“Let’s leave the door open for a bit,” Orval suggested. “Air the place out.”
“Please,” Amari said. She propped the door open, then removed her cloak and placed it on the bench by the fire.
“There is something else, she said hesitantly. “A simple cleansing ritual. It won’t take long.”
Orval nodded, starting to add wood to the fire.
Amari smoothed her hair and faced the hearth. She bowed her head for a moment, then took the salt cellar from the mantle. With graceful movements, she circled the table where Xydell had been laid out, scattering salt on its surface.
Orval watched, lost in her grace.
The salt cellar returned to the mantel, Amari took a dipper of water from the bucket and poured it into a small wooden bowl. Again, she circled the table, flicking water droplets onto its surface with her lovely hands. She took a drink from the bowl, then offered it to Orval.
He drank, finding the water clean and cool.
Amari placed the bowl on the mantel.
The room was colder now, with the door open, despite the blaze in the hearth. Amari took a piece of kindling from the wood box and set the tip to the flame. Once again, she circled the table, waving the smoldering stick over the table.
With her round completed, the stick went into the fire.
“What are you doing?” Orval asked quietly.
She shook her head at him, signaling for silence. Taking a clean cloth from the nappy basket she kept by the fire, she started to rub the wet salt into the rough wood of the table. There was nothing gentle about this, the table rocked with the strength of her arms. Again, she circled the table, scrubbing every inch of its surface.
She went ‘round again with the water, until the wood was cleaned of the salt.
Once she was done, she turned back to the hearth and bowed her head. The cloth was hung from one of the pot hooks to dry.
Then she sat, wearily, on the bench opposite Orval. “An old custom,” she said. “From Uyole. The salting of the table after a death in the house.” She glanced at the cloth. “I will burn that after it dries.”
“Can I close the door?” Orval asked.
“I will,” she said and rose to do just that, throwing the bolts. “I need to check the babes.”
Orval nodded, adding another piece of wood to the fire. The room warmed quickly with the door closed. He could hear Amari moving about, but other than that, the gatehouse was filled with a rare silence. He poked at the fire, thinking. Couldn’t help that persistent little doubt that he wasn’t enough for her.
“Still sleeping,” Amari said softly as she returned. She looked so tired and worn that Orval’s heart hurt for her. For all his fear of asking the question, fear of hearing her answer, what mattered was her, wasn’t it? Even if it was a truth he didn’t want to know. He couldn’t go on, not knowing.
She sat on the bench, checking to see if the cloth had dried.
Before he could lose his resolve, Orval said, “Amari, won’t you tell me what is troubling you?”
She jerked, her eyes wide, and stared at him for a moment before bursting into tears with a wail. She covered her face with her hands, sobbing.
“Amari—” Orval was shaken by her response. Amari, who was so strong, so resilient, who had fled a battlefield with two babes, and dealt with every blow she’d been given. “Amari, please tell me what—”
“I’m pregnant,” she gasped.
His shock was followed by a joy that bubbled up in Orval’s heart and spilled into a huge grin and a laugh that he could barely restrain. But he held it in as she wept, huge, gulping sobs that shook her body.
He wanted to comfort her but he wasn’t sure how. He felt at a total loss, not knowing what to say. But he had to try. “Amari, are you not pleased?”
She nodded. “I am, I am,” she said, then burst into fresh tears, trembling like a leaf.
Orval waited, hesitant. “Help me understand.”
She drew in a deep breath and when she spoke, her words tumbled over one another. “I told you I was nursing, that I couldn’t quicken, but Wethe scolded me for an idiot for believing that old wives tale, but I did believe it and I didn’t mean to add to our troubles, with another baby and this—” she waved her hands around, indicating the room, the gatehouse, the whole situation for all Orval knew.
