#even though what I need is the resolution and security of a stable friendship | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

everlarkficexchange · 4 years

Text

Unmasked ~ Finale

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

Rating: E (Explicit) This fic will contain consensual sexual content; mild language; discussions of injuries, illness, and amputations in a historical setting; discussions of miscarriage; discussions of minor character suicide; references to non consensual sexual situations; minor character death.

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery.

Please enjoy the thirty-first, and final, full chapter of this adventure. In the name of tying up storylines, it ran a little long. Please forgive me for that. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~ Chapter 31 ~~

With those words, any hope I had been holding onto that Madge felt she could trust me with her heart’s secrets dies. I had been waiting for a confession and instead she announces her engagement.

“Marry…Mr. Hawthorne?” I choke out and Madge’s smile slips from her face.

“I… I thought you had warmed to him some.”

“A little, but…marriage?” I shout and Madge sighs.

“Yes, marriage. Can you not be happy for me, as I was for you?”

“But… why?” I ask and attempt to order my thoughts. “You hardly know him. He is an ass!”

“No worse than many a man of this world and certainly not near as bad as the Earl.”

“That is not exactly a glowing recommendation.”

“Katniss, please. He is a gentleman of fine family and good fortune. Perhaps a bit rough in manner but nothing that cannot be polished. I thought you two had developed a sort of intellectual banter that might lead to friendship. And… and I cannot continue to be a burden to you.”

“But you are no burden!” I protest.

“Not yet, perhaps, but it is inevitable. The longer I stay here, the more likely it becomes that I will cause you problems.”

“You do not love him!” I sputter and she gives me a wry look.

“And you did not love Peeta when you married him. Look at how well that turned out. It all depends on what the parties expect going into the marriage, and there are many advantages to our union. There’s no reason why I can’t be happily married to Gale.”

“Gale? Now he’s Gale?” My heart clenches in my breast and I know I squeeze her hands too rough as she tries to remove them from my grasp.

“Well I am to marry him.”

“What about Johanna? You would discard her so easily?” I ask, and Madge jumps back from me.

“What has Johanna to do with this?” She hisses the words, her eyes narrowing. “Why would a stable hand have any bearing on my marriage prospects?”

“Because you love that stable hand!”

“Even if I did, it would be impossible to do anything about it.”

“We can find a way—“ Madge’s bitter laugh stops me and she finally manages to free her hands from my grasp.

“Oh Katniss, you have no idea what you’re talking about. Stick to farming and not judging my choices again. Some of us haven’t the luxury of a picturesque happy ever after, so forgive me for grasping at the closest I can get!”

She spins about and leaves me gaping in confusion and heartache.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“He is a canting knave! A scoundrel of the worst sort!” I rant as I pace the floor and Peeta makes futile attempts at calming me enough to sit. Now that I have unleashed a few of my grievances, they all come tumbling out. “How dare he! Presuming to know anything about me or my home or my family, instructing me on how things should be as though I were a wayward school girl and not a woman grown. Acting as though he already owns Everdeen. I have poured my blood, my sweat, my tears, my very soul into this earth! And here this jackanape strolls in, telling me that all my problems might be solved if I had married him, all while he is maneuvering my dearest friend into a marriage she does not want! How can she? And now… now he’ll have both Willow Park and Everdeen, the bastard!”

“And who are you to give him that name when it belongs to me?” Peeta asks and I scowl at him.

“You are my husband, my love. I am endeavoring to not insult you anymore by not calling you that name.”

“Mmmm, but on your lips, that word has become almost an endearment to me.” He manages to grasp hold of me then, and wraps me in his arms, entangles me so that I’ve no choice but to sink onto his lap. No choice and yet I do not want one. There is nowhere else I would rather be, as a sense of calm and clarity washes over me as we settle together in the intimate posture.

“Are you jealous, husband? At my calling Mr. Hawthorne that term?”

“Not yet,” he whispers and rubs the tips of our noses together. “Should you still be thinking of him, even if it is to curse him, later this evening when my mouth is between your thighs…then I might be jealous. Until then…”

He trails off and kisses me, and I am powerless and without motivation to stop it. I nearly laugh at the thought of how much I love kissing my husband. Should it be so? This happiness and harmony of mind and body and heart with another being? I am lost in it before I can so much as take a breath.

Until I remember that Madge will once again find herself in a marriage without such joy as this.

“You are distracting me from my worries,” I manage to say when he shifts to kiss along my cheeks.

“Is it effective?”

“Not yet,” I tease. “Perhaps you should skip straight to your mouth between my thighs.”

His smile is beautiful as he stops and brushes back my hair. I sigh and shift beneath his scrutiny, unable yet to allow myself to be completely distracted from my quarrel with Madge.

“You did not see her face. She looked as though she might be sick. She cannot be happy with this.”

“It cannot all be a disaster. I cannot imagine Madge entering a union without good reason. She’s not desperate. Perhaps it was your anger she feared, more than her nuptials. She knows how much reason you have to dislike him, to distrust him. She knows he is to inherit Everdeen, and how would it look, her marrying him so quickly and gaining her closest friend’s home in the bargain.”

“She would not. I cannot believe Madge capable of such greed. She already has Willow Park.”

“Neither can I believe it of her, but Katniss, there must be a reason for this. You know it. I think Madge may be more aware of what she is doing than you are giving her credit.”

“How?”

“I do not know. It is only an intuition right now. I’ve no proof. We will simply need to be patient.”

He is right. I can feel that he is. I’ve only let my fears and my anger run away with me, but Peeta, as always, provides the steadiness I need to aim my thoughts and feelings in the right direction. There is, in my memory, the tickling of a conversation. Madge’s desire to see Willow Park restored, as a home of her own perhaps. This I can understand, and Mr. Hawthorne is wealthy enough to see the deed done. Is it possible, then, that Madge simply conducted her own fortune hunting expedition? If so, she was much more expedient about it than I was. And how can I judge her for doing the same as me, for attempting to secure a future and a home for her and Maysilee? I cannot. I rest my head on Peeta’s shoulder, heavy with my own thoughts.

“You think I was too harsh with Madge.” I state it because I think I was too harsh with her, and so Peeta should think it as well.

“I think you should ask her what her reasons are. Without shouting at her.”

“I did not…” I start to protest and then stop, guilt threatening to choke the words right from my throat. “Alright, perhaps I did shout a little.”

He hums in agreement, his lips distracting me as he kisses my neck.

“I will speak with her again. Calmly this time.” There is still hope to sway her. She and Mr. Hawthorne did not announce their engagement today. Until it is officially announced, I am not certain I can believe she will go through with it. There is nothing that I can do about it tonight. “Oh very well…distract me if you must.”

Peeta laughs then helps me stand and together, we hurry to our bed.

After, as I lay across his naked form, wrapped in his arms with the heat of his chest warming my back, his hands caressing idly over my form, a divine sort of content making my limbs heavy and sleepy, he kisses my temple and speaks once more.

“He is right about one thing, you know.”

“Who?” I ask, watching Peeta’s fingers follow the swell of our growing child.

“Gale Hawthorne.” I stiffen in his embrace and yet Peeta continues. “Had you married him instead, Everdeen would be yours without question.”

“Would you rather I had? Married him instead of you?”

“Are you fishing for compliments, wife?” he asks and I turn to scowl at him.

“No, I think that you are.”

His smile is still bright but something wavers in his eyes before he swallows and whispers to me. “You know I would not wish that for the world. Katniss, my love. I never dreamt I could be so happy with anyone as I am with you.”

I feel myself melt towards him and he lifts one hand to turn my chin towards him.

“I love you. Beyond life and reason.” A kiss and a soft sigh. “But he is right.”

“No. He is wrong. Everdeen would be mine, but…It is as you said the other night. It is pleasant to think you and I would have found our way here anyways, no matter the circumstances, but the odds of that happening differently… Such a thing is not a certainty. No, I do not wish I had met him before you, nor certainly not that I married him. For then, I would have missed out on something far more precious to me than even Everdeen.”

Peeta’s eyes widen at that and I turn to kiss him more fully, that he might taste the certainty in my lips as well as hear it in my words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Madge remains resolute. Even as I make attempts to speak with her, she withdraws from me. An announcement is made and congratulations are offered. Plans are made.

The clergyman’s cottage remains mostly intact on Willow Park. A few repairs should bring the dwelling up to a standard suitable for a couple to live in comfortably while the repairs are being conducted on the manor itself. Mr. Hawthorne does not intend to stay in the area between now and their nuptials.

“I have pressing business to attend in other parts of Panem. It would be unseemly to travel with my fiancée unchaperoned.”

Mother extends the invitation to Madge to stay with us, but she declines. Within days of the announcement, Madge has hired a housekeeper and a groundsman, a married couple, to live on the premises with her and Maysilee. Shortly after Mr. Hawthorne and his party departs, Madge and Maysilee move out of Everdeen.

Perhaps one good thing to come out of their engagement is that with the family resuming residence at Willow Park, Madge will be able to hire a new cleric, offering a second option and saving the village from the necessity of attending Father Crane’s sermons. Hopefully Madge can find someone with a more open mind and less slimy arrogance.

Peeta departs for Capitol, although he is reluctant to do so. I insist that he go as planned, to sit his exams. When he leaves, he once again urges me to speak with Madge, to visit her in her new home. I know that I should. I should not let such a vital and long friendship die soundlessly. And yet I cannot bring myself to order the cart. Madge has made it clear that for whatever reason, I am not welcome. I cannot fathom how it is that I managed to fail her so abominably.

With him and Madge both gone, I bury myself in work. A field destroyed by what appears to have been a herd of rabbits provides a timely distraction. Miranda’s education often takes a decent amount of my time and we read voraciously through one book after another. She begins to read to me, in a slow halting voice that follows my finger beneath the words on the page. I walk long hours across the hills of Everdeen. I prepare for the arrival of our child. The plants continue to grow. The rains continue to fall and the sun shines in its turn. I often find myself contemplating the moon and wondering if Madge and Peeta are doing the same.

Johanna is no more talkative on the matter than me. The one time I attempt to speak with her about it, she insists she has no desire to stick her nose into the business of the Quality. I have a hard time believing that, but she will not be moved to speak.

One morning, I lift my hand to knock on Miranda’s door, to ask her if she would like to help me in the gardens. The sounds of quiet cries startle me. I gently push the door open and peer through the crack. There are books spread across the floor and a rag doll with cornsilk hair sitting in a chair at the table, a cup of tea and a biscuit in front of it. Miranda is splayed across the bed, crying into Odysseus’ fur.

I shut the door and finally allow a few tears of my own to fall. Then I order the cart prepared.

“Miranda…would you like to go and see Maysilee for tea?” I ask through the door when I return, the cart waiting for us. My words are met with a great crashing of noise. She flings open the door, her eyes puffy and red and hopeful.

“Today?”

“Right this instant,” I tell her.

I feel more wretched with every step the horses take towards Willow Park. With every excited, breathless word that leaves Miranda’s mouth, I find myself drowning in a veritable flood of verbiage, after so many months of her silence. It is more damning than Madge’s distance and more painful than Peeta’s gentle encouragement. The proof that I have neglected my daughter, the way my mother once did to me, as my father lay ill and unresponsive. Oh the things that silence and neglect drove me to do last year.

Work is progressing on the rebuilding of the manor, the area has been cleared, cellars dug and the foundations begin to take shape. Miranda points out the changes as I drive us to the cottage.

“Miranda! Aunt Katniss!” Maysilee shouts as she runs full tilt from the gardens surrounding the cottage. Dirt stains her pinafore and she clings to Mud the cat. When did she begin referring to me as an aunt? I’ve no idea and it splits my broken heart further open.

Our daughters embrace at the gate as I carefully climb down from the cart. It is a trick with no mounting stone and no one to assist me. I stumble and manage to grasp hold of something solid to keep from planting my face in the dirt. Madge exits the cottage just in time to witness my near disgrace.

“Katniss,” she says, holding a hand over her eyes to shield her face from the sun as she wears no bonnet.

“I hope we are not intruding. Miranda has been missing Maysilee.”

“Oh,” Madge says with a nod. “Will you…stay for tea then?”

The invitation is issued and tea is served in a sunny front room where we can watch our girls play through the window. The woman Madge hired bustles about, setting out the tray and then leaves us in silence. Only the ticking of the clock and the sounds of girls at play break the strain. I do not even know how to begin, for I do not even know how I failed her.

“Peeta is in Capitol as I understand? For his exams?”

“Yes,” I say, unable to hide the confusion on my face.

“Primrose writes to me, and visits on occasion.”

“Oh.” More guilt. My sister has been a better friend to Madge than I have.

“I think she is hoping for bits of news of Rory and hope from me that she cannot glean from his letters,” Madge says simply and I smile, the feeling forced. “How is it going then…for Peeta?”

“Very well,” I say. The words feel like ash on my tongue and I cannot reconcile the sudden sorrow I feel with the happiness of the news I impart.

No, I know the reason. We speak now as two strangers, rather than the best of friends. What happened to us? Gale Hawthorne happened to us. Anger and resentment unfurls in my breast at how deeply he impacts my life, even when not present.

“I am glad to hear it. Hopefully he will return to you soon. I know how you must miss him.”

“Madge,” I say and she turns her head to look out the window.

“And your parents? How do they fare?”

“Well enough. Madge… are we to avoid speaking of it?”

“I do not know what more I can say on the matter. I am marrying Gale Hawthorne in less than a month. I hope my dear friend will be there to congratulate me.”

“How am I to congratulate you when I am not convinced of your happiness?”

She snaps her eyes shut and breathes out through her teeth. “Katniss…there is more to happiness than love. We cannot all afford to have your romantic sentimentalities.”

“But–”

“Please trust me on this. I cannot…I cannot be open yet. There is more than my secrets at stake here.”

I stare at her, and while her answer tells me nothing, I do feel something. Some measure of relief in knowing that Peeta somehow understood it before I did. That Madge does indeed have some reason for her hasty engagement to Mr. Hawthorne, for marrying him at all.

She sighs and reaches for me, withdrawing her hand before she touches me and instead fiddling with her hair.

“You took me in after years of silence, with no questions asked, and you’ve no idea how much that means to me. I am asking you now to let me go with no questions and trusting that I know what I am doing.”

Her request hurts, but how could I possibly refuse. I manage only a nod of agreement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peeta returns home, tired but successful. The professors of the medical college are pleased with his progress and excited to continue his training. They claim that his inclusion in such an early class of students will be a boon to the science of medicine as he brings a unique perspective.

“I am proud of you,” I murmur that night as we lay in our bed, my cumbersome form a nuisance and a barrier keeping me from kissing him the way that I want to, keeping Peeta from loving me the way that I want him to.

Although I can tell he is aroused, he rebuffs my advances. “We do not want to risk sending you into early labor,” he insists as he restrains my wandering hands.

“The sooner this child is born, the better,” I complain and he laughs, kisses each of my cheeks and then my nose.

“There’s a recovery period after, my love. Somewhere between one and two months, depending on the difficulty of the birth.”

“Two months!” I shout and he laughs. “You will love me for a week straight after the two months, husband.”

“I wouldn’t dare, wife,” he says and kisses me soundly on the mouth before extinguishing the light. “You would exhaust me.”

“You would enjoy it,” I quip and he chuckles softly against my neck.

But despite the levity that I sometimes feel, there is a constant shadow. My friend. My sister in my heart. Day by day, despite the fact that we seem to have reached some sort of truce where we visit and bring our daughters together as often as possible, I feel her growing away from me. We do not speak of her wedding at all. Our conversations barely qualify as more than chatter.

The manor at Willow Park slowly rises out of the ashes. The construction brings new work to the district and wandering souls begin to make their way here seeking employment in such a fertile region. Johanna announces one day that the stables at Willow Park have been built and that she has been hired on as their stablemaster.

“Is that wise?” I ask Peeta as we stand in the doors of Everdeen and watch Johanna ride away on her nag, only a small sack of belongings to her name. She is under no contract with us and so is free to leave, but that is not my concern. I fear the potential for strife in a house where her lady love is married to another.

“I think I begin to understand,” Peeta says and then does not have time to elaborate with Miranda careening across the yard, chasing a flock of clucking chickens.

“I was thinking…” I begin and wait for his touch on my back, an encouraging rub in a space that has ached for over a day now. “I was thinking of giving Diablo to Madge. As a wedding gift. Father is in agreement. What do you think?”

“I think it perfect,” Peeta says. He watches Miranda for a moment then kisses me and leaves me to attend to his patients for the day.

“You’ll never catch them like that!” I shout after Miranda and then follow to show her. I cannot move as quickly as usual, my steps laborious and my wide frame only an advantage in blocking the occasional escape.

One squawks loudly and flutters her wings. Miranda jumps back in fear, colliding with me, and we both fall to the ground.

“Oh!” I cry out as a sharp pain screams up my spine.

“Mrs. Mellark!” Sae shouts and hurries out to help me up.

“I am fine, only my pride bruised. Bested by a hen,” I mutter.

“All the same, your mother or Mr. Mellark should have a look at you.”

Mother declares me to be fine, but at dinner that evening, a sharp pain lances across my belly. I am able to hide it, although when it happens again as I sit in the drawing room after, I think perhaps I should mention it to Peeta. I decide that if it happens again, I will tell him. We are now only a few days out from my expected time. The babe could arrive any day now.

Tomorrow is Madge’s wedding. The invitation sits on the table in the hall, the answer already sent. I wonder now if we should have declined, but I couldn’t bear to do it, not after I was unable to attend her first wedding, and not with our friendship still on such unsteady grounds. She asked me to trust her and so I shall have to find it in me to do so.

When no more pains plague me that evening, I relax and tell no one. It must not be time yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh!” I gasp out as I awaken from a disturbing dream. A dreadful fog blotting out the moon and the stars until all was black. There was more. Something about Madge, but I lose it in the pain. I drift between dreams and pain, writhing in the bed until I wake Peeta.

“What is it, Katniss? A nightmare?”

“No!” I gasp and grit my teeth, grasping tight to his arm. “The baby.”

He is moving in an instant, up and checking on me, assuring me that nothing is wrong, only that I have gone into childbirth. In the space between several pains, he dresses, pausing only to see me through each pain as dawn creeps over the horizon. He sends for Mary, and for Mother. The house awakens and Peeta helps me walk across our room then back as Mother and Prim prepare supplies.

The room grows stifling and I beg for fresh air. The window is thrown open for me. I refuse food, unable to fathom eating through this pain.

“You will need sustenance,” Peeta urges, but all I take is tea.

The sun marches across the sky as Peeta murmurs to me. Prim leaves then returns at one point, dressed in a lovely blue dress with a green bonnet on her head. The wedding.

“Give my love to Madge,” I beg her. “Tell her I would have been there, and take my gift for her.”

“I will,” Prim says and kisses me on the cheek before she and Father depart. There is no need for them to stay when this could take all day. Someone from Everdeen should be present at the wedding, and so it falls to them.

Time plods forward. The sun begins to sink, and still no sign of the babe. The pain dulls to the background and then roars back to life, so harsh that I cannot even speak. I can barely catch my breath.

“It is time, Katniss,” my mother reassures me as she and Peeta position me on the bed, my legs spread wide. “You must bear down with each pain.”

I nod and scream with the first one. As soon as it passes, I meet Peeta’s worried eyes, down between my bent upwards knees. Were I in less pain, perhaps I would care that he now sees me like this, but I have more pressing worries.

“Don’t,” I say and he shakes his head. “Don’t do that, husband. I am not so fragile as that.”

We agreed that when my time came, Doctor Aurelius would be notified but only called if the situation grew dire. I may feel as though I am dying, but there is still life pulsing vibrant through my veins. I do not feel myself fading at all. Peeta must see it too. Were he more detached from this particular birth, were this merely a professional call, he might be able to see it more objectively.

Peeta takes a deep breath and nods, his hand skimming reassuringly over my leg.

A commotion of horse hooves and shouting reaches me through the open window and another pain strikes. I do not even attempt to hold in the scream as I feel as though I am being torn asunder.

As the scream dies, the door to our room flies open and a storm of white silk swirls into the room, flinging aside a lace veil and perching on the bed beside me. The scent of summer roses fills my nose.

“Madge.”

“Katniss,” she says, tears in her eyes.

“I am sorry I missed your wedding.” She lets out a soft sob and then wipes a damp cloth across my brow. “You should be dancing with your groom. He will be so cross with me for this.”

“He will hardly notice my absence. More importantly, I promised I would be here,” she says instead and takes my hand in hers as I am once more consumed with pain. “With you.”

Three voices now murmur encouragement and lend me strength. Madge and my mother somehow hold my hands and legs so I cannot escape. I fixate on Peeta’s eyes. His face as the room goes dark and Mary lights candles. I collapse as the pain ebbs, and breathe like a fish out of water.

“Almost, my love,” Peeta whispers, his touch gentle on my knee. I laugh, the sound crazed as I lift my head to scowl at him.

“Soon you will have your child to hold,” Madge murmurs.

“Why would anyone do this twice?” I ask.

“You will soon see,” my mother says.

“You make it sound so simple. Would you care to take my place?” I ask Peeta.

“Would that I could,” he answers, and I can see in his eyes that he means it. He would take this pain away and into himself if he could. “As a wise woman once told me, it is far easier to cause death than to bring forth life.”

“Those were not my exact words, husband,” I remind him and he smiles.

“Close enough, wife.”

And then I am no longer able to speak, the pain is too great. And yet… a strange thing happens then, as I stare into his blue, tired eyes. The pain grips me and it is terrible terrible terrible…and then it is not. The voices fade and the pain is not so unbearable. There is almost… a relief in it.

“There you are!” My mother soothes. “We have the head. Now for the shoulders, Katniss. You are almost done.”

A few more minutes and Madge is kissing my temple, her tears mingling with my sweat, her words unintelligible but the tone of love clear. I am fading fast into exhaustion, and Peeta is focused on something I cannot see between my legs.

“Peeta,” I whine and he looks up at me as the squall of a baby fills the room. His smile is impossibly happy and I nearly burst with it.

“A daughter, Katniss. We have a daughter.”

Peeta slides one hand around my still exposed thigh, his palm warm and soothing on my skin. And then his lips against the tender skin of my inner thigh. A look of awe and love in his eyes. Soft tears seep from the corners and onto my skin. It is unbearably intimate and undoubtedly shocking, unseemly.

I do not care. His kisses like that as he cradles our child in his arm mean everything to me.

There are tears and washing. Soothing. Peeta and Mother take our daughter to be cleaned and tended, swaddled in warm blankets. I am carried to a tub brought up especially for this and scrubbed with gentle hands, redressed in a fresh gown. Food is brought. Joyous announcements shouted through the halls and then she is finally placed in my arms. I lean back into Peeta’s chest as I hold our daughter while she feeds and he holds us both. He cannot seem to stop touching her brow and her cheeks. I inhale her sweet baby scent and then his warm, manly scent.

Madge still sits on the bed with us, her wedding gown spread across the edge of the fresh counterpane, I think a few spots on her dress are stained. The hem looks almost ripped. Her posy of roses sits on the bedside table, already beginning to wilt.

“Madge,” I begin and she shakes her head.

“There is no need.” But there is a need. I know that now. I’ve a need to listen and she’s a need to be heard. She should have been able to tell me, and my own stubbornness and focus on Everdeen made it impossible. The words may wait, but I will say them.

“May I?” she asks when my daughter has finished suckling, and holds her arms out to me. I gently place my daughter in her arms and she rises from the bed, cooing softly.

“Will you be her godmother?” I ask and the tightening of Peeta’s arms about me tells me that he supports my request.

“Of course I will.” Madge smiles at me and nods. My heart lightens with the expression on her face as I know, all hope is not lost. Madge is still my true friend and while I still yearn for answers, I find that I can be patient. She then peers down at the wrinkled pink face of my baby girl.

“As soon as Prim told me, I had Diablo saddled and rode over here. Thank you for him.”

“He was already yours,” I say and she bites her lip as though holding back tears.

“I did not have a chance to dance at my wedding. Since you and Peeta did not dance at your wedding, I am taking it as a good omen. But I cannot resist such a lovely cherub.”

She sweeps into a delicate step, humming a tune as she dances with my daughter in her arms. And then I am crying uncontrollably.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peeta insists that I sleep. I manage it, somehow, after demanding that he kiss me properly, despite the many people still lingering in the room. There is a rotation of loved ones to assist me in ways I’d never thought to need them. To hold my girl when my arms grow weak. Standing on my own is a trial. I’ve no desire to wear anything other than my shift and the bedsheets yet. Bathing and changing is a difficulty, as is relieving myself.

Our daughter is still new when family descends to meet her. My father is ridiculously soft with her, my mother showers her face with kisses once the duties of midwife are complete. Prim is delighted and already making plans for spoiling both of her nieces.

“I expect a nephew next,” she tells me with a sly smile. “I doubt that you will make me wait overlong.”

“Come and meet your sister,” I whisper to Miranda, and watch her melt out of the shadows and clamber up onto the bed. Her fingers shake as she peels back the blanket and stares down at her face.

“Hello…sister,” she whispers and I lean over to kiss her fiery curls.

“Will you tell her stories?” Peeta asks, placing a hand on Miranda’s back and smiling down at us three.

“May I?” Miranda asks and I nod.

“I think she would like that.”

“So would I,” Miranda breathes. “But…what is her name?”

My eyes meet Peeta’s over Miranda’s head and he smiles. “We were hoping you might help us with that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There are days when I think motherhood to be the worst sort of bargain. When I am tired and sore or when the entire world frightens me. Disease, injury, deception, heartbreak, and so much more. How am I to protect my daughters, my Beatrice and my Miranda from all of this. There are days when the joy of holding her in my arms drowns out all else, when watching her and Miranda together or separately convinces me that I was never happy before I had them. My children.

The weather warms and the vivid flowers of spring and early summer fade to make room for the pale blue skies, the fading greens, and the heat that sings with insects only found in the midst of summer. I am eager for my recovery to be done with and count the days. Then… then I cherish the night. Nights with the windows wide open and Peeta hushing my sultry moans. We are unable to love in the physical sense as often as we did before. The presence of our babe sleeping in our room, the demands of raising two children, often curtail passion. Yet every time we come together, there is a joy in it that brings tears to my eyes.

I tease him that I long for another child, and yet he insists that we wait. He has some medical notion that repeated childbirth is too harsh on a body, and in the name of protecting me from such an ordeal, he prescribes the teas of my mother to suppress fertility. He uses the French methods of preventing pregnancy as well, despite my complaints that I despise having a barrier between his skin and mine. At times…when I am the most desperate for him, Peeta refuses to join fully with me at all and employs other methods of giving me pleasure. I cannot complain too much, as those are most effective at satisfying me and delightfully intimate as well.

Miranda, my dove. Her speech becomes a constant hum in our house. A thousand and one questions every day, a thousand and one stories. We discover that she has a knack for fancy sewing and while this means her drawing begins to wane, her stitchery blooms. She weaves them both, stories and embroidered scenes from colorful bits of thread into something strange and fantastical and wonderful. Mother sees her work framed and hung about the house. Father begins to request scenes or specific stories. He listens to her for hours and it brightens my heart to see her so loved and welcomed by my family.

As for our neighbors… Madge and Maysilee visit often until I am recovered and am able to return the visits. The work on Willow Park continues. Half a dozen brood mares arrive and Johanna is in her element with so much equine flesh to tend to. Gale strikes a bargain with Peeta to use Cicero as one of his studs. It turns out that Cicero is something of a rake, and I tease Peeta mercilessly about the number of bastards his mount sires within a matter of months. He usually shuts me up by kissing me mercilessly.

I have few complaints about this arrangement.

Indeed, the only one I have is that Mr. Hawthorne appears to be a somewhat neglectful husband. He is rarely in the district, despite the realisation of his dream of owning a horse farm. His other ventures often take him about Panem or even abroad with Mr. Fremont, leaving Madge and Johanna to deal with the day to day operations of Willow Park. Although, Madge assures me that she and Mr. Hawthorne are always in touch via letters.

I keep waiting to see some sign of melancholy in my friend, some sort of distraught unhappiness, and yet it never arrives. In fact, if anything, her marriage appears to have only enhanced her beauty and happiness. I have the strangest sensation that her removal to Willow Park along with Johanna, and Mr. Hawthorne’s frequent absence is the source of such happiness. What mischief does she get up to when her husband is away, and what sort of husband seems so indifferent to his wife’s many charms?

“Why did you not tell me?” I finally ask her over tea one afternoon. When both her hired help are out running messages and errands in town. “Did you think I would…react badly?”

“I could not be certain,” Madge admits. “You’ve no idea how lonely it can be, feeling this way. When we were girls, I never quite understood my own feelings nor the reason why I felt so at odds with them. Then I left and married the earl and…”

She trails off and something occurs to me. “Your affaire, after his death…it was with a woman,” I whisper the words, even though we are alone save for Beatrice on my knee and Madge laughs, but she is crying. I set aside my tea and shift to hold her as well.

“You will think me horrid but I am so tired of carrying this. Yes! It was with Katharine, my… oh she was married to the earl’s son and we are the same age. She was my friend and the only one who was ever truly kind to me in that wretched house. But her husband came home early from his club and found us together one night and…”

Her tears keep her from continuing, but I can make a good guess at the rest.

“Cry no more tears over him, my dear. He was cruel, but he was likely also jealous that you were a far better lover to his wife than he.” Madge laughs hysterically at this and lifts her head to smile at me.

“And you are not at all disgusted with me?”

“Mmm, no. Still a little curious about some things, but not disgusted. What happened to Katharine?”

“I am afraid to even find out,” Madge admits.

I take her hands in mine then and wait for her sniffles to abate. “I love you, my friend, and I only ever want your complete happiness.”

“I am as close to it as I think I will be able to come, Katniss.” I nod at this. Then, I shall have to make my own peace with it, and I set about doing so.

Mr. Fremont is perhaps the most surprising addition to our lives. He writes to the Mellark family at Everdeen quite often, sharing riddles with Miranda that she delights in solving, presents for Beatrice, bits of news for Peeta and I. I am at a loss for how his is the hand that seeks friendship and yet it is so. He, of course, sends similar letters and gifts to Maysilee.

So little of it makes sense to me yet that perhaps it is my curiosity which leads me to a most unexpected place late in the summer… hunting in the woods of Everdeen with Mr. Hawthorne. Madge suggested it, as we apparently share a common interest in the sport. I suppose she is hoping we will somehow bond over it. Thankfully for me, Madge is unaware that hunting is best done in silence.

While this means that I’ve no opportunity to further my acquaintance with her husband, it also means that I am granted opportunity to observe him while not subjected to his tirades.

It is pleasant enough at first. Peeta was quite adamant I go when I attempted to cajole a refusal out of him instead. He insisted that the fresh air and exercise would do me good, to say nothing of the return to something that I have always felt comfort in doing. I pause a moment and tilt my head back to absorb the rays of the sun. He was right, my husband. Despite the questionable nature of the company, I needed this. Even if I catch nothing, I needed this journey into the woods, this breath of who I am and perhaps will always be.

“Fascinating,” Mr. Hawthorne murmurs and I sigh. The silence was of course too good to continue. I am simply grateful at this point that Mr. Hawthorne eschews the aristocratic hunting methods and does not favor hunting with hounds. I glance over at where he examines a snare. Not one of mine. I’ve never had much luck with snares. Perhaps one of my tenants, seeking a rabbit or squirrel for a meal.

“A snare,” I explain and he nods.

“Yes I know. A rather ingenious one. I wonder if…” he retrieves a stick and makes to spring the trap.

“Mr. Hawthorne,” I say and he glances back at me. “You would deprive a man of meat to fulfill your curiosity? Or do you know how to reset it?”

He thinks for a moment and stands. “You are quite right, Mrs. Mellark. I don’t suppose you happen to know the creator of this snare?”

“I’ve a few guesses. Some discreet inquiries might bring me the answer, although I warn you, they may not be willing to speak with an aristocratic stranger.”

“I have no title. I am not–”

“Not wealthy?” I ask and he glances down at his waistcoat.

“Perhaps I should adopt your habits of dress.” I snort at this but tug on my rough coat that I wear today. It is longer than one I would normally wear with breeches, as something about traipsing through the woods with a man who is not my husband whilst wearing breeches set off alarming thoughts in my head.

“You are not what you seem…are you, Mrs. Mellark?”

“I am exactly what I seem, if you are paying attention. You, however, are something of a puzzle. And our speaking will scare away the game,” I say as a scent reaches me. I attempt to place it, some long ago warning from my father taunting me just beyond the reaches of my memories.

Mr. Hawthorne huffs and then flings aside his stick.

“Don’t!” I shout as it crashes through the underbrush, arousing a terrible squealing noise. A boar thrashes the bushes and crashes out towards us. Mr. Hawthorne turns and shoves me against a tree. I cry out with pain at the impact as the wild pig careens past, snuffling and huffing, snorting in indignation as he turns again and prepares to charge.

I grab the nearest branch and haul myself into the tree. “Climb!”

Mr. Hawthorne makes to follow me, but the pig is too fast. I settle on a branch and swing my gun about and take aim. The blast surprises even me, but the pig falls. The hairy body slides across the foliage and thumps against the tree. Right below Mr. Hawthorne’s dangling boots. With a final snort, the beast dies.

I release a great puff of air and Mr. Hawthorne drops to the ground next to it, stares at it then up at me in my perch.

“You’ve wild boar in these woods.”

“Do you always state the obvious?” I ask and he shakes his head, almost laughing as he tilts his head to examine my kill.

“An impressive shot, Mrs. Mellark. Right in the eye.”

“Luck,” I say and place a hand over my heart, attempting to quell the thundering of it in my chest. I’ve no reason to fear. I was perfectly safe.

“You saved my life.” He crouches to further examine the dead beast, to trace the gnarled tusks.

“Please, there is no need for dramatics.”

“I believe there is. You could have easily let the beast kill me and claimed it as an accident. No one would have doubted you.”

“Those who know my skill would have.”

“Please, Mrs. Mellark. You are barely recovered from childbirth. None would have blamed you for diminished skill in the face of a charging wild boar.” I snort and he grins up at me. “The fact is…you saved my life.”

“My friend is not even a full year out of mourning. I would not wish to constrain her again in such a state so soon.” He did also protect me from the initial charge, although that fact rather irritates me so I refrain from mentioning it.

“Not even if it meant she would be wealthy beyond reason and you would gain Everdeen for your children all the sooner?” he murmurs and my eyes snap to his in shock. “Ah. I see my wife has not seen fit to tell you all the details of our arrangement. Perhaps she wished me to tell you myself. Trust me when I say that we are in complete agreement on many things, and she is as satisfied with all aspects of our marriage as I am. Half of it was her idea.”

“You make no sense.”

“And you are in a tree. Come down and claim your kill. Your house and your tenants will feast well this week.” He stands, extending a hand up to me. And there is that smile, the one that transforms his face to one that is kind and almost flirtatious. Loyal to those he cares about yet with a fierceness still in his eyes. The sort of face ladies would swoon over and friends such as Darius rush to protect…

My mouth drops open as I stare at him, his hand hanging in the air between us as a suspicion begins to form in my head. And I decide that perhaps trusting Mr. Gale Hawthorne would not be so bad.

I snap my mouth shut and carefully place my hand in his. His grip as he helps me from the tree is solid and firm, yet I feel no thrill the way that I do when Peeta touches me so. I tilt my head now to examine him, the way Mr. Hawthorne did to examine the snare, then the dead pig.

“Shall we?” he asks, motioning to the dead animal with a smile. I nod and we set to work. Preparing the carcass to move and then creating a litter of sorts to carry it.

When we return to Everdeen, there is much fanfare and clapping. My father praises us for our catch. It is a joyous scene. Crowded and too busy for me to have a chance to ask Mr. Hawthorne what he meant in the woods, about gaining Everdeen for myself. Or about my growing suspicions.

“Should I be jealous now?” Peeta whispers to me after dinner. He has caught me staring at Mr. Hawthorne again.

“No,” I answer and smile at him. I begin to wonder if perhaps Peeta has no reason at all to be jealous in regards to Mr. Hawthorne, but I do instead. “I was merely attempting to sort through a puzzle.

“It will come to you,” he whispers and kisses my hand. I am still sorting through the threads of conversations as we sit in the drawing room after dinner that night. Darius is flushed and perhaps a little drunk, having toasted to Gale and Mrs. Mellark, the founders of the feast, a few times more than is necessary. It was indeed a delicious meal, but his cheer seems to evaporate when Gale demands a rematch at chess. He and Peeta move towards the table. Mr. Fremont collapses in a chair beside me, swaying a bit and seeming to almost brood.

“You’ve still had no time to learn?” I ask him and he nods, rather morose for being left out of a game. I set my book on my lap, uninterested in reading if I might learn something from him or confirm my growing suspicions. Besides, I selected my book at random, more as a screen to provide me with privacy in a crowded room, or to observe unnoticed those around me.

Then something strange happens. Perhaps I would not even notice, it happens so quickly, except that my senses and mind have been so focused on my quarry all day that it stands out in sharp relief.

A piece knocked from the board, Peeta’s king, as they reset the pieces from a game left unfinished by other players. Peeta bends to retrieve it. My eyes follow the motion, half admiring his shape, and yet somehow I catch it from the corner of my eye… Mr. Hawthorne leaning to the side, eyes closely following Peeta’s motions. At first, I excuse it as Mr. Hawthorne ensuring that Peeta does not somehow cheat, but how could he with such a move? It is chess, not cards.

As my husband takes his seat, glances are exchanged. The heat of a blush and the grinding of teeth beside me. An embarrassed look away. Madge happily running her hands over the piano keys and chatting with Prim, unaware of her husband’s wandering eyes, of the almost jealous and contrite exchange happening between her husband and the man beside me…

Or perhaps, she is completely aware of them. Something falls into place in my head as Mr. Hawthorne clears his throat in a rather undignified manner. Then he focuses on the game. Sensing a new sort of hunt, I turn to Mr. Fremont with a smile.

“I must confess that I’ve made attempts to learn chess, but I’ve still no patience for it. The swift hunt is much better for me.”

“You were quite swift today, or so Gale tells me.”

“Fortunate,” I say, waving it off. “With instincts honed by a desire to protect that which matters to me. As I think many of us in this room are.”

Darius makes a strange noise as Mr. Hawthorne laughs across the room and I lift my book to hide my own blush. How extraordinary. Well…if he wishes my husband’s attentions, he will have to come armed with more than a handsome face and a ready laugh. I smile slyly at Mr. Fremont and he lifts one eyebrow at me.

“You wish to protect Gale? I was not under the impression his life would be important to you.”

“Not at the moment. How could I possibly wish to protect someone with designs on all that is…mine.” He barely responds to the pause, but it is there. Not that I can blame Mr. Hawthorne, if I am correct about his preferences. I feel the thrill of the pending kill, a much less violent and far more satisfying one than what happened in the woods today. “Although, I feel as though we’ve built a sort of tentative trust today. No, it is Madge whose welfare I am concerned with.”

“She has everything that she could want in her life, and in her marriage.”

“Does she?” I ask and lean closer. Almost too close as I whisper. “Do you, Mr. Fremont?”

He swallows and searches my face. A-ha! I think. Peeta would be quite proud of me, managing to glean such information and reassurances without shouting or dramatics. I lean back in my seat and lift my book to read and no intentions of doing so.

“Sometimes patience is indeed the key to the hunt, and other times, one must act. Swiftly, without mercy. The trick, I think, is to know which is the more appropriate action, and to have the right sort of allies,” I say.

“Mrs. Mellark…” Mr. Fremont says as he leans towards me, the flush on his cheeks shifting from an angry red to an almost boyish pink.

“Katniss,” I correct. “If we are to be friends and neighbours and allies with common interests, then you must call me Katniss.”

“Common interests?” he ponders and I let my eyes slide over to the chess board.

“Harmless flirtations are one thing, so long as one returns to their home untarnished at night, but… I would do anything to protect two of the people who mean the most in the world to me. My husband, and my dearest friend. There is no patience where keeping them safe is concerned. I sense that you are a kindred spirit in this regard, Mr. Fremont.”

“Darius,” he says and I let my book lower slightly. He smiles at me, but his eyes are still on Mr. Hawthorne. “A name for a name, Katniss. I believe it to be a fair trade. And a good foundation for an alliance.”

I cannot help but smile as I nod in agreement. His grin is quite infectious. There are things that Mr. Hawthorne and I may never agree on, and some that we do. As long as he continues to care for Madge, and not harm anyone else that I love, then I believe I might be able to forgive his arrogance, tho perhaps not his shameless ogling of my husband.

“Now tell me…are you interested in The Ancient Craft of the Sarcophagus out of a morbid sort of curiosity, or should I be concerned for any members of our party?” Darius’ eyes drop to the cover of my book and I glance at the title printed at the top of each page, nearly laughing at the humor of it.

“A true lady, as my Aunt Effie would say, can keep the darkest of secrets into her grave and on into the afterlife, Darius.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is strange, sometimes, how the truth can mean a lightening of hearts. Life continues in a happy manner as the harvest approaches. There is always work to keep us busy, amusements to keep us fulfilled. Peeta and I resume our daily rides, and I laugh with joy as Sagittaria carries me away on swift feet. I am unable to resist temptation the day of that first ride, and when we stop for a picnic in a wide meadow, I find myself arched beneath my husband, his hands buried in my hair and the blanket beneath me, the sun on his back, my hands scraping down his spine. The smaller flowers of late autumn and the tall grasses sway about us, concealing us from the world, and the clouds above us provide a tableau of beauty to reflect the beauty in my heart.

My daughters continue to grow and to thrive. My friendship with Madge is repaired and a source of comfort and happiness now. I miss her presence at Everdeen. Her and Maysilee brought a sort of brightness to the halls, but Miranda and Beatrice bring their own sort of brightness, and we never go too long without seeing one another.

Unfortunately, the happy circumstances of Willow Park and Jo’s employment with the new horse farm has left Everdeen stables in a quandary. Giles needs to retire and Charles is learning quickly but still too young to assume such responsibilities.

“Before Jo left us, I thought to hire her to the post,” my father explained when he put out word that Everdeen was seeking a stablemaster. “But now that she is gone, I will have to hire someone else.”

“Father…” I stated warily and he’d shaken his head. “How long have you known?”

“Not long. I’ve no anger over the matter, Katniss. I wish you had trusted me, and I am embarrassed to admit that I did not figure it out on my own. Your mother had to tell me. The only thing that matters to me now is that we find someone young and skilled enough to replace both her and Giles.”

Which leads me to the events of today. I fuss over Beatrice as she crawls about the nursery, until I’ve no choice but to go downstairs and meet my father. We are to interview a potential candidate for stablemaster today.

An odd sort of humming exists in my skull, and I find I am rather disappointed at the prospect of a new stablemaster. It was around this time last year when Peeta and I first consummated our marriage, when I discovered the boundless joys and pleasures to be found in his arms, and also when I discovered the depth of my love for him. The presence of a new stable master will curtail a repeat of our tryst in the hay and I am rather upset about that, so that I am near to scowling as the man stands from his seat in the kitchens to greet me and my father.

“Mr. Henderson, I presume?” my father asks and the man gives a slight bow of respect.

“Aye, Mr. Everdeen.” His voice is somehow soft and lilting. Soothing. His accent is unfamiliar to me, but he has the sort of calming voice that horses respond to.

“Shall we walk and talk?” The man nods and glances at me. “This is my daughter. She and her husband will one day run the farm in trust for their children, and she oversees much of the operations already. You will address her as Mrs. Mellark.”

The man drops his hat. My scowl deepens at this as he bends to retrieve it. “Of course, sir.”

Other than that slight at the beginning, the interview goes well. He seems kind enough, and the horses take to him immediately. Even Sagittaria preens for him.

“And this is Peeta’s horse…my husband’s,” I say as we come to the final stall. I quickly explain Cicero’s deafness and that Peeta will have to teach him the hand communications. Mr. Henderson nods and mentions that he’s heard of such techniques, but never seen them in action.

After that, it seems fairly straightforward. Mr. Handerson comes to us from an estate in Northwest Panem, bringing excellent references.

“If you do not mind my asking, why did you leave your prior employment?”

“Nothing to do with the job or the family, you see. My wife passed away last year.” He glances at me and I manage to look sympathetic, I believe. Either way, he continues to look into my eyes as he speaks. “She had a wasting disease, took her too young, but not ‘afore she had a second chance at life. Still…it were hard staying there without her. She were my second chance too. My second wife and well, it didn’t seem right to push my luck for a third chance with the same family, although they were good to us. Memories just got the better of me.”

“My condolences for your loss,” my father says and at this, some sort of spell seems to be broken. They manage an awkward transition to discussing the terms of employment and we make our way behind the stable to show him his new living quarters. He seems pleased enough, and once the deal is done, he sets to work.

Miranda races into the stables as Mr. Henderson sees Sagittaria saddled for our daily ride. Charles tends to Cicero and laughs as Miranda careens to a halt, grasping onto my skirts.

“Mother! I am going with you today!”

“Then it will be all the more fun.” I smile down at her then up at Peeta as he enters the stable. He’s favoring his leg again and I make an exasperated motion towards his laboured movements.

“I will rest when we return, my love, but I will not miss this time with my family,” he says and kisses me softly on the forehead before turning to Cicero.

I feel eyes on us the entire time, and as I watch Miranda handed up to sit with Peeta, I discover the culprit. Mr. Henderson seems to have a deep interest in my love or my daughter, or both… I take Sagittaria’s reins and make a note to investigate further after our ride.

It is a lovely day, and we picnic by the lake, visit with a few tenants, and then return home. I dismount quickly, take Miranda into my arms to allow Peeta to dismount. I feel the need to see to Beatrice, but a cough behind me as Miranda scampers off catches my attentions.

I turn to find Mr. Henderson twisting his hat in his hands, a nervous look about his brown eyes. “Your pardon, Mr. and Mrs. Mellark. If you’ve a moment, I am afraid I’ve a confession to make.”

“We are no clerics, Mr. Henderson,” I manage to say politely, although I am beginning to think hiring him was a mistake.

“What I’ve to say is not for the Lord, Mrs. Mellark, but for him,” Mr. Henderson motions towards Peeta and I can see the surprise in my husband’s face.

“Should we perhaps talk elsewhere?”

“No, no,” Mr. Handerson says. “If you find what I’ve to tell you distasteful and it costs me this post, I’d rather be done with it now.” I am about to suggest we fetch my father first if his confession has bearing on his employment, but Mr. Henderson dives into his explanation.

“I wasn’t sure at first, see. I answered the listing by a Mr. Kent Everdeen. I’d no idea you would be here, too. Then I still weren’t sure when Mr. Everdeen introduced Mrs. Mellark. Mrs. Mellark…well with four acknowledged sons there had to be at least a few Mrs. Mellarks about, maybe it wasn’t you…but no. Then she calls her husband Peeta, your pardon for my familiarity sir, and then I knew.”

“Knew what?” Peeta asks, and there is a strain in his voice that frightens me.

“Who you are. Yer mother. Gertrude. Well, she went by Gertrude when we were married, but I suppose you wouldn’t know that. You’d know her as Nancy Thackeray, right?” The man only grows more nervous and agitated as his confession spills out. Peeta’s body only grows more rigid beside me. “She was sick, see? Found her on the back doorstep in Capitol nigh on eight years ago, naught but skin and bones, knocking on death’s door, hair dyed black and the dye fading already. I weren’t there. It was my sister who found her. She was the cook and another sister the housekeeper. Well they couldn’t bear to leave her dying so they took her in, nursed her back. The Odairs…well they’re kindly folk you know? Would never turn away a body in need if they could help it. Do you know the Odairs?”

“Not personally,” Peeta says. “Only by reputation. They’re a seafaring family.”

“They are. They were in Capitol at the time, beastly cold winter, but they went to see family and then had to stay when their son took ill. Well with the doctor already calling to see to young Sebastian, he didn’t mind seeing to Gertrude as well. Eventually she got well enough to work and…she worked. Ladie’s maid to Mistress Annie’s sister, Miss Patricia, who lived with the family at the time. Then when Miss Patricia were married, Gertrude worked as companion to Captain Odair’s grandmother. And I were stable master. When the family came home to their estate in Northwest Panem after that winter…well it were a second chance for us both, you see?”

“You were married,” I offer the encouragement, because I am not certain Peeta has not fallen into shock right now.

“Aye. And we were happy. I… I loved her dearly, I did. We were a comfort to one another. I’d lost my first wife and a son. Eventually, she told me all about you, and her first husband William. How she always wanted to see how you were doing but was scared.”

“Scared? Of what?” Peeta asks, perhaps more harshly than necessary, but to hear all of this now… He turns away from me and I place a hand on his back.

“Please understand, Mr. Henderson. We’ve been looking for Nancy for a year, Peeta has been looking even longer. Any news you have is welcome, but also a shock.” The man nods and swallows, looking directly at Peeta’s back as he speaks again, softly this time.

“She was afraid you would not recognise her. Or worse, that you would hate her for what she done. But she did it so you wouldn’t starve. She always told me you were brave and strong enough to be the best of men, even with the worst of fathers. And you were always in her heart. She drew your face most of all.” At this, Peeta turns slowly and Mr. Henderson produces a small book from his jacket. “Been carrying this since she died. Didn’t know what to do with it. Think now maybe providence wanted me to keep it for you. She said you used to draw with her.”

“Yes,” Peeta chokes out the word and takes the book. He does not open it but lifts watery eyes to Mr. Hendrson. “And Miranda? Was Miranda in her heart?”

“Miranda?” Mr. Henderson asks in true confusion and then understanding dawns. “You mean the babe? The one she left at the orphanage? That were right before my sisters found her. She never gave the babe a name. Had no…connection with the child. By then she were so lost and desperate…I cannot blame her for it. How do you know of the child?”

“We adopted her,” I explain. “We found her while we were looking for Nancy…for Gertrude. Now she is our daughter.”

“So you brought her home to be yours to love,” Mr. Henderson says and a bright smile spreads across his face. He shakes his head but there are tears in her eyes. “I’ll be. She were right then.” He tilts his head back to look heavenward and I bow my head, to allow him this moment.

I feel terrible, but a strange joy fills me at this. Every last doubt flutters off on the crisp autumn breeze. Miranda is well and truly our daughter. No disputes over the matter.

“She woulda been proud of you. A doctor, a husband, and a father beside.”

“She would have hated my face,” Peeta says and then rakes a hand through his hair. Mr. Henderson seems confused by this. “Never mind. Thank you, Mr. Henderson, for having the courage to tell me. Where is she now?” Peeta whispers, and I take his hand in mine, already knowing the answer and understanding now the import Mr. Henderson was trying to give me in his interview.

“She passed last autumn, about this time of year. I saw her buried in the church yard, next to my first wife and a child we lost. Made sure she had a nice marker, if you want to visit her some day.”

“Thank you,” Peeta murmurs one last time and then threads my arm through his. Before he can lead me away, I say one more thing to Mr. Henderson.

“See Mrs. Chilton if you’ve questions about meal times. Sae can answer any concerns about other household matters,” I tell him. His eyes widen and he nods.

“Then I’m not…”

“We are in need of a capable stable master,” I tell him and Peeta squeezes my fingers. “Welcome to Everdeen, Mr. Henderson.”

We move to leave and he steps after us, halting our retreat.

“She wouldn’t hate your face, Mr. Mellark. Mayhap your name, but…what’s in a name? She had about a dozen in her life, but that don’t change her heart, nor who she was.”

For some reason, Peeta smiles now, and manages one soft nod before we walk out of the stable and into the fading autumn light.

When we reach the house, there is a minor uproar. Several of Prim’s gowns have arrived from town, only enough to start her for the season. The rest will be waiting for her at Uncle Haymitch and Aunt Effie’s. Peeta and I will stay here to see to Everdeen while my parents take a much needed break, if overseeing the launching of a girl into society can be seen as a break.

Prim whispers to me that she not only has weeks worth of engagements already lined up, but she’s already received her first invite to a ball. The curiosity about the younger Miss Everdeen, as the eldest had such an exciting albeit brief season in town, has already made Primrose something of a novelty. Aunt Effie will be in her element, no doubt.

I usher Peeta into the library and order him off his feet, and even to remove his leg for some rest. When the chaos of the evening finally settles, I find him in our room, sitting before a cheering fire and dressed in his robe, his cane near at hand and his head bent as he peruses a small book.

“He said it was painless. In her sleep. She’d been sick for some time and it was slowly killing her anyways.” I sit beside him and twist my fingers through his curls, glance down at the sketches he now stares at. I recognise some of the faces, having seen portraits of Peeta and his brothers as a boy, having seen Peeta’s own sketches of William Thackeray. Mr. Henderson’s face is now familiar. There are several others who are strangers to me as well, some with names at the bottom.

“Curious,” I say. “Isn’t the name of this town the one Rory mentioned when he was speaking of the mines Gale has settled on him as a future wedding gift?”

“I believe so,” Peeta says. He turns to me then, his face void of emotion. “I have written to Haymitch and both our solicitors with the new information, asked them to confirm Mr. Hendrson’s story.”

“You do not trust him?”

“No, I do, only…I suppose I am holding out foolish hope, although for what I do not know.”

“Perhaps you only seek definitive closure.”

“Perhaps,” he says quietly. “Or perhaps it is fear. He said she passed this time last year and we…you and I…”

“Beatrice was conceived this time last year,” I say and he nods.

“Difficult to not wonder if there is some sort of connection. She never even knew you, or her grandchildren–” I silence his words with a kiss and when I lift my head, he does not speak again.

“She knew you, and if love can be felt in the afterlife, then she knows all the rest,” I say. Then I smile and press his body back to lay on the sofa. “Now husband…will you at last give me what I want?”

“Don’t I always?” I yelp as he flips us over and we tumble to the floor, tangled together and lips melded together. I sigh as his lips leave mine and he smiles at me. “But in the name of continued marital bliss and certainty, tell me exactly what you want, my pearl.”

“You, Peeta. I want you,” I say and he grins before kissing along my neck. I gasp out the rest before taking advantage and rolling us so that I straddle him. “And I want another child. Are you going to be stubborn again or are you going to let me have my way?”

“Please, my love. By all means, have your wicked way with me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~Fin~

All that remains now is an epilogue, a taste of the future, and the final reveal.

You’ve found the words (perhaps) and now have a jumbled mess. My name is one letter, or is it? Take the first of each and unwind their path to find out who M is.

Thank you dear readers, and one final thanks to @everlarkficexchange for allowing me to write from behind a mask. Unmasked in its entirety, to include the epilogue, will post to Archive of Our Own within twenty-four hours and then there will be no hiding behind a mask for me. I wish you all happy writing and reading for this next exchange. Regards, ~M~

#submission #M #prompt 88 #springtime edition 2019

87 notes · View notes