Goretti’s Boarding House, the Rose
after midnight on the 15th of intas, 2719
H
e thought Renata was asleep.
Maybe more importantly, Clark thought Teresa was asleep. Clark almost knew Teresa was asleep. Clark was a man who liked to be sure of things, but he thought he knew for sure, because when he had padded down the narrow hallway, careful not to knock his elbows or his head or his erse into any of the corners, or into the dusty glass cupboard full of old porcelain, or to catch anything on the moth-eaten frill of a doily on which sat more porcelain – when he had crept to the bedroom door, very careful and quiet, he had heard the soft sound of her whistling away through her nose.
And he had smiled a little tiny smile and gone back to the kitchen.
The house had been quiet for an hour and a half, maybe two. Sometimes you could hear some shuffling or other upstairs, but it was hard to tell whether Uncle Orso was awake or the old boards were just stretching and cracking their knuckles.
Outside the little kitchen window, snow whirled through the dark air, buffeted by the wind. Clark thought it hadn’t been years since the Rose had seen a winter like this; he remembered the one in 2713, Before – before the Gorettis, before everything – he did not like to think so far back – but even then, it had been tempered by what warmth the bay whisked in from the wide water.
The Gorettis’ boarding house was tucked into a back street in West-and-Long, and the narrow way was already covered in a layer of snow. There was one small phosphor lamp at the end of the street, and the soft blue light glittered on the smooth crest of it, broken only by the dancing thin-toed footsteps of birds. Nobody had passed this way tonight, but that was not surprising; nobody had passed this way in some time.
And the snow was falling so fast, now, that if anybody had, it would be covered up by morning. Clark did not relish the shoveling he would need to do tomorrow morning. There were many things he did not relish that needed doing tomorrow morning; he thought of the soft whistle of Teresa’s nose and sighed, pulling the curtain and stepping away from the window.
They had one boarder, still, in addition to Orso, but Clark wondered that they might need to start charging the old sailor in full. Teresa had been talking about it; Claudia had put her foot down, but Teresa had kept talking about it, and there had been raised voices, which Clark did not much like. He had said Miss Lamprey the midwife had told him that babes were very receptive, very receptive indeed, to Impressions, and that it was important for the babe’s temperament to be surrounded by peaceful and pleasant things all of the time.
Teresa and Claudia had stopped yelling at each other, then; they had started yelling at him, instead. He had not much liked that, either.
The household was under stress enough this time of year without a little lass, and in the beginning, Clark had wondered that they’d ever sleep again. This arrangement was the least he could do, seeing as his shift was later in the day tomorrow. The woodstove kept the house toasty, but the chill still got in through the old wooden walls at the extremities, and it was the warmest in the kitchen; hence, Renata’s crib, and their long, snowy vigil.
But Renata was asleep, now, and Clark had done most of the things that needed doing. He had stoked the woodstove and checked on the lass; he had been careful not to wake her, but he had held one big hand out ’til he could feel the breath through her nose brush delicate-like against the backs of his fingers.
Now, he had little else to do. He had only meant to sit for a minute or two on the sofa. But it was dark in the sitting room, except for the dull warm light that drifted out of the kitchen. It was only natural that he found himself crossing his arms against the chill – and then, it was only natural that his chin settled on his chest, and his eyelids drooped.
And then, an hour later, there came the sound at the door.
Clark startled awake. He wasn’t sure what the sound had been; he had been asleep, and all he knew was that there’d been a sound, only there was no tree branch to scratch or knock at the Gorettis’ front door. But a person? In this weather, at this time of night?
He got to his feet right away, and the first thing he did was check on Renata. She was still sleeping, to his relief. He moved quietly back to the sitting room and hesitated, looking at the door through the dark. He had a strange feeling. The coat rack nearby seemed covered in strange shapes; the light from the kitchen lengthened every shadow in the cluttered little room.
He was not very good at this, he reminded himself. He was not very good at people even in broad daylight. Maybe he should wake –
Clark set his jaw and moved to the door, opening it. “Hello?” His voice was scratchy; he cleared his throat. “Somebody there?” It was more of a mumble than anything. His heart pounded in his throat, as always. He kept his head down.
e thought Renata was asleep.
Maybe more importantly, Clark thought Teresa was asleep. Clark almost knew Teresa was asleep. Clark was a man who liked to be sure of things, but he thought he knew for sure, because when he had padded down the narrow hallway, careful not to knock his elbows or his head or his erse into any of the corners, or into the dusty glass cupboard full of old porcelain, or to catch anything on the moth-eaten frill of a doily on which sat more porcelain – when he had crept to the bedroom door, very careful and quiet, he had heard the soft sound of her whistling away through her nose.
And he had smiled a little tiny smile and gone back to the kitchen.
The house had been quiet for an hour and a half, maybe two. Sometimes you could hear some shuffling or other upstairs, but it was hard to tell whether Uncle Orso was awake or the old boards were just stretching and cracking their knuckles.
Outside the little kitchen window, snow whirled through the dark air, buffeted by the wind. Clark thought it hadn’t been years since the Rose had seen a winter like this; he remembered the one in 2713, Before – before the Gorettis, before everything – he did not like to think so far back – but even then, it had been tempered by what warmth the bay whisked in from the wide water.
The Gorettis’ boarding house was tucked into a back street in West-and-Long, and the narrow way was already covered in a layer of snow. There was one small phosphor lamp at the end of the street, and the soft blue light glittered on the smooth crest of it, broken only by the dancing thin-toed footsteps of birds. Nobody had passed this way tonight, but that was not surprising; nobody had passed this way in some time.
And the snow was falling so fast, now, that if anybody had, it would be covered up by morning. Clark did not relish the shoveling he would need to do tomorrow morning. There were many things he did not relish that needed doing tomorrow morning; he thought of the soft whistle of Teresa’s nose and sighed, pulling the curtain and stepping away from the window.
They had one boarder, still, in addition to Orso, but Clark wondered that they might need to start charging the old sailor in full. Teresa had been talking about it; Claudia had put her foot down, but Teresa had kept talking about it, and there had been raised voices, which Clark did not much like. He had said Miss Lamprey the midwife had told him that babes were very receptive, very receptive indeed, to Impressions, and that it was important for the babe’s temperament to be surrounded by peaceful and pleasant things all of the time.
Teresa and Claudia had stopped yelling at each other, then; they had started yelling at him, instead. He had not much liked that, either.
The household was under stress enough this time of year without a little lass, and in the beginning, Clark had wondered that they’d ever sleep again. This arrangement was the least he could do, seeing as his shift was later in the day tomorrow. The woodstove kept the house toasty, but the chill still got in through the old wooden walls at the extremities, and it was the warmest in the kitchen; hence, Renata’s crib, and their long, snowy vigil.
But Renata was asleep, now, and Clark had done most of the things that needed doing. He had stoked the woodstove and checked on the lass; he had been careful not to wake her, but he had held one big hand out ’til he could feel the breath through her nose brush delicate-like against the backs of his fingers.
Now, he had little else to do. He had only meant to sit for a minute or two on the sofa. But it was dark in the sitting room, except for the dull warm light that drifted out of the kitchen. It was only natural that he found himself crossing his arms against the chill – and then, it was only natural that his chin settled on his chest, and his eyelids drooped.
And then, an hour later, there came the sound at the door.
Clark startled awake. He wasn’t sure what the sound had been; he had been asleep, and all he knew was that there’d been a sound, only there was no tree branch to scratch or knock at the Gorettis’ front door. But a person? In this weather, at this time of night?
He got to his feet right away, and the first thing he did was check on Renata. She was still sleeping, to his relief. He moved quietly back to the sitting room and hesitated, looking at the door through the dark. He had a strange feeling. The coat rack nearby seemed covered in strange shapes; the light from the kitchen lengthened every shadow in the cluttered little room.
He was not very good at this, he reminded himself. He was not very good at people even in broad daylight. Maybe he should wake –
Clark set his jaw and moved to the door, opening it. “Hello?” His voice was scratchy; he cleared his throat. “Somebody there?” It was more of a mumble than anything. His heart pounded in his throat, as always. He kept his head down.
