Jonas’s Gift

The afternoon sun slanted through the bare branches of the chestnut tree near the school gates. Elena stood with her back against the cold stone wall, her breath misting in the crisp air, waiting. She had not told anyone where she was going. Marta would be busy pressing linens for tomorrow’s inspection, and the signora would be in her office, reviewing the week’s lessons. The yard was quiet, save for the distant clatter of a cart on the cobbled street.

She had not seen Jonas since the day of the exam, when he had appeared at the gate with a question in his eyes. She had answered with a shake of her head, too full of the tension of the day to speak. But after the rebellion, after the quiet act of leaving the stove unscrubbed, she had felt a pull toward something beyond the walls. She had written him a note, folded into a tiny square, and slipped it through the crack in the gate where the iron bars met the stone. “Meet me by the chestnut tree, Saturday afternoon.”

And now he was here.