was worrying about Ben and she was annoyed by the fact that she couldn't understand what the young soldier was saying.

"His practical placement. See, cadets spend part of the summer stationed somewhere off of campus. In second year, it's usually with the MPs or an enlisted battalion near the city. Third year's an administrative rotation in government."

"What about fourth year?" Riza asked, her interest suddenly sparked.

"Battlefield, normally," Mr. Mustang said. "Not the front lines, of course, but certainly out in the field."

Riza wasn't sure she liked the sound of that. "The battlefield is a dangerous place," she said.

Mr. Mustang chuckled darkly. "The world's a dangerous place," he countered. "I'll be all right. Besides, it's three years away."

Riza rolled her eyes at him. "I'm not worried about you!" she said teasingly, hoping that he would not realize that that was a lie.

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On the last day of June, Mrs. Oakley's daughter came home from finishing school. In the days leading up to her arrival, her mother was busy preparing her bedroom and planning her favourite meals. She tried to conceal her effervescent excitement, but Orson was under no such restriction. He walked around with a perpetual grin on his face, and he spoke enthusiastically about Sis and her many virtues. Riza thought it was very sweet to watch his gleeful anticipation. It was obvious that he loved his older sister very much.

He left early to pick her up at the train station. Mrs. Oakley was arranging an assortment of carnations, and Riza was working in the office. She had managed to instil a certain degree of order on the little room: files were properly arranged, by date and type; the desk was clear, the ledgers catalogued. Riza could not help but wonder whether she would still be needed once the work was complete – whether it was in her best interest to finish or not. Regardless, she decided that she had to finish. She was too determined to leave a job half done, even if it meant doing herself out of employment.

"Riza! Come outside with me!" Mrs. Oakley exclaimed from the front of the shop. Riza hurried to obey. The blue truck was parked on the curb, and Orson was hurrying around it to open the door for a young lady.

She was nineteen years old – the same age as the Armstrong son with whom she had nursed. She was much taller than her mother, slender and pretty, dressed in a plain but stylish dress. Her hair, which was a pale auburn, hung down past her shoulder blades. She kissed Orson's cheek, and then turned to Mrs. Oakley.

"Mama!" she said happily. The two women embraced, Mrs. Oakley asking anxiously after her daughter's welfare and the journey from North City. At length, the young lady turned. "And who is this?" she asked, smiling broadly.

"This is Riza," Mrs. Oakley said. "She's a wizard with the books! You won't be cleaning up my mess this summer!"

"I'm glad to meet you, Riza!" The young woman said, holding out a soft hand for Riza to take.

"Likewise, Miss Oakley," Riza said politely.

The girl smiled amicably. "Oh, please, that's so formal!" she said. "Call me Gracia!"

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Miss Oakley was a lovely girl. She was intelligent and well-mannered, with the meticulous and yet carefree style of a boarding-school patron. Her clothes were all charming, with a simple elegance that spoke of good taste. On her second day home, she came downstairs while Riza was giving Katrina her lessons. They were reading a primer together, while baby Mikey sat on the floor of the little office, playing with a wooden spoon. Miss Oakley sat down next to him and drew him into his lap.

"Hello, buddy," she cooed softly, then smiled up at the desk. "Is he yours, Riza?"

"Oh, no! No!" Riza said, flushing furiously. "No, I'm only thirteen..."

"He's mine," Katrina said happily, swinging her legs so that her bare toes grazed the floor. "He's my little boy."

"And a fine little boy he is, too," said Miss Oakley, bouncing the child a little so that he giggled. Then she hugged him, sniffing his hair fondly. "I love babies."

"He's a very good baby," Riza put in quietly. She loved Mikey, too. She almost did wish that he were hers, even though she was too young, and not married. She wanted a baby...

"I'd like a dozen," Miss Oakley said, as if she could read Riza's thoughts. Mikey bounced in her lap and tried to climb her with his wee little feet and his chubby legs. "The old woman sits at the tub, tub-tub. The dirty clothes to scrub, scrub-scrub. But when they are cle-ee-ean, and fit to be se-ee-een, she'll dress like a lady and dance on the green!"

Miss Oakley had a big sister's endless repertoire of nursery rhymes, and Riza, who scarcely remembered the few that she had learned in the distant days before her mother's illness, delighted in listening to them. She decided that she rather liked the older girl.

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The summer waxed. Mr. Mustang was busy at the Academy, where the first-years who would soon be second-years were receiving intensive training now that the university courses were finished. Riza had less work to do at the flower shop, because even though business was booming she had finished with the organization of the old files. So she found herself spending more time in the flower shop with Miss Oakley and her daughter.

"I have another year left," Miss Oakley said on one balmy afternoon in July. She was trimming fern leaves for a bride's bouquet. "Then I'll have a diploma and my history degree. What about you, Riza? Mama tells me you've got a head for numbers."

Riza nodded modestly. "I'm not bad," she admitted. "I have my school diploma."

"Have you thought about university?" asked Gracia. "I know it's expensive, but—"

"I've thought about it," Riza said. It was something that she had never admitted to anyone but Mr. Mustang. It felt oddly liberating to confide in another girl. "I'm going to join the military."

"You are?" Gracia said, in some amazement. "Just like Captain Armstrong."

Riza smiled. The other girl understood!

"Miss Livvy and my sister were the same age," said Miss Oakley. "We all used to play together: Miss Livvy and Master Alex and Henrietta and me. Miss Livvy was never afraid of anything, and she was very determined. I think she'd be a very good soldier."

"I'm determined, too," Riza said stoutly. "And stubborn."

She half expected the well-bred young lady to be offended. Instead, Gracia smiled. "Then I'm sure you'll make a good soldier, too."

It was strange, but somehow this polite expression of confidence bolstered Riza's spirits and helped to stiffen her resolve. Her goal, which had been slowly crystallizing over the past few months, now seemed just a little more tangible.

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It was Gracia who decided that Riza needed new clothes. The two skirts and four blouses that Riza had brought from Hamner were shabby and hopelessly too small. The hems rode up to her knees, and the buttons strained to hold the garments closed. Riza protested that she couldn't afford to buy new things, but Gracia was insistent.

"They don't need to be expensive," she said, herding Riza out of the flower shop and up the street. "They just need to fit you properly, and you'll look beautiful."

So Riza reluctantly took the seven hundred sens from her clothespress – the money that Mr. Mustang had been given by Brigadier General Grumman. She had hoped to save it to give to Mr. Mustang to help pay for his State Alchemist examination, but she could no longer ignore the fact that her clothes were scarcely functional.

Miss Oakley brought her to a little second-hand boutique. The girl behind the counter was a childhood friend, and the two of them had great fun fussing over Riza and dressing her up like a doll. Riza knew that their talk was frivolous and silly... but it was nice to be fussed over and treated like one of the girls. Femininity had not featured largely in her life, and this world of ruffled cuffs and delicate collars was foreign to her.

In the end, she was suited up with three full changes of clothes, as well as a couple of spare blouses. It all came to less than six hundred sens, and the clothes were three sizes too large. Gracia's friend took growth tucks in the seams to fit them to Riza's slender body: the tucks could be let out as she grew, to ensure that the clothes would fit for a few years. That was all that Riza needed. In a little over a year, she would enrol in the Academy, and then she wouldn't need civilian clothes.

The summer waned. Gracia Oakley went back to school, fading out of Riza's life like a summer breeze. Katrina Harris was starting to learn subtraction. Mr. Mustang visited twice a week, less pale and far better rested than Riza had seen him in a long time. And another letter came in Gareth Hughes' hand. This time, however, the words were Ben's:

Dear Riza,

Gareth's writing to you for me. I hope you like it in Central.

We're living in South City right now. I don't much like it: it's too
busy, and there are so many people. Still, I'm glad it's not
East City. We were in East City last fall, and things are tense there.
Worries about Ishbal, I think. Everybody's on edge.

Riza, I don't want you to worry about me. I know Gareth told
you I've been sick, but it's nothing. Just a stupid cold. Please
don't worry, Riza.

I hope you still have time to read your books. I wish you didn't have
to work – but maybe that's not right. I mean, it's important to work
and to contribute. Sometimes I wonder if I'd taken a
trade like the boys, if maybe I'd be happier.

I hope I'll see you soon, Riza. Maybe in the spring we can
come out to see you, and Maes. I don't know. I hope so.

Ben