Chapter 41: His Last Defender
The harvest was, once again, coming to an end. The earth was kind like that, continuing on in her cycle, no matter what the people around her did. They could lie to one another, cheat, steal heartlessly, even kill, but she would wrap her vines around the evidence, decompose the leftovers of a horrendous dish, and leave no trace that anyone had ever existed in that crevasse. Abandoned houses were reclaimed by erosion and degrading wood, and sagging floorboards never begged the sky for a reason why, only submitted to the forgiving soil. For she never asked for a reason, why they stretched high in hubris and tried to become more than they could, a part of a strong building for strong families, only the family fell apart, and the house fell to rot. All that wood, for no purpose, except the earth always has a purpose; she needs no man to achieve it. The Cartwell family took what fruits they could, plucked healthy leaves for compost, and turned over the roots to her little minions, beetles and crickets, to eat away at the soiled remains. Winter would kill those little bugs, and their seeds would be buried just under the topsoil. Their first turning of spring speeds would awaken the little eggs, and earth's helpers would be born again. Yet the little bugs could survive without farmers, and soil exist on without the growers careful hands. The Cartwells would be out work without what others called a fragile earth.
Dead things would turn over, and mistakes be buried. Eventually, all things decomposed and joined the cycle of life. Edie told this to herself, and to anyone who asked how she was doing in this difficult time. Life goes on, she recited from an inner childlike faith, the last held onto from an unbearable time. Life goes on, and people do not die from hurt feelings. This too shall pass, so you'd better remember that when things aren't going so well for you. Remember Edie Cartwell, the faithful daughter, and how she held her head high in the face of sorrow, how ideological differences tore asunder the love of her life, and how sure it was that he never showed his face again.
Only three weeks had passed, and already, people were writing proverbs. She heard a ballad was in development.
That's what she told Hajule, four days after Dia was shot, so that's what the whole town sang. 'Differences in opinion, that made it irreconcilable for them to be together.' Edie danced around what these differences were with every pitying question given. At first, they each thought differently about the walls and the nature of humanity, then how to deal with people dying beyond the walls every day, then on how children were forced to be born and grow up in a world destined to kill them. But time killed his children, not the world, and the truth was too sharp to attribute to anything but nature. Not even in her letter to Jamie a week before did she admit the truth, that he wanted to be married, and she knew they couldn't. He wanted to hold onto her forever, and she knew she was as fleeing as a flame. He would be heartbroken either way, but perhaps with this decision, he wouldn't have any hesitation. He would move on. People always did. They were just living pieces of earth, after all.
People stopped saying how wonderful the captain was. They continued speaking highly of the Scouts since to do otherwise was the betray sweet Jamie, though his stint with the Cadet Corp continued for another year and a half. He was on a mountain somewhere, learning to survive in a harsh climate, while she enjoyed the last autumn sun and springs of sympathy. She told him they'd separated, of course. He'd have been beyond angry finding out under other circumstances, perhaps through the militia grapevine. He hadn't sent a letter in reply, so she wondered if the news arrived at all.
Every pounding hoofbeat sent a shudder up her spine, and the feeling stuck around even after the visitor was revealed to be one of Hajule's friends, Mr. Solway, Larmie returning from an errand, or Corini traveling from one site to another. The visitors were never the captain, barreling down the road with an angry expression, demanding an explanation, calling her a whore. Even a sorrowful and negotiatory tone would be welcome, begging her to take him back or at least give a reason. She knew she didn't have a reason but longed to give one. Perhaps if he came calling, came asking, she'd come up with a good enough lie to believe in herself. Days dragged on, and a lie became less likely.
Life never went back to how it was before, either. Before she knew the captain, the farm had been so simple. She and Jamie had finished their chores early and run down to the lake, singing some stupid song and telling awful jokes. Larmie and Hajule had sat on the porch while they practiced with wooden swords, and an afternoon sun told them that the earth went on beyond the walls as well as in. That ridiculous trio of teenaged refugees and what an annoyance they'd been—how simple it all seemed now. Jamie was off pursuing his dream, the town carried on, and Edie couldn't rightly remember why she'd come in the first place. The world was full of wonderful things she could never attain, never hold onto. The earth was forgiving, in the midst of all the desire, and that made it more painful.
The earth and the shadowman joined in a chorus now. The whole world is a cycle, they sang. Nothing changes, only turns and turns, until what was always meant to be is history.
She was thankful to be covered in dirt, to be working, to wear a filthy skirt which used to be white, when hoofbeats sounded some three weeks later, and the chill in her spine froze her movement. No one could be a better statue than Edie Cartwell, this she knew, but as the steps drew closer, good manners took over. She turned, but the captain wasn't at her level. Instead, towering five feet away, stood the stoic commander.
Of course. She nearly smiled. His final defender. Edie took a deep breath and met his eyes. "Hello, Erwin."
"Hello?" His voice quivered with barely concealed rage. "That's all you have to say?"
"If you're referring to what happened in Trost, then…well, I'd honestly wonder what took you this long."
"Let's see. It could be on account of a disastrous mission needing most of my attention, three injured captains and an entire fallen squad, dozens of families wanting to personally tell me how shoddy my leadership is, and weeks of council meetings to discuss how the walls will cope with certain labor shortages, all before realizing that one of my captains has confined himself to an outpost for god knows what reason doing work far below his abilities, and far more dangerous than is worth."
"Where?" Edie asked before she could stop herself. "Never mind."
"Yes, never mind. And so I go to this office and find one of my closest friends in shambles, because as it turns out, the beautiful ring and speech he'd written had been turned down, callously and without reason, by a woman who claimed to be devoted to him, not to mention while he lay on a hospital bed, unable to pursue her."
"So, naturally, you came here." She shook her head, almost imperceptibly. "Or did you launch an investigation first to see who was at fault?"
"I know who is at fault," he growled. "If you think I'd doubt the dedication of one of my own Scouts for a second, you're more deluded than I thought."
Edie began spouting her lines. "It's for the best."
"What is? Deception?"
"We had differences of opinion."
"Oh, on living room furniture or wall coloration?"
"It was a—"
"Cut the shit, Edie. He deserves better than petty and empty truths." The commander took a leering step forward, but she held her ground. "I want to know why, and I want to know if you knew."
"Erwin—"
"I told you not to lead him on, unless you were certain. I told you that he is not the kind of man who thrillingly throws away girl after girl, despite the hundreds throwing them at his feet. And I told you that if you had any doubts, any misgivings, to break it off. If you weren't certain that you would marry him then, you wouldn't ever be."
"You asked me that after we'd been dating, what, a month?"
"You and I both know that you're not like these others who dance around death with jokes and friendship. We see the world for how it is. So either you're insane, or you knew that you wouldn't be with him, and didn't do anything about it. So which is it? I can call a mental hospital and have them cart you away tonight either way."
"I'm sure you can. How would that bode?"
His eyes were nearly red, although the setting sun might've brought that on. He shook, and the cold hadn't brough that on, she knew. She sighed.
"I knew," she admitted. "I thought he might—realize that we wouldn't work, but that he just needed some…I don't, confidence, in order to ask out the right kind of girl."
"I told you—"
"I know what you told me. I didn't—I didn't think that he'd actually fallen…that he loved me like that. Please, believe me, I didn't ever think that."
"Do you think so lowly of him or yourself? Either way, it's selfish."
"I know."
"What did you expect out of this? He's a Scout. We're humanity's first defense, putting our lives on the line daily. Did you think we act flippantly?"
"No. No, of course not."
The wind blew gingerly between them, nervously telling them that night would set in soon, that they should really get indoors. But there were listening ears indoors, and the commander intended to dip in and out unseen. She stared at the dirt, the same dirt from continents miles away, and he studied her crestfallen face for some kind of answer.
She finally swallowed. "Erwin, I'm sorry that I can't give you the kind of answer you want. Please, just know that I didn't ever intend to hurt him."
"Do you love him?"
"What kind of question is that? We both know love only gets you to the bedroom."
"Are you devoted, then? Are you going to move on?"
Her eyes fluttered, and the first tear, a single drop, the only one in the last three weeks, fell. "I can't. I…I am." She'd forgotten the order of the questions.
The commander understood and straightened his stance. "You've destroyed him."
"Take care of him, please. I can't bear that thought."
"Keep your distance," he commanded, "unless you intend to stick it out with a smile on your face. This too shall pass."
Indeed it shall, she thought as he boarded his horse and turned to the woods. All things pass.