Title: So Unaware of The World
Chapter 3/?
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Pairing: Ada/Ruby
Thanks: Thanks again, to my beta readers, and to those who have taken their time in reviewing this. It means a lot, I don't think I've ever put so much time and effort into a story before!
Notes: I was going to discard this chapter all together, but after reading through it I realized you kind of have to understand all of this to understand the next chapter, and chapters to follow. The next chapter, I promise, will be slashy =)
"The Letters"
Ada probably would have noticed a change in Ruby's behavior in her presence if she hadn't been so caught up in writing letter after letter. It had only been a month or so since he had left, yet she continued writing the letters. She wrote them daily, the only thing she seemed able to focus on for any length of time. Yet she still continued to work, nonchalantly, crafting how the next letter would go in her head. It was if thinking about anything else would cause her to forget the contents of what she had already written and what needed wrote. Each night after the cows were fed, she'd post the days letters. Perhaps he'd get at least one of them. She considered often writing the same letter multiple times, maybe that way she'd be certain he'd get one. But one letter would mean a lot of thoughts on one page; she was no good at organized thoughts anymore. Everything else in her life had been so orderly and stable until she had moved to the Black Cove Farm. One thing after the next, the pieces fell apart. Just when she thought she had something to hang on to, the war started. Inman left. Her father died. Ruby showed up and showed her how to do what she had watched the slaves do for so many years. Ruby made it look so simple, going from plant to plant, lecturing off like a speeding bullet as to what they did and how long they took to grow, expecting Ada to write it down as quickly as she spoke. Even though she had said she wanted no pay, Ada waited for the day she asked for something in return, not necessary money, but a piece of land, a cow, or the horse. But she had sold her home, she had no where else to go. She had told Ada of her plans for the farm, and but truthfully, Ada didn't care for any of it, or hear any of it. She was thinking about letters. Everything led back to the letters. They were what had kept her sane.
She sat, seated at the kitchen table, scrawling every passing thought at that moment on to the paper beneath her pen. The room was dim, only lit by the candle in front of her, which was waning by the second. It was late, the stars shone like sun lit pinholes in the felted sky. Ruby had gone to bed hours ago, she always went to bed early. But she didn't have thoughts to pen. She was more concerned about waking up before the sun did so the cows could graze.
But Ruby wasn't sleeping. She laid there, her cheek pressed against the down pillow, wool blanket pulled up underneath her chin. She may not have thoughts to pen, but that didn't mean they didn't exist. She knew Ada was awake writing, she did it every night. Some nights she'd sit and watch her pour her soul and every feeling into those letters, with doubt it would even reach it's destination. Yet she continued, heartfelt letter after heartfelt letter. Sometimes the writing would take too much out of her, too many emotions at once. She'd leave the letters strewn on the kitchen table, pacing over to the piano to distract herself from the tears welling up in her eyes. . No wonder she was always so exhausted in the morning. Ruby had read the letters before, as Ada always carelessly left them on the table each morning. She swore she did it on purpose sometimes, so that she could read them. In a strange disconnected way, they had bonded through them indirectly, in that Ruby knew all her most intimate thoughts and feelings. Not that it was in her favor.
Once, and only once, she dared to ask Ada about the writings. It was a few nights ago, evening, dinnertime. Ruby had finished hers, chicken and vegetable soup, yet Ada sat, fixed on the paper in front of her, her head resting in her palm, the other hand writing hurriedly, afraid to lose the thought.
"You writin' them let'r's again?"
Ada nodded without looking up, continuing to pen the words she'd been pondering all day.
"You gonna eat or what?"
Ada nodded again, dropped her palm from underneath her chin and picked up the spoon daintily, stirring her soup with it and taking a bite, yet still writing without interruption.
"So…tell me about this Inman…"
"What's to tell?" she asked, still writing diligently.
"Well, on account'a you seem awfully interested in 'im. Whattaya see in 'im?"
Ada was resting her chin her in palm again, and this time she looked up, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know."
"You don' know?"
"We only met a few times…"
"You musta seen something in 'im, on account'a I thought you two had somethin' goin' on. All you do is write them let'r's all damn day."
Ada smiled and chuckled a bit. "He's what keeps me going," she replied quickly, with a hint of annoyance.
She never asked about him again after that, it was obvious Ada just had her mind set that he would return to her one day. What would become of her then? She had sold off her house to a woman whose husband who had died in the war and couldn't care for their farm anymore. Maybe that's just what she should of proposed to Ada, trading homes. She'd share the crops with her in return for the farm. She had forced herself into her life, the last thing she needed was someone taking away what her father's not-so-hard-earned money had bought her. It was only a quick thought.
If it had been up to her, she'd rather let Ada sleep until noon and see her content writing letters than watching her feel helplessly confused all morning, though it amused her. She had let her, once or twice, only because she had been distracted watching her in her sleep, but promised herself she wouldn't make a habit of it. Everything about her was so serene, especially in the morning. The way the sunlight hit her hair, which lay across the pillows she surrounded herself with. On exceptionally bright mornings, the sun would play on the mirrors of her vanity, creating patches of light to scatter across the room and on her sleeping face. When she finally woke, the first thing she did was sit at the vanity and trifle with her hair. When she wore it long, it was almost halfway down her back. No wonder it took her so long to brush. Ruby would watch her through the crack between the door hinges. Ada was so careful and almost compulsive over everything she did. It had to be perfect. She'd never be cut out for a farm life, not if it took her this long to just brush her hair. Fence posts didn't have to be perfect, anyway, they just needed to stand up straight and keep cows from wandering off. Ruby had often considered interrupting her one morning, offering to brush her hair for her so it wouldn't take as long. It would of taken even longer then. Ada would always insist on helping with things. She'd do what she could, which wasn't much, and Ruby would usually have to go back over what Ada had done, straightening out the fence posts here and there, and making sure she hadn't missed any vegetables in the garden. She didn't mind. Ada was always there to keep her company anyway, reading from a novel, or just going on about whatever was on her mind. Ruby would listen intently, even if she didn't understand what she was talking about half of the time. It didn't matter. She liked the way she talked. Her accent wasn't as thick as those who lived in Cold Mountain all their lives, she could talk about the most ridiculous things and still sound educated.
She heard footsteps coming up the stairs; Ada had finally finished her letter writing. No piano tonight. She had begun depending on the piano music to lull her to sleep because her thoughts had become so confused and kept her awake at night. She pulled the covers over her head, not wanting to catch sight of Ada because of the thoughts she'd evoke again. All the thoughts seemed to run together anymore. There was too much to be done tomorrow. Maybe both of them could sleep until noon instead.