Chapter Text
Pulling his hat lower into his face, Robert hurries into the pelting rain. It is only a short distance to the barn but the clammy cold of a late November evening instantaneously seeks what ingress it can through the layers of his clothing. By the time he reaches the door, the hand holding the lantern already feels frozen stiff on its handle.
Robert doesn’t mind. In point of fact, he’s always quite liked inclement weather. His sister used to tease that it matches his temperament - an assessment that he cannot, to his chagrin, refute. But the question of his disposition aside, the cold and the dark and the rain serve to make the fire waiting for him in the hearth all the warmer, its glow all the more inviting - and the contrast to the elements currently battering him all the more invigorating. Besides, Robert enjoys the nightly ritual of checking on their animals. Something about tending to the creatures in their care, this simple yet vital responsibility, always helps to quieten his mind.
He nevertheless makes sure not to tarry at the barn door, slipping inside and turning quickly to shut out the downpour, if not its noise. Mind on the patch of roof that he only ever remembers is in need of repair when it starts raining, he turns - and almost runs straight into a horse.
Taking a startled step back, Robert barely has time to notice the unfamiliar animal’s saddled-up state before a voice from his left gives him the next fright.
“Didn’t mean to alarm ya.”
Hay rustles in an empty stall, barely audible over the drumming on the roof, as the familiarity of the voice registers. Robert raises the lantern higher to illuminate -
“Brewster?”
The man in question, in the process of clambering to his feet, blinks a little as the light hits him.
“In the flesh,” he replies with a flourish of his mobile hands. The lamplight glistens on his heavy clothing, and there is straw stuck to the wet leather.
“Is there a reason you’re hiding in our barn?”
A little sharp perhaps, but not, he feels, entirely unjustified.
Brewster’s eyes twinkle at him from underneath the brim of his hat.
“I ain’t hiding, I’m seeking shelter. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s pissin’ out.”
Robert begins to suspect that alcohol may be involved in Brewster’s being here. Customarily talkative, he is usually candid with his words; after partaking of a glass or two, they tend to take on a belligerently dissembling quality.
“Allow me to specify: What are you doing in Oyster Bay, and why didn’t you come up to the house?”
Brewster shifts on his feet, bringing one hand up to his horse’s nose.
“On my way out from Setauket, and it’s late. Didn’t want to impose on respectable folks such as yourselves.”
Especially if said folks might still bear him ill will for past actions. Robert doesn't any longer but then, Brewster has no way of knowing that. And then there is the matter of his father.
Robert doesn’t point out that it already must have been rather late in the day when Brewster set out from Setauket - and already raining buckets, besides. Whatever brought him here - it is likely not easily explained. Certainly not in a cold barn, soaked to the skin.
“Well, this doesn’t look like it will let up any time soon,” Robert says with a glance at the roof, “and I am the only folk currently in residence, respectable or otherwise. So we’d best get your horse settled so that you can come in.”
He doesn’t know if it is the knowledge that his father isn’t there that ultimately sways Brewster, but he acquiesces.