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Viktor steeled himself against the chill that snaked beneath his cloak collar and the barrage of sleet that nipped sharply at his exposed cheeks. He pushed his umbrella to its open position and, with no small amount of difficulty, turned directly into the wind. One foot in front of the other, he embarked on his journey, trudging purposefully down the darkened street.
The direction in which he was headed barely registered. Several minutes of walking had passed before he noticed that the frigid puddles beneath his feet were seeping into his wool socks, leaving them completely saturated. Boots, he grumbled vaguely to himself. How stupid of me. No turning back now.
Sensical thoughts were few and far between this evening. Through the thick soup of fatigue that surrounded his brain, only one objective remained clear and stable—a single sentence he repeated over and over again to solidify its presence.
He needed to find a cabbage.
He paused a moment to shake himself, as if clearing a mental squall that mirrored his environment, then continued determinedly on his way. The world in his periphery left only a faint impression—a smear, almost, as if observed through the window of a moving trolley. Nothing sank in as it should. Nevertheless, his internal compass steered him correctly, and after some time he finally spied it: a glowing storefront. A warm and friendly beacon against the black, dismal night. He knocked his shoes against the front steps and folded his umbrella, then turned the door handle to enter.
The small tinkling bell affixed to the doorframe announced his arrival. A sudden wave of heat from the properly tended ovens and the comforting smell of fresh baked goods overcame him, and he swayed precariously on his feet.
"Viktor!" a young woman called from behind the counter. "Never thought I'd see you here tonight. How's Alice doing?"
"Ah, she's well. Very well," he answered politely, if not a bit tersely, leaning his dripping umbrella against the wall. He braced himself on the bakery's countertop with both palms. "Forgive the unusual request, but..." He paused, unsure how to proceed while remaining tactful. "Do you happen to stock cabbages?"
"Cabbages?" the store clerk echoed in confusion. "In this weather? Couldn't you just use..." she trailed off, then met his eyes with a slight blush. "Oh, right. For Alice, yeah? I'll check."
He nodded discreetly, and she turned to leave. During her brief absence, his eyelids began to close, chin sinking despite his standing position. He heard the soft sounds of her returning footsteps and his head jerked upright.
"Sorry Viktor, we do stock them sometimes but it's a bit outside the season now." Her eyes met his sympathetically. "Now that the frosts are here, finding one would be...well, a work of witchcraft." She giggled at the thought.
"Yes, that does make sense," he conceded, finding it difficult to conjure up the correct sentiment. "Sorry to trouble you, and I appreciate—"
"Wait—before you go." The girl reached into the case beneath her, pulling out a thickly sliced, generously portioned something that filled the room with the blissful aroma of lemon peel and nutmeg. She carefully wrapped it in cloth, then brown paper, and handed it to Viktor.
"For Alice. She loves our bread and butter pudding."
"That's...too kind," he said, reaching for his pocket and missing it by an inch. She shook her head and waved him on, and they exchanged pleasant parting words before he took his leave.
Back out on the street, Viktor winced unpleasantly. Surrounded by the comforting warmth of the bakery, he'd almost forgotten about the unforgiving sleet that awaited him. He tucked the paper bundle into the leather satchel at his side, shielded his eyes from the wind, then racked his brain for the next best option.
Something the girl mentioned had stuck out in his muddled mind: witchcraft. Yes. Cabbages may be out of season, but witches did not abide by the laws of nature, did they?
He glanced both directions, gathering his bearings, then set out towards a new destination: a small, unassuming tenement on the edge of town.
His fatigue quickly set in once again, footsteps plodding automatically forward, driven only by his singular goal. An image flickered in his mind's eye: his home, bed, wife who anticipated his speedy return. Of course, he would have gone to the ends of the earth for Alice, but fortunately his destination was only a few streets away. After crossing the wet, slippery cobblestone and narrowly dodging a carriage that barreled towards him through the mist, he paused a moment to consider just how long he'd been walking. Two minutes? Twenty? Even this short errand felt like the ends of the earth to his fog-and-jelly brain.
He finally arrived, the icy slush from the streets now having crept halfway up his pant legs. He gingerly climbed a set of crumbling stone steps that led to a white, flaking front door, not a single number or name adorning it. Folding his umbrella once more, he rapped his knuckles loudly on it, then waited. The waiting made him sleepy again, and he may have nodded off had he not shifted his weight back and forth between his feet to prevent it. He couldn't recall if the pause had taken five seconds or five minutes, so unreliable was his sense of time.
He roused himself as an aggressive pattering of footsteps approached, then jumped as the latch slammed back. A slow creaking revealed a single fuchsia-colored eye, peering out suspiciously from the crack. It fixed on him momentarily, then widened. An abrupt shriek and a wrenching of the door caused him to stumble back in surprise.
"Viktor!" a buxom, red-haired young woman called triumphantly from the doorway. She immediately flung her arms around him in a celebratory fit of glee, which knocked the wind out of him momentarily (and apparently his words along with it).
"Cuff," he wheezed once his words had found him again. "I need—"
"How's Alice?"
"Good, good," he assured, patting her on the back. Cuff finally released her grip and held him at arm's length, looking him over.
"You look rough," she stated indelicately, and he chuckled wearily.
"No doubt."
He vaguely noted that she was wearing a white button-down man's shirt, casually creased and wrinkled. A single button was missing from the center of her chest. While this would have generally caused him some amount of embarrassment, his senses were far too strained to fully take her in.
"Zain'll be back soon," she chirped, "he's going to love hearing—"
"Sorry, Cuff. I'm very much looking forward to talking with you both, but I'm in a bit of a bind." Viktor met her eyes pleadingly. "Would you happen to know where I can procure a cabbage?"
The request did not seem to faze her the way it had the shop clerk. Cuff hummed nonchalantly, then narrowed her eyes in thought. "Want some sauerkraut? We have a jar, I think."
"Ah, no," he laughed again. "It needs to be a fresh cabbage. Whole."
"No idea. Never thought to conjure something like that. Not sure how to start."
Viktor's shoulders sagged, but he smiled warmly regardless. "Thank you, Cuff, I figured I'd—"
"The Ringmaster!" she interrupted victoriously. "At Circus Gemini. He has a greenhouse, you know."
"Greenhouse..." Viktor repeated in hazy consideration. "That just might do the trick." With another round of thanks, he spun to descend her front steps.
"Wait!" she called after him hastily. Cuff dipped behind her door, then returned with something fuzzy, colorful, and chaotically sewn together.
"Earmuffs—for Alice," she announced proudly, handing him the homemade, garish-looking accessory.
"She...she'll love them," he answered with a touch of confusion, looking them over.
"Made 'em myself! They're magic. Keeps out all noise, unless it's something really important."
His face lit up with sudden, immense appreciation. "That's brilliant, Cuff!"
"Pretty neat, right?" she beamed. "Take care of yourself, friend, and I hope you find what you're looking for." With another embrace, Cuff sent Viktor back out to the street to continue on his quest.
Viktor tucked the gift into his satchel and squinted to the west, a newfound sense of motivation in his steps. Circus Gemini was not far, and with some luck he'd catch The Ringmaster before he turned in for the night. He stumbled briefly over an uneven spot in the road, quickly caught himself, then continued at a hopeful canter.
He passed modest homes, storefronts, and markets, all invitingly lit from within. Mullioned windows cast flecks of golden light on the inky wet pavement below them. It took him several minutes to realize he'd never opened his umbrella upon leaving the tenement, and his shaggy black curls were now flecked with frozen raindrops. Deciding he was faster without it, he left the umbrella tucked under the crook of his arm and hastened his steps.
He turned down a rather unsavory-looking road, past the meat pie shop that Cuff favored so heavily and through an alleyway that would have caused him a bit of trepidation back when he was less familiar with this part of town. Finding himself at the rear entrance of the circus, he knocked in a specific, rhythmic pattern and strained his ears for a response. His eyes flickered to the peeling sign above—Performers and Staff Only—before beginning to close once again.
The door creaked open, this time with confidence. A familiar shape filled the entryway—a shadow backlit by a low, flickering light.
"Viktor," greeted the surprised but amicable voice of The Ringmaster. He blew a puff of smoke from the corner of his mouth, then tossed his cigarette on the top step and extinguished it with his foot. "What are you doing at my door in this weather, mate?"
"H-hey, I really hate to bother you, but—"
"Nonsense, no bother," he reassured. "Come in, I'll make you some tea."
"I appreciate it, but I don't have much time."
"Son," The Ringmaster said concernedly, looking him up and down. "Sit just a moment. You're dead on your feet."
Viktor surrendered, following the man indoors. He shrugged off his sopping cloak and propped his umbrella against the door, shivering slightly from the change in temperature. Once again, his exhaustion took advantage of this moment of repose to overwhelm him, a nebulous blanket obscuring his already sparse thoughts.
The Ringmaster entered a modest kitchen that served as a shared space for the circus performers. "Now," he called back to Viktor. "While the kettle is on, what is it you wanted to ask me?"
"I need...a cabbage," he repeated for the third time that evening, shaking his head a bit to clear his mind. "And I heard you have a greenhouse..."
"Oh! Well, I do try to keep it a secret." The Ringmaster reemerged from the kitchen, chuckling. "Would do terrible things for my dark and mysterious image, no? A simple man puttering about with his flowers instead of the enigmatic menace I play in the ring. But yeah, I can get you a cabbage."
Viktor's shoulders relaxed and he sighed audibly with relief.
The Ringmaster returned to the kitchen once again, and Viktor heard the familiar clinks and shuffles of tea being prepared. "Follow me," he encouraged. "There's a table inside the greenhouse; we can sit a moment."
Viktor shimmied past the narrow and disorganized kitchen to a door at the back. It led outside to a modest porch and small garden, a space he hadn't realized existed behind the circus grounds before now. At the back of the garden stood a cramped but rather stately greenhouse. Water streamed down the pitched windows in undulating sheets, small reflections from the kitchen light dancing on its surface. The two men hurried across the stone path and pried open the greenhouse door, ducking inside.
The Ringmaster set the two chipped mugs down on a worn wooden table in the corner. "Have a sit. I'll grab your cabbage and be back straight away."
Viktor nodded, head feeling about as heavy as a cabbage itself, and took a seat. Small, icy chunks of sleet tinkled subtly against the greenhouse glass. It was a rather soothing sound. He lit a grubby lamp that sat in the center of the table, then took a sip of his tea. He breathed in its earthy, tannic scent. Warmth spread through his entire body, immediately clouding his mind with a veil of cotton-like contentment.
His head dropped. He fought it, shook himself. The soporific effect of the rain against the glass overcame him. It dropped again, and he was out.
"Viktor," a dim voice called from the ether. "Mate, you've got a mission to complete."
Viktor jerked awake, still seated in The Ringmaster's greenhouse, cheeks rosy from exposure to the cold and the mild embarrassment at his lapse in composure. The Ringmaster smiled, then pressed something chilly and substantial between his palms.
"There's your cabbage," he announced proudly. "Now, I'm guessing time is of the essence here?"
"Y—yes, thank you!" Viktor effused, springing to his feet. "And for the tea as well. I'm sorry I—"
"Go on. We'll catch up once you've gotten some sleep." He flashed his rakish, sideways grin and patted Viktor's shoulder. "Oh, and say hi to Alice for me, would you?"
He nodded, overflowing with relief at the completion of his quest. He placed the hefty cabbage in his satchel next to the other items, then jogged across the stone pathway, through the kitchen and back out to the dreary alleyway.
Viktor pulled from whatever small reserve of energy was left in his body to hasten his return. He dashed past the storefronts, jumped over puddles, narrowly missed a trolley as he sprinted across the street to the front steps of his home. He searched his pocket for his keys, dropped them, located them once more and thrust them impatiently into the lock.
He opened the front door tentatively with his fingertips—closed it with even more precious care. He removed his dripping shoes and socks, then crept to his bedroom, quietly pushing the door ajar to peek inside.
"Viktor," he heard a voice whisper faintly from the bed. "You're back." His wife repositioned herself to greet him, rearranging the many rags and blankets that covered her.
He crossed the room and knelt at her side. "She's asleep?"
Alice glanced at the bundle of cloth next to her. "Just now. She got enough to fall asleep, I think. But Viktor, she hates it." Her voice wavered at the end of her sentence, eyes perpetually brimming with tears.
"The midwife said it should only last a few days," he soothed. "She'll get used to it." He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead and she let a single tear fall.
"It's so painful. We're both miserable, and...it just won't stop."
Viktor took a slow and measured breath, then reached to light a lamp on their bedside table. Leaning close, he lifted the corner of the dampened rag that clung to his wife's chest. Though he did not possess breasts himself, his chest still stung in sympathy. Her skin was stretched to its limit, deep veins crisscrossing her taut flesh, and a steady dripping of milk flowed from her nipples across a red, angry-looking rash. He took care not to wince, but he was certain she registered his concern and her tears began to flow more freely.
"I don't know how I'm going to survive days of this," she sobbed, tempering her volume as best she could. He tossed the damp cloth into a metal tub next to the bed, already filled with blood-stained and milk-soaked rags. He helped raise her to a sitting position, placing several pillows behind her, then applied a clean, dry cloth to her chest.
"You will," he assured. "You've done brilliantly so far; this is not going to stop you." He rifled around in the satchel at his side, then pulled two items from it. "This is what you need right now." He placed the small paper bundle in her lap, then handed her the garish-looking earmuffs.
"What?" she replied in confusion, laughing through her tears.
"Gifts from well-wishers," he smiled. She eagerly unwrapped the paper, and her face immediately lit up with excitement.
"Ahh, bread and butter pudding." She lifted the pastry to her nose and inhaled deeply. Her smile dislodged a stray tear from her eyelash and it fell onto the brown paper, leaving a tiny dark spot. She took a sizable bite and paused a moment to savor it.
"And these—Cuff made them. They block out all sounds, except for the really important ones."
Her watery eyes met his, the crease between her brows beginning to ease. "That's very clever."
Viktor leaned forward to kiss his wife's forehead, then removed the cabbage from his satchel and rose to carry it to the kitchen. He placed the weighty vegetable on their kitchen counter next to a small scrap of paper displaying several hastily-scrawled notes in unfamiliar handwriting.
- Cabbage leaves can be used during the engorgement period to reduce swollen tissue, pain, and milk flow
He crossed it out. A sentence underneath caught his eye.
- Visits from husbands should not exceed 5 minutes per day, so as not to overexcite the emotions
He chuckled and crossed that one out as well. He knew his wife well enough to know that her emotions would be far more elevated without his presence. And he certainly did not intend to leave her alone during such a vulnerable period.
Turning back to the cabbage, Viktor began peeling back the outer leaves, cracking them at their base and piling them on top of each other. He selected two of the largest, cleanest leaves, rinsed them in the frigid sink water, then dried them thoroughly.
Returning to their bedroom, he handed them to his wife. She tossed the rag on her chest, which had now become as damp as the others, into the tub at the side of the bed and replaced it with the leaves.
"Ahh, it's so cold," she sighed in relief. He smiled and lowered himself as deftly as possible onto the bed opposite her.
"Don't forget, Rob should be returning with your mother tomorrow. I'll take Madeline for a few hours tonight, and the earmuffs will help." He reached out to squeeze her hand. "We'll get through this."
Alice carefully rolled to her side, holding the leaves in place. Her eyes fell to the bundle of cloth between them. "Why did you decide to come early, little one?" she inquired playfully. Viktor pulled it back to peer at the tiny, delicate face of his daughter: wrinkled, red, mercifully asleep.
"She knows how long it took us to make her, and how impatient you were to have her," he jested. His wife laughed discreetly.
"We didn't even have time to call on that accoucheur your mother wanted to hire," she mused.
"To be honest, I'm lucky I even found a midwife in time. Thankfully, she left me with a thorough enough list of instructions."
He rolled to face his wife, instinctually curling his body closer to hers. "Feeling any better?"
Alice hummed affirmatively, her eyes already closed. He lifted the corner of a leaf and used a cloth to dab at her clammy skin. He struggled to maintain his own consciousness just long enough to place the earmuffs carefully over her ears, watch her drift into a peaceful sleep, then dissolve swiftly into his own desperately needed slumber.
A steady knock at the front door jolted Viktor awake. His heart raced. Though he was relieved it hadn't woken his wife or child, he nervously threw himself from the bed with the intent of intercepting the knocker before they had the chance to try again.
He stumbled blearily to the living room and grasped the door handle with shivering fingers. What time is it? his aching brain wondered. With the windows still pitch black and his pocket watch who-knows-where, there was no way of telling. He opened the door instantly, too sleep-deprived to realize he probably should have inquired about the visitor's identity first.
"Hey, Viktor!" He blinked, greeted by the unexpected sight of his good friend Zain standing cheerfully at his doorstep, a massive wooden crate in his arms. "Cuff told me you came by earlier. She's never been as good at conjuring as me, but I've got your back."
"Ah, hey Zain...thanks for this." He accepted the crate awkwardly and set it in the entryway, staggering under its weight.
"Get some sleep, huh?" Zain suggested, already halfway down the steps. "We'll chat in a few days."
Viktor closed the door and looked skeptically at the crate. He lifted the lid, bracing himself for whatever may be inside.
Cabbages—perhaps a dozen or more. Green, spotless, perfectly firm cabbages.
The absurdity of the sight, combined with the overwhelming fatigue and tension of the last few days finally broke him, and he let out a loud, booming laugh. His stomach immediately sank at the sound of his daughter wailing from the other room, and he mentally berated himself, shuffling inside to retrieve her before she woke his sleeping wife.
Though Alice only ended up needing the single cabbage, the return of Rob and Sharon that afternoon facilitated much discussion about the best way to handle the cruciferous surplus. By the time the crate was empty, all four of them were so incredibly tired of cabbage soup they unanimously agreed to ban the recipe from their household going forward.