Isabella

Tomas was seemingly in a good mood. The new axe-head she brought home three nights ago seemed to garner her some favour. Not that it made much difference. Their quaint home seemed harsher in the growing winter light, the moth bitten blinds stayed drawn for longer, the outer doors closed where they had once been open for Oliver to play on the grass.

It was oppressive.

Isabella had kept herself busy maintaining the house. With the snow slowly building up on the distant hills she had taken that as a sign to do one last thorough wash of the linen and had taken to deep cleaning the bedrooms.

She tried not to sigh at the state of Oliver's room. It was no fault of his own, in fact his extensive spread of wooden toys had been kept close to the cot they called a bed. She tried not to cry at that. The horse feed box reposed as a crib and then repurposed as her son's bed was yet another reminder of how she had failed as a mother.

There had been no real expectation for Tomas to care for the boy, not after what happened and certainly not after what Tamlin did but she had hope. He had seemed honourable enough in the beginning. There was no hiding the abuse from his father, Oliver's messy room filled with his old stuff was testament enough to the elder Mandray's control over their life.

Her son was left sleeping next to bags of grain, tools, boxes, sacks of cold and the occasional mouse because of that man. They could have built another room. They were wood cutters for mercy's sake. Tomas' own mother had confessed they were somewhat carpenters themselves though there was little need for more of those in town.

Tomas, his father and grandfather had set about building this home for his future family. Three rooms. The main one downstairs was an all purpose kitchen, living room and a pantry cupboard hidden under the stairs. Two rooms off a narrow hallway overlooking the stairs had been intended as a master bedroom and a storage space.

Tradition dictated among the village that children and youngsters sleep in the main downstairs room before the fire. The elder Mandray hadn't wanted to see Oliver in the main room everyday, out in the open, so here he was.

The sheets had taken on extra dirt as a result, the dust from the coal and grain coating the sheets and no doubt her boy's lungs. Doing her best to scrub it off by the outhouse Isabella couldn't help but hold back her tears.

She blamed it on her burning hands against the washboard. The biting cold was enough to turn her hands red and then frighteningly pale but she could hardly shy away from the guilt burning in her gut. This was the best she had to offer her son.

Tomas had made no comment when he saw her coming in and out of the house, only nudging his father and jerking his head towards her. It was as if the pair were having a silent conversation as they stacked wood onto the wooden horse cart. Stomach churning uneasily Isabella began to hastily peg up the sheets. They could afford to build a new cart but not buy her a new washing line.

She would have bought it herself but money is tight in the winter months, Payment tends to come in once the wood has been delivered or in the summer when villagers pay in advance. Old grandfather Mandray took care of the finance. He was questionable at times with his maths but he was a shrewd man who triple checked his own work to ensure they didn't lose a penny.

He would know if she had taken a few extra coins. Not that he would mind the reason but she had taken a few extra coins last month for shoe repairs and the month before for Mrs Mandray's favourite tea. They were suspicious. She could never save up enough money to escape them so that wasn't the fear but...

Isabella glances around the bedsheet she's pegging onto the washing line. They're watching her again. It's obvious who's the Alpha between the two. The way the elder had a hand on Tomas' shoulder, too close to his neck to be anything other than a method of control. Carefully peering at them around the various sheets and clothes Isabella tried to make out the words through the distance.

The conversation seemed intense. Having failed at lip reading their conversation Isabella settled for reanalysing every event of the past three days since returning from her sisters. Oliver had dutifully made no mention of the Fae he had met, his only comment had been "Bat's friends are a secret." she had muffled her laugh at his assessment. Only smiling down at the fluffy bat toy he presented to her as he tried to convey his understanding of secrecy.

He understood to keep alot secret from his father.

Tomas had been displeased with their lateness home until she had presented him with the new axe-head. Having claimed to compare the three different smiths' in town and found him the best for the price. She made no effort to fight his belief that the extra time with her sisters had been to swindle coins for the axe-head.

There was no excuse to spend longer outside once the washing was out to dry so Isabella settled for placing the more delicate pieces of clothing over the fire railing inside. She would have to risk grandfather Mandray's displeasure at the sight of socks and women's clothing in front of his fire. He was visiting her humble abode more often now.

She had no doubt that his shrewd gaze was linked to her husband and his father's conversation. The three of them were no better than a pack of dogs ganging up on Isabella and Mrs Mandray.

The woman in question smiled when she caught sight of Isabella entering the home. Oliver was at her feet in front of the fire with some toys whittled by the woman in question.

"Washing hung out?" It was a polite question, not one meant to control or track progress but Isabella could see the tightness around the older woman's eyes. Everything should be done on time and in a respectable fashion. It was better that way. "Sheets and clothing. I'm hoping to deep clean both houses before winter sets in."

"A smart idea." She nods sagely as if she hadn't been the one to advise Isabella on how to run a house and survive scrutiny during the early months of her marriage. "I've started a stew over your fire here and a few pies in the old stone cooker back at mine."

"Pies?" Pies didn't last as long. They were frivolous and took up expensive ingredients for frilly pastry. "Not stew or a roast?"

More tree felling would be needed this year. The men of this family liked to have most of the wood chopped and dried by this time of year but there had been a surge of sales since last year. The Beddor's have been a woodcutter family as well, the only difference between us being that they were carpenters and skilled ones for wood work.

"The men will need meat to take out with them." Mrs Mandray waved off as if hearing Isabella's thoughts. "But we will get more meat by trading pies with the farmers from the village over. They have different veg to us and I know a farmer's wife who likes my pies."

This woman knew her connections all right.

"She'll also have some other things for you." So Isabella would be making the trip over the village. It was the obvious choice. Tomas would never lower himself to a messenger boy and Mrs Mandray rarely left the homestead anymore but- "Something for me?"

"No more extra coins, Isabella." she chastised and the younger woman blushed. Of course she guessed, the woman was no fool to the pain Isabella would not subject herself to again. "How have you been, my dear."

She gestured to the seat beside her and though she should be cleaning the rooms, should be trying to bond with her son before Tomas came back in she did as Mrs Mandray asked.

"It was around this time of year wasn't it?" Tired, weathered eyes filled with understanding met her own. Isabella had no doubt that tears were already welling up in her eyes. "Your sisters rose to their fortune at the start of winter."

Fortunate timing for them but that is not to what Mrs Mandray refers to. Swallowing heavily Isabella tries to remember the story the Mandrays and the villagers were told. There was no beast in the night, no glamour or claws.

"You know exactly when it was." Her voice was thick and sharp causing Isabella to immediately wince and mutter out an apology. She was never good at insulting or being sharp like her twin, though Nesta's presence had always given her more confidence. "It hurts just as much as it did then."

Rising to her feet Isabella turned towards the stove, effectively ending the conversation but guilt tugged low at her gut when she heard Mrs Mandray's defeated sigh.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:

It was just Oliver and Isabella at the table when Tomas entered. Mrs Mandray had soon made an excuse to check on the pies when it was clear Isabella needed some time to herself.

"Dad!" Oliver's face lit up and her heart clenched. He loved Tomas despite everything.

"Hey." Tomas' voice was light, almost playful and for a moment Isabella pretended this was reality. That Tomas was patiently listening to Oliver babble on about his day and the rabbit he saw in the field. Or even that his caring smile and soft touches to the back of her hand was anything more than a passing moment. The stew was welcomed greatly, if only because it was hot if not particularly tasteful.

Until Oliver was sent up to his room that is. A silence descends, not so choking that Isabella stops herself from the idle chatter spilling from her lips. The clattering of cutlery in the wash buck seemed too loud in the growing silence.

"How have you been?" A pause in the silence before the sound of crockery clattering sounds again. What a loaded question and one he has rarely asked. "I am quite well, the trip to my sisters was a lovely occasion and your mother has taken to teaching me-"

"That is not what I referred to and you know it." His voice is sharper this time, more stern and for a moment I wonder if his mother has said anything. If this is an attempt at conveying concern on his part. "I know what time of year it is, sweetheart."

Oh how I love and loathe that pet name.

"I thought it would hurt." The confession feels like a sin in the sudden quiet. Isabella turns slightly, enough to see her husband in the corner of her eye as she steps away from the dishes. "Physically I rarely feel the difference but- but in my heart-"

Isabella sees Tomas nod sagely before her eyes flutter shut on the escaping tears. The quiet sobs that she hastily muffles echoes in the cold room. Even the scraping of Tomas' chair against the floor does nothing to dissuade the grief rattling her form.

Curling her body into Tomas' ridged embrace does little to sooth the phantom pain curling in her stomach. The image of a beast tearing down the door, of the screams and blood only served to heighten the noise ripped from Isabella's throat.

Tomas murmurs soothing words, his tone similar to one he uses with the nervous horse. The words are insincere. She can't separate the two images of him, the one filled with disdain at what happened and the man comforting her now.

"It's okay." He whispers and there's something wrong in his tone. "It's all going to be okay now. You'll see."

She didn't see. She couldn't see how this pain would ever leave, how she could ever move on.

"Your body is better now." There's an almost reverent glee in his voice that her sobs quietening and an unbidden fear clawing at her throat. "This next pregnancy will be different."

A/N: (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ a n g s t ♥