The Best of Times 3

"That's enough, stop reading," Durado said, rubbing the gem at the end of his cane.

Crecyda folded the letter and returned it to the envelope, sipping her tea. She had read four pages of the first letter, leaving seven more, and this was only of medium length among Renner's correspondence. She noticed her father-in-law's eyes fixed on the stack of letters.

"You can read them yourself."

"I won't."

Durado stood, seemingly aimless, then slowly made his way to the fireplace. Despite the smooth carpet, he walked as cautiously as a climber descending a steep slope. Crecyda felt an urge to help him but remembered the muddy road outside the house. Durado had said he came alone.

His right hand rested on a wooden mantle above the fireplace, picking up a small wooden carving. It depicted a dwarf ranger sitting on a round stone, smoking a pipe, locking eyes with a squirrel standing on his shoe. He turned it over and examined it.

"Did you make this?"

"Yes. I had planned to paint it, but I think it looks good as it is."

"A woman enjoying this kind of thing."

Crecyda, prepared for the comment, took another sip of tea. Even she found it too cold now.

"You're skilled."

"Ah," she set down her cup, "thank you."

"Does Renner like it?"

"Excuse me?"

"I asked if Renner likes it."

"It was originally a commission from a local lady, but Renner liked it, so I kept it."

"Where do you make these things?"

"I have a small workshop, but sorry, you can't visit."

"I don't plan to."

"Well, the air there isn't good." Crecyda had nearly mastered the art of not letting this old man's words get to her. When he negates something, never argue—just agree and subtly steer the conversation. That way, she wouldn't feel too bad herself.

Durado put down the carving but didn't return to the couch. Standing there, he said, "You two never had children?"

"We planned to adopt. We had already met a few children, but then Renner went to the Western Plaguelands..."

Crecyda said it quickly, flatly. If you mock this too, I'll have to show you out.

Durado nodded, seemingly uninterested in continuing the topic, and Crecyda didn't want to either.

"Will you be staying for dinner?" After a brief silence, she asked. Without waiting for a response, she added, "You will, of course. I'll inform the steward."

Crecyda knew Durado wouldn't refuse, and she wanted to escape the unpleasant topic as soon as possible. She found the steward, Reston, at the kitchen door.

"Check what we have left," she said. "He'll be staying for dinner."

"Dinner? Ma'am, please spare me. I just made tea, and he acted like it came from a poison well. I don't want to embarrass you."

"Stop complaining. I'll cook myself."

After realizing the household had only simple ingredients, Crecyda decided to go buy some food. She returned to the living room and informed Durado, who had sat back down on the sofa, before heading out. She took an umbrella, seeing the clouds gathering overhead.

Not far from home, a thought suddenly crossed Crecyda's mind. She returned to the garden wall, glanced around to ensure no one was watching, then stood on her toes, chin lifted high, just able to see the living room window. Through the glass, Duldor's figure was clear, seated upright on the sofa, cane resting on his knees, the stack of letters untouched.

After ten seconds without any movement, Crecyda lowered herself and rubbed her aching ankles.