The Forest at the Edge of the World(14)

Mahrree saw a movement to her right and glanced over just in time to see a large and muscular man bound up the stairs on the side of the platform. He wore the uniform of the army—dark blue jacket with silver buttons fastened appropriately up to his throat, blue trousers, and, tucked formally under his arm, was a cap with brim.

He stepped on to the platform and paused in mid-stride when he saw Mahrree. He glanced over at the rector, then back at her. A small smile—or maybe a smirk—crept across his face.

Mahrree took a deep breath she hoped no one noticed and firmed her stance. She told herself she would not be intimidated. However, she was unnerved that what she was feeling was not intimidation. And oddly, she suddenly wondered what her hair looked like. She tried to force herself to concentrate, but it wasn’t easy since she couldn’t stop staring at him.

He was considerably taller than her, but then so was everyone over age thirteen. His uniform was smartly pressed, as was Mahrree’s best cotton dress. His black hair was neat and short and would probably feel thick if she ran her fingers through—

Mahrree blinked in surprise. Where had that thought come from?! It was as if the influence of her three teenage students had rushed into the amphitheater and overwhelmed her reason. Had they been standing next to her they would have pointed out his straight nose, his dark eyes, and even the tiny scar on the side of his mouth. One of them probably would have nudged her to notice his penetrating gaze. When she did, she was alarmed to realize he was studying her. He cocked his head as if trying to interpret the expression on her face. Mahrree shook herself a bit, not daring to guess how long she stared at him. He smiled broader and took a few more steps towards her.

From somewhere she heard the rector’s voice. “Let us see how our children’s teacher will handle our new captain!”

Our new captain!

Had her students been standing next to her, that’s what they would have been cheering. Mahrree felt strangely weak before remembering she hadn’t breathed for the past minute. She filled her lungs and smiled at her challenger.

“Well, Mr. Captain,” she began, “What’s the newest belief in Idumea? I understand ideas are emerging each day. In the 319 years of our existence in the world, we have heard many strange things, but I’m sure what you will present to us will simply amaze us.”

Her voice was sweet and stinging at the same time, and she felt her confidence return. Mahrree always saw the debates as two boys fighting for possession of a boulder. She pictured herself starting on the top, with her opponent down below where she could throw bits of gravel at his eyes—his unexpectedly dark eyes—which she chose not to look at. Instead she focused on a scar above his left eye and tried to imagine how it got there. A stick seemed to be involved.

“Perrin,” was all the captain replied.

“What?” Mahrree was startled too quickly out of her scenario of a girl whacking him across the forehead.

He stepped closer to Mahrree. “My name is Perrin Shin. And you are . . .?”

She knew that family name: Shin. She should know that name, but it escaped her for the moment.

As did, embarrassingly, her own.

“Uh, I’m . . .”

Maybe it was good her teenage students hadn’t joined her that evening.

“Uh, Mahrree. Peto. Yes. That’s me.”

Eloquent. Poised. Like as a hog trying to jump a fence.

She thought she heard chortling from the audience. In the space just above her heart, a warmth filled her that she’d often felt before, and she immediately thought of her father. He would like this man, Perrin Shin.

“Well, Mrs. Peto—”

“Umm,” she interrupted. “I’m Miss Mahrree.”

Captain Shin sent a quick glance towards someone in the audience. Then in a low deep voice only she could hear he said, “I should have known.”

Mahrree’s previous flightiness flew away as she put her hands on her waist. There was nothing wrong with her age and her single status. Oh, let that be the debate topic: the age at which a woman should marry! She’d won that argument many times with her mother. She eyed the captain and would have rolled up her sleeves of her linen tunic if they weren’t already short.

In a much louder voice he announced, “There is a great deal of talk in the Idumea. And the talk is, there’s too much talk.”

Mahrree smirked. How could she respect a man so unsuccessful at cleverness? People from Idumea, especially an officer, were supposed to be sophisticated and infallible. She watched him as if he was an infestation of approaching ants.

“There’s too much talk,” he repeated, “about issues we no longer need to discuss; theories and facts that the Administrators are now suggesting have been decided and need no more debate.”