What Family Means
Jul. 10th, 2016 11:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
barefoot_bardTitle: What Family Means
Rating: M (Suitable for ages 16 and above)
Disclaimers: All names given in this story are fictional and any relation to actual persons, living or dead, is purely incidental.
Story summary: Hard times strike a small family, with grave consequences. Chatham, 1785/86. Part Two of Three.
Author's Note: Any factual errors that occur within are my own.
There was a crowd of jeering, chattering, eager onlookers all around them, ringing the gallows like a human stain. A handful of red-coated militiamen stood around the gallows, their bayonets fixed. On the scaffold itself, four nooses hung in silent wait for their prey. Prey that was proceeding slowly through the noisy crowd, many of whom were well into their cups. The atmosphere was nearly festive but the majority of those who had come this morning were here only for the diversion of seeing men hang.
Nancy Owens gripped her sister's arm but barely heard Polly's murmured reassurances. This was not how any of them had imagined things would go. The trial yesterday had been a travesty. She could think of no better word for it. A verdict of guilt and thus a sentence of death, when anyone with an ounce of sense could see there simply was no cause for it. But then, justice in England was seldom done as it should be, was it? Not when the man accused was a lowly artisan.
A hand curled lightly around hers and on impulse, she squeezed it. The fingers were worn and slender. Polly's. God but she was glad for her being here. Her and Tom both. The pair had been steadfast supports from the beginning. She appreciated that far more than words could express, even though their efforts to save George had failed, bringing them here to Penenden Heath to watch that failure come to its fatal end.
"When it's over, I'll get 'im back," Tom said from where he stood behind them. There was no mistaking the steel in his voice, but he had been angry ever since George's trial ended. His feeling almost matched her own. Almost. He was not losing half so much as she was. George was so many things; a loyal husband, a devoted friend, a gentle lover... clever, and decent, and dependable. They had not had much, beyond each other, but that had more than sufficed. And now... she watched him in the line of prisoners as they were marched to the stairs of the gallows and there halted.
She did not want to think about what was coming. Nor did she want to watch, but she owed it to George. He would do the same for her, she knew, were their positions and fates reversed. Dear George. He looked thin and wan-faced, but was holding himself upright. How very like him. No man deserved this less. Polly's grip on her hand and arm tightened, and she felt Tom lay a gently restraining hand on her shoulder, as she took a step forward. What she wanted most on Earth was to push through this crowd of stupid, bloodthirsty humanity and run to George's side. There could be no stopping the hanging, yet she wanted nothing more than to hold him this one last time, to tell him all those things she had never done, until now. It was the desperate awareness that the end was so very near and her foremost desire was to delay that end however she could.
"Steady, Nance." Polly had a firm hold on her and her voice was low, soothing. "You'll do no good for him now."
She knew that. She did. At the same time, the words struck her as cold and unfair. What would Polly do if it was Tom now ascending those stairs to his doom? But the moment was now and their combined holds on her kept her still. On the scaffold, George was led to the second noose in the line and the lethal loop of hemp was placed over his head. He seemed unaware of it, for his gaze passed over the laughing, jeering, crowd to alight on her. A whole conversation passed between them without a single word spoken. She trembled, feeling her eyes begin to dampen. The sick dread that had simmered in her stomach seemed to cool, to turn to a hard leaden weight of helplessness. The moment was now and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.
"You ain't gotta watch, Nance."
With a supreme effort, Nancy shook her head. She had gotten through everything up to now without shying away. To do so now was a disservice to George. She slipped her hand free from Polly's and lifted her arms toward George, a silent, final farewell. He replied with a smile. A brief, shining, smile. Only he could be so wholly careless on the very brink of eternity.
Then the hangman pulled the lever and with a clatter, the trapdoor beneath the feet of the condemned fell open. All four men dropped with the creaking of suddenly-taut hemp inaudible against the nearly-unified roar of approval from the crowd. Tom and Polly were quick to catch Nancy as her knees gave out under her. She clung fast to her sister, unable to contain the tears any longer. It was over. Everything was over. What did she have now, aside from nothing?
The Carters crouched around her, providing a buffer between her hunched, sobbing form and the press of people around them. Without them, she could not have borne this half so well, but it would be some time before she could acknowledge that. All she felt now was unspeakable grief, to which only tears could give expression. With George gone, she had no hope. A light had been extinguished for her.
And then, in her ear, Polly muttered, "We're here with you, Nancy. Always."
Rating: M (Suitable for ages 16 and above)
Disclaimers: All names given in this story are fictional and any relation to actual persons, living or dead, is purely incidental.
Story summary: Hard times strike a small family, with grave consequences. Chatham, 1785/86. Part Two of Three.
Author's Note: Any factual errors that occur within are my own.
There was a crowd of jeering, chattering, eager onlookers all around them, ringing the gallows like a human stain. A handful of red-coated militiamen stood around the gallows, their bayonets fixed. On the scaffold itself, four nooses hung in silent wait for their prey. Prey that was proceeding slowly through the noisy crowd, many of whom were well into their cups. The atmosphere was nearly festive but the majority of those who had come this morning were here only for the diversion of seeing men hang.
Nancy Owens gripped her sister's arm but barely heard Polly's murmured reassurances. This was not how any of them had imagined things would go. The trial yesterday had been a travesty. She could think of no better word for it. A verdict of guilt and thus a sentence of death, when anyone with an ounce of sense could see there simply was no cause for it. But then, justice in England was seldom done as it should be, was it? Not when the man accused was a lowly artisan.
A hand curled lightly around hers and on impulse, she squeezed it. The fingers were worn and slender. Polly's. God but she was glad for her being here. Her and Tom both. The pair had been steadfast supports from the beginning. She appreciated that far more than words could express, even though their efforts to save George had failed, bringing them here to Penenden Heath to watch that failure come to its fatal end.
"When it's over, I'll get 'im back," Tom said from where he stood behind them. There was no mistaking the steel in his voice, but he had been angry ever since George's trial ended. His feeling almost matched her own. Almost. He was not losing half so much as she was. George was so many things; a loyal husband, a devoted friend, a gentle lover... clever, and decent, and dependable. They had not had much, beyond each other, but that had more than sufficed. And now... she watched him in the line of prisoners as they were marched to the stairs of the gallows and there halted.
She did not want to think about what was coming. Nor did she want to watch, but she owed it to George. He would do the same for her, she knew, were their positions and fates reversed. Dear George. He looked thin and wan-faced, but was holding himself upright. How very like him. No man deserved this less. Polly's grip on her hand and arm tightened, and she felt Tom lay a gently restraining hand on her shoulder, as she took a step forward. What she wanted most on Earth was to push through this crowd of stupid, bloodthirsty humanity and run to George's side. There could be no stopping the hanging, yet she wanted nothing more than to hold him this one last time, to tell him all those things she had never done, until now. It was the desperate awareness that the end was so very near and her foremost desire was to delay that end however she could.
"Steady, Nance." Polly had a firm hold on her and her voice was low, soothing. "You'll do no good for him now."
She knew that. She did. At the same time, the words struck her as cold and unfair. What would Polly do if it was Tom now ascending those stairs to his doom? But the moment was now and their combined holds on her kept her still. On the scaffold, George was led to the second noose in the line and the lethal loop of hemp was placed over his head. He seemed unaware of it, for his gaze passed over the laughing, jeering, crowd to alight on her. A whole conversation passed between them without a single word spoken. She trembled, feeling her eyes begin to dampen. The sick dread that had simmered in her stomach seemed to cool, to turn to a hard leaden weight of helplessness. The moment was now and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.
"You ain't gotta watch, Nance."
With a supreme effort, Nancy shook her head. She had gotten through everything up to now without shying away. To do so now was a disservice to George. She slipped her hand free from Polly's and lifted her arms toward George, a silent, final farewell. He replied with a smile. A brief, shining, smile. Only he could be so wholly careless on the very brink of eternity.
Then the hangman pulled the lever and with a clatter, the trapdoor beneath the feet of the condemned fell open. All four men dropped with the creaking of suddenly-taut hemp inaudible against the nearly-unified roar of approval from the crowd. Tom and Polly were quick to catch Nancy as her knees gave out under her. She clung fast to her sister, unable to contain the tears any longer. It was over. Everything was over. What did she have now, aside from nothing?
The Carters crouched around her, providing a buffer between her hunched, sobbing form and the press of people around them. Without them, she could not have borne this half so well, but it would be some time before she could acknowledge that. All she felt now was unspeakable grief, to which only tears could give expression. With George gone, she had no hope. A light had been extinguished for her.
And then, in her ear, Polly muttered, "We're here with you, Nancy. Always."