Free Bran Hambric: The Farfield Curse by Kaleb Nation

from thinking about it. He had a feeling the real reason Duncelanders didn’t like gnomes was because there were plenty who were more successful, more popular, and held higher political offices than they did, outside of Dunce.
    "I’ve kept all the photos and newspaper clippings the Wilomases throw away for years now." Rosie said. She dug her hand in the box and pulled something out.
    "Here’s one of Sewey’s first job." She held it out. In it, a much younger Sewey was dressed up in a white suit and hat. His arms were crossed very grumpily. Not much had changed.
    "Before banker school, he stuck the labels that said ‘Warning: May contain traces of peanuts’ on the peanut butter jars." Rosie said. She reached for a stack of papers on her desk.
    "I’ve got a picture of the last Biannual Wilomas Family Reunion somewhere. Sewey and all the other Wilomases sit at the long table, and me and the rest of the Tuttles sit at the side."
    "Why’s that?" Bran asked. Rosie just shrugged.
    "The Tuttles have served the Wilomases for years and are of no blood relation," she said simply. "That’s just the way it’s been. It would be scandalous for a Tuttle to attend the reunion at a Wilomas table. After we’re through cooking and waiting on them, then we sit down to eat."
    Rosie finally found the photo. It showed rows of Wilomases and their relations, in formal attire, sitting at tables on a grassy hill. At the end was Great-Grandmother Wilomas, a faraway speck in the distance. Behind her towered the gigantic Castle Wilomas. There was a hole cut out of the head of the man sitting next to Sewey. Bran knew who it belonged to. It was Sewey’s only sibling, his younger brother, Bartley, who Sewey loathed beyond words, refused to see, and whose face he had removed from all photos in the house after Bartley inherited their parents’ fortune, and Sewey inherited a jar of dill pickles.
    "So you’ve always been servants?" Bran asked, finally spotting Rosie holding a tray of steaming food in the photo. Rosie thought for a moment.
    "For a long time, at least," she finally said. "Mabel was a Hatfield before she married into the Wilomases. By coincidence she was distantly related to me, a Tuttle. When she married Sewey, it tied the Hatfields to the Wilomases, and us Tuttles to both. I’ve got another picture here—"
    She reached for a stack of papers on the end of her desk, but the moment she did there was a sudden pounding on the floor, as Mabel began to beat the ceiling below with a broom.
    "Out you spores, all of you!" Mabel commanded.
    At her sudden outburst, Rosie jumped, and accidentally sent a whole pile of papers into the air. Bran dove to catch them, but it was too late—all of them flew over the carpet in different directions.
    "Oh, bother," Rosie said, bending down to gather them up. "Now they’re all out of order!"
    "I’ll help." Bran reached down to scoop up a stack of the loose sheets.
    "Oh, no, Bran, that’s much too kind!" Rosie said, but Bran went on gathering them up. "No, I insist!" she added, her hands rushing as she grabbed at the papers on the floor.
    Bran blinked and tried to help, but the moment his hand touched a sheet she whisked it out of his grasp. "Are you sure you don’t need any help?" he asked.
    "No, none at all!" she burst, rushing about. "Why don’t you… go dust Baldretta’s bedroom?"
    "I already did," Bran replied, confused at how she was acting. She didn’t say any more but quickly stuffed all the papers into a drawer in her desk, drawing out a small key and locking it. She spun around to put her back to it and opened her mouth as if she was about to speak, but apparently lost what she was going to say. Instead of trying to remember it, she rushed from the room, leaving Bran very puzzled.
    He sat there for a moment on the floor. He had never seen her that way in his life. Suddenly, his eye caught on something: an opened envelope that had fallen under the bed and out of view, close to his leg.