AN: Here we go, another chapter.
I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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"You got any more of that meat'n gravy?" Daryl asked, his mouth full of the helping that he hadn't quite finished.
Carol nodded at him and got up from the table. She reached for his plate and he sat back allowing her to take it. She served him up what was left and brought his plate back to him, placing it in front of him on the table. He immediately returned his elbows to their original spots and settled in to continue eating.
"What's wrong with ya food?" Daryl asked.
"What?" Carol asked.
"Mine's good," Daryl said. "What's wrong with yours? You hardly touched even a mouthful."
Carol stared at her own plate. Like Daryl said, there was barely any missing from that which she'd served herself. She didn't feel like she could swallow down the food. Her stomach was in knots and she wasn't sure how to unkink them. When she'd gotten home, she'd immediately started preparing supper because she didn't want Daryl to come in from working and find that he had nothing to eat because she'd dawdled too long in town. And then when he'd come in, she'd found that she was absolutely unable to speak. She couldn't force herself into making words of any kind. The most she'd managed were grunts and a few one syllable responses that Daryl had accepted after a long day.
She was excited and terrified all at once. Her brain felt dizzy from running circles after itself. She knew that Daryl would be happy with the news that she had for him—news she'd barely digested herself—but she was afraid that she wouldn't say the right thing. Or, rather, that she'd say the right thing in the wrong way.
And the more she studied over it, the tighter the knots grew that kept her teeth clamped tightly closed against conversation and supper both.
But, noticing her untouched plate, Daryl wasn't going to accept her silence any longer.
"Carol?" Daryl asked. Carol noticed, now, that he'd put his fork down and abandoned his partially eaten biscuit on the side of his plate. "You OK? You lookin' a little peaked."
Carol shook her head at him.
"I'm fine," she managed to get out. "I'm fine...I just...I got somethin' to tell you." She found that once she started the moving forward with her words, they started coming without her having to work for them—even if they were coming out willy nilly and however they might fall from her lips. "I gotta tell you about my day and—I been sittin' here studying over how to tell you everything I gotta say an' I'm knowing that I oughta say it just the right way, but that way isn't comin' to me."
Daryl furrowed his brow at her.
"Just say what it is you gotta say," he said.
He looked far more concerned than Carol meant for him to look and it was all her fault. She knew that. She knew that every other wife who had such news to tell their husband probably did it without half the trouble that she was having—but there were things that she just wasn't good at doing. And telling news, whether it was good or bad, was something she just wasn't any good at doing.
"Spit it out," Daryl said. "Look like you chokin' to death on it!"
His voice picked up, but it wasn't with scolding. It was with concern. If Carol didn't spit out what she had to say, Daryl was likely to come and beat her on the back until she got it up, just the same as if she'd swallowed down a biscuit wrong.
"I let my students go home early today," Carol said. Daryl nodded his head at her. "I went to Andrea's house."
"What?" Daryl asked.
"I went to pay a call," Carol said. "To Andrea. Not—not for nothin' else. Just for callin' on Andrea." Daryl's face relaxed a little. "She weren't well. So I stayed for a bit and tended her. But—finally I asked her to go with me, Daryl. I asked her to walk with me to town. She did. Walked with me into town. We went to the Doc's, Daryl. I weren't sure and I'da asked you to go with me, but I weren't sure of what he was gonna say and I didn't want you missin' part of a day's work if there weren't no need to drag you all the way into town. So I asked her to go with me because I knowed she would go and she wouldn't say nothin' to nobody about it—even if some of the town did see us walkin' together through the street."
"You went to Doc's?" Daryl asked. Carol nodded her head. "She weren't well, so you went to Doc's?"
"Yes and no, Daryl," Carol said. She sucked in a breath and let it out in a huff. She stood up from her chair and walked quickly back to their bedroom where she retrieved the items that she'd bought that day. "She weren't well," Carol said. "But that weren't why we went to Doc's. Went for me."
"You ain't well?" Daryl asked. "'Cause you are lookin' a little peaked."
Carol almost laughed at his confusion. She was sorry for having gotten him so mixed up in everything. But the moment of humor did at least do a little something to help her untangle her nerves. Her hands were still shaking—she noticed it when she looked at the brown paper package she held—but her body was feeling a little less shaky.
Carol sucked in a breath and focused on steadying her nerves. She unwrapped the package as she focused on breathing and apologized in her head to Daryl for the confusion and strain that she was putting him through as he struggled to understand her.
"I'm well, Daryl," Carol said. "At least—as well as can be expected. Went to the Doc's and then I stopped by the general store with Andrea. Made a couple of purchases. See here? You see what I got? Don't you—like it? The soft cloth and the print that's on this. They're pretty lil' flowers, aren't they?"
Daryl looked at the cloth that Carol held out in his direction.
He sighed and shrugged his shoulders.
"Hell—yeah, I reckon," Daryl said. "But ain't we got enough of that? Got all the sheets we need for a while."
Carol nodded her head.
"For us, we do," Carol said. "But I was thinkin' I could use this for blankets. Small ones. And—for some little clothes? It's soft an' you like it 'cause it's so soft so—I figured it might be just about right for makin' some little clothes that was just right for keepin' a little one warm." Carol swallowed and nearly choked on it. She couldn't make eye contact with Daryl right away. She smiled to herself, already imagining the changing expressions that would cross his face as he slowly realized what she was so miserably failing at telling him. "Don't'cha think, Daryl? It would be nice for keepin' a little one warm?"
Carol thought she could hear Daryl swallow from across the table, though he hadn't touched his food since he'd shown concern for her failing appetite.
"Lil' what?" Daryl asked.
Carol laughed to herself. She allowed herself to glance at him then. She wondered if more might be sinking in for him than he was ready to let on to at the moment. He looked every bit as confused as he had before, but there was at least a hint of fear on his features.
And Carol wasn't sure that fear was always an indication of something bad.
"A little person, Daryl," Carol said softly. "A—a baby, Daryl. Don't you think that it'd be nice for keepin' a baby warm? Wrapped right on up to sleep?"
The look of fear slowly began to overtake the look of confusion.
"A baby?" Daryl asked.
Carol nodded her head.
"I reckon it'd be—it'd be fine for a baby," Daryl stammered out. "But—maybe you ought not go makin' clothes for one until...ya know..."
"Until there's gonna be one?" Carol asked, raising her eyebrows at Daryl. She didn't stop her smile from turning up the corners of her mouth. Daryl nodded his head at her. "There's gonna be one, Daryl."
"That what you went to Andrea's for today?" Daryl asked. "Get a—see about gettin'—a baby?"
Now it was Carol who was thinking she might soon have to go and pound Daryl on the back. The food he'd eaten had long since made its way past his throat, but the way that he was swallowing made it seem like he still might choke on it. Carol put the package down in her chair and walked around to stand closer to Daryl. He naturally turned his body toward her.
"I didn't get a baby there, Daryl," Carol said.
"Well I can see that," Daryl barked out. "'Cause there ain't one here, Carol." He looked surprised at his own voice. He mindfully softened his tone. "But'cha asked for one?"
Carol shook her head.
"Didn't have to," Carol said. "'Cause when we went to Doc's? Found out that there was already one. Has been for months. You an' me—we gonna have our own."
Every bit of expression left Daryl's face. Perhaps, with it, went every bit of blood.
"Our own?" Daryl asked.
Carol nodded her head.
"Didn't even know it," Carol said. "Not for sure. I mean—I was just starting to think it might be so, but Doc said that I been expectin' it for months now."
"You mean you..." Daryl said.
Carol nodded her head and smiled at him when he broke off. He didn't say anything to her after that. Not one word. He didn't say that he was happy or surprised.
But he didn't have to, either.
Before Carol was even sure what he was doing, Daryl got to his feet and wrapped his arms around her. He hauled her up off of her feet. He held her against him tightly enough that she held her breath to keep from feeling the constricted feeling in her chest that the hug caused. She smiled at him again when he put her feet on the floor. His eyes were damp. But he'd say it wasn't proper for them to be so, so she figured it wasn't proper for her to say that they were. Despite that, though, he smiled at her and let out his breath like he'd been holding it the whole time that he'd hugged her.
"It prob'ly ain't right joslin' you around like that," Daryl said.
Carol shook her head at him.
"I don't think it matters," she said. "I been riding Jubilee back and forth nearly every day to town. All this time we didn't know that it was there—and we didn't do nothing no different than we always have. Andrea said—they're harder to get out than you would imagine."
Daryl swallowed a few times in rapid succession. Carol watched his throat bob with the action. He nodded his head at her.
"Even so," Daryl said. "I won't do it no more."
"You'll do it all you please," Carol said. "It ain't hurt me. And—I don't think it'd hurt the baby."
Daryl was slightly wide-eyed still, but he nodded again. He gestured toward the chair where Carol had put her package from earlier.
"You oughta sit," Daryl said.
Rather than argue with him about whether or not she really needed to sit, Carol followed his command. She moved the package and sat with it in her lap. He seemed satisfied, but only for a second. He reached a hand toward her plate and Carol noticed that his hands were shaking. Glancing at her own where they rested on the package, Carol noticed that hers had stopped.
"Gotta eat," Daryl said, moving the plate a little. "I don't know—don't know much, but I know that. It ain't right you skippin' supper. Gotta eat'cha food." Carol opened her mouth to tell Daryl that she sincerely didn't feel hungry, but before she could get it out, he seemed to have moved on to the next of his concerns. He reached for the glass in front of her plate and, lifting it to his nose, abandoned it and walked toward the stove. "Don't think buttermilk's what'cha oughta be drinkin'. Can turn the stomach sometimes. Sour and—it'd be better if'n it was fresh."
"I don't need fresh milk, Daryl," Carol protested, but he didn't hear her. He simply gathered up the bucket and went outside with his thoughts. Carol sat at the table and waited on him. She wasn't sure what to do, but she felt like he needed to do whatever it was that he was doing. Daryl needed to tell her to sit in front of a plate full of food that she didn't want to eat, and he needed to get her fresh milk that she didn't want.
And she needed to let him.
When Daryl came back in, he immediately brought her a fresh glass of the milk that he'd gotten from one of their cows. Nan, more than likely, had been more than happy to give him all that he wanted. He put the glass in front of Carol.
"Fresh and warm," Daryl said. "Better'n buttermilk."
Carol caught his hand before he was able to fully pull it away from her.
"I think I got an idea," Carol said. "But you didn't say if you were happy, Daryl. Are you happy?" Carol looked at him and he nodded his head at her. He still looked mildly terrified—like he'd seen a ghost when he'd gone out to milk the cow. "Your hands are shaking," Carol offered softly, squeezing his hand in hers.
"They do that from time to time," Daryl said.
"Are you cold?" Carol asked.
Daryl shook his head.
"No," he said.
"Are you—going to finish your supper?" Carol asked.
"Believe I done ate," Daryl said, shaking his head. Carol nodded her understanding. His nerves, now, were tangling up his insides just as hers had done to her all day long. She smiled at him.
"I'm not hungry, Daryl," Carol said. "What if I was to put our plates out the way and—we were to eat at 'em later if we got hungry?"
Daryl nodded his head. He hadn't tried to pull his hand free from her yet.
"Reckon that'd be all right," Daryl said. "But you oughta drink the milk. It don't stay fresh but for so long."
"What if you were to get some of your tobacco," Carol offered, "and I was to fix you some milk too, and we were to take the chairs and go and sit on the porch? Let everything digest with some fresh air?"
"You didn't eat nothin' to digest," Daryl said.
"Sometimes it's more'n food we gotta digest," Carol responded.
Daryl nodded his head.
"Yeah," he said. "But—let me get the chairs. You ought not to be carryin' 'em."
Carol nodded her acceptance of the plan and she moved the plates out of the way. She fixed Daryl a glass of the fresh milk and she took both glasses in hand to wait while Daryl moved the chairs out to the porch and brought his tobacco pouch out from where he kept it in the top of the pantry. He brought one of the lamps out and, once he was settled into a seat and was rolling something to smoke with his shaky hands, Carol joined him. She held his milk for him until he had a free hand and the state of mind to take it.
"I was gonna learn to make a rocker," Daryl said. "But I ain't done it yet."
"Now we'll need it," Carol said. "For rockin' the little one when he comes."
"You know it's a boy?" Daryl asked. "You can tell?"
"No," Carol said. "But it seems proper, don't it? A son for you?"
Daryl shrugged his shoulders. His cigarette lit, he seemed to be relaxing a little. He finally took the milk from Carol and she tasted her own.
"Ain't thought on it, to be honest," Daryl said.
"Wouldn't you like a son?" Carol asked.
"I'd like just about whatever I got," Daryl said. "Wouldn't you?"
Carol smiled to herself.
"I would," she said. "But a son could be a big help to you. A daughter wouldn't be so much help."
"Be a right good help to you," Daryl said. "And I guess she could spread seed just as good as you can."
"So you're happy?" Carol asked.
"I think I am," Daryl said.
Carol was struck for second, but the sting of it dulled quickly. She realized that Daryl wasn't denying his happiness—he couldn't. It was clear that he was pleased. He was simply saying that he hadn't yet digested everything. And Carol had been worrying over this for the past few days. She'd had most of the day to digest even the Doc's assurance that it was real. It was only natural that Daryl might not have quite had the time to digest it that she had.
And that's what they were doing on the porch. They were digesting things in the fresh air of the evening.
"You think on it a bit," Carol offered. "And then you can let me know."
"I don't know nothin' about babies," Daryl said. He shook his head at her when Carol looked at him. "I don't," he insisted. "Ain't never hardly seen one what wasn't big enough to be up walkin' about."
"I don't know much about them either," Carol admitted. "But—I suppose we'll figure it out. I can—ask Miss Jo about them, don't you think? Find out the important things that I need to know."
"I'ma ask Hershel what I should do," Daryl said. "What I oughta do for you. Because you gonna be needin' things that I don't know nothin' about. It's gonna be needin' things."
"What are the things that it can possibly need?" Carol asked. "I'll make milk for it, Daryl. And we got Nan, besides, that makes more'n enough for us and her calves. I'll make clothes and blankets and—surely Miss Jo'll teach me to make diapers. Keep it fed and clean and warm. I don't suppose babies need much more'n that except for love."
Daryl nodded his head enthusiastically like he liked that Carol already had a prepared list for the baby. It looked, too, like it was relieving a little of the tension that had his nerves on end.
"We can give it all that," Daryl said. "We got all that. I can make it a place to sleep. One of them box things."
"A crib," Carol offered. "I know that. I know it's a crib that they go in. Not a box, Daryl."
"Reckon you knew what I was talkin' about all right," Daryl responded. The first hint of a smile crossed his lips since his nerves had taken over and pushed the expression far off of his face.
"What about—my students, Daryl?" Carol asked.
"What about 'em?" Daryl asked.
"I didn't know how you might feel about me going into town," Carol said. "Riding in of a morning and back of an evening."
"Ain't no doin' it," Daryl said.
The conviction behind his words made Carol sure that she wasn't supposed to argue with him. It was the first thing that he'd said with absolute certainty.
"They don't have a teacher," Carol said. "There's no tellin' when Evie's coming back. I'd be abandoning them."
"Better to abandon them," Daryl said, "then have somethin' happenin' on the road. You ain't ridin' back and forth. Tomorrow I'll ride you in on the wagon. Smoother ride that way an' it don't jostle as bad. You'll tell who needs tellin' that you ain't teachin' no more. Whether it's Evie they go and hunt down or whether they find another teacher—it don't make no never mind to me. You ain't ridin' back and forth. Not carryin' my child. I ain't worryin' about the rest."
"What if they can't find another teacher?" Carol asked. "The children won't have any way to get their lessons."
"Then whoever's findin' a new teacher can learn 'em theyselves," Daryl said. "Or trot on over there to Andrea's and find 'em a whore what can read an' cipher an' let her learn 'em."
Carol nodded her head. It didn't seem likely that Daryl was going to change his mind on this.
"You never told me no before," Carol said.
"I don't like it, neither," Daryl admitted. "But it's gotta be done. Jubilee's a smooth ridin' horse, but it ain't good. I don't even need Hershel to tell me that. You don't need to be trottin' her back and forth from here to there twice a day."
"I'll do whatever you think is best," Carol ceded. It felt odd to say the words. She'd been forced to say them, in one way or another, to her first husband regularly. He'd dictated nearly everything that she did. She'd never said them to Daryl, though. She might have suspected that it would be almost frightening to say them to him—but it wasn't. It actually felt nice.
Carol felt oddly lighter.
She reached a hand over and found Daryl's. He'd abandoned the milk that he apparently found not at all to his liking for the moment. He squeezed her hand in return.
"We're gonna be parents," Carol said. "You and me. I'm gonna be a mama and...Daryl? You're gonna be a father."
Daryl let out something like a choked laugh.
"I believe that's how it works," Daryl said. "But I ain't certain on that."
Carol laughed to herself.
"Are you mad that—people saw me in the streets with Andrea today?" Carol asked. "Because they're liable to talk."
"People liable to talk anyway," Daryl said. "And I'm just as liable not to listen to 'em."
Carol laughed to herself again.
"You mad that I didn't tell you?" Carol asked. "'Fore I knowed it for sure?"
Daryl shrugged his shoulders.
"You can't tell someone somethin' you don't know," Daryl said. "Like I can't tell ya—how the hell it works that it rains sometimes on the east field and stays dry on the west. I can't be mad you ain't told me somethin' you didn't know to tell me."
"I asked Andrea to go with me because...well..." Carol stammered out.
"'Cause she's your friend," Daryl finished. Carol hummed her agreement. "You said she was poorly—Doc look at her too? See what was ailin' her?"
"Was a baby that was ailing her too," Carol said. "Was. It ain't now. She didn't keep it. Doc helped her rid of it. Eden ain't no place for children. A house like that? It ain't for raisin' children."
"You ask me," Daryl said, "it weren't no place for nobody. Why I couldn't hardly stand leavin' you there when I had to."
Carol squeezed his hand in response.
"You know it coulda been Merle's baby," Carol said.
Daryl laughed.
"Coulda been damn near anybody's," Daryl said. Carol didn't have an explanation for the reason that the comment sent a quick ache through her stomach.
"He's there a lot, Daryl," Carol said.
"Damn near every day he can get there," Daryl agreed. "Draggin' his ass the whole way there if he's gotta. Just like a dog." He snorted at his own description of his brother.
"He oughta know she's poorly," Carol said. "So he don't think she's turnin' him away 'cause she don't wanna see him no more."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"It'd take more'n turnin' Merle away to get him to leave an establishment he's set on frequentin'," Daryl said. "But if you got a mind to tell him she's poorly, then I reckon you can do it whenever it strikes your fancy. Just—don't be expectin' him to thank you for it."
Carol shook her head, even though Daryl wasn't looking at her.
"I wouldn't," she said. "Daryl?" She asked again, after the quiet had settled around them. "You suppose we could go to bed? Just—I'm tired. I wouldn't mind sleeping a little."
Daryl looked at her and nodded his head. He studied her. In the dim light that the lamp gave off, Carol could see him chewing his lip. He offered no explanation, though, for the stare that he gave her. Instead, he simply nodded his head again.
"You'll be needin' your sleep, I reckon," Daryl said. "You go on and put the water on. I'ma check the barn an' make sure all's secure down there for the night. Then I'll bring the chairs in."
As if to show that there was nothing left to say, Daryl stood up from where he sat and grabbed the lamp. He carried it with him as he walked off the porch.
"Daryl?" Carol called as soon as his feet were free of the porch.
"Yeah?" He called back to her.
"I'm happy I can give you a baby," Carol said. Her stomach tightened a little at the thought of it.
Daryl hummed at her.
"I'm happy you doin' it," Daryl said.
"I love you," Carol said, lowering her voice just slightly. Daryl could still hear her, though. He made a sound in the darkness, the lamp only barely illuminating the lower part of his body where he was holding it.
"Love you too," he said. "Go inside. Get the water on. Damp out here an' you gonna catch a chill."
Carol smiled to herself and got up from the chair. It wasn't damp. And there wasn't a chill to catch out there. But Carol knew what Daryl was trying to say, and she appreciated it more than she could express. So she expressed it the best way she could. She went inside to put the water on to warm while she left Daryl to check the barn.