Willow
One Year Later…
“They’re back—they’re back from Everdeen!” Béla ran excitedly around us, making circles in the snow, before taking off toward the gate.
We were each fresh from work—Britta, who’d spent the day on the lake, fishing, Ella, who’d been busy harvesting parsnips and winter cabbage in the garden, and me, who’d divided my day between both the garden and the store.
While Ella and I shivered inside our many winter layers, Britta was surprisingly fine in much less, her easy gait unhampered by her prosthetic limb—a slim, lightweight contraption with a hinged ankle. It had been Joe who’d found her a new foot; traveling far and wide, he’d spent months bringing back every prosthetic he’d come across until Britta had found one that suited her.
Waving my friends in the direction of the dining hall, I said, “You guys go ahead—I’ll meet you later.”
“You sent another letter, didn’t you?” Ella shouted after me, her exasperation clear. “Willow, you need to let it go!”
“Aw, leave her alone, ya bitter bitch,” Britta replied. “If writin’ letters make her feel better, what’s the harm in it?”
“The harm is, that she’s miserable every time he doesn’t write back and then I have to suffer through listening to her whine about it.”
“How ‘bout you try mindin’ your own dang business for once?”
“It’s a free fucking country,” Ella snapped back.
“Is it?” Britta chuckled. “You forget about the wall, sugar?”
As their bickering faded off into the distance, I wondered if Ella might be right. This would be Silver Lake’s third trip to Everdeen since Lucas had returned there, and each time a trading party departed, I’d made sure to send a letter along. He’d yet to send a reply.
Finding Joshua at the garage, busy unloading one of the trucks, I hurried to help, grabbing a heavy wooden crate and setting it on top of a growing pile of traded goods—bothhandmade and scavenged. Glancing at me, Joshua flashed a small, sympathetic smile and my hope deflated like a punctured balloon.
“Did he at least read it?” I asked. The first letter I’d sent had been tossed in a fire, and the second shredded and left in pieces.
“Can’t say for certain. But he did put it in his pocket.”
A glimmer of hope shone through the shroud—maybe Lucas would read it this time—maybe there was a chance that we could heal from this.
“How’s he doing?” I asked. “Does he seem… okay?”
“He’s looking healthy and strong, if that’s what you’re asking,” Joshua said. “But if it’s his mood you’re after, I’d say he’s a lot like his big brother—you know, he keeps mostly to himself and is ornery as hell for no good reason.”
While Joshua headed back to the truck, my heart plummeted to my feet. Hearing that Lucas’s infinite sweetness and gentle charm had yet to return, and knowing that I was to blame for it, was yet another bitter pill to swallow in a world where bitter pills were already a dime a dozen.
After helping unload the rest of the Everdeen haul, I headed for home. As I walked, the wind picked up speed, its blustery chill sending shivers through my heavy layers. I ran the rest of the way home, flinging open the door to the cabin—a recent upgrade from its flimsy predecessor—and wrestling it closed. I slumped against it, grateful for the warmth of the nearby fire.
Standing in our kitchen, a cordoned-off section of our living room, our table now boasted four chairs, along with a mini-fridge and a hotplate. The larger portion of the room held two mismatched couches and a hand-carved coffee table made by Logan. An old stereo system sat on top of the coffee table, softly crooning a song I didn’t recognize—courtesy of the dozens of CDs we’d scavenged when we’d found the stereo.
“Hey.” Logan stood in the threshold of our bedroom—the most notable add-on to our home. Built off the bathroom, the bathroom had ended up twice its previous size and now boasted the luxury of having two entrance doors. Logan, however, didn’t see it as a luxury—Logan saw it as being bothdefendable and escapable.
“Cold?” he asked.
Shivering, I only nodded.
Pulling my scarf free, Logan set it aside and kissed me. Layer by layer, he removed my winter wear, until I was left in only my sweatshirt and jeans. Hooking his fingers into my belt loops, Logan hauled me up against him.
“Warmer?” he growled, kissing me again.
“Mmhmm,” I mumbled against his mouth. “Except for my feet.”
We both looked down to where the melted snow from my boots had made a good-sized puddle around our feet.
Breaking apart, Logan bent to clean the mess while I headed for the bedroom. “Did you see that the trading party is back?” I called over my shoulder.
