The Isadora Interviews (The Network Series #1.5)(21)

“No rush. The fire is nice.”

Michelle finally got the door closed, cleaned up the wood, and took her time carefully stacking the logs by the fire. Isadora hummed quietly while she waited. Hands shaking, Michelle wiped her palms off on her apron.

“You can have a seat,” she mumbled.

“I’m sorry dear, what did you say?”

Michelle motioned towards the table with her large paw-like hand.

“You can have a seat.”

They sat across from each other. The hefty chair, carved by Papa’s own talented hands, dwarfed Isadora. Her feet dangled an inch or two above the floor. Michelle stared fixedly at the groove lines in the table, making a mental note to scrub it down with the bristle-brush later. When she did sneak a glance up, her eyes met the hazy gaze of the old woman, and she looked right back down.

“What do you do to keep yourself busy during the day?” Isadora asked.

“School work,” Michelle said. “And clean the house. I teach Mace. Or cook.”

Another long silence.

“Do you ever wish you had a grandmother figure in your life?”

Michelle looked up at the strange question, but Isadora didn’t seem to notice.

“A grandmother?”

“Yes.”

Michelle shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You prefer baking over cooking, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you sew your own clothes.”

“Yes. I sew my brothers’ clothes too.”

Isadora’s forehead narrowed. “Hmm. They seem to rely on you for a lot of things.”

“They do!” Michelle said eagerly, grateful that Isadora saw it her way. “I shouldn’t leave them.”

Isadora’s eyes narrowed.

“Have you ever thought of making more friends?”

Michelle hesitated, knowing she couldn’t lie and say “no.” Sometimes, when the house got really quiet, or her thick fingers hurt from sewing, or she had no one to talk to, Michelle longed for a friend. Living in their little shanty often grew isolating, especially with Mama gone.

“Maybe.” Michelle looked away again. “The girls in the village are . . . they don’t like—they’re busy.”

Isadora made a humming noise in her throat.

“Well, despite that, you seem very happy here,” Isadora said.

“I am,” Michelle said too quickly, looking up through her bangs. Isadora lifted an eyebrow in interest.

“Can you tell me why?”

“Why I’m happy?”

Isadora nodded.

Michelle took a minute to ponder that, which soon stretched into an awkward silence. She stammered through her reply.

“M-m-my brothers.”

“Is that the only reason?” Isadora asked with a meaningful gaze.

“No,” Michelle whispered, looking back to the table. The fire crackled in the silence, waiting for her to speak. Her throat tightened up. She didn’t want to say it.

“I know that Miss Mabel’s is not your first choice for your future,” Isadora said gently, when Michelle remained quiet. “I’d like you to tell me why.”

Michelle hesitated, feeling exposed and vulnerable, like Mama had died all over again. She wanted to bluster her way through it, avoid the question, but one look at Isadora told her that the old woman wouldn’t let that happen.

“It’s safe here,” Michelle finally admitted.

“Is it?”

“We’re far from the village, from the people who live there.” Michelle’s thoughts flickered to the cutting remarks of the girls at school. What are you? A giant? Look at Michelle, she’s got hands the size of platters! “And the strangers that walk through,” she added on, as if that added to the danger of the sleepy village. “We’re safe out here.”

“Or you think you are.”

Michelle’s eyes snapped up to her again. Her thick forehead ruffled.

“What do you mean?”

“Your mother died in a sudden, tragic accident with a runaway horse and carriage just after your youngest brother was born. Now you’re afraid that something you can’t anticipate will happen to you, or your family.”

There was no question in Isadora’s statement, so Michelle couldn’t duck away from it. Is this what Isadora did to every student? It felt like sticking her hand into a cauldron of lye, or putting out a fire by walking on it barefoot. Panic, hot and restless, shot through Michelle. She jumped to her feet. Her awkward frame bumped the table and sent her chair flying back, toppling over. She stumbled, feeling frazzled and trapped.

“I’m not afraid!” she cried, even though she knew it was a lie.

“We all are,” Isadora said in an easy tone. “Even your strong father and brothers. It’s a part of life, a part of being a witch. Fear isn’t the problem. Not acting because of fear is.”

“I don’t want to go to Miss Mabel’s!” Michelle cried, her hands clenching into fists. “I want to stay here!”

Isadora stared at her for a long time. She didn’t stand up, didn’t move. Then she quietly said, “I have a good feeling about you, Michelle. What if I can guarantee that nothing will happen to you while I’m there?”