The Heartwood

Chapter 1

Asher removes his Sunday clothes with ceremony. Each article he folds and hides under the covers of his bed as his mind takes stock of his resources: some shillings, a coat and a few good, smooth stones.

He meditates on the time available and the proposed route. He reviews the map in his head, scoured at length from Master Walsh's study. Down in the kitchen will be preparations for a late lunch. If he makes an appearance to the servants, eats a loaf and announces his intentions to play away from the visiting adults, no one will look for him until supper.

Plenty of time, he acknowledges.

The bread smells good on the first floor of the house. There is an open door allowing the kitchen to breathe and through it shines summer, blindingly. Asher itches to run into it but he tempers himself. Finally, Lynna - head lady of the staff - swats at Asher to stop holding up walls. Boys need to play.

"I'll be good," he lies and she playfully tells him not to sell her a dog. Of everyone Asher knows, Lynna is the one who understands that children need to be children. Leaving the estate property, though, is not something she will be as forgiving about, so Asher pointedly does not share.

The hum of insects, the weight of the heat and a rich aroma of flowers fulfills a reward that comes from a whole morning spent in church. Asher runs to the trees as if hell is on his heels and when the manor is out of sight, he back slangs it through the bushes. No one will expect to find him on the road.

No one will expect him to leave.

Up this road the estates grow larger, and fields - loaned land of various lords - separate the elegant houses built upon parks. The gravel is dusty and bare while riders break for lunch, but Asher trusts that not everyone will remain idle - a sin that Sunday does excuse. Sunday feasts require deliveries and farmers work when they can.

With little waiting, Asher espies a familiar cart winding its way on the gradual upslope that climbs away from the city core. He has been observing this particular driver for over a week.

Asher perches, not unlike a cat. He is sheltered by fat leaves. A bee bumbles by. The boy shortens his breath and waits until he is slightly dizzy from the act. As the open-air cart rolls past with a tired horse and its rider distracted by the heat, Asher breaks from the cover and jogs after them.

"Wait," he yelps. "Please!"

The shrill wheeze causes the horse to flick her ears and a further shout almost causes the farmer to do the same. The man turns when he sees the red-haired child attempting to catch his attention. With no other traffic to disrupt, he appeases the request, draws the reigns and slows the cart. Wood creaks and boxes of covered vegetables jostle and shift behind him.

"Young Master, it is too hot to be chasing shadows."

Asher runs with exaggerated steps, coming up more winded than he wants to pretend to be. Stars scurry in his vision, fizzling as he ignores them in order to focus on his act. He drops a hand on his knees and looks up gratefully. "Ah...well, yes. Yes, Sir. I...agree."

The man raises both of his thick brows with an expectant impatience. Asher heaves his chest and continues to nod.

"I just...I saw your cart. And alas, I wondered...it is a long way to the Shaw estates and I've been walking since the brook. Ah...well, um...Sir, my good Sir, I am on a holy mission to repay a debt with Aida, in which...ah, well, during services this very morning I had lost my shillings. And I had promised my mama, for her health, to donate them to the good body of our church for blessings and I had lost the coins, like a fool. And I understand a shilling is merely a small thing for God but the point of the matter is that she granted me some of her coins but implied that I should not repay her for it would be beyond my means and, Sir, my honor! My honor had been wounded, Sir!"