Free Never a Road Without a Turning by Rowan McAllister

want to insult the man, but Pip would obviously have an easier time of it than the major would. And it was his job after all, wasn’t it?
    For this reason, Pip had never tried for a position inside a house, keeping to the heavy work despite the fact that he had a better education than many a man in service. He loved the outdoors, and he didn’t relish spending his days inside. But mostly the gentry were such a touchy lot he never knew when they’d take offense.
    “Good night, Phillip,” the major said again, more firmly, and Pip ducked his head and retreated without another word. He didn’t want their sessions to end after they’d only just begun.

Chapter 7

     
    T HE MAJOR sent for him three more times that week, all much like the first. Pip read from a volume the major selected and the man remained a quiet audience, only interrupting if Pip seemed to be struggling with a word or phrase he was unfamiliar with. The major encouraged no intimacies and shared no stories of his own, so Pip’s curiosity remained unsatisfied. But when Pip arrived on the third night, he was surprised to find a pair of finely embroidered velvet house slippers waiting for him on his chair, in addition to the novel they’d begun the night before.
    “Sir?” Pip lifted the slippers carefully and turned to the man with his eyebrows raised.
    “I have no need of them, and I thought you might be more comfortable in those than your boots,” the major said gruffly. “I assume Mrs. Applethwaite would also prefer them for the sake of her carpets.”
    Pip ran the tip of his finger over the intricately patterned embroidery, his rough skin catching on the fine threads. They were beautiful, a rich burgundy velvet, the embroidery exotic in design and the colors vibrant. They must have cost a pretty piece. “Thank you, sir,” he said, his voice catching a little at the end.
    The major nodded tersely and turned his face to the fire. “You may begin when you’re ready,” he said.
    Obviously he had said all he wished to on the matter, and Pip was no fool. He pushed the strange surge of emotion away and simply smiled happily to himself as he set the slippers aside, picked up the book, and took up where he’d left off.
    He received more gifts over the course of the following weeks—a pair of warm mittens and a thick knitted scarf, a pencil box and paper for writing his weekly letters to Maud, a lap blanket for him to keep warm under while he read. They were all delivered in the same manner, waiting for him in his chair. And the major dismissed any attempts at gratitude with the same gruffness he had shown from the start. But out of the corner of his eye, Pip caught the man smiling at him every now and again, and despite the carefully maintained distance between them, Pip began to feel a certain intimacy form as they shared their evenings in front of the library fire.
    He never spoke of it aloud to anyone, but Pip felt as if he was coming to know the major little by little, despite the pains his master took to the contrary. He had a generous nature he didn’t want the world to know about, but also a wry wit that would reveal itself only rarely in the slight curve of his lips or a small crinkling at the corner of his eyes when Pip read something humorous. And he was incredibly clever as well. Pip sometimes got the impression his master didn’t actually need Pip to read many of the pages aloud, because he already had them memorized.
    That realization, when it struck, led Pip to wonder a bit why the major would bother having him there at all. If he were simply lonely, plenty of people in the village would have made more proper company for a gentleman, and much more interesting conversation than Pip could provide. But wonder though he might, Pip wasn’t fool enough to call attention to it, not when he was enjoying himself so much and appeared to actually be doing his master some good—as evidenced by the fact that, during those weeks, the major didn’t