“With babies, experience is the true teacher. Hand me the cloth, I’ll do it.” Winter said. “Go wash yourself and change while you have a chance. Get into a clean night robe.”
“Not sure there’s any clean,” Orval staggered as his leg started to give way. He caught himself on the edge of the table as the room spun. “I thought he was dying, Winter.”
“I know,” she looked at him with sympathy. “You are learning what every parent learns, Orval. Babies are wonderful miracles of love, joy, and chaos embodied. Noisy, messy, stinky blobs of demanding bedlam,” she cooed at Dalan, who yawned in reply.
Orval frowned. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.” He lurched away from the table, heading for the door. “Dalan might hear you.”
“It’s the truth,” Winter said. “Besides, it will be a while before he understands.”
“Lara smiled at me the other day,” Orval smiled himself at the memory of those tiny lips curling up. He fumbled for the doorknob. It seemed to be moving away from his hand.
“Babies don’t—” Winter sighed. “Never mind. See to yourself, Orval.”
Orval staggered down the hall, using the wall to brace himself. It wouldn’t be long before the babies woke again, hungry. He’d need to get Amari something to eat, poor thing, and then—
He blinked, trying to remember why he was in the privy.
After he figured that out, he washed and shaved and changed into slightly cleaner trous. He staggered back out, blinking at the sight of Winter standing in the doorway to the bedroom. “Thank you,” he whispered in a daze, looking down at Dalan sleeping, his tiny face at peace. So peaceful, so wonderfully, wonderfully…quiet.
“You need sleep, Orval.” Winter led the way into the bedroom. Amari never stirred. The older woman placed Dalan in his basket and pulled back the bedding on the empty side of the bed.
Orval stared. “I can’t. Amari’s sleeping.”
“You can.” Winter pulled him over and gently pushed him down. “Sleep, Orval.”
“I don’t want to wake her,” Orval protested even as his treacherous body sank onto the bed. Winter pulled the blankets over him. “She’s so good with them and so lovely and—” the yawn caught him by surprise and his jaw cracked. He blinked up at Winter. “Maybe just for a few minutes,” he mumbled. “It’s so scary. They’re so tiny, what if I break them?”
“Orval, you’re doing fine.” Winter straightened. “But you do need help.”
“Can’t afford—” Orval gave up the fight, letting his eyes close.
“Leave that to me,” Winter said. “I’ll see to it.”
Sleep swept over him, pulling him down before he could muster a word of protest.
Amari woke toa heart beating steadily under her ear.
She drowsed, listening, feeling warm and secure, until consciousness flooded in and she lifted her head.
She’d been sleeping on Orval.
The poor man was sprawled next to her, on his back, his one arm wrapped around her as she cuddled close. Amari looked at his face, relaxed in sleep. Orval looked exhausted, and rightly so. He’d aided her at every turn, even when she was almost too tired to nurse the babes.
Light was flooding in through the small windows. Amari shifted to check the baskets, but both babes were sleeping as quiet as could be. She relaxed, letting her tiredness wash over her, hoping to slip back into sleep herself, until her stomach rumbled.
She needed food, and she’d best be about it while everyone was sleeping. Orval might not like it, but she didn’t have the heart to wake him. He needed the rest, poor man.
She slid out from under the blankets and wrapped a robe around herself before quietly easing out of the room. A quick visit to the privy and then she headed to the kitchen, dreading the sight. She and Orval had tried to keep up with everything, but the room was a wreck, She’d see what she could find to eat, even if it was pease porridge. Amari wrinkled her nose, but she had to eat.
But she opened the door on a warm, well-lit and clean kitchen, filled with the wonderful smell of kav. Winter was at the sink, finishing washing the dishes. Amari couldn’t have been more surprised. “Winter?”
“Good, you’re awake.” Winter started to dry her hands. “I was going to pretend to be you, but now you can answer the door when they come.”
“What?” Amari took a step in and closed the door behind her, not wanting to wake anyone. Every dish was clean and there were bundles of bedding piled by the door.
“Here,” Winter handed her a mug. “Here’s some weak kav with lots of cream and sugar. I’ve an egg pie with tubers in the oven, no spices, mind, and there’s bread and butter. Best get food in you while you can.”
Amari took the mug and held it close, enjoying the warmth on her fingers and the wonderful smell. “Kav…” she breathed out a prayer of thanks and took a sip. The warmth traveled down her throat and pooled in her belly. “You are an avatar of the Ancestors,” she said reverently.
