She yielded at last with a sigh. “Yes. Well… Congratulations.”
I bent in to kiss her cheek and earned a smile far more genuine than her well wishes.
I kept close, holding her hands and smiling as though she would somehow absorb my joy when Kit piped up.
“I’ll admit you’re right,” he said, coming into our circle where I could no longer shield him.
His hand on the small of my back felt bold, perhaps even proud, and I warmed to his touch.
“It hasn’t been long,” he continued, “but this wasn’t a decision made on a whim. I care very deeply for your son, Missus Oliver.”
With the two of us towering over her, my mother may have shrank, but she held her own, standing with her chin tipped and her wary eyes locked on Kit's.
“You asked him, then?” She tilted her head toward me.
“I did.” Kit nodded, definitely proud.
Mother hummed a skeptical sound. “Come inside and we’ll catch up. Get acquainted.”
I released her and let her lead us into the farmhouse with Sayla bringing up the rear. Once the others settled at the dining table, I raided our cabinets for a kettle to brew coffee, and the real conversation began.
Apparently, my mother’s version of getting acquainted with Kit was interrogating him with such detail and intensity it put the Bone Men’s Tribunal to shame.
“How old are you, Mister Mosel?”
Kit sat straight backed in the chair, composed as if he'd been accused of yet another crime. “I’m thirty, ma’am. And just Kit is fine.”
Mother nodded, sitting with her hands clasped on the tabletop and in stark contrast to Sayla who sat kicked back with a bemused smirk twisting her lips.
“Do you have a home of your own?” Mother asked. “Somewhere to lay your head besides the road? I imagine life as a traveling blacksmith can be a bit… vagrant.”
I pumped water from the sink, cringing at the reminder of our lies. Dishonesty must have played a part in my mother's scrutiny. We told her I'd be gone a matter of weeks, not months. And that Kit would teach me a trade I still knew very little about. Some truth could have been a balm for her ire, but revealing the details of what had kept us away so long, and what we'd done and become would likely end with us both cast out in the cold.
If Kit shared my worries, he didn't let on, though I'd come to expect as much from him.
“I own a house not far from here,” he replied. “In Forstford. I’d be happy to take you all there?—”
“What about family?” Mother interjected. “Are your parents living? Or is there someone else who can vouch for you?”
I opened my mouth to interrupt—the subject of Kit’s parentage was, at best, a complicated one—but Sayla beat me to speaking.
“Do you have need of a pencil and paper, Mother? So you can write all this down? Make it official?”
The mention of pencils made my heart leap, and I set the kettle on the stove before turning away.
“That reminds me! Kit got me an engagement gift!” I started toward the living area where I'd offloaded my satchel upon arriving, but Mother kept speaking as though I had not.
“They're reasonable questions, Sayla,” she chastised. “Someone should ask them.”
Sayla stifled a laugh. “I'm sure Penny's asked all the questions he cares to. Aren't these things his to wonder?”
Mother swiveled toward her, redirecting every ounce of her scrutiny. Tension clouded the air, and I wondered if this was what it had been like while I'd been away: two stubborn women vying for dominance in the tiny house.
Mother's lips pinched a smile so saccharine it almost made me laugh. But humor shifted into irritation as she spoke.
“Your brother is a kindly sort. Easily given to trust?—”
“Her brotheris right here,” I tried to interject but was rebuffed with a flap of Sayla’s hand.
