Underneath the pile of fresh lettuce and vegetables I have concealed a small piece of folded paper that bears the coded message I received in my mailbox last night. I give the basket to Hana, the village trader, as I do every morning, and she briefly meets my eyes and nods in thanks, as she always does. But she never gives any indication that she has delivered the messages I give her.

My footsteps echo against the cobblestones that lead to my family’s house in the center of town, and I keep my eyes on the street, as the pre-dawn sky hasn’t yet yielded to the sun. My feet tap, quiet and alone as I approach my home, the heavy metal mailbox signifying the entrance to our little front garden.

When I creak open the heavy wooden door, paint flakes flutter to the ground already dusted with a layer of the white chips. I close the door behind me, trying to prevent the door from slamming or scraping as it often does. My sleeping brothers and sisters sprawl on the floor, sleeping, and I try not to disturb any of them and awaken them.  I make my way past my parents’ bedroom, not daring to look inside for fear they might look back, and into my room, otherwise known as the store room. I slowly bend down and recline against the remaining sack of grain we have from last season.

I was bringing that very sack of grain home from the market when I was first approached by the woman. She spoke with a distinctly sophisticated tongue, as if she were royalty from the big city. Her impractical long coat and fashionable shoes marked her as an out-of-towner, and her flowery perfume was like nothing I had smelled before, a mixture of roses and lilies. She sat me down on the bench just outside the entrance to the town and asked me if I wanted to help her with a special mission.

At first, I thought she wanted to buy that precious grain from me, and hugged the bag to my chest. But she merely wanted to talk, or that’s what she said, at least.

Whispering, as if she were telling me a great secret, she said, “I think you’re the person I’ve been looking for.” She leaned in even closer to my face, and I tried not to flinch.

“I have a mission for you, Elise.”
“How-how do you know my name?” I stuttered, “I don’t even know you.”
“We’ve been watching you for a while, now,” she said, not even hearing what I had said, “and we think you’re up for it.”
“Wait--who’s we? And what do you want me for, and--”

“Elise,” she said, moving to place a hand on my shoulder until I flinched away, “aAll you need to know is that we have picked you, you!, for a very important task, and we need to know if you’re up for it.”

Against my better judgement, I said to her, almost trembling, with either excitement or nervousness, “What do you need me to do?”

The woman smiled, and I knew I could never go back on what I had just said. After that conversation, things moved into place with incredible efficiency. The woman gave me a piece of paper with some indecipherable characters that looked like some kind of foreign language and told me to give it to Hana with my daily delivery of vegetables.

Each week after that, I received message after message to give to Hana in our mailbox. I never got one from Hana to give to the woman. I never received anything from Hana, actually, not a secret nod, a thank you, or anything to imply that she got the message and was passing it on to whoever the higher-up worthy of getting a missive from a fancy woman from the city.

Now, it’s a year later, and we’re down to that one sack of grain, about to finish off the supply. It’ll be time to go back to the market soon, and as I sit, still motionless in the storeroom, I wonder if I’ll see the woman again. Maybe she’ll deem me worthy of her attention again--maybe she’ll even give me a personal thank you, and I’ll be a national hero, and I’ll have saved the world just by passing on messages in fresh produce, and---

“Elise! Stop your daydreaming! It’s time to go to school, don’t you dare be late after all of the hard work we’ve put in so you can go!” My father’s voice penetrates through the door and into the middle of my fantasy.

I stand up with a shake, and open the door as fast as I possibly can as I stand in front of my father, shaking just a little bit as I stand up straight as a ruler.

“Sorry Papa, I’m ready to go.”
I walk past him with my head down, and grab my satchel and lunch from where I had packed it last night and step once again over the still-sleeping children’s bodies.

As I walk out the door, I turn and look back at my house, with the sun finally rising behind it and casting a red and gold shadow onto the ground in front of me, then turn away and head towards the village gates and up into the woods where my school is.

As I walk up the streets and out of town, I dash quick looks behind me every few seconds, just to make sure no one is following me. Mine are the only footsteps I hear, but I still fear a presence following behind me. I may not know what the messages say, but I do know that if they weren’t something secret, I wouldn’t have to deliver them and I would know the woman’s name.

It’s much lighter than when I had come back from delivering the vegetables just a few hours before, and the town is beginning to wake up. Windows open, pots clang, and horses wake up and whinny, which all creates a little music that I am all to used to by now. As I begin to make my way into the woods to hike up the hill, these noises fade behind me and the more peaceful sounds fill my ears and my shoulders unclench. The birds singing, squirrels climbing trees, and various small animals sprinting across my path calm me down. Branches crack as I make my way through the woods and bushes rustle in the wake of my path. It is so tranquil that I take my attention away from the path and pay attention to the woods, the animals and plants that reside there.

A singular branch snapping behind me brings my attention back to the path, but no sooner do I look up that I leather-gloved hand is clapped over my eyes and I am grabbed from behind. I hear a horse clops up behind me, and feel its hot breath on my neck as I am swung up onto its back, hitting my legs on the trees as I sprawl backwards, still blind. I feel a burlap sack swung over my head, feeling the irony as only a few minutes before I had been lying on one in my home, as the pressure comes off of my eyes. I blink my eyes open, but can only see the rough cloth in front of my face and an odd smell coming into the sack, making it hard to see and breathe. The last thing I sense is the smell of roses and lilies.