Aevum of Itero

Chapter 19

Sleep.

She had forgotten the concept.

Between her new job, helping to build her future home, and the nonstop wailing of her son, Brenda was lucky to get any sleep.

Dreams, for now, were out of her grasp. Catnaps had taken precedence.

"He just will not stop crying," she said. Tears roamed over her own countenance, both dried and fresh.

Her son was suffering. Without an early invention of antibiotics, there was little Brenda could do.

An infection of the ear, Doc Haloran had said.

An ear infection, Brenda had thought. A fucking ear infection.

To say she was terrified would be lightly brushing over the precise level of her fear. Ear infections in the nineteenth century were known to cause permanent hearing damage or, at times, lead to worse.

All the parenting books she had read in the twenty-first century involved home remedies of items not yet created. Cotton balls. Cotton, yes; cotton balls, no. The shopkeeper had given her a funny look when she inquired. Brenda had fibbed and said she had heard of it in an advert. The shopkeeper had blithered on about eejit women with fanciful notions and moved on to the next customer.

Cotton balls were out. Antibiotics were out. Ibuprofen and paracetamol were both out.

Even a fucking blow-dryer was out, unless Brenda and her son journeyed to France to try what Nuala had called a "hair heater" and Nuala's younger sister Eileen had corrected to "hair dressing device." Invented by Alexandre-Ferdinand Godefroy four years prior, Brenda had zero chance of bringing it into her home.

Cold and warm compresses were all she could do for her son; as often as she could warm up a compress with the woodstove in the Buckley kitchen.

"Allow me." He had Aiden snuggled into his bare chest before Brenda could question when Aiden had left her arms or when Diolún had removed his shirt.

Brenda faced the wall, attempting to keep her eyes averted from Diolún's well-purported frame.

"Ye may look," he said, laughing. "We have seen far more of each other than this."

"You needn't -" she began.

Diolún's hand went up, palm facing outward against Aiden's back. "My time with ye both is limited. I would like to grasp as many of these moments as I can, to think of in the more lonely times on the ship. Ye need not handle the leanbh's illness on your own."

"But -"

"I have drawn a bath," said Diolún. "The Doc thought it may help."

"But Bath Day isn't until -"

"I checked with the Buckleys. Daragh has made an exception for this week."

"Aiden's meant to be the last one who -"

"Ye may protest as much as ye like, Brenda. It is, however, moot, as the entire household has agreed to this idea."

"Very well," said Brenda, blowing out a puff of air. "I insist on giving Daragh a portion of my wages." Calling the Buckley patriarch by his first name had taken some getting used to, with Brenda attempting to not think of her grandmother's reaction to what Arlene Beevis would have considered improper.

"I have taken care of it," said Diolún.

"I appreciate your consideration, but I must do some things on my own."

"Ye just started working, Bren. Allow yourself some time to save before ye start insisting on offering compensation."

He did have a point, as much as she hated to admit it. Her years of wealth were out of her grasp. She no longer held the position as one of the world's top-paid actresses. Brenda now had to save what little finances she could for her future, and for Aiden's future, making significantly less than she had become accustomed to.