Chapter 17: Voice

Every needle at the long table stopped.

Fourteen women went still in their chairs, the way the oldest widow had gone still in my shop.

Kitto stood at the pressing table with the iron lifted, frozen an inch off the wool.

"That's better," Clement said.

He came into the great room shaking snow off his shoulders.

"This wool was held at the depot by my order. It's pack property until the Beta releases it."

He walked down the table.

He took the pincushion off the oldest widow's wrist.

He took the needle case from in front of the youngest.

He went down the row, plucking them up one by one and dropping them into his coat pocket.

"Rest your hands, ladies," he said. "You've worked very hard for a girl who's leaving on the bus."

I was standing at the cutting table with the shears in my hand.

I looked down at my fingers on the handles.

They moved.

My spine was warm. My feet were mine. There was no cold water anywhere.

Then I walked down the room toward him.

He heard my steps and turned.

For the first time since I'd known him, I watched Clement Hocking not understand something.

"Stand," he said.

I kept walking.

"Stand, Wenna."

It went past me.

I reached him.

I put my hand into his good camel coat and took out the pincushion and the needle cases, a fistful at a time.

He grabbed for my wrist.

"Touch me," I said, "in front of fourteen widows. Go on. It's what your daughter would want on her phone."

His hand stopped.

I put the pincushion back on the oldest widow's wrist.

I put the needle case down in front of the youngest.

I went down the row the way he had, giving them back.

"STAND," Clement said, so loud the windows rang.

Keep reading free with an account. Start They Thought My Mate Chose Her from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.