Soli Deo gloria

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The Greatest Showman.

*Cue me rewatching this movie once a week since I've gotten it, LOL*

The Barnums' new house could've been swallowed up by the mansion they were evicted from. It couldn't be supported by a formal, paid staff; it didn't have ballrooms or swirling staircases with swerving banisters ripe and ready for sailing down (despite Mommy's worries, Caroline and Helen knew she smiled when she saw them shriek down their smooth ride). But it was full of love and family, and that was a better, truer happiness.

Phineas, released from always being tied to the show's apron strings, spent more time than ever with his family. Their laughter echoed down the halls; their family dinners were family dinners again in their simple dining room. Helen practiced ballet steps on their short staircase and their simple hallway. It was simple and not in the least bit as luxurious as the Halletts', but the girls wouldn't trade this house for their grandparents', even if their grandparents had twenty dollhouses and a ballet stage. Here was home with their Mommy and Daddy.

Phineas took it upon himself as a glad duty not only to always be there for his family, but also to make their living space as warm and cozy as possible. Its lack of elegance was forgotten as he tried his hand at building a set of drawers for the girls' room and a new rocking chair for their living room. Caroline and Helen, always wondering and curious about the work of their father's hands, handed him wooden pieces and nails and hammers and the like. Once done, they dashed things intently into their drawers, each little thing exactly where it needed to be, and rocked 'til the cows came home on the rocking chair.

Charity found Phineas watching their two girls as Caroline, shrieking in the rocking chair, held on for dear life as Helen bent her back and forth as far as she could go. He leaned against the doorjamb, his sleeves rolled up, sweat damp on the back of his neck and forehead. "Look at them," he said quietly.

Charity wrapped her arms around his sturdy chest and nestled her short cheek against his arm. "They're having the childhood I never had," he continued. He met Charity's eyes. "You—you know that's all I ever really wanted to give them, right?"

Charity smiled. "I know," she said. Her tone was light, but he understood her as well as she understood him. In his heart of hearts, that was always his main goal, his original intent. So many flashier things just blinded him and led him down rabbit trails he never meant to travel down. "You sure had a funny way of showing it," she pointed out, making him chuckle. They returned their gaze to their playing children.

A nice silence surrounded them, despite the shrill shrieks of the excited girls. It was comfortable; they understood each other; there was no more awkward, empty space they felt they needed to fill.

"You've finished the rocking chair," Charity said after a while, "so, what's the next big project, Mr. Contractor?"

Phineas gained a far away look in his eye, like he was envisioning something not of that room, but somewhere else. "I thought I could buy a couple of gallons of paint and we could completely repaint the girls' room. Touch up the trim, give it a new brightness. Dark brown doesn't sit well for a little girls' room."

"I think that is an excellent idea, Mr. Barnum," Charity said. "And hey, you know, if you buy another paintbrush or two or three, you could find yourself with a few extra helpers."

Phineas met her eyes. "You'd have to wear your oldest dresses," he said, as if ready to fully accept their always-ready help, as long as they knew the consequences.

Charity didn't care about the consequences. She'd take them all for him. "But of course. I've kept a couple of pre-circus-era dresses just for the occasion."

Phineas raised an eyebrow. "Just for the occasion? Or for when I defaulted on our bank loan?"

"For the right occasion. I always had faith in you," Charity reassured him.

Phineas knew this to be true; hadn't she stood by his side through all the decisions he made, all the pain he put her through? Wasn't she here right now, after she'd seen him at his absolute lowest? "Tell the girls to choose their colors," he said. "I'll go to the store tomorrow."

Charity kissed his cheek. "Sounds perfect."

Phineas clapped his hands and scooped a squealing Caroline into his arms. "Say, girls! Who wants a fairy-tale princess painted room?"

"Whoa, really?!" Caroline exclaimed, amazed.

"Pink! I want pink!" Helen yelled, clapping her hands.

"It can be any color you like," Phineas said, settling down in the rocking chair. Caroline sat on his knee and Helen stood by him, her hands holding his hand to him. "It's going to be the most magical room you've ever been in."

The girls' eyes glitted; their daddy made the circus, the most magical show in the entire world, and he could promise them an even more magical room? They hung on his every word as he described the colors and pictures they could paint in it. Charity watched their girls gather so close to their father, looking so loved and safe next to him, and smiled to herself. She knew Phineas promised their daughters the world, but he meant it this time. Not in the new way he would do when they had money and infamy, but in the old way, when he made them a wishing machine and showed them the corrals and castles and pirate ships of the world on their old apartment roof.

She was glad her Phineas was back.

The paint in hand, the fine horsehair brushes purchased and squeezed tightly in small hands, the Barnums surveyed the girls' room. Nail holes from pictures popped out of the dark brown; sheets lay tucked against the trim floorboard, bare from furniture. The room had an echoing quality now, so big and open and wide when bare.

"It's so . . . empty," Caroline said, referring to the lifeless walls, so devoid of color.

"It's a blank canvas, Caroline," Phineas said, that hint of wonder sparkling his tone; his eyes could see things not yet there, his mind taking him to a future where the walls were alive with colors. "It's waiting for us in anticipation. It's waiting to come alive."

The girls, giddy with excitement, fell to work alongside their father. They had pans of white paint; they swirled in the dyes, oohing and awing as the swirls streaked the smooth white. They became incredible colors; pale, shining, pearlescent. The girls dabbed their paintbrushes into the magic; droplets dripped onto the ragged, stained sheets spread across the floor.

"My precautions were well-placed," Charity joked.

Thus the painting party began; Phineas tackled near the ceiling while the girls ran streaks across the length of the room. Charity, wearing a work-worn apron as she knelt, paid careful attention to her steady hand working along the trim of the room. A light breeze floated in through an open window. It was hot, tedious work; the small room combined with four people in the summer heat meant that sweat grew in drops on Phineas's forehead. Caroline and Helen's dresses clung to their arms. Charity took deep breaths and swiped at her forehead. Caroline giggled at her across the room. "Mommy, you have paint on you!"

Helen and Phineas turned to see distinct pink spots streaked across Charity's forehead. Helen fell into a fit of giggles and Phineas's face broke into a grin. "That's a great new look for you, Charity," Phineas said, humor in his voice.

"It was only a matter of time. I was just the first one," Charity said. She flicked her paintbrush at Caroline, spraying of mint green against her brown muslin dress. Caroline gasped; Helen ran up behind Caroline and hit the back of her skirt with lavender.

It only escalated from there. Charity, while she hit her husband's hair with some yellow and narrowly missed Helen's straight aim of baby blue, thought of how this would never have happened when she was a little girl. Her father was a stern man, focused on appearances, inside his house and out. He would never have tolerated his daughter throwing paint or shrieking or loudly laughing or even painting her own bedroom. She felt a deep gladness for having found Phin, and for their two girls, and for hearing the intermingled laughter of the three people she loved most in the world.

The two girls fell into a team against their father. They came at him from both sides, flinging and ducking and squealing while he caught Caroline up in his arms and, flinging her up onto his shoulders, turned in circles, saying, "One more, gonna catch her—GOT YA!" He caught up Helen and carried her around the room, Caroline giggling from her seat up top.

Charity smiled to herself; this was her happiness. She couldn't think of a single thing to approve upon it. It was perfect.

Her three people fell to the floor in a happy shrieking tangle of limbs. It took a while for them to catch breath before they could fully survey the mess they'd made. "We should clean up," Phineas said practically.

Charity waved a hand. "We can draw baths later. It's a Saturday, after all."

The Saturday drifted away as they fell to work. They stopped for a quick bite but kept at the task of painting. Charity lit lanterns when the late-setting sun's light finally faded out of sight. Shadows like those of the wishing machine washed the walls in stories waiting to be told. Phineas made animal shadows with his hands, making the girls giggle. As the flickering flames waned, so did the girls. Their energy lingered and then flickered out as they fell into tired heaps on piles of sheets. Paint-smudged and arms draped over each other, they snored gently, their sleep populated with fun dreams. They couldn't keep awake; the exhaustion dragged them down.

Phineas sighed; even ringleading a circus didn't make his muscles ache as they did now. "We're almost done," he said aloud.

"Yes, we are," Charity said from the ground where she was tucking her paintbrush strokes around a tight corner. She looked up and said, "It's a good day's work. And the girls are going to have today as memories for forever."

Phineas, lost in the light in her eyes, put down his paintbrush and offered his hand. Charity didn't question him; she put down her own paintbrush and felt his hand cup around her waist. She set her own paint-splattered, work-calloused hand on his shoulder.

There was no music to dance to, but there was a faint hum. No chandelier or lights of a ballroom, but a bright moon flooding in through the open window; the lanterns' light flickered against the walls, their flames dancing in different colors against the different hues and colors. It was just enough. Charity's face was warm and bright enough to see in the colored light. Phineas's white-toothed smile shone.

They twirled around the cramped room like they used to on their rooftop, how Charity wished they'd dance down their long elegant halls in their childhood mansion. They danced like when they were young; Phineas kept loose with the dance routines from the circus's big numbers and Charity always danced around with the girls. It was quite clear that Helen got her ballet talent from both of her parents. They remembered their old waltzing together like it was yesterday. Charity's stained dress swirled and hung like a ball gown. Phineas twirled her around and she spun like a doll on a music box.

They swung over the piles of sheets, in and around the sleeping girls. It was so quiet and yet so full; there was a melody in the air: the breeze drifting through the window, their shoes against the floor. There was something old and graceful and new and magical in their steps.

Phineas held Charity in a last drop; she gazed up at him; he said, breathless, "I've missed this. I've missed you."

Charity smiled. "I'm glad you're back."

Phineas pulled her back up into his arms. "And I'm never going to leave." He kissed her. That warmth bloomed and shone around them.

The girls' room was finished the next day; it was dry the day after; the Barnums stood in the middle of the room on Monday afternoon. Phineas's arm held Charity close to him, his other hand being held by his two daughters. "So girls, tell me: what do you think?"

Helen and Caroline's eyes were as wide as moons and as shiny as stars. "It's the most magical room in the world," Caroline breathed.

"It's perfect," Helen sighed in contentment.

The room's walls were indeed perfect for the two girls. Pink and yellow and orange washed it in a sunset. Purple and green brought floral elements along the edges and windowsill. It shone with imagination and life.

"Yes," Phineas said, looking down at his three girls surrounding him, "it is."

*gasps* My big squishy shipping heart! XD

Thanks for reading! Review?