Ch. 121 On This Side of the Dream

Chapter 121: On This Side of the Dream

Aurelia asked us to bring a chair.

I looked around the garden room.

There were already four.

“Here?”

“To the chapel.”

Evelyn lowered her cup.

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

Beyond the open doors, water ran through the narrow channel beside the roses. I could hear each small break in its passage over the stone.

Aurelia watched us understand.

“You mean while we’re awake,” my wife said.

“Yes.”

I set down my cup rather badly.

Some tea escaped.

“Can you?”

“I believe I can remain there briefly.”

“Since when?”

“Since recently enough that I wanted to be certain before telling you.”

She glanced at the spreading tea.

“Though I see I should have waited until you had finished drinking.”

We went into the courtyard.

Aurelia stood beside the fountain, where the light fell clearly across her hands.

I had become accustomed to seeing her whole.

Her hair moving in a breeze.

Her fingers closing around a cup.

The small lines beside her eyes when she smiled.

It was easy, here, to forget how much effort lay beyond the room.

“Will it hurt?” Evelyn asked.

“It will tire me.”

“That wasn’t quite what I asked.”

Aurelia looked at her.

Then nodded.

“No. If I stop when I should.”

“And you will?”

“Yes.”

My wife accepted that.

I was still looking at Aurelia’s hands.

“Would we have to do anything?”

“Be there. Keep the chapel quiet for a little while.”

“No working?”

“None.”

She said it firmly enough that I looked up.

“If I begin to fade, you must let me. Don’t try to hold me there.”

The answer I had been preparing remained in my mouth.

Evelyn saw.

She took my hand.

“We understand.”

After a moment, I nodded too.

There were things I wanted to ask.

Whether this meant the bonds were breaking.

Whether she could stay longer next time.

Whether one day she might walk through the courtyard at Greykeep and complain about our weather.

She answered the first before I managed it.

“I am still held, Uriah.”

“But you can reach farther.”

“Yes.”

“Because more people are calling to you?”

“That helps. So does time. I can use what strength returns to me more steadily now.”

She looked toward the garden room.

“I would like to spend a little of it visiting my family.”

I swallowed.

There had been so many requests.

Teach us.

Help him.

Tell us what this means.

For once, she had asked for a chair.

“We’ll have one ready,” I said.

The following morning, Evelyn found me standing in the chapel.

I had arrived before breakfast.

She looked at the chair beside the basin.

Then at the second chair.

Then the third.

“How many people are we expecting?”

“I wasn’t sure which would be most comfortable.”

“The one with the cushion.”

“That was my first thought.”

“Then why is there a dining chair?”

“It has better arms.”

She considered it.

Then sat in each.

I waited.

At last, she stood and pointed to the cushioned chair.

“That one.”

I carried the others away.

When I returned, she was straightening the cushion.

Neither of us laughed.

Not yet.

We told Soren because the chapel was part of his day, and because I did not want him discovering what we meant to attempt by finding the door closed.

He listened without sitting down.

When we finished, he looked toward the basin.

“Here?”

“Yes.”

His expression changed several times.

Wonder first.

Then something more careful.

“Would she want me present?”

“She asked for us,” Evelyn said gently. “We can ask her about another visit if this one goes well.”

He nodded at once.

“Of course.”

I disliked the disappointment he tried to hide.

Apparently he noticed that too.

“My lord,” he said, “I can bear waiting.”

I let out a breath.

“Yes.”

“I shall make sure anyone who needs the chapel knows when it will be open again.”

“Thank you.”

He reached the door, then turned.

“Would you tell her I’ve stopped waking before every morning round to see whether the light still answers?”

“I will.”

He smiled.

Then went back to work.

There was still an ordinary day to get through.

Tessa was leaving after the midday meal.

Her daughter had sent a letter, a place to stay, and such determined instructions about which carrier to use that Mary had read part of them aloud twice.

“She seems thorough,” I said.

Tessa folded the page.

“She was like that at nine.”

She had packed everything into one trunk and a cloth bag.

I remembered her standing among the others in Veylan.

Waiting while men argued over whether she was allowed to go.

Now her chief concern was whether the trunk fastening would survive another journey.

Garrick inspected it.

Then fetched a strip of leather.

“Hold this.”

She did.

He worked while she told Evelyn about her daughter’s house.

There was a small back room.

Apparently it had been a sewing room until the letter arrived.

“She says she can sew in the front.”

“Would you rather have a different arrangement?” Evelyn asked.

Tessa looked down at the folded letter.

“No.”

Her voice softened.

“I would rather have that one.”

We walked with her to the gate.

Mary had arranged the first part of the journey and written down where the next carrier would meet her.

Tessa checked the paper.

Then the bag.

Then the paper again.

At last, she turned to us.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You could write when you arrive,” Evelyn said.

“I will.”

“And tell us whether the fastening held,” Garrick added.

Tessa laughed.

It came out shakily.

She embraced my wife, then took both my hands.

For a moment, she gripped them very tightly.

Then she let go.

We watched her follow the porter through.

Afterward, Garrick looked at the empty space.

“Good trunk,” he said.

Evelyn slipped her arm through his.

“Yes, Father.”

By late afternoon, I had read the same request for paving stone three times.

Mary took it from me.

“You approved this yesterday.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

“Then I remain consistent.”

She gave me a long look.

“Is there something you would prefer to be doing?”

I glanced toward the window.

The chapel roof was visible beyond the courtyard.

Mary followed my gaze.

Then she closed the book.

“Nothing else here needs your answer before morning.”

“You’re certain?”

“I was certain before you began reading the paving request again.”

I stood.

At the door, she spoke more quietly.

“I hope it goes well.”

“So do I.”

Evelyn was in the nursery.

Carol lay against her shoulder, awake and considering the clasp on her gown.

Garrick had fallen asleep with one fist beside his cheek.

My wife looked up when I entered.

“Nearly time?”

“Yes.”

She kissed Carol’s hair before passing her to Helena.

I watched our daughter settle.

For one foolish moment, I wanted to bring them.

Aurelia had held them in dreams.

I wanted her to hear their real voices.

To feel the weight of them here.

Evelyn touched my arm.

“Another time,” she said.

I nodded.

Helena did not ask us to explain the look that passed between us.

She only said, “We’ll be here.”

The chapel smelled of beeswax and the flowers someone had brought that morning.

I had noticed both a hundred times before.

That evening, I noticed everything.

A worn place on the bench.

The uneven edge of a candle.

A thread caught in the cushion.

Evelyn removed it.

We stood beside the basin.

Outside, footsteps crossed the courtyard and continued away.

“Aurelia,” I said.

My voice sounded too loud.

I tried again.

“We’re here.”

For a while, nothing changed.

Evelyn’s fingers rested between mine.

Then the water trembled.

Light gathered above the basin.

It was faint enough at first that I thought I was seeing a reflection from the candles.

But the flames stood still.

The gold thickened.

Spread.

A shape appeared beside the chair, uncertain at the edges.

A shoulder.

A hand.

I felt Evelyn stop breathing.

Aurelia opened her eyes.

For an instant, I could see the carved wood through her.

Then I could not.

She drew a breath.

A real, audible breath.

“Oh,” she said.

Neither of us moved.

I had imagined running to her.

Kneeling.

Saying something that would explain what it meant to see her beneath a roof that remained when I woke.

Instead, I stood there holding my wife’s hand.

Aurelia looked around the chapel.

Her gaze passed over the candles and the flowers.

Stopped at her unfinished image.

“Come here,” she said softly.

We did.

Evelyn reached her first.

Aurelia took her hand.

My wife made a small sound.

I had heard it once before, when Garrick had first been placed in her arms.

Aurelia looked at me.

I touched her other hand.

Warm.

There was a pulse beneath my thumb.

She sat.

The chair creaked.

It was such an ordinary sound that I nearly cried.

Evelyn knelt beside her, gathering the hem of her gown out of the way.

I pulled a bench closer.

Aurelia examined the cushion.

“A good choice.”

“My wife conducted an inquiry.”

“Three chairs,” Evelyn said.

“I wanted you comfortable.”

“I am.”

She kept hold of our hands.

For a little while, that was all we did.

Outside, someone dropped something metal.

A distant voice apologized.

Aurelia turned toward the sound.

Then smiled.

“I had forgotten how much happens beyond a room when I’m in only one place.”

I remembered Soren’s message.

I told her.

Her fingers tightened gently around mine.

“I’m glad.”

“He’s teaching again too,” Evelyn said. “And arguing with Arwen.”

“About what?”

“Whether he gives his pupils enough time to answer before rescuing them.”

Aurelia looked at me.

I frowned.

“I wasn’t involved.”

“No,” she said. “Of course.”

Evelyn laughed.

The sound filled the little chapel.

Aurelia closed her eyes for a moment, listening.

When she opened them, there were tears along her lower lashes.

“I wanted to hear that here.”

My wife bowed her head over their joined hands.

The first sign was at the edge of Aurelia’s sleeve.

A thread of gold loosened and vanished.

I saw it.

So did she.

“It’s time.”

Already.

The word rose in me before I could stop it.

Aurelia touched my cheek.

“There will be another visit if I can manage it.”

I nodded, though everything in me wanted to bargain.

One more question.

One more minute.

Evelyn kissed her hand.

“Thank you for coming.”

Aurelia leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

Then mine.

Her lips were warm.

“Thank you for the chair.”

The gold thinned.

For a moment, her hand rested against my face with almost no weight.

Then it was gone.

We stayed where we were.

The candles had scarcely shortened.

Outside, the courtyard continued its evening work.

I looked at the cushion.

A shallow hollow remained where she had sat.

Evelyn reached out and laid her palm against it.

Then she looked at me.

“She was here.”

“Yes.”

I had meant to say more.

I couldn’t.

My wife stood, and I stood with her.

We held each other beside the empty chair until we could manage the walk back.

At breakfast the next morning, I waited for word.

There was none.

I went through council with a small, cold uncertainty beneath everything else.

By midday, Evelyn found me near the chapel door.

“You promised you would let her rest.”

“I am.”

“You’re standing outside.”

“That still counts.”

She took my hand.

We went to eat.

That night, when sleep finally came, the garden room was waiting.

Aurelia sat with a blanket over her knees.

I crossed the room too quickly.

She looked up.

“I said I would be tired.”

“I know.”

“Sit down.”

I did.

Evelyn settled beside me.

For a moment, Aurelia studied our faces.

Then her expression softened.

“I’m all right.”

The knot beneath my ribs finally eased.

We told her about the chair.

How Soren had stood beside it when we opened the chapel again.

How he had smiled, touched its wooden arm, and gone to fetch another candle.

Aurelia listened.

Then she looked toward the empty place beside the hearth.

“Next time,” she said, “if they’re well, and if you would like to…”

She stopped.

Evelyn was already nodding.

“Yes.”

Aurelia smiled.

“I should like to meet the children while all of us are awake.”

I thought of Garrick’s small fist.

Carol’s determined reach.

The chair waiting in the chapel.

“We’ll bring their fish,” I said.