Sherrill and Marina - Never Enough Letters
I am tired, Beloved/of chafing my heart against/the want of you/of squeezing it into little inkdrops/And posting it.
Helping Marina up, Sherrill tried fruitlessly to brush the flour and dust from her clothes. Mostly she just longed to touch, any way at all, and she couldn't help but relish the sensation of running her hands over Marina again. All she really succeeded in doing was creating long brown and white streaks on her wife's sensible shirt and trousers.
"Leave it, Sherri," Marina tried to scold, but couldn't keep the smile from her face. Her own hands were flitting over the Clavat woman, stroking her arms, touching her hair, brushing over the new scar on her cheek with concern.
Loren crowded into the two, wrapping his arms around Sherri's leg and leaving a flour imprint shaped like that of a Lilty toddler on her dark, patched clothes. "Mom!" he said, pressing his face to her thigh. He burst into tears.
"Sweetling!" she exclaimed, reaching down to lift him to her hip. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder, she patted and rubbed his back. "I'm home, Loren! You don't have to cry!"
Their youngest only sobbed harder, and Marina reached up to stroke his soft red locks. "Must you always make the children cry?" she asked her partner with a weary smile.
Sherrill raised an unamused eyebrow in her direction, then turned to her one child who had yet to greet her. "Arro?" she asked, passing Loren to Marina, where his sobs were muffled and quieted on her familiar shoulder. "Could you give me a hug? I missed you."
Arro, who had hung back behind Marina, took a small step forward. Then he took another. Sherrill opened her arms and he half-ran, half-fell into her embrace.
He was her height now. She hadn't expected that of her twelve-year-old. His helmed head fit easily over her shoulder, she stroked the soft fur at the back of his neck, a gesture that had always soothed him.
"Mom," he said, and she hugged him tighter.
"I'm home," she told him.
His back quivered beneath her hands, but otherwise he gave no reaction. Pulling back, she looked into the dark slits of his visor. 'My baby,' she thought distantly. 'Already becoming the mysterious Yuke.' How long would it be before she didn't even know him anymore?
He seemed all right now, though he took and gripped her hand tightly, leading them all back to the house. Marina held her other hand, with Loren in her arms and Lena attached to Arro's other paw, and they set out. As Lena chatted eagerly about her latest school assignment, Sherrill leaned down to press her lips to Marina's temple.
"I did better at keeping in touch this year, right?" she asked hopefully. She'd not only doubled the letters she's written to her wife, but always included a second letter just for the kids.
"You did," Marina allowed, "But the accuracy of them was a little suspect."
Sherrill lifted her shoulders as if to say, what can you do? "The original pace would have had us here then, but we all wanted to get home."
Marina hummed acknowledgement but otherwise said nothing, allowing the children to fill the silence and enjoy their combined attention. Still, Sherrill couldn't help but glance at her occasionally. Had she said something wrong?
The house in sight, Sherrill drew Marina aside, taking Loren from her arms and setting him down. "Go get out two things you want to show me!" she called to the children, then sent him running with a gentle swat to his behind. He giggled, then went to catch up with his older siblings.
Taking both of Marina's hands, she looked at the Lilty until Marina at last met her eyes. "Sweetheart, dearest, Lilty of my life, what's wrong?"
Escape was not an option; Sherrill's grip, though gentle, was nigh unbreakable. Marina leaned into her wife's strong shoulder, sighing at the comfort she found in the gesture. A deep breath, and she inhaled the mingled scents of dust, sweat, wildflowers, and cinnamon scented soap: Sherri's scent. It was so good to have her home, so wonderful to feel the sudden surge of love in her heart when she finally saw her face. But were the wonderful feelings of homecoming enough?
"You did really good at writing us this year," Marina reiterated. "But Sherri...even if you wrote every day, there would never be enough letters."
Sherrill kissed Marina suddenly, a hungry, desperate gesture. "I know," she whispered, the loneliness of the previous year not yet gone. Perhaps in a week she would feel whole once more. "Mari, I'm sorry." There was so much to be sorry for. Sorry for not being there. Sorry that the path her life had taken meant that it seemed she was always leaving. Sorry for missing so much.
With a shake of her head, Marina drew back and kissed her sweetly. "Sherri, I love you. You don't have to be sorry. You think I didn't know what I was getting into, all those years ago? I knew what it meant to fall in love with a caravanner." Once again she reached up to touch the red streak of a scar that newly lined Sherrill's cheek. "Duty before love. Duty before everything."
"Mama!" Lena poked her head out the front door, and was that a tomahawk in her hand? Sherrill's eyes widened, she looked to Marina, who just shrugged and grinned. "Mom! Come on!"
Though she was exhausted, though she'd walked thousands of leagues to be here, Sherrill ran to the porch, taking the three steps in one go. "All right, sweetlings," she said, holding open the door for her wife to follow, "Show me what you've been up to all year."