Jeffrey
And if tomorrow it's all over, 
At least we had it for a moment
Oh darling, things seem so unstable
[but for a moment, we were able to be still](<

Marianne Wilburn, despite all her efforts, was not able to prevent the passage of time. She could not stop the moon's waxing, could not hold off the wolves at the door.
What she could do, in advance of all that was to come, was unlatch the door and place a pot upon the stove, light the lamps and welcome in Briar Ridge's people with arms wide and warm, to face together what howled and snarled beneath the cover of the night. 

May was no exception to her pattern. Her name had once again gone up on the notice-board, and the fire in the grate burned like a beacon, drawing in folks in need of a safe place to spend the night, no matter who they were or what weight they bore upon their shoulders. She would let them all come, and she would feed them, and she would take up her knife and protect them for as long as she could stand. 
So when Charlie Marsh and Emery Aiken showed up on the porch, with two young children in tow and two babes in arms clutched to their chests, Marianne stepped up like she had never stepped up before. 

She ushered the couple into the living room, and put up the guard around the fire so the little ones had no chance at accidentally burning tiny fingers in its flames. She began to boil water for tea, and as it heated, raced upstairs for more blankets, and to the attic to rifle through boxes that had lain untouched since her own childhood.

When she returned, it was with an armful of picture-books and painted-wood toys - animals, mostly, collected by her father on his travels. Richie seemed particularly enamored by an orange tiger with eyes of emerald-green, while Mickey crawled right up into Emery's lap, demanding each story to be read in turn. 

Marianne made tea for her guests, and checked the stew on the stove and the bread in the oven (sending up a silent thank-you to darling Ruth Hansen once again for her precious living gift). And then, when all seemed well, when others had arrived with their weapons and their well-wishes, Marianne went to Charlie. She sat beside them on the arm of the couch, and reached out to touch the delicate cheek of the baby in their arms.

"I suppose I ought to introduce myself properly to the little things, shouldn't I?" She smiled, as the baby's head turned in response to her touch. "Is this Bowen? Or Sidney? And *Please*, Charlie... Please let me hold them. They're wonderful."

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Allen
Charlie didn't bother to hide the nervousness on their face. It was an understandable thing, they thought, doubly now that they had four children to look after and raise. They smiled whenever Richie or Mickey looked at them, but as soon as the boys looked away, Charlie's mouth settled back into a subtle frown.

The only things that kept them from tearing their hair out were the kids and Marianne's effort to make things in her own home as welcoming as possible. They shouldn't be surprised, they know- from what they had seen of her during the election, she was a sweet and caring woman. Being so willing to take others into her space during such a dangerous time, hell, even offering one of her rooms to hold the babes until the moon passed had solidified Charlie's trust in her.

"This one is Sidney." Their smile was small and genuine as she stroked the babe's cheek. "Owen is holding Bowen right now."

As they said, the older man cradled Bowen in his arms, humming softly as he padded around.

"Of course, you can hold her." Charlie shifted until they could gently place Sidney in Marianne's arms. "She gets a little squirmy, sometimes, but she's generally not that difficult."
Jeffrey
Marianne Wilburn had held both of April's older children as babies. She and April had been close, an almost sister-like relationship going back the best part of a decade. She couldn't count the times she'd held April through both trial and tribulation, wiped tears from her eyes and lifted her back up onto her feet. She had waited outside the room for both Richie and Mickey's births, and been among the first to take the newborns into her arms and show them the outside world. The boys had crawled their first summers right outside the front door in her garden - she had not grown roses those years, not wanting to endanger tiny, curious hands. When Jonah Baker had "Disappeared" In the dead of night, Marianne had come, and put the children to bed, and soothed her dear April with tight embraces and copious amounts of wine.

As Marianne took Sidney Abrams into her arms, she saw April's eyes in the child's, and it was all she could do not to let the tears spill over. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, and cradled Sidney close to her chest, and in that moment could only ache. Ache that April was gone. That she had left behind her tiny twins. That those twins would never know what a woman their mama had been, and all that she had gone through to ensure their safety and survival. 

She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, and when she looked back to Charlie, she only hoped they wouldn't mention the wetness threatening to slide down her cheeks. 

"Will you tell them, when they're old enough? Not everything - there's things they never ought to know about the circumstances of their births, of course, but... Please tell me they'll come to know of her. That you'll tell them... How wonderful she was. All she did for them. Tell them she lived for them, even if she couldn't live alongside them. I- I think she'll be with them all their lives either way, but I'm sure she'd like it if they knew *Who* Was watching over them."

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