The Ghost of Providence

Chapter Five

Halle

“The results are in everybody! This year’s placements are in the courtyard!”

“What?!”

“Really?!”

“Hurry, to the courtyard people! If I get top ten, I’m buying everyone lunch!”

“Let’s hurry out then, people!”

As her final class of the day erupted with loud, anxious noise, Halle continued to pack her things one by one with listless disinterest. One at a time, thick textbooks went in with each layer after that shrinking in size until the smallest, schoolhood accouterment found its way to the top: a pencil.

It wasn’t that she was uninterested in the conversation so much as she was plainly confident with her placement. She found little need for the flight and flurry shown by her peers, which was a behavior quickly noticed by the mob.

Young people, though immature, possessed a strange eye for social cues.

“Halle’s so calm!”

“Well, of course she’s calm. She’s always first on the result sheet.”

“She is?”

“Yup, ever since they started doing them in primary school, she’s always been number one.”

“Wow!”

“Duh, she’s the queen bee. Of course, her grades are the best.”

Halle blushed a shade with the remarks but lifted her head a quarter higher. At least they get it, she gently harrumphed, sweeping her flaxen curtain behind her shoulders to make room for the straps of her bag which would take their place.

She gave an eye roll to the gaggle of flatterers. “I’m just as excited as you are! I’ve just learned to control myself,” she replied with a kind smile. Halle had learned from experiences past that the fact of superiority rubbed people the wrong way. She would be a queen, yes, when the walls came down, but that time wasn’t now. Now was the time to practice leadership.

Or so grandpa says.

At least they’re Plats, she comforted herself. She never could quite bring herself to rub shoulders with the lower islanders. Her grandfather had warned her of their influence more than once. ‘They’re uncouth and uncultured,’ he’d say. And he was born there, so he’d know.

“Then do you want to walk with us to the courtyard, Halle?”

Damn it all. “I’d love to!”

She could already feel the veins along her temple pulsate at the insipid conversation they would no doubt strangle her with.

“Well, then let’s go!” One of the girls hurrahed.

The pack followed her out the classroom, and the conversation teetered into all sorts of gossip and rumor-mongering within the clique. What began as anxious wonderings of their results soon dovetailed to the drivel Halle had expected of their ilk. We aren’t even halfway there, she groaned under her breath at a time when the rest were too busy showering adulation upon one another to hear. The girls had launched into questions of romance and rumor that Halle found herself grappling to cope with.

She wasn’t one for love or gossip; her tethers were tied to ambition, and anything less was counterproductive.

The gaggle of little women had finally made it to the courtyard a few minutes later. It was one of the few places at school that Halle found palatable, and that she especially liked the fall made the view outside doubly enjoyable.

Verdant greens rolled between walls of grey stone. The leaves would fall from the sky like gentle, vibrant raindrops, and putter across the grass like they were attached to the wind by invisible strings. It’s breathtaking. That she could seat herself out there atop one of its lonely benches, and be utterly alone except for its nature was a delightful respite to her.

“It’s so pretty,” the girl beside her awed and, for once, Halle agreed honestly.

“Hurry up! The grades are just up there,” one girl pushed on, pointing toward the bulletin board hung up in front of the main entrance, an impressive metal gate of surprising proportion. And where the bulletin board would often seem drab next to a feat of such architecture, it was where everyone’s attention aligned today. Halle’s too, admittedly.

As they grazed through the greens of the yard in direction of the board, the girls had come upon their final ramblings. “Have you heard of that boy from the Brigs,” one girl asked the group. “Supposedly, he’s really smart.”

“And good-looking,” another one added with a conspiratorial whisper.

“Oh, yeah, I did hear about that! He’s the son of that cobbler who disappeared over the summer!”

“Really? Wasn’t his dad really smart too?”

This again, Halle squeezed the molars in the back of her mouth.

Slowly, the group crept upon the board. “What was his name again?”

“Corbyn Pane!”

Halle's mouth drew light blood at the outburst. “Are you that interested in some boy from the Brigs,” she asked the girl with a sharpness that surprised the group. Halle too was taken aback by her interjection.

Damnit. ‘Harrowbirds keep their manners about themselves at all times’. This too was one of her grandpa’s rules, and so she swiftly apologized.

“Sorry for snapping! I’m just nervous with my results,” she explained neatly. “I just meant, I didn’t think you would be that interested.”

The girl shook her head, animating a surprise from several fronts. “No! I mean, well, yes. But I’m not talking about that! Look at the number one spot,” she pointed avidly to the bulletin board. “It’s Corbyn Harrowbird!”

Gasps escaped from the gaggle.

“The Brig kid? There’s no way he beat out Halle—look at the spot above his.”

“Look for yourself, stupid. There is no name above his.”

Halle was the first to follow her advice, shoving through the crowded encampment in the courtyard with fervor. No, I don't believe it, she denied the news. She felt her heartbeat against the white, school blouse — felt it beat to the tempo of her quickening pace. There’s no way he did better than me. No, no way. How could he have done better than me? Anxiety began to torrent through her bones, and it’s presence was an unfamiliar one. No, I need this!

The denial lasted only as long as it took for her to reach the front and bear witness to the results with her own eyes. Afterward, wordless disbelief swept through her mouth. She raked her eyes across the top-left corner obsessively, doubting them still. Her caught-up classmates were wordless as well, not sure exactly what to say to their dethroned bee because they all saw the same thing she did.

The results were in, and they read as such to every student outside:

Corbyn Pane Halle Harrowbird Gareth Lapel …

Hallegripped her chest, feeling for that intense heartbeat there not a moment ago. It had raced along so loudly then, there before her findings, but fell quiet now — like the silent aftermath of a judge’s gavel.

One unfortunate girl was bold enough to ask what everyone else wondered, and she would come to regret that decision her entire life. “So that guy’s smarter than Halle?”

Halle swiveled toward the speaker before she had even finished and decided that right then and there was as good a time as any to vent.

“If I hear you say that ever again, you driveling invalid, I will make sure it is the last thing you ever say,” she growled.

Halle watched the girl’s face flush a satisfying paper-white before weaving back through the crowd and exiting through the rotund, entry gates, the remaining students left wide-eyed in the grass...all glad it hadn’t been them who opened their mouths first.

***

Having left the courtyard in a mood, Halle found herself stomping along pavement alone. She paced around school grounds, lost in thought and directionless. Any passerby with half a mind could tell that she was a mess of anger rightly avoided.

So she was alone with her thoughts. Again.

That shoemaking bastard!

Never had she been trounced in academics. Never had she even possessed the thought that it could happen. There were moments as she walked that she even believed the cobbler had cheated—snuck into the record holdings to alter his test sheets. But those thoughts came and went quickly. Highland School security was as tight as you could get, and the boy definitely had no sway over the administration. The only possible way he could have beaten her then was by having known the answers beforehand. Given thought, she was convinced he had done just so. Yes, he cheated. She just needed to know how. Then. Yes, then. Then he would suffer. And suffer worse than she had.

Why does daddy let Olivur hang out with a boy of such dishonesty, she mewled. The boy isn’t even trying to hide his cheating; he answered every question right!

Halle’s inner-ramblings continued as her feet found the bottom of the hill, which sloped from outside the school gate to the boundary of school grounds. It was the path every student came in from, the second largest hill on the Plateau.

Her relentless monologuing finally came to an end as she caught her brother watching a girl leave with a set of anxious eyes and antsy feet. Halle rolled her eyes. How are we even related?

She snuck up behind Olivur and followed his eyes to a girl Halle faintly remembered. At least she thought she did. I’ll admit. I’m not good with faces, but I’d have remembered her at least, she mused. The name came with a few seconds of effort. Ah, Catherin La’Clair, she nodded thoughtfully. Oli could do worse, I suppose.

The target of her brother’s affection was a well-rounded girl, curved in just the right places and sultry everywhere you couldn’t see. Halle saw the appeal. And the girl seemed of high enough pedigree if her assemblage of fancy rings and adornments were of any substance. So she considered with relief that their grandfather might approve too.

Wait, she conspired a moment. Maybe I can use this.

“I didn’t expect you to have such good taste, Oli,” she whispered into her brother’s ear. His scare elicited a smile from her as he twisted his legs into knots and fell into the pavement face-first.

“For fu—Halle, what the hell are you doing here?” He screeched.

Halle bestowed her irritated brother a small smirk. “Watching you mess up.”

Olivur stared at her from the ground lifelessly and ignored her as he got back up. An act that took quickly swiping at his pants of mess and craning his neck for witnesses, before finally sighing.“You saw that?”

Halle smiled from the side. “Oh, yes, and I’m glad I did.”

“Why?”

“So I can tell you that if you want her, you need to act fast.”

Olivur furrowed his brow suspiciously. “And why would you say that?”

Halle frowned. However little she cared for others, she couldn’t say the same for her brother. She truly wished the best for her awkward half. That’s why she didn’t feel guilty saying what she did next.

“Because I heard she likes Corbyn.”

That Olivur reacted just as she hoped provided the girl immense satisfaction. She watched closely as her brother’s skin paled and anguish gripped it with sweat. Just one more nudge, I think. She grabbed her brother by the shoulders and properly looked at him.

“You shouldn’t feel inferior to that boy, Oli,” she goaded him. “You can have any girl you want if you just bat your little eyelashes at her. Remember what grandpa always says. We are Harrowbirds: We are above the station of mortal men.”

She watched for any sudden insight within the boy, any spark of ambition, but was left disappointed by his reaction. He didn’t agree with her, but she was appeased to see that at least he didn’t disagree either.

Halle rolled her eyes, “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re not?” He pointed out. “You’re insufferably arrogant.”

“I might be,” she laughed. “But at least I’m not going to let a Brig steal the girl I like!”

She laughed even harder at his worried scowl. The way her brother reacted to things was truly an alternative form of entertainment to her. Olivur, himself, smiled something mysterious as he watched her laugh on.

He placed his hands behind his back. “Hey,” he prompted straight-faced between her side-splitting titters.

“What, what’s that now?” She snickered and howled.

“I heard you got second on the placements.”

“...”

“...”

“You have such a punchable face, you know that?”

***

Three baskets of food held aloft, Halle grumbled obscenities as her brother hefted the load into Brigham Street with heavy steps.

“What’s wrong with you, Oli? First, daddy gives the boy money and now he needs us to give him groceries too? Why do you put up with him when all he does is take from us,” Halle asked. A question with predatory intent. She would have Olivur separate from that boy, one way or another.

Olivur grunted under his armload. “Would you leave Corbyn alone, Halle?”

“Why? He’s a leech.” Bemused with her relatives, Halle awaited a response. Why do they feel so connected with this boy?

“He’s not a leech, Halle.”

“Then why does he keep asking you two for more things?”

“He’s not!” Olivur shouted, having had enough of her interrogation. “He never asked for any of this, Halle! He didn’t ask dad for money; he didn’t even take dad’s money. That’s why I’m getting him groceries, because I know he’ll at least feel bad for throwing out food, even if he doesn’t want it from me.”

“He doesn’t want it, and still you insist on giving him things?” She asked, bewilderment etched across furrowed brows. “Why? Are we a charity? You two are giving our things away to just anyone?”

Olivur huffed at her remark. “He’s not anyone, Halle. He’s family.”

She scoffed at the idea. I’m pretty sure dad just killed his brother then.

How she wished to tell her naive brother that the father he idolized was a murderer. But that kind of truth was beyond her place to tell; that kind of truth was beyond his ability to cope with.

Instead of revelations of such, she simply harrumphed. Flickering her hair back as well was about as passive-aggressive as she’d allow herself to be right now. She was over the argument in the first place.

It’s not so bad, I guess. You could even call a few loaves of bread a meager offering, as far as restitutions go, she thought morbidly. Maybe daddy’s smarter than I thought.

They eventually reach the cobbler’s tiny hut of a building. “Finally,” they both groan.

They were both coming around the corner of the shop when the yellow door out front swung open, providing both siblings a surprising scene.

From the cobbler shop, a pretty girl clutched at a pair of beautifully-bright, red shoes and backed out the door with an even brighter set of red cheeks, pert bundles set atop a shy smile. The cobbler boy followed her out to finish their conversation and, whether or not it was obvious to him, it was clear to Halle that the girl hadn’t come to the shop for shoes. She had a crush on the boy. And it must have been clear to Olivur too since her brother was taken aback.

The girl they were watching fawn over the boy was Catherin La’Clair. The same one that he had liked from afar, the same one Halle had warned him about. She hadn’t expected to be right but was glad she was. She thought that this might just be the thing that would change her brother finally.

He looks angry enough at least, clutching those bags with such gusto. Good boy.

Halle saddled herself up close to her brother and gave the naive boy a nudge. “Look at him. Who does he think he is to talk to Catherin like that?.” She exclaimed into an open palm and turned to Olivur with big eyes. “Wait! Don’t you like her? Why’s he flirting with her like that then?”

Olivur shoved her away, and she had been about to yell when she held it back at her brother’s expression. He gave his best friend a hard stare, before throwing the groceries onto the street and stomping in the direction of the Plateau with a huff, his frustration following behind like storm clouds as he left.

As she peeled her eyes away from her departed brother, Halle looked back at the little cobbler shop where the boy had begun rubbing his neck, shaking his head, and smiling stiffly. He must have said something to disappoint, because just after he finished, Catherin swiped at some tears that had begun to run away from her. Her brother’s crush gave a forced farewell. She bowed from the skirt and swiftly dashed away, leaving the young shoemaker standing awkwardly in his doorway.

Halle observed it all from her shaded corner, mouth agape. Huh? Did I really just witness a rejection? She looked for her brother in the street, found him long gone, and shrugged.

“I guess all’s well that ends well.”