7
Colder Than Ice
When Val arrived back in Central Park that Monday afternoon, Mrs. DeLuca took one look at her and said she needed to be in bed. Val agreed without a fuss, as she was rather tired still, and clutching her new doll to her, walked back to the penthouse with her caregiver. On the way she told Mrs. DeLuca how she'd caught chickenpox, and Bae had it too, and how nice Rumple had been to take care of her while she was sick.
"And he even made me a doll!" she exclaimed, showing Mrs. DeLuca it. "Isn't it the coolest thing?"
"Very cool, my bambina," Mary said, examining the doll and noting that the workmanship was very good. "Is he a tailor or a clothes designer, your friend's papa?"
"Yeah, he's sort of both," Val said, not wanting to tell her too much about Rumple for fear she'd not be believed. She no longer thought she was going to New Jersey every time she went through the door, she had a feeling that wherever Bae lived was a lot further away than that, maybe even a different time or something. But of course she couldn't say that, so she just didn't mention it. "Will you help me name her, Mrs. D?"
"Yes. We shall make a list of all the lovely names and then you can pick one or two from it," she told her charge.
Back at the penthouse, Mrs. DeLuca went and fetched the calamine lotion out from the bathroom and put it all over Val's spots, then helped her into a clean nightgown and tucked her into bed with tea and toast.
Then she got out a piece of paper and a pen and the two began to brainstorm names for the doll.
"What did you mean before, when you said I could pick two names?" Val asked her.
Mrs. DeLuca grinned. "Well, a girl can have more than one name, Valentina. I have three names. My first name is Mary, my middle name is Constance, and my third name is my confirmation name, Theresa, so my whole name is actually Mary Constance Theresa DeLuca. Do you see?"
"Oh! That's really neat! I wish I had two names," Val said.
"But you do. Your middle name is April, like your mama's," Mrs. DeLuca said. "She gave you your name, sweetie, before she went to be with the angels."
"I never knew that!" Val gasped. "Why didn't Papa ever tell me?" Then she shook her head. "Never mind, don't answer that. I already know why."
Mrs. DeLuca sighed. It bothered her to no end how cold Mr. Morinelli was to his daughter, but there was nothing she could do about it, and nothing to be gained by talking about it either. "So . . . let's pick out two good names for your bambina, eh?"
So that was what they did.
Valentina ended up calling the doll Amanda Willa, for Amanda meant "worthy of being loved" or "lovable" and Willa meant "protector".
After that she finished her tea and took a nap, sleeping for several hours.
During that time, Mr. Morinelli, whose given name was Paul, arrived home from his trip to Pennsylvania. He came in the door with a wrinkled suit and tie and rather bloodshot eyes, having driven three hours straight back to Manhattan on only three cups of coffee and an egg McMuffin. He was hungry, irritable, and tired.
He nodded to Mrs. DeLuca as he went past her to put his briefcase in his room.
"Did you have a good trip, sir?" she asked, trying as she always did, to be friendly.
"It was okay," he grunted, coming into the kitchen and rummaging in the fridge. He took out some cold chicken marsala and spaghetti and shoved a plate in the microwave. "I might have to back to the new store in King of Prussia though next weekend. Are you going to be available to watch her?"
"Yes," Mrs. DeLuca said quickly. He hardly ever used Val's name when he spoke about her. It was always "the kid" or "her", as if she weren't really there.
"Good. I'll tell you on Friday if I need you," he said shortly, going and taking the plate out of the microwave when it dinged. "Did she behave for you?" he asked, pouring himself a glass of diet soda.
"She was fine. But she caught the chicken pox, sir."
"Chicken pox? Didn't she have that already?" he frowned.
Mrs. DeLuca shook her head. "No, sir. Otherwise she wouldn't have caught it now." She watched the good-looking man with his neatly barbered hair and classic Italian features eating and thought angrily, you've just learned your daughter's sick and do you go to her and ask her how she is? No, you just keep on eating, you cold selfish bastard!
"Did you bring her to the doctor?" he queried.
"Yes, and they told me what I already knew. Chicken pox," she answered, keeping the resentment out of her voice. She hadn't bothered, she knew quite well what Val had, and didn't want to waste a trip in order to be told what she already knew.
"How long will she have it?"
"About nine or ten days," answered the older woman.
"All right. I'll pay you an extra ten dollars a day to care for her." He finished his meal and put the plate in the sink. Then he pulled out his wallet and gave her several folded bills. "For this weekend. I'll be in my room, getting some shut eye. Don't disturb me unless the building's on fire."
He went to go down the hall to his room.
"Sir? Don't you want to see—" she began.
"Later. I'll see the kid later," was all he said, then he went into his room and closed the door.
Cold. Cold as ice, Mary thought. That friend's papa has more kindness than you do! Shaking her head, she began to fix a salad to go along with the leftover chicken marsala for tonight for herself and Val. Morinelli, she knew, would probably go out to meet some of his people from work, as he usually did after one of his trips.
Page~*~*~*~*~Break
Fairy Tale Land:
For two days, Val did not come to play with Bae, and Bae fretted and sulked because Rumple still wouldn't let him go outside, despite the fact that most of the pox had scabbed over now and didn't itch any longer.
"How come Val's not coming?" he griped to his father on Thursday.
"Bae, she's sick, they're probably keeping her home until she's better," Rumple explained.
"She was sick over here and you took care of her," his son pointed out.
"I know, but normally that wouldn't be the case. You'll just have to be patient, son," the spinner said, sighing.
"I'm bored, Papa! There's nothing to do around here," Bae complained.
"We could play cards. Val left her cards here," Rumple suggested.
"No. I'm sick of playing cards," Bae said.
"You could help me card wool," Rumple suggested.
"No. That's boring too! I want to go outside."
"How about you help me card wool for half-an-hour and then we can sit on the porch for a bit?"
Bae shook his head. "I wanna go to the glade, Papa. I'm sick of sitting down."
Rumple knew it was hard on his mainly active son to be cooped up in the cottage for such a long time. "No. I know you may feel like you can run about, but you're still not completely well, and if you play too hard you'll get sick again. You need to take it easy, Bae, until the spots are all gone."
Bae scowled, his lower lip sticking out in a pout. "I don't wanna take it easy! I feel fine!" He stamped his foot on the floor.
Rumple frowned at his son. "Someone's acting like a brat today," he said reprovingly.
"I don't care!"
"And that someone's going to get six minutes in the corner if he doesn't watch how he's answering me back," his father warned.
"You're mean!"
"Baelfire. One."
The little boy threw his father a sulky look and suddenly ran across the room and up into the loft. "I hate being sick!" he yelled, throwing himself on his bed. "And I hate that Val's not here either! This day sucks!"
Rumple sighed and finished cleaning up the table. Perhaps after he finished hanging up the laundry they could take a walk. By then his son might have gotten over his mini tantrum and be willing to compromise. He wanted to stop by Widow Tyrell's to see how Milah was doing, since she was still sick with chicken pox.
Page~*~*~*~*~Break
After half-an-hour, Rumple called up to the loft, "Baelfire, would you like to go for a walk? I thought we could go see your mother at Widow Tyrell's."
Bae, who had been sulking all that time, and looking at the pictures in Val's fairy tale book that she'd left behind, was surprised that his papa was actually allowing him out of the house. "Okay! I'm coming!" he called down, and hastened to tie his boot laces before climbing down the ladder.
He landed on the floor lightly and walked over to Rumple, who stood beside the door, cane in one hand, and a small package with some chocolate snaps in them which he had gotten from Val and had forgotten about until now. Perhaps the crunchy chocolate cookies would make Milah feel better.
"Do you think Mama's feeling better?" queried Bae, looking concerned.
"Well, we can hope so," said his father. "I'm bringing her some cookies. Hopefully she can eat them."
Bae nodded. Then he looked down at his feet and muttered, "Papa, I'm sorry I was nasty to you."
"I forgive you, son. I know it's hard to be sick for so long. But in a few days you'll be better and can play outside like you used to."
"Okay," the little boy sighed. "Now can we go see Mama?"
Rumple stepped out onto the porch, accompanied by his son, and closed the door behind them. They began the short walk to Widow Tyrell's place, which was just down the road a piece.
At first Bae matched strides with his father, but soon his natural exuberance got the better of him and he half skipped ahead of Rumple, delighted to feel the sun on his face and the breeze swirling through his dark hair.
As they crossed a stretch of green grass, Bae halted and pointed to some wild flowers growing there. "Look, Papa! Flowers! I'm going to pick some for Mama."
He raced alongside the road and began to pick handfuls of blue, pink, white, and gold flowers. When he had gotten some of all the kinds there, he ran back to Rumple and said, "Look at all the neat kinds I found! I think they'll make Mama feel better when she sees them."
Rumple smiled at his son's enthusiasm. "They're some very nice flowers, Bae. She ought to like them just fine, son."
He ruffled Bae's curly hair, which looked like it needed a trim, but he didn't have time for that today. Maybe tomorrow he would wash his son's hair and trim it back so it wasn't hanging in his eyes. His son's little face was marked a little with small dried pock marks, but Rumple didn't think they'd leave scars, they just would fade away.
They continued walking down the road until they reached Widow Tyrell's house, with its blue shutters and stone walk with the hydrangea bushes along it. Widow Tyrell had a white swing on her porch where a large fluffy orange cat was sitting. She wore a pink ribbon about her neck and had huge green eyes.
"Oh, Papa! I forgot Widow Tyrell had a cat," Bae said, his eyes lighting up. "Do you think I can pet her?"
"Her name is Sassy, and I think she wouldn't mind," Rumple said. "But first, why don't you give your mama the flowers and say hello, then you can come back here and pet Sassy?"
"Okay!" Bae waved at the feline as they went up and knocked on the door of the cottage, which resembled their own, save that Widow Tyrell had a blue door and a wreath of lavender and ivy on it.
The door was opened by Rachel herself. "Well, if it ain't Rumple and Bae! Goodness, boy, ye've grown a foot since I last saw ye!"
Bae smiled up at her. "Papa says I'm growing like a weed!"
"That ye are, laddie," she laughed. "Have ye come t'see yer mama, then?"
"Yes, ma'am," Bae said. "I brought her some flowers."
"How thoughtful of ye!" Rachel exclaimed. "Come in. Milah's in the back room by ma stove. She's feelin' a mite better today."
"That's good to hear," Rumple said. "I have some cookies here for her."
They followed the widow through her front room, which consisted of a rocker and a basket of sewing, a fireplace, a table and three chairs as well as a chestnut colored highboy with some red glazed dishes in it. Further back was a curtained alcove next to a black stove with a teakettle upon it.
"Milah, there's sommat here to see ye," Rachel called before she swept back the curtain.
Milah lay in a bed with a blue blanket over her, propped up by two pillows. Her face was covered with red spots and her black curly hair was pulled back from her face, making her cheeks look a little sunken. Her hands were resting atop the blanket, and they too were covered with red spots. She eyed Rumple as he came towards her with thinly disguised distaste.
"So . . . you finally came to see me. It's about time," she said coldly.
Rumple raised an eyebrow. "Now there's a fine welcome, wife. I had a sick child to tend to, as well as all the other household tasks to complete, that's why I wasn't over here sooner. Besides, Rachel kept me informed about how you were doing, and she said you really weren't up to seeing anyone until now. Unless you'd prefer it if I saw you puking and scratching."
Milah huffed then, and would have said something else, but Bae burst into the alcove holding his flowers and grinning. "Mama! See what I brought you! Flowers! Aren't they pretty?" He thrust the bunch of flowers in Milah's face.
Milah stiffened, then she pushed the flowers away and snarled, "Baelfire, what the hell are you doing, thrusting those . . . weeds in my face? You almost poked my eye out!"
Bae suddenly backed off, the flowers still clutched in his hand, looking upset. "Sorry, Mama. I just wanted you to smell them."
Milah wrinkled her nose. "They're just common wildflowers, boy, it's not like they're roses or something. They smell like dust and wind."
"But . . . don't you like them?"
Milah rolled her eyes. "Put them in some water before they wilt, boy. I'm sure they'll brighten up Widow Tyrell's table."
Bae looked rather crestfallen at her lukewarm response. "Okay," he said, and took the wildflowers over to Rachel and asked her if she had something he could put them in.
Rachel filled an old jam jar with water and put the flowers in it and set it on the table. Then she said gently to Bae, "Why don't you go out an' pet ma kitty for a spell, Bae? She likes to be petted around the ears."
"All right!" Bae cried, and ran out the door, his mother's response to his gift forgotten in his excitement at petting the cat.
Once Baelfire was out of earshot, Rumple turned to his wife and said angrily, "You know, you could be more appreciative and less of a bitch. He was only trying to make you feel better."
"How? By bringing me a bunch of weeds?" she sneered. "I almost choked to death, Rumple!"
"It's the thought that counts. Or it should," he said, scowling. He held out the bag of cookies. "Maybe this will be more to your liking, Your Highness," he said, the sarcasm in his voice sharp as a knife.
Milah took the bag and said, "What's this?"
"They're chocolate snaps."
"You make them?"
"And if I did?"
"I'll probably break my teeth on them, because gods know you can't bake," she said stiffly, taking one out and smelling it. "Huh. They look edible." She popped one into her mouth. "Hmm. Pretty good. Where'd you get them?"
"New York," he replied.
"At least that little snip is good for something," Milah said, and ate another one.
Rumple snorted. "You remind me of a snippy little dog. As long as your belly's full, you won't bite the hand that feeds you."
"Oh, shut up, Rumple! You have no idea what it's like being sick like this. I was sicker than a dog for days and the itching is enough to drive you insane. I'd like to see how you'd handle it."
"You forget, I've already been sick like that, so don't expect me to shower you with pity."
"I don't expect anything from you, you wretched coward!" she growled. "It's all your fault I caught this blasted disease in the first place! If you hadn't permitted Bae to play with that . . . that dirty little girl, I wouldn't be stuck here looking like some plague victim!"
"Val isn't dirty, and Bae caught this from the Thatcher boys, since they came down with chicken pox before he did," Rumple said defensively. "I sent Val away because Bae started showing signs of it first, or are you becoming forgetful all of a sudden?"
"A likely story! You just don't want to admit you're wrong, Rumple!"
"Ha! That's the pot calling the cauldron black, dearie!" he snapped. "Name one time you've ever admitted you're wrong."
She glared at him. "I nearly died and this is how you treat me?"
"Spare me your poor me act," Rumple said. "You were nowhere near dying and we both know it."
"You're a terrible husband, Rumplestiltskin! I don't know why I put up with you!"
"I guess you like being a martyr, dearie."
"Get out!" she spat, groping for something to hurl at him.
"My pleasure," he said, and turned on his heel to leave, leaning on his cane.
Her shoe flew past his head and crashed against the table leg, making the vase of wildflowers wobble.
"Guess she's feeling better," Rumple said to Rachel. "Good day, Rachel. If she gets to be too much of a pain, shove her ass out the window."
"I'll consider it," the widow snickered, shaking her head at her houseguest, who was now swearing a blue streak.
Rumple found Bae holding Sassy on his lap and petting the large feline, who was purring ecstatically. "Bae, it's time to go. Tell Sassy goodbye."
"Aww!" Bae groaned and then he hugged the cat gently. "Bye, Sassy! I gotta go home."
Sassy mewed a little in protest, then sprang down from his lap and started to wash her face.
Bae walked beside Rumple as they headed back up to their cottage. "Did Mama like the cookies?"
"She did. I'm sorry she wasn't more appreciative of your flowers," Rumple said, feeling compelled to try and make his son feel better about his mother's rejection.
"It's okay. She's always grouchy when she's sick," Bae sighed. He should have known better. His mother hardly ever liked anything he made her, this time was no different.
"That's no excuse for her attitude," his father muttered. "Hey, I have an idea. Why don't we go fishing? All of a sudden I feel like fresh trout."
Bae smiled. "Really? You haven't taken me fishing in ages, Papa."
"I know. I've been too busy spinning. But . . . today is a good day, don't you think?"
"Yes! I'll find some worms!" his son yelled, and began to look for them by the roots of trees beside the road, where the earth was slightly damp.
Page~*~*~*~Break
Val's apartment
Manhattan:
Mrs. DeLuca had made her stay in bed for all of Tuesday and Wednesday, saying she needed to rest and eat some of her chicken soup and have calamine lotion put on all the spots in order to get better. Val had submitted to her treatment, though she thought Rumple's paste soothed the itching much better.
She also had hoped that he father would come and see her, as Mrs. DeLuca had told her he knew she was sick, but she hadn't seen him at all since he came home Monday afternoon. Well, he'd gone right back to work on Tuesday, but still she had crossed her fingers and made a wish that he'd stop by for a few minutes on his way to bed on Tuesday, but he hadn't. Now it was Wednesday night, and still she had seen no sign of him.
She had kept busy watching some Disney movies on TV and then playing with her stuffed animals and Amanda Willa. She had even done a few puzzles with Mrs. DeLuca at the kitchen table for a little bit before her caregiver had sent her off to take a nap.
Now she drowsed in her bed, one arm about her doll, having just read a chapter of Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder. She had just put the book down when she heard footsteps coming down the hall.
She looked at her princess clock on the nightstand and saw that it was nine-forty-five. That meant her father was home.
She sucked in a breath as the footsteps paused outside her door. Maybe he'd come in tonight! She hugged Amanda Willa hard.
Her door opened slightly and she saw a shadow standing there.
Her heart sped up excitedly. "Papa?" she called softly.
"Go to sleep, you're wasting electricity," came his response, cold and brittle.
The light clicked off, leaving her in the dark, save for the moon shining in the window.
Then the door closed and the footsteps continued on towards his bedroom.
Val sniffled sharply, crushed by his coldness. She buried her face in the pillow and whispered in Amanad Willa's ear, "I thought he might . . . say goodnight this time . . . but I guess not. I miss Bae and Rumple. But maybe tomorrow Mrs. DeLuca will let me play over there. I'm not that sick anymore."
She hugged the doll to her, the sweet scent of lavender tickling her nostrils and comforting her. She closed her eyes, recalling the way Rumple had held her the last night she had spent at the cottage, and the refrain of the lullaby he'd sung to her echoed in her head.
Pretty girl, go to sleep, for the night is dark and deep, pretty girl, go to sleep, in the meadow, count the sheep, pretty girl, go to sleep, th'o dark is here, have no fear, for I am near . . .
"Goodnight, Rumple. Goodnight, Bae. And goodnight, Amanda Willa," Val whispered to the night and the doll beside her. Somehow that made her feel a little better and she fell asleep with the scent of lavender surrounding her and the moonlight streaming through the window to fall across her pillow, dreaming she was being rocked to and fro, held securely in the arms of one who loved her.
A/N: So now you've met Val's father. What did you think of him? And Milah's reaction to Bae's little gift? Thanks to everyone who submitted names for the doll. Hope you liked this chapter!
