Chapter 43: Vows

"The leaves are beginning to fall," Hajule mentioned, meaning an innocent comment on the passing seasons. "We'll have piles of orange and red in no time."

Larmie, in the middle of raking pea shells, stretched his back. "Should we go somewhere, to celebrate? We've got a little extra cash with the excellent harvest. With Jamie away at training, the cost of it all should be halved."

His wife laughed. "Don't tease. He'll be off on his important work before you know it, and we'll see who's laughing then."

"No one, dear." He kept sweeping. "We could go see a lake to the south, or explore a fancy city in Sina, or visit Karmen and Lana."

"Oh, Lana sent me a lovely letter last week. Their neighbor's dog had eight puppies—can you imagine it?—and they're taking two, brothers, with black and brown streaks. She said they're prettier than flying kites, chasing squirrels around the hills." Hajule paused and focused on her fingers; she picked out a stubborn, tiny sticker nestled under her nail. She huffed as it bore deeper and winced as the dull spikes ripped at tender spots. "That's a close trip, too. We haven't been up to their home since Jamie was a baby. They've always come here."

"That's because mountains are frigid and overrated, and Karmen's always longing for something warmer."

"Don't be silly. Lana moved there for him, remember?"

"I don't." Larmie kissed the top of her head and hefted the full bag over his shoulder, a slight groan escaping his mouth. "The mountains it is. A month would be enough time to finish what's not done here, you think?"

"Mm. What do you think, dear? Or is winter setting in too rough terrain?" Hajule tilted her head. "Dear?"

Edie, hearing her endearment for the first time, lifted her head halfway. "Ah…yes, that all sounds fine." She blinked, replaying the conversation. "Mountains, Karmen and Lana…the terrain should be fine. I came down in late autumn, after all, right?"

"Yes. Yes, you did." Hajule waved her hand at her husband, who pressed his lips together, turned, and went to stuff pillows. Edie, in the middle of peeling, went back to her work. The shells were tough fellows, but with some beating and an oil treatment, they made decent stuffing, enough for people who were just now getting used to life with half the sheep. The latest harvest really set in the reality that some things just wouldn't be the same, at least until those Scouts found a way to reclaim Maria. Less cows meant less meat, of course, but also half the milk, cheese, butter, and lard. Less sheep meant no more frivolous lambchops, but also no more luxurious mattresses. Consumers protested change at first, preferring to sleep on the floor or supplement garden grass with wool, but time chips away at pride more than any argument. This season, the Cartwells courted thirty-two mattress orders, content to sleep on tightly packed pea shells inside reused canvas molds, recycled from huge feed bags. Perhaps the need was truly that great, or perhaps Hajule's stitched flowers on the corner made a bare necessity seem elegant. A bearable, noteworthy sacrifice; selflessness from the commonest folk.

"I think getting away will be good for you, for all of us. There's a lot of memories wrapped up in our work, and we can't get away from it, you know. Even a little thing like being near the stables brings back so many memories, but pain doesn't mean we can't use the barn anymore, now, does it?" Hajule shook her head, and Edie joined the dance. "And mountains—that should bring back memories, shouldn't it? Karmen especially has been begging all of us to come for a visit, to show you around the cabin and get Larmie to help him with some bigger jobs. Their neighbors are few and far between, you know? Corini needs some practice in administrative work, and Tinnul will keep him on the straight and narrow. They won't object to staying in the master house for a few weeks while we're away. We won't have a care in the world, up in those mountains. Doesn't that sound nice?"

"Yes." A cavernous sound echoed. "That sounds nice."

Hajule pushed back a swash of hair. "It's getting so long, you know. Not that your hair was ever particularly short, but…have you thought about getting it cut shorter? I know some young ladies like to grow it out in case…well, no case in particular, but now that things are…different, perhaps we might do more than just a trim this time around. You'll be stepping on it before the year is up, I imagine."

Edie scarcely nodded, her hands still scraping. "Maybe."

"Getting out of here will do you good, I think. It always did me good to step back when things weren't perfect at home, just to clear my head and think about something other than…well, whatever wasn't right." Hajule took the shells out of her hand, and her daughter's arms hung limp. "It's been about a month, dear."

"I know."

"And, as much as we might wish it…I don't think he's coming to apologize."

"I…I knew that."

Hajule threw back her head, taking up the work. "perhaps that's the military spirit in him, never admitting defeat and all that. I'll tell you, if Jamie ever tries to pull that kind of attitude, he'll have a behind pinker than a sunset sky." Edie broke a laugh at that, and her mother lifted her chin. "Speaking of a sunset sky, why don't you take the evening to clear your head? You've been working far too much the last few weeks—I know to keep your mind off things but look at your lovely fingers!" she turned over Edie's palm, where sharp nettles had snagged and stubborn roots had strained. "We'll get some ointment from Carver tomorrow…some bandages, too. Some of these are quite deep."

"Alright."

"Now, go. Go take some time to yourself."

"Okay."

Hajule went to help her husband (he never stuffed the covers tight enough, for her liking), and Edie set off walking. She thought about turning back to employ Larmie's horse, after fifteen minutes and little progress, but the cooler air and closing forest pulled her in. The walk was much longer than a quick ride, where you could be at the solitary lake in ten minutes, easy. Thirty minutes later, and she finally entered the forest. Towering trees took a low harmony, their leaves brushing against one another in a swifter wind, and smaller bushes sang a higher note, with the wind whistling through curled foliage. She wondered how many times she missed this symphony, because of Jamie's chatter or her own rush to get someplace alone. Nature never let you wallow alone.

The little pond rippled a hello, and she waved back, without thinking. She scaled the rope ladder and lingered in the treetop cabin for a moment. Her fingers ran on the dusty windowsill, leading onto the lean branch where she and Jamie had spent too many afternoons. Some dirt fell on the thick limb, but others danced in the neon dusk, shimmying from one sunbeam to the next. With this kind of sunset, she wondered if Wall Rose would be in sight. The evening was clear enough.

Carefully, she climbed through the window and onto the branch, walking until it was too thin for comfort. She settled on a fork, where either direction was thin enough for leaves, and stared at the burning sun. Sure enough, the star was cut in half, as the top demanded to give life to the remnant, and the bottom relented to the restrictive wall.

Edie gazed upon the scene for a while, then closed her eyes and saw it all the same. Her hand rested behind, on a smooth patch of wood, and a memory mixed with the setting. Her hands were lain on a table behind her, holding lightly onto the kitchen table—hers? His?—as someone stood closer, comfortably, and whisked away with a cold wind. Her forehead creased, and she swallowed. The sunset remained in her mind's view.

I never asked for anything, she reasoned, looking to convince her eyes to dry, and things were fine. I never asked for this—it was a gift, a reward. I was content. I knew my lot. Why, then? Why?

Another table, a rougher one. He was closer, unwelcome. His breath smelled of bitter coffee, from the days before tea was discovered to be a safer choice, at least for them. His hands weren't wrapped around her waist affectionately but curled to strike.

This is our lot in life, they chanted. You can never be what you aren't.

"Are you cold?"

Edie jerked forward, as she had those years ago, expecting to dodge the attack by ducking under and ricocheting off the wall. But her eyes flew open, and there was no wall to grab onto, nor any table behind her. She was well of it and falling. Desperately, she turned and reached for the forked branch. The rough bark cut into a tender spot on her palm, and with a yelp, she let go and fell.

Close your eyes, she commanded herself. Don't let them see your fear when they find you.

A half second passed in midair, when a hand suddenly grabbed her wrist, and she hung. Edie's eyes opened with a start, and a frenzy ran up her spine as the ground swung, left and right, some twenty meters down. The curled sopranos below sang a new song now, or one she'd misheard. Fall, fall, fall. We're sweet, we're soft—we'll catch you.

Edie's head swung around, upwards. "Levi—" A choked gasp escaped. "Don't—let go."

He groaned. "Likewise." His opposite hand gripped one of the forked branches, and he began hefting himself up. "Damn it. I convinced myself to leave ODM on base."

"What a day to be out of uniform." Her mind cleared as the situation steadied, and she took a deep breath. "Can you hold on if I shift my weight a bit?"

"Grab the other branch?"

"Yeah."

"Go for it."

She swung her torso to the left, then the right, then lurched up. Her fingers curled around the free branch, and the two clambered up, then to safer, thicker logs. Edie hunched over, hands splayed on the wood, still gasping for air. It was no strike, no threat—just a voice. There was no threat. The panic subsided, the adrenaline left, and she realized the captain was gently rubbing her back.

"I should have coughed," he muttered. "Something less…" He reached out and turned over her trembling wrist. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing."

His fingers ran over the scratches, agitated by the climbing. "What have you done to yourself?" he murmured.

"Harvest season is trying, I'll admit, but…" Words failed as he tore the hem off his shirt and wrapped it gingerly around her palm. The excess tucked expertly and left her wounds covered and comforted. Edie swallowed. "You've done this hundreds of times."

"Regrettably."

She studied his handiwork for a moment, then leaned away. "What are you doing here? And not just here, but here, here. I didn't tell Hajule where I was going."

"Yeah." Levi stared at the sunset, coaxing the new frays. "I meant to come sooner, but…"

"I'm sorry," she blurted. "It wasn't fair to—right then, but I…I didn't realize—"

"It's fine," he said, a melancholy cloud in his eyes. "You've never lied to me. Why start now?"

Her eyes fluttered for a moment, then set on the horizon. The sun had sunk more in their escapade, with only the top quarter battling the wall's crest. The colors changed from a golden yellow to a waning pink and orange. The hour for warm feelings had passed, and night would encompass the world soon. Light was a funny thing. It was easy to feel happy, romantic, and bubbly when the world was lit up, even in the dark when twinkling stars reflected on wet pavements, and depression crept in unnoticed, yet so naturally, when overcast skies and cloudy nights kept the sun from her due diligence. Wind could be driven or disastrous, rain welcome or scorned, depending on how bright the day decided to be. And this wind was biting, treacherous; what a foul enemy the night turned out to be. A shiver erupted, but she bit her tongue and tightened her jaw; she'd die before ruining the quiet. It wasn't her place to speak first—she felt that was truer than most.

The wind was thwarted. Levi set his coat, a woolen black one, on her shoulders. The collar grazed her cheek, and a scent wrapped around her nose. A tear escaped as the contentment collapsed. The wound on her palm throbbed in the dropping temperature, so she stuck them in the pockets. A few scraps of paper there struck her attention, so she pulled them out. Various lines were scrawled in ink, most crossed out and illegible. She made out a few lines—

If there's anything I've said or done to indicate that—all the words after 'said' were crossed out. All I'm asking for is an explanation—everything after 'is' was scribbled violently. Anything I can do—the sentence wasn't finished.

Edie blinked and looked up; Levi stared at the horizon. As she looked to the horizon herself, he turned to see her. As he looked to the pages, she looked at him, and they both then stared at the wood.

"I couldn't find the right words," he admitted. "You have that effect."

"Sorry." She folded the pages neatly and placed them back in the pocket. "And you're not the one who needs to offer any apologies."

"No, it was insensitive and in bad timing. You deserve someone to discuss it beforehand and get down on one knee, and all—regardless. If that's all the explanation there is, I…I understand."

"No, it's not that. You were so sweet, and it was—it was perfect."

Hope danced on his eyes, then blew away. "Your answer hasn't changed."

Edie bit her lip. "It…can't."

"Will you tell me why?"

"I'll…try."

"Thank you."

Edie crafted her first sentence, something like, "I really did think for a while that we might work, otherwise I wouldn't have let it go on for so long," but it sounded so calloused. She tried again, lifting her chin a little. "You mean the world to me, really. I can picture our life together, and it's good, but with the two of us, it wouldn't last. You understand, don't you?" No, she didn't even understand that. Another go, until it was just right, the final nail in the coffin, so the undead would never escape. "Don't take this as any attack on your character, or any part of you. You're wonderfully caring and attentive, and you pay attention to every little detail, but you don't just see them, you also do something about it, because unlike most everyone in the world, you know that little crevasses explode into huge caverns…" She ran her thumbnail along a scratch's scab, upending weeks' worth of healing.

"You know I never bought the amnesia story, right?"

She reassessed the setting sun—only an eighth, or a tenth, left. She smiled. "Yeah, you made that pretty clear."

"And I know that farming is a difficult and monotonous trade. Most people don't take it up unless they have to, or because it's in the family. But you picked this life, wholeheartedly. You're devoted to a family that's not rightly yours."

"Levi—"

"And I know exactly how that is. To find a family that doesn't belong to you and know, truth of all truths, that you're worth next to nothing without them, because whatever came before was so dastardly that you can't go back." He tilted his head and pushed back her hiding curtain of hair. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're not."

"I hope to hell that you never find out who I was before the Scouts, even though it's bound to resurface. And trust me, I'm…terrified that you'll despise me and leave. I half convinced myself that's why you ran."

"That's not why." Edie held his desperate hands still. "You've changed."

"So have you. And I think you've escaped it. But whether you have or not, whether your past resurfaces, I am not leaving. I know who you are, and nothing you've done could change that."

She huffed a laugh. "Oh, even if—"

"Even if you stolen, killed, buried—"

"Prostituted?"

Levi pressed his hand against her cheek. "I was afraid that might make the list. If you don't…trust me, to that degree—and I wouldn't blame you—then I will be satisfied, with what we shared, if you would accept it. I swear I won't ask for more."

"That's…not—" She pulled her hands away from his, eyes shining. "Look, I love you. Is that what you want to hear?"

"I didn't come to—"

"Well, I do," she blurted, and stood, putting a few feet between them. "I love you in a way I've never let myself before. Even when I was a child, everyone kept me at arm's reach, because that's a safe distance to care about someone. And I care, so much that it feels like I'll die from it, and self-preservation has scarcely crossed my mind." Her hands flew wildly with each thought, and she circled the small cabin in the trees. "But for once, just for once, I thought I'd get away from it all, escape, do something to help people on my own terms, and I did. But somewhere along that road, I met you, and I thought I could do something for…for myself, on my terms. But that something is to—to have you, closer."

He was closer. The captain had followed her pacing and stood as close as in memory. His voice quivered with hope. "Then this is what you want."

"Of course it is," she admitted. "Of course. You're—you—" She reached out, gripping his arm, keeping a foot between them. "But it would kill me if you were hurt on my behalf. I can't—I can't tell you all of it. Ever. There will always be a cavern of mystery, of lies."

"I can live with that."

"You deserve—"

He shot forward, before she could defend, and kissed her. He pulled away, hot breath leaving a cloud, and tossed back his head. "I'm sick of people telling me what I deserve. You, Erwin, Hange. Hell to what I deserve. Whatever happened to what I want?"

"I can't give you what you want."

"Why? Why can't we both be content to have someone who understands?"

"Of course, we'd be happy now. I've no doubts of now."

"What, then? What do I deserve so badly that someone else would have?"

He was too close, far too close for comfort. She placed a hand on his cheek. "Levi, I…" She bit her lip. "I can't have children."

Levi blinked. "What?"

"Hundreds of thousands of women in the walls, and you fell in love with the one girl…" She huffed a sorry laugh. "It's all wrapped up in things I'd rather not talk about, and it's not something new. I really thought that you'd move on in a month or so, which is why I didn't say anything at first. But, yes, you deserve to come home to a quiet, normal home, and have a legacy left behind, but I…" Her expression morphed into annoyance, and she punched his arm. "Are you laughing at me?"

The captain nodded, still holding on tight. "Oh, you're magnificent," he breathed, and kissed her again.

Edie pushed him away in disgust. "Are you insane?"

"I'm sorry," he managed, still laughing. "Edie, I couldn't care less about any of that. Normalcy, kids, all of that."

"You might say that now, but I know people, and I know men. All men care about their legacy."

"I'm goddamn lucky to be alive right now. Nearly half of everyone I knew as a kid is dead, and the other half are set to die in a few years. Besides, do you really want to bring a child into this mess of an earth?"

"I don't know. Nature can be pretty forgiving."

Levi controlled himself, but he was beaming still. "I won't joke. But I didn't ask some picturesque future to marry me. I want you, Edie, here and now, not some idle man's dream of a back porch and grandkids running around in the grass. I want to come home to someone who can look in my eyes and be there for me. You always have, in the best and the worst. That's what I want, Edie. Do you?"

She tilted her head and stared into his eyes. "Yes."

"Then trust me." He slid his hand behind her back and held her close. "Trust me to never ask. Trust me to take in all in strides and trust me to stay. I swear, I will spend my whole life proving that I'm worthy of that belief."

A few more tears spilled out, and she wiped them with the back of the makeshift bandage. You kept him at arm's length, for sure. And look where that got us. He won't stay away. With that thought, for the first time in years, a hopeful fire lit in her soul. He won't stay away. He'll—stay.

He'd gotten down on one knee without her realizing it. He pulled out the ring, none the lesser, and held it lightly.

"Will you, Edie Cartwell, no one else, please take my hand? Will you trust me to protect you from all the shit inside of the walls, as well as out?"

"Cussing? In your proposal?"

"You have my drafts, remember."

She laughed, truly and heartily, for the first time in a month. "There's no one else like you, Captain Levi of the Scouts."

"And what of you?"

She grinned. "Yes. Yes." The ring slid on her finger, and he picked her up effortlessly. "Yes."