Post by Ammy on Mar 28, 2011 22:19:06 GMT -5
Setting: Costa Rica/Kingston, Jamaica // About a year from present-era
Characters: Dierdre Duffy, slight Barnabus/Geary
Rating: PG-13(ish), adult themes
Closed For: Panneth
--------------------------
“Don’t hold her like that, you have to support the head…like this. See? She’s not whimpering anymore.”
“I know how to hold a baby, Dierdre. I was there when Julian was born, remember?”
Dierdre sighed and nodded, stepping back to let Geary hold her. She was trying desperately not to get attached, to remove herself from it completely and pretend that she hadn’t just given birth twelve hours prior. The tears stung her eyes, though, every time she looked at the pale blue eyes of her daughter. Her heart broke whenever she remembered that she’d never be able to hold her baby like a mother, or sing her to sleep every night.
Nine months in this hell and she went home with nothing to show for it.
She didn’t look at the child, or the knot in her chest would tighten, a physical reminder that she wasn’t just giving up a trinket or piece of clothing.
“I leave in the morning. Alvira will be here to help you for the next few months, and you’ll have a wet nurse when you get home to Kingston. Mama said in her last letter that the rumors have stopped going around, but she suspects they’ll start again when you return with her.”
She was talking too much, she knew, but Geary didn’t stop her. They’d spent the better part of a year together in each other’s company. Dierdre knew about Geary’s secret mercenary life, and Geary knew how terrified Dierdre was of leaving, of starting over after this. She would speak as long as she needed to and she knew her sister would oblige her. Because that’s what family was for.
“Are you going to name her?” Megaera asked quietly.
They had avoided talking about it as much as they could, Dierdre only teaching her how to hold a baby and take care of one without ever specifically mentioning her child, its father, or what they were going to do once it was born. Names had occurred to her, but she’d always tamped down the urge when it snuck up on her in the middle of the night. No, it would do no good to name something that wasn’t really hers anymore.
She took a deep breath and smiled shakily, trying on the guise of optimism that just didn’t seem to fit snugly anymore.
“You name her, Geary. She is, after all, your daughter now.”
“Didi, don’t be like that. I don’t-“
“Geary, really. I don’t want to.” Her smile brightened, though her eyes became closed off. “You’ll be back home in time for my twentieth birthday. I’m going to have a magnificent party, but we’ll combine it with your welcome-home party and invite everyone.”
Geary rocked the child, frowning. She knew the defense mechanism, Dierdre knew she did, but she also knew that her sister would do nothing to disrupt her happiness. Even if it was falsified. She nodded silently, looking down at the little girl while she slept. The frown turned to a tiny, tiny smile that tore our Dierdre’s heart and stomped on it. She hated her sister in that moment, hated that she got what Dierdre never could. Because of what? Duty? Wasn’t it her duty, as a mother, to be a loving and doting parent to her child?
But Dierdre knew the bitter truth of it, knew that she had nothing – was nothing – without her title. She was only good to her daughter if she followed the plan. The family would take care of both Geary and the baby, her mother would tell the gossips that it was an act of kindness, God’s good grace personified in them. Dierdre would smile sweetly and tell everyone how excited she was to be an aunt, how devastating it would have been had poor adopted Megaera gotten pregnant on her own. She would meet a man that would meet her family’s approval, and then they would marry and have legitimate children who would grow in peace and comfort.
She closed her eyes, prayed to whatever gods that would listen for patience.
Opening them again, she rested a hand on Geary’s cheek, smiling.
“You will be a wonderful mother, Geary. You know how, every woman does.”
Geary still didn’t speak, tears stinging her eyes and making Dierdre’s want to fall down her cheeks. Before they could, she cleared her throat and took her hand back.
“Get to bed. We have an early day tomorrow. I’ll see you at the port.”
Dierdre hurried off to one of the guest rooms, not wanting to spend the night surrounded by reminders of the difficult labor. For her, the morning could not possibly come soon enough.
--------------------------
She was met in Kingston by one of the servants that had worked in her family’s home for only a few years. The young man carryied her bags to the coach while she tried not to show her disappointment, her face carefully guarded. She had been gone for nine months, and none of her family had seen fit to retrieve her from the port themselves. But really, why should she be surprised? None of them had believed her when she said she’d been raped, instead they’d sent her away and made her give away the only thing that was truly hers; she was a pariah to her own kin.
The servant helped her to her seat and silently handed her a letter, addressed to her in Barny’s distinct handwriting. She sighed, carefully unsealing the note and unfolding it to read, frowning in confusion at the words.
A crease between her brows, she turned to look out the back window of the coach. Barnabus stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets and his eyes bright with laughter. He winked at her. Dierdre scrambled out again as quickly as she could, picking up the skirt of her green travel dress to run to him. He caught her and spun her around, laughing with his face in her wild blonde curls.
“What, did you really think I wouldn’t be here? What kind of man do you think I am?”
She kissed his prickly cheek, hugging his neck tightly. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time; seeing him after so long brought everything crashing down on top of her. He held her for a little longer than appropriateness allowed for, then held her at arm’s length, looking her over.
“You look good, Dierdre.”
“Don’t look so surprised,” she responded, forcing a smile through the pain in her chest. This was normal, she reminded herself. This was her life, her cousin greeting her after a long time away. Like an extended vacation in England. That was how thought of it, how they wanted her to think of it.
Barny kissed her forehead and tucked her hand to his elbow, leading her back to the coach while the servant saw to the horses and took his seat above the cabin. They sat inside and closed the door before he spoke again, smiling at her.
“So, Dierdre. Tell me how it went.”
--------------------------
Three days home and everything was practically back to normal, with the exception of Geary’s absence. Dahlia Duffy was acting exactly as Dierdre expected, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Like she’d been gone for a few weeks rather than nine pregnant months. There was no mention of Geary, no mention of the baby she’d given away to her. But that was her life, she told herself. The only thing she’d refused to adhere to now that she was home again was the chaperone and guard that followed her everywhere – she hadn’t needed one in Costa Rica, there was no reason that she should be forced to have one in a city she knew like the back of her hand, a city that, like her mother, never changed.
She had gone down to the water, wearing a relatively plain pink dress without a corset. Corsets, too, were a thing of the past, she’d decided, especially only two weeks after giving birth. Her mother objected, of course, but the woman was far too concerned with her gambling and her sherry to notice when her daughter’s waist wasn’t cinched quite as much as it used to be. Her hair hung in loose blonde ringlets over her shoulders, which were covered by a loose shawl to cut the wind coming off the water.
As a private anarchy, she walked barefoot, carrying her delicate slippers in one hand, silent as she watched the waves crash against rocks, wash up over her toes and stain the hem of her dress. The waves didn’t care what her last name was, who her parents were. They didn’t care that she’d given away her only child or secretly hated herself for it. Oblivious to the painful lump in her chest that wouldn’t soften or fade, the water rushed over the sand and returned to its body in a steady rhythm that was her only comfort. Her eyes closing, Dierdre Duffy felt the water and considered, just for a second, losing herself in its black depths, swimming until she couldn’t swim anymore and then sinking until the bright light of day looked like night and the starless sky stole her consciousness from her.
She opened her eyes again and took the next step along the sand, and then the next.
Characters: Dierdre Duffy, slight Barnabus/Geary
Rating: PG-13(ish), adult themes
Closed For: Panneth
--------------------------
“Don’t hold her like that, you have to support the head…like this. See? She’s not whimpering anymore.”
“I know how to hold a baby, Dierdre. I was there when Julian was born, remember?”
Dierdre sighed and nodded, stepping back to let Geary hold her. She was trying desperately not to get attached, to remove herself from it completely and pretend that she hadn’t just given birth twelve hours prior. The tears stung her eyes, though, every time she looked at the pale blue eyes of her daughter. Her heart broke whenever she remembered that she’d never be able to hold her baby like a mother, or sing her to sleep every night.
Nine months in this hell and she went home with nothing to show for it.
She didn’t look at the child, or the knot in her chest would tighten, a physical reminder that she wasn’t just giving up a trinket or piece of clothing.
“I leave in the morning. Alvira will be here to help you for the next few months, and you’ll have a wet nurse when you get home to Kingston. Mama said in her last letter that the rumors have stopped going around, but she suspects they’ll start again when you return with her.”
She was talking too much, she knew, but Geary didn’t stop her. They’d spent the better part of a year together in each other’s company. Dierdre knew about Geary’s secret mercenary life, and Geary knew how terrified Dierdre was of leaving, of starting over after this. She would speak as long as she needed to and she knew her sister would oblige her. Because that’s what family was for.
“Are you going to name her?” Megaera asked quietly.
They had avoided talking about it as much as they could, Dierdre only teaching her how to hold a baby and take care of one without ever specifically mentioning her child, its father, or what they were going to do once it was born. Names had occurred to her, but she’d always tamped down the urge when it snuck up on her in the middle of the night. No, it would do no good to name something that wasn’t really hers anymore.
She took a deep breath and smiled shakily, trying on the guise of optimism that just didn’t seem to fit snugly anymore.
“You name her, Geary. She is, after all, your daughter now.”
“Didi, don’t be like that. I don’t-“
“Geary, really. I don’t want to.” Her smile brightened, though her eyes became closed off. “You’ll be back home in time for my twentieth birthday. I’m going to have a magnificent party, but we’ll combine it with your welcome-home party and invite everyone.”
Geary rocked the child, frowning. She knew the defense mechanism, Dierdre knew she did, but she also knew that her sister would do nothing to disrupt her happiness. Even if it was falsified. She nodded silently, looking down at the little girl while she slept. The frown turned to a tiny, tiny smile that tore our Dierdre’s heart and stomped on it. She hated her sister in that moment, hated that she got what Dierdre never could. Because of what? Duty? Wasn’t it her duty, as a mother, to be a loving and doting parent to her child?
But Dierdre knew the bitter truth of it, knew that she had nothing – was nothing – without her title. She was only good to her daughter if she followed the plan. The family would take care of both Geary and the baby, her mother would tell the gossips that it was an act of kindness, God’s good grace personified in them. Dierdre would smile sweetly and tell everyone how excited she was to be an aunt, how devastating it would have been had poor adopted Megaera gotten pregnant on her own. She would meet a man that would meet her family’s approval, and then they would marry and have legitimate children who would grow in peace and comfort.
She closed her eyes, prayed to whatever gods that would listen for patience.
Opening them again, she rested a hand on Geary’s cheek, smiling.
“You will be a wonderful mother, Geary. You know how, every woman does.”
Geary still didn’t speak, tears stinging her eyes and making Dierdre’s want to fall down her cheeks. Before they could, she cleared her throat and took her hand back.
“Get to bed. We have an early day tomorrow. I’ll see you at the port.”
Dierdre hurried off to one of the guest rooms, not wanting to spend the night surrounded by reminders of the difficult labor. For her, the morning could not possibly come soon enough.
--------------------------
She was met in Kingston by one of the servants that had worked in her family’s home for only a few years. The young man carryied her bags to the coach while she tried not to show her disappointment, her face carefully guarded. She had been gone for nine months, and none of her family had seen fit to retrieve her from the port themselves. But really, why should she be surprised? None of them had believed her when she said she’d been raped, instead they’d sent her away and made her give away the only thing that was truly hers; she was a pariah to her own kin.
The servant helped her to her seat and silently handed her a letter, addressed to her in Barny’s distinct handwriting. She sighed, carefully unsealing the note and unfolding it to read, frowning in confusion at the words.
Turn around.
A crease between her brows, she turned to look out the back window of the coach. Barnabus stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets and his eyes bright with laughter. He winked at her. Dierdre scrambled out again as quickly as she could, picking up the skirt of her green travel dress to run to him. He caught her and spun her around, laughing with his face in her wild blonde curls.
“What, did you really think I wouldn’t be here? What kind of man do you think I am?”
She kissed his prickly cheek, hugging his neck tightly. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time; seeing him after so long brought everything crashing down on top of her. He held her for a little longer than appropriateness allowed for, then held her at arm’s length, looking her over.
“You look good, Dierdre.”
“Don’t look so surprised,” she responded, forcing a smile through the pain in her chest. This was normal, she reminded herself. This was her life, her cousin greeting her after a long time away. Like an extended vacation in England. That was how thought of it, how they wanted her to think of it.
Barny kissed her forehead and tucked her hand to his elbow, leading her back to the coach while the servant saw to the horses and took his seat above the cabin. They sat inside and closed the door before he spoke again, smiling at her.
“So, Dierdre. Tell me how it went.”
--------------------------
Three days home and everything was practically back to normal, with the exception of Geary’s absence. Dahlia Duffy was acting exactly as Dierdre expected, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Like she’d been gone for a few weeks rather than nine pregnant months. There was no mention of Geary, no mention of the baby she’d given away to her. But that was her life, she told herself. The only thing she’d refused to adhere to now that she was home again was the chaperone and guard that followed her everywhere – she hadn’t needed one in Costa Rica, there was no reason that she should be forced to have one in a city she knew like the back of her hand, a city that, like her mother, never changed.
She had gone down to the water, wearing a relatively plain pink dress without a corset. Corsets, too, were a thing of the past, she’d decided, especially only two weeks after giving birth. Her mother objected, of course, but the woman was far too concerned with her gambling and her sherry to notice when her daughter’s waist wasn’t cinched quite as much as it used to be. Her hair hung in loose blonde ringlets over her shoulders, which were covered by a loose shawl to cut the wind coming off the water.
As a private anarchy, she walked barefoot, carrying her delicate slippers in one hand, silent as she watched the waves crash against rocks, wash up over her toes and stain the hem of her dress. The waves didn’t care what her last name was, who her parents were. They didn’t care that she’d given away her only child or secretly hated herself for it. Oblivious to the painful lump in her chest that wouldn’t soften or fade, the water rushed over the sand and returned to its body in a steady rhythm that was her only comfort. Her eyes closing, Dierdre Duffy felt the water and considered, just for a second, losing herself in its black depths, swimming until she couldn’t swim anymore and then sinking until the bright light of day looked like night and the starless sky stole her consciousness from her.
She opened her eyes again and took the next step along the sand, and then the next.
