Warnings at the bottom of the chapter.

Chapter Eight:

It's Always Morning

Part of Johanna was certain she'd lose it. Her body couldn't be healthy enough to carry a human inside it. After skimming through the articles Mrs. Thomas recommended she read, Johanna sank back, placing her hand on her belly. The baby was in there, alright. For the moment.

She didn't want her baby to die. But she couldn't get her hopes up.

No. This baby was going to have a life. They were going to laugh and cry. Pout and shriek. They wouldn't be looking over their shoulder every moment. They were going to grow up free and far away.

Her body was going to fail this baby. Johanna didn't deserve them. They shouldn't have to have a mother who couldn't put her right foot forward and stand up for herself. Johanna was nothing. Her child was blood and ocean and wind. Who could she be compared to that? A broken lark sitting in a cage?

"I wish I could be more for you," Johanna told her bump, running a hand over it, "I would be anything."

She sighed. This was enough. She adjusted herself into a crawling position as she rummaged through the piles of assorted objects in the storage room, her safe haven. Johanna landed on a cover. A book cover, with a fine layer of dust. Mrs. Lovett kept her collection of books in her parlor, perhaps she misplaced one. She pulled it out and held it under her candle. Gold lettering gave away the title. Or, as better said, the name.

This Property Belongs to Lucy Barker

Number 186 Fleet Street

Lucy Barker was gone. It wouldn't harm her or anyone to read the diary or flip through some pages, Johanna reasoned as she flipped to the first.

A few dates and addresses were jotted down between drops of ink. She recognized a few such as her birthday. Her parent's anniversary was May 20, 1817. A Tuesday. A few pages later informed Johanna it was the best day of Lucy Barker's life. She was so excited to be married to Benjamin Barker. Entranced by her words, Johanna smiled for them, almost wishing she could be there for the wedding.

If only Lucy Barker knew.

Years went by in her writing and Lucy Barker learned she was expecting their first baby. Nervous at first, but her worries dripped away at Benjamin Barker's reaction. There was a judge Lucy Barker was wary of. He had helped her mother when she needed a lawyer to help with her husband's will. Her mother introduced Lucy Barker to Judge Joseph Turpin. According to Lucy Barker, Judge Turpin looked at her in a way that made her skin crawl. As if she wasn't married.

With the months flying by faster until the birth, Lucy Barker scrawled out her worries. Her practical penmanship grew scraggly as a pirate. Every entry mentioned Benjamin Barker at least twice. Every word about him was blissful. Baby Johanna was born (herself, Johanna connected, though it was strange to think of this baby as herself and not a ghost of the past). The next entries were few and far between and supplied updates on Baby Johanna.

But the wording darkened. The excitement disappeared. Tears stained the paper. Pages were blank.

This was when it happened, Johanna realized and a pang went through her heart. She turned the page. Three words were written in the center.

And they laughed.

Johanna flipped through the remaining pages, creasing a few in the process, which made her wince and mutter an apology to a phantom. The rest of the pages were blank.

She sank back. There were only two people in the world who could tell her the rest of Lucy Barker's story. Johanna perked at the thought. She wouldn't dare ask Mr. Todd, but Mrs. Lovett might give a full report. Maybe not full, but an earnest answer that would satisfy her curiosity.

It was late after hours, but Johanna heard Mrs. Lovett fretting to herself in the shop. She tip-toed in without notice and came behind Mrs. Lovett, who stepped back. And shrieked. Mrs. Lovett flipped around, hand landing on her chest. "It's just you," she breathed,

"I thought you was . . . Well, never mind that. What do you want?"

Johanna chose her words carefully.

"I was wondering about my mother."

Mrs. Lovett scowled. She dropped her hand as she strutted over to the serving counter. She pulled out a rolling pin from under the table and rolled out the dough on the table. Johanna mirrored her steps as she leaned against the countertop.

"Yer father's told you, has he?" Mrs. Lovett pointed the rolling pin at Johanna, who flinched. "Now, I did that for his own good. Don't believe a word he says."

"Excuse me, Mrs. Lovett, but what did you do? I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean."

Stupid girl! Johanna didn't realize what she was saying until the words were out of her mouth. She should've kept her mouth shut and listened to whatever Mrs. Lovett said.

Mrs. Lovett's eyes widened. She dropped the rolling pin with the same expression before flapping a hand about to indicate it wasn't important. Which Johanna doubted.

"Nothin', dearie, nothing. What're you doing running around asking me about Mrs. Barker?"

Regret flicked in her chest again.

"I wasn't running around and asking, Mrs. Lovett. I just wanted to know more about her. From someone who knew her." Johanna shifted her posture as her ankles throbbed beneath her. "If you don't mind."

Mrs. Lovett slammed her rolling pin into the table. Johanan winced. She began to remind Mrs. Lovett that she could make no comment, if she'd prefer, but Mrs. Lovett stopped her as she pulled out a knife, using it to chop at the dough.

"Mrs. Barker was a silly little thing," Mrs. Lovett began, "She could have anything she wanted. That type, you know? The kind of woman who gets men to chase her around and treat her like a lady. Even me Albert was polite when she was around. He called her a lady. He never did call me a lady. Mr. T was mad about her." She sighed. "After visiting with her, he came home and whistled. Drove Albert insane. Never saw what he saw in her, but apparently, it was something special; since he married her a few months afterward."

At this, Mrs. Lovett chopped with a firmer hand. Johanna almost felt the need to step away.

"That type of woman's annoying, yes. Especially for the wives of men. I suppose she was sweet enough. But she was nothing but dull after that." She minced the meat and tossed the pieces into the dough. Mrs. Lovett wiped her hands on her apron. "Then you came along. They were happy since they'd been trying for a baby for months by then." Mrs. Lovett rolled her eyes. "Mrs. Barker became even more tiresome after that. Moping around. Complaining about pains. Always went to me for advice. Don't know how, but she tricked me into reading Dr. Kenge's book. I had no time for such things and she knew that."

Mrs. Lovett tossed a spice in the pies with a scowl.

"Mrs. Barker poisoned herself, you know? Even though she had you. Should've stayed strong, that one. She always told me to 'remain strong and find the hope'. Didn't even keep her own advice, nitwit."

Johanna opened her mouth to argue. But there was nothing to argue. She never personally knew Lucy Barker. She only knew things about her. Lucy Barker wrote little about Mrs. Lovett, but what was said was found enough. Johanna assumed they were good neighbors, though not yet friends. Lucy Barker was a lovely person in her writings. Johanna was biased from reading her account. She only knew one side of the story.

With disappointment, Johanna thanked Mrs. Lovett, who didn't reply before taking the pies to the bakehouse. She returned to her parlor.

Johanna tugged on the ends of her hair as she turned to the window. She made eye contact with a woman, clothes in ashy gray rags. She pulled away, but the look in the beggar's eyes played in her mind. Years of hunger and anguish showed behind those eyes. Johanna looked away. The beggar was still there. She hesitated to turn her back again but was forced to in order to take an extra pie from under the glass. She wrapped a napkin around it and went out the door to approach the beggar in the street.

"How about a pie, ma'am?" Johanna suggested with a smile, holding out the napkin.

The beggar locked eyes with her. At Johanna's nod, she grabbed the pie. Eyeing each side, she devoured it. Leaving not a crumb behind. The beggar faced her again. Her sight fell.

"Thank ya, miss. Yer an angel. I prayed for one and God sent ya for me," the beggar said. She gripped Johanna's arm and looked over her. "Yer child is mighty lucky to have a mother such as yerself."

Johanna smiled, looking down. Her bump was more noticeable now. She put a hand on it. Johanna could only hope.

Sobs rang from the other room. Sweeney put down his sharpening tools and razors. Placing each one back into place as quickly as he could manage. The sobs were loud - too loud to have just started. He stepped to the other room, knocked, then waited. No one answered. Sweeney entered. Johanna didn't order him away, as sometimes she did.

She was curled into a ball at the base of her bed. Tears wet drop-shaped blotches on the sheets. He sat. The way she cried out cut him sharper than any razor. Johanna stretched a hand, grasping for something he couldn't supply only to hit his leg.

"Johanna," Sweeney whispered.

She groaned and rolled over.

Sweeney moved Johanna to where her head was resting on a pillow, which he assumed would be more comfortable than the baseboard. He tucked the surrounding quilt. Although the weather was warmer, she made it clear she liked the quilt and wouldn't part with it.

This nightmare was easier to soothe her from. There were some before where Sweeney was forced to wake her, out of fear she would hurt herself. Such as the night of the shooting star. It distracted her well and she sank back into sleep soon after.

Johanna rolled onto her side. Her hand landed next to her cheek on the pillow. Her hair sprawled across her shoulders, dripping over her face.

Sweeney tucked her stray locks behind her ear.

Johanna smiled.

In sleep, of course. But she smiled at him.

Lucy said once that when babies smiled in their sleep, angels were whispering to them. They were precious enough to hear the songs of heaven. Johanna, while far from the infant he left behind, was precious enough to hear angels. He was certain. Johanna was at peace.

"Goodnight, my dear."

Warnings: Mentions of miscarriage, self-hatred, referenced murder