I've included a link to an instrumental track, meant to accompany the last scene in this chapter. :)

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One afternoon on Arthur's next visit a couple months later, Eliza hesitated and finally walked up to him when the three of them were outside and Isaac was sitting and playing in the grass.

"Arthur…I know…I know all you got is folks askin' things of you, and I don't wanna be just another person askin' somethin' of you. But I…I need to ask you to do somethin' for me."

"Hm? What is it?"

"Well, I… Come here." She took him by the hand and walked a few steps away from where Isaac played, somehow feeling it would be less demoralizing for Isaac if he didn't overhear their discussion, as if it made a difference. She turned and looked at Arthur. "Isaac's growin' up, you know, he's gettin' on in age. He's a big boy."

Arthur peered at her, trying to follow. "Yeah, okay…" he nodded.

"And I ain't got time. Ain't got the time, these days, to change his nappy…"

"Say what you have to say, woman. Just get straight out with it."

She dropped her shoulders as she looked at him, wishing she didn't have to explain further. She knew he wasn't a simpleton, that this was just another area where parenting was new and foreign to him. She pulled her lips inward, trying not to smile. "I need him to go outside or to the outhouse to do his business. He's plenty smart enough and old enough, and he's walkin' around just fine. I can't keep changin' him."

Arthur's eyes slowly grew wide. "You want me to teach him how to piss?" He immediately looked at her from the side of his eyes and chuckled sardonically.

She tried not to chuckle and failed, nibbling her lip and running her hand down her neck. She nodded. "Standin' up."

He opened his mouth and let out a nervous and incredulous "Ha," kicking the soil with the toe of his boot.

"Well, you know I love havin' a son, Arthur. But I can't very well teach him! He needs to be taught; every little boy does."

"I don't remember havin' that. I think I figured it out just fine on my own," he mumbled with a chuckle. "Oohh-ho-ho, god…" he looked down, shook his head, and rubbed the back of his neck, thinking about actually standing beside his two-year-old son with their nethers out, giving him instruction and direction.

"It'll take routine to get it to stick," she said. "We'll probably need you here for several days."

"Yeah, yeah," he nodded, looking up at her with a wry grin. "Well, if there's one thing I know to do right…" he said turning to walk towards Isaac.

She smiled and folded her arms, bringing one hand up to rest on her neck and watching his backside as he walked away. "Oh, no. That ain't all you do right, cowboy."

Arthur stopped.

"Or should I say lover boy?" he heard her say, and he looked back at her to see her smiling and gnawing the inside of her cheek.

He chuffed and wanted to make a sarcastic jab like Shut up, but couldn't bring himself to. Instead he actually felt his neck go warm. He smirked and shook his head as he approached his son. "All right, babe, come on. Let's have us a walk," he said, and Isaac stood. "Your mama says you're a big boy; can you believe that? Well, yeah…I guess you are gettin' there." He tried to walk with him, but Isaac wrapped his arm around his leg and rested his head against his thigh, impeding them from getting very far. Arthur brought his hand around Isaac's head and chuckled. "Here," he let his hand dangle before him.

Isaac looked up and took his hand.

"Let's you and me figure how to help your mama some."

Eliza bit her lip, her heart swelling as she watched them walk hand in hand off towards the wooded portion of the property. "Thank you, Arthur," she said, turning to go back inside.

"Don't mention it," he waved. "Please." He smiled when he heard her laugh.

.

When the two of them returned a while later, Eliza was waiting on the porch steps. She stood when she saw them approach.

"Oh, Arthur…look at him!"

Isaac sat on his father's hip with a big grin, the lower half of his face and hands covered in something dark brown and gloopy. She dipped her chin and shook her head. "That isn't…?"

"It ain't shit! Come on, Eliza, gimme more credit than that," he mumbled and squinted at her with a smirk. "After our pissin' lesson—which went just fine, by the way—we walked a ways, and he wanted to make mud pies, so we…made mud pies," he shrugged.

She smiled. "Well, did you have fun at least?"

He looked at Isaac. "I think we did," he smiled softly. "Whatchyou think, bud, you have fun with me?"

"Dama," Isaac mumbled, appearing to have a little trouble forming the syllables.

"What is it, honey?" Eliza said. "What're you tryin'a say?"

"Damma…dammit."

Eliza's eyes went wide.

"No, no! Shush!" Arthur said, gently resting his hand with fingers splayed over Isaac's face.

"Arthur!" Eliza laughed.

Isaac cackled and pulled his face back out of his father's hand. "Dammit!"

"Shit," Arthur said low.

"Shee-it!" Isaac giggled.

"Arthur." She leveled her eyes at him.

"Well, he's a cherry-picker, sweetheart!" he rubbed his neck.

"Shee-it," Isaac clapped his hands.

"Oh, god," Arthur drawled and rolled his eyes.

"Gah-damma—"

"No," Eliza raised her eyebrows and pointed firmly at Isaac. "Hush, you."

"I'll be…he's got a real knack for that cherry-pickin'," Arthur chuckled. "Come on, little parrot. Go to your mama," he said. As he passed him to her, his eyes met hers, and he couldn't help but let a snicker catch and rumble through his nose, his shoulders scrunching as it did. When he saw the corner of her mouth flicker up, he completely lost it.

Eliza's grin warmed as she watched Arthur snicker and wheeze hysterically, and she couldn't keep from letting out a few mumbled chuckles that jostled her shoulders. Hearing their toddler curse had somehow been both more precious and more hilarious than was good for anybody. "No…no swearing," she chuckled, drawing her lips inward to try to keep from smiling. "He ain't allowed." As he continued to laugh, she tisked her tongue and shook her head. "Oh, Arthur," she chuckled. "What am I gonna do with you?"

He smirked at her and wagged his head.

She couldn't miss the twinkle in his eyes. She wanted to blurt out so many things, like how ridiculously charming he could be without even trying. Like what a wonderful father he was without knowing it. Like fears piling up in the back of her mind about the future. She was all too aware how quickly Isaac was growing, and it excited, terrified, and saddened her all at once. How was she supposed to discipline and nurture a growing boy all on her own? How was she supposed to gain his respect and make him mind when he finally grew to the age that all he had a mind to do was aggravate his mother? She and Arthur both knew every boy went through it at some point. The struggle for authority, the test of wills. She wasn't looking forward to any of it without him by their side.

Most of all, she wanted to ask, how did he expect the two of them to go on living without him? Without that uncanny ability of his to make them giggle and laugh? Without that sly grin? Without that precious gleam in his eyes.

Later that afternoon as Eliza was preparing lunch in the kitchen, Arthur went to the bedroom in search of one of his pairs of gloves that had gone missing. He scavenged each drawer of the dresser and, coming up with nothing, went to each bedside table.

"Agh, where is it…" he muttered. Still unable to find it, his eye inched to the chest Eliza kept at the foot of the bed. He'd never seen her open it, but she didn't keep it locked either.

He knelt before it and flipped it open, finding clothes, books, and little porcelain knickknacks inside. Nothing of value. He began to gently rummage through it, pushing books to the side and turning over cloth—when he saw it.

Not the glove, but a little bit of off-white material peeking out between two other garments. His eyes snagged on it, and something about it caused him to still, to breathe slowly and quietly. It wasn't shimmery or shiny, but it wasn't flat and dull either; it was something in between. It wasn't crinkling or creasing easily; rather, the fold was softly rounded. As he studied the portion of fabric he could see, he realized the edge closest to him had a small hem on it, as if the end of a sleeve or bottom of a blouse.

It sat staring at him, beckoning him to pull it out further, to discover just what it was.

He slipped his finger beneath it and rubbed his thumb across it—cool and smooth. Finally he gently tugged it out inch by inch.

His heart sank into his stomach like a boulder when he saw it in full, from the neckline to the lower hem. No frills or lace, no buttons or beads. A small slit at the nape of the bodice, its sleeves coming down only to the elbow. Nothing more than a seam just beneath the breasts to act as a high waist. A long skirt that flowed just a little but didn't have any gathering or pleats. It was a simple, dainty, beautiful wedding gown.

Without realizing it, his brows had pinched up. Not the fact that he'd found it, but just the fact that it existed, here, in her room—it presented a whole new deck of challenges, most of which he hadn't even begun to name, much less make out the edges. But they all came rushing unprovoked at him, just the same.

He closed his eyes when he heard Eliza's singing and humming from the kitchen. Turning his face towards the sound, he opened his eyes and sighed.

Pity was one. He pitied her. And it was the last thing he wanted to feel toward her. That they were both in over their heads, but especially her. How wonderful she was and couldn't stop if she tried. How much she deserved, and he wasn't it. How she couldn't get out, couldn't go back. How little she actually knew about what she thought she wanted.

Yearning was another. For a life he knew he could never have, but had always wanted—maybe just as much as she did, if he let himself be honest with himself for a moment. He'd never been afraid of it. A life of commitment, of being someone's, and only theirs. A life of journeying with someone close enough to you that there was never a question or worry of being ridiculed, belittled, or turned away. So close they could live inside your very own skin, and you'd never know the difference. A simple life of giving and receiving love.

But just as well, he knew he didn't deserve it.

And seeing this only reminded him of what he already knew, but it washed over him again: that he himself was the object of her heart's longing; that he was where she had placed her deep trust. He tried not to focus on all that that alone did inside him—it was like a tender and timid plant, still flourishing despite the cracked, barren soil it had taken root in.

As he squatted there hunched over the chest, his hand buried in the soft, cool material, he could see it; he could see it as clearly as the gown before him. He could feel it, something she must've felt herself by now. It was as if the whole world were telling Eliza that she couldn't have this; that she was too young, too naïve. That she was foolish and silly for even thinking it possible.

Out of the whole world, including Eliza, only he knew that it would be possible; if not for all the reasons it couldn't be.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself out of the daydream and was greeted by a moment of slight panic. He didn't want her to find him with it. And he knew he had to find out what was meant by it, why it was here, and address these hopes of hers if it was what he feared; but at the same time, he didn't want to embarrass her.

He slowly folded it and tried to put things back in place in the chest, closing it and standing, before slowly and tentatively walking out into the kitchen.

"Hey, hun," he said quietly, watching her balance on her tip-toes and reach for a plate in the cabinet. "Hun."

"Hm?" she glanced at him before turning with a bowl of food as Isaac grew antsy in his cubby chair at the end of the table.

"Wie hea," Isaac was saying, bouncing and slapping the spot on the table in front of him. "Mama! Mama! Wie hea, Mama. Wie hea, wie hea. Hea, hea, hea. Yeah. Yeah," he nodded firmly as she placed a little bowl of applesauce with a spoon followed closely by a plate of cheese and crackers with a side of blueberries in front of him. "Mmmmmmmm…" he mumbled with a big grin, getting himself so excited that he looked up at her with a mumbled cackle that ended with a squeak.

She watched with a smile as he held the spoon in his fist, close to its neck, and dove into the applesauce. A couple mumbled chuckles arose from her when he tried to scoop the blueberries a few times and failed, finally picking up a blueberry, placing it on the spoon, and sticking the spoon in his mouth.

Still chuckling, she turned to Arthur. "Hm? I'm sorry, you were saying?" she said as she placed another couple plates on the table.

"That chest in there," he rubbed his neck. "In the bedroom. What's…what's in there?"

"Oh, that's just old such and such, handed down through the generations," she said as she reached into the cupboard again for a couple glasses. "What I managed to keep, at least. All that's left on earth of my family. 'Sides Isaac and me," she smiled at him. "Why?"

He followed her with his eyes as she went about the kitchen for a couple more things before joining Isaac at the table. The question hadn't startled her at all.

He briefly lifted his brows and tried to shrug a shoulder. "Aw, I's just wonderin'."

"Come sit with us. Got pork cutlets, summer sausage, cheese, almonds, berries, and apples. And I cut you up a peach," she patted the seat of the chair beside her.

"O-oh, I got things to do: muck the barn, weed the flower bushes… That's why I been, I been lookin' for my work gloves—"

"Grounds work can wait. All month if I care."

He looked up at her as she bit into an apple. Her world was so simple, what she wanted so straightforward. It made him feel as though the struggle and tangled mess were only inside him.

He took a breath and smirked as he came to sit beside her.

"Fletcher Bay – Instrumental," Harry Pane

you tu . be /LkEWgIsuOuk

That evening after Arthur had completely given up on getting any grounds work done, the three of them ventured outside to enjoy the trees and the sun as it began to recline from its perch in the sky. When Eliza told them that she'd forgotten her shawl inside, to go on without her and that she'd be back out in a bit, Arthur continued towards the fruit trees with Isaac on his forearm.

He lazily came up to the fig tree that was covered in fruit. When they walked under the leaf-drenched branches, Isaac reached up for something. Arthur noticed something move out of the corner of his eye and saw what it was. He reached up and cupped his hand around it, bringing it down to Isaac.

"Here, you want that?" he said in warm, hushed tones. He opened his big hand to show a hairy black caterpillar crawling across his palm. "Here," he said, bringing his hand close to Isaac's and letting the caterpillar crawl across their fingers. "Look at that," he said quietly. "How 'bout that. He's a fuzzy feller." He watched Isaac's eyes enlarge as they followed the caterpillar in wonder; and when his smile brightened at the feeling of its legs tickling him, Arthur felt himself smile wide. "Like that?"

Isaac took in a sudden breath, released a squeaking giggle, and nodded with a little bounce on his father's arm.

Realizing they didn't have to rush, Arthur continued to bring his hand to either side of Isaac's, keeping the caterpillar from falling as it crawled back and forth over their hands. After a few minutes, he reached up and returned it to the leaf. "Well, he's gotta go home."

"Go?"

"Mm-hmm."

Isaac waved his fingers at the bug. "Bye," he whispered.

Arthur looked down as Isaac looked up at him with a contented grin and rested each of his little hands on his father's cheeks. He watched as Isaac opened his lips and brought his tongue to the roof of his mouth, and he knew he was searching for a consonant.

"Dah," he finally said so simply, the d nice and loud, ringing clearly as a bell. And again, "Dah."

Arthur struggled not to stiffen at the sound, but Isaac's young blue-green eyes wouldn't let him budge. Even as his body was relaxed, he felt every single thing inside his head and chest go rigid, searching for answers to explain it, to wipe it away. Had Eliza told him? But he didn't think she'd go back on her word. Maybe it was nothing more than a syllable, a random noise shaken loose from a toddler's throat. Was it simply the wish of a little boy, that he was doing what he could to make a reality?

As his deep, round little eyes held him steady, the two of them were there, near reflections of each other; and it seemed a moment stretched out a little longer in time, like flour-dusted dough he'd seen Eliza knead and pull on the counter.

Or did he just know? Somehow. Arthur was struggling not to internally scramble for answers: if he did, how had they gotten here? Would every road have lead here? A two-year-old. How could he know?

The most pressing question before him, he knew, was no matter which explanation was to answer for two simple little syllables spoken aloud, would he be okay with it? Could he be. As he looked into his little son's eyes—a son who had so much of both himself and Eliza in him—he knew there was nothing to hold onto; for this moment at least, he had to let go. He had to accept the love his son was offering freely, and ask no more questions.

It was like water to the dry and thirsty plant Eliza had been ministering to so patiently in his chest. The plant he was only recently beginning to notice had been there for so long.

He brought his fingers through his son's soft blonde hair, bringing his palm down to the side of his face. With his fingers still curled over his crown, he brushed his thumb across his temple as he closed his eyes and kissed his forehead, lingering there for several seconds, and kissing him again. Isaac promptly let his head fall onto his father's shoulder, and Arthur ran his hand over his temple and ear. He closed his eyes and let his cheek gently fall to his forehead, listening to him softly breathe. And the two of them were there, needing nothing more from the world, from each other, than to soak in the nearness of the other, to drink it in, sweeter than honey water.

Eliza stood a couple feet to his right and just a little behind him, her heart as full as a sky of twinkling stars. She'd seen all of it, from the moment Isaac reached up for the caterpillar.

She knew Arthur's heart to be big and tender, one that naturally protected the innocent and vulnerable. She also knew him to have a child's heart himself, deep down. One of wonder and innocence, desiring simple moments of calm and contemplation; tentative and meek—yearning, yet afraid, to be cherished himself. But as wide and deep and gentle as she knew his heart to be, he somehow continued to surprise her.

Her jaw hung just a little, her breathing slow and quiet as she watched him stand there with their son in his arms, both of them calm and quiet, as Arthur started to sway just a little. She took in the sight of Arthur's closed eyes and big arms wrapped around Isaac. And Isaac's tranquil expression from under his father's doting and gentle hand. His little calves—getting longer, but still soft and plump—and bare feet dangling contentedly as his father held him to his chest. The setting sun greeting their softly smiling faces in ribbons through the leaves of the fig tree.

Perfect peace. Trust, contentment, rest.

It was everything she wanted, except to be a part of it. But she didn't want to interrupt them, didn't want to risk ruining the specialness of their time together by inserting herself.

Just when she thought she could be satisfied to be a witness from a distance, Arthur opened his eyes, glanced in her direction, and grinned when he saw her. She felt the corners of her mouth slowly turn up. He wasn't embarrassed to be found like this; neither was she unwelcome.

Isaac lifted his head and took a deep breath. He was about to lie his head back down when he saw her and smiled.

She watched Arthur reach up for a ripe fig on a nearby branch and bring it down. He brought it near his other hand around Isaac and pressed both thumbs into the fruit, tearing it in half. Her eyes slowly grew when he reached his arm out in her direction to hand her one of the halves while he gave the other to Isaac. She had assumed one half would be for Isaac and one for himself. The thought hadn't been close to her mind that one had been meant for her.

With a smile she stepped closer, reached out, and took it. She brought it between her lips and watched Isaac sip the seeded flesh from the skin, matching Arthur's chuckle at the quiet smacking sound.

When the three of them sat down against the tree trunk, Arthur kept Isaac in his lap. She noticed Isaac resting his head on his father's shoulder again and took the shawl from around her to drape it over him, covering his head and back and tucking the edges snug between the two of them.

As she reclined back against the tree again and rested her right hand in the grass, she felt Arthur's little finger brush against hers. She looked down to see his hand doing the same thing, lying flat in the grass between them.

It was all of it together: the sumptuous calmness of nature around them, the sunlight that made everything hazy, the sight of their baby boy lying contentedly against his father's chest. The aromatic fragrance of she and Arthur passing raw figs back and forth between them.

Don't miss this, was whispered in her head. Hold onto this moment, everything about it, and don't let go. But like all of life, it came, was enjoyed, and passed on, too quickly becoming only memory.

They would always be there in her heart: the three of them, just like that under the fig tree.

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That night was Isaac's first time sleeping in the bed in his room, rather than in the crib.

Arthur watched Eliza whisper to him in her arms as he yawned: "You wanna try sleepin' in the big boy bed?"

She tucked him in, and she and Arthur lied on either side of him for a little while to ensure he felt safe and didn't roll off. Arthur listened to her warm, smooth humming and watched Isaac's belly softly rise and fall, in and out. He'd tuck this day away in his memory, to warm him in lonely moments, as Eliza had so sincerely entreated him to do.

When Isaac had been slumbering soundly for a few minutes, the two of them left, closed the door quietly behind them, and went to the other bedroom.

As Arthur stood facing the wall and unbuttoning his shirt, Eliza's arms slipped through his as she hugged him from behind and placed a hand on the left side of his chest. He smiled and rested his hand over hers. It had been a near perfect day, and those were few and far between. When he felt her kiss his back, he turned to face her and held her in his arms.

She pressed her cheek to his chest for a moment, then looked up at him. "If he has a fraction of your heart, I'll be the happiest mother on earth."

He smirked and shook his head just a little. "He'll be more like you, and the better for it." He brought his thumb up to her smooth cheek.

Eliza closed her eyes at his touch. When she was standing this close to him, he was tall enough that she only needed let her head tilt back a little for him to kiss her. When she did, his hand traveled gently down to the side of her neck, and his lips were on hers, planting soft, warm kisses there.

Arthur drew back and took in her face: eyes closed but softly fluttering open, cheeks flushed to a rosy pink hue. Her voice might not be asking to touch him, but the rest of her was. Aching was probably closer to the truth.

Each time she brought him to this place, he was reminded of all that filled the past couple years—that they'd always been eager to meet here, but now it felt more like becoming one. That they were close now in other ways, and it somehow made this even better—sweeter and truer. That she was the same woman who'd always been there, growing herself and ever so patiently waiting for him to grow with her. As he looked into her eyes, he knew he was growing tired of this warring inside him, that she was beginning to wear him down. He only knew that they both just wanted to be close. And when she looked at him like that… Who was he to refuse?

Dear Readers,

This chapter was another one that was dear to my heart-all of it, but especially because of the fig tree scene. :)

Just two more chapters! I'll probably be uploading them either together or one day after the other, since they're so closely related. It'll be pretty heavy duty, at least for me. Most of it is written already, since I wrote so much of it a long time ago; so this is a big deal for me! I also have high hopes for something special to accompany it; but because of that, I'm unsure when exactly it'll be ready in its entirety. I'm guessing 2-3 weeks. If you're someone who enjoys going back and reviewing, now would be the perfect time to do that! 😉 (I only bring it up because folks have mentioned doing that here.) And if you do go back and review, you're still free to comment anytime; I promise, I won't think it's weird. :) 💙

I want to thank each of you again for sticking with me through this work. I know it's been a long road; sometimes I'm embarrassed about how long it's taken. But each of you who've commented have made it such a joy for me. I've always been so pleasantly shocked when guests have commented, sharing they've been reading and are looking forward to more. Simply put, I have the best readers. :) 💛

If you're still interested by the end of this work, I'm letting you know now that I have a third and probably final work planned for the series. I don't think it'll be quite as long, but I hope it'll be worth it for all of us-for you, me, and these sweet characters who are so dear to us.

I always enjoy reading your thoughts, and thanks again sincerely for being here!

Rosie