CHAPTER 17: SEARCHING FOR SOLACE

"Hello? Is anyone home?"

Claudia rapped at the front door to the Lockhart home. In her hands was a large package, wrapped in burlap and twine. Tifa's clothes had taken her longer than she anticipated to make and she hoped that the girl or her father would be around so that she could properly apologize. Since it was midday and she Tifa no longer attended school, Claudia expected the girl to be home. If she was honest with herself, she had come to visit Lia's little daughter for more than just dropping off her goods.

Her sharp ears caught all sorts of gossip as she peddled her wares in town square. If the rumors were true, Mr. Lockhart had been spending quite a bit of time at the tavern with the bachelors and old men. In the aftermath of the loss of Lia and the girl's head injury, it wasn't right to Tifa was alone for any longer than necessary. The upheaval of day to day routine must have been devastating for the Lockhart family. Claudia remembered how frightening it was to suddenly find herself in a world that had changed so drastically from the way it was before. Knowing that life would never be the same had sucked the brightness from her eyes and truthfully, it was little Cloud who had helped her move forward in the end. She hoped Brian would be able to see that father and daughter needed each other to heal and build a bright future.

Setting the package down outside the front door, Claudia scribbled a quick note to thank her patrons and slipped it under the twine.

It had been quite a while since she had stood on the Lockhart's doorstep. The last time she had darkened this doorway was just before Lia had gotten sick and they had shared a cup of tea over talk of the weather and the children. Oh, how she missed Lia. She had often mused how the two of them were exact opposites and yet still were able to connect on an emotional level. Lia was a ruby eyed foreigner with hair as dark as midnight that fell in a straight curtain to her waist; her own eyes were a calming blue and her hair fell in golden blonde waves past her shoulders. Brian's bride had come to Nibelheim as a blushing virgin and she as a hopeless disgrace with a frightened toddler. Ms. Lockhart was the picture of a successful mother of a lovable, darling daughter while Claudia struggled to put bread on the table for her ostracized little boy.

And yet, that hadn't mattered to Lia. She had reached out to her anyway, always offering kindness and baked goods to both her and Cloud. For a time, she had hoped that Lia's affections might serve as a gateway to a better social status within the village. As selfish as it seemed, the single mother was a social creature and loneliness ate away at psyche. More importantly, her son's future depended on his ability to make friends and form bonds with the people who scorned him for things completely out of his control. If a well-to-do family like the Lockharts accepted her and Cloud, maybe the others would, too. But that hope had died when her neighbor had breathed her last. Despite that, Claudia held some faith that little Tifa's continued companionship with Cloud would help her son to find some sort of healthy social niche. Lia's big heart and generous spirit seemed to live on through her daughter.

Claudia slowly made her way back home, running through her mental list of chores she needed to finish before starting supper. Her son would be home within a few hours and he was always hungry after school.

Cloud had been changing and his recent transformation had confused her. He was angry and hurt to be blamed for Tifa's accident and she couldn't fault him for that. The other children had taunted and teased him for it she was sure, and Claudia knew they roughed him up a bit once in a while. It must've only felt natural to Cloud to fight them back, despite her warnings and pleas for him to do the opposite. At least then, he could've used the excuse of self-defense. But what had startled her the most was the fact that Cloud had started some of these fights. Cloud had always been a docile child, spending long days of his childhood reading books or playing quietly. Rough housing was quite a foreign notion to her reclusive little boy. But he wasn't so little anymore, even if he was still a little bit smaller than the others. He had always been an obedient child and she had ordered him never to hit anyone. She was disappointed that her son had stopped honoring her wishes.

Shutting the front door behind her, Claudia rolled up her sleeves to start kneading the bread dough. Boys would be boys, she supposed.

… … …

Hot, white steam rose into the air with a loud hiss as Benjamin the blacksmith doused his hot metal tongs into the quench tub. Four pairs of eyes watched with awe when he withdrew a perfectly shaped horse shoe from the water.

"So cool!" Jason grinned. "I want to be a blacksmith someday!"

"You aren't going to be a farmer like your Pop?" Jim asked, adjusting his red cap.

"Nah, blacksmiths get to make all sorts of tools and even weapons!" Jason countered.

"Yeah, but he hasn't had the time to do that since he married Miss Strauss, right Ben?" Thomas teased, sending a grin towards Tifa, who looked on with mild amusement.

"Mrs. Nelson, now," the blacksmith corrected with a grin. "You lose your free time when you get married. I can't be making a ton of swords and daggers for fun, these days. Strictly business and commissions, for now."

The boys groaned and Ben smirked.

"Oh, it's not all that bad. Being married is nice!" Ben began hanging his tools up on their assigned hooks and tidying up his work space. "You get to always come home to a hot meal and you aren't ever lonesome."

Tifa held her breath. She forgot about making dinner! It was difficult getting used to balancing filling Mama's shoes and trying to hold on to snippets of her on life. Her father will want his hot meal when he got home and she needed to start preparing it now if she had any hope of finishing by then.

"I've got to go, guys," Tifa said, hopping down from her perch on the wooden barrel against the wall.

"So soon?" Thomas moved to her side. "It isn't yet five in the afternoon! We've got hours of sunlight left."

"I need to get home and make dinner for Papa," she said and Thomas stopped pursuing.

After bidding goodbye to the boys and Mr. Nelson, Tifa smoothed her ruffled skirt and hurried home. It was never easy to explain to her friends why she couldn't come out to play for long hours each day. They just didn't seem to understand that she had a great deal of responsibility on her shoulders now that she was the lady of the house. Their mothers all took care of the cooking, cleaning and laundry, but Tifa didn't have that luxury anymore. The lengthy summer days that they used to spend romping and exploring weren't an option for her now. Even if she had the time, there were things holding her back from feeling like she could be so carefree again. Her guilt and sadness quietly followed her like a shadow.

A smile crept across her face when she saw the package on her doorstep—her fighting clothes were finally ready! There was a note that read:

For my dear Tifa
Enjoy your clothes and work hard to learn!
-Ms. Strife

Grinning, she picked up the package and headed inside, looking forward to trying on her new garments once her chores were done. She fixed supper as quickly as and had the table set by the time Papa was supposed to arrive, but he was late. She swept and cleaned all the kitchen counters as she waited. That morning she had asked for boots for her training and Papa had groaned, calling her a prima donna. Maybe it had upset him so much that he didn't want to come home? The sun had long set when she gave up and ate her meal alone, a hard knot in her stomach with the realization that tonight might be one of those nights where her father would come home angry and smelling of his drink.

Tifa cleaned her dishes, set Papa's food in the ice box and quietly retired to her room. Her spirits lifted when she remembered the package she had placed on her bed. Unwrapping the twine and burlap, she smiled at the stack of garments folded neatly against each other. There were four tunics of different colors, made with room for her to grow. There were four black pairs of pants as well, but they were stretchy like her leggings and ran the length of her leg from her waist to her ankles. Shedding her dress and stockings, she slipped on a pair of her new pants. Experimentally, she lifted her knee up high and practiced a few of her kicks. The elasticity of the fabric gave her great ease of movement. They were perfect!

At the bottom of the stack were four pairs of wool boot socks and four camisoles made of the same stretchy material as the pants. Four back cloth belts made her set complete. Curious, she picked up a camisole. Ms. Strife had told her that these were to be worn underneath her tunic as an undergarment. Tifa donned the camisole and went to look at herself in the full length mirror in her parent's bedroom. The tight-fitting pants made her legs feel secure, but the camisole felt strange. Thick straps adorned her shoulders and the garment clung to her chest and ended midway down her ribcage. She had never worn and undergarments on her chest before.

Tifa looked up when she saw movement behind her reflected in the mirror. She gasped—Papa was home! She was so intrigued by her new clothes that she didn't even hear him come in!

"What the hell are you wearing?" he said, irritation dripping from his voice. Tifa froze. He had seen her in her undergarments! Although her abdomen and arms were the only parts of her body that were exposed, a wave of newfound modesty washed over her.

"P-Papa, Ms. Strife finis—"

"She made you these clothes? Figures! That harlot certainly would give ya somethin' like that to wear."

She felt his boot steps on the floorboards under her bare feet as he came closer. Tifa didn't know what a harlot was, but she could tell that it wasn't a nice thing. And Ms. Strife was always nice.

"These are just t-the undergarments…she made tunics, too."

"You look like a goddamn prostitute! There's no way I'll ever let my daughter parade 'round without proper clothes on."

Slowly, he turned her to observe the clothing before letting out an indignant snort. Before she could stop herself, a question flew out of her mouth.

"W-what's a prostitute?"

"You, if you keep on dressing like that. Now get out of my room," Papa barked, shutting his door with a little more force than necessary when Tifa scuttled out into the hallway. Breathing deep to keep tears at bay, she quietly stepped back into her room and did her best not to make any noise.

It's okay. It's just the drink. He doesn't mean it. He said it makes him act strangely. It's okay, it's okay…

She realized she hadn't yet taken a bath, but she was too afraid to make any noise and instead chose to curl up in her covers and wait for sleep to take her.

… … …

Everything was quiet. There was dull candlelight and she moved quietly on her feet towards the bed. Long, dark hair draped over the side. Bloody handkerchiefs; dark bottles of medicine. Someone was wheezing. Brightly colored flowers sitting on a wooden box. The wind was blowing. She was high up in the air, walking on wooden planks. Everything shifted and the world spun. A finger brushed her hand before she was falling, falling…

Tifa woke with a start, surprised at the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her breath came in panting gasps as she tried to collect herself. What a peculiar, frightening, and strangely nostalgic dream. Even in sleep, these things haunted her and it wasn't fair. She wrapped her arms around herself, seeking comfort. It was dark outside her window and she didn't know what time it was, but the emptiness inside was just too much. Reaching up, Tifa grabbed her jingle bell and tugged.

… … …

She rose extra early the next morning. The excitement to wear her new clothes had dulled with the memory of Papa's harsh words, but Tifa still lavished the feel of the soft fabric against her skin and felt confident she could move much more freely in her tunics than she could in her dresses. She tip toed down the stairs, grabbed a hunk of day old bread from the bread box and snuck out into the pre-dawn air.

Tifa didn't come home until she was certain that her father was out working. She made sure all her chores were done, the woodbox had some tinder in it and supper was prepared before retreating upstairs. Maybe if she made sure all her responsibilities were taken care of and she stayed nice and quiet, Papa wouldn't shout at her. Tifa opened the door to her room, the light of sunset bathing everything in orange.

There, on her bed, was a brand new pair of leather boots.