Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Crumpling the paper bag in my hand, I say, “I truly am sorry.”
He huffs a disbelieving laugh and carries on toward the street.
I run to keep up. “Where are you working now?”
He looks at me as if I’m stupid. “In case you haven’t noticed, work is scarce around here.”
“If I can help in any way—”
“Have a nice life, Sabella,” he says before stomping away.
This time, I don’t chase after him. He obviously finds my presence unpleasant, and I can’t blame him.
I feel bad for getting him fired, especially since I was the one who provoked him. It had just been such a horrible day. The memory clogs up my throat, but I push it away quickly when tears burn hot behind my eyes. Now isn’t the time to think about what happened.
Instead, I go back to the market and find the dog biscuit lady. Diva sits on her hind legs and begs for the treat, which puts a smile back on my face. She gobbles the whole thing up in record time and sniffs around for any crumbs on the ground.
On the way back, I stop to say hi to Mrs. Campana and to repay her with the money I earned from Corinne and Mrs. Paoli.
She waves a hand when I put the bills on the counter. “I said it wasn’t necessary.”
“Please, I insist. I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness.”
Taking the money with a sigh, she says, “If it makes you feel better.”
“It does. I better return Diva. I’d like to get home before dark.”
Her eyebrows pinch together. “Are you still walking up and down that mountain?”
“My feet are my only way of transport for the moment.” I give her a bright smile. “I honestly don’t mind.”
“Gmf. You better get going then. The terrain is dangerous in the dark.”
“I’ll be fine.” I wave on my way to the door. “See you soon.”
I deliver Diva and Mrs. Paoli’s kumquats with enough time to spare to pay Mr. Martin a visit. It’s a detour of about two kilometers. The old mill sits below three rapids on the riverbank. The two-story building is constructed on stilts, the wooden wheel standing on the side. A small boat is attached to a jetty next to the house. Thick greenery surrounds the site. A layer of fog drifts on top of the river, giving the picture a soft, dreamy edge.
A man with stooped shoulders and a weathered face opens the door when I knock. A pipe hangs from the corner of his mouth. Dressed in a pinafore and rubber boots, he reminds me of a picture from my favorite storybook when I was little about a fisherman who saved a whale that had washed up on the shore.
“Yes?” he says in a croaky voice. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Sabella. Mrs. Paoli sent me.”
“Ah. Yes.” He takes his pipe from his mouth and scratches his head. “Come in, come in.”
He shows me into a spacious kitchen with yellow and green wallpaper. “The house is big, but you’re young. It shouldn’t take you too long to do a bit of dusting and vacuuming.” He places a palm on his lower back. “The old body is getting too weak for the work.” He taps the pipe against his temple. “The brain still works. It doesn’t lack motivation, but you know the saying. The body can’t cash the cheques the mind is writing any longer.” He laughs at his own joke.
“It’s not a problem. When would you like me to start?”
“Whenever you can.”
“Tomorrow?”
He pats me on the shoulder and says with a warm light in his watery green eyes, “That’ll be perfect. Any time is fine with me. I’m not going anywhere much of the time. If I happen to be out, just come in and carry on with it. You’ll find everything you need in the broom closet.”
“Did you run the mill?” I ask when he walks me out.
He clicks his tongue. “The mill stood empty for years before I moved in.” He points at the boat. “I only bought the place for that.”
“For the jetty?”
“The river runs all the way to the sea. I can drive my boat from here to fish where roads don’t lead. That’s where you find the best catches, where no big trawlers cast their nets and no one else goes.”
“That makes sense.” I smile. “I better get going. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He waves as I climb up the embankment to the road.
On my way to the house, I scout the area next to the river, but I don’t see any dwellings where a child could live. An idea takes root in my mind.
At home, I bake a cake. This time, I follow Mrs. Campana’s advice and use the oven fan. When the cake comes out of the oven, it’s nicely rounded. Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I clap my hands like an excited child. It doesn’t look half bad, even if I have to say so myself. I leave it on the windowsill to cool and open the window.