“Lena,” Father said. “I have a task for you this afternoon.”

I looked up from the plate that I kept pushing food around on. Father held a stack of papers and was binding them up with a strand of leather. He sat them down on the table next to my wrist. ‘Rivers property estimated annum income’ it read across the top in Father’s neat, orderly handwriting. The ledgers and numbers he’d been working on the night before. It looked like he’d estimated three thousand gold pieces for this upcoming harvest.

Three thousand gold pieces!

I choked on the bread I was eating. Father shot me a dark look through my coughing and sputtering.

“That’s more than double last harvest’s profit!” I said between gasping for air and trying to dislodge the crumbs in the back of my throat.

“I’m aware of that Lena. It’s part of why I need you to keep your head out of the clouds and focus on your reality.”

“I…” I started to protest but Father cut me off before I had a chance to say anything else.

“We are not having this conversation again. After you’ve finished your meal, you need to take this to the magister’s building.”

I didn’t answer because I was still staring in disbelief at the numbers on the page. We hadn’t tried to earn that much from our land in years. Mentally, I tried to calculate the sums and differences in my head to see if three thousand gold pieces in a harvest was even possible for us. However, without sitting down and actually going through ledgers and expenses, there was no accurate way to actually determine that. Not that I had the patience to actually sit down and do so. Nor did Father have the patience to let me.

Something screamed inside my head though that it had to be impossible for us to make that kind of money on a harvest.

“Are you listening Lena?” Father asked. Suddenly it came to my attention that Father hadn’t actually stopped talking. But I had most definitely stopped listening after I became engrossed in the grand possibility of turning three thousand gold.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

Father sighed and shook his head.

“When you go to town, go straight to the magister’s and then straight back. I don’t want you dawdling in town.”

I bit my lip to keep from saying anything out of turn. He never wanted me dawdling in town as he put it. Something must have been evident on my face because Father frowned and pursed his lips.

“I know that you want to spend time and enjoy yourself daughter. You don’t think that I don’t remember what it was like to be your age?”

He pulled a chair out beside me and sat down, even going so far as to place a hand on my knee gently. “Perhaps your flightiness is my fault. I haven’t given you enough time to spend as you wish. Once the harvest passes this year, maybe there will be time for you to attend the barn dances and Holy Day socials. Perhaps that’s the reason you’ve not yet found yourself a husband.”

Father patted my knee before rising. The bread I’d nearly choked on started to creep back up my throat with bile and acid. Is this where we were back to? Me finding a husband, settling down, having children, and taking over the farm?

I looked up to see Father putting his wide-brimmed hat back on. “When you come back from town, start weeding the Southern field by the barn. I don’t think we’ll finish it before nightfall but it should at least get started. Weeds are growing quickly this spring it would seem.”

Father set his hand on my head and held it there for a moment like he had when I was a small child. “Oh!” he said suddenly, not taking his hand away, “One more thing. If you happen to run into Clive Terrin or the Mayor, you need to apologize for making a fool of yourself at that inner circle party last night.”

A lump formed in my throat.

“Apologize?” I repeated, blinking in utter astonishment. “For what? I just wanted to have a good time at a party!”

“You embarrassed yourself last night, pretending to be something you aren’t. You’d save yourself from future trouble by apologizing and promising that a repeat incident won’t happen again.”

I bit my tongue. It was better than arguing with him. Father ruffled my hair like I actually was a small child still. “I will see you when you return. Remember. Don’t dawdle.”

With that, Father left the kitchen. The front door closed after him. Once again, bile crept into my throat. Not only that but swallowing became nearly impossible. I looked down at my food, appetite fading quickly.

My head still buzzed slightly from the way Father had patted me. Embarrassed myself or you?

My appetite had disappeared entirely. I scraped what was left of my meal into a slop bucket for the hogs, scrubbed my hands in the sink, tucked the ledgers into a bag I took to market and headed for the door. Leave it to Father to make going to town the most absolute miserable chore he could assign.

Father didn’t even look up at me as I walked past him in the Southern field. He had his eyes towards the soil, weeding and completely oblivious to his surroundings. He didn’t even notice me as I left. Probably a good thing because he would’ve told me to move a little quicker.

Right after midday happened to be the busiest time in town. The outer circles of Woodhearst were mainly homesteads and general shops. However, the middling circle was devoted to the market. It bustled with activity as people haggled with merchants over prices and goods. I pushed and sidled past vendors and shoppers, sparing a wave or two to a few people as I passed. Father sent me to market to sell goods some days instead of tending the farm, especially during the winter months when things were slow and the weather was cold. It was mildly less boring than farm work and about the only time I ever really got to socialize. The handful of friends that I’d had when I’d been in school also tended stalls for their families in the market.

“Did you see that deer?” someone selling produce asked a customer.

The snatch of conversation caught my attention immediately. I slowed to an even more crawling pace.

“Giant thing?” the person replied. “A prize fit for the King’s hunt.”

“Doubt the elf would care much for that sentiment.” The vendor laughed a little as he leaned back against his cart.

“True,” said the customer with a nod. “He’s darker toned than I expected an elf to be.”

“Must spend a lot of time in the sun.”

“Do you think he’s from the South or the North?”

The vendor shrugged. “Ehh, hard to tell. Didn’t have an Alari accent and Tirionite would have to pass into their territory to come this far North.”

“Yeah, probably from Entheas then. Their city is the one closest to the capital anyways. Probably explains why he’s a King’s Ranger. They’ve always had a pretty cushy relationship with the royals.”

“Moreso then them Beastkin and half-pint gnomes and halflin’s.”

At the overtly offensive ‘half-pint’ comment, I tuned out the conversation and pushed on towards the inner circle. Avoiding that dawdling as Father put it. However, the conversation about the elfin ranger definitely made my ears ring. I wasn’t the only one who apparently thought his arrival was exciting.

A few minutes later, the street opened up and cleared of the crowd that hovered around in the market. The only people I really saw were the well-dressed business men that handled Woodhearst’s administrative details. They darted in and out of the buildings, crossing the street from the magister’s to the mayoral manse and to other buildings around the inner circle. It had to be close to two by now if the sun’s position in the sky was any indication. I turned to the magister’s office. Better to get this done and out of the way so I could get home without inducing a whole new wave of disappointment in Father.

The bell in the magister’s office rang as I stepped into the building. The magister, an older and graying man with more wrinkles than even the local priest of Sealdír, sat behind an upraised desk in the back of the room. He looked up at me as I walked in. “Young Miss Rivers what brings you down to this part of town… again?” he asked me.

There was a sly smile on his face. The magister had probably been at the party last night. I bit my tongue to keep from saying anything that would get me into trouble. Instead, I took the stack of ledgers out of my bag and sat them on the desk with a loud but self-satisfying ‘thud.’ The magister even jumped in his seat at the sound. “Father sent me with an updated account of our projected gains this harvest.”

The magister narrowed his eyes at the stack of paper in front of him before pulling out a pair of spectacles from his breast pocket. Even then he had to pull the ledgers back and forth to get a good sight on them. I knew when he was finally able to read them because his eyes nearly popped out of his skull and his mouth fell open. “Three thousand gold?” he asked me, slamming the papers down on the desk. “Are you sure this is correct? Merrik hasn’t made any mistakes has he?”

I raised an eyebrow. “When was the last time Father made a mistake with his annual reports Magister?”

“Your family hasn’t produced this much since… since… since before Millicent died. May Atheia keep her soul in Her wings for all eternity,” the magister said before quickly adding the customary prayer.

As soon as he mentioned my mother and her passing, it occurred to me that the magister had a point. Father hadn’t produced this much since there had been three of us on the farm. It was just too much work to push that kind of harvest which made me ask…

Why was Father so certain that we could do it now? Unless he planned on hiring someone else to help us. That didn’t seem likely either. Father was too frugal to hire another hand. I had the distinct feeling that Father had some grand master plan that involve me knowing very little until it all actually happened.

The magister continued to stare open-mouthed at the ledger, doing the sums and differences himself. “Father spent most of last night working on the calculations himself,” I explained. “If you insist on redoing them yourself then we’ll both be here awhile and if that’s the case then the least you could do is offer me a chair. Some refreshments would be nice if you had them too.”

The thick stack of papers hit the wooden desk with a loud smack. All the wrinkles on the magister’s face scrunched up and made him look even older as he glared down at me. “Check your impertinence child!” he snapped at me.

I only shrugged. He went back to looking at the ledgers. This time, however, he kept his mouth shut and lips pursed. Finally, the magister took the top most pages of the ledger and set them aside. Every farmer always prepared two or more identical copies of a ledger’s summary. One for their own personal records and one for the administrators. I started to collect the remaining pages as the magister poured hot wax and pressed a seal into both summary copies. “Tell Merrik that he’s giving himself a tall order this year. There will be a fee later on if he wants to change his mind,” the magister told me as he handed me back one of the copies.

“Yes, of course,” I said, waving dismissively. He’d already sealed the ledgers. It was too late for Father to change his mind without incurring the fee.

“In case you’re wondering, Clive and Mayor Terrin are at home today. Attending matters of the town. They are available for an audience to all members of Woodhearst this afternoon.”

“Why would I…” I started in confusion.

Then I saw the smug look on the magister’s face and anger washed over me. Why did everyone think I owed those people an apology? If anything, they should have been the ones apologizing to me for the way that they acted! They weren’t any better than I was!

“Thanks…” I mumbled as I stuffed the papers back into my bag. I have no intention of doing that.

“Have a pleasant afternoon young miss Rivers.”

I threw a half-hearted wave over my shoulder as I walked out the door. Without really intending to, I slammed the door shut after me.

“Let the gods spit on you for all I care.” I hissed under my breath, clenching my hands into fists.