If I slowed down, I would look back and stop and never move on. That was what my unreasoning mind told me, so I kept going down the trail past the late autumn fields of barley.
I had not expected the elders to exile me.
I stopped because the rage nearly blinded me. I hadn't felt that way when I'd fought Martin when he caught Carola by her hair and kicked her. He had no right, betrothed or not.
The Elders disagreed. Just a girl, has no rights, shouldn't have been talking with you, the Stewards' son.
That boy was exiled to the village because even his own father couldn't stand Martin. And now Martin would remain, and I must go, who had always enjoyed living in the little town and knowing everyone.
I still wanted to turn around, but the rage gave me power to go on instead. The three Elders had turned me away because of politics, not right or wrong, and I had no way to fight against that decision.
So, at fifteen, I walked away from Brook with nothing more than the clothing I wore and four copper pieces I had saved. Behind me, I could hear people squabbling over the little hut I had lived in after my mother died of a fever. It wasn't worth that much arguing.
Don't look back.
That proved easier after the first few miles. At least it was early in the day and pleasant enough weather. I passed people on the road, and most at least muttered a 'good day' to me.
I helped an old man with his stuck cart and his stubborn donkey. He gave me a ripe, fresh apple, which I appreciated, having had nothing to eat all day.
"Two more miles to Karlston," the old man said with a wave of his hand down the road. "You tell Old Tom -- he runs the stable this end of town -- that I sent you, and he'll know why."
"And you are?" I asked.
"His brother, Mic. He'll fix you up with a job for a few days."
"Thank you!"
Old Tom was a nice man who ran a stable mostly for people spending the night at one of the local inns. He needed someone to keep an eye on the place at night.
"Not the best job," he admitted.
I was happy to take it, though. He paid two pennies a night plus dinner. I told him the truth about my exile the first night.
"Mic is a good judge of character," he said.
"I didn't tell him."
"You weren't going to work for him. The fact you were honest with me means a lot. Eat the soup. Then I'll show you around."
I knew enough about horses to be of help, and Old Tom even set me up with a bed in one of the stalls where I could sleep, but not too soundly. I stopped a couple break-ins that first week. Everyone was happy, including the town's Reeve, who had been forced to explain losses back to the lord of the demesne. That he was also the lord over Brook worried me initially, but nothing came of it.
Although Carlston was only a day's walk from Brook, few came this way. Being a whole day away, they would never get back home before dark, except in a wagon, and that would mean borrowing the estate's oxen -- never mind the horses -- and that was not going to happen.
I had not expected leaving Brook to lead to something better.
I spent four years there, making friends with the locals and finding my place. I helped Mic with apple picking, too. I couldn't have asked for a better life.
Mic died in the early spring while chopping wood. Old Tom died, quiet and asleep, on a late winter day.
I hadn't seen in coming. Suddenly there was no certainty in life. I sat in the stables feeling far worse than I had when they'd exiled me from home. The funeral and burial had been a brutal assault on my emotions. I didn't dare let myself stay around others.
The Reeve came to see me. I looked up, expecting a customer and not knowing what to do. When I saw him, I stood with a polite nod.
"Tom Winder left you everything, boy. Stable, house in town, house in the orchard, and the apple orchard he got from Mic."
I sat back down.
"Sir?"
"You are Richard Reese. You are an exile from Brook -- intolerant little village of fools, by the way -- and you have worked here for most of four years."
"Yes?"
"Old Tom liked you, boy," the older man said. "Before you came along, the brothers despaired of what to do with their estates. Unless you are a fool and turn it down."
"I am not a fool. However, Lord Green --"
"I've already spoken to him. Let's go to the house."
And so, once again, I fell from what looked like a bad situation to a good one. Better than good. Old Tom had never said so, but he was one of Carlston's three most influential and wealthy men. Now I was in his place. That evening I went back to his grave beside Mic's and promised to do my best for both of them.
All three of the elders from Brook showed up in town one day. They came by wagon, and when they went straight to the Reeve, without more than an angry stare at the stables, I knew why they were here.
Master Reeve and the three came back. He called me out.
"Is this the person --"
"That's the black heart! You had best be rid of him! We exiled him --"
"Yes, we know. I wanted to make sure we weren't discussing something else. And since you slandered one of the most respected citizens of this town ... well, I hope you brought your coin purses."
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