Chapter 22: The Cooper

My father had grown smaller since the spring.

He came across the court in his patched coat, between the turned backs of the pack.

People shifted for him, and some of them did not turn at all, because they knew him.

He had made their barrels for thirty years.

He stopped an arm's length from me and held his cap against his chest.

"A Greyhaven trader on the pass told me they were reading a page at the Hall," he said.

"He said it had my name on it."

"It does."

"I came as fast as the road let me."

"You came to see how it looked," I said.

"Ivy."

"Say it, Da. Say it where they can hear."

The court had gone quiet again.

The wagons were still turned to the elders, but heads were turning back over shoulders, the cook's among them.

My father looked at his hands.

"I signed it," he said.

"I know. I saw your P on the ledger."

"The winter debt was forty barrels and the wagon."

"The Hollin stores would have taken the shop and put me out of the pack at the first snow."

"You were twenty-five and you were so thin. I thought if I lost the shop we'd both starve on the road."

"So you sold me."

"I never thought of it as selling."

"What did you think of it as?"

He took a long breath.

"Maud said it was a bond of honour," he said. "She said it would sting some nights. She said you'd hardly notice."

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