11
“Hey!”
Melody’s voice startled the man right out of whatever he was doing. He whirled on her so quickly it almost scared her right back.
“I’m Melody Larson,” she said, before he could utter a word. “What’s your name?”
The blacksmith — if that’s what he was — stared back at her in what seemed like astonishment, or disbelief. For several moments he said nothing.
“Lucus,” he muttered at last.
Melody smiled. “Well good morning Lucus,” she said pleasantly. “Looks like we’re both up early enough to—”
“Who sent you here?”
The words were short, even harsh. He didn’t say them angrily, but he meant them. And there was an accent too. Something thick and staccato Melody couldn’t make out.
“I— I just saw you working, and I wanted to—”
“You really shouldn’t be here.”
Melody crossed her brows in confusion. The man was looking around now, glancing over his shoulder. Staring back at the fields. At the house…
“And why not?” she asked defiantly.
“Because…” He looked almost like he might say something, then let it go. “Never mind. It’s… it’s nothing.”
He turned back to his task, adjusting the pin on a pair of long iron tongs. Melody watched him for a moment. Noticed his corded arms, bare up to his shoulders, flex and release as he twisted the metal between his hands.
“How long have you worked here, Lucus?”
He ignored the question without looking up. “Hand me that hammer.”
Melody looked around quickly and grabbed the nearest tool. She held it out to him.
“Not that one, the other.”
For the next minute the air was filled with the sounds of metal striking metal. It echoed across the plantation field. Reverberated strangely off the big manor house.
She chuckled. “You’re going to wake everyone up.”
Lucus looked up at her, then back down again. “No I’m not.”
He hammered some more, then tested the fit. The tongs moved, but creaked noisily along the pin. He grabbed a bottle of something — some kind of clear oil — and poured some directly onto the joint. When he was finally satisfied, he looked up with a sigh.
“What exactly did you want, Melody Larson?”
The question broke her out of a sort of trance. She’d been staring at the smith’s arms, his shoulders… the sharp cut of his square, stubbled jaw. But her gawking went beyond simple attraction. There was something else about Lucus that seemed… somehow familiar.
No, not familiar. That’s not the word. Maybe… compulsory?
“I’m looking for something,” she said carefully.
“And what’s that?”
She paused, biting her lip. Melody didn’t know how much she should say. But she needed him to open up, at least a little bit, if she was going to read him successfully.
“Is it some new clothing?” Lucus smirked. “Because you’re way overdressed for a barefoot morning stroll.”
“Not exactly,” Melody said.
The blacksmith folded his big arms in front of him. “Then what?”
She locked eyes with him. That was always the first step. His eyes were steel blue, cold yet warm. Full of strength and determination, but also an underlying compassion and understanding.
Things came then, as they always did. Bits, pieces, fragments of thought. Emotion. Will…
“I said—”
But then something else happened. Something that had never happened before in all the times she’d read someone.
Melody got too much.
Her eyes widened as her mind took in even more stimuli, even more perception and awareness than normal. Thoughts, feelings, sentiments of grief, of sorrow, of remorse… these things flew through her head, spinning out rapidly and gaining in strength and speed until Melody was reeling with the sheer weight of it all.
She grew increasingly dizzy. More and more alarmed as the thoughts kept coming, all seemingly without end. Melody felt hope fall to desperation, goodness give way to menace. The man standing before her represented a never-ending stream of pure consciousness — a wave of unchecked emotion that threatened to drown her in imprints of tragedy and heartbreak, of joy and love and ultimate sorrow. She felt the terrible anguish of crushing loss. The abject terror of near limitless fear, along with unfathomable depths of regret.
And there was confusion too. Confusion and hopelessness and eventually, a grim resignation so dark, so depressing, it sent a frozen shudder rocketing throughout her entire body.
She swooned and then fell… and Lucus caught her. It broke their gaze, broke the connection. When she came to her senses Melody was being held against the smith’s chest, wrapped in his two strong arms. She could feel his heart, beating powerfully beneath the surface of her cheek.
“W—What happened?”
“You fainted,” said Lucus.
“I did?”
“You did.”
She felt stupid. Wanted to get up immediately. But his arms felt too good. His closeness… and again, that strange familiarity, that made him less of a stranger and more of a—
“Thanks for catching me,” Melody said, pulling herself upright. She wiped her forehead with the back of one hand. “I— I must have…”
“Come with me,” Lucus told her suddenly. “I have what you need.”
He stomped off, leaving her wide-eyed and still a bit woozy.
Does he have the egg? she thought hopefully. Is that what he’s talking about?
Hurrying along, she followed him into the carriage house. Lucus led her through the interior, beyond a pair of inner doors and into what appeared to be a living area. There was a chest, a wardrobe, a small table with two tiny chairs. A tall ladder led up to a high-flung loft. Melody glanced upward, wondering if the man truly slept there.
Her host opened the wardrobe and began rummaging through it. He paused for a moment, as if considering something, then turned and handed her a simple cloth dress.
“Here,” said Lucus. “This is lighter, and much easier for you to wear than that ball gown.”
Melody glanced down, taking stock of herself. It couldn’t have been more than an hour after dawn and already she was sweating bullets.
“That’s why you passed out, isn’t it?” asked Lucus. “You’re too hot?”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “That’s probably it.”
“There you go, then.”
The dress she was holding was actually somewhat pretty. It looked handmade.
“Where’d you get this?”
“It was my sister’s,” Lucus replied.
“Your sister?”
He nodded. “Cora.”
“She’s not going to be mad if I borrow it, is she?”
Lucus’s expression went uncomfortably dark. “No,” he said, shaking his head somberly. “My sister is… no longer here.”
The statement bred all new questions in Melody’s mind. She decided, wisely, not to ask them.
“You can change in here if you like,” Lucus said, stepping back through the doorway. “Unless you’d prefer to go back to the house.”
“Here’s fine,” smiled Melody.
Lucus nodded and closed the doors behind him. The second he did, she began shimmying straight out of her ball gown.
“Oh, and Lucus?” she called after him.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”