Good News

Angel paced the length of the cabin, her footsteps echoing against the wooden planks. The late afternoon sun slanted through the gaps in the walls, casting long shadows across the floor. She paused at the fireplace, kneeling to arrange the kindling the way Estaria had shown her countless times.

Her trembling hands scattered the twigs. “Of course,” she muttered, gathering them up again. The flint struck once, twice, three times before finally catching. The spark died immediately. Angel sat back on her heels, shaking her head at the stubborn wood.

“He makes it look so easy.” Her voice sounded too loud in the empty cabin. After a few more failed attempts, she abandoned the task, wiping her soot-stained hands on her skirt.

The fishing rod leaned against the wall, exactly where they’d left it last time. Angel picked it up, running her fingers along the smooth wood, remembering how Estaria had stood behind her, teaching her to cast. The memory brought warmth to her cheeks. She set the rod back down, perhaps a bit too quickly.

Her hand drifted to her stomach, still flat beneath her dress. She had just missed her second period. She was certain now. The morning sickness, the tenderness, the way certain smells made her dizzy – Mother had noticed, giving her knowing looks over breakfast.

Angel dropped onto the wooden stool, then immediately stood again. “Sit still,” she scolded herself, but her feet carried her back and forth across the room. She touched the dried flowers hanging from the rafters, straightened the blanket on their makeshift bed, adjusted the position of the cooking pot – anything to keep her hands busy.

What would he say? They’d talked about the future, about building a life together, but this was so soon. Her heart fluttered like a trapped bird. She twisted the simple ring on her finger, the one he’d given her last month. They’d planned to marry in the spring, after the orchards bloomed.

A loose floorboard creaked under her feet. Angel looked down, remembering their first night here, how they’d danced until their shadows seemed to take on lives of their own. She smiled, despite her nerves. That night had changed everything.

The air felt too thick, too warm. Angel pushed open the door, letting the cool autumn breeze wash over her face. The trees around their cabin had begun to turn, splashing the forest with gold and crimson. A bird called somewhere nearby, its song clear and sweet in the afternoon quiet.

Back inside, she tried sitting again, folding her hands in her lap. Her mother’s words from that morning echoed in her mind: “He loves you, child. Trust in that.” But the words did little to still the butterflies in her stomach.

She stood once more, moving to the small window. The path that led to their cabin remained empty, though Estaria would arrive soon. He always came after finishing his work in the orchard, never missing a day unless the weather was truly foul.

Angel touched her stomach again, imagining the tiny life growing there. Their child. The thought sent a fresh wave of nervous energy through her, and she resumed her pacing. She rehearsed the words in her head, trying different ways to tell him. Should she just say it outright? Work up to it slowly?

The wooden cup on the shelf caught her eye – the one they shared their first drink from. Angel picked it up, turning it over in her hands. The carved surface was smooth from use, worn down by countless touches. Like their love, she thought, growing stronger and more familiar with each passing day.

She set the cup down carefully and moved back to the fireplace. This time, her hands were steadier as she arranged the kindling. The flint struck true, and a small flame finally caught. Angel fed it carefully, adding small twigs until it grew strong enough for larger pieces.

As she worked, a strange calm settled over her. This was their place, filled with their memories. Whatever happened next, they would face it together. The fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow across the cabin floor. Angel stood, brushing off her skirt, and waited for the familiar sound of Estaria’s footsteps on the path outside.

Angel’s heart leaped at the familiar crunch of boots on fallen leaves. She darted to the cabin door, her earlier nervousness transforming into pure excitement. Through the trees, she caught glimpses of Estaria’s dark hair between the golden leaves.

Without thinking, she burst through the doorway and sprinted down the path. Estaria’s eyes widened just before she launched herself at him. He staggered backward, his arms instinctively wrapping around her as autumn leaves scattered beneath his feet.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed, somehow finding his balance. His warm laugh vibrated against her chest as he held her tight. “I should be used to these greetings by now.”

Angel buried her face in his neck, breathing in the scent of apples and earth that always clung to him after working in the orchards. “Maybe I like keeping you on your toes.”

“Mission accomplished.” He set her down gently, keeping one arm around her waist. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “Though I think you nearly took us both down this time.”

She tugged at his hand, pulling him toward the cabin. The cooling evening air had begun to carry a hint of winter’s bite. “Come see what I managed today.”

Inside, the small fire cast dancing shadows on the walls. Angel watched as Estaria’s expression shifted from curiosity to pride when he spotted the flames.

“You got it started!” He squeezed her hand. “I knew you’d figure it out.”

“Only took about twenty tries,” she admitted, watching as he knelt by the hearth.

Estaria examined her handiwork, adding a few larger pieces of wood with practiced ease. “The kindling’s arranged perfectly though. See how the flame’s catching?” He pointed to where the fire licked up the sides of the new logs. “You’ve been paying attention.”

Angel settled onto their wooden stool, her earlier news bubbling up inside her chest like spring water. She pressed her lips together, trying to contain her smile as Estaria continued tending the fire. Her fingers twisted in her skirt as she watched him work, the way his hands moved so surely, how the firelight caught the angles of his face.

He arranged another log, explaining something about airflow that Angel barely heard. Her heart thrummed with anticipation, making it hard to focus on anything else. She bounced slightly on the stool, unable to keep still.

Estaria paused in his task, a fresh piece of wood halfway to the fire. He glanced up, catching her expression. “Angel?” His eyebrows drew together, though his eyes held amusement. “You’re awfully quiet. And…” He gestured at her restless movement. “Bouncy.”

She bit her lower lip, trying to suppress her growing grin and failing completely. The words pressed against her throat, demanding to be spoken, but she held them back. Just a moment longer. Just to see his face as he tried to puzzle it out.

Estaria set down the log and sat back on his heels, giving her his full attention. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “What are you up to?”

Angel’s legs swung slightly, her toes barely brushing the floor. The firelight played across his features, so dear and familiar, yet somehow new every time she looked at him. Her chest felt too small to contain the joy threatening to burst from it.

“Angel?” he prompted again, his voice soft with curiosity.

She couldn’t hold still any longer, practically vibrating with the need to tell him. The words danced on the tip of her tongue as she watched his beloved face, memorizing this moment before everything changed.

Estaria leaned forward, taken by Angel’s infectious excitement. Her hazel eyes sparkled in the firelight, and he couldn’t help but smile at how she practically bounced on the stool. Whatever news she held back had transformed her into pure energy.

“I’m…” Angel paused, her fingers twisting in her skirt. She took a deep breath, then met his gaze. “We’re going to have a baby.”

The words hit him like a physical force. Estaria’s breath caught in his throat. He stared at her, his mind struggling to process what she’d said. A baby. Their baby.

“Are you…” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Are you certain?”

Angel nodded, her smile growing wider. “Two months, I think. Mother noticed before I did.” She laughed, the sound bright and nervous. “She says I’m glowing, though I just feel queasy most mornings.”

Estaria surged forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her off the stool. Angel squealed in surprise as he spun her once before setting her down carefully – perhaps too carefully. His hands lingered at her waist, suddenly aware of the precious life she carried.

“A baby,” he whispered, wonder threading through his voice. He pressed his forehead against hers, breathing in the moment. “Our baby.”

Angel’s fingers curled into his shirt. “You’re happy then?”

“Happy?” Estaria pulled back just enough to see her face. “Angel, I…” He laughed, the sound thick with emotion. “I don’t think there’s a word big enough for what I’m feeling.”

She raised up on her toes and kissed him, soft and sweet. When she settled back, her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I was so nervous about telling you. We’d talked about children, but not so soon, and I wasn’t sure…”

“Hey.” Estaria cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the tears that spilled over. “This is perfect. You’re perfect.” He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips again. “Though we might need to move up the wedding date.”

Angel laughed, the sound warming him better than any fire. “Mother said the same thing. She’s already planning how to let out my dress.”

Estaria glanced around their small cabin, his mind already racing with plans. He moved to the dirt floor near the hearth, smoothing it with his boot. Kneeling down, he began sketching lines with his finger.

“What are you doing?” Angel asked, moving to stand beside him.

“We’ll need to expand.” He pointed to his rough drawing. “See, we can extend this wall out about eight feet. Make a proper bedroom here, and the baby’s room…” He drew another square. “Right here, where the morning sun will warm it.”

Angel knelt beside him, her skirts pooling in the dirt. “With a window?” She traced her own finger through the soil. “Looking out at the apple trees?”

“Of course.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “And I’ll plant a new tree, right outside. It can grow along with the baby.”

“A plum tree,” Angel said decisively. “Like the one I climbed when we were children.”

Estaria chuckled. “Already planning on our child being a climber, are you?”

“With our blood? They won’t be able to help it.” She leaned into him, her hand drifting to her stomach. “Though maybe we should hope they have your grace. I did fall out of that tree twice.”

“Three times,” he corrected. “You’re forgetting the harvest festival when you were trying to prove you could pick plums faster than Clara.”

Angel elbowed him playfully. “Well, I hope they have your memory then, but not your tendency to use it against their mother.”

Estaria pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. “What else should we hope for?”

“Your smile,” Angel said immediately. “The way it starts in your eyes before it reaches your mouth.”

“Your laugh,” he countered. “The one that makes everyone else want to laugh too.”

“Your gentleness.”

“Your courage.”

Angel turned in his arms, facing him fully. “Your heart,” she whispered. “The way you love so completely.”

Estaria rested his hand over hers on her stomach. Under their joined fingers, barely noticeable even to them, their child grew. A perfect blend of them both, yet entirely new.

“We’ll need a cradle,” he said softly. “I could make one from that fallen oak near the stream. Carve apple blossoms along the sides.”

“And I’ll make the blankets.” Angel’s eyes lit up. “Mother’s teaching me to quilt. Though…” She bit her lip, trying to suppress a smile. “We might want to wait before we choose the colors. Unless you want everything in green.”

“What’s wrong with green?”

“Nothing, except it’s the only color you ever suggest for anything.”

“That’s not true. I liked the blue ribbons you wore at midsummer.”

“You said, and I quote, ‘They’re almost as pretty as your green ones.’”

Estaria laughed, the sound echoing off the cabin walls. “Fine, no green. You choose.”

“Yellow,” Angel said decisively. “Like sunshine. And maybe some soft gray, like dawn.” She looked around their cabin, her expression thoughtful. “We could hang the cradle right here, where we can see it from our bed. And in the summer, when the windows are open, the breeze will rock it.”

Estaria stood, pulling Angel up with him. He guided her to their spot by the fire, settling behind her so she could lean back against his chest. His arms encircled her waist, hands resting protectively over their child.

“What else?” he murmured against her hair. “Tell me everything you’re dreaming.”

Angel’s hands covered his. “I dream of mornings, watching you teach them to tend the orchards. Of evenings here, telling stories by the fire.” She tilted her head back to see his face. “Of them learning all your father’s old songs, the ones you whistle while you work.”

“And running wild with your sisters,” Estaria added. “Getting into twice as much trouble as you three ever did.”

“Gods help us,” Angel laughed. “Clara will be the worst influence.”

They sat like that as the fire burned low, trading whispered hopes back and forth. The autumn wind whistled through the cabin’s gaps, making the flames dance. Angel shivered slightly, and Estaria pulled her closer.

“Cold?”

She shook her head. “Just perfect.” Her fingers laced through his. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Estaria smiled against her hair. “Both of you.”

The words felt right in his mouth, like they’d always belonged there. Outside, leaves rustled in the growing dark, and somewhere an owl called. But here, in their small circle of firelight, Estaria held his whole world in his arms.

⁂

Angel shifted against Estaria’s chest, her stomach churning slightly. The nausea had become a familiar companion these past few days, arriving like clockwork as the sun began to set. She breathed deeply, focusing on the warmth of the fire and the steady rhythm of Estaria’s heartbeat against her back.

“Remember when we found that family of rabbits in the south orchard?” Estaria’s voice rumbled through his chest. “You wouldn’t let anyone near that tree for weeks.”

“They were so small.” Angel smiled, the memory momentarily distracting her from her queasiness. “And you brought them carrots every day.”

“Until your father caught me feeding his crop to the wildlife.” Estaria chuckled. “I thought he’d ban me from the orchard.”

Angel’s hand drifted to her belly. “What was your mother like when you were small?”

Estaria’s arms tightened slightly around her. “She used to sing while she worked. Not the usual harvest songs – strange melodies I never heard anywhere else. And she’d tell me stories about the stars, how each one held a different secret.” He paused. “Though sometimes she’d get lost in her own thoughts, stare out the window for hours.”

“And your father?”

“Always moving, always planning. But he’d stop everything if I needed him.” Estaria’s voice softened. “When I was seven, I got stuck in that big oak by the mill. Instead of scolding me, he climbed up and sat with me until I wasn’t scared anymore. Taught me how to find the strongest branches.”

Angel nodded but didn’t offer any stories of her own. The fire crackled, sending sparks dancing up the chimney.

“I worry sometimes,” Estaria admitted into the comfortable silence. “About being enough. What if I can’t protect them from everything?”

Angel turned in his arms, pressing her forehead to his. “You can’t. We can’t. That’s what terrifies me.” Her voice quivered slightly. “What if they inherit my stubbornness?”

“Or my tendency to overthink everything?” Estaria brushed his thumb across her cheek. “What if they climb too high, run too fast?”

“What if they’re afraid of heights like Clara?” Angel’s laugh held a hint of nervousness. “Or allergic to apple blossoms?”

“An apple farmer’s grandchild allergic to apple blossoms?” Estaria gasped in mock horror. “The scandal!”

Angel yawned, nestling closer. “We should think of names.”

Estaria shifted on their makeshift bed of blankets, pulling Angel closer as the fire dimmed to embers. The familiar scent of wood smoke and apples filled the cabin, mingling with the crisp autumn air that crept through the cracks. Their small bedroom felt cozy despite the growing chill, warmed by shared body heat and the lingering remnants of the hearth.

“What about Rose?” Angel murmured against his chest, her hand absently tracing circles on his arm.

He wrinkled his nose, thinking of the local tavern keeper’s three daughters. “Like half the girls in Appledale?”

“Fair point.” She yawned, snuggling deeper into his embrace. “Thomas?”

“After your uncle who tried to wrestle that bear?” Estaria couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the town’s favorite cautionary tale.

Angel giggled, the sound muffled by his shirt. Her breath was warm against his skin. “He was drunk, and it was actually a very large dog.”

“Still no.” Estaria ran his fingers through her auburn curls, marveling at how they caught the fading firelight. “What about Sarah, after your grandmother?”

“Mmm… maybe.” Her voice grew drowsy, heavy with approaching sleep. “Or Michael, like your grandfather.”

“The one who got lost in his own orchard for three days?” The memory of the frantic search brought an unexpected smile to his face.

“He found his way back eventually.” Angel’s words slurred slightly with exhaustion.

Estaria chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath her head. “After the search party found him asleep in the hollow of an old tree, surrounded by half-eaten apples.”

Angel’s breathing steadied, growing deeper as sleep claimed her. Estaria listened to the quiet pop of dying embers, feeling the precious weight of her against him, their unborn child nestled between them. His fingers continued their gentle motion through her hair until his own eyes grew heavy, and sleep took him before he could suggest another name.

⁂

Morning light filtered through the cabin’s single window, painting stripes across their blankets. Estaria woke to find Angel already sitting up, plaiting her hair with nimble fingers. The auburn strands caught the sunlight, glowing like polished copper between her practiced movements.

“We have to tell them today,” she said without preamble, her voice carrying the weight of decisions too long delayed.

Estaria’s stomach twisted. He pushed himself up, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. The familiar scents of woodsmoke and apple blossoms drifted through the cabin. “Your father’s going to kill me.”

“He might try.” Angel tied off her braid with a strip of faded pink cloth. “But Mother will stop him. Probably.”

“That’s reassuring.” He stood, stretching the kinks from his back. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet. “Your father already looks at me like I’m something stuck to his boot.”

Angel rose too, smoothing her skirts with careful attention to the still-invisible swell of her belly. “And your mother watches everything like she’s plotting where to hide the bodies.”

“She does not—” Estaria paused, considering Klindon’s calculating stares and pointed comments. “Well, maybe a little.”

“At least your father’s reasonable,” Angel offered, gathering their few belongings into a worn leather satchel.

“When Mother lets him be.” Estaria moved to help her, folding blankets with practiced motions born from months of secret meetings. “Though lately, every conversation seems to circle back to ‘proper matches’ and ‘family obligations.’”

Angel stilled, her hands tightening on a water skin until her knuckles whitened. “Do you think they’ll try to stop us?”

“Let them try.” He crossed to her, taking her hands in his, feeling the calluses that marked her as a farmer’s daughter. “We’re getting married, having this baby, and building our life here. Together.”

She squeezed his fingers, her touch grounding him. “Maybe we should tell them separately? My father first, then your parents?”

“Divide and conquer?” Estaria considered this, remembering countless family dinners thick with tension.

“Clara will support us. She’s been covering for me with Father anyway.” A hint of guilt colored her voice at involving her younger sister.

“We could tell them at dinner?” He suggested. “Your father’s usually calmer after eating.”

Angel snorted, a familiar spark of humor lighting her eyes. “And less likely to have farming tools within reach.”

“Angel.”

“I’m just saying, breakfast might be safer. All the sharp implements are still in the barn.”

Estaria pulled her into his arms, pressing his face into her hair, breathing in the lavender soap she used. “We’ll figure it out. Even if your father chases me through the orchard with a pitchfork—”

“Which he might.”

“—and my mother tries to arrange a more ‘suitable’ match—”

“Which she definitely will.”

“—it doesn’t change anything.” He drew back, meeting her eyes, seeing the flecks of green that reminded him of spring leaves. “I love you. I love our child. Everything else is just… details.”

Angel stretched up to kiss him softly, her lips warm against his. “Details like where to hide your body when my father’s done with you?”

“You’re not helping.”

She grinned, the morning light catching the green flecks in her hazel eyes. “I’m keeping you humble. Can’t have you getting too confident before facing the firing squad.”

“Speaking of,” Estaria glanced at the climbing sun through the dusty window. “We should head back before they send out search parties.”

They gathered the last of their things, banking the fire’s remains until only faint wisps of smoke remained. At the cabin door, Angel paused, one hand resting protectively on her stomach.

“Ready?” Estaria asked, taking her other hand, feeling the slight tremor in her fingers.

“No.” She smiled anyway, the expression both nervous and determined. “But let’s do it anyway.”

Together they stepped out into the crisp morning air, leaving their sanctuary behind. The scent of apple blossoms surrounded them, sweet and promising.