Page 112 of Dearest Beast
The only occupation he had ever truly wanted but would never be permitted to hold.
Thus Roger did the one thing he could do in the situation. He offered his arm to lead her to the door, like a proper person should.
“So this is it?” he asked as they drew closer to the exit, the sun shining behind Lopez, who was waiting to assist.
“It is,” she said firmly with another nod as they approached the door. She paused, turning back to him, holding the rose to her cheek—his rose. “I’ll see you… at Lira House most likely. For Shabbos or a holiday.”
The words were on the tip of his tongue. The ones that begged her to stay once more. But they’d already been said. And they weren’t enough. And thus, he forced them down from whence they came.
“I’ll make sure I say hello,” he told her instead, as she crossed over the threshold, out of his house, and out of his life.
Someone should remind the Berab staff to clean the carriage after it returned to the house, as it was incredibly dusty, most likely from ferrying all the trunks of household goods, including a host of newly bought items they probably didn’t need, to the house on Mitre Street. It irritated her eyes to no end the entire ride. So much so, Rebecca could barely see when the vehicle came to a stop, and the coachman assisted her down.
After stuffing Roger’s rose in her bag as she could no longer bear to view it, she rubbed her eyes, which were now almost certainly red and irritated, as she treaded toward the door.
“I see that everything and everyone is mended,” a voice behind her stated, making Rebecca jump.
Whirling around, she found Isabelle standing behind her, swathed in so much fur, she put Rose to shame, and Hannah Weiss, of all people at her side.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, just as Molly, her housekeeper—apparently having arrived far earlier than expected—swung the door open, beckoning them inside.
Brushing off the snow, her friends shed their outer garments, while Rebecca took stock in the entryway.
It was good to be home. Even if she had to keep reminding herself of it. Rebecca wiped her eyes with her sleeves and pulled the door shut behind her friends.
“We’ve come to verify that your home is repaired, that Roger Berab fulfilled his duties, and to demonstrate how well your teas worked on Hannah,” Isabelle said, waving a hand toward the other woman. “Why else would we be here?”
Rebecca avoided her gaze.
“Though I’m also concerned he fulfilled more than the ones we’ve discussed,” her friend added, giving Rebecca a lingering look, which made her blush.
“Isabelle,” she admonished, glancing toward the housekeeper, who was still behind them.
Thankfully, however, if Molly heard the comment, she ignored it.
“How about I have the cook prepare tea and a few pastries for you and your friends?” she said instead, indicating the front parlor, with its gleaming new furniture and polished wood, much finer than what they’d had before but not garish. No, it was in a playful blue flowered pattern that was actually quite lovely.
Hannah did not need to be asked twice, plopping herself down.
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Isabelle called, moving next to her as Rebecca ran a hand down the arm of a chair, recalling all the questions Roger asked and the detailed papers of specifications he kept handing Lopez. It was perfect. And somehow, he knew.
No, he listened. To everything.
The three sat in an amiable silence until Molly returned with the refreshments.
As Isabelle poured, Rebecca reached out and grabbed a piece of mandelbrot, letting the sweet, crisp dough melt on her tongue.
This was right. This place. This was her life. She’d been content here, and she could be again. Even if more matters changed. Rebecca glanced at both women’s abdomens, her throat once again tight. Happy. She was happy for them. She truly was.
“Do we need more refreshments?” Isabelle asked as Hannah helped herself to a third pastry.
“I apologize,” the woman said, her mouth still slightly full. “This is the first week I’ve been able to keep anything down.”
Right. Quickening was approaching. Something she knew. Something she understood.
“Molly shall bring more,” Rebecca assured her, and the housekeeper rushed to obey.
After she exited the room, Isabelle cleared her throat and straightened in her seat, appearing more and more like her formidable grandmother with every passing moment. “Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?”
