Fiction Friday:
The Book of Micah, Ep. VI

Micah spent the evening swinging his axe over the firewood. Frustrated by weakness after his days in the dark, he pushed himself harder, chopping long after the sun began to set. Only when the light was growing so dim he had trouble making out the log on the block did he stop demanding his body perform. In stillness, he found his mind returning to the earlier conversation with Vestia. Twins of hope and despair weighed him down and buoyed him as he hung his axe under the wide eaves at the back of the house.

After taking time to wash up in the basin next to the rain barrel, he hesitated to enter his home. He stood for long moments in the dark, tunic in one hand, water dripping from the ends of his hair down his bare back. A flash of fantasy lit the night as he imagined donning his tunic and simply walking away. The urge to follow that bright figure was fierce, yet Micah battled from little more than habit. So many years had his desires been utterly out of reach, he feared he may not have the courage to leave the acceptable life he’d fought so hard to build.

Vestia stood in the kitchen, finishing preparations for the evening meal. Micah noted the lack of singing or humming she usually did as she cooked. The quiet was nearly palpable. He stilled, silently watching his wife in the glow of the hearth and oil lamps. He mused again at her beauty. Strong arms and shoulders covered with serviceable blue cotton, lush hips draped in a brown skirt that reached her bare toes. She never wore shoes before the ground froze and discarded them as soon as it thawed. Her body and movements were so familiar, yet across the small room, she seemed so distant, so separate, so unknowable.

A bowl of stew in each hand, Vestia turned to the table. She cast a small smile at her husband . “Were you planning to replace your tunic?” she spoke with a teasing lilt in her voice. “Or did you think to offer food for my eyes to accompany the meal for my belly?”

Micah’s cheeks heated as his wife’s gaze settled on his bare chest. Quickly, he pulled the tunic over his head to cover himself. Vestia turned away, but not before he’d recognized a look of dejection crossing her face. When her glance returned to his, she smiled again, then allowed her face to be at rest.

They began the meal in silence. Hearty stew filled with root vegetables and small chunks of game was one of his favorites. Vestia had a knack for combining herbs to bring out the best flavor in their food. Micah chewed slowly, taking time to appreciate a dish he’d been sure, during his days in the dark, he would never again be privileged to eat.

“Have you fallen in love?”

Vestia’s soft words startled him so much, a chunk of carrot fell from his spoon. He looked at her face to see sincere questioning. Taking another bite, Micah considered how to answer.

“Before we were introduced,” he began, “during my last year with Master Goodrich, a silversmith came to the village. He brought with him an apprentice, Balaban.”

Conversation for this post hosted at facebook.com/ShamelessHonesty