Silence filled the house, something that had become slightly foreign since Francis's arrival the day prior. Now it was Sunday afternoon. Alfred and Matthew had gone outside to play and Arthur wasn't quite sure what Francis was up to, but at least he was being quiet.
Still dressed in his Sunday best, Arthur decided now was a good a time as any to start on a particularly difficult project he'd been putting off. He made his way to the master bedroom and closed the door behind him with a sigh… he wasn't looking forward to this.
Arthur chose to start with the closet, pulling the doors open. Her elegant dresses still hung alongside his suits. Several shoes were lined up along a small bench-like structure against the back of the closet. While there were a couple pairs of his dress shoes, most were hers- ranging from lovely high heels to playful sandals.
"Oh Yvette." Arthur sighed softly, "Where should I even begin?"
He grasped the fabric of a particular dress, fingers tracing absently over the silky material. "I remember the first time you wore this dress." He thought silently.
He shook his head to clear it, "Yes, well, I haven't any use for these dresses. I should probably donate them…Still though…" he sighed, this was going to be even harder than he thought.
He rubbed his temples between his thumb and index finger. How could he go about this? Perhaps all he needed was to do it quickly, to put them out of sight and out of mind… Right?
He pulled six dresses from their hangers in quick succession, folding them over his arm. He didn't allow himself to really look at them, he couldn't. He grabbed for a seventh dress to add to the pile on his arm when he noticed some resistance… the dress must be caught on the hanger.
Instinctively, he looked the dress over for the problem and his hand began to tremble. Why was it that dress?
The rich purple dress seemed to flow elegantly into a slender waterfall. Sleeves were no more than an elegant ruffle, having exposed her lithe arms in all their glory.
He could almost see her now, golden hair dancing about as she spun elegantly before him….
"Mon Amour! Oh, my sweet Arthur!" Her voice chimed; a sound so beautiful and sweet to his ears.
"We're just going out to dinner, love… have I really made you that happy?" he had asked with a soft smile.
"Oh, Arthur! You are too much sometimes!" she laughed, "Did you not notice this dress, I bought it for this special occasion." She twirled around once more.
He'd blinked, "A special occasion, Hm? Tell me, is it someone's birthday?" he asked.
"Not exactly, but you are not so far off!" Her smile, it was so… radiant.
He'd racked his brain a moment before widening his eyes, "What? You couldn't possibly mean- could you?"
She nodded.
"Really Yvette? A-Are you sure?" hands trembling, he traced down the length of her arms, grasping her hands in his own, "You are far too beautiful to be pregnant." He found himself whispering.
She drew back slightly, "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Just… wow. It feels like just yesterday we were wed..." he breathed and then smiled at her, "Our child! Oh you're right, Yvette! This is a very special occasion!" he'd grabbed her by her waist and twirled her…
Arthur shook his head to clear it, feeling tears welling in his eyes but he forced them back. He missed her so very much. Glancing down at the dresses in his arm, he found he hadn't the will to part with them. Carefully, he hung them back up on their hangers.
A part of his mind told him he was a fool to do this, but the emotional, sentimental part of him reigned supreme.
"..Perhaps I should try getting rid of some of her shoes at the very least… I mean, who could be sentimental about old shoes?" he tried to convince himself flatly.
"Bloody hell. How am I ever going to get through this? I need to pull myself together." Arthur thought silently.
He bent down to retrieve her shoes from their 'bench.'
One pair… two pairs… three pairs… how many pairs of high heels did she have? He sighed; who was he trying to kid? He'd often teased her about needing to commission someone to build a closet solely for her footwear.
A fourth pair… a fifth pair… He wasn't even sure if she'd ever worn all of these.
Six pairs… seven, then eight…
KRR-DUM!
Arthur lost his grip on the shoes and they tumbled to the floor. "Bloody hell." He groaned as he stooped to recollect the footwear.
Why was he suddenly so inept?
It was while he was crouching and wondering this that something caught the corner of his eye… something on the floor of the closet.
He quickly identified the object, trying to tell himself it was off limits. He probably shouldn't look at it… Looking at it would only inhibit him further from getting anything accomplished. And yet, now that it had caught his eye, his heart ached so very badly for it.
"She's only been gone three months!" he tried to reason with himself, but immediately a response to that echoed in his mind, "Three months is too long."
Ignoring what he was sure was his better judgment; Arthur reached for the item- a thick photo album.
Carefully brushing the dust off the cover with his fingertips, Arthur sat on his bed and laid the volume across his lap.
He opened the photo album and let his eyes scan the first page.
There were old pictures of him and Yvette from back when they'd merely been courting.
One picture depicted her dancing with Francis… Arthur reasoned he'd have to get him a copy of that photograph later.
Some photos were of Yvette alone- laughing, smiling, and being carefree…
"You were so beautiful." Arthur murmured softly as he flicked through the album.
He felt his heart squeeze in his chest when his eyes met the photographs housed on the next page. How had some of their wedding photos found their way into this album? He was sure there was a whole volume dedicated to the occasion…
Nonetheless, there Yvette was- posed in her gorgeous wedding gown and looking very much like an angel.
Below that a photo of him, holding his new bride close… If only he could still hold her close to him…
Arthur felt tears wobbling in his eyes. Why was he putting himself through this?
"Y-Yvette. Yvette….Yvette…" he muttered to himself, getting a bit louder each time he repeated her name. "My darling, I miss you so much." His breathing hitched as he tried not to cry.
"Think of the children… why, they'll probably be coming inside soon… you don't want them to find you like this." He coached himself feebly.
He swore under his breath as he felt the tears slipping down his cheeks against his will. He hadn't cried much since his wife died; he had tried to be strong. After all, he had two sons to take care of; he didn't have time to grieve… But oh how deeply he was hurting, and all at once he let it out in a wave of emotion.
Wracking sobs consumed him as he found his thoughts asking the heavens countless times why she'd gotten sick, and why she had to go. It all seemed so complicated and so unfair. Why did so many couples get to live into their golden years together, while she was taken away from him and their two young sons? And more importantly, why did it have to hurt so much?
His poor, befuddled mind tried to come up with a rational reason to stop crying, but his aching heart implored him to release further.
The harsh sound of knocking at his door made Arthur jolt, "...W-Who's there?" he gasped, his voice still full of emotion.
"Mon ami, are you alright in there?" Francis's voice came with a hint of concern.
Hurriedly wiping tears from his eyes, Arthur tried to sound calmer.
"…Of course. W-why-" He choked on the word, his lungs still trying to pull in air after his hysterical crying, "Why do you ask?"
"Because," Francis paused as he opened the door, "You've been crying."
The Frenchman spotted the photo album sitting in Arthur's lap, "Looking through pictures of her?" he asked softly.
Arthur nodded slowly, "I meant to start going through her belongings… but I just can't bring myself to part with any of them quite yet… Too many memories, I suppose." He took in a shaky breath in an effort not to start crying again, "Then I found this old photo album…" he trailed off.
Francis was silent a long moment, and then sat down beside the Englishman, "May I see?"
"Yes." Arthur paused to clear his throat, "Yes, of course."
Francis carefully scooped the album up and turned back a couple pages, "Ah, I remember that day." He said with a sentimental tone as he pointed to the picture of Yvette and himself dancing.
"Ah yes. Remind me and we'll make a copy of that photograph later." Arthur said, glancing over.
"You know, I was the one who taught her to dance." Francis said with a slight smirk.
"Why am I not surprised?" Arthur replied.
"Yvette was so delicate, so beautiful…Like a rose, no?" Francis commented as he turned the page.
"No. If you're asking me, she was more of an angel." Arthur said softly.
Francis smiled gently and nodded," Oui. That she was."
Meanwhile, Alfred and Matthew had grown bored of playing outside. Reentering the seemingly silent house, both boys glanced at each other.
"Where are Uncle Francis and Daddy?" Matthew asked his twin softly.
"I dunno, Matty." Alfred replied with a shrug, "But I know how to find out!" he said, grinning broadly as he tore off up the stairs.
"Hey! Wait for me!" Matthew pleaded as he chased after his brother; stuffed polar bear nestled in his arms.
The sound of children's shoes racing up the stairwell snapped Arthur and Francis out of their state of reminiscence; causing them to glance in the direction of the bedroom door.
Alfred burst into the room first, followed closely by Matthew.
"Boys, what have I told you about knocking?" Arthur chided gently.
"Sorry Daddy. We came inside and didn't see anyone." Matthew said softly, nearly burying his mouth in Mr. Kumajiro's back.
"Well, that is my fault." Arthur mused, "I'm sorry."
"What are you and Uncle Francis doing anyway?" Alfred asked.
"We were looking through some old pictures of your mother." Arthur explained gently and patted the bed beside him, "Would you two like to see?"
At once, both boys scrambled up onto the bed. They got behind Arthur and Francis, kneeling so they could both see the album over their father and uncle's shoulders.
Francis passed Arthur half of the album so it sat between their laps as the boys drank in the details.
"Mommy looks different." Alfred pointed out.
"That's because she was younger. These first few photos are from back before she and I were married." Arthur explained to his sons.
"She's so pretty..." Matthew paused, "Even Mr. Kumajiro thinks so."
"You look really happy in these photos, Daddy." Alfred commented.
"Your mother made me happy." Arthur said simply.
"Hey! Wait a minute!" Alfred shouted after a moment," Who's that guy dancing with Mommy? He has a ponytail and looks sort of girly!"
Arthur chuckled slightly, perhaps the first time he'd laughed that day, "That would be your Uncle Francis."
"And I did not look girly! I was simply well dressed… and had yet to decide that I looked better with stubble on my chin." Francis said.
"You're right, you do look better with hair on your chin!" Alfred said brightly as Matthew giggled.
"Now boys, don't give him too hard a time of it." Arthur said, though it was obvious he was amused.
Alfred reached down and flipped the page of the photo album; he and Matthew once more became engrossed in the photographs of their mother.
They soon grew quiet and all at once hugged their father, "I miss Mommy." Alfred said quietly.
Arthur held his sons close, "I know; I know." He said softly.
"I wish I could see her again." Mathew added in barely more than a whisper.
It made Arthur's heart ache," Of course you do." He said, gently rubbing his sons' backs.
"But you know, your mother is watching over you from Heaven… right now." Francis told the boys.
"Really?" both boys asked.
"That's right." Arthur agreed, slowly an idea coming to him. "And though I know it's not the same, would both of you like to choose a picture of your mother from the photo album?"
"You mean it, Daddy?" Matthew asked.
Arthur nodded, "That way… whenever you miss your mother, you can pull out that photograph and see her smiling back at you." He said softly.
The twins hugged their father close and then proceeded to pick out their favorite pictures of their mother.
"I'm going to look at her every night before I go to sleep and every morning when I wake up!" Alfred declared.
"Me too." Matthew tacked on softly, clutching the photograph as protectively as his stuffed polar bear.
Author's Note:
Hello, you've just read Chapter two. Yes, I know, this chapter isn't as cheery as the previous one. However, I felt it necessary to show that Arthur is grieving for his dead wife. And yes, I gave her the name Yvette. I browsed through several French names, but that one in particular jumped out at me. I hope you liked this chapter, and as always reviews not only make me happy, but inspire me to write further. I'll see you in chapter three.