Free Never a Road Without a Turning by Rowan McAllister Page A

drink to excess even once.
    Pip took a certain amount of pride in that. He liked to think his care and attention had lifted the man’s spirits and aided him in some way. The major seemed to brood less and less as time went on, and every so often, he even began short conversations with Pip instead of simply dismissing him when he was done reading for the night. They only discussed the text, of course, nothing of a personal nature. But Pip was encouraged and flattered by it just the same.
    By the end of the third week, Pip was feeling particularly proud of himself. Not only had the major been out for his walk every day that week but Pip had also spotted him going into the barn at least twice during that time. The major never went when Pip was working there, but he stayed for quite some time on both occasions. Rather than dreading the prospect of having his favorite pastime taken away, Pip began to hope for a time when he could share his afternoons with his master as well, helping him achieve whatever it was that took him out there.
    Pip was in fact feeling so pleased with himself, he couldn’t help the smug grin that split his face when the bell rang for him that night, nor the swagger in his step as he entered the library.
    “Good evening, sir,” he said cheerily after the major bid him enter.
    The man raised a single gold eyebrow at him, but his lips curved slightly in response. “Good evening, Phillip.”
    Pip went directly to his chair, but no book awaited him.
    “I thought perhaps you should choose tonight,” the major said in response to Pip’s questioning look.
    Pip’s face split into an even broader grin, and he sauntered over to the shelves, inordinately pleased that the major was allowing him his choice. He decided his spirits were too high for anything too weighty so he settled on a small printing of Shakespeare’s The Comedy of Errors . The major actually chuckled when Pip sat down with it, and Pip had to hide his pleasure in so simple a sound behind the pages he held.
    He began reading slowly to give him time to familiarize himself with the characters. But soon enough he was fully immersed in the farce, inventing comical voices for all as he went. By the time he reached the second act, Pip was on his feet, playing out the parts, emboldened because the major had actually begun to laugh quietly at his antics, and Pip didn’t want him to ever stop.
    When he reached halfway through the part where Dromio and Antipholus of Syracuse were determining the placement of countries on the globe-like body of the kitchen maid, the major snorted, and Pip had to stop reading because he was laughing too hard to speak. His own foolishness and the major’s mirth were too much. Pip fell into his chair, holding his belly as tears fell from his eyes. Every time he thought he’d managed to regain control, the major would start chuckling again and that would set Pip off as well.
    Eventually, they both wound down and Pip was grinning like a fool at the major, feeling as if they’d broken more of the barrier between them. But as quickly as it had started, the major’s merriment fled, his expression turned grave, and his gaze almost pained. The man turned away from Pip, staring resolutely into the fire and missing the hurt that had to be written plainly on Pip’s face.
    “I think perhaps I’ve had enough for tonight. Thank you, Phillip. You may go,” the major said, his voice cold with all the stiffness of their first encounters.
    Why? What have I done wrong?
    Pip wanted to object, to reach out and shake the man until he showed some human feeling again. But his throat hurt from more than overuse, and he feared what he might say when he regained his voice. He rose to leave and set the small volume on his chair before making his way back to his empty bedchamber in sullen silence.
    After that night, things between them changed for the worse again, and Pip couldn’t understand why. As the days grew shorter and the nights turned