Tonight, he opened the book, stared past the words, and looked his troubles in the eye.
Mother Bercie, her son, and the entire town—none of them trusted him. Bercie was paranoid and suspicious, and from what Orval had learned of the history, she had every right to be. They all did. The Black Hills had been fought over like a carcass being fought over by wolves fighting a mountain lion. The land and its people were the worse for it.
Jerrold was grim and hard. Orval was fair certain that without Amari and the babes, he’d be dead.
A log in the hearth collapsed. Orval rose, sucked in a breath waiting for his leg to support him, then added wood to the fire.
True enough, the people were seeing to the newcomers’ basic needs. But for how long would that continue?
He had promised Bercie and her people that he wouldn’t lie, but he hadn’t shared the truth of Lara’s parentage and wasn’t sure he ever would. Safer that way, although to be honest, he had the unsettling thought that too many people already knew the truth.
He sat back down by the bed, stretching his bad leg toward the warmth. It hurt, to be hated for what he could not change. He couldn’t change his blood, his leg, or the past.
He trusted Roth and Rosalind. They would both die before betraying the secret and Yfin would follow Roth in that regard. But Rosalind made Orval uneasy for reasons he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He thought she favored Lara over Dalan, but he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t mentioned it to Amari yet because…
He drew in a breath, not wanting to face it, but Amari was his other worry. No, more of a fear. The last week or so, she’d been acting different. Pulling back from him, not meeting his eyes. A few times, he caught her staring at him, her mouth open as if to say something, but then she’d turn away.
Orval frowned, staring into the fire. It was hard, to be husband and wife. He’d thought it would be easier somehow, that having a relationship meant that you knew the other’s thoughts and feelings. It wasn’t like that at all.
Vren had said that a marcus would come. So it was still a possibility that she would leave and take the children with her. Orval knew they’d be safer away from this place, this strife, but he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.
It wasn’t just the nights, oh, the nights when they took pleasure with one another. But the days, with her sharp wit and her laugh and her tenderness to the babes. And the babies themselves, Dalan and Lara were such joys. He smiled wryly to himself; how had he ever lived without them?
Well, he hadn’t, had he?
He grimaced then. He didn’t have the courage to just come out and ask her what was wrong, to press her to tell him what was troubling her. Fool that he was, coward that he was, all he could do was wait and see.
Xydell stirred and opened her eyes.
“Aunt Xydell.” Orval closed his book and leaned over. “Can I get you anything?”
She turned toward him and smiled. She looked relaxed and so much younger. “Orval,” she said, reaching out a trembling hand. “You love Amari.”
“I do,” He took her hand in his. It felt so cold and frail. “And even better, she seems to care for me.” He smiled, still trying to understand the wonder of it, and hoping it was still true. But his doubts were not something he was going to discuss with his Aunt.
“Good,” she whispered. “That’s good.” She yawned and sighed. “Sometimes it seems this has all been a bad dream. All the pain, all the grief, since my Jerrold died.”
“Perhaps, if I hadn’t buried myself in ancient history, I wouldn’t have ignored the living history before me,” he said, voicing his own quiet regret.
Xydell sighed. “Perhaps, if I had let my bitterness go, I might have been willing to talk of the past.” She plucked at the blankets with her free hand, “Old people can be so stubborn.”
“Life is wasted on the young,” he said. They shared a smile.
“Go back to sleep,” Orval said softly. “And dream a better dream.”
“It’s good to be back home.” She closed her eyes and murmured something faintly.
Orval leaned in to hear.
“The fire has warmed me.” Her words were nearly breathless, a final struggle.
He’d never been sure of his Aunt’s beliefs. It wasn’t much talked of in the family. But Orval knew the ancient words; he’d learned them at his mother’s knee.
“We thank the elements,” he recited.
“The earth has supported—” Aunt Xydell drew a ragged breath.
“The earth has supported you,” Orval finished for her. “We thank the elements.”
