All I want is a room somewhere,
far away from the cold night air.
With one enormous chair –
Oh! wouldn’t it be loverely.
Lots of chocolate for me to eat.
Lots of coal makin’ lots of ‘eat
warm ‘ands, warm face, warm feet
Oh, wouldn’t it be loverly.
Molly cast another quick glance at the sleeping man near her, pausing a moment to make sure that he was only readjusting in his sleep and wouldn’t waken.
With his prompting of music and her answer of musicals, the inevitable outcome of her favorite show tune winding its way in her head occurred. The simple tune with its simple desires reached her heart in a new way as she sat huddled at the mouth of the cave; cold, despite the season, and hungry.
Oh, so loverly sittin’ absobluminlutely still
I would never budge still Spring, crept over me windowsill
someone’s head restin’ on my knee
warm and tender as ‘e can be
who takes good care of me
oh, wouldn’t it be loverly
loverly
loverly
Unbidden, his final remark before they had quit all chatter for the night presented itself for her analyzing. Her first impulse was to push it aside, as she had always done when it came to him. What he was suggesting had the implications of a union; she doubted he would take her on indefinitely without expectation of some reward.
As she kept doing that night, she once more looked over her shoulder. He was still mostly indiscernible, though his feet poked out from the shade. Survival had only ever been her aim, she thought to herself, staring at his feet. There had been no room for fanciful notions of finding someone to take care of her; of finding an existence that didn’t rely on fear.
All I want is a room somewhere,
far away from the cold night air.
She sang slowly, contemplatively. She realized that she wanted to live again — but what if she was too scared to take the leap?
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Ragnar lay awake. His mind was too full of impossible thoughts, theories, and questions to succumb willingly to the sleep that was continually encroaching. The night held a chill to it which he felt even under his leather armor he had placed upon himself as a make-shift cover. He knew Molly was using a small variety of the clothes she’d taken from the croft as a shawl. He could just make out her huddled form by the entrance, her side leaning up against the wall. He could not help thinking how much warmer they would both be if they were to lie in the other’s arms.
As often as his mind turned towards her words of the future, he could not help every so often conjuring up the image of her smile as she finally forgave him. He had meant what he said – his warning to her to not smile like that while standing near any boats. His resolve would give way immediately.
Ragnar’s thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a low, melodious sound coming from the mouth of the cave. Straining his ears, he realized that it was Molly; that she was singing. A small, indulged smirk played with his features as he listened, moving his hands to rest beneath his head.
The singing stopped, and he too froze waiting to be scolded for being awake. But no retribution came, and after a short pause, the singing continued, quieter this time. Ragnar let out a breath and did his best to remain still.
The night wore on; dawn neared its unveiling as a sweet chorus gradually joined in Molly’s tune — the first chirpings of the birds and the rustling of the hares. It was to this strange song, gently sung in a tone of voice Ragnar had never heard her implement, that he at last gave way to the coaxing of sleep, the ghost of a smile on his face.
