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rainbowfic2020-02-26 05:54 pm
thisbluespirit) wrote in rainbowfic2020-02-26 05:54 pm
Entry tags:
Acanthus #2 [Divide & Rule]
Name: Foundation Stones
Story: Divide & Rule/Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Acanthus #2 (stone)
Supplies and Styles: Canvas
Word Count: 955
Rating: PG.
Warnings: Grief/loss, mentions of Imperialism in passing.
Notes: 1889, 1912, 1924; John Iveson, Nell Iveson, Jack Iveson, Elizabeth Carter Long. (John Iveson here is Edward’s father; Jack Iveson, therefore Edward’s paternal grandfather.)
Summary: The Iveson family and its fortunes are built on stone. It’s a hard thing to try and get away from.
***
1889
Father doesn’t care. That’s the thing that makes it worse; the stone wall he keeps beating himself up against. John cares, and so does his sister Nell. They wander about the suddenly empty house like pale, fair ghosts swathed in black. At the funeral, they cling to each other.
Father, though, might as truly be made of stone as any wall. He doesn’t say a thing about it and puts everything of Mother’s away in a box and glares when they try to talk about her.
“Where’s the list?” Nell says, kneeling at his trunk, as Mother would have done. She lifts her head. “John, you’re going back to school next week. I need the list!”
John sits beside her. “I don’t think I shall go.”
“Oh, Johnny,” she says, and sighs, and he turns his head away. Thirteen is much too old for childish disobedience and homesickness. But he’s afraid once he goes, that’s when it truly is over, and Mother is utterly gone, as if giving into Father’s pretence that she never existed.
They look at each other.
“I’ll find the list,” he says, if with reluctance.
Nell smiles. “You’ll have to go anyway, you know. So you might as well have everything you need as not.”
“When I grow up,” says John, standing and clenching his fists. “I’ll never be like him. Never.”
Nell hesitates for a long moment and then catches at her hand. “Don’t hate Father, please, darling. You don’t understand. He doesn’t mean it. He just doesn’t know any other way to be.”
1912
John makes his living an act of rebellion, and it takes him years to understand that it’s something built on his Father’s foundations; that what he does is something only Jack Iveson’s son could do. It starts out as a way of showing Father that he isn’t ever going to be the heartless businessman he is. He takes Father’s money, looks out for a failing business that he sees promise in, and takes it on, turns it around, or changes its direction by a few degrees, switching products or management, and sells it on. He has to be careful – business is always a chancy affair – but he has an instinct for these things. He doesn’t question where he got that from, either.
Worse, as rebellion’s go, it’s a failure. Father doesn’t see it that way. All Father ever has for John is praise for his success and pertinent criticism for his failures, and then carries on as always, damn him.
John, working through the accounts of his current project, pushes the thought of Father aside, only looking up from his calculations when the door behind him opens and Elizabeth walks in.
“John,” she says, hands clasped together in front of her, “there’s something I must tell you.”
He pushes his chair aside to stand, and stretches out a hand to her, giving a smile. “You’re always welcome, my dear.”
“Thank you,” she says, stiffening, her first reaction to his easy affection always a kind of severity before she relaxes again. Then she takes his hand and returns his smile, hers tighter, uneven. “It is good news, or so I trust you’ll agree.”
John inclines his head to one side, waiting. “I’m sure I will. Well?”
Elizabeth stares at him, and then over at the window and back again, and fails to speak.
“Whatever it is,” he says, laughing, “you will have to tell me. I’ve never been any use at reading minds. Or guessing games, for that matter.”
Elizabeth leans forward, putting her hand on his arm, and says, “I’m, well, I’m increasing.”
He nearly says, increasing what? before he understands, and also fast on the heels of that, that’s he’s going to have to think about fatherhood in a new way from now on.
1921
So much changes so swiftly; one unexpected stone in his path that causes a stumble and then a fall. The war barely touched him, not in danger for himself at any rate – as a captain of industry, however minor, he was expected – asked – to remain where he was. But now, this latest venture of his, coming out to salvage a business in East Africa, turns out to almost be the end of him.
John sits up in a hospital in Kampala, strong enough now to draft a letter home to Elizabeth and to Ned, and rues ever leaving the country. He’ll recover fully, he’s told, and he’s thankful, but this isn’t over yet: it’s a very long way home again, and though the doctor here is cheerful, he’s warned him that one of the risks with malaria is the way it can recur.
He thinks of Mother, of Nell, and of Father, and curses himself for the slightest chance that he might risk breaking his own family in the same way. It’s not as if he needs to prove anything more to Father these days. Why does he still try?
Thinking of which, he pulls out his last letter from Father and reads it over again, smoothing out the folds from its place in his breast pocket. It’s brisk and businesslike, much as ever, although there’s a welcome paragraph on Ned’s latest visit that John lingers over, but the effort in forming the letters is evident in their imprint on the paper where the pen has been pressed too hard; the familiar old hand less energetic than it used to be. It speaks in itself of things that have never been in Father’s power to say.
John leans back as he folds it closed again. He thinks perhaps Nell was right about Father, all those years ago; it’s just taken him this long to admit it.
***
Story: Divide & Rule/Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Acanthus #2 (stone)
Supplies and Styles: Canvas
Word Count: 955
Rating: PG.
Warnings: Grief/loss, mentions of Imperialism in passing.
Notes: 1889, 1912, 1924; John Iveson, Nell Iveson, Jack Iveson, Elizabeth Carter Long. (John Iveson here is Edward’s father; Jack Iveson, therefore Edward’s paternal grandfather.)
Summary: The Iveson family and its fortunes are built on stone. It’s a hard thing to try and get away from.
***
1889
Father doesn’t care. That’s the thing that makes it worse; the stone wall he keeps beating himself up against. John cares, and so does his sister Nell. They wander about the suddenly empty house like pale, fair ghosts swathed in black. At the funeral, they cling to each other.
Father, though, might as truly be made of stone as any wall. He doesn’t say a thing about it and puts everything of Mother’s away in a box and glares when they try to talk about her.
“Where’s the list?” Nell says, kneeling at his trunk, as Mother would have done. She lifts her head. “John, you’re going back to school next week. I need the list!”
John sits beside her. “I don’t think I shall go.”
“Oh, Johnny,” she says, and sighs, and he turns his head away. Thirteen is much too old for childish disobedience and homesickness. But he’s afraid once he goes, that’s when it truly is over, and Mother is utterly gone, as if giving into Father’s pretence that she never existed.
They look at each other.
“I’ll find the list,” he says, if with reluctance.
Nell smiles. “You’ll have to go anyway, you know. So you might as well have everything you need as not.”
“When I grow up,” says John, standing and clenching his fists. “I’ll never be like him. Never.”
Nell hesitates for a long moment and then catches at her hand. “Don’t hate Father, please, darling. You don’t understand. He doesn’t mean it. He just doesn’t know any other way to be.”
1912
John makes his living an act of rebellion, and it takes him years to understand that it’s something built on his Father’s foundations; that what he does is something only Jack Iveson’s son could do. It starts out as a way of showing Father that he isn’t ever going to be the heartless businessman he is. He takes Father’s money, looks out for a failing business that he sees promise in, and takes it on, turns it around, or changes its direction by a few degrees, switching products or management, and sells it on. He has to be careful – business is always a chancy affair – but he has an instinct for these things. He doesn’t question where he got that from, either.
Worse, as rebellion’s go, it’s a failure. Father doesn’t see it that way. All Father ever has for John is praise for his success and pertinent criticism for his failures, and then carries on as always, damn him.
John, working through the accounts of his current project, pushes the thought of Father aside, only looking up from his calculations when the door behind him opens and Elizabeth walks in.
“John,” she says, hands clasped together in front of her, “there’s something I must tell you.”
He pushes his chair aside to stand, and stretches out a hand to her, giving a smile. “You’re always welcome, my dear.”
“Thank you,” she says, stiffening, her first reaction to his easy affection always a kind of severity before she relaxes again. Then she takes his hand and returns his smile, hers tighter, uneven. “It is good news, or so I trust you’ll agree.”
John inclines his head to one side, waiting. “I’m sure I will. Well?”
Elizabeth stares at him, and then over at the window and back again, and fails to speak.
“Whatever it is,” he says, laughing, “you will have to tell me. I’ve never been any use at reading minds. Or guessing games, for that matter.”
Elizabeth leans forward, putting her hand on his arm, and says, “I’m, well, I’m increasing.”
He nearly says, increasing what? before he understands, and also fast on the heels of that, that’s he’s going to have to think about fatherhood in a new way from now on.
1921
So much changes so swiftly; one unexpected stone in his path that causes a stumble and then a fall. The war barely touched him, not in danger for himself at any rate – as a captain of industry, however minor, he was expected – asked – to remain where he was. But now, this latest venture of his, coming out to salvage a business in East Africa, turns out to almost be the end of him.
John sits up in a hospital in Kampala, strong enough now to draft a letter home to Elizabeth and to Ned, and rues ever leaving the country. He’ll recover fully, he’s told, and he’s thankful, but this isn’t over yet: it’s a very long way home again, and though the doctor here is cheerful, he’s warned him that one of the risks with malaria is the way it can recur.
He thinks of Mother, of Nell, and of Father, and curses himself for the slightest chance that he might risk breaking his own family in the same way. It’s not as if he needs to prove anything more to Father these days. Why does he still try?
Thinking of which, he pulls out his last letter from Father and reads it over again, smoothing out the folds from its place in his breast pocket. It’s brisk and businesslike, much as ever, although there’s a welcome paragraph on Ned’s latest visit that John lingers over, but the effort in forming the letters is evident in their imprint on the paper where the pen has been pressed too hard; the familiar old hand less energetic than it used to be. It speaks in itself of things that have never been in Father’s power to say.
John leans back as he folds it closed again. He thinks perhaps Nell was right about Father, all those years ago; it’s just taken him this long to admit it.
***