A/N: I struggled with this update. I cannot get Moira to warm up to Charles. Not yet, anyway. Hope you enjoy!
Tavey stops the cart in front of a low-slung limestone farmhouse with a slate roof, well-kept and neat. There are a few chickens diligently pecking the grass and an orange tabby is curled in the sunny spot at the bottom of the worn stone steps. A tall, angular woman wearing a brilliant white apron steps through the door, shading her eyes against the sun. He feels Elsie sit straighter and he straightens his shoulders, mimicking his wife unconsciously. Elsie's sister, Moira, he's sure of it, smooths the front of her apron and smiles a greeting. It's clear she's pleased to see Elsie, but there's a note of apprehension as well, a recognition of the unknown. Tavey jumps down from the cart and sprints to the back to retrieve the bags. Charles comes to himself then, steps down from the cart and turns to help Elsie down. She smiles down at him reassuringly, squeezes his hand. He smiles in reply, a weak, watery thing, but it's the best he can do. He's not been this nervous since he proposed. Ridiculous.
"Well, I brought 'em, Mam, and in one piece, as you see. Auntie Els is blooming, and..."
"Enough of that nonsense, lad." Moira cuts him off before he can say anything else. "Make yourself useful and take those bags into the spare room. Then you can run and get your Da. It'll be time to eat soon."
Elsie steps in before things can get worse. If they can get any worse, she thinks darkly. What must Charles think? "Moira, may I present my husband, Mr. Carson." Her voice doesn't waver a bit. Why should she be nervous? She's a grown woman, for heaven's sake. Moira's not her mam, after all.
Charles steps forward smoothly. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Brodie. I hope you'll call me Charles."
Moira nods stiffly. "Aye, I will, and you'll call me Moira. Won't you come in? No need to stand in the yard." She turns abruptly and enters the house. Elsie turns to Charles and pulls a face; he nearly laughs aloud, then with a formal bow he ushers her into the house.
*CE*
They are all seated around a table that is practically groaning with food: stewed chicken, broiled mutton, potatoes, turnips and greens, apple preserves, bannock. His plate is piled high; he's afraid to refuse anything that Moira has served him. He'd even eat haggis if he thought it would help. He glances at Elsie, who looks so cool and dignified and yet happy and relaxed. This is a different Elsie and he's grateful for the chance to see her like this, surrounded by her family. Donal is a kind man, warm and welcoming. He's made Charles feel welcome, at home here in this lovely old farmhouse whose stone was laid by Elsie's great-great grandda. And Tavey; Tavey's such a handsome lad, so full of life, making sly asides that cause them laugh in spite of themselves. His wife Janet is a lovely young lass and he thinks of what Elsie must have been at her age, what they might have been together, but this is no time for thoughts like those. They have a child, a young son, whose face he saw peeping around his mother's skirts. He curses himself for forgetting peppermints. He always used to carry peppermints in his pockets for the young ladies. He must be getting soft in the head to forget something like that. Perhaps they'll walk to the village tomorrow and he can make a purchase or two. Conversation is dragging now, and the silence is not uncomfortable, but it is not yet companionable. Not yet.
Donal pushes back from the table. "So, Charles, would you like to see some of the place?"
Charles puts his fork down immediately and pushes his chair back. "I would, Donal, very much." Elsie looks up at him, a question in her eyes. He smiles down at her, squeezes her shoulder. "I would very much enjoy seeing the farm."
"Alright, then. Ladies, we'll take our leave. Coming, Tavey?"
"Oh, aye, Da. I'll be along directly."
The two men leave, Donal letting Charles go first through the door, telling him a bit about the acreage, the livestock as they walk through the house. Elsie looks after them with fondness, only the merest trace of a frown. Tavey reaches around to kiss her on the cheek. "Don't worry, Auntie. He'll be fine. I'll look after 'im meself."
"Your cheek, Tavey! Mr. Carson's been on a farm before, for heaven's sake. Go along with you." She stands and begins to clear the table.
Tavey laughs, chucks his young son under the chin and makes to leave. "Can I go with you Da?"
"Sure. At least to the barn, lad." He looks at Janet. "If it's alright with your mam."
Janet smiles affectionately at the boy's pleading face. "Be off, then, the pair of you. We've work to do in here."
They don't need to be told twice and the women laugh at the picture they make. Elsie starts carrying dishes to the kitchen.
"Now, then," says Moira, "we can have a proper talk."