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HONORA REFUSED TO leave her house. She'd been asked to attend the infamous 'duel' that was set to mark the colony's history by many people. Belle, Fagin, her father. But she refused, because she couldn't find it in herself to get up. She was stuck on the couch, almost glued to the cushion, with a loose bun holding back her curls and a teary-eyed smile. There was something heavy in her chest. It was weighing down her heart, and she thought she knew what it was.
"What are you wondering, dear?" Her mother asked as she ventured into the room, cloth between her hands. Honora noticed the blue and green paint splattered across the woman's knuckles.
Honora blinked, shoulders tense. "He is going to die."
Rita, lost and confused, stepped forward slowly. It was like she was scared that if she got too close, Honora would break, as if her daughter hadn't snapped in half already. The dirt on the dress around her knees gave enough of that away.
"I'm sorry, Honora-Rue. I'm lost." Hesitantly, she sat on the couch beside her daughter. She left a certain distance between them. "Who is going to die?"
Honora watched the floor, the muscles in her jaw tensing. Thinking of his name sent shards scratching at her torn heart. Saying it aloud would surely kill her all over again. "The surgeon."
Rita chuckled softly. "I'm sure it is not Sneed you care about. He is definitely . . . how do you put it? An asshole?"
When Honora would usually laugh, she stayed eerily still. That was when Rita knew the depth to which the woman was suffering.
"Honora, dear, this duel your father was talking about is utterly ignorant. Why is it you care? If this surgeon dies, it will open a position for yourself, would it not? Is that not what you wish for?"
