Watching the dry twigs cast out their small spirals of smoke, their feet being licked by dancing orange flames drunk on the oxygen they drew all too quickly, Isabelle held out her hands to snatch some of their warmth. The day had started still and blue, the light tickle of the sun’s fingers on her exposed neck as she hung wet washing out on the clothesline. But in this last hour, a change had begun to send out an advance party from the north. Clouds of cotton candy escaping a distant carnival had at first skittered by, now being followed by a dense bank of sooty storm-clouds riding low on the coat-tails of an icy wind.
Isabelle shivered though was not sure it was through cold, for she was wrapped in a light grey cardigan against the settling chill. Emily had returned to the kitchen but she had sent her back up to get something warmer on. Isabelle turned at the sound of Emily’s light footfall signalling her return, seeing she had chosen a black coat that was still a little long in the arms, so that only the very tips of her fingers could be seen. She noticed that the fingernails poking out of the cuffs had all been nibbled right back, a habit she had though Emily had left behind some time ago.
While Emily had been upstairs, Percy had arrived home. He told her that Emily had seemed in high enough spirits and that though she may have been a little quieter than usual, he was reassured that there was no reason for undue concern. He had delivered Isabelle a light peck on the cheek with his hand resting on her elbow and told her there were a couple of things he need to be working on but that he would join her and Emily for lunch. As he had passed from the room and Isabelle heard the creaking of the stairs as he took them, seemingly untroubled and with his duties dispensed, she wondered if she was simply reading too much into things.
She decided the best thing to do would be to keep Emily nearby, to keep her occupied so she could keep her under a close watch. With Emily now returned to the kitchen, Isabelle tasked her with scrubbing the potatoes and preparing the table for the three of them.
They worked quietly, each making the odd reference to the weather or the tasks at hand, but mostly passing the time in silence. Normally Emily would have been restless by now, looking for ways to escape until she was called back for lunch, but she was instead going about her jobs with a methodical concentration, her normally gentle face setting tightly, a shadow falling across it and leaving her, Isabelle realised, almost unrecognisable.
The water over the fire had reached a rolling boil, the lid on the pot lifting and falling with a gentle clatter, puffs of steam lifting it on their search for escape. Isabelle had always been fascinated that something so slight, so insubstantial as steam – the same steam whose fingers would wisp around her face as she leant over the pot, leaving a damp warmth as it disappeared into nothingness – could get so worked up that it could, if only briefly, lift a solid, metal lid.
“Mother?” began Emily, breaking her from her steam-born spell.
“Yes darling?”
“I’ve been wondering. Is there any chance we might be able to go for a walk in the woods after lunch?”
Isabelle considered. While she would normally deem this weather to be far too unsettled to allow Emily to venture out, this might be just the breakthrough she needed to find out what was on her daughter’s mind. She knew walking was a good way to get talking, to go beyond the usual chatting and dig a little deeper.
“Let’s see how things look then, but I’ll keep it in mind and we’ll make sure we’re all rugged up if we do go.”
Emily smiled and Isabelle was heartened to see that she seemed the happiest she had for days. Perhaps everything was going to be okay after all.
