Free Silver Hollow by Jennifer Silverwood

Following his example, she edged closer to the table between them. Dinner was similar to and yet completely different from any meal she’d experienced. And she thought sushi in New York was a stretch. Her only comfort was it looked like the English dishes Father had described whenever he mentioned Wenderdowne.
    “I take that as a no , ” Henry said after a pregnant pause. A look passed over his face then, sorrow, anger, gri ef and then finally acceptance, transforming his face into something older and wiser. Once his eyes settled on Amie , however, his exuberance returned. “Take my hand, Jessamiene.”
    The moment their palms touched Amie felt a peculiar jolt she had only ever felt through her father. Tears blurred her vision when he looked beyond the high ceiling and began, “Creator , we thank thee for such gifts, for such life as is undeserving of our kind. Use our Gifts and heal our land, eternal ly, gratefully thine.”
    Never had she heard anyone pray with so much feeling before. Amie’s father had never prayed as long as she could remember. Always her mother did the honors at their dinner table, but it was ritualistic, like the rest of their faith. Mother had been a staunch Baptist in her youth, until she married Amie’s father. Drustan never did tell Amie what he believed, though she had seen him shaking his fist at the heavens more than once. This made her ever more curious to learn the differences between the brothers. What made Henry so much more seemingly devout?
    As they ate in silence Amie studied her Uncle and his curious retreat through covert glances. His study was spacious enough to be considered a mix of library and man cave . Everything was dusty, cobwebbed and inexplicably desolate. Tapestries were hidden by endless rows of shelves covered by collections in no particular order . His desk and the nearby table were littered with odds and ends. Naturally crafted pieces collected dust on their plaques. Books and parchment and scrolls were in ample variation of size and quantity, as were clocks of what seemed every age ticking softly about the room. Her first comfort all evening was the wristwatch on his desk she had been wearing most of this trip. She glanced back to her Uncle and found a very serious expression waiting on his dark features; as she studied his world he had been studying her.
    “You kept my wristwatch?” she offered with a grin.
    “Ah, yes…yes , indeed I did! Quite the fascinating thing-of-a-gadget , but not built to last , I’d wager.”
    Amie shrugged and spooned the stew. “Wasn’t my aim at the time,” she said. “Guess I always figured I’d buy another one since most of them break.”
    “Perhaps a stouter model should last longer?”
    “ I’d just end up breaking it . Never had much luck with nice things. ”
    Henry nodded to himself, the corners of his mouth creasing with his grin. “Aye, Drustan would have agreed. My little brother never was one for modern inventions. He thought I was ridiculous , you know, always collecting whatever cam e through the Vale. Suppose ’ tis why I never expected him to do what he did. Especially when he did it, how he did it…” His gaze roamed the room briefly, lost.
    Amie wondered when/how/what her father had done years ago that could make Uncle Henry look like that still. He looked unnaturally old in that moment and lonely. This triggered the loneliness long buried in her heart, that sense of alienation no matter where she lived or who she met.
    So she surprised herself when she opened her heart a crack and said, “It’s so strange hearing you talk about him.” Her words called his attention.
    “You speak of Drustan , I presume,” he said with a troubled glance.
    “Father never talked about you. I started to think you were just another one of his made-up stories, until you sent me the first letter. And by that point I was too upset to listen to what you had to say.” Both frowned at the memory of a much darker time. Amie