Doubt thou, the Starres are fire,

Doubt, that the Sunne doth move:

Doubt Truth to be a Lier,

But never Doubt, I love.

-William Shakespeare

Chapter Nineteen

Nathaniel stared down at his wife, her green eyes overcome with a maddening black. Her hands tightly gripped her nightgown, suggesting a slipping restraint--a dangerous, wavering limitation. He didn't know this girl, her appearance was similar yes, but the stark guise of hate in her eyes rendered her a vessel of fury and pain; not his sweet wife. Not his Annabelle. Christ, what could have possibly pushed her to such bounds?

Casting his eyes past her, he noted his mother equally flustered, though her diagnosis was less severe; shivering and incessant sobs afflicting her as she cradled her arm against her bosom. Typical, but alarming nonetheless.

Brows joined in deep confusion, Nathaniel slid his gaze back at his wife--speechless. Not because he didn't know what to say, that being only a slight part of the dilemma. But because walking into the room, he knew with dreaded certainty as would any man with a dose of reason, that he would lose;  those of his sex never winning when breaking apart a scuffle between two women, especially that between a wife and a mother.

There was also the matter of the choice in words. He meant to speak, yes, the intentions were all there naturally, but with Annabelle tensing upon his every breath it became cleart that the wrong words could prove hazardous in this already precarious situation where facts were of essence yet the bearers of the truth, though present, were in their own respect, indisposed.  Behind him, his mother with her sobering and hitched breathing could offer nothing but frantic prayers to the heavens and whatever other saints she remembered. Annabelle on the other hand--well she offered nothing; No prayers, no tears...no breaths. Just a violent silence that like the gold timepiece in Nathaniel's pocket, ticked; waiting for his next words as if her very last beats of sanity depended on it.

 Rubbing his fingers, Nathaniel's body grew rigid with indecision. Great care had to be taken to assure the right words--the right gestures be employed but which? Before having the mind to choose, his mother swept beside him, the brushing of her gown penetrating the tense silence,

"She has gone mad!" she bellowed, manically tugging at his arm, "Look! Look at what she's done! She meant to kill me--"but Nathaniel refused his mother his gaze as he remained focused on his wife.

Gasping, Annabelle's restraint finally shattered, "You murderous liar!" she growled, her face alarmingly flushed. Annabelle whipped toward his mother, but in noting the fury in her eyes, Nathaniel quickly shifted his mother behind him,

"Annabelle!" he finally managed with an unintentional sharpness, stretching a hand between them to keep her from further madness. Her eyes widened in horror--

Brilliant, his conscience mocked.  What on earth had he just done? Wrong words and gesture indeed!  To his defense, he hadn't meant for the harshness but Annabelle moved with such a determined speed, what could he have possibly done? Forcing the clip from his voice, he exhaled slowly, regaining his normal tenderness in regarding his wife,

 "Darling please, calm yourself." Surely she had to know he hadn't meant for the harshness but in looking at the glare of betrayal spread across her paling face, his conscience echoed a painful truth--

Too late....

 Indeed it was. Annabelle barely shook her head, "You mean," she paused, her hands releasing her nightgown, dropping defeated at her sides as if the words she was about to utter would simply destroy her, "You mean to defend her?"

God help him.

She archly repeated with trembling conviction, "You're defending her? After all she has done to me! After all these years?"

What?

But Nathaniel's confusion lasted but seconds when looking into Annabelle's terror laced eyes, the clouds of confusion parted--Christ. It couldn't be she thought--that she meant to blame his mother for--no, that would be insanity...

But in stumbling forward, Annabelle gripped his waistcoat, her knuckles white, "It's was her!"

Lord, please don't let her utter the next words, he prayed doubly when--

  "She was the shrouded woman I spoke of!"

Good God!

 Winded, Nathaniel froze as Annabelle buried her head in his chest, curling closer into him, the gesture birthing a strangling knot in his throat; His darling, darling girl. How she trembled in his arms, saying,

"It was your mother." She sobbed bitterly, her chest seeming to cave as if her very soul gripped her from within, forcing her to confess, "She cursed my life that dreaded night after I lost my mother. The familiar figure that came into my home with slithering lies claiming the Melbourne's were my family when they were not, damning me to that hell--it was her!"

Ice shot through Nathaniel's veins. What the hell was she saying? He heard her broken phrases, each and every word, but nothing made sense as if she spoke in an entirely different tongue or rather his hearing--yes as if his hearing were compromised; and it was since his thundering heart masked all sound. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he was breathing any more.

Annabelle gasped for air, continuing, "She employed Lockley to kill me and had you not arrived," she trailed off, shivering as if shaking the near death from her bones. Her fingers gripped him tighter, "It was her Nathaniel, and it was always her, it was always her, it was always her." she repeated, every echo washing away a bit of her past, releasing her from its torturous shackles.

Standing in deathly stillness, Nathaniel watched as the figure gripping him crumbled into devastating tears. Shutting his eyes as her head collapsed onto his chest in soul stirring liberating sobs, Nathaniel couldn't bear the pain.  Never had anything hurt him so much as seeing her cry in that manner. But somehow she was free; she had spoken her words and found her liberty.

 Dimly he realized that even though he rescued her that night and told her that whether with him or without him she was free;  as long as she carried her secret inside, true freedom wouldn't have ever been possible. She had to utter her confession to truly be freed of her prison. Regardless of how crazy the confession sounded...

Still, his blood ran cold--what had she just said? Recalling past discussions, he gathered that he knew the woman responsible especially in the manner in which Annabelle withheld her name, always dissuading him from inquiring as to her appearance. But he thought it to be a woman from his past, from their old lives in Richmond. But his own mother? His breathing cracked. What was he supposed to respond to that? He couldn't very well just dismiss Annabelle's claims but to accept that his own mother was the evil which cursed their lives?

It was her...it was always her....

Christ no, she had to be mistaken.

His mother's loud gasp tore him from his thoughts. Blubbering in disbelief, she clamored, "She lies! You cannot believe the rants of a crazed woman William," she reached for him--

"Keep away from him!" Annabelle possessively ordered.

Eyes wide, Mrs. Hawkins stumbled back, "She has lost it! All her suffering has finally claimed her mind. Look at what she's done to me!"she thrust her arm before him--God! Gashed nail marks and punctured skin blared at him, a purplish hue coloring his mother's arm. Turning sharply back to Annabelle, Nathaniel was thunderstruck but she did not notice as she roared to his mother,

"And what of the scars on my back?"  Christ! She didn't deny it?

 Annabelle thundered on, "What of my mother's things? What of my life!" hot tears claiming every inch of her face, violent trembling possessing her. "You did it and now I've exposed you for what you are!" Turning back to him, Annabelle's trembling hands trickled to his face,

"You believe me," she nodded, her voice a cutting whisper. "Surely you believe me, don't you? God, Nathan tell me you believe me and finally free me of these secrets."

Cupping his mouth, Nathaniel realized how greatly mistaken he had been.  Annabelle wasn't yet free. No, her confession only brought her so far. Her true liberty rested in his next actions...in his next words.  She needed his approval to be truly free. She needed his acceptance to forever be done with the past. Closing his eyes momentarily, he searched his doubting mind frantically for words;  never had they proved so bloody hard to employ but his mother's damned hysterics made it that much more difficult--

Gasping, his mother shifted closer, "You can't believe her William! She's insane--"

"Enough!" Nathaniel roared, both women flinching. Feeling the room closing around him, Nathaniel gripped his hair, closing his eyes briefly seeking to center himself. His mother quieted in wait of his next words, as perhaps did all of heaven and earth. Would he fail as a husband? Would he fail as a son? Would both not be considered blasphemous before God? Lord, what to do...what to do?

Hearing his mother's hysterical sob once more, one thing was clear; she had to leave the damned room. Taking hold of Annabelle's trembling hands, he snapped over his shoulder, "Leave us mother."

Horrified, a hand clenched her chest, "You can't possibly mean you believe her--"

"I said leave! Go!" God what madness! "Wait in your chambers until I arrive."

Shaken, she resentfully gathered her skirt. Casting his sights from his mother, her shuffling gown brushed to the door and he accepted the soft clicking as proof of her departure, finally.

Nathaniel nearly stopped breathing as Annabelle collapsed into his arms, embracing him while burying her head safely into his chest, "Oh Nathaniel, I am so sorry. I wanted to tell you it was her but I feared. I doubted that you would believe me without proof. I wouldn't ever wish to bring you such pain, nor did I intend to hurt you with my accusations," she rallied, "But I could hold it in no longer.  I thought to get proof but keeping the truth from you was slowly eating at my heart, at my very spirit! Every time she looked at me and all I could remember was her face that dreaded night Lockley and George dragged me away."  Nathaniel quickly acknowledging that was the cause for her always angering in the presence of his mother. She continued,

"But you believe me," her tears soaked through his white linen shirt, "You believe me."

No situation could have been worse.  Fighting for the right words, Nathaniel stumbled upon silence.  React! His conscience blared, urging him to answer! He had to prove to her that he--that he...

Believed her?

 Yes!-wait-Dammit! His reply was a deafening silence to which his conscience too quieted, sadly settling the matter--

He didn't know.

He wasn't even sure if Annabelle herself knew what she had just spoken. Could it have been a nightmare perhaps to which upon waking and seeing his mother, it shocked Annabelle, causing her to confuse her dream with reality? But in looking at her wracking figure, he denied his wishful thinking. Still, if she would calm and let him soothe her to which then they could talk it over more reasonably.

Annabelle's fingers slowly released him, lifelessly falling from his waist coat. Gradually her eyes lifted in painful disbelief. Christ, what was she thinking? It couldn't possibly be something that he said for he hadn't said anything--

Precisely.

Damn. In his silence, she had gathered her answer.

All else falling into a darkening blur; Nathaniel's focus rested solely on the look of betrayal boring into his eyes.  In that instant the world spun to a deathly slow,  both of their breaths falling into a rhythmic give and take of inhales and exhales, synching in bitter waves of peace.; The same peace that normally preceded terrible storms. Their storm was set to come upon the next word.

And it did when with fingers slowly lifting to her lips, pressing lightly as if needing to keep the next words from being spoken, Annabelle whispered with raw certainty, "You don't."

In hearing her words, Nathaniel's world stopped. He believed her; somewhere deep down without hesitation he accepted every discomfort of her words, knowing her cathartic tears to be those of a confessionary spirit rather than a deceitful soul. But the power needed to display this evaded him, refusing to waken and overtake him so he could fall to his knees and plead that dammit, he did believe her!  Sadly his conviction struggled as logic possessed every inch of his mouth in turn silencing his conscience and suffocating his words. It blared,

What of your mother? She carried you, birthed you, nursed you, raised you....

 Right! Did she not deserve reasonable doubt! Was she not his mother after all? But with a shake of her head, Annabelle lowered her eyes. 

 "Ann," he started, but before he could continue, she turned and walked away.

Speaking gently to her retreating silhouette, he tried, "Annabelle please understand me; understand what you're asking of me." It sounded selfish and cold but when did reason ever sound as anything but? When was logic ever tied to insanity as love often was? When was rationality ever paired with the warmth felt by faith?

Nathaniel attempted to clarify, "She is my mother Annie and you're telling me she has been the reason for both our torment all of these years. The one person that I haven't ever had to doubt simply because of her God given duty as my mother is in turn the one person I must loathe!  You want me to accept that she is heartless and evil and has been lying, scheming and plotting and--Christ! Why not just openly tell me that she hates me as well? For I cannot see how a woman can love her own child yet purposely bring him such pain." He squeezed his eyes, his hand then falling before him.  "You are asking me to take that who is my mother and detest her with every fiber of my being; for had she been a terrible mother, lacking and unloving then perhaps such a request would be persuasive but I cannot say that she was. She hasn't ever been anything but vigilant and caring; if little beyond her usual hysterics being her only blemish."

She didn't respond, Nathaniel sure his partiality hurt her. Breathing slowly, he approached her motionless figure standing solemnly in the shadows of the drawn curtains. Smoothing his hands over her tense shoulders, she stiffened; it slashed him deep. Brushing aside his own wounded pride, he kissed her nape, whispering softly against her skin, "Please Annabelle. I just need," he paused. What  did he need? What could possibly make the situation better? Proof? Courage? A miracle?  Nathaniel remained silent, conceding to his harsh conscience which called him an adulterer. Yes, an adulterer because there were indeed worse ways in which to defile and betray your spouse other than lying with another. Namely, doubt.

"Annabelle, I need time."

She lifted an open palm as chiming from the clock in the hall filled the spaces around them; telling not only of the hour but that Nathaniel  had just run out of time. Disengaged, she said with a deadened voice "Take all the time you need. We shall speak of it no further, my lord."

What? My lord?! Never!

Turning her by the shoulders the sight punctured him. In his slight moments of his hesitancy, all the improvements Annabelle had made over their past week vanished; his actions undercutting everything he'd ever told her, every confession of love, every moment of passion.  Gone was the sparkle of her eyes, the prior dull inhabitant returning. Her glowing skin, blanched; a gray sorrow swept over her leaving behind a ghost. Leaving behind--

Martha.

Indeed. But it was not the Melbournes doing, No. The fault was his entirely! But he wouldn't have any of it!

"Annabelle, please-"

"Please what, my lord?" her voice flat and unaffected. She did not cry. Neither did she shiver. She simply stood.

"Dammit Ann!" Nathaniel gripped her tighter, shaking her with colossal restraint, "Do not call me my lord! I am your husband. Hate me, detest me, abhor me," he rested his head on hers; whispering in prayer, "loathe me if you must. But not your indifference for it hurts much more than your hate."

Unmoving, she answered, "So does your doubt, yet you reek of it." Nathaniel gripped her tighter, as her words cut him slowly. Intending to leave, Annabelle stepped back but Nathaniel prevented her, his body crying out in protest--she couldn't go!

Cupping her face in his desperate hands, he searched every inch of her beautiful face. Did she not know that she was the only one that could rid the stench of doubt from his skin? Exorcise it from his very bones? Dammit, what proof did he need when all the evidence was right beneath his fingers, trembling under his hold?

And there, staring into her familiar eyes, the answer came as his heart shattered through all doubt, breathing life to everything he should have known from the start:

That never would Annabelle have had to experience her darkest days had not his pride blinded him, shutting out the voice of his heart that from that very first day at the bakery blared at him that there was more to this 'Martha'.

That though bearing a different name, he knew her scent and the softness of her skin; her stubbornness and the sharpness of her voice! Though her appearance had indeed changed, there were her eyes, the very window to her soul. And he knew her soul. Was his own not bound to hers after all?

His heart declared that whether he believed her or not, he would accept her words even if she said he himself was the shrouded figure.  If perchance she ever confessed to lying or being mistaken in her accusation, he would refuse her confession and accept her lies as truths, making them law in his heart.  Why? Because in the farce that was his entire life, only one truth remained; that aside from the existence of God, there was Annabelle--his Annabelle. And without her, all other truths ceased to exist.

And before a breath, he took his lips to hers in maddening wholehearted surrender.  Hadn't he accepted that upon entering that room, he would lose? But it wouldn't ever be her--no, never. He would lose himself to her, but he wouldn't ever lose her. Never again.

And in accepting that in order to prove his loyalty he would have to banish his mother from his home, and rid her from his life, he pulled Annabelle closer. In accepting that he was to forever think his mother a murderer, a cold-hearted demon, he tightened his hold. And in finally trusting madness over reason without proof, he admitted defeat and deepened their kiss. He needed her, all of her, to ignite a flame within him that would abolish reason from his mind.

Yes, he would do it all for her; for her, he would do anything. 

But then, just as he surrendered all reason into Annabelle's arms, doubt waged the last of its war as it whispered past, asking one last time-

Do you believe her?

Did he believe her? He loved her. 

And that was answer enough.

***

A/N: This chapter was a complete surprise for me since after sitting down to type it, it took on its own life...But I'm glad it did. Next chapter we'll see how Mrs. Hawkins takes the news....

So I never post any songs but I had to post this one because if Flashbacks of a Fool had a theme song, this would have to be it and I just had to share it with you. It's especially fitting for this chapter and Nathaniel.

As Flashbacks draws to an end, I really do want to thank every single one of you, especially the trusty commenters that comment on every chapter. I love you guys :)

As always please vote, comment, like & tweet if you've enjoyed.

<3 Thanks for reading!