- Three Summers Ago… -
*Tate paced the floor desperately. The summer heat spilled through the windows and thickened the air, sweat sticking his shirt to his skin.*
“Tate, ye pace anymore the floor’ll fall in on itself. Yer already on the carpenter’s bad side, ye hear?”
*But no, Tate didn’t hear a word Datura said. Determination swam him through him, consuming his mind. There had to be some sign in the house he hadn’t seen. Some hint, some remnant carelessly looked over… Ferna stood silent in a doorway, smoothing out her green apron with a sympathetic frown.*
“Trus’ me, Tate.” *Datura unfolded her arms, adjusting the leather strip tying her dark hair up,* “We’ve turned each the rooms inside ou’. Only thing lef’ is the floorboards to look in.”
*Tatton stopped and stood straight, his eyes wide,* “I didn’t look there.” *He made to bolt for the door but Datura blocked him, her frame taller and stronger than his. His eyes flared,* “I need to check there at least, ‘Tura!”
“Yer obsessin’ and it ain’t healthy, it’s not! I won’t keep seein’ ye like this, drivin’ yerself mad!”
“Tate,” *Ferna interjected quietly while Tatton and Datura glared flames at each other*, “We know those cups are impor’ant to you. They’re impor’ant to us too. But we’ve looked *everywhere*.” *The fair-haired girl pleaded, taking a hesitant breath,* “I… I think they’re just gone. I think your worryin’ is wearin’ you down’.”
*Tatton spun on his heel, pinching air between his fingers and shutting his eyes with a tight smile*, “Ferna… it’s not about me, or me worryin’. I don’t think I need to explain the disrespect against our family here.”
“We’ve no reason to think it ain’t anythin’ but a petty thief.” *Datura added in a tone Tatton took as dismissive, which made frustration heat his skin. He exhaled through pursed lips,*
“We’ve had those cups since childhood. They’re a part of us, the most precious things we own, but -not- the most expensive. It’s -personal-, I tell you. The lock was smashed, that’s a thief, but it’s a thief that -knew- where we kept them.” *He gestured to the window pointedly, his brows furrowed and his tone dripping with annoyance,* “If they knew where we kept them, they knew enough of us to know how important they were which makes this unforgivable, a crime against the Wiltswoes! It’s probably Bentley, that ####### #### with his ####### damned face of a pig’s arse.”
“Tate!” *Ferna squeaked.*
“Sorry!” *He sighed, holding up his hands,* “Sorry. Actually, no, no, I’m not sorry! I despise that man, he deserves to be called worse.”
“I’ll agree wit’ that.” *Datura stepped forward and rested her hand on Tatton’s shoulder. He huffed and looked away from her,* “Tate, these cups were ‘portant to each of us, bu’ I know ‘ow much yers meant to -you-. I wouldn’t give up lookin’ wit’out a figh’, ye know me better than tha’. But it’s been a month, Tate. A -month-. If they haven’ turned up…”
*Tatton lingered in silence for a moment, then his dark eyes flickered to hers through his fair hair,* “I know how to nail in a floorboard. I’ll make sure they’re good as new. Just need some bronze fasteners from the blacksmith and a good hammer.” *And before she could block him again, Tatton slipped under her arm and sped away, the front door rattling in its frame shortly after. Datura grunted in annoyance but a look of understanding passed between her and her younger sister.*
“It’s not about the cups, ‘Tura.” *Ferna reflected mildly, lacing her fingers*, “Not havin’ people to treasure or bein’ ready to lose what we do have… you and I are used to that. I don’t think Tate is. That boy bleeds sentiment and to him… to him those cups are memories, memories someone took from us. I think that’s what he’s fightin’ for ‘Tura, for us, and what little he has to hold onto of his folks.”
“I know, I know. I jus’… I get worried wit’ the way ‘e obsesses. It’s gonna get ‘im in trouble, it will. Gonna take ‘im some place it shouldn’.”
“Tate’s not stupid, ‘Tura. A bit… impulsive, mayhaps. But not stupid. I think he’ll be smart.”
*Datura frowned and folded her sleeves up, eyeing the window with narrowed eyes,* “‘E better be. Ferna. ‘E better be.”
