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lulubelle814 · 6 days

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In Every Life - Part 1

Summary: Two souls destined for each other, but life has other plans. Will they find each other and have their happy ending?

It was late September of 1883 when they met. Some would call it kismet. Others destiny. The miserable ones would call it coincidence. He needed to go into London for a few weeks to work on some business prospects and handle some estate matters with his lawyer. Lucille stayed back as she did not care to leave home but was not happy to be without her brother for so long.

Josephine and her mother were on their way to the hospital when she had a sudden dizzy spell, causing her to fall to the street but found herself saved by a beautiful stranger, rescuing her from being hit by a carriage riding too close to the sidewalk.

"Are you alright?" her mother inquired.

"I'm alright mother, thanks to this kind gentleman." She was shy and blushing, unbelieving that she made a fool of herself in front of this handsome man.

Her mother looked at him, thanking him profusely. "You may have saved her life, mister…."

"Sharpe, Thomas Sharpe, baronet, madame."

"Thank you so very much, Lord Sharpe. I am Victoria Morrow, and this is my daughter, Josephine. How can I ever repay you?"

His words failed him as he locked eyes with Josephine. In that moment, he felt as if there was something linking his heart to hers. His heart, nay his soul, screamed to not let this beguiling creature to depart from him.

Unbeknownst to him, Josephine was similarly affected.

He responded to her mother without looking away from Josephine. "There is no need, madame. I am more than happy to assist." Josephine smiled at him causing his heart to skip with joy. "If it is not too forward, might you be available for dinner this evening Ms. Josephine?" He held his breath, praying she would accept his offer.

The way her name rolled off his tongue could soothe an angry lion, and she would do anything to hear him say it again. Looking at her mother for approval before answering, she said, "I would love that." They let him know where they were staying, advising he would pick her up at 7 pm.

***********************************************************************

That evening, he arrived promptly on time, having arranged a carriage to drive them to a nice restaurant he knew nearby. His breath escaped him as she descended the stairs, thinking her to be an angel descended from the heavens in a beautiful dark blue dress. “You look breathtaking.”

Josephine found her heart beating so loud thinking he must be able to hear it. Blushing, she reminded herself to breathe before taking his arm. “Thank you Lord Sharpe.”

“Thomas, please.” He wanted nothing more than to run away with her to some far off place or at least back to his home.

She nodded. “Thomas. You look very dapper yourself.”

She scolded herself. ‘Dapper? That’s the best you can come up with?’

“Shall we?” He held out his arm which she took. He aimed towards the door, and she followed him, a willing captive. When entering the carriage, it took all his strength to tell the driver to take them to the restaurant rather than what his head and heart were telling him.

At dinner, they exchanged stories. He told her the joke about why his estate is called Crimson Peak.

"That sounds extraordinary."

"It is fascinating but sometimes also a bit macabre when someone walks around and leaves what looks like bloody footprints."

"That must be a sight to behold. Oh how I wish I could see that." She froze. She had not meant to be so bold and admit that last part, but he simply smiled and said, "I would love for you to see it. You are most welcome to come observe the sight any time you wish."

She felt a bit relieved. They continued to talk and walked leisurely back to her hotel as they did not want the night to end.

"I would very much like to see you again tomorrow, if that is alright?" He didn't want to let her go, yearning to whisk her back to Allerdale as his.

"I would like that as well. My mother and I have an appointment, but we should be back by 1."

"1 o'clock it is. I look forward to it." He smiled, taking her hand in his and placed a kiss across her knuckles before departing.

Arriving at her room, she found her mother was pulling out the metallic syringe and an opaque bottle of liquid. "Did you have fun?"

She smiled and nodded. "He's wonderful and incredibly kind. He has asked to see me again tomorrow when we get back.”

"I see no problem with that at all, my dearest daughter, but it’s time for your medicine."

Josephine was not a fan of needles, but her mother insisted it would help with her deteriorating health.

***********************************************************************

When she awoke the next day, the front desk brought flowers that had been delivered early that morning.

My Dearest Josephine,

These flowers pale in comparison to your beauty. I very much look forward to seeing you again today.

Sir Thomas Sharpe

She placed them by her bedside, smiling like a loon. Her left hand began to shake and held it with her right to help control the tremors.

The visit at the hospital took longer than anticipated as they wanted to run a few tests to get a diagnosis as they felt they were close. By the time they arrived back at their hotel, it was half past 1.

Thomas waited patiently in the lobby. He had not been to the hospital much but knew appointments of any nature could run longer than expected. When she arrived flustered, he tried to give an air of calm and understanding.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's quite alright. No need to explain. If you need to take a moment to freshen up, I am happy to wait."

Josephine appreciated his offer and went up to her room to fix herself quickly and was back down ten minutes later. She was sure to wear a dress with a larger skirt to help hide the tremors in her legs that were becoming more frequent.

He took her to a shop that prepared a picnic basket for them which they took to a nearby park. He laid everything out on the blanket, and they spent the afternoon enjoying each other's company, talking about various things such as nature, science, hopes, dreams. Before they knew it, evening fell upon them, the picnic food gone hours before.

"Would you like me to escort you back to your hotel?"

She felt a pang of disappointment, not wanting to leave just yet. As if he could read her mind, "or, perhaps, we could get some dinner?"

Thomas wasn't ready to take her back but feared she might be tired of him. He hoped she might accept his second offer, his heart almost refusing to beat.

"Dinner sounds delightful."

Internally, he breathed a sigh of relief, his heart relieved. As she went to stand up, the tremors began again, causing her to lose her footing; however, Thomas caught her before she fell to the ground. She tried to brush it off. “I’m so sorry. My legs must have fallen asleep.” She smiled. “Not to worry. I’ll help you to the restaurant. It’s nearby.” She took his arm, using it to steady herself, trying her best to ignore the looming headache.

They continued to enjoy one another's company through dinner and dessert, not realizing the late hour while looking at the stars in the park until they arrived back at her hotel to her frantic mother who calmed the moment she saw her daughter was with Sir Thomas.

"Thank you so much for escorting my daughter. It appears she had a lovely time." This caused Josephine to blush profusely.

"My apologies for keeping her so late. I do so much enjoy spending time with her." He couldn't help but shyly smile as he spoke. “If your mother permits, I would love to see you again.”

“That would be lovely,” she said, trying to hide the pain from her headache that seemed to only be getting worse.

“Would tomorrow be too soon?” He was hopeful she’d agree. It was too soon, but if he could, he would see her every day; however, he did not want to scare her, unsure if she felt the same. Little did he know, she did. As much as she loved her mother, she wanted adventures with him. She’d run off with him at that very moment if she weren’t worried about leaving her mother alone. Maybe he’d allow her to come with them? Or would he disappear when learning of her declining health? ‘No, Josephine. You mustn’t let your heart get ahead of your mind. Perhaps he merely wants company while he is in town.’

Taking her hand, he turned it, kissing her palm and felt her hand shaking a bit but brushed it off, believing she was likely as nervous as he.

Arriving back to her room, her mother was ready to give the next dose of medicine. “Do we have to, mother? How many more of these treatments must I endure?”

Her mother approached with caution. “It is only for your benefit. Do you not wish to be well?”

She sighed in defeat. “Yes, mother. It’s just that the treatments have become more difficult to handle. I just want to be well and hope the doctors here can find a solution.”

“I am sure they will, but in the meantime, you need to continue this course of treatment. The doctors have not been opposed to it, and I feel it has slowed down at the least. I am truly sorry for how difficult this has been for you, but it’s not any easier watching you be forced to endure. You are a strong, capable woman. As your mother, I only want to see you succeed.”

Josephine relented and allowed her mother to administer the needle treatment.

“I must also say this. Sir Thomas seems like a capable young man, but I am not sure he is right for you. I fear he may take advantage of you due to your health. I do not believe I can abide his visits much longer. I want to see you happy, but I also want you to be safe.” She put the needle away with the future treatments, placing them in the drawer of her nightstand.

She rubbed her arm at the injection site, momentarily forgetting her headache. “I know, mother, but there is just something about him that I cannot explain. I feel connected to him on a spiritual level, and if he were to propose tomorrow, I would say yes, but….”

Sitting on her bed, her mother looked nervous. “But what, Josephine?”

“But I fear leaving you alone. Father passed so long ago, and I do not want you to feel as if I am attempting to abandon you, but I feel I must follow my heart. I am hoping, perhaps, that if he does propose, that you may come to live with us. I know. I’m getting ahead of myself. Just wishful thinking.”

Her mother moved over next to her, holding her from the side. “Darling daughter. I am in awe of your desire to see me happy, and I feel the same for you. I just………..want you to be safe. The thought of you running off with that man scares me. There is just something about his countenance I cannot trust. I mean, what do we really know about him?”

She knew her mother was right. She was always right, but something in the back of her mind said her mother was wrong about this.

***********************************************************************

As he walked back to his hotel, he could not stop thinking about the feel of her hand, the honeysuckle smell drifting off her hair. He knew what needed to be done. Once back in his room, he pulled out a pen and parchment.

My Dearest Sister,

Please forgive my neglect of you. I have been so thoroughly occupied of late, and have so very much to tell you. Foremost, that I send you my love and sincerest well wishes for you in my absence. All is well here, I have been meeting with Mr. Westridge regarding the estate. He has been kind enough to assist in clarifying the terms of the paperwork so we have nearly concluded our business; however, I must confess that, while I do miss you, I am not eager to return home just yet.

I have had the absolute pleasure of meeting a most outstanding lady. Her name is Josephine. She is here in town with her mother. With her mother’s permission, I escorted her to dinner. She is such a remarkable woman. She gazes fondly at the stars as if they were her dearest friends. I showed her the constellations of Perseus and Andromeda, telling her their tale. Dear sister, I would slay every beast in the world just to stand in her presence.

She adores reading the poets and makes spirited defenses and criticisms of every page she consumes. She listens tirelessly to my myriad mechanical ramblings and discusses my ideas with a curious and open mind. Never has a woman taken such an intellectual interest in my work. I must admit that while her face caught my attention, it was her mind that has kept my interest.

Oh, how I wish you were here to help guide me through this. The very sight of her makes my heart flutter. This strange feeling is beyond my comprehension, yet I do not wish for it to dissipate. What must I do, dear sister? Please, I beg for your guidance in this matter.

Your loving brother,

Thomas

Sealing the letter, he called upon the front desk to have the letter delivered to his sister, eager for a response as he was eager for his sister’s council. They ensured him that short of unexpected, disastrous weather, they would have the letter delivered post haste.

***********************************************************************

While a cold cloth to her forehead helped alleviate her headache, Josephine suffered another night of unrest. Rather than toss and turn, she quietly took out her diary to write, always addressing her entries to her father as it helped her feel close to him even though she never had the opportunity to meet him as he passed shortly after she was born.

Dear Father,

I must tell you of the noble gentleman who came to my rescue yesterday. His name is Sir Thomas Sharpe. I felt faint and began to stumble, but he saved me before I could be injured. Dearest father, he is an angel, both in action and countenance. When our eyes met, I knew in that instant he was my soulmate.

I know you never truly believed in soulmates and love at first sight, but I felt whole for the first time in my life. I thought for so long that the missing piece of my soul occurred when you passed. I realize now that the missing piece was him. The cracks running deep to my core now feel as if they are mending each time we meet.

Father, I know you would approve of him. We share similar interests. He loves to read, star gaze, dance, and invent. Yes! He’s an inventor! His mind creates these extraordinary ideas for machines. His latest idea is for one that would make the harvesting of clay easier and more efficient with less likelihood for injury to the workers. I find myself completely fascinated when he spoke of it

My first hesitation is mother. I do not wish for her to feel abandoned. She seemed amenable to come with me to Thomas’ estate, should he propose. I have only known him for two days, but I would marry him at this very moment should he ask. I do not care if he has money or not. If he does not have an estate then the ground where we lay would become our home and the stars our blanket.

My second hesitation is my health. I have not yet told him of my ailments and am afraid to do so. My fears tell me he will reject me, not wanting an ill spouse, but my soul tells me he will not care.

I know not else how to describe this feeling, but I cannot deny it. Mother reminds me that a lady does not openly express her feelings to a gentleman. I wish you could meet him, see him as I do, but I know you watch over me.

I also fear that I have created this imaginary scene in my mind, that my heart has overruled my mind to the point where I live in fantasy.

I beg of you for your help, courage, and wisdom to know what to do. I miss you so much.

Your loving daughter,

Josephine

Putting her journal away, she climbed back into bed. It was another hour before she was finally able to sleep.

***********************************************************************

The following morning, Thomas readied himself, going by the florist first. Looking for the perfect flowers, he looked for ones that might be worthy of her presence. Once he found them, he paid the proprietor and left swiftly to her hotel and waited for her patiently in the lobby.

Josephine was lost in a fitful slumber, but her mother was awake and ready, knowing Sir Thomas would be arriving shortly. Descending the stairs, she saw him holding the most beautiful flowers she had ever seen.

“Good morning Ms. Morrow! How are you this fine morning?” The joy in his face was evident to any who saw him.

“Good morning, Lord Sharpe! I am well, but I’m afraid Josephine is still resting. Her rest was very troubling last night, which is to be expected.”

“I am so sorry to hear that, but I do hope she is well. Do you know when she might awaken?” He was very eager to see her.

“I could not say, but I do not wish to disturb her as her health has been poor, especially as of late. I will ensure she receives these.”

When she put her hands forward, he hesitated. “I would be happy to wait until she is awake as I would live to give these to her myself. I must confess. I am eager to see her again.” He wanted to see her so much, even if for a moment.

“I cannot say when she may awaken and feel well enough for a visitor, but I assure you I will take these directly upstairs.” Reluctantly, he handed her the bouquet.

“I thank you for doing so. If there is anything I might do to aid in her recovery, please do let me know. I am very……..fond of her.” He could not help but blush.

“You are too kind, Lord Sharpe. We are fond of you as well.” He smiled at her response.

“Please do not hesitate to call upon me should there be anything I can do to assist in her recovery.”

He waited until Ms. Morrow disappeared up the stairs and out of view before taking his leave.

As her mother returned, she found her daughter to be awake and brushing her hair. Turning at the sound of the door, she saw the flowers her mother held. “Those are the loveliest flowers I have ever seen! Where did you find them?”

Her mother walked over to the vase in their room, discarding the old flowers and placing the new ones in there with some water. “A handsome gentleman gave them to me. They are pleasing, are they not?”

“They truly are, and you deserve them. You have been so kind and helpful with my health. It’s the least you deserve. I do hope he calls upon you again.” Josephine turned around and continued to brush her hair. She was feeling exceptionally unwell this morning but did not want to alarm her mother, keeping her thoughts to herself.

As her mother went to place the flowers in a vase with some water, she removed the ribbon from the stems, placing it aside as a keepsake. “I communicated your increasingly poor health to the hospital. They recommended bed rest and valerian tea until your next appointment in 3 days.”

Disappointed, she returned to her bed, already plotting her escape. She could not stand to be cooped up, preferring the fresh air and sunshine, or the stars at night. In the meantime, she placed her head on the pillow, knowing she could use some more rest.

***********************************************************************

That was two days ago. Thomas paced back and forth around his rooms wondering what to do, how he could capture even a glimpse of her. Perhaps he could return back to her hotel in the evening with more flowers? Or would more flowers be too much? Maybe a new pair of gloves?

Then it occurred to him. He knew exactly what she would like, departing for the desired object he had seen just the other day. When he exited his hotel, he looked around to realize it was later than he thought, not having realized he had been pacing around his room for hours.

Holding himself back from running, he reminded himself of social protocol, trying to keep an acceptable pace as there was no emergency. Upon arriving at his desired location, he spoke with the shopkeeper, describing the item he was looking for. The shopkeeper knew exactly what he was describing. “Would you like me to wrap it for you sir?”

Thomas smiled. “I would be most grateful. I am very grateful for your help.” Pausing for a moment, he had another idea. “Might you have a piece of parchment and ink I might use?”

The shopkeeper smiled and retrieved the requested items. “This must be for someone very special.” Thomas smiled back at him. “Yes, for someone very dear and precious.” It took him a few moments, but the words finally came to him.

My Dearest Josephine,

Words fail me to accurately portray the bewildering spell you have cast upon me with your beauty and intellect. I hope this may help convey what I am unable to express. For I am unable to retain a singular thought when simply near you. I yearn to see you. To simply breathe the same air as you is a privilege that not even God himself is worthy.

I pray you can accept this humble token from an unworthy man such as myself.

Yours Always,

Thomas

Gently folding the note, he placed it inside before the shopkeeper who then safely wrapped the item, securing it with twine. Holding it carefully, he departed.

As he neared her hotel, he noticed a woman become unsteady, falling to the ground and hurriedly made his way to assist her.

“Madam, are you alrigh………Josephine?” Her face was contorted in pain. “What is wrong? What can I do?” She could hear his voice off in the distance; however, she was more focused on her prevailing issue as her extremities continued to tremble. Lifting her bridal style, he started towards the hospital.

She turned to look at him. “Thomas?” She sounded weak. “Dear Josephine! Do not worry. I will get you to the hospital posthaste.”

She placed a hand on one of his lapels. “Please no, not the hospital.”

“But you are unwell. You must see a doctor! If nothing else, I should take you back to your hotel to rest. You cannot be out here in your state.”

“I beg you. Please do not take me back, at least not yet. Can we delay a little? Perhaps sit on a bench at the park? I yearn for fresh air and sunshine.”

He could not deny her request, heading for the park nearby as she leaned her head on his shoulder. Gently placing her on the bench, he sat next to her. She held onto his arm. To provide her better support, he wrapped an arm around her, finding her leaning into him. They stayed like that for sometime, receiving odd looks from passersby. Finally, Thomas broke their peaceful quiet.

“Darling Josephine. If I might implore, what is ailing you?”

This was it. She was about to be confronted with her fear of his rejection of her due to her health. “I’m afraid, Thomas.” she turned her face up to look at him.

“What are you afraid of, my dear?”

there was nothing she could do to hide or deny it any longer. “I have been unwell for sometime. Mother thought it best to come to London to see if the doctors might know what is affecting my health. No one has been able to uncover the cause. They’re only able to treat the symptoms.”

Thomas listened attentively as she looked away and continued.

“The doctors here have hope for a diagnosis and solution. In the meantime, mother has been administering medicine to help me, but I fear it might not be working well enough.”

“Why have you not told me of this before?” His worry increased, not wanting her to suffer.

“I’m afraid you might not want to see me anymore. No one wants to be saddled with an ill person.”

Placing his finger under her chin, he guided her face back towards his. “My dearest darling Josephine. Nothing could change how I feel about you.”

She blushed and attempted to bury her face in his chest, but he would not allow her to do so. “If God himself told me I had to choose between you and the heavens, I would dwell happy as a dead man in hellfire for having known you.”

She could not help a tear or two from falling. “Please, Thomas, do not take pity on me. I could not bear it.”

Using the back of his finger, he wiped them away. “Please do not cry. I am not worthy of your tears.”

He brushed some falling hair out of her face, and she leaned her face into his palm as he did so, yearning to stay close to him. A gust of cold wind fell upon them, and she began to shiver. Against society propriety, he removed his coat and placed it around her to help keep her warm. She confided in him her desire to be a dancer. “I’ve always wanted to dance, but my health never allowed it.”

“One day, you will dance. We will dance, even if I have to sweep you off your feet and hold you while I carry you around the dance floor. Come, love. We must get you back to your hotel for some rest.” She agreed but found she was still unable to walk. The tremors were affecting her more and more as time moved on. Seeing her distress, he picked her up bridal style once again and moved towards her hotel. As he carried her, she found herself warming between his coat and their close proximity, allowing his calming scent to envelop her.

They arrived at her hotel moments later, finding her mother running frantically down the stairs. “Where have you been? Are you alright?”

Josephine nodded, looking up at Thomas. “I needed some air and fell, but Thomas rescued me.”

“We need to get you back to bed.” Thomas began towards the stairs but was stopped by her mother. “It is not appropriate for you to be in her room. I can help her back to our rooms.”

He looked back at Josephine, not wanting to leave her in such a state, but Josephine knew once again that her mother was right. He placed her down gently, her mother moving to help support her.

“Thank you again for rescuing me, Thomas.” She gave him a weak smile, her energy still draining and began to remove and return his coat, but he stopped her.

“No, my dear Josephine. Please use it to keep yourself warm. I can come back and retrieve it tomorrow or the day after when you are feeling better.”

He leaned forward to wrap his coat back around her, using the moment to whisper so that only she could hear. “There is something in the pocket for you.”

She looked at him and smiled once more. “Thank you again, Sir Thomas. You have been most kind.”

He stayed and observed to help ensure her and her mother had no problems ascending the stairs, not leaving until well after they were out of sight.

Arriving back at his hotel, he found there was a letter and small package awaiting him. Seeing his sister’s hand writing, he swiftly took the items to his room, eager to read her response.

Darling Brother,

I am beyond delighted to receive your letter. What you describe in your letter is nothing short of love. I have been worried for so long to find someone worthy of your time and attention, to be a partner, a friend, and a confidante.

She sounds to be the most exquisite creature. It warms my heart with how you talk of her. I have never heard you speak of anyone in such a manner, not even your childhood love, Angelica.

From what you’ve told me of her, it appears she feels the same as you. The only guidance I can give you is this. Your heart already knows what to do and will not lead you astray. All you need now is to listen to it.

I have enclosed mother’s ring. While it is ghastly, use it to purchase a ring for my future sister. Go, dear brother, and ask her to be your Andromeda.

Your loving sister,

Lucille

He knew she was right, always providing the truest insight and finest guidance. In all the times he thought he was falling in love, none compared to his affection for Josephine.

Opening the small package, he found their mother’s ring encased in an intricately carved jewelry box. While the box was beautiful, he agreed with his sister that the ring was frightful. Gazing at the ring, he pondered where to go. Placing the ring on the desk, he decided to begin his search for the perfect ring the next day. All night, his mind stirred with ideas of how to ask his dear Josephine to be his Andromeda once a worthy ring was found..

***********************************************************************

Back at her hotel, Josephine placed Thomas’ coat over the back of her chair and bided her time to check the inner pocket until her mother had fallen asleep. As she climbed into bed, her mother brought her nightly remedy. Not wanting to anger her mother, she gripped the bedsheet tightly as the needle was administered in her other arm.

As the needle and bottle were put away, Josephine noticed the flowers again by her mother’s bedside. Whomever sent those must truly be enamored, and it delighted her heart, giving her hope that her mother would finally find someone.

She gently turned over to see her mother gazing at the flowers once more. “Mother? I am so sorry to have worried you like that. It was not my intention to cause any harm.”

Looking back to her daughter, the smile on her face dropped as she prepared the valerian tea. “You know, daughter. I only wish the best for you. The instructions from the doctors are only for your betterment.”

Although crestfallen, she knew her mother was right, as always. “I’m just so tired of doctors and hospitals.”

“I know you are, my daughter. I wish I could make it all go away, but they are necessary. The physicians here seem to have better ideas on how to help you, and we must let them do it.”

She knew there was nothing else to say. Taking the tea from her mother, she drank it without complaint, falling asleep soon after.

***********************************************************************

Waking up to the sound of song birds, Thomas yearned to see his beloved. Taking the time to bathe and dress, he decided to surprise her at her hotel and take her to breakfast. Taking the ring, he placed it in his breast pocket.

Swiftly arriving at her hotel, he inquired with the desk clerk if she was awake. Having one of the staff check, it was only moments before Ms. Morrow arrived downstairs.

“Sir Thomas! How delightful to see you this morning.”

“Ms. Morrow, it is a pleasure to see you. I was hoping to take your daughter to breakfast? If it’s already with you, that is.”

“I’m so sorry, Sir Thomas. She is still slumbering and will not be awake for a while, but I would be delighted to join you. This would be an opportune time to get to know one another. I feel that we may be spending more time together in the near future.”

He smiled, trying to hide his disappointment in not seeing his darling. “That would be most wonderful, Ms. Morrow, and a most excellent idea.”

Taking his arm, she led him out of the hotel. “Please, call me Victoria. I insist.” They arrived at a restaurant just minutes later, being seated without hesitation. They discussed hobbies and interests. He asked questions about Josephine’s upbringing, wanting to know her better.

“To be honest, she was never a well child. Her father passed when she was an infant, and I took the burden of being mother, father, and nursemaid.” She proceeded to tell him how her daughter’s health has been poor since she was little and has steadily declined over the years. “I’ve had to play nursemaid by myself.”

They chatted away a while longer before Thomas escorted her back to her hotel, taking his leave in search of a prize.

Going from store to store, he felt more and more despondent. The staff at each store tried to be helpful, but nothing was good enough for his dear Josephine. Before returning to his rooms for the evening, he tried one last store: Hatton Garden. The gentleman behind the counter introduced himself as Harold. Harold was not much to look at, a short balding man in his fifties, but he had an immense talent for helping people find the perfect piece. He showed him his mother’s ring, hoping he could sell it to purchase a ring fit for a goddess.

“Tell me about your fair lady.” This was his trick, to use how the person felt about their beloved and match it to a ring.

“She is the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld. Her eyes are blue like the ocean and sparkle like the finest stars in the sky. She loves poetry and astronomy. She is like no other I have ever met before. I want to find something unique and individual that will compliment her beauty and show that she is nothing short of a queen among peasants.”

Harold smiled. Never before had he heard such an elegant description of a fine young lady, and he knew exactly the ring for her. Retrieving it, he placed it delicately on the counter.

This was the ring. THE ring he had been searching for. The smile on his face told Harold he had chosen wisely.

“May I see the one you brought in?” Thomas placed his mother’s old ring on the counter. “Unfortunately this is all I have, but I cannot give her a ring that does not befit her beauty.” Harold picked it up to inspect it. Taking out his jeweler eyepiece, he looked closely at the stone and inspected the silver holding the gem.

“I hope you do not find me impertinent, but this setting does not do justice for such a fine ruby stone.” He looked at it further before placing it back on the counter.

“Not at all. To be honest, I find the ring itself ghastly, but I know it must be worth something.”

While the setting itself was considered junk these days (it was made mostly of cheap aluminum), the stone was worth something; however, the value fell short on the cost of Thomas’ chosen ring. There was something about him he only rarely saw in others who came to him for help and came to a decision. This young lady described sounded not only enchanting but also one of the only women worthy of a ring like this. While the gentleman in front of him would not be able to pay the actual cost of the ring, he wanted to help him.

“I do believe we can come to an agreeable arrangement.” Harold described the value of the stone in the ring brought to him. While he could not use the current setting, he could have a new setting created that would be more appealing and appropriate for the stone. “You came on a most auspicious day, my boy. For today is the only day this particular ring is on a special sale.” He told Thomas that with the sale price of the ring, it would match the amount he would pay for the ring Thomas brought in. “In fact, I would be most glad to exchange the ring you brought to me for this one. It is most fortunate you arrived this evening.”

Thomas was elated, finally having found the perfect ring for his (hopefully) future wife. Harold included a ring box befitting such a ring. To avoid theft, he placed the ring box in his breast pocket where the previous one resided.

“I cannot thank you enough, sir. You have been a tremendous help!” Harold gave him well wishes as he departed.

It was late in the day, perhaps too late to call upon his dear Josephine. Regardless, he walked to her hotel, stopping in front and peering up to what he believed to be her window. He had to stop himself from running inside, up the stairs, and to her room. He didn’t care that her health was poor and would take any time God would grant him, be it years, months, days, or even minutes and would love and take care of her.

Before the constable could be called, Thomas went back to his own hotel and spent hours working on his proposal.

***********************************************************************

The following morning, he was ready. Placing the ring box in his jacket pocket, Tom went to the florist first. He wanted to have the perfect flowers to give her as he proposed. The florist was kind and helped pick the right flowers that would show love and affection and created a one of a kind bouquet of peonies and roses.

“Any girl who would turn you down after giving these flowers is not a girl worth having,” the florist told him.

“She’s worth much, much more than these, but I think she’ll find them adequate.” His smile was big and bright, lighting up the shop. It wasn’t hard to see how hard he had fallen for Josephine. Anyone who looked at him knew he was a man in love.

Now armed with the beautiful bouquet, he made his way to her hotel.

Once arrived, he asked for her at the front desk. “Might Miss Josephine Morrow be available? I do not wish to disturb…….”

He stopped mid-sentence when he saw the grim look on the concierge’s face. “Normally, I would not share such private information, but I have seen you and her together. She’d want you to know.”

The smile on his face dropped, his heart racing with fear, the flowers dropping to the floor. “Know what?”

The concierge took a moment to compose himself. “It was very late last night, her mother came running, asking for help to get her daughter to the hospital. I was able to find someone to take her to hospital, but when I saw her? To say she looked poorly would not do it justice.”

Before the gentleman could finish, Thomas was out the door and running to the hospital. He had to see her for himself. If she was that ill, he wanted nothing more than to be by her side. He’d never run so fast before, but it also seemed to take forever to get there. The nurse at the desk confirmed she was there and took him to her room. When he entered, she looked deathly pale. Tremors were happening at random intervals, and it was obvious she was having breathing issues.

“Her mother stepped out a few minutes ago. We urged her to get some rest. You must have just missed her.”

“What is wrong with her? Will she be alright?” She had to be alright. He refused any other outcome.

“Honestly, we don’t know. We cannot figure out the source of her ailment. If we had some idea, we might be able to do something, but I fear it may be too late.”

He was now sitting at her bedside, holding her hand. “She told me her mother had been administering medicine. Has that not helped?”

The nurse looked puzzled. “What medicine? The doctor has been very hesitant to prescribe her anything except to help her rest. If we knew what she was being given…..”

He was out the door before she could finish, knowing he needed to find the medicine her mother was administering. Why had her mother not told them? Would it not benefit to give the doctors all of the information in order to help her daughter?

Arriving back at the hotel, he told the concierge to call the police as he ran up the stairs to her rooms. Rather than knocking, he barged right in. The room was unoccupied. There were no thoughts as to where her mother might be, but he began searching every bag he could find. As he neared the desk Josephine regularly used, her mother entered the room. “I beg your pardon. What do you think you’re doing here? Why are you going through our personal things?”

“Where is it?” he demanded.

“Where is what?” She retorted.

“The medicine you’ve been administering to her? ” He continued to shuffle through papers.

“I have no idea what you are referring to, sir. I demand you leave at once!”

He turned to look at her, fury evident in his eyes. “Your daughter told me you’d been administering medication. The hospital has no record of it. Where is it? What have you been giving her?”

Ms. Morrow was frozen in place, speechless. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the flowers he’d given Ms. Morrow to give her daughter on his behalf. They were not on Josephine’s bedside table. Rather, they were by Ms. Morrow’s. Why were they there?

He moved swiftly to the flowers. “Why are these here? They were for Josephine!” He started searching through the drawer of the nightstand, finding the items he was looking for. He pulled out the needle and a bottle of silver liquid. “What is this? What in heaven’s name have you been giving her?”

“I’m her mother! I take care of her. You have no right to question me. I demand you leave at once!” They were both flustered. Thomas examined the bottle of silver liquid, looking for any sign of a label. It wasn’t until he turned it upside down that he found a partial label that said “....cury”.

“You’ve been injecting her with mercury? Why would you do such a thing?” Ms. Morrow launched herself at him, trying to get the bottle back. He held it above her head to which she responded by slapping him several times. Before she could get in the next blow, police blew in through the door.

He directed the police to arrest her. “She’s been poisoning her daughter. I must get this vial and the needles to the hospital before it’s too late.” While two officers arrested Ms. Morrow, another officer gave him a ride to the hospital. Thomas hoped it wasn’t too late. He couldn’t bear to live without her.

Rushing to her room, he found the doctor there examining his Josephine. “This is what her mother has been administering.” He handed the bottle over to the doctor who examined it, and then sat by Josephine, holding her hand and kissed the back of it.

The doctor turned to his patient. “Is this true, Ms. Josephine?” She let out a breathy ‘yes’, unable to speak much more than that. Even in the short time he’d been at her hotel, she continued to deteriorate.

It didn’t take the doctor more than a moment to recognize the contents: mercury. Now having the missing piece of the puzzle, the doctor turned them. “This explains your symptoms, but I’m afraid they’ve progressed too far.”

“What do you mean, too far?” Thomas was angry.

“If we had known much sooner, the effects could be reversed, but at this point, there’s nothing we can do. She’s not much longer for this world, I’m afraid.”

The tears poured out of him. He gazed into his darling’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, my love. I’m so, so sorry.”

She gathered what strength she had left, placing her palm on his face. “It is alright, darling.”

“How is it alright?”

“You’ve given me the greatest gift I’ve ever wanted. You showed me what it is to love and be loved.”

He held her other hand with both of his, tears continuing to fall. “We haven’t had enough time. We need more time!”

“Do not worry, darling. I will always be with you.”

At that moment, he remembered his original intention that morning, and pulled a small box out of his jacket pocket. She may not be long for this world, but he wanted every moment he could get.

“Dearest Josephine, I love you more than life itself. I do not care if it is only for a few minutes or a few days. Would you please do me the honor of being my wife?” He opened the box to show her the ring.

She smiled and nodded. “Yes,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could gather. He removed the ring from the box and placed it on her finger. What he had not noticed when he purchased the ring was that the jeweler had placed a matching silver ring under the cushion, a ring for him; however, it fell out of the box, creating a clunking sound as it hit the floor. He picked it up before turning to the doctor. “Is there a parson here? I wish to marry my fiance as swiftly as possible.”

The doctor sent the nurse to find the vicar who had been visiting other patients and brought him to Josephine’s bedside. Thomas expressed his wishes, and Josephine confirmed. Both her engagement ring and the groom’s ring were placed on the open bible held by the vicar.

While they did not have a license, the vicar did not care. He quickly understood the situation and gave them a brief ceremony, marrying them in the eyes of God. At this point, no one in the room cared about the legalities. Within moments, they were married, the rings placed on their respective fingers.

From that moment on, they were not parted. He refused to leave her side for anything, standing vigil day and night, wanting to spend every possible moment with her that she had left. The only thing she asked of him was to hold her. He and the nurse moved her carefully so that he could join her in bed. Giving her a sweet kiss, he held her for the next few hours as she continued to deteriorate.

The doctor came to check on her that night. When he came back the next morning, he let Thomas know that she did not have much longer. He continued to hold her, forgetting all else. In her last moments, she looked at him. “Thomas….”

“Yes, my love?”

“I…..” She had to regain her breath for a moment. He waited patiently for her to continue. “I will always love you.”

He dared to hold her closer. “And I will always love you, in this life and the next.”

“And the next,” she repeated. “I love you.” And with those three words, she took her last breath.

The funeral was small but nice. His sister did not have enough time to be there for her brother at the funeral, but she arrived that night in order to help him pack. At his request, the concierge and staff helped to pack up her belongings so that Thomas may bring them back to Allerdale Hall. While he could no longer bring his wife, he could have some part of her there with him.

As it got deep into winter, Lucille found him up in his attic more and more to the point where he refused to leave. He had his favorite gown of Josephine’s on a mannequin in his workshop so she could watch him work. He’d explain to the mannequin what he was doing and how he was doing it, as if she were truly there with him. The most he would allow from Lucille was a blanket for warmth and the occasional tea.

He’d not been home for a month when he caught a cold. Lucille tried to urge him to take the medicinal tea and treatments to help him recover, but he had lost his will to do anything. Melancholia and grief had such a tight hold on him that he could think of nothing else but his wife and his desire to be with her again.

Lucille returned about 20 minutes later with the medicinal tea and the determination to force her brother to take it and get better. Arriving in the attic, she found he had passed, holding on to Josephine’s dress.

Knowing what he would want, she had his body brought to London and had him buried next to his wife. As there was no proper headstone for Josephine, Lucille had a double headstone fashioned for her brother and his wife, finding it the very least she could do for her dearest brother.

Taglist: @vbecker10

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smolvenger · 10 months

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Miss Narracott and The Captain- Chapter Eight Finale (!)

Fandom: War Horse

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of sex, death, and violence but nothing brutal other than one brief mention that gets a bit vivid. But LOTS of fluff and emotions and crying and hugging. A Happy Ending.

Chapter Word Count: 3K

Series Summary: It is 1914. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...

Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five//Part Six//Part Seven

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: Thank you guys so much for sticking with this story for a character who we saw only briefly but deserved much more <3!! I hope you enjoy the finale!!

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract

@eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @infinitystoner @12-pm-510 @meowmeow-motherfucker

November, 1918

It was another long day at the hospital. Not another overnight, but still long. You had an hour to go for your time, as you checked the clock. You headed over to make sure there was a glass of water on each bedside table.

It was simple training. It didn’t take long to get a First Aid and Home Nursing certification. They gave you a uniform of a white cap, a dark dress, and a white apron with a red cross stitched over the chest. Your first days as a VAD were full of fixing cups of tea and changing sheets.

But by now you had sewn flesh together. You had seen men die with their eyes open. You had seen infections that made you feel queasy to look at. Once, you were asked to hold down a man’s leg as it was amputated. You never forgot his screams. They rung in your nightmares for a week. Compared to that, sewing together flesh was easy. Many of the other volunteers were women from families who were not accustomed to hard work. They were in for a large shock and were forced to adaptation. Only a few came from labor or farms, as you did,and could tolerate work for long hours. But it was as if the sight of death had bonded and toughened you all.

With the young men in town away to fight, it was mostly women you ran into. They were glad and grateful friends. Your weekly knitting club for the troops led to much baked goods, playful gossip, released sobs, and vulnerable confessions. You valued the women you met and befriended in your circles, your fellow VAD’s, and neighbors and new in-laws.

But none of them could replace James, of course. James with his occasional visits when he was discharged- visits that ended too soon every time. James with his constant, beautiful letters filled with sketches. Just the last one read.

“My dear Mrs. Nicholls,

Joey is doing well. He’s as fit and stubborn and spirited as can be, no wonder he’s lasted so long. He’s racing alongside Topthorn-not that I’m too surprised about the speed of his gallop. Jaimie sends you his love and good wishes as well.

I’ve been thinking of you in Somerset. Of the reward to come-to come back to my wife, to come back to you. I hope you recall the Teddy Bear I sent you for your birthday. Yes, it is a children’s toy, but when you miss me, you may embrace him as you would me and kiss him on his head as you would me. It is a bit of love I send back to you to console you. At least until I can return to your arms and kisses for real.

Do not think of me as less of a man, but I confess, that is what moves me- a future of ours. A house of our own. Children of our own playing around the living room and getting into trouble. We can play music on the phonograph all we want without the cacophony of guns around us. We will laugh and talk over any silly old thing over every meal. Then we’ll go to bed, and I’ll take you as I did in the grass and we’ll make love without any fear or shame, only how much we adore each other…”

But now it was not only James and Joey you had to worry about. That first year, Albert ran off to join the army. When you found out, you ran to your parents and sobbed as you hugged them. Only sometimes you got a letter from him and you would press your parents for updates.

It only pushed you to work harder as a VAD and take it seriously. Knowing these soldiers groaning in their beds were someone else’s James or Albie. That someone was going to lose their husband or brother or son. And if you hurried and focused on the tasks at hand, you could help save someone’s life. That was what was on your mind when one of the doctors walked into the room.

“Everyone, there is an announcement- all staff must hurry into the lobby,” he declared.

Finishing pouring the last glass of water, you set the pitcher on a table and hurried there. All of you gathered in your uniforms, heads turning with whispers of what it could be. The head of the hospital stood there in the center of the room with a newspaper, he took off his spectacles to face you all. There were tears in his brown eyes.

“Everyone…England is going to sign an armistice this month with Germany and the other countries on the eleventh of this month. It will be the last day of fighting. In short, the war is about to end.”

There was silence. You could hear a few gasps. Every bit of you was vibrating and the breath in your lungs stopped. Finally, there was a cheer and an applause that broke out. Your colleagues wrapped their arms around you and hugged you and you hugged back.

You couldn’t believe it. Had it all been so fast? Yet so slow? It’s over…it’s over…the war is finally over!

But, from that last letter…James sent it just last month. Things could have changed. He still could have been killed! Or Albert too! All you had to do was wait for a final letter or telegram. One last one and it would confirm if James and Albert survived. Or not. In your heart, the war was not yet done. Just a few more days of fear…then it would be settled.

November 11th arrived, and the bells of the church rang louder than any Christmas you had seen. People danced in the streets, threw confetti, and cheered. There was no telegram. But no letter either. You shook every time the mail was delivered that month. But nothing crucial so far.

You were enjoying one of your free days eating luncheon with Mr. and Mrs. Nicholls. There was a knock on the door that made you jump.

“This isn’t when the postman arrives- it’s two hours early. Are we expecting visitors?” asked Mr. Nicholls.

“No, Mrs. Hayter isn’t arriving until tomorrow…” Mrs. Nicholls answered.

“I’ll get it,” you offered, getting out of your chair.

As you took a few steps closer to the door, you heard a sound.

A whinny. A horse’s whinny. A very familiar horse’s whinny. A whinny you had not heard since…since…

Your steps to the door became a run. You threw it open and let out a scream at the sight.

It was James in his now dirtied green uniform. He was standing outside leading Joey by the leash and giving you a salute. Without another word, you ran towards him, almost tackling him into a hug.

“James…James…is it you? Please tell me if this is real! Please-please tell me it’s you!” you begged, your voice breaking into tears.

You felt a hand reach your back. You could smell him, feel him, and hear that voice you loved so much.

“Yes, my darling…it’s me…and I’m not leaving anywhere, I’m staying with you for a very long time…” he answered.

There were footsteps and a shout from his parents behind you. You grabbed his face and pulled him in for a kiss. He smelt of wind and the smoke of travel as well as the horse and could feel his hands wrap around your back. You hugged him again and began to sob into his uniform, not caring anymore if it stained. He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you back so tight. Then he let go and greeted his parents, taking off his cap. Mrs. Nicholls kissed her son’s face a dozen times. Mr. Nicholls was weeping so badly his back shook as he hugged his son, James let him cry and rocked him as he stood. Assuring him, “it’s alright, father-I’m here. I’m back…”

You then turned to Joey and hugged his muzzle. The younger colt in the Narracott farm would have run away the second his leash was freed. But Joey, now a beautiful stallion in his own right, stood still. He accepted you just as he did the last day you saw him.

“I missed you, old boy. I missed you so much! I’m glad you made it- I’m so glad! Albie’s missed you most of all-he’ll be beside himself!” you whispered to the horse.

You kissed his long snout with its white diamond. He leaned back into you as if to hug you back.

To think, James was back home. Every single neighbor visited to see him all afternoon. Already at dinner, he was here to eat and compliment the cook. He finished his plate, cupping his wine in his large hand with one palm.

“Good God, I’ve missed all of you so much…the things I’ve seen…things I’ve heard…I don’t know if I can be in another war after this…” he said.

“This one is over…it’s all bad memories, James…you can rest now…” Mrs. Nicholls said.

“And how is the prettiest volunteer in England? I hope she can rest as well?” James asked, turning to you.

“I was thinking…I do like being a part of the VAD…if they still need help, I’ll volunteer…”

“Oh, of course you can, Mrs. Nicholls,” he replied with a smile.

“You can always tell us what you saw…what was it like-fighting?” your mother-in-law questioned.

James became still and his face was white.

“I saw everything ….my first battle, I saw a man blasted to pieces-his guts flying from the shot of a machine gun…”

He opened up as much as he could. The horrors and violence he had seen. The deaths too many to name. A friend one day was a corpse the next hour. All of you were silent as he recounted.

Both of you planned to return Joey to the Devon farm tomorrow. You both laid in bed after dinner. Too tired for anything more than simply holding each other. You put your fingers through his blonde-red hair. Traced each feature of his to memorize it.

“You didn’t fool around with some French girl, I hope!” you huffed.

His voice was earnest.

“I swear on my grandfather’s grave, there were no girls from any country anywhere near me all that time! Jaimie will tell you likewise…Y/N…may I confide something to you?” he asked.

“Yes…”

“I remembered the promise I made you when I left. When it started…”

“Yes, I recall, my dear…”

He turned over to you. Adjusting himself on the pillow so he lay right in front of you. You retreated your hands.

“I kept it. I talked to my superiors. Told them we needed to consider the German’s weaponry and plan accordingly. At first, they said no. I asked them again. They said no again. Then another major came in. He agreed. Then the more they talked to, the more it was agreed. Like common sense. They got permission. They sent spies. We fought with guns when we knew there’d be guns…no surprise attacks. Nothing without strict preparation and knowledge…”

“Did you ever charge your calvary?” you asked. You shifted to be in the blankets from the cold November night.

“Only a few times. But, Y/N, I remembered…I remembered you. And I did my best to survive without disobeying orders. Somehow…well, to be honest, I never went against major orders and even then, I don’t think I was ever caught to be killed as a traitor! But I survived. I thought of you…of how sad you were and how you told me you didn’t want to spend your life a widow. I wanted to keep my word…”

He swallowed. You saw one tear in the duct of his eye.

“You did, James, you did…”

He took both of your hands. He smiled down, seeing you both still wore your wedding bands. Then he placed a kiss on them.

“I wanted to thank you, Y/N…if it wasn’t for that…for you, your promise-if I never met you, never loved you, never married you…I don’t know if I’d be here…” he confided.

You gave him a kiss on the lips. It was probably your fiftieth of the day. But after four years of deprivation, you were glad to be caught up. You positioned him to rest against your chest, wrapping your arms around him.

“My parent’s will cry when they see you tomorrow…when they see Joey, too. We’ll have to ask them if they heard any word on Albie…I can only pray he’s alive now,” you said.

“He’s a natural soldier. There’s a chance he did…” James mused.

You stared up at the white ceiling. The house creaked with the nighttime settling over it.

“To think, James, we have one part of our lives ending. Now there’s a new one. No guns, no violence. A peacetime-just beginning….”

He got up from how you held him, then pulled the blankets over the both of you.

“As long as that peacetime is with you, then it will be worth it…” he said with a smile.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

April 1920. A year and almost a half later.

A new spring was born to match the new decade. Today, it was the perfect temperature of not too hot and not too cold. The tulips, daisies, and crocuses were in bloom everywhere. The field between Somerset and Devon was stunning. You noticed how it rolled on as James drove the motorcar down to visit your family. The brown rabbits hopped around the fields. The river, Innocent’s grove, was such a bright blue it seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. Soon it turned to the wide, sloping streets of your hometown. You waved hello to your old shop friends- Mary, Ida, and Alice all had found loves, marriages, or occupations of their own and were smiling. Of course, you made a quick stop to admire the painting of your husband in the town hall. On one corner, you could read its inscription.

’Joey’- Cpn. Nicholls, Fall, 1918.

All of you then finished the drive to the Narracott farm for a picnic.

Your family, along with a much alive Albert, welcomed you each. You, your husband, and baby sitting up in your arms. She thankfully didn’t make one cry the whole trip!

Dressed in her little white frock and little tufts of hair that looked just like yours, Little Rose Nicholls was the picture of infant health. Named after her grandmother, your mother.

There was never a happier night than when she arrived. She was born in October of 1919. She arrived and cried her first cry when the clock struck eleven. James ran up to the room the second he was allowed, and her crying calmed down when he held the small baby in a white bundle. He teared up and kissed her forehead, never letting her go until she needed to be fed.

James told you he was glad he survived the war just for that day. He got to live to have her, to see her, to hold her in his arms, to love her.

The newly crowned Uncle Albert took her in his arms and blew a raspberry on her cheek. She turned with wide eyes.

“Can we introduce her to Joey?! I don’t think they’ve met yet!” he offered.

“Yes, of course we can!” you said.

Out all of you walked to the backyard. Harold still waddled about. The War To End All Wars came and went and Harold was still biting everyone’s legs. He did make a few threatening nips of his beak that made Rosie a little scared and she cried. But she stopped when they passed him, and you approached Joey’s field.

“Oof- she’s already getting’ heavy!” Albert commented. “She’s a big girl now!”

“Here, let me have her,” James offered.

Her father scooped her into his arms. Albert whistled like an owl as Joey trotted closer, swishing his long, black tail.

Would Joey make a sudden noise to frighten her? No. The creature seemed to know that she was young and had to approach her with gentleness. How incredible animals had a sense like that, Albert would say! Joey slowed his steps and moved his nuzzle close. Only his breath tickling her cheek.

“Here-this is a horse. His name is Joey, darling. What do you think?” James asked, holding her up and closer to the animal.

Her eyes went wide, and she made a small coo. Joey leaned forward. She reached out a grubby hand and touched his nose, petting him.

“There…there’s my girl, Rosie, you pet him like that,” James nudged.

She kept reaching for him, petting him again and again. Then Joey got out his large, pink tongue and licked her hand. Rose Nicholls smiled and began squealing in delight. Joey let her pet him with her grubby hands. And once she was done, he turned away. James carried her over to show her the farm and the animals.

“Here’s the garden mummy grew up in. She’d see rabbits eating her flowers, like the naughty rabbit eating the vegetable garden in your storybook! If you look, we might see one!”

You couldn’t help but smile. Your daughter was worth every sleepless night and disgusting diaper. James was always there by your side to help you. He knew your child needed her father as much as she needed her mother. In fact, he was already beginning to spoil her! A room in your new house dedicated to her nursery. It had the teddy bear in her cradle as well as any little cloth dolly and book and dress he would splurge on for her.

James decided to retire from being a soldier. The War to End All Wars had done too much for him to endure another. Sometimes he even awoke from a nightmare or jumped at a loud sound. He did find work as a schoolteacher. His gentle authority and calm voice of reason was one his students adored him for. And it meant you could still volunteer as a VAD on weekends. He would grade his papers next to Rosie’s cradle in the evening.

You turned around to see Albert smoothing the corners of the picnic blanket out on the grass. Your father brought over a picnic basket. He looked healthy and cheery-he told you he was going to quit drinking and was on his second month without a sip.

“Here! Foods ready! While it’s hot everyone!” Your mother announced, bringing out the savory pie, fresh from the oven.

All of you sat on the blanket. James handed you little Rosie as you sat down. You bounced her on your lap. James made you a plate and passed you yours. Savory pie, sliced bread, berries, cheese, and fresh produce and jam cake too.

Then your father lifted a glass of lemonade.

“Here-let’s have a toast, eh?”

You all lifted a glass with your free hand.

“Here-to us. Our family!” he cried.

“To us!” all of you repeated.

James turned to you and clinked your glass again.

“And our little family as well,” he cheered.

“To the three of us,” you agreed.

You received him with a peck on the lips. Then all of you began to help yourselves. Rosie herself was beginning to enjoy the small bits of bread you gave her. She gave a laugh like music and you, and James beamed at her. You took a deep breath. Enjoying the spring weather and the picnic with both families. The one who raised you and the one you had. A family, a happy life full of peace with a living husband who loved you.

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smolvenger · 1 year

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Miss Narracott and The Captain, Chapter One

Fandom: War Horse

Pairing: Captain James Nicholls x fem! Reader

Summary: It is 1912. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Chapter Word Count: 4K

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise

Warnings: A horse ALMOST gets shot but lives. Landlords being landlords. Period Typical Attitudes. But very fluffy with cottagecore vibes and a meet-cute with the captain.

A/N: You can decide if you want to be a member of the family by birth or adoption. I try to make Reader fics as neutral in appearance as I humanly can. I hope you like this! It won't get too super sad or angsty and will have a very happy ending- so enjoy! Comments, asks, reblogs, and messages about my works are always appreciated!

“If the rent’s not paid by October, the farm is foreclosed. And I take the horse, too!” the Landlord had threatened in your kitchen, finishing his tea.

Gritting your teeth, you let your arms fall to the sides. Your mum cleared his cup and saucer. Then she met you where you stood, a frown on her face. You tried to slip your hand in hers. Your younger brother, Albert, was slowly heaving beneath his flannel shirt and overalls. And your dad only sat at the table, his fingers twitching to get the flask you knew was in his pocket. But even his white whiskers couldn’t hide his own frown.

Those words made stiff and haunted you- all of you. Just as the Bible verses in embroidery decorated about the house, those words were about you. Staring at you.

Foreclosed. Foreclosed. Foreclosed.

You decided to get a job as a shop girl in the town nearby. Dad and Albert had to work the fields constantly. Too much to mend and do for any other occupation. Mum ran the house with an iron fist. She’d say she’d have to stay at home. She’d say the place needed at least one woman. Not two, you noted-one. You were available. You could do it.

The day you announced you got the job, and that the paychecks would help go to rent, your mum wiped happy tears. She kissed you.

“All of it’s going to the rent,” you promised her.

“No-keep a little!” she shook her dark head. Strands kept falling form her bun- she was an active woman, always thinking, always working. Even her own hair would not stay still.

“No- all! We all need it!” you refused.

It would be a sacrifice. But a sacrifice that would keep a roof over your heads. Hopefully.

“Whatever you pick- it’s your choice. I’m proud of you, my girl. All of us are…” she said before sweeping you into a hug.

After all, It was what you could do to bring money in. To keep that word from ringing in your head.

Foreclosed. Foreclosed. Foreclosed.

That was the word that motivated you to get up from bed in the morning. You shivered from the chill in your little room. Not that you were unused to getting up early. You lived with your family on a farm after all.

Besides, you loved the farm you lived on. It was a beautiful place. You and your family stayed in a stone house, two stories, thatched with a roof. The rolling green and brown hills could be seen from your bedroom window. You loved watching the sun rise and shine past your lacy white curtains. Stone gates trailed all over the place separating the gardens, shed, laundry area, crop fields, chicken coop, and backyard.

And there was no shame in being farmers, as dad would say. Farmers kept the country going and would for all eternity.

As you looked up, the morning was shining pink. Peeking down, you could see Dad and Albert, going about distributing hay and making sure the animals were fed. Dad had some hay while Albert was filling his bucket with oats.

After washing yourself with a cloth and hot water, you dressed into socks, corset, shoes, petticoats, skirt, and blouse. You double checked to make sure there were no mud stains on your checked, white and blue blouse and blue skirt. You had to look presentable.

That morning, you sat at the table. Mum ate fast and ran off to begin a mountain of laundry. You were eating breakfast and drinking coffee from a beautiful porcelain cup with a painted flower on it. Enjoying a moment of peace before your shift began. There was the sonatas of birds and the rooster outside of a country morning. Accompanied by the clucking of chickens that wandered about the stone pathways on the grass. Albert walked in from outside, wiping off his hands on his pants.

“Y/N! Morning” he cheered. Already his cheeks were ruddy from the exercise and air.

“Albie! Good morning! How’s all the creatures?” you asked.

“All well-all well. Wish us luck- gonna start training Joey today! Gonna put the plow on him. If anyone can, it’s me!” he announced.

He sat down, slabbed a slice of bread with butter, and stuffed it in his face.

It was always dark inside the house. The stone blocked the sunlight except for the windows. Pots were on the ceiling over your head. Your embroidery was decorated over the walls. Over the crackling fireplace was a bookshelf with a book and a tiny clock. You kept peeking at it to make sure you weren’t going to be late for the nine am shift. fireplace. Little potted plants and flowers sat everywhere- inside the house on tables and counters and outside on windowsills. You and mum did you best to make sure the place was cozy. Pretty even. She taught you how to garden and put flowers into little clay pots. You both spent that early spring down on your skirts. Patting the dark dirt over the seeds and watering them.

Albert went to the corner of the kitchen section of the room. On the counter, right before the window overlooking the garden, was a bowl of fresh fruit. He grabbed an apple, shined it on his vest, and bit into it. Then he peeked outside and gasped.

“Y/N-come! Look at the garden! Your flowers!” he cried.

It was a lovely spring day. Looking about, you were glad to see the crocuses you had planted were in bloom. So much beauty even amidst the great stress. You kept only ten percent of the wages and decided to use it on crocus seeds to put in the flower section of the garden. Now it was speckled with the pretty flowers across the grass, nearby the carrots and tomatoes.

Albert pointed to the window. You got up and your eyes followed his finger.

A little brown rabbit was in the flower garden. It went to one blossom and was chewing away.

“Hmm, should we stop him?” you teased.

Albert shook his brown head. Part of you predicted he would answer this- bless Albert! His soft heart for animals was his best quality!

“No! Don’t!” he cried.

“Well good thing I agree! He looks quite content- cute little fellow!” you commented.

Looking more carefully, it was quite small. Perhaps still a baby. Both you and Albert paused to admire the adorable intruder.

“What should we name should we give him?” you asked.

The rabbit finished the bloom of one crocus. It then hopped forward and began chewing on another. His miniscule mouth nibbling on the leaf of the stem.

“His name should be Peter- just like the old stories!” Albert decided.

“That’s a wonderful name! You always have the best names for the animals, Albie! But… if it’s a girl?” you pointed out.

“Then let’s call her after one of the sisters- let’s call her Mopsy!” Albert said.

“Good idea! That fits the theme!” you laughed in agreement.

Besides, you were glad the rabbit ate the flowers. Glad it wasn’t one of the crops that would serve as both income and supper. Mum would have had a fit. Dad might have shot it for lunch.

But both of you smiled as you watched the creature breakfast along with the two of you. The little bunny finished his stolen meal and hopped off. It easily squeezed through the wooden gate and escaped.

“I should plant more- give it a whole salad bowl!” you suggested.

“I wouldn’t complain if you did- invite all the rabbit sisters and the mum too!” Albert added on.

It was a lovely day. The air was cool, the sun was out, the sky was blue, and the field was green. All this beauty even amidst such fear. Such stress. Some even whispered of a war. Didn’t the landlord say something about a war? No, that was too much. That must have been your imagination.

“Don’t be late- Y/N! Good luck! Maybe this might be the day you meet a handsome stranger at work!” Albert teased, he wiggled his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, the only strangers I meet nowadays are customers! And the men aren’t handsome-I’ll tell you that! And Albie-does he like carrots?”

He nodded, handing you a leftover carrot.

“One tip- offer it to him by turning backwards!” he added.

“Put it in my basket-I’ll see you later,” you said.

After putting a carrot into your lunch basket, Albert returned to the table. He scooped up more of breakfast and ate a second helping. As you walked out to the stone pathway through the ground, there was a sudden honk from below.

The proud goose, more intent on making mischief than productivity, strutted your way. He blocked your path. He raised his head and flapped your wings as if he was the king of England. He ran- flipper before your feet.

“Oh, please! Let me through! Shoo!” you scolded.

He had to chase anyone and everyone on the farm. And that didn’t stop at the residents. Last week, he charged the landlord and his posse as they left. They fled to their motorcar like he was a giant bull and not a little goose. Both you and Albert tightened your lips at the sight and then laughed about it later.

You, however, were used to Goose’s antics. No other name fit him, according to Albert. He was what he was-Goose. You let him take his beak to nip a bit of your skirt and shake it with his flexible, goosey neck. Then you gave a light tug, and he relented and released. He then flapped his wings again around you. He began honking out again as if urging you to work.

“I have five minutes before I need to get walking! But I’m going to say goodbye to Joey first!” you replied to the gander.

As you made your path to the backyard you heard him honk behind you. Intent on nipping more of your petticoats per his own Goose ritual. But as you got closer, there was the sound of a whinny and the clutter of hooves in the back yard. The goose gave a goodbye honk in surprise and eyeing the much bigger creature in the backyard, fled.

It was the newest addition. Joey. A beautiful young colt. On his way to growing into a magnificent stallion. Joey was brown as a rich tree trunk with the white diamond on his snout. Every time you went out to see the young horse, he would neigh loudly and break into a run. It made you back off every time, your hands up as if to calm him. Throughout the day, you and your parents often had to jump back to avoid getting run over as Joey dashed through the yard. Albert insisted he was spirited, but good.

Joey was an Irish Hunter- not the usual breed for farms. Your dad noticed his strength and energy at an auction and bought it, claiming he would become a plow horse. And how did he buy it? With Rent money. And Joey by now had become the apple of Albert’s eye. The house was at stake based on if Joey could be trained to plow. That is if your own shopgirl wages could not save the farm from foreclosure.

Dad tried to put a plough over Joey and the horse bucked away. You cried when Dad got his gun to kill the beautiful animal. You, Mum, and Albert all yelled at him to keep him from shooting it that day. You tried to physically hold him back by hugging him, tugging the trigger out of target. Mum let out a scream when Albert got between. Thankfully, he gave in when Albert announced he would train the horse. He was the one Joey would listen to the most.

It cheered you to see Joey alive this morning. Galloping about freely. You knew how happy he made Albert. You wondered if such a wild, free creature would even shine to you. From your basket, you got out the carrot. You leaned your arm over the gate and clicked your tongue to get his attention.

“Here, Joey…how about a treat?” you offered.

Joey clopped forward.

“Here, Joey, come on! Come on, love!” you urged.

He went, but then backed off, shaking his head and long, black mane with a brush of his lips. You let out a sigh. Then you turned around, leaning your hand backward.

“Come on, Joey- you’re going to learn to plow today. You’ll need a little extra strength! I’m not dad-I’m your friend!” you urged.

If you made no sudden movements, it wouldn’t scare him to raise his front hooves and kick your head You heard his feet trotting close to you. Then you felt his wet mouth open and accept the carrot. As you turned around to see him eat it, you smiled.

“Oh-you took it for once! Good boy! Good boy! And keep being a good boy today- I got to work today… and so do you. But between us, we can help keep the farm afloat- can we?” you wondered out loud.

The horse blinked in response. To think there was something in common you shared with the colt. You gently reached out a hand, and he let you pet his nuzzle.

“See-even letting me pet you for once! Every day you’re improving! You better do what Albert says-I’ll see you later, goodbye Joey!” you wished.

As you walked up the tiny slope to leave, you picked up your petticoat and tiptoed around the mud. You had to look as presentable as you could for a farm girl. Opening the wooden gate, you made your way to town.

You walked down into town, keeping to the sidewalks away from the motorcars. People busied about you, ready to begin their own jobs. You walked right to the shop. Even before opening there were already customers waiting to buy things just outside. Their noses touched the front windows. You went inside to the counter, tied an apron around your skirt, and switched the sign on the window to “OPEN.”

So began another day. Today, you made sure there were catalogues displaying a new selection of dresses for women. It was hard not to drool over them from the corner of your eye. Not to envy the daughters of lords of the land who had the surplus allowances to order them here. You sometimes saw them enter the shop with their maids by their sides.

How you wished you could be a lady! They couldn’t come from a farming family. And even more importantly, they didn’t work. You heard all about them. How you daydreamed about it night and day.

You could live in a giant manor house. You’d have a maid to do your hair and drape you in dresses and pretty jewels. So would mum! And how handsome both dad and Albert would look in tuxedoes at dinner! Mum would have to present you at court. You would come out and get to briefly meet the king and queen themselves! Then you’d go to fancy balls. There would be handsome suitors who would wait in lines outside your door to kiss your gloved hand with their unworthy lips. You would have no concerns except for which pair of gloves to wear. And which eligible bachelor to marry. Then he’d ask for your hand and there would be a giant wedding full of pomp and splendor. Then you’d move into another manor and eat breakfast in bed every day! You would relax and not have to do a minute of work!

Perhaps…you would meet someone if you moved out…or if by a miracle, you got a scholarship to a university or lived in another town, far from Devon…

You knew you did not have enough to move out on your own. Besides, even if you did- how could you? How could you abandon your family when they needed you? When they needed help? Especially since dad had a weakness for wasting money on booze until he drunkenly stumbled to bed in the wee morning hours. The landlord would sigh and remind all of you he ran a business, not a charity. Every time.

But sadly, you had to go back to reality. You could only fantasize in catalogues and magazines showing off the latest overpriced fashions from London. You did grab an issue to look at during your minutes off. You went down for the post-lunch break. You began to sip on tea, look at the catalogue, and rest your weary feet from hours of standing.

But after you returned the shopkeeper, Mrs. Snow, went up to you in a hurry. And the shop was filled with eager people eyeing all the half-off sales.

“Oh, Miss Narracott! Look what I found!” she cried.

She brought forth a little black book.

“A gentleman was just here-I saw him with it! He placed it down on the table and left without it! He should be right outside- And it’s so busy now- could you please run off and get it to him?” she instructed.

“How will I know it’s him?” you asked.

“You’ll see him in a uniform- like a sore thumb! Please return it to him!” she pleaded.

“What kind of uniform?” you asked.

Immediately, a lady was at the counter with five spools of ribbons. She was frowning and tapping her gloved hand on the wooden surface.

“Just go! Go, girl!” Mrs. Snow urged. She pushed the book into your hands.

You nodded and hurried outside. But you looked around and noticed the people outside. Bowler hats and blouses blended in around you. None of the men seemed concerned about anything. They only got out the pocket watches from their waistcoats to check the time.

What uniform- a university uniform? A police officer uniform? A chef’s uniform, even? You saw none of those as you looked about.

Curiosity hit you- what was in this book? Maybe he would return. And you could steal a little bit of time to rest your mind from work again.

The book was thin, so it couldn’t be a novel. Perhaps it was a short story? A photo album?

You opened it and saw a pencil drawing of a woman at a piano-it was a sketchbook. But her hair, her dress, and the doily over the instrument was perfection in its attention to detail.

They were some of the most realistic drawings you had ever seen. You flipped past one to find another more beautiful than the last. You saw one of a willow tree- it was as if the tree the were drawn merely shrunk in size. When you saw an old man’s face, each wrinkled line was as if he jumped into the drawing or was in frtont of you. They were nearly perfect. Why weren’t these already in a museum? You flipped another page-the most impressive of all. It was the drawing of a large stallion, colored to be a rich black. He was on his back hooves, raising his might front legs into the air. He was like a mythological beast rather than some common horse. And at the bottom, was some writing.

“TOPTHORN- CPN J. N.”

You were so invested in admiring it, a baritone voice had to break you out.

“Excuse me miss-“

Jumping at the sound, your head went up.

You saw a gentleman. A tall gentleman. And yes- an astonishingly handsome gentleman. He took off his hat, perhaps to show respect in the presence of a lady. His eyes were absolutely piercing in their blueness, as if he could see right through you to your guts. But they were soft, like two sapphires on his lovely ivory face. He had a uniform on- a soldier’s uniform.

“Miss…what is your name?” he asked.

“Y/N Naracott. And you are?” you replied.

“Nicholls. Captain James Nicholls.” He answered.

“Is the sketchbook yours? Left in that shop?” you asked, holding up the book.

“Yes, it is,” he answered.

“I’m so sorry- I work for the shop and was intent on returning it. But I got curious and peeked inside,” you blurted.

With his gaze on you, you felt warm. Suddenly aware of every bit of your appearance and movements. It was everything in your to not go into a giddy panic and flee from bashfulness. You forced your feet still.

“Don’t be, you did nothing wrong…” he said.

Turning to the page with the black horse, you lightly traced it’s outline.

“The drawings they’re…they’re beautiful! Was it a gift?” you questioned.

“It’s mine. My drawings…” he explained.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I should have guessed!” you babbled out.

“No, don’t be at all!” he replied. He grinned at you.

Smoothing your skirt, tucking in the blouse, you felt the wind knock out of you at his smile.

“I just thought they were…they were beautiful! My favorite’s the horse here! Horses are so hard to draw- but the way you got his shape, his legs, his body-he’s so lifelike! I thought a real artist must have them- not a soldier!” you added on.

“That’s Topthorn. He’s my Major’s horse. An impressive beast- I had to capture him,” he explained.

He took a step closer. Goodness, the uniform really did make him even more attractive! It made you dizzy. Your mouth moved faster than your brain.

“You should meet my brother. He’d love the horse drawing. We have a new horse and he’s obsessed with-“

The same lady walked out with a bag of her purchased ribbons from the corner of your eye. It shut you up. Captain Nicholl’s turned to glance at her, and then back at you.

“I don’t wish to keep you from working, Miss Narracott, here- I’ll walk you back,” he offered.

It was not a very long distance at all. But you were grateful. There were worse things than being accompanied by a pleasant, gallant, handsome young captain.

“Are you new in town?” you asked him at the door.

“Just stationed. Staying here for the moment.” he explained.

“Then, welcome to Devon! I hope you like it,’ you greeted.

He nodded his head. He opened the door for you to walk inside.

“I already do,” he replied.

There was a whistle. Captain Nicholls turned his head to the outside. There was another group of men in army uniform nearby. One tall gentleman with a mustache called out.

“Hey! Jim! Stop flirting with the girl and get back!”

You flinched and saw his cheeks turn a little pink. You dipped your head down. Would that phrase cause a scandal- even a small one? On one hand, flirting was completely discouraged between men and women. There was no flirting until you were engaged. Then one could be absolutely sure a gentleman had pure intentions. You could be sure a gentleman wasn’t a skirt chaser and seducer.

But on the other hand- you both weren’t a duke and debutante at a ball. Just two village people having a chat. And flirting…maybe…maybe he did already…notice you…liked you…

“Well, I’ll see you around, Captain,” you said.

“And I you, Miss Narracott. Thank you again for returning the book,” he replied.

He dipped his head, put his hat back on, and left.

“Bless you, girl! Took you ages to find him! But you did! Now- it’s time to get back!” Mrs. Snow urged from the shop counter.

The busy crowd kept you on your feet, but you felt ready. The hours flew until closing. You could deal with even the most demanding customers with a smile on your face. As you flipped the sign to close and returned home, you found yourself looking forward to tomorrow. Besides, maybe the new captain might return for a visit.

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smolvenger · 11 months

Text

Miss Narracott and The Captain Part Seven (Cpn James Nicholls x fem! Reader miniseries)

Fandom: War Horse

Word Count: 4K

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of sex, but it fades to black and no actual smut. Some fluff but LOTS of angst. Discussions of war and battles and death. Mentions of pregnancy but no pregnancy tropes.

Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five//Part Six//Part Seven//Part Eight Finale coming soon!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: Hi y'all! I intend this to be the penultimate chapter-this Baby is almost complete! I hope you guys enjoy it! Comments, reblogs, asks, and dms about my works are always appreciated!

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“Can’t I at least scratch my arm! It’s beginning to itch!” you teased, though you did feel an itch on your arm.

It was a peaceful late afternoon. James had returned from work. When he announced himself, you immediately ran over to throw your arms around him and kiss him, something he enjoyed. As he changed into his everyday clothes, he asked if he could draw you. You agreed.

The sun was setting with its orange glow melting through the windows. You felt it behind you as the red curtains tickled you and the sunlight warmed your back. The inside of the sitting room looked lovely in its light. You looked down on the main sofa as James sat on a chair opposite. He was working on a sketch of you as you sat there, your hands folded on your lap. James looked at you from behind his sketchbook and smiled.

“Right now, I am focused on the details of your face- of course you can scratch your arm!” he answered.

You put a hand to move your sleeve up to scratch on it. Then you put your sleeve back. You heard his drawing more. His eyes dated from you to his page. The clock began to tick.

“How is it going- I only hope I am a decent model for you!” you said.

You heard him make a flourish. Then he lifted his pencil, checking between you and him.

“Y/N with the light pouring out behind you, you seem to glow like an angel, Mrs. Nicholls.” He rolled the last two words with the enthusiasm for a foreign language understood and learned.

You looked down briefly, feeling tingly from the compliment.

“Such high praise….” You murmured in your giddy joy.

“It’s only the truth-you’re a natural model…come look…” he urged.

You got up from your seat and walked over to where he sat to see the sketch. He had gotten your face and sitting position on the couch. You worried it would be unflattering. You were human after all, you didn’t like what you saw in the mirror some days. But it was James’s view of you- and you were glowing with a smile that spoke of love, joy, and life.

“James-it’s wonderful! I love it!” you said.

He set it down and took your hand.

“I must tell you-have I shown you the painting, yet?”

“Painting? I never knew you painted-what is it?” you asked.

He took your hand and walked over to a cabinet. He unlocked it and opened it up, showing an almost complete painting sitting in it. You gasped as you took in the sight. It portrayed a beautiful brown horse looking wistfully into the distance. His ears perked as if hearing someone approaching. But his gentle, dark eyes and the white diamond on his face could mean it was only one horse you knew of.

“You’re making a painting of Joey!?” you cried.

He shrugged with a low smile.

“I’m no Stubbs, but I’m doing my best. He’s too beautiful a fellow not to- and it’s been too long since I painted. I hope to give it to the town hall as a gift. I should be able to finish it before I leave.”

You clasped your hands to admire it.

“Oh-James, that’s wonderful! It’s going to be beautiful! Albert will be beside himself!” you cheered.

You went over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. You began to work on dinner-working on what you knew of cooking and from the few groceries you got today. James offered to help. You chatted as you ate your meal.

“How was recruitment today?” you asked.

He nodded.

“It went astonishingly well. It seems almost every able man is signing up. To think riding school begins so soon. I hope they are ready for it.”

His tone darkened. He set his fork and knife down, his food half-done. He folded his hands together and sighed.

“Y/N…I do my best to be brace, but…I am scared. I have never seen a battle before. I’ve never even listened to a gun being shot. I’m a leader for them…but I’m no better than any of them…” he confessed.

You blinked, leaning forward. He perked up to look at you.

“You are good. Do you see your own hands, James?” you asked.

It was a small table. You reached over and took his hands.

“They’re kind hands…gentle hands…You act because you care. That is what leaders do! Do you remember when Joey first plowed the field? You gave me orders right there!” you recalled.

He laughed and nodded at the sight.

“And when you’re with Albert, you see my brother shying himself. He knows your station. But the way you speak to him…you speak with reason and wisdom, and do you know what Albie does? He listens! And Albert never listened to Mother tell him to eat his peas when he was seven! It was why I loved you. Why I married you and not Lyons…”

Both of you broke into a small laugh at that notion. A flood of gratitude that this was your picture now. Not an unhappy wife to a rich man but a loved companion of a good one.

“James- you will know what to do. And people already listen to you.”

He went over and gave you another kiss. You then stopped him from another by putting a hand on his chest.

“Please let Albert see Joey this week before riding school begins! Do this for me, at least!”

He smiled.

“I will, my dear.”

The days were quiet. Peaceful. Your friends and family would stop by and visit when they could. Your mother gave you a recipe book to enjoy meals of your own in your new home. New meals to make with new memories of your new marriage. All of you got to go to see Joey in his new stables and Albert petted and caressed him. Never wanting to leave the stables. James put a bucket down to sit and drew you petting Joey. It did not take long for him to finish the painting. It was given to the town hall with much joy. It would be opened there with a bronze plaque around it.

Things were quiet as a wife-other than visitors and looking after things, you couldn’t wait for your husbands’ return. Call it the honeymoon phase, but you always wrapped your arms around him. Enjoying every minute, every ticking of the clock that gave him to you. After he finished his painting, he would help you with dinner. You would eat and talk for a long time. He sometimes even set the gramophone music so you both could dance slowly to it. Some nights, you made love beneath the quilts as the grandfather clock ticked by and the owls hooted in the night sky. Then you would hold each other close and sleep as the coals in the fire faded. Or you would read to each other or hold each other and chat until you both fell asleep.

They waned slowly. You wanted them to be slow. To savor every minute of James before he had to go.

Your last day in that cottage and with it your last dinner before his conscription.

“There’s a parade for us. To celebrate the boys going over to fight-they’ll drive me in my motorcar. And they’ll show the horses-Joey among them as we all go off to riding school. Poor chaps. They’ll have to learn how to take orders soon.”

You cut your pork chops into bits. But James had not touched his dinner.

“May I confide something in you, Y/N?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He looked into your eyes with a hardened face. His jaw was tight and as he folded his hands, you saw the knuckles turn white from how hard they clasped together.

“This is going to be a nasty war. They say the Germans are armed with machinery. The English- not all of us, but my calvary have silver swords and horses,” he confided.

You set down your knife and fork.

“Then…why can’t you fight with machinery?” you questioned.

He nodded.

“I agree. If two men go to a fight and one has a sword and the other a gun…you know how it’s going to end,” he said.

“Then shouldn’t they be armed with guns and not swords? How do you hope to even win the war? You might as well bring a toothpick!” you argued.

“We do not lack for guns in our army’s division. I will have to teach them to shoot straight. But the riders, the calvary-they must do what they did during the Boer war. Point straight and keep charging.”

“But with an army full of guns, how is that going to work out? Why do this- why agree to this?” you asked. You felt your voice begin to rise.

It was anger, in a way. That so many men, your husband included, were sent to fight guns with swords. It was worry, fear, dread.

James shook his head.

“This is how we will fight. We will follow our orders- if we play our cards right. If we surprise them, we have a good chance. We will do what we must around it. The times the idea of the calvary having weapons other than guns, the superiors called it ‘rubbish’ and ‘defeatist.’”

“Why is this defeatist? This is how to win-you shouldn’t be the one at the Calvary. You need to adapt! You need to play the same game the Germans are, James!” you cried.

He folded his arms, but his voice never raised a decibel. His eyes looked sad.

“I must follow the tradition. It is how it is done, Y/N,” he said.

“You are a captain-a leader. The men will look to you to make decisions! Tell them otherwise!” you suggested.

“Others shall mock me. My superiors-the majors and generals-will criticize me. Or call me a traitor. And that would be risking my neck.”

You paused. You leaned closer to him.

“My mother once told me that women tend to silence our own thoughts to please others. I see now it’s no different with men too…Do you think it is possible you could…talk to your superiors? Change their minds, James!?” you asked.

“I married you so you would have protection as a widow.”

You bit back the urge to cry.

“I do not want to be a widow, James? How hard is it to understand?”

“Must I demean the military’s glory and question it?”

“There will be no military alive left if they keep it at and adapt…”

“It could be fruitless.”

You retreated to your seat. You found your own voice softening. You had never argued with him before. To think it would be one of your last conversations. So, you made your tone match his in gentleness, quietness…but never losing strength.

“You could try! This is your life and the lives of your men. And I would like to see you come home in once piece and not in a casket. I’m sure their own wives and families will say the same.”

You went over to the chair next to James and took both of his hands. You kissed them, and you found yourself tearing up. You felt him relax at your touch.

“Promise me James- you will talk to them. You will convince them a mounted calvary won’t be successful. You could ask for a change. Arm them with guns, not swords. Please…Jaimie’s your friend and he’s a senior officer. He’ll listen to you. Talk to him-you don’t have to be honorable, you only must be alive, James… talk to him! Tell him you know it’s useless to fight guns with swords!”

He wiped a tear from your face with his finger, cupping a cheek of yours. He then looked at you, his eyes shining and sad. But he gave you a small, trembling smile.

“I promise…I will go to Stewart. See if we can adapt in our weaponry,” he replied.

You kept clutching his hands.

“And promise me…you will survive…you will survive for me…James-for us. For both of us…I don’t want to spend my life mourning you. I want us to live together and grow old and bicker like any other couple!”

You both laughed a little. You began to speak despite the mixture of laughter and tears.

“Promise me, James,” you begged.

“I…I promise…”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Who knew how long the war would last? Every man would brag about how they would kill every German in sight and be home in time for dinner. But you knew they were only bragging about their prowess. You knew the truth of the matter. Everyone knew. No one wanted to say what the truth was. That it would be months, perhaps years if you ever saw your dear husband again.

You awoke to the birdsong as he kissed your face.

“I’d like to see the countryside…. Could we walk there. Before the parade?” he asked.

You both walked to the fields, seeing the beautiful country in his clothes like an ordinary man, not a soldier. He wasn't in uniform yet. It would be your last walk for a while. Mountains stood proud in the distance like giants. You both walked to where the grass was as tall as your waist. James then embraced you. He kissed you with ferocity, and he held you tight. Needing you, clutching onto you, keeping you to him. He looked around. He began to hike up your skirts, feeling your legs.

“No one is around….” He assured you.

You said yes. There, among the tall grass, you led him down. You lifted your skirt, and he undid his pants. You both made love one final time there, hidden in nature. A wedding bed from God himself. Only the birds heard you cry your husband's name when oblivion broke you. They flew up in the commotion- the only stirring that signaled you were there. He did turn red with blushing, but he held you tight. Panting as it ended, holding each other tight.

“Thank you…thank you, Y/N. It was beautiful…you are beautiful…a beautiful last moment…at least for now…” he said, kissing the top of your head.

You both got up over the flattened area of grass. As you helped him up, you brushed off grass from his clothes as you both laughed.

You returned home. He changed into his uniform for the parade and went to the town square. The other soldiers Before the parade Jaimie began to chat with him about parade particulars, then James took off his cap. He looked at you, a small smile on his face. Your own family let you, keeping a few steps away.

"I would like to kiss my wife before I must go...."

You were far from the only couple doing so. But he went to you. He wrapped his hands over your cheeks. He then kissed you deeply and you widened your arms around him, joining other couples in the last literal seconds of physical intimacy. You tasted the sweetness of his breath and felt its heat. You felt him breathe right into you. You didn't know how long it lasted. But he let his lips go.

"It's time. Y/N,” he said.

You handed him the sketchbook, a small picture of the both of you at your wedding, and the glove as well.

"You will always have a piece of me with you, James." Your own family came up, each wishing the new son and brother-in-law goodbye. His parents hugged him goodbye. Mrs. Nicholls brought up a handkerchief and was wringing it in her hands.

"I may be fighting the war, but all of you are soldiers of your own. You will face your own battles- but all of you will be brave and fight them,” he guided.

He turned to Albert.

"Joey is only being leased to me. I will pour all of the love and care you have given that horse on him and return him when this is done- I swear it."

Albert nodded. The horses were behind, and Albert then turned to run up to Joey's place.

He got into the motorcar. Someone else would drive as people would cheer for their marching boys for the parade. One could feel the heat of the sun and the murmur of the crowds. Stewart then ran up.

"It's time, Jim. Say your last words."

He gave an embrace to you, good and tight. You made sure you memorized each small touch and the smell of him. He cupped your face and spoke directly. Words for you alone. He was tearing up himself.

"Goodbye, Y/N. I will fight bravely. For you and our families. I’ll write to you as often as I can. I love you-I love you with everything I am. I will never regret marrying you.”

You smiled, leaning into his hands. Smiling and crying as you heard the words.

“No matter what happens-know I love you more than I love life. And if I must give my life for you to be safe and happy, I will give it without question.”

He gave you a last kiss and then let go.

You walked slowly behind the car- he kept an eye on you. You held onto James’s hand in the car until it began to speed up. If you kept on, you would have been dragged in the dirt. Finally, fighting hesitancy, you let go.

Always dashing in his uniform, he turned around and began to relax in the chair.

The parade began.

The people flooded Devon today. And it struck you. They were celebrating James, in addition to the other men. They threw confetti from their windows. They cheered and waved even more flags. The soldiers were marching to the tune of "The Jolly Plowboy." Some were even humming and singing along, and it moved the young soldiers- an entire generation of young men- off to the battle. It kept their speed. It was an anthem in everyone's heart.

To think it was a little over two years ago you worked at that shop and were tasked with returning a missing sketchbook. That he gave you a handkerchief when you were crying over the unstable future of your farm. There was the town hall you danced in once. There was the church you were married in just over a week ago. The town was so full of him as it was of you. The parade continued. You did your best to show support and cheer. You cried plenty of tears and they ran down your face like a cold river. Your parents hugged you and comforted you.

But you remembered- you were a grown woman. You had another family to see. And a new life in a new place. You enjoyed the last comfort but now...without James...without your family...who were you?

You would find out. You would go to Somerset and find out. And there wasn’t time to lose- his parents were driving you there today.

You indulged in a last look around the cottage. Around each room that was the start of your new life. You let yourself feel the dent of his body on the mattress. You missed the sound of James' pencil scratching the paper. You missed hearing his footsteps throughout the house. Seeing the way he bent under the doorframe. How he would caress you at night as you discussed what happened today.

You put on a traveling dress. Blue with a hat and gloves. You packed your bags and recounted your things. Then You hugged your mother, your father, and your brother. You told them to say goodbye to the animals and give Harold extra nice seeds to munch on. For you would miss that goose and his antics. As you got into the car, you took around to notice all sorts of things- like the greenery and how pretty it looked against the houses. The white birds fly above the smoking chimneys. How truly hilly and sloped the place was as the car began to drive through the town.

You wished it a last goodbye as the car broke into the roads of the countryside.

The hour slew by, surprisingly. The countryside was not too different over there. Somerset was only a little bigger in size.

“You’ll be delighted! We’re going to serve you a dinner in your honor-My wife is going to bake a cake herself for your arrival-most delicious thing you’ll ever eat!” Mr. Nicholls said.

He helped you out and into that house. A far bigger house and far nicer than your farm. Already there was one maid who took your coat and a servant who carried your suitcase in. Mrs. Nicholls went up to you.

“I’ll show you to your room, dear…oh- what’s the matter! You look frightened!” she said.

You looked around the ornate wallpaper and mahogany furniture.

“This house is so nice…And I’m just…just a farm girl who chases geese.”

“Y/N, you are our daughter in law. You’re family now. It’s your house as much as ours. We aren’t lords, but…we’re comfortable…” she explained.

That evening they did serve you an incredible dinner. And the cake was delicious- rich and topped with buttercream and walnuts. Then that evening, the Nicholls showed you how they would entertain their children. Mr. Nicholls read a story dramatically, Mrs. Nicholls would play music fitting the mood for the story. When it became scary, the chords were dissonant and jumpy. When happy, they were light. You laughed and clapped your hands.

It was a quiet life. Three servants to do the chores and cook. Meeting visitors, including family and friends who wanted to meet James new wife. You did your best to smile and greet them. No one was terribly rude. If they objected him marrying a lower-class woman, they didn’t say it to your face. It was nice. They liked to speak of James. What a shy little boy he was and what he would do growing up. This house. So filled with reminders of him.

But they left. And your worries screamed inside you.

It was the third day it got to you. You ran up to your room to cry again. You let yourself sob and mourn the man you loved. Let yourself sob and miss him. Mrs. Nicholls would return to embrace and comfort you.

As the month passed your courses arrived. Announcing that despite your passionate nights and the last morning in the tall grass, you would not have James’s child. Part of you lamented that there wouldn’t be one last reminder of him left.

But the other part of you knew the practical truth- a baby would make things even more complicated than they already were. It would be worse to be left a single mother to fend for herself and her child. It would be worse to have a baby who would never really see what the man their father was. To have a little child who would never know what Papa’s voice sounded like. To never meet their father- their actual wonderful, kind, genuine, father.

It was only one less thing to deal with. With those thoughts, relief flooded you as you fetched rags.

A letter arrived from James at last announcing that by the time you got it, he would be in France fighting the first battles. That the painting was done and sent to the town hall. Inside was a small sketch of Joey. You smiled and kissed it. Then you sat and realized…there was only so much you could do. You couldn’t run to France and save him. You couldn’t be a soldier. But what could you do…

That morning, you joined them for breakfast. Your father-in-law poured over a newspaper and greeted you warmly. Your mother-in-law was putting jam on her toast.

“Mrs. Nicholls…are there any groups where women can…can do something for the soldiers?” you asked.

“Hmmm…I know there is a group that is planning to gather to knit socks and scarves for them. I’d like to join it-would you?” she said.

“Oh-yes! Yes, I can do that!” you said. Even if it was small, it was a start.

Mr. Nicholls then turned to a page in his newspaper.

“Oh! Have you seen the papers, dear Y/N?”

He showed you an advertisement. It featured a picture of women in aprons and caps. It had blue letters on the bottom reading “URGENTLY NEEDED.”

“Here…there is an advertisement for something called The Voluntary Aid Detachment. They’re with the Red Cross. Setting up in a big manor house nearby. They’re assistants for nurses and doctors for the war, should soldiers arrive and need help…no need for years of studying.”

You looked at the advertisement and then nodded. Feeling the pull over to you. Even if you couldn’t save James…you could help someone else’s loved ones survive. And who knows? Maybe one day, he would be the one pulled up there and you would save him. He saw his call. And you saw yours.

“I’ll answer it,” you replied.

34 notes · View notes

smolvenger · 1 year

Text

Miss Narracott and The Captain Part Five (Cpn. James Nicholls x fem! Reader miniseries)

Fandom: War Horse

Word Count: 6K

Chapter Warnings: Angst and fluff. Pining. Drunkenness. Mentions of sex but no smut. Inspiration from Jane Austen and Little Women. Attempts at historic accuracy. I choose violence at the end.

Series Summary: It is 1912-1914. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...

Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five//Part Six Coming Soon!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: Comments, Reblogs, DMs, and Asks about my work are always appreciated! I always love doing period pieces like this! Feel free to ask to be tagged in this and/or my other stuff! Thank you!

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract

@eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @infinitystoner @12-pm-510

He offered you to sit down at the table. Once you had, he took the place across from you.

“Why do you wish to speak to me alone, Mr. Lyons?" you asked.

He rubbed his hands together. Then he began.

"Miss Narracott, I have taken notice of you these past two years. Despite the low station of your family, you impressed me. Your sweet nature, work ethic, good sense, and pretty face. All admirable. However, your father is unable to provide for his own family. Or afford his own farm. You are trapped by a family that cannot provide for themselves, or you. But…there is a solution a compromise, if you will."

You folded your hands on the table. Looking right at him. Trying to see if your heart would stop in its place. You could attest truth in some of his words. Right now, bad luck took away your cash crop. Ruined crops meant no rent. The eggs, the milk, and your wages could only cover so much. You could sell the animals as a last resort. Though not Joey, it would break your brother's heart too much.

You knew where this was headed.

He looked around at this place. Though your family rented it, it was truly he who owned it. He owned the stone walls. The staircase. The windows you looked out so many times. The sink. The doors. He even tried to own Joey. And now you were only more thing he was trying to add to his collection of ownership.

But this house! So familiar and safe to you! It was filled with so many things that made it a home. Your embroidery with flowers and sentences sewed in hung on the walls. On the fireplace mantle was a clock Dad loved to polish. Mum’s pans hung over your head in the kitchen. The seats and fireplace could make a cold winter's night cozy. At this very table, you would gather to eat, read, sew, have cups of tea, and live. And now, all of that had to be packed up and squished to move to your uncles. Or sold one by one to make ends meet. To buy time for the plants to grow. Or until you all had to beg.

It was dark inside. It was the late shine of afternoon becoming evening, but still bright. But the stone walls blocked the sunlight.

It was summer after all. And it mocked you in its sunshine and youthful joy outside. You heard the chickens clucking and Joey's hooves trotting about without a care in the world. Unlike you.

“Sir, you are proposing marriage to me,” you said directly.

“Yes, I am.”

Panic made parts of you see stars. But your vision came to normal. You looked down at the table, to regather yourself, then back at him. You swallowed. Keeping it down. You would not give into “hysterics.” Not yet.

If only there could be a distraction. A bird at the window. A thundercloud. Albert's owl whistle. Joey poking his head through the window for a snack from the kitchen, even! No, there was none. Only this. You put your hands on the table, fingers curled up. Everything in you sensed danger though you were at home and very still.

Part of you knew this would always happen. That it was only a matter of time. And now here was the moment. But why did you feel so horrible?

You wished you could run away. You wished you could run out the door and never speak to him again. To catch a cab out of the city to never deal with this! But…you forced yourself not to. Even if you didn’t want to be here, you knew it would come eventually. You would not flee. You would face him. You would stay here and deal with it.

Father used to fight in the Bower wars. He was brave then. Mum's brave. Albert's brave. I can be brave too, you thought.

He leaned a little closer to you. You felt yourself flinch back. He then put a cold, soft hand over yours. He showed no nervousness, usual for some suitors. His eyes were sharp on you. Lyons cleared his throat with his other hand. He began speaking.

“Miss Narracott… you have been the greatest surprise about this farm. About this family. And through these past two years, I have grown more and more affectionate with you. I think of all ladies here in town, you have my utmost opinion of superiority. Though I understand your family’s situation and standing more than anyone else, I can be a forgiving man. I can be a tender man beneath all this.”

He gestured to his overdressed striped waistcoat. He looked like an English zebra. If only Albert were with you. Then you both would bite your lips. Then flee to a corner and laugh at him. Then the next sentence hit you like a slap.

“And I will forgive your family's rent if you consent to be my wife.”

You heard the clock on the mantle tick.

“That was what you were discussing with my father?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He said if you said yes, it was alright by him.”

You forced your breaths to slow. Your hand shook beneath his and your belly boiled. Was this a trap? An idea struck you.

“You are a businessman, not a charity man, Mr. Lyons. Said so yourself, I recall. You cannot seriously mean you would forgive my parent's rent all the time. You need income from your tenants,” you reasoned.

“You are correct. I could extend the forgiveness for a year at most.”

A year without rent. More than enough to recover the loss of crops. It was too good to be true. Was it?

“You say that you like me. What will my life be like after I marry you?” you queried.

Lyons smiled.

“You will live with me in my house. All my servants shall call you mistress. You won’t have to feed chickens for the rest of your life…You will have anything you could want- you have my word! Anything is yours!” he elaborated.

“Breakfast in bed delivered by maids every morning?” you asked.

“Of course, you can, I don’t see why not. It will be a comfortable, glamorous life. That is what I offer you.”

It seemed like the life of being a Wealthy Lady was finally in your grasp. Just like the ones in the catalogs.

“I-I…I don’t know what to say…this is a lot…” you babbled.

Tears were welling up in your eyes, slowly falling. One drop curled in a minuscule puddle on the tablecloth. You got out your handkerchief.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

"It's natural for women to cry with joy when they are proposed to! Especially like this!” he commented.

But you were crying for a different reason. The pure overwhelm of everything.

"Let me ask again-Would you like to be my wife, live a life of ease, and easily have your family keep their farm? I will make you happier more than any man here in town could."

He even from his pocket got out a velvet box with a ring inside. It was encrusted with a diamond that glittered when the sun hit it. You must admit, it was beautiful and right up your alley. Costly, too. But it felt tight on your finger as if preparing it to be chopped off by a knife by squeezing the life out of it.

"That is what I have to offer you- whatever you want. Anything you wish for is yours, Miss Narracott.”

"Like gloves?" you asked.

"Your pick of them!"

"I have one that's missing...where is my glove?”

He tilted his head.

“Your what?” he asked.

“My cream-colored glove! One’s been missing for a year now! Did you take it? I thought you stole it out of fondness for me. I’d like it back, please,” you explained.

He blinked, shaking his head.

“I never took your glove!” he confirmed.

“Oh…I was mistaken….” You sighed.

Your head was spinning. Breakfast in bed every morning. Motorcars. Fancy hats and all the dresses you craved at last. Servants. Never having to do a minute of work for the rest of your life. Afternoons spent lifting your feet up like a queen in town. Knowing your family’s house was safe. They had time to recover the lost crops. That they had stability…

“Miss, you try my patience. I do expect an answer- immediately,” he said.

But all while married to Lyons.

You looked up at him. You did not feel an ounce of attraction. You knew several older men who were far more handsome than he. His ridiculous red mustache! Could you kiss those whiskers on your wedding day? Would they tickle? Would they make you sneeze or even laugh when you kissed him- not from joy but from how silly they looked on him? Could you sit with him and talk with him every day? Spend every meal with him? Could you attend every Sunday service beside him? Could you call David your stepson?

Then it came to the marital act. You were taught about what happened by your mother, your friends, and the farm animals. Could you see yourself wanting to bed this man? Could you… do these sorts of things to this man? Let him do all sorts of things to you? Could you crawl into the same bed as Lyons nightly? See his naked body? Let him see yours? Feel him on you? In you? Wake up next to his face every morning? You could push him away, but not for long. And what if you got pregnant? Would you want to carry this man’s child? Make more of him into the world?

He wasn’t old enough to die soon. And you doubt you could get away with murder. Or file a divorce.

Perhaps you could learn to love him. Even if he wasn’t a handsome man in your eyes, what about his character? Men didn’t have to be handsome to be kind, gentle, respectful husbands who treated their wives well.

Thinking back, you recalled every interaction. How he scoffed at rabbits as “vermin.” His behavior toward your family when they desperately tried to get the field plowed. He harassed your father and mother. Taunting their worries. Speaking with cruelty and superiority. Not even a whisper of sympathy for their situation. And not only to people beneath his power but to the people he wanted as in-laws!

He hadn’t changed a bit.

Was that a man you wanted to marry?

You thought of the field. The storm. The brokenness on your father’s face. The relief on it if you walked out, flashed the ring on your finger, and said, “The rent is forgiven for a year, Dad!”

Then you remembered your mother’s words. About being a woman. About self-sacrifice. About happiness.

How much you gave and sacrificed already for your family. If you made this one sacrifice; If you married this man, it would be no different than plunging a blade into yourself. Or tearing at each part of yourself until barely anything was left. An empty husk from your wedding day until death did you part. An empty, unhappy shell all your days.

That wasn't worth it.

You looked up into Lyon's eyes and said one word.

“No.”

He blinked. His smile was unfazed.

“What did you say?”

“I said no,” you clarified.

“No breakfast in bed?”

You took off the ring and placed it in the box. You slid it back to him. You stood up. Trying to feel taller than him as he sat.

“No to your offer. I cannot and will not accept,” you said.

“Your families rent! This is quite an incredible opportunity. Think of my generosity. Think of it!” he argued.

“You’re not proposing to me. You’re extorting me,” you accused.

You began to shake even more, tears poured out of your eyes. Yet you kept speaking.

“You’re not a nice man. And you wouldn’t be a good husband to me. So, do you hear me? My answer is no!”

You dipped your head down. You wiped the tears off with your sleeves, then looked back up. He got up as well, putting the box in his pocket.

“You will be our landlord. But no more. And you will respect that boundary. Or we will live somewhere else…” you told him.

“Very well then…My business here today is done. I’ll leave,” he replied.

You walked over and opened the door. Mr. Lyons stepped right outside, tipping his hat with a solemn look. His face frowning.

“You lost quite an opportunity, Miss Narracott,” he said.

You heard a familiar honk. A smile returned to you at the sound.

“We have no servants here. Harold will see you out,” you announced.

Harold charged onto Lyons. Wings flapping and feathers flying. Lyons struggled to run out. The goose bit his leg. Lyons let out an “Agh!” in pain. He lost any dignity he had left shaking away the offensive gander. The landlord couldn’t take a step without dealing with Harold’s nipping beak. He retreated to the door of the gate pursued by the goose.

Your parents had been sitting on the large rock near the bottom field. They jumped up and ran over to watch. Harold kept honking and flapping his wings at the threshold when your hopeless suitor got out. Off Lyons ran to his motorcar, his servant driving him far away. Harold let out a few final, triumphant honks at the gate. Then shook his head and waddled away like a parade of victory.

You heard Albert yelling out and his running footsteps.

“Y/N! Y/N! Don’t you worry, I’m right-“

Albert burst forth to the front yard. You saw he had a pitchfork in hand.

“Albie!” you said.

He looked around you, getting your shoulders with his free hand.

“Are you alright? I heard no screaming, but lots of raised voices, I did! He didn’t…didn’t hurt you, did he?” he asked.

“You…. you were going to attack him…to protect me?” you asked.

“Yes, like I promised you! Always will!”

You clutched him and cried. Finally releasing the urge to sob for the past hour. Dropping the pitchfork, he hugged you back. You heard your parents from behind.

“He made you an offer, didn’t he?” Mum asked.

Letting go of the hug, you turned to them and nodded.

“He said he’d forgive the rent for a year if I did. And I refused him,” you explained.

You began crying to your parents, wiping off a tear with your sleeve like a child who broke a teacup.

‘I’m so sorry…I know that…I know how much it would…it would have saved us…” you babbled to your parents.

You dreaded seeing two disappointed faces. Hearing disappointed words. But instead, your mother stepped forward.

“You’ve no reason to be sorry, come here, darling, come here…” she consoled.

She wrapped you into a hug. You dug into her purple blouse, crying into it. She rocked you as you stood, letting you cry. Then you peeked your head up at your father. Releasing the hug, you approached him.

“Dad I’m…I’m so sorry…I failed you; I know…I could have saved us, saved you and…and I didn’t!” you cried.

“Are you mad at me, girl? That’s what I’m worried about…” he asked.

You shook your head.

“No…you could have forced me, but you didn’t…you…you gave me a choice…you let me choose!” you answered.

He squeezed your arm. Then all three of them hugged you. A circle of warmth and love, safe to cry, safe to release.

“We’ll figure something out…Shhh, it’ll be alright…” Mum consoled you.

Releasing the hug, you saw Albert’s eyes light up with an idea.

“We have an uncle. We’ll ask him to hire us!” Albert suggested.

You then looked up at your stone house. The farm that had been your whole life. The farm that you refused them to keep at the price of your happiness.

“Where will we live, mum?” you asked.

“I’ll tell you. We’ll live together,” she answered.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You were grateful for the chores on the weekend and work on Monday. You were relieved to see customers, organize items, and hear your co-worker’s chatter. Anything to not obsess over what happened. They were a welcome distraction. When you returned from work, Albert was all a-chatter. When you walked through the gate, he approached you and jumped subjects like a squirrel jumped through trees.

“Dover’s fair’s coming up and Joey’s got to win a prize again! He has to! And oh! Captain Nicholls stopped by to draw Joey today! Oh- and Andrew! Andrew’s winnin’ all the bees at school! Right clever, he is! And Dad says we got some eggs hatched up! Not too many washed up in the storm! And Mum’s making beef and gravy for dinner! It’s already making my mouth water thinking about it! And there’s some fuss goin’ on in Austria-I heard this fellow was in his car and-“

When he saw the look on your face, he shut his mouth. Then looked at you.

“How’re you today? Sad about Lyons?”

“Some. But it’s better,” you replied.

“I’m glad you said no, Y/N. Don’t want him as my brother-in-law, I don’t!” Albert confessed.

You let out a small laugh at the words and he gave you another hug.

Dad did what he always did when times were tough- go out to the pub. He left after dinner. No one said a peep when he walked out. All knew it was worthless to stop him.

That night, sleep was not easy to achieve. Your mind reeled about the confrontation with Lyons. Thinking through and playing each moment over and over, troubling and tormenting you. Unable to sleep, you got out of bed. You gathered a shawl and went downstairs to the fireplace, starting a fire. Curled up on a chair, you stared at it, the sound comforting you.

Then there was a knock on the door. Answering it, you saw Si Easton with your father’s arm over his shoulders.

“Bloody sloshed, he is! But got him home safe!”

“Si, thank you so much. Be careful getting back home,” you said.

Si tipped his hat and then left. Stumbling in his steps, you led dad to a chair, he was mumbling, humming a song.

“Here… Just relax now…I’ll get you a blanket and some water…” you comforted him.

Leaving, you fetched an old quilt and put it over him. Dad looked at you, his cheeks red and eyes glazed. You were lucky Dad was never a violent drunk. Only a happy, chatty one.

“Hmm…. you’re something of a princess, Y/N…” he slurred.

“I wish I actually was,” you commented.

“There was a row at the pub over you,” Dad continued.

You turned your head. Were these drunken ramblings over nothing? Or did this really happen?

“What do you mean?” you pressed further.

You sat down on the floor and held his hand as he rambled on.

“Hmph…some fellow…I don’t know how he found out, but he did. Grabbed Lyons by his suit- big, tall man. Slammed him on the wall! Yellin’ ‘What were your intentions with Miss Narracott?’ and Lyons couldn’t answer. The man was ready to box him with his cup, he was, if the others hadn’t pulled him off. Right before he could get a good box on ‘im. All the men pulled ‘em apart, they did. Old Jonesy ran to ‘em. Scoldin’ about how he doesn’t like rows in his pub. Pulled ‘em apart and told to go home, sober up. Hmmm, good to know… didn’t think Devon was that small…but…interesting, isn’t it? At least he got him, so I didn’t have to!”

The fireplace crackled. You fetched him a cup of water. But it stood on the table near the chair, untouched.

“Did you talk about the proposal? Who fought Lyons?” you asked.

“Don’t remember, no…Hmmm…didn’t see nothin’ who he was…” he murmured.

He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and soon snored.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The next day, work was welcome again. Perhaps at break or at lunch, you would recount to your friends what happened. But when the thought occurred, the bell over the door rang. In walked Sarah Corbyn again. Back on her trail. Her dress was in a yellowish hue so that she shone like gold in that brown shop. She approached you.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

“I hear there are some new books that have arrived. I’d like to see them, please,” she requested.

“They’re over there,” you pointed, guiding her to the books.

She looked at two, then turned over to you with a smile of concern. But this time, you did not smile back. Maybe the rejection had emboldened you. You stiffened your body as if preparing for a fight with knives rather than the sugary cruelty of her words. You would not tolerate her viciousness anymore.

“I hope you are well!” she chirruped.

“I am,” you answered.

“How is work, Miss Narracott?”

“Good, as always, Miss Corbyn.”

She leaned in closer with a smile. But this time, you folded your hands in front of you. Not smiling back.

“Though, I must tell you, as I have before- as you are a friend of mine. About Captain Nicholls…

You looked into her eyes.

“Miss Corbyn, I do not like to discuss one’s personal matters at work. I have many things to do. I like to be productive with my time. Please do not discuss such things with me in the middle of my shift.”

She blinked her eyes. Her nose scrunched in disbelief. Then she shrugged. She turned to the books, purchased two, and left.

Once work ended and you left the shop, you saw her. She waited for you like a spider waiting for a fly to enter its web. But you were not going to be prey this time. Not without a fight.

She walked over to you with that same smile.

“Oh, how glad I am your shift is over!” she said.

You turned over and folded your arms, glaring into her eyes.

“Work is done, so let me speak frankly. Miss Corbyn, you can at least be honest with me.” You began.

She only smiled, with a slight tilt of her head.

“I am always honest with you!” she shrugged.

You stepped forward.

“Miss Corbyn- I do not want to hear your boasts about Captain Nicholls. I understand what you are doing and why it’s to me. I am tired of hearing it! I’m tired of your attacks and insults! Don’t think I don’t understand what you’re doing! I heard about your soap comment-it’s only because my family and I work hard! It’s not funny and it’s not right! I want you to stop. If you do this one more time, I’ll tell Nicholls himself- I doubt he would think you more admirable! If you think tormenting and bullying me will make you look better for your fiancée, you’re wrong!”

“Fiancée!?” she repeated.

“Is he your fiancée? He’s a respectable man! Not the type to leave a woman hanging! I thought he should be by now! Is he?” you asked.

She took a step back. She had a frown. Then she took off her gloves and showed her hands-no rings.

“We’re not engaged. I wish we were,” she said.

With that, she put her gloves back on. She turned on her heels and left.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

That Sunday, once church was over, you went up to Captain Nicholls.

“Good morning, Miss, what did you think of-“

“May we please talk outside?” you interrupted.

He blinked. He gave a glance at Major Stewart. Stewart tightened his lips.

“Of course, we can,” Nicholls answered.

Joining the filtering congregation, both of you walk out to the street. A few feet from the church crowd.

“Are you in love with Miss Corbyn?” you asked directly.

He dropped his jaw, and his face became pink.

“What- no! She’s mad for me, but not I for her!” he cried.

“I ask because…I see her with you. All around you! Dancing with you!” you elaborated.

“Her father is a Lieutenant in the army. It’s impossible to say no to him when he invites me over. And so, it’s been impossible to avoid her,” Nicholls explained.

“You dance with her twice per social!” you argued.

A few heads turned, then they walked away. You stopped caring who overheard. You had to get the truth out of him.

“I made one promise in winter so she would not be partnerless at her first dance. Then in spring, I told her only one! She frowned but relented.”

Shame made a rock in your stomach. You realized you turned away from the two dances that spring out of spite. Not even looking. Had you turned back then, you would have seen only one dance between them. Not two. Flustered, you kept speaking.

“You’re always smiling at her!”

“I’m nothing if not polite, Miss Narracott!” he reasoned.

You stepped forward, your hands curled into fists on your sides.

“Did you lead her on?”

He held your gaze.

“I thought she was jolly, pleasant company at first. Then I dined with her family at their house. I saw her with her servants...and I confess, her behavior shocked me. Always demanding, never grateful. Her lack of…she seems to lack consideration of any person’s feelings but her own. I do not wish to speak ill of anyone, but it is the truth. I still owe her decent treatment, like any person. Especially a lady. No more, no less,” Nicholls finished.

You took a step back, bowing your head. Shame washing down on you. Were you no better than a jealous, clingy hen?

“Oh…I’m sorry, I just…if she was who you wanted, that was fine…I just…”

You took a step back. Then looked away. He walked around to see you, stopping in your tracks.

“I accept your apology. And Miss…your farm is still open for me to draw there; I’d like to visit today. If it won’t bother your duties …” he suggested.

“No, you may…you may visit,” you permitted.

Sure enough, around teatime, he did. Though he did not drink a drop of tea or eat a bite of his biscuit. But got his chair and sketchbook and set to work. You were in the laundry area to hang up wet clothes. Your father went down to the bottom fields. Mum stayed inside to scrub the floors. Albert went up to chat with the captain as Joey pranced about the grass. He took a deep breath. Surrounded on that lovely summer day, the sun shining and a light breeze blowing through.

“Joey’s quite wild today! Excited for the fair, he is! He’s got to run, sir! Too much spirit! Sorry for that!”

“You can ride him out, Albert. I can draw the chickens or Harold instead,” Nicholls permitted.

With that, Albert swung his leg over the horse and galloped off. But once he was gone, Nicholls approached you.

“But Miss…are you alright?” he asked, softening his voice.

“You mean about Miss Corbyn?”

“No, Mr. Lyons…” he clarified.

You stopped pinning up laundry, setting the shirt down on the basket.

“You heard?” you asked.

He nodded.

“Albert told me…how do you feel now?”

You let out a deep breath.

“I feel…I feel relieved. And worried. But…I feel free…” you confessed.

“And you’re safe? He has not…bothered you since then?” he continued.

You shook your head.

“No. Never brought it up again,” you said.

“That’s good…”

He stayed there. You hung up the wet shirt to dry. Then you took down and folded some dried socks in a separate basket. Nicholls looked away to the field but stayed still. He began to fidget with his hands. He then walked out but did not return to his chair and sketchbook. He paced a little about the yard. You then paused and took a step towards him.

“Sir, is something the matter? Are you feeling well?” you asked.

“Miss Narracott…could you come here, please?” he asked.

You took a few steps closer. Out into the sunshine where birds carried their songs, the breeze was gentle, and summer was in bloom. His hands kept fidgeting, though he took a deep breath.

“May I be frank?” he asked.

“Of course…”

“I’m so sorry for this misunderstanding about her…I wish you confronted me sooner…” he confided.

“It’s all done now! I know you’re heartbroken because you were in love with Miss Corbyn!” you assured him.

He looked into your eyes with gentleness.

“I never loved Miss Corbyn. I’m not in love with Miss Corbyn.” he confessed.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

He reached into the left front pocket of his uniform. And pulled out your long missing glove.

You dropped your jaw and let out a gasp despite yourself, yet you felt yourself smile. You gaped at the glove then at him then the glove then him again. He offered you your glove and you felt it but didn’t remove it from his hand. Your heart raced, again trying to believe this was real. Everything- these words. This-this was real. If he was real.

He then looked at you with eyes wide.

"You...you took my glove...you had it for a year..." you wondered.

"You lost it at church. It was a hot day. You took your gloves off and kept them in your hand. As you left, this one fell on the pew. I kept meaning to return it...but...I...I wanted a reminder. Always there. To think of you...remember you..."

"Captain Nicholls…” you gasped, wondering if your mind could form words now.

“Can I speak more?” he asked.

You nodded. He took a step closer, placing a hand over yours. Warm, calloused, and gentle to touch.

"Miss Narracott, I've admired you. You’re a lovely woman. Your kindness, your loyalty, your heart...how much you cared for your family. How strong you always were. How gentle you were with all the animals-even Harold! And I..."

You looked at him. His eyes began to brim with a few tears.

"It was not one day. It was every small day, every small hour I spent with you. Each time, the more I met you, the more I knew you, the easier it became. The more I felt for you. And every corner you turn, every time you turn away and leave…I pray for one more minute. One more chance. One more instance, only to see you, only one glance. To hear you say only one word. I cannot keep it a secret anymore-I love you, Miss Narracott. I adore you. I worship you. And I want you, more than I ever wanted anything…”

Such words were not easily recovered from. Nothing else registered. Only him. He blushed, then glanced down at your hand. He gave you the glove and let go.

"So, tell me and relieve my torment...do you feel the same? If not, I will never set foot on this farm again and bother you again," he said.

You took one step forward and placed a hand on his. Holding it and looking him in the eyes.

"James...James, I feel the same..." you answered.

It was the first time you ever said his first name. His shoulders relaxed. He broke into a beautiful, adoring smile at you.

"I was...was never sure...and... The day Albert told me you were proposed to, I knew I had to gather the courage to tell you. That some gentleman with money would arrive and swoop you away. Then I'd have to stifle my feelings and let it die. I worried in that moment...I would lose you forever...not that I didn't want you to be happy. I only... I worried in your situation; you would marry out of desperation. That I had rivals I never expected..." he continued.

You placed the glove in his hand and put your second hand in his. You recalled your father’s drunken recollection.

“Albert told you about Lyons and Dad said there was a row at the pub. Did you-?”

“I had only one sip too many that night. I was tipsy, but I wasn’t drunk. And Lyons said something about being alone with you- it struck me. If he…took advantage of you …then you would be forced to marry him. Out of reputation.”

Nicholls lowered his head, then looked back at you.

” I lost control and…and I grabbed him onto the wall. I raised my voice at him. I threatened him if he did something. But…I did it because…I was frightened for you, and I didn’t want you hurt…” he finished.

He looked down, blushing red.

“I’m not proud of it. I’m not usually like this…I’m so sorry,” he apologized.

You shook your head, giving him a smile.

“But you did this because you worried about me. You cared for my well-being. You wanted me safe. How could I think less of you knowing that? It’s no matter,” you cooed.

He was breathing heavily.

"But the matter Is I love you, Y/N."

He finally said your first name. You could have glowed from happiness. You looked up and smiled. There were tears in your eyes- this time from joy.

"I love you too, James."

Suddenly there was the sound of clucks and a honk. Both of you jumped as Harold chased a bunch of chickens through the yard, Captain of his own charge. Both of you let out a laugh as you stepped aside, then reclasped hands. In the distance, you heard a familiar "neigh!"

"But James your intentions are honorable, are they?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“This means...you will talk to my father, yes?" you asked.

His smile widened.

"Happily."

Your heart stopped in your chest, and you felt giddy.

"I never thought you’d feel towards me...never believed I was worthy of you..." you confessed.

"You are, oh, sweet Y/N, you are!" he whispered.

There again was the sound of hooves. Albert’s brown head in the far distance.

"Albert will be soon...may I kiss your hand?" he asked.

"Yes."

He took a brief glance down at it, feeling your palm and enjoying the touch.

"Y/N... darling..."

He smiled; eyes bright as he brought it up to kiss it. It was short, but his lips were soft. He breathed in as he kissed you, savoring each bit of you. And you savored the second you felt his lips on your hand. Then he released. Much too soon, you let go.

You took returned to the laundry room, to fold and sort clothes Nicholls went back to his chair near the stable field. Albert galloped back in on Joey.

"Woah! Easy-boy! Aren't we a team, Captain!" Albert bragged atop the stallion.

"Indeed, you are!" James- for now, he was not only Nicholls but James! – replied.

Albert got off Joey and began to brush off the dirt on the horse.

"Nice and handsome- isn't he?"

"Yes, very. Do you agree, Miss Narracott?" James asked, turning towards you.

Both of you shared a smile at each other.

"He definitely is,” you answered.

Though after a few minutes of drawing, you saw out of the corner of your eye that James set his pencil down and closed the book. He got out of his chair and with a determined expression. He then looked over at you with a nod. You clutched the drying bed sheet you were getting off its line. James turned it over to your brother. Though you turned innocently to the laundry, your ears focused on them.

“Albert…where is your father now?”

“He’s down in the bottom field putting in seeds. Do you need him, sir?” Albert asked.

“I just want to speak to him.”

“Whatever for, sir?”

But before he could give the boy an answer, the gate swung open. Harold honked with an alert at a guest. You turned and saw Major Stewart rushing in.

“Jim! Jim! We’re needed immediately! Headquarters!” cried Major Stewart.

He turned his head.

“I need to go now, goodbye,” he wished Albert.

Albert dipped his head in farewell. Nicholls went over to you. Major Stewart at his heels.

“Goodbye Y/N, I’m sorry…”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

He leaned forward, giving you a whisper. Stewart stood back with folded arms and a raised eyebrow. His lips tried not to smile.

“Don’t worry…the minute I am free...”

“All the time you need, James.” You replied.

He put on his hat and tipped it at you. Saying his last goodbyes to his hosts, he left with Stewart.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You were smiling brightly the next day. You put on the nicest of your white blouses and darker-colored skirts for work. But you took extra time that morning on your appearance- in case James entered! And you saw him! You even found yourself grinning and humming as you restocked items throughout work.

“Why, someone’s cheery today! You were all doom and gloom last week, Y/N!” Alice commented as you both swept up some leftover dirt on the floor.

You leaned against the brush.

“Alice…can I confide in you?” you whispered.

“Oh, of course!” she said.

You softened your voice, the thought bubbling inside you like a hundred butterflies.

“Something…wonderful has happened. And something even better is about to happen…” you began.

“Ooo, don’t leave me in suspense! Tell me!” she urged in excitement, with a toothy grin.

As you leaned over, the words were right on the tip of your tongue. “I’m in love!! I’m in love and he loves me too! He finally told me yesterday! He’s going to talk to my father! And this means that-“

But instead, there was the sound of a loud engine and yelling. Muffled over crowds of people bursting into loud talk right outside the shop. The church bells were ringing, and they never rung outside of services.

“What’s all the fuss? Stay here girls- I’ll be back!” Mrs. Snow offered, opening the door.

All of you peeked outside. People were handing over newspapers. Some gathered around one gentleman in a motorcar with a brown mustache. And no one looked happy.

When Mrs. Snow returned, her face looked like a ghost.

“Ladies…we are at war with Germany.”

34 notes · View notes

smolvenger · 1 year

Text

Miss Narracott and The Captain, Part Four (Capt. James Nicholls x fem! Reader Miniseries)

Fandom: War Horse

Chapter Word Count: 7K (one of the bigger ones)

Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five Coming Soon!

Chapter Warnings: Angst and Fluff. Reader being thirsty (can you blame her), but no smut. Jealousy. It's a light, Diet Slow Burn. I choose violence by selecting a cliffhanger for the ending. Attempts at historical accuracy and Cottagecore vibes.

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: Comments, Reblogs, DMs, and Asks about my work are always appreciated! Feel free to ask to be tagged in this and/or my other stuff! Thank you!

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract

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Autumn 1913

That Sunday, You and Albert went about on one of your typical Sunday walks. As usual, Joey trotted next to you. The long grass was turning brown. The sky was so bright, yet the air was very crisp. The trees were growing orange with the harvest.

“And how was sitting in that rowboat with Lyons?” he asked, recalling the church picnic yesterday.

“Dreadful. I thought I’d fall asleep from how he droned on!” you recalled.

Joey shook his head and let out a neigh. You patted his nose. Then reached up a hand to run through his mane.

“He agrees with you on that one!”

After a beat, Albert asked.

Y/N, have you ever ridden him?”

“Oh no! Not even tried! I don’t know if I can!” you cried.

“Come on, try it!” Albert suggested, handing over the reins.

“But Albie, I could get hurt! I’m not the type to gallop!” you objected.

“Oh, he won’t! He only gallops if you urge him on! Or some loud sound spooks him! Come on- have some fun, Y/N!” Albert argued.

Albert did it all the time. He made it look so easy. And you were curious. You never rode horses. No one taught you how. Usually, the horses on your farm were for plowing instead of riding.

"Just once, Y/N! Save your feet!" Albert suggested.

You wanted to feel less afraid of things. You heard of people dying when they fell off horses. You wanted to feel in control. You envied Albert's freedom in private to run around after farmwork. And his bravery in training and riding a galloping horse. You wanted to know what it was like...and there was only one way how.

Not that you hated Joey- oh no! By now, Joey was a member of the family. He had grown bigger than the colt your family's future depended on to a gorgeous stallion. He even had a special saddle, bridle, and reigns for him. The dear horse would even sometimes trot up to you as you left the house for work. He'd nuzzle against you and sometimes let you brush his mane. One time you and Albert put your gloves on Joey’s ears for fun. Then you both roared into laughter at how his twitching ears moved the gloves like eager hands on his head. And wasn't that why many people kept horses as pets? To ride them?

“Alright...I’ll ride him. Just show me how,” you said.

“Wonderful! He can sense if you’re nervous, so just calm yourself! I won’t make him go fast!” he promised.

Albert was big and strong for a boy of sixteen now. He put his hands around your waist and hoisted you up on the saddle. Joey only let out a small sound at the feeling of your weight on him. But the horse kept still and even moved his head to glance at Albert. You swung your legs to be on one side like you noticed ladies doing. You held onto the reigns tightly.

"You see how he stood still when you got on him? That's proof he likes you!” Albert informed.

"Lead him, Albie. He doesn't really listen to anyone else," you advised.

"Come on, Joey! Let's give Y/N a ride back home!" he ordered, clicking his tongue as he gestured to the horse.

Joey began to move on the path back home, and you gasped some. You were on a breathing, living thing that could throw you off!

Balance your weight, Y/N...and be sure to keep your heels down,” Albert taught you.

You shifted to make sure your body was even and secure. Your leg stretched as you pointed your heels down.

"Good boy, Joey! Gentle…gentle…" You urged as he walked forward.

You felt Joey’s body relax under you and you relaxed on Joey. With the slow pace, you did release one hand to briefly pet him. It wasn't too far from home. You both had walked down the usual path- you and Albert had been perhaps- at most- ten miles down. And the meters were flying by. You heard the clop-clop of his hooves beneath the ground.

You got used to the pace. It was a pleasant day. The sun was shining, and one could hear the birds whistling at each other. The grass only dipped with the gentle wind. Autumnal colors painted the few trees that formed lines across the green fields.

Although it was a hilly area, Joey was used to it. Any larger rocks were stepped over or avoided. The slope on the path was slight. Though you did eye the side of the hill nervously. If you fell, you'd be rolling all the way down the hill like a wheel barrel until you landed among the sheep in the valley. You placed a hand on Joey's skin to note his temperature. If he was getting hot, he'd be slow and it was dangerous to ride a hot horse, according to Albert. But he didn't feel bad. Probably the cool air that kept him happy.

"We can go a little faster," you suggested.

"Alright!" Albert complied.

He then walked a little faster and clicked his tongue. Joey picked up speed to prance. You found yourself smiling. The Narracott House and farm appeared in the distance. Albert then looked up at you.

"You think you can ride him back?" he asked, pointing to the farm.

"Yes, I think I'd like to try!" you answered, feeling braver.

Albert then picked up his pace to a light jog and clicked his tongue.

“Okay Joey-little faster, boy!” he said.

Joey’s prance became a light run. You let out a squeal at the speed.

"Y/N! Don't scare him! And tug the reigns when you want him to slow down! Or click your tongue!" he instructed, though he was jogging next to you and getting breathless.

You smiled, feeling the sun on your skin and the clean, fresh air. You felt buzzed with movement, nature, exercise, and life. Joey passed Albert to head home. Why- in fact- it was fun! It felt like flying! You could feel how Joey’s black mane would tickle you. The air in your face was like a kiss. Albert was laughing as he kept up behind you. You were not worried about anything for once. You could enjoy the feeling of air and of your weight not touching the ground but moving. Beneath you, everything was smaller and flying faster, quicker by you. You couldn't help but giggle at it despite yourself. And sooner, sooner the farm was in view.

"Let’s keep walking home, alright boy? Keep this up, and I'll give you a whole apple from the tree! All for you!" you promised.

Once you approached the farmland, you tightened the reigns. And then clicked your tongue too for good measure.

"Slower, Joey, slower!" you urged.

Joey did slow his gait down to a mere trot. You pulled the reigns to lead him to walk through the yard to the horse area in front of the stable.

"Good boy, Joey. You're the best boy out there!" you said.

Tugging on the reigns (as you saw Albert do) Joey stopped. You then petted him.

"You're far better than half the boys in Devon! And far more handsome too!" you whispered with a giggle.

Joey brushed his lips in response. Harold the Goose let out a honk as you made your way back into the circular field in front of the stables.

"There, Joey! What a good boy! Who's the best boy?" you cooed. "You deserve an apple and a carrot too for good measure, don't you! Yes, you do!"

You hopped off. You began petting him. Albert caught up behind you. You looked into Joey's eyes, wrapping your arms around his head. Cuddling him as you would a cat. You heard Albert exclaim.

"Why- sir! Hello sir!"

"Albie, I’m not a sir-"

The rest of that phrase was cut off as you turned to see Captain Nicholls in his coat with his sketchbook. You jumped.

"Captain Nicholls! We weren't expecting you!" you cried.

"It's alright! At least your mother had plenty of leftovers for lunch!" he replied.

“What are you doing here?” you asked.

“I only hoped to draw the horse and the other creatures on the farm! What, may I ask, are you doing on Joey?” Nicholls teased.

“I…I only just rode him for the first time!” you explained.

Albert strolled up with a grin.

“Did you see that sir?” he asked Nicholls.

“Indeed, I did! I saw her gallop in from inside the house as I was done eating!” he replied.

“And how did she do?” Albert asked.

The captain turned to you.

“You did excellent Miss Narracott! You’re a natural!” he praised.

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir. You think I have a horsewoman in me?” you asked.

“If not already!” he quipped.

The picture of him and that girl at the Goose Fair snuck into your brain. You excused yourself and walked inside the house. Mum was already in the kitchen, watching the oven.

“Mum, tell me- where’s the feed? I want to make sure the animals have their lunch! Or the floors- they need a scrubbing,” you chatted. It was better to immediately distract yourself.

“There’s some dry laundry that needs folding!” she noted.

You ran out and got the dry laundry basket, bringing it to the table to fold.

She got a pan out of the oven. She set the hot, baked loaf on the windowsill, opening it up to cool. Mum then glanced out the window. James Nicholls could be seen out on the field with Joey already got his pencils and chair out and was starting to draw. Albert opened the door to the fence and then returned to talk with the guest.

“He sure does come around here, often, Captain Nicholls…” Mum commented.

“Yes…he does…” you agreed.

She turned around and sat down. Getting a fresh shirt from the basket and putting it on the table. But she paused. She glanced at you with a smile.

“Y/N, I will let you know…he has been perfectly nice to us and to your father. We…we do like him…” she prodded to you.

You set down the skirt you were working on.

“What are you implying?” you asked.

She glanced outside. Once it was clear that the men were far away, she leaned into you, placing a hand over yours.

“Y/N…if he’s showing up here often, I doubt it’s just for the animals…” she whispered with a smile.

You jerked back, shaking your head.

“It is for the animals. He’s seeing a girl!” you objected.

“How do you know?”

“Saw them together at the fair!”

Your mother blinked, her shoulders drooping.

“Oh…well then…there’s that…but don’t you think he was talking to her, nothing more?” she muttered.

Tears stung your eyes. False hope was not something you could afford. You grabbed the laundry basket with a grip.

“I’m going to do this in my room now…” you dismissed.

She put a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

“You…you have feelings for him, don’t you?” she asked.

You paused.

“Yes…that’s why it hurts…” you confessed.

She squeezed your shoulder.

“I’m glad you told me, Y/N; we can deal with your broken heart together…”

The laundry basket was placed on the table. You reached over to hug her. Quiet tears poured out of you for only a minute.

Though the sound of hooves made you look up. Then you gasped and jumped.

Joey was leaning his head through the windowsill to try to sample the cooling bread. You got out a tablecloth, batting it at him as Mum burst into laughter and so would you. Yes, bit by bit, day by day, your feelings for James Nicholls would pass…

Winter 1914

January arrived- cold, bitter, gloomy January. Thank goodness for the snow. It turned everything white and crisp and beautiful. It was one of those snowy days that saw her again. The slender blonde all the way from the summer. You knew in your stomach that it was her. She walked in with another fashionable coat and hat that you had eyed in a high-end catalog.

“Good day, welcome to Mrs. Snow’s shop,” Mary greeted, professional as always.

“The same to you,” she replied.

She only half-nodded at you as you looked about. Alice then turned the corner. She spoke in her chirrupy voice.

“Can I help you, Miss…”

“Corbyn. Sarah Corbyn,” the blonde lady introduced herself.

“Miss Corbyn, what are you looking for?” asked Alice.

“I am looking for scarves. The ones from Mrs. Valerie makes.”

“Those scarves? Oh, we just sold our last one, I’m so sorry!” Alice lamented.

“Oh, well, that is too bad…I know things run out for you here,” Sarah said with a smile.

“We will inform you when they are in stock! Ask any time!” Alice encouraged.

“How good! Thank you!”

Sarah sauntered around. Looking through items with a smile on her face. She then turned to you with a smile. She held up a bar of soap.

“Could I please have this Miss…”

“Narracott.”

“I should like to buy this lavender one, please,” she said.

She handed you the money and bought the soap. Shop bag around her arm, She then wandered over and got a newspaper, returning to you.

“Miss Narracott…there is a dance in two weeks, correct? There is the advert for the town hall…”

She pointed at it, and you glanced at it.

“Yes, yes, it is…Two per month,” you confirmed.

“I must ask you a favor. I am quite nervous despite myself! As a fellow woman, may I confide in you?” she cajoled.

“Yes. At least before Mrs. Snow arrives,” you said.

“Do you happen to know a gentleman named Captain Nicholls?” she asked.

Your eyes never left hers. You placed your hands on the counter to keep steady.

“Yes. Yes, I do.” You answered.

“My father invited him and a few of his men on a walk through the country this past Autumn. I joined them. It was a rather long walk all over. I do enjoy jumping from high places. I got to a tall rock, jumped off like so and Captain Nicholls caught me! It was the most thrilling moment of my life! And he’s quite strong too! Fathers invited him to call sometimes for tea- but I hope it’s for more than that! Miss Narracott, I believe I have affection for him and him for me! I do hope he likes me!” she voiced.

The ears floated in your brain. Never landing. Never processing. The images stuck to you, and you wanted to wash them off. But politeness and the fact you were at work forbade you.

“Other than the catching, what makes you think that?” you asked.

“Well, last Friday, I told him how I never usually go to dances. He asked why. I said, among other things, I tend to prefer better things to do with my time and I never have partners. He promised me two dances! Two! That’s a sign if ever!” Sarah continued. Her smile never drooped.

“That’s very…very good. Good for you,” you replied.

You desperately wished there was new cloth to fold or items to restock this minute.

“Well, do you think my father would approve?” she whispered.

There was a glint in her eyes. A thin eyebrow of hers arched up.

“He has no reason not to,” you answered.

“Oh, how kind you are! How good of you!” she replied.

It did not sound like a genuine compliment. She reached into her bag and retrieved her purchase.

“And I do like this soap! I advise you to buy it yourself! It helps keep away smells- especially that of farms,” she added.

It hit you like a slap. You forced your jaw shut else it’d hinge off. She then said her goodbyes, placed her soap in her bag and flounced away. Gripping onto the counter, you turned away to try to collect yourself. The three others all grimaced at each other and began to gossip about her.

“And she seemed so nice!” Mary cried.

Ida went up to you.

“I heard that last sentence! The nerve of her! Don’t you listen to her, Y/N! If she sets foot in this shop again, I’ll slap her! Mrs. Snow would fire me, but it’d be worth it!” she encouraged, rubbing your arm.

You stayed quiet.

To think this was the girl James Nicholls liked!! Other than her beauty and money, what did he see in her? Could he end up married to someone like her? All this- finding you, singling you out. Rubbing everything into your face. Why was she doing this? Had Nicholls somehow mentioned the Narracott farm? Then no doubt she found out that you- a single woman-lived there. And she wanted to make sure you knew she had her claws on him.

You let out a sigh. It would feel good to complain about her to Mum and perhaps Albert too.

When you returned home, you ran upstairs. You stared at the rabbit drawing. It was still pinned up against the wall. You didn’t have the heart to tear it to ribbons or burn it. James was never yours, to begin with. So, you only settled for keeping it in the first drawer of your desk. It was too tender. It was too kind. You could always fold it up and look at it. It was a gift that showed kindness and appreciation. Even if not specifically to you, but to your family.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

That winter there was more ice than usual. It sleeted all over the ground. Poor Joey couldn’t break into one of his famous runs about the yard. He’d have to be careful or slip. A blizzard swept over for a week, keeping everyone inside and closing businesses. When it calmed down, men poured salt onto the ground. Everyone could walk around again like normal. Animal or human.

When the shop reopened, customers filed in, each one more demanding than the last. More than once you had to fetch Mrs. Snow to reason with them. Even your co-workers were all complaining.

“I don’t know if I can talk to another Mrs about hat pins now,” Ida groaned.

“I’d like to sit for a bit for once!” you sighed.

Everyone was quite grateful when the last customer left, and the hour struck for closing. Mrs. Snow turned the sign on the window to say “CLOSED”. You gathered your basket, and put on your hat, dark coat, and gloves. You managed to get yourself a new pair for winter. But you didn’t want to discard the single one- it was too pretty. You began to head out.

“Goodbye, Alice! Ida! Mary!”

They all wished goodbye to you.

But as you began to walk out, the wintry air bit you. You shivered with the snow falling down like sprinkles.

But after a few steps who should run into you but Captain Nicholls in his long coat walking about town. You did not notice any lady near him. He grinned and approached you. You fought the bitterness in your heart. You greeted him with a smile.

“Captain, it is good to see you. It’s been a while since you graced our farm!” you greeted.

“A certain storm provided quite the obstacle. May I walk with you, Miss Narracott?” he asked.

“Thank you… you may,” you permitted.

You kept walking on. His own long stride was slowed. Some leftover ice had stretched out to the roads. Motorcars and carts had to be slow. Not to mention people.

“You have lived here over a year, what do you make of it? Country life too quiet for your liking?” you asked.

“Oh no- it’s perfectly fine and comfortable to me!” he chatted.

“And the people?”

“Oh, everyone has been splendid! Quite splendid! All the men agree!”

You didn’t want to mention the women. Lips shut, you would not play the game of manipulation and false sweetness Sarah did.

“And how have they been?” you asked.

“Good and jolly. Not that the storm stopped training or patrolling.”

As you turned over one corner you realized that the road was slipping beneath your feet. Looking down, you saw ice below your feet. You even let out a gasp and held out a hand to regain balance.

“Miss?” asked Nicholls.

“I’m quite alright!” you tried to assure him.

There was ice right before your path for several feet. And as you tried to take another step, you felt yourself wobble. If you didn’t solidify your footing, you would trip. Nicholls looked over and saw you were swaying with your arms still open. He walked slower and heavier, side by side in his gait.

“Here Miss Narracottt-allow me!” he proclaimed.

He held out his hand and took your hand. Gloves on gloves.

“Let me help you, how does that sound?” he asked.

You nodded.

How warm his hand felt. Even beneath the leather - the only thing keeping you from the contact of his bare skin against your bare skin. You felt the air in your lungs pause, only to rush out for want of air. You became nervous and excited at once- fearful and thrilled. He smiled gently at you as he held your hand. How handsome he looked- a shining star in the sky, an angel in a uniform. Letting all petty thoughts of jealousy melt away if only for a few minutes.

He guided you on the ice. He advised you how to walk slowly. Side to side with full weight on each foot. The way a duck waddles on land.

You curled your fingers over the base of his hand. You could tell he was strong like Miss Corbyn said. He seemed unbothered to lend the support you needed to keep from falling. And how gentle his hands were despite their size and strength. The leather was kept clean, and his touch did not squeeze you, but it was the right pressure. How safe he made you feel. You lingered, enjoying the touch until you made it to the not iced sidewalk. Then he let go of your hand. Your own remained in the air until you retreated it back.

“There- are you alright?” he asked.

You blinked, coming back to reality. Feeling a bit of air where you missed his touch. Even covered in gloves.

“I am,” you confirmed.

“Is there anything else you need, Miss Narracott?”

“Well, no. There’s nothing. I only ask for a safe passage back home.”

“Then, do you need me to walk you back there? Is it icy?��

“It’s not as bad…but it’s there…”

“Then let me walk you back. I wouldn’t want you to fall and get hurt.”

Through the white, thick snow, he walked you there. Only holding your hand again if it seemed the only path forward had ice on it. It made you wish that the men of the town poured less salt about the ground.

Spring 1914

Finally, Spring arrived with pomp and splendor. With the turnips and crops blooming, you could use your wages to have a ticket for a dance and a new dress to go with it. But Dad insisted Albert accompany you there and dance too. Your brother grumbled when he heard.

“You’ll never meet any girls if you stay cooped up with Joey!” you teased your brother.

“Neither will you meet any fellows!” he retorted as you both cleaned up the dishes.

He looked around. Mum and Dad were relaxing by the fireplace. Then leaned in.

“But…will Lyons be at the party?” he whispered.

“I don’t know…don’t think so. Said he hates dancing. He told me he likes to spend evenings checking his accounts with brandy.”

The evening of the dance, you checked your mirror to make sure your hair looked nice. When it met your approval, you looked at the new dress on you. In its pink with shortened sleeves, it was the nicest one you could afford to splurge on. The color’s shade looked flattering on you. Just like the ones in your garden. You wanted to forget work, the family’s rent, Miss Corbyn and Nicholls, Lyons's interest in you…and there were plenty of men in town. You only wanted to have a good time while you still could. As it matched the season, you wanted to be like a flower. To enjoy being in “bloom” when you still had it within you.

Entering the dance hall, all was happy and astir. Though this time paid for and hosted by the local militia. It seemed every young person in Devon had arrived there. No Mr. Lyons but his son, David, was gulping down glasses of punch. It was a large place with the walls painted light green. There was an open space with chairs shoved to the side for the dancing. There were two long tables filled with refreshments and drinks. It was brightly lit with the new electricity running through the place. The crowd flocked inside, and many among them were the green-uniformed soldiers.

It felt warm already. You heard the cacophony of a thousand conversations appearing at once. Many held plates and ate standing or sat in a chair. Flowers, fresh with the season's arrival, decorated each corner. A string quartet and piano, played by locals, were getting their music books in order, and warming up. You didn't know which would intoxicate the partygoers faster. The wine and champagne, the music, the dancing, the thrill, or the flowers.

Then the host went forward and said that the first dance was about to begin. Men selected their partners. They brought the ladies, blushing and smiling, out onto the floor as the musicians turned their music books to the first page.

“I barely remember any of the steps!” Albert complained.

“Oh, please! The ladies will thank you later! There are never enough men in the dance hall! They’ll always appreciate it,” you replied.

“Well, where’s dinner? I’m starving!” Albert complained.

Both of you walked over to the table. As you began helping yourself to a plate, Albert went over to talk with his good friend, Andrew Easton. You did notice out of the corner of your eye was Sarah Corbyn. She dressed elegantly in purple. The richness complimented her blonde hair. A silk ribbon tied about her waist, accentuating how tiny she was. And of course, she was talking to all the soldiers. You turned your head. You didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want it in your face. No- you would do your best to smile and be charming. Do all you can to win over as many dance partners as the evening allows.

"Oh, Y/N! I am so glad! How much we missed you!" cried Alice, running up to give you an embrace. She was decked in a lovely yellow complimenting her brown locks.

"Alice! I've missed you too! Especially seeing every man in Devon fight to be your partner!" you said.

"Oh, stop it!"

"It's true and you know it!"

"Oh, you should see Mary- she's already on the floor!"

In one corner, talking to other soldiers, you saw Captain Nicholls. He had removed his hat and placed it under his arm. You even could make out his laugh as one made a joke with him. How striking he looked even among them. And his smile made you smile as well. The gentleman pointed to his silk cap and took it off, showing it to Nicholls. He inspected it, looking at it thoroughly with his handsome hands. Then he handed it back. Nicholls said one thing that was indistinguishable, which broke the group into laughter. When his head turned, you looked away.

Once you finished your plate, you met your friends. Beaming and smiling, you managed to find a partner for the next dance through a mutual friend of Alice’s. As you went over to a table to get a glass of lemonade, two soldiers walked by, chatting. Not once did they glance at you, engrossed in their conversation. You heard the tenor voice of the first one clear as chimes.

“…I would say I should be shocked, but I’m not…. always had a bit of the romantic in him…” the first gossiped.

“Hard as he keeps it in, he does, Old James. A romantic wouldn’t have that sketchbook…” the second said.

You paused. Realizing you wanted to overhear. Before you could stop yourself.

“He’s mad about the girl! He’s a Romeo but you’d never guess it when he charges…”

“Jamie says he lights up whenever someone asks about her…”

“You don’t think…he’ll make an offer, sooner or later? I bet her father would lose his head to have a Captain as a son-in-law!”

“Oh, it’s only a matter of time. I doubt it’ll be long…they say things are getting tense. With every alliance Britain got itself into…it won’t be long then…he’ll hurry her to the altar…”

Swallowing back tears, you promptly turned away. You would not, no, could not listen further. You joined Albert and Andrew. You would distract yourself, you would…

Besides, you were determined to move on. To distract yourself. To meet with every young, eligible man you could. To give yourself options. Before the next dance began, you turned to Andrew.

"How about a dance? You must break out into there!" you prodded.

"Why, sure thing, Y/N!" he agreed.

As you began to dance as he discussed how his dad was doing. Talked about Joey. About the Easton family dog. Andrew was a stiff and awkward dancer, but as he talked, he relaxed some. You then went to your friends.

"Ida...how many of the soldiers and officers have you met? Could you please introduce me?" you requested.

Ida's face lit up like it was her birthday.

"Oh, I know some!" she bragged.

"I want to spend as much time dancing as I can!"

"To make up for the lost time?" she asked.

"Yes," you replied.

It was mostly true. You were not going to tell anyone other than your mother how you felt about Nicholls. She kept secrets better than anyone.

"Then, let me show you one gentleman! Booker's his name and he's a wonderful dancer! Oh, and Mister Smith, too!"

Ida couldn't have been better. You found out you had plenty of young officers to meet and chat with. And some of them danced with you! Though often you had to sit down and rest your feet. Even to admire everyone. There was a good balance of sitting and resting with dancing. And with a full crowd, there were plenty of other handsome faces to focus on.

Even Albert himself was smiling a little. He danced with several girls. He blushed bright red when he missed steps but kept dancing anyway. You did notice David Lyons and how smooth new his grey suit was. There was a red-haired girl, very pretty, who danced two in a row with him. It looked like she was the one to endure his sneering.

“Ah, the Narracotts!” said a low, familiar voice.

Turning around, you saw Major Stewart. He bowed in his uniform, and you returned the gesture. And right next to him, there was Nicholls. Your heart leaped into its chest.

“Why, haven’t seen any of you yet! How are you gents this evening?” Albert asked.

“Oh, just fine! The men here- we’re all happy to have some fun!” he responded.

“I hope you’ve been well, Mister and Miss Narracott! We haven’t seen the two of you all evening!” Nicholls queried.

“We have been,” you replied.

“And Albert, how’s Joey?” he said.

“Fit as can be! And gallopin’ every day, sir!” Albert declared.

“Don’t overwork him so he cannot plow,” Nicholls advised.

“Oh no sir, only after the plowing’s done! You should have plenty of time to draw him again if you want,” Albert responded.

“I shall be glad to!”

His eyes softened. They turned to you.

“Then…Miss Narracott, could I have the next dance?” he asked.

You had no partner. You could think of no excuse. You felt stupid just standing there looking at him. Part of you swallowed a scream of joy. The other part cried “No!” There was no polite way to turn him down- ladies had to dance whenever a gentleman offered. You replied.

“Yes…yes you may,” you permitted.

He offered his hand, and you took it, swallowing. Realizing you felt his bare palm on yours. It was calloused by his work with weaponry. You felt both enthralled and relaxed from his tender touch. You let him lead you on as other couples made their way around.

Just like when he helped you when the road was icy. You can indulge in it. Let him take your hand. Enjoy only one dance with him. Just one.

You let him put one hand on your back. Feeling the light pressure. You could see his thick lashes and the blueness of his eyes. You put a hand on his arm, feeling the texture of the uniform. He smelled like light sweat from dancing and cologne. You felt his breath and could even tell the slight lift in his muscles when he inhaled.

“I hope you forgive me. I’m rusty at this. I used to go dancing all the time. With work, not as much…” you explained.

Other couples gathered on the floor around you. You looked directly at him and him at you.

“I can understand. I used to avoid them,” Nicholls confided.

“How come?”

“I was too shy when I was younger. Couldn’t gather the courage to ask a girl. Then when I did, I did the wrong steps. I’d crush a girl’s toe. They all will tell you as proof!”

The violins put their bows on the strings. And you started to dance with him. Moving with his lead.

“You’re keeping out of mine just fine…I think you’re a lovely dancer, Captain…” you encouraged.

“Really?” he asked.

“Like your drawings…you should enjoy it. You should be here…”

He led you to sway as you stepped your feet into a square pattern. You accepted it. Letting him start to pull and push you with the music.

“And Miss Narracott?” he said.

“Yes?”

“You look pretty as a picture tonight.”

Your mouth went dry, and you felt the racing of your heart against your chest.

“You’re very kind, sir,” you replied.

You continued the dance. Feeling the step of the music’s downbeat. He kept turning you around and you danced with him. Let the music take you both. You could almost hear his heartbeat from how close you were.

He took a step back and you took a step forward. When he stepped sideways you followed. It was all so simple. You clutched onto his hand and let his hand on your back press you closer. The waltz was at a moderate tempo. You felt eyes look directly into yours. You couldn't peal your eyes off Nicholls either. He gave a small smile. The way he would step into the downbeat was natural, and you found that you followed.

A glimpse at the crowd showed Stewart smiling, crossing his arms. But Albert's eyes were wide, staring intensely at both of you. He hadn't done that with your previous partners. Nicholls, as always, was dashing in his green uniform. His closeness made you notice details. You can see each button on it. How pressed and perfect it was. Smooth as the round buttons ran down his chest. The four pockets- two on top and two on the bottom are like windows on a building. His lighter green shirt contrasted with his darker green tie. The lovely and ornate cream decorations on his sleeves. The more obscene part of your brain wondered what he looked like underneath it.

It felt natural to dance with him. Natural as eating, as blinking. It was like there was a crook on your body, a niche, that only he could fill. He held you with both confidence and gentleness. He didn't throw you around like a ragdoll. His rhythm met yours. Each step you moved in tandem. Looking at him was as close as one could get to feeling drunk while completely sober. You became aware of how your breath must smell of the refreshments. You only saw slight sweat on his brow from the movement and the heat of so many bodies packed into one space. You felt your own breath become ragged and short. Being so close to him, almost like an embrace. He was quite a tall man, but he was not intimidating. If not, there was a delicacy in his touch, his stature. He could break you but chose not to. It was only a gentle press to keep you steady. You realized it was your fingers curling over his. There were several other couples dancing with you. But with him, that was easy to forget.

His hands even sweated a little. But you saw he was smiling. Your own lips parted, but no words came out. It was a gentle dance. He would sometimes glance at his toes to make sure he didn't step on yours. Then they returned to you. The movement was never forced. And you found the pattern too easy. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.

After the dance, you both paused, catching your breath. You felt as though you were coursing with fire through you looking at him. You could feel your chest heavy with each intake. It felt too soon for that dance to end. People clapped.

“Miss Narracott…are you-“

“Oh, dear Captain!”

In cut in Miss Corbyn. Blinking, you took a step back.

“Miss Corbyn! I hope you and your family are well,” he greeted.

“Couldn’t have been better! How kind of you to ask!” she chirruped.

She then turned to you.

“Ah, Miss Narracott, how good to see you,” she greeted in acknowledgment.

She then promptly ignored you back to him.

“Captain, you promised me two dances. Two!” she pouted.

“That was at the one in January!” he corrected.

“And what about this one!? Will you leave me without a partner?”

She turned to you.

“It is bad for a lady to be without a partner, isn’t it, Y/N?” she asked.

“It is bad…” you said.

She whipped her blonde hair back to him.

“Well, we can have a dance?” she pleaded.

“Then, I…I, Uhm, excuse me. Goodbye,” you replied, turning around, and leaving them.

You stomped to the corner to have some dessert and another glass of lemonade. The burning, hot sensation in your body from movement and his skin's touch required it. The unspeakable, shameful things you’d let him do to you as well as the gentle, loving things. And not to look at them. Anything to keep you from looking. You even turned around a chair for two dances and kept your face focused on the wall.

You then danced with one more bloke. Then another. Just to wash Nicholls from you and invite men to call for tea. And to end the night on a good note. Especially about how he was the best partner. How you could still feel the touch his hand burned onto you in the morning.

Summer- 1914

It was such a nice, sunny Friday all that afternoon. Perfect weather. But out the shop window, there were dark clouds. Thunder boomed ominously as your shift reached its last hour.

Returning home, you walked at a quick pace. The bright sun contrasted with the darkening clouds. There were some sheep in the middle of the path. You waved your arms and shooed them off. As you hurried towards your farm up the hill, it started raining. As you walked in, you saw your own parents inside for shelter.

“Where’s Albie?” you asked.

“Out riding!” your mother answered.

The rain turned to torrents. Lightning reached like a large, terrifying finger right through the clouds. It beat against the house in a never-ending fury. The rain broke through the roof and opened the windows. Gusts burst the door open.

Albert arrived, his shirt, boots, and overalls were drenched. Dad got out a tall pole to adjust the roof, so water didn’t break out. You and your mother went about to close and secure windows that the gusts blew open. Running upstairs, you saw that each of your rooms had some rain from the open windows. You shut them closed and secured them. But the rainfall punched against it, like a burglar insisting on getting in. Downstairs, you even saw that the Goose had broken into the house, shaking his white feathers dry.

“Shoo, Harold, shoo!” Mum scolded, pushing him aside.

But the defiant Goose honked in protest and went to a corner to tuck himself in for the night.

It was hard not to shake like a child at the sound of the thunder. It rattled the house when it boomed. But eventually, you managed to crash to sleep. Glad that Dad managed to seal the hole allowing your room to remain dry. In fact, as you lulled, the rain was beginning to sound peaceful.

The next morning, you discovered that the peace of the rain was only in its sound. The bottom field was flooded. You and your family drudged around, the muddy water up to your ankles, trying to save what turnips you could. Only a meager few in the whole field survived. But it was all a muddy, destroyed mess. It would be too late to begin to plant something else.

Albert ran off to check the rest of the farm. You and Dad sat by the fire. Mum fixed all a cup of tea, blankets wrapped around you. Dad only looked sadly into the hearth.

“I know what I can do. I’ll talk to Mrs. Snow. Ask for longer hours. I’ll work earlier or later. Or both. Whatever I must do…” you promised them.

But that Monday, Mrs. Snow said flatly that you were working the maximum hours. And that there wasn’t any need for early or late work.

It was that Friday you hurried home, your paycheck in your basket. Thank goodness it was pay week! With that, it would cover part of the rent. You would do it. You would gladly give every guinea. What need did you have for dance tickets or other indulgences now? If it gave everyone (including yourself) peace of mind, if Dad stopped drinking and staring into space with tears in his eyes, you’d do it. The choice was made when you first got the job! Even if it couldn’t cover all the rent, it was something! Then, you’d scrap up the turnip sales and rely on the animals. Yes, dinners would shrink. But your family would keep the house!

But you noticed a shiny red motorcar parked right outside. As you walked into the front yard, Albert was pacing about. Mum was trying to feed the chickens, pouring feed out from her apron.

“How long have you been out here?” you asked.

“About a half hour,” Mum answered.

“Where’s Dad, what’s going on? What’s Lyons doing here?” you asked.

As if in answer, the door opened. Out walked your father and Lyons. Albert took a step forward, then his steps froze. Mum glared at Lyons, her face red.

“Y/N, come on in the kitchen,” your father urged.

Today was not the Fifteenth. Not the usual day for paying the rent. His son and servants were nowhere in sight. Why you and not your mother and brother too?

“Mr. Narracott, may I have your permission to speak in private with your daughter?” he asked.

The answer hit you.

Terror gripped you. Nausea soured your stomach, and your legs and hands were shaking uncontrollably. You felt as if you could get sick in the yard. Or as if you could faint. You wished you could faint. Just so you could black out, and escape into nothingness. Then awaken in your room to a new day with nothing expected other than the usual. But no, you were in your body. You folded your hands.

“Yes sir, you can talk to her.”

Your father looked up at you. His eyes had both sadness and hope inside them. You clutched at his shoulder, urging him to stay. Stay with you. Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, please don’t leave me. He can talk with both of us, please.

“We’ll be right outside, my girl. He said he won’t talk long,” He said. He then put your hands down, walked outside, and closed the door, leaving you alone with Mr. Lyons.

41 notes · View notes

smolvenger · 11 months

Text

Miss Narracott and The Captain Part Six (Cpn. James Nicholls x fem! Reader Mini- Series)

Fandom: War Horse

Word Count: 7K

Chapter Warnings: LOTS of fluff, some angst. Mentions of sex and though parts get steamy, no smut.

Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five//Part Six//Part Seven Coming Soon!

A/N: Comments, Reblogs, DMs, and Asks about my work are always appreciated! Y'all ready for a wedding chapter!!! Wahoo!!! *tosses confetti* Also, I know the above gif is of a white woman, which I used because the vibes. But I intend for the Reader or Y/N in my all of fics to be written as neutral in regards to their race. And if I ever mess up and make their physical appearance not neutral, please call me out. Feel free to ask to be tagged in this and/or my other stuff! Thank you!

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The church bells began to ring at six o clock. That used to be Albert’s job when he was a younger boy. He would run down every Sunday morning, reach up, and pull the bells to peel their beautiful sounds. They were clanging as you walked out to home. They didn’t stop when you arrived home. Their echoes used to make you smile at the picture of little Albert reaching for the tall ropes. Now…not so much. Though you heard they would not ring until the war had finished. Their last echo vanished into the air like a dying butterfly.

You had yet to hear from James. But you could not hold a grudge against him. This was the time he trained for.

The next morning, when you walked down to work, the townspeople were out and excited. It was like a holiday. People were waving flags out of windows. There were stations out there to recruit any able-bodied young man to join. Bands played music with loud trumpets in the square. Children got brooms and marched around in pretend parades about the square. “Shoot the Germans,” you noticed was a popular game among them. Even amidst your shift, it was hard not to notice.

But out the window of the shop for those two days, you saw him. James. You could even hear his voice as the army brought supplies and young men signed up. Any quiet minute you indulged in looking out. And you knew he would spy on you through the window as well from outside. So much unspoken. He would tip his hat at you and smile. And you would smile and nod at him. Then one hour, when no one else was watching you, you would take your hand to your lips and blow a small kiss at him. He would “catch” it. Placing his hand over the left pocket on his chest. Where your glove remained- a love token from you to him. Then you would return to work with a grin.

Though the second day became packed with customers shopping out of panic. You did not look out the window for James as much.

But you knew something happened when you returned home. Walking inside to greet your parents, you saw your mother staring out the windows, blankly. And Father with paper money in his hand, counting them out. But he frowned.

You heard a sob from outside.

Though once you walked out, you saw the horse area was empty except for Albert. He was sitting on the grass, hugging his legs, and crying. You rushed over, kneeling down and touching your brother’s arm.

“Albie…what…what is it? Did something happen?” you asked.

He wiped off his face with his sleeve, but still teary.

“Joey’s sold! Dad sold him off to the war for the rent!” he mourned.

“What! No! He didn’t!” you cried.

“He did, Y/N! He did!!”

You hugged your brother as he cried. Rubbing his back, he shook from the tears. And you found yourself crying as well.

“I can’t believe it…Joey…Poor Joey…” you murmured.

“How’s he gonna fare in the war!? How!” Albert wailed.

“I…I don’t know…oh, Albert…this is a nightmare!”

You looked at the empty fields where Joey once trotted. You would miss him. You would miss his neighing and gallops and “spirited” kicking. And how happy he made Albert.

Though, not long after, you saw a head walking up and going through the gate. And your heart stopped in place- Captain James Nicholls had arrived. Before you could say a word, Albert ran up in a sprint.

“Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not here to return Joey. Not yet- I’m sorry,” James said.

“But why else would you come here, sir!?” Albert cried.

Return Joey? You thought. So, it was James himself who bought him! Oh, thank goodness! Of all the people in the army Joey could have been purchased by, there was no one better! Yes, there was no one better than Nicholls. He looked over at you, taking off his cap.

“And how are you, Miss Narracott?” he asked with a warm smile.

“I’m better, thank you, sir,” you answered.

Nicholls knocked on the door. Your father opened it and greeted him. Then James took a step inside. You began clutching your skirt as the captain turned to your father, finally.

“Mr. Narracott…I’d like to speak to you in private, please. It’s not about Joey. No…I’d like to speak on something different…”

It felt as if the earth stopped on its axis. Your heart picked up though you stood still. Mother’s eyes lit up as she turned over.

“Well, if it’s important for him, it’s important for me! I’d like to stay and speak with you too! Let’s just say I learned my lesson from last time!” Mum insisted, crossing her arms.

James smiled at her and nodded.

“Oh, there is no problem at all! Of course, you can, Mrs. Narracott,”

She looked out at you and Albert outside.

“Well, you two scurry along. We’ll call you when we’re done,” she dismissed.

Though there was a little smile as she closed the door. Once it clicked shut, Albert walked forward and pressed an ear to it.

You could feel yourself getting warmer. It was a giddiness from thrill, not from dread this time. You went over to the garden to look after the plants and flowers. As you took your water can, you watched Albert’s face. His eyes became big, and he dropped his jaw as he listened. Then he went over to you.

“Why…Y/N! You and Nicholls are-are-…Do you think he’s…. he’s here to…to…?”

You gave him a smile, a small laugh escaping you from excitement and nerves.

“Albert…I don’t want to keep this a secret from you anymore…” you started.

He put two hands on each of your shoulders.

“Do you love him?” he asked.

You began to well up a few tears as you nodded.

“And he loves me, Albie. He loves me!”

He hugged you again. You heard a small laugh in his voice.

“Why, who else but my sister could get two fellows asking for her hand in a month?” he teased.

Finally, the door opened and both of you jumped. You even clutched his hand to keep your own from shaking. You wondered if you would burst at once. James walked forward; he kept his cap off.

“Could I please speak to your daughter in private?” asked James.

Your father nodded.

“Oh-of course!” he said.

Your mother took Albert and dragged him inside the house.

"How long have we known each other, Y/N?"

"Two years," you replied.

"Sometimes it felt like last week you discovered my book."

"I feel the same. And with the war, you have to go there soon to fight,” you continued.

"I do," he said.

The sun was setting, casting orange and pink across the sky, giving it a glow about the garden. A few tomatoes, carrots, peas, and other vegetables emerged from the storm. There were also your flowers. Summer roses, forget-me-nots, daisies, violets, and crocuses for your beloved rabbits. They grew about the space and filled the light air with their fresh scent. You felt the warmth of the leftover sun with the cool breeze of the coming night. He looked so beautiful by the flowers and glow of the peaceful hour.

"We know I will have to leave soon. And I do not look forward to it. I will miss many things about this place-you most of all. Y/N. Your presence is always there in my memory. My duty calls me over, yet you pull me like a string to you. And if this is a spell done by magic, I wish not to be freed of it. Not free from the beautiful, sweet, wonderful woman from Devon, no."

There was only the clucking of the chickens in the back. He began to tap his foot; his own fingers were twitching. You clutched your skirt in a fistful, your breath tight in your chest. Though both of you were smiling. A few words. A few words more... you silently urged him.

You walked out to the back- among the garden, the budding flowers, and plants.

“Y/N, I will tell you. Your feelings for me have not changed, have they?”

“They haven’t. I still love you, James.”

He took your hand. You could feel they were clammy. He began to stutter.

“Uh…Miss Y/N, I…I…I don’t even know what I can say to you…”

He looked up at you. And took a deep breath.

“I don’t even know where to begin with this!”

“Then one thing at a time,” you prodded.

You looked into his eyes and he into yours. It seemed each second was growing. He then glanced down at the ground and then up. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach.

“I have my reasons for saying this. And saying this now. I’m not a wealthy man, but I promised your father you’d never go hungry. And I told your parents that should I die, you would have what fortune I possess. As well as the respect that is due to the wife of a captain…”

“The wife of a captain?” you repeated with a smile.

He relaxed, taking both your hands in his.

“Y/N, would you like to marry me?” he asked.

A small gasp went out of you, and you smiled. His jaw trembling, he added on.

"Your father gave me his permission. And your mother gave us her blessing."

“Yes…. yes, I will!” you answered, happy tears welling up your eyelids.

You drew him into an embrace, and he hugged you back. Both of you breathed in. Feeling each other’s arms and the breath of each other. He took both your hands and kissed them again in complete reverence. Worship even.

"I love you; Y/N. Would you like me to be your husband? Would you like to marry me?"

He hugged you again, both of you enjoying the feeling and presence of each other.

"Could I kiss you?" he asked.

"I've wanted to kiss you for ages! Of course!" you said.

He put one hand on your cheek and kissed you. He smelled of the day's sweat, but his lips felt light as a feather. You placed your hands on his arms to deepen it, to make it a kiss between lovers. It was released with a faint, wet click. Perhaps your whole family was watching now from the window. But now, you did not care. You both could not stop smiling.

“Let’s go back…” you suggested.

You returned arm in arm, smiling. Dad let out a small laugh at the sight.

“Well, Nicholls, in just a week you got my horse and my girl!”

Albert’s eyes widened at the point. But he smiled and you laughed.

“You will still have me for a while!” you assured him.

Engagement! You! Engaged! To James of all people.

“But everyone…let’s sit down. There’s one thing we must discuss now that you’ve said yes, dear,” Mum urged.

She let out a deep sigh, folding her hands.

“Should we wait until the time you are off duty, or the war is done for the wedding? Or…”

“Or…” you prodded.

“Or should we marry you off soon as we can?”

It made everything freeze except for the crickets outside. Your mother shrugged.

“That way, should something happen to James, you will be fit to inherit all that’s his as his widow…”

They looked at you. Your heart knew the right answer. The practical answer. The frightening answer. You wanted to have him. To call him yours. Even if it was for only a little time. You and James looked at each other. He offered his hand, and you took it.

“Then…then I don’t think we have time to lose. We’ll marry before he leaves.” You decided.

“I second it,” James agreed.

Your father shook James’s hand. And then your parents embraced him as their son-in-law. And Albert as his brother-in-law. He stayed for a simple supper, then kissed you goodnight, and left.

James and your father told you the next day that the church said were available in a week. And the court announced it would have documents and contracts to solidify the union. And that was that. Enough to plan a modest ceremony. Now there would be nothing legally or under the heavens that would deny you both as a couple.

You asked your work friends if they would be your bridesmaids. They all agreed and congratulated and embraced you. Even Mrs. Snow was delighted and said her congrats and wished you well, with a smile on her face. You promised to invite her to the wedding.

Each time you arrived home, there was much excitement. There were never as many visitors as you had before! It seemed any neighbor and family member in town had to stop by to say congrats. Or to lend a helping hand for decorating and cooking and donations for the ceremony. There was always a knock on the door and someone new for Harold to chase and nip at. Albert cried far less- for the whirlwind of a quick wedding kept him too occupied to mourn Joey.

One day there was a knock on the door and there James appeared with his family. Despite your nerves about impressing them, they were warm and friendly.

“He’s talked and written about you a hundred times. He went to us and said he wanted to marry you. And you’ve had our blessing since,” his mother recalled with a sweet smile.

It was the second day James was there at your work. Your friends stood in the back, smiling, and enjoying your love by proxy.

“Would you like to walk with me a little today?” he asked.

“Yes, I would,” you agreed, taking his arm.

Now you and James could walk alone for as long as you wanted to discuss everything as you pleased. For now, no one was going to separate an engaged couple. And discuss ideas about your future together.

“We’re going to stay in a small cottage near the headquarters as I train. But when I’m in France...I’m not sure where you could go. You could stay with your family, as always.”

“Then where will we be when you get back? I doubt my little bedroom is too full of my old dolls and stuffed toys when I was a girl! Hardy fitting for a captain!” you teased.

He had a little laugh at that.

“I live in Somerset and that is only an hour’s drive away. Would you…would you like to stay there when I return? I will find us a home. Or perhaps…perhaps…would you like to stay with my mother? Even for a while? You can return to your parents whenever you’d like,” he reasoned.

“They’re my family too now, James.”

You took a pause on the cobbled streets of the town and squeezed his hand.

“I’d like to move to Somerset. Stay with your family until we can find a home of our own. If I decide I must return to my parents and brother, I can always do so…” you reasoned.

You were about to be a wife. You wanted to believe in yourself as such. Step into it, scary as it seemed.

Then while discussing things like ribbons and flowers and what food to eat you began to pack your bags. Your heart raced- the Narracott farm was all you knew. It had the hill you and Albert would sled on in the winter. The steps you loved for whoever’s steps were on it you could guess who was coming down. The old fireplace where you’d listen to each other and talk. Oh, and then it wouldn’t be your home! A different place with different people!

But you had to face it. You were not a child anymore. And as loved as it was- you would have a new space. You would always love your family. But you loved James too. And without your family- who were you, even? So much was built around them. Now once you left, you would find out more about who you were. It would be scary. But many people- women especially- faced it now. Getting married and leaving home. Something so common, but so extraordinary. Even though it was Somerset and not the other end of the earth, you would learn.

The two of you passed by the auctioning circle the next day. Another large group had gathered. This time, a red Irish Hunter horse led by one young man was up for grabs. Both of you slowed to admire the creature prancing in a circle for the bidders. The auctioneer began to boast the benefits of the horse. His head turned towards James. Then a mischievous smile formed in his teeth.

“Why- look at him!” announced the auctioneer from his block. “He’s red and blushing brighter than Captain Nicholls on his wedding night!” he announced teasingly.

The crowd erupted in bawdy laughter and even clapped. James’s cheeks did turn pink, and he dipped his head down, saying nothing. You only laughed and kept a hand over your mouth- both embarrassed and delighted. In all honesty, you thought it was funny.

Though those conversations were for when both of you were alone. Where not even a passing stranger could overhear. Both of you walked by the river. Words only for the babbling waters to hear.

“I know what happens in a bed with a husband and wife but…James…I…uhm…”

“I won’t expect it of you. I won’t demand it of you. You can take your time, my dear. I’ll wait until you say yes. Until you know without doubt it’s what you want…”

Then kissed your hand.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

At church that Sunday, you did have some nerves facing Mr. Lyons, seeing you wrapped around the arm of the Captain. But the landlord only tipped his hat and said congratulations. Miss Corbyn too stifled any harsh words to offer congrats as well. Though her head turned and it seemed that she was talking a lot to other soldiers. Her voice was softer, and she did not speak with a secret venom. And it seemed many of them smiled flirtatiously at her company. Thank goodness!

You had a cousin from Mum’s side in town who was your size. She had a wedding dress to spare. And though it was a touch out of the current style, you liked it.

You wouldn’t believe it when you walked that Friday morning down to the shop, it would be your last day of work. Mary ran up and embraced you.

“I know there wasn’t time for a full party between us-so I made us all lunch together and a bridal party cake!” she announced with a chirrup.

It was a tradition for the bride and bridesmaids to eat lunch and have a cake full of little silver charms inside. As you got to the cake, all of you took your slice and dug with your spoons. As lovely as the vanilla smelled, you had to see what charm landed in your slices! And to not accidentally swallow one! And what a miracle it was- there was a charm in each of your slices.

Alice gasped when she spooned out a heart. Then she reached over to the booklet that explained their meanings.

“That means true love!” she bragged.

Ida uncovered a horseshoe.

“I got the good luck one!” she announced, peering over the booklet.

It was Mary who got out a ring.

“That’s odd- this one is blissful marriage! That should be yours, Y/N!” she said.

Though as you dug through your slice of cake, resisting the urge to eat it, you uncovered an anchor.

“What does it mean, Alice?” you asked.

She got out the booklet and flipped the page.

“That means adventure!” she explained.

“I guess it is an adventure- getting married and leaving home,” you reasoned.

But you uncovered a second charm. A key- a happy home. You hoped your new home would be a happy one. A new one. And even a brief one. But no! The home of happiness. A home shared by you and the man you loved.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The day of the wedding finally arrived. All of you were a running bunch about the house that day. The smells from the kitchen wafted up to your room. Your bridesmaids put on their nicest dresses, as did your mother. Bright colors of purple, yellow, pink, and light blues. Your father and brother were kept out as they fixed your hair as you wanted. Shutting the door as all of you burst into chuckling. From nerves? Excitement? Very likely both.

Your teacup shook a little in its saucer when your wedding dress was brought out of its trunk and laid flat on the bed. They all flew around you like bees to share your excitement. It was Alice who had the honor of picking out your flowers to make a bouquet. All of them set their hats- large brimmed and decorated with flowers- on your bed. Your last day to sleep in it as a single woman. Your last day in your childhood home.

You put on the gown with their help. It was a shade of white that fits you, and it was frothy and soft. A confectionary of lace. It even had little white flowers sewn as decorations. For a final touch, you added long, white gloves. You could hardly believe the reflection in the mirror. You saw lace on your sleeves. Then Mary secured the veil over your head. A headpiece with the long veil itself draping down behind your head to where it touched the skirt of the gown. You seemed ethereal- a being not of this world. Perhaps an angel or a fairy or a benign ghost even.

“Oh- how lovely you look, Y/N!” Ida sighed.

Your mother stood behind you, looking at the reflection too.

“I agree! There’s my girl…all grown up and ready…” she cooed as you both looked in the mirror.

You turned around and then her eyes softened.

“Be sure to talk to Albert, today. Yes, it’s your day, but have a heart for him- no horse and no sister. It’s a big change for him.”

“I will…Mum…but I…I can’t blame him. I will miss you! All of you!” you said, turning to your friends.

“I’ll miss you too, girl. But I thank the heavens you refused Lyons!” she said.

You burst into laughter. To think if you said yes by now, this wedding would be to that odious man! Then it would be nowhere near as happy!

“James is a wonderful man. He’ll treat you well. You made the right choice…and remember. You’re not out of town yet. And when you’re over there… we’re only the next town away,” she consoled.

You hugged them tightly.

Then you walked down the steps. Down on the kitchen table were Father and Albert. Dressed up as they could be in their nicest suits. Though you saw Albert’s eyes remained puffy. They both stood up and their eyes widened at the sight of you in your dress.

You went over to your brother. You took his hand.

“Albie. You don’t hate me, do you? Leaving you?” you questioned.

He shook his head.

“No, I couldn’t! It’s not that I want you to be happy, I do!” he said.

“And you don’t begrudge James about me or Joey?” you asked.

“No! It’s just…it will be quiet without you…” he sighed.

You wrapped him into a hug.

“I’ll write to you every week I can. I’m only a letter away…”

You pulled out from the hug, an idea making you smile.

“Albie…you do realize that I’m about to marry Joey’s temporary owner!” you reasoned.

He perked up.

“You have an excuse to visit the army base now. You can see both of us- Joey and me! You can still see him for a week after this!” you said.

He then put a hand on your shoulder.

“Then I’ll see him- but I’d go over to town if it meant just seeing my old sister!”

You hugged him again. Once you released, he began to grin.

“What’s that metaphor you like- ‘shiny as a smile at a wedding?’ Do you think we’ll all be shiny today?”

“You already are, Y/N,” he said.

Then your father adjusted your veil to be over your face as you fixed the flowers in his breast pocket. Alice handed you the bouquet. You heard the clock chime the time. Three-thirty in the afternoon. Only half an hour until the ceremony began. And outside, there you heard the rumble of a motorcar, driven by a young lieutenant to deliver you to church.

“Are you ready, my girl?” father asked.

“Ready as I can be,” you answered.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The birdsong was like flutes today outside. What had you for an orchestra of the finest musicians? They were there to sing. The hour of the ceremony began. Your heart raced and your bridesmaids all smiled at you. Your father squeezed your hand. Outside, the sun was bright and puffy clouds, white and frothy as your dress, glided across the blue sky.

The church was humbly decorated. You knew that from the hours you spent helping and planning and from your peeks between the doors. There was not much you could afford for a quick wedding. But many people piled in a few coins here and there and offered to decorate. It was filled with beautiful wildflowers among the windows. The candles stood tall. And there were a few spare ribbons for bows for the front pews. It was not grand, but pretty. Besides, you figured it was more important to marry the right man than have a lavish dress and ceremony.

Everyone stood in a line outside the church doors. Mary adjusted your veil. You clutched your bouquet. It had roses, blue violets, daisies, and forget me nots. Plucked out from your childhood home and now there had to be flowers regrown in your new homes. Your bridesmaids all put their tussie mussies, their smaller flower bouquets, in hand.

"I don't know if I'm going to faint or become sick," you confessed.

Ida turned to you with a smile. She touched your arm, rubbing it in comfort.

"Oh, Y/N, you will be fine!" she consoled.

"He'll think this dress and veil are old-fashioned!" you fretted.

"No- he'll be so lovestruck that he will be the one fainting at the sight of you! And who cares if it's old-fashioned or not- it's a lovely dress! And-oh!-you almost dropped one flower from your own bouquet!"

With a little laugh, you thanked her. Ida got down and picked up the forget-me-not.

"Here. Do you remember what it's supposed to represent?" she asked.

"Is it true love?" you asked.

She smiled at you.

"Yes- I think you found your true love, Y/N. Not many people do. Yes, you're nervous- but that's normal to be!" she said.

"I don't want to do anything wrong!" you confessed, your shoulders rising to your ears.

"If James tripped and fell on his face before the altar, would you not want to marry him?" she asked.

"No! I'd...I'd laugh, of course. Then I'd pick him up!" you said.

Both of you laughed lightly to break the tension.

"So, why shouldn't he do the same for you?"

"You're...you're right. And I guess it's just nerves."

"Just take some breaths and enjoy it, Y/N. You'll miss it when it's over!"

As your mother began to head in, she clutched your hand.

Their gossip quieted as the organ began to play out some more cheerful music. Though their voices dimmed to whispers, their eyes kept returning to the doors. The flower girls and ring bearers were the niece and nephew of James. They waddled across, to their place. The pews cooed as they walked. Then it struck you- they were about to be your niece and nephew in an hour!

The two bridesmaids-Ida and Mary- and your maid of honor-Alice, began to filter through. They each had an officer of their own to drape across. They walked down, clutching their tussie-mussies and smiling. They walked to the front. The guests had quit their own whispering. Perhaps the occasional giggle or something you heard that was a cough.

The song changed. The song of the bride’s entrance.

But as you walked in, you saw all of them- smiling. Smiling at you. Eyes bright. True, genuine smiles as you gazed at them. You heard the shuffle of feet. The creaking of pews as each person in the church stood up right before you entered. Taking in a deep breath, you walked into the sanctuary on your father’s arm.

You glanced at the guests. Everyone had hats on to protect them from how the harsh summer sun would creep into the church. Ladies wore light dresses in bright colors and men in sharp suits. Many people were given pins of flowers to attach to the front of their clothes. Your own mother and brother sat at the front on one side. James’s parents and siblings sat on the other side. James stood at the altar and next to him was Stewart as the best man. Many of the guests were other officers in their pea-green uniforms. They craned their necks to watch you. You even heard some whispering among the guests with an admirable puff of air- "She looks so pretty!"

Then you looked up at James. Dressed in his uniform. Stewart was beside him as his best man.

Though you sweated beneath your wedding dress, you forgot the heat with the cool air of the church. And you chilled completely once you truly looked James in the eye. He glowed. His eyes blinked a couple of times, and he placed his hands in front of him. But he did not mask his own joy for the sake of propriety on his face. James stood even taller. He blushed and even puffed out his chest slightly with every step you arrived closer to him. He only smiled wider with every step closer to him that you took.

A tenderness filled your heart. Yes, as simple as this ceremony was, the church was filled with those who loved and would do their best to support you. This moment was something you could only imagine would happen two years ago. Something you always doubted would ever happen was your reality. Now it was. You were about to be married to a man you loved. You dreamed of romance and now you found it. It finally happened.

Every eye was on you. You felt that they were not judging you, looking for a mistake, a flaw. A wrong way to walk or a button was undone on your dress. No- they were enjoying you, sharing your happiness. The nerves became excitement and elation inside you. Arriving at the altar, your father then extended his arm. James extended his.

From Dad to James. Two men. Not that James saw you as his property- oh no. He saw you as the woman he wanted as his life partner. A love between equals, not stretches of power. You felt childhood melt from you as you reached forward. But it was this was no death- it was a beginning, a rebirth. A phase of your life had ended, and a new phase was beginning. You wrapped an arm around his- white on green. Then both of you kneeled on two elaborate cushions before the altar. Then you looked up at him and he down at you.

"You look beautiful, my dear," he whispered to you.

"Thank you,” you whispered back.

You then let your father go. You knew the time would have to come. You didn't want to spend all your life on the farm until your hair was white and your bones turned brittle. And now here it was. You just had to let him go.

He smiled at you. Then he nodded at James. It seemed as if the world slipped away. You held onto him with both hands- he was warm and steady and inviting. It felt as if there were not your whole family and guests staring at your every move. It was only you two. The rector then stepped forward. He was an old man with white hair, a thin white beard, and glasses with bright green eyes. Though he was in his seventies, he spoke with a clear voice and much vivacity.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness this man and woman join together in holy matrimony."

Then James turned to you. He took your hand in his. And he said the oath.

"I, James Nicholls, I take you to be my wife, From this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, forsaking all others 'til death do us part. In the presence of God do I make this vow."

Yes...until only death would you part. And on the order of the King, he had to go. And perhaps he would...he would...

No, you could not think of that now. You could not yet mourn him. Here he was- alive. And however long you had to be married to him, you would enjoy it.

“I, Y/N Narracott, take you to be my husband, from this day forward…” you vowed.

James' little nephew brought the rings forth to his uncle. You removed your glove. With a gentle smile, James slipped the ring around your finger. It was a plain bronze band. Both of yours were hand-me-downs. But it fits you like it was crafted for your finger. You both went to the table with the marriage certificate on it near the altar. James signed it with a gentle touch and gave you the pen. You leaned down and signed your name. Your new name.

"Y/N Narracott Nicholls.”

You both returned to the altar for the last prayers and rites. James took your hand, and you wrapped it around his arm the whole time. You never wanted to let go of him. He beamed at you. Then the final “amen” rang. The rector gestured to you both to stand and turn to the congregation.

"With the power invested in me by the law and the Church of England, I now pronounce you man and wife."

The guests all stood up clapping. After some time and after your photographs were taken, they rushed outside. You heard Albert whistle and James laughed at the sound. As you walked out, you saw a whole line of officers of the army standing outside. You paused as you were on the threshold as they stood. Stewart rushed to his place there to complete the missing piece.

"Stand hup!" he yelled.

The men got their swords from their hilts and lifted them up to make an arch over your heads. James gave a small nod of thanks to his men, and you both walked out. Smiling brightly as they regarded you both with as much importance as their own calvary. The guests threw flower petals like summer snow.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The guests followed you to the small reception and celebration at the Narracott farm. The congrats multiplied in the thousands. You often abandoned your plate of food to talk. So much embracing and handshaking you thought it would fall off. And though you smiled, it was natural. There were much dancing and happy faces. A violin picked up a tune. You danced with him- your husband, James. He moved as sweetly as he did at socials. He held you a little closer. Moving just as one-partners of a dream.

Then as you both sat down at your table, Major Stewart turned over to talk to you.

"Well, Jim boy. I had a feeling you'd be the first among us two to get married. And of course, I was right. Joey should have been your best man instead! The horse practically was your matchmaker!"

James let out a little laugh. You went over and held his hand as it lay on the table.

"He was not! We met when she found my drawings!" he corrected.

"Hmm, if I recall correctly- she saw the one of Topthorn. Ah well- then he was the matchmaker and should have been your best man! He’d look handsome in a suit, wouldn’t he? If you can stand the risk of horse droppings in the church!" Stewart teased.

You smiled at the silly picture and thanked him for his involvement. Once he left, James then leaned down and kissed you. There was a small holler from the crowd at the display of intimacy. But it was your wedding day! And you were on a farm! Behavior could loosen a little. Your mother brought out then the cake and there was enough for everyone to have a little slice.

Albert went up to the table and shook his hand.

“Much congrats sir! Only- you’re no sir anymore-You’re about my brother now!” Albert said.

“Yes, I am,” James replied.

Albert’s hands dropped into fists at his side.

“Please let me in the army! If Joey’s going, I’m going too!”

“I told you before- No. You’re too young, Albert. And now I can’t let my own brother-in-law get into trouble, can I?”

James turned to you.

“I don’t think it would make the Missus very happy if I let you run out and get shot!”

“No, I wouldn’t!” you agreed, keeping your hand again intertwined with his.

Albert made himself stand taller. Now that the authority figure was family.

“Then James- you better be good to Y/N!”

“Of course, I will!”

“If you ever sleep with some woman who’s not my sister and make her cry, I swear I’ll shoot you with father’s gun myself!”

“Albie!” you gasped.

Your eyes went wide, and your jaw lowered. Such talk on the wedding day to James’ face! And in your presence! But James only smiled and nodded with a little laugh.

“Well then! Defending her honor and protecting her? You already have a soldier’s spirit, Albert! But I promise I will do everything I can for your sister’s happiness. And you have my permission to take action to avenge her…if she does not shoot me first.” He turned to you.

You laughed a little. As Albert went away, James turned to you. He then took your hand. He spoke lowly.

“Y/N, I will never do anything I know would hurt you. I swear it…”

“Thank you…I…I know you’re a good man. I trust you. And I swear, I’ll be a good wife to you, James, I will…” you whispered only for him.

“You already are,” he said with a kiss on your forehead.

The guests said goodbye as the sun dipped down. The pink sunset became the early evening. Many threw leftover flower petals and cheered as James led you into the motorcar. You drove off, your farm vanishing over a hill. You stopped at a cottage outside of town.

“Here…this will be our home for the moment,” James announced.

Until you leave, you thought sadly. But no-no- you could not afford to mourn him. He was here, standing before you. He opened his hand. You accepted it.

“It’s bad luck for the bride to trip when she enters!” he prodded.

Squealing despite yourself, he scooped you in his arms and carried you over the threshold. It was a lovely, comfortable cottage. Nice and wooden with modest furnishings. It had white wallpaper with a floral pattern all over. He set you on your feet.

“How are you feeling, darling?” you asked him.

“If I am honest, tired,” he confessed.

“Goodness! Now it’s done!” you agreed.

Both of you laughed out loud about it. As it became dark, you settled to relax in the sitting room. The luggage already arrived there. You chatted over everything that happened today. Who arrived, what each guest said, what went right and wrong. He even brought out a small decanter of whiskey for the two of you. You noted his hands shook a little as he poured out a little for each of you.

He brought a special device- a phonograph. Complete with music to play. As the sun set, you both were listening to a song. No, it was not just a song- it was music. By some fellow named Debussy from France. And it was music that sounded like a dream. As James relaxed on the couch you laid your head on his chest and he wrapped one of his large, soft hands around you. The music swelled.

“Today was wonderful. I love you, my husband.” You spoke. Relishing the word.

“I love you too.”

You both kissed again as the phonograph’s music continued. You embraced him and did not let go. Then he ended the kiss and looked down at you. But your body flooded. How warm he felt and handsome he looked. You wanted more. You wanted him. In the ultimate way you could have him. His eyes were at half-mast and his voice was husky.

“Y/N…I…I won’t push you…I’ll sleep on this couch if you want…”

Feeling the surge now tenfold, you took his hand and led him to your shared bedroom.

“James…yes.”

You felt his fingers on your back as he undid each button of your dress. Removing each last layer. And you did not cover or hide any part of yourself. You undid each button of his uniform and did not shy from that bed. Neither of you did. You knew James was a man of battles and blood. But you discovered in his body the pleasure and gentleness a man could give a woman. And for both of you, it was a perfect night.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The next morning, you awoke. Both of you knew he had duties to run the army’s recruiting and tend the items bought and sold for war. You turned over and saw James was awakening. You gave him a kiss on the cheek and with a moan, he opened his eyes.

“Good morning, Mrs. Nicholls.” He greeted.

“Good morning, Mr. Nicholls,” you replied.

You had the honor of fixing his tie and making sure his buttons were right for work. He helped put on your own clothes- helping you button your shoes and step into your petticoat. He helped adjust your corset to how you liked it.

“Here- I will tie a bow in the back, does that sound nice?” he asked.

“Yes, it does- like your signature,” you replied.

It was a pleasant morning- cool for now, though the afternoon would heat up. And you enjoyed the food stored there- eggs, toast with jam and butter, and sausage. All compliments of the cottage owners.

“If you need anything of me, I’ll be downtown. It’s not a long walk there. I’ll see you at lunch and when the day is done, my dear,” he said.

Before he had to leave, you gave him another kiss as a goodbye. Then he smiled and went out the door.

A quiet life. A domestic life. A peaceful life. No matter how brief it had to be, you had to savor it. But sitting on that couch, feeling the ghost of his weight, the worries rush over you. Then hot tears stung your eyes. You felt as if a corkscrew twisted your chest. You let yourself grieve. Grieve how short this time with him had to be. Grieve the worst that could happen. Grieve that this was short, and he had to go away to another country. Grieve that he might die for his. Grieve the husband and man you loved that wasn’t yet dead.

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smolvenger · 1 year

Text

Miss Narracott and The Captain, Part Two (Captain James Nicholls x fem! Reader Miniseries)

Link to Part One

Fandom: War Horse

Chapter Word Count: 6K

Chapter Warnings: Some angst and some fluff. Light Slow Burn. Mrs. Narracott being badass. I turn Lyons from Neutral Jerk to Mustache twirling villain. Because it's my fic and I can do what I want. References to lines and scenes from the movie. Nicholls is an angel. Some references to violence.

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: Comments, Reblogs, DMs, and Asks about my work are always appreciated! Thank you!

Spring, 1912

This whole past week you did not see Captain Nicholls back at the shop. He likely had business. You wished to enquire what soldiers were doing here…but it was peacetime. And that was being quite nosy.

A farm never really had a weekend. But Saturday was the only day you could sleep in just a little. Dad insisted that for you.

“Come on, Y/N! I need help with the laundry!” mum called out from the yard.

“Coming in a bit!” you called back from the chair.

You had been repairing clothes that had tears. So far, it looked like Dad’s working pants were decent. Setting down your needle and thread in the basket by your feet, you walked out. As you entered the laundry area, you heard Joey mimicking an owl’s hoot. Both of you jumped and looked around.

“Oh, for goodness' sake!” Mum yelped as she checked around her.

Albert had trained Joey to trot up to him at the sound of it and the horse would bolt from wherever he was. Heaven help whoever was walking about at the same time Joey pranced in the yards! Everyone had to jump out of the way as Joey would hurry to Albert’s call.

But no, you did not worry about getting run over by a horse this time. Both Albert and Joey were standing in the field. They were in the circled off ground before the stable.

Mum lifted a white shirt from the basket of washed clothes. She put it on the line. You found another and did the same.

“Y/N, I want to have a little chat with you…it’s easier to chat when you’re doing laundry, …” Mum announced.

Nervousness soured your bowels. She glanced out at your brother. He went to the stable and retrieved the plow. Then she turned to you.

“You do know I love both of you,” she said.

“Of course, we do!”

“Your father and I tried our best to teach you some good lessons. And there’s one lesson I see Albert applying all the time, but I’ve yet to see it from you…”

You tilted your head as you found a wet apron that needed to dry.

“What do you mean?” you asked as you pinned it up.

Mum went over and cupped your cheek, looking into your eyes.

“Y/N, you cannot keep sacrificin’ yourself for others. Getting a job for all of us is very noble, and yes it has helped…but you cannot keep silencin’ yourself or what you think…I don’t think you really wanted to give all your wages to us…”

“I don’t mind the work, mama, I don’t! And that’s why I got it- to support everyone!” you replied.

She glanced at a dry bedsheet that was pinned up.

“Of course, you don’t. But, let me tell you something…”

She gestured for you to get to the other end. Freeing it from pins, both of you walked forward to fold it up.

“If there’s one thing, I teach you and Albert, it’s this! Everyone all your life will try to tell you what you should think, what you should do!” she guided.

“Why aren’t you telling both of us, then?” you questioned.

“As I said- I see Albert doing it and you not! I know why- I know you’re a woman in this world! I know what they teach us. I’ve been through it when I was your age too, don’t think I did not!” she explained.

She folded the bedsheet sideways and up, placing it in an empty basket.

“But what if it’s a situation where it's not polite to?” you asked.

“I love that you’re a polite girl, Y/N. No shame in good manners or treatin’ others good. There are plenty of times for politeness. Then there are the other times… if someone’s threatenin' or hurtin' you-politeness ain’t always gonna work! You got to fight back!” she said.

“Fight back…” you repeated as you hung up one of your blouses to dry.

“You cannot let others tell you what should or shouldn’t make you happy. And you shouldn’t sacrifice your own self for others all the time. Soon there won’t be anything of you left to sacrifice! You must stand up for yourself, Y/N! Speak your own mind! And tell others what it is you want, especially if they don’t agree with you!”

She got down another dry shirt and pinned it up.

“They tell us to do this or that. I’m sure even the King of England has to do what he’s told sometimes! But as a woman, they’ll try and pressure you to do what pleases them and not yourself! All the time! Y/N…you got to insist on what you want, what you think!”

Albert put the reins on Joey and led him out to the bottom field, vanishing from vision.

“They always tell us women to cut ourselves into bits to make others happy. And I’m telling you, Y/N- don’t! Don’t let them!” mum ordered.

The chickens clucked in the next yard over. The goose crawled under the fence and explored the horse-free circle of grass. You took down a dry sock to fold it.

“Their opinion, what if it…”

“You don’t have an opinion too? Why should anyone else’s matter but theirs? Unless you realize yours is downright stupid!” mum cried.

You chuckled.

“I guess you’re right…”

She put an arm on your shoulder.

“Whatever you think will make you happy…we’ll support you. Albie, Dad, and I…” she promised.

You pressed the sock into your chest. Letting out a deep sigh, you confided to her.

“I haven’t figured out what, I guess…haven’t found my place. I wondered if I could work at the shop for the rest of my life. I...I confess I even wondered about marrying rich! It would help everyone. But that won’t happen, not in Devon. I think I might spend my spinster days here…”

“You don’t have to marry if you don’t want to. I’d rather see you a happy spinster than a miserable wife, Y/N!”

The goose wandered in to nibble at your mother’s petticoat. Mum shooed him away.

“I think I’d like to fall in love. Fall in genuine, real love, have it work out, and marry someday…” you confessed.

“You always were the romantic, girl! If you do marry, it better be for love. I’d want a good man who’ll love you over a rich man any day!” mum responded.

“But I…I don’t know if I want to leave…not yet…” you continued.

The goose went over to the basket and sniffed at it with his orange beak. She opened her arms and let you hug her.

“Then stay here, my dear girl, and figure it out…but don’t let some people order you about just ‘cause you’re a woman! Ain’t nothin’ that makes foolish men quiver like seeing a woman happy on her own terms!”

You smiled as you looked up at her. She pressed a kiss to your forehead before you continued your laundry. You noticed the goose walking under the fence. He began waddling about the yard. He found dad going about his chores and nipped at the ends of his pants. · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · That Sunday, you did see Captain Nicholls at church. Many of the new soldiers had come in, filling up the pews with young men. He was not in uniform but in his three-piece suit and tie. And beside him was another gentleman with a mustache. You wished to speak to him, but your family scuttled in when the service began. As everyone gathered hymnals and sang, you eyed him. He let out a smile and a nod of acknowledgment. You did so back. Once the service ended with the final amen, the crowd broke. As you went up to chat with your friends, you noticed Nicholls went up to you between the pews.

“Oh! Y/N…there you are!” he greeted.

“You remember my name?” you asked.

“Oh, of course!” Nicholls said.

“Is this your first church service here? Do you like it?” you asked.

“Yes, indeed! It’s excellent! The choir sounded lovely- never heard one like it! I’ve shaken two dozen hands already. Complete with tea invitations. I’m sure my colleagues can say the same,” he said.

Yes, dozens of families and couples were welcoming the new soldiers in town. The young men were nodding next to the bright eyes and wide smiles of old people who were thrilled at newcomers.

“Nothing like a first church visit to make you feel famous!” you commented.

“Though I confess I would like it more if they had a picnic. I’m quite hungry,” Nicholls said.

“Oh, we have our share of picnics!” you assured him.

“Mrs. Collins promised me a welcome basket next week with her own famous bread, even!” he said, pointing her out.

The very old lady, next to her equally old husband, was shaking the hand of the mustachioed soldier.

“We could spare a few of the crops and eggs. It’s not much of a welcoming basket, but it’s something,” you offered.

“Crops? Are you from a farming family?” he asked.

Mouth frowning a little, you nodded.

“I’m a farmer’s daughter,” you confirmed.

You knew Nicholls was several stations above you. He had a genteel occupation versus the lowly farming Narracotts. Some of the upper-class people you met in the past were polite, but arrogant in their knowledge of who held the upper hand.

Nicholls was neither. His face remained soft and smiling. If he had any bad opinions about you, it was hidden.

“I think any welcoming basket is better than none! Especially with some grown, natural produce fresh from the ground! I would enjoy it…and the horse. If I recall correctly, there are horses with your family?”

“On our-our farm? The horse-oh-we call him Joey! I barely mentioned him!” you remembered.

“You said your brother had a horse, Miss Narracott! I am dearly fond of the creatures myself if you haven’t guessed from the sketchbook,” he added.

“I should hate to be repetitive, but perhaps you should come over for tea and see Joey- a beautiful, beautiful horse! He’s gentle for the most part unless he hears a commotion, or the mood fancies him!”

“Then I shall be glad to, Miss,” he replied.

He then said his goodbyes and left. But where on earth was your family? It was far too crowded today. You already made your rounds to greet your friends who went here. You began to head outside the doors.

Though as you left for the entrance, who did you run into, but the Landlord. His red, walrus mustache looked combed today. Overdressed in his black and white plaid coat and waistcoat, not a surprising fashion choice for him. He held his bowler hat in one hand. You saw attached to his waistcoat an ornate, golden pocket watch dangling. He picked it up and examined the time and then turned his head to you. Steps skidding out of bumping into where he stood.

“Oh- I’m sorry, Mr. Lyons!” you excused.

Feet shuffling backward, you bowed your head. He turned to see you.

“None taken! Only glad the service ended on time for once! But you did nothing at all wrong,” he said. He spoke with warmth. Not like when he discussed matters of rent with your father.

“Mr. Lyons how are you today?” you asked.

“I am well. And may I say, you do look radiant today, Miss Narracott. Is that a new dress you have on today?” he asked.

Something about the way he was smiling at you felt wrong. It was too wide. Too friendly. Too...nice. You glanced down at your dress. Attempting some form of modesty though you were entirely covered with hat, dress, and gloves.

“Just a hand-me-down from mum’s family,” you responded.

“Lovely on you all the same.”

It struck you that though he did have a wife, she died long ago. And the mourning period was long since over, which meant…

Slight panic gripped your turning stomach. Dear Sweet Jesus- the man was actually flirting with you! You held your gloved hands. But, considering that he had money and a higher station…was he using his position to do what he wanted? How crude! What would your family think?

For now, you only smiled, gripping your hands tighter.

“Mr. Lyons, I thank you for your generous compliment. And I hope your son is well too. Though I am afraid I must leave- there are still chores to finish back home,” you excused.

“Ah, so Sunday is no day of rest?”

“No, it is not,” you confirmed.

You wished you could have added “thanks to your prices!” at the end of that. But you bit your tongue instead.

You dipped your head and left. Despite the familiar faces you passed, your mind spiraled elsewhere. Questioning if this was reality or some odd dream you had. You caught mum gossiping with some friends. Dad and Albert were behind her. Dad turned to you.

“Hey- there you were! Was bout wonderin’ if you vanished, Y/N! Ah- let’s head home, girl,” he greeted.

As the four of you began walking, you kept your head down. Replaying the moment with Mr. Lyons a dozen times.

“You got a troubled look about you. What is it?” Albert asked in your ear. He slowed his pace to meet yours.

“I’ll tell you when we’re alone…” you said. · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · “Flirting!” cried Albert.

After some chores, you two would go for a walk outside. Especially on a sunny day like today. It was the hour you and Albert could discuss anything. Especially without snooping, overhearing parents.

It was a day that had gentle sunlight as it glided across the sky. The breeze was cool, but slight. The green grass swept through eternity like a green ocean. Tall blue mountains rose from the ground a distance away, kissing the blue sky above you. In the distance from the hill, the town looked so small. One could crush the church bell tower with their thumb and forefinger. You could even see the blue line of the river stretch out from your view. The forest skittered away, keeping the town and hills snug like it was a wall. They went on forever until they vanished to the horizon. Across the green fields, hundreds of white sheep grazed about for their Sunday lunch of fresh spring grass. Ignoring the whistles of their shepherds to feast and bleat about each other. The church bells pealed the hour from far away, but it echoed up here.

This time your company had a third party. Albert held Joey by the reigns as he walked. But the horse’s ears did perk towards you as if this interested him as well.

“I could have sworn it, yes…” you answered.

“Well, what do you think of him?” Albert asked.

“Mr. Lyons is…prosperous. He…you see how he runs things. It’s not fair dad doesn’t pay his rent. It’s not fair he wants to take our Joey too. But it’s what Lyons has to live on. That’s how his occupation works," you replied. It could be worse.

Joey brushed his lips as if in dismissal of his potential owner.

“But, Y/N, do you like him?” Albert asked.

You paused.

“Not really.”

You looked down at the town below. Birds sang their carefree songs over your head. You noted a few blue wildflowers.

“Lyons has a son, doesn’t he?” you asked.

“Yes- David’s his name!” Albert responded.

You bent down and began picking a few. You put them in your apron pocket and then went up and looked at Albert.

“Every meeting that boy stands there. Doesn’t even do anything! He just sneers at everyone all the time!” you commented.

“Andrew calls him air-nose! Cause his nose is always in the air, the big snob!” Albert teased.

He mimicked the gesture with a perfect sneer. You smiled. But then your original idea caught you. You put a hand in your pocket to touch the flowers as your smile faded with your words.

“How old’s David?”

“Fifteen-Same as me,” Albert replied.

So that meant Lyons was old enough to be your father. You let out a sigh.

“Maybe it was just flirting and he'll move on and forget it. Maybe it’s my imagination…” you dismissed.

Joey flicked his tail behind him. Albert kept one hand to pat his long snout.

“If it ain’t, don’t worry, Y/N. If he or any old goat ever tries something funny with you, tell me. I don’t care if he owns the place or not. I’ll box his ear off!”

“Thank you!” you wished.

You stopped to pet Joey, gently touching his long, copper neck. Grateful the horse was now used to you and softened at your touch.

“And please train Joey to kick him. Hard,” you added.

“You bet!” Albert laughed.

Your brother stopped petting his horse to give you a half-hug. Then you both continued walking your path. Your skirt grazed past some long grass and floated in the breeze with it. Noticing another bunch of pretty wildflowers, you both paused to gather some up and put them in your apron pocket.

“So, Y/N I finally got a name for Goose- Harold! What do you think? Fits him, doesn’t it!” Albert announced.

“He definitely looks like a Harold to me!” you agreed.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · Summer, 1912.

It was a hot July day. Still hot as your shift ended and you left. Grateful for the breeze as you left town and walked up the hill to home. Much to your surprise, you saw two horses before the stone fence you did not recognize. One was a speckled one that chewed on dandelions. The other was an intimidating black stallion that shook its mane and kicked the grass.

As you opened the gate, Albert came running up.

“Y/N! Y/N! We have guests! Guests for tea!” he cried.

“Who?”

“These fellows- soldiers! They were watchin' the lands on duty! Then they found our farm and stopped by! One says he knows you!”

“What!?” you cried.

You immediately walked inside. There was your mother just putting the kettle on.

But there he was, Captain Nicholls, still in uniform. Sitting right at your table! And next to him was the gentleman with a mustache. As you walked closer, you saw the mustachioed man take off his hat. He was only barely shorter than Captain Nicholls. You took note more of his appearance- he had dark hair, as opposed to Nicholl’s auburn hair. But both had high cheekbones.

“Oh- more company!” replied the mustachioed man.

But Nicholls himself stood up, as did his companion.

“Miss Narracott! We’re glad you’re here in time!” Nicholls greeted.

“We’re glad to have you- both of you!” you replied.

Your head turned to the gentleman.

“And may I have an introduction, please?” the gentleman asked.

He smiled and then reached for a handshake.

“Stewart. Major Jaimie Stewart,” he introduced himself.

“Miss Y/N Narracott, pleased to meet you.”

The kettle boiled, the leaves brewed, and tea was served. Father even came in to talk. Everyone sipped as everyone began to question the two soldiers. They didn’t brag about their triumphs in battle. They spoke of their daily lives.

“Fell off him! Then the horse only galloped away! I fell right on my bum in front of our general- there!” Steward finished.

Even Dad laughed. He got out a pipe and lit it.

“So, tell us, where do you fellows both come from? Your families?” he asked.

“Parents both fell ill and died when I was a child,” Stewart explained.

You set down your white and blue porcelain cup.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” you commented.

“I was raised by my aunt and uncle in London. I had a small family. But that’s not the case for Jim, here!” Stewart said.

He patted Nicholl’s back. He smiled, his eyes bright as he explained.

“I was born in Somerset. My mother was once a pianist and would still give lessons in the town and play at church. Father is a lawyer, but he had a soft spot for books and plays. They met at a little theatre club- she would play piano, and he would act. I’m the oldest of five brothers and sisters.”

“Five!” you cried. It was a lot to have just one, headstrong brother!

“You get quite used to it! We still write to each other all the time!” he replied with a small laugh.

You then smiled.

“I bet it was quite busy!” Mum said. She went to the kitchen and pulled out biscuits on a plate.

“Yes, indeed it was!” He replied.

Nicholls then accepted a biscuit and put it on his saucer. It was the plainer kind. The cheaper kind. He bit into it but showed no grimace. Stewart helped himself to two.

“Sorry it’s not much, we weren’t expecting company…” mum apologized.

“Oh, not at all! These are very good!” said Nicholls.

“You do make an excellent tea as well, Mrs. Narracott,” Major Stewart complimented.

She beamed at them as she finished her drink. Then mum began to return everyone’s cups to the kitchen.

“Now that we’ve had tea, may I see the horse, please?” Nicholls asked.

The soldiers, your brother, and you all walked out to the field. Albert opened the stable door and out trotted the horse.

“Joeys got a brushin’ today! Shiny as a smile on a weddin’, he is!” Albert bragged.

“Leave him to Jim, here. He’s the expert!” Stewart said.

“Yes, I’d love to look at him!” Nicholls added.

Out to the small field, guarded by the stone fence. There Joey stood, eating grass and brushing his tail.

“Ah-here he is!” Albert pointed out.

He put his hands to his mouth and let out the owl call.

“Gentlemen-watch out!” you warned the soldiers. You put out an arm to keep them back.

Joey’s ears picked up. Thankfully he didn’t break into an overexcited gallop. Only a cheerful prance. Nicholls walked forward to the horse. He offered out a hand. You wondered if Joey’s head would buck or make a sudden reaction. He did none. He allowed Nicholls to pet his muzzle. He smiled as he studied the horse- his eyes and his shape.

“He’s an excellent fellow. Very fine!” Nicholls praised.

“Nowhere near Topthorn,” muttered Stewart.

He looked down at the horses’ feet and then the teeth. How touching to see such an excitable being would be calm in the presence of this man. Allowing for gentle pats without resistance.

“Does he ride?” Nicholls asked.

“Not yet- almost there. Got to teach him to plow, is all!” Albert explained.

Not is all. He had to. All bets were on this animal. If he failed, there would be no more of the home you knew for so long. You and your family would have to beg relatives to squeeze you in. Or beg on the streets…

“He’s going to make a fine plow horse we…we hope…” you finished.

The two men turned to you.

“Hope?” repeated Stewart.

You nodded. Tears welled in your eyelids.

“The Landlord says he’ll take the farm and horse too if Joey’s unable to plow the crops for our rent…excuse me…” you said, feeling the sadness overwhelm you.

You turned around, taking three steps away. You began wiping tears with your hand and sleeve. Then you looked up and saw Nicholls offering a handkerchief from his pocket.

“Here, Miss Narracott,” he said.

You accepted it and began to wipe it off. You turned back around. Albert let go of the reins to let Joey trot around.

“My sister was always the worrier-but she’ll be grinnin' and laughin' in no time! Why? Because Joey is perfectly able to! He’s almost there!” Albert declared.

Stewart folded his arms and looked up and down the horse.

“He definitely has the strength to. how is he doing?” he asked.

“Just won’t move, sir- just trots around the bottom field. Or stands. He doesn’t like the plow on ‘im, sir. But I noticed somethin’- he likes it when I imitate things! He ate oats after I’d pretend to eat ‘em!” Albert explained.

Both Nicholls and Stewart returned to the horse. Joey stopped to snack on some grass.

“If he won’t move, try a bit of the horsewhip. Just a light touch. It will keep him moving,” Nicholls advised Albert.

Stewart looked around.

“Where does he have to plow?” he asked.

“The bottom field,” you replied, pointing that way.

The four of you walked there. It was a long, large field with dead grass and filled with rocks. How pitiful and impossible it seemed to you. Stewart leaned down to the ground, inspecting the dirt.

“Don’t you think if there’s water, it’ll be better? Make mud, make the blade move!” Stewart suggested.

“Well-did you hear that, Albie! Those are good ideas!” you said.

Albert nodded.

“Will keep them in, sir!” he vowed.

“Well, we’ve overstayed our time! Should we start going back, Jim?” Stewart asked.

“Of course, we should!” Nicholls replied.

Stewart went back inside with Albert to say his goodbyes. But still outside, gazing at the rocky field, Nicholls turned to you.

“Don’t fret about it, Miss Narracott,” he said.

You returned his handkerchief, which he placed in his breast pocket.

“I’m so sorry for crying in front of you officers,” you mumbled.

“There is no need for shame, Miss. You’re in a frightening position,” he comforted.

“I’m afraid…we’ll lose our home, our life…” you added on.

“Joey is more than capable of plowing. He has the ability- Albert just has to train him in the right way. He must figure out what works.”

“I just think sometimes my life’s slipping away from me and I can’t do anything about it,” you confessed.

The chickens passed the front yard, clucking away. The wind whistled in your ears, cooling you from the sun.

“Do you know of any way you can help Albert?” Nicholls asked.

You blinked.

“I could…I could pick up on some of the chores Albie does. I can feed the chickens more and check on Joey’s stable for water and food. To buy him time to train. It isn’t much…” you sighed.

Nicholls smiled at you.

“It will make a difference. That will make you feel better. And in control.”

“Thank you, Captain…for the handkerchief, your words, everything,” you said.

Both of you began to walk back inside. The gentlemen put their caps back on their heads.

“When are Albert and Joey going to continue to try plowing?” Stewart asked.

“Tomorrow morning. Starting at dawn,” you answered.

“Then…by all means, if we can be there to help, we shall!” Nicholls promised. · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · You hurried from work back home. You had to see how plowing was going- you had to. But to your great surprise when there was a crowd of people already at your property. And normally you weren’t used to massive company on your lands! Men and women, rich and poor and between, old people and little children, all gathered to see the field. They leaned against the fence that protected the bottom field. They were watching the attempted plowing like a circus!

Albert was right there with Joey. He put on a mock plow like the one around his horse. Albert’s shirt was drenched with sweat. If they began at dawn, they must have been at it for hours by now. Joey was not motivated to run. The horse stopped. The crowd all began to gossip, stare, jeer, and cheer. Some were even taking bets among them, swapping prices for if the field got plowed or not.

“Come on…come on- the whip!” you urged.

Albert used a whip and that made Joey move. He trotted forward. The blade moved across the field. But it only dug a few inches. Not deep.

Then Joey stopped.

In the back, you saw dad and Lyons sitting on a rock, watching. Lyons turned to your father.

“I’ll give you a day to gather everything even, make the arrangements…” the landlord reasoned.

You scowled, but only gripped the fence tighter than say anything. Then you ran forward to the shed and retrieved a water can, still heavy with water.

Walking out to the field, you watered the ground before the blade. Then you turned to Albert and Joey.

“Here…it should help…Albie, cup your hand, you need it!” You offered.

You already smelt the stench of labor from your brother. He cupped his hand and drank. Cupping your own palm, you offered the water to Joey. You noticed the sweat on the horse’s coat too. He lapped his large tongue on your mouth. You couldn’t help but smile at the tickling sensation.

“I can keep pumping from the spout- just holler!” you offered.

You dumped the rest of the water in a path before the plow blade.

Looking around the crowd. You heard that most were cheering the two of them on.

“Go on, Albert! You can do it! Come on- you can do it!” they shouted.

When you looked in the group, sure enough, you saw Stewart. Nicholls was right beside him. Still in uniform from being on duty. Nicholls then turned to you.

“Miss! How are you- how was work?” he asked.

“Very boring compared to this! But look!” You pointed.

The blade sunk better into the ground you managed to water. It was a little, but better than nothing. You heard a couple of claps and whistles.

“Your ideas- they’re working!” you thanked Stewart.

As Albert brought on the whip. He cracked it a little harder. It made Joey trot forward for a minute. But he was still struggling- it was difficult, rocky land. You noticed this time the horse was struggling- he was using his strength to the weight of the plow. Perhaps it was too heavy for him in the first place!

“Oh, dear god, I cannot stand it!” you cried.

Your house, your future, everything was on this! Nicholls then looked at you.

“Then you know what to do- keep watering the ground, Miss Narracott!” he reasoned.

“But…”

“Consider this an order from a captain,” he added.

You nodded.

“Then yes, Captain Nicholls, I will…”

You then ran to the pump in the front yard. You put the can under the spout and began to pump out water. Your movements were quick and desperate. Your family’s life depended on it. Nearby was a bucket empty of chicken feed. You added it below and pumped water into it for good measure. You were grunting from the effort. You were sweating and the bottom of your work skirt was dirty- but did that matter at that moment? Dirt could wash off later.

“It’s heavy- here- would you like help?” Nicholls offered, walking up.

“Yes…I would- carry it out to the field and back, that’s all!” you pleaded.

“It’s my pleasure, Miss Narracott!"

He followed you out and both of you watered the ground near the blade of the plow. As you backed off, sure enough, Joey moved under Albert’s whip and the blade dug. Some dark clouds gathered above you. Many stopped squinting from the shade.

Then once it got to dryer ground, it was harder to go through. Joey struggled to move the plow, neighing with the effort. The crowd was beginning to disperse. There was a smirk on Lyons's face. How you wished you could strike him and wipe it off! You grabbed your skirts and frowned.

But as a few people walked away- some stayed. There was Si Easton and his son, Andrew- your closest neighbor and Albert’s oldest friend. A few optimistic locals. Lyons, David, their servant, and the motorcar. Stewart and Nicholls remained, their faces both white. Your feet screamed for you to sit after work, but you were frozen in place. Dad slumped as he sat on his rock. Mum ran out, her knitting still gripped in her hand. It felt as if your fate was sealed when…

There was a boom of thunder. You looked up. The dark clouds covered the sky. There was a first putter of drops. Lyons and his son fled to their motorcar for shelter. You looked at the two soldiers.

“I’ll fetch some umbrellas- we have two!” you suggested.

You ran and got them out, already your legs were tired from all the dashing about. You handed the umbrellas to them.

“Here, stand with us- where it’s dry,” Nicholls offered.

“Thank you,” you replied.

He held the umbrella and opened it. You were grateful for the shelter. Rain pelted from above against the umbrellas. You stood next to Nicholls as Stewart began to cup his hands to cheer.

It then hit you how close you both were to Nicholls. Too close for just a brushing of clothes. He could touch you with his bare hands. You felt warm and shaky and nervous. Your stomach burst into a hundred butterflies dallying about in your guts. You glanced at him as he looked at the field. How handsome his profile was- a triangular nose, thick lashes, pink lips. You could smell the sun from his uniform. Then you forced your eyes forward. You remained standing.

Stewart then shouted.

“COME ON, ALBERT! JOEY! NOW! Now while it’s wet! Look!”

Albert looked around. The ground was moistened by the rain. And movable.

With a determined shout, Albert gave the whip another crack. Joey broke into a gallop. You gasped-the blade cut through the ground like a knife cutting chocolate cake.

It was getting plowed properly. Joey kept running. Some shouted at him to avoid the bigger rocks. But they shouted in vain. The blade cut clean through the biggest rocks on the field!

The leaving crowd then returned. They whistled and broke into applause that rivaled the thunder. Men tossed their caps into the air and caught them. Joey kept running, Albert behind, cheering along. Dad was smiling- the biggest smile you had seen in ages. No one seemed to care about the rainstorm drenching them. Lyons pursed his lips beneath his red mustache. His servant held his umbrella once he left his motorcar, jaw hung low. Mum clutched her knitting to her heart and grinned.

You broke from the umbrella and ran to give her a hug. She hugged you back.

‘He…he did it…the bottom fields going to have crops! It’s getting plowed!” you cried.

“Oh, you helped them- that’s my girl and my boy- that’s both of you!”

“I’m so relieved, mum!”

“So am I!”

You ran to the rock, taking dad’s hands.

“It’s plowed! It’s plowed!” you cheered.

“It’s plowed! And I’ll need help seedin’ it! Might as well start after the storm!” he said, blinking as rain pelted him.

With a laugh, you hugged your father and kissed his cheek.

“I’ll help you dad- be glad to!”

Glancing back, you saw the soldiers smiling. They walked forward, offering shelter from the umbrellas.

“As I said- he’s a fine, strong horse,” Nicholls said.

“You were right Captain, thank you.” You replied.

“Then we’ll see you about. Give Albert our congrats,” Stewart said.

They returned the umbrellas, which you held with both hands. Nicholls smiled at you as he tipped his cap and left with the Major. Your mother returned to the fence to watch, clutching her knitting in one hand. She did not care for the wet strands of hair blowing in her face.

Lyons, his servant holding his umbrellas at his heels, approached her.

“I’d not let a child of mine slip in the mud alongside a plow blade. He could lose a foot!”

Mum turned to him. With the fury of an ancient goddess, she aimed the sharp knitting needles at Lyons. Both Lyons and the servant backed off. You couldn’t help but keep smiling.

“You’ll likelier lose an eye, Mr. Lyons, if you carry on prating at me how to manage my son! Or my family Or my plow or my horse or my field or my farm!”

She ran back to the gate. You opened one umbrella for both of you. But she kept, running out of the way of the shelter. Cheering on boy and horse.

“Come on Albie! Push on through!” she yelled.

You glanced back at Lyons from beneath the umbrellas.

“You will listen to her. She’ll do it.” You added on.

“I’ll say this- the Narracott men are stubborn fools, but at least the women have some sense in them- both of them,” Lyons replied.

He tipped his hat and smiled, still watching from his window as the motorcar drove off. You tried to keep your eyes on the field finally getting plowed at last. Though to how much he was looking at the field or looking at you, you’d rather not think about.

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smolvenger · 1 year

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Miss Narracott and The Captain, Part Three (Captain James Nicholls x fem! Reader Miniseries)

Summary: It is 1912-1914. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...

Link to Part One Link to Part Two

Fandom: War Horse

Chapter Word Count: 6K

Chapter Warnings: This is a light slow burn but nothing too intense. Fluffy moments, but some angst at the end. A brief bit of steamy stuff but no actual smut. Edwardian-era attitudes about sex, gender, and behavior. I lovingly rip off Little Women. Brief mentions of violence.

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: Comments, Reblogs, DMs, and Asks about my work are always appreciated! Thank you!

Autumn 1912

With the army stationed close, the new arrivals of men in uniform caused a stir. Considering that many of them were young and single, you and the other ladies in town were thrilled. You and your friends couldn’t help but notice and ogle them. Especially the handsome ones. How good it felt to indulge in the good, harmless giggling over attractive men!

At the shop, you worked with three other women close to your age- Mary, Ida, and Alice. After months of working together, the four of you grew in comradery. Sometimes, there would be an hour with no customers and no tasks. Then when a soldier or two passed by outside, one would alert the others.

“Come quick!” was the cry from Mary today.

The four of you would flock to the windows just to watch them. Today there were two. They were enjoying a cigarette. Though you had to look closely to see if one was the tall, lean gentleman with auburn hair and blue eyes. Or the gentlemen with high cheekbones and a dark mustache. To see if one would be Nicholls or Stewart. So far, you had not seen them at a calmer hour outside the shop.

Those men, you realized, were neither Nicholls nor Stewart even. But they were still handsome. One gentleman had red hair and the other had blonde hair. They chatted and smiled among themselves, ignorant of their admirers. Laughing as if in a joke. The four of you peeked from the edges of the window. As to not be obvious, of course!

" Which one is better- the redheaded one? Or the blonde?" asked Ida.

All of you case your verbal votes, bursting into more laughter

“I’ve singled it down to five I’d be content to marry just from this window!” Alice commented.

Part of your stomach curled. But you chose to ignore it. It’s not like Nicholls belonged to you! But why were you getting such…thoughts about that? Besides, there were obviously plenty of uniformed fish in the sea. You kept reminding yourself that. Ida's voice brought you back to the present.

"I’ve yet to even meet one!” Ida complained.

Pride swelled in your chest. The words came out of you. As if to show a small accomplishment among your peers.

“I’ve met two!” you blurted.

“Oh, Y/N! Two?” Alice asked.

They turned to you with big, curious eyes.

“Yes- Major Stewart and Captain Nicholls are their names. They were even at tea a few months ago!”

“You’re so lucky!” Alice sighed.

“I know one named Mr. Smith! The most handsome fellow I’ve seen. He has these dark curls that fit him so well@ And he was telling me all about how he dances back home-we need to have them dance!” Mary announced.

A new idea hit you as the four of you returned to look out the window.

“When will there be a dance again? I bet the officers are always at dances!” you questioned.

It had been a little while since you’d been to a dance. Not that you didn't want to go to them. It was Albert who would complain about them, but you loved them. But now with this job and your farm duties, you realized…you missed it. All that work left you too distracted and tired. The parties would slip by without your noticing. You missed going to dances. The thrill of dressing up in your nicest frocks, seeing your friends, sipping on lemonade, and having the chance to dance with dashing fellows. It wasn’t like the upper-class balls, but it was still something! You missed something you enjoyed so much. Something replaced by responsibility. Oh, how You would brave the later hours and your tired feet from work to be at one again right now!

“Ask around! Usually in the town hall when the older folks host one. Or check the newspapers!” Ida reasoned.

Alice looked up at you and then clutched your hand.

“We miss you, Y/N! You need to come to dances again!” she insisted.

“I’ll try if I can!” you replied.

“But Y/N, if you need to stay home and rest, I don’t blame you!” Mary said.

There were footsteps and the four of you shot up, away from the window. Mrs. Snow approached with her hands on her hips.

“Ladies! Don’t be so silly about soldiers you don’t notice when a customer arrives!” she scolded.

All of you returned to shelving products and standing at the counter, waiting for someone to come in. Dressed in Uniform or otherwise.

At the end of the day, you said your goodbyes and walked out. You went through the sloping sidewalks of town. Then to the outskirts where it broke into hills and fields. The grass grew long, and the trees were orange like they had a fire on top of them. Some leaves broke off to fly past you as you went home. You shivered beneath your wool scarf and thick, dark coat.

But as you walked up the slope and opened the gate to home, there was a sight in the bottom field that now made you smile.

With the entire field plowed, the turnips burst from the ground. So many it was like another sea. The crops here were in full fruition with the harvest. And the rent was getting paid. Somehow, some way, all would be well.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Saturday afternoon, you saw there was a knock on the door. You opened it and contained a gasp to see Captain Nicholls. He was dressed in a Norfolk jacket and held his sketchbook beneath one arm.

“Good afternoon, Miss Narracott! Is your family home? If not, then I’ll leave,” he said, taking off his cap.

“Oh, we’re here! Good to see you, Captain! You can come in!” Mum replied as she turned around from washing the dishes from the sink.

He bowed his head as he took a step inside- he was so tall he could have knocked his head into the doorframe! He looked about the inside of the stone house. So snug and lived in with potted flowers, embroidery, and kitchenware. He never scoffed at anything but admired them as if they were paintings.

“I hope I am disturbing nothing crucial!” he said.

“Why, nothing! Would you like some tea?” your mother asked.

“I would but I confess…there’s something else I’m here for…I’d like to draw Joey, please.” He asked.

“Why- draw!?” Mum questioned. She tilted her head, her eyes going to the sketchbook.

“Captain Nicholls is an exceptional artist, mum! I’ve seen a few of them!” you insisted.

He blushed and looked down.

“They’re nothing special But I have my hobbies, as much as anyone else!” he said.

“Why then- of course! Be sure to talk to Albert and make sure it’s all good with him!” she said.

She gestured out to the field. Nicholls got a chair from the kitchen As he walked outside, he went to the field where Joey was kept. Today Albert was brushing him off when he turned. He jumped seeing the captain and you walking just behind. The Captain sat the chair on the grass.

“Why-hello there, sir!” Albert cried out.

“May I have your permission to draw your horse, please?” he asked.

“Why-yes! Yes, of course, sir!” Albert spoke, fumbling with the brush in his hand. He turned his brown head back and forth, trying to decide where to go.

“No! You don’t have to stop brushing him! I can even draw that if you’d like!” Nicholls said.

“Let me start you some tea. There’s a chill in the air today,” you offered.

“That would be lovely, Miss Narracott,” he thanked.

But after you delivered the cup and saucer, he was already at it. He set the sketchbook up high, and you heard the scratch of his pencil. He smiled and thanked you for the drink.

“Don’t you have one? You should have one too, Miss,” he said.

“I will in a second, glad you still got your tea, sir."

Your voice halted at a thought.

Goodness! You remembered all the way back you promised him a welcome basket and never gave him one!

Your thoughts racing, you ran out and gathered whatever you could- a few spare chicken eggs in the basket, several apples from the tree (hoping they didn’t already have worms in them!), a couple of spare turnips, carrots, and the spare crops you could that was seasonal. From the ice box, you even added on a bottle of milk from one of the cows-one of the smaller ones yet to be sold, of course.

Though when you returned with the basket, Harold the Goose was back to bother everyone. He waddled up to Nicholls as he sat.

“Don’t you dare, Harold! Leave him alone!” you scolded the gander.

Harold waddled up. He bit the material of Nicholl’s pants and shook his head as he held it in his beak. Thankfully the pants were large enough that Harold got the cloth but not the leg. But Nicholls only looked down and laughed.

“It’s quite alright! I don’t mind it. He’s a good fellow.” He replied.

"He’s anything but! He likes to try and bite everyone!” you contradicted.

“Well, he’s fine as he is!” he said, raising a hand to assure you.

Taking a step closer, you saw him use an eraser to correct a line and then redraw it.

“Captain… how is it you draw?” you questioned.

“Would you like to see?” he asked.

“Yes!”

He gestured for you to stand beside him. He used his pencil to point out the lines and shapes. There was the scwhep, schwep sound of Albert brushing Joey.

“I observe him. I see his shape…and I draw an outline. “That’s what I like to focus on…shape and shadows,” Nicholls explained.

There was a crisp breeze that flew by. A few of the orange leaves from the tree fell and skittered across, crunching as they danced across the grass. Then he paused. He got up and returned with an extra chair.

“Would you like to have that tea and watch?” he offered.

You nodded. He then returned with a chair and cup for you.

He kept drawing. It was fascinating to watch as the pencil scratched across. You sipped at your cup and saucer watching the lines become a horse on paper. The black lines form the shape of Joey. His snout. He then carefully made shapes of the eyes and colored them in. Then he made the eyes and got right the diamond shape on Joey’s snout. You enjoyed his handsome profile. His bright eyes shone as he watched Joey trot around and eat grass. Flicking his tail on occasion. The Captain smiled at the animal; a smile that remained as his eyes lowered to the sketchbook. You heard the soft inhalation from his nose and the rhythmic scratch of the pen.

As he went down to replace his pencil with a new one in his pocket, it struck you that not a word passed between you two. And who knew how much time had passed? You only saw him drawing away. He smiled as he kept looking up and down. Then he used his new pencil for the long neck. Though Joey trotted and shook his head. Albert went to one end of the field and did the owl whistle. Joey then broke into a short gallop to the other end of the field. Despite the movement, Nicholls got the long neck and body of the horse.

“This is the one part that looks hard- the body…” you commented.

You sipped the last of your tea and got his saucer too.

“That’s why I like to draw the body in front of a real horse,” Nicholls replied.

As he lengthened the lines, he compared it to the model who walked to eat a new patch of grass. Then he went down. Indeed, the outline became correct in its likeness.

“Hey Y/N! Come give him a carrot! He likes it when you’re the one who gives it!” Albert called out.

You then got a carrot from the kitchen. You walked out to the field and held it up.

“Here Joey…here, boy…” you said.

Joey trotted forward. He didn’t refuse or buck away. And you didn’t have to turn back this time. Joey accepted the carrot, crunching on it. You offered your hand and gently petted his long nose. He didn’t buck away. But leaned to it. He even took a step closer for you to pet him more. As you looked into the horse’s dark eyes, you saw gentleness.

“See! He likes you, Y/N!” Albert said.

Even Nicholls smiled from his sketchbook. You then returned to admire the progress of the drawing.

Soon enough, it was a fine outline. But you had realized that a lot of time had indeed passed. The sun was about to dip and the sky became pinker. You wondered if one of your parents would scold you for avoiding your chores.

“I know I’m dull company, I am sorry if I wasted your time,” Nicholls apologized.

“Oh, don’t be!” you shook your head.

“I’m afraid I’ve overstayed. And I’m sorry- I should have asked your mother to be outside with us at least,” he apologized.

“No- I don’t…don’t think she minds!” you replied.

Albert took Joey by the reigns and paused before he returned the horse to his stable.

“I thank you again for both- the tea and the basket!” Nicholls replied.

He looped the basket around one of his handsome arms. The jacket did show the outline of a bicep and you tried not to stare or imagine things. Albert returned Joey back in. Even Nicholls couldn’t resist coming inside the stable to briefly pet his model and thank him.

The three of you walked through the garden to get to the front door. There again was the brown rabbit eating your flowers.

“Ol’Peter’s back for his own dinner!” cried Albert, pointing.

Even you couldn’t help chuckling. But Nicholls squinted.

“Peter?” Nicholls questioned.

The three of you stopped in your tracks. The rabbit continued to hop around. He stilled, his nose twitching.

“The rabbits here- Y/N loves them, you see…she doesn’t mind them eating her flowers, no sir!” explained Albert.

Turning over, you shrugged.

“I’d rather have rabbits here than some less pleasant creature! Besides…I rather like the idea I take care of them. They’re such cute little things, I think…” you added on.

He nodded. The three of you were still and quiet. Admiring the animal. You began to tread quietly as Nicholls said his goodbyes to your parents.

There was another “honk!” that stirred the rabbit. It began to hop away from the garden to escape under the fence door.

As you led your guest to the gate, Harold waddled out, wings wide. He went to Nicholls. The goose began to nip at Nicholls's pants and shake them again. But the Captain only smiled and laughed at him.

“I’m so sorry he’s so rude!” you apologized.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Geese have no concept of manners at all, Miss Narracott,” Nicholls replied.

The goose had a last shake. Once his beak let go, Nicholls tipped his hat as a goodbye and walked away. Albert waved him away as he walked down into town as the sun dipped down to an orange sky.

Whenever the weather was still nice, Nicholls would stop by for tea and to draw away. It was always on his days off or after duty. He would admire Joey. Sketching him or working on previous drawings of the horse. After work and in between chores, you had to go to check. Thankfully, your parents did not think it shocking for you to sit with him. While you were technically unchaperoned without your mother, Albert was present. Your parents were walking about with their own work, and you were in public in the open daylight. He would never tread in the house if you were going to be the only person inside.

Nicholls was also a gentleman. His large hands were only on the pencil and drawing, never inching to even the edge of your sleeve.

Winter, 1912

December finally arrived. Your family had to rely more on the animals than the crops. And Mum kept fussing at Dad for wanting to waste money on pub trips. Especially with Christmas coming up. Not that gift-giving to each other was ever grand. You were just planning on knitting and sewing things for your family, nothing more. Perhaps the odd little trinket from a few of your friends about town and the community or packages from your distant family. Those were things to look forward to.

It was even starting to snow. It piled up and around the house. Joey wore a blanket and the chickens and geese and cows remained in their stables too. It made you miss the presence of a gentleman who would sit outside to draw. But you didn’t want him to catch a cold either if he did show up.

As everyone gathered for church, all of you bundled up. Albert’s nose looked like a tomato. It was a week before Christmas, and all was astir. The little stone church was decorated with greenery and trees. People gossiped over potential gift ideas over organ music. The snow fell outside in white drifts to that blinking, bright morning. But before the service began, both Stewart and Nicholls approached you.

“Why, Happy Christmas Narracotts!” Stewart greeted.

“Happy Christmas!” Dad replied.

“Why- where will the soldiers be having their dinners?” Mum asked curiously.

“We’re all traveling home until after New Year's. We’ll be back then but…Jim here has gifts for you. All of you!” Stewart announced.

You felt your eyes get big.

“Really? Christmas gifts for us?”

Nicholls stepped forward.

“It’s not much, but it’s something!” he said.

From his arms, he handed four small boxes to each of you.

“Major Stewart where are your gifts?” you asked.

“None, I’m afraid. I wish I had half the talent James has in his little finger. You’ll have to settle for cards,” Stewart replied.

“Cards will be fine,” you replied.

But you looked down at the small, green box done up in gold ribbon. Then you looked at the Captain.

“Thank you, Happy Christmas.”

“I hope you like it when you open it, Miss. Consider it as thanks to all of you,” Nicholls responded.

Christmas Day arrived with the clinging of the bells from town. When all of you opened Nicholl’s presents that morning, it struck all of you that he had given each of you a drawing.

“Oh! How thoughtful! What a fellow!” Mum cried in delight.

For Albert, there was a completed drawing of Joey eating a bowl of oats. For Mum, it was some of the potted flowers in bloom next to a teacup. For Dad, it was Harold the Goose nipping at someone's pant leg.

And as for your drawing, it was of the little rabbit next to one of your flowers. So sweet and lifelike, you could almost stroke its fur on the page. You kept it in your room. You put a nail on the wall so you could always look up and see it.

Spring 1913

The days got warmer despite the chilled mornings. Mr. Lyons, his son, and his posse were back to collect the rent as usual, on the 15th of every month. Mum fixed him a cup of tea as the landlord plopped onto the chair. Somehow, there managed to be enough paper bills of money that suited him, many of which came from your job.

Dad looked him in the eye as Lyons recounted the bills with his thumb. You and Albert just stood up to watch. Despite the intensity of the situation, you knew there was enough. There’d be no threats. There shouldn’t be.

“You’re doing better. But I hope no new horses have caught your eye!” Lyons said.

“Of course not, sir,” your father replied.

“Good. And you will keep this up, will you not?” he asked.

“Course sir,” your father responded.

Lyons then turned over and looked at you. He broke into a smile. You folded your hands before you, but you felt Albert watching, his eyes darting.

“And how are you, Miss Narracott?” Lyons asked, turning to you.

“I am well and good, thank you.”

“I hear you work with Mrs. Snow at the shop. A year already! They speak well of you there,” he conversed.

“Then I am only glad to do my job well and honestly, sir,” you replied.

“That is well, quite well indeed…” he chatted.

Lyons looked out the window. He got out, squinting his eyes.

“Is that a rabbit eating the flowers?” Lyons asked.

You turned your head out. Indeed, there was a rabbit out in the flower garden again.

“Yes,” you confirmed.

Lyons shook his head, his sneer matched that of his son.

“The little vermin...Try and shoot it- make it your supper!” he scoffed.

“They don’t usually eat the vegetables- we shoo them off if they get in there. Only the flowers! They’re harmless!” you insisted, turning towards him.

“That’s only encouraging them. For me, I don’t tolerate the beasts in my grounds!” Lyons replied.

You frowned as he tipped his hat.

“But Miss, I do hope you stay well. And that I see you and your family in church Sunday.”

“Thank you, goodbye,” you said coolly.

Lyons, David, and his posse got into the motorcar and drove off. Albert gave you a small look. You only went out to the garden to make sure the plants and flowers were watered. Staring at the rabbit as he hopped about his business. At least the fresh air, sunshine, flowers, and the sounds of wildlife could wash you of his words. You could only stare blankly at the plants-not watering, tending, or planting any. As Albert approached you, you turned to him.

"You don't need to say anythin', I saw him with you..." Albert comforted.

"He...he means it..." you whispered.

From the look on your face, Albert brought you into a hug.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Captain Nicholls was back soon enough to resume drawing. He wanted to try to get Joey into a gallop. Conveniently, Albert said Joey was finally now able to ride people.

“He rides now! Rides splendid! And so fast, sir! Especially with me!" Albert boasted.

“Then- why not a drawing of you on him as he gallops! Or maybe just you on him!” Nicholls suggested.

You heard their voices echo from outside. You had to scrub the floors during that hour. As you bent down, making sure each bit of the floor was clean, you couldn’t resist trying to poke your head to see. You heard the patter of Joey’s hooves and neighing outside. Once it was half done, you took a break to go outside to them. You finished one last spot and then dipped the sponge into the bucket.

As you went outside and approached Nicholls on his chair, you saw he was getting the outline of Joey’s body.

“Hello, Captain,” you said.

“Good afternoon, Miss,” he greeted.

“Could I see some of your other drawings, please?” you asked.

He turned his head and blinked at you.

“Please think nothing of it! I was only curious! And if you need to finish that one, then-”

“It’s alright! I'll show you! Give me a moment to find one…”

He flipped to the page before.

“Here- there’s Jaimie. The Major," he introduced.

You looked and saw the likeliness of Major Stewart on the page. You caught how Nicholls got the cheekbones and structure of Stewart’s angular face and the squinting, small eyes.

“It’s about perfect. Like he’s here!” you replied.

“I hoped so! Here- here’s one of my mother I made..." Nicholls continued.

He flipped to the page before that one. You saw a graceful woman’s face. She was a true English Rose no matter what some might say about her age. She had a high forehead and almond-shaped eyes. Her hair was done up into curls maintained by pins. She had a smile on her face. The smile that would offer you a cake if you were crying.

“She’s a beautiful lady…and she looks like she is a kind one, too,” you replied.

“She definitely is both! I wished every day to be more like her when I was young! Here’s one of a tree here in Devon. It burst into flowers this month. I saw it while on patrol. I had to try and get it drawn…” he continued.

He turned a page and there was a tree full of apple blossoms. They burst into blooms all over. The small delicacies of the petals connected to its center were exact. Yet Nicholls captured the leaves growing on the tree in between with decided pointiness. It was as if you could smell it if you tipped your nose to the paper.

“That one is beautiful too!” you cried.

“Plants and animals can be quite easier to get than humans. So, I used to start with those!” he responded.

The sound of a neigh brought you back to attention. Looking up, you saw Joey trotting about as Albert rode him. The horse then went out the open door of the gate to walk around. Albert touched the branches of trees from atop his horse. The leaves rustled above.

“I never had anyone ask about my little drawings...” Nicholls commented.

“But they’re lovely! You should share them more often,” you praised.

“Sometimes I fear if I speak too much about it, my colleagues shall think less of me.”

Your mother’s words echoed back to you. The conversation was almost a year ago.

“Should it…matter what they think? If you like drawing, you like drawing.”

“It’s unexpected. It is my job, Miss Narracott, to be a man of action and honor. Not an artist. I doubt I could survive on selling them alone,” he justified.

“I didn’t say you had to sell them. You can enjoy things, even if they’re things not every soldier does…”

“With my position, I lead groups of men. I do not wish the soldiers I look after to think less of me,” he explained.

“Does Stewart think less of you? He knows about your drawings…” you asked.

There was a slight cool breeze. The chickens clucked and a few wandered to explore the horse grounds. Harold even waddled up to look, though this time he was uninterested in nipping clothes.

“I only…feel like I must be a man for them and something like this...they could mock me...” Nicholls confessed.

“Don’t be ashamed of yourself, Captain. Don’t be ashamed of what makes you happy…” you comforted.

“I will keep that in mind. Thank you, Miss Narracott,” he answered.

He smiled at you, and you felt as if firecrackers lit up inside you. So giddy, so close to him. Your fingers inch away. Your fingers could brush but you dared not. It then struck you that you were staring at him, and embarrassment flooded you. What would it be like to touch that hand? As you looked at his profile, you wondered what it would be like to embrace, and look into his eyes when he kissed, or if his hands wandered. If they undid your buttons. If you lay down on the field-any field, any floor. If you felt him crawl over you. If you lifted your skirt and...

Your body felt hot and your tongue felt heavy in your mouth.

“I…I need to finish scrubbing the floors, excuse me,” you dismissed. Timidity and shame overwhelming you.

He tucked his head in as you walked straight back inside. Scrubbing with more ferocity than ever.

Summer 1913

“Tavistock fair tomorrow! I bet Joey’s going to win- he has to!” Albert announced at dinner.

“It would be nice if he won a prize,” you said.

“Prize or no prize, he’s still our Joey, that’s what,” Dad replied.

Taking a sip of water, all of you sat together in that dark kitchen. Finishing the last of your chicken, you and Mum began to pick up the dishes.

“Well, it does make a difference if there’s prize money!” Mum added, putting them in the sink.

After cleaning the plates, you walked upstairs. It was wise to pick an outfit for the fair. It was a large event and perhaps everyone and their mother would be there! You selected a light, white dress. Perfect for the summer heat while still looking as elegant as you could afford to. A straw hat with a pretty ribbon around it to give you shade.

Now what was missing was gloves. As you pulled out a drawer and looked through, you noticed something odd. You usually liked to wash all your gloves at once. Better to keep track of pairs.

But one of your gloves- cream-colored, nice for going out and about on a day you weren’t working- was missing. There was only one. But no pair next to it, like you liked to set it.

You knocked on Albert’s door. He opened it, still in his overalls and shirt with the smell of the day's work on him.

“Albert- you haven’t had any funny business with my gloves, have you?” you asked, putting an arm akimbo.

“Why no!”

“I still haven’t forgotten the time you took my doll outside without asking and dropped her in the mud!” you recalled.

“And I haven’t forgotten the times you pushed me off my sled in the snow!” he argued back.

Both of you laughed suddenly at his response. Breaking off and relaxing.

“I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to sound cross. But…one of my gloves is missing. The cream one- did you take it?” you asked.

“No, I didn’t! I swear! And I wouldn’t know where it is!” he answered.

Taking a lit lantern for light, you then walked over to the laundry room. You looked over the baskets. Scouring through every item of clothing you could see. Your mum walked in.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Mum, have you been doing laundry? Did you wash my gloves?” you asked.

“No, I didn’t,” she said.

You looked and looked. Then you rechecked every spot. Sure enough, there were no gloves. And you didn’t find it in your room or the next morning either. You would just have to settle for another pair to wear. Maybe if you saved up a little of your wages, you could buy a new pair to replace them. Perhaps they were at Mrs. Snow’s shop, or they got lost outside.

All of you gathered in a cart and headed off, but Albert preferred to ride Joey. He smiled all the way through, though he kept his brushes and everything to make sure the horse looked as nice as he could.

The Tavistock, or Devon Goose Fair, was packed with people. Not caring that the September heat was still around them. There was loud music and the chatter of people. Fried food wafted under everyone’s noses. There were more goods and souvenirs than you could hope for. But you and your family hoped to sell some produce, of course, but also to win prizes for your animals. Especially the neighing, spirited star of your farm.

The Narracott station was set up and Joey was off to the horse show. You recognized many people around. You said hellos to Ida, Mary, and Alice as they went about. Of course, there were plenty of uniformed men out and about for all of you to giggle after and meet.

“Oh! I did meet Stewart! He sure is handsome! And so’s his friend!” Mary said.

“Stewart and Nicholls? Where are they?” you asked.

Mary pointed over there but then a sight froze you in your tracks.

Though once you got to the fair, you did see him. And this time there was another woman. A beautiful blonde woman who wore a lovely dress the color of a ruby that probably cost twice the one you had on. Her waist was as small as your neck. And wearing shoes and ribbons and jewelry that must cost the farm’s rent. And she was talking to him. And smiling. He was smiling too. You couldn’t make out the words, but she was speaking boldly. Her thick, dark eyelashes batted like a butterfly. She flirted as subtly as a train. Yes, this might not be encouraged for a lady to flirt. But she had money. She could do whatever she wanted because she had the protection of her family’s bank account. Nicholls smiled small and politely. He nodded and listened to her as she spoke, but he kept his attention on her.

A feeling hit your gut like none before. You didn’t want to watch it. You had to force yourself away. Before Nicholls could turn his head up to see you, you turned away and went right back to your family’s station without a word.

It made you hate yourself. Hate your own body that wasn’t hers, your hair that wasn’t hers, your skin and dress that wasn’t your skin and dress. That her family wasn’t your family. That her wealth wasn’t your wealth. You hated that you weren’t her.

Pure hatred hit you. It washed into you. It made you lose your taste for the food or the noises and music. You wanted to scream. You wanted to throw something until it shattered. You wanted her to be shoved off a cliff!

But why…why…it wasn’t like…like Captain Nicholls and you were….were…were a couple. No. It wasn’t like you were engaged or even lovers meeting in the dead of night. He was in no way yours. You shouldn’t feel entitled to him.

One guest who went up was Mr. Lyons with his son.

“Why- Ms. Narracott! Good to see you and your family. It’s not too busy here, I ask?”

“It’s not,” you replied.

Your family, from the shade of the tent, looked at each other. He turned to your mother.

“Mrs. Narracott, I’d like to take your daughter on a walk around the fairgrounds. Could you accompany us?” he asked.

A small look was shared between your parents.

“Why…uhm, yes. Yes, I can. Let David tag along too-it’d be a break from all this selling,” she replied, though you noted a tone of hesitancy in her voice.

You walked up to be by Lyons’ side as your mother kept her pace to be on your other side. David was behind, picking his teeth with a toothpick. As you walked, Lyons kept chatting. The man kept discussing his new car, his job, what suits he saw, what he thought of each bit of the fair, and other topics so boring it was everything in you to keep smiling and nodding your head. Any attempts at listening halted at a flash of red. You saw a glimpse of that blonde girl in red still talking with Captain Nicholls and Major Stewart was there too.

You were tempted to take off one of your hatpins and stab the girl in her porcelain face. You did not and only grip your skirt, swallowing. Your mind far from any attempts at conversation. It was mostly your mother and Lyons doing the talking.

Just say it…just admit the truth, Y/N…you like him. You’re infatuated with him, with James Nicholls. Who wouldn’t be? You thought.

You would not let your jealousy get the best of you. You would not let it turn you to do something cruel and harsh. Weren’t Cinderella’s stepsisters jealous of her? Because they were less beautiful and knew? You would not turn into cruelty…It only hurt to see the man you realized was your Prince with a Cinderella…and not you. Nicholls would only see you as the nice girl who lived on the farm with the horse he drew and nothing more.

Besides, there would be plenty of other soldiers, you thought. Stewart is a nice young gentleman too and not too unfortunate looking. She’ll pick one, not two of them and even if…there will be others, you tried to comfort yourself. And Lyons liked you.

And no doubt, it was Lyons himself who took your glove in the first place! There was concrete proof! Then at least, you would attain what many women dreamed of, including you- a well-off man taking interest in you. A future secured.

But it was only in the privacy of your bedroom that you found yourself crying into your pillow. Crying over Nicholls and the girl.

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