Title: Simple Gifts
Rating: K+
Set: Post MSF at the Alexandria Free Zone and flashback to "Alone". I have assumed that Beth and Daryl spent two or three days at the funeral home since time wasn't firmly established.
Characters/Relationships: Beth Greene, Daryl Dixon, Bethyl, two minor original characters
Words: 2900 (one shot)
Notes: I have always tried very hard to write canon compliant stories so this was difficult in light of the MSF, but after taking a short ride on the Delusional Express, and spending some time on Denial Island, as well as reading several articles about surviving and recovering from gunshot wounds to the head, I decided this was do-able. I hope you enjoy. (Song lyrics for Simple Gifts and credits at the end of the story.)
Simple Gifts
"'Tis the gift to be loved and that love to return,"
(AFZ post season five MSF)
The piano was old, it's once rich finish dull and worn, ivory keys browned like gnarled old teeth. It had been ages since anyone had played and longer ages since the instrument had been properly tuned. Her fingers hovered over the keys, hesitating as though uncertain what notes to play. Then with infinite care she lowered her hands to the keyboard, only to make an ugly discordant noise. She pulled her hands away, jamming fists into her lap, frustration and anger etched in the taut look on her face and the rigid arch of her back.
"Can't," she said.
"You can. The music is still in you. Let it come out. Let it help you heal."
Slowly Anne drew the younger woman's hands from her lap, gently unrolled her fists, massaging the fingers until the tension visible eased. Then she lay her fingers back on the keyboard. "You don't have to remember the entire song. Just the first few notes. Then tomorrow we'll remember a few more. I'll help you." With infinite patience the older woman placed her hands over those of her young patient forming her fingers to properly play the correct notes, then slowly, methodically, helped her through the first few bars of music.
"See," Anne said, "you can do it. You can still play because the music is still in your heart."
###
Beth's fingers drifted over the keyboard, finding the proper notes, feeling the music twine though her hands and into her soul. Whoever cared for this place had not only kept everything immaculately clean, prepared the dead with loving care, and stocked the larder with food and drink, they had also showered that same meticulous attention on the piano before her. The instrument was tuned and ready to play. The keys were worn to a muted sheen from hours of use. Sheet music was arranged with neatly written notes on each page, little flourishes that personalized the music to suit the owner. Beth had chosen a piece she remembered studying in music appreciation class her sophomore year in high school. She smiled at the long ago memory of once being a sophomore and how little her classmates really appreciated the music they were studying. To most of them, the class was just 50 minutes to waste before the school day ended. Ages ago in a different life and a different time. And yet, this music was still here, a reminder of that time. A reminder of all the things that were slipping away from them all. She paused for a moment as sadness threatened to overwhelm her. So many things and so many people lost.
Best not to think that way, she told herself. There are still good people. There is still hope. There can still be music.
She heard movement behind her and turned to see Daryl entering the room. Even though they had only been here at the funeral home for a couple days, they had quickly fallen into a routine, a comforting rhythm that soothed the day. While Daryl made the rounds outside, checking their alarms and hunting what he could within a limited radius around the house (Beth sensed he was unwilling to leave her alone as long as she was recovering from her injured ankle) she would quietly play the piano. Since he had asked her to keep playing, it was hard for her to stop.
"Hey, Daryl," she said over her shoulder, her fingers returning to play the melody one more time. Then she carefully lowered the lid over the keys and spun around on the bench to smile at her companion. She was still trying to figure out what was going on behind his deep blue eyes half hidden by a mop of ragged brown hair. She and Daryl had come a long way emotionally since that evening spent mostly drunk on the porch of a rundown shack that was both a nightmare reminder of his youth and an absolution of his past. But too often she found she was still guessing what Daryl was thinking and feeling and she was uncertain of what their relationship truly was, if anything, beyond companions in survival. What she was aware of was a growing emotion within herself which she had never felt with any other man before. But that bond was still undefined, existing in silent looks and words not yet spoken. She often felt their relationship was fragile, tenuous. As she turned to face him there was a frown etched on his face.
"Is something wrong?" she asked softly, suddenly afraid.
Daryl glanced away, pointedly avoiding eye contact. "Nothin'." He said quickly.
But Beth knew him well enough by now to know that was not the complete truth. "Yeah. I think something is," she said. She knew that if anything was threatening their current fragile security, he would not hesitate to keep her informed, so something else had caused that frown.
But Daryl just shook his head. "Com' on. Lunch's ready."
Beth shrugged. And just to emphasize the point her stomach rumbled loudly. Now that brought a small grin to Daryl's face,
"Let's go, girl, before you starve to death."
Beth got to her feet and began to hobble towards the kitchen. Daryl fell in behind her as though impatient with her progress. "I'm goin' as fast as I can," she said, then giggled with delight as he swept her off her feet, into his arms and carried her the rest of the way into the kitchen.
##
Beth leaned back in her chair. Her stomach pleasantly full. If any of her friends had told her that she would ever consider peanut butter, jelly and pickled pig's feet a gourmet feast she would have laughed and yet she could think of no finer food at this particular time. She smiled as Daryl licked the last of the jelly from the spoon in his hand.
"What was the name of what you were playin'?" he asked.
Beth sat up straighter, somewhat surprised by the question. "Well, I remember it being part of a symphony called Appalachian Spring written by Aaron Copeland. The heading on the sheet music said the song was titled Simple Gifts. Why?"
A dark look passed over Daryl's face. He nodded like something suddenly made sense. "I heard it before. Does it got words?"
"I think," Beth said. "They aren't written on the sheet music. Do you know it?"
Daryl shrugged in his noncommittal way. "My momma used to listen to that song."
For a moment Daryl seemed to be lost in memory, and not a happy one, Beth thought. "It's a beautiful piece. The whole symphony is," she said.
Daryl looked at her, his expression veiled. "Always made her cry. Never new why she listened to somethin' that made her cry."
"Lots of music makes people cry," Beth said. "Did she listen often?" Beth pushed gently at the memory.
Daryl grunted. "Only for a couple weeks in December and only if the old man wasn't within hearing range, or was too drunk to object. Never knew it was from some fancy symphony."
"I remember hearing it when I was in high school," Beth said. "In a music class. I wish I did know the words. It's such a pretty melody. I'd love to sing it."
Daryl stood up abruptly, ending the conversation. He gathered the remains of their lunch from the table, stowing the open jars in the cupboard and tossing their spoons in the sink. "Gonna go hunt. Saw some good tracks earlier. Might be turkey."
Before Beth could say a word he was out of the kitchen. She heard the front door close, a little too loudly and then silence. She sighed. Just when she thought she did not have to tip toe around Daryl's past she managed to stumble unwittingly into another raw memory. Standing slowly, Beth gingerly put weight on her injured ankle and hobbled back to the parlor and the piano. She was going to enjoy the music while she could.
##
Beth was curled up on the settee in the parlor dozing lightly when she awoke to the sound of the door quietly opening and closing. Though she knew it was most likely Daryl, her hand still went to the knife at her side. The sun had set after she had fallen asleep and the room was dark except for slivers of moonlight peeking through the board covered windows. She barely heard Daryl's feather light footsteps as he walked first to the kitchen, then returned to stand in the doorway of the parlor. He certainly saw her. For a moment he hesitated, then noiselessly he crossed the room, kneeling beside her, his hand gently shaking her shoulder.
"Beth," he said softly. "C'mon. Let's get you upstairs."
She allowed him to help her up the stairs to the bedroom she had chosen to sleep in. "Thanks," she said failing to stifle a yawn. "G'night"
"Mm hm," he muttered.
Then the door was closed between them. The last sound she heard was his footsteps on the stairs. Daryl would sleep downstairs. Where he could keep watch. And Beth fell asleep feeling secure.
##
Her nose was cold. Beth burrowed deeper into the blankets, burying her nose to warm it. She did not want to emerge from the cocoon she had created. Such luxury, warm blankets and a soft bed, were to be relished. Opening her eyes only enough to peek into the room told her it was daylight, but the light seeping through the window coverings was dull grey and the wind skittered dry leaves on the porch roof outside. A perfect excuse to snuggle further into the blankets. She would have been content to remain here for the rest of the day, but she would have felt guilty ignoring Daryl like that. Besides, her bladder was demanding she empty it, so she threw back the covers, slipped her good foot into its boot, grabbed the other in her left hand and limp walked down the hall to the bathroom. Another luxury she had long done without. There was no running water, but the hand pump in the basement worked, so water was available. She poured a meager amount into the wash basin sitting in the sink bowl and slashed her face. Her hair was a mess, but she would deal with that later. Suddenly she was excited about a new morning and wanted to bounce down the stairs and into the kitchen. What she managed was more of a hop-hobble and she entered the kitchen only to find it empty. At first she was disappointed but realized she had truly slept late. Daryl must have already set out on his 'rounds'. He had left a jar of peanut butter and a spoon on the table for her. Smiling at his thoughtfulness, she ate several spoonsful before heading straight to the piano.
As she settled onto the bench and lifted the lid that covered the keys, a folded piece of paper caught her attention. It had not been there last night when she had put the sheet music away. Very carefully she opened the paper which had been folded into quarters like a greeting card. The page was covered top to bottom with awkward, stilted printing, mostly block letters, written by someone obviously unaccustomed to hand writing. At the top was written "THE WORDS BEST AS I REMEMBER THEM" followed by the title Simple Gifts and lyrics, mashed together into one long paragraph, but obviously lyrics.
Daryl. Beth felt tears sting her eyes. Daryl knew the words because his mother had listened to this song when he was a boy. Despite the painful memory he had put the phrases on paper for her, because she wanted to sing. "I will sing them," Beth said aloud. "This evening." After dinner when they sat here together and he asked her to sing this would be her first song.
##
Pulling her hands from the keyboard, Beth looked at Anne with obvious frustration. "Words," Beth said. "Words, words, words."
"The words will come with time, dear," Anne said patiently.
Daryl Dixon stood outside the doorway to the lounge, unseen by Beth, but able to hear all that was said. Every inch of his body was knotted and twisted and pulled tighter than his bowstring. All he wanted to do was help her, and there was nothing he could do to help. No one had been happier than he when they realized she would live, and he was grateful that she had, but watching her struggle to communicate tore at him. Knowing she could not sing was an extra knife twisting in his gut already filled with its due of guilt. All he had had to do was stop her from walking back towards Dawn, and he had watched stupidly as she had done just that.
"She's made remarkable progress since she arrived."
Daryl jerked and turned sharply to face the owner of the voice, a tiny woman with grey streaked hair and glasses far too large for her face. The woman, Dr. Lenton he recalled, never flinched, standing her ground despite his less than welcoming glare.
"She truly has," the doctor said again.
Daryl grunted. "She can't talk. Can't sing."
"She can walk and eat and take care of her own needs. She knows who she is. She knows who you and the rest of her friends are." Dr. Lenton was quietly persistent.
Daryl looked away, back to the piano where Beth continued to struggle with the notes.
"I know. I know it's frustrating for all of you," Dr. Lenton said. "Head injuries are tricky. We have no way of knowing how much damage was done by that bullet. She's a very lucky girl. Lucky to be alive. But speech. Speech is very complicated. I believe Beth knows what she wants to say, she just can't pull the right words from her brain right now. What she needs is a speech therapist and we don't have one of those. Anne is an LPN that spent time working with head trauma patients. She's the best we have. You said Beth loved music. Loved to sing. Sometimes music, with its repetitive phrases can help a patient make that first connection with language."
"She keeps saying 'words'." Daryl spoke without turning to look at the doctor, his eyes only on Beth.
"I think we can safely assume she is trying to find the right words and keeps saying that because she can't."
"Or maybe that's not what it means at all." Turning on his heel Daryl left abruptly, storming down the corridor like a man on a mission.
##
Dr. Lenton sighed. She had been warned to be cautious around Rick Grimes and his group of ruffians. She had tried to be open minded but this one was particularly difficult to fathom. Of one thing she was certain, despite his coarse exterior, this man of few words was completely devoted to the young woman they called Beth.
##
Daryl Dixon did not bother to announce his presence. He opened the door and strode into the room up to the piano where Beth and Anne still sat, picking away at the notes to the song Daryl had finally recognized.
"Beth," Anne said quietly, "I think you have a visitor."
Without another word, Anne slipped off the piano bench and stepped quietly to the other side of the room. Daryl took a deep breath as he realized how he must have looked barging in and disrupting their session, but that was soon forgotten in the glow of Beth Greene's slightly crooked but radiant smile. She patted the seat next to her needing no words to convey her meaning. Carefully, Daryl sat down beside her, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head briefly on his shoulder. She sighed contentedly as he returned her embrace.
"Heard ya playin'," Daryl said softly.
Beth looked up at him a frown darkening her features. "Words," she said angrily.
"I know." Reaching into his vest pocket Daryl withdrew a folded and worn piece of paper, holding it out to Beth.
Her eyes lit up and she literally bounced on the bench, taking the paper and holding it to her heart smiling at him again.
"It fell outta your backpack. That last night…when we had to…" run from that damned funeral home because I was an idiot, Daryl finished silently to himself.
But Beth was shaking her head vehemently, poking him in the chest with her forefinger. "No," she said firmly. "No." She obviously had no intention reliving the past. Unfolding the paper she smoothed it reverently onto the music stand. "Yes," she said, smiling and pointing to the words on the paper. Words he had written what seemed a century ago. "Words." Beth nodded, pointing at his chest then to the words scrawled across the paper. "Words." Beth settled against him, arms around his waist, head against his chest, waiting.
Slowly, in a voice made coarse by the tears Daryl tried desperately to contain he began to recite the lyrics to the song she never got to sing.
"'Tis the gift to be simple,
'tis the gift to be free,
'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
It will be in the valley of love and delight."
(End)
##
And the rest of the "Words."
Simple Gifts
'Tis the gift to be simple,
'tis the gift to be free,
'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
It will be in the valley of love and delight.
Refrain: When true simplicity is gained,
To bow and to bend we shan't be ashamed.
To turn, turn will be our delight,
'Til by turning, turning we come round right
'Tis the gift to be loved and that love to return,
'Tis the gift to be taught and a richer gift to learn,
And when we expect of o-thers what we try to live each day,
Then we'll all live together and we'll all learn to say,
Refrain:
'Tis the gift to have friends and a true friend to be,
'Tis the gift to think of others not to only think of "me",
And when we hear what others really think and really feel,
Then we'll all live together with a love that is real.
Refrain:
(Composed in 1848 by Shaker Elder Joseph Brackett – Simple Gifts has become one of America's most popular all-purpose melodies and was used in Aaron Copland's Appalachian Spring.)