Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
AN: This got a little long. Sorry. Maybe one more chapter, I dunno. It'll be a while though, real life calls.
Kaleidoscope, pt 3
The couch feels stiffer than normal to Madge, bigger, makes her feel like she's a little kid again about to be scolded for listening at key holes.
Only it was her father who'd been listening in, not at keyholes but around the side of the house while smoking his cigar and trying to see if the daffodils had survived to sprout again.
"How far along are you?" He asks, his voice tired, fingers massaging his temples.
This is why she'd kept the pregnancy to herself. It's an inconvenience and trouble, and she'd wanted to have a plan before she finally told him.
Even if that plan didn't form until she was having contractions.
"Six months, almost."
Nodding absently, her father sits back, puts his cigar back in his mouth and sighs.
He's stressed, Madge can tell. He'd never risk upsetting Mrs. Oberst by smoking in the house otherwise.
"You've offered to marry her?" He asks Gale, his eyes still focused on the swirling smoke winding up from the end of his increasingly short cigar.
Gale, already stiff and uncomfortable looking, half perched at the edge of the couch cushion, nods a little too forcefully. "Yeah-yes, sir."
He's nervous, even in the low yellow light of her father's office Madge can see he's sweating, little beads of perspiration forming in his hairline and along his lip, there's a tremor in his jaw, and he's fighting the anxious bounce in his leg. There's good reason to be. Aside from the head Peacekeeper, her father has the most power in the District, even if it seems ceremonial most of the time. If he wanted to, her father could make Gale's life hell.
Instead of saying anything, acknowledging Gale's spoken, her father just nods again.
Slowly, the acrid smoke from the cigar filters around them, stifling Madge's senses, making her feel even more silly and sluggish than she had before.
Finally, her father sits forward and snuffs out the burning stub in the lone glass ashtray.
"Mr. Hawthorne, if you would, please wait in the hall. I'd like a moment with my daughter."
Gale opens his mouth, then snaps it back shut, unable to stammer out another 'yes, sir'.
Without a word, Gale gets up, gives Madge a worried glance that she doesn't acknowledge, stuffs his hands in his pockets and leaves, shutting the door softly behind him.
For a few minutes her father doesn't speak, just watches her with his weary eyes, looking decades older in the minutes since he'd learned he was going to be a grandfather. A little smile twitches at the edges of his lips.
"You'd do this all on your own if they'd let you, wouldn't you, Pearl?"
She isn't sure if it's praise or exasperation, so she just nods.
Sitting forward again, he puts his elbows to his knees, rests his forehead against his palms, and sighs.
"Magdalene, you know you can't. You know what's going to happen."
"I know dad-"
"You know what will happen to you, but do you realize what might happen to the district?" He cuts her off, his focus up, all on her. "They might strip me of my title, decide that if I can't even control my own child what good could I be doing for the district. Maybe I haven't been able to do much good, but what little I have accomplished will be undone."
Madge's stomach sinks, ice seems to run through her veins.
She hadn't even considered the way her lapse in judgment might affect anyone besides herself and maybe Gale. It had never occurred to her that the worst wasn't just her being sent away.
The more she thinks, actually considers the implications of what he's saying, the worse things seem.
"Mom," she whispers, eyes locking with her father's. "Mom won't be able to get her medicine if you lose your position."
She may not feel like she owes the District anything, not after all the years if derision and scorn she's put up with, but she can't condemn it.
And she definitely can't push her mother through withdrawal. She loves her, even if she's not always the most attentive mother.
"I think losing you would hurt her more than giving up her morphling," her father tells her, his eyebrows drooping.
Madge isn't so sure, but doesn't argue. Her mind is too busy coming to the only resolution to the problem she's created.
"I've always given you a wide berth, Magdalene," her father whispers. "I've never made your decisions for you, and I won't start now, but please consider the whole picture."
Her whole life he's urged her to forgive the people who wrong her, help the less fortunate, and even now he's asking her to think about the needs of people who wouldn't spare her spit if she were burning.
It isn't fair, but it's his nature.
It's Madge's nature too.
Reaching out, he takes her hands, gives them a squeeze.
"If none of that sways you, think of me." His eyes shimmer as he smiles at her. "You're my little girl, no matter how big you get. I don't know if I'd make it if they took you."
Madge forces a smile, sending tears spilling down her cheeks.
"You should've started with that," she blubbers, lunging forward and squishing beside him in his chair, wrapping her arms around him.
Kissing the top of her head, he takes a shuddering breath, holds her closer.
"I know it's not ideal," he tells her as his cigar smoke more firmly envelops her, "but...we'll figure it out."
More tears spill out as she nods against his dress shirt.
"If he upsets you badly enough, at least we have Haymitch," he tells her, pulling back and wiping his face. "He claims to know people that can make problems disappear."
Madge snorts. "Fantastic, I'll be a widow then."
He chuckles wryly, still sounding a bit wet. "Widows don't get sent off at least."
Nodding, Madge bites her lip and looks to the door, dreading what she has to do. "I guess I'm getting married then."
Squeezing her shoulders, her father presses another kiss to her hair.
"Congratulations, darling"
#######
When the door to the Mayor's office opens Gale almost trips jumping back.
He'd been trying to listen at the lock, curious what both the Mayor and Madge were thinking, but they'd been talking too quietly and he hadn't heard a word.
"Mr. Hawthorne," the Mayor says his name, not coolly, but firm, almost like one of the teachers at school when they'd called on him to ask a question he had no hope of answering. "My daughter would like a word with you."
Stuffing his hands back in his pockets, Gale nods and silently walks back into the room, letting the Mayor close the door behind him.
Madge is still sitting on the couch, her hands in her lap, toying with a loose thread on one of the decorative pillows.
She doesn't hear him walk up, too focused on the ground in front of her, so Gale clears his throat. It startles her and the pillow topples out of her hands, onto the ground with a plop.
"Oh, Gale."
There's more than a little distraction in her voice, and she brushes hair from her face, begins twirling one of the strands between her finger before finally closing her eyes and sighing.
Then she stands.
"I'll marry you."
For half a heartbeat Gale feels elated, happy she's come to her senses, then the happiness sours in his throat.
"I don't want you to if your dad is making you."
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "But using my baby as emotional blackmail is fine?"
"I was trying to reason with you," he snarls. "It's just logic doesn't work on you."
"It works on me just fine," she mutters, right before fixing him in a frustrated glare. "So do you not want to get married now?"
He frowns at her, his minds barely functioning.
"Well, yeah," he stammers, still confused. "But-"
"Then be at the Justice Building by eight," she grumbles, stomping past him. She stops just long enough to give him one last weary look, "Go home and get some rest, Gale. I'll see you in the morning."
Then she's gone, and Gale's left standing in the smoky office not really sure if he's won a battle or not.
Finally, after a few stunned minutes, he shakes off the confusion and leaves the room.
All the doors in the hall are closed, and he wonders which one is Madge's. He considers picking one and trying to find her, trying to talk some more, but he know he'd only screw up again. Besides, the possibility of accidentally walking in on her mom or that nasty housekeeper kills that thought.
Taking the steps two at a time, he reaches the kitchen and hurries out the door, now trying to figure out what he's going to tell his mom.
"I suppose congratulations are in order."
Gale freezes, his insides squirming, feeling like he's been caught doing something filthy with Madge by her dad.
Which, Gale thinks grimly, he has.
Keeping his expression neutral, he turns to where the Mayor is standing, smoking another foul smelling cigar.
Without thinking, Gale speaks. "Not if you're Madge."
A tiny smile flicks at the edges of the Mayor's mouth.
"She isn't happy, but she knows it's for the best." He gives Gale a narrow look. "I hope you know I won't tolerate your dalliances once you're married to my daughter. She's suffered enough humiliation at your hands, I think."
Much as he wants to argue that he hadn't set out to hurt her, he keeps his mouth shut. The Mayor's right.
"Yes, sir." Gale forces his voice to stay strong. "I'm going to take care of her, and the baby. I'm going to be a good husband and dad."
"I hope so," the Mayor says. "I daresay, if you do step out on her, hurt her, you'll have more than just myself to contend with."
Gale isn't quite sure what that means, but it sounds close to a threat, and he isn't fool enough to ignore it.
"I didn't mean to hurt her, for any of this to happen," he tries to explain, wanting Madge's dad to at least understand that the whole mess was nothing but a series of shitty events. "I cared about her, I still do. I just…"
As he grapples for the word, the Mayor chuckles.
"Got swept up?"
That isn't quite right, but Gale shrugs anyway.
His eyes drop to the ground and he rubs at his neck, ready to go home and explain the strange situation to his mom, but stops when he feels a hand on his shoulder.
The Mayor is only a little taller than Madge, slight, but his grip is strong, and Gale gets the impression if he wanted he could do plenty of damage without a Peacekeeper's aid.
"Gale, I don't blame you for the situation. Madge did everything of her own free will." He smiles sadly. "But in our world, young ladies are judged much more harshly than young men, given far fewer freedoms, you're very aware of that. I don't want to lose my little girl. Were things different, if they'd allow Madge to raise this baby on her own, I'd support her."
Without Gale. He has no confidence in his future son-in-law, and he wants him to know it.
"Even if they'd let her raise it herself, I'd still want to marry her," Gale tells him, wanting him to know the situation makes it necessary, but even under different circumstances he'd still want his daughter.
"And I'm glad to hear it." He puffs on his cigar, watching the smoke swirl up and vanish into the overhang. "Madge would be twice as obstinate, but I think she'd eventually say yes."
Gale feels his mouth drop open a little.
"She's like her mother, you know, a bit of a romantic, even if she'd argue she isn't. She wouldn't be in this situation if she didn't care for you."
That gives Gale a little hope. If she'd cared then, she still has to care now. She wouldn't be so furious if she didn't.
Maybe there's still a chance to fix things.
He supposes he'll have a lifetime to try.
"Thank you, uh, Mr. Mayor."
"Daniel," he corrects him. "We're about to be family, after all."
#######
The Justice building is silent when Gale gets there the next morning.
His mom comes with him, constantly smashing down his hair and smoothing out the front of his dress shirt. It was one of his dad's that she'd held on to; hoping one of the boys would grow into it eventually.
"You need to look nice," she'd reminded him. "You need to make a good impression."
He'd almost told her it didn't matter, Madge was out of choices, it was Gale or doom, but kept the thought to himself. He feels lousy enough without voicing what a jerk he is.
Madge is caught in a snare, and now he's about to drag her home and use her for his own gain.
Because he's the one getting all the benefit, as far as he can see. Status, respect for landing a girl from Town, the daughter of the Mayor no less and a stunner on top of that. He'll be the envy of all the miners.
Madge will get nasty rumors and snide remarks, scorn for having trapped Gale in marriage.
The Mayor was right, she got the raw deal no matter what.
So he'd let his mom fight his hair and fuss over his clothes. Madge deserves him to put in the effort. People will be watching, and he wants them to know he takes his vows seriously, takes Madge seriously.
"You didn't have to come," he tells his mom as she tries to smooth out her own dress. "I got myself into this. I'm a big boy."
He desperately wanted her to be there though. It's a relief to have her at his side.
"You're always going to be my baby," she tells him, finally looking up and sighing. "Even if I want to strangle you sometimes."
They hadn't told his siblings, just left a note that they'd be back sometime after noon. It had been too late the night before, and none of the kids would wake before nine on the weekend. It's another relief to Gale. He doesn't want to explain the whole situation to his pervy brothers or nosey sister before it's absolutely necessary.
Gale glances around, wondering where Madge is, it's five after, when his mom pulls him back down by the ear, licks her hand, and smashes it into an unruly patch of hair at the side of his head.
"Mom," he grunts, pulling away.
"It just keeps-it's just like Ash's, won't stay put," she mutters to herself, finally giving up when Gale straightens out, putting his hair just barely out of her reach. She sighs, eyeing it in annoyance. "At least you shaved."
Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Gale glares at the ground, still wondering when Madge is going to show up.
He's seconds from going outside, he needs some fresh air, when he hears soft footsteps crossing toward him and his mom.
Madge stops just short of them, her expression unreadable.
He'd almost call it ill looking, with her pale skin and the blue bags under her eyes, but he doubts it's a true sickness. She's probably been up all night, worrying about today undoubtedly.
She looks a bit like a little kid, wearing shoes that don't really look to fit her and an expensive looking dress that seems a bit too loose, both probably borrowed.
"Pretty dress," he tells her not really thinking.
It's the truth, it's a very nice dress. Probably worth more than his whole house, and the thought makes his stomach turn. Her lifestyle is going to take a definite hit with this marriage.
Madge stares at him, nose scrunching up, probably trying to work out if he's messing with her or not, when his mom grabs her and pulls her into a hug.
"I'm so sorry how this worked out."
For a moment Madge stays stiff, awkwardly gripped in his mom's hug, then she relaxes a little, patting her back.
"It's okay."
His mom pulls back, eyes shining. "No, it isn't." Her eyes drop, down to Madge's middle, and she sighs. "But I'm still excited."
The tense look slips a little as Madge carefully pulls her coat tighter, protectively around her belly, still somewhat hidden in the too big dress.
"Me too."
Gale's mouth is full of sand, keeps him from talking, but his mom does enough for the both of them anyway.
"I thought the May-your dad would come." She frowns, peering over Madge's shoulder, quickly adding, "Or your mother."
Madge forces a smile, it doesn't reach her eyes.
"My dad had a meeting. He said he'd stop by when it let out." Her smile falters. "And my mom...she had a headache."
Gale doesn't think a headache is much of a reason to abandon her only child on such an important day, but Madge looks at ease with it.
It actually makes him feel worse about the situation. He's got his mom, who even on her worst days, or on Gale's worst days, wouldn't leave him to fend for himself. Madge is at her most vulnerable and she's got no one.
He wants to reach out and comfort her, but he doubts she'd want it.
It's better coming from his mom, and she seems to sense that as she pulls Madge back into another hug.
"That's okay," his mom tries to recover the moment. "Maybe your dad will get a copy of the official photo."
That seems like poor consolation to Gale for missing the real thing, but swallows down the thought. They're Madge's parents, and even if he thinks they're shitty, that counts for something.
The doors to the official document room makes a loud grinding noises as they're pushed open, and Gale sees Madge flinch at the commotion.
An old gray haired woman hobbles around, rolls a small sign with the words 'marriage certificates, birth certificates, and notary' stamped on it with peeling letters, posted atop a heavy looking brass pole with a fat bottom, and lodges the door open with it before vanishing back inside.
Gale licks his lips and takes a breath, gesturing to the door. "Now or never."
If the look on Madge's face is anything to go by, 'never' would be fine.
She shakes it off though, smiles weakly.
"Alright," her voice almost breaks. "Let's go."
#######
Madge's hand shakes as she signs her name one last time as Madge Undersee.
It's unfair she can't at least keep her name. They're going to take her away from her home and her parents, she should at least get to keep her name.
That's against the rules though. Her name has to match her new status as a wife. It makes her feel like property though, changing hands.
That's the price she has to pay for the freedom she so briefly enjoyed. For getting pregnant and keeping it. She refuses to regret that though.
Still, she half hopes her father will storm in and stop her, tell her he has some until now unknown power to save her from this marriage of convenience.
He doesn't though. There's no power to save her and she knows it.
Gale's hand doesn't shake, it stays steady and firm, forming his name in a very untidy scrawl, just like he had on the form Madge had rewritten for him when he'd been shorted his hours.
She vaguely wonders if he never practiced his penmanship much, probably not. Most of the miners have pitiful signatures, actually...
Maybe it's something to do with handling mining equipment all day...
She's drawn out of her musings by the loud thump of a heavy stamp on the stack of forms in front of her.
"Just a few more signatures," the old woman wheezes, shuffling the papers. "This one combines the banking accounts, and this one is for your house payment and utilities."
She pushes the forms toward them.
It only takes two hours for them to sign all the forms, for 'Magdalene Undersee' to be dissolved and be replaced by 'Magdalene Hawthorne'.
It seems like too short a time for something that seems so monumental to happen to Madge, but that's it. With one final loud thud, the 'Undersee' is erased from her name.
"It's going to take a while to process the forms," the old woman tells them as she shows them the lonely waiting room, telling them to sit and be patient. "Nothing good comes from rushing things."
Madge almost laughs at that.
Then they're alone, left in the cool of the waiting area.
The couches are rough and worn, the cheap velvet rubbed bare in patches on the arms from decades of nervous soon-to-be weds thrumming their fingers on it and the curtains filthy with thick, sticky dust that make the green appear gray.
It's not welcoming, but Madge supposes it was never meant to be. The Capitol doesn't care if its charges are comfortable.
As the first hour creeps by, Gale gets up and paces, and Madge wishes she had asked her father to push the forms through and speed up the application. She doesn't know how much more waiting she can stand.
The sun slowly inches up in the sky, peeking in the dusty windows and heating the couch, fogging Madge's head, making her eyelids droop further and further down.
It's too much, combined with the restless, sleepless night she'd had the night before.
She doesn't remember falling asleep, just feeling herself slump over into something firm and warm, being surrounded by the scent of wind and freshly laundered clothes.
The clock chiming noon is what wakes her up, startling her bolt upright on the couch.
She rubs her eyes and squints into the dusty sunlight, not quite remembering where she is or why she's there until she feels the cushions shifting beside her.
Gale stretches, yawning broadly before frowning at her.
"They still not finished?"
Madge shrugs, but his mother is slightly more helpful. Apparently she alone hadn't succumbed to the lull of the room.
"She said they were having to override some of the paperwork," she explains.
That doesn't make much sense to Madge, there's nothing to override. It's all automated.
Frustratingly slow, but automated.
There's no work to do, the women's jobs would be almost entirely obsolete if not for the copying and filing for the archaic paper documents the Districts are made to keep.
It only takes so long normally because the Capitol refuses to invest in updating the computers and the connections. They're from before the time of Panem and prone to breakdown.
But a breakdown isn't an override, and the term is worrying.
She doesn't get a chance to wonder at it long though before the old woman comes back out, giving them a gummy grin.
"All done!"
Getting up, Madge straightens her dress, grateful it's looser than her first choice, her old Reaping dress.
It had been so tight she hadn't been able to fasten it at the back the evening before when she'd tried it on.
Her first plan had been to wear a heavy coat over it, but when she'd tried to bend over to fix her shoes the seam at the middle had ripped badly. The dress wasn't fit to wear anywhere, let alone her wedding. Even if it was for show, she wanted the illusion that it wasn't.
So she'd snuck into her mother's closet and quietly began rummaging through her formal wear, hoping to find something suitable and avoid the embarrassment of having to get her dress repaired and let out the next morning at the seamstress.
She'd almost succeeded, but ended up tripping over her own feet trying to get up from behind one of her mother's boxes of old pictures.
"What are you doing in here, love?" Her mother had asked, blinking blearily in at her.
"Just...looking for a dress," Madge explained. "I'm done now."
Stepping past the discarded clothes on the floor, her mother dropped down beside her, taking the dress from her hands and frowning.
"Why?"
"I have a-a meeting tomorrow."
Her mother frowned, running her delicate hands over the coarse material of the old dress.
"Why kind of meeting?"
Madge started to lie, but there was no point. Her mother would know soon enough.
Taking a breath, Madge closed her eyes.
"For my wedding."
Her mother didn't make so much as a gasp, just stayed strangely silent.
Peeking out, Madge frowned as her mother simply stared down at the dress, her lip puckered.
"Is it the boy who got you pregnant?"
Madge didn't answer, just stared at her in wonder at her perceptiveness.
Finally, her mother seemed to notice her confusion and reached out, taking her hand.
"Oh love, I'm not so clueless."
All the frustration bubbled over, all the worry she'd bottled up the past few months finally spilled over.
She'd cried for an hour, maybe two, before she dried out, no tears left to shed.
"Come here," her mother prompted her, tugging her up and toward the back of the closet.
Reaching up, standing on her tip toes, she'd pulled down a yellowed box, torn and ragged at the edges from the far left corner of the closet.
"This was my mother's," she'd explained, giving Madge a small smile. "You aren't the first Donner girl to put your carriage ahead of your horses."
It was plain but pretty, simple lace at the sleeves and a high waist. Perfect to hide the reason for an impromptu marriage.
"She was about five months out, I think, but with twins."
Slipping the dress over her head, Madge had felt relief.
"It'll work."
The shoes were a half size too big, but Madge couldn't bring herself to separate them. Besides, nothing else seemed to work with the dress.
"I'm not invited, am I?"
Turning back, Madge felt her heart crack.
"No, momma," she whispered.
There was no telling what people would say to her if they noticed, say about her, and she couldn't expose her mother to that. There was no telling what the ridicule would do to her.
"I want you there, I do, but-"
"But I can't be," her mother finished, a sad smile hanging on her lip. Reaching out, she'd pulled Madge into a hug. "I understand, love."
That had replenished Madge's tears.
Despite the snub, her mother had gotten up and helped Madge with her hair, tying it up in a length of silk and kissing her cheek.
"You're such a lovely bride."
Madge feels anything but lovely now, as she totters after the old woman, Gale at her heels and his mother left waiting on the couch.
They stop in front of the desk as the old woman pulls out the newly printed papers and inspects them over the top of her glasses.
"Well, it's all done, sorry for the delay," she tells them in her raspy, wheezy voice. "All that's left is the picture."
She directs them to a plain black backdrop, decorated with a dusty vase filled with dirty, faded, fake flowers before shuffling behind the ancient camera a few feet away.
"Act like you like each other!"
She means it as a joke, but Madge feels Gale stiffen next to her.
Before the old woman can notice anything, Madge grabs Gale's hand and wraps it around her shoulder, twining her own around his middle and forcing her most convincing smile.
Gale frowns, looking down at her, but quickly catches on, his fingers inching down and curling at her waist.
"One, two, three!"
The flash temporarily blinds Madge, fills her eyes with stars and light, but she blinks it away.
"Oh, that's a pretty one," the woman crones, beckoning them with a crooked finger. "Prettiest couple I've photographed in a good long while."
It is a good picture, Madge decides, when she's handed it, protected by a little brown paper cover.
They genuinely look happy, maybe even in love. She'd think so if she didn't know better.
After that they're given their documents, officially declared husband and wife, and given the key to their new home. That explains the delay.
"Guess your dad did pull some strings," Gale says, not sounding mad or disgusted, more awed.
Their home is at the edge of the Seam, houses normally reserved for foremen. Men not high ranking enough to get homes in the little neighborhood sectioned off for government workers, like where she'd lived before her father became mayor, but nicer than the little shanty houses that comprise the rest of the Seam.
It's right at the corner, if Madge is remembering the numbering system correctly. Probably has the biggest yard.
Studying the key, Mrs. Hawthorne sighs, then looks at Madge.
"It's very nice of him."
Madge nods. It is, though she isn't sure he should have.
She shakes the thought away. He's her father. He's allowed to take care of her, no matter what anyone else thinks.
Reaching out, Madge takes the key and turns it over in her hand.
This is her new life, and this is the key that opens it.
It also locks her old life behind her.
The baby jumps inside her and she sighs.
Key or not, husband or not, her old life is over. There's no going back.
Handing the key back to Gale, Madge schools her expression into something she hopes resembles brave.
"Let's go home."
#######
They manage to avoid most people as they make their way toward the Seam. Gale even waves off curious friends a few times, despite their confused looks. They need to talk before they start discussing things with anyone.
There'll be talk enough going on without their input anyway, people spinning tales all their own. Madge half thinks she should let them keep their fantasies. There's not much entertainment for them otherwise.
Gale's mother leaves them as they turn down the gravel road to their new house.
"This is something you should do together."
Madge wishes she'd stayed. It made things a little less awkward with her around, trying to make conversation, filling the silence.
"Have you thought of names?" She'd asked, once they were a safe distance from the Justice Building and had turned out of the crowded square.
"Not really," Madge admitted.
"No family names?"
Madge shook her head.
"Well, you've still got a few months." She'd smiled fondly at Gale. "This one didn't get his name until the day he was born. Right in the middle of a storm. Didn't even wait for the midwife."
Gale's cheeks deepened in color, and Madge couldn't help but smile at the thought of a baby Gale, squawking and squalling and newly born.
She'd wanted to ask if he was born with a full head of hair, if it was a difficult birth, whether he'd been as temperamental as an infant as he was now, but hadn't.
Hazelle Hawthorne was a stranger, even if she was going to be the grandmother to her baby.
Before she'd headed home, she'd dug around in her purse, finally fishing out a small, plainly wrapped package that she pushed into Gale's hands before kissing his cheek.
"It's good to have you in the family, no matter the way it came," she told Madge, hugging her tightly.
Then she was gone, hurrying off down the road to her other children.
Madge and Gale had walked in silence after that.
He'd stuffed his hands in his pockets, kicked a few little rocks, casting Madge curious looks occasionally that she pretended not to see, all the way to the front yard of their new home.
It's been lived in, the former occupant probably die and any family they'd had were shuffled down, to one of the less desirable houses deeper in the Seam. That's how these things generally come up, but Madge tries not to think about that. She doesn't want to think of her good fortune coming at someone else's expense, even if that's simply how thing go.
The paint is peeling and the roof is patched, the little gate surrounding the yard is falling over in a few spots, but the porch looks steady and none of the windows appears broken. Considering Gale's just barely a crew chief and Madge is probably going to be fired come Monday, it's high living.
Pushing the gate open, Madge walks to the porch and up the steps, hoping the wood can hold her weight. She's approaching the mass of a baby elephant.
Gale pulls the key out and unlocks the door, letting it swing open.
Before Madge can step in though, he swoops her up and carries her across the threshold.
"Gale!" She fails in his arms, causing him to laugh.
"Stop squirming or I'm gonna drop you," he chuckles, shifting her in his arms.
"You'll drop me because I'm enormous!" She finally huffs, as he's setting her on her feet.
As she's trying to straighten the dress, Gale reaches out and brushes a loose strand from her face, freezing her in place.
"You don't weigh much more than you did last summer," he tells her, still laughing.
The second he realizes what he's said he pulls his hand back, his color darkening.
Madge feels her face burn as she looks away, too embarrassed to look at him.
She's wondered if he's thought about that night, if he remembered it in as vivid detail as she did.
Remembering her weight as he'd lifted her didn't convince her it meant something more to him, but it made her feel better. At least he hadn't forgotten her.
Her mind searches for something to say, but she's too caught up in memories she's tried to push down to think straight.
"And it's, you know it's tradition," Gale half stammers, his hand at his neck, tugging at the small hairs at the nape. "To take the bride through the door."
Madge just nods, deciding to let the moment pass.
She turns to inspect the room.
It's been painted all white, but not recently, she can see the coal dust shadows on the wall of the previous occupant's pictures. The floors are dirty. It's probably been empty for a while if the layers of dust covering the windowsills and the grime on the glass are any clue.
Still, it's nice, more than most get.
She's about to go to the kitchen, a room she'll be less than useless in, when she hears her name.
When she turns, Gale is at the little fireplace, the plain package his mother had given him in his hands.
"It's bread," he tells her, "for the toasting."
"Oh." She'd almost forgotten.
He opens the package, letting the paper drop to the floor as he crouches and lights a small fire.
It only takes a few minutes for the tiny fire to build up, and once it's hot enough, Gale spears the small piece of bread on the end of a metal rod that had been propped up beside the hearth and holds it over the flames.
Madge has never lit a fire, never cooked a meal, and she suddenly wonders if a nice house earned with nothing more than status will be her only contribution to their union. It might be built on necessity, but that doesn't mean she doesn't want to be useful in their marriage.
When it's browned, Gale blows on it for a moment before pulling it off and breaking it in half.
"It's official now, huh?" He tells her as he hands her a jagged piece, the fire's glow reflecting in his eyes.
It should make him look demonic, the devil he is for toying with her heart, but it doesn't.
His eyes seem warm, a safe light in her dark life. Home.
She shakes the thought off and takes the bread, refusing to get pulled back into Gale's charms and good looks.
He doesn't love her, he never did, and he doesn't want to be her home. She's an inconvenience he's suffering and being compensated for. That's all.
Even if that silly schoolgirl still living in her head wishes he did.
"Yeah," she answers, putting the bread to her mouth and taking a small bite.
From his spot on the ground, Gale gives her a lopsided grin and Madge feels her heartbeat quicken.
Before she can do anything stupid, drop down beside him and try to kiss him, for example, Madge stuffs the rest of the bread in her mouth and heads to the door of what must be the bedroom.
She needs to put distance between them or else she's going to make another mistake.
Her heart can't handle another mistake.