Bella Burrows's Arc

Chapter 2 of 9

Bella came back to the roadside at noon the next day with the letter still on her mind. The older man had taken it, nodded, and walked into the dusk. She had asked him to return. She watched the bend in the road where he had gone and counted the wagons that were not his. Her belly was already round by the time the sun hit the fence rail. It was rounder than yesterday. The burps came closer together, three before she sat down, two more before she could decide where to wait. She settled against the flat-topped stone at the edge of the field, the one veined through with metal that caught the light. It was cool against her back. She pressed both hands under her belly and let it rest on her thighs. Burp six. Burp seven. She had stopped tallying out loud. The road stayed empty. By the time the shadow of the fence post crossed her boot, she knew the older man was not coming. Her throat worked again and another burp pushed out, loud enough to startle a sparrow off the rail. She almost went back to the house. She had her hand on the stone to push up when a man stopped at the crystal-studded post where the road bent. He was younger than yesterday's. Half-elf, by the ears. He read the painted board. He read the kiosk. Then he looked at her, and he did not look away. He crossed the grass with a soda bottle in his hand. He held it out before he spoke. "Saw the sign," he said. "Thought you might want this. I'm not in a hurry." Bella took the bottle. It was cold. She set it on the stone beside her hip and waited for him to flinch or laugh. Another burp came up. He grinned. "How many's that today?" "Eight," she said. He sat down on the grass at her feet without asking. He put one hand on the side of her belly, light, the way you'd touch a sleeping animal. She went still and closed her eyes. The next one came. He laughed, not at her. He said, "That's a good one." Burp nine. He kept his hand where it was. Burp ten. He said it again. By twelve she had lost the count, and he was still counting for her, out loud, like it was something worth saying. She opened her eyes. He was looking at her belly the way the older man never had — not waiting it out, but watching for the next one. She did not tell him about the letter. She did not tell him she had given it to someone else. She picked up the cold bottle and twisted the cap. The hiss made him laugh again. "Tomorrow," she said. "Come back tomorrow." He said he would. She believed him, and that was the new trouble.