The kitchen felt warm and inviting when Nimue came down from her room. The iron stove was already lit, its flames flickering low behind the grate, and bacon's savory smell was already filling the small space. Saoirse stood at the wooden counter with a heavy pan in her hand.
The bacon within was sizzling and spitting tiny grease droplets. Jack sat at the table, his fingers wrapped around a hot tea cup, his hair remaining damp from his morning wash. Jane was busy at the stove, stirring the contents of a pot with slow and steady movements.
Nimue climbed onto her wooden chair, the seat feeling cool against her legs. Cinder settled himself under the table, his nose pointed toward the floorboards as he waited for anything that might fall.
"Rice," Saoirse said, placing a steaming bowl in front of her. "Eggs. Bacon. Eat up."
Nimue looked at the morning spread. It was more than she usually had for breakfast. The rice was hot, the eggs were soft, and the bacon was perfectly crisp. She picked up her fork and began to eat.
"We are making pie today," Jane said, her voice sounding cheerful. "It's for the neighbors, just like we did back in London."
Nimue paused her chewing. "All of them?"
"Five of them. We passed those houses on the way here. Margaret said they are the closest ones to us." Jane wiped her hands on her apron. "We will take them out this morning. You and your father will go."
Nimue looked over at Jack. He was already reaching for the flour, his movements slow and practiced. "You know how to make pie?"
He offered a small smile. it was a quick thing, but it was there. "I learned."
They worked together in the small kitchen. Saoirse made the dough with fast hands, her fingers pressing the yellow butter into the white flour until the mixture was crumbly. Jack rolled the dough out, the rolling pin moving in long, even strokes across the floured surface. Jane mixed the filling containing apples, sugar, and cinnamon. The scent was sharp and sweet.
Nimue stood on her stool and watched the process. She handed Saoirse the butter when she needed it. She held the heavy bowl for Jane when she poured the filling. She counted the pies as they went into the oven's heat. Five were for the neighbors and five were for them. There were ten in total.
When the pies were finished, they sat on the counter. The crusts were golden and the filling bubbled at the edges. Saoirse wrapped them in wax paper and tied them with lengths of string before stacking them in a woven basket. Five pies were ready for five houses.
Thomas was waiting at the door when they finished the work. His bag rested over his shoulder and his heavy coat was already on. He had been in the sitting room since breakfast, his boots off and his feet resting on the rug. Now he stood on the porch, the morning light illuminating his face.
Nimue walked to him. Her feet just seemed to move on their own.
He crouched down, just as he had in Thornwell and at the apparition point. His face mirrored her father's shape. His eyes and jaw were the same. But his hands were different; they were calloused and dark from the sun's heat.
"I can only drive you as far as this place. For your journey's after this, you will be on your own."
Nimue looked at him. She thought about the road, the long drive from Thornwell, the lane through the trees, and the house appearing at the end. He had been there for all of it. He had brought them to this place.
"Keep safe," he said.
He pulled her into a quick hug, his arms wrapping around her shoulders. His chin rested on her head's top. He smelled of the car, the road's dust, and the places they had left behind.
Then he stood up. He shook Jack's hand, and Jack gave him one of the fresh pies.
He gave Jane a nod and waved once toward Saoirse. He walked to the car, got inside, and started the engine.
The car pulled away from the house. Its wheels crunched on the gravel. The lane eventually took him, the trees closing behind his vehicle until he was gone.
Nimue stood on the porch, watching the empty road.
Jack's hand rested on her shoulder. "Ready?"
She looked at the basket in his hand. The pies were stacked inside, wrapped and tied. "We are walking?"
"We are borrowing something." He took her hand in his. "Come on."
The lane felt soft under her feet. Grass grew between the ruts, and wildflowers nodded at the lane's edges. Nimue walked beside her father, her hand tucked into his. The basket swung in his other hand. The sun was higher now and the light was sharper. The shadows were short.
She could see the main house ahead. It was larger than theirs and sat back from the lane with a barn beside it and a fence running along its front. There were animals in the field. They were the same kind as Bess. Their coats were brown and black, and their horns were curved. They lifted their heads when they heard the trainers' sound, watching the pair pass.
Margaret stood on the porch with a mug in her hand and her hat pulled low against the sun. She stood up when she saw them, setting her mug on the railing.
"You didn't have to walk all this way."
"We wanted to," Jack said. He held out the basket. "This is for you. It's from us."
Margaret took the pie. She unwrapped the paper and looked at the golden crust and the steam rising from the vent. "Apple?"
"Apple."
She offered a wide smile, her teeth appearing white against her sun-dark skin. "You will fit in just fine here."
She set the pie on the porch and looked at Nimue. "You like the country?"
Nimue gave a nod. She was looking past Margaret at the barn and the field. She saw something parked at the barn's side. It was something she had never seen before.
"Is that a car?" she asked.
Margaret laughed. "That's a tricycle for getting around. The roads here aren't always good for cars."
Nimue studied it. It was not like the tricycles in her books. It was much larger, featuring three wheels, a flat bed at the back, and a seat at the front. The metal was rusted in some places and the paint was faded, but it looked solid. The wheels were thick and the tires were heavy.
"You want to borrow it?" Margaret asked. "It can be for the deliveries."
Jack gave a nod. "If you don't mind."
"Mind? I would be glad to see it used." She walked down the steps, her boots sounding loud on the wood. "It's been sitting there for months. My husband used it before he passed away. I keep meaning to sell it, but—" She stopped herself. She looked at the tricycle and placed a hand on the handlebar. "It's still good. It just needs someone to drive it."
She turned toward Jack. "You know how to handle one?"
He walked to the machine, his hand resting on the seat. "I used to come here when I was young. There was a tricycle. I learned on it."
Margaret raised her eyebrows. "That was a long time ago."
"I remember it well."
She laughed. "Well, then. Show me."
Jack swung himself onto the seat. His feet found the pedals and his hands gripped the handlebars. He pushed off. The tricycle moved forward and the wheels crunched on the gravel. It was slow at first because the machine was heavy and the gears were catching. Then he found the rhythm. The pedals turned smoothly and the tricycle moved down the lane.
Nimue watched with her mouth open. She hadn't seen her father ride anything like this. She had seen him on a broom in the sky with the wind in his hair. She had seen him in the carriage with his face still. But this was different.
He turned the tricycle in a wide arc, the wheels biting into the grass at the lane's edge, and came back to them. He stopped in front of her. His hands were on the handlebars and his breath was even.
"Well?" he asked.
Nimue didn't answer right away. She was looking at the tricycle's metal frame, the thick tires, and the flat bed where the pies would sit. She looked at her father. His hair was disheveled and his shirt was untucked. His face looked bright.
"Can I ride?" she asked.
"Not today." He offered a smile. "Maybe when you grow up. Today, you ride with me."
He lifted her onto the flat bed. She sat on the wooden planks with her legs hanging over the edge and her hands gripping the sides. Jack put the basket beside her, the pies wedged between her knees.
"Hold on," he said.
He pushed off. The tricycle moved forward and the wheels turned. The lane slid past them. Nimue held on tight. The wind was in her hair and the sun was on her face. The house was behind them and the field was beside them. The trees were ahead.
She laughed. It was a small sound that was caught by the wind and carried away.
The first house was at the lane's end where the road turned and the valley opened up. It was a small house with whitewashed walls and a low roof. A fence ran along the front. In the yard, a dog was sleeping in the sun. It lifted its head when they stopped and its tail thumped once against the ground.
Jack parked the tricycle at the gate. He lifted Nimue down and took a pie from the basket before walking to the door.
An old man opened it. He was thin and his shoulders were bent. His hands looked gnarled. He looked at Jack, then at the pie, and finally at the child standing behind him.
"New neighbours," Jack explained. "We brought you something."
The man took the pie. He looked at it, his fingers tracing the crust's edge. "Apple?"
"Apple."
He looked at the pie in his hands. "Thank you."
He closed the door. Jack stood for a moment with his hand on Nimue's shoulder. Then he turned and they walked back to the tricycle.
The second house was further away at the field's edge. The barns were larger and the fences were longer. A woman came out before they reached the gate, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked at the tricycle, at Jack, and then at Nimue.
"You are the ones at Margaret's place."
Jack held out the pie. "We wanted to say hello."
The woman took it. She unwrapped the paper and sniffed the crust. "It smells like my mother's." She looked at Nimue. "You like apple pie?"
Nimue gave a nod.
"Good. You will have plenty of apples here. The trees are full this year." She pointed at the orchard behind the barn where the branches were heavy with fruit. "Come pick some if you want to. The girls would like someone to play with."
Nimue looked at the orchard. The trees were old and their trunks were thick. Between them, two girls were swinging on a rope. Their hair was flying and their voices were high.
She looked back at the woman. "I will."
The woman smiled. She went back inside with the pie in her hands and the door closed behind her.
The third house was smaller and set back from the road. The garden was overgrown. No one came to the door when they knocked. Jack left the pie on the step. It remained wrapped in its paper with the string tied tight. He stood for a moment looking at the windows. The curtains were drawn and the house was silent.
Then he took Nimue's hand and they walked back to the tricycle.
The fourth house was a farm. The yard was full of chickens and the barn was open. Hay's thick smell was in the air. A man was mending the fence. His hammer was rising and falling, and the sound echoed across the field. He looked up when they stopped. His face was red and his shirt was dark with sweat.
"New ones," he said. It wasn't a question.
Jack held out the pie. "From us."
The man wiped his hands on his trousers. He took the pie and turned it over to look at the crust. "You bake this yourself?"
"My wife did."
"She is a good woman." He set the pie on the fence post. "If you need anything, you come up here. Hay, eggs, milk. We have got plenty."
Jack gave a nod. He looked at the field and the animals moving in the distance. He looked at the tractor parked by the barn. "It's a good place."
"It's a hard place." The man picked up his hammer again. "But it's good."
He went back to his fence. Jack lifted Nimue back onto the tricycle and they rode on.
The fifth house was the last one. It was at the forest's edge where the trees pressed close and the light was thin. A woman was in the yard with her hands in the earth. She looked up when they stopped. Her eyes were pale and her face was creased.
"You are the ones at Margaret's."
Jack held out the pie. "This is for you."
She took it but didn't unwrap it. She just held it while her hands remained dark with soil.
"My husband used to ride that tricycle before he got sick. He would go to the village and come back with bread and cheese and whatever else we needed."
She looked at Jack. "He died last winter."
Jack was quiet. Nimue was quiet too. The forest remained silent behind them.
The woman looked at the pie. "Apple?"
"Apple."
She offered a smile. It was a small thing that pulled at her mouth but didn't reach her eyes. "He liked apple."
She went inside and the door closed. The yard was empty.
Jack stood for a moment with his hand on the tricycle and his face still. Then he lifted Nimue onto the seat beside him. Her feet rested on the pedals and his arms were around her.
"Hold on," he said.
She held on tight.
They went back to Margaret's house first. She was on the porch and the pie was already cut. A slice sat on a plate. She held it out when they stopped.
"You did good," she said.
Jack took the plate. He broke the slice in two and gave half to Nimue. The crust was flaky and the filling was warm. The cinnamon felt sharp on her tongue.
Margaret leaned against the railing. "You know your way around a tricycle."
"I had good teachers."
"Your parents?"
"The people who lived here before." He looked at the field, the barn, and the animals. "We came every summer. My father taught me to ride and my mother taught me to bake."
Margaret was quiet. She looked at his face and the lines she hadn't seen before. She saw the weight he carried.
"You will come back when she is older. You will teach her."
Jack looked at Nimue. She was finishing her pie. Her fingers were sticky and her face was turned toward the sun.
"Yes. I will."
Margaret took the plate. She walked to the barn, her boots sounding heavy on the gravel. The tricycle was waiting with its wheels still and its seat warm from the sun.
"Take it. Keep it. It isn't doing anyone any good just sitting here."
Jack started to speak, but she held up her hand.
"He would have wanted it to be used. He was a good man. He didn't like things sitting idle."
Jack looked at the tricycle. He looked at Nimue. Her face was still turned toward the sun and her eyes were closed.
"Thank you," he said.
Margaret gave a nod. She went back to her porch. Her hand rested on the railing as her eyes moved over the field.
Jack lifted Nimue onto the tricycle bed. Her legs hung over the edge and her hands gripped the sides. He put the empty basket beside her. The pies were all given and the string was loose.
He pushed off and the wheels turned. The lane slid past them. The house was behind them and the field was beside them. The trees were ahead.
They were home before noon arrived. The house was quiet and the kitchen was empty. The stove was cold. Jane was in the sitting room with a book in her lap and her eyes closed. Saoirse was on the porch with her feet on the railing and her face turned toward the sun.
Nimue climbed off the tricycle. Her legs felt stiff and her hands were cold. She stood in the yard and looked at the house, the field, and the forest at the edge.
Jack came up beside her. He put his hand on her head and his fingers moved in her hair.
"What do you think?" he asked.
She looked at the field where the grass was long and the flowers were bright. She looked at the fence where the wood was grey and the wire was loose. She looked at the house with its open windows and curtains moving in the wind.
She looked at her father. His face looked tired but his eyes were bright.
"I think," she said, "I want to see the forest."
He offered a smile. "Tomorrow."
She gave a nod. She took his hand, and they walked inside.