Night had long since blanketed the orchard in velvet darkness, stars blinking between the gaps in cloud cover as the firelight danced across the assembled faces. The embers hissed softly, casting long shadows behind each of them, yet the mood remained warm, intimate, touched with something sacred.
Jude sat at the center, his arms resting across his knees, eyes flicking from one wife to the next. Grace lay curled beside him, her head on his thigh, humming faintly under her breath, some lullaby she half-remembered, one she used to hum when Laurel was a baby.
The others clustered around the fire in quiet companionship, leaning on one another, the silence filled only with the occasional spark from the logs or the deep inhale of someone drawing the comfort of smoke into their lungs.