Soldier at the Door(56)

Mrs. Hili studied her for a moment. “It’s wonderful that you want to help. Really it is,” she said as if trying to explain to a three-year-old why mud pies were inherently inedible. “But there’s nothing wrong with earning a little more on the side, is there?”

“But if we don’t need more—”

“Everybody needs more, Mrs. Shin!”

Mahrree was about to argue when a new sofa visited her mind. It dropped seemingly out of nowhere and had big cushions made of strong thick cloth. Her entire family was sitting on it, waving to her. It was long and broad enough to accommodate a bear—or her husband who seemed nearly the same size—and the dog. She tried to shake Barker out of her mind and off the sofa. She could barely move him. But the Perrin on the sofa looked amused by the effort.

“You may have a point, Mrs. Hili,” Mahrree said dreamily, until she heard a loud throat clearing noise from her husband.

She looked at him and he held up his hand in questioning.

“I’m sorry, I guess I’m not used to being out in the fresh air,” she chuckled uneasily. “Mrs. Hili, tell Poe he can come by my house anytime, and he can bring his friends, too.”

Perrin tightened his grip on the reins. “We best be moving on, keep the horses warmed up. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Hili.” And he slapped the horses into a trot.

They drove through the new housing division along needlessly winding roads that twisted absurdly. Some even ended abruptly in odd circles, as if making the roads different would help the residents forget their houses were all identical squares.

“So,” Perrin said unexpectedly, “what was all that back there?”

“All what?”

“About needing more?” His voice was losing its insulted edge. “I mean, are you . . . dissatisfied? Don’t I provide enough?”

She clutched his arm and hugged it. “More than enough, Perrin! I don’t know what came over me. I guess just the thought of, I don’t know, maybe doing something more to help you? Our family?”

“We’re fine, Mahrree. We even have slips of gold and silver hidden the cellar, enough to see us through for several seasons or . . . to buy a fraction of one of these houses,” he said slowly.

For a few minutes they drove wordlessly by the new houses, both lost in thought while observing the activity.

A few large homes that could house two dozen people already had occupants. In front of one, standing in their sandy gray dirt, was a couple who were trying to position straggly little trees in interesting ways. It would be years before they could hope for any shade from them, but even so they were optimistically angling the thick sticks to make the most of the anemic shadows they cast on the house.

Mahrree found herself wrestling with an odd mixture of feelings as she observed a group of builders constructing a tall, perfectly smooth wall going up to heights she had never seen dared before in a house. She inexplicably imagined herself moving her whole family into one of those monstrosities and considered how to place their books and Perrin’s maps along the walls in such a deliberately artful arrangement that even her mother would have been proud. She even mentally tore one of Perrin’s ancient maps to fit better in a narrower space between two windows.

Something snapped in her brain.

Why would she do that?! She tried to shake the guilt out of her head for considering tearing Perrin’s map and consigning their best friends—their books—to serve as mute works of art on tall shelves. Why would she suddenly picture herself in the largest house in Edge? For what purpose?

She squirmed.

To find herself so immediately gripped with envy and desire surprised her. These houses weren’t worth it. Worth anything, she reminded herself. Her home was made by the villagers and now also her husband. Each board reminded her of someone who helped sand it down or nail it in. Each lopsided glop of mortar on the stones seemed to have a story associated with why it was that way. Every irregularity of the rock reminded her of the diverse personalities who helped place it.

But these ordinary houses? They had no character at all, and they probably cost ten bags of silver rather than only one.

It seemed unfortunate to place such a high value on uniformity.

Another house they passed was being painted by two workers under observation of a husband and wife around the age of the Shins. Of all the colors the Creator made to lighten and brighten the world, the owners had chosen a shade of gray slightly darker than the blocks.

Leaning against the house waiting to be installed were shutters that seemed to be utterly inadequate. They were not nearly wide enough to actually shield the windows in case of a severe storm or heat. And the color of them was an even darker shade of gray.