Hungering Teeth.

X.

MAY 7th, 1791

My Dearest Agnus,

It seems an age has passed since I last laid eyes upon you, though it has been but a month. How I long to be home again, among familiar faces and the warmth of our little town. The days here are long, and my duties endless, yet I find my thoughts often wandering back to you and the quiet comfort of your company.

I write with news that has stirred my heart for weeks now. I had hoped to speak of it in person, but patience has failed me. Soon, I shall finish my work and begin my journey back to you. There is something I must share with you, something that may change our lives. But I will not say more here, for it deserves to be spoken, not written.

I trust you've been well and have not let the farm tire you too greatly. I pray you've had time to reflect, as I have. My thoughts have been filled with hope for what is to come. I believe we may have much to discuss upon my return.

I shall be with you in just a few days more. Until then, keep me in your heart as I have kept you in mine.

Yours ever faithfully,

Enid

Enid, alighted from the carriage with the elegance of one to whom gratitude was an art, rather than a necessity, with a graceful nod and an exchange of a few dollars— each polished more by custom than by sentiment. She retrieved her weather-beaten portmanteau, its worn leather boasting the initials E.H.

The wind, ever the mischievous companion of her fate, caught the edge of her dress, ushering in a chill that seemed less from the air and more from the town itself.

A town, it seemed, that had not merely forgotten her, but had resolved to remain a little less alive in her absence.

Her heart, which had long been accustomed to the delicate dance between joy and despair, now found itself overwhelmed by both. The news she carried was like a jewel— beautiful, yet cutting. She felt its weight with every step on the road back to her lover's home. Agnus's farmhouse. It had always been a quiet corner of the world, where the frivolity of society could be exchanged for something infinitely more precious: silence. Yet now, even the air seemed to conspire against her. It hung thick, like a conversation unfinished, or perhaps never begun.

She held the portmanteau closer.

She clambered up the porch steps, the wood creaking as it always did. The front door was ajar, beckoning her in. It felt like coming home, like stepping into a life she'd left behind only a month ago, yet it was a lifetime ago.

She stepped inside, greeting the grandparents that were sitting by the fire, their faces lighting up with delight.

"Miss Enid! It's been a while, my love. Your Agnus has missed you terribly." Mabel stood up and hugged her tightly. "You're back early... Agnus isn't here at the moment, I'll send Larry to go and fetch him. Larry! Get the horse and tell Agnus his lady is back."

"I ain't talking to that boy." Larry shot back.

"Lawrence, please, or I'll go get him myself." Mabel replied.

"No." He stood up, racing to put on his shoes.

Enid gave Mabel a warm smile, her eyes dancing as her fingers brushed over the worn fabric of her dress, smoothing out an imaginary crease. "I've missed you both. I must've missed Agnus by a hair, judging by the fact that he hasn't returned yet. But, I did send a few letters. I hope he didn't mind my absence as much as I did his."

She turned on her heel and made her way upstairs, to Agnus's room. His smell, the faint musk of hay and man, enveloped her, choking back her tears.

Tears finally gave their dam, trailing down her cheeks as she sat on the bed. "Oh, Agnus, I've missed you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

She opened her portmanteau, staring at the ticking time bomb she carried in the form of four letters. She'd written them all. Enid also wondered if he'd received any of the ones before, if they were still trapped within the depths of the postal system, or if they'd found their way to him.

Her thoughts were a muddle of questions and answers, of uncertainty and hope. She closed her eyes, allowing the quiet to blanket her, as she waited for Agnus to return.

𓇼

Agnus glanced up from the counter where he'd been pouring drinks for the regulars. As the saloon doors opened, standing there was his grandfather, Larry. He didn't look like he had much love for him right now, but there was something else—a sternness in his eyes, that made Agnus sit up a little straighter.

"Enid is back." Larry announced matter-of-factly, his voice cutting through the smoky atmosphere of the saloon.

Agnus froze, the mug he'd been about to place in front of a customer still poised in midair. "Enid?" He repeated. He swallowed a lump and cleared his throat.

He quickly wiped his hands on his apron, his eyes scanning the room to make sure he didn't leave any tasks unfinished. His attention turned back to his grandfather. "I'll head home right away, Grandpa. Thank you for letting me know."

"Well, hurry on up, Mabel has a roast in the oven." Larry replied, leaving the saloon.

Agnus's heart thrummed in his chest as he went outside to get the other bar tender, James, before hurrying onto the carriage.

Enid's fingers traced the pattern in the quilt that covered the bed, her breath hitching as she heard the creak of the stairs. She jolted up, turning as Agnus entered, the uncertainty of her arrival inching out her joy.

Their eyes met, a million unspoken words passing between them. She searched for a smile, for some semblance of the love that once was, but his face was a fortress, a barrier against whatever he didn't want to see.

"Agnus," She whispered.

"Enid... I thought you weren't coming back for the next few months."

Enid could barely bring herself to speak the next words, but she knew she owed him the truth. "Agnus, there's something I have to tell you. We're expecting. I'm with child."

He felt his legs tremble beneath him, as though they had been transformed into mere jelly, quivering with the weight of a revelation he could scarcely bear. Enid, his beloved Enid, pregnant—pregnant with their child.

The words lingered in the air, a glistening sword poised precariously above his head, threatening to fall at any moment. This was a fate unforeseen, the tempest that had caught him unawares, something he had never dared to consider. Having a child. His mind raced back to the past month, to the stolen and intoxicating moments with Luther, and Nori.

Enid watched as Agnus's face contorted, the joy she had anticipated turning into something unreadable. She bit her lip, her fingers curling around the bedpost to keep herself grounded.

"Agnus?" her voice trembled, a plea for him to say something, anything.

He sank onto the bed, his head in his hands, his body shaking. Enid couldn't tell if it was from shock or joy. She reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder, his muscles tensing beneath her touch.

"Agnus, we can figure this out together. I know it's a surprise, but it's ours," she tried to reassure him, her voice wavering. "We love each other, we can do this."

"Wow... this is, unexpected, to say the least. I— I'm happy." He looked at her.

She took his hand, entwining their fingers, desperate for connection, for reassurance. "Agnus, I know it's not perfect timing, but... it's our baby. Our little miracle. I thought we could do this together. Be a family."

She leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder, her heart pounding against his chest. "I love you, Agnus," she murmured, "And I love this baby. I want us to be a family."

She waited, her eyes closed, her world narrowed down to the feel of his body next to hers, his heartbeat, his scent. She prayed he would wrap his arms around her, that he would say he loved her too, that they could face this together.

𓇼

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