*Chapter 5: The Verdict at Dinner*
809 Words
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Dinner was supposed to be safe.
The same table where Hilda told stories. Where Amara stole biscuits. Where Richard pretended he wasn’t terrified every second of the day.
Tonight, the candles burned too bright. The stew tasted like ash.
Amara pushed her spoon through the potatoes, laughing at something Hilda had said about the neighbor’s goat. “Honestly, Hilda, if that goat gets out one more time—”
“Amara.” Richard’s voice cut through like a blade.
She looked up, spoon halfway to her mouth. Paused.
His face. He wasn’t angry. He was... resigned. That was worse.
“What did you just say, Father?” She set the spoon down. Slow.
Richard cleared his throat. Wouldn’t meet her eyes. “The Colonel came to see me today. Colonel Lucien Devereaux.”
Amara’s heart dropped into her stomach. “I know. I met him. He looked at me like I was something he could buy.”
“He doesn’t see you that way,” Richard said fast. Too fast. “He sees potential. He sees... order. He said he wants to court you.”
The room went silent. Even the candles stopped flickering.
Amara stared at him. “You have to be joking.”
“I’m not.” Richard finally looked at her. “You have to agree to it.”
Her fork clattered to the plate. “What did you just say, Father?”
“You heard me. He’s offering protection. Status. A future where you don’t die in a ditch chasing wild horses. He’ll be here next week for your answer. And you’re going to say yes.”
Amara stood so fast her chair screeched against the floor. “I can’t. Forget it, Father. This man is twice my age. He looked at me like I was property.”
“So what if he’s twice your age?” Richard snapped, slamming his hand on the table. “People marry with age gaps all the time, Amara! It’s done! It’s safe!”
“Safe?” She laughed, but it was sharp, broken. “No, Father, you don’t understand. I can’t do this. He looks so mean and awful and cold. He wants to tame me. Cage me. Erase everything Mother told me before she died!”
Richard stood too. “You need someone like him to tame you, Amara! You’re wild! You’re reckless! One day you’re going to get yourself killed and then what am I supposed to do?!”
“Then let me die free!” Amara shouted, tears blurring her vision. “Instead of living buried alive!”
“Don’t you dare—”
“You don’t have my best interest in mind!” She was crying now, really crying. “You have your fear in mind! You have the Colonel’s power in mind! But not me! Not what Mother wanted!” She threw her napkin down. “I hate you so much.”
The words landed like gunfire.
She turned and ran. Up the stairs. Down the hall. Slammed her bedroom door and collapsed on the floor, sobbing into Hilda’s old quilt.
Downstairs, silence.
Hilda looked at Richard. Really looked at him. Her eyes weren’t angry. They were heartbroken.
“You shouldn’t have agreed,” she said quietly. “You shouldn’t have even said anything.”
“I didn’t have a choice, Hilda!” Richard dragged both hands through his hair. “He offered me everything. Protection for the land. Protection for her. The military backing. What was I supposed to do?”
“Choose her!” Hilda snapped. “You were supposed to choose your daughter over your fear!”
“We just have to make her agree within this week,” Richard said, desperate. “Can you help me, Hilda? You’re the only one she listens to. Talk to her. Make her see reason.”
Hilda stood. Slow. Deliberate. Her chair didn’t make a sound.
Then she slammed both palms on the table. “I will NOT help you do that.” Her voice shook with fury. “You are playing with her future, Richard. And that is not—no longer—fair. Eleanor’s last words were ‘Be as free as the wind.’ And you’re trying to build her a cage with the Colonel’s gold.”
She yanked her apron off and threw it on the table. “I raised that girl since she was screaming in Eleanor’s arms. I will not be the one to hand her to a man who sees her as a jewel to polish. You want to make her say yes? Do it yourself.”
She walked out. The kitchen door swung shut behind her.
Richard stood alone in the dining room. The stew growing cold. His daughter crying upstairs. The woman who’d been his backbone for twenty years walking away from him.
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- Writer
