Disclaimer: Me no own Ichy-poo. lol
Once Upon A Time
Chapter Twelve
The day before the Hughes' Christmas Eve celebration, Rose stopped by to speak with Ichabod about Lord Crane's attendance. "He says he may be able to stop by for an hour or two," Ichabod said, "but he simply doesn't have the time. He gives you his humblest apologies."
Rose almost laughed. "There's hardly a humble bone in that man's body," she said.
"True," Ichabod agreed, closing the library door behind her. "But I must say that I saw fear in his eyes just last night."
"Fear?" she asked, looking genuinely stunned. "But Lord Crane fears nothing."
"He fears debt," Ichabod corrected her. And then he sighed. "As do I, I'm afraid."
"What do you mean?" She took a seat on the sofa, waiting for an answer until he sat down next to her.
"It seems that my family is in a bit of financial trouble, my darling," he said. "Apparently Lord Crane has frittered away my mother's sizable fortune, leaving us in a great deal of debt. I happened to see the financial ledgers as I was asking him about the Christmas celebration, and they looked...grim, to say the least."
"Oh, no," she said, taking his hands in hers. "You don't think...you don't think you'll lose your home, do you?"
He shook his head and sighed again. "I can't say," he admitted. "I spoke to Bertha earlier this morning, as I was concerned with what this would mean for my future, and she informed me that I would be forced to sell my home within a year."
She gasped. "Oh, how terrible!"
"But I do have some good news," he said, smiling slightly. "It seems that our daughter will grow up in this house." His smile faded. "And then I have more bad news; although our daughter will grow up here, I will not know her in her youth, as a young girl."
"Oh, Ichabod, no," she said, squeezing his hands tightly. There seemed to be tears in her eyes already.
"It is what Bertha said, and Bertha has been correct about everything thus far," he said. "I fear it would be a grave mistake not to listen when she speaks."
"But it can't be," Rose said, a tear slipping down her cheek. "You must know your daughter, you must watch her grow into a woman. You must find her a husband and watch them have children of their own. You must see your grandchildren."
This reminded him of something else the old woman had said. "We will have a grandchild," he told Rose. "A boy, a grandson of our very own. And his father's name will be Charles."
Rose's tears seemed to cease as she considered this possibility. "I do like the name Charles," she said finally. "It is a good English name. What will our grandson be called?"
Ichabod shook his head. "Bertha did not tell me," he said. "Or rather, she did not have time. For you see, Rose...Bertha is...dead."
Rose gasped. "Oh, my." Her hand flew out of his and covered her mouth in shock. They were both silent for a moment, and then she said, "Well, I suppose we'll just have to figure out our future for ourselves, then."
"I suppose so," he agreed. And then he embraced her. "But fear not. We'll work things out, I just know we will."
When Rose left for her own home, Ichabod began to puzzle over a suitable gift for his beloved. With Lord Crane's sensibly-enforced rule about lessening their expenses, another problem presented itself. And while Ichabod knew that Rose would be happy even if she had no gift at all, he felt that she deserved something for all that she had been put through.
The question that now remained was what could he give her with the modest budget he had? He thought of buying her another book of poetry, and while she undoubtedly wouldn't mind, he would feel it redundant. He thought of buying her another piece of jewelry, but he knew that Lord Crane would never allow it. And he could hardly make something himself, for what could he make with his hands that he would think good enough to give to Rose?
And then he knew. It hit him like a ton of bricks, and he was amazed at and ashamed of himself for not thinking of it sooner. With his idea firmly in his mind, his only hope now was that his father had not pawned it off to raise money.
So while Ichabod set off to find something special for the love of his life, Rose set off in a carriage to go see the man who was supposed to be the love of her life. Since her last visit to James Hall, she had begun work on embroidering one of the finest pillows her mother could find. It was meant to be a Christmas gift for James, but Rose knew her heart had not been in it. But how could it be? She did not love James, did not want to marry him, wanted as little to do with him as possible. But her mother had insisted that she make something nice for the man, as he had been through so much.
Rose and her mother, this time without the company of Mrs. Staub, went once more to the inn to which James was confined. They were led once more up the rickety stairs, and they went once more into the dingy and depressing room, where they once more found James hovering between sleep and wakefulness. "Mister Hall," Rose whispered quietly.
Mr. Hall woke almost immediately upon hearing Rose's voice, as if he had been waiting for her presence. He opened his eyes slowly and looked up at his wife-to-be, smiling despite the pain it caused him to smile. "Rose," he said softly. His voice was still hoarse, but not as hoarse as it had been some days ago. "Merry Christmas, my darling."
"Well, it's not quite Christmas yet," said Mrs. Hughes, "but Rose has brought you something, since you cannot attend our annual Christmas Eve celebration. Give him your gift, dear," she said to her daughter.
Rose pulled the pillow out of her cloak. It was a fine white thing embroidered in green and red, the colors of the season. She had crafted it to look like red ribbons and boughs of holly along the sides, with a great wreath in the very middle of the top. At the bottom, she had painstakingly stitched the words "Merry Christmas, My Love" in red. She had considered, however briefly, giving it to Ichabod, but she knew that her mother would ask awkward questions about its sudden disappearance. So she handed the pillow to James and said, "Merry Christmas, James."
He reached up and feebly accepted the gift, holding it in front of him and smiling. He then looked to Rose and said, with a light in his eyes the likes of which she had never before seen, "I love you, Rose." He reached out and took her hand, stroking it gently and affectionately. "Which is why," he continued, before she was even aware of what had exactly just happened, "I also have a gift for you."
James set the pillow aside and opened the top drawer of the nightstand resting next to his bed. He pulled a small, velvet-covered box out of the drawer and slowly opened it. He presented the open thing to Rose with a smile on his face, and his smile only widened with her gasp. "Merry Christmas, love," he said.
Rose could not have been in a more awkward situation. Inside the small velvet box was, as she'd feared, a truly spectacular ring. It was just a small, crystalline stone on a plain golden band, but its simplicity made it all the more beautiful. She took it out herself and slipped it on her own finger, to save him the trouble. Then she said, "Oh, James, it's lovely. Thank you. But I...I don't know what to say."
"Say that you'll be my wife," he begged her, taking her hand again. "I know your parents and I have already agreed that I should court you, but I'm asking you now, because I love you... Will you do me the immense honor of becoming Misses James Hall?"
OMG, cliff hanger! I know it's not much of a cliff hanger, and I know that most of you don't give a shit what happens to old Jimmy boy, but I have to admit that I'm trying to stretch this story out a bit. The original manuscript, as it were, isn't very long, so I'm sort of adding things in as I go. Forgive me if it makes for crap reading, but I really want to finish this so I can get to the sequel, for which I have a lot of plans. So bear with me, because I really am doing my best. The blood is the life, Sikerra.
