The Velvet Cradle of Everwood – Chapter Eighteen – A Stroll Through the Market
The morning sunlight spilled softly through the wide window of the caretaker’s home, warming the small room where he lay under a thin blanket. The night had been quiet, broken only by the occasional shift of blankets and the rustle of cloth when he turned over. When his eyes blinked open, it took a moment for him to remember where he was—this gentle place that felt like it belonged halfway between a dream and reality.
The caretaker, always up before him, entered without hurry. She carried the familiar patience that seemed woven into her every step. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said in a voice that made him feel as though waking late was no great offense. The sound of her words was paired with the faint clink of ceramic as she set a cup of warm tea on the small table near his bed.
He rubbed his eyes slowly, yawning as the blanket slid down. The air felt cool on his skin, reminding him of the soft, protective layer he wore beneath his nightshirt. It was still strange, even after days in this world, to wake and find himself cared for in ways he had never expected to need. She moved closer, checking him with the same gentle thoroughness as always, never rushing, never shaming—just making sure everything was right before the day began.
“Up you get,” she murmured, offering her hand. There was something comforting in the way she didn’t give him the option to stay curled up all morning; she had a rhythm to keep, and now he found himself part of it.
After a wash and a change into soft, light clothing—loose tunic, short pants, and a fresh layer beneath—she guided him to the small kitchen. A simple breakfast of bread, cheese, and sliced fruit awaited, but the way she served it made it feel special. She cut everything into easy pieces, placing it neatly in front of him. She didn’t hover, but she didn’t wander far either, staying within reach whenever he glanced toward her.
When they were done, she slipped a small woven bag over her shoulder. “We’re going to the market today,” she said, her eyes twinkling with the smallest spark of amusement. “You’ll stay close, and I’ll handle the carrying.”
The walk to the market took them along a narrow stone path, bordered by flowering vines and the distant sound of running water. He found himself staying half a step behind her, not out of shyness but because it felt safe there.
The market was a busy sprawl of color and sound. Stalls lined the square, their awnings fluttering gently in the breeze. The smell of warm bread mingled with the sharper scent of herbs, and somewhere nearby, someone was roasting nuts. She led him through with an easy confidence, her hand occasionally finding his shoulder when the crowd thickened.
At a small fabric stall, she paused to examine soft linen wraps and colorful cloths. She brushed one against his cheek without warning, the smooth weave tickling his skin. “This one’s nice,” she said with a smile. “Maybe for a new blanket.”
Elsewhere, they stopped at a fruit stall where the vendor gave him a slice of pear to taste. It was sweet and crisp, and the caretaker nodded approvingly before buying a small bundle. Each stall brought new textures, smells, and small kindnesses—a honey seller letting him smell the golden syrup, a toy-maker setting a carved bird into his palm for a moment before taking it back with a wink.
Through it all, the caretaker’s presence was constant. Her attention didn’t waver. She was careful to notice when his steps slowed or when the crowd pressed too close, guiding him gently into quieter corners when needed.
When the last purchases were tucked away in her bag, they began the walk home. The afternoon sun was warm but not harsh, and the sound of her voice—softly telling him about the herbs she had bought—blurred into the peaceful rhythm of their steps.
Back at the house, she set the basket down and handed him a small sweet wrapped in paper. “You were good today,” she said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to reward him for walking beside her without fuss.
And for a long moment, he just stood there with the candy in his palm, realizing that in this world, being cared for wasn’t something to fight—it was something to let happen.
The End of The Velvet Cradle of Everwood – Chapter Eighteen – A Stroll Through the Market
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