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“So, Melchior, what have you been reading as of late?”
Melchior finished chewing the bread in his mouth before answering. “I’ve been trying to continue reading Faust, but it’s just so different without Moritz, Mama.” She looked down at her plate, which Melchior took as an opportunity to stuff a bun in his pocket.
“I do hope they find him soon.” Mama murmured quietly, gently laying her hand on Father’s. Father said absolutely nothing, as always.
“Yes. I miss sitting over there and discussing… Things.” Melchior pointed to the fireplace, quickly shoving a second bun into his trousers as his parents turned to look.
“Truly, it fills me with such dread, wondering where he’s gone.” Melchior rubbed his eyes. “I- My apologies, Mama,” his voice wobbled, “I’m going to go on a walk to clear my head.”
His chair made a terrible sound against the floor as he quickly pushed it out. He dashed away before Mama could come around the table to give him a hug.
He ran to the hayloft as fast as he could, climbing up and lying down for a minute to catch his breath.
“I have,” he gasped, “some more… bread for you.”
“I guess it’s a good thing that I’m partial to bread. You never bring me anything else.” Melchior scoffed. “I don’t want my pockets to get dirty. Besides, would you enjoy food that I put straight into my pockets? At least a bun you can brush off.”
Moritz grinned. “I suppose.” Melchior tossed him a bun and rolled closer to him, sitting up. “I also brought you a pastry.” He pulled the folded up napkin out from the inner pocket of his jacket. It was miraculously uncrushed by his rolling about.
“Melchi! Thank you!” Moritz tackled him in a hug. “This is the first thing I've had besides bread and milk all week.” He took a bite and carefully folded the napkin back, saving it for later. Melchior smiled at how happy Moritz was. He needed to steal Mama’s church group leftovers more often.
“Wendla stopped by earlier today. She had come to deliver your journal, and she found me.” Melchior’s heart started beating a million times a second before Moritz continued, “She’s not going to tell anyone, Melchi. She told me she’s glad that I’m still breathing. She said she’d stop by the next time she’s delivering food and make an extra package for me.”
Melchior’s breathing slowed. “Well. That seems rather convenient, actually. One cannot survive on just bread and milk.”
“That seems to be true. I don’t want to contract scurvy.” He paused. “Oh, Melchi! Do you recall the time we were playing pirates, and you got scurvy? It had occurred to us that we had no idea what scurvy even was! So we looked in Herr Bergmann’s big medical book.”
Melchior shuddered, recalling entirely too clearly. “Moritz, I had the worst nightmares after that! I would lie in bed awake and try to will myself into forgetting those images. It never worked, of course, but over the years I had seemingly blocked it out. Remind me to bring you more fruit the next time I come to deliver your clothing.”
Moritz lay his head in Melchior’s lap. “Of course. Tell me about your day? It gets so boring in here.”