Page 58 of Familiar Things New

William and Edwin barely talked while they brought everything upstairs, which Edwin was honestly fine with. Regardless of how nice William was being or how pleasant the carriage ride had been, Edwin still wasn’t in the right place to talk to William about Agnes just yet.

Finally, when they were finished, William bid farewell and left.

And then Edwin and Andrew were alone.

Awkwardly hovering in the middle of the room, Edwin shoved his hands into his pockets. Andrew lingered near his worktable, clearly leaning most of his weight on his uninjured leg.

“So . . .” Edwin honestly hadn’t thought this far ahead. “Do you still need more help? I could . . . cook for you?”

Andrew smiled. “Thank you, but uhm, well, Mrs. Meyer cooks. I eat with her on the first floor. It’s one of the benefits of living in a boarding house.”

Edwin pressed his lips together and nodded. “It’s a bit too early to eat, anyway, isn’t it?”

“Yes, a little,” Andrew said, his expression now looking a bit sheepish.

Andrew scrubbed the bottom half of his face with his palm and let his hand fall to the worktable. He proceeded to strum his fingers—ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. Seconds passed. And then Andrew’s eyes widened.

“Oh! I know something you could help with!”

Thank God.

“Anything,” Edwin replied.

“I need help with the furnace, if you’re willing. I should remove the ashes soon. And I should add more coal, too. Mrs. Meyer is fully capable of both, but it’s a little chilly in here so I’m wondering if maybe she hasn’t managed to get to it today. Likely because she knew I’d be coming home. You see, I’m responsible for the furnace, whenever I’m here. And with my knee being swollen . . . Edwin, if you could take care of the heat for me, that would be incredible. Would you mind?”

“Not at all,” Edwin replied. “Agnes hates tending to the furnace. And our mother is in no condition to try to maintain it herself. So, I’m very used to it.”

Andrew beamed at him. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Edwin said, shrugging. He thumbed over his shoulder, toward the door. “Basement?”

“Right.”

Andrew handed Edwin an oil lamp. After it was lit, Edwin made his way to the basement. Once there, he set to work on ensuring the furnace had enough coal. Luckily for him, the embers were still burning, though if they’d been left much longer, he might have had to restart the fire completely.

After shaking out the cinders, Edwin retrieved the shovel from the wall and headed over to the coal pile, which was a few feet away from the furnace itself. Before beginning, he reminded himself to lift with his legs and not with his back, which he sometimes still forgot about. Mustering as much strength as he could, he thrust the shovel into the pile and then lifted a heap of coal. Grunting, he hobbled over to the furnace and plopped the coal inside. Only four or so more to go.

Sweat began to pepper his brow as he lifted the second shovelful of black rocks. He threw them into the furnace with a huff. After adding two more shovelfuls, Edwin leaned the shovel back against the wall. He hadn’t managed four more of them like he’d intended. But hopefully what he had managed would be enough.

Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, Edwin let out a long breath. Thank God Andrew hadn’t seen him struggling like this.

Ascending the stairs back to Andrew’s studio, Edwin continued to sweat, and he wiped his face with the cuff of his sleeve twice more before reaching the studio. Once inside, Edwin took hold of the front of his shirt to fan himself, though thanks to the layers he was wearing, the fast fanning barely helped. Resigned to feeling a bit overheated for the next little while, Edwin looked up to find Andrew, who was resting on the sofa, his eyes wide and filled with something that made Edwin’s stomach flip.

“What?” Edwin asked.

“You’re . . . uhm . . .”

“I’m . . . ?” He raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Sweaty?”

Andrew nodded, chuckling too. “Yes.” He touched his fingers to his forehead. “You have some ash on your face as well.”

“Ah.” Edwin rubbed his forehead, though he probably just made it worse. “Should I leave, maybe? Go home and wash up?”

“No!” Andrew blurted out before immediately clapping a hand over his mouth, perhaps embarrassed by his somewhat pleading tone. Edwin laughed a little. “Sorry. Don’t go.”

Andrew pushed himself to stand. He took a few uneven steps forward, clearly taking care not to put too much weight on his knee.

“It’s . . . it’s nice,” he said. “It looks nice, I mean. You look . . . nice.”