Flash Fiction Interlude: The Written Word

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story about the aftermath of Will's first meeting with Diana is concurrent with Tin Soldier, the first book in my series.

Amalia walked into the kitchen, startling Will as he sat at the table, poring over a book and piece of paper. “What on earth are you doing?”

Will slammed the dictionary shut and shoved the paper under it. “Nothing.”

Amalia had been trying for months to teach Will to read but the eleven year-old runaway saw no value in it, having fended for himself since he was eight without the benefit of letters or numbers. For him to willingly open a dictionary was startling, but it was the defiance in his eyes and his faint flush of embarrassment that brought Amalia up short. “I thought you were going to help me with the wagon. There isn’t much time before it gets dark.” She paused, then added, “You sure took your time getting back here with that horse.”

Will looked away, his cheeks bright red. “That girl talks a lot.”

“What girl? Diana?”

“I guess that’s her name.” He rubbed the frayed edge of the dictionary spine. “She wouldn’t shut up.”

“We don’t get a lot of new people in this valley. I’m sure she was just curious who you are and where you came from.”

“She asked a lot of questions.”

“I hope you were nice to her. The Petersons are good neighbors and it was generous of them to lend us their horse.” At Will’s curt nod of agreement, Amalia said, “Let’s go hitch that wagon. We should be able to get one cartload before sundown, and we’ll do the rest in the morning.”

Will stood up, hesitated, then pulled the paper from under the dictionary and shoved it in a pocket. “You going to want me to take the horse back tomorrow?”

“I think it would be best, since we won’t need it any more. Don’t you agree?”

“I guess. It’s just—”

“What?”

Will drew the crumpled paper out of his pocket and handed it to her in frustration. “She gave me this, and I don’t know what to do with it.”

Amalia scanned the brief note, her lips twitching with the effort to keep from laughing. “I don’t think you have to do anything with it, Will. It just says—”

“No!” He grabbed it out of her hand. “Don’t tell me. Just show me where the words are in the dictionary so I can figure it out for myself.”

Amalia considered. The note was only a few sentences and the longest word was “horse.” If such simplicity was beyond his ability, it was going to take more than a dictionary to help him puzzle it out. “I suppose you think you should have an answer when you go back?”

“That’s how you do it, right?” He folded the paper neatly this time, caressing the creases like a treasure. “No one’s ever wrote me a letter before.” He gazed up at Amalia, his gray eyes suddenly vulnerable. “You’ll help me write a letter back, won’t you? She acted like I was smart and if she finds out…”

“She won’t think you’re stupid. But if this is what it’ll take to get you to read—”

“Just this kind of stuff.” He dropped the note back in his pocket. “I don’t want to read those big books like what you read.”

“Okay.” She started for the door, motioning for him to follow. “What kinds of words do you want to learn first?" she asked as they walked the path to the barn. "Should I teach you to spell ‘pretty?’”

“No.”

She gave him a sly smile. “How about ‘girlfriend?’”

“No!”

“So what do you want to say?”

“Just ‘thanks for the horse.’”

“Hm.” Amalia nodded wisely.

“And maybe ‘nice.’ That’s an easy word, right?”

They were at the barn now and went inside. Will headed toward the tack room with an air of quiet authority. “You’ll let me do the writing part myself, though. And you won’t tell her I needed help.”

“Of course not.”

“No one’s ever acted like I was smart before.”

“I think you’re smart.”

“It’s not the same.”

“You're right.” Amalia watched him take the harness off the peg, marveling that three sentences from a ten year-old girl had achieved what months of badgering had failed to accomplish. To Diana, it was probably just a few careless words on paper— a fun way to practice between lessons. But for Will, who might finally learn to read more than his name, the note was transformative.

Amalia smiled in the dusty gloom of the barn, resolving to never again doubt the power of letters on paper.