So why had today felt like being split open? Why had it felt like a perfect seam had opened from the base of her throat to the center of her belly?
Why had she frozen again?
When would it ever end?
The wedding, she reminded herself. She just had to survive until the wedding, and then he would leave again. Then everything would go back to how it was.
Just survive until the wedding.
She did her best to listen without hearing, to watch without seeing, as Freddy and Oliver took their places in the center of the stone circle to prepare to tell their story. Freddy knelt, holding her son’s eyes in serious conference as the two debated their strategy, gesturing here and there.
Freddy stopped any time Oliver began to speak. He watched where the boy gestured. He nodded attentively.
She felt it again, that seam, pulling at the cosmic stitches she had willed into it to hold her body together.
Freddy never really listened, did he? Not like that.
This was wrong.
“Claire,” said Dot with a frown, putting her hand on Claire’s knee, her fingers a featherlight weight through the yellow skirt. “Do you want to go for a stroll? Do you want to check the horses?”
Claire took a shallow little breath and put her hand over Dot’s, patting it in two stiff motions. “No, no,” she said as airily as she could manage, shaking her head. “No, Oliver would never forgive me if I missed his story.”
“He would forgive you,” Dot said softly, but did not otherwise push the matter.
When Freddy rose, standing at his full height, every bit as regal and commanding as any mythic king, everyone instinctively fell quiet. He let Oliver walk in front of him and dropped a hand on his son's golden head.
Their hair blew in harmony in the warm breeze.
“Once upon a time,” Oliver began, without preamble or ado, “there was a wicked king and his army. They wanted to take England. They were bad.”
Freddy nodded with solemn agreement.
“They came here to fight and take England,” Oliver told everyone, gesturing around to the stone circle. “They were going to do it, but then a witch came. The witch told them they should leave, but the wicked king said he wouldn’t and said he would kill the witch.”
“Oh, a witch!” Millie whispered to her husband from their neighboring blanket.
“The witch said if the king could stand here and see all the way to Long Compton, he would win and be king and she would go away,” Oliver said, getting louder as he got more excited. “So the king tried. He stood here and he looked, but he could not see it. It was smaller then, in the ancient times.”
“It was,” Tommy agreed, nodding. “I was there.”
It won a chuckle from a few of the people in earshot, and Raul’s aunt whispered in baffled awe, “Stubby Compton?”
They got shushed.
“He couldn’t see it, so the witch said he should go home. He was going to lose, and he could be a bad king that was alive or no kingat all because he died,” Oliver said, his eyes so wide and blue that they rivaled the sky. “The king didn’t listen!”
“Naturally,” Ember Donnelly said with a scoff. “Typical king.”
“He said he wanted to try again, and the witch said he could take … um …” Oliver hesitated, glancing up at Freddy, who quickly flashed him five fingers on one hand and two on the other. The boy heaved a sigh of relief and turned back to his audience, still deeply serious. “He, he could takesevensteps and try again.”
“Lotta steps,” Abe grumbled. “Too generous.”
“The king took great, big steps, like this!” Oliver moved away and took the longest, straight-legged strides he could manage. “He cheated!”
“He very well bloody did,” Abe agreed, louder this time.
“But then the wold came! This one, right here!” Oliver said, standing on his toes and pointing to the little barrow hill between the stone circle and the village. “It stopped him from seeing. He said ‘Fine, witch, I will go home,’ but she said it was too late. The king had already decided to walk farther into England. He made a bad choice.”
