CHAPTER THREE #5
"And his cousin." Isabel looked back down at her son, who had finished his bread and butter and was beaming up at her.
Constance had to smother a laugh at the sight of him: while she assumed some of the butter had made its way into his mouth, the majority of it was smeared over his cheeks and chin.
Isabel smiled a little, and took up the corner of her apron to wipe his face clean.
"Assuming they do agree, then yes, I'll do it.
I'll be - happy to." Her voice caught a little, and a look of surprise crossed her face, as if she had not anticipated her own words.
Constance wondered when she had been happy last. If she could make her happy again.
"Well then," she said, her heart soaring. "We'll start as soon as you've spoken to your brother? It would be best to begin without delay."
"It would," Isabel agreed. She got to her feet, balancing Walter on her hip. "That being the case, I'll go now. Best settle matters quickly, so we may begin. Three dresses, you said?"
Constance nodded. "Perhaps a veil and tippets as well, if the dresses are to their liking."
"Then we shall be busy indeed." Isabel hesitated a moment, then extended her free hand towards Constance. "Busy, and - glad of it, I think."
Constance reached out and caught Isabel's fingers in her grip, squeezing lightly.
She could not stop herself from smiling; probably she looked downright giddy.
Isabel's look was less transparent, but there was still a tentative joy there.
Her fingers were chilly when Constance caught them, but they warmed quickly in her grip.
It felt like an omen of things to come. If Constance were to fully give herself over to hope - and she could feel it happening regardless of her better sense - she would say it felt like a beginning.
# # #
As soon as Walter realized where they were headed, he began to squirm in Isabel's arms like an especially vigorous eel.
He chanted, "down, Mama, down. Mama, want down," as he dug his heels into her sides, batted at her hands while she tried to restrain him, and nearly succeeded in wriggling himself free entirely and toppling headfirst into the street.
Isabel withstood this for a minute, then – with her arms aching, Walter's fussing growing in volume, and their destination safely in sight – she gave up and set him down.
His feet had barely touched the ground before he was off, fairly sprinting down the street with Isabel close behind him – it didn't seem as if there was much chance of him bolting into the road, but she was not about to take the chance – until he came, at last, to Matthew and Elizabeth's door.
Walter loved visiting his aunt and uncle – loved it so much that Isabel felt vaguely as if she should be insulted.
Of course, lacking playmates at home, it was a boon for him to have a cousin close in age, but she sensed there was more to it than that.
Home, to Walter, was an unhappy place: she kept him as shielded as she could from her spats with Hilda and Aline and Petronilla's teasing, but she saw his eyes following her as she went about her day and knew that she hadn't done enough.
The smithy, on the other hand, was warm and bright; Elizabeth and Matthew were always laughing together over something or other, and Marian was so fussed over by both her parents that she ran the risk of becoming spoiled.
No one in this household quarreled, or sniped, or insulted; no one tensed in fear when someone else entered the room, lest they find themselves on the wrong side of a bad temper.
When she had first been widowed, Matthew had offered to let her and Walter come and stay for as long as they needed, an offer she had refused for any number of reasons.
Now, however, she wondered if it would not have been better for everyone if she had simply contrived to hand her son over to Matthew and Elizabeth permanently: they would surely have been able to offer him a better life than she could, or was.
Walter, entirely unaware of her thoughts, was growing impatient with waiting for her: he had begun to jump up and down in front of the door, trying in vain to reach the latch.
Isabel came to rescue the door from his onslaught, reaching over his head to unhook the latch and push it open.
In his excitement, Walter tumbled face-first into the room beyond, but the upset hardly seemed to perturb him.
He was back on his feet in an instant, dashing inside with a series of babbled shrieks that were unintelligible to anyone but Isabel.
"You're here!" Elizabeth, who was seated at the kitchen table peeling turnips, looked up with a bright smile as Walter fairly crashed into her knees.
"It's good to see you both, it's been far too long.
Marian, look who's come to see us!" She steered Walter one-handed around the legs of her chair to the spot in front of the fireplace where Marian sat playing with an assortment of wooden animals.
She and Walter fell immediately to prattling at each other, nearly oblivious to the fact that there was anyone else in the room.
"It has been some time, it's true," Isabel said, lowering herself into the chair opposite Elizabeth.
A safely noncommittal answer was all she could really offer.
Every time she came to visit, they asked why it had been so long, and she had no real explanation to give.
She could blame it on Hilda, which was not untrue – for as much as she did not seem to enjoy Isabel's company, she was still jealous of her time – but the truth was, Isabel kept away of her own accord.
No matter how many times they assured her she was welcome, she never ceased to feel like an interloper in this household – at best, a tolerated guest, and at worst, a reminder of bad times.
She had not forgotten how strenuously she had objected to Matthew and Elizabeth's marriage, and while they never brought the subject up, she knew they had not either.
"How have you been faring?" Elizabeth set her turnips aside and leaned forward in her seat, resting her cheek against one hand. "Walter seems bigger whenever I see him. He's past his second birthday now, hasn't he?"
"He will be at Eastertide," Isabel said.
"So a few weeks, still." Through Elizabeth's eyes, she could see how her son had grown; but for her own part, she never ceased to fret over how small he was, whether or not he was eating enough to grow, or if he had inherited his father's weak lungs.
She could blame that on her circumstances, but she suspected she would worry over him no matter what sort of household she lived in.
It was a family trait. "He and Marian are the same age, for the time being – didn't she turn one at Candlemas? "
"She did." Elizabeth cast a fond smile at her daughter, who was pushing one of the wooden animals around the floor while making rude sounds with her mouth.
"And she's near to outgrowing her cradle.
A shame – I thought it would last longer, but all her height is in her legs, and she can't fit without curling up in a ball.
We've been trying to settle her in the attic room, but she won't have it. "
"She takes after Matthew, in that regard," Isabel said. "He was always tall."
"He still is," Elizabeth said with a chuckle.
"He'll put Marian up on his shoulders for walks, and I can't reach high enough to take her down.
It's fortunate he's no notion of running off with her, for I could surely never catch up with them.
But she loves it – he can't set foot out of doors with her without her begging to be picked up. "
"I don't doubt it," Isabel said, shaking off the chill that had gone through her at the thought of anyone running off with Walter.
It wasn't going to happen, and she was foolish for fearing it on account of an innocent joke on Elizabeth's part.
She took a deep breath. "Truth be told, I've come to ask a favour of you.
I don't expect that you'll give it if it's a burden, but –"
She was interrupted by a howl of outrage from the floor. When she glanced over, she saw Marian red-faced and screeching; Walter sat a foot away from her looking faintly puzzled, the toy she'd been playing with clutched in one fist.
"Walter," Isabel said.
"It's not his fault." Elizabeth bent to pick up her daughter and settled the wailing infant in her lap, bouncing her gently.
"She slept poorly last night, and she's been fractious all day on account.
Shh, shh. It's all right, button." Marian's burst of ire was not especially long-lived: snug in her mother's arms, she let out a few final indignant bleats, then turned her face against Elizabeth's shoulder and trailed off into sniffles.
Isabel looked back at Walter, whose expression remained one of confusion. Feeling a pang of guilt for snapping at him without just cause, she picked him up and set him on her knee, smoothing a hand down his back. "What's that you've got there?" she asked, indicating the toy he was still holding.
Walter brightened immediately. "Wooh-wooh," he said, waving it in the air before dropping it onto the table with a dull thud that made him giggle.
"A dog?" Isabel picked the toy up to examine it.
To her eye, it could be almost anything – Matthew had taken to toy-making with an enthusiasm entirely unmatched by skill, and thus far, everything he had produced held roughly the same shape as a chunk of unformed clay.
Each one had four legs, a head (although most of them lacked necks) and a tail; beyond that, she could divine no features that might tell her what he had intended for it.