Mr. Yates reached into his pocket and withdrew a crisp hundred dollar bill, holding it out to Elijah with a look of barely concealed distaste. It was a king's ransom to Elijah, more money than he had seen in months, perhaps even years. But to a man like Mr. Yates, it was likely little more than loose change, a paltry sum to be rid of a Carter's presence in his pristine kitchen.
"Take this and be on your way, boy," Mr. Yates said, his voice a low rumble of dismissal. "I trust this will cover the cost of your...services. And I expect you'll use it wisely, for the sake of your family. Not that I expect a boy like you to understand the meaning of financial responsibility."
The insult stung, but Elijah took the money anyway, his calloused fingers brushing against Mr. Yates' smooth, manicured ones. He folded the bill carefully and tucked it into the pocket of his shirt, feeling the weight of it like a leaden stone against his heart.
"Thank you, sir, "he said, his voice tight and clipped. He knew it was best to leave now, to take the money and go before he said or did something he would regret. But he hesitated, his gaze flicking to where Hillory had been standing a moment before.
She was gone now, likely washing the grime of their shared task from her skin, just as her uncle had commanded. And as he stood there, with the weight of Mr. Yates' disdain and the heavy responsibility of the money in his pocket, Elijah felt a sudden, desperate longing for her to reappear.
But she didn't. And after a moment, he turned and walked out of the kitchen, out of the house, and out of Hillory's life. At least, that's what he told himself as he trudged down the long gravel drive, the sun beating down on his back like a punishment.
He had done what he had come to do. He had fixed the problem, earned the money, and fulfilled his purpose. But as he walked away from the grand estate and back towards the squalid shack that housed his family, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing, something vital and bright and full of promise.
As Elijah trudged up the overgrown path to his family's rundown house, he couldn't shake the heavy feeling that settled in his chest, weighing down his steps like a stone. He had earned the money, had done a good day's work, and yet he felt no sense of satisfaction, no pride in a job well done.
It wasn't until he pushed open the crooked door to the shack that he realized what was missing, what had been gnawing at him since he had walked away from the Yates Estate. He missed her. The simple truth of it hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him winded and aching with a longing he couldn't quite understand.
Hillory's smile, bright and genuine even under her uncle's stern glare. Hillory's laughter, ringing out clear and sweet as they worked side by side. Hillory's presence, warm and comforting in a way he had never experienced before. She had brought a light into his life that he hadn't even known he needed, and now that she wasn't there next to him anymore, he felt the absence of it like a physical pain.
He stepped inside the dimly lit house, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. The air was thick and heavy, humid and stale, a far cry from the cool, clean atmosphere of the manor. He could hear his mother moving around in the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans as she prepared a meager supper, no doubt stretching what little food they had to try to feed them all.
Maisie came bounding out of her room, her face flushed and her hair a wild tangle of curls. She launched herself at Elijah, her small arms wrapping around his waist as she buried her face in his stomach. "Elijah! You're home! Did you fix the broken thing? Is that why you're so late?"
Elijah wrapped an arm around his sister's thin shoulders, holding her close as he ruffled her hair with his free hand. "Yeah, pipsqueak. The pipes are fixed, and the leak's stopped. No more bangin' and clankin', leastwise."