Chapter 3
"Good lord! Mr. Gold, I–crap, this is awful. Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Every one of the counters shattered! They even smashed the Mickey Mouse phone. About the only things they left alone were the unicorn mobile and the canoe."
"Too high to reach," Gold mumbles.
"Did you call the sheriff yet?"
Gold's mouth twitches; he's tempted to reply You mean the one I just got elected?
Josiah holds the curtain that separates the front of the shop from the workroom. He starts to step forward, then reconsiders and retreats back into the workroom to examine the back door. Gold is behind him, standing at the workbench, silent and revealing nothing in his expression as he polishes a brass candlestick.
"No damage to the back door," Josiah comments. "Didn't appear to be any to the front, either. I don't want to walk out there, maybe disturb the crime scene." He runs his fingers along the window sill. "No damage here." He turns to face his employer. "You didn't accidentally–nah, you never leave the door unlocked. Bet this had something to do with the election results. Some of Ms. Mills' goons."
"Never mind, Mr. Dove." Gold doesn't make eye contact; he simply continues to polish the candlestick.
"I'm the only other person in this town has a key for this shop," Josiah produces his keyring from his pocket. "And I swear, Mr. G., this key never left–"
"Never mind, Mr. Dove."
"–my. . . ." Dove stares in amazement at his boss as he begins to figure things out. He drops the keyring into his pocket and just stares.
"It's been quite some time since you've had a day off. Why don't you go home, Mr. Dove? Consider it my congratulations on your delightful news." Gold still doesn't look up.
Josiah swallows hard. "I'll, uh, see you tomorrow morning, then."
"Enjoy your day."
Josiah turns to leave, but pauses with his hand on the doorknob. His voice reveals bewilderment. "Mr. Gold?"
The pawnbroker finally looks up.
"There's shards of glass sticking to your jacket."
He closes the shop for a couple of days, retreats to his cabin, where Belle and Belinda have never been, where there's no trace of her except in dreams. Someone has been here–someone broke the lock and came in and used his blankets, leaving them in a musty heap on the rocking chair. He builds a bonfire outside and burns them. Later he'll send Robin Locksley, the locksmith, out here to affix new locks. Josiah could do it, of course–would expect to, if he knew about the cabin; repairs are a big part of his job. Hell, Josiah's feelings would be hurt if he found out Gold hired Locksley. But there's no way to explain it that doesn't lead to more questions, more hurt: I don't want you to know about this place, where I come so I can stop thinking about your wife.
This is a fishing cabin. Nothing here is soft or sweet. But he dreams about her anyway. He gives up and goes back to work.
It's a slow afternoon–many of them are–so Josiah's been sweeping up in the backroom. But mostly, he's been talking about the baby, showing off the sonogram image. Gold can't make out anything, but Josiah swears he can.
"Up for a rematch?" Gold snaps, just to get him to shut up.
"Sure." Dove pushes his little pile of dirt into a dustpan and dumps it in the trash. He sits down at the workbench.
Gold opens the domino drawer, but something nasty takes hold of him and he wheels around instead, unlocking from a glass case a handcarved chess set he acquired from a Chinese emperor in another life. "How about something a bit more challenging?"
Dove shakes his head. "Sorry, Mr. G., I couldn't give you a decent game. Never played chess before."
"I'll teach you. It's not much more complicated than checkers."
"I don't know. I've heard it's hard to learn . . ."
"I'll go easy on you until you do."
That's a lie. Gold plays as though blood is at stake. Dove reddens, sensitive enough to suspect what's going on but unwilling to distrust a man he considers to be a friend. Game after game, Dove becomes so flustered he can no longer remember the names of the pieces, let alone how they move.
The postal carrier rescues him. As he goes to the front to take the mail, Dove chuckles nervously. "Sorry to let you down, Mr. G. Dominoes is more my speed. But I hear Archie's a good player. You should ask him next time." He lays the mail on the workbench for Gold to sort. "I should take the storm windows down now. I'll wash the primary windows while I'm at it."
Gold stares at the rook in his clenched fist. Well, no one ever accused him of fair play, but he doesn't feel much like a winner right now.
He smells her perfume on his bedspread. At first he wonders if she lay down here when she cleaned today. Did she curl up on his bed, thinking of him, clutching his pillow? He allows exactly five minutes of that fantasy before he scoffs aloud. She just made the bed, that's all, that's enough to leave a trace of her perfume. If she lay down here at all, it was to rest; in her condition, she must tire easily.
That night he can't bear to lie in his own bed. He moves into one of the guest rooms. Permanently. When he leaves for work on Wednesdays, he locks that bedroom. She must notice, but she leaves no note to ask about it.
"How can you work for him?" A young woman seated across Belle is asking as Gold enters Granny's Diner. "You know what he did to Ashley, don't you? If not for Emma–" She suddenly leans back in the pleather booth as the subject of her gossip enters and ambles to the counter.
But Ms. Dove is seated with her back to the entrance and, caught up in her frustration, doesn't catch the alarm in her companion's face.
"How do you know? You only heard one side of it, right?" Belle blurts. "No one, not even Josiah, has heard Mr. Gold's side of it. I mean, suppose you were an attorney and a nineteen-year-old came to you and said, 'I'm pregnant with a baby I can't take care of and my boyfriend dumped me and I'm broke. Can you find a good home for this baby?' What would you say? What about the baby, huh? Maybe, just maybe, Mr. Gold was thinking about what was best for the baby that Ashley and Sean didn't want. Ashley did sign a contract, remember." Belle throws a wad of dollars onto the table and slides out of the booth. "Sorry, I have to go."
Gold spins around so his back is to her as she storms out.
About the time that Emma foolishly aligns herself with Sidney, Dove fails to show up for work. He's never done that, never even been late, so Gold is concerned; he phones, but his call goes directly to voice mail.
A few minutes after he opens the shop, Regina barges in. "Doing your Mother's Day shopping early, Madame Mayor?" Gold mugs at her from behind the counter. "Ah, but alas, I can't provide shipping to the Enchanted Forest Cemetery."
Regina narrows her mascaraed eyes. "Funny you should mention mothers, because I happen to have some news about one: seems your trained ape's spunky little bride–"
Gold bares his teeth. "When you speak of Mr. or Ms. Dove, you will do so respectfully or not at all–please."
Regina's mouth clamps shut and she appears momentarily startled. Then she draws in a deep breath, adjusts her blazer indignantly, and glares at him, her eyes saying what her lips can't. "As I was saying, I have news: your. . . employees. . . are at the hospital. Seems Ms. Dove had a scare this morning, thought she was having a miscarriage, so her husband rushed–"
"A what?" Gold can't prevent the quaver in his voice, and Regina studies him closely.
"Why, Mr. Gold, if I didn't know you to be an unfeeling bastard, I'd think that was concern in your voice." She leans forward, sneering, but behind her stare, he detects uncertainty. She's beginning to wonder, he realizes, if he intends to do something about Belle.
He's not ready to show his cards yet, although he'd enjoy nothing more at this moment than to wrap his claw around her lovely throat. But he blinks innocently. "Hardly. But that information is newsworthy, indeed, pregnancies being so rare here. But I interrupted you. You had something more to tell?"
"Simply that it was a false alarm. Whale will keep her overnight for observation, but she's expected to be released in the morning. She had some spotting, but Whale says it's not that unusual."
"Really? You seem to have been given a great deal of information that most people would consider private." He blinks at her again. "Or is Ms. Dove another on your list of emergency contacts?"
"Nothing gets by me, Gold; you should know that by now. Nothing." She spins on her high heel and marches out.
As soon as she's gone, Gold's on the phone. Regina's not the only one with contacts at the hospital. His hand shakes as he dials, but he manages to make his inquiries sound all business. When he's finished, his hand isn't shaking any more. Coolly, as though he's just an employer demonstrating common manners, he phones Game of Thorns to order a get-well basket delivered to the hospital–not their largest basket, for that would raise suspicion, but not their smallest, for he's the wealthiest man in town and the Doves have worked for him forever, so some generosity is expected. His tasks completed, he wanders into his workshop to put on the teakettle, but he drops onto his bench instead, his head in his hands.
Dove shows up for work on time the next day, but he's not really ready to work. He needs to talk about his fears for his wife and child, and Gold just happens to be in his path. He talks it out, not noticing that Gold doesn't answer, not noticing that he's not the only man who cares about Belinda's welfare.
"Doc says it's common in the first trimester. Ran a bunch of tests. Belinda and the baby are fine, he said. No reason we can't have a healthy baby and a normal delivery. Still, it was a helluva scare."
"She needs to ease up," Gold finally says. "I'll reduce her hours but keep her pay at the same level. Half a day, once a week. I'll get temporary help for the heavy work."
"She won't agree to that: the same pay for half the work. An honest day's work for an honest day's pay, she'd say."
"We'll change the job title, then. Instead of a housekeeper, she'll be my cook. She can come in twice a week, three hours a day." He tries to smile reassuringly. "I'm still getting a good deal."
"I think she'd accept those terms." Josiah holds out his bear paw of a hand and Gold shakes it. "Thanks, Mr. G."
She comes now on Mondays and Wednesdays. She continues her experiments in exotic cuisine and dines with him to keep him company.
In the weeks she was avoiding him, she gained a little belly. Her ankles swell but her energy and spirits have risen. She still hangs around after she's washed the dishes. The Best of the Boston Ballet comes on Monday nights, and Gold has an Ultra HD 4K.
He wins her over with pixels and pirouettes. Nutcracker, indeed.
One Monday night, as they're watching Swan Lake (and in the back of his mind, Gold is scheming ways to bring the natural-born dragon-slayer out in Ms. Swan), Belinda is rubbing her aching ankles. It's so natural a gesture he isn't even thinking about it (he's wondering if Charming's sword will be too heavy for Emma) as he reaches for her: Gold simply pulls Belinda's feet into his lap and massages them. He knows a great deal, of course, about the relief of ankle pain.
Belinda settles deeper into the couch, lays her head on its arm, closes her eyes. A small sigh escapes her slightly parted lips.
His body stirs before his mind does, but gradually he becomes aware of his name being. . . moaned. . . in a half-asleep voice. It doesn't help the least bit when Belinda adds, "That feels wonderful. Please. . . don't stop."
He doesn't stop. He'll pay dearly for it tonight after she leaves. After she goes home. To Josiah.
And when Emma's slain the dragon, Regina will pay dearly for her prank on him and Josiah and Belle.
She talks less these days about Josiah and more about the baby and the nest she's building for the littlest Dove. Gold supposes that's to be expected; he missed out on Milah's pregnancy, so he doesn't know much about expectant moms. He doesn't mind at all when Belinda yammers on about the tiny clothes and furniture she's buying. In fact, he buys her an iPod, which he loads with Brahms, Chopin, Mozart and Delius; when she's resting, she listens to it, and they believe the baby may be listening too.
Josiah hands Gold a cup of coffee, then pouring one for himself, leans against the counter. "Once it's cleaned and those nicks are sanded out, it'll be a really nice frame." He gestures with his mug at the portrait frame Gold has laid out on his bench for examination.
"I think I'll leave the nicks in," Gold says. "They add character."
Dove lets the steam from his mug warm his face: he's just come in from outside, and it's rainy today. He takes a test sip, then determines the coffee is still too hot to drink and lets the mug sit in his hands a while. "We decided on names last night."
Gold's hands freeze in their examination of the frame. "Oh?"
"It was pretty easy, actually. We agreed Belinda would choose the girl's name and I'd choose the boy's. So if it's a boy, Albert, after my father."
No, it isn't, Gold is tempted to retort. Your father was a nameless bird.
"And Adelena if it's a girl."
In mid-reach for his mug, Gold knocks it over and the coffee splashes onto the frame. Josiah grabs a rag and swabs up the coffee before it can drip onto the floor.
"Adelena," Gold repeats. "Haven't heard that name in years. How did you choose it?"
"An old family name. Belinda thinks it was one of her great-grandmothers, maybe."
Oh, no. This name choice is from Belle, Gold is sure of it; she's awakening, reaching out to him through the fog of lies.
Your father? What was he like?
I don't want to talk about him.
Your mother?
Died when I was too small to remember her. Rumplestiltskin scowled at Belle, the nastiness rising up in him. He would punish her for making him dredge up ghosts best left in the graveyard. Of Cupid's Disease. When she failed to react, he sneered at her. I don't suppose a lady would know what that is.
She dropped her voice. Through the years of the war, I tended soldiers in the village hospital. I know of the disease.
His fingers twittered in nervous shame, yet he couldn't bring himself to apologize; he was supposed to shock. Instead, he offered a small revelation, something no one else living in this world knew: I was raised by my father's aunts. They taught me to spin. Maerwynn and Adelena.
Lovely names, Belle said. I think they must have also taught you to be a good man.
He snorted and walked away.