Ninka Evertrue's Arc

Chapter 1 of 29

Ninka Evertrue spread the sketch across the kitchen table and weighed the corners with two spoons and a jar of honey. The paper showed a cabin with crystal beams, sunflower beds, and a wide porch full of mismatched chairs. She had drawn it four times this month. Each time, her mother walked past without stopping. Today Ninka meant to make her stop. "I found a place," she said. "On the old survey map. Twelve acres past the creek. Nobody's paid tax on it in nine years." Rebecka set down her mug. Her braid was still damp from washing. The bow leaned against the door where she could reach it in one step. "Twelve acres of what," Rebecka said. "Meadow. A spring. Birch on the north edge." Ninka pushed the sketch closer. "I want to build a commune. For people like me. Kids who can do things and get hunted for it. I want a house where nobody has to hide what they are." Rebecka looked at the drawing. She did not touch it. "You're fifteen," she said. "You can't hold land." "Grandma can. Her name still works at the county office." "And the money." "Nine years of back tax. I checked. It's four hundred and sixty dollars." Rebecka's mouth moved. Not quite a smile. Ninka logged it anyway, the way she logged every crack of the old laugh. "Why now," Rebecka said. Ninka's hands went flat on the table. "Because if I keep drawing it and never do it, it stops being a plan. It turns into a thing I cry about at night." Rebecka looked at her for a long moment. Then she stood, opened the cupboard above the sink, and took down a coffee tin. She counted bills onto the table. Twenties, tens, a few fives. She stopped at four hundred and sixty and pushed the stack across. "Tax office opens at nine," Rebecka said. "Take Grandma. Put it in her name. Bring the receipt home." Ninka stared at the money. Her throat closed. "You're saying yes." "I'm saying buy the field." Rebecka picked up her mug again. "The rest is harder." "What's the rest." "A field isn't a house. A house isn't a commune. And anyone you invite becomes someone we have to keep alive." She met Ninka's eyes. "You understand that." "I understand." "Then go." By noon the deed sat folded in Ninka's back pocket, stamped and signed, her grandmother's name in blue ink. Twelve acres. Hers to build on. She walked out past the creek to see the land before dark. The meadow was longer than she'd guessed. Wind moved the grass in slow rolls. She stood at what would be the porch and turned in a circle. There was nothing here. No cabin. No well. No walls to hang sunflowers against. Just grass, and the sound of water, and the size of what she had promised. She pulled out her notebook and started a new list.