Tender Mercies - By Kitty Thomas Page 0,33
to upset you, Grace.”
And more tears, because her name was becoming a normal utterance around here. She shook her head. “I’m not upset. It’s too hard to explain.” She looked helplessly up at him, hoping somehow she could just transfer what she was feeling into his brain without the complication of words that would only make her cry harder.
He nodded and quickly excused himself.
She stared at the food on the tray and the glass of iced water with a bowl of lemons on the side. So much trouble gone to for her so she could eat. She wondered if Asher had the same lunch and if he’d eaten it alone in the kitchen, or in his office, or in the bedroom with the big TV, watching sports.
She glanced at the television in her own room and clicked it on, flipping the channels until she got to the cartoon channel. Here she was, eating a real meal in comfortable pajamas, curled up on a soft sofa, watching cartoons while the sunlight streamed in her window. Could any of this be real? She found the anxiety and dread creeping in again that it was all a dream and that she’d wake up any minute back where she’d been a few hours ago. Because she couldn’t possibly be this lucky.
Later, she was back to writing her sentences, the cartoons still humming on low in the background. She didn’t notice when the door opened. Grace looked up to find Asher watching her.
Her anxiety returned. Had she gotten too comfortable? Was she doing something wrong?
“William is working in the garden, and I thought I’d grab the tray and check on you.”
She remained silent, still unsure how to behave.
He glanced back at the television and then at her again, and she tensed. “Are you able to concentrate on what you’re writing with the television on?”
“Yes, Master,” she said. “Do you want . . . me to turn it off?” She’d had to think, to carefully form her words and make sure she was speaking correctly and not lapsing back into that awful third person speech.
“If you can concentrate, you can leave it on in the background.” Then he was gone.
A few hours later he returned again. By this time her hand hurt so much she could barely move it across the page.
“What number are you on?”
“Two fifty-two.” She’d promised herself she was going to stop all the stupid blubbering and crying about everything, but it really hurt, and she couldn’t stop the stray tears that escaped and ran down her cheek. She quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand before they could wet the paper she was writing on.
“Stop,” he said.
“But . . . I can finish.” Was he upset she wasn’t done yet? Was she in trouble? Her muscles tensed, poised. For what she didn’t know. The next words to come out of his mouth caused the tension to flow back out of her again.
“I know you can, but I’m asking you to stop. You will finish, but not today. You’re in too much pain. It’s time to take care of you.”
She wanted to finish the lines. She’d been so close to completing the task, that it felt like she’d somehow failed him to stop so close to the end. But she didn’t protest, partly because she wasn’t really sure if she physically could complete it right now, and partly because he’d just told her to stop, and she wasn’t about to argue with a direct order. Since the conversation with William all she wanted was to please her master. Not because she was trying to appease to delay punishment but because if this was real, the only thing important to her was obeying the man who had made it real.
“Thank you, Master.” She put the pen down on the table, and he smiled. The smile warmed and lit her up inside.
He clicked the television off. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
A minute passed, then two, then three. He finally returned with a cold wrap used for sports injuries and a jar of something she didn’t recognize. She flinched when he sat beside her on the couch, but quickly recovered.
“Give me the hand you were writing with.”
Grace extended the hand to him with only a little hesitation, and he opened the jar. The room filled with the sweetest fragrance, and if she closed her eyes she could almost believe she was in a lush garden.
“The native people make this salve from a