#johnmolefh

[lallyinthesims]

Frost clings to the trees that surround the Beaker campsite, muffling the sounds of the forest and making the little clearing feel even more isolated. Bella remains where she has for months; secured inside her canvas tent. The Beakers are practical enough to understand that a frozen prisoner is of little use, and with the arrival of winter they have begrudgingly provided her with warmer clothing; a thick wool gown and a threadbare coat, the hems frayed. 

Outside, Circe spends the morning beside the fire with Vera, patiently guiding her through sums and reading.

"Again," Circe says, and Vera sighs dramatically. Her mother repeats her command, and by the time the lesson finally ends, Vera is more than happy to escape. She spends the better part of the afternoon kneeling in the frozen earth, happily pushing little stones through the dirt with a stick and constructing imaginary roads for pinecones that serve as wagons.

Later in the day, Loki appears with a fishing pole slung over one shoulder, and together they disappear into the snowy woods. Vera settles herself beside the creek, bundled snugly against the cold as she patiently watches her line drift beneath the icy water while Loki carefully gathers berries and fungi. Vera eventually lets out an excited squeal, and Loki looks up just in time to see her hauling a handsome salmon from the water.

"Excellent work, Vera!"

By the time they return to camp, Vera proudly carries two salmon while Loki's basket is filled with enough plants to occupy him for several evenings. Circe wastes no time preparing supper, roasting the fish over the fire and serving herself, Loki, and Vera with generous portions.

When she finishes filling their plates, she quietly ladles from a separate pot containing little more than a thin oat gruel, and carries the bowl toward Bella's tent without a word. The warm porridge does little to satisfy Bella’s hunger, but at least it chases away the cold for a little while.

Late that night, long after the fire has burned to embers, Vera stirs beneath her blankets. Still half asleep, she slips quietly from her little cot and makes her way into the clearing to relieve herself. 

Suddenly, she freezes. Across the clearing, beyond the dying fire, a man stands among the pines. He is almost completely hidden by the darkness, but he raises his binoculars to his eyes and studies the camp from behind the trees, taking care not to step too close or disturb so much as a twig.

Vera's heart begins to pound. Is he a bandit? A hunter? Something worse? Trying not to crack a twig herself, she drops to the ground and scrambles behind the old log the family uses as a bench, peeking over the log. She remains there for what feels like an eternity, until finally, the stranger turns away, and only the forest remains. 

Vera races back to her cot and slips beneath her blankets, burying herself as deeply as she can, heart continuing to race long after she closes her eyes.

By morning, she almost convinces herself she imagined the man with the binoculars. Almost.

[lallyinthesims]

Any other Saturday, Faith would have greeted each patron and passerby at the trading post with warm conversation, but today her heart felt too heavy for small talk. Every aisle reminded her of her late husband; what he’d tease her for buying, the little things he’d sneak into the basket when he thought she wasn’t looking. She picked up a small crate of blackberries with the idea of making a pie in his honor, but when she returned home later and finally set it in the oven, her wandering thoughts betrayed her and before long the pie was burnt to a bitter crust. 

That evening, Investigator Mole pushed through the double doors of the Barn Dance Hall, already irritated by the noise. He was hoping to find a lead, or at least a moment to relax, but instead he got neither.  All Mole had done was ask Vidcund Curious a simple question:

“Have you had any recent contact with Circe Beaker?” 

Words sharpened, tempers flashed, and the exchange ended with Vidcund jabbing Mole in the chest with his pointer finger in a way that made several townsfolk look away. Mole left more irritated, but also more convinced that Vidcund knew more than he was letting on.

Meanwhile, outside the barn, Nina Caliente and Sheriff Pleasant found themselves lingering just a little too long beside a parked stagecoach. One stolen smile led to another, and before either of them could talk themselves out of it, they slipped inside. The windows fogged, and the coach rocked just faintly. What they didn’t know was that Birgitte Letourneau rounded the corner from the outhouse at the worst possible moment. With a horrified gasp, she realized exactly what was happening inside the rocking coach. Face flaming, she gathered her things and fled, praying no one had seen her seeing them and determined never to speak of this to a single soul – except maybe the Reverend.

[lallyinthesims]

The next morning dawns gray and muted, as if the sky itself has dimmed in respect. Faith rises early, dressing in a black mourning gown, while upstairs, Investigator Mole and Kristen have a brief discussion about the sensibilities of the Widow Goodie, Mole studying Kristen, gaze sharpening not in suspicion but admiration…or attraction.

When Faith finally enters the dining room, she finds Mole already seated at the table, pen scratching steadily. She nods to him, thankful for the quiet company. Kristen appears a short while later, her expression soft. She helps Faith set out a simple breakfast, though Faith hardly touches her own plate. Mole watches them both with a quiet attentiveness, his eyes flickering between his notes and the edges of the room, as though searching for details no one else can see.

That evening, when the house settles, Mole slips into his coat and steps out into the dark. Lantern in hand, he disappears into the woods, the trees swallowing him quickly. He studies the forest floor, kneels beside broken branches, and pauses to listen to the rustle of unseen things. The wind shifts, carrying the faint smell of smoke, and Mole straightens slowly. Campfire – though he was far from any homestead. He circles the clearing, searching for anything discarded or forgotten, until he finds a scrap of red cloth, snagged on the edge of a decaying tree branch. 

He glances toward the deeper woods, desperate to continue the search – but that would have to wait for another day.