For a beat, she wondered what he would be if he had both eyes. Then she wondered why she had wondered it.
The thought came quick, sharp. She stepped back from the window and pressed her hand flat against the sill as if she needed the stone to cool her palm.
At that moment, she heard the door open again. Her mother slipped inside without knocking, the way mothers do when worry outpaces manners.
“Maither, ye have to knock properly when entering me room. ‘Tis the normal thing to do.”
Her mother laughed and closed the door behind her. “Ye will find, lass, that motherhood comes with being able to escape a lot of normalcy.”
“Right,” Erica murmured, her voice low.
“Are ye all right?” her mother asked, voice gentle, eyes not missing much.
“Aye,” Erica said. “Just thinking.”
Her mother glanced around the tidy room as if it might give her a clue. “Ye missed Sheena’s story at breakfast today,” she said. “She was speaking of the festival and the history behind it. I suppose she attended the first one.”
Erica pressed her lips together. “I am fine, Maither. Just thinking.”
Her mother moved closer. The lines at the corners of her eyes had deepened since Bryden, but her gaze remained steady.
“Ye are safe here,” she said.
“Aye.” Erica nodded.
“For now,” her mother added. It was not meant to scare. It was a truth they both lived with. “We will do our part. Keep the shape. Let the house learn ye.”
“I am trying,” Erica said.
“I can see that,” her mother allowed. “But ye have been inside all morning. Come along. The garden will do ye good.”
“I daenae feel like walking,” Erica said. Her voice was not sharp, only tired.
Her mother did not bend. “Ye have always felt better after ye moved yer legs. Come on.”
Erica looked toward the window and resisted the urge to look down at the yard again. “If we go out, we will have to stop and greet people. I daenae think I am in the mood.”
“Ye also need to breathe,” her mother said. “Best to breathe where the air is clean.”
Erica breathed out through her nose, half a laugh, half surrender. She rose and smoothed the front of her gown. “Fine,” she relented. “But I am nae in the mood to talk.”
“Then I will talk for ye,” her mother said, with a small smile meant to lighten the mood. “I can fill an hour if pressed.”
Erica shook her head despite herself. “Tell me something I daenae ken.”
She picked up the shawl from the chest and draped it over her mother’s shoulders. The simple act steadied her more than she had expected. Doing something for someone else always had. She checked the pins in her braid with a touch out of habit and found one loose. Then she fixed it and turned toward the door.
“Leah brought a note,” her mother said, as if remembering a small thing. “Fergus wants the count for candles by evening if ye have the breath.”
“I will give it to him,” Erica said. “After the walk.”
Her mother nodded. “Good.”
Erica put her hand on the doorknob. She almost said something that would have unleashed a torrent of memories again. There was nothing to ask that would not leave a hole.
She opened the door, feeling the coolness of the passageway settle on her shoulders.
Her mother took her arm. “The girls were asking for ye,” she said as they started down the passage. “They want a story for after their numbers.”
