All Good Things
II: Absolution
Sing we joyous, all together. Fa la la la la, la la la la…
In building a fire, you walk a thin line. You can't give or take too much, or else you'll get a mess of searing heat and light and devastation where warmth and comfort would have been. This is why you care for your fires as though they were living, tending them almost with love. It's a chore you genuinely enjoy.
"Riff?"
Then there's Miss Merryweather, and she is a chore you genuinely enjoy, too.
"Riff, talk to me!"
She plops down onto the floor beside you with a rather unladylike thump. You smile a little at this, but refrain from commenting to preserve your own life, putting the poker back in its place and turning to her obediently. "What can I do for you, Miss Merry?"
"Brother's reading upstairs. He told me not to bother him until dinnertime." The look of perplexity that's spreading across your face, sure as sin, makes her giggle. "And I have a question I want to ask you."
"Well, I shall certainly do my best to answer it."
Your smile warms the room all the way through, perhaps even more so than the fire. You put out a hand to smooth down her hair—an improper gesture, in 'good society,' near-damnable. But, fortunately or unfortunately, this is not 'good society.' This is home, and 'good society' can smolder in less gentle flame than the one crackling cheerily in the grate at your side. Your young mistress seems to agree, and returns the smile and the gesture. Her hands don't falter for a moment as they come up to straighten your tie.
"It's crooked," is the only explanation she offers. "Anyway, if you could have one wish, no questions asked… what would you wish for?"
She means well, but the words pierce deep. You shouldn't… you don't wish for things. Not you. You can't. You've taken that arrow to the heart before. It's no trouble unless you go about trying to pull it out; the wound will heal around it.
"I've been very fortunate, Miss Merry. More than fortunate," you offer, a little feebly. If your smile falters at all, you take care to cover it and forget. You've become good at that.
"Oh, please." She tugs on your tie lightly, but the eyes that bore into your own are more than a little reproving, full of light that has long since died in you. Something in them compels you to want to believe again. "You're crazy. You and big brother both. You're the only people I know who think twice about wishes… and it's the season for wishing, too!"
You have nothing to say to that, because all the pulling she's doing on your tie is blocking the flow of air to your brain somewhat… but the tightness in your throat springs from something quite different. You shrug your shoulders, with the decency to look a little sheepish, if nothing else. She's already going on without you.
"I know you're fibbing a little, Riff. Everyone has at least one tiny thing that'll make them just a bit happier than they are now. And everyone longs for it a bit, in their heart of hearts. And that's not wrong, you know. To want things. To want to be happy, even, because that's really what everyone wants. And even if I'm just going on and on without seeming to make sense, I know you understand me. You always understand. So I'm trying to understand you. Don't you want to be understood?"
She doesn't give up, this little lady. She doesn't stop. She doesn't swerve. She doesn't ponder. She's not going to rest until she's opened you right up from the inside and pulled the arrow out of your heart, even if doing so will shatter it to pieces. She knows—sure as sin—that she'll be able to put them back together.
Suddenly, it doesn't seem so bad to try to believe again. You scoop her up, gathering her small form close against yourself. It's like holding the sun, and 'good society' be forever damned.
"Perhaps… something new, Miss Merry," you murmur. "A new place to start. I'd wish for that."
"Good answer." She tugs your tie straight one last time, then settles down close to you, all ribbons and lace and something that you're sure must be real tenderness. "You'll get that. Come the New Year, we'll see all sorts of new places together. You and brother Cain and me—we'll find our own places to start. We'll work our way forward from there, all right?"
Heedless of the wind and weather. Fa la la la la, la la la la…