by Frost Kay
“It’s almost noon, niña. You are well and truly awake. Now, stop shying away from the subject. Who are you?”
“Well, my full name is Hazel Bresh, and I am the last child of four—the only girl.”
“Dios Mio,” Abuela whistled. “What a brood.”
“I loved it.” Hazel grinned and sprinkled chicken into the tamale. “Our home was always full of laughter or arguments,” she said wryly.
“I remember those days. My niños always seemed to end up breaking something.”
She rolled up her tamale and placed it in the bowl before grabbing another husk from the pile on the counter. “How many children do you have?”
“I had five niños and one niña.”
Hazel’s eyes widened. “I can’t even imagine raising that many children.”
“It was a challenge, but we managed it.”
“Do they live here?” Hazel asked. She hadn’t seen any visit except Sara and the monster… Noah.
“My sons have all passed.”
Her fingers froze, and she stared at her partial tamale. Five children. All gone. Hazel turned slowly and placed a masa-covered hand over the old woman’s nimble fingers, which hadn’t stopped working. “I’m so sorry.”
“As am I, niña. As am I.” The old woman patted the top of her hand, and then continued to work. “Life gives us many miracles, but it takes much, too. Instead of focusing on what I’ve lost, I try to think about the good things I’ve gained. It doesn’t take the pain away, but it makes it bearable.”
Hazel pulled her hand back and smoothed the masa out with her fingers. “I lost my mama when I was young.”
“Oh, niña, that must have been hard,” the old woman said, sympathy coloring her tone. “A young woman needs a mother’s guidance.”
“Yes, she does,” Hazel murmured. There were so many times in her life she’d wished for advice from her mama. Her papa was clueless when it came to certain things, but he had tried his best. “My family did their best. Thankfully, my oldest brother Jake was a bit older than me, so he married while I was still young. Instead of building their own home, they decided to live in the family home. His wife Katie was like the older sister I never had. In some ways, she helped raise me.”
“You are blessed then. What is this Katie like?”
Hazel grinned. “Wild. She’s loud and crass—the opposite of Jake, but they suit well. She’s a midwife and adores children. I’ve never met someone so generous and kind. When they married, I swear, my brother was the blushing groom.”
“She’s a warrior, no?”
“I guess you could say she is.”
“And what of your other brothers?”
“Like I said before, Jake is the oldest. He’s an old soul who prefers books to humans most of the time. Next is Brent—he’s a burly guy who attacks a problem head on.” Her lips twitched as she finished another tamale. “He has a tendency to stomp, not because he’s mad, but he always has a purpose or a job that needs to be done. Finally, there’s Joseph.”
The old woman placed her tamale in the bowl. “He’s your favorite?”
“Abuela!” Hazel chastised. “They’re all my favorite brothers.”
“Very clever, niña. What I meant is that you understand each other. You have a connection.”
“We do. He’s the closest to my age. We both didn’t get to spend very much time with Mama before she died, so we don’t have the same memories of her like our older brothers. And…” she frowned, thinking of Matt, “we both lost someone we planned to spend the rest of our lives with. Misery loves company and all that.”
“You were mated?” Abuela asked as she hefted the terracotta bowl holding the tamales.
Mated. What an unusual word. Hazel wiped the sweat from her forehead and sat on the wooden stool to her left as the old woman moved to the fireplace and set the bowl down. “Almost.”
Carefully, Abuela reached toward the pot in the fire and lifted the lid with her claws, releasing the steam. She untwisted the top of one tamale, poked it with her nail, and grunted. “They’re done. Bring me a plate.”
Hazel snatched a large wooden platter from the L-shaped counter and scurried over to her side. The old woman nimbly pulled every tamale from the sieve and tossed them onto the platter. Hazel’s mouth watered as she placed the platter on the counter and left the fourth batch of tamales to cool. What in the world would they do with all of them? “Do you plan to feed a hundred people?”
“The meat needed to be used before it went bad, and there are others who could use the extra food,” the Latina woman grumbled. “And I thought you could use a day away from the farm.”
“I don’t mind the work,” Hazel said carefully.
Abuela finished placing the remainder of the tamales in the sieve and set the lid on the pot, so they could steam. She waved a finger at Hazel and tsked. “I’m not dumb, nor am I blind.” She tapped the tip of her pointed nose with a needle-like claw. “Not to mention my sense of smell is very good. You wreak of terror every time you come home.”
“It’s nothing.” It would pass. Bullies like Marco always got bored when their tactics didn’t work. He’d find a new victim to terrorize in no time.
“You know you can trust me, niña.”
Hazel regarded the woman. They’d almost spent a month in each other’s presence. Some of it bad, but most of it good. The scary, old bat was tough, but she was a good person. Out of everyone Hazel had met in the Tainted sanctuary, she was the only one Hazel thought to truly care for her. Other than Doc.
“I believe you.”
Abuela slumped onto the corner of Hazel’s cot and scrutinized her. “I know your feelings on slavery.” Hazel’s jaw flexed at the word, and the old woman held a hand up. “But we clearly have very different views of slaves. From what I’ve gathered, slaves are treated differently in your part of the world. Here, we cherish our people.”
“The people you own like animals. Your property,” Hazel snapped.
“Have I treated you like an animal?”
She kept silent.
Abuela smiled at her. “Listen before you judge. Here in the sanctuary, we value those who work for us. We have laws that govern our actions. Indentured servitude isn’t permanent. We don’t own you. We own your work until you’ve paid off your debt to the society. And even those who are indebted to others are provided food, clothing, protection, and shelter. They aren’t treated as inferior but as an extension of our family.”
“You might treat your indebted workers that way, but not all do.” Marco, for one.
“All should. If they aren’t, there are consequences. Steep ones,” the old woman said sharply. “If you know of someone abusing those underneath their authority, you need to speak up.”
“Would you really believe me?”
“I would, niña.”
Hazel rubbed her hand across her mouth. “Even if I was the only to say something? What is your policy on condemnation?”
“Two witnesses.”
“Then, I can’t help you.” Speaking out against Marco would only put a larger target on her back. Life was already hard enough as it was.
“You know the interesting thing about predators? They usually start out small and work their way up to larger prey as they gain experience. If you’ve been targeted, it’s likely you are not the first, and you won’t be the last if you keep silent. We have an obligation to protect those that are weaker than ourselves, would you agree?”
“Yes.” Her papa had drilled that into Hazel and her brothers their whole lives.
“Maybe it would take only one person to be courageous enough to speak out against corruption for others to step forward, too.”
Hazel stood from her stool and ran a shaking hand down her braid. She braced both of her hands against the counter and gazed out the open window at the herb garden. What in the hell was she doing? When had she become so weak that she wouldn’t call out a bully? Even with Gen and the others, if they bothered her, she co
uld handle them, but she always spoke out against a bully.
“It was Marco.” Her voice rang clear, no hesitation. “He struck me across the cheek the first day, and days ago, he and his goons pushed me around.” The fire crackled, and the plain tan curtains fluttered in the wind, buffeting Hazel’s face. She slowly faced the old woman and blanched at the expression of violence upon her visage. “Abuela?”
The old woman blinked slowly at her, and the hair along Hazel’s arms rose in response to the threat standing just across the room.
“I will tear the flesh from his bones,” the Tainted whispered, her voice like the rustling of dead leaves. “No one touches what is mine.”
Hazel kept her gaze locked on the monster and scooted her hand behind the plate of tamales. Her fingers curled around the worn bone handle of a knife. It wasn’t huge, but it would do if she had to defend herself.
The old woman cocked her head and inhaled deeply, her nostrils flaring. She stiffened and closed her dark eyes. Hazel didn’t move from her spot but gauged the door to be only four steps away. The window was closer but too tiny to escape through.
“I’m sorry, niña. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“You didn’t.” She barely managed to keep her tone level.
The old woman touched her nose and opened her eyes. “I can smell it on you.” She sighed. “Sometimes my emotions are hard to control.”
“Understandable.” Everyone had a hard time keeping their temper in check. But not everyone had the ability to rip your face off with their bare hands, either.
“I would never hurt you, Hazel. You can let go of the blade.”
“I would prefer to keep it, if it’s all the same to you,” Hazel responded, her palm slick against the bone handle.
The old woman waved a hand at her. “Keep it for all I care. A girl should always carry a weapon anyhow.” She squinted at Hazel. “Especially one so soft and helpless. How have you survived this long without any natural weapons?” As if to make a point, she clicked her claws together.
Hazel balked. “I’m not helpless just because I don’t have fangs, claws, or scales. Hand me a bow or a pistol and I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of.”
Abuela grinned. “That’s the spirit I was looking for. You’ll need it for when we visit my daughter. We’re going to have a man exiled.” Her smile turned more sinister. “Or better yet, executed.”
Fourteen
Hazel
It was easier than she thought confessing all that she’d seen and experienced. She had kept Mariah out of the story just in case there were consequences for not coming forward. The most off-putting part had been the way Noah froze when she began her story. It would have bothered her less if he’d paced or something, but he hadn’t moved. She swore, he didn’t even blink.
Hazel gently watered the herbs as the sun dropped behind the bluff, heralding the oncoming dusk.
It had been a good day. She’d been nervous heading to work on the farm that morning, but she needn’t have worried. Mariah had greeted her with a hug and a smile that almost made Hazel cry. No one treated her differently; in fact, the people harvesting involved her in their conversations throughout the day.
She’d learned that Milton, a sinuous man with a forked tongue, had been mated twice and was now raising three daughters on his own. Mariah was a widow as well, and Bastile wasn’t her biological child. Her sister had died at birth, and Mariah took the child as her own. A tall woman with the physique of a dancer and skin spotted like a fawn had even offered advice on how to harvest tomatoes without tearing up her hands.
“Hazel?”
She swiveled to the side and spotted Abuela standing on the porch. “Yeah?”
“I need you to take some tamales to a family. They’re all sick, and I’m sure a meal would be most welcome.”
“I can go as soon as I finish up.”
The tiny woman stepped from the porch and meandered through the garden. “Hand me that. I can water my own plants. It’s these old legs that are giving me trouble. Can’t do much walking these days.”
Hazel handed over the watering pot and shot a skeptical gaze at said legs. The old woman played it up. She was more spry than many people Hazel’s age. “Whatever you say, Abuela.”
“Be gone with you. The tamales are in the basket on the counter.”
She jogged back to the house, plucked the tamales from the counter, and shut the door behind her as she exited. A little drawing of a map was pinned to the top. Hazel smiled. Abuela thought of everything. She walked to the fence and opened the metal gate, its familiar screech not bothering her in the least.
“Hurry back,” the old woman called. “I want you home before dark.”
“I will,” Hazel shouted back, already moving toward the farm outbuildings. Being in the dark wasn’t her idea of fun.
Wandering through the town wasn’t so bad this go-around. People saw her and still whispered, but there were more smiles than frowns. She rounded a modest stone home and knocked on the door. Little voices whispered and the wooden door was yanked open.
Hazel’s mouth popped open as she stared down at a little face with huge grey eyes and white feathery hair. The little girl from the market. Damn meddlesome old woman. Was she trying to get Hazel stabbed?
Two more little heads peeked out from behind the door with identical features to the first. Good lord. Triplets?
“Shel, who is it?” a scratchy voice asked, followed by a chest-rattling cough.
“It’s Hazel, ma’am. Abuela sent me,” Hazel supplied, nerves buzzing. Would the woman throw her out?
Silence followed her statement.
Nervously, she shifted from one foot to the other. The last time she’d seen the woman, she’d basically called Hazel a child abuser.
A mattress creaked, and then the sound of shuffling neared the door. The woman stepped around the door and ushered her children back, eyeing Hazel through bloodshot eyes. “What do you want?” she demanded.
Hazel held out the basket full of tamales. “Abuela said you were sick, so she sent me with supper. I hope that’s okay. They’re fresh. We made them just yesterday.” She snapped her mouth shut, knowing that she was rambling. Stupid nerves.
The woman eyed Hazel and then the basket. “You made these?”
“Not by myself. The old woman and I slaved over these all day yesterday.” She held them out. “For your family.”
The woman wiped her red nose with a handkerchief and opened the door wider. “Well, come on in.”
She took a hesitant step inside, studying the clean yet simple home. A table with bench seating sat to the right, and behind it lay a counter with a few shelves holding foodstuffs and a sink full of chipped dishes.
Hazel stepped over to the table and set the bowl of tamales down. She hid her smile when three feathery heads popped up on the other side, their large eyes glued to the food. “Looks as if someone is hungry.”
“I haven’t been cooking like I normally—” the woman broke off in a fit of coughing, her whole frame shaking. “If only this blasted cold would go away,” she huffed.
“Getting sick is the worst. Makes me wish for the good old days when medicine could help such things.”
The woman cackled, which turned into another round of coughing. “Good ol’ medicine is why we’re in the mess we’re in today.”
“Touché.” Hazel studied the woman who looked bloody miserable. “Why don’t you lie down and I’ll get the wee ones their supper?”
The woman’s enormous eyes narrowed. “And why would you do that?”
“Because I grew up with one parent, and I know how it affects the whole family when that person becomes ill. I’ve got nothing to do. Hell, your bed is right there.” Hazel gestured to the bunk bed not even ten feet away. “Feel free to watch me the entire time but don’t turn me away. I can help.” A pause. “For the little ones,” she tacked on. It was a dirty trick, but she’d never known any good mother to turn down help f
or her babies.
The woman pointed a finger at Hazel. “Don’t think I don’t see what you just did,” she grumbled and slunk back to bed.
Hazel turned her attention back to the salivating littles and rubbed her hands together. “Who’s hungry?”
She finished up washing the dishes, listening to the triplets sleepily chattering with their mama in bed. Hazel added more soap and hot water to the steel basin and rinsed out her rag. Her shoulder ached as she scrubbed the stone countertop free of any oatmeal. The blasted stuff was practically cement once it dried.
Once finished with the counters, she moved on to the table and benches. She’d forgotten how messy littles could be. Hell, even big littles. It was a full-time job cleaning up after her brothers. The thought struck her, and she wheezed, grief slamming into her chest. God, she missed her family.
“You know you didn’t have to do all of that,” the woman rasped, her voice not much louder than a whisper.
Hazel swiveled and smiled at the triplets draped over their mama, completely asleep. Shel’s mouth hung completely open.
“I didn’t, but I wanted to.”
“Why? You owe me nothing.”
“You’re right. I wanted to, and I was able. What more reason should there be?” she asked and moved back to the sink to rinse the rag once more before releasing the water down the drain and pouring hot water around the edges of the metal bin to disinfect it.
“You said your name was Hazel?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m Cody.”
Hazel hung the rag over the edge of the sink and faced Cody. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Large blue-grey eyes scanned her face. “I believe it’s nice to meet you, too. You’re different.”
She laughed. “You’re not the first one, nor the last one, to say that.” Hazel brushed her wet hands over her jeans. “Is there anything else I can help with before I leave?”
“We’ll manage,” Cody said. “We’ve made it this far.”
“Do you have anything for the cough?”