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I shake my head. “No. I’m not a captive. I’m just telling you what Papa Rich has told me. He told me that if I ever get curious and want to go to town, that it would be impossible. He was telling me this for my own good. Just in case I wanted to go to the store myself to buy sugar or a book.”
Christopher squeezes my hand, but not hard. “You’ve never had a pair of shoes?”
I shake my head as I look down at his fingers intertwined with mine. I like the connection. I like the feel. His fingers are cold due to the temperature of the room, but mine are warm, and I enjoy knowing I’m heating his with the touch.
“He doesn’t allow you to wear shoes, so you won’t run,” he says.
“It’s for my own good. Curiosity killed the cat, right?” I smile in hopes to lessen the tension I’m feeling.
“Don’t you ever want to leave Hallelujah Junction?” he asks with the softest of voice. “You’ve spent your entire life here. Don’t you ever want to see what’s out there? Wouldn’t you like to go to the store yourself? Wouldn’t you like to wear a pair of shoes?”
These questions…
I never gave myself the luxury of thinking this way in the past.
If Papa knew we were having this discussion…
“We all have different paths in life,” I say as I release Christopher’s hand. I need space and walk to the crate that has become my chair as of late.
“And yours is to stay locked up in a schoolhouse forever?”
I don’t like this conversation. It makes my heart beat hard and my stomach tighten. I glance to the door and hope that Papa Rich isn’t within earshot.
“We need to be good,” I nearly whisper. “If we keep being good, Papa Rich will reward us. I know it. He’ll give us more freedom. And once he does, you’ll see just how special Hallelujah Junction is. I have so many places I want to show you. There are so many secrets here.” I give a big smile to him and feel my cheeks heat in excitement for future possibilities of happiness. “I don’t believe in ghosts… not really. But at the same time, you can nearly hear them speak in the walls of these buildings. If you listen real close.”
“And I have special places I’d like to show you,” he says. “But they aren’t here. There’s so much more than here.”
Delusion is easy.
Reality is hard.
But I still want to ask the next question.
“If you could leave here, would you really take me with you?”
“Would you be willing to leave with me?” he asks.
Papa Rich had always taught me to answer every question asked of me honestly, but I can’t in this case. Because I don’t know.
“This is my home,” I say because that is the only truth I know.
He nods in understanding. “But this isn’t mine.”
I criss cross my legs and settle in. I have a bit of time before I have to take Scarecrow’s cake out of the oven and start making lunch. I want to spend the time with Christopher and to continue to learn about this man.
“Tell me about your home,” I say, hoping he’ll open up to me.
He swallows hard but then smiles. “New York is about as polar opposite of this place. It’s loud, it’s busy, it’s full of life and energy and I love it. You can feel the life of others sizzle in your blood.”
“I’ve read about it.”
“Words and stories can’t give it justice. You really have to live it.”
“Do you have a big house there?” I try not to picture Christopher and me living in New York together as husband and wife, but the thoughts force their way into my imagination. The fantasy of what could…
“An apartment. There aren’t a lot of houses in the city. I grew up in a fairly large townhouse in the Upper Eastside with my mother, but square footage is usually limited when it comes to living space unless you’re really wealthy.” He looks at me and smiles again. “You’d like my place. It has a view of Central Park, and at night, the lights of the city truly are magical. I could sit and stare out the window for hours.”
“Are you wealthy?” I figure he is because of his conversation with Papa Rich when he first arrived, but I don’t know for sure.
He chuckles. “I suppose so. My family has a lot of money. But I do pretty good for myself as a photographer. I never had to work, but I wanted to. It was important for me to earn my own way. To be my own man. I love what I do. My career is very important to me. So much so, that I suppose it consumed me in all ways. I chose work over all else. Passion has a way of doing that.” He pauses and then asks, “What about you? Isn’t there some sort of career you would want to do? What did you dream of being when you were a little girl?”
