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CHAPTER EIGHT
“Here, use this.” Nereidagrabbed a potholder from a hook near the big cast-iron stove and handed it to Seff just as the kettle’s shrill whistle sounded off.
“Thank you, honey,” he said as he took the potholder.
“My name is Nereida, nothoney.” She scowled.
I knew where her objection sprang from—Tillman. He’d called her “sourpuss” and Arteisma “twinkle-toes.” Arteisma hadn’t minded. Still, Nereida had made it plain she did not appreciate his nickname for her and had asked him repeatedly to call her by her given name. I’d backed her up every time. I should’ve known then what kind of male Tillman was, going out of his way to annoy and upset a young female.
Seff looked down at her with all seriousness and said, “I beg yer pardon, Nereida. How ’bout I promise not to call you by anything other than your name unless you say so. Deal?”
Nereida stared right back up at him, seeming to study his sincerity. “Deal.” Her little clenched jaw loosened up as she lowered her chin, blinked at the floor. “What does ‘beg yer pardon’ mean?”
He crouched down on one knee and engulfed her hand in his. “It means please forgive me.”
“Oh.” Nereida’s lips pursed as though she were thinking it through.
“And so you know, if someone does you wrong and then begs yer pardon or asks for forgiveness, you are under no obligation to forgive them. You understand what I’m sayin’?”
Nereida nodded. “If someone hurts me, then says they’re sorry, I don’t have to forgive them.”
Seff nodded back, let her hand go, then stood. Still looking down at her, he said, “One thing you gotta remember, sometimes the only person hurt by not forgivin’ another is the one holdin’ onto the hurt.”
Nereida retook his hand and tugged him down to whisper in his ear, “I forgive you.”
“Thank you.” Seff glanced at me with a smile and winked.
Something fluttered inside my rib cage.
I blinked and mouthed, “Thank you.”
He turned away to focus on pouring the boiling water into the large teapot Arteisma had made ready with several tea bags. He couldn’t know how much his promise and apology meant to the little female standing at his side.
Or how much it meant to me.
My mother sat across from me at the long table in the cookhouse. Her tears had stopped, for now, but I knew she held them back by sheer will. Her hand in mine felt ice cold, like all the blood had drained away to keep her broken heart beating.
My dad and brother were in the office searching for the piece of electrical cord the rogues had cut away from the ham radio. With all the banging and moving of furniture, I was sure they hadn’t found it yet.
My mother gave my hand a squeeze. Her gorgeous, turquoise-blue eyes both Deck and I had inherited were bloodshot and swollen.
“Do they know?”she mouthed silently.
The twins. I shook my head. She gave me a nod. They knew something was wrong but trusted me to tell them when I was ready.
I would never be ready.
Decker came into the room and muttered, “Those crazy SOBs must’ve thrown it out in the snow.”
My dad followed Decker. “Yeah, well, when we go into town, I’ll stop by the store and pick up a replacement cord or radio. Whichever is easiest.” Dad shrugged. “We can make the calls from town, but we’ll need some way to communicate from here.”
