It would have been a peculiar sight to any passersby along the quiet village street; the small cottage by the lake with its door flung open, and a motley assortment of furniture and other items on the front lawn. A towering figure of a man stood on the front steps with his hands on his hips, surveying the scene. Rust-colored hair, wild and bushy, fluttered in the stiff, cool breeze, along with the plain and time-worn undershirt that covered his thick torso.
After a quick assessment of the items in the yard, he turned and peered back through the doorway, into the house, recalling the events of the morning.
"I need your help, Aldwyn," she said, rousing him from his makeshift bed on the couch. "I can't move it. It's too heavy for me."
He rose with a deep grunt, throwing his blanket aside, rubbed his face, then blinked in faint surprise. Furniture was here and there around the living area of the house, having been dragged, or pushed. How the noise failed to wake him, he couldn't begin to guess. But he turned an arched eyebrow on the young woman beside him, silently questioning.
Her lips pressed together in a slightly guilty expression, but her deep, blue eyes pleaded for understanding. "I can't look at it anymore," she whispered.
Aldwyn shifted his gaze to the scattered furniture, then back to her, and gave a gentle nod. Without a word, he walked over to the first item; a curved-back wicker chair. He recognized it as having sat before the hearth with an identical chair beside it, and his chest tightened. This must have been her husband's chair. Swallowing hard, he hoisted it up and carried it to the door. Behind him, he heard a quiet muttering that sounded like "I love you", and for a brief flash, he felt stunned. Was she speaking to him? He froze for a moment before glancing back at her, and the pained twist of her features broke through his confusion, and he relaxed again.
She followed him about the house, pointing at items for him to carry outside. Her voice was soft and monotone, and he watched her closely, worried for her mind and filled with compassion for how difficult this task must be for her.
"I certainly won't be drinking that," she said, pointing at a large cask of beer in the spare bedroom she now used as her own. It was no easy feat getting that thing outside, and by the time he managed it, his arms and shoulders were burning, and sweat had beaded over his forehead. As he worked it carefully down the steps, he heard the same phrase, the softly murmured "I love you". He wanted to ask what she was doing, why she kept saying it, for it felt keenly intimate, as if he were intruding on some private moment between her and her unseen, late husband. But he couldn't find the determination, so he said nothing.
"Do you have some place to take these things?" he asked during a pause between tasks, wiping the hem of his undershirt across his brow. "I don't expect you're going to sell them or give them away?"
Her eyes shot to his face, but she waited a moment before speaking. "No, I won't sell them," she answered quietly, moving up beside him to lay a hand on the back of the wicker chair. "I'll store them somewhere, for now." She turned her troubled blue eyes upward to his face. "Thank you, Aldwyn," she whispered. "You don't have to do any of this, and yet you do." Her head shook slowly, her features pinching before she dropped her gaze again.
"What's next, then?" he asked in what he hoped was a light-hearted tone, trying to steer her away from her sorrow.
She fixed her eyes on the grass beneath their feet. "...the bedroom."
He stared down at her and nodded, though she couldn't see the gesture. His hands went to his hips and he chewed at his lip, and a clumsy silence swelled between them until he broke it gently. "You want to wait out here?"
She nodded in reply. "I'll go wait by the lake."
Back inside, he stood by the closed bedroom door for several minutes, staring at the knob. It felt wrong to enter the room. Invasive. His hand moved up and then dropped to his side again. This was repeated several times. He tried not to think about the joys and happiness and memories that had occurred within. At last, with a quiet curse in his native tongue, he turned the knob and pushed the door open, glaring at the room as if it were something he was bound to conquer.
Half an hour later, the room was half empty, and she came to inspect it, tip-toeing across the threshold like a timid mouse. Her hands were clenched together, but as she entered, he heard an audible sigh, and watched her shoulders relax as she nodded slowly. She spoke no words, but turned and walked back out.
"Think you could find someone to help load the stuff onto a cart?" he ventured, trailing after her as she returned to the open front door.
Her lips were squashed together again, as she did whenever she was considering something. "Yes," she replied, giving another little sigh as she moved into a shaft of sunlight spilling through the doorway. "I need to pay a call or two, now that I'm here again. To Leoffrith, especially, and Inayat, if I can catch her."
"Think they're the ones who been leaving the extra firewood?" he wondered aloud, moving up beside her, wiping his sweaty palms across his trousers.
A quick flicker of a smile tugged at her lips, and he felt the same prick of hope that he always felt now, whenever she smiled.
"Aye," she said softly. "I'd imagine it's one of them."
She fell silent after that, and her eyes seemed to grow dim, taking on the faraway look that just as quickly dampened the gladness he felt at seeing her smile. He knew her thoughts were going inward again, and she was seeing something beyond the sunlit yard. Changing things inside the house was a pivotal thing, however, and he was determined to see hope in her decision. But perhaps she had exhausted her heart's strength for the day, and he could not blame her if she lapsed into a thoughtful silence. For now.
He stepped over to her and wrapped a thick arm around her shoulders, pulling her against himself. She offered no resistance, nor did she return his embrace, her hands remaining down at her sides. His opposite hand came round to gently grasp the back of her head, pressing it lightly against his chest, and he bent his own head to kiss the crown of her ashen hair.
"You're gonna be all right, Brynleigh," he murmured in a low voice.
