Avery was not a happy child. He had been a silent infant and at two, he made for a rather brooding toddler. As Esme watched him, eyes above the stitchwork she was busying herself with, she could see the blank look in his eyes as he explored the world around him. They were not blank in incomprehension or stupidity, however. Esme knew best how intelligent lycanthrope children were compared to their mortal brethren. From birth, they retained memories well. The magic in their soul, the magic in their wolf, caused this acceleration in mental capabilities.
No, no her child was definitely not stupid however... The best way, she supposed, to describe the look in his flat eyes was — well, that they reminded her of a void. Every time she saw his round, hazel irises, it was like staring into two little voids. They never lit up nor reacted to anything.
As Esme worried herself sick, she mindlessly continued stitching up the white petticoat in her hands. The underskirt had gotten a few holes in it from her eldest's rough manner. Tabitha was Esme's only daughter and was nearly sixteen come winter; the oldest of the six. Esme inwardly chided her daughter's boyish manner, knowing she would never be married off like that. Not if she kept acting like a heathen.
Lost in her thoughts, Esme's hand accidentally slipped and stabbed herself in the finger with a sewing needle.
"Ow," she flinched and quickly put the injured finger in her mouth. As she waited for the bleeding to stop, she gazed at her son.
Avery had started at the sound of her pain. He now stood in the center of the cottage staring straight at her. Esme wished, in that moment, to know what her son was thinking but it was impossible. She had rejected the maternal bond that could've been forged. The opportunity would never present itself again. She would, forever, be cut off from being his mom completely. All she could do was be the best human mom for him.
As they stared at one another, so consumed with the action, they failed to notice heavy steps heading up to the cottage. A moment later, Harry was making his way inside, stomping his boots against the wall before he turned to them with a grimace.
"My finger is — oh, Esme," Harry's voice lowered in exasperated concern. "What have you done to yourself?"
Esme's eyes widened, "Oh, nothing, dear. The sewing needle slipped," she offered as Harry approached her. He pulled the finger from her mouth and inspected the already clotted wound. An instant later it disappeared altogether — like it never existed in the first place.
There was a micro expression that crossed Harry Farnum's face, almost too quick to notice, but not too quick for a lycan. Esme inhaled a nervous breath as her soulmate looked nearly hateful at the evidence of her healing ability — at her inhumanity. Then, his eyes met hers and the scary expression vanished. Instantaneously.
"You know I feel your pain. Do be careful," he whispered to her as if it was a secret.
"I will," she smiled at him. "Did you only come in to check on me?"
"Yes, Evan, he's —"
Right then, their second eldest, Harry Evan Farnum, waltzed in. The fourteen-year-old carried on the name of his father and likewise, his golden blond hair. However, Evan had his mother's eyes. Big, round and blue like the ocean.
"Mom —"
"Stamp your boots on the wall!" Esme chastised her son. "Do you want to track dirt in here? I will make you sweep it. So help me!"
"Sorry, sorry," Evan quickly complied, shaking off the considerable mud and leaves caked on his boots before stepping inside.
"Good," Esme nodded before turning her attention back to her husband. "Now, what were you saying?"
Harry smiled, "It's time. I'm teaching him how to ride."
"Ride?" she echoed. "Not with that monster stallion of yours, Harold?" her stern voice earned her twin sheepish looks.
"Well..."
"No, Harold. I will not have my son be killed by that crazy horse," Esme put her foot down. "Have him ride Apple. She's a good-natured mare."
"What? Mom!" Evan whined. "Tabitha got to learn on Shadow! Why can't I?"
"Because you're pathetic compared to me," a new voice said; Tabby walked up behind her little brother. Glancing over his shoulder, she looked at the petticoat in her mother's hands. "Did you finish stitching it up yet, Mom?"
"I'm not pathetic!" Evan complained. He went ignored.
"Not yet, dear. You really did a number on it," Esme raised the piece of clothing in the air and spread it. She had fixed seven of the total fifteen tears. With a sigh, she shook her head. "Please be gentler in the future."
"No promises," Tabby's lips sported a wicked grin. "After all, who's going to exercise Dad's horse when he's at the capital? Since, you know, Evan clearly can't."
"Who said you weren't coming to the capital with me?" Harry directed the question to his daughter.
Tabby, looking slightly taken aback, replied, "What do you mean? Why would I accompany you to the capital?"
Esme heaved a lengthy sigh. "Because of the ball King Elrich is holding? The whole reason I'm repairing all your clothes in the first place, you stupid girl."
Tabby frowned. "Trying to marry me off again?"
Harry put a hand on his daughter's shoulder, smiling, "We'll find you a suitable husband. Promise."
Tabby looked to her father before she rolled her eyes and shrugged off his hand. "Whatever. I'm going back to the barn. I'll saddle Apple."
"No," Evan huffed. "Saddle Shadow. He's the one I'm riding."
Harry's eyes met his wife's. Esme gave him a very clear no, he will not be riding that beast look. Chuckling, Harry ruffled his son's hair and cut him a deal.
"How about you learn on Apple today and next week, if you're good enough, I'll let you try Shadow?"
Evan's shoulder sagged in disappointment, unwilling to speak against his father. "Fine," the fourteen-year-old grumbled.
"Alright," Harry clapped his hands and began heading back out of the cottage.
Evan started after him before stopping in the doorway. His bright blue eyes found the little toddler form of chubby Avery. The two-year-old was standing next to him, eerily quiet.
"Hey, you don't think your big brother is pathetic, do you?" he whispered to the child, cupping a hand over his mouth.
Esme watched the interaction from the corner of her eye. Parenting a lycanthrope child was new territory for her. She worried about him most. Lycans who had typically grown up raised by humans were rather... Well, unfriendly. Vicious and violent; rogues.
Yet, little Avery just shook his head. "No." Perfectly well-behaved.
Evan snorted a laugh and ruffled his brother's hair. "Thanks!"
With that, Esme's oldest son swept out of the cottage — "Shut the door behind you!" and shut the door behind himself.
Keeping an eye on her youngest, Esme quietly continued her stitching.
"Avery?" she called his name. The two-year-old turned fathomless eyes in her direction. "Come here," she put away her knitting and padded her lap.
The toddler hesitated long enough to betray the budding intelligence he kept locked away from the world. Yet, in the end, he plodded over to her.
She raised a hand and — let it fall upon his head.
"I... I care for you."
She gazed at him, as if waiting for something. Hazel eyes stared blankly back.
.
.
.
Day in and day out, Esme watched over her littlest son. At night, she was tormented with fear and fitful sleep. She had nightmare upon nightmare that somehow sometime in the future Avery's eyes would turn black in front of Harold and then her mate would know. He would find out that his youngest son wasn't human. She had nightmares about his reaction.
Esme was justified in her paranoia but her husband couldn't understand it. Every time Harry was alone with Avery, his wife would linger in the room ever-watching. If he didn't know any better, he would say she honestly did not trust him. However, he chalked it up to her being overprotective.
Though, Harry still wanted alone time with the boy. After all, every father needed to bond with his son. So, one day, he shooed the woman away.
"Go to the market and take Tabby with you. She needs a new dress if she's going to accompany me to the King's ball."
Esme had hesitated. Nearly twisting a lock of her red hair right out of her scalp, she looked at him almost fearfully.
"Ah, I don't think — I mean, I need to watch over Avery," she tried to excuse herself. Harry would not hear a word of it.
"I will watch him. I give you my word. Esme, please take this time off and spend it with your other children. Especially Tabby. Remember her?" he joked.
Esme's lips twitched up but she still looked at him anxiously.
"Just. Go," he intoned; firm but quiet.
Her bottom lip wobbled before she bit it still and nodded. "I — alright. I'll... be back. Soon," she gave him a smile that didn't light up her eyes in the way he knew and loved. Still, she readied herself and left the cottage. He heard her calling for Tabby before the door swung shut behind her.
Then, Harry turned to see his son staring at him with narrowed eyes. At first, Harry had been worried something was terribly wrong with the boy because he would not speak. No matter how many times he had spoken words to the little baby, Avery would not speak. Then, one day, Esme asked the little boy a question and he answered. It was sluggish but nearly perfect English!
Harry's concern had lessened after that. Avery was learning fine. Learning to walk and talk all in his own way. Which was a very quiet way, admittedly.
Smiling at the boy, he sat down by the toddler and watched as the boy followed suit. They sat next to each other in companionable silence.
"I'll teach you to read soon," Harry spoke. "One of these days."
Avery did not react.
This was what worried Harry now. He felt like he had no bond with this son. While he loved the boy to death, the boy seemed almost... cold. Dead to the world.
Grasping at straws, Harry began remembering the only time he had ever felt close to the boy.
"I used to sing to you," he confessed. "When you were an infant. I'd sing you to sleep."
Harry glanced over to meet curious hazel eyes. Encouraged by the look, the father opened his mouth and began to sing.
"Come morning, my glory,
Drive the monsters away,
Let the moonlight die,
Let the sun rise.
"Come morning, my glory,
Protect the sheep,
Curse their wolves,
And keep the darkness at bay.
"Come morning, my glory —"
A high voice joined in; Harold looked at his son in surprise.
"Let humanity weep,
Over their dead,
Let silver gleam,
Let triumph be revealed.
"Come sweet morning, my glory," they finished together.
Then, Harry blinked at the boy in utter astonishment. "You — you remember...?"
Avery stared at him for a moment before his eyes crinkled at the corners, and for the first time, the boy smiled. It was like the sun had suddenly been lit inside their little cottage.
Harry felt like the best father in the world in that moment.
"Yes," the little voice said.
Harry hugged the boy close. "I love you," he said, planting a kiss on the child's bed of sun-colored hair.
"Love you too," was mumbled into the fabric of Harold's shirt.
The young father smiled wide.
.
.
.
Esme and Tabitha returned home before dark. As they put away their purchases, they looked to one another and shared a smile. Both were satisfied.
Then, they put on their aprons and began making supper. As they baked bread in the cottage's oven and discussed the gossip they had heard in the market today, Harry walked over to them. He greeted his wife with a hug from behind and a smile.
At his touch, she instantly turned around but there was no smile on her face. Anxiously, she questioned him. "Avery — how is Avery?"
Holding back his exasperation, Harry sighed, "Fine, just fine. I put him to bed a while ago."
Esme searched his face for a moment before she visibly relaxed. "Good," she swallowed. "That's good."
Tabby rose a brow at the exchange. "Is something wrong with Av?"
"No, no," Esme said perhaps a bit too hastily. "Of course not," she laughed it off. "Now, how's the bread looking, dear?"
Tabby gave her mom a long, considering look before she bent over and checked the bread in the oven. "I think it's done."
"Let me take it out then," Esme ushered her daughter out of the way, slipping on thick woolly mittens and retrieving the hot bread — fresh from the oven.
"Ah smells wonderful," appreciated Harry, taking in a generous lungful of that delicious scent.
Esme flushed a pretty red under the praise. "Thank you."
As the young mother began setting the table, Harry called in the rest of the Farnum horde. Seven hungry mouths sat at the table for dinner.
"Should I retrieve Avery?" Harry asked his wife.
Esme shook her head, "No, let him sleep. I will feed him later. Everyone, tuck in!"
"Let's pray first," Harold reminded the table sternly as he saw his sons raise their forks too eagerly.
Esme blushed, embarrassed she had forgotten the most common human custom: prayer before food. With a nod, she held her hands out. One was grabbed by her soulmate who sent her a reassuring smile and the other was held by Matthew. He was the second youngest. The freckled boy salivated at the food in front of him.
Mathew's other hand was held by Geoffrey, the third youngest. Then Geoffrey's second hand was held by Erick and Erick's hand was held by Evan's. Evan's was held by Tabitha's and Tabitha's dutifully held her father's other hand.
Esme took this moment into her mind. The seven of us. My four boys, my daughter, my soulmate, and me. That was what Esme had desired. She wanted nothing more than this mortal family she had built with her mate. She didn't look back. She didn't wish for her old pack nor her packmates. She didn't long for the lycanthrope life she once had. A life she had left behind.
Esme only wanted this peace. The peace of having a human family.
Tonight, Avery was not going to be a part of it. He did not fit in this picture that Esme painted in her mind.
.
.
.
A/N: Image Above from: https://acollectionofprayers.com/tag/table-prayers-and-graces/