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“How could they leave?”
Matilde paced around the clinic, picking up jars and bottles and slamming them back down in a farce of “organizing.” Tarly leaned against the doorframe and watched her, saying nothing.
“How could they abandon Tawney?” Matild demanded. “They’re the reason we’ve become so prosperous.” She fumbled a jar of wound ointment and it thunked onto the ground. She glared at it as if it were to blame for her foul mood.
Tarly said nothing.
“How could they abandon their friends? Just - just pick up and go without looking back? Without listening to anyone?” The midwife stood still now, surveying her counters with mute fury, closing and opening fists that trembled slightly.
Tarly spoke up, still leaning on the door in a carefully casual way. “They agreed to wait on a decision until Lord Wylan gets back,” he pointed out.
Matilde spun on him, her words heating up again. “They’ve made their decision, and you know it,” she said bitterly. “They’re shuttering New Leaf. They’re leaving Tawney. Leaving - me.”
The last word took the wind out of her; she deflated, shoulders slumping. Tarly pushed off the doorframe to come to her and take her in his arms. “You know it’s not you, love,” he said into her hair, pressing a kiss to her hairline.
“Don’t logic at me,” grumbled Matilde. “I want to be angry.” She tried to pull away from Tarly.
The blacksmith tightened his grip on his wife. “It’s okay to be sad,” he said.
Matilde sank into her husband. She leaned into his chest and spoke, muffled, into his shirt. “I’m never too much for them,” she said.
Tarly squeezed her and waited. She sighed. “I’m never too loud. Too bossy. Too blunt,” she said. The words were slightly strangled, as if pulled from her by force. “They never ask me to - to tone it down, or be polite.”
“Kianthe and Reyna love you, Tildy,” Tarly said gently. His strong arms held her steady.
“Then why did they give up so easily?” she asked, grief seeping into her voice.
Tarly shook his head. “Not easily,” he said. “Did you see their faces when they left? They’re grieving just as hard as we are.”
“Then they should fight to stay,” Matilde said fiercely. “Fuck what anyone thinks. Fuck those - those traitors who would see our most loyal Tawneyans leave and cheer the loss. Can’t they see all the good Reyna and Kianthe bring to our town? They brought us nothing but kindness and love, and our own people turned on them. Some friends Tawney folk turned out to be.” She turned bitter again, and angry.
Tarly sighed. His arms loosened to give her some space, but he didn’t entirely let her go. “Folks here are overwhelmed, overworked, and overtired,” he said. “They need a rest, and this seems like an easy out for many of them.”
“I told you not to logic at me,” Matilde huffed. Tears pricked her eyes; her anger was dangerously close to dissolving. “I need to be angry or I’ll fall apart and be no help to anyone.”
“Do you need to help anyone tonight?” asked Tarly. His big hands slid down her arms to take her hands. “Can you be sad, and then help people in the morning?”
Matilde sniffled, turning her face away from him. He reached for her cheek to turn her back. The first tears traced down her cheeks. “What if they leave overnight?” she asked. “What if I don’t get to say goodbye? Like when they got married?”
Tarly squeezed her hands. “They won’t,” he assured her. “Even if they wanted to, it’ll take more than a night to pack up the shop. And they promised to stay until Lord Wylan returns. They may have made up their minds already, but they won’t break their word.”
Matilde sagged back against the counter and buried her face in her hands. Tears leaked between her fingers. “I don’t want to lose my best friends,” she said miserably.
Tarly watched her, a sad little smile on his face. “We might not,” he said. “Lord Wylan is meeting with Tessalyn as we speak. You know how smart she is, and what kind of knowledge she has. Of all the people in the realm who might help fix our problems without Reyna and Kianthe leaving Tawney, can you think of anyone better equipped?”
“Just stop,” Matilde snapped at him, and then sighed. “No, I’m sorry. You’re right, just… let me be sad. I don’t need you to fix it right now. If I can’t be angry then I want to be sad.”
“Of course, my love,” said Tarly. He took a step toward her, and then paused. “Do you want me to stay with you, or give you space?” he asked.
Matilde gave him a watery smile. “I love you,” she said. “Please stay.”
Tarly did not need encouragement. He gathered his wife back into his arms and settled his hands on her butt. Before she could tell him this was not the time, he hoisted her up and joined his hands under her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, her arms around his shoulders, and buried her face in his neck.
Tarly surrounded his wife with his body and rocked them both gently from side to side. His shirt was soon damp, but he didn’t mention it. He kissed Matilde’s ear. “We’ll be strong and determined problem-solvers in the morning,” he assured her. “For tonight, let’s be sad.”
Without waiting for a reply, Tarly carried Matilde to their bedroom. He eased down into an oversized armchair. Matilde adjusted herself to rest in his lap. He held her, or they held each other. Tomorrow they would be the boisterous, irrepressible midwife and her sturdy and cheerful husband. For now, just for the night, they were sad.