The Truth-Teller Of Estrella

Chapter 29. A Basement of Flour and Rebels

It was Flora, the town baker that answered the door to their home. Aleta had stood at her doorway many times, enough to memorize each of her children's names carved into the wood. Matthew. Paxton. Otto. Otto's name had been carved in the messiest of ways, and the line through the t's made the name appear as "OHO." It always made her smile, as it seemed fitting for Flora's youngest child. Aleta paused, this time her eyes were focused on the eldest name — Matthew. Aleta had never stood at the door like this, in the dead of night, cloaked not only by her hood, but by the mystic moonlight. Flora's round checks rose into a welcoming smile, a look she had only seen a handful of times on the woman. She ushered at the figures at the doorway, pulling them into the hallway without much hesitation.

"Hurry, she has stepped up her guards and spies immensely since your departure." Flora said as they made their way into the hallway. Surely, she was speaking of Drika.

It smelled like fresh dough, like sweet honey and cheese. Aleta thought back at all the moments she had stood in Flora's doorway, and all the times the woman had snuck her bits of loaves. She had always liked Flora, liked the warmth she saw behind her eyes and the way she called out for her children — her voice stern but kind. Her voice never rose, not even when she was mad... not even when she was exhausted. Aleta had noted that the women, despite the flour caked on to her face, or the burns that painted themselves across her hands, never seemed angry — not even in her thoughts. Flora even joked when was angry. "I rather eat smeared shit off the street," Aleta recalled. It felt as if it had been a lifetime since the day she heard her response to Drika's falsely spoiled fruit.

"Aleta." Flora whispered, her voice filled with surprise as the woman before her unhooded herself.

"Hello, Flora." Started Aleta, "It is very nice to see you — you look well." Her chin dipped slightly.

When the woman didn't respond, Aleta forced a smile.

"Where are your boys?"

"Uh-U-" Flora glared over at Samir and Karisa before finishing, "they are with the others."

"Aleta's with us." Said Samir. Flora was a kind woman, but he could see the flash of uncertainty in her eyes. She was unsure how much information to let loose in the presence of Aleta.

"We better join them." Karisa added.

And as Aleta brushed past, crouching slightly into the small archway she locked eyes with the woman once more.

"Thank you." She whispered. She could sense through Flora that despite her uncertainty, there was trust between them.

"For what, exactly?" Flora asked as they followed Karisa down the winding stairs, leading further and further under the house.

Aleta paused. "For all the times you snuck your loaves to me."

Flora let out a short wind of breath and her hand brushed into the air as if her actions throughout the years were nothing. But Aleta knew the salary of a city baker was not nearly enough in Saypool to sustain a family of their size. She was sure every bit of product was counted and depended on.

"To be honest with you," Flora replied, "you always looked like you could use some more wheat in you. And I never had any daughters, only my scoundrels of sons who never seemed too grateful for our bread. So when I saw the way you beamed at the smell of our ovens, it was only second nature — to keep that grin on your face." She peered behind to look at Aleta once more. "You know, there's something different about you-"

Below, Samir opened a set of towering doors, causing a flood of sounds and voices to spill out into the chamber. The voices grew louder, a crescendo of laughter, chatter, and arguments throughout the filled room. There were women, men — even children among the mix. Aleta looked over at the tables, filled with scrapes of meats, porridge and bread. She allowed a small smile of recognition to reach her eyes when she saw Flora's boys. And as Aleta followed the footsteps of Samir and Karisa, the thoughts of many flooded into her head.