Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“Where’s your pa now?”
“Down the hill. I think he’s waiting for you there.” I don’t know that he is, but I decide to lie again in hopes that Scarecrow will leave to find him.
I hear the sound of his crutch hitting the wooden floor behind me as he walks to the door. “I’ll go find him. And… Ember…”
I know I have to turn to face him. He’s waiting. “Yes?” I say as I spin around and offer a weak smile.
“You’d make a mighty fine wife. If ever this man in the cellar doesn’t work out, I plan to make good by you. If need be.”
I give a slight nod, and go back to the cabinet, moving spices around in my fake attempt of being busy.
I hear him leave and release the breath I had been holding. I quickly finish the spoiled cake and put it in the oven. I may not be able to offer it to Christopher as planned, but I still have the flowers I picked earlier to try to lighten up his gloomy space. Maybe the little bit of color will cheer him up some.
As I enter the cellar, I see Christopher awkwardly leaned back in his chair, attempting to use his belt buckle to cast a shining light through the window across the room from him. He doesn’t even try to hide what he’s doing from me.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” I say as I place the mason jar full of jasmine next to where he sits.
He doesn’t stop but instead focuses on aiming the shimmering light toward the window.
“No one is out there that can see it,” I inform. “And if Papa Rich sees you doing this…”
He stops and stares at me, then at the flowers. “And what am I supposed to do?” he asks. “It’s been days. Days!” He raises his voice, but I’m not afraid of him. I can feel his anger is not directed at me.
He’s frustrated, and I don’t blame him. Caged animals want to be free.
I point to the flowers. “I picked the last of the jasmine for you. The first snowfall is coming soon, and things will change.”
“How?” he asks as he repositions himself on the chair, giving up on his attempt of escape by belt buckle.
“You haven’t angered Papa Rich since… well since last time. And everything gets better here when it snows. The tourists leave, the town is closed, and the road here becomes impossible to travel without a truck and chains, and even then, it’s difficult.”
“How is that better?”
I glance down at the chain on his ankle. “I think I can eventually convince Papa Rich to remove the chain. To allow us to move freely in the other buildings. Maybe you and I can stay someplace besides the cellar. Maybe the schoolhouse can become our home… after we’re married.” I feel my heart flutter and my mouth dries. “Papa Rich is less strict in the winter. And well… I choose to have hope the upcoming snow storm means good for you… for us.”
Christopher smirks. “I seriously doubt he’ll ever take this chain off. I’d run, and he knows it. And if I could get close enough to him, I’d kill him. He knows that too. I’d do whatever I could to escape this hell.”
“You can’t run in the winter. It’s impossible.”
“How so?”
I point as his bare feet and then at mine as I wiggle my toes. “There’s a reason we don’t have shoes. I’ve never worn a pair of shoes in my life except for snow boots when I’m allowed to go snowshoeing, but Papa keeps those with him. We’d get frostbite and lose our toes before we’d even make it to the gate. If somehow you made it to the gate, there are cameras and alarms to let Papa Rich know of trespassers. He’d be down the road in his truck before you’d get far. And even after the gate, there are miles of dirt road before reaching the town. No shoes, means no escape.”
“Cameras. Gate. Escape. Do you hear yourself? Is this a normal conversation for you? You must see how wrong this is. Your father has kidnapped me. He’s holding me here against my will. Surely you see the insanity in this.”
“It’s just the way it is,” I say softly, not necessarily disagreeing with Christopher, but not wanting to agree either. Because if I agree, what does that mean?
Is my Papa Rich the monster that Christopher believes him to be?
He reaches out and takes my hand. His eyes connect with mine and I see sadness. “Ember,” he says slowly. “The fact you’re telling me all these details means you’ve thought of running away. It means you know deep down you’re a captive here just as much as me. You know this don’t you?”