HER
The air is cold, the stairs creaking beneath me as I work my way down to the kitchen to find my usual nightly distractions.
Low voices drift from the servants' hall, and my heart lurches. I freeze.
I assumed everyone would be asleep, and if I get caught down here this late, there will be questions.
I move to go back upstairs when I hear it—a baby.
The sound is so out of place, so unexpected, that my feet carry me toward it before I can stop them. When I round the doorway to the servants' hall, I am greeted by a strange scene.
"What on Earth is going on here?"
Aleksi is awkwardly stretched, eyes frantic, trying to block my view of something behind him, his large frame covering nearly everything. I narrow my eyes, suspicious, before I catch a glimpse of a tattered, wet shoe.
Aleksi's face—though at first fearful—now settles into a sort of wariness. If he wasn't hiding a stranger behind his back, I would assume our recent shouting matches were the cause.
"Nothing."
"How convincing," I snap, and at that moment I hear it again—the distressed cry of a baby—which I now realize is coming from a small bundle in Adah's arms.
I don't know what to do.
Aleksi still stands protectively in front of the person, undecided as to whether or not he should trust me. Adah is desperately working with the person behind Aleksi to stop the baby's fussing.
I should leave. I know I should. It would be easier if I did.
I sigh.
Slowly, I step over the threshold and into the room, trying to make my way over to the cowering figure behind Aleksi.
But he doesn't budge. All the anger and hurt I've felt comes to the surface.
"Move." My voice comes out cold and flat as I stand a hair's width away from him, craning my neck to see his face.
His eyes search mine, trying to discern if I'll report them or not. My heart pangs hollowly at his hesitance. We may never be able to be friends again, but it hurts that he would doubt my intentions.
I don't wait for him to decide I'm not worth it.
Pushing past him, my shoulder hits his arm—and, as if nothing has changed, a spark shoots up my arm.
I swallow my frustration and try to focus.
A thin, soaked woman looks up at me with fearful, teary eyes. The baby now lays quiet in her bony arms.
Her whole being conveys hollowness—the dips in her cheekbones, the skin clinging to every knuckle. She looks how I feel.
I know immediately what I have to do.
HIM
I can't help but stare at her. My heart is pounding in my ears and I can't seem to think straight.
She's not wearing her uniform.
She's wearing a thin, white nightgown and a thick beige shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
Her hair isn't in its usual tight bun, but in a loose braid over one shoulder.
When she was staring up at me—so small and angry—it took all my concentration to not grab the end and run it through my fingers. To not wrap it around my hand. To not let my traitorous eyes wander across the thin material of her night clothes.
My throat is on fire, and I stare stupidly at her as she talks in quick, quiet words to the woman and Adah.
Limonskiy.
Adah hurriedly brushes past me as Limonskiy continues to address the woman and the baby.
I still haven't moved a muscle.
Work brain, work.
But no matter how hard I try—all I can see is her.
HER
Adah returns quickly with the items I requested.
I take the warm bowl of water, bandages, and alcohol from her. I slowly take off the woman's—Harriet's—shoes, which are painfully fused to her skin. Gently, I place her icy, red feet into the warm bowl of water. I look up at her from my place on the floor and smile softly.
"I had Adah bring some fresh clothes and blankets for you and Charlie. I have an empty bed in my room; you can take that to sleep."
Tears slip down Harriet's cheeks.
"I couldn't possibly, and—and Charlie won't sleep." Her voice is reedy and high as she refuses—breaking on the hard sounds.
I'm shaking my head before she is even done, and I continue in my best placating tone.
"I'll stay up with him, don't worry—I've looked after babies before."
She only sobs in response, gratefulness radiating off her in waves.
I want to get her upstairs as fast as possible—get her bathed, changed, and warm. But it proves to be difficult because her muscles are aching and cold.
Aleksi—as always—solves the problem by simply scooping her up.
His long legs carry him up the stairs faster than Adah and I, even with the extra weight.
When we catch up to him, he's standing in front of my bedroom door—frozen.
Bad memories pelt me like the rain outside. A drunk, forceful man.
Loud banging. And him. My rescuer.
Here we are again. On the same side of the door, and yet further apart than ever.
Is he remembering it too?
God, how different things would be if that night never happened.
A dull ache throbs in my chest as I shake the useless thoughts away.
I go to open the door and my shoulder presses into his side. The dull ache turns sharp—ruthless—as I break the contact, leaving his warmth and venturing into the cold darkness of my room.
HIM
She opens the door to her room so easily for me. As if she hasn't hated me for months.
I can't go in. Not like this. Not when we aren't even friends.
I'm about to take a step back when Adah pushes me across the threshold.
I look around, holding my breath, waiting for the reprimand.
It has almost nothing to signify it's hers—and yet I find myself in awe.
Her space.
I almost fall to my knees. Everything smells of her. It's mixed with the cold, fresh smell of the rain—but I would recognize it anywhere.
Limonskiy.
I want to linger, to gaze at her few personal objects, to sit with her, to see her smile—at ease.
The woman I never should have doubted. Who would take a cold, penniless woman and her baby into her room expecting nothing in return. Who feeds sparrows her favourite bread.
The woman who I miss more than I should.