7. Those We Lost
Archibald Snatcher and Herbert Trubshaw had not spoken in months. And it might have taken them even longer if it hadn't been for the cabbages. Pure chance had led them out to market on the same day, causing both of them to approach a streetside produce stand without noticing each other, each inspecting the cabbage of his choice. Deciding the vegetables they held were not up to par, they put the greens back where they had found them, only to reach for the same cabbage. Their hands collided.
"Pardon – " Herbert began, but as he turned to see who he'd inconvenienced, his entire countenance changed entirely to something far more somber than he'd been. "Archibald?"
First things first, when Archibald realized his hand had brushed against Herbert's, his heart had skipped a beat. Apparently old emotional ties didn't die as easily as he wanted them to. He wasn't particularly in the mood to speak to Herbert, but fleeing the scene would just have been bad form. "Trubshaw," he managed at last. "You look like you've been well."
"Have you been well?" Herbert asked, concerned. "I know you probably don't want to speak to me – "
"Whatever gave you that idea?" It came out far more sarcastic than Archibald had intended.
"Well…you know." Herbert's tone grew hushed. "You weren't…there. At our wedding. And the time that's passed since then."
They both became aware that the produce vendor was listening in with eager ears to hear this gossip, and unanimously, wordlessly decided to continue their conversation on a trek away from that stand. "I've had important business," Archibald said coldly as he turned toward the street. "Snatcher's Stitches won't run itself, you know."
"Is it something I've done?" Herbert asked. "If it is, I sincerely apologize."
"Oh, come now, don't do that," Archibald sighed. "It's absolutely beginning to grate my nerves."
"What is?"
"You being holier-than-thou on every matter that concerns you."
"I'm not trying to be holier-than-thou," Herbert insisted. "I'm merely trying to figure out where I went wrong, that my dearest friend isn't speaking to me!"
"Your dearest friend, am I?" Archibald countered. "After Miss Travis, of course. Oh, I do apologize. MRS. Trubshaw, now, she is."
"It was never meant to be a competition between you," Herbert pleaded. "I know the two of you never got on, but I do love both of you – "
"You only seem to be married to one of us. And what about your little friends - " His voice went hushed: "Underground? I suppose you've only become closer to them. You're practically one of them anyway."
"They're dear to me, of course," Herbert sputtered. "The point is, Archibald, I never meant to lose you by loving anyone else! If I've hurt you, if I've wronged you in any way, then please, tell me what I've done so I can make amends!"
Archibald badly wanted to have a fair argument against Herbert, to tell him exactly what made him such a reprehensible person and a terrible friend. But he didn't. All he had was a man desperate to reclaim the bond he'd lost, and who was doing quite a wonderful job at communicating his own kindness. When Archibald said "You've nothing to apologize for," he knew it was true. "Choosing the Portley-Rind wedding over yours was my decision."
"But why, Archibald?"
"You mean after all this time, you still don't know?" Archibald replied, somewhat in disbelief. "It was the next step toward the White Hat, Herbert! The most influential family in all of Cheesebridge now owes the success of its heir's wedding to the Snatchers! Can't you imagine what that will do for us?"
"And is that why you've ignored me since then?" Herbert asked, his voice suddenly taking on an edge. "Because speaking to me won't get you any closer to that White Hat you've dreamed of?"
"Perhaps it is."
"Why is it so important to you, Archibald?"
"Why is a White Hat important?" Archibald was flabbergasted. "It comes with power! It comes with prestige! It comes with wealth and influence! It comes with everything I've been denied my whole life!"
"Except for love and friendship," Herbert said softly. "You had that. It wasn't enough, though, was it?"
The silence was deafening before Archibald said, "You realize it wasn't supposed to be this way. We were supposed to achieve greatness together. But you gave it up the moment you met Mrs. Trubshaw née Travis. You settled. You decided my dreams were just too good for you."
"That…that isn't entirely true, Archibald," Herbert stated, his tone now growing shaky. "I thought…perhaps we could live out our lives the way we wanted and stop caring what everyone thinks about us. So long as we had each other, the White Hat wouldn't matter. We could follow our dreams in our own ways. I would continue to invent, even if my inventions never became famed or used by the White Hats. And you…you always did write such beautiful poetry. You could have been a writer. Or an artist, with the way you crafted all of the gowns at your family's shop. Or even an actor. And Marjorie…well, we won't speak of Marjorie if you don't want to hear it, but she would have been my wife all the same, and she would have been able to live the same way, doing what she loves no matter what anyone thinks. And Fish and Shoe, they could be with us too, instead of having to run and hide from every human aboveground. We, all of us, could have had – we could STILL have a wonderful life together, making things and being ourselves!"
"And what's brought all this on?" Archibald snapped. "You were always the first to champion that my family might actually do it, you know! That I myself, Archibald Snatcher, might – "
"You would NEVER have earned that hat, Archibald, and you KNOW it!" Herbert finally snapped.
Archibald was taken aback, giving Herbert an absolutely stunned look. He had absolutely never seen this side of Herbert before and was almost curious to plumb the depths of his anger. "What…is THAT…supposed to mean?"
"It means the White Hats are terrible people who only care about keeping the hats in their own families, or buying their way into power!" Herbert ranted. "They've always thought of you as so much lesser than you are, and that's all they'll EVER see you as! To them, you don't have the look, the manners, or the money, and you never will! And it isn't because you aren't worthy; it's because they're pigheaded and short-sighted! No amount of hemming wedding gowns is going to change that, Archibald! I'm sorry to have to speak ill of your dream, but that's all it will EVER be! Just…a…dream! And the sooner you WAKE UP from it, the sooner you'll finally be happy with your life!"
"YOU DON'T KNOW A THING ABOUT WHITE HATS!" Archibald roared in retaliation. "AND YOU DON'T KNOW THE FIRST THING ABOUT ME, IF YOU THINK I CAN'T GET THEM TO SEE WHAT I DESERVE! YOU NEVER THOUGHT THIS BEFORE YOU MET THAT WOMAN, AND LOOK WHAT YOU'VE BECOME! HER HOLLOWED-OUT PUPPET THAT SHE USES TO SAY HER WORDS THROUGH!"
"THAT'S NOT TRUE!" Herbert yelled. "SHE DIDN'T CHANGE MY MIND! SHE JUST MADE ME REALIZE WHAT I HAD THOUGHT ALL ALONG!"
Now the silence was not so much deafening as it was the equivalent of something strong breaking unexpectedly in two. Archibald took a few breaths before he was able to formulate his response: "You've…thought this from the very start? You thought I…that my family would NEVER be able to achieve power? And you let me believe you supported me."
"You wanted it so badly," Herbert said weakly. "I suppose I talked myself into it because of that. I wanted you to be happy. But it's been so long, Archibald. We aren't children anymore. We know how this town works. We know how the WORLD works. And we can't go on pretending. The good news is that we don't need the White Hats or their approval in order to be happy. Because I've been thinking it over, and I realized…things like hats, they're not what make you who you are. YOU make – "
"Don't ever speak to me again."
Herbert was immediately filled with regret. "But, Archibald – "
"Don't EVER speak to me AGAIN!" Giving Herbert a rough shove aside, Archibald stormed quickly back toward his family's shop.
Thoughts of remorse filled Herbert's mind: that he could have found a way to put his musings into words more tactfully, more gently. He thought about running after his friend, calling out to him, asking forgiveness, asking to clarify his point, asking simply to talk about it instead of yelling about it.
But he knew that if he did any such thing, he would only be met with hard-headed resistance. Archibald Snatcher had made up his mind, and Herbert knew him well enough to realize his decision was final. They were no longer friends.
And furthermore, Archibald realized with a final breath of relief, he no longer had any feelings for Herbert in any capacity beyond that.
...
Years passed. Muddy springs solidified into warm summers, which rotted into withering autumns and froze over into cold winters. The sun rose and set and rose and set only to rise again, and one chilly autumn day, it rose over the grave of Gabriel Spencer Snatcher, buried at the side of his long-dead wife Amelia.
The funeral was small, but hardly intimate. It sickened Archibald to see how few people had come to mourn their tailor. Their town had practically run on his work, and yet they refused to acknowledge his importance by so much as turning up for his passing.
Verses were read over the grave, and a priest wished Gabriel safe passage into the afterlife. The people eventually grew bored and began leaving during the readings until Archibald was the only one left. And then the priest took his leave as well; Archibald stood alone over the graves of his parents.
What had they worked for? This he wondered as he read their headstones: only their names and "Beloved Husband/Beloved Wife." Nothing of their accomplishments had been documented. They had not been viewed as noteworthy in the slightest. And of course, no one had thought to even try and console their son, though Archibald would have tried to strangle anyone who attempted to do such a thing. After all the work the Snatchers had put into dressing the citizens of Cheesebridge, was this how they were to be repaid? With a quiet passing into an unremarkable grave, with no White Hat, with hardly even any money to their name?
Archibald felt his eyes truly open then. Perhaps, in his own way, Herbert had been right. Lord Charles Portley-Rind, for he was now Lord of the city, had never respected the Snatchers. Archibald himself didn't know how much time he had left to secure a position if he was to secure one at all. Certainly, a whole lifetime would never be enough to impress Lord Portley-Rind. He never would have the right look, the right manners, the right money. Seeing the unadorned headstones of his parents burned this harsh truth into his heart. There truly was only one way to win the game, and in order to do so, Archibald would have to change his entire strategy.
He turned and made his way from the cemetery. There were preparations to be made. If they wouldn't give him a White Hat for merit, he would simply have to do what he'd learned as the son of a tailor: rip Cheesebridge apart at the seams.
...
Archibald wasn't the only one to have lost someone and be thrust into sobering realizations because of it. In the upper floors of the general hospital, Herbert Trubshaw sat, practically curled up into a ball over a small bundle in his arms. Every now and again, his body was wracked with a terrible sob.
It was supposed to be one of the happiest days of his life: the birth of his and Marjorie's child. He hadn't been able to conceal his glee when he rushed Marjorie to medical aid, and she too had been joyous, talking to the small form within her own body, telling it she was excited to meet whoever it turned out to be. But then, during the birth, complications had arisen. And though the orderlies had done their best, there had been no saving Marjorie. Only the child.
As Herbert wept for the loss of his love, the tiny baby let out a loud wail. Herbert forced himself to stem the flow of his tears; he was now the only parent the child, a boy, had, and now he had to be strong for him. "It's all right, Arthur," he said shakily, his voice breaking. He knew it wouldn't be long before he found himself weeping again. "I know things may seem awful, but I…I'm here for you…and I will take care of you to the very best of my ability. I love you, Arthur."
One of the staff gingerly approached. "Mr. Trubshaw…"
"I know." Herbert stood, cradling Arthur gently, quivering at the knees. "I need to move along, don't I?"
"That would be best, Mr. Trubshaw. You can make funeral arrangements with – "
"I know, I know." Herbert gave a polite nod. "Thank you, at least, for trying to save her."
On his way out of the hospital, he continued to mutter assurances to the child: "It's only you and me now. But we'll be all right. You and I can make it." And as he reached his house, he began to sing. He had no sense of rhythm, and his pitch was terrible. Anyone else who may have heard the song might have mocked him for it.
But Arthur was calmed by the sound, and by the time Herbert lay the child down in his crib, the baby boy was fast asleep.
"Goodnight, Arthur," Herbert bade him. "I do truly love you. And we will be all right."
Then he turned to his own bed, which, without Marjorie, was all too wide and empty.