Seasons of Wither, Chapter 15
"We need to hurry back before the shops close," I urge Gale as I pull him along through the meadow that surrounds the lake. "It's probably around two in the afternoon and most of them close at six, so if we don't break on the way back and get straight to the Hob to trade, we'll-"
"Alright, alright, settle down, Catnip," Gale interrupts me as he pulls up his belt of fat pheasants. "We've got plenty of time. Greasy Sae isn't exactly someone who can be haggled with anyways. We'll be in and out before you know it."
"I know," I reply, already out of breath even though we've only been walking for about 20 minutes. "I just want this evening to be special for her."
"It will be," Gale promises, throwing the game bag back over his shoulder.
"Do you think that it's safe to leave our things at the lake? I don't want anyone to come across them and know that we've been there," I begin.
"Catnip," he quickly interjects. "I doubt anyone but us and your father have even been to that lake over the past century. It'll save us the hassle of having to carry all of it there and back every Sunday."
"I know," I mumble. "I'm just trying to be cautious."
Gale throws his arm over my shoulder as we enter the woods, heading back towards the district. The shrill sound of cicadas fill the air, and the late summer temperature has already begun to drop significantly. While the leaves haven't quite started to turn yet, some of the thick vegetation that we wade through has begun to dry and wither.
Summer passed quickly for the two of us. I had tried to keep myself busy after Gale began work in the mines, gathering whatever I could in the forest those long days he was away at work, much to his dismay. But I think Gale has finally begun to understand that, like my mother, he has little authority over what I do. I know that I'm getting slower as I grow larger, beginning to waddle even, but I'd tried to make myself useful in whatever way I could. I wouldn't venture too far from the opening in the fence, just in case, but there were a few times that I had spent too much time out here and Prim had come calling my name when I hadn't made it home at a reasonable hour.
Although the animal life surrounding the very perimeter of the district is still depleted, Gale and I make a point to walk to the lake every Sunday—the only day Gale does not work down in the mines and the only day of the week I now look forward to. After spending 12 hours a day, six days a week down in the dark depths of the earth, our trips there seem to rejuvenate Gale as well as myself. We hunt. We gather. We fish and swim in the lake. And our relationship blossoms as we become more intimate with one another. Our mothers are knowing, giving us peculiar glances when we return home on Sunday evening with inexplicable sun burns in places usually concealed by clothing. Though neither say anything, because they both know that there's no conceivable way to keep us from doing what we want to.
School started back last week. I wish I could say that I really missed being in class, but that would be an enormous lie. Every day I deal with the judgmental looks, the hushed whispers, the snickering behind my back. There was an especially uncomfortable moment on the first day of school when Delly Cartwright put her hands on my belly and went on excitedly about how huge I was getting while a group of town kids watched me, snorting with laughter. It took everything I had not to push her hands off of me and run away, and maybe I would have if Delly weren't so darn nice and harmless. It really is hard to get mad at a girl like Delly, who doesn't seem to understand the rift that divides the merchant class from those of us who live in the Seam.
Gale and I make it to the Hob two and a half hours later, Sae looking at me over the reading glasses she wears on the end of her nose. "Sweetheart, I think it's time for some maternity clothing," she tsks, eying the old miner's shirt I'm currently adorning.
A few weeks ago I gave up on wearing my normal clothes, pulling out some of my father's old, oversized button-up shirts which I've taken to wearing. Never in school, however, where I am always forced to wear one of my mother's outdated maternity dresses. But at six months pregnant, I'm getting to be so large that I really do look ridiculous no matter what I wear.
I come out of the Hob with five coins after splitting my earnings with Gale. I'm practically bouncing on my feet with excitement. If I were actually capable of bouncing right now, that is. Gale smiles as he watches me. "Mind if I walk you to town?" he asks me. "I have business there anyhow."
I raise an eyebrow. "Business in town?"
"Cobbler's mending my work boots," he informs me. "Plus, I wanna see what sort of birthday cake you pick out for Prim."
I don't miss the faultfinding gawks and comments that surround us as we walk through the square. I don't know what unwed teenage pregnancy is like in the other districts, but I found out very quickly that it's very much frowned upon here. It's rare that a girl my age living in the Seam actually manages to carry a child to term, let alone get pregnant in the first place, and the merchant class is quick to look down on me as something soiled and broken.
Gale's grip on my hand squeezes a bit more tightly as the owner of the sweet shop whispers something under his breath towards his wife as we walk past.
Gale and I separate when I find myself in front of the bakery, eying the vast array of gorgeously decorated autumn-themed cakes on display in the front window. I let myself through the front door, the bell dinging overhead, and suddenly I feel incredibly out of place as I always do when I'm standing inside the bakery and not at the back door. I do purchase things with actual money inside the store every once in awhile, usually on Prim's birthday when I come in to buy one of the flower-shaped sugar cookies Mr. Mellark is known for. His wife always grunts and glowers when I purchase a lone sugar cookie with whatever money I'm able to scrounge up, but Mr. Mellark always has a smile to offer me.
This year I have a feeling that my current good fortune won't be everlasting and decide to make Prim's 13th birthday a special one. I'm not sure what the future will bring, or exactly when I'll have the opportunity again to splurge some of my hard-earned money on my little sister.
I let out a small sigh of relief when I realize Mrs. Mellark isn't running the cash, and I notice a mop of blonde hair bent over in concentration as the figure pipes a steady stream of light blue frosting around the edge of a cake. I watch curiously at Peeta intricately decorates the cake which sits on a stand in front of him, finally looking up with a start when he realizes that I'm standing before him.
"Sorry," he apologizes, setting the icing bag down and wiping his fingers on his apron. "I thought you were my brother." There's an uncomfortable pause where we both look at one another and neither of us speaks. "Um, can I help you?" he finally asks me.
"I need a cake," I tell him as my eyes fall over the elaborate tier of cakes on which he's working. I contemplate who would need such a massive cake when I realize that it's actually a wedding cake, one obviously meant for someone with money. Probably a Capitol employee. Hardly anyone who marries in the Seam can afford a wedding cake.
"Alright," he begins, watching me stare at the assortment of pre-made ones that sit in the case in front of me. They're all gorgeous, but probably too big and too expensive for a girl with only five coins to spare.
"How much for a small one?" I ask him, pointing to a plain white one that probably only measures about six inches in diameter but could easily serve my entire family. None of us eat enough sweets to stomach more than a few forkfuls of cake at once.
"Five."
My eyes glint up to his. "Is that the actual price?" I ask him. I don't want Peeta Mellark doing me any more favors when I already feel like I'm eternally indebted to him. With a bit of a blush, he nods.
I pick the cake up from the case and eye it scrupulously. I had wanted something that was very Prim, but this cake was nothing more than plain. I bite my lip as I ponder my purchase, because anything more elaborate would surely cost more money, which I don't have.
"Did you want me to personalize it?" Peeta asks me from behind the counter. "I can do leaves, or hearts, or flowers-"
"Flowers," I quickly say. "Do you think you could make them look like primroses?" I ask him.
With a nod he accepts the cake in my hand, removes it from its box, and gets right to work.
"What color?" Peeta asks me.
"Light bluish-purple. Periwinkle? I know it's not a usual color for a primrose, but-"
"I can do it," he assures me, and I watch as he takes a small bowl of uncolored frosting and adds in drops of blue and red coloring, stirring until he gets the perfect shade of periwinkle before scooping the mixture into a canvas bag. He then pipes it onto the top of what looks like an oversized nail with experienced movements of his hand. With a few swoops of frosting, he has a primrose. He does the same multiple times, cutting the delicate frosting flowers off with a pair of scissors and making a cluster of primroses in the corner of the cake before using a bag of green frosting to add leaves. The ending result is a beautiful and perfectly Prim-like birthday cake.
"Could you write 'Happy Birthday' on it, too?" I ask hopefully.
He's working at scripting the words out in perfect cursive when my body begins to tighten oddly. At first I think that it's just the baby moving until the muscles in my stomach harden and I feel intense pressure in my groin area. My hand goes to brace the counter and my body tenses as I try to figure out what's going on. The look that crossed my face must have been one of fear, because the next thing I know Peeta is holding my finished cake out to me and staring at me with a bit of worry in his eyes.
"Katniss, are you okay?"
The feeling passes quickly, but my eyes widen in fright. "I-I don't know... I just... Something feels wrong." For a second I don't know what to do because I'm afraid that I might be going into labor three months early. Peeta is just about to round the counter to me when the dinging of the bell on the bakery door causes my head to snap up, and Gale is standing there at my side.
"I think something's wrong," I quickly tell him, still holding my stomach as Gale braces my arm with worry. "I think I might have just had a contraction."
"Did it hurt?"
"No..." I answer. "It felt weird. Like my stomach suddenly got really hard."
I don't understand the look of relief that crosses Gale's face as his grip on my arm eases. "It was probably just a practice contraction, Catnip. My mother used to get 'em all the time with Posy. Relax. They're normal, okay?"
"Are you sure?"
He lets out a slight chuckle at my question. "I thought you'd been reading books of these things. Yes, I'm certain. As long as they're small and your water isn't breaking or anything."
I smile, a bit embarrassed, but Gale is already too busy looking at Prim's cake. "Is this the one you chose? It's perfect. I think she'll love it."
"Peeta made it exactly how I envisioned it," I tell Gale, causing him to look up over the counter at the boy who'd been quietly listening to our exchange. Peeta's face holds the same strange expression I'd witnessed weeks ago when we'd traded with him, his eyes quickly flitting away a bit self-consciously as Gale studies him.
"We should probably get going," I finally say. "I wanna get this home before dinner gets cold."
I'm about to pull the change from my pocket when the door that leads back to the kitchen swings open and Mrs. Mellark is standing before us, arms crossed and looking me over with a discerning stare that sends a chill down my spine. The old woman is never in a good mood, and Gale and I usually try our best to avoid her. She'd always rubbed me wrong after that fateful afternoon I'd witnessed her strike her youngest son across the face.
"We only serve paying customers here," she tells me with a displeased tone.
I don't reply to her accusation, only back away from the counter protectively holding my sister's birthday cake until I feel Gale's palm on my shoulder, stopping me.
"Mother, she's here to buy a cake," Peeta corrects her quietly. "I was just personalizing it for her."
Mrs. Mellark sets her jaw, frowning. "You forgot to clean up the kitchen this afternoon, boy," she finally tells Peeta in a nagging voice.
"I was doing the cake for the Marshall wedding," he quickly explains. "I'll finish up here and get right to it."
She shakes her head. "Do it now. I'll charge them for the cake," she says, and I don't miss the look of disgust she sends our way as she refers to us. I hear Gale emit a slight sigh as we follow her to the till.
"That'll be seven, girl," she tells me, popping open the drawer and holding out her palm impatiently as I search through my pockets for my coins.
"Seven? But Peeta told me five-" I begin.
"I set the prices, not Peeta," she snaps back. "A personalized cake costs seven. We've already finished it, so pay up or I'll turn you into the Cray for stealing," she warns. My eyes go to the small five coins in my hands, and my stomach ties in a knot. Luckily, Gale quickly pulls out two more before slamming them down on the counter in front of her.
"Have a fantastic day," he spits before taking my arm and leading me towards the door.
I can barely hear Mrs. Mellark yelling at Peeta in the back as we leave. I can't make out what it's over, but two words distinctively catch my attention as Gale allows the door to swing shut behind us:
Filthy whore.
My eyes fix on the ground the rest of the walk home.
…
The look of pure surprise and happiness that fills Prim's eyes makes the whole debacle I'd just gone through at the bakery worth it. Gale sits across the table from me, a large smile plastered on his face as my sister throws herself into my arms, almost knocking me from my chair.
"Thank you, Katniss! It's beautiful!" she exclaims, hugging me so tight that I almost worry about the baby being squashed in utero.
"You're welcome, Prim," I mumble into her embrace with a laugh. My mother smiles as she sets out our finest plates and forks and hands Prim a knife to cut the cake with.
"It's so pretty, I almost don't want to cut into it," my sister says with a pout as she hovers over her cake reluctantly with the knife in her hand.
"Alright, I'll do it," Gale tells her, reaching out to grab one of the frosting flowers off the top of the cake before popping it into his mouth with a smirk.
"Hey!"
I sigh as Gale laughs. "Prim, just cut the thing. I spent every last coin I had on it."
Mother shakes her head. "So much for 'it's the thought that counts,'" she says with a grin as Prim begins to cut the cake into thin slices. And I decide the smiles and laughter that surround our dinner table that evening are well worth every single coin we'd spent on the cake.
…
Later that night after Prim has already gone off to bed, Gale and I relax on the top step of my porch as his hand rests on my belly, feeling the movement of his baby kicking inside of me. Although the baby is always most active at night, tonight he seems to be downright ornery, kicking and punching up a storm.
"Likes sweets," I inform him.
He smiles. "Yeah, I noticed that."
I lean back on my elbows, sighing softly as I look up at the moon while Gale hunches forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he plays with the long blade of grass that he holds between his fingers. "I heard what the baker's wife said when we were leaving," he begins lightly, sending me a sideways glance to study my reaction.
I bite my bottom lip as I struggle to sit back up. "It's not exactly the first time I've heard someone use that word to refer to me since this all happened, Gale."
He shrugs uncomfortably. "They really don't know you if they believe it," he begins. "You don't believe it...do you?"
When I don't answer right away, he turns to me, cupping my chin in his fingers so that I'm staring directly into his eyes before placing a soft kiss onto my lips. "I'm sorry about all of this. I wish that I could make it easier for you."
"If you think that what people are saying about me bothers me, you obviously don't know me very well," I assure him.
"Catnip, I know you too well to believe you'd ever let me think that it did," he retorts. "I saw how uncomfortable you were when people in the square were staring at us, the look on your face when Mrs. Mellark said those words. Admitting that it hurts doesn't make you weak, you know."
"It doesn't matter, Gale," I go on. "It's only going to get harder after the baby is born, because their nasty comments won't be limited to us anymore," I tell him, my palm passing over my stomach. I honestly don't want to think about what a difficult life this child will have to live. Starvation, poverty, reapings, ridicule, a life probably spent down in the mines—all of the reasons why I never wanted children in the first place. But now that I can feel him or her kick and move inside of me, I can't help but to want it so badly. Want to keep it safe from everything bad in the world.
But over the past several months, I have quickly come to realize that it's not a possibility. Because all of those things are just a part of our everyday life here in District 12.