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Part 1 of the nicest word
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2020-05-26
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2023-04-01
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the nicest word there is

Summary:

The year is 1880. Reyna Sands is an orphan sent West on the Orphan Train. Ben Solo is a bachelor trying to eke out a living on a homestead in Nebraska.

He never thought he’d adopt a daughter.

Chapter 1

Notes:

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The train pulls into the station in the late afternoon. The air is heavy with dying sunlight, and the buzz of cicadas seems to give a voice to the heat. Rey presses her forehead against the window pane, certain her face is flushed and sweaty. Certainly her dress is dusty and wrinkled. She does her best to straighten her bonnet and smooth her skirt, before hoisting her carpet bag out of her seat and down the steps to the platform.

It doesn’t matter. No one is looking to adopt a fifteen-year-old girl off the Orphan Train.

This is the second time Rey had stopped in Red Cloud, Nebraska. The second time she’s stepped off the platform into any number of small towns along the railroad and tried to look presentable and appealing, strong enough to do farm chores and meek enough not to cause mischief. The first time down the line was full of excitement. Rey had never ridden a train before. She took in the billowing smoke and squeal of the wheels on the tracks with wide-eyed wonder. The clean grass of the prairie stretched for as far as the eye could see, so different from the sooty, stinking city. And every stop was full of potential, so many families looking for children. Surely one would want Rey? And so she stood on platform after platform, trying to look presentable, strong, and meek. 

It didn’t matter. No one is looking to adopt a fifteen-year-old girl off the Orphan Train.

Now she’s on her way back East. Back to picking through dust bins and hoping for a day’s wage in a deafening factory. Back to choosing between the cold streets and the nuns that hit.

“Reyna Sands?” The woman from the Aid Society looks up from her notebook. Rey nods quickly. “This is the last of them, Pastor.” 

She addresses a bearded man leaning heavily on a hoe. He peers at Rey.

“Protestant?” Rey nods quickly again. To be honest, she has no idea with which religion her parents had tried to save her mortal soul, but this is an Anglican Aid Society. “Good, good, those Papists get a bit touchy about their children, you know.”

He looked her up and down, eyes her threadbare carpet bag. Rey shifts it so the broken handle is less visible.

“I remember you, you were here a month or so ago.” The Aid Society lady nods in confirmation. The Pastor shifts a bit guiltily. “Ah, that’s a real shame then, can’t have you going back …” He hums. “I’d talk to the missus but we already have quite a few ‘round our place, have to put you up in the barn. No, that won’t do at all…”

He walks off in the direction of the small town center, ugly square buildings with false fronts and dusty boardwalks over the hard-packed streets. Rey looks nervously at the Aid Society woman. Should she get back on the train? But he’s back in a few minutes, another man in tow.

“...not really sure-” the man is saying as they walk up together. 

“Come now, Solo,” the Pastor claps him on the back. “Can’t go telling me a bachelor like you doesn’t need some domestic help, and lookit her, just a little thing, she’d hardly eat you out of house and home.”

The second man looks her up and down, eyes catching on the broken carpet bag handle. 

“What’s your name?” he asks her gruffly. 

“Rey.” Her voice comes out in a whisper, and she’s certain he doesn’t hear her at all. She tries again. “Reyna Sands.”

“I’ll vouch for Solo, here,” the Pastor is telling the Aid Society lady. “Good Christian man. He’ll treat her right. And we got a school here now, she can get educated proper.”

The man, Solo, stares hard at her. His eyes are a deep, caramel brown; she feels like he’s peering into her soul. 

He breaks his gaze. “S’pose I could take her,” he says in the direction of the other two. The Pastor cries “Right-o!” and claps him on the back again. He and the Aid Society lady fiddle a bit with some paperwork, calling Solo over to sign. 

Rey isn’t sure what to feel. Rather than relief, she largely feels a bit numb. She follows the man to his wagon, where he lifts her bag into the seat before helping her up. His hand seems to engulf her whole forearm, and when he swings up to sit next to her in the seat, clicking to his team, she realizes just how large he is. 

They trundle out along a path that wagon wheels have rutted into the grass. The sun is setting now, the air becoming cooler. She watches grasshoppers try to keep up with the wagon, clinging to the wavering stalks before flinging themselves forward again. A racket of birds comes from a nearby copse of trees. 

“I’m a few miles out,” he tells her, looking straight ahead, reins clasped in one hand. “Got a claim shanty, so it ain’t much. Got plans though.”

He lapses into silence. Rey thinks she should say something to this, but can’t for the life of her think what. They ford a shallow creek, and she clutches the wooden seat of the wagon, praying she doesn’t fall in. Solo reaches his arm in front of her, holding her against the backrest. “Steady now.”

The claim comes into view, bounded by the creek on one side. The claim shanty stands in a dirt yard, wooden boards bleached by the sun and a little stovepipe chimney sticking out at a jaunty angle. A slightly larger barn stands on the other side of the yard, and she can spot a few cows in an adjoining field. Chickens scrabble around the wagon as it rolls to a stop.

“Reckon you must be starved,” he says, hefting her bag over his shoulder. “Got some good salt pork in town.”

The claim shanty is a single room, a stove in the middle, with a chest of drawers and a large bed shoved up against the wall. The bed is covered with a surprisingly pretty quilt. Solo sets her bag on the bed and returns to the wagon for more parcels. Rey follows after him. She’s supposed to be useful, isn’t she? But he comes back and starts to fry the salt pork with some vegetables from the garden, and hands her a plate with some brown bread. 

She can’t help but rip into the bread, hardly pausing to chew. When that’s gone, she wolfs down the pork and sprouts. 

She looks up to find Solo staring at her. Her face flames red. 

“Want some more?” He offers the pan, and the rest of the brown bread, and she gratefully accepts. She eats slower this time, trying to remember what the nuns had tried to teach them. Chew with your mouth closed. Don’t lick your fingers. 

Solo eats his own portion, studying her all the while, before startling in his chair half-way through. “Shoulda said grace.” He shakes his head. “Ah well, don’t tell Dameron. He’ll scold me for being a bad influence.”

Yes, grace. Another thing the nuns would want her to remember.

It’s full dark now and Rey eyes the bed nervously. She’s heard stories from other girls, and good Christian or not, Solo is still a man.

He notices her gaze. “Just got the one bed for now. I’ll look into making you one soon.” He cleans up supper, lighting an oil lamp and clearing away packages, before pushing open the shanty door to the yard. “Best get your nightgown on, I’ll be back after I bed the animals down for the night.” 

Dread sinks in Rey’s stomach as she watches him leave. She should’ve known he was too good to be true. But… he fed her seconds. Might be worth putting up with… whatever else. 

Rey has two dresses to her name, one bonnet, a pair of worn boots, two pairs of stockings, an apron, a corset with whalebone sticking out, a sweater unraveling at the seams, a set of combinations, and one threadbare nightgown. She pulls this on while Solo is outside, talking to the pigs in a low voice that carries through the open window. She considers tugging her sweater on too, but it’s simply too hot to be permitted. Instead she’s frozen wondering if she should get under the quilt, when Solo pushes the door to the shanty open. 

He goes to the chest of drawers and pulls his work shirt off without ceremony, dropping his trousers next so that Rey quickly averts her eyes and studies the quilt pattern. It has overlapping hexagons that almost float toward her in the dull lamp light.

When she turns around, he’s dressed in a long night shirt, and gestures her to get into bed. She curls against the wall, tensed and waiting for him to reach out to touch her, but he only says “Good night” and extinguishes the oil lamp. She lays tensed a while longer, until she hears his snores. In the morning, she can’t remember falling asleep.

Notes:

I'll try to post as often as I can. Will include content warnings for each chapter in the end notes.

The Orphan Train was a real thing. They really did try to match Protestant children with Protestant families and vice versa.

Ben's quilt.

Red Cloud, Nebraska is Willa Cather's childhood town, and is the basis for Black Hawk in My Ántonia. I'm a big fan of Nebraska tbh.

Find me on Twitter at @entropyyy23

Chapter 2

Notes:

Content warnings in the end notes.

 

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

There are three cows, two horses, four pigs, and (Rey thinks) seventeen chickens. She follows the chickens around the yard, scattering feed for them and breaking up their small squabbles. She finds an egg nestled in some tall grass near the barn, and this excites her so much that she runs to find Solo in the near field to show him. He stops when he sees her approach, and she grins broadly and holds the egg out in her palm.

“That’s… that’s real nice,” he says to her, taking off his wide-brimmed hat to wipe his brow. “Best put it in the cupboard with the others.”

The others? Rey hurries into the claim shanty to find the cupboard. When she pulls the door open, there are nearly a dozen eggs sitting neatly in a little cupped tray. She places her egg carefully among them. A dozen eggs!

After a lunch of cold ham and as many greenbeans as Rey can eat (Solo set her to picking them in the garden earlier) he leads her to the far side of the barn.

“Thought you could do some wash,” he says. “Sort your things out now you’re here. Got some blue jeans to throw in if you don’t mind.” He leaves her alone with a bucket of water and some soap.

Rey considers the set-up. She’s washed her clothes before, certainly, in dank little sinks and tepid buckets. Sometimes with soap and sometimes with just ash from a dustbin. And she’s seen laundresses at work, with their big paddles and washing boards. It can’t be too hard.

The scrubbing goes well, she works quickly through her own clothing, watching the water become grey. The blue jeans are made of a curious, heavy canvas dyed a royal blue. Rey thinks they’re pretty. She dips them in water and scrubs on the board, then drapes them over the clothesline. Solo comes to find her after milking and hands her a cup full of frothy milk.

“Set the milk from last night for cheese, but I thought you’d want a taste.” Rey smiles shyly at him and sips. It’s warm and creamy, sweet. Nothing like the milk she’s had before, on the verge of sourness.

After supper, Rey takes a basket to the clothesline to collect the wash, only to find an array of limp bundles in the dirt of the yard. A lone pair of stockings flutters at her from the line, Solo’s beautiful blue jeans crusty with dust at her feet.

Tears well up unbidden in Rey’s eyes, and she feels a familiar panic course through her veins. Surely this is enough for Solo to take his hand to her backside? She’ll have to rewash everything, and it’s near completely dark out…

She scurries around the yard, collecting the dirty clothing back into the bucket. Where was the pump for water? Or did Solo get it from the creek? She swallows a lump in her throat at the thought of asking him. Perhaps she can hide everything until tomorrow? But her nightgown is a crumpled mess, and suppose Solo wished to wear the blue jeans in the morning…

“Wondered where you got to.” Solo’s low voice sounds from behind her, and Rey nearly jumps out of her skin. “Whoa now, it’s alright.”

His eyes fall to the bucket with the dirty blue jeans resting at the top, then flicker up to the stockings still fluttering in the light breeze. Rey feels a tear slide slowly down her cheek.

“Forgot to show you the clothespins, didn’t I?” He plucks a little tin bucket from the side of the barn and rattles them around. “Nevermind, I’ll help you tomorrow.”

Rey numbly follows him back to the claim shanty, carrying the bucket on her hip. There’s still the problem of her nightgown. She averts her eyes again as he dresses for bed, and then stands awkwardly, twisting her skirt in her hands.

“My–” her voice catches in her throat.

Solo looks up at her single word, tilts his head questioningly. She takes a deep breath and tries again. “My nightgown.”

She nudges the bucket at her feet with her boot, avoiding his gaze. She can hear him rummaging in the chest of drawers, and then a piece of fabric is tossed into her hands.

“My mother’s,” he says. Rey looks down at the silky fabric. It’s embroidered and trimmed with delicate ribbon. “She was a bit shorter than you, but no matter.”

The nightgown feels like liquid against her skin; Rey is certain she’s never worn anything so fine.

Solo brushes her arm a bit when he gets into bed beside her, but she doesn’t tense up like the night before. Within minutes, she’s fast asleep.

 

Solo watches her do the laundry again the next morning, and then helps her pin the various items into place on the line. He rubs some of the fabric between his fingers while he hangs it to dry.

“This all you have?” Rey nods, then pulls on the sleeve of the dress she’s wearing. She’d even left off her combinations and her corset to be washed, but figured she could wash this dress the next laundry day.

He mutters to himself a bit and walks back to the shanty; he has a peculiar gait, not quite a limp but a little uneven. Rey sets to the chores she did yesterday, determined to make herself useful. She finds three more eggs around the barn, and gathers handfuls of beans, picking weeds when she sees them crop up between rows. When she goes to place the new eggs in the little cupped tray, she finds Solo rummaging through the chest of drawers, different fabrics spread over the quilt.

“Ah,” he turns when she walks in, looking a little shifty. “Pardon, I just thought- I mean, you only got the few things, and these are just sittin’ in here…”

He pulls a dress off the top of the pile and holds it up for her to see. It’s beautiful, embroidered with floral designs and bedecked with ruffles, full-skirted in a style from a few decades previous. “This’un probably wouldn’t be for around the farm, but I think there’s some plainer… You’d have to fix ‘em up to fit you, a’ course.”

Rey smiles shyly at him. Internally she feels a sense of unease. Every item of clothing she’d ever worn had come from a barrel, and while she’d done small repairs here and there, this seems far beyond her skill set.

“Anyway, we can sort that later. I made some bread, s’pose that’ll be your job from now on.” He gestures at the oven, and Rey can smell the loaf baking within. “Gotta move the cows’ stakes in the outer field, be back for lunch.”

Rey watches his queer walk to the outer field, and then turns her attention to the dresses on the bed. There are indeed a few plainer dresses, fine calicos that seem smart and practical. She holds one up to her frame; it’s at least six inches too short, and a bit wider in the hips. And the skirt- Rey would have to find an old crinoline somewhere if she hoped to wear it like that. No, she’d just have to cut away some portion of the fabric.

An acrid smell reaches her nostrils. She yelps and grabs a rag to fling open the oven door, where the loaf sits smoldering and blackened. She places it gingerly on the stove top, trying once again to hold back tears.

Solo comes jaunting back across the yard, holding some greens in his hand. He holds them out to her when he draws close. “Just thought I’d tell you these are the summer planting of collards, suspect you thought they were weeds…”

He catches sight of the burnt loaf. “Ah, shucks.” Rey stares miserably at the floor. He’ll send her back now for certain, wasting good bread and greens like that. Dirtying his blue jeans. Eating him out of house and home. She wants desperately to say something, but a knot has formed firmly in her throat and she can barely see through the sheen of tears in her ears. He moves as if to touch her shoulder and she cowers, waiting for the strike. His arm falls back, and then he steps away to grasp the loaf in one large hand and bring it out to the pigs.

 

The next few days pass in a blur for Rey. She tries to do all her chores as well as she can, but everything seems to go wrong. She drops two eggs the following day, and somehow dirties the beautiful quilt while laundering the bedding. She clumsily mends one of Solo’s shirts, and wakes up in the middle of the night to find him re-doing it by lamplight. She can barely meet his eye anymore, and her shoulders are tight with worry over when he’ll send her back East. Surely this isn’t what he wanted from a girl off the Orphan Train. He’d wanted a hard worker, strong and meek, and Rey is just meek, about to dissolve into despair.

Solo clears his throat one evening after a supper of a hearty stew. Rey tenses; this must be it.

“See you haven’t done anything with the dresses.” Rey shakes her head, staring at her bowl. “Now I got to thinking, Dameron has a girl, just about your age…”

Rey can’t hear him over the ringing in her ears. Dameron- that must be the Pastor- he said he had too many at his place, Solo must want to replace her with one of them. A girl who knew how to sew and do laundry and bake bread.

“-tomorrow afternoon?”

So soon. Rey didn’t even last a week.

The tears are suddenly flowing freely down her face, and there’s a low moaning in the room. It takes her a few seconds to realize it’s coming from her throat. “Please,” she gasps. It’s hard to get enough air. “Please don’t send me back.” The floor seems to tilt at an odd angle, and she finds herself in a heap at the base of the chair.

Suddenly, she feels warm hands scooping her off the floor, and when she reorients, blinking away tears and trying to control full-body shudders, she finds herself in Solo’s lap in the rocking chair on the far side of the stove. His arms tighten around her until the shuddering stops, and then her head lolls limply back against his shoulder.

“Please don’t send me back,” she croaks. “I- I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I’ll do anything.”

“Ain’t gonna send you back,” he says gruffly in her ear. “Never was gonna. Just thought you might like to meet Rose, maybe have her show you a few things. She’s a real nice girl.”

Rey breathes deeply while she considers what he’s saying. He’s not sending her back? She’s not sure about this Rose character, but she’ll meet all the real nice girls he wants if he’ll let her stay.

She realizes he still has his arms wrapped around her. He’s warm, comforting. Rey can’t remember the last time someone touched her that wasn’t a slap or a shove. She doesn’t want it to end.

Solo seems to be relaxing into it too, his breaths steady against her ear.

“Alright,” she says, and it’s not a croak or a whisper. “I’ll meet her.”

Solo nods, and his whiskers tickle her neck.

They dress silently for bed, Rey carefully tying the little bow of the neckline drawstring in the silk nightgown.

In the middle of the night she wakes to find herself in the middle of the straw tick mattress, curled up against his giant form, as if her body just can’t get enough.

Notes:

CW: Rey has a panic attack. References to past physical abuse.

Swill milk - what I imagine Rey probably drank as a child. Amazing anyone survived back then.

Find me on Twitter at @entropyyy23

Chapter 3

Notes:

Content warnings in the end notes.

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The next day is Sunday. Rey tries her best to put her hair into two neat braids, and wears her freshly washed dress. Then she sits beside Solo in the wagon seat, hands clasped in her lap, as they make their way back to town for church.

The church is a pretty, steepled building made of new pine boards, not even painted yet. A small knot of people mill about in front of the building, and Rey watches them while Solo ties up his team, then rounds the wagon to help her down. There are a number of small children running about, and a few older boys and girls who stand off a bit from the rest. She spots the Pastor, who has his hand resting on the lower back of a woman who must be his wife; Rey sees now why they couldn’t take her, it seems they’d have a new little one soon.

“Miss Reyna,” the Pastor greets. “And Solo, welcome. This is my wife, Kaydel.”

Rey smiles at them. Solo clears his throat.

“Say, Dameron, do you think Rose could help out with a few things sometime? Just get her adjusted like.”

The Pastor smiles broadly. “I’m certain she’d be willing to help. Rose!” He calls behind him, and one of the bigger girls comes over, smiling at them. She’s wearing a pretty yellow calico and has her hair in two thick, black braids. 

“Hello!” she says.

Rey can’t stop staring. She’d seen Chinese in Chinatown of course, but none who spoke to her in perfect, unaccented English.

“I’m Rose,” she sticks out her hand.

Rey slowly holds hers out to shake. “I’m Rey,” she says quietly.

“Nice to meet you, Rey.” The girl glances up at Solo and then shifts her gaze to the Pastor.

“Rose, would you mind helping Miss Reyna here get settled in? Maybe she could lunch with us after service, give you a chance to get acquainted.”

“Of course!” Rose smiles again, and tucks Rey’s arm in hers as they start walking into the church. “You can sit with me and Finn.” She glances behind them at Solo, who hovers like a dark cloud in his black Sunday suit. “And Mr. Solo, of course.”

They slide into a pew, fresh pine like the rest of the building, Rose on Rey’s left and Solo on her right. A tall, colored boy slips in next to Rose just as Mr. Dameron stands at the front. “I’m Finn,” he whispers to Rey, holding his hand across Rose’s lap so she can shake. His smile is blinding white.

Rey reaches out to grasp it. “I’m Rey,” she whispers back. 

The Pastor clears his throat. “Welcome, brothers and sisters…” 

He goes on to speak about thanksgiving and charity, and then reads a passage from his handsome, leather-bound bible. 

“...taking the five loaves and the two fish he looked up to heaven and blessed and broke the loaves, and gave them to his disciples to set before the people; and he divided the two fish among them all. And all ate and were filled…”

He pauses and looks up at the congregation. “And so we see that it is through Christ that scarcity becomes plenty, and that none need go hungry on this bountiful Earth. With Christ, there is food enough for all.”

They take Communion, and then greet the other parishioners. Rose introduces Rey to everyone, and Rey is grateful not to have to speak much. Solo helps her back into the wagon to follow the Damerons (Rey is having a hard time keeping track, but she thinks there are five children, plus Rose and Finn) back to their homestead. 

The Damerons have a real house, not just a claim shanty, with a gabled roof and covered porch. They even have real glass windows in the frames, whereas Solo just has mosquito netting tacked into the wood. The barn is steepled and is painted a rich red, and Rey thinks it wouldn’t have been so bad to have to sleep there. She glances at Solo. Not so bad with him either.

They dine on cold duck, boiled potatoes, collard greens, sauerkraut. Biscuits and gravy, hard-boiled eggs, and little fairy cakes with jam. Rey’s eyes are round in her head as she takes in the spread, and she thinks she catches Solo chuckling at her but he’s schooled his face when she turns to look at him. 

She helps Mrs. Dameron and Rose with the dishes. Solo follows them into the kitchen with a package from the wagon. Rose unwraps it and gasps with delight; it’s two of the plainer dresses from the chest of drawers, but she lifts them out with reverence. “So much fabric,” she breathes. 

She takes Rey’s measurements and then helps her cut the skirts more fashionably, gifting Rey a thimble so her stitches are more even. Rey can’t keep the smile off her face as Rose prattles on about the goings-on of the farm and the gossip from the small town. It comes time to try the dress on, and Rey changes behind a screen in the kitchen. Rose hems and haws, making adjustments. When she goes to tuck a piece in, she brushes against the exposed whalebone of Rey’s corset. 

“Oh,” Rose says, biting her lip. Rey’s face flames red. Rose smiles kindly at her. “If you’d like, I have an old corset that should fit you fine.”

She runs upstairs to fetch it and Rey studies the wood floor, shamefaced. 

Rose brings down the corset, and a set of combinations she says are too small for her. Rey thanks her quietly, moving behind the screen to change completely, but can’t quite meet her eye when she emerges. The dress fits perfectly over the new underthings. They start on the second.

“Mr. and Mrs. Dameron found me in a brothel,” Rose says quietly after a long stretch of silence, stitching a hem steadily. “I was only three or four, and my mother was dead. This is all I have left of her.” She touches a necklace at her throat. 

Rey looks up at her, stricken. Rose’s eyes swim a bit, but she smiles at Rey, grasping her hand tightly. Rey smiles back, squeezing her hand.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I’m- I’m real glad to know you. I hope we can be friends.”

“We will be,” Rose says confidently. “Bosom friends.”

They find Solo and Mr. Dameron smoking cob pipes out on the porch. Finn sits on top of the lunch table in the yard, plucking a fiddle with his fingers. 

“Whoo-ee, you look mighty fine, Miss Reyna,” Mr. Dameron says when he sees her in the doorway. Solo just puffs on his pipe, observing her. 

They pack up to drive home in the gathering dusk. Rey gifts Rose the remnants of the dress fabric, and thanks her again for her help. When she’s about to leave, Rose pulls her into a tight hug. “I’ll see you again soon,” she says. 

 

Solo glances sideways at her in the wagon seat as they trundle down the track. “You’re a real little lady now.” 

Rey can’t help the blush that dashes across her cheeks.

Notes:

CW: Clumsily navigated 1880's racial politics. Touch o' Jesus. Canon character death (Paige).

First off, I made Rose Chinese to fit with the waves of immigration at the time. I hope I didn't offend anyone. I imagine her mother was brought to San Francisco as a prostitute and had Rose before dying. The history of Chinese prostitutes in the West is really horrible. I will be clumsily navigating even more 1880's racial politics when we get into Finn and Poe's backstories.

I'm not an especially religious person, but religion will probably be a big part of this story. The church they go to is a Congregational church - Laura Ingalls Wilder attended Congregational churches throughout her childhood. I imagine that Poe is a Congregational minister by way of a Quaker education, and that his views of gender and race are heavily influenced by this. I thought Mark 6:41 would speak to Rey especially.

Rey's fixed-up dress. Almost certainly not historically accurate but I do what I want.

Find me on Twitter at @entropyyy23

Chapter 4

Notes:

Content warnings in the end notes.

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The next week goes by much more smoothly. Solo makes sure to show Rey every step of a new task, and she even manages to ask him a question when something is unclear. She falls into a comfortable daily routine of tending the garden, kneading the bread, feeding the chickens, and helping Solo re-stake the cows in a fresh patch of grass in the far field.

“Careful of the snakes,” he tells her. “Mean old rattlers.”

This scares Rey more than anything else in the West has yet, but he just chuckles at her. “They don’t want to bite you. That’s what the rattle’s for. Just watch your step. Keep an ear out.”

He lays a large hand across the broad side of one of the cows, who he refers to only as “M’lady.” 

“Reckon she’s due to pop within the week.”

“What- you mean, she’s going to have a baby?” Her eyes grow round and she can’t keep the excitement out of her voice. A baby!

“Now, don’t you go getting your hopes up.” He drops his hand and fixes her with a warning look. “If it’s a male-”

“I know,” Rey says quickly, casting her eyes down to the clean, green grass swaying gently in the breeze. Country life was a lot kinder than city life, but it still had its cruelties.

Solo hammers the last stake into the ground and gazes for a moment at the cows grazing.

“You wanna see the little gopher town?”

They walk about a mile from the homestead, Rey picking her way through the tall grass like she’s walking through landmines. The gopher town spans about an acre of pockmarked dirt, with little hills surrounding their holes. One chirps an alarm as they draw closer, and there is a sudden scramble as the animals race underground. Solo tells her to stand still, and slowly the rodents emerge, cautiously going about their business. Rey spots a handful of half-sized gophers near one mound, and brushes Solo’s arm as she claps her hand over her mouth in excitement. He chuckles.

“Now there’s some babies for ya.”

Solo spends the rest of the afternoon fishing in the creek. Rey ties up her skirts and wades in the shallows, watching minnows dart around her toes. A splash from upstream draws her attention and she goes to investigate. A long creature with a whip-like tail stares back at her, before flipping away under the water. 

“Damn otters,” Solo mutters. “Scarin’ away all the fish.”

They feast like kings that evening, bass and trout, good brown bread, summer squash and beans, fat tomatoes so ripe they’ve split their sides. Rey eats until it hurts, and Solo tells her about his plans for the homestead.

“Fixin’ to plant a fruit orchard down that’a’way, apples and peaches and the like. Got the wheat field already, but I might diversify. Put down some seed potatoes. And in the spring I’ll buy some lumber, start buildin’ a real house over yonder. Turn this into a tool shed.”

Rey smiles at him, basking in the feeling of being full. Solo pulls out his cob pipe and they sit in silence in the gathering darkness.

 

Sunday morning Rey takes extra care to tie her hair neatly into braids, tying them with ribbon from the chest of drawers. She smooths on the nicer of her two new dresses and wipes down her boots so they’re free of mud. They’re still split at the heel and her stockings have a clumsily mended hole at the ankle, but Rey has never felt so pretty.

Solo comes in from the field, his funny gait even more exaggerated in his haste.

“M’lady’s havin’ her calf.” He gathers some rags and a bucket. “Won’t make it to church today.”

Rey hurries after him before doubling back to fill the laundry bucket with more water from the pump. She holds it to her hip, sloshing as she half-runs to the outer field. M’lady is lying on her side, panting. Solo has his hand right up near her rear. Rey can spot a single hoof dangling out.

“Why don’t you keep her calm,” Solo tells her. “I gotta pull the other leg out.”

Rey situates herself near M’lady’s front, cradling her head in her lap and petting and cooing at her. “You’re gonna be a real pretty mama,” she tells her. “Real pretty.”

The cow snorts, and a wild brown eye stares up at her.

“Almost got it,” Solo says, his face pinched in concentration. “Almost… there.” He pulls his hand away and a gush of fluid leaks out.

The rest of the labor seems to go relatively smoothly. It’s not more than an hour before the calf emerges in full, a tiny bedraggled thing. “Female,” Solo announces. M’lady rolls out of Rey’s lap and staggers to her feet, then starts to clean the calf’s head.

Rey offers Solo the bucket of water to clean himself, but he mutters that he’ll go take a dip in the creek. “Watch for the afterbirth,” he tells her as he walks away. “Don’t let her eat it.”

Rey keeps vigil the rest of the day, carting away the afterbirth as soon as it’s expelled. She watches the calf dry to perfect baby fuzziness, and tentatively pats her head while M’lady looks on. By evening the calf has stood up to suckle at M’lady’s teat. 

At Rey’s prompting, Solo pulls the pair into the barn for the night. “S’pose we wouldn’t want the coyotes gettin’ to her.” 

She quickly takes over staking the cows in the morning, leading the calf and M’lady from the barn and finding them the nicest patch of grass. She finds wildflowers in the field and weaves them into circlets for them to wear on their heads. She frets about Solo taking too much of M’lady’s milk. 

Solo rolls his eyes goodnaturedly and musses her hair. 

 

One morning, nearly a week after the calf is born, Solo comes into the claim shanty while Rey is still dressing. He keeps his eyes downcast, and rubs a hand on the back of his head.

“I-” he pauses, as if unsure how to continue. “I’m real sorry, but-”

Rey looks up in alarm, and when a low bellow emanates from the barn, she pushes past Solo and runs across the yard in her stocking feet. 

The little calf is curled up under her mother as if sleeping, but Rey knows before she touches her that she’s dead. She sits in the hay and pets the little, stiff body. 

Solo comes up behind her. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “Sometimes the babies… they just die.”

Rey nods, her vision obscured by unshed tears. She doesn’t make a sound; he told her not to get her hopes up, after all, and if anyone knows that babies sometimes just die, it’s Rey. 

Solo leaves and comes back with a blanket to wrap around the calf. He carries it to a corner of the far field and digs a hole. Rey brings M’lady to say goodbye, and after Solo pats the dirt over the grave, she gathers wildflowers to lay over the top. He heaves a deep sigh and touches her elbow briefly, as if not sure she’ll allow it, before leaving her alone.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Rey does laundry, which is hard and mindless, and by the end of the day she’s so sweaty that she takes a dip in the creek herself. They eat supper in silence (Solo thoughtfully leaves beef off the menu). 

“There’ll be more babies,” he tells her, carefully reaching across the table to take her hand. Rey nods sadly, and before she knows it tears are streaming down her face and she can’t keep in the little, hiccuping sobs that escape her mouth. 

“Oh- no, I’m sorry, c’mere.” He pushes his chair back and scoops Rey into his arms, settling them into the rocking chair the way he had when she’d thought he was sending her away. She tries to gather herself and takes a few deep breaths, but he shakes his head. “Cry all you want, sweetheart.”

And she does. She’s never cried much before, except in brief moments of frustration or fear; she’d learned quickly as a child that tears never got her anything, except a slap. Even when Baby…

Eventually she cries herself out, and sits quietly in Solo’s lap. She wonders if he’ll move to get up, but he keeps his arms wrapped around her, breathing deeply and calmly.

“The nuns,” she starts in a watery voice. “They gave me a baby to look after. I was about nine, but I loved him so much. He was so tiny, with a little tuft of bright orange hair. He never cried when I was holding him. And I did my best to keep him fed and warm, but…” Solo’s arms tighten around her. “Sometimes babies just die.”

Solo hums lowly, and dips his head so his lips brush her hair. They sit for a while longer, listening to the crickets through the window.

“I had a real hard time after the war,” he says eventually. “Stuff I seen, stuff I did …” He pauses again. “Guess you been through a bit of war yourself.”

The silence stretches, mellow and sweet, like a cool breeze.

“I’m real glad you came here, Rey.” 

Tears prick up in Rey’s eyes again, and she squeezes one of his arms. 

“I’m real glad I’m here, too.” It’s the first time she can recall him saying her name, and she asks him something she hadn’t realized was bothering her. “Why did your parents name you Solo? Did they want you to always be alone?”

He huffs a laugh behind her, his breath tickling her neck. “Ah, no, not as much. Solo’s my surname. My Christian name’s Ben.” A pause. “You’re not alone.”

Her lips curve. “Neither are you.”

They sit awhile longer in silence, and Rey thinks it must be getting very late.

“Can I call you Ben, then?”

His whiskers twitch. “If you like.”

“Can I call you Papa?” She says it teasingly, but there’s a deep longing there she doesn’t vocalize.

He shifts a bit beneath her. “If you like,” he says again.

They finally extricate themselves and get ready for bed. Rey faces the wall and tries to keep to her side of the mattress, even though she’s aching to be back in Solo’s arms. She drifts to sleep, her heart considerably lighter, her thoughts with Baby and with the calf, wondering if cows went to heaven.

In the morning, she wakes to a wall of warmth at her back, Solo’s arm wrapped firmly around her waist.

Notes:

CW: Mildly graphic animal labor. Animal death. References to past infant death. Rey's really into babies, so maybe read the writing on the wall if you're bothered by main character pregnancy.

Ben would've been about 17 when the Civil War ended, which was technically too young to fight, but a lot of boys got around this by simply looking older, which I imagine he did. He enlisted when he was sixteen. For those of you who are worried, I could not bring myself to make him a Confederate soldier. Luckily (?) the Union troops did plenty of things worth atoning for. We'll get into this in detail, stay tuned!

All of the wild animals mentioned are native to Nebraska. Do yourself a favor and read up about prairie dog colonies. They have a rudimentary language!

Find me on Twitter at @entropyyy23

Chapter 5

Notes:

Content warnings in end notes.

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Rey sits with Rose again in church on Sunday, and she’s touched when the other girl proclaims how much she had missed her during the previous week’s service. Rose tsks with sympathy when Rey explains the death of M’lady’s calf. 

Finn pipes up. “I once carried a calf thirty miles on the back of my horse; cried my heart out when it died.”

“Finn drives cattle down to Colorado Territory in the fall,” Rose explains. “He’s a real cowboy.”

“Got the boots n’ everything,” Finn says, lifting his leg to display a handsome, spur-heeled boot on the back of the pew in front of them. “And Colorado’s a state now, Rose.”

“Finn!” Rose scolds him, smacking his arm, and he lowers his foot down, smirking. Rey thinks there’s a certain fondness in Rose’s gaze, even through her fierce expression. 

“I’ve never met a real cowboy before,” Rey says to Finn.

“Well, this is what we look like. Some of us. Others look different.”

Mr. Dameron stands at the front, and Finn falls silent. 

“I was thinking of our brother, John Brown, this week,” he tells the congregation. “I was thinking about violence in the face of injustice. I was thinking about great, personal sacrifice that begets great, communal change…”

John Brown’s body lies a-moldering in his grave
Glory, glory hallelujah
His soul goes marching on

 

Solo examines the plump wheat berries that bow the long stalks, crushing the head and holding them in the palm of his large hand.

“Reckon’s it’s time for the reapin’.” He holds his hand out for Rey to see.

“Do you really use a scythe?” Rey asks eagerly.

Solo chuckles. “Only cuz I ain’t got nothin’ better.”

He shows her the grain cradle, a modified scythe with additional, long fingers that caught the grain as it fell. “Tie the stalks into bundles as I go; then we’ll shock ‘em in this field and thresh ‘em later.”

Rey follows behind him as he swings the great scythe, cutting swaths of wheat down in front of him. She uses single stems to tie fist-fulls of grain in his wake. When he pauses to wipe his brow beneath his straw hat, she fetches him a tin cup of water from a pail. 

“Could I try?” 

Solo eyes her a bit skeptically, but shows her how to swing the blade, adjusting her grip. “You gotta shift your weight through, like this.” He has his arms around her, covering her hands with his to grasp the scythe. 

“Mmm,” Rey says, and can’t help feeling a bit bereft when he releases her so she can try alone. She swings the blade. 

“Not bad, you got it. Not bad at all.”

It’s hard work, but Rey has always been strong, and she’s gained weight in the month she’s been at the homestead, her arms and legs banded with new muscle, and her cheeks losing their hollowness. She swings again and again, relishing the satisfying way the wheat falls and is deposited into neat piles on the ground. Solo follows behind her, tying knots into the grass stems. 

They get about halfway through before switching again, and then Rey finishes the whole thing off, looking back in satisfaction at the field; it reminds her of a newly shaved head. They stack the little bundles into shocks to dry. 

Rey collapses into the slim shade provided by one of the shocks, and Solo passes her some water in the tin cup. 

“Mighty fine little reaper we got here,” he tells her, eyes crinkling at the edges. “You’ll be a big help with the slough grass. Cuttin’ it for the hay.”

After washing up, they eat a simple supper of bacon, johnny cakes, fried eggs, and greens, and Rey pulls out some berries she scavenged along the creek with a flourish. They sit in their chairs just outside the door of the shanty, popping the berries into their mouths and savoring the small explosions of flavor.

When night falls, Solo settles into the rocking chair and pulls out a book. 

“I- I thought I might read to you.”

Rey smiles at him, and when he brushes his knee in invitation she perches herself in his lap. He clears his throat and begins.

It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
‘By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?

 

A shot rings out one early morning, waking Rey from her slumber. She shrugs into a robe (another re-made marvel from the chest of drawers) and hurries out of the shanty in her bare feet. She can see Solo beyond the far field, walking away into the distance. She swallows heavily and ducks back into the shanty to dress in a hurry.

She finds him elbow-deep in the guts of the largest deer she’s ever seen, its huge head lolling under the spikes of a massive rack of horns. 

“Caught a herd of elk passin’ through,” he grunts, his knife neatly excising the bowels. Rey fetches a bucket for the entrails and a pail of water. Solo finishes dressing the elk and hooks it up to his team, then hangs the carcass in a tree over the coolest part of the creek.

“I gotta get off to town,” he tells her, tugging his bloodstained shirt over his head distractedly. “Pick up some lumber for a smoking shed.” He takes the skin with him, to be tanned in town.

Rey does all the chores herself that day (and proudly thinks they were done as well as Solo himself would have done them). She cleans the entrails for sausages, and then spends some time with M’lady after the milking is done. By the time she hears the clatter of the wagon returning, supper is ready.

Solo dumps the lumber in a pile behind the barn, and hefts some other packages out to bring the claim shanty.

“Got a few bushels of seed potatoes, put those in the root cellar later. And I got you these.” He holds out the last package somewhat bashfully. Rey opens it to find a new pair of boots. To her relief, they look reasonably flat-heeled, and the leather is soft and supple. “Traced your old pair on a piece of paper; hope they’re the right size.”

Rey tries them on; they fit perfectly, though she thinks she’ll have to wear them in. 

“There’s new stockings in there too, and some wool socks for winter. Gets mighty cold here.”

Rey stands up and wraps her arms around his waist, squeezing gently. She looks up at his face. “Thank you.”

Solo clears his throat and ruffles her hair.

They eat Rey’s supper, and Solo compliments the cooking. She looks at the book in the armchair longingly. Solo follows her gaze.

“Could read for a bit. My eyes are a bit strained, from the driving, but-”

“I can read.” 

Solo’s eyebrows shoot up before he seems to try and school his expression. “That would be alright,” he says slowly. Rey isn’t offended at his shock; it is a near miracle she learned to read. But there’s always a scavenged newspaper to be had on the street, and usually an abundance of bibles in the orphanages and asylums.

Rey settles herself into his lap as the night before. She opens the book and rifles through the pages, stopping short when she sees the title on the page. Her voice rings clearly in the small shanty.

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro’ the field the road runs by
To many-tower’d Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

 

They cut the slough grass after Solo builds the smoking shed, huge flanks and fat elk sausages hanging over slow burning hickory wood chips. The slough is past the gopher town, way out in the open prairie in a natural little hollow. Here the grass grows thick and deep, bright green stalks waving in the hot breeze. They take turns with the grain cradle while the other sits in the shade of the wagon. When they’ve cut all the grass they care to cut, Solo lifts forkfuls into the wagon bed with a pitchfork while Rey stands on top and tramples it down. They drive back to the claim and spread it over the far field to dry.

Rey rips off her sweaty bonnet. It’s perhaps the hottest day yet. She mumbles a bit inaudibly to Solo that she’s going to the creek while he fans himself with his hat. She plucks bits of straw from her dress as she walks, sighing in relief when she hits the shade of the trees that spring up along the water.

She tugs her boots off her feet, then her stockings. She’d left off her new corset for fear of ruining it, but her combinations are soaked through and her dress will need some serious scrubbing to get the grass stains out. She dips her toes in the current while undoing the top button.

The sound of footsteps makes her look up, and before she can react Solo emerges around the path from behind some trees, partway through pulling his sweaty shirt over his head. He stills when he sees her, his shirt in his hands in front of his bare chest, dark hair wild with sweat. 

“Ah, I’m real sorry. Thought you’d gone to the house.” Rey nods, taking in his broad shoulders, the muscled biceps, his tensed forearms that lead to those huge hands. She can feel her nipples tighten through the thin material; it must be the chill of the water. Solo clears his throat. “I’ll just go down thisaway…”

He heads off down the creek. Rey watches him until he disappears around a bend, then rips off the combinations and submerges herself in the cold water.

They’re a bit quiet in the evening at supper, but they settle in to read together as they do every night. It’s Rey’s turn, and she reads smoothly through the stanzas

The mute bird sitting on the stone,
The dank moss dripping from the wall,
The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o’ergrown,
I love them- how I love them all!

She goes to turn the page and notices Solo’s hand, rested gently on her hip, deeply gashed and covered in clotted blood.

“You’re bleeding!” She puts the book down hurriedly and turns in his lap to examine his hand, cradling it in her own. He seems to startle out of a daze and looks down at the injury.

“I didn’t rightly notice,” he says. “I’ll be damned.”

Rey slides from his lap. His other hand, wrapped around her waist, seems reluctant to let her go, but she’s back in a minute, with water and rags to clean the cut. She holds his hand delicately while she bandages it, carefully turning it this way and that, dragging her fingertips down his palm gently. He shivers a bit beneath her.

“All better, Papa.” She says. The word pops out of her mouth without her fully intending to say it, but it feels right. She drops a kiss to the back of his hand for good measure.

He pulls her down to his chest, and they just sit there for a moment, her face nestled into his neck. He rubs her back with his good hand and brushes his lips over the top of her head. “Thank you, Rey.”

That night, when they go to bed, Ben pulls her into his arms before they even fall asleep.

Notes:

CW: Animal death/butchering. Victorian-level nudity. Excessive linkage in the end notes.

Did you know that 1 in 4 cowboys during the cattle drive era was black?

John Brown was an abolitionist that advocated for armed insurrection before the Civil War. The song "John Brown's Body/The Battle Hymn of the Republic" has a pretty fascinating history. Whatever people use it for now, it was originally a song about the glory of ending slavery. Anyway, I put this in because there's a lot of shit going down right now, and also because it always bothered me that Laura Ingalls Wilder had such a negative description of John Brown in Little Town on the Prairie.

All about harvesting wheat. Grain cradles were a little outdated at this point, which is why Ben's sort of rueful about it.

I looked up a bunch of things about butchering and smoking but didn't find a super definitive source, and eventually my little, vegetarian heart gave up. This is probably a bit inaccurate, but I imagined them smoking everything for about a month in the smoking shed to preserve it.

Poems:
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. You can listen to Jeremy Irons read this bit this to you! Forgive me for salivating over the idea of Adam Driver's voice reading the whole thing.
The Lady of Shalott, by Lord Tennyson.
A Little While, by Emily Bronte.

Hope everyone is staying safe, and please consider donating to a bail fund if you're able to do so. Minneapolis has gotten a lot of attention, but there are a lot of cities right now that could use some help.

Find me on Twitter at @entropyyy23

Chapter 6

Notes:

Content warnings in end notes.

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The air grows colder as they begin October. Rey starts to wear a petticoat layer under her dress, and a shawl around her shoulders. She adds the somewhat detestable task of collecting cow patties to stockpile in the woodshed to her daily chores.

The air is colder, but Ben is ever-warm next to her in their little bed, and she finds it harder and harder to drag herself out from under the blankets into the chill of the room in the morning. He seems to find it hard as well, and sometimes he’ll tug her back under the covers and half-smother her under a heavy arm until near a quarter hour past milking time. When he finally gets up, he drops gentle kisses to the top of her head and the back of her hand, and then stokes the stove and brings over her dressing gown.

One Sunday morning, nearly two weeks into the month, Rey wakes early of her own accord. There is to be an autumn social after church service today, and she can hardly contain her excitement. Her neck is slightly tweaked from sleeping on one side the whole night, so she rolls to her back and stares at the tar paper ceiling, imagining the delights that awaited her. Rose said there was to be dancing, and games, and a potluck dinner. Pork and mashed potatoes and gravy, winter squashes and baked pumpkin, bean curd and sausages and ribs and pies and cakes. Mrs. Dameron even said she would try her hand at mock turtle soup.

Ben stirs beside her, his hand that had been resting on her belly smoothly sliding up her rib cage. “Mornin’,” he grumbles blearily into her hair.

Rey sits up, gently shaking Ben off so he grumbles even more. Her neck twinges and she gasps out loud, clutching the sore muscle.

“What’s wrong?” Ben sits up beside her and sweeps her hair to the side so he can prod the spot. His large fingers press in and start to knead. “Better?”

“Uh-huh.” Rey’s eyes flutter shut and she barely contains a soft moan. She lifts a hand to hold her hair.

“Lord, you’re tight,” he says. “Got a real kink here.”

He smooths his hands down her arms when he’s done. Rey’s nipples stand visibly through the thin nightgown.

“Best get a move on.” He presses a slow kiss to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, then steps out of bed to hand her her dressing gown. They’ll have to complete the day’s chores before heading off to church. Rey hurries to feed the chickens and pigs while Ben milks the cows and re-stakes them.

“Chilly today,” she comments as they load into the wagon, tugging her shawl close around her. Ben squints upwards, the threat of a storm making itself known as the sky lightens. He nods his assent and wraps an arm around her when he settles into the wagon. Rey is grateful for the warmth.

It’s a relief to step inside the warm church. Rey can barely pay attention to the sermon, she’s so excited about the social after. Pastor Dameron speaks of harvest and bounty, and says they come in many forms, the food on the table (the social was to be moved inside, to accommodate the weather), the children born, the peace won.

He reads from Isaiah, “...the people who have walked in darkness have seen a great light… You have multiplied the nation; you have increased its joy; they rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest as they are glad when they divide the spoil… For the yolk of his burden, and the staff for his shoulder, the rod of his oppressor, you have broken as on the day of Midian… For every boot of the tramping warrior in battle tumult and every garment rolled in blood will be burned as fuel for the fire… For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be on his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”

He pauses. “I do not read this passage simply because I am expecting my own prince.” He gestures at Mrs. Dameron, who is as heavily pregnant as Rey has ever seen a woman be. The congregation laughs. “I read this passage because the harvest is a great triumph in itself, and yet it is only the beginning. Of next year’s planting and tending and a new harvest that must continue on and on. We must put in the work to enrich the soil, and not think we have won when we pull in a single crop from the field. That is peace. That is triumph.

“We have a new society, a new chance, a new prince onto which we can lay our hopes. To us a child is born! But we must work to enrich it! The yolk of the oppressor has been thrown off! But still we must add fuel to the fire, and we must continuously perfect this new society. Do we not raise children after they are born? Do we abandon them to their own devices, to founder and grow perverted as gnarled, twisted vines? No! We guide their growth, until they are strong and moral, good Christians that lend decency to society.”

The spread of food is even more delicious-looking than Rey had imagined. Ben puts down their contribution of brown bread and a huge, smoked elk flank. They fill their plates and find seats near the Damerons. Rose turns excitedly to Rey.

“Are you ready for school to start?”

Rey smiles shyly. “I’m a little nervous.”

“But Rey! You know you read beautifully.” Rose had pressed her to join the Ladies Bible Study after hearing Rey read a few verses.

Rey shakes her head. “But I don’t know much geography, or how to work figures. My handwriting is surely the ugliest ever seen in the whole of Nebraska!”

School was to begin the same week, in a pretty new building at the edge of Fourth Avenue. Rey had a slate and chalk, a pen and ink and paper for writing, and a new reader and arithmetic book. She had stayed up so many nights in a row perusing their pages that Ben was forced to put them on a high shelf she couldn’t reach and turn off the oil lamp himself when he wanted her to go to bed.

Rose laughs. “You’ll do fine. There’s all levels, and more children come in at odd times throughout the year.” One of the Damerons’ little girls came and sat in the pew next to them, her plate balanced on her knees while her feet dangled above the floor. “Are you excited for school, Shara?”

The girl nods, swinging her feet and chewing a huge chunk of bread. Rey laughs.

“Is Finn back from the drive?” she asks. Finn had taken a five hundred head of cattle from near Broadwater up north into Indian Country. He said it was to be one of the last drives of the year, before they left the herds to overwinter in the open plains.

“No,” Rose says sadly. “I was hoping he’d be back in time for the social, he’s been gone over a week. I hope the weather doesn’t get much worse. If it snows…”

Rey looks out the glass windows at the darkening sky. “Isn’t October too early for snow?”

“Not here,” Rose says darkly.

Ben is talking with another man who Rey has only heard referred to as “Snap.” They’re discussing when to slaughter the mature hogs, a task they pool amongst the immediate neighbors. Snap wants to do it within the week, but Ben looks hesitant.

“Better make sure the weather won’t turn while we’re in the middle of slaughterin’. Pigs’ll keep.”

Mr. Dameron is flitting around between the parishioners and Mrs. Dameron, who seems to grow more and more annoyed with him. A fiddle strikes up, then a banjo strums lowly along with it, and someone brings out a harmonica. “Boil ‘em Cabbage Down!” someone yells across the church, and then the trio is off on the jauntiest tune Rey’s ever heard. She can’t control her foot tapping and Rose pulls her to her feet, laughing. They twirl each other around between the pews, narrowly avoiding old Mrs. Maz, who peers at them through her comically large spectacles. Snap stands and starts a hopping dance with fancy footwork, holding his arms above his head and spinning neatly. The song speeds up and Rey’s sure he won’t keep up, but he moves his feet faster and faster until the whole congregation is agog, clapping in time and whooping.

The song finishes with a flourish and they sink into a pew, breathless and giggling. In the new silence they can hear the wind howling through the eaves. Ben comes in the side door from where he’d been checking on his team. He looks concerned.

“Think it’s a real storm,” he says when he reaches them. Rey looks at the window; flakes have begun swirling and the light’s changed. Though it’s only one in the afternoon, it could well be twilight. Rose looks stricken.

“Oh no, Finn!”

“I’m certain he’ll be fine, Rose.” Rey pulls her into a hug. “He’ll come back, right as rain.”

The other parishioners have started to gather belongings, packing up the potluck dinner and wishing each other safe passage home. Rey hurries to gather her wraps. Ben loads the rest of the smoked elk flank into the wagon and readies the team. She waves goodbye to the Damerons.

Outside the cold stings her face. She struggles into her wraps and climbs next to Ben in the wagon seat. He whistles and they set off, horses trotting quickly through town and out onto the prairie. Here, without any windbreak, they struggle against the wind. The snowflakes batter Rey’s eyes and she squeezes them shut, holding tight to Ben’s arm. She can almost pick out voices, screaming and singing in eerie, wordless pitches, furious with them for crossing the sacred grass with their ugly wagon tracks.

She thinks of Finn, out on the open prairie with nothing but his horse, a lone figure bent against the wind.

She starts shivering about halfway home. Ben looks at her with concern and pulls her closer, tucking her under his arm and driving with the reins in the other hand. “Shoulda brought the damn buffalo robe,” he mutters.

Rey opens her eyes again to find a whiteout, the wagon creaking under the force of the assault, causing the horses to spook. He urges them on, following worn tracks quickly filling with snow. She doesn’t think she’s ever been so cold, not in the worst orphanage, with the broken window panes and damp blankets, not in the alleyway near the docks, where she once woke up covered in a blanket of snow. Ben pulls her to sit cradled between his legs, his arms wrapped around her shuddering form. He pulls her hat low over her eyes and covers the rest of her face with her shawl. He rips her frozen hands out of her mittens and shoves them into his calfskin gloves.

“Almost there,” he growls. “Don’t fall asleep, Rey. Don’t you dare fall asleep.”

They ford the creek and it’s a disembodied swaying, like the whole world has tilted on its axis and Rey can’t tell which way is up. Then she’s in the little claim shanty and Ben is pulling off her wraps and trying to stoke the fire at the same time. He unbuttons her outer dress and leaves her in just her corset and petticoat layers and then throws the beautiful quilt over her shoulders, seating her directly in front of the open stove.

“Rub your hands, Rey.” Rey obeys him, clumsily rubbing the numb appendages back and forth and wondering how they could possibly belong to her, teeth chattering so hard it hurts her head. A scream of the wind and he’s out the shanty door.

Where did he go, Rey wonders stupidly. But he gave her a task and she works at it with a single-minded determination. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Another scream, and he’s back, pulling off his own coat and kicking off his boots. He sits behind her and starts vigorously rubbing her arms through the quilt. “No frostbite on your face at least,” he says. Something seems to occur to him and he crawls to her feet, pulling off her boots and stockings and rubbing her icy feet. “No frostbite here either,” he says in relief. He fetches her a pair of nice, wool socks and repositions himself at her back. Gradually her teeth stop chattering and she sags limply against him.

“Are the cows alright?”

He chuckles, but there’s a watery quality to it. He turns her face and kisses her forehead. “They’re fine, put ‘em in the barn. Chickens were already stacked three high inside; caught one standin’ on a pig.”

Rey laughs, but it’s weak. Ben frowns and picks her up to deposit her in the bed. He piles other blankets on top of the quilt and brings her some water and some bread and butter and then curls around her.

“Did you get frostbite?”

He shakes his head. “Best get some rest,” he says, though it must be only three in the afternoon. Rey’s eyes flutter shut.

She wakes to a delicious smell of frying onions and bacon. Ben’s turned on the oil lamp and stoked the stove as high as it’ll go. From the way the shanty quivers, the blizzard’s still going strong outside. Rey pushes off the mountain of blankets, feeling hot and sweaty. Ben frowns at her. “I’ll bring you a plate.”

“I feel fine,” Rey insists. She wants to get out of her corset, which is sticking to her skin through her combinations, and her petticoat, which seems to be trying to sweat the devil out of her. She goes behind the little screen that Ben built and changes into her nightgown, pulling her dressing gown over top. She pours some water from a beautiful porcelain pitcher into its matching bowl and rinses her face, then dips her comb and detangles her hair. She feels much better when she sits down at the table for supper.

Ben seems to have freshened up as well; he’s wearing a clean set of work clothes instead of his starched church suit and his hair is neatly parted. He eyes her suspiciously.

“You can feel all your fingers fine? No burning, or numbness?”

“No!” Rey huffs.

“Well alright, then.” He sits back, contemplating her across the table. “Scared me real bad. Freak blizzard. We never shoulda left the church.”

“But then the cows would’ve been left out,” Rey protests. “M’lady could’ve died!”

“You coulda died, Rey,” he says seriously. “I won’t ever put you in that kinda danger again.”

Rey swallows around the lump in her throat. She gives him a watery smile and reaches for his hand. “You saved me.”

Ben nods and squeezes her fingers. He takes a somewhat shaky breath, and then clears his throat. They sit in silence for a few minutes, listening to the many-voiced howls of the wind outside the shuttered windows.

“Is it nearly midnight?” Rey wonders out loud. She feels wide awake, but the light is like the witching hour.

Ben’s eyes crinkle and he shakes his head. “It’s barely 6:30.”

Rey’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Usually they finish chores around seven and eat supper around half-past. She supposes most of the chores won’t need doing today, though the nightly milking will have to happen, blizzard or no blizzard. She’s not sure what to do with all the time.

Ben bows out of the shanty into the snow to do the milking. Before he leaves he tells her in no uncertain terms that she’s not allowed to leave a tight perimeter around the stove. She huffs at him again, but pulls out her school reader and settles in at the table. He’s back in a half hour.

“Well, since there’s nothin’ else to do…” He pulls a glass pint bottle of amber liquor out of his saddle bag and fixes her with a stern look. “Now, don’t you go tellin’ Dameron, he’s a real teetotaler.”

He pours some into the bottom of one of their glass tumblers and sips. He smacks his lips appreciatively. “Damn that’s smooth.”

“Can I try?”

Ben’s eyes crinkle again. “If you like. Don’t go gettin’ too much of a taste for it. I agree with Dameron at least that drink’ll ruin a good man’s life. But Snap’s cousin’s from Kentucky, sends him the good stuff.”

Rey sniffs the tumbler and blinks as her eyes smart. She takes a tentative sip and erupts into a coughing fit. Ben chuckles like he’d expected as much. Rey glares at him and tries again. This time she manages to swallow a mouthful.

They pass the tumbler back and forth, and Ben refills the glass when it runs empty. “I joined the army ‘fore I got my first taste of liquor. Rest of the company took it as their personal mission to get me scammered. Woke up feelin’ so sick I wished the Graybacks would surprise us and put me out of my misery.”

Rey feels warm inside, like she has her own stove burning in her chest, and at peace with the world. They sit beside the fire and Rey traces Ben’s forearm with the tip of her finger, connecting freckles and moles like constellations.

“Shall I read to you?” Rey asks; she likes reading best, and Ben usually seems content to listen.

Ben nods and stands to move to the rocking chair. Rey settles in his lap like always, pulling out the book of poetry. Ben caresses her soft hair, pulling it aside like he had this morning and pressing a kiss into the curve of her shoulder.

“I hope your neck is better?”

“Mmm,” Rey says. “Yes, Papa.”

He nods, kissing it again. His whiskers brush her ear. She reads.

From the low white walls and the church's steeple,
From our little fields under grass or grain,

I'm gone away to the fairy people
I shall not come to the town again.

Ben gently sweeps her hair to the other side and lays a kiss on the opposite shoulder. “And this side?” He drops another kiss closer to her neck.

“Mm-hmm.” She tilts her head. He places another kiss. She reads.

You may see a girl with my face and tresses,
You may see one come to my mother's door

Who may speak my words and may wear my dresses.
She will not be I, for I come no more.

Ben smooths down her upper arms, kneading the muscles there with his huge hands. The dressing gown is puddled around her hips.

I am gone, gone far, with the fairies roaming,
You may ask of me where the herons are
In the open marsh when the snipe are homing,
Or when no moon lights nor a single star.
On stormy nights when the streams are foaming
And a hint may come of my haunts afar,
With the reeds my floor and my roof the gloaming,
But I come no more to Ballynar.

Ben kisses her just behind her earlobe. His hands gently rub her thighs.

Ask Father Ryan to read no verses
To call me back, for I am this day
From blessings far, and beyond curses.
No heaven shines where we ride away.

He presses his nose into her hair, breathing deeply, smelling the rose water Rey combed through the strands. He traces the delicate shell of her ear with his lips.

At speed unthought of in all your stables,
With the gods of old and the sons of Finn,
With the queens that reigned in the olden fables

And kings that won what a sword can win.
You may hear us streaming above your gables

On nights as still as a planet's spin;
But never stir from your chairs and tables

To call my name. I shall not come in.

His hands skim up her belly, brushing the fabric of her thin nightgown against her skin, thumbs just catching on her stiff nipples. Rey sighs a shuddery breath and her eyes flutter shut, book forgotten in her hands.

Ben circles the peaks and gently rolls them between his fingers. He sucks, gentle, slow, and sweet, into her neck. His giant palms close around her breasts and he kneads them like they’re precious, like he’s trying to comprehend the value of something priceless.

He unties the drawstring at the top of the nightgown, his fingers comically huge handling the thin, silk ribbon, and pulls the frilly top down to reveal her breasts, pert mounds topped with rosy pink nipples, flush from his attention.

“You have the prettiest tits, sweetheart,” Ben murmurs. He rolls her nipples again, this time skin to skin, and she gasps in reply.

The gasp seems to do something to him, for his hands tighten around her breasts suddenly, so warm and huge that Rey feels scalded, branded. She pushes her chest into his touch.

He shifts beneath her, a stilted shudder, and groans into her ear. He lays wet kisses along her neck and then sucks her earlobe between his teeth. This elicits a whine from Rey, and he’s pawing at her chest again, shifting her in his lap so she’s more sideways.

“Oh, let Papa kiss them, won’t you,” he sounds desperate, like he’s begging. He ducks his head to place a chaste kiss against one peak, pauses, and then pulls it fully into his mouth. Rey shrieks.

At the same time a loud crash comes from outside, where the blizzard still blows. Ben releases her reluctantly, blinking his way back into the reality of the storm. He glances down at her bare chest and hastily rights her nightgown before helping her out of his lap. He shrugs on his deerskin jack before leaving the shanty with the lamp.

Rey stands in the dark, unsure what to do. It’s grown colder as the fire’s died down, and without Ben’s vast pool of warmth she can feel the wind whistling through the chinks in the walls. She climbs into bed, under the quilt and the other blankets, trying to straighten them out from underneath.

Ben re-enters with a swirl of snow, stomping his feet. “Just the damn smoking shed. Wind blew the roof clean off.”

“Will it blow the roof off the shanty?” Rey’s worried now.

“Nah, built that shed in a day, roof was only attached by a few nails.” He begins to undress by the lamplight and Rey observes him from beneath the covers. His back ripples with muscle. She catches a glimpse of his firm behind before his nightshirt drops to cover it.

He extinguishes the lamp and slides under the covers. They lay a long moment in silence. Then he shifts and mumbles something that sounds like “damned already.”

He looms above her in the dark.

“Please, sweetheart.” He brings one hand up to cup a breast, squeezing it through the silky fabric. The other pulls the ribbon free again, baring her to him once more. “Please. Let Papa taste your pretty tits again.” He rests his head on her chest, mouthing at her skin. He seals his lips around a nipple and starts to suckle gently.

It is ecstasy. Rey threads her hands into his soft hair. Her head tips back against her pillow and her eyes drift shut, pleasure frissoning beneath her lids. Her mouth drops open. Her voice joins the wordless howling of the storm outside.

For I am gone to the fairy people.
Make the most of that other child
Who prays with you by the village steeple
I am gone away to the woods and wild.

I am gone away to the open spaces,
And whither riding no man may tell;
But I shall look upon all your faces
No more in Heaven or Earth or Hell.

Notes:

Discussion of animal slaughter. Mention of pregnancy. Use of alcohol. Dubcon heavy petting and nipple play with a minor. Author makes you read a bunch of bible verses and an entire poem.

We've reached the smut! I'm glad you all have enjoyed the wholesome, research-heavy slow burn, but here's your friendly reminder that this is still just a vehicle for Daddy kink porn.

Apologies for the meandering sermon. All I can say is that Poe is Big Mad about how Reconstruction is going and is choosing to talk about it in metaphor. If you gain literally nothing else from these end notes, go read this article about Reconstruction, or if you have 37 minutes you could watch this talk by Eric Foner, the leading authority on Reconstruction history. You will not regret it I promise, he is DELIGHTFUL. Reconstruction is an often forgotten, or misunderstood, part of U.S. history, and I almost guarantee you learned it wrong in history class. A lot of our issues as a country today date back to what Reconstruction was, and what Reconstruction wasn't.

Spoiling my own story big time, but the winter of 1880-81 is the eponymous winter of Laura Ingalls Wilder's The Long Winter so, uh, buckle up. Don't hate on Ben too much for driving out into that blizzard, it really was unexpected and caught a lot of people by surprise. Here is an actual, honest to god, meteorological journal article about it.

More on Teetotalism and the Temperance movement.

Bible verse: Isaiah 9:2-6

Song: Boil 'em Cabbage Down. This minus the jazz trumpet.

Poem: The Fairy Child by Lord Dunsany. We're a few decades too early for this poem, but I love it so much and I liked it as metaphor of sexual awakening for Rey, so.

Again, I hope people are staying safe and helping each other out during this time. While I'm on my soapbox, do some digging into your local police department budget (bet it's bigger than you think), and email your city council members to ask what they're doing about police accountability. #BLM

Find me on Twitter at @entropyyy23

Chapter 7

Notes:

Content warnings in the end notes.

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Ben is gone from their bed the next morning when Rey wakes. Everything sounds very still, silent, and Rey realizes it’s because the wind is no longer howling. She dresses as warmly as she can, with socks over stockings, and two layers of petticoats under her dress, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders and pulling her hat over her hair. 

When she opens the door to the shanty, she finds a narrow trench dug through snow walls, nearly four feet on either side, leading to the barn. It’s powdery snow, much drier than the snow back East that seemed to glue itself to her shoes while she was walking. She starts off down the trench, stepping carefully into Ben’s deep footsteps. Over the top all she can see is an unbroken field of white, stretching on and on, huge drifts building in some places where the wind drove the snow. It’s beautiful, icy perfection, and it hurts to look at for too long, even though the sky is overcast. Flakes still fall around her, now on slow, downward spirals.

The barn looks like a roof placed straight on the ground, a drift of snow standing to the eaves. Rey edges through the cracked door to find the inside warm and a bit musty. The chickens cluck around her feet, and she finds the grain bucket, scattering feed for them. She gives the horses a handful each of feed as well, patting their long faces, and makes her way to the stalls for the cows.

Ben is seated on a three-legged stool, working M’lady’s teats. Rey watches him for a moment, silently. Twin streams of milk shoot into the milk pail, one then the other, and she is fixated on Ben’s hands, huge yet gentle, gathering and squeezing each teat. 

Delilah moos at her in greeting and Ben turns to look at her. “Mornin’.” He clears his throat and turns back to M’lady.

Rey pets Delilah’s head, cooing at her. “Did you eat breakfast? I thought we could have some cream over old lady Maz’s peach preserves. And hard boiled eggs?”

“Sounds mighty good.” 

Rey pokes through the barn in search of hidden eggs, and pulls yesterday’s jar of milk from the lean-to to skim the cream, then goes back to the claim shanty to start a pot of water boiling. She sneaks a slice of the peach preserves, the golden juice dripping down her chin, the flavor of sunshine and summer heat filling her mouth.

Ben comes back, stomping the snow off his boots and wiping his hands with a wet rag. “Gotta do some repairs on the barn, and on the roof. Storm was real vicious.” He slurps a cream-drenched peach off his spoon.

Rey spends the day inside, churning butter and doing laundry. She has two sets of combinations now, but she makes sure to keep both clean. She washes Ben’s Sunday suit, which is stiff with sweat, and her dress from the day before. She hangs them all on a line stretched across the shanty and gets to work on a hearty beef stew, quartering potatoes and chopping carrots, then leaves it to simmer and sits at the table, cranking the butter churn and trying to read her mathematics book at the same time.

Ben stops for a quick lunch of milk and johnny cakes, but is near frantic with activity otherwise, hammering up a storm on the shanty roof and then repairing a few boards that had come loose from the barn. He trudges through the snow to find the lost smoking shed roof and adds it to the wood pile around the side from the shanty door, then breaks deep trenches around the yard to retrieve other items that had been left out in the storm. When he comes in for supper, he collapses into the rocking chair. Within minutes, his gentle snoring fills the shanty.

Rey collects snow from outside and heats it, pail after pail, in pots on the stove, then pours it in their little wooden tub. When Ben wakes, he accepts a bowl of stew, bleary-eyed. Rey gestures to the tub.

“I thought you might like to wash.” 

He nods his head. “Thank you, Rey.”

He wolfs down the meat and potatoes like a man starved. Rey picks through her bowl.

“Do you think Finn got through the storm alright?” 

Ben shrugs. “Perhaps he was cleverer’n us, took shelter along the way. Or found some low ground, outta the wind. Smart fella.”

Rey nods. It hurts, not to know, and she worries for the Damerons as well. Their homestead is closer to town, but all the little ones… and Mrs. Dameron, too…

She wonders when they’ll be able to get to town again. For now, the snow is still falling thickly. She reflects sadly that school would surely be canceled at least for the week.

Ben stands, shrugging out of his jacket, and then pulls his sweat-stiffened shirt over his head with one hand. Rey quickly retreats behind her mathematics textbook once more. He dunks his head in the warm water, scrubbing his sweaty hair with a bar of soap, then using a rag to scrub down his torso. Over the top of her book she can see him undo the waistband of his blue jeans and pull them down, bending to free his feet from the legs. When he stands again, she can see his manhood between his thighs, hanging heavy in a patch of dark hair. He drops the rag to scrub here too, and Rey focuses again on her fractions.

When she looks up again, he’s dressed in his nightshirt and sitting in the rocking chair, perusing a newspaper. She closes her book and goes behind the screen to change into her nightgown, then performs her own ablutions with the rose water in the porcelain pitcher. She slips on a pair of socks and pads over to Ben.

“What’s the news from Omaha?”

He looks up at her from the newspaper, eyes catching at her neck, where the silk drawstring flutters loose. 

“New York newspaper,” he says. “Some strikes. Few racehorses sick.” He folds the paper in half. They stare at each other for a long moment, and it feels a little like a standoff. Ben makes a motion to tap his knee at the same time that Rey takes a step toward him.

She closes the rest of the distance and sinks into his lap. He wraps his arms loosely around her.

“Your nightgown’s undone.” His voice is low in her ear.

Rey swallows. “I know, Papa.”

“Mmm.” His nose skims from her ear down her neck, and he moves her hair to the side the way he had the night before. “You do know.” 

He lays an open-mouthed kiss to the junction of her shoulder, his tongue darting out, and then his teeth scrape gently over her skin. Rey is limp and slack-jawed in his arms, like prey subdued in the jaws of a predator. His left hand comes up to play with the loose drawstrings, sliding beneath the fabric to cup her breast, squeezing.

“You like when Papa plays with your pretty tits.” He has found her nipple, worrying it between calloused fingers; it’s sensitive, after last night, but it feels so, so good. Rey gives a shaky breath.

His other hand smooths down her belly and grazes along the inside of her thigh. It comes to rest where her nightgown ends, edging it higher, above her knee. She gasps when his hot hand meets her skin. 

He sucks a bruise into her neck, biting gently into the soft flesh. The hand on her thigh has continued its upward ascent, pushing her nightgown as it goes. “Such soft skin.” 

He pulls open the front of her nightgown so he can see her breasts, switching to pinch at the other nipple, tugging and kneading at the teat. A low whine escapes Rey’s lips.

He reaches the junction of her thighs, the nightgown pushed up so far as to almost expose her completely. He growls in her ear. “Open up for me, sweetheart.” He pulls her legs apart, keeping them open with his spread knees, his hand dipping down to trace the seam of her with one, long finger, spreading her lips and circling the nub there lightly.

It is so sweet, like candy dissolving on her tongue. Her back arches and her limbs jerk, her mouth falling open in a whimper. Ben releases her breast to subdue her arms and hold her tight to his chest. 

“I think you’ll like Papa playing with your pretty quim too.” His finger leaves her nub and dips into her soaked slit, probing carefully. He pushes inward and Rey is so wet it sinks in smoothly. He angles his hand so his thumb can caress the outside, catching again and again against the little pleasurable nub that seems to anchor Rey’s universe, his long finger pumping in and out of her. He starts sucking kisses along her shoulder, pushing her nightgown off her frame as he goes. 

He shifts his hand again and introduces a second finger, pressing slowly as he stretches her. Rey whines, clutching the arm that’s restraining her. His fingers touch something in her that she’s never felt before, a zing of crackling pleasure that radiates to her extremities, humming just under her skin. “That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he whispers. He pumps languidly, skewering her over and over, then crooks his fingers against her front wall, rubbing his thumb in firm little circles against her nub. 

Rey shatters, pleasure flooding her whole body. She jerks wildly and an almost panicked scream erupts from her throat. Ben keeps thrusting his fingers in and out of her, faster now, and his thumb presses hard. Rey’s eyes fly open and her whole body is wracked with shudders. Ben swears. “Fuck.”

She comes down utterly spent and sags against him, the arm across her chest the only thing keeping her upright. Ben rights the bottom of her nightgown and she’s seized with a smaller wave of aftershocks in response to the sensual brush of the fabric against her skin. Ben is kissing her face gently, cooing at her. “You did so good, sweetheart. So pretty, in your crisis.” 

Rey turns her face into his neck, and mouths blindly at his skin. He tastes clean, just the barest hint of salt, and warm. She opens her mouth wider to suck gently. It’s comforting. 

Ben huffs a strangled breath. She releases him, but he puts a hand on the back of her head. She finds another spot and sucks a bit harder this time. Ben groans. 

He shifts under her, and she can feel his hard manhood beneath her thigh. He rubs it against her, pressing her to him with the arm around her waist. She steadies herself with a hand against his chest, feeling the muscles there, covered by his nightshirt. She wishes they were bare against each other. She wants to kiss him everywhere.

“Oh, please, Rey-” He sounds a little wild. He shifts her again, and pulls his nightshirt up so his member springs free: hard, and leaking, and huge. He grasps it in an equally huge hand, pumping it firmly. He pulls her hand to his mouth and licks her palm, sucks her fingers between his teeth, then pulls it to close around the thick shaft. He pumps her hand for her, and his shuddering breaths grow more insistent. He looks at her face with hooded eyes, jaw slack. 

He caresses her face with his free hand, his thumb catching at her bottom lip, pulling slightly. She opens her mouth and he pushes two huge fingers in to rest on her tongue. 

They must be the fingers he had inside of her, for they taste distinctly carnal. She hollows her cheeks and sucks, laving her tongue around sensitive fingertips, scraping her teeth gently against his knuckles. 

Ben groans deeply and jerks. “Yes, yes, fuck- sweetheart-” She can feel his cock grow slippery, her hand dragging through a warm, viscous fluid. It must be his spend. 

He groans again and releases her hand, pulling his fingers out of her mouth. He pulls her down to rest against his chest like he had so many weeks ago. They both lie there, catching their breath. 

Eventually he stands, Rey still in his arms, and moves to the bed, lying her gently on top of the quilt. He goes to fetch a wet rag. He cleans her gently of any spend that splattered on her thighs, washes her sticky hand, then folds the rag and reaches under her nightgown to clean between her legs. He wipes his own groin area and tosses the rag back in the washbasin, extinguishing the lamp and crawling into bed. 

He kisses Rey on the forehead.

“Did you like it, sweetheart?”

Rey nods. “Yes, Papa.”

He kisses her eyelids, then her nose.

“So much, Papa.”

His lips brush hers. She wraps her arms around his neck, and pulls him into a full kiss.

Notes:

Gratuitous cow milking imagery. Less dubious, but still dubcon, heavy petting, nipple play, vaginal fingering, and a handjob, all with a minor.

So, uh, Ben doesn't feel that guilty. He is concerned about not hurting Rey, which is why he gives her space at the beginning of the chapter. Maybe his guilt will come more into play after they emerge from their little snow cocoon and reenter society ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I know zero about dairy processing, but here's some background and Rey uses a glass butter churn jar shown here.

Ben's newspaper. If you look really closely, there's an op-ed about police reform, lol.

Since there isn't a ton of historical context this chapter, I thought I'd talk a little bit about Little House on the Prairie. First, the title of this fic is a Laura Ingalls Wilder quote, which is "Home is the nicest word there is." Perhaps there's another contender here for the eponymous word, I'll let you decide.

I loved the Little House books growing up, but I think even then it was pretty obvious how they were racist. I mean, there's literal blackface in one book and the core Manifest Destiny that drives the books is predicated on the necessary removal of Native Americans from ancestral lands. I did not, however, understand the political and social context in which the books were published. Laura's daughter, Rose Wilder Lane, was a fairly well-known journalist in the 1930's, and was a heavy influence in the creation of the books. The family tended more and more libertarian as the Depression wore on, and this is reflected in the books, with their glorified self-sufficiency and limited government overreach. Their political hangover reaches to the Reagan era, when their popularity helped to create a new conservative constituency and unsettle the liberal consensus established by New Deal politics. Read more in this truly fascinating New Yorker article.

I don't really bring this up to shame anyone who likes the books. I still like them, and they're such a vivid part of my childhood. They truly do bring that era to life. I just think we should engage critically with the art that we consume.

As always, hope you all are safe and healthy! Maybe go read this article about defunding the police.

Find me on Twitter at @entropyyy23

Chapter 8

Notes:

Content warnings in the end notes.

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The snow slows until eventually it ceases completely and the sun shines, blindingly brilliant, onto the unbroken white. It’s over Ben’s head in places, and in the absence of outdoor chores, Rey determinedly digs a series of tunnels, complete with small secret cubbies and side parlors and windows to the sky. 

Rey proclaims that she feels like a gopher in the little gopher town, and wonders out loud whether they have a whole city down there-- a school for the baby gophers, and a town hall, a little gopher church, and a gopher train station so they might visit other gopher towns. Ben just shakes his head at her, but his eyes crinkle at the edges, and he allows her to pull him through the labyrinth of snow. They collapse at the end of one tunnel and look up at a clear blue sky. Ben kisses Rey’s cheeks, pink with cold. She kisses his nose, which she has decided she likes very much. 

Ben chuckles, “You missed.” He presses his lips to hers.

Rey thinks she likes kissing more than most anything. She likes how he cradles her face gently in his huge hand, she likes the tentative dance of his soft lips against hers, she likes the press of his tongue, the soft nip of his teeth. She likes to play with his hair, and scrape her nails across his scalp. She likes to feel his weight on top of her, heavy and soothing and warm. 

Ben pulls off her, and laughs at the snow in her hair. He pulls her back through the tunnel.

“You could be a little gopher,” he tells her, “or you could be a little water skimmer. Float on top of all the snow.”

“Like Jesus?” Rey laughs. “Walking on water?”

Ben nods solemnly and pulls out two wooden instruments. Rey isn’t sure what they are; they look a little like rackets for playing lawn tennis.

He helps her to strap them to her boots, and Rey feels more like a duck than a water skimmer, waddling around the clear bit of the yard, trying to lift her feet high enough. Ben puts on his own pair and leads her to the little snow ramp beyond the barn. They step up and up, until they’re at the surface of the gleaming snow field and Rey’s amazed at how they don’t fall through. They walk out to where the far field would be. Rey imagines the dead grasses deep beneath their feet.

“Top’s firmin’ up a bit,” Ben says. He jumps a little on his rackets and the crust holds. “Reckon the team’ll be able to pull a sleigh over it soon.”

They turn in early and drink hot, peppermint tea after supper while Ben reads aloud from the newspaper. Rey recognizes some of the local society ladies mentioned in the pages, and many of the locations, but New York seems so distant now as to be a dream. 

Ben trims his beard and washes his face while Rey sits atop the pretty quilt, arms around her knees. It’s so cozy and comforting in the little shanty that she nearly forgets her heartache for the Damerons, for the baby that might have come in the storm, and for Finn, lost on the prairie. They could all be dead, for all she knows, and they’re trapped out here, none the wiser.

Ben sidles behind her, pulling her to sit between his legs and wrapping her in his arms. 

“I can’t stand not knowing, Ben,” she says quietly.

“We’ll try tomorrow,” he kisses the back of her head. “Likely as not they’re worried about us too.”

He pulls her to lay down on top of the quilt, though he hasn’t yet extinguished the lamp. They lay for a moment together, basking in the golden light and the heat from the stove. He smoothes her hair and kisses her knuckles, clasped in his large hand. His kisses move to her shoulder, then to her neck, and her worries seem to melt. 

An open-mouthed kiss catches her just behind her ear, and she lets out a soft moan. His teeth dig in.

“Mmm, won’t you let Papa see you again?” He brushes the bottom of her nightgown, slowly pushing it higher until it’s at her waist. Rey lets her legs fall apart, knees angled out. Ben sucks in a breath. His fingers trail along her slit, gathering the moisture that already slicks her inner lips, and comes to rest at the pleasurable nub at the crest. He draws soft circles around it and Rey whines. “Prettiest little clitoris this side of the Mississippi.” His voice is gravelly. 

He seems in no hurry tonight, content to continue his featherlight touch and pull open the front of her nightgown so he can suckle at her breast. Rey trembles as she approaches a very different sort of crisis, a flush spreading across her chest while a molten pleasure reaches slowly for every nerve ending. Lights pop in front of her eyes, but she just keeps climbing, as if there is no peak, just an ever-ascending rapture, and Ben’s mouth, and Ben’s fingers, and Ben’s solid cock weeping against her bare thigh. 

When she comes to, Ben is nibbling her neck and earlobe and dragging his manhood carefully between her soaked lips. The bulbous head catches on her clitoris and Rey lets out a broken sob, which is drawn into a continuous whine as Ben thrusts along her slit, pressing her thighs tight around his member. Rey reaches down to feel the silky shaft bob against her; she presses it to her clitoris and crests a new peak. Her throat feels raw with her cries. 

Ben bites hard on her shoulder, but then pulls himself from between her legs, rolling away as his spend overspills his fist. They pant together, catching their breath.

He rolls away first to fetch a rag. A shudder runs through her when he runs it through her folds. In truth, she wishes he would hold it to her and let her rub against it. Wishes he would call her sweetheart and skewer her with his fingers, coo pretty words at her while he holds her down. She wants him to smother her, consume her, dig his teeth into her soft skin and split her flesh wide with his monstrous cock. 

But he only traps Rey under a large arm (lamp now extinguished) and promptly falls asleep; his deep snores reverberate through her chest. After a moment of hesitation, she wriggles a hand free and works it under her nightgown. The nuns would hit them with switches for self-abuse, but she thinks Ben might not mind so much. 

She drags her small fingers through her still-wet heat, and rubs her palm against her clitoris-- the prettiest clitoris this side of the Mississippi . Her apology to God leaves her lips as a moan.

 

The next day dawns bright and cold, which Ben says is a good thing. He spends a good hour of the early morning tromping around the crust of the snow, even taking his snowshoes off to see if it will hold his weight. He readies the sleigh and drapes the horses with saddle blankets, instructs Rey to dress as warmly as she can, wrapping a heavy blanket around her shoulders. He covers their laps with a big buffalo robe. A box filled with hot coals sits at their feet.

Then they’re off, and sitting in the sleigh feels like flying. They slide smoothly over the snow, so unlike the bumps and jolts of the wagon, and the horses prance merrily across the blinding fields. A brief pause at the creek, and they glide effortlessly out onto the open prairie.

“Just gotta avoid the drifts,” Ben says. “We’ll try and stay over the wagon tracks.”

Rey’s face is red with cold and excitement, and she can’t stop grinning. This is better than riding a train, certainly. She understands why Father Christmas would choose such a method of transportation. 

Things go smoothly until they’re nearly within sight of the town. Star takes a jaunting step forward and, without any warning, crashes down through the snow. Ben loosens the reins and narrowly avoids dragging the sleigh in after; Killer stomps his feet and rears back, whinnying, but holds his ground. 

Rey is horrified. “Is he alright?!” She stands to try and get a better look.

“He’ll be fine, just gotta dig him out. It happens.”

Ben unhooks the horse, calming him in a low voice, and then brings out a little shovel and digs around him, stamping the snow to create a firm ramp for Star to climb out. He rights the saddle blankets and hooks him up again to the sleigh. 

“Nearly there.” They finally glide between the most outlying houses. She gasps as they reach the main street. While Rey knew how high the drifts reached to their own shanty, it’s quite a shock to see how they compare to the two-story buildings in town; if she tried, she could nearly look in the second story windows. Small trenches connect between doorways, and little sets of stairs have been carved into the sides to reach the road. A few other sleighs and teams of horses are in the street, along with a handful of men.

“Solo!” A man in comically large snowshoes waves them down. “Thought you were dead and buried in that storm. Must’ve had a rough time of it when you left.”

Ben nods. Another man comes up, and Rey recognizes him as Snap.

“Mighty glad to see you, Solo! And you, Miss Rey! We started cookin’ up a search party to go after you.”

“Fat lot a’ good that’d’ve done ‘em,” the other man says. His face is a bit unpleasant. “As if they’d be worth rescuin’ after three days.”

“Did Finn come back?” Rey cuts in, looking at Snap. “Are the Damerons alright?”

Snap smiles. “All fine, all fine. Reckon they’d like to see you, got a new member of the family for you to meet.”

Rey claps her hands over her mouth and turns to Ben excitedly. “Oh, do let’s go, Ben! Come on!”

Snap laughs, and the other man joins in, somewhat unkindly. Ben glares hard at him, but snaps his reins and when he turns to Rey his eyes crinkle. 

“Oh, I can’t believe it! Finn’s alright, and there’s a new baby!” 

They trot quickly through town and down the way to the Damerons’ homestead. Several of the little ones are in the yard, sliding down snowbanks. They shout when they see the sleigh, and a taller figure pops out the front door to see what the fuss is about. Rose claps her hand over her mouth when she sees them.

Rey jumps from the sleigh and runs to her, crushing her tightly in her arms. Rose sobs in her ear.

“I thought you were dead!”

Rey is crying too. “I was so worried!” She catches her breath. “And Finn, is he--”

“Right here.” Finn has emerged from the house behind Rose, and Rey releases her to wrap him in a hug as well. 

“Oh, Finn, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, out on the prairie--”

Finn chuckles. “Pulled through alright. Man near Minden put me up in his barn when the storm hit, then lent me skis to get the rest of the way! Can you believe it? Gotta go back for my horse at some point.” He ruffles her hair and pulls back to look at her. “We were real worried about you two.” 

Ben walks back from the barn, where he’s been stowing the horses, and they tread carefully into the house, shaking snow off their boots and leaving their wraps in the entrance hall. Pastor Dameron comes to greet them both with hugs.

“God bless you both!” He wipes his eyes. “So many blessings, really. You two, and Finn, and we have a new little one, scared us something fierce, coming during the storm, but mama and baby are doing just fine now, just fine--”

They find Mrs. Dameron in the parlor with a little bundle. She smiles at them, and her bright eyes light up. “Would you like to meet Temiri?”

A baby with a shock of dark hair is swaddled in the blankets, milk drunk and on the verge of falling asleep. He has the pinched, reddish face of newborns, his eyes half-closed and milky blue. Rey thinks he’s perfect.

They take seats in the parlor; Rose pulls Rey onto a handsome, stuffed sofa while Ben takes the armchair to the left. Finn sits in the wooden seat next to Mrs. Dameron. Rose embarks on the rather epic tale of Temiri’s birth: ensuring the other parishioners left the church alright, their own harrowing journey through the snow, and how they had all just gotten home safely in the blizzard when…

She trails off, looking guiltily at Mrs. Dameron, who laughs slyly. “When Temiri came! He was quick enough, in any case. Ought to be, I’m old hat now!” As if to prove her point, Shara and one of the other little girls come into the parlor and sit at their mother’s feet, peering at the baby in her lap. 

“What of your journey, Rey, and Mr. Solo? Everyone was so worried, you’re certainly the farthest out!”

Ben coughs. “We had a rough time of it, getting home. Managed, in the end, but…”

Rose looks at Rey, distressed. “How horrid! And you’re injured, Rey--!”

She points to Rey’s neck, just above her collar. Rey frowns, confused, clapping a hand to the spot. What is Rose talking about? But the recollection comes with dawning horror, of Ben sucking a bruise into her skin, his fingers buried deep in her--

Ben coughs again. “There was some flying debris, when we got out on the prairie. Spooked the horses--”

“You poor dear!” Rose pulls her into a hug; Rey is stiff in her arms.

Conversation drifts to trains, which hadn’t been able to get through the snow banks to make scheduled depot stops. Finn is confident they’ll clear the tracks soon. “Teams of men, shoveling straight from Chicago!”

Rey tunes out, as Temiri’s sweet face pokes through the blankets. He blinks sleepily at her, unseeing, and she can feel her heart melt.

“Rey, would you like to hold him?” Mrs. Dameron asks gently. 

“Oh! Only if you wouldn’t mind--”

She accepts the baby carefully into her lap, holding his tiny head in the crook of her elbow. 

“School’s set to start next week now, barring any more blizzards of course,” Rose is telling her. Rey brightens.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!”

“Ezra Bridger’s a fine lad,” Pastor Dameron says. “He’ll be an excellent teacher. Has designs to matriculate at the university in Omaha.”

“I’ve been reading that mathematics book front to back,” Rey says seriously. “Arithmetic isn’t so bad, and I think I’m beginning to understand fractions.” Ben had been helpful with that, spreading dried beans on the table and splitting them in groups, eyes crinkling when she got an exercise correct.

“Just wait for geometry.” Rose rolls her eyes in apparent frustration.

Temiri gives a small squawk in Rey’s lap and she rocks him gently, giving him her little finger to suckle. He takes to it gummily, eyes drifting shut. Ben smiles softly at them from his chair.

Pastor Dameron smiles too. “You’ll make a pretty little mama someday, Miss Rey. When you find a fella and leave school.”

Rey blushes and looks down at Temiri in her lap again; his mouth has gone slack around her finger and she gently traces his perfect little nose. 

She glances at Ben and is surprised to see his tender expression replaced with a furrowed brow. His mouth is clenched so his full bottom lip puckers slightly. She looks away, slightly stung.

Their visit lasts through a delicious lunch, complete with an apple pie, and then Ben readies the horses while Finn shows them the borrowed skis. He skids across the yard, balanced on thin strips of wood and wielding a staff with a little basket at the end. “Keeps it from sinking through the snow.” He slides down a small bank and makes an awkward about-face, holding his arms up in triumph. Rey and Rose laugh at him.

Ben doesn’t talk much on the way home. They break through the snow once, but even then he digs the horses out in silence and encourages them forward again with the reins. A few words of overture earn only a grunt in return, and she frowns, a sense of unease growing like a ball of lead in her stomach.

They make it back with plenty of daylight remaining, but Rey doesn’t much feel like continuing her gopher tunnels. She sits restlessly in the claim shanty, her attention split between baking bread and reading her school books and knitting a lumpy scarf with yarn gifted to her by Rose. Ben makes himself scarce, walking out past the barn on his snowshoes to accomplish some unknown chore. 

She fries the bacon extra crispy, nearly burnt, just the way Ben likes it, and forms the butter for the rolls into little flowers. A ladies’ magazine at the Damerons’ house had pictures of beautiful, molded butter-- miniature coats of arms and lacey floral designs. Rey doesn’t have a mold, but thinks she did a fine enough job. She sets the table with folded napkins and fills the glass tumblers with cold milk. She tries sitting like a lady, back straight and chin lifted. 

Ben still isn’t back, so she washes her face in the porcelain bowl and unbraids her hair. She wonders if she could style it like Mrs. Dameron’s, pinned up with a beautiful comb…

But she hears Ben on the step, stomping his boots, and so she hurries back in her chair, her hair loose around her shoulders. He shrugs off his jacket and sits heavily across from her, murmuring something unintelligible, tearing the bread and spreading it with butter; he doesn’t comment on the flowers.

Rey can feel herself wilting. She focuses her eyes on her plate, eating steadily. If her eyes burn it’s just from the smoky fire.

He goes to the rocking chair after supper, pulling out a newspaper he got from Finn. Rey dithers. She’s never seen Ben so aloof before; he’s a quiet man, but he always has words for her. Did she do something wrong? 

She never thought silence could hurt worse than a slap.

“Papa?” Her voice is thin and reedy.

He sighs, looking up and then slowly folding his paper. Rey goes to stand beside him. She’s grown used to curling up in his lap, but tonight she perches herself delicately on his knee. After a moment’s hesitation, she holds up her face to be kissed. Ben’s eyes drift to her lips before he leans forward to kiss her briefly on the forehead. 

“I-- Rey--” His voice cracks a little and he stops.

“What’s the matter, Papa? Did I do something--”

He cuts her off. “No, sweetheart, I’m sorry--” He folds her into his arms like he can’t help it, pulling her down into his lap. “I didn’t mean-- I've just been thinkin’, about you and schoolin’ and all.” He pauses. “You’ve been so excited, and you’re such a quick little thing. You could finish school, maybe even go to college, lot of ‘em acceptin’ women these days…”

Rey nods. She’s never thought about going to college, but she’s touched that Ben thinks she could. She doesn’t quite know why it’s making him sad, though. 

He continues.

“I said... well... I told the state I’d be a good-- father-- to you, and that means ensurin’ you finish school, if you can… and not-- not interferin’-- with your chances or--”

Rey has started to see where he’s going with this and she feels a spike of panic.

“No-- no, Papa, you’re not interfering, I-- you--”

Ben sighs deeply. “Rey, I’ve been trying to be a-- a good man. Atone for my mistakes, make things right with God. And I can’t--”

Rey buries her face in his shirt, staining the fabric with tears. She doesn’t want to get between Ben and God, but she couldn’t see how the things they did together were bad , not when they were so tender, and so loving…

He holds her and lets her cry, shushing her with a comforting hand on her back. She melts into his touch, and it’s like wrenching her heart in two when he finally pulls away to get ready for bed. They dress silently. 

A fresh wave of tears falls down her cheeks when he rolls to face the chest of drawers instead of pulling her under his arm. She curls up against the wall, falling asleep, for the first time in a long time, outside of his embrace.

Notes:

CW: Heavy petting, frottage, intercrural sex, all with a minor. Very brief non-mention of childbirth.

Me writing this: Man, they're gonna ruin that quilt.

We'll get more into Ben's sexual history, but this would bother me as a reader, so I, as god of this universe, will declare that Ben has no STIs besides a non-pathogenic strain of HPV and also sometimes he gets cold sores on his lip (read more on why herpes stigma is overblown.)

We're on the pain train now. To be honest, I can't say I'm super happy with how this chapter turned out, but it's a stepping stone to better stuff down the line. Bear with me.

Finn's skis (halfway down the page). Also a neat painting of an 1880's cavalry patrol on skis in Yellowstone.

Kaydel's hair.

Hope you all are safe and happy! Wish me luck on my coronavirus test :O

Edit: I do not have COVID!

Find me on Twitter at @entropyyy23

Chapter 9

Notes:

Content warnings in the end notes.

 

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The final days before school starts are miserable to say the least. Rey listlessly reads her books, or knits her scarf, but nothing seems to make her feel any better. She stares at the chinks in the shanty walls, and burns the bottom of the stew with her inattention. 

Ben, for his part, doesn't seem to know what to do with himself either. He spends all day out in the barn, or walking out beyond the far field, and comes back for supper and bed. Their conversation is stilted and sparse, usually small updates on the cows or speculation on the weather.

The book of poetry sits on the rocking chair, untouched.

The night before Rey is to start school, Ben clears his throat and thrusts a small paper sleeve toward her over the table. She opens it to find two wide, glossy ribbons in a bright, cherry red.

"Was gonna give 'em to you earlier, but with all the hullabaloo… Anyhow, thought you could wear 'em to school."

Rey weaves the ribbons delicately between her fingertips. Her eyes well up, but she does her best not to let him see, turning to tuck the ribbons safely in her drawer and then setting upon the dishes with determination. Ben watches her silently from his seat. 

 

In the morning they anxiously peer at the clouds in the sky before Ben hooks up the horses to the sleigh and they drive off toward town. It's overcast, but the wind is calm, and they make it to town without breaking through once, the snow having hardened and compacted significantly in the week since the blizzard. 

Ben slows the horses in front of the pretty schoolhouse, where Rey can already see Rose and three of the younger Damerons milling about with a few other students. He stares at her for a long moment, fixating on the red ribbons at the ends of her braids, before exiting the sleigh and helping her out the other side.

"You'll do good, sweetheart." She gives him a small, watery smile. "I'll be back at 3 o'clock."

Rose catches Rey up in an excited hug when she reaches them. It's been hardly four days since they last saw each other, but Rose has plenty to chat about. She gives Rey the blow-by-blow of Temiri's entire first week, and updates her on some of Finn's funnier antics on his skis, then passes along the hear-say about the train: apparently they've dug out the tracks halfway from Lincoln. 

They file into the schoolhouse and take seats near the back. Rey looks around at the other students; some she recognizes from church, but others are complete strangers. She and Rose are two of the oldest there. There's an older boy who sits on the opposite side with a piece of straw in his mouth, staring straight ahead.

Mr. Bridger introduces himself and starts the day's prayer, then sets everyone to memorizing passages from Deuteronomy. He then works his way from the youngest students to the oldest, setting the rest of their lessons for the morning. From what Rey can hear, he seems to be a kind and understanding teacher. The few lessons she'd ever received previously were peppered with rods to her palm for mumbling or misreading words. His face is young, certainly he can't be much older than seventeen.

When he reaches Rose, he sets her some geometry problems, which makes her scrunch her nose, as well as a lesson on the geography of Europe. He turns to Rey.

"What sort of schooling have you already had?" 

"Not much, sir. I can read though, sir."

"She reads beautifully," Rose pipes up, then hurriedly turns back to her lesson when Mr. Bridger frowns.

"I see. And mathematics?"

"I've been reading through the textbook, sir. I'm still working at fractions."

He nods and sets her some fractions exercises, as well as the same geography lesson as Rose. 

They're left on their own for the hour, while the younger students recite their lessons for the teacher. There's a small scuffle between two boys and he sits them both in opposite corners, but beside that he doesn't much seem intent on punishment for wrong answers. When he reaches the back row, Rey is ready to recite her fractions, and does passably well on the geography of Europe. The geography reader they have to work from is an old one, and still has all of the separate German principalities. Mr. Bridger gives her a small smile.

At lunchtime they gather their wraps and their lunchpails and gather in the yard. Rey's not sure where to sit, but a loud whistle gets her attention and she turns to find Finn leading the Damerons' large sleigh. They all laugh and pile into the seats to eat.

"How come you're not in school, Finn?" Rey asks between mouthfuls of bread and cold ham. 

Finn bursts out laughing.

"I'm nearly twenty-one, half-pint." He puffs his chest. "A grown man. And I had some schoolin', Poe-- that is, Pastor Dameron-- taught me all sorts a' things back in Texas. I can read and work figures and all."

"You were in Texas?" Rey is intrigued. 

"Raised there, been ridin' horses on the open range since I could walk."

"Pa used to do itinerant missionary work," Rose pipes in. "Saved souls all over the West."

"He convinced me to seek work up in Nebraska, said I could do shorter drives and have a home-cooked meal every Sunday. Never told me about the snow!" His grin splits his face.

Rose laughs merrily. "But if he had you wouldn't have come! And then you'd never have met me!"

"That's true, that's true." He pulls Rose into a one-armed hug, and Rey can see her cheeks redden. She hides her own smile.

They start on penmanship after lunch, and this is the part Rey has truly been dreading. She knows how to write her name, and certainly knows all her letters, but she'd never had much to practice penmanship with. Her hand shakes around her pen and ink blots out from the nib, splattering her paper. 

A deep breath, and she starts tracing out the delicate curlicues and flourishes of the capital letters. The forms are wobbly and inconsistent, but she keeps at it. By the end of the lesson she has a full page. She peeks at Rose's. Her page is full of elegant script, not just individual letters but complete sentences. Rey's cheeks flame in embarrassment and she tries to hide hers with her arm.

Mr. Bridger purses his lips when he sees the lesson, and sets her the same one for tomorrow. They then move on to orthography, which Rey has never heard of, and grammar. She recites the same lessons as little Shara.

By the time the school day is done, Rey feels completely drained. She hoists herself into the sleigh without greeting Ben and leans back to close her eyes. The horses trot across the snow.

"You alright?" She cracks an eyelid to see Ben frowning at her. They skim out of the town and set off across the bright prairie.

Rey nods, and then bursts into tears. 

"I just-- my penmanship is so horrible -- I'm like a little child, and I knew I ought to have worried more about that... and, and I don't even know what orthography is, or why anyone would even--"

Ben reaches out to pat her back, and Rey leans into him before she remembers that he means not to touch her anymore. She sits rigid in the sleigh seat instead.

"It's your first day, sure it'll get better." He peers sideways at her, where she sits with her arms crossed. "Didn't realize you were so put out about penmanship. If you want, I got a nice enough pen set, and some paper…"

Rey nods miserably, but when they get home and get the horses and the sleigh sorted, Ben pulls out his pen set and some pages marked with lines. He seats her at the table with the shanty shutters cracked for better light and the oil lamp near. Rey takes a pen and dips it in ink, setting it to the page.

"Ah, no, you see, that's your problem there, gotta hold it more like this ." He adjusts her grip. "There, now the first part of the letter goes down , see, and now make the skinny part with this bit of the nib…"

They work through all the capital letters, and then through the lowercase ones, and then Rey writes her own name a handful of times, and then Ben's, and M'lady's, and Star and Killer and a line of Deuteronomy that she memorized this morning.

The script looks much nicer than her page in class, and she can't help but smile, just a little bit. Ben smiles too, shaking her shoulder. "That's my girl!"

He leaves the shanty to do the nightly milking and she watches him go, her smile fading from her face.

 

School continues the rest of the week, despite a small snow storm Wednesday evening that adds about a half foot of snow on top of the icy crust. The trains still haven't made it through to the depot, and Rey wonders if this fresh snowfall will require them to dig out the tracks they've already cleared.

The lessons continue as on the first day, and Rey at least progresses past the first penmanship lesson. Orthography still baffles her, and the history of Europe turns out to be far more complicated than she had ever dreamed, but she laughs with the others at lunch and Mr. Bridger never scolds her too badly. She moves on to learning about accumulating interest after she finishes all of her fractions exercises.

Ben seems to be largely back to himself, talking through her lessons with her on the way home from school and helping her with her penmanship at night. She worries out loud once about the horses making the trip to town twice a day, and wonders if she should try to make the trek on her snowshoes, but he shuts the thought down immediately. "It's good exercise for 'em. And I'll not have you wanderin' the prairie all by your lonesome."

On Friday they have a spelling bee. Rey lasts through to the final round, before being felled by "bacciferous." Mr. Bridger seems amazed by how well she does.

"Well done, Rey. Marvelous end to your first week."

Rey blushes and looks down when he smiles at her.

She beams when she tells Ben of her spelling bee performance, and he slaps his knee and guffaws, startling the horses a bit. "Knew you'd beat 'em all out, clever little thing."

They wave at Finn and the Damerons leaving the schoolyard in their sleigh, and then trot on through town. There's a small scrum around the General Store.

"The trains still aren't through?" Rey twists around in the sleigh to look at them all while they pass.

"No, still haven't got the track cleared. Bit of trouble, lotta folks haven't got everything stocked up for winter yet."

"Are we stocked?" They have so much food in the pantry and lean-to and the root cellar, and so much hay in the barn. Rey isn't sure what else they could possibly add.

"We're fine. Still haven't got the pigs slaughtered, gotta go over to Snap's homestead on a clear day sometime."

Rey gets supper started, and is in such a good mood she whisks together the ingredients for a white cake and pours it into a small tin to place in the stove. Rose had whispered the ingredients to her between lessons, and Rey had written them down in careful script in her composition book. 

Ben declares it the best cake he's ever eaten, and makes her spell bacciferous forward and backward until she laughs so hard she falls off her chair. He's immediately picking her off the floor, and she can't help but laugh even more at his concerned face.

They go to bed with a chasm between them, and Rey wishes harder than ever that she might turn over and kiss his face and wrap herself in his arms. Despite the cake and all the laughter, she falls asleep with her heart as heavy as it's ever been.

 

They see baby Temiri at church on Sunday. Rey makes faces at him all through the sermon and doesn't pay the slightest bit of attention to the verses being read. 

After the service she and Rose wander up the high street in their snowshoes and buy stick candy from a small grocer. The bins of flour and beans are cleared out completely, and Rey feels a bit funny to look at the bare shelves that once held goods. She's experienced hunger in her life, but the scarcity stemmed not so much from goods not around to be had, but from people not wanting to give them to her . She takes a lick of the stick candy as they exit the shop; the rest is in a paper bag to be distributed to the little ones. 

"You girlies enjoying your candy?"

Rey whips her head around. The unpleasant man she had seen before with the enormous snowshoes was leaning against the rough board wall of the grocer, a cigarette clutched between his lips.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Hux." Rose grasps Rey determinedly by the elbow and marches them both down the street. 

"Lemme know if you ever need anything else to suck on!" His shout echoes around them, and Rey can see Rose's cheeks grow red as they continue on their way.

"Who is that?" Rey tries to look behind them, but Rose jerks her back.

"Armitage Hux," she spits. "He's got a homestead a ways north with a couple of Bohemians."

"Does he always talk to you like that?"

Rose gives a short nod that doesn't invite further inquiry. Rey makes a note to ask Ben about Mr. Hux later.

Everyone is talking about the trains when they return. There's been persistent bouts of snow that has made it harder for them to dig the tracks out, but it seems the nearest engine isn't more than fifty miles away at this point. 

"We oughta start diggin' from this side." There's a general murmur of agreement.

Rey finds Ben deep in conversation with Snap. She sidles up beside him. 

"Could do Thursday this week, s'long as the weather holds." Ben looks at her. "Think I could drop you off at school about an hour early that day?"

Rey nods up at him, licking her stick candy innocently. He averts his gaze.

 

School days seem to slide by, leaving Rey tired but with a sense of accomplishment. She does have less time to do chores, but Ben helps out with a few things while she's at school.

Thursday morning sees them up before the sun, wrangling two of the pigs into the sleigh. Rey is too sleepy to really think about where they're taking them, which is probably a good thing, though she's never been as attached to the pigs as she is to the cows. 

The sleigh ride is chillier than usual. By the time they make it to the schoolyard Rey is shivering, though trying hard not to let Ben see and distract him from the task at hand. She waves goodbye and lets herself into the cold schoolhouse, rubbing her hands and contemplating starting a fire in the stove.

To her surprise, the fire is already lit and the room quite toasty. She hangs her wraps by the door and looks around the empty desks just as Mr. Bridger comes in the backdoor carrying a large pail full of coal. 

"Oh! Mr. Bridger, you startled me. I didn't realize you'd be in so early."

He smiles at her and sets the pail next to the stove. "I didn't expect to see you either, Rey. What's got you at school at this hour?"

"My-- Ben-- that is, Mr. Solo-- he's off to do the slaughtering, at Mr. Snap's homestead. Wanted to get an early start of it."

Mr. Bridger nods, feeding a few more pieces of coal into the stove before closing the front hatch. He wipes his fingers on a rag hanging from a hook next to the stove. 

"Well, it'll be nice to have the company. I usually do my own studies before school."

"Are you really going to go to college?" Rey asks eagerly. His eyes light up.

"Yes. In the fall, in Lincoln."

He tells her of the classes he wants to take, of his journey the previous summer to see the campus. "The University Hall, it's like the Parthenon!" 

Rey privately doubts that any building in Lincoln compares at all to the dizzying giants of New York, or indeed to the wonders of ancient Greece, but she keeps this to herself. 

"How do you apply anyhow?"

"There's a test, to make sure you're fit for it. Not so different from the test to graduate, or to get your teaching certificate." He looks at her seriously. "You'd do fine, I think. It's a pity you missed so many years of schooling, but you're real sharp. You'll catch up quick."

She sits with her orthography lesson while he does his own work. He'd explained to her that orthography is just the study of spelling, and the way words are constructed, their historical origins and the standardization of their use. This makes a lot more sense to Rey, and working backward from words she knows she can start to discern the rules. It's a curious way to go about knowing how to spell things; for her, a word simply feels right, or wrong, when she looks at it.

The rest of the school day goes on as normal. She promises Rose she'll ask if she can spend the evening at the Damerons' sometime, if Finn is willing to drive her home after in their sleigh. She helps some of the younger students with their reading, and there's a snowball fight at lunch. Cal Kestis, the older boy who sits in the back, goodnaturedly agrees to throw the younger students one after another into a soft snowbank, though this ends when someone hits their tooth on a hidden bit of ice.

Ben isn't quite back at the end of the day, and Rey sits a bit longer in the classroom, practicing lines with her fine pen from Ben's collection. Finally she hears the clop of the horse's hooves and whoosh of the sled, and stands up to put on her wraps. Mr. Bridger stops her.

"Here," he thrusts out a book in her direction. "I've marked the sections that are tested on the teaching exams, at least. Not a bad start if you want to study on your own."

She flips through the book. It's new, the cut edge fresh. Words jump out at her; lots of Presidents and Territories. A detailed account of the Revolution.

She smiles at him. "Thank you, Mr. Bridger."

She pushes the door open into the cold wind, and jumps in the sleigh next to Ben. He's bundled, but she can still see the barest smudge of blood across one cheekbone.

"Did it go alright?"

He nods. "We'll be set for the winter."

A fresh falling of snow drifts over their tracks as they pull away.

 

In the middle of the night she wakes quite abruptly to find herself being tugged to the center of the bed. 

"Ben?" she whispers groggily. His breath is deep and even behind her. "Ben?" No answer. 

Her eyelids droop, and she sinks into his warmth.

 

It blizzards again and they miss church, and then Rey misses two days of school. She tries to set herself lessons instead, working exercises in her mathematics book and starting to read the marked pages in the American history textbook. The walls of the shanty seem to close in on her, alone in mid-day lamplight, shutters closed tight against the squall of the wind. 

She finds Ben in the barn, brushing the horses. She sinks onto a stack of hay.

"Did you ever go to school?"

He's quiet for a moment before answering. "I did."

"Did you have to pass a test, then, at the end? On history and orthology and arithmetic and the like?"

"Didn't finish." His face is obscured by the horse's flank. "I wasn't much of a student. Went to live with my uncle, he taught me useful things. Less Greek and Latin."

Greek and Latin? Rey's brow furrows.

"What did he teach you?" 

"Farmin'. How to work the land. And theology. What it means to be a good man. He was a big ol' abolitionist, used to hide runaways in his barn. Real proud when I joined up."

There's a slight edge of bitterness at the end, and Rey's not sure what it's about. She lapses into silence, watching him walk around to stroke Star's nose. Her attention is at his hands, gentle against the horse's face, the muscles of his forearm tensed beneath his skin, criss-crossed with thick veins. 

"Papa…" she begins. His dark eyes snap up to hold hers, his gaze liquid and burning. 

"Rey…" The word is half despair and full of warning.

A fire rages beneath her skin, desperate for a touch that can quench it. She'd never craved contact before, never had any reason to think it would be given. And now she's like a woman starved; she can't survive on his half-hearted pats and his unacknowledged warmth in the middle of the night. Far from satiating her it makes her want more, more, like some sort of ravenous beast.

Their gaze is like a stand-off, and it almost hurts to look at his face, with his sad eyes and pouted lips. 

He breaks first, sighing and rubbing the back of his head with his huge hand, looking at the ground as he walks out of the barn back to the claim shanty. It doesn't feel like a victory, not at all, and Rey flops back on the haystack, silent tears overrunning her face while M'lady munches hay noisily near her ear, wondering just how many times a heart can survive being ripped in two.

Notes:

Verbal sexual harassment. Mention of animal slaughter. Author goes on extensively about orthography. Rey is a sad bean.

So I did more specific research into Nebraskan cowboys of this era and found this neat little source, which informed me that I was very inaccurate in chapter four to suggest that Finn would drive cattle down to Northern Colorado; my 21st century Greeley blinders were on, sorry. Many black cowboys did originate from Texas, and I imagine that Finn was born into slavery there right before the Civil War, and then learned the trade.

Pulling a lot of my prairie school knowledge from the Little House books, and also found this fascinating 1895 8th grade final exam which seems so difficult, omg.

A history of American spelling bees.

bacciferous: producing or bearing berries

Wonderful little history on the origins and evolution of American colleges. A bit about the founding of the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. The author Poe was confused earlier and thought that The University of Nebraska-Omaha was established first. Creighton University in Omaha was established at the time, but was founded by those pesky Catholics, so.

Thank you all for the wonderful comments, they've been really making my day.

Stay safe out there, I know a lot of states are opening up right now but COVID cases have been climbing again. Be careful, and for those of you in school, considering looking into whether your BSA or BGSA have started any campaigns to move towards an unarmed campus police model.

Find me on Twitter at @entropyyy23

Chapter 10

Notes:

Content warnings in the end notes.

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The snow clears and they have a full week without storms. Teams of men are reported a few miles out, digging through to the tracks. Finally they are visible on the horizon, behind them the engine chugs, bellowing great, sooty clouds of smoke against the pure white backdrop. 

It arrives at lunchtime, and they all run over from the schoolyard to watch the spectacle, the unloading of boxes and barrels, flour and sugar and salt pork and beef. A full car worth of coal. Rey sees Ben standing with the other men, arms crossed in front of his chest. She hurries over to him, sliding a bit on the icy ground. 

"The town is saved!" 

But he shakes his head. "It's not enough."

Rey supposes this is true; they went over a month without a train, after all, and so many families had yet to stock for the winter. 

"'Nother one'll be through tomorrow, Solo." The man standing beside him claps him on the back. "Don't be such a spoilsport."

School lets out early in all the excitement, and Rey waves goodbye to all of her friends. They head back to the homestead without stopping by the General Store; a line stretches around the block, full of desperate people. Rey cranes her head to watch them as the sleigh slides out of town.

"I hope the train tomorrow makes it through," she says. "It has to."

Ben grunts. "Weather out here," he says, "don't have to do anything ."

 

The next day dawns cloudy, but warm. Icicles drip above Rey's head when she dashes to the sleigh for school; she almost feels she could leave her wraps at home.

"Are you going to wait for the train?"

Ben shakes his head. "I gotta do some more repairs to the barn, now that it's warm enough to hold a hammer for more'n five minutes. And Star and Killer need to be re-shod."

Everyone in school is distracted, and Mr. Bridger raps his ruler more than a few times to try and regain order. He goes so far to whack the thighs of a younger boy who is especially unruly, which is the first time Rey has seen him use any sort of corporal punishment on a student. The boy quiets down and doesn't appear too put out.

At lunch, they take turns craning their necks from the top of a snow drift to see if they can spot the long billow of smoke on the horizon, but none appears. A chilly burst of wind picks up and Rey wraps herself tightly in her shawl, following Rose in scurrying back into the warmth of the building. 

Rey spends the early afternoon buried deep in her American history book, taking notes on the Puritans and the great sermons of Cotton Mather. She dips her pen carefully in her inkwell and smoothly starts to form the letters on her paper. Her writing still isn't quite as nice as Ben's, but it is improving.

A sudden thump on the side of the building makes her look up. Rose looks around in concern next to her. The wind outside has picked up. Even while she listens it increases in volume, until it's screaming against the fine, glass windows set in the sides of the schoolhouse. Snow is buffeted around the building, blowing through small cracks in the roof to trickle down onto their heads. 

Mr. Bridger stands to calm them.

"It's all right, everybody. Back to your lessons."

Rey tries to refocus on King Phillip's war, but the noise is too terrible. It sounds as if the wind is trying to pry the shingles off the roof, desperate to reach them.

Mr. Bridger seems determined to ignore it. He continues with the first grade students, until they're shouting their spelling lessons at him. The room is growing colder, and Rey looks at the stove. There are only a few pieces of coal left in the pail. A family would take it in turn each day to provide fuel; there isn't any extra at the schoolhouse. 

Rose glances at Rey nervously. "Do you think it will get worse?"

Rey looks out the window to see a white out. It's hard to know if it's a sudden squall or just the start of a true blizzard. If the first, they're better off waiting here. If the second…

"I don't know, but we ought to get our wraps on, don't you think? Try and warm them up now."

Rose nods, and they both move to retrieve their things from the row of nails near the door. Mr. Bridger looks up at them.

"Where are you going, girls?"

Rose squeaks and looks at Rey, who replies, "We just wanted to get our wraps, Mr. Bridger. It's chilly in the back."

He fixes her in his gaze for a moment before relenting. A few other students stand up to retrieve theirs as well.

"All right, all right, everyone sit down. We've still an hour left today."

Rey frowns to herself. The storm doesn't appear to be letting up, and it isn't as if anyone can think through the noise of the wind anyhow. She gives up on King Phillip and stares out the window. The light has gone funny, almost a greyish-green.

Mr. Bridger is finally forced to confront the situation when several shingles are pulled free from the roof, letting in odd beams of light into the room and showering a few students with flurries of snow. Rey can feel the chill now, even through her shawl and hat. She pulls on her mittens.

"Well, then, we'll let out early I suppose." He looks at the ceiling, as if at a loss. "Gather your things and we'll all go out together."

Rey and Rose help the littler Damerons, and a few of the other younger students, into their hoods and scarves. Rey reflects in dismay that several seemed to have dressed for the warmer weather, as she had been tempted to this morning. 

When Mr. Bridger forces the door open to the yard, Rey's stomach drops. It's a whiteout, as bad as the time she and Ben made their fateful ride home from the harvest social. If anything it's colder today. Her breath catches in her throat when she breathes; her face feels as though a hundred needles are stabbing at her skin. She pulls Shara close, shielding her face in her skirts. Rose has little Zorii shielded the same way. 

Rey calls to Mr. Bridger over the wind. "We ought to hold hands! Make our way to the main street without losing anyone!"

The schoolhouse is unfortunately situated at the very end of 4th Avenue. It's a long way to the intersection with Main Street, with no buildings close to the street to guide them and many gaps between to wander out into the open prairie. 

Cal Kestis holds his hand out to her and she takes it, telling Shara to hold tight to her and not look into the wind. Rose grabs her other hand. Mr. Bridger stands at the other side of Cal and they start away from the schoolhouse, trying to make as straight a line as they can towards the main street.

The wind steals her breath as they start to walk, wrapping her skirts around her so she stumbles with every step. She hears the many angry, singing voices, furious that she escaped them last time, determined to have her now. 

Her hands grow numb in their mittens and her eyelashes are frosted; she pulls her shawl around to cover her face as much as she can, quickly grabbing Cal's hand again. Shara stumbles along beside her. She isn't certain how much further the little ones can go. Are they going the right direction? It seemed so at the start, but now she's half-turned with every step forward; they could be wandering quite away from Main Street, or just missing the closest buildings, and never even know.

They've been walking for what seems like an eternity, surely they should have reached a building by now? Rey grows numb, putting a foot in front of the other; she can't feel her hands, her arms seem to float, suspended by some unseen support. 

Mr. Bridger and Cal are talking next to her. She realizes they've come to a halt. Mr. Bridger seems to want to turn to the left, which Rey is almost certain is the wrong way. Cal is disagreeing with him. Their words are lost to the wind, but then Cal drops her hand and pulls his cap low over his head, stuffing his hands into his jacket and pushing forward into the wind. Mr. Bridger looks at her, holding out his hand. "This way," he says. They start to move again.

Rey isn't sure what to do; she's quite certain they're heading parallel to Main Street. They stand the chance of running into a house, set far back from the street, but if they don't run into something they'll just keep going until they freeze to death or give up from exhaustion, sinking into snow drifts above the prairie grass. The winds shriek in delight.

She looks around at the direction Cal went. Maybe he'll bring back help.

Her footsteps are sluggish now, her toes long since gone numb. Her eyes squeeze shut, no use to her anyway. Her mind drifts to Ben. He wouldn't have been heading out into this yet, it was too early to pick her up from school. She wonders if he'll look, later, for their bodies.

Her shoulder collides with something hard and unmoving, and her voice catches in her throat. "Here!" she cries, but it doesn't make a sound. "Here!" she screams, and now she can hear it a bit. She yanks her shawl from her mouth, "HERE! A building!"

Mr. Bridger halts and looks around. Rose and the others gather, and they feel their way around the building to the front. The hardware store. They push open the door and pour into the warmth.

The man who owns the store looks up at them, surprised and then relieved. "Thank God you made it. Cal Kestis just told the men at the hotel you'd all wandered off onto the open prairie."

Parents from town make their way to the store to pick up their children, and Rey's not sure what the homesteaders' children will do. She certainly can't make it back to the creek and the claim shanty. 

Finn bursts in after about a half hour, looking worse for wear himself, the horses and the sleigh in front.

"It's clearing a little," he tells them. "We oughta be able to make it home."

Rey goes to hug Rose goodbye, but Rose tuts at her. "Don't be silly, Rey. You'll come with us."

"Are you certain?" She thinks back to Pastor Dameron saying they'd have to put her up in the barn. She doesn't want to take up room they don't have.

Finn cuts in. "Of course! Now get in, horses are chilled to the bone."

The sleigh ride is unpleasant, but Finn seems to have piled every blanket they own onto the seats. Rey sits covered head to toe, arm wrapped around Shara; a box of coals at their feet warms for the first half of the drive, but by the time they arrive her toes are quite numb again.

Rose helps the little girls in and Rey helps Finn with the horses.

"How did you find the way back, Finn? I can't see anything."

He grins at her. "Drove stakes into the snow, every dozen yards or so. Perfect track back!"

Mrs. Dameron fusses over them when they get in, pressing cups of tea into their hands and wringing drenched wraps and hats to hang over the fire. Rose loans Rey a dress to wear while hers dries. It's a bit loose, but warm, on her frame.

Pastor Dameron seems overwrought, hugging them all (even Rey) and tearfully telling Finn that he owes him his childrens' lives. Finn laughs it off, but claps the Pastor on the back and goes to change his own clothes, coming back to sit with them all in front of the fire.

They eat supper and then make popcorn and baked apples, listening to Pastor Dameron read from a book of sermons. Rey's head droops onto Rose's shoulder, and she wakes to prodding in her side. "C'mon," Rose says. "You'll sleep in my bed."

Rose shares a room with Shara, but they each have their own beds, and Rose's is large enough for two. "Ma and Pa thought I could take it with me when I get married," she says, and Rey can see her blush even in the dim light. Rey's thoughts drift to Ben again. He still hasn't made her her own bed, as he'd promised at the beginning. Even now, with things cooled between them…

She drifts off to sleep, thinking of him alone in the shanty. She hopes the bed isn't too cold without her.

 

The storm continues into the next day, but Rey hardly notices she's having so much fun. Rose is delighted to have a companion and directs Rey in the kitchen like a general, ordering her to peel apples while she makes pastry. They turn out pies and apple doughnuts, and, upon an order from Rose, Finn gathers a tray of clean snow so they can drizzle hot sugar into wild curlicues and messy letters, letting the little girls eat the hard candy when it cools. 

They try to be good students and do a few hours of study in the afternoon. Rey helps Zorii with her letters, and Rose sighs over geometry. Finn joins them when Rey reads a few poems dramatically from a Shakespeare anthology; she strokes the spine lovingly as she holds it.

Who will believe my verse in time to come
If it were filled with your most high deserts?
Though yet heav'n knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.

The wind continues to blow, and the temperature stays low. Anxiety starts to knot in Rey's stomach. When would Ben be able to get out to town? Would he know where to find her?

Supper is a delicious beef stew with johnny cakes fried in bacon fat. They play charades in front of the fire until bedtime and Rey loses terribly, distracted by a smiling Temiri in her lap; she and Rose giggle under the covers after, discussing whether Mr. Bridger or Cal Kestis would make good husbands. 

"I don't like either of them," Rey declares. "I'd like an older man, someone settled."

"I'm sure Mr. Tarkin would provide for you," Rose teases her. " Mrs. Wilhuff Tarkin , I can see your calling cards already!"

Rey shoves her and they lapse into breathless laughter. Ben wasn't so old, she thinks. Old enough to fight in the war, so he might be thirty-five? More than twice her age, she thinks glumly. 

The snow falls calmly but steadily outside the window.

 

The next day dawns bright and still, and Rey is certain that Ben will come for her today if he can. She gathers her things from Rose's room and the kitchen, folding the borrowed dress carefully to put it back in Rose's chest. One of her schoolbooks is missing, so she steps out to the barn to look in the sleigh.

It's under one of the seats, next to the empty coal box. She wrinkles her nose at the slight pucker to the pages from the damp.

Low voices sound from around the corner, in one of the empty stalls. They sound slightly odd, breathy, and Rey, curious, hops off the sleigh to investigate. 

It's Pastor Dameron, and Finn, facing away from the entrance to the stall, braced against the wall. Pastor Dameron has his hands on Finn's waist, and Rey's eyes widen when she realizes their trousers are both lowered slightly; they rock together, Pastor Dameron gives a short thrust of his hips and Finn moans quietly in response. The Pastor kisses the back of his head, his neck, whispering something in his ear that makes Finn grin widely before his face crumples in pleasure.

Rey backs away as quietly as she can and edges out of the open barn door. She hurries into the kitchen, trying to gather her things as well as her wits.

She's not sure what to think. Through the shock she registers that what she witnessed was very wrong indeed, for Pastor Dameron is being unfaithful to his wife! And with Finn, too, who is so pure-hearted and doesn't deserve to be-- to be buggered like this!

But… however wrong it is, Rey can't possibly tell anyone. She'd known of a few fairy men in the city who were picked up by the police and never seen again, and she can't imagine what would happen out here, what would happen to all the Damerons, if someone found out. No, she mustn't tell; she'll take this to her grave.

Underneath it all, in spite of everything, she is quite overwhelmed by a simple, burning feeling. A riotous, bubbling envy. 

Surely, if Pastor Dameron and Finn could engage in such activities, then she and Ben--!

She shakes her head, that wasn't a productive line of thought. She isn't going to tell Ben, so it won't change his decision anyway, and if anything it only throws into relief the very real consequences of illicit love affairs…

A muffled sound comes from outside, and Rey peers through the kitchen window to see Star and Killer struggle through the snow with the sleigh. Beaming, she throws open the front door.

Ben jumps out of the sleigh while it's still moving, dragging furious footsteps through the drifts until he reaches the cleared porch, pulling her roughly into his arms. 

"Oh, Rey, Rey, you're here, you're alive, oh-- my poor sweetheart--" 

Rey can hardly breathe in his embrace, and her face is pressed into his snow-covered jacket, but she hugs him back as best as she can, and when they finally pull apart she can see he's been crying, his face gaunt and unshaven with swollen, red eyes. A bit of blistery reddish skin adorns parts of his cheeks, and Rey thinks this time he might have gotten frostbite.

"Papa, are you alright?" Alarmed, she pulls him into the kitchen.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I was so worried, that goddamn schoolhouse in the middle of nowhere, who even thought to build it--"

Pastor Dameron and Finn appear at the door and follow in after them, and Rey tugs some of Ben's things off, making him sit at the kitchen table.

"Solo! Good Lord, man, what happened to you?"

"Blizzard-- I couldn't make it through, and just thinking the whole time they'd all wander off into the void--"

Pastor Dameron looks alarmed. "You tried to drive through that storm? Finn here barely made it, and we're not three quarters of a mile from town!"

Rose dashes in from the parlor, followed by Mrs. Dameron carrying the baby. 

"I just couldn't--" At this, Ben folds over himself completely, holding his face in his hands as he cries. Pastor Dameron looks even more alarmed, shooing everyone besides Rey out of the room. Rose and Mrs. Dameron go back to the parlor with their eyebrows raised; Finn heads outside to stable the horses.

"Now you know I don't hold with drink, but just one… for medicinal purposes…"

The Pastor procures a dusty bottle from a high cabinet and pours a bit into a glass jar. Ben grasps it in one hand and knocks it back quickly. 

"It's okay, Papa." Rey holds his hand. "We're all fine."

He nods, looking into her face like he's never seen anything quite like it. Then he clears his throat and looks down.

"Thanks, Dameron," he says. "I'm real sorry, bein' such a mess like this, but you gotta understand, two days --"

"I can't imagine," Pastor Dameron says gravely. "I was a real mess just waiting that afternoon. Finn had to convince me to stay here with the little ones, and Kaydel of course. Wouldn't do for us all to get caught in it."

Ben nods, taking a shuddery breath. 

They stay for lunch, but Rey can feel how anxious Ben is to leave. She gathers her things, hugging all the Damerons and thanking them again and again for letting her stay. They all stand on the porch and wave at the sleigh as it leaves. She's snug in the seat, covered by the buffalo robe and with fresh coals at their feet. Ben pulls her under his arm anyway.

Rey freshens up when they get back to the claim shanty, changing her combinations behind the screen while Ben brushes down the horses. She combs her hair neatly and cleans herself with rose water and soap. Ben stomps into the room, shrugging out of his jacket and taking off his hat. He really does look terrible, hair unkempt and face a mess. He lets Rey fuss over him; she heats some water for the tub so he can wash and shave, and sets aside his sweat-stiff shirt and pants for laundry the next day. She makes bacon and eggs for dinner, with a few pieces of Rose's delectable apple pie for dessert.

She's just clearing the dishes when he pulls her into his lap, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck. Smiling sadly, she cups his face with her hand. "I'm okay, Papa." She kisses the tip of his nose. He catches the back of her head and pulls her down to his lips.

They're cracked and rough, but they light Rey on fire. She moans into his embrace, twining her hands around his neck.

Abruptly he stands up, and Rey steadies herself on her feet, stomach already sinking as she prepares for him to say it was a mistake. His hands go to her collar, and she frowns in confusion before realizing he's undoing the buttons there. He pulls one button after another open, until he can slide her dress off onto the floor. 

Her petticoats are next, tied around her waist. They slip like whispers to the rough boards at their feet. Then her corset. He spins her so her back is facing him, pulls at the laces until it's loose and sagging around her torso; the front clasps come undone and this too falls to the floor.

Finally her combinations. His fingers linger at the top button, near the delicate ribbon-trimmed lace. He undoes these buttons slowly, brushing the skin as it's revealed. He pulls the top open when it's unbuttoned enough to bare her breasts. His thumb worries the swell of flesh, fingertips just ghosting over her nipple. He continues with the buttons, tugging the garment so it falls from her hips, leaving her quite naked in the warm air before the stove. 

Rey is breathing hard, unable to believe what's happening, and frozen in his intense gaze. He moves toward her, backing her up to the bed; her knees buckle when she hits it, and she's on her back, looking up at him. 

He pulls his shirt off solemnly, and then he's on her, kissing and mouthing everywhere he can reach. He starts with her neck, her earlobe, down to her collarbone. His hands come up to worry her nipples and she's whining in the back of her throat. He sucks bruising kisses down her torso and across her belly, and then pushes her legs apart so he can settle his mouth right at her quim.

Rey's mouth falls open with an audible pop as Ben starts to lick and suckle at her, enthusiasm bordering on the aggressive, and he pushes her to her crisis quickly; she gasps for breath and tries to right herself through her shudders, but he doesn't let up. He pushes his nose against her clitoris, tonguing lower to capture her slick arousal, and two fingers push into her cunt. 

Rey screams, her full body shaking, but he holds her down with a forearm across her hips, thrusting his fingers faster and faster, sucking hard on her clitoris. Rey is out of her mind with pleasure, like the delirium of a fever. She writhes and curses and shouts in tongues known only to the old gods. 

She reaches her third crisis, but this only eggs him on; he releases her clitoris to suckle hard at her breasts, thrusting another finger into her channel, worrying her clit with his thumb and holding her down with his whole body. Her eyes roll back in her head. 

She becomes aware of his hard member digging into her side; he rubs it against her as he coaxes her through another peak; her throat feels raw from her screams. 

He rears back to straddle her. Fingers still firmly in her cunt, he undoes the front of his trousers and then withdraws his slick-coated hand to pump himself firmly. His head falls back. "God, Rey--"

His spend splatters onto her flushed chest, and he watches it drizzle out with eyes hooded in satisfaction, then collapses next to her on the bed. 

Rey is exhausted, like every climax took something out of her, and she lays there, pliable and utterly docile. Ben nuzzles at her neck again, and drags his fingers through the thick spend on her chest, circling her nipples with the stuff so they become momentarily chilled, and then tight as it dries. It's an odd sensation.

He wraps himself around her and sucks gently at the skin of her neck, like he just wants something to do with his mouth. Her eyelids grow heavy. She doesn't think he's going to clean her up tonight. There's something primal about this, like he's declaring something.

 

They fall asleep, entwined, in the lamplight. The lamp burns on steadily on until the kerosene runs out.

Notes:

CW: Brief depiction of corporal punishment of a child. Non-graphic anal sex between consenting, adult men. Slightly more dubious dubcon cunnilingus and cum marking with a minor.
 
Hello, I'm back again! Please don't get used to this update schedule, I'm just on a writing kick and I'm still trying to figure out the Covid questionnaire/entry card system at work, which has given me the excuse to, you know, not go to work. (We're still at 25% capacity anyway, so I imagine my hours will just be shunted to the weekend/next week.)

The schoolhouse blizzard scene was pretty much lifted directly from The Long Winter, which, if you now have a hankering to go read the original, can be found here. I'm pretty sure she based it on the schoolchildren's blizzard which didn't actually happen until 1888.

The snow candy is mentioned in Little House in the Big Woods. Thanks to commenter Irma for suggesting I include it!

The poem is Sonnet 17.

Under New York sodomy laws, a conviction for "buggery" could result in a maximum of 10 years in prison. I think it is interesting to consider how the Victorians thought about sexuality, with both compulsory heterosexuality but also quite a lot of wiggle room for same-sex romance; fascinating little think piece here.

Also, not sure if this is clear, but all the names are indeed Star Wars characters. I imagine 19th century Wilhuff Tarkin is a disgraced Prussian general who fled a unified Germany after a spat with Otto von Bismarck and sought to renew his fortunes on the bleak plains of America.

A word on consent going forward. Rey is going to like everything that happens, but Ben really isn't asking for affirmative consent, and will get a bit more aggressive from here on out. This is fantasy, and he will magically know if she likes things or not. Always get affirmative consent in real life!

Love you all <3

Find me on Twitter at @entropyyy23

Chapter 11

Notes:

Content warnings in the end notes.

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

December begins with more storms, and Ben declares that she won't go to school again until they can be more certain of the weather. Even a trip to church on Sundays is regarded with caution, and several times they call it off due to unpacked snow or a threatening sky. 

Rey misses seeing Rose and her other school friends, but otherwise can't complain too much. She has her schoolbooks and can press on with her lessons. She has the warmth of the barn to escape to when the claim shanty seems too small. And she has Ben, who seems determined to make up for all the kisses he denied her.

She wakes up to kisses in their little bed, kisses over breakfast. He pulls her into the warm barn midmorning to kiss her, breathless and giggling, against the rough boards of the walls. He lays kisses upon the tips of her every finger and upon her nose. They romp in the snow (though Rey's gopher tunnels have long since collapsed) and he kisses the snowflakes from her eyelashes. 

"How many kisses will finally please you, Papa?" she asks cheekily, as he peppers kisses along her neck, her smile so wide it makes her cheeks hurt.

" Quaris, quot mihi bāsiātiōnēs tuae, Lesbia, sint satis superque, " he mumbles into her hair, as if reciting something by rote.

Rey demands he explain Latin to her and he sighs, pulling out a piece of paper to start on the declensions. 

In the evening they sit near the cozy stove, hot tea clasped in their hands, and Rey explains the rest of the day's lessons to him. She has progressed on to geometry, which, despite Rose's moaning, isn't so terrible. In her history textbook she's read up until the Revolution, and, to her delight, she finds a poem detailing the ride of one Paul Revere. She reads it to Ben, gesticulating wildly.

"Mr. Longfellow is it? Hmm…" he trails off until Rey prods him. He looks at the book, frowning. "Think my mother knew him."

"Really?" Rey is intrigued. 

"Think so. He and Mr. Sumner were real good friends, and Mr. Sumner came 'round all the time."

After supper they sit together in the rocking chair and Ben kisses her some more. Long, slow kisses, in which he teases her lips with his teeth, flicks out his tongue until she tentatively touches it with her own. He caresses her back, holds her waist in his hands, cups her head in his palm. 

Sometimes they move to the bed and Ben kisses her all over, nudging his nose between her thighs again. Sometimes they stay sitting, mostly clothed, in the rocking chair, and Rey parts her legs for him and he drops his hand down to tease her little clitoris with his huge fingers. Sometimes Ben makes her recite her lessons while he's up to the knuckle in her cunt, and laughs at her when she fumbles the spelling of simple words. 

She can't be mad at him, not when he mutters in her ear. 

"You're like to be the cleverest girl in all of Nebraska." He mouths gently at the side of her neck, crooking his fingers within her. "And the prettiest girl the plains have ever seen."

He finishes himself with his hand and they go to bed, curled up under the quilt, listening to the quiet of the snow, or the shriek of the wind.

Rey traces his nose, his eyelids, with a delicate fingertip. She smooths her thumb along his lower lip, and drags her fingernails gently along his jaw. 

Once, when she's convinced he's asleep, she kisses his cheeks and whispers quickly, "I love you, Papa."

She closes her eyes before she can see the quick upturn of his lips.

 

Rey starts to make cakes and candies to pass the time during blizzards, when the wind is howling too loudly to properly concentrate on her lessons. She makes the little fairy cakes that Rose showed her, and then a rather failed little pie; the molasses filling oozes out over the top and the crust is not flaky and crisp as Rose's had been, but dense and chewy. Ben gamely eats it and compliments her bravery in trying new things. 

There's always plenty of snow to be had, so she makes the snow candy again, trying a few times to get the temperature of the sugar right. Ben tries a piece, but says he's not one for hard candy usually, so Rey has a little stash to suck on. Ben watches her, frowning, and spends the rest of the day in an odd mood. 

A few days before Christmas, Rey makes scones and clotted cream, and finds a precious jar of cherry preserves in the root cellar. She figures they deserve a treat, since it's unlikely they'll make it to the church for service; the blizzards have blurred together into one dull roar. Ben finishes quickly in the barn and comes back in a swirl of snow, stamping his feet at the door and rubbing his chapped hands together. 

"It's a frigid one." He pulls off his jacket and hat, hanging them by the door, and takes the warm, wet rag that Rey offers him to mop his brow and scrub his nails. "What's this?"

"Scones!" She arranges one on a plate, broken in half with the jam and clotted cream spread smoothly over the crumb, just as she'd seen in a magazine illustration once. 

He takes a bite and groans. "'S good," he says thickly through a mouthful. Rey beams at him and takes a bite of her own. The scone recipe is from a periodical which Rey had carefully clipped and pasted into her composition book, alongside her history notes and mathematics exercises. She'll have to share it with Rose when she sees her again. A bit of clotted cream drops to her finger in her absentmindedness, and Rey hurries to lick it off.

Ben studies her while she finishes her scone. 

"Unbutton your blouse," he says quietly.

"Hmm?" She doesn't register what he's said, still chewing the last bit of her scone.

"Your blouse," he says again. "Unbutton it."

"Oh." Her hands drift to the button at her throat. Is this a game? She's left off her corset in any case; it gets stuffy next to the stove.

Ben watches her with dark eyes as she unbuttons the row. "Your undershirt too."

Rey fumbles at the frilly lace of her combinations, until she's unbuttoned down to her waist, the fabric hanging loosely in front of her chest. Ben pulls her up to stand in front of him, his hands finding their way to rest on her hips beneath the fabric, brushing up slowly to bare her breasts, which pebble as he leans back to admire them.

"Decided I want seconds."

He reaches for the jar of clotted cream, and the butter knife Rey used to spread the jam and cream over the scones. He lifts a small amount on the edge of the butter knife and brings it to her left nipple, smoothing a dollop onto the peak. The cool, blunt edge of the metal scrapes at her skin and Rey shivers.

Ben turns to the cherry preserves and dips the knife in this jar as well before bringing it to her other nipple. The jam doesn't stay on her breast as well as the clotted cream, and a drip slides down to her belly. Ben leans forward to catch it on his tongue.

Rey lets out a shaky breath as he follows the thin line of cherry upward, coming to suckle at her teat sweetly. He rakes his teeth against her nipple and she gasps as she twines her hands in his hair. 

Ben tugs her closer with his hands grasped tightly around her waist, moving his mouth to her other breast where he proceeds to lick the cream decadently, almost obscenely, from her skin. 

Rey whines when he pulls back with a small pop. Ben smirks up at her.

"Well, I'm real full now."

Rey pouts, but goes to re-button herself. Ben stops her with a hand to her arm.

"Now just one minute, sweetheart." His legs spread wider in the chair and his hands go to the fly of his trousers, pulling his cock out to rest in his palm. "You oughta have seconds too."

Rey takes the butter knife that he offers her, and the proffered jar of clotted cream. Unsure, she tentatively brings a bit of cream to the bulbous, mushroom head. It jumps of its own accord as she spreads it. 

"Mm, get it down the shaft too."

She trails the knife down, trying to spread the cream all along the hard length of him. When she's done, she looks at Ben; he cups her jaw and runs his thumb against her bottom lip, pushing in slightly to rest on her tongue.

"Best lick it off now."

To get her mouth close enough to him, Rey has to kneel on the floor; her skirt and petticoats cushion her knees from the rough wood boards. She considers how to begin, darting her tongue out to lap at the cream at the very tip. 

It's not so bad, she thinks as she slides her tongue over him, pursing her lips to suck a bit of cream into her mouth. His skin is very smooth, and he smells-- it's hard to describe, an earthy manliness perhaps, comforting and arousing. 

Ben groans when she tongues the underside of the head, his hand coming up to rest lightly on the back of her skull.

"That's it, sweetheart, open up now." 

He pushes his cock gently into her mouth, and Rey tries to stretch her jaw as wide as she can, to accommodate his girth. The sweet taste of the cream rests on her tongue and she can't help but to swallow it down, her throat catching on the smooth skin. She looks up at him through watery eyes and he seems to lose it, threading his grip into her hair and using his other hand to grasp the base of his member.

Rey resumes licking, a bit more enthusiastically now, down and around the shaft, coming up to suckle at the head again and again. 

"Yes-- sweetheart-- get all the cream, off Papa's--"

Ben holds her hair tightly in his fist and pushes his cock as far into her mouth as it'll go. Rey gags a little, but he loosens up so she can breathe, and then something thick and salty is on her tongue. She swallows it reflexively, wrinkling her nose a bit at the bitter flavor. She looks up to find Ben staring at her with a wild expression in his eye, his mouth parted. A bit of his spend spills from her lips when he pulls his softening member back, and he catches it on his thumb, pressing it back into her mouth. 

Then he's hauling her up to sit in his lap, and stroking her hair and back, cooing at her that she's a good girl, that she looks so pretty with her lips wrapped around him. Rey squirms, wishing he would drop his hand between her legs, but he seems content to just hold her. She feels wet and sticky, heated, like her skin is too tight. Her nipples sing every time they brush against his shirt and suspenders, perhaps he would lick a bit more cream from them, as he had before...

She pouts even harder when he re-buttons her underwear and blouse. 

The rest of the afternoon is quiet. Rey finishes cooking a bean porridge, and re-reads a ladies' magazine she has on loan from Rose. Ben, for his part, looks impossibly smug as he goes about his usual chores. 

Over supper he rattles off Latin verbs for her and listens to her conjugations. She makes for the rocking chair after they've finished eating, but some surprise chore calls him to the barn, and by the time he returns it's late and she's reading her magazine in bed. 

The dim lamplight casts strange shadows on him while he readies for bed, and once again Rey observes his strong physique. She wonders how the rest of him would taste; those rippling shoulders, the nipples that sit on his strong chest, his powerful legs. His ears, usually hidden by his long hair. How she would love to nibble on them, as he so often does to hers.

Ben dims the lamp and climbs under the quilt with her, resting his head on his pillow. When his breathing starts to deepen, Rey feels a rushing sense of disappointment. She tugs at his arm.

"Papa?" she whispers.

"Mmph." 

She leans up to kiss his lips, wriggling her body against his. "Papa."

He turns so she's trapped in his arms, her back to his front, and she pulls his hand down to her thighs, trying to ruck up her nightgown at the same time. His arm is like an iron vice, and he won't put it where she wants him.

"Papa," she whines, "please touch me."

"Hmm." His voice rumbles in his chest; she can feel it reverberate against her. "No, don't think I will."

"What?" 

Rey isn't even upset, she's just shocked. It's been so long since Ben denied her anything.

"Just... so tired, after today…" He stretches as if to yawn, and his big thigh comes up to rest between her legs. Rey could almost cry in frustration. His skin rests hot against her cunt, and his every movement has her growing wetter. Unable to help herself, she grinds down against him, panting slightly. Ben's mouth finds the shell of her ear. "That's it sweetheart, use Papa's leg."

Does he mean her to--? She grinds down a bit harder, experimenting with the angle so she rubs her clitoris against his firm flesh. Her panting gives way to a low moan. 

She's certain he can feel her wetness against him, her bare cunt weeping so much that she starts to slide just a little. A stifled groan comes from behind her, and despite his declaration that he wouldn't touch her, his big hands come up to find her nipples through her nightgown, pinching and twisting them so that Rey is keening loudly into the dark of the claim shanty. 

Ben's hands entangle in her nightgown and he grunts in frustration, pulling it artlessly up her body and flinging it away to the floor. He wastes no time in groping her gyrating form, palming her breasts, grasping at her hips. 

Rey feels wild and wanton, like a buccaneer riding a bucking stallion, she chases her own pleasure until she peaks with a throaty cry. Ben growls his approval, and then she's turned bodily onto her stomach, the quilt thrown back and his large, hot body pressed over her, his own nightshirt gone to the floor. He palms the soft globes of her bottom, pulling back to give one a sharp smack, which makes her cry out in surprise. It heightens to pleasure as he plunges two fingers into her soaked cunt. 

She can feel his manhood, burning against her backside, and the sheer weight of him on top of her, as he thrusts against her. Would he do it, finally? 

He dips the head between her legs, rubbing along her slit, which is so wet it makes a sound like the thick macaroni cheese she made last week. She widens her legs, drooling into her pillow. Her body is like a live wire; she thinks she could take anything now, and it would be blinding pleasure.

She feels what must be the tip breach her, but then Ben pulls back, working himself wildly while three fingers hook into her cunt, pushing her to scream her release, her poor little clitoris rubbed raw against the sheets. He splatters onto her back a moment later.

Rey feels a small pulse of disappointment, but is otherwise so sated and thrumming with the aftershocks of her pleasure that she barely notices Ben leave the bed until he's back to clean her up with a wetted rag. He coaxes her to drink some water and kisses her tenderly on the forehead, pulling her close under the blankets to stave off the chill of the shanty. 

 

Christmas Eve sees them walk a ways up the creek in their snowshoes to find a suitable fir tree to decorate. Rey spends a while deciding between two with slightly different coloring. When she asks Ben's opinion, he tells her they look exactly the same, which prompts her to choose the larger one out of spite. He gives her a look but takes out his saw and fells the blue-green pine; Rey helps him carry it back to the homestead, supporting the bouncing tip of the tree. 

They pop popcorn to thread with a needle into a garland and Ben pulls a box from a hidden cupboard that contains a gleaming brass star and a ceramic angel, both hung from fine thread. "My mother's," he says by way of explanation. Rey takes them delicately from the box and rests them in the thickest branches. 

They prepare a fine supper of a trussed goose that Ben had shot out over the prairie, roasted vegetables, and a Victoria sponge. Rey stands back to admire the dishes on their little table, next to the beautiful tree, and beams at Ben. 

"It's perfect, Papa."

His eyes crinkle at the edges and he throws his arm over her shoulder, pulling her into his side. 

"Merry Christmas, Rey."

He looks very fine tonight, she thinks while attempting to cut her portion of goose politely and put just a small bite on her fork. His hair is combed, and his whiskers freshly trimmed; his black church suit is very fine indeed after so many weeks of nothing but work clothes. Rey, for her part, has put on her nicest dress and tied her hair up in her best approximation of a hairstyle in her ladies' magazine, with her red ribbons in a bow at the top. 

When night falls they nestle a few candle-holders into the branches, lighting them carefully. Ben starts to sing in a low voice:

God bless ye merry gentlemen, 
Let nothing you dismay

Rey joins in with her high, sweet voice. 

Remember Christ our savior was
Born upon this day

They segue into Good King Wenceslas and then Silent Night . Rey wishes fiercely that they might go to church in the morning, but there are flakes falling even now as they sing, and the layers and pockets of snow are too unpredictable to lead horses through until there's a firm crust. She imagines Rose and Finn singing with them, Mr. and Mrs. Dameron, Mr. Snap, and the rest of the parishioners, little Shara's voice piping in too. 

The candles are nearly burned down to stubs by the time Rey collapses into the rocking chair, breathless and laughing from a round of Jingle Bells , which Ben conducts with fervor. 

He grins at her before plucking something from the tree branches and dropping it in her lap.

It's a small, flat box of a fine, black leather. Rey's hand comes up to cover her mouth.

"Oh! Presents! I forgot--" She heaves herself out of the chair and rummages through the chest of drawers to find a lumpy paper parcel, which she shoves at Ben. "Merry Christmas!"

He laughs, taking it from her. "C'mon and open yours!"

Rey finds the flat box in the rocking chair, and carefully opens it to reveal a beautiful, sparkling necklace, inlaid with white crystals and adorned with a gleaming pearl. 

"Oh, Papa…" she breathes. 

"For my little dragonfly," Ben says affectionately. "Turn around and I'll help you put it on."

She turns away from him, lifting the trailing braid of her updo off her neck so he can fasten the delicate chain. They have one hand mirror, which is blotchy with age, but she can catch a glimpse of herself wearing the stunning necklace. The complicated metalwork hangs perfectly cradled in the hollow of her throat. 

"Thank you, thank you!" She positively beams at Ben, standing on her toes to pepper his face with kisses. "It's the prettiest thing I've ever seen!"

Ben chuckles and allows her to pull him toward the rocking chair. She perches herself upon his knee and indicates the wrapped parcel. "Open yours!"

His big hands carefully undo the twine wrapped around to reveal a thick, knitted balaclava. Rey fumbles with the wrapping for him, drawing out a piece of cardstock.

"I transcribed a poem for you, too," she says shyly. "From one of the Damerons' books. I could read it, if you like…"

"'Course I'd like it, sweetheart," he says gruffly, holding the balaclava in his hands. Rey briefly meets his gaze, soft but penetrating, and then clears her throat to begin.

My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;

She pauses, looking at him again, before stuttering through the next two lines.

My heart is gladder than all these
Because my love is come to me.

Ben seems to be blinking rapidly when she looks up again, his grin so wide it hurts her own cheeks to look at. She draws a breath.

"Papa, I love--"

He cuts her off with a heavy kiss, hands coming up to cradle her head, the balaclava clutched in his fist mussing her pretty hair. 

He pulls back to meet her with an achingly serious gaze. "I love you more than anything, sweetheart." 

He stands and scoops her off her feet so she has to cling tightly to his neck, and carries her to bed.

Raise me a dais of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carye it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.

Notes:

CW: Butter knife play (???), vaginal fingering, dry humping, a mildly coercive blowjob, all with a minor. Poetry. Undetectable quantities of plot.

Welp, I have committed the cardinal sin of fanfiction, and used the word "smirk." My sincerest apologies.

The Latin bit is from Catallus 7, and translates 'You ask, my Lesbia, how many of your kisses are enough and more than enough for me.'
 
The poem at the end is A Birthday by Christina Rossetti.

The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere was written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in 1860 and contains a number of historical inaccuracies, but is largely credited with creating the national legend of Paul Revere, who until that time was more of a regional personality (his obituary did not even mention his midnight ride.) It was not until the Colonial Revival Movement of the 1870s that Paul Revere became the figure he is today, and I feel that Rey's brand-spanking-new history book would have been part of that.

Charles Sumner was an abolitionist Senator from the state of Massachusetts who was nearly caned to death on the Senate floor by South Carolina congressman Preston Brooks after Sumner delivered an anti-slavery speech "The Crime Against Kansas." The incident led to significant polarization of the country, in part contributing to the tensions that sparked the Civil War.

Brief histories of Christmas Trees and Christmas Carols. Good King Wenceslas wasn't even thirty years old at this point; I imagine it was the All I Want for Christmas of its time.

Bean Porridge is mentioned in Little House on the Prairie. Macaroni and cheese already existed in its Victorian incarnation so I feel that the comparison to the sound of a soaking wet pussy is valid for Rey to make.

Rey's hairdo, complete with an 1870's magazine hair tutorial! Would y'all hate me if I told you this is what Ben's whiskers look like? (Jk, I don't think Adam Driver is actually capable of growing this level of facial hair luxury.)

Rey's necklace.

 

I do have a question about tagging. I had been updating tags as things happened, but I realize for some spicy plot points this maybe doesn't serve readers very well. I've updated to include "Future Pregnancy" as I can see this could be particularly sensitive. Do people feel strongly about how other future (potentially sensitive) plot points are handled? Keeping in mind that while I have the general plot mapped out I'm still writing and posting this in real time and things are subject to change. I'll keep posting the content warnings in the end notes regardless.

Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy, love you all <3

Find me on Twitter at @entropyyy23

Chapter 12

Notes:

Content warnings in the end notes.

 

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The new year dawns bright and cold, and Rey improvises additional layers under her skirts, even in the claim shanty. A hard crust forms over top of the drifts and Ben says they might try to go to town again for service, after weeks away.

They load up the sleigh early Sunday morning to glide over vast ice sheets in the still, frigid air. Rey breaths through her ice crusted shawl, eyes squinting beneath her hat pulled low. Ben wears his new balaclava, looking a bit like a scarecrow as he drives the team. The prairie is quiet, except for the scrape of the sleigh on the ice; even the birds are silent. The great blanket of snow muffles everything. It's chillingly beautiful, Rey thinks, and yet somehow more eerie than the many, angry voices of the wind during blizzards. They skate over nothingness, hardly leaving tracks.

Driving into town is eerier still; no one is in the street to greet them and the shutters are all pulled tightly shut. Ben pulls them to a halt at the church, helping Rey out and heading off again to stable the horses in the barn of a nearby acquaintance. 

The inside is cold, nearly as cold as on the prairie. A small knot of women is huddled around the stove and she hurries over to them; Rose looks around to greet her.

"Rey!"

Rey greets her wordlessly, waving a mittened hand and crowding in to get her share of the warmth; she can barely feel it through her wraps.

"Pa'll be here in a moment," Rose says, "and Finn's bringing Ma and the little ones a bit later, once we get the church warmed up." 

Rey thinks privately that might be too tall an order, but holds her tongue, tugging her ice-stiff shawl away from her raw face. One of the other women adds another shovel full of coal to the stove.

Old lady Maz brings a carefully wrapped kettle full of hot tea, and they all sip gratefully while their menfolk trickle in. Ben stomps his boots at the door and walks straight over to Rey, draping a blanket from the sleigh around her shoulders, rubbing her arms briskly until she catches his eye. He drops his hands and makes a speedy retreat, looking around as if for something to do before settling on shoveling more coal into a pail for the stove.

"He's awful sweet to you," Mrs. Syndulla says to Rey. "Never thought I'd see Ben Solo take so well to fathering."

Rey can't think of anything to say to this so she simply smiles and nods, holding her hands out closer to the heat.

Pastor Dameron breezes in as he always does, and the church seems a few degrees warmer just by virtue of his presence. They all gather into the pews, sitting a bit closer than they would have normally, and sing a few hymns while stomping their feet. A pause, and then Mr. Snap starts "Fa, sol, la, mi…"

Another man starts to harmonize the low notes, then Rose joins in with her clear soprano. Rey adds her voice to the growing din; she can't help but smile when she picks out Ben's low croak among the parishioners.

Farewell, vain world! I'm going home!
My savior smiles and bids me come,
And I don't care to stay here long!

The little church does start to warm, and Rey sees Finn and Mrs. Dameron shepherding the littler Damerons down the aisle into their seats at the front. She waves at Shara and Zorii. 

Right up yonder, Christians, away up yonder,
O, yes my Lord, for I don't care to stay here long.

Finn comes to stand next to her and Rose, layering in his deep voice. He grins down at Rose and Rey is seized by the memory of him in the barn with Pastor Dameron. 

I'm glad that I am born to die,
From grief and woe my soul shall fly,
And I don't care to stay here long!

They all end on a jubilant note before settling themselves in for the sermon; a few coughs punctuate the quiet shuffling. 

Pastor Dameron contemplates them from the pulpit.

"I had attempted," he starts, "to find a good Bible story that might speak to our current trials. Alas," here he grins, "the Holy Land is of a more temperate climate, and I found little in the way of blizzards."

The congregation laughs.

"But! I certainly found plenty of deserts, and what is our ice-locked prairie but a desert? We are isolated out here, in the wilderness, as Jesus was– led out into the desert by the Spirit to be tempted by the devil.

"In Matthew 4 we read: 'After fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry. The tempter came to him and said, "If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread." Jesus answered, "It is written: 'Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.'"'"

He looks at them all solemnly. Rey glances around at her fellow congregants; now that people have removed the top layers of their wraps, she can see their gaunt faces, pinched and chilblained from the cold. And most of them thinner too… Have people started to go hungry? She swallows down a sense of rising horror.

"We are far luckier than Jesus," the Pastor continues, "for he was alone in his trials. He faced the temptations of the devil, lonesome and starving. We are not alone, even when the snow whites out the space between our homes. We are the spark that will light the fire of the Kingdom of Heaven, that will give warmth to mankind and feed him on the word of the Lord. As we warm our church through prayer and song, let us warm our hearts and our bonds, and feast upon the love we feel for our brothers and sisters in Christ."

There's a luncheon after the service, but for once Rey isn't hungry. She hangs back with Ben, who lays a warm hand on her shoulder.

"We should've brought something to share," Rey mutters to him.

"We shoulda," he agrees. "Didn't think it was this bad."

Rey nibbles on a johnny cake to avoid being rude, and surreptitiously passes it to little Zorii, who's a bit too pale for her liking, when she thinks no one is looking. She settles in to talk to Rose and Finn while Ben walks over to talk to Mr. Snap about something that seems important.

"How have you all been?" Rey tries to keep the concern in her voice to a minimum.

"We've been fine," Rose says, smiling. Her face is tired. "We had mostly stocked up before the last train, just a bit short on coal. But Finn and Pa went out to fell a few trees, so we have plenty of wood now." She lowers her voice, looking around. "Pa's been trying to help out the congregation, you know, but we only have so much to give."

Rey thinks of all the vegetables stocked in their cellar, the barrels of beef and salted pork, the wheels of hard cheese, the flour, sugar, even the seed potatoes. For the first time in her life, she's not remotely worried about going hungry.

"Cal heard tell of a grain elevator near Superior, chock full of wheat," Finn says. "We were thinkin' of driving out, trying to buy some to bring back. Hardly anyone around there to eat it anyhow."

"How far away is Superior?" Rey asks. Finn shrugs.

"'Bout thirty miles. It's doable."

Thirty miles. She and Ben are four, maybe five miles from town? Her fingers and toes are always numb by the time they arrive. Rey can't imagine driving thirty miles in this sort of cold.

The luncheon winds down. Ben finds her near the door, putting on her wraps.

"I gotta, er, go do somethin'," he says somewhat sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head and not quite meeting her eye.

"Alright?" Rey creases her brow. "I can go get the horses ready if you like."

Ben nods. "They're in Caleb Dume's barn, over on Third. You can find it?"

"Mm-hmm." Rey nods. He nods back and then heads out the door behind the others, glancing rather shiftily at the other parishioners leaving the church.

Rey watches him leave, frowning. She gathers her things, bundling up tightly against the cold, and bidding the Damerons goodbye. Third avenue is just a few blocks to the east; she picks her way through the icy streets, clutching the sleigh blanket around her shoulders. What was Ben up to that he didn't want her to know?

She finds the barn easily enough, and Star and Killer whinny softly when they see her, their saddle blankets still resting on their backs. She finds their harnesses hanging on the wall and sets to buckling straps and adjusting bridles.

"Rey?"

Mr. Bridger stands in the open barn door. 

"Oh! Mr. Bridger! What are you doing here?" She smiles broadly at him; it's been nearly two months since she last saw him during that terrible blizzard.

"I live with Mr. Dume," he says, smiling back. "I see you know these fine horses."

"Yes, they're Mr. Solo's," she replies. "I'm just hooking them up to the sleigh while he runs an errand." Of some sort.

Mr. Bridger nods. "How have you been getting on with your schoolwork? Not that you've ever really needed my help, but I– we've missed you in class."

"That's awful kind of you to say." Rey strokes Star's nose. "I've been getting on well, got through most of the geometry exercises and I'm finished with all the sections you marked in the history book. And Ben's been teaching me Latin!"

Mr. Bridger grins at her. 

"You'll do real well on the state exam, I've no doubt." He moves around Killer's side to help her pull the harness over his back. "You can keep the history book if you like, lots of interesting bits I didn't mark too."

Rey smiles sheepishly. "I know, I've been going back through. Mostly just reading more about the war, I never knew there were so many battles! All of them back East, of course, but–"

"Nah, the Union fought out here, too. Mostly the Indians, but some Confederates, down in Texas. Battle of Palmito Ranch. Closest to here's probably in Colorado, Battle of Sand Creek–"

"That wasn't a battle."

Rey turns to find Ben in the door, staring at them, an odd expression on his face.

Mr. Bridger looks confused. "Oh, Mr. Solo, hello. I mean it is the textbook, so–"

Ben's face gets even stonier. He walks over to lead the horses out to the sleigh. "Can't trust everything you read in a book, son." 

Rey hurries after him, waving goodbye to Mr. Bridger with a slightly apologetic smile on her face. "See you around!" He stares after them, nonplussed.

The sleigh ride home is smooth and cold, but Rey barely notices. She opens her mouth, "What did you mean "

"You know anything about Armitage Hux?"

Rey reels back, even more confused. "What?"

"Armitage Hux."

"I I met him, once, with Rose. She seemed not to like him much at all."

"Passed by the saloon just now, and one of the, uh, ladies, had a bit of a a run-in with him. Real nasty piece of work. Just.. just steer clear if you do see him, alright?"

"One of the ladies?" Did Ben mean one of the prostitutes? "A run-in you mean, did he hurt her?"

He nods. "Looked pretty bad, she was real shook up."

Rey is upset. "Well, does the Sheriff know? He oughta go after him!"

Ben laughs, but there's no humor in it. "The Sheriff doesn't do the bidding of saloon girls. In his view the worst Hux did was steal from her."

Rey is quiet, fuming over this and thinking of the fear with which Rose had reacted to Hux when  they saw him. What was to stop him from having a 'run-in' with another girl, in the saloon or not?

Ben clears his throat. "Talked to Snap, we're gonna butcher our remaining hogs, even if they're a little on the small side. Distribute the meat amongst the congregation. We'll save on feed in any case."

"Is it enough?" Rey thinks of all the gaunt faces in the pews.

"No," Ben sighs. "But it's something."

 

The following Saturday sees them strapping the last two pigs into the sleigh. Ben drops Rey off at the Damerons' place, which is only a short detour from the track to Mr. Snap's homestead, and skids away, pigs squealing.

Rose throws open the door to the kitchen, beaming from ear to ear, pulling Rey in and immediately setting her to work helping to bake a cake.

They spend a pleasant morning together, catching up. Rose tells her some of the gossip from school, and Mrs. Dameron comes into the kitchen while the cake is baking. She does up Rey's hair in a sophisticated chignon while Rey entertains a smiling Temiri in her lap. Shara begs her mother to do her hair next, and Mrs. Dameron's fingers fly as she weaves intricate braids. Kes, the two-year-old, toddles through their legs until Rose hoists him on her hip. 

"Where's Zorii?"

Mrs. Dameron tsks. "She was feeling poorly, so I let her stay in bed. I'll take a bit of broth and a pan of coals up to her in a bit."

Finn comes in for lunch and they while away the afternoon with his fiddle. Rey can't stop laughing, clapping with delight in time with his jaunty tune. This is the happiest she's ever felt on this, of all days…

They prod her to read something from the Shakespeare anthology, and she picks a dramatic monologue, composing her face and injecting a low timbre into her voice.

Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves...

There's a commotion in the yard, but she reads on, scowling and grasping at the heavens with a clenched hand.

I have bedimm'd
The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds,
And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault
Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder
Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak
With his own bolt

She glances up to see Ben standing in the door to the parlor, watching her with something akin to quiet awe. She holds his gaze, barely glancing at the text as she finishes the speech.

I'll break my staff,
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
And deeper than did ever plummet sound,
I'll drown my book.

Rey goes out into the yard with the rest of them to help roll the barrels of salt pork into the barn, to be distributed the next day after church. To her surprise, Ben leads her back into the house once they've finished; Rose is standing there with the cake, several small candles pushed into the top layer and flickering merrily.

"Happy birthday!"

There's a sudden whirlwind of exclamations and congratulations, and Rey is momentarily stunned, trying to paste a smile on her face and gather her wits enough to blow out the candles. They all gather in the kitchen to eat the cake; even Zorii comes down, wrapped tightly in a blanket, to have a slice. Rey is sure it's delicious, just like everything Rose bakes, but it tastes like ash in her mouth.

Ben is quiet on the sleigh ride home, occasionally glancing sideways at her where she sits, tense, in the seat.

"How did you know?" she asks finally.

"It was on the paperwork from the Aid Society." He edges the horses forward. "I'm sorry, guess I shoulda asked you before I told Rose. Just thought it'd be a nice surprise."

"It's– it's not my real birthday." Her voice trails off into nothingness. She takes a deep breath. "I don't know my real birthday."

Ben nods, like he should've expected as much. "How– I mean, you know, how'd you come to…"

He trails off too, looking uncertain. Rey knows what he's trying to ask.

"They left me on the docks," she says quietly. "My parents, I think. I just remember a ship sailing away, and a hand pulling me back. Big greasy dock worker named Plutt. He made me shuck oysters for him, til the police picked him up for racketeering. I would've waited on those docks forever, I was so convinced they would come back."

Ben throws his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into him. She buries her face in his jacket; protected from the cold air her tears don't freeze to her face. 

They have a quiet supper of elk stew. Rey's lost in memories of the docks, how much her hands ached after hours and days of shucking oysters. The first orphanage had seemed like paradise after that, until she got lashed bad enough to run away.

Ben pulls her to sit with him in the rocking chair, kissing her head tenderly and stroking her back with his big hands.

"Is there anything I can– can do? Make you feel a bit better?"

Rey considers this, nearly telling him that she already feels better, just by virtue of his presence, his gentle touch. But then she considers things she's wanted, hasn't yet had…

"I want to touch you."

He laughs at her, surprised. "'Course, sweetheart, anytime–"

"No," she looks him in the eye. "I want to touch you."

His eyebrows raise. "Alright."

She alights from his lap, walking in a full lap around the rocking chair, observing his every angle. Her hands tangle in his hair, trailing down his neck and across his broad shoulders. She smooths her palms down his chest, toying with his suspenders.

His skin is smooth and pale when his buttons come undone and his shirt is pushed off his back. Rey is distracted by the bulging muscles in his arms; she draws her fingernails along the veins there until Ben shivers and her gaze is drawn back to his face. His pupils are blown wide, so his eyes look almost completely black in the dim light. She moves to caress his nose, his mouth. Straddling his hips she moves to press kisses along his jaw, flicking her tongue over his earlobe while her thumbs tease his hard nipples. A low moan escapes him, and, grinning, she sucks hard at his neck.

Pulling him to his feet, she makes him disrobe completely. His manhood stands at attention, and she dances her touch around his groin, never making contact where he wants her most. The muscles of his back ripple when he reaches for her, but she bats his hand away and draws light scratches across his skin, raising red lines in her wake. His bottom she firmly cups; she can feel his tension here and it makes her wrap her arms around him from behind, nuzzling her face against his spine, darting her tongue out to taste him. Finally– finally– she grasps his cock in her hand, pumping a few times before dropping down to cradle his sac. 

"Rey," he groans. "Let me–"

But she drops her hand and moves around to push him to lie on the bed. He makes a pretty picture, lying there, hard as a rock, gaping at her. She fumbles with the buttons of her dress, struggles with her corset. Her combinations she undoes more slowly, stalking toward him while baring her chest, sliding the garment as sensuously as she can off her body.

"Do you like my tits, Papa?" She grins at him as she climbs on the bed to straddle him.

"Yes," he gasps.

She leans forward to dangle her teat in front of his mouth; he surges up to latch onto her breast, suckling like a man starved. Her cunt slides across the hard plane of his stomach and she grinds down as best she can, seeking friction against her heated core. She can just feel him poking her in the bottom; she reaches her hand back to cup him again, dragging some of her wetness to get a better glide.

Ben pops off her breast, eyes bulging and breath coming in quick pants. Her own peak seems to be quick approaching. She sits up, angling her hand to position his cock at her slick entrance–

Quick as a flash, Ben has their positions reversed, and Rey blinks up in confusion at the tar paper ceiling. What is he doing? He climbs off the bed, muttering to himself, his cock bobbing with every step. There's a general shuffling near his saddle bag and then he's back, peering down at her. He fiddles with something near his groin, a sort of pliable tube, which he pushes down his cock and secures with a bit of ribbon near the base. 

"Ben?"

He kneels on the bed, leaning down to kiss her, before flipping them again so she straddles him once more.

"Just– if you want to, sweetheart. It'll be– safer– for you."

She kisses him again and his arm finds its way around her waist to push two and then three fingers into her cunt, pumping them into her until she's wailing, shaking in her crisis. 

Blurrily she sits up, leaning back against his tented knees and spreading her lips to fit the thick shaft against her slit. Determined, she sinks down onto him.

It knocks her breath out. He's so big, it feels like he fills all the empty space within her, and when he thrusts up gently it forces a quick gasp to escape her lips. It's deep, so deep, deeper inside her than she thought was possible. The stretch verges on uncomfortable, and yet it touches something within her that zings along her skin like electricity.

"Do you– hngh– like it sweetheart?" His eyes are glazed and his face red, but he watches her with great concern, moving his thumb to her clitoris to rub there in time with his thrusts.

All that Rey can manage is a warbled moan in response, her vision is blurring as his thrusts come faster and faster until her back arches on top of him and a broken scream cracks through her throat. 

Ben pulls her down to kiss her mouth as he thrusts hard inside her, a hand on her bottom holding her flush against him as he climaxes with a deep shout. 

They lay together, catching their breath. Ben presses slow kisses to Rey's cheeks, her neck, mumbling into her hair.

"Papa's good girl, aren't you. So good, Rey."

"Love you, Papa," she mumbles back. Her mouth feels like it's full of marbles.

They don't move until the gathering chill of the claim shanty cools their heated skin. Ben pulls out of her with a hiss and gets out of bed, walking bandy legged to fiddle with the sheath. Rey moves to the bedpan, embarrassed while wiping herself clean; a bit of blood spots the rag, but the area isn't too tender. She dresses in her nightgown and climbs under the quilt. 

Ben follows shortly after, snuggling in close.

"How do you feel?" he whispers.

Rey considers this. "Not… different. Not really. A little sore, maybe." She pauses. "I liked it." She snuggles closer. "I liked it a lot."

Ben grins, pressing a kiss to her nose.

"We'll do it again," he promises solemnly.

Rey giggles at him, and he chuckles as he brings his hands up to tickle her sides. Their peals of laughter echo across the empty prairie.

Notes:

CW: Implied sexual assault against an unnamed side character. Widespread hunger/starvation. Loss of virginity: penetrative vaginal sex with a minor while using a contraceptive. So many end notes.

Y'all thought I was gonna let them fuck without protection? No!

Buckle up, I'm so excited about Victorian contraception it might be the entire reason I wrote this fic. Anyway, condoms have existed for millenium, but we see the rise of the modern condom in the 16th century, when Italian doctor Gabriele Falloppio did some (surprisingly scientific) studies into whether lubricated linen sheaths prevented the transmission of syphilis. Spoiler, they did, but men still hated wearing condoms (shocker). Casanova himself said he didn't like "shutting [himself] up in a piece of dead skin in order to prove that [he was] well and truly alive." Animal gut condoms became the de facto contraceptive until well into the 19th century when galvanized rubber was invented, making possible the first rubber condoms. The first iteration of these was a cap that only covered the glans of the penis; later versions were full length but were super thick and had an uncomfortable seam down the length of them. It wasn't until the 1920's that latex became a thing and condoms started to take on a modern, recognizable form.

Condoms were largely associated with brothels, which is indeed where Ben procured his. He has an animal gut condom (here's an 1848 recipe for those of you so inclined), mostly because the early galvanized condoms were supposed to be as thick as a bicycle inner tube and I just couldn't do that to poor Ben. Animal gut condoms are supposed to be soaked for a few hours before use, so we'll just pretend that he had the foresight to do that well in advance. They are intended to be reusable. ;)

The 1873 Comstock Law made the dissemination (heh) of contraceptives, sex toys, and other information about sex illegal. Margaret Sanger, who founded an organization that would later become Planned Parenthood, made several attempts to appeal the law in the 1910s and 1920s, but it would remain in place until the 1963 Griswold v. Connecticut Supreme Court ruling. It was still possible to get your hands on condoms and other contraceptives (or pornography) in the 1880's, it was just more underground, which is why Ben had to go to the saloon to find one.

The song they sing at church is I'm Going Home from the Cold Mountain soundtrack. It's a neat example of shape-note singing which was a church song-book style started in the 1850's where the songs relied on four "shape-notes" instead of fa, sol, la, and mi.

The monologue is a speech by Prospero from The Tempest, Act V, Scene i.

A picture of young oyster shuckers from 1912.

I have retconned the number of younger Dameron children to a total of four. I simply cannot possibly be expected to come up with that many names. I apologize to anyone who was deeply attached to Young Dameron Child #5 or #6.

Additional apologies for the quadruple quotation mark. It was unavoidable.

Oh yeah, and, uh, ACAB. Especially the Red Cloud Sheriff who won't follow up on a sexual assault against a sex worker.

Rey is now technically the age of consent in Nebraska today, but I'm going to keep tagging everything as sex with a minor. Don't fuck 16-year-olds.

Thanks to all of you for your many wonderful comments and tweets! I'm sorry I'm so bad at responding, it probably won't change, but I really have loved reading each and every one of your comments/replies . I finally made a fandom-specific Twitter account and you can find me at @entropyyy23. I can't promise quality Twitter content, but sometimes I think of non-sequiturs.

Love you all, hope you're staying safe <3

Chapter 13

Notes:

Content warnings in the end notes. More for trauma and violence this chapter, just a heads up.

Beautiful mood board designed by @EmilyFiction <3

tnwti_moodboard_01

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The blizzards begin in earnest again as January wears on, and the constancy of the wind screaming outside the windows has Rey tearing out her hair, desperate for some reprieve from the blinding whiteness of driven snow. She takes to deep-cleaning the little claim shanty while Ben does chores in the barn, re-organizing items in various trunks and cupboards, sweeping things out from under the bed. She finds a handsome silver teapot and polishes it to gleaming, carefully packs away eggshell-thin chinaware. 

In the bottom of a trunk she finds a heavy locket. The clasp is tightly shut but she greases the hinge and pries the clasp apart with a thin piece of metal. The locket falls open in her lap.

Two tiny tintypes peer up at her from behind their cloudy glass windows. They're handsome, a young man with a large nose who smirks at the camera and a young woman with dark hair, tightly ringletted around her face. 

The door of the shanty opens and Rey starts guiltily as Ben stomps the snow off his feet at the threshold. She hurries to fetch him some tea as he sits heavily at the kitchen table.

"Have to do some more roof repairs when this lets up," he says. "Thank you, sweetheart." He takes the mug, looking around at the claim shanty, finally tidied after days of organized chaos. "See you've been busy."

"Mm-hmm." Rey sits down with her own mug. She chews her lip, and then delicately lays the open locket on the table. "I'm sorry, I was curious. I shouldn't've opened it."

Ben stares at it for a long moment before lifting the chain to dangle the little photographs in front of his face.

"My parents," he says simply. He sighs heavily and hands the locket back to her. "I don't mind you lookin'." 

Rey takes the necklace, studying its inhabitants again. She can see the family resemblance; Ben has his father's nose, his mother's eyes. 

"Are they– ?"

Ben takes a gulp of tea, shaking his head. "Lost at sea."

"Like my parents," Rey says sadly. She traces a finger over the glass covering his mother's face. "Is that why you went to live with your uncle?"

"Ah– no." He stares into his mug. "No, that's not why."

They lapse into silence. Rey wonders if she's overstepped, unsure of how to take it back. She knows so little of Ben's life, besides the few snippets he's dropped, like breadcrumbs for her to gobble up. 

He takes a big gulp of tea, like he's steeling himself, and takes the locket back. It looks small in his hand.

"My mother was raised by an old Boston brahmin family, real blue bloods."

"She was beautiful," Rey says. "You look like her."

Ben's eyes crinkle around the edges. He traces his finger over the glass, just like Rey.

"She was orphaned young, came into her inheritance early. And she was… not wild, exactly, but... opinionated. Lived life to the beat of her own drum. Made a scandalous marriage to my father." His finger moves to the other pane of glass. "I s'pose you'd call him a… a tradesman? Had a fleet of ships that sailed out of Boston harbor, and some suspicious connections. Often as not the goods he traded in were stolen… sugar, coffee, people…"

Rey gives him a startled look. He reaches out his hand to reassure her.

"Not like that. Just… every time he'd come back from the South he'd end up with a stowaway or two, bound for Canada. Can't steal something that's not rightfully owned, he'd say. 

"That's probably why my mother loved him. She was into her causes– abolition, suffrage… and my father was doing something, you know. I think he was a nice change of pace for her, from all the fancy folks that'd give lip service to ending slavery and then go and profit off their cotton shares.

"My uncle– he and my mother were twins, but they were raised separate. He grew up on a farm near Springfield, raised by a couple a' Quakers. Anyhow, Luke, he knew my father through connections with the Underground Railroad, introduced the two of 'em. Somehow my mother ended up on his ship, bound for Georgia, and convinced some slave trader to give up his whole cargo. Nearly fifty people. 

"They got married the next year, probably 'cause I was on the way." Rey's eyebrows raise and Ben grins at her. "Didn't stop her from dragging him up to New York for the women's convention in Seneca Falls. I was born up there a week later."

"They sound like wonderful parents." Rey can imagine all their swashbuckling adventures.

"Yeah, well…" He pauses, looking at her. "It's just, the fifties were tough, for them. The Fugitive Slave Act passed, and suddenly escapees were being hunted down in the streets in Boston, and sent down South. My father's friend got caught and Pops was gone for nearly a year, trying to get him back. And my mother was doing a lot more politicking in those days, especially after Mr. Sumner got elected, and after he got caned… I got sent to school, soon as I was old enough. Still in Boston, but I only got to see them every once in a while, you know."

Rey nods, taking his hand. 

"I'm sure the school wasn't as bad as any of the orphanages you were in, they fed us fine and all…" His hand trembles in hers. "The Headmaster, though, old man by the name of Snoke, he–"

Ben's face has gone quite white. Rey peers at him, alarmed.

"Are you alright?" 

Ben nods, but he's nearly gasping for breath. Rey tugs him to his feet and leads him to lie down on the quilt, his head cradled in her lap. She cards her fingers through his hair.

"I'm– I'm real sorry, it's just–" 

Rey shushes him. She holds him until he stops trembling, and then they just lay there in the weak, early afternoon light, the wind howling outside. 

"I think," Ben croaks out, "I think he did it to all the boys, but– but he always said, I was his favorite…"

Rey's stomach drops. It's not that she's surprised, really. That and worse happened in the orphanages. Not to her, by some stroke of luck. It's just that Ben is so big , it's hard to imagine anyone could…

All she can do is keep holding him. He wraps his arms around her legs and buries his face in her skirts.

"Never told anyone before now," he says, his voice muffled by the fabric. He turns his face. "My parents never could figure out why I was actin' up so bad, destroyed half my room at school, smashed plates at dinner and such."

"You were hurting."

Ben nods, wiping his eyes on her apron.  

"My Uncle Luke came out to visit, think he probably wanted to see the new steam shovel, they were just starting to fill in the Back Bay then. Anyhow, he suggested I come out to the farm, get some energy out. Probably the best thing anyone coulda done for me." Rey brushes hair off his face. "Gave me this terrible accent, a' course." 

She smiles sadly. It's a weak joke, and it just breaks her heart even more.

"How was the farm?"

Ben rolls off her to lay his head on the pillow. She turns to face him.

"It was hard work, but– you know, don't you? Trading the city for wide open spaces, animals instead of people. Nothing short of magical. My uncle saw an interesting mix of folks, told you he hid runaways on their way north. And some more militant types were around too, he was back and forth to the Kansas territory before I came. John Brown himself came 'round a few times."

"What was he like?"

Ben considers. "Fierce. But he was kind."

They lay there in silence for nearly a quarter of an hour. Ben closes his eyes and Rey's almost certain he's fallen asleep. She traces her finger tip over his nose and tries to digest what he's told her, tries to reckon with the bubbling anger that's boiling within her. A savage sort of protectiveness has her gathering him closer, like she can protect him from past wrongs.

When Ben stirs she gets them both some fairy cakes and more tea, and they break out a card deck and play Old Maid on the quilt. Ben grins at her poor sportsmanship when she wins and taunts her right back when she ends up with the old maid. 

There's a lull while Ben shuffles and Rey tentatively asks a question.

"What was your uncle doing in Kansas?"

"Support, mostly, for the anti-slavery settlers out there." He deals the cards. "Pretty sure he was in a few skirmishes, but it'd mostly died down by the time he took me in. Still dragged me out there right before the war, wanted to defend his homestead against Missouri in case it came to that."

"You moved all the way to Kansas?" 

"Yup. My mother just about had a conniption when she found out, he didn't ask her in advance. She wanted me to move back to Boston, but I was havin' too much fun out West. Uncle Luke'd become a colonel and I ran some odd errands around the camps, tried to look after the homestead at the same time. We didn't see a lotta action."

They play another hand. This round Rey has the old maid. 

"And you joined up at sixteen?"

"Mm." Ben takes the cards from her and starts to shuffle again. "Toward the end of the war. Confederates had started pushin' to re-take Missouri and it was starting to look like there'd be a major battle. Luke lied about my age to the recruitment officers, but I was tall, even then, they didn't check twice."

Rey can imagine.

"He was real proud I wanted to fight, 'stead of just doing camp chores. Said it's what a righteous man did, what a righteous Christian does, defend those in chains."

"Did you end up in battle?"

"Not for a while," he says, dealing again. "Spent a good amount a' time doin' drills and gettin' into mischief with the other soldiers in my company. It was the first time I wasn't stayin' with Luke, see, and there's all sorts of distractions to be had in an army camp." He smiles a bit wryly. "Big battle didn't happen 'til October. Battle of Westport. That one in your history book?"

"I think so." Rey uncrosses her stockinged feet and alights from the bed to retrieve her book from the chest of drawers. She opens it to the list of battles with their short descriptions. "Gettysburg of the West?"

Ben huffs a laugh. "Guess so. It was a big battle, by my reckoning. Not much of one, though, really. We licked the Greybacks soundly. Not much fight left in 'em after that campaign, west of the Mississippi.

"I caught a stray bullet in my leg just as they were retreating. Worst pain I ever felt, Mini é ball went right through my thigh. Lasted a few days just in bandages before the infection set in and they had to chloroform me good to clean out the wound. Lucky I didn't lose the leg.

"Anyhow, somebody got their signals crossed and I woke up in the care of the wrong company, takin' me back to the Colorado Territory! We were clear across the border before I was in my right state of mind, and by then there was nothin' for it, so I wrote to Luke and told him I joined up with the 1st Colorado Cavalry, so I could convalesce."

They play another round of cards. Ben has the old maid.

"Never really stopped wondering, what woulda happened if they hadn't gotten me mixed up. War in the West was basically won at that point, I probably woulda settled down in Kansas, maybe gone back to Massachusetts with Luke, seen my parents. Guess there's no knowing."

Rey frowns.

"What did happen, when you went to Colorado?"

Ben heaves a sigh. "Nothing good." 

Rey waits for him to elaborate, gathering the cards to shuffle.

"Convalesced alright, back on my leg within a few weeks, tryin' to get it back to normal. Colorado troops were mostly protecting the wagon trains from Indian attack, so it wasn't like we were waiting on troop movement or anything. 

"'Bout a month after I got there, the Colonel announced we were moving on an enemy. There'd been a few attacks by the Dog Soldiers nearby, so I figured we'd be confronting some warriors. But it wasn't like that at all. I saw a white flag, a Union flag , as we rode up and then the firing started. My commanding officer was shouting at me to do the same so I got out my gun and took aim, got off a few shots. But I got a closer look and I– I couldn't keep shooting. There were hardly any men there at all, just women and children, a few elders. It was like everyone around me had gone mad, I've never seen such violence– such… such mutilations . Against defenseless people, and by Union soldiers!

"I didn't know what to do, I wanted to run, but there was nowhere to run. I just watched the atrocities pile up, struck dumb. These pathetic creatures, dying in front of me, and I did nothing to help them, nothing! I stopped shooting and let my brethren get on with the slaughter."

Ben takes a ragged breath, rubbing his hand across his face. 

"Worst part was ridin' away with all of 'em, scalps and– and other body parts, hangin' off saddlebags. Some of 'em so little you knew it had to have come from a child. Think I threw up a half-dozen times on the way back, 'til the numbness set in."

The cards hang limply in Rey's hands, forgotten.

"Wrote to Luke afterwards, and he rode out to Denver City. I was so shook by what I'd seen, he wanted to pack me up for Kansas right away. But… it just… it didn't feel right, leavin' without sayin' something, you know, they were callin' it a great battle by then, an honorable victory. There were a few voices, dissenting, and I thought I should help set the record straight, testify to the investigation committee that was convened.

"I told Luke I intended to stay put for a few more months, and he– well, he was very opposed. Said I was besmirching the Union, stirrin' up trouble that'd only come back to haunt me. I couldn't believe it at first, thought maybe I hadn't properly conveyed what happened, the depths of the depravity. But he said he understood just fine, that we had to think of the bigger picture, perfect the grander American experiment. 

"I tried arguing with him– surely this was a part of that same experiment? But he wouldn't listen, said if I was so keen to stay I could do it on my own. And he was true to his word, rode off back to Kansas. Greatest man I ever knew, veritable lion in my eyes, abandoned me without a backward glance.

"So I took up residence in a boarding house in Denver City, waited to testify. Stood up in front of that committee and told 'em all I'd seen."

Ben fiddles with the quilt, tugging at loose threads. 

"And… in the end… Luke was right." The side of one of the hexagons lifts free. "The committee recommended action against the Colonel, but he retired and nothing ever came of it. Nothing ever happened to those animals who butchered children in their own camp. And that damn book ," he glares at the tome resting near Rey's right knee, "calls it a battle ."

He sighs and Rey glances at the book guiltily. The fight seems to go out of him.

"He was right about everything. Shoulda packed it outta Colorado soon as I finished testifying. Came back from the saloon one night to find five men in my boarding room, trashin' the place, probably lookin' for any documents relating to my testimony. Barely hightailed it out of the building before a few shots rang out behind me. I caught hold of the first horse I saw and ran it as fast as I could, totally blind to the direction. Didn't stop til we were somewhere in the foothills."

Rey waits for him to go on, but he doesn't. He buries his face in his hands and she reaches out tentatively to touch him on the arm, unsure if he'll allow it. He jerks at the contact of her fingers, but leans in to her hand until his head is resting on her shoulder. She holds him again, easing them back to lay down on the bed. His shoulders shake as if he's sobbing. 

"I don't think your uncle was right," Rey says quietly. "I think you were right, telling the truth, and damn the consequences. And I think he was wrong to leave you there, vulnerable and alone." She holds him tighter. "You're good, Ben, you're a good man."

He shakes his head, side to side, his tears hot against her neck. 

After a while, Rey gets up to make supper and Ben goes out to the barn to do the nightly milking. They eat in silence, all talked out. Rey reads a magazine she borrowed from Rose, stealing glances at Ben, who sits stoically at the table, worrying the closed locket between his fingers. 

She climbs under the covers while he readies for bed and extinguishes the lamp. In the darkness she cradles his head in her arms again. His mouth finds her neck and presses slow kisses there, heavy and wet. 

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he whispers into her hair, an edge of desperation to his voice. "I need–"

"It's ok, Papa," she says softly.

In a flurry of movement he leaves the bed and returns with the sheath, fumbling to seat it correctly on his member. He pulls the covers over them and parts her thighs beneath him, rubbing his manhood against her a few times before pressing lower, grunting as he enters her tight cunt.

Rey gasps, clinging to his back as he starts to thrust. He usually brings her to climax with his fingers before intercourse, stretching her to receive his large cock. This is– something else. Too tight, and yet her whole body feels like it's on fire.

He kisses her sweetly on the mouth, forcing his hand between them to rub at her aching clitoris in time with his hard thrusts.

"Ah– ah– Papa, please–"

"What do you want, sweetheart," he asks in a low voice, rubbing faster, sucking hard at the skin beneath her ear. 

"I– I want– " Rey doesn't have the words to describe it, the crisis that blooms from her center. Ben holds her down through the convulsions, and then he's slamming into her, seeking his own pleasure while she shakes. It feels like a release, when he spends, collapsing on top of her so she can feel his full weight, like she's able to bear it for him for a while. 

At some point he moves off her, and cleans her up and wraps her in his arms to sleep, but Rey hardly remembers any of it, she's so exhausted. She drifts to sleep and dreams of small children, crying out into the nothingness, her arms outstretched and unable to help.

 

Notes:

CW: Implied childhood sexual abuse of Ben. Kind of graphic descriptions of the Sand Creek massacre. Lots of dialogue and feelings. Comfort sex initiated by Ben, with limited foreplay, in the missionary position. Hella long endnotes.

This chapter was super exhausting to write. I was trying to find a way to non-awkwardly tell a backstory and maintain Rey's perspective, and this was the result. I kept being all shocked that the word count wasn't higher. The end notes, however, had to be edited because they were too long. :P

I left Ben's childhood trauma pretty vague because I felt that Rey would understand what he was talking about and I thought it seemed unlikely Ben would want to get into the details if this was the first time he was telling anyone.

A timeline:

1847 - Han and Leia meet, raid slave ship, get pregnant
1848 - (July) Seneca Falls Convention, Ben is born
1850 - The 1850 Fugitive Slave Act is passed
1851 - Charles Sumner is elected to the Senate as a "Free Soil Democrat," replacing Daniel Webster, one of the main proponents of the new Fugitive Slave Act
1854 - Ben starts school (aged 6)
1856 - Bleeding Kansas, a series of violent civil confrontations over the admission of Kansas as a free or slave state, begins, lasts until 1861. Charles Sumner is caned on the Senate floor after his inflammatory speech "The Crime Against Kansas."
1858 - Work begins on filling the Back Bay in Boston, Ben (aged 10) drops out of school to go live with Luke
1861 - Civil War begins, Luke and Ben move to Kansas
1864 - (August) Ben joins the army, aged 16
1864 - (October) Battle of Westport, Ben is injured and transported to Colorado by mistake
1864 - (November) Sand Creek Massacre. Heads up, the Wikipedia entry has some pretty gruesome descriptions.
1865 - (January) Investigations into the "battle" of Sand Creek begin

I imagined Leia to be raised by some really high-falutin folks, and so while it contributes literally nothing to the plot, I picked out their house, which has all sorts of interesting history if you're so inclined to read more. It currently houses the Colonial Society of Massachusetts and Boston by Foot, which is hosting some neat virtual tours of greater Boston for free these days if you're in need of something to do/educational experiences for kiddos.

The Minié Ball was an improved bullet that was more accurate, easier to load, and more devastating when it hit flesh. The Mütter Museum has an excellent series of videos on Civil War medicine.

I based Ben's story arc during the Sand Creek massacre on that of Silas Soule, a man from an abolitionist family in New England who moved to Kansas as part of the anti-slavery cause and became a Captain in the 1st Colorado Cavalry Regiment. He refused to fire during the massacre and later gave testimony during the Army's investigation. He was murdered in the street in Denver a few weeks after he testified.

I tried to describe the atrocities of the Sand Creek massacre without being sensationalist, but it's a tough line to walk. After posting this chapter I'll be making a donation to the National Indigenous Women's Resource Center. If you're able, please consider donating as well.

Hope you are all safe and healthy, love you all <3

Find me on Twitter at @entropyyy23

Chapter 14

Notes:

Content warnings in end notes.

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Rey and Ben bring eggs and wheels of cheese to town when the weather permits, despite it not being Sunday, for Pastor Dameron to distribute amongst the congregation. It wouldn't do, Ben says, to emerge from the winter with excess in their stores. 

As they sit in the Damerons' parlor, Rose tells Rey in hushed tones about the Vizlas, a Bohemian family a few miles out of town, who had lost two young children already, to cold or hunger.

"They don't speak much English," Rose says quietly. "Pa went 'round to check in on them, you know, found them huddled in their dugout, keeping warm by burning cow patties and clumps of grass. Hardly any food left."

Rey nods along sadly, the plights of the other families in town and on the homesteads surrounding each grimmer than the last. 

Cal Kestis and Finn are preparing to make the sixty mile round trip to Superior, having been put off by the blizzards the previous few weeks. They each have a sleigh with two stout horses, and have been loaned buffalo robes by various parishioners (so many that Rey wonders whether they won't displace some of the wheat.) 

Rose looks up as Finn walks into the room, and her face has a soft, worried look to it, so tender that Rey looks away, feeling like she's intruding somehow. 

"We're off," Finn says. Rose puts down the embroidery she has in her lap and flies off the sofa to fling her arms around his neck. 

"Be safe, please," she says, her voice catching in her throat. "Don't take any risks, alright?"

"I'll be fine, Rosie," Finn says, hugging her back. "Don't worry."

She steps away and wipes at her eyes, smiling up at him. "You'd better."

Rey clears her throat a bit, and Finn breaks his gaze away from Rose. 

"Godspeed, Finn," she says to him. "You two are real heroes, making this trip. We'll be praying day and night for you."

"Thanks, Rey." He beams at her, pulling Rose under his arm again to walk out the front door. Rey follows them out to the yard where Cal sits in his own sleigh. Rey waves to him and he raises a hand in response, the sun glinting off his red hair.

Ben stands next to Pastor Dameron in the yard, hands in his pockets, watching Finn give Rose one last hug before stepping into the seat of his sleigh. Rey sidles up to him.

"Feel like I should be going, too," he mumbles to her. She smiles sadly and loops her hand through his elbow, squeezing his arm. Nobody pays them any mind, all eyes on the two departing. Pastor Dameron is nearly as choked up as Rose, managing only a half-hearted "Jesus will guide your reins!" before he simply waves his kerchief. Mrs. Dameron brings the little ones to the front porch, holding Zorii, who is still on the mend, in her arms. 

Finn clicks his tongue at his team and the sleighs are off. They all wave at the retreating forms until they're out of the yard and beyond a drift of snow.

"They'll be alright," Mrs. Dameron says firmly. "I can feel it."

Pastor Dameron and Ben spend the rest of the morning distributing foodstuffs to needy families in Ben's sleigh. Rey stays with the remaining Damerons, trying to distract the family from the morose feeling of absence that has settled over them. She makes up silly stories for Zorii and Shara, pulling faces and doing funny voices, trying not to wince when Zorii is caught up in a bone-rattling coughing fit. Rose returns to her embroidery, seated next to them in the parlor. Her dejection is almost tangible, but Rey can't think of a way to comfort her.

The men return in the early afternoon. They all have a quick lunch of salt pork and pickled vegetables before Rey and Ben head home. 

Ben looks rather haunted when he tells Rey of the families they'd visited.

"Knew it'd be bad when the last trains didn't get through," he says quietly. "But seeing it first hand…"

Rey knows starvation intimately, knows of cold and gnawing hunger. She's watched whole families starve before, and she can offer no reassurance to Ben besides another quick squeeze of his elbow and a grim aphorism.

"It's in God's hands now."

 

The weather stays clear, and Rey supposes that's all they can really hope for. 

It's dull horror, waiting. Ben is restless, stalking between the barn and the house. In the afternoon Rey finds him in the root cellar, looking for anything they can bring to town. She helps him sort through the vegetables and canned goods.

"We got all those seed potatoes," Ben says. 

Rey squints in the dim light of the oil lamp at the dusty sacks on the ground. 

"What'll we plant in the spring?"

Ben grunts. "Don't you worry about that." He sounds a bit shifty when he says it. Rey frowns at him.

"Maybe we ought to wait until they get back with the wheat."

Ben shrugs. They pull out a few more wheels of cheese and a barrel of oats, a few onions and carrots. It's hard to know, how much they can stand to give away. Rey's been thrifty with their meals lately, taking extra care to stretch everything, but there's only so far it'll all go.

Ben sets off in the sleigh, despite the lateness of the hour, and it falls to Rey to do the nightly milking and the other chores. She stays in the barn with M'lady until he returns home, the moonlight shining off the snow making him quite visible in the dark. 

"Any news?" Rey asks, and he shakes his head. It's only been a day, so she supposes this is reasonable. She helps him bring the horses into the barn and they brush them down together.

"Rey," he sighs, hanging the bridles on the wall and turning back to look at her. She's immediately on edge. 

"What? What happened?"

"Zorii's taken a– well, a bit of a turn."

Rey thinks back to her horrible coughing fits yesterday and her heart clenches.

"How so?"

"Fever's back, and it sounds like she's been coughin' up a bit a' blood. Poor thing…"

"Is it… consumption?" Rey whispers the word, like she might keep it at bay if she doesn't say it out loud. 

Ben shrugs. "Don't rightly know. There's a doctor that makes the rounds from Lincoln when the train's running, but these days…" He shakes his head. "Maybe she'll pull through, children can be awful resilient."

They eat a late supper. Rey feels worn out and sad, and Ben seems a bit morose as well. They get ready for bed without speaking. He pulls her close under the covers, but only holds her, tucked tight under his arm.

"Winter always ends eventually, sweetheart." His lips brush over her hair.

"But when?" It's a plaintive whisper in the dark. 

He has no answer.

 

Rey bakes a pie in the morning and then they set out once again for town. She cradles the pastry in her lap in the sleigh, the bottom of the tin warm through her skirts until they're nearly to town. 

Ben is sidelined by Mr. Dameron near the barn as soon as they arrive, so Rey approaches the front door by herself. It's pulled open by a red-eyed Mrs. Dameron whose usually sleek blonde hair has come a bit undone. Rey presents the pie to her, which the older woman sets on the kitchen table and then turns to pull Rey into a hug. Rey hesitates, but wraps her arms around her shoulders, squeezing gently. 

"I'm so glad you're here," Mrs. Dameron says. She releases Rey and blinks rapidly at the ceiling for a moment, trying to collect herself. "I think Rosie could use a friend right now."

Rey wonders if Mrs. Dameron could use a friend too. She touches her elbow and smiles sadly.

"Can I help you out in here at all?"

"No, no, that's perfectly alright. I've got to go back up to Zorii–"

"Well, if you think of anything."

Mrs. Dameron nods quickly, blinking again, and takes a bowl and a stack of rags from the table, her skirts swishing as she makes her exit.

Rey finds Rose in the parlor, as red-eyed as Mrs. Dameron, poring over her needlework. She sits next to her on the settee, watching as Rose makes perfect little whorls of stitches, a beautiful bouquet of thread. 

"Ma sent me down here," Rose says after they sit a long while in silence, the only sound the whispery thwip-thwip of the thread being pulled through the canvas. She keeps her eyes firmly held to her needle. "Didn't want me to scare Zorii with crying, you see."

Rey reaches a hand out to touch Rose's shoulder, and then the other girl is bent double in her arms, weeping. She holds Rose while she cries, remembering how Ben spoke soft nothings at her when she first came to Nebraska and trying to replicate it for the girl in her lap.

"It's alright, Rose, cry all you want, sweetheart, don't worry, I've got you…"

It takes some time for Rose to calm down and when she's cried out she still rests limply against Rey's side, her head on her shoulder.

"I just want Finn to come home," she says hoarsely. "If he would just come home safely, maybe everything else will be…"

Alright, Rey finishes mentally. Maybe everything else will be alright.

They move to start on making lunch. For once Rey is in charge of the kitchen, and she does her best to set Rose to frying bacon and peeling potatoes. Shara comes down with Temiri in her arms and Kes holding her apron strings. Rey swallows at the sight, Shara not quite eight years old and looking so put-upon. She quickly takes Temiri and directs Shara to setting the table, firing off words for her to try and spell. Both Temiri and Kes need to be changed out of soiled diapers so she ducks into the side pantry where she secures fresh linens with safety pins. She sets Kes toddling on his way; Temiri gives her a gummy smile and she hoists him on her hip, rounding the corner to check up on Rose.

Lunch is quiet; Ben and Mr. Dameron are still out with the sleigh and Mrs. Dameron only comes down for a short while to bring some more broth up to Zorii. Rey manages to convince her to at least take a slice of pie for herself, wondering glumly if she'll actually eat it.

The rest of the day passes in the same stifling, harried fashion. She manages to get everyone settled in the parlor, reading out loud from the Shakespeare book before Temiri starts to wail. Rose has gone back to her embroidery, stabbing the canvas with a sort of concentrated violence, and Shara is flipping through a storybook, pausing at the pictures. Rey isn't sure where Kes has gotten to but is so occupied with Temiri she can't spare the time to go look for him.

Eventually he makes his reappearance when Mrs. Dameron comes down in the late afternoon, the toddler clutching at her skirts and crying "Mama" repeatedly. The poor woman looks extremely frazzled, and Rey is quick to pluck the screaming boy into her arms. She hands him to Rose, who has put her embroidery down at the noise, blinking as if jolted out of a daze. 

"Can I make you some tea?" Rey asks Mrs. Dameron. She nods weakly, following Rey to the kitchen and sitting at the table.

"I think her fever's gone down," Mrs. Dameron says in a half-whisper, staring at the scrubbed wood. "She's sleeping now."

"That's good news," Rey says encouragingly, placing a tea cup in front of her. "How about another slice of pie, while we wait for Pastor Dameron then?"

The older woman nods and Rey's heartened to see her eat all of it. Rose comes into the kitchen with a quietened Kes and they drink tea until the scrape of sleigh skids sounds in the yard. Rey goes to open the door, guiltily relieved that Ben is back and they'll be able to leave soon. 

But it's not Pastor Dameron and Ben in the yard, but rather Finn and Cal Kestis, with grins so wide they could illuminate the night and barrel upon barrel of wheat stacked precariously in the backs of their sleighs. 

Rey shrieks and the others come running to peer out the door. Rose's whole face lights up and she pushes past Rey to run into the yard, leaping into Finn's arms as he jumps from the sleigh. He sweeps her up and around, and they all laugh like mad. Rey feels giddy, beaming so widely her cheeks hurt, and the joy is redoubled when Ben and Pastor Dameron skid around the corner as well. 

They pull Finn and Cal into the kitchen for hot tea and the last slices of pie; Rey and Rose busy themselves whipping up some heartier fare while Mrs. Dameron peels the boys' wraps forcibly from their bodies, pushing them to sit in front of the stove. 

"Bless you both," she says, pinching their cheeks in a motherly sort of way. "I don't know how you managed it–"

"Wasn't so hard," Finn says, grinning. "Weather's been fine, we got there within a few hours of leaving–"

"Found the man with the grain elevator," Cal cuts in. "He's a company man, works for the railroad. He's been out there all by his lonesome, 'cept the times he can make it into Superior, and they've only got the one saloon, and the depot–"

"Said he could give the wheat to us on credit, but only if we'd stay over an extra day! How 'bout that, poor fella was so lonely…"

"Finn got the price knocked down by virtue of his fiddling," Cal grins. "And I did my part, threw in a little jig–"

"That probably drove the price back up," Finn says, slapping his knee. 

They all have a grand supper together, laughing and talking. Ben and Pastor Dameron discuss how to divvy up the new wheat supplies. Rey watches everyone with a smile on her face, standing near the pantry. She's taken Temiri again and he perches on her hip, watching the goings-on with wide eyes, taking everything in. She points to Finn and Cal, saying their names slowly for him to hear, points at Rose and Mrs. Dameron.

"Ros-ie. Ma-ma."

She moves her finger to the right, pointing at Pastor Dameron. "Pa-pa." 

Ben looks up at her, as if by complete instinct. She blushes deeply, dropping her finger and looking away, but not before catching his sheepish grin.

They leave well after dark, and Rey frets a bit that the cows will have to wait for their milking. As they gather their wraps, Mrs. Dameron hurries over to her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

"Thank you, Rey," she says in her ear. Rey smiles at her when she pulls back, squeezing her elbow fondly. Ben pulls the sleigh around and she waves a final farewell before crossing the frozen yard. 

They drive off into the night.

Notes:

CW: Referenced child death. Referenced starvation. Drawn-out sickness of a child. Emotionssss. Rated T for Rey babysits most of the chapter.

Hello! Sorry for the long gulf between updates. This is a shorter chapter that was originally going to be part of a mega-monster chapter, but I think it actually does make more sense by itself, so. It is an interlude.

Not a ton of historical context, but I did find this very interesting history of diapers while I was trying to figure out what Temiri and Kes would have been wearing. Some of the historical solutions to baby poop genuinely made me shudder.

I also discovered that safety pins did exist by this point, and that their inventor also invented the sewing machine but refused to patent it because he was worried it would put hand sewers out of work. What a guy.

Since this is light on end notes, I thought I'd also plug a YouTuber who does a lot of videos about historical dress and is 100% responsible for everything I know about Victorian fashion, so do yourself a favor and go watch some Bernadette Banner videos. They're amazing and if you like the leg work I put into my end notes for a dinky fanfic you're going to love the amount of research she puts into her channel.

Also I just wanted to add some personal context for this story. It's definitely meant to be a vehicle for Reylo daddy kink but it's also been a way for me to reconsider a beloved childhood series that hasn't aged well and really isn't that historically accurate. While writing it I've been so excited by the research and it's been a good way for me to rethink tropes and assumptions I've always taken for granted in 'old west' genre literature. That said, I'm just gonna put it out there that I'm hella white and if I ever deal with race or history in a way that rings some alarm bells for you, please let me know. This whole project has been about me questioning my country's heritage and narrative, and I want to push myself on that as much as possible.

Hope everyone is safe and healthy, please take care of yourselves. Love you all <3

Find me on Twitter at @entropyyy23

Chapter 15

Notes:

Content warnings in the end notes.

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The week after Finn and Cal return, Ben and Rey stay home, tending to neglected chores around their own homestead. There are some repairs to be done to the roofs that have been put off long enough, and the ever-shifting drifts of snow around the yard must be contended with so that they can continue to walk between the shanty and the barn. The smoking shed has emerged from the snow and is in such a great state of disrepair that Ben chops it up to be used as firewood.

Rey spends three full days doing laundry. It's exhausting, kneeling over the big tub of hot water, scrubbing the dirt from their underclothes and stockings and sheets. They soak in the rinse water and she wishes they had a mangle, like the Damerons do, but she's left to wring the water from the heavy fabric by hand and hang it to drip in the corner of the shanty. While it dries she sweeps the floor and then figures she might as well use the flood of water from the laundry to scrub the wooden boards.

Thankfully they only have a few pieces that require starching, and then she's spending hours ironing, the little, heavy flatirons sitting in a row on the hot stove, waiting to be grasped with a bunched rag and pressed to the fabric. 

She's not sure how Ben got along by himself doing the wash and the cooking and tending to the animals and doing repairs on the barn. But then, he lived simply, only had the one Sunday suit and his work clothes. Made one loaf of bread a day, and a fry-up for supper. It's Rey with the pretty dresses with their starched collars and it's Rey with the fairy cakes and roast fowl. She grins wryly as she sweats over the hot stove; if only the old Rey could see her now, so high and proper she's made work for herself.

She places their nice clothes, perfectly ironed and folded, in the chest of drawers, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction, turning her attention to blacking the stove. By the end of the day she's nodding off at the supper table before they're quite finished eating, and has to be roused by Ben who helps her to drowsily don her nightgown. 

A warm spell allows her to open the windows briefly during the mid-morning and air out the claim shanty. She feels clammy and unclean, and decides to heat enough water for a standing bath in the tub. 

It's pleasant, letting the warm water sluice down over her skin. She suds a bar of fine white soap through a clean rag and uses it to lather her underarms, down her torso. 

A series of crunching footsteps sounds from outside, and then Ben is pushing open the shanty door. He stops when he sees her, a wicked sort of grin taking over his features.

"Well ain't that a pretty sight." 

Rey rolls her eyes at him while he shuts the door, focusing on the rag in her hand. If she drags it a little slower over her breasts than she might have done if he weren't here, well…

"Felt like a bath," she says lightly.

Ben nods seriously. "It was a good inclination. I'm just worried you're missin' a few spots…"

"Where?" Rey frowns, craning her neck to try and look at her back.

"I'll get 'em for you." He holds out his hand for the rag and she hands it over, pretending to heave a sigh. Predictably, he continues soaping her breasts.

"I'm pretty sure I already got those spots," she says.

"Hmm," he says, using the rag to flick a nipple and humming in satisfaction when her breast jiggles. She laughs at him.

"Get my back at least."

He drags the rag around her belly and soaps between her shoulder blades, then lower and lower until he cups her buttocks in his large hands, not even pretending to try and clean them.

"Don't know if I told you how nice this bottom is," he says gruffly, kneading her flesh before giving her a brief smack with an open palm. Rey draws a sharp intake of breath, arching her back. Ben drags the rag across her skin, then dips between her cheeks, his fingers probing a bit through the cloth.

Rey squeaks.

"Just bein' thorough," Ben says, unrepentant, dropping the cloth in the bathwater. "I'll be out in the barn, just came in to get some cheese pans."

She watches him leave before rinsing herself off. Dressing in a clean set of combinations, she leans over the bathwater and cracks an egg in her hair, working the gooeyness into a lather before rinsing this out too.

The afternoon is quiet; Rey makes a few trips to the root cellar to gather ingredients for a stew. She sets out a few potatoes, onions, and some rather large carrots, wiping them down with a rag and beginning to chop. Ben wanders in, presumably finished setting the cheese. He watches her dice a potato before plucking the knife out of her hand. He sets it on top of the chest of drawers.

"What–" Rey whips around to protest.

But Ben catches her, presses between her shoulder blades, forcing her to bend over the table. "Stay still, sweetheart." His voice is a low growl in her ear. He rucks up her skirts, parting the gash in her combinations so her nether regions are exposed to the breeze of the shanty. "Papa hasn't had you in days."

Rey inhales as his fingers prod at her opening. They don't sink in easily; she's been caught unawares. Ben growls again and then he's falling to his knees, pressing his face between her legs.

The first, hot swipe of his tongue cuts through her. He catches her clitoris with the tip but then he's tonguing at her cunt, and Rey knows this is his real object, getting her wet enough to take him. 

"Papa," she whines petulantly, pressing herself against his face, trying to angle his tongue to her liking.

But he pulls away and then he's leaning over her again, licking a parallel swipe up her neck, pausing to catch her earlobe between his teeth and growl, "Didn't I tell you to stay still?"

His fingers sink in this time. He presses two into her slick cunt and she's gasping with the sudden intensity of it, stretched up onto her toes, back arching. 

"There we go, you like that, don't you pretty girl?" He punctuates his words with quick thrusts of his fingers, scissoring them open inside of her, and oh the stretch is good, but Rey wants–

"Papa, please–"

"What do you want, sweetheart?" He's got his cock out now, she can feel the hot flesh rocking against her, dragging through her folds while his fingers continue to twist inside her. She whines again when he bumps against her clitoris. "Need Papa to pay attention to that little nub of yours, hmm?" He angles the head to catch– again and again– on her swollen bit of flesh, and Rey can feel herself building toward her crisis, her cries falling as incoherent babbles from her lips.

Ben pulls his fingers from her and Rey nearly cries in frustration, but then his thick head is pressing into her, and he's rubbing firm circles against her clitoris, and–

"Fuck," Ben swears, pulling out again. "Need the damned sheath." 

At this Rey does start to cry, her crisis so close it's nearly painful. Ben pauses behind her before he's grabbing for an item near her head, on the table, and then something rough and thick is pressing into her, and that combined with the renewed intensity of his fingers on her–

Rey shatters with a wail, clenching around the object in her cunt, her legs giving out entirely underneath her. Ben cruelly pushes her through a second crisis, using one hand to fuck her with the thick object, which she registers dimly must be a carrot. Her screams echo off the shanty walls and the tar-paper ceiling.

He lets up after this, leaving her spread out over the table, her skirts still rucked up and the carrot still wedged deep inside her. 

"Fuck if that ain't a pretty sight," he mutters. He shuffles around the shanty, but Rey is in an oblivious fog, occasionally clenching around the carrot as aftershocks shake through her. She feels him step up behind her again and pull the carrot free. "Gonna fuck you now, sweetheart," he growls in her ear before pushing into her. Rey can only moan, so thoroughly spent, rocked in time with his thrusts.  

"Lord, I missed this sweet cunt," Ben says through gritted teeth. He straightens up, smoothing his hands over the globes of her behind, his hips pumping in a measured beat. His thumb dips between her cheeks, spreading her slick along the seam of her, brushing over the furled ring of muscle there. A pause, and then he presses more firmly, tracing tight little circles on her asshole–

Rey chokes, seized by another wave of convulsions. Ben stutters in his thrusts, groaning, and then he's pounding into her hard, leaning forward to bite at the nape of her neck, like he wants to subdue her. Another few thrusts and then his weight collapses over her back. She shudders again.

"Christ Almighty," Ben groans as he heaves himself to his forearms. Rey whimpers under him, feeling like she's been electrocuted, every nerve ending sensitized beyond belief, so even the barest brush of his whiskers as he kisses her neck have her clenching around him again. Ben groans louder. "Fuck–"

He pulls himself out of her, out of harm's way, and even this sets her off again, quaking so hard that, without Ben holding her up, her position on the table becomes dubious at best. 

"Oh, shit, sweetheart–"

He catches her, scooping her up into his arms and carrying her to the bed. He curls around her, petting her hair until Rey waves him off through the continuing aftershocks, still beyond speech. Eventually she lays quiet, and opens her eyes to find Ben watching her, not without some concern.

"Are you alright?"

Rey nods weakly, trying her voice, which still comes out as a gasp. "It just– felt really good."

"I only want to make you feel good, sweetheart," he says earnestly, reaching out to touch her. She bats him away again, and he laughs, heaving himself off the bed and untying the sheath. 

The afternoon is quiet. Rey finishes chopping vegetables while Ben does his own washing, standing naked in the tub near the stove. She watches him unabashedly, such a fine picture of a man, soaping up his muscled body, his tensed forearms, his heavy cock. With his hair wet his ears stick out something dreadful. Rey thinks he's the prettiest thing she's ever seen.

His eyes crinkle when he catches her gaze. "What're you lookin' at?"

Rey shakes her head, grinning cheekily at him. "Love you, Papa." She scoops some diced onions into the pot.

"Love you too, sweetheart," he says softly.

The carrot that he used to fuck her rolls on the floor under her feet. She stoops to pick it up, briskly cleaning it with a damp rag, before chopping it and dumping it into the pot as well.

They really can't afford to let anything go to waste.

Notes:

CW: Rough-ish sex, bent over a table, with a minor. Object insertion (the object is a carrot and it goes in Rey's vagina.) Little bit of anal play. Absolutely not one lick of plot.

Please imagine these carrots. Thank you.

carrots

Not to bore you all with the details of my writing process, but this was originally also part of the mega-monster chapter which is now going to be four chapters. They are thematically very distinct and while I think it might've worked if they all came together it was a little jarring switching from this to the next segment. I'm sorry this is a bit short, I have not the stamina for so many words.

I hope you are all enjoying their homesteading chores. I realize I'm probably sanitizing Victorian life a little, so if you want the grungy, exhausting Real Deal you should totally check out this series on YouTube called Victorian Farm, which is a really neat production. The second episode actually shows the process of doing laundry, which is where I got some of the inspiration for Rey's activities. Here's a cool blog post that lays out the whole shebang of Victorian laundry, including an interesting ad on the desirability of different sorts of wringers, or mangles. I thought Rey's process would be a bit different since they're in a pretty remote area in a tiny shanty in the middle of winter, so I let her skip a few steps.

Women really did wash their hair using eggs (putting on my chemist hat, this works because egg yolks contain proteins that can act as emulsifiers and bind both dirt/oil and water; this is also why egg yolk is used in mayonnaise and salad dressings). Bernadette Banner has a video in which she follows an Edwardian hair care routine that incorporates egg. I also found a Victorian lifestyle blog where a woman washes her hair with Castile soap. Both of these methods make it much easier to accomplish the hairstyles of the period; modern shampoos make hair too slippery.

Anyone else have really strong aftershocks after sex? No? Just me? 👀

Hope you're all doing well ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Find me on Twitter at @entropyyy23

Chapter 16

Notes:

Content warnings in the end notes.

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Ben does more repairs on the barn and on the shanty roof; it's easier now, with the weather warming up, though there's the new issue of everything being constantly wet. They can hear the rushing of the creek beneath the ice and Rey hopes the shanty won't flood. 

Concerned about the general damp, Rey double-checks the root cellar, swinging the kerosene lamp into the corners to see if there are any puddles and rifling through their stores, reassuring herself they have enough to last until the trains can get through. Carrots and onions, barrels of oats and flour, lard and salt pork and smoked elk and dried beef. The wheels of cheese are mostly gone to hungry parishioners, and the dried goods have dwindled significantly since the beginning of winter. In one corner she finds a burlap sack, half hidden behind a barrel, and she frowns in confusion. She opens it to find small potatoes– the seed potatoes, she realizes. But where are the rest of them? Ben bought nearly ten bushels back in the fall.

Ben is still working on the barn roof when she comes up from the root cellar; she picks her way through the slushy snow back to the shanty, mulling over the discovery. Surely the potatoes hadn't just disappeared, and she certainly hadn't had anything to do with them. The only conclusion was that Ben must have given them away with Pastor Dameron. 

Rey sits heavily at the table. It was good to think that the potatoes were out on someone's dinner plate, and that fewer people would go hungry because of them. Surely this was Ben's reasoning; she remembers his stricken face after he went around in the sleigh to check on families. But that was before the wheat had come, and things were not so dire now, and Rey had asked him to wait

What were they to do, in the spring? Ten bushels of potatoes was nothing to sneeze at; surely that was a significant portion of the money Ben had made last summer and fall, from the cheese and the pork and the wheat harvest. 

Rey makes a loaf of bread and pulls out some sausages and a few eggs, cracking them into the frying pan.

She can hear Ben re-shoveling the slush right in front of the shanty. He stomps his feet at the door and then pushes into the house, flicking sweaty hair out of his eyes to shoot her a grin before collapsing heavily in his seat at the table. Rey passes him a wet rag to wash up without saying anything.

"Nearly done," Ben tells her. "And the shanty's not so bad off, just wanna reinforce it in case we get some real heavy spring snow."

Rey nods, passing him a plate of food. 

"What'd you get up to today?"

Rey shrugs, biting into a bit of sausage.

Ben watches her, chewing on a hunk of bread. 

"Everything alright?"

Rey nods, and then shakes her head, swallowing. "Why didn't you tell me about the seed potatoes?"

"Ah." Ben looks sheepish. He puts his bread down and reaches for her hand. "Sweetheart–"

Rey moves her hand off the table, wringing it with the other in her lap. "I just– I've been trying to make sure the stores last until spring, and we'd talked about the other things we gave away, and I don't– what'll we do come planting? What about next year? We can't help other people if we're starving Ben–"

Her eyes have started to smart and she swallows again around the lump in her throat. Ben looks stricken, his arm still stretched out towards her, resting on the table. 

"Rey–" His hand reaches out again before he seems to realize she's got her own limbs quite tightly knotted and pulls it back to clench into a fist near his plate. "I won't ever let you starve, I promise."

Rey shakes her head bitterly. How can he promise that? "So we don't need them? What'll we plant instead–?"

"I'll buy more," Ben interrupts. "When the train gets through, I'll buy more. I'm sorry, I shoulda– I shoulda told you about giving 'em away, but you seemed so worried and we don't need them–" 

He sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair and studying his plate. Rey watches him, arms still knotted. 

"Truth is, we'd be fine if we ate through all our stores this winter, we could start over a hundred times if we had to. And– and I didn't tell you, 'cause I'm ashamed of why that's true." He looks up at her, his eyes sad and liquid; his gaze burns her from the inside out. "I didn't finish tellin' you the rest of my story, 'bout my past. But, I will, if you'll hear it, and I can only hope it don't make you hate me."

Rey twists her hands tighter. "I couldn't hate you," she says. "I'm just– I realize it's not my place, to question you–"

Ben shakes his head. "I wanna share everything I got with you, sweetheart." His gaze is supplicating; she wants to reach for him. "But you'd be well justified in hating me, after the things I've done…"

Rey shifts in her seat before untwisting her hands. Her fingers ache. She reaches out tentatively and he responds by grasping her hand in both of his. "I'll hear– whatever it is you want to tell me. And I won't hate you, whatever you've done. I couldn't ever hate you."

"Sure hope that's true," Ben says quietly; there's a whisper of hoarseness to his voice and he squeezes her hand. 

Rey waits for him to start talking. The sausage and eggs have grown cold and congealed on her plate, but she's no longer hungry. A waste. 

Ben takes a breath and squeezes her hand again. "I told you I rode outta Denver City with the devil on my heels, found myself somewhere in the foothills?"

Rey nods.

"I was real discombobulated, and scared outta my mind. Didn't know quite where I was, only that I couldn't go back to where I'd come from, in case they were still after me. So I pushed on, deeper and deeper into the hills, following a ravine. Had just the one pistol on me, and a dead-tired horse, and I can tell ya, every rock and tree and bush looks like a bandit or a bear in the dark." 

Ben shakes his head.

"Wandered higher and higher for three days, growing more and more desperate, 'til I was near starved and half-delirious. Think I took a tumble. In any case, I woke up in a little miner's shanty, perched somewhere on the side of a rocky cliff."

"Someone found you?" Rey's not sure where his story is going. 

Ben nods. "Old codger, out on his lonesome, trying to strike it rich in gold. Name of Palpatine."

He pauses to take a sip of water from his tin cup. 

"He wasn't so bad, fed me at least, didn't ask too many questions 'bout where I'd come from or how I'd gotten there. Gave me a chance to recuperate. Then his gang came back."

Rey's eyebrows shoot up. "His gang?"

Ben nods again.

"Palpatine was a miner, alright, only he wasn't depending on chance to strike gold. Had his... associates... out and scouting for him. First hint of a lucky vein they'd go and harass whoever found it, make it real attractive to clear off the claim.

"'Course I didn't know that at the time, just saw this group of real seedy fellas ride up to the shanty one day, all masked up. Thought they were gonna rob us. Went for my pistol, couldn't let them kill an old man like that. But he spoke to 'em, called 'em out by name, and they backed down. And he turned to me and told me I had the right stuff, already showed I'd be loyal to him, and offered me a chance to join."

"And you did," Rey states quietly.

"Yes," Ben sighs. "It's not like they forced me into it, I take responsibility in full. But I wasn't sure what else I'd do. Didn't think I could go back to Denver City, still felt like Luke had washed his hands of me. Where else would I go? Everything I had was back in that boarding house room and I was more than a thousand miles from anyone who cared for me.

"And– and I think I was angry. Angry at my parents, angry at Luke, angry at the generals who led that massacre. Angry at the Union. Primed and ready to turn my back on everything decent. So I took on the name of 'Kylo Ren' and covered my face with a black cloth, like I was the reaper himself, and I joined 'em."

There's a long silence. Rey's not sure what to say.

"Did you...?" She trails, not sure how to phrase what she's trying to ask.

"I wasn't a good man, Rey." Ben releases her hand to rub his face with his palms. "Worse, I was so good at it, bein' bad. Never felt much sympathy for the miners. Seediest sons of bitches I ever met, and what right had they, to be on those claims? What right had any of us, bein' on land that wasn't ours?"

Rey purses her lips. "So you found… gold?"

"We found a lotta gold," Ben corrects. "It was always a delicate operation, waitin' for them to mine what they could, then move in before there was a lotta talk about the place. We'd do our own minin' sometimes, but we were never ones for hard work, really. Think Palpatine was in it more for the cruelty than anything, sometimes I thought he was mad with it, did things I wouldn't do at my meannest. But I watched him do it. And I didn't say nothin' about it. 

"But as time wore on, you know, I started feelin' more n' more uneasy about it. Palpatine reminded me of Old Man Snoke sometimes, salivatin' with the power he had over powerless people. Got another sorry son of a gun to join up– called him Brendol's Bastard, hell if I know why; rest of us called him The Kid. He was as cruel as Palpatine, and twice as greedy. Always had his face covered, don't think I ever saw it plain, but he had shifty eyes, beady and murderous, like a rat. Didn't need a reason to go after a man… or a woman…"

Ben shakes his head. "Saw him pulled off some poor girl in a saloon more than once, sick fucking bastard. And drawin' attention to us, when we were wanted in three separate counties. Shoulda shot him myself, but I brought it up with Palpatine instead. Stupid. Ought to have known how it'd turn out."

Rey's eyes are wide. "What happened?"

"Palpatine set us up to square off against each other, said he couldn't have disagreement in the band. So I took aim, and so did he, and we both missed first shot. Only he kept shootin'. Turned into a full shoot-out. Couple of the others caught some bullets. Then Palpatine pulled his pistol, and I thought he was gonna end it, finally, but he pulled his shot, pointed at me instead. 

"Saw it like in slow motion, and somehow my pistol with its lone remaining bullet found its way up to point back at him, and I got him with a shot straight between the eyes. Killed that bastard stone dead, and I'll not say that God's green Earth isn't a thousand times better for it."

There's a long silence. Ben peers anxiously at her, and Rey reaches out her hand to reassure him. He grasps it tightly in his own.

"Whatever happened after was a bit of a blur. Half the band was hit, think The Kid was wounded, and I just hopped on my horse and high-tailed it outta there. On the run again, only this time I was older and wiser, and I had a plan. I was done with them, but I wasn't leavin' empty-handed. I'd had my cut of the loot, but Palpatine had the lion's share hidden under the floorboards of his shanty, thinkin' he was real sly. Well I pried them up and found a trunk full of gold that I strapped to my horse. Rode outta the mountains and out to the open plains. I was still wary of Denver City, so I made for Omaha.

"Got about half-way there when my horse keeled over; hadn't been thinkin' clearly and rode the poor thing into the ground. Bit of a pickle, I was stuck out in the open with a trunk full of stolen treasure. So I decided to bury it, mark the spot well so I could find it again, continued on by foot. Railroad wasn't half so complete back in those days, but I finally found a depot. Headed back East."

Rey frowns. "But you came back for it?"

"Years later," Ben says. "At the time I took just enough to finance my trip, and some extra."

Rey nods slowly. Ben looks searchingly at her face, squeezing her hand like a lifeline.

"So that's all there is for it, sweetheart. I'm a criminal, and an outlaw. I'm real sorry I didn't tell you sooner, I was just– I was so ashamed, and afraid. That you'd be… upset, or afraid of me. I'd never, ever hurt you, I promise–"

"Ben," Rey interrupts. "I'm not– you could've robbed the Queen herself and I'd still love you."

He flashes a watery smile at her, relief palpable in his expression, and tugs her up out of her chair to sit in his lap, wrapping his arms tight around her waist. She rains gentle kisses all over his face, and feels the tension drain out of him. 

"I left that life behind just as soon as I rode out of those mountains, I promise you, and I've been trying to atone ever since, make things right with God again, for everything that happened in the war, and after–"

Rey captures his lips in hers, her arms thrown around his neck. He leans into it, his lips plush and soft beneath her own. Ben stands, carrying her to the bed, and they lay entwined on top of the quilt, sharing slow, heavy kisses. It's comforting more than anything; there is no urgency, no drive to shed clothing or engage in congress. She kisses every feature on his face and he slips his tongue between her lips, tangling with hers in a way that makes her shiver. 

They lay together for a long while, until Rey's stomach growls and they both chuckle and move to light the kerosene lamp. She clears the sorry remains of their supper and makes a quick batch of johnny cakes while Ben scrubs the dishes in the wash basin. 

"What did you do after you went back East?" she asks. It's dawned on her that Ben has lived a whole lifetime longer than she has, that despite his long recollections he still hasn't told her everything he's done in the years before he met her.

"Went home. Or at least, I tried to. Found out upon arrival that my parents had been lost at sea; my father's boat was never found, went down somewhere in the Caribbean. Our house had been reclaimed by the bank, and some unscrupulous lawyer must've made off with the bulk of the fortune somehow, I never did manage to track down how all that money went missing. But I'd been presumed dead, and Luke was gone too, he wasn't answering letters sent through to Kansas, so there'd been no heirs to bother with. All that was left was a trunk of my mother's; had that quilt, bunch of her clothes, the brooch..."

He trails off sadly. 

"Stayed in Boston for a while, tryin' to reclaim my inheritance but it was hard as all get out, and my skills didn't much translate to livin' in the city. What was I good for? Farmin', and robbin'." He shakes his head. "Went back to Luke's farm out in Springfield. It was good for awhile, but it was like livin' in the past, I couldn't move on. And I still had some… complicated feelings about Luke. One day an old acquaintance dropped by, said he'd heard Luke had made his way to the Alaska territory, looking to save souls. It felt like the final piece I needed, to put things to rest. My parents were dead and gone, but I could still forgive Luke, so I set out to follow after him."

"Did you find him?" Rey shoves another bite of johnny cake in her mouth.

Ben shakes his head. "It was like followin' a ghost. Met an old Russian who drew me a map to his location, an island somewhere in the Gulf. But I never could find it. It was like Luke was denying me again, this one last chance at peace."

He heaves a sigh. "Anyhow, ran outta money eventually. Worked on a ship to earn my passage back to San Francisco, then took a train out to Nebraska. I'd originally planned just to collect the gold and head East again, but when I got here I found a town'd sprung up, named after a great Sioux chief. And I found Dameron and his wife here, trying to create a decent, integrated Christian society out on the plains. Seemed as good a place to start over as any. So I helped 'em out with the church, and the school. Told 'em it was my inheritance money. Best thing I coulda done with that loot."

Ben looks up at her and smiles. "And then you came along, and I thought it was all worth it, just to be able to pull you off that train."

Rey blushes deeply, smiling shyly back at him. 

They go to bed and Ben pulls her on top of him, resuming his kissing from before, swallowing her quiet gasps as she sinks down on his member, the sheath firmly in place between them. He's gentler than usual, stroking his hands over her back and shoulders, holding her bottom cradled in his large hands as he thrusts into her heat. Rey reaches her peak with a silent shudder, and he follows close behind, grunting into her neck, and then mouthing there as he softens within her. 

Rey falls asleep with a sense of satisfaction and peace, like she'd been cleansed somehow. The sound of dripping ice makes a percussive lullaby in the dark. 

 

The feeling of quiet continues into the next day, along with the thaw, and Rey thinks maybe they've emerged from winter, that Ben's confession has somehow ended the spell over the town and the prairie, so they can return to the halcyon, summer days of plenty. She indulges, pulling the ingredients out to make a cake, for no reason other than that she can. 

While the cake is baking, she thinks to ask Ben for some of the milk before he sets the cheese so she can whip some cream to go over the top. The yard is muddy and waterlogged, and she's just started to pick her way across when he emerges from the barn, already holding a large jar full of fresh milk, smiling softly at her. 

A series of slushy hoofbeats sounds from across the creek, and they look up to see Finn picking his way carefully into the yard, gazing forlornly at them from his saddle. Rey gasps, clapping her hand over her mouth. 

Zorii.

 

Notes:

CW: Flashbacks to old timey gang activity. Ben talks about killing someone (Palpatine). Referenced sexual assault. Sex scene with a minor. Zorii dies.

I rewrote this chapter a few times, and while I'm still not super pleased with it I'm publishing it so I can move on to better (smuttier) things. The emotional line here was hard to walk, so I'll just editorialize a little and say that while Ben thinks he should feel bad about his gang involvement, he's not nearly as bothered by his activities with Palpatine as he is by his actions (or inaction) at Sand Creek, which is why he was a lot rawer during his last flashback chapter.

1865-1870 was the tail end of the Pike's Peak Gold Rush, and before the Colorado Silver Boom. Most miners in the region were panning for placer gold at this point. I imagined Kylo Ren and company operating largely in the Leadville Mining District, which was the most productive section of the Colorado Mineral Belt. If travel ever becomes a thing again, the annual Leadville Boom Days festival is some good, pioneer-y, Victorian fun. There is an excellent depiction of placer gold panning in The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, which is on Netflix.

The account of the founding of Red Cloud, Nebraska is a bit fictionalized. It was indeed named after Red Cloud, although he was the leader of the Oglala Lakota and not the general chief of all Sioux (although this was a common misconception at the time). He was still alive at this point. His wiki link is worth a read as it details how the mid-century battles with the plains tribes gave way to broken treaties and the establishment of the reservation system.

The area of the town of Red Cloud was (questionably) ceded by the Pawnee in 1833, and opened to homesteaders in 1870; it was incorporated in 1871. The town was not established as an explicitly integrated community; I realize this is some 21st century revisionism, however I did draw on some real elements of the period. At the end of Reconstruction in 1877 (which is about when Ben would have arrived in Red Cloud) a lot of former slaves fled the south, and some portion of them made their way to the midwest. There was an especially large wave in 1879, called the "Exodusters," which found their way to a number of Nebraskan towns or became homesteaders; there were several examples of Black and white communities that existed more or less harmoniously at the end of the 19th century.

Ben certainly came from an integrationist family; the abolitionist movement in Massachusetts led a civil rights campaign in the 1840's that forced the repeal of a state law against interracial marriage, desegregated coaches of rail lines, and integrated school systems.

I see 2020 has concocted a new batch of horrors for us all; hope you all are staying safe and healthy ❤️

Find me on Twitter at @entropyyy23

Chapter 17

Notes:

Just a heads up, this chapter deals a lot with Victorian mourning rituals, and so there will be some depiction of a corpse. I was hesitant to put it in the tags because it's a little jarring out of context, but I didn't want to catch anyone by surprise. Additional content warnings are in the end notes.

Thank you to @MindyCakes for this beautiful moodboard! ❤️

 

tnwti_v2

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The curtains are drawn inside the Damerons' house. The mirrors on the walls are covered with black cloth, and the handsome clock in the parlor is stopped at 9:53. 

Rey sits next to Rose on the sofa, their hands clasped together. Rose is very pale, but she isn't crying. Temiri is propped on her other side, drooling on her dark bodice.

"I've never gone into mourning before," Rose says quietly. "And with the trains still stopped we won't be able to do it properly. The General Store only had a yard of crepe."

Rey clucks sympathetically. 

The door from the kitchen opens and Mrs. Dameron emerges. She looks drawn and exhausted, but, like Rose, not tearful. She plucks Temiri from the sofa and settles into the wingback chair to Rey's left, opening her black dress to give him her nipple.

Rey smiles sadly at her, unsure of what to say. "Can I bring you anything?" She reaches her hand out. Mrs. Dameron shakes her head, but catches Rey's fingers with her own, squeezing tightly.

A series of footsteps sounds on the stairs, and Mrs. Syndulla and old lady Maz come into the parlor.

"She's ready to be brought down," Mrs. Syndulla says to Mrs. Dameron, who nods stiffly. "I'll go tell the men."

She leaves, and old lady Maz comes to stand on Mrs. Dameron's other side; she's so short she doesn't have to crouch to look cup her cheek and look sympathetically into her eyes.

"Poor duck," she says. "We made her look real pretty for you."

Mrs. Dameron nods again. "I'm just glad she's passed her suffering. She's gone to her reward now."

The front door swings open and Ben and Finn and Mr. Syndulla traipse through the hallway to the stairs; a few moments later their heavy footsteps descend slowly, and they carry the coffin holding Zorii into the parlor and set it on the low table that's been brought into the room for this purpose. 

Zorii is tiny in death. Her hair is arranged gracefully around her face, her eyes closed as if she were sleeping. She's dressed in her nicest blue dress. 

Pastor Dameron had followed the other men when they came in the house and he comes into the parlor now and stands in front of the coffin, openly weeping. He reaches out to touch Zorii's face, brushes the little curls on her forehead. Rose stands and goes to take her father's elbow, tears streaking down her face as she looks at her sister's still form. 

Mrs. Dameron rises, tucking herself back into her dress, and goes to her husband's other side, bouncing Temiri on her hip. Rey watches the family with a lump in her throat, but she swallows it down and goes into the kitchen to find Shara and Kes playing with Kes's tin soldiers. She sits down at one of the chairs and takes the general, issuing orders to the troops in a gruff voice. 

"Advance! Advance, you yellow-bellied cowards!" She dances him up and down in rage. Shara giggles and Kes stares at the little toy wide-eyed, his fist in his mouth.

Mrs. Syndulla pushes open the door.

"Bring them in, then" she says brusquely, "so they can see her before the photographer arrives."

Rey drops the toy as if scalded, ushering Shara in front of her through the door and picking up Kes. She grunts a little as she carries him into the parlor; he's getting bigger. 

Shara gazes at the coffin solemnly, but Kes leans forward in Rey's arms such that she almost loses her grasp on him, babbling away in his high-pitched voice. "Zorii? You play... Zorii! Wake up, Zorii…"

Rey tries to shush him, but his babbles crescendo to wails, and all she can do is hug him tight. He buries his face in her neck and she can feel his hot tears on her skin. She pats his back, taking deep breaths. 

"I'll take him," Rose says, her voice hoarse. Rey peels his arms away from her neck and passes him to Rose. His cries dwindle to sobs. 

Rey wants to edge over to Ben but Mrs. Syndulla beckons her into the kitchen and they start to make a spread of food for the mourners; Rey's cake from the morning sits unfrosted in one corner of the table. Old lady Maz brings a basket of linens down the stairs and Rey watches Finn burn them in the yard through the kitchen window.

Parishioners and other neighbors filter through as the day wears on. Around the mid-afternoon a sleigh arrives with two men who hop out and heave a trunk of photography equipment to the front door between them. Curious, Rey waits until Mrs. Syndulla is occupied before sidling back to the parlor.

"...outside will have better light," the taller of the two men is saying as he looks around the room critically. A box covered in black cloth is propped up on stilts in a corner and the room smells vaguely sweet. The other man turns and Rey can't help but exclaim.

"Mr. Bridger!"

"Hello, Rey," he smiles at her. 

"I didn't realize you were a photographer," she says in a more reserved voice, blushing a bit from her outburst. 

"Mr. Dume is," he says. "And I help."

She nods. The discussion over location seems to have reached a conclusion and there's movement to the front door; Ben and Finn hoist Zorii between them and carry her carefully out to the front steps where the rest of the Damerons gather around the coffin. Rose frets with her skirt and Rey knows she's worried how it will look later, with none of them dressed properly. 

Mr. Dume balances his camera on the soggy ground of the yard, instructing the family to hold their pose. Rey notices that Finn hangs back and it's a bit jarring to her; she always considers him one of the Damerons, it's odd to remember he's not really part of the family.

They hold their poses stiffly while the plate is exposed, their faces drawn and stern. It seems a small eternity, but Mr. Dume finally closes the shutter and they all relax. He hurries back into the house to his covered box.

Mr. Bridger hangs back in the yard. 

"How are your studies coming?" he asks.

"Alright," Rey says. "I've... well, I've gotten through everything in the books I have."

Mr. Bridger's eyebrows raise. "All the mathematics exercises?"

Rey nods. "And I've read that whole history book. Twice."

He beams. "Rey– I've been thinking. You ought to take the college entrance exam in the spring. You'll have to go to Lincoln for it– I can only administer the 8th grade state examination– but you'd pass, I know you would."

"Are you sure?" Rey furrows her brow. "I haven't even been in school a year…"

Mr. Bridger nods eagerly. "I'd help you with the rest of the material, we could go over it together before school if you like. I mean, if your– if Mr. Solo lets you come again."

Rey's eyes flick up to find Ben near the barn, talking to Finn.

"He'll let me. I mean, he was only worried about the storms."

Mr. Dume comes out of the house again and starts to set up another shot, this time a close-up of Zorii alone. Rey walks over to Rose, who clutches Rey's arm tight in her own, watching Mr. Dume with the camera. Rey gazes at Zorii's face, trying to memorize the shadow of her chin, the shape of her brow. Soon they won't be able to look at her ever again, and Rey's glad they'll have the tintypes to study in the future. 

"I'm going to weave a bit of her hair into a bracelet," Rose says. "For Ma to wear."

Mr. Dume closes the shutter. "That's that," he says, and hurries inside to develop the plate. Ben and Finn move to the stairs to carry Zorii back into the parlor.

The wake lasts a few more hours, and then Rey helps to clean up the kitchen. It's dusk by the time she and Ben are whisked away in their sleigh, the horses trotting over hardened drifts of slush in the gathering dark. 

"They'll have to wait to bury her," Ben says in a low voice. "Ground's still frozen."

Rey clings to his arm on the drive back, and then walks stiffly back to the shanty while he unbridles the horses and does the evening milking. She lights the kerosene lamp, tidying the kitchen of the items left out that morning. She washes her face and neck in the porcelain bowl, scrubs her hands clean of dirt, then prepares some hot water for Ben to do his own washing. 

She stares at the light of the fire through the stove door, arms crossed tightly in front of her, and when she feels Ben's hand on her shoulder she startles.

"Are you alright?" he asks, concern evident in his voice.

Rey nods, but her throat tightens up until she's gasping and crying, collapsing into the arms that draw her tight against his chest. He scoops her up and they sit in the rocking chair together, so reminiscent of Rey's first days in the shanty. 

Ben runs a soothing hand over her back, but it barely quiets her. She clings to his neck, feeling the sobs wrack through her, all the emotions she'd pent up throughout the day breaking free and running down her face. 

Her heart hurts so badly, for the Damerons, and for Zorii, thinking about her being buried under the ground, never hearing her giggle again. She thinks again to her pretty face, so still and serene in her small coffin.

They hadn't had a wake for Baby. The nuns had just taken his still form from her arms and buried him in the yard, with the other children who had failed to thrive. His little face lives only in her memory now. 

"Shh, shh, it's alright, sweetheart, you're okay…" Ben drops kisses to her head and kneads at her shoulders. At last she slumps in his arms, and he has to help her out of her dress and into her nightgown, whiskers brushing her nose as he kisses tears off her cheeks.

In bed he cuddles her close, and Rey mouths at his neck, his shoulders, his ears. When he groans she writhes in his arms, turning so her bottom slots against his groin, dragging his hands up to palm her breasts. His nightshirt rides up with her motion against him, and his hard cock juts against her core. She whimpers as it drags against her clitoris and she reaches her hand down to direct it into her cunt.

Ben tries to pull away, like as not to go retrieve that blasted sheath, but Rey clings tighter to him.

"No– Papa ," her voice comes out high-pitched and needy, but she can't feel embarrassed by it, she wants his arms around her so badly, she wants to feel him inside her. 

Ben's breathing heavily in her ear, his left hand still kneading her breast under nightgown.

"Just– I'll just put the tip in, then," he gasps, slotting the blunt head against her lips. The slide is delicious, and Rey whines when she feels it breach her, so smooth and huge. She bucks against him, trying to take him deeper. Ben groans deeply. "You– God you feel so good, sweetheart."

He thrusts shallowly, kissing her neck and jaw. Rey whimpers and he stuffs two fingers into her mouth; she sucks gratefully on them, worrying his knuckles with her tongue and shifting against him so that the change in angle causes him to bottom out, forcing a gasp from her throat. Ben nearly chokes.

"Fuck– I'll... I'll pull out, sweetheart, I promise–" He thrusts in again, deeper and harder this time, and Rey clings to his arm, teeth closing over his fingers. The drag of his cock inside her, forcing her to part around him, it's exquisite. Rey can feel herself starting to shake, her breaths coming in quick whines while pleasure floods every part of her, and when he reaches down to press against her clitoris, she clenches around him, her head thrown back and her toes curling under.

"Hnghh," Ben pulls out of her and splatters almost immediately against her backside and up her back; she can feel his spend soaking through her nightgown to grow cold and clammy against her skin.

He collapses next to her, breathing heavily, stroking her arm while she trembles. He notices the spend on her back and wipes at her haphazardly with her nightgown. "Ah, shit, sorry–" 

She shakes her head, burrowing her face into the pillow. "I can wash it tomorrow, s'okay."

He chuckles while she shucks off the offending garment, and makes sure to clean her up before pulling her against him again under the covers. It's nice, to be nude in his arms, her skin against his (it takes a mere suggestion for him to shed his nightshirt too). He seems to agree, nuzzling into her neck and letting his hands wander with abandon, mapping her belly and chest and thighs.

In the morning he has her again, before the sun fully rises. He pulls out to splatter her face, her mouth open in ecstasy, so that she tastes him on her lips when she cleans them with her tongue.

 

Rey goes to school again as the thaw continues. Ben nervously drives her in every morning, glancing skyward the whole ride, and Rey's certain that he finds things to do around town rather than go home. 

Mr. Bridger is good to his word, and meets with her before school to probe her gaps in knowledge, so he can mark out sections of various books for her to study for the exam. 

"Excellent work, Rey!" He slaps his knee in satisfaction after she rattles off her European geography. She sits back in her seat, brushing her hair behind her ear with a blush. He leans forward, covering her hand with his on his desk. "Knew you'd be on track."

She smiles at him, a bit uncertain all of a sudden, as his thumb rubs circles on her skin. 

"I think I ought to study my grammar a bit more," she says, trying for a distraction. "I'm worried I've overlooked it."

Mr. Bridger beams at her, circling his thumb one last time before withdrawing.

"I'm certain you're in good shape," he says, "but I can mark some sections of this primer for you if you like."

Rey nods, thanking him.

"You'll like Lincoln," he tells her while he rifles through the book. "Has a much more... metropolitan feel than here, probably more like what you're used to, back East. Excellent university, Athens of all plains, all the papers say so." He looks up, thumb holding down the page. "They'd be lucky to have a student like you."

Rey smiles at him again, a bit more at ease. He's being awfully kind to her, coming in so early to help her with her studies. 

The other students begin to file in. Rey finds her seat in the back, between Rose and Cal Kestis. Shara is at the front of the classroom, and Rey waves to her, her heart clenching at Zorii's absence in the second row of seats. 

It's odd, being back at school, having to follow someone else's schedule, instead of obeying her own whims and the list of chores to be done. She finds the pages marked in the grammar primer and completes the exercises listed there. Glancing up to see that Mr. Bridger is still busy with the younger students at the front, she pulls out her Latin declensions; she made Ben write out a more extensive list, worried it might show up on the qualifying exam. She asked Mr. Bridger, but it seemed he doesn't know much in the way of Latin, and she doesn't want to insult his knowledge.

At lunch she coaxes Rose and Shara into a game of tag with the others, and it feels good to run and laugh, breathless in the still-chilly air, stumbling over piles of dirty snow and slush. Rose is reserved still, but Rey manages to make her giggle, in between bites from their lunch pails, about Mr. Syndulla's rather aggressive whiskers, which stick out so far from his face and have been slicked with so much pomade she's worried they might impale someone. Rose is bent double with laughter while Rey dramatically pretends to fend off his facial hair.

A low whistle sounds in the far distance. Rose straightens up.

"Could it be?" Her eyebrows are so high they disappear into the curls that overhang her forehead.

Rey looks back with wide eyes. "The train?" 

They both leap to their feet and rush to climb a nearby snowdrift, scrambling to peer at the horizon. A plume of smoke hangs heavy over the prairie, and they can hear the shouts of men, working to clear the tracks ahead of the engine.

"I gotta go tell Pa," Rose says, turning away. "Oh dear. Goodness gracious. Would you mind Shara, please?"

She hurries out of the schoolyard, walking as quickly as she can over the slush and ice, wringing her hands. The excitement in the schoolyard is growing, and Mr. Bridger steps out of the schoolhouse to investigate the commotion. Rey makes her way over to him.

"The train has come!" 

He grins. "At last! May as well let out for the day, not like these hooligans will pay much attention anyhow." He rolls his eyes conspiratorially at her. "We could go over your grammar lesson if you like."

"Oh! Thank you, but I'd better find Be– Mr. Solo. He's around town somewhere."

Mr. Bridger nods. "Tomorrow morning, then?"

Rey nods back, smiling while she turns to go. "Yes, thank you! I'll see you then!" 

She finds Shara and they gather their things, and Rose's, from the schoolhouse and follow the rest of the students down 4th avenue into town. Where would Ben be? Surely the General Store could only occupy him for so long. He mentioned going to the saloon once, perhaps there?

She leads Shara along to the side street that leads to the saloon.

"Well, well." Rey jumps, turning to see a figure emerge from the shadows next to a barn. "If it ain't Solo's little slut."

It's Armitage Hux. He leers at them, stepping closer in the road. Rey tries to subtly angle herself in front of Shara. 

"Hello, Mr. Hux," she says, glancing around; they're quite alone. She tries to shake him off quickly. "The train's come, so we're just going to get–"

"And Dameron's little girl, too," he says, as if he hasn't heard her at all, peering around her at Shara and stepping closer still. Rey falters back. "Where's your sister, girlie? She's such a pretty little chinadoll. What I wouldn't give to–"

There's a flutter of movement out of the corner of Rey's eye, and she raises her hand reflexively, her voice coming out desperate and shrill.

"Hello! Train's come!"

It's Ben. He sees Hux and charges toward him like a bull.

"Get the fuck away from her, Hux," he spits. He pushes Rey behind him. Hux just smiles, stepping back into the shadows of the barn. 

"No harm intended, Solo." His hands are raised. "She spoke to me."

Rey shakes her head angrily at Hux from behind Ben, beyond speech. His eyes glitter back at her, smug and dangerous.

"Get outta here," Ben says, sweeping his huge hand in front of him. "Before I call the sheriff."

At this Hux gives an outright guffaw, but he waggles his fingers at them while he retreats down the street. "See you later, girls."

Ben turns to face them.

"Rey," he says through gritted teeth. "What're you doin' down here?"

"School's let out, the train's come," she says in a high-pitched voice. "Rose went to go tell the Pastor."

Ben nods stiffly, grabbing her hand and starting to pull her back toward the depot; Rey catches Shara with her other hand and tugs her along. 

The depot is milling with people, all talking excitedly while the train puffs its way slowly up to the station. Rey pulls Shara in close, on edge after their encounter with Hux. 

"Ho!" She whips around to see Finn driving their team, Pastor Dameron standing next to him, clutching his hat to his head. They skid to a stop and the Pastor jumps out, clapping Ben on the shoulder.

"Solo, good, you're here. Thank the Lord that Rosie came to tell me. We've got to find a way to talk to the distributor– they can't possibly have enough to fill all the backlogged orders, and some folks have gone without meat for months–"

He bustles off through the crowd and Ben follows after. Rey and Shara are left with Finn.

"Hey, Rey," he grins at her. "Back at school?"

"Mm-hmm," she smiles. "Studying to take the college entrance exam."

He whistles. "Sounds real tough. That'll be you some day, eh Shara?" He scoops her up onto his back so she giggles madly. "C'mon, they'll probably be awhile."

They pile into the sleigh and he clicks at the horses so they trot off down the road.

"How have things been?" Rey asks him quietly. He shrugs, glancing at Shara in the back seat.

"Pretty sad," he says in a low voice. "Everyone's just… down. Hurts we can't bury her yet, you know, and Rose and Kaydel've been upset about the mourning clothes, think they're disrespecting her somehow."

"But the trains haven't–" Rey starts, but he waves her down.

"I know, I know. It's just hard not to be able to go through the motions, you know?"

"Yeah." Rey bites her lip. "How… how are you doing, though? And the Pastor?"

"Well, you know the Pastor's an emotional man..." He pauses, his expression distant and a little wry, before shaking his head. Rey wonders what he's thinking about. "As for me, I'm alright, just miss that little peanut a whole heck of a lot."

Rey smiles sadly at him, grasping his hand that isn't holding the reins. She thinks of him hanging back when the photographer was there, how his grief won't be documented. She can't think of how to ask him about it.

They pull into the Damerons' yard. Rey helps Shara out of the sleigh, gathering their things while Shara runs ahead to the door. Rose opens it.

"Oh! You've got my books, thank goodness." She takes them out of Rey's arms and they all sit in the kitchen with cups of tea. Finn comes in too, and Rose fusses over him immediately, giving him hot water and a rag to wash his face and hands, cutting him a large slice of cake to go with his tea. They all talk seriously of the train, and who the first provisions will go to, and when they can expect the next delivery.

Mrs. Dameron comes into the kitchen to investigate the hubbub, Temiri at her hip and Kes clinging to her apron.

"Train's come, Ma," Rose says, pouring her a cup of tea and passing her a slice of cake.

"That's a relief," Mrs. Dameron says, sitting at the table. "For all the hungry souls here. And we'll be able to get some crepe, at last."

Ben and Pastor Dameron skid into the yard in the late afternoon. Finn and Rey help them unload parcels and barrels into the barn.

"Delivered to a few families already," Pastor Dameron says, "but the rest'll have to wait for tomorrow. Wish there'd been more coal, but the train stopped at a half-dozen other towns before us, cleaned 'em out…"

Ben mentions getting back to do the milking, and he and Rey drive off into the setting sun. 

"What were you doin' in that part a' town?" he asks abruptly, turning the horses onto the slick track that leads to their homestead.

"What?" Rey's startled; in the excitement of the train and the afternoon with the Damerons she's quite forgotten her run-in with Hux. 

"Near the saloon. You ought not to go there, there's rough folk around, and–"

"I was looking for you," Rey interrupts him hotly. "To tell you the train'd come. And if it's so unseemly then why were you there?"

"It's not safe for you–"

"So where am I allowed to walk, then? It's not as if Armitage Hux is confined to that block of town–"

He harrumphs in frustration, staring ahead at the track.

"I know it ain't… fair," he says after a long pause. "I just– if anything happened to you– I'd die, Rey." 

He looks at her so beseechingly that she can't help but relent, laying her head on his shoulder. He throws his arm around her, pulling her closer.

"He's a horrible man," she mutters. "The things he was saying about Rose–"

"I know. Almost reminds me of–" He stiffens, then shakes his head. "Nah, can't possibly be."

Rey looks at him questioningly, but he just shakes his head again. They can hear the creek rushing beneath them as they glide over the ice still crusting the surface, like an ominous harbinger of Spring.

 

The funeral is held on a Saturday. Rey walks solemnly beside Ben in her dark gray dress, following the Damerons and the other mourners and the wagon carrying Zorii's coffin. Rose and Mrs. Dameron are in black crepe, heavily veiled; Shara is in white. 

Zorii's headstone is a sturdy white marble, decorated at the top with a dove. The epitaph is set in delicate script:

Our darling one has gone before,
To greet us on the golden shore.

Rey feels a lump rise in her throat as they gather around the open grave. Two men prepare to lower Zorii's coffin; Mrs. Dameron reaches out just as they allow some slack on the ropes, caressing the wood, touching it one last time.  

Pastor Dameron is overcome, and so Mr. Snap leads them in the Psalm:

God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.

Rey's voice comes out wavering; it breaks on the words.

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy place where the Most High dwells
God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day.
Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall;
He lifts his voice, the earth melts.

Ben tugs her into his side and she buries her face in his starched suit jacket, uncaring who sees. 

The Lord Almighty is with us;
The God of Jacob is our fortress.

The air is still and quiet for a long moment, before it is broken by scattered birdsong.

One by one, they all take a handful of earth and let it fall downward into the grave.

Notes:

CW: Victorian mourning rituals including depiction of a corpse. Unprotected sex with a minor. Racialized sexual overtures from Hux (toward Rose).

The Victorians were very serious about mourning, and had a lot of rituals that were supposed to be followed in order to correctly honor the dead. I wasn't sure if Rose came off as shallow for worrying about clothing immediately after her sister died, but mourning clothing was a really central part of the process, and women in particular were supposed to be the outward face of grief for the family, so their physical embodiment of mourning was especially scrutinized. There were rules about how long you should be in full or half mourning depending on your relation to the deceased; the Damerons will be in full mourning for three months, which seems a little short but is theoretically correct for a five-year-old child and also fits my narrative purposes.

If you want to learn more, Caitlin Doughty has two excellent videos where she recreates a Victorian funeral and post-mortem photoshoot. I love Caitlin Doughty with all my heart, and she has a bunch of videos (and three books!) about contemporary death care and the history and cultural contexts of different funeral practices. General content warning for death for her channel; it's literally called "Ask a Mortician."

Incorporating hair into jewelry was a big fashion at the time; often it was simply locks of hair under glass, but people also wove hair into very intricate designs, and since Rose is quite the fiber artist I thought she'd be into this. This was the inspiration for Zorii's gravestone.

Victorian women did breastfeed in public and in fact it was a fad for a while to be photographed while breastfeeding.

The 1880's were the pinnacle of curly bangs and you'd better believe Rey and Rose had a bang cutting sesh while they waited out the doldrums of winter. Mr. Syndulla's whiskers can be found here (middle panel).

My readers: No more sheath! 😡
Rey: No more sheath! 😡
Before y'all get too excited, please keep in mind that the pull-out method is more than 75% effective, so that pregnancy tag might take some tiiiiime. 😏 Please use a better method of birth control irl.

Very sorry to release such a sad chapter the day after Chadwick Boseman passed. Please take care of yourselves and spread love however you can ❤️

Find me on Twitter at @entropyyy23

Chapter 18

Notes:

I don't know if I fully managed to tag everything about this chapter, so if you're concerned about any of the latest three tags maybe go read the content warnings in the end notes.

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The thaw brings trains several times a week but it also brings mud, and a creek so swollen that fording it becomes a twice-daily hazard. The sleigh is retired for the season and the wagon rolled out, but it's heavy and not suited to the soft ground. Rey is late to school when it sinks in  half-way up the wheels out on the prairie, and they have to dig it out. She arrives at nearly lunchtime, her hem six inches deep in mud.

Ben considers the wagon the next morning, and the horses, and hoists Rey onto Star so she's seated side-saddle in front of him. It's an uncomfortable experience, wedged in against his saddle horn and so precariously seated that the only thing keeping her on the horse is Ben's grip around her waist. Ben mutters to himself after he helps her off at the schoolhouse, and when he returns in the afternoon he's leading Killer behind him too, a new saddle seated on his back.

"They didn't carry any ladies' side-saddles," he says apologetically, "so you'll have to be a bit… uncouth."

Rey can't help the grin that dashes across her face at the word, her eyes flashing up to catch his. 

He helps her up, tucking her feet into the stirrups, and shows her the reins. They walk slowly out of town.

"Prairie's not a bad place to learn to ride," he says. "No major obstacles. But it's deceptive– gopher holes n' soft ground. Gotta keep your wits."

They pass a rather wonderful afternoon, dawdling on the way back so Rey can practice turning, and, after Ben gives her a lot of nervous instruction, a bit of galloping.

She loves it. It feels like being free, the wind in her hair and the ground moving so quickly beneath her feet. Killer is a gentle horse, despite his name, and he responds easily to her suggestions. Ben relaxes a bit after a while and they race each other along the track home before stopping near the creek, Rey breathless with laughter. He grins at her, leaning over to capture her lips.

It's just as well that Rey learns to ride, for planting season is upon them, and Ben finds it more and more difficult to accompany her to and from school. She feels guilty leaving him, with only one horse and all the plowing and seeding, but he waves her off and when she returns one day there's a new team of mules in the barn.

"Shoulda bought 'em a year ago, 'course then we woulda had to feed 'em this winter. But it's time to make this a real farm. Get started on that orchard, and a house…"

Rey declares them the prettiest mules she's ever seen, and names them Polixenes and Florizel; Ben shakes his head at her as he walks out of the barn.

On the weekend Rey helps him transplant the peach tree saplings he procured from old lady Maz. She spends hours in the kitchen garden after school each day, and is proud of the little seedlings that sprout from the dirt. When the wheat and the potatoes are planted, Ben starts pacing out a large square to one side of the yard and one Sunday a handful of men come back with them after church service to help dig a foundation.

Rey's studies are progressing nicely, and she's more and more confident that the entrance exam will go well. She feels bad for continuing to take up Mr. Bridger's time in the mornings, but he's rather insistent, and mostly they talk about different college classes they'd like to take, and how life in Lincoln might be.

"There's a women's boarding house," he assures her one morning. "Not too expensive, and very respectable. They'll even provide a chaperone if, you know, you have a beau or anything…"

He trails off, his ears red.

Rey's distracted by the thought of leaving Red Cloud, of living somewhere else, possibly for a long time. Is she to leave Ben, and the orchard, and the new house? Live on her own again, after all this time searching for a family? 

She's a bit glum while she works the final exercises Mr. Bridger sets for her before the school day starts, and barely notices when he pats her on the back, rubbing her shoulders a bit more familiarly than perhaps he ought.

Rose cuts an impressive figure in the school room, still dressed in her mourning garb. The fabric smells strongly of the chemicals used to dye it, and raises small red bumps on Rose's arms. It is as fashionable as Rey has seen any woman wear in Red Cloud, with a slim skirt and Pannier drapes at the hips. Rose, of course, had sewed it herself, aided by fashion plates from Paris in the ladies' magazines that had come in with the trains.

"I only wish I had a sewing machine," she whispers to Rey during their lessons. "It would be so much faster than doing everything by hand."

Mr. Bridger looks up at their whispers, but only catches Rey's eye with a half smile on his face and turns back to the second grade class at the blackboard. 

"He's sweet on you," Rose tells her later, during lunch. Rey coughs a bit on her cornish pasty in response, but Rose plows on, giving her a coy look. "So many hours spent alone in the school room, must be so romantic…"

Rey coughs some more. "I– I don't see him like– I'm just– It's not romantic –"

Rose smiles in an annoyingly smug way. "Methinks thou doth protest too much."

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," Rey automatically corrects her. Rose rolls her eyes. "And I'm not , he's only helping me because–"

"Would he be so bad, though?" Rose asks her. "For a beau? You'll both be going off to Lincoln, taking loads of boring classes, you'll need something to keep you entertained…"

Rey just shakes her head.

She supposes from Rose's perspective Mr. Bridger wouldn't be so bad. He's not ugly, really, just a bit gangly, boyish. In another life, perhaps, it would have made sense, if she'd gone to live with the Damerons instead, maybe… but, even then, Rey can't imagine loving anyone but Ben…

Rose drags Rey and Shara along to the General Store after school, to ogle the new shipments of fabric that came on the last train. Rose sighs as she drags her fingertips over the tight weaves. 

"It's so pretty," she says longingly. "I've been remaking my dresses to fit the current styles, but it's hard without additional fabric, you know?"

Rey does not, in fact, know, but she nods along anyway. "There's still some old dresses Ben has in his chest of drawers. I think he'd let me re-make them, and I'll need a traveling suit for when I go to Lincoln…"

"Oh really, Rey?" Rose's face lights up. "I'll make you the perfect suit, don't worry. You'll be the smartest looking girl taking that test. No– in all of Lincoln!"

Ben helps her look through his mother's dresses that night and they pick out a few for approval by Rose's more discerning eye.

"I remember her wearing this one," he says, pulling a white skirt and jacket with black braided trim out of the drawer. "We went to the seaside. She had a matching parasol."

"I don't have to take that one," Rey says hurriedly.

"No, you should," Ben says, holding it up to her frame. "It's a good traveling fabric, light and sturdy. And it'll suit you."

Rey wraps the dresses carefully in paper and packs them into two saddle bags, so that she might take them to school with her in the morning; the next day is Friday and Rose has invited her over after they let out for the day so they might examine the dresses and determine possible suit styles.

Rey looks at the packed bags for a long moment. "Ben," Rey starts.

"Hmm?" He's whittling slender poles for the new house, though Rey can't quite envision where they'll go. 

"What–" She pauses. What will we do in the fall, when I'm gone to Lincoln? How will you manage here, by yourself? How will I manage, without you?

He looks up at her, eyebrows raised in question.

"What do you think about giving Rose a dress, too? Only she'll do all the work on my suit, and I know she'd love the new fabric…"

"'Course you should," he says, returning to his whittling. 

Rey bites her lip a bit and turns to clear the dishes from supper.

She arrives at school before Mr. Bridger the next day, and sits with Killer in the yard, stroking his face and feeding him oats from her hand. At around quarter past the hour Mr. Bridger hurries into the yard, unlatching the school door. She follows in after him; he seems a bit flustered.

"Oh! Rey, there you are." He brushes his hair out of his face and toys with the thin mustache above his lip. Rey smiles at him, getting her books out of her bag. He nervously toys with something behind his desk before thrusting a little knot of wildflowers at her. "I– ah, anyway, these are for you. I'll lose my nerve if I don't do it now. I mean, I'll do it properly of course, and ask– I mean, I know you have an– unusual – situation, but surely Mr. Solo is the correct person to– I'll pay a call to you, at your homestead, even leave my greeting card! Here it is, I got them printed fresh, Mr. Dume's expanding, you see, photography and local printing needs, it's right clever of him, in my opinion. But anyway, there you go." 

Rey blinks at him, accepting the flowers and card he presses into her hand. 

"Mr. Bridger, I'm not sure I understand–"

"Call me Ezra," he says, taking a breath. "I know, I'm botching this entirely. What I mean to say is, I'd like to court you, Rey."

Rey stares at him, mind racing. Drat, she should've listened to Rose earlier, even if she hadn't seen it as romantic, clearly he had.

"Mr. Bridger–"

"Ezra."

"I'm sorry, I don't know what to say. I– I'm not looking for a beau, you see, I'm just trying to focus on the exam–"

"You'll do just fine on that exam, Rey," he says, waving his hand dismissively. "We can wait until you've taken it, though, if that's what you wish. We'll still have summer, and in the fall– oh! There's so much to do in Lincoln! They have a soda fountain, and a promenade. Interesting lectures, you'll see–"

"Mr. Bridger, I'm sorry, but I have to say no. I'm just not–"

"I know Mr. Solo is strict about your activities, but I'm sure he can be reasoned with. Pastor Dameron would vouch for me, and I know he has influence with–"

"Mr. Solo has nothing to do with this!" Rey says hotly, knowing as she says it that she's telling perhaps the biggest fib of her life. "I simply don't wish to be courted by you!"

Mr. Bridger stares at her for a long moment, before he makes an angry noise in his throat and pulls out his chair, the legs screeching against the floor, to throw himself into a sitting position. 

"Well you might have indicated as such a bit earlier," he says, eyes flashing. He ruffles his papers from his bag and pulls out his pen and ink. "Leading me on. And you know how many hours I've spent helping you?"

"I– what? Is that the only reason you–?"

"Well I certainly won't be coming in this early any longer," he says coldly. "I could have been doing far more important things, Rey." He turns to his papers, dipping his pen in the ink.

Rey swallows, a lump forming in her throat. She collects her books and her bag and makes her way to her seat in the back of the room quietly. She keeps her head down, pretending to read a textbook until the rest of the students file in. 

Is this what Mr. Bridger has thought of her the whole time? She believed him when he told her she was clever, that she would do well on the exam, but what if that had all been a lie? What if everything he'd ever said to her was just to encourage her interest in him?

Rey feels guilty, too. Had she led him on? She hadn't tried to, but she had at least been peripherally aware of his interest, and done nothing to discourage it. A little temptress, a tease. Solo's little slut , Hux's words whisper, and she shakes her head as if to clear away an irksome fly.

Rose only seems to notice how quiet Rey is on their way back to the Damerons' homestead. Rey leads Killer by the reins as they walk through town and down the track of wagon wheels through the new, green prairie grass. Shara skips ahead, pausing to collect wildflowers along the way. Rey wonders if Mr. Bridger did the same thing that morning, if that was why he was late to the schoolhouse.

"Got the morbs, Rey?" Along with fashionable clothing inspiration, Rose had also picked up a few phrases from the ladies' magazines. 

"I just…" Rey glances at Shara. "Mr. Bridger asked to court me."

"What! What did you say?"

"I said no!" 

" Rey ," Rose fixes her with a reproachful look. "Why ever not?"

"I– he's– because." For a wild moment Rey considers telling her about Ben. But that was surely insanity. How would Rose even react to such news? How will she react, Rey wonders. For she would have to be told eventually, right?

They walk up the lane to the homestead and Rose is soon distracted by the bundles Rey pulls from the saddle bags. Shara and Mrs. Dameron crowd around them in the kitchen, oohing and aahing at the pretty fabrics and trims. Rey is quick to tell Rose that Ben had said one of the dresses ought to be hers, and Rose is lost in indecisiveness, torn between a pale pink organza and a striped, blue taffeta. Rey tells her to keep them both to decide; she'd likely need a few days to complete the traveling suit anyway.

They all rifle through the latest ladies' magazines, and several times Rose has to scold Rey for stopping to read the stories printed in the pages, instead of looking at the fashion plates as she's supposed to be. In the end, Rey decides on a smart looking suit that seems rather like the original garment in composition, only modified in proportions and neckline. Rose starts ripping out seams.

Ben rides up in the early evening on Star. He nods along solemnly while Rey and Rose explain the suit design and Rose thanks him profusely for the gifted dress. It's the most Rey has ever heard Rose talk to Ben, and it gives her a bit of hope.

"Finn's off again, then?" he asks Mrs. Dameron over a supper of new greens, ham, and fried potatoes, plus a treat of tinned sardines.

Mrs. Dameron nods. "Rounding up the heads of cattle to the northwest. Poe's gone along to testify to the other cowboys, but he'll be back in a week."

"Can't imagine a lotta the cattle made it through that winter," Ben observes.

"Suppose we'll see," Mrs. Dameron replies. "Can't say I'd be too sad to see him give it all up, put some real roots down amongst respectable society."

"We're real roots, Ma," Rose pipes up. 

"I know we are, Rosie, but wouldn't you rather see him stay all the time?" 

"Yes," Rose's lips pull into a frown. "I hate it when he's gone." 

Rey and Ben ride off in the near-dark. It's still chilly and Rey shivers a bit in her saddle.

"How was school?" Ben asks. His face is a black silhouette against the dark blue-green of the sky.

"It was–" Rey pauses, not sure how to tell him about Mr. Bridger's overture, "–fine."

They go to bed and Ben falls asleep right away. He's been exhausted from his work on the house, on top of all the work to be done around a farm in spring. Rey, on the other hand, stares at the tar paper ceiling for what must be hours, mind racing.

 

On Sunday, Rey's torn between continuing to ride in early to school and telling Ben about the precipitating event that made it no longer necessary. In the end she decides a small fib won't hurt, and tells him that Mr. Bridger had decided she was ready for the exam and didn't need any additional morning lessons. This at least frees her to do more chores in the mornings, feeding the chickens and staking the cows, making breakfast and a cold lunch for herself and Ben. 

She had written to the college in Lincoln to inquire about sitting the test, and gets a response on Tuesday for a date three weeks hence. They make no mention of the 8th grade final examination certificate, but Rey spins into more anxiety. Would Mr. Bridger grade her fairly, after everything? 

He's cold to her in class over the next week, and even though Rey makes a point of doing her lessons diligently and hardly speaks to Rose at all, he often calls her out with a grating "Miss Sands" in front of everyone, so her face burns and she mumbles her lessons, though she knows them by heart.

Thursday afternoon, having completed her composition and geography lessons, Rey turns to her Latin notes. Despite his exhaustion, Ben had written out different phrases for her to copy and learn. They're all bloodthirsty and exciting, things like Si gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc and Aut viam inveniam aut faciam . Rey is just writing out Lupus non timet canem latrantem when she looks up to see Mr. Bridger hovering next to her, reading her notebook over her shoulder.

"That's not your lesson, Miss Sands," he says loudly. She blushes and fumbles with her notebook to show him her completed lessons, but he just shakes his head. "Bend over your desk."

"Wh– what?" Mr. Bridger occasionally whacks the hands or thighs of the younger students who are rowdy in class, but he usually exhibits restraint, choosing to reprimand with stern words instead of strikes of the ruler. But he walks down the aisle and pulls this from his desk now.

"You heard me. Bend over your desk."

Rey catches Rose's expression as she slowly stands from her seat; it's wide-eyed and disbelieving. Rey is similarly in a state of shock; she leans forward to rest her forearms on her desk.

The first strike of the ruler lands on her behind. Rey is silent. She's been hit far harder than this in the past, and she has two layers of skirts on, along with her combinations. She can feel the eyes of the others on her, though, the star student, reduced to being paddled in class; the humiliation is worse than anything.

The second strike hits a bit harder, and Rey wonders if Mr. Bridger wants a reaction from her, if that's the point of all this. She's hurt him and so he wishes to hurt her. The third strike comes quickly in the same spot.

The fourth and fifth strikes are a bit lower, on her upper thighs, almost like he's aiming for her cunt. Rey stares stonily ahead, only jumping when she feels his hand against her skirt, like he's trying to soothe the sting. He's breathing hard.

"I– I hope you've learned your lesson, Miss Sands." He removes his hand and goes back to the front. Rey sits back in her seat, wincing a bit at her sore skin pressing into the hard wood of the desk. She gazes at Mr. Bridger's back and when he looks up at her she holds his eye, a hardened expression on her face. He looks a bit shaken, like he too can't quite believe what he's just done, and breaks their eye contact first, looking down to shuffle papers on his desk. 

Rey defiantly opens her composition book to her Latin notes, and finishes copying the last phrase.

Lupus non timet canem latrantem.

 

She doesn't tell Ben. There's nothing good that could come of it , she reasons, he doesn't need to know. They work in the garden until sunset, and then Ben whittles some more while Rey does some cleaning around the shanty, and both are so exhausted by bedtime that Rey only has to hide her backside while dressing and then they fall straight to sleep. 

Ben's up to do the milking before she wakes. Rey yawns, thinking about what to make for breakfast while she pulls her nightgown over her head. The shanty door swings open and Ben's back with a jug of milk; the spring breeze washes around her nether regions and she briefly enjoys it before her eyes widen and she jumps around to hide her derriere from his sight. 

"Where did you get those ?"

"What?" Rey decides in the moment to go for bewildered surprise, twisting as if to look at her own backside. " Oh . Huh, I must've fallen."

"Rey." Ben's expression is skeptical. "You have three– four – bruises in the shape of– well, I daresay that looks a hell of a lot like a ruler. Did you get switched at school?"

"I– well–" she can't think how to keep up the deception, "yes, I did."

"Ezra Bridger did this to you? That sniveling little– I thought he was helpin' you, with studying and whatnot?"

"He was ," Rey says miserably. "But– Ben, he asked to court me and I turned him down, and now–"

" That's why he beat you?" Ben stands stock still, as if struck with outrage, before he grabs his hat and his deerskin jacket and shoulders through the shanty door. 

"Ben!" Rey makes to hurry after him before remembering that she's naked; she dresses as fast as she can but by the time she makes it outside he's already across the creek on Star.

"Goddamn," she mutters to herself, saddling Killer and swinging herself up on his back. She urges him into a gallop, but there's no way they'll catch Ben; he's had too much of a head start. 

She's not sure what he'll do when he finds Mr. Bridger; dreadful images whirl in her head of Ben punching him bloody, or perhaps there'd be a gun drawn, and then there'd be a shootout, and Ben would be an outlaw again, and they'd have to run from the sheriff with their stolen treasure–

Perhaps she's read too many of the lurid tales printed in the ladies' mags.

There aren't any horses tied up at the schoolhouse, and really it's too early for Mr. Bridger to be there yet anyway. Where did Ben go? Rey pulls Killer around to trot down Main Street, until a spark of memory reminds her of Mr. Dume's barn, attached to his photography studio– and now apparently his printing shop– and presumably his home. 

She rides up Third Avenue to find Ben in front of their door, gesticulating wildly and not bothering to keep his voice down, despite the earliness of the hour.

"–think your guardian oughta hear of this, actually . How you treat a young lady after she rejects you says a great deal about your character, I imagine– "

Rey ties Killer up to the hitching post across the street and hurries toward them. Mr. Bridger is standing just inside the doorway, looking deeply uncomfortable, and Mr. Dume stands behind him, his arms crossed, looking stern. 

"–and don't think I won't be writin' to the superintendent about your conduct toward students. I built that school, son–"

"Ben!" She catches hold of his forearm and tries to drag him away. Mr. Bridger avoids her gaze until Mr. Dume nudges him.

"I think you owe Miss Sands here an apology."

Mr. Bridger glances up at her, his face burning red. "I– I apologize, Miss Sands."

"You are forgiven, Mr. Bridger," she replies curtly. "Ben, c'mon ." She succeeds in pulling him away from the house, though he glowers back at them until the door clicks shut.

Star is wandering freely a little ways up the street– he didn't even hitch him – but Rey retrieves him and they both swing up onto their respective horses. Ben is working his jaw furiously, but largely calms down by the time they get halfway home.

"Do you want to go back to school?" he asks her stiffly. 

"No, I don't suppose so," she says. "I'm only worried about the 8th grade certificate; Mr. Bridger's supposed to administer that exam, and I don't know how he'll grade it now that– well, that all of this has happened."

"That's a state test, ain't it?" Ben furrows his brow. "Seems you could take it in Lincoln, when you go to take the college exam. Oughta be some school master willing to add an extra student. I can inquire when I write the superintendent."

"You're really going to do that?"

"Of course!" He looks affronted. "He can't get away with this."

"All teachers punish their students," she says flatly. "That's how the world works. Nuns punish orphans. Teachers punish students. Fathers punish daughters."

"I haven't punished you," he says.

"No," she says carefully. "You haven't."

He studies her from his saddle. They're at a slow trot, the sun still low so the sky is a riot of pink and orange above the green grass.

"Do you want–?"

Rey thinks of the times he's slapped a wide hand across her buttocks; she feels an uncomfortable tightness in her cunt, and tries to grind subtly into the leather horn of her saddle.

"You ought to do as you see fit, Papa," she says simply, and nudges Killer forward into a canter.

 

Ben does indeed write to the superintendent, and while Rey doesn't see the final text Ben angrily mutters enough of it while writing that she gets the general gist. He receives an answer after about a week; a schoolmarm in Lincoln is willing to let Rey sit the exam while she's in town. After a few conversations after church on Sunday he also secures Mrs. Syndulla, who means to visit her cousin in the city, as a chaperone for her trip. Rose finishes the traveling suit, and forces Rey to wear it to church so all can admire the fine handiwork. It is handsome indeed, and makes Rey feel very elegant and grown up. 

And just like that, everything is in order and Rey is left only to think about the exams. 

A week out she wakes from a terrible dream in which all the questions are about the stars and the time it would take to zip between them in little metal ships that hover suspended in space. She answers wrong, and then Ben is there, with a giant, flaming sword and–

He rolls over to find her sweating and wide-eyed.

"What if I forget everything?"

"Mm, you won't," he mumbles, pinning her under his arm and kissing her head. "You're so clever, Rey. My pretty, clever girl."

But her anxiety spikes higher and higher. She neglects her chores to read through her notes again and again, re-working all the mathematics problems and drawing maps of Europe in flour on the table. Ben doesn't say anything, but Rey feels additionally guilty when she sees him tidy up the shanty in addition to all his work on the house.

A few days before she's set to leave the dishes have piled up dreadfully. Ben glances at them when he comes into the shanty in the afternoon. Rey is in the rocking chair, re-reading her history book for what feels like must be the hundredth time.

"Rey," he says quietly.

"Hmm?" She turns another page in her book.

"Rey, put the book down." She looks up at him, and then he's pulling it out of her hands, placing it on a high shelf.

"Ben–!"

"No, I've just about had enough. You'll wash these dishes. Now, Rey."

She frowns at him, but sets to filling the tub and scrubbing each dish clean with soap and a rag. It's surprisingly refreshing, like she can breathe again after hours underwater. 

He watches her carefully, and when she's done he tells her to sweep the floor and remake the bed. 

"Can I have my book back, now?" she asks him when she's finished. He looks up from his whittling in the corner.

"Hmm, no, I don't think so," he says, brushing wood shavings off his thighs. She bites her lip to keep from telling him she just swept that floor. "Come lay over Papa's lap, sweetheart."

"What?"

"You heard me." His voice has a dangerous edge to it.

She glares at him but makes her way to the rocking chair. Yes, she told him he might punish her, but really this isn't the time–

He catches hold of her and she yelps when she's suddenly flipped over his lap. He pushes her skirts up so they hang over her head, and then he's smoothing his hand through the gash in her combinations, parting it so her whole bottom is on display. 

"Those bruises healed up fine," he says, stroking the skin of her buttocks. "Think you need a reminder, sweetheart, 'bout bein' a good daughter, a good girl for Papa. Don't you think?"

"Just get on with it," Rey grits out. Ben's hand comes down without warning in a loud smack and Rey yelps.

"That one's for bein' mouthy," he tells her, smoothing away the sting. "But I think you'll need a few more, for– for leavin' the dishes and such. Go on and say you'll be a good girl from now on."

"Fine," Rey says through her teeth. "I'll be a– ahhh!" His hand comes down again and Rey jerks in his lap. She can feel his manhood stiffening against her belly. "I'll be a good gir– hngh ." He smacks her other ass cheek, soothing it after with his palm. Her bottom feels warm and tingly. She wriggles in his lap, rubbing against him.

"Another one," Ben says quietly, "for bein' such a little tease." He smacks her so it catches between her cheeks and Rey gasps. "Awful wet down here, sweetheart. This is supposed to be a punishment." He smacks her again, three times in quick succession, his palm over the globes of her behind and his fingers catching her between her legs. Rey's panting now.

"Papa," she whines, and then just as suddenly as he pulled her over her lap he rights her so she wobbles on her feet in front of him. His hands go to the front of her dress, undoing buttons, and then he's pulling it off her, along with her petticoat; she'd neglected to put on her corset that morning. 

He pulls her into his lap, gathering her wrists in one hand, and forces her legs wide, combinations fully gaping, holding her open with his knees.

"Think I oughta punish that little cunt, too," he growls in her ear. His open palm smacks against her spread lips and Rey shrieks. She can feel her clitoris throb, and as soon as the sting fades she wants it again. Ben obliges, raining blows against her center so she's writhing in his grip, her cries growing louder with every strike. With Mr. Bridger she'd kept silent, but she wants Ben to hear what he's doing to her, how deeply she is affected by him.

"I think–" Ben's breathing hard too now. "I think Papa's cock might be a good punishment, hmm, sweetheart?" 

She struggles against him, pulling at the hand restraining her wrists, like nothing could be worse. Ben just barks a laugh and holds her down, fumbling with his pants to release his manhood. He pulls her onto it roughly and Rey gives a loud whimper as it splits her heated flesh.

"Be a good girl, sweetheart," he croons in her ear. "Be a good girl and take Papa's cock."

He smacks at her clitoris again, a bit more gently this time, and thrusts up hard into her heat. Something seems to occur to him, and he yanks open the top buttons of her combinations, baring her breasts, and smacks a rather wet hand over one nipple, and then the other.

"Gotta punish your tits," he mumbles, doing it again. Rey is fully sobbing now, and she feels her crisis approaching, her legs seizing more with each thrust he gives her, each strike of his hand, and just when she's about to crest–

Ben lifts her off his lap and deposits her into a heap on the floor. Rey looks up at him, tearstained and bereft, ready to beg him to put her back on his cock.

"Don't think it'd be an effective punishment if you got to your climax, would it, sweetheart?" He looks down at her, widening his stance. "Best clean up Papa's cock."

She lets out another small sob, crawling toward him to start licking his shaft. He's positively soaked in her juices and she spends a lot of time at the base, sucking away the tangy taste.

"Get the head, now," he says softly, cupping her skull in his hand. She purses her lips and pulls him into her mouth. He thrusts up and holds her to him so his cock head rests just at the back of her tongue, her throat closing desperately around him. He groans, thrusting again, and again, and when she chokes on his thick shaft he releases his spend down her throat.

Ben pets her hair while she rests her head on his thigh, trying to catch her breath.

"You alright, sweetheart?" he asks her, and she nods. It felt good, to lose a bit of control, to let herself cry. She feels wrung out, limp instead of anxious.

"Yes, Papa," she says, her voice hoarse.

"Well, good, 'cause I ain't done with you." He lifts her to her feet, and she's startled. What else could he possibly do to her?

He settles himself back on the bed, pulling her up his body until she's nearly straddling his face.

"I don't got a lotta experience as a father," he tells her, nuzzling her thighs. "But personally speaking, I think reward's gotta be just as important as punishment."

He seals his mouth over her cunt.

Notes:

CW: Mr. Bridger asks to court Rey and she rejects him; he later paddles her (with a ruler) in front of the class. Ben goes full PTA mom. Rey indicates she might like being punished, and later they engage in explicitly pseudoincest roleplay with lots of spanking (ass, pussy, tits), orgasm denial, and also aftercare. Rey is a horse girl now.

Is the aftercare for orgasm denial an orgasm? Ben thinks so.

First, some housekeeping. I had a minor crisis with my Twitter account so it's slightly different now, you can find me at @entropyyy23 and you can read more about my stupidity. I'll also be posting way too many pics of my new kittens!

Thank you so much to @Kupo_solidago for this wonderful fanart of an older Rey waiting for her carrot. Also appreciated was the extensive research she put into Victorian underthings and the many wonderful photos she found of irl kinky Victorians getting spanked.

Riding sidesaddle was the norm for women at this time, but it wasn't universal. Rey and Ben's new mules are named after characters in A Winter's Tale, which loosely correspond to R2-D2 and C-3PO's roles in the narrative structure of A New Hope.

We're in the later Natural Form Era for women's dress in 1881, which is so named because it better approximates women's actual figures, in contrast to the bustle eras on either end. Leia's white seaside dress is here, and both the pink organza and blue taffeta are here. I did a lot of googling of "Civil War Dresses" for this, and often came across Little Women (2019) costumes, so if you're gonna do that, please watch this video about why those costumes were terrible and did not deserve an Oscar.

Latin translations:
Si gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc - We gladly feast on those who would subdue us
Aut viam inveniam aut faciam - I will either find a way or make one
Lupus non timet canem latrantem - A wolf is not afraid of a barking dog

Hope everyone's doing ok, love you all!

Chapter 19

Notes:

There is an attempted sexual assault against a main character. Additional content warnings in the end notes.

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The train ride to Lincoln is only a half-day's journey. Rey sits as primly as she can in the train car, her traveling suit freshly pressed and starched. It's a fine car, richly upholstered, the velvet on the seats still new and unfaded. Mrs. Syndulla sits across from her, knitting a complicated lace piece with needles as thin as those Rey had used to embroider her handkerchiefs. Rey tries to read to occupy the time, but she quickly becomes motion-sick from the swaying of the train and desists, opting instead to gaze out the window at the prairie passing by.

How different this journey is than the one that brought her to Red Cloud, in a car with bare wooden seats and the piercing wails of the younger children punctuating every mile, the older boys roughhousing in the aisles and over the backs of seats. How hungry she'd been all the time, so constant it was hardly worth thinking about. And, of course, how she felt growing despair as child after child left the train for the little towns dotting the prairie and she alone remained.

You looked so lost, Ben had told her once, but there was something defiant about you still, I could see it in your eyes. A little fighter.

Perhaps this was what the other families had seen in her too, what kept them from offering her a place in their homes.

How lucky for Rey they hadn't.

They roll into Lincoln in the early afternoon, belching steam. Mrs. Syndulla's cousin is waiting for them on the platform, waving her handkerchief frantically.

"Hera!"

Mrs. Syndulla waves back, somewhat more stiffly. Rey hoists her new carpet bag and follows her out onto the platform.

Mrs. Syndulla's cousin beams at them, holding her hand out to Rey. "You must be Reyna. I'm Boshti."

Rey smiles shyly back at her, taking her hand. She's a pretty woman, younger than Mrs. Syndulla, though Rey reflects that Mrs. Syndulla can't be so old.

"Let's get you two settled then, and I'll show you around a bit!" She handily lifts the carpet bag out of Rey's hands and deposits it in the back of a smart little buggy, stepping up to seat herself behind the reins. "Lovely spring evening, what a wonderful week for you to come and see Lincoln! Of course, poor Miss Reyna will be chained to her desk, taking those dreadful tests! But no matter, we'll make it a pleasant visit, just you wait…"

They drive down a wide avenue away from the train depot; Boshti points out different landmarks along their route. It's certainly smaller than New York, but Rey can understand why Mr. Bridger is so taken with the city; it's clearly been designed with growth in mind, with its carefully laid streets and stout, brick buildings. Red Cloud looks ready to be swallowed up by the prairie in comparison.

"How's dear old Cham?" Boshti asks Mrs. Syndulla.

"As well as can be expected," she replies. "He's getting up in the years, and this winter was a bit hard on him."

"Goodness gracious, wasn't it hard on us all!" Boshti exclaims. "Well I hope the old bat pulls through, he was always so kind to me. And how is our dear cousin?" She has a sly look to her as she says it.

"My husband is well," Mrs. Syndulla says stiffly; she's clearly unwilling to humor Boshti's teasing on the matter.

Boshti shoots Rey a conspiratorial smirk, and Rey returns a bewildered smile. Mrs. Syndulla is a stern woman, not unkind but certainly not someone Rey would like to cross. Seeing her own kin tease her is quite something; she'll have to remember to tell Rose.

They pull up to a large, red brick building; Boshti drives the buggy into a small barn to the side and unbridles her horse, leading it to a stable.

"I run a boarding house," Boshti explains to Rey, hoisting her bag out of the carriage and heaving it up the steps to the side entrance, her knees lifting her skirts somewhat scandalously high. Rey hurries along behind her and Mrs. Syndulla brings up the rear. "Students, mostly, and the odd businessman, got a few new girls…"

A colored man opens the door, greeting them with a smile.

"Hello, Hado," Boshti grins softly at him. "This is my cousin, Hera, and this is Reyna."

"Nice to meet you, Miss," he says in a deep voice, extending his hand for Rey to shake.

She and Mrs. Syndulla are in separate rooms, which surprises Rey somewhat; she can't remember ever having a bed to herself, let alone an entire room. It's cramped and pretty, little lace doilies and knickknacks on the little wooden side tables, and gas lamps with glass shades. The single bed has a wrought-iron frame. It's spread with a beautiful quilt and topped with pillows in pillow cases trimmed in lace.

It's a real bed in a real room in a real house and Rey almost aches for the want of it. Soon, she thinks to herself. The foundation is dug for the new house, and the framing for the first floor was up by the time she left on the train, waving at Ben through the window while he tipped his hat solemnly back at her.

She resecures her hair in its coiled updo, carefully rearranging the curls at her forehead, and mops her face and neck with the cool water in the china pitcher. She examines herself in the long mirror in the corner next to the bed; the traveling suit has indeed held up to the ride on the train. Rey smooths nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt and exits the little room, shutting the door behind her.

Boshti– Rey still doesn't know her last name– shows them around the downtown area of Lincoln by foot. They pass a bank, a huge, squat structure built of huge squares of marble, and Rey is impressed in spite of herself. They pick up all manner of foodstuffs at an open-air market, Boshti chatting with the various merchants.

"The University is that direction, about a half-mile," she tells Rey, pointing while hoisting her basket of vegetables on her hip. "I expect you'll get to poke around a bit when you go tomorrow."

Rey nods at her, trying to smile pleasantly.

"Is it– do you think it's nice?"

"The University?" Boshti cocks her head, as if considering. "It's alright, I suppose. Keeps me in business, with all the students. Makes for a lively city, for certain. Lincoln's not just a little town on the plains, no sir…"

They set to making supper for the boarders when they return. Boshti tries to shout them down, but Mrs. Syndulla gets a rather fierce expression on her face and Rey isn't surprised when Boshti relents. Rey finds herself next to Hado; he scrubs potatoes with a rough brush while she peels them as quick as she can.

"So have you– have you worked here long?" Rey tries asking. Drat her awkward nature.

"No ma'am," he replies, handing her a spud. "Only came up to Lincoln last spring. Woulda stayed as far south as Kansas can get if I'd known what sort of winter we was fixin' for." There's a note of wry humor in his voice.

"You're from Kansas?"

He shakes his head. "Just stopped through, on my way up from Louisiana. New Orleans."

"Oh!" Rey says. "New Orleans always sounds so wonderful in the papers– such an interesting French influence, don't you think?"

"Oui, mademoiselle." He grins at her while he hands her the next potato. "It is a marvel to behold."

"I saw a photograph of a steamboat in the papers– so clever, that giant wheel! Don't you miss it?"

"Well, yes," he says, pausing in his scrubbing. "Love that city, served as state representative for the 7th ward, you know."

"Really?" Rey is intrigued; she's read about politicians in the papers, of course, but she's never met one in real life.

"Yes, ma'am," he nods importantly. "I'm a firm Republican myself, as you can imagine." Rey nods back. "It's important to have a say in the laws that govern you. God Almighty, it's the most important thing."

Rey considers this. Ben had voted for Weaver back in the fall, the town sending their votes on the last train back East. She supposes she would have voted the same, if she could have. That's the idea, isn't it? The man votes for the whole household?

"Why'd you come up here?" Rey wants to hear more about New Orleans. She imagines the air is warm and humid, like a jungle.

Hado looks a little uneasy. "When the soldiers left… well, it ain't so pleasant there now, you see."

Rey opens her mouth to ask what he means, but Boshti breezes over to them.

"Nearly done?" She scoops the peeled potatoes into a bowl. "I imagine you'll want to sleep early, Miss Reyna, but you'll have to at least wait up for some entertainment after supper. Mr. Djarin is quite the fiddler, and I'm rather light on my feet, if I do say so myself."

"Miss Anilee is a proficient dancer," Hado supplies, grinning down at her.

"And I could say the same of Mr. Gwin," Boshti curties deeply to him, adding a little flourish of her hand.

They set the potatoes to boiling and Rey helps Boshti to glaze a whole ham (a whole ham!) to be put in the oven.

The other boarders start to trickle into the dining room for supper. There's a dark haired man who introduces himself as Mr. Djarin, several younger men talking together who Rey suspects must be students at the college, and two girls about her age. She finds herself seated between Mr. Djarin and Mrs. Syndulla.

"–had all sorts stockpiled in the warehouses here, so it wasn't so bad, I imagine you folks suffered a great deal more–"

"The children did, mostly," Mrs. Syndulla replies with a soft sigh. "More than a few of the little ones didn't make it through…"

Rey concentrates on her ham, and the sauerkraut, and the potatoes, and recites her times tables in her head to block out the rest of the conversation.

As promised, they gather in the parlor after supper for fiddling and dancing. Rey can't stop smiling, clapping along while Boshti and Hado twirl over the handsome carpet. She allows herself to be pulled to her feet into a jaunty polka two-step by one of the University students, who only introduces himself as a Mr. Bodhi Rook after they both collapse, laughing, back onto the settee.

Mrs. Syndulla looks on rather disapprovingly at this new acquaintance of Rey's, and Rey herself is not keen to repeat the incident with Mr. Bridger, so makes her excuses to retire soon after, leaving the others still dancing in the parlor. She smiles to herself in the mirror in her room, undressing for bed. She's never seen herself fully naked before, and examines her body, wondering what exactly Ben finds so attractive– is it her small breasts, her wiry frame? Her bottom, she concedes, is nice and plump; his handprints still decorate her skin in faded bruises, and she shivers as she brushes her hand over them.

She slips in between the cool sheets, and, after a moment of hesitation, sneaks her hand down between her legs. She thinks of Ben that morning, before she left on the train, whispering his farewells into her cunt between wide, wet swipes of his tongue.

 

The exam takes place in the main building on the campus, a handsome wood and brick structure. As Rey walks up the steps, she tries to imagine taking classes here, trodding this path each day, perhaps from Boshti's boarding house, though it certainly can't be the respectable women-only place Mr. Bridger had mentioned, and can't quite manage it. She fiddles nervously with her bag while she waits, looking over the other prospective students. Of about twenty, only three are girls.

The proctor passes out the little booklets of questions and tells them to begin.

Rey opens to the Orthography section.

Question 1. What is meant by the following: Alphabet, phonetic orthography, etymology, syllabication?

Dipping her pen carefully in her ink, she begins to write.

 

"How was it?"

Mrs. Syndulla looks up when Rey lets herself into the parlor. Rey sinks into an armchair next to her.

"O.K., I think," she says, tiredly. "I had an answer for everything, at the very least. Suppose it remains to be seen if I was quite mistaken on something."

"'O.K.'" Mrs. Syndulla shakes her head, though there's the hint of a smile around her lips. "My father would tell you not to use slang. Well that's the best that can be hoped for, I think. You'll just do your best tomorrow, and that's all wrapped up in one."

Rey retires directly after supper that night, feeling quite exhausted. The single bed in its private room feels lonely tonight, rather than luxurious. She wishes she had a warm body to curl up against, an arm wrapped around her sleeping form.

Not a body, she corrects herself, I wish I had Ben.

Her eyelids slide shut, and, too tired for self-abuse, she drifts to sleep.

When she wakes it's still dark. She yawns and gets out of bed to relieve herself in the chamber pot, then goes to pour herself some water from the porcelain pitcher, only to find it dry.

"Drat," she whispers. Perhaps there's a pitcher in the kitchen?

Feeling rather like a thief creeping around someone else's house, she opens her door as silently as she can, tiptoeing across the hall and down the stairs in her stocking feet. Still half-asleep as she is, she doesn't quite register the voices in the kitchen until she's just outside the door

"–lucky not to have been found out yet. It's illegal, Bosh," Mrs. Syndulla's voice is strained. Rey stops short.

"Laws can be changed," Boshti's voice comes hotly through the door. "In Kansas it's not outlawed, and other states have overturned–"

"Fine, so say it is legalized. You think you'll be let to live in peace? Haven't you heard what's happened to those poor lads down South?"

"Of course I've heard, Hera," Boshti says quietly. "It keeps me up at night, for the worry of it. I know it's an awful risk, what else should we do? Part forever? I love him, and he loves me. I've never met anyone who– who dances to the same tune–"

Rey backs away from the door, holding her breath and praying none of the floorboards squeak.

As she slides back between her sheets, thirst forgotten, her mind buzzes. Boshti and Hado? They were certainly a handsome couple, dancing together as they had the night before. Mrs. Syndulla's dire words of warning echo in her head– what were they to do? Live in secrecy forever, fearful of being found out?

What are we to do, Ben? She rolls over on her side, staring out the small window, framed with its pretty curtains, into the night.

 

The 8th grade certificate exam is comparatively easier. Rey sits it in a one-room schoolhouse a few blocks from the University, and she's proud to think that it isn't so much nicer than the schoolhouse in Red Cloud. The schoolmarm is a smiling woman who calls her Dear and slips her a half-penny piece of candy when she's finished. Rey thanks her profusely, feeling a bit bad for making her grade an additional exam, but the schoolmarm– a Miss Sabé– waves her off and wishes her luck with her studies.

And just like that, Rey is finished with her exams. She walks back to the boarding house, a bit disoriented. All she has now to do is to wait for the results.

She finds Boshti and Mrs. Syndulla in the kitchen. Boshti pauses in plucking a chicken to look up at her.

"You're finished?" Rey nods and Boshti throws her hands up in jubilation, scattering feathers everywhere. She wraps Rey in a tight hug and Rey finds herself leaning into it, burying her reluctant grin in Boshti's shoulder. It's warm and matronly, a mother's embrace.

"We ought to do something to celebrate!"

Mrs. Syndulla peers up at them from the table where she's shucking spring peas. "Like what?"

Boshti considers. "You haven't been to the soda fountain, have you?"

They set the chicken to baking, leaving the house maid in charge of its supervision, and set out across town to the druggist.

Rey had seen soda fountains in New York, of course, but she had never been in the position to visit one, or to try a drink from the polished spigots. The one in Lincoln Drug is smaller than some of the models in the city drug stores, but it's proud and gleaming, little nozzles along the bottom for syrups and the names of different mineral waters inscribed in metal script under three larger taps.

"Good afternoon, ladies." The soda jerk tips his hat at them. "What can I do for you?"

"What will you try, Rey?" Boshti peers at the inscriptions near the syrups.

Rey flounders. "I don't know, I've never had a soda before. What is there?"

"Try a phosphate soda," the soda jerk suggests. "They're all the rage."

"Alright," Rey says. "Do you– do you have cherry syrup?"

"We do indeed," he smiles and reaches for a glass.

Mrs. Syndulla orders her mineral water straight, while Boshti asks for an egg cream. They all sit down at the little table in the corner of the shop to try their drinks. Rey takes a sip and promptly squeezes her eyes shut when the drink fizzes in her mouth.

"Oh!" Boshti laughs at her, and Rey smiles back goodnaturedly, taking another, smaller sip. The fizziness is nice, once she gets used to it, and it's sweet and tangy, like nothing she's ever tasted before. "It's good!"

"So what do you think, Rey," Boshti asks her between sips. "Are you excited to move to Lincoln?"

"I suppose," Rey takes a large gulp of her soda. "I mean, Lincoln is a very nice city, certainly. Only I'll miss B– everyone in Red Cloud."

"We're only a train ride away," Mrs. Syndulla points out. "You young ladies have so many opportunities these days, you ought to take advantage of them."

Rey nods, finishing her soda silently.

Her bed that night feels colder than ever. Is this what college will be like? Holding a pillow tight at night and counting the days till the next visit home? Her throat seizes up and she can't help the tears that leak out to wet the pillowcase.

 

Their train doesn't leave until late morning on Saturday, and Boshti urges Rey and Mrs. Syndulla to see a bit more of Lincoln while they can.

"We never even saw the dress shop over on Third, bit of a haberdashery as well, they have the most stunning hats– those feather notions are getting absolutely ridiculous, of course, but I do love a bit of trim– and there's a pastry shop, hmm, let me think, a book seller–"

"A book shop?" Rey perks up, pausing her rummaging in her carpet bag.

"Oh, yes," Boshti smiles. "Over on 9th and Q Street."

"Rey reads beautifully," Mrs. Syndulla says. "You ought to hear her read out the scripture." Rey smiles bashfully, rather touched at this. "You won't be stooping to the vice of novels, of course," she adds to Rey in a clipped tone. Rey ducks her head and mumbles that she won't.

"Just– I like poetry, you know, and I thought another history book might…"

"I suppose that's alright," Mrs. Syndulla sniffs, gathering her own bag.

Boshti gives Rey a warm hug goodbye, and manages to pull Mrs. Syndulla into one as well.

Hado comes out of the kitchen to tip his hat farewell to them. Rey waves her goodbyes, trying to subtly study Hado and Boshti side-by-side in the doorway of the boardinghouse, both grinning broadly. She hopes they'll find happiness somehow.

The book shop is where Boshti had indicated. Rey can't help but gawk at the shelves full to bursting of fine, leather-bound tomes. She trails her fingers along the spines, plucking one at random from the poetry section and opening the page, breathing the words to herself.

And now I wander all alone,
Nor heed the balmy breeze,
But list the ring dove's tender moan,
And think upon the seas.

The wind that rushes through the wood,
Has swept the fatal waves,–
Far– far beneath the briny flood,
Deep– deep in ocean's caves

"Pretty, isn't it?"

Rey looks up to find the shop attendant watching her. He has a sort of refined accent, which she can't place.

"Oh, yes!" Rey brushes her fingers down the page. "So sad, though. It really feels like she lost her friend to a shipwreck."

"She did." He takes the book from her, showing her the author's name on the title page. "Her dear friend, one Mrs. Theodosia Burr Alston. Of course, no one can really say if it was a shipwreck."

Rey's jaw drops.

"I read the confession of a man who had been on the pirate ship that overtook them! It was all over the papers!"

His eyes crinkle. "Who can say, I suppose, even if we could trust the deathbed confessions of former pirates."

"It'd be much more exciting to be forced to walk the plank, though, don't you think? And she was supposed to be so dignified in death– nobody can be dignified during a shipwreck–"

"Pirates? I thought you were quite above novels, Rey–"

Mrs. Syndulla has drifted over to their corner of the shop, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Oh, no, Mrs. Syndulla, I wasn't–"

"I was simply telling her about this history of the British empire," the attendant cuts in smoothly, holding out the book with its title obscured. "Pirates were quite a nuisance to the Navy, you understand."

"I see," Mrs. Syndulla says, checking her pocket watch. "Rey, we'd better be off to the depot."

"Let me just package this up for you," the shopkeeper says, slipping behind his desk and wrapping the book in brown paper. Mrs. Syndulla steps out onto the boardwalk while Rey reaches into her carpet bag for her pocketbook with the spending money Ben had given her. The attendant waves her away. "Anything to convince you of the excitement of shipwrecks."

"Oh! Well, then, thank you, Mr.–?"

"Galen Erso." He holds his hand out for her to shake, smiling at her while she leaves the shop.

The train leaves from the station at exactly eleven o'clock. Rey watches the pretty, green prairie slide past the window while Mrs. Syndulla returns to her lace knitting.

It was… nice, she admits to herself, being in a city as large as Lincoln. There were things to do and people to see, more things to buy than were offered in a General Store. Surely the college would be more interesting, the books and shops more varied. Still, as Red Cloud comes into view outside the window, she can't help but feel her heart soar with the familiarity of it. And there, standing on the platform, hands in his pockets while he watches the train slow, is Ben, waiting for her in the dying afternoon light.

Rey hefts her carpet bag and has her hand sliding open the door to the car before the train fully comes to a stop.

"Ben!"

He turns toward her, his face lighting up, and she flies into his arms.

"Oh, I've missed you!" She buries her face in his shirt, breathing him in. His arms come around her to hold her tight, before they slacken and he takes a half-step away from her.

"Mrs. Syndulla," he says, and Rey spins to find her watching them, a queer frown on her face. "Can't thank you enough."

"Yes, thank you ever so much," Rey says, trying to straighten herself.

"She's a good girl," Mrs. Syndulla says to Ben; there's something pointed in her expression. "Clever, too. She could go real far."

"I know," Ben says fondly, smiling down at Rey. "Well, thank you kindly, we best be gettin' on home now."

He tips his hat to Mrs. Syndulla and hefts her carpet bag over his shoulder to lead Rey off the platform to the wagon. Rey is seized with the memory of the first time she'd come to Red Cloud, nearly a year ago now, and their first trip back to the homestead. Her heart clenches again, an odd sort of aching joy.

Seated next to him on the hard seat as the team pulls them away from the town, she nuzzles her head against his shoulder.

He chuckles at her.

"Really missed me, huh?"

"Mm-hmm," she says. She lifts a little off the seat to bury her face in his neck, daring to dart her tongue out to taste his skin.

"Rey," he says warningly.

"What?" she says, all innocence, her hand drifting to his upper thigh. "There's no one around."

She's right, they're well out onto prairie now, on a poorly traveled road. Her hand drifts a bit higher, brushing over the bulge in his blue jeans.

Ben huffs a deep breath, closing his eyes. Rey decides to push her luck.

"I just want to make you feel good, Papa," she says, leaning up again to nip a little at his earlobe while she rubs him through the heavy fabric of his pants.

"Rey," he says again, but there's a husky quality to it now, the reins a bit slack in his hand. She laves her tongue over the stubble that runs down from his jaw, sucking at the skin of his neck, though she knows it'll bruise if she's not careful.

"Do you want me to use my mouth on you, Papa?" She unbuttons his trousers to slip her hand in and he jerks in the wagon seat.

"Yes," he hisses. She smiles smugly and pulls him free, leaning low in the wagon seat to lick at his head, dragging her tongue up and down his shaft.

She loses herself in the sensation of his smooth skin in her mouth, in the small grunts she can pull from him with pursing lips or little swirls of her tongue against the slit at the top. She masturbates him with the loose collar of skin around the head, cupping his testicles in her other hand, and he groans, knocking her hat askew when he threads his fingers through her hair.

"B–best stop now, sweetheart," he slurs, tightening his grip to tug her off of him. "Wanna fuck you when we get back."

His words send a thrill through her and she agrees breathlessly, mouthing at his neck again, pulling open his shirt a bit so she can press sloppy kisses to his shoulder, his collarbone.

"Made a real monster outta you," he says, one hand coming to grasp her around her waist while she tugs at his hair.

She giggles, reaching down to fondle him again. "You're the monster."

His hand comes up to tangle in her hair again, growling as he pulls her to his mouth for a kiss. "Yes I am."

It's lucky the mules know their way back to the homestead, because Ben isn't driving. He kisses her with a soft sort of ferocity, plush lips moving against hers, tongue darting out to lick into her mouth.

Rey sighs into the kiss. How could she leave this? How she could give this up, when it's everything that she wants?

Ben pulls away to take the reins again as they ford the creek, and then they're pulling up to the barn and he's lifting her bodily from the wagon.

"Don't wanna spook the mules," he says. The shanty is apparently too great a distance and Rey finds herself pressed against the barn wall, just inside the door, Ben rucking up her skirts and biting at the back of her neck in a way that'll surely leave a mark.

He slides home with a single thrust, and oh it's so good.

"Fuck." It comes out breathy and high-pitched, her mouth dropping open with the pleasure of it as he pulls out to thrust in again.

Ben huffs a laugh into her neck, soothing his bites with his tongue, working up a rhythm with his hips. "Never– hngh– heard you use that word before."

"You– ah– you use it all the ti–ime–"

Her eyes roll back as he speeds up; she doesn't think he'll last long, and she's quickly approaching her own climax. He works his hand up to rub at her clitoris and then she's clenching around him, crying out in her pleasure.

Ben curses as he pulls himself from her cunt, leaving her to sag limply against the barn wall and moving his hand roughly over his shaft until his spend shoots out onto her backside.

"Oughta take our baths tonight," he murmurs, rubbing it into her skin.

"Mmkay," Rey says blearily. "Whatever you want, Papa."

"Anything?" His voice has a distant quality to it, and when she looks around at him he's gazing at her with a forlorn sort of expression, but he only shakes his head to her questioning look, and helps her right her skirts and bring her carpet bag inside.

In bed at night, both slightly damp from their baths, she wraps herself tight around him. It's no trouble at all to fall asleep.

 

At church the following day, Rey feels a bit like a celebrity. Everyone wants to know how she found Lincoln, how her exams went, what the University was like. She smiles and tries to answer as best she can, but she's grateful when the sermon starts and she can simply listen to Pastor Dameron.

Rose finds her after, an incredibly pleased expression on her face. She takes Rey's arm as they walk out of the church.

"Oh, Rey, you'll never guess what happened!"

"What, what is it?" Whatever it is, it's made Rose the gladdest Rey's seen her since Zorii died.

"There's a new company man at the depot, a Mr. Lintra– they sent him all the way from Chicago! He has a wife, and she's used to all the fine, city things, she put out that she was looking for a dressmaking in Red Cloud, and Mr. Snap told her husband that I'd made you that traveling suit. And– oh Rey!– she has a sewing machine, and she's going to pay me to sew her a new frock, with new material and everything!"

"That's wonderful, Rose!"

"Isn't it just?" Rose sighs happily. "Oh do let's go look at the fabric again, Rey, please?"

Rey agrees readily, and they make their way down the street to the General Store, chatting along the way about which style Mrs. Lintra is likely to want, and which fabric she'll buy.

Rey peruses the dry goods while Rose strokes the different bolts of fabric like they're pets she'd quite like to bring home. Rey orders some flour and sugar– they're running low– and after a bit of debate with herself gets a pound of oyster crackers as a treat. She can't carry it all back to the church on her own though, she ought to run and get Ben to pull the wagon around...

"Do you mind if I go and fetch the wagon?" Rose nods absently, and Rey leaves her to her daydreaming.

She finds Ben talking to Mr. Snap.

"Well, howdy Miss Rey! How'd your exams go?"

"Very well, Mr. Snap," she smiles at him. "It was ever so kind of you to pass Rose's name along to Mrs. Lintra."

"Miss Rose is a talented little dressmaker, think her skill speaks for itself."

Rey smiles at him. "Ben, can we pull the wagon around to the General Store? Only I ordered too much to carry back here."

"Sure thing, sweetheart." He squeezes her shoulder affectionately. "See ya Thursday, Snap."

Mr. Snap tips his hat at them, and they make their way to the wagon back behind the church. Rey excitedly tells him about Rose's dressmaking plans and Ben listens, smiling at her chatter.

At the General Store, Ben carries the flour and sugar out to the wagon, while Rey lofts the oyster crackers triumphantly above her head. Rose has disappeared from the fabric section, and Rey is a bit disappointed; she'd wanted to say goodbye, perhaps make plans to meet up sometime, now that neither of them are in school.

"Did Rose just leave?" she asks Mr. McQuarrie, who runs the shop. Maybe she can catch her.

He nods. "Just a few minutes ago."

That's odd. They ought to have run into her on the road from the church. Rey exits the store, wandering a little ways up the street, craning her neck to see if she can catch a glimpse of Rose's distinctive, black-clad figure.

There's a sound from an alleyway between a house and a barn part way up Third Avenue. Curious, Rey goes to investigate. Rose's black dress comes into view.

"Oh! There you are– what are you doing down here, Rose–?"

But there's something wrong, Rose is struggling against a shadowy figure who has his hand clamped tight over her mouth. A flash of red hair– Hux!

For a horrifying second Rey can't make a sound. But she takes a big, gulping gasp of air and then screams with all her might. "BEN!"

There's more commotion in the alley, but it's too dimly lit for her to see. She's rushing forward without consciously deciding to, and then Rose is collapsing in her arms, shaking and weeping. Ben charges up from Main Street.

"What? What happened?"

"I– where'd he– Hux–"

"Fuck," he snarls. There's a sound of hoofbeats and Ben roars something into the distance. Rey can only focus on Rose, smoothing her hair back, helping her back to the main road to sit in their wagon.

"Is she alright?" He's back.

"I think so," Rey says quietly. "Could you drive us back to the church?"

Rose is drawing deep breaths. There's bruising on her neck, and a long scratch down the side of her face. Her dress is torn.

"Rose," Rey says to her in a low voice, "did he–?"

Rose shakes her head. "You interrupted him," she says in a hoarse whisper. Tears track down her cheeks.

Most of the parishioners have gone from the church yard, for which Rey is grateful. She helps Rose out of the wagon, and into the building.

"Rosie?" Mrs. Dameron looks up from the pew where she's talking to old lady Maz. Temiri and Kes are playing nearby with a small wooden horse, and Rey's heart jumps into her throat until she spots Shara talking with some other little girls from school near the stove.

"Ma," Rose bawls; Mrs. Dameron catches her in her arms, looking stricken. Rey's not sure how to explain, but Ben comes in, speaking lowly with Mr. Dameron, whose face is thunderous with fury.

"–sheriff'll have to listen this time, so far out of line–"

"–know he won't care, Dameron, he's got business interests with Hux north of town–"

Old lady Maz is watching their conversation closely. Her white hair is combed neatly behind her ears, contrasting with her dark, wrinkled skin, but she vibrates with a sort of unkempt, chaotic energy. "Those beasts," she spits. "Something must be done, young Solo."

She holds Ben's gaze until he gives a short nod, donning his hat to step back out of the church. Rey's nonplussed. What can be done, if the sheriff is so unwilling to enforce the law?

Rose gradually calms down, and the Damerons load into their wagon to go home; Rey waves sadly at them as they leave. Ben lopes back into the church yard while they trundle down Main Street, and Old lady Maz salutes at him and Rey from behind her own team, driving off to her homestead with its peach orchard south of town.

"Alerted the sheriff," Ben says gruffly, stepping up into the wagon seat. "Armitage Hux is a wanted man."

"Whatever did you tell him? I thought the sheriff wouldn't arrest him."

"Told him what I've suspected for some time now," Ben sighs. "That Armitage Hux is an alias of the wanted outlaw, Brendol's Bastard, a.k.a., The Kid. There's a reward out for him still; only thing that'd motivate the sheriff to go after him."

Rey's jaw drops. She doesn't think it properly closes again the whole, wretched ride home.

Notes:

CW: Mentions of post-Reconstruction racial violence and anti-miscegenation laws. Some 19th century road head and subsequent barn fucking (with a minor). Attempted sexual assault (Rose is attacked by Hux).
 
I tried handling the attempted sexual assault as delicately as I could, but please let me know if there's any way to improve– with content warnings or actual content. I realize I've used assault as a plot point a few times now; I guess my justification is that I'm playing around with classic old west tropes and trying to re-examine them in a new light. Happy to discuss in the comments or on Twitter (@entropyyy23.)

In 1881 we're in full Reconstruction hangover. The presidential election of 1876 was very close, and resulted in The Compromise of 1877, which involved the removal of Union troops from the South, essentially ending the Reconstruction era. This invited a wave of violence against Blacks in the South, and there was a wave of migration (NOT the Great Migration) which involved about 40,000 people, known as the Exodusters, moving to the Great Plains states.

While voting rights were protected in the South, there were a large number of Black politicians that held office. They were nearly always Republicans (keep in mind this was the party of Lincoln, and that the parties largely swapped platforms in the early to mid-20th century.) Nebraska did have an anti-miscegenation law, which prevented whites from intermarrying with Blacks and Asians; it would not be repealed until 1963.

The election of 1880 was also very close; it went for the Republican candidate (James A. Garfield). Ben, however, voted for the upstart left-wing candidate James B. Weaver from the Greenback party, which, as historian Herbert Clancy put it, "anticipated by almost fifty years the progressive legislation of the first quarter of the twentieth century." In conclusion, Ben is a Bernie Bro.

Victorian soda fountains were wild. You've likely had phosphate soda; phosphoric acid is the ingredient that makes Coca-Cola tangy. Coke wasn't invented until 1886, and cocaine wasn't added to soda fountain drinks until around the same time, so Rey is not inadvertently getting high.

I fell into a deep research rabbit hole on Twi'leks; since I casually mentioned Mrs. Syndulla had a cousin, I had to figure out who that was, and one thing led to another. Anyway, I was originally going to feature some Twi'lek sex workers but that got ahead of me pretty quickly and I decided to stick with Boshti Anilee who canonically dances with Hado Gwin in Solo: A Star Wars Story. I imagine Cham Syndulla as an aged fighter who would've been around at the time of the invention of the word OK.

The poem is On A Friend Who Was Supposed To Have Suffered A Shipwreck by Margaret Blennerhasset, and yes it is about that Theodosia Burr.

Papa Ben is uncut: confirmed.

 

Hope everyone is holding up under the new onslaught of craziness that 2020 has offered. If you're American, please, please vote for Biden (and all the way down your ballot) in the upcoming election. I didn't vote for him in the primary but I'm sure as hell voting for him now. Also if you're voting by mail, double-check that your ballot is in the secrecy sleeve and also make sure you sign the envelope! Ballots get tossed all the time because we live in an undemocratic hell hole!

Stay safe everyone, love you all!

Chapter 20

Notes:

Maybe peep those new tags. Content warnings in the end notes.

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The siding is up on the first, and part of the second, floor of the house. The roof is shingled, and there are whispers of a porch wrapped around the front; a pile of whittled posts lies in wait to one side, dreaming of holding a railing. The frames for the windows still stare blankly at the far field, but Ben promises they'll have real glass panes soon, maybe even with the next train.

Rey is agog at the progress. The last time she'd properly looked the house over there'd only been a skeleton, standing starkly against the blue of the sky, the wood boards new and pretty and smelling of pine.

With her exams over, Rey has more time to do chores around the shanty and the homestead, freeing Ben to do more work on the house. She takes over the milking and the feeding, tends to the neglected garden, and carts buckets of water to the new peach saplings in their little orchard. It's exhausting, but it takes her mind off of her test results, which have not yet come, and it lets her forget, just for a few minutes at a time, the horrible events with Mr. Hux and Rose.

There's no news from the sheriff on Hux's whereabouts, and Ben says they can only hope that he'll stay clear of Webster county now there's a bounty out for him. Rey nods in agreement, but internally she worries, about Rose, who she hasn't seen since Sunday and who could be in any imaginable nervous condition, and about Hux, who, regardless of his whereabouts, is surely out there terrorizing someone.

The weather takes a turn for the hot and sticky as the week wears on, so that Rey seeks refuge in the shade between her chores, taking off her bonnet to wipe her sweaty brow with her apron. She can't bring herself to stoke the stove in the sweltering shanty, and so it's a cold lunch for her and Ben– yesterday's bread, butter, cold milk, the last of old lady Maz's peach preserves, a jar of green tomatoes that Rey had pickled herself in the fall, tinned ox tongue.

They settle on a blanket in the soft grass under a tree, the creek less swollen than just after the thaw, but still rushing and eager.

Ben is burnt a bit on his neck, where his hat had failed to shade him from the sun; Rey tries to soothe it with hands dipped in the chilled water and held against his skin. He squawks a bit at the cold. Rey laughs at him and flicks some water in his face, cupping the back of her own neck in hopes of cooling a bit.

"It's so hot," she sighs. "Never thought I'd complain after that winter, but Lord…"

* "Could take that shirt off," Ben suggests, his innocent tone belied by his wicked grin. "Just so you're more comfortable."

Rey rolls her eyes at him, but it's not a bad idea really, and she finds herself unbuttoning until she's just in her combinations from the waist up, her corset left off that morning in deference to the heat.

Ben eyes her chest appreciatively before he rolls over to dip his own hand in the creek, bringing it up to drip down her flushed neck and onto the thin fabric covering her breasts.

Rey hisses as her nipples immediately tighten.

"Ben!" she protests. "You've got me all wet!"

"Have I now?" The wicked grin is back. He reaches up to pop open the top button. "Really oughta hang it to dry then…"

He manages to get the top part of the combinations open, but then there's the issue of the skirt closure over top, and so Rey is compelled to unfasten it and kick it off while Ben unhelpfully gropes her newly exposed skin, kissing her collarbone and the sides of her breasts while he pulls her underwear down.

Once she is sprawled on the blanket quite naked, and panting slightly from the exertion of becoming so, Ben sits up to admire her. "Better?"

"I suppose," Rey huffs, but it is better, to be naked and cool in the shade, exposed to the subtle shifts in the air around them. She stretches luxuriously into the nothingness above her, nuzzling into the soft blanket on the cushioned ground.

"Reckon I'd be content to sit and watch you forever," Ben says, a soft quirk to his lips, reaching to caress her newly bared ankle; his hand wraps fully around without even trying. He leans forward to press a kiss to her knee.

"Mm," Rey stretches again, trailing her fingernails down her own torso, raising goose bumps on her skin. She wishes they might sit here forever too, for surely this little spot of shade could rival the garden of Eden, but they only have the odd hour before chores beckon once more. Her fingers still in the dark curls above her mound. "I– I must confess," she says. "I made an error, while I was away."

"Alright." Ben frowns slightly in question.

"I may have– have committed the sin of self-abuse." Her fingers inch lower still. Ben's stern expression fades immediately. "I just– I missed you, and–"

"Show me," he interrupts; his breathing is just the slightest bit labored. "Show Papa what you did to yourself, sweetheart."

Rey lets her knees fall open and edges her fingers down so they split her lips. She's a bit wet already, and she captures the moisture on the tip of her index finger to spread it slowly around her clitoris.

"I– I thought about you," she says breathily, looking up at him. Her finger speeds up. "Saying goodbye the morning I left, when you licked my–"

"Ah ah, nice and slow now," his grip tightens on her ankle. "There's a good girl."

Rey pants a bit as her clitoris grows swollen and heavy, little zings of pleasure coursing through her with each tight circle of her fingers.

"Is it as good as when Papa frigs you, sweetheart?" His voice is low and his gaze has not wavered from her cunt, surely glistening by now; she can feel her secretions drip down onto the blanket beneath her.

"No," she whines, continuing at this horrid, too-slow pace. Her chest is flushed pink, her skin a live wire; even the little circles Ben traces on her ankle have her shuddering.

"Would Papa's finger in your little cunny make it better?"

"Yes."

She gasps at the intrusion, his thick finger breaching her while she continues her own torturous self-assault.

"There now, my sweet girl," he pumps his finger in and out of her. "Papa will make it better. Would you like another?"

"Yes, please, Papa, please, please–"

She feels his finger prod at her, but it's too low, not aiming for her cunt at all. She's so slick he sinks in almost easily, but she still squeaks in surprise at the unyielding pressure on the furled muscle of her behind.

"Ah, B-Ben–"

He's leaning over her now, watching her face. "Mm. Just relax sweetheart." He presses in further, moving his finger in little circles around the tight rim. "Keep playing with that pretty little clitoris."

Rey feels like she's floating, so full, pinned like a butterfly with her legs spread wide, building to something wild, explosive. She hardly notices Ben withdrawing his finger from her cunt until he's pressing his cock into her; his finger in her ass pushes further still. She keens, panting, fumbling her slow circles as her eyes roll back in her head.

"–things you make– me want to–" Ben is murmuring filthy nothings in her ear between his thrusts, but Rey can hardly focus, so close is she, suspended in the rising nothingness of–

She crashes and seizes around him with a scream, the pleasure so explosive she can hardly bear it. He holds her legs open and her fingers to her clitoris, guiding their frantic rubbing with his own giant hand. The slightest lull, and then she's gripped again, a stronger wave that pulls her under, her garbling like a woman drowned.

Rey comes to after she crests her third peak, her body rocked by Ben's desperate thrusts, his grunts huffed against her throat, as he works his way deeper and deeper inside of her. She stares uncomprehendingly at the sky between the bows of the tree above them, waves of pleasure washing through her in great rolling shudders, and gazes into the endless blue. *

 

The cemetery is a little plot to the west of town, surrounded by a wrought iron fence. Rose carries proper flowers brought on the train from a hot house in the city, but Rey and Finn have fistfuls of wild flowers. They carefully lay their little bundles in front of Zorii's grave.

"I can't believe it's been three months already," Rose says softly. She's in dark gray, out of full mourning now. Rey nods, though she can't quite reconcile how the time has passed. It feels like yesterday that Zorii was alive, and yet so much has happened since her funeral… it might have been years.

They settle in the grass around her headstone and Rose opens her picnic basket to pull out a cold dinner for the three of them– ham and bread and butter, pickled beets and onion, some hard sausage and sharp cheese bought in town.

"Old Mr. Syndulla told me we were bein' awful morbid, coming here to picnic," Finn remarks as he accepts his portion. "Grumbled on about disrespecting the dead, or something."

"What have the dead to fear besides being forgotten?" Rey says in a sad, dreamy tone.

"What's that a quote from?" Finn squints at her.

"Oh, no– I made it up," Rey replies hastily, blushing a little.

"S'pose we should expect nothing less from a girl who earned 'with distinction' on her 8th grade exam," he grins. Rey blushes harder.

"Oh, I'll miss you terribly when you're gone away to college," Rose says; she grasps Rey's hand and Rey swallows down the lump in her throat. She had indeed received her passing marks on the entrance exam as well, and is set to matriculate in the fall.

"I'll come and visit," she says, though she wonders how that could possibly make up for all the time spent away. "And you'll have Finn here."

"That's true." Rose leans into him, and he hooks his arm around her waist, squeezing gently.

Rose had been a bit clingy since the incident with Mr. Hux, practically hanging off Rey at church on Sundays and any time they went for a stroll around town or near the Damerons' homestead. When Finn returned from the cattle drive, he'd become the main object of her affections.

Rey watches their casual embrace, chewing her lip anxiously, wondering once again how everything would shake out.

"The Pastor thinks I oughta claim my own homestead," Finn says. "Now the ranches are all goin' bankrupt; be a bit more secure if I did my own farming."

"That's so exciting!" Rey says; Rose beams at him.

They while away the afternoon making lists of the things Finn would need to start a proper farm, which crops he should try and grow, where the best available land would be.

"Nearly all the claims near us are free," Rey offers. "If you don't mind such a long drive from town."

Finn nods, biting his lip and writing on a piece of scrap paper with a pencil.

"Oh! I forgot to tell you," Rose says as they pack up their picnic dinner. "Mrs. Lintra wants me to sew her another dress!"

"So she liked the first?"

"Yes, said it was as good as anything she could get in the city! And she hates sewing on the machine, so she said she'd let me take it home to work instead!"

"That's wonderful, Rose!"

"Just think," Rose says dreamily. "I could make dresses for all of Red Cloud."

"Well, you've always got my business," Rey says solemnly.

"And mine!" Finn chimes in with a wry grin. "'Course I might have to be on credit for a while."

Rose laughs along before sobering.

"This is how we prevail," she says; her voice breaks a little. "Not fighting what we hate, saving what we love."

She drops to her knees and presses a kiss to the marble headstone bearing Zorii's name.

 

Rey helps Ben to mount the lath on the inside of the walls, and then fill the gaps with straw and crumpled newspapers. Ben shows her the plans while he paces through the shells of rooms, pointing out the kitchen and the parlor, the dining room and the pantry. And the bedrooms, so many Rey can't help but imagine who will occupy them.

"Thought this one could be ours," he says shyly, pushing open a door to the largest. It overlooks the creek, and the prairie beyond; in the evenings they'll have a wonderful view of the setting sun.

Rey turns to him, rapidly blinking tears out of her eyes. Ben falters.

"Oh, no, sweetheart–"

She collapses into his arms and buries her face in his shirt. "Oh, Ben, how can I leave you?" she sobs. "And the farm, and the house–"

He squeezes her tight.

"Ain't goin' anywhere," he says. "You won't be gone the whole year anyhow." He rubs her back soothingly. "Just want what's best for you, sweetheart, and I think you'd kick yourself later if your schoolin' stopped at the 8th grade."

"That's true." Rey says in a watery voice, cheek pressed against his damp shirt.

"Go and learn what you can in Lincoln, and once you got your fancy accolades, and you're a bit more grown, well, then we can settle down for real."

"For rea–?" Rey gapes up at him. "You want to marry me?"

His lips quirk. "'Course I do, sweetheart. Know I did everythin' backward, but I promise I'll be a good husband. Won't ever get cross with you, and you'll always have meat on your table–"

Rey surges up to cut him off with a kiss. He cups her head tenderly, fingers trailing, featherlight, against her neck.

"Can I still call you Papa?" she asks breathlessly when they break apart.

Ben's eyes crinkle at the edges. "Sure hope you do."

If Rey had her way they would have, well, fucked, right then and there. But Ben frets about loose nails, and splinters in the wood, and so she relents and allows him to lead her back outside. She gathers a blanket from the shanty and spreads it out under the canopy by the creek.

**"Rather see you naked and frolicking in the sunlight anyhow," he says fondly, undoing her apron and tugging her into another kiss. "My little forest nymph."

There's no hurry to their motions, the pile of discarded clothing growing steadily between kisses until they're both naked as the day they were born. Ben reaches for her but Rey darts away, grinning madly.

"Forest nymphs are always being chased," she giggles.

He plays along splendidly, barreling toward her, snorting and snarling like a great horned god, so she shrieks and kicks when he catches her up in his arms. He seems to have a good time subduing her, pinning all her limbs to the ground (though he carefully positions them over the blanket) his erect manhood bobbing threateningly above her, as commanding as Pan himself. He covers her face and neck in growled kisses and Rey is breathless with laughter that fades into a low moan when he ruts into her.

The air is hot and still and Rey grows drowsy after, so comfortable is she on the spread blanket, with Ben draped over her form. He mouths lazily at her skin, kneading her breast before pulling her nipple between his lips, suckling gently. Rey breathes deep in the soft pleasure and threads her fingers through the strands of his hair to hold him to her chest, her eyelids drooping.

She wakes turned onto her belly. Ben is smoothing his hands over her back and down her spine, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her shoulder and neck. He covers her completely, his weight heavy and comforting. She whines a little as he presses into her again, thick and slow, but he shushes her, his grunts quiet and thrusts measured, like he doesn't want to disturb her rest.

It's good, Rey thinks stupidly in her semi-lucid state. It's always good.

She closes her eyes once more and loses herself to Ben's soft panting above her. **

 

Finn and Pastor Dameron come around one Thursday to survey some of the surrounding claims. The Pastor whistles when he sees the house.

"Whoo-ee, you made some real progress, Solo!"

They have real window panes now, and doors and shutters. The front porch– Ben calls it a veranda– is complete and all the whittled poles are in their proper places.

Rey tags along on Star. Finn grins at her when he sees her riding up behind them.

"Not bad," he says, eyeing her critically. "How's he handle at a gallop?"

Rey nudges Star to pick up speed, and she and Finn race up the creek, her bonnet falling from her head and held on by the strings around her neck. They whoop and holler at each other until they reach a natural bend and turn around to rejoin the older men.

Ben shakes his head at them but his eyes crinkle at the edges.

"This claim ain't half-bad," he tells Finn, who nods, expression suddenly very businesslike. "Could put your house and barn near the turn in the creek and have the wind blocked from the north and west. And the creek's mighty useful irrigatin' crops, a'course. Some lumber, too, from the trees along here, though you'll wanna be careful of cuttin' too many at once."

They all wander the claim, pointing out different features, a place for a well, a wheat field, a pasture to graze horses.

Rey runs to fetch them all a canteen of water from her saddle around noon, the sun high and sweltering. Ben's wandered off beyond a small swell in the prairie, but Finn and Pastor Dameron are conversing in low voices near the creek bend.

"–mighty fine claim, Finn, just don't like the thought of you so far away–"

He's holding Finn's hand in both of his, and the tenderness is such that Rey has to avert her eyes.

"Water?" she calls to them, making her voice bright and cheery.

Finn pulls his hand away and grins broadly at her.

"Thank you kindly, Miss Rey!"

The Pastor smiles at her too, but he has a distant look in his eye, like an old sort of sadness. Ben ambles back across the prairie toward them, and Pastor Dameron shakes his head, back to his old grin, as warm as any Rey's seen him smile before.

He claps his hands. "Right-o! Shall we see the next one then?"

 

*** They take to eating their lunch outside by the creek every day, at the hour with the highest sun. It's logical, really, Rey declares, to air naked in the shade to avoid the worst heat of the day. And if they dip in the creek before getting re-dressed they'll be cooler and work harder in the afternoon.

"In the Mediterranean they call it siesta," she informs Ben primly. He nods at her, returning his attention (and his mouth) to her breasts.

It might make logical sense, but it feels extremely decadent to Rey. She's never had so much leisure time in her life, though really they usually confine their lunch (and other activities) to an hour or so. Often they are caught up in slow fondling and caresses, half-drunk on the heat. Ben likes nothing more than to doze with her nipple in his mouth, while Rey is endlessly fascinated with the skin holding his bollocks, which changes form and texture so drastically she could gaze at it for hours. She likes to cup him in her hand and suck little kisses along his sack.

She is forever wet, whether she surrenders to self-abuse or Ben laps prettily at the junction of her thighs. He likes to keep her on edge, working her up before withdrawing his fingers from her cunny, dancing them instead along her arms and belly, palming the globes of her bottom. Eventually he'll take her, spooned together and thrusting lazily between her legs, or make her sit and bounce on his cock while he grips her hips. Sometimes he draws out the teasing so long she wants to scream at him, and then he laughs and flips her over and takes her hard from behind, like an animal.

One afternoon he draws it out especially long, focusing his tongue on her tits and alternating petting her wet little clitoris and hooking a huge finger into her cunt, though it's never enough to reach her crisis. He has her hand wrapped around the head of his cock, playing idly with his foreskin, and Rey hums with the lazy pleasure of it. She's reluctant to move, but she feels a growing pressure in her lower belly and so lifts his hand away from her, standing to walk to the shallows of the creek.

"Where're you going?" He sits up, watching her wade into the water.

"I have to relieve myself," she says matter of factly. It's not like he doesn't watch her piss every night in the chamber pot.

He stills for a moment before standing and wading in after her, grabbing her up in his arms and dropping his hand to push two fingers into her once more.

"Ah, Papa, what–" Rey's legs start to shake as he finds her clitoris again, timing his ministrations with the thrusting of his fingers.

"Go on, then, sweetheart," he growls into her hair. He drops his other hand to press on her lower abdomen, just over her bladder. "Relieve yourself."

Rey's eyes roll back as she feels herself release with a sharp, violent pleasure, the sudden scalding heat contrasting with the frigid water of the creek. It gushes over Ben's hand and down her thigh, and her legs seize as she reaches her crisis with a silent shriek.

Ben holds her up as she spasms wildly in his arms, working her through it before she collapses, completely limp, against him.

"Feel better, sweetheart?"

She nods faintly, and he dips them both gently in the rushing water before returning to shore. ***

 

Rey wakes to sunlight streaming into the shanty. She sits up groggily, listening to the hammering on the house that has become a constant symphony. It must be very late, if Ben has already milked the cows and set to work.

She shakes her head as if to clear it and starts to dress. There's bread to be baked, cheese to set, she ought to mend Ben's shirt that snagged on a nail–

The fog hovers over her the whole morning. She apologizes when Ben comes in for lunch; the bread's still not quite finished and he'll have to wait for her to pack the picnic.

"S'alright," he says, frowning at her. "Thought you could use the sleep, seemed awful spent last night."

They make their way to the creek, and Rey thinks she could doze off right away, but she does her best to eat some of the fresh bread and a bit of hard salami. Ben watches her closely. She waves him off and he sighs, gnawing on his own chunk of bread.

She closes her eyes, though she only woke up two hours earlier, reclining on the blanket still fully dressed. Ben nuzzles into her neck, and she plays a bit with his hair. He cups her breast gently, like always, but Rey hisses, batting him away.

"They're sore," she tells him.

He looks incredibly guilty.

"I've been too rough with you–"

"No, Papa," she says drowsily. "I liked it."

She closes her eyes again, feeling like she could drift off. The air is so still, heavy. Hardly a breeze rustles the trees overhead. Even the cicadas are quiet.

It's almost like the whole prairie is holding its breath.

Notes:

CW: Dubious consent all 'round. Ben makes Rey masturbate while he fingers her vaginally and anally; some Greek myth inspired role-play; somnophilia-lite (Ben has sex with half-asleep Rey without asking); Ben fingers Rey while forcing her to pee. Rey enjoys everything. All naked, outdoor sex but they're in the middle of nowhere so not tagging public sex. Mention of morbid picnicking in cemeteries. Talk of marriage.

If you want to skip any of the sex scenes, I have marked them with asterisks at the beginning and end; * - anal fingering scene, ** - somnophilia scene, *** - water sports scene. Rest assured they contribute nothing to the plot.

Their house is in the Queen Anne Style which was just becoming popular in 1881; here are the plans. I don't know exactly how accurate the image is, but the plans indicate that the house would cost $4,500 to build, which is roughly $115,000 today. Ben is using the lath and plaster method to finish the interior walls; this was largely replaced by drywall in the early 20th century, at least in the United States. The insulation materials of straw and waste paper are period accurate.

There was a fad for picnicking in cemeteries around this time. Red Cloud has a very tiny cemetery, but I feel like they still might have felt the effects of the rural cemetery movement which gave us gorgeous haunts like the Père Lachaise cemetery in Paris and Mount Auburn cemetery in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Anyhoo, I'm a big fan of cemeteries; I went on a bike-camping trip in New Hampshire a week and a half ago and made my long-suffering roommates stop at every little graveyard we passed along the way, it was awesome. All this is to say 👏 bring 👏 back 👏 picnicking 👏 in 👏 cemeteries 👏 👏 👏

This was kind of an experimental chapter for me, smut-wise. Not sure I succeeded but I have bigger and better things to write in the future, so meh, posting it.

Hope you all are doing well!

Chapter 21

Notes:

CW: Pregnancy and abortion. Additional content warnings in the end notes.

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The sun hangs low on the horizon as they drive to church one fine Sunday. The morning is still crisp and cool, the heat of July held as if aloft, threatening to descend on the day like the sword of Damocles.

Rey is grateful for the relief, temporary though it may be. The heat makes her queasy, and she dreads the wagon ride back, in the full glare of the midday sun. She can't remember being this particular ever before, though the city held a different sort of heat, oppressive and smoggy, radiating not only from the sun in the sky but from the pavement and the bricks in the buildings themselves.

Ben clears his throat in the wagon seat next to her, lost in his thoughts; when he believes himself to be unobserved he's prone to clenching his jaw, pursing his lips and shaking his head minutely, as if engaged in an imagined conversation. Rey smiles fondly at him, then quickly turns to stare fixedly at the horizon, taking measured breaths and trying to quell a sudden bit of motion-sickness.

Rose finds Rey as soon as they walk in; she chatters on about the new sewing machine, but Rey has a hard time paying attention. There's a pot of coffee someone's brought and set on a corner table in the church; the smell is overwhelming.

"Sorry," Rey tells her; her ears are ringing a little as she dashes out the side door and doubles over to lose her breakfast onto the pretty pine boards of the church exterior.

What is the matter? she wonders, trying to catch her breath, tears streaming out of her eyes. Was she ill? Certainly she'd felt awfully low lately.

She feels a presence behind her and half turns in her crouched stance, expecting to see Rose. But it's Mrs. Syndulla standing there, with a tin cup full of water and a damp rag, which she offers to Rey to wipe her face.

"Thank you," Rey says hoarsely.

Mrs. Syndulla just nods, watching Rey with that calculating look of hers. She offers her the cup and Rey takes it gratefully, taking small sips and breathing deeply, dreading going back into the closed room with the strong coffee smell.

"We can listen from here," Mrs. Syndulla says. Rey nods and leans heavily against the door frame while Pastor Dameron starts his sermon. They're behind the rows of pews and Rey hopes most of the parishioners haven't noticed, though she can see Ben scanning the room for her; she gives a small wave when he turns to catch sight of her at the door, shaking her head at his questioning look.

The ringing in her ears is abated slightly, but the tinny echo distracts her from Pastor Dameron's words. He gestures grandly, then thumps his fist; Rey squeezes her eyes shut, willing herself not to succumb to the rising nausea once more.

 

"Oughta cut the slough grass soon," Ben tells her, stroking her hair, her head resting on his chest. He has his arm behind his own head, gazing at the trees above them, a piece of grass sticking out of his mouth; it tickles Rey's neck sometimes when it dips too low.

"I can help," she tells him.

"Alright," he says, though there's a slight note of skepticism that Rey tries not to rankle at.

They're naked as ever on the cool grass, basking in the shade after their lunch, though Rey can't quite gather the same interest in some of their more sinful activities. Ben hasn't tried to touch her breasts since she told him they hurt, and for this she is grateful; their soreness has continued unabated, and she's starting to wonder what could possibly have happened to them.

There's a pause, and Ben's hand stills in her hair. "Doctor's stopping through town next week."

"Mm," Rey replies. Ben's chest is broad and pillowy and so comfortable she wants to lie here forever.

"Reckon maybe you oughta see him."

"Mm-kay," she mumbles, and then, "Why?"

"Dunno, sweetheart." Ben's started stroking her hair again. "Only you seem awful tired lately…"

Ben's voice trails away and the faint sound of hoofbeats reaches them.

It takes a moment for Rey to register the sound, out of place as it is; people hardly ever come to see them, and usually they've arranged it beforehand. But the hoofbeats grow louder and louder until they're just on the other side of the creek.

Ben sits up suddenly, knocking her to the side.

"Damn," he says. "Damn, damn, damn."

He hurries to pull his trousers on. Rey pauses for a horrible second, and then scrambles for her dress, pulling it over her head without bothering to put her combinations and corset on first.

It doesn't matter, because Pastor Dameron rounds the corner a moment later on his horse, his expression morphing into a shock so extreme as to be almost comical.

They've gotten so complacent the last few months, Rey reflects while Ben stares at the Pastor in mute horror. She's forgotten they were doing anything wrong.

The silence hangs suspended for a moment, and then it falls with the force of a bomb.

"SOLO!" The Pastor's face is quickly purpling. "WHAT is going– I cannot BELIEVE–"

"Dameron, I can expl–" Ben starts, but the Pastor barrels over him, working himself into a tizzy.

"–what sort of BEHAVIOR this is, for a CHRISTIAN, to– to take ADVANTAGE of an INNOCENT–"

Rey reflects numbly on their continued state of undress: Ben still fully shirtless, and her dress unbuttoned down to her breast; she subtly tries to do herself up again.

Pastor Dameron has descended from his horse and is pacing back and forth in front of them.

"–thought Mrs. Syndulla couldn't POSSIBLY be correct, told her it was simply INCONCEIVABLE that Miss Rey could be with child, and here I am, made a FOOL–"

"What–?" Ben tries to cut in, but the Pastor has turned to Rey.

"Go and pack some things," he says roughly. "You'll come and stay with us."

"What?" Rey finds her voice. "No, I don't want–"

"Rey, you have been violated by this man, surely you must wish to leave this place–"

"No, no, that's not–"

"He's hurting you! You must see this!"

"He's hurting m–?" She's worked herself into her own fury now, lobbing her next remark fiercely. "The same way you're hurting Finn?!"

Pastor Dameron reels back as though hit. He has an odd mix of emotions on his face; anger and indignation, yes, but also– fear? He regards her warily, as though considering an opponent with an unexpected arsenal, then makes a sudden about-face and steps back up onto his horse.

"I cannot help you if you do not wish it," he says to Rey shortly, ignoring Ben entirely. "I'll pray for you. And for the babe." He nudges his horse into a canter and disappears around the bend in the creek.

They stand in silence, watching the spot where he vanished from view.

Rey's mind is racing. Mrs. Syndulla thought she was with child? Could that explain her illness as of late?

She looks over to Ben and he stares back at her with a forlorn sort of expression, his eyes liquid and burning. "Rey–" he begins hoarsely. He reaches for her, catching her up in his arms and holding her gingerly. "Oh, sweetheart. Lord Almighty, I'm so, so sorry."

He's sorry? She allows herself to be held, trying to process everything. Pastor Dameron's face as he rode away, Mrs. Syndulla's suspicions, Ben's continued apologies, dripping with self-loathing. She drops her hand to her belly, bare underneath her dress. Could it really be? A baby?

She buries her face in Ben's shoulder. A baby.

 

Ben's up and at work before the sun, and seems distracted when Rey comes to offer him some breakfast. He takes the proffered bread and butter and swigs the tin cup full of fresh milk, but avoids her eye and offers only a half-hearted Thanks before turning and raising his hammer to a board once more.

Rey feels a stab of unease. What is he thinking? He's said so little since yesterday.

She busies herself with chores in the barn, petting M'lady and Delilah. Would a baby come like M'lady's calf had? Slimy, with feet dangling from her cunt before it emerged into the world? She's never spent much time around women in the family way before; she's not sure what to expect.

She emerges into the yard, intent upon heating some water to start the laundry, and finds Mrs. Dameron, sitting high atop her wagon seat, pulling her horses to a stop in front of the barn. She's alone.

"Hello," Rey mumbles, ducking her head awkwardly. She glances toward the house to see if Ben has noticed her arrival. He has, pausing on the ladder at a second story window to watch the yard below, but he only duffs his hat at her and returns to his hammering.

"I was hoping we might speak," Mrs. Dameron says. "Just the two of us."

"Alright," Rey says. She leads her into the shanty, glad that she tidied up after breakfast, but a little embarrassed by its simplicity; it's a far cry from the Damerons' farmhouse. Mrs. Dameron's eyes linger on the lone bed in the corner, made up nicely with the pretty quilt, and Rey feels her face grow hot. Everyone will know soon, how loose she's been, how slatternly. It's not that she's ever considered herself an example of feminine purity and goodness, but, somehow, the Damerons had; it feels awful to prove them wrong.

She fetches Mrs. Dameron some bread and jam, and some more of the fresh milk. They sit at the small table, which is scrubbed and clean. The thin bracelet woven from Zorii's hair dangles from Mrs. Dameron's wrist when she raises her cup to take a sip. Rey wonders who is watching Temiri. She feels a stab of guilt, for drawing Mrs. Dameron away from her family when they've been through so much in the last few months.

Mrs. Dameron considers her over her cup.

"I'm sorry about Poe," she says. "He overreacted a little, I imagine. But we just want to help you, Rey."

Rey ducks her head, a bit surprised at the apology. She wonders what Pastor Dameron told her about Rey's accusatory closing line, and feels another stab of guilt; she'd broken her own promise to herself, about taking the secret of Pastor Dameron and Finn to her grave.

"It's okay," she mumbles.

Mrs. Dameron reaches across the table to take her hand.

"Is it– possible? For you to be with child?"

Rey nods slowly. It's her own fault, too; she's the one that wanted to do away with the sheath. "We were trying to be careful–" she begins.

"You were?" Mrs. Dameron's eyebrows rise on her forehead.

"We had a sheath," she whispers miserably. "But we stopped…" Mrs. Dameron's eyebrows have disappeared under her fringe. "...using it."

"Well." Mrs. Dameron takes a deep breath; it seems like she's trying to maintain her outward projection of calm. "No matter now, I suppose. Do you remember when you last bled?"

Rey shakes her head, blushing. "It's only happened a few times." More now that she's gotten enough to eat every day, but it's still irregular, and the flow is rather light. She simply washes her petticoats of the stains later, unlike Rose, who had whispered to her once about 'being on the rag' and laughed out loud when Rey asked what she meant.

"We can bring the blood back on," Mrs. Dameron tells her. "If you like."

Rey frowns. "What do you mean?"

"There are herbs… Mrs. Kanata grows them in her garden, she'll know how to do it."

"I don't understand…"

Mrs. Dameron squeezes her hand. "You don't have to have a baby, Rey," she says in a low voice, gazing searchingly at her, "if you don't want to."

"Oh," Rey says faintly.

Mrs. Dameron sits back to consider her again.

"I found myself in the family way when I was younger than you are now," she says, a faraway look in her eye. "Just fourteen. My father had a hired man and… well, it was a nasty business. He told everyone I'd seduced him, that I'd wanted to trap him into marriage."

Rey stares at her, feeling like she'd been doused in cold water.

"My father was ready to cast me out, said I'd brought shame on the family. I don't know what I would have done. Destitute, alone, and with a baby on the way." She shakes her head. "I would have been utterly ruined; destined to be a prostitute. Dead, maybe."

"What did you do?" Rey asks quietly.

"Poe was in town selling some family land, and he offered to marry me. He wanted to become a preacher and travel the frontier and save souls." She smiles wryly. "I'm sure I was quite the pathetic little creature."

"And you… didn't have the baby?" Rey assumes that's where the story must be going. In any case, Mrs. Dameron isn't so young; certainly she didn't have Shara when she was fourteen.

"No," Mrs. Dameron says fiercely, "I didn't have that baby. We stayed with the man Poe sold his land to for a few months after we got married, went by the name of Beckett. His wife, Val– she helped me bring on my blood, took care of me, so I didn't have to carry that monster's seed in me any longer. More than my own flesh and blood ever did for me."

Rey feels doubly terrible for what she said to Pastor Dameron; at first glance her situation isn't so different than his wife's had been. Mrs. Dameron looks her in the eye with a fierce expression.

"I didn't have that baby, Rey, and you don't have to have this one." She takes her hand again; Rey can feel her eyes welling up, a knot forming in her throat. "You have friends here, we'll help you. You can come stay with us, go to school in the fall like you'd planned."

How awful, that they're so ready to jump to her defense, when she is not a victim. And Ben! So readily demonized, and yet she is as culpable as he. When they learn of her willingness, her lust, they'll spurn her for a whore, and yet how can she leave Ben to suffer their judgment–?

"He didn't–" she chokes out, muted by the thickness in her throat. "He didn't rape me."

She wipes her eyes messily with the back of her hand.

"I wanted it," she says hoarsely through the tears. "All of it."

Mrs. Dameron waits for her to calm down, and Rey registers that she's still holding her hand, at the very least.

"I've only known Ben Solo to be an honorable man," she says, after a brief silence punctuated only by Rey's hiccuping. "He's helped our little town more times than I could count, and our family too. But none of that would matter if he was hurting you."

"He's not, though," Rey says desperately. "He said he wants to marry me, once I'm done with school, that we'll live in the house he's building, and–" She's certain she sounds deluded, saying these things out loud, but she's not sure how else to get Mrs. Dameron to understand. "He loves me. And I love him, too." The tears streak down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, I'm not worthy of your friendship, or your protection. I'm guilty of the sin of lust, and–"

"Only God can judge us for our sins, Rey," Mrs. Dameron says kindly. "And you're certainly deserving of our friendship. You don't have to make a decision right away. Just think on it, alright?"

Rey nods miserably and stands to show her out the door. Mrs. Dameron turns to her at the threshold and catches her into a hug. It's soft, maternal, and Rey aches more than ever for her own mother, lost to time and circumstance.

"I didn't tell you the nice part of that story," Mrs. Dameron says as she pulls away.

"What is it?" Rey asks, looking at the ground. They make their way slowly across the yard to the Damerons' wagon. Rey's certain that Ben is watching them; she wonders what he thinks they talked about.

"We found Rosie a year later, in San Francisco," Mrs. Dameron says, smiling. "She saved me, perfect little thing that she was. Mended my broken heart and crumpled soul. And I got to raise a baby that I chose. One that I wanted."

Rey cracks a small smile in response, imagining a tiny Rose, perhaps with her characteristic expression offering only the finest of toddler judgment.

"Take care, Rey," she tells her, jumping up into the wagon seat. "And just know, you'll always find help with us if you need it." She waves at Ben, who doffs his hat at her again, and clucks at the horses. The wagon creaks out of the yard and Rey watches her go before chancing a glance back at Ben.

He's already gone back to hammering.

 

Ben is a little jerky at supper; he knocks a boat of gravy to the ground and insists on cleaning it up himself, dragging a rag through the muck so ineffectively that Rey is forced to bat him out of the way lest he work it into the floorboards permanently.

"No, you shouldn't be– you oughta rest–" he says, watching her helplessly.

"I'm fine," she tells him, straightening up again. It's mostly true; her nausea isn't so bad, though it's persistent. She's adjusting to the fatigue.

"What'd Kaydel want?" He asks it in a rush, like he won't get the nerve up to ask again.

She shrugs, equally helpless. "She told me I could bring my blood back on," she says. "If I wanted to."

Ben clenches his jaw, staring at the cracks in the table.

"Expect they'd want you to go live with them, in that case," he says, still not looking at her.

"Yes," Rey says, nodding slowly. Mrs. Dameron had been surprisingly understanding, but she doubts they'll be able to live together, unmarried, much longer.

"S'pose you oughta," Ben mumbles, so low she can barely hear it.

"You want me to?" Rey's throat hurts again; drat this dreadful teariness.

He shrugs, but his jaw is as tight as ever. "Dameron's right. I haven't been a good… guardian… to you. Or a good Christian." He blinks rapidly, and she can see his eyes are glossy. "Certainly not a good father."

Rey's heart feels like it's breaking, only it's not for herself, because she can follow his logic and it's landed on the worst conclusion.

"Ben," she says desperately. "You're not my father."

He nods tightly, hunching his shoulders and she can see a single drop on the edge of his nose.

"But you don't– " Her voice breaks a little. "Would you– want… a– a baby?"

She thought he did; at least, he said he wanted to marry her, and didn't babies usually come along with marriage? But maybe he wouldn't want this one, overshadowed by scandal as it is.

He might not want you either, a horrible voice whispers in her head. You're a ruined woman now.

"Just– I want what's best for you, sweetheart." He stares resolutely at the floorboards. She gets the sense he's choosing his words carefully. "I want whatever you want."

What does she want? She thinks about Lincoln, and the excitement of college, and feels a pang for the loss of them. But then she thinks of staying here on the farm, with the new house, with Ben by her side and a baby at her breast, and… it just doesn't compare. She wants it. As badly as she's wanted anything. More.

"I–" Her words are all jumbled in her mouth. "I want–" She blinks tears out of her eyes, and can only manage a whisper. "Please, can't we keep it?"

He looks up at her, finally, but she barrels on, hiccuping teary breaths between her words.

"I know it's not– I know I was supposed to go to school, and– the house isn't done, but– it wouldn't be so ba– I mean, only if you still want to marry– if you don't mind that I'm– that I'm ruined–"

Ben tugs her into his lap and she succumbs to her sobs, burying her face in his neck. He rubs his hand down her back soothingly, stroking her hair with the other.

"Nothin' could ruin you," he tells her in a quiet voice, pressing his lips to the top of her head. "I'd marry you tomorrow if that's what you wanted." He's quiet for a moment while she catches her breath.

"I'm a selfish man," he begins again solemnly. "Try not to be, but damn if you don't tempt me somethin' fierce. I can't get enough of you, Rey. Just want more and more. Every part of you, all to myself."

He sighs heavily, caressing her hair.

"You oughta go stay with the Damerons, and– and let your blood come down again, and go off to school, 'cause I clearly ain't got your best interests at heart. But damn if I don't wanna keep you here with me, and see you get round with our child, and fill up all the rooms in that house."

Rey sits slowly up in his lap. His eyes are puffy and red when she looks at his face, and she knows hers must look the same.

"You– you want it?"

"'Course I want it, sweetheart." He smiles sadly at her, brushing a curl out of her face, letting his hand come to rest at the nape of her neck. She stares at him, and it's almost blinding.

"Let's keep it," she says in a rush, but as firmly as she's ever uttered anything. "Ben, I want to keep it."

He smiles at her, a real smile, his eyes glittering again with unshed tears, and it is blinding. She cups his cheek, and presses her lips to his. He deepens the kiss, palming the back of her head gently with his huge, open hand. When he pulls back, he skims down her body until he's at her belly, hesitantly pressing his fingers to her abdomen. She moves to cover his hand with hers, feeling the warmth soak through her bodice, cradling the spot where their child will grow.

Notes:

CW: Rey is a YOUTH in CRISIS. Discussion of unplanned pregnancy and abortion; Rey does not end up choosing to abort, but Kaydel shares a story of an abortion she had at fourteen, after she was abused by an older man. Lots of emotions and some yelling. Poe in capslock.

Well, the day has come, it is time for an abridged history of abortion in the United States. I imagine some of you saw this coming, but I bet you didn't see me lead with an impassioned defense of the Puritans.
Abortion before "quickening", or when the fetus could be felt to kick (between 14 and 26 weeks), was perfectly legal and common in early New England; it was done using herbal abortifacients like pennyroyal and tansy, and was generally not considered to have any ethical or religious implications. Puritan women actually had more legal rights than those in England during this period; they could legally seek divorce from their husbands and were generally better protected from abuse by church doctrine and the courts. Despite our understanding of Puritans as a tightly-laced sort of people, about 40% of first borns were born early or completely out of wedlock; the misrepresentation, I think, largely stems from the very Victorian novel The Scarlet Letter, which perhaps better reflects 19th century mores. (If you're interested in reading more about Puritan gender dynamics, I'd highly recommend Good Wives, by Laurel Thatcher Ulrich.)

The movement to outlaw abortion gained way in the mid-19th century, and is a complicated story of the professionalization of medicine, a better understanding of fetal development, and a growing fear of ethnic replacement (pro-natalism has always gone hand-in-hand with white supremacy.) There were still abortifacient medicines sold commercially during this period, which euphemistically promised to "unblock" menses, and enforcement of the new laws (which existed in every state by 1910) was difficult, as women could grow abortifacients in their own gardens, as Maz clearly has been. Early feminists were largely anti-abortion, though many argued essentially that high rates of marital rape were forcing women to seek abortions.

As usual, the morality in this story is probably highly anachronistic, but I want to defend a few points. First, Kaydel first speaks euphemistically (and in a more period-accurate way), referring to "bringing on the blood," before pretty openly talking about ending pregnancy. I imagine this is largely for Rey's benefit, as speaking too euphemistically wouldn't have gotten the point across. Second, she and Maz (and to a lesser extent Mrs. Syndulla and Poe) seem pretty chill about the idea of abortion, despite the contemporary movement to outlaw it; I'm going to say that Kaydel's personal experience informs this a little, but also that it's estimated that 20-25% of pregnancies at this time were ended by abortion, so it's not exactly uncommon. As for the premarital sex, etc. being readily excused, I made that up and can only point once again at the confusing morals of the American West during this period. I will point out that Kaydel is for sure bothered by the use of a sheath, as they were associated with brothels and used mainly to prevent STI's.

Also, Victorian menstruation! Free-bleeding was a thing! You had to hold up your pad or rag or whatever with suspenders because there was a giant split in your underwear! It's surprisingly difficult to find info on this topic, as my girl Karolina will tell you (is it becoming obvious that I spend all my free time on costuming YouTube?)

I want to shout out my home state of Colorado for defeating a 22-week abortion ban last Tuesday, which is actually a big deal nationally since a lot of people travel there for third trimester abortions; another shout out to the abortion rights protesters in Poland. If you're able, maybe consider donating to abortion funds in the deep South, which can make or break someone gaining access to their constitutional right to abortion care.

Please take care of yourselves. I know this has been a stressful time. Sending you all lots of warmth and love.

Chapter 22

Notes:

Content warnings in the end notes.

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Rey dresses in her smartest outfit– the traveling suit that Rose made over for her, newly washed and pressed. She does her hair up carefully in a nice chignon, curling her fringe so it frames her face. Her dragonfly necklace sits prettily in the hollow of her throat.

Ben smiles softly at her when she emerges from the claim shanty. He's wearing his Sunday suit and his hair and whiskers are neatly trimmed and combed.

"Ready?"

She nods, stepping up into the wagon and swallowing her nerves.

"Ready."

She gazes out at the horizon as they trundle along the wagon track. The prairie isn't flat, not by a longshot. It has hollows and hills, dips where different shades of grass peek through. Some stalks shine bright, like gold, shimmering against the expanse of green while dark thickets of trees trace the line of the creek as it winds into the distance. And the sky– so large it's breathtaking, the giant, billowy clouds stretching miles above them and around them, drifting lazily so Rey cranes her neck to watch them go by.

"Dameron'll see sense," Ben murmurs, so quietly that Rey half-suspects he's reassuring himself.

"He will," she says, squeezing his hand soothingly; he laces his fingers through hers, holding the reins with his left hand. She's not really certain whether or not Pastor Dameron will "see sense," but he can't let them go unmarried, not with her in her condition.

No, Rey's not worried about the Pastor. She's worried about Rose.

She might already know; Pastor Dameron is not a quiet man, and presumably the Damerons had more than one discussion about the situation. How can Rey possibly explain it to her?

What if the Damerons no longer want her to associate with their daughter at all?

Rey grasps Ben's hand tighter when they round the bend to the Damerons' homestead. Finn is in the yard, fiddling with one of the wheels on their wagon, but he straightens when they come into view, wiping his hands on a rag.

"Howdy," he calls, but there's a hesitance in his voice, so unlike Finn. Had Pastor Dameron told him of Rey's accusation? He fidgets with the cloth. "Shall I fetch the Pastor–?"

But there's no need. Pastor Dameron pushes the screen door open onto the front porch, letting it swing shut behind him with a resounding bang. He crosses his arms.

"Solo," he says coldly.

"Dameron," Ben says, stiff in the wagon seat. He squeezes Rey's hand again and she can feel the slightest tremor in his fingers. "We'd like you to marry us."

Pastor Dameron uncrosses and recrosses his arms, tighter this time, if that were possible. He looks at Rey.

"This is really what you want?"

She swallows. "Yes." Her voice is high and clear in the mid-morning breeze. "It really is."

He shakes his head, letting his arms fall to his sides and pulls open the door once more. "Give me a minute," he mutters, disappearing into the house.

Rey's not sure what they ought to do. Stay seated in the wagon? Would he marry them without them ever getting out? She supposes it'd be a fitting wedding, all mixed up to match their backwards courtship.

"Congratulations," Finn offers, grinning at them.

"Thanks, Finn," Rey smiles back tentatively. She wants to ask after Rose, but isn't sure exactly how. "How is–?"

"Rey!" The screen door swings open and shut again, and then Rose is there, lifting her skirts to better run down the steps to the wagon. She falters to a stop in front of them, her hands coming up to smack her own forehead, mussing her fringe so she looks quite disheveled. "You're getting married?!"

"Rosie–" Finn puts his hand soothingly on her shoulder but she shakes him off.

"I don't understand– I mean, how can you possibly–? You didn't even tell me!" Her voice is shrill but there's a genuine layer of hurt underneath that makes a lump rise in Rey's throat.

"Rose–" she says helplessly.

"Why don't you go and talk to her," Ben tells her quietly. "I oughta deal with the horses anyhow."

Rey nods and steps carefully down from the wagon seat. Rose grasps her hand firmly and marches her away beyond the barn. They have a good view of the near pasture and the wheat field further out.

Rose turns to her, lips pursed.

"Rose–" Rey tries again, but Rose cuts her off.

"How can you marry him?" She hisses, apparently deciding now to keep her voice down. "He's your father."

"No, he isn't," Rey says fiercely. She is at least prepared on this point. "I don't have a father."

But Rose bats this explanation away.

"It's the same as if me and Pa–" She looks too disgusted to finish the thought.

"It isn't the same, Rose!" Rey's voice spirals hotly. "You've had years and years with your parents. I've had no one! Not a soul, until I came here. And then I had Ben, and– and he's been so caring and kind and– and everything a husband ought to be!"

Rose glares at the dirt, kicking at it a bit with her boot.

"The timing isn't…" Rey tries to choose her words carefully, wondering just how much Rose knows, whether she ought to leave her some chaste sensibilities, "...what we planned. But I love him, and I want to be his wife. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you, only we just found out–"

Rose glances at her midsection and Rey thinks she likely knows enough. She drops her hand to her belly, her stomach sinking, ready to confess that yes, she did know it was a sin, engaging in congress outside the marriage bed. She ought to apologize, for associating Rose– for associating the whole family– with a Jezebel, a whore

"You're really–" Rose stares at Rey's hand, before looking away and glancing guiltily back toward the house, dropping her voice low. "Does it hurt? Putting a baby inside you, I mean."

Rey laughs loudly in shock; it isn't at all what she expected Rose to say. "No," she says. "It's– well..." she too throws a look over her shoulder. "It's awfully nice, really."

"And he doesn't... not like Mr. Hux tried to…?" Rose grasps her hand anxiously.

"No, Rose," she whispers sadly. "Nothing like that."

Rose sighs as if in relief, dropping her hand and looking her up and down critically, frowning as she takes her in.

"Oh Rey, you can't be married wearing that."

Rey squawks. "I– what? You sewed it!"

"As a traveling suit. Not a wedding gown. No, that won't do at all."

She grasps Rey's hand once more, tugging her toward the house, past Ben and Finn, who are brushing down the horses, and through the front door.

The parlor has been converted to a workshop, and Rey's mind reels trying to take it all in, awash with relief as she is that Rose seems to have forgiven her her lapse in moral judgment. There are bolts of cloth, ribbons and trimmings, buttons– it's like the whole of the General Store stock in fabric and other sartorial goods have spilled out over the Damerons' fine sofas and rugs. And there, amongst it all, is the gleaming black and gold sewing machine, SINGER delicately inlaid across the top next to the beautiful golden hand crank.

"Oh, Rose," Rey breathes.

"Mrs. Lintra was ever so pleased with how her dresses came out, and she has two sisters, back in Chicago, you know, but they're coming for a visit and so she wanted dresses for all of them. They'll have to be fitted when they arrive, but I've done up the basic forms– and oh, Rey, this would be a much better wedding gown, don't you think?" She holds up a champagne colored cuirass bodice and a ruffled golden skirt; the end trails into a waterfall train, longer than any Rey has had occasion to wear. "I could hem it to fit you, just for today. They don't come for another two weeks, so it'd be no bother to remake it. And I know it's not white, but–"

"Maybe that's for the best," Rey says with a small, self-deprecating grin. "Are you sure, Rose? This seems like an awful lot of trouble…"

"Not at all," Rose says, waving her hand airily. "Won't take me an hour."

She bustles out of the room and bossily calls to the men in the yard, telling them that they'll need to wait a bit longer.

Mrs. Dameron comes into the parlor to help, propping Temiri between bolts of fabric (and far away from any buttons.) Rey smiles nervously at her while she holds the bodice in place and Rose pins. After the events of yesterday, she can't help but see Mrs. Dameron in a new light. She desperately wants to reassure her that she's sure of her decision, but can't think of a way to do so with Rose in the room. In any case, Mrs. Dameron does not seem to require additional explanation; she smiles calmly back at Rey, murmuring to Rose about a bit of puckering in the hem.

Rose is good to her word, and it seems like no time at all before Rey is buttoned into the gown, smoothing the lovely satin skirts. It's the finest thing she's ever worn.

"You look so beautiful," Mrs. Dameron tells her, arranging her curled fringe so it hangs just so. "I only wish we had a veil for you."

"It's alright," Rey blushes. "This is more than I had imagined anyway."

Rose helps her with the train and guides her through the house to the back door, which opens not on the yard, with the dust and dirt, but rather onto the near pasture, with its clean prairie grass. Mrs. Dameron follows them with Kes and Temiri, and Shara runs to fetch the men from the front.

Pastor Dameron carries a Bible with him, a sour expression on his face, but even he lights up when he sees Rey in her finery. Finn gives an appreciative whistle.

Ben's expression is a riot of emotions as he rounds the corner of the house to see her– pride and happiness and guilt and elation. He seems to be on the verge of weeping again, for the third time in as many days, and Rey swallows her own tears, determined to at least make it through the ceremony.

He draws even with her, taking in her dress before holding out a little posy of wildflowers.

"Reckon you need a bouquet," he says.

"Thank you, Papa," she says quietly, smiling and taking the flowers.

"Rose just… gifted you a dress?"

"She's making it for Mrs. Lintra's sister," she whispers to him. "I'm only borrowing it."

He nods, frowning slightly, and takes her arm in his as they face the Pastor.

"I suppose we ought to start," Pastor Dameron sighs heavily, opening his Bible and tracing the thin page with his fingertip. "In Romans 12 we read: 'Love must be sincere... Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Share with the Lord's people who are in need.'"

He fixes them with a stern look.

"In this we are reminded that we have duties in love. We are beholden to each other, to all Christians, indeed to all the Lord's people, when we love. Love is not in service of the flesh–" Finn clears his throat a bit noisily behind them "–but it is in service of the community. It is in service of the Lord. When we honor another above ourselves, we learn to honor all others above ourselves. Marriage, thus, is a bedrock of a good and Christian society. Love is essential, if indeed it is sincere."

Rey does her best to nod along to what Pastor Dameron is saying, and after another long look at the two of them he shakes his head.

"I suppose I shall skip asking who gives this woman to be wed," he says acerbically. "Do you have a ring?"

Oh no, Rey panics a little, and it seems such a silly thing, after everything, but they haven't got a ring

"I do," Ben says, and he holds it out to her, a cluster of irregularly shaped gemstones along a band; Rey's never seen anything like it. She offers her hand and he slides it on her finger. It fits snugly against her knuckle.

"Good," Pastor Dameron says. "Now, then. Do you, Reyna Sands, in the presence of God and these your friends, take this man to be your husband, and promise with Divine assistance to be unto him a loving and faithful wife, for as long as you both shall live?"

"Yes," Rey says.

"And do you, Ben Solo, in the presence of God and these your friends, take this woman to be your wife, and promise with Divine assistance to be unto her a loving and faithful husband, for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," Ben intones.

"I then pronounce you married in the eyes of the Lord."

Rey smiles at Ben hesitantly, glancing sideways at the Pastor. Were they meant to kiss? He hasn't indicated as such, and she's never been to a wedding before, but she thought…

Ben leans down and tilts her chin toward up with his hand, pressing his lips chastely to hers. He pulls away, positively beaming and she thinks there might be some wateriness in his eyes again. And, oh, drat, in hers as well–

The others move forward to congratulate them but Rey can hardly see through her veil of happy tears. She feels Rose's arms clasp around her neck, and then Finn's hand thump her on the back. Mrs. Dameron wraps her in a warm hug and Rey sobs into her blouse. She can't quite believe it, little orphan Rey, married.

Ben catches her up in his arms again, his hand possessively around her waist while he presses a kiss to the top of her head. It feels so nice, to be open and affectionate, not hiding anymore…

"We ought to have a wedding breakfast," Mrs. Dameron says. "Come along, Rosie, we can whip up a thing or two…"

Ben helps move the long table out to the pasture, and Rey minds Kes and Temiri, careful of the fine, borrowed gown. Rose and Mrs. Dameron and Shara weave in and out of the house, holding dishes loaded down with cold ham and greens, rolls and butter, tomatoes and cucumbers and radishes, smoked fish with store bought crackers– a veritable feast. Rose promises a cake at the end, which she dashes periodically back to the kitchen to check, and which is dusted with icing sugar when she finally brings it to the table, still warm from the oven.

"Can't begin to thank you–" Ben begins when they've eaten their fill, and Rey nods fervently in agreement.

"To Mr. and Mrs. Solo!" Finn calls from the end, holding up a tin cup of water.

"Hear hear!"

Pastor Dameron still looks a bit put out, but he raises a glass to them as well, and Rey thinks she might soon become dehydrated, what with all the blubbering she's done today.

She helps to clear the table of all the dishes, and then minds Temiri once more, making funny faces at him until he giggles and grabs for her necklace. It's nearly time to go, she reflects sadly. Nearly time to give back the marvelous dress, nearly time for her wedding day to be over.

Rose emerges from the back door and Rey holds Temiri out to her.

"I'll go and change," she says. Her traveling suit is in the parlor, carefully folded amongst Rose's dressmaking supplies.

But Rose shakes her head.

"Your– Mr. Solo– he bought it for you."

"What?" Rey frowns. "Isn't it for Mrs. Lintra's sister? What will you have to give her?"

"Rey," Rose says, a manic gleam in her eye. She takes Temiri, bouncing him on her hip happily. "I'll have to make another dress."

"And you have time?"

"Oh, yes." Rose hums dreamily. "And Mr. Solo said he wants another of his mother's old dresses made over for you. Isn't it wonderful?"

Rey frowns a little at Rose's retreating back, but follows her into the house to collect her things, changing into her traveling suit for the ride home anyway and wrapping the new dress carefully in paper. She ought to talk to Ben about impulsive purchases like this, they really can't afford–

But you can afford them, a little voice whispers. You're a rich woman now.

She shakes her head, walking down the front steps to find the wagon hitched to the horses, and Ben conversing in low tones with Pastor Dameron, who has his hand a bit threateningly on his shoulder.

"Ready?" Rey calls anxiously, wishing to avoid any more confrontations. She seats herself busily in the wagon seat, arranging her things. Finn wanders out of the barn and Rey waves goodbye to him, wondering if she could convey in her smile that she means no harm toward him and Pastor Dameron, whatever they might get up to in the horse stalls.

"See you around, Mrs. Solo!" he calls to her, grinning widely and doffing his hat, and she can't help the little thrill that goes through her at hearing her new name.

"See you around, Finn!"

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Ben nodding seriously before clapping Pastor Dameron on the back. The rest of the Damerons have gathered on the porch to wave goodbye to them, and Rey waves back frantically as they pull out of the yard.

"What did the Pastor want?" she asks as soon as they're around the bend. Ben sighs.

"He cares for you, is all," he tells her. "And I'm real glad for it too."

"You don't think he's cross with me?"

Ben snorts. "Not with you, no. Reckon he's still a bit cross with me. Why should he be cross with you?"

"For what I– for what I said to him–"

Ben just frowns in confusion at her, and Rey considers that maybe he hadn't caught the exchange at all, and if so, she ought to keep her mouth shut. She shakes her head and changes the subject.

"You bought the dress from Rose?"

"Ah," he grins a bit bashfully. "Well you oughta keep your own wedding dress, don't you think?" He tugs her under his arm so they're closer on the wagon seat. "I reckon I've been livin' a bit of an– abstemious– existence, and I'm realizin' maybe I've been depriving you of some things you oughta have."

"No– Papa, you've given me so much–"

He squeezes her waist. "So you'd say no to ordering some books, then?"

"I– well, no, that's not what I meant–"

They pass the outlying buildings of town and trot along Main Street. Ben pulls the horses up short at the General Store, tying them to the hitching post and helping Rey out of the wagon seat.

"Hullo, Mr. Solo," Mr. McQuarrie greets them. "Miss Rey. What can I help you with?"

"We were lookin' to order some things…"

They converse while Rey looks around the store. There's a small collection of books, which she's perused before: a few Bibles and Farmer's Almanacs. And there, this is new– a novel. She glances around at them. Ben wouldn't mind her reading a novel, whatever Mrs. Syndulla thought of them, though she'd like some more poetry too, and history books, perhaps even a Latin primer…

She picks up the novel– A Tale of Two Cities– and brings it over to the counter. Dickens is mentioned from time to time in the papers, of course, but she's never had the opportunity to read one of his works.

"–what about a mangle?" Ben is saying to Mr. McQuarrie, who nods, marking down the item on a piece of paper to be ordered. "And items for a lady's trousseau?"

Mr. McQuarrie looks up at Rey. "Is Miss Rey looking to be married?"

"Mrs. Solo and I were married this morning," Ben says, and Rey gets the sense that he's been eager to drop this bit of information since they walked in the store.

Mr. McQuarrie gapes wordlessly at them for a moment before trying to school his expression. "I– that's– " He clears his throat heartily. "I must offer you my congratulations, then." He nods awkwardly at Rey without making eye contact.

"Thank you," she mumbles, feeling her face growing hot. He marks down some items for a lady's trousseau, asking her about each one with a practiced disinterest, and she faintly agrees, though she hardly listens to what he's saying.

How is this somehow worse than confronting the Damerons? Mr. McQuarrie wraps up the book and a few other items they've purchased from the store, and calculates the total sum so that Ben can pay. Rey watches, imagining him as a member of a sort of Greek chorus, and feels a deep sense of foreboding.

"Can we–" she turns to Ben but her voice comes out as barely a whisper. She tries again. "I'd like to write to a shop in Lincoln, to order some books. Before we drive home."

"Sure thing, sweetheart," he says, casually putting his hand on her waist. "Can we add some stationary and a stamp to that?" Mr. McQuarrie nods, his tongue between his teeth as he writes another line on the receipt.

Rey finds a bit of clear space on the counter to write her letter with a borrowed pen and ink.

Dear Mr. Erso, she begins. You may not remember me…

She decides to simply describe the sorts of books she'd like and let him choose for her. Ben peers over her shoulder.

"Ask for a copy of the Aeneid," he says. "And the Metamorphoses."

She nods, adding the lines.

Sincerely,

She pauses, unsure of how she wants to sign the letter. Mrs. Reyna Sands Solo? She shakes her head; she's always disliked her surname, chosen for her at one of the orphanages. No, she would have a clean start.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Rey Solo

 

When they return home they have to tend to some chores they'd neglected during the day, but this passes quickly enough and they pull the table and chairs outside into the sunset and sit down to a simple wedding supper of eggs and bacon and a dessert of strawberries that Rey grows in their garden.

"Where did you get the ring?" she asks, admiring it in the golden light.

"It was my mother's," he tells her. "That and a few other pieces were in that trunk; I can show 'em to you if you like."

Rey smiles at him, looking at the ring again. "It's beautiful."

"Just like you," he says, leaning closer to her until his lips hover just over hers. "Prettiest bride I ever saw."

The kiss is slow, almost chaste, like the one at the wedding, but Rey shivers with the sensation of his skin brushing against hers, at the slight flick of his tongue. Ben cradles the back of her head in his large hand and presses forward against her, nipping, just a little, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth.

As soon as it starts it's over, and Rey's left gasping, hungry for a mouth that's been pulled away from her.

"We don't have to–" Ben's hand comes up to rub the back of his head. "Only I know you haven't been feelin' swell, and Lord knows we don't gotta consummate anything…"

"No, I'm– I feel alright, really." She reaches her hand out to cradle his face, looking into his dark eyes. "Take me to bed, Papa, please."

He doesn't hesitate, pushing his chair back and scooping her up into his arms while she shrieks in laughter.

"Have to do this again once the house is finished," he tells her as he carries her over the threshold.

She looks up at him from where he gently lays her on the bed, watching him shrug off his suspenders and untuck his shirt. They'd both changed out of their nicer clothes in order to do chores, and it'd be simple for her to quickly undress herself as well.

"What would you do?" she asks him. "If we did have to consummate? If I were a virgin, I mean?"

He pauses, looking down at her with his buttons half-undone and his trousers sagging a bit.

"What would I do?" He moves to loom over her and she leans away from him, her head coming to rest on her pillow. His voice is low and gravely, and he skims his nose along her jaw until it nudges up against her ear. "Oh, sweetheart, I'd be so gentle with you."

He sucks a kiss into the thin skin just below her ear and she sighs, tilting her head to allow him better access.

Her blouse is unbuttoned before she knows what's happening, and he's dragging his mouth down her neck, seeking the bit of newly exposed collarbone.

"Gotta take this off, alright?"

She nods at him breathlessly, and he pulls her blouse away, leaving her in her corset and skirt. But his hands find this too, fiddling with the hook and eye closure and pulling it from her waist.

"Can you undo your corset for me?"

Rey nods again, somehow struck dumb into a blushing bride, sitting up to undo the front closure while Ben presses wet, open-mouthed kisses to her shoulder. He reaches up to pull her chignon loose while she's busy divesting herself of her corset, and her hair falls in soft curls around her face.

She'd worn a chemise and drawers today. They are her newest underthings and she wanted to feel fresh and new on her wedding day. Ben hums, running his fingertips over the pretty white lawn, reaching under the chemise to pluck loose the drawstring of her drawers, pulling them down over her hips.

"You can leave this on," he murmurs to her, fingering the chemise once more. "Don't wanna impose on your modesty or nothin'."

Rey has to bite back a smile at that, but lets him press her back against the pillow.

"Gotta open up for me, sweet girl." He pushes her knees apart.

His fingers cut through her folds like a hot knife, still concealed by the chemise, finding her swollen clitoris before he presses two into her cunt. Rey lets out a breathy little moan, her hands grasping at the bedclothes.

"There you go," Ben whispers, watching her face. "Doin' so good, sweetheart…"

He pulls out his cock while he pleasures her, and Rey wonders if a new bride was meant to be spared this sight as well. It is indeed soon obscured from her view as Ben leans down to capture her lips in his, whispering encouragement at her while he replaces his fingers with his manhood.

"Ah," he grunts as he eases himself slowly inside her. Rey whines as she's stretched, the unyielding pressure of his hard cock pinning her open, her knees spread like butterfly wings around his girthy chest. "Good– good girl– hngh– you're okay… I know it's big– "

Ben pulls himself out a little before thrusting back in, and Rey moans as he hits that pleasurable spot inside her. Her face and chest feel flushed and she gazes at him, lips slightly parted, as he thrusts again, slow and deliberate, cupping her face in his hand so he can muffle her little noises with his own mouth.

"My pretty little wife," he whispers into her neck, thrusting again. "This tight little quim."

He reaches between them, under the chemise, and barely brushes her clitoris before Rey's legs are thrashing, her back bowed and his name caught in her throat.

Ben picks up his pace, groaning in time with his frantic thrusts, mouthing at her neck. She can feel his shudder as he reaches his climax, the sudden weight of him as he collapses on top of her.

They lay panting together atop the pretty quilt. She lazily kisses the bits of him she can reach, scraping her teeth gently against his skin, sucking bruises wherever she pleases. She can feel him softening inside her until finally he shifts and slides out wetly.

With a groan he heaves himself off her, sitting back to look down at her once more, dragging his thumb across her bottom lip until she opens her mouth and suckles on the tip, looking up at him, eyes hooded in her post-euphoric haze.

A shift of her legs out of their spread position draws his attention, and he looks lower, impatiently pushing her chemise out of the way.

"Fuck," he breathes. He draws his fingers through her folds again, pulling her lips apart, and she realizes he's watching his spend trickle out of her, thick and messy. "Fuck, Rey."

He's hard again, pressing against her thigh as he marvels at the white beads dripping down her crimson flesh. This time he isn't gentle when he pushes into her, thrusting hard enough to knock a gasp from her as he bears down, grasping her hip with a grip hard enough to bruise.

"If we had to– ahh– consummate tonight," he growls, her eyes rolling back with the sudden onslaught, "I'd– huh– spend myself– hngh– silly in your little– ughh– virgin cunt." Rey's cries are a drawn-out staccato of pleasure, punched from her throat. "I'd keep you tied to this bed until my seed took, until I fucked a baby into you, until I got my pretty little wife pregnant–"

She clenches at the word, so vulgar, uncouth, fit for animals. His thrusts are rocking the bed and she's shaking with ecstasy, cresting higher and higher, crashing and spinning out underneath him while he fills her body determinedly, again, with his seed–

 

They lay awake for a while in the lamplight, after they've properly prepared the farm and the shanty for bed. Ben holds her, his hand tracing little circles on her belly, his chin tucked over her shoulder.

"What do you think it'll be like?" Rey whispers, trying to imagine her flat stomach rounded and full.

Ben hums. "Don't know really. Exhilaratin', I imagine. And probably tiring."

Rey smiles.

"Probably."

"Can't wait to meet 'em, though," Ben says, pressing his fingers against her.

"Me too," Rey says, covering his hand with hers, her heart so full she feels it could burst. "I can't hardly wait."

Notes:

CW: Gratuitous wedding imagery. Wedding night smut with 1) loss of virginity kink even though no one is a virgin, and 2) breeding kink even though Rey is already pregnant.

Rey's dress is some amalgam of these three dresses, all of which are original garments from 1881 and one of which was actually worn in Nebraska by Susette La Flesche, a Native American rights activist, at her wedding. Though they are all cream and gold, they were intended as wedding dresses; I did want Rey's to be something that could be a wedding dress but also could have believably been ordered as a generic formal gown.

White wedding dresses were certainly a thing by this point, courtesy of Queen Victoria, though I was extremely hard-pressed to find any natural form era wedding dress without a cuirass bodice.

Rey's ring. It wasn't common practice for men to wear wedding rings until the twentieth century.

The wedding vows are adapted from Quaker vows. The low-key outdoor wedding/elopement is some 21st-century revisionism; even frontier weddings were remarkably elaborate. I read a lot about trousseaus and have emerged more baffled than ever; my understanding is that prior to their weddings brides were supposed to purchase and/or make all of the underwear and linens they would ever need for the rest of their lives (?) and if they were rich enough they might also put them on display (??). If someone wants to explain them to me in the comments, please do. Rey obviously wasn't planning on getting married yet, and wouldn't have prepared her trousseau ahead of time. On the other hand I imagine Rose has a small collection for her trousseau already.

Thank you so much to @bee_woop for this wonderful fanart of Papa Ben with a nice bouquet of wildflowers ❤️.

Hope you all enjoyed the breeding kink. If Ben really was trying to get her pregnant, having sex with her again immediately wouldn't be the best method; the head of the human penis likely evolved to displace rival semen from the vagina. :)

Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers. Please stay safe however you're celebrating, and maybe consider donating to the First Nations Development Institute.

Much love to you all! ❤️

Chapter 23

Notes:

CW: Consensual Non-Consent. Additional content warnings in the end notes.

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Rey can hardly sleep Saturday night, knowing that they are to go to church for the first time as man and wife in the morning. She tosses and turns until Ben rolls over and half-smothers her with a heavy arm.

"It'll be alright, sweetheart," he grumbles blearily into the quiet dark. "Get some rest now."

But she stares at the tar paper ceiling and cradles her belly while his gentle snores fill the shanty. A protective fierceness grips her. Whatever they all wish to say to her, they might, but no one would insult her child.

She imagines a tiny heartbeat beneath her fingertips, and, soothed by this lullaby, she finally drifts to sleep.

 

At Ben's urging she dons her new golden dress. She lifts the hem carefully to avoid the dust in the yard and settles gingerly into the wagon seat, anxiously smoothing the ruffled skirt.

She tries to sit tall beside Ben as they ride into town; she ought to act her part as a married woman. Calm and poised, nurturing, virtuous…

Rey looks for Rose while Ben hitches the horses, but she doesn't appear, likely inside already.

"You look real pretty," Ben murmurs, taking her arm in his. "We oughta get a photograph taken with you in that dress."

Rey smiles at him, and they walk into the building.

It's clear to her as they enter that the news has spread. Conversations cut short as they pass and a sudden hush falls before a low murmur creeps up in the background. Rey's smile wavers and she feels her face grow red, but she keeps her head high as they find their seats. She can almost feel the gaze of the other parishioners on her, like a physical touch.

She spots Rose and Finn in their usual pew, and she breathes a sigh of relief. As long as they have a few friends, she thinks she can manage whatever else comes their way.

"You wore it–!" Rose's exclamation is cut short by Pastor Dameron standing at the front and clearing his throat.

"Welcome, everyone," he says. "And I believe we must extend a special welcome to our newlyweds, Mr. and Mrs. Solo."

There's a low grumbling of welcome and congratulations from the parishioners around them. A "What?" sounds out in a low, male voice from the back pew, and there's a brief outbreak of laughter. Rey feels her face burn hotter, but she does her best not to react, staring stonily ahead. Ben squeezes her hand in her lap.

"In Ephesians 4," Pastor Dameron continues in a rather sharp voice, "we read of Unity in the body of Christ. Paul urges 'you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit– just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call– one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all. But grace was given to each one of us according to the measure of Christ's gift.'"

He fixes them all with a stern look.

"'Speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love.'"

He pauses again to look up again from his Bible, then resumes his pacing in front of the congregation.

"'Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear. Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.'"

He closes his Bible with a snap and they all stand to sing a hymn. Even without further elaboration, Rey knows his sermon is for her. She raises her voice.

As I went down in the river to pray
Studying about that good ol' way
And who shall wear the starry crown
Good Lord, show me the way

Mr. Snap finds them after, while Rose is fiddling with Rey's gown, muttering about re-hemming one side of the bodice.

"Real sorry for my outburst earlier," he tells them sheepishly, fiddling with his hat. "I hadn't heard the news till now."

"That's alright, Mr. Snap," Rey tells him. She feels a little better, now that the service is over and the initial reactions passed. Other parishioners wish them congratulations as they leave the church. Some avert their gaze, but some offer smiles.

"Still," he says. "I woulda brought you a wedding present."

"Oh, you don't have to–"

"I will," he reassures her. "Next week, I promise. Only wish I'd got to see you all dressed and fine for the wedding. Sure you had your reasons for rushing things, but…"

Rey smiles wryly. "I wore this, so…"

"Ah! 'Course, a Miss Rose Dameron creation…"

They chat a while longer, and then he and Ben discuss the progress on the house and a few projects on Mr. Snap's homestead. Rey hadn't considered that more people might have wished to attend the wedding; she had been so certain of the shame of it all that she could only imagine people wishing to stay far away.

Finally Mr. Snap bids them a good day, tipping his hat and promising once again to bring a wedding gift the following week. Rey waves goodbye to Rose, who tells her to bring by the dress to be made over, not before the end of July but not after the first week of August.

"Wasn't so bad, was it?" Ben asks as they're driving home.

Rey thinks of the cold stares and hostile murmurs, and mutely shakes her head no.

 

There are the same chores to be done as last summer, except now there's the house building to think of, and also Rey is coming to realize that she'll be of much less help.

Her fatigue has returned, and she finds herself wanting to nap in the middle of the day, only to wake up long past the hour she had intended. She instructs Ben to wake her at least in time to prepare supper, but on more than one occasion she wakes to find him bent over the stove himself.

Finn comes by a few times over the next few weeks to help Ben with the wheat harvest, and with the house. Rey quite likes his visits. They give her a chance to speak to another person outside of church; they chat while each nailing lath in the upstairs rooms, and she hears all about his trials and tribulations of finding a suitable homestead. Ben is determined to have the house finished enough to move in for the winter, though they'll likely only occupy the kitchen and part of the downstairs until all the appropriate furnishings can be purchased.

In the evenings, if she feels up to it, she curls up in Ben's lap in their rocking chair and reads aloud from their new books; he helps her through the Aeneid, and once she becomes tired of translation they read A Tale of Two Cities. Rey shivers in delight at the bloodiness of the Terror, wondering if she could encode secret messages in her lumpy knitting.

She is still a little wary of the other congregants at church, unsure if she is imagining scornful glances or children hurried out of her path and away from her pew. Mr. Snap follows through on his promise and gifts them a very handsome set of bone china, all carefully wrapped and stored securely in their box. Rey is overcome, and chokes out a Thank you to him, imagining the fine plates and teacups displayed in the cupboards in the new house.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times… Rey thinks. But wasn't it really?

Rey visits with Rose after church one Sunday, during her pre-allotted window of time, bringing another dress from the chest of drawers to be re-made into a fashionable cut. It's in a dark blue velvet, and Rose is quite daring with the re-shaping, cutting the front open and adding an underskirt of new white brocade. Rey has no idea where she'll wear it, but feels very regal in the high collar and fine fabric. She's had to loosen her corset just a bit since her waist began to thicken, but Rose reassures her the bodice is not so tightly fitted that she'll need to have it taken out for a while yet.

Ben picks her up from the Damerons' house in the wagon. It's a pleasant drive into the summer sunset.

"Talked to Caleb Dume," he tells her. "Said we could come by and have a photograph taken this week."

Rey tries very hard to look pleased, but Ben quirks his lips knowingly at her and adds, "'Spect Mr. Bridger won't be there. Last I heard he was helpin' out on a homestead north of Belmont over the summer."

"Oh, thank goodness," she says, letting out a breath. "If I never have to see his insufferable face again–"

"You're tellin' me," Ben says darkly. "I oughta follow up on my letter to the superintendent, never did get a response…"

Rey rolls her eyes at him, but finds herself in higher spirits. She's never had her photograph taken before, and she likes the idea of it, having a permanent memory of their happiness to hold with her, to look at in the future, to show her children Mama and Papa when they were first married.

She wears her gold dress again that Tuesday, doing her hair up the same as on their wedding day, and they both look very proper arriving at Mr. Dume's house in town. The memory of the last time they were here plays itself in her mind's eye, but she takes a deep breath and alights from the wagon, following Ben to the front door where he knocks twice and then stands back, holding his black bowler hat in his hands.

Mr. Dume answers, smiling at them and gesturing that they enter.

"Just through here."

They walk a short way down a dark hallway, and then enter the photography studio. Rey's jaw drops open. The room is large and airy and so bright; glass windows tile the sloped ceiling, covered with billowy white sheets. She turns in a full circle, trying to take it all in. There's a backdrop propped in one corner, and Mr. Dume's box draped in black cloth stands next to an overladen desk. Frames and trinkets are propped haphazardly on the mantle over the fireplace. A few cushioned chairs face at awkward angles, like acquaintances unwilling to enter into conversation. The same vaguely sweet scent that Rey remembers from Zorii's viewing hangs in the air.

"Thought we could have you sitting," Mr. Dume is telling Ben. "And have her standing next to you, perhaps with her hand on your shoulder?"

"Alright." Ben glances at her and she nods, going to stand next to him, seated on a velvet chair in front of the backdrop.

Mr. Dume considers them, then nudges Rey into a slightly different position. He flits around, undoing sheets and adjusting large white discs that seem to reflect the light. Finally he peers through his camera at them, moving a foot or so forward, presumably, Rey thinks, to better fill the frame.

"Alright, hold still then…"

He lifts the shutter. Rey concentrates on keeping her expression carefully blank, so that her face doesn't come out blurred. It seems to drag on and on; she can feel her muscles growing stiff, her nose begins to itch dreadfully, and she hardly dares to take a breath–

"Done." Mr. Dume slides the shutter closed again, and Rey slumps in relief, reaching up to scratch her nose. Beside her, Ben does the same, laughing a bit at the tension in his shoulders.

They each get separate portraits taken after Mr. Dume develops the first tintype, and Rey wonders if Ben's parents had made a similar day of it for the portraits in the old locket.

"Might run over to the General Store check on some orders while those're developin', if you don't mind, Dume."

Mr. Dume waves his hand, preoccupied with the chemicals in the box. "Certainly, certainly…"

They make it only a block from the studio before Rey realizes she's forgotten her hat. She tells Ben to go ahead while she doubles back to retrieve it.

"Mr. Dume?" she knocks on the front door, but there's no answer. Perhaps he's at a delicate moment in the development, and can't break his concentration…

She pushes the door in carefully, intent upon retrieving her hat and going, when a low murmur of voices sound from the studio. She's about to call out again when her own name reaches her ear.

"...Reyna Sands could've gone real far, you know, never met a girl cleverer than her in all my life, and now she'll be stuck out here forever, tied to that lech..."

It's Mrs. Syndulla. Rey feels like cold water has been poured over her head. She ought to leave…

"You really think Solo forced himself on her?"

And Mr. Dume. Is this what he's been thinking the entire time he took their portraits?

"I'm not saying the girl hasn't acted the harlot, you should've seen her when we returned from Lincoln. But the man was meant to be her father! Not to knock her up like a spring sow…"

If Rey could only turn around she could leave. Just turn and leave. Turn and…

"Somehow he's got the Pastor on his side, Lord if I know how he managed that, but he's in the clear and her reputation ruined forever…"

Rey feels blindly behind herself for the door, so slowly she might be moving through molasses.

"...don't know the value of a woman's reputation, Caleb…"

"...think I know something of it…"

Rey blinks into daylight, the door slamming behind her. A spike of something like panic lances through her, and she trips away from the house, hurrying down the street after Ben. Their words buzz angrily in her head, and she feels almost nauseous. No, she does feel nauseous. She ducks into an alleyway just before Main Street and vomits into a pig pen.

It's everything and worse that she'd feared the town might think about them, about her. There's no good way to spin this after all. Somehow she's both been horribly violated by a rapacious man and acted as a dirty little slut, worthy of the gutter...

She wipes her mouth. Her dress has a bit of muck on the hem from the alley, and she stares at it for a long moment. A perfect metaphor for her marriage, isn't it? Beautiful and golden and besmirched with the dirt of scandal?

She finds Ben in the General Store, speaking to Mr. McQuarrie. Apparently a dining table and a set of chairs have come in on the train.

"...I'll go and bring 'round the wagon…"

She stares at the counter blankly, knocked up like a spring sow playing on a loop in her head.

"You alright, sweetheart?"

Rey shakes her head slowly. "Just feeling a bit poorly."

Ben studies her in concern. "Best wait here, then, outta the sun," he tells her. "I'll go and fetch the wagon."

Rey glances up at Mr. McQuarrie as Ben leaves. What does he think of her? Is he biting his tongue, so he might still do business with Ben? Would he otherwise shun her? Mock her as a whore? Sneer at their child? She folds her arms protectively around her belly and pushes out through the screen door, unable to stand at the counter for another minute.

She warily eyes the handful of people in the street from the boardwalk. What do they think of her? And what do they all think of Ben? Do they see him as the worst sort of rapist? Preying on the innocent and powerless, worse even than Mr. Hux?

It's not ten minutes before Ben pulls up in the wagon, handing her her hat and gleefully showing her the tintypes.

"Turned out pretty swell, don't you think?"

They're not blurry, Rey supposes. Ben's face looks alright, but her own startles her a little. It's rather pinched and severe, and she looks so young compared to him. Maybe a little frightened, even?

Is this what others would see when they looked at it, years from now? A scared little girl and her large, angry husband?

She's quiet on the way home, with the furniture piled high in the back of the wagon, tied down securely with ropes. Ben glances at her but seems to think her professed illness explains things, and doesn't prod further. Her thoughts spiral more and more until she fears she might scream.

They eat toast and hard sausage for supper, with some greens from the garden. Rey can't find the energy to cook anything more, and decides to turn in early, slipping out of her muddy dress to don her nightgown and robe even though it's still quite light out, and curling up on the quilt. Ben hunches over the kitchen table with a notebook spread before him, marking down supplies he still needs for the house, and carefully denoting the money spent on the new dining set, now stashed in the unfinished dining room.

"Could get a mattress stuffed with down feathers, how's that sound? Have to make a new bed frame for it, prob'ly, or order one…"

He squints down at his bookkeeping with his tongue between his teeth.

"You never made me a bed."

Ben looks up at her uncomprehendingly.

"When I first came here," she clarifies, "you said you'd make me my own bed, but you never did."

"Ah," Ben frowns. "Do you want your own bed?"

Rey shakes her head. "No, I just… I thought…" She's not sure what's compelling her to continue down this line of thought; it's like pressing on a bruise. "I thought us sharing might've meant you'd try and take advantage of me." Ben stares at her dumbly, mouth opening in a silent denial. "And I thought… I thought I might let you, because you fed me seconds that first night."

Ben's expression can only be described as a sort of struck horror, his jaw clenched so hard she can almost hear his teeth crack. He swallows heavily and clears his throat, not breaking eye contact with her.

"Do you– do you think I took advantage of you?"

"No," she whispers, blinking tears out of her eyes. "But everyone else does."

She curls up on the quilt again, unable to bear it any longer, hugging her knees to her chest, sobs spilling over in deep, wracking shudders.

"Oh, Rey, sweetheart…"

Ben's hand tentatively touches her shoulder, as if unsure whether she'll shake him off. But she turns her face into his chest and lets him wrap his arms around her, breathing in his comforting scent until she's all cried out. She sags limp against him and studies the threads of his shirt, red and black, woven into a muted plaid, darkened in patches from the damp of her tears.

"'Spect a lotta folks are gonna think a lotta things about us," he says after a few minutes of silence, his voice vibrating through his chest against her cheek.

"And it doesn't bother you?" she asks. "That they think you're a– that– "

She thinks of her own words a few months back, giggled in jest– You're the monster!

Ben sighs. "The worst thing they could've done to me is take you away from me, sweetheart." He drops a kiss to her brow. "But they didn't. And now they can't. So let 'em think whatever they want, I don't care."

She wipes her eyes, taking a shaky breath, sniffling just a little. What's the worst they could do to her now? Gossip? She quirks her lips at him and nods. "Alright, Papa."

She lets him return to his bookkeeping, washing her face clean of tear stains and settling with one of her new history books to read about the early Roman republic.

He smiles softly down at her when he comes back from bedding down the animals for the night, and puts the shanty to rights. She watches him strip his clothes from his body, folding them carefully in the chest of drawers and taking out his nightshirt.

"What if you had?" The same compulsion from before drags the words from her mouth.

"Had what?" His head is stuck under his nightshirt, with only his cock exposed.

"What if you had taken advantage of me?"

His head pops through the neck and he surveys her with a calculating look.

"I wouldn't've– "

"I know, Papa," she says, holding his gaze. "But what if you had?"

***He's still for a moment, and she wonders if maybe he's not as unbothered by everything as he says, if she's pushing him too far on this, if she's asking for too much…

His hand finds her foot beneath the blankets, and a second later Rey squeaks as he pulls her to the edge of the bed, leaving her scrambling and panting before him, all akimbo.

"What if I'd taken advantage?" His voice is a growl.

She stares up at him, her lips slightly parted. There's a bit of a glint in his eye when he puts his hands on her body, rougher than he might normally, though she notices he still avoids her breasts. A pause as if he's considering, and then he's shoving her dressing gown off her shoulders and pulling her nightgown over her head. But instead of pulling it off, he leaves it tangled around her wrists, twisting it even more so she's unable to move her hands.

Rey blinks and then he's got her flipped onto her belly. He drags her body to the center of the bed, positioning her how he likes, and crawls over her so she can feel the heat of him against her back, his hard shaft already prodding at her bottom.

"You mean, what if I'd made you my little plaything?" He breathes heavily in her ear, grabbing a handful of her hair so she's arching off the bed before licking a wet stripe up her cheek. "What if I'd made you my own, personal whore?"

He nips at her earlobe and Rey whimpers helplessly. He rears back, dropping her to the mattress, and smacks her right buttock. Rey yelps.

"Think I'd've thrashed your ass red every night, just to remind you who you belong to." He smacks her again, walloping her other cheek. Rey jerks against the nightgown, pulling at the restraint. He catches her lower on her thighs, the smack of his open palm loud in the little shanty, followed closely by Rey's shriek. "Just to remind you who owns your little holes."

He's crouched behind her now, pulling apart the globes of her ass so he can fit his whole face between them, tonguing indiscriminately. Rey squirms and whines as he licks all the way from her clitoris to her asshole, prodding intently at the little circle of furled muscle. It's so much sensation– She's moaning and thrashing, it's not enough for her to climax, not when he's ignoring her clitoris and her weeping cunt, but–

Ben pulls away, his tongue leaving her, but a moment later his thick finger is prodding, pushing in and in–

"Don't get me wrong, sweetheart," he growls. His cock is out, he drags it through her messy folds. "I'd've fucked all of 'em–"

He pushes into her, twisting his finger in her ass as he buries himself to the hilt in her cunt. Rey wails, pulling harder against the restraints as if to get away, but Ben just laughs and holds her down, snapping his hips against her bottom, thrusting relentlessly. He smacks her bottom again with his free hand, and Rey's eyes are rolling back in her head, her screams reaching higher and higher–

She clenches around him, her extremities shaking with her climax, and Ben curses, driving into her even harder. He pulls his finger from her ass, but then he's pushing two back in, spitting on them to give them a better glide, and Rey's as full as she's ever felt–

"Don't think I'd've– fuck– used a sheath with you– hrngg– either. I'd've filled you to the brim with my seed, till it was dripping outta you, my messy little spend-soaked whore–"

He groans deeply, leaning forward to bite her on the shoulder, and his thrusts become stilted and irregular, pumping her full of him. The thought of it is enough to send her over the edge again, muscles seizing up so she flails helplessly under him, held down by his hand at her waist and his mouth at her neck. ***

It's silent for a long moment, broken only by the sounds of their panting breaths. Rey rolls over to stare at the ceiling after Ben pulls off her. He fumbles with the nightgown around her wrists, loosening it enough that she can slip it back on.

He peers at her anxiously. "Is that– was that what you wanted?"

Rey's quick to nod.

"Yes, Papa." She clears her throat, her voice hoarse. "Was it– it wasn't too much to ask of you?"

"Too much to ask of me?" He looks at her, incredulous. "'Course not, sweetheart."

"You don't think it was– that it was wrong of me, to like it?"

He looks at her searchingly, and maybe he realizes she's talking about more than just tonight.

"No," he tells her, serious as he's ever been. "I don't think it was wrong of you to like it."

 

August dies in a wave of heat, as if the weather is determined to make up for the previous winter. The peaches in old lady Maz's orchard are heavy and ripe, and half the congregation helps her to pick them one Saturday, and then the next, and then there are pies and cobblers and preserves and fat peaches to be eaten straight from the branch with skin that splits under Rey's teeth as she takes a bite.

"You're carrying high," Maz tells her while they move from tree to tree, sliding peaches into deep apron pockets. "You'll have a girl, I think."

"Really?" Rey hasn't considered the sex, only that she'l have a baby soon, or soon enough.

Her belly is distinctly round now, and she's had to order a new corset to accommodate the bump. Rose had been kind enough to let out some of her dresses for her; Rey worries it'll become a recurring task.

The house is still a work in progress, but Ben insists upon carrying Rey over the threshold once the kitchen and dining room and downstairs bedroom are complete, the new furniture, along with a feather mattress, moved in.

"Ben, I've been in this house a hundred times already," she chides him as he sweeps her off her feet, side-stepping through the front door so he doesn't knock her head or her legs on the frame.

"I know, I know, but it's tradition, sweetheart…"

She cooks supper in the new kitchen, with a new big table, and new gleaming pots. The china from Mr. Snap is arranged carefully in one cupboard, and their older china stored in the next. The new mangle sits in the corner, and Rey marvels at how much easier laundry is. Their new feather bed is as soft as a cloud.

But she finds herself in an odd mood the first week of September, restless and moving through the rooms of the house aimlessly, dashing back and forth to the claim shanty to retrieve items that haven't yet been moved, only to decide to bring them back. She tries reading her history book, but can't find the will to concentrate.

If events had played out differently, she'd be on a train to Lincoln just about now, perhaps dragging a trunk behind her through the streets to Boshti's boarding house, looking forward to her lectures at the University.

She daydreams during Pastor Dameron's sermon on Sunday, imagining sitting in a large hall, trying to take down notes as hurriedly as she could while a bespectacled old man lectured from the front of the room. What classes might she have taken? Latin, certainly, and Greek– Ben's showed her the queer alphabet and taught her a handful of words. She likes history a great deal, and the political machinations of the ancient Romans are intensely fascinating to her. But there are all sorts of modern subjects talked about in the papers– chemistry and botany, the fascinating debate over new species and how they arise, physics, engineering–

She makes up her mind to write again to Mr. Erso and request more books on a wider range of subjects. Ben hangs back after the service, chatting to an acquaintance, but Rey has her own purse now, and so makes her way to the General Store to send a letter with payment enclosed.

The screen door swings open before she can reach it, and then she is face to face with Mr. Bridger. She comes to an abrupt halt on the boardwalk.

He looks a bit shocked for a moment, but he composes himself quickly, his eyes dropping to her belly and a snide smirk rising to his lips. She crosses her arms and glares.

"Ah, I'd heard," he says. "Suppose I should extend my congratulations, Mrs. Solo." He says her name like it's an insult.

"Thank you, Mr. Bridger," she says stiffly, thinking how to get past him. He's blocking the door.

"I'm off to Lincoln this week," he tells her. "Signed up for quite the slate of classes, but I'm confident I'll do well."

"Hmm." Rey peers over his shoulder. Perhaps she ought to come back another day.

"You ought to come and visit Lincoln, if you ever have the time. There's an exhibition there on a subject that might interest you– a retrospective on The Fallen Woman. The paintings are supposed to be very moral, all the papers say so."

"Fascinating," Rey says flatly.

"I'm sure you'll be busy, in any case," he continues loftily. "But do write, if you'd like a first hand account. I'm happy to provide one."

She smiles thinly, and nods once. "Good day, Mr. Bridger."

He opens his mouth as if to say something more, but seems to reconsider, simply tipping his hat while his eyes rake down her abdomen once more, his smirk back in place. It feels like a violation. "Good day, Mrs. Solo."

Mr. Bridger skips down the steps to the street two at a time, an self-important jaunt to his stride. He heads in the direction of the train depot, a few thin packages clutched in his hand that might be books.

Rey watches him go, her mouth pinched like she'd swallowed a lemon. She continues to gaze, sightlessly, down Main Street after he disappears, feeling quite trapped behind the railings on the high, dusty boardwalk.

Notes:

CW: Old-timey slut shaming from the townsfolk. Rey overhears Mrs. Syndulla speculate whether Ben raped her; this prompts a teary conversation and some consensual non-consent role play which Rey initiates– Ben ties her hands together, spanks her, and calls her a whore while anally fingering her. The sex scene is marked by asterisks if you wish to skip it. Mr. Bridger gets his revenge (by being snotty).

I know this isn't proper modern CNC etiquette because they don't have a safe word and it's a very retrospective "was that ok" conversation, but I think this falls back into the established fantasy of Ben knowing how far to take things. He's not actually being particularly rough with her, and is respecting her previously voiced request that he not touch her breasts.

To establish a pregnancy timeline, Rey got pregnant in early June, so she is about 9 or 10 weeks along when they get their photograph taken, and about 13 weeks along by the end of the chapter. I'd like to disclaim that I have never been pregnant, but I did do some (cursory) research into what that stage of pregnancy looks like. Apparently a lot of the un-fun first trimester pregnancy symptoms drop off by week 10, and also there's an increased flow of blood to the sex organs that can increase libido. Prenatal care was not really a thing until the 20th century, so that's kind of a bummer. Maternity corsets did indeed exist, which sounds very dystopian, but they really served as support devices, much like bras and baby bands do today. Costume YouTube has oodles of videos debunking corset myths if you're interested.

Mr. Dume's photography studio was based on this neat miniature reconstruction and these contemporary photographs of real Victorian 'ateliers.' Natural light was important!

The hymn they sing is Down in the River to Pray and this version from O Brother, Where Art Thou? is an absolute banger.

As far as I know there was no retrospective on the subject of The Fallen Woman in Lincoln in 1881, but there was one in London in 2015 (CW for suicide for this link.) I originally wanted Mr. Bridger to torment Rey with this painting but alas it wasn't painted until 1885.

Anyway, I hope people don't hate Mrs. Syndulla, because tbh she's just saying what I would be thinking in this scenario, and also I think it's a lot more nuanced than Rey's interpretation of the conversation.

Happy holidays, whatever you celebrate, and hope you all are doing well. Much love ❤️

Chapter 24

Notes:

CW: Angst. Additional content warnings in the end notes.

tnwti_moodboard_0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Though the days remain hot, the nights are growing cooler. Ben shovels coal into the new furnace in the cellar and the hot air rises through the vents in the floor. Rey marvels at how modern it is. Ben chuckles at her excitement, though it is nothing compared to her astonishment at the flush toilet on the second floor, fed by the water tank in the attic.

"We could have hot running water for our baths, too," he tells her. "Once we get a kitchen boiler."

Rey considers the luxury of a heated bath on command, without all the hauling and heating of the pots of water to draw it. She might as well be a queen.

Toward the end of September she wakes in their fine new feather bed one morning with Ben's head between her legs under the quilt, and feels very queenly indeed.

"Mm, Papa," she whines, knotting her fingers in his hair while he licks at her slowly. He hums in response, but only redoubles his focus on the task at hand. It's a heady experience, being unable to see what he'll do next, and he swirls his tongue unexpectedly one minute, then sucks her little clitoris between his lips the next. When he slides a finger into her waiting quim, Rey moans, tightening her grip on his hair.

He murmurs something back at her, perhaps along the lines of my pretty girl, and hooks a second finger inside her, crooking them both so she spasms around him, catching his head between her thighs so he's trapped by her pleasure.

Ben crawls up the mattress to hold her, spooned in his arms, while she catches her breath, his hardened manhood sliding easily through her slick folds. She moans once more as he presses slowly into her channel from behind.

"You taste like a dream," he whispers to her, thrusting gently and pressing kisses to her neck and shoulder. "My sweet girl. My pretty wife."

Rey turns her head to catch his lips with hers, sighing into their kiss. He rocks them together in a delicate crescendo, cradling her face while he kisses her with his soft, pillowy lips, dropping his hand down to tease her clitoris under her nightgown, then holds her tight while she clenches and jerks out of control, lost in another crisis.

"You're pretty, too," she tells him stupidly, drunk on her pleasure while he continues to take his, pressing her legs tight together and groaning as she squeezes down on his cock. "You're the most– the most– ah– ah– beautiful–"

His hand has come to rest protectively on her rounded belly while he thrusts deeper, but she drags it up to cup her left breast through her nightgown.

"Thought they hurt, sweetheart," he grunts in her ear, thrusting again.

"Mm-mm," she shakes her head where it lolls back on his shoulder. "Not– ah– anymore–"

It's as if he's been waiting to hear such a thing, for he immediately pulls the top of her nightgown open, palming her breast with his huge hand, catching her nipple between two of his knuckles.

"Thought I'd go mad with how much I missed these tits," he tells her gruffly, pinching a bit so her eyes roll back. "An' they're only gettin' prettier every day."

They're more sensitive now, too. Rey hovers on the verge of her climax, limbs shuddering while he thrums her nipple, her whole body quivering on the precipice while his cock–

Her vision whites out and she shakes and shakes, her hoarse cries filling their bedroom while Ben grunts behind her, spending himself furiously inside her. She has no words, only pure serenity in her pleasure–

When she blinks back to reality she finds herself on her back, staring at the fine, plaster ceiling, so unlike the tar paper in the claim shanty. Ben smiles at her, caressing her arms and chest and belly lovingly. He leans down to press delicate kisses to each of her nipples.

"Gonna fall asleep tonight with my mouth at your breast," he whispers to her, before catching her lips for a final kiss. She shivers at the thought.

"I ought to get ready," she whispers apologetically when they part.

"Off to see Rose today?"

She nods, sitting up and wincing when she feels his spend trickle out of her, staining the sheet. Ben stands, retrieving a rag from the little table with the porcelain pitcher, wetting it and handing it to her.

"We're pickling today," she tells him, wiping between her legs; the spend comes away white and satiny. Soon they could do the pickling in the Solos' new kitchen, but they still hadn't the proper pots and equipment. "I'll take some of the veg from the garden, pick up the jars later in the week…"

"D'you need the wagon?" He's shucked his nightshirt and, nude, rifles through the chest of drawers in search of his blue jeans.

"I think I can manage on Star." The wagon is so heavy and cumbersome, and takes nearly twice as long to get anywhere.

"Be careful," he tells her, pulling on his trousers. "Only I worry about you, on horseback…"

"I will be, Papa." Soon she'll be too big to ride, but until then, she'll savor the freedom.

She makes them a quick breakfast and goes about packing vegetables from the garden in a burlap sack to tie to her saddle and take with her to the Damerons'. Ben carries it out to Star for her and watches her step up on the stirrup to lift herself onto his back.

"Have a good time."

He nuzzles at her chest a bit when she kisses him goodbye, and Rey is lost in thoughts of his greedy mouth the whole ride into town.

The prairie is a riot of color. Faded from the green of spring through the browns and pale beiges of high summer, now it shines a bright bronze with patches of pink among the dying grasses, speckled through with the yellow and crimson leaves of low growing shrubs. Rey breathes deeply as she rides, savoring the touch of autumn in the air.

No one is in the Damerons' yard when she arrives, so she ties Star's lead to a stake in their near pasture and heaves the burlap sack from the saddle herself. It's not so heavy, but she has to admit it's harder to lift than she's used to. Pausing once in the middle of the yard, she manages to make it to the front door.

Mrs. Dameron answers after a few knocks.

"Oh, Rey!" She takes in the sack of vegetables, and pulls it from Rey's hands. "You ought to be careful, dear."

Rey smiles at her, abashed, and follows her through to the kitchen where they find Rose tending a large pot of water on the stove. She beams when she sees Rey, clasping her hand in greeting; there's something a bit giddy in her expression

"Oh good! We can get started then!"

She sets Rey to washing and cutting the vegetables– green beans, beets, cauliflower, radishes, shallots, parsnips– while she herself starts to mix the brine for pickling– water, salt, sugar, and vinegar that Rose and Mrs. Dameron had made over the summer from molasses and yeast.

They boil the vegetables in batches in the great pot of water and then divide them into the collection of Mason jars on the kitchen table, pouring the brine to fill them to the top, and then screwing on the metal lids with their queer rubber rings. They converse happily while they work. Rose describes a new dress she's working on for a woman who had written to her from Franklin county and Rey tells her of all the new things for the house, making her promise she'll come out to see it all soon.

"We'll have tea with the new china," Rey tells her dreamily. "And we can sit at the table in the dining room. Oh Rose, it's so grand…"

"I'll wear my finest gown," Rose promises. "And my new hat."

They place a set of the jars carefully in the hot water to boil.

Rose turns to her, wiping her hands on her apron, excitement written clearly on her face.

"Oh Rey, I was going to wait to tell you but I just can't bear it any longer!"

Rey laughs. "What is it?"

"Finn has asked to court me!"

Rey's mouth pops open. She's not exactly shocked by this development, but she's also not sure how to respond.

"That's– that's wonderful, Rose." Belatedly she moves forward to offer an embrace.

Rose chatters on, unconcerned.

"We'll certainly wait awhile to be properly engaged, but Finn's been talking to Mrs. Junda, and it looks as if she'll sell him her homestead; she's going back East now that her husband's died."

Rey nods, pasting a smile on her face, her mind racing. Ought she to tell Rose what she knows? It seems like fairly critical information, really, that her intended is being buggered by her own father…

"It'll be in his name outright, and less than he'd pay per acre for an unspoilt plot, and in any case Finn doesn't want to farm, he wants to raise horses…"

She told herself she'd take the secret to her grave, but…

"They even have a house built already! It's a little small, but we can add rooms, you know…"

"Rose."

Rose pauses, looking at her expectantly, openly.

"Rose, I– you ought to– to know, something about Finn…"

Rose frowns slightly.

"What should I know?"

"He– you see, he and– and the Pastor, they're– they're engaging in sod–"

Rey breaks off. What is she doing? Talking about this, so openly, in this house? Mrs. Dameron is like as not in the parlor, hardly a few dozen feet away. The Pastor and Finn could be anywhere. And here Rose is, right in front of her, liable to be as hurt and confused by this as anything in her life, and Rey is going to expose the very people who have helped her so readily and constantly the past few months? Rey opens her mouth again, already shaking her head, trying to figure out how to brush it off somehow…

Rose is staring at her, her face drained of blood.

"Rey," she whispers. "Rey, you can't tell anyone."

Rey stares back.

"I– what?"

Rose has gripped her hand, her nails digging into Rey's skin.

"You don't know what could happen to us," she pleads, "if that got out. You can't tell."

"I– I wouldn't–" Rey stammers. But hadn't she? "You know?"

Rose is blinking away tears. The pot with the jars rumbles with its boil in the background, and Rey registers vaguely that they ought to take them out.

"Of course I– Finn wouldn't lie to me." Rose's voice has taken on a hysterical edge. "But Rey, you really mustn't– we could lose the farm, Pa could lose the congregation–"

"I'm sorry to– I'm sorry that I–" Rey isn't sure what to say, how she might undo the mess she's created. A lump is rising in her own throat. "I won't say anything, Rose. I won't."

Rose pulls her hand away, lifting the lid off the great pot of water and fishing in the water blindly with tongs.

"Finn is a good man," Rose says furiously. "A good man who won't hurt me, who loves me. Do you know what other prospects I might–"

She pulls a jar clear of the low boil, maneuvering to put the jar carefully down on some rags laid out on the table, but the tongs slip a little in her hand and the jar falls, smashing open on the kitchen floor and scattering hot brine and green beans over their feet.

They both shriek, stumbling away from the explosion.

Rose grabs a broom to sweep up the glass, waving Rey away from where she's trying to mop up some brine with a rag.

"I think you ought to go, Rey," she says in a tight voice, clutching the dustpan like a shield in her hand, not looking at Rey at all. "I can handle the rest from here."

Rey gapes at her.

"I– Rose–"

But Rose does not look up, and so Rey gathers her things and walks to the front door in a daze. Mrs. Dameron is indeed in the parlor, and looks at her in askance as she passes through the front hall, but Rey can only bring herself to wave a half-hearted goodbye and stumble down the front steps.

What has she done?

She urges Star away from the homestead at a steady canter, the scene replaying in her mind over and over again. There's a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach, and it's not until she's passed town that she realizes what it is: shame.

How could she have thought it would be a good idea to confront Rose with this most intimate of details about her family? How could she presume to meddle in their affairs?

If Rose knows… that likely means Mrs. Dameron does as well, and of course she does, how could Rey have thought that the Pastor would be the sort of man to lie to his wife? To be unfaithful? And Finn is a good man, the best of men, just as Rose said; he wouldn't interfere with a family in that way. As for the sin... how is any of it worse than she and Ben engaging in congress outside a marriage bed?

Star turns down the road to the homestead, but Rey pulls him off through the grass toward the creek. Ben surely isn't expecting her home for hours yet, and she wishes to collect her thoughts before she returns. She slides off Star's saddle once they're under the cover of the trees and leaves him to drink; he won't wander far. She pulls a switch from the thicket along the stony banks and uses it to swat furiously at the vegetation, growing angrier with herself with each passing minute.

How in the world was she to go about making things right with Rose, with all of the Damerons? How would they ever forgive her? How would they ever trust her again?

Rey sighs, picking her way up toward the homestead on exposed parts of the creek bed, lifting her skirts and hopping from rock to rock, crunching gravel under her boots. Star follows behind her at a leisurely pace, splashing occasionally in the water.

What was she to tell Ben?

Surely he wouldn't expose them, knowing what might result? But no, she'd told Rose she wouldn't tell their secret, and the least she could do would be to keep that promise. Despite a stab of guilt for keeping things from her husband, this isn't her secret to tell. No, she'd have to think of another explanation for things cooling between herself and Rose…

There comes a low rumble of voices ahead, and Rey draws closer, craning her neck to look through the foliage. Do they have company? She's certain she looks a fright, perhaps she ought to hide somewhere down the creek until they leave…

"–great Kylo Ren–"

The words float as a jeer and Rey freezes upon hearing them. Kylo Ren? Who is at the homestead?

She forces herself to creep forward, hardly daring to make a sound, hugging a tree and peering through the leaves to see figures at the entrance to the yard. Her heart pounds in her chest. There are four people– one is Ben, his back turned to her and his arms up above his head. Then, two other people she doesn't know with hats slung low over their faces; the last, holding a rifle, a flash of red hair and–

Hux!

Rey feels as though her limbs have quite frozen through, her whole body stricken with a sudden and complete immobility. Even her breath is slowed. Her body clings to the tree trunk, and she can only hope she is as invisible as she thinks she is. If they were to find her…

"...know you've gotten it hidden here somewhere…" Hux is saying. Rey watches Ben shake his head.

"...think I woulda carried that trunk all this way…?"

Hux brings the barrel of the rifle up to catch Ben in the stomach. Rey screams internally as she watches Ben double over.

"...where that little whore of yours is, quite like to try her out…" Hux trails off indiscernibly, and Rey can just barely hear Ben gasp a reply, which is apparently not to Hux's liking. He pushes Ben over so he falls on his face, yelling at him. "I can wait!"

The taller of the other two men steps in to converse with Hux.

"...know the sheriff'll be lookin' for us in these parts, Hux… oughta get the gold n' leave as quick as we can..."

"I know," Hux scowls. "I'm tryin' to get him to tell us where it is!"

"...told you," Ben gasps from the ground. "It ain't here. It's in Colorado. Berthoud Pass."

"...likely story…" Hux trails away, muttering to himself. The taller man consults with him.

"...take him with us to look for it, and if he ain't tellin' the truth, we–"

"Shoot him?" The third man pipes up.

"Yes, Mitaka," Hux's voice drips with sarcasm, even from Rey's distance. "But not before we do a hell of a lot more to make 'im talk. Phasma's right, we gotta clear out before it gets around we're here. An' who the hell knows who that slut'll come back with…"

They fall on Ben, pushing him to the dirt again, tying his hands behind his back and stuffing a piece of cloth in his mouth. Hux points his rifle at him, breathing heavily in his face.

"Best get on yer horse now, an' keep quiet, or you better believe I'll wait around night n' day for that pretty little thing a' yours, sheriff or no…"

Ben manages to mount Killer without his hands, and the man, Phasma, ties the halter to his own saddle. Hux mounts his own horse, but rides into the yard for a moment. There's a sound of breaking glass.

Rey can almost see the smugness on Hux's face when he returns. What did he do?

"Heard you got married, Ren." He slaps Ben on the back, nearly pitching Ben out of the saddle. "Had to leave your little wife a wedding present."

The three of them urge their horses forward, pulling Ben along on Killer. They disappear over the horizon, past the far field, in the opposite direction from town.

Rey's not sure how long she watches the spot where they've disappeared before she can move again. Her mind buzzes with an oppressive blankness, overpowering every other thought.

There's a splash behind her, and Rey screams, spinning around to defend herself, to cower against the tree trunk.

It's Star. He's made his way up the creek at long last, and nudges her palm in search of pats or oats.

She reaches a shaky hand to take Star's bridle, and edges out from behind the tree, keeping an eye warily on the horizon.

A faint scent reaches her nose, like a campfire. There's a whooshing noise, and another shattering of breaking glass. Numb, Rey rushes forward to the entrance of the yard. A flickering of light reflects off the barn. She turns the corner–

Flames lick the side of the house, charring the pretty, new boards, blowing out the windows of the front parlor. Smoke swirls high in the sky, fragrant and sooty. The heat coming off the building is already oppressive, and the fire bellows as it consumes, so Rey feels as though she's been caught in a hot, angry wind. The furious voices from the prairie have found her at last, screaming and taunting her.

The homestead is burning.

Notes:

CW: Very soft sex scene. Rey tries to tell Rose that Finn and Poe are fucking; Rose already knows and gets upset with her. Reygnst (?) ensues. Also Hux comes back and kidnaps Ben and burns down their house.

Please don't hate me. I promise this fic has a happy ending and Ben does NOT die (also Rey does not die. Also the baby does not die.) But c'mon, this is still Star Wars fanfic and there's literally an entire score called Burning Homestead.

Their house (prior to being burned) actually had very modern amenities for the 1880's, which you can read about here. The Victorian mansion as a concept is very interesting, and you can watch this video about its evolution from gilded marvel to haunted house.

This is roughly the prairie I know in autumn.

A history of pickles, a brief history of the Mason jar, a general history of 19th century food preservation, and a fascinating retrospective on making one's own vinegar. I myself have dabbled in making my own kombucha, and I'm sure you can form some opinions about me just from that tidbit, but I think the process of making vinegar can often be pretty similar.

As for Rose's marital prospects, please remember the Nebraska anti-miscegenation law at this time also prohibited Asians from intermarrying with whites; as far as I can tell, Blacks and Asians were not prohibited from marrying each other, though they were in some other states. The Chinese Exclusion Act is right around the corner in 1882, so I imagine the political lead-up to this is probably having some effect on Rose as well.

Sorry for the depressing chapter. Please stick with me, at least through the next update!

Find me on Twitter at @entropyyy23 where I have many adorable photos of kittens to make it up to you. Happy holidays! Please stay safe!!

Chapter 25

Notes:

CW: Period-typical but potentially gender non-affirming language to a trans man.

tnwti_moodboard2

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The house! The house is burning!

It's so hot, Rey can't come closer than half-way across the yard. She can hear braying from the mules in the barn. Chickens scatter away from the heat, clucking frantically. The animals– she needs to get them out–

If before Rey was frozen in shock now she is moved with a jumpy readiness. The cows are all in the near field, safe, staked on fresh grass, but the mules, and the pigs–

She pulls open the barn door, praying the roof doesn't catch a spark while she's inside. The two pigs barrel past her, nearly knocking her over, while the mules jump in their stalls, their eyes rolling wildly. Rey desperately undoes the latches, pulling her apron up to her nose and coughing while her eyes smart from the smoke.

She follows their frantic exit, trying to figure out what to do. The house is burning, fast and hot and furious, and she cannot fight it alone. Ought she to ride Star back into town, and go and get help? But what could anyone else do, once they were here, beside toss water onto smoldering wreckage? The ride there and back would take perhaps hours, too long to save anything, and it would delay the pursuit of Ben and the band of thieves…

Ben, her heart cries out like it's been rent in two. Ben, oh Ben!

She has to go after him, as soon as possible. She'll get Ben's shotgun where it hangs in the claim shanty. They won't expect her, she'll take them by surprise. Yes, it's the only way.

Mind made up, she runs to the claim shanty. It's a good distance away from the house, but it's made of wood, just as liable to burn as anything if the wind shifts. She'll have to be quick.

They've left a scattering of items in the shanty– farm tools and odds and ends they haven't found a place for yet in the house. The saddle bags are here, and the blankets for the horses in the winter. Rey wraps one around herself, though it is warm enough with the fire raging a few dozen yards away, and breathes in the musty scent. She spots Ben's shotgun leaning against the wall, the leather pouch of shells and powder resting next to it.

He taught her how to shoot, over the winter. When there was nothing else to do he'd line up empty tins and have her try and hit them, one after the next. She wasn't half-bad, but oh how she wished now she'd devoted more attention to it, had given it priority over her Latin declensions.

She finds a compass next to the gun, and slips it into her pocket.

They're going to Colorado. West. She simply needs to go West, and try and overtake them before they get too far. Berthoud Pass, Ben had told them. That's where they'll be headed.

Rey throws everything she can think might be useful into a saddle bag, to complement the one already hanging off Star's flank. When she rifles through the stack of blankets, something metallic falls to the floor. Rey stoops to find the little locket with the miniature photographs of Ben's parents. It must have fallen when they were moving things to the house. On a whim she drops this into her pocket too.

The smoke is thick in the air when she emerges from the shanty. She heaves the saddle bag toward the creek, dropping it and running back toward the flaming house, ducking to the side to pull open the door to the root cellar. Coughing, she holds her apron to her face again, descending the steps into the darkness. She feels blindly around for tinned meat, for preserved peaches and jerky and hard cheese. There's no bread to be had here, of course; the remains of yesterday's bread was in the kitchen, and now it's up in flames.

Rey carries everything up in her skirts, stumbling a little, heaving deep breaths when she emerges into the smoky light, the sun gone red and eerie. Now she'll just get on Star–

He's shied a fair bit away from the yard, but comes reluctantly when she whistles. She slaps the second saddle bag on him, draping blankets over his neck.

Her canteen sloshes emptily, and she hurries to refill it at the creek. And then–

And then there's nothing else for her to do, except to leave. She steps up onto Star's back, adjusting herself in the saddle, and looks back at the house. The roof has caved in over the front door, the red flames dancing and licking toward the sky, as if they could reach heaven itself. The front porch, with all the poles Ben had painstakingly whittled over all those months, is already a heap of ash and charred wood.

She can only hope that the plume of smoke is high enough that someone from town or one of the nearer homesteads will come and investigate, maybe take care of the animals. The cows will miss their evening milking, but there's nothing to be done for it. Ben matters more.

Rey digs her heels into Star's flank, and they trot off across the fields, through the dying prairie grasses, toward the sun that's just beginning to sink toward the horizon.

West.

 

Her blind determination carries her through until sunset. West, west, west, she thinks, over and over, a burning light to guide her way, the promise of mountains and pines breaking up the sea of grass. She checks the compass now and again but the sun itself is a good guide, sinking to the land at a point beyond which she imagines she'll find Ben, if she only rides a little longer.

It grows chilly as darkness falls, and Rey wraps the saddle blanket tight around her shoulders, urging Star on. She doesn't have a lamp; it had been in the house. She does have a little piece of flint, scavenged from the floor of the shanty, but no way to carry light with her.

She can see her breath, a little, in the gathering dusk, and then she can't, and the prairie stretches out, black and unknowable, like a pool of ink before her.

A little hollow to the side of her path seems as good a place to stop for the night as any. Rey coaxes Star to sit, and pulls the saddle bags from his back, hungrily cramming cheese and jerky indiscriminately into her mouth. She pulls handfuls of grass from the little bank beside them and offers them to Star, murmuring quietly to him and stroking his nose.

They'll sleep now, and be up before dawn, riding hard again to try and overtake Hux and his gang. She thinks about how she'll ride up behind them, firing shots off before they can react, untying Ben, making their escape…

It'll work out. It has to.

The stars are scattered across the sky almost as densely as flour across a kitchen table. Rey props the loaded shotgun between her thighs, the steel of the barrel just nudging her protruding belly. She leans her head back against Star's warm flank.

Just hang on a little longer, Ben, she thinks, staring up at the heavens. I'm coming for you, Papa.

 

The first hint of dawn finds Rey stiff and cold, slumped over Star's legs. She shakes herself awake, blinking drowsily at the still-dark prairie. Star gets to his feet, whinnying grumpily, and trots off to find a new patch of grass.

Her mad dash to find Ben looks different in the cold ache of morning. What is she doing? The more she considers her situation the more hopeless it seems. Is she really going to chase a murderous gang down on horseback, and shoot them?

Rey buries her head in her hands. Her terror has led her to act rashly. Impulsively. Foolishly.

What ought she to do now? She's only half a day's hard ride from the homestead, and a little more than that from town… she could turn back, and go alert the sheriff, or tell the Pastor, and Finn…

But the events of yesterday morning flood back to her– her terrible blunder, Rose's fear and rage. How can she go back and ask them for help now?

A howl sounds from somewhere beyond the hill.

Rey jolts up from her hunched pose.

Another howl sounds. And another.

Are they… getting closer?

"Star," she hisses, getting slowly to her feet. She clutches the shotgun, her fingers stiff and clumsy. "Star."

Star has wandered a dozen yards or so away. His head is up, ears pricked toward the sound of the howls.

If he runs he'll leave her out here, stranded and vulnerable.

Rey gives a low whistle, hoping he'll walk toward her. The saddle bags are on the ground, but his saddle is still on his back; in her exhaustion last night she neglected to remove it. If she can just get the saddle bags hitched–

There's another howl, much closer, and Rey jumps, the gun shaking in her grip. How many shots could she get off, before they're on her? Killing just one wouldn't matter.

She has to get out of here.

The saddle bags are heavy– dead weight– and the yards stretch to miles before her, her heart beating out of her chest as she prays that Star won't startle and flee. She whistles again, murmuring his name in a calm voice, trying desperately to keep his eyes and his thoughts on her instead of whatever is beyond that hill.

His flank quivers beneath her hand when she touches it.

"Good boy," she whispers. "Stay still for me, Star." She lifts the bags with shaking hands, just managing to hook them over the saddle, tripping over herself to get to the stirrups and step up onto his back. Nudging him gently with her heels, she's careful to keep him walking slowly, worried that if she lets up on the reins for a second he'll bolt.

They step carefully away from the hollow. One step in front of the other, as quiet as they can be. Just another step. And another.

It's a bit lighter now, and Rey can better see the small bluffs in the prairie grasses, the hollows and hills, the dark shapes of bushes or something more sinister.

Eyes flash at her out of the darkness. Rey can't help her scream, clapping her hand over her mouth as soon as she can, but Star jolts forward anyway.

"No! Whoa, Star! Whoa, boy." She holds the reins so tight her hands ache, pulling him back when all he wants it to sprint forward. If he runs, those eyes will chase them. Best to keep stepping, just keep moving forward…

They clear another little hill and then Rey can see them– maybe thirty, maybe more, tufted ears and bright eyes and shaggy coats.

Wolves.

Star whinnies nervously. Rey's heart is beating in her ears, so loud she can barely hear herself think. They have to keep moving, just keep going forward, forward…

She allows Star to pick up the pace to a trot, away from the pack as quick as they can without bolting outright. She reaches out to pat his neck, mutely encouraging him. His coat is thick with sweat.

Rey can hear the wolves fall in behind them, yipping to each other, their tongues lolling out of their panting mouths, full of slavering teeth.

She doesn't allow herself to look back at them, just concentrates on holding Star back, urging him on. There's a dark line of trees in the distance– a creek, perhaps. Could they lose the pack there?

She feels a bristly warmth on her leg through her stocking and reflex makes her look to see its source. She nearly screams again.

A wolf has come up right alongside them, keeping pace with Star, falling in like a loyal dog on a hunt. He must stand three feet tall, gray, absolutely enormous, his head at Star's shoulder. He's so close Rey can see his panted breaths in the chill air.

Another wolf falls in along on their other side, and another, until they're quite in the center of the pack. The wolves gambol along playfully, snapping and nipping at each other, chasing each other like dogs. They don't seem to pay Rey and Star much mind, though the big gray one has stayed by Rey's side the whole time. She wildly fancies that he's curious about the lone rider, out on the remotest parts of the prairie, with nothing but two half-empty saddle bags and a single gun.

A queer calm comes over her. She can do nothing about the wolf at her shin, just as she could do nothing about the burning house, and nothing when Hux threatened Ben with his gun. She can only keep Star from running, can only urge him to trot over the next swell of earth, can only keep on going west.

Star fights at the bit. He's shaking so badly that Rey can feel it through the saddle, but she urges him forward still, concentrating on the line of trees that is thrown into greater relief as the sun rises above the horizon. What will happen when they get there? Rey does not know.

The wolf at her side glances up and she catches sight of a pair of intelligent yellow eyes, appraising her just as she is appraising him.

They're closing in on the creek now, the line of trees looming to blot out the rising sun. The wolves in front yip and bark at each other, streaking out ahead of the pack to rush for the underbrush, disappearing into the darkness of the trees. Rey pulls the reins back, slowing Star down to a walk and letting the pack outstrip them, watching them vanish, one by one, down the banks to the creek.

The wolf by her side gives one last, lingering look in her direction, and follows his brethren, bringing up the very rear of the pack.

Rey stares at the spot where he slips between two trees, her mouth open, a shaky breath escaping her lips. Her hands fall slack around the reins.

Star jolts suddenly to the right, and then Rey is hanging onto his mane for dear life. He bolts along the creek until a bend takes it back in the opposite direction and then he's sprinting out across the open prairie, faster than Rey's ever seen him run. She doesn't think she can rein him in now, and in truth she doesn't want to. She only wants to put as much distance as she can between them and the wolf pack.

Star runs until the sun is fully risen in the sky, his coat lathered with sweat and his eyes rolling wildly. The great panting breaths he takes rocks her in her saddle. He slows to a trot, and Rey finally catches her own breath; her heart has not slowed since those eyes flashed at her out of the darkness.

She looks around at the sweeping grasses, at the vast emptiness of the prairie. Where have they run to? Her sense of direction is entirely disoriented; they might have gone in any direction from the little hollow where they slept.

She could almost laugh at her own grandiose foolishness. Had she really thought she would manage to find Ben before the gang made it to Colorado? Had she really imagined she could fight them on her own?

The solution is clear– she ought to do her best to find the railroad, and take a train to this Berthoud Pass, or as near as she can, and alert the authorities there. It's so obvious in hindsight; she'll be much faster on a locomotive than Hux will be on horseback, she'll beat him there easily.

Rey pulls Star to a halt, shifting the shotgun in her grasp and swinging her leg over the saddle. She jumps down to pull the saddle bags from their mount, intent on retrieving the compass so that she can redirect them north, where they'll eventually cross paths with the rails.

But there's only one saddle bag hanging from Star's rump.

"No," she whispers in horror. "No, no, no..."

She rips into the remaining bag, fingers trembling so hard she can barely grasp anything. Frustrated she turns the bag upside down and empties it onto the ground. Tins of food roll out, a bit of the cheese, the tiny piece of flint.

No compass. No purse either.

Rey gazes desperately back in the direction they've come, searching in vain for any hint of the dark, oilcloth bag.

Nothing.

She wants to cry and fling herself to the ground and kick her feet. She aches from spending the night on the ground. Her thighs and back hurt from spending all day in the saddle.

The sky is dark on the horizon, oddly blurred from the distant veil of rain.

It's no use, not when Ben isn't here to pick her off the ground, to cradle her in his arms in front of a warm fire and reassure her that she's safe, that everything's alright. She must do her best to pick him off the ground now, to rescue him just as he rescued her.

Rey reluctantly crams the tins and other detritus back into the bag and attaches it more securely to the saddle. She pulls another blanket around her shoulders and steps back up onto Star's back, nudging him forward once more.

The sun is nearly at its zenith, but she thinks she knows the direction from which it rose; that would be east. If she can simply orient herself generally north, they should run into the rail line that runs west along the Platte. Eventually.

The rain catches up with them a little after noon. Rey covers herself with the blankets as best she can, propping the fabric over her bonnet so she can still see. She's used to being wet and miserable, though she's grown soft over the last year, indulged as she's been with a hot stove and a warm bed and sturdy clothing.

Her mind wanders as they trudge on and on. The grasses are so pale in places they shine brightly against the dark sky, like heaven and earth have been flipped. She fancies herself crossing an alien sea, on the way to rescue her love, battling the elements and the monsters that lurk therein, combatting her own discomfort and terror to press ever onward.

Is she Odysseus, trying in vain for years and years to return to his wife, diverted away, again and again? Or is she Orpheus, gone to the underworld to save his bride, only to lose her of his own gratification, his overwhelming hunger to gaze once more on his lover's face?

Oh, but she can understand him now, his anxious, impatient desire. How she aches to see Ben's face, what she would not give to cup his cheek and gaze tenderly into his eyes, to see him smile at her and hear his voice and run her fingers through his hair. The ache in her chest expands until it leaves her breathless, consuming every inch inside her, swelling to fill the vast space of the prairie stretched out before her. When water wets her cheeks she does not know if her improvised shield to ward off the rain has been breached or if it is her own tears running down her face.

There's noise in the distance that makes Rey snap her head forward again. Was it a shout? A faint echo of hooves? Rey looks up, squinting through the rain, and clutches the shotgun tighter. Outlaws?

Would they even be worse than the wolves?

A small figure appears on the horizon, blurred by the downpour. He's quite tall, she thinks. But– no, he's simply on a horse. Another figure, shorter– no, a cow. And another, and another. Many cows. Another man on a horse...

A cattle drive.

Relief floods through her. Cowboys are a bit rough, but they're not all bad. Finn is a good man, and his comrades, the times Rey has met them, have been kind in passing. She ought to be on her guard, but at the very least she hasn't happened upon a band of thieves. Perhaps the cowboys might point her in the direction of a train depot.

"Hello!" She waves wildly, nudging Star into a quicker trot toward them.

She seems to have gotten their attention. Their heads tilt, watching her approach. There's four of them. No, five. One is a ways further back, bringing up the rear of the herd.

"Hello, there!" she calls again once she's ridden close enough. She has to raise her voice over the din of the rain; it cracks a little. "I'm in need of some assistance!"

They consider her, a bit warily, from their horses. As she draws nearer she can hear their conversation, fast and unintelligible. It's a moment before she realizes they're speaking another language.

"I'm Rey," she says, not sure whether they can understand her. "Reyna Sands. I'm looking for the nearest train depot, if you wouldn't mind–"

There's a shout from the rear of the herd; the fifth man is riding toward them, parting the cattle like the Red Sea.

"Hey-yo!" he calls.

He's a colored man, unlike the others. As he draws nearer Rey can see he has a surprisingly youthful look to his face, with no whiskers to speak of at all. He turns to the other men and says something rapidly in their tongue. Perhaps they're speaking Spanish.

His tone seems to indicate that he's in charge of the operation, despite his youth, and the others grumble in acquiescence, urging their horses on to circle around the herd and drive the cattle on. The man turns to Rey.

"I'm Jann," he says in English. "Are you in trouble?"

"I– no, I mean, well yes, I suppose –" Rey shakes a bit of rain out of her eyes, speaking up so he can hear her. "I've lost my compass. I'm trying to get to the nearest train depot. Do you know where that would be?"

Jann nods slowly. "We're heading to the Kearney depot, to put the cattle on a train back East." He pauses for a moment, taking her in; his exacting gaze reminds her of Ben when she first met him. "You can come along with us, if you like. We're aiming to arrive tomorrow."

Rey considers this. It makes her a little uneasy, traveling with strangers, but really it's the best she could have hoped for.

"That's awfully kind of you," she tells him. "Thank you."

"It's real hard, being a woman traveling alone on the prairie," Jann says. He speaks with a surprising amount of conviction.

"Yes, I suppose it is." Rey's not sure what else to say.

"Guess we'll get a move on then," Jann tells her. "Keep up with the herd. We'll make camp in a few hours, eat some grub."

"Alright." Rey smiles a little, though she's not sure he can see. She nudges Star to start walking again.

Jann clicks his tongue at his own horse and circles back to the rear of the herd. Rey watches him as he goes.

It's not as if the rain has stopped or the riding has become less tough, but she feels a bit lighter, traveling with the drive. She has a plan now, and she's finally making progress in the right direction.

She studies the cattle, while they ride. Longhorns, likely destined for Chicago. A pang hits her, thinking of her own cows, M'Lady and Delilah and Bessie, left out in the field for the night, likely in pain from not being milked, munching grass next to the smoldering ruin of the house.

Oh, the house. All their fine things, their home. The fire flashes before Rey's eyes, all their work going up in smoke. Their plans and dreams and hopes consumed, just as the new pine boards. Her nice dresses, her dragonfly necklace. Their pots and pans and new china. The feather bed and the pretty quilt. Ben's mother's trunk.

Her heart hurts for it all. The objects of their life together.

But Ben matters more. The house and their things are all just trappings, just the shell of their marriage. Ben is home.

The rain lets up as the sun sets until it's clear and cool and the rays of the sunset filter through in stunning pinks and oranges, like they've been inspired by the grasses on the prairie. The drive continues on until dusk fully settles, and then Jann and the others find a flat bit of ground and unsaddle their horses, pulling a skillet and tins of food from their packs.

Rey pulls Star to a halt alongside them, gingerly swinging her leg over the saddle and jumping to the ground, making sure to unsaddle him and brush him down as best she can with one of the blankets.

"Here."

Rey turns around to find Jann holding out a stiff, bristled brush.

"Thank you," she says, offering a smile in return.

The other cowboys are making some sort of bean dish over a cow patty fire when she's done with Star, chewing on jerky as they cook.

"Want some?" Jann offers when Rey hands him the brush back.

"Thank you, but I've– I've brought my own food…"

Jann shrugs.

"We got plenty. Gotta restock in Kearney tomorrow anyhow."

Rey nods, not wanting to offend them by refusing.

"Alright," she says, accepting some jerky. "Thank you." She looks through her saddle bag. Perhaps she can share some of the peach preserves…

Jann watches her while he chews.

"How'd you get out here, then? All by your lonesome?"

Rey chews furiously, swallowing a huge mouthful of jerky, trying to gather her thoughts. What should she tell him? It was absurd, really, everything that had happened. Would he even believe her?

"My– my husband…" she starts. "He was kidnapped."

Jann raises his eyebrows almost imperceptibly. Rey trips over herself to get the next sentence out.

"He drove a man out of town, last spring, you see, and he– the man, that is– he wanted revenge. And well, also there's treasure, but anyhow…"

The whole story pours out of her, and it's like relieving herself in the new flush toilet (it must have burnt with the rest of the house, what a pity), impossible to stop once she's started. She tells him about the house burning, and the wolves, and Ben being in the gang and starting his life anew, and their marriage, and the baby. By the time she's finished she's breathing hard, like she's run a mile or scrubbed at laundry for an hour.

Jann waits until she's done talking, and gives a low whistle.

"That's quite the tale," he says.

"Yes, I suppose it is," Rey says, laughing a little. "I'm real sorry, talking so much, I don't mean–"

"It's alright," Jann says. "Don't get a lotta new stories out here, it's nice to hear."

Rey smiles at him. The beans are ready to eat now, and Rey almost coughs herself into a fit when she shoves a big spoonful in her mouth; there's some sort of spice in them she's never had before. She takes smaller mouthfuls between generous sips from her canteen.

"How long have you– I mean, how did you become a cowboy?" Rey asks him. Her cheeks burn a little at her slip-up.

Jann grins.

"You mean, how old am I?"

"No," Rey mumbles, shame-faced.

"I'm not so old," Jann says, his eyes sparkling a little, "but not so young, either. Just ain't gonna grow any whiskers any time soon." He pauses, chewing some more. "I've been riding horses practically my whole life, down in Texas. Went along on drives, too, since I was real young. Helped with the cooking, mostly. But I liked wrangling cows better, and I'm damn good at it, too."

He scrapes his bowl clean.

"S'pose I'm trying to say, don't really know when I became a cowboy, not really. Never, I guess. Always. You know."

Rey nods. It makes sense.

"Met these old vaqueros couple years back, got to head the drives myself then." He nods over at the other cowboys, who pause in their eating to look at him. One of them asks him something in Spanish, and he answers. It's long-winded, and Rey gets the impression he's telling them her whole story. One of them responds, and he laughs.

"Forten says he's impressed with how you handled the wolves. Don't actually know if I coulda done the same."

"They were huge," Rey exclaims. "Up to Star's back, I swear–"

Jann nods knowingly. "Buffalo wolves. They take a cow or two sometimes. The Indians swear it only takes two of 'em to bring down a whole buffalo. Aren't too vicious, though, towards men."

Rey shakes her head. "I was so glad to see you. In all honesty, I thought you might've been outlaws, and then I still wasn't sure if that was worse than wandering further on my own…"

"I'm glad it's us you found," Jann says darkly. "Outlaws can be worse than wolves, especially for a woman on her own."

"I know," Rey says quickly. "Just… in the moment…"

Jann nods. One of the vaqueros brings out a guitar and starts to sing. It's a mournful tune, echoing over the vast prairie. The low fire lights up his face, and the guitar. Rey watches him intently, straining her ears, trying to pick out words she recognizes from her Latin lessons.

"It's about a bandit, Leandro Rivera," Jann tells her quietly. "But he's the hero, in the corrido, from back when Texas was its own country."

The sweet song fades into the cool night air and the cowboys go about setting out their bed rolls while Rey does her best with the horse blankets. Perhaps she ought to be more nervous, going to sleep with so many strange men nearby, but they've put her at ease. Tomorrow she would board a train for Berthoud Pass, and she would beat out Hux and his gang in getting there, and then she and Ben would be reunited. She closes her eyes, and falls straight to sleep.

 

Rey wakes to the smell of coffee and the sound of low chatter. The sun isn't risen, dawn is just a touch of green to the sky. The cowboys have lamps, though, and a fire kindled. They're boiling something in a pot– maybe oats?

"Oh!" she says. They all look over at her. "I– I have peaches, if you like…"

She fumbles through her bag again and pulls the glass jar out, offering it over to them.

One of the vaqueros takes it, holding it up to the lamp, and nods in approval.

Breakfast is a quick affair, and the camp is struck just as fast; they're all back on their horses before dawn breaks. Rey winces when she seats herself back in the saddle; she's sure she has bruises all over her bottom and thighs.

She urges Star to a trot, as the cowboys start to drive the cattle on, circling and yodeling. He must be tired, from riding all day yesterday and the day before, and she tries to keep him at the slowest pace while still keeping up with the herd.

Around noon Jann slows his circling to walk along with her.

"You ride well, astride," Jann tells her. "Even with your skirts."

Rey laughs. "It's not so hard, if they're wide enough."

"I never liked wearing skirts," Jann says.

Rey frowns. What does he mean?

He sees her expression and falters a little.

"I– I mean I– when I was young. I– well, I was raised as a girl."

"Oh," Rey says. It must be a lot easier, traveling the prairie dressed like the man, making a man's wages as a cowboy. "So you're really a woman then?"

"I s'pose," Jann grumbles. He frowns at the ground while their horses walk forward, then shakes his head. "No. No, I'm not. I'm a man. I– I never did like to be a girl. Never did feel like a girl, even when I was young. I think... I think it'd be impossible to make myself a woman, even if I tried."

Rey nods thoughtfully. "It's like you said, you were always a cowboy."

Jann laughs.

"I s'pose I was."

They pass some time in companionable silence before Jann kicks his horse forward on another circle around the herd.

They're starting to pass homesteads now; Rey sees a scattering of claim shanties and dug-outs as they ride. A few figures, far off in their fields. Around noon figure looms closer to the trail, a man with a broad hat, lugging oddly shaped stones from the prairie into a big heap. Rey tries to peer closer but can't make head nor tail of it.

"What are those?" she asks Jann when he returns to trot at her side.

"Buffalo skulls," he tells her. "He's probably gonna sell 'em back East, for fertilizer."

"Buffalo skulls?" Rey's a little discomfited. The pile is so large. "There's so many."

"Army shot a whole lot of 'em," Jann says. "To starve the Indians."

"Oh," Rey says faintly.

"Used to be enormous herds around here, but the Army got 'em, and I guess the buffalo robe manufacturers got the rest, so…"

Rey thinks to the buffalo robe she and Ben would bring along in their sleigh.

"So there aren't any more?"

"Probably a few, here and there, but I ain't seen any in a good long while…"

Rey watches the man scavenge the enormous skulls, a bit of a chill going up her spine, like the furious voices from the prairie are whispering in her ear. Maybe the prairies hadn't always been so empty.

Kearney is a good sized town, larger than Red Cloud but not nearly so large as Lincoln. There are some stock yards near the depot, and the other cowboys drive them toward the pens.

"I can't thank you enough," Rey says to Jann as they draw nearer.

"You take care of yourself," he warns her as he rides away. "Hope you find your mister. Keep that gun real close."

It's not the most auspicious parting. Rey tries to wave at the others but they're busy wrangling cattle and don't see her. She drops her hand, urging Star toward the depot office. Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy Railroad is printed in bold letters on the building exterior.

There's a single clerk sitting behind the desk when she enters, wearing a pair of spectacles and peering at a sheaf of papers.

"Hello..." Rey says, unsure of how to explain herself.

"Can I help you?" he asks in a nasally voice.

She takes a deep breath. "I need to get to Berthoud Pass. Colorado."

He flips through his papers, dragging a finger down a time table. "Berthoud… Berthoud… I see, here we are. There's a train leaving in an hour for Cheyenne… you'll need to transfer…"

"Is– is there a way to bring my horse?" Rey interrupts. He fixes her with a stern look.

"We have livestock cars with every train, of course."

"Of course," Rey responds quietly, her voice trailing into nothingness. The man writes up her ticket.

"Your fare is six dollars and seventy-three cents," he tells her.

Panic seizes her.

Her purse. She'd forgotten completely that she'd lost her purse as well as her compass.

"Do you issue tickets on credit?" she asks desperately. He raises an eyebrow.

"If I knew who you were," he answers snidely.

"What about collateral?" She rifles through her pockets, looking for something, anything of value...

Her fingers close on something round and when she pulls it out the little locket with Ben's parents flashes in the weak sunlight that filters in through the new glass windows. She falters.

She can't give up this, the last images Ben will ever get to see of his parents. After being miraculously spared from the fire, how can she sacrifice it now?

What else could she trade? Anything, anything else…

The light catches again, this time on the ring on her finger.

Her stomach hurts.

Of course. Of course she'd have to sacrifice this, too. Like Orpheus, paying Charon to be ferried to the underworld…

Miserably she pulls at the ring. Her fingers have swollen over the last few weeks, so it doesn't come off easily. She has to twist and tug and pry it from her finger. Tears well up a bit in her eyes.

"Would… would this be enough?" Her voice is small and high and scratchy and she hates it more than anything.

The company man stares at her, but she's too numb to feel shame. If she turns back now none of it will have been worth it. She must get there. She must.

"I– that should be alright, Miss," he says, clearing his throat. "Er, I mean, Mrs–?"

"Solo," Rey says in little more than a whisper. She lets the ring fall into his open palm.

"We'll issue you a receipt, of course," he tells her. "We're not in the business of robbing our customers of their valuables."

Rey nods, staring at the floor while he issues her her ticket and the receipt. Her finger feels oddly naked, after months of the cool metal sitting snug against her skin.

"Here you are, Mrs. Solo. If you'll wait on the platform, the train will leave at 5:25."

Rey nods again, accepting her ticket. She pushes the door open and retrieves Star from the hitching post, waiting on the platform as she's been told until the train comes.

A drizzle of rain has started again. It's a miserable sort of rain, falling in the dusty town, making little rivulets in the dirt streets.

She hates it. She pats Star's matted mane, gazing out through the mist and dust, and hates everything.

 

Rey tries to sleep on the train. It's nowhere near as comfortable as the car she rode to Lincoln; the seats are hard and slatted and it's cold inside. Her aches and bruises are making themselves known; it's like her whole body hurts– not just her thighs and bottom but her belly and her breasts and her back and her hands. She's glad she won't face another day of riding; she's not sure she could at this point.

She bundles herself with the saddle blankets, aware that she must look quite the beggar maid. The shotgun and the remaining saddle bag occupy the seat beside her.

She dreams of Ben, high on a mountain top, his back turned to her.

Turn around, she calls to him, her voice caught on a breeze, thin and eerie, so it travels over the prairie and the craggy hills and the miles to his ear. Turn around, Papa. Turn around so I might see your face…

 

They transfer in Cheyenne in the morning, managing to just catch the next train south to Berthoud.

Despite her aches, Rey feels an incredible sense of relief when they roll into the town. She's really made it. She's finally here.

Surely she's beaten the gang here; it's been just over three days since they took Ben away, and she doesn't think they could ride quite so quickly across such a long distance, and they couldn't possibly have taken a train. She'll just need to find the sheriff…

Berthoud is another dusty little frontier town on the prairie, just like all the others, but when the train pulls away from the platform, Rey's mouth drops open.

A long stretch of beige and blueish hills rises in the distance before her, running both north and south as far as the eye can see. Mountains with their rugged peaks come into relief behind them, rising dramatically in staggered curtains. One stands taller by far than any of the rest, like a central jewel in a crown.

After the never-ending flatness of the prairie, the mountains are like a balm for her eyes. Rocks and trees, the clouds framing the peaks like a sort of divine offering. She can't stop her staring; there's just so much

A man laughs behind her. She whips around.

"Really something, isn't it?" he asks. She nods, pulling Star along on the platform, a little embarrassed she's been caught in her wonder. The man continues. "Don't think I'll ever get over it, to tell you the truth."

Rey smiles reluctantly back at him; he doesn't seem to be making fun of her at least. Perhaps she could ask him where the sheriff is in town. And where the pass is? Maybe she's mistaken but she'd always thought passes were over mountain tops, and Berthoud is as flat as Red Cloud.

"Would you happen to know where the Berthoud Pass sheriff is?" she asks, as politely as she can. Hopefully she can get both her questions answered in one go and be on her way.

"Berthoud Pass?" The man frowns at her. She frowns back– was that the wrong question to ask? He tsks, shaking his head. "Ah shucks, sweetheart, you got your Berthouds mixed up. Berthoud Pass is a good eighty miles from here."

Rey stares at him. "What?"

"Yeah, it's southwest, pretty high up–"

"Is there another train that goes there?" Rey asks frantically. "I need to get there as soon as possible." But how can she? She doesn't even have collateral left, for another ticket. She can't even get back to Red Cloud

"Damn, I don't– it's a pretty remote area, suppose Boulder'd be your nearest stop, but you'd have to wait til tomorrow for the next train down that way, and then it's a day or two up the canyon, over another pass–"

Rey can't keep herself calm any longer, can't talk herself into believing things will work out. Everything is terrible, everything is falling apart. She's at the end of line now, stuck, no money and no ring, sore and aching, Star exhausted, the house burned down, Ben with those murderous thieves, and no one in Red Cloud the wiser as to where they've gone–

"FUCK!" Rey explodes, throwing her hands up, stamping her feet on the boards of the platform. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

The man holds up his hands. "Hey kid, calm down, it's alright…"

"No it's not!" she tells him hotly. "Everything is not alright!"

Red-eyed, she tugs Star to the stairs off the platform. She has no idea what she'll do. Perhaps she'll go lay in a field and stare at the mountains and be miserable in peace until she dies.

A hand catches her shoulder, and Rey finds herself being turned around by the man from the platform. She glares up at his face but he doesn't back down, holding her out at arms length. He's older, with silvered hair, but he seems like he might've been a looker in his youth. There's something oddly familiar about him; Rey can't put her finger on it.

"Let's just talk it through, alright? I'm sure we can figure something out. What's your name, kid?"

"Reyna Sands," she says dully, wiping her nose on her sleeve. She flashes back to all the potential families she'd said that to when she was on the orphan train, who didn't want her. Until Ben–

Wait, that's not her name anymore. "I mean–" she shifts and the saddle blanket falls from her shoulders; she scrambles to pick it up. When she straightens again, the man's gaze is caught on her belly.

Rey pinches her face tighter, wrapping the blanket around her abdomen. Is she really going to have to deal with this again

"Look, I'll tell you what, sweetheart," the man says slowly, a queer expression on his face. "I can get you to Boulder at least, if you don't mind going along with a wagon. I ought to be going back down that way anyhow."

"I can't pay you," Rey says, staring down at the dusty boards.

"Don't worry about that." He studies her a moment longer. "I gotta wait for my partner, but you can sit in the wagon in the meanwhile. If you like."

Rey nods numbly, pulling Star along after him down the stairs to the street below. Perhaps she shouldn't trust yet another stranger, but what options does she have?

"Thank you, sir," she mumbles as they walk along.

He laughs.

"Sir." He says it like it's an insult. "I'm more of a scoundrel than just about anyone, sweetheart." He grins at her, and she's put a bit more at ease. Something about the way his eyes crinkle–

"Sorry," she mumbles, smiling a little in spite of herself. "What should I call you then?"

He halts in front of a sturdy wagon, already partway full of sacks and lumber. The view from this dusty side street is as breath-taking as the one from the platform, and Rey's lost momentarily in the mid-morning light, shafts gleaming through the clouds to illuminate barns and patches of prairie grass.

The man turns around, sticking out his hand so she can shake it.

"Name's Han, kid." His hands are broad and callused under her own, and his handshake is firm. "Han Organa."

Notes:

CW: Egregious hero's journey comparisons. Period-typical but potentially gender non-affirming language to a trans man. Rey does more old-timey hitchhiking than my mom did in the seventies. Somehow, Han (Organa) has returned.

Here's an 1881 railway map. Rey has to take a train all the way to Cheyenne and back south to Berthoud because the line directly from Red Cloud to Denver wasn't yet completed in 1881. Kearney was a big cow depot in Nebraska in this era according to this history of Nebraskan cowboys.

Here is a brief history of vaqueros, the original cowboys (buccaneers is probably a bastardization of the word vaquero), specifically from the Texas/Mexico border region. Cowboys in the United States were from all backgrounds– white, Black, Mexican, and Native American– and often worked in integrated crews; their music reflects this.

The corrido is a popular musical genre of Mexico's oral tradition, and is a descriptive narrative, or "running" account, written in verse and put to music. Corridos usually serve a socially relevant purpose, as a narrative or educational outlet. Corrido de Leandro Rivera dates from 1841 and may be the oldest Texan corrido. This version was recorded in 1939 as part of an effort to document folk music of the border region.

Please read this fascinating article on the Forgotten Trans History of the Wild West. I adapted some of Jann's lines in this from those of a real Victorian trans man, Harry Allen, who described his discomfort with his assigned sex to a newspaper in 1908. I was trying to have the language that Jann (and Rey) use reflect the way Victorians would have talked about the subject, but I hope I haven't caused offense to any trans readers. Happy to discuss more on Twitter or in the comments. Forten is the only other named character from Company 77.

Rey is traveling through ceded Pawnee territory for the majority of this chapter, but the Sioux War of 1876 was fought partially in Nebraska. I wanted to give the sense that she is in some ways traveling through a sort of post-apocalyptic landscape. The buffalo herds were indeed hunted nearly to extinction, in part as a means of forcing the Native American tribes onto reservations; this was environmental devastation as a means of genocide.

The wolf scene was taken from Little House on the Prairie; the Buffalo wolf was extinct by the 1920's.

There is a new American Masters episode about Laura Ingalls Wilder, which I thought was worth the watch. Thanks to kalx58 for telling me about it!

I haven't been home in over a year now, so I sent Rey to Colorado for me, motivated entirely by my own homesickness. Get ready for gratuitous imagery descriptions and extremely specific location picture references. This is roughly the view Rey sees when she disembarks from the train in Berthoud; the tall mountain she sees is Longs Peak.

I think I probably sound like a broken record at this point, but I hope everyone is staying safe. I have nothing really to say about the events of Wednesday except fuck Trump and prosecute all of those fuckers to the fullest extent of the law; I think history can tell us that appeasement doesn't work. I will note that I rage tweeted enough to accidentally trick a blue checkmark political pundit into following me; jury's still out on whether he'll appreciate spicy Reylo fanfic.

Love you all!

Chapter 26

Notes:

Content warnings in the end notes.

tnwti_moodboard2

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Rey watches the clouds above the tall peak in the distance, the dark grey roiling and churning, momentarily obscuring the snow capped point and then leaving it to be illuminated with brilliant sunlight. The sky is bigger here, somehow; the horizon holds distances Rey couldn't possibly walk in a day. She scans her gaze south down the row of peaks, so neatly ordered, held abruptly at bay from the stretch of planes before them– a row of dutiful soldiers, a crashing wave frozen at its zenith. Which one of them holds Berthoud Pass? If she could squint hard enough, could she see Ben? Scrambling like an ant over distant boulders and basins of snow?

"Hey, kid."

Rey turns in the wagon seat back toward the town. Mr. Organa– (Han?)– is back with a few additional sacks tossed over his shoulder, and behind him–

Behind him must be the tallest man Rey's ever seen. His black hair is streaked through with grey and tied back under a colorful scarf, a feather tucked neatly into one of the folds just brushing his aged, tawny cheek. He wears buckskin pants, like Mr. Organa, but his jacket is brighter– a spotted blue fabric trimmed in red ribbon. He too carries a few sacks slung over his shoulder, the rifle on his back attached by a wide, cross-body strap.

Without a doubt, this man is an Indian.

"This is Chewbacca," Mr. Organa tells her. "My partner."

There's something in the way he says it, like he's daring her to object to traveling with the man. However this mis-matched pair ended up together, it isn't a casual acquaintance.

"Hello," Rey says carefully.

She's never met an Indian before, only read about them in the papers– hair-raising tales of scalpings and raids on frontier farms, grand battles with the army. But they were all gone from Red Cloud before she moved West on the orphan train.

Did they starve when the army shot all the buffalo?

The man nods back at her, heaving the sacks on his shoulders onto the wagon bed. Rey stands to exit the seat, wincing a little as she jumps down to the ground. Just when she thought she was free from the saddle, she instead faces yet another day on Star's back.

And another day or two up a canyon, she thinks hopelessly.

She shakes her head. No, that won't do. She must only focus on the present moment. She can't allow herself to be pulled under by another wave of despair.

"Sweetheart–"

Rey whips her head around, but it's only Mr. Organa, looking at her with some concern. Oh, she wishes he wouldn't call her that. It stabs deep into her heart to hear it, knowing it isn't coming from Ben's lips. Oh Ben

She shakes her head again, trying to focus on each step to Star. Her vision is a little blurry; the lack of rest must really be catching up with her. Her hand is on the reins and she raises her foot to put it in the stirrup, but it's hard to aim. Mr. Organa is saying something else to her, but it's like his voice is underwater, echo-y, his words indiscernible–

A pair of hands are bracing her upper back, and Rey blinks and looks around. Mr. Organa is there and she realizes he's holding her up. She shakes her head yet again, righting herself.

"I said, you can ride in the wagon," he tells her, peering into her face.

"Oh," she says faintly. That would probably be for the best. She nods. "Thank you."

"It's not a problem," he says. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, yes," she says. "Only... could I put his saddle in the back as well? We've been riding for three days and I'm worried he'll get sores."

"Three days?" He looks like he has a lot of questions about that, but only shakes his own head. "Sure, kid."

Rey turns around to unbuckle the straps on Star's saddle and everything goes black.

 

The clouds are jostling above her when she opens her eyes. They're dark grey, but the sky is bright somehow, hard to look at. She squeezes her eyes closed again, trying to block out the diffuse, harsh light.

"Oh good, you're awake."

Rey cracks her eyes again, squinting through her lashes. A man's form comes blurrily into view, and Rey realizes that she's lying in the wagon seat, her head propped up on a rolled blanket, her body rocking gently with the motion of the wheels over the rutted track. The man is walking alongside the horses.

"Drink some water," he tells her. What was his name? Han… something. "Careful when you sit up. There you go." Rey gulps the water greedily; she's thirstier than she'd realized.

"Got some jerky too if you want."

Rey nods gratefully, shoving the jerky in her mouth. She'd eaten on the train, but her stores had run low, and she didn't have a knife with which to open the tins.

"Thank you," she tells him after swallowing. Her voice is hoarse. "I– I do apologize–"

But Han just waves her off, offering her another piece of jerky. She chews this piece slowly, absentmindedly soothing her swollen belly with her free hand, and looks around at the landscape. They've left the little town behind on a road running parallel to the row of mountains. The sun is higher in the sky now, behind the clouds; the grey threatens them with rain.

Chewbacca has ridden a little ahead of them on his horse, but doubles back now. He nods at her when he sees her sitting in the wagon seat, digging in a bag hanging from his waist and throwing her an apple. She catches it and flashes him a grateful grin.

"So… three days riding, huh?" Han asks her casually, after what she imagines he's deemed an appropriate pause.

"Erm, yes," Rey responds, chewing her apple. "I– to get to the train depot– in Nebraska, you see–"

Her explanation makes little sense, she knows, but the truth won't make any sense either, and she's coming to question how much she should tell them. It had been so easy to confide in Jann, but that feels like a lifetime ago now, when she thought things would be sorted as soon as she took the train to Berthoud, and she'd been well and with her own means of transportation. Now she's ill, and dependent, and it's not unreasonable to think that these men might not let her leave for Berthoud Pass if she lets on there's a murderous gang in the mix. No, she ought to keep it simple.

"I– I need to find my husband, as soon as possible. He's– he ought to be in Berthoud Pass."

"He left you on your own?" Han frowns at her.

"No! He didn't– he didn't want to. He was– called away. On urgent business."

"Uh huh."

Han looks at her skeptically, his eyes dropping quickly to her belly and back to her face. Perhaps he thinks she's invented a husband, to explain away her delicate condition? Well, let him think that; she's at least confident in Ben's existence.

"You don't have a side saddle," he says after a pause.

"No." Rey doesn't know what to say to that.

"Guess a lot of women probably ride astride out here."

"I suppose," she says. "My husband taught me."

Han shoots her another side-glance and they lapse into silence. Rey stares at the mountains for a long while. They change seemingly with every step they take, the foothills and the back peaks moving like independent curtains, and the clouds swirling still, moving toward them in a sweeping veil.

"We'll get some rain," Chewbacca says. His voice is deep and Rey can't place his accent. Han swings up into the wagon seat without missing a beat, rummaging in the back and handing her a broad oilcloth.

"Here, kid," he says, and she takes the cloth, draping it over her head. The rain patters down a few minutes later, until it's a heavy shower and the water sluices off the oil cloth and puddles at her feet. This continues for a half hour or so and then the rain stops as abruptly as it started.

"How far is Boulder?" she asks them.

"Another… fifteen miles, or so? Just about."

Rey nods, trying to think of something to say, to make conversation. She hasn't been the best travel companion, certainly. "Do you… go there often?"

The men exchange glances, and Han gives a humorless chuckle.

"Not as often as I should, kid."

"Oh." What does he mean? She's asked the wrong thing somehow. Awkwardly she fumbles around for a different topic of conversation. "Have you both been… partners… for a while?"

They both laugh at that, and she's relieved to hear some levity.

"For too long," Chewbacca says, but his tone is lighthearted.

"For… forty years, just about? Is that right?"

"Too long," Chewbacca repeats.

"How did you meet?" Rey asks, happy to have landed on a good subject.

Both men fall silent.

"He broke me out of prison," Chewbacca says finally, his voice solemn.

"Oh," Rey says faintly. "I'm–" Glad? Sorry? "That's really–"

"We broke out together," Han interjects. "I was in on smuggling charges–"

"And I was near-dead with quinsy, but do go on about how we broke out 'together'–"

Rey glances at the back of the wagon. Are they still smugglers?

"–won't ever stop arguing this point, will you–"

"Were you… in on smuggling charges too?" she asks Chewbacca.

"No," he says, looking ahead of them down the wagon track. His horse lopes along by the side of the wagon. "I was a prisoner of war."

"Bastards betrayed his truce flag," Han spits. "Absolutely disgraceful."

"Which war?" Rey frowns. Forty years was long before the civil war between the North and the South.

"It was a small war," Chewbacca tells her. "My people were being forced to leave our home."

Rey feels cold. "Where was your home?"

"Florida," he says. "Back before it became a state."

He tells her of his family, his two wives and their children, being forced to move to smaller and smaller patches of land in the swamps of Florida before being told they were all to be relocated west of the Mississippi.

"We fought, and we knew the swamps better than the soldiers did, but there were more of them. We couldn't last. When I went to negotiate a peace talk, they ignored my white flag, took me captive. When I became ill, I thought I would die, but then I woke up on this man's ship." He gestures toward Han. "He was a boy then. But I owed him my life."

"What happened to–" Rey begins, but Han subtly shakes his head, and she snaps her mouth shut.

They pass through another town and stop to water the horses. Rey stands cautiously. She still feels a bit woozy, and leans against the wagon, carefully sipping some water from her canteen which Han graciously fills for her at a well. Chewbacca goes into a nearby shop.

"His wives both died," Han tells her quietly. "On the way to the Indian Territory."

"Oh," Rey says. "I didn't mean to–"

"I know." Han looks at her, and then looks toward the shop where Chewbacca is speaking to the man behind the counter. "I wasn't kidding, when I said we escaped together. I pretended to be a guard, moving the Indian war chief out of the fort. It wouldn't've worked without him."

They all eat little meat pies when Chewbacca comes back, sheltering under a small overhang while the town is deluged in another brief shower, and then they're on the track again, moving closer and closer to the mountains, racing the sun as it starts to sink toward the tallest peaks.

Rey begins to wonder where she'll sleep that night. Perhaps there's a field somewhere near town, where the owner wouldn't mind her building a fire and curling up next to Star? Her back protests at the thought of spending another night on the ground, but she doubts she'll see a bed again any time soon. Even once she's found Ben, they'll still have to return to Red Cloud, and even then, well, their fine, feather bed must be ashes by now. The Damerons' barn never looked so comfortable...

"Would you happen to know of a good place to camp?" she asks Han. He doesn't look at her, focusing on the pitted track to avoid a particularly deep hole.

"I know a place in town," he says. There's a bit of tension in his shoulders when he says it.

"Oh," she says, a little disappointed. She supposes someone's yard would be alright, but she'd had visions of waking up in a field and staring at the bluish hills and having a moment of peace before she started up the canyon. Which canyon? There must be dozens... she'll have to ask him before they part ways. Food, of course, is a thorny issue, but she still has the tins she brought from the root cellar, she just needs a knife with which to open them. Even a sharp nail might do the trick, if she could find a good stone…

"Just about there," he tells her, as they crest a small ridge and she can see the town spread below them. A dense line of foliage bisects the orderly grid of houses, and Rey thinks there must be a creek that runs through the center. She can see a large building that stands quite alone on a hill on the other side, dramatically silhouetted in the gathering dusk.

It's another half hour before they find their way past the outlying farms and into the urban center. Rey looks about with undisguised interest. The wagon wends and winds its way through the dusty streets, passing wooden buildings with their false fronts, and sturdier brick ones as well. Boulder is a bustling little town, far bigger than Red Cloud, though not nearly so large as Lincoln. The mountains loom large behind them, their queer flat faces reminding her of her flat irons, so close Rey's sure she could simply walk to the top of the nearest peak if she had a mind to.

They finally pull to a stop in front of a large, stately brick home with a triangular pediment overlooking a second floor balcony, and twin chimneys crowning the roof.

Rey's a bit shocked; who could Han, a self-described scoundrel, know who would live here?

Han jumps from the wagon street, looking back at her and jerking his head toward the front door, his face just a touch grim. "C'mon, kid," he tells her, "I'll introduce you to my wife."

Rey's eyebrows shoot up. His wife?

She looks about at Chewbacca and he meets her gaze, an amused expression on his face, like he knows exactly what she's thinking. She shakes her head, watching Han go to the front door and pull it open like he owns the place.

He does own the place.

Well then, hopefully he'll let her stay in the yard, and she'll have more time to ask about canyons and whatnot.

She stands shakily in the wagon seat, gripping the board that makes up the backrest and gingerly maneuvering herself down to the circular brick drive. Even this motion is exhausting, and she stands for a moment, leaning heavily against the wagon frame, trying to catch her breath. Now, she just needs to get to Star, and–

The brick walk comes up fast; it takes her a moment to register that she's on the ground.

"Ah," she says to herself belatedly. Her cheek stings, but she's not worried about that. She wraps her arms protectively around her belly, trying to feel assess if there's any pain–

"Oh dear." A woman's voice comes, and a soft hand touches her forehead. Rey looks up at her, unable to get her face into focus. "Can you sit up?"

Rey nods, bracing her belly with one hand and propping herself into a sitting position with the other. She can hear the woman suck in a breath.

"You just met her, Han?" Her voice is sharp.

"I met her today– Jesus Leia–"

Han's voice comes from somewhere on the other side of the wagon, tight and unhappy.

"Let's get you inside, dear," the woman says to her. "Chewie? Would you mind–?"

Chewbacca stoops next to her, gently lifting her in his arms. Rey curls into his shoulder, feeling nauseous with the motion. Drat, why did she become ill now

Inside the house she finds herself on a daybed, a fluffy pillow beneath her head. The little sitting room is handsomely decorated; it's far finer than any house she's been into in Red Cloud…

"–send for Dr. Kalonia–" the woman, Leia, is saying. Rey shuts her eyes against the whole situation and turns her face in toward the pillow, willing herself to sleep.

 

She wakes in a dimly lit room, in a real bed. A new woman is in the corner with a bowl and some rags.

The fall

Rey sits bolt upright and cradles her belly, slightly panicked.

The woman looks around, bustling over with the damp rags. "Don't worry, dearie. I'm Dr. Kalonia. Just try to calm yourself, alright?"

This woman is the doctor?

"What happened?" Rey croaks. "Is my baby alright?"

She finds she's wearing a nightgown, rather than the skirt and blouse she traveled in. I must have been filthy, she realizes with a stab of shame.

"You have a low fever," Dr. Kalonia tells her. "But I believe you are merely suffering from exhaustion. No bleeding– your baby is perfectly well."

"Thank the Lord," Rey whispers, swallowing a lump in her throat. She rests back against the pillow.

"I'll bring you some beef tea, and then you ought to try and sleep again."

Rey nods mutely at her and she bustles out of the room. A pair of low voices come from the hallway.

"–say where she was from–?"

"–somewhere in Nebraska was all I could get out of her. Poor thing was so set on getting to Berthoud Pass, said her husband was going to meet her there–"

A third voice cuts in. "And we all know how trustworthy husbands can be–"

"Leia…"

Leia hisses something back, but the bickering is too low for Rey to hear and she shuts her eyes once again.

 

She sleeps on and off for what feels like days, waking only for some broth or toast, sometimes left while she sleeps, sometimes lifted to her lips by the woman, Leia. She dreams fitfully of Ben while she sleeps, and frets about lost time when she wakes, but there's no way she could travel in her current state.

On what must be the third day she wakes to mid-morning light feeling a bit clearer, able to sit up when Leia brings in a tray of food.

"Hello," Rey says, clumsily settling herself against the pillows. "Thank you for– I'm sorry to be such a bother–"

"Not at all, dear," Leia says, smiling down at her, brushing the back of her hand across Rey's forehead. "Your fever's down."

Rey smiles back hesitantly, nodding a little. Leia hands her a cup of broth from the little tray, and perches herself delicately on the quilt; it's similar to the one that used to be in the claim shanty.

Gone, Rey reminds herself. All gone…

Leia smiles at her; Rey can almost feel her questions burning beneath the surface.

"So you've come from... Nebraska?"

"Oh!" Rey swallows a small sip of the broth. "Yes, from Red Cloud…" She pauses, thinking of her odd three day ride that she can't begin to explain away. "... or thereabouts…"

"Is there anyone we can write to, to let them know you're here?"

"Oh, yes! I ought to– Pastor Poe Dameron, I suppose, would be best…"

Leia nods, looking at her seriously. "But he isn't your husband?"

"No– my husband– I need to find– he's, he ought to be in Berthoud Pass. I need to go there myself to–"

She trails away, staring at the enormous gaps in her story. If she's meant to meet her husband in Berthoud Pass, why would she not simply write to him, to tell him she's been delayed? Come to think of it, why oughtn't she write to the Berthoud Pass sheriff from here? To let him know to look out for the gang?

But perhaps the letter is lost? Or he doesn't take her seriously? No, she must go there herself. It's the only way. She glances up at Leia. This woman certainly won't let her ride off after a gang, she must be very careful in how she words things, or she'll be stuck here. She can only hope Pastor Dameron won't set out as soon as he receives the letter, to collect her back home…

"How old are you, dear?" Leia asks her gently.

"Sixteen," Rey mutters, looking down at her broth. Leia nods like she expected as much, her expression grim.

"Do you know when you're… expecting?" she asks delicately.

"Erm, I'm not exactly sure…" Rey trails off. Old lady Maz hadn't been very clear, only said she'd have a winter baby. She sighs, looking sadly at her left hand; she doesn't even have a ring as proof of her nuptials. She knows how she must look to a woman like Leia: young, poor, in a delicate condition, and apparently abandoned by her husband, if he ever existed in the first place.

What a mess.

Leia smiles gently at her again, carefully standing. She's tiny; at least a head shorter than Rey.

"I'll let you finish your broth and get some more rest. If you feel up to it you're welcome to join us in the parlor later; I can help you down the stairs."

She leaves, closing the door with a soft click behind her. Rey does as she's told, finishing the food offered on the tray, but when she's eaten everything she shoves the blankets aside, swinging her legs over to dangle off the edge of the bed. She must improve as quickly as she can. She's not sure how long it would take the gang to ride across all that prairie, but she knows her time is dwindling to intervene.

The first few steps are wobbly, but she feels a bit stronger than she did the day she collapsed. She paces back and forth in her stockinged feet, frustrated when she has to pause to catch her breath, squeaking in alarm when she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the wash bowl.

Her hair is quite lank and unkempt, her face greasy. A scrape is healing on her cheek overtop a darkening bruise. She hurries to scrub herself with the clean rags and soap she finds, then combs through her tangled hair, braiding it neatly. Her fringe still hangs limp, but she supposes there's not much to be done about that until she can set it again properly. She blows it out of her eyes, scowling when it falls right back. Drat Rose and her fashionable styling.

There's a dressing gown draped over the end of the bed frame, and Rey shrugs this over her nightgown, feeling at least a bit cleaner. Leia said she'd help her with the stairs, but Rey will have to manage on her own if she's to go and find Ben way up in the mountains. She grasps the doorknob and pushes the door open into the hallway.

There's a bannistered stairway down the hall. She moves gingerly toward it, assessing every step. A low murmur of voices come from below, and she follows them down.

"Hello?" Rey pauses at the doorway to the room. Is it really polite to sit in such a nice parlor, in this state of dress? Perhaps she ought to go back up...

"Oh!" Leia says, peering out at her, standing to help her to a great, winged armchair. "I would have helped you, dear. Come and sit by the fire, there we are."

She allows Leia to fuss over her, tucking a blanket in around her shoulders and shoving slippers onto her feet. There are two other ladies in the parlor, and they both peer goodnaturedly at her from a handsome sofa. She recognizes one of them as the doctor who attended her a few days prior.

"You've met Dr. Kalonia, of course, and this is Mrs. Amilyn Holdo. Amilyn, this is Mrs. Reyna S–"

There's a knock on the door to the parlor and Leia is briefly distracted as a maid brings in a tray with little sandwiches and a handsome tea set, all in a delicate bone china. Rey stares at them sadly, thinking of her own bone china, lost to the flames.

"How are you feeling?" Dr. Kalonia asks her.

"Much better," Rey says politely, accepting a cup of tea. "Thank you for looking after me so well." She turns toward Leia. "And for your hospitality–"

"You're quite welcome, dear," Leia says kindly. "We're all just glad you're feeling better."

The women turn their chat back to what they must have been discussing before she came down, some ladies' organization they all head. Rey drinks her tea slowly, managing a few cucumber sandwiches as well, which she tries to eat as daintily as possible. Their cause must be temperance, she decides; teetotalers, just like Pastor Dameron.

"–ought to pressure the addition of a bylaw at the university, we oughtn't have drunkards for professors–"

"–quite agree–"

"Which university?" Rey asks before she can stop herself. All three look over to her.

"The University of Colorado," Leia tells her. "It's the large building above the creek– you might've seen it when you drove in?"

"I did," Rey nods. "I didn't know there was a university here. It's for all of Colorado, you said?"

"Yes," Mrs. Holdo says. "They awarded it to Boulder just before we achieved statehood. Thank goodness, the other possibility was a prison…"

She shudders.

"Are women permitted to attend?" Rey asks.

"Yes," Leia says. She eyes Rey almost critically, like she's reassessing her somehow. "Many schools are allowing women these days."

"I know," Rey enthuses. "I was meant to– I mean, I sat the entrance exam for the University of Nebraska, in Lincoln, you know…"

"Really?" Leia's eyebrows raise.

"What did you wish to study?" Dr. Kalonia asks her.

"Oh, I don't know…" Rey demures. "There's so many interesting– I quite like Shakespeare, you know, and poetry, but oh, there's so much of history to learn! I don't know how one could even begin to exhaust the subject! We ordered a few books in the summer, after I realized I was– But, all the Roman generals, and the emperors! How clever they were! Bloodthirsty, of course, but oh, what a thrill to read about them… I've been trying to work through the Aeneid in Latin too, which I know isn't a proper history, but… And that's only the classical set, isn't it? There's all the new modern sciences, too, I shouldn't even know where to begin…"

She throws her hands up, daydreaming again about a big hall, of taking furious notes about a dizzying array of subjects. How could she know what to study, when she doesn't have a basic knowledge of the options?

The other three women are all staring at her, and Rey blushes, retreating back into the armchair; she's made a fool of herself.

"Reyna," Leia says after a pause, a shrewd look on her face. She leans forward in her own armchair, something conspiratorial in her tone. "Would you like to see our library?"

 

Rey is hardly able to contain her excitement around the handsome tomes filling the shelves. Leia and the other ladies encourage her to take one or two to peruse, eagerly suggesting pamphlets and novels– novels!– for her to read. She's torn this way and that, unable to choose, until Dr. Kalonia presses a book by one Currer Bell into her hand.

"You'll like the protagonist," she tells Rey, and after a bit of rousing argument the ladies all agree on Jane Eyre and Rey carries it out of the library happily, along with a half-dozen pamphlets on temperance and suffrage, marriage, and motherhood.

Her clothes are laid out on her bed, freshly laundered, when she returns, and she slumps down on the quilt, catching her breath, winded after climbing the stairs.

Oh, she must get better as quickly as she can, she must!

She's been invited down to dinner and so sets about changing, though she knows her things are not half so nice as they ought to be to dine with company. At least they're clean.

There's a hard object in the bottom of one of the pockets, and when Rey fishes it out she finds Ben's locket. Relief floods through her; at least she still has this. She worries it with her thumb, dropping it back into the folds.

A knock on the door sounds, and she opens it to find Leia in the hallway, changed into a smart evening dress.

"Your skirt is lovely, dear," Leia tells her, tucking Rey's arm into her own. "It reminds me of… well I've always been partial to damask."

"Thank you." Rey blushes, assuming she's being paid a polite compliment. The skirt was made from one of the dresses from the trunk, and kept intentionally wide so that Rey could ride while wearing it. It's certainly not fashionable.

Her face brightens when they step into the dining room to see Han and Chewbacca, both cleaner than they were on the trail, dressed in black Sunday suits.

"Hey, kid," Han greets her with a grin. "You look a lot better."

"Han!" Leia scolds him.

"It's true!" he protests. "Except for the shiner. Should've helped you out of the wagon…"

"It's okay," Rey smiles, taking her seat.

The supper isn't especially lavish, much to Rey's relief. Just stewed steak and vegetables, with good white bread on the side. She takes care to chew with her mouth closed.

The conversation is light. Han and Leia seem to be trying to maintain civility, but the tension in the room is palpable. Rey tries to keep a pleasant smile on her face, unsure of what to say.

"Your horse is doing much better," Chewbacca tells her between mouthfuls.

"Hmm?" She looks up at him, processing what he's said. "Oh... Oh! Star! I can't believe I forgot to ask about– I'm so glad he's alright–"

"You were quite unwell, dear," Leia tells her. "I think it's certainly understandable…"

"I know…" Rey says. "I just– he's done so much for me. And, oh, I feel horrid for asking, but do you think he'll be fit to ride again soon?"

"Think he's as fit as he can be…"

"But you're not fit to ride!" There's a note of suppressed alarm in Leia's voice; she reaches across the table to take Rey's hand. "You've only just gotten out of bed. And you must be cautious, just think of your baby…"

"I know," Rey says, looking down at the table shamefaced. Leia's hand is warm and soft in hers. "I just– I have to–" She takes a deep breath, looking up and catching her eye. "I must find my husband."

Leia holds her gaze, and there's real concern there. Her eyes are brown, a deep caramel color; they remind her so much of Ben.

"I'm sure your… husband… would want you to be safe, dear," she says; her tone is very careful. "There's plenty of time for you to recover a bit more, before you go off climbing mountains…"

Rey bites her lip, breaking eye contact. She doesn't have time, but how on Earth will she convince them…?

"Thought of any names yet, kid?"

Rey looks up at Han, who grins reassuringly back at her.

"I– we haven't," she tells him. "I suppose it's difficult, isn't it? We don't even know if it'll be a boy or a girl…"

Han laughs. "S'pose we had that problem, too. Couldn't think of a single one 'til the time came, and then we named him after the first decent chap who came to mind…"

"You have children?" Rey asks. She probably shouldn't be surprised, but she can't quite work out the couple's odd dynamic.

"A son," Leia says tightly. "Anyone for dessert?"

She stands, sweeping her way to the door at the end of the room, which Rey figures must lead to the kitchen. The door swings shut behind her.

"I'm sorry for–" Rey starts, but Han cuts her off.

"Don't be," he tells her. "It's my fault."

Leia returns with a pie, the apples piled tall under their pastry, their sauce oozing thick and spicy when it's cut.

 

Rey goes to sleep early, determined to mend as quickly as possible, but spends the next morning in the stables, brushing Star, inspecting him for any little injuries. Chewbacca comes out before noon and starts whittling something out of a small piece of wood, perched on a stool near Star's stall. They all pass the time in companionable silence while Rey goes through her saddle bag, organizing her remaining possessions.

"Mr. Chewbacca," she begins hesitantly after a quarter hour of quiet. "I'm not sure I ought to ask, but– did their son… pass away?"

He clears his throat, blowing some wood shavings from the stick.

"We don't know," he says in his deep voice. "Sure looked as though he had, but then we heard he might've come back to– well, it's a long story. Been looking for a long time, and nothing. Think that's the worst part of it, the not knowing. It'd be easier if he were dead and buried." He looks up at her. "It hurts. To hope."

Rey nods, swallowing a sudden lump in her throat. She knows. The hope she holds out for Ben's safe return is like a knife with every breath she takes.

"Is that why they're so… cross with each other?"

She certainly ought not ask that, not such personal questions about their relationship, but Chewbacca only chuckles wryly.

"Yes," he says. "And no. Their passions have always… run high."

He sighs, turning the rough wooden form in his hand.

"It's hard for Han here, and it's hard for Leia with him here. They remind each other, of what they've lost. And so Han stays away for too long, and Leia can't forgive him when he gets back."

Is this what she'll be, if she never finds Ben? Stuck in her own miserable purgatory? A widow in all but name? "That sounds dreadful."

Chewbacca nods. He sets his knife into the wood again, carving a long curl away from the surface. Rey goes back to her bag, trying to refocus her thoughts, back to more practical subjects. She's been held up here, but that only means that she'll be able to plan better this time, be able to face the elements fully prepared when she finally embarks again upon her journey. She'll likely have to borrow some provisions, which is unfortunate, but Ben can pay them back when she finds him. Oil cloth, for certain. A lamp, dry foodstuffs, a pot perhaps… she'll need to find the blankets she arrived in, she only hopes they haven't been thrown away for being too smelly…

"When I didn't know where my family was," Chewbacca begins again after a long silence, "after they were forced to walk to the Indian Territory, Han helped me." His deep voice is slightly hoarse. Rey looks up at him, his aged face sad and drawn while he inspects the little wooden figurine. "He helped me find out what happened to them."

Rey says nothing, only watches him sadly, waiting for him to continue.

"My wives did not survive the journey, and neither did two of our little ones. But after many years, I found my daughter. She had been living there the whole time."

Rey blinks rapidly, offering him a watery sort of smile.

"Hope hurts. But to not hope is… unthinkable."

He holds out the little wooden figurine to her. It's a stag, with a rack of antlers crowning its rough head.

Rey takes it, turning it in her hands, caressing the shaggy mane under its chin. She thinks back to the beast Ben killed last fall, which fed them through the winter.

No, not a stag, she thinks, closing her fist around it. An elk.

 

Leia is eager to have Rey for a companion in the afternoon. After asking whether Rey is quite sure she is not feeling unwell, she suggests a drive about town in the carriage.

"It won't be too much exertion I hope, dear," she says, peering at Rey, who nods, smiling. "Alright, then. We'll have a lovely bit of an excursion, just us women, and be back in time for tea."

Leia leads her to a handsome carriage, which she appears to be quite adept at driving herself, for she hitches the horses and steps up into the seat, holding the reins ably in one hand. Rey settles in next to her.

Leia is a good tour guide, pointing out different buildings of note, slowing down to wave to acquaintances and passersby. She's so gay and lively, so different from the woman at dinner last night.

They cross a rushing creek and begin to climb a rather steep hill.

"It's rather an inconvenience to get to," Leia laughs as they lean back in the buggy seats. "But I do think it's quite a nice place for a school."

Rey catches her breath when the large building comes into view. Alone on the prairie grasses, the near peaks in the background, it's as nice a place for a school as she could imagine.

"It is rather magnificent, isn't it?" she asks excitedly, craning her neck to take in the view. "I visited the college in Lincoln, of course, but it wasn't nearly so nice as this."

"It's a pity you weren't able to attend, dear," Leia says, pulling the horses to a stop by the side of the road; there's a little footpath that leads nearer. "I did always wish to continue my education when I was younger. Times were different then, of course, young women didn't have so many opportunities."

They disembark from the carriage and Leia ties the horses to a nearby post. She takes Rey's arm in hers and they walk slowly down the path, past newly planted saplings and harried students; Rey sees several girls her own age.

"I suppose I never thought about it," Rey says. "How much things have changed for women."

"Not enough," Leia says fiercely, squeezing her hand. "Until we get the vote, we can't truly be equal citizens. We must be the unquestioned arbiters of our own destinies, dear."

Rey nods thoughtfully. "I began to read one of the pamphlets you gave me…"

Leia listens to her thoughts and questions, answering some and asking Rey's opinion on others. The back-and-forth of ideas is rather exhilarating.

"Ah!" Leia slows, greeting a woman who comes down the stairs of the school. "If it isn't Miss Rippon!"

"Mrs. Organa!" The other woman embraces her. Rey is internally grateful to hear Leia's surname; she's quite forgotten since Han told her back in Berthoud, and hasn't quite known how to ask again. "And who's this?"

"This is our houseguest, Mrs. Reyna Sands," Leia says warmly. Drat, they really did bugger up the introductions, but she can't think of a way to correct Leia– Mrs. Organa– in front of her friend.

"Pleased to meet you," she says instead, extending her hand.

"Miss Rippon is a professor here," Leia says. "And she does good work with myself and the other ladies in the Temperance Union, of course."

"You're a professor?" Rey asks, her mouth dropping open.

"Of German studies," Miss Rippon answers, smiling.

They chat for a few minutes until Miss Rippon must run to her next class, and Rey and Leia return to the carriage so they might make it back in time for tea. Rey feels as though her mind is buzzing.

 

She's pleased to not be out of breath at all, nor much fatigued, when they reenter the house; perhaps if she continues to feel well, she could leave tomorrow, start to make her way up the canyon.

Leia leaves to change out of her driving clothes, but Han is in the parlor, poring over some notebooks, and Rey thinks of another item she must check off in order to leave.

"Mr. Organa?"

Han doesn't look up, so Rey raises her voice; he must not have heard her.

"Mr. Organa? Han?"

His expression is almost startled when he looks at her, but his face relaxes into an easy grin when he sees her.

"What do you need, kid?"

"I– nothing, I just… was wondering if you might draw me a map? Up to Berthoud Pass?"

His grin falters a little, but he nods, flipping a page in his notebook. "It's not an easy route…" he begins, and draws a little squiggly line away from Boulder, noting the streets she would take to get to the canyon entrance, drawing two passes she'd need to climb. "...gotta take a left off Rollins Road after you leave Rollinsville, or else it'll lead you down into the valley. Probably best to stick to the ridge line really, those peaks aren't too severe."

Rey nods mutely; she has no idea how she'll manage this.

"Do you know the sheriff in Berthoud's Pass?" she asks. "Only I thought it might be… best, in case I can't find my husband."

Han's grin fully slips off his face, and Rey's worried she's asked the wrong thing.

"There is no sheriff, sweetheart. Berthoud Pass is just a pass, not a town. Some mining claims up there, of course, but like I said, it's pretty remote. Nearest town's likely Tabernash, or Empire, and both of those're a long way down."

Rey stares at the map, hoping the welling in her eyes isn't obvious. Perhaps if she stares long enough she could change the circumstances by sheer force of will.

"Are you… really certain you want to go?" Han asks her hesitantly. "I know it might not look like you have a lot of options, but–"

"You're drawing her a map?"

It's Leia, returned from changing into an afternoon dress. Her voice is tight; the happy woman from the morning drive is gone.

"I'm just trying to help her out, Princess–" Han raises his hands away from the paper as if to show his innocence.

"Don't call me that," Leia says. She turns to Rey. "Would you like some tea, dear?"

Rey nods, frozen between the two of them; she feels guilty, making them put out at each other.

"Guess that's my cue to leave," Han says, gathering his papers. Rey watches him snap the notebook shut on the map.

"Come, sit," Leia tells Rey. "I'll ring for tea."

Rey does as she's told, conscious of Leia watching her. They sit in silence until the tea comes, and then she accepts a cup and a few tiny scones.

"Reyna," Leia begins after a long pause; her tone is careful, like Rey is a frightened animal she doesn't wish to startle. "I know you're anxious to get back to your husband…" Rey nods, sipping her tea. "I know it must be frightening, to be in your condition, and without... protection. The world can be a terrible place for a woman alone, I know. But you mustn't think you're without friends here." She surveys Rey over the rim of her own teacup. "You're young, and it might not be apparent yet, but a husband that is neglectful, or cruel, can often be worse than none at all."

Rey opens her mouth, but no words come out. Drat, how to explain she hasn't been abandoned…?

Leia presses forward, cutting off any argument she might have made to the contrary. "You could stay with us, dear. I know we've only just met, but I was a ward myself when I was young, and you have so much potential. I'd hate to see you wasting it on a man who doesn't care for you."

Rey flinches at the casual accusation against Ben.

"He does care for me, he just–"

She trails off; there's really no way to explain what's happened.

"You're not even the age of majority yet, Reyna," Leia says sadly, her face open and concerned. "You might have a bright future ahead of you. For you and your baby."

She sighs, continuing.

"In truth I must say it's in part a selfish desire of mine for you to stay. We have no heir, which pains me to admit. But we have been fortunate, and if we might be some help to you… perhaps even allow you to continue your education…"

Rey feels her eyes welling again, though for quite a different reason than when Han explained the map to her.

"That's– very kind of you," she manages. "I am grateful, truly, but I'm– I must– I need to find him. And I know I won't convince you that he's a good and kind man, but he is."

Leia studies her for a long moment, looking like she wants to argue, but breaks her gaze instead, staring down into her teacup.

"I know he'll want to thank you, when I find him," Rey continues hurriedly. "You've been ever so kind to me, and I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality. I don't know what I would have done without…"

"It was nothing, dear," Leia says, still looking away. Rey gets the sense that she's a little hurt by the declining of her offer. "If that's what you wish, I must respect it."

"It is," Rey says. She doesn't want to hurt Leia's feelings, but nor can she stay in this town forever. Ben is still out there, in need of help. She looks around the charming parlor, daydreaming for a moment about living here, attending college, conversing with Leia and Han and Chewbacca, all of whom she's grown to quite like, whatever the complicated sentiments they might have about each other.

Dinner is a subdued affair. Rey feels terrible for causing such awkwardness between Han and Leia. She eats her ham in silence. Somehow she'll need to ask Han for the map, and for the other supplies she needs, if she's to leave tomorrow…

"You still set on going to the pass?" She looks up to find Han staring hard at her. Leia says nothing, though Rey can see her knuckles grow white around her fork.

"I– yes," Rey answers. "I'd like to set out tomorrow, if possible."

"Tomorrow?" Leia says, furrowing her brow. "But you've only just–"

"I'm feeling much better," Rey rushes to reassure her, wringing her hands. "And it's really a matter of some urgency. I've been held up so long already…"

Han nods, his expression grim but resolved.

"I'll come with you, kid," he says. "Make sure you don't get on the wrong side of any mischief."

"Oh! Thank you– but I couldn't possibly ask you to–"

"We'll both come," Chewbacca says. "I imagine it'll give Leia some peace of mind about your safety."

"Thank you, Chewy," Leia murmurs. "I suppose it would, but are you quite certain dear–?

"Yes," Rey says, trying to sound firm. "I'm certain."

 

By mid-morning they're all packed, the horses laden with their saddlebags, foodstuffs carefully packed, blankets and oil cloth at the ready in case of inclement weather. Rey's gun is cleaned and oiled, the powder and shot carefully inspected; it hangs conspicuously across her back. Leia relents her opposition to the journey long enough to supply Rey with some warmer underthings, including something Leia calls an "emancipation suit," which is quite comfortable, though a bit short in the leg.

Han goes back inside for a few last-minute items, and then Rey remembers the book on her bedside table. Would it be so terrible if she asked Leia whether she could keep it?

She jumps down from her saddle and pushes open the side door into the house. There's a low murmur coming from the parlor, so she makes her way down the hall. The door is cracked a bit, so she can see into the room.

Han is there, his arms around a shorter figure– it must be Leia. She appears to be weeping.

"I'm sorry, Princess," he murmurs to her in his gravelly voice. "I'm sorry I couldn't bring him back to you. I'm sorry we weren't there when he came looking for us."

"I don't– blame you for that," Leia says in a watery voice. "I've always hated watching you leave."

"Maybe that's why I do it," Han says, not a hint of mirth in his voice. "So you'll miss me."

"I always miss you."

Rey backs away, creeping back down the hall. She winces when her gun bangs against the frame of the door, shutting it quickly behind her and racing back to Star. She doesn't need to ask about the book.

Han appears at the door soon after, and steps up onto his own horse. Chewbacca circles the small yard, yipping to his mount.

Leia appears in the open doorway, her eyes red. She looks past Rey to her husband and Chewbacca.

"You two keep her safe, you hear?"

"Sure thing, Princess," Han grins, though his eyes are sad.

"We'll look after her, Leia," Chewbacca says. "Take good care of yourself."

Leia smiles. "See you around, Chewy."

"Thank you, Mrs. Organa," Rey says. "For everything."

"You can always come back here, dear," she tells her. "I do wish you the best of luck."

With a last wave goodbye, the three of them ride out of the yard and through the dusty streets, to begin the ascent up the canyon beyond.

Notes:

CW: Referenced child death; non-graphic descriptions of the Trail of Tears; family drama; first wave feminism.

Woof, that was by far the hardest chapter I've written so far, omg. If you can believe it it was actually supposed to be a whole scene longer but that got shunted to the next chapter.

I was partially held up even starting because I couldn't decide what to do with Chewbacca; I think he's pretty native-coded in the source material, but then there was a whole question of whether he should be able to speak English or not, and I thought that was a particularly thorny question. Anyway, this is the interpretation I went with in the end. He is loosely based off the Seminole leader Osceola, who was indeed captured after a betrayal of his truce flag during the Second Seminole War, an act which has been described as "one of the most disgraceful acts in American military history." The description of Chewbacca's look is based off of Osceola's portrait and the costume of this participant in a Second Seminole War reenactment in Florida.

Five eastern tribes, including most of the Seminoles, were forced to relocate to the Indian Territory (present day Oklahoma) in the decade or so after the passage of the Indian Removal Act in 1830 by Andrew Jackson. This relocation could correctly be described as a death march, given the terrible conditions and mortality rates, and became known as the Trail of Tears. The real Osceola died of quinsy in prison in Florida. As far as I can tell, his descendents actually remained in Florida, and one of them is the ambassador of the Florida Seminole Tribe today. Also I know in canon Chewy has a son, but I hate his name a lot, so.

Han and Leia's house is now called the Spruce Street Mansion, and the second floor is apparently available to rent as office space. I may have done some extracurricular activities there in middle school. The original occupants were named Jenny and Albert Soule, which is funny (but not intentional) because Ben's character was based off a man named Silas Soule (no relation to my knowledge.)

I imagine Rey's skirt is a dark wool demask fabric that of course Leia would recognize. I found this video about the cost of a Victorian dress to be very informative and relevant to a lot of the fashion we've seen so far! Emancipation suits were a part of the dress reform movement, which aimed to make women's clothing less restrictive, and were intended to replace chemises, combinations, corsets, and corset-covers. I imagine Rey might not have been super comfy going completely without her corset, but owning an emancipation suit definitely fits in with Leia's experience and participation in the early women's rights movement.

As for women's rights and suffrage activities, I have way too much to say about it and it will definitely be a recurring theme in upcoming chapters, so get ready for a lot more in future end notes. I will leave you with a primer on the Women's Christian Temperance Union, which was the largest women's organization in the world by 1890, and concerned itself with social reform issues that went well beyond alcohol prohibition (though the organization saw most vices and social ills to be very entangled with alcohol consumption.)

Mary Rippon was a real person, and the first woman hired as a professor at a state university. I don't know if she was part of the WCTU but she did have a student-teacher whirlwind romance of all of your wildest fantasies, so go give that a read. When the first building on CU's campus was built, it looked like this. Full offense to anyone who went to the University of Nebraska Lincoln, but Rey's gonna go to a much better university, namely my alma mater.

Hope you all are staying safe! If you're able, maybe consider donating to relief efforts in Texas, Louisiana, or Oklahoma.

Love you all!

Chapter 27

Notes:

CW: Gun violence. Additional content warnings in the end notes.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The air is cooler once they enter the canyon, the rocky walls rising around them to throw shadows in their path. Evergreen trees grow thickly along the tops of the ridges and in the little canyons that run alongside, with their small streams that empty into the creek that roars alongside the road bed. The sound is deafening, echoing from oblique angles, scattered from all sides off the flat faces of the rock.

The canyon road is busier than she would have suspected. They pass miners on the way to their claims, teams of horses pulling carts of ore along a narrow set of rails. When they stop around noon for luncheon and a cool sip of water, Rey spots a group of giggling ladies in lurid dress. She watches them flirt with a miner leading a mule up the road, hauling provisions from Boulder to his claim, and wonders what Leia's suffragists think of prostitutes.

The track often narrows so they must ride in a single file, and with the sound of the creek there isn't much opportunity for conversation. For a while Rey occupies herself by staring around at the stunning scenery, but the repetitive jostling of the saddle lulls her into a daze. She stares at the flicking tail of Chewbacca's horse, numbly imagining the coming confrontation.

She isn't prepared.

How can she be? She has one gun she barely knows how to shoot, and two companions who don't know what sort of evil they're walking into.

The notion ties her stomach up in knots with guilt and anguish. She's lied to them, told the most outrageous falsehoods so they would escort her directly toward mortal danger, and now that she's succeeded in her lies she feels them turn rancid, poisoning her from within.

Oh, how quickly her mood has turned! Her confidence from the morning shrivels until she feels herself quite reduced alongside it, her thoughts warring with each other, wrestling like snakes.

She had to lie, there were no other options!

They are her saviors, these two men, and she is repaying their kindness with deception!

Perhaps she can part ways with them once they reach the pass; perhaps she can pretend she's found her husband, and make her way forward alone.

Perhaps she ought to tell them everything, and beg for assistance.

She shakes her head. They won't leave her until they see her in good hands; she thinks the fear of Leia alone might prevent them from leaving her to her own devices on top of a mountain pass.

But if she tells them the truth… what if they force her to turn back?

The shadows grow longer and they emerge from the canyon onto a sort of high plain. They've gained so much elevation since they'd started that morning, and yet the peaks rise before them still, higher and more distant the closer they get. They pass through a dusty little town full of people with hollow expressions, the bite of winter in the air here already, and Rey is glad for the undergarments Leia had given her, and tugs a blanket tight around her shoulders, shielding herself from the wind and her own thoughts.

The sun sets earlier in the mountains, obscured quickly behind jagged peaks, the dwindling light further filtered by the boughs of trees. They find a small trail off the side of the main road and make their way through the gloom to a little clearing where others had clearly made camp before them. There's a ring of stones for a fire, and Rey swings down from Star's saddle stiffly, then busies herself gathering wood.

Even after hours of silence, she finds she has nothing to say to Han and Chewbacca, though they joke and rib each other while boiling the beans and salt pork. She stares into the fire, watching it leap and crackle, uncontained by the iron of a stove, free to stretch and spark along the smoky trail reaching for the heavens.

"You alright, kid?"

Rey startles as Han passes her a plate.

"Mm-hmm," she says hoarsely, balancing the pressed tin on her knees.

"Not feeling faint again, are you?"

She shakes her head quickly, and picks up her spoon to shovel food into her mouth. Han harrumphs, but turns away, tucking into his own plate. Rey goes back to staring at the flame.

She'll tell them tomorrow, when it's light out and she can gather her words better, make sense of everything that's happened. It all seemed so clear when she decided to leave Boulder, but now it's muddled again. How many days has it been since she last saw Ben? How long might it take the gang to make it up this ascent, motivated as they must be to stay away from the law?

She'll tell them tomorrow, and then what is her plan? Even if she does tell them everything, what can she really expect them to do? Engage in a shoot-out? Kill a man, for a girl they've only just met?

She'll leave them tomorrow, somehow, and make her stand alone?

A plucked note startles her again, and she whips around. Chewbacca cradles a queer sort of instrument, tightening the strings over a stretched skin. It twangs when he picks out a tune.

Han hums along, his gravelly voice sad and mournful, forming words more spoken than sung.

I am a poor wayfaring stranger
Traveling through this world alone
There is no sickness, no toil, nor danger
In that bright land to which I go

A lump forms in Rey's throat, and she stares at him, transfixed.

I'm going home to see my Mother
I'm going home, no more to roam
I am just going over Jordan
I am just going over home

Han's expression is open and unguarded and cracked with a pain as deep as a canyon. The fire reflects back in his eyes.

I know dark clouds will gather 'round me
I know my path is rough and steep
But golden fields rise up before me
Where weary eyes, no more will weep

I'm going home to see my Father
I'm going home, no more to roam
I am just going over Jordan
I am just going over home

Hot tears cut tracks down Rey's cheeks before she can stop them. She doesn't know for what, exactly, for whom, she is weeping. Perhaps for her parents, perhaps for Ben. Perhaps for the baby that might not get to know its own father.

Chewbacca plucks the instrument in a complicated little ditty and then they fall silent. Rey does her best to rub the tears out of her eyes.

Han looks at her sadly, and she fumbles for words to explain herself.

"I'm an orphan," she says, her voice cracking a little on the word.

Han sighs. "Me too, kid."

They tidy the camp and arrange their bedrolls and the fire dies down to a low orange glow. Rey can see her breath in the air above her, and the stars peeking through the tree boughs above that. She wonders if Ben can see the same stars. She wonders if Han and Leia ever wonder the same about their son.

She hums quietly into the bedroll, rubbing her belly, maybe to soothe her baby, maybe to comfort herself.

I am just going over Jordan
I am just going over home

 

The next day is blustery when they set out. They cross high meadows dotted with log cabins and pass under swaths of pines. The grasses here are dying in shocks of brilliant color, just like those on the prairie.

Han pulls his horse to ride alongside her. It's a flat stretch of road, after so much up-and-up yesterday.

"Think we ought to stop in Rollinsville and ask directions," he tells her over the wind. "Haven't been here in a few years myself, and there's a new pass built, so we might go over that instead of along the ridge line."

Rey nods silently back at him. Her stomach is a mess of nerves and she's not sure what will come out, or up, if she opens her mouth.

Rollinsville is a handful of buildings along a main street, and scattered cabins beyond. There's a roaring emanating from what looks to be a sort of mill at the far end; piles of rock lay haphazardly about it.

Han leads them to a saloon and swings off his horse.

"Be back in a bit," he says, pushing the saloon doors in and disappearing inside.

Chewbacca leads his horse to a watering trough but Rey hangs back, staring after Han. Two ladies come out to smoke a pipe together on the front porch. They're dressed rather ostentatiously, with plunging necklines and feathers in their updos.

"...I'm telling you, it was him, Mary Jane…"

"...thought he was dead?"

"...saw him clear as day…"

"Well, Heaven help us all, if the Kid is back in town…"

Rey feels like the bottom has suddenly fallen out of her stomach. Hux!

"Where–" Her voice is whispery soft, and the saloon girls are tapping out the contents of the pipe, preparing to go back inside. She musters all the strength she has left. "Where did you see him?"

The saloon girls turn to look at her, slightly shocked expressions on their faces, and Rey realizes she's shouting at them.

"Where– when did you see him– the Kid?" She tries to keep her voice level, but it's impossible to disguise her desperation.

One of the saloon girls, the one called Mary Jane, drops her gaze to Rey's hand, which has unconsciously gone to cradle her belly; it must be visible even from her place in the saddle.

"Oh honey," she says sympathetically, "I hope you're not mixed up with him. He's bad news."

"I– no, I'm–" Rey shakes her head like she's trying to clear water from her ears. "Please, I just need to know–"

"I saw him in Central City," the other saloon girl tells her, starting to look a bit alarmed. "Yesterday, must've been around noon."

Yesterday. Rey's not certain where Central City is, but if this girl was there yesterday, then it can't be too far. They're here.

"Thank you," she manages to gasp at them. She clutches the reins tight, hoping she stays in the saddle. The saloon girls nod at her, scurrying back inside with sidelong glances. Han brushes past them on the way out of the saloon.

"Looks like we got two options," he tells her, looking down at what must be a hand-drawn map. "There's a toll road over Rollins Pass, which sounds gentler, but then we'll need to go down into the valley and back up over to Berthoud Pass, so it'll take a while longer. Other option's the ridge route, but we'll be way up there and exposed. Probably we'd want to camp out just before the incline in that case, wait to go over until the morning, make sure the weather's nice…" He cranes his neck to look over at Chewbacca near the watering trough. "Hey Chewie! What do you think...."

Rey stares down at him, her mind racing. The moment is upon her, she'll have to tell them, or not…

"We have to go over the ridge!" she blurts out.

Han looks back at her, surprised. He puts his hands up.

"Alright, sweetheart, if you feel that strongly…"

"It's– yes, we've got to, we must! I've found out that my husband is–" She searches wildly for an explanation that will motivate them getting to the pass as quickly as possible. Chewbacca leads his horse over while Han's eyebrows rise higher and higher. "I... I–" There's nothing else for it. "Oh, I'm afraid I've been frightfully dishonest with you!"

To her great surprise both Chewbacca and Han break out in grins.

"Yeah, no shit, kid," Han says. "Alright, so what's the real story then?

"I– Oh, it's so dreadful!" Rey cries, her hands twisting at the reins so Star pulls back a little, stomping his feet. "And the worst part is, I'm putting you both in terrible danger!"

"Why don't we find a quiet place to converse," Chewbacca says. Rey nods tearfully.

It's still rather early, not even yet mid-morning, and the town is sleepy. They settle under a little copse of trees in the middle of a meadow, just a bit away from the mill. The horses graze at the dying grasses and Rey perches herself on a small boulder, trying to sort through everything that's happened.

She starts with Hux, and his mistreatment of Rose, and then tries to circle back to Ben's story but decides she doesn't have nearly enough time to go into all of that, and so mentions only they knew each other from years previously, before she'd met her husband, and that there's ill-gotten treasure that Hux is after, and that he'd burned down their house and kidnapped her husband and she's come after them but now that she's here–

"–oh, I don't know what to do! I thought I'd find the sheriff at Berthoud Pass, but if you say there is none then I'll have to confront them myself! And, oh, please forgive me for deceiving you, only I was so afraid I'd be kept in Boulder, and I quite understand if you'd like to leave me now, only please don't take me back! The ladies at the saloon– one of them saw the Kid yesterday– they're close, I know it, and if I don't get to them soon–"

If Han had looked surprised at her earlier outburst, it's nothing compared to what he looks like now. Even Chewbacca, who normally has a fairly neutral expression, has raised his eyebrows so high they disappear into his black and grey hair.

"I don't expect you to believe me," Rey says desperately. "Just please don't take me back. I think I can find my way from here, if you say it's just over the ridge line. I ought to have surprise on my side, in any case…"

"We're not going to leave you," Chewbacca says.

"'Course not," Han agrees. "As for believing you, well, think we've seen crazier things in our day…"

"I can't ask you to– to fight them for me," Rey says, shaking her head. "Hux– the Kid– he's dangerous!"

But Han waves an airy hand.

"Look, sweetheart, we've had our run-ins with outlaws before. Might go so far as to say we're old hat, as matter of fact…"

Chewbacca shakes his head in Han's direction.

"Might. Han here had to change his surname just to avoid a gang…"

"They weren't a gang per se–"

Rey laughs a little in spite of herself, and feels a stab of curiosity about what his real name is. She pushes it down; this isn't the time…

"It's still early," Chewbacca says. "We can make it to the ridge by the afternoon, see how the sky looks before going up above treeline…"

Rey nods gratefully. "Alright, if you're sure…"

They stand to adjust saddles and tighten straps, swinging up onto their respective horses. Rey falls in next to Han as they trot down the road toward the ridge. Chewbacca leads the way.

"Thing with outlaws is," Han tells her, taking on an almost professorial tone, "you got to know what they want. You got to speak their language. Nine times outta ten you can negotiate your way out of anything. They don't need more heat on their trail…"

"And the tenth time?"

Han brushes his holster. "Well, you've always got to be ready, on the off-chance, to engage in… aggressive negotiations."

The wind picks up again, cutting their conversation short, and Rey falls back into her trail stupor from yesterday, watching the rhythmically swinging ass of the horse in front of her.

It's… all going to work out. She's made it nearly to the pass, and Hux is here, where he's supposed to be, and Ben is close, and her saviors will help her, and… it will all work out.

It's all sorted, and now all Rey can feel is impatience. These miles between them mean nothing now, they're only an obstacle, a final gap between her and Ben. He's so near she can almost feel him, his presence humming in the air around her. Oh, but how she longs to see his face…!

She tries to distract herself by pondering what Han's real surname might be– it's something distinctive, clearly, if it was so recognizable… This reminds her that she's once again neglected to correct the record on her own surname, and she resolves to do so once this whole business is over and they might all sit together and have a laugh about it.

They stop again for a quick meal of jerky and some dried apples, and then press on. The trees vary, giving way to broad stretches of wet plain around the slim creek and then towering densely again over them. Occasional mines dot the landscape, bleeding streaks of red and yellow rock from the hillsides, like stab wounds to the earth.

Chewbacca is correct in his assessment of the remaining distance; the pines start to shorten and thin about three o'clock and then Rey can see the ridge rise before them, high and bald and rocky, the trail narrowing to a thin scar across the face of the ascent. She suddenly understands why they've been concerned about the weather.

"What do we think?" Han is saying to Chewbacca when Rey pulls her horse even with them. "Worth going up?"

"Clouds aren't too threatening but we don't want to be up on the ridge overnight. Think it'd be best to camp close to the trail, get going early tomorrow. There's a higher lake, do you see? We can make a start at the ascent today and be better positioned for tomorrow, knock an hour off the time, maybe."

Han nods, and Rey nods in turn, and they follow Chewbacca down the trail. It rings around a lower lake– a pond, really– and then starts to climb to a small ridge that separates the two bodies of water. Rey looks off the side of Star's saddle, staring into the clear blue-green depths below.

The trail juts to the left before splitting, to avoid a large scrum of rock, and they lose sight of the higher lake while they climb. Rey's a little shaky; she's never been this high up before, and every step Star takes feels like it might pitch them over the edge to their doom.

The wind that has persisted all day dies, giving way to a ballooning silence. The sudden calm is eerie, everything uncomfortably still. Rey becomes very aware of every crunch of gravel under Star's hooves, amplified off the rock walls rising around them. They are quite alone here, far flung from the nearest town and above the hospitable climbs of the forest they've just passed through.

And then– a shout.

It comes from the upper lake, where they cannot see. For a moment Rey thinks perhaps she's just imagined it, but then it comes again, indistinctive. Han and Chewbacca pull their horses to a halt.

Perhaps it's a miner, yelling to his team? Or perhaps it's…

The shout comes again, nearer, and then coalesces into two male voices, an inchoate argument that Rey struggles to understand.

"...better come back to… before he…"

"...off of your… do you understand I will…"

There's a pause and what sounds like running, the crunching of gravel and one man speaks again, much clearer this time.

"Let me go– I will shoot you, Mitaka!"

It's Ben.

Rey gasps, nearly falling out of the saddle. "That's my husband!"

She tries to whisper to the other two but she has no real sense of how loudly she's speaking. Han nods grimly at Chewbacca and they both step down from their saddles, grabbing rifles from where they're slung across their bags. Rey tries to follow suit, but her foot gets stuck in the stirrup in her haste; her whole body feels shaky and difficult to control. She's certain she looks a fright, limbs akimbo and her skirts nearly flipped inside out, but Ben is so close– just over the ridge!

Han helps her right herself and she thinks something falls out of her pocket, but that's no matter, they just need to let him know they're here–!

Chewbacca creeps away from them, holding his rifle skillfully while he scales around the rock to the right.

"He's going to get a better vantage point," Han whispers to her, handing her her gun. They squat, pressing their backs to the rock shielding them from view of the upper lake. "You got that thing loaded, kid?"

Rey nods, checking the rifle with fumbling fingers.

"Oughta try and assess the situation before we go in. How many of 'em did you say there were?"

"Thr–three," Rey stutters. "I only hear one of them. Hux– the leader– he isn't over there s'far as I can hear."

"That's good," Han nods. "Better numbers on our side."

Rey nods back, dragging her fingers along the rocky ground. Her fingertips brush cool metal and she blindly picks up the object. It's Ben's locket; it must've fallen out of her skirt when she fell from the saddle, and split open when it hit the ground. She worries the little portraits with her thumb. At least she'll be able to deliver this back to him, safe.

"Where did you get that?" Han asks her.

Rey looks up at him. His tone is oddly aggressive, like he's accusing her of something. It's a strange thing to focus on, she thinks, when they have an unfolding situation just on the other side of the rock.

"Nebraska?" She frowns a little at him, unsure how to answer the question. But to her surprise he shakes his head, pulling the locket from her grasp.

"No, you didn't. Why would you even– Did you get it from Leia's bedroom?"

"Wh–what?" Rey is hopelessly confused. "No, of course not! It's from– it came from a trunk. From my husband's– they're my husband's parents. It's all he's got left of them. They died in a shipwreck, years ago."

Han stares at her in a sort of dumb horror. Rey looks back at him, nonplussed.

"What–"

But there comes another shout from beyond the scrum of rocks. There's the sound of a scuffle and then, horrifyingly, the crack of a gunshot.

Han looks at her again, and then lunges to his feet, striding fast back down the trail to the vantage point where you might see the upper lake, his gun hanging limply in his grip like an afterthought. Rey pauses for a half a second and then hurries after him, her pulse jumping in her throat, sick with dread at the scene she might see. But as the lake comes into view, there he is in the distance, still standing, his back to them, his mop of black hair scraggly and unkempt. He looks down at a figure on the ground, and Rey surmises it must be Mitaka, and he must have shot him–

Han comes to a halt at the jut of ridge, aloft and poised between the two lakes, staring down at the men below.

"BEN!"

Han's shout echoes off the rock. It seems to reverberate in Rey's skull, bouncing around in its impossibility. She knows with sudden certainty that she's never uttered her husband's name to him, or to Chewbacca, or to Leia for that matter, for then she would have remembered to correct her earlier mix-up with her surname and she hasn't done that. Han holds the locket still in his hand and she can see the glint of the sun off the chain.

She gasps as, impossibly, it all falls into place. Han, oddly familiar Han, who thought she'd taken this intimate jewelry from Leia's room. Han, who'd obscured his true name to avoid not a gang, per se. Han, the smuggler.

Han, with the long-lost son.

Ben turns around to look up at the ridge above him, and then there it is, what she's ached to see for days and nights and days again– his face. She drinks it in, as she imagines Orpheus did for the scant moments he was allowed to gaze upon his love.

And, as if in slow motion, she watches Ben, bloodied Ben, afraid for his life and having just shot a man, who must only be able to see a figure with a gun upon the ridge, raise his rifle and fire off a second shot.

And her scream freezes in her throat as she watches Han Solo fall backward, down the steep slope of rock, back toward the lower lake.

Notes:

CW: Gun violence; cliffhanger; maps.

So, if you're freaking out right now, maybe… don't? 👀

I apologize for the long wait for this chapter; the next one will be along much quicker. I have a bit more on my plate this semester, and, to be honest, it was difficult to motivate myself to write after the mass shooting in Boulder. It was at the grocery store down the street from where I went to high school, which definitely rattled me, and I knew this chapter was going to have some gun violence in it. Anyway, sorry about the cliffhanger, I just don't have another 8k word chapter in me. Please stay tuned!

The version of Wayfaring Stranger that Han sings is by Jack White, though I imagine his singing voice to be slightly more akin to Johnny Cash.

And now can I offer you some maps in these troubled times?

Here is a map of their entire (planned) route from Boulder to Berthoud Pass:

049700CD-DAA0-421F-B6E4-503AD8A59F4C

The final 10-ish miles are all above treeline, which is a problem if the weather is bad, and is especially a problem if there's lightning because then you're the tallest thing around and are more likely to get hit. The highest elevation they would have reached would be 13,360 ft; this part of the route goes along the Continental Divide Trail, which wasn't a thing until the 1970's, but I figured there was probably a small trail cutting along that way in the 1880's too.

The Rollins Pass toll road was finished in 1874, a year before the Berthoud Pass toll road, which leads from the town of Empire up to the pass. I realized after writing the last chapter that there was a more direct train route to the town of Empire (following the current I-70 route) and then by wagon up over the Berthoud Pass road, but maybe Han didn't know that, idk.

I got a lot of my information about the history of this area from this book which I found in a thrift store and gifted to my dad three Christmases ago and then requested he mail back to me for the purposes of "writing a novel."

Here is a map of the upper and lower lake area, which in real life are Heart Lake and Roger's Peak Lake. I haven't been to this specific area in real life, but I now have plans for a Summer 2021 backpacking trip all ironed out, thank you Reylo.


A53B6959-3A6E-4CBB-88BB-29371A11F117

Mary Jane was a real person. Not a lot is known about her, but she apparently was a sex worker near Rollins Pass around "the time of the railroad," which would probably put her in the area around ten-ish years later, but I really wanted her to be in my story. She was given several parcels of land by her customers which today comprise the Mary Jane ski area. It's absolutely my favorite place to ski, and has really excellent, long, steep, bumpy tree runs. Adam Driver could never.

Hope you all are hanging in there! <3

Chapter 28

Notes:

CW: Gun violence, gore, death, dead bodies. Additional content warnings and a chapter summary in the end notes.

tnwti_moodboard2

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun is low in the sky, but it's much too bright.

Rey squeezes her eyes shut, trying to block out the glare. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears, the thud frantic against the drum.

How must the hero of old felt, when their journey was at its zenith, when their fate finally played out? How did they cope? Did they wonder whether they might have avoided their fall, if only they'd chosen differently, at a million little beats along the way? Or did they rest, darkly satisfied, knowing their fate had been written long ago, a script inscribed amongst the stars?

It all feels as if it has been written for her, and yet Rey cannot help but feel the burden of the dreadful bargain she seems to have struck. Another token, of sorts, exchanged for an impossible recovery, as with her ring for the train ticket.

It has a terrible symmetry to it, really: to meet his child, Ben must kill his father.

There's a shifting of the rock on the slope above her and Rey glances to the left, squinting through her eyelashes into the dying rays that burst out from behind the high ridge. It's a shape– a man, with a rifle–

Her stomach swoops dreadfully before she recognizes him as Chewbacca. He's got his rifle pointed down, his finger poised on the trigger. She follows the line of the barrel and–

It's pointed directly at Ben.

Oh, Ben! Unknowing yet of what he's just done, still unaware of their presence. And Chewbacca, ignorant of the connection, knowing only that this man has just shot Han from the rocky slope–

"NO!"

Rey feels the scream rip from her throat. No, no, no– For Ben to die, after everything, after all this struggle, after all the miles she's come, that is not part of the bargain. That way lies only death and hopelessness, devoid of meaning, pointless.

She's moving before fully deciding to, heading straight forward, down the slope of the flat, loose rock. It shifts when she steps on it and she falls on her behind, but it's no matter, she keeps moving, trying to direct her slide until she can stand again, just going forward, forward.

"Ben!" she screams as she runs and skids and is carried toward him. The rock cuts her hands, her ankles are twinging in her boots, but all she can think it to get to him before a bullet can, to try to communicate to Chewie that, whatever he's done, this man is her husband–

She's at the bottom of the slope, fist-sized chips of granite tumbling over themselves in her wake, and Ben is there before her, looking aghast, looking shocked beyond belief. She runs to him and he catches her, his rifle knocking uncomfortably against her side.

"Rey?" he says, his voice faint. "Am I– I must be dead–?"

"What– no! You're not– I'm here, I'm really here! I've come to rescue you, oh Ben–"

"Rey, sweetheart– how'd you get– how'd you know where–" He gazes upon her face, but it's not hungrily, as she had looked upon his. His expression instead is one of terrible fear, of dawning horror. "No, no, you can't be here– Hux is still–"

His eyes flicker up to the ridge she's just slid down.

"Who was up–?"

Rey bites her lip, shaking her head. How can she tell him, how can she even begin to explain–?

"Ben–" she tries, but she's interrupted by a small rumble of loose rock to the side of them, a miniature landslide, triggered from the place where Chewie is still lying in wait.

Ben whips around, his rifle raised once again.

"No!" Rey reacts without thinking, swinging her own rifle around from her back, catching it with two hands to knock the barrel against Ben's, diverting the course of the bullet up into the air, away from the ridge. She can feel the hot metal of his gun collide with something soft, something with give, and she's knocked off balanced with the blowback. Ben topples to the ground and she lands beside him.

The shot echoes against the walls once more, and Rey shakes her head, trying to clear the ringing from her ears. Ben stirs next to her, struggling to sit up, a stunned expression across his beautiful features.

An angry line of cauterized flesh cuts crookedly down the center of his face.

Rey raises her hand to her mouth, but there's no time to be horrified. Another shot cracks near them and Rey jumps, craning her neck wildly, trying to locate the shooter while scrambling to her feet. Surely it isn't Chewie–

Two figures emerge from the scrubby trees in front of them, a hundred yards or so in the distance.

Hux's red hair flashes in the sunlight.

"Fuck," Ben spits. He staggers back to his feet, using his gun to help him up. He seems to favor his left side, moving gingerly, but he seizes Rey around the waist without hesitation, dragging her away from where Mitaka's body lay to a small group of boulders nearer the lake's edge. He pushes her down to lie nearly flat behind them, propping his gun to take aim at the approaching men.

His first shot goes wide, but it at least halts their advance, forcing Hux and his companion to find a rocky outcrop of their own to shelter behind. Ben pumps the lever and gets off another shot, which splinters rock and dust off the distant granite. He ducks back next to Rey as Hux returns fire.

"We can wait you out, Solo!" Hux shouts tauntingly. "I know how many rounds you got left in that gun!"

"How many have you got?" Rey whispers to Ben.

"Maybe three," he grunts, pumping the lever to reload again.

"Take my gun," she tells him, wrestling with the strap, but it's hard while she's prone, and trying not to raise her head into the line of sight. Another bullet glances off the rock above her, as if to underscore this point. Ben aims again, and Rey can hear the bark of a laugh when the bullet sinks into a tree.

Where is Chewie? Is he still on the ridge? Are the outlaws out of his range?

"Who've you got with you, Solo?" Hux calls. "Come on out, girlie, we won't hurt you…"

Rey snorts bitterly, redoubling her efforts to wriggle out of the strap.

Ben peeks above the boulder again just as another bullet whizzes over the rock, and then there's a splintering sound and a grunt of pain.

"Ha! Got him!" It's the other man, Phasma.

"Ben!" Rey twists to see him. He looks back at her, breathing shallowly, clutching at his right hand.

"It's just– he only got my– "

His gun lies, broken and useless, beside him. But it doesn't matter, in any case, for Ben can't shoot…

So Rey will have to.

Finally, finally, she rights the rifle, but it's not quick enough, for there are footsteps rushing towards them, preparing to kill them where they lie–

Another crack of a gunshot, and Rey squeezes her eyes shut, preparing for death–

But it does not come.

Instead, there is a muffled thump of a body falling to the ground, just on the other side of the boulder she's crouching behind.

She strains her ears, fumbling again with the gun, finding the trigger. What's happened? She must look, for she has to protect the both of them now–

She breathes through her mouth, trying to slow her pulse, to get a hold of her wits, and slowly, slowly, pushes herself up to peer over the top of the rock.

It's the other man, Phasma, dropped with a bullet between the eyes, killed stone dead.

Rey releases a shaky breath of relief which is drowned out by a cry of frustration from Hux. She ducks back down as he fires another round in their direction.

It must have been Chewie, shooting only once Phasma was in range. Does Hux realize they have an accomplice? How long might he be able to keep shooting at them? Could they wait him out?

He certainly doesn't appear to be trying to conserve bullets. Round after round zing over their heads and Rey doesn't dare try to look over the top again. She can almost feel Hux's fury in the quick volley, his disbelief at his comrade's fall.

After what seems like eons, the shots falter and stop.

"Think he's re-loading," Ben groans. Rey glances at him. His right shirt sleeve is soaked in blood and his face looks worse, if possible, than it did right after she hit him with his own gun barrel, a deep bruising developing under his eyes. Who knows what other injuries he sustained in the days he's been Hux's captive?

They dearly need to get out of here.

Rey chances a glance over the edge of the rock; she can't see anything. Hux's position is far superior to their own, well-covered and apparently with a good vantage point; she doubts he's trying to shoot while lying prone on the ground. If he's out of Chewie's range he can keep them here as long as he has ammunition.

She finds a small crack running through one of the boulders; if she re-positions herself just so she might be able to see across the open expanse before them without being much exposed, and most importantly, might be able to shoot him once he emerges to fire once more. Keeping an eye on the short, windswept trees in the distance, she carefully shifts to raise the muzzle of the gun–

A blur of movement to the right of where she thought Hux was hidden catches her eye– perhaps he's moving around them, to try and catch them unawares. Hopefully it will put him in the line of Chewie's fire, though she has a sinking feeling that Hux might be able to get a clear shot at them first–

But no, that isn't Hux silhouetted against scraggly branches. The shoulders are too broad, the getup all wrong, the hat quite distinctive–

It's Han!

Elation swoops in her belly– wondrously, impossibly, and in defiance of the divine bargain she's so distraught that she's made– he's alive.

As she watches he begins taking measured steps along the tree line, his gun at the ready, and she thinks he must be attempting to get a good angle on Hux, behind whatever blind he's found. He crouches, aims, and then a shot rings out.

Hux's head pops up above a rough hewn boulder, exactly where she thought he'd been hiding. He's fumbling for his own gun and Han is much too close, unprotected by anything that would shield him from bullets.

Rey looks back to Hux over the long barrel of her rifle, eyes his hateful red hair, breathes out, and squeezes the trigger.

The sound is deafening in her ear. The blowback punches her in the shoulder, leaving her gasping. And yet, even from this distance, she thinks she can hear the impact as the bullet finds his skull, the soft oof as he falls back.

She's killed him and she knows it, knows it as surely as she's known anything.

She can see Han advance, his gun still drawn, hears him shout back to them that it's over. Her heart in her throat, she turns to Ben. He looks terrible, ashen and sweaty. And his face

"Did you– did you get him?" he asks, his voice tinged with pain.

Rey nods, scalding tears cutting down her cheek, suddenly overwhelmed by a billowing tightness in her chest. She throws her gun down and kneels over him, pressing her lips carefully to his forehead, avoiding the horrible, disfiguring mark that cuts it in two. Whatever has she done.

"Are you alright? Where are you hurt?" She feels sick with elation and relief and dread. It's all too much to process.

"M'fine," he says as she pulls his arm away from where he's cradling it to his chest. "Bullet hit the gun, not me."

His palm and wrist are a gory mess, but the bleeding isn't too heavy. She guesses there are bits of metal that have been blown into the flesh.

"Oh, Papa–"

"M'alright, sweetheart," he tells her. "You did a real good job with that shot." He lifts his good hand to cradle her cheek, peering anxiously up at her. "Didn't catch any shrapnel, did you? Baby's alright?"

"We're fine," Rey smiles, but it's watery at best. "Can you sit up?"

She gently lifts him at the shoulders, taking care of where she suspects he has some cracked ribs, and props him carefully against a smooth, low boulder. He leans heavily against her, and palms her belly, spreading his fingers wide as if to try and hold it in its entirety.

"Thought I might never see you again," he says, his voice breaking. "Don't know how on God's green Earth you managed to find me…"

"I heard you," Rey says through the tears that are now streamly freely down her face. "When Hux was taking you, I heard you say you were headed to Berthoud Pass, and oh Ben! It's been ever so difficult– wolves! and I was alone on the prairie and took the train to the wrong town entirely! But then I found–"

She breaks off, looking up. Han has walked toward them while they've been talking and stands a short distance away, looking unsure of quite what to do.

"–my companions," she finishes faintly. "And they helped me here."

How can she begin to explain– about Han and Leia, and Chewbacca? How can Ben begin to understand, when he thinks them dead, lost at sea, gone from the world for years and years…?

Han must sense his cue, for he cautiously approaches, doing a slight double-take as he looks at Ben's face.

"I– here." He holds out a water canteen to Rey. "We ought to– ought to get him cleaned up."

His voice is extremely gruff. Rey takes the canteen, using a jagged piece of the remains of Ben's gun to try and cut some fabric from her petticoat before Han hands her a switchblade as well. Chewbacca is winding his way down the slope to them now; she can hear the shifting of the rock in the near distance.

"Guess it was you I shot at, then," Ben says to Han. "Real sorry 'bout that, didn't have my wits about me..."

"S'okay, son," Han says. He clears his throat and wipes at his nose with his sleeve. "Just got a little banged up on the tumble down; flask took the bullet." He holds out a badly dented hunk of metal, with, astoundingly, a little slug lodged deep into one of the walls.

Ben huffs a laugh, then immediately hisses as Rey starts to dab away the blood on his hand.

"Don't reckon you got another?" he asks through clenched teeth. "Could use a bit of medicinal drink."

Han nods seriously. "Think Chewie's got one, he's coming now…"

Chewbacca stops in front of them just as the sun finally sinks below the ridge, casting the lake into a gentle shade.

"Can't thank you both enough," Ben says around shallow, panted breaths. There are bits of shrapnel in several of the wounds on his hand and Rey worries they'll need to find a surgeon to take them out. "Keepin' her safe, puttin' your own lives at risk. You can't know what she means to me…"

"That girl moved Heaven and Earth to get to you," Chewie says in his deep, measured voice. He hands over his own flask to Ben, who immediately unscrews it to take a deep swig, wincing.

Silence falls while Rey continues to tend to his wounds in the fast-fading light, and the tension is so thick it makes her skin prickle. There's no recognition on Ben's side, as far as she can tell. But Chewbacca gazes down at Ben with a maelstrom of emotions across his weathered face, and Han has begun to clear his throat so unrelentingly he might have been suffering from croup.

How can they possibly break the news to him gently–?

"Ought to fetch the horses," Chewie finally says. "And make camp."

"I'll– I'll clear away the bodies," Han nods jerkily. He steps around the pile of boulders toward Phasma, before halting and turning back.

"Here," he says, thrusting out his fist, the locket dangling from the golden chain threaded through his fingers. "This belongs to you."

Ben accepts it, looking confused, but Han just nods again and rounds the boulders to begin dragging the body toward the trees. Chewie casts one last glance at Ben and then sets off on the trail up the ridge to where they've left the horses, leaving Rey and Ben alone.

Rey quickly rinses her rags in the lake, moving to dab at Ben's face.

"I can't believe I– I'm so sorry," she whispers, taking care around the blackened skin. "I never wanted to hurt you–"

"Wasn't your fault, sweetheart," he reassures her, taking another swig from the flask. "Just glad you stopped me, 'fore I did somethin' terrible. I'll wear it as a great honor, to have been marked by you."

Rey laughs a little in spite of herself, but sobers when she looks at the locket clutched in his good hand. Does Han mean for her to tell Ben about them? But how can she, when she doesn't fully understand, herself…?

"Real glad you found them," Ben continues when Rey begins to wrap his hand in strips of her petticoat. "And that I didn't manage to shoot them. They seem like good men."

"They are." Rey swallows. "The best. And Ha– his wife, she took me in, when I was ill, nursed me back to health…"

"I'll have to thank her myself," he says, eyes crinkling at her, the deep, caramel brown so like his mothers'.

Chewie returns first with the horses. Rey rifles through the saddlebags to set up camp in the gathering dark. Ben tells him where the outlaws' horses are tied, below the tree line, and once he's fetched them they have a small herd, grazing the alpine grasses and whinnying at each other so there are echoes across the lake. Han brings back a large armful of scraggly wood and sets to starting a fire, which is very good because it's become a fair bit colder since the sun has set. Rey shivers, even in spite of the Emancipation Suit, pulling a blanket from her pack to wrap around her shoulders. She hands another one to Ben, along with some jerky, which he tears into with a gusto that makes her heart clench.

"So…" Han starts once they're all seated around the fire, bundled as best they can be and eating their suppers. His voice is steadier than it had been earlier, but he stops short, pausing as though casting around for what to say next. "Nebraska?"

Rey glances at him and he darts his eyes sideways to meet her gaze.

"Mm," Ben hums through a mouthful of food. "Claimed a homestead 'bout three years ago, near a town called Red Cloud. Rey only came last summer." He swallows. "You from back East?"

"Originally," Han nods. "I was in shipping, so I saw a lot of places. But I spent a fair amount of time in Boston."

Rey looks to Ben for a reaction, but he's taken another bite of food and doesn't say anything. Han presses on.

"Ran afoul of some… well, you might call them pirates, after the war. Now I'm not saying all my dealings were above-board, but this was a real nasty lot. Damn near wrecked my ship, started threatening the missus, and nearly got her too. So we… feigned our deaths. Sank my ship for good."

Ben does look up at this, his eyebrows raised.

"Went abroad for a time, after that, to Europe, took her maiden name to be safe," Han continues, nearly tripping over his words, like he can't find the right order to get them out. "We'd lost our son during the war, and, well, my wife… she was inconsolable. Didn't believe he was really dead, even though we'd gotten his death certificate, signed by a general no less. And there was a medium there in England she sought out. Told her he'd survived, that he was 'hiding among the high peaks and possessed by a masked demon', or some codswallop like that."

Ben is fully staring at him across the fire now, food forgotten, the flames reflected in his dark eyes.

"News came from Boston that someone was trying to claim his inheritance, and I… I didn't tell her. I thought it was a grifter, a scammer, and it would only get her hopes up, drive her deeper into this melancholia.

"But… a year or so after, through the grapevine– and you have to understand that only a very few people knew we were alive– we heard it was really him, that he'd come home. And so we packed our things and made plans to travel there as quick as we could. But we hit bad weather on the way back, took a hell of a time longer than it should've, and by the time we got there… he was gone."

Han pauses here to wipe roughly at his face. Ben looks down at the locket he still has clutched in his hand, pushing the clasp open with his thumb; his expression is hard to read in the dark, and doubly so with all the bruising.

"Only thing we could figure was he might've gone back West, to whatever life he'd built there, and so we took the train out to the Colorado territory, and started looking. But it's been ten years, give or take, and neither hide nor hair of him. Until, well…"

He cuts off, eyes darting again to Rey, leaving a long, tense silence in which his words seem to hang in the chill air.

"I–" Ben croaks, staring at the locket and then looking up at Han. "I went to Alaska." His voice sounds like sandpaper. "To look for Luke. Thought he… thought he was the only family I had left."

"I'm sorry, son," Han says. "It was my fault, that we weren't there when you came looking for us."

Ben is shaking his head slowly back and forth. "And– and Mother? She's–?"

"Alive," Han says. "We have a house, in Boulder, just down the canyon…"

Rey lays a hand on Ben's shoulder and he leans into her; she can feel his trembling through the blankets.

"I– I can't– " He doesn't continue, just shakes his head again.

"Perhaps we should continue the conversation tomorrow," Chewbacca suggests in his low voice. "Things often look different in the daylight."

Rey nods in agreement, smoothing Ben's hair back from his face, murmuring soothing nothings to him while Han and Chewbacca tidy the camp. He buries his face against her neck and she can feel hot tears on her skin.

She fusses over him, helping him into a reclined position, careful still of his ribs and hand and face, settling his head in her lap. He falls quickly into a fitful slumber. She studies his face, her heart torn between ache and relief. It's been a long, terrible, confusing day, and yet, at the end of it, she holds her husband in her arms, his un-bandaged fingers clasped in her own, the portraits of the still-open locket reflecting in the firelight.

Rey shifts her gaze to the tiny faces therein, not yet ready to give into sleep. They had once seemed so sad and distant to her: a shattered family, a lost hope. And yet, here Han is, bundled up just beside her, alive and well, age given the opportunity to wrinkle his face.

His death felt so certain to her, even before she met him. Felt divinely ordained, when he fell from the ridge. And yet here he is, alive, alive, alive.

Perhaps there are no celestial bargains to be struck, she thinks to herself. Perhaps sometimes bad things simply happen.

And perhaps, sometimes, they simply don't.

"Lot to unload on him all at once," Han says quietly to her, watching Ben's breath rise and fall in his chest. "Told you we'd seen crazier things in our day."

Rey shakes her head, smiling wryly.

"It is the maddest tale I believe I've ever heard," she agrees. "But, personally speaking, I do think a run-in with pirates is a vast improvement over a shipwreck."

Notes:

CW: Han falls off the ridge. Ben almost shoots Chewie but Rey stops him, hitting him with his gun and branding a line across his face. Shootout between Phasma/Hux and Rey/Ben. Ben's gun is hit and his hand is injured. Chewie shoots and kills Phasma. Han is alive and shoots at Hux, distracting him and allowing Rey to shoot and kill him. Some handling of dead bodies after the gun fight (dragging them away). Rey cleans Ben's wounds; some semi-graphic descriptions of his injuries. Han fills in his back story and Ben finally recognizes him. Rey gets a pithy one-liner to end the chapter which is supposed to harken back to Chapter 19.

Wow, action is so hard to write, this was exhausting.

The only end-notes I've got for you are all about guns, so feel free to peace out if you're not interested. I don't know anything about guns and had to ask my irl hunter colleague about some things, so credit is due to Himbo Postdoc™.

First, for simplicity's sake, they're all using Winchester 1873 rifles, the model popularly known as "the gun that won the West." These were particular favorites of pioneers and cowboys, in part because the cartridges were also compatible with handguns, and allowed the user to carry just one type of ammunition. They can also shoot multiple rounds before needing to re-load. I found this cool video of the gun's mechanism of action, including how the lever pump loads the next bullet; I'll put the full link in if you want to watch it in an incognito browser or something and avoid fucking up your YouTube algorithm, rip to mine: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YcZNYAAy_Gc

Also, I know it is a ridiculous ex-machina to have Han's flask stop the bullet, but in my defense, 1) this is a ridiculous story to begin with, and 2) here is a Myth Busters video in which a bullet is stopped by a nickel and bronze badge from a much closer distance and, presumably, from a higher-power weapon, so I think from a physics perspective this is technically possible.

Hope you're all doing well! I'm very relieved at the outcome of the Derek Chauvin trial, but I think it's important to remember that issues of policing in this country are systemic and still deeply flawed, and that we have a long way to go to ensure true justice for everyone. I thought this was an interesting article and a good list of anti-police brutality organizations to support, if you want to check it out.

Love you all!

Chapter 29

Notes:

CW: Drug use. Additional content warnings in the end notes.

tnwti_moodboard2

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Rey wakes slowly. The morning is chilly, but bright, and the sun reaches into the little hollow in which they've made their camp so she can see the glow through her eyelids. She snuggles closer to the warmth at her side, shivering with the dawn.

"'Morning, sweetheart." Ben's voice is hoarse and gravelly in her ear.

Rey blinks her eyes open. He's still propped against her, but has maneuvered himself into more of a sitting position than he was in last night, the short boulders at their backs providing more support. His face comes into focus as she scrunches the sleep out of her eyes; it's truly unsightly, mottled black and purple and red.

"Oh, Papa," Rey breathes. She can't help but reach out to gently touch his cheek, careful to avoid the horrible burn. His skin is warm, but not feverish.

"'M fine," he mumbles. He catches her fingers with his good hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, pressing them against his cracked lips.

Rey is very stiff from her night spent sleeping in an awkward position, but she doesn't wish to leave her spot beside him, or give up his warmth against her. She nuzzles into his side and then winces a little, rolling her head to touch her shoulders.

"You hurt?"

"No, I'm alright. I–"

But Ben has already moved his good hand to her shoulder, kneading at her muscles with his big palm. His touch is so good and familiar it makes tears spring to her eyes; how like him, to tend her every twinge while himself so badly injured.

"Better?"

"Mm-hmm."

She tilts her head the other way and he digs his thumb into a knot lower on her neck. Rey hums her contentment.

After what might be a few minutes, or possibly only a dozen seconds, she pops her eyes open again, looking around the empty campsite.

"Where are Han and Chewie?"

"They went to try and find a wagon for hire," Ben tells her.

"Oh." She wonders if it's for Ben, or if it's for the bodies that lay just beyond the tree line, wrapped in saddle blankets.

They ought to have some breakfast, and Ben's wounds really ought to be more thoroughly inspected, so she moves to finally stand, bracing her belly while she heaves herself up to standing using the low boulder behind them.

A slight wind ruffles her skirt while she sets about finding jerky and coffee in one of the saddlebags. It's chilly, but clear, and she can see bright patches of sunlight on faraway peaks, already glinting off of snow. She brings a tin cup full of the lake water to Ben for him to drink, and then fills a canteen for herself. It's the cleanest, coldest water she's ever tasted, and she gulps it down until her stomach is full and tight.

The next hour passes quickly, with Rey doing her best to clean up the campsite and examine Ben's injuries. His hand shows no sign of infection, just scabbing, but she suspects his left leg, and several ribs, might be broken. Gingerly she tries to move him into a new seated position on the ground, stopping when his face drains of blood beneath the bruising.

She startles at the sound of hoofbeats in the distance– surely they can't be back yet? But Han and Chewie emerge from the trees a moment later, accompanied by a third man.

"They must have risen early," she murmurs to Ben. He nods.

"Few hours before dawn."

The three of them stop and peer down at the bodies of the outlaws, the low rumble of their voices audible but indistinct. Han gestures toward the camp after a few minutes, and they pick their way along the rocky lake shore toward Ben and Rey.

"Heard you had a run in with some outlaws," the new man says as he draws level with them. He swings his leg over his saddle, jumping to the ground. Rey nods silently at him, and he smiles in a reassuring sort of way. "Well, you've done Gilpin County a great service, ridding God's green Earth of The Kid."

"Are you the sheriff?" Ben asks.

"Not as much, no," the man laughs. "Name's Lenzwin. Got a claim a few miles down the creek. The Kid terrorized these parts for a number of years, though. I'm as glad as any man he's gone."

"Lenzwin here offered to… look after the remains," Han interjects. "And his wife's following behind us with their wagon." He turns to Lenzwin. "You can see my– my son is badly injured."

A flicker of something passes over Ben's face at the words, but it's gone as quick as it's come.

The wagon in question creaks along over the rocky path a few minutes later, stopping before the incline begins. Rey can see the figure of Lenzwin's wife in the distance.

"Won't they need their wagon?" Rey asks Chewie quietly, wondering how they would move three bodies to the nearest town without one. He shakes his head.

"Said they had a neighbor they could borrow one from," he says. "We'll send theirs back after we get down the canyon."

"Still seems an awful inconvenience," she says doubtfully.

"They'll get the reward money," Chewie tells her. "I'm sure they're pleased as pie about the whole thing."

Moving Ben isn't as bad as Rey had feared. Mrs. Lenzwin has brought several wide boards with her, and they roll Ben onto one big enough to hold him, then lift him carefully over the uneven ground.

They get two horses hitched to the wagon, with Han in the seat and Rey tending to Ben in the flat bed; Chewie ponies the others behind his mare.

"Thank you kindly," Han tells Lenzwin, tipping his hat.

"Not at all," he says. "Saloonkeep in Rollinsville acts as a druggist, case you want to get some laudanum for your son. Bound to be a bumpy ride down."

"That's a fine idea," Han says, glancing at Ben. Rey privately agrees.

"Ready?" she asks Ben.

He nods, gripping her hand tightly.

"Ready, sweetheart."

The trail to Rollinsville does indeed jolt them around dreadfully, and it's a much slower journey with the wagon than it had been on horseback. They are at least able to swap out the horses midway when they break for lunch.

Ben doesn't talk much, and despite her best efforts to pad the wagon bed under him with the remaining saddle blankets and bags, he is white as a sheet long before they pull to a halt in front of the saloon in the early evening. Rey coaxes him to drink some water and eat a bit of hard biscuit and dried fruit.

The saloon door bangs open and shut and Han emerges, carrying a small glass bottle in his hand.

"Barkeep had a few vials," he says, offering it to Rey.

She takes it, examining the label.

Crest Brand
Laudanum Poison

Directions:
Three months old 2 drops
One year old 4 drops
Four years old 6 drops
Ten years old 14 drops
Twenty years old 25 dps.
Adults…...30 drops

Edward D. Depew & Co.
14 & 16 Harrison St.
New York

She looks at Ben, who is chewing with his eyes closed.

"Do you want to take some?" she asks.

He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing deeply, and then, still without opening his eyes, he nods.

"Alright," Rey says, uncorking the bottle, trying to keep her hands steady. She tilts the bottle to let a drop fall to her finger, then holds it to Ben's lips. He wrinkles his nose as it reaches his tongue.

She repeats this for twenty-nine more drops, stopping to let him gulp water between.

"Hate the taste of laudanum," he mumbles.

But he seems to rest easier now, the tension going out of his body. Rey smooths his greasy hair back from his forehead and re-corks the little bottle.

"That oughta let him sleep," Han says quietly.

Han and Chewie again change out the horses hitched to the wagon and then they're trundling down the road into the gathering twilight.

Rey's eyelids droop, but the wagon is uncomfortable and the hard jolts from rocks under the wheels jerk her awake, keeping her suspended in her exhaustion. With the fight over and the immediate question of Ben's safety resolved, she is left now only with her aches and bruises, her tiredness, her overwhelming desire to just go home.

She knows the house is burned beyond repair, knows that this journey doesn't end at the homestead, with her and Ben tucked into their feather bed, the cows milked and the boiler banked low. She knows that life is gone from them, irrevocably altered by their misfortune, and also by their astounding providence.

Even as they trundle on and on until she thinks another small bump of the wagon will make her scream, she can't help but hope they're heading toward a new beginning.

"Will we stop for the night?" Rey asks Han an hour or so after dark fully falls.

He nods, pointing ahead of them to where, through the trees, she can see the faintest pinpricks of light in the distance.

"Once we get to Nederland," he says.

The soft clopping sound of all of the horses fills the chill night air for a few long moments, and then Han speaks again.

"Did you… not change your name?"

"Hmm?" Rey frowns, not sure what he's talking about.

"You said your name was Reyna Sands."

"Oh!" Rey can feel her face heat, and thanks the dark for concealing her deep blush. "No, I– it was an accident. We've only been married a short time, and I was just so used to– to reciting my old name, especially when I got off a train, and so–"

She shrugs, feeling an echoing of the horror she'd felt at the top of the ridge, when she realized her silly mistake could have such dreadful consequences.

"Did you ride many trains?"

"I suppose I did– I took an orphan train out West, you see… so it wasn't really many trains so much as one very long train ride, with many, many stops…"

Han hums.

"No one wanted me," Rey continues quietly. "I almost had to go back East. But then Ben…"

She trails into nothingness, looking down at where he lies, his chest rising and falling evenly. Han turns his head quickly back to the trail when she looks up again.

They settle in the side yard near the center of the little town; Han and Chewie seem to have somewhat dubious connections to the owner. Rey curls up in the wagon next to Ben, checking his forehead again with the back of her hand. He mumbles blurrily at her, but his skin is still only warm, and so she pulls the saddle blankets on top of them as best she can and within minutes is fast asleep.

 

She wakes to the motion of the wagon creaking, and rolls over to find Ben staring at her in the dim light of very early morning.

"How are you feeling?" she whispers.

"Not so bad," he says, his voice rough. "Could probably use some more of the laudanum. Maybe not so much as yesterday."

"Alright," Rey replies, sitting up to rummage for the little glass bottle. The grey, pre-dawn sky tinges with pink in the time it takes her to find it, the wispy clouds shot through with streaks of a deepening crimson. It reminds her horribly of infection radiating from a wound.

"Here, Papa." She offers her finger, dipped in the poison, and he draws it between his lips to suck the drops, one by one, from her skin.

He halts her at twenty, and she corks the bottle again.

The wagon goes on and on, jolting as if hitting the same errant stone over and over. Rey has to bite her tongue to keep from asking Han how many miles they have left to travel. With the end so near her anxiety shoots higher, certain that something might go wrong at any moment to prevent them from reaching their destination. Bandits, a sudden spike of fever, a rock slide...

Ben sleeps on and off, but when he is awake seems more alert than the day before. He asks her how the baby is doing, and whether she is still feeling alright. She reassures him that they are fine, though in truth she's started to wonder whether every part of her body could really hurt all at once. Her ankle throbs in her boot, her shoulders and thighs and back ache from the days and days of being on horseback, and the nights spent on rocky ground. Even her breasts, which she had thought were passed their ailment, have started to prickle again.

The laudanum bottle is tempting, but she must mind Ben while he's still trapped in this cradle of suffering. Who else will be alert to the first hint of fever? Who else will dab his forehead with a wet rag and push his hair from his eyes? Who will check his wounds for the creeping rose-red fingers of Infection, that old kingmaker, eager to crown the winning lesion, to become its rosy corona, its blinding aureola, to grant the divine power of Death to the most vulgar stretch of broken skin?

The rushing sound of the creek fills her ears and she blinks her eyes open; she must have dozed off.

Two low, male voices are making indistinct conversation, and she turns to see Ben, half-sitting, and Han, who is half-turned in the wagon seat, glancing now and again at the dusty road. The canyon is deeper here; perhaps they are finally nearing its mouth.

"...be a shock..."

"...not certain how she'll…"

"Ben?" Rey rubs her eyes. If he's awake he might be in pain. "Are you– do you need any more–?"

"I'm alright, sweetheart." He catches her hand and kisses her knuckles. "Want to keep my wits about me."

Rey nods. "Are we nearly there?"

"'Bout an hour out," Han says. He looks haggard, and Rey is reminded that he and Chewie have been awake for the entire journey, while she and Ben have been sleeping. "We'll be out of the canyon soon enough."

The road becomes busier and busier. They pass ponies pulling carts of ore and supply shacks built precariously into the rocks of the canyon walls. Then, finally, finally, the canyon walls flatten until they are trundling through only prairie grasses and pine trees, the town visible in the distance, growing nearer and nearer. The canyon road turns to city road and they pass false fronted buildings and elevated boardwalks before turning off onto a side street Rey vaguely recognizes and then they halt in front of the stately brick house with its twin chimneys.

Han alights from the wagon and pauses at the entrance to the path leading to the front door. He takes his hat off to wipe at his brow, and then places it back on his head, turning to walk determinedly to the house. Rey glances at Ben, and then at Chewie, who has jumped down from his own mount. He shoots her a reassuring nod.

Ben stares unwaveringly at the door. Han has pulled it open and disappeared inside, leaving a tantalizing sliver of the foyer visible.

He's back in less than a minute with Leia in tow, her dark hair shot through with silver. She looks confused, but he bends to murmur in her ear and then her face flashes through so many different emotions Rey can't keep track.

She walks toward them as if in a daze, until she stands in front of the wagon with her hand half-raised, her fingers outstretched as though they ache to touch Ben's mangled face.

"...Benny?"

Her voice is a whisper.

Ben nods, staring down at her. They are raised somewhat in the wagon bed, but Rey is still struck at how much larger Ben is than his mother; she would wager that Leia stands a full two heads shorter.

"Hello, Mother." His voice is thick but there's not a trace of the laudanum-induced sluggishness from earlier in the day. "I'm real– real sorry to have kept you waiting so long."

She gives a watery chuckle which turns to a sob, covering her mouth before stretching her other hand to cup his uninjured cheek.

Rey is blinded by her own tears, but suddenly Leia is a whirl of action, talking a mile a minute through great, gasping breaths.

"–have to call for Dr. Kalonia, you look an absolute fright, and oh dear, baths for all of you, I'll have Threepio draw them, I simply cannot believe– oh Benny–"

Her impeccably fashionable skirts swish as she turns and begins to direct the tasks at hand, ordering about the few stray servants who have spilled from the house. Ben is lifted from the wagon and rolled into the house on a wheeled chair. Someone else helps Rey down and she hurries in his wake before Leia catches her by the hand and pulls her into a tight hug.

"Oh my dear, oh I am so very sorry, you must forgive us this digression. Our son– but I'm sure that is no comfort to you, not when you haven't found– But really, dear, do think more on staying with us. You might start over here, and once you've grown, and become a mother yourself, I'm sure you'll see why such a man might not be– Ah, listen to me! I do apologize, I'm all aflutter. Let's get you a bath and some clean clothes, there's no rush, none at all…"

Rey can only blink at her in confusion, but Leia is already turning to another servant, directing him to draw a bath in every water closet in the house, and then Rey is being ushered up the stairs to a fine room with gleaming spigots and a clawfoot tub. A maid helps her out of her layers of clothing and into the steaming water and she must admit that this is the very balm she's been wishing for in her days on the road, to be soaked free of the dirt and grime and sweat. Her hair has grown very long, nearly covering her breasts when it floats on the water, and the maid hands her a sort of foaming potion that she lathers through the roots.

She dresses in a slightly oversized tea gown, pulling fresh stockings over the bruises and cuts on her legs. Her ankle is rather swollen and she hobbles a little going down the stairs, hoping the doctor has arrived and is able to assist Ben.

"Excuse me?" she asks a passing manservant, the same one who led her to the bath. "Where is Ben being looked after?"

He stops and looks her up and down; Rey self-consciously draws her arms across her chest. "You may wait in the parlor," he tells her; his voice is a bit snooty. "The mistress's son is with the physician now."

Rey frowns at him, drawing herself as tall as she can.

"I'd like to see my husband."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "I don't–"

Thankfully Han appears at that moment in the doorway to the east wing of the house, fresh from a bath himself.

"Ah good, there you are, Rey. Ben is through here."

Rey smiles a bit triumphantly at the manservant and follows Han to a first floor bedroom where the lady doctor who tended to Rey in her own illness is examining Ben's injured hand.

"–don't like to overuse opium, but you'll likely be in some pain while the injuries heal. Thankfully there doesn't appear to be any sign of infection. However, I'd like to dress your wounds with a carbolic acid solution–"

"He's going to be ok?" Rey blurts out. Dr. Kalonia looks over at her, a slightly bemused expression overtaking her face.

"I think so. No major breaks, and thank goodness, or he might have gone into shock…"

A hysterical little laugh bubbles to Rey's lips, and she covers it quickly with her hand. How lucky they've been! How much worse it all could have ended!

She blinks away tears to watch as Dr. Kalonia dresses his hand with some strong-smelling liquid which makes Ben grit his teeth and then turns to the burn on his face, covering the wounds with clean bandages so he looks like half an Egyptian mummy.

"Is it… is it safe for him to wash?"

"Keeping clear of any bandages," Dr. Kalonia nods. "I believe Leia went to fetch a sponge and bowl…"

Leia bustles in through the door at that very moment. She sets the basin of water on the bedside table and perches herself on the side of the bed, dipping the sponge. Rey hovers a bit awkwardly at the bedside, unsure of how to make herself useful. Leia must certainly be more practiced at caring for the ill, but surely, as Ben's wife, she ought to be the one–?

"Oh," Ben says through his bandages. "Thank you kindly, but perhaps Rey–?"

Leia blinks at him, and then looks around at Rey as though a bit surprised she's there. A crease appears between her eyebrows.

"Surely that's not appropriate, Benjamin…"

Ben laughs a little, then winces from the motion. "Not sure how much more appropriate it could get…"

A few of Leia's earlier words come back to her, and Rey suddenly grasps the disconnect.

"Mrs. Organa," she begins. "Ben is my husband."

Leia gapes at her for a long moment.

"No, surely not. I thought…" She seems to be searching for a delicate way to say what she's thinking. "Didn't your husband leave… you?"

Rey could almost laugh.

"No, he didn't." She takes a deep breath. "I'm afraid I wasn't quite truthful when I came here the first time, but… Ben was kidnapped. That's why he has all these injuries. We rescued him from a gang of outlaws, up near the pass." Leia's eyebrows raise higher, if possible, than they were already. "I'm sorry, I know this is all quite a lot to take in."

Leia stares at the two of them mutely. Dr. Kalonia is also rapt, her hand halfway to stowing one of her tools in her large, black bag. Han shuffles in the corner, as if considering making a break for it.

"And I know I said my name was Reyna Sands but that was just a mistake, I forgot my married name for a moment when I met Han…" She trails off sheepishly, shooting a guilty glance at Ben, who grins at her as well as the bandages allow. "Anyhow, I'd like to take the opportunity to re-introduce myself."

She holds out her hand.

"I'm Mrs. Rey Solo. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Leia drops her gaze to stare at her extended hand, and Rey worries for a moment that she'll leave it hanging there, but after a few seconds she grasps Rey's fingers a bit limply, murmuring a faint "How do you do?"

There's an uncomfortable silence.

"Well, it's not every day you gain a son and a daughter," Han says from the corner. "Welcome to the family, kid."

Leia locks her gaze onto him, and Rey feels certain that he'll be the target of some of her ire for not informing her of certain developments sooner. But that's not hers to worry about.

"May I use the sponge?" she asks Leia politely.

"I– yes." Leia nods jerkily, dropping it back into the basin of water and standing from the bed. "I'll just… see about supper."

She herds Han from the room in front of her, leaving Rey and Ben alone with Dr. Kalonia, who resumes packing her bag.

"While you're here," Ben starts, looking at the doctor, "just, would you mind havin' a look at her? She fell down a pretty steep slope…"

"I didn't fall–"

"Please?"

"Certainly." Dr. Kalonia comes around to the other side of the bed, and has Rey take her stockings off once she hears of the sore foot. She pronounces it only sprained, and then examines her belly upon Ben's request. "Right as rain."

She doses Ben with a very small measure of opium, leaving the vial behind with detailed instructions for its use, and then bids them goodbye, sweeping through the doorway with her black bag clutched impressively in one hand.

Rey sets to sponging the dirt and grime from Ben's skin. He's already nude under the covers, and she winces to see the horrible, mottled bruises that cover his torso. He closes his eyes again and she lets him rest, content with the company of her own thoughts and the comfort of his presence and the feel of his flesh against hers.

At some point Leia comes back with a tray laden with food which Rey breaks into with gusto, helping Ben to sit up so he can swallow the rich stew and the fine white bread.

"I've prepared your old bedroom for you, dear," Leia says to Rey, lingering at the door.

Rey looks up at her. "Would you mind terribly if I stayed in here with Ben? I just– I know I would worry a good deal…"

Leia nods slowly, as if she'd already resigned herself to this answer before she came in. "Yes, I– I suppose. I'll have a nightgown sent down."

"Thank you." Rey smiles at her.

"Thank you, Mother." Ben looks at her through all the bandages and there's a deep warmth in his expression. "Real sorry 'bout all the trouble."

"No– it's– you're not–" Leia wipes at her eyes messily. "I'm so happy to have you here. To have you back…"

She hurries back into the room to press a kiss to his uncovered forehead, cupping his cheek again as she did when she first saw him, and then sweeps to the door again just as quickly.

"I do hope you sleep well," she says, her voice a little rough. "Both of you."

The maid who assisted Rey's bath comes in a quarter of an hour later with a nightgown and a fresh pitcher in hand and gathers up the supper tray and the bowl of grey water from Ben's sponge bath. She introduces herself as Miss Aya Sixe before dimming the gas lamp in the sconce on the wall and closing the door behind her.

Ben half-watches Rey undress through slitted eyes, and she figures he'll be asleep by the time she gets into bed. She slips the borrowed nightgown over her head, pausing to consider that she's already been wearing Leia's clothes for over a year now.

Her breasts still prickle a little, and she kneads them absentmindedly before beginning to re-braid her hair for bed.

Ben is alert again when she looks up, staring so hard at her she can nearly feel the heat from his liquid dark eyes. She feels a brief stab of panic– is something the matter?– but she follows his gaze and looks down to find two wet spots on the front of the nightgown.

"Oh!" she says in surprise.

Is she… leaking? She had no idea her milk would come in before the baby had arrived.

"Can–" Ben clears his throat. "Can I–?"

There's no other word for the expression on his face besides hungry.

"I don't want to hurt you," Rey says.

"You won't hurt me," Ben says, shaking his head. "Opium's starting to take its hold. Lean here against the pillows, you won't be on top of me at all."

"Well... alright," she says, climbing onto the bed. She shrugs the nightgown down her shoulders so her breasts are free, propping herself so she's on her side and they pillow on her chest near Ben's mouth.

He does indeed look a little dopey, but he reaches his good hand out to hold one of them, gently squeezing. They've grown larger in the last few months, almost a good palmful for him now.

"Your areolas are… darker," he tells her, transfixed.

"My what?" Rey asks. He always knows the medical terms for everything.

"Here," he murmurs, tracing his finger around the ring of bumpy flesh that encircles her nipple; a dusky coronet. Very gently he cups his hand into a crescent and squeezes her breast, moving toward the tip with a slow, firm pressure until a few tiny drops of yellowish liquid bead to the surface.

Ben does it again, his motion easy and practiced, and Rey thinks of all the cows he's ever milked. The bead grows larger and larger until it threatens to drip and then he leans forward to catch it on his tongue.

He groans as he licks up the drop, wrapping the point of his tongue around her nipple as though desperate to capture any trace of the golden milk that lingers on her skin. He opens his mouth wide to draw her breast between his lips, applying the same pressure as he did with his hands before settling to suck at her peak.

Rey whines, covering her mouth with her hand so she might not wake up the whole household. It's– she's usually sensitive, but this

He pulls off with a pop.

"Can I– the other? Sweetheart... " His words are slurring together, but when she nods at him his hand is steady and sure. He spends longer kneading this breast, cupping her again and again with his hand as if to see how many drops he can coax forth. He licks them from her nipple one by one, as reverent as though they were molten gold, splashes of life's elixir, and she the divine spring that has spilled forth.

He mouths at her slowly once she's gone dry, his lips starting to go slack around her. Rey smooths his hair back, settling into the pillow so that he is not disturbed from her breast, and smiles as she closes her own eyes.

She drifts off into a peaceful sleep, content that, after so long a delay, he's finally made good on his promise.

Notes:

CW: Ben takes laudanum/opium for pain. Adult breastfeeding (Rey starts expressing colostrum and Ben finally gets to fall asleep with her boob in his mouth, while under the influence of opium.) DrugFacts! in the end notes.

Can you believe we made it to chapter 29 before anyone does opiates?

Anyway, originally I was going to have him take cocaine but apparently it wasn't in the medical mainstream until around 1884. Laudanum is a tincture of opium and alcohol, and was a favorite of the Victorians. It, along with the new wonder drug Morphine, which was administered by hypodermic needle, could be used to ease anything from a colicky baby to menstrual cramps to gastrointestinal issues to gunshot wounds. Together, they helped fuel America's first opioid crisis.

By the 1880's there were already warnings abound in medical journals about the dangers of opiate addiction, though there wasn't a big cultural shift until the mid 1890's. However, Dr. Kalonia is a better doctor than most (she's also using an antiseptic!) and is going to be more cognizant of the risk. I won't be exploring themes of addiction in this story, but if you want a (decidedly un-rosy) picture of Victorian drug use I'd highly recommend The Knick, which is very gory and depressing but also one of the best shows I think I've ever seen.

Tea gowns were kind of the Victorian equivalent of sweat pants. Couldn't remember if I already linked this cool history of bathrooms but here you go.

Thankfully this did not happen while they were making their way down the canyon but Twitter thought the headline was very funny.

Also, it's been exactly a year since the nicest word was first published! Whoo! I can't believe it. I've had such a wonderful time writing this story, and I just want to thank you all for reading and making this such a pleasant experience. I simply don't know how people write whole novels without sharing every chapter, it sounds terrible, lol.

Hope everyone is doing well, love you all! <3

Chapter 30

Notes:

tnwti_moodboard2

Content warnings in the end notes.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Ben takes another dose of opium in the morning and sleeps a fair amount of the following day, waking only to eat and to allow Rey to check his bandages. She curls herself up beside him, watching his chest rise and fall.

The house is very quiet. Miss Aya Sixe delivers meals and takes the dishes away again, but they otherwise have no visitors. In the afternoon, while Ben is sleeping again, Rey wanders to the small library in hopes of finding the novel she had been reading the week before.

Leia is sitting at a small desk inside, a pair of spectacles perched on her nose, a fountain pen scratching across a piece of paper.

"Oh! I'm very sorry, I didn't mean–" Rey makes to shut the door again, grimacing at her own gall to poke around a home that isn't hers, and very conscious of the rather assertive speech she made to Leia the night before.

"No, that's quite alright, dear," Leia tells her. "Do come in."

"I– I was simply looking for something to read–" Rey stammers. "While Ben is recovering."

"Of course," Leia says, standing to pluck a stack of books and pamphlets from a shelf. "I put aside the items you picked out before. In the hopes you would come back."

Rey smiles, but it's a little hesitant. She has come back, but not quite in the way Leia had wanted.

"Thank you," she says, accepting the bundle. There's a silence, and Rey cast about wildly for something to say to fill it. "Whatever are you writing?"

Leia sighs, settling back into her chair. "I'm revising a piece of legislation for the state senate. Our sponsor had some… concerns."

"Is it about temperance?" Rey asks curiously.

"It's not… unrelated," Leia says, then pauses. "It's about the... promotion… of purity."

"Ah," Rey nods, though she has no idea what Leia is talking about. "So… women are allowed to write legislation then?"

"If we can secure a sponsor," Leia replies, a note of bitterness in her voice. "It would be better if we were able to run our own candidate, of course, but that's difficult, without the vote…"

Rey nods again, thinking back to their conversation from before she left. It seems so long ago, even though it's only been a handful of days. Or a week? She can't remember, so much has happened…

"Ben said you were always a suffragist," she offers. "He said he was born at a– a sort of convention…"

Leia looks a little surprised.

"I– yes. At Seneca Falls, in '48." A small smile rises to her lips. "I kept worrying he'd come during one of the lectures, but he held off until they were all concluded. Gave me two days buffer…" She shakes her head, still smiling.

"He's very polite," Rey says, half-laughing.

"Is he?" Leia laughs too. "Well, as his mother I suppose I ought to be pleased…"

The air feels a bit lighter as Leia turns back to her work and Rey grasps the door handle to leave, her little bundle of reading material clutched in her other hand.

"Rey–?" She glances around to look at Leia, who looks uncharacteristically hesitant. "Is he– how is he faring–?"

It dawns on Rey that Leia might have been intentionally avoiding their room, to give them– to give Rey– space.

"I think he's doing well," Rey reassures her. "He's been sleeping a good deal, but he doesn't seem to be in much pain..."

Leia nods quickly, relief apparent on her face before she hurriedly averts her gaze.

"I– good, I'm glad."

"I'm sure he'd like to see you," Rey says. "Perhaps this evening?"

"Yes, I– that would be lovely, dear," Leia says, meeting her eye. "Thank you."

"Of course," Rey smiles, leaving the room and taking care to close the door gently behind her, walking quietly down the hall back to Ben.

She feels as though she and Leia are doing a queer sort of dance. It's odd, to be sure, to try and reconcile such a set of events, to suddenly make acquaintance into kin.

Ben cracks an eyelid when she re-enters their room.

"How are you feeling?" she asks in a hushed voice, setting her reading material down on an elegant table near the door.

"'M fine," he mumbles. "'S not too bad."

"Your mother said she would come and visit with you in the evening."

He nods, closing his eyes again. "Mkay."

Rey privately doubts that he'll be much up for a visit, but when she settles in beside him with Jane Eyre, he speaks again.

"C'n you read t'me?"

Rey smiles and flips to the beginning, trying to make her voice take on a soothing tone.

"'There was no possibility of taking a walk that day…'"

 

Leia arrives after their supper has been cleared away, knocking delicately on the door. Rey rises from her perch beside Ben, who is much more lucid than he was earlier, and belatedly takes in the state of his hair, which certainly ought to be washed. What if Leia thinks she's being neglectful? But there's no time now...

"I'll just leave you two–" Rey starts, as graciously as she can muster.

"Oh, no, Rey–!" Leia interjects, offering out an armful of items. "I'm sure you'll appreciate these as well, I brought them for us all to look at together."

"Oh, well... alright then..." Rey sinks back into her place on the bed.

"I quite unpacked an entire trunk, looking for these after you visited me earlier," Leia tells her. She pulls a chair up to the bedside and rifles through her stack. "You reminded me we had a daguerreotype made while we were still in Seneca Falls, here, there it is…"

She pushes an old-fashioned photograph across the bedcovers and the glow from the gas lamp glints off its smooth surface.

It's a younger Leia, the spitting image of her photograph in the locket, only this time she holds a baby in her arms, a dark shock of hair already visible on his head.

Rey grins down at it and Ben chuckles, picking the thin sheet of metal up with his enormous hand.

"You were about three months old, then," Leia tells him. "We stayed in New York for the better part of a year before going back to Boston." Rey can feel Ben tense beside her, but Leia is flipping through the other items she brought with her, calling cards and faded pamphlets, and doesn't notice. "I thought we had a few more taken, while we were there, but I can't seem to find them…"

"Were they–?" Ben clears his throat. "Were they in a locket?"

"Yes, they were– do you remember them then?"

He nods, leaning over to the little table beside his bed, plucking a knotted handkerchief from a small pile of things.

"It– the locket was in a trunk," he tells Leia as she unwraps the cloth. "That was the only bit of the inheritance left when I came to Boston, after…"

"One of our trunks got left on the dock, when we shipped things to England," Leia notes, flipping open the locket. "Oh, how young we were! Oh, I am glad it ended up with you, after all…"

Ben nods.

"Lotta good things came outta that trunk. Rey's wedding ring…"

Rey gasps.

"Oh! Oh Ben, I pawned it!" She grasps his good hand urgently. "We must write to the stationmaster, in Kearney– he issued me a receipt, for the collateral, I needed a train ticket–"

"Kearney?" He looks at her quizzically. "How on Earth did you–?"

"Oh Ben, I was so stupid," she says, burying her face in her hands. "Riding out after you, I thought I could take Hux on with the shotgun in the old shanty–"

"No wonder you were in such a state when you arrived!" Leia exclaims while Ben huffs a surprised guffaw, and then winces at the motion. "I couldn't bring myself to imagine what had happened to you…"

"Kearney's a good eighty miles, Rey…"

Rey nods miserably.

"It took me three days, give or take… And, oh Ben, the house– Hux set it on fire when he took you. I'm sure it's burned to the foundation by now…"

Ben purses his lips, looking grim.

"He told me. It's– don't make yourself sick over it, sweetheart. You're alright, and I'm alright, and the baby's alright, and he's gone now, and that's what matters."

"I know, it's just, everything we had…"

"It's replaceable," Ben says firmly. "Most of it, anyhow. I'll build you a new house, sweetheart, and we'll fill it ten-fold over. New books, and a new bed, and as many dresses as Rose can sew you…"

Rey quirks her lips at him, blinking tears out of her eyes, and looks over at Leia, who is watching them with her own sad smile.

"Oh, Leia!" She starts again, covering her face in her hands once more. "I've been cutting up all your old dresses!"

Leia practically beams at her, wiping furtively at the corner of her eye. "Well, I am glad they've been getting some use! I did think your skirt looked so queerly familiar... I just couldn't put my finger on it…" She rifles through the stack of papers she brought, locating a sleeve with what seems to be another photograph. "Want to see the best thing I've found?"

She slips the tin across the bedspread. Ben groans upon seeing it, shoving it towards Rey.

It's a picture of a soldier, young and clean shaven, who stares sternly into the camera. A bayonet in his right hand, his hat presses his short hair down flat, so his ears stick prominently out the sides.

"Is this– you??" Grinning madly, Rey glances rapidly from the tintype to Ben. The nose is the same, even if his face isn't nearly so thin anymore, and he usually takes such care to cover his ears...

"Yeah, yeah," Ben grumbles, rolling his eyes.

Rey's peals of laughter echo around the small room and out into the hall.

 

The next week seems to pass quickly. Ben is still dosed with the opium twice a day, and sleeps a good deal, but his injuries begin to heal and by the third day he can remove the bandages from his face and hand. Rey washes his hair in a basin while he sits in bed, avoiding the scab that creates a deep ridge down his face. She reads the whole of Jane Eyre aloud to him, and then a history of the Gauls, and finally a few of the pamphlets on motherhood and marriage, which he seems to find rather interesting.

Dr. Kalonia comes once to ensure his healing is progressing, and Leia, sometimes accompanied by Han or Chewie, visits in the evenings, before Ben takes his medicine. She brings a few ready-made morning dresses that are of a better length for Rey to wear, with the promise that they'll have them fitted soon, though Rey does not mind being free of her corset. In truth she is glad of the respite from society; her own exhaustion has caught up with her again and she often takes her own mid-day naps alongside Ben, trying to find a comfortable position for her belly while she sleeps. With less to distract her, the aches and pains from the journey, as well as those she assumes come along with being in a delicate condition, are making themselves apparent. It's nice to withdraw into the warm, dark room, to allow herself to rest in a way she never would have on the homestead.

When the house is dark and silent Rey pulls open her nightgown to allow Ben to suckle at her nipple, drawing precious drops of her golden milk from her breast. It makes her hot and flushed to see his lips work so determinedly at her flesh; she wishes for his hand between her legs again, or his manhood, plundering the spot where she is wet and aching for him. But his hand is still injured and he can hardly sit up on his own; fucking seems quite out of the question.

Still, she can't help but nuzzle a little into his neck, nipping briefly at his earlobe while she lies beside him, dozing between reads, dreamily reminiscing about their lazy days in the early summer, when he took her whenever the whim struck him and it felt like she was eternally wiping his spend from between her thighs.

"You're awful… eager," Ben says one mid-afternoon, presumably woken by the kisses Rey is pressing to his jaw, every third or so open-mouthed and daring to scrape at his skin with her teeth.

She pulls back, flustered, "Oh– I didn't mean–"

"Just seems real cruel," he says, tugging her forward again to kiss her on the corner of her mouth, "givin' a man a cockstand when he's got no chance of resolving it."

Rey turns her face to find his lips, dragging one between her teeth before kissing her way to suck at his neck, rather relishing his resulting groan.

"I can think of a number of ways in which you might resolve it," she counters, her hand already creeping under the covers to find his manhood, which indeed is quite on its way to its full height. She rubs him through his nightshirt, coaxing him to ramrod hardness.

The little clock near the door reads a quarter past two, which means they have nearly three hours before they can expect Miss Aya Sixe with their supper. Feeling bold, Rey abandons her grip on Ben to stand and pull her tea dress over her head, leaving her only in her shift, which she quickly rids herself of as well.

Ben watches her with a hungry expression on his face. It's not as if he hasn't recently seen Rey undressed, but their touch recently has been so clinical, so focused on health, and hygiene...

"I could resolve your problem with my lips," she suggests slyly, walking slowly toward him to inch the covers down past his hips. "I could put it to rights with my tongue."

The issue in question bobs before her, ruddy and attentive, jumping of its own accord when she presses a kiss to the tip. What a comfort it is, to take his smooth cock into her mouth, to swirl her tongue around its head and press it deeper to nudge the soft tissue of her throat.

"What do you think, Papa?" she asks breathlessly, a strand of saliva stretching stubbornly as she pulls away, her hand closing around him once more to spread it down his shaft. "Do you find it an adequate solution?"

But Ben has thrown his head back in response to her ministrations and offers only a grunt in answer, which Rey takes for a rather enthusiastic acquiescence. She reapplies herself to her task, losing herself in the clean, salt-musk scent of his groin, dragging her lips and her tongue across his smooth skin just as she pleases, nuzzling into the wirey nest of hair that protects his manhood, cupping his bollocks in her hand before licking at these as well. When she tries to take him as deep into her mouth as she can, breathing through the urge to gag as he hits the back of her throat, he lets out a sort of strangled whimper, reaching for her.

"Papa," she says reproachfully, pulling off of him and batting his hand away while she pumps his shaft firmly. "You're injured."

"I'm– I'm only thinkin' of how you're to resolve your own– Lord– problem, sweetheart–"

Rey catches his meaning but frowns at him, seeing no solution that would not pose a risk to his recovery.

"Won't put any– ahh– undue pressure on my ribs for you to be on top of me, s'long as you're careful of your jostling–"

It seems rather a danger, but Rey's passions are inflamed to something of an extreme, and perhaps this convinces her to straddle his hips, careful to hold all her weight on her knees rather than rest any of it on his body. She rubs the head of him against her slick lips and sighs at the sensation, after so long without it, daring to dip down the smallest bit to take him a little way into her cunt.

"Yess," Ben hisses. "You might go– it's alright to go a bit– further sweetheart–"

Rey sinks all the way down his shaft, aided by the frankly copious volume of her secretions, as well as the dampness already afforded to his cock by her earlier tongue bath. It's– oh, it's perfect– feeling him fill her again. There's something of a wholeness to be found in intercourse, as he reminds her of those parts of herself she normally has no access to–

Her thighs quiver as she lifts up and sinks down again, fucking herself on his cock. Ben's expression is wild with pleasure, and Rey increases the pace of her oscillations, dropping her hand to frantically rub at her clitoris as she approaches her crisis–

"Please," Ben bites out, his good hand reaching helplessly for her. "I want to– please let me–"

Somehow Rey knows what he's asking for. She leans forward to dangle her breasts in his face, bracing herself on the mattress beneath him so she might continue the movements of her hips unabated, her belly just brushing his abdomen.

Ben's face when he manages to catch a nipple on his tongue is something akin to pure bliss, and Rey feels the stuttering release of him spend inside her only moments later, accompanied by a guttural, though muffled, groan.

Rey hurries her attentions to her own sex organ and that, along with the sensation at her breast, pushes her into such a blinding delight that she is dimly concerned about collapsing directly into Ben's injured chest, and only just manages to roll off of him onto the mattress to enjoy the tail-end of her peroxysm, his seed spilling messily onto the bedclothes.

By the time their supper comes they have straightened themselves and the room as best they can, though Miss Aya Sixe still does not appear to be able to bring herself to make eye contact with either of them, and Rey considers that perhaps their tryst was not as well hushed as they might have strived for it to be.

She spares a moment of contrition for Miss Sixe's eventual task of having to launder the seed-stained sheets.

 

Ben is the next day well enough to come to supper in the wheeled chair. Rey fusses over him a little, trying to ensure he doesn't exhaust himself unnecessarily, but he seems altogether eager to be up and out of their little room at last.

Leia is rather quiet while they eat, and Rey has a prickling sense of unease, though she is distracted by the announcement that Chewie is leaving.

"I wish to spend the winter season with my daughter's family," he tells them all. He and Han discuss the supplies and the route he ought to take; the Indian Territory isn't well served by the railroad.

"When do you depart?" Rey asks him, sad to see him go.

"Within the week," he says. "Best to try and avoid the early snows if I'm able."

It's well into October already, and Rey is forcibly reminded of the blizzard that struck so unexpectedly around the same date last year. With Ben's rate of recovery, it seems unlikely they'll be able to return to Red Cloud before the risk of travel becomes too great.

Leia clears her throat, wiping her mouth delicately with her napkin.

"I've had a letter," she says, "from a Pastor Poe Dameron."

Rey gasps, looking at Ben.

"Oh no, we ought to have written to them again! I'm sure they're out of their minds with worry, what with the way things were left…"

Leia nods once. "He says they're very relieved to hear you're alright, and they eagerly await updates on your husband's– on Ben's whereabouts."

"I oughta write him," Ben sighs. "Lot to sort out with the homestead, 'specially if we don't make it back for the winter."

"Surely there isn't any question of you leaving?" Leia's voice climbs an octave until it borders on the shrill.

"Probably not," Ben concedes. "By the time I'm train-worthy…"

"So it's settled then," Leia says. "You'll stay with us."

Perhaps this explains the tense aura around her mother-in-law, but Rey isn't sure whether there isn't something else to Leia's mood. She can't help but wonder what was in the letters, both to and from Pastor Dameron. Surely it's notable that Leia doesn't offer to share the actual text?

Ben is having a bit of trouble using his fork with his left hand; his right is still swollen and stiff.

"Here, Papa," Rey says gently, reaching to steady his grip and help him spear a potato.

When she looks up again, the other three are all studiously looking at their plates.

 

She spends the next day in the shops on the small main road with Han and Chewie, procuring a few items to make their extended stay more comfortable. They find Ben some ready-made shirts and trousers, as well as a woollen suit, and take a trip to the cobbler's for shoes better suited to sitting about indoors, rather than tromping through muddy fields.

The shops are far better supplied than those in Red Cloud, and Rey can't help but impulsively purchase a pretty silver rattle meant for a baby. She thinks she'll keep it wrapped in its nice paper until such time as it becomes needed, and allows herself a small, private smile.

Han and Chewie go to take an inventory in the stables once they return, leaving the various boxes and parcels in the entryway, with strict instructions for Rey to not try and lift them. She makes her way back to the little room at the rear of the house, nearly opening the door before stopping short at the sound of voices.

"–were her guardian–?"

She can hear Ben's low timber say something in response, but can't make out the words.

"–just want to understand–" Leia's voice rises in pitch before quieting again, "–everything we've been working…"

Ben intones an interjection, but Leia seems to cut him off.

"–child bride Benjamin!"

Rey nearly drops the small paper sleeve she's carrying in her rush back to the parlor.

She sinks onto one of the beautiful brocade couches, blindly ripping at the paper until she holds the rattle in her hand, the mother-of-pearl handle gleaming and smooth. She twists it between her fingertips and the little silver bells clink against the stem.

It's not so surprising, really. Leia has been quite clear what she's thought of Rey's husband from the beginning; it's only so happened to turn out that Rey's husband is her own child.

Perhaps the dance between them has been queerer than Rey knew all along. Perhaps the true dancers are not her and Leia, but, rather, Ben and his mother.

And, perhaps...

Perhaps it doesn't really matter what any of them think of the situation. There is no leaving this house before spring; there is no disentangling herself from Ben, or him from his parents; there is no stopping the baby from arriving when it may.

They will all have to learn to cope.

"That's pretty, dear."

"Oh!" Rey starts from the couch. Leia hovers at the door to the parlor, looking slightly contrite at having startled her from her reverie. "Oh– yes– I thought it would be nice, for the baby… I know it's a silly little thing…"

Leia smiles at her, and Rey is reminded that, whatever her opinions may be, this woman has only ever been kind to her, even when she was penniless and there hadn't been even a thought of a connection between them.

"It's nice to have silly little things, though."

Rey nods, at a loss for words.

"I might– I might go and lay down for a bit…"

"Of course, dear," Leia says, studying her. "I'll be out this evening but Dr. Kalonia was going to drop by later, to check up on you both."

"Alright," Rey nods again. "I'll see you again in the morning, then."

"Sleep well, dear," Leia says, patting her on the shoulder.

Ben is reading when she returns. Rey slips into bed beside him, wordlessly passing him the rattle before closing her eyes and laying her head on her pillow.

The charming tinkling of the little silver bells lulls her to sleep.

 

She awakens to the glow of the gas light, just in time for their supper tray to be delivered. Dr. Kalonia breezes into their room not long after they've finished eating. She does a thorough assessment of Ben's injuries, and informs him that he ought to try putting a bit of weight onto his leg soon.

"No more opium for you, I'm afraid," she quips, and he shoots her a wry grin.

She examines Rey's ankle and asks rather bluntly whether she's had any bleeding from her womb, clapping her hands together when Rey shakes her head no.

"Well then! Quick visit! You both appear to be well on the mend." She catches her pocket watch by its chain and flips it open to check the time. "I was going to check on another patient but they sent word that they had no need of me, might manage to catch the Temperance meeting after all."

"Is that where Leia went tonight?" Rey wonders out loud. Dr. Kalonia nods enthusiastically.

"You ought to come! Give you a nice chance to meet the other ladies, especially seeing as you'll be staying for a time."

"It'd be real good for you to get out for a bit," Ben agrees.

"Well…" Rey's not sure; wouldn't Leia have invited her if she'd wished for her to attend? Though, Rey had indicated she was tired… "Oh, alright then."

"Good, it's settled." Dr. Kalonia closes her black bag with a snap. "I'll just wait in the hall for you, shall I?"

Rey changes into the smartest of her new dresses, very conscious that none of them are the proper evening wear, and wrestles with her fringe before plucking her wrap from its peg.

"Have a nice time, sweetheart," Ben says, and Rey stoops to kiss his lips before she hurries out the door.

"We'll walk," Dr. Kalonia tells her in the hall. "It's not far."

They step out the front door into the chilly autumn twilight. Their heels clack a rhythm on the wooden boardwalk and Rey is soon out of breath trying to keep up with the doctor, who proves to be a rather brisk walker.

"And… just here, there we are," she tells Rey, guiding her up a darkened garden path to a side door. "We'll just sneak in the back, the meeting's already begun."

The room is indeed full of women, perhaps thirty, all sitting on mismatched chairs and listening attentively to the speaker at the front of the room. Seeing no more available seats, they stand near the exit, leaning against the shadowy wall.

"–once again stymied by male legislators desiring a virginity clause! How many times must I demonstrate that without the vote–"

"We're not a suffrage union," a snide voice comes from the far side of the room, from a woman with pale skin and a shiny black chignon. "If we focus on our goal of temperance–"

"Do you not see how these vices are entangled right down to their shared, rotten root?!" The speaker comes into view and Rey can see that it's Leia, her voice growing hoarse as she expounds. "Are we not all agreed on our shared goal of a voluntary motherhood? Of the stamping out of disease, and forced ruination? Without the vote we will be begging for scraps, when it's perfectly legal for girls as young as ten–"

"We understand, Leia," comes a calming voice, and Rey glimpses Mrs. Holdo's blonde hair. "Most of us understand your point perfectly. But those girls are exactly why we must compromise. If we wait until we have the vote, think of every child who will have gone unprotected–"

"Think of every child that won't ever be protected, if you do accept that sort of watering down." Rey cranes her neck to see a colored woman near the back of the room. "It'll end with only white girls who can prove their virginity having any sort of recourse, and, well… who do you think will fill the brothels then? How well will vice and disease be stymied if there's an entire class of sanctioned targets?"

"We well know your opinion, Mrs. Tano," the snide woman sneers.

"Let's put it to a vote," Mrs. Holdo suggests. "Those in favor of allowing the virginity clause?" She and a handful of other women raise their hands. "Those in favor of finding another sponsor?" A clear majority raise their hands and Leia gives a short nod of satisfaction.

"Good. I will begin making the necessary overtures."

"What of the age cutoff?" An older woman near the front asks. "If it were lower, do you think that would ease the process?"

"The age of majority is eighteen," Leia sniffs.

"Seems easier to amend later," the woman says. "Less obvious of a vulnerable group, anyway, if we aim for, say, sixteen. And Amilyn is right, there are girls being harmed now. Incremental steps may be all we've got…"

"Shall we vote?" Mrs. Holdo says again. "All in favor of revising the age to sixteen, without the virginity clause?" Most of the women raise their hands. "Those in favor of maintaining the age of eighteen?" Leia thrusts her hand upwards, along with a half-dozen others. "Well then, it's decided to revise the bill and to find a sponsor that will not impose the virginity clause."

The room breaks out into hushed conversations. Rey stands stock still, staring blankly into the middle distance, trying to process everything she's just heard.

"What… what were they voting on?" she asks Dr. Kalonia.

The older woman sighs. "Age of consent legislation. There's been back-and-forth for about a year now, such a nightmare…"

"Age of consent?"

Dr. Kalonia glances around, lowering her voice. "Ideally it'd make it easier to prosecute a man who takes advantage of a girl, if it's on the books that she's too young. It's so difficult nowadays, all he has to say is that she consented…"

Rey hears the echo of Mrs. Dameron, telling her of her near ruination at the age of fourteen, he told everyone I seduced him.

Her eyes fall to Leia, conferring with a small knot of women at the front of the room.

No wonder Han was so reluctant to relay news of her and Ben's union; if Leia has been working toward this goal for more than a year

How awkward for Leia, for her long-lost son to turn out to be the very sort of man she's trying to make criminal in the eyes of the law.

Leia looks up, her eyes meeting Rey's across the room, her expression freezing upon seeing her there. Rey bites her lip and averts her gaze, studying the intricate designs of the rich carpet beneath her feet.

She revises her conclusion from earlier in the day.

She does not think they'll all learn to cope.

Notes:

Explicit sex scene with an injured/sort of drugged party (Ben). Lots of (clinical) mentions of sexual assault. The Original Sin™ of this fanfiction is taken extremely seriously.

Leia is not here for you to enjoy your underage daddy kink fanfiction.

I actually didn't know any of this history when I started writing this fic, so Leia is also not here for me to enjoy my underage daddy kink fanfiction. However, when I found out that one of the first major women's rights victories was age of consent legislation and that Colorado suffragists in the 1880s (which Leia was already firmly drafted into being) were certainly working on passing such legislation, I sat down and cackled to myself for like half an hour. It just fits the plot so perfectly I couldn't possibly have planned it.

The age of consent in Colorado in 1880 was indeed ten years old, and many other states were roughly on par, with Delaware trailing with an age of consent of just seven.

The WCTU was the main advocacy group behind the push to raise these ages in the 1880s and 1890s; the group believed that the vice of drink was intertwined with the degradation of women, which led to other social ills, including poverty, prostitution, and the spread of chlamydia and gonorrhea, which could affect even "respectable" women who caught the extremely common diseases from their husbands. At the time, girls who were sexually assaulted were considered "fallen", and often turned to sex work for survival, which, in the WCTU's thinking, increased the pool of prostitutes that might pass an STI to a man who could pass it to his wife and their children. There's some interesting class dynamics at play here, which will be further addressed in this story.

Ahsoka Tano is here because I am playing fast and loose with the actual Star Wars timeline; her character is loosely based on a real African-American suffragist named Elizabeth Piper Ensley who was technically in Denver beginning in the late 1880s, but meh. It is historically accurate that white women and African American women worked together in the WCTU to pass these laws, and that legislators attempted to water down age of consent laws with virginity clauses. Many Southern legislatures opposed age of consent laws explicitly because they enabled Black women to charge white men with a crime.

First wave feminism is a tricky beast and I'm going to try to do my best with it; I'm already realizing that Leia is going to be the most complicated character in the whole fic. Unfortunately, while I will be trying to represent the suffragists in all their complicated glory, I have written myself into a corner by making all of the men into slightly flawed, but ultimately reasonable people. Please be reassured that many Victorian men were indeed trash, and that even some of the reforms that seem extreme to us today made a lot of sense at the time and were addressing real problems. (Go ahead and start with learning about prohibition.)

The question of underage marriage was, and is, slightly more complicated than a cut-and-dry age of consent law. Many suffragists were against early marriage because it might lead to divorce or have worse outcomes for a couple's children, but girls who married young were not "fallen" or likely to be forced into sex work; a man like Ben probably wouldn't have been prosecuted even if the age of consent had been 18. Even today in the United States, pairings that otherwise would be illegal can be allowed if the couple marries; nine states currently have no legal minimum age for marriage.

If you'd like to read Poe and Leia's letters to each other, you can find them here. This is a neat Victorian guide to writing a ladylike letter, which I followed not at all.

I realize I never actually linked my reference pics for Han and Leia's portraits; here is a good approximation of Ben's soldier uniform.

The least cursed Victorian baby rattle I could find.

Happy to report I am writing from Colorado! Very nice to be home, and I'm gathering lots of inspo pics. Hope you are all doing well!

Chapter 31

Notes:

CW: Ben talks about his previous sexual experience. Additional content warnings in the end notes.

tnwti_moodboard2

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The first hard frost of autumn blankets the landscape in a delicate white. It clings to the boughs of the evergreen trees and to the flat faces of the giant rock slabs that jut from the hillsides so everything looks as if it's been dusted with icing sugar. In the hollows by the creeks the cottonwoods still have yet to lose their golden leaves, and they hang heavy with their sparkling sheaths.

It is a relief to walk about in the frigid air, the bite in Rey's lungs a welcome respite from the overwarm solid brick house. She explores the little town under the guise of poking through the shops, and where the roads end she can't resist the little trails that lead off into the wilderness, following them as far as she dares, ducking under thickets and hopping small streams until the snap of a twig sends her scurrying back among the miner's shanties and supply stores, her imagination full of bears and cougars and wolves.

The university building looms large and forbidding, visible from most everywhere she visits in town, but she hardly ever finds herself climbing the steep hill to its grounds. The students must certainly not wish an interloper in their midst, and there is the matter of Miss Rippon, who surely knows all about Rey's situation by this point… No, she need not go near. It wouldn't do to daydream of the education she'll never have anyway.

When she returns to the Organa residence she lets herself in the side door, drawing her shawl off her shoulders, taking care to tread quietly so as not to alert Mr. Threepio to her presence. He's always scolding her for something; today it would certainly be the mud on her shoes, even though she takes care to wipe them at the door and there isn't even the faintest trace of dirt down the carpeted hall.

She arrives at the small bedroom in the back of the house without altercation and slips through the door, closing it quickly behind her.

Ben looks up from the tiny desk beside the bed, where he sits in the wheeled chair, tongue between his teeth as he writes a letter.

"How was your walk?"

"It was nice," Rey replies, hanging her shawl on its peg. "I went down Pine Street this time. There's the most charming little trail! I tell you–"

"S'long as you don't get eaten," Ben shakes his head at her, his eyes crinkling.

"I won't, Papa," she says reproachfully, coming around to sit on his good knee and pecking a kiss to his cheek. The deep gash in his face is scabbed and peeling, the bruising faded to a pale yellow. "We could go for a drive later, if you like. Hardly any chance of being eaten."

"Mm, that'd be nice," he agrees, dipping his head to press his lips to her hair; his hand comes up to span her belly, holding it protectively. Rey settles against his chest while he turns back to writing his letter.

"Gonna have Snap take the cows instead," he tells her. "I like Dameron well enough but he doesn't know his way around an udder."

Rey nods. They'd written back soon after Pastor Dameron's first letter arrived, updating him on Ben's recovery and inquiring about the state of the homestead, and received another response the previous week. The cows and chickens had survived and none of the outlying buildings had been burnt. A few members of the congregation had shifted through the remains of the house just after it had been found, and so there's a list of surviving objects as well: a few of their pots and pans, the boiler, some items of jewelry from the chest of drawers.

They'll have to return them, Rey thinks, now they've found their true owner.

Her own ring glints on her finger, recovered at last from the stationmaster in Kearney. In truth this probably ought to be returned too, but she can't quite bring herself to suggest it, its weight so comforting against her knuckle, the stone so handsome when it catches the light.

"...could write Rose about a few dresses? Seeing as you'll need more anyhow…"

Rey nods again, this time more slowly. "That– yes, that sounds like a fine idea…"

Ben scribbles out another line. Rey stares unseeingly out the small window into the garden beyond.

How will she even begin to make amends with Rose? Whatever the excitement that's happened since their day with the pickling, Rey knows she's said things that won't soon be forgotten, and most certainly not forgiven. It would be difficult enough to express her remorse in person, but via letter, with over a week between replies, and every word liable to be read by any number of third parties? Impossible.

Ben signs the letter with a flourish and rocks the ink blotter over the shining signature.

"Wait," Rey says. "Can I add something?"

"Sure thing, sweetheart," he says, handing her the pen.

She thinks for a long moment and then sets the nib to the page, her handwriting childish and blocky next to Ben's elegant script.

My deepest gratitude and love to you all,
Rey

They request their lunches in a picnic basket and then Rey reluctantly goes to find Mr. Threepio to help with the light carriage, the two of them working to lift Ben from the chair into the seat so he might not put too much weight on his leg. Rey steps up by herself into the opposite side, causing Mr. Threepio to squawk at her as they drive out onto the street.

They climb the hill by the university, passing a smattering of shanties and cabins until they're on a high prairie plateau, quite alone, with only grass between them and the mountains. Rey pulls back on the reins so the horses slow to a walk and the carriage rolls smoothly forward in the deep divots of the road.

"Think I like this view even better," Ben murmurs. Rey hums in agreement, trying to watch the road while drinking in the angles and shadows of the rocks in the near distance. From this perspective all the flat faces almost seem to align, as though God had carefully placed them just so, a row of divine dominoes.

They find a broad hollow with a few rocky outcrops and here Rey pulls the horses to a halt so they might eat their lunch while they gaze at the mountains. She will miss this at least, when they go back.

In the basket there's cold roast beef, and a spiced stewed squash, veal and ham pies that can fit in her hand, the last of the autumn greens with their own tightly corked dressing, a half-loaf of fine white bread, a whole plum cake. Rey eats until she feels she could burst, then leans back in the carriage seat, rubbing at her belly. Ben chuckles to see this, and Rey imagines she might look a bit like a beached whale; she's certainly felt a good deal bigger as of late.

A little nudge hits her hand, but it comes from the inside of her, so light she might have imagined it.

"Ben!" she exclaims, grabbing blindly for his hand and pressing it to her belly. "Can you– can you feel–?"

It's probably too faint, but she's only wearing an Emancipation Suit, not a corset, and–

It comes again, a little stronger this time, and Ben inhales sharply, his fingers pressing deeper into her flesh.

"Good Golly," he murmurs, "that's really–"

When he looks up his eyes are watery. Rey grins at him and he covers her face in wet kisses until she's giggling madly, and he's chuckling too, his hand greedily spanning as much of her belly as he can muster.

Rey manages to drive back to town that way, and once they've sat through an awkward supper in the fine dining room they retreat back to their little bedchamber and Ben undresses her entirely from where he sits on the bed, reverently caressing her skin from her shoulders to her heavy breasts to the swell of her stomach, laying little kisses as he goes. She's been having a bit of a hard time finding an easy position to sleep in, and Ben fusses with the pillows until she can lay on her side comfortably and he can spoon her from behind, resting on his good leg, his cock sliding easily between her lips while he palms her belly, rubbing soothingly as he pushes inside her.

Try as she might to contain herself her whimpers are too loud, high pitched and whining. Ben grunts in her ear, stuffing two fingers in her mouth, and Rey moans around them, muffled in her pleasure.

"Love you– so much–" he pants, punctuating his words with the thrusting of his hips, sucking a little on her neck. Rey drools on his hand, hazy, so full of him, and of their baby, her heart swelling even as she climbs to her peak. "Can't– uhh– fucking wait– you'll be such a pretty little mama, won't you? Won't you– fuck– won't you, sweetheart–?"

Rey nods wildly, shaking around him as she crests. Her tongue feels loose, uncooperative, but she tries to talk anyway, mouthing the words around his fingers, desperate to tell him. It comes out as guttural nonsense and Ben huffs a laugh which turns into a groan, pulling his hand free as he speeds up his thrusts, chasing his own release. He bites down on her shoulder when he spends inside her, doing rather a poor job of staying quiet himself.

They lay panting together for several long minutes; Ben seems unwilling to pull himself from her cunt. He holds her belly possessively again and Rey can feel the little flutters that dance under her skin, just barely palpable on the surface.

"What'd you wanna say, sweetheart?" he whispers.

Rey stretches against him, luxuriating in his body, in hers.

"I was trying to say I love you too, Papa." Her voice is a little hoarse. She cranes her neck to find his lips.

She can feel them curve up at the edges, pressed against hers as they are. Ben cradles her head in his palm, stroking her cheek with his thumb as she pulls away.

He smiles softly at her, and Rey doesn't know how she could have ever thought the long scar would mar his face.

"I know."

 

Rey finds a sunny hollow by a small stream, just a short walk from where the gridded roads end. She begins to bring her books there in the mornings, feeling a little guilty for leaving Ben alone, but desperately needing some time to herself, a chance to stretch her legs and exhale without anyone watching.

She's borrowed more materials from the little library, but there's a store with a sizable collection in town as well, and with her purse in hand she peruses the volumes, selecting her reading on whim alone. The poetry draws her eye as always, and she finds herself mouthing the words over the bubbling of the water. There's something about hearing them read aloud that is lost when one confines them to one's own head.

Wilt thou go with me sweet maid
Say maiden wilt thou go with me
Through the valley depths of shade
Of night and dark obscurity
Where the path hath lost its way
Where the sun forgets the day
Where there’s nor life nor light to see
Sweet maiden wilt thou go with me

Suddenly there comes the sound of a heavy rustling in the bushes across the way, and Rey startles, snapping her book closed. A bear–?

But a moment later the bustle of a dress appears and a young woman emerges rather ungracefully into the clearing.

"Oh!" she exclaims. "I'm real sorry, lost my footing…"

Rey clutches her chest, breathing hard.

"Oh dear, I thought you were a bear come to eat me for a moment!"

The girl grins bashfully, half-curtseying in apology.

"Won't eat you, miss, don't worry. Just overheard your reading and thought it sounded real pretty."

"Oh," Rey nods, turning her book over to show the cover. "It's John Clare's work... I only just bought it, but I've liked it so far."

"Would you read the rest?" the girl asks eagerly. "Of that poem, I mean."

"Yes, alright," Rey nods, flipping through the pages until she finds where she left off.

Where stones will turn to flooding streams,
Where plains will rise like ocean waves,
Where life will fade like visioned dreams
And mountains darken into caves.
Say maiden wilt thou go with me
Through this sad non-identity
Where parents live and are forgot
And sisters live and know us not

The girl moves to perch herself on a large rock nearby, her demeanor enraptured. Rey sits up straight, taking care to enunciate and read with vigor; she's always loved having an audience.

Say maiden wilt thou go with me
In this strange death of life to be
To live in death and be the same
Without this life, or home, or name
At once to be, and not to be
That was, and is not – yet to see
Things pass like shadows – and the sky
Above, below, around us lie

The land of shadows wilt thou trace
And look – nor know each other’s face
The present mixed with reasons gone
And past, and present all as one
Say maiden can thy life be led
To join the living to the dead
Then trace thy footsteps on with me
We’re wed to one eternity

She finishes, quietly dramatic, and the girl quickly claps, laughing.

"Oh, I do like that one, miss! Rather uncanny, isn't it? All this being, and not being…"

"He does seem always rather in the same vein," Rey agrees eagerly, flipping through the pages. "I believe he was in an insane asylum while he wrote this…"

"How thrilling!" the girl enthuses.

"What is your– are you from around here?" Rey asks curiously. The girl is a bit shabbily dressed, upon closer examination, though nothing much worse than anything Rey herself would have worn up until recently.

"Only been in town a month or so," the girl says. "I'm– well, I live down by Water Street."

Rey nods. Water Street is by the train tracks, and it's not the nicest part of town. The girl's open face appears a bit trepidant, like she's not sure what Rey will say of her address.

"I'm Rey," she says instead with a smile, reaching her hand out to shake. "Rey Solo. I mean, I'm Mrs. Rey Solo."

"Kira Smith," the girl says, grinning broadly and grasping Rey's fingers. "Miss Kira Smith, that is."

"Pleased to meet you."

"Would you read another? Only I'm so slow myself, I always have someone read my letters, and the newspapers, you know…"

"If you like," Rey says, flipping to the next page.

She reads for another quarter of an hour before squinting up at the sun, thinking she ought to go back soon.

"We could meet another morning," she suggests to Kira as she closes the book. "I'm always happy to read aloud. And it's nice to have some company."

"To scare off the bears?" Kira says, her eyes glinting humorously. "Well, I'll be an eager audience whenever you like. I usually like to go for a ramble around this time anyhow."

"It's settled then," Rey smiles.

They make their way back to the town together and then part ways, Kira walking off in the direction of the creek and the rail depot, Rey turning up toward the statelier homes on Spruce Street.

She consents to join everyone in the parlor that evening, and is even drawn into their game of Proverbs, proving fairly good at guessing, though perhaps not the most gracious when she wins.

 

The Organas attend the First Congregational Church a few blocks north on Sundays. It's a very handsome building made of rough hewn stone, with a square tower shaped almost like a castle turret. They take the light carriage there, despite its proximity, for Ben is still largely confined to the wheeled chair.

The Pastor is a man named Qui Gon Jinn, and from what Rey gathers from his sermons he seems passively supportive of any number of progressive causes, though he often trails into ponderings of theology that are beyond Rey's grasp or interest. Many of the ladies from the Temperance Union attend service, and Rey usually wheels Ben away from the hall as soon as the sermon has concluded, finding a nice spot outside for them to loiter until it's time to return home, sometimes helping him to take a short walk through the dead grasses and scattered boulders with a crutch under his arm.

"I found a charming spot a half-mile that way," she tells him, pointing toward where she reads by the stream. "Though I'm sure there are any number of charming spots, really. I do so wish we could see all of them…"

"Can't wait for you to show 'em to me, sweetheart," he says, sitting heavily on a large boulder the size of a small boulder, taking her hand in his. "Way this weather's proving, we may well have all winter to explore."

 

Rey brings an assortment of reading material the next morning, thinking she might give Kira a bit more choice in what she listens to. But when she arrives Kira insists she is quite happy to listen to the remaining poems of John Clare, and even requests a few read twice.

"I wouldn't mind lending you the book," Rey tells her as the hour grows late and she begins to wrap the other items back into a bag. "If you'd like to peruse it further."

But Kira shakes her head good-naturedly. "It'd be wasted on me I'm afraid, miss. My eyesight's been bad all my life, and by now I know I shouldn't be able to pick apart a sentence even if I did acquire some spectacles."

"Is it a problem otherwise though? With sewing, or…?"

"Oh, no," Kira says, laughing. "I don't much need to see, in my work. The fine details certainly aren't terribly important."

"What do you do?" Rey asks curiously as they stand.

"I work in a hotel, near the depot," Kira replies. She grasps at her skirt a bit anxiously, twisting at her apron.

"Oh," Rey says. "That sounds interesting, I'm sure you meet all sorts of people. How do you like it?"

"Oh, it's really not bad at all!" Kira says, her eyes wide, like she's trying to convince Rey of this fact. "I was working in a laundry before, in Ohio, and this has been a good deal better…"

"I worked in a factory, for a time," Rey tells her. "I can't say I much miss it…"

"Dreadful," Kira agrees. "But here I only work in the evenings, and have a day off entirely every week. Never go to bed with my stomach growling, neither, my wages are nearly tripled..."

"Really?" Rey's eyebrows shoot up.

"Oh, yes! I've had to pay off my passage here, of course, but that was quite easily done, really, and I've been sending some to my grandmother…"

"Are your parents–?"

"Both dead."

"Ah," Rey says. "Mine too."

They reach the edge of the wilderness where the path turns back into the wider road. Kira turns to her, clutching at her skirts again.

"I do understand if you don't wish to associate with me though, miss," she says in a rush. "What with you being a respectable married woman and all…"

Rey laughs, a little hollow.

"I'm not nearly so respectable as I look," she says. "And anyhow, why wouldn't I want to associate with you?"

"Well, I'm…" Kira pauses awkwardly. "You know…"

Rey puts the pieces together.

"Oh."

"I do appreciate your reading to me, though," Kira continues with a wry smile. "I quite liked the poems."

"I don't mind continuing," Rey says, frowning a little. "I'm not– I wouldn't think poorly on you, I mean."

"If you're certain…" Kira studies her for a moment before smiling again. She reaches out and Rey catches her fingers, squeezing.

"I am."

 

"What do you know of the prostitutes in town?" Rey asks Ben that night as they settle into bed.

He looks up from his book, a rather startled expression on his face.

"Not a good deal," he says slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"I met a girl," Rey shrugs. "She works in a hotel near the depot, and I suppose she also…"

Ben nods. "Most of the hotels in Bugtown are also… parlor houses," he says. "You should… you oughta be careful, Rey."

"She's not dangerous!" Rey huffs. "She's been listening to me read, and I asked her what she did and she told me."

"I don't think she's dangerous," Ben sighs. "Just maybe don't tell– you know–"

"I won't."

Rey adjusts her pillows for the millionth time, trying to get comfortable.

"But you've been in the saloon in Red Cloud," she says. "How bad is it for the girls, really?"

Ben frowns. "I don't– I mean, it is dangerous, for them. You remember when Hux…"

"Yes," Rey responds. She thinks of his horrible, evil smirk; she thinks of how it felt to pull the trigger. "But is it always like that…?"

Ben sighs again. "I don't know, Rey. There's misery anywhere a person is using their body to work, you know that. I imagine it's easier in some ways than other forms of employment, harder in others."

Rey hums, mulling this over.

"You've been with– with saloon girls before though–"

Ben draws a hand down his face, toying with his whiskers. "When I was a younger man," he says slowly. "During the war, and– and after." He looks over at her. "I always used a sheath, I promise you, sweetheart. My uncle was always scarin' me with tales of the pox, and there was a working man, on the farm, lost his nose to it. Sure stuck with me…" He shakes his head, shuddering.

"But was it–?"

"It wasn't the same as with you, Rey," he says earnestly. "I'm not saying every man is as rough as Hux, but it's… transactional."

Rey nods, taking his hand. "I'm not cross with you over it, Ben. I just want to understand– She reminds me of myself, in some ways, you know? Of what I might have been, if you hadn't– if I hadn't found myself in Red Cloud."

"S'pose I'm glad that's not your life, sweetheart." His eyes are dark and serious. "Damn near breaks my heart to think it coulda been."

Rey chews her lip as they get ready for bed, turning the gas lamps low. It's not her life, but nor is working in a laundry, or a factory.

She falls asleep and dreams of the lake, high and cold, the echoes of gunshots ringing from every side.

 

Kira tells her of another meadow, a little ways further up the path, and they go to read there instead. Rey brings a selection of poetry, since Kira professes to like this the best.

"Novels are always so moralizing," she says, wrinkling her nose. "Poems… they paint the most lurid pictures, of vice, insanity. I like them much better."

So they settle onto the various boulders scattered around the field and Rey reads the most sensual poems she can find. In truth it's what she likes about poetry too, the extremity of the emotions, the vividness of the imagery. And the words, the words, used sparingly, to great effect.

She can't help her curiosity, though, whenever they stand to walk back to town.

"Are you quite… safe, at the hotel?" she asks one morning, accepting Kira's hand to step over a few rocks; her center of balance has really suffered over the last few weeks.

"Oh, yes," Kira replies. "At least, I've never heard of a girl hurt there. Miss Lottie usually has an officer around anyhow, 'case the men start to brawl." She skips ably over the rocks behind Rey, light on her feet.

"An officer?"

"Well, you have to pay the police off, you see," Kira explains. "And Miss Lottie pays a little extra, for protection. She's a keen businesswoman."

They pause for a moment for Rey to catch her breath.

"Are the men kind, though? I just– what is it like, with them?"

"They mostly are," Kira says thoughtfully. "Few bad apples, but those can be barred from the premises. Most just want a little company, you know. This country is big, and lonely."

The sky opens up as they emerge from the trees, so cold and blue against the lifeless grasses.

"And you don't end up…" Rey gestures inchoately at her own abdomen.

Kira sobers.

"Try real hard not to," she says, her face grim. "Had to terminate once, but I'd sure rather not go through that again. Doctor that did it didn't much care whether I lived or died; miracle I didn't come away with blood poisoning."

"How awful," Rey breathes; that hadn't been at all as Mrs. Dameron described it. "Do you… do you use a sheath then?"

Kira nods. "Or, you know, bring 'em off in other ways." Her eyes light up again, a little mischievous, and she mimes handling a cock in front of her mouth. Rey bursts into giggles; she's never really talked about fucking with anyone but Ben before, and the brazenness delights her.

"If you can get 'em to spend quick they're like as not to leave you alone, you know? My trick's a finger just straight up the hmm-hmm–"

She points to the sky, and despite the relative innocence of the gesture it comes across as incredibly rude. Rey nearly doubles over with laughter, grasping a tree so she doesn't topple right onto the road.

"His–?"

"Oh yes," Kira says, her eyes sparkling. "Works every time."

This tidbit stays on Rey's mind long after they part ways, and she's a bit distracted through supper.

"You alright?" Ben asks her when they retire to their room. "Is it the baby? Should we call for Dr. Kalonia–?"

"No, no, I'm fine, Papa," she says, looking at him critically. Perhaps…

She takes a sort of sashaying step across the room toward him, but quickly teeters further than she had intended, catching herself on a brocade chair. Ben looks alarmed, standing from his chair and rushing forward with his hands outstretched, crutch forgotten. Rey bats him away.

"No, I'm quite– just–" She looks up at him through her eyelashes, then slowly tries to sink to her knees. This proves harder than expected and she becomes a bit stuck half-way down. Ben decides to risk her flailing hands and plucks her up from the ground, carrying her to the bed.

"What is going on with you?" he demands.

"I just want to–" She wrestles her way to sitting, ending up quite red in the face. "Oh, I want to suck your cock!"

Ben's eyebrows shoot up. "What–?"

"Please?" she wheedles, her hands already at his trouser fly. Ben looks down at her with a baffled expression on his face.

"Aren't you– You're certain you're not–?"

"Yes!" Rey huffs. She can feel him through the fabric, half-hard already.

"I mean I–"

But he seems to have no more protests and Rey successfully frees him from his confines, the hot saltiness of his head landing on her tongue. He groans, catching her hair up in his fingers.

Rey bobs her head, then pulls off, twisting her hand along his shaft, aided by the lubrication of her saliva.

"Hmm," she says, eyeing him where he stands, still pumping him up and down. He gazes down at her with hooded eyes, his mouth slightly ajar. "No, I think you'll need to lie down."

"A-alright." Ben sinks to the bed. Well, that's his weight off his leg, at least, but Rey wants his trousers off too. She stands, taking a moment to find her balance, and pulls them down his thighs so they bunch around his knees. That'll do fine.

"Ah, sweetheart–" Ben is all breathy endearment when she takes him in her mouth again. She plays with his bollocks, cupping them in her hand and squeezing gently while she tongues at his foreskin. He groans again, biting at his fist in an apparent attempt to stifle himself.

Her fingers are already fairly wet but she sucks two of them deep into her mouth anyway, gazing at his face while she does so, trailing them up behind his balls while she licks again at his cock. It might be hard to find, she's not certain, but she follows the saddle between his cheeks, back and back until she finds a place with give, and presses there with her fingertip.

Ben nearly bucks off the bed, a hoarse shout emanating from his lips. A moment later Rey has to seal her lips around his manhood, to prevent his spend from spilling everywhere.

She eyes him smugly as she drinks him down, pulling off with a neat pop once he's clean.

"Christ." His huge form is sprawled on the mattress, one hand covering his face. He strikes a slightly comical figure, still mostly dressed, with only his groin exposed.

"Did you like it, Papa?" Rey asks coyly.

His response is incoherent, and she giggles as she settles next to him on the bed. Kira had been right, then.

"Jus' lemme…" he slurs, rolling over and pinning her under a heavy arm, rucking up her skirts with his other hand. Despite his punch-drunk state he finds her center easily, sinking two fingers into her quim.

"Ahh." Rey is taken aback by the sudden flood of pleasure, as he hones in on that spot inside her that makes her eyes cross and her limbs jerk. His thumb rubs vigorously at her clitoris and his intent is clear; this isn't a slow climb toward a climax, but a shove off the cliff face. "P-papa–"

He trails a finger back to work it into her asshole, and really she oughtn't be surprised, but–

She covers her mouth with a hand as she flails, eyes shut tight, lights dancing behind her lids.

He keeps his hand nestled inside her even after she comes down, and with his other spanning her belly she wonders if he's trying to get as close to her womb as he possibly can. He sucks kisses into her neck, nudging her high lace collar aside with his nose.

But perhaps Kira hadn't been right, in the end. Ben, after all, seems in no hurry whatsoever to leave Rey alone.

 

The beginning of November brings the first real snow and Rey can't go on her morning walk as she'd like to. She hopes Kira isn't waiting for her, though a peek out the window makes her think it unlikely.

She putters around, restless, trying to knit or read or sleep. Finally she gives up and makes her way to the stables, where she can hear low voices.

"–remember that horse? You must've been real small, but–"

"–a bit–"

She pushes open the door to its warm interior to find Ben and Han seated on hay bales, Ben's crutch next to him.

"–ever set 'em out to pasture 'round here or–?"

They look up when she walks in.

"Hello, sweetheart," Ben says, shifting to make room for her on his bale, holding his hand out so Rey can lower herself down.

"Hey kid," Han greets her. He's braiding leather straps. "Your fella ever tell you about the first time he rode a horse?"

Rey shakes her head, a grin creeping up over her face.

"He must've been pint-sized, and I thought it'd be funny, you know? Let him sit on the neck just before we were to take the carriage out. But that daggone horse spooked, took off down the drive, pulling the whole carriage behind it. 'Course I'm tearin' after 'em, and Leia's screaming, and the stable boys are yelling, but when that horse finally stopped, little Benny's just clinging tight, happy as a clam. Born natural, I tell you…"

"Sweetheart," Ben intones seriously. "Please never leave our child alone with my father."

Rey's snort of laughter is so loud the horses stomp in their stalls.

 

Kira is in their little spot again after the thaw, which comes quicker than Rey expected, just a few days and then everything is bare grasses and dirt again.

Rey's excited to tell her the trick worked, ask her if she has any other up her sleeve, but as soon as she sees Kira's face she can tell something is wrong.

"There you are, miss!" she says as soon as Rey comes into view. She's twisting her fingers in her apron again. "I was hoping you'd come today, only I'm set to leave tomorrow."

"You're leaving?" Rey can't help the disappointment in her voice. She's only known Kira for a few weeks, but she's been such a lively distraction…

"My grandmother wrote," Kira tells her. "She's set herself up with a house, and she wants me to live with her."

"Oh," Rey says. "That's– I suppose I understand that."

"I just– I want to be there for her, for the years she's got left, you know?" Kira reaches out and Rey catches her hand. "Family's a mighty important thing, miss."

"Yes," Rey says. "It is." She looks up at Kira. "Will you continue with your... employment?"

Kira smiles wryly. "Plenty of men in California, miss. And with my own residence I might be able to make something more of myself. Go into the business of it."

"Get a pair of spectacles!" Rey laughs. "You'll need to read the books!"

"You may be right about that."

"But you're… you're quite certain…?" Rey can't keep the doubt out of her voice. She might be in a position to offer Kira a different form of occupation, after all; it seems immoral not to…

"Quite," Kira says shortly. She looks at Rey and seems to soften. "I know, you bein' a respectable woman, you want to save me from it all. But who's trying to save the factory girls, or the laundresses, or the maids? They ruin themselves in body as quick as we do."

"No, you're right," Rey says, chewing her lip, and so they sit and Rey reads for a time longer than she normally would have. After they stand up again (Rey with some assistance) Rey presses the poetry of John Clare into Kira's hands.

"Please do take it. To remember me by."

"I will."

They walk down the path and when they reach the fork to part ways Kira catches her up in a gentle embrace.

"I wish you well with your baby, and your husband. I hope he's good to you."

Rey squeezes her back. "And I hope California is good to you."

The rest of the way to the Organa residence is a little forlorn and by the time Rey arrives she has little energy to think of avoiding Mr. Threepio or of whether she's satisfactorily removed the dirt from her shoes. She closes the front door, a touch harder than she might have otherwise.

"Rey?"

It's a soft voice from the parlor, managing to be somehow both hopeful and hesitant at once.

Rey takes a deep breath and follows it to its source.

Leia comes into view, seated on the fine sofa. For once she seems engrossed in sewing instead of reading or writing letters; scraps of fabric in a dizzying array of patterns litter the cushion beside her.

"How is– how are you, dear?" she asks. She clutches two hexagons of fabric in her fingers, a pin pushed halfway through.

"I'm alright," Rey says awkwardly. "I've been… everything with the baby has been fine."

"And you're… finding enough here to– to occupy yourself?"

"Yes," Rey says shortly. She thinks of how little her mother-in-law would approve of her occupation as of late, or at least of her companion.

"I found a bulletin," Leia says in a rush, setting her fabric scraps down and craning to find a piece of printed paper. She offers it to Rey, who takes it in her hand. SHAKESPEARE: THE FIRST FOLIO is printed in block letters across the top. "There's to be a lecture, at the University, by a scholar of philology, open to the public as well as the students. I know you had mentioned, at one point, taking a keen interest in the Bard…"

She trails off with a half-hopeful lilt.

Rey must admit this makes a tempting offer. She studies the bulletin more closely.

"What is… philology?"

"I believe it is the study of language," Leia replies, her tone akin to someone attempting to conceal their eagerness. "About its history and structure. How it changes over time."

"Hmm," Rey hums, reading the finer print near the bottom.

"If you'd rather it was just… just you and Ben, that would be alright," Leia says. "I can procure tickets through my friend at the University. You met her, I believe. Miss Rippon?"

"Oh! I mean, yes, I do! I just…" She trails off, unsure how to respond. It feels wrong to deprive Leia of such an interesting lecture, really… "It would be OK, if you had a mind to attend as well…"

"Alright," Leia smiles broadly. "That's settled then."

Rey hands her the bulletin and then stands aimlessly in the center of the parlor, casting about for something to say.

"Whatever are you working on?" she asks after a long pause, gesturing at the scraps of fabric.

"A quilt," Leia responds, pinning another set of hexagons together.

"It looks ever so much like the one we used to have," Rey says, leaning in closer, and before the words are out of her mouth she realizes that Leia must have made that one as well. "Oh! But I suppose you probably–"

"Yes," Leia's eyes crinkle a little at the edges. "I thought I could make you another one, since the first was destroyed."

"Oh…" Rey swallows against the sudden lump in her throat. "That's very…" She nods, turning a bit away so Leia doesn't see her rub at her eye. There's a nudge in her belly and she drops a hand unthinkingly to soothe the little foot or hand that's bumping up against her womb.

"Can you–? Have you felt the quickening, or–?" The note of poorly restrained excitement is back in Leia's voice, but when Rey looks up she's grabbed at more fabric pieces, pinning furiously as if to distract herself.

"Yes," Rey says. "For a few weeks now… it's getting stronger. It's the queerest sensation…"

The little foot– it must be a foot, she's not sure a hand could muster that strength– kicks again and again in the same spot.

"Would you like to–?" She doesn't know what makes her say it. It's not as if anything has materially changed; she's certain Leia soldiers on in her attempts to outlaw unions such as her own. But perhaps she simply tires of this cold war. And perhaps Kira's words are still ringing in her ears, reminding her of all the family this baby will grow to have, besides her and Ben.

Before she can change her mind she reaches out to catch Leia's hand and press it to her belly.

"There," she says. "Can you feel it?"

"Mm-hmm," Leia murmurs, the slightest crack in her voice.

She drops her hand as soon as Rey does, seemingly cautious of overstepping, and Rey makes her way to the parlor door again while Leia sinks back onto the sofa to continue her pinning.

"Rey?"

Rey turns back just before the exit.

"Yes?"

"You're going to make a wonderful mother, dear."

"I–" Rey is taken off-guard and can only nod, making an awkward egress. But as she walks down the hall to her room, tracking mud all the way, she can't help the secret smile that rises to her lips.

Notes:

CW: Discussion of 19th century sex work, mention of abortion. Rey anally fingers Ben without getting consent; he's cool with it.

Let's talk about sex work!

Sex work before antibiotics and modern medicine was indeed a dangerous occupation, and many frontier "soiled doves," as these working women were called, did contract STI's, including "the pox" or syphilis, which could eventually result in dementia, blindness, and "saddle nose" when the bone and cartilege of the face were eaten away. (Please beware of graphic illustrations with that link.)

Kira's character is based on a sex worker named Alice Smith who gave a series of remarkably candid interviews about her experiences to a newspaper in San Francisco in 1913. She talks about the very limited options for working class women at the time; even working full-time in a laundry she could barely afford both her rent and food. Sex workers, meanwhile, made far and away the highest wages of any American women, and it was one of the few professions open to female entrepreneurs. This is all to say that sex work at its core is an issue about *clenches fist* labor rights.

In the West especially, with some pretty extreme ratios between men and women (I couldn't find a source for this but I took an "after-dark" walking tour of Seattle where the guide said it was 25:1 in the mid-1800s) there was a huge demand for commercial sex, and many madams were prominent figures in their communities. Boulder did indeed have a red light district called Bugtown; "Miss Lottie" was a real madam there named Lottie Diamond. Brothels existed in a semi-legal grey area until the turn of the 20th century, and many were on good terms with law enforcement, even hiring officers for protection.

Along with alcohol prohibition, many suffragettes were campaigning to outlaw prostitution, deeming it immoral and degrading to women, as well as a source of disease. They worked to stigmatize sex workers and make it harder to rent to brothels, and by 1910 they had successfully ushered the passage of the Mann Act, the first federal anti-prostitution law. By 1916 red light districts had closed in 47 cities. I think this is a complicated issue generally; there really wasn't such a thing as safe sex back then, and girls as young as eleven could be found working in brothels, so you can see where reformers came from.

Unfortunately the 20th century was a continued downward trend for sex workers' rights, and the last twenty years have seen the greatest erosion yet, with SESTA/FOSTA, the war on human trafficking, and the recent OnlyFans debacle all providing cover to crack down on consensual sex work. Criminalization only makes sex work more dangerous.

Here's a Victorian rocking ink blotter and an absolutely insane picnic menu. Also some neat parlor games.

I think I want to read more John Clare.

Obviously this week's been pretty sad and infuriating. I am trying not to despair about abortion rights in America, and I'd like to put together a fundraiser to try and help. If you donate to an abortion fund in any state/country and send me a picture of the receipt I will write a mini fic (100 words for every $10, up to 500 words) for the prompt/pairing of your choosing. Please find me on my Twitter and dm me there. This fundraiser will be going through the end of October 2021.

To end on a slightly happier note, look I made you a meme!

the pox

Please stay well and help each other out, love you all <3

Chapter 32

Notes:

Hello! Sorry to have kept you all waiting for so long for this chapter! I'm in the final-ish year of my PhD and have had to do a lot of Actual Work recently 🤮

This update is a little short, but I just posted another little fic that is Chapters 26-31 from Leia's perspective, suffering passes, love is eternal; maybe go read that first.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Rey wakes up groggy and unrested one morning in mid-December to an empty bed. The light streaming through the little window in their bedroom is very bright, and through the curtains she can see the sparkle of fresh snow.

On the bedside is a tray of bread and butter and some cold chicken, which Rey takes a bite of before closing her eyes again, her hand trying to soothe her belly where the baby is taking a series of tumbling turns, as if it too slept fitfully.

"Shh, shh, Mama's trying to get some sleep," she murmurs, wincing at a kick that jabs her in the ribs.

It's impossible to get comfortable. Her belly is too big, and her back aches too much. The feather bed is too soft, and the pillows don't provide nearly enough support. Perhaps it would be better to simply lie down on the floor…

The door to their little room opens quietly and she cracks her lids to see Ben stepping in, taking care to shut the latch so it closes with a soft click.

"Where did you go?" Rey asks, a little grumpily.

"Helping Pops," he says, shucking his boots and damp outer garments. "Thought we could maybe go for a sleigh ride later, if you feel up to it. Mountains are real pretty with the snow."

"I don't know…" she says, turning on her side again.

"Or you could help Artoo decorate cookies…"

"Mm…"

He comes around to the side of the bed, his cheeks pink from the cold.

"Where's it hurt, sweetheart?"

She shrugs, wrestling again with the pillow while she looks up at him.

"My– well, my back mainly, but everything is… This bed–"

"Sit up," he tells her, shifting pillows to climb in behind her so she's propped between his legs. He's still a little chilled from being outside, but he blows on his hands to warm them and digs his thumbs into the muscles of her lower back.

"Mmph." Rey scrunches her face in a grimace while he works at a knot. Blast but she's quite ready to be finished with this whole endeavor…

Ben makes his way up slowly on either side of her spine and then kneads at the tight ridges of her shoulders, finding all the kinks in her neck.

Rey goes limp against him, held comfortably by the firmness of his body, sinking into the warmth he's already started to radiate. The tumbles inside her belly seem to have calmed.

"You're not hurting your hand?" she mumbles, closing her eyes.

"No, sweetheart," he says, kissing the top of her head. "Go back to sleep."

The faint ring of sleigh bells in the street reaches them through the window pane as she drifts off, dreaming of a little fist outstretched to greet her.

 

As Christmas draws nearer, Leia, it appears, has determined to bring an entire forest into the house.

"...perhaps drape the boughs over the door frames? No, not quite like– yes, there, and of course we'll have a little sapling in every room, and the large tree can go in the parlor–"

Rey tries to skirt around the bustle of activity without attracting attention, but she's really grown too big to do much sneaking and only manages a vaguely evasive waddle.

"Ah, Rey, dear! I was hoping I might get your opinion–" Leia thrusts out two ribbons, both shades of red. "Which do you like better?"

Rey pauses. "Um…" She glances around the entryway, which is littered with greenery and smells strongly of evergreen. "The darker one?"

"Yes, you're quite right," Leia says immediately, tossing the unselected ribbon into an overflowing box as if it has personally offended her. "Now, what do you think of these cards? I was hoping to send them all out tomorrow, you know…"

She leads Rey into the parlor where a dazzling array of ornaments awaits staging, and several dozen cards lay strewn across a small table. Rey picks up the first, which features a mouse riding a lobster like a horse. She smiles.

"I do like this one."

"Oh yes, a few are quite humorous." Leia says, shuffling through the others. "I do think we all ought to have a laugh around Christmas. See, isn't that funny?" She holds out a card emblazened with a boy who appears to be boiling alive in a giant teapot, a tortured expression on his face and a message that reads A Christmas Greeting with Love.

"Huh," says Rey.

"We'll send them from all of us, of course. Did you want to send any back to Nebraska, or…?"

"Yes, that sounds like a nice idea," Rey agrees. "Perhaps to a few people from our congregation…" The Damerons, of course, and Mr. Snap, and old lady Maz…

"Likely they'll have just long enough to get there by Christmas Day," Leia says. Rey selects a few she thinks are nice and awkwardly lowers herself to the settee, leaning over the little table to scribe a few short missives, taking great care with the lettering; she's had an awful lot of time to work on her penmanship as of late, and she thinks she's improved a good deal.

Leia starts on her own cards and they settle into a comfortable silence, broken occasionally when Leia wants to show her another amusing illustration, or to inquire what she thought on a detail of the Shakespeare lecture. Rey knows her mother-in-law has been trying very hard to mend things between them, and she is appreciative. It's nice to have another person to talk to, at the very least, now that trips about town are really quite limited, both by the snow and Rey's own mobility. Leia doesn't volunteer anything about how her legislation is faring, and Rey doesn't ask.

"I finished another section of the quilt," she tells Leia while addressing envelopes. She's been sewing together little hexagons on the treadle sewing machine in the servant's pantry, which is really quite the marvel, much better than hand sewing, even if it's a little awkward to use it around her belly and she can only sew for short stretches at a time. Leia was only too happy to show her how to operate it when she'd asked, and Rey's made decent progress on a smaller version of the quilt they'd lost, that Leia is remaking. For the baby.

"Wonderful! We'll have to find some batting soon…" Leia signs a card with a flourish. "I was going to start hanging ornaments. Perhaps we could find a chair for you, to sit next to a tree…?"

"For a bit," Rey agrees. "But I promised Ben we'd go for a sleigh ride later."

Leia frowns a little, but says only, "I do hope he's careful."

Ben is grinning broadly when he comes to find her, in the early afternoon, and there are fresh flakes in his dark hair that melt into droplets as he stands in the warmth of the parlor.

"Horses are hitched," he tells her. "Perfect conditions, with the snow…"

"Let me get my wraps," Rey says, carefully tucking a few ornaments back into their box. Ben helps her to stand from the chair while Leia looks on with a slightly disapproving expression.

The cold is bracing after the house, but Ben has piled a number of blankets in the sleigh and once Rey is wrapped in a buffalo robe and has a box of coals at her feet she's quite as warm as can be.

The feeling of the sleigh over the snow is so familiar, so freeing, she can't help but laugh in delight as the horses prance down the snowy streets.

Ben takes them on a circuitous route, avoiding the steeper hills and guiding them out toward the plains, before pulling around to walk parallel to the mountains.

Rey catches her breath. "They look even bigger from here."

The clouds swirl around and over the near peaks, patches of white and dark grey giving the sky a kaleidoscope of dimension, and the peaks themselves look a million feet tall, the whites of their faces made starker by craggy outlines of jagged black.

The snow is soft and new. It dampens the sound as it falls so even their own sleigh bells are muted. They pass through fallow fields, and pastures with little huddles of cows with white on their backs, and glide over a rushing stream that hasn't yet frozen under a thicket of bare, grey trees. She hears the faint warble of birdsong but that too is swallowed by the snow.

They're at their picnic spot from the fall before she realizes, and here Ben pulls the horses to a halt.

"Feeling alright?" he asks her, and she nods at him, smiling.

"Yes, it's so beautiful. I'm so glad we came…"

The prairie stretches right up to the mountains here, a sweep of unbroken snow with only the tops of the tallest grasses poking through.

"It's a pretty spot," he agrees.

They stare at the hills until the sun begins to sink toward the tips of the peaks and then Ben pulls the horses around back toward town. Rey feels a pervasive sense of peacefulness, even as the baby starts to tumble. She cuddles next to Ben under the buffalo robe, and he pulls her close, kissing the top of her head.

Oh jingle bells, jingle bells
Jingle all the way

 

Christmas Eve is a rush of activity as a series of callers descends upon the house, and Artoo keeps up an endless stream of delicacies from the kitchen. Rey excuses herself, sometime in the late afternoon, to assist him, in spite of Leia's protests; in truth she wishes for a moment of quiet. Artoo lets her fill little pastry cups with marmalade and once Miss Ida Sixe whisks the platter out to the parlor Rey sneaks the bowl of sticky orange down the hall.

Ben has long since escaped the onslaught of visitors and she finds him hiding in their little bedroom. He starts when she walks in, relaxing back into the chair at the desk as she closes the door.

"Marmalade?" she asks, holding it out to him. She sticks the spoon in her mouth to suck it clean.

He chuckles, shaking his head.

"I'll let you lick it off my tits," she says boldly. "Couldn't find any clotted cream, but I suppose I'm already making–"

Ben raises his eyebrows at her, but settles back into the chair, spreading his legs as wide as he's able in the compact space.

"C'mere, then," he tells her.

She smiles, unbuttoning her dress with one hand as she comes to stand between his legs. He catches the buttons on the Emancipation Suit she has on underneath and slips them open with his thumb and forefinger until she's exposed to just above her belly. He hefts a single breast in his palm, as if he simply likes to feel its weight.

"Here, Papa," she whispers, spreading a little dollop of marmalade on her neglected nipple. It pebbles against the chill and she can almost feel his grin against the curve of her breast as he bends to wrap his lips–

"Rey?" There's a knock on the door. "Ben? Are you in there? We're going to play Snapdragon–"

"One minute!" Rey calls, panicking, trying to close her dress over her chest. Ben fights her for a second so he can suck the marmalade into his mouth, and she hisses at him, "Ben!", tugging the fabric almost over his face. His smug look when he pulls away is extraordinarily unrepentant but he helps her re-button, and they both emerge only a minute or so later, and Rey is fairly certain her bodice is done up correctly.

"There you two are!" Leia exclaims, tugging Rey's hand, as excited as Rey's ever seen her. "Come, we're going to light the bowl–"

A small crowd has gathered in the parlor where the gas lamps have been turned low. The shadows are long outside, and Rey can just see a sliver of the setting sun through the window.

"Now, of course we're not going to drink this–" Leia begins, gesturing to where Han is fiddling with a match near a wide-bottomed bowl.

"'Course not," Han intones solemnly.

"–but we need the alcohol for it to light– Ah! There it goes!"

A blue-ish flame springs to life, dancing merrily around two dozen or so raisins that bob in the brandy.

Mrs. Turmond goes first, squealing as she plunges her hand into the flames to pull a raisin from the depths of the bowl, extinguishing the still burning fruit by popping it into her mouth.

"Excellent, Letta!" Leia cries. "Now Mary!"

They each take it in turns. Rey is a little hesitant to put her fingers near the flame, and only manages to brush a raisin before snatching her hand away. Ben somehow catches up two raisins but misses his mouth entirely, and for a brief moment his whiskers burn blue. He pats them out hastily and has Rey peer at his face to assess the extent of the damage, but she can't see any singeing.

It's fully dark by the time they finish the game, and Leia declares it time to light the candles on the tree, and to sing a selection of carols. Rey raises her voice, thinking back to last year, when it was just her and Ben in the claim shanty huddled close to the stove, singing to a tree he'd felled from down the creek.

What an awful lot has changed.

 

Christmas Day dawns cold, but clear. Rey might have stayed in bed longer, after last night's festivities, but she can hear the bustle of the rest of the house soon after the sun rises. Ben hands her her dressing gown and they make their way, yawning, to the parlor.

It's as if an entire general store has emptied its inventory beneath the tree, parcels of various sizes and shapes obscured by pretty patterned paper and trussed up in colored ribbons.

Several items are too large to be properly concealed– a bassinet with a frilly canopy, a baby pram bedecked with a large bow, and, a little concerningly, a spring-loaded contraption that might be for rocking an infant to sleep or for launching it clear across a room.

"Oh good, you're up!" Leia sweeps into the room, already fully dressed. "Well, do go on, open them up!"

Han trails behind with a pot of coffee and Rey eyes him and Ben a little jealously as she starts on the pile.

There are tiny baby gowns, and socks and little shoes, wraps and diapers and teething toys. There are things for her as well– gloves and new boots and an exquisite dolman jacket. Ben opens a handsome pocket watch and a silk necktie.

"Thank you so very much," Rey says, craning her neck around to look at Leia. "I've made you all–"

She scrambles to locate the packages she'd placed under the tree the night before, which look very scant by comparison.

"Oh, this is lovely, dear," Leia says, uncovering a frame which holds a hand-scribed poem on the prettiest paper Rey could find in town. "The thunder mutters louder & more loud…"

"Thank you, sweetheart," Ben says, helping her to find a seat among the chaos of the wrapping paper. He sets a heavy square package on her lap, and an envelope beside. "Just saw that mixed in with all the other cards."

"Oh, thank you, Ben," Leia says from across the room. "I do love French perfume."

"Beauty of a flask, son," Han says approvingly, looking down at his own present. "Very sturdy."

The square package holds a large tome, with gold-embossed letters stamped on the front reading Complete Works of Shakespeare. Rey opens her mouth to thank her husband, but Leia is asking why on God's Green Earth Han needs another flask, and she turns to opening the letter instead.

It's addressed to Mrs. Rey Solo, in writing Rey recognizes. Could it be–?

Dear Rey,

Oh, it's so beautiful! I'm far too excited to write a long letter and so you'll have to content yourself with this short communication, but I will write again, I promise you. The treadle works ever so much faster than the hand-crank machine I was using, and if this is really to be my very own–! Oh! You do not know how much happiness you have brought me!

I miss you very dearly of course and I'm sorry not to have written, I wasn't sure you'd want me to, or indeed what to say, but I want there to be no bad sentiments between us, and I don't think I could ever let you know just how heartsick I was when I thought you dead and buried somewhere out on the prairie, it's making me cry now just writing to you about it.

There is indeed a little splotch in the ink and Rey swallows hard as she reads on.

I will– of course!– sew you any dress you like, only Ma said to wait until you've got your figure back, and to tactfully ask you for your measurements then, so pretend that I have done so and in the meantime perhaps you might send me clippings of any fashion plates you take a liking to?

Finn and Shara send their love, and I'm sure everyone else does as well but they are the two here at the moment. (I've been trying to teach Shara how to work the hand-crank machine, but she's just dreadful.)

Yours ever faithfully,
Rose

There's a screech from across the parlor, and Rey thinks Ben and Han might have finally told Leia about the flask.

She smiles down at the letter, re-reading it again and laughing while she blinks tears out of her eyes.

Merry Christmas, Rose.

Notes:

CW: Just really saccharinely sweet Christmas content. Nothing of substance at all.

First off, just wanted to say thank you all for reading (and apparently re-reading) and collectively clicking on this fic (or chapters of the fic? I don't know how hits work) 100,000 times. I honestly can't believe it, I don't think I ever expected to hit a milestone like that. I do feel like maybe I know a little too much about some of your [redacted] habits, lol. Thanks for the love, I've really enjoyed every bit of writing this and that's completely due to my readers, y'all are a blessing. <3

I can't remember if I've ever included a link to the podcast You're Wrong About but they have a new episode on Reconstruction! It's a really great show and one of the hosts is always talking about fanfiction, so Sarah, if you're reading this, I love your work.

Bernadette Banner has a video on getting an antique treadle sewing machine working again, because of course she does. I don't think I've linked this fashion history of the 1880s before but if I have I'm sorry.

Victorians had really weird taste in Christmas cards. And also a taste for dangerous Christmas games, though as someone who has previously lit my (gloved, recently sterilized) hand on fire with a Bunsen burner, I can confirm that ethanol burns at a pretty low temperature. Some yikes history along with your Jingle Bells.

I couldn't not include For Sale: Baby Trebuchet, Never Used.

The poem is more John Clare, because Rey is obsessed.

I'm retconning everything I ever said in the end notes about when exactly Rey conceived, and thus (waves magic fingers) *any due date is plausible*. I'll probably leave up the original author's notes because I can't be bovvered.

Merry Christmas if you celebrate, and I hope everyone finds a little joy this holiday season, even if it's not the end of year we were all hoping for. Much love to you all <3

Chapter 33

Notes:

CW: Labor. Additional content warnings in the end notes.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Rey wakes one morning in late January to find Ben watching her intently.

"What?" she asks, self-conscious, drawing her hand up to her belly. She's so large now she can't quite believe it, and in her opinion it's well and truly time for this whole ordeal to come to its natural conclusion.

Ben shakes his head.

"Nothin', I just–" he pauses. "I know it's not your real birthday, but…"

He holds out a little posy of flowers. They must be from a hothouse, or sent on the train from some warmer clime.

"Oh," Rey says, a smile rising to her face while she inhales their faint perfume. "They're lovely, thank you."

"Promise I won't tell anyone else," he vows solemnly.

"No, it's alright," Rey says, shaking her head. It probably wouldn't be the worst thing to tell Leia of her advancing age; seventeen isn't quite so young as sixteen, after all. "I don't mind– but maybe, could you tell your mother I don't want much of a fuss?"

"I can try," Ben says, his whiskers twitching.

Rey shifts to try and sit up.

She dreamed of the high lake again. Not the true events, just the sound of gunshots echoing off the stone walls. It leaves her with a vague unsettled feeling as they get ready for the day.

Han is in the dining room when they enter for breakfast. He's reading a letter with a crease between his eyes, and puts the paper down a little too hastily at their arrival.

"Morning!" he greets.

"Hello," Rey smiles, lowering herself awkwardly into her chair; she's so ungainly these days, and her back aches terribly. "You know, I've consulted an atlas and I simply don't believe you could've made a trans-Atlantic crossing in less than fourteen days without a steam engine."

Han clutches his chest theatrically.

"No respect for the old clippers these days," he tells Ben, who rolls his eyes and helps himself to a warm bun from a covered basket. "The Falcon could do it in less than twelve, kid, whether you believe it or not."

Han has been regaling Rey with fantastical tales of the open seas– smuggling and pirates and death-defying straits. It's a good distraction from some of the recent unpleasantness of her condition, though Ben remains stubbornly skeptical of some of the wilder stories.

And it's nice for the swashbuckling to be at a bit of a remove– decades in the past, and them a thousand miles from the nearest ocean, it's easier for Rey to find it exciting, rather than terrifying.

"Say," Han turns to Ben. "You're not up to anything today, are you?"

Ben glances at Rey.

"Don't rightly know…"

"Go ahead," she tells him. "I'll probably go and have a lie down again after breakfast in any case."

The door to the kitchen opens and Leia bustles in, followed doggedly by Miss Sixe, who balances a few additional plates of food in her hands.

"Good morning," Leia says distractedly, seating herself with an elegant rustle of taffeta. "I won't be joining you all for long, Mrs. Tano is coming to call soon and I wish to iron out a few items before–"

"That's alright," Han says casually. "Ben and I are going to ride out to Erie today."

"On 'business', I suppose?" Leia says, narrowing her eyes suspiciously while she helps herself to porridge.

"There's an opportunity–"

"I don't wish to know," Leia waves her hand. "Do be careful, won't you? Ben's only just recovered–"

"I'm alright," Ben interjects. "Wouldn't mind a bit of an excursion anyhow…"

Rey nods, forcing a smile to her lips. Of course Ben must be feeling rather trapped in this house, after so many weeks of bedrest, and the doldrums of winter. He's used to doing so much around the farm. It takes its toll, all this inactivity.

And she's so achy and tired anyway. There's no point in his staying just to keep her company…

The vague unsettled feeling persists through the end of breakfast and then through waving off Han and Ben in the sleigh, and Rey retreats to their little bedroom feeling faintly ill, like perhaps she's eaten something that disagrees with her. She resigns herself to going back to bed, but it's impossible to get comfortable what with the baby tumbling the way it is and soon enough she gives up on the endeavor entirely and pads out to the parlor in her tea gown and bedroom slippers.

She's pushing the door open before she remembers that Leia had said Mrs. Tano was coming to call.

"Oh," she says, cheeks burning, trying to back out again as they halt their conversation to look up at her. "I'm so very sorry to disturb–"

"It's quite alright, Mrs. Solo," Mrs. Tano says, smiling. "We were just reminiscing about Boston."

"I'm sure it's changed a good deal," Leia says, a faraway look in her eye. "I haven't been back since, oh– '67?"

"But you're from the East as well, aren't you, Mrs. Solo?"

"From New York, originally," Rey says, sidling further into the room and perching herself as delicately as she can on a settee. "I can't say that I– Well, I much prefer the West."

She doesn't feel like explaining further, not today.

"How are the Public Gardens?" Leia asks Mrs. Tano, glancing sideways at Rey and tactfully changing the topic; Ben might not have had time to divulge her birthday situation before he left with Han, but Leia at least knows that Rey didn't have the happiest of childhoods. "I used to take Ben there, when he was small."

"They're still quite lovely," Mrs. Tano says. "And the Back Bay is much more built than when you left…"

Rey shifts in her seat, trying to breathe through a pain in her womb. It's been happening more and more as of late, but the pains always die down after a while, and Dr. Kalonia assures her that this sort of false labor is common. Rey wonders if she can excuse herself again from the parlor so soon after she entered.

"...saw them driving the pilings for several buildings, quite a sight to behold–"

"–quite alright, dear?"

Leia is peering at her with concern.

"Yes," Rey gasps, shifting again. The pain dissipates and she can breathe easier. "How– how are your legislative concerns faring?"

"Oh," Leia grimaces. "Not so very well…"

"We'd like to re-form the Women's Suffrage Association," Mrs. Tano tells her. "But there was such a set-back in '77, I'm not sure the energy is there any longer…"

"The Temperance Union has been doing well enough," Leia says, "but we need focused action to advance the suffrage cause. Mrs. Tano is far more in tune with the goings-on in Denver than I…"

"Denver?"

"Yes," Mrs. Tano nods. "My husband lives there, and my mother. I must travel back and forth for my teaching post, but the railroad makes it fairly convenient…"

"You're a teacher?" Rey asks, interested in spite of herself.

"Yes," Mrs. Tano smiles. "Primarily of Latin, currently, but I have taught a good number of subjects…"

"Mrs. Tano is very accomplished," Leia praises. "She's even taught at a university in Washington…"

"Really?" Rey asks eagerly.

"At a place called Howard," Mrs. Tano nods.

It's very pleasant to hear her speak of her past occupations, and when she mentions a tour around Europe in her youth Rey presses her for details. It makes her next pain much more tolerable, and she's sad when their guest stands to leave.

"I'll write to you after the meeting next week, Mrs. Organa," she tells Leia as she gathers her wraps and prepares to enter the snowy street. "And I shall pray heartily for your safe delivery, Mrs. Solo."

"Thank you," Rey says. "It was very nice to visit with you, Mrs. Tano. I hope I have the opportunity again soon."

She watches through the window as the other woman disappears down the street.

"She's very interesting," Rey remarks to Leia. "And she's been ever so many places..."

"We might take a tour of Europe," Leia says thoughtfully. "In a few years time, of course, but it'd be good for you to see the sights… and Ben too, of course, we never did take him abroad…"

There's a sudden crack that splits the quiet morning air, the sound quickly swallowed again by the muffling snow.

But then there are two more, one after the other.

Rey is frozen in her seat.

"Were– were those gunshots?" she whispers.

Leia moves calmly to the window and peers out into the street.

"I'm not certain…"

It's not uncommon to hear the occasional shot near town, either here or in Red Cloud; Rey supposes it isn't called the Wild West for nothing. But the unsettled feeling from earlier return She can feel it right down in the pit of her stomach, radiating outwards like the pain of the false labor, and her heart races out of her chest. She braces her hands on her knees, trying to breathe more deeply.

"Do– do you think Mrs. Tano is– is alright?"

Leia is saying something to Rey but she can't quite hear her through the ringing in her ears, can't even see through the spotting of her vision. Drat, she hasn't felt like this since– since she first came to the homestead, when Ben held her through her quaking–

Oh, but she wishes he were here! Why had she said it was alright for him to leave, when she needs him, when she went through so much to get him back? The high lake– so cold– her ankle twinging– the bright red of Hux's hair in the distance– the crack of her gunshot echoing off stone walls–

The room moves at a funny angle but before she can tilt right off the settee there's a firm hand steadying her.

Leia's embrace is tight, and yet somehow soft. Rey finds herself pulled against a pillowy breast, her tears probably staining the fine fabric of Leia's dress.

"–'s alright, dear, don't fret–"

It's quite as comforting as Ben's hugs, and just as grounding, but there's no way she could confuse the two of them. Leia's perfume is a subtle cloud around her; her hands are soft as she smooths Rey's hair.

It's unmistakably a mother's embrace.

As Rey's breathing calms she finds herself wrapping her arms around Leia's frame, embracing her in return. It reminds her, just a little, of hugging Mrs. Dameron when she found out she was expecting. But… but perhaps it's better, for that had made her ache for her own mother, lost at sea, and she does not ache now, for Leia is here, and quite unlikely to be going anywhere. And Rey has some claim to her, in a funny way.

"I'm– I'm sorry, I–"

Rey wipes her face as best she can with her arms partially pinned.

"Not to worry, dear," Leia says, giving her a final squeeze and then releasing her, pausing for a moment to make sure she's steady enough on the settee. "I know you must have– I know there was some violence, in finding Ben…"

"Yes," Rey swallows hard, a few more tears slipping down her cheeks. "There was– there were so many shots exchanged, and– and I can't help but remember the way the sound echoed– It was so dreadful. Every crack and I thought I might be dead in the next second, or Ben might drop beside me–"

She pictures Hux's hateful red hair, his smug, taunting grin.

"And I– and I shot someone," she says, hearing the words almost distantly, even as they fall from her own lips. "Shot him dead. And I cannot feel the slightest remorse for it, after everything he did, but I do believe he will haunt me for the rest of my life anyway."

She looks up to find Leia staring at her, but it's an odd expression– not exactly thunderstruck, or even pitying. It looks like understanding.

"I– " Leia peers down at her own hands, smoothing the wrinkles in her age-thinned skin before looking up at Rey again, and giving her a wry smile. "I know exactly what you mean."

Rey opens her mouth. Does she mean that she's–?

Before she can ask, there's a brief knock on the parlor door and Mr. Threepio pokes his head in.

"Are you quite alright, Madam?"

"We're fine, Threepio," Leia says. "Do you know if anyone was hurt?"

"The neighbor's stablehand reported that there was a drunken scuffle outside a saloon on Water Street." He sniffs. "But there's nothing to suggest anyone was injured."

"Oh good. Perhaps you might send someone along to check on Mrs. Tano? She would've been walking at the time…"

"Yes, of course." He pauses on his way out the door. "If I may, Madam, the sooner the prohibition of alcohol is secured, the sooner we may be well on our way to a truly civilized nation. Why, I say–"

"Thank you, Threepio," Leia says firmly, turning back to Rey.

Rey opens her mouth to inquire what, exactly, Leia means to say she's done, but in that moment another pain seizes her and she finds herself bent double, trying to breathe.

"Are you quite alright?!"

Rey nods, waving her off, puffing a little while the pain fades away.

"F–fine," she gasps. "They've been coming on and off, for a week or so now, it's not–"

"I'll send for Dr. Kalonia," Leia says, standing.

"No, no," Rey shakes her head, straightening again. "She said they were false labor."

"Well… if you're sure…" Leia looks at her skeptically. "Can't say I know a good deal about the subject, I was chloroformed quite insensible with Ben…" She trails off, muttering under her breath. "Of all the days for Han to take him on a smuggling run…"

But there comes the sound of sleigh bells only a minute later and then the sound of horses and voices outside.

"Can they really be back already?" Rey wonders as Leia stands and goes to the front door.

"Han!" she calls.

After a brief pause Han appears from the side yard.

"Damn horse threw a shoe!" he shouts back. "Whole thing's bust–"

"You shouldn't've taken Ben with you in the first place," Leia scolds. "Rey is nearly ready to–"

"No one told me not to, Princess–"

"Well, you might have considered–"

Ben appears next to Han.

"Is Rey alright?" he asks anxiously.

"Yes, yes, she's quite–"

"Tell her I'm just stablin' the horses, and I'll be right in–"

"I'll stable the horses, son," Han says, clapping him on the shoulder. "Go on."

Ben appears in the parlor a moment later, his face red from the cold, his eyes a little wild.

"I'm fine," Rey protests, though she is indeed glad he's come in. She can hear Han and Leia continue to bicker in the background, loud enough to be heard from the street, but it strikes up some odd fondness in her. Whatever their faults, their rough edges and disagreements, whatever they have all been through, these people are her family.

Ben glances backward, also in the direction of his arguing parents.

"Sure you wouldn't wanna go and have a lie down?"

She drinks in Ben's face and nods.

"Alright then." She is awfully tired, after all, and the distress of the gun shots has left her feeling wrung out. He helps her to stand, and she leans on his arm as he walks her down the hall.

"Your back still hurtin'?"

"A bit."

"And the labor pains?"

"False labor pains," she assures him. "Dr. Kalonia said they'd come much closer together if it were the real thing."

"If you're certain…"

Rey changes back into her nightgown and tries to get comfortable in bed. Ben hovers near the door.

"Won't you stay?" she asks him, peering anxiously at him, her voice cracking a little.

"'Course, sweetheart," he says, kicking off his boots and docking his trousers, leaving him in just his undershirt to climb onto the mattress with her. He holds her against his chest, and this is comfortable for a while, but then there's another pain that leaves Rey gasping and with an urge to pace their little room.

"What can I do?" Ben asks desperately as she walks around. "Want me to– to rub your back?"

Rey nods jerkily.

"Yes, that sounds nice…"

She sits again and his big hands ruck up her nightgown. The heat of his palms does soothe a bit of the cramping, and the feel of his skin against hers is very comforting. She hums, stretching the muscles of her shoulders while he kneads at her flesh.

"Real sorry I left," Ben murmurs, pressing his lips against the curve of her neck.

"I told you to," Rey says softly, closing her eyes.

"I know," Ben says. "Just, I knew this'd be a hard day for you, regardless…"

He works his hands up her back, bracing his fingertips against her ribs to work his thumbs into the muscles next to her spine, then following them around to cup her breasts.

Rey snorts a little, which seems to bring him out of his reverie.

"Sorry," he grins against her shoulder. "Habit."

"It's nice," Rey sighs, and Ben needs no further convincing to squeeze at her teats, pulling gently on the nipples.

The next pain comes but it's not so bad, distracted as she is by Ben's big hands, and his lips at her neck. Rey can feel herself growing wet between her legs, and she marvels a little at herself, that she could be in such a mood while feeling so generally miserable.

"Can you–?" she gasps, pulling at his hand. But her belly is so large and presents such an obstacle that he can't really reach, and he positions them on their sides, drawing his thigh up between her legs.

"Damn," he mutters while she grinds herself breathlessly against him. "You're really worked up, huh, sweetheart?"

"I'm– mmm– not quite sure why I'm so–"

She's all out of sorts, can't quite explain what exactly she's feeling, but she knows she wants him, wants more, really, this isn't quite enough, she wants him inside her–

"Please, Papa, won't you–" she whines, fumbling ineffectually at his shirt, trying to free his cock.

"Hold up a second," he tells her, stilling her hand. "Are you quite certain you want to–?"

"Yes, I'm certain, I'm quite–"

She's babbling and her voice feels like a half-note away from a sob. She reaches back again, determined anew to have his cock.

"Alright, alright," Ben says, batting her hand away again. "But you gotta let me know if I'm hurting you, alright sweetheart?"

"Yes, yes," Rey pants impatiently. "Please Papa, please fuck me–"

He grunts and she can feel his length against the skin of her thigh, hot and hard and already leaking spend. He steadies her with a hand on her abdomen and carefully notches himself against her cunt.

Rey whimpers. It's an odd feeling, him sliding inside– a little too sharp, maybe. She shifts a bit to better accommodate him, and oh, there, he's pressed against some part of her that makes the pressure pleasurable for a few seconds, instead of painful.

But he stops moving, just soaks his cock in her drenched channel, his arms cradling her like she's liable to break at any second.

"Again," she commands, trying to buck against him.

"Are you sure you're–?"

"Yes–"

Ben buries his face in her hair, bracing himself against the headboard so he doesn't jostle her too much as he thrusts shallowly. A little deeper and he hits the spot again.

"Papa–"

"Shh, sweetheart," he murmurs, mouthing at her earlobe while he finds a steady rhythm, bringing his hand up to cup her breast again. "They're just down the hall…"

But Rey doesn't much care right now. She's chasing the little flashes of relief he's providing her, and if she can just keep them going

Another pain in her womb seizes her and she groans.

"Whoa," Ben mutters, stalling in his movement until Rey whines at him. "S-sorry, that was just– that was a real queer sensation–"

It was certainly stronger than the pains from the morning, and from earlier in the week. Rey's breath comes out in little puffs and she stares blankly at the wallpaper, trying to control the little frisson of fear that snakes through her chest. What if labor truly is upon her? For as much as she wishes her baby here and in her arms she's known far too many orphans not to realize that the trial to come could well be her last…

Ben moves in her again and she tries to focus on him instead, his body wrapped around hers, and his cock as it hits that spot, and his big hands that hold her so tenderly.

"Love you so much–" he grunts in between thrusts. "My pretty little wife.. gonna make the prettiest little mama–"

Rey whines again, but this time with pleasure instead of distress. His words are doing a great deal to calm her, and he keeps whispering sweet nothings in her ear while he fucks her gently.

"–so brave, sweetheart, gonna do so good, Rey–"

Her sudden peak takes her off-guard, and it might indeed be the strongest crisis she's ever felt, somehow amplified by the tightness in her abdomen, the roiling intensity of her womb. She squeezes her eyes shut and clenches down around Ben with a howl, quite drowning out his breathless swear as his climax is wrenched from his loins.

The world swims slowly back into focus.

Ben's strangled breathing is loud in her ear, his hand still tight on her hip until he moves it to rub exhaustedly at the swell of her belly.

Rey feels at a bit of a remove, as though the dissipating ecstasy has stretched a dull film over the world.

She's not sure how long they lie there, still entwined. Ben has slipped out of her and she doesn't have the energy to protest, nor really the desire any longer for that sort of intimacy. The next pain comes but she only puffs a little, burying her face in the pillow. Ben's hand is a grounding presence on her shoulder.

How long apart had Dr. Kalonia said the real ones would be? She tries to count in her head until the next pain begins, but it's hard to focus, exhausted as she is. Instead she closes her eyes and lets herself drift, vaguely registering the seizing in her abdomen, breathing out each time in a low hum. These aren't so bad, they're not–

When she blinks her eyes open the light has subtly shifted.

"H-how long has it been?" Rey asks Ben groggily.

"About an hour," he tells her.

His spend has mostly dried on her thigh, but some has leaked out to create a bit of a wet spot beneath her bottom, causing her nightgown to cling to her thighs. Rey shifts uncomfortably, then groans as a new pain overtakes her.

This one is worse than the others. She clenches her teeth and struggles to sit up, suddenly unable to stay any longer in her curled position. Ben catches her under one arm and helps to pivot her body upright.

"You alright?" he asks again.

She nods, breathing shallowly through her mouth. Is she?

Ben shifts behind her.

"Christ," she hears him swear, and he jostles her as he stands from the bed. Rey glances around at the mattress.

There's a large wet spot of vaguely yellow-ish fluid, much more than she'd imagined. It's certainly not spend.

Ben snatches up his trousers from the floor, hopping on one foot and then the other to get them on.

"I'm sendin' for the doctor," he tells her almost sternly while he fumbles with his boots, as if he thinks she might argue.

"Alright," Rey whispers.

He doesn't pause to close the door behind him, and she can hear his footsteps thud down the hall. After a moment there's a quicker pair that race back toward her and then Leia appears, looking concerned.

"Ben's gone to fetch Harter," she tells Rey. "Seemed to think he'd be the fastest messenger, and Lord take him, he's probably right." Her eyes dart to the messy bed and Rey's soiled garment and she tsks. "Let's get you cleaned up, dear."

Perhaps once Rey might have bristled at Leia acting with such authority in her and Ben's private domain, but right now she can only be grateful for Leia's calm decisiveness while she helps Rey into a new nightgown and orders Miss Sixe to bring newspapers to put under the new sheets.

She settles back under the blankets, propped against a mountain of pillows and with a few rags between her legs to soak up her waters, just in time to groan through another pain.

Leia pats her hand as it dies down and Rey blows her fringe out of her eyes, feeling quite unkempt; her earlier hairstyle is in complete disarray.

"Why don't I braid your hair back?" Leia suggests. "Keep it out of the way?"

"A-alright," Rey says, still gasping a little, nodding toward her comb.

They sit in silence while Leia brushes out her set curls and begins to braid, pulling the strands tight. She finishes one side and ties it off before the next pain comes. Rey squeezes the bedsheets between her fingers, managing not to make too much noise.

Leia waits patiently until she's through and then moves to the other side of the bed to continue with the remaining hair.

"I can't believe it's happening today," Rey says quietly.

"Because of the gunshots?" Leia asks, twisting Rey's fringe under the longer sections. It's nice, having someone to do this for her.

"The what–? Oh, no…" Rey has almost forgotten the gunshots. Were they really only hours in the past? "No, erm, today's my birthday." Leia opens her mouth in surprise and Rey hurries to explain. "I mean– not my real birthday, just– just the one the first asylum gave me. I think it's the day the police found me…"

The same day Plutt was arrested for racketeering. Late January. All Rey can remember was that it was bitterly, bitterly cold.

"I– I see," Leia says.

"I did tell Ben he might say something–" Rey says, twisting her hands while Leia ties off the second braid. "I just didn't want a fuss. But I'm– you should know I'm seventeen now, or– or thereabouts–"

Another pain grips her and she bows forward. Leia slips one of her hands into Rey's and she squeezes that instead of the bedsheets, unable to keep her groans muted.

Where are Ben and the doctor?

When the pain recedes Leia doesn't let go. Her fingers are cool and soft against Rey's.

"I hope–" She pauses for a long moment. "I do hope you're not concerning yourself about that now, dear. I'm so very sorry for causing you to feel you'd have to."

"Oh, it's–"

Rey doesn't know what to say. It's 'OK'? But of course this is the last sticking point between herself and her mother-in-law, and one that has caused her all manner of distress…

There's a commotion that reaches them from the front entry, a lot of clattering and then hurried footsteps.

"Oh, thank the Lord," Leia breathes, getting to her feet. The bedroom door opens half a second later and Dr. Kalonia and Ben rush in, trailed by a harried-looking Miss Sixe, who brings a basin of steaming water and a large bundle of clean rags.

"How is she faring?" Dr. Kalonia asks, opening her bag. A strong smell of something chemical wafts out.

"Alright, I think," Leia says, sounding doubtful of her own assessment.

Ben comes around to stand by Rey's head, smoothing his hand over her freshly braided hair.

"I must ask you to leave, Mr. Solo," Dr. Kalonia tells him. "I'm going to examine her."

"No– can't Ben stay–?" Rey protests before being cut off by another pain. Drat, but they do seem to be getting closer together…

Dr. Kalonia shakes her head but only tsks and moves to shift down the bedding without saying any more to Ben. He takes Rey's hand in both of his own, and only now does she realize he's breathing hard; he must've run.

She tries to focus on his face while the doctor is prodding at her belly and peering at her nether regions.

"–appear to be progressing nicely, don't usually like to do internal examinations after the waters have broken, for fear of infection–" The doctor cuts off suddenly and glances up at them, a bit of an amused expression on her face. "Bit early to be trying for a second, isn't it, Mr. Solo?"

She must have seen some of the lingering spend. Ben turns red and looks over at Leia, who is conversing with Miss Sixe and doesn't appear to be paying much attention. Rey spares a half second of contrition– she was the one with amorous intentions, after all– but there comes another pain and she simply can't bring herself to care.

There's a tremendous amount of pressure in her back, and Rey feels a little nauseous, with a queer urge to push. She squeezes Ben's hand, her groan breaking into a stuttered scream.

"–oh, won't you give her a bit of chloroform?"

She can hear Leia fretting in the background and when the pain dies down Dr. Kalonia is holding out a sweet-smelling handkerchief.

"It'll help with your pains," she tells Rey. "You don't need much."

They are getting worse…

Rey accepts the handkerchief and takes a deep inhale.

"Maybe not so–"

And everything goes black.

Notes:

CW: Overheard gun shots; Rey has a panic attack. Sex during (early) labor. Probably somewhat inaccurate descriptions of said labor. Victorian pain relief. Cliff hanger lol.

Hello! Sorry for another prolonged absence. I might have cheated on this story with another one for a few months, if you want to check it out here (mind the tags!)

This chapter has been on my mind forever, and honestly the research for it kind of put me off; the first article I read about Victorian childbirth indicated that medical interventions at the end of the 19th century and early 20th century actually increased maternal mortality rates, and I've gotten a little too protective of the characters in this story lol.

There were some interesting developments that I did want to include though, in particular the use of anesthesia in childbirth, which began around 1845. Fanny Longfellow (who I had already determined would have known Leia in Boston!) gave birth using either ether or chloroform in 1847, so I thought it would be reasonable for Leia to have done so as well a year later. There were some medical and moral objections to pain relief during childbirth (God wanted women to feel pain) but after Queen Victoria used it during her eighth birth in 1853 it became more widely accepted.

I originally thought that chloroform was used to knock the patient unconscious, but according to this 1856 medical journal article it seems like it was more of a micro-dosing situation where the woman was still awake and taking small whiffs at the beginning of contractions. Rey took too large of a dose because the author did not want to write a full birth scene by mistake.

There was lots of Victorian maternity advice flying around, but a lot of it contradicts itself and so I'm kind of just doing whatever I want.

Don't look too closely at the progression of Rey's labor, I know nothing. But sex during labor is definitely possible. I checked.

Clipper ships.

Thanks for reading, and I hope the next chapter will be out a bit sooner! And I'm just going to plug a few abortion funds again, so maybe consider donating if you're able. Feeling very sick everything right now :/

Love you all!

Chapter 34

Notes:

CW: Nursing, difficulty nursing, and in-story discussion of infant nutrition. Rey does not abide by AAP guidelines for safe infant sleep. Nothing bad happens.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The world is blurry and everything hurts.

Rey can't make sense of the flat cream-colored expanse until she blinks a few times and realizes she's looking at the ceiling. Her head pounds as she tries to collect herself, her mouth dry when she swallows.

"Sweetheart?"

She turns her head and there is Ben, looking extremely anxious, holding her hand. He squeezes it now.

"How do you feel?"

"Terrible," Rey rasps. Ben looks around for a pitcher of water and a glass, and holds it to her lips. The pain in her core redoubles as she drinks, but it's not the same waves of seizing in her womb. Her hand flies to her belly. It's swollen, but with none of the tightness that has been building for months and months–

Rey sputters in alarm, coughing when the water goes down wrong.

"What's happened to–?"

"Everything's alright, sweetheart, don't vex yourself," Ben hurries to reassure her, taking her glass out of her hand. "We just weren't sure when you would wake, and she was fussin'–"

"She?" Rey's voice breaks on the word.

"Yeah," Ben says, blinking tears out of his eyes, smiling at her while he squeezes her hand again. "Pretty little girl. Real healthy too, by the sound of it…"

Rey laughs, and it comes out as a sob.

"Where is she? I want to see–"

"Just down the hall, I think. I'll go–"

He opens the door to their little room and Rey can just barely discern a knot of figures standing at the end of the dim hallway– Dr. Kalonia, and Han, and Leia, who holds a small bundle in her arms. The faint sound of crying reaches Rey in her bed, stirring something in her chest. That's her baby

"Let me– Ben, oh please, I want to hold her–"

There are a few notes of serious conversation and the other three move toward them– so slowly– and into the room. Dr. Kalonia asks something about how she's feeling, but all Rey can manage is a few non-committal hums, not taking her eyes off the mass of blankets in Leia's arms. The crying grows louder and it's almost painful to listen to–

"Let me hold her," Rey repeats urgently, holding her arms out.

Leia glances at Dr. Kalonia.

"–certain she's quite–?"

"–seems to be awake enough–"

Leia considers, and then leans across the bed to carefully hold out the squalling bundle.

The blankets shift to reveal a little face, pinched and red and entirely dissatisfied with this queer new world she's been forcibly brought into.

"It's alright, darling," Rey murmurs, adjusting the infant– her daughter– in her lap, trying to bounce her a little, to soothe her. "Mama's here."

"We thought of giving her some pap, if you'd stayed asleep much longer," Leia says over the crying. "She's been quite inconsolable."

"Good pair of lungs," Han says from across the room, and the pride in his tone is audible.

It's not quite the auspicious meeting Rey had imagined, having been insensible to the world for the first few hours of her baby's life, but that's alright, they're both here now, and alive, and in spite of her pounding headache she's never been quite so happy. Now if only she could feed–

She glances up at everyone in the room. She's certain she could manage; her milk has been in for some time now, after all, helped along by Ben's hungry mouth at her teats. And it's not so unusual to see mothers with a baby at their breast, but it does feel awfully exposed, to do so for the first time with so many people watching…

"Think Rey needs a bit of rest," Ben says gruffly. "Perhaps this visit can continue tomorrow?"

"Oh," Leia says, a little flustered and trying to hide it, retracting the arm she's still reaching toward her grandchild. "Yes. Yes, you're right, of course. We'll see you both tomorrow, then. We ought to be getting to bed now ourselves, in any case…"

"You did real good, kid," Han says to Rey. He grins over his shoulder while Leia sweeps past him out into the hall, and then shuts the door behind them.

It's dark outside their window, and Rey realizes that it must be very late now. Ben looks more haggard than she remembers, and even Dr. Kalonia looks a bit dead on her feet.

"If you're feeling alright, I'll take my leave too," she tells them. "Placenta's come out OK, and you seem to be recovering fine from the chloroform, but don't hesitate to send for me if there's heavy bleeding, or a fever…"

"Can't thank you enough," Ben says, shaking her hand.

"Yes, thank you ever so much," Rey says without looking up, putting her little finger in her baby's mouth and smiling when she starts to suckle.

"I'm pleased as pie with the outcome," the doctor replies. "Even if the dosage got a little away from us."

The door clicks shut for a second time and then the room is quiet.

"Can you help me?" Rey asks, hesitant to shift her arms to undo her nightgown, for fear of upsetting the infant she cradles against her chest.

"'Course, sweetheart," Ben says, leaning over the bed to ease open a button, ruching the fabric to expose a breast. Rey pulls her finger free, placing the little puckering mouth at her nipple.

It's harder than she expected. The angle is off and she has to re-adjust, trying to get a good seal so her baby can pull down her milk. Her heart nearly breaks when after a few minutes there's a new cry; nothing is flowing yet.

She looks over at her husband where he sits beside the bed.

Ben's face is tired and lined, but there's a softness to it as he watches them that she's not sure she's seen before.

"Can you–?"

He nods, climbing in beside her, careful not to jostle them too much. He wraps his arm around her shoulders so he can cup his warm hand around her teat, gently squeezing until a drop of golden milk beads at the nipple.

Rey carefully aims it onto the little curling tongue and after a few seconds she can feel a gummy mouth close and give a slight pull on her breast. It's not quite strong enough to elicit another drop on its own but Ben helps with his practiced hand, massaging out another and another until their baby's mouth goes slack and her head drops to rest against Rey's chest, eyelids fluttering.

"Big day, wasn't it," Rey whispers, stroking her finger down a perfect little nose. "Go to sleep, darling."

Ben keeps his arm around Rey's shoulder and together they watch the shallow movement of breath in a tiny chest, both caught up in the same quiet awe.

"Whatever shall we call her?" Rey murmurs after a time; she's taken a fancy to a good number of names, in no small part thanks to the Shakespeare anthology, but none of them seem quite right, now that she's met her daughter in the flesh.

"We'll figure it out," he tells her while she yawns. "You oughta sleep too, Rey. You did a lot of work today."

"I s'pose so…" Rey mumbles, her eyes drifting shut even as she clutches the infant protectively against her chest; it was only a few hours ago that she held her warm and sheltered in her womb, and now... "But what if–?"

"I'm here, sweetheart, don't worry." Ben presses his lips against her temple, his big hand coming up to gently cradle their baby's head. His voice is so soft when he speaks. "I'll keep you both safe."

 

The following day is a blur of drowsy half-naps interrupted by brief periods of nursing. Ben helps out again the first few times, but soon the little mouth is quite adept at rooting around for the nipple on her own, her grabbing little hands flailing a bit against the breast, and her latch is good enough to pull down a few drops. Despite the exhaustion (or perhaps because of it) Rey could almost cry with pride.

Ben naps on and off too but Rey suspects he doesn't get a wink while she's asleep, and he looks increasingly haggard as the day wears on. Eventually Rey suggests he go and get some rest somewhere else in the house.

"Perhaps my mother wouldn't mind sittin' in here for a bit," he says, rubbing at bleary eyes.

"I'm certain she wouldn't," Rey replies, shifting their baby to her shoulder so she might be burped. She's still not quite sure what to call her, even in her own head– little darling? little bean? little sweetpea? (she caught Ben whispering the last one when he thought she was asleep and it causes a smile to rise her lips as she thinks about it now.)

It seems high time they allowed Leia to visit again anyway. Far from minding, Rey is convinced that her mother-in-law has been waiting for the slightest sound from their room since the early morning.

Sure enough, Ben is gone less than a minute before Rey hears the clack of Leia's shoes approaching. There's a soft rap at the door before she enters.

"Hello, dear," she greets Rey with a studiously calm expression on her face. "I sent Ben along to the spare bedroom upstairs. I'll stay as long as you like."

"Thank you," Rey replies. "Would you– would you like to hold her? She's just eaten–"

"I– very much," Leia breathes.

Rey holds out the infant carefully. After the first few hours of crying she's been rather sleepy, waking only to nurse. She dozes now, swaddled in her blankets, and doesn't stir as Leia takes her in her arms and sits gracefully in the wooden chair beside the bed.

Rey watches them for a few minutes, but soon she starts to drift off. Unencumbered by the little weight on her chest she's able to find a more comfortable position, and when she wakes again to the sounds of muted fussing she feels far more rested.

"I think she's hungry," she says groggily, rolling over and reaching out. Leia places her granddaughter on the bed and Rey doesn't think twice before opening her nightgown. It's quiet while she nurses, the silence only broken by the little snuffling sounds of her baby suckling.

"It's good she eats so readily," Leia says. "I never– Ben didn't–"

"He didn't nurse?" Rey asks, shifting her to her shoulder to be burped.

Leia shakes her head.

"Not from me. My milk was slow to come in, so we found a wet nurse, at first, and then he dry nursed until he could eat solid food."

"The babies in the orphanage were dry nursed," Rey murmurs, "on milk and gruel."

"It's not– I've read that babies do more poorly, when they're dry nursed," Leia says, wringing her hands. "But our wet nurse– I was worried she was depriving her own child–"

"Ben seems to have turned out alright," Rey says with a wry smile.

"Yes, I suppose he did," Leia agrees. "Still, I'm glad it's not been a problem with…"

She trails off and silence falls over them once again. Rey settles her daughter on the bed beside her and watches her breathe, already asleep again. The sparse downy hairs on her head are dark; Rey thinks she'll take after Ben's coloring.

"Have you settled on a name?" Leia asks after a time.

"No," Rey says, chewing her lip. "I had so many ideas, but none of them are quite– I do like 'Ophelia' but that seems like such an awful story to saddle a baby with–"

"Oh, I shouldn't worry about that," Leia says. "Not if you really like it."

"It is pretty…" Rey muses.

"It's no matter, I suppose," Leia tells her. "You have plenty of time. And until you think of something we'll just call her, I don't know…"

"Little sweetpea," Rey supplies, deciding in the moment that Ben was onto something.

"Oh!" Leia laughs. "That's very good, yes, little sweetpea. I like it." She sobers suddenly, fixing Rey with a serious look. "But you're feeling alright as well, aren't you, dear? I was rather concerned when you wouldn't wake–"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Rey says. "I had a bit of a headache after, but it's gone away now."

"That's good." Leia seems to relax a little. "I was so– my own mother passed away, you see, when she labored with my brother and myself–"

"Oh," Rey whispers. "I'm so very sorry."

She knew Leia had been a ward in her youth, of course, but she hadn't fully thought through what that must have meant.

"I'm sad I wasn't able to know her," Leia shakes her head. "But I grew up hearing wonderful stories about her, she was a very accomplished lady."

Rey smiles.

"What was her name?"

"Padmé," Leia says. "Padmé Naberrie."

Miss Sixe brings them supper in the evening, along with some new bedclothes and a selection of clean nightgowns. Rey takes the opportunity to freshen up a bit, moving shakily from the bed to sit beside the wash basin, checking to make sure the rags she has stuffed between her legs are not too saturated with blood. Leia offers to re-braid her hair, and this is how Ben finds them when he returns from his rest, looking far more alert than before.

"How is she?" he asks quietly, leaning over the bassinet beside Rey.

"She's been sleeping," Rey replies. "Ate again."

"Hello, little sweetpea," he whispers, reaching to touch a little hand that has popped free from the swaddle; it closes reflexively around his finger.

"I'll bid you all a good night," Leia says as she ties off the braid. "And see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, that sounds lovely," Rey says.

"Thank you, Mother." Ben kisses her on the cheek when she passes him and she seems very flustered when she leaves the room.

 

Rey dreams of the stars. She flies between pinpricks of light and feels the tug of the constellations on her very soul, and she draws closer and closer to a burning sun, and it is everything

She wakes to a cry, hungry and demanding.

She reaches blindly for the bassinet but Ben has already risen from the bed. He places their squalling baby beside her and climbs back onto the mattress, wrapping his arm loosely around her waist, watching as their daughter latches.

"I've thought of a name," Rey says quietly into the thin darkness of the early morning.

"What is it?" Ben murmurs, and she tells him.

"Do you think she'll mind?"

He shakes his head behind her, brushing his nose against her braided hair.

"It's perfect, sweetheart."

Rey doesn't remember falling back asleep but when she wakes in the soft winter light the three of them are snug in their little bed, safe and warm.

 

The parlor is a welcome respite from the confines of one room. Ben pushes her there in the same wheeled chair he used in his recovery, the baby just fed and asleep in her arms. Leia hovers all the way down the hall and then sends Mr. Threepio for some tea and refreshments.

"We've decided on a name," Rey tells them once they're all settled in. Han has a cucumber sandwich halfway into his mouth but his eyes crinkle while he nods; Mr. Threepio is in the center of the room pouring tea so Leia has to crane her neck to look around him, fixing Rey with an excited look.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense!"

Rey glances at Ben.

"Padmé Ophelia Solo," he says.

"If that's alright," Rey says a little anxiously. "I thought it'd be nice for her to have– to have a family name–"

"Of course that's alright!" Leia gushes. "It's perfect, dear. Oh! Little Padmé, how lovely–"

There's a sudden clatter of china.

"Very sorry, Madam," Mr. Threepio says, trying to sweep up a broken cup with his bare hands. His movements are a little jerky and when he turns around Rey can see that his eyes are red.

"Are you alright, Threepio?" Leia asks.

"Yes, yes, I'm–" To her immense shock he looks at Rey, who has never been particularly on his good side, and gives her a watery smile. "It's just– what a wonderful way to honor such a marvelous lady."

It doesn't click for Rey until just now that Mr. Threepio is old, older than Leia, old enough to have known her mother.

"I'm glad you think so," she says quietly. "Would you– like to hold her?"

"Oh, I couldn't possibly," he says, shaking his head quickly.

"It's alright, Threepio," Leia says. "Just come and sit here."

She ushers him to the settee and he looks very out of place, sitting down. Ben stoops to lift Padmé into his arms, brushing a whiskery kiss over her brow before placing her in Threepio's lap, Leia having positioned the man's arms to properly support the newborn's head.

Han comes to stand next to Rey.

"You did a good thing, kid," he says quietly while they watch multiple generations crowd around their little legacy.

"We can name the next one after your mother," Rey smiles at him. "Or father."

Han waves his hand.

"He doesn't deserve that," he says. "I'm just happy if you raise 'em up alright, whatever they're called."

"We'll do our best," Rey says, thinking of all the obstacles they've now to face, to make sure their little one grows up safe and well. How terrifying it all is. "God willing."

Han claps her on the shoulder and they lapse into silence. The shadows shift in the yard outside and between one blink and the next the sun shines down on the sparkling snow and the shimmering rays are reflected in through the window and into the parlor. A new dawn, a new light.

A new life.

Notes:

CW: Mentions of infant death in the end notes.

First off, happy two years of The Nicest Word! I know this chapter is a little shorter but I wanted to publish today and also address historical infant nutrition while we’re still thinking about the formula crisis. I thought this was a really good Twitter thread which talks about what a scientific innovation baby formula really is, though it mainly deals with a slightly earlier era than our story.

Throughout history there have been many infants who, for some reason or another, were not able to breastfeed from the person who birthed them. For higher class babies, a wet nurse might have filled in, though by the later half of the 19th century this practice was provoking some moral concerns; like Leia said, the wet nurse’s own child might have gone hungry (in a different region the wet nurse may have also been enslaved) and it was thought to fuel the dubious practice of “baby farming”, or taking in strangers' babies for a fee (a scandal in the 1870’s saw a baby farmer prosecuted for the murder of infants under her care.)

Before the invention of the first baby formula in 1865 (which still wasn't the nutritionally complete substance we know today), common replacement foods for young babies included pap (a semisolid concoction of breadcrumbs or flour cooked in water or milk), gruel (a thin porridge), or panada (various cereals boiled in broth); animal milk was also a common substitute. Babies subsisting on these foods were said to be “dry nursed”, and even by 1846 nutritionists and scientists were noting worse outcomes for babies fed in this fashion. The Victorian era may have made this outlook even more grim with the invention of the India rubber nipple in 1845, which presented the perfect environment for bacteria to flourish (Victorian mothers were further encouraged to only wash the nipple every two or three weeks.) The preponderance of commercially available baby bottles at this time soon earned the dubious moniker of "murder bottles."

Anyway I thought Leia would be a little behind the times on infant feeding here, even if a commercial formula was available. The "percentage method" of making homemade infant formula became popular more around the turn-of-the-century, and I think this is where all the recipes for condensed milk with Karo syrup added are coming from.

Obviously safe infant sleep guidelines didn't exist back in the 1880's, and co-sleeping for the first few months was very common since homes weren't well-heated, but there were some really fascinating baby sleeper inventions that came out around this time, including hand-cranked rocking cribs, co-sleepers that hooked onto the sides of beds and prevented you from rolling over onto your baby (complete with boob cut-outs!), and a wild 4-in-1 rocker, bassinet, couch and fold-out bed. Also a crib that you literally hung out of a window but that was more of a 1920's thing lmao.

Did you know Han Solo's canon relationship with his dad was based on Bruce Springsteen's own father?

I don't have much more to say about the horrible events of this week, my heart is so broken. Columbine happened just before I started Kindergarten and here we are, as I'm about to finish fucking grad school. A grocery store I once sought shelter in from a bomb threat at my high school was the scene of a mass shooting ten years later. I don't know what else to say, besides I hope people stay angry this time, long enough for something to actually change.

To end on a lighter note, I just want to dedicate this chapter to my friend's 92-year-old grandma, who last summer was kind enough to tell me all about her childhood growing up in rural Nebraska, and who, after being on hospice for six months, getting kicked out for not dying, being sent to a dementia unit, and getting Covid, is now back in her own house and doing better than ever, and this week very happily listened to me monologue to her about Boston historical sites. You're a real one Grandma Liz.

Love you all, please take care of yourselves <3

Chapter 35

Notes:

CW: Baby blues.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

There's a thaw in mid-February.

The snow all melts and the streets run muddy for a few days, and then all is dry, and sunny, though the wind still carries a chill.

Rey takes to nursing Padmé near an open window, relishing in the fresh air on her face and in her lungs. She can tell Leia disapproves of the practice, but her mother-in-law has gotten better at holding her tongue. And she can hardly think the baby cold. Not with all the layers of swaddling and the fire constantly roaring nearby.

And Rey thinks Padmé likes it too. Her blue-green eyes stare out the window while she suckles, her gaze a little unfocused but oddly intent. Rey smiles at the little crease between her eyebrows. So serious, her baby.

The past few weeks have been a blur of fussing and nursing and sleep-deprived nights (and not a small amount of crying into Ben's chest for no reason at all), but when Rey has a moment to sit in the high-backed parlor chair and peer down at her daughter's face while they listen to the faint noise of the street, she feels as if a great balloon has swollen inside her chest. Adoration is too weak of a word. Besotted might come closer. She's never been so in love with someone.

Rey and Ben stay behind while Han and Leia and all the servants leave to attend church. For the first two Sundays Rey had truly been thankful she wasn't expected to go out in public, or to sit in an uncomfortable pew for an hour with a tiny baby. But Leia's ideas about the proper length of her confinement are starting to feel a bit stifling. Rey's certainly well enough to walk down the street now.

She lets herself wonder what she would be doing if they were back on the homestead. Surely she would have gone outside by now. Perhaps she would even be tending the chickens while she nursed, Padmé held on her hip with a long wrap, the same way immigrant women in the city did.

As soon as the front door closes behind the little Organa entourage, Rey lays Padmé in her bassinet and hurries out of the parlor and down the hall to find Ben. He's sitting at the desk, writing something, and when she swings the door in he startles, shoving a piece of paper under some cluttered odds and ends.

"Ben," Rey hisses, as if Leia might still be able to hear her. "Let's go on a walk."

Ben frowns.

"You're sure you feel up to–?"

"Yes," she says, stressing the word. "I'm quite enough recovered. Now go and fetch the pram, we've an hour and a half at most–"

The streets are quite empty at this time on the Sabbath, the only people they see by definition more disreputable than they are. It's freeing.

Rey takes a big breath, smiling at the sunlight on her face. She's sure her cheeks must be red with the wind, but she doesn't much care.

Still, she does have to admit that walking this far takes a bit of a toll. She has to stop a few times to catch her breath as they climb the hill on 9th Street. Ben holds the pram steady, resting his hand on her lower back.

"You alright?"

Rey nods, taking a deep breath and smiling down at where Padmé is wrapped up in blankets and a white cap, and a little sweater that Rey knitted before she was born, which positively swims on her despite its tiny size.

They pause at the top to look out over the hills. Ben bends to lift Padmé from the pram, holding her so she can look toward the mountains too, though it's a little doubtful she can actually see them. He supports her quite effortlessly, even one-handed, and she never looks smaller than when she's in his arms.

"This is the world, sweetpea," he murmurs, brushing his lips over their daughter's downy hair, bouncing her gently up and down.

It's a lovely little moment. The winter sky is bright and big and cold, and the horizon stretches before them for miles and miles, from snowy distant peaks to the edges of the dead prairie grass that lip up into shallow mesas out on the plains.

"Someday we'll have to take her to our picnic spot," Rey says, smiling at her two loves, feeling like her heart could burst.

Ben clears his throat.

"About that," he says, turning to lay Padmé back in the pram. "I've been meaning to ask you what… Well, when you'd–" He shakes his head. "Whether you'd like to go back to Red Cloud."

"Oh," Rey says, stopping short.

It really shouldn't take her by surprise. She ought to have been thinking about this for awhile now, all winter probably– what their next plans would be. But in truth she hasn't really considered it much at all.

At the beginning, it wasn't even a question. It was all she dreamed about, for the weeks that Ben was missing. Them returning triumphantly on the train, a little worse for wear, but together, and happy. Ready to rebuild, to see M'lady. To see Rose, and the other Damerons, and all the rest of the little town again.

But now it's– She's not sure when her fancy changed, but she can't quite imagine it anymore. Perhaps it's the practical side of her that objects. Are they really going to bring Padmé back to a burned-out homestead and live in the claim shanty again? She just can't wrap her head around it.

"You don't have to answer now," Ben says quickly in response to her long pause. "Lord knows I don't trust the trains 'til April at least. Just… think on it, would you?"

Rey nods silently.

They take the long way back, to avoid the church.

What would it look like, if they stayed here? Would they really live in Ben's parents' house forever? Always tip-toeing around Leia's rules? Confined to only a single room that is really their own?

But… she tries to imagine leaving her in-laws, perhaps not to see them for months, or years, or, if the worst should happen, perhaps ever again. Leia, who has been so kind to her and has tried so hard to make amends, and Han, in so many ways her savior, with his easy humor and his wild stories. And to take Ben away from his parents, after so long thinking them gone?

It's a difficult question, truly.

Rey and Ben are seated in the parlor and Padmé asleep again in her bassinet by the time everyone arrives back from church.

Their entrance is noisy as ever, Leia giving orders for luncheon and Han arguing with Threepio about something or other, but it brings a smile to Rey's face, even as Padmé startles at the commotion and begins to fuss.

Leia sweeps into the parlor, a look of slight contrition rising to her face when she notices the crying baby.

"Oh– very sorry, dear–" But she can't quite hide her grin. "I think you'll be pleased to hear, though– It's all settled, I discussed it with the company man at church today–"

"What is it, Mother?" Ben asks.

She beams at them.

"We're getting a telephone!"

A succession of storms delays the installation for several weeks. It's heavy snow, but it melts quickly, and once the roads are dry Ben is repeatedly called out on some business he doesn't fully explain. Rey can't quite find the energy to be very curious; Padmé seems to have been stricken with a bout of colic and Rey is bone tired from pacing their little room in the dead of the night, trying to soothe her.

She wakes close to noon one day to find the house empty and, apart from their bedroom, quiet.

Everyone's probably trying to escape the crying baby, Rey thinks grumpily, lifting her squalling daughter from the bed. This is perhaps a tad ungenerous; Leia does watch over her for a few hours every afternoon, so Rey can rest and tend to her own hygiene, but it's still hard, and Ben's absence is starting to rankle.

Padmé quiets after nursing, and Rey takes her to the parlor to lay her in the bassinet, where, miraculously, she goes right to sleep.

Despite having just woken up, Rey can feel her eyes sliding shut again. She ought to go find something to eat, but the quiet is so

There comes a sudden hammering.

Rey eyes snap wide, and she watches in horror as Padmé's face scrunches and she opens her mouth to start to scream.

"No," Rey says in despair, picking her up and walking in bouncing circles. "Shh, shh. No need to cry, darling. Mama's here, go back to sleep…"

But the hammering starts up again, and Rey's desperation melts into rage. Who is–

She follows the sound to the little pantry where the treadle sewing machine is housed, and finds a strange man bent over a box leaned against the wall. He looks around at the sound of Padmé crying.

"Who are you?" Rey asks bluntly.

"Oh, pardon me, Miss," he says, before his eyes drop to the baby in her arms. "Erm, Ma'am. I'm from the telephone company. Here to install the instrument, and connect it to the exchange." He clears his throat and sticks out his hand. "Vanden Willard, at your service."

Rey considers him through narrowed eyes; his arm falls limply back to his side.

"And must you make quite so much noise installing it, Mr. Willard?"

"Ah! Pardon me," he says again, retracting his arm. "The battery box is in place now, so I don't believe I'll–" Padmé takes a deep breath to let out another cry, and he falters, stroking his mustache thoughtfully. "If you'll pardon me, Ma'am, I've had a thought–"

He bends down to retrieve an odd box with a crank handle sticking out the side. He turns this, and there comes a grating, mechanical noise. Rey stares at him, nonplussed. Why, after she had just confronted him about the racket, would he make more–?

But he continues, and it's not more than a minute or so before Padmé's cries dwindle into nothingness, and the only sound that fills the small room is the constant, steady drone of the cranking device. Rey looks down and her daughter's eyelashes are fluttering over tear-stained cheeks.

"How did you–?"

"I have two little ones at home," he explains in an undertone, continuing his cranking.

Rey can feel a lump form in her throat.

"It's– almost a miracle," she says hoarsely, swallowing hard so she doesn't break down completely in front of this stranger.

He smiles kindly at her.

"You might keep it, you know. These generators are always getting their gears stuck tight, I'm replacing them a few times a week."

Rey blinks rapidly, returning a rather watery smile.

"Thank you, Mr. Willard. I'm– I'm awfully sorry, for being so rude earlier. I just– Well anyhow, I'm Mrs. Rey Solo. Pleased to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine," he says, nodding his head.

Rey returns to the parlor to deposit a sleeping Padmé back in the bassinet (laying the generator next to it on the floor) then wanders to the kitchen to finally find something to eat.

Mr. Willard finds her chewing on some bread and jam in the hall.

"It's all hooked up, Ma'am," he says. "If you'd like to see?"

Rey nods, her curiosity overtaking her. There'd been telephones in New York, of course, the dizzying network of overhead wires expanding to all stretches of the city even before she left. But she's never used one of the devices, and truth be told, she can't quite wrap her head around how it could possibly work.

The box that he was securing to the wall earlier has a pair of bells attached, along with another of the generators, its crank handle sticking out the side. And there's a funny, gaping metal piece mounted to the wood, which Rey presumes is for speaking into.

"Here's where you listen," Mr. Willard tells her, handing her an identical piece attached by a thin cable to the box. Rey holds it up to her ear. "Now I'll ring the office with the magneto generator, and they can transfer our call."

He turns the crank, making a tremendous whirring sound and causing the bells to ring, and then, after a few seconds, incredibly– impossibly– Rey hears a voice crackling through the instrument she holds to her ear.

"Hello?"

"G-greetings," Rey stammers, bending to be closer to the box. She glances at Mr. Willard. "Pardon, I don't know quite who I'd like to speak to."

"Try for the Tano residence," he suggests. "We only just connected them last week."

"The Tano residence," Rey says into the receiver, trying to enunciate as best she can. "If– if you please."

"Please hold."

There comes more whirring, and then the peal of distant bells ringing, and after a few moments a new voice comes faintly to her ear.

"What is wanted?"

"I'd like to speak to Mrs. Ahsoka Tano," Rey says, raising her voice slightly.

"You are speaking with her," comes the voice. "May I ask your name and business?"

"This is Mrs. Rey Solo," Rey says. "I haven't– we've just had our telephone installed, and I didn't know anyone else to call!"

There comes the tinny sound of laughter.

"That's quite alright, Mrs. Solo. I've been meaning to call– I mean, in person– to congratulate you and your husband."

"Oh, yes, thank you very much. We'd very much like to receive you!"

"Excellent–" The voice fluctuates weirdly, the sound of fizzing cutting off some words before it blooms back into audibility, "–class next week."

"Yes– YES– that sounds marvelous–" Rey finds herself shouting at the box on the wall. "We'll prepare to see you then–"

"–Latin–"

Rey looks uncertainly at Mr. Willard for assistance.

"I can't quite–" she says, holding out the earpiece to him.

He harrumphs, waving his hand, and then hangs up the receiver on its hook.

"Earth's too dry, I'll have to go pour some water on the grounding line."

"How does it work?" she asks curiously. "I mean, how can we possibly hear someone from so far away?"

Mr. Willard taps the metal piece on the box.

"There's a thin membrane in here, you see," he explains. "And it's backed by the element carbon. Your voice makes the membrane vibrate, and this changes how well the carbon transmits the electricity from the battery." He taps the box, which Rey presumes houses whatever battery he's speaking of. "So then the signal fluctuates in intensity, and travels along the wire to the exchange. At the other end, the receiver has an identical system that converts the signal back into sound with another membrane. It's all very simple once you understand it, really."

"Ah," Rey says, nodding. "I see. But you mentioned– what is the grounding line?"

"It's to complete the electrical circuit," he says. "The Earth is a good conductor, but only if it's wet enough to do so. We've had some problems, in a climate as dry as ours."

Rey nods again, fascinated. She has a hundred more questions.

But just as she opens her mouth, there comes the faint sound of crying from the parlor.

"Ah– I suppose I ought to go tend to her," she says. "Thank you for showing me."

"Of course, Mrs. Solo," he says kindly. "And my wife and I look forward to seeing you back in church soon."

It occurs to Rey that she might have indeed seen Mr. Willard there before, that she might have been rather distant and unfriendly in the months she and Ben have been here. Protecting herself against judgment that perhaps only exists in her imagination.

She's nursing Padmé by the time Leia returns, laden with a few parcels that must've come on the train.

"The telephone's all set," Rey tells her. "Mr. Willard is awfully nice."

"Yes, isn't he?" Leia replies. "Mrs. Willard had her most recent baby only a few months ago, you ought to be introduced…"

Rey leaves Padmé in the parlor with her, going back to lay in her bed and try to get a little more rest. She wakes to Ben gently shaking her, the soft smile on his scarred face making Rey forget her earlier annoyance with him.

"Time to eat soon, sweetheart," he murmurs, helping her sit up.

"Where's Padmé?" she asks groggily, but her question is answered almost immediately by a plaintive cry from down the hall.

"I'll get her," Ben says, making for the door.

"Would you also– there's a queer box with a crank next to her in the parlor, if you get could that too–?"

Ben returns with their red-faced and noisy daughter in his arms and the generator clutched in one large hand.

"What is it?"

"It's meant to be part of the telephone," Rey tells him, accepting her baby and raising her voice to be heard over the din. "But if you turn the handle–"

The loud grinding fills the room. Ben frowns at her in confusion and Padmé redoubles her screams.

"It worked to put her to sleep last time," Rey says doubtfully after a few long moments.

"Think she's just hungry," Ben says. Rey nods and opens her gown, fitting a nipple into a squalling mouth. And for a moment, at least, there's silence. But sooner than she would like, Padmé pops off to continue her protestation. Despite her nap, Rey's earlier exhaustion slowly creeps back in.

She hardly listens during supper while Leia tells them about the new telephones installed in various WCTU member's houses, distracted by the faint sound of cries from down the hall (an unfortunate Miss Sixe having taken over the supervision of the baby.)

"–this way we can get the political news from Denver the same day. They even managed to extend the exchange out to some of the further flung homesteads, using the barbed wire! What a time we live in–"

The crying seems to strengthen as soon as they return to their bedroom. Rey offers Padmé her breast, checks for damp in her diaper, then walks the circuit of their little room a dozen times, bouncing her on her hip, all to no avail.

"Reckon we oughta call for the doctor?" Ben asks. "We got the telephone now…"

"I don't know," Rey says, on the verge of tears. "But first, can we just try– Just once more–?"

Ben picks up the generator again, looking very skeptical. His fingers are almost comically large around the handle while he turns it.

The sound is like a coffee-grinder, a loud, clunky whirring as the gears fight to turn. Rey has no idea why it would work to soothe an infant, or indeed, how Mr. Willard would have known that it would. But she supposes he's simply had more time to try anything to get the screaming to stop.

"Lord Almighty," Ben breathes. "You were right."

Rey looks down. Her daughter's face is still half-pinched and angry, but her mouth is going slack, her cries dying down to sniffles. She bounces her a few more times and then, as carefully as if she were handling a live explosive, Rey lowers Padmé into the cradle beside their bed, holding her breath while Ben continues turning the crank.

"Guess I'll just turn this the whole night," Ben whispers.

Rey chuckles, her laugh turning immediately into a half-sob of relief.

Despite having slept a good portion of the day, Rey is quite ready to turn in. Whatever the state of her sleep now, Padmé will still be up in a few hours to nurse; Rey ought to try to get whatever rest she can in the meantime.

She frowns while she dons her nightgown, rubbing at her prickling breasts. Another side effect of Padmé's constant crying has been a persistent fullness in her teats, ready to nourish even when that's not what's actually needed.

She looks up to catch Ben watching her, even as he keeps up the groaning din.

"Do you, erm–" He glances away and back again, slightly bashful. "D'you need help?"

Rey considers it. Padmé is a greedy eater, but she's never actually drained both breasts fully during a feeding.

"Don't take too much," she tells Ben seriously. "And don't you dare stop cranking."

Ben nods quickly, sitting forward on the edge of the bed, watching her like a hawk as she pulls open the front of her nightgown. Her nipples both leak a little, thin rivulets of milk running down her chest.

It's a little awkward to position herself so he can put his mouth at her tit (while maintaining a steady turn of the generator between them) but eventually Ben seals his lips around her right nipple and gives a firm, but gentle, suck.

Rey inhales sharply. It's always a bit of a queer sensation, but his draw is stronger than Padmé's, and it's been so long since they've had any physical intimacy between them.

Ben only takes a few scant mouthfuls before he pops off, his tongue cleaning her of any lingering drops.

"You taste different now," he murmurs, almost too quietly to be heard over the generator.

It's true her milk has changed, becoming creamier and whiter, more akin to cow's milk than the golden elixir she was producing during her pregnancy.

"How so?" she asks softly.

Ben thinks for a moment.

"Sweeter," he says. "Less salty."

He moves slightly away from her, and Rey can't stop the disappointed hum that escapes her mouth.

"Oh– I mean– you may as well do the other one–"

She can feel the curve of his grin against her breast as he finds her other nipple. He takes his time with this one, drawing it out between his lips, suckling little half-draws so he gets mere droplets at a time.

Rey's a little breathless by the time he pops off again. It's much too soon to think of doing that again, not with her cunt in the state that it's in, but all the same…

"Best get some rest," Ben tells her. She shivers a little as she pulls herself out of her daydream and gets into bed, rolling on her side to look down at Padmé in the cradle, sleeping peacefully like she's never known a moment's discontent.

The steady groan of the generator fills Rey's dreams.

The following week sees Rey loitering a good deal in the servant's pantry instead of the parlor. She brings Padmé to sit on her lap and marvels at the telephone (when Leia isn't using it), which rings rather spuriously throughout the day. At first she would inform the operator of the wrong connection and hang up, but after a time she's realized that she often is connected along with the other line to the correct destination. Covering the mouthpiece so the sound of her breathing (or a baby crying) might not come through on the other side, she eavesdrops on all manner of conversation. Business discussions, delivery requests. Sometimes in English, sometimes in other languages entirely. It's nice to hear other voices. It helps her to feel less lonely.

For Rey is lonely. Trapped mostly inside, unable to move far from her baby in case she cries, or is hungry, or wets herself, or spits up…

Is this what staying in Boulder will look like? She's pondered the question of whether they should leave, though Ben hasn't brought it up again. He's absent today, gone when she awoke, and Rey finds it hard to push down the resentment this causes her. He's free to go about, while she

But what use would he be to their baby here, what could he provide, apart from a source of conversation and a hand to turn the crank when Padmé starts to fuss?

And would Rey not be more lonely back in Red Cloud, out in the country, on a half-burned homestead five miles from town, with no telephone and no help at all?

She dangles the cord for the receiver above Padmé's head where she rests in Rey's lap, nestled between her thighs. Padmé at least has been resting slightly easier, since they began using the generator to lull her to sleep, and seems in a better mood during the day.

"This is a telephone, darling," she tells her while Padmé blinks up at the cord. "We use it to speak to people far away. Of course, by the time you're able to use it, it'll be quite old news…"

She pauses, thinking about what Padmé's adolescence and young adulthood will look like. What inventions she'll see, how the world will change.

What a bright and terrifying thing, the future.

There's a sudden ring from the bell at the front door.

Rey shifts to pick Padmé off her lap, balancing her on her hip while she stands. She can hear Mr. Threepio answering the door, and then Leia's voice cries loudly– "Mrs. Tano!"

Oh! Of course! She did say she would come to call…

She carries Padmé to the parlor, beaming as Mrs. Tano comes into view.

"Ah! Here she is…" Leia says. "And little Padmé, of course."

"What a little dear," Mrs. Tano says, smiling at her. "My hearty congratulations to you and Mr. Solo."

"I'm afraid he isn't here at the moment," Rey says, mostly managing to keep the bitterness out of her tone. "But I'll pass along the message."

They sit down to tea, and Padmé is so calm that Rey is certain that Mrs. Tano must consider her among the easiest of babies.

"...telephone's already been a great deal of help," Leia says. "I'm quite taken with it. I was able to start drafting a new letter much sooner than I would have been otherwise, with you and Mrs. Wren able to relay messages from the capitol building…"

"I do think Ransolm Casterfo will come around," Mrs. Tano says thoughtfully. "With the new age cut-off of sixteen in the language of the bill…"

Leia glances sideways at Rey, but Rey just smiles blandly. It's not– when she really considers the subject– well, she really doesn't think sixteen is so unreasonable an age for them to propose for their legislation. Perhaps she's a hypocrite, having engaged in licentious activities younger than that herself, but supposing the man were less scrupulous than Ben, or outright malicious, as was the farmhand who had gotten Mrs. Dameron with child…

And to have a baby to take care of, all on one's own? It's difficult for her now, and at as tender an age as Rey had been in the orphanage, when she was given an infant she was ill-equipped to care for? Surely the mother and the baby both suffer, if the girl is not yet grown…

"Oh! I've almost forgotten–" Mrs. Tano reaches into her satchel to pull out a leather-bound tome and holds it out to Rey. "This was the reader I told you about."

Rey looks at her blankly.

"Pardon?"

"On the telephone last week."

"Oh." Rey laughs. "The connection was so bad, I only heard you say you were coming to teach your Latin class."

"Of course there's room for improvement in any new technology," Leia says primly.

Rey takes the book.

"It's a beginner primer," Mrs. Tano tells her. "But I think it always helps to go back to the essentials, and to have for reference, of course."

"Thank you," Rey says, blinking back a sudden rush of emotion. She's been too tired as of late to do any serious reading, and in any case her reading of the Aeneid would be rather difficult without Ben around to ask questions. "This is– I'm very grateful."

"Of course," Mrs. Tano says kindly. "And you're welcome to come to one of my classes someday, when you're able."

"That sounds wonderful," Rey smiles.

Rey returns to church the following Sunday, a full six weeks since Padmé's birth. Leia insists on purchasing her a new dress for the occasion, which is still rather loose in the waist but is better suited to a formal outing than a tea gown would be.

Ben holds Padmé during the service, and perhaps it's a testament to God's mercy that she doesn't cry once. Rey smiles at the both of them, Ben handsome in his suit and Padmé all bundled in her white infant dress. She spots Mr. Willard from across the room and waves, and when the sermon is over he brings his family over to their pew.

"This is Mr. Willard," Rey tells Ben. "He installed the telephone."

"Ah," Ben says, tucking Padmé into the crook of his arm and sticking out his other hand to shake. "Guess it's you we oughta thank for helping out with the colic."

"I'm glad it's worked," Mr. Willard says. "We had our share, Lord knows. This is my wife, Tala. And little Gideon, and Morgan."

Mrs. Willard is a pretty woman, with something of an ageless face. She holds an infant in her arms who looks at them with wide eyes. A tiny girl totters behind her, clutching at her skirts.

"Pleased to meet you," Mrs. Willard says. "I was sorry to hear of your troubles, but you know, I think they're all prone to a bit of colic in the first few weeks."

"It's not so bad now," Rey says. "The noise of the generator helps her sleep, I think."

Mrs. Willard nods.

"Yes, it soothes them for some reason…"

By the time they've finished their conversation Leia and Han have departed with the servants, leaving Rey and Ben to walk back alone with the pram.

It's a fine spring morning. Still brisk but with a verve in the air. Rey breathes deeply and feels utterly unburdened, like she could laugh at anything. The Willards have a telephone too (of course) and Mrs. Willard promised to ring her so they might arrange to have the children play together.

It's nice, having something to look forward to. Like emerging from a dark pool of water, and realizing that there is still light.

Ben hums happily while Rey explains the new Latin primer that Mrs. Tano had given her.

"Real sorry I haven't helped you much with the Aeneid," he tells her. "It's good to have another reference, of course, but we can start again, if you're keen on it…"

Rey nods.

"Yes! I'd– I think I'd like to not neglect my studies entirely, you know. Even now that Padmé is here…"

She glances to her right and sees that Ben is several paces behind, having stopped suddenly in his tracks. He stares off into the distance at a knot of men down the street.

"What–?"

He breaks his gaze, glancing over at her.

"Ah– you go ahead home, sweetheart. Real sorry, but there's someone I gotta speak to–"

He strides off in a hurry, without waiting for a response.

Rey wilts a little. He's leaving again–?

The rest of the journey back to the house ought to have been pleasant. Distantly Rey registers birds singing, and a gentle breeze, but her giddy bubble is punctured now. She stares at the cracks in the boardwalk as she pushes the pram over them, chewing her lip and wondering what business Ben could possibly have on a Sunday.

The gate in the front is unlatched and she has to reach to push it open in order to get the bulk of the pram through. It's so much more difficult to do on her own. Just like all the rest…

"You. Girl."

Rey pauses at a gruff voice that calls to her from the street, turning to look.

It's an old man, grizzled, with unkempt hair and a rather wild expression. He looks thin, and haggard. Possibly the end stages of consumption.

"Yes?" Rey asks politely. He doesn't seem like a danger, but her grip tightens on the pram handle all the same.

He looks her up and down, and then again, like her very presence puzzles him.

"You the Organas' maid, then?" he asks after a pause.

"No," she says, slightly affronted. "I'm their daughter-in-law."

She frowns at the man suspiciously, already upset and in no mood to extend him additional niceties. She shoves the gate open harder, pushing the pram up the walk to the front door. He doesn't say anything further, or react to her rude exit. When she glances back he's merely looking at her, his expression hard to read from this distance.

She snaps the door shut and peers out through the diamond-cut glass set above the knocker. The man is now gazing up at the second story windows, and then higher, at the twin chimneys that crown the roof. He seems to heave a sigh, and then ambles away.

The whole encounter leaves Rey with the oddest sense of foreboding.

She watches him until he disappears down the street.

Notes:

Hello again!

Once again I apologize for the long wait between chapters. I've been filling prompts for the Reylo Abortion Fund Drive, and also participated in the Reylo Warm Milk Collection (and have also been writing my thesis lmaooo.)

I owe the idea for this chapter to my irl colleague who sent me this article about how barbed wire allowed telephone connections in sparsely populated areas of the West.

Alexander Graham Bell patented the telephone in 1876, and by 1880 there were over 49,000 telephones in the United States. Denver had a telephone exchange by 1879, and by 1881 there was a line that connected the network to Boulder. This article summarizes the early telephone days in Colorado, but it heavily cites a 1928 The Colorado Magazine article that was written by a man who was employed by the telephone office in the 1880s. I would highly recommend reading this second article if you have time; it's pretty short, and it's a very colorful first-hand account of the Wild West of telephony. This is where I got the description of the magneto generators sounding like "coffee-mills" and the necessity of pouring water on the grounding line in dry weather.

Mr. Willard's explanation of how phones work is about as far as I understand it, but if you want a more detailed explanation, you can find the basic science here. I was a little confused about when exactly switchboards came into use, and how they interacted with shared party lines, so it might be inaccurate but I was a little too attached to Rey listening in on other people's conversations. Additionally, the actual components of telephones were changing a lot at this time, but the Organa telephone basically has an open battery contained in a box (these were prone to leaking battery salts down people's walls), a microphone, a receiver, and a hand-cranked magneto generator attached to two bells, which would be used to ring the central office. It still has a single iron wire to connect to the exchange (which is why it has to be grounded to complete the circuit); around this time, the two-wire telephone circuit was invented, which gave a clearer connection, but I thought it would take a while to catch on everywhere. Also, apparently the classic desktop surface attached to the telephone was invented in Denver, who knew.

This chapter might actually have the first historically accurate "hello" in this story. This word was actually not in widespread use until the 1880's, when it was included in telephone manuals as an appropriate greeting to be used over the line. (The other option was "What is wanted?" which obviously fell out of favor lol.) Thomas Edison was responsible for this inclusion, and went against the wishes of Alexander Graham Bell, who was in favor of using the term "Ahoy."

I know this chapter was kind of a bummer for Rey, but I wanted to keep to a slightly believable postpartum experience. Things will pick up next chapter, I promise. I haven't been particularly accurate with her confinement period (I found this 1887 version of What to Expect When You're Expecting, which indicated that, on average, a woman would not be expected to get out of bed until 9 days after birth) but I did read that 4-6 weeks of being homebound was common before returning to church, so *~historically accurate-ish~*. Lol.

Here is the Latin primer I thought Ahsoka would use.

Also, by no means is the baby sweater historically accurate, but I just knitted one for my friend's new baby, and I wanted to include it.

Lastly, if you or anyone you know needs to seek an abortion, I have compiled a bunch of resources on how to safely (and privately) seek an abortion under our current political hellscape. It's going to stay on Anon, but I've been trying to get the fic into a bunch of different AO3 tags so more people can see it, so if you're at all interested in anonymously contributing a short drabble of a non-Reylo pairing talking about reproductive rights, please DM me on Twitter!

Thanks for reading, love you all!

Chapter 36

Notes:

CW: Awkward and somewhat painful post-partum sex. A whole bunch of niche Gilded Age pedestrianism terms that the author will not explain until the end notes.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The light is soft when Rey wakes up. Not the lilac dim of pre-dawn, nor the too-bright squint of near-noon. No, it’s simply morning, and as Rey stretches she tries to put a finger on the queer feeling that’s come over her.

Well-rested. That’s it. That’s how she feels.

Her stomach suddenly drops and she rolls over to look into the bassinet, but Padme is right where she ought to be, her eyes still closed, little mouth agape, and Rey can see the gentle rise and fall of her tiny chest. She sighs in relief.

“Ben,” she whispers, nudging blindly behind her.

“Mmph?”

“I think she slept through the night.”

“Mmm…”

A giant hand reaches out to pull her toward the center of the mattress, and Rey has to bite back breathy giggles as whiskery kisses are pressed to the back of her neck.

“‘S a miracle,” Ben says in her ear, his deep voice still thick with sleep.

Rey wiggles under the covers to slot closer to him, humming happily when he half-smothers her with his arm and tucks her against his chest.

There’s something nudging her lower back. She frowns, confused, until she shifts against it and Ben grunts.

“Sorry,” he says, angling his hips away.

Oh, it’s his…

“Do you… do you want to—?” Rey asks uncertainly.

They haven’t, not since Padme was born. At first Rey was too weak, and in such a state that the prospect was not desirable at all, and then the prolonged exhaustion of the colic had hit, but, perhaps now, if Padme stays asleep a while longer…

“I don’t wanna hurt you, sweetheart,” Ben says, brushing his lips over the sleep-loosened braids in her hair.

“You might not,” Rey reasons. “But in any case, we’d have to— we’ll have to try eventually, won’t we?”

“S’pose so,” Ben replies, and Rey isn’t sure if this means he’s in agreement or not, but the next moment his mouth has moved to the shell of her ear, and he traces down to the lobe with the edges of his teeth.

Rey sucks in a quick breath and he chuckles softly; he knows she likes that.

“You want Papa to play with you, sweetheart?” he asks her, leaving her ear lobe to lave at her neck, sucking a little too hard at a spot just below her jaw. He rucks up her nightgown so he can drag his hand along her thigh, pausing at her curls to trace the sensitive inner creases of her legs with his fingertips. “Make you all wet so you can take him again?”

“Mm-hmm,” Rey sighs, arching against him, urging his fingers closer to where she wants them, whining a little when he bites possessively at her neck. He teases her a bit with a too-light touch, but then he shifts and she can feel his cock, hot and heavy against her bottom, and this adds more to her anticipation. “I’ve missed you, Papa.”

And maybe there’s more to her words than just the long absence of intercourse, but Ben slots himself between her soaked lips and Rey bites back whatever additional meaning there might have been, moaning softly as he rubs himself against her clitoris. She has missed this, being so close to him, being filled up, being whole

A hand comes up to cup her breast and Rey flinches, a hiss escaping her lips.

“Oh,” Ben says, releasing her. “Real sorry—”

“It’s O.K.,” Rey says, rubbing gingerly at her full, tender teat. She supposes that’s one downside to the long lull between feedings…

“We don’t have to—”

“No, just maybe don’t touch—”

Ben nods against her neck, mouthing the skin there, and Rey closes her eyes, trying to recapture the feeling from a few moments earlier. Her breasts prickle distractingly, but he’s there at her entrance, his hand back to drawing little circles around and around her clitoris—

The first press of his cock inside her is slow, and so very careful, but Rey still has to bite down on her lip to keep herself from crying out from the sharp pain. It’s— has he always been quite so big—?

“You alright?” Ben asks, his voice strained.

“Mm-hmm,” Rey responds, not trusting herself to say more than that. Perhaps if she doesn’t move from her current position it will all be—

He pulls back to thrust again, and this time Rey can’t contain her sharp intake of breath. Ben stills.

“We don’t—”

“Keep going,” Rey says through gritted teeth. She wants this to— she needs this to be O.K., to be able to have that same intimacy again, that same shared pleasure between them—

“Sweetheart—”

There comes the sound of some commotion from the hallway outside their little room, and a pair of muffled voices that become more and more audible as they grow closer.

“—if they don’t breakfast soon we’ll miss the train—”

“—can’t just go barging in, Princess—”

“—well I certainly can’t, you knock—”

There comes a reluctant series of raps on the door.

“Erm, Ben? Rey? Your mother wants to know whether you’ll be coming soon—”

Ben stifles a pained groan, and in a different mindset she might have found it comical, how quickly he goes soft inside her.

“In a minute, Pops…” he calls, pulling free.

Padme, presumably startled by all the loud noises, chooses that moment to begin to scream.

Leia scolds Han on the other side of the door. “Now look, you’ve woken the baby—”

Rey sits up, staring blankly at the wall for a long moment. Is this the end of it, then? Is she never to enjoy the act of fucking again?

Padme squalls in the bassinet and Ben reaches over to touch Rey’s elbow.

“You O.K.?”

Rey nods silently, bending to pick up her baby and cradle her to her chest, opening her nightgown so she can quiet her with a leaking nipple.

“Why don’t you get dressed?” Ben tells her while he pulls on his trousers. “I’ll go get us somethin’ to eat.”

When Padme is finished and dozing again, Rey buttons up her new gown over the Emancipation Suit, then stands before the mirror to pin up her hair, brushing out the rag curls in her fringe. She rubs cold cream on her skin and pinches at her cheeks, contemplating her own reflection. Her face is fuller than it used to be; she wonders if this is changed forever too.

Ben brings back two bowls of porridge and some ham, and they eat in a hurry, rushing to swaddle Padme in her wraps as Leia makes increasingly noisy preparations in the foyer.

“Oh, thank heavens,” she says when they emerge. “We may need extra time with the pram on the platform, it’s best we were going now I think…”

The pram does indeed prove unwieldy to lift up the stairs. Ben walks backwards while Han lifts from the bottom, and then thirty minutes later they lift it over the gap onto the passenger car; Rey carries Padme behind them and hopes for the sake of their fellow passengers that she doesn’t find train travel to be too distressing.

“Glad we rushed,” Han says mildly from the seat ahead of them. Rey looks out the window while Leia snarks back.

Spring has tentatively come into its lovely bloom. The prairies and pastures that rush past are lush and green, and even from the train Rey can see the swooping of birds between long stands of grasses and the first dusting of leaves on the trees in the hollows.

They stop a dozen times at other depots along the way, and then they’re chugging through the outskirts of Denver, fields turning to lots, buildings growing closer and closer together, until they pull into a grand station with a tall clock tower.

“Union Depot!” the porter on the platform calls.

The crowds near the station are large, quite a few more people than Rey expected. Too many to all stay on the boardwalks and so the throng spills over into the muddy streets, all talking eagerly, laughing and hollering to each other.

In spite of her rather wretched morning Rey is as susceptible to the infectious atmosphere as anyone, and Ben catches her with a grin on her face as they battle their way through the masses, using the pram as something of a battering ram.

“Excited, sweetheart?”

She nods enthusiastically, careful to keep her eye on Padme, but their baby is hazily watching the goings-on around them, a crease between her brow like she quietly disapproves of the ruckus.

“I mean, I know they all say the fad is passed now that the Astley belt is fully won, but surely the records will continue to be set? Why, if it’s increased by a hundred miles in only ten years, just think what it’ll be in another ten, or even twenty–!”

“I don’t imagine we’ll ever truly see the backs of the pedestrians,” Han proclaims.

Even Leia looks excited, though Rey knows the match is not her main object in Denver.

“We went to see Weston off, do you remember, Benny?” She’s twisted nearly backward to see Ben’s reaction. “When he walked all that way to Lincoln’s inauguration…”

“Ah, no…” Ben shakes his head. His gaze is on the pram, but it’s unseeing. “No, I was already down in Kansas by then.”

“No,” Leia says, frowning. “No, surely not…”

But she frowns harder and then turns abruptly to keep walking.

With a jolt Rey remembers that Ben never came back once he went to Kansas. She sadly watches the back of her mother-in-law’s head as they make their way toward the venue. Her outfit is impeccable as always, and mindful of the day’s activities. The feathers on her elaborately decorated hat blow gently in the air as she moves.

Han pays their fifty cent entrance fees and then they’re inside. Rey stares up at the canvas ceiling, then around at all the people lining the walls in riser seats, taking it all in. The tanbark extends in two concentric tracks in the middle of the space, and Rey guesses they both measure far less than 1/6 of a mile. It’s certainly not so grand as the Madison Square Garden, but she supposes they are still on the frontier.

She can see the pedestrians already at their sport, as they have been for the past five days. She can tell it’s near the end, based on how haggard they both look. One man staggers along, sweating profusely, while the other walks in a manner slightly reminiscent of a corpse.

Han is ahead of them, pushing people not too gently aside to make room for the pram, until they stop near the edge of the track where there’s a smaller canvas tent.

There’s a colored man sitting on a rickety-looking chair there, scribbling something with a pencil in a little book he holds on his lap, paying little attention to what’s going on with the walkers. To Rey’s immense surprise, Han leans over and pushes his shoulder, ruining his last mark.

“You call this a venue?”

“You got a lotta guts—”

The man turns, his indignant face such that for a moment Rey is certain that Han is about to be hit. But then his mustache twitches, and his scowl widens into a grin. He stands from the spindly chair to clap Han on the back.

“Good to see ya, good to see ya! How you doin’, you old pirate?”

“Real good, real good…”

“Hello, Lando,” Leia says.

He turns his head to look at her and when he speaks again his voice has gone very smooth, almost oily.

“Hello, Princess.”

“Alright,” Han grumbles.

“You still married to this loser?”

“Seems so,” Leia replies, her eyes sparkling.

The man—Lando— looks over to Ben and Rey, his eyes growing wide when he takes in Ben’s height.

“Well now, can this really be little Benny?” He looks Ben up and down. “Heard you came back from the dead.”

“S’pose I did,” Ben said. “Trait runs in the family, seems like.”

Lando laughs, throwing his head back.

“You’re right about that. And who do we have here?” He grins at Rey; she thinks he must have been quite as handsome as Han, back in the day.

Rey sticks out her hand.

“Mrs. Rey Solo,” she tells him as they shake. “Pleased to meet you.”

“You’re right about the venue,” Lando tells Han, sitting back in the spindly chair. “Tried to book the new Mining and Industrial Expo, but it won’t be ready till August, can you believe it?”

There’s a roar from the surrounding crowd. Rey squints at the gaslit track and sees one of the contestants has fallen; attendants rush out to escort him to the nearby tent.

“Shameful,” Lando says, shaking his head. “Neither of them are on course to get more than three-hundred miles apiece.”

“But that’s hardly anything!” Rey exclaims before she can stop herself. “Why, the record’s more than 550!”

“You’ll have to forgive Rey,” Han chuckles. “She was at the fifth Astley Belt, and surely nothing can compare with that.” He turns to her. “You’re out in the goonies now, kid. We don’t get pedestrians like that out here.”

They settle in to watch. Ben finds Rey and Leia a rough hewn bench to sit on, though he remains standing himself, looming protectively over the pram. Rey watches the remaining contestant with rapt attention, judging his form. Surely he hasn’t been dragging his feet like that this whole time…

She never thought she’d look fondly back at any part of her life in New York, but she must admit the pedestrianism matches had been a balm, a distraction from the hard days and nights of factories and cold and filth. She usually couldn’t afford a ticket to anything, but the newspapers carried hour by hour updates of the most high profile six-days. The other street urchins would play at pedestrians, walking importantly around empty lots on hand-drawn tracks, dreaming about meeting the real athletes someday.

She’d found a ticket in the dirt outside the fifth Astley Belt, the year before the orphan train had taken her West. At the time, it might have been the most marvelous event in her short life.

They purchase a lunch from the vendors lining one side of the hall, hawking all manner of things— apples, roasted peanuts, soda water, pickled sheep’s tongues, eggs, clam chowder, coffee, liquor. She glances back to see if Leia has noticed (a little surprised Leia hasn’t left by now, considering how eager she was to get out the door that morning) but the older woman is laughing at something Lando is saying.

Rey finds a rack of commemorative photographs of some of the more famous athletes, but she can’t decide which one she likes.

“Frank Hart was always my favorite,” she tells Ben, “But then of course Rowell has the belt and the record, but, I don’t know, aren’t O’Leary and Weston really to be admired for the years and years they’ve been walking? What would pedestrianism be, without them?”

“You might get them all,” Ben suggests.

“No, no, I couldn’t…”

But Ben is already handing the money to the proprietor of the little stall, and then plucking the photographs from their confines.

While Rey eats she nurses Padme, who has begun to fuss, and then deposits her back in the pram so she can more closely examine the photographs.

“Here’s Weston,” she tells Leia, handing her the card. “Who’s your favorite, Ben?”

“Mm,” Ben demures. “Not sure I ever understood the appeal of watching a person walk in circles for days on end…”

Rey turns in her seat to glare at him.

“It’s an astonishing feat of human endurance!”

“In the service of gambling,” Ben says. “And all the races are hippodromed now anyway.”

Lando looks over, quite as incensed as Rey.

“You’ve been reading the wrong newspapers, sonny. They’d have everyone think it’s all a wash now that Rowell’s clinched the Astley. Terrible for business.”

“Returns that bad?” Han asks.

“Why do you think I’m in Denver?” Lando asks with a wry smile. “Anyhow, I’m thinking of concocting my own belt to drum up interest— the Calrissian Belt, how does that sound?”

A brass band at the opposite end of the hall starts to play, and Rey can see that the downed pedestrian has returned to the track. He waves at the crowd and resumes his hobbling. Rey claps, whooping.

“At least he’s gotten back up,” she says to Leia, pointedly ignoring Ben. “Even if he’s almost no chance of making up the difference…”

Leia is silent, and when Rey looks over she’s shocked to see that her mother-in-law’s face is pale, and her eyes are very red.

“Do you need some air?” Rey asks her, deeply concerned; she’s never seen Leia lose her composure like this.

Leia shakes her head weakly.

“I’m alright, dear, I— I ought to be off now anyway…”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, you’ll miss the match…”

“It’s alright,” Rey reassures her. “I’d— I’d like to see the vote.”

But as she stands her eyes fall on Padme, asleep and angelic in the pram, and she falters. Of course she won’t be able to bring a baby to a meeting of the state legislature…

“I can watch her,” Ben says. “You go ahead.”

Rey nods, taking Leia’s arm in her own to navigate toward the exit. But she can’t help looking back over her shoulder as they leave. She’s never been more than a few rooms distant from her daughter before…

“It’s nothing but an old woman’s temperament,” Leia tells her, shaking her head and dabbing a handkerchief at her eyes. “You’ll have to forgive me.”

Rey can see she’s still clutching the photograph of Weston in her hand.

“Was he very astonishing, when you saw him?” she asks, nodding at the card.

Leia nods.

“Quite,” she says, hiccuping. “Only I hadn’t— I hadn’t realized how long it’s been. Twenty years now…”

This must be about Ben, Rey realizes. If he left before Weston ever walked…

Rey tries to imagine not seeing Padme for twenty years. It makes her heart clench, makes her turn her head back toward the building they’ve just left, with half a mind to return.

She can think of nothing to say to comfort Leia, nothing to say to assuage this tragedy. What an awful lot of time lost, what an awful lot of their lives gone.

Instead she stops their slow, peripatetic progress, and, before she can think better of it, pulls Leia into her arms.

The older woman is rather stiff, but as Rey holds on, squeezing her slightly tighter, she starts to soften, to sag against the embrace. Rey feels rather than hears her sob.

She’s not sure how long they stand there, but eventually a knot of pedestrianism fans exits the hall behind them and they break apart.

“Oh, goodness, I must look a fright!” Leia exclaims waterily, dabbing at her eyes again and pinching her cheeks.

“You always look perfect,” Rey tells her.

“You’re kind, dear,” Leia says, patting at her own hat. Her tone is more measured now, returning to her regular, businesslike clip. “But I supposed there’s no time to fret, all that hurrying and now we’re likely to be late!”

The state legislature is in a less impressive building than Rey had imagined it would be. There’s a gaggle of ladies standing outside, some of whom Rey recognizes from the WCTU meetings, but many more she doesn’t know at all.

“Did you make it alright?” one of them asks Leia. “There’s an unusual number of people about, all for that dreadful pedestrianism match.”

“Hmm,” Leia says. “Oh yes, we made it fine.”

“Good,” the lady sniffs. “I can’t imagine what sort of mischief that crowd will get up to once it’s over…”

“Drunken hooliganry, I imagine,” another lady pipes up.

“I might have been for the sport of walking,” a third says thoughtfully. “Ada Anderson certainly made a show of the good that exercise can do for women, if only she hadn’t walked on Sundays…”

Rey bites her tongue to keep from saying anything, but, to her surprise, Leia speaks to contradict them.

“Weston is a teetotaler, you know,” she says, quirking her brow. “I don’t believe we can write off all pedestrians…”

The door opens and Mrs. Holdo emerges.

“There you are, Leia,” she says. “I believe we’re coming up on the vote…”

They all file in after her, talking quietly amongst themselves, and Rey can hear someone speculating about the WCTU sponsoring a pedestrianism match, "provided the walks only take place in dry venues…"

The hall inside is stuffy and cramped, and Rey can see the state representatives at their desks, facing the speaker. They climb to a balcony to find standing room only for spectators.

“Wish they’d break ground on the Capitol building already,” Mrs. Holdo grumbles, shooing someone out of her seat.

Rey finds herself leaning against a wall, her view partially blocked by a number of ladies’ hats, one with a full stuffed bird on the rim.

“Mrs. Solo, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

It’s Miss Rippon, also looking rather squashed by the press of other bodies.

“I decided to tag along,” Rey smiles.

“We’re glad to have you,” Miss Rippon squeezes her hand.

The other ladies converse quietly, some craning their heads to see what the men on the floor are doing.

“I heard you’ve taken an interest in Mrs. Tano’s Latin class,” Miss Rippon says conversationally.

“Yes, I’ve been reading the primer she brought me,” Rey says. “But I haven’t been to her class yet, I’m afraid.”

Miss Rippon nods.

“I imagine it must be difficult to get away…” The other woman considers her, and Rey shifts awkwardly in her shoes. “You might still matriculate at the University, you know. Maybe not this year, or even the next. But you’re young. You have time.”

It’s the first Rey’s heard someone tell her she’s young like it’s a positive thing.

The sound of a gavel echoes in the chamber.

“We move onto the reading of House Bill 143, sponsored by Mr. R. Casterfo.”

There’s a pause punctuated by people shifting in their seats and a few thundering coughs.

“An Act to amend the Colorado Penal Code and the Code of Criminal Procedure.

“Whereas, it is expedient to amend the Colorado Penal Code the Code of Criminal Procedure, it is hereby enacted as follows:

“Colorado Penal Code. 1. In section 375 of the Colorado Penal Code, in the clause marked Fifthly and in the Exception, the word ‘ten’ shall be substituted for the word ‘sixteen.’

“Code of Criminal Procedure. 2. After section 560 of the Code of Criminal Procedure, this following shall be added, namely: 1) Notwithstanding anything in this Code, no Magistrate except a Chief Presidency Magistrate of District Magistrate shall— a) take cognizance of the offense of rape where the sexual intercourse was by a man with his wife, or b) commit the man for trial for the offense…”

The speaker drones on and on. Rey has trouble parsing some of the language. This has been what Leia has been drafting for so long?

“We now hold HB 143 to a vote.”

The speaker goes down a long list of names, and the resounding votes echo nearly as much as the gavel in the cramped space.

“Nay.”

“Aye.”

“Nay.”

“Nay.”

“Nay.”

The gavel pounds again.

“HB 143 does fail.”

There seems to be a collective sigh of disappointment from the ladies in the gallery, and then they start to move toward the staircase. Rey catches a few angry snippets of conversation, but she’s battling against the current toward Leia, who is near the front of the box. Her mother-in-law catches her hand, and together they look down at the assembly below.

“I thought it would pass,” Rey says uncertainly. She has the queerest sense of disappointment; what had all that work been for?

“It was always a long-shot,” Leia tells her. “But it’s no matter, dear. We’ll try again.”

Mrs. Holdo is speaking with another woman nearby, and they appear to be waiting to pull Leia into the conversation.

“I’d better head back,” Rey says. Her breasts are prickling, and she knows she’ll need to feed Padme again soon.

“Shall I come with you?”

“No, no,” she reassures her. “That’s quite alright. It’s only a short walk, and you’re needed here.”

She can tell something has happened with the pedestrian race once she emerges back onto the street. The avenues near the walking venue are full of people, and there’s a heightened energy; perhaps the drunken revelry that the WCTU lady had predicted wasn’t so far off.

Rey presses into the crowd, successfully ducking two cowboys singing and kicking up their heels, but getting smacked across the eyes by a rather overlong feather from a lady’s hat. She stumbles, fighting to right herself, and when she stands she’s face-to-face with a grizzled old man, his piercing blue eyes locked on hers.

“You!” Rey gasps, backing away. Had he followed her all the way to Denver? No, not her, the Organas. That had been who he was looking for.

“Come back, girl,” he says, but she’s already turned heel and run. Is he one of Han’s old enemies, come back to haunt him at last? Or, surely Leia must have angered someone in her day, during the war or out on the frontier…

The crowd ebbs and flows, almost a liquid in its movements, and she finds herself tossed to and fro, trying desperately to fight against the current. If she can only find Han, warn him…

There comes the sound of a child’s cry from somewhere ahead of her, and Rey gasps again, clutching at her chest. Her breasts had been prickling before, but now her milk comes in with a vengeance, spotting the front of her dress. The baby’s cries grow louder and louder, but it’s like they’re disembodied, no matter which way she turns Rey can’t tell from which direction they’ve come, and oh, why had she ever left her baby?

All the pain and weirdness of the morning, the feeling of abandonment over the past few weeks, it all threatens to overwhelm her. Rey feels like she might drown in the crowd, pursued by this unknown threat, succumbing to her own helplessness.

But a gap opens between two hats and Rey can just see a dark head above all the rest. Ben!

“Ben!” she calls.

She squeezes between two young men, then has to stop to make sure she doesn’t trip on her skirt.

“Ben! Ben!”

And then he’s there, holding a red-faced Padme in his arms while she screams loud enough to drown out half the crowd.

“Ben,” Rey says in relief, stopping in front of him. She holds her hands out, ready to accept their noisy little bundle of joy.

But Ben isn’t looking at her. Rather his gaze is transfixed somewhere over her left shoulder. His voice is nearly disbelieving when he speaks.

“Luke?”

Notes:

I found this article over a year ago and had always intended to have a chapter dedicated to a pedestrianism race, but as I was doing additional research for this chapter I happened across this book: "Pedestrianism: When Watching People Walk Was America’s Favorite Spectator Sport". I really can’t recommend it enough, it’s so engaging and well-written, and it gave me so many fun tidbits to include in this chapter.

Pedestrianism had existed in some form for many years, but the Gilded Age heyday got its start when a traveling bookseller named Edward Payson Weston bet his friend that Lincoln would lose the election; whoever lost the bet would have to walk from the State House in Boston to the Capitol in Washington— 478 miles in 10 days— for the 1861 inauguration. Weston drummed up a lot of press for his walk, and while he missed the inauguration by five hours, he had managed to gain the nation’s attention, and popularized the sport of long distance walking for an American audience.

Pedestrianism was the most popular spectator sport in the 1870’s and 1880’s, as big as baseball would be in later decades (the first sports trading cards were all of pedestrians.) There were different forms of competition (walking across country, walking a certain distance every hour for a certain number of days, etc.) but the main events seemed to have been the six-day races, with the goal to go as many times around an indoor track (usually 1/6 or 1/7 of a mile) as possible. The record in 1882 was 566 miles, which is the equivalent of more than 21 marathons in less than a week.

The peak heyday of pedestrianism was roughly 1878-1881, and the focal point was New York City, so I expect Rey would have caught a lot of the walking fever while she lived there.

Daniel O’Leary— an Irish immigrant who was Weston’s lifelong rival; he held earlier records and then transitioned to coaching and arranging the “O’Leary Belt”

Frank Hart— a Black man from Boston who won the second O’Leary Belt and held the record of 565 miles, and was considered the best in the world until he contracted encephalitis, which ended his career. Pedestrianism (like many other American sports) was integrated until Plessy vs. Ferguson in 1896.

Charles Rowell— an Englishman, and the final winner of the Astley Belt in 1881. He held the record of 566 miles until 1888 when it was broken by George Littlewood with 623 miles.

The tanbark— a sort of compacted mulch that made up the track. Would be the equivalent of saying “the gridiron” to reference football

The Astley Belt— In 1878 Sir John Astley announced he would sponsor a series of six-day races to determine the “Long Distance Champion of the World.” The prize included a silver-and-gold belt, with the stipulation that the winner had to defend his title within three months; the first pedestrian to win three times in a row could keep the belt forever. There were seven Astley Belt races; the fifth took place in the newly renamed and electrified Madison Square Garden. The pedestrianism heyday ended once the Astley belt was won, though there were many attempts to create new belts.

Hippodrome— Common term for an athletic venue. “To hippodrome” was synonymous with fixing matches (with bookies paying contestants to stop after a certain mile)

Ada Anderson— pedestrienne who made her fame by walking a quarter mile every fifteen minutes for more than twenty-eight days. She was popular among women, but did have real beef with the WCTU because she walked on Sundays

Temperance— Pedestrianism had detractors; some, like Ben, simply thought it was boring, while others found it morally objectionable. Alcohol was often served at venues, and the primary sports drink to keep pedestrians going seems to have been champagne. But in 1885 temperance advocates did actually sponsor a match, on the condition that they only walk in venues where alcohol wasn’t sold.

A map of Denver in 1882. I couldn’t find any record of a pedestrianism race in Denver, but I think it’s plausible there could’ve been some low profile matches in a less than stunning venue.

I also couldn’t find the original language of Colorado age of consent laws, so fictional HB 143 is copied from the 1891 amendment to the Indian Penal Code.

Thank you for reading, love you all!

Chapter 37

Notes:

CW: Respiratory illness

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Luke?”

Rey falters, confused. Who is Ben talking to? She turns.

The grizzled old man has materialized from the crowd, standing a few paces behind her.

“Ben!” she yelps, jumping back a little. “He was— he was at the house—”

Ben doesn’t respond, just continues staring at the stranger, who stares back at him with the queerest expression on his face.

Padme’s cries are still echoing, loud and overwhelming. Rey chances a quick glance at the old man, and then snatches her baby out of Ben’s arms, cradling her protectively to her chest where the cries dwindle as Padme begins rooting around for a breast. What is Ben playing at?

“I thought you were lost,” the man says after a long pause.

“No.” Ben shakes his head, pauses, then shakes his head again. “Only for a little while.”

The man nods, humming. There’s a wheeze to his voice, and Rey notices that his lips are faintly blue.

“Where were you?” Ben’s voice cracks. “I looked… everywhere.”

“Augustine Island,” the stranger replies. “Tryin’ to atone for my sins.”

It’s slowly dawning on Rey who this man must be. But before she can do more than look at Ben to try and confirm, there comes a new voice.

“Rey! Ben!” Rey turns her head to see her mother-in-law marching confidently across the street toward them; the business with the Temperance ladies must have concluded. She stops a few paces away and looks at them quizzically. “What are you doing out here? Is the match over?”

Ben opens his mouth, but no sound comes out, and Rey can see his eyes flit to look at the man standing in front of them. His mother follows his gaze too.

“Leia,” her brother rasps.

She stares at Luke for a long moment, and then, to Rey’s complete and utter shock, she lifts her perfect, beglovéd hand, and slaps him clean across the face.

 

Han finds them in an adjacent lot, sitting on the rotted remains of an old wagon train.

Rey is nursing Padme, wondering if she’ll be able to get the milk stains out of the new dress. Ben rubs her back, occasionally stealing glances at his mother. Leia sits a bit apart from the rest of them, refusing to look at Luke, who is perched on a stack of rusted wagon wheels, staring at his hands.

“Made a good return,” Han tells them, oblivious, conspicuously counting out dollar bills. “Pity you all missed the end, Robins fully collapsed…”

None of them respond to this pronouncement, and after a few seconds he looks up.

“What’s the matter with you all? You’d think we’d gone to a funeral, not a pedestrianism race…”

“Hello, Han,” Luke says quietly, the wheeze only just noticeable.

Han blinks.

“Lord Almighty,” he breathes. “Luke, what in the devil—” His eyes flick to Leia, who continues her silence, turning away from the rest of them, and then to Ben, who rubs Rey’s back again and looks at the ground. Rey catches Han’s eye, and there’s a split second of commiseration between them.

“Shall we… go for an early supper?” Han recovers, his voice full of a false sort of bravado. “I’m buying.”

They end up walking the few blocks to the Silver Queen Hotel, which in Rey’s estimation is a hair too fine for their party. Indeed, the doorman seems poised to halt Luke when they enter, but then Han presses something into his hand and they’re waved through.

The dining room is beautifully outfitted. Formal place settings at each seat, laid atop spotless white tablecloths, and an illustrious chandelier hanging from the tall ceiling. A stifling silence becomes evident once they’ve been seated at an impossibly elegant table. It almost makes Rey wish Padme would start screaming again.

She examines the finely carved armrest of her chair in lieu of making eye contact with anyone else at their table. Perhaps it’s cherry wood, or birch…?

“Why—?” Leia’s voice breaks, and it compels Rey to look up. Her mother-in-law’s eyes are red-rimmed, and when she speaks she can barely get a full sentence out around her hitched breaths. “Why is it you’ve— you’ve come back now—? Is it— do you need money, or—?”

“Leia,” Luke says gravely, reaching for her hand. Leia withdraws it into her lap. His blue eyes grow, if possible, sadder than they were before. “I haven’t come for your money.”

“For— for forgiveness, then,” Leia says, her voice fading until it’s almost a whisper.

Ben moves in his chair, turning to Rey. He reaches out for Padme, who is nearly asleep, and Rey yields her to him, slightly nonplussed. He cradles her in his arms, brushing whiskery kisses over her forehead.

Rey watches him. He’d confided in her, more than a year ago, how long he’d looked for his uncle, how his one quest, when he’d had nothing else in the world, was to forgive the man sitting in front of them.

But now he says nothing, only holds their daughter like she’s tethering him to the shore in stormy seas.

Luke is watching him too.

“I— don’t presume to be worthy of your forgiveness.” His breath wheezes as he speaks, his twang softly evident in his voice. He watches Ben another moment, his gaze dropping to Padme’s downy head, before he turns to speak again to Leia. “Truth be told, it’s only a coincidence I— returned. I heard the climate here was good for— for consumptives, not that I think I got much hope in that regard. I heard tell of a Mr. and Mrs. Organa in town, and, well I thought I oughta suss out whether it was you—”

His eyes flicker to Rey, but then he doubles over to catch a cough, the beautiful hotel napkin clutched in his hand. It’s a terrible wracking sound, horribly familiar.

When he recovers, his eyes are shining a brighter blue.

“I’m not here to ask anything from you,” he tells them simply. “I’ve come here to die.”

 

Rey can hardly keep her eyes open on the train ride home, she’s so utterly exhausted from the day they’ve had. Padme squalls but Ben takes her after Rey nurses her again, bouncing her in his arms as he walks along the corridor to the other cars, disappearing for long minutes at a time before he circles back again.

Han and Leia are in hushed conversation behind her. She can’t hear them but she knows they must be discussing what is to be done about Luke.

He’d told them he had lodgings secured in Denver. There are a fair number of consumptives that come to stay in the city, as well as elsewhere in the state, from what Rey knows. Something about the dry air and constant sunshine, the high altitude; it’s meant to be good for the lungs.

Ben returns from another pass through the train cars, Padme having fallen asleep on his shoulder. He’s quiet as they disembark, well after dark has fallen. Rey drifts in a haze beside him until they’re in their little room again. She changes into her nightgown and when she looks up Ben is seated on their bed, staring blankly at the wall.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

He glances at her, breaking his trance, and nods without saying anything.

She slips beneath the covers next to Padme’s bassinet, reaching an arm out to make sure her baby is safe, sound, brushing the backs of her fingers gently over a rosy, rounded cheek. Ben slips in behind her and when she rolls back he pulls her into his arms, squeezing her tightly, burying his face in her hair.

Rey says nothing, just smooths her thumb back and forth where his forearm wraps around her abdomen. She’s nearly asleep when his whisper comes, so faint she might be dreaming.

“Real hard, seein’ him again,” his breath says in her ear. “So much harder than I thought it’d be.”

 

Ben is missing from their room when Rey wakes up in the morning. She blearily lifts Padme to her chest, wondering where he’s gone again. He’d been so attentive yesterday, even after they ran into Luke; she had hoped that maybe his persistent absences were coming to an end.

Leia is gone too. She’s not in the parlor when Rey emerges to lay Padme in the little cot there. She’s not speaking on the telephone, nor scribbling letters in her office. Miss Sixe, too, seems to have mysteriously vanished. When Rey pushes open the kitchen door to try and snag a bit of breakfast, she’s relieved to find Artoo behind the stove. When she asks he tells her that Leia left on the first train to the capitol, and took Miss Sixe with her. He doesn’t know where Ben’s gone, but he left early too.

“Oh,” Rey frowns. “Is anyone home?”

“I believe Monsieur Han is in ze stables.”

Rey returns to the parlor to check on Padme. She’s still fast asleep, but Rey is a little reluctant to leave her alone in the house. Beyond the open parlor door, Threepio hums tunelessly into the foyer, a feather duster clutched in his hand as he eyes an invisible layer of dust on the sconces that hold the gas lamps.

“Oh— Mr. Threepio!”

He startles.

Goodness— Yes, Miss?”

“Would you mind Padme for a few minutes? Only I wanted to pop out to the stables—”

The old man looks alarmed.

“Mind? What do you mean, mind?”

“Just— watch her. She likely won’t wake, I only worry about not hearing her if she does—”

For a moment she thinks he will refuse. But then he nods stiffly and enters the parlor, sinking into a chair beside the bassinet to stare unblinkingly at the baby.

“I—” Rey hides a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Threepio.”

Han is indeed in the stables. He’s brushing down the horses when she enters, and looks around at her with a friendly grin.

“Hey, kid.”

“Are you taking them out for a ride?” Rey asks.

Han nods. “Thought about it. They’ve been a little cooped up recently.”

Rey sits on a hay bale and reaches out to pat Han’s horse, a stallion named Falcon. The beast nuzzles into her hand.

“Did… did Leia go to see Luke?”

Han sighs.

“Yes.” He puts down the wire brush. “She’s inquiring about a sanatorium for his care.”

“Oh.”

Han nods solemnly, staring at the dust motes in the air for a long moment.

“She’s angry with him, but he’s still her brother, you know? And now I wouldn’t go saying you always owe your family— my Pops doesn’t deserve a kind glance in his direction. But Luke… Well, he sure as hell deserves his neck wrung, but… we love him.”

Rey wonders which camp her own parents fall into. She wished and wished for them to come and find her when she’d been younger. But it’s been too long. She wouldn’t know them from strangers on the street.

“Ben said it was difficult to see him,” she tells Han. “Even though he— he looked for Luke for years.”

“Years?” Han looks troubled.

“In Alaska—”

Han shakes his head.

“Didn’t realize it was so long.”

“Why is Leia so angry with him?” Rey asks, equally eager for information.

“Well, he took Ben to Kansas, for one… And let him join the army. Can’t tell you how peeved Leia was about that. And then near the end of the war he wrote a letter saying he’d left Ben in Colorado, said something about him being insubordinate. Not two weeks later we got Ben’s death notice. And that letter said he’d been killed in battle, which didn’t line up with Luke saying he was testifying to the Courts-Martial. Leia wanted to go sort things out herself once the war ended, but by then I was in trouble with the Guavians…” He clarifies upon seeing Rey’s face. “The pirates. But I think all the confusion was what fueled her thinking that Ben was still alive.”

“He was,” Rey says. “He— he witnessed the army commit a terrible massacre. Indian women and children— that’s what he was testifying about. And then the Colonel, or Commander, I don’t know— he tried to have Ben killed—”

Han looks incensed.

“Luke left him to that?”

Rey bites her lip. Maybe it wasn’t hers to tell. But surely they’d have to get all of this out in the open, if Luke was truly back…

“I ought to get back to Padme,” she says. “I left her with Mr. Threepio.”

Han’s anger fades slightly.

“Well that I have to see.”

The man is still sitting where Rey left him when they enter the parlor. Padme, however, is not in her bassinet, but rather lying face-down on the floor.

Rey’s heart leaps into her throat and she rushes forward to scoop her up.

“What’s the matter? What happened to her?”

She examines Padme for any injuries but her daughter just smiles gummily back at her. Rey rounds on Mr. Threepio.

“Why would you take her out of the bassinet?”

The old man blinks owlishly back at her.

“The— the nursemaids always said it was important to give them time on their fronts—”

This brings Rey up short. Of course babies were placed on the floor all the time in the orphanages, but that was merely a matter of necessity. She never thought it was important.

“Really?” she asks in a quiet voice.

“Something about— their necks?”

Rey bounces Padme slightly in her arms. Her baby’s circumstances are so much better than her own had been, it’s almost impossible to compare. But there’s still the possibility to consider that Rey might be doing something wrong, that Padme’s health and well-being might still be compromised by her ignorance.

The small quilt she’d pieced alongside Leia, to match the full-sized one that graces their bed, is bunched at the bottom of the bassinet. She tugs it free and spreads it over the thick, richly-woven carpet, then places Padme on top, splayed out on her front.

Ben finds them like this— Han, Mr. Threepio, and Rey, all watching the baby gurgle on the floor.

“Have I missed somethin’?”

It breaks whatever spell they’re under.

“I’d better be getting back to the dusting,” Mr. Threepio says, standing hurriedly.

“And I— the horses, you know—” Han ducks out of the parlor, clutching his hat.
“You’re back,” Rey says, picking Padme up and opening her blouse so she can nurse. Ben settles heavily next to her on the settee. Maybe he can hear the slight accusation in her voice, no matter how hard she’s trying to keep her tone even.

“I’m back,” he confirms. “Sweetheart, I— wanted to ask you—”

The shrill ring of the telephone cuts him off. They wait for a moment, in case Mr. Threepio goes to pick it up, but he seems to have wandered to a distant part of the house. Ben sighs.

“That might be Mother, I’d better—”

He’s gone for a long while. Rey finishes nursing and lays Padme back in the bassinet, then makes her way to the small pantry where the treadle sewing machine and the telephone are housed. Ben is still holding the receiver to his ear, occasionally nodding and humming along. He glances up at her when she hovers in the doorway.

“Hold on, Rey’s here— I’ll let you speak with her—”

He hands the receiver to Rey.

“Hello?”

“Rey, dear,” comes Leia’s crackly voice. “I’m staying in Denver tonight, with Miss Sixe. We’ll be home tomorrow, or the day after.”

“Have you found a sanatorium bed?” Rey asks.

“Not yet,” comes the reply. “Apparently there aren’t many beds to be had. Truth be told, I can’t help but wonder if Luke wouldn’t be more comfortable in our home. I’ve managed to speak with several phthisic physicians in the city, and they’ve given me good direction in way of treatment.”

“I see,” Rey says. “Do you need a room prepared?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble. I told Ben already, but do you know the bedroom you stayed in when you were first here, and taken ill? That may be the best one, it has windows on two walls and apparently air baths are a leading treatment. Dries out the lungs. We’ll have to keep the fire stoked, of course…”

Leia continues down a list of further instructions before the line begins to crackle more severely and she has to shout her thanks and farewell.

They spend the afternoon readying the spare room, in Miss Sixe’s stead. For so mundane a chore it’s remarkably diverting. Ben carries up the bassinet and Rey props Padme against a few blankets, so she can watch them as they work. She seems to enjoy the activity, her little eyes following their movements. Occasionally she burbles at them and Rey can’t help but put down the dusty bedclothes to coo over her.

Ben is calmer than she expected, what with the news of his uncle’s impending arrival and his admission the previous night. He’s very attentive to his task of lifting furniture to get at the dust, but his eyes crinkle at the happy baby noises.

Rey returns from procuring new sheets to find Ben hiding his face behind the curtain and dropping it, again and again, to make Padme smile and kick, her grabby little hands reaching out for him while she babbles.

“It feels awful nice to be doing housework again,” Rey remarks as she starts to make the bed. “Funny, isn’t it?”

It brings her back to when they lived in their own house, when there was a steady routine and a list of tasks to be accomplished each day.

“It’s not so bad,” Ben agrees. Rey looks up to see him watching her with a sparkle in his eye.

“What is it?” she asks, laughing a little. Had something happened?

“Nothin’—” He turns away bashfully to wipe at the base of one of the windows. Rey’s a little surprised at how dusty everything is in here— surely it had been spic and span when she’d arrived, fully unannounced, six months earlier?— but she supposes they’ve put a bit more pressure on the servants with their little bundle of joy.

“What were you going to ask me earlier?” Rey is curious about this sudden mood he’s in. It’s like he’s trying his hardest not to smile.

Ben turns to look at her again.

“What I was going to— Well now…” He pauses. “Have you thought anymore about returning to Red Cloud?”

“Oh,” Rey says, looking down at the sheets. She frowns as she shakes out the stiff folds.

She ought to have been thinking about it, she has thought about it, every time a letter from Rose comes. But the issues haven’t resolved themselves, and she finds herself going around and around, not getting anywhere. Of course she longs to see her friend, and it’d be awfully nice to have their own home again. But there isn’t a home for them in Red Cloud, not anymore. And with Padme so little…

And then there’s the matter of Miss Rippon’s words, which still echo in her head. “You might still matriculate…”

“I— Papa, I’m just— I’m not certain whether—” Rey dithers. “Would— would it be so bad if we stayed here, just a little longer…?”

The words are out of her mouth but suddenly she’s wondering if she’s read everything all wrong. Perhaps now that his uncle is back, Ben wishes to leave as soon as possible—

But it’s not more than a moment before his face splits into a grin. He crosses the room in two bounds, his hands finding her waist as he stoops to press a lingering kiss to her lips.

“We can stay as long as you like, sweetheart,” he murmurs, barely pulling back. “Real glad you’re not— opposed, to the notion of stayin’.”

“I’m not opposed,” Rey says breathlessly.

“Good. I sorted the— I got a surprise for you, once all this hubbub dies down—”

“A surprise?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What is it?”

“Now if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise,” he tsks, scolding. But his eyes crinkle even more.

Papa—”

Rey tries to whine but it breaks into giggles when he peppers whiskery kisses to her cheek.

“Gah!”

They turn to look at Padme, who smiles gummily at them, kicking while she gives another little squawk of excitement.

“My little sweetpea,” Rey coos, extricating herself from Ben’s embrace to pick their baby up. “Papa has a surprise for us, what do you think of that?”

“Ah!”

 

Luke arrives late the following evening with Leia and Miss Sixe. Even though she’d seen him just a few days before, Rey is taken aback by how gaunt and haggard he looks after the long train ride. He stoops into the house, wheezing heavily. Rey glances at the stairs. Will he really be able to handle them day after day?

“Let’s get you settled,” Leia says, no-nonsense in the way she is when there’s a task to be accomplished. She lifts a bag that must be Luke’s and starts up to the second floor without looking back.

Han leans against the bannister, watching the proceedings. Miss Sixe and Mr. Threepio gather Leia’s luggage, which includes three carpet bags and a hatbox, and start up the stairs after her.

“Hey, kid,” Han says finally.

Rey startles. Is he speaking to her?

But his eyes are on Luke’s face.

“I’m an old man now,” Luke objects, slightly breathless. Still, his blue eyes burn brightly, with annoyance perhaps, or maybe humor. “You can’t call me kid anymore.”

“Still young compared to me,” Han observes. He shakes his head and holds out his arm. “Well then, come on, old man, let’s get you upstairs.”

At first Rey thinks Luke might refuse the help. He glares for a moment but then he teeters, reaching out to grasp tight onto Han’s forearm.

“I’ll go see about getting some supper,” Rey mumbles, turning to leave.

Monsieur Artoo prepares the doctor-ordered meal of rare beef, a heel of rye bread, a raw egg, and a glass of milk. Rey looks on, wrinkling her nose, and accepts the tray just as Miss Sixe enters the kitchen.

“Oh—” she says, stopping short. “You can take it up?”

“It’s no problem,” Rey reassures her.

“Oh, thank you kindly, Miss!” Miss Sixe turns on her heel, looking harried. “I’m supposed to open every window in the house. Doctor’s orders, you know—”

She leaves the same way she came, at speed.

The house does indeed seem more drafty as Rey makes her way up the stairs. She shivers a little without any wraps; Leia was right about stoking the fires.

The upstairs room is bright with gas light, and Han is bent over the fireplace, fiddling with the logs therein. The room is draftier than even the foyer; the two open windows create a sort of cross-breeze.

Leia is folding Luke’s clothes and stashing them in the chest of drawers while she speaks.

“—start the helio-therapy tomorrow, Mr. Threepio has sourced a recliner that ought to be serviceable for the task—”

“You’d have me lie outta doors, completely starkers—”

“You won’t be naked,” Leia responds severely. “We’ll have a sheet to gradually expose your skin to the sun’s healing rays. Your— modesty— won’t be compromised. Strict rest, sun, air— it’s top-of-the-line treatment, all the European sanatoriums are doing it that way—”

Rey tries to make some noise before she crosses the threshold into the room.

“Oh,” Leia looks up. “Thank you ever so much, dear. I’ll take that.”

She accepts the tray and places it on the bed beside Luke, who looks even more frail swallowed up by the mound of blankets.

“You’ll eat all of it, you hear?” Leia tells him sternly. “Doctor says you need to build your strength.”

“Leia—”

Han catches Rey’s eye. He smiles wryly, dismissing her with a short jerk of his head toward the door. She smiles back, grateful, and makes her retreat.

The treatment all sounds dreadful, in her opinion. She wonders sadly if Zorii might have survived, if she had had access to the same.

She finds Ben in their little room on the main floor. He’s reclined on their bed, with Padme face-down against his chest. Rey smiles when she sees them.

“Tried puttin’ her on the floor,” Ben explains. “But she didn’t seem to like it much.”

“This was a good idea,” Rey says, peering around at her face. “I think she’s asleep.”

Ben sits up slowly, gently transferring their daughter to the bassinet.

“Chilly tonight,” he comments, reaching behind his head to tug off his shirt.

“Mm,” Rey says.

He peels down his trousers.

“Miss Sixe said every window had to be open, something about poison air.”

“Ah.” Rey nods very seriously.

“Are you listening?”

“What?” She blinks, lifting her eyes away from the trail of hair that leads down to the thatch between his legs.

Ben looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh at her.

“Take off your pretty dress and we can go to bed, sweetheart,” he suggests, a devilish glint in his eye.

Rey pretends to think about it.

“This dress, Papa?” she asks, undoing one of the buttons, and then another.

“Mm-hmm,” he says solemnly. “That very one.”

She tries to make it a seductive sort of thing, but he’s already naked and she’s rather eager to be under the blankets, what with the open window beside her, so her final layers are removed swiftly and then she’s shivering in Ben’s arms.

“We could build the fire more,” he frowns down at her, pulling back the covers so they can slip into bed.

Rey shakes her head.

“It’s alright, it reminds me a bit of the claim shanty…”

She reaches over to see if Padme is too cold, but her baby is still asleep and warm in her swaddle. When she looks back again, Ben’s head has disappeared under the blankets.

“What are you—”

He lifts the covers slightly to look up at her.

“Shoulda prepared you better last time, sweetheart,” he says. “Lie back now.”

Rey does as she’s bid, laying her head down on her pillow. A second later she squeaks in surprise when beneath the blankets Ben pushes her legs suddenly apart.

She can feel his nose in the wild thicket of her nether regions, then whiskery kisses on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. A slight nip of his teeth has her sucking in her breath, kicking out reflexively at him in complaint. She can feel his chuckled breath against her cunt as he peels her lips apart.

It’s been a long while since they’ve done this. Rey was so huge right before Padme came that it was uncomfortable to lay on her back for long. But now she can splay her legs wide, and tip her head back as he buries his face deep, licking at her, inhaling her. His tongue is eager, probing every little crevice she’s half-forgotten about, circling her clitoris teasingly before sucking it firmly into his mouth.

Oh my—

“Missed this,” he says, his words muffled under the blankets and against her mons, before giving way to the rather obscene sound of slurping.

Rey cries out when he circles the entrance of her cunt with his finger and pushes it inside.

“Papa—” she whines. This is good. None of the sharpness from the other morning. Even another finger sinks in without any issue, and crooks easily inside her, and when Rey thrashes in response, tangling herself in the sheet, it’s with a jittery, jumping pleasure.

Ben pins her hips flat to the mattress with his forearm, so she’s mostly immobilized in front of his tongue and the thick fingers that he’s now pumping squelchily in and out of her cunt.

“Pa— Papa—”

“Mromph—”

He says something against her sex and crooks his fingers one more time, and then Rey’s legs are spasming against his restraint, a loud keening dropping from her lips—

“Wa-ah!”

Padme’s cry pierces through to Rey’s paroxysm-addled state. She struggles to sit up, sweaty and bleary-eyed, her breasts suddenly very heavy.

“Ben—” She pats the top of his head urgently through the blankets. “Stop, she’s—”

She can feel his fingers withdraw and his forearm lift from her pelvis. She leans over the bassinet to pick up the squalling baby.

“Is she hungry?” Ben asks as he surfaces from under the covers, wiping at his mouth.

“I don’t know— I fed her before your uncle arrived…”

Still, Rey tries to fit a leaking nipple into the screaming mouth.

“You prob’ly woke her up with all your carryin’ on,” Ben says with a quirk of his lips.

“Oh stop…” Rey rolls her eyes, shivering a little as the chill of the room hits her damp skin. A moment later Ben has her wrapped up in his arms, pulling her against his warm chest.

Rey sighs in relief when Padme finally latches. Hopefully they haven’t woken the rest of the house…

It’s something of a queer sensation tonight. Usually nursing is a little prickly, perhaps bordering on slightly uncomfortable, but altogether a neutral sort of thing. Right now, though, it’s very not

“Huh.” Rey blows out a breath.

“What is it?”

“It’s just— it feels—”

Padme’s mouth starts to go slack, her eyelids fluttering as she drools milk down her chin. So she wasn’t really hungry, then. Rey wipes her up with a nearby rag and places her back in the bassinet.

She feels a little jittery, worked up.

“Ben, can you— Please—”

He doesn’t need asking twice. Within the space of a blink Rey’s on her back again, his head at her chest.

“How much ‘m I allowed?” he asks her, grazing her nipple with his lips.

“All of it,” she gasps.

His pull is much stronger, and tonight he’s not being careful. There’s a sort of aggressive undercurrent in the way he suckles at her, a raw, untamed enthusiasm. Rey’s eyes roll back in her head and she threads her fingers through his hair, pulling probably too tight.

Ben pops off, replacing his tongue with his hands at her chest.

“Such a pretty little mama,” he murmurs, not taking his eyes from her leaking breasts. “Making so much good milk for our baby—”

He fondles her with an expert’s touch, squirting a stream of milk deftly into his mouth from one breast, and then the other.

“Fuckin’ delicious—” He bends his head again to resume his suckling, perhaps with even greater vigor, pinching the neglected nipple between his huge fingertips.

Rey’s crisis is upon her again, even though he’s paying no heed to her quim. It has her chest heaving, wrenches a strangled cry from her throat, and then she’s shaking under his attentive lips, toes curling and fingers twitching uncontrollably in his hair.

Ben groans with his mouth full. He pops off to shake his head like he’s delivering the gravest news.

“Sweetheart, I gotta—”

Rey nods frantically, tugging him up.

His cock is hot against her thigh, so hard he must’ve been ready for some time now. He’s a little clumsy notching it against her entrance, but then he’s pushing into her slick channel, taking up all the room she has to offer and sending her careening into a wave of aftershocks. She presses her cries into the meat of his shoulder, stifles them against his milky-sweet lips.

He goes slow, the rhythm of his thrusts steady and controlled, but his own climax seems fast approaching anyway. His grunts grow more pained. He cups her face to kiss her and his thumb trembles against her cheek.

“Papa,” Rey gasps. “Please, Papa—”

He shakes his head again, groaning deep, and then his hips are jerking against her.

She strokes his hair for a good while after, at least until his softened cock slips from between her legs.

“I’m glad I’m still… able,” she murmurs into the dim light of the lamp burned low.

“Were you worried?” he asks, frowning up at her.

“I— a little…”

“Y’know, even if you weren’t— even if I could never be inside you again…” His eyes have turned very serious. “I’d still love you forever.”

Rey swallows hard, suddenly feeling very choked up.

“Really?” she asks in a small voice.

“‘Course, sweetheart,” Ben says, caressing her cheek with the backs of his knuckles.

Rey sniffs, nodding. The stress of the past few weeks, the pleasures of being with him again. It’s all bubbling up. Ben pulls her to him, rolling them over so they’re both on their sides, and holds her while her chest is wracked in shallow, quiet tears.

“I’ll always love you, too,” she tells him, her voice so thick it probably strains audibility. But Ben squeezes her tighter, and she knows he understands.

She releases him once she’s calmed down, feeling slightly sheepish. She looks around at the rumpled bed.

“I supposed we ought to clean up.”

The sheets will have to be washed tomorrow, certainly, but perhaps if they lay a few rags down the wet spots won’t disturb their sleep…

“Oh, no.” Ben shakes his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. “No, we’re not done yet. You said I could take all of it, sweetheart.”

He pulls the covers over them and buries his head in her chest and Rey doesn’t attempt to quiet the giggles that bubble up from her throat.

Notes:

Colorado is, in part, a tourist economy, and tuberculosis care was Colorado’s first tourist industry. At the end of the 19th century, approximately 1 in 7 U.S. deaths could be attributed to TB; in Colorado, it was approximately 1 in 3. As Rey mentions, the dry air and high altitude were supposed to be beneficial for those with active TB infections. The climate attracted a huge number of tuberculosis patients, and soon European-style sanatoriums sprang up in many cities in the state.

Sanatorium treatments for TB included sun-bathing, air baths (including sleeping huts designed to channel a constant breeze around the patient), high-calorie diets, and a strict regime of rest (Adirondack chairs were initially invented as recliners for TB patients.) It’s unclear exactly how effective these treatments were, but TB death rates dropped steadily in the later half of the 19th century.

TB_over_time

I took an epidemiology class in college, and this graph has always really stuck with me. There were no pharmaceutical interventions (the BCG vaccine and, later, antibiotics) until nearly the middle of the 20th century. But by the time they were introduced there had already been decades of improvement. So what happened? It can be hard to determine causality for stuff like this (maybe that helio-therapy really was working wonders), but it seems like two changes had the main impact: First, nutrition improved a lot over this time period, and second, there was a major push for improved ventilation.

Those airy huts didn’t “dry out the lungs” as advertised, but the constant fresh air did prevent contagion. Tuberculosis is a bacterial pathogen but it can be transmitted by airborne aerosols, just like Covid. In dirty, crowded tenements with few openable windows, tuberculosis ran rampant.

The period from the 1860s to the 1920s was an era of major public health reform. From cholera to tuberculosis, disease changed our cityscapes. Sewers were improved to carry human waste away from city centers; tenement laws were passed to require a window in every room. Hospitals were designed to optimize air flow; a study in Peru found that local hospitals built before 1950 could achieve 40 air changes per hour without any mechanical ventilation (for comparison, 12 air changes per hour is the modern standard for airborne infection isolation rooms.) I live in a Boston triple-decker built in 1900, and just looking around I can tell the apartment was designed with ventilation in mind: it’s a free-standing building and there are double-hung windows on all sides, the baseboard heating can get very hot so windows can be open even in the winter, the ceilings are high, and there’s a balcony for outdoor space.

As the 20th century wore on and medical technology improved, antibiotics became available, and many of the epidemics of the past seemed behind us, priorities changed. Hospitals were designed to optimize efficiency and a focus on medical procedure rather than a healthy environment. The concept of airborne contagion also went out of style; miasma theory seemed outdated once we could see pathogens in microscopes, and soon the idea of disease spread by short-range droplets took hold. It wasn’t until the 1960s that scientists showed that TB could be spread by aerosols and infect people far away from the contagious person, but the droplet theory persisted. This historical context is in part the reason that the World Health Organization (WHO) was originally so emphatic that Covid was not airborne (and why we had all the 6-foot spacers, even though Covid can be transmitted from much further away.)

Anyway, I’m very much of the opinion that we should be paying attention to air quality again, especially in places like schools and hospitals. I’m a big fan of the Corsi-Rosenthal box, which is an open-source DIY air purifier you can make with hardware store parts for about $60, and kind of geeking out over the cool mods some people are making with computer fans.

Thank you all for reading! I’m hoping to publish about a chapter a month until the end, but I’m also getting down to crunch time for publishing my actual research so we shall see. Love you all!

Chapter 38

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The house has turned quite on its head, suddenly on a strict regimen of sun and air and hearty meals. A stiff breeze reaches into every corner, whistling down the hallways, and Rey delays her wardrobe’s progression into lighter garments, even though it’s now firmly Spring.

Each morning, if the weather permits, Luke eats his breakfast in his room, before being helped down the stairs to the yard to recline in the bright sunshine, his modesty hidden by a stiff sheet. Han builds him an open fire to sit beside, and Rey catches glimpses of him through the open windows, his eyes closed while his skin goes red and peeling, before it finally settles into a leathery brown.

Rey hovers, not quite sure of her duty in all of this, ready to assist if need-be but wondering if she isn’t simply getting in the way. Leia is very tense, but sometimes she squeezes Rey’s hand as she’s leaving a room, and Rey thinks she ought to hang around a little longer after all.

For Ben’s part, he assists when requested— primarily helping his uncle up and down stairs— but otherwise adopts a sort of silent stoicism, volunteering to mind Padmé while the rest of them mind Luke, taking down telephone messages from Leia’s WCTU ladies. Rey has yet to witness him exchange a full sentence with his uncle.

When they’re alone, though, in their little room, it’s an entirely different story. He’s all soft touches and secret smiles. Chuckles as he hoists Padmé up in the air. Their baby shrieks in delight, her colic a distant memory. Rey catches him watching her across the room a dozen times in the span of an hour, as she’s tending to her correspondence, and then blushing and glancing away when she catches him at it.

“What?” she asks finally, laughing at him. But he shakes his head.

“Nothin’.” He clears his throat. “Say, what do you think of goin’ for a drive tomorrow? Get outta the house?”

“Alright,” Rey agrees, a slow smile rising to her lips. She turns to add a few more words to a missive to Rose.

I’m so glad it’s Spring!

 

Luke has a visit from a phthisic physician from Denver in the morning, so they’re delayed in setting out. Rey hovers like always, ready to be sent to fetch something from the kitchen, or to direct Miss Sixe to prepare some inane new treatment. But the doctor only drones on and on, and when the shrill ring of the telephone sounds from below, Rey takes the opportunity to excuse herself.

The low, barely audible notes of Ben’s voice reach her as she approaches the small pantry, but before she’s quite reached the doorway there comes the distinct sound of the receiver being hung up on its hook, and then her husband rounds the corner at speed, nearly knocking into her.

“Who was it?” she asks him.

But he shakes his head.

“Never you mind,” he says roughly, looking distracted. He barely slows, skirting around her to make for the front door.

“What—?” Rey blinks at him. “Ben!”

“I gotta go—” He plucks one of Han’s jackets from the coat stand and starts to shrug it on even as he pulls at the doorknob.

“But we were supposed to—” the door slams behind him “—go on a drive.”

Rey stands still for a long moment, staring after him, before she shakes herself. It’s fine. Something must have come up, is all. He didn’t have time to explain.

She goes into the parlor where Padmé is napping in the bassinet, already dressed for their excursion. It won’t have been for nothing, though. Ben will come back in a bit and they’ll go on the drive, just like they planned.

Han comes down the stairs a half hour later, just as Padmé is beginning to stir.

“You seen Ben around? Doctor’s heading out, so we’re going to take Luke down to the yard.”

Rey shakes her head.

“He… left.”

“Where’d he go?”

Rey shrugs, turning back to lift Padmé out of the bassinet. She can feel Han stalling in the doorway, but after a long moment where she says nothing else, he leaves, his footsteps fading back up the stairs.

The doctor must agree to help Luke down before he departs, because there comes a great commotion of raised voices interspersed by the muted groans of the grand wooden staircase.

“—make sure to support his arm there—”

“—tarnation, Leia, I can do it myself—”

Rey tries to look very absorbed in nursing Padmé as they pass by the parlor, suddenly very tense. Han glances in, but he doesn’t ask about Ben again before they take Luke out to his reclining chair. Just as well. He’s coming right back.

Mr. Threepio approaches the parlor around noon, to announce luncheon.

“Were you going to need the picnic basket, Mrs. Solo?” he asks her. “Or should we unpack it?”

It seems like putting the final caput on the outing, but Rey isn’t quite ready to give up yet.

“Ah— no. No, I’ll take it outside, if it’s in the way, wait in the yard. Ben’s only just—” She cuts off. “Thank you, Threepio.”

He disappears and returns with the basket.

“Do you need help bringing it out, Miss?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Rey says reflexively, and after a moment’s hesitation he makes a short bow and exits from the parlor. She immediately regrets her words when she tries to lift the wicker handle while balancing Padmé on her hip. Huffing and puffing she manages to move everything to the foyer before she has to drop the basket to open the front door.

An image flashes before her eyes, of when she was trying to maneuver the pram up the front steps with no assistance. But that was when Ben was absent for those long stretches, and things have gotten better since then…

Rey shakes her head, trying to clear the thought.

There’s a rough stone wall along the drive, and she perches herself here, lowering the picnic basket to rest on the ground. She’ll be able to see him coming from here, certainly, and then they’ve just got to hitch the horses to Leia’s nice buggy, and off they’ll go.

She catches a glimpse of Luke in his reclining chair, next to the bonfire Han had built. He looks unblinkingly at the street, a very dour expression on his face. It must be very boring, sitting there for so many hours a day. And lonely.

Would he welcome her company? She could probably see the street just as well from there. She hasn’t spoken to him much at all, as of yet, but there really hasn’t been the opportunity to. The focus is always on his treatment.

Rey half-stands from her perch, and then commits, hefting the heavy basket with her along to the side yard.

“Hello!” she calls when he looks up at her approach. “Do you mind if I—?”

Not really giving him an opportunity to answer— the basket is too heavy to about-face now— she sinks into the chair beside him, dropping their lunch onto the sparse grass where it nearly spills out everywhere. Padmé whines a little, but Rey hushes her, rubbing at her back.

“I’m just waiting for Ben to come back, so I thought I might keep you company in the meantime—”

Luke says nothing, just stares at her with his grumpy expression, his only sound the quiet wheeze of his breathing. Rey gets the distinct impression that her presence isn’t particularly welcomed, but she’s already cut off any means of graceful retreat.

“I could read to you, if you like. I have an edition of the Aeneid— in Latin, of course— or, oh, if you’re keen on poetry, I have some transcriptions of John Clare—”

“True silence is the rest of the mind; and is to the spirit, what sleep is to the body,” Luke intones gravely. “Nourishment and refreshment.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose that is true,” Rey says thoughtfully. “If you mean to ascribe the quotation to John Clare, though, I think you may have it slightly mistaken…”

“It’s William Penn…”

Rey’s stomach growls loudly, and she glances back at the street. Still no sign of Ben, and even if he were to return now, it’d likely be at least an hour until they reached a suitable destination to stop and eat. What’s the harm in picking over the basket, since she has it right here?

Monsieur Artoo has really outdone himself today. Watercress and butter sandwiches, cold chicken, tinned sardines, boiled tongue, jelly tarts, shortbread, ginger tea—

She’s delicately picking a jam puff out of its neat box when there comes a soft inhale from beside her. She turns to look at Luke, who is staring down at the feast.

“Oh dear, I’m very sorry, would you like one—?” She holds out the box of puffs, glancing down at the tray that holds the sad, half-eaten remains of his lunch; she wouldn’t find it particularly appetizing either.

Luke plucks a puff from its confines, swallowing it in two bites, then takes another without asking.

“Rather good, aren’t they?” she asks him. “My friend in Red Cloud is quite the baker, but I do believe Monsieur Artoo has got her beat—”

Luke swallows noisily. Rey helps herself to a watercress sandwich.

“Thought you and Benjamin were goin’ on a drive,” he grunts before biting into a third puff.

“We were,” Rey answers. “We are. He’s only just stepped out—”

“Where’d he go, then?”

“I don’t— Well, I’m not quite sure—”

“He leave you like this a lot?”

“No!” she snaps. “Not— not anymore…”

Rey glares at the old man, but he’s busy eyeing the cold chicken she’s pulled from the basket. Nosy old bugger, sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong…

He’s only stating the obvious, a snide little voice whispers in her ear. Where is your husband always disappearing to?

Rey shakes her head, annoyed. But really, would it be so hard for Ben to tell her what he was doing?

Luke grabs for a leg of the cold chicken, tearing into it greedily with his teeth.

“Will that interfere with your treatment?” Rey asks tentatively. “Or—?”

“Blast the daggone treatment!” Luke bursts out.

Rey startles a little, then has to pat Padmé on the back when she fusses in response.

“Blast the— You don’t care for it, then?”

“‘Course I don’t care for it— Bein’ poked n’ prodded, baking out here in the sun day in n’ day out, treated like an invalid—” He crosses his arms, looking extremely petulant.

“Plenty of people would be very pleased to switch places with you,” Rey informs him hotly, thinking of Zorii. “Sitting out here, with the best physicians attending them, rather than coughing themselves to death in their beds.”

“Let them, then.” His blue eyes flash, and for a moment Rey can picture him as a younger man. “I never asked for any of this. It’s not gonna work anyhow.”

“Well then, why on Earth did you come here?” Rey demands. “Seems an awful long journey to simply give up.”

Luke chews his cheek, so his rather unkempt beard rustles at her.

“I don’t really— Just thought I oughta… make peace with some things—”

In a flash Rey makes the connection. He wasn’t in Denver looking for a sanatorium, he was there to revisit the place where he’d left Ben. She opens her mouth, but she doesn’t know what to say.

“Waste of time,” Luke mutters, almost to himself. “Foolish thing to chase atonement… Found a whole lot more than I expected, and a thousand times less than a man would wish…”

Rey purses her lips, thinking of Leia’s slap.

“I’m sure— I know there’s been some unpleasantness, but—”

“Leia won’t ever forgive me,” Luke continues. “Benjamin neither. Sure as the sunrise he regrets the day he ever went away with me. All this evil has its source in it. Never shoulda thought I could do him a lick of good.”

Rey finds herself shaking her head.

“That’s not the way he tells it. He—” She cuts off; of course she can’t tell Ben’s entire story, and there’s the complicated reality of his feelings toward his uncle now. But nor can she leave this sick old man to think he’s failed in all of his endeavors. “Ben— I don’t know if he’ll forgive you. But I don’t think he regrets moving out of the city. The way he tells it, you— saved him.”

Luke furrows his overgrown eyebrows at her. It might have reinforced his grumpy demeanor, but the way he holds her gaze somewhat mars the effect. There’s an almost imperceptible shift in him, like half a breath out. Some measure of relief, perhaps; the faintest hint of an understanding between them. Rey opens her mouth again, though she’s unsure what she means to say—

There comes the sound of hoofbeats on the road, and she turns, breaking eye contact, craning her neck to see if it’s Ben.

Indeed it is him!

But instead of riding along the side of the house to the stables he turns into the round drive, pulling Killer to a moving stop and swinging his leg over to jump down, then disappearing into the house.

Rey stands quickly, adjusting Padmé when she squirms in her arms, her little face scrunching.

“I suppose he’s probably gone to find—” She turns in a distracted circle. “I’ll just— Might you watch the picnic basket?”

Luke coughs, partially doubling over but waving her away.

“Reckon I can,” he wheezes solemnly as he looks up at her again, and Rey knows she’ll return to find it a drumstick or two lighter.

Killer isn’t even tied, though he’s a good enough horse that he’s barely strayed from the spot where Ben jumped down. Rey pauses to loop him to the hitching post besides the front steps, then follows Ben through the front door.

Padmé fusses a little in the foyer, before opening her mouth to let out a louder cry.

“Rey?” It’s Leia, peering out at her from the parlor. “I thought you and Ben had gone for a drive?”

“We were— are—” Padmé cries again, and Rey tries to hush her. “We’ve been delayed.”

“I see,” Leia says. “I can mind her, if that would help.”

“I— yes, I suppose it would—”

Padmé doesn’t go quietly, letting out a fresh, ear-splitting squall as her grandmother lifts her into her arms. It lowers Rey’s hopes for a quick departure.

She hurries along the hallway to their little bedroom. The door is already ajar, and she can hear objects and papers being shifted inside, punctuated by her husband’s low, muttered curses.

“Ben—?”

He looks around when she pushes the door in, then turns back to the small writing desk, rifling through another stack of papers.

“Listen, sweetheart, I’m sorry—”

“Where did you go?” she asks him in a small voice. It doesn’t really seem like he’s looking for her at all. All the stress and confusion of his distraction for the past few months flood back into her mind, as if they haven’t gone anywhere, as if nothing has changed, and, really, it hasn’t

“Just— out, it doesn’t matter—”

“Yes, it does.” Rey swallows thickly. “We were supposed to go on a drive.”

Ben’s hands freeze around the envelope he’s holding, and he looks up, though he avoids her gaze.

“I— I know, and I’m sorry, but—”

“Are you— in trouble with the law, or—?” Could he… have another woman? Rey shakes her head. No, he wouldn’t. But he’s keeping some secret, she knows it. He’s been keeping it for a long time now.

“No, sweetheart, it’s not anything of that nature—”

“Why can’t you tell me, then?”

“I—” He pauses for a long moment. Then he takes a deep breath and steps back to sit heavily on their bed. “I’ve been trying to bid on a homestead.”

Rey blinks.

“A homestead?”

“Just south of town. It’s already got a— a house, and a barn, though it might need a bit of fixin’ up—”

A homestead? Of all the things to keep quiet…

“Why— why wouldn’t you just tell me?”

Ben sighs.

“It was s’posed to be your surprise. And there’s been a bit of a bidding war, another fellow seemed dead-set on it too, so I wasn’t sure I’d manage. Didn’t wanna get your hopes up…”

“Is that why you were gone so much?”

“Yes.” He nods.

That explains everything. His long absence, likely even his leaving her abruptly that day to go and talk to the men in the street. Rey thinks of the many, many mornings she woke up to feeling so alone.

“I wish you would’ve told me,” she tells him, swallowing again around the lump in her throat. “I thought—” She breaks off, blinking tears out of her eyes. Ben reaches for her, but she shakes her head. “I don’t like it when you don’t tell me things.”

“Sweetheart—” He clears his throat. “I know I oughta know that by now. I just— I was trying to take care of you.”

Rey tries to control her hitched, shuddering breaths.

“I l-like when you take care of me,” she says. “B-but when you keep things from me… I’ve just spent months wondering what on Earth was wrong—”

Ben reaches for her again, and this time Rey lets him pull her to the bed and gather her up in his arms.

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs into her hair. “‘M so sorry, Rey…”

He holds her until she’s only hiccuping.

“I was so excited to tell you,” he says. “It all went through, other fella went down to Golden in his search instead. But then the bank telephoned, and—”

“Is something the matter?” Rey wipes at her eyes, sitting up to look at him.

Ben shrugs, and his expression is sad, almost lost.

“Said there’d be an issue, extendin’ a line of credit. Went down to try n’ reason with ‘em, but I need some documentation or other to prove my worth—”

“What about— I mean, your mother—”

Ben shakes his head.

“I know, I just— I wanted to— own it outright. I got enough left over, you know, even after all the housing materials were bought. Just hard, all this sudden dependence. But it’s pride, and vanity, I know. Just had it in my mind that we oughta have a place of our own.”

He’s not wrong there. It’s nice, of course, having help with Padmé, and with the housework, but Rey wonders how long before it all gets too stifling. This little room compares poorly to their own home, the patch of side yard a far cry from acres of yard and meadow and field.

“I’ll keep trying, I will. Only I’m sorry it’s a disappointment, on top of it all…”

He looks so forlorn that Rey can’t muster any further frustration with him.

“Ben, it’s O.K.— I just, I want to take care of you too, you know? I want you to… rely on me, when things go wrong.”

“I will.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. “You’re— you’re already a greater comfort to me than you could ever know, sweetheart.”

It’s much too late to start the drive now, and Rey internally mourns their picnic a little. But they make it out to the parlor for tea, and Ben spends an hour making funny faces and provoking giggles from their baby, so perhaps the day isn’t a complete loss. In an queer way, the little spat makes Rey feel lighter than she’s felt in a good while.

She laughs at the happy screeches when Ben lifts Padmé over his head, bouncing her in the air while she waves her chubby hands, and is quite impervious to the scolding Leia delivers when Luke is discovered with the remains of the picnic basket.

Notes:

*Sneaks back in two months later*

Sorry for the update schedule, I've had a lot of other stuff I've been working on (mostly writing a review chapter for a textbook lol.)

This is kind of the second half of last chapter, so I don't really have any end notes for you. Next chapter is a doozy, so stay tuned and buckle up.

Thanks for waiting, and hope you're all doing well!!

Series this work belongs to: