stalwart sons
For Coming Out of the WIP Closet Day/wip_amnesty: I scrounged around in my drafts folders, but all the popslash bits I've either already cannibalized for something else, or just can't bear to admit defeat on yet. So instead, here's one of the last due South drafts I started, right before the dancing boys rolled their juggernaut into my head.
Last modified: 12/3/00 2:09 PM
This bunny was meant to be a dS-ified remake of an Alice Munro story. The real "How I Met My Husband" was published in her collection Something I've Been Meaning To Tell You in 1974. At first I was all excited about all the parallels that could be drawn between Edie and Chris and Fraser and Ray, but then I got worried about lifting too much too directly from Munro. And though playing with the formality of Fraser's voice was one of the things I really liked in due South, and it felt even more necessary here to try to differentiate this version of the story from the original in Edie's vernacular, I also wound up feeling dissatisfied with the extreme stiffness this fell into, especially in the ending paragraphs. Still, I do still have some fondness for this as part of my mental wrestling with the question of what a post-CotW future could really look like. So, for what it's worth:
How I Met My Husband
Before Ray and I set out to find the Hand of Franklin, I calculated the length of time we could allow ourselves for the outbound journey, based on the amounts of our provisions as well as the leave period each of us had been granted; and once we reached this limit, I reluctantly informed Ray that it was time to turn back. He paused a moment, spoon in hand, before answering.
"Tomorrow, huh?"
"I'm afraid so, yes."
"Well. I was startin' to figure we wouldn't make it all the way there."
"Not on this journey, Ray, our time being so limited. But perhaps we can make another attempt later."
"Yeah, sure," he said, and that was all. He had become somewhat more economical of words during our trip -- a laudable response to the need to conserve energy, and one which I myself have adopted more and more in recent years, though at the time I found I rather missed the flow of his usual banter.
That evening I deliberately stayed awake so that I could look at him lying next to me, at the lines of his face. His breath came and went easily, and his sleep seemed untroubled. I thought about the way we had lived in Chicago, and about the way we lived here. Difficult as it had been for me, while growing up, to picture city life, it must have been utterly impossible for Ray to imagine what the Northwest Territories were like until he came here. Now at least, I hoped, he would take an understanding of my home back with him.
When I woke the next morning, Ray was already up and nowhere to be seen around the camp. His bedroll was empty except for his stocking cap lying half-hidden in a fold of blanket. It was a well-made fabric, light and warm, and bluish-green in color. On an impulse I reached for it and tried it on, pulling it down over my ears. I wished I had something at hand that would show my reflection.
Then I heard a laugh behind me. I started and pulled the cap off my head.
"That's a good look for ya, Frase," Ray said. "Gettin' dressed up to go somewhere?"
"As a matter of fact, we do have quite a bit of ground to cover today," I said stiffly.
"Yeah," he said. "I'll go get some snow to melt for breakfast."
(...)
Our return trip was relatively uneventful. Ray had become quite proficient with the dogsled, which allowed for a more even distribution of driving and riding time between us. The weather remained clear -- a fluke which I have not seen repeated in any winter since then -- and we made good time all the way back to Yellowknife?. From there Ray would take a succession of planes back to Chicago.
When we arrived in town, we were greeted with news of Stella Kowalski's departure to Florida with Ray Vecchio.
(...)
I thought about what might have happened if the temperatures had dropped to record lows while we were camping. We would have had to share a bedroll; it wouldn't be my fault. I had read about men who approached each other for the purpose. I didn't do anything like that; just lay and wondered.
(...)
he said "Oh, no," and got up and dipped his hand in the ice bucket, scrubbing briefly over his face and then flicking some of the water at me. "Cool your jets, partner."
Ray sat down next to me again and put an arm around my shoulders. "What I'm gonna do, see," he said in a conspiratorial tone, "when I'm back in Chicago, I'm gonna write you a letter. I'll tell you all about everything that's happened, and everything that's going on."
I nodded.
"And maybe, once I'm settled again, you could, y'know, come visit me. Sometime. If you want."
I nodded again, then cleared my throat. "I'd like that very much, Ray."
"Okay then. So, you wait, and I'll let you know, right? When it's time. All right?"
"All right," I said, and suddenly found myself able to return his smile.
"You should, you should go get some sleep, now," Ray said after a moment. "Long day, and all."
"You're right, Ray." I stood up. "Good night."
He stood up as well and pressed a last kiss on my mouth. Then I left.
It was almost a relief to be alone in my own room then, with time to consider all that had taken place.
(...)
I put all that out of my mind and concentrated on waiting for Ray's letter. I went into town every Saturday and stopped by the store, which was also the post office, to see if it had arrived. I forgot all about the tangle with Muldoon and about Stella Kowalski and the misery she had caused and Ray Vecchio and his chilliness. Though I knew it was foolish, I couldn't help smiling to myself every time I went in, and continued smiling even after the storekeeper told me nothing had come for me that week. The storekeeper was a young man, shy, but good humored. I asked his name one day, and he was pleased by that, and always glad to see me. "That's the smile I've been waiting to see!" he would call when I came in.
It didn't cross my mind for a long time that a letter might not come.
I stopped going into town every week then and began spending more and more time out on patrol. I only went to the store when I needed to buy supplies. The time for foolishness was past. I realized there was more satisfaction to be gained by devoting myself to my responsibilities, which would at least be a productive occupation, than by allowing myself to be so wasteful again. Although there might be opportunities I would lose, the prudent course was still preferable.
I was surprised when the storekeeper arrived at my cabin one evening to visit me. He asked if I would like to go with him to the next town, where a well-known movie was playing. So I agreed, and we continued to see each other for two years, and he asked me to marry him. It took approximately another year to make the arrangements, and then we did marry in a private ceremony. He is very fond of telling our friends the story of how I pursued him by coming into the store every week to check for mail, and of course I smile and let him, because it would be ungenerous to disabuse him of a notion that brings him so much pleasure.
Last modified: 12/3/00 2:09 PM
This bunny was meant to be a dS-ified remake of an Alice Munro story. The real "How I Met My Husband" was published in her collection Something I've Been Meaning To Tell You in 1974. At first I was all excited about all the parallels that could be drawn between Edie and Chris and Fraser and Ray, but then I got worried about lifting too much too directly from Munro. And though playing with the formality of Fraser's voice was one of the things I really liked in due South, and it felt even more necessary here to try to differentiate this version of the story from the original in Edie's vernacular, I also wound up feeling dissatisfied with the extreme stiffness this fell into, especially in the ending paragraphs. Still, I do still have some fondness for this as part of my mental wrestling with the question of what a post-CotW future could really look like. So, for what it's worth:
How I Met My Husband
Before Ray and I set out to find the Hand of Franklin, I calculated the length of time we could allow ourselves for the outbound journey, based on the amounts of our provisions as well as the leave period each of us had been granted; and once we reached this limit, I reluctantly informed Ray that it was time to turn back. He paused a moment, spoon in hand, before answering.
"Tomorrow, huh?"
"I'm afraid so, yes."
"Well. I was startin' to figure we wouldn't make it all the way there."
"Not on this journey, Ray, our time being so limited. But perhaps we can make another attempt later."
"Yeah, sure," he said, and that was all. He had become somewhat more economical of words during our trip -- a laudable response to the need to conserve energy, and one which I myself have adopted more and more in recent years, though at the time I found I rather missed the flow of his usual banter.
That evening I deliberately stayed awake so that I could look at him lying next to me, at the lines of his face. His breath came and went easily, and his sleep seemed untroubled. I thought about the way we had lived in Chicago, and about the way we lived here. Difficult as it had been for me, while growing up, to picture city life, it must have been utterly impossible for Ray to imagine what the Northwest Territories were like until he came here. Now at least, I hoped, he would take an understanding of my home back with him.
When I woke the next morning, Ray was already up and nowhere to be seen around the camp. His bedroll was empty except for his stocking cap lying half-hidden in a fold of blanket. It was a well-made fabric, light and warm, and bluish-green in color. On an impulse I reached for it and tried it on, pulling it down over my ears. I wished I had something at hand that would show my reflection.
Then I heard a laugh behind me. I started and pulled the cap off my head.
"That's a good look for ya, Frase," Ray said. "Gettin' dressed up to go somewhere?"
"As a matter of fact, we do have quite a bit of ground to cover today," I said stiffly.
"Yeah," he said. "I'll go get some snow to melt for breakfast."
(...)
Our return trip was relatively uneventful. Ray had become quite proficient with the dogsled, which allowed for a more even distribution of driving and riding time between us. The weather remained clear -- a fluke which I have not seen repeated in any winter since then -- and we made good time all the way back to Yellowknife?. From there Ray would take a succession of planes back to Chicago.
When we arrived in town, we were greeted with news of Stella Kowalski's departure to Florida with Ray Vecchio.
(...)
I thought about what might have happened if the temperatures had dropped to record lows while we were camping. We would have had to share a bedroll; it wouldn't be my fault. I had read about men who approached each other for the purpose. I didn't do anything like that; just lay and wondered.
(...)
he said "Oh, no," and got up and dipped his hand in the ice bucket, scrubbing briefly over his face and then flicking some of the water at me. "Cool your jets, partner."
Ray sat down next to me again and put an arm around my shoulders. "What I'm gonna do, see," he said in a conspiratorial tone, "when I'm back in Chicago, I'm gonna write you a letter. I'll tell you all about everything that's happened, and everything that's going on."
I nodded.
"And maybe, once I'm settled again, you could, y'know, come visit me. Sometime. If you want."
I nodded again, then cleared my throat. "I'd like that very much, Ray."
"Okay then. So, you wait, and I'll let you know, right? When it's time. All right?"
"All right," I said, and suddenly found myself able to return his smile.
"You should, you should go get some sleep, now," Ray said after a moment. "Long day, and all."
"You're right, Ray." I stood up. "Good night."
He stood up as well and pressed a last kiss on my mouth. Then I left.
It was almost a relief to be alone in my own room then, with time to consider all that had taken place.
(...)
I put all that out of my mind and concentrated on waiting for Ray's letter. I went into town every Saturday and stopped by the store, which was also the post office, to see if it had arrived. I forgot all about the tangle with Muldoon and about Stella Kowalski and the misery she had caused and Ray Vecchio and his chilliness. Though I knew it was foolish, I couldn't help smiling to myself every time I went in, and continued smiling even after the storekeeper told me nothing had come for me that week. The storekeeper was a young man, shy, but good humored. I asked his name one day, and he was pleased by that, and always glad to see me. "That's the smile I've been waiting to see!" he would call when I came in.
It didn't cross my mind for a long time that a letter might not come.
I stopped going into town every week then and began spending more and more time out on patrol. I only went to the store when I needed to buy supplies. The time for foolishness was past. I realized there was more satisfaction to be gained by devoting myself to my responsibilities, which would at least be a productive occupation, than by allowing myself to be so wasteful again. Although there might be opportunities I would lose, the prudent course was still preferable.
I was surprised when the storekeeper arrived at my cabin one evening to visit me. He asked if I would like to go with him to the next town, where a well-known movie was playing. So I agreed, and we continued to see each other for two years, and he asked me to marry him. It took approximately another year to make the arrangements, and then we did marry in a private ceremony. He is very fond of telling our friends the story of how I pursued him by coming into the store every week to check for mail, and of course I smile and let him, because it would be ungenerous to disabuse him of a notion that brings him so much pleasure.