The Isadora Interviews (The Network Series #1.5)(19)

“Did you get enough firewood?” Michelle asked, halfway through the silent meal. Her father nodded once.

“Found a new hunting place,” Rian, the third oldest, just above Michelle, said. “We’re going to try it out tomorrow.”

“There wasn’t anything in the traps,” James reported, flicking a glance towards his sister, in answer to the question on the tip of her tongue. “I’ll get you some meat after we look at the new place.”

Another silence followed. The slices of bread disappeared one at a time. Michelle helped herself to a second bowl of stew and was halfway through her first bite when Papa cleared his throat and spoke up.

“Got a letter today.”

When the quiet grew awkward, Michelle looked up from her bowl and realized that Papa had addressed his comment to her. She lifted her eyebrows in question, but Papa wasn’t looking at her anymore. Instead, he was scraping his wooden bowl. His black whiskers moved up and down when he spoke again.

“It’s from your teacher. Seems she thinks you should go to a Network school instead of the school in town.”

Michelle felt as if a stunning spell had smacked her dead in the face, rendering her body useless. Her breath stalled in her chest like a dying wind. She didn’t know what to say.

“A-a Network school?” she finally managed.

“It’s called Miss Mabel’s. I’ve heard of it before. Your mama mentioned it a few times when you were a little girl.”

The mention of her mother seemed to bring another blow. Her brothers gazed down into their bowls. Papa only mentioned her when it couldn’t be avoided.

“What would I learn?”

“You could learn magic better than any of us have.” He sat back in his chair and motioned to her brothers with a wave of his hand. “We get along without knowing as much because we do physical labor. Don’t need magic to swing an ax.”

“Some do,” Blain muttered bitterly into a piece of bread. Many foresters held contempt for the witches in the wealthy northern cities of the Network. The lazy attitude of the northern witches was a usual complaint at the family dinner table. Michelle tensed, waiting for Papa’s usual tirade on the over-dependence most witches placed on magic. He said it made them weak and pathetic. This was part of the reason that everyone in her family was built tall and strong, like a group of oxen.

“You want me to learn more magic?” she asked, gaping. Ted and Mace both looked up now, equally surprised. “You don’t believe in magic.”

“I believe in magic,” he said, bristling. “I don’t believe in using it to be slothful. You could learn it as a trade and not be lazy about it.”

“But Papa, I don’t want—”

“Besides, you’re a real good cook, and you like doing it.” His tone made it clear she didn’t have a choice. Michelle felt her heart shrivel a little inside. He couldn’t make her do this. Surely, he wouldn’t.

Wouldn’t he? her heart whispered. Yes, he would. Once Papa got an idea in his head, he followed it through.

“You could learn some kind of cooking specialty, I’m sure. Maybe work for the High Priestess.”

Michelle put her hands in her lap, overwhelmed. It was true. She did love to cook. It was the only place she didn’t feel awkward, clumsy, or too big for the space given. The spices, the herbs, combining them together in just the right quantities was all second-nature. Mama had taught her all the cooking songs to use before she died, songs that had been in her family for generations. The music was the magic of cooking, creating different emphases on flavors and textures. Cooking made sense to Michelle. It brought her comfort. And there was always someone to cook for, always a sense of being needed.

But to work for the High Priestess? That wasn’t what she wanted to do. At least, not really. It would be fun to see a castle, to learn more about cooking the perfect loaf of bread. She didn’t want to leave her brothers or her home to do that, though. Besides, they didn’t need her at Chatham Castle. Her family needed her here. So why was Papa doing this?

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked in a small voice.

For just a moment, Papa’s beady eyes softened from beneath his heavy brow. He let out a gruff breath and the room shifted into an awkward pause. Papa cast his eyes around and set down his spoon.

“No, Meesh. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Ted drained the last dregs from his cup before setting it down. “Papa promised Mama before she died that he’d send you somewhere so that you could make a name for yourself,” he said, meeting Michelle’s inquiring gaze. “She didn’t want you stuck in this house forever, taking care of us.”

Michelle wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. The tears didn’t come. Not since Mama died. Not since she saw the blank, stricken look of fear on Papa’s face when Ted and Rian finished filling Mama’s grave. No, Mama’s death made it impossible to show any weakness. Papa needed their strength.

“You have to interview with Isadora, the Watcher. She’s coming by tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Michelle cried, her head snapping up. Papa stood, his chair scraping across the wooden floor.

“Yes, tomorrow,” he said in a firm tone. There would be no more questions, no more discussions. “I’m going to take care of the cows. Mace, Rian, Blain, you come with me. James, see that the goats and chickens are taken care of.”