Bed and Wine: Part 18

By Kaynara

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Sweet Leaf and Bitter Herbs

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AN: Thanks to Grimlock for the consult.

It’s Joss’s ‘verse; I just borrow it.

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The baby cried.  In earnest, Carly didn't like him much.  She suspected Mama didn't either, if the way he made her face crumple was any indicator.  He'd been a finicky infant, too small and ill often. He was eight months out now and still a pain in the pigou.  She could hear him this minute, sobbing in his cradle from the next room.  He'd outgrow these fits by year's end, become a somber toddler.  Tonight she wanted to smother him.

The thought guilted her, and she climbed out of bed, located her slippers and went to find her mama.  Mama would know what to do. She'd fix him a bottle and nurse him back to sleep. Then they'd have cookies at the kitchen table, drink tea from the china like fancy ladies.

"Mama?"  she called.  "Ma--"

Mama wasn't alone in the kitchen.  A man's voice accompanied her softer drawl.

Carly hesitated on the stairs, a slight girl with messy brown hair that hung often in her eyes.  She sat on the step, pressed her face into the bars of the railing.  The wood was cold through the thin fabric of her nightgown. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders and listened hard. If she squinted, she could just make him out.  A tall figure, face cloaked in the shadows.  He wore black head to foot and his skin was the color of coffee with fresh cream.

"Rum or bourbon?" her mother asked the visitor.

"Mary...."

"I need a drink, Derrial.  Don't make me drink alone."

"Bourbon, then."

He had a deep voice, soothing; Carly didn't much trust him.

"One more, then you'll tell me...Oh, God.  Sweet, sweet Ye su.  He's dead.  Ain’t he."

It wasn't a question, merely acceptance of fact.

The man called Derrial didn't answer, just pressed a fist to his lips.  After a moment, he lifted the bourbon, swigged some down straight from the bottle.  Mama always scolded Carly for drinking from the milk carton.  Now she didn't say one word.