AN: Here we go, another chapter.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Social gathering.
Even the words made Daryl cringe a little. Both of them, he knew, meant people—and more than the few to which he'd become accustomed.
What was worse about this particular social gathering was that he wasn't entirely sure how he could escape it. It was supposed to take place at his very own home. His home that he built for his wife and his family and not at all for the people to which he wasn't accustomed.
At the first mention of such a form of torture, Daryl had excused himself from Carol's presence with a list of chores that needed to be taken care of—and the list was true, even if his intention included a few things he omitted—and rode out to the Greene farm to seek Hershel's counsel on the whole thing. When he'd presented it to Hershel, who must have been fairly well informed since his wife and youngest daughter were somewhat behind the gathering, the old man had simply laughed at him.
"It's just tea, Daryl," Hershel said. "And nobody's gonna expect you to be there. It's just for ladies."
"Why the hell they can't drink tea in they own homes?" Daryl asked. To make himself useful, he put himself to work helping Hershel load up the bags that he was trying to get into the back of the wagon. He'd consider Hershel's information as payment for the job at this point.
"Well, they can," Hershel said. "But Jo believes that maybe Carol needs a little more introduction into society. She hasn't exactly made a lot of acquaintances. She'll be leaving the school soon and Bethie will be taking over in her absence and, well, Jo just thinks it might be a good time to make sure that Carol gets properly introduced into society. Once the baby comes she might want to entertain some guests. Some ladies, Daryl. Women like that. They enjoy fussing over their babies with other women. Especially when it's their first."
"I don't even know that we got no tea, Hershel," Daryl pointed out. "I mean we got water and we got coffee, but Carol don't make tea regular. I can't say as I've had none."
Hershel laughed.
"Don't worry, Jo will take care of the tea and the food," Hershel assured him. "Knowing Jo? She'll take care of the whole thing so Carol don't have to worry with it. The worry isn't good for the baby and the tea isn't meant to cause worry."
"What if our house ain't right?" Daryl asked. "What if they don't like the house an' they don't like the tea?"
Hershel stopped loading bags into the back of the wagon and wiped his face with an old cloth that he pulled from his pocket.
"What's your real concern?" Hershel asked. "You started it to be that you didn't want to go and I've told you that you're not expected to be there. It isn't proper for you to be there. But it sounds to me that you got other things on your mind, son."
Daryl swallowed and his spit nearly caught in his dry throat. He shook his head at Hershel.
"What if they tell Carol it ain't good enough?" Daryl asked.
Hershel raised his eyebrows at Daryl.
"You mean what if they tell Carol you aren't good enough?" Hershel asked.
Daryl nodded his head because he wasn't sure that he could find the voice to say any words in response. Hershel shook his head in response.
"They won't," Hershel said. "At least—they won't say it there and they won't say it to her. I'm gonna be honest with you, son. A gaggle of women like that is a dangerous thing. I'd much rather walk right into a nest of rattle snakes than a room full of social women."
Daryl nodded his head.
"I think I'm kinda feelin' the same way," Daryl said.
Hershel laughed at him.
"At least with the snakes, you know what you're dealing with," Hershel mused. "You know they got intentions and when they start rattlin'? They makin' 'em known. But women don't work that way. Especially not a certain type of woman."
"They's more'n one type?" Daryl asked.
Hershel laughed again and nodded his head.
"They's a lotta types," Hershel assured him. "An' Carol—she's a type that ain't even quite the type as Jo and Bethie. And Jo and Bethie? Well—let's just say they can pretend when the pretendin' matters, but they ain't the type of some of these women."
"You ain't worried?" Daryl asked.
Hershel shook his head.
"No," Hershel said. "These women—if they don't like something? They don't say it. Not to nobody's face. Not regular. They wait and tit tit tit it behind their backs."
Daryl laughed at Hershel's quick interpretation of the tittering women. It was the first moment since he'd heard about the social gathering that he'd felt even the slightest bit of humor.
"Then why the hell they do it?" Daryl asked. "Gotta be damn miserable to have them types in ya home."
Hershel shrugged his shoulders.
"Another grand mystery of women, Daryl," Hershel said. "But I'll tell you one thing, you'll live a lot longer if you don't spend your time trying to understand everything they do. Just focus on the important things and—let the rest just kinda roll on by you."
Daryl nodded his head, still not entirely relieved, but feeling better. He quickly reached for another bag and loaded it into the wagon, deciding that working his way through the concern was the best way to handle it at this point.
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"Keep 'em shut, woman! You gonna ruin the surprise!" Daryl walked behind Carol and directed her into the barn. She kept laughing at him, opening her eyes and looking at him, which was fine while they were crossing the yard, but he wanted her to be surprised, at least for a second, when she saw the crib.
"I'ma fall down!" Carol insisted. "I can't walk with my eyes closed!"
"Won't let'cha fall," Daryl insisted. "Never. Just keep 'em closed a couple steps more."
Daryl walked her into the barn and adjusted her so that she was standing right where he wanted her. She had a smile on her face, but she was doing what he asked and she was holding her eyes closed. She turned her face in one direction and then another.
"I know we're in the barn, Daryl," Carol said. "You gonna show me that I haven't mucked the stalls? Because you told me that I didn't have to do that until the baby comes."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"I mucked 'em," Daryl said. He leaned and pressed his lips to hers. With her eyes still closed, Carol found his face with her hands and held him as she returned the kiss, deepening it more than he intended. He wasn't complaining, though, and he let it turn into what she wanted it to be. When she broke from him, she laughed to herself.
"You brought me down here to kiss me with my eyes closed?" She asked. "Because I'da let you do that at the house too."
Daryl laughed in response and used his own hands to turn her face. She leaned her cheek into his palm, when he touched her, and nuzzled his hand, planting a soft kiss there.
"Open 'em now," Daryl said.
He'd moved the crib there out of the little shed he'd been working in before because it gave him more room to work and it was more protected when it rained. Carol hadn't been to the barn since the heaviness she'd worried would never come had really started to weigh her down. Daryl figured that mucking stalls and dealing with horses wasn't the best thing for her when her balance, these days, was questionable at best.
A broad smile covered Carol's face at the exact moment that she saw the crib. She brought her hand up to cover her mouth. Daryl could see the start of tears pooling in her eyes.
"Don't cry over it!" Daryl declared. His request was too late, though. Some of the tears dropped down to Carol's cheeks. She shook her head at him.
"You made it?" Carol asked.
"Course I made it," Daryl responded. "Took me longer'n I figured it would. Wanted it to be just right. It's good, though. Sturdy an' strong. I didn't want it fallin', so I tested it out. Got both Shadow an' Toby in there—damn near fightin' with each other 'cause they didn't know it wasn't no game—an' it held. This baby's gonna be big an' strong, but I don't think it's gonna be no bigger'n two grown ass cattle mutts."
Carol laughed and wiped at her eyes with her hand. Daryl pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and mopped at her face before he held it to her nose and commanded to her that she ought to blow her nose so she could breathe regularly again. She followed his instructions, apologizing for her tears as she did.
"It's so beautiful," Carol said. "It's—it's perfect."
"You can touch it," Daryl said. "Gonna clean it up some and Merle's comin' by to help me move it in the house tomorrow mornin'. Figure you got all them hens comin' in the house you might wanta show 'em you got a crib for the baby. The rockin' chair's comin', but Newt's gotta put the rockers on it for me 'cause I couldn't get it just right and he's good at that part so Hershel said."
Carol walked forward and ran her fingers over the bars of the crib. She ran them over the inside of it like she was afraid that if she didn't touch it, it might not fully exist. Daryl didn't mind her running her fingers anywhere she liked. He'd traced the thing a hundred times over while he was sanding it down because he wanted to be sure that it wouldn't make splinters.
"I don't know if I can show it to 'em," Carol said. "They might think I was being boastful."
Daryl felt proud, for just a second, to think that Carol would think that something he made was enough to make her boastful—especially in front of whatever women it was that Miss Jo might have invited to have tea with her. But then the reality settled in around him from the conversation that he'd had with Hershel about some of the people who lived around them in town.
"They prob'ly got a whole lot better," Daryl said. "Store bought an' all. Nicer'n this one."
"It can't be nicer," Carol said. "You didn't build them."
"Listen," Daryl said, "if these women was to—tell you that I weren't...well, that this ain't..."
Daryl stopped because he couldn't say what he wanted to say. He wasn't even sure that he knew exactly what he wanted to say. He had an idea in his head, and he wanted to give that idea to Carol, but it would've been a whole lot easier if he'd simply been able to take it out in its entirety and hand it to her instead of having to break it down into pieces and turn those pieces into words. Carol looked at him, though, and shook her head.
"You don't have to say nothin'," Carol said. She shook her head again. "You don't. They can't tell me nothing, Daryl."
Daryl swallowed.
"I got no name to speak of," Daryl said. "You know that. I weren't nothin' when I got on that wagon an' I come here."
Carol smiled at him.
"And now you're a farmer," Carol said. "And quite well known in town. Hard working. Successful. Respected." Daryl shook his head at her and she mirrored the action. "I'm nothing but a whore, Daryl," she said. "The painting's different and my dress is changed, but that's what they're gonna see. And I know that. I'm just...a whore in a farmhouse instead of a whorehouse."
"You're a teacher," Daryl said. "And you ain't a whore. You're my wife. My own wife."
Carol laughed to herself and nodded her head. She raised her eyebrows at Daryl.
"And you're my husband," Carol said. "My own husband," she added. "And—no matter what they say or think? I suppose that'll hold true. And that's all that matters to me."
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Carol hadn't really known what to expect from the gathering, but she took it to be more for Beth than for herself. Hershel had come by early with his wagon and he'd brought enough furniture for everyone to have a place to sit since Carol and Daryl hadn't exactly filled their home yet with furnishings. Before the women had arrived, Carol had mused to herself that her home looked more like the Greene house than her own home since nearly everything there had been borrowed for the occasion. Still, the gathering would introduce Beth to the women and it would help her to establish herself a little. It might, even, help her to find a husband, in someone they knew, that was a little more anxious to commit than the young gentleman she was hanging her hopes and dreams on at the moment.
The women who came were women that Carol knew only in name and by sight. She couldn't call any of them a friend and she didn't expect that to change just because they'd eaten food and drank tea in her company. All of them brought her a gift or a trinket as a "hosting" gift and then they'd settled in to sit on the borrowed furniture and exchange gossip about people she knew whose business she preferred not to mind.
Through it all, Carol sat and she smiled and she nodded her head when she felt like something was directed to her. She thanked them for the compliments they paid to her about her house, her furniture, and the crib that she invited a few of them to see, but she didn't believe any of their compliments. And she didn't have much to add to their conversation.
She sat back in one of the comfortable chairs that had been brought and she simply observed—allowing Beth to truly be the center of attention. It was clear, after all, that the young girl was greatly pleased with the gathering of women and the conversation that she was allowed to be involved in so intimately.
When there was a knock at the door, Carol half expected it to be Daryl coming by to ask for something that he'd forgotten. He was working outside, but he was keeping quite a wide berth on the house. Despite Miss Jo's insistence that she could answer the door, Carol got up to answer it because she appreciated the excuse to get away from the crowd of women for even a moment. When she opened the door, she wasn't expecting to see Andrea standing there.
"Andrea!" Carol said, her surprise coming out.
Andrea was dressed down as much as she could be, and she looked around Carol into the house almost like she feared something terrible would come running out behind Carol.
"Merle told me you were havin' a party," Andrea said. "People were bringing gifts, he said? I just..."
She offered Carol a gift that she'd been holding like a security blanket against her chest and Carol took it. She didn't open it, but rather she turned it over in her hands.
"You didn't have to bring me anything," Carol said.
"I wanted to," Andrea responded. "That's all. I wanted to."
"Come in?" Carol asked. "See the house? There's still food left if you're hungry."
Andrea shook her head and looked around Carol again. This time, Carol turned with Andrea's glance and noticed that nearly everyone had stopped speaking and they were all looking in the direction of the door.
"I'm fine out here," Andrea said. "And—I really shouldn't dawdle too long. The girls are fine on their own, but they—they get so..."
Carol realized that Andrea didn't have an excuse, but she was desperately searching for one.
"How'd you get here?" Andrea asked.
Andrea gestured out to the yard and Carol moved enough to see Merle there, sitting on a wagon, watching the whole scene like he didn't know if he should go or he should stay.
"Come inside," Carol said. "We're having pound cake later."
Andrea lowered her voice and shook her head gently at Carol.
"Carol, I don't belong here," Andrea said. "Now—I just wanted to bring you that. Tell you that you look good. You look real good. Happy and—this? All of this? It's a real nice place, Carol. But—I don't belong here."
Carol shook her head at Andrea.
"It's my house," Carol said. "And you belong in my house. You took me into yours. I'm not leavin' you standing on the porch of mine."
Andrea shushed her softly and Carol shook her head. She glanced back over her shoulder. She was fully aware that every one of the women there was looking at both of them. She was fully aware that they were judging them. It was written on their faces as they sat, looking ridiculous, with some of their tea cups suspended in the air like they'd frozen hard as ice in their spots.
Carol shook her head at Andrea again and smiled at her.
"You can't shush me," Carol said. "You don't get to do that no more. You don't boss me now. You're just my friend. Nothin' more and nothin' less. You'll stay—and you'll stay inside. Same as anybody else."
"They won't like it," Andrea said, her voice as low as she could get it, coming out as breath more than sound.
"And I won't care," Carol said. "And Daryl won't care. And—that's all I care about. You're welcome here. You're always welcome here. Even more so than any of them. And I don't care if they know it too."
Carol took Andrea's hand and pulled her inside. Andrea glanced back out the door just as she stepped inside and Carol heard the click of Merle's tongue as he popped the reins against the backs of the horses to urge them forward. Carol had made the decision and he knew, now, what he was meant to do.
As soon as they were inside, Carol closed the door and put the gift that Andrea had given her down on a small table. She introduced Andrea to the women who were staring at her and Andrea offered them all a smile and a slightly awkward wave before Carol guided her to the chair that she'd been sitting in earlier, fully intending to take the seat next to her as soon as she was ready to sit again.
For just a second, everyone was quiet. Nobody breathed a word. But, finally, Miss Jo stood up and warmly smiled at Andrea.
"You'll take some tea?" Miss Jo asked.
Andrea nodded her head.
"With milk and sugar?" Miss Jo asked.
"Just milk," Andrea said. "But I can get it."
Miss Jo shook her head.
"Nonsense," she responded. "You'll be hungry too?"
Andrea looked at Carol and Carol didn't know how to help her. She couldn't very well tell Andrea if she was hungry or not, but it appeared that's what Andrea wanted her to do. Finally, Carol nodded for her.
"Thank you," was the only response that Andrea managed to give Miss Jo and Miss Jo smiled at her before she asked Carol if she could help her select something which Andrea might enjoy from the food that they had left.
"Did I do a bad thing?" Carol asked Miss Jo quietly as she followed the woman to her small kitchen area where the food was laid out. "Are they really so offended?"
Miss Jo sucked in a breath and let it out.
"They might be offended," she answered quietly, going about arranging some food on a plate for Andrea. "But you did nothing that Jesus himself wouldn't approve of—so I just don't see as it can really be all that bad."
"Then why would they be so offended?" Carol whispered back.
Miss Jo frowned and continued with the busy work she'd created for herself of making the plate look as presentable as she could.
"Because," Miss Jo said, "you'll find that a great deal of people aren't very much like Jesus. Can you bring the tea to your friend? I'll carry the plate. It'll be fine. And if it isn't?" Miss Jo cast a glance toward the women and leaned close enough to Carol that Carol could feel the old woman's breath on her face. "You'll find it's worth more in this life to have one true friend than it is to have the false love of a hundred."
She backed up and searched Carol's face and Carol nodded at her.
"I know," Carol said.
Miss Jo smiled at her and winked her eye.
"And you can already count yourself among the richest because I know you've got more than one," Miss Jo said. "Bring the tea. Just milk. She doesn't take sugar."