Page 72 of Adam, Mine

He wanted to leave immediately. Elias swallowed again and his throat ached, and he could feel tears warring behind his eyes like fire ants. The thread inside him vibrated harder, sending this to Victor, and Elias was forced to close his eyes to gentle it.

When he opened them, the table was quiet and everyone was looking at him.

Elias couldn’t do this. His cheeks burned.

He began to stand “Dankeschön—”

Ayan placed a hand on his shoulder to press him back into the chair. When his palm made contact, Elias flinched. Ayan drew his hand away, brow furrowing.

Moira picked up his dinner and scraped the turnips onto her own plate. Then, to his horror and embarrassment, she slid an untouched portion of chicken off her own plate to his and placed it before him.

Ayan flicked a look up to his wife but said nothing.

“D-Dankeschön,” Elias repeated. His throat was so tight, he didn’t know if he could eat this.

But he had to. He had to.

He chewed as the entire family watched. Emotions flashing by on Ayan’s face like quickly passing seasons. Moira turned back to Isla and said something that made her get up and go to switch the dinner cauldron with a pot of water.

Isla scampered back to the table, yelling something excitedly. Moira smiled at her and pinched her cheek, then let her be dismissed.

When Isla had disappeared, door slamming behind her, the couple turned back to Elias. A tear dripped down Elias’s nose to land in the sauce.

Ayan steepled his hands on the table in front of him. “Italy, Scochtlund, Ayrlund . . . ,” he said, thinking.

Elias wiped his face with one hand and continued eating. Moira got up when the pot began to bubble and poured them all hot mugs of water. She went to the larder and came back with tea. Elias stood and Ayan let him this time. He went to his jacket and came back with his small, nearly empty container of pine needle powder.

Moira and Ayan watched curiously as he returned and poured the rest in the water.

“German?” Ayan said, snatching the glass jar from the table as soon as Elias put it down. Ayan sniffed it hard, then stared at the remains of the powder. No this . . . wasn’t entirely a German custom, but Elias couldn’t explain so he just shrugged.

Ayan exchanged a glance with Moira and got up. “Elbe bach.”

He disappeared deeper into the house, leaving Elias alone with his wife. Moira gathered the dishes into a stack and placed them in a basin for washing later. Then she returned to the table. She sat in Ayan’s seat, pulled it closer to him, took Elias’s hand, and pressed it between the two of hers.

“Ahr yewahl richt?” she asked softly.

Elias knew her question from the tone. He shook his head, and more tears came. His chest felt like it was full of bees. He wanted to hide his face. The smell of pine, food cooking, and tallow candles was too much like home. Isla loudly playing was too much like Gida. The plush weight of Moira’s hands was . . .

Elias wiped his face and took a shuddering breath. “Ich wollen nach Hause zu meiner Familie gehen,”* he said out loud for the very first time. Admitted it, helplessly, like a child.

Moira clearly still did not understand him, but she clucked her tongue and pet the top of his hand in sympathy. Somehow it felt safe to say these things to unhearing ears.

“Ich vermisse mein Mama,”* Elias choked. He covered his eyes and sobbed, just the once.

“Yore mama?” Moira asked sadly, then crooned to him.

Elias pushed his tea away so he could hide his face in his arms properly. Moira released his hand and, after a moment of hesitation, brushed through the spikes of his hair. Elias tried to be quiet. He held his hand over the thread inside him and willed it to keep from shaking. The vibrations were hurting him, but he could not let Victor share in this. It was humiliating.

He let out a soft keen, and Moira kindly gripped the back of his neck as he shook.

Ayan returned. Elias looked up at the sound of Ayan’s footsteps and wiped his face quickly. Forcing down his grief. Ayan was holding an armful of slim pine branches. He dumped them on the table and settled into Moira’s chair. His eyes flashed at his wife, but he didn’t tell her to stop comforting him.

Instead he began to strip the needles from the branches and place them in a tidy pile. Moira joined him in the task, pushing a few branches over to Elias to help.

They stripped needles by the quiet crackle of the fire for many moments. Elias kept his eyes on the metal of the table and on his task.

Eventually they finished and Ayan got up. He took the large knife from the wall and began to chop the needles into more manageable pieces. Not as good as if there was time to dry and powder them but enough that Elias could fit more of them into his little glass jar than if they’d gone in whole.