The next morning, Beautiful doubled over suddenly, heaving. Seeker knelt beside her, one hand steadying her back, the other pressed gently against her belly.
“Oh, Seeker,” she wept, her voice breaking. “My stomach hurts so much. How will I ever survive the next six months?”
–
The months slipped by, her belly swelling as the days dragged. To Seeker, she never looked more endearing—adorably waddling through their little home, one hand pressed to the small of her back. But for Beautiful, the sickness never eased. Food turned her stomach, and nausea clung to her every hour. Comfort visited often with sweet citrus drinks that soothed for a little while, though never for long.
–
Spring gave way to early summer. One night, as Seeker read by candlelight, a sharp gasp split the quiet.
“Seeker!” Beautiful’s voice trembled.
He rushed to the bedroom. She stood beside the bed, her bare feet in a spreading puddle of water.
“Go get Comfort,” she whispered, breath uneven. “The baby’s coming tonight.”
Seeker guided her onto the bed, pressed a quick kiss to her damp forehead, and whispered, “Hold on, Beautiful. I’ll be right back.”
He yanked on his boots and hurried through the sleeping village to Comfort’s door. He pounded hard. “Comfort—Beautiful needs you.”
After several tense minutes, Comfort stepped out with a small bag in hand. Delight had no midwife, but she had delivered half the children born there.
“Go back to Beautiful,” she said briskly. “I’ll fetch my helper.”
When Comfort arrived, she looked Beautiful over and told Seeker, “It’s not time yet. Stay with her for now—until the pains grow strong and close.”
Seeker knelt at her side; her hand clutched in his. Hours crawled past. Tears streamed down Beautiful’s face, but not once did she speak an unkind word.
The first light of dawn seeped through the shutters when her labor truly began. She muttered incoherently, then cried out in pain. Comfort entered, firm but gentle.
“Go wait outside, Seeker. I’ll call you when it’s over.”
Seeker paced the floor, back and forth, back and forth. The hours dragged, each one heavier than the last. The sun sank, night fell, and still Beautiful labored behind the closed door. Then came silence. A terrible silence. His chest clenched tight. Had he lost them both? He bit back tears and whispered a prayer: “Please keep my Beautiful safe.”
Then—breaking the stillness—a cry. Soft. Steady. A baby’s cry.
The young helper appeared in the doorway. “Your wife is fine,” she said quickly, before hurrying off for hot water and towels.
At last, Comfort stepped into the doorway, a bundle of linen in her arms. Seeker’s breath caught—the baby’s face was calm, one eye half-closed, and he was the very image of Beautiful.
A flood of emotion surged through Seeker—stronger than anything he had ever known. Love. As strong as what he felt for Beautiful, yet different. Pure. Unconditional. Today was the best day of his life.
Comfort laid the child gently in his arms. Seeker cradled him close, nestling his head in the crook of his elbow, then carried him into the bedroom.
Beautiful lay pale and exhausted on the bed, eyes closed. She didn’t stir.
Seeker bent over his son and sang softly:
Bright—
A ray of sunlight in a wildwood chapel,
Fair as your mother,
Beloved of your father,
Let your light always shine—
Tender-hearted, pure
His voice broke on the final word. He turned to Beautiful, the bundle warm in his arms.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, “here’s our son. Bright.”
“I don’t want him,” Beautiful murmured, her voice flat with weariness.
Seeker didn’t argue. He simply placed Bright in her arms.
Her eyes fluttered open. “Bright,” she whispered, her gaze soft. She kissed his cheek. “Mama loves you, Bright.” Then she drew him close, cradling him against her chest.
Beautiful lay motionless in bed. To Seeker, it was as if the life had drained out of her—her skin pale, the spark in her eyes gone.
When Bright cried at night, she tried to feed him, but he turned away. So, Seeker pressed a little milk into a bowl and fed it to Bright with a tiny spoon. By the time the child finished, and sleep finally tugged at him, Bright stirred again, hungry. Seeker couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept more than an hour at once.
Seeker’s mother came for a week, helping where she could, but soon had to return to the City of Destruction. Not long after, Thoughtful stopped on his way to Vanity, pausing just long enough to meet his new nephew.
“Beautiful, baby,” Seeker urged softly. “Try to get up, walk a little—but slow.” He bent over Bright, stroking his head, “Take care of Mama for me, little one. I have to go back to work—for both of you.”
***
Seeker yawned, rubbing his eyes as he crossed the bridge to the mill. He’d never known exhaustion like this—two weeks without real sleep. He dreaded what would be waiting for him, all the work that must have piled up.
When he reached the mill, she was waiting at the door—a young woman he hadn’t seen before. Sun-browned, raven hair falling in loose waves down her back. A dress that hugged her waist, her shoulders bare. The air around her held clove and orange, pomander-sweet. Seeker blinked. Her emerald eyes met his without a flicker.
“Good morning, Seeker,” she said, voice soft as dawn. “Come with me.”
Seeker blinked. She was already moving, hips swaying with an effortless grace. “I’m Comfort’s sister,” she called back. “Jabal would like to speak to you.”
By the time they reached Jabal’s office, she didn’t bother to knock. She pushed the door open and swept in, Seeker trailing her. “Seeker’s here, like you asked, Dad.” She curtsied low and smiled sweetly—but didn’t leave. Instead, she glided to the couch, sat, hands folded neatly in her lap, and watched them with glittering eyes.
“Ah, yes. Seeker.” His gaze weighed him. He crossed the room, settled beside his daughter and gestured to the empty armchair. “Sit.”
“Cigar?” he said, flipping open a silver case.
Seeker lifted a hand, “No, thank you.”
Jabal snipped the cap with a little cutter, struck a match, toasted the end, took two small draws, and let a thin ribbon of smoke curl upward.
“Tell me, Seeker—how many years have you served me?” It wasn’t really a question. “Comfort says you’re my best worker. And what did I promise? In Desire, those who work hard—”
“Delight,” his daughter corrected, smooth as silk.
“—are handsomely rewarded,” Jabal continued unfazed.
“Yes,” said Seeker, “I have everything I’ve dreamed of.”
“Your talents are wasted here. You have initiative. Drive. I don’t need that on the tread-wheel.”
Seeker only nodded, unsure what to say.
“From this day, you’re foreman. Charm will assist you.”
Charm gave Seeker a gracious smile, “I’m here for you—for anything you need.”
“Tomorrow, then,” Jabal said.
Foreman? No more tread-wheel? Seeker straightened in his chair, then stood. He could hardly believe it—he couldn’t wait to tell Beautiful.
At the threshold, the fragrance of clove still hung in the air.
Charm introduced Seeker to the new hands—men to load and unload the carts and work the tread-wheel. He’d train them to plant and reap, and to cut wood in winter. But his burden didn’t lighten. If anything, it grew—longer hours keeping everything running smoothly, most nights he reached home long after sunset.
Sometimes, once Bright was asleep, Beautiful wept—quietly so the baby wouldn’t hear. Other nights she disappeared into her books—adventure and romance. Seeker had his own—thick, serious ones—and he read late into the night until Beautiful padded out, bleary, to beg him to come to bed. He’d nod… then keep reading.
Bright was growing fast. Already he could sit up and bat at the little toys they’d bought him. Seeker’s heart ached to be gone so much—to miss it while it was happening.
Charm came by once a week with his wages—same as Comfort had. When Beautiful asked, “How much did they raise you?” he blinked. He hadn’t even given that any consideration when talking with Jabal. They had, indeed, increased, but they still never seemed to have anything left over.
Now and then Charm came by with instructions from Jabal. He was grateful it wasn’t often. After she’d gone, a clove-orange trace hung in the air, and he’d catch himself thinking of her green eyes. There was a spark about her—the very brightness he missed in Beautiful. No. He shut the thought down. He had a wife. A son. He wouldn’t entertain it.
***
Beautiful lay on the ugly couch watching Seeker play with Bright. She was bored—and tired anyway.
She watched Seeker sit on the floor with Bright. He touched a fingertip to Bright’s lower lip. “Stick out your tongue.” Bright stuck his little tongue out. “Eeeek!” Seeker squeaked, tapping it—and Bright burst into delighted giggles.
She had the sweetest baby—he never cried without a reason. She’d thought Bright would ease the loneliness, but somehow it only deepened. The people here were cruel—not just to her, but to Bright as well. She’d hitch him onto her hip and make the rounds of the village, and still there were no true friends for either of them. At the Cottage, they would have cooed over him. In Bright-Harbor, everyone smiled.
She’d tried to bring it up, once or twice, but Seeker had no patience for her tears. She’d married him because he understood her. Now he just looked tired—and angry.
Seeker took Bright’s foot. “This little piggy…” He wiggled the big toe. Bright went perfectly still, holding his breath. At the last toe—“wee, wee, wee… all the way home”—he burst into laughter.
But he was timid and sensitive like her and frightened easily. When Seeker stretched and yawned, Bright’s lower lip trembled and he began to cry.
Beautiful scooped Bright up, pressed him to her chest, and patted his back. “There now, Bright,” she said. “Don’t be afraid. Daddy’s just yawning—like the bear in your book.” Bright calmed the moment his ear found her heartbeat, his fist uncurling against her collarbone.
Bright wiggled in Beautiful’s arms. Seeker took him, kissed his head, then set him down. “Daddy has to work now. Play with Mama. I’ll be back soon.”
He kissed Beautiful’s forehead, shrugged into his coat, shouldered his axe—then looked back once, and smiled at the two of them.
When the door shut, the little house felt suddenly too big. The fire ticked, and the wind fussed at the shutters.
***
“I’m home,” Seeker called, shouldering the door shut. He set the axe by the jamb, kicked off his boots, picked his way through toys and books strewn across the floor, and sagged onto the couch, spent.
Bright perched on Beautiful’s lap while she read aloud—“Brown bear, brown bear, what do you see?” She really was a wonderful mother. Some days it felt like she’d already read him a thousand books.
As she turned the last page, Bright’s head dipped. Seeker rose, picked him up, and carried him into the bedroom. He laid him in the crib and nestled his small blue stuffed donkey under his arm.
“Oh, Seeker,” Beautiful said as he stepped back into the room. “This place is dreadful.” A tear slipped down her cheek.
He let out a long breath. “What now, Beautiful?”
She rolled her eyes, sing-songing, “We should bring the little ones together one afternoon.”
“What happened?”
“They’re just empty words. I took Bright to Dedicated’s house today, and she said she was busy.”
“Maybe she was?”
“She stood in the doorway and left me on the step. ‘Sorry, Beautiful, I’m busy today.’ I felt humiliated—her blocking the door, me outside.”
Seeker took her hand. “That’s terrible.”
“That’s not even the worst part.”
“Oh?”
“She might as well have said, ‘I’m too busy for you.’”
“Why’s that?”
Beautiful sighed. “Inconsiderate was there. I could hear their babies playing together. It’s just—me and Bright aren’t good enough.
He started to answer, but she went on. “And she stood there pretending I couldn’t hear. ‘I’m just too busy.’”
He had no words. He pulled her into his arms and let her cry.
“It’ll get better, baby,” he said. He wished he believed it.
Now I saw in my dream that years passed. Seeker took to the foreman’s post and excelled. Beautiful found odd jobs about the village, yet her loneliness never lifted. Bright learned to walk; his speech came slow—then all at once, shaping sentences far beyond his years.
The little house soon felt cramped, so Seeker bought a plot above the ravine, and they raised a new cottage—one room set aside for Bright, and even a small study for himself.
***
Seeker tapped his pipe against his boot and ash whisked off on the breeze. He studied the sky—thin clouds coming in fast. They’d have to chase the weather, but he figured they could finish by dusk. Men drifted in by twos and threes—two sowing teams, one to harrow behind, and a knot of boys to refill seed bags and clap the crows from the furrows. Whenever a hand was short, he stepped in—slung a seed bag, took a harrow line, set the pace. Foreman or not, he worked shoulder to shoulder, and the men answered to that.
When he looked up, Charm stood at the edge of a furrow—riding skirt hitched clear of the dirt, and an ivory linen blouse soft at the neck with a small keyhole tied by two ribbons and tucked into a narrow leather belt. Her sleeves were rolled to her forearms. A single braid lay over one shoulder. A straw hat shaded her eyes, the ribbon knotted under her chin.
“They say you work with your men,” she said. “I came to see it—and to help.” Her eyes held his. On her tongue, work slid toward play.
Seeker frowned. “Charm, it’s hard work.” He checked the sky. “We have to move fast.”
She smiled, unbothered. “Try me.”
One man didn’t show. Seeker shouldered a seed bag and took the slot. When a second never came, he glanced at Charm and exhaled. “Alright.” She met it with a quiet, satisfied smirk.
The first team was already moving. They’d take the next field. Seeker slung a seed bag across his chest. A boy trotted after with the spare sacks. Leapfrog the fields—that was the plan. Had been anyway. But he doubted they’d keep up.
He showed her the sweep. She copied it and only shrugged. He passed her the canvas seed bag, and she slung it crosswise as if it weighed nothing.
She walked the furrow, seed bag tapping her hip. Hand in, scatter. The grain fanned clean and even, her arms falling into a steady rhythm. When the wind shifted, she angled a step into it and kept the fan true—as if she’d done this all her life.
Seeker followed with the ox, the brushwood harrow rasping the soil and folding it back over the seed. Behind them the boy snapped his clappers, sharp cracks keeping the crows at bay.
Row by row she went, pace steady. He and the ox kept to her line. When the seed bag ran light, the boy slipped her a fresh one and she never broke stride. She was as good as any of his men—better, maybe. No complaining about a chafing strap, no shifting to rest a sore foot, not even a pause to catch her breath.
They finished the last furrow and walked back to the crew. A light shower swept the fields, and the men grinned. Charm stood poised among them—cheeks flushed, but not a bead of sweat—the clove still in the air despite a full day in the fields.
“Great job, everyone,” Seeker said. “Take tomorrow off.”
The men tipped their hats, broke into cheers. Charm met his eyes, gave a small, satisfied nod.
***
“Daddy, do you know what, Daddy?” Bright blurted as Seeker stepped in.
“What, Bright?”
“Daddy, did you know that chimpanzees eat fruit? Have you ever seen a chimpanzee?”
From the other room, Beautiful called, “Boots outside! Don’t drag mud through the house.” She stepped into the doorway. “You’re dripping everywhere.”
He stopped short, staring at her. Her hair was cut—just to her shoulders.
“You hate it.” Her face fell.
Seeker sighed. “I don’t hate it, Beautiful.”
“Yeah, but you don’t like it, either.”
“I like it. I really do.”
“You’re a horrible liar, Seeker,” she said with a pout.
He shrugged. “I can’t lie, Beautiful. I miss your long curls.”
Lightning flashed in her eyes. “You have no idea how hard that was to manage. Stop trying to control me.”
He reached for her. She scoffed, pulled away, and left the room.
***
Harvest time came, and Seeker’s crew gathered—men testing scythe edges, women twisting straw into bands.
Charm arrived again—cream shirt rolled to the elbows, earth-brown trousers, and a narrow belt with a knife at her hip. The men stared and the women glared.
When the dew lifted, the first mower laid a trial swath. The line fell into rhythm—mowers swept the lanes, rakers pulled the stems into neat windrows, and binders followed tying the sheaves tight.
Whetstones sang—tink, tink. Charm clapped time for the mowers and whistled the binders on. “Twelve to a chapel!”
At midday they stopped to hammer the blades and whet them afresh. They sat in the carts’ shade with bread and cheese and watered ale, and one of the men struck up a song.
By midafternoon, chaff was everywhere, and the heat was heavy. Charm sang out, “Straightest row wins an orange! First to three chapels takes a ribbon!”
–
Toward dusk, the final shock was set, and his crew shouldered their tools for home. Seeker wandered to the top of the ravine stairs and drew his pipe from his satchel.
He packed the bowl, struck flint, and drew. Smoke drifted into the dusk. Charm came and sat beside him without a word. They let the quiet stretch while he smoked. At last, she spoke.
“What is it you want from life, Seeker?”
He snorted. “What kind of question is that? Same as any man. A family. I have that.”
She eyed him, amusement flickering. “You’re not a very convincing liar, Seeker.”
“And how would you know what I want?”
“You want love. And Beautiful doesn’t love you, Seeker.”
Seeker’s jaw went slack.
“Oh, Seeker,” she said. “You poor blind fool. Everyone sees it—except you. It’s been five years. And she’s never been happy.”
He searched her eyes for mockery, any edge of contempt. There was none—only a soft pity that made him ache.
“But Bright…” he began.
“Yes—Bright,” she said. “Think of him. Is it good for a gentle boy to watch his mother sad day after day? He’s old enough to understand.”
“I love her.”
“I know you do—everyone does. But think about Beautiful. She’ll be happier in Bright-Harbor.”
They sat a while. He tapped out the ash and packed the bowl again.
“This Saturday marks seven years you’ve served my father.”
He gave a small nod.
“He’s throwing a celebration—for you.” Then softer. “For us.”
The words landed heavy. Seeker couldn’t breathe.
“Let her go, Seeker.”
“I can’t.”
“I know.” Her voice stayed soft. “It’ll be hard. She’ll cry. But she’ll be happier.”
Seeker stared past the sky—at nothing.
“And we will be too,” she murmured. “You belong here. With me.”
Beautiful paced the length of the living room, arms wrapped tight around herself. Bright was asleep. Seeker was still at the party. It was late. Later than it should have gone. She should have gone with him. He’d asked—begged almost. But the thought of seeing him with her had made her stomach twist. She couldn’t bear it. She had practically placed him in her arms herself.
Her heart leapt at every sound in the street, each one a hope that faded as quickly as it rose. The hours dragged on, and her heart sank lower with every passing moment. At last—a soft knock on the door.
Comfort stood on the doorstep, one arm braced around Seeker. He stumbled inside and collapsed onto the couch, boots and all.
“Sorry for bringing him home like this, Beautiful,” Comfort said, her eyes full of pain. “I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want you to worry.”
Beautiful nodded. “Thank you.”
“I thought about taking him to my room—before she took him to hers,” Comfort said softly. “But I didn’t want you to misunderstand.”
“You did the right thing, Comfort,” Beautiful said gently. No one needed her to name who she was.
After closing the door, Beautiful tugged Seeker’s boots off and dragged him to bed. The scent of clove and orange clung to him, sharp and unmistakable. A storm raged in her chest. She’d let him sleep it off—for now. Tomorrow, he’d hear what she had to say. But tonight, she knew, there would be no rest for her.
***
Seeker woke in his own bed. Alone. No Beautiful beside him. He had no memory of getting home. Flashes from the celebration flickered through his mind: Jabal’s toast. Charm’s green eyes. Leaving with her. Shouts between sisters in the street. Then—blackness.
Beautiful sat rigid on the couch, thumbing through his Book. “Where were you last night?” Her voice was sharp, cutting through the haze in his head.
“At the party,” he muttered.
“And?”
“And nothing.” His voice was flat, defensive.
She shot to her feet, trembling in rage, and crossed the floor in quick strides. “You’ve gotten good at lying, Seeker,” she said.
“Lying?” He snorted. “I was at the party. You knew that.”
“I smell her all over you. You think I’m stupid?”
Seeker went still.
She slammed the Book against his chest and let it drop to the floor. Her voice turned sharp, mocking. “Read your damn Book again. We’re living in Deceit—you should have known that. Oh, you read and read. Important books, not like my adventures. And your books have twisted you. How to work harder. To be stoic. Hide your feelings.”
Tears streamed down her face. “I wish I could bite my tongue for ever calling you a baby for crying. This… man you’ve become is not the one I married.”
Seeker’s temper flared. His fist clenched. She stepped back. “You’re not the girl I married either.”
He stepped closer. “Yawning at our wedding.”
She stepped back. He closed the gap. “Crying when I brought you home.”
She began to shiver. He kept coming. “Cutting your hair.”
She edged back until her shoulders touched the wall. “It’s never enough,” he said. “I work, and I work, and all you ever do is cry and complain.”
Lightning flashed in her eyes. She clenched her fists at her sides.
“Go back to Bright-Harbor!” he shouted. “You don’t love me. I don’t think you ever did.” He drove his fist into the wall beside her head. The crack rang through the room.
They stood frozen. She broke into sobs, her body shaking in ragged, shaking motions.
“Just go,” he said, his voice flat and empty. “Be happy.”
“No,” she said. “I won’t leave you.” She stared at him, despair clouding her eyes. “I’m pregnant again.”
Seeker doubled over as if punched in the gut. He sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands.
She kept shaking, tears streaming down her face. “This time I’m going to give you the daughter you want so much.” Her voice wavered, breaking to a whisper. “I thought… if I give him a daughter, he’ll love me again.” She sank to her knees beside him. “Maybe?” she pleaded.
A single tear slid down his cheek. “Forgive me, Beautiful,” he whispered.
She gathered his hand in hers. “I do, Seeker. I forgive you.”
She pulled him into her arms and held him tight, her body trembling. “Let’s leave this dreadful place,” she whispered. “It was always wrong. I felt it from the beginning. Let’s go back to the Narrow Way.”
“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll pack. We’ll leave right away. Just you, me, and Bright.”
She guided his hand to her belly. “… and Wonderful,” she added.
“And Wonderful,” he echoed, a smile breaking across his face.