#ts4 storystelling

[elderberries-and-honey]

Captain Murphy insisted on arranging them a nicer ship than the one they had traveled to Ireland on. But despite their beautiful accommodations, the late hour wasn't ideal for travel.

Lawrence wasn't sure what to make of Winifred's reaction. He'd read the letter himself but it had hardly made any sense to him; just strings of words that were almost intentionally vague.

Once on the ship, and boarded into their cabin, Winifred dismissed herself to get ready for bed, noting that the rocking of the waves from below the deck had a nauseating affect on her rather than a soothing one this time around.

While he waited for her to come to bed, Lawrence brewed them up some tea, hoping it would help calm her stomach some, and began puffing away on his lucky strikes.

"Lawrence," Winifred murmured when she finally entered the room. Her voice was softer than usual, shakiness lingering along the edges in her tone. "There are things I haven't told you, about myself and my family but I think you must hear them now."

She seemed so small to him, almost as if she were retreating inside herself, or perhaps almost childlike. "Why don't you sit, dear? It's been a long day." He suggested.

She blinked in response, as if she hadn't thought that was an option somehow. "Right, I should sit." She breathed out, almost a bit dazed.

As she sat down on the bed, it felt as though the secrets she had kept from Lawrence all this time were unexpectedly pressing down on her; as if the weight of carrying them was holding her there instead of the Earth's gravity.

"My Winifred, if you're not ready to talk about it, we don't have to." He reminded her. He was awfully curious but he dared not push her.

She shook her head, eyes still transfixed on the floorboards. "I have to, I-" She glanced over at him, fighting to find the words. "It will be in the papers and I want you to hear it from me. But I don't want you to think of my mother inversely."

Lawrence thought for a moment before speaking. "Whatever it is, I promise to hold my judgement and should it still come to pass, then I will hold my tongue instead."

He leaned in, smiling a little. "Besides, what could you possibly say about the woman who gave me you, that would change my mind?"

Winifred leaned on her husband, inhaling deeply to find his scent to return her valour. What they were facing when they returned home would be a challenge, but Lawrence's love and patience was all the strength she needed to make it through.

Finding her voice now, she looked up at her husband, determined to tell him the entire truth about her and where she came from. "Well, I suppose I should begin by telling you my maiden name isn't Monet, or at least, not completely...it's technically Bloomsburg..."

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[crown-queen-bambee]

Bloodline: The Beginning

Bambee Narrating: Another school day and I can't wait for the weekend. I can not wait because dad promised I could chill with Emani. I sit at me vanity getting ready. I put on a little mascara and lipgloss. Though my dad is not a fan of makeup, mom convinced him to let me do the bare minimum sometimes.

Bambee: Let me put on my body mist. I got to smell good *smiles*

Metro: Baby Girl!

Bambee Narrating: I start to put my lipgloss on when I hear my dad call me again.

Metro: Baby Girl!

Bambee: Huh?......YES!

Metro: Can you come to my office please?! Bambee: Yeah!

Bambee Narrating: I think to myself thinking "What could he want?" I go to his office to see.

Metro: Hey baby girl, today I have to look at a property. So I won't be picking you up from school. Jarrod is going with friends after school. So on of my security will pick you up with the driver.

Bambee: Okay.... 

Metro: Don't give them any problems.....you hear me?

Bambee: Yes sir....

Follow my RP/Story on Instagram: crown_queen_bambee

[elderberries-and-honey]

Despite having fallen on hard times, Winifred took it upon herself to host a party on Christmas Eve with all their loved ones. Back in the workhouse, they were lucky to afford anything better than porridge for dinner. But now that she had a family of her own she was determined to make it special.

Millie, Beth and Louise could not allow her to do all the cooking alone so they each put on their aprons and happily got to work beside her. They spent most of the afternoon in the kitchen preparing for the dinner, sounds of laughter heard above whisks mixing doughs and icing frantically inside porcelain bowls.

Valerie began helping herself to the wine intended for cooking early on in the day, already causing her to become a little tipsy before they'd even put the ham in the oven. Beth of course was the first one to scold her, but with Ozzy nearby, she wouldn't raise her voice. Instead, she put her hands on her hips with disproving eyes and a scowl of disappointment. It was moments like these where Winifred couldn't help thinking that Beth truly was meant to be someone's mother.

Ozzy remained close while the women worked. He wasn't a shy child by any means and soaked up all the attention he got from everyone telling him how adorable his Christmas outfit was.

At last, nearing the hour of 7 o'clock, with everyone gathered round the table wearing their finest silks, all of their hard work would be enjoyed by all.

They set up the dining table with everything they had prepared - cranberry sauce, a charcuterie board with aged cheese and sausage, potatoes grown right on the Baudelaire's farm, delicious cookies and pies for dessert, warm spiced rum and hot cocoa to drink, and best of all, a perfectly cooked ham that was from a frequent patron of the pub that had been gifted to the McAdam's.

Everyone treasured the food, knowing full well that their meal wouldn't be anywhere near as extravagant without Millie's expertise, which they all took turns admiring. Between the spiced rum, and the thrill of Christmas only hours away, they chatted excitedly between bites throughout the entirety of dinner.

Everyone went back for seconds, some even going for thirds until all of them, even the picky eaters, left the table with their bellies full.

No one could afford to give that many presents this year but not a soul amongst them seemed to mind. They each were completely content to simply enjoy each others company. Even the children, who were eager all the same to receive their new mittens and perfectly ripe oranges. Besides, they both were still too small to actually understand that they hadn't gotten much compared to others.

Lawrence had received new cotton fabric to sew himself up new work shirts and Winifred a plethora of new ink wells and paper from the McAdams. All of them received something hand-knitted from Beth, and from Millie, beautiful cross-stich embroideries to hang in their homes.

It was a terrific haul, and certainly more than anyone could ask for all things considered. However, the most surprising of all was Lawrence's gift to Winifred - two tickets to the theater come Spring - which had, of course, been suggested by Marmee.

After all the gifts had been opened, the night carried on late into the evening. Lawrence even brought out the old music box he had been gifted for Christmas nearly two decades prior and Jackson and Louise began dancing around the living room elegantly. However, drunk on rum and holiday cheer, Lawrence insisted that he and Valerie could do better.

He and Valerie were clumsy, tromping all over the others feet and losing their place in the steps to the dance. All in good fun, Millie and Winifred began cackling as they watched them, unable to contain how humorous it was to watch, while Beth dramatically hung her head in shame.

The children began to grow rather fussy, both Ozzy and Nellie awake far past their bedtimes, and the festivities had to come to an end eventually.

Winifred and Lawrence stood in the doorway, thanking their guests for coming and helping in the kitchen, as well as all their delightful new gifts. Winifred and Lawrence watched them go until they could no longer see their silhouettes in the dark, both ignoring the cold until they could no longer stand it.

The night had been exactly what they needed to forget their worries even if it couldn't last forever. While drifting off to sleep that night, everyone would reflect on what a wonderful Christmas it was, contented to have spent it together.

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[elderberries-and-honey]

Early the next morning, the rooster's crow woke Lawrence straight at the crack of dawn and as he slowly rose, he had to admit that he didn't miss these abruptly starts. It had been a long while since he'd gotten out of bed so early and he'd nearly forgotten what it was like to rise with sleep still in his eyes.

Lazy mornings with Winifred had become the norm whilst they'd been on holiday, but as he watched the sun rise over the horizon, he knew there was work to be done here now and he needed to get started soon if the nights were going to continue to be so frigid.

With that in mind, he put one reluctant foot in front of the other and got ready for his long day amongst the weeds that laid ahead, wishing with every step that he could crawl back into the sheets with his wife.

When they first returned, Lawrence had tried not to take notice at the state of the farm but there was no ignoring it now, not with a little one on the way and so many animals to feed. Jackson informed him there had been a nasty bug infestation that had wreaked havoc all across Wales that summer but part of him wondered if he was embellishing the damage done to other farmers just a little.

Nevertheless, Lawrence's first course of action was trying to evaluate the damage. The weeds had grown nearly up to his hip while mice and other pests feasted on the few plants that had managed to cling to life. Most of them were stubborn too, their roots embedded deep within the now rotted soil.

Day in and day out, Lawrence continued working in the field, his hands sore and his forehead sweaty by early afternoon. His father had dealt with blights on this very farm many times before but none such as this. There was no uncertainty that even if he were able to restore the farm back to what it was before they'd left that he would need to pick up shifts at the pub come winter.

While he worked, he couldn't help missing their time in Ireland and how wonderful it had been to have so much time to be leisurely, doing as he liked instead of what he should. His entire life thus far had been devoted to this farm, even stopping his education to care for it when times got tough and his father too old to keep up with it anymore.

Every so often, his mind would drift off to the family that his wife hailed from, and the many others like them who were so much more well off than he was or ever would be. They would never spend a day in the hot sun or freezing cold working the field, and their hands would never become rough with calluses or blister like his. Yet, here he was with every passing day, working himself to the brink of exhaustion, only stopping when Winifred would bring him some lemonade or to have well-deserved a cigarette break.

Eventually, he'd start to get into a tizzy reminiscing over their holiday and pondering the stark differences in the quality of life between the working class and the wealthy. He'd huff and he'd curse while tilling the dirt beneath his feet, sometimes throwing the shabby hoe across the yard when he got yet another splinter, for which he was thankful his wife wasn't there to see.

These days after she finished her daily chores, Winifred spent much of her time off visiting with Beth and Ozzy, or showing Millie her favorite parts of Wales, and return home near supper time to ensure that Lawrence had something to eat after putting in such a hard day's labor.

She knew the work was difficult and felt terrible that she wasn't able to assist much around the farm despite that she offered many times to help in some way; Lawrence insisted that given her pregnancy, she was only to rest and take care of herself, that just making sure there were clean linens and the floors were swept was helpful enough. Truthfully though, he felt extra protective of the baby growing inside his wife, terrified of what might happen if they were to lose another child.

Their little family was what kept him going much of the time, trying to ensure they'd be able to make it through the winter and thereafter, no matter how sore or tired his body felt.

So he would finish up his plate quickly barely tasting it or noticing when it scalded his tongue. He'd hardly have anytime to talk between bites before he was rushing back out to the fields until late hours of the night. Winifred tried not to mind, she knew it was work that needed to be done, but she couldn't help missing her husband or fear a distance growing between them.

Long after Winifred would climb into bed and fall asleep, Lawrence would put all his tools away and at long last, sit down near the animals before it would be time to wrangle them all back into their coops.

"I don't suppose there's any chance you're good with a rake, are you, old Frank?" He asked the unresponsive goose who merely stared back vacantly before wandering over to a pile of chicken feed. "Yeah, I thought not." Lawrence mumbled under his breath, tossing his cigarette butt over the fence before taking a deep breath and heading inside for the night, dreading the moment he woke up the next day to do it all over again.

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[elderberries-and-honey]

Dear Millie,

The last few weeks have slipped by without my notice and I hadn't realised how long it had been since my last letter. Life here is quiet, and peaceful so far.

The neighborhood that surrounds us is quite empty, but I suspect everyone is away on holiday, staying in their summer homes and we will be able to meet more of our neighbors once Autumn arrives as I know Lawrence is quite eager to do so.

Nevertheless, the quiet neighborhood has provided us with the utmost tranquility. Nearby, there is a little clearing and a lake that is simply perfect for swimming. We have spent most of our time there, having picnics and enjoying each other's company. It's the first summer we have been able to spend together with our boys as a family and it has been the most marvelous experience of my life to watch them grow.

Our adventurous little Ozzy was beside himself with excitement when he realized he was allowed in the lake.

Lawrence, knowing it was useless to keep our little fish from the water, insisted we teach him how to swim. And all summer long they practiced and practiced and practiced. My husband's patience never wavered, not even for a moment, and they both were determined to accomplish this goal. He was so proud when Ozzy was finally able to keep himself afloat.

Watching them together reminded me how quickly children tend to grow within the blink of an eye. It seems only yesterday Beth was writing to tell me he had taken his first steps, and now here he is, swimming!

He is truly becoming his own little person, and is more obsessed with water than ever; it is all he wants to do anytime we venture to the lake now, and I tease him he will become a wrinkled-raisin!

Oscar isn't the only one learning new things this summer though. Atticus has gotten sooo big, you would not believe it; he can roll over onto his tummy all by himself now! But despite growing like a weed, he still tires out easily, and he regularly naps nearby while I read my books or watch the boys swim.

He's such an easy baby, and he hardly ever fusses. You truly can't help but to feel peaceful next to him.

Lawrence and I try to make time for each other when we can as well. He tells me about his newfound hopes and dreams with such conviction. This new confidence is quite tantalizing and I truly believe my husband would be capable of conquering anything he set his mind to.

I myself have not fully come to terms with what living in a high society means, and truthfully, I hardly ever allow myself to think about the money or where it came from. But Lawrence seems to be so sure of himself and his plans, I trust our family is being taken care of.

Do let me know how things are at the workhouse when you have time. We all miss you here in Ireland.

Your Friend, Winifred

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[elderberries-and-honey]

After the shock wore off, Winifred invited both men inside for tea. Harold, who insisted she call him Harry instead, was incredibly thankful for the hospitality after their travels, and he and Winifred got on straight away.

They shared stories of their mother & sister happily and seemed genuinely curious about each other’s lives. As they talked, they began to notice little quirks in each other's mannerisms that made both of them realise Alice's spirit was still alive and well within them.

Lawrence listened curiously, watching his wife warm up to her Uncle the more they got to know each other. 

Before they knew it, the sun was beginning to set over the hillside, a beautiful orange glow cascading into the dining room, and as they chatted and drank their way through an  entire pot of tea, they almost forgot any mention of money or business. 

However, not everyone at the table was keen on taking a stroll down memory lane.

Gerald didn’t bother to remove his hat or drink a single drop of tea; he seemed to have no intention to make himself cozy in their home. Instead, he lowered his head and glowered the whole time, arms crossed as some sort of defense mechanism, not uttering a word until he’d finally had enough of their small talk. 

He leaned in towards Harry, bushy eyebrows somehow furrowing even tighter before speaking. “Shall I remind you of the reason we’re here, brother?” He enquired, impatiently.

Harry sighed, bringing his hands together before he explained everything, starting with the night Alice first fled the Bloomsburg home. 

Of course, Winifred had heard this story as a girl, and later on, began asking questions once she was old enough to be curious about her mother's family and where she came from. Hearing it through an unfiltered lens as an adult was very different though, and somehow worse than she’d ever thought. As Harry recounted the tale, she realised just how cruel her maternal grandmother had truly been to her mother.

As he continued, he informed them that unbeknownst to anyone, Herbert, Winifred’s grandfather, never wrote Alice out of the will as he was instructed by his wife and she was the heir to both his vast fortune and successful business, however neither could be turned over to her until Ada passed away, and she outlived her husband for many years. It seemed he had less than traditional beliefs and wanted his daughter to be able to support herself without needing a husband to do it for her.

But, after a series of faulty investments, it seemed the company had become less than profitable over the years and was due to go under at any moment. 

"So you mean to tell us that my wife has inherited the Bloomsburg fortune?" Lawrene asked, more enthusiasm in his tone than Winifred would have liked.

"Well technically speaking, Mr. Baudelaire, since Miss Winifred is married, you have." Harry answered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

For the first time since they'd sat at the table, Gerald chuckled darkly to himself. "Rightfully so, if you ask me. Leaving this company to a woman in the first place was a load of codswallop."

"But neither Mrs. Baudelaire or I know the first thing about running a business, much less one doomed to fail." Lawrence replied, paying no mind to Gerald's terribly sexist comment.

Both Bloomsburg brothers went on to explain a deal of sorts. If the Baudelaire's signed the company over to them, they would take over the legalities of closing a business, and handle all other affairs concerning the estate, if they split the inheritance with them.

While the men discussed the finer details, Winifred sat in her chair silently. She didn't care about the business itself, truthfully she wanted nothing to do with any of it, even the money. But Lawrence hadn't even stopped to ask what she thought, or consider her feelings on the matter. 

Quietly, she excused herself outside for a breath of fresh air and time to process everything she’d learn that afternoon. 

It felt queer to doubt what seemed to be a once in a lifetime chance to escape poverty, for her husband never to work long hours or do back breaking work. To send her children to school and give them a life of opportunities that she could have never imagined even in her wildest dreams. It was surreal to envision such a different life, and as she tried to picture it, she could only think of her mother who had been robbed of it.

After a while, Harry came out to find her. “May I sit?” He asked, gesturing to the seat next to her on the wooden bench. She nudged Thistle out of the way and scooted over to give him some room to join her.

“I know we don’t know each other all that well, Winifred, but I did know your mother’s face; how you resemble her…it’s as if I'm looking at a photograph." He smiled to himself at how true it was before observing her expression again. "And I can recall the look on her face when something puzzled her. Will you tell me your troubles?”

As she looked back at Harry, she wasn't sure what to expect. It wouldn't be a stretch of the imagination for him to be disinterested in her concerns and only inquiring over her dismay out of politeness.

Except, instead of a troubled expression like her own, she only saw a face wanting to comfort. She had not seen that face for such a long time, and she was surprised to recognize it so easily, for she too recognized Alice's face in his own.

“I…I don’t know what to make of this.” She admitted once she decided she could trust his intentions. “But my husband has already made up his mind and since I am just a woman, it seems I have no say in the matter.”

Harry listened while she expressed her concerns until he was sure she'd gotten out all that she needed to say. It felt nice to be vulnerable with someone, her relief over having someone to express these things to was almost tangible.

In return, he shared with her how nearly inseparable he and Alice had once been, how much he missed her, and that he regretted not doing more to keep in contact with her before she passed.

Afterwards, he turned to her with a bittersweet expression, pain and regret glowing in his eyes, yet a subtle softness painted on his lips. "I might not have spoken to your mother for a long time, Winifred, but I do know this... everything she did, she did for you. She would want you to have a good life, no matter what."

"Even if that means taking money from my very estranged family?" She asked with a slight laugh, noticing how ridiculous it sounded to say out loud.

He chuckled, also realising the ludicrousness of the situation. "Even then." He assured her.

“And, Miss Winifred, if I may say one more thing, don't pay any mind to my brother. He's nothing but a chuckle head, you understand?” He added, waving his hand as if to dismiss his older brother. Winifred giggled in response, feeling much less guilty than she had only moments ago. "You are more than just 'some woman'. You are Alice Monet's daughter." 

Before Winifred could ask what he meant by that or how he came to know the last name her mother had chosen for herself, he reached inside the pocket of his coat to retrieve what at first glance appeared to be a crumpled piece of paper. "I thought you might want this." He said, handing it to her quickly.

There in her hands was a photograph of herslef as a girl, dated February 13th, 1876 - her 7th birthday. "I found it while going through my father's things." He mumbled, trying to hide a playful smile before heading back inside.

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[elderberries-and-honey]

After their trip out to London, Winifred and Lawrence agreed that it would be best for him to work less, even if it meant they would struggle more; his health being more important than grand, fabulous things, after all. Adding in just one extra day off, and more time to spend with his family, Lawrence's mood quickly began to rebound. The dark circles under his eyes lightened, alongside the veil of moodiness that his exhaustion had caused.

More time at home also meant more time to spend caring for the farm, and Lawrence decided to start teaching Ozzy a thing or two - like how to feed the chickens and collect the eggs, or how to bury a seedling.

Ozzy, however, wasn’t all that interested, and seemed to like petting the chicks more, or often got distracted when he remembered the existence of the pond nearby. Lawrence hadn't expected much else from the tot, but it was sweet to have a little helper and have quality time with his son.

The farm never truly recovered from the terrible blight the spring before and they’d hardly been able to replace most of the animals that had passed away that winter. With less money in their pocket, it seemed they would never be able to replace their cow, and therefore, had to go without profiting off the income of its milk.

Times were still tough, and The Baudelaire’s were still struggling, but Lawrence cherished his moments of rest too much to continue working the way he had previously.

On days where Ozzy was exceptionally well-behaved, with no fussing over being away from his Auntie, or where he successfully put the eggs in the basket without breaking them, Lawrence rewarded him with time splashing away in the pond. It was no use trying to keep the boy from the water, and instead, Lawrence had tried to use it as incentive.

But it was on a particular Spring afternoon that they were heading to the pond when Lawrence spotted two finely dressed men making their way along the dirt path nearest to their house. They stuck out like a sore thumb, certainly not farmers, and definitely not anyone he knew. For a moment, he tried to think of a reason they might have been out all this way.

Travelers, perhaps? No, they didn't have any sort of luggage or a carriage with them. New neighbors? No, not that either, he would have heard about that from one of the locals. So who were they?

All at once, Lawrence began to remember the bills that were piling high and the money they still owed on the mortgage. Were they bankers? Tax collectors? Policemen of some sort sent to cease their home? But surely, they weren't that far behind, were they?

As the two men approached closer, he took little Oscar into his arms, holding him near and began speaking hastily before either of them could get a single word out.

"I promise, I am going to submit my payment in a few days. We're a little tight here, that's all." He explained, holding up a hand in defense.Both men stared at him uncomfortably for a moment, trying to process what he'd just said. "Beg your pardon?" The one with glasses asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Sir, we're not here to collect any sort of payment from you." The younger of two said, chuckling a little. Lawrence gazed back at them, trying to get a good look at their faces. The genlteman's posh accent undeniably matched his fine clothes, and if there was any doubt before, he knew for certain now that they were not from around here.

But that wasn't why his gaze continued to linger. He knew those eyes, not in their color but their dreamy shape, and prominent noses. And the closer he examined their features, the more it became clear that they looked well, like Winifred!

The gentleman in the dark coat introduced himself as Harold, and his counterpart, as Gerald....Harold and Gerald Bloomsburg. They were brothers of Alice, Winifred's late mother, and they had traveled all this way from Westminster to locate the Baudelaire family, whom they had heard their sister's daughter had married into.

"My apologies, Mr. Bloomsburg." Lawrence finally said, offering his hand to Harold. "I've never met any of my wife's family, and well, I hadn't realized...my mistake." Harold returned the offer of his hand and shook it in a respectable manner.

Lawrence might have felt ashamed of his error, perhaps embarrassed to have admitted to strangers the hard financial times they were currently facing, if he could feel anything other than bewildered. It wasn’t that long ago that Winifred revealed the truth about the family she hailed from but had never met. Now, here they were, face to face in their front yard.  

Lawrence had hardly noticed the other gentleman’s off-putting stance throughout the entirety of their introduction. That was, until he offered his hand to him next, and he stared reluctantly at it as if he were offering a dead fish. Lawrence watched as he looked him up and down in disgust, like he'd rather eat his own foot than to accept his hand.

"Yes, yes, well that's all fine and dandy," The eldest said, finally looking into Lawrence's eyes. "We're not here for family matters, as our sister was cast out of the family long ago, but rather on business." Unlike his brother, he spoke so matter-of-fact, no warmth in his tone whatsoever.

"On business?" Lawrence asked, wondering what possible business either of them could have with their family. As the gentlemen had stated, Winifred's mother had long since given up her Bloomsburg name, and if they weren't there to meet their niece or her family, just what were they doing here?

"You must tell us now if you mean to accept the money! Or have you already?" Gerald asked, though his accusatory tone wasn't all that subtle in its delivery.

Ozzy watched on, wishing to find a place to cower, and by some miracle, when he turned to do exactly that, his mother was emerging from behind the gate. She had heard some sort of commotion from inside the house and had come to see what was going on.

As she moved closer, her mouth fell open in disbelief when she saw the men talking to her husband. They looked too much like her mother for her to have been mistaken. But even as she stood there trying to listen to their discussion or be noticed, she could hardly believe it to be true.

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[elderberries-and-honey]

The Baudelaire family returned to Ireland the next day, only this time, they never had to worry about leaving.

Their new home had been abandoned years prior to them purchasing it and had been left vacant for quite some time after the previous family had fled those lands that had once been filled with such rich history. Overtime, the stories had been forgotten, perhaps almost purposely by those that occupied the neighborhood nowadays, existing only as children's fables or as myth.

One thing they did know though was that the land used to be a vegetable farm, quite a successful one too, and Lawrence intended to make it profitable once more. Already, the farm boys were put to work planting rows of cabbage, carrots and most notably, potatoes.

Hours of labor had gone into restoring the house to what it had once been before the family arrived and at last, it was returned to its original state of elegance. The perfectly laid brick was covered by thick ivy, and the grounds were surrounded by beautifully vibrant flowers, lush green plants, and tall, brilliant marble statues.

It all seemed like something out of a storybook rather than real life.

The travel horses pushed forward through the gates, and all any of them could do was gawk, unable to believe they were truly going to live here. Even the children, fussy and tired from such long travels, sensed the exhilaration from the adults and had begun to perk up with curiosity.

Ozzy, who rode with Beth in her carriage, stared up at the house in wonder, as though his little mind was trying to comprehend such a big change. "This is our new home, my little dove. We're going to live here now!" Beth whispered to the seemingly awestruck toddler next to her.

"Wooooow!" He exclaimed almost breathlessly, and though it was unclear if he actually understood what it all truly meant, Beth laughed in response, happily agreeing that 'wooow' was right.

Most of their belongings arrived before The Baudelaires, already unpacked and put away thanks to a moving crew hired on by Lawrence. In addition, he had also taken it upon himself to hire various help, like maids, gardeners, cooks, and even a personal chef, and as Lawrence stepped out of the carriage and onto the stone pavement, he could see one of their footmen waiting patiently to greet them at the door.

"Well, hello there, Baudelaires!" He called out from the porch enthusiastically.

Lawrence waved a quick hello before holding out his arms to take Atticus. "That's Mr. O'Bannon. He worked for the family that lived here previously." He explained once Winifred had situated herself.

They joined Beth and Ozzy next, and walked hurriedly up the front steps while Mr. O'Bannon welcomed them home.

Winifred audibly gasped as she entered inside, her eyes growing wide in amazement at everything around her, and once everyone had stepped through the front door, they understood her reaction at once.

After they had filed in one by one, Mr. O'Bannon offered a tour of the house and they happily accepted. He informed them of the origins of their new furniture, boasting about the craftsmanship of the Irish workers and the prestigious color schemes of the wallpapering, most notably, the newly popular Scheels green in the parlor and the dining room.

The new decor was so complimentary of the things they had brought from home, they were almost unrecognizable sitting amongst such fine things, almost as if they were new items themselves.

They had only made it through the first two floors before Atticus started falling asleep in his mother's arms, while Ozzy began to grow rather antsy. Winifred excused herself to rock with Atticus for a while and Beth, wanting to avoid a tantrum, decided to take Ozzy outside to get a better look at the water fountain out front. Which left Lawrence to finish off the tour with Mr. O'Bannon.

However, Mr. O'Bannon dismissed himself as well, needing to check how the luncheon was coming along and confirm the table was being set correctly. Lawrence didn't mind all that much, if anything, he was relieved to see how serious his staff seemed to take their jobs.

And so, just like that, everyone was off in different directions, making themselves right at home.

Lawrence, who now found himself alone, fancied himself a celebratory smoke out on the balcony. There, he smoked cigarette after cigarette while he watched over the farm hands below, reflecting how just months prior, he would have been down there in the dirt just like them. But, tilling soil and yanking weeds were a thing of the past, and someday soon, nothing but a distant memory.

Now, all there was left to do was assimilate to this new way of life.

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[elderberries-and-honey]

And so, the prequel begins...

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[elderberries-and-honey]

Dearest Marmee, 

I must thank you once again for recommending the tickets to the theatre. We have been home about a month now and my wife has not stopped gushing about it to anyone who will listen. I knew she had the soul of a poet but I could have never guessed how much that evening would mean to her.

We were the last to arrive, nearly missing the admissions, as we had stopped off to have our portrait taken there in London. But after all, how could we miss the opportunity to be photographed in our finest clothes, and so in my opinion anyway, we were only fashionably late!

I will admit only to you, some of the play went above my head, but my Winifred, oh how she laughed throughout the entirety of the performance. She understands things like this you see, and I suppose your Jo is likely the same; I think it is something engrained in all the great writers of the world to be able to understand why the curtains are yellow and not blue. 

And boy, does my wife admire Mr. Wilde. She truly believes he will go down in history as one of the greats. She is very fond of all his work, and she suspects we should expect more excellence out of him before his career is finished.

Despite feeling a little out of my depth, I enjoyed myself all the same, especially after Winifred explained that the play mocks the wealthy in subtle ways. Mr. Tree, the gentlemen who played Lord Illingworth, is a galant man taking a slap from Mrs. Arbuthnot that way; how the sound of the sting echoed throughout the entire hall! I was downright shocked, and my wife in stitches, finding it absolutely hilarious. 

At once the show finished, and as Mr. Tree and Mrs. Beere took their bows, everyone cheered for their outstanding talent, and I do believe my wife applauded harder than anyone else in that audience. The show was a treasure, and I trust it will be remembered for generations to come. However, what I will remember most, is my Winifred.

And while everyone marveled at the actors, I couldn’t keep from marveling at my wife instead. Her beauty, her cleverness, her whimsical laughter and dazzling smile, and most of all, her natural aptitude to understand the work...aside from the day we wed, I can't think of a time she has ever appeared more beautiful to me, or more herself.

It was though she belonged there, amongst others who appreciate literature, and my, I can't help thinking what it would be like to sit in that theatre and see her work performed on the stage instead.

I had hoped that our viewing of ‘A Woman of No Importance’ would give her the confidence she needs to be published. It would truly be a shame for the world not to know her work; I encourage gently, but she is stubborn, you see and hardly allows me to read it. She does not recognize her own talent.

Since we've been home though, I have found her early in the morning, asleep at her typewriter more times than I can count. So at the very least, I am pleased to see her passion burning inside once again. Now...if I could only find a way to ignite it.

Yours Sincerely, Lawrence

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[elderberries-and-honey]

One of Lawrence's favorite parts about Queenstown was the shops lining the coast. It wasn't as bustling as the streets of busy London that Winifred grew up with but it was certainly busier than what he was used to.

His favorite shop in particular though was the used bookstore. After Winifred had flown through nearly every book at the cottage, he was thankful for the cheaper prices and being able to provide with new and exciting stories.

While browsing books one day, he could hardly believe his eyes as he gazed into the window of the little shop. 'Could it really be?', he thought to himself, 'it truly is! A used typewriter!'

New ones had always been far too expensive, and the ones that weren't, never seemed good enough when he browsed the catalogs. It had been far too long since he'd seen Winifred get lost in her writing and this was just the thing to help her find her spark again.

As he entered inside he was greeted by the shopkeeper he'd become friendly with, Maragret March, who preferred to be called Marmee instead.

Smiling warmly, she came around the counter. "What is Mrs. Baudelaire getting-" She stopped herself, puzzled when she noticed there wasn't any book in his hands.

"The typewriter in the window... oh Marmee, it's perfect! How much is the asking price?" He enthused.

Grinning at his enthusiasm, she went on to explain it would only be €45, almost half the price of a new one. "I'm afraid though Lawrence, she needs some work done."

Lawrence's heart dropped when he realized what she meant. It wasn't in working condition, hence such a low price. After a bit of back and forth, he soon realized it would cost far too much for repairs and it was a task too far outside his respected skillset.

He thanked her for her time but couldn't keep the hint of disappointment from lingering in his tone before making his exit, completely forgetting to even purchase Winifred a new book.

"Mr. Baudelaire, wait!" Marmee called after him, finding him out on the cobblestone. Sighing, she put her hands on her hips, knowing she would never hear the end of it when she told her girls about what she was about to do.

She offered to sell him the typewriter as is, cover the cost of repairs herself and return to him as good as new. "My Jo, she's a writer too...I know how important this is." She explained.

It was such a generous offer, he almost couldn't bring himself to accept. After all, she had four girls to support and this would be an incredible loss for them.

But when he thought of his own wife, the passion that rose within her with a quill in her hand, he couldn't refuse it. 

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[elderberries-and-honey]

Dear Mother, I'm writing this to you from my typewriter! I still can't believe I own one despite the fact that I've been using it all summer long. That isn't why I write to you now though...I'm writing to tell you that I'm once again pregnant! This little one is growing fast and I couldn't keep it from Lawrence for long this time.

He was delighted when I told him, nearly giggling as we discussed possible baby names. I'm not sure how you're supposed to tell, pure intuition maybe, but something is telling me this ones a little girl. Lawrence and I went back and forth on names and if my suspicions are correct, we'll be naming her after both our mothers - Allison Aurora. I wish with all my heart things were different and you could meet her, and little Ozzy.

Lawrence insists on doting on me these days, and that I get fresh air each day. We sit out by the large oak in the yard or go for long walks. I haven't told the others back home our news just yet, truthfully, I'm a little frightened to. What might they think of me, having another child at home, but being excited for this baby? Honestly, Mum, I don't know what to think of myself. I long for your guidance. I miss you everyday. Love Always, Winifred next / previous / first

[elderberries-and-honey]

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏/𝟐

On the first day of Summer, Marmee wrote word that the typewriter was finally finished with its repairs. They had cost a bit more than she had expected but she hoped it would be well worth-it.

As a small token of his appreciation, Lawrence brought over a fresh baked dessert cake, purchased from one of the local bakeries there in town, while Marmee served a lovely chamomile tea to pair together deliciously. 

"Here she is, Mr. Baudelaire." Marmee's oldest, Meg, said as she brought the typewriter into the dining room. "All fixed up and ready for the Missus." As she handed it over, Lawrence's hands began trembling a little.

He'd waited and kept this secret from Winifred for so long that feeling the weight of it in his hands almost didn't seem real. "I don't know what to say," Lawrence sighed. "Thank you doesn't seem enough."

A warm smile sprawled out on Marmee's face. "Just promise March's will be the first bookstore to sell Mrs. Baudelaire's work. That would be thank you enough." She assured him.

Lawrence gave Marmee a tight hug and Meg, who he'd learned had taken up longer hours to also aid in covering the cost of repairs, a gentle kiss on the cheek before departing.

"You March's are made of everything sweet." He chuckled as he pulled away. "Your generosity won't be forgotten."

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[elderberries-and-honey]

Back at home things were not all that they seemed. It was true that Ozzy was a healthy young boy but there were things that she had omitted in her letters that had begun to worry her.

Like the fact that Ozzy still preferred to be rocked to sleep and held through the night or that her attempt at weaning him off a baby's bottle had proven to be futile.

However, the most troubling of all was none of these things.

Ozzy had become attached to her hip at all times over the last few months. So much so that when it came time for her to cook, clean, knit, or really anything that tore her eyes away from him, he would erupt into explosive tantrums.

Beth tried what she could by way of soothing or reasonable punishment but nothing seemed to help.

When she shared her worries with the others, everyone told her that it was only just a phase and he would eventually grow out of it. Most of all, they insisted it was no reason to end The Baudelaire's holiday.

Despite everyone’s reassurance though, she couldn't shake the dreadful feeling in her bones telling her something was wrong with the child.

In the few precious moments she had to herself, she would even began to blame herself, fretting that she had done something terribly wrong.

All she could do was hope that everyone was right and the child would turn out just fine.

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[elderberries-and-honey]

Lawrence continued to wake long before the house began to stir, when the moon and sun hung simultaneously, vying for dominance in the sky. That was, if he managed to sleep at all.

He had moments in-between his darkened moods, mostly during the precious few moments that he actually got to spend with his family, that the clouds in his mind parted but for the most part, he remained unhappy. His wife noticed his exhaustion of course, worrying silently much of the time, trying to remind him to slow down every once in awhile. However they both understood it simply wasn't within in their means for Lawrence to not have to work so damn hard.

That didn't keep Winifred from trying to brighten up his days whenever they got lucky and their children remaining asleep a few extra hours in the morning. And that morning in particular, it seemed they had been blessed with good fortune.

"Good morning," She whispered, her voice velvety and almost melodic, a tone she saved only for her husband, while her digits began dancing along the woolen fabric of his trousers.

Lawrence tried to slow his thoughts, to stop thinking about his seemingly never ending to-do list.

He thought of the drunk he'd had to kick out the night before, the pesticide that wasn't working to remove the bugs, the chickens that needed more feed, and the soil that needed tilling. Around and around the thoughts circled, unable to slow them long enough to concentrate on the warmth of his wife's delicate hand slowly beginning to move downwards.

As she slipped her hand into his trousers, Lawrence's heart began to race. Her gentle hands were more than welcome, and her supple lips kissing his chest through his shirt would have normally been all it took to bring him closer to that euphoric place he so often craved to be at with her.

It wasn't that he didn't want to go there, truly, he did! But it seemed nothing was happening, his body simply not responding to the movements of Winifred's softened hands inside his slacks. He laid back, staring at the ceiling while his mind didn't allow him any grace, even at an intimate moment such as this, and continued to fire at a rapid pace.

Once Winifred realized what was happening, or what wasn't happening rather, she withdrew her hand immediately. "Is everything alright?" She asked sheepishly.

Lawrence sighed, closing his eyes as he settled back into the pillows, a masculine attempt to mask his embarrassment, he simply nodded in response.

This had never happened in their three years of marriage, and she hardly knew what to think, only that she felt guilty for not realizing sooner that he hadn't been in the mood. "I'm sorry, Lawrence, I wouldn't have if I'd known that you didn't want to." She clarified.

"It isn't that I don't to, I just can't right now...I suppose I'm still rather tired." That was the understatement of the century. He was far past tired, beyond exhausted even and this was proof that his body couldn't keep going like this for much longer.

Nonetheless, with Lawrence continuing to put on a courageous face day after day, Winifred could not have realized how much he was suffering inside. Consequently, she started coming up with an explanation for his rejection the way she knew best - by blaming herself.

Since her second pregnancy, she had put on more weight, and while she tried her best to view it as an act of love rather than something superficial, she had become quite self conscious about her slightly pudgy tummy and stretch marks. "Is it, is it me?" She asked out loud. Once the question left her lips though, she couldn't even look in her husband's direction anymore, dreading to hear the answer.

Having nearly gone mute with humiliation, Lawrence hid his face in his hand, trying to keep Winifred from noticing the way his cheeks now flushed.

Eventually, Lawrence rose from their bed with a heavy sigh. He wanted to reassure her, explain that it wasn't her fault in the least, that she was the most stunning woman he'd ever seen. But he couldn't find the right words, and so instead of saying much of anything at all, he mumbled a vague apology and headed towards the door to go find his work gloves and begin another day.

Winifred couldn't keep from feeling embarrassed, her chest rising and falling with the threat of tears until they eventually spilled over. However, the sound of her baby crying in the next room kept her from disappearing into the feeling. She simply wiped her eyes, ready to put on a happy face for her children and try to pretend this hadn't happened.

That very same afternoon, Millie and Winifred had been out shopping already at the markets when Winifred suggested they go into the secondhand store nearby. Nearly everyone they knew bought their fabrics from there, and it was much cleaner than the others in town, with hardly any stale odor or dust lingering in the air.

"What do you think of this?" Winifred asked, trying to choose between the white and pink spools of linen fabric.

"For who? Beth?" Millie asked, raising an eyebrow.

Winifred shook her head in response, dropping the fabric. "No! It's for me. My blouses are snug these days, and my skirts even tighter in the waist." She paused, turning to look at Millie's face who was still gazing at the linen. "I've been thinking maybe I need to add a little color into my wardrobe and try to be...a little more sophisticated?"

Millie furrowed her eyebrows, scrunching up her face. It was a gorgeous fabric, and it would make a striking gown for whoever decided to purchase it, but it still wasn't very 'Winifred'.

There were things that had changed about her best friend in the years that passed between them not speaking, but Millie was reasonably confident that her fondness for rich, dark colors hadn't. Or at least, she hoped not. It was one of the things that made Winifred who she was and Millie adored her allure to all things moody and macabre.

Millie and Winifred had been friends for so long that they could recall when they both wore ribbons and pigtails in their hair, since before they'd realized that someday boys were meant to cease their teasing and you were supposed to kiss them. It was a remarkable thing to keep a friendship for that many years and they both treasured it equally. Even more remarkable still, Millie could easily tell when she had something on her mind.

After a series of questions, Winifred finally told Millie what happened that morning, mortified by it all over again.

Millie responded with 'oh my', 'oh, honey' and 'you poor thing' throughout the entirety of the story. Still feeling rather troubled about it, Winifred found herself tearing up again during the retelling, but she knew that she could trust Millie.

After listening, Millie offered what she could of advice, finishing her thoughts on the matter by saying, "I've never seen anyone look at a person the way he looks at you. You move Heaven and Earth for that man, Winnie, I can promise you that."

As Millie had done for her so many times throughout their childhood, Winifred found herself feeling a bit better near the end of their conversation. She didn't know what she was going to do when Millie returned to London, but she couldn't worry herself with that thought today too.

She pulled Millie in for a hug, thanking her for the comfort, holding her for a long while before they interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. When they pulled away, they noticed the shopkeeper was looming over them.

"I wasn't try to eavesdrop on you ladies, but I couldn't help overhearing your predicament." She bit her lip nervously before continuing. "I have a garment I think might be of interest to you...will you wait a moment longer so I can retrieve it from upstairs?" She asked.

After exchanging a single glance, they both turned back to her, giving an enthusiastic 'yes!' at the same time.

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[elderberries-and-honey]

Jackson had tried his best to keep up with the farm while The Baudelaire's had been away. However, it had proved to be harder than he realized, especially in his old age, and after all, he still had a pub to manage. All the same, by the end of the summer, it became overgrown and unruly. Truthfully, he was a little ashamed and while it wasn't his fault, he felt mortified about the state of the farm.

He stood out in the thick of things, attempting to put even the smallest band-aid over the mess by trimming some of the weeds before their arrival, while Valerie stood over his shoulder trying to instruct him on the 'proper' way to do things.

Beth, who at one time would have loved to challenge Valerie or call her bossy, ignored their bickering. Instead, her and Ozzy stayed nearby, enjoying the warm Autumn air and sunshine on their faces.

Aside from their crops, the farm remained mostly unbothered. All of their animals, both pets and frequent visitors alike, were well taken care of and if nothing else, at least there was that.

Neither Winifred or Lawrence brought up their encounter with the Cooper kid, walking along aside each other in silence the remainder of the way. Both of them put it out of their mind's eye, for the moment anyway, when at long last, they were home.

Valerie was the first to notice them, grabbing Lawrence into a tight hug while she playfully scolded him for being gone so long the way only a maternal figure can.

Ozzy and Beth neared the open gate, all the excitement making the tot giggle near uncontrollably. Winifred squatted down to his level, opening her arms wide. "My baby!" She cooed, grinning from ear to ear.

Little Ozzy blinked in confusion, looking up to his Auntie Beth for help as he hid behind her skirt. "Go on, Ozzy, go say hello to your Mum! It's okay, I promise." She encouraged.

Of all the things Winifred had tried to prepare herself for upon their return, her son not recognizing her hadn't been one of them. With every second that tiptoed by she could feel her chest getting heavy as she was finally faced with the reality of what being away for so long had done to her boy. She stared the little one, trying to keep her face from falling into an expression of despair.

It seemed like everyone was holding their breath in wait; Beth in particular fearing a tantrum. 'Please, not now...please, Ozzy.' Beth pleaded wordlessly, and by the grace of God, her private prayers were answered.

Ozzy looked back up at Winifred, some instinct recognizing a distant sense of familiarity within her face, and he soon raced towards her. "Oh, my sweet boy, I've missed you so." Winifred murmured once he reached her, wrapping her arms around him to hold him against her tightly.

Lawrence approached them once he was sure it was safe and wrapped an arm around Winifred. "Hello Oscar," he said softly, "I'm your daddy, and that there is your Mum. And you, little one, are going to be a big brother!" He tutted, placing a gentle hand against Winifred's belly.

Last time they were here, motherhood felt so heavy, like a burden more than a blessing. As she held Ozzy now, she promised herself she would never leave him again. Standing there together, Winifred realized it was the first time she truly felt like they were a family.

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