Part V: She screamed at the top of her lungs hoping someone would hear her
Olivier Armstrong was supposed to be born a boy. It was in her name.
"Olivier was my beloved brother, who died heroically in the Battle of the Plains," her father had told her more than once. He might have waited until he had a son to pass on the name, but Olivier's mother was very ill, and it was unlikely she would have any more children. This was of grave concern to the Armstrong family. Female inheritance risked losing the family fortune, family cohesion and the family name.
"At least she acts like a boy," Olivier remembered her Aunt Beatrice sneering disparagingly when she was five, as she and her cousin noisily acted out a battle with tin soldiers. As the ruin of the family, most of her relatives treated her with contempt. They were cruel to her mother too.
"She should have had the common sense to get sick enough to die," Olivier once heard Beatrice whisper to another aunt.
Olivier's mother kept her at an arm's length too. That had never surprised her, she supposed she reminded her mother of how she'd failed the family. At least her father was kind, though he was often away due to his military position. He collected historic weapons, which were of great interest to Olivier, even at a young age. They'd spend hours polishing and refurbishing them, while he told her the stories of the battles they'd been used in.
One weapon fascinated Olivier most of all: a long, gleaming sword with a square pattern on the blade.
"That's the Bancroft sword," her father told her as she stared longingly, "It is presented by the owner to a member of the Armstrong family after an important military accomplishment. It was presented to my brother Olivier after his acts of bravery during the High Road conflict by my grandfather, who received it for …"
He babbled through a list of every owner, while stroking Olivier's hair.
"Maybe I'll give it to one of your cousins one day," he finished, "Or maybe you'll have a brave son."
Olivier didn't ask the question that her father had already answered many times. Women couldn't join the military, battles were fought by men. The family military history would never include her. She was never satisfied with this answer. She often imagined herself dressing up in boy's clothes and joining anyways, like in a comedic play she'd seen with her father.
Girls, at least from noble families, didn't go to school either. Instead, a tutor came a few hours a day to teach her reading, writing, arithmetic and music- when they could find one. Several had quit, complaining that Olivier was 'strong-willed' and 'spirited'. She spent the rest of the day in her vast nursery, tended to by servants. Sometimes she would go weeks at a time without seeing either of her parents.
One day, when Olivier was six years old and feeling especially lonely, she realized that her mother must be in the mansion somewhere, and she could go find her. It was easier than she thought, as she figured she just had to follow the servants. Once she was sure the room was empty, she creeped in. Her mother was sitting in a rocking chair, wrapped in a blanket. She was so still and emancipated, Olivier was afraid she was looking at a ghost. She was terrified, but walked closer.
"Olivier," her mother whispered, and looked away, turning her head so she could no longer see her.
Olivier ran back to the nursery as fast as she could. After sitting a minute, she started tearing it apart, toppling bookshelves, overturning tables and throwing toys across the room. She punched a servant several times in the face before she managed to subdue her.
"Olivier, you have thrown quite the fit, a big girl like you should be ashamed," the servant said before sending her to her room. She sat on her bed and pulled her long hair until it nearly came out. She screamed at the top of her lungs hoping someone would hear her.
One day, when Olivier was seven, she was surprised to see both of her parents enter the nursery at the same time. Her mother's health had improved a lot over the past year and a half, she was even a bit chubby. Both of her parents were beaming.
"Olivier," her father said exuberantly, "I want to present to you your new brother Alex Louis."
She was shocked, and stared at the small bundle writhing in her mother's arms, but she wanted to join in the happy moment. She smiled tepidly.
Olivier was conflicted about her brother from the start. On one hand, she'd always dreamed of having other children to play with, and even though he was just a baby, he was a lot of fun. The room always seemed to glimmer a bit when he was in it. On the other hand, people had always made excuses for her parents. "Your father really loves you, but he's busy." "Your mother is very sick." As soon as Alex was born she knew that these were lies. Relatives visited, gifts were given, and refrains of, "How's the older sister doing" were more attention than Olivier had ever received before. So Olivier resented Alex.
Her brother never seemed to notice. From the moment he was born, he adored her. He called her 'Oli" - his first word. When he got older, he would insist,
"Oli carry me," every time she walked more than a few steps away from him.
Olivier started having nightmares. At the beginning, she would be so angry at Alex, so hateful, so resentful that she would hit him, smash open his skull and tear off his limbs until he was a bloody mess. Then she'd realize she'd killed her brother who delighted her, who cared about her and wake up terrified.
When Olivier turned fourteen, her mother started bringing her to her social engagements. She had finished her schooling and was no longer confined to the nursery. Her mother had told her she was a 'young lady' now, which seemed to mean spending her days sitting around and doing nothing.
Once, Olivier's mother took her to a tea party at a friend's estate. It was really boring, there wasn't much food, and the guests had been talking about types of dress collars for almost half an hour. Olivier decided to slip off and explore the estate. She wandered into the courtyard, and saw some teenage boys in their underwear gathered by a large shed.
"What are you doing?" she asked as soon as she was in earshot.
"Boxing," one of them said gruffly.
"What is boxing?" she asked.
"It's a game where you hit each other and see who goes down first."
Olivier thought that sounded amazing.
"Can I play?" she asked. The boy hesitated, but another boy yelled,
"It's your funeral!"
Olivier was dressed in a sparkly blue party dress. She'd never given clothing much thought and always just wore what the servants set out for her. She pulled it over her head and hung it on the fence where the boys' clothes were. She also pulled off her petticoats. She was in her underwear and an undershirt that was slightly transparent, but she didn't think it mattered much, she didn't have anything on her chest anyhow.
"First round: Johnny versus Princess Funeral," a boy boomed with a laugh.
Olivier stood facing a short boy who looked reluctant to hit her. He gave her a soft knock, and she hit back as hard as she could.
"Holy crap!" the boy yelled. He started fighting in earnest, but she easily knocked him down. Then she fought another boy with the same results. She was gleeful. Later, she opposed a third, taller boy. She thought she could beat him, but every time she tried to hit him she missed, and his fists seem to come out of nowhere. She eventually tapped out. She had a black eye, and had bit her tongue. Blood was pouring out of her mouth and onto her undershirt.
"Can we go again?" she asked, getting up and grinning, "I think I see what you did and know how to beat you now."
The tall boy laughed.
"We're playing tournament style," he explained, "Winners play winners. Afterwards we can do some matches for fun and I'll show you some technique."
Olivier was in a crowd of boys at the sidelines cheering when she heard her mother's voice.
"Olivier, what are you doing?!"
"Boxing," she explained. This didn't seem to register.
"Put your clothes back on right now," her mother hissed, "and we are going home."
Olivier complied, not bothering to clean off any of the blood on her face and body.
"But mother," she implored, 'I am having such a good time."
Her mother said nothing and dragged her off by her arm.
"I am so embarrassed," she spat, "To find you half-dressed parading yourself for a group of boys."
Olivier didn't understand what she'd done wrong.
"If I get proper attire," she asked, "Can I box again?"
Her mother twisted her arm harder and didn't say anything.
Later that night, Olivier's father sat her down in his study. He looked very grave and stern, and his eyes had none of the twinkle they usually had when talking to her.
"Olivier," he said, "I want you to know that what you did today is completely unacceptable. If you had been even a year or two older, it could have seriously damaged your marriage prospects. At your age, you cannot be seen fraternizing with young men, especially alone or without all your clothing. You don't want potential suitors to get the wrong idea."
"What idea is that?" Olivier asked honestly. Her father got a bit flustered.
"The idea that you're not a proper lady!" he spat after a while.
Olivier thought about this, and worried that being proper excluded everything she enjoyed.
"I don't want to get married anyways," she declared, "I'm going to join the military!"
"Women can't join the military," her father replied.
"That's not true!" Olivier insisted, "Women can join now. I heard it on the radio, I even wrote them a letter to confirm it."
Her father looked troubled.
"That is true," he said finally, "But it is not a policy I supported, and I don't think the military is any place for a woman. I know this is something you think you want now, but as you get older, you will start to see boys in a new way, and you will want to get married and start a family. I want to make sure you are in the best possible position to do that."
Olivier was irritated, but didn't say anything and after more lecturing, her father dismissed her. She didn't think liking boys would change her. That night, she dreamed of the tall boy she had boxed with. They fought until they were bloody and collapsed to the ground. Then he put his hands all over her.
When Olivier was sixteen, suitors started visiting. Maybe once a month, her father would come home with a man, and the three of them would have dinner or tea. She would know that someone was serious if they were allowed to spend time alone, usually in the garden as her father stood with a watchful eye from a distance.
Olivier would stand in an alcove outside her father's study to eavesdrop on her parents' conversations on the matter.
"I like LaMonte a lot," she heard her father say, "But he won't come cheap."
The LaMontes were another prominent aristocratic family like the Armstrongs.
"We always knew she wasn't going to be a prize," her mother responded, "We've saved for this."
"Though I would like to make an ally of Colonel Gerard," her father mused, "and his son actually seems to like her. We'd probably just have to give them a place to live."
Olivier thought all the men were awful, but she wanted to stay abreast of her parent's progress because she had a plan. The night before she turned eighteen, she was going to run away and join the military the next day. It was a bit more complicated than that, as her father was a General and if anyone at the recruiting office knew him, they might call and make sure it was okay if she joined, regardless of regulations. She decided it would be better to take the train out to Eastern and enlist there. There weren't any Armstrongs living in the area, so people would be less familiar with the family, and she'd gone through the papers in her father's study and he didn't seem to have ever worked there.
In the meantime, Olivier felt like she was on a secret mission. She pretended to go along with meeting suitors and learning proper comportment, but really she had another plan. She spent her days reading books from the mansion's vast library: war stories, combat strategy, survival skills, cartography, anything she thought would be useful in the military.
Eventually, she heard her parents decide on a match.
"LaMonte it is," she heard her father say. Her stomach turned a bit, he was one of the worst: old, uncouth and long-winded. He was also lecherous. One time, when they were walking in the garden, he'd put his hand down the front of her dress just as they'd passed a bush and her father couldn't see. Olivier could have easily fought him off, but she was so shocked, she'd done nothing. She didn't tell her parents. She was worried they would blame her for not being proper enough. Or maybe this was the sort of thing she was expected to put up with for a match that was so good for the family.
"I'm glad it's done," her mother said, "But I want to send her to Beatrice's until the wedding. You know how she is, I'm worried she might do something to make LaMonte change his mind. Beatrice will keep a better eye on her, and her daughters will be a good influence."
Olivier felt a tightness in her chest. She wouldn't be able to run away from her Aunt Beatrice's. She lived a six hour drive from the train station, there was no way to leave on foot and get anywhere other than open fields. She wondered if her parents on some level suspected her plan. She was also afraid of Beatrice's influence.
Looking back, Olivier convinced herself that she was certain of what she wanted to do, but the truth was she wasn't. She wavered. Some days she thought her parents might be right, and if she just did what they said, she would be happy and bask in their love forever. Other days she saw her parents as monsters auctioning her off to the highest bidder. She was afraid a moment of weakness might cause her to go through with the marriage. She had to go tonight, she decided.
She wasn't prepared. One set of clothes was always brought to her in the morning when she woke up, food appeared when she asked for it, and suitcases were packed by the servants when she travelled. She had no idea where any of these things were stored. She'd been planning on making up a story about wanting to learn about how the household worked to be a good wife closer in, but it was too late for that.
Olivier finally found a room where her father kept his uniforms and military issue equipment. She took a backpack, and put in a warm jacket that she thought would fit. Then she snuck into the servants' quarters and stole some clothes. She felt bad, but she didn't have any casual clothing of her own, it was the only place she could think of to get some. She hoped her parents would pay the servants back.
Only her father ever handled money, so she went through his jacket pockets and found some. It wasn't nearly enough to survive the eight months until her eighteenth birthday, it was barely enough for train fare. She decided she would have to make due, and figure out a way to survive once she got to Eastern. Maybe they'd let her join the military early.
Olivier thought about going into her brother's room to say goodbye, but decided against it. He was still quite the crybaby, and she was worried he would make noise and attract attention. Besides, she thought wryly, if she didn't tell anyone, it might be several days before her parents noticed she was gone.
Olivier felt anxious as she walked towards the door. This was it. This was the choice. She was leaving. She opened the door and walked out into the wind.
Hawkeye knew what she was going to do. She wondered if deep down, she'd known it all along. She liked her life, she was devoted to her work, but she always had this faint feeling that she was standing in moving water, always having to fight to stay on her feet, always swimming upstream. She tried to be happy with her decision, and maybe she was. She resented how quickly her life had spun out of control, but she also felt liberated. Perhaps holding back from Mustang had been a cage. Perhaps, now she was free.
She waited until they were done eating and resting in the living room before she told him.
"I've made a decision," she said. As she spoke, Mustang started grinning.
"I am so pleased," he stuttered, but he didn't have to say anything. She could see the wide smile on his face. His joy radiated outwards and permeated her soul. He pulled her close and kissed her hard, then he held her for a long time, stroking her shoulders softly, and whispering notes of glee and gratitude into her ear.
Eventually, Mustang lifted Hawkeye to the bed. He removed her clothing slowly, caressing each part of her body like he had never touched it before. He kissed her softly, then harder and harder until it consumed her. He was tender and deliberate. He overtook her and she took him in, she absorbed him. She heard moans spill out of her mouth and fill the room.
"I love you," Mustang said, his eyes shining, as he kissed her cheek.
"I'm yours," Hawkeye whispered back softly into his ear. He held her tightly.
The river washed over Hawkeye and she lay calmly as it carried her away.