“If you're jealous of Amy, just say so. But dripping blood on her clothes? Have you no shame at all?”
The embroidery frame had slammed into my shin. The bruise still hadn't faded, a deep purple smear against my skin.
Back in my room, I started packing.
The suitcase was small. So was the pile of things that went into it.
I was in the middle of folding when a dull, dragging ache twisted low in my belly. By my count, my period was almost due.
I bent over the suitcase, pressing my forehead against the open lid.
That was when the door swung open.
Louis came in carrying a bowl of brown-sugar ginger water and set it down on the table with a heavy thud.
He glanced at the luggage on the floor and let out a scornful little laugh.
“All right, drop the act. That whole performance today, you just wanted to make me jealous, didn't you?”
“Once you've thrown your fit, put your things back. I made you ginger water. Drink it and get to bed early.”
He stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, watching me pack with a look that said he'd already decided this was nothing but me playing hard to get.
I said nothing and kept stuffing things into the suitcase.
Louis's patience ran out.
“Mr. Gilbert was only amusing himself with you. When he doesn't show up tomorrow, I'd love to see how you clean up that mess.”
I didn't touch the bowl of ginger soup.
Last time, Louis had told me to stop putting on airs, to stop imitating city girls who drank brown-sugar ginger water during their periods.
Now he'd suddenly carried in a bowl, and it was only so I'd be grateful, so I'd meekly admit I was wrong.
He sprawled back in the rocking chair, eyeing me sideways as I gathered my things.
Then his gaze locked onto something and held.
“What's that you're clutching?”
My hand tightened on instinct. This silver hairpin was the only thing my mother had left me.
She had once been the finest silversmith in the village, her craft unmatched across three provinces.
Before she died, she'd held my hand and pressed this hairpin into my palm.
“Doris, this is the one thing your mother leaves you in this whole life. Wherever you go, never lose it.”
Louis crossed the room and snatched the hairpin from my hand.
“Amy says the pattern's worth studying. Perfect. I'll give it to her to go with that Hundred-Birds Robe.”
“Louis, you can have anything else, but not this. This is all I have left of my mother.”
Before I could finish, he shoved me to the floor.
The back of my head struck the corner of the suitcase with a dull ring. The case toppled over, and everything inside spilled across the floor.
Louis slipped the hairpin into his pocket and looked down at me, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.
Then, as if he'd remembered something, the expression vanished in an instant.
“Today, in front of all those people, you ran off to hand a comb to an outsider and left Amy with nowhere to hide.”
“You walked away quick enough, but Amy's been taking the blame ever since. Consider this hairpin compensation for her grief.”
He crouched down, his tone suddenly softening.
“Go apologize to Amy first thing tomorrow. And be nice about it.”
“Once her fieldwork's done and she's back in the Capital City, I'll be generous enough to throw a wedding banquet and marry you.”
When he said generous, he said it without a shred of doubt, truly believing that marrying me was a gift he was bestowing.
I lay sprawled on the floor, staring at the scattered old clothes and broken bits of silver.
Everything I'd done for him all these years was probably worth just as little to him as these things on the ground.
Taking that wild boar's charge and ruining my face for him, worthless.
Standing by him through countless brutal winters and scorching summers, worthless.
Giving him the finest craft of my life, my best years, my deepest love, all of it, worthless.
I pushed myself up slowly and began gathering the scattered things back into the case, my movements light and slow.
“Don't bother, Louis.”
I heard my own voice, hoarse and ruined.
“I don't want you anymore.”
He froze for a moment, and then his face turned ugly.
“What did you just say?”
