𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈.
the wedding
❝ I WILL MAKE US SAFE ❞

WARWICKSHIRE,
ENGLAND 1924

♜ ━━━━━ ADELINE HATED WEDDINGS.

Hated them like she hated her new school, bedtimes, the big house, and her father's apathy.

He'd not been round lately, Tommy, he'd been busy with... whatever it was he got up to. It was all part of his new direction, his campaign for higher standards. In any case, it meant that he wasn't at the big house much, leaving Del on her own with only Grace, It, and the staff for company. But he was back now. He was back because tomorrow was the wedding, and tomorrow was the day when everything changed for good.

She'd been hiding from everyone for hours, all day really, as she tried and failed to come to grips with it.

As the sun began to dip beneath the horizon, her bedroom door pushed open, and for once, she wished it wasn't Tommy.

"Sulking?"

"No," Del snuffed, fisting her hands into the curtains, not turning away from the window.

"Yes." Tommy replied through a sigh.

He walked up behind her, drawing a cigarette and blowing smoke from his lips. He came to a stop at her side, resting a hand in his pocket while she sucked in her puckered bottom lip, trapping it harshly between her teeth.

"It won't be all bad, my little trouble, you'll see, eh?" Her da shrugged a shoulder, "Might quite like it."

Her lips twisted. No. She would never like it.

Tommy sensed her silent rebuttal and he sighed once more. This was a conversation that had been in the making for a long time. He gently rested a hand on top of her curly head, blunt nails softly scratching at her scalp. She wanted to push him away, she couldn't manage it but. Del still wanted his love and Tommy still wanted her understanding. What a f—cking mess.

"Just try for me, orright? Try and see."

Unable to stand it, Del turned to him, eyes wide and desperate, "Do you hafta get married but?"

"I don't have to do anything." Tommy didn't look at her now, stubbing out a cig, "I want to."

Del felt all those unsaid words form a lump in her throat, big enough to strangle her right there and then.

She wanted to tell him that he shouldn't want a wife, he had her, after all. She'd keep him company, she'd make him laugh. What else did a man need?

She wanted to tell him there just wasn't enough Tommy to go round. That even now when there was only them, it was never only them. He always had something to attend to, some new crisis or new scheme. Too much time wasted on gaining power, and not enough time for Del.

She wanted to tell him that she missed him. And she'd only just had him for a few years and she wasn't done keeping him yet. She wasn't trying to be selfish, and she wanted him to be happy, but he had to know she was so scared. He couldn't cut her off like this, not when she still so badly needed him.

She wanted to tell him that having Grace in their lives was too painful, and it wouldn't be right. That Grace thought she could fill the shoes of this mysterious mother role was cruel, and that he couldn't let Grace take this precious figure away from her.

It had all welled up inside of her, a floodgate creaking and groaning while the dam needed to be let free.

He'd understand then. He'd agree. He'd say, Too right, my little trouble, I knew you were so clever. F—ck these people, f—ck this big house and Grace and this new baby, all we've need of is each other.

And they'd go home, and it'd be grand.

Instead, it all boiled down to, "It's not fair."

Tommy had a look like she was the most confusing person he'd ever met, "Is it not?"

"No." She swallowed, fisted her dress in her hands, "It's not. I... well..."

"Go on." It felt more like a challenge than an invitation, like he was rearing up to have a go at her.

She couldn't resist, "We don't need her. We don't. We can still go, Da, you and me 'fore anyone'd even notice."

Saying these things was a risk she knew, a terrifying chance at playing with fire.

Tommy didn't smack her, though, or even yell at her, but he didn't agree either. Shockingly, bewilderingly, her father nearly... smiled. Then he simply traced his quirked lips with another cigarette and cupped the lighter behind his hand.

"It'll be good, Del, for you and me. Woman's touch and all that." Tommy puffed out a billow of smoke, sighing as he did. "Could use a motherly influence, my little trouble."

"Don't say that," she snapped, face flushed.

"Mind how you speak to me."

"I'll not call her mum."

"Will you not?" Tommy asked, eyeing her carefully despite his casual tone, "She'd like you to."

"I won't." Del insisted, eyes wide, fierce.

He watched her, her father did.

She reiterated, "She's not my mother."

"Didn't say she was." He raised a brow, pulling the cig from his mouth, "But you'll mind her too."

Her jaw hurt and her teeth groaned from how she was clenching them.

"You can take me to your big house, force me into dresses and bows, an' make me sit for pictures, but you don't know how to make me fit into your perfect family." Del was on thin f—cking ice, and it was rapidly thawing, but she didn't care anymore, "You've Grace and It, but you can't make me fit."

She wasn't sure if it was a threat or an accusation even as she said it. Somehow it felt a bit of both.

Tommy simply stared at her, his puzzle piece of a daughter with all the wrong edges that no longer fit into the overall picture, expressionless and unblinking. She glared back, pouring out all her sadness into rage instead.

"Orright, Del. Have it your way."

He brushed her off. He tucked his lighter back into his pocket and left the room so she could stew in her misery all on her own.

She crumpled to the ground and hid her face in the crook of her arms.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A wedding was sort of like a battlefield, Del decided, if she really squinted. Her army was made of the Shelby's and their tribe, all sat on the groom's side of the aisle, laughing and talking and having a whale of a time. Really, the best sort of soldiers. The enemy's army was sat on the opposite side of the aisle — the bride's side; with their somberly dressed women and their men all in uniform with their medals and sashes.

F—cking cavalry.

Del's family was mad as the devil.

The girl tugged at her relentlessly tight collar. It was nearly stranglin' her. It was like she couldn't breathe. Grace had insisted she wear some ridiculous lilac dress, a near perfect match of the bride's own.

'Won't you like that, Della?' Grace had asked, smiling.

'I'd like burning it much more than wearing it,' Del informed her primly.

Tommy sent her to her room for that one.

She thought she caught him smiling a bit, though.

Wintery sunlight trickled in through the stained glass windows, making everything look ancient and nearly unreal. She puffed her cheeks and rolled her eyes up at the chapel's high ceiling. She was tucked safely between the wall and Pol who had a hand on hers. It was unclear whether she was comforting her or keeping her in line. Either way, she clung to her aunt like a tether.

A choir boy moved down the long aisle, handing out hymn sheets 'til he reached Pol who refused with a pointed stare.

"Some of us know the words."

Uncle Arthur's wife, her new auntie Linda, shot her a sour look. Del didn't quite understand Linda; if she made her uncle happy but, it wasn't really her business. As the best man, Arthur smiled at his new wife and then half turned to wink at Del. Her uncle knew her mood and obviously felt it necessary to tease her. Del glared at him.

Tommy was focused on the doors at the end of the chapel, dressed impeccably, his features completely calm.

For the briest moment, Tommy and Del's eyes met 'fore she looked away.

She wouldn't let him see her angry. Or hurt. Or upset. Not now on a day that was supposed to be his. Supposed to be something important to him. She wanted him to be happy. She wanted him to know peace. She wanted... she didn't know what.

Della did get some satisfaction out of seeing the cavalry and their wives squirm when Mister Jesus waltzed in as their priest, dressed to the nines, better than anybody else. Her enjoyment didn't last long, but, because soon the doors to the small chapel were thrown open and brilliant snow—light poured in. All heads turned.

"Here come the f—cking cavalry," Uncle John spoke loud enough for the entire bloody church to hear, "Late as usual."

Del buried her snickering in her collar as heads looked sharply amongst the long line of cavalry officers. Polly sighed and rolled her eyes. Oh, there was trouble ahead, indeed. Then, as 'The Bleak Midwinter' began to pour from the airy voices and pipes of the organ, in walked the bride.

Here we f—ckin' go.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The family photograph was a f—ckin' disaster, which wasn't a surprise, really.

No one in the Shelby family were able to keep still for long; everyone yelling and screaming and laughing at one thing or another. All crammed together on the chapel front steps, they posed for the bright white flash. Del was fairly certain she blinked during it. They were lucky she hadn't lifted her middle finger. She'd planned to, after all, 'til Ada kicked her in the ankle.

She was losing all over the place today.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Della didn't even enjoy the party after the wedding. She was on strict orders to be on her best f—ckin' behaviour. Or else. This of course meant no fighting, no racing, no drinking, no telling lies, no telling fortunes, no sticking nails in their tires. Pretty much anything that was considered "fun" was utterly off—limits for the evening.

Del was in for a night in the trenches; another bloody war to fight.

It turned out to be nothing like a gyspy wedding with the firecrackers and the games and the dancing. The jazz band from their club down in London had come to play which admittedly was grand. But stuffy guests milled round the big house, drinking sparkling champagne served by maids in black and white.

It was getting hard to see any familiar faces. In one of the front rooms, Grace was entertaining her many relatives. Polly was busy with some academic—looking man while Lizzie looked to be waiting for somebody by the front door. The lads were organising for some kind of meeting in the kitchens which she'd been restricted from on account of age and gender. Those b—stards. Michael and Arthur kept getting lost and had to ask Del for directions at least twice.

Bloody hopeless.

Everyone seemed to be having more fun than she was. Well, apart from her father.

He looked f—ckin' miserable and no mistake. She figured none of this was much easier on her father's nerves than her own. After all, there was much to contend with. Arthur's speech. John's sense of humor. Ada's politics. Not to mention, the bloody uniforms and all of Grace's relations. There also seemed to be business going on. Della had been round long enough to recognise it when she saw it.

Tommy seemed to be having the worst time of all.

Del tried to take some comfort from that.

The young girl weaved through the chaos of the big house, hearing snippets of conversation from their variety of guests:

"—I warned you: place is full of gypsies and blacks—,"

"—Grace says he exports automobiles to the colonies—,"

"—so why did one of the cavalry boys refer to him as Al Capone—?"

"—daughter from another woman, a wop from the sound of it—,"

There was going to be a murder tonight, Della just knew it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Tommy had gone to find Grace, and it wasn't going well.

She'd retreated upstairs to put Charles to sleep, and now she refused to come down 'til he told her the truth. Business was on his mind, true, and ever since they'd come back from New York, he'd realised that they were in more danger than ever. He'd been taking it out on Grace. He'd been taking it out on Adeline.

It wasn't fair, he knew.

And he felt like a b—stard for it.

Grace pursued Tommy into the bathroom where he sat perched on the edge of the bathtub, head sunk low between his shoulders. Clearing his throat, he busied himself with finding and lighting a cigarette so he wouldn't have to see her angry gaze.

"I need you to tell me that it's business making you like this. And not regret over me." Grace leaned close to him, holding her head high as she quietly demanded, "Say it out loud and I'll know if it's true."

Finally, Tommy looked up to meet her eyes.

"It's business, Grace." It was a confession, a regrettable one, "And bad, bad business it is, all round..."

His head dropped once more, eyes squeezing shut as he let out a low exhale.

"And I'm scared, Grace. I'm scared for you." Tommy's eyes were bright when he gestured at the door that led to the nursery and his daughter's bedroom beyond, "I'm scared for my Del and the baby..."

He was right to be scared.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

No f—ckin' fighting. Tommy's voice rang in Del's head in a constant loop. No f—ckin' fighting.

It was proving harder and harder to uphold her promise.

It was dinner time, and every child was set out at a fancy table of their own.

Now that Finn felt his age and gravitated towards the adults, Della was left to entertain the cousins and relations by herself.

Though the fact that there was good food was some compensation for being forced to entertain some uppity twit like Collin Burgess, one of Grace's many nephews. He was a puny little thing, a bit smaller than Del but he had to be at least a year older or maybe more. Normally, Del would've avoided his sort on principle: she enjoyed everything he disapproved of, and she disliked his pointless diversions.

Tonight, but, she was to play the role of hostess.

Bloody ridiculous.

At first, Del had been horrified by the prospect of being banished to the children's table, as any self—respecting eleven year old would. She'd never once been not allowed to eat with her family before, likely because they'd never even had a children's table before. Before the war ended, it was only Pol, Ada, Finn, and Del, and that was a little enough party to fit at the table. True, once the boys came home, they never had enough room, but that just meant Del was sitting on someone's lap for every meal they ate together.

She was shuffled round the table like salt or pepper. In the middle of eating the veg, uncle Arthur would randomly ask for Tommy to pass Del and then, with a big sigh, her da would hand her straight across the table, feet swinging over their dishes and drinks, giggling all the while she sat on Arthur's lap. Once they finished their roast, Uncle John would have a go and then Auntie Ada if she was in the mood.

It became like a game. Tommy had thought it up, if she remembered right. Probably trying to make her not mind sharing a chair. She thought that was silly though. Why would she mind? She got to be with them. Simple as that.

Now she'd been shrugged off, disposed of, forgotten.

They at least had the decency to let her preside over the children's table, she wasn't sure if she could suffer the indecency of anything but. Though it was clear John Junior — as the oldest Shelby cousin — didn't feel the same from the dirty looks he was sending her. Del just sipped her drink and ignored him.

He'd get over it. Or she'd have to beat him in a game of two—up. Whatever.

The fine cooking seemed to make up for most of John Junior's annoyance, but: three kinds of meat, four kinds of cheeses, roasted and buttered vegetables, two kinds of cake with frosting, and honeyed fruit that had most of the children sitting in a dazed condition.

"How're you enjoyin' the meal, Collin?" Della asked politely as she could manage.

It seemed like a hostess thing to ask about. She thought so, anyway.

"Fine enough." Collin mumbled distastefully, poking at his plate with a soured expression, "But I prefer what me nan makes — liver with toast, broiled beets, and my favourite: rum raisin pudding."

"That's nice," Del lied.

John Junior shot her a horrified look.

She could do nothing but shrug in response.

No f—ckin' fighting.

True, that was old man's food. Everything about that child seemed like an old man from his comb over to his suspenders to his high socks. Talking to Collin Burgess gave her the same sensation as drifting slowly to the very bottom of the deepest ocean. He was the most boring child she had ever met.

She couldn't very well punch his lights out just for that... she supposed.

"Though I suppose there's no accounting for taste amongst your sort."

Oh, but she could punch his lights out for that, without a doubt.

John Junior kicked her under the table. Del flinched and kicked him just as hard. He glared at her. She glared back. Then, ever so slowly turning her head, she forced the sweetest smile she could possibly manage at their new guest.

"And what's that s'posed to mean, eh?"

The smaller boy grinned viciously at her, "You're a bit slow, aren't you, Adeline Shelby? Guess you don't know any better, though."

No f—ckin' fighting. No f—ckin' fighting.

"Beg your f—ckin' pardon, Collin Burgess?" She asked through the nicest smile she could manage.

"Just what I said, Adeline Shelby. If your father lets you eat poor man's food and run around with stray dogs, that's his own business, like my father says, so it's not your fault. I guess it isn't your fault if you're gyspy besides, but I've to tell you it certainly does mortify the rest of my family—,"

Mortify them? Mortify them? The Shelby's now had the f—ckin' traitor in their family, and they were mortified? Oh, holy hell. Her hands turned to fists round her heavy silverware. Her cousins were gazing at her with eyes that burned, insisting that she do something. Tommy's words were getting muddled and blurred in her head.

Del maintained her smile, though it was trembling at its edges, "Collin, what the burning bright hell d'you mean?"

She wanted to make sure she heard him very, very clearly.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Collin blinked those small eyes, feigning politeness, "I didn't know you only spoke that gyppo language. I could talk slower if it helps?"

As if he wasn't painful enough to listen to.

Del arched a challenging brow and Collin went on full—steam ahead.

He spoke ever so slowly, ever so confidently, "My father says it's bad enough Mister Shelby's got an illegitimate daughter that runs wild, but now we know you're all dirty gypsies, there's no hope for our reputations. Auntie Grace is sullying my family with your kind, is what she's doing."

"Is that so?"

John Junior turned bright red, Karl scowled, and even Katie looked enraged. Each and every one of her endless supply of cousins turned to Della because after all, this was her responsibility, wasn't it? Her house, her guests, her job to make it right. Make this little b—stard eat his sickening words like force—feeding him glass.

But Del did nothing. She blinked. She exhaled. She smiled ever so sweetly.

Adeline Shelby knew how best to handle this situation. This little girl was raised by the very best predators, after all. When stalking one's prey, it is best to take one's time. Smile, bat your lashes, and say nothing. The prey will inevitably think it's safe out. He will become curious and let his guard down. It might take time, it might take all night.

But, oh, Del was willing to be patient.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Raised voices drew Della out of the big house and onto the top steps. With a cocked head and a furrowed brow, the eleven year old watched from the massive doorway as her father chased her uncle round the big statue outside, slipping and sliding and putting their knees out. F—cking ridiculous. Total pandemonium. Rather entertaining, too.

Del did feel a bit of sympathy too, but.

Her da was getting f—ckin' furious at her eldest uncle, and no mistake. The best man's speech must not have gone well at the adult's dinner so. Poor Uncle Arthur. He was going through an identity crisis, or whatever Ada had called it. Ever since he found Jesus, he was a little confused 'bout his ole murderous ways.

She decided to go inside before it came to blows between the brothers. Tommy told her to stay out of trouble, and she didn't want to risk a hiding. She didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction. Higher stakes, higher standards.

When she returned to the main room, the jazz band was back in session and there was dancing, drinking, and laughter. It seemed the cake had been cut and some of her fellow children were running round the legs of the guests. She'd just moved back into the fray of partygoers when Johnny Dogs took her hand and led her to the side of the room where Finn was already waiting. This was bound to be good news.

Johnny leaned to murmur in her ear, "How's a race sound to you, Della—girl?"

"Really?" Del very nearly squealed.

Finn laughed and ruffled her ears 'cause he knew she hated that.

She didn't even care right now. She didn't even mind it. Now when she was being offered to race. It didn't seem possible, not possible at all, to receive such an amazing offer on a nightmare of a night like this. Del was nearly bouncing were she stood, eyes huge and glowing with the thrill of it. Johnny simply laughed and clapped an arm round her back, shaking her so much that she nearly fell over. She didn't mind.

He was saving her arse, he was.

To be fair, but, she was saving his, too.

Finn had fine posture, it was true, but the whole family knew she was a better rider than Finn any day of the week. She'd even won a race at a fair two months ago. The whacking she'd received as punishment for doing it behind Tommy's back was well worth it. Johnny Dogs had won a mint.

As her memory returned, Della's smile faded.

Besides 'no f—cking fighting', her da had also told her in no uncertain terms that she was not to engage in any racing or gambling, even if Johnny Dogs and Uncle John tried to talk her into it. Even if they held her at f—ckin' gunpoint. She almost wished they had so they'd have shot her through 'cause it would likely be less painful than trying to resist.

The memory of said rules forced her to decline, "Can't. Me da'll f—ckin' eat me alive."

"Ah, Tom." Johnny Dogs groaned, "Don't he want me to earn a living?"

The girl sighed with a defeated shrug, "You'll just have to settle with Finn, worse luck."

Johnny Dogs laughed as Finn rolled his eyes, "Ah, f—ck off, Della."

She giggled and let her uncle shove her away.

Then, as soon as the boy had safely stepped towards the door, Del leaned in close to the Roma man, "His horse a safe bet, Johnny Dogs?"

He knew what she was really asking. He had a glint in his eye that she knew well enough. The enemy's horse was sure to be doped up with morphine and water, no doubt.

"Trust me, Della—girl..." He winked and shook her shoulder, "That I know what I'm about."

She certainly did.

The girl bent, slipped off her shoe, and dug into the sole, "Are ya takin' bets now?"

"'Course I am."

Del nodded, removed three p from her Mary—Jane shoe, and dropped the cash in his waiting hand.

Maybe bending the rules just a little bit wouldn't hurt.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

No f—ckin' fighting.

Oh well. Break one rule, break them all.

He'd let his guard down, Collin had, and he had no idea what was coming to him. She had him right where she wanted him. She found the little b—stard by himself in the side hall that led from the bathrooms. With her whole herd of cousins behind her, Del walked right into his path 'til he had no choice but to stop just before her. At first, he looked surprised, then confused, and then bemused.

"What is it, Adeline Shelby?" He crooned, "Do you want me to explain something to you again?"

She heaved a sigh. She was so tired of being the backbone of this d—mn family.

Del sucked in one long breath from her nose, smoothed her hands down the front of her dress, looked up at the boy, gave a grin, and then decked him straight in the nose. John Junior shouted in glee when Del pounced, immediately splitting her left knuckles wide open on the sharp edge of Collin's front teeth. It was no matter but, her right was just as handy and she curved it straight up into his gut and then into his cheek and then his eyes and anywhere and everywhere she could reach.

It wasn't blind rage.

He provoked her, insulted her family, and now she had to knock his block off, and no mistake.

Defending the family honor was tiresome business.

The lads were fighting elsewhere round the house, she knew; the calvary versus the Shelby's. It seemed these little battles were going round all over the place tonight. Quick and dirty. Strike quiet and strike quick. The brawling ended just as quickly as it began. There would be no more hate spewing from that little boy's mouth. It was well—deserved; it didn't make her feel better but.

Her pale lilac dress was stained red with Collin's blood by the time she left the hallway.

Only a few speckles, just a little, but enough someone might notice.

Del looked round, found herself one of the champagne glasses, and smashed it against the wall without any hesitation. It didn't even hurt when she pressed the sharp shards to her palms, squeezing 'til the job was done. The soft skin split easily enough and soon the irony warmth of blood stained her hands. She couldn't even feel the pain.

When she numbly wandered back into the ballroom, the girl could spot Pol and Grace through the crowd, by the wall near the punch, which was well enough. Unlike Della, they hadn't brought out their hat pins and fists yet. As much as she almost wished they would.

"And now..." said the announcer into the golden microphone, "The bride and groom will dance alone."

The band struck up some slow tune she'd heard in Ada's romantic pictures; fit for a f—cking fairy tale. The dance floor cleared, and Tommy stepped onto the dance floor with a small smile and one hand extended. Grace didn't give another glance to Polly before she stepped forward to join him. All eyes were now on them as they danced, smiles all round.

Del watched amongst the crowd of other guests as they danced, Tommy and Grace, just the two of them.

On the empty dance floor, their mouths were smiling but their eyes were deadly serious. All of Del's hair stood on end, a shiver tripping up the fragile bones of her spine. Grace had her hand on the back of his neck as she put her cheek to his, still whispering through their smiles. Tommy held her closer still, speaking softly and from the heart. They were smiling and swaying to the music, but there was serious business being discussed.

But that barely even mattered because they were both so beautiful. Both so perfect—looking. The way they looked at each other... Like they were the only two in the room, in the whole bloody world.

For some strange reason, it made Del want to cry.

The girl reminded herself that this shouldn't hurt her, that she should be happy for him. Because he deserved this, didn't he? Deserved to have a house where he could feel safe, where he could see his baby grow into a child, where he was married to someone who brought him more peace than pain.

Blood slipped down her fingers, landing heavy on the marble.

The music swelled and the announcer declared, "Ladies and gentlemen, you may join."

Other couples began to flood the dance floor, and through the dancers, she saw her da kissing his new wife and then she saw him leaving all alone. But then, impossibly, Tommy somehow managed to catch Della's gaze through the bodies between them. His eyes were full of a thousand emotions. She forced herself to smile at him. And maybe, Del thought, she saw Tommy smile back just before he was lost in the sea of people.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In the midst of the wedding dance, Tommy was making more vows. He swore he would get this business done and he would get away from things like this. Grace would run the foundation. He would run the tracks and sell cars. A simple life. Their whole future was ahead of them, beautiful and free of danger. He promised there would be no guns in the house and his son would never see one and his daughter would never fire one.

"I love you, Thomas Shelby." Grace smiled softly up at him, "You keep us safe."

"I love you." Tommy whispered back, "And I promise I will make us safe."

These were promises he would never be able to keep.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The deep dark wood was alive.

Del laid on her bed, half her face hidden in the pillow as she stared out the window.

The wedding had ended ages ago, and even the most drunken of the stragglers were being escorted off the premises. Her da had disappeared after the wedding dance, and she'd not seen him since — not inside or outside. She didn't really see much point in the party without him, and she'd hidden away in bed with her shiny shoes and bloodied lilac dress still on.

Humming softly to herself, she trailed her bruises and cuts with a small finger. In the golden light of her window, they were turning a marvelous purple. The cuts from the boy's front teeth and the champagne glass were already scabbing over. When she prodded at them, they split open and bled a little onto her sheets. She wasn't sorry — not for the blood and not for the beating. No one'd come to scold her. She hadn't expected them to. Little Collin Burgess was too full of pride to admit to being beaten by a little gyspy girl.

It felt nice to have a win.

She certainly felt she'd lost enough today.

Round the corner of the house, Del spotted Uncle Charlie and Arthur through the hazy house lights, driving a wagon with a canvas pulled taut over its back. They were heading toward the woods where a speckle of flames through the dense woods awaited. She considered giving chase, following and demanding answers. She was too tired, but. Tired of f—ckin' everything.

Her bedroom door opened.

It was her da, head low and moving quietly, as if not to disturb her. Then he lifted his head, caught sight of her face, and he froze. She was surprised that he was here, and he looked just as surprised that she was awake.

Immediately, Del hid her bruised fists under her blanket and boosted herself up on her elbows. She softly ventured, "Orright?"

She prepared herself for the lecture of a lifetime, for the chance that puny Collin Burgess had grassed, for her da's inevitable disappointment. There was nothing but, nothing at all.

Tommy quietly confirmed, "Orright, my little trouble."

Her da seemed to change directions. He slipped his hands into his pockets and strode fully into her room, stopping 'fore the window to peer out. Del watched through low lashes, yawning and frowning a bit. He didn't seem to want anything. He certainly hadn't expected her to even be awake, after all. Did he come in here just to check on her? Did he do that very often? She was too afraid to ask. Instead, she asked something else — something far less dangerous.

"What's Johnny Dogs burnin' in the woods?"

They could both see it through her window, that little speck of firelight burning off in the woods round the big house. The wagon had disappeared into the shadows of those tall trees, and the father and his daughter watched the flickery flames of a fire in the woods, and silhouettes of men with shovels.

Finally, her da glanced at her from the corner of his eye and very carefully replied, "You're too clever for your own good, Adeline."

It was a relief he noticed. Still, she had to ask, "Who was it? Was it the Russian?"

Tommy's eyes widened just enough to be noticeable. She smirked sleepily up at him, the need for sleep calling to her now that he was here. He was all right. All was well. Even if he didn't think so. His gaze had sharpened to the point where it could've cut her.

"Who said something?"

"Who d'you think?"

"Finn can't keep his f—ckin' mouth shut..." Tommy rolled his eyes to the ceiling, exhaling softly before he looked down at her — really looked at her, "Did I tell you yet that you looked pretty today?"

Della stilled. The girl blushed, turned pink all the way up to her roots, 'fore she slid further down into her blankets to hide her embarrassment. She knew he was just trying to distract her, redirect her away from this line of questioning. Still... there was something about the way he looked at her, the way he said it, Del thought that maybe Tommy really meant it.

Maybe not so defective. Maybe not so weak. Maybe not so dull.

"Nah." Del whispered, eyes drifting shut beyond her control, "Too busy scowlin'..."

"Suppose I was." Tommy scoffed out a dry chuckle, briefly rubbing his fingers into his eyes, "But I'm a lucky man, aren't I? I've got meself a pretty wife now, to match me pretty daughter. Shouldn't have been scowlin'. Stupid of me, eh?"

"Yea..." She murmured so softly, already halfway gone, "Stupid..."  

Della couldn't be sure, not at all, but she thought she might have felt Tommy's lips press to her forehead just as she drifted off to sleep.

━━━━━━ annie speaks ━━━━━━

i have so many thoughts and feelings about this chapter, and i'm dying to hear yours. this was so stressful to write for some reason, ah i'm nervous. what did you think about this one?