Matilda's Arc

Chapter 2 of 7

The teacake sat untouched on the table for two days. Matilda circled it while she planned. She needed the locked book from the old witch's barn, and she needed to fetch it before Summer Sun came calling again. Summer Sun had said she would drop in soon. Soon in that flat voice could mean tomorrow. Matilda could not be halfway out the door with a crowbar when the sunflower-headed girl knocked. She laid out her tools on the kitchen table of her bramble-wrapped cottage. A short iron bar. A knife for the lock. A sack lined with wool to muffle the book's weight. She pulled her cloak from the hook and checked the sky through the crooked window. Late afternoon. The old witch tended her hives at dusk, at the far end of her land. That was the window. Matilda would go tonight. She was tying the sack shut when the knock came. Three soft taps. Matilda froze. She shoved the iron bar under a dishcloth and the sack behind the woodbin. She smoothed her hair. She opened the door. Summer Sun stood on the step in her striped dress, holding a jar of honey. "Brought you this. Weatherby sent it." She held out the jar. Matilda took it. The label was written in a careful old hand. "Thought I'd sit a while," Summer Sun said. "If that's alright." Matilda's throat closed. Behind her, the corner of the wool sack showed past the woodbin. She stepped sideways to block the view and said, "Come in." They sat. Matilda poured tea with steady hands and a loud pulse. Summer Sun talked about the meadow, about a bee that had followed her home, about nothing that mattered. She did not look at the woodbin. She did not look at the dishcloth. She sipped her tea and let the quiet sit between them like a third chair. Matilda answered when answered was needed. She laughed once, thin, at a story about the bee. The window darkened. The dusk window closed. The old witch would be back inside her house by now, book locked away, barn shut. Matilda watched the light leave the glass and felt the plan die in her chest. When Summer Sun finally stood to go, she paused at the door. "You look tired again," she said. "Rest." Then she was down the path. Matilda shut the door and leaned against it. The honey jar sat on the table beside the cold tea. She had chosen the visit over the barn. She had chosen it without deciding to. Tomorrow the old witch would be watchful, the book harder to reach, and Matilda would have to find another way in. She pulled the sack from behind the woodbin and set it by the hearth. The tools inside clinked once and were still.