Emily waited until dawn before she was willing to stop the wagon. She'd tracked the sounds behind her in the wagon as she drove, listening first to her new son falling asleep, then to Rosie. Rosie was almost too excited to sleep that night, but eventually she did settle down in her father's arms. Finally her husband slept as well. She had no interest in stopping, however. Her nerves were still jangling with electricity and fear, and she trusted the horses to keep the wagon on the road more than she trusted the safety of stopping too close to the town. Oliver had done his best to fill the grave but there was no guarantee the townsfolk wouldn't come looking for them. People had before, after all.
The problem with long journeys, Emily decided, was how much time they gave her to think. While there were plenty of days she had company, conversation was exhausting after a few hours, let alone a few days, and she and Oliver were the sort of couple who were content to just exist in each others' company at the best of times. When they were both tired and anxious, and using up all of their not-tired-or-anxious for Rosie's benefit, it sometimes felt like there was nothing left over.
And that left Emily time to think. She thought about her own childhood and her younger brothers, and whether she'd ever see them again and whether they'd want to see her. She thought about Rosie, and her new son, and their uncertain futures.
There was a moment where she worried it had been selfish, but then, all of the best things in her life seemed to result from being selfish.
Mostly Emily wondered what they'd fine on the road ahead, whether it was the next town or the hamlet after that or the village after that. Would she ever be able to live somewhere without worrying someone would decide her family was an abomination that shouldn't exist?
Emily was perfectly satisfied being herself, as odd as herself was sometimes, but she wished other people would appreciate her for it more. She resented every minute she spent pretending just to be safe. She resented that people didn't understand her work and didn't want to understand it.
Fools, all of them.
And yes, around the time dawn cracked the shell of the horizon she realized she'd drifted into monologuing. She finally stopped the wagon to sleep when she was worried she'd lose her grip on the reins; there was a sheltered clearing beside the road and no other signs of nearby traffic.
Emily fell asleep hard and fast, and dreamed of nothing, barely waking when Oliver nudged her awake and encouraged her to go sleep in the wagon. The boy was still sleeping. Rosie was awake and fed, and Oliver got her up into the seat beside him and decided to make some time while the road continued to be empty.
She woke around noon, leaving him to drive as she was still exhausted, especially after drawing up the magic to put skins back on the horses. They seemed to both be checking on the boy constantly, making sure his breathing was regular and seeing if he was awake or responsive. It was most of the day before they came to another town, this one looking a bit more run down than the last. The paint wasn't as fresh on the buildings, and though it was getting dark, there were few lights in the town. This place didn't have gates or a wall to worry about, so they settled down for the night in a meadow that seemed like it might be a commons. Emily pulled one rune, then another from her bag. She nodded.
"This place looks good," she told them both. "I'll ask around about a place to stay in the morning."
The boy woke finally as they were finishing dinner. Oliver helped him out of the wagon and led him over to see with Rosie and Emily. They handed him water, and bacon, and cheese, and bread. He seemed to have no trouble eating and drinking, which was already better than Oliver had been at first. That was a good sign.
"How are you feeling?" they asked, and "can you taste?" and "can you see?" and "can you feel the air?" and "do you know your name?" There were not yet any answers from the boy, though it wasn't obvious if he was refusing to speak or unable. He nodded, he answered with gestures, and he was responsive. He was confused, sometimes, but obviously thinking, obviously listening.
Emily debated whether or not to take Rosie into town with her, and eventually decided that it should be safe enough this first time, and Rosie always did make such a good impression. Oliver agreed, but only if Rosie wanted to go.
"It's not worth fighting about with her," he pointed out, and that made sense.
"Do you want to go with me, Rosie?" she asked the young girl. Rosie was torn between wanting to play with her new brother and wanting to go with Mama to see the new town, but once it was pointed out that her brother probably still needed to rest, she decided Mama was a safe bet.
Emily dug the surgical bowl out of the wagon and poured in some water. She washed her face and hands and did her best to shake the dirt out of the hem of her skirts. At least the apron had helped keep most of the dress clean.
She took a swipe at washing Rosie's face too, though the girl wriggled away. Rosie spent the short walk to town running ahead of her mother, then running back, then running ahead again as far as she dared. She laughed as she ran, and Emily relaxed a little to see it.
There was a sign... well, Emily didn't feel right describing it as welcoming them, but it at least marked the border of the town of Dismal Nitch. It looked like there was a single main road with a few houses set further back, all of them in varying states of weathering to grey even if they'd started out dark or light or whitewashed.
Emily identified a building that was probably a school, another that was almost certainly a blacksmith's forge, and one that looked like it rented a room or two, and one with a sign that simply said STORE and beneath, in smaller letters BANKING & POSTAL SERVICES, and at least two or three others that looked like businesses even if it wasn't immediately clear what kind of businesses they were.
There were three or four children running on the grass next to the school. Rosie started to run to them, then stopped and pulled on her mother's sleeve.
"Mama, can I?"
She looked over at the children. There wasn't a teacher in sight, so even if they were there for lessons it didn't seem likely Rosie would interrupt anything.
"Go ahead, love. I'll be in the store here. Come find me if they go inside, okay?"
Rosie nodded and ran off. Emily watched her go, anxious but pleased for her. She was such a social child; Emily worried about her.
Once it was clear she wouldn't be immediately chased off by the other children, Emily turned and walked slowly into the store. She looked around on high alert, not sure what to expect. Sure, the stones liked it, and she appreciated the atmosphere, but unknowns were still, well, unknown.
The store itself was clean and well-maintained but not fancy like the stores in cities back east. There were shelves lining the walls, full of sacks or stacks or careful arrangements. There was a long counter, and a man behind it fiddling with a carving knife and a small chunk of wood. There was another table, this one with chairs and a writing kit, and behind that, a flat shelf that held a few pieces of what were probably outgoing mail.
"Ah, hello, ma'am," the man said, a little cautious. "Pleased to meet you, I'm Lewis. What can I help you with today?" Of course he wouldn't get many strangers in here, Emily knew.
"Hello, sir. Since I'm new in town, I'm guessing you might know all the things new folk might need to ask," stepping up to his counter and putting on her best smile. He smiled back and she guessed it was genuine.
"I think I can set you in the right direction," he said. "Are you here all by your lonesome?"
She laughed. "Hardly, no. My daughter went to play with some kids we saw outside, and my husband and... my son, they stayed with the wagon?"
"Oh?"
Every time, Emily thought with a sigh. "Oh he... well you know how it is. He got sick around the time our daughter was born and he was just never recovered."
The shopkeeper nodded. "Ah yeah, that happened to the lighthouse keeper's son Charlie, he was just ten when he got the scarlet fever and the boy recovered but he lost his sight."
"Oh, what a shock that must have been," Emily nodded along.
"You bet. They did their best but it was hard on the whole family. Ended up packing up and moving back east beginning of summer, I guess they got family in Boston who're setting him up at a school there."
"I hope that's good for him," she nodded. This was not the small talk she'd mentally rehearsed. How was she supposed to have a conversation when the other person wasn't following the script!
Lewis then rambled off into more detail than Emily could possibly imagine herself remembering about various other people who'd left Dismal Nitch, or maybe died there, or maybe stayed after their misfortune. It was hard to follow.
"Is the lighthouse unoccupied, then?" Emily asked, trying to bring the conversation back around to something she was expecting. Lewis lifted an eyebrow at her. "You know something about lighthouse keeping?"
"I'm good with lenses and mirrors, and I know how to trim a wick."
The shopkeeper looked thoughtful.
"Well I'm tired of doing half the lighthouse keeping on top of everything here, and my wife's no fonder of the other half, so I suppose we can try it. Go get your boys and I'll show you the road down to the lighthouse."