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Picket sat bolt upright in bed, breathing heavily. Tears ran down his face, for he had been woken by sorrow, not fear. Fear was an old sensation, remembered but distant. But sorrow was still close to him, and often visited in moments of solitude. Or, as now, in his sleep. Wiping his hand across his eyes, he turned his gaze on his wife.
Thankfully, Weezie was still asleep, her face peaceful. Picket smiled at the sight, but his heart still felt heavy. Rising quietly from the bed, he walked out into the common room. With a sigh, he settled in his favorite chair, which had once belonged to Snoden.
The thought of the father-in-law he had never known added to Picket’s sense of melancholy. He stared out the nearest window, peering out into the darkness of a night that was far from ending. It would be best, he knew, to try and get back to sleep. But part of him dreaded the prospect, knowing that a night disturbed by one heartbreaking dream might easily see another.
Before he could consider the matter further, though, he heard small footsteps. A young doe, with a doll cradled against her shoulder, appeared beside his chair. Despite the late hour, her eyes-a deep green in the light of day or fire-were bright and alert. She looked very much like a younger edition of her mother or, as Weezie liked to say, the rabbit she had been named after.
“Layra?* Sweetheart, what are you doing up?”
“Jo and Whitbie are snoring.”
Sighing, Picket shook his head. “I suppose I’ll have to do something about the wall between your rooms. Well, as long as you're up, how about a snack?”
Nodding eagerly, Layra followed her father into the kitchen. Picket lit a candle, cut some thick slices of bread, and drizzled honey over them. Layra helped a little, but by now he was adept at managing tasks with only one arm. He then laid out two places at one end of their lengthy dining table.
Arranging her doll next to her place, Layra lifted the hefty water jug while Picket retrieved a pair of glasses. It wasn’t long before they were sitting and eating in companionable silence. Picket smiled as his daughter drank her water in a series of long gulps from her glass. Finally, she set it down, then looked curiously at her father.
“Why are you awake, Daddy?”
Gulping his own water, Picket pondered how to answer. “I had a dream…about Helmer.”
“My dolly?”
For the first time, Picket looked closely at the doll. It had been a gift for Layra’s last birthday, one of many from the small army of friends and family who had attended. Distracted by the celebrations, and with so many other things to take notice of, he had barely taken note of the toy. Since then, he had only seen it mostly obscured by Layra’s arms and blanket at bedtime. And he had never heard her call it by name.
The doll was made to look like a black-furred rabbit in black clothing. Some cloth had been cunningly fashioned into a breastplate and sheathed sword. In its left hand was a torch. Picket found himself smiling, recognizing the handiwork of Mr. and Mrs. Weaver.
“Do you know why your dolly is named Helmer, Layra?” When she shook her head, Picket went on. “Helmer was your great-uncle…Grandma Airen’s brother. That made him Mama’s uncle, like your uncle Jacks. But he was also my master…and my dear friend.
“Helmer was a hero of the war we fought, before you or any of your siblings were born. Together we fought for the Mended Wood, and he saved my life many times. In the end, he gave his life to save many other lives. But though I know it’s what he wanted…I miss him.”
Layra was quiet for a long moment. She looked at the doll as though she had never seen it before. Then, nodding her small head, she got up. Walking over to Picket, she held out the toy.
“Would you like to have my Helmer, Daddy?”
If Picket had not had some time to compose himself since waking, he might have wept again. The simple but kind gesture made his heart swell. For a moment, he could almost see Helmer’s features on the doll made in his likeness. He could picture his master’s slight smile, his quiet way of expressing amusement…or approval.
“No, Layra-this is your Helmer. It’s very kind of you to offer to give him to me. But I think it will make me feel better to know that he’s with you. And maybe I can tell you some more stories about my Helmer.”
At her eager nod, Picket smiled. The two of them cleaned up after themselves. Leading Layra by the hand, Picket brought her back to the bedroom she shared with her sisters. Jo and Whitbie’s snoring had subsided, though Picket reminded himself to check on the wall between the rooms in the morning.
Quietly, Picket settled Layra in her bed. She snuggled down beneath the covers, her little eyelids drooping. As she held her doll close, she murmured sleepily. “Good night, Daddy. I love you.”
Picket smiled. “I love you too…Ladybug.”
*StellaMae came up with the idea of Picket and Weezie having a daughter named Layra, after Weezie’s twin sister.