Thank you to those who have left reviews, and of course to those who are simply just reading.
I tried to make it obvious in the narrative of this chapter, but in case it is not, this chapter is a flashback one.
Highmuster Arduenna was a large man, not in appearance or height, but in the force of something else – something unnameable. His presence easily garnered the attention of others in his nearby proximity. It was not an effect he was ever truly all that aware of.
As they watched a carriage drawing its slow way up the road to their home, he circled an arm around his wife, something she tutted at, but indulged him in for a moment, before carefully removing the offending limb. He chuckled to himself, causing Larena to shoot him a feigned look of impatient annoyance.
His friends had mocked him at first, for taking his wife's name rather than force her to take his own. As was the norm. They had acted as if it somehow made him something lesser, weaker. Even the weight of what the name stood for did not sway them, but he had eventually. He made sure they would never insult his family again; he would never stand for it.
His family was his everything.
The carriage finally came to a stop before them, his grin broadening to the point of making his cheeks hurt. It had been a long time, far too long.
The door of the carriage opened, the figure inside bounding out with quick steps, baffling the driver who was just climbing down to open the door himself.
A handheld bag dropped to the floor as the figure rushed forward.
"Papa!"
He gathered his daughter into his arms, noticing a tenseness that shouldn't be, and barely stopped himself from spinning her as he had once done so frequently.
"Highmuster…" Larena moved her head in a subtle motion, "Not in public."
"Right," he chuckled, though there was no one else around.
Galinda turned, retrieving her bag and bid farewell to the carriage driver.
"Is that all you brought?" Larena asked, her head tilting subtly.
"Most of my old belongings are still here, it made more sense not to bring a lot," Galinda explained. Highmuster nodded his head in agreement with her decision, but neither he nor his wife were quite able to cover their surprise at an action they had never expected their daughter to take.
"No maid?" Larena asked as she spotted the carriage begin to roll away, the driver making his journey back to the train station.
"Coming home is important." That it was, "And I am trying to increase my independence. You never know when something may befall those you rely on."
There was no doubting just what their daughter was referring to, even if there was something to doubt, the quietness of her last sentence would have confirmed the truthfulness of her words.
"Let's get you inside," Highmuster said gently, placing his hand on the top of his daughter's back and taking her bag from her hand.
As soon as they crossed the threshold, the door closing with a quiet click, Larena wrapped her arms around their daughter. Highmuster's bright eyes picking up on a slight hesitation before Galinda returned the action.
He set her bag on top of an end table besides the stairs, choosing not to bring Galinda's reaction to attention.
Larena pulled back, both hands resting on Galinda's upper arms, studying their daughter's features, before hugging her once more.
Perhaps it was selfish of them to have distanced themselves from their daughter in the way that they had. After all, they had done it in order to lessen the inevitable upset that would come when she left them for a place they could not reach easily, not yet at least.
As Highmuster made his way to his wife's side he saw Galinda glancing around the room, as if she was taking it all in for the first time – which, in a way, she was. How long had it been now since she last stepped foot into her childhood home?
"How are things now, with your marriage?" His wife cupped Galinda's cheek in one hand as the other fussed with her curls, "I understand from your last letter you were still suffering from nerves?"
Galinda's gaze wavered, but remained in place, "Yes. Things have settled now."
Something about her reaction, coupled with what else he had seen, set Highmuster's nerves on edge, "If he does anything, I will have words with him." Galinda shook her head at his reaction, her lips quirked into a small smile.
Larena slid one hand down to hold her daughter's arm, "And still no children."
Highmuster fidgeted, his brow furrowing. His daughter's gaze had slipped, her lips parted as if she was going to say something immediately, which she did not. When she did speak there was a slight crack to her voice that made his hands tremble, "No. Not yet. But we shall continue to try."
The older Arduenna woman smiled, oblivious to what her husband had noticed. Or perhaps he was reading things that would not real, seeing things that were not actually there. It was possible Galinda's hesitance, the slight air of an inner struggle within her were all due to the reason she was there in the first place.
It was only natural, of course, that she would be so very concerned over her Ama's condition. It was a sorrowful thing that she would return only due to such an occurrence, rather than a happy event. Yes, he would rather that be the case than anything else.
"I understand…" Larena began, rubbing at her daughter's arms with both hands, "… these things take time, but you will get there. Marriages between unknown parties often end up pleasant, if not completely joyous. You learn to love them; it simply takes more time for some. Don't you agree, dear?"
Highmuster scratched at the hair along the top of his jaw, his eyes crinkling with his smile, "Not for me. It was love at first sight."
Larena's eyes dropped low, an uncharacteristic smirk spreading across her face, "Of course it was."
He scoffed playfully at her false ego.
Both mother and daughter fell into the same bright and bubbly laughter. The sound made his heart swell with joy, made him almost forget that this was not a happy occasion.
Her stomach churned painfully, the fluttering in her chest changing into something more painful and aching.
Glinda turned to her parents at the base of the stairs. Her father's brow crinkled in concern, her mother holding her hands before her, fidgeting with her fingers. They had already offered to come with her, but she had gently declined. She needed to do this, on her own preferably.
She gave them a frail smile, hoping the distance between them would make it appear stronger than it was.
The short distance to her Ama's room, directly beside her old room, felt as if it took an age. The familiar corridor and decorations made her feel small and uncomfortable. The anxiety constantly eating away in her chest.
She paused in front of the closed door, steeling herself before raising her hand to knock softly on the wood before entering the room.
"Ama?"
The woman lowered the book she held in her hands, a smile crossing her face as she realised who had entered her room.
She looked dwarfed in the plush sheets wrapped around her and the pillows propping her up, "Duckie."
She had lost weight, a significant amount by all appearances.
Her voice was low, crackly in quality, but still so cheerful. She placed the book on the bedside table, not carrying to take note of the page she was currently on.
"I've missed you," Glinda said as she made her way to her Ama's bedside, wavering for a moment in her worry before circling her arms around Ama Clutch and hugging her softly. The familiar comforting scent helped calm Glinda's heart, her smile matching her Ama's.
There was already a chair at the bedside which Glinda promptly rearranged closer to the bed, before sitting on it. She reached across the sheets to grasp her Ama's left hand, further pacified by the warmth and strength in the grip.
"You look well," Ama Clutch said gently, her eyes dancing with warmth, "Are you really well?"
"Yes Ama, I feel much better now than I once was." Glinda wanted to return the compliment, but had a feeling it would not sit well, all things considered.
"And the girls? How are they?"
Now that was a difficult question, one that had Glinda fumbling for an appropriate answer, "They are well, I believe. We have grown closer; I think you could say we are friends now. Nessarose is quite kind once you get to know her, and ignore her tendency to fall back on religious discussions or scoldings for 'sinful' behaviour and comments."
Ama Clutch's chuckle was cut off by a harsh cough.
A glass and pitcher of water sat on the bedside table; Glinda quickly filled the glass halfway and pressed it into her Ama's free hand. The water sloshed in the glass as Ama Clutch shook; Glinda released her hold on her Ama's hand and helped her take a sip to sooth her throat.
Once Ama Clutch signalled she had drunk enough, Glinda returned the glass to the bedside table.
"You seem more capable than before."
"I feel more capable now." Glinda affirmed, "I am married now, did you know?"
"I told you that those girls would be good for you." Ama Clutch continued, ignoring or not hearing her quietly spoken words, "The more experiences a person has, the more they grow. I wish I had done more with my time."
Glinda shook her head, her lip wobbling, "Don't speak like that Ama."
"No point ignorin' the obvious, Duckie."
"Ama…"
"You're not that little girl running scared from ducks no more."
Glinda allowed a small laugh to escape her, remembering her childish fear of those feathered beasts and their piecing cries.
"The way they waddled, right Duckie?"
"Urgh." Glinda shivered, "Blasted things. Then you spent the rest of my childhood taunting me about it."
"You overcame that fear, and so many others." Ama Clutch paused to yawn, her eyes half open now, "I am proud of you."
"You're tired." Her Ama nodded and hummed her agreement with Glinda's words.
"You were always far more capable than you gave yourself credit for." Ama Clutch grabbed her hand, squeezing it with surprising strength, "You can still do so much."
And with that, the woman drifted off to sleep.
Glinda stayed for a while, mulling over the words exchanged in the far too short conversation.
Her Ama was right. There was still so much she could do, so much she had never experienced, nor truly thought she would ever experience.
When was the last time she had so much as thought of Sorcery? Let alone cast a simple spell or two?
The few challenges to herself that she had ever faced, she had managed to overcome in the end. Much as she had Elphaba's abandonment, though her distance from the memories helped with that particular fight. She was capable. More than she had ever thought. She could be more; she could prove to so many people that a person could be greater than what was thought of them, or what was expected of them.
She could do that for her Ama, even if she was not around to see it come to its full fruition.
She slid her hand from beneath the weight of her Ama's, and left the woman to her rest.
She jerked awake, a cold sweat sweeping across her brow.
Glinda's body trembled as she pushed herself up, her arms barely able to manage that simple action. She gasped for breath, her hearth hammering.
Her dream. Terrible. Painful. She could not remember the details, as always with her nightmares, only the horrifying and all-consuming emotions that were brought about by them.
She calmed herself after a few long moments, and was debating whether to have a bath or just wash herself with a cloth until morning when she could have a long soak, when there was a soft knocking on her door.
She slipped from her bed to answer it, her brow creased in confusion and the beginnings of panic, when she the handle turn in the moonlight. The person on the other side too impatient to wait.
"Galinda, dear?" Her mother called as she opened the door, letting the soft light from the hall flood into the room as she looked around before her gaze landed on her.
Her mother's eyes were watering.
"Mama?"
Her mother let her old childhood term slip, not so much as frowning in disapproval. Before she knew it, Glinda found herself wrapped in her mother's arms.
"Come. Quickly, there isn't much time."
Glinda's stomach plummeted, her breath catching as her heart froze for a long moment. Her vision blurred but she pushed herself to remain dignified, for the moment.
This was too soon. Too quick.
Her mind raced.
She had never known her grandmother, but she had never felt the loss of not knowing her. Not when she had her Ama, always bright and cheerful, reading her stories, indulging her and being ever so blunt when needed.
The doctor had left them, waiting outside the room so they could say their goodbyes.
Goodbyes.
There had been a turn for the worse in the middle of the night. Apparently her parents took turns checking on the woman throughout the night, Glinda wondered what happened to their old housekeep and cook, an odd thing to be concerned about with everything else that was occurring. The mind was a curious thing.
Her father had noted the change and had fetched the doctor, in his nightclothes of all things.
They let Glinda occupy the chair. Her father; his hair and sideburns mussed by sleep, stood on the other side of the bed, his arm wrapped around her mother; who looked as prefect as always. Both wore equally pained expressions. Of course. She had almost forgotten that Ama Clutch had cared for her mother in her later years also, and for her from childhood.
Her mother may have known Ama Clutch for longer, but they both agreed Glinda was closer to the woman, and she to her.
She said nothing, for there was nothing she could say, if Ama Clutch could even hear her anymore. She just held onto her Ama's hand and comforted her with her presence.
She had seemed fine that day when they had spoken. Smaller, weaker perhaps, but her mind was still strong. How could such a thing happen so soon? It was expected, yet so unexpected at the same time. Was life truly so confusing? So out of their control?
Her mother whispered an old prayer to Lurline.
It was almost as if she had held on purely so Glinda would have the chance to say goodbye. As if she had only wanted to say those words to Glinda and then she was happy to just let go. To find her peace.
With one last rattling sigh she was gone.
Then, and only then, did Glinda let the tears fall, her head hanging low and shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
She would justify her Ama's pride in her. However misplaced it may have once been.
The funeral was a quiet, reserved affair. A few of her Ama's family members, of which Glinda knew nothing, were present. They, however, kept their distance for the majority of the ceremony, only approaching Glinda at the end to thank her for her kindness – for she had paid for everything, despite her parents' insistence that it was their responsibility. Shell would likely be annoyed if he were to find out, but he would soon forget his feelings on the matter in a day or two. Not that it bothered her all that much how he felt.
They invited her Ama's family back to her parents' house, her mother opening their home for the Wacian. A meeting of mourners in a home connected to the deceased, where food and beverages would be provided. It was short notice, but her mother insisted that they could manage a decent offering. The family, though politely, declined, stating they wished to spend the time privately and together to celebrate Ama Clutch's life. Her mother insisted, and they continued to gently decline.
In the end, her mother dropped the offer, respecting their wishes while still wanting to do what she could for them. Wanting to give them something more. The family thanked the three of them to an almost obscene degree while fighting against the tears in their eyes, as Glinda and her parents struggled with their own emotions.
When they returned home they had a small celebration of their own, trying to remain upbeat as Ama Clutch would have wanted them to be. They drunk and ate little, but remained up until late into the night sharing stories and memories.
Glinda could not return to her room that night, and so stayed in a guestroom until it was time for her to bid her parents goodbye and return to The City. To her new home.
Just before she left she travelled to her Ama's grave and left more flowers, of which there was already a large amount, and a small stone figure of a duck. She placed it prominently, and whispered her goodbyes and reaffirmation of her promise. That she would do something, that she could be more. Perhaps she could even make a difference and a mark on the world. A positive mark, one that could benefit so many people.
Every three months, at the very least, she would make the journey home to visit her parents and pay her respects to her Ama. She would kneel before the stone which was all that was left of the woman who had always been by her side, sharing stories of joy and sadness, of her continued life. All the while Glinda's fingers ran softly over the writing and poems on the headstone, her voice low and wistful as she let the tears roll down her cheeks silently.