Sebastian sat at the improvised writing desk, nothing more than scrap wood balanced across his lap. The inkpot shifted as if it might spill and the candle’s wax dripped slowly down, spreading across the grain. Sebastian rubbed at his eyes. The candle’s light was barely enough to see by and he had been at it for a long time. He almost looked at the candle but turned away before the tiny flame centered in his eye. It had been rainy and overcast, making the candle necessary. Otherwise, he would have avoided it. It had been raining a lot, which always made the wasting cough worse. His hand was cramping, which was unusual. He had a lot of work to do, too much.

The moaning broke him from his thoughts. He stood slowly and put the plank on the floor. Walking slowly he lifted the basin of water from the bedside and sat next to Rosa. Her face had been pretty just a week ago, bright and full of life. Now it was turning grey and her lips and eyelids were cyanotic. She barely breathed and ran between intense fevers and the cold of the near grave. Sebastian had sat with her all day, stoking the fire when he turned cold until he sweated and then opening the windows and bathing her in cold water as the fever climbed again. He prayed again and again. It had been like this all day and the day before. It was a wasting sickness and if she could endure it she would survive but each day that seemed less likely. She just didn’t have the strength to keep going. Sebastian understood but prayed he was wrong. Not that prayers were worth much.

Lifting the wooden cup he put it to her lips. “Come on Rosa, have a sip, please? Your husband will be home soon. Show him how well you’re doing.” She swallowed just a drop. Then another. He put down the cup and picked up a small bowl. It was cold vegetable broth, barely more than water with some mashed carrots, barley, and onion but she couldn’t hold more down. “Have just a bit, to build your strength.” Barely a splash went on her tongue before she shuddered so hard that the cup spilled broth across her face. Sebastian washed her face.

“It’s fine, you did great.” Gods, he was tired.

He tried to be cheery. Her husband, Milt, the village blacksmith, was a good man. Milt had to work so Sebastian looked after Rosa. The village needed its blacksmith. Times were hard and without tools fixed there wouldn’t be food for the tables. Sebastian didn’t mind, he could work while he did. People needed the blacksmith, they didn’t need a scrivener, not really. Actually, they did these days, he thought as he looked at his full satchel. Normally, Sebastian didn’t have much work, now he was overflowing. At least his wife was happy with the extra work. He wasn’t.

The town of Redhaven was named for its red clay and small pottery trade, at least until the clay had been used up a decade ago. Now they just had farms and Sebastian wasn’t a farmer. Sebastian had been raised in the city, his father a goldsmith, not rich but well off. Sebastian had traveled with him, including to nearby Corning. Corning wasn’t much larger but was along a river and it used to have a fair in the Spring and Summer. That’s where Sebastian had met Arda. Arda had been everything he had wanted and loved her completely and her him, in the early days. His father hadn’t approved of him marrying some farmer’s daughter from the hicks. So, Sebastian had left the city behind. He had no money of his own but had never cared about money. It turned out Arda had. She had figured she was marrying up when he had been marrying down. Every year it became clearer to her that his father wasn’t going to forgive him and no fortune was to be inherited.

So, Sebastian tried to become a farmer. Chickens he did fine with but the years had proven that he had no agricultural instinct. He did have one skill among the illiterate - he was educated. So, he became a scrivener. But farmers only need a scrivener twice - once to record when someone is born and once to certify a will when they die. Sebastian looked at the satchel. They weren’t filled with the ink stains of baby feet.

The folk did like him to read from the holy books and lead prayers. He wasn’t ordained but he did his best. So, his family got by on what they managed with some generosity from the town. He married couples, baptized the young, and buried the dead. Sebastian still loved his wife but he admitted that flame had gone out for her long ago. Their one child, Kerri, was a bright light among the heavens to Sebastian’s eyes. Arda had once referred to the child as the end of her duties to her husband.

And that brought him here. Each Spring the coughing illness got worse. A lot of families had someone sick. Some moved away saying the town was cursed. Even the well in town was drying up. He looked out the window. They were done and gone now but he enjoyed the little ritual the teen girls put on every week. They gathered in simple smocks and put out offerings for the Shepherd and sang songs. Keri had been among them this week. Normally it was something only done at the tupping season and when the crops were sewn but we needed water so it was being done at the well which was within sight of Milt’s house.

Soon Rosa’s husband would be home and Sebastian would go home to his own family. Sitting again in the chair Sebastian picked up the plank but instead of writing he cleaned the pen and put it away. He used some warm wax between his fingers and sealed the inkpot. He shuffled the papers away and stared at the candle’s flame.

Sebastian licked his fingers to put out the flame but paused. A finger on each side he could feel the slight heat. The words formed in his mind, ‘Are you there?’

‘Sebastian, of course, I am. Where else would I be if I was really just your imagination, as you’ve accused me of being.’

‘So, you’re saying I haven’t been going mad? Ten days I’ve held vigil as this woman dies and you’ve waited for me each time in the candle’s flame. How could this not be me going mad?’

‘No offense Sebastian but you’re not bright enough to imagine me.’

‘So even my imagination belittles me.’ He sighed.

‘Don’t be like that Sebastian. Besides, I’m not you.’

‘You’re talking to me in my voice.’

‘In your mind, yes. But you would be wounded by my voice. So this is the tiniest echo I can send using the candle as a ... a pinhole of sorts to whisper through.’

Suddenly the air shifted and the door opened. Milt was home. Thank the gods Sebastian thought and he quenched the tiny flame. Shit! He suckled his slightly tinged fingers. He’d forgotten to remoisten them.

Home wasn’t a long walk, perhaps half an hour. Sebastian passed over the threshold and he walked into the smell of fresh-baked bread. He unloaded his satchel and put everything up carefully, even his plank. He kissed his wife on the cheek and Keri pulled him into a hug. She was the thing by which he survived. Her hair was dark and her eyes darker. She laughed easily and her face reminded him of Arda when she still smiled. She mirrored him in thought and was the son he had always wanted, just not male. It turned out that didn’t matter much. He sat by the fire and enjoyed the warmth on his feet...

Today Kerri came up behind her father and he felt her hands on his shoulders. She had gotten so big. “Thank you, baby,” he said.

“The way you sit when you write daddy, you need to do something or you’re going to end up a hunchback.”

Her mother started putting some plates on the table. “If anyone can injure themselves while sitting still it’s your father,” she added. It was said without venom but no warmth either. Sebastian stood and kissed his daughter on the head. At the dinner table, the chair was old but felt comfortable. The food was hot but the room cold. He ate, ritually, tasting nothing.

Keri grabbed the bread knife and spun it in her hand, giving it a theatrical flourish that her mother glared at her for. Keri stopped playing with the knife and cut a piece of bread for herself and without needing to ask did the same for her father. Then she looked at her mother who shook her head no.

Over the stew, Arda looked at him. “Did Milt give you anything today?”

“No, not today. I don’t feel comfortable asking him at a time like this.”

“Sebastian, we need to eat too.”

“We have food.”

“Beans and a few vegetables, it’s not much.”

“The chickens are growing well, we will have eggs and meat soon.”

Arda didn’t want to argue and returned to her bowl. They never argued, there wasn’t enough heat for that between them. Kerri took the effort to smile though. After dinner, they worked on their own tasks around the house until it was time for bed.

Sebastian always felt the shift from one day to another. If he had been a farmer he would have felt the sunrise but instead, he always knew when the moon was at its height. He had always preferred the night. He rose slowly so as to not wake Arda and returned to updating wills. He should have done it earlier but knew Arda would feel slighted if he avoided mending work. She reminded him that she did so much while he just sat around.

He sat again, writing by moonlight. He loved the moon. He loved how it seemed to cut through the dark. A light in the dark always seemed brighter than the sun. It was plenty to write by. When he was a boy he would listen to the rat-catchers and the lamplighters and others about their business at night from his bedroom windows. Now he listened to the rats in the brush and owls in trees.

One sound cut through the night. A cough. Sebastian moved the plank quickly, putting the papers down but paying no attention to them as he moved over to the other side of the cabin. Keri, sat up in her bed on the far side of the one-room house. She shook with her cough. Sebastian went to her and sat on the bedside.

“Keri?”

She poured herself water from a pitcher on the beside. A reliable well was one of their few blessings. “I’m fine, just a dry throat.”

Sebastian put his hand to her forehead. “You are cold.”

“Nothing warm blankets won’t solve. You,” she poked him in the arm, “don’t stay up too late. I know you get back up after bedtime to work on the papers.”

Sebastian squeezed her hand. “I can’t do it and my chores at the same time.”

“They pay you. That should be your chore.”

Sebastian whispered. “Don’t be silly. Now,” he picked up the old hairbrush on her bedside, “what little girl needs her hair brushed?”

“You’re just trying to make me sleepy daddy.”

“Does that mean you don’t need your hair brushed?”

She grinned. “Nope, I definitely do.” She coughed again but slid up in the bed and he sat behind her as he started to brush her hair out.

“Well, when people are better maybe we can go down to Cordwin and buy you a new hairbrush.” She leaned forward and mumbled something about that would be nice and soon he kissed her forehead as she slid under the covers.

Sebastian returned to his work.

In the morning Keri was burning up. She tried to make breakfast but nearly collapsed and Sebastian half carried her to bed. She barely had enough strength to help him. Sebastian looked at his daughter. She was only fourteen, his little girl. She looked like a woman but wasn’t.

“You need to go to Milt’s,” Arda said.

“Keri needs me.”

“Keri needs care and I’m her mother. Go, maybe Milt will pay you today.”

He reluctantly left, kissing Keri as he headed out the door. All-day Sebastian watched Rosa as the light seemed to go out of her eyes by little stretches. Each time she coughed he imagined a bit more of her soul escaping. No matter how hot he kept the hearth he felt cold and avoided looking at the light. Eventually, Milt came home. He considered asking Milt for some coin, as Arda would, but he couldn’t and not knowing what to say left instead.

He walked home, stopping to see the chickens. They were doing well and a new generation was almost ready to lay eggs so they could double egg production for a while and then start butchering. He had done fine with the chickens at least he thought. They did eat anything though so it was probably more due to them than him. Inside the door, he dropped his satchel looking around. Arda wasn’t there. He hadn’t seen her outside.

Sebastian ran to Keri’s bedside and was grateful to see her breathing and sleeping. He slumped into the chair near the bed.

A cough caught his attention. “Hey, Papa.” She held out her hand and he intertwined his fingers with hers.

“How are you doing, kid?”

“I’m good.” She stopped to cough.

“Where is your mom?”

“She said she had to go out to the backfield. Some of the herbs need harvesting.”

“She should be here with you.”

“Papa, it doesn’t matter you know that.”

He was getting mad. For the first time in a long time, he felt rage flood into him. “You need taking care of.”

“It won’t keep me from... “ she started crying.