Fic: Carousel (Rodgers & Hammerstein), Louise Bigelow, "and ain't you sorry you didn't run away," PG
For LadyFest '10--no prompt; honestly, I've just had this fic languishing on my computer for awhile, and no suitable community to post it in, and LadyFest came along. So I decided, why not?
Title: and ain't you sorry you didn't run away
Fandom: Carousel (Rodgers & Hammerstein)
Character: Louise Bigelow (with a little Louise/Enoch, Jr.)
Rating: PG
Dear Mother,
I hope this letter will ease the blow of me leaving town. I know I said goodbye already but I never was good with expressing myself through speech, so maybe a letter will do.
I just needed to get away for awhile, Mother. Not from you, of course, but from the town. You know they never liked me, Mother, and maybe partly that was my fault-I was always too stubborn for my own good, I think-but a lot of it was Father and that just isn’t fair. I wanted to get away and see what’s out there in the world, and well, this theatre troupe wants me. They say I could be a chorus girl in the dance numbers and maybe work up to a solo or two. But they want me to be there, which is more than I can say for our sleepy little town. So I’ll be gone awhile, but I’ll always think of you, Mother, and the love you always gave me.
Your daughter,
Louise
**
Before Louise leaves, she arrives on the Snow doorstep, packed suitcase in hand, her best dress swirling around her knees. Carrie’s eyes mist at seeing her, all grown up and leaving, and Enoch Senior’s narrow suspiciously. The old Louise would have rolled her eyes or not even tried at all, but this is her happiness she’s asking for, and she asks for Enoch Junior as politely as she can and Carrie hurries her out into the backyard, dabbing at her cheeks with a handkerchief.
“You’re really running away,” Junior says as soon as he sees her suitcase.
“Yep. I was always a good dancer. Better dancer than talker, anyway. I want to see what I can be away from here. Where no one knows me or my daddy."
"I understand," Junior says, and he does, that's the hell of it. "I half-wish I could go with you."
"Hm. You know, I would’ve said yes,” she tells him, straightforward like always.
“What?” And he’s clueless, like always.
“You said you’d marry me. I would have said yes.”
“Then I went and opened my mouth.”
Louise laughs; she doesn’t do it often, so it’s a rough sound, but lovely, like rain on a tin roof.
“Yes, then you opened your mouth. But it’s all right, Enoch. I forgive you. It’s like Dr. Seldon said at graduation. I gotta stop worryin’ about people liking me and just start liking them. And I always liked you, Enoch. You’re my first and only friend.”
Enoch’s pale skin shows his blush quite well, and he averts his eyes, embarrassed. He doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t want his mouth to ruin this moment, too.
They sit in silence a little more, until Louise stands up and says, “You know, Enoch, I think you were right. But instead of me marrying you to stay, let’s you marry me and we’ll go. Get out of this two-bit town, head far away where no one knows us: where no one knows my father’s a long-dead bum, no one knows your father’s a stuck-up businessman who smells like fish.”
“Hey!”
“Oh, shut it, Junior, you know it’s true.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to point it out.”
“Fine. What do you say, then? Come with me. They’re always lookin’ for hired hands in theatre troupes.”
“This ain’t right. I’m the man-I’m supposed to do the askin’.”
“Well, I never did anything the right way, anyway.”
It’s probably the truest thing she’s ever said, and Enoch laughs.
“I’m just…makin’ my own happiness, Junior. And I think you’re a part of that. Either way, I’m going, with or without you. I just thought it’d be so much nicer with you there.”
A baby’s cry echoes from the house, and Enoch looks guiltily back.
“I don’t think I can. My Ma and Pa-”
Louise gives a rueful smile, and surprisingly, reaches out and touches his cheek softly.
“Of course. I don’t know what I was expecting.” She pauses, her hand still on his cheek. “I’ll write you, Enoch. Please write back.”
He nods. “Of course.”
“Good.” Her face splits in a grin, and she leans forward so quickly and kisses him, lingering on his mouth for a moment before backing away. Enoch reaches up to touch his mouth.
“Louise-”
“Goodbye, Junior. I’ll see you soon.”
And she’s gone, making her way through the grass, her lavender dress swirling in the salt breeze.
**
Dear Mother,
I miss you, too. Don't worry too much about me--the other performers in the troupe are like a big family, and they take care of me like I was their own kin. Of course, no one will ever come close to you, Mother, but they're kind people and they understand about being misunderstood.
I've enclosed a letter for Enoch, Jr. Will you please see that he gets it? I sent him a few but he hasn't replied. I think Enoch, Sr. has been throwing away my letters. At least that's what I tell myself. I couldn't bear it if Junior didn't want to write me.
I must be going--rehearsal is starting soon. There's talk of giving me my own act! Can you imagine, me up on the stage alone, dancing? It's so exciting, Mother!
Love always,
Louise
**
A year after graduation, Enoch Snow, Junior is in Augusta trying to close out a sardine sale for his father, when he sees a poster for a traveling carnival troupe. It advertises all the typical fare-bearded lady, a few contortionists-but at the bottom of the poster, there it is: Featuring the Lovely Louise and her Lovely Legs.
He doesn't hesitate, just buys a ticket, forgoing his business meeting, and there she is, a little older, her dark hair curling down her back. She’s wearing a dress that would get her kicked out of any churchyard back home, the hem a full two inches above her knees, in a shade of deep green that offsets her dark hair and olive skin so well. Enoch always knew Louise was pretty-she was her mother’s daughter, after all-but he never knew she could look like this.
It isn’t the dress-Enoch’s not even looking at her bare legs (much) but at her face, which is flushed and glittering with makeup and sweat. She’s kicking up her heels and cavorting with her entourage, and she's having so much fun, Enoch realizes. She's challenging the audience, looking them right in the eyes, turning cartwheels and daring their eyes to wander up her legs, down her bodice, before suddenly turning her back.
Enoch remembers a dance class they made all the students take back in school, to make them proper boys and girls. All the other girls demurely bowed their heads or fluttered their eyelashes over the boys' shoulders, but Louise looked everyone in the eye while dancing, even if the boys found it unsettling and the teacher thought it brazen. Louise was always challenging people, and that’s probably why no one back home liked her. They all hated challenges and risks, wanted to stay safe with their clambakes and treasure hunts every year. Louise always wanted more than life had given her, and no one liked anyone who wanted more.
The show eventually ends with a big dance number, Louise carted off by her entourage like a queen, and Enoch immediately rushes back behind the tent, trying to find her.
“Hey! You can’t be back here!” A big, dark man with muscles as big as the trees lining the path back home, steps out in front of him.
“I’m just-I’m lookin’ for Louise.”
The other man snorts. “Everyone’s lookin’ for Louise, boy. Get gone.”
“No, you don’t understand, I’m an old friend-”
“Enoch Snow, Junior!”
Her voice is a little lower than he remembers, but there she is, in the flesh: Louise Bigelow, grinning widely, her eyes sparkling. “Let him go, Ned,” she tells the big man. “He’s tellin’ the truth.” She rushes forward, hugging him tightly, her skin warm and flushed against his, her pulse dancing wonderfully against his neck.
"What are you doin' here, Junior?" she murmurs, the delight evident in her voice. He smiles, a little ruefully.
"Tell the truth, I'm supposed to be on a sardine sale, but as soon as I saw your poster, I knew I had to come." He ducks his head. "I had a few letters I haven't responded to. Thought this'd make up for some of it."
Much to his surprise, Louise doesn't pitch a fit or even sulk. She smiles. "I think it makes up for all of it. Come on," she says, and they go to her dressing tent and sit on the little cot as Louise throws on a dressing gown and brushes her hair.
“Tell me everything, Enoch, what have I been missin’ back home? Anything exciting?”
“You know as well as I do that nothing exciting ever happens there, Louise. In fact, I think your family is the most thrilling thing to happen since there was a tie for the treasure hunt back in ’83.”
She laughs, and the sound is just like Junior remembers it, like steady falling rain, and if you ask him later, he’ll tell you her laughter is the reason why he kisses her suddenly, her in her dressing gown, him smelling of sardines, surrounded by laughter and lamplight and linen. He kisses her because she’s nineteen and because she’s beautiful and if he’s being honest, he was always a little in love with her, forbidden and exciting and beautiful Louise.
They break apart, and it might be the lamp flickering, but Louise looks like a flame, alight with all kinds of things, and she says, “Well. It’s nice to see you too, Junior,” but there’s no malice in it, and she takes his face in her hands and kisses him, too.
**
A month later, Julie Jordan goes out to her mailbox and finds a letter from her daughter.
Dearest Mother,
I miss you terribly, though it’s easier with every letter you write, with every opening night, with every kiss from Enoch.
Who would’ve thought? Not me. But it seems like Junior and I have found our own happiness.
There was a carousel in the last town we visited. I took a ride. The horses were so big! Junior tried to help me up, but he nearly ripped my dress in the process and I managed to get up by myself anyway.
I thought about you the whole time, Mother, as the carousel turned round and round; I thought about all the stories you told me about Father and though I sometimes wish he were still alive, I’m beginning to think it’s all right. I turned out for the best, don’t you think?
Love always,
Louise
Title: and ain't you sorry you didn't run away
Fandom: Carousel (Rodgers & Hammerstein)
Character: Louise Bigelow (with a little Louise/Enoch, Jr.)
Rating: PG
Dear Mother,
I hope this letter will ease the blow of me leaving town. I know I said goodbye already but I never was good with expressing myself through speech, so maybe a letter will do.
I just needed to get away for awhile, Mother. Not from you, of course, but from the town. You know they never liked me, Mother, and maybe partly that was my fault-I was always too stubborn for my own good, I think-but a lot of it was Father and that just isn’t fair. I wanted to get away and see what’s out there in the world, and well, this theatre troupe wants me. They say I could be a chorus girl in the dance numbers and maybe work up to a solo or two. But they want me to be there, which is more than I can say for our sleepy little town. So I’ll be gone awhile, but I’ll always think of you, Mother, and the love you always gave me.
Your daughter,
Louise
**
Before Louise leaves, she arrives on the Snow doorstep, packed suitcase in hand, her best dress swirling around her knees. Carrie’s eyes mist at seeing her, all grown up and leaving, and Enoch Senior’s narrow suspiciously. The old Louise would have rolled her eyes or not even tried at all, but this is her happiness she’s asking for, and she asks for Enoch Junior as politely as she can and Carrie hurries her out into the backyard, dabbing at her cheeks with a handkerchief.
“You’re really running away,” Junior says as soon as he sees her suitcase.
“Yep. I was always a good dancer. Better dancer than talker, anyway. I want to see what I can be away from here. Where no one knows me or my daddy."
"I understand," Junior says, and he does, that's the hell of it. "I half-wish I could go with you."
"Hm. You know, I would’ve said yes,” she tells him, straightforward like always.
“What?” And he’s clueless, like always.
“You said you’d marry me. I would have said yes.”
“Then I went and opened my mouth.”
Louise laughs; she doesn’t do it often, so it’s a rough sound, but lovely, like rain on a tin roof.
“Yes, then you opened your mouth. But it’s all right, Enoch. I forgive you. It’s like Dr. Seldon said at graduation. I gotta stop worryin’ about people liking me and just start liking them. And I always liked you, Enoch. You’re my first and only friend.”
Enoch’s pale skin shows his blush quite well, and he averts his eyes, embarrassed. He doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t want his mouth to ruin this moment, too.
They sit in silence a little more, until Louise stands up and says, “You know, Enoch, I think you were right. But instead of me marrying you to stay, let’s you marry me and we’ll go. Get out of this two-bit town, head far away where no one knows us: where no one knows my father’s a long-dead bum, no one knows your father’s a stuck-up businessman who smells like fish.”
“Hey!”
“Oh, shut it, Junior, you know it’s true.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to point it out.”
“Fine. What do you say, then? Come with me. They’re always lookin’ for hired hands in theatre troupes.”
“This ain’t right. I’m the man-I’m supposed to do the askin’.”
“Well, I never did anything the right way, anyway.”
It’s probably the truest thing she’s ever said, and Enoch laughs.
“I’m just…makin’ my own happiness, Junior. And I think you’re a part of that. Either way, I’m going, with or without you. I just thought it’d be so much nicer with you there.”
A baby’s cry echoes from the house, and Enoch looks guiltily back.
“I don’t think I can. My Ma and Pa-”
Louise gives a rueful smile, and surprisingly, reaches out and touches his cheek softly.
“Of course. I don’t know what I was expecting.” She pauses, her hand still on his cheek. “I’ll write you, Enoch. Please write back.”
He nods. “Of course.”
“Good.” Her face splits in a grin, and she leans forward so quickly and kisses him, lingering on his mouth for a moment before backing away. Enoch reaches up to touch his mouth.
“Louise-”
“Goodbye, Junior. I’ll see you soon.”
And she’s gone, making her way through the grass, her lavender dress swirling in the salt breeze.
**
Dear Mother,
I miss you, too. Don't worry too much about me--the other performers in the troupe are like a big family, and they take care of me like I was their own kin. Of course, no one will ever come close to you, Mother, but they're kind people and they understand about being misunderstood.
I've enclosed a letter for Enoch, Jr. Will you please see that he gets it? I sent him a few but he hasn't replied. I think Enoch, Sr. has been throwing away my letters. At least that's what I tell myself. I couldn't bear it if Junior didn't want to write me.
I must be going--rehearsal is starting soon. There's talk of giving me my own act! Can you imagine, me up on the stage alone, dancing? It's so exciting, Mother!
Love always,
Louise
**
A year after graduation, Enoch Snow, Junior is in Augusta trying to close out a sardine sale for his father, when he sees a poster for a traveling carnival troupe. It advertises all the typical fare-bearded lady, a few contortionists-but at the bottom of the poster, there it is: Featuring the Lovely Louise and her Lovely Legs.
He doesn't hesitate, just buys a ticket, forgoing his business meeting, and there she is, a little older, her dark hair curling down her back. She’s wearing a dress that would get her kicked out of any churchyard back home, the hem a full two inches above her knees, in a shade of deep green that offsets her dark hair and olive skin so well. Enoch always knew Louise was pretty-she was her mother’s daughter, after all-but he never knew she could look like this.
It isn’t the dress-Enoch’s not even looking at her bare legs (much) but at her face, which is flushed and glittering with makeup and sweat. She’s kicking up her heels and cavorting with her entourage, and she's having so much fun, Enoch realizes. She's challenging the audience, looking them right in the eyes, turning cartwheels and daring their eyes to wander up her legs, down her bodice, before suddenly turning her back.
Enoch remembers a dance class they made all the students take back in school, to make them proper boys and girls. All the other girls demurely bowed their heads or fluttered their eyelashes over the boys' shoulders, but Louise looked everyone in the eye while dancing, even if the boys found it unsettling and the teacher thought it brazen. Louise was always challenging people, and that’s probably why no one back home liked her. They all hated challenges and risks, wanted to stay safe with their clambakes and treasure hunts every year. Louise always wanted more than life had given her, and no one liked anyone who wanted more.
The show eventually ends with a big dance number, Louise carted off by her entourage like a queen, and Enoch immediately rushes back behind the tent, trying to find her.
“Hey! You can’t be back here!” A big, dark man with muscles as big as the trees lining the path back home, steps out in front of him.
“I’m just-I’m lookin’ for Louise.”
The other man snorts. “Everyone’s lookin’ for Louise, boy. Get gone.”
“No, you don’t understand, I’m an old friend-”
“Enoch Snow, Junior!”
Her voice is a little lower than he remembers, but there she is, in the flesh: Louise Bigelow, grinning widely, her eyes sparkling. “Let him go, Ned,” she tells the big man. “He’s tellin’ the truth.” She rushes forward, hugging him tightly, her skin warm and flushed against his, her pulse dancing wonderfully against his neck.
"What are you doin' here, Junior?" she murmurs, the delight evident in her voice. He smiles, a little ruefully.
"Tell the truth, I'm supposed to be on a sardine sale, but as soon as I saw your poster, I knew I had to come." He ducks his head. "I had a few letters I haven't responded to. Thought this'd make up for some of it."
Much to his surprise, Louise doesn't pitch a fit or even sulk. She smiles. "I think it makes up for all of it. Come on," she says, and they go to her dressing tent and sit on the little cot as Louise throws on a dressing gown and brushes her hair.
“Tell me everything, Enoch, what have I been missin’ back home? Anything exciting?”
“You know as well as I do that nothing exciting ever happens there, Louise. In fact, I think your family is the most thrilling thing to happen since there was a tie for the treasure hunt back in ’83.”
She laughs, and the sound is just like Junior remembers it, like steady falling rain, and if you ask him later, he’ll tell you her laughter is the reason why he kisses her suddenly, her in her dressing gown, him smelling of sardines, surrounded by laughter and lamplight and linen. He kisses her because she’s nineteen and because she’s beautiful and if he’s being honest, he was always a little in love with her, forbidden and exciting and beautiful Louise.
They break apart, and it might be the lamp flickering, but Louise looks like a flame, alight with all kinds of things, and she says, “Well. It’s nice to see you too, Junior,” but there’s no malice in it, and she takes his face in her hands and kisses him, too.
**
A month later, Julie Jordan goes out to her mailbox and finds a letter from her daughter.
Dearest Mother,
I miss you terribly, though it’s easier with every letter you write, with every opening night, with every kiss from Enoch.
Who would’ve thought? Not me. But it seems like Junior and I have found our own happiness.
There was a carousel in the last town we visited. I took a ride. The horses were so big! Junior tried to help me up, but he nearly ripped my dress in the process and I managed to get up by myself anyway.
I thought about you the whole time, Mother, as the carousel turned round and round; I thought about all the stories you told me about Father and though I sometimes wish he were still alive, I’m beginning to think it’s all right. I turned out for the best, don’t you think?
Love always,
Louise