Cedar sits on the ground near the outskirts of the village market, her original map drawings in a pile in front of her. Grandma has been true to her word and has given Cedar some of her best paper, and open use of all her paints. She leaves the colouring for later, to be done at the cabin. She cannot risk ruining the paints.
It has been several weeks since she began the task. The work is tedious, and she has barely made a dent in transferring the old drawings from the ragged papers onto the new.
She looks away from the maps and watches the village activity, as happens each day she comes here to work. She does not know why she prefers working in the village when solitude often suits her fine. Perhaps it is because now that her work in her canoe is finished, she cannot bear to transfer all that time to remaining in Grandma’s cabin for endless hours. Here, in the marketplace, the activity drowns out her melancholy. The villagers come out with their animal skins, spring plants, stitched blankets, and all the rest. The tourists peruse the locals’ goods, admiring the beadwork and the jewelry carved from animal bones.
Even Samuel’s presence does not deter her. Cedar sits near the stall of one of Grandma’s friends, and Samuel keeps his distance. If anything, her decision to be frequently in the village makes her feel safer. The more she can remind other northerners of her existence, the less easily she will disappear from their notice if Samuel manages to pursue his plans with her to completion.
Cedar completely abandons all intentions of working on her maps. She begins sketching what she sees, using barren corners of her old maps. The distraction calms her fears. She catches the negotiation of trade between two neighbours, the village children playing with a dog, and the cool reserve of one particular tourist, who has made a point in the last few days of speaking with nearly every villager.
“You’ve captured him perfectly.”
Cedar startles and looks over her shoulder. There stands the man she caught watching her last time she had come to the market. He sports a boyish grin and carries himself in a manner that shows he knows the world is his playground.
“You’re not from here,” Cedar says, as he sits beside her on the dusty ground.
“No. I’m Ash.” He holds out his hand, and Cedar takes it briefly. “Are those your maps? May I look?”
Cedar shrugs, and he picks up the stack lying on the ground in front of them. He is a careful observer and takes his time examining each map.
“Are these the islands of the lakes? You do thorough work. My brother,” he gestures to the man Cedar has sketched, “is scouting out locations for business purposes, real estate ventures, and whatnot. Would you sell these? They could make you a lot of money.”
Cedar does not know what to say, but everything in her recoils at the idea of a house of dead wood taking up residence on her living, breathing islands. She has been foolishly open with her work. Her narrowed eyes and the heat that works its way up her neck must speak her thoughts.
“That looks like a no.” He hands the maps to her. Cedar takes them from him and conceals them away in her satchel. She is wary of him now.
“I’m not here to help my brother, I only thought you might be interested in the opportunity.” The look of uncertainty is strikingly unusual on his strong features. “I won’t say anything.”
Cedar’s wariness remains, but his expression has shifted so dramatically from certainty to hesitancy that she feels his awkwardness.
“What are you here for?” she asks. She ought to be used to talking with tourists by now.
“I’m not sure. Running from responsibility I suppose.” He grins widely with mock innocence.
“You shouldn’t be proud of that,” Cedar mutters, even more at odds with herself about what she thinks of him.
“I seem to be saying all the wrong things today. To you, at any rate.” Another grin, more sheepish this time. “You take your responsibilities seriously.” He reverts to a more serious tone again, and Cedar thinks he looks more at home being facetious.
“Some of us have no choice. Our families starve if we run too far from responsibility.” Cedar does not mean to sound snappish. She is unnerved by him, and words rush off her tongue.
His face turns a tinge red, but he looks directly at her. “You have put me properly in my place. I am ashamed to admit that my family wants for little, and relies on me not at all.”
“You are honest at least,” she says.
“To lie is to underestimate another’s intelligence.” The last shred of seriousness is pulled from him with this sentence. As though he has exhausted himself by it, he leans in closer to her. His grin is back. “I like you, and I want you to like me, maybe more than I should.”
Cedar’s skin warms again, this time for a different reason.
“Can I dare to hope that means you like me too?” He does not turn from watching her, and her flush deepens.
“Maybe if I knew you better,” she says sarcastically, a strange combination of annoyance and intrigue building inside her.
“Good. Then I will come back tomorrow.” He stands up from the ground, brushing the dirt from his pants.
She looks up at him, a little amused. “You didn’t ask me for my name.”
“Oh, I know your name.” He laughs merrily as he walks away, and tosses four last words over his shoulder. “Goodbye for today, Cedar.”