Portrait of an Apology
Even though it's past the deadline and I'm no longer trying for blackout, I wanted to submit one more drabble for your reading pleasure. It needed to be written :) Happy New Year!
Myshuno prompt: Mary at the nunnery peasant007
Characters: Mary (Devereaux) Smith and Oliver (Zane) Northam
Notes: behind the scenes in Guilford
Word Count: 677
Making jam was hard. Mary had watched Martha and the sisters so often she'd been certain she understood all the steps. She'd been sure of her success when offering to make the boysenberry for dessert. Mr. George Elliot would be joining them for dinner and Mary had been positive that her contribution to the meal would be perfect.
She'd even mastered the archaic oven and yet the many pots of red goo were refusing to gel as planned. At this moment she was sticky and sweaty and rapidly losing her composure. Mary wasn't even at all sure why making a perfect pot of jam mattered so very much. She only knew that not succeeding wasn't an option at this point.
Which is why when poor orphan Oliver came through the steaming kitchen and managed to drop the large five pound bag of brown sugar he was carrying, Mary reacted as though he'd thrown a rat into one of her cooking pots.
“Zane!” She screeched. “You stupid little boy! Can't you do anything right?!”
“I'm sorry!” Zane cried as he immediately dropped to his knees and began attempting to sweep the spilled granules back into the torn burlap with his small hands. “The seam musta burst!”
“Of course it burst!” Mary exclaimed as she surveyed the chaos about her. One of her pots was boiling over and red goo was spilling out onto the stove top and smoking. “Only a fool would carry a heavy sack without supporting the bottom!”
“I know.” Zane bemoaned and wiped a sticky hand onto his trousers. The sugar wasn't coming up. “Ol man Atari has told me so but I forgot.”
“Augh!” Mary snatched the torn bag from his grasp. “Just let me do it! You'll never make any progress that way.”
“Can I bring the broom?”
“Just get out!” Mary made an angry sweeping gesture toward the back door but stopped at the expression on Zane's face.
The boy was flinching from her arm, as though anticipating a hit. And his eyes. She'd seen those eyes before. Perhaps not the same color but... the expression. The fear. Mary's breath left her as she fell back against the wall and closed her eyes tightly. Behind her lids she could see the face that haunted her dreams. A child. A child afraid of her.
But it couldn't be possible. Mary was a young woman, with no memories of marriage or children. Even the town doctor could validate her virtue and yet... and yet every night she was visited by the same frightened child. Wearing the same fearful expression as Zane.
Mary exhaled a sob. What could she have done to that poor kid? What had she run away from? What sort of person had she been? Sister Catherine had claimed that the loss of her memory could be God giving her a new beginning. But why exactly had she needed one?
“Miss Mary?” A small hand on her shoulder had Mary looking up into concerned gray eyes. “Are you alright?” She couldn't answer and he patted her arm. “I remember things too. I 'member being scared and lonely. But Ol man Atari says that life can't touch us now.” A small encouraging smile. “It's nice here, innit?”
Slowly Mary felt her composure creeping back and she managed to give Zane a tight smile. “You're right. I'm...” She swallowed. “I'm sorry I over reacted. The-the jam...”
Zane gave the smoking stove a rueful glance. “I'm 'fraid it's done for.”
This caused Mary to chuckle lightly. “It most certainly is.” As Zane moved to help her to her feet, Mary paused and cupped his round little face in a gentle palm. “I'm sorry I frightened you. I-I'd never hurt you.”
Zane beamed. “I know.”
“After all,” Mary continued as she stood and brushed debris off her dress. “It's only jam. We can eat Martha's bunt cake without jam, can't we?”
“Sure.” Zane agreed amicable and left to fetch a broom.
Mary turned to the disaster on the stove top and repeated quietly. “It's only jam.”
Myshuno prompt: Mary at the nunnery peasant007
Characters: Mary (Devereaux) Smith and Oliver (Zane) Northam
Notes: behind the scenes in Guilford
Word Count: 677
Making jam was hard. Mary had watched Martha and the sisters so often she'd been certain she understood all the steps. She'd been sure of her success when offering to make the boysenberry for dessert. Mr. George Elliot would be joining them for dinner and Mary had been positive that her contribution to the meal would be perfect.
She'd even mastered the archaic oven and yet the many pots of red goo were refusing to gel as planned. At this moment she was sticky and sweaty and rapidly losing her composure. Mary wasn't even at all sure why making a perfect pot of jam mattered so very much. She only knew that not succeeding wasn't an option at this point.
Which is why when poor orphan Oliver came through the steaming kitchen and managed to drop the large five pound bag of brown sugar he was carrying, Mary reacted as though he'd thrown a rat into one of her cooking pots.
“Zane!” She screeched. “You stupid little boy! Can't you do anything right?!”
“I'm sorry!” Zane cried as he immediately dropped to his knees and began attempting to sweep the spilled granules back into the torn burlap with his small hands. “The seam musta burst!”
“Of course it burst!” Mary exclaimed as she surveyed the chaos about her. One of her pots was boiling over and red goo was spilling out onto the stove top and smoking. “Only a fool would carry a heavy sack without supporting the bottom!”
“I know.” Zane bemoaned and wiped a sticky hand onto his trousers. The sugar wasn't coming up. “Ol man Atari has told me so but I forgot.”
“Augh!” Mary snatched the torn bag from his grasp. “Just let me do it! You'll never make any progress that way.”
“Can I bring the broom?”
“Just get out!” Mary made an angry sweeping gesture toward the back door but stopped at the expression on Zane's face.
The boy was flinching from her arm, as though anticipating a hit. And his eyes. She'd seen those eyes before. Perhaps not the same color but... the expression. The fear. Mary's breath left her as she fell back against the wall and closed her eyes tightly. Behind her lids she could see the face that haunted her dreams. A child. A child afraid of her.
But it couldn't be possible. Mary was a young woman, with no memories of marriage or children. Even the town doctor could validate her virtue and yet... and yet every night she was visited by the same frightened child. Wearing the same fearful expression as Zane.
Mary exhaled a sob. What could she have done to that poor kid? What had she run away from? What sort of person had she been? Sister Catherine had claimed that the loss of her memory could be God giving her a new beginning. But why exactly had she needed one?
“Miss Mary?” A small hand on her shoulder had Mary looking up into concerned gray eyes. “Are you alright?” She couldn't answer and he patted her arm. “I remember things too. I 'member being scared and lonely. But Ol man Atari says that life can't touch us now.” A small encouraging smile. “It's nice here, innit?”
Slowly Mary felt her composure creeping back and she managed to give Zane a tight smile. “You're right. I'm...” She swallowed. “I'm sorry I over reacted. The-the jam...”
Zane gave the smoking stove a rueful glance. “I'm 'fraid it's done for.”
This caused Mary to chuckle lightly. “It most certainly is.” As Zane moved to help her to her feet, Mary paused and cupped his round little face in a gentle palm. “I'm sorry I frightened you. I-I'd never hurt you.”
Zane beamed. “I know.”
“After all,” Mary continued as she stood and brushed debris off her dress. “It's only jam. We can eat Martha's bunt cake without jam, can't we?”
“Sure.” Zane agreed amicable and left to fetch a broom.
Mary turned to the disaster on the stove top and repeated quietly. “It's only jam.”