CHAPTER 2
When Amy first laid eyes on Mr. Gold's house she could hardly believe her eyes. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but it certainly hadn't been this.
Storybrooke, while not a wealthy town by any means, boasted a few really grand homes. Up until then the nicest she had seen was the mayor's mansion. She had been there a few times in her high school days, always to babysit Henry, the mayor's little boy. She'd always been a little dazzled by its grandeur, though she'd grown used to it eventually. But even the mayor's mansion paled beside Mr. Gold's estate.
Located on the crest of a hill, surrounded on the sides by forest and at its rear a view of the Storybrooke River, the house was a large two-story square of cream-colored stucco with slightly shorter wings on either side. (Mr. Gold later informed her that the style was known as Georgian.) It had a hipped roof with dormer windows, and the main section of the house had two chimneys on either side. Three semi-circular brick steps led to the panel front door, which was centered perfectly in the middle of the main section and capped with an entablature. The roof, door and shutters were all dark green. The house wasn't in the least showy or ostentatious, but the simple elegance and the symmetrical perfection were enough to take one's breath away. Amy couldn't suppress a small gasp of delight as she took in what was to be her new home.
Mr. Gold watched her closely as she took in the house. When she finally remembered that he was standing right beside her and turned to look at him, he seemed pleased by her reaction. "Well," he asked unnecessarily, "what do you think?"
"I think it's beautiful," Amy breathed. He felt another wave of pleasure and admiration wash over him. In addition to her other sterling qualities, the girl appreciated beauty. He could tell already that she would take exquisite care of the house, cherish it like her very own even.
He gave her a rare genuine smile. "I'm glad," he said. "I hope you'll enjoy your stay here, Amy."
She gave him a sideways smile, but her attention was presently diverted again by the house. He didn't mind. He was enjoying her delight, and besides, while she was busy falling in love at first sight with the house he finally had ample opportunity to really look at her without seeming to be staring. Gold basked in the double enjoyment of her reaction to the house and the thrill of watching someone who doesn't realize they're being observed.
Amy Miller was not a conventionally pretty girl. Depending on the angle, he decided, she was either plain or beautiful. Her profile was almost cameo-perfect, with high cheekbones and a sculptured jaw line. Looking at her straight on, though, she had a round, nearly moon face, and the nose that was pert in profile was an undeniable pug. Her eyes were nice enough, set under delicately arching dark brows: not too large or too small, round, an attractive grayish-blue color that reminded him of the sea on an overcast day. She wore no makeup, but had the kind of porcelain complexion that didn't require much, with only the lightest smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose. Against all that fairness her hair was startlingly dark, almost black—her only apparent genetic legacy from her father. She wore it twisted in a knot on top of her head, and he found himself wondering how long it was.
No, Amy was not the kind of girl that made people stop in their tracks—until she smiled. He thought that the old cliché, "Her smile lit up her whole face," might have been created for her. When she smiled a true smile, as she was doing now, that ordinary face was transformed into something of breathtaking loveliness. As he gazed at her he couldn't shake the feeling that he knew her…that he had seen her somewhere before…she was saying something.
He came crashing back to reality with a jolt. "What?" he asked. "I'm sorry dear, my mind wandered for a moment. Did you say something?" Had she seen him staring? Did she have any idea of the thoughts that were in his head?
Apparently not, for her expression showed nothing more than mild concern. "I was saying, I can't wait to see what it looks like on the inside," she repeated. "Mr. Gold, are you all right?"
Relief spread through him. "I'm fine, dear," he hastened to assure her. Racking his brain for a plausible explanation for his reverie, he found one. "I suppose watching you get your first look at the house reminded me of the first time I ever saw it."
"The first time you ever saw it?" she repeated.
"When I bought it…oh, too many years ago to think about now," he said. "I stood here just like we're doing now and thought that I'd never seen a more beautiful house. Oh, I know it's not nearly as grand as some, but…" He trailed off. In truth he remembered nothing about the day he had first seen the house. It seemed to Mr. Gold sometimes that he had always lived here, always been the town pawnbroker and the object of the townspeople's fear and mistrust. Of course, that was silly. He had a past, everyone did. It was just that he thought of it so seldom that eventually he had lost most of it in the corridors of his mind. That was the only logical explanation.
"But it's a home," Amy said. "The really magnificent houses seem so…I don't know, cold and impersonal. You could never really be comfortable in one of those. This is a home where people could live and be happy."
He nodded. "Exactly," he responded. "That's precisely the thought that came to me the first time I saw this house." Instinctively he knew the words to be true, even if he couldn't recall the moment. He took her arm. "And now, my dear, I'll give you the grand tour."
If anything, Amy loved the inside of the house even more than the outside. Like its exterior, the interior was ornate without being overdone, elegant without being imposing. She couldn't help thinking as Mr. Gold led her through the rooms that this house was a perfect match for the man who owned it: obviously wealthy, but quietly so. It whispered money instead of shouting it. Every piece of furniture, every decorative object seemed to fit with the exterior of the house (as indeed it did; she later found out from Mr. Gold that all the furnishings, while not original to the house, were from the time period in which it was built). There were all the modern conveniences, such as a flat-screen TV hidden in an armoire in the living room and a side-by-side refrigerator with cherrywood doors in the kitchen. But the contemporary touches, rather than sticking out like sore thumbs, were cleverly camouflaged. One had a sense in this house of having entered the past.
Amy couldn't suppress a small cry of delight when Mr. Gold showed her the library. The room reminded her instantly of pictures she had seen of the library at the Biltmore estate in North Carolina. This room was much smaller, of course, and lacked the elaborate ceiling mural for which the Biltmore library was known, but other than that the resemblance was striking. The room boasted a similar color scheme of red velvet and dark wood, a fireplace that was much smaller but just as elaborately carved, and a gorgeous Oriental rug. Best of all to Amy's mind, the floor-to-ceiling shelves on each wall were packed with handsome leather-bound books.
"You're a bibliophile, I take it," Mr. Gold said as he smiled at her reaction. He was beginning to like this girl more and more.
"All my life," Amy said as she did a slow spin in the middle of the room, trying vainly to take it all in. "I practically lived at the Storybrooke Library from the time I could read until—this summer." A shadow crossed her face, and he knew she must be referring to the time when she met the young man who'd gotten her in her predicament. He felt an unaccustomed twinge of sympathy.
"Well, I hope you'll feel free to spend as much time as you like in here—when you're not working, of course," he said briskly, willing the unfamiliar and unwanted emotion away. "All I ask is that you put everything back where you find it. That should be easy for you, since everything is catalogued according to the public library system."
As he'd intended she forgot her momentary sadness at his words. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Gold," she breathed. He thought again that it was amazing such an unremarkable girl could become so striking when she smiled.
"You're most welcome, dear," he replied. "And now I think it's time we take a break. I'll show you the rest of the house tomorrow and go over your duties with you; for now I'll show you your quarters and you can freshen up a bit if you need to while I figure out what to do for dinner."
"Oh, I can start cooking now if you like," she said quickly. In her excitement over the house she had almost forgotten that she was to be a servant here. That wouldn't do at all. Mr. Gold seemed to be a kind man—far from the evil ogre that Storybrooke gossip painted him—but she knew instinctively that he wouldn't look kindly on her forgetting her place.
He was shaking his head. "No, dear," he said. "I doubt there's anything in the house to cook for one thing, and it's getting rather late for another. Tomorrow you can take one of the cars and go into town for groceries, but just for tonight you can be my guest rather than my employee." He knew she could drive, knew she had her own car, but knew too that her father had taken the keys from her upon learning of her pregnancy. No matter, he had several just sitting in the garage.
"But what will we eat?" Amy asked. She was a little embarrassed to do so, but she was getting hungry. Any minute now she was afraid her stomach would growl. And she was eating for two now, after all.
"You leave that to me," he said. "I guarantee you that by the time you've seen your rooms and freshened up, I'll have dinner on the table." He grinned, revealing his gold teeth and the dimples at the sides of his mouth.
Something in his grin made Amy's lips move to respond in kind. "And how are you going to do that?" she asked with a hint of mischief in her voice. "Magic?"
That grin widened, making the dimples even more prominent. "Perhaps," he said. "But you'll have to come with me to find out, won't you?"
After Mr. Gold showed her where she would be staying, he excused himself "to work some culinary magic". Amy hadn't intended to bathe just then—she was strictly a morning shower kind of girl—but the claw-foot tub looked so inviting, and there was a jar of bubble bath on the sink and a big fluffy white bathrobe hanging on the back of the door, so she decided what the hell.
As she sat in the tub, bubbles up to her chin, she ruminated on the events of the past few hours. Things were definitely looking up, she concluded. In an absurdly short amount of time she had gone from broke, homeless and despondent to a steady job, a place to stay in a beautiful home…and all the books she could read. She felt almost as though she'd stepped into a movie, or maybe a fairytale.
Mr. Gold wasn't the monster people made him out to be, she further decided as she shampooed her hair. She could understand why people were frightened of him—he definitely had an air of authority about him—but she suspected that deep down, he had a kind heart. It was just that no one had ever gotten close enough to him to discover it. (One of Amy's most endearing qualities, as well as the one that had gotten her into the most unpleasant situations, was her astonishing naïveté.)
And, she reflected, the people in Storybrooke could be wrong about others. Look at how wrong they were about her father. If they knew how many times he'd swindled and rooked so many of them over the years, he'd be out of business in a day.
And look at Mayor Mills. Amy could not for the life of her figure out how such a cold, unfeeling woman had ever been popular enough to be elected mayor. But mayor she was, had been all Amy's life it seemed, although the woman was only in her thirties. Before she began babysitting for Henry Mills, Amy had rather admired the woman. She was so beautiful, always so well put together, and so wealthy and powerful. Amy thought with mild surprise that Mayor Mills possessed a lot of the same qualities as Mr. Gold. And therein lay the woman's power, she realized. She used fear to get people to bend to her will. Amy wondered how she and Mr. Gold managed to coexist peacefully in this town.
Yes, she had admired Mayor Mills, but the admiration had been short-lived. From the first time she'd babysat Henry, Amy had been uncomfortably aware of a terrible truth: Regina Mills didn't love her son, any more than Joe Miller loved his daughter.
She did as good a job of faking it as Amy's father always had in public, and Amy doubted that anyone else suspected. But there was something in Regina's voice when she spoke to the boy…always sharply, as though he were a rather dull-witted servant. There was always something in her eyes…a kind of frustrated impatience. Perhaps it was only Amy who saw it. Who better than an unloved child to see another parent's lack of love for their offspring? But then, Henry wasn't truly Regina's offspring; it was common knowledge in Storybrooke that the mayor had adopted Henry as a newborn. That puzzled Amy. Her father, at least, hadn't had a choice in the matter. Why would Regina choose to adopt a child she couldn't love as a mother should?
The worst thing was that Henry knew it. "She doesn't love me, Amy," he had insisted one night when she was putting him to bed. "She only wanted me so she could have a perfect child to go with her perfect life. And then when I wasn't what she wanted she couldn't love me."
Amy saw the lines of misery in his little face and couldn't bring herself to lie to him. "It's OK, Henry," she said. "One day someone's going to come along who loves you exactly the way you are, I know it." To herself she added, and maybe the same thing will happen for me. She had to believe that, otherwise she didn't see how she could go on. She'd thought when she met Todd that it had happened at last; that she'd finally met that person who loved her for what she was. But she'd been disappointed yet again.
Amy shook her head and pulled the stopper out of the drain. There was no point in dwelling on that now, she told herself. That was the past. Everything else—her new job, this house, her baby—that was the future. She had more than enough to occupy her mind over the next several months without crying over spilled milk.
She had planned to put the clothes she'd been wearing back on, since they were all she had besides the bathrobe. When she walked into the bedroom/sitting area of the apartment, however, she was surprised to see that while her clothes were neatly folded on the chair where she'd left them, there was another outfit laid out on the bed. What the hell? she thought as she inspected the new clothes. They weren't fancy by any stretch of the imagination—a white eyelet button-down blouse and a pair of jeans similar to the ones she'd been wearing—but they were both brands she liked and styles she would have chosen herself, and when she peeked at the tags she saw they were the right sizes as well. Amy shook her head, amused and bemused at the same time. Maybe Mr. Gold really did have magical powers. Before she left the room in search of him, though, she found a shopping bag from the Storybrooke Family Shoppe (the only clothing store in town) sitting on the kitchen table along with a note.
Amy, dear, it read, and she smiled at how the elegant yet undeniably masculine hand suited the man to whom it belonged. I called the Storybrooke Family Shoppe and had them send over a few things for you until we can get your belongings from your father's house. I have already conferred with Sheriff Graham about this. In the meantime I hope these will suffice. I hope you don't mind that I checked the sizes of your clothes while you were in the bath but I wanted to make sure they would be the right fit. When you're dressed you may meet me in the dining room. The note was signed with a sprawling "G".
Amy did a quick inventory of the contents of the bag. In addition to the blouse and jeans, there was a pair of pajamas—baby dolls, jut like the ones she wore at home—a bra, and a couple of pairs of panties. She flushed a bit as she realized he must have checked the sizes on those, too. But how had he known about the pajamas?
Oh, of course. The ladies who ran the shop—three elderly sisters named Flora, Fauna and Merry—must have picked them out. She had been shopping there all her life. They obviously knew her tastes by now. She wondered what they must have thought when Mr. Gold called asking for clothes for her. Not that it really mattered, she supposed. Her new situation would be common knowledge soon enough. With a rueful shake of her head, she dressed quickly. Everything fit as well as she had known it would.
She decided to leave her hair down and let it dry on its own. Pulling on the soft brown moccasins she'd been wearing earlier, she left the apartment in search of the dining room and Mr. Gold.
He was waiting for her just as he'd said. She was surprised to see that he had gone all out; the table was set with china and silver, and two taper candles burned in gold candelabras that she suspected cost more than the house she had shared with her father. For a minute she felt slightly intimidated by the splendor of the table. That vanished, however, when she glimpsed the Chinese take-out cartons sitting on the sideboard.
She couldn't help the giggle that escaped her. "What's so funny?" Mr. Gold queried from his place at the head of the table. He was smiling, however, and she saw that he was amused rather than affronted.
"I'm sorry," Amy said once she got the giggling under control. "It's just…I saw the table and thought maybe you really had magically produced some kind of gourmet four-course dinner…and then I saw the take-out cartons…" She was unable to continue as the giggles got the better of her.
He laughed for the second time in her hearing; and this time she felt no frisson down her spine. "It was the only thing I could think of on short notice," he confessed. "Sheriff Graham was kind enough to pick it up for me—he picked up the clothes, too—and he brought it when he dropped by to discuss your…situation."
She blushed…very prettily, he couldn't help noticing. "So Sheriff Graham knows, too?" she asked.
"Just the basics right now," he answered as he stood and moved to the sideboard for the take-out cartons. Amy did the same, and they moved the cartons to the table. "He knows you've had a falling-out with your father and will be staying here for the time being. You'll be pleased to know that your father has no legal right to keep your property. I'm afraid we can't do anything about the car, since it's in his name. But as far as your clothes and other personal belongings, he has no right to keep those. Since you're no longer a minor"—she had told him during the ride to the house that she had turned nineteen just the previous month—"there's no way to prove you didn't buy them yourself, and he'll have to surrender them. Sheriff Graham will pick them up tomorrow and bring them here."
"Thank you," Amy said as they took their seats, he at the head of the table, she at his right. What else was there to say? "Oh, and thank you for the clothes. They're perfect."
"Good, good," he said. "I told the ladies at the shop just to pick the sort of clothes you normally bought. I assumed you did most of your shopping there."
"All of it," she said. "I even bought my prom dress there."
"Yes, they have a rather wide selection for a small-town clothing store," Mr. Gold agreed as he began to open the cartons. "Help yourself, dear. I didn't know what you liked, so I just ordered a little of everything."
"A little of everything" included sweet-and-sour chicken, beef and broccoli, shrimp in garlic sauce, teriyaki vegetables, fried rice, lo mein noodles, and egg drop and hot-and-sour soup. Amy, who hadn't been really hungry, was suddenly ravenous. She put a spoonful of everything on her plate and poured some hot-and-sour soup into her bowl. Maybe it hadn't been that wild of a guess, but she just happened to love Asian food, the spicier, the better.
"Normally I have a glass of wine with dinner," Mr. Gold remarked, "but given your condition and the fact that you're not quite of age yet, I think we'll skip that. I have water, milk, juice…"
"Water will be fine," she said quickly. Ever since she'd become pregnant, milk made her queasy and juice gave her heartburn. She supposed she would have to force herself to start drinking oceans of both, anyway. She wanted to have a healthy baby.
He poured ice water from a crystal pitcher into a matching crystal goblet. She supposed—correctly—that both pitcher and goblet were the finest Waterford. It took everything in her not to clink her fork against the goblet to see if it really made a chiming sound.
"Now, dear," he said when they were both served and had begun to eat, "normally I hate to discuss business over dinner, but there are a few important things we need to go over if you don't mind."
"All right," Amy agreed. She was curious as to what "important matters" they needed to discuss right away, but willing to go along. She wanted to please her new employer.
"You said earlier that you're two and a half months pregnant," Gold began. "I'm assuming you've seen a doctor?"
Amy bowed her head, a little discomfited. She hadn't expected him to go into this right away.
"Please don't be embarrassed, dear," he went on. "I need to know these things as your employer. I want to help you in any way I can."
"I haven't seen a doctor yet," she said in a low voice. "Just the nurse practitioner at the clinic, when I had my pregnancy test."
"I'm assuming 'the clinic' is the Planned Parenthood clinic in town?" he continued. She nodded, her face scarlet with mortification.
He reached out and touched her hand lightly. "Please, dear, work with me here," he said. "I'm certainly not going to ask you any…intimate details. Anything I ask will be related to your job and your stay here. If you want to tell me anything more, I'm here to listen. But for now I'm just trying to ascertain that you're getting the care you need.
"Now," he continued. "I want you to make an appointment as soon as possible with the OB-GYN at Storybrooke Hospital, Dr. Dockery. I assume you're familiar with him?"
Amy brightened a little. "Oh yes," she said. "Everyone knows Dr. Dockery. He delivered me. I've seen him around town all my life, and he's always known me—said hello, asked how I was doing." She liked the thought of the kindly doctor being in charge of her prenatal care.
"Very good," Mr. Gold said. "So, I want you to call tomorrow and set up a preliminary appointment with Dr. Dockery—and I want the bills to come to me."
Amy shook her head. "Oh, Mr. Gold, I couldn't ask you to do that—"
He leaned forward. "I insist, Amy," he said firmly. The candlelight made his large dark eyes even larger and darker. He wasn't smiling now; his face was deadly serious. Looking into his eyes Amy was reminded of a snake hypnotizing its prey. The thought flashed through her mind: Maybe everyone is right to be scared of Mr. Gold.
She immediately felt guilty, however, for his next words were kind. "If you're going to work for me and live under my roof, I feel I should be responsible for your healthcare," he said. He sat back and folded his hands, once more the Mr. Gold she had come to know. "I can't offer you insurance or benefits as other jobs would, but I can do that at least. You won't be eligible for your father's insurance now that you're of age and no longer under his roof, and I'd hate to see you start your adult life with a mountain of debt due to medical bills."
Amy felt about two inches tall after that little speech. "In that case," she said with all the dignity she could muster, "I accept your kind offer and I thank you for it."
He smiled at her, and she had the odd feeling that she had pleased him somehow. "You're more than welcome, Amy," he said. "Now, I must confess the next item is only loosely related to your employment, but I can't help but be curious. Have you given any thought to your options after the child is born?"
Whoa. Talk about a curveball. She was beginning to understand that was Mr. Gold's way; he would lull one into a sense of security, then come out of nowhere and bumfuzzle them. He should have been in law enforcement with that particular talent. He would be worth his weight in gold as an interrogator (she groaned inwardly at the unintentional pun).
She wondered just what he would do if his technique had the intended effect—if she opened up and told all. She decided she would find out.
"Well, you've probably guessed by now that I decided against an abortion," she said candidly, and was rewarded by a slight lift in his eyebrows. "I'm not against other women having them, but I knew it wasn't the right decision for me."
His answer was smooth, but she could tell by his still-raised brows that she had knocked him for a bit of a loop. "I believe in a woman's right to choose," he said. "However, I can understand why you feel that wasn't the right choice for you. So, you won't be terminating the pregnancy. Do you mind telling me what you do plan?"
She sighed. "I want to keep the baby," she admitted. He nodded sympathetically; he had expected as much. "But," she went on, "what I want and what's best for the baby are two different things." She took a sip of water before she continued. "The way things stand right now, I think the best thing would be to give the baby up for adoption."
Something flashed in Mr. Gold's eyes…something that looked oddly like triumph. But perhaps it was a trick of the candlelight, for when he spoke his voice was grave and concerned. "I think that's probably a wise decision, dear."
Encouraged by his words, and choosing to ignore that momentary gleam in his eye, Amy went on. "I want my baby to have the best life possible," she said, "and right now I don't think I can give it that."
He remained outwardly calm, but inside he was exulting. It was going to be this easy? But he forced himself to continue playing the kindly benefactor. "I admire you for realizing that," he said. "I think, too, that you need to consider that adoption would be the best option for you as well. You're an intelligent girl, Amy; you deserve a chance to make something of yourself. You deserve the chance to go to college, have a career, experience life. You could do that with a child, I suppose, but it would be so much more difficult…and in your case, with no real support system behind you, it would be well nigh impossible."
"So you think adoption would be the right thing to do?" she asked. Her intellectual mind was pleased that he agreed with her, but her heart broke a little. Part of her had hoped he would say, Of course you can keep your baby, you and the baby can stay here as long as you need. But she supposed that was silly.
"I think so," he replied. Then he went for the piece de résistance: "Of course, if your circumstances were to change—if your young man were to come back, for example, or if your father were to change his mind and accept you and the baby back into his home—I would be the first one to tell you to keep your child. I think you'd be an excellent mother, Amy, and I hope one day you have the chance to be one, on your terms. But let's face it, as of right now the circumstances aren't likely to change, are they?"
She shook her head, suddenly weary. Whether it was from the conversation, the events of the day catching up to her, or simply her pregnancy she couldn't have said. "No," she said softly. "They're not."
He saw her exhaustion and decided to drop the matter for now. They had discussed enough for one night. Her head was in the right place, and she would need no persuasion. Time enough later to offer to help her find a suitable family for the child.
"You're tired," he said gently. "Why don't you go on to bed? I generally rise early, since I open the shop at eight, but opening late one day isn't going to bankrupt me. Meet me in the kitchen at eight. I do have some breakfast makings here. We'll discuss some of your duties, decide which of the cars would be best for you to drive and such. Then you can drop me off at the shop and go do that grocery shopping we talked about."
"All right," she agreed, her voice dull with fatigue. She rose to leave, then looked at the dishes, at him, and back at the dishes.
"Don't worry about those, dear," he answered her unspoken question. "I can tell you're practically asleep on your feet. And besides, tonight you're a guest, not an employee."
She flashed him a tired smile. "Good night then, Mr. Gold," she said, turning to exit the room. In the doorway she paused.
"Thank you, Mr. Gold," she said. "For everything."
"You're welcome, dear," he said. "Sleep well." He hadn't moved from his chair.
She knew she would; in fact, it was all she could do to make her way back to her little apartment in the west wing and change into the new pajamas. She forced herself to brush her teeth (there was a brand-new toothbrush by the sink in her bathroom; Mr. Gold really was the host with the most) and crawled into the four-poster bed—not as elaborate as the other furnishings in the house, but oh-so-comfortable. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she was asleep.
But it was a very, very long time before Mr. Gold moved from his chair. And if Amy could have known the thoughts that were going through his head—or seen the look in his eyes—she would have fled into the night.
Thanks so much to everyone who's put my story on their alerts, and to my two reviewers, First Lady Lestat and Ravenclaw992!
One of my favorite things about Once Upon A Time is how different the characters of Rumpelstiltskin and Mr. Gold are. Rumpelstiltskin is quite obviously batshit insane, while Mr. Gold is more the suave-yet-sinister type. I haven't been able to figure out yet why this is, aside from the obvious fact that one doesn't get to be the most powerful man in town by capering around and generally being a blatant psychopath. I think on the show Rumpel/Mr. Gold remembers everything; however, for the purposes of my story he has only the vaguest memories and hints that everything isn't as it seems. And these memories will get stronger as time goes on. Of course, it's pretty obvious who Amy is/was in Fairytale…but is the real story of Rumpelstiltskin the one we're all familiar with? Only time will tell!