Chapter 4 - A Place Called Home
The guest room had been waiting years for a guest.
It held a narrow bed, a small dresser, and enough dust on the windowsill to make Betsy draw a line through it with one finger. Felix opened the window while she settled Apollo on the bed.
“I’ll clean it,” he said.
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“You’ve given us a room.”
“It still needs cleaning.”
By afternoon, the dust was gone. Betsy had washed the sheets, and Felix had found a wooden cradle in the loft above the shed. One leg was cracked and the rails were loose. He carried it down as though presenting evidence of a mistake.
“I can fix it,” he said.
“I can see that.”
“You sound doubtful.”
“You’re holding three pieces that used to be one leg.”
“That’s the part I’m fixing.”
Betsy smiled. Felix pretended not to notice how much that small expression changed the room.
He spent the morning at the workbench, fitting new wood and sanding every edge until Apollo could touch it safely. Every few minutes he crossed the yard to check on the baby. If Apollo was awake, Felix stayed until the little cries eased and Betsy could feed him.
By evening, the cradle stood beside the guest bed. Betsy ran a hand along its smooth rail.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
“It’s sturdy.”
“It can be both.”
Felix examined a corner joint that needed no further attention.
Life made space for them in small ways. Betsy moved a second mug onto the kitchen shelf. Felix cleared the empty hooks by the door for her shawl. She began cooking supper while he finished the outdoor work.
The first meal she made was a vegetable stew. Felix ate two bowls.
“You didn’t have to do this,” he told her.
“You bought the vegetables.”
“I grew them.”
“That counts.”
He could not argue with her while his mouth was full.
Apollo required more patience. Felix learned how to change a cloth without losing track of the baby’s hands, how to keep the cradle moving with one broad finger, and how to tell a hungry cry from an angry one. His first attempt at fastening a fresh cloth came undone before he reached the door.
Betsy found him holding Apollo at arm’s length, looking deeply offended.
“I repaired a plow this morning,” Felix said. “This has fewer parts.”
“It also moves.”
Apollo kicked. The cloth slipped farther.
Betsy laughed, and Felix looked at her. He had heard her speak in fear and in anger. Her laughter was something new.
She showed him how to tuck the corners. This time he did it himself.
“There,” she said. “He approves.”
Apollo sneezed.
“That sounded uncertain,” Felix said.
At night, the household grew quiet except for the wind in the eaves and Apollo’s occasional call. Felix slept downstairs, close enough to hear him. He woke at every sound. Betsy would often find him already halfway up the stairs, one hand on the railing, before she had left her room.
“You can sleep,” she told him one morning.
“I did.”
“You’re wearing yesterday’s trousers.”
“They still fit.”
She gave him a look that made him turn toward the kettle.
Their comfort remained cautious. Betsy still startled when a branch struck the window after dark. Felix still went silent whenever she mentioned the gods. Neither asked how long the arrangement would last.
One afternoon, rain drove them indoors. Apollo lay in his cradle while Betsy folded dry washing at the table. Felix sat nearby mending a leather strap.
“You don’t have to stay in the room whenever he’s awake,” she said.
“I’m mending this.”
“You carried the strap upstairs.”
Felix looked at it. “Better light.”
“There’s a whole window downstairs.”
Apollo made a pleased sound. Felix held up the strap as though asking the baby to take his side.
Betsy set a little shirt on the pile. “He likes having you close.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“So do I.”
The words hung between them.
Felix’s hands stopped moving. Betsy looked down at the washing, suddenly busy with a sleeve that was already folded. He wanted to answer, but everything that came to mind sounded larger than he was ready to say.
Apollo began to fuss. Felix stood and lifted him from the cradle. The baby settled against his chest.
“I’m here,” Felix murmured.
Betsy heard him. She did not look up.
That night, she woke to a soft scrape outside the guest room. Apollo slept beside her, and the house was otherwise still. She opened the door carefully.
Felix sat on the floor across the hallway. His back rested against the wall, his long legs stretched out toward the stairs. He was asleep, though one hand remained near the door.
Betsy knelt. In sleep, he looked tired enough to make her chest ache. He had placed himself between their room and every way into the house.
She brought a blanket from the bed and laid it over his shoulders.
Felix stirred but did not wake.
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Betsy touched the repaired cradle inside the room, then looked back at him in the hallway. The house had given them shelter. Felix had made it feel safe.
She left the door open a little and went back to Apollo.
