Silas Kember's Arc

Chapter 2 of 10

The next morning Vera waited for him by the bakery door. She had read every letter the night before. Silas knew it from her face. Forty pages of his heart, each one addressed to her at last. Now she wanted him to say the words out loud. That was the one thing he had never done. He sat on his stool and could not look at her. His hands stayed still on his knees. The pen lay in his satchel, useless. Paper let him be brave. His own voice had always failed him. "You wrote beautiful things," Vera said. "But you won't even meet my eyes." She wiped flour from her hands. "If you regret them, say so. I would rather know." Silas opened his mouth. Nothing came. The silence stretched, and he watched it wound her. She thought his quiet meant he wanted to take it all back. She stepped away toward the door. "Wait." The word broke out of him. Vera stopped. He stood, and his stool scraped the cobblestones. "I don't regret them. I've never regretted a single one." She turned. "Then why can't you speak to me?" "Because writing is safe," he said. His voice shook, but it kept going. "When I write, I can fix every word. I can't fix my face. I can't take back what you see when I look at you." He made himself hold her gaze. "What you see is true. I love you. I've loved you since you came back." The words hung in the air, spoken and real. He had never said such a thing aloud to anyone. His chest ached with the newness of it. Vera's eyes filled. She did not speak for a long moment. Then she reached behind the window ledge and lifted a bundle wrapped in paper. She unwrapped it. Inside lay a cluster of blue bells and wildflowers, dewed and faintly shining. "I picked these at dawn," she said. "I wanted to give them back for your letters. But I was afraid you'd take the flowers and say nothing. Then I'd have my answer." She pressed them into his hands. "You gave me words instead." Silas held the flowers. They trembled with his grip. "I meant every one." "I believe you now," Vera said. She smiled, and the flour on her cheek lifted with it. "But words like these deserve more than a stool outside my door. I close the bakery at dusk. Come inside then. Tell me the rest. All of it, out loud." She went back through the door and left him standing. Silas looked at the bright flowers in his hands. He had spoken, and she had not turned away. The hardest letter he owned was no longer on paper at all. It was in his own voice now, waiting for dusk.