I imagine a glint in the woman’s gray eyes as she presses a finger to her cheek.
“Or maybe she has chin hairs and nose warts, and she uses a broomstick to get around town,” he says.
I slap a hand over my mouth to keep my smile from floating up.
“Oh, Nathan. You needn’t be sarcastic. Anyway, we owe her a lot. Forty-nine subscriptions today alone. Advertisers are sure to follow. I hope she stays.”
Forty-nine is an improvement, but it’s still not enough.
“She got more letters today.Ihope she has a big broomstick.”
—
ISTEAL UPto the Bells’ front door, shivering. The cold seems to have crystallized into a freezing dust. It’s as if the winter dragon were salting the earth liberally for its supper. Lucky Yip told me that season dragons can be jealous, producing weather extremes to prevent the next season’s dragon from moving in.
Through the arched windows, I can see Nathan running the press, a mesmerizing operation that involves intense hand-eye-foot coordination and reams of paper. Iron blocks hang from the walls, like empty picture frames, and a fire blazes in the hearth. Nathan has pushed up the sleeves of a thick sweater, which obscures most of his collared shirt. His printer’s apron is smeared with black ink.
The mail slot has been repaired. Still, I remove my glove and knock. Tonight, I shall be nimble and quick, and avoid jumping over any candlesticks that might end up burning me. The door creaks open, and heat caresses my front, sweetened by the sound of Bear’s joyous yelps. The dog paces from side to side, restrained by Nathan’s hand around her collar.
“Hello? Is it you again? Er, Miss Sweetie?”
“Yes,” I say to the street, though my scarf muffles my voice. I fumble in my coat for my column.
“It’s nice to see you’re back and, er, your back. Please come in. It is arctic out there. Plus, I have more letters of admiration for you.”
“More? Well, I shall keep this short,” I bark with annoyance, hoping to pinch more crust into my Mrs. English voice.
A wind so chilly it makes my teeth ache seems to slice right through me. Even Nathan hisses. “How would it look if our advice columnist perished over something as foolish as failing to heed common sense? No one would buy papers for sure.”
I loosen the scarf from my mouth and face him. “It’s also common sense not to enter the homes of strangers.”
“Ah, but there you are mistaken. We are not strangers, and this is not my home, which is over there.” He jerks his chin toward the other side of the building. “If it will make you feel better, I will wear a blindfold, though it will be more difficult to fetch you tea.”
“I don’t need tea. I only wish—”
“Well, if you don’t need tea, then it’s perfect. I will fetch the blindfold.” He disappears with Bear, while I pull lint from my mouth, trying to figure out if he is serious.
The sounds of footsteps and paw scratching draw near again. To my relief, Nathan is not carrying a blindfold but a sack of something bulky, which he sets by the doorway. Bear sits obediently by Nathan’s side, though even sitting, she vibrates with energy. “Now then, where were we?”
I clear my throat, off balance by our repartee. Surely, Nathan would not be so cheeky to someone he thought wasa respectable madam. I draw myself up to my haughtiest posture, just like Mrs. English when a rival milliner dropped in for a visit. “Here is Thursday’s column. The contents are a slight departure from the last two. I shall wait while you read it.”
I hold out my letter but shrink back when he moves closer to take it. He stops. “Er, Bear, fetch.”
With awoof, she springs to life, gamely delivering my letter to her master, only a little wetter than it started out. He unfolds my column and turns to better use the firelight. As he reads, I study his profile, from the stubborn line of his stubbled chin to his deep-set eyes, which take in more than they give away. A rather forgettable nose dips in the middle as if pressed by a finger. As he reads, his usually downturned mouth nudges into a smile, and I feel a strange compulsion to fit my own smile against it.
Despite his grouchiness, there’s a sturdiness to Nathan, cultivated by loving parents who, unwittingly or not, blessed him with a humble and principled upbringing. They fletched him right, and he will probably fly far in life.
He refolds the paper, and the smile fades away. His eyebrows clench together, as if he’s feeling the edges of his thought before judging its shape. “It is clever. More than clever, it’s brilliant.” He shifts around in the doorway, as if puzzling out which leg he prefers. “If it were my choice, I would publish it in an instant. But I will need to speak to my mother about this.”
“I understand.” I hide my disappointment in a brisk and forward manner. “I will bring you an alternative in the next day or two, just in case.”
“Thank you. Er, well, there is another thing.” He tugs at his collar.
Both Bear and I watch him expectantly, though only one of us is breathing. Perhaps he no longer wants my services now that I’ve proven myself a rabble-rouser. A tub thumper.
“We insist on paying you. It’s not much, a nickel an article. But Mother says if we don’t pay you, we would be taking advantage of you.”
“I thought I made myself clear,” I grumble. “No payment, or I shall not write. If it will make you feel better, donate the money to the orphanage.”
