Wings of the Walker - CoraLee June Page 0,40

you going?” he called after me.

I turned slightly with a fake smile. “Back to the manor. I have more chores to complete before everyone gets back home.”

He chased after me. “What’s got you so distant, lately?” he asked.

I sighed and turned to greet him fully. “I don’t mean to be distant. I’m . . . I’m just still trying to find my place here.” I shrugged.

“Well, let me simplify things for you,” he began while gripping my soft hand. “Right now, your place is beside me while we enjoy lunch together.”

I smiled at his comment, and we both walked over to the train station where he had his office. Once inside, he pulled up a crate to his mahogany desk for me to sit on. We then began eating the honey-lemon chicken I made.

“What is your absolute favorite thing to do?” Jacob asked before taking a large gulp of water. I considered his question for a moment then answered.

“I love to paint. To sketch.”

Jacob looked at me curiously; it seemed that my answer caught him off guard.

“Well, that would explain the new shipment I received today. Cyler ordered a ton of art supplies.” Jacob licked his fingers of the lemony syrup from the chicken, then stood.

After motioning for me to follow, Jacob and I made our way over to the small warehouse where all inventory was taken and organized for distribution around the town. After rummaging through a few boxes, he cracked open a crate and removed the grass packaging. I peered over his shoulder and was shocked to find a seemingly endless supply of sketching materials, canvases, and paintbrushes. I gasped at the high quality of the supplies.

My heart warmed instantly towards Cyler. Despite his gruff exterior, he was perceptive and thoughtful.

Jacob was a sweaty mess, but I embraced him tightly. His thick arms wrapped around me, pulling us closer. I rested my cheek against his bare chest and reveled in the close contact.

After a few moments, I released my hold on him and backed away. “I’m sorry, Jacob. I didn’t mean to . . . uh . . .” I tried explaining, but my words fell short.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” he said.

But I wanted to explain myself. I needed to tell him why I was so eager for contact.

"My parents passed when I was three. I guess my childhood lacked affection. Aside from Josiah . . . Master Stonewell, no one showed me any kindness. And now I’m here, surrounded by freedom and respect. I’m just not sure what to do. I don’t know who I am,” I admitted quietly. The truth of it rang through the warehouse, and shame filled me.

Jacob looked at me. I expected to find pity in his chocolate eyes. Instead, he peered at me with a look of awe.

"You are a survivor. An artist. A giving, selfless, beautiful woman with a big heart,” Jacob said.

We both stood in silence for a moment. The tension between us was palpable. Suffocating. How could I still feel so much love for Josiah, but be inexplicably drawn to Jacob?

Jacob allowed me to take a sketchbook and some pencils home, saying he would bring the rest in the community transport tonight, since it was too much to carry.

I took a leisurely pace back to the Black Home. I spent each moment observing the Dormas community and scouting out images that caught my eye and demanded I sketch them. In taking my time, I was able to see the real beauty of what they’d built in this town. People were playful, happy, and genuine. The shops were dusty, yet full of life and promise. Men nodded at me with broad smiles as I walked.

Once I got to the end of the street where the Black home sat, I decided to sit beneath a large tree and sketch the town. I drew a long road with buildings on either side, and I captured the dust that blew around with each passerby. I felt relaxed and completely at ease for the first time since leaving the Stonewells. Occasionally, my mind drifted back to thoughts of Josiah while I drew.

He would sometimes bring me art supplies. I hid them under my mattress in the storage room, away from Mistress Stonewell. She didn’t approve of me cultivating any skills outside of what benefited her home.

Late at night, Josiah would sneak into my room, and I spent hours quietly drawing his robust and symmetrical face. After years of companionship, I had each