The kitchen felt warm and inviting when Nimue came downstairs. The iron stove was already lit, its flames flickering behind the grate, and the savory smell of bacon filled the small space. Saoirse stood at the wooden counter, holding a heavy pan.
The bacon inside sizzled and spat tiny droplets of grease. Jack sat at the table with his fingers wrapped around a cup of hot tea. His hair was still damp from his morning wash. Jane stood beside the stove, stirring a pot with slow, steady movements.
Nimue climbed onto her wooden chair, the seat cool against her legs. Cinder settled beneath the table, his nose pointed toward the floorboards as he waited for something to fall.
"Rice," Saoirse said, placing a steaming bowl in front of her. "Eggs. Bacon. Eat up."
Nimue looked at the breakfast spread. It was more than she usually ate in the morning. The rice was hot, the eggs were soft, and the bacon was perfectly crisp. She picked up her fork and began eating.
"We are making pies today," Jane said cheerfully. "They are for the neighbors, just like we did back in London."
Nimue paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. "All of them?"
"Five of them. We passed those houses on the way here. Margaret said they are the closest ones to us." Jane wiped her hands on her apron. "We will deliver them this morning. You and your father will go."
Nimue looked at Jack. He was already reaching for the flour, his movements slow and practiced.
"You know how to make pies?"
He gave her a small smile. It was brief, but warm. "I learned."
They worked together in the little kitchen. Saoirse prepared the dough, pressing the yellow butter into the white flour with quick, practiced movements until the mixture became crumbly.
Jack rolled it out, moving the rolling pin across the floured surface in long, even strokes. Jane prepared the filling with apples, sugar, and cinnamon. Its scent was sharp and sweet.
Nimue stood on her stool and watched. She handed Saoirse the butter when she needed it and held the heavy bowl for Jane while she poured in the filling. She also counted the pies as they went into the oven.
Five were for the neighbors, and five were for them. Ten pies in total.
When they were finished, the pies rested on the counter. Their crusts were golden, and the filling bubbled around the edges. Saoirse wrapped each one in wax paper, tied it with a length of string, and stacked them inside a woven basket.
Five pies for five houses.
Thomas was waiting by the door when they finished. His bag hung over one shoulder, and he had already put on his heavy coat. He had spent the morning in the sitting room after breakfast, with his boots off and his feet resting on the rug. Now he stood on the porch, his face lit by the morning sun.
Nimue walked toward him. Her feet seemed to carry her there on their own.
He crouched down, just as he had in Thornwell and at the Apparition point. His face had the same shape as her father's, with similar eyes and jaw. But his hands were different, calloused and darkened by the sun.
"I can only drive you as far as this place," he told her. "For your journeys after this, you will be on your own."
Nimue looked at him. She thought of the road, the long drive from Thornwell, the lane winding through the trees, and the house waiting at the end of it. Thomas had been there for all of it. He had brought them here.
"Keep safe," he said.
He pulled her into a quick hug, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. His chin rested on top of her head. He smelled of the car, road dust, and all the places they had left behind.
Then he stood and shook Jack's hand. Jack gave him one of the freshly baked pies.
Thomas nodded to Jane and waved once to Saoirse before walking to the car. He climbed inside and started the engine.
The car pulled away from the house, its wheels crunching over the gravel. It followed the lane until the trees closed around it. Soon, it was gone.
Nimue remained on the porch, watching the empty road.
Jack rested a hand on her shoulder. "Ready?"
She glanced at the basket in his hand. The pies were stacked neatly inside, each one wrapped and tied.
"Are we walking?"
"We are borrowing something." He took her hand. "Come on."
The lane was soft beneath her feet. Grass grew between the ruts, and wildflowers nodded along the edges. Nimue walked beside her father, her hand tucked into his. The basket swung from his other hand. The sun had climbed higher, making the morning light brighter and the shadows shorter.
She could see the main house ahead. It was larger than theirs, set back from the lane with a barn beside it and a fence running along the front. Animals grazed in the nearby field.
They looked like Bess, with brown and black coats and curved horns. When they heard the approaching footsteps, they lifted their heads to watch the pair pass.
Margaret stood on the porch with a mug in her hand, her hat pulled low against the sun. She set her mug on the railing and stood when she spotted them.
"You didn't have to walk all this way."
"We wanted to," Jack replied, holding out the basket. "This is for you. From all of us."
Margaret took it and unwrapped the paper. She looked at the golden crust and the little opening where steam escaped.
"Apple?"
"Apple."
She smiled broadly, her white teeth bright against her sun-darkened skin. "You will fit in just fine here."
She set the pie on the porch and looked at Nimue. "Do you like the country?"
Nimue nodded, but her attention had already wandered past Margaret to the barn and the field. Something was parked beside the barn. She had never seen anything quite like it.
"Is that a car?" she asked.
Margaret laughed. "No, that's a tricycle for getting around. The roads here aren't always suitable for cars."
Nimue studied it. It was nothing like the little tricycles in her books. This one was much larger, with three wheels, a flat bed at the back, and a seat at the front. The metal was rusty in places, and the paint had faded, but it looked sturdy. Its wheels were thick, with heavy tires.
"Would you like to borrow it?" Margaret asked. "It will come in handy for your deliveries."
Jack nodded. "If you don't mind."
"Mind? I would be glad to see it used." Margaret walked down the steps, her boots making heavy sounds against the wood.
"It's been sitting there for months. My husband used it before he passed away. I keep meaning to sell it, but..." She stopped and looked at the tricycle, resting one hand on its handlebar. "It's still good. It just needs someone to ride it."
She turned toward Jack. "Do you know how to handle one?"
He walked over to the machine and rested a hand on the seat. "I used to come here when I was young. There was a tricycle like this one. I learned to ride on it."
Margaret raised her eyebrows. "That was a long time ago."
"I remember it well."
She laughed. "Well, then. Show me."
Jack climbed onto the seat. His feet found the pedals, and his hands settled around the handlebars. He pushed off, and the tricycle began moving. Its wheels crunched over the gravel.
At first, it moved slowly. The machine was heavy, and the gears caught as he tried to pedal. Then he found the rhythm. The pedals turned smoothly, and the tricycle rolled down the lane.
Nimue watched with her mouth slightly open. She had never seen her father ride anything like this. She had seen him flying through the sky on a broom, his hair blowing in the wind. She had seen him sitting still in a carriage. But this was different.
He turned in a wide arc, the wheels rolling over the grass at the edge of the lane, then came back toward them. He stopped in front of Margaret and Nimue, his hands still on the handlebars. His breathing remained steady.
"Well?" he asked.
Nimue didn't answer immediately. She was looking at the metal frame, the thick tires, and the flat bed where they would place the pies. Then she looked at her father. His hair was slightly disheveled, and his shirt had come untucked. His face looked brighter than it had that morning.
"Can I ride?"
"Not today." He smiled. "Maybe when you are older. Today, you can ride with me."
He lifted her onto the flat bed. She sat on the wooden planks with her legs dangling over the edge and her hands gripping the sides. Jack placed the basket beside her, wedging it securely between her knees.
"Hold on."
He pushed off, and the tricycle began to move. The wheels turned beneath them as the lane slipped past. Nimue held on tightly. The wind brushed through her hair, and the sun warmed her face. The house was behind them, the field stretched beside them, and the trees waited ahead.
She laughed. The sound was carried away by the wind.
The first house stood at the end of the lane, where the road turned and the valley opened up. It was a small place with whitewashed walls, a low roof, and a fence along the front. A dog was sleeping in the yard. It lifted its head when they stopped, and its tail thumped once against the ground.
Jack parked the tricycle by the gate. He lifted Nimue down, took a pie from the basket, and walked with her to the door.
An old man opened it. He was thin, with bent shoulders and gnarled hands. He looked at Jack, then at the pie, and finally at the little girl standing behind him.
"We are your new neighbors," Jack explained. "We brought you something."
The man accepted the pie. His fingers traced the edge of the crust as he examined it.
"Apple?"
"Apple."
He looked down at the pie in his hands. "Thank you."
He closed the door, and Jack stood for a moment with his hand resting on Nimue's shoulder. Then they turned and walked back to the tricycle.
The second house was farther away, near the edge of the field. It had larger barns and longer fences. A woman came out before they reached the gate, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked at the tricycle, then at Jack and Nimue.
"You are the ones staying at Margaret's place."
Jack held out a pie. "We wanted to come and say hello."
The woman took it and unwrapped the paper. She leaned closer to smell the crust.
"It smells like my mother's pies." She looked at Nimue. "Do you like apple pie?"
Nimue nodded.
"Good. You will have plenty of apples here. The trees are full this year." She pointed toward the orchard behind the barn, where the branches were heavy with fruit. "You can come and pick some if you like. My girls would enjoy having someone to play with."
Nimue looked toward the orchard. The trees were old, with thick trunks, and two girls were swinging on a rope between them. Their hair flew behind them as they laughed.
She turned back to the woman. "I will."
The woman smiled and carried the pie inside. The door closed behind her.
The third house was smaller and set farther back from the road. Its garden had grown wild, and weeds covered much of the path. No one answered when they knocked.
Jack left the pie on the doorstep, still wrapped in its paper with the string tied tightly around it. He stood for a moment, looking toward the windows. The curtains were drawn, and the house remained silent.
Then he took Nimue's hand, and they returned to the tricycle.
The fourth house was a farm. Chickens wandered around the yard, and the barn doors stood open. The air smelled strongly of hay. A man was repairing a fence, his hammer rising and falling as the sound echoed across the field. He looked up when they stopped. His face was red, and his shirt was dark with sweat.
"New ones," he said. It wasn't a question.
Jack held out the pie. "This is from us."
The man wiped his hands on his trousers before taking it. He turned the pie over, examining its crust.
"You baked this yourself?"
"My wife did."
"She is a good woman." He placed the pie on a fence post. "If you need anything, come up here. Hay, eggs, milk. We have plenty."
Jack nodded. His gaze moved across the field, where animals grazed in the distance, then settled on the tractor parked beside the barn.
"It's a good place."
"It's a hard place," the man replied, picking up his hammer again. "But it's good."
He returned to his work. Jack lifted Nimue onto the tricycle, and they continued along the road.
The fifth house was the last. It stood at the edge of the forest, where the trees pressed close and the sunlight barely reached the yard. A woman was working in the garden, her hands buried in the soil. She looked up when they stopped. Her eyes were pale, and her face was lined with age.
"You are the ones staying at Margaret's."
Jack held out the pie. "This is for you."
She accepted it without unwrapping the paper. Her hands were still dark with soil as she held it against her apron.
"My husband used to ride that tricycle before he got sick. He would go into the village and come back with bread, cheese, and whatever else we needed."
She looked at Jack.
"He died last winter."
Jack fell silent. Nimue said nothing either. Behind the woman, the forest stood quiet.
The woman lowered her eyes to the pie. "Apple?"
"Apple."
She gave them a small smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "He liked apple."
Then she went inside, and the door closed behind her. The yard was empty once more.
Jack stood beside the tricycle for a moment, his expression still. Then he lifted Nimue onto the seat beside him. Her feet rested near the pedals, and his arms reached around her to hold the handlebars.
"Hold on."
She gripped the seat tightly.
They returned to Margaret's house first. She was sitting on the porch, and the pie was already cut. A slice rested on a plate, which she held out when they stopped.
"You did well," she said.
Jack took the plate, broke the slice in half, and gave one piece to Nimue. The crust was flaky, and the filling was still warm. The cinnamon left a pleasant, sharp taste on her tongue.
Margaret leaned against the railing. "You certainly know your way around a tricycle."
"I had good teachers."
"Your parents?"
"The people who lived here before." Jack looked toward the field, the barn, and the animals grazing nearby. "We came here every summer. My father taught me to ride, and my mother taught me to bake."
Margaret fell quiet. She studied his face, noticing the lines and memories that hadn't been there when they first met. She seemed to understand that he carried more than he let others see.
"You will come back when she is older," she said. "Then you can teach her."
Jack looked down at Nimue. She was finishing her pie, her fingers sticky and her face turned toward the sun.
"Yes. I will."
Margaret took the plate and walked toward the barn, her boots making heavy sounds against the gravel. The tricycle stood nearby, its wheels still and its seat warm from the sun.
"Take it," she said. "Keep it. It's not doing anyone any good sitting here."
Jack started to speak, but she raised a hand to stop him.
"He would have wanted someone to use it. He was a good man. He never liked things sitting idle."
Jack looked at the tricycle, then at Nimue. Her face was still turned toward the sun, her eyes closed as she enjoyed its warmth.
"Thank you," he said.
Margaret nodded and returned to the porch. She rested one hand on the railing, her gaze moving across the field.
Jack lifted Nimue onto the flat bed of the tricycle. Her legs dangled over the edge, and her hands gripped the sides. He placed the empty basket beside her. All the pies had been delivered, and the string that had held them together lay loose inside.
He pushed off, and the wheels began to turn. The lane slipped past them. The house was behind them, the field stretched beside them, and the trees waited ahead.
They arrived home before noon. The house was quiet, and the kitchen was empty. The stove had gone cold. Jane sat in the sitting room with a book resting in her lap and her eyes closed. Saoirse was on the porch, her feet propped on the railing and her face turned toward the sun.
Nimue climbed down from the tricycle. Her legs felt stiff, and her hands were cold. She stood in the yard, looking at the house, the field, and the forest beyond.
Jack came to stand beside her. He rested a hand on her head, gently running his fingers through her hair.
"What do you think?" he asked.
She looked across the field, where the grass grew tall and the flowers were bright. She looked at the gray wooden fence, its wire hanging loose in places. Then she looked at the house, with its open windows and curtains stirring in the breeze.
Finally, she turned to her father. His face looked tired, but his eyes were bright.
"I think," she said, "I want to see the forest."
He smiled. "Tomorrow."
Nimue nodded, took his hand, and walked inside with him.
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