Warnings at the bottom of the chapter.


Chapter Ten:

The Way I've Dreamed You Were


Her mother loved doves.

A symbol for everything good and nothing bad. Love, peace, messenger. Purity. Gentleness. Devotion. Beauty. Faith.

There was a picture of Lucy Barker in the shop. To see her clearly, Johanna wiped the dried blood from the glass. She was beautiful, with long eyelashes and bright eyes. Her gentle arms held a baby. Johanna. She was pure in her writings. Benjamin Barker adored his wife. Johanna had no doubt of that. Sweeney Todd must have some feeling representing love that he could feel.

But did she have faith? When her husband was sent away, did she remain devoted to his name?

Devoted. Gentle. Pure. Faithful. All traits any young woman aspired to have. Johanna was no exception. She was raised to be perfect. Was Johanna faithful? Did she believe? She was completely devoted to Anthony, but not to Mr. Todd. Her father. She was willing to abandon him for a life outside of London. Lucy Barker - her mother was completely devoted. Why couldn't she be?

Beauty was what all girls wanted. Johanna didn't believe she had any or much at all. She had flaws. Turpin highlighted each one.

"I'm sorry I can't be right for you," Johanna said to her belly. She wondered if her baby was sick of hearing her complaints. But Johanna wanted it to know she was truly sorry. She couldn't apologize enough.

Anthony gave the suggestion, "Leicester" for a boy. He wanted a son to be named after his brother. They hadn't seen each other in years, but he promised poor, dear Leicester that he would name his child after him. Johanna was too shocked to say anything after Anthony told her. Johanna only wanted a healthy baby, but she didn't have it in her to give a tiny human a name like Leicester.

She laughed at the memory. Ignoring the dread tugging at Johanna for when she would tell Anthony they couldn't name their son Leicester. Truth be told, it impressed her Anthony remembered that promise after all those years.

A governess once told Johanna that if she couldn't love herself, she couldn't love another creature. That wasn't a problem for her, then. Johanna loved herself and her birds. There was the perfect amount of her love in her for all.

But the years went on. Thoughts prodded at her. Vile remarks slipped past a maid's tongue. Turpin. Johanna realized she was not as good as she once thought. She was below good.

It became worse. She was terrible.

Could she love this baby if she didn't love herself?

Well, Johanna loved Anthony. Deprecating thoughts towards herself still came. Johanna loved her birds. Though she noted every flaw herself. There was enough love. Wasn't there?

"I will love you, baby," Johanna said, "Even if I don't love myself. Little Lucy. " She paused. "Or little Leicester."

"What was your mother like?"

Part of Johanna wished to take those words back once they were out. Her desire to know overwhelmed her.

Anthony leaned back in his chair. "Any reason you want to know why."

"I never had a mother or a mother figure." She drummed her fingers on the table. "I don't know how to be one."

Her voice wavered with some of her worries. Johanna looked down. It was a stupid question. She could have opened painful or unwanted memories.

"Mother was . . . temperamental. Her mother being Swedish. Her father was British. All of her siblings were apparently like that. She wore brown and black dresses. Her hair was wild. I had eight siblings. Three of them didn't make it to adulthood, yet I never saw her mourn. There were days she didn't get out of bed. Then there were weeks she was motivated to paint the entire house." He laughed. "She started too many projects and never got the chance to finish them."

"But was she a good mother?" Johanna bit her lip and cocked her head.

Anthony breathed in, propping his palms against the edge of the table. "I think she was. If not unusual. Hardly anyone attended her funeral. It was simple, almost insufficient. My siblings and I hadn't seen each other in years and we were broke. She left no widower, either. Mor didn't enjoy talking to others, so she didn't have many friends."

"Mor?" Johanna looked at him.

"It's Swedish for 'Mother'. She made us call her that and scolded us when we called her anything different."

"That's sweet. Mor." She paused. "Is there anything you want the baby to call you?"

"They can't call me Father."

His answer came so quickly Johanna giggled. Anthony's ears flushed red.

"Sorry. I just think it's too proper," he said.

"Clearly," Johanna teased, "Any other requests of names you don't want to be called?"

"Pop. Other than that, I don't mind."

Johanna nodded, making note of that.

"How about 'Da'?" she asked, taking his hand from across the table.

Anthony tilted his head. "Do I seem like a 'Da' to you?" His tone was playful, yet serious.

"Definitely." She nodded. "I can see you as a 'Da.'"

Anthony consisted this. A customer lifted his glass and called for Johanna to fill it for him. She stole the bottle from Toby. He pouted, but she didn't trust him with the beverage since he passed out a few nights ago (which Toby insisted was not what happened). Johanna poured the ale and returned to the table.

"Well, what do you wish to be called?" Anthony inquired as she sat.

"What?" She looked up, biting her lip. Johanna didn't notice herself playing with her hair. "I haven't thought about it."

"How about 'Mama'? It's simple but classic. And, I mean no offense to you, but Johanna, I don't think you are a 'Mum' or 'Mother' at all."

Johanna imagined a baby, with chubby cheeks and blonde curls, sitting on the floor. The child clapped its hands and reached for her. Johanna picked the baby up. Holding them to her chest. The baby called her "Mother". That wasn't right coming from a baby's lips. Neither was "Mum".It was true, Johanna wasn't a "Mum".

"I suppose you're right. Mama is a sweet name."

Anthony grinned. "Then it's settled. You'll be Mama and I'll be . . . well, I don't know yet."

Johanna leaned across the table and kissed his nose.

"We'll figure it out."


The platter didn't appear to be hot. Then again, heat wasn't something that was seen, Johanna reminded herself. She grabbed the platter. Feeling nothing at first. Pricks from needles prodded through her hand. Like the needle, she poked herself with so many times before. There were thousands now.

She dropped the plate.

The pain sizzled now, but stayed alive. Panic shot through her and Johanna dropped to her knees. She reached out to the table to help herself up. Realizing she was using her wondered hand when it was too late.

She cried out.

Hearing her cries, Mr. Todd burst himself into the room. "Johanna?"

Johanna stopped him with her other hand. "I'm fine. Really. I was being stupid, that's all."

Mr. Todd neared her. He knelt and reached for her hand. Instinctively, Johanna turned it away. She bit down on her lip to keep from crying out from the jarring motion.

"Let me see," Mr. Todd instructed with a calm, even tone.

Peering at him from below her eyelashes, Johanna showed him her other hand. He examined the burn, now red. He helped her up again, leading her into the next room. He told her to sit. Mr. Todd turned around and came back with a cup. He poured it over her burn. Although it sizzled and she grimaced, the cool water brought relief.

He wrapped the burn and secured it.

"Thank you," Johanna said, cradling her hand.

"Lucy did that once."

Johanna didn't ask questions. It was best to wait for him to continue; she discovered. But disappointment melted within her chest when Mr. Todd stood. He gave her a few instructions before leaving.

Later in the day, as Johanna helped close the shop, she noticed a cloak hastily throw on. The beggar woman from before. Johanna grabbed one of the extra pies and approached the woman again. She looked up at her from under the hood. Her wrinkled face beamed up at her.

"Hullo, young miss," the beggar said, noticing the pie.

Johanna handed it to her and the beggar took an eager bite. Her gaze landed on Johanna's rounder bump.

"You're more along now, ain't ya, dear?"

Johanna patted her belly. "Just a few weeks, but yes."

The beggar ripped off another bite. "They's so innocent when they come, miss. Enjoy that."

"I don't doubt that, ma'am." Johanna hesitated. This woman claimed to be a mother once. It was very possible she was deranged or lying. But what if she was telling the truth? She was a beggar, yes, but possibly a mother first. She could be the only mother Johanan could talk to. She watched the beggar finished the pie and lick her lips. "Ma'am, I hope I'm not bothering you, but can I ask a question? From one mother to another?"

The beggar looked up at her again. "Miss me children, I do." She stopped to wipe her hands on her skirt. "What do ya need ta' know?"

"Well." She swallowed.

Was it possible to love another when you didn't love yourself? How do you become a mother? What are you supposed to do when the baby won't stop crying? How do you stop being afraid?

"Does it ever go away?" Johanna asked in a small voice.

The beggar cocked her head. Her expression melted into something kind. She gave a small smile.

"What go away, dear?"

"This doubt." Johanna shook her head. "I'm sorry, ma'am, for bothering you. I shouldn't be here, anyway. I just didn't know who else to ask and-"

"Hush, child, hush. It'll be over soon. It all ends."

"It will? I've been trapped all my life. I don't know how to help a baby. I don't know what to do. This child doesn't deserve this. I'm nothing."

"You're not nothing."

Johanna made eye contact with her.

"You're never nothing."


Warnings: Self-hatred, self-doubt, a character suffers a minor burn