The outhouse wasn’t an option for the old man anymore, not when it hurt him so much to take the few steps between his bed and the chair in the main room.
He only came into the kitchen for meals, but if anyone but Ree tried to help him, they’d get their head bitten off for being “damn busybodies.” Ree suspected it was because he didn’t offer sympathy, and he didn’t make a fuss of the old man. He just . . . did what had to be done.
Garrad might be sick and his body failing him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still have his pride.
That pride was very much evident when he received his son this morning. Garrad was sitting in his chair in the main room, combed and shaved and wearing clean clothes and keeping the pain out of his face as much as he could. And doing his best to pretend Jem wasn’t hovering anxiously around the room, pretending to straighten things that didn’t need straightening and looking anxiously at Garrad, out the corner of his eye.
Garrad would not acknowledge his grandson’s anxiety. He would keep his dignity till the end. “Good to see you, boy,” he told Lenar. Then he turned to Ree and said, “Ree, there’s a rolled paper in the drawer beside my bed. I’ll be wanting that now.”
Ree just nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
The paper was where Garrad had said, new paper carefully rolled and tied with a scrap of bright yellow fabric Ree recognized as the stuff they’d used for Amelie’s best apron this year. He closed the drawer, and returned to the main room.
At the door, Ree paused, struck by the resemblance between Garrad, Lenar and Jem. They were grandfather, father, and son, but they could have been the same man at different ages, looking at them like this.
You had to look closely at Jem to notice his eyes were rounder in shape and his mouth slightly softer—at least, when he wasn’t in full family stubborn. Lenar’s hair was darker than Jem’s, but not much, and Garrad’s was all white, and thinner now.
Ree’s heart tightened when he looked at Garrad like this and saw something else shadowed on the old man, something you couldn’t fight and couldn’t beat. One day, Jem too would be like this. And the only longing in Ree’s heart, unbearable and demanding, was to still be allowed to be near then. To spend his life with Jem. He didn’t think he could stand to leave, to lose Jem.
Garrad nodded when Ree gave him the paper. “Lenar, you’ll be wanting to keep this safe. I reckon you’ll be needing it afore spring.”
Lenar blinked, looking blank, as though he had no notion what had gotten into his father this time. He untied the fabric, and unrolled the paper. His face went slack for a moment, then–when he looked up–he looked much younger. Younger than Jem, even. “Oh, no, Dad. You’re too damn stubborn to die.”
Ree didn’t want to look at him, to see the hurt, the realization that his father was human, and fading. That Garrad, and Lenar, and Jem too, weren’t going to go on forever.
Garrad chuckled. “Don’t you pull that with me, boy. I ain’t some fool woman to be soothed by pretty words.”
“Granddad—” Jem didn’t get any further. His voice broke in a way that said he was fighting tears. “There are Healers that—”
“Father, I . . . Is there anything that can help? Is there any . . .” Now Lenar sounded lost, that big booming voice faint and almost childlike.
“None of that, now.” Garrad wagged a bony finger. “I’m old. Ain’t no Healer can fix that, nor no Mage, neither.” His expression softened, the fierce light in his eyes fading a little. He looked back at Lenar. “I’d have been ten years gone if not for Jem and Ree. They’ve been good years, I ain’t denying that. But I can feel them as went before calling for me, telling me it’s my time.”
Ree nodded slowly. He’d tried to pretend otherwise, but he’d known for a while now, somewhere deep down, that Garrad didn’t have long. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, either. Lenar’s stricken look cut Ree deep. He might have been a soldier for the Empire, led his men in more than one battle, and seen enough death to make Ree cringe, but it was obvious that Lenar had never once thought his own father might be dying.
“Just read it, son. Read it, then keep it safe until it’s needed.” Garrad got that odd light in his face, and chuckled. “I figure you can argue better once you know what I’ve got there.”
Beside Ree, Jem’s hand clenched tight into a fist, and his face went stony. “It’s a will, isn’t it? Why didn’t you say anything to us? To me? Why didn’t you tell us you were doing this? Why?”
It wasn’t—quite—an accusation, but Ree could hear the hurt under it. He set his hand on Jem’s, but he didn’t say anything. This wasn’t his argument. What Garrad wanted to do with his property was Garrad’s business. He supposed it would go to Lenar and, in the fullness of time, to Jem. Meanwhile . . . Ree didn’t want to consider that. He wondered if he and Meren could claim a corner of the forest and build a willow shelter.
Garrad all but crowed. “That’s one for me, lad. I ain’t said anything cause it’s got to be done proper, and I wasn’t going to get anyone’s hopes up.”
So . . . no hopes up. Which meant Ree and Jem . . . He wouldn’t, couldn’t finish the thought. He wouldn’t resent Garrad, either. After all, the man had given him shelter and home and family. More than anyone had ever done for Ree.
Garrad nodded in Lenar’s direction. “That’s why it’s got to go through your father first.”
Lenar set the paper down again. He looked troubled. There were vertical lines between his eyes. “It can’t,” he said in a strained voice. “Imperial law . . . you can’t leave anything to Ree. Or Meren.”
“What?” Jem about exploded across the room, glaring at his father. “Imperial law can go hang itself. If Granddad wants to leave this whole place to Ree, he can.”
Ree was too shocked to think. He stared, unmoving, waiting for Lenar’s roar.
It didn’t come. Lenar made an odd, distressed sound and hunched into himself like a child caught with his hand in the honey. “I’m sorry, Jem. I don’t like it either, but . . . I’ve been confirmed here—the message came yesterday—and I have to follow Imperial laws.”
“Even when they’re wrong?” Jem demanded.
Lenar only nodded, looking miserable and . . . lost, even.
Ree cleared his throat. “Look, you . . . no one needs to. Why . . . why can’t you leave the place to Jem, and Jem . . .”
“Jem is my heir,” Lenar said, booming the last word. His gaze told his son that he wasn’t going to hear any argument on that, and Jem, though his lip curled as if to make a scathing remark, kept quiet. “The farm . . . He can inherit the farm, but he’ll have a lot more to look after. He’ll have to do his army duty or go to court, or—”
He stopped, but Jem didn’t say anything, nor did Ree. They’d both assumed for a while it would be that way. If Jem was the son of a Lord, he’d need to get known as such in the outer world. Ree understood what wasn’t being said. Ree could not go with Jem when he went–not unless he was willing to go on a leash or in a cage–and lots of things could happen when people were separated. Even as-good-as-married people. Hell, even married people, like what had happened with Lenar and Jem’s mother.
As though to underscore it, Lenar said, softly, “You’re both so young . . .”
Which Ree took to mean that they couldn’t possibly know what they wanted for the rest of their lives.
Garrad made a clucking sound that usually meant he’d just heard something nonsensical, which Ree took a little comfort in, but not too much, because Garrad said, “Life is unpredictable and things happen. Look at me, with two boys and a wife, and then left all alone, all those years. If anything happens, I want Ree to be safe. And Meren. They can’t go to the army or to court. They can’t find their own ways. They have to know there will always be this.”