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sylvie-writes · 4 years

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Bad (3): Memories We Used to Share

First inspired by this song ➳ Bad by Lennon Stella

(Ransom Drysdale x wife reader)

Summary: It’s time to move out! 6 months of getting your life sorted, along with a few surprises, some pleasant, others not so much.

A/n: My search history is looking weird, due to this series haha. I’ve been reading multiple articles about uncontested divorce just to get an understanding for this series lmao.

Disclaimer: Just so you know, I’m not a law school graduate, so I can’t say I really know what in the hell I am talking about. With that being said, if I screw up the divorce process in this chapter and/or the next, please don’t come at me. Our law system is confusing and I’m just here to write, no one said it would be accurate lol.

Warnings: mild profanity & your typical cheesy, predictable fanfic by yours truly.

Shoutout: MANY THANKS TO THE ANON WHO GAVE ME SOME IDEAS TO MAKE THIS A SERIES!

As always, plz pardon any mistakes, the stories are always proofread but I tend to make many mistakes regardless.

Series Masterlist

For six months, you worked to get your life back together.

By the end of April, a week after you yelled at your (ex) husband, you had successfully packed up your stuff, without being bothered by the man. Ever since the night you had confronted him, the two of you never stood in the same room or even looked the other in the eye. So it worked in your favor today that he was busy with his new flame, probably entertaining her with a trip to Prada. Never once did you take a break, for eight straight hours, you spent one whole Saturday organizing and strategically packing your things away. Around eight o’clock, all of the boxes were stacked by the front door, ready to be moved into the U-haul trailer attached to your car. Lucky for you, Ransom could care less about what was his and what was yours. The dog, also going home with you. In truth, ever since that day you rightfully ripped the man for his mistakes, a black cloud has loomed over his head, no matter what he may be on the outside, he’s broken on the inside.

One more box was left in the bedroom, and you quickly jogged up the stairs to get it. Unbeknownst to you, as you were upstairs, Ransom and Blair had come home, apparently mindless to your car in the driveway, because when you walked down the stair box in hand the two pulled away from each other’s lips, staring at you.

You had made an agreement with Ransom that he’d not show up while you packed your things. He had done a good job so far, up until now that is. “Oh, (y/n), I didn’t think you’d be here this late. You should get some rest.”

His “concern” disgusted you. Now he decides to care about you? I think not.

Filled with rage, you drop the cardboard box, letting the contents inside shatter. In most divorces, there wouldn’t be this much emotion, but it hurt you beyond words can describe, to see this man that you loved with every inch of your body, kissing another woman, in YOUR house. You could even see yourself in her shoes, because damn, once upon a time, you WERE her.

“Are you okay!” Blair came rushing to your side, to try and move you out of the shattered glass. She seemed like a genuinely nice person, and had she not been a home-wrecker, you’d want to be her friend. But at this moment, all you could think about was that she wasn’t even bothered by the fact that she’d been seeing a married man. So, just as Blair tried to help you, you pushed away her hands and collapsed on the steps, lightly sitting in the glass, yet numb to the pain. The weight of the world had finally, physically pushed you to the ground. You were at wits end, and things were looking pretty dark. At this point, you couldn’t even see the light at the end of the tunnel. What had you done to deserve this and would there be a second chance for you?

Just then, Ransom came to remove Blair, telling her to go get ready for bed, the two clearly coming from a night of clubbing. As she ran up the stairs, mindful of the glass, Ransom came to pick you up. Grabbing your arms, you laid limp against his chest, willingly letting him carry you down the stairs. Oh how you missed his caring touch, why couldn’t things be different? It should've been you out dancing with him, you lip locked with him. Instead, here you were, letting the man who single-handedly destroy your life, carrying you to the couch, laying a blanket and a long kiss on your cheek. Consumed with emotions, sleep soon took over your body before you could protest and leave the house. Had you only heard Ransom’s apology.

“I’m so sorry my precious (y/n), it shouldn’t have been this way, my love.” A few stray tears rolled down Ransom’s cheek as he sadly sauntered up the stairs.

Ironic, how in a house that was once yours, a new woman took your spot in the bed, besides your once husband, while you slept on the couch like a toy banned to the isle of misfits.

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of coffee and giggles. You were angry at yourself, no doubt, how could you be so vulnerable by staying at the house? Before you could think anymore, you walked to get your keys, finding that Blair was in the kitchen, cooking pancakes for Ransom, who sat at the kitchen table with coffee and the newspaper. You kinda screwed yourself, by leaving your car keys on the kitchen table. It was your only escape and unfortunately it meant interacting with dumb and dumber.

The two once again forgot you were there, shocked to see your form walking through the doorway. With a fake smile, you grumbled out a few choice words.

“Don’t worry, I’m getting out of your house ya lovebirds!”

Victory at last. Your words stung Ransom, well, rather word. In another time, you’d say our house, but now, it was no longer the Drysdales’ Household, no, it was Drysdale’s Household, hence why you reminded Ransom that he was alone. Sure, Blair was there but you both knew it wouldn’t last.

That day, when Ransom and Blair had once again left, going god knows where, Ransom texted you that you could pack your boxes into the u-haul trailer. Since you just wanted to haul ass out of the place this morning, you left the trailer and boxes behind, making a beeline to the nearest bar. So far you had handled yourself without alcohol, but now you needed some relief, specifically in a few whiskey sours. Around 3pm, Ransom then sent that text, and you sobered up, gracefully throwing up in the bathroom stall, then driving to the house to officially get out of his life. Even with a major headache, you managed to pack the trailer. It was then that you realized you were destined to function alone, you didn’t need Ransom. Screw him.

In May, you went around town, scanning different apartments finally finding one. Unfortunately, there was a waitlist with three people in front of you, the estimated move in time being late July or August. With that being said, you moved all your things into a storage unit and continued to live in a hotel room. Thank the heavens you kept your job, despite Ransom’s pleas for you to stay home when you were married. Somehow, you were able to juggle working and functioning around others, coming home to be your true self, the night normally ending with takeout and tv. This divorce had truly ruined your life, and Ransom’s. The two of you constantly lived with the rain cloud, never once catching a break and seeing a rainbow overhead. For now, you were just separated and soon you’d file for divorce.

Around the last week of May, your life was turned upside down once again. This time, for a good reason.

Currently, you were on lunch break, eating at a nearby diner with your closest work friend, Lorraine Bailey. She really has been your best friend, taking the title that used to belong to Ransom. At least she was loyal, understanding, and wasn’t a backstabbing bitch *ahem* your ex.

“How are you holding up, honey?”

You were too busy staring into the nothingness of your chicken sandwich, that when Lorainne gently shook your resting hand, you let out an incoherent “huh?”

“I was asking how you are doing? With everything that’s been going on in the past few months--”

Before she could answer, you just snapped, quickly yelling at the woman, who wasn’t trying to be nosy, she was genuinely concerned.

“Could you just stop nosing around? It’s none of your business really!”

At that, Lorraine leaned back in her seat, lowering her head like a scolded child. Honestly, you didn’t mean what you had just said and you had no clue where it came from. Lately, your mouth has been an unreliable thing, for you could barely control your answers without acting like a moody child.

Quickly, you excused yourself, lightly jogging to the bathroom to expel the few glasses of water you drank. As you washed your hands, upon looking in the mirror, you were met with a face you barely knew. Sure, you looked the same on the outside, but on the inside you were a different person. No longer peppy or truly happy. Ransom had taken it all from you, but it was time to take that back. Walking out the bathroom door, you vowed to yourself from this point on you’d try to become your old self.

Surprisingly, Lorraine still sat at the booth, allowing you to give her a real and sincere apology.

“Lorraine, I’m so sorry, I can’t even fathom the words to justify my actions. Lately, I haven’t been able to truly control my emotions and I took it out on you. That was wrong and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it, after all you’ve always been here for me.”

The woman smiled at you, despite the tears rolling down your face. Why were you crying and since when did you become such an emotional person? You weren’t cold hearted, but nor were you one to cry at a movie.

“That’s fine, I know you are under a lot of pressure. What do you say we get out of here and spend the rest of break at the bakery across the street?”

“I’d say you know me very well!”

Soon, you flagged down the waitress and paid the tab, ignoring Lorraine’s pleas to pay for lunch. It was the least you could do after yelling at the poor woman. As you left the restaurant, the guilt was still surfacing in your body and you felt the need to hug your best friend, who was happily surprised, hugging you back.

Once in the bakery, you were met with the sight of homemade chocolates, like your dog at home, you were practically drooling. Let’s just say the baker was stunned when you bought two dozens of chocolate, and then proceeded to eat half on the way out. What was even more surprising, was that about a seventy-five percent of your order was chili dark chocolate.

As you were walking down the street, and to work, Lorraine reached over, tasting one of your chocolates, a chili one to be exact. Her face twisted with disgust and her suspicions were confirmed.

“Uh, (y/n), I think I might have an explanation for your constant mood swings, the amount of times you leave to the bathroom, and why you’d buy this absolute garbage!”

The minute she listed all the symptoms together, you immediately denied her.

“Don’t even say it. I’m just moody because I’m mad, I pee a lot because, uh-”

“Exactly! Even you can’t explain all of it. Just do me a favor and buy a test. It won’t hurt anything to try.”

“Yeah, but I know you are wrong, Lorraine.”

“I mean c'mon, don’t you want to know too?”

At that moment, the two of you were halted in front of a CVS, Lorraine pointing at the store like she was Vanna White.

Your conscience: Maybe you should listen to the woman, after all she has three kids!

And so you did.

Thank god your friend was there, because you were an absolute novice in this field. Sure, you wanted kids, but right now you were praying that you were just having an irregular cycle due to stress. Lorraine, the best, best friend anyone could ask for, bought the test to spare you the embarrassment.

The minute you walked into work, Lorraine pulled you into the bathroom, giving you instructions, you following them, then waiting for the timer to beep.

Any minute now you’d find your results, and for some reason part of you wanted this test to be positive. It would be nice to have a little company.

Once the timer beeped, you looked at the plastic stick that held your future, immediately smiling when your answer was pregnant.

You were pregnant!

But the father...

Unlike Ransom, you weren’t unfaithful and unfortunately, the father was no doubt him. Of course, the one time that asshole sleeps with you, he got you pregnant. And to think at the time, he didn’t even really love you just enraged you even more. It was gonna be a while till you got over this.

So the rest of the day you were thrilled, and it was a lot easier to stick to your vows from earlier. Your mood was noticeably different to many of your coworkers, smiles all around. The old (y/n) was slowly reappearing.

June through July, you spent your days, working and when not working, taking advice on a baby from Lorraine, even visiting her doctor who she so highly recommended. Fortunately, the doctor didn’t prod around in your life and was absolutely judge-free about your situation. You couldn't have been more grateful.

In early July, you reached the second trimester, where the slightest bump formed on your stomach. Now it wasn’t noticeable to everyone, but to you, just the slightest site made your lips turn upward into a smile. Motherhood was the best thing to happen to you. And to make matters even better, your baby was going to be a Christmas baby, making his or her appearance at the end of December!

Telling Ransom was gonna be a whole other story.

Finally, August 3rd came around, and the apartment complex office called, an opening for you. Lease signed, you shelled out your first payment and soon moved in, once again alone. It had been months since you’d heard from Ransom and honestly it was nice.

The month of August flew by, and soon September came. Time passed by with flying colors and your mood had improved a bit, the baby in your stomach making life worth living. On the last Friday of September, your work friends decided that they all needed to go out, inviting you the first weekend of October to go ice-skating and out for dinner! It was time you treated yourself to something nice, so you giddily agreed. What could go wrong?

That Friday, after work, Lorraine came to pick you up, the two of you going to meet the rest at the ice skating rink. Being 26 weeks pregnant, your stomach had finally started showing, allowing your coworkers to start nagging you. Last they had all heard, you were divorced. So when they asked, you kept your lips shut, it really wasn’t any of their business. The only one who knew was Lorraine, but she wasn’t a gossiper.

Arriving at the ice rink, the cold Massachusetts air was blowing, making you zip up your trench coat ever the slightest. Unfortunately, the wind wasn’t the only thing making your blood run cold.

Most of your coworkers were out on the ice, Lorraine going out too, you told her you’d be out soon. It was nice to watch the skaters enjoy their time on the ice till you saw him.

The familiar tan suede coat made your face lose all warmth, your own jacket no longer keeping you warm. Beside the laughing man, was the one and only, Blair, except this time a new accessory on her finger. A diamond ring you could see all the way from your table along the side of the rink. His laughter made you sick, and at this point you wanted to throw up the hot cocoa you had been sipping on.

At the moment, you and Ransom were in the middle of divorce, thank the heavens an uncontested one, having been able to work many things out with your ex. This meant, zero court hearings (hopefully), a thin expense, and overall a clean divorce. Then, you had hired a paralegal to work on the legal papers and currently the two of you were waiting to see the judge to finalize the divorce, the approximate date set around the second week of November.

Feeling suddenly insecure, and definitely not ready to tell Ransom, you pulled the large trench coat across your chest and secured it with the belt around the waist. The minute you looked at them, all the memories came flooding back. One specifically hitting you at this moment.

“Ransom, I’m gonna fall! You know I’m a klutz.”

Your husband just persisted and instead slipped on your ice skates, tying them up and resting his warm hands on your knees.

“Honey, I will be right beside you the whole time, and by the end of this, you’ll be a pro!”

His reassuring smile was all you needed, nodding, you placed your gloved hands in Ransom’s bare ones, trying to waddle your way to the rink entrance. First, Ransom skated onto the ice, turning and holding his hand out for you. The minute your feet made contact with the icy ground beneath, you fell straight to the ground, Ransom reached out to grab you, although he ended up going down with you. You looked at Ransom who wore an entertained smile on his face, laughing. Playfully, you slapped the man on the shoulder.

“My failure isn’t funny!”

Ransom tried his best to cease his laughter, getting off the ice to help you up, although he was still chuckling the slightest bit.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it!”

Once on your feet, Ransom locked arms with you, trying his best to balance you both, while also coaching you.

At some point through the night, the fake snow was fluttering in the air, along with tunes of piano and jazz. You had finally gotten the hang of things somewhat, yet still latched close to Ransom. The man on your side, leaned down and whispered in your ear.

“I give you my word that every year I’ll bring you to this exact rink, just to teach you how to skate, darling.”

If only that same Ransom was the one you were staring at right now.

But overall, looking back, memories like those, with him, are the ones you miss.

Why did he have to change?

“(y/n)?”

A tap on your shoulder, made you pop up from your seat to be met with the stare of that same man. He slowly gave you a once-over, making you slightly worry that he’d notice the baby bump.

He didn’t.

“Ransom.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Drysdale.”

Clearly, Ransom was trying to give you an olive branch, but at the moment, you just weren’t accepting it.

“I asked you first, (y/l/n).”

“Work.”

Your voice was monotone and Ransom gave a slight hum of acknowledgment.

“Nice. Well uh- it was nice seeing you.”

Nervously, Ransom waved you goodbye, heading back to Blair who was removing her ice skates. You took notice how she was struggling and Ransom wasn’t down on his knees helping her as he did you. It did your ego good to see that your husband hadn’t completely replaced you. There was a difference between you and Blair. Ransom actually loved you, like the “die for you” kind of love. While Blair, on the other hand, was honestly there to fill the whole in his heart.

It did intrigue you though as to why Ransom wasn’t being an arrogant jerk to you, yet he was being humble? None of it added up, but before you could do any more mental acrobatics, Lorraine came over, asking you to come ice skate, to which you smiled and put on your skates.

Tonight was about you, not him.

Something you hadn’t said in a long time.

taglist (series and in general tags): @kiwihoee @buckybarnesthehotshot @memissbee @tricereads @tonystankschild @coffeebooksandfandom @ria132love @what-is-your-wish @maan24 @bval-1 @jemimah-b99 @turtoix @just-one-ordinary-fangirl

lemme know if you wanna join, be removed, or if i tagged the wrong person!

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale imagine #chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 4 years

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Sweaters Any Fucking Fic Challenge Masterlist

Anyone that joined in my first challenge, THANK YOU for making this everything that it was. Everyone's hard work and stories were just incredible, the prompts really made into something special, and I'm just blown away with how incredible all of it came out. Thank You, Thank You, Thank You! Below you will find all the fics entered.

All the writers on this list are so talented with there characters. I highly suggest looking at there Masterlists and exploring some of there other pieces. I am so pleased with everyone who participated, and I hope you all enjoy the hard work and love they all put into these pieces.

Why Are You Awake Right Now? written by @evans713 Chris x Y/N. You must resist the temptation to call Chris. No matter what, you even recruited the help of your best friend to keep you away. But of course, You can't sleep, and it's getting so hard to keep yourself occupied. This was so good! I was held in so much suspense the entire time.

Bucky and The Bed (5) written by @that-damn-girl Bucky Barnes x Y/N. You and Bucky are stranded in the middle of a snowy nowhere when there is an ‘electronic blackout’ during your mission. With no back ups or any way to contact your team, you take refuge from the worsening weather in the only small house you find in miles. Not to mention, with no power, Bucky has become your personal heater and there’s only one bed.

The Lockscreen (Drabble) written by @stuckonjbbarnes Steve x Stella (OC) Steve asks for his phone back from Stella while they (Bucky as well) are all hanging out. Stella finds Steves background quite amusing, but there is payback as well. Very Cute preview to stuckonjbbarnes upcoming fic.

Piss Baby written by @lielullabye Steve x 10percent Reader. Steve apparently has a bit of a jealous side when it comes to you. Especially when your enjoying yourself while hanging out with Thor. Will this come between your friendship? Really love her 10 percent reader Masterlist and everyone should go check out the dynamics between these two.

On The Run written by @iwritethingstoo Dark!Gambit/Remy LeBeau x Kimi (OC) Kimi made a choice, and that was to stay with Remy although Hunted by the X-Men. Once a decision is made, she has to return for something valuable left behind. But can it be retrieved before all hell with the X-Men break loose? Really awesome! action packed and a damn good time.

Logan's Peace written by just-marvel-fanfics Logan Howlett (Wolverine) x Dr. Marabel Roche (OC). Logan has himself a little slice of paradise, a safe haven. But it is a place, or is it a person? To watch these two interact is a true treasure and absolutely adored these two. Note- Sadly this blog had to be deactivated. But she did write this story specifically for me, it will stay on this list. It was a marvelous piece of writing, showing us her personal characters.

Morning Lovin' written by @donutloverxo Ransom Drysdale x Y/N You have to head into work, but Ransom has other plans for you. Unfortunately your life isn't one of luxery like his is. But he has ways to have you change your mind.

Bad Things written by @nellblazer Dark!Biker Bucky x Y/N Bucky is in a Mood. When life seems pretty basic, everyday, in you walk in search of your dumbass biker brother. Bucky can't help notice you right away and takes a liking to you. He knows who he wants now. So good, and gotta say I fell hard for Bucky in this fic.

Hurt written by @just-the-hiddles Sir Thomas Sharpe x Clara Appleton (OC) Clara never thought her life would be that exciting. That was until Sir Thomas Sharpe appeared in her father’s office and set her life on a different path. This one had me guessing to the end! SURPRISE ENDING! Loved the twists and turns!

Alpine? written by @buckeroonie323 Bucky Barnes x Y/N Bucky, with the help of Sam, if preparing a surprise for you. So you MUST STAY OUT OF THE KITCHEN. So hanging out in the living room, you happen to see sweet Alpine... with a whole new look. This was so sweet and I loved how adoring Bucky was.

Nothing Hard About It written by @yespolkadotkitty Geralt x Jaskier. Geralt sends Jaskier down to retrieve an item needed to deal with a quest. While the bard is occupied, Geralt deals with some thoughts racing through his mind. Or tries to. Really loved how they were portrayed, and such a great read.

Almost Forever (3/3) written by @what-just-happened-bro Loki x Jesse (OC) Years after the snap and the Avengers decide to take one more chance at it, one more shot at stopping the mad Titan Thanos Snap. If they can retrieve all the stones, is it possible? Jesse is challenged with old faces, old feelings, and maybe they can save the world. Bring back all that was lost. This was such a stunning conclusion. With lots of surprises to be had. Main Story Masterlist found Note- Sadly this original story was on another Blog that had gotten shut down. Should Satan rewrite it on her new account, I will be re-adding to the list. But her Masterlist should absolutely checked out as she is recovering fics lost and writing new ones. A writer with multiple talents, there a bit for everyone.

I Think I have Been In Love With You for Years- Part 1 Part 2 written by @deboryanne Peter Parker x spiderwoman Y/N. Peter and You are on a mission that has a slight hiccup. Afterward, you are dealing with a whole new issue, and this isn't quite as easy as being able to just swing away to safety with your Spidey web. So good, and Love the chemistry these two characters have.

To Loose and You'll Lose It Prologue: Well Fuck Me written by @what-is-your-plan-today and @icanfeelastormbrewing Jake Jensen x Stella Stevenson (OC) Clay and the team is all set to bust up a Children's Sex Traffic Operation with the help of an inside woman. Moving forward, it's time to welcome her to the team. Excellent co-written story, honestly this story has a bit of everything, and you're left with just wanting more.

Broken-hearted written by @nekoannie-chan Steve Rogers x You. Steve and You have a wonderful 2-year-old daughter, Sarah. But the snap takes her away, and you both must rebuild from this tragic loss. If there's a chance to fix it, he has to take that chance, right? So good and really love the angst built into this fic. Shows the characters immense strength.

Merchant of Death written by @chris-evans-indian-fanfic Mob Thanos and You. Feared and Respected, a giver to the less fortunate, Thanos has made a name for himself. But that doesn't much matter to you when he's brought into your emergency room. He though can't get enough of you and sets out to make you his. Can you fall in love with a Mobster and still have your values? This was such a great read, incredible from beginning to end. You felt for both the main characters and that ending. Oof! Stunned me. Everyone should go read this fic.

Annoying Your Neighbors 101: A Guide Book By Steve Rogers written by @fandomsandxfiles-writes Steve Rogers x You Going undercover with teammate and friend Steve, you both go to investigate mysterious circumstances in a seemingly nice neighborhood. Your cover? Newlyweds just settling down. Can you two catch the culprit, or are you two catching feelings instead? Damn! I absolutely loved and adored this piece. So damn good.

On The Run written by @donutloverxo. Steve Rogers x You. You are married to Steve and come to the realization that things are not always picture-perfect. Then comes a time where Steve is accused of helping a terrorist as well as refusing to sign the accords. You both go on the run, and learn the truth, he was helping his best friend Bucky, who was wrongfully accused. Being on the run means you all have to share close quarters. You and Steve have to get a bit creative at times to be together. Really wonderfully written and I just love the multitude of feelings this reader goes through. SMUT.

Tempest written by @stargazingfangirl18. Ransom Drysdale x You. Non Con/Dark. Read at your own risk. Knives out spoilers. Ransom returns home late after Harlan's party, and he isn't himself. Anger and Malice simmer in him, and he turns those frustrations out on you. Once he had his hands on you, there is no getting away. I have a dark soul, and this spoke to me. I loved it, it was exciting, a little scary and Ransom was a force to be reckoned with.

Blood Roses written by @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho Dark!Steve Rogers x You. You dont know who you are, but Steve is your devoted husband making sure to remind you as well as take care of you. Or so you thought. But things are suspicious and the further you dig into the clues, the more the truth comes out.

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smolvenger · 2 years

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Stella of Essex, or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed Series. Chapter Eight: Rhodendron

Fix-It Fanfiction Series of The Essex Serpent

Pairing: Some Stella Ransome/William Ransome, mainly Stella/Being Happy, and William/Being Held Accountable and Facing Consequences for Cheating Eventually Stella Ransome/Male OC

Series Summary: Stella must come to terms with not only her mortality but her husband's heartbreaking affair. A picture of a marriage of love and bliss torn apart by a husband's infidelity. And Stella herself in the center of it all, torn between a wife's duty and her own quiet but present rage. Where in the midst of devastating heartbreak she gains her strength, finds her voice, and dares to seek freedom, hope...and even revenge.

Chapter Summary: Stella flees from her husband's house and asks for the aid of an old friend in her predicament. She writes testimonies of William's infidelity to be sent and shared.

Warnings: Eventual Major Character Death, Female Rage, Good For Her, ANGST, WHUMP, HURT/COMFORT, DRAMA, Discussions of Adultery, and the Trauma of Being Cheated on, discussions of marriage, children, mentions of death, religion, drinking, brief cursing, and mentions of illness. Being Anti-William and Anti-C*ra, so if you like them or the pairing be warned.

A03 Link

Ko-Fi Link

Prologue//One//Two//Three//Four//Five//Six//Seven

“There is a vision I have…Of slender women…who are born and raised to be perfect women. Who take whatever punishment we give them, and bounce back, strengthened by love, unconditionally. It is a vision that has become my life…there are still women. Women willing to sacrifice themselves for the love of a man. Even a man whose love is completely without worth”- M. Butterfly, David Henry Hwang.

“OPHELIA: I hope all will be well. We must be patient, but I cannot choose but weep”- Hamlet, Shakespeare.

I moved slowly, but I reached town. No one was around—no one around to recognize, stop or force me back to his house. I was fortunate in that. It was getting to be evening. The clouds were dark, and the wind picked up. I stared up into the sky, then closed my eyes and clasped my hands together.

“God, please protect me. God, give me strength.” I prayed.

I opened my eyes to the dark grey clouds and crossed myself solemnly as the few rain drizzles broke. I then continued further into Aldwinter.

By the time I reached Fanny’s house, it burst into a torrent of rain. I covered the bag beneath my coat and removed the money from my pockets quickly into the bag. So, help me, the money and letters would not be damaged beyond their use!

I had not exerted myself like this in a long time. My knees wanted to give in from exhaustion beneath me. The rain splattered from an angle and hit a part of me. Trying to gasp in a breath, I reached up with one shaking hand and began to knock on the door.

From the inside, I heard Fanny.

“Have you heard something? A noise? Let me take Carrie to her nursery..."

I knocked again. My wraps were fewer- but still urgent. I leaned against the wall to keep from collapsing.

“Oh God, no…it couldn’t be….” She fretted.

“You don’t think?” I heard the Austrian accent of her husband, Vince Kroeger, add on.

“The snake!”

How long could I stay out here? Any minute I could black out and collapse outside! Shakily, I used the doorknob to pull myself back to my feet, I kept pounding on the door with a fury, and I begged with what loudness my voice could muster.

“Fanny! Fanny! Please let me in!”

I heard footsteps at the door and the click of the lock.

“That’s no snake!” Vince commented.

Fanny opened the door and gasped seeing me. Her husband, a tall, muscular, strong-chinned man with wheat-colored hair slicked back, followed behind her. My tired legs finally collapsed beneath me. He caught my hand and pulled me up so I would not fall onto the threshold of the door and home.

“Why, it’s Stella!! Dear God, Stella! Here! Like this!” Fanny yelped.

“Get me inside, please! Quickly! And shut the door, now!” I begged.

He walked me over to the parlor they had. It was a red and white room with a tea table, a pink couch, white decorations, and a pretty grandfather clock. They placed me to lay down on the couch. It must have been shocking- me in a coat covering only my nightgown beneath and my hair was undone and free and a little wet in my face, hair, and coat from the storm. Fanny even squinted and put her finger in my hair. She pulled out the blue wildflower.

“What…what is this? Have you walked all the way here in the rain? Why are you here? Why are you scared?”

I heard the door close and lock.

“Mrs. Ransome, should I fetch your husband, does he…” Vince offered.

I shook my head desperately.

“No! I’m here because of William!” I interrupted.

From inside my coat, I pulled out the bag. I reached into it, retrieving the letters. Thankfully, there was no water damage to them from the rain. I began to file through them rapidly. The ones I knew were love letters I moved to the front, keeping the others to the back.

“What do you mean?” Fanny asked.

I placed the pile of letters on the little tea table in front of the couch.

“The children- Has he hurt them?” Vince asked seriously.

His green eyes lowered down onto the letters in curiosity.

“The children are safe…” I answered.

“Then what is it? Why are you out of your sick bed? Your house? What did Father Ransome do?” Fanny questioned.

She too tilted her head at the letters.

“What are these?” she asked.

I placed my hands together, hardly believing the words myself. They struggled to come out of me but did.

“W-W-W-William…. William is having an affair. I saw him with her, making love to her in the forest.”

“What?!” Fanny yelled, leaning back.

Vince swore, his eyebrows shooting up.

“Then I found these!” I answered, picking up one of the love letters and offering it to them. I set it down in a pile before them on the tea table.

There was a pause. Fanny and Vince began to take the letter and read it together. Then Fanny focused on it as Vince moved on to the next one under it. They saw The Woman’s name clearly and began scanning them through. What if they didn’t believe me? What if they thought me mad and burned them? Would I have to jump into the fires and fetch them before they burned and move on somewhere else?

You could tell that they reached where the contents became more amorous. Fanny blinked rapidly and then placed a hand over her mouth. Vince’s jaw dropped as he read the back of the second letter and then placed a hand on his forehead as he finished reading it. I removed the letter from her hand and clasped both of mine onto hers, begging again.

“Fanny, I know you have a spare room. I knew at least you of all the women here would pity me! Please, let me stay here! I told my children they could find me here- I cannot be with him anymore, not after this. If you cannot- then take me somewhere else, I can stay! Please! Please don’t let me go back to William’s house!”

She placed a hand over mine, her lips pressed together.

“Do you…do you believe me? Both of you?” I asked.

Fanny nodded, her brown, squinting eyes brimming with tears.

“Yes! Yes, I do! Oh, dear God, Stella! Christ almighty-Father Ransome himself an adulterer! I never could have imagined the day! How terrible! You poor thing! Poor thing!” she wailed.

“I never thought ever he would even think of this…and not now I’m…I’m…He never loved me!” I confessed. “Not after everything I did for him all those years! None of it was enough for him!”

I crumpled down onto the couch, burying my face in my hands to sob again. never thought there would be enough tears I could shed over William’s apprehensive betrayal.

Fanny leaned me in for an embrace and let me cry against her. She went “shhh” and patted my back and hair as I cried it out again. I felt her head turn towards her husband.

“Could you make some Chamomile tea, darling?” Fanny asked softly.

“Yes, mein Hertz,” Vince confirmed.

I heard his footsteps in the kitchen and some water running. Fanny then pulled me up and held my shoulders, looking into my eyes.

“Have you told William you know about it?” she asked seriously.

“He had not returned home by the time I departed. I left him a note to him saying I knew. Left some to the children too. Their notes said I would be here. Fanny, I couldn’t abandon them! What mother am I if I did that! What mother am I to do that…” I answered.

“But that means William could find their notes!” Fanny pointed out.

I nodded. My hands felt clammy beneath me.

“Please, Fanny, please don’t let him in! I can’t stand to even look at him anymore!” I pleaded.

“Of course not! she confirmed.

In the other room, I heard the tea kettle whistle.

“May I stay here?” I repeated.

“Yes, as long as you would like….” Fanny answered.

Vince returned with three steaming cups of tea. He handed one to each of us. He continually asked if I was alright as I drank my own liquid, sweetened with honey. Fanny continued to read through the letters, frowning as she skimmed over each and every page on the pile. Finally, she curled up her fist and slammed it onto the table, shaking the papers.

“God! William! And with her too! Her! The Londoner Widow!” Fanny cried angrily.

Vince gulped down his tea, then went over to check the guest room. I heard their infant daughter babbling from her nursery. Fanny then looked up at me, and then bowed her head low.

“I thought I saw something between them…” she confessed.

“Between them?” I asked.

First, she looked down and away, and then at me, eyes shiny again and frowning sadly.

“At the dance. They danced together and they seemed very passionate about it as they did it. How he looked at her that night I... I wondered if it was…was a look of longing. But I thought, William is a vicar and a loving husband, he would never, not to you, he wouldn't….and that I was only making up something silly and then I got distracted with my little girl. I’ve been…been terrified for her since Naomi …"

I nodded. Sadly, in the past, William had to lead the funeral services of Vince and Fanny's first three children. Finally, they had a little girl who was healthy. I could not blame her vigilant fear of her daughter, especially with word of The Serpent.

"But now…now I…” Fanny babbled on.

She wiped a few tears with her hands and sniffled.

“Stella, I’m so sorry. I should have warned you or told you about it…” she confessed.

“I was the one who encouraged him to dance with her at that party in the first place. And you weren’t sure about what you saw and wanted to look after your child! it wasn’t you; I was the one who made him stray,” I added on.

We embraced each other, letting the waves of crying and guilt wash over us again, released and free.

She took my hand to help me up. She walked by me into the guest room. It had white wallpaper with blue flowers and green foliage dotted across it. There was a tall bed with white blankets and next to it a desk with a mirror on it. A chair with a pink pillow sat next to an unlit fireplace.

“I was the one who introduced you to him in the first place! All those years ago! Oh, all those years we all swooned and giggled over William, who would have thought!” she muttered with anguish.

I made no reply. She led me to sit up on the bed. I looked down at the diamond shapes on the carpet and began to comment on my thoughts.

“But you see…I let him be with her. I just never thought…never imagined…. Fanny I- I thought it was just at most a little infatuation with her, like every other man in town. I thought it was me he truly loved. I let them walk together for the Serpent. I let them dance. I let her dine with us. I never thought…I never imagined once that…. not until…”

I wrapped my arms around myself.

“I practically pushed him in front of her! It’s my fault! It’s my fault I got consumption! It’s my fault for encouraging him to do this! It’s my fault I told him to dance with her! And it’s my fault he betrayed me!” I mourned.

She handed me a handkerchief to sob into. I began to cough some blood into it as well. Her fists clenched at her sides.

“Did you…ever tell Will to sleep with her? Not dance- sleep with her!” she asked.

“No, I never did,” I answered.

“Of course, not… it’s not your fault, it's his! He did a vile, wretched thing! Your husband should be the one crawling to you for forgiveness! You’re the innocent one, you’ve not done one bad thing since your marriage!” she replied.

She removed my coat. She then hung it up to dry on a rack on the wall.

"I've done bad things, Fanny..."

“You made us dinner countless times, grew flowers for my wedding, and even helped delivered my Carrie, Stella! It’s the least I can do for you! You helped every woman and person in town! You should hear what the other people discuss about you when you’re not around! What they’ve all said about you for years! About how Father Ransome was gifted with the sweetest, most virtuous woman on earth to be his wife and mother to his children! How lucky he had been to have you at all!” she commented.

“Really? I…I thought for years I was the one lucky he picked me….” I muttered.

I felt myself smile from the praise.

“Oh no, really, all this time, it was the opposite!”

I bent my head and folded my arms, but then looked back up at her.

“I never…but I’m not that…I…I…I thank you, Fanny….”

A bit of rain from the coat dripped onto the carpet leaving a little stain. My nightgown had been stained not only with a little blood and a little rain but also with the green stains of the grass from the forest. I felt Fanny’s eyes lead down to them.

“Can I…can I have a change of clothes, please? I think we’re the same size…” I asked.

She left, and then returned with a new nightdress. She helped me change into it. Vince arrived with a small plate of leftover dinner and then left, giving us space to talk. Surprisingly, I was ravenous and finished it quickly. Fanny lighted up the fireplace with a bit of wood and a match. She then gripped me by the shoulders, almost knocking over the plate on my lap onto the floor.

“There is one phrase I want you to repeat to yourself throughout this, Stella…it is not your fault! Do you hear me? Let me hear you say it!” she ordered.

“It…it is not my fault…” I repeated.

“Good!”

The baby began to cry.

“Ah! Little Carrie! I’ll be back soon- she must be hungry…” she excused herself.

She stomped out as Vince closed the door. Despite the infant’s crying, I heard another angrier, adult crying right outside.

“Scoundrel! The nerve of him! Cruel, heartless man! I ought to strangle Father Ransome myself when he’s on the pulpit on Sunday!” Fanny ranted.

“Calm down, dear, the baby! I can go to her if you cannot!” Vince assured her.

“No, no! That’s her hungry cry! Let me!”

She let out a frustrated sigh and stomped off to the nursery, uttering numerous curses that would make a sailor blush beneath her breath.

Vince cracked the door open and poked his head through.

“Mrs. Ransome…I do have a telegram and operate where I work. Tomorrow…I can, uh, walk you through the back door…and-and do you know where your own family lives?”

“I know their addresses, yes,” I confirmed.

“You can use it to send a telegram to your family. First thing tomorrow…I’ll even pay.”

“No, I have money-“

“No, let me!” he insisted.

He was right. I could only access wages through my husband and then they were his, not mine. This would probably be the only money I would ever access. They had to be used carefully.

“Alright. Tomorrow, if I’m still alive…take me there and I’ll send them. One more thing…do you have stationary, Vince? May I have some, please?”

“Yes.”

He left and then returned with piles of paper and a pen and then left me to write.

Outside thunder boomed. The baby wailed again, and I heard Fanny shushing her. I lowered my head onto the desk away from the papers and ink. I took in what shaky breaths I could. Then I jolted up with a fear that left my insides feeling watery.

What if tonight was when the consumption won over me at last? What if this was the hour?

Then I couldn’t stop now. I had to act. I would not die without the town knowing. I would not die letting William get away with this. I would not die letting this become a secret between friends.

I took out a piece of paper. I felt another tear roll onto my nose. I had to confirm this. Confirm to them and myself that my worst nightmare had come true.

“Dear Congregation,

Here, I lay, a charge against my husband, your Rector, the Reverend William Ransome of the Aldwinter Vicarage. His crime is that, without my knowledge, without my acquiescence, he had formed and consummated an extramarital affair with…”

I finished the rest of it. Then I got another piece of paper and wrote some more. My urgency steeled me forth.

“Dear Ladies of The Aldwinter Bible Study,

I write to inform you that I am in dire need of help and comfort. My husband, Father William Ransome, is having an affair.

I saw him meeting with her. They were kissing, embracing, and committing unspeakable acts in the forest within miles of our house. I then discovered the letters from and to William documenting their passion and having them in my possession. I shall reveal his lover’s identity should you ask me unless you have your suspicions. You are probably correct as to who she is.

I have no desire to see him anymore after this. I will no longer stay in his house.

I am staying at Mrs. Kroeger’s for the time being. I need your support immediately. I need you to bring my children to visit me whenever they can without their father in their presence. If you may, look after them, shelter, feed, and protect Joanna, John, and James! You shall send letters to me through Mrs. Kroeger. I ask you, do not allow my husband to even enter the Kroeger household.

Most of all, I ask you, if there is nothing else you can do, pray for me. Pray that I have the strength to bear this great pain, not only in my body but in my heart. If you can send the comforting words and presence of a friend! Or a prayer- a prayer that someday, I will feel what it is once more to be happy, now as I lay on what might be my deathbed!

Sincerely,

Stella Ransome.”

As it finished drying, there was a furious knock on the door. I jumped out of my skin.

“Mr. Kroger! Mr. Kroger!” a familiar voice cried out from the outside of the house.

Of course, It was only a matter of time until he came here! What if he found and read the children’s letters on their beds, as Fanny and I feared?

But then- the letters between him and The Woman! They were in the parlor! If he got into the house, even if Vince and Fanny kept him at bay, he would see them out there and retrieve them! He was a tall, strong man fond of running. It would be easy for him.

Shaking uncontrollably, I hurried into the room quietly. If I had to rip them from his large, handsome hands, so be it, I would do it.

But he wasn’t there. William kept knocking again and again at the door, continuing to ask to be let inside.

Fanny and Vince walked into the parlor and then froze, staring at me with big, frightened eyes. I put a finger to my mouth for silence and they nodded. Then I scurried to the tea table, picked up the letters, and Fanny quietly shooed me back into the guest room. From inside, I locked the door.

William continued to plead with desperation, “Mr. Kroger- it’s your Rector! I must speak with you now!”

“He’s coming!” Fanny assured from inside with false cheerfulness.

I hid every letter- mine, The Woman’s, and Williams, and then the bag of money within the sheets of the bed and settled back there quickly. I then lay on top of it, letting my weight feel the crinkling paper. I forced myself still, despite my shaking. If he got in here and burst through the door, they would be hidden. I rarely saw William extremely angry. He wasn’t the type to lose his temper and destroy things, God forbid he would rip out the bedsheets his dying wife was laying over! Even if he burst in here, forced me in his arms, and carried me home like a hunter with his prize, the letters, and even the money would be safe.

I heard Vince’s footsteps towards the front door.

“I’m coming, Father Ransome,” he answered calmly.

Like a child, I covered myself under the blankets and placed another pillow over my ears, squeezing my eyes shut. I held myself tight and would not let go. My heart roared in my ears, and I fought back any urge to cough, no matter how much blood I tasted in my mouth. I tried to think of anything, anything to distract myself. Trying to play songs in my head, reciting scripture, poetry, bits of my books and love stories, my father’s Greek myths, anything to block it out. I couldn’t bear to think what was happening outside, that any minute I would be forced back into the house and bed of my husband. I had to remain silent. I would not give a hint in the house now I was here should he enter.

I heard male voices from outside, but they were muffled by the thunderstorm getting louder.

Some time passed. There were no voices. Only the rain and thunder. I was almost partway through trying to remember Wordsworth when I heard a knock on my door that made my skin crawl.

It was Fanny’s voice that said, “He’s gone, Stella.”

I let out an exhale and let go of the blankets and pillows. I went to the door.

“What did he say?” I asked in terror.

“He asked if you were here or if I saw you, Mrs. Ransome, he said you were missing from home,” Vince informed. “I told him you were not here; I hadn’t seen you all day, and that William should ask somewhere else or look in the morning.”

“You lied to him!” I cried in amazement, a hand flying over my mouth.

“If he can sin, then so can I…” he remarked.

“But rest assured, he is no longer here, and he won’t be welcome in here…if we have to lie a hundred times, we’ll do it!” Fanny promised, she reached over and squeezed my shoulder in comfort.

I took one of the black blankets from the guest room and draped it over my shoulders. I took out the letters I wrote and found the envelopes where I left them. I folded and inserted the second letter in one and addressed it to Mrs. Lee’s house for The Women’s Bible Study as well as her, our eternal hostess. I wasn’t sure where to mail the first letter. If I mailed it to the church or asked for it to be printed in the bulletin, William would find it and read it. Most likely, he would destroy it easily to absolve the public knowledge of his affair.

No, it would need to be spread, I mused. Not only the Women’s Bible Study, but the congregation and every person in Aldwinter-had to know the truth about their priest. One easily destroyed letter wouldn’t do. I took out another piece of paper and began making a copy of it. And then another. Word would spread and if one was destroyed, then Hydra-like, another would appear in the next house in its place.

I hoped that at least the women of the Bible Study would read the letter for them and would use their most common weapon, the one they unsheathed at every study meeting before and after the Bibles were opened, my small sin, the one indulgence I gave myself to every time in the past- they would talk. And talking spreads.

Please, please, let them talk! I prayed.

I began to take out more pieces of paper and copy down the letter by hand as much as I could. I had managed a tenth letter when it chimed midnight. I sat at my chair, staring at the fireplace as it slowly burned the small logs.

Logs.

Wood.

The tree.

The tree with the blue ribbon.

The tree where they sinned in front of me.

I took out the pink pillow and hugged it to me. I heard a gentle knock.

“Stella, are you awake?” Fanny asked.

“Yes.”

I unlocked the door to see her and Vince.

“Do you need anything else?” Vince asked.

“Mr. Kroeger, you’re already taking me to the post office in the morning… Fanny, tomorrow, this letter must go to Mrs. Lee’s house. And these- these are copies of the same letter- if you could send them to any member of the congregation or anyone in town who knows of me, even. Please- put it in their boxes and slip it under their doors. I’d be grateful.”

She nodded her dark, curly head. I placed the envelopes into her small hand. Vince leaned closer to her and placed an arm over her shoulder, kissing the side of her forehead.

“My wife always was a little Valkyrie! All the more reason I love her!” Vince boasted.

To think I once had a love like that. I thought I would be happy dying as I was William Ransome's wife and the mother of his children. Back when I thought he loved me. Now here I was, to die without the love of my husband. A husband who I still loved, but could not return to.

I knew I had the love and loyalty of friends. I had to now learn to content myself with that. I didn’t know if a romantic love could ever enter my heart again after this, should I live even to the next week. I've learned my lesson from William. I couldn’t allow that anymore. No, I would only be opening myself to be hurt again.

“Of course, I will, first thing tomorrow morning…I’ll even lock them in the safe until then,” she promised.

Fanny looked down at the letters reading them. She swallowed hard, but her eyes were hard and resolved.

“Keep them safe as you walk and make sure they are delivered directly,” I requested.

“We shall…but Stella, it’s quite late!” she insisted. She even looked at the clock, frowning.

I looked back at the burning logs in the fireplace.

“I cannot sleep…I cannot stop thinking about William and…William and C-C-C-could you perhaps make another cup of tea for me?”

Vince put his hands on his hips and then turned halfway away to the parlor.

“I think tonight you need something stronger than tea, Mrs. Ransome!” he said.

He went out and returned with a huge decanter of golden whiskey in one hand and three glasses in another. He poured me a generous amount in one cup and forced it into my hands.

“But Vince…I really ought not to drink when it’s not a holiday…” I asked.

“When men learn they are dying, they drink. When men learn their wives have fucked another, they drink. You’re both- so twice the reason. Let’s drink. All of us…” Vince said.

Fanny poured herself a glass. I sat on the chair and they were on the floor. I stared into the liquid in my cup. I still didn't get rid of it, the unfamiliar smell and color fascinated me, enticed me. I felt myself raise the glass closer to my lips. Then it froze in hesitation.

“It will relax you…” Vince promised.

“If there is one night you become a drunkard, it’s this one…” she suggested.

Vince raised his cup. Fanny and I followed.

“Here…to Stella! May Reverend Ransome one day rot in hell! And may Stella Ransome live a little longer!” Vince toasted.

“To Stella!” Fanny repeated.

“To…to me…” I replied hesitantly.

I began to take the first drink in tandem with them. I coughed a little at the burn. Fanny brought a little water and a plate of fudge.

“You might need some sweets as well after today…” she offered.

Vince downed his whiskey in two big swigs.

“Who could imagine it? Mrs. Stella Ransome, The English Rose herself, drinking in my house!” Vince joked with a laugh.

Outside, I heard the rain pelt right over the roof and the grandfather clock chimed a quarter past.

“Well, who could imagine Father William Ransome an unfaithful bastard!” Fanny responded bitterly.

She frowned and drank hers. She kept a tight grip on the glass as if she wanted it to shatter in her hands.

I ate some fudge and sipped on the water. Then I sipped the whiskey again. Vince was right. The whiskey, far stronger than my occasional cup of wine, was relaxing me. I even felt my eyelids become heavy and I loosened my shoulders.

When I looked at the fire, I noticed that the center of the flames and the very bottom of it were a bright, light blue. Small, but present and in the heart of the fire. Slowly, I nursed at the whiskey until I finished it. Fanny led me to the bed and tucked me in. They left. The room became darker save for the fire’s glow. It was warm and comfortable. For once, I could be a child again. Some of the old lullabies my mother sang to me in girlhood entered my mind:

“Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green, When I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen”

In my younger days, I shared a bed with Elliott. When I was ten, I shared a bed with Edith, my little sister. Her now being old enough, Elliott being too old, and there being only a few beds to go around in the Harris houses. Edith and I still shared that bed when we moved to Aldwinter. It cut down on the cost of Father buying two separate ones. Then I entered William’s bed as his bride. I never had a whole bed all to myself until that night.

For that, as well as many things- the kindness and courage of Fanny and her husband, their belief in my word, their shelter, their protection from my husband, the food, the drinks, the access to papers for letters, the room that could lock, and now, this soft, warm bed that was completely mine if only for a night- I was grateful.

I grew more and more sleepy and even more at peace. I soon fell asleep in peace and woke up, rested, to sunshine late the next morning.

Vince managed to find extra clothes for me to wear, as well as a coat, shawl, and a hat not only for warmth but to avoid recognition. With his careful arm to steady and keep me up should weakness stir my legs, he walked me the back way into the post office where he worked, led me to a room, and seated me in front of a telegram machine, showing me how to form the message into it.

To think how different everything was just a year ago. I had my health. I had my husband. Now I had lost both, I thought, trying to think of what I could tell my family.

Vince sat over the chair and kept an eye out for any unwanted eyes or visitors in the tiny, musty, brown room.

“It costs you per word. So, my advice- make them short and put ‘stop’ in between them,” he warned

I began the first one.

WILLIAM HAS A MISTRESS. STOP.

HURRY TO ALDWINTER SOON AS YOU CAN. STOP.

I could hardly realize the words as I wrote them to be typed and sent off to my family members where they were. That was to be sent to my parents. I began the one for my brother, Brian.

WILLIAM HAS A MISTRESS. STOP.

HURRY TO ALDWINTER SOON AS YOU CAN. STOP.

My other siblings had to be notified too. I kept writing the words over and over each on different scraps of paper I ripped off. I kept typing again and again at an anxious and desperate speed, the words glaring back at me.

WILLIAM HAS A MISTRESS STOP.

HURRY TO ALDWINTER SOON AS YOU CAN. STOP

WILLIAM HAS A MISTRESS. STOP.

WILLIAM HAS A MISTRESS.

WILLIAM. HAS A MISTRESS.

STOP.

I finished the last one. Vince made sure of the rest- that they would be sent off to my family members. We then quickly returned to his house without incident. I made sure the curtains on the windows were closed once I got back in the room. I had just removed the hat and coat when a knock on the door made me jump. Vince peeked through the curtains and confirmed it was his wife.

Fanny then entered the parlor, smiling triumphantly with a clenched hand over her head.

“I sent the letters without interruption- to Mrs. Lee and to each Congregation member I could!” she reported.

Now all I had to do was wait.

Wait for a response to my letters. For a word from friends. For a word from my family. For William’s knock. For a visitor. For help. For my children. For death. Anything.

5 notes · View notes

smolvenger · 2 years

Text

Stella of Essex or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed Series. Chapter 7: Purple Hyacinth

A Fix-It Fanfiction Series of The Essex Serpent

Pairing: some Stella Ransome/William Ransome but focusing on the tragedy of their marriage, eventually Stella Ransome/Male OC

Series Summary: The Essex Serpent is reimagined and told from the perspective of Stella Ransome. And with a new ending. Stella must come to terms with not only her mortality but her husband's heartbreaking affair. A picture of a marriage of love and bliss torn apart by a husband's infidelity. And Stella herself in the center of it all, torn between a wife's duty and her own quiet but present rage. Where in the midst of devastating heartbreak she gains her strength, finds her voice, and dares to seek freedom, hope...and even revenge.

Chapter Summary: In Which, Stella mourns her husband's affair with The Woman. And makes a decision.

Warnings: Eventual Major Character Death, Discussions of Adultery and the Trauma of Being Cheated On, Female Rage, Mentions of Suicide, ANGST, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Illness, Victorian era Marriage laws, Religion, Mentions of death and the almost death of a child- but the child doesn't actually die. Greif and Betrayal and Stella grieving and being sad and angry about William cheating (she has every right to be), being Anti-William and Anti-C*ra so if you like them or this pairing you have been warned. Good For Her Plotline

Ko-Fi

Ao3 Link

Chapter Word Count: Less than 5K

Prologue//One//Two//Three//Four//Five//Six

“And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, That suck'd the honey of his music vows, Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh; …O, woe is me T' have seen what I have seen, see what I see!” - Hamlet, Shakespeare, II.I.132

GILDA Ah, these are the loving words... ...the scoundrel spoke once to me!

RIGOLETTO (to Gilda) Hush, weeping can do no good, etc.

GILDA O wretched heart betrayed, do not break for sorrow.- Rigoletto, English Translation

“Such was her affection for him, that she loved him in all places, and was desirous of doing anything for his convenience, credit, and comfort…How much more commendable was the behavior of these women than that of those who rail at their imprudent or incontinent husbands, and by their conduct render that home which before was undesirable, quite hateful, and insupportable!”- Alexander Walker, Woman Physiologically Considered, as to Mind, Morals, Marriage, Matrimonial Slavery, Infidelity, and Divorce.

“And (God) said…Hast thou eaten of the tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldest not eat? And the man said, The woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she gave me of the tree, and I did eat.” Genesis 3:11-12, KJV

I remember shaking.

They finished. they smiled at each other and kissed once more. William and The Woman wandered further into the woods, clutching hands.

My legs gave in beneath me. I caught myself. Doubting everything I saw. Wondering if I was in a nightmare. But it was when I looked down and saw how my knuckles were clenched and I saw the last tail end of William’s tan coat vanish that I knew it was real.

Pulling myself onto the windowsill. Everything seemed to spin as I returned to my- no- our bedroom.

I went to the bookshelf and grabbed one of my journals, one of the older ones. I turned it to the page with the gardenia from years ago. The one William gave to me. His very first gift. The one that gave me hope that maybe he loved me. Keeping it open, I clutched it to my heart.

I couldn’t cry. I hugged onto it tighter on the chair and ducked my head down, squeezing my eyes shut. Then opening them.

I used to love this room. That sacred space where so many beautiful memories and moments. How bitter, sad, dusty, and dark it all looked. The blue walls seemed grey in the dim light. The fireplace was cold and dark. The plates and pillows I decorated looked ugly and gaudy. It was all bitter and haunted and disgusting.

I went over and sat down on the bed. I placed a hand over the covers sweeping through them. It crumpled into a fist as I buried my face into the blankets.

This bed was mine and William’s. The centerpiece of our beautiful little world. It was the bed where our marriage was consummated. Where he used his body to tell mine it loved it. Where our five children were created. The bed where we had our own quiet oasis at the end of each long day. Now it was tainted and abandoned. Once it was dented from his weight and soft from the pressing of his body. Now it felt like a rock, even the blankets felt cold to me.

Did she know everything he promised to me? That he gave me flower seeds and wrote me love letters? That he held my hand as we watched Julianna’s small casket lowering into the ground? That he stayed up late rocking little James to sleep when he cried at night so I could sleep? Did she know what he said to me? That I was his star, his angel? That he made vows before none other than the regional bishop and all Aldwinter that he would be my husband. That he would be mine until death did us part. And he was still alive, and so was I. Sick, weak, dying, but alive.

I turned my face up and saw that we had decorated some of the walls and bookshelves with photos. I traced my hand over the photo of our wedding day- me looking down demurely in a white lacy dress with a bustle and William, then with only a hint of a beard.

There was a photo of me holding little Joanna on the day of her christening- christened by her father! The man who represented and lead none other than the church! Who spoke of morality, what was right and what was wrong, and how to avoid sin.

Then, finally, there was a photo of the five of us- of our three surviving children and us. I and William were seated, Joanna and John in the back and James on the side as the dog sat obediently next to us.

All those happy, peaceful memories and moments were for nothing!

I set down the photos and staggered into his study. His room. The very place where he learned all about how to be a Christian Man and preach it to others. On his desk were the piles of papers. I blinked, and then picked them up, reading them. I found they were not any drafts of a book. No, they were letters. Letters from The Woman. And drafts of letters to The Woman. The dates on the far-left corners were all recent. As early as the week she arrived here.

I read them word for word. There were discussions. Discussions of the Serpent. Of Leviathan. Of the Aldwinter beach. Of Joanna’s antics and Frankie’s. Of faith and science. Then it changed.

The letters were of love. Love. She returned his feelings. The drafts were all confessing the longing in his heart and body for her.

Not for me. Not for his wife. For her.

One letter from her wrote how she noticed how longingly he would look at her at dinner. That she noticed his glances and stares. It was at the very dinner where I made the roast, vegetables, and biscuits in her welcome. I wasn’t even sick then. And I was present.

The letter fell from my hand and I became dizzy, falling onto the chair and clutching onto its arm of it for support. I felt a lump in my throat, but not from blood.

Oh, God! Oh God, what had I done! It was all my fault! I thought it was at most a harmless infatuation, a small thing, nothing more! I had permitted him to dance with her the night of the party! I thought dancing with her would make him happy for a little while after seeing his torment in my condition.

Once, he had a great passion for me. Once, we were making love at the rate of twice a day. Once, we continued to regularly bed each other after the births of five children. Had he…no longer wanted me? Had my ill body now disgusted him? Was that the real source of his grief?

It then struck me. He had made love frequently and passionately to me. The whole time I thought it was for me alone due to its frequency, that I was his wife, and that he loved me.

Oh God, all those years, and now it struck me how naïve I had been! How come I not realized something about William this whole time? Fourteen years of marriage to him, and yet it never struck me the truth about him!

His weakness was lust!

That was his sin. That was the one closest to his heart and the one that made him twitch and struggle. That was his Achilles Heel.

Had I realized that sooner, I would not have allowed him an inch near The Woman. I would object and insist he avoids her partnership to search for The Serpent. I would not have sent him to the dance with her. I had given a hungry wolf a key to a den full of plump and injured sheep without thinking he would bite into one.

I crumpled the paper beneath my hand and set it down. I bit down on my tongue to keep from screaming until I tasted blood from it.

Were there more letters he was hiding from me? All this time? Had there been others before she arrived?

She, she, she, she…I never considered myself an angry, spiteful person. Not until now. I knew now how it was to truly hate. I had not a single redeeming thing I could think of The Woman. I wondered if I could even have the heart to look at her. I hated every bit of her. I felt a wave of anger and pure hatred I had not dared feel in ages. Even if Joanna admired her. Even considering her past, even if her husband beat and choked her, I felt no pity for her anymore. Cruel fantasies entered my mind. I wished that her husband killed her long before she set foot in Aldwinter. I wanted to slap her pretty face until it bruised. I began thinking of the truly awful, horrible things I could scream and hurl at her.

Yet I sat there, hands shaking.

I opened another drawer of William’s desk. I pulled out papers, scanning to see if there were any more letters or letters from any others before. And in the bottom of the middle drawer, I found a small hunting pistol. And bullets. I put it in my hands, filling one bullet into the gun.

Perhaps I should end it. End my suffering. Stop waiting for the consumption to take its final toll and get it over with. I should let him be free. Let him be happy. Let him finger her against a tree as many times as it pleased him. Let them walk on beaches and dance and father her children and live in his house in his bed and go to church and cook and clean for him as I once did.

3. Support him in his emotions without complaint

Or perhaps, this was the wrong method. Maybe I should pick a suicide more poetic. One only he would know of so he would know the severity of his betrayal. I would leave a note pinned to me and then fill my pockets with heavy stones, find his secret pond, and keep walking into the waters.

But…maybe if I did, then there was the risk that I would go to hell. Then, for all my work, devotion, and sacrifices for William, I would be damned, and he would get away with it and continue his affair now that I was out of the way.

Why should he be the free one and not I? Why could he take a lover and I could not? Why could he destroy our marriage vows and not I? Why should I be the one sent to hell after a life of faithful service and him the one to survive in sin?

Most of all, why should he be the one to live and I the one to die?!

I placed the gun down on the desk.

I opened the window for some air. And in a distance away-I saw him. Her son. The Woman’s son. Frankie. Sitting on the grass, Quietly looking out into the sky and the view of the town.

I picked up the gun and felt the gunpoint out the window at him.

Yes, part of me whispered. It’s perfect. He is right there. Frankie.

I could easily do it. One small movement of a finger and everything would change. If that is what William could do- move his finger and ruin everything, then so could I.

It would be worse than killing The Woman. Worse because She would live to suffer through it.

And oh, after such pleasure, she would suffer. Yes, she would suffer immensely. Her choice would bring her suffering for her sin, rather than the mercy of death. If she stole William from me, then I would steal Frankie from her. William proved my deepest, most silent fear true. She was better than me. Everything I could not be. But in this, The Woman and I would finally be equal. She would know the pain I felt in losing my husband with the pain she would feel for losing Frankie. In blood, she brought him forth and in blood, I would take him back.

I slowly walked closer. Frankie never noticed me and kept on picking at the weeds in the grass, face turned away.

My finger reached for the trigger. But I could not pull it. It trembled in my hand. I found tears were starting to flow from my eyes and my teeth were gritted.

Frankie turned around to look at the sky, his face in profile. Such bright, curious eyes. My children have bright curious eyes.

I lowered the gun and returned it to its drawer, shutting it. I closed the window.

How could I? How could I even consider such a horrible thing? What if someone did that to James, Joanna, or John? It was as if I almost murdered one of my own! Why should Frankie, an innocent boy, be the one punished for the sins committed by his mother?

I walked down the stairs. Not even the dog was around.

Without William, without my children, without my parents, without my siblings, without the clergy, without the people of Aldwinter…who was I?

I was alone. Truly, truly alone.

I then walked outside. My garden was dead and bare. Nothing but brown dirt and withered plants.

I walked around the house and off to where the woods began. I could see the attic window high up. I knew which tree it was. I had a feeling. I walked across the small field and into the woods. I approached the tree. The tree where they made love. I took off my blue ribbon and tied it around a branch on the tree.

As I walked further, I kept thinking of her- her with her red dress, her pale skin, and most of all her hair.

That was what William wanted! He didn’t a woman like me at all he wanted someone like her! Like her! Even with hair like her!

In a fury I ripped off the pins of my hair and threw them to the ground, loosening my hair, making it loose since that was how she wore it! If I had only worn my hair like hers, let each strand fall, perhaps William would have never strayed from my bed!

I hated it- I hated my hair, it wasn’t hers. I hated my sick body- it wasn’t her healthy, open, available one. I hated my character and interests- it wasn't her character and interests. I hated everything about myself- because it wasn’t hers. I hated myself since I wasn’t her.

I kept walking down, feeling my hair free and moving with the small breeze, not caring for the bitter cold. I embraced it. Anything was warmer than William Ransome’s marriage bed. I staggered onto a tree, out of breath, holding onto the branch, clutching it.

I let out a scream. I had not screamed since I was in labor for James. Birds flew away. I wondered if anyone heard me. But no one came.

Then finally, I sobbed. Not the quiet tears I had over almost murdering Frankie True, big, loud, violent sobs. I cried and cried

I then let go of the branch and collapsed onto the grass and dirt. I curled up into it like an animal or a child. And I cried more. Cried and cried and cried and sobbed and wailed and cried, face hot, tears everywhere, my body shaking from how deep they were. I was gulping for air in between sobs only to cry some more.

I cried for William, the generous, kind, handsome, open-minded, gentle, religious, and loving husband I met, knew, loved, and married. The William who made little jokes. The William who took morning walks and would show me the pebbles he found after. The William who spoiled me with gifts swam with me in a pond and said he loved me. How I thought that since he was a priest, he was a good man.

I cried for the old William I missed and this new William I just discovered. I cried for how this side of William was always there inside him only I was too stupid to realize it.

I cried about our wedding. I cried for our dances. I cried for our holidays I cried for the church, his church, his ministry, and the years I poured into helping it and its people for nothing.

I cried for the five children I brought into the world from him and yet despite the years of having them inside me and the great pain of labor and the risk of death on my part just to bring even them into the world, that that wasn’t enough for him. I cried for how the surviving children would have to learn that their father no longer loved their mother but someone else.

I cried for how I was now abandoned to die of consumption. I cried from how unfair it was. I cried for our dinners, the laundry, the meals, the garden, the list I followed, and everything I did for him and how it was all in vain.

Most of all, I cried that I wasn’t enough for him.

I felt the last sob escape me. Then there was no urge to cry. There was silence. Only the birds and the rustling of the trees.

I got up and leaned against the tree. I coughed out a little bit and saw that there was some blood on my hand. I wiped it off onto my white nightgown on the skirt. If a hunter or wanderer discovered me, I wouldn’t care. But what was I even to do?

Could I go back into that cold bed and stay there? Alone as he would go into the forest and roll around in the grass with The Woman? To pretend that I didn’t know and didn’t care? To pretend I approved? To pretend to my children and the clergy that I wasn’t devastated? To even die like this? To have fourteen years of my life as the wife of a vicar for nothing? To have my final moments be that alone, unwanted, and most of all, unloved by the man I married?

1. No matter what, you must overall support your husband in his ministry, friendship, and partner with him for a loving home atmosphere.

I blinked out of my thoughts as a crow let out his caw above me. Looking down, I noticed there were seven blue wildflowers.

It was still winter. Yet…here they were alive and blooming. Despite the coldness and death, they survived. I plucked one from the ground and twiddled it in my fingers, I placed it in my hair to feel it. Then as I plucked another one, I felt a tranquility wash over me. Just as it did when I found blue wildflowers at Julianna and Josephine’s graves.

I recalled losing my daughters. I recalled the dream I had after their deaths. I recalled what I heard them say.

“Save yourself, Mama.”

I remembered William’s words after the doctor’s fatal announcement. “She always was too good for this world.”

I could be good, saintly, perfect, and die.

Or live.

And I wanted to live.

I now knew what I had to do.

It would be hard. So, help me it would be hard. One part of it would be the hardest of all. But it would be worth it, I resolved. No matter how sick I fell. No matter if this was my last day or hour. I would no longer tolerate this.

I got up, and on the path back to the Ransome house, I passed the tree with the blue ribbon. I stared at it for a second. Before I acted on my plan, there was one thing that had to be done.

I walked to the front yard. The axe was still against the tree stump. I picked it up. It was heavy with my weakened arms, but my fury gave me strength, and resolve tightened my grip on the handle.

I returned to the tree with the blue ribbon. The tree where The Woman and William consummated their affair.

I picked up the axe and slammed the blade against the wood. I kept hacking it again and again and again. A sick, frail woman is no woodsman, but I kept at it. Grunts and even yells escaped my mouth. Let all Aldwinter hear me. I didn’t care. They all would know what he did eventually.

The tree could not be chopped down by me, it was far too thick and sturdy. But now it was marked. Weakened. Made ugly. Enough that when he returned, along with my ribbon, he would know what I thought of him coupling with The Woman.

I returned inside and upstairs. I got a coat and a bag that I slung over my shoulder. Any cash I could find I pocketed.

I was going to leave. I was going to get out of there. I was going to get out of the house and never look back. Even in my sickness, if I had to crawl out, I would do it. I would not stay in this house with him.

I went into William’s study. I took every letter to and from The Woman I could find and stuffed it into my bag. If it was of The Serpent or of Passion, if it was one from her or a draft of how he ached for her, I placed it in there. I would need them. No one would believe my words alone and he would no longer have a scrap of her. Not after he was writing and reading them as I lay coughing blood in the other room.

There was one thing this would mean. It made me tear up again at the thought.

14. Raise healthy, well-balanced children and be present for them.

I had to leave my children with him. They were gone and should they arrive, I wasn’t sure I would take them with me or that they would even want to leave the house. If I had the strength in my body to care for them and carry them off with me, I would. But I did not.

Besides, even if I did, consumption or no consumption, by law, they were his children. Not mine. A swift visit of the police or a lawyer and they would be taken from me to him. It would be a pointless battle.

And yet- I didn’t have to abandon them in my heart or my love. Despite how I sobbed at the thought of leaving them, I knew what the alternative was. And I knew they had a roof over their head, clothes, and food. I may have to forego being a wife, but I didn’t have to forego being a mother.

I took out three pieces of paper from the study. I wiped the tears off my white sleeve before they could drop onto the ink. On the first one, I wrote:

“John, James, My darlings,

I am not staying here. Know I will always love you and care for you. I will always make sure you are fed, clothed, and loved. You shall find your mother at Fanny’s. You may always come there and see me and ask something of me should you need it. Anything!

I cannot stay here with your father anymore. Ask him why.

Love,

Your mama.”

I placed it on John’s bed. On the second one, I wrote,

“Joanna, My love,

Your father has committed the amorous rite with another woman. He no longer loves me; he loves her instead.

I will be at Fanny’s should you need me. But I will no longer tolerate how your father has betrayed me. I cannot stay with him anymore. Your father will not be welcome at Fanny’s, but you and your brothers will be. I love you, my Jojo, and I will always take care of you. Find me at Fanny's if you wish to speak or need anything from me.

Love,

Your mother.”

I placed it on her bed.

Then, I finished one final letter. I walked into his bedroom. I found the journal with the page with the gardenia still on that cold bed. I ripped off the page and placed it there next to the letter.

It was the shortest one. The final letter read:

“Dear William,

My deathbed will not be one shared by an unfaithful husband.

Take care of the children.

- Stella.”

I took off my wedding ring and placed it on my- no, his blue pillow.

I thought of the outside. I remembered our walks by the pond and our swimming in it early in our marriage. Of our picnics and walks by the nearby ocean.

The ocean. The sea. The sea is inevitable. The sea is full of danger. The sea may delight and drown. The sea kills thirsty men who drink its salty waters. The sea never ends in its length or depth. The sea hides and houses the Leviathan. The sea was where had I chosen differently now or been less careful in the past, I could have drowned. The sea destroys.

But what of me? Me floating above- swimming in this and trying not to drown, while I was on land?

I recalled my own name, written down on the first page of the flower journal- Stella. Stella, of course, means Star.

Stars seem so small up in the sky. Glowing despite all the dark. Giving light to the night sky so that any lost traveler can find safety. Their light and dust are said to glimmer. Stars are called beautiful. They seem like such tiny, fragile things. We mimic them on paper and put them on Christmas trees. We paint them. We decorate dresses with them and make jewels in their shapes. We aspire to them and call people we admire after them- "stars." They are there to be looked at. Beautiful, but distant. Miniscule. Weak.

But if I accurately recalled what science I learned from Joanna's reading, stars are not small at all when you look at them. They are actually large. The sun itself is a star too. Even as they die, they become black holes and entrap and vanquish all who cross them. Stars are full of fire. Fire warms. Fire burns. Fire destroys. Fire spreads. Fire does not go down without a fight.

I knew which part of my name I had to become now. Maybe it was always there and asleep until then.

I looked around the house and upstairs. Goodbye house, I spoke silently. Goodbye kitchen was full of many meals. Goodbye children running up and down the stairs. Goodbye family dinners and parlor gatherings. Goodbye attic. Goodbye, the counter's I've cleaned hundreds of times. Goodbye nursery. Goodbye blue collection, my pretty pillows, pebbles, and plates- you aren't mine, you're his. Goodbye chairs and desks. Goodbye bed that was so warm when I first laid down on it and now promised nothing but heartbreak until death. Goodbye morning walks with William. Goodbye, false kisses, caresses, and promises. Goodbye picnics, games, books, questions, mud, scolding, and so much more of this old, lying life!

Above all, goodbye William. May sleeping with her be worth it.

I went downstairs, walked out the door, and left the Ransome house.

Outside, the sun was setting into twilight. I had to go while it was both dark and light.

I forced my eyes forward to town. I didn't look back. I never returned.

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smolvenger · 2 years

Text

Stella of Essex or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed, Chapter 5: Yellow Roses

Based off of The Essex Serpent (I would say Fandom but honestly, I love to hate it so here's a Fix It FIc)

Pairing: some Stella/William, mainly Stella/Being Happy, and William/Being Held Accountable and Facing Consequences for Cheating, and eventually Stella/Male OC.

Series Summary: The Essex Serpent is reimagined and told from the perspective of Stella Ransome. And with a new ending. Stella must come to terms with not only her mortality but her husband's heartbreaking affair. A portrait of a woman who became The Ideal Lady her time and marriage required her to be. A picture of a marriage of love and bliss torn apart by a husband's infidelity. Where Stella Ransome, in the midst of devastating heartbreak and a terminal illness, gains her strength, finds her voice, and dares to seek freedom, hope...and even revenge.

Chapter Summary: In which a Widow from London and her son arrive in Aldwinter for The Serpent. Stella and William are introduced to her. But Stella begins to feel odd.

Chapter Warnings: Eventual Major Character Death, Mentions of food, children, religion, mentions of domestic abuse, realistic depictions of corsets, and portrayals of illness. Being Anti William and Anti C*ra so if you like the characters or pairing you have been warned. Divergence from Canon.

Chapter Word Count: 6K (Take a bathroom break)

Ko-Fi Link

A03 Link

Prologue//One//Two//Three//Four

“Ye have heard that it was by them of old time, Thou shalt not commit adultery: but I say unto you, That whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery already in his heart.”- Matthew 5: 27-28.

“But if she has no intellectual hold upon her husband’s heart, she must inevitably become that most helpless and pitiable of earthly objects-a slighted wife.”- Sarah Stickney Ellis, from The Women of England: Their Social Duties and Domestic Habits.

I am aware many of you reading this are familiar with the story of The Essex Serpent of Aldwinter. And only a few of you are not. Before I begin the next part, you must be reminded or told of this one fact.

There was no serpent. There never was a serpent.

Despite all our terror at the time, there never was any giant, magical, murderous snake.

No snake killed those bodies.

No snake made Naomi disappear.

Little did we know at the time, we were being afraid of nothing. And what brought her to the town, was nothing.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

To me, her name is too painful to write, much less speak, after what happened. To me, she will always be The Woman. And The Woman she was indeed when she first moved in!

Whenever there is a newcomer, rumors jump around like squirrels. Small towns are especially prone to this when so little happens at a time. I only did what I usually did with newcomers. I would bake my bread. Then I could deliver it as a welcoming present. Especially considering that this was a fellow woman who could be joining our Bible Studies and Sewing circles. No question she would be at church on Sunday. But it was five days until then! She would have to know she was welcome here, most of all by me.

6. Build relationships with women in the church to support, encourage and model Godliness to them.

As I walked down holding the warm pan, Martha passed me and gave me a laugh. Dressed in her walking gown, I noticed a newspaper was tucked under her arm.

“Why, is it for the newcomer? You gave bread to me when I arrived!” she called out.

“Do you…do you know where she lives?” I asked curiously.

I had written down an address on a scrap of paper placed in my pocket, but both of my hands holding a white towel over a hot pan would not grace me with the freedom to retrieve it.

Martha pointed one way and kindly offered to walk me there. We walked up to the little house. I knocked on the door, but there was no response. I knocked again, louder.

“Hello! There’s a visitor!” Martha shouted boisterously.

The only person who opened the door was not a woman, but a young boy. A boy who wasn’t at school. He looked thin and his eyes were wide, his skin sickly pale. Although he looked close to Joanna’s age, he carried himself with an air as if he was far younger with his slumping posture and the way he stared up at us blankly.

“Is your mother here?” I asked warmly.

“My mother’s not here now,” he replied somberly.

“I am Mrs. Stella Ransome; my husband is the vicar of the parish here. I am here to welcome your mother and you to town with this,” I said, offering the bread.

He looked at it and took the pan in his arms, but he did not smile.

“Thank you” he replied quietly.

“Frankie, where is your mother?” Martha asked. “She was here this morning when I spoke to her!”

“She’s off to find the Serpent,” the boy explained.

“And leave you alone? Oh, you poor thing!” I spoke. “Perhaps you should ask your mother to enroll you at school- my own children go there, and they’ll be plenty of other little boys for you to play with! You don’t have to spend all day at home…”

“I’m big enough to be by myself for a little bit, now…” he said.

“And I’m checking in on him, making sure he’s not catching on fire, don’t worry!” Martha added in.

“Oh, well…that is good. You at least can help yourself to some of the bread, Frankie” I said.

“Do make sure you eat that lunch I made you- and Mrs. Ransome was nice enough to give you some bread to go along with it! Have you yet?” Martha asked, placing her arms akimbo.

Frankie shrugged again. He looked down and then back up with no change in his sad, distant face.

“Frankie, I will call on you shortly, and your plate and one slice of that bread should be eaten by now! Don’t tell me you aren’t hungry! Your mother will insist!” Martha scolded.

He closed the door. We walked out into the roads right outside the gate of the house. Out of habit, I looked around the buildings in case anything unusual popped up. Or there were people listening in. But Martha and I were alone.

“She is here for the Serpent?” I asked.

Martha nodded in confirmation.

“Yes, she read our newspaper article and since then, she is obsessed! A most extraordinary, spirited woman, she! She wants to find it…” Martha continued.

“Why?” I asked. “I would want to avoid it.”

The wind blew a little colder. A few orange leaves from the trees fell onto the toes of our shoes. I was shivering inside my coat and scarf.

“For science. She’s a scientist! She loves fossils and history and wants to collect evidence of the serpent, make a name for herself because of it…”

“Why then, that’s very…very noble, I think!” I said.

It was unconventional. I little to never heard of women scientists. She was bound to be quite a character at the Bible Study. Perhaps she would have stories or share a fossil she discovered!

But then again, she was a scientist. She would frown at our Bibles, perhaps, and not participate in our prayers. Perhaps the church was out of the question. I wondered if I would even see her at all.

I did see her. I rushed with my children to church. Happily, we were on time even for Sunday School this time around. As I gathered my own three little ones and walked into the sanctuary, I made my rounds of greetings and chats with the other members.

One gentleman, the local surgeon named Lucas, turned to me with a smile. But today his smile seemed a little too friendly.

“Why, if it isn’t the Fairy Queen of Aldwinter herself!” he greeted.

He leaned forward, eyes shining, and hands in his pockets.

“Thank you, it is good to see you too,” I replied plainly. “And you speak compliments beautifully.”

I turned away promptly but he walked in front of me. His chest was puffed like a rooster.

“And what has the Miss Fairy Queen had next after the service? Plans for the Christmas service and pageant, as per usual from her, hm? Surely, I should be her humble servant and assist her...”

He had quite a nerve, I thought, knowing that my husband was the head of the church and even a few feet away. There was proof of a slight sneeze that echoed off the high ceilings- William was just getting over a cold. But thankfully after three days of me insisting on bedrest and broth, he was well enough to preach.

“I shall tell you what the Fairy Queen shall do after the service, Lucas. She shall l be with her husband,” I said flatly.

He let out an exhale, but his head bowed a little in acknowledgment of fairness. He tried. I gave him no room for encouragement. He respected my refusal. A friend of his, a plump man with a belly and a handlebar mustache tapped over on Lucas’s shoulder. There was a grin on his thin lips.

“Hey…the new woman is here…and she’s a widower too…” he alerted.

Lucas’s head turned and his jaw dropped. Thankfully, he forgot about his brief chase for another hunt!

My eyes followed in curiosity. Could it be? Sure enough, sitting on the pew was Frankie. Next to him was The Woman.

The first thing that struck me was that she was beautiful. Extremely, extremely beautiful. What was most striking was her hair. It was a golden blonde, like the rays of the sun, it was wavy too, making it seem like she glowed. However, although she had put it up like in fashion, strands fell loose around her face and from the style, but never to where it diminished her appearance despite the messiness. In fact, it made her seem romantic and wild. She was slender but still womanly. A straight nose, a creamy, cherubic face, and bright, piercing eyes.

The service began and I took my place again on the first row. William walked up to the pulpit to recite scripture. He spoke with such confidence you would have never known he was sick a few days ago.

“And in the first day there shall be a holy convocation, and in the seventh day there shall be a holy convocation to you; no manner of work shall be done in them, save that which every man must eat, that only may be done of you,” he intoned.

The service began and carried on as usual a parade of hymns, prayers, the choir, the sermon, and so on. I was glad for it again and for having a place to worship and feel refreshed. Even the children seemed calm and more interested today, far from the wailing babies they were in the past. The service ended and I could have my curiosity answered about the newcomer.

10. Stay after service to allow people to get to know you.

Lucas was not the only man affected by her beauty. It seemed nearly every man in the town was coming up to greet her. She would answer politely, if not curtly. I went up to see her, my children nearby, patiently waiting out my rounds of chatting.

“Good day, I wanted to welcome you the other day, but I’m glad you’re here,” I began.

“Thank you,” she replied.

“I am Mrs. Ransome, and these are my children:” I reached out an arm to show them “ Joanna, James, and John here.”

Each one politely introduced themselves and she replied. She gave me her name. Right as I was asking and chatting about how she was finding her new home, I noticed that on the collar of her dress, there was a large purple bruise. I kept trying my best to ignore it. But John could not.

“Why…are you alright Did you…did you fall?” he asked, pointing right at it.

She jumped with a slight panic, finding where my eyes looked, and then tugged her collar above to hide the mark. I looked down a little in embarrassment and hissed his name to behave himself. Meanwhile, Frankie’s eyes grew large and he dropped his jaw. The Woman merely steeled herself.

“Yes.” She answered curtly. “Painful.”

My husband joined my side. There was the introduction and small talk. She was finding her situation well here, comfortable, already good friends with Martha, and her research project was now underway. But it was all still very new for her to get used to.

“You should visit our house, we have a leg of mutton and Stella here makes an excellent cook,” he suggested.

“Yes, when are you free? I’m sure the children would like to play too…” I added on.

“That would be nice, thank you. I can visit Tuesday evening.” She replied.

Once it was confirmed, other women would run to me, barraging me with questions.

“Mrs. Ransome, I’m so thrilled to be pregnant, but I feel so awful all of the time, what must I do?”

“Mrs. Ransome, there’s a girl in Sunday School who keeps crying, what must be done about her?”

“Mrs. Ransome, I need help with the laundry with this broken hand, could you help me?”

I excused myself away to give my answers, volunteer my time, and offer what advice I could give.

“If you feel bad about your pregnancy, run a hot bath and ask for tea or hot cocoa and eat some candy, try not to overexert yourself. That must be Emma! She’s very little, she still misses her mother when they’re separated for a minute! Perhaps offer her some water and remind her she’s safe and if not, then maybe she’s still too little for Sunday school and should wait another year. Oh yes, of course, I can help! I can be there this afternoon!”

On Monday, after school hours, Joanna was off with her friends on her bike again with Johnny at her heels. William was writing his next sermon and preferred to be left in peace when doing so. I took little James, and we went to the beach.

It was an overcast day. Despite the chill, the air was sweet with the water and the sand was fresh.

“See there! See the waves, Jim? Aren’t they pretty?” I pointed out.

He squinted his eyes right at them and nodded with a grin. He took two steps towards it, the wind gusting into his face.

“Yes, very!”

We walked together across the beach, pointing at birds and seashells and discussing his day when I saw a huddled figure. At first, I jumped and grabbed onto my son.

“Mama, what is it?” he asked.

When I looked carefully, it was The Woman. She was down on the ground observing the rocks while scribbling notes onto a journal.

I walked up closer to her, greeting “good afternoon!”

“The Same to you!” she replied. Her head turned towards me in acknowledgment and then back to carefully observing the rock in her hand.

“May I ask, what are you doing?” I questioned.

“I’m researching The Serpent, trying to find tracks,” she explained.

The Woman gave the last note with a flourish of her pen, tucking it behind her ear. She began to wipe any sand off her clothes and stood up. But looking at the mid-body of her dress, I let out a small gasp.

“What is it?” she asked.

“You…I…I’m so sorry it isn’t polite to say so…” I pleaded, taking one step back.

Even James lifted his face up to mine in curiosity as to why. I tried searching around for something to change the subject quickly. But The Woman took a step closer to me in confrontation.

“Why did you gasp, Mrs. Ransome?” she asked.

A glint in her eyes implied she knew why. And no other subject on the clouds or what her son was up to could possibly distract her.

I clutched a little onto James’s arm. The words stuttering got out of me.

“You…you don’t…you don’t have a…you aren’t wearing a…a..” I tried to gesture to the middle of my body with my free hand.

“A corset, you mean? I’m not wearing a corset?” she said.

“Yes.”

Her nostrils flared and her eyebrows lowered in frustration.

“It’s a torture device that only limits women and how we can move and what we can do. I will not wear one as I am researching! Any modern woman refuses them, and I am such!” she huffed.

She glanced down, noticing I was wearing one. Then she looked up, her shoulders relaxing. She reopened her journal.

“I apologize, I have a lot of feelings regarding corsets,” she said.

“I understand,” I replied.

“Now you must please leave me, I have to finish to see if there are any tracks,” she dismissed.

“Good…. good day to you too,” I said, James and walking away from her.

Now, this was an oddity above all else! Not wanting to wear her corset? Did she not want her back and breasts supported? Did she not want to have her clothes look smooth when she put them on? What about when her unmentionable arrived, did she not want the help with the stomach cramps a corset could give? How did her hips ever fare against the weight of her skirts?

Yes, my own corsets made my posture straight and I could not lean down to touch my toes, but I never felt it restrain my movements. I could still walk about and garden fine enough. I saw women ride bikes down the Aldwinter streets while still in corsets. The one I was wearing that day came from a factory run by Madame Valery. It was a woman-made corset! Wouldn’t Madame Valery herself notice if her creations were too restrictive and uncomfortable?

I wanted to tell The Woman that she could wear one and experiment without trouble. She only had to bend her knees to get down onto the ground to observe something. Did she know that she didn’t have to make the laces to tight when she wore one? She could merely adjust the strings so they would fit her to prevent them from slipping off but still fit. Maybe her mother never taught her how, assuming she had one. Maybe she kept buying ones in the wrong size her entire life! Surely, with the right corset on, she could even face The Serpent if she had to capture it, fight it, or run?

But I knew if I even hinted at it, it would only make The Woman more upset and unease any pleasantness there could be between us.

It seemed perhaps her line was directed at me, maybe insulting me and my own choice to wear one. But I did breach a sensitive subject unknowingly. Maybe I Wasn’t the only one that day who noticed it and asked about it. Maybe she was taking out her anger on me without meaning to.

12. Be a blessing to the women in the church; encourage others to do the same.

I asked God to forgive me and to let me turn the other cheek. It was just a mistake of mine. I didn’t know and now I knew never to bring it up with her.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

There was a large Leg of Mutton I purchased from The Butchers on Saturday. And now on Tuesday, I had to make sure there was enough of it for seven of us, as well as side dishes and dessert. I was up to the challenge.

As the door opened, I was still awaiting the completion of our stone oven on the food. I rushed to greet The Woman and Frankie but then had to promptly return to finish the cooking. Then there were the grilled mushrooms, walnuts, bread, and so on. It was stuffy in the kitchen, yet I rolled up my sleeves and carried on. Thank goodness the oven was well prepared for the Herculean task today. It was just like a normal dinner-with just a little bit more thrown in.

Any loose strands that came from my bun, I tucked into my hair and away. So, help me, neither my husband nor she would think me sloppy and uncomely for one moment. May William always think of me as beautiful and perfect, I hoped! I heard the footsteps of my family as well as that of the dog dashing in and out. Any time I stepped out, I got made sure my hair was neat and got rid of my apron, only to tie it back once I returned.

They were all around the couch, discussing among themselves when I walked in, wiping my hands on my apron.

“Dinner will be ready shortly!” I chirruped.

Once we were all setting plates and silverware, The Woman and Frankie took their seats. Frankie seemed to salivate the plate in front of him. The Woman reached to take the water jug before her.

“We must ask for a blessing first,” I reminded everyone.

She froze for a second. Her arm outstretched her sleeve as she was reaching for the jug of water, and I noticed a bruise on her arm. Eyeing down, she noticed it too and retreated her arm.

From her reaction on Sunday, I decided not to mention anything about it. Perhaps another fall.

My three children, William, and I ducked our heads. The Woman and Frankie paused before they followed us.

‘Oh Lord, we ask you, bless our food and bless our guest. Keep us all safe from the Serpent, amen,” William prayed.

As I began my own plate, James turned to The Woman.

“You’re a widow…right?” he asked.

“Yes, I am,” she confirmed, beginning to dig into her pie. Again, the beautiful golden waves from her head fell in loose strands over her.

“So that means your husband is dead…what was he like?” James asked curiously.

She froze. The fork in her hand turned into a grip.

“He was a horrible, horrible man, and I do not wish to speak of him again, thank you. I am sorry, but I did not like him,” she answered plainly.

Oh.

So that explained the bruises, I thought.

James flinched back in shame. I leaned toward him.

“Just apologize…you didn’t know, darling, it was just a mistake,” I whispered.

James kept his head ducked “I’m…I’m sorry…”

“That’s all right, you didn’t know…thank you for the apology… But…you all begin by praying?” she asked.

The bread plate was passed around. William looked at her with slight half exhale, half laugh.

“Why yes, of course, before every meal…” he explained.

John accidentally knocked over his water. I ran up, napkin flying, to dab away at it and clean him up.

“It’s just not natural for me, to need a blessing just to eat,” The Woman said.

I fled to the kitchen and returned with another glass of water for John.

“It’s a way of giving thanks, showing appreciation,” William said.

Thus, began that dinner conversation. William and The Woman were going back and forth, doing most of the talking for us.

She made a point about science.

William made a point about religion.

She made a point about science.

William made a point about religion.

James let out a small burp. I urged him to say “pardon” and dab his mouth with his napkin.

Joanna then turned her head towards the woman. “Have you found anything out about The Serpent, yet?”

Of course, it would get to the serpent. There was much excitement among the local children concerning it. There was a thrill. It was a wild legend. A scary story told around the fire.

The Woman’s eyes glittered toward her and said “I believe there are some tracks in some of the woods, I’ve found…”

“Our woods?” John asked nervously. “The ones you can see from the attic?”

She turned and matter of fact explained to him, “no, it was not located in close proximity to your house…”

We all went around and spoke about what we thought about it. William said it was a creature of God and had to be seen as such. Joanna said it fascinated her. John said it frightened him. James was awe-struck at it. The Woman gave a whole list of theories that went on for ten minutes. Frankie ate his mutton.

I only said, “I only hope it stays away from us and harms no one.”

Once the meal was finished, the boys brought Frankie upstairs to play in their little hideout in the attic. The Woman, Joanna, and William were at the table. She was telling Joanna all about science and Joanna kept bobbing her head as if hypnotized.

I smiled and decided to finish some chocolate biscuits I began that day. Perhaps even that sad, odd Frankie would enjoy them. Maybe even he would smile and know he had a friend in me and speak in a sentence with more than four words.

As I began to pull them off to cool, I heard Joanna’s footsteps upstairs. The Woman and my husband continued their discussion. As I glanced, despite their opposing opinions, he was smiling.

At least there would be peace and no arguing here! I thought gratefully. With someone so passionate about science staying under a religious house, I feared tempers would flare. But so far, there was no shouting and threats. All was good.

I made sure there was sugar powder dusting on top of the biscuits. Using a knife, I found they were the right crispiness. I took a small bite, and it seemed the right flavor. Content, I placed them on a white plate.

William and The Woman were still talking.

Carrying the plate, I passed them and went upstairs to the attic. Joanna was in her room. She took two biscuits with thanks and went to her bed to eat them while reading.

I brought them then to the attic. Once I arrived, I noticed the “club” was formed. The children loved it as a place to gather when they were all younger. It was set up whenever Club was in session. It was a makeshift tent of old bedsheets against doornails on the wall of the attic. A lamp was used for light inside as they were laughing and playing. Their shadows were flashing against it. James was the first to pop his curly head out of the flap.

“Chocolate! Mummy has chocolate!” he cheered.

The boys ran up, with many thanks (and an actual smile from Frankie!), and started to eat them.

“Would you like any, mama?” John asked.

I looked down. I had to make sure everyone else would have some before I took one. Frankie and John had three each, and James had about four. There were four left.

11. Be consistently humble; appreciating everything while demanding very little.

“No, but thank you, you’re a kind boy, Johnny. I must make sure our guests have some before I do.” I spoke.

Meanwhile, The Woman and William continued their talking downstairs. When the plate went down, they chewed on what was left, so hypnotized by their conversation they didn’t hear me sit on the couch next to them. I placed the dessert plate on the small table. They smiled as thanks and ate the biscuits, still deep in discussion. So much so that they didn’t see that they each ate two. No biscuits were spared for me. I said nothing about it.

That evening, William and I lay in bed. We held each other to the crackling fire. The autumnal chill of the outside seemed to creak into our room.

“Stella, she’s going to help me, and we will search for the Serpent,” he announced,

“Oh, that is good. A team together… should be easier on you. She’s clearly an expert, smart. I couldn’t understand half the scientific words she said. She is quite pretty, too…” I replied.

I laid my head on his chest. I looked up to admire the newest addition to my collection of blue porcelain plates just above it on the mantle. I didn’t see his face.

“Yes, it seems every man in town is mad about her,” he commented.

“Lucas is at her heels,” I commented.

“As a man, it’s hard not to blush when she praises you,” he said.

I turned my face to him with a little laugh.

“Oh…a little infatuation?” I asked.

He returned the laugh.

“Yes, I admit! Nothing more! Do you remember your copy of Pride and Prejudice? Aren’t you still infatuated with Mr. Darcy still? And Heathcliff and Colonel Brandon and Edward Ferrers?”

“Yes, I am! Any woman who reads those books keep our little infatuations for those men!” I commented.

Outside we heard the hooting of owls in the night sky.

“You…you are…you are my wife…” he murmured.

“And that I am,” I said. “I may have my infatuation with Colonel Brandon, but when night falls, you are my husband, not he.”

I kissed his cheek and went to sleep, thinking no more of it. My husband is a holy, upright man, I thought. At the end of the day, I was the woman he loved. After all, it was only fair, and I trusted him.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

Weeks passed. I felt tired yet planned the Christmas service and pageant. The business of December made it fly past. January came and February was at its end with the promise of March. All that time I was doing my usual duties and the search for the Serpent continued. No actual creature had yet to be found, yet every townsperson was on the edge of their seat.

It was promised to be a long winter. Everything was still cold and grey. I was sweeping away at the floors as the children came home from school. I had felt dizzy and a little out of breath, I paused and held the broom, pressing it down to ground myself. But I was glad to see them. Joanna had several books in her hands. She went promptly into the kitchen.

Johnny looked around and then at me. The dog was on his heels, wagging its tail.

“Mama…where’s papa? He wasn’t at home when I get home from school at all this week…” he asked.

“Papa’s doing something very important. He’s with Frankie’s mother- you know her. Remember?” I explained.

“Yes.”

“They’re out searching for The Serpent, your father’s going to consecrate it,” I explained.

He tilted his head, setting himself on the couch. His legs couldn’t reach the floor and swung a little.

“Why aren’t you with him?” he asked.

4. Encourage his advancements while maintaining the balance of his home and family.

I went over to the couch and smiled.

“I’m not clever enough for the science, I admit. And, well, someone must keep an eye on you three and make sure the home is nice for him when he returns,” I replied.

“If he returns!” John asked nervously.

I clutched his hand.

“Your father is not alone, and he’s a smart man. He will be safe. He will come home…how could he not for you? He loves you so very much. He loves all of us, he won’t throw himself into danger without considering us,” I explained.

“Papa’s hunts with the other men, he should just shoot it!” Johnny said.

“Then tell that to him when he returns!” I suggested, I took my hand and rubbed it through his reddish blonde curls.

I heard a CLANK of a pot falling onto the floor with a “Blast!” from Joanna.

I got up and went into the kitchen. Joanna was moving the pots around and on top of the stove, putting various things inside: salt, water, oil, and so on. Many of our pots and pans were brought out and, on the table, there were some books left open to black and white pictures of thermometers. Joanna poured the water jug into the pot and turned the stove on. She never showed much interest whenever I tried to teach her how to cook!

“What are you doing?” I asked.

She looked up at me with a large smile.

“It’s a science experiment! I’m going to see what happens to these when you boil them!” she said, gesturing to the salt, oil, and flour taken from the pantry.

“For school?”

“No! It’s in these!” she pointed to the books and opened to the illustrations.

“Since when have you gained interest in science experiments?” I asked.

She explained to me that it was The Woman who inspired her. Joanna went on about how smart and incredible The Woman was. How she told her about science and experiments and showed her some of her notes even. That Joanna wanted to be just like her when she became older.

“A scientist! Me! Perhaps even a doctor even…”

“You’ll need to go to university usually to learn how to be one. That’s why there aren’t many women who are those things…” I commented.

She gave me a defiant huff, her eyes forward and determined.

“Then I will become the first woman to do it! Why do we have to have so many choices anyway?” she complained before turning her light head back to the experiments.

“Just leave enough so I can make dinner, at least…” I requested, walking away to finish sweeping.

I will confess, I envied The Woman at that moment. I envied how beautiful she was. How she was getting lines of suitors interested in her while my own admirers before being engaged were only a handful. I envied how much my daughter seemed to genuinely worship her rather than feel a sense of love out of plain duty from familial blood. And I envied her boldness, her courage to discover The Serpent.

The Serpent terrified me from what bits I heard. I thought if I were to encounter it, I wouldn’t stand my ground. I would scream and run away. I would grab my children and take them somewhere safe. I would hide. I felt I couldn’t fight it much less research it. The less I knew the better my peace of mind. Yet The Woman did. She wanted to go out and find it. She knew no such fear. She trusted that her own child was safe at home without fear of anything crawling inside with fangs. If it was a Leviathan in the water, she would dive in and swim after it. She could run about the countryside for hours and do as she pleased.

My thoughts were interrupted as I saw James. He wandered to me with a fistful of a bit of chocolate cake. It was the one I baked today as a birthday gift for Mrs. Elliott. It was to be given at her celebration this evening. I laughed at him and wiped away the mess on his cheeks.

“Would you like any, Mama?” he asked.

“No, thank you…” I spoke.

“You didn’t eat at breakfast…” he commented, tilting his head.

“I wasn’t hungry then, darling, but I assure you, I’m fine…”

Even though I envied the boldness of The Woman, I enjoyed my comfortable life. Despite how much of it I had to do, I enjoyed cooking, cleaning, sewing, mending, knitting, gardening, reading the odd book, collecting my blue items, and pressing my flowers. Despite the effort, it would take, I enjoyed attending church, helping plan its picnics and holidays and classes, rereading the Bible, going to women’s circles with my friends, and visiting the people of Aldwinter. Most beautiful and fulfilling of all was being a part of my beautiful family- three healthy children and a handsome, generous, intelligent, open-minded husband who was my entire world. Perhaps she and I were just different in our tastes of what enriched our lives. That was all.

So, I would pray to God to take care and rid me of my envy. Then I would go outside and finish the laundry.

Many who have already read of me and of what happened will say I am a cautionary tale. I was a walking warning to other women. That everything I did, said, and agreed with was something that any woman should not do or else share the fate written about me. Then there were others, and these consisted of my elders, family, and my peers at the time, who would hail me as a Perfect Woman. That I was the Saintliest wife and mother who lived and breathed.

And there are times thinking of this that I wonder, how was it I became both?

When I returned home from the celebration and went upstairs, William was writing at his desk.

“Is it the next sermon?” I asked.

He placed an arm over his papers and turned to me.

“No…it’s a letter about what I have found out about The Leviathan,” he explained.

He said that he was writing to The Woman about a verse he discovered in Psalm 104. He was going to let her know that perhaps The Serpent was The Leviathan and if so, that meant it was a creature that remained strictly in the sea.

“If it is strictly a sea creature, then we will know what it is, and we can warn others not to go swimming there…” he expanded.

“That would be good- the mystery will finally be solved. I still think about the book you told me about writing the first day we met, Will! I think would love it and you always had a gift with the written word. They’d have to publish you, William, they must!” I encouraged him, kissing the top of his curly head.

He smiled up at me from his chair, his arm still blocking the letter. He turned around to complete some more as I took off my coat, hat, and gloves and rested on the chair near the fire. Today the walk to Mrs. Elliott’s house and back felt tiring. I found myself trying to exhale deeper as I sat in my chair.

William turned around, scratched at his beard, and looked at me with worried eyes.

“Stella…you seem a little out of breath….” He mused.

“The party was exciting, and the walk was long, but that was all!” I assured him.

When I woke up the next day, although I knew I slept well, I realized I felt sweaty and exhausted. William was not usually an early riser and dozed contently beside me. As he wished me goodbye to head off for Church and Serpent-related duties, I realized that I had no appetite for Breakfast again.

I mustered myself to eat some fruit and boiled eggs, but I started to cough throughout the meal. The coughing continued throughout the day. And the next.

Then, finally, one day, as I was wiping off the dust from surfaces at home, another fit of coughing began. But my chest was tightened with a stabbing pain. The room spun. My legs felt very weak and were shaking. I kept coughing into my sleeve. I tried to go over to get the drawer in the parlor cabinet for a handkerchief, but it only made the dizziness worse.

My legs gave in, and I fell onto the floor. The room kept spinning, the coughs kept coming and I pulled my sleeve into my mouth to block it. All the while my chest kept hurting. My arms were wobbly as I tried to help myself up and failed to.

When I removed my sleeve from my mouth, there was blood.

I heard someone scream before everything went black.

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smolvenger · 2 months

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A Court of Mischief and Purpose, Chapter 20 (Loki x fem! Reader Crossover Series, A Court of Thorns and Roses AU)

Series Summary: Sarah J Maas's A Court of Thorns and Roses series reimagined with Tom Hiddleston's various characters- Especially the events in the second book: A Court of Mist and Fury. England. 1885. You are dying of tuberculosis right before your upcoming wedding to the Lusty Vicar of Aldwinter, Will Ransome. As you lay on what could be your deathbed, the god of mischief Loki appears before you with a deal. He will heal you in time for the wedding...if you spend a week of every month with him.

Chapter Summary: A sudden confrontation from the enemy...

Chapter Word Count: 4K

Series Masterlist

Warnings: A sex scene that isn't smut. It isn't too explicitly described and is not meant to be super titillating and is brief.

It just occurred to me that said scene, while not explicit, could have what is considered dubious consent. Even if it is in her imagination, even though Reader verbally says "yes" in the fantasy, it is bc she is doing her duty as a wife, I can see how this is considered dub-con and could make some people too uncomfortable to enjoy the chapter. So, for your safety- It scene starts at "Now, hurry and get it over with, Will," and ends at "Then, when he was done-"

Mentions of cheating (I portray the Will/Cora affair in The Essex Serpent unsympathetically so if you have an issue with that, you have been warned). Supporting Women's Wrongs. Violence and blood implied sexual harassment, and fear of sexual assault (but it DOESN'T go there), scary stuff and angsty stuff, but a happy ending. Grammar mistakes and lack of editing or extra super revision bc I just wanted to Get This Shit Done (tm).

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley@jennyggggrrr@five-miles-over@fictive-sl0th@ladycamillewrites@villainousshakespeare@holdmytesseract@eleniblue@twhxhck@lokisgoodgirl@lovelysizzlingbluebird@raqnarokr@holymultiplefandomsbatman@michelleleewise@wolfsmom1@cheekyscamp@mochie85@fandxmslxt69@skittslackoffilter@mischief2sarawr @asgards-princess-of-mischief

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

When you found the letters on your first wedding day, you had a life already set before you. A life that would take an obtuse turn. Where all would happen…but you would not be happy. You had often wondered if the marriage to the revered went through.

You imagined the scene. One image haunted your mind once you saw the inside of your fiancee's house. Of when he was no longer your fiancee, but swore an oath before his God to be your husband. It was after the ceremony, the celebration where you could only stare blankly at the table, barely eating. And he would hold your hand as the sky got dark and lead you to the white house, ducked his head under the doorframe to go upstairs and commence the wedding night.

You lying on that blue bed. You said “yes”, because you were a dutiful wife. A motionless doll for him to play with, for there was nothing inside you to fight now. Stiff as a board on the bed. You would lift the skirt of your shift on the blue bed. Legs open and eyes open, face away and placid, consenting because it was your duty as a wife now. That was what good women did. Now, hurry and get it over with, Will.

The Lusty Vicar…well, living up to his nickname above you to put it delicately. Hearing him grunt in your ear, and feeling him over you, inside you.

Knowing who he was thinking of. Knowing who he was imagining beneath him, in him. Knowing who it was who made him lose his bearing.

And it wasn’t you.

Your face was turned away despite the position of the act, your eyes not wanting to even look at him. Feeling his sweat and how his curls brushed against you. Hoping he wouldn’t notice. Wouldn’t ask questions. Focusing yourself on the far left corner of the ceiling and not him or what he felt like. Creating a mental distance between the two of you in the ultimate act of physical closeness. You would not fool yourself and let yourself feel the pleasure of the marriage bed now that you knew the truth. You wouldn’t think of how much you wanted him, much less how much you loved him. Thinking of what you’d make for breakfast, what the next sermon should be on, or the dishes that needed to be washed tomorrow. Not on Will as he was on you, in you.

Then, when he was done- after he read his Bible on his lap, quietly reading aloud the verses, making a note to skip the fifth chapter of Matthew, verses twenty-seven through thirty.

You would make yourself small. In a feral position with the covers of the marital bed over you. You were a woman now in the town- wedded and bedded. But you wanted to be a child. You wanted to run back home to your father and mother in tears, knowing that a good cry and a little chocolate and tea would make everything better. But no. You weren’t a child anymore. You were a woman wedded and bedded. You were a wife. A priest's wife. A priest's unwanted wife.

You wouldn’t be able to quiet your mind to dream. It would be repeating that question, endlessly, on your lips, knowing it would ruin everything the minute you said it- “Why am I not good enough for you?”

But you wouldn’t speak. A wife never considers herself, she only considers what makes her husband happy. You’d stare at the wall. Waiting for him to fall asleep, tears quietly streaming down your face. You would have melted over the erotic sight of his strong upper body normally- but it wasn’t yours. He wasn’t for you. Not really.

Then, when you were certain he was asleep, you would quietly get up and leave the room.

You ended up wandering to his study. You turned on his lamp by the window. Perhaps you should try to read a dull, intellectual, dense book of his on theology to make you sleepy. But your eyes would only be drawn to the walls.

The green, elaborate wallpaper with vines, branches, and leaves, both golden and emerald. A few white flowers in bloom. You would walk to see more of it.

What struck you most was the image of a white bird with its wings stretched open. It flew over the leaves of various green and yellow branches. Among white and blue flowers in bloom- of a new, exciting life, of promise. And most of all, the animal stretching its ivory wings as if ruled over all. Like it could escape the paper easily, soar over your head, and out the window.

How you wished you could turn into that bird. So you could stretch your wings and fly far away from the town. From him. And leave it all behind for a new place, a new life.

But you couldn’t.

You would go downstairs, past the kitchen, to the main room. downstairs to curl up on the cushions before the window overlooking the wild marshland, the town. And let yourself sob.

Thank the norns Loki called in his deal when he did. You didn’t know what would happen. He’d call in the deal, but by then, it would be too late.

I’m not in that house, I’m in the woods, you reminded yourself.

Giving a deep breath through the woodsy, clean air, you made a mental note. You’d have to give your husband, the one that was your actual husband, who was not a godly husband but a plain old god husband- that long-awaited thank you. You didn’t think you could bear going through the marriage or have the scarlet letter for jilting him at the altar without an escape plan.

You thought you would just stay in Asgard. Take care of the cauldron and Grendel all neat in a little bow. Then things changed.

You would not be that passive, sobbing victim anymore.

You had fought. You managed to take your revenge, completely.

It wasn’t the right thing to do. It wasn’t healthy. But gods, was it freeing.

As you walked further into the woods. A small laugh of relief even chuckled through you. The release, the ridiculousness, and the awe that you had done it- destroyed Will’s ministry, and his reputation, and brought physical harm to both him and Cora all without getting caught.

But…did they survive? That was quite a flame on her. It would be the same for him.

Pausing, touching a tree, you had to think it through. Develop a plan.

If they lived and said something, then the better for you. That would confirm the rumors of the affair, damning both in society. No person would want to associate with Cora at least after that. The visiting council would strip Will of his position with the evidence before them. The superstitious town would be convinced that God had stricken them as punishment for hurting his little Blessed lady. For none knew of your gifts. And none would think you even capable of any act of harm from your reputation as the town’s angel. Besides, none of them knew of your powers. How could even Cora, in her scientific high and mighty mind come up with the solution of why her coat burst into flames when you were far away?

If they lived and said nothing, then at least Will would get in some hot water over what happened.

If they died, then they died. It was their deserving death.

You paused. No, how could you dismiss that? To think- you took two more lives. Not just some nameless bullies, but two people who you met, you knew their names, their histories, and one you loved and were about to marry…you were capable of that! You did something horrible! There was more blood on your hands!

You heard the sound of a branch being stepped on from the distance behind you.

What if Cora survived and ran right after you!? Likely she would. What would you do? With the fury still in your heart, perhaps take out more of her fire and toast her in a place without witnesses until her body dissolved to ash so there would be no evidence. But what if she caught you? You could see her face twisted in her ugly crying and feel her slapping and punching you.

Not that you would have to deal with her. You were headed off somewhere she could never reach. Not even by train.

Taking a deep breath, you let those thoughts of Will and Cora go away. You were done with Aldwinter forever now. Revenge had been taken and was successful. You wanted to see your friends, your in-laws, and your True Love again. You wanted your new home.

You paused in your steps. The trees growing so thick over your head it hid the sunlight and made the woods a little darker.

There was another crunch of feet on leaves. Someone was arriving. No more time for dallying.

You opened the shield. You sent the words clear in your mind.

“Loki…I’m ready to go home…Open the portal. I want to go back to Asgard now.”

You waited one minute. Then another.

But nothing happened. The birds were barely chirping and the air was cold. Shivering, you blinked as you tried not to panic.

“Loki, I am ready now. It’s done. Open the portal, take me back to Asgard.”

Nothing. You heard none of his witty replies or promises or cheekiness. And you saw no portals. Much less Loki. There was only the rustling of the trees.

Did…did he have his shield up? Why? Did something happen in Asgard? You should keep trying.

Then…you heard something- more footsteps.

It was more than one person.

But, you heard more than one footstep. Was it a party of men? In the evenings they would go to the marshes, hunting for serpents and trickster gods with torches, scanning the waters and fields. Some began setting up charms so that their daughters would be safe. Did they realize you were missing and send a search party…

You saw one man, then two, then four. No torches, they were smirking at you like wolves with a plump, injured lamb.

You felt your stomach drop. They were Gerndel’s army.

One stepped forward with short blonde hair and was overly muscular.

“Ah…looks like we’ve caught you. Right where we want to,” he said.

You felt their eyes on your nightgown. Peeking at how your body’s outline could be seen, your breasts hinted at, and feel the air of unwanted lust. And you were one woman surrounded by men.

Terrified, you held out a hand to release fire to them.

But no flames emerged from your hand.

Hurriedly, you tried again. But nothing. Your breaths came fast and shallow and you could feel yourself shaking. They snickered as they walked forward slowly. Knowing no matter what pace they set, they would win.

You retreated, realizing they were going to back you into a tree, as you tried to back into one, they would still keep a steady pace. There was nowhere to run or hide. Bile ran up in your throat. You fought back the urge to cry. You began to gasp for air, seeing their smiles, their eyes bright over you. One unsheathed his sword with a sliiiick, and the blade gleamed brightly in the dark woods. Silver and spotless and ready to be soaked with your blood.

You tried flicking a hand again, but there were no flames. You realized your senses were dulled- you couldn’t feel or hear any presence besides the four men before you and the dark, consuming woods.

“Ah, ah, ah! Someone took a little bit of our old friend’s apples.” The blonde one taunted.

“You’ve…you’ve poisoned me!?” you cried, your voice becoming shrill.

Another, a gentleman with dark brown hair, tall and lanky, shook his head with a half laugh.

“If you dropped dead right now…where would be the fun in that? Oh, not poison. Just a littke Kunigr potion. ”

You remembered the arrow that drained Loki of his magic in Jotunheim. Then you recalled the apple, the only thing you ate today. It struck you…your mother got those apples from a new grocer in town….

It all came into place. Panic made you shake, your throat and chest tight. The brown-haired man lifted his finger, beckoning you teasingly.

“Now…come with us…we can have some fun with you if you don’t struggle. You won’t get a scratch on you…for now. And won’t Grendel be thrilled when we hear who we caught?”

You steadied your breathing. You had to steady yourself- or enough that you could act, that you could fight. Hoping, praying to whatever god was out there, the Christian God, the trickster god, anyone, that your training was enough.

The brown-haired one approached you. Quick as lightning, you punched his jaw and then kicked his groin. As he backed down, his grip on his sword loosened as he groaned in pain. In one brief second, you kicked his hand. His hold loosened and the sword fell. Quickly, you grabbed the sword by the hilt and pointed forward. You were terrified, but you would not give up. Not yet.

“Ah, now, this kitty’s got claws!” the blonde one mocked mocked.

You steeled yourself, pointing the sword. Making your hold steady.

“What, haven’t you considered that you’re outnumbered?” said the third, another brunette with a scar across his face.

You stepped forward, speaking with the powerful venom you could muster.

“Do you expect me to surrender that easily? I will not. I am the Princess of Asgard, beloved wife of the God of Mischief, and third in line to the throne. I may have lost my magic, but I am not untrained in other methods of slaughtering all of you. I have killed, I just killed, and I will kill again. And I will not die here without a fight.”

They all got out their swords.

“That’s enough chatter,” replied the first blonde.

They charged. As did you.

Thrusting the sword forward, gritting your teeth, you stabbed through the gut of one. Blood erupted and he let out a cry. He wouldn’t last long, and you pulled out the sword to hasten his meeting with his maker. As the second tried to grab you, you merely dodged low, his sword through the air. His lower body was left open. You stabbed him through the groin- quickly in and out, blood bursting into gushes as he screamed in pain.

Blood dripped from your sword in its coppery scent. One attacked you and you blocked with your sword, the metal clinging as it stung the air. You swirled around. Stabbing and cutting. Dodging blows and putting up a fight. But they were advancing on you and you had to block two swords, it was harder to keep up.

There were shouts. You turned your head and saw a glimpse that almost loosened your bladder at the sight-

Five more men were coming. Five more of Grendel’s men. You heard the swords being unsheathed and saw them glimmer even in the woods.

They were now in sight and joined their two brethren.

They were right, you were outnumbered. Seven to one. And they were starting to circle you.

Though your muscles ached from the sword, and your nightgown was splattered in some blood-you couldn’t let them win easily. You fought the urge to tremble, to cry. And you held your ground, your sword pointed. You knew your death was arriving sooner with every second, every step of their feet. Your heart hammering despite your aching muscles. You had to keep going. Somehow. Someway. You gritted your teeth and held up your sword to fight until the end. That at least you would face your end with dignity.

They raised their sword to strike at you, and you raised yours, ready to fight this futile battle and-

There was a loud, metallic growl from the distance. A sound you never heard before. So loud, that it rattled the trees. Then another.

Grendel’s men stopped and turned their heads with wide eyes. You couldn’t help but pause in wonder.

It got louder and louder and louder, something was coming. The men looked among themselves. You took their distraction to start to flee, and you made it to a tree when something pierced your field of vision.

Turning back, you saw bright lights.

Their heads turned and they grew pale, holding out arms to block the lights.

One of them grabbed you, dragging you by the collar, almost hoisting you up as you faced him, his eyes glaring into you and his blade ready at you.

“I’ll-I’ll stab you twenty times through your cunt, you little bitch!” he growled.

The sword was knocked from his hand and he cried in surprise. His grip loosened.

You both looked.

There was the sound and two lights ran by with the whirring-it then revealed what it was-

It was the thing Loki told you about. A motorcycle- and a man on it with a helmet- one hand on the steering wheel and the other around a pistol pointed at him.

The man said no reply until a bullet hit him in the shoulder. He let go of you and cried in pain.

You gasped at your rescuer- adn then realized the source of the bright lights-the other thing Loki told you about.

Through the woods, bursting through like a chariot was a car. The men of Grendel all stood, staring agape. But the motorcyclist held up his gun, pointing.

Out from the car, emerged Robert.

“Y/N! Y/N! Hurry- come in!” he urged.

“Get in the car, now!” he cried.

You let out a gasp and could have cried. You hurried to them. The men gritted their teeth and raised swords-

The motorcyclist said nothing as he lifted his weapon and aimed, quickly but steadily. The gun was fired with a loud crack in the air.

One of the goons dropped dead.

Only one of your friends you knew was capable of that, and would come from an era where he knew how to do that-

“Jonathan!” you cried out.

His helmet was still focused his gun raised. His voice distorted, but you knew it was him. Not daring to take it off to give himself a target for them to hurt him.

“The Princess of Asgard with us- let her come with us. And no one gets hurt.”

“YN! Hurry!” Robert urged.

You would not look at the scene as Jonathan began to shoot more at those who attacked. You turned on your heels and ran into the car’s side door, slamming the door shut.

You followed and jumped in. A far cry from any run-of-the-mill carriage you had been! The velvet, soft seats, and big, wide windows and space. You saw the knobs and turns and levers from the front. You covered your ears as bullets rang out. When you peeked back, the men of Grendel were dead.

Jonathan turned to Robert, nodding his head.

Jonathan got out his watch and clicked it.

“Time to go to Heimdall, let’s hurry,” Robert urged.

A portal opened in the woods.

Robert stepped on a pedal, and moved the wheel- he drove through the portal. There was a flash of bright, rainbow light swirling about you.

You landed on the other side, in a golden room. With the night sky in a large window before all. Then Robert hit the brake and parked. Jonathan’s motorcycle followed after.

You noticed a man standing in the center of the room. He walked to you, and at first, you were intimidated. There was an incredibly tall, broad man with piercing yellow eyes matching the gold of his armor and his helmet.

He spoke in a deep powerful voice- he could have been the new king of Asgard and you would have accepted it.

“Well, you both made it.”

His head turned. His golden eyes easily spotted you, not squinting though you were far away. Despite his intimidating presence, his face softened. He gave you a small bow in respect.

“I am glad for our Princess’s safe return,” he said.

“We got her just in time. Can’t blame her for being shaken,” Robert confirmed.

“Yes, I saw it all. Now hurry, all of you. All of the castle is worried for her.”

Robert drove by pulling the wheel, and then the car went down the rainbow bridge. Jonathan’s motorcycle was right behind, whirring along. Looking out, you finally realized- you felt like that white bird in flight at last. Wings stretched out, the beautiful world before you. Not only safe, not only loved- but free.

The blue sky and sun shone. The gentlest summer day. The sea that formed around you in a crystal blue-green. And you almost tore at the outline of the glittering, golden city, Asgard as it got closer, until you were driving through its streets. Passing commoners with astonished faces.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you turned to the doctor driving.

“Robert! Oh, Robert!” you cried. “You -came for me! You both did!”

Robert looked at you with a gentle smile, the speed of the car steady.

“You don’t have to be frightened, Y/N. You’re with us now- you’ll be fine,” he assured you.

You went over and kissed his cheek chastely. “Thank you!”

“Save some for Jonathan too!” he replied with a wink. He was still Robert. And Jonathan would still be Jonathan. Each of them- your friends, your friends! You were going to see them all again!

Excitement gurgled in you as Robert parked the car outside the palace. The guard's eyes flickered to the contraption, as well as the motorcycle. Jonathan parked it and then took off his helmet, his eyes serious, but his shoulder dipping in relaxation and a small smile on his face.

You ran over and gave him a big hug and he hugged you back.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said.

“I’m glad too,” you said.

“Now, I think it’s time you’ve reunited with your husband,” he announced.

They escorted you right into the palace through the hallways and into the throne room. You were astonished to see so many of them there, sitting and pacing about in worry. Thor and Hal were talking quietly. Thomas sitting on the steps next to Stella, doing embroidery anxiously. Queen Frigga remained as composed as she could as Sif paced around.

They all turned and there were smiles and gasps. They took in your nightgown and the blood and you- alive and breathing and seeming physically well.

At once they all gasped your name and charged into you, saying your name. Sif’s eyes flickered to Robert and then back to you.

“Did you give them hel?” she asked.

You nodded, showing her the bloodied sword still in your hand. “I gave it to all who wronged me back there, and didn’t spare Grendel’s men from it.”

She smirked. “That’s my girl.”

Stella ran forward and hugged you.

“YN! Oh, YN! You poorest thing! You gave us all a fright! I thought I would cry- I thought you would be gone forever! I missed you so much!”

You hugged her back.

“Don’t worry, I got scared-but I’ll be fine.”

Thor at once charged forward. He hugged you and lifted you so your feet didn’t touch the ground. He shook you around, hugging you like an overexcited toddler with their beloved toy.

“SISTER! My dear Sister! You are RETURNED! How victorious! My brother said he missed your signal and it FRIGHTENED him! Why, thank the NORNS!”

Hal patted at Thor and he let you down. You welcomed him with a hug.

“Well, I’m royalty as well, dear lady. You shall have no bows from me, yet the title suits you- to see you returned alive and triumphant!”

You hugged him back. “Hal, thank you!”

You then hugged Thomas as well.

“You gave Loki a scare- all of us.”

“My powers were taken away- they have to come back with time. But I’m fine- Jonathan and Robert saved me before I could get hurt,” you assured him.

Frigga even embraced you. She smiled.

“I hoped you and Loki would both realize how much you loved each other. And I thought I would never see you both happy together…I can’t even speak right now.”

She let go and cupped your face and then kissed your forehead.

“You are of Asgard now, and I welcome and bless your union and you with all of my heart,” she said.

You could have teared up.

“But, speaking of unions…where is he? Where is my husband?” you asked, looking around.

Thor folded his arms.

“He was getting the army of Asgard to go to the forest. He got scared that perhaps Jonathan and Robert wouldn’t be enough- they were preparing to search for you, but-”

You heard footsteps. And several voices.

But one stood out

Though it was a voice exactly like so many in your life, past and present, there was no denying whose name it belonged to. His voice.

“YN! YN!! All of you- stand and run firm! Destroy any who dare touch a hair on your princess’s head! Where is-”

Loki hurried forth, several guards and soldiers of Asgard behind him. His black and green robes with little gold embellishments. Typical of him, but with his black curls, ivory skin, and blue eyes, he never looked so beautiful to you before this moment. His eyes met yours and you paused. He froze, blinking. His boots almost skidded to a halt as you took each other in for a second.

Tears welling up some, you replied in a small voice. “I thought I’d never see you again, darling.”

Loki seemed to turn white, and you saw his hands shake at his sides. He frantically checked the others in the crowd. “Is this some illusion? Did mother-”

Robert clapped your back.

“We got her. This isn’t an illusion, Loki. She’s here,” he assured the god.

You cupped your mouth and he stood, breathing fast, crying tears coming out from you despite your smile. He walked again, faster, hurrying through, as if he would tear through each realm to touch you again.

You ran right into each other's arms. He picked you up and turned you again. You broke into crying again. You curled a hand behind his dark hair, kissing his lips and then his cheek and any part of him. A sound came out of you like laughter.

“Loki- Loki darling, I’m here! I’m right here!”

He broke the hug and then cupped your face.

“Are you hurt? What happened? I lost your signal! The one you promised me!”

Sniffling, you began to recount what happened.

“You were right to be worried, Loki. I was tricked into eating a Kunnigr apple. My magic was drained by the time Grendel’s men cornered me…I held them off for as long as I could. Then reinforcements came. Robert and Jonathan hurried in before I could be made prisoner or worse. They brought me here!”

There were big eyes as the others took in this information.

He hugged you again. You felt yourself shake some, crying, laughing, as if every emotion at once was washing inside you.

“How I missed you all, and…husband–my…my husband! My dear! I missed you most of all! I love you, darling! Loki- thank you! You saved me! You brought me back!”

“I would have torn Midgard to pieces to get you back- I love you, my wife,” he replied.

Your heart bursting at the fresh word, spoken from his mouth instead of in your mind, you kissed him on the lips again. Soft, but eager, demanding. Wanting to touch him, reacquaint with him. And never let go no matter what.

Hal was smiling wide and Stella was blushing pink. Jonathan looked down, trying not to laugh. Frigga merely then began to wave them off with her long sleeves. Turning away discreetly.

“Everyone…I think it’s best we let the couple have some privacy…” she suggested. Everyone gave a farewell smile, with a promise of a return.

Loki only held your hands and hurried you through the halls, the guards not behind you, right to where his chambers were.

“But…Grendel, the cauldron-what will we do?” you asked.

Loki caught you in his arms and you gasped. Carrying you, he led you to the threshold of his private room. He smiled mischievously.

“I think the Grendel matter could wait for a few minutes, don’t you agree?” your true love asked.

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smolvenger · 1 month

Text

The Boat in the Water: A Beauty and the Beast Story (Loki x Stella Ransome, An MCU/The Essex Serpent Crossover Multi-Part) Chapter Four

Summary: Having lost her health and her husband's fidelity and love, Stella has nothing more to lose than her life. Then...she is swept away to another realm, to an enchanted castle. A castle whose master is a god...a god with a striking resemblance to her husband.

Chapter Word Count: 5K

Chapter Warnings: Pregnancy, childbirth, loss of a child, cheating (I play the Will/Cora affair in a negative light, and if that doesn't sound like your cup of tea, this isn't the fic for you), a bit of violence. If I miss something, please alert me so I can add onto it. A cliffhanger bc I choose violence. Some thirst, but no actual smut

Chapter Word Count: 7K (get water and snacks)

A/N: If someone knows or has immediate access or recalls if the Essex Serpent canonically mentions how the two children of Stella and Will died and I got it wrong, please let me know. I just had to guess. Thank you!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @anukulee @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr @jijilaufeyson

They continued to sit on the floor. The fire crackled and Stella found her sandwich was delicious. It was a relief. Some of the dinners could get particularly heavy and would make her stomach hurt if she was not careful. Especially since with the consumption healing, her appetite was returning. This one had the right balance of bread and tomato. Not mushy and with the right crunch of the texture.

Loki looked relaxed. His dark curls had fallen down, they looked as soft as the feathers of a bird’s wings. Or an angel. He tore off the crust and ate it delicately bit by bit. He looked most handsome when he was at peace.

“All of this is hidden with your magic?” she asked him.

“It is the reverse. It is only certain magical elements that reveal it. I managed to control it. It took some practice, but I can open and close the Jotun form. And you think it not frightening? These beings that have done horrible things.”

“Humans have done horrible things too,” she said.

He hated he was right. Hated she was right about everything she said. It made him silently angry. And yet silently awed. He just wanted more. To hear her speak. To know how she came up with this, and what made her conclude this.

“What other kind of spells can you do?” she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. She set down her sandwich, her eyes dipping down. The nice sky blue ballgown she had on. The skirt was wide enough to balloon around her as they were sitting down.

“Let me see…”

She began to count on her fingers.

“You can make duplicates, control shadows, change your form...”

Loki wiped off the crumbs from his leathers.

“I can travel across worlds. Create illusions. Bend things to my will. I can read the memories of people, on special occasions,” he listed.

“Memories?” she repeated.

“Yes.”

“Have you already read mine?” she asked nervously.

“Oh, no- I only watched in my various forms what was happening. It was how I knew about the boat.”

She felt her face burn, but not from the fire. What was it- shame, perhaps?

“I know you must…must pity me. Think me a weak, silly woman,” she added.

“Yet something happened that woman was left to think that was the only action she could take…” he replied.

She looked up. Her plate was already left empty. She didn’t know how she could express it all. Say a word of what occurred in Aldwinter. There were so many words she wanted to say, but she didn’t know how to say it in the right way. Or in a way that her weaknesses would get a better hold of her and cloud her judgment. Or say something unfairly ill of someone. But a memory- that would be a better, more unbiased way. To have him see everything that happened.

“What is it like? I am only curious… and I feel…you would…would understand everything more in-depth than me telling you,” she prodded.

She thought she saw his lips curl up just slightly.

“Oh, you would like me to read your memories, little star?” he asked.

“Yes, yes I would, please. I won’t mind it. But will it hurt?” she asked.

“No, not at all. All I need do is touch your forehead,” he instructed.

“Alright. You may read my memories Loki.” she permitted.

He set down his place. He nudged closer to her.

“Just one? Or any of them?” he asked.

“Whatever you can find. It won’t bother me.”

“And what if… I see you and your Lusty Vicar in a moment that was…intimate, shall we say?” he teased, a little laugh in his voice.

“Then please don’t dwell on it and move on!” she insisted. Her face was a little red.

He laughed.

“Oh, how I love watching you squirm! Alright…let me try…”

With his long fingers, as lightly as if she were the most valuable porcelain in the palace, he touched her forehead.

Taking a deep inhale, he began to search through. He found not just one memory, but a lot of them.

He saw Stella was a young woman. A rosebud amongst the clergypeople at church one Sunday morning. He felt her heart racing as she noticed the handsome young curate with curly hair and hints of a beard, and could feel the warmth in her cheeks whenever for a split second their eyes met. She would return down demurely. But when they went back up, he was still staring at her. As if she was the only one in the cold, grey church.

Then another. He bent his head as he stepped into the house. In his vest rather than his black and white. He had a bunch of flowers in his hand, which he offered to her. It was his second visit. And he brought flowers then too. All throughout tea, he still had that gaze at her.Like she that he was a predator and she was prey. She would blush and pretend she didn’t notice.

He then saw the heartbeat out of its cage as he confessed his feelings. “I love you, Stella.” He went on, though she was too astonished to speak. Praising her beauty, kindness, and virtue. She was crying happy tears. He asked to marry her to follow God’s path for them together and how eagerly she said yes.

He then saw an evening in her room. Her mother was behind her on the bed, combing her hair and rebranding it. And talking.

“The first time it happens, you will bleed. He might be large and it will hurt when he goes inside you, which he will want more than anything else to do. That or to have to pleasure him with your mouth. That’s what all men want.”

He could feel the gasp that couldn’t get out of her and how she felt so hot.

“I wish not to shock you, Stella. But for you to be ready to be his wife. Even if he is a priest, he is a man. It’s what men are. You cannot close him off. Much less on your wedding night. The one thing all wives must do- we must consider our husband’s happiness, not our own. It was what God designed us to do- to submit. You must think of that, and fulfill your duty to him once he is your husband. It is not for pleasure, but for duty” while combing her hair.

“What if I can’t…please him?” she asked.

“Then…the truth is, they will find someone else who can,” her mother informed her.

He saw a town hall decked with flowers. Saw flower petals being thrown all over. People dancing. A tuxedo and Stella being spun around, laughing and smiling. Will took her arms and spun her in her wedding gown in the hall, almost childishly. But the adoration and laughter on his face made her forget her anxieties about that night.

He saw the aftermath of the night. He was over her, on top of her. His curls over her face. His pants. And then kissing her, asking her if he hurt her. She said he didn’t. But all Stella could think about was how this was the closest she ever felt to being in heaven.

He saw a peaceful evening, Will sitting and reading as she sewed by the fire. It rained and it was very cozy.

He saw her first pregnancy. Their gasps of surprise. The baby forming in her belly. She felt a little sick, a little dizzy, but thrilled. But how it was excused as she had to go and vomit in a washbin.

He saw the first childbirth. The pain splitting her apart. Her tears, asking for her mother who was there, holding her hand. Then the endless joy as the baby was brought out to be held.

He saw the second pregnancy. She was cramping badly. Sighing as she made another cup of tea. Grateful her maternity corset had the laces on the side. There was going to be a meeting with the deacons soon and she would hear all about it. But what should she make for the women’s bible study? She couldn’t decide. She felt sick again- and the baby was still sobbing in the cradle, a red face and hair with chubby arms and legs.

She felt the cry stir her, but she rocked the child. She hoped the baby wouldn’t cry during church. Eyes would all go to the front row and she would have to excuse herself out to rock the baby as they all listened to her sermon. Whispering about her. Being a vicar’s wife was being a bug beneath a looking glass. Or the audience for a tightrope walker at a circus. Waiting for the moment she would slip and fall and be disgraced forever. Especially for a small, conservative town. One wrong move from her, or even from her children, and her husband’s ministry and position was done for.

The second childbirth. She was scared, there was pain. The cramps, but worse. Pushing, confused. The faces and voices. There was blood. Then a delivery. Relief flooding through her and happy tears poured down her face.

Then later- there were two little girls tucked into their bed from Mama and Papa. As they slept as sweetly as cherubs, Will would wrap her in an embrace.

“I live for you, for us, for what we have. You are my life, Stella. Before God, I have you.”

She would smile and kiss his cheek, his beard scratching her.’

“And I for you, my darling,” she replied.

The third pregnancy. It was at the church's Christmas Eve service. One where after his sermon, he went down to sit next to her as the choir sang. The baby began to kick for the first time. She put Will’s hand on it and they smiled.

The third childbirth. Pain and blood. It was a long labor. She wondered if she was going to die.

Only it wasn’t her who emerged dead. It was the baby.

Then, the next year, she entered the nursery one day.

The cloth draped over the little bed. The shape of a child’s body beneath it.

Stella nearly fell down. She felt a sound escape her mouth.

They were going to take Julianna Ransome away. Take away the child…only that wasn’t a child anymore. That was a body. The soul was with God. She had already held her…her last moment, the last thing she ever did, her last embrace and moment of earth was in her mother’s arms as she kissed her forehead.

Will would rush up, and put a hand on her shoulder.

She went up, wishing to kiss the forehead- tell Julianna that Mama loved her one last time, even if she wasn’t here to hear it.

But the men were coming to dress the body and prepare her for the funeral.

She felt one rough hand from a man push her away roughly. Will held her back as she sobbed. They already had a casket prepared. They lifted the little girl and put her in. Stella couldn’t speak. She couldn't go, clutch protectively over the child.

They carried the casket and left the room and the house.

The second her husband’s arms loosened, Stella felt herself crumple onto the floor. Sobbing violently. Sounds coming out of her that weren’t human. Will over her, a hand on her back and shoulder. He then held her as she sobbed for the daughter they had and lost.

The Fourth Pregnancy. She was craving things but fought them. She had to remain slender somehow. She was always tired. Her feet almost were too swollen for her shoes. She was always tired, trying so hard not to doze at church when Will wasn’t speaking.

The Fourth Childbirth. Blood and pain. It was a breech. The feet was coming out before the head was- and that would stifle her and Will’s child. They had to move it in her belly. Then delivery. The little boy was brought forth safely.

Jo was starting to walk. Will held her hands as she took her first steps. Stella opened her arms as she walked right to her mother. Then she rocked John in his cradle. A healthy, happy baby having his first laugh. She never thought a laugh would sound so beautiful to her.

Another night of coital bliss. Ecstasy spinning in Stella’s system as Will panted beside her in that bed. She was so glad that her mother was very, very wrong.

The fifth pregnancy. The baby was kicking like a horse. She was feeling sick all of the time. The doctor advised Will to be careful. She needed some rest after this one. It was taking a toll.

The fifth childbirth. Push, push, push. The baby’s head had retracted back in, so she had to push him out again. She was in pain, splitting her apart. This was ten times any cramp she had during her courses. There was so much blood. She thought this was her end.

But the baby arrived. He already had dark, curly hair and she loved him more than anything, holding and kissing him. Calling him the name she and Will decided on if it was a boy.

“Hello James, I’m your mama,” she cooed to the tiny face.

Years later. John and James were in the church playing leapfrog after one service.

Then he saw Jo collecting books and getting bigger. Claiming she was now a grown-up at the dinner table. Saying she wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer at dinner.

Then…the dead body was discovered on the beach- the second one. The horror of the town in their stillness and big eyes. People crossing themselves. Whispers of a Serpent. One that would even abduct children…perhaps one of their own, Stella feared. She could only hold her husband's hand. She remembered those words- “It’s God’s punishment, but we’ll get it through together.”

Then a dinner. She wore her nice pearl earrings and a nice dress for a guest.

“My husband will not judge you,” she assured the guest.

A woman with blonde hair, round cheeks, and squinty eyes, but slim and pretty. Who ate beside a young boy with dark brown hair. In the dim light of the dark house, one could see streaks of red in the woman’s astonishingly golden hair.

Her husband looking at the woman intensely. Hypnotized. Like he couldn’t tear his eyes off. Like she was art.

Once upon a time, he looked at Stella like that.

But she would not say anything. She cut up her meat in delicate, small bites and ate slowly. Listening to the woman discuss science.

Then another. Will in a tuxedo. He was dancing with that woman. She could only watch from the corner as everyone stared at them like they were a fairytale.

She didn’t matter anymore. And she would learn to accept she didn’t matter anymore.

Then a bed. Her bloody handkerchiefs. Nothing but a room full of blue crosses and her blue bed. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

He was done. There was no doubt where he was.

She could sense it and she would not stop it.

Will told her God wanted him to lie with Cora.

I’ve done my duty, God. I’ve done my duty, mother. My time is done. God is calling me and I must follow Him without question. She thought.

All as her heart still beat.

Loki let go. He had seen so much. He retracted his fingers and found himself in the present.

She was crying a little.

“- I-I’m so sorry…” he apologized. He conjured a handkerchief and handed it to her.

She shook her head, accepting it.

‘No, I’m glad you saw. So you would understand just a little.” she recalled.

“You saw it?” he asked.

“Yes…” she confirmed. She wiped a few tears, doing her best to gather herself.

“I do understand. Everything,” he said.

She took a deep breath. She had purged her memories, her past. Just a mere few of many. She then extended her hand.

“Lok….let us dance now in that ballroom. I’d like to dance a waltz with you, please…”

He cocked his head. His old mischief returned to him. “A waltz? Well, Little Star, we haven’t waltzed before! A waltz is….it has an interesting history of being a little bit scandalous because it involves…”

“I would like to waltz with you, Loki.” she interrupted.

He led her to the ballroom. There were candles lit around the wide space to make it brighter, the pale, hard floors echoing beneath her steps.

He wrapped her in an embrace.

“Loki, I have one more request. Could you do it?” she asked.

‘Why, that depends on what the request is.”

“You’ve seen so much of me, but I have only seen so much of you. Loki…could I dance with you in your form?”

‘I am in it.’

“Your real form.”

“This is my real form. If you wish to dance-”

“Your Frost Giant Form, I mean.”

He transformed. He was blue and with red eyes His skin chilled her touch, sending shivers down her spine but keeping her awake and alert.

With a nod of his head, there were violins playing a song in three-quarter time. They began to move into a square. She kept her eyes down a little to watch her feet. She could feel a stiff silence in Loki- as if she was now afraid of his Frost Giant form. But keeping her eyes away, it made the words pour out of her mouth easier.

“He was my entire life and I didn’t satisfy him. I didn’t make him happy…so he looked elsewhere.… I failed my duty.” she mourned.

Loki tightened his hold on her and nearly swung her into the next step.

“Don’t say that! You never once failed in your duty, Stella!”

She perked up as he said her name. There was an added fierceness that the bright crimson of his eyes made apparent. Though the music was playing, Loki’s voice could easily be heard over it.

“I have seen your life. You are anything but a failure. You never failed the priest. He failed you as a husband, have you ever considered that?”

“No,” she replied.

“You love. Intensely. Fiercely. More than anyone knows. More than anyone I have met. I have nothing but hate inside me, but you have nothing but love inside you. But you shouldn’t let that love allow others to treat you like you’re their servant and not an equal to them…”

“It’s…it could be sinful,” she replied meekly.

“Your mortal ways and faith. Is saying no a sin? Is being angry that you were mistreated, taken advantage of a sin? Is it a sin to fight back? To protect yourself? I can tell you, here there is no such thing!”

“I don’t want to complain or be ungrateful.”

“You never did! But keeping it inside and letting them torment you will kill you, Stella, faster than that mortal illness ever could. Fight. Fight, Stella. Fight back. Be furious. Sob. Scream. But fight.” he insisted.

She stared up at him in wonder, though they continued to move.

“I was always so ashamed after I cried after I fell to anger…” she confessed.

The music continued. She heard a violin trill.

“I’d rather you feel the pain than not feel at all…do you feel any pain now?” he asked.

“No… I don’t…”

He gave her a smirk,

“Good,”

“Do you feel any pain, Loki?”

“No, because you are an excellent dancer…”

They walked for a few minutes in silence. It sounded like the song was going to end. She leaned closer. There was a last chord in major that resolved, the echoes of the strings melting away.

“Loki…the music is over, but…hold me. Please. Just for a little.”

He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her. She hugged him back. He felt cold, yet she held on. She then heard a sound like a ruffle of feathers and from the corner of her eye, there was a green light. He changed to his form with pale skin. How…warm he felt compared to the ice. Soft and comforting. She rested her forehead on his chest. For a god, he felt so human, so real, so comforting. She felt his long arms wrap around her, envelop her as if they were wings. She nestled further. Enjoying the closeness, the tenderness of his touch.

She held on as long as she needed to. And then she let go.

“You just wanted an embrace.”

“Yes…”

“I’m glad you asked. Don’t be afraid to,” he said.

“I…I won’t, Loki,” she replied.

He escorted her to her room.

“Loki I….” the words came out of her. He tilted his head.

She restrained herself. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She’d be as bad as her husband.

“I hope you sleep well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, my little star.”

She felt herself blush at “my” as she closed the door.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The next morning, Stella woke up. She felt oddly refreshed like a weight was lifted off of her.

She went down to the piece of paper on the vanity. She began to comb her hair. Looking a the bed, she admitted that last night…the temptation was there. She admitted it silently to herself. She was a few steps away from the precipice, asking Loki to stay with her in her room for the night. Just to hold her, talk to her, and…no, what if it progressed? What if he kissed her? What if he- she couldn’t even name what else her weakness would have let her do! Only glad her strength prevailed.

But…she did like that song from that one time. When the illness attacked her and he sang. If only she could understand the words!

She looked down at the paper.

“Hello there. I know it’s been a minute. But, what were the words of the song Loki sang to me? The night I got sick?”

The words were listed there.

“Which one was the part he sang lower at the beginning?” she asked.

It shortened to the lyrics. Though she liked the two words that read as “Star Mojen.” It sounded like “star maiden” which was a pretty image in her head.

Then…it struck her…the hand kiss. That was the very line he kissed her hand on…

“And what do they mean in English?”

The translation appeared.

““In stormy black mountains

I wander alone

Over the glacier I move forward”

She found this meaning in the line with the star maiden line.

“In the apple orchard stands the maiden, so beautiful.”

Warm tingles appeared all over her. That was the line he dedicated to her! He was making her the maiden in the song.

The rest of the translation of that bit appeared:

“And sings, ‘When will you come home?’”

She looked about the place. Once, she longed to be back in the white house on the marshes again. But now…the longer she stayed there, the more she was home. And the more being with Loki felt like being home.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

He only appeared at dinner that time. Wearing a grand cape with yellow on the inside. She noticed how long he had grown his hair. His dark curls were falling down to his shoulders.

“I wanted to thank you for last night,” she began once he sat down.

He conjured himself a glass of wine. “Oh, really I should be the one thanking you.”

“I wish I had your boldness, your confidence, Loki,” Stella replied. She got out her knife and fork and began to politely take small bites of her roast chicken.

“And I wish I had your heart. I don’t think at times I could ever forgive my father…” he said.

“Your father? What did he do?” she asked.

He took a sip as if for liquid courage.

“Well, he was the one who plucked me as an infant from Jotunheim. He brought me to live in Asgard in the palace. As the second-born son to the throne. The runner-up. Second best. But not the favorite, as my dear brother is,” he hissed bitterly.

She spoke no words of judgment. Only wiped her mouth with her napkin before placing it on her lap.

“Well, he was always letting Thor do whatever he wanted and letting him be his heir and me the unequal. Oh, and did I mention, he kept me being a Frost Giant as a secret until I found out by accident!” he vented.

“Oh, Loki, he shouldn’t have,” she commented.

“And do you know what he said? He said my birthright was to die! And that I should be grateful!” his face colored bright red and his eyebrows furrowed.

“A parent shouldn’t say that to a child…” she agreed.

“At times, I wish I could shove him off of the rainbow bridge, I would, and I-”

“Loki, how is containing all of this anger and rage going to make you any happier?” she asked.

He silently fumed. Two hands over his cup of wine.

“You have to talk to him. Tell him that you were hurt. If I hurt my John, I would rather him tell me than silently hate me.”

“All I can think of now is how I will get the throne to be my own-”

“Loki, did you know your brother came by and asked for you?”

He blinked.

“What?! That dolt of a brother arrived here?” he asked.

“Yes! He has been looking for you! He loves you and misses you! And your mother worries about you…Loki, tearing yourself away from people who care about you will only make things worse. If you let your hate for Odin consume you, eat you away…how will you see all the people who love you who are willing to help you?”

“Thor is arrogant and dangerous-”

“You can be jealous of someone and love them too. You can be angry at someone and love them. And sitting down stewing in fury and doing nothing isn’t going to solve a wit of your problems.”

He looked at her. She, who had been through so much, who was loved and thrown to the side like a child’s toy. Yet she still loved people, cared for them, and had hope, had kindness inside of her.

“It…it won’t solve anything…” he agreed.

“You can tell someone how they hurt you. And you can love someone the same, and treasure what love you have in your life…” she said.

“My Frost Giant form though…that is a sight some of them will have to get used to.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” she said.

He cocked an eyebrow. He then got up. He used magic to conjure his chair to be next to her.

“Oh! A Frost Giant- beautiful, you say?” he asked.

“You’re…well, beautiful in every form,” she admitted, with a shy glance down at her napkin.

He paused. He drank her in. Her ballgown. The soft blonde of her hair and sweet eyes.

He couldn’t help himself. He added in-

“As are you.”

Her eyes went big. Her hands clenched where they were laying on the table. She looked back down.

“Well, I have, I have marks on me from the pregnancies and I am not Mrs. Seaborne, but-”

He cut her off. He went to her, even closer. She felt her breath catch as he cupped her face, forcing her to look into his eyes.

“Stella are beautiful in your nightgown. You’re beautiful in your gowns. You were beautiful when you were swollen with child. You were beautiful when you brought each child out. You are beautiful with your hair free and undone. You’re beautiful when you braid it. You are beautiful when your hands and skirt are dirty from the garden. You’re beautiful when you sit and sew without a speck of dirt on you. I will never be worthy to even be seen standing next to you, and anyone who sees us will ask questions about what a great beauty like you is doing being seen next to me. Just because you are alive and here- that is what makes me think of nothing but you, because you are the very stars in your name. Internally and on your person.”

She was frozen for a minute. Processing it all. Her mouth lowered and could only release a little air. She could see the blue of his eyes, the soft elegance of his features.

Then, at last, she said, “I haven’t been called beautiful for months.”

Loki’s eyes turned shiny

“What…really? You should be called beautiful. Every day,” he said.

Her breath returned to her. She smiled.

“Loki, if you are a monster…how could you come up with that? You have more goodness in you than you think. I…I…thank you,” she continued.

They danced something other than a waltz. Loki was glad. He didn’t want to hold her in his arms again. Every time he touched her, he wanted more. And every time she got close, he didn’t want to let her go.

“She’s just a mortal. One of a million. Who am I to get involved with some lowly mortal woman? And that’s not to mention she isn’t free,” Loki thought, scolding himself.

Those thoughts dissipated as the music ended and they bowed and curtsied.

He only wished her goodnight. Still…part of him hoped she would weaken. Give into temptation. Ask for him at night. To lie with him, be with him…He felt something stirring in his groin at the image of her naked in that bed. He hated himself for it and increased his pace further from her room.

But he knew her better than that. Part of him wanted to curse and throw something. Her husband could roll about in the grass with a hundred women and swim nude in the sea and even touch himself in its waters whenever he wanted- but she couldn’t!

He said nothing but clenched his fists tight. He then stormed off to find another room to douse himself in cold water.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Stella sat Writing more letters to her family one afternoon. She set them on the chest in her room and it vanished to be delivered to them.

She missed….she thought she missed them, but she missed people. Having someone, anyone to talk to during the day. It then struck her how lonely she was. Loki had appeared only sometimes during the day. Would he appear before dinner like he sometimes did with the sheep episode? Then they’d eat and dance. Then he was gone. Did he even sleep here? Considering how big the castle was, he might have been in some secret room.

Her life was always busy, for there were three children, a dog, a church, a village, and a husband to keep up with. When it was declared she was sick, everything was so quiet. There was nothing to do but lie in bed and wait to die. She would spend whole days alone in that house, on that bed, with no energy except to sometimes ask for visitors to see them again and to stare out the window at the marshes. And pray for God to prepare her to enter heaven.

Now there was no longer a threat of death. She was due for a visit to the healers today to check on her. But as used as she was to being alone…she felt lonely. If only Loki could be there to conjure some trick or say something to make her laugh or blush. She…she missed him.

And why should she sit around waiting in an enchanted castle like she did every day here? Even cleaning and gardening was getting tiresome. As she looked around, she saw there was a shining golden city. And the carriage was going to take her to the healer's cottage for her appointment today. The city was just outside of it…but the city itself was only a ten-minute walk from their cottage.

What was Asgard like? And the people too…how different were they from Midgardians?

She waited for the carriage. It took her to the appointment in the healer's cottage. They declared she was improving after a few tests. As she stepped out, she looked at the nearby gates and the tops of the buildings peeking out.

Besides, she couldn’t help but be curious.

She went down to the cottage and sat in it. But instead of asking it to return, she knocked on it’s ceiling and asked aloud:

“I’d like to visit that city over there, please!”

It took her down, further to Asgard. A shining city full of people going about with long robes for clothes and elaborately braided hair. White birds flew about looking for crumbs that grandmothers tossed to them. Children ran about and played without any fear of a serpent lurking anywhere to eat them.

Stella stepped out. She felt a little embarrassed in her day dress of light blue still having puffed sleeves and petticoats compared to everyone else. She noticed a dress shop on one corner and walked to it.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“You…you spoke with who again?! There are too many names, just how many friends did you make?” Loki cried.

She smiled. She sat proudly in her cerulian Asgardian dress she bought. Her shoulders were exposed and her hair in its side braid.

“Oh, Audur!, she’s delightful. She is a new mother and I was glad to give her some advice and help her with the baby- she had the sweetest little boy, he hardly cried and he’s so small! Oh, and there’s the shop Seigfriend owns- I felt odd going about in these clothes, but I find the Asgardian fashions fascinating. He managed to give me this one on sale. Oh, and I also saw a temple and was curious- your people do make offerings and they vanish! How fascinating! A priest named Tristan said he would explain more to me. I was invited to a little book club and sewing circle by Brunhilde and a few other ladies who sensed I was new and wanted to welcome me-Oh! And these!”

She reached into her pockets and pulled out the pebbles, pure dark blue with sparkles inside them.

“I found these just on the ground! They’re beautiful! Like gems! Isn’t it like the night sky?” she boasted.

He cocked an eyebrow.

“Why aren’t you amazed?” she asked.

“Little Star, They’re ordinary! They’re everywhere in Asgard!

“Oh, but you can find so much beauty and meaning in the most ordinary of things, Loki. You just have to look…conjure my box, please.”

He did as she requested. She opened the lid on the table, digging about. Then she brought out a seashell. A conch that curled into itself with a hole. She held it over to him. He felt the edges.

“It’s beautiful. Like a piece of art,” she said. “Do you see the little edges? And how smooth it is. And this was not made by man…nature made it. It did that naturally. Why is that not amazing?” she asked.

‘It is..” he admitted.

She then handed him the blue stone.

“And this one…we have the whole sky above our heads. But here, we can just hold it in our hands easily. Isn’t that beautiful in itself? I know you’re a god, Loki, but when I merely cup this, I feel like a goddess myself. I feel what it is like to have a whole thing, a whole existence just in your hand…”

He ran a thumb over it. And then he returned it to her hand. Their skin brushed against each other.

“Could I invite Brunhilde and a few others over to the palace?” she asked.

Loki grinned. A mischievous light in his eyes.

“I tell you what- we should throw a ball!”

“A ball?” she repeated.

“Would you like that? To invite your friends? You will be in charge of invitations! I don’t think you’ve ever been to a grand ball before, Stella. I’ll make sure everything looks up to par and that there’s enough food and your friends can all enjoy themselves?”

Stella’s eyes beamed. Then she released her hands from his. She set the pebbles in the box and closed the lid.

“I will on one condition…you be there. You go too, as a guest. You are the first I would like to invite.”

Loki put a hand to his chest in fake surprise.

“Why! I would be delighted! We should take a bit of time to plan, and then we can set a date. Until then, we better brush up on our dancing, don’t you agree, little star?”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Will knelt down to pray that evening. He couldn’t sleep. He was still clothed, pacing about the bedroom. Everything suddenly felt empty- as if she was dead and buried already. His mind reeling.

He knelt next to that bed.

“Dear Lord…bring her back to me. Keep her safe.” he prayed.

Whoever this “Loki” was as he called himself, he was keeping her safe and had apparent access to a cure. He wasn’t sure if this was the man he saw. He wasn’t sure how he and Stella managed to vanish in the blink of an eye or how. Or even where this city called Asgard could be found…or if she would return. He could only pray and wait.

Then, he jumped. His jaw went slack, for there was something there he had never seen before.

A portal opened. The rim was green and had golden light glowing from it. He heard music and laughter. Inside, he thought he saw a ballroom and a crowd of people.

Crossing himself, he walked through.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Meticulously as they planned it, the ball began smoothly. Stella’s friends in Asgard invited their friends and then their friends. For they heard of an enchanted castle and wanted to see it, as well as hear and see the famous trickster god reappearing among them.

Stella wanted to somehow invite the royal family. But the guards would not let some puny mortal pass as much as a letter through their gates. Perhaps there would be another time.

The Aesir in their robes were all gasping at the sight of the palace. It had an older, even Midgardian style to the place. Audur went up and greeted Stella. Saying how glad she and her husband found a babysitter for the night. Brunhilde embraced her as if she had known her for years. Music was already playing, not that it stopped all the chatter.

The violins had settled. Loki appeared before her. His curls were washed and looked soft and beautiful. He dressed in his finer robes. He wore no cape, but his black and green had hints of golden armor. Stella herself was wearing a gown that was more Asgardian in its longness and simple sleeves, its exposed neck. It was a pastel blue as if she was the day sky melting into the night.

“You are radiance itself today,” he said.

“My, how gallant of you!” she replied at him.

There was a starting cord.

“I must tell you, I asked them to give us the first dance…shall we do it together? Or, would you rather the others partner up?” he asked.

He held out his hand.

“Oh, that is nothing I cannot take. We can dance, Loki,” she replied.

She touched her hand on his. With a grin, he led her onto the floor. There was a clearing and here they were in the center.

They got into position. He lifted her hand up in the air, their fingers intertwining.

Loki saw Will out of the corner of his eye. There in the crowd. Stella was clearly oblivious to him, for his plain vest blended amid the Asgardian colors.

Loki put his hand on the small of Stella’s back and pulled her in tighter.

Stella was starting to shiver again. She nearly forgot the steps. Something about Loki being close…and everyone watching, watching them embrace. She clutched onto his arm as if he were a raft keeping her above the water.

The music began and they waltzed.

He was smiling. And for once, a large, happy smile was on her face as well. She didn’t want to look away. He was so beautiful. So real. And there.

They covered more ground. Going a little faster. She kept up with his steps well. She felt like she was truly flying, her blue skirt swishing about.

She looked at him, and she broke into a smile so big, she bared her teeth. She felt a small laugh break out from her in her happiness.

Loki relaxed his posture and smiled softly at her too. That look on her face, the pure joy on it…

She was all that made sense. All that was real and true and good in the world. He could have held her and danced for eternity.

Stella went to Loki and locked eyes. It was a waltz. They did it before. But he held her tighter.

Will stood there, watching helplessly. People smiled as they watched. He could only see the look of adoration in Stella’s eyes to this man. Her eyes were so bright, her happiness beaming across the room like light. This was not a smile she would reserve for anyone.

It then hit him, His wife was dancing with a man she was in love with.

Loki couldn’t help but force a smirk at bay as he felt Will’s presence in the crowd. His portal worked as planned. And the vicar was there to seep in the rich, rich irony of it all of his own medicine being fed to him in a big, hearty dose.

As the music rose to a crescendo, Loki then grabbed his hands around her waist. Stella gasped. Then easily, he lifted her up and twirled her around, her skirt flying around her like a water painting. But she only laughed in delight. He then set her down as the final chord resolved.

The crowd applauded. There was going to be another dance in a few minutes. But Stella went away to talk to some friends. They led her off to the table to enjoy the delicacies that was served. Excitedly chatting away as they went over, blending into the crowd.

Loki was catching his breath when he heard a voice. A voice just like his own say-

‘Pardon me, sir!”

Will went forward to him. Loki felt his whole body tighten. Loki wasn’t sure to be excited, miserable, angry, thrilled all at once. Despite the similarity in their features, people hardly glanced at them. For one had dark hair and the other auburn-blonde-brown, no one would notice their similarities unless they looked closer and heard the voices.

“Sir- where is Mrs. Stella Ransome? Do you know where she went?” Will asked.

Loki frowned. He glared down at the man with as much intimidation as he could. He responded with the same voice.

“Then answer me this- why should I take you to her? Why should I let you in the same room she is in? Why let you look at her and hear her voice when you aren’t worthy to as much as kiss the ground she walks on? Why should I let you as much as lay your filthy hands on one hair on her head? Why should I give her to you?” the god demanded.

People were starting to turn heads. There was silence, for the music could not even play as people quieted to watch.

Stella turned around. Her eyes took in long, curly hair. A wisp of a goatee. A vest. High cheekbones and blue eyes.

She dropped her plate to where it dropped her salad onto the floor. She began to tremble. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak.

Will held his ground. He looked directly into the god’s eyes.

“Because she is my wife.”

There was a pause. Only a flicker of a second too long for anyone to intervene.

Loki got out his dagger and stabbed Will.

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smolvenger · 2 months

Text

The Boat in the Water: A Beauty and the Beast Story (An MCU and The Essex Serpent Crossover, Loki x Stella Ransome, Multi-Part), Chapter Three

Warnings: Angst that turns into hurt/comfort. Discussions of cheating (I portray the Will/Cora affair as bad and Stella having some negative feelings about it, so if you don't agree or have a problem with that interpretation, this your warning right now that this probably isn't the fic for you), some blood and portrayals of illness, references to both canons, some silly, goofy lil moments.

Word Count: >7K. (have drinkies and snacks)

One// Two//Three//Four coming soon!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

She kept crying so much, she did not hear his knock.

‘That’s what I get,’ Loki thought. He took a step away, lowering his hand, curling it into a fist by his side. ‘Mother was always the expert at these- no, I should remember, she’s not my mother at all! Damn her! Damn Will, Damn Stella, and damn me most!’

He took a moment and paced about. His cape flowed behind him like opened wings that would go nowhere. His mind kept racing. He was called Silvertongue, but when it came to consolation, why could he think of nothing to say?

She was still sobbing. It paused for a moment. She was murmuring. He pressed his ear to the door.

“God, I confess, I have just sinned against you in thought, word, and deed. By what I have done and what I have left undone. I am truly sorry and I humbly repent. For the sake of your son, Jesus Christ…”

He remembered that prayer. He overheard when he disguised himself as an ordinary village person, that was the prayer done every Sunday in that church to confess sins. Did she think she should repent for….for feeling sad about her husband’s infidelity? What kind of world made her to be what she is?

Asgard never taught its children to feel remorse over such things. He recalled Lady Sif. If Sif’s husband betrayed her for another, she would get out her sword and decapitate him without a word, without hesitation, and definitely without any regret.

But, Stella wasn’t Sif. And she was suffering. Norns, he had to…had to…think of something! Perhaps a charming little trick! Conjure little fireworks or more flowers for her! Yes, if all else failed, he could try that! Wasn’t that what mortal ladies like? He didn’t have much experience with them.

Before his courage could sink down, he went to the door and knocked louder.

“Can I come in?” he asked, projecting his voice.

“You…you may…” was her quiet reply.

When he opened the door, he saw her kneeling. Clutching the wedding gown from the chest in her arms like a child clutching a blanket Her blonde hair was a little rumpled, a few strands loose from her braid. The paths of tears were obvious down her cheeks, her face was a little red and puffy from crying.

He remained standing at the threshold.

“I…I don’t know how to say this, but…but…but I am sorry…I shouldn’t have said those things aloud. I shouldn’t have judged you. Or him.”

She nodded her head.

“You only like to be proven right-that was why…” she mused.

She was right. For being such a pitiful, pretty little pet unaware of her own torment and with no thoughts other than her husband and family...she was right. Perhaps her head wasn’t as empty as he first thought.

“Little Star, I still shouldn’t have said a word, I…I didn’t consider how much it would hurt-”

“I forgive you, Loki,” she interrupted, looking into his eyes.

I forgive you. Three words he had not often heard in sequence in his life. Much less directed at him.

Gently, he knelt down to meet her.

“This was what you wore when you married him,” he began.

She nodded sniffling.

“It’s…it’s rather pretty,” he admitted.

“Yes. I remember how. My mother gave her last warning about the marriage bed that morning, it was summer and stuck to my skin when I went outside to go to the church, my heart was racing and then he….he told me when I went to the altar that I was beautiful. And that night…the first night we…we performed the act…when it was done… he told me it was the happiest day of his life” she began.

She looked down at the heap of the wedding dress and veil. Then back at him, though it sat in a white heap on her lap. Her fists tightened as she clutched it over her, more like a soft shield than a blanket.

“You speak too ill of him. The first time he met Cora, do you know what he was doing? A farmer had his poor sheep stuck in a pit of mud. Will ran over and helped him. He didn’t stay in his study reading all day, clean and snug- no! He went out and helped pull each animal from the pit, ruining his clothes, and dragging heavy, thrashing sheep from the pit. He and the farmer got them to safety onto the higher field. He was drenched in mud when he came home, but the animals were safe…how could a bad man do that?”

Loki’s eyebrows shot up, and then back down.

“You should have seen how James sits on his lap, how John goes to his office with questions about hell, how he handles Jo and her little rebellions- you should have seen it all! I took Jo to be hypnotized once because I was curious. He fled in, insisted it stopped, and woke her up. The fear in his eyes…I feel so horrible about it now. Why? Because of how much he loved them!”

“Does he love you?” Loki asked.

“Yes, he does!” she repeated.

“But her loves her too…” he stated.

She froze, her face pale again.

“Yes…he does…”

She shook her head.

“He shouldn’t be alone. And the children should have a mother in their lives. You should see how happy he is with her. Loki, I can’t hate her! I like her. She writes me letters, she says how happy she is that she has me as her friend.”

Well, With friends like these, as the old mortal saying goes, Loki thought dryly, but he kept his mouth shut before he made the situation worse. Her eyes went down to the white wedding gown.

“I asked him to dance with her. I asked him to sit with her, see her, visit her, and write to her. So he could have someone…” she said. “It is the duty of a Christian to tear off your shirt for someone else. Of a wife to nurture and support her husband. I’ve done my duty…”

Her face then scrunched and went red and a hand went up over her face.

“And for once, it has made me unhappy!”

She began to cry. Loki did not conjure her flowers as he planned. He slowly reached his hand forward and placed it over hers. It’s what his mother, for Frigga in his heart, was still his mother, did. She barely flinched, but let him. He waited as her sobs heaved out.

“I…I did everything for him. The vicarage was always spotless. There were always visitors. I can’t recall one wrong step, or one failing I had. Men flirted with me after I was wed, and I had to dismiss them. I bore five children from him-”

“Five?” Loki repeated

“They weren’t always easy pregnancies. And the childbirths were painful, long, terrifying. And Two of them…we…” her tears broke down. “...Julianna died in my arms, And he was there for it all. They’re buried next to the church, and I think of them every day. Does he think of them too, I wonder? No…I know where and with whom his thoughts lay now… I made sure all was well in church. That his ministry was supported. I counseled and helped him through it all. I did everything for him…I even let him take a misteress…”

She paused. Her words failed at that moment. Then she spoke again, a small, broken smile on her face. The smile of one who accepted their defeat before the sword before them brought their end.

“I love him, Loki, and I’ve loved him for years. I feel like I loved him since the day I met him- who couldn’t? And I think, I wonder -I never said this aloud but, seeing him with her, and he….he’s no longer mine and….and the baser part of me wonders, whispering…when did I fail him? Then I tell myself it was because I was dying at least then…and that…it was all my fault. I pushed him onto her. Encouraged him. Told him to dance with her…”

She found a small lace pattern on the material of the wedding gown. Her fingers, compared to Loki's, seemed like doll hands. Tiny and delicate. One finger traced the pattern.

“Once I was the most important woman in Will’s life. He told me I was second to God and that the children were third. Cora arrived. And that changed. Now…I am the least important woman in all of England…it used to be that never bothered me…but now…the more I think on it, dwell on it no matter how I try not to…”

She shook her head as her hand curled up into a fist.

“I have no one to blame but myself,” she finished.

Loki bit back the urge to say it wasn’t her fault that she got ill. That her husband wanted to chase another skirt to satiate his lust since now his wife wasn’t an option. He swallowed lightly as if swallowing the thought down. She would reprimand him if he did. Claim it wasn’t obsession. It was love. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she was right too. Perhaps the truth was that it was both.

“Do not blame yourself. There is no one to blame but him and her. He shouldn’t have done that in the first place, no one was forcing him to. He should have resisted her and stayed with you until the end. That’s what a decent husband and lover would have done,” Loki advised carefully.

There was that sliver of rage inside him. He could have gone to that town and done all sorts of things to Will and Cora. Horrendous, violent things. Right. Now.

But he dared not move, dared not leave Stella alone with her tears and racing thoughts.

The one thing he did conjure was a handkerchief in his free hand. He offered it to her.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

She wiped off her face with the handkerchief and then put it down with the dress.

“It is not my place to let people in love be unhappy, it’s not my place to be jealous, to think badly of them, or if I let these thoughts consume me, Loki… I could do something…something horrible, I could hurt someone I care about…and it frightens me,” she admitted.

She grasped the handkerchief with both hands, squeezing it lightly.

“I…I don’t want to be a bad person,” she confessed.

“You aren’t a bad person,” Loki assured her.

She lifted her face, her blue eyes shining up. A little of her light regained.

“Then what am I?” she asked.

He thought for a moment, and then the answer dawned on him.

“Alive.”

She then settled. How pretty her eyes were, soft as snow. He gave her a weak, but present smile.

“Do not fret about being a bad person. You have more goodness in your little finger than I have in my whole body,” Loki assured her.

She tilted her head a bit.

“It always hurts…to be the second favorite…not chosen, not special, not equal to someone, even someone you care for…” he admitted. The painful thoughts and memories coming back up. Thor’s birthright of a crown. His birthright of a grave. “But…you are still good, after all of that. There’s a strength in being so even gods have failed at it. Even me…”

He saw her lips curl up to a small smile at his phrase.

“Thank you,” was her soft reply.

She paused, her eyes widening.

Then her body heaved and she put the handkerchief to her mouth. A series of coughs wracked her body. And when she lowered the handkerchief, to his horror, there was a pool of blood.

Stella stiffened a little blood on her lips, her breaths shallow.

“Loki…Loki please help!” she pleaded. “Please…the healers! I’m…I’m so scared…I’m going to die, I don’t want to die anymore, please!”

He immediately grabbed her and placed one of her arms around her shoulder and another beneath her legs. She felt her small gasp as he did so. How light she felt, how small. How was it that people described her in town when he overheard? Oh yes, that phrase Mrs. Ambrose used- “Oh, Mrs. Ransome! Doesn’t she look lovely every day? Oh, she is no bigger than a fairy and twice as pretty!” She did feel as light as a fairy in his arms. He got her to the bed and put the covers over her.

He lifted his hand and turned it, and her ballgown was transformed into a nightgown.

“I’m going to fetch them- stay here!”

He created a duplicate of himself to stand by the bed. It offered its hand and Stella accepted, squeezing tightly.

“So you won’t be alone! I will be right back. Here-”

He got a potion conjured in his hand. A little vial with violet-colored liquid. He offered it to her.

“This should help with the coughing, lessen it at least until they get here.”

She accepted it and then pressed it to her lips.

With his gifts of transportation and some swift horses, the healers arrived promptly. They gave her more medicine and their magic. Checked everything about her as they moved their hands over her body and repeated spells. Soon her coughs weren’t as common or present. She was more relaxed.

Loki would usually leave at this point, but he stayed. Stayed right in the room, dismissing his copy. Stayed by and watched anxiously, his brow wrinkling every time they finished an incantation.

Soon enough, they made her a little cup of tea to help calm her and ease the pain in her body. She cuddled up in the blankets, her eyes drooping down sleepily.

One healer, a woman with her brown hair in a bun approached him.

“She is stable. She will be fine, though there will be coughs and bouts of weakness. She just needs more time before we can declare her completely healed,” she reported.

Then they left. Her face looked pale and weary.

“Loki…where is the music? I miss it…from the ballroom…” she asked.

“That was from my magic,” he explained.

“Could you have it play for me, please? Or, do you know a…a song…I need to take my mind off of everything…”

Loki thought for a moment.

“I know a song…it’s rather fast, but there’s the slower bit…”

She stilled. Then he sat by the bed and held her hand and sang:

“I stormsvarte fjell Jeg vandrer alene Over isbreer tar jeg meg frem…”

He paused, a cheeky smile towards Stella. He looked right in her eyes, singing the next line right to her.

“I eplehagen står møyen den vene”

He gave her a wink, kissing her hand. Her eyes widened though from the scattered look, she didn’t understand what that line was actually saying, but her eyes did become a little bigger and her lips parted slightly, though no words came out.

“Og synger, ‘Nar kommer du hjem?’”

She did smile at that.

He made sure to slow the song down as much as he could, despite the temptation to speed it up. He finished the last line, and she nodded her head.

“The beginning was beautiful, thank you…I have one more request, please don’t think me selfish.”

“That depends on the request,” Loki teased, arching an eyebrow.

Her voice was soft and sleepy.

“Could I…have…a patch of ground in the garden? And a few seeds of flowers? They’re far easier than vegetables.”

“Why, yes, yes you may.”

She had a small smile and he felt his stomach turn a little at it.

I think I’m ready to go to sleep now. I’m grateful for you today, you were very kind to me. Goodnight, Loki.” she wished.

“Goodnight, Little Star.”

She kept the smile on her as her eyes drifted shut and she relaxed. They remained closed for a minute. Her small exhale and slowly rising and falling chest assured him that she wasn’t lost forever.

Then he left, closing the door quietly.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The Least Important Woman in the World found her patch of earth with a wooden sign on the ground and little stakes with azure ribbon around it the next day. There was a bag of flower seeds, a water cat, and a few tools. Then she got to work.

Stella stood in the muck, with an apron, a little straw hat over her braided hair, and gloves. She pulled up the dirt and shoveled.

A forbidden image came up in her mind. There, in the dirt, she imagined it was images of her husband and Cora. Happy and together. Like her years with him never mattered.

She indulged herself.

She picked up the shovel and slammed it in hard. She exhaled through her nose fast, simultaneous guilt and catharsis simmering inside her. The image of their dance was like a painting on the ground. She kept slamming it in like a blade. Releasing bits of her anger as steadily as a tea kettle whistling out steam when the water was too hot. No one was hurt, she didn’t want to hurt anyone. Yet her anguish demanded release. But she grunted as she dug out the dirt and slammed the shovel into different parts of the ground over and over again.

Loki watched with a slice of toasted bread with butter and a warm drink from inside the palace. He observed out the window, the clearest one so no color would distort what was happening. Clean and safe from his window like a prince observing his subject. Not that she noticed.

Part of him was struck as she was stabbing into the ground. There’s always something a little chilling when the sweetest person one knows turns angry. It’s sacred, terrifying. Even though he was a god who could bend shadows to his will, Loki felt his breathing become slightly more shallow.

When the ground was ready, she realized she was crying. She took one dirt-stained sleeve and wiped off her eyes. Then she wiped off her forehead as well, for she was sweating from the excursion already.

The holes were all prepared. She placed the bag of seeds in the pocket of her apron. She placed them in each hole delicately. Not minding that her skirts, hands, and a little of her face were dirty.

Loki couldn’t help but smirk, it was the dirtiest and thorniest he had seen this English Rose. He wondered what he would do if he was in her position. If his husband betrayed him for another, especially as he turned deadly sick, he would have loved to burn the entire village to the ashes.

She didn’t burn things down. She only gardened.

She patted the dirt over each little hole. Then she took out a watering can and put it over.

Wiping her hands from the effort, She would go about, checking on the various flowers. Watering them. She even got little scissors and snipped off surplus leaves. Wanting to do more than just amble about and admire plants.

She did see which flowers were blue and saw little blue pebbles in the ground in the garden- tiny rocks. She picked them up and placed them in her pocket. Then hurried back and put them in the box on her desk.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The next day, it was Stella was sitting in the room by the window. She was using the desk to write to her family. It was a pleasant room that caught the sunshine and made it appear golden and she could think of no better place to do so. She sat down, absorbed by detailing everything in letters to her children and husband about what was happening, as well as reading their responses that were delivered when the chests returned.

She was so hypnotized by it, that she didn’t notice Loki outside in the garden.

He looked up at her and placed his hands on his hips. He frowned as she smiled at one letter, a blush over her cheeks. She kissed it.

No doubt it was a letter from her philandering husband, Loki fumed silently. His face turned a bit red. Jealousy made a pit in his chest.

He looked at the free space in the outside courtyard- just right at Stella’s field of vision. A blank area of grass with no plants, not even a weed.

Grinning mischievously, he got an idea.

He conjured a mud puddle. Then he conjured a small flock of sheep to go about baaing. Right where she would see.

Her eyes were down on her letters. She had picked up a pen and was writing.

He tried to wave his hands to the sheep. Guiding them to stand in the mud puddle, though they were all at the edges of the puddle where it was shallow. They baaed quietly and looked around. Only their hooves were in the mud, but they were going about happily and very much not stuck. Though he didn’t like getting his fine leathers dirty, he got into the puddle. He smiled and placed his hands on his hips and looked up.

Her eyes were down.

He scrunched his nose and frowned. He let out a deep sigh as he got up and splashed some mud on his clothes and around his face. Then he waved at the sheep to go into the middle where there was more mud.

“Come on, my wooled friends, come on!” he urged.

One sheep finally managed to get into the deep middle.

Smiling again, he walked over to it. He picked it up easily and carried it over a mere one foot away from the mud to chew on un-muddy grass.

Loki checked the window.

She wasn’t looking. And still writing.

He got up another and lifted it up, high over his head. He made sure to be grunty and sweaty, just as she would have liked.

Her eyes were on her work.

Another wandered over.

“I didn’t want to do this, but it looks like I will have to,” Loki muttered internally.

He used magic to transform his clothes so that he was shirtless with fine pants. He knew he was beautiful and wanted her to see it.

And this time, the sheep were getting the memo and going over to the middle. They were not stuck, but going about the deeper mud contentedly. He picked up one, he lifted it high over his head so she could get a good look at his chest.

He checked

Norns, she was still writing!

He set it down on the grass. He then returned to the mud. He got one sheep and began lifting it up and down repeatedly as a weight, making sure to grunt in a way she would find a little titillating until there was a good sweat to make him glisten and her blush.

After a fifth rep, he held the sheep high over his head and put on his most winning smile. He checked the window.

She still didn’t look.

Right as he was on the verge of giving up, he lowered the sheep and it let out a rather loud, supported, unignorable “baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

Stella looked up.

Loki made sure everything was in place- the mud on him, his naked top, and he made sure to smile and pose with the sheep high over his head.

She gasped and left her desk in a hurry.

Was she offended? Perhaps so- perhaps the shirtlessness was a little too scandalous for her tastes. What was he doing being so crass? Doing something that Thor himself would do- did he really stoop that low? With a huff, he magicked back his shirt.

In a few minutes, the door to the garden was opening and out came a yellow head.

He felt as if he was set on fire. He hurried and picked up one sheep. He began to lift it up and down as it baaed.

“One hundred and one,” he began to grunt, loud enough for her to hear. “One hundred and two, one hundred and-”

“Come here, little darlings!” Stella cooed at the sheep, cutting him off.

When he turned his head, he realized she had a basket full of corn and peas and a wet towel in her other hand.

“Oh, poor dears! Please don’t eat in the garden! Here you are- you may have a little lunch!” she lured sweetly

The sheep gathered around her. Easily walking out of the mud without difficulty towards her. Taking the vegetables she gathered. She got out the wet towel, wiped off their hooves, and petted them.

“Are they alright?” she asked.

He did notice there was pink in her cheeks, hopefully at him. He made sure to have another of his famous smirks.

“Yes- they…they, uh, are,” he answered.

“The dirt on their wool will need soap and hot water, but that’s normal for them to get dirty when they go about,” she asked.

Loki looked down at the towel.

“I have the magic to clean them myself in a snap of my fingers if it pleases you.”

“Loki, could I clean a bit in the palace?” she asked.

“Clean? Why would you ever want to clean?” he asked.

One sheep walked to be by her side. She kept a hand on its head.

“I lived in a vicarage, given to us by Aldwinter to be our home. But since it was the vicarage, there were visitors so often. I knew if they judged the house, they would judge not only me but their vicar. So I made sure it was always as tidy as I could make it.”

She grinned.

“Sometimes I do not mind it at all! And I am alone in this palace with nothing to do until you decide to show up. May I clean a little? Lighten the magic some?” she asked.

Cleaning. All of his life, that was the job of the servants of the palace, never one of the princes. Loki tilted his head at her, he opened his mouth and for a second he couldn’t form words. But then he nodded his head with a shrug.

“Why…well, you are the one staying here, so I don’t see why not.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Stella did not mind cleaning a big palace or gardening. As her coughs lessened, as she got better, she found she no longer became tired so easily. She did miss her children terribly- she could imagine James running over to the kitchen and making himself sick on chocolates. She could see John with the dog running through the halls and opening every door, and hear his feet hurrying over the floors in echoes. She could see Jo going to the library and devouring book after book until she fell asleep with a novel on her face on the couch. How they would have loved this place!

Perhaps…when she was better…she could find a way to still keep in touch with Loki. She would take them on a trip. A free day of traveling, even though it was not to London but another world.

Nevertheless, she didn’t mind dusting every surface and sweeping off the floors. It was better to act rather than dwell all day.

As she was contentedly scrubbing away the floors of the main entryway one day, there was a knock at the door.

She jumped and released a gasp. If it was Loki, he would just conjure himself inside. Who could it be? A burglar? Surely, an enchanted castle could protect itself, could it not??

But then there was a voice, a booming, masculine, baritone voice that made her jump again.

“BROTHER!”

A burglar would not announce themselves like that.

She cautiously walked closer.

“Brother! Are you living here? Do not play your games, Loki, I wish to speak to you!” he stated from outside.

“On my way!” she replied. She picked up her skirt and walked over to open the door.

She opened the door to find a tall, large, muscular man with long beautiful blonde hair, blue eyes, and a blond beard. Stella was slightly taller than some women, but he hovered above her like a blonde bear. He looked down at her and smiled brightly.

“Oh…hello…” she greeted shyly.

“Why! Are you the Midgard lady they say lives here?” he asked.

“I…I am,” she replied. “I am Mrs. Stella Ransome, I’m pleased to meet you.” She curtsied small.

He shook her hand. She accepted it and found his grip matched her suspicion about his strength.

“Oh, I am Thor! God of Thunder and Prince of Asgard!”

Stella’s hand flew up to lightly touch her throat. Thor! Thor himself here! She was a devout Christian all of her life and now she had met not only one but two pagan gods! What on earth was she going to tell her Sunday School when she returned?

Thor kept talking excitedly, his handsome smile shining on his face.

“Why, how happy I am Loki had finally settled on a lady! He had several princesses in the past show interest, but they never liked him or he never liked them, and-”

“Oh no! I’m not his…his….his companion of that sort. This is a palace he made and I am only the guest here.” she answered.

Yet, what more did this god of thunder have to say? What was he like? What sort of powers? What was it like to be a god? She had no fear now, only curiosity.

“Prince Thor, would you like to stay for some tea?”

“Why, tea sounds wonderful Lady Stella!” he replied.

Calling her that made her smile. If this prince was a burglar, he was the nicest burglar she had ever met.

Giving him tea and a tray of biscuits, she told him about how she ended up here. Then she asked him to clarify more about Loki and him. Thor informed her that they were princes of Asgard, sons of King Odin and Queen Frigga and that he was the eldest brother and in line for the throne. Thor answered questions about Asgard. She brought out a sketchbook she found in the library and Thor drew the realms of the map. Stella was awed at it. Her world had been small in the marshes- to think there were so many other realms with so many other lives and people and their stories! How big everything was and she was just one tiny speck on a circle that moved between Midgard and Asgard.

Thor was munching on perhaps his tenth biscuit by now. Not that it stopped his talking.

“We hear that the Frost Giants wish to try to take over again- those are the ones in Jotunheim! They won’t touch a hair on my brother's head anymore. One day, I will find King Laufey to defeat him in battle!” he boasted, pumping his fist.

“It is natural to be protective of one’s family,” she commented.

Thor wiped the crumbs off his beard. “Maybe that’s why Loki’s been hiding since the battle- he’s scared of them!”

“Hiding?” she prodded.

Thor nodded, sucking down his tea.

“He has been away for some time. Father won’t tell me why, and Mother seems strong. But sometimes I think I hear her crying from a distance. You must find Loki when he shows up next- tell him that she misses him! That he has to come home!”

She clasped her hands on her lap and gave him a smile.

“I will be glad to do so. I have been able to persuade him into a few things recently, so I think he might listen to me,” she said.

“How good of you, Lady Stella!” Thor declared.

Before she could say, he slammed down his teacup, making her jump and gasp aloud in surprise, demanding another cup of tea.

The magic palace fixed the teacup back to normal, and Stella, her heart slowing down after that surprise, poured him another.

That evening, she waited for him at dinner. She was adorned with her hair up in a bun and another ballgown. It was navy blue and had little stars adorned across it, making her look like the night sky. She began to eat a little after her stomach rumbled.

She knew it was past sunset, but there was no response. Nothing. No sign of the trickster god.

“Loki?” she asked.

Her voice echoing was the only reply.

Enough time had passed. He required her to fulfil the bargain and here she was just as she had been every night for some time now. What was going on?

She got up from her chair. She passed the lush banquet and went down one hall. It had another marble floor, but there were windows with the red, velvet curtains drawn. There was a hall of doors.

She heard a sound like a grunt from the door in the far corner on her right. Green lights flashed from it.

She walked carefully closer to it. There was another flash of light, only it was light blue. And another frustrated huff.

She had heard similar huffs of frustration from a certain office for over a decade. There was no doubt now Loki was behind.

She was now at the door and realized it had creaked open.

Her eyes went to the opening. She gently said his name.

“Loki, wher-”

She saw him and her voice turned into a gasp, cupping her mouth

Loki was definitely there. The room was a smaller library with neater bookshelves and a fireplace. He stood in the center over a high table with a book full of runes on it.

But he looked different.

His skin was a bright blue and his eyes red.

Loki turned, his red eyes wide as he noticed her. Stella froze where she was, for she could not run. Was this some new enchantment he could do? Was he practicing and was that why he was late?

Yet his face turned into a frown, his teeth gritted. His red eyes glared at her. She should have run, she should have screamed. Yet she could not move.

He turned his back on her, his voice angry as he tried to cover his own face.

“Don’t- don’t look Stella! Go away!” he ordered angrily. The tone in his voice speared her heart.

“Are you hurt?” she insisted. “I was wondering why you were missing and-”

“I said to go away!” Loki barked. “And don’t look!”

Normally she would run. But something in her intuition told her to stay. There was a hurt to his voice that stirred her. He needed someone by him.

She walked inside cautiously.

“I…I am sorry I peeked in, but…Loki…”

His back was still turned. She could see bits of his blue neck beneath his raven curls. He stood before the fire.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

“No! I’m not hurt at all!” he replied, something of a choked sob in his voice.

He was behaving no better then Jo when she was four years of age.

“But your skin…did someone do this to you? do you need an ointment?” she asked.

She reached out a hand to gently touch his shoulder. He flinched away and then turned around. She took in his cerulean skin and how much brighter it made his red eyes appear.

“I don’t need the healers! Norns! I just- I’m just doing a spell and-”

She peeked and saw him uncurl his hand and clench it. His skin turned to white and his eyes to blue. But she saw there were still tears in his eyes, despite the stubborn frown on his head.

“What is happening?” she asked. “You don’t get this upset taking another person's form. Please, I’d like to know.”

She insisted he sit on the chair. She had him magic over another mug of tea and some sandwiches on a tray. They sat on the floor before the fire.

“Do you know what a Frost Giant is?” he asked.

“Yes. I hear they’re considered your enemy here,” Stella responded. She could discuss Thor and his family later.

Loki kept his eyes on the fire.

“All children in Asgard are taught to be terrified of them Stella…this is my true form. I’m a runt of a Frost Giant. Left behind as a baby to die in a tundra. Unwanted since the moment I was born. All of my life I was told of beasts who slaughter innocents. Only to realize I had to look in the mirror to see one.”

Stella’s eyes softened at him.

“Loki…that’s…that’s horrible…”

“I’m going to control it. Hide it. Push it away so no one will tell, no one will be able to see. I will be dead, I won’t be nothing, I’ll prove to father I’m worthy, I will!” he hissed. He slammed a fist onto his lap.

Stella leaned forward.

“May I see it again, please? Just once.” she asked.

He turned to her and swallowed. But he only turned his forearm and hand blue.

“May I?” she asked.

He gave her his arm and hand. She put her hand beneath his to lift it and then, with her other hand, pressed a finger on his blue palm.

“It’s cold. Cold like snow on Christmas, like a steam on a summer’s day, like a chapel in the morning…those aren’t bad things…” she consoled.

She traced up to his forearm. He felt himself shiver at her touch, his body stirring at the press of her hand on his skin. A tingling he kept down. She looked quietly and carefully.

“Could I have the box with my collection, please?” she asked.

He easily conjured it to the room. She lifted the lid and set it aside. She took out some trinkets- spoons, shells, bottles. She set them in the air like a painter, next to his hand.

Then she looked in and smiled. She got out two pebbles. Then she got out her diary and opened to the first page. She got out a pressed flower. Setting them in her hands, she moved them close to Loki’s hand.

“See! They’re the very color of your skin!” she sheered.

As Loki looked down, he saw she was right. The shade of the flower and the pebbles matched the skin of his Jotunheim form.

“Now, if only there was a box big enough, I could add you too!” she teased.

He did not reprimand her for her joke, even if he had every right to. He looked up at her.

“What about blue makes it your favorite color? Why collect blue things and not something…something red or green?” Loki asked.

She traced her finger again over the pebbles and flowers. She then smiled at the other miscellaneous things she pulled out.

“It’s the color of peace. The color of heaven. It represents the sky and the sea- the two things we think of when we discuss eternity. It’s rare in nature, for it is a sacred color. Blue dye once had to be imported, for it was costly. They say that Mary wore a blue shroud. It is the color of serenity…of kindness…”

She set the items down. Though his hand was as cold as ice, it felt good on her against the warm fire. His eyes shone up at her.

“Your skin is beautiful when it’s blue. And you shouldn’t be ashamed of it.”

Loki took in a deep breath and then shook his head.

“But…the Frost Giants are…are hated…hated!”

“I don’t hate you,” she replied.

He blinked, squinting his eyes further at her. She kept her sweet smile at him.

“What? You…you don’t?” he asked.

She released his hand and began gathering her things to put back into the box.

“I’m not your servant or misteress here. You saved my life and my health. Could a truly monstrous person do that?”

His eyes sparkled. She set them back in and sealed the lid. She looked back up at him, her plate of food untouched, as was his.

“Loki, if you think my husband is so hateful, so bad…. if I could love him, how could I think less of you? Not from anything you freely chose to do, but because of how you were born? I wish you didn’t discover it in this way, and despite what I have heard…I don’t agree about Frost Giants. They can be good and kind…”

“The stories…” Loki began muttering.

“Maybe the stories are wrong,” she suggested.

She handed him a cup of tea. His magic was starting to melt back to his usual pale color, except for his hand.

He noticed that the tea set was white except for the blue flowers painted all over it. Of course, it was in relation to Stella being the one staying here.

Looking down at his hand while it was still blue, he saw that the petals of the flower on his cup matched the shade of a Frost Giant's skin.

For once, at least for a minute, he did not feel ashamed.

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smolvenger · 3 months

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Me writing a fic: I will write a developing romance beautifully and realistically in it's own time and on their own terms

Also me with said characters:

#this is about the loki and stella ransome beauty and the beast fic #and me writing miss narracott #fanfiction #fanfic writing #writing the journey to falling in love is surprisingly hard

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smolvenger · 1 year

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The Wildest Crossover Fic I ever thought of

Why do I suddenly like lightning get the most unhinged ideas for fics- like...

In the middle of writing the one-shot about just healing up post-battle Prince Hal, this morning I suddenly got an idea (thanks @holdmytesseract)

A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J Maas with Loki as Rhysand (who else who read that pictured him as Rhys? :)) ) , for those of y'all who like the A Court of Mist and Fury Series.

Yes, that's natural, and in most cases, I would make Reader Feyre-

BUT

Stella Ransome from The Essex Serpent as Feyre and Will Ransome as Tamlin.

Hear me out. Like...

Our girlie Stella is sick with TB and dying. She's at this point not yet married to Will. Loki appears by her sickbed and she's like "!!!!! What is this Norse God doing here???"

But he offers to heal her if she gives him a week to stay with him every month to stay with him in Asgard. And she accepts!

Now she's healed! Then she's about to marry Will. She's suppressing her heartbreak about Will cheating on her with Cora because she thinks she loves him and can overcome that and that his happiness matters more than her own. That she loves him that much. But she is unhappy.

She's walking down the aisle. When she pauses and silently says "Help me". She stops, unable to move to the altar.

Then suddenly, a voice "Hello, Stella, darling," and WHOOSH, there's Loki in the church!

Everyone is in shock wtf is a Norse god who looks like the groom doing in a Christian church?.

He takes Stella away to Asgard. She's astounded and gets to know the motley crew- Thor, Frigga, Valkyrie, Sif, etc. This Victorian-era Lady gets to learn about this other world and magic and is astounded! Loki helps her with her trauma about being cheated on and teaches her not to sacrifice her happiness for Will's. Stella shows Loki the love and care that is sometimes denied to him. She eventually falls for Loki and dumps Will in between their time there and becomes like a Princess(High Lady) of Asgard. They're fated mates or whatever???

I guess make Thanos the King of Hybern bad guy but maybe that's too much. I'm that unhinged

My mind below thinking of that:

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smolvenger · 1 year

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*rewatches National Theatre’s Medea with actual legend, rest forever in peace Helen McCroy*

Helen as Medea: “He was everything to me, and is gone, my own husband, transformed into a serpent, slithering from my bed to another, leaving me abandoned, alone. The fate of a wife.”

Me: *eyes my already complete fic of Stella of Essex or The Vicar’s Wife Betrayed and runs to the edit chapter and post options*

#national theatre #national theatre live #National theatre London #Medea #helen mccrory #National theatre Medea #Stella ransome #clemence poesy #stella of essex #carrie writes #Carrie speaks #tom hiddleston #fanfiction #fanfics #fanfic editing #fanfic edit #the essex serpent fanfiction #the Essex serpent

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smolvenger · 2 years

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Stella of Essex or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed, (The Essex Serpent Fix-It Fic Series) Chapter 15: Iris

Series Summary: The Essex Serpent is reimagined and told from the perspective of Stella Ransome. And with a new ending. Stella must come to terms with not only her mortality but her husband's heartbreaking affair. A portrait of a woman who became The Ideal Lady her time and marriage required her to be. A picture of a marriage of love and bliss torn apart by a husband's infidelity. And Stella herself in the center of it all, torn between a wife's duty and her own quiet but present rage. Where in the midst of devastating heartbreak she gains her strength, finds her voice, and dares to seek freedom, hope...and even revenge.

(yes the second gif is modern but I don't care- IT'S HER BEING HAPPY AT HER WEDDING DAMMIT!!!! SHE DESERVES THAT MUCH)

Chapter Summary: Despite the torments of her past, Stella Ransome finds happiness in her engagement and wedding to Harold Cavaradossi.

Pairing: Stella Ransome/Male OC: Harold Cavaradossi, some Stella/William Ransome but about the tragedy of their marriage and the angst of his cheating.

Prologue//One//Two//Three//Four//Five//Six//Seven//Eight//Nine//

Ten//Eleven//Twelve//Thirteen

Warnings: Mentions of a Major Character Death. (sorry not sorry). Mentions of sex, illness, and pregnancy. Nightmares. Canon Divergence. But this is a very fluffy chapter with happy stuff coming in. Being Anti-Will and C*ra so if you like the characters or pairing you have been warned.

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS AND ASKS AND MESSAGES ARE APPRECIATED!

“Mama, this is wonderful!” John cried, looking at the ring on my left hand.

Word had quickly spread to my children. They all gathered to look at the new ring like chickens.

“When will the wedding be?” Joanna asked.

“In April, the Springtime. By then, it’ll be over a year since your father died and it won’t be considered scandalous for me to remarry anymore. Besides, should I get sicker, we agreed the engagement should be short.” I explained.

“Is Harry our father now?” James asked, tilting his head.

“He will be. He’ll be your stepfather. But all of you must promise me- he will never be the father any of you grew up with. But you will love him and respect him all the same.”

“Of course,” Joanna nodded.

“Can I call him papa, then?”

“Don’t pretend like I’m not here, Jim! Of course, you can call me Papa!” Harry nodded.

“Sure, Papa!” James nodded with a smile. He ran up and gave Harry a hug.

It was not long before my parents also sent letters with their approval. They knew I was grown, but they gave me their blessing to marry him. Besides, especially considering how he was the head of a bank who loved me, I could do far worse.

As he gathered to leave, he took both of my hands in mine.

“I think the wedding should be near, my dear. There’s a chapel here and a cabin nearby-I’ve discussed it with the staff.”

“Wonderful!”

“And they’ll give it to us for a week. We’ll go there the night of the wedding…”

“Oh…alright” I answered, feeling a blush on my face in spite of myself.

“We do know that it’s going to be the chapel here…Do you know what you would like to have at the reception, Stella?”

“I prefer it to be small, intimate…just a nice little wedding. The ceremony shouldn’t matter, it’s the man that should,” I answered.

He smiled.

"Can I kiss your cheek?"

"Of course…"

"I’ll be staying at an inn nearby until then- I’ll visit you every week, Stella-and write to you every excuse I can!” he promised.

The bits of his cheekbones were pointed from the wideness of his smile.

“Please do, Harry,” I cooed in response.

“Oh, say it again- call me my name!”

I smiled and repeated it: “Harry, my darling.”

He brought my palm to his lips and kissed it.

The other patients, doctors, and nurses were all thrilled at my announcement. Many ladies would ask me questions about Harold and how I met him. They asked about his proposal and details about the wedding. Though I did have to have my dress ordered from a catalog. The day it arrived, everyone leaned in their beds for a look as I took it from the box to admire it. ▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

William still haunts me. He appears in my dreams. I dreamt of him most during the engagement to Harold.

I see him- Will Ransome. My Will. My First Husband. The Serpent keeps his curled hair slicked back; his chin is pointed up with his beard neatly trimmed for Sunday. The Serpent wears white robes with a bright green tassel around his shoulders as if it’s a snake drooped over his shoulders. Beneath it, you can see his black with the speck of white at his Adam's apple. The Serpent folds his hands in front of him. He stands at that cold, stony church. The Serpent raises his arms to the sky. Sometimes when I have the dream I squint and can see little flecks of blood on his white.

Then the scene in my dreams changed. I see him at the dinner table. It’s in our old house. He’s wearing his black sweater with white beneath it-almost but not entirely different from his holier black and white. The Serpent, William, Will, smiles at me, and then raises one long finger, brings it to his lips as if in secret, and smiles, going “shhhh” and I smile back like I would at him.

He would do that often in our marriage when feeling playful. But when he did that in my dreams, it felt different.

Why are you shushing? What are you going to do, William? Something to do with the children? With me? A secret? Are you taking me to your secret lake? Are you going to tickle James? To tease John? To teach Joanna? Or is it something else… Are you keeping our last secret in the grave? Are you keeping quiet about how I took you there? Or is it something else? Is this my old Will or the new Will? Why is your finger at your mouth to shush me?

Only it is too bad that I knew where that finger would be later.

And the dreams became worse near the year anniversary of his death: In this dream, all was as normal in our home in Aldwinter.

I recall walking in, holding a bunch of flowers. I walk into our kitchen- it’s a grey, cloudy day and it seems a little gloomy in that brown kitchen. I set the flower in the vase and am arranging it, trying to make it look pretty when I feel his hand. His large, heavy hand. It taps my shoulder with gentleness. It’s not the grip the victim would threaten against his killer. It’s the soft, affectionate touch of a husband to a wife. It’s a scene that happened between us thousands of times in our marriage.

I look up and see Will. Wearing his dark sweater to warm himself from the chill. He smiles at me and I at him. He then steps forward and puts a lock of hair back behind my ear and wipes my braid from my side to fall against my back. I even hear the taps of the little dog’s feet by my skirt.

“How are you, Stella?” he asks me.

“I’m wonderful, Will” I reply happily.

I look down at the flowers and then when I look up, he’s dancing with her against candlelight. I beg him to stop but he keeps ignoring me. I reach it out into cries, pleading for him. The crowd keeps pushing me back, letting him and The Woman dance together the very dances he used to do with me thrice a night when we were engaged.

“Will, don’t dance with her! Please, stop, Will! You’re my husband, Will- stop it! Listen to me, Will! Listen to your wife! Why won’t you listen to me, Will? Please, Will! DON’T DANCE WITH HER!” I screech.

I scream, but no one hears me. I begin to sob uselessly as the crowd applauds their dancing.

I woke up screaming. The lights flashed on, and I realized I was back in the Sanitorium. The others beside me assured me that I’m alright and nurses scrambled to check on me. I told them I had a nightmare about my old husband.

“Maybe some sleeping medicine should help…I’ll get the doctor,” one nurse offered.

“Don’t worry, Stella- your husband is dead, but he wouldn’t mind you remarrying. He’d want you to be happy and taken care of, I think” the lady next to me said. I sipped on my water as one nurse held my hand.

“You’re safe now, Mrs. Ransome. And you’re surrounded by us and everyone else- and you have a fiancée who adores you. All will be well, you’ll see…” she said.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

“Nightmares?” Harry asked on his next visit.

“Yes, about him. And about what happened,” I explained.

He would sit in the chair and squeeze my hand as a comfort. Outside, the snow was melting into the green grass and we were accompanied by birdsong.

“Can you tell me what happened…it doesn’t have to be all at once…but as much as you’re comfortable,” Harry offered.

So, forgetting our tea, I took both of Harry’s hands in mine. He looked at me kindly, his frown gentle.

So I told him everything about William.

I told Harry about how I met him. About the gardenia. About his proposal. The wedding. The marriage bed. The list.

Then the Serpent. The Woman. The Illness. The Dance. The Tree.

There was a pause as the sun began to shine through. It lit up on Harry and I could see the red streaks in his hair.

“I hardly know what to say, Stella…I only know you suffered immensely. No woman- no, no person should have to go through what you did.”

“Am I…pitiful to you?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“No…you’re even braver. You’re the strongest of them all, of all women, Stella. It makes me even more honored to be your husband and…”

He wiped off a tear with his sleeve and looked at me. I heard him sniffling.

“I promise you, I’ll be nothing like Reverend Ransome. I swear to you,” he promised.

My own eyes dried up and I tightened my jaw. A taste of fire was in my stomach. That thing that was so quiet and was now spewing forth after my years of silencing was taking hold.

“You remember what happened to William. If you’re unfaithful to me, Harold, I swear I will not hesitate to castrate you before I kill you!” I managed to say.

Harold raised his eyebrows and then slowly had a half smile.

“I must admit your fire in you makes me not only frightened and yet it burns me with a passion for you further!” he confessed.

“Which is it?" I asked.

“Both! My heart and my cock!" he admitted.

I let out a relaxed laugh. His thumbs rubbed over mine.

“Can I kiss you, Stella?”

“Yes.”

He gently pressed his lips to mine. I tasted the tea on his breath and felt his breath from his nose. It was…loving. Romantic. And I never felt safer. Or more loved. Relaxing into it, I put my arms around him.

He let go and then looked at me, eyes wide in wonder from that moment.

My arms were still around him, and I pulled him in again for another kiss. A deep one. A lover’s kiss. I felt his hands go to my back to press me closer. We held it for a while.

Once we let go, we smiled. He kissed my hand with the ring on it- skin on metal.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ I married Harold, my Harry, in April.

My symptoms felt mild with rarely a cough. My joy made me forget any weakness in my body. The crisp, bright springtime was all over with humming bees and flowers moving with the gentle breeze. Green and sunlight were everywhere when you walked outside.I looked outside with my father by my side again as the bells rang out. It was loud but endearing- the charming ring you wanted to drown in.

Exhaling, we entered the church. I passed members of our families and my children’s smiling faces. The chapel was filled with flowers.

My hair was done up and a nurse had put a couple of flowers in the updo. I was in white with puffed sleeves, a train, a veil, and a lovely set of pearls across my neck as a gift from Harry.

I smiled at him through the veil once we stood at the altar.

“God, Stella…” he leaned in to tell me in private.

“What?” I whispered.

“You look beautiful.”

"Thank you, Harry."

We both spoke with small voices, choked by happy tears through our vows. I put my laced gloves and hands in his and didn’t dare let go. I even heard his emphasis “In sickness and in health, forsaking all others” strongly.

Finally, the priest gave us our blessing, marking the sign of the cross.

“I now declare you as husband and wife- Harold and Stella Cavaradossi…”

He leaned to me- my husband! My new husband! How strange and exciting that struck me. Harry leaned to me and whispered, “I’ll make you the most Italian Englishwoman yet!”

That made me giggle as we began to walk together, hand in hand, out of the chapel.

Once we exited the church to the reception, he lifted my veil and kissed me tenderly.

Among our three cakes and bowl of wine, I was glad to meet more of the Cavaradossis. Harry had so many younger brothers and sisters as well as cousins and aunts and uncles that it made my head spin. Only his immediate family- his mother, sisters, and brothers could show up and the rest arrived later! But they all wished me well and good health and a good marriage. Joanna had her hair curled again and embraced me with a smile. James was delighted to find that Harold's mother brought him his own small chocolate cake for the reception. John himself helped clear the dishes with the nurses and doctors once the guests were done.

Harry helped me into a carriage driven by grey horses. With our things packed, we drove the few miles to the cottage they offered. The children waved as they met with their Aunt Edith, her stomach swelling with her long-awaited baby inside, to sleep back under her roof. One more week and they'd stay with Harold Cavaradossi- their new stepfather.

“They were kind to furnish everything- the tables, the bed, the chairs- even the plates,” Harold explained.

I smiled at him, and then looked down at our matching silver bands.

That evening, when we walked into the room, I realized it was the same kind of mattress used at the Sanatorium.

“Here- the best of the wines saved for tonight!” he announced.

He brought in the bottle, opened it easily, and poured us both generous glasses. As I began to sip mine and he gulp his down, I kept eyeing the bedroom.

“A hospital bed?” I wondered.

“They gave it on the grounds it would be where the marriage would…” he turned red “be consummated.”

“I…I understand…” I muttered, nodding in embarrassment.

The sun had sunk down to its slumber. Above was the black night and its sky filled with stars above our roof.

I undid my pretty dress, and my hair and managed to change into my nightgown. Once I removed the silk slippers, I saw Harry himself had changed. He then stood up and offered his hand. Smiling I accepted it. He pulled me up with a strength that made me gasp and he kissed me with gentle force and even a little tongue. I felt his hand creeping up my leg.

“Harry…” I began to giggle.

He paused, glancing down, and then back up.

“Are you feeling well, Stella? Do you need to rest?” he asked.

“Whatever for?”

He turned me around and embraced me from behind. I heard his voice, his breath hot on my neck.

“It’s my wedding night and I’d like to make love to my wife, is all…”

“I…I think I can. I’m sure I can…it’s been a while, but I can…” I spoke softly.

He kissed my neck as he rocked me back and forth in the embrace. He then turned before me.

“So is that a yes?” he asked.

“It's a yes,” I replied.

I tasted the flavor of the merlot, still fresh on his lips as he undid the buttons of my nightdress.

You understand I am a lady. I was not raised to speak in detail, much less publicly about the details of my private life, of my body.

I will say this- he was warm and embracing. He was passionate, yet tender, and gentle. I forgot how good it felt to even be intimate with a man. It was too long, far too long.

And if there is one thing I felt when we first coupled- or the many times we made love to each other- Harold and I, I have only one word I Can think of to describe it...

Bedding my new husband, Harry, was pure ecstasy.

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smolvenger · 2 years

Text

Stella of Essex or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed Series. Chapter 14- Lemon Blossoms

A Fix-It Fanfiction Series based off of The Essex Serpent

Pairings: Stella Ransome/Male OC: Harry Cavaradossi, some Stella Ransome/William Ransome but focusing on the angst of his cheating and the tragedy of their marriage. Mainly Stella Ransome/Happiness and Will/Facing Consequences for Cheating.

Series Summary: The Essex Serpent is reimagined and told from the perspective of Stella Ransome. And with a new ending. Stella must come to terms with not only her mortality but her husband's heartbreaking affair. A portrait of a woman who became The Ideal Lady her time and marriage required her to be. A picture of a marriage of love and bliss torn apart by a husband's infidelity. And Stella herself in the center of it all, torn between a wife's duty and her own quiet but present rage. Where in the midst of devastating heartbreak she gains her strength, finds her voice, and dares to seek freedom, hope...and even revenge.

Chapter Summary: Stella becomes a widow. She is reunited with her children and then goes to a Sanatorium for her tuberculosis. She is haunted by the memories of her late husband and her dangerous secret concerning his death. Her In-Laws pose her with an impossible ultimatum. And Harry Cavaradossi has a solution for her.

Prologue//One//Two//Three//Four//Five//Six//Seven//Eight//Nine//

Ten//Eleven//Twelve//Thirteen

Warnings: Major Character Death and discussions of it. Discussions of cheating and the trauma it causes, funerals, grief, mourning, families, children, trauma, sex, sex workers, illness, doctors, and a Sanatorium. Mentions of blood. Canon Divergence. Some angst, but lots of fluff ESPECIALLY at the end :) Hurt/Comfort and getting to the comforting and healing section of whump. Being Anti-Will Ransome and Anti-C*ra so if you like the pairing or the characters themselves, you have been warned.

Ao3 Link

Buy Me a Ko-Fi!

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS AS WELL AS MESSAGES AND ASKS ABOUT THIS FIC ARE APPRECIATED!

“Theseus abducted Minos’ daughter (Ariadne) and sailed to Dia, where he cruelly abandoned his companion to her wailing. Bacchus brought love and comfort to the girl, and so that she would shine among the stars, he sent her diadem up into heaven; it flew its precious stones were turned to brilliant fires…”- Ovid, Metamorphoses, Translated by Charles Martin, Book VIII, lines 240-249.

The next day, Dante and Edith returned with a purchase made from the safe money- two black dresses, black gloves, and a veil. They went upstairs to deliver it and Edith helped me change into my first black dress.

“You’re a widow now, you need to wear these for two years and a day…And you must isolate yourself except for church…” she instructed.

“I have been isolating myself since I fell sick. Or trying to. And Edith…”

I felt her help button up the dress from the back.

“Yes?” she added.

I turned around my head to look at her as she finished the last button.

“If anyone asks, I’m not moving back to Aldwinter. I don’t want to go back to the place I fell in love with him. There are too many memories there, happy and sad ones and happy ones made sad after this. also, with the house and William’s property there…I’d like to sell it.”

She looked around at me, nodding. I sat down on the bed, and she sat on a chair.

“The money I’ve been given, and the sale will be given for two things- one, for my children, and second, so I can go to a Sanatorium to stay to recover. But I want the house and property sold and for my children and the dog to reside in London,” I instructed.

“Then we’ll send a telegram, ask the children to pack their things. But Stella, I was thinking…” she began shyly.

“What is it, Edith?” I asked.

She walked around as I adjusted the long sleeves to reach to my wrists. Then she placed her hands in front of her, twiddling her thumbs, glanced down, and then looked at me.

“Stella…Dante’s house only has so much room…could the children stay with me? You can too!” she suggested.

“Why, of course!” I answered.

She smiled and placed her hands on her cheeks. Her eyes darted as her thoughts poured out of her mouth one by one.

“Oh yes! Our own house is big enough for three children and a dog, Stella! After all, I and Edgar have always wanted to have a big family. But…I’ve just had trouble getting pregnant….and at least, Eddie’s fond of dogs!”

“Yes, how wonderful!”

She then took my hands and her eyes looked sincerely into mine.

“And Stella…if you should pass. Edgar and I will adopt the children.…”

“Oh, of course!” I agreed.

We both embraced and then I went over to the looking glass on the desk. I hardly recognized myself not in blue, but in black. My own face looked even paler contrasted with the dark color. Once Edith placed the veil on top of my head and draped the black lace, so it fell long over my face, I wondered if what I saw was even human.

“May I lift the veil if I see my children or someone I love?” I asked.

“I think so,” Edith answered with a shrug. ▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ A week passed and I received a telegram saying the children were coming to London. I kept waiting and waiting every day, dressed in my black with a veil behind my face every afternoon. I was waiting to hear those three voices I loved so dearly.

Dante and kindly enough, Harry himself sat by my side each day to talk with me and distract me from my anxiety. I kept wanting to ask those impossible questions: where were they? What were they doing? Did something happen? God forbid, have they been hurt?

Finally, one afternoon I heard a dog bark, and a gaggle of familiar voices at the door. And then a knock. Dante took my hand and squeezed, and Harry went over to open the door.

Turning, there they were with Edith and Edgar in the opening parlor of Dante’s house. They all looked at me and their chatter stopped. Joanna, John, and James were all dressed in black and looked at me like a phantom in my veil. The dog however continued to wag his tail and tugged at the leash eager to greet me.

We stared at each other in our black. Then I threw off my veil to see them clearly.

They all cried “Mama!!” and ran up to me.

There all hugged me, and I even heard some tears. I too was crying despite myself. I said their names and followed each by kissing the tops of their heads. Edgar, keeping the dog on his leash, allowed him up, barking, whining, smiling and I was reacquainted with his cold nose and wet kisses on my cheek.

After this was done, I put a hand on John’s shoulder and another on James, Joanna standing in the middle.

“Darlings, I must tell you. I’ll stay with you for a little while in your Aunt Edith’s house. Then when the funeral is done, I’m going to a Sanitarium. Your aunt and uncle will look after the three of you. once either the money runs out or I have finished my time and declare myself healthy. I will go back to live with all of you with your aunt and be your mother like normal. Please…I’m not abandoning any of you. Please don’t think that…it’s my health…”

Joanna went up and hugged me again, shaking her head.

‘Of course not, Mama!” she insisted.

“It’ll help you feel better!” James said.

John leaned down and petted the dog.

“I just can’t believe Papa’s gone…” he sighed.

“Neither can I…” I agreed soberly. ▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ The funeral was a small affair. The veil I wore was able to hide the many tears I cried over William during the service. Crying about what became of him, my Will. The Love of My Life and The Serpent of Aldwinter. Crying from what I had to do. Yet I kept looking around at each corner with my throat tightening and breath hitching. I was watching out for her: Her. Her. Her. Thankfully, I did not see Her in attendance throughout the day.

But then my father and mother-in-law approached me during the reception. Their eyes were red with tears and their faces pale. My Mother-In-Law spoke in a voice low enough that heads wouldn’t turn.

“We hear you’re going to the countryside for your health. Here…take this check to finance your stay. But other than that, don’t expect a penny more from us!” she hissed, practically throwing a check into my hands.

“Thank you, it will be of help to me,” I said with a calm smile. ▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ It was hard to leave my children again. But I promised I would write to them every day and they promised they would visit once the train arrived at the station. Harry and Dante helped me up into the car and to our seats. Dante was next to me, and Harry was across from me, I looked out the window and lowered it to listen and say more parting words to James, John, and Joanna. Edith got out handkerchiefs to wave out for me. John practically ran after it until he got to the end of the walkway, waving his arm goodbye and me waving goodbye at the window towards him until he vanished.

“Oh, I have a gift for the two of you…” I began.

Harry jumped in his seat; his hand pulled to his chest.

“Me too? A gift for me!?” he asked.

“Yes, here, in my bag…” I said.

I reached inside the bag I had and got out two pairs of the dark blue gloves I had knitted during my time in London.

“Here for each of you, the first one to shelter me and the first friend I made in London, the first one to help me when Will died. Edith already has hers. I know it’s spring now, but perhaps you can use them next winter,” I reasoned.

Dante smiled, already fitting them onto his hands.

“Why, how kind, Stella! Thank you!” he said.

“I’ll be glad to wear them when it gets colder again. London’s brutal in December,” Harry confirmed.

He placed both into his large hands and held them on his lap, his thumbs feeling the texture.

“Harry,” I started.

He turned his curly head towards me. It was the same color as Will's with Harry's being a little blonder. Also, Harry's wasn't as long as Will's and had a smoothness and shine to it I saw on the top of his head as he took off his hat to be seated beside him.

“I forgot to ask, how is your father now? Wasn’t his health bad?”

“I’ll tell you this. I kept to your word when we parted at your husband’s place. I spoke to my father. I apologized for what I had done in the past. He apologized for making me think he didn’t love me for the times I made mistakes. We cried a lot and then he embraced me, and I called him “papa”- me, a grown man! We speak to each other almost every day and for once not to squabble. As for his health, his heart is weakened, but he seems to be alright for now.”

It was a long, dull train ride. I was grateful for boredom. Fields rolled by us and were replaced by mountains. Mountains so massive they broke through clouds. The train stopped and we took a little carriage to get to the Sanatorium at last.

Nurses and doctors ran out of the entrance to greet us and gather my things. One of the nurses with grey hair and dark eyebrows brought forth a wheelchair.

“Our patients must first and foremost- rest! Sit here, Mrs. Ransome!”

Harry and my brother helped me into the cushioned seat. They walked by me as the nurse wheeled me inside.

“When are visiting days?” I asked.

“Tuesdays and Thursdays. You will meet in the parlor,” she informed me.

I looked over at them.

“Dante, can you visit?”

“Of course, Stella!” he reassured me.

“Write to Aldwinter and tell them they can write to me here for the time being,” I requested.

We heard some giggles from the hallway and a cough from another. I noticed almost every window in the building was open. We paused before a door.

“I’ll go in and make sure your bed is ready- not sure the new girl remembered to make it!” she complained before slipping through the door.

I could feel that the air was crisp, and cooler despite the spring sunshine and being indoors. You could hear some birdsong right on the roof over us. Dante met with another nurse and carried my two bags over to the next room.

Harry looked at me.

“Can I visit you too, Stella?” he asked.

A part of me stuttered out the words. My mouth felt dry.

“Um, yes. I’d like it…”

He smiled as the nurse returned and rolled me on and he followed, hands in pockets.

“Do you remember that joke we managed to pull on Dante those weeks ago? The hat?!” he recalled.

I smiled and nodded, “Yes! I remember! The one with the hole! Switched and he never noticed it! And right when he walked out the rain got right onto his head, and he ran back inside like a cat! I never laughed that hard in ages!”

“I’m glad I could make you laugh, Stella.”

It is a large room filled with beds against white walls. I could place my bags and suitcase beneath it. Nurses and doctors floated by, and patients coughed in their beds, slept, or laid down reading or watching around them. Luckily, my bed was across a large window that overlooked the mountains.

“But you will visit, will you Harry?” I pleaded.

“Yes, whenever I can, Stella, I promise. I’ll even bring the children over with me if I can,” he said. ▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ The fresh air was everywhere. It seeped between the windows and through the floors inside. Once you were outside, you could almost drown in it.

For a whole month, doctors in white coats with glasses and pretty nurses of at least eighteen advised me to a rest cure. To have four days of the week where I only lay in bed. As hearty as my meals were, it was awkward drinking and eating the rich food they fed us while lying down. The nurse would tip over a glass of milk from me to drink but was careful not to spill it on me. I became used to the taste of the raw eggs they fed us as a side to our meals. They insisted it was good for tuberculosis. The other three days I was allowed to sit up, I could read or write or sew or knit, but I was not permitted to move a foot from the bed. Sometimes a doctor would only pass me by with a “hmmm, aha…” while observing me and then continue on to the next bed. However, there were days the doctors would look at me carefully for hours and write down notes on what I needed next. The nurses would pass by daily with whatever treatments they had to administer to the others.

Often, I noticed doctors and nurses cleaning up the blood. Sometimes, I would see a dead body- its shape covered by a white sheet on a bed- down the hall or in the room being taken away.

“Please God, I’m so lonely, please let someone visit! Please give me someone to talk to! Please let me get better, please!” I would pray every day.

I didn’t dare ask when I could leave but kept up with the treatments and rested as much as I could.

I could be wheeled outside in the wheelchair to sit outside no matter what the weather was. I had several experiences of staying in a bed that was outside on the yard or balcony on days that were completely clear, the mountain air surrounding me.

I mainly wore white nightgowns when I was in bed. For my hours outside in a wheelchair or rocking chair or seeing visitors, my wardrobe consisted of mourning dresses. As the month of May began, I was sweating profusely beneath it all even in the shade. It was bliss to feel the cool wind.

Sometimes in the distance of nature, the rolling mountains, hills, and forests from my hours sitting outside, I would think of William. I would picture him walking about these valleys and how he would have loved reaching his chin up to look at the mountains. I could see him, hands in his pockets, his long, curly hair flying back with the wind.

To think that I, above all people, could and did end a human life! My husbands!

Sometimes I could still see him, hands in pockets, his long coat, his green scarf, admiring the view in front of him and his lips rounding to the words he’d call me “Stella! Look at the mountain- you could make a sermon out of this!”

Then I’d see a tree and a different picture returned to my eyes. I'd see what I saw that day in Aldwinter. The picture of Will retreating his hand from The Woman’s skirt, placing his fingers to his lips, and licking them. Being with Her. Her. Her. Her.

I would stare at it, into the oblivion of nature so long, that I wouldn’t feel the tears fall quietly from my eyes nor one of the nurses shake me after the air bath was over.

“Mrs. Ransome! Mrs. Ransome! Get out of your head and into the wheelchair! It’s time to go inside!” a sharp, shrill voice would scold me.

I noticed one time as my children were visiting, accompanied by their Uncle Edgar, that Joanna had her hair curled. I told her she looked lovely, and she smiled in admiration of them.

Rarely, the visitor would be an old friend from Aldwinter and I would greet them with happy tears and urges to embrace and we would spend hours talking. I would recall the old church and ask if it was still doing its Woman’s Bible Study. They’d tell me all about the new curate and vicar after William’s passing and what daring thing Martha said about the social classes.

I would spend hours admiring the views from my window on my bed: I could see a large lake and rolling green hills. Even nearby farms let their white sheep graze across it like little white clouds on a green sky.

I could write and read letters. I read whatever books or newspapers or magazines I could to pass the time. Of everyone, I most often got letters from four people: my three children, and Harry.

By June, I became more and more chatty among my fellow patients. With hours of being outside and having tuberculosis, such trials bring people together. I asked who they were and where they came from. I’d tell them that I am Mrs. Stella Ransome, originally from Aldwinter, and I was mourning my late husband, hence my black. There was harmless, fascinating gossip I indulged in hearing and relaying of course. Who was talking with so-and-so, who was sneaking away to drink? What each of my neighbors’ lives was like before this- they were happy to tell me. Who left feeling like new? Who died?

I noticed at the times Harry visited, my mouth would still go dry, and my stomach fluttered. I brushed it off as feeling sick.

In July, I began to speak most often with one woman named Mrs. Elvira Carson. She was a tall woman with chestnut hair and large green eyes that seemed to match the fields and liked to wear pink, soft cotton on hot summer days. Even with the hollowness in her cheeks, she was pretty. We both had an interest in flowers. We discussed what we noticed grew in the gardens, and then what plants and flowers. By August, we remembered our old homes, and then our husbands. Hers was still alive.

“But…I must confess something, Mrs. Ransome…” she said one day, her eyes dripping down.

“What is it?” I asked.

She took out a handkerchief and twisted it in her thin hands.

“I mustn’t complain about you being in mourning,” she muttered.

“No, you can complain to me,” I assured her.

“Part of me is grateful to get away because…years ago…it broke my heart so much but…my-my husband had…had another woman…”

I looked right at her, yet I felt frozen where I sat.

“I did my best to maintain a brave face at home. I bit back everything I felt and let him carry on. Thank God he passed nothing onto me but…I feel so…so hurt…” I reached out a hand.

“Well, I know how it feels. I am so sorry. You must be suffering terribly…"

I looked at her and tried to smile, despite a few tears escaping me.

“I can tell you this…you are not alone,” I promised.

We would spend hours and I’d listen to her, letting her mourn and discuss it. We would cry and then laugh at some foolish business or bit of humor that was picked up. We laughed about how silly men and women can be and the ridiculousness of it all. Of course, I did not discuss my own husband’s affair, much less the truth concerning my husband’s end. I had to be careful about who I confided in. But it felt nice to comfort someone.

“June 1st would have been our fifteenth anniversary,” I recalled sadly.

“I’ve been married to mine for about ten years, our anniversary will be October 10th,” she traded back.

I was then moved to the second class of patients. I could get up but if I promptly returned to bed afterward. I could move and walk around a little bit, but the rest came first no matter what. I was grateful once the air chilled and became Autumn. My mourning and the constant blankets over me made me warm.

In October, Harry came by with Dante. Harry even brought over an open bottle of wine and poured us each a glass. As we all three sat in the parlor and caught up over a cup, I noticed Harry was wearing the gloves I gave him all the way back in April.

I found myself suddenly self-conscious, despite wearing a veil that covered most of my face. Harry’s smile made me hold my breath. I was glad that the veil hid me, so it would hide the fact that my eyes would continually dart back to admire his soft, lovely features. Sometimes he seemed so pretty, it was as if he stole them from the face of a lady. I felt as if lightning struck my stomach whenever he would address me.

“I will write to you shortly,” he promised, gathering the empty glasses.

“You write to me constantly!” I replied.

“Only because I bet you must be bored out of your mind here, Stella!” he joked.

Then I looked at him again. And I froze again, seeing a ghost.

Harry had high cheekbones, curly hair, and blue eyes.

William had high cheekbones, curly hair, and blue eyes.

The nurse brought me to a wheelchair and back to the room where I was sleeping in.

“No, no, no, no!” I thought to myself once I returned to my bed.

You are a complete and utter fool! Haven’t you learned your lesson by now?! No, don’t you dare! I scolded myself. Don’t you know what happened the last time you fell deeply in love with a man? With Will? Can’t you see it shall happen again and again! And you recall how that ended! I scolded myself.

I began to recall and reassess our old interactions and his words as I lay awake on the bed at night. But once I woke up the next morning, I would shake my head and bury myself under the pillow childishly.

If none other than a priest tossed you aside for another woman, then what do you think says how undesirable you are, Stella? You’re making up some silly fantasy and can’t face the real world! Can’t you learn to content yourself with friendships and your children and family and nothing else? Besides, even if he did like you, you’ll be the prisoner of an apprehensible man again!

I kept trying not to think of Harry. But I did. So, I tried to easily swap Harry out with my memories of images of Will in my mind. Then I would let myself cry.

I considered destroying Harry’s letters to not pour over and obsess over every word. But I could never manage to even rip one tear into them. They made me so happy. And I was a sick woman at risk of death. And any happiness I could find was better than none. Even happiness from a silly infatuation.

As November passed by it was starting to snow more often. Despite the chill, I was made to sit outside for hours and hours. I had at least five blankets piled on me, and I was quite grateful to be decked all in black. Although, I did miss my old blue clothes.

In December, one doctor was helping treat my symptoms when he asked about the doctor I had when I was diagnosed. I was moved to another room and had more freedom to stand, move about and walk some, including some walking and exercising outside. I could now be moved up to the third class if there were no relapses.

“When were you first diagnosed, Mrs. Ransome?” he asked kindly at the end of his visit.

“That was all the way back in March. And that doctor said I was dying…” I answered.

He took off his glasses, cleaned them, and returned them to his face.

“Well, although there’s no cure yet, your symptoms seem to be slow, and they seem to have improved since then. Looks like whoever that gentleman was in Aldwinter underestimated how tough you really are, Mrs. Ransome!” he said with a little laugh.

“Yes, I agree. But honestly, I think it’s the air here. The air has helped me,” I replied with a nod.

“Though, you will need a little bit more time before you return to society. But now we can recommend you move far more. We’ll move you to the next quadrants. And more exercise will be recommended. You can stand up for a little bit and walk a little longer and farther- but no running!”

I placed my hands on my lap and looked into him.

“Sir, may I ask, when will I be back to normal? When can I leave?”

He let out a sigh, placed a hand over his mouth, looked at his notes, and then at me.

“Maybe six months. You might relapse, and we can’t risk that,” he answered. ▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ In the last week of December, I received two letters. The first one was from Edith which made me gasp aloud reading it.

“Pregnant! Yes, pregnant! Oh, what joy! What relief! I never in a hundred years thought so! But three months along- the doctor confirmed! I know Eddie’s worried now about how to provide for not only a wife but now four children and soon perhaps you, we know we can make it work. We have waited far too long for our own child. But your children are all well and healthy, I assure you! John’s cheeks have grown plumper and redder. His hair is even darkening now to a brown once you look at him. As for James, he has said the funniest things to me this past week, and I must tell you about them. As we were making plans for the nursery for the new baby…”

When I opened the second letter, I saw it was from my in-laws. But the words made the letter shake in my hand.

“Should you prove that you do not have sufficient funds to provide for Joanna, John, and James, we shall gladly take them off your hands. After all, we are concerned since William’s death about your suitability of you to be their mother. They need to grow up in a place beyond your influence- of such a lack of peace in a home that drove William to his death. The girl we agreed for him to marry was a sweet, selfless creature named Stella. Where is she now? Why can’t you become her again? She was the woman we wanted our grandchildren to be raised by. Not this current, selfish woman who drove our son to sin and death by his own hand! If you had made the home peaceful, warm, and loving despite his infidelity, he would not have been driven to kill himself in the first place!”

The letter fell from my hand and the world became foggy with the tears building up in my eyes.

Oh God, either I was going to have to leave the Sanatorium before I was healthy, or they would take them away! Forever! And who knows, I may never see them again. But I knew the doctor would not permit me to leave an inch from the place yet.

What was I to choose- to risk death and head out? Not that I could even sneak out of how strict they were and how there were nurses everywhere. Say I was to die- that would be the best option- Edith could quickly adopt them. But then…the Ransomes were a well-off, influential family. After I was gone, they could out-buy their way to claim the children as theirs.

Either way, I lost.

I told my fellow patients, and together we would cry together. I wrote a telegram to be sent to Dante. I begged the nurses to send it at their soonest convenience.

“MY IN-LAWS WANT MY CHILDREN. STOP.

RUNNING OUT OF MONEY. STOP.

PLEASE SEND HELP. STOP.”

At that point, perhaps I would welcome death. I could maybe make an illusion for myself that my children would be in Edith’s care once I was gone. I would no longer fear being one of the bodies carried out. But so far, each day I opened my eyes. And each day, I knew, the money was slowly running out.

The calendars on our walls shifted. “JANUARY 1894. HAPPY NEW YEAR!” they read cheerfully, filled with images of snow, parties, and celebration. ▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

The next Thursday around the evening, a nurse announced that Harry was here to visit me.

“Oh, is he here with the children?” I asked the nurse.

“No, he’s alone! Here Mrs. Ransome…I’ll help you into your mourning dress…and here…here’s your veil,” she offered.

She helped me dress into one of my black dresses and then took the veil and draped it over my face.

“Let me help you into the guest parlor. If you ask for coffee and dessert, we’ll be glad to bring it.”

We walked over to the parlor, she opened the door for me to enter and then closed it, staying right outside.

Harry was sitting in the little chair by the roaring fireplace. He was wearing a new, well-tailored black suit and a black armband around one arm. On the little table were black gloves and a hat with a black ribbon tied around it. He had a little book in his hand that was blue with an illustration of a goat on the cover. Once I walked in, he got up and bowed in greeting.

“Stella!” he greeted.

“Harry!”

“Here…a gift for you. Late Birthday and Late Christmas,” he offered.

He put the book in front of me and I accepted it.

“In your honor, your children and I would find flowers in the park or grow them and press them in a book in your honor. It was a little project for the four of us. and now…now here they are for you…even when it’s winter, you can have flowers.”

Outside I noticed it was snowing heavily, but the paths were cleared out to allow travel for guests and employees of the Sanatorium. You could see the snow as it blanketed the evergreens and kissed the tips of the mountains.

“Why, thank you! How sweet of you and the children!” I replied.

I kept smiling at him, grateful for the veil.

But no…no…no, not again. No, I won’t allow this to myself. I cannot. I cannot. I thought. I made myself frown. Harry swallowed, the lump going down his throat.

“Stella…I’d like to see your face, please…” he requested.

I put the book down on the little table.

“Then remove my veil and look at me…”

He then walked forward and tenderly, gingerly, lifted the veil from my face and over my head. It was a slow, sacred movement- as if he was lifting the lid to the Ark of the Covenant. I looked up at him, my view cleared from the blockage of black lace. His eyes were bright and shiny.

“Soon, you won’t have to wear veils and blacks. You can wear greys and lavenders, I think you’d look nice in grey or lavender,” he commented.

“How is your father?” I asked.

“My father…he passed four days ago from his bad heart.” He gestured to the black armband and then bowed his head. “Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry…” I sighed. “I now am set to own and run a whole bank myself on top of losing him…but enough of my troubles-I was there at Dante’s when your telegram arrived,” he said.

“I’ve paid for this with donations, the sale of the house and the property. Most of the other money I have inherited I have sent to Edith to care for my children. My friends and family and even the one check my in-laws permitted me has been funding my stay.”

From my pocket, I got out the letter from them and gave it to Harry to look over.

“Look here- they’re going to take them the second I run out of money from my stay here. But they’re right on one account…it’s my fault William died,” I explained.

Harry shook his head, setting the letter down.

“He died from his own faults. That’s what always happens in plays. Macbeth died from ambition. Oedipus his stubbornness. Agamemnon his selfishness. Richard the Third, Lear, and Coriolanus are all monsters cruel to others. Now William his lust, indecisiveness, and not acknowledging how his adultery would hurt you. That was what drove him to his death. He made a choice. And suffered the consequences of it. And when there seemed to be no other way-he drank poison.”

“You are right about that…” I nodded.

You heard a patient from outside coughing and a squeaky path of a wheelchair with a doctor chatting. The fire continued to crackle. Outside the sun was setting and the world was turning to a dark grey.

“But I…I’m so worried about losing my children. And the Sanatorium won’t let me leave yet but require money for my stay…” I spoke.

Harry walked over to the fireplace. He leaned against the mantle looking into the flames. It made an orange glow against his handsome face.

“Do you…do you know what you can do about it?” he asked.

“I have two options. I can try to find a way to make money here- sew or clean or cook or garden in the spring to earn my keep. I might be a patient, but they say I can walk, stand, and move some. Second, I can write to my family and friends and hope their donations are enough or in time…” I listed, counting them off with my fingers.

“You have another choice…” he suggested quietly.

His eyes turned from the fire to me. He sat back down on the couch and gestured for me to be next to him. I followed and sat where his hand was. I followed him and sat down.

“What other choice is there?” I asked.

My eyes scattered around, trying to think what he was talking about. He never dropped his eyes on me. Then it struck me what he was talking about. I felt my own heart stop in my chest for a minute. Harry folded his hands together, but his fingers kept twitching. His eyes glanced down.

“Stella…I…I…uhm, I realized. There was a reason why that night I gave you that cup of wine after you cried over The Serpent. Why I offered myself to duel your husband. Why I joined accompanying you to him. Why I followed your advice. Why I sent those bottles to you when you were at William’s place? Why I ran once I heard you scream? Why I offered to bring you home. Why do I keep visiting you? Why do I keep writing to you almost every day.”

“And why do I reply to each,” I blurted in reply.

We looked at each other. I pulled out my handkerchief and put it to my mouth as if to restrain myself from another outburst, not from a cough.

“Stella it’s because…I want you to be happy. I want you to be happy. And I would love it if you could be happy with me…can’t you see? I can’t pretend like I don’t feel anything or feel a little about you, not anymore! I love you, Stella!” he confessed.

I saw Harry was crying a little bit, yet a smile broke on his face.

“Harry, When did you fall in love with me?” I asked quietly.

“I loved you the moment I saw you, I think. Seeing you there…in your blue, your pale face, your hair. I was hungover, I was even questioning if you were real or the fantasy of a drunken man. Yet your image struck me! Yes, you’re beautiful, but I saw something else in you and it chilled and awed me. You were a woman who had seen hell and emerged from it with your heart broken, but not destroyed. You had been to the underworld and emerged changed, but alive. And that amazed me.”

He was sucking in quivering breaths, rambling on.

“Then I found out you were still married. And married to a man who did not hurt your body but broke your heart. I wished I could save you from him then. I knew it would be wrong for me to even speak aloud such things.”

“You’re right- if you even suggested it, it would land me into deep trouble. And an affair on my end would only make things worse” I agreed.

“So, I kept my silence and did what I could to know you were safe, you were alright. But you’re gentle, you’re caring, and you appreciate and look for things no one else does. Even when I was that drunken rake, some overindulged cad, you cared about my well-being and didn’t scoff at me as others would. You gave me wisdom and advice…advice that I followed! It rekindled my father and me before he could die! And it was all thanks to you! Now…now you’re free. You’re free from William…” “So even back then, you still loved me?” I asked.

“Yes, Stella, I love you and I want to marry you!” he declared.

I let out a gasp and put my hand again over my mouth.

“I don’t want to sit to the sides with this through your pain! I will face this as your next of kin! We will brave your consumption together! Plus, once we’re married, the Ransomes will have no claim over the children because I will be their father! I have far more than enough money from the bank and my new position to feed and shelter Joanna, John, James, and you! And you can use my money to stay here and recover if you’d like!”

“I want to, but I…I’m afraid, Harry…” I confessed.

“Do you know what I’m afraid of? I’m afraid of watching you wither and die miserable and alone and without help! I’m afraid of facing this next part of my life alone with no one by my side. Being alone. Then pushed into a loveless marriage for the sake of image- If I don’t marry you, I’ll be forced to marry a wife who just wants to waste money when it could be spent helping someone, someone like you! What lady do I know is Stella Ransome? None!”

He took both of his hands and clutched them gently onto mine. He looked right into my eyes, pleading, promising.

“If you accept my hand, I promise you- I’ll be loyal to you, and I will provide for you and your children. They will want for nothing. So shall you.”

I teared up. Another pair of blue eyes years ago made similar promises that I leaped into eagerly. But I was wiser now.

“But…the thing is Harry…I look at you and sometimes I see Will! I see William’s eyes in your own, looking at me, William’s face smiling at me. I fear…I’m so afraid of marrying another William…of just loving, making myself that open again, and then…” I trailed off.

I pulled out a handkerchief to wipe my tears, not finishing the obvious end of that thought.

“I swear to you, I am not William Ransome- I am Harold Cavaradossi! I am not Will, I am Harry! And Harry will be the most faithful, honest, and loving husband to you…”

I began shaking my head, looking around for Dante or someone to leap out on me in the surprise of this trick.

“You’re…you’re tricking me. This has to be one of your pranks. You just… you want to…want to collect me like one of your courtesans and paint me and leave me for someone else!” I forced myself to say.

He shook his head.

“No, Stella…. I’m not…” he refused.

He reached a hand over to wipe the tears from my face.

“Where were you going before this? Who were you seeing?” I asked angrily.

“Your children, right before I got on the train and left.” He answered.

“And what were you discussing?”

“I was telling them that I was going to propose marriage to you, and they were excited about it! They’ll have me as their stepfather! They want you to be happy too! Here- I have a letter in my pocket from James to you listing all the reasons you should marry me!”

He pulled it out. Sure enough, it was James' childish, loopy handwriting.

“Dear Mama,

Please marry Mr. Harry. For one reason, he tells me all the best stories about the plays he saw. Two, he makes me laugh. Three, he takes me to the park and…”

I let out a little laugh. I kissed the paper from my darling James and pressed it to my heart. And then he laughed too. We caught our breaths, and we went on. The wind whistled and some snow blew with it, creating a wind of dancing snow, and then it stopped.

“When was the last time you saw a lady of the night?” I asked carefully.

“Six months ago! Do you know why? I could pay some poor woman who needed the money and imagine it was you. And because you were in deep mourning and any marriage proposals to a widow within that time were out of the question! But now… I can’t see them. I can’t even step in a brothel anymore because I…I keep thinking of…of what you would think of me. What you would have me be and do…and I thought you would be ashamed of me and now…I can’t anymore…” he answered.

I put the letter from my son into the book. Then I crossed my arms, looking down.

“Harry…I’m not some innocent virgin anymore.”

“Well, neither am I!” he replied.

We both let out another laugh that made my stomach hurt. But once it stopped, I dropped my smile. I felt a little dizzy and I was trying not to shake as the words came out of me, quietly but clearly.

“But you don’t understand…when I was married, I was loved by my husband only for the good parts of me. The sweet, proper lady who thought of others and never herself- a woman who was pure, good, and kind and Harry…I’m not that sweet or kind, not anymore.”

“No! You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met, Stella!”

“I mean it! I’m a monster, a villainess! A sinner!” I protested.

“Who isn’t a sinner!? What is it? Why do you think you’re a monster, Stella?” he asked.

I let out a sigh. I wanted to explode into pieces. I wanted almost to run. The moment had come to tell someone. Finally, finally, tell someone. The secret that could cost me my fragile life. The secret I kept for months and months.

“Well…I shall tell you. Do you swear...swear you will never tell…” I begged.

“Of course, not…”

“Prick your finger on my sewing needle and swear. I am choosing to confide something in you. Something dangerous. If you want to be my fiancée and husband, you must know this about me. You must consider what I really am before you even think of marrying me.” I warned.

“Alright, I will.”

I took out the sewing needle from my pocket and we both pricked our forefingers until a little circle of blood poked out. Then we used our handkerchiefs to press it in to keep the blood from spilling too much anywhere.

I knocked on the door and it opened to the nurse.

“Could we have that coffee and dessert brought to us, please?” I asked.

She nodded and then ran down the hall. Once she was at a safe distance and I was sure no one was around to listen, I closed the door. I leaned in close- his ear to my mouth.

“William’s death was not a suicide…” I whispered.

His eyes went large.

“You mean it was-“

I interrupted him.

“I asked him for a divorce. He said no. I asked him to end things with her. He said no. He was going to make me go back to Aldwinter to die as his angelic wife who would tolerate his betrayal with no thought for her own happiness.”

“I wonder if Will wanted a wife or a martyr!” Harry commented softly.

“I had only one option left…”

“You mean…you…you…”

“So, I put cyanide into his sherry and killed William Ransome myself, Harry. And the police never suspected a thing.”

Harry’s eyes darted around. The corners of his lips curved up to a shaky smile.

“So! The holy man poisoned by his own bloody sherry!” he said.

“Shhhh!” I urged him.

Scurrying back to the entrance, I opened the door again and saw no one was around. Letting out a sigh of relief, I returned to him and kept my voice low.

“Please tell no one!” I begged.

“Of course not!” he promised.

I shook my head and lowered my gaze to the floor.

“What do you think of me now, Harry? Am I…am I a monster to you? I will not hold you back or beg for you. I can understand not wanting to marry an evil woman,” I said.

“You’re not an evil woman, Stella,” he denied.

I blinked. My eyes went up to him. He walked close to me, then opened his arms. I walked into them, accepting the embrace. Warm, soft, gentle- I felt safe. I clutched onto his arms, and I felt him rock me back and forth slightly.

“Even…. even though I…” I was mumbling.

“No, not at all! You tried every other option. You did what you had to. In fact, it makes me admire you.” He whispered.

I paused to look up at his face.

“Admire? Why?” I asked.

“You chose to kill a bad man. When you’re a soldier, as I was, you are required to kill people you are told are bad. You must kill them for the greater good without question. You were a soldier, Stella. You killed for the greater good. Only you tried every option before you had to end a life. Not even soldiers in a battlefield have the luxury of other choices,” He answered quietly, right into my ear.

There was a knock on the door that made me jump and let out a small shriek.

“Here you are- the refreshments!” the nurse announced.

Harry laughed and opened the door, waving his hand to allow it in. The nurse brought coffee and two slices of buttermilk chess pie and set them on the table. We thanked her. Harry gave me my cup and we both took the first sip and then set it down.

“Harry…I cannot tell you how relieved I am that you still like me,” I confessed.

He took another drink with a smile.

“I don’t just like you, Stella, I love you.”

“And I love you too,” I finally said.

Then he got down to the floor on one knee and gently took my two bare hands, kissing them. I smiled as he spoke and had to keep myself from crying again, but tears of happiness this time.

“Stella Ransome…you are a woman as sweet as you are strong, beautiful as you are brave…you could have become a villain yourself from everything you had been forced to endure, but you did not. My Isabella of Valois who needed her deserved happiness. My little fairy, or maybe a little witch who happily put me under her spell. My princess with both a diamond diadem and a sword beneath her silks.”

I let out a little giggle and felt my face become warm, and not just from the comforting crackle of the fire.

“You are an inspiration to me, a comfort, and a constant. I promise and swear to you on my sore, bleeding finger, if you choose to marry me, I will be a faithful husband to you and give you and your children anything you will need.”

A little gasp went out of me in response, and I wiped my tears with my free hand. My heart was beating in my chest.

Maybe, just maybe…I would be stupid to deny the chance to secure my claim over my children as well as support myself. And maybe…just maybe…though I had been hurt by the love from a man, I forgot the joy and bliss of it. Not from bad men, but good men. A good man. A man who knew the worst of me and wanted me anyway. A man who likely- very likely!- would not toss me aside, as Will Ransome, the Vicar of Aldwinter had done.

Yes, there was a risk. That chance I could be proven wrong. But it was one I knew I could take.

“Yes, Harold Cavaradossi, I’ll marry you. But one more thing you must remember…”

I released a hand to gently touch the black cloth tied around his right arm.

“You…you could be a widower in a month, Harry.”

He took my hand in his and kissed it again. He looked at me with the sweetest, the most loving smile I had ever seen, and my heart was filled to the brim as he spoke.

“I would rather have a brief heaven with you than years of the hell I would be in without you.”

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smolvenger · 2 years

Text

Stella or Essex or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed Series, Chapter 4: Peonies

Pairing: Stella/William, eventually Stella/Male OC. Actually, it's Stella Ransome/Happiness and William Ransome/Being Held Accountable and Facing Consequences for Cheating on his Wife

Warnings: Eventual Major Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of two children, grief, children, Religion, Slow Burn to the Drama (tm) Descriptions of pregnancy, childbirth, and including a stillbirth so lots of ANGST and then lots of fluff. Foreshadowing. Divergence from canon, Being Anti-Will and Anti-C*ra (Fuck you, Sarah Perry), Stella has to give Joanna The Talk (tm).

Chapter Summary: Stella gives birth to five children from her marriage to William. Two die. After the loss, she receives a sign of hope. A mysterious occurrence gives way to rumors of a creature in her home, a threat to her young family.

Prologue//One//Two//Three

A03 Link

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!!!

Word Count for Chapter: 9K!! (We're speedrunning 13 years and five kids so she is THICC! Go get a snack)

Stella and William Ransome are very happy together and adore their quiet domestic life. They live for each other and their three children, and William also loves and takes seriously his job as a priest in his parish in the village of Aldwinter. They had two other children who died, but despite suffering such tragedy, their marriage remains strong and as loving as ever- TV Tropes, under "Happily Married: Literature."

“They say we live secure at home, while they are at the wars, with their sorry reasoning, for I would gladly take my stand in battle array three times o'er, than once give birth.”- Medea by Euripides, Coleridge Translation

"A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies." Proverbs 31:10.

On Christmas day that year, I felt my stomach turn constantly. I tried to distract myself from the current merriment. Our families had gathered and delighted in games and gifts. I even took note of my in-laws. They were dressed in nice, smooth silks and owned pocket watches that glittered. The Matriarch Mrs. Ransome had several rings and a necklace with a real ruby in it.

They handed me a large box wrapped in beautiful, creamy wrapping paper. I had to open it carefully so as not to ruin it. Inside was a new dress made of silk.

“Why…it’s! It’s…”

“A beautiful daughter-in-law should have a beautiful dress to match, his letters did not exaggerate about you, my dear” Mrs. Ransome said kindly.

“Thank you, you’re very kind!” I replied.

I wanted to show respect for their high station and gratitude, especially as the new family member. I participated in Blind Man’s Bluff and exchanged every carefully selected gift for my in-laws and new husband. But there was a great, queasy pain in the middle of my stomach that not even my corset could help with. I had only had one glass of wine as was usual. We were careful with drinking. William would drink one glass of sherry every other evening I only had one glass of wine on holidays. Was I already drunk? I couldn’t be.

It was dark by the time everyone had retired away so I could flee upstairs to the bedroom.

I sat down before the fire. Its warmth was comforting and standing around only increased my pain. I could even lie down halfway down on the floor, curling up my legs as I did as a child when my stomach hurt.

The door opened and I heard my husband’s footsteps.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” he asked.

“My stomach…I feel ill…” I replied.

The fire cracked before us. Then the color in William’s face drained in a second. His eyes grew big and he clasped both hands on my shoulders.

“Stella…when was the last time you had your…your- unmentionable?” he asked.

We looked at each other. It struck me like lightning.

“Why do you ask?”

“I only ask because…”

“I…I don’t remember…”

Amid planning and helping run the Christmas services for the first time as well as the shopping and continuing social duties to the community…. I forgot to even note that something I normally expected monthly had not arrived.

We could only clasp hands. Then he brought his lips to my cheek to kiss as a comfort.

The next day it was open, and we ran to the doctor. During an hour of the visit, he looked at the sample, felt my body, and gave a wide smile. He went to William and shook his hand.

“Congratulations! Reverend, your wife is expecting a baby! Father Ransome indeed!”

He held onto the hand in brief shock and then released it, laughing and smiling out of relief and celebration. He even gave me a hug plainly in front of the doctor. But finally, both our expectations and our prayers were met. I had to rush home, go to the desk, and write to every member of my family with all of that bound excitement…I am pregnant! I wrote it down over and over. I am pregnant! I am pregnant! I am pregnant!

The house was bought and prepared to expect that we would have children. It was the expectation. At least four months after I was married even strangers in town would ask if I was pregnant yet. There were multiple rooms and so far, upstairs, there was the bedroom for us, a study for my husband, a third little flight of stairs leading to an attic for storage, but one special room to be preserved as a nursery and bedroom for little ones.

For my beloved Bible Study, I could hardly wait for when it to come back. We would devote ourselves to all sorts of fascinating insights on what scripture said, enjoy each other’s cooking, and then indulge ourselves in whatever tidbits there were. Especially considering my position, I had to know it. Sometimes the more scandalous ones I had a curiosity for.

Yes, it was gossip, but that feels such a natural thing to do among the women of a small town. It was like the weekly chapters released in newspapers- updates on who married who, changes in fortune, births, deaths, leavings- I would be on the edge of my seat to hear and discover the latest updates. Sometimes…perhaps sometimes, I could help.

6. Build relationships with women in the church to support, encourage and model Godliness to them.

Perhaps being married to the town priest was a gift all along, I would reflect. I could use this to help others. So far, it had not been as terrifying as first copying the list made so. I could help them, and I did. Families in need of money or arms to hold their babies and children. A prayer and sweeping off bottles for a drunkard. Some unhappy wives went up to me in tears, thanking them for assisting them in delivering their babies, praying for them, or offering to bake them a pie.

The first one in January I put on my thickest scarf and a coat with large pockets. The snow crunched beneath my feet as I walked to Mrs. Lee’s house. They were gathered in her pink parlor- chairs around on top of the pink rug. Women crowded around, trying to move the bustles on the back of their dresses to make room for all of us. The women had their thick wools and linen dresses on, and the fireplace was roaring. In the corner, there was a pot of tea and a plate with some plain biscuits- much needed after all the rich food from December. What I loved most was getting to know each of these women who would come in and greet me.

I learned all their names by heart now. But a gaggle of them were surrounding one that evening. Fanny was smiling and flashing a ring on her left hand. I could hardly restrain myself from gasping.

“Why…you don’t mean…really! You’re engaged!” I yelped.

We all smiled and applauded at her. She even showed me the diamond ring for inspection.

“Is it the Austrian fellow? Mr…Mr. Kroeger, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Yes! Vince! The best man in all the world!” she confirmed, nodding her dark head.

“The mechanic? Doesn’t he have a telegram…and he plays with all that electricity nonsense!” Mrs. Rogers commented.

“It’s not nonsense, it’s helpful!” a Mrs.Moore would interject.

Fanny stood between them, waving her arms to ask for peace.

“Oh, but that doesn’t matter now! I love him and he loves me, and I love him and we’re getting married- that’s all!” Fanny chided.

I felt grateful. She had introduced me to William in the first place and now she had her own man to love equally.

“Oh, you’ve been swooning for him forever, Fanny! I’m so happy for you!” I commented and gave her a little hug.

As we read passages and discussed them, even scribbling notes in our Bibles, the plates of biscuits were disappearing. Then Mrs. Lee looked over at me.

“Why are you so quiet today, Mrs. Ransome? You hardly had two words to speak, and we’re discussing Job! Of all the people in town, you should have the book memorized by now…”

“I have something…I was hesitant. I don’t wish to spoil Fanny’s fun…” I said, biting the inside of my lip. Secretly, I was glad someone noticed my silence and asked.

“No, you never could!” Fanny insisted, leaning closer to me even though she sat across me in the circle of chairs, Bible in lap.

Their eyes grew large. “What is it?”

From inside my Bible, I pulled out a small blue sock that I had sewed up. They erupted in applause and cheers and excitement.

“A baby! A Baby! Congratulations!”

“It’s my first…I’m thrilled, I’m frightened too. I never…I never felt sick all the time and yet craved to eat and sometimes I feel normal and yet sometimes I sense it inside me…” I confessed.

The mothers, young and old, gathered near me. At once they began talking about their own experiences. They told me what to expect. I could only hold my tongue, listen, and nod. We let out far later than normal and returned to our homes under the black sky and white snow.

With that excitement also comes fear when one is first pregnant. I would feel so ill that I would vomit in the mornings. I kept having to excuse myself to the chamber pots and outhouses. I had to often lie down and rest after two visits or one church service, staring up into the ceiling. But in those early days, I could carry about as normal as much as I could. When another woman needed help with the delivery of a baby, I would want to be present to know what to expect. I was more knowledgeable even as I flinched at each scream.

It was as the months passed that I became heavier and heavier. On the day of Fanny’s wedding, my large stomach seemed to touch the pew in front of me as I watched the ceremony. Then the child inside me would sometimes kick.

Every woman in town gave me recipes and stories and advice. We began preparing a room with a crib and were lucky to receive all sorts of gifts for the baby. All while I felt sick and the size of a whale all while dreading that day of the ninth month for the pain alone…. It was not uncommon for women to die in the childbed still. What if it was too complicated? What if amid expecting a new life, I Was counting down the days to my death? In our sewing circles, we began to sew our own mourning shrouds.

But once the day arrived. William was in the forest on a hunting trip with the other local men and water suddenly burst from me. I began screaming in fear. What was going on even? My body was splitting apart, and it felt so much different than watching. My sister held my hand and led me upstairs to the bed. My mother ran out. Then every woman in town arrived in a flurry along with the doctor. They were crowded in my room, the door kept opening back and forth. I felt the pain split apart my lower body and everything was spinning. I kept crying and clinging to my mother’s forearm as she urged me to breathe and push. Mrs. May kept dabbing my face with cold water as a comfort.

But at last, there was a cry and not from me. The pain was stopping. The doctor’s head poked into my field of vision as he brought forth a small bundle in his arms and placed it in mine.

“It’s a girl!” he announced.

My mother kissed my head and every woman in that room asked after me, cleaning the bloody sheets and sighing.

I saw her. My daughter. At once the pain was forgotten and instead was great relief and joy. The door swung open and this time I saw William. He stepped forward and the doctor moved the baby from my arms into his. He looked down at the child’s face and after looked at mine. His face was streamed with joyous tears.

“We’ll call her Joanna.” He told me.

The baby would cry into the night and up late I would usually be there, far more than William was, to nurse and rock the infant back to sleep. To change diapers, feed, burp, and clean after spit-ups and messes, and carry the weight of that small human life in my arms. I made sure to eat fewer sweets and walk and garden frequently to be back to my normal size again and hear William call me “beautiful” once more. My mother was in town and often I would write or show up at the door with burning questions about what I should do.

I could not tell you the number of times, as I sat there on the front row of church every week, that the baby would burst into such violent cries in the middle of the service.

9. Attend Sunday services regularly and sit visibly so your husband always knows he has at least one ally in the congregation.

But a baby wailing could rock the earth- I had to try and rock the baby to calmness outside many a service.

This process was repeated five times in my life within a decade. But as you may recall, my first was a girl called Joanna and I said that I have two sons.

The second pregnancy was milder. I discovered it half a year after Joanna arrived in our lives. I felt still exhausted throughout my duties of having to immediately repeat the process of pregnancy. Oh, but there still was excitement. As we lay in bed, William would put a hand over my stomach and tell me as we drifted off to sleep. The last thing I recall hearing before going asleep was this:

“…and if it’s a boy, we’ll call him Joseph…”

Another flurry of months and I felt the breaking of water beneath me again. Our second child was on the way.

But what scared me as I walked around, my lower body pulling and twisting itself, was that I Was bleeding. Bleeding far more profusely than normal. I managed, with great effort, to push the child out of me.

I still screamed and cried as he did what he could to make sure I delivered it. The women again surrounded me to help. Downstairs, I smelled pipe smoke, and I knew the other fathers were sampling the Ransome sherry as normal, yet I felt as if the world around me would explode in flames as I pushed and pushed. I saw women bringing out more bloody clothes than the first time.

But after it was announced that a head was seen. I heard no crying. The doctor looked at me through his glasses, holding a bloody bundle. He was frowning.

“Mrs. Ransome…your baby died while it was still in your stomach.”

I began to sob again. It was not the face William was expecting to see when he was sent upstairs.

It was a girl.

It was not long until I was pregnant again. It felt constant. As I said, William could not resist a night of passion with me, and I could not resist a night of passion with him so I would oblige him.

Again, exhaustion for almost an entire year throughout my duties. Again, great pain in the ninth month. Again, push, push, push, push Mrs. Ransome, push.

But I heard a cry.

This time it was another girl. Julianna Ransome. A sweet, pretty thing. The prettiest baby I ever saw. Even Joanna, now three, would gaze at her and smile. She would feed little Julianna her peas from her dinner plate and want to dress her up like one of her dolls.

Again, she would cry during Sunday services. And with another little girl by my side, if one cried, I had to walk both out by me.

“Our Father Who Art in Heaven” could not be heard over Julianna’s lungs.

It would ricochet off the stone walls and drown everyone in its piercing sound, overpowering any psalm. I had no choice but to leave the church, one arm under Julianna and the other walking out Joanna with everyone watching.

"Let us wait a moment while she gets out," William announced.

I made no reply about it after. He continued his sermon inside.

Julianna lived for a year.

Both girls fell ill. They lay in their bed and cradles, foreheads burning. I recall William putting a cloth on Joana one evening as I held Julianna kept wailing as I attempted to spoon-feed her medicine. At midnight, Joanna blinked and looked around. She began to wiggle around in her seat like normal without the heaviness in her movements from illness.

“Her fever, Stella, it’s broken! Joanna’s fever is broken!” he cheered.

Julianna cried. Then stopped. Her pale skin turned grey, and she closed her eyes. Her body was suddenly heavier. As I undid her clothes and felt where her tiny heart was, it had stopped beating.

14. Raise healthy, well-balanced children and be present for them.

I could not remember crying as much as feeling Julianna’s life slip out of her body as I held her in my arms. Losing my children was the second saddest moment of my life.

In the graveyard near the church, you will find two small crosses with two small angel statues. Those crosses I would bedeck with flowers on Saturdays, making sure they were fresh. On one, you will find the name “JOSEPHINE RANSOME” and on the other “JULIANNE RANSOME.”

The second month after Julianne’s funeral, I had a dream that kept me so shaken, it could not escape me even as I woke. It felt too visceral, too real. Most of all, it terrified me.

I dreamt I saw them. The two daughters I lost. Only they did not look like infants. They had grown to be little children. Both had long, light blonde hair like mine. Their skin was so pale it was translucent, glowing. They wore little white dresses full of ruffles on the skirts. I was so far away, and yet I could see them. They were alone in a crowd, wandering. Blood was falling from their mouths. They ran around, asking for help from strangers- any at all and each one kept refusing them. I kept trying to run to them but could never reach them.

The scene then shifted from the town to the church.

I was outside, watching the inside of the church through the stained-glass windows.

The bleeding girls wandered inside. William was preaching in his white robes with his arms outstretched on the pulpit. His eyes went from looking at the sky to the open door, looking away into the distance. The girls ran to him, tugging his robes and begging for help. Their bloody coughs spilled bits of red on him.

“Papa! Papa! We’re dying, papa! Papa, please! Papa! Help us!”

He ignored their cries.

I was pounding my fists on the windows, screaming at him. It wasn’t proper to scream, but I Was so frightened, desperate for him to carry those girls, his daughters, our daughters, to a doctor. Or maybe to hold them, be there for them in what could be their last moments. to help those sickly girls, that they were his daughters, that they needed him.

But instead, he walked right outside and wandered to the muddy marshes. A faraway figure- blurry in its exact shape- awaited him, beckoning him, and he could hear nothing else but its silent call pulling him away. With his long white sleeves, he seemed like a ghost. He was more drawn to the figure than the screams of the dying girls.

I ran into the church but by then, the two girls dropped lifelessly to the floor, blood spluttering from their mouths as I heard their voices. I ran over, cradling and embracing the two girls. They looked at me with their large blue eyes, just like their fathers. They spoke. But it was no longer a plea for themselves.

“Save yourself Mama…. save yourself…”

I woke up in a heartbeat. My eyes blinked, adjusting to our room in the dark. It was so quick it woke him up next to me. I began crying and William hugged and comforted me. I did not have the heart to tell him what I dreamt of.

I wrote it down in my little journal and kept it away from him. I didn’t dare speak of the dream, but he knew it upset me. Perhaps he knew it was a dream of the girls, at least. He knew I grieved for them so much. He did too.

It was so much so, that the times we coupled for the next year he made sure I would not get pregnant. There were women to help move in, spare coins to be given to beggars, as well as making sure Easter and then Christmas would go well. I had Joanna. She needed to be fed and dressed and cleaned and calmed after a tantrum. She was starting to walk and talk more. Now I could hold her hand as she waddled her way to church on Sunday for her father.

My own siblings were growing up as well. Dante and Elliott had already married and moved to London for better jobs, tiring of country life. Brian took up at the mill- saving money to move to Bath, he hoped, and have his own farm.

By then, Edith was staying to look after Mama and Papa but had her own job at a local shop. One day, the shop owner’s nephew, a handsome gentleman named Edgar Woodard, finally arrived and took a shine to her. He stayed longer in town and even after he went back home to another city, he kept finding ways to visit Aldwinter. And not for the beach.

Before we knew it, she had her romance at last and was engaged to be married to him once he had saved enough money for a home. Millwork was getting too much for my father as his bones got weaker and lost more of his greying hair. He made plans to retire. But it was a delight to have them around, especially to look after my little Joanna as I attended to members of the town weekly.

7. Reach out to those outside and facilitate relationships with all- women or men in the congregation.

One spring day I had numerous errands to attend to and my parents were at the home to care for the little girl. I had recently delivered some baked bread for one new woman. I tried to be polite and address her by her last name, but she kept shaking her head and insisted “Call me Martha” before taking the bread pan. She had too much to unpack to have me stay longer and talk. But she offered her gratitude for the welcome.

After I called on Mrs. Moore. She was leaning down to trim the bushes outside of her house when she turned and saw me walking down the road.

“Ah! Lady Ransome herself! A delight! Would you like to come in?” she offered, standing up.

I curtsied, smiled, and said yes. We both went inside her kitchen. Her husband was at work and her children at school and the lack of sound was nearly unsettling.

“How is the children’s Sunday School? I needed to make sure you had it ready…” I asked as she took off her green stained apron.

She sighed, “Teaching it’s new to me- and there are so many! They’re practically jumping off the walls!”

“Don’t worry…I’m here to help you…Children need pictures or things to interact with when you teach them! I’ll show you what I’ve noticed…”

As we went over ideas of what the class on David and Goliath could be taught, my stomach soured. But I hadn’t touched any of her cake. It grew gradually worse and worse. Eventually, I could not stand it.

“I…I, oh, I’m so sorry…” I excused myself. “I think I might need to leave early…”

I got up and clutched at my stomach.

“Mrs. Ransome?” she asked.

“I…I don’t mean to be rude; I only feel…I feel…”

There was a sudden rise of bile in my throat. Up, up, up, and it wanted to hurl out. I stepped away, holding it in. It wanted out, out, but I would not humiliate myself as a guest! I found a chair and gripped it, knuckles white from holding back the sick.

“Mrs. Ransome! Oh!”

She got a dirty bowl and placed it under me. I vomited out into it.

“Oh! Poor lamb! You poor thing!” she commented, gently patting my back.

She let me lay down on her couch. The doctor was fetched.

Please…please God, please no… I prayed silently.

I was careful in William's bed, but apparently not careful enough. The doctor arrived and examined me to confirm my worst fear.

“Congratulations are in order, Mrs. Ransome, you are expecting….should I fetch your husband?”

“Yes, you should…” I said flatly.

William immediately ran over but that was him when he worried, breaking out into a run-, almost knocking over vases in his distress. He held my hands and cupped my worried face.

“It’ll be alright…we’re going to have another sweet baby, my dear…” he tried to assure me.

Yes…another little one. A sweet round face with bright eyes, tiny clothes, and babbling like wind chimes. I told myself this was good news. But I silently resented any congrats.

But I thought of them…of my two dead daughters. How this one would die or bleed out or worse or live to be struck dead in my arms again.

I was far more nervous. I paced at night, struggling to sleep. I sewed more frequently to give myself something to do. In the privacy of our bedroom, I would cling to William and cry and cry and grieve Julianna and Josephine, and now the doomed child inside me.

I even stopped by the graves daily.

I would place my hand on Josephine’s and then Julianna's. I wiped away more coming tears. Then I looked up at the sky. I closed my eyes and placed my palms together.

2. You are to maintain daily prayer with God.

“God…please…please keep me calm. Find a way to soothe me. I ask you- give me peace! Give me the peace that passes all understanding! Speak to me and comfort me, I need it! And I need you, Oh God! If you are able, let me see something! Let me see something to know You are there for me and always will be, no matter what in my life! Show me a sign, please, if you can now!” I prayed.

When I opened my eyes, I noticed something on the grass. Something that during my tortured thoughts I never saw before.

In front of the gravestones were two of the prettiest blue wildflowers I had ever seen. Two! Each one is alike. Like the two girls had been. Like in their fates. Like in the sounds of their names. Like in their innocence and beauty. Like in how I carried and brought them forth despite the pain in my body. And alike in how I still loved them.

I began walking around the other graves. The blue wildflowers were starting to grow around there. Usually, if you go out to the forest, you must search like mad to find any semblance of blue at all. Yet here it was…everywhere.

In this graveyard and all this death…there was life. From dead bodies, these things of beauty grew, smiled, gave a scent, welcomed bees and bugs, and carried on. There was a large beneath one grave with an angel statue. I leaned down and plucked one flower-holding its fragile, green stem with the thumbs and forefingers of both of my hands.

If something fragile like that could survive and thrive amongst death, so would this child. And me.

There was my peace. There was my sign.

I looked up to the sky and whispered a silent thank you to God. I went home and pressed the flower.

Since that day, I kept finding blue everywhere. And it gave me a semblance of peace when I was frightened about the upcoming baby. Any blue flower I found I would now pluck and press. During those frightening nights, I would light a candle, open the book to see the blue flowers I pressed, remember the promise, and return to sleep deeply.

I asked William if we could walk by the beach after church and take Jo with us for one week. Looking down, there on the sands beneath me- I would find blue shells! I showed Joanna how to search and pick one up. She did so and would smile proudly at her prize.

That summer went we would go into the woods with the women’s bible study to pick blackberries, I would look for pebbles among the rocks on the ground. Lo and behold, there were blue ones. I would put it in my basket along with the berries and head home, where I would find places to keep them.

If I kept seeing the color in my house, then I would remind myself of that day, of that promise, that sign. And I would have peace of mind about the baby and myself. I went to the shop where Edith was working and indulge in buying a small blue-looking glass. If there was any blue item, I would save up my allowance to buy it. And of course, I would pluck and press and pluck and press any blue wildflower I found. My flower garden used to be filled with lilies and now was filled with asters. It was a pleasant nine months to spend. I would never stop collecting my beloved blue things.

Sure enough, the day arrived, and my water broke. It was a little earlier than we thought, but the women from church fetched the doctor and hurried me to my home. One ran off to the church offices to find William and alert him. My mother and sister held both of my hands.

It was clear, straightforward labor without any complications and not if the others had been either. And I had a healthy boy.

William beamed again as he held the bundle. “His name is John Ransome,” he announced as the crowd burst into applause. Even Joanna was already gentle, charmed by this little, breathing baby doll that was her brother.

John was a delight. There was never a healthier, heartier baby. The women would coo over him when I brought him to church. I loved to put him in small outfits. The day Edith was married, she allowed Joanna to serve as a flower girl. William performed the ceremony. I was content to sit in the pews with little John in his finest clothes. He didn’t cry and only slept or looked around the wide building with his large eyes during the ceremony, charming any guest who met him.

I kept blue around John’s little crib. I found little blue wildflowers to put on top and it seemed Joanna followed my measure. She would pluck flowers from the ground and put them around his. This time, I was even more careful. Daily I would pray. My allowance from William’s salary would pay for doctor’s visits for both my children. So, help me, I would not lose them again.

John got big enough to walk and stand. He would lean closer to me when afraid. His sister at family gatherings would beam and play with her cousins. Despite his babyhood, John would cling to my skirts with tiny red fists and begin to cry if someone spoke too loudly. But he liked my singing and my lullabies as I placed him over my shoulder.

John admired his sister. Whatever she would do- and she would do a lot! The girl was always headed off somewhere to climb on something! - he would follow through and run off to play. Copying her every move like a scholar. One neighbor had a little girl called Naomi who was Joanna’s age. So many evenings her parents invited us over just for the children. The three little ones would practically race each other over the house. The two girls laughed on their spindly legs as John tried to keep up with his shorter, chubbier stubs for legs.

Long after dessert was finished and the night grew dark, our two children would slump themselves onto the chairs. They were red-faced and teary at things. They pouted.

“Looks like Jojo’s tired!” Will would say.

“Why, so is Johnny!” I replied.

We scooped them up in our arms. Will had Jo and I had John. It had gotten late, and they were too tired from playing- it was far past any bedtime. We walked off into that night as the crickets chirruped with the two children in our arms asleep, their legs dangling and only gently hitting our backsides.

Always late at night when both children were deeply asleep, despite my exhaustion, I gave into my desire for my husband.

I became pregnant again, but this time I was not afraid.

I had my blue prepared. I improved and reorganized my collection as my stomach churned and grew. I even became determined to begin to wear more blue clothes. Surround the child while it was in there. I found at least one way to keep it in a ring or earring or in a scarf at the very least.

It seemed to work. Again, it was another smooth labor and delivery. Another healthy little boy I named James.

My parents were delighted at the trio of grandchildren to play with. By then, Brian had his farm in the bath at last. Edith and her husband were living in an apartment in London. I was the only Harris sibling in town, and with access to little ones for them to play with (and to look after on my errands!)

In the evenings my father would come home and read and would delight them with his books full of mythologies. Not that William minded at all. My husband never feared Pagan stories, as other ministers might.

I would lay little James in my lap, bouncing him, perhaps giving him bites of the chocolate cake from my small plate. John and Joanna would crawl closer to their grandfather on the floor. My mother would sew, and William would light a pipe. My father sat on the largest chair with the book in his arms and start to read with his own commentary:

“Once upon a time there was a god of thunder named Zeus and his wife, the marriage goddess, Hera. They were king and queen of the gods, just as your papa and mama are the king and queen of your home! That should make you two the prince and princess!”

He pointed to the children sitting on the rug and they giggled in return.

I genuinely felt like we were royalty at that moment. Maybe of Aldwinter itself, dare I say. At such moments, I could never be happier- to have my husband and children around me in a warm house, fed and content as rain or snow pattered outside. My dear parents reading to them. Everyone was healthy. Everyone was safe and comfortable. I thought I was the luckiest woman alive and that all should experience such bliss that a loving home and family could provide.

There was one evening as it snowed outside that my parents brought over pictures of our family to share with me as well as another dinner, read, and chat. They were astounded at Joanna.

“She’s your spitting image!” my mother said.

My father closed his mythology book, pausing in the recording of Jason of the Argonauts and his sorceress lover Medea.

“I agree, she looks exactly like you, Stella!” he confirmed.

From the box of photographs, my father pulled out an old photograph of me when I was at the tender age of eight. Sure enough, she matched the picture. Jo had pale skin, as I do. She was small in structure for a little girl, as was I. And having Harris blood in her veins, she had very light-colored blonde hair-exactly like mine. We would laugh and coo and then give the little children kisses and spoil them with chocolate.

Not that everything was perfect. There was one element where I was struggling- Sunday mornings. William would always get up early and head over to practice and perfect his sermon as well as oversee every bit of the church itself.

I was left with the children. To make sure all three were dressed and ready for Sunday morning on time. Waking up, I placed my hair into a clean bun and donned a skirt. As time was moving on, the bustle was being thrown off in favor of simpler skirts. Then I would dress the two boys. John would mumble and complain about how his shirt felt scratchy.

“It will keep you warm…” I insisted.

“Can’t something else keep me warm!”

“It’s clean! There’s nothing else clean! You must wait for your shirts to be cleaned!” I reasoned.

He huffed and consented, but still frowned.

I then ran to James. His nicest shoes were missing I found out. He had developed a fondness for mud and dirt. As I rushed outside, there were the shoes in a mud puddle left of the vegetable garden. I picked them up, hurriedly cleaned them, and rushed to put them on his little feet.

Then I would hold his hand and walk him down the stairs for breakfast. John was already there pouting over an empty bowl.

“Please give me porridge, not toast!’ John would insist.

I then began to bring out the porridge and heat it up when James shakes his head and babbled “Toast! Toast!”

I heard the grandfather clock chime the hour. Sunday Schools were ending and out of the question for the children.

I would then begin bread for toast when I looked and realized there were two heads on the table when there should be three.

“Where’s your sister??” I asked.

They pointed out the front door.

Outside, sure enough, there was Jo in her wild, girlish glory. There was a tree right outside of our house and she loved to climb it. She was getting tall and her legs were long already! When they were little, all was so slow and now they were growing, and time was moving quicker! She had climbed all the way to the top of that tall oak tree.

I picked up my skirt and called up to them.

“Jojo, darling! We must go to church!”

“I don’t want to!” she insisted from high up.

“Why? Your father worked so hard on his sermon; you must be there!” I said, cupping my mouth so my voice could reach her.

“He gives one every week! And I Don’t feel like it!” she replied.

“But you’ll look so pretty in your new dress! And your grandmother gave it to you and it’s so-”

“I hate it! I hate that dress! Can’t I wear pants today, mama, please!? Jimmy wears pants and Johnny does, why can’t I?” she yelled from above.

“You don’t have any pants!” I argued.

If I had to try and climb it, I would. She was up on the tallest branch, her legs swinging defiantly in her shift and stockings. I tried to pull myself up one branch but there was only so much I could do. I tried lifting my leg, but I didn’t have the same strength and flexibility she did to get that high up.

“What would make going to church…. pleasant, for you, Jo?” I reasoned from below.

“I want pants! If I can’t wear pants, I won’t go!”

I knew the second she walked in wearing pants, there would be gasps and eyes full of blame directed at me. How could none other than the daughter of a vicar be so crude? Didn’t her mother teach her better?

My mind was racing. The boys were complaining about wanting breakfasts and what breakfasts they wanted. And in the distance, I heard the church bells begin ringing. The services were beginning already!

I ran inside and served the toast and porridge. As quick as I could, I went upstairs to Johnny’s drawer and pulled out a fresh pair of Johnny’s bigger pants and then a skirt. I returned outside.

“Here! You can wear pants- just wear a skirt over them, and please! We’re already late!”

Joanna obliged, she slid down and was happy to wear pants, even if in secret.

I made sure those loose strands in my bun were tucked away and any mud or stain or dirt not on my apron was wiped away the best I could. My stomach rumbled for lack of breakfast for myself. The three of us walked over, coming in right during William reading the scriptures:

“And if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.”

Some of the elderly men glared at me. But many women, some with babbling children of their own sitting on their laps, nodded in understanding. I scuttled with the three to the front row.

“And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish and not that thy whole body be cast unto hell.”

Although we scuttled in, I would struggle to keep them still. John would wiggle his feet and ask for paper and pens to draw with. Joanna would read the Bible and then get curious about other passages and read them to entertain herself if she lost interest. James would look up at his father the whole time, swinging his legs.

Finally, my father retired. The house was too big, so they wanted to move. They were going to go to the next town in a smaller house and rent out the place to another young family. We said our goodbyes, but they promised to visit to see their grandchildren. And by then, my siblings were finding their spouses and having children of their own. They needed to save money for travel. They moved out to Bath with their other son and his new wife.

Now I had not the family I grew up with, but a family of my own to look after.

It also meant during every church meeting, Bible study, sewing meeting, and being at William’s side for each of his meetings, I had to be there and if my parents were occupied, the girls were by our side.

There was one day we were meeting in the sanctuary of the church detailing everything. Joanna was getting a collection of books to occupy herself. James and Johnny were all over the church pretending to be frogs and leapfrogging over each other while crying “ribbit! Ribbit!”

But little James was very bright. Of us three, James looked at the spitting image of William. Sometimes, when I placed him on my lap to hug him as he grew tired, he looked up at me with blue eyes. It would startle me inside. The very shade and size of my husband. His hair grew reddish blonde and curly. His cheekbones, his smile, and his mouth! All the same.

It did not stop at his looks. He also showed a vast interest in faith at a very young age. He always asked questions “what are angels, mama? What are demons? What’s hell?” Such questions I had to send for him to his father’s office for papa to explain.

But he was not the only one with questions. Joanna was a mad reader. She would sneak into her father’s study and read book after book after book. And not just the ones only for children.

She heard from the schoolteacher that William Shakespeare was the greatest writer of all time. She became determined to judge this for herself. The day after her eleventh birthday, she managed to find a copy of "Romeo and Juliet." Despite the more archaic language, she seemed to read it fine. Shakespeare was like the King James Bible that she was so familiar with.

But as we were at dinner and passing potatoes, she asked, “Papa, Mama, what happens on the wedding night?”

I nearly dropped the plate I was holding.

“What? What do you mean? “I asked.

William and I shared a look of panic.

“Juliet’s talking about her wedding night with Romeo in the play and she’s very excited- why?” She even boldly pulled out the tiny, thin book and flipped the pages. She pointed at the lines.

“What’s she talking about? She says they’re going to do an “amorous rite”- right here! What’s an amorous rite? She’s awfully excited about it- is it a game?”

And the two young boys looked up from their plates.

“I want to play the game too! How do you play it?” John asked.

William’s jaw dropped and he was barely able to voice an “uh” when I got out of my chair and walked over to Joanna, placing my hands on her shoulders.

“On Saturday, Jojo, I’ll take you to the beach. And…and I’ll tell you what it is. We’ll walk, we’ll pack a picnic, and I’ll tell you what an…amorous rite is. Boys, if you want to know too, you can ask your father.”

Saturday was overcast, but the sun would peek out. Neither too hot nor too cold, just right. But it was still bright in the day, ever with that blue sky. As promised, we walked some by the beach, Joanna was sweet enough to remember my enjoyment of blue. Here on the beach, we could see blue in its ultimate, eternal power. For when it was clear, the sky would be blue and then match the blue ocean to carry on for eternity. Joanna would look for blue shells and stones to fetch for me.

Then I laid out the blanket and got out the sandwiches from inside for us. She sat down nearby, picking at the crusts until working her way to the inside contents.

“Alright…Joanna, this is what an amorous rite is, this is what happens on the wedding night…” I began.

I never asked such questions. Only in small fragments from whispers from other girls was what I heard. Then my education expanded once I began my unmentionable. My mother taught me to not be alone with a man who wasn’t a gentleman if at all. There were animals around us and my brothers would make crude laughter at small phrases. Then I was engaged. And the horror of the act was a warning to me from every woman I met, including my mother. I was told every detail of what to dread. Women had to endure the unpleasantness, awkwardness, and even pain. The marriage bed was only pleasurable for the husband so you might as well enjoy the children that came from it.

So, help me, Joanna would not go through what I did.

I told her what happens and with as many details as I could. Ways it could happen and be done between a man and woman. I gave enough details that she would know what to expect when it was her time. Her jaw dropped.

“But…isn’t it sin?” she asked.

“Sometimes it is. Only if you’re not married or with someone you’re not married to, or you force it on someone else. And sometimes it isn’t. It can be very good, God made it! There’s a whole book in the Bible about it, even!” I spoke.

Over us, the seagulls squawked. A wind was sweeping her blonde hair in its direction. The ocean kept roaring in its alto lullaby.

“Really?” she cried.

“Yes!”

“Do only married couples, do it?” she asked, leaning forward eagerly.

“No, plenty of unmarried couples do it,” I answered.

I even told her it was how women became pregnant. That soon her unmentionable would arrive and if it stopped coming, it meant you were with child. But if you were careful, you could avoid it.

“Is…is that why sometimes there are pregnant women with no husbands who visit us?”

“Yes.”

“Why do the amorous rite at all! It sounds disgusting! It sounds like it hurts…”

I smiled at her grimacing, trying not to laugh. In her fascination, her sandwich had been untouched.

“It might a little at first. But not for everyone. And I will tell you…it isn’t as bad as you think.”

I moved closer to her and clasped her hand. She looked softly at me.

“When you love someone, when you fall in love, it can be beautiful. It can be a beautiful, beautiful thing. Your grandmother made me frightened when I was going to marry your father. She told me it would not be anything pleasant but…but Jo…”

I reached over and took her hand.

“It is! It is pleasant! It can be the most wonderful thing you will ever experience- if you love him, and he is your husband, and you tell him yes- you will have something wonderful and beautiful. You’ll feel safe and close to each other. It will be the most incredible feeling. I can’t even describe how wrong my mother and the women were. I knew that night that your father truly loved and cared for me. It wasn’t unpleasant at all! It was wonderful! And not just on the wedding night, but any night or time you say yes you may experience it again!”

She smiled at my words. I tucked away strands of her hair to see her face, but then the smile dropped.

“But am I bad if I’m not married and I do it anyway?” she questioned.

“It’s considered a sin. Some might say you are a bad woman. You could land in serious trouble but…your father and I love you and we’ll be here to help you. We’ll always love you no matter what you do. Just be careful around a man you don’t feel good about, Joanna.”

She shivered.

“I’ll scream and punch his nose, mama, don’t worry!” she assured. I had to let out a small laugh at that.

She picked up her sandwich and finished it meditatively. I wiped the crumbs off her dress.

“But…That’s what the wedding night is about. That is the amorous rite couples and anyone in love does. Do you understand?” I finished.

“Yes…yes, I do…” she said, nodding.

“If you have any more questions, you can ask me. And if I'm not around and you feel alright about it, you can ask your father.”

“I shall, mama.”

A new puppy arrived soon after at the house. The children delighted in it. They trained it to sit, snuck bits of food from dinner to feed it, ran it around, and played with it. The dog sometimes would kill squirrels and we were forced to bury the little creatures. But it was in an animal’s nature to destroy, we told them.

Johnny was especially close to the canine. He scratched his ears on the rug and would talk to it.

“You might kill squirrels, but you’re not a bad dog, are you?” John would ask.

The dog smiled and panted, ears going down. I went forward to them and smiled, patting its head.

“Alright…we have to make sure he’s fed…and let’s make sure the leash on his post is tight…we don’t want him running away or getting hurt…” I offered.

It was my responsibility to make sure the dog was leashed and to help make sure he was controlled.

“Or killing something else!” John fretted.

The puppy grew with the children. Joanna turned thirteen and began her unmentionable at last. She lost interest in her dolls and would give them to others. She read more books. She would disappear with her friends for hours or sometimes for a whole day only to show up at dinnertime. Most of all, she and John had bikes. It was a constant sight to see Joanna pedaling around town, blowing out whistles, giggling, and having such fun with any person who wandered outside. John had one too and would follow her sometimes, but other times go to his “alone spots” to think or draw or collect wildflowers or help chase the dog to play with him. Only James would stick close to home.

We were all happy and content. All together.

I was back in my garden one day. Once I patted the ground and watered it, I noticed someone was running toward me.

It was a Mrs. Taylor. She was dressed in cream and her curly blonde hair was up in a bun with her cream hat. She was short and medium-sized but moved with great speed. I wiped off the dirt on my apron and walked closer to her. It was a delight to hear gossip right outside my door. I loved hearing from others what was going on, easy and fast.

“Mrs. Ransome! Mrs. Ransome! Haven’t you heard? Oh, how awful!” she huffed once she approached me.

A tightness gripped my throat.

“What is it?”

“A dead body was found!”

“What!”

Crowds would gather around to gape at the corpse like a fixture at a museum. Details were spread by word. I don’t recall seeing the body, but the details of its wounds made my skin crawl. Sure enough, there was a dead body. Then another. And another.

At the lady's Bible study, we finished our reading to discuss the anxiety of our systems. We were nervous. Even Fanny took out her handkerchief and was wringing it in fear.

“Please…not my little girl…please not my little girl…” she whispered.

In her brown eyes, you could see tears. Mrs. Lee went to her and patted her back in comfort, handing her fresh handkerchiefs.

Mrs. Bennet then turned to me “Do you know what I hear…there are reporters already!”

“Reporters? For our newspaper?” I asked.

“No, Big reporters! Big Newspapers! From London! They’re in Aldwinter and writing about the dead bodies found-About us!”

We were in awe.

“And do you know what they say it is…” One Mrs. Brown asked. She was a mousy Burnette with a large nose and spectacles.

The others leaned into her.

“What?” Mrs. Taylor asked.

Mrs. Brown gulped “They’re being killed by a giant, magical snake.”

A pause. “a snake?” and “magical?” was heard across the crowd of women. More than one crossed herself.

“A giant snake. A magical snake. A Leviathan…we have a Leviathan creature here in our village!” Mrs. Brown reeled.

We murmured and gasped in wonder as well as fear.

Mrs. Smith pouted her large, pink lips and shook her red head, “Well, I don’t believe in such things! How could there be a Leviathan? They aren’t real!”

“But there is something killing the people…and the bodies…” Fanny noted.

They all didn’t want to believe it, but there was enough evidence to suggest that indeed something different than what slid into our gardens.

The next night, there was a scream from the children’s room. William and I dashed out, looking frantically. Joanna and James seemed startled and silent in their tiny beds. It was Johnny…Johnny was crying and screaming, lashing back and forth in his sleep.

I ran forward, repeating his name and shaking him until he awoke. Tears were streaming down his face still.

“The serpents coming for me, Mama! The serpents coming for me!” he mourned into my nightdress, tears staining my shoulder.

“John, you’re here with your family…” I spoke.

Even William patted his back and his arm.

“It’s a dream, my boy, you’re safe here.” He spoke.

“But…there really is…really is a serpent! And it’s going to kill me!” John fretted.

“How could a serpent open the door? The doors locked…how could it get through? It doesn’t have hands since Eden. If it’s so large, it can’t sneak under…” William tried to reason him.

I went downstairs, fixed him chamomile tea, and returned it to him. I continued to offer my small embraces if he got teary again. He sipped at the steaming mug until it was empty.

“There…are you better Johnny?” I asked.

“Yes, better.”

“Do you need anything else?”

“No, mama.”

The boy was tormented by such nightmares for a long time. Sometimes I had to hold him and rock him to sleep just like when he was a baby and sing him the same lullabies. Weeks passed and still, everyone was on edge and jumping at shadows.

What broke me about it was not another corpse. A girl went missing- Naomi, the good friend of Joanna’s. The tears her mother cried would move even stone. It started to settle into me as well. That could have been me crying and in Naomi’s place one of my own children.

Once the children went into bed, my husband and I sat in the parlor in our clothes. The clock chimed midnight and finally, he broke the worrying silence on both our minds.

“Stella…I’m worried.”

“As am I, Will…”

“If this is a threat to our parish, and most of all our children, I won’t live with it, I won’t…Stella, I’m going to find the serpent…”

“Find it?”

“And consecrate it…”

“You could hunt it and shoot it…why consecrate it?” I asked.

“If it’s giant and powerful, what would a bullet do? What if it grows another head in its place? This is the better way. It could live and do what it does but be unharmed or harm others. Be a blessing even, could you imagine, Stella? So, help me, it won’t do anything more to us…or them…” he said looking upstairs to their rooms.

I took his hand “I…I will applaud you, it’s brave of you to do so…it’s only one of the reasons I love you.” I said.

“I love you too, dear…”

We kissed, sighing contentedly. He would begin his project privately, off to find it no matter what. He would vanish for an hour to search and then come home to help look after the children.

I knelt in front of my bed one night and folded my hands together to pray.

“Dear Lord, I ask you, should there be a serpent, at least, keep my children safe, keep them safe, oh Lord, keep my little ones safe from it. Protect Joanna, Protect John, Protect James. May William find the serpent if there be one. Amen.”

The next day a widower from London moved into town with her son.

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