Chapter 5: Softening the Stone

Heather didn’t like me because of Kelsey. Every time she saw me, she had to say something nasty. I wanted to talk back, but there were so many of them and I was afraid they’d gang up on me, so I just kept quiet.

I could feel the prickle of their eyes on my back, like a mosquito bite you can’t scratch. Holding back my tears, I worked even harder, cutting wheat. The calluses on my hands stung every time I gripped the handle of the old, battered pitchfork, and the smell of manure and cut grass clung to my clothes long after sunset. The blisters on my hands burst again, and the raw skin stung as I kept going. I fought through the pain, held back my tears, and kept working in silence.

Just then, I felt a heavy, familiar gaze on me. It was the crew chief, Derek.

He stood a few rows away, arms crossed, boots planted firmly in the dirt, blocking out the sun for a second as he stared down at me. My heart skipped a beat. I gripped the sickle tighter and worked even harder. Ugh, my hand hurt so much.

Not far away, I could hear their gloating voices again.

"See, Chief Derek is here again. I knew it—he’s hated her from the start."

"She always acts so delicate, can’t do much work, just knows how to flirt with guys and stir up trouble. Chief Derek will kick her out sooner or later."

Hearing them, I didn’t know if it was from pain or anger, but my hand holding the sickle started to tremble. I kept my head down, hoping the sweat on my cheeks would hide the tears threatening to spill over.

I’d never worked before, but when I first arrived, I was determined to prove I wasn’t so delicate, that I could survive without the family. So I worked harder than anyone. With the autumn harvest these days, I cut wheat all day and have gotten more skilled. I work longer than they do and cut just as much.

It wasn’t fair. Why do Derek and the others say I’m lazy? And why do they say I flirt with people?

I didn’t want to put up with it anymore. If I got yelled at, so be it. I raised my tear-reddened eyes and glared up angrily. The moment I looked up, I met Derek’s dark eyes.

He stared at my tearful face, stunned for a moment. Then his gaze locked on me, growing even more intense. His lips pressed together, his face tense, and he asked gruffly, "Why are you crying?"

That look—he seemed even fiercer. The cicadas in the fields seemed to go quiet, as if the whole world was holding its breath for my answer.

The courage I’d just built up to talk back vanished instantly. Wh-why did he look even scarier? Was he going to yell at me?

I lowered my head, feeling guilty. The voices behind me grew even more gleeful.

"She still dares to cry—now Chief Derek will hate her even more. Maybe he’ll kick her out of the program soon."

"Even if he doesn’t, she’ll get chewed out. Look at her—upset over a little work, crying just from cutting wheat. Does she really think she’s the family’s heiress? Our town is too small for such a drama queen."

My face fell. Was Derek really going to kick me out?

Just then, another string of comments appeared before my eyes.

[That pitiful look is driving Derek crazy.]

[Girl, don’t be fooled by his fierce face. In front of you, he’s more obedient than a puppy.]

I froze, staring blankly at the comments. I looked over my shoulder, half-expecting someone to be playing a prank on me, but all I saw was the Ohio sky, bright and cloudless.

[Don’t cry, girl. Call him big bro and he’ll do all your work from now on.]

[Derek is strong, a great worker, and he spoils his girl. Girl, you can’t lose with him.]

My face grew hot. What on earth…

I couldn’t help thinking about the comments I’d seen last night. So it wasn’t a dream. The comments were real…

Remembering the comments, I mustered my courage and looked at Derek. He was standing right in front of me, frowning, his dark eyes still fixed on me.

He was tall and strong, wearing a sleeveless shirt, his bare arms almost as thick as my waist. His muscles bulged, and his fists looked hard—if he hit someone, it would definitely hurt. My earlier urge to talk back vanished. Suddenly I was just a kid again, caught by the principal with my hand in the cookie jar.

I wiped my tears, thinking, are these comments for real? Why does it seem like he’s about to yell at me?

Seeing my red eyes and silence, Derek’s frown deepened and his face grew darker. He took two big steps closer, closing the distance between us. I could even feel the heat radiating from his body. It smelled faintly of hay and aftershave, sharp and oddly comforting.

He asked again in a deep voice, "Why are you crying?"

I shrank my shoulders in fear. Even scarier…

[LOL, Derek’s about to fold like a lawn chair!]

[Girl, act cute!]

[Call him big bro—he’ll do your work for you.]

[Don’t be scared, your chance to turn things around is here.]

[Say something sweet to him and you’ll never have to work again, trust me.]

Never have to work again, really?

My heart pounded so loud I was sure he could hear it, and my cheeks burned like I’d just run a mile. I glanced at Derek, half in doubt, and summoned my courage. I closed my eyes and, using the same spoiled tone I used with my cousins, softly said:

"Big bro Derek, my hand hurts."

My voice even had a little sob in it—mostly out of fear. The words hung in the air, and for a split second, the field went quiet, waiting for Derek to answer, and for my life to change, one way or another.

Derek’s eyes went wide—then, for the briefest moment, his tough-guy mask slipped. He cleared his throat, looked away, and muttered, “Let me see your hand.” The field suddenly felt like it was holding its breath.