Chapter Text
If anyone were to tell David he should’ve predicted what would happen, first: he’d call them stupid, because no one can see the future, and second: he’d call them heartless.
David wasn't very old when he learned the world wasn't fair. He'd always been far ahead of his peers in school, and overheard his parents' late night discussions when they thought their children were asleep. But he didn't think it was unfair he needed to grow up so fast. He has Mama and Papa, who were supportive and spent too much of their money on his schooling. He has his sister, Sarah, who's always been his best friend. He has his little brother, Les, who brightened every room he stepped in. He's always had a talent for putting a smile on everyone's face, no matter the situation.
David wasn't naïve, but he used to be less nihilistic. He didn't know cruelty in the same way he intimately does now. Maybe he could've called it optimism before, in an abstract sense. But how could he have known? School was a little lonely, but he had his family. He'd always stood out for his intellect; his Papa said it intimidated people. His village had good soil and always produced enough food to last the winter, the people were generally kind—aside from the special few—and his family had always done well enough for themselves.
It was only when his Papa was attacked that he realized that life is unfair. He only returned to them because someone had spotted him limping and injured as the sun set amongst the horizon. Worry seeped into their families' nerves like a seed. The local doctor was rushed to their home to treat Papa for a price they could hardly afford if they wanted to eat.
Money was hard to come by afterwards. He was forced to drop out of school and pick up minor jobs around town. Les liked to tag along, which helped because it often counted as a two-person job, which meant double the pay, as little as it already was. Unfortunately—as much as David has been known to catastrophize—even the worst scenarios he could've come up with would never compare to what happened.
It’s about mid-day when David finally takes a well-needed break. The sun is high in the sky, unbothered by the few clouds that drift by lazily. They come few and far between, separated by extensive fields of blue. Sweat beads on the back of David’s neck, and he’s long since shed his cote; a nice, dark blue Mama made and dyed for him a few months ago after his first growth spurt. He’s left in his undershirt, a basic beige that Mama didn’t bother to customize with the assumption he wouldn’t be seen in it without his cote. Normally he’d agree with her, but she wasn’t running around in sweltering heat. Besides, all the other boys have stripped down to their last layers and even the girls sit in the shade.
David pulls at the neckline, untying the string that holds the neck together so it falls open. It doesn’t do much, but it’s enough to feel the slight breeze flow through his shirt.
Les ran off ages ago, distracted by his friends who play in the fields. It was during David’s last job that Les left, and David only noticed because there was no one running circles around him while he carried crates to the market. The vegetable vendor offered to pay him for the job and, despite its tediousness, gave him some vegetables and 3 coins to take home for his labor. He’d shoved it all in his linen shoulder bag faster than the man could blink, running off with a shouted “Thanks!” before he could change his mind.
Kindness isn’t rare; generosity is common, especially amongst the children and the church, but his family needs everything they can get, and the vegetable vendor was never known for his generosity. “I grow them myself,” he often boasts. “My labor cannot go unpaid.” But the man grows old with every swanking sentence, and so David can get away with some food and money as long as he repays the man with chores.
David sits in the grass, knees brought close so his arms can rest on them. On the other side of the road, Les plays with his friends, roughhousing in the field. He will surely need a bath once they get home, and he will need to fetch his own water this time. Mama always says, “If you make a mess, you clean it.” It’s a lesson that hasn’t been instilled in Les just yet.
In the distance, David can see the monastery. In a village like David’s, many couldn’t afford to send their children to school, and until Papa’s accident, David had been one of the lucky ones. Most of the other boys were already working apprenticeships, and the girls were working for Mama.
Les had only just started school the year before; the accident had forced them both to leave. Papa wanted them to become monks so they could one day live in the monastery and have better lives than they did. They learned to read and write and about math and the gods and prayer. Often, when David got home, he told Sarah all about it. His favorite subjects had been math and their literature sessions.
Ever since he’d been sent to school without Sarah at eight, he’d come home and teach her everything he learned. They practiced their reading and writing together. They helped each other with arithmetic, which didn’t come to him as easily as reading and writing.
He knows his teachers and other villagers probably wouldn’t approve now that he’s older and knows their societal roles, but Sarah has always been his closest—his only—friend, and he can’t give that up. The other boys at the monastery have never paid him much mind, leaving him at his desk while they all gathered in groups. It got a little lonely, but he could always look forward to telling Sarah about everything he’d learned. He wouldn’t give that up for the world.
“David!” Les shouts, running across the road to stumble onto the grass beside him. His knees slide, and he knows there will be green stains on his trousers. “All my friends left for lunch,” he says, looking at David expectantly.
“So?”
“You think Mama’s made lunch?”
“Probably.” David shrugs, feigning indifference. He holds back his smile as Les frowns, brows furrowing with frustration.
“David!” Les whines, hitting the ground. “I’m hungry! I’ll go without you.”
“Mama will be mad at you if you’re alone,” David reasons, though he stands anyway. He dusts off his breeches, securing his bag on his shoulder. His cote hangs off his elbow, folded neatly.
“No, she’ll be mad at you,” Les says, tilting his head as his hands come to rest on his hips. He looks like Sarah when he stands like that; he makes a face that reminds David of himself, unfortunately. “You’re older.”
“Then why don’t you ever listen?” David snaps, beginning their trek back home. Les stumbles trying to catch up with him.
“I listen!” He protests, holding his chin high. A blatant lie, but David won’t call him out on it. “I just don’t always like what you say.”
Their home is a small cottage that Papa built when they immigrated to the region and were expecting Sarah and David. The village is small, but they weren’t so kind to strangers that were different to them at first, and even now, they still feel alienated. So he built their home outside town next to the woods where villagers didn’t dare go near.
David’s heard the stories growing up, warning them away from the woods, away from the darkness. Lions and tigers and bears. Fairies that steal children and replace them with imposters, tricksters. Wolves that traipse the outskirts and await unsuspecting kids that are small enough to run away with and eat. Witches that live deep in the forest, and she will always know it better than the fool who gets lost. The scariest story David heard, though, was of the men who will wait for the moment to strike. They look like him; they sound like him, but they’ll take his flesh for a few coins and a beer.
All the boys and girls are wary of the woods, but growing up near it, David knows better. After dark, he stays away, but when the sun comes up, it’s the same trees he and Sarah have been running through since they could walk. There are no wolves or men; no lions, tigers, or bears. And in his 15 years, he’s never seen a man waiting in the shadows to make a buck off of him.
It keeps people away, though. It’s their haven away from a village that’s only just begun seeing them as their own.
Papa built it himself from scratch. The trees were cut to make their foundations and walls; woven twigs shoved in the cracks and mud packed in so it would harden and make a proper wall. Straw thrown over the roof to keep it insulated. David sees it every day and hopes he can build something like that for his family one day.
Outside, his sister is hanging their wet clothes on the line. A scarf covers her head, a ribbon tying her hair to keep it out of her face. Les had gotten it from a girl a year or two back and ran home to give it to Sarah. He was too young to realize the girl had given it to him as some premature version of courting. Sarah wears it every day now.
“Sarah!” Les shouts, running ahead. He runs into her back, throwing his arms around her waist before she can turn around. He almost takes them both down, but she’s able to steady herself. She smiles down at Les before turning her gaze to David.
“Welcome back,” she says warmly as he gets closer. She holds out her arm and he gladly accepts the invitation, pushing Les away by the face and taking his place. She wraps her arms around him, but the moment is ruined when she says, “You smell, David.”
David grunts, pulling away from her with a grimace. She’s probably right, and he can feel the sweat on his lower back where his shirt sticks from running around all day. “I’ll bathe later,”
“Well, take Les with you. He’s almost worse.” She picks up the weaved basket that’s used to hold their clothes, resting it on her hip.
“Hey,” Les protests, pouting at them despite it not having worked in years. They became immune to his puppy-eyes as soon as he started using it on their parents to shove the blame on them. It isn’t as cute after that. Besides, ten years is too long for them to not be used to it by now.
“As long as he gets the water,” David grumbles, his nose scrunching with annoyance, brows furrowing.
“Dave, he’s nine,” Sarah sighs, shaking her head. She readjusts the basket, so she holds it in front of her and leads them inside.
Mama is sitting at the table, sewing something for… someone. David doesn’t actually know who it’s for, but probably a woman based on the beginnings of ruffles. She’s been making clothes for as long as he can remember—a perk, considering it means they’ve never had a lack of clothes, even if food became scarce during some years. They’re beautiful, and if there was one thing he could be proud of at school, it would be his clothes, even if other kids didn’t agree.
“Yeah, Dave. You get the water,” Les says, sticking his tongue out at David. Sarah removes the scarf on her head and whips Les with it.
Mama looks up when Les yelps and says, “Enough, you two. You should be nicer to him.”
Both David and Sarah roll their eyes. Wasn’t the first time they’ve heard that, and it wouldn’t be the last. Sarah sets the basket in the corner beside the water basin. He’d need to make a trip back to town to gather water from the well. Either that or they make a longer trip to the river. The perks of summer.
“We are, Mama,” David says, planting a kiss on her temple.
Mama hums as she leans into the kiss, then says with a gentle voice, “You should bathe, David. You’re smelling a bit ripe.”
Sarah covers her laughter with her hand, and David scoffs, shooting her a half-hearted glare. “I already planned to. That’s what we were talking about. Les smells, too.”
“Okay,” she says, sighing as she puts down her project. “Can you go check on your father? He’s been awfully quiet back there. I’ll get started on dinner.”
“Yes, Mama,” David mumbles. Sarah briefly rests her hand on David’s shoulder, a small act of reassurance as she offers him a smile.
His parents have their own room in the back, separated from the rest of the house by an old door. It has marks from when Sarah and David were little and would run around the house, bouncing off doors and walls and scratching it with their toys. Les used to draw on it with charcoal, making pictures that no one could make out but no one bothered to clean off. “Presents! When they wake up!” Les would say, beaming up at Sarah and David, unaware of the horror on their faces. They’d gotten into quite a bit of trouble for that.
Papa lies on the bed, staring at the ceiling like a solitary man gone mad, which is dramatic because Mama checks on him obsessively. When she doesn’t, David, Les, or Sarah do. A book sits on the bedside table, something he and David made years ago when Papa was still teaching him how to build things. David grimaces every time he sees it, but Papa only chuckles and reiterates how special it is.
“Papa?” David calls quietly.
Papa turns his head toward him, smiling. “David! Back already?”
“It’s almost lunch,” he says, sitting gently on the bed beside Papa, careful not to disturb his leg. “Les was whining.”
“Oh, hush,” Papa says. “He’s a growing boy—as are you.”
“I don’t complain,”
Papa hums, nodding his head. “Yes. You’ve always kept things to yourself. That’s what Sarah is for.” He smirks, and David rolls his eyes in response.
It’s been a recurring joke for years that the reason they came together is that neither of them came complete. David has a hard time voicing things, asking for things, speaking up for himself—that’s what Sarah is for. Sarah feels like she can never slow down, never relax, never let her guard down and let go—that’s what David is for. They complete each other. At least, that’s what their parents say, but in reality, Sarah will voice David’s thoughts unprompted and David will force her to take breaks even when it would be wiser to push forward.
Both of them get annoyed by the transparency often. There isn’t much they can hide between the two of them.
“Do you need anything?” David asks, instead of responding to the well-worn joke.
“I need to get out of this bed,” Papa says. “I need to be doing something. We don’t have enough wood for the winter, and I need to check the house to make sure it’s in shape for snow.”
“You can’t,” David says. “You’ll only make your leg worse.”
“How could it get any worse than this?” He gestures absently to his leg, though the movement is sharp. Papa tries to stay optimistic but David knows he’s frustrated, restless.
“Mr. Cromwell said it might never heal if you move it too much.”
“Oh, what does he know?” Papa waves his hand like he can physically get rid of the possibility.
“I don’t know. He’s only the town physician,” David says sarcastically, shrugging his shoulders as his head tilts to the side. He raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“Don’t talk back, boy,” Papa says, but he’s smiling. He then sighs, letting his head thunk against the wall behind him. “What’s your mother doing?”
“Sewing. Making lunch, probably. Why? Do you want me to get her?”
His Papa waved him away again, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “No, don’t bother. You should go help your mother.”
“I couldn’t leave you alone,” David says slowly.
“You shouldn’t see me like this, David. It’s unbecoming of a father and son.”
“Papa, it’s not your fault,” David nearly snaps, only just reminding himself of his tone. “I can help.”
His Papa shakes his head, waving him away. “You already are. I’ll heal in no time.”
“You must keep resting to do so,” David says.
“Hush,” Papa says. “Go help your mother. Your presence isn’t needed here.”
“Oh good, then I’ll send in Les. He’s hardly needed out there.”
Papa’s laugh echoes as David leaves. Mama is making lunch, like David said. Sarah sits at the table, continuing Mama’s project. Les, of course, is on his toes trying to watch Mama.
“Les,” David says, making him spin around quickly. David points behind him to their parent’s room with his thumb. “Papa wants to see you.” Les looks a little nervous at that, but he runs around David and disappears through the door. He hears faint chatter start up from inside.
David picks out the vegetables from his bag; two carrots, a tomato, and a piece of broccoli. “I got this today,” he offers, dumping them on the counter. They roll towards the cutting board where Mama is making sandwiches.
“Where did you get these? How?” she asks, pausing and putting down the knife.
David shrugs sheepishly. “I got them for helping Mr. Garner. I got some money, too.”
“Oh,” Mama exhales, gently grabbing the sides of David’s head and forcing him to lean down so she can kiss his forehead. Ever since his growth spurt a few months ago, he’s been taller than Mama and Sarah, which was disconcerting at first. He’s beginning to get used to it, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to Mama having to pull him down so she can hug and kiss him. “Wonderful. You did so good today, honey.”
“Thanks, Mama,” David mumbles.
“How is he? Your father.”
David shrugs, exhaling heavily. “I don’t know. He’s putting on a brave face, but I think he’s upset. Restless, definitely.”
Mama’s shoulders drop, shaking her head as she resumes making lunch. Her hands just barely shake. “Stubborn man,” she murmurs. “He’d be cutting wood if he wouldn’t collapse under any weight.”
Stubborn indeed. The day Papa came back injured was a giant blur for David. He’d left two days before to pick up some new tools because his old ones had finally worn through. Mama had been telling him to replace them for months by that point, but he’s a stubborn man.
It was only supposed to be a day trip, and he’d be back before they could miss him. Two bags slung on either side of the horse’s saddle, and a small coin purse. He’d kissed his wife goodbye and hugged them all like he’d never see them again, followed by, “I’ll see you soon, my loves!” with a dramatic wave of his hand.
He almost hadn’t, though.
It was on the way home that he was ambushed. An arrow shot him in the upper leg, throwing him from his horse and leaving him to die on the road. His horse and coin purse stolen, he dragged himself back to town with what must’ve been some sheer, unfathomable will of his own.
A panic had risen in town when he’d gotten to the border, calling for help and covered in blood. Rushed to the town physician, David and his family, it felt like, had been the last to find out Papa was back. They’re still paying off the cost of Mr. Cromwell treating Papa.
“He’ll be okay,” David said quietly in his poor attempt to comfort her. What was there to say when Mama, the strongest woman he’d ever known, was so clearly struggling? She couldn’t keep them afloat with just her sewing, so David and Les had to drop out of school. He knows she feels guilty, even if she won’t say it.
“Of course, sweetheart,” she said, visibly pulling herself together. “Why don’t you go play with your sister?”
“Play? Mama, I’m 15.”
“So is she,” she says, though her smile is teasing. David scoffs and sits at the table. He can take a hint.
Sarah smirks at him, dropping the sewing project on the table. “So… what do you want to play?”
David rolls his eyes, sinking into the chair. “I want to bathe, that's what I want.”
“Then bathe. You’re a big boy.”
“Shut up.” David doesn’t leave until almost an hour later, by which time they've had lunch and whatever time left wasted was spent chasing Les around. The kid hates going to the well to get water, so he had to compromise and say they were going to the river. David hates bathing in the river; other kids are always messing around there and he has to find a secluded place to wash up. That’s probably why Les loves it so much.
Once everyone retires to their room, he climbs into their straw stuffed mattress on the floor with Les—Sarah has her own beside them that David is often envious of. Les kicks in his sleep, and when it gets bad, David just pushes him off, so the boy wakes up on the ground.
After Les falls asleep, David was able to blow out the candle, laying his book beside his head where he knows it’ll be safe. The Canterbury Tales, his prized possession—he got it for his 11th birthday from Papa.
Sarah will wake up to David’s shuffling and when the light goes out, she’ll whisper, “Goodnight, David.”
“Goodnight, Sarah.”
David woke up to the sun warming his face, just beginning to reach over the windowsill and lighting up the room. He comes to himself slowly, lifting his arm to cover his face so the light no longer picks at his eyelids.
It’s a morning like any other; Sarah is already out of bed, probably beginning breakfast so Mama can sleep in. Les is still asleep, and could probably sleep through Ragnarök if given the chance. Les has sprawled himself across most of their bedding, pushing David against the wall, because the 9-year-old needs as much space as possible—clearly, otherwise he doesn’t get sufficient sleep.
David pushes Les’ arm away, so it’s not thrown across his chest. He sits up, stretching his shoulders back and arms up. The resulting cracks make the stiffness disperse as he groans quietly.
Mornings are David’s favorite; getting up with the sun, the slowness of being half-awake, his family quietly maneuvering around each other in their small home. It was a blessing before they all have to get on with their day, running around town like sheep dogs on a farm.
David shakes Les’ shoulder, leaning over him so he can see his face. “Les, time to get up.” When there isn’t so much as a twitch, David shakes him again and pokes his cheek. “Lesham, wake up.”
Les groans, swatting at David’s face like a fly. “Stop mmh…” he mumbles, trailing off incoherently. He snuggles under the sheet he’d stolen sometime during the night. He’s always been a bed hog, though he explicitly remembers it being cuter when Les wasn’t actually taking up the entire space—when Les was only two and more chub than anything else. When he was five, and didn’t mind when David simply pulled him to his chest so they’d both fit comfortably and conserve heat. When Les loved David more than anything, so of course he wouldn’t purposefully push David into the wall. Now, at nine, David isn’t so sure.
David waits only a short moment for Les falling back asleep before shaking him again, this time harsher. His patience tends to fray quicker these days. “Get up, or I’m waking up Mama and she can deal with you.”
The threat didn’t hit as hard as when Papa could walk and David would get him instead, but Les didn’t disobey Mama, so it would have to do.
Les groans again, though this time it’s out of frustration, and it’s loud. “You’re so… You’re…” Les stumbles, flailing his arm out in hopes of hitting David, but his coordination is shot when he’s only half-awake.
“Finish that sentence,” David challenges, getting to his feet. “See how quick my patience wears thin.”
Les mumbles something, probably something David would prefer not to know, so he ignores him.
Summer is always the hottest, of course, with the sun always beaming on their backs and the air thick with humidity. Despite starting out dressed, usually David and Les end up shedding their shirts. If they didn’t share a room with Sarah, they’d probably shed their pants as well.
Even if they all cover themselves with the sheets despite the heat, they’ll complain anyway and bear the trip to the well for some water to cool off with. Mama says it runs in the family; the need to be under a blanket no matter the weather—rain or shine. They shed their layers, as little as they may be, but they’ll always wake up with the sheet on them, even if they’re sweating.
Unless Les steals it, that is.
Luckily, this morning is kind, and David won’t need to take a trip to the well.
So, David dresses himself at a leisurely pace. He has a firm belief that mornings are meant to be slow, meant to be savored and enjoyed. The sun is still gentle on their skin, and the ground is covered in dew; David can smell it. The world is asleep and David won’t need to run for another hour or so.
He slips his shirt on, not bothering to tie the string on his chest when he’s only in the company of his family. His sister certainly doesn’t care, and Les would run naked through the woods if he could. David grabs his bag and his capelet, hanging them in the crook of his arms. He leaves Les grumbling on the bedding. He’ll join them soon enough, he always does.
Sarah is busying herself with breakfast, and looks up when David enters. It’s small. Really, only enough room for a space by the door for the chest they put their clothes in, walking room for one person around the table, and the counter. It goes into the walkway that only fits two doors, one to David and his siblings’ rooms and their parents’ room right across from each other. He calls it a walkway because it’s only five feet at best, just enough room to fit the doors. He’s been to other people's houses, seen their proper hallways and their proper beds. He’s also seen the kids who sleep on the side of the road, who hang around the market during the day in hopes of getting lucky. He knows of the old nutter who’s never had a home as long as David could remember.
“I’m connected to the Earth,” the nutter says, and David can only smile and nod politely until he talks himself in enough circles that David can leave. He doesn’t know the man's name, but he figures it’s not worth it to ask.
It’s hard to be ungrateful when he’s seen how it could be worse. It’s hard not to be a little envious when he’s seen it could be better.
“Good morning,” Sarah says, quiet and gentle. She greets him with a smile he’s seen his entire life, probably since the moment he was born, considering they did that together as well as everything else.
“Morning, Sarah,” David says. He places his bag and capelet on the wooden table, knowing he only gets away with it because their parents are asleep. Sarah gives him a knowing look but says nothing about it.
He peeks over her shoulder to see what she’s putting together. Porridge, like they have every morning. It’s become a routine meal, something he’s come to expect. Anyone else might’ve gotten sick of it by now, but David is a creature of habit, and can find appreciation in patterns. Besides, Sarah’s gotten rather good at making it the last year or so.
David plops himself at the table just as Les trudges out, frowning like he’s already been slighted. He usually thinks so.
“Good morning, Les,” Sarah says, the same quiet voice and gentle smile directed at him as David.
Les only grunts. He skips both of them, going straight for the door instead. He lets it swing open and only manages about 8 steps before he falls into the grass with a distant thump. David winces, pulling a displeased face. He couldn’t imagine doing that. Now, Les’ clothes were all wet; there’s probably grass in his mouth.
“He’s going to fall asleep out there,” Sarah says, grinning. David knows because he can hear the amusement in her voice, even if he isn’t looking at her.
David sighs. “I know.”
“Mama will be annoyed if we let him,” Sarah says.
“Probably.”
Neither of them move to get him. They figure Mama won’t be up for a bit. They have curtains on their windows, so Sarah or David often get them up in the morning.
“You should get him.”
David sighs, rolling his neck. None of them are morning people except for Mama and Sarah. Les, though, he’s as bad as Papa. David likes to think he’s a healthy mix of his parents—he’s not obnoxiously chipper in the mornings, but also not downright miserable to be around.
He stands, rubbing his forehead as he joins Les outside. The house casts a large shadow that spans their front yard and path with the sun behind them. David only briefly wonders how Les isn’t cold, then realizes it doesn’t matter. He crouches beside Les, placing his palm on his shoulder blades and shaking.
“Les, get up.”
“I am,” Les says, muffled by the grass that’s probably in his mouth. David cringes in disgust. This kid.
“Not really.”
“Yes, really.”
David cuffs him on the head. “Some respect, please.” Les grunts. “Get up, or I’ll get your portion.”
Les isn’t happy about it, but he gets up. His entire front is wet from morning dew, though he doesn’t seem to care. He just wipes the dirt from his face with the back of his hand and goes back inside.
“What’s breakfast?” Les asks.
David follows him. He leaves the door open; the fresh air is nice, and the breeze is refreshing during this time of year. The trees sway like dancers and it makes the forest more inviting than he would normally imagine.
He can see himself going deep into the woods, hidden among the trees where no one can find him. There is no worry of money or Papa or other kids out there. He would build unstable forts with fallen sticks and branches, a castle of his own isolated desires. No one would find him out there.
Doesn’t matter, though, because the stories have been ingrained in his mind since he was a boy. He knows they aren’t real, but he’s long known the message he’s supposed to gather from them. Don’t go into the woods.
“Porridge,” Sarah says lightly.
“We always have porridge,” Les whines, slumping into the chair, his head thumping against the table. “John has something different to eat every day.”
“Well, he’s very lucky,” David mumbles. Sarah nods in agreement. “Did he tell you this?”
Les nods, his hair scrunching up against the wood so it tangles. “He invited me to eat with his family next week. He gave options.”
Sarah and David are silent for a moment, sharing a look. “Well, that’s nice of him,” David says slowly. “Are you going?”
“Yeah,” Les says. “I’m gonna bring back leftovers.”
“Don’t do that,” Sarah says, her tone reprimanding despite her softness. “They might not invite you back.”
“Why not? I want you guys and Mama and Papa to have some.”
“Because,” David said, poking the back of Les’ head. He turns and pouts at David. “They might not like the impression that makes.”
Of course, that isn’t enough for Les. “What impression?”
“Uhm…” Sarah trails off, tilting her head left and right in consideration as she brings a few bowls of porridge to the table, placing one in front of David and Les each. Her face says all that she doesn’t verbally, pinching with reluctance that can only come from a deep place of shame. They all feel it, even if they don’t voice it.
“They won’t like us flaunting that we’re poor,” David says for her. Sarah glares at him, but doesn’t disagree outwardly.
“That’s dumb,” Les settles on after a pause, where he starts eating his porridge.
“Indeed,” Sarah says. She grabs two more bowls and takes them into their parents’ room.
“Can I still go?” Les asks, turning fully to face David. His mouth is full as he speaks, and a bit of porridge falls back into his bowl.
“Les, swallow before you speak,” David says, grimacing with disgust. He takes a small bite of his own breakfast. Sarah is getting better at cooking, but—even though he would never say it out loud—he will always prefer Mama’s food.
Les quickly swallowed and asked again, “So, can I?”
“Ask Mama.” Les groans with annoyance.
Breakfast passes with relatively peaceful conversation and good moods all around. David and Mama help Papa out of the room so he can eat with them, a stressful event considering Papa is twice both David and Mama’s size. It’s an unpleasant reminder of Papa’s fragile state. He was always someone David looked up to growing up, a strong and solid force of will. He’s everything David ever wanted to be, and it’s hard to reconcile Papa needing to be carried to the table so he can eat breakfast with them. They manage, though, and they make the most out of it. They have a good morning.
It’s sooner than later David and Les must leave. The sun is well into the sky by this point, and not a single cloud disrupts the blue. Les is already running ahead of him, his wooden sword in hand, though he holds his arms out like a bird instead of a knight. No matter how many times he tells Les he fails to emulate the mysterious and gruff charm of a knight and instead gives off the strong feel of a pigeon, he ignores David.
Les has been obsessed with becoming a knight the first time he saw one come to their door to collect the king's taxes. He stood just outside the door, normally not permitted to come in until Mama manages to coax them inside for a small snack and a drink of water before they’re on their way. Les was at the table when he saw the knight in all his glory, covered head to toe in chain-mail and metal with a sword at his hip, untouched and latched into its holster.
David remembers seeing Les’s jaw drop, frozen for only half a second, before jumping down from the chair and running up to the knight. He’d never seen a knight so startled, certainly not by someone less than half their size. Every year since then, Les will watch the knights that come to collect the tax with complete undisguised awe. He wants to go to the kingdom one day and work for King Pulitzer; “Saving damsels with a sword in hand."
The day is slow. The money doesn’t come in like they would hope, and certainly not like it did yesterday. The humidity is high, and just watching Les run around is making David uncomfortable, the heat sticking his undershirt to his back notwithstanding. It’s a long morning.
David can smell the oncoming rain as clouds roll in around midday. Evidently, so can everyone else, as the dirt roads quickly empty of people and the merchants pack up their carts. They stay out as long as possible, but eventually, they must go home before the rain catches them.
It’s only just started sprinkling when they get inside. Mama is waiting for them at the table, her head snapping up as soon as the door opens. She’s up in less than a moment to greet them, pulling David and Les close and saying, “Oh, dear! I thought you’d get stuck out there.”
“The rains only just started, Mama,” David says, returning the embrace with his arms briefly around her waist and face in the crook of her neck. Les scurries away as quickly as possible, huffing like there’s something to be embarrassed about in their own home.
“Yes, but we wouldn’t want you to get sick,” Mama says.
Yeah, that’s the last thing they needed right now. They’re already struggling because of Papa’s injuries—Les and David catching a cold could ruin them.
“We’re fine. Don’t worry about us.”
Mama ushers them to the table, laying out a small lunch for them both. “How was today?” she asks, sitting beside Les and running her hands through his hair while he eats.
David takes in a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. He takes the money from his bag and lets the coins clatter on the table in between them. It’s subtle, but David watches his mother give a shaky sigh, though her fingers never pause in Les’ hair. “Okay,” she says.
“I’m sorry,” David says, tension in his shoulders and voice.
“No! No,” Mama says quickly. She leans across the table, taking his hands with hers. Her slender fingers hold his gently, reminiscent of the knights who kiss a young maiden's hand, or like a mother, comforting a son. “Don’t be sorry, kochanie. This is not your fault. There will be days like this. Tomorrow will be better.”
David is quiet after that, disentangling their hands so he can eat. There’s nothing for him to say in response—certainly not his doubt. It would do no one any good to hear his cynicism about the situation. They’re still paying off what it cost to get Papa help; the village doctors do not come cheap and the Jacobs’ were hardly getting by before the ambush.
He doesn’t see it getting any better in the near future.
It all feels stagnant in a way that David would never admit aloud with the fear of disappointing his parents, or worse, making them feel guilty. It’s not their fault, and realistically, he knows it’s not his own either, but it’s hard to believe it when there are dark clouds over mama’s head at the end of the day and circles under her eyes in the morning.
Time doesn’t stop for anyone, and it’s the only comfort David has these days. The world will keep spinning, not caring about their all-encompassing circumstances. Time will continue its course, Papa's leg will heal, and they will earn more money tomorrow. One step to normalcy at a time.
When he’s nearly done with his porridge, Mama stands, placing kisses on both Les and David’s heads. “I’ll be outside.”
“But it’s raining,” David says.
“I’ll be alright, sweetheart,” Mama insists, running her fingers through his hair one last time.
“Okay,” David mumbles, leaning into her touch just slightly before she pulls away. He watches her leave, closing the door behind her. Only a quick breeze blows into David’s face, a sure sign of a storm.
Les lets out an explosive sigh, leaning back in his chair, kicking his feet. “Don’t worry, David. We’ll make loads more tomorrow. I’m basically your good luck charm! That’s what Sarah said.”
Sarah did, in fact, say that after the first day of work, when they came back with money primarily made by Les—or helped by his presence. People have always praised Les and Mama for their big brown eyes and “pretty face,” which has always made Mama offer a strained smile in thanks and shuffle them away. David remembers hearing the same thing said about them when David and Sarah were younger, but then Sarah was expected to stay inside and do housework, and David became particularly unlikable—according to his classmates.
David hums a vague response, finishes his porridge, gathers both of their wooden bowls, and brings them to the ash basin. Les follows him, sits down beside David, and leans against his side as David washes the bowls. “Maybe it’ll be sunny like yesterday, then we can play in the fields or go to the river,” he says hopefully, “Or it’ll rain and we can play in the puddles.”
“No, you’ll get sick, Les,” David says and shakes his head.
“I’m strong. I won’t get sick.” Les smiles up at David, cocky and naïve in the way only children are.
“You will, and you’ll be miserable.” David scrubs a little extra hard on the inside of the bowl with the rag. “The most we could do is see if anyone wants extra hands for inside chores.”
“What, like, scrubbing the floors?” Les asks with vague disgust, his nose scrunching up.
“Well, yes, if it’ll make us some money.”
“You can do that.”
David rolls his eyes, but can’t help but smile. “And what will you do?”
“Um,” Les says and puts his palm on his cheek in thought. “Back massages?”
David snorts. “Will you give me a back massage if I ask?”
Les beams innocently. “For a coin, yeah.”
“That’s absurd,” David says in disbelief and pauses what he’s doing to stare at Les with wide eyes and his mouth slightly hung open.
“What's absurd?” Sarah asks as she exits Papa’s room with a smile. She’s using her ribbon to put up her long hair, silky and the same color as his, a dark brown, like Papa.
“He wants to charge me a coin for a back massage!” David says, incredulous. He waves his hand at Les, who is no longer leant against him as he smiles at them mischievously.
“Les, we all share money,” Sarah says, an amused lilt to her voice, raising an eyebrow. “It all goes towards the same thing.”
“It’s good practice.”
“For what? The back massage or embezzlement?” David mumbles, beginning to dry the bowls and put them away.
“Embe—... What?” Les fails to say, brows furrowed and a shadow of a frown on his face.
“Embezzlement; untrustworthy with money,” David explains quickly, waving his hand in a dismissive way.
Les scoffs, indignant. “I’m trustworthy with money!”
Sarah laughs and politely sits with them on her knees. She smooths her dress over her legs so it lays flat. “Les, you’re nine. What will you do with a coin?”
Les shrugs and looks at the floor. He picks at his pants as he says, “There were these wooden toys the other boys were playing with. They said they got it from Mr. Carpenter.”
David’s brows furrow, biting his lower cheek. “Les, Papa could make you one.”
“Papa can’t even walk!” Les snaps, then his eyes widen and his hand covers his mouth. Neither David nor Sarah scold him for it. They know how he’s feeling, even if they’re more tactful with their words.
“If you just got him the wood, he could make what you ask,” Sarah says gently, laying a hand on Les’ shoulder. “His hands work fine, still.”
Les shrugs, quiet.
David sighs, taking Les’ hat and ruffling his hair lightly. The boy yelps, snatches the hat from David, and swats David’s hand as he puts it back on with a disgruntled face.
“I just…” Les trails off, huffing a sigh too big for someone so little. “I don’t want to give them more trouble.”
“Les,” Sarah starts and leans forward, so she catches Les’ eyes. “Papa would be thrilled to have something to do. He’s going crazy in there.” She smiles, whispering like she’s telling him something she shouldn’t.
Les doesn’t smile, but he looks at them like he’s thinking. He bites the inside of his cheek, tilting his head to the side, and looks back at the floor. “Okay,” he says. He leans against David’s side again, and this time, David puts his arm around his shoulders to pull him closer so they’re squished together.
Just then, Mama runs in. Soaked down to the bones, her heavy, sagging clothes cause her to stumble like a newborn deer. Her hair has fallen from her updo into a stringy mess around her face.
David rushes to his feet, running to Mama to help hold her up. She grabs his biceps to steady herself. She’s shaking.
“Mama!” Sarah shouts. She appears beside David in an instant and places her hand on Mama’s shoulder. Her teeth clench and brows furrow in concern.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Les run into Papa’s room.
“Mama, what’s wrong?” David asks frantically, looking out the door for what she’s running from. No one runs from the rain like that.
He leads her away from the door, bringing her to the table while Sarah shuts it. He helps Mama lower herself into a chair; trembling as she is, he doesn’t think she could do it on her own.
“The collector—-” she cuts herself off, shaking her head. “Get your father. David, go get your father.”
David looks at Sarah, who nods her head. David, in a panic, pats Mama’s shoulder once, twice with his fingers in quick succession; it’s more of a shaking motion on her shoulder than a pat. He runs to Papa’s room; Les was already sitting on the bed with Papa, eyes wide as he explains what happened.
“Papa, Mama needs you,” David says. He grabs hold of one of Papa’s arms and ducks down to throw it over his shoulder and heave him up off the bed. They stumble a little as David takes most of Papa’s weight and settles them upright. Les scrambles to help in any way he can; he plasters himself against Papa’s hip and tries to take a bit of the weight off of Papa and David.
“What is it, David?” Papa asks gently. He looks back and forth between David and Les, face slightly pinched in an expression of pain—well hidden, though David has always paid attention.
“I don’t know. Mama ran inside in a tizzy!”
They emerge from the room, and the front door is open. The reeve stands in the entryway, wearing nice clothes and a hood over his head. He slips the hood off once he sees Papa, David, and Les. He tilts his head in a greeting.
David understands now why Mama was so shaken. The reeve has finally come to collect the king’s taxes; an annual event David should’ve been expecting, but he’s been so busy working it completely slipped his mind.
He doesn’t realize he’s frozen until he’s jostled out of his stupor when Papa breaks from his hold and limps towards Mama. His face is carefully neutral, not giving the reeve an inch; Papa has always been proud like that. He doesn’t let the pain show besides a slight tick in his jaw that David knows the reeve wouldn’t see. Papa never bowed his head to anything—certainly not pain.
“Mr. Jacobs,” the reeve says, his eyes flicking down to Papa’s leg then back to his face. “How are you?”
“We’re fine, Oswald,” Papa sighs, just to the left of passive aggressive, but polite and untelling nonetheless.
The reeve nods. “Good. That’s good,” he says. He clears his throat and takes out a document—one with animal skin to bind and cover the pages—from a bag hidden under his wool cloak. “I’m sure you know why I’m here, then.”
Les’ hand finds David's, and he squeezes. David looks down, but Les isn’t looking back at him, intently focused on the exchange happening with a vaguely distressed look. David squeezes his hand in return.
“We have no money. You should know. You summoned the doctor when I was discovered,” Papa says.
“I understand that, Mr. Jacobs, but you still must give payment to the king.” He places the document on the table. He flips page after page, showcasing the rest of the town’s payments made. “I’ve tried to give you as much time as possible, but my hands are tied here.” He spreads his arms, as if to show how tied they are.
“Just have a little mercy—” Papa starts, cut off, nearly pleading now.
David can feel his hands begin to shake, unused to the desperation he sees in Papa now. They’ve struggled in the past, but never so much where his parents were reduced to begging.
“I have, I don’t have any power he—”
“Please!” Mama cuts in suddenly, standing from her seat. She staggers into her and Papa’s room and comes back with a small pouch David knows holds all their money. It jingles with their precious few coins. “Please, take this. It’s all we have. If you give us just a few more days, we can make the rest up. Please.”
The reeve hesitates, face pinched with some kind of internal back and forth. Then he sighs and pockets the pouch. David can’t help when his eyes follow it mournfully, fearfully. He looks to Mama and Papa, then to Sarah, already looking back at him. He recognizes the same fear in her eyes. Her hands have fistfuls of her dress, and she inches over until she stands with David and Les.
“I’ll see what I can do,” the reeve says finally. He pulls the hood on and he’s gone as fast as he came.
“Mama…” Les mumbles, taking his hand from David and running to her.
“Oh, it’s alright, honey. We’ll be alright,” she assures, holding Les in her arms and brushing her fingers through his hair. She looks at Papa and says, “We’ll be okay.”
Sarah loops her arms through David’s. They don’t bother with false assurances; they know that whatever their future looks like, it’s not pretty. Things are about to get a lot harder. Things are about to get significantly more difficult for them.