Uriel. Uriel, Uriel, Uriel. Things were … complicated, with Uriel. He had been used to a less complicated young man when Zechariah had left home.

Because Uriel had still been a child, barely adolescent.

Now Uriel of all people had more experience navigating thorny mistakes than Zechariah did.

It was dressed down in a gray suit that Zechariah came to his door, hair trimmed but not cropped all the way as seemed to be the fashion of late. Wielding a bouquet of white roses in the crook of his arm and a bottle of kosher white wine in hand, he knocked on Uriel’s front door.

With Kitty sleeping, he was taking care of his son. The boy gave a little whine as the knock was heard, his hazy little eyes popping open and his face scrunching up. "Shhhh, shhh," he murmured to the boy, lifting him to his shoulder gingerly and supporting him the way he was shown how by the woman who attended the birth. "Let's see who is here," he murmured and loped on over to the door. Careful not to jostle the little boy, he opened the door, only to see his brother. "Zecheriah... come in..." he said in a low voice.

The big man had lost quite a bit of weight in the months since he last saw his brother, though he was still husky. The farm work had also bulked his arms up and the fabric of his shirt stretched taut over his flesh. Suspenders held his loose pants up even! He took a step back to allow Zech in.

The wedding had been … messy, to say the least. Uriel had come around in the end – but their grandmother was not writing to either of them since. Letters from their mother had become terse, obligatory.

Their father wrote, once. It was bad enough that their father had bothered to write just to haltingly attempt the tradition of staying in contact. Chaim had missed it entirely and still sent glowing updates about his kids, his wife, and all around how great his own damned life was.

Penina and her family had come. Ruth had, too, and handed out tickets to her next concert in Germany.

Nesah … well, Nesah was Nesah.

He saw the baby, and his mouth formed a line. Right. Zechariah had popped in and out so fast that he never even got the kid’s name. Unlike Penina and Chaim’s brood, Zechariah barely even looked at this one. His gaze fell to the child, comparing the face to Uriel’s to gauge just how much he blamed it at a glance.

Uriel’s face. Zechariah blinked, frowned. There was … less of Uriel than there used to be. A lot less. Life had been hard on him, clearly.

“Uriel – are you ill?” came out before he could even greet him properly.

He stared at his brother when asked if he was ill. "No, Zech, it's just a result of me doing my chores. I'm lifting hay bales and now I lift Abraham... The only thing I am is tired like a new father ought to be." He grinned and rubbed Abraham's back. "Come in, come in." He waved his hand cheerfully. He was a happy man and Zech would definitely be able to see it. Despite the wedding being rough, the deed was done, he was married to his Katherine, he had his son, his home was nearly finished, and so much more. Uriel had proven to be a success in most things he did lately, perhaps not winning the children at the school over yet but he was hoping that would change by the next school year.

There were two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. It … still looked like a baby, yes it did. There was a stiffening at Uriel’s words.

Tired like a new father. He could see it now: chained, literally, to Sofia Carrington- no. Sofia Meijer. Holding her new baby, emaciated, while Uriel heartily slapped his shoulder and proclaimed fatherhood great.

“Good for you-” he started to snap, shook his head, then sighed and put a hand on Uriel’s arm. “I mean it.”

He stepped in, glanced up at the roof, then back to Uriel.

“I could have helped, you know.”

God. He had gotten to the point that he had started fixing the actually broken furniture around the cottage. And now he had gone and stuck his foot in his mouth.

“It… looks like you have this handled,” he added, reluctantly but curiously. “Show me around.”

He nodded, closing the door behind his brother. He said, "I would love nothing more." He gestured with one finger to indicate he needed a moment, moved to his bedroom where his wife slept peacefully. He placed Abraham in the cradle, moved to kiss Kitty on the forehead and tucked her in a little, then left the room. He closed the door softly and then he looked at his brother. "I have help, I hired a farm hand." He wasn't about to mention it was one of the Longbottoms yet.

“Certainly,” he said quietly, suddenly mindful of it- er, Abraham.

Zechariah did not bother hiding his relief when Uriel confessed doing something normal, like hiring help.

“My maid married,” Zechariah shrugged. “If their family is –” his sentence dropped off.

Something told him Uriel was not keen on hearing about respectable versus disreputable families.

“– possessing daughters you would trust, I am hiring again.”

He smoothed out his already smooth suit – blander than his usual. Fixed his cuff links.

This was like the time Zechariah had been afraid to tell Chaim it was he who had knocked over his favorite glass.

He was surprisingly light of foot for a big man, and his usual gentle self, "Here is the bathing chamber," he said as he led his brother into the bathroom, proud as always to show off the mosaic tiles he laid himself, and the prized, big claw-foot tub with plumbing included. He turned on the water in the washbasin in front of a rather pretty mirror that was neither too feminine but not too masculine either. The room was airy and bright; Uriel had painted the walls a neutral cream color that was clean looking.

He went from the bathroom to the parlor, a lovely room painted in yellow and the wood of the floor laid in such a pattern as to almost mimic the mosaic in the bathroom. A settee of red was situated across from the hearth; on to the kitchen which had a similar floor pattern made with loving hands. Uriel did not talk too much, he merely nodded here and there. The house was not huge but it wasn't small either. Uriel had utilized every inch of space with as much tact as he could so it wasn't overcrowded, yet showed off who he was.

He'd built that. It had taken a long time, but HE had done it. "I will be looking for a housekeeper, myself. I may be giving up on teaching and working from home as a tutor and would need the extra help. I do not think I am making much of an impact on the children but I'll still be helping as much as I can." He gave a sad smile. "I will be sure to pass along a young lady of good standing your way, maybe one of the older girls from the school."

Zechariah was quiet at first. An appreciative nod here, an impressed raise of the brows here. Unusual for him, certainly – normally, he was trudging through life like Muter was still dragging him to Bubbe’s to get bagels and a scolding.

There was not much beyond polite reactions until Uriel mentioned that dream he had been chasing. The one with all the poor people, and teaching them. That wacky little detour that he had started beginning to believe was not, in fact, a detour. But it was: he was going into tutoring. Back into their demographic. He was returning to a more normal life.

He had the option of a more normal life … and he might be taking it.

Zechariah closed the kitchen door.

“I was not very supportive of your new life, Uriel. I apologize. Are you certain-” Zechariah started, then stopped abruptly.

Was he certain? That was always the matter. Certainty. As if any single thing on God’s green earth was a certainty.

“You do not have to be certain,” he resolved aloud. “Let me know how I can support you in your next chapter of life.”

Yiddish:

Muter = Mother
Bubbe = Grandmother

He gave a sad kind of smile to his older brother and moved to put some tea on. "To be honest, I'm tired. Don't get me wrong, I love the kids like they are my own, but the more I push, the more they push back. I'll still help the children but they don't want to learn from a big oaf like me." He snorted as the kettle whistled in the next few moments. He went silent for a moment as he put the tea in the pot and filled it with water. He brought it over to the table and grabbed two cups and saucers and spoons, "You hungry? Promise it's Kosher." While he'd loved bacon, the pork didn't agree with his gut.