In Which Ashlee Protects Her Son, Pete Grows A Spine, And They Both Finally Get A Happy Ending
The fire was the most terrifying thing Ashlee had ever experienced. Their little house was spared the worst, though the ash and the soot in the air made every breath a struggle. She made a tent out of the linens, dragged their meagre supplies in under it, and sealed herself in with her son, hoping that the extra fabric would save them from the worst of the dust in the air.
Even so, every lungful was an agony, and she grew worried as her son’s eyes reddened and his cough deepened. She was loathed to leave him alone, even for a minute, but they needed water.
She staggered downstairs and out into hell. Down the street, she heard men shouting, a distant wail, someone crying. The sky was poached red, like the clouds were bleeding. Ash felt terror clench her gut, and she all but ran, dragging the heavy bucket after her, to the well.
There was a layer of dust on the surface. She tipped it off into the mud and decanted the rest into her bucket, slopping a little on her legs in her haste to get back inside.
She paused on the landing, and looked up, but she hadn’t heard a sound from her neighbors since the first bells had run, announcing the impending horror. Besides, after all she had said to them, they probably wouldn’t welcome her concern.
She kicked open the door and dragged the bucket inside.
* * *
The first sounds of fists hammering at the warped wood of her door jerked her out of the doze she had fallen into. Checking first to see her son was still asleep, Ash crept out of their little tent, coughing as she inched up to the door. “Who is it?” she called as loudly as she dared.
“Ash!” a familiar, welcome voice called, almost shrill with panic.
Her eyes widened as she fumbled with the locks. “Pete!” she gasped, almost throwing herself into his arms. “What are you...?”
“Are you okay?” he cut her off, hands gentle on her cheeks as he studied her face. “And our boy..?”
She felt almost giddy with the relief of seeing him again. “We’re both okay. Scared, but okay.”
Pete’s face hardened. “Right. Fetch him.”
“Pete?” she asked. She’d heard that voice before, usually right before he did something bold and outrageous and right.
He looked her right in the eye. “You’re coming home.”
* * *
Ashlee had kept the documents. She had told Pete it was so none of the maids could stumble across it as they cleaned; she had sat at that table, knew what incorrigable gossips they were. But the truth was, she wanted them with her so she could unfold them and look at them whenever she started to doubt that they were truly man and wife, and that she had a husband who would protect her.
He promised. She had to believe him.
Pete had proposed the day she had realized she was gravid with child; Ashlee had tried to point out what a foolish idea it was -- it would threaten his inheritance, his family, everything, if it was known he had wed a Simpson daughter, and a pregnant one besides. The gossips would have a field day, they’d be shunned everywhere they went.
But Pete had insisted, and Ashlee had never been able to tell him no.
She held onto them with one hand, the other tightly gripping her son’s, as she sits in the parlour she used to help dust and listens to Pete argue with his father through the closed door.
* * *
The air was like glass, the first time she sat at the family table upstairs. She focused on settling their son, smiling as she caught Pete beaming at her like she hung the moon.
She had survived everything life had thrown at her. With Pete smiling like that, she could survive this too.
She straightened in her chair, turned to Lord Wentz, smiled prettily, and struck up a conversation.
* * *
Head’s turned as they strolled down the promenade, arm in arm, their little boy chasing leaves as they fell to the ground. “Were you and Father talking business last night again,” Pete asked as he stroked the back of her hand. They were softer now, no longer red from washing sheets and doing sewing to make ends meet. “He seemed rather enamored by an idea of yours to extend his interests in the South.”
Ashlee shrugged, smiling indulgently at him. “I merely made a few suggestions, my love.”
Pete grinned. “I think my Father is grooming you to take over the family interests,” he said, but he didn’t seem offended at the idea. “Oh well, I was always better at organizing parties than mergers, anyway.”
“We do make quite a team,” she told him loftily.
They paused on a low footbridge, leaning against the railing to take in the view across the park. “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, honestly. “That it took us so long to get here.”
Ashlee was already shaking her head. “Hush, my love,” she said fondly, laying a finger across his lips. “Never say sorry.”
Even so, every lungful was an agony, and she grew worried as her son’s eyes reddened and his cough deepened. She was loathed to leave him alone, even for a minute, but they needed water.
She staggered downstairs and out into hell. Down the street, she heard men shouting, a distant wail, someone crying. The sky was poached red, like the clouds were bleeding. Ash felt terror clench her gut, and she all but ran, dragging the heavy bucket after her, to the well.
There was a layer of dust on the surface. She tipped it off into the mud and decanted the rest into her bucket, slopping a little on her legs in her haste to get back inside.
She paused on the landing, and looked up, but she hadn’t heard a sound from her neighbors since the first bells had run, announcing the impending horror. Besides, after all she had said to them, they probably wouldn’t welcome her concern.
She kicked open the door and dragged the bucket inside.
* * *
The first sounds of fists hammering at the warped wood of her door jerked her out of the doze she had fallen into. Checking first to see her son was still asleep, Ash crept out of their little tent, coughing as she inched up to the door. “Who is it?” she called as loudly as she dared.
“Ash!” a familiar, welcome voice called, almost shrill with panic.
Her eyes widened as she fumbled with the locks. “Pete!” she gasped, almost throwing herself into his arms. “What are you...?”
“Are you okay?” he cut her off, hands gentle on her cheeks as he studied her face. “And our boy..?”
She felt almost giddy with the relief of seeing him again. “We’re both okay. Scared, but okay.”
Pete’s face hardened. “Right. Fetch him.”
“Pete?” she asked. She’d heard that voice before, usually right before he did something bold and outrageous and right.
He looked her right in the eye. “You’re coming home.”
* * *
Ashlee had kept the documents. She had told Pete it was so none of the maids could stumble across it as they cleaned; she had sat at that table, knew what incorrigable gossips they were. But the truth was, she wanted them with her so she could unfold them and look at them whenever she started to doubt that they were truly man and wife, and that she had a husband who would protect her.
He promised. She had to believe him.
Pete had proposed the day she had realized she was gravid with child; Ashlee had tried to point out what a foolish idea it was -- it would threaten his inheritance, his family, everything, if it was known he had wed a Simpson daughter, and a pregnant one besides. The gossips would have a field day, they’d be shunned everywhere they went.
But Pete had insisted, and Ashlee had never been able to tell him no.
She held onto them with one hand, the other tightly gripping her son’s, as she sits in the parlour she used to help dust and listens to Pete argue with his father through the closed door.
* * *
The air was like glass, the first time she sat at the family table upstairs. She focused on settling their son, smiling as she caught Pete beaming at her like she hung the moon.
She had survived everything life had thrown at her. With Pete smiling like that, she could survive this too.
She straightened in her chair, turned to Lord Wentz, smiled prettily, and struck up a conversation.
* * *
Head’s turned as they strolled down the promenade, arm in arm, their little boy chasing leaves as they fell to the ground. “Were you and Father talking business last night again,” Pete asked as he stroked the back of her hand. They were softer now, no longer red from washing sheets and doing sewing to make ends meet. “He seemed rather enamored by an idea of yours to extend his interests in the South.”
Ashlee shrugged, smiling indulgently at him. “I merely made a few suggestions, my love.”
Pete grinned. “I think my Father is grooming you to take over the family interests,” he said, but he didn’t seem offended at the idea. “Oh well, I was always better at organizing parties than mergers, anyway.”
“We do make quite a team,” she told him loftily.
They paused on a low footbridge, leaning against the railing to take in the view across the park. “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, honestly. “That it took us so long to get here.”
Ashlee was already shaking her head. “Hush, my love,” she said fondly, laying a finger across his lips. “Never say sorry.”