Atlas cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Your turn next.”
Alfie raised a hand, waved, and disappeared around the corner.
And Atlas missed him. Silly thought, indeed, but as he plucked a leaf out of his hair and pulled his upper half back inside, he could not forget the sight of the side of the house as Alfie had leapt out of it, leaving it empty, gray.
“What does he mean?” Clara asked. “About stumping you? And what is it his turn to do?”
“Rhymes. Alfie keeps looking for a word I can’t rhyme with. I haven’t told him aboutmonthyet.”
Clara settled against the window frame opposite him, a soft smile on her lips, and Atlas’s heart thumped in a new rhythm, a waltz that moved in triple time. Three beats. One heart. He’d never shared his rhymes with anyone so easily before, but… that boy, so fierce and free. Atlas had begun hoarding rhymes to make him laugh.
Clara’s hand crept into his, and she tugged him toward the door. “Come. You must be famished.” She held his hand down the stairs and released it only to help his mother unpack the noon meal, her smiles broken up by gaping yawns.
By the time the food had been spread and the women sat with him at the old table, beaten and covered with a drop cloth, he swam once more in a sea of uneasiness.
Did his nightmares ruin her sleep?
He wanted only to take good care of this woman and child, but he had saddled them with a broken protector. He’d chosen rooms so far away from the rest of the family to protect them from his nightmares, yet now Clara slept right next to them. Hedid not wish to ruin her sweet dreams with his sour ones. And he could not take his usual comfort from the pianoforte when he woke sweaty and haunted in the darkest hours of the night. Not with a bed partner who might wake, not with a child sleeping one door down who might also be roused from needed sleep.
He managed to slather butter on a chunk of bread and swallow a bite before the door swung open, revealing Raph. He blinked in the dim light of the dower house then sat next to Atlas.
“Cheese, Raphael?” their mother asked.
“No. I’ve come to speak with Atlas.”
“What is it?” Atlas asked.
“I’ve decided to visit the old dairy tomorrow. To see if we can make improvements there, expand possibly. I’d like you to come with me. I’ll need your advice.”
“Ah.” Atlas stretched out his bad leg, pushed his fingers into the scar tissue to relax it. “Ride?”
“Naturally, it’s a bit of a distance.”
Damn. He could manage short rides, but longer ones gave him trouble. By the end of the day, he’d not only be in pain, he’d be exhausted from hiding it. He rubbed his hand up and down his thigh. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and spread his legs wide, lifted his chin. “I’d rather walk.”
“Would take too long. Will you come or not? In the afternoon.”
Couldn’t say no. Couldn’t let his brother down. Riding out with Raph wouldn’t even have been a question had he not been wounded. He wouldn’t let it be a question now.
A hand appeared on his thigh, fingers flirting with the edge of his scar. Clara studied him. “Are you sure, Atlas?”
“I am. Unless it will be an imposition on you. My taking half a day for Raph?”
“No imposition.” She spoke to the muscle of his injured thigh. “Do asyouneed.”
“Excellent.” Raph slapped a hand on the table and stood. “I’ll see everyone for dinner.”
As the door shut behind his brother, Atlas grunted and turned back to his plate. The bread tasted like sawdust, but he forced himself to eat it all.
“Are you sure, Atlas?” Clara squeezed his thigh. “If you are hu?—”
“I’m positive.” He glanced at his mother who watched them closely. “Of course I am. There’s no reason for me not to go if you do not need me here.” He removed her hand from his thigh, and a trick of his imagination almost made him believe it hurt worse than before without her touch.
His mother’s brows rose slowly toward her hairline. “Is something amiss, Atlas? Something I should know about?”
“Nothing whatsoever, Mother.” He sipped his small beer, looking for distractions. “Where’s Alfie?”
“He ran past the door earlier,” his mother said. “I tossed him a bundle of bread and cheese, and he took off with it. Such a wonderfully precocious child.” She chuckled. “Were you precocious, Clara?”
