AN: Hi guys! Apologies all around for the long wait for this chapter, but as amends the last chapter should be up way, way sooner. I was writing both at the same time so it's only a matter of finding a few hours here and there to finish up 26. :) You all have been incredibly awesome with your support and I love reading all your reviews and messages. Thank you so much! Seriously, I never thought so many of you would be reading this, it's entirely overwhelming at times haha.
There is some Dutch and Spanish sprinkled in some of these conversations for which you can find the translations at the bottom of the page. I hope you all enjoy the chapter!
Chapter 25
Stay With Me
February 1st, 1863
Dear Miss Pierce,
I am most sorry for the delay in response to your letter dated the 4th of last month. I am afraid things have been rather… frenetic here for me in Columbus. As you are well aware –and as I have now learned my father is a horrid old gossip apparently— I did make a dear friend in Blaine. I've just returned from a trip with him where I am also afraid that friendship was severed by things better left unsaid in our first correspondence.
Enough of my woes. My father has written of you a great deal, and the last letter I received from him informed me of the man he knew you as. Can I please just say how much I admire you and how sorry I am for the way my father reacted to your honesty. I very much feel he cares for you, he seemed distraught in his last letter as he wrote of the uncertain terms you all parted on. Did he apologize? He can be stubborn at times and rather cranky when faced with change but as you've said, he is a good man. I know he'll have done what's right.
I'm afraid I cannot answer your question though. I have not heard from him since that last letter in November. It worries me, what might have befallen him. You know more than anyone the perils of war and how poor his leg has become! What if he is lying in a field somewhere with no one to pick him to his feet? I am depressing myself just thinking of it! Please write if you hear word from him and I promise to do the same the moment I receive word as well. He is a strong man, I know he's alive. I refuse to think otherwise.
Your friend,
Kurt Hummel
February 7th, 1863
Brittany has read it at least a dozen times now, but her gut stirs with unease all the same. Kurt's words are potent, stilling. They've sewn themselves so staunchly within her mind she can little more escape them than she can the sound of her heart beating. It's loud now, pounding against her ribs in a painful rhythm. Her hands have ceased to tremble but instead quiver faintly as she clutches to the letter. Her eyes scan over it again.
I have not heard from him…
… no one to pick him to his feet.
Brittany shuts her eyes and refolds the letter hastily. The deep-seated creases easily give way to her practiced movements, jittery as they are. She swears this will be her last time doing so… but she's said so already five times this afternoon. As she lies to her back in the barn loft she tucks it into her coat pocket, letting her fingers linger over the crisp edges.
She's prayed for word of Burt's wellbeing every day and the mere thought of him— of him unaccounted for— has now left her sickeningly dizzy with worry and wishing she'd never written to Kurt at all. To be ignorant is one thing. Her imagination is strongly favorable and every prayer thus placed in good faith has been worthwhile. But what of them now? What of the uncertainty now surrounding Burt's fate? Brittany can feel the hurried anxiety of Kurt's words practically bursting from the page. His worry brushes against her fingertips, the sensation a prickle of power along her arm that adds to the unbridled dismay already accumulated low in her gut.
The words are branded in her mind.
'I know he's alive. I refuse to think otherwise.'
It is hard to have the same faith as Kurt when all she can think of is the reason for the tears in Santana's eyes last night.
They've lost a dear friend in Michael.
His family has lost more.
All her prayers placed for his safety were thus devastatingly unanswered.
She thinks no one is even listening...
Her prayers have all gone to waste.
And with Emily's continued decline, Brittany's finds her once infallible hope now unraveling.
She lets her body sink further against the wood floor, emotions spent.
She wishes her father hadn't leant out Apple this morning. Curses him for it even. After first reading Kurt's letter all she wanted was to seek out Santana's comfort. She felt unstable, needing the other woman's solid presence to ground her. As she still needs it now to pull her from this place of solitude.
She'd not be able make it on foot in her state. Her father hadn't even questioned the tears in her eyes. He doesn't care... when did he stop? When did she?
She collapsed in the loft, surrendered.
She's not moved in hours.
She needs someone, anyone to share in her grief.
The grey of the sky beyond the loft door and shuffling feet of the cows below are poor substitute for fond brown eyes and warm arms.
Brittany needs her...
Wills her legs to pick her to her feet.
She wants nothing more than for her hope to be restored.
It is a feat so impossible now given one man's stubborn creed.
Brittany has nothing left within her to feel for her father's unyielding heart. She thinks he deserves every bit of pain he may feel from her disregard.
They've not spoken properly in weeks.
She's tried reasoning with him, appealing, bargaining, pleading, begging… nothing has worked. His temper has shortened and hers alongside. There is a current in the air between them, mounting in bitterness as they pass and trailing in their wakes. Each has felt it prickling along their skin and both have grown resigned to its lingering presence.
Too much has been said and too little left unspoken to ease the tension.
She craves his apology nonetheless. Foremost, she craves his acceptance. He's not said it outright but she knows he thinks her wrong. The multitude of evenings they've spent in church are evidence enough. It was a routine her father had been firm upon after he'd banned Santana from their home. They never missed a sermon or a chance for repent and prayer.
Brittany had nothing to repent, no matter the urgency Hendrick would whisper to her in plea.
She refused to submit to his misguided wishes. She was not wrong. Love was not something to repent.
So he would bend to his knee in the pew beside her and beg of God on her behalf.
Pray for his daughter to be returned...
She wanted to scream at him on those days. Shout that she had never left. She was there, right beside him, no different in any way aside from the shortened hair atop her head.
She was still his Brittany.
Her eyes were nothing to be so shamed of looking upon. She wonders if he can even recall their shape.
If he even cares to...
He's not cared for much in weeks now.
She thinks he too has given up on prayers for they've not been to services in a fortnight.
He's grown strangely absent. Confusingly so. Instead of keeping constant eye upon her as he once did he's been distant. The times they are together end shortly, her presence obviously an intolerable burden upon his soul. Or at least Brittany assumes so. He even wears more layers, as if protecting his very skin from the stain of her sin. Yet he still ensures a hot meal is waiting for her at breakfast and supper, that a warm bath awaits her on more trying of days. He cannot choose to be a father upon occasion and shun her at all others!
How she wishes she could just cease caring for him.
Her fingers trace over the contour of the locket resting against her chest beneath her shirt.
She hasn't been able to remove it, no matter the times she's wanted to rip it from her neck and throw it to his feet.
She can no longer comprehend his actions and frustrates over them even during the short times she's able to steal away to Santana.
And he must hear her crying at night… how could he not? Emily always mentions to her how she's kept up wishing she could crawl into bed beside her sister and chase the tears and hurt away.
It won't ever go away though, even numbed as she's forced herself to be now.
Brittany hasn't seen his eyes; not a smile, not a hint of her father and she can't help but feel she's losing him and everyone and there's not a thing she can do more to stop it.
So she's already made up her mind as to what she must do.
Once Emily— Brittany swallows thickly— once she's gone, Brittany will leave as well.
It will hurt to say goodbye to them all; Apple and Lord Tubbington especially. But without her family the farm is no home.
Now if only she'd the will to stand to her feet and tell Santana.
...and heart to displace Tubbington from the nest he's made for himself between her calves.
A horse gives out a whiny nearby, puzzling Brittany as it sounds nothing at all like Apple. She sits up at the sound, a might too fast for Tubbington who lets out a meek cry and scatters off toward the far hay bales in search of a better bed for his nap. Craning her neck to see beyond the open loft door Brittany catches glimpse of an unfamiliar horse and ever more unfamiliar black carriage. Her focus is drawn to the mare, specifically the poor animal's clearly wearied state. Outrage bubbles within her at the neglect of the driver. They must not have stopped since nightfall! And pulling such a weight by herself!
Brittany stews as she crawls to the door ledge for a better look.
The carriage is small yet polished, the dark wood and brass finishing's shining in the streams of sunlight able to pierce down through the heavy layer of grey clouds. For all its splendor the wheels are chipped in places, leather of the reins well-worn with age.
It reeks of waning affluence beneath its facade of grandeur.
The driver steps down and stretches himself skyward with a silent groan. He startles as the door to the carriage is impatiently flung open. A woman emerges, swatting aside the assistance of her driver as she steps down to the ground and scowls as her heel is entrenched in day's old snow. Even as she shakes her foot free and berates the skittish man trying to provide her aide Brittany can't help but think this woman is by far the most poised and ridiculous lady she's ever seen. She's attired in the very finest of dress, her dark hair elegantly coifed high on her head. All for a visit to a poor farm far from whichever city it's clear she's traveled from. Even at a distance Brittany can see the sneer etched across the woman's full lips as she absorbs the sight of the modest home before her.
A cow lets out a loud moo below and Brittany ducks down beneath the loft doorway as the woman's attention turns toward the barn. Through the slates of wood she can see a slight fear in the way the woman twitches and waves to the driver to remain close by.
Brittany presses her ear close as they begin speaking. Their voices are hushed in tone but the foreign language is familiar… those lips so similar in shape to the one's she's memorized…
Brittany forgets to breathe.
Peeking up from the edge of the doorway she watches, stunned, as Santana's mother ascends her porch steps.
Within moments Mrs. Lopez is greeted by her father. They disappear inside the home not long after, the driver left to scuffing his boots in the snow as he returns back to the carriage.
Heart pounding, Brittany quickly scrambles up to her feet. Blood rushes to fill her legs, muscles twitching beneath. The sensation is akin to needles piercing through her veins. She hurries unsteadily over toward the ladder and descends as a thousand thoughts swarm her mind.
Why has she come?
Has she brought Emily's medicine?
What does she want to say to Santana?
Has she come to say anything at all?
Is she here to help?
Is she here to take her...?
Brittany leaps down the last few steps, her arm accidentally smacking against one of the rungs as she catches herself. The healed sword wound protests at the strain, old nerves stinging deep beneath the scarred skin. Brittany sucks in a breath as she hugs the arm to her chest, knowing Santana had warned her to keep it well away from further harm. It continues to throb but she pushes aside the ache as she takes off through the barn doors and into the snowy yard.
As she passes the dumbfounded driver she shouts a hurried, "There's feed and water for her in the barn!"
Ignoring his witless response of, "He'll much appreciate that, thank you ma'am!"
She springs up onto the porch in one bound, skidding to a stop just outside the closed door. Composing herself, though unable to keep her hands from shaking, she lets herself inside.
The conversation within halts at her entrance. Her father is unsurprised and yet alarmed at her presence, his gaze instantly flittering toward the kitchen in hopes of finding an excuse for her dismissal. He's still yet to even remove that stupid scarf which she thinks now a permanent fixture upon his face. She pays him no mind after that initial second, her eyes riveted to the woman calmly standing in their home.
Gloved hands are clasped politely at her front, expression piqued with mild interest at the intrusion. She looks not at all affected by the death of her husband or daughter's incarceration. Her air that of a woman inconvenienced by little more than a days worth of travel in luxury she's found immensely —selfishly, Brittany thinks— inadequate.
Santana's mother is every bit the callous woman Brittany was told of.
And there is so very much Brittany wishes to say to her.
Mrs. Lopez speaks up before she or her father can, smiling over at Brittany in rehearsed cordiality, "You must be Bridget."
Brittany's hands cease trembling when her fingers find home in the flesh of her palms. "Brittany," she corrects through a clenched jaw.
There's a brief flash of recollection in dark eyes as Mrs. Lopez steps toward her, strained smile widening. "My apologies, Brittany." The warmth of her tone does little to hide the insincerity of her words or assuage the way her gaze lingers upon Brittany's abnormally shortened hair. She purses her lips as she motions back to Hendrick, continuing, "Your father and I were just discussing—"
"Why have you come?" Brittany asks, bypassing any pleasantries for there could only be one purpose for the woman to have traveled so far.
She intends not to journey home alone.
A fact that twists into Brittany's heart at Mrs. Lopez's reply. "I've come to collect my daughter. And see here?" She retrieves a small vial of amber liquid from within her purse, holding it up for both Hendrick and Brittany to see. Hendrick eyes immediately cloud with grateful relief. Brittany's narrow in unbridled suspicion. "In good faith I've even brought the medication she requested in her letter. Is she here by chance?"
"In town at the moment," Hendrick supplies quickly, graciously accepting the medication Mrs. Lopez carefully hands to him. "And thank you so much for this ma'am, you've no idea how hard it's been to come by."
"I've an inkling," Mrs. Lopez replies, eyes scanning the sparsely furnished room. "Is there anyone who can call upon Santana?"
Brittany bristles. "She's not going to leave with you," she tells her just as Hendrick also speaks up.
"I'll fetch her for you Mrs. Lopez. I know we've not much but please make yourself at home," he says, helping Mrs. Lopez to his fireside chair as he throws a quick silencing look in his daughter's direction.
Mrs. Lopez has heard them both, but declines responding to the acidic claims of the woman that's clearly been spending time in her daughters company. It seemed even the war could do little to keep her influence from spreading to others. She gives Hendrick a polite smile in thanks, "how long should I expect you gone?"
"No more 'an hour or so," he tells her. "I'm sure she'll be happy to see you."
Mrs. Lopez refrains from letting out the chuckle she feels warranted by his optimism. He mustn't be acquainted with Santana, she thinks, if he expects anything aside a vehement protest at news of her arrival. Thus to expedite the process she suggests, "Feel free to make use of my carriage."
"Your horse is in need of rest," Brittany interjects, fuming internally. She cannot withstand another second in this woman's presence. "I'll fetch Santana."
Hendrick's eyes widen at the suggestion and he grabs Brittany by the arm before she can fully turn toward the door. His daughter winces, letting out a hiss of pain as the ache in her arm is reawakened by his grip.
He lets go immediately, brow furrowing with apologetic concern. When had she hurt herself? Why hadn't she come to him? She keeps her gaze from his, pulling her arm back to her chest and away from his touch. He can't deny the hurt rendered in his heart by her guard.
"Give us a moment," he says to Mrs. Lopez before leading Brittany into the kitchen and out of earshot of their guest.
His apologies tumble forth almost immediately. "I'm sorry Britt, I'd no idea it has been bothering you again, are you—"
"How could you know?" Brittany snarls out, swift to put a great deal of distance between them. "You don't ever talk to me anymore."
He is stilled more by the anguish in her voice than the spite of her words. "I'm sorry sunshine," he whispers, but says no more on the matter. He can't tell her why yet, not when she's so utterly vexed with him. "Please trust me to bring Santana back."
"Why? You wish her gone just as much."
"I wish only to reunite her with her mother," he explains quietly.
Brittany glares up at him. "Santana hates her mother. That woman is awful."
He agrees, absolutely, but regardless, "She's come all this way to see her, and whether Santana agrees to come or not Mrs. Lopez is our guest for the afternoon. We must treat her as such."
"I'm afraid I've forgotten my manners then," Brittany pointedly tells him. "So let me bring Santana back."
A flash of panic overwhelms him. "No!" He bursts out, shaking his head and moving to block the back door. A prickle of sweat dots his receding hairline and he raises a hand to brush the perspiration aside. "I… I should be the one to get her."
"So you can upset her some more?"
"To apologize."
Brittany squints up at him, searching his eyes for truth to the words. "You're lying to me again."
He chooses not to acknowledge her statement, busying himself with gathering a clean cup for Mrs. Lopez from their cupboard. "I'll return with Santana soon," he promises, setting their best cup on the table beside Brittany. Her heart sinks upon seeing it is the one she reserves for Emily's use. "Offer Mrs. Lopez some tea, perhaps that will keep her from saying anything more to upset you."
He begins to head back into the front room to retrieve his coat and cap, but Brittany's voice stops him just in the doorway. "No matter what you say to her, I know she won't leave me."
He knows. He knows oh too well.
Brittany fixes up a small pot of tea as her father instructed, though purposely ensures the taste is anything but satisfactory by steeping it for longer than necessary. It also prolongs her inevitable return back into the front room. She doesn't think she can face Santana's mother again without her true thoughts on the woman's character bubbling forth. Bracing herself and taking sharp bite of her bottom lip Brittany pushes her way through the door.
The woman has not moved from the chair, ankles now crossed delicately beneath the large skirt of her dress. She brushes down a portion of the overcoat draped over her lap as Brittany stiffly enters with the tea.
Mrs. Lopez gives Brittany thanks as she sets the cup and kettle down on the table beside her father's chair.
Brittany wills herself not to bump it off, no matter how she wishes to see the steaming liquid ruin that dress and wipe the poorly concealed smugness from Mrs. Lopez face. It's clear she holds the Pierce family in little esteem, none even if Brittany truly lets her anger swell hotter.
They fall into thorny silence shortly thereafter, stealing glances at the other when gazes are averted elsewhere.
Mrs. Lopez never touches the cup. She's quite sure the blonde wishes her poisoned.
A faint cough from the back room has Brittany on alert and Mrs. Lopez finally ready to break the hush between them. There was, after all, a reason her daughter had written to her. "How is your sister faring?"
"She's sick," is Brittany's blunt response. As if she cares! She can't resist as she says once more, "Santana won't go with you."
Mrs. Lopez's lips curl into that infuriating smile again. "You sound so sure," she says, tone amused. She stands from the chair and motions with a flutter of her fingers at the room around them. "How could she ever wish to stay… here?"
"She's a family here," Brittany tells her, advancing at the insult. The other woman does not shrink from her towering presence, calmly taking in Brittany's resentment as she meets the fiery blue eyes boring down into her own. "Something more than she has if she were to return with you."
Mrs. Lopez lets out a tired sigh. "I feel she'll tell me the same. Santi's never been one to hold her opinion."
Brittany seethes at the ease with which the woman utters the nickname. She's not earned the right to! "She shouldn't ever have to," Brittany says evenly, voice low. "And she ain't going with you."
Mrs. Lopez expression darkens, eyes sharpening at Brittany's continued impertinence. "It's not just the one vial I've brought," she informs her, glad for the slight flicker of humility in Brittany's eyes. She motions down to her purse in the chair. "There's much more to help your sister, perhaps enough even to see her well again."
Brittany picks up the purse, astonished to find at least four or five other similarly sized bottles containing the assortment of medication Emily's long since exhausted supplies of. Mrs. Lopez closes her hands around Brittany's own, clamping the purse shut and secure in Brittany's grasp. Their eyes meet, brown curiously interested as the black within blue deepens, indebted, vulnerable.
Brittany cannot find the strength to speak past the knot now formed in her throat. Not an hour prior she'd given up the very hope now presented to her.
"You care for Emily immensely," Mrs. Lopez whispers, both unaccustomed and hesitant of Brittany's open display of emotion. It was a sight seldom witnessed in Cincinnati and rarely has she ever seen the same look in her own daughter's eyes. Only twice to be exact. Once upon Santana's fourth birthday when she'd gifted her a doll and received the last true hug her daughter ever bestowed her... and the other the night she stood outside her daughter's door, unable to cross the threshold lest she defy her husbands wishes, watching as Santana shed silent tears and begged of her mothers comfort with scared eyes.
She thinks Emily quite lucky to have someone hold her in such regard.
It is also why a twinge of regret similar in nature to the one that struck her as she retreated from Santana's door sinks within her now as she pulls the purse away from Brittany's hands. "Either Santana comes with me, or my gifts do," she manages to keep her voice clipped, poise intact as she maintains eye contact with the now flabbergasted woman. "I am not one for extortion, but as my husband is dead I cannot take chances any longer. You can have your medicine if I can take my daughter home."
"This is her home now," Brittany stresses, sniffling as she regains her stony countenance. "And could you really be so cruel to take this from my sister? She's dying."
Mrs. Lopez stares at her a moment, unblinking. Brittany can make no sense of the look held within dark eyes and is surprised when Santana's mother empties her purse carefully to the side table. She steps aside, motioning down toward the settling bottles. "Keep the medicine," she tells Brittany. "I'm not without compassion."
Brittany's not quite willing to trust her. "Santana says otherwise."
"Do you believe everything she tells you? She's a very good liar, Miss Brittany."
Brittany's gaze narrows dangerously. "She never lies to me."
Mrs. Lopez grins knowingly. "Trust me, it is her greatest talent."
"How can you be so… so…" Brittany's ears burn red as she struggles to find the most fitting of term.
"Honest?" Mrs. Lopez offers, folding her hands back in front of her dress. "I know my daughter. And as much as she tries to deny it she is all her father."
"She's nothing like him!" Brittany exclaims, cheeks now flushed with the heat of her ire. "How could you ever let him hurt her?"
"It is not a woman's place to interfere with—"
"You're her mother!" Brittany explodes, unable to contain her thoughts any longer. Mrs. Lopez stumbles back toward the hearth at the impassioned outburst. "You should only ever want to keep her safe. No matter anything!"
The ring of a bell echoes into the room, extinguishing the fight in Brittany's eyes. Her irritation remains though, strong as ever as she steps impossibly close to Mrs. Lopez. The elder woman doesn't know which brings an uncomfortable heat beneath the collar of her dress, the fire at her back or the one burned into her from the darkest of blue eyes. She's pinned beneath them, silenced.
Brittany leans nearer and tells her with slow deliberation, "You don't deserve her love."
I know, Mrs. Lopez thinks. She need not be reminded.
A rush of air is exhaled through her mouth as Brittany steps back and blue eyes dart down to the now chilled cup of tea. "And you're not welcome to the tea, so don't touch it."
Brittany brushes past her to check upon Emily, leaving Mrs. Lopez to fall back into the chair, dumbfounded, unable to process how it is she was just bested for the first time in her life by someone of such inferior birth.
And how right Brittany is.
He walks beside her, silent, brooding. The very picture of a father torn in empathies and despondent for the love it's cost. He's not said a word since she opened the door to him. Her heart had clenched as her eyes locked upon his tired face. A flash of fear coiled in her gut for Emily. Before she could even utter a single word in question he let out a sigh, one just as heavy as the darkened contours beneath his eyes.
"Emily is with us still," he said from beneath the scarf wrapped snuggly around his neck and lower face. She could glimpse a hint of the regard he'd once shown her as their eyes met. It was hard for him to remain indifferent, especially when given how evident her concern was for his youngest daughter. He snapped his gaze to the floor. There was reason for this presence. "Your mother's arrived and wishes to see you."
She followed him without question but then he'd also not given her a choice. Once the words had passed his lips he turned and began the long walk back toward his family's farm. Santana quickly grabbed her coat, and scarf for good measure, before hastily catching up to his slowed strides.
He'd been waiting for her, but neither says word of it.
Neither says anything for a good quarter of an hour.
The snow is slush beneath their steps, ice finally thawing in wait of a spring still so far off.
Santana hopes it warms soon. Her mother's visit is yet another cold smear upon her life. She'd never expected her to make the trip so far North from Cincinnati. Certainly not with the winter they've been having. But more yet, certainly not with the feelings long lost between them. Her mother has never written to her, not once during the time they've been apart. And yet Mrs. Lopez more than made the time to write to her father. He received a letter almost weekly, a gesture that once spurred such utter jealously within her.
Was she so easily forgotten?
So uncared for?
The memories, bitter as she is recalling them now, have left a welt upon her heart nonetheless. There is no sentiment that needs be paid to her mother. Simply a string of choice words she wishes to cut her down with instead.
If Brittany hasn't first, Santana thinks, grinning upon remembering how unforgiving Brittany is when subject of her absent parents arises.
Santana is rather looking forward to greeting her mother, if only to show her right back into her carriage with desires voiced of never seeing her again.
Her mother is hardly what worries her as they make their way nearer to the farm.
Her more pressing concern lies with the man at her side and the almost guilty way he's been avoiding her gaze.
It's clear he's not told Brittany. A fact that buzzes within Santana so hotly she's ceased feeling the nip of the chilled air upon her cheeks.
Hendrick is aware. Acutely so of the firestorm brewing so near beside him. He also thinks it will snow again soon, a far safer thought than manifesting any type of rebuttal. He scuffs his boot along a pack of ice on the road, scattering the bits to make for easier passage of carriage and carts. It offers a distraction, if only for a moment from the conversation he knows the cross woman to his side is waiting to unleash.
He barely finishes spreading the patch of snow when her voice carries over the empty road. "You've not told her yet, have you?"
It's both accusatory and worried. Such a fitting combination of disappointment and scorn. He feels it more than warranted. "You already know my answer, why bother asking?" he offers instead, tone hardened as he begins walking once more.
She stops him with a push of her hand against his shoulder. "Because you're capable of infecting her," she hisses out, eyes blazing fiercely up into his own. "And she's not a clue to protect herself."
He bristles at the attack. "You think I'd do that to her? I've been careful."
"Careful how?" she presses, flicking at the ends of his scarf with a sneer. "Is this all? Tying a scarf about your face?"
He keeps his breath dutifully held as his eyes keep locked upon hers and he lowers a portion of the scarf from over his face. She's surprised to find one of the masks covering his nose and mouth. He readjusts the scarf back into place. "I'm not stupid. I know the danger I pose to her."
The answer seems not enough to appease Santana though. "Where have you been sleeping?" she inquires, tetchy.
He begins walking again, replying as he brushes past her, "The front room."
"And meals?" Santana ventures on, striding up beside him. "Have you been washing everything—"
"She is safe from this sickness!" Hendrick exclaims, all at once frustrated and heartened by her barrage of necessitated concern. He breathes a little heavier, chest pained by the shout and the subsequent sting the look in her eyes renders onto his heart. She cares so much for his daughters… for Brittany. He closes his eyes, dragging in a pained breath as he repeats, "She is safe… at the cost of what little love she may still hold for me."
Santana holds no sympathy for those words, but her tone is softer as she tells him, "That is your own doing, you know it. Keeping this from her will only hurt her more."
Hendrick bites back a snort, throat rumbling a deep noise of dissent. "I'm sure she told you all of it last night," he accuses. "She was with you, wasn't she?"
Santana stiffens. "I don't think you really wish to hear my answer."
"Say it."
A stressed pause settles between them. Santana bites at her cheek and chances a glance up at him. There is no disgust in his gaze, no animosity... just a truth being sought. An almost gentle plead for her to affirm his suspicions. She swallows thickly, nodding. "Yes, she was with me."
He lets out a long groan and resumes walking.
She refuses to admit to herself that it feels like being forced away all over again.
"Why torment yourself?" Santana asks him, loathing how her voice quivers. He stops walking, back still turned to her as she continues, "You hate me, what could knowing—"
"I don't hate you, Santana," he says softly, his words almost lost if not for the way she ceased speaking at first hint of his voice. Her heart beats just a bit faster. There's a familiar crease in the corner of his eyes as he turns to her, a sad smile buried beneath the scarf she cannot see. "I know she'll run off with you the moment Emily passes."
"Is that what you think I want? For her to leave you?" Tears. She's crying. Not now, she curses herself, wiping them away with a subtle brush of her hair back over her shoulders. He's noticed though. Of course he has, she thinks as he approaches slowly. How could he not? The man who once welcomed her to his home with such warm arms and lifted her clear from her feet as he did. Who whispered to her so adamantly that she was now home… that she was as much a part of his family as his girls. Santana holds his gaze, unwavering as she reminds him, "Despite how you feel for me I still think of you as my family."
He holds that gaze for a moment, hurting for her and the man who promised her that hope once. Feeling the prickle of similar tears in his own eyes he turns his gaze once more to the melting snow. "Your mother wants you to return home with her."
Santana forces out a laugh. "You're mad if you think I'd ever leave with her."
"She's something for you," he informs her. A part of him wishes for a glimmer of hope to spring to her eyes. A renewed faith in the awful mother Brittany's only ever told him of in passing comments. Comments she's long ceased that night he lost the faith of his own daughter.
But Santana is shaking her head at him, her expression unapologetic.
"She's nothing for me Mr. Pierce," she tells him, her voice full of ache but conviction too. "And whatever wrongs she's trying to smooth over now I cannot forgive. She's had her chance. In fact I can no more call her my mother than I can that cow over there," she motions off to the nearby field, expression thoughtful for a beat. "Though, to be honest, comparing them is insulting to the cow."
He agrees but says anyway, "Of what I gathered she seems to care for you a great deal."
"Then I'm positive you've not met my mother." She smiles at him in the same manner Brittany does when she catches him telling a horrible fib.
He almost smiles back. But just almost.
Hendrick opens the door for her and Santana hesitates just outside the entrance. Her mother stands somewhere within the home, a woman who has neglected to even write her a word since her departure for war. She's not quite ready to face her; her throat tightens at the prospect of speaking to her. Why had she come all this way? Why show care for her now?
Peering inside the home Santana's attention is immediately drawn to Brittany. She's leaning against the mantle with arms crossed tightly over her chest, expression hardened, contempt evident in her gaze and the sharp line of her pursed lips. She's focused upon the other occupant of the room, the one Santana is loath and yet all at once eager to face. After a moment Brittany breaks her stare and blue eyes yield in temper as they lock upon Santana's.
That look is all Santana needs to step forward.
Brittany moves to push off from the fireplace but Mrs. Lopez is far nearer to the door.
Santana steps over the threshold just as a blur of deep emerald fabric surges toward her, followed by the exasperated groan of her mother's waning patience. The unmistakable red of her mothers favored lipstick flickers across her gaze and Santana grows rigid as a small hand envelopes her upper arm.
"Ah, Santana, thank god. Let's go," Mrs. Lopez rushes out as she gives a tug for Santana to follow her back out the door.
Digging the heels of her boots into the floor, Santana yanks her arm free from her mothers grip. The months apart have done little to soften the woman's heart, Santana thinks, if judging by the lack of greeting she's just received. Her mother tries reaching for her again and Santana swiftly steps aside.
"Santana, ahora," her mother demands, motioning for her to come forward.
With distance between them Santana can finally see her mother's face. There are more lines etched into the corner of her eyes and mouth than when they last saw one another, more grey sprinkled in the roots of her hair... or had they always been there? She never cared enough to notice, not things of such trivial nature. Those were the petty concerns of her mother. And they are clearly evident now as Mrs. Lopez takes in sight of her daughter.
"Dios mio..." Santana can hear her breathe out, appalled as her gaze travels down Santana's figure. Dark eyes grow wide as they dart across the worn coat with its missing buttons, narrowing at the splotchy hem of a once cream skirt, and finally disbelieving as they land upon sullied old boots.
Hendrick is no stranger to the tension now born in the air of his home and he feels it not in his place to bear witness to the tetchy reunion. He'd promised to give Mrs. Lopez a moment with her daughter but nevertheless he can't help it as Santana's words resurface within his mind. She's nothing for me Mr. Pierce. He hadn't believed her then but is seeing the truth of her words now. He can't ever imagine looking at his girls the way Mrs. Lopez now does her daughter… with such detached inspection. Has she no sympathy to the plight her daughter has faced to even be standing before her today? No care for the way Santana must turn her head toward the side in order for her working ear to even hear those disproving clicks of her tongue? Any regard at all for the sole child she bore to this world?
Not my place, he forces himself to think as he closes the door quietly at his back. It isn't in his manner to meddle, no matter the inkling of want within him to speak on Santana's behalf. He pushes the thoughts aside, instead nodding for Brittany to join him in the kitchen.
She remains staunchly in place and glares at him in obvious hostility.
She will not be leaving this room, no matter his insistence.
She harbors far too much love for Santana to do so.
He relents and breaks their stare to shakily readjust the scarf over his lower face. "I see the tea is low," he says, forcing out a chuckle as he moves to collect the old kettle. It's not been drained an inch but he retrieves it nonetheless.
"I didn't let her have any," Brittany tells him, her burning glare now turned upon Mrs. Lopez. "We only serve tea to those who are welcome."
Hendrick's face flushes a deep red beneath his scarf. Concurrently proud, irritated and embarrassed he throws a halfhearted berating look over his shoulder back to her.
Brittany ignores him.
Hendrick remains, teakettle held awkwardly in hand, wishing to exit the room and simultaneously finding himself unable to.
"I'm not leaving with you," Santana finally finds the voice to speak, though curses herself for sounding so bruised by her mothers scrutiny. Mrs. Lopez always possessed the uncanny ability to unhinge her and it's especially easy now with so much time lost between them. Santana feels out of practice but more yet she despises, utterly hates the twinge of sympathy kindled within her knowing her mother has traveled for days to see her. She does not care, she reminds herself. She never has.
"Don't be ridiculous, Santana," her mother scoffs, waving the refusal off as easily she would an errant leaf atop her shoulder. "Do you truly think I came all this way if I didn't think I was going to be bringing you back?"
Mirroring Brittany, Santana too finds her arms unconsciously folding over her chest. "You've had crazier notions," she tells her with a roll of her eyes. Inside her stomach is tying itself into thick knots. "And honestly? I thought, perhaps, maybe, out of the speck of goodness that exists in your heart, that you'd be willing to help someone in need without expecting anything but thanks in return."
Mrs. Lopez bristles at the accusation of being anything less than an ideal mother. But more so at Santana's continued resistance to her presence... her daughters obvious and now strengthened abhorrence for her being. She never meant for their relationship to deteriorate so. She never thought she'd be given this chance to see her again…
"I thought you dead along with your father!" she exclaims, finally breaking decorum to let her frightened sentiments be known. She bridges the space separating them, allowing no more than a foot between them.
A wave of her mother's floral perfume slams against Santana's senses. It is such a jarring scent when accompanied by such a terrified exclamation. Her heart beats faster nonetheless, especially as she is taken aback by the open expression crossing her mother's usually stoic face. There is a look held within brown eyes she's not seen since she was a young girl... a tenderness absent for so long Santana grows unsteady on her feet beneath its influence.
Her arms tighten across her chest instinctively but it does little to protect the stirrings taking place deep within her gut. She's not felt defenseless like this with anyone aside from Brittany…
Santana feels herself shattering inside as her mother lays a warm hand to her arm. "And imagine the joy I felt when I received your letter. That you were safe and well and alive," the word is choked out with such gratitude Santana stumbles back from her mothers touch. Brittany is there, as always, offering a grounding hand low to Santana's back. It centers her thoughts, fills her with a calm she was so close to losing.
Her mother is crying, beseeching of her in Spanish, "Santi, please, come home with me."
Santana shakes her head as Brittany moves closer, the warmth at her back spreading deep beneath her skin. "No puedo," she whispers.
"Podemos empezar nuevamente!" Mrs. Lopez promises, tone fragile. "You know we can, Santana. Please."
Again Santana shakes her head, biting back tears as she steps back until her feet fall into place beside Brittany's and the hand at her back slides securely to her hip. She doesn't have to say the words, the way she stands by Brittany says it all. This is my home mami.
The teakettle drops from Hendrick's hands, face paling at the blatant affection on display before Mrs. Lopez.
She sees nothing more than an appalling kinship. One needing immediate severance. Santana must return home. "I've paid him for the trouble of keeping you and now you can—"
"You wh-what?" Santana sputters, enraged. "You paid him?"
Hendrick pales further as Santana's eyes turn upon him.
"And you accepted it?"
He nods, shamed as he withdraws from his pocket a few larger bills. "For Emily…"
"I cannot believe you," Brittany hisses to him.
Mrs. Lopez lets out an exasperate groan. "I cannot believe I am still standing here. Santana, let's go, I am growing tired of—"
"No!" Santana counters before anymore can be said. "I am grateful for the medicine you've brought but I am not going back with you!"
"Santana, please, consider your mothers appeal," Hendrick offers but is shaken when Santana looks upon him with such betrayed hurt.
"There is no appeal," she snarls out, moving from Brittany's side to advance on him. "You just wish to be rid of me and she," at that she points with disdain back to her mother. "She just wishes to marry me off to the man with the deepest pockets!"
"I don't wish to see you unhappily wed, Santi," Mrs. Lopez admits, hoping to seek reason with her clearly upset daughter. Brittany lets out a scowl of a sound though when Mrs. Lopez tries to draw nearer to Santana. Keeping her distance from both girls she tries meeting Santana's gaze instead but dark hair has begun to spill from its loose bun, obscuring most of her daughters face. "It was a long ride here so I'd the time to think," she begins to tell her softly, fixing her own hair back over her ear when she can't do the same to Santana's. When was the last time she'd been allowed? She's not lost hope for a chance. Not with what she shares next. "After hearing word of your father's death I sold the practice. We've enough to invest and live comfortably, better without him. I've even put aside some to send you to that school you always talked of."
Silence falls across the room.
Brittany feels as if someone has ripped the very floor from beneath her feet.
Hendrick stands in anticipation for the response from Santana. It is the one opportunity he knows could draw her away from Lima… but at the cost of Brittany sure now to follow.
Santana is utterly astonished. "You… you'd pay for me to attend Geneva Medical College?"
Her mother need only nod once. "If you'll return with me and still wish to, then yes."
A small whimper escapes Brittany's lips.
Santana can't breathe beneath the pain that sound has rendered to her heart. "I… I can't."
Her mother approaches, eyes imploring for she knows her daughter sways upon a decision. "Santana, please, think on it a moment. This is what you've always wanted."
"I w-want it, but I've something more here," Santana stammers, gaze finding Brittany's just over her shoulder.
"What could possibly be worth more here?" Mrs. Lopez exclaims, uncomprehending and at her wits end. The family here is crazed, poverty stricken and entrenched in incurable sickness. The home is a dull shell of a relic and for goodness sake they still use an outdoor toilet! The entire property reeks of manure and hay and the uncultured masses of farmland. It is not a suitable home! It is not anything more! That school is all Santana's ever wanted! The only thing she's ever cared for! "¿Qué, Santana? ¿Qué?!"
Santana reaches back, grabbing tight to Brittany's hand as she shouts, "Her! Brittany! I love her."
Hendrick nearly shatters the teakettle with the strength of his petrified grip.
Mrs. Lopez blinks, "You've been trapped on this farm too long and your senses have completely left you. You're speaking utter nonsense!"
"I love her," Santana repeats again, calm despite her mothers quickly unraveling composure. Brittany holds tight to Santana's hand, even as tears begin to collect at the corners of her eyes.
Hendrick cannot believe he is bearing witness to his greatest fear exposed in such spectacular ruin.
He was right, is the only thought able to break the surface of Mrs. Lopez conscious. Albert was right.
She is more than aware of what her daughter has confessed. Her child is in love with the boy-haired, ill-suited, poorly mannered, lanky-framed woman at her side. Her heart stills as her husbands distressing letters come to mind, She trails after this sickly thin rail of a boy, probably fancies herself in love with him despite better judgment. Let him bury his seed within her, she's no better than the harlots trying to gain attention at my door.
She never believed him, Santana not once had showed interest in any of the fine men brought to their home thus why would she ever pay any mind to the boy Albert claimed she obsessed over? Her daughter was not the one seeking the sin of flesh at night. She knew full well it was he allowing those whores to his bed.
But he'd been right about Santana.
Only the boy was never a boy at all...
"This is blasphemous!" Mrs. Lopez shrieks, eyes wild as she points frantically to Brittany. "And you! Remove your filthy hand from my daug—!"
Hendrick sweeps to intercept her before Mrs. Lopez can even think to lay a hand to his daughter. He cannot fault her judgment, a god-fearing woman would be wrong to react any differently. But as a father he abhors her disposition. "Please calm yourself Mrs. Lopez!"
"You've allowed this!" Mrs. Lopez struggles beneath the hold he's locked around her arms. "Unhand me!"
"I've allowed nothing and nor will I allow you to bring harm to the girls," he whispers to her ear, only letting go once she relaxes against him. Still holding to one of her arms he nods toward the porch. "Perhaps it's best we step outside a moment?"
Reluctantly, and with furtive glances placed back to Santana, Mrs. Lopez allows Hendrick to lead her outside.
As the door is shut Santana falls back into the chair, cradling her head in upturned palms. "She'll not leave without me now," she mutters, shuddering. "Why can't she have just been a c-cow?"
Brittany's not sure what Santana means as she kneels to the floor before her. She understands more the frightened pull of the muscles along Santana's shoulder and the heavily drawn breath she takes between her hands. Brittany gently plucks Santana's hands from her face, heart stilling at the terrified look within watery brown eyes.
There is nothing to be frightened of, she thinks, smiling up at Santana. Brittany leans forward, brushing her lips across heated cheeks. Santana lets her eyes fall close as Brittany cups her face and whispers between the kisses, "I love you."
"I've ruined everything."
"I'm so proud of you."
"I can't leave with her..."
"San, maybe… maybe you should."
Santana pulls away from Brittany's touch, the leather of the chair crinkling as her spine straightens. "Brittany? You can't mean—"
Brittany is smiling at her, smiling as tears slip from her eyes. "You've always wanted to be like Blackwell. This is your chance."
"You want me to g—go?"
Brittany quickly takes Santana's hands within her own, shaking her head as she answers, "No, I… you should go only if it's what you want." She's hardly able to maintain her small smile with her lips trembling as they are. "I know how you dream one day of having your own practice."
"I don't need a sheet of paper to prove I'm competent," Santana hisses out, gripping harder to Brittany's hand. "I am a doctor, Brittany. You've said so, hundreds of times. Or have you forgotten?"
"I haven't! You are a doctor, the very best," Brittany assures her, tugging down on Santana's arms so brown eyes draw nearer to her own. "I just… I don't want you to regret staying. And it'd only be for a little while, right? You'd come back. She's giving you everything you've ever dreamed of, San. How could you not want that?"
"I do," Santana whispers, letting go Brittany's hands to cup her face instead. "I already have it."
"But Blackfell—"
"I'm not leaving," Santana tells her, leaning forward until their foreheads meet. "Not ever."
"San…" Brittany breathes out, curling her fingers deep into the folds of Santana's skirt.
"I promised you Brittany," Santana whispers, kissing her soundly. "I'll not ever break that again."
When Mr. Pierce returns inside he doesn't immediately clear his throat for them to part. They are merely clinging to one another, his daughter's face buried against Santana's neck, tears evident at the corner of closed brown eyes. He watches them for a moment, knowing how hard this has been for them both.
He wishes he didn't have to see them torn apart. "Girls?"
They slowly pull away from one another, but not entirely. They know they've nothing to hide anymore.
Mrs. Lopez pushes her way inside past Hendrick. She does not look to her daughter as she announces, "Let's go Santana."
Brittany positions herself firmly in front of Santana. "She told you she's not leaving."
"This is absurd," Mrs. Lopez says with a roll of her eyes. "Andre get in here!" She shouts out the open door to her driver. He enters with haste, eyes scanning the room in search of luggage or reason alike for his summon. Mrs. Lopez suppresses a groan as she motions over toward Santana. "My daughter, just there, see to it she's seated in the carriage."
Santana levels him with a withering stare.
"Ah," Andre chuckles nervously. "She seems not to wish my help."
"She needs a great deal of help," Mrs. Lopez says, pushing him forward. "So attend to her."
Andre pauses as Santana snorts. "Oh yes, abduct me, that'll be sure to win me over."
"I don't know why everything must be a fight with you Santi, it's as if you don't wish for an education at all!"
"I don't wish to be blackmailed into one!"
"Stop being ridiculous! Consider yourself lucky I am not having you committed for such sin!"
"Then consider me dead once more!" Santana shouts, throat burning. "I am staying."
Mrs. Lopez lets out an exasperated sigh. "Santana, don't be absurd, do you really think you can forge some type of life here?"
"I already have," Santana tells her, done. She turns to the driver. "Excuse me? Andre, was it?" At his nod she grabs him by the collar of his shirt, twisting the fabric until he chokes out for air. "Take her home or I make yours the bottom of a very cold lake."
"Entiendo, entiendo," he breathes out, nodding hastily as Santana shoves him toward her mother.
"Santana!" Mrs. Lopez cries out as Andre leads her back to the carriage. She doesn't fight him, not once. Santana knew she'd not try.
It hurts nonetheless, knowing she'd been right about her mother all along.
The driver closes the door to the carriage and for a moment Santana hopes her mother will prove her wrong, at the very least open the window to spare her one last look.
Santana can see her sitting inside the plush exterior, expression void of emotion as she stares with resolute concentration to the forward wall.
The driver sets the horse trotting down the path.
Santana finds herself walking down the porch steps as the carriage pulls away.
Her mother never turns back.
Brittany and Hendrick stand on the porch, watching as Santana comes to a stop in the middle of the wheel tracks. Her eyes are blurred with bitter tears as she turns to them, her gaze set upon Hendrick. "If you don't say something by morning, I will."
Brittany tries to step down off porch for her but Hendrick holds her back. And no matter her struggle he doesn't let go until Santana's gone from sight.
Brittany shoves him hard into the wall once free. "Why do you hate her?"
"I don't, Brittany."
"You do! You don't say it but I can see you do! You think this is wrong!"
"Brittany," he sighs, starring at her sadly.
"It's not Pa! It's not wrong at all! Loving her is not wrong..." She trails off, slumping against the closed door. "Why can't you see that?"
"I do see it, Britt," he replies this time, surprising her. "I do."
"Then why…?"
"Because if anyone else saw too…" he whispers, bowing his head to rid the horrid thoughts from springing to his mind. "I don't even want to think of what would happen to you."
"We're safe here. We are," Brittany tells him, hoping for his change of heart. "No one else has to know… I love her so much, Pa. Please." This is her home, their home. And if he feels Santana belongs...
He doesn't answer her.
Brittany doesn't know how much more of this she can endure.
As she walks away from him he thinks it's high time he read the letter that arrived for him just this morning, if only to cherish the words of a daughter that once loved him unconditionally.
December 25th, 1862
Dear Pa,
Merry Christmas! I don't know if you've heard anything or if a man came with a letter about me but I'm all right. Santana too. We were at a camp for hurt soldiers. My arm got real torn up at Hartsville but I was lucky Santana could fix it. I don't remember much of what happened and whenever I ask her she gets so quiet and sad. She saved me, just like she's helped Emily. How is she? I can't wait to see her and I hope she's still with you… I don't know what I'd do if she were already gone.
Santana says it's silly of me to write you this letter because you'll see my face before you can even read it. I don't want her to know I'm writing just in case you don't. We're so far from Lima still and even though I trust Noah to get us back after everything that's happened I didn't want to go without saying this to you. If something should happen to us I don't want you to be upset Pa. I'll be with Ma and soon Emily will be with us too. You know they always take real good care of me. Maybe now I can take care of them too. Santana's taught me so much so don't worry. Just look at how well I write now! I even used well properly. She's the best person I know and I love her with all my heart. If she should make it to Lima without me I need you to look after her for me. I promised her I would so that means you'll have to keep my promise. She's probably a terrible cook but her memory is perfect, she'll never forget to feed Apple or clean out the hen coup like me. She has no one in this world but you if I should die so please let her stay. Please love her like you love me. She deserves everything but most of all to be safe and happy. She'll smile again and when she does you'll see just how wonderful and beautiful she really is.
She wants me to go now. I'm afraid to leave. I miss you and hope you won't ever have to read this. But if you are, I don't ever regret taking your place, Pa. Not one bit. I'm happy and know someday I'll see you again.
Love you always,
Brittany S. Pierce
P.S. – Don't show this letter to Lord Tubbington, I don't want him to be upset and stop eating. It's better this way.
February 8th, 1863
Upon Santana's word she comes to the farm in the morning.
Hendrick opens the door to her, sighing at her arrival. He rather hoped she'd come later. "Brittany's still out delivering eggs."
"I'll wait then," she tells him, rubbing some chill from her arms.
He opens the door wider. "It's freezing out here Santana, at least come inside."
It's not so much an offer but insisted. "Thank you…" she mumbles, skirting by him as she enters. "I know I'm the last person you probably wish to see."
"You're not," he answers truthfully, helping her from her coat. "I should have told her ages ago…"
Santana's expression softens. "You still can."
"Under your watch I assume?" He smiles knowingly beneath his scarf.
"If you'll allow me to stay," she tells him though she already knows his answer to be yes as he folds her coat overtop his chair. A faint cough filters in from the back room and Santana finds herself needing to ask, "How is she today?"
Hendrick plops down to his chair, exhaustion weighing down upon his large. "She's barely eaten a thing and anything more unsettles her stomach right up. Brittany sat reading to her all last night, helpin' her to drink some of the medicine your mother left. It's too late for it though, isn't it? I-I don't know how much longer I can watch my youngest be consumed by this disease. I just wish her peace… does that make me a horrible father?" He asks, gaze imploring of her for a truthful answer.
Santana can't remember the last cordial conversation she's had with him like this. It thus takes her a moment to answer. "No, it makes you human."
He bows his head, staring down into the fire in thought. He's worried, of that Santana can see plainly as the creases in his forehead deepen.
"We're doing everything we can for her," she says, touching his shoulder gently.
He looks up at her. "How much longer you reckon?"
She can't tell him. Dr. Nelson is to be the one to let him know... "I can't say, it's—"
He places his hand atop her own. "Please Santana," he begs of her. "Please just tell me."
She wets her lips, unable to meet his eyes as she tells him, "Dr. Nelson said not a few days more." She squeezes his hand. "I'm so sorry Mr. Pierce, I—"
"Hendrick," he corrects her as he pushes himself up from his chair. "I'd like for you to call me Hendrick."
Santana is unsure, but nods regardless.
Until she suddenly finds herself wrapped in his arms and his whispered words wash over her ears. "You're as much a part of this family as my girls. Please don't ever let me forget that again."
Brittany shifts the empty egg bucket to her other arm, rolling out the cramp that's formed in shoulder. Her scar has ceased hurting, but she feels it regardless, throbbing some beneath her layers of clothes. She doesn't mind being reminded of how it came to be, for she'd gladly step back in the path of that boy's sword again if it meant keeping Santana from harm. The soreness of the scar now feels more a residual phantom of the pain endured during Mrs. Lopez wrath.
Brittany desperately hopes the woman never sets foot back on her farm.
She also thinks she might set bear traps along the path just to be sure.
It never hurts to be ready in any case.
She tosses the empty bucket to the snow pile just outside the porch steps as she makes her way up. Unwinding the scarf from her neck she notices some bits of snow sprinkled near the front door. Someone had kicked their feet clean before entering and judging by the melting imprints someone not at all her father.
Brittany fears them belonging to Mrs. Lopez and squares herself taller before entering the home.
The front room is empty save for a warm fire and Santana's coat draped over her father's chair. Her heart leaps in her chest at the sight.
Hendrick emerges from the kitchen not a minute later, fiddling with that same stupid scarf on his face.
"San's here?" she asks though expects no reply. She's already smiling.
"She's in with Emily now, hasn't been here but a few—Brittany! Hold on, please," he calls for her before she can disappear down the hall. She looks across the room to him, expectant, itching to get to Emily's room. "I'm so sorry. I just… I—" he was never much one for eloquent words let alone proper apologies. Klara was always so much better with the girls than he when it came to matters of the heart. He scratches just over the beating muscle contained in his ribs and a crinkle of sound meets his ears. Brittany's brow furrows as he pulls out her letter from his breast pocket.
"That's my letter," she says, astonished, thinking it lost after all this time.
"It came with the post yesterday," he explains softly.
"Did you read it?"
He nods. He's read it near twenty times already. "I never should have forced Santana to go."
"No, you shouldn't have," Brittany mutters as she pokes at a knot in the wood of the hall entryway. She's not sure what he's trying to say, but after yesterday she's hesitant to think it anything good.
"You're in love with her and I've… I've hurt that. Hurt you," Hendrick tells her, voice growing overwhelmed by regret. Brittany slides away as he tries to place a hand to her shoulder. She's walking from him. Desperate, he catches her by the wrist, careful it's not the arm she's re-injured. "No, Brittany wait, please, let me finish. Please. My heart can't bear another day living as we are."
"Mine has!" Brittany says to him as she wretches her arm free. He hates himself for the sheen of tears now collecting in her eyes. "Do you even love me anymore?"
He hates himself more at that declaration. "I've not stopped loving you, not once," he assures her. "I never wanted for you to ever doubt that or to… to grow to hate me as you do now."
"You stopped talking to me," Brittany whispers, her reserve crumbling. "You stopped everything."
"And for that and more I am sorry, Brittany. All I've ever w-wanted is for you to be safe and happy and everything you wished for Santana in that letter. You deserve it just as much."
"I am Pa, with her I am."
"I know, I've always known," he says, pulling her into a tight hug, savoring the embrace he's longed for. His daughter cries against his chest, shaking and yet unwilling to let go. She's missed him and feeling such warmth in her hold Hendrick begins weeping too. "I'm so sorry. Ik hou van je."
Brittany clings to his shirtfront, forgiving him as she whispers back, "Ik hou van je, Pa."
Knowing it best they not remain so close for long Hendrick gently pulls away, wiping at his eyes before Brittany's able to see. She thinks it silly of him to try for its clear in the wet breath he drags through his nose that he's just as fragile, if not more so, than she.
"At least you already have a hanky in place, huh Pa?" she teases, twisting some frayed ends of his scarf between her fingers.
Hendrick chuckles, swatting her hand aside in favor of showing her a portion of the letter he's memorized. He points down toward the bottom, holding it out for her to take. "You smile like that with her, you know? The way you used to at me when you could barely stand taller than my waist. As if I was your whole world," he tells her, brushing some of her remaining tears off her cheeks. "Santana deserves that smile far more than I."
She grins at him, a toothy, wide smile he's not seen for weeks… now for him. "You deserve it too, Pa." He can't help but swell with regard.
He lets out a chuckle to hide the way he feels his heart has just burst in his chest. "I've had them for twenty-two years," he tells her, smirking as he adds, "And given that woman she was dealt for mother I think Santana's due her share now don't you reckon?"
Brittany hugs him this time, longer than before. "I love her so much. She's mijn zielsverwant, Pa. I know it."
"Maybe so," he says, wishing to speak truthfully despite the slight flash of hurt his uncertainty has brought to Brittany's eyes. There are qualms he has for their pairing, worries any father would over letting go their child. It's all exacerbated now after Mrs. Lopez arrival, but also his trust in Santana reinforced. His faith in his daughter steadfast. They'll be okay together, he thinks. They'll keep each other safe. "I may not understand it entirely but I will try, Brittany. Love is never something to be feared."
"No, it's not," Brittany agrees as she refolds her letter and slips it back into her father's pocket. She pats his chest and gives a flick of her fingers against the end of his scarf. "But maybe your new obsession with scarves. Think yourself a bandit now or are you just growing another ugly beard under there?"
Hendrick chuckles, stepping back from her reach. "Can't a man be cold in peace?" He declares, sidestepping as she lunges for it again.
"No beards!"
"I promise it's not a beard!" he laughs, swinging her around on another attempt. He gives her a gentle shove toward the hall. "We can discuss it all tonight. I'm sure you want to see Santana."
Brittany smiles back at him. Wonderful, beautiful. "Things will be better now, Pa, you'll see."
He wonders how he'll ever tell her of his sickness now.
Brittany knocks gently against Emily's door before peeking inside, still reeling from her reunion with her father. She cannot wait to tell Emily, to see her face glow with happiness at the news Santana is now to stay. To hug Santana and lift her clear from her feet as Emily watches on, all of them elated to be family once more.
The curtains are in their usual position, drawn open to allow in the bright sunlight. But something has changed in the air, a familiar stillness Brittany tries to ignore as she pushes the door open slowly. It is merely stuffy, she tells herself, knowing the mask has made her feel so before.
This stuffy she knows all too well. It feels the same way the medical tents did when fever struck and men lie wasting in cots…she can still smell the way the quinine clung to Santana's coat.
Gooseflesh rises along her arms as Santana's ashen face meets her gaze.
"Brittany," and the way Santana's just uttered her name...
Her eyes dart to Emily. She's sitting up in her bed with a half filled cup of milk held loosely in her hand. The same one Brittany had given her earlier, not two hours prior before she left on errand. Some milk has spilled to the blanket in her lap.
Emily is always so careful...
Santana calls for her again.
Emily has yet to smile at her in greeting, however strained and long it now takes her to do so. This is too long. Brittany's throat swells. "Peanut?"
Emily's eyes remain closed.
"Brittany, she's—" Santana's voice wavers.
She need not finish for Brittany can clearly see the way life no longer fills her sisters chest.
Brittany tries to swallow down the feeling of her stomach now rising to her throat, but her eyes begin to water at the bitter taste forming along her tongue. She can't hold back the sob and rips the mask from over her face as she stumbles back, gasping for air.
"Brittany!" Santana beseeches, reaching for her.
Brittany sucks in a deep breath, shaking her head as she fumbles backward from the room. It's only once her back meets the hall wall that she tears her gaze from her sister. Her shoulders shake, tears falling quickly down her cheeks.
She swears she can hear Emily's bell ringing.
It's all she can hear anymore.
Brittany lets out a strangled cry as her knees give and she slams down to the floor.
Santana rushes forward, enclosing her in a sturdy embrace before she can shut herself away.
Hendrick remains frozen in the hall entry, pale and quiet.
After a moment he too sinks to the floor beside his girls, pulling them close as he too lets grief consume him.
The funeral is simple and completed by noon. Brittany doesn't remember a word of what was said to her, or even how she made it from their front room to the cemetery just on the outskirts of town. Everything felt so dark with the shutters pulled and endless stream of black clad figures passing into their home. Dreamlike even if it wasn't for the very real buzz of sentiments constantly whispered to her ear.
She didn't really hear them though.
She can't even recall one face amongst the many.
She remembers more the man who came to place Emily within her coffin, how he sighed and lamented that he'd brought a size too small. How filled with horror and spite she grew at his oversight.
Santana had to pull her aside and all she can recollect is how hard she shook as she cried against her shoulder.
Her Pa cried too. She can still feel the stain of his tears long dried now atop her head.
Santana never once let go though; her sole anchor that clammy hand and solid presence by her side.
They stand now beneath the shade and shelter of crooked elm, watching Hendrick from afar. It had started to snow midway through the burial, many in attendance heading home before their horses could start to feel frozen in limb and mind. Santana had pulled her up here once the last shovel of dirt was placed over the grave. Without a cap Santana worried frostbite striking Brittany's exposed ears.
Brittany hadn't cared. She was rather glad to leave the cemetery grounds.
He father though seems not ready to go at all. He's not moved from beside Emily's grave for near a half hour. The snow has begun to collect in thick patches atop his shoulders and cap.
Worrying for him now, Santana speaks softly, "I'm going to check on him. Will you be okay for a moment here?"
Brittany's nod is barely perceptible, but there nonetheless.
Santana kisses her cheek gently and gives a squeeze of Brittany's hand before letting go for the first time since her breakdown that morning. "I'll be right back, Britt. Promise."
Brittany watches her carefully walk down the slope of the small hill, and even manages a hint of a smile when Santana lets out a squeal and slides down the remaining couple feet. The winter countryside was still something she'd yet to conquer.
Santana brushes the snow from her body, assuring Brittany, "I'm fine!"
Brittany barely manages to raise her hand and wave that she's heard.
Santana waves back, knowing Brittany's demurred character is expected. It scares her nevertheless, seeing Brittany so numbed to emotion. Turning back toward Hendrick, Santana hikes her coat collar up higher and shivers against a small gust of wind carried across the open field. She makes her way between the sparse scattering of grave markers, stopping just once to ensure the knitted socks Brittany placed on Apple's legs are well above the fresh snow layer.
He shakes the snow from his mane as she scratches behind his ear, whining softly as if he too knows what has come to pass.
Once at Hendricks side, Santana thinks Apple made for far better company.
The aggrieved father can't look away from his daughter's grave.
"No parent is ever meant to bury their child," he says, solemn as he stands staring down at the loose dirt and snow. He lets out a tired sigh. "I know what you wish to say to me Santana, so out with it already."
She was rather hoping to have eased into that conversation. "You must tell her, Hendrick, now especially."
He gazes up at her through hollow eyes. "She's just lost her sister, how do you imagine she'd fare hearing she's to lose me as well?"
Santana cannot deny the truth to his heavy words. Regardless she tells him, "She's stronger than you think. Keeping this from her will only make it all the worse."
"I will tell her… just not yet," he promises, returning his gaze to the ground. "Let her mourn for Emily. Let me."
She leaves him to his thoughts, catching sight of Brittany walking off down the road through the corner of her vision.
Santana follows, though keeps her distance, both curious and worried for where Brittany is wandering to alone. She hadn't left her for too long... And she knew I'd return.
The snow stops falling after some time, but Brittany does not.
Santana's feet begin to feel numb to the cold but she follows on.
It's not till the familiar line of trees enter sight that she realizes the lake is Brittany's destination. And once there Brittany neatly folds her skirt to the side as she takes a seat near the frozen water's edge. From within her coat pocket she pulls out a thin book, the cover recognizable even from a distance. It was one of Emily's favorites.
Then Santana strains to listen as Brittany begins speaking.
"Hi Em… and Ma too if you're here." Her voice is gravelly, unused. She clears it once before continuing, "I didn't want to say anything at the cemetery. I don't really think you're there anyway, peanut, it's too eerie." Brittany crinkles her nose as she looks up across the lake. She smiles. "You liked it here best."
Santana leans herself against the tree, heart breaking as she watches Brittany begin to toy with the corners of the book.
"Everyone else had so much to say though, didn't they?" Brittany asks aloud, biting back a sob. "P-Pa asked me if I wanted to say a few words but I couldn't think of just a couple. I could fill hundreds of letters with everything I forgot to tell you. Some would be long, almost like a bunch of the poems in this book you kept asking me to read you. I'm sorry I always fell asleep," she laments, spreading the book open in her lap.
Brittany touches a page tentatively, tracing her sister's notes along the margin. Emily was never one to stay silent.
"If I did speak I would have told you how sad I am that you're gone but how happy I am that you're with Ma and not hurting anymore. I'm sure you're already hunting for a dance to go to and now you won't have to worry about Pa scaring away any of the boys who ask you for a twirl. Though maybe Ma will now? You should let her dance Ma, it's all she ever wanted. But don't let any awful boys have a turn," Brittany is adamant of this. She grows befuddled though, wondering aloud, "Do they even have awful boys up there?"
The silence of a forest blanketed in fresh snow meets her ears.
Brittany slumps forward, trailing a finger down her sister's penmanship. "I wish you could answer me. I m-miss you so much already…"
She closes the book with a snap before more of her tears can drop down to the page. "Here, this was your favorite book and it ain't fair for you not to have it. Pa said I could bury it with you but then you'd have to always dig it up and make a mess and that don't make much sense to me."
Brittany lays it to the snow just beside where the frozen lake water has encased come dead reeds in ice.
"So I'll leave it here and come to read to you, just like I did before…I promise I won't fall asleep," she says, wiping furiously at her eyes. "I'll read you one now to prove it, okay?"
A cascade of snow crashes somewhere at her back and Brittany turns at the sound, unsurprised when Santana's snow-dusted head peeks out from behind the tree. "San?"
Santana steps away from the tree but not any nearer to Brittany. "I… I'll go, I'm sorry Britt, I didn't mean to—"
"No," Brittany tells her, not wanting her to go just yet. "Stay, please?"
"I don't want to intrude…" Santana confesses, feeling she's already stumbled upon Brittany's privacy. When Brittany merely pats the snow beside her Santana can't help it as she asks, "Are you sure?"
Brittany nods, smiling across the bank of snow at her. "You're a Pierce too."
Being reminded of the very name she cherishes and now shares is enough for Santana. She settles down at Brittany's side, snuggling beneath the arm Brittany drapes over her shoulders.
"Here," Santana collects the small book from the snow, opening it to Emily's favorite page in Brittany's lap. "I believe another Pierce is waiting."
Brittany begins reading but breaks down crying part way through, unable to carry on. With one arm looped low behind Brittany's back and a blonde head resting calmly on her shoulder, Santana finishes the passage. She nuzzles her cheek against Brittany's head afterward, breathing in the other woman's familiar scent. Peace settles amongst their spot near the water's edge and they're silent for a moment. Warm, yet forlorn, their thoughts upon the girl whom loved nothing more than to hear her sister proudly recite the poems from the book. Brittany presses nearer to Santana.
Her throat feels raw as she threads her fingers between Santana's, squeezing once as she picks her head up from a slim shoulder.
"At least I didn't fall asleep that time," she whispers, a hint of a smile coming to her lips. "I promised her I wouldn't."
Santana smiles too. "I'm sure Em appreciated it."
Brittany turns to her. Blue eyes are still stained with tears; a small twitch and quiver of thin lips evidence of Brittany's freshly broken heart. But Santana leans in anyway and kisses her with soft purpose, drawing her deeper and further from the hurt. She shares in the pain of loss, feels it tightening in her chest, just the same as Brittany. It's different than with Michael, more relentless yet bearable all the same.
It still hurts.
It still has Brittany kissing her harder and willing the pain away.
In time, she thinks, pulling away to rest her forehead against Brittany's. "Would you like to read to her tomorrow?"
Brittany lets out a hiccup of sound, nodding and smiling as she presses her lips back to Santana's once again.
Translation Guide:
No puedo - I can't.
Podemos empezar nuevamente - We can start new.
Qué - What
Entiendo - I understand.
Ik hou van je - I love you.
mijn zielsverwant - my soulmate.