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rainbowfic2021-02-26 02:46 pm
thisbluespirit) wrote in rainbowfic2021-02-26 02:46 pm
Acanthus #19 [Divide & Rule]
This story also completes Acanthus.
Name: Trusty and True
Story: Divide & Rule/Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Acanthus #19 (nail)
Supplies and Styles: Seedbeads
Word Count: 717
Rating: PG
Warnings: references to character death.
Notes: 1924, 1943, 1962. Nancy Long/Isabel Andrews, Edward Iveson.
Summary: Nancy remains; she keeps everything in place.
***
1924
Nancy drives the last nail in on her side of the treehouse they’re building, and passes the hammer to Ned. He’s not looking at her again, head down as he hits the first nail – and again, and again, denting the wood.
“Ned,” says Nancy, shifting over. “Stop it. We’re trying to make a den, not kill the tree.”
Her cousin won’t raise his head. “I don’t care.”
“It’s not like it’s really Mr Taylor,” says Nancy, who isn’t keen on metaphors. “It’s only a nail and if you break this plank, I don’t know where we’ll get another one.” She scowls, willing him to cheer up. If he cries or has another row with her, she doesn’t know what she’ll do. She’s sad, too, that Uncle John died and Aunt Elizabeth married the vile Mr Taylor, but she’s already reached the limits of her very practical sympathy – letting him go off alone if he must, lending him books, and sometimes leaving toffees in his room and insisting they must have been his all along. She doesn’t do the soppy stuff.
Ned screws up his face and swallows. He looks up. “Yes, sorry,” he says, and Nancy recognises the effort he’s putting into trying to sound normal, even if it isn’t convincing.
“Good,” she says. “Now the next one and if you spoil anything, I’ll push you out of the tree.”
She’s pleased to see a spark of annoyance in his eyes. “I won’t. Stop being such a know-it-all.”
“Oh, dear, yes,” says Nancy. “Silly me. I forgot. That’s your job!”
1943
Nancy’s fallen for far too many people far too heavily who weren’t worth her time. “You’ve liked worse people,” Ned said to her of Marjorie, and he wasn’t wrong. Marjorie was fine, that was true, but still Nancy had had to bury that dream one stormy night, with Ned to get her through the wake. The others, though – remembering makes her grimace. Does she have terrible judgment? Growing weak at the knees at the sight of false idols and hanging on anyway, in case there’ll be no more chances. Is that how it’s always going to be?
No, she tells herself. It’s not like that this time. Isabel is different.
It’s another alarming thought, because it’s not just a line. Isabel is different. She comes from outside of Nancy’s usual circles; she doesn’t really know the rules of how this goes. Maybe it’ll be a far more painful disaster than any of the others.
Nancy contemplates burying this possibility of love now, nailing it alive in its coffin to save time and hurt later.
“Damn it, woman,” she says to her own reflection in the mirror. “None of that.”
She’s never worried this much before, either. Perhaps it really is going to be different.
Time to find out.
1962
Nancy walks along the seven stone steps of the garden path to the iron front gate. The path is getting overgrown again. She’ll have to do the weeding. Isabel usually does it, but she tends to let things slide when she’s in the last third of a novel.
At the gate, Nancy grips it and gazes down the road, as if what she’s looking for will come walking along it. It’s a fine day, but she closes her eyes and her head lowers. Everything’s all right for once, everyone’s fine, and then it all goes wrong again, doesn’t it? No matter how smooth the way ahead looks, there are always tin tacks scattered about to puncture that bubble.
Now the world’s falling apart, and they’ve got Mr Hallam to rule them all. Amy is in Canada with Matthew and the boys, and that’s as well, but Nancy misses her sister. Ned is dead – Nancy tries not to think about again – and no matter how hard she stares into horizon, Julia and Emily never come back.
Isabel’s all right, and Nancy’s all right, and that’ll have to do. She takes comfort as well in that fact that nobody’s road is free of difficulties, and there’ll be plenty of people waiting to cast nails in the way of Mr Hallam, too.
Nancy turns away from the gate and goes in search of gloves. Better to get on with weeding than with weeping, that’s all she knows.
***
Name: Trusty and True
Story: Divide & Rule/Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Acanthus #19 (nail)
Supplies and Styles: Seedbeads
Word Count: 717
Rating: PG
Warnings: references to character death.
Notes: 1924, 1943, 1962. Nancy Long/Isabel Andrews, Edward Iveson.
Summary: Nancy remains; she keeps everything in place.
***
1924
Nancy drives the last nail in on her side of the treehouse they’re building, and passes the hammer to Ned. He’s not looking at her again, head down as he hits the first nail – and again, and again, denting the wood.
“Ned,” says Nancy, shifting over. “Stop it. We’re trying to make a den, not kill the tree.”
Her cousin won’t raise his head. “I don’t care.”
“It’s not like it’s really Mr Taylor,” says Nancy, who isn’t keen on metaphors. “It’s only a nail and if you break this plank, I don’t know where we’ll get another one.” She scowls, willing him to cheer up. If he cries or has another row with her, she doesn’t know what she’ll do. She’s sad, too, that Uncle John died and Aunt Elizabeth married the vile Mr Taylor, but she’s already reached the limits of her very practical sympathy – letting him go off alone if he must, lending him books, and sometimes leaving toffees in his room and insisting they must have been his all along. She doesn’t do the soppy stuff.
Ned screws up his face and swallows. He looks up. “Yes, sorry,” he says, and Nancy recognises the effort he’s putting into trying to sound normal, even if it isn’t convincing.
“Good,” she says. “Now the next one and if you spoil anything, I’ll push you out of the tree.”
She’s pleased to see a spark of annoyance in his eyes. “I won’t. Stop being such a know-it-all.”
“Oh, dear, yes,” says Nancy. “Silly me. I forgot. That’s your job!”
1943
Nancy’s fallen for far too many people far too heavily who weren’t worth her time. “You’ve liked worse people,” Ned said to her of Marjorie, and he wasn’t wrong. Marjorie was fine, that was true, but still Nancy had had to bury that dream one stormy night, with Ned to get her through the wake. The others, though – remembering makes her grimace. Does she have terrible judgment? Growing weak at the knees at the sight of false idols and hanging on anyway, in case there’ll be no more chances. Is that how it’s always going to be?
No, she tells herself. It’s not like that this time. Isabel is different.
It’s another alarming thought, because it’s not just a line. Isabel is different. She comes from outside of Nancy’s usual circles; she doesn’t really know the rules of how this goes. Maybe it’ll be a far more painful disaster than any of the others.
Nancy contemplates burying this possibility of love now, nailing it alive in its coffin to save time and hurt later.
“Damn it, woman,” she says to her own reflection in the mirror. “None of that.”
She’s never worried this much before, either. Perhaps it really is going to be different.
Time to find out.
1962
Nancy walks along the seven stone steps of the garden path to the iron front gate. The path is getting overgrown again. She’ll have to do the weeding. Isabel usually does it, but she tends to let things slide when she’s in the last third of a novel.
At the gate, Nancy grips it and gazes down the road, as if what she’s looking for will come walking along it. It’s a fine day, but she closes her eyes and her head lowers. Everything’s all right for once, everyone’s fine, and then it all goes wrong again, doesn’t it? No matter how smooth the way ahead looks, there are always tin tacks scattered about to puncture that bubble.
Now the world’s falling apart, and they’ve got Mr Hallam to rule them all. Amy is in Canada with Matthew and the boys, and that’s as well, but Nancy misses her sister. Ned is dead – Nancy tries not to think about again – and no matter how hard she stares into horizon, Julia and Emily never come back.
Isabel’s all right, and Nancy’s all right, and that’ll have to do. She takes comfort as well in that fact that nobody’s road is free of difficulties, and there’ll be plenty of people waiting to cast nails in the way of Mr Hallam, too.
Nancy turns away from the gate and goes in search of gloves. Better to get on with weeding than with weeping, that’s all she knows.
***
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