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Castti's heartbeat quickened as she stepped up to the door. She lifted her gloved fist, making ready to knock, but found herself hesitating.
The last time she had seen this house, it had been nothing but scorched beams and crumbled masonry covered in soot. But seeing it rebuilt warmed her heart; Osvald deserved a place to call home, a place where he and Elena could be happy together.
The sound of his name in her mind set her pulse fluttering again. It seemed so long ago that they had parted ways. She couldn't quite explain why the thought of seeing him again was summoning her nerves like this. Yes, it would be a reunion between old friends, but she also had a job to do. Her fingers reached for her satchel, resting on the leather flap, as if reassuring herself that Osvald's letter was still tucked inside of it.
If you fall sick or become wounded, send a letter. I shall come with haste, she had told her companions on the day she'd forged her own path. She'd meant it – the seven of them had been there with her throughout the most difficult journey of her life, and though she had since set out on her own, she had wanted them to know that they could count on her to support them whenever they had need of her.
That's why she was here, she reminded herself. Because Osvald needed her expertise as an apothecary. The letter had been brief, and didn't describe specific symptoms, so Castti had packed everything that could conceivably be of use to her until her satchel and pouches were stuffed nearly to bursting.
She'd idly wondered that, of all her companions, Osvald should be the first to reach out for her help. Conning Creek was home to the Apothecary's Guild, after all – surely, there were more than enough well-trained and knowledgeable medical practitioners available to him locally.
Then again, Osvald wasn't the most comfortable with people... perhaps a familiar face and the kindness of a friend were what he was seeking? Either way, Castti would do everything in her power to treat his illness, no matter what it was that afflicted him.
She took a deep breath. She was stalling. Why was she standing there in front of his door lost in her thoughts like this? She promptly rapped her fist against the wooden door, her heart leaping into her throat as she did so.
Footsteps sounded from inside, and soon, the door opened to reveal Osvald. Castti's heartbeat stuttered as she met his eyes. She'd never seen him in anything other than prison rags, and here he stood in clothing that actually fit him, his wild hair tamed and beard neatly trimmed. He looked casual – of course he would be in his own home – but still more put together than she had ever seen him before. The sight of him sent a surge of warmth blooming in her chest, a swirl of anxious energy swooping through her stomach.
“Castti...” he whispered, his expression puzzled, his tone full of disbelief but edged with hope.
She found herself smiling – she couldn't help the grin that stretched across her face. “Osvald...” she offered in return, her normally calm demeanor marred by an unexpected hitch in her voice. “It's good to see you again.”
It truly was. It felt wonderful to see him looking so settled, so content, so... healthy.
She nearly frowned at that thought. Whatever illness he had, she supposed it must not be visually recognizable.
She shook herself out of her introspection when she realized Osvald was speaking to her. “It's good to see you too,” he was saying, his expression still bewildered though a glint of joy sparkled in his eyes. “To what do I owe this surprise visit?”
Castti blinked. Surprise? What did he mean by that?
“I came as soon as I could,” she explained, perplexed, “to treat your illness.”
Osvald frowned, confusion written on his face.
“What illness?”
Castti's stomach sank, and she stood frozen as a horrible fear suddenly surfaced in her mind that perhaps Osvald's memories were being affected by his condition. No no no, her thoughts repeated with a stab of panic, not this again, not to him.
She took a breath, forcing herself to think clearly, clasping her hands together to keep them from shaking. She shouldn't jump to conclusions – just because she'd suffered from memory loss, it didn't mean that Osvald was going through a similar ordeal. She needed to stay calm so that she could properly assess the situation.
Tamping down on her panic, Castti gently asked, “Do you remember writing to me and asking me to come to Conning Creek?”
Osvald's frown deepened. “I didn't write to you,” he countered matter-of-factly.
A new fear threaded its way into Castti's heart at his response. “Would you rather I hadn't...” she hazarded softly.
His eyes widened at her words. He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.
“No,” he hastened to answer, hurriedly shaking his head. “Of course not.”
His face flushed and he stepped aside. “Where are my manners,” he muttered remorsefully. “Please come in.”
Castti let out a breath as she stepped through the threshold, nodding her thanks to Osvald. She followed him to his kitchen where he pulled out a chair for her at his table. Awkwardness hung thickly in the air as the two of them sat down, Castti's eyes downcast as she searched for the right thing to say.
“You mentioned a letter,” Osvald hesitantly put forth. “Do you have it with you? May I see it?”
“Of course,” she answered as she pulled her satchel onto her lap, grateful that doing so gave her hands something to do.
She dug the letter out of the pocket where she had wedged it for safekeeping, noting as she did so that it was creased despite her best efforts. She unfolded it and idly smoothed it against the tabletop before handing it to Osvald.
He examined the page, brows drawn together, his gaze focused. “I didn't write this...” he muttered under his breath.
Castti's confusion was briefly overcome by relief. “Then you aren't sick?”
Osvald shook his head, his eyes still glued to the letter. “No, I'm fine,” he answered absently.
She let out a breath, a measure of her anxiety fleeing at his words. He was alright after all. “Thank goodness...” she murmured.
That comment drew Osvald's attention, and he seemed to momentarily forget the letter in his hand. He met her gaze, something soft and vulnerable fleetingly reflected in his eyes. “You were worried?”
“I was,” Castti carefully admitted. “But I'm glad to find you healthy and well. I didn't quite know what to expect based on the letter.” Now it was her turn to frown. “But if you didn't write it...”
Osvald let out a sigh tinged with exasperation. “I believe I know who did,” he grumbled before turning his head toward the hallway and calling out Elena!
Footsteps soon answered his call, and the girl in question appeared, replying Yes, papa? as she rounded the corner.
Elena stopped short, her eyes widening as she noted their guest.
“Miss Castti,” she said, her gaze flicking between the apothecary and her father. “What brings you here?” she asked, a strange note to the question.
The girl had grown several inches since Castti had last seen her, but the biggest difference from her memories was how Elena otherwise seemed like any normal girl her age. Curious, attentive, and perhaps a bit mischievous, Elena seemed to have become well adjusted to her new life after Harvey's vile exploitation of her. She did look a tad guilty, though, and now Castti understood why.
Osvald held up the page in his hand. “Did you write this letter, Elena?”
The girl bit her lip, her eyes round with affected innocence, but she didn't answer.
Her father arched a brow at her. “I recognize your handwriting,” he patiently pointed out.
At his words, Elena deflated, her expression contrite.
“I wrote it,” she whispered, her eyes downcast.
Osvald's features softened, but a moment later he seemed to steel himself. “You made Castti very worried. She traveled all this way because she thought I was sick.”
The girl's guilt seemed to redouble, and she murmured, “I know...”
Osvald gently prompted, “I think you owe her an apology.”
Elena bit her lip once more, and met Castti's eyes for a split second before her gaze dropped back to the floor. “I'm very sorry, Miss Castti,” she said, a thread of shame lacing her words. “I shouldn't have lied to you.”
Castti gave her an encouraging smile. “I accept your apology, Elena,” she graciously answered, and the girl let out a relieved breath. “But why did you feel the need to pretend your father was sick?”
“Yes, I wonder that as well,” Osvald echoed, his gaze turning pointedly toward his daughter. “Care to explain yourself, young lady?”
Elena's eyes swept between the two of them once more, as if she wasn't sure who to address. She settled on Castti, perhaps urged on by the apothecary's swift forgiveness.
“It's only that... Papa gets sad sometimes,” she tentatively began. “And whenever he talks about his adventures, he seems pretty happy, even though a lot of bad things happened then. But I think it's because he made friends, and he misses them.”
Castti shot a quick look at Osvald, only to find his gaze bashfully turned toward his boots. She couldn't read his expression, but it tugged at her heart nonetheless. “So you wanted to make him happy by having one of his friends visit?”
Elena nodded emphatically. “Yes. But every time I told him that he should invite them, he just answered that all of you were too busy with your own lives and that he didn't want to bother you.”
“Elena...” Osvald quietly warned, his voice thick with emotion despite his intention to chide.
“It's true!” the girl countered impatiently. “I'm sorry I lied, but he never would have invited you himself if I hadn't.”
“I understand,” Castti answered sympathetically. “But did you consider that your father might have his own reasons not to want to impose upon his friends?” She didn't want to make assumptions about Osvald's motives, especially given how he was reacting to his daughter's confession. He was clearly embarrassed, and Castti didn't want to make things worse.
Elena rolled her eyes in frustration. “He's just stubborn,” she insisted. “I knew that seeing you would be good for him. The way his eyes light up when he talks about you, Miss Castti... it's not the same as the others. He misses them, but he's lost without you.”
“Elena, go to your room,” Osvald commanded, though there was more panic than heat to his tone.
“It's true!” she protested in exasperation, before her father warned I won't ask again. Heaving a sigh, the girl stomped off and did as she was told.
Elena's absence seemed to amplify the silence that settled between the two of them. Castti didn't know what to say, what to make of what she'd just been told. She couldn't meet Osvald's eye.
Should she go? Would he be more comfortable if she left? She was about to offer to retire to the inn when Osvald cleared his throat.
“I'm sorry for her behavior,” he stated.
Castti shook her head. “It's alright.”
Osvald sighed heavily. “No, it's not. She made you come all this way for nothing.”
She looked up at that, trying to meet his gaze, but his eyes were still glued to the floor.
“It wasn't for nothing,” she countered gently. “Osvald... I'm happy to see you. I would have been glad to come even if I'd known you weren't sick.”
His cheeks colored, and his downcast eyes blinked rapidly. “You would have?” he quietly echoed, as if needing the confirmation.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Of course, I would have.”
He was silent in reply, simply nodding his acknowledgment. But soon a tear rolled down his cheek, betraying the fact that he was overcome.
Her heart aching for him, Castti scooted her chair forward and reached out to take his hand in both of hers. He looked up in surprise, eyes shining with unshed tears behind his glasses, the lenses seeming to magnify his conflicting emotions.
“If I'd known, I would have come sooner,” Castti reassured him. She smiled despite herself, realizing how much easier it was now to admit what she was feeling, what she had felt since they'd parted. “I've missed you, Osvald.”
His brows drew together, but the corner of his mouth quirked up. He took a deep breath, and murmured, “I've missed you, too.”
Castti couldn't help herself and lifted a hand to his face, gently brushing the tears from his cheek with her thumb. Osvald just looked at her, drinking her in, as if he was afraid to look away lest she disappear.
“I could stay in Conning Creek for a while,” she suggested, hopefulness filling her heart. “We could spend more time together.”
Osvald's answering smile was tenderness incarnate, the curve of his lips saying more than words ever could.
“I think I'd like that.”