Against The World

Chapter 58 Room For Tomorrow

Chapter 45: Room for Tomorrow

Helena arrived carrying a basket and no official business.

Nobody believed her.

The gatekeeper sent word while Evelyn and I were reviewing the winter repair schedule. My wife looked up from a proposal for two more enclosed stoves.

“Mother?”

“Lady Helena says she has come for a visit.”

I glanced at the stack of papers.

“How fortunate. We can show her the chimney estimates.”

Evelyn smiled.

“She will decide they need decoration.”

“The chimneys?”

“You underestimate her.”

Helena entered several minutes later, brushed snow from her cloak, and kissed her daughter’s cheek.

Then she looked at me.

“You are both working.”

“It is the middle of the morning.”

“That has never prevented you from working at any other hour.”

She placed the basket on a clear corner of the table.

I lifted the cloth.

Bread, a jar of preserves, and several small cakes.

“Beatrice will object.”

“Beatrice asked for the recipe.”

“That seems unlikely.”

“She objected first.”

Evelyn laughed and rose to help her mother with the cloak.

Helena surveyed the council room while I rescued the cakes from proximity to an inkpot.

The district representatives had already left. Only Mary remained, sorting the decisions into separate bundles for the clerks.

“How are the roads?” Helena asked.

“Passable south and east,” Mary replied. “The upper northern road remains restricted. Firbank has received another fuel delivery.”

“And the trial stoves?”

“Useful,” Evelyn said. “Sera has altered the design after the first fortnight’s measurements.”

“Less wood?”

“Yes. We are beginning with classrooms, the infirmary, and the largest shared rooms.”

Helena nodded.

For someone who had brought no official business, she was becoming remarkably well informed.

She reached into her basket.

“And these are the names of three stove fitters your father knows.”

Evelyn took the folded paper.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“Your visit without official business.”

Helena looked innocent.

“I happened to have it.”

We showed her the work before lunch.

That was easier than leaving her in the council room, where she might discover the unfinished petition list and decide to organize it.

The infirmary’s new stove had been lit before dawn. Its warmth reached the far beds without filling the room with smoke.

One of the healers showed Evelyn a cracked section of floor where cold air entered from below.

Evelyn crouched to examine it.

“Has Aldren seen this?”

“He marked it yesterday. He needs the room clear for part of an afternoon.”

“We can move these beds into the adjoining chamber in two groups. Speak with Merrow about the people who need assistance.”

The healer nodded.

Helena watched her daughter.

She had been doing that more often since arriving.

Not critically.

Not even with the amusement she usually wore when Evelyn gave me instructions.

There was something quieter in it.

We continued to the workshop yard.

Jalen had finished six small tables for the classroom. His injured hand still troubled him, but he had built a padded clamp that held the wood steady while he worked.

Eleanor was examining it.

That seemed more promising than examining the tables.

“Who made this?”

“I did.”

“Make another.”

Jalen looked up.

“For whom?”

“Me.”

His expression changed.

He tried to hide how pleased he was.

Failed.

I understood the feeling. Eleanor’s approval was easier to value than it was to obtain.

Near the gate, Davren stood with Lettie beside a cart of wool.

His leg had improved enough for short walks. He was checking delivery quantities for Mara’s workshop while his daughter sorted wooden counting pieces on a crate.

She held up three.

Then frowned and added another.

“Four,” she announced.

Davren nodded gravely.

“Now we agree.”

Helena stopped beside them.

Lettie looked up at her fine cloak.

Then at Evelyn.

“Is that your mother?”

“Yes.”

“You look alike.”

Helena smiled.

“Thank you.”

Lettie considered them a moment longer.

Then she returned to her counting.

Adults were apparently less interesting than a correct total.

As we walked away, I noticed Helena watching Evelyn again.

This time, my wife noticed too.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Evelyn glanced at me.

I knew that word well enough not to trust it.

Aldren found me outside the storehouse.

He carried a drawing tube and the expression of a man hoping I would agree before asking how much work was involved.

“The western culvert.”

I looked at Evelyn.

She smiled.

“Go. Mother and I can find lunch.”

“I could stay.”

“You have been looking at that drawing tube since he arrived.”

“That does not prove anything.”

Aldren began unrolling the plan.

It proved quite a lot.

Before I followed him, Evelyn caught my sleeve and kissed my cheek.

“Come back before the cakes disappear.”

“I am relying on you.”

“A dangerous choice.”

Helena waited until I had gone far enough that pretending not to listen became impossible.

Then she took her daughter’s arm.

“What a pleasant morning,” she said.

Evelyn narrowed her eyes.

“You have a question.”

“I often have questions.”

“This one has been following us since the infirmary.”

Helena’s smile widened.

“Let us have tea.”

They took their tea in the western gallery.

The repaired windows admitted pale winter light. Below, workers moved across the courtyard, their breath showing in the cold.

Evelyn poured.

Her mother accepted a cup and waited until the door had closed.

Then she asked, “Have you and Uriah thought about children?”

Evelyn nearly poured tea onto the table.

Helena moved the sugar bowl.

“Careful.”

“Mother.”

“It is a reasonable question.”

“It is a very direct question.”

“You would have disliked ten minutes of hints.”

Evelyn set down the pot.

That was true.

It did not make her cheeks less warm.

“We have spoken about wanting a family,” she said. “Not properly about when.”

“And do you want one?”

“Yes.”

The answer surprised her with its speed.

Helena’s expression softened.

Evelyn looked toward the courtyard.

“I think about it more than I expected.”

“About children?”

“About ours.”

She turned the ring on her finger.

“Sometimes I see him with Lettie, or one of the children in the classroom, and I wonder what he would be like with a child who calls him Father.”

Helena listened.

“He takes them seriously,” Evelyn continued. “Even when the question is about whether a king should carry firewood.”

“Your father took your questions seriously too.”

“He once told me the moon followed our carriage because it preferred respectable company.”

“He had answered thirty-seven questions by then.”

Evelyn laughed.

Helena reached across the small table and covered her daughter’s hand.

“What worries you?”

The question changed the room.

Evelyn looked down.

“The city is still struggling.”

“Yes.”

“There are families waiting for news. People who have lost so much. Sometimes thinking about something happy feels…”

“Selfish?”

“A little.”

Helena shook her head.

“Your happiness does not take bread from them.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Evelyn was quiet.

Her mother waited.

Finally, she said, “I do not want to become so occupied with my own household that I stop seeing everyone else.”

“Then keep people near you who will tell you when you miss something.”

“Mary already does.”

“An excellent beginning.”

Evelyn smiled faintly.

Then she looked down at the hands resting on the table.

“I am also afraid I will lose the work.”

Helena did not pretend to misunderstand.

“The receptions. The relief arrangements. The council. I have only just learned where I am useful.”

“You have learned that you are useful in many places.”

“And if everyone decides I should sit quietly because I am carrying the next ruler?”

Her mother’s mouth tightened.

“Then everyone will need correcting.”

Evelyn looked up.

“I mean it,” Helena said. “Some responsibilities would need to change. You would need help, and there would be days when rest mattered more than a meeting. That is not the same as becoming a decoration in your own home.”

Evelyn’s shoulders eased.

“Was it difficult for you?”

“Yes.”

The honesty caught her attention.

“I loved you before I had any idea how to be your mother,” Helena said. “I also missed uninterrupted sleep, peaceful meals, and the ability to finish a sentence.”

“Father says I was a quiet child.”

“Your father slept through several important pieces of evidence.”

Evelyn laughed again.

Helena joined her.

Then her mother’s expression became thoughtful.

“And you would not be doing this alone.”

“I know Uriah would help.”

“I was including myself.”

“Of course you were.”

“And your father.”

“He would arrive with a training schedule.”

“He would arrive with a wooden horse large enough to require its own room.”

Evelyn could picture it immediately.

That made the thought of a nursery feel much less distant.

Helena squeezed her hand.

“Speak to your husband. Ask what he wants. Tell him what frightens you as well as what you hope for.”

“And if we decide to wait?”

“Then you wait.”

“No argument?”

“I reserve the right to knit things privately.”

“Mother.”

“A grandmother must have ambitions.”

“You are not a grandmother yet.”

Helena lifted her cup.

“I am aware. That is why I asked the question.”

I returned with a drawing, mud on one boot, and enough time to save the last cake.

Helena regarded the mud.

“Successful inspection?”

“The culvert needs widening.”

“Does everything?”

“Eventually.”

Evelyn made room beside her on the settee.

I sat and took the cake.

It was very good.

That probably explained why only one remained.

“What have you been discussing?”

My wife glanced at her mother.

Helena looked entirely too pleased with her tea.

“Family,” Evelyn said.

I waited.

Neither elaborated.

“That sounds ominous.”

“It was a lovely conversation,” Helena replied.

Evelyn’s cheeks colored.

I began to understand that I had missed something important.

Before I could ask, a clerk appeared with a message from the winter supply committee.

Evelyn read it, made a note, and sent an answer.

Life resumed around us.

Helena stayed through supper.

She asked Mary whether she had been resting, complimented Mara’s new infirmary aprons, and listened while Melody explained that Crumb had developed a preference for one particular maintenance worker.

“The one carrying his food?” I asked.

Melody looked offended on the guardian’s behalf.

“Sometimes.”

When Helena finally returned through the Valewood gate, she hugged Evelyn for longer than usual.

Then she took my hands.

“Be good to one another.”

“We are trying.”

“I can see that.”

She smiled.

No teasing.

That unsettled me more than teasing would have.

Evelyn was quiet while we prepared for bed.

Not unhappy.

Thoughtful.

I sat beside the fire and waited until she came to join me.

She tucked her feet beneath the blanket.

Then she took my hand.

“Mother asked about children.”

I looked at her.

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“That explains several things.”

“Does it?”

“Possibly the expression she wore at lunch.”

Evelyn smiled.

“She would like grandchildren.”

“I suspected she might.”

“She also said we should decide for ourselves.”

“That was generous of her.”

“She intends to knit regardless.”

“Less surprising.”

We shared a small laugh.

Then the room became quiet again.

Evelyn turned toward me.

“What do you think?”

I looked at our joined hands.

For a moment, I saw a future so clearly that it hurt.

A small hand around one of my fingers.

A child asleep against Evelyn’s shoulder.

Someone running toward us across the courtyard because we were the people they expected to catch them.

“I would like children,” I said.

Her fingers tightened.

“With you.”

She let out a slow breath.

“I would like that too.”

I lifted my gaze.

There were tears in her eyes.

Not falling.

Just enough to catch the firelight.

“What worries you?” I asked.

She told me.

The work.

The expectations.

The fear that someone would begin treating her as a royal nursery with a person inconveniently attached.

I listened until she finished.

Then I shifted closer.

“I did not marry a future heir’s mother.”

She smiled faintly.

“That is a complicated sentence.”

“I married Evelyn.”

Her smile steadied.

“If we have children, I want them to know you as you are. The woman who argues about flour prices and helps carry furniture and laughs when I say something foolish.”

“That last part would occupy much of their childhood.”

“I am prepared to contribute.”

She leaned against me.

I kissed her hair.

“What worries you?” she asked.

I did not answer quickly.

She did not hurry me.

Eventually, I said, “How much I could lose.”

Her hand became still in mine.

“I know that is not a reason to refuse a future,” I continued. “But sometimes the happier I am, the more frightened I become that I will fail to keep it.”

Evelyn sat up enough to face me.

“You cannot keep every bad thing away.”

“I know.”

“You can stay. You can listen. You can apologize when you make mistakes.”

“That sounds rather like marriage.”

“I suspect some of the skills carry over.”

I laughed softly.

Then she touched my cheek.

“You do not have to be fearless to be a good father.”

I closed my eyes briefly.

When I opened them, she was still there.

Warm.

Patient.

My wife.

“I do not want to wait until Greykeep has no problems,” I said. “We might become very old.”

“Eleanor would still have a list.”

“So would Mary.”

“So would I.”

“I know.”

I drew her closer.

“Perhaps we make room for the possibility.”

She searched my face.

“Soon?”

“I think I would be happy with soon.”

Her smile came slowly.

Then all at once.

“So would I.”

We kissed.

No crowd.

No bells.

No ancient voice announcing that another royal procedure had become available.

Just us, beside the fire, choosing to hope for someone we had not met.

We did not announce anything the next morning.

There was nothing to announce.

But we did make one practical change.

At council, Evelyn asked Mary to identify a deputy for the civil relief work.

Not someone to replace her.

Someone who could make routine decisions when she was absent.

Mary looked relieved.

“I have been intending to suggest that.”

“Then suggest two candidates.”

I looked toward Aldren.

“The same for works approvals that do not require Eleanor’s inspection.”

Eleanor grunted.

“As long as nobody interprets that as permission to dig under an occupied kitchen.”

“Write that down,” I told Mary.

“It is already written down.”

Apparently several times.

We reviewed the winter stores, approved the repair schedule, and sent another request for news of the Bellcross hearings.

The work continued.

So did everything else.

After the meeting, Evelyn lingered beside the map table.

Her fingers rested on an unused suite adjoining our rooms.

I came to stand beside her.

“The windows face east,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Good morning light.”

“Probably cold until we repair the shutters.”

She looked at me.

I smiled.

“We know a stove maker.”

“And a carpenter.”

“And someone who will insist on inspecting the ceiling.”

Evelyn laughed quietly.

We did not write nursery on the plan.

Not yet.

She simply folded the corner to mark the page.

Then she took my hand, and we went downstairs to begin the day.

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