After
@amateurdetectiive ♡’d for a canon starter.
It was snowing again. The young widow watched the flakes float down outside the window and wondered if this new layer would cover all of the blood around the house. It didn’t matter. The clay would leech up like Thomas had told her and paint the fields a matching shade of crimson. She had sent men to collect the bodies there. It seemed awful to send strangers to collect them, and worse still to ask of them a task she could not bring herself to do. There were funeral arrangements to be made, but she hadn’t the heart to make them.
Edith heard footsteps at the door and already knew it was Alan before she looked up. “You shouldn’t be walking around. You’re going to pull your stitches.” Her words chastised him, but her tone held only affection. “Come sit with me. I have an extra blanket.” As soon as she’d offered it, Edith realized she couldn’t easily bring it to him without attempting to wheel from the window to the bed in awkward, erratic movements. Earlier she’d knocked her foot into the wall just next to the radiator, shooting pain up and down her leg and narrowly avoiding a burn. Perhaps it was better to stay by the window. She indicated the blanket in question, folded at the foot of the bed, with a jut of her chin instead. It sat next to a tray of tea left untouched. Edith had never liked tea before her marriage, and she very much doubted she’d ever drink it again.
