The Moonstone Heiress- Chapter Four: Assumptions are Not Abilities

At the beginning of her journey, Carlone rarely made fires.

Striking stones were easy enough to find along rivers and creek beds, and her mother had taught her how to use them. But a fire meant smoke, and smoke meant being seen.

Carlone imagined robbers spotting it from miles away. Bandits. Deserters. All manner of wicked people who might discover a girl traveling alone and decide she was easy prey.

After several weeks on the road, she changed her mind.

Hungry animals were real.

Cold was real.

The imaginary robbers never appeared.

So Carlone began making a small fire each evening.

As she continued south, she discovered that the clergyman in Hillside had apparently been right. It seemed as though the entire country had packed its belongings and fled north.

Weeks sometimes passed without Carlone seeing another person.

When she did, they were usually distant figures who wanted even less to do with her than she wanted to do with them. She encountered old hermits living in cabins and once saw a man carrying a sack over one shoulder disappear into the trees the instant he noticed her.

Carlone learned not to take it personally.

People who wanted to disappear were usually happy to let other people disappear too.

She had never experienced so much solitude.

The farm had always been noisy. Workers came and went. There were trips to market, chores to finish, relatives to avoid. Someone was always nearby.

Now Carlone could walk for days hearing nothing but birds, water, wind, and her own

footsteps.

She discovered that she liked it.

Being alone meant no questions.

No one asked where her parents were.

No one asked where she'd come from.

No one asked why a girl her age was walking hundreds of miles by herself.

And if no one asked, Carlone didn't have to remember the answers.

Winter made survival harder.

Carlone became surprisingly good at making acorn soup, although she doubted anyone would ever request the recipe. She boiled the acorns repeatedly to take away their bitterness, using one of the empty preserve jars she'd carried from the abandoned farmhouse.

She missed the chicken-of-the-woods mushrooms most.

They had kept her fed through much of autumn, but by now they were gone.

Winter gave her fewer choices.

Walnuts became such a large part of her diet that Carlone sometimes wondered if she might eventually turn into one. Whenever she found a productive tree, she stuffed every pocket she had and filled the empty spaces in her bag.

Sometimes plants weren't enough.

Those were the worst days.

Carlone learned to trap birds.

She hated it.

Every bird seemed beautiful to her. Even the plain brown ones had delicate feathers and tiny feet that curled around her fingers.

The first time she killed one, she cried so hard she nearly couldn't eat it.

The second time wasn't much easier.

Neither was the third.

Carlone eventually decided that perhaps it was better that killing something never became easy.

She thanked the bird each time.

Then she ate because she wanted to live.

At the end of each day's travel, Carlone built herself a crude shelter from branches, twigs, and whatever dry vegetation she could find. She kept her fire burning through the night whenever possible.

No one ever complained about the smoke.

No one was there to see it.

Carlone knew she was nearing the coast when the snow began disappearing.

The wind became worse instead.

A cold, relentless breeze seemed to find every opening in her clothing, but the ground remained mostly free of snow.

Aunty had spoken of the coast often.

Newlyweds went there, she'd said.

People with money stayed in beautiful inns overlooking the water. They walked along the beaches collecting moonstones and ate expensive dinners while listening to the waves.

Carlone had imagined it crowded.

When she finally stumbled onto a beach, there wasn't another human being in sight.

She stood there for a long time.

After months beneath trees, the openness of the coast almost frightened her.

There was nothing ahead except water.

Nothing beside her except sand.

The sea stretched farther than anything Carlone had ever seen.

She walked toward it.

The water was warmer than the air. Carlone removed her boots, rolled up her clothes, and stepped into the tide until the water reached her ankles.

She smiled.

For several minutes, she allowed herself to be nothing more than a girl standing in the sea.

No blood fever.

No dead farm.

No journey.

No tomorrow.

Just salt in the air and water moving around her feet.

Eventually common sense returned.

Carlone dried herself as best she could and retreated to the protection of the woods, where she made camp and boiled her remaining food into something resembling stew.

Tomorrow, she would find moonstones.

Tomorrow, her plan would finally begin.

There were no moonstones.

Carlone searched the beach the entire following morning.

She found shells.

Pebbles.

Driftwood.

And enough pieces of polished broken glass to make her briefly wonder whether Aunty had been stringing garbage onto necklaces and calling it jewelry.

But no moonstones.

Carlone refused to be defeated.

She walked along the coast.

Eventually, she spotted a building.

An inn.

It wasn't abandoned.

Though it nearly might have been.

An older couple kept the place, and Carlone saw several children moving about inside.

There didn't appear to be a single guest.

She brushed as much sand from herself as possible before entering the tavern.

A plump older woman looked up.

Her eyes widened.

"What is a little thing like you doing all by yourself?"

Carlone had prepared for this question.

Unfortunately, she'd prepared only the beginning of the answer.

"My parents sent me to stay with relatives," she said. "I got lost."

The woman frowned.

"Oh, you poor thing."

Carlone hoped desperately that there wouldn't be a second question.

There was.

"Where do your relatives live?"

Carlone's mind emptied.

"South."

The woman stared.

Carlone cleared her throat.

"More south."

For a moment, the woman said nothing.

Then the corner of her mouth twitched.

Carlone suspected she'd failed.

"My name is Merri," the woman said.

"Carlone."

"Well, Carlone-from-somewhere-north-going-somewhere-south, you look half frozen."

Carlone straightened, trying to appear several years older.

"I can work."

Merri raised an eyebrow.

"For food and somewhere to sleep," Carlone added quickly. "I know farm work. I can clean.

I can cook some things. I can mend things. I can—"

"Can you wash linens?"

Carlone nodded enthusiastically.

Merri smiled.

"Good. Because I've got enough washing for three people, and you look as though you could use some yourself."

Carlone looked down at herself.

She laughed.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd done that.

That afternoon, they boiled the inn's linens in enormous pots in the kitchen.

Carlone met the rest of the family as they worked.

Sara and Juniper were the youngest girls, both under ten. Viktor and Buloke were older and helped their parents with the heavier work.

Everyone had questions.

Carlone answered the harmless ones.

She avoided the others.

The family had shut themselves inside the inn the previous spring when rumors arrived that blood fever was spreading from the cities. They had intended to leave eventually, but travelers kept arriving, all of them needing meals, rooms, horses, directions, or news.

By the time the travelers stopped coming, winter had arrived early.

Now the family didn't know what to do.

"We thought people would start coming back," Merri explained over dinner. "When things settled."

Carlone stared at her plate.

Merri noticed.

"You've traveled a long way. Have you seen many people returning?"

Carlone could have lied.

These people had been kind to her.

She didn't.

"No."

Merri stopped eating.

Carlone chose her next words carefully.

"I don't think they're coming back soon."

"Surely some are."

Carlone shook her head.

"Not where I've been."

Merri's face changed.

"My family has kept this inn for more than a hundred years."

Carlone said nothing.

"Can the fever truly be that bad?"

For an instant, Carlone wasn't sitting at the inn anymore.

She saw her uncle on the floor.

Her mother burning with fever.

The barn glowing orange.

Smoke.

Faya crying above her.

Carlone's eyes filled with tears.

She nodded.

That was all she could manage.

Merri looked down at the table.

Silence settled over the family.

Then Buloke cleared his throat.

"Well," he announced, "I hope you like crab salad sandwiches."

Everyone looked at him.

"Because that's approximately half our menu these days."

He winked at Carlone.

She smiled despite herself.

These were good people.

Carlone wished she'd brought them better news.

That night, Carlone slept in a proper bed.

She wasn't certain she'd ever done so before.

Not one she remembered, anyway.

The mattress felt impossibly soft. There were sheets beneath her, blankets above her, and a pillow that seemed so luxurious Carlone felt guilty putting her dirty head on it.

Before bed, Sara had sat beside her at dinner and explained everything she knew about moonstones.

According to Sara, Carlone had simply searched the wrong beach.

Six miles inland was a bay containing an underwater cavern. The tide supposedly carried moonstones from the cavern and scattered them along the shore.

Carlone listened to every word.

Viktor stopped her on the stairs afterward.

"Don't plan your fortune yet."

Carlone looked back.

"Sara is nine."

"So?"

"So her business expertise is limited."

Carlone smiled.

"If you actually want stones worth money, go to the quarry."

"There's a quarry?"

"Farther inland. Buloke and I work there every year from spring through summer."

Carlone's interest sharpened.

"Could I?"

"Could you what?"

"Work there."

Viktor studied her.

"I'm small," Carlone admitted. "But I can work."

"You'd probably be spalling."

"What's that?"

"Breaking larger stones down. Sorting usable pieces. Tedious work."

Carlone's face brightened.

Viktor laughed.

"I've never seen anyone so pleased about tedious work."

"When are you going?"

"End of the month."

"Could I come?"

Viktor looked at her for another moment.

Carlone had the uncomfortable feeling that he saw straight through her story about relatives waiting somewhere to the south.

But he didn't challenge it.

"Ask my parents."

Carlone nodded.

"Thank you."

As she continued upstairs, something occurred to her.

Viktor knew.

Maybe they all knew.

And no one had forced her to say it.

"You are talking about child labor."

Merri stared across the breakfast table at Viktor the next morning.

"I'm talking about work," Viktor replied.

"She's a child."

"I'm sitting right here," Carlone said.

Neither of them listened.

"She needs somewhere safe to live," Merri continued.

"And she needs a way to support herself," Viktor replied.

"She can stay here."

Carlone looked at Merri.

"You can," Merri said firmly. "Until this fever business ends and things go back to normal."

Carlone's heart tightened.

She believed her.

That was the problem.

Merri wasn't offering because she wanted free labor.

She wasn't keeping count of meals.

She wasn't waiting to tell Carlone how much she owed.

She simply meant it.

Carlone reached across the table and placed her hand over Merri's.

"I can't."

Merri frowned.

"Why not?"

Carlone struggled to explain something she'd never had to put into words.

"I can't become another mouth you have to feed."

"You wouldn't be."

"But I would know I was."

Merri started to object.

"I want to try the quarry," Carlone continued. "I want to earn something. I want to know I can."

Merri studied her.

Carlone held her gaze.

Finally, Merri sighed.

"Fine."

Carlone smiled.

"But."

Carlone's smile vanished.

"If you hate it, you come back."

"I—"

"If they mistreat you, you come back. If you're hungry, you come back. If you're frightened, you come back. If you simply decide you've changed your mind, you come back."

Carlone swallowed.

"All right."

"I mean it."

"I know."

That was what made Carlone's throat ache.

She knew Merri meant it.

The following weeks passed quickly.

The family prepared supplies for the twenty-seven-mile walk to the quarry. The younger girls helped with food while everyone strong enough to swing an axe chopped enough firewood to keep the inn supplied while Viktor and Buloke were away.

The brothers taught Carlone what they could about quarry life.

Where to sleep.

What tools not to touch without permission.

How workers were paid.

How to recognize stone worth keeping.

Which supervisors were fair.

Which ones weren't.

Carlone listened carefully.

Viktor and Buloke couldn't have been more different.

Viktor thought before he spoke.

Buloke often seemed to begin speaking before he'd decided what he intended to say.

Carlone liked them both.

The realization frightened her a little.

She had already lost enough people.

But the morning of their departure arrived anyway.

Carlone woke to Sara and Juniper making entirely too much noise outside her room.

She dressed and came downstairs to warm porridge waiting on the table.

Everyone was there.

For a moment, Carlone simply stood in the doorway.

This family was nothing like hers.

No one was deciding who deserved to sit at the table.

No one was making cruel remarks disguised as advice.

No one was reminding someone else what they owed.

They simply ate together.

Carlone suddenly understood something that made her both happy and terribly sad.

This was what a family could be.

Maybe what it was supposed to be.

Merri noticed her standing there.

"Well?"

Carlone blinked.

"Are you planning to stare at your breakfast until we send it to the quarry after you?"

Carlone smiled and sat down.

She ate every bite.

Before they left, she looked around the inn one last time.

She didn't know whether she would ever see it again.

But someday, Carlone decided, she would repay these people.

Not because Merri expected her to.

Not because kindness created a debt.

Carlone was beginning to understand that perhaps it didn't.

She wanted to repay them because, for a little while, they had given her something she hadn't known she was still allowed to have.

A place at the table.

Then Carlone shouldered her bag and followed Viktor and Buloke down the road toward the quarry.