Curse of the Wolf King - Tessonja Odette Page 0,14
the maid’s discretion, but that trust only goes so far. I doubt she’d act so strongly against my father’s wishes by escorting me to a job interview in the woods. Luckily, by the time Nina discovers my betrayal, I’ll be back home safe and sound, hopefully with word of my great success. She and Father are already out for the day, with Nina taking tea with her fiancé’s family and Father likely talking business somewhere. Neither are expected back any time soon. It does mean, however, that the carriage is long gone, and I dare not order a driving service. Trusting my family’s own driver would be risky enough, so perhaps it’s for the best I’m walking.
And when I say for the best, I mean it’s the absolute worst. Snow crunching under my boots, soaking the hem of my skirt and coat. I’ve worn my most modest and austere dress, the gray satin patterned with black roses, the bodice covered with ivory lace that reaches the top of my neck. I only hope I look the part. I still can hardly believe I’m about to be interviewed for house steward. The job is similar to the work I’ve done before, managing my former household’s day-to-day, our servants, and our expenses. But that was for a modest dwelling in Bretton. I’m not sure what to expect at thirty-three Whitespruce Lane.
I reach the outskirts of town, grateful that the streets are nearly empty this far from the market square. Seeing the sparser homes and lack of incessant foot traffic almost makes me wish Father would have chosen a house for us out here, and not mere blocks away from the melee of town. Then again, if we lived on the outskirts, I’d have to walk even farther to get to the bookshop, bypass even more people…
I suppress a shudder.
Then an even more sobering thought occurs to me. If I get this job, where will I live? Will Father kick me out at once? Will the job provide room and board? Is there housing a single woman can afford in Vernon?
It’s enough to send a rush of panic to heat my cheeks, but I breathe it away. Such concerns are irrelevant for now. First, I must actually get the job.
The trees at the edge of town come into view. The homes grow even smaller, sparser, the snow less trodden through. Paved roads and sidewalks turn to dirt paths. Thankfully there is a path, and the one that leads to Whitespruce Lane appears to have had some recent traffic. That comes as a relief, considering Nina’s sensible warnings do occupy a corner of my mind.
I follow the trail to the first copse of trees. Only now does true silence settle around me. If I thought the outskirts of Vernon were quiet, then out here at the mouth of the forest is something else entirely. There is some sound, of course, like the crunch of my boots on snow, the pitter-patter of falling flakes, the rustling of trees. But gone are the sounds of wagon wheels, car horns, horse hooves, and stampedes of chatting people.
Out here it’s…peaceful.
It reminds me of home. Of Isola, where I was raised as a child. The climate may have been opposite of where I am now, but the peace…it’s achingly similar. In Isola, we lived in the country on several acres of land. Mother tended her horses, and Father oversaw the mining operations. Every night, I’d fall asleep to the melodies of coyotes, and in the morning, I’d wake with the silent sun.
My heart clenches, and for a moment, I can almost feel Mother’s arms again, warm and strong as they wrap around me while we sit on our front porch together, watching a blushing sunrise climb over the mountains.
I blink, realizing I’ve come to a halt.
Shaking the memories from my mind, I focus on the present. I’ve come to a fork in the road where other paths branch off from here. I study the wooden pole adorned with street names and find Whitespruce Lane. It’s the largest path to the left.
I take off down it, following as it takes on a slight incline. Here, the snow seems to accumulate a little deeper than it does in town. Unlike the path that led me here, Whitespruce doesn’t seem quite as travel-worn, but there are still signs of earlier foot traffic. However, I’m required to lift my skirts and coat to avoid my hems dragging even further into the snow.