Pillow Forts
A long day had completely worn out little Annabelle. She clutched her well-loved teddy bear in her still pudgy fists and scratched at her reddened cheeks. A hard fought bath between her and her father had erased the condemning splotches of tear tracks. As her father lifted into the fluffy comforters, her fist clutched at his shirt. "Dadda," Annabelle muttered, "tell me how you and Momma got meeted?"
He pried his daughter's fingers from his still damp shirt. Maybe it was the begging look in her wide, brown eyes. He had definitely seen that look in her mother's face often enough. But personally, he felt that it was his daughter's term Dadda. The six year had stubbornly stopped using that word at two. Her day with Grandmother Bennet must have been longer than even he had assumed. He slid onto the edge of her bed and brushed a hand over her burnt red curls. "I think you know that story better than I do, Annabanana."
She curled into him, her doe eyes fixed solely on him. Her thumb snuck up towards her mouth, but he reached out and gently tucked her bandaged hand beneath her pillow. "No more sucking, okay?" She nodded. At her agreement, he settled in. "Well, it all started at a wedding." He loved his little girl's delighted twitter. He loved that, even if she insisted on superhero bed sheets and no dresses for special occasions, she still wanted to be a princess. "Now, see your mother was the most beautiful girl there! She just shone, and everyone wanted to dance with her. But your father was there too, but he was too mean and too prideful to go and speak to her."
Annabelle played their script perfectly. "Daddy! You should've!"
"Shh," he rubs her curls again. "I'm telling you a story." They shared a grin. "So, Annabelle, your mother wasn't going to dance with anyone, oh no. However, she caught the bouquet toss. You know what that means?"
"She had to dance." Annabelle nodded, sleepily.
"Yes," said her father, "but she had to dance with the man that the bride chose for her. Now, it was completely by accident that the bride chose me. And I was too mean to say anything kind to her. I was blessed with the chance to dance with the prettiest girl in the room and I was too prideful to even compliment her."
The proper responses were getting more and more drowsy. "Daddy! Why not?"
"Well, you see, your daddy was too scared to talk to your mother. He hid behind his pride and his refinement. And your mommy didn't like him for it." She didn't respond this time, but he could tell she wasn't fully asleep. "After that horrid dance, your mother and your father didn't see each other for a long time." Annabelle mumbled unhappily. This was always her least favorite part of the story. "One day, your mother's castle was overrun and she couldn't live there for a while."
Annabelle's eyes cracked open. "Grandma said it was being fu—fuma—fumigator?"
That was a first. He smiled at her question. Well, mostly he just smiled at her. "Fumigated, dearest."
"What's—what's—" her sleep deprivation and long day ruined all her ability to talk. "what's fumigator?"
He tapped her forehead. "I'll tell you later. But the house wasn't being fumigated. It was being renovated. Rebuilt."
"You said it was a castle!"
"Yes, yes, sorry. Forgive me. Now are you going to be quiet again?" She nodded and he pulled her hand away from her face again. "Well, as your mother couldn't live in her castle anymore, a mutual friend had both your mother and your father stay with him. But you see: your father was too proud to admit that he so much as liked your beautiful mother, let alone wanted to be more than friends. And your mother despised your father a lot. It made them both sad and neither of them liked living in the same house together. It was your father's fault, really, he was a right beast to your mother."
Annabelle tried to sneak her thumb into her mouth again, but he was too quick for her. In lieu of proper distraction, she pouted, "Mommy always says she's to blame."
He bent and kissed her forehead. "Well, your mommy is delusional." He kept her injured hand resting in his palm. It still amazed him sometimes how utterly small her hand was. How fragile it was. How glad they could be that she'd still have all her fingers.
Her eyes sparkled. "Delusional!" She repeated the word again with great gusto.
And oh, he knew he'd get chewed out for teaching her that new word, the first time Lizzie heard it. Ah well, there was nothing to be done for that now. "You need to go to bed, Annabelle."
The sparkle left her eyes. Her shoulder hunched. "My hand hurts."
"I know." He was almost surprised they'd made it this far into the story without her completely breaking down.
The first reappearance of tears squeezed themselves into her eyes. "Grandma made me cook today." He didn't say anything. Instead, he traced a soft finger around the edges of her bandage and let her fears spill out. "She said every good little girl likes making cookies. She made me turn the oven on. And put the cookies in the oven! And pull them out." Tears overwhelmed her whimpers here. "I dropped—" she hiccupped and curled closer to her father. He lifted her out of her covers into his arms. She snuggled in tight and cried on his chest. "—the cookies. Grandma said I was clumsy. That I wasn't a good enough cook. Am I not good enough?"
He hugged her as tight as he could. "Annabelle, you are so much more than 'good enough'." She snuffled. "Baking cookies doesn't make you a good girl, nor does pleasing your grandmother. Your smile, your laugh, your respect, your energy… you are my Annabelle and you are amazing." Some of her tears tried, but he knew that there would be a lot of healing still needed before she wasn't skittish around her Grandmother and the kitchen. And even cookies. God, what kind of person forced a terrified six year old to stick a burned hand into an oven?
"Is Grandma going to be around tomorrow?" She sounded scared. "Dadda, I want Momma back."
He had to fight to restrain his anger. "Momma will be back soon, dearest."
Annabelle's sobs got quieter and quieter until she was sound asleep. He sat there for a few more minutes, listening to her lungs work and her heart beat. It took more self-will than he wanted to admit to let her go. He set her down on the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She slept through it. Carefully, he laid her teddy bear between her arms. Another kiss on her pale forehead and he forced himself to stand. He left her door propped open. She shouldn't wake, not at least until he had succeeded in the next step.
Phone out, a few quickly picked clicks, ticket bought, information sent to the nearest printer, and a short text to his chauffeur, and then he was ready. He set his jaw and paced down the stairs towards his mother-in-law's preferred bedroom. It was barely eight pm when he knocked on her door and stepped through without approval. It was his house after all. Even Mrs. Bennet, esteemed for being blind to any and all expression of anger and discontent, could tell that she was not on good standing with him. Before she could say anything, he spat "We did tell you how Annabelle injured her hand."
"Why of course, the poor dear, touching the oven like—"
"And you choose to spend your day with her in the kitchen. Baking cookies. You made her use that selfsame oven."
"Everyone likes baking cookies, m'dear! Although I must say, little Anna did seem a little withdrawn. Are you sure that girl has enough friends her own age? If she doesn't learn how to be social—"
William Darcy was not someone who suffered fools well. "There are boarding passes to a 9:15 flight sitting in the printer in the lounge. Patrick will be arriving in fifteen minutes to take you to the airport. I thank you for your willingness to support us while Lizzie is away. Your help is no longer required. I assume Lizzie will contact you at some point. Goodbye, Mrs. Bennet." His last two words held all the bite that he wanted them to convey. He hadn't called her Mrs. Bennet to her face since before his wedding. Confidant his barb had stung enough, he spun on a dime and stalked from the house.
His mother-in-law's "why I never" carried after him, but she'd leave. Patrick would make her leave. Less angry now, and slightly doubtful that Lizzie would appreciate his snap decision to dismiss her mother, he headed back up the stairs. The light was still off in Annabelle's room. And she still was soundly, if not quiet peacefully, asleep. William retreated into the master bedroom, not quite two doors down from Annabelle's room. He pulled out his phone. There was nothing new from Lizzie. She was over in New York, and it would be nearly eleven if he called, well… He needed to at least hear her voice. He called, listened to her voicemail. He missed just listening to her talk. After the beep, he said, "Darling, I might have just sent your mother home. We miss you. I don't think either Annabelle or I have the words to truly express how much we miss you. I love you." He hung up and put the phone on the bedside table.
She'd be back tomorrow, or the next day. She'd call tomorrow morning. She'd be home soon. Annabelle would heal soon. Everything could go back to good again.
It was nearly eleven when Annabelle padded into his bedroom. Her face was splotchy, and her teddy bear still clutched to her chest. "Dadda, my hand hurts. I miss Momma."
He stood, gathered her into his arms, and headed for their video room. Another story wouldn't fix this, and he didn't have the words to make her feel better. "I know, dearest. I'm sorry. Let's watch a movie and eat popcorn. Does that sound like fun?" He knew this was usually something she did with Lizzie, whenever he was gone. That, pillow forts, sock skating, and all other 'fun' things that they seemed to think he wouldn't enjoy. She nodded against his chest.
Once inside the movie room, he laid her down on the couch. "Now, you pick the movie and I'll go get popcorn." He'd get more than popcorn. He'd get starbursts and plain hot water and everything he knew she loved. He hurried through the food preparation, loathe to live his hurting little girl alone longer than absolutely necessary. But when he returned, she was happily curled into the couch, trying to read the back cover on Beauty and the Beast. He put the food down, exchanging the starbursts for the video.
At the sight of her favorite rainbow candy, Annabelle's face lit up. She eagerly tore at the packaging, but the fingers on her right hand bent too far. The pain of a twisting scab caused her to jerk back. She cradled her hand against her chest. The starbursts dropped into her lab. Her father sat next to her and gently lifted her hand away from beneath her chin. "Hey, hey Annabelle," he whispered. "It doesn't matter. You don't have to worry about crying."
She sniffled. "Can we just start the movie?"
He fiddled with the remote, got the movie playing and started unwrapping the first of the starbursts. His little daughter smiled again, accepting the juicy sweet with ease. They shared the rest of the starbursts and worked through the popcorn before Belle even got to the Beast's castle. Without the food to distract her, the exhausted six year old fell asleep in her father's lap. He kept the movie on, white noise as he studied her sleeping face.
He wouldn't move her now, sleep had been hard enough to her to find ever since Lizzie left. Bing had developed a major illness, and Jane had needed and wanted sisterly support. Oh Lizzie, William thought, come home.
Just as the climax began, a distant door opened. He checked his phone. It was almost twelve thirty. It could be the night maid, but— He twisted around just as the movie room door opened. The lithe, well-missed figure of his wife slipped in through the threshold. The light of the movie illuminated her soft smile. "Hi Will."
He wanted to run to her, but Annabelle was still curled into his lap. "Welcome home." His voice cracked a little.
"Rough night?" Lizzie crossed to the couch in a few quick strides. She sank down next to him and reached out to stroke Annabelle's head. Their daughter whimpered but stayed asleep. "I got your message. I was going to call back, but I had already landed and-" she kept talking even when he curled his free arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick kiss. She murmured straight through his kiss. When he pulled back, she just kept talking. "But really. Beauty and the Beast? You weren't telling her the how I met your mother story again."
"She asked for it!" He retorted with a grin.
Lizzie grinned. "You're such a push over."
"Only for her. And you. And Gigi."
She laughed.
Annabelle stirred. Her eyes popped open. "Momma!" She scrambled over her father's lap and dived into her mother's open hug. Annabelle clutched at her mother's neck, her wrists bend just enough so that her hands didn't come into contact with anything. Lizzie hug her, shifting positions just enough to pull Annabelle all the way into her lap. The little girl repeated "Momma" over again, deliriously happy.
Lizzie placed a smacking kiss on her daughter's forehead. "I missed you, Jinglebells." Annabelle giggled and snuggled in tight. "I heard you haven't been sleeping tonight. I think that calls for a pillow fort."
William still had his arm around Lizzie's forehead. He held back a sigh. "It's almost twelve thirty." His mild protest was nearly drowned out by Annabelle's happy squeals. It was completely obliterated when both of his girls turned to him with their perfectly honed begging eyes. The movie credits began to role.
"Will dear," Lizzie said in her smooth mock of his assumed pretentiousness. "You will be a darling and go gather all the supplies we need for fort production, yes?"
Loathe to leave either of them, he knew he wouldn't win when Annabelle chimed in her support for him being the fetcher. They ganged up on him too much. Standing, he tickled Lizzie's side knowing she'd hate it. He also ruffled Annabelle's head knowing she'd love it. Both of them gave him adoring glances as he left, and that was enough for him. There were enough guest rooms and couches near to the movie room that it wouldn't take him long to gather the supplies need to placate the two of them. Sure enough, he returned to the two most important women in his life arranging couch cushions to the opening story of Beauty and the Beast. Again. His daughter really was obsessed with this movie.
For the majority of the intro song, Annabelle and Lizzie danced around, throwing blankets over pillows and squishing pillows into just the proper orientation. William did whatever he was told. He had learned a lot in eight years of marriage, but his pillow fort building skills were still somewhat below that of spouse and daughter. Still, it was enjoyable trying to figure out the best possible way to make twenty pillows form a level sleeping area from the three of them. Frustration proved victorious as the pillows refused to align within the limited space. So he put a raised dais for Annabelle near the tv and left the back of the pillow fort for Lizzie and him.
The fort was finished in short order. Annabelle curled up on her dais, intent on staying awake for the rest of the movie. They knew she'd barely make it through the next song. With a kiss and a whispered "be right back" Lizzie snuck off to shower and change. William crawled through the back of the fort and for the first time, had no begrudges to the complete undignified manor in which the night would pass. It had been a good night, even if… well… they could worry about the mother-in-law later.
He counted the minutes until Lizzie returned: nine. Almost ten. Wow. She must have missed him too. By then, Annabelle had curled into a ball, fast asleep, her injured hand dangerously close to being sucked on again. Lizzie touched her daughter's forehead with two fingers and pulled back. Exhaustion showed on her face now, a deep-seated, unsettling sort of exhaustion. It was the sort of exhaustion she'd battled while… he swallowed. "Jane isn't—"
Lizzie squeezed her eyes shut and tucked her head into his chest. "Bing's doing better. Remission. Jane… Jane is pregnant again. She's so scared." The emphasis on the present tense meant so much to both of them. Apparently their generation of Bennet girls was prone to miscarriages.
William wrapped his arms around his beloved and held her tight. "She'll pull through. Bing will be fine. Tommy, Jessie, they'll all be fine." He kissed her hair.
"I know, I know." She pulled back a little. In the odd shadows of TV light and pillow fort, he couldn't read her expression. "You'll tell me the story 'bout my mom tomorrow?" He nodded. "And you really think Annabelle's going to be okay?" He nodded again. She breathed. "I've missed home. I missed you." She curled herself back into him, seeking comfort that she normally never needed.
But he gave the comfort willingly. Even now, tiredness was forcing its way behind his eyes. "I love you, Elizabeth Darcy. And you need to sleep."
She mumbled something indecipherable, but he just took that to mean that she was already mostly on her way to dreamland. Oh, it was so good to have her back. His family was back together again. Eyes drooped. The movie stopped making sense. His family was together. There would be pain, but Annabelle's hand would heal. The Lee's would survive. The cousins would grow up. There would be life even during death. And Beauty and the Beast would be a story favored by all.
Even when Lizzie insisted that it was "a complete misrepresentation of the facts, both thematically and chronologically and really, why is everyone so obsessed with that movie!"
To which, Annabelle would always respond, "Mommy, you're using big words again."
Life would be good.