Up in our mountains, we have a custom. The man a girl chooses to wear the silver comb she carved with her own hands is the man she's pledged her whole life to.
I had carved that silver comb over ninety-nine days, until my eyes burned red, and when I offered it to Louis Carpenter, he turned his head and let it pass.
The comb hit the gray flagstone and snapped at the top in an instant.
He turned away instead, letting the college girl from the Capital City slide a cheap wooden comb into his hair.
Amy Fox blushed amid the cheering crowd. "We're being so silly. Doris Dotson won't be upset, will she?"
Louis only ruffled her hair, laughing softly. "Why would she be upset? You came to do research, and I'm just playing along."
"Besides, the whole village knows she's a disfigured freak. Other than me, who else would ever want her?"
I didn't cry, didn't make a scene. I just crouched down quietly and picked up the broken comb from the ground.
Then I turned to face the big-shot investor from the Capital City, the one who had been seated in the place of honor the whole time.
My voice came out hoarse. "Mr. Gilbert, a broken silver comb. Would you find it beneath you?"
——
Stewart Gilbert rose to his feet, his voice low and rough. "Nothing would please me more."
Four simple words, and they pressed every other sound in the place into silence.
He was very tall, blocking out the light of the bonfire behind him, and a few long strides carried him right up to me.
He reached out, took the broken comb, and slid it into his perfectly groomed hair.
People in the village said this Mr. Gilbert had a severe phobia of germs, that he even swapped out his utensils after every single course.
Yet now, paying no mind to the dirt on the silver comb, he bent his head and said to me,
"I'll come for you tomorrow morning. And don't worry about the wound on your face. I'll bring in the best specialists to treat it."
The smile froze on Louis's face.
"Quite the refined taste, Mr. Gilbert, picking up a defective piece like that for entertainment. You Capital City people sure know how to amuse yourselves."
Stewart didn't bother answering him. He only smoothed back the loose strands of hair by my ear.
"Go home early and pack. Don't bring much. They have everything over there."
Ignored, Louis couldn't keep his composure. He whipped his head around and glared at me.
"Doris, are you done making a scene? You actually think a man like that wants you?"
"With a face like yours, forget the Capital City. Even the girls at the salon in town are a hundred times better than you."
"If you've got the nerve to leave, when they're bored with you and toss you back, this village won't let you back through the gate."
I said nothing. I stepped to the side around him and walked toward my quarters.
The year I was twelve, Louis and I went up the mountain to gather herbs and ran into a wild boar.
To save him, my face was torn open by a tusk, and from that day on, I was disfigured.
When we got back, he wept for three days and three nights, until he nearly cried himself blind.
Back then he said, "Doris, I won't ever do you wrong, not for as long as I live."
He kept that promise, truly. But then Amy Fox came.
A college girl from the Capital City. Fair skin, a bright smile, a soft and gentle way of speaking.
She complained about the muddy mountain trail, and Louis said I was tough, so he forced me, burning with fever, to carry her on my back.
Near the top, my vision went black, my foot missed the step, and the two of us tumbled down together.
The first person he helped up wasn't me. He even turned and blamed me, said I couldn't even walk straight, called me useless.
Later, she wanted a Hundred-Birds Robe.
That is the most precious craft of our tribal people, every stitch and thread the work of real skill.
Louis decided on the spot that I would embroider it for her.
I embroidered for two months straight. My right eye was so overworked I could no longer see the point of the needle.
The day it was nearly finished, my arm gave out, and a single drop of blood splashed onto the embroidered surface.
Amy hid behind him, wiping away tears, the picture of injured innocence.
"Louis, just let it go. Doris didn't mean to do it."
The moment those words left her mouth, they made it look like I'd done it on purpose.
Louis kicked the embroidery frame over, and the threads scattered all across the floor.
