Chapter 9: Troubles at School and Home

It's a lull in the Bakery's lunch rush, about six months after our wedding. Enola is safely at school… and Peeta and I have ended up in a make-out session/playful wrestling match over the mound of dough he's been trying to teach me with and we've now since abandoned. Breathing deeply out through my nose as our tongues go to war, I assertively deepen the kiss, shoving my leg between his thighs and rubbing against him invitingly.

BRRIIING!

"Ignore that…." I mewl, peppering kisses down my husband's face and along his jawline.

BRRIINGG! The landline phone shrills again and I let out a low growl. Gods all damn that infernal contraption!

Peeta throatily chuckles as he manages to disentangle from my earnest embrace. "Sorry, sweetheart, I gotta take it…" I frown hard, but allow him to escape my clutches, reaching to take the receiver off its cradle. Not for the first time, I curse how Mellark's Bakery is one of the few Merchant businesses – indeed, households – that can afford a landline phone connection. My husband mostly uses it to take orders from as far away as the Capitol. We have customers in nearly every district. Peeta always makes sure to send a care package of pastries to his mother-in-law monthly.

"Mellark's…. Oh, Principal Cadran…. I trust the students are behaving themselves….?" I can't hear the other end of the conversation, but I do see how Peeta's face pinches with concern. "Oh…. Oh, I see…. Yes, sir, my wife and I will be right over. No, thank you, sir." He hangs up the phone so hard, the cradle chips.

"We have to get to the school," he turns to me, squirting past me to reach for his coat on the rack.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Enola's been sent to the principal's office. Something about a fight in the play-yard…"

Well, this doesn't sound good. I gather my shawl and dither after my husband, out the back via the loading dock and through the rear alley into the cobblestoned street. We finally pass through the iron gates of the district school, pass under the shadows of the pair of statues depicting our district's only pair of Victors in the Hunger Games and enter the building. A teacher directs us to Principal Cadran's office.

Cadran was Principal here when my husband and I were in school. He hasn't aged too noticeably since last I saw him as an eighteen-year-old. Although I was never sent to him as a student, I suddenly find that here I am, a 30-year-old woman, happily married, and I'm terrified for myself as well as for my stepdaughter.

Enola is hunched in a chair next to two empty ones at the left side of the room. Opposite her are three more chairs, occupied by a boy with a bloody nose and presumably his parents. I recognize the gentleman instantly: the Apothecary.

"Uncle Waylon…?" I breathe.

My mother's brother, the one who took over the family business after my maternal grandparents disowned my mother and her choice of husband, lifts his head to glower at me. I suddenly don't know whether to feel more embarrassed or proud. Even if, apparently, Enola got into fisticuffs with her technically first cousin once removed….

Peeta and I take our seats. "Principal Cadran, what is this about?"

"There was a disturbance at recess today. We've been taking statements from Mr. Foley and Ms. Mellark as well as some of the other students," the principal explains, steepling his hands diplomatically over his desk. "Apparently, Mr. Foley said some untoward things regarding Enola's familial connections towards you, Miss Ever – Mrs. Mellark," he corrects himself.

"He said you weren't my real mother!" Enola blasts out, shooting daggers at the boy – Kai, I think his name is. Not that I care. I've never spoken to my youngest cousin, or any of them. The lad was clearly a caboose for my uncle and his wife. "He said you shouldn't have been allowed to come crawling back from your Seam gutter!"

Peeta looks like he wants to exchange words with what is technically my family, his in-laws. I lay a hand on my husband's shoulder, though I am biting my lip. For if we are to be precise, I am technically not Enola's mother – the late Delly Mellark (neé Cartwright) is. I turn to level Enola with a probing look.

"And then what happened?"

Enola tries to glower around me at Kai. "I punched him in his stupid little face and pummeled him against Haymitch Abernathy's statue. And I'm not sorry!"

"Enola…." Peeta rumbles sternly. "Violence is never called for – in any circumstance!" he raises his voice slightly when his daughter starts to argue the point. "Even in defense of a family member's honor. I suggest that you apologize – like you mean it!"

Cadran clears his throat. "She also called him an, and I quote: "a stuck-up, prissy little Capitol whitey who has never had an original thought in his life and never will."

Peeta at least has the decency to look appalled. Me? I'm actually smirking.

"Well, Principal, from my knowledge of the…. bitter blood relations present in this room, I would wager that is actually a pretty accurate statement, considering the record of the boy's father!"

Uncle Waylon's entire form ripples. "Mind your place, my niece."

"And you mind yours," I bite back. "And I thought you declared that you have no nieces, when you washed your hands of your own sister!" I fold my hands in my lap. "Enola?"

My stepdaughter stews, but mumbles, "I'm sorry."

I nod in approval before turning back to Cadran. "Are we done here?"

He nods heavily. "If you would sign her out to be taken home." As designated guardian, Peeta submits to this. Enola prowls out of the office, out of the school building ahead of us. Peeta looks like he wants to follow her, but I hold him back, and we stroll hand-in-hand behind. My husband seems awfully quiet, disconcerted, and I squeeze his hand wrapped in mine.

"Honey? What is it?"

He shakes his head, and he looks unsure whether to cry or do….. something else. Like laugh. "She has too much of her grandmother in her…."

I sway to a stop, searching his face. "Your mother," I guess, for who else could he be talking about? At his blinking, I turn pink, ashamed. "I'm sorry, I'm…."

"No, it's all right. You're not wrong." He slings an arm over my shoulder and we resume or stroll back to the Bakery. "Abner, my father – they've all said that Enola inherited her daddy's eyes and her nana's mouth."

I nod slowly, weighing his words. "Your mother abused you," I murmur quietly, nuzzling my face against his. Peeta doesn't like to talk about it too much, but he has on occasion opened up to me about what he and his brothers went through. "Verbally." The physical nature of her reign of terror…. I've heard only maybe one or two stories and they still make me quake with rage.

Peeta nods stiffly. "She had quite the temper… and quite the colorful vocabulary."

"You don't think Enola will be like…?"

"Noooooo," Peeta actually chuckles, shaking his head. "You and I know how to temper some of her worst impulses. And actually, I think she's helped by how she manifests her mouth and her temper. She only does it to speak up about something unfair. That was very…. Very much a trait of her mother."

"Delly?" I gape, shocked. The Delly I knew as a schoolgirl was sunshine and rainbows. The cobbler's daughter would never…. But Peeta is smirking at me, like he's reading my thoughts.

"Oh, Delly could be very sweet, but if she saw something unjust, then District 13 help you!"

"Hmmm," I purr, pondering as I snuggle into him. "I wish…. I could have known her better." A pause and then I add, vulnerably: "I hope she would at least approve of me…"

Peeta quiets me with a gentle kiss. "She would," he rumbles low.

We've arrived back at the Bakery now, advancing up the narrow rear hallway and emerging into the shop proper to find Enola still sulking, propped against one of the dessert tables. She looks uneasy, perhaps bracing for a lecture. Not that I would give her one anyway – that's Peeta's domain and thus out of my stepparent jurisdiction. I send her an easy smile.

"Well…. that was quite a bit of excitement…"

"Are you and Daddy ever going to have a baby?" Enola blurts it out so unexpectedly that I start while depositing my shawl down on the counter.

"Hmm…" I tease her, pretending to think about it, while running an absent hand over my mercifully flat stomach. "Well, my dear, after much deliberation…. no sibling for you, I'm sorry."

"But if I asked you and Daddy for a sibling, would you give me one?" Enola presses earnestly.

I flush, trapped. "Erm…" I look to Peeta for help; he eyes Enola severely.

"After that violent display at your school today, young lady, I don't think you are in a position to dictate…."

"It's not FAIR!" Enola lashes out, suddenly kicking over a chair. "If I had a little brother or sister, no one would be questioning if Katn – Mother is my real mother or not!"

Peeta looks shellshocked, whereas I feel more amused, if for no other reason than to combat my bundle of nerves whenever the topic of babies comes up. Enola is far from the only one in this family to be sending hints my way. Ironically (and thankfully), the only one who hasn't is Peeta. "Is that what this is about?"

Enola angrily wipes her nose on her sleeve, sending me a baleful look. "Don't laugh at me! If you really loved me, you'd beat up anyone who said I wasn't your real daughter…. Wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would! And I do love you! You are my life!" I gawp, moved to tears by my love for this girl.

"Then why can't I have a little sibling? Auntie Prim and Uncle Rory will give one to Aspen before long…"

"Different circumstances," I try to deflect. "But we… we have to consider your mother – Delly…" I frown at the murky rules still surrounding how to address either Delly or me in this house.

"Delly's DEAD!" Enola yells. "I wish…. I wish you had given birth to me instead of her!" And she runs up the back steps, sobbing.

Peeta immediately turns to me, taking me in his arms. "I'm sorry…"

"It's fine…"

"I know she must have made you uncomfortable, talking about babies…"

"Darling, it's fine, really," I smile up at him with an easiness I don't feel. "Just… let me talk to her." Lifting my skirts, I proceed daintily up the back steps to the loft.

The door to Enola's room is ajar. She's on her bed, lying on her side, refusing to look at me. I ease down onto the coverlet.

"Care to explain what happened down there?" I murmur tenderly.

Enola grunts, then rolls over. Tear tracks are clearly visible down her face, and my heart breaks. "I thought I made it clear in so many words."

I smile softly. "And I'm very honored that you would think so much of me. But…. wherever your mother is, I'm sure you probably hurt her feelings."

Enola sniffles, looking guilty. "It's hard to feel love for someone you never knew…"

I shrug. "I've never really known my uncle or cousins – not that I wanted to."

"That's the other thing!" Enola latches on. "What do Merchants have against people who are Seam anyway? You're still half-Merchant on Mum-Mum Everdeen's side! And even if you weren't, you're amazing! You helped Daddy fall in love!"

I chuckle, though it quickly turns into a sigh. "Honey, when my parents got married, it caused quite a scandal. So much so that there was never another Toasting across class lines until Daddy and I got married. There are a lot of wrongs in this district, and you're not going to right all of them by yourself in a day. Sometimes… sometimes, leopards can't change their spots." I wave away her perplexed look. "It's an expression."

Enola flops onto her back. "Why won't you really have a baby with Daddy?"

I sigh again. "Because…. I'm scared."

That gets her attention. Enola sits up. "Why?"

"Enola, having a baby is a huge decision. And for me, that's one I can't make."

"If this is about you thinking you won't be a good mother, let me tell you…"

"It isn't that, dearest," I shake my head weakly. "I already know I can be a good mother." I tuck a strand of hair back behind her ear lovingly. "I have you." I breathe in deeply. "Your father and I have already discussed this, and… we've agreed we don't want to have children because babies are something to love only to become something to lose at the Reaping." I gaze at her brokenly. "It's going to be torture enough to watch you stand for your first Reaping the summer after this one."

Enola studies me for a moment. Finally, she nods. "I understand," she mumbles.

I beam wetly. "I love you. And remember, you matter what anyone says…" I wrap her in a hug. "You're mine. Mine to me."

She draws back suddenly. "Be honest with me: was it harder for you to fall in love in Daddy with me here?"

Once again, I marvel at the mature questions she asks. "Oh, sweetie, no….. if anything, you made it easier…" Enola smiles, and we embrace again.

The emergency crashes down on us without warning, in the middle of the night.

I first sensed it when Peeta left me in our bed to plod down the hall to our little girl's room, called there by what sounded like coughing. Suddenly, I am being roused from our bed by my frantic husband.

"Katty…. KATTY! I need you to get up and get dressed!"

I throw back the covers and turn on the bedside light, swinging out of bed in my nightgown. "Why? What's happening?"

"Enola's…. something's wrong, baby; she's coughing, running a fever! I think it's outstripped the thermometer!"

I hurriedly dress into something more suitable, one of my mother's old frocks. "I… I have to get my sister…."

"Do. And Katty girl? Run."

And so I do. I pelt across Town and halfway across the Seam at a dead sprint, making for Prim and Rory's. I hardly have any voice left as I bang on their door and shout until my brother-in-law pulls it back.

"Katniss? What the devil…?"

"Prim! I need Prim….!" I'm frantic, trying to push past, crane around him to seek out my sister. "Primmy! It's…. it's Enola!"

My family snaps to it immediately. Prim dives for her medical bag. Rory dashes round the back of the house. "We can't have you running like that all the clear way back – we'll take the cart!" He pulls it out front in no time, gentlemanly lifting me by my waist into it, then his wife. Then Rory puts himself through a punishing run while dragging an entire cart behind him.

A frantic Peeta meets us at the door. "I've tried getting her extra warm so the fever might break! I… I don't know if it's working…"

"How is she positioned?" Prim demands clinically, though I'm disturbed by how scared she herself appears, as we all make a mad dash up the back stairs.

"On her back."

"And she's been coughing?" At Peeta's nod, Prim clicks her tongue. "No good. We have to get her on her side."

We all charge into Enola's room, and I burst into tears at the sound of moaning coming from…. from my little girl's bed.

"Why are these windows open?" Prim demands admonishingly, tugging back the sash.

My husband frowns. "She likes to sleep with the shutters open. I do too, for that matter."

Prim doesn't appear to have heard him. "Peeta, bring me ice from the icebox! I have to cool her down! Ideally, I would prefer a snow coat, but seeing as it's summer…." Peeta doesn't need to be told twice. "Rory, baby, ready my syringes!"

"Is she alive? Is she going to survive?!"

"More than likely, she has COVID. I'm going to give her dose of morphling; it might calm her!"

By now, I am starting to panic, weeping hysterically. "Primmy, please save my baby, PLEASE!"

I watch Prim's hands shake as she attempts to stick the syringe needle into the vial of morphling. I can only imagine the PTSD she is going through here, back in this room after so many years.

"No, Primmy, honey…. I'll do it." And I'm never been more grateful for Rory as I watch him calm my sister and load the syringe himself. Prim's taught her husband a few tricks of the trade ever since they've been married. The informal tutelage seems to pay off here. "Hold her, please."

I start crying harder, whispering sweet nothings to my stepdaughter as I gently hold her down so Rory can inject her. Enola whimpers slightly at the morphling dosage but then seems to ease. There is a BANG, and my husband all but dives back into the room with packs of ice. I throw back the comforters on Enola's bed, and we strategically place cubes of ice along any exposed skin.

Her coughing seems to abate. A shaking Prim lets out a breath she probably doesn't realize she's been holding.

"Let's watch her tonight. We'll know more in the morning. But I think it's best if I bunk here. Is the guest room available?"

Peeta beckons to her. "Right this way, sister." Prim starts to follow, doubles back and approaches her husband.

"Go home, love. Our son needs you."

Rory nods, pecks Prim's lips quickly, then staggers down the stairs. I pull up a chair and lay a loving hand on Enola's forehead. When I judge that she isn't going to languish if I step away for one moment, I steal down the hall to our guest room.

The door is open and I can see my husband and sister talking.

"…. I need to say this. Peeta, I've always felt horrible for what happened to Delly…"

"That isn't your fault, Primmy…"

"…. Except it is! She was my first in-home delivery; Mother entrusted me to lead the birth…"

"You were also 15! Delly died in childbirth, Prim. It was just one of those things. I've never blamed you, and I never will."

Prim's throat bobbles, before she hugs him around the neck. "Thank you," she warbles.

"No: thank you. Thank you for my daughter."

Enola eventually recovers from what Prim judges to have been a mild case of COVID. A few weeks after my stepdaughter is well enough to begin helping about the Bakery again (she'll still have much of the summer to build back her strength), I leave my little family to their confectionary devices one morning. Draping a shawl over my head, I make for the Justice Building.

I haven't been back in here since Peeta's and my wedding day. But since my marriage and subsequent acceptance of duties as the Baker's wife, I feel fortunate to have friends, or rather family, in high places.

Following my marriage to Peeta, Rye has taken up a clerkship in the office of the district Justice of the Peace. My brother-in-law mostly deals in licenses and other notary documents of the law. With that experience, I hope he will be able to help me.

Needless to say, he's surprised to see me steal into his office. "Katniss…. to what do I owe the pleasure?"

I remove my shawl from my head. "I'm here to inquire about the procurement of some adoption papers."

Rye lifts an eyebrow. I need not explain to him what I require this kind of documentation for. "Really?" Then he smiles. "Have you discussed this with Enola?"

"No. I…. I want to surprise her. Peeta and I have talked it over. We're…. hoping that I can gain rights to Enola without replacing Delly's status as her birth mother."

"I understand, but Katniss…. I hope you're aware that I'll have to recuse myself from the case. Conflicts of interest, you know. District law stipulates that I can't involve myself with signing of the adoption papers. But here…" And he hands me a business card. "Here's the name of my colleague just down the hall. She'll be able to assist."

I nod. "Thank you, Rye."

He grants me a grateful, thrilled smile. "She's going to be the happiest little girl in the world."

Peeta and I surprise Enola on Reaping Night, following the selection of two classmates in the grades ahead of her. Upon reading the papers, Enola bursts into happy tears and hugs me fiercely before barraging her father to bring her a pen, please.

Late that night, after my… my daughter signs the papers, Peeta takes me to bed and we make love.

"I…. love you…. you amazing woman…" Peeta pants into my flesh.

I moan like a whore. "Snow, I…. love…. you…. too….. And I love our daughter!"

As we head into the end of summer and early fall, my little family and I enter a state of bliss that seems almost too perfect to be real. Enola giggles her way through the adjustment of calling me 'Mother' instead of 'Katniss' even though she had already been independently drifting in that direction for much of the past year anyway.

One afternoon, she arrives home from school with a flyer in her hand, her Uncle Rye dropping her off.

"Oh, it's the Harvest Festival!" I smile when Enola shows me the flyer.

"And I'm…. on the committee," Rye smiles, looking thoroughly too pleased with himself.

Enola is practically buzzing with excitement. "Look, Katniss – I mean, Mother!" she laughs. "I'm going to sing at the Harvest Festival on Saturday night!"

My husband comes in at that moment, wiping his hands on a dishrag. "What's this about my favorite girls singing at the Harvest Festival?"

"Just me, Papa!" Enola beams proudly. "Mother's been teaching me my scales! And Uncle Rye…"

Peeta sighs, turning to his brother. "What did you do this time?"

"I just put forward some fresh talent! Can I help it that there was some light nepotism involved?" Rye lifts his hands innocently.

Peeta steams. "Yes. Besides, Enola's never sung in public before!"

"But you should have heard her! The committee – they were enchanted! She'll be the talk of the festival!"

"Rye:" Peeta snarls warningly. Then he catches sight of both Enola's and my hopeful faces. "Never mind."

That weekend, when Enola bounds offstage after flawlessly singing the Valley Song, I give her the biggest hug. But it is my husband's confession that surprises me:

"Do you know when I first started loving you?"

"When?" I beam at him.

"On our first day of school, and at Music Assembly, your hand shot right up when Teacher asked who knew the Valley Song. You sat on a stool and sang it for us, and every bird outside the window fell silent. At that moment, I knew…. I was a goner."

I can't help it. I kiss him passionately, in front of everyone.

When Reaping Day dawns the following summer, I've spent nearly the entire night before weeping in my husband's arms. I may never have carried her inside of me, never brought her into this world, but by virtue of district law, it shall be for all intents and purposes my daughter now standing for her very first Reaping.

The minutes and hours until we have to dress to go to the Square tick by with agonizing slowness. I spend much of the intervening time pacing Peeta's and my bedroom, twisting and bunching my blue dress into knots. Wringing my hands.

"It's torture to sit here idly and wait like this! I can only imagine what Prim and Rory will go through when Aspen…"

"Aspen's three…" Peeta points out, hefting himself out of our bed and halting my pacing by putting his arms around me. Dipping his head, he kisses me tenderly. I draw back, amused, despite how wet my eyes are.

"Did you just give me a Reaping Kiss?"

Peeta shrugs, his hands still at my waist. "Do you want it to be a Reaping Kiss?"

Whimpering, I throw my arms about him and kiss him back with much tongue and teeth involved. "Yes," I breathe, eyes shining, grateful to him. "But indulge me and kiss our child for me? Keep her safe…"

"Do father-daughter Reaping Kisses count?" Peeta frowns as he thinks about it.

"We'd better hope they do." I absently play with the nape of his neck. "Now: hold me! Deep breath, and…." We lose ourselves in another desperate, dizzying kiss.

I try not to let my hands shake as I brush Enola's hair. Peeta locks up the Bakery and we take our time walking down to the Square, where we meet up with Prim, Rory and toddling Aspen.

"'Nola! 'Nola!" My daughter's little step-cousin squawks. Enola pats him on the head, lifting her own just in time for her father to swoop in and kiss her on the lips.

"May Panem protect you," he murmurs. There is no greater struggle than letting my little girl go to stand in the Square. Turning to my husband, stricken, I grip his hand like a vice.

"Please tell me she's going to be all right."

Peeta snuggles into me, whispering along my earlobe with a lover's caress: "She's going to be all right."

I tamp down a shuddering sob. "Snow's Roses, I haven't gotten like this since Prim and Rory…"

"We were fine," Rory reminds me firmly. "And Enola will be too. Chin up, Katty, she'll be all right!"

Mayor Madge Undersee reads off the names of past District 12 Victors, then cedes the floor to Effie Trinket. I tune out much of our escort's spiel until the moment her heels are clacking towards the girl's Reaping Bowl. I clutch at my husband, squeezing my eyes shut tight. Please…. not Enola…. Not my Enola… I'll do anything…

"Bernadette Gorman!"

….. Oh, thank goodness. I think I swoon into Peeta, who gamely holds me upright. It takes a few minutes after the stage has been cleared for enough kids to disperse until we find Enola. Some color seems to be flooding back into her cheeks, but she appears shocked, somehow. Shocked as though her name had been called by Trinket. She is very quiet as, together with Prim, Rory and Aspen, we meander back to the Bakery for lunch and Reaping Night rituals to come.

"Mother? You know Mr. Hawthorne? Um… Gale?"

I smirk a little at how Peeta stiffens next to me; my husband has never quite gotten over how my hunting partner once forcibly kissed me in the woods. I, on the other hand, forgave Gale some time ago. "Yes, we still hunt on Sundays…"

Enola seems to be grappling with something. "I think I just saw him kissing the Mayor by the service door of the Justice Building….."

I let out a shaky laugh, thrown. "What?"

Enola glances up at me. "I wasn't snooping!" she promises. "I was trying to make my way back to you, and I ended up there, by the door leading to the servants' quarters. I know without a doubt it was Mayor Undersee and Mr. Hawthorne – they were kissing…. Like, really gross kissing."

My grey eyes have grown huge, and I chance a glance at my sister, who's smirking. Considering how Gale once disapproved of my courting a Townie…. "Well, well, well…. how the tables have turned…"

Enola is making a face. "They looked really indecent doing it too. You know, like how you and Dad get!"

I let out a little yip of offense, gawking at her. "We do not! We're not…. gross when we kiss!" I surreptitiously lean into Peeta. "Do we get gross when we make out?"

"Worse," Peeta's eyes twinkle.

"Peeta!" I half-laugh, which quickly turns into a hum of pleasure as he proceeds to stop us at the base of our back loading dock and kiss me with incredible passion in front of everyone. When he draws away, I am positively scandalized.

"We get very… hot. At least you do, sweetheart. It's sexy."

"Ewwwww!" Enola claps her hands over her ears, her eyes squeezed shut tight. "Can we please not…?"

I laugh musically, and kiss my husband with some indecency of my own. Enola doesn't speak to me for the rest of Reaping Day.