I do not own Once Upon a Time

Chapter 4 Brotherly Love

The whole shanty lit up from the streak of lighting that flashed through the sky and the thunder sent a loud CRACK! following it. It was so loud and sudden that Belle jumped in spite of herself and found Ralph's tiny smirk as he had caught her in his peripheral vision. In the six weeks he had been there she had seen so little of true mirth in the gentle man that Belle couldn't help smiling back at him. Her smiling caught him so off guard that he instantly became serious again, his brown eyes becoming big, but then his face softened suddenly.

Papa paid no heed to the jumpiness of his daughter, nor the sly smirk of his 'hired hand', but instead paced the few steps that the shanty afforded to sweat over the intensity of the storm outside. Belle sobered as she watched him, and followed his steps with concerned eyes. She put down the trousers she was taking in, and walked over to her Papa to still him. Taking her arm and wrapping it around his, making him stop and look at her, with his wild gray eyes and equally wild graying hair. If it weren't for the fierceness of the storm outside, she would have chuckled at the sight of him.

'Why don't I make us some coffee, huh? And Ralph can perhaps read to us a little-maybe a Psalm from the Bible? That'll settle us down, won't it?'

He nodded, but barely took in what she had said. He brought out his pipe and she led him back to his chair, and she looked up pleadingly at Ralph to see if he would read to them. He nodded in understanding, getting hold of the family Bible and turning it to the book of Psalms. His voice could soothe a bear, she thought, almost smiling and tuned her ears to the lilting words of the Bible that the storm was threatening to drown.

Ralph's reading wasn't the only thing that the storm was threatening to drown. The corn had started to come up, their little stalks shooting up in the warm spring then summer sun. Ralph had helped Papa carefully weed it, and in the evenings they both looked quite pleased at the fruits of their labor starting to show. This storm could take away everything that they had done. A poor harvest could mean the difference between living or starving, so she understood the deepening wrinkles of her father's face as he listened to the bellowing outside. Even Ralph looked up from his reading a time or two to give Belle a fearful, knowing glance.

Belle could hardly concentrate, her breathing heavy with each torrential sound. Eventually, they all felt it lighten a little and Ralph carefully set down the Bible and dared a shy glance at her father. His puffs on his pipe lessened and he leaned forward in his chair, as thought that would gain him better understanding of the storm's results without first looking at the damage done.

'Well, let's have a look at it then, shall we Ralphy boy?'

They both headed towards the shanty door, lantern in hand, Ralph cowering behind her father, limping harder than he had the past few days. She wondered if it was because of the rain. Belle had been glad to see Ralph gain some strength over the past six weeks, if not much confidence. She had yet an opportunity to talk to Ralph much, outside of generalities. He did everything asked of him, and seemingly more. He wasn't as quick as he would have been had he two whole legs, but he was diligent and thorough. Though her father never said, she could detect a little pride in his eyes as his abilities grew.

As for Belle, she continued to feel the presence of another human being in their circle, fighting the land along with them. He kindly helped her around the farm whenever he could, never shying away from reading when she asked, even if it was the same poem he had read more than twice already. He seemed to follow her with his eyes when he thought she couldn't see, and she wondered again, and again what he was thinking. Papa's presence had him in constant fret and worry, so they never had deep conversations, but even a handful of words were pleasant when you saw the same people day in and day out.

They opened the shanty door, wondering what carnage they would see. Stepping out, poor Ralph's staff sinking in the muddied ground, they got a good look.

'It's okay, Issy, come and see!'

She stumbled forward, foot almost caught on the table in her eagerness and went to see for herself.

At first the corn really did look drowned, but upon closer inspection, not bent. It could still spell disaster if they were to get any more of the gusty rain they had just received, but if the sun could come out for a day or two and dry everything…well then, they might just have a chance. As it was always in the vast, unforgiving prairie, it would be a game of wait and see. Your fate hung in the balance of a few days. She turned to the back of the house where the garden rows of her own garden were. The six weeks had seen it spring to life, and for the most part, things were still intact. She sighed in relief. They had faced a hurdle and cleared it-for now.

Four days of glorious sunshine came and Belle was starting to feel a little lighter. She even hummed as she cooked, cleaned, even as she did laundry the following Monday-her most hated task. She always felt a little twinge of guilt making Ralph change into the tattered rags that was his only spare pair of britches, and the thin cotton shirt that had long since needed to be stripped for rags. But even the back aching job of washing clothes couldn't take away the joy she felt as she felt the sun warm her back while she hung the clothes.

'Miss Belle'

Belle jumped at the suddenness of Ralph behind her. She wasn't expecting him yet and she let out a yelp as she jumped. He allowed a small smirk to form on his lips again, not unlike the one he had when she had jumped at the thunder. The rascal had weaseled out her secret.

'Ralph!'

'Sorry Miss Belle, I didn't mean to frighten you.'

She looked at him curiously as he went to take a shirt and hang it on the line. She almost protested the help but his eyes told her that he wanted to say something, and since he never initiated conversation, she would let his hands do what he felt necessary, if it allowed her to get a glimpse into his thoughts.

'I-I think, Miss Belle. I think it might rain tomorrow.'

'What?! What makes you say that? There isn't a cloud in the sky…oh.'

He winced as he leaned to get another item of clothing and she noticed the deepening limp as he went to hang it.

'You're in pain, more pain than usual aren't you?' She laced her words with as much concern as she did realization.

'A little, yes, and the ache is similar to-well, it's the same feeling I got before the last storm.'

She nodded in understanding.

'Have you told Papa?'

'Not as yet, no. Do you think he would? Do you think he would…'

'Believe you? I'm not sure. I'm sorry he treats you like a child Ralph. I've been meaning to talk to you about that.'

He looked up at her with his brown eyes so full of unasked questions and thoughts she wanted to dig and discover.

'Why do you think Papa brought you here?'

The question was so straightforward and blunt, but Ralph seemed to take the question in stride, and his eyes told her that he was mulling the question over.

'I don't think I know, exactly. He said he needed some help, but I know I'm not exactly much of that. He tells me that regularly.' He chuckled softly then looked at her worriedly, as if he had said something wrong.

'I know what he says, and I'm sorry, Ralph-he ought not to say such things. You are doing quite well, I think. Papa thinks that too, he just isn't one to come out and say it.'

Ralph was looking down at the ground at this.

'Can I tell you why I think he brought you?'

Ralph looked up with curiosity.

'He sees a boy when he sees you, yes. He sees one of the sons he lost. I-I was the only child to survive, and I'm a girl. I think he sometimes wishes that I was a boy.'

Ralph's eyes were so soft and she saw such concern there.

'I-I think when he saw you, he thought you could be like one of the sons that never survived.'

'A cripple?' His voice was so quiet she almost didn't hear it. She did and she could hear the wonder behind it.

'It makes you seem vulnerable, I think.'

'Vulnerable.' He chuckled to himself, running his free hand through his moppy mane. 'Another word for weak.'

'He isn't very paternal or affectionate, I know. You must forgive him. He and mother lost 5 children before me, and in between times they had trouble even having those. Once I came, he wasn't expecting me to survive babyhood, let alone childhood and adolescence. He loves me in his own way, but I don't think he quite knows how to love a child. All the others he lost were boys-sons. When he sees me, I think all he sees are the ones he lost. I don't think he wishes I was dead, but when he works the land, when he works so hard, he wishes that it was a son that was out here with him. When he saw you, I think he saw someone who didn't have anyone either.'

She paused for a moment, willing herself to go on.

'I'm sorry Miss Belle.' He reflected.

'You can just call me Belle, you know. And I didn't say all this for you to feel sorry for me. I love Papa, and with all his shortcomings, I do know he loves in the way he knows how. However, I wanted to tell you this so that you could know why he calls you Ralphy Boy, and treats you as a child sometimes. It's a compliment, I think. He sees you as family-you should feel that way, and not be so frightened of him.' She smiled at him then, hoping to see a smile reflected back, but Ralph was too lost in thought to return any sentiment.

'My father called me Ralphy Boy.' He said quietly.

Belle had heard nothing of his former life, not even the railroad camps, or where he was in the time that followed his accident. The clothes were all on the line, but she remained at the line, desperately wanting to hear more of his story.

'Do you miss him? Your father, I mean?'

Ralph's eyes turned from soft brown to hardened chocolate, steeled and unforgiving.

'No. Can't say as I do. He may be very much alive, but I wouldn't want to see him again if I could help it.'

As improper as the gesture would be, she had a strong desire to hug him. She refrained and understanding dawned.

'So my father's pet name is rather an unfortunate one then.'

'You could say that, yes.'

'I'm sorry for it. I don't know that it would do me any good to bring it up. He knows how much I dislike Issy now, and continues to call me so.'

'Did you not always dislike the name Issy?' He was prodding with questions of his own. She quite liked the braver side of him, though it was prying into her personal history.

'No, it was fine. Fine until Mama died and Papa gained 'associates'. The men made my skin crawl and enjoyed calling me Issy as well. Since then it's rather distasteful. Papa can't seem to shake the habit, so Issy I remain. I greatly appreciate you calling me Belle, Ralph.'

Ralph smiled and it almost reached his eyes, though he had been so grave until she had spoken the last sentence.

'And I appreciate you not calling me Ralphy Boy. I also appreciate you informing me on how your father feels. I'll try not to be too much of a disappointment to him-though I can't say I had much success with my own father.'

'Just be yourself, Ralph, that's all that he can expect, alright?' She said comfortingly, and she hoped he understood. She took the basket up and he followed her into the shanty.

…

Ralph thought back to what Belle had said that afternoon, and analyzed her father's past behavior to him to what she had revealed. He could see it now. What had seemed like condescension was Mr. French's own way of expressing a fatherly relationship. And if he was the older son that Mr. French wished so desperately for, and Miss Belle had known such things for so long, that must mean that he must be like the older brother she never had as well. Of course it would be, and he ought to be grateful for such a thought. It was a miracle that she didn't hate him, since her father's affections, such as they were, were divided. He couldn't say he felt for her in a brotherly fashion. He might be cripple, but he wasn't blind!

Ever since she started showing him kindness, he had been all but besotted with her. Everything she did was perfect, from the way she busily worked to make the shanty something almost like a home, the the way she jumped at loud or sudden noises. He chuckled at the thought.

She had never treated him as a child, an invilad (though she did worry a little too much about his leg), or anything less than a man. She was kind, though, and he imagined that she would have treated anyone the same. But it was he that was the recipient, and therefore, it was through his own stupid folly that he had begun to care for her. He cared that she worked so hard, and desperately tried to find ways of lightening her load. He cared that she ate enough, he cared that she smiled. He also cared that she smiled at him, in which case, he did his best not to let on to her that he felt for her the way he did. He tried only to look at her when she wasn't looking. To soak in the way the light hit her face as she bent over the mending. He had all but memorized the lines to her favorite poems, and had stolen some glances when she knew him to be reading. If she did know how he felt, surely she would beg her father to send him back to town. No one could want him, lame and poor as he was, least of all beautiful Belle.

Belle. He smiled as he thought about how he was asked to call her the name she enjoyed to hear the most. His smile faded as he recalled the shiver of disgust as she remembered the leering of her father's friends. He had no clue as to the nature of such 'associates', but he wished nothing more than that they be turned into the rodents that they were. No one should cause Miss Belle a moment's uneasiness, and as much as he longed for Mr. French's approval, he couldn't help but have a distaste for the man who would allow such men around his daughter.

A roll of thunder invaded his thoughts. He had been correct. The ache in his leg had become more pronounced as the day progressed and he had noted that it worked as a fairly accurate weather indicator. He prayed that night for the fields that had just now dried from the last downpour. They weren't his fields, but over the past six weeks he had some emotional ties to them. As the rain began he allowed the sound to send him to the darkness, shooting one last prayer that the crop survive.

Author's note: Hope you enjoyed the bit of angst here. I can't say it won't be the last, but there will be some adorable fluff coming too! I think it might be harder to write fluff in a situation where people are just trying to survive, but I am determined to squeeze some in there! lol
Hope you enjoy and please let me know you think, I would love to hear!