The next day was busy as the three of them sorted out the provisions and worked to get everything put away. Ruby was pleased with—proud of, even—the full cupboards in her kitchen, bursting with goodies. She had to remind herself that the supplies needed to last the winter, though she couldn't imagine ever going through so much food.
Ruby had also managed to fish out one of her grandmother's recipe books from her trunk in the barn—thankfully only separated from the house by a light dusting of snow—and she was growing more eager to try her hand at some of the different dishes. Not all of her attempts were successful, to be sure, but none of them were inedible by Pongo's standards, either. In fact, very few of her meals went untouched by August—though it did not go unnoticed that he tucked away some of his vegetables in his napkin to be discarded later—so Ruby secretly prided herself on her small victories as she began to master the stove. Besides, though Mr. Hopper was too nice to say anything, she never got over the guilt that would hit her when she ruined the ingredients that they'd worked so hard for. Thankfully such an occurrence was more and more rare.
Though the colder weather meant that there were fewer chores to do outside, Ruby still felt like her days flew by. Her mornings began with the hearth and the stove, coaxing them to life as quickly as possible to take the chill out of the cabin that grew sharper with each passing day. With her shawl wrapped tightly around her, she would visit the chicken coop, snatching up their offerings as quickly as she could to avoid angry beaks and the nip of the cold air on her fingers. It was becoming a blessing to spend her days by the warm stove, and she shook her head at herself for being thankful that she was responsible for mealtimes.
Each day had its own chore, like Granny would do: "Wash on Monday, Iron on Tuesday, Mend on Wednesday, Churn on Thursday, Clean on Friday, Bake on Saturday, Rest on Sunday." It marked the passage of time easily enough until Ruby lost track of how many days she'd spent churning butter or ironing shirts. The familiar routine was a comfort so far from home, though now Ruby was responsible for everything her grandmother used to do. Perhaps her baking would never be as light and fluffy as Granny's, but Ruby couldn't deny the sense of satisfaction she felt in running her own home.
The harvest was over, but Archibald was away from the cabin more than ever. The relief that Ruby used to feel at his absences lessened, and while she enjoyed her quiet days with August—which had now become routine—she was glad to see Mr. Hopper safely home come nightfall. No longer was he a stranger, but instead his presence felt familiar. Perhaps his steady gaze unnerved her at times, but it was nice to know he was there.
Still, Ruby enjoyed having her own space during the day, and even cherished the times when August was outside with his father or doing his chores, but there was something to be said for the company when they all settled down for supper together or later huddled around the crackling fire with the hum of the sewing machine and the whittling of August's carving.
What puzzled Ruby most were Archibald's visits into town, which became more and more frequent. Surely they had everything they needed to last a good while, and yet two or three times a week he would be off on the wagon with Cleo. Sometimes he brought very little back, and sometimes he forewent the wagon altogether and rode on saddleback. Sometimes he would leave with a sack of corn, or one of the pigs, and guilt pricked at Ruby at the thought that he needed to sell them off.
Oh, you silly man! I told you it was too much, Ruby thought to herself as she turned back to her dough after watching him leave, the view of him on the wagon perfectly framed by the window. Maybe he could return some of the fabric or wool. Or maybe she could sell some things, like embroidered handkerchiefs or knitted socks. She caught herself when she realized she was kneading the dough far too vigorously, and she prayed that she hadn't ruined the loaf.
Later that day, Ruby was hunched over the stove while August was hunched over a book at the table, having decided that he preferred that to helping Ruby with the preparations for dinner. Ruby smiled as she heard him let out a heavy sigh behind her, satisfied that he was reading, however he felt about it. She opened the oven door and carefully placed the meat pie inside before closing the door quickly to keep the heat in.
"Then the p-puh…pup…" August stuttered aloud.
"Sound it out," Ruby said as she lifted the lid to the potatoes boiling away.
"P-uh-pet," August said slowly. "Puppet!"
"There you go," Ruby said, flashing him a smile over her shoulder before she turned her attention back to her work.
Another heavy sigh sounded before August whined, "I'm tired of reading. I don't want to do it anymore."
Ruby shrugged. "Okay."
The air was heavy with silence before a small voice asked, "Okay?"
Ruby turned around to face the redheaded boy whose eyes were wide in disbelief. "If you don't want to have adventures, then that's fine by me," she said nonchalantly. She turned around, her back to the boy as she bit her lip. She could feel him shifting in his seat, his confusion palpable.
"There's no adventures in books," he stated firmly.
"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure," Ruby said in a sing-song voice. "In the pages of a book, you can be anything you want, and you can travel to far-away lands. You can be the knight slaying a dragon, or a pirate on the search for the treasure, or the best shot in the west." Ruby grabbed the handles of the pot with a towel and carefully made her way to the sink to drain the water through the slit she held in the lid. After the loud splash sounded, she continued. "Books can open up new worlds to you, because they help you learn, and then you can grow up to be whatever you want to be. A doctor, a lawyer, a teacher, a scientist. It all starts with these books."
She placed the pot back on the stove away from the heat and looked at August, who chewed on his lip. "But if you don't want any of that, I understand," she finished innocently.
"Well… it might not hurt to try a little more," he finally said.
"You won't be sorry," Ruby promised him with a smile. "Now, would you like to help me set the table or continue reading your story?" She turned to face him with her hand on her hip.
"I'll keep reading," he said quickly, all but burying his nose behind the cover that read "The Adventures of Pinocchio".
"Wise choice," Ruby said with a nod, expecting to do it by herself all along.
The pleasant "clink" of dishes and cutlery filled the room as August continued to sound out the words on which he was stuck.
"I'm tired of this Jiminy Cricket," August huffed. At the same time, the door swung open to reveal Archibald, back from his outing.
"You don't like Jiminy Cricket?" Archibald said as he took his hat off and hung it up.
Ruby smiled in greeting as she filled up a mug with coffee. After Archibald had shrugged off his coat and hung it up beside his hat, she offered him the mug. "Welcome back."
"Thank you," Archibald said with his warm smile that crinkled his eyes. He quickly returned his gaze to his son. "What's wrong with Jiminy Cricket?" he asked, bringing the drink up to his lips for a sip.
"He's so boring, Pa. He's such a goody-two-shoes."
"Hey," Archibald protested, making his way around the table. He gave Ruby's shoulder a squeeze before he reached his son and he leaned over to kiss the boy's hair. "The conscience is my favourite."
"That's because you're a goody-two-shoes, Pa," August sighed, dropping his gaze back to his book.
Archibald let out a mock gasp and looked to Ruby. Ruby shrugged and returned her attention to the stove. "Don't pull me in to it," she teased, bringing the pie out of the oven and carefully placing it in the middle of the table.
"I guess I'm on my own," Archibald chuckled, and Ruby couldn't deny the sound lifted her heart along with the giggle of the little boy. She looked over and met Archibald's gaze, his eyes bright as he beamed at her, and she could feel her own smile widen until she remembered herself and looked away.
"Alright, August, time to wash up. Miss Ruby's dinner smells particularly good tonight."
Ruby smiled her thanks as she set the boiled potatoes on the table along with the pie. And it looks particularly amazing, too, she thought to herself, noting the golden crust.
August was chatty during the meal, like usual, and Archibald smiled and nodded, his focus on his son. Ruby had hoped to ask him about his day and what he'd done, but she could barely get a word in edgewise. It was not an appropriate time to discuss what she really wanted to know, anyway, and it really wasn't any of her business what Mr. Hopper did in town.
Soon, dinner was over, and the washing was quickly finished with some help from August while Archibald did the last of the chores outside by lantern-light. They were all eager to settle down in front of the fire, an indulgence that came earlier and earlier with the sunsets coming sooner and sooner.
Ruby set herself up behind the sewing machine, anxious to finish at least one dress before she burst the seams of her current clothes. Her swelling belly was more obvious than ever, and she could only fit into her skirts if she wore them high on her stomach, having given up on her dresses for the time being.
Tonight, Archibald sat in the rocking chair with August on his lap. Ruby noticed how the firelight made both father's and son's hair glow, and they looked a pretty picture with Archibald's cheek nestled against August's temple.
"Have I ever told you the story of Peter and the Wolf?" Archibald asked, and August broke into a grin.
"I love that one!"
Ruby's heart lurched at the mention of Peter, but she brushed the thought aside as Archibald's calming voice began the story.
"Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Peter who lived deep in the woods with his grandfather. Now, this was a long time ago, when the threat of wolves was very great, and Peter's grandfather warned the little boy not to go out by himself. But Peter wasn't afraid. No, in fact—he was determined to go out into the woods and kill the wolf himself to show his grandfather how brave he was.
"Now, his grandfather thought little boys of six years old should not be hunting, and so he brought Peter back into the cabin and made him stay indoors. But soon, Grandfather was fast asleep, and Peter slipped outside and made his way across the snow and into the woods."
Ruby listened to the story along with August, and she tried to keep her sewing machine as quiet as possible so she could make out Archibald's voice.
"Peter hadn't gotten very far when he met a bird. 'Can I go hunting, too?' asked the little bird." Ruby smiled at the way Archibald expertly pitched his voicer higher—clear and light, exactly like a little bird.
"Peter agreed, and soon they were on their way. A little farther along, Peter and the bird met a duck. 'Can I go hunting, too?' asked the duck"—Archibald's spoke through his nose, creating a raspy noise like a duck—"and Peter agreed."
Ruby saw the contented smile on August's face as he listened to his pa, and the little boy's hands rested on his father's arms, which were wrapped around the boy's middle.
"No sooner had the three of them started again than a cat crossed their path. 'Can I join you?' she purred"—his voice smooth like a cat's—"and Peter nodded.
"The band of four trudged through the snow when the duck and the bird began to squabble. 'You stepped on my tail!' cried the duck." Archibald cried through his nose into one of August's ears. "'You stopped far too soon!' cried the bird." Archibald chirped into the other ear, and August giggled.
"Nobody noticed the wolf who had been watching the whole scene." Ruby felt a shiver run down her spine at the dark tone in Archibald's voice. She shook her head at herself and continued sewing along the bodice of her dress, anxious to avoid making any mistakes.
"Suddenly, the wolf leapt out of his hiding spot and chased after the duck." Archibald jolted August in his arms, gripping the boy's middle and causing him to squeal in delight. "Over and around, up and down and sideways"—he tilted the boy sideways off of his lap, and then to the other side, before righting him once more— "the wolf chased the duck, until the only thing the friends saw was a little green feather floating down to the white snow." His voice was soft and solemn as his fingers danced downwards through the air, mimicking the movement of a feather.
"Poor duck," August said with a smile, and Ruby had a feeling the boy knew that all was not as it seemed.
"Poor duck," Archibald agreed into the boy's ear. "This sad turn of events renewed Peter's resolve, and he was more determined than ever to catch that mean old wolf. He made a loop—a lasso—with his rope, and he threw one end over the branch of a tree." Archibald moved August's hands through the motions of tying the rope and throwing it up. "Peter was ready for that wolf, and when it did come back, it walked right into his trap. Peter pulled with all his might"—Archibald's voice became tight as he pretended to pull hard—"and the wolf didn't know what had hit him.
"The wolf struggled against the rope, but Peter held it tight so that it gripped the wolf's tail. The bird fluttered back and forth, making the wolf even angrier, his fur standing on end and his teeth bared and snarling"—Archibald ran his fingers through his hair to make it stand straight up and he snapped his teeth like a wolf—"and the bird got so excited that it knocked it's head on the tree." Archibald smacked his forehead with his palm just hard enough to make a thwack, and August giggled.
"Peter held onto that rope with all his might as he told the little bird to fly for help. The bird flew as fast as it could, but by the time he came back with Peter's grandfather, Peter had tied the wolf all up. Peter was safe up in the tree with the wolf dangling underneath the branch."
Ruby realized she wasn't sewing at all, and she gave up on her work and watched the pair as the story played out.
"Peter was a hero when he and his grandfather paraded the wolf through the town. The threat was defeated, and now everyone—including Peter—could safely hunt whenever they wanted. The End."
"Pa," August laughed. "You forgot the duck!"
"Oh! The duck!" Archibald exclaimed with an exaggerated sense of remembrance, and Ruby smiled. "How could I forget?
"Everyone was happy, except Peter—he'd lost his friend, the duck, to the wolf. But shortly after, he returned to that very tree only to discover that the duck was hiding in the hollow, right where they thought he'd been eaten!"
"And so it was a happy ending after all," August declared.
"It was a happy ending after all," Archibald agreed. He wrapped his arms around his son and kissed his temple while the boy leaned back in his father's arms. August stretched his arms up on either side of his father's head and dug his fingers into Archibald's hair, lazily playing with his curls. No longer was he a stubborn nine-year-old, but a little boy of only two or three or five, happy in his pa's arms. They both looked into the fire with contented expressions, and Ruby had to look away from the intimate scene.
Ruby's hand settled on her stomach, and she longed to be able to give her child such moments with his father. It seemed wrong to let her sadness encroach on the cozy scene, however, and she quickly wiped her eyes and began her work on another seam of her dress, lining the fabric up neatly and joining them together with the tiny needle of the machine that bobbed up and down.
Sleep claimed Ruby quickly that night, a small blessing to be spared from her wandering thoughts. Her dreams were not so benevolent, however.
She found herself in an eerily familiar landscape—one she'd visited before, though how or when, she did not know. The last time she'd seen this spot from far away, but now she was up close to the tree that sprouted from the middle of the ground, a large rock not far away.
Suddenly, hope and fear gripped her heart as she encircled the tree looking for the little hollow. "Peter!" she called, unable to keep the cheer from her voice. She was sure she was going to find him hidden away, not lost at all but only keeping safe until the time was right.
Hope evaporated as Ruby peered inside the tree. It was empty, save for a piece of linen that she recognized from Peter's shirt, floating down like a lonely feather before it caught in the corner of the bark.
"Peter!" Ruby called again, her voice shaking as she tried to fight the despair closing in on her. You have to be here! It's how the story ends!
She clawed at the bark, trying to make the hole in the tree larger as if to find him there after all. Her hands were scraped raw, but she barely noticed the blood that started to trickle down her arms. "Peter!" she wailed.
Then, she became hunched over on all fours. Her hands were foreign to her, and when she looked, she realized they were no longer hands but huge, furry paws. She could see in the middle of her face that a long snout stood where he nose ought to be.
She tried to cry out, but no words would form—only an agonizing howl that echoed back to her, a piercing cry that seeped into her bones.
"Miss Ruby! Miss Ruby!" a frightened voice called out. Ruby opened her eyes to a dark room, panting in a cold sweat as she shot up in bed.
"Miss Ruby, it's just me. It's August!" the boy cried.
Ruby took deep breaths as she squinted in the direction of the voice. There was very little moonlight, but soon her eyes adjusted to the dark space just enough to see the form of a little boy leaning against his bed, his eyes wide as he stared back at her.
"Oh, August," she breathed, her chest tight as she realized how much she must have frightened him. "Oh, sweetheart, it's okay. I'm okay." She tried to keep her voice calm and steady as she fought to catch her breath.
He took a couple of steps closer, and Ruby reached out her arm to him. He took her hand, and before Ruby knew it, he threw himself into her arms and she held him tight.
"I'm okay," she said into his hair as she stroked his back. "I just had a bad dream is all. I'm so sorry."
She gave him a squeeze before he pulled back. "You were calling out in your sleep," he explained, his voice small. "And you were moving around a lot."
Ruby gave him a soft smile, though she wasn't sure how much he could see. "I know," she finally said. "But now that I'm awake, I know there's nothing to be frightened of. It was just a silly dream."
She thought he still looked unsure as he stood by her bed. "Why don't you get back into your warm bed and I'll tuck you in?" she said as she pulled back her quilts and brought her feet to the floor.
She could see just enough to make it across the couple of feet that separated her bed from his, and she heard him sink into the mattress.
"Will you be okay?" he asked quietly, and Ruby felt her chest ache even more.
"Of course I will," she said in her most soothing voice. "Especially since I have you here to protect me. You will protect me, won't you?"
She barely caught the movement of his nod, but it was there. She brought the quilts up to his chin and kissed his forehead. "Sweet dreams, August," she murmured.
Then, she hopped into her own bed, grateful for the warmth that hadn't completely disappeared. She blinked back tears as fear still gripped her heart, her nightmare feeling all too real.
Tears of frustration welled up, also. Tears at the fact that she was still having such nightmares when she thought they'd run their course. Tears at how she must have scared August half to death.
Her heart went out to the boy in a strange way. In the darkness, in the middle of the night, he was just a child needing reassurance—the same child who still loved hearing his father tell him his favourite story.
She curled in on herself under the covers and hugged her swollen middle. She wasn't much for praying, but she prayed like she'd heard Archibald pray that August would be able to have a good sleep as she rubbed her abdomen. She vaguely wondered if she'd need to talk to the boy more in the morning, or if she'd need to explain things to Archibald. She hated the idea of telling him about her nightmares—it felt so childish, and she suspected he would worry about her—but she didn't have time to make her mind up about anything before she drifted off to sleep.
Archie was in the middle of getting dressed when a knock sounded at the door of the lean-to. "Mr. Hopper?" Ruby's light voice called through the door.
Archie scrambled to fasten his trousers before he swung open the door, his chest bare, fearing the worst. "What's wrong?" he blurted out, squinting at the blurry figure in front of him.
"Oh, uh—n-nothing," Ruby stuttered as she glanced down. "I only wanted to get any garments you might like me to wash. I was hoping to get things soaking before breakfast."
Archie tried not to shiver as he stood in the doorway. "Yes, of course." He glanced around the small space, a little messy with some clothing strewn about as he was in the middle of dressing. He shrugged on his shirt and grabbed his glasses, shoving them on the bridge of his nose before he straightened the edge of his shirt.
He grabbed at the other items that he knew he'd not be wearing and turned around to hand the armful to Ruby, barely taking a step in the small space.
"Thank you kindly," he said as he handed them to her.
She gave him a polite smile with a nod and pivoted to head back to the house.
"Wait!" he called before she could take another step. She turned around, her arms full, and Archie felt a pang of guilt for keeping her outside when he could see their breaths in the air. Still, this would be easier without August around.
"I just wanted to ask you something," he said as he took a couple of steps to close the distance between them. Her features fell, and he placed a hand on her arm before he thought better of it and pulled it back. "With winter almost here, I wanted to ask again if you wanted to visit your husband's grave. It's entirely up to you, but I just wanted to give you the opportunity since you won't be able to do so for awhile once the snow comes deep."
Ruby looked away and bit her lip, and Archie tried to ignore the thought that she looked right pretty with her cheeks nipped pink by the cold. No, she needed to get back inside.
"Did August say something to you?" she asked.
Now it was Archie's turn to be confused, and he furrowed his brow. "August? No, I haven't seen him this morning. What do you mean?"
Ruby shook her head and gave him a faint smile. "Nothing. I mean, well, it's not nothing. I might have startled him a bit last night when I had a bad dream, but I talked to him."
"Are you okay?" Archie asked, concern in his voice as he took a small step closer.
"I'm fine," she replied with a brighter smile that didn't quite convince him. He wanted to say more, but it was an odd conversation to have outside while she held a bundle of his clothing.
"Think about what you'd like to do," Archie said. "It's entirely up to you." He took a step backwards, lingering on his heel as he waited for her reaction.
"Yes—I will." She offered him a faint smile—more genuine—before she turned back and hurried around the house to the front door.
Archie shivered as he rushed back his little room. He didn't even bother to make his bed as he tucked in his shirt, grabbed his coat and hat, and rushed to join the others in the warmth of the house, ignoring the heat that bloomed across his cheeks and neck at the realization that Ruby had stumbled across him half dressed. Surely she hadn't noticed. Hopefully she hadn't noticed.
It didn't take long for Ruby to decide that yes, she wanted to visit her husband's—the father of her child's—grave. They set off the next day, at her insistence, and Archie wondered if she was afraid she'd reconsider if they left it too long. He remembered the fear in her eyes when he'd asked her over a month ago—the pain that clouded over her green eyes and took her to another realm for an instant before she shook her head and firmly told him "no".
For himself, Archie was glad to get the visit over with since the weather would be unforgiving soon enough, with little warning. If he was truly honest with himself, though, he was looking forward to the winter months ahead, with more evenings spent in the glow of the fire like the ones they'd already shared. His heart lifted at the thought of spending more time as a family, away from town, safe from the possibility of Ruby being reminded of her past.
That was selfish of him, he knew—more than he cared to admit.
After they'd left August with strict instructions about his chores and his lessons that he needed to complete—ensuring that he'd not get into mischief—Ruby and Archie sat together in silence, side-by-side on the wagon seat as Archie drove on. The midday sun, which would be hanging low in the sky, was hidden behind gray clouds, and the landscape felt particularly dreary with more mud and brown grass than snow. The wind was not too bitter, but the chill in the air still seeped into his bones, and Archie was glad for the red coat that Ruby hugged tightly around her with her arms crossed over her middle.
Archie kept his gaze fixed straight ahead as he drove Cleo towards the rough wooden cross poking out of the ground, barely visible beneath the stark branches of the tree that loomed overhead. The ache in his chest grew tight as he remembered when he first saw Ruby, hunched over the ground, soaked through, her hair clinging to her cheeks and neck with her eyes red and puffy. She was devastatingly beautiful and heartbroken, and Archie had prayed that he could help take away her pain, sending his silent request up to Heaven as he gathered the courage to make his proposition.
He stopped the wagon a few feet away from the grave with a gentle tug at the reins. He waited a moment before he spoke. "Would you like me to come with you or would you like to go alone?"
Ruby stared straight ahead, and Archie's breath hitched in his throat as he waited for her answer. "I think—I th-think I'd like to be alone," she said finally, her voice so quiet that Archie almost missed her words.
"Of course."
He hopped down and made his way to the other side of the wagon, reaching up to take her hand to help her down to the ground. "I'll be right here when you're ready," he said, and she nodded before she started in the direction of the cross with steady steps.
Archie leaned with his back against the side of the wagon, his gaze fixed unseeing on the horizon in the opposite direction of Ruby.
"Lord, please be with her," he breathed, closing his eyes. "You've helped bring her this far, but the wound is still so deep. Please, give her Your healing. Let her know Your peace." He took a deep breath before adding, "In Jesus' name, Amen."
Archie blinked away a few tears and climbed back into the seat of the wagon. He leaned forwards, his elbows resting on his knees, and he kept his gaze fixed on his hands, save for a glance every now and then towards the woman kneeling in the brown grass at the foot of the grave, her red coat a stark contrast to the dreary landscape.
After a little while, the clouds parted, allowing some sunlight to escape to touch the earth. It was oddly pretty, the pink-gold glow behind Ruby that cast long shadows of the tree and the cross reaching towards them.
Then, an image came to mind of two other graves, simple, made of stone, standing neatly beside each other as a matching pair. He swallowed the lump that rose in his throat and he tried to blink away the picture that fought to imprint itself on his mind.
He looked down and took a deep breath to expel the ghosts that threatened to haunt him. That was so long ago, and so much good had happened since then, he tried to tell himself.
He glanced up to see Ruby making her way towards him, and he jumped down to her side of the wagon. Her gaze was fixed on the ground, one arm across her middle as she wiped her cheeks dry with the other. She finally met Archie's gaze once she reached the wagon, and he tried to offer her a reassuring smile.
"I'm ready to go home," she said softly.
Archie nodded, caught between the way his heart lifted when she said "home" and the way his chest ached to see the pain so fresh in her eyes. Her grief was raw, and though Archie wished he could make it hurt less, he knew the process of healing. Like iodine on an open wound, the sting was unbearable at first, but it would make the healing all the more complete.
She took his hand and stepped up into the wagon, curling in on herself once she was seated. Archie raced to his side and climbed up, eager to return to the cabin where August was waiting for them—with the warmth of the fire and a hot dinner to be had.
With a flick of the reins and a click of his tongue, they were off.
The sun was almost below the horizon as they drove and Archie noticed Ruby shiver beside him. Thankfully, it was not very cold, but Archie knew the effect of grief, and so he carefully put one arm across Ruby's shoulders. He held his breath, unsure of her reaction, but his heart warmed when she leaned her head on his shoulder. He thought he heard a sniffle escape, and he fought the urge to press a kiss to the top of her head, despite the layers of her hood and bonnet.
He wished he knew what to say, but he suspected that words would only crack the moment of bittersweet serenity. And so, they drove the short distance back to the homestead in silence with her nestled in the crook of his arm, the pressure of her tucked up beside him making his heart ache even more.