I sat up in the blue cushioned armchair. My head pounded. The desk before me held many books. I had not even gotten past the first two: Commentaries on the Laws of England, Common Laws of England. I sighed at the thickness of each book and the cases that lay scattered before me. Mr. Cumberbatch, a grouchy, short old man, sat on the opposite side of me.

From where we sat, the exit was in my gaze. One flight of stairs down and to the left was what stood before me and peace. Mr. Cumberbatch had denied me leave from this library except for visiting the bathroom. Flicking out my gold pocket watch, it had been over nine hours since I had arrived.

"You're not taking this seriously, Ronny," Mr. Cumberbatch said.

"I am, Mr. Cumberbatch."

Mr.Cumberbatch dipped his quill into the ink. "Tell me the case of Hamilton v. Dillin."

"That's about the surveyor's four cents per pound. I can't remember the full details. I only just looked at that."

The old man shook his head. "You're not studying."

"I have been. From this morning until now, all I have done is read the information you left for me. I don't th —"

"There you go again. Your father didn't give up. Keep with it to succeed. Your mother asked me for this favor to keep you on as my apprentice. You know how many would want this privilege? Would kill for it?"

Mr. Cumberbatch's head was buried in his writing notes, coming up only to scratch his face.

"What will happen to that man from today?" I asked.

"What man?"

"The farmer that said the sheriff unjustly arrested him."

Mr. Cumberbatch turned the page before him. "It doesn't concern you. It's in the lower-class, nothing of note to be regarded."

Again, with this, how much was the sheriff paying you? My father would never stand for this.

"The lower-class whites, the free blacks, or the remnants of the Indians are all non-important. Keep this in mind: they can't pay you if you want to be successful. I need you to be ready, Ronny, for the case coming up this Friday."

There was clanking on the wooden floor.

Down the stairs, looking up at me, was my mother. She stood tall despite the curve in her back. Her yellow dress with blue flowers contrasted with her olive skin. It drew the attention of the few people that were inside the library.

What was my mother doing here?

The old man pushed back his chair, rubbing his hand on his head before revealing the actual in his pocket.

"I will be back, Ronny. Your mother probably wants to know how you are progressing."

"Yeah," I muttered.

I feigned interest in reading and kept my gaze at the bottom of the stairs. Mr. Cumberbatch eyes glanced back at me and then around the room. Extending his hand, he held my mother's for longer than a moment. There was a look of intent in his eyes as he smiled.

I scribbled notes on a piece of paper.

Don't you care about Dad anymore?

The pair walked up the stairs in my direction. They both stopped before the table, and Mr. Cumberbatch began clearing his notes from the table.

"You're looking very studious, Ron," my mother said, "A future lawyer like your father indeed."

"Thanks to my tutor, I have been learning a lot."

Mr. Cumberbatch beamed. "Ronny has been here since this morning studying. We should call it a day here, for now, Ronny. The stagecoach is waiting for you outside to go home."

"I rode here."

"Don't worry Ron, your horse will be sent with you as well," my mother said.

"Mrs. Davis, the Opera is tonight. The mayor will be in attendance." Mr. Cumberbatch's hand gripped tight onto the chair. "I was hoping if you would accompany me, it would be good to be in the presence of nobility."

"The mayor? Well, I will see what I have to wear for such an occasion."

Mr. Cumberbatch smiled. "I will send a stagecoach for you at eight o'clock."

"Great! well then, let's go, Ron," my mother said.

#

The horses' hooves thudded on the paved road. We passed many closed stores. Once bustling, these places were now sleeping grounds for those joining the war of the land. I sighed as my eyes met theirs, from little girls to hardened men. Everyone sent in this war by train was nothing more than pawns with a vague promise of wealth. There was no longer a distinction between men, women, and even children in this war.

Father, could you have stopped this?

"So Ron, do you still plan to go through with the marriage this year with that girl?"

"Yes, mother, I plan to marry Karen this year."

"It's not too late! You can still court another lady."

"We have been through this, mother."

"You can call it off. You want a respectable woman from a well-groomed family to gain a dowry."

I placed my hand on my head and shifted my gaze around the inside of the coach.

"I know nothing of her and her family, Njeri. You can't meet a lady and fall in love with her. You have to know their family. I don't have to remind you of how important it is to find someone of stature."

"Karen lost both of her parents, mother. Who would you prefer me to be with? Women that I can't love? Just for the sake of their families' names? I have to look past those things and study what makes me happy."

Mother sighed. She placed her hand on mine. "Happiness is a temporary thing, but fine, as long as you study and become a lawyer like your father."

I turned my head, avoiding her cat-like gaze.

"If your father didn't stop taking interest in other people and focused on his family. He would still be alive and we wouldn't have to live like this. Whether it's real, this war of the land has caused so many foolish deaths and enriched so many foolish men."

The stagecoach pulled up towards our home, and the driver opened the door.

"Here you are, sir and madam. I will be back at eight o'clock to pick you up, Mrs. Davis."

My mother nodded as she took the man's hand and got outside. I exited, seeing the rider dismounting and hitching my horse. He headed towards the stagecoach.

"Thank you."

"It's no problem, Mr. Davis," he said, sitting on the stagecoach.

We walked towards the door. The horses pulled the stagecoach and grunted as they left.

The door opened, and the servant bowed. My mother frowned as she entered.

"Is Karen here?" I asked.

"Yes, she is in the study," the servant said.

I smiled. I entered the house and headed up the stairs. The door to the study was slightly open, and I peered in, noticing Karen standing by the window.

Was something wrong?