Morning of the 14th Day of the 9th Month
The Treadwell Estate.
Myrkentown, Myrken Wood
"Dead?"
"In the night, Aloisius. I found her this morning as I was going around, looking in on her and Alice since Gregory was with you."
"B-b-but she wasn't sick, Langley! She wasn't ill!"
"She was old, Allie, eight-and-seventy, and she was frail."
The two remaining brothers fall quiet, here. The younger is only some seven years behind his late sister; the elder is three before her.
"The custom here is to burn the dead, Langley, hmph. I'll not allow it. We have, hrm, the family graves back home."
"And how ought we take her body to Westenford, Allie? It's a good ride distant, especially if Arnold is doing the pulling of the coach."
"Then I rent two stouter, younger horses, mmph, for the time, build a box to put her in today, we put the box in the shed on wheels I put Pinky in to haul her around, hm, and we connect it to the carriage and go out tonight or tomorrow morn, mmph mmph!"
= = = = = = = = = =
Evening of the 17th.
The Treadwell Estate, currently overseen by Acting Chief Magistrate Jonathan Lincoln.
Westenford, Amasynia.
"The body is interred, Allie. She's in the mausoleum, lying there next to the bones of Mother and Father."
"And the dust of the ones before them, mmph mmph."
The two brothers, Langley and Aloisius, stand by the Treadwell family tomb, behind their house in Westenford. Both men wear heavy, black robes and boots; the elder brother covers his head with the hood of his robe, and the younger brother with his favorite floppy, brown hat. Both lean on stout walking sticks, Langley having taken up one in recent months, and Aloisius using his that he's had for some years. They are alone, their two traveling companions of Gregory the butler and Carson the guard waiting in the house.
"Elizia wasn't particularly loyal to any one faith, Lang, mmph mmph."
"I know, Allie."
"That grieves me doubly. I shall miss her, Langley. She is lost to me, mmph."
"Selfishness, brother? Tubbius does not rule all."
"Hmph."
"We ought to away. Rain comes." Up goes a plump-fingered hand, catching the first fat drops, chilly and heavy.
"I miss Westenford, Langley, and dearly so. It's stuff such as this, mmph: the rain off the coast, the swell of the Aeryn from it. Were it not so troublesome, mmph, to move everything back here and everyone, too, hm hm, I would give up the post in Myrken and bring us all home, hrm hrm, in short order. Very short order!"
"A day or two here, Allie, will do us well, then. The trip home will go a little faster without having to care for Elizia's body in a box. We can wait, yes, and spend a little time. Besides, tomorrow starts a new week. You said that the Council here--well, all but Doug Wiggins--are loyal Tubbians."
Aloisius raises a fluffy pair of eyebrows as he slowly turns to his back porch.
"Well, Allie, you've been without a regular church meeting since you had to usher most of the faith out of Myrkentown to stop problems with the King's fellows and the One True Faith. You have been droopy, saggy. You need a day of praise, I think."
"And feast, mmph mmph!"
"And feast! Now, in we go, before we both catch cold and Elizia has our company!"
= = = = = = = = =
Afternoon of the 18th.
The dining hall of the Church of Tubbius.
Westenford, Amasynia.
The dining hall in the Church is full of faithful if not of food; the remnants of a lunch eaten over the last hours have been picked clean. Many priests snore in their broad chairs. Some sprawl where they sit, happily guzzling wine blessed by the one they hold as their god in the flesh.
"I must return home, mmph, and Langley with me."
"But we have been hoping for a revival! There are a few here in town--"
"They're not on the Council." Interrupted again.
"And they eat with us at Herford's, and they eat well enough--"
"And they're rich enough. They would contribute nicely."
"And we all think they just need a little talking to, a little sermon or two from the true author of the faith!"
"Hmph. Names. Addresses. I'll see them tonight, but we're leaving in the morning."
Evening of the 22nd.
The Treadwell Estate.
Myrkentown, Myrken Wood.
"Alison?" comes the jovial, but exhausted, call from a tired Aloisius, who shuffles into his front hall with one hand on his cane and the other arm looped around his well-rounded older brother. "We are home!"
Alison--or Alice, as she prefers--is not the first to come to meet the returning elders. That first would be the pair of Egbert and Gwendolyn, both wearing their gowns for sleep. The other children present at the house--Gabriel, Gertrude, Frederick, Harvell, Nicholas, and Arella--all follow almost immediately, all of them a-toddle at various speeds. Squeals of glee and babbles of "Poppa!" and "Uncle!" escape as the two old men are mobbed. They are soon joined by the ample form of Alison "Alice" Olivia Chopin Treadwell, who clears a path to her husband with a clearing of her throat, soon enough closing in for a warm hug and a soft, "Welcome home, both of you. Now, away to a couch or a bed! Go!"
"Allie?" Langley adds as they do as requested, walking down the front hall past the family portraits. Children scurry and scatter, returning to their play.
"Lang?"
"I shall miss her dearly, as well."
Sweat-warm hand claps softly at the back of the elder remaining Treadwell sibling.
"And Allie?"
"Yes, Lang." A pause to wheeze quietly.
"We still have not been to Foggy Bottom to find that painter for your portrait at the meetinghouse."
"Later, Langley. Later. I tire of carriages, mmph mmph. I want to rest."