[JMM] 35.2 Where does real magic exist? Write about it. (For <lj site="livejournal.com" user="offeri

[thepainted_lady]

Wednesdays in autumn were, on a rule, quiet around the carnival. The rubes' children had all gone back to school, and the rubes to work, and no one wanted a show when they had to all get up early the next morning. Summers were different. During the summer they could end up having a show every night, but in the autumns a sort of serenity settled over the carnival during the week. People slept in a little later, because there wasn’t so much to do. Chores were more leisurely, and people chatted while they tended to the daily needs, or went about the maintenance of rides and games to be ready for the coming weekend.

It was still unseasonably warm, but there was a bit of a breeze where Lydia sat under a tree and looked back at the towering steel and flapping pennants that looked somehow abandoned on this rolling plain. If she closed her eyes, reached out, she could feel just how unabandoned it was, with life and emotion and hopes and fears all tangling around inside the members of the family who moved through their day. She’d finished up her work for the day, and not wanting to confine herself to the stuffy interior of the trailer, and feeling more of an urge to commune with herself than the family, her feet and heart had led her here. Keeping her eyes closed, she drifted; hearing the soft buzz of insects, the trickle of the stream; feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin; smelling the distant smoke and meat that indicated Samuel or someone had fired up the grills for dinner. That made her smile, more than a little grateful that her appetite had finally returned.

Stretching her ability, she checked in on each loved one, sensing their mood, making sure there was nothing she was needed for at the moment. Everyone seemed content enough, so she pulled back into herself, stretching a little, and then stilling abruptly as a flutter went off in her abdomen.

It tickled a little, feeling like bubbles running around under the surface of her skin. She held her breath, and there it was again. Slowly, so slowly, terrified of making the sensation stop, she slid her hand to her stomach, cradling the swell that had finally started to make itself known, pressing there in some quiet plea for further confirmation, and after a few breathless moments, she felt the movement again, inside and out.

Tears sprang to her eyes, but she held very, very still, not even letting a sound escape when they fell. When she was finally forced to breathe, the sound slid out on a sigh, and then a soft laugh. The baby liked that, and she had to giggle as the tickling increased for a moment.

“Hi there,” she murmured softly, sliding her fingers across her skin.

She needed to find Samuel, to tell him, to show him, even if the likelihood that he’d feel anything so small was slim. He was sensitive to such things, though, and she wanted to share, to at least have somewhere to spill out the incredible joy that seemed to course through her veins. That required moving, though, and movement could make it stop, ruin the quiet perfection of this here and now.

This was clearly a time when a cell phone would have been handy, even if the possibility of signal out here was remote. In a few minutes, then, she’d go, find him, tell him. For now, she closed her eyes again, and just savored the contented feeling running deep through her, her focus now completely inward, wrapped around that tiny quickening, and all the future joy it foretold.

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[offering-hope.livejournal.com]

In the end, it was Samuel who found her.

Even with the coming of the autumn and the lax pace it generally afforded, he'd found himself just as busy as ever. There were still books to do, supplies to acquire through trade or con (they needed some new steel for the dive rim for the Ferris wheel, and it couldn't wait too long), weekends in the milder part of the country to book, and so on and so forth. He supposed some of it could have been left to the others, Edgar specifically, but he'd been something like a man possessed. After everything that had happened and everything that was still to come -- in this case, the baby -- he didn't trust anyone else. He needed things to go right and when you wanted something done right, you did it yourself.

Thankfully, however, all he thought needed his attentions had been dealt with for the day and without wearing him down -- having a reason for his fervor gave him little time to feel overwhelmed -- and he'd followed reports from the rest of the family as to where Lydia had gone. He flashed her a smile that was small but fond, such a far cry from his usual barker persona, and moved to her side when he found her. He put his back to the tree, looking down at her.

"Afternoon."

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

Lydia tilted her head up to give him a smile that was potentially a little too bright for a simple greeting. She'd been meaning to get up, come find him, for a while, but every time she considered it, the baby moved again, and she hadn't been able to tear herself away from it, afraid of shattering that precious feeling. But he'd found her anyway, and him taking the time to seek her out made it even more precious in her mind.

"Afternoon," she echoed, smile softening from that first bright flash. She reached up a hand for his, tugging lightly, careful not to move too much. "Come down here. I was just going to come look for you, but this is better..."

[offering-hope.livejournal.com]

He let her tug him down, using the tree at his back as a brace as he lowered himself down to the ground next to her. He laced his fingers with hers properly once he was comfortable, and studied her, tilting his head to one side, his smile taking a step in the direction of amusement.

"Someone looks like the cat that ate the canary." And that, coupled with the fact that she'd mentioned her intent to come see him, made him curious. He raised his eyebrows, though the smile remained. "Something happen?"

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

She squeezed his fingers, biting her lower lip as her smile threatened to burst out into something even brighter and blindingly.

"Mmmhmmm." She lifted her free hand to press against his lips, then tugged the other to her stomach, pressing it hard enough to the swell there that it wasn't completely comfortable. "She moved. I felt her move..." She really had no idea about the gender, but somehow had moved into "she," because, really..."it" felt wrong.

[offering-hope.livejournal.com]

Samuel wet his lips with his tongue, largely to keep himself to referring to their unborn child as he -- Lydia was hoping for a daughter while he was silently praying for a son -- and traced his fingers over the rise of her stomach lightly. There seemed to be no movement from the baby now, but he didn't doubt Lydia's word in the least. He offered her a slow, near-elated grin. "Did you?"

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

"Mmhmm," she confirmed, leaning against him as much as the tree, now, welcoming the solid warmth of him beside her with a little pleased sigh. "It's like...bubbles under my skin. It tickled." Though she'd settled for the moment, maybe sensing the change, holding still for her father's touch for a moment. At least that was how Lydia liked to picture it in her head.

[offering-hope.livejournal.com]

Gently, he pressed his palm against her stomach and pulled her back against him entirely, his head coming to rest at her shoulder. He glanced down at the swell of her stomach, then back up at her from the corners of his eyes, the smile still firmly in place.

"Tell me how big she is now?" he asked. The doctor at the last clinic they'd visited had mentioned that, of course, but he'd only been half-listening after he'd mentioned that mother and child were in fine health, his thoughts drifting to other things. What he'd like to name the child when they got to that point, what they would do about a nursery, things like that.

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

Lydia smiled, closing her eyes and just feeling him, his contentment, his pleasure melding with hers. The knowledge of that quickening of life inside her gave it all the deeper poignancy.

"About six inches," she told him, with a smile. "She's got all her fingers and toes, and fingernails, even." She found that minor detail fascinating, really. "Her arms and legs are all in proportion, now. She's getting hair on her head, and her brain is starting to do its major developing." Why, yes, she had been obsessively reading baby books, why do you ask?

[offering-hope.livejournal.com]

He listened to her go through it all happily, and when she finished, he slid his fingers away from her stomach to brush them through her hair. He returned them to where they had been a moment after. "Wonder what color her hair will be. Her eyes. All of it."

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

She glanced back up at him, opening her eyes, and gave him a curious smile. "Does anyone in your family have lighter colored eyes?" Her mother had, and Danny had, and from thence came Amanda's blue eyes, so different from her own, that constant reminder of the man who hadn't wanted either one of them. She pushed the thought aside, basking in the contentment of the difference this time.

[offering-hope.livejournal.com]

The smile dimmed as he considered the question, but it did not disappear.

"My grandfather did," he answered after a moment, fingers tracing absently over her stomach. "Green or blue -- I'm not sure which. I never got to know him -- he died when Joseph and I were just children -- but my mother kept a picture of her mother and father in a silver locket she wore for years. It was an old thing, just little black and white portraits of them both, but I remember his eyes."

For as little as he'd seen of the picture, his mother content to keep the locket and its contents tucked under her blouse at all times, what stuck with him was his grandfather's eyes. He liked to imagine they were electric blue for how bright they'd been in the photograph, and he wondered dimly what had happened to those portraits. His mother, after all, had sold the locket to make ends meet before he and Joseph had gone to the streets, but he doubted the pictures had gone with it. No one wanted a stranger in their jewelry and his mother had seemed so damn attached to them.

And in thinking of his mother, the smile ran away from his face in entirety now. He wet his lips again, this time in an effort to help him chose his words carefully, and pulled Lydia closer to him. "Speaking of family ... there's something I should tell you."

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

She sensed his mood, the nostalgia, loss, and then the faint nervousness that seemed to inform the movement of his fingers, his arms around her. She settled more securely against him, her faint smile turning to a bit of a concerned frown.

They both had secrets. She didn't pry into his, and he'd never pressed for hers. Their one discussion about finding the carnival aside, somehow that past seemed a taboo subject. She'd broached it with her question, but she wondered what she'd opened up.

"Okay..."

[offering-hope.livejournal.com]

He began slowly, glancing down at his nails as he flaked the ink out from under them. "My mother, she -- when she gave birth to me, she had a hard time of it. I imagine part of it was circumstance." Giving birth to a child in a place that was little more than a concentration camp despite its compliment of doctors couldn't have been easy. "But the other part ... "

He shook his head and huffed out a sigh. "The other part was me, Lydia. My mother spoke very little of it once I'd grown a bit, but -- my ability. It manifested then when her contractions started. The doctors were mystified -- I can only imagine how my mother felt. How horrifying it must've been for her."

He stopped there, still not looking at her, figuring she could fill in the blanks herself and understand why he'd brought this up in the first place. Depending on the nature of their child's ability and if it chose to manifest at the same time he had, chances were the birth could be difficult. It hadn't killed his mother thankfully, but given his luck in affairs of hearth and home lately, he was still fairly nervous.

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

Lydia listened, with both her heart and mind, feeling the nervousness tingle along her skin, from him to her. Amanda's birth had been painful, but easy enough (according to the doctors--she'd have disagreed at the time), given her own young, very healthy body. She was older now, if nowhere near an age where it should be a worry, but the idea of a child manifesting so young...and there was no telling what ability might manifest, given hers and his and Joseph's had been in his bloodline, too.

Her head tucked back down to his shoulder, forehead pressed against his neck, and she let her fingers drift slowly up and down his chest, as soothingly as she could. "Thank you for telling me. It'll give us something to know to watch for, to prepare for. If it's something violent, and it brings about complications...well, it's good you brought Adam here. I'll be okay, and so will the baby."

[offering-hope.livejournal.com]

Sighing, he turned his head to brush a kiss over her temple, fingers winding back up into her hair. "Chances are it won't come to that, but ... I'm not sure I want to leave much to chance in this case. You're too important to me."

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

Her cheeks flushed a little, and she looked for some way to reassure him, to let him know it would be okay, on some level. He'd shared a little of his past. Maybe she should, as well.

"I know I don't really...look built for childbearing..." Narrower hips, and all. "But..." Her gaze fell, and she started playing with his other hand against her stomach.

"I've done this before. I was...fine. The doctors said it went smoothly, and she..." Her words faltered a little bit. "She was like us, and her ability...I don't know when it manifested, but it's a very volatile one."

It wasn't exactly the same. Samuel's mother might have had an easy time of it with Joseph. Or maybe the fact that she'd had a child with a volatile ability already with a non-special actually might add to his worries. That hadn't occurred to her before she spoke, and it cut the words off in her throat that she'd been planning to go on toward, leaving her tense against him, not daring a risk at his face.

[offering-hope.livejournal.com]

He stared down at her, stunned but not hurt. "You -- why ... ?"

Stopping short, he shook his head. It was a miracle, an act of trust, that she'd told him she'd been with child before in the first place -- neither of them were much for sharing important bits of their past -- and he realized rather abruptly that it wasn't his place to pry further. If she wanted to say more, she would; until then, he could focus on just the surface of what she'd told him, rather than demanding to know why she hadn't said anything before or where her daughter was now. Or what she could do.

He settled slowly, wiping the surprise off of his face, and traced his fingers up and down her back, lightly. "Thank you for telling me, Lydia."

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

She appreciated that he didn't press, more than she could say. Somehow just saying the words aloud, making them real after so long keeping them secret was more freeing than she could have imagined. When she'd come here, she'd thought about Amanda all the time. As time went by, she became this treasured memory, tucked away, and brought out on special occasions, when Lydia was alone, when she could remember, or cry, or wish her well, without arousing comment. Every year on her birthday she lit a candle for her, but that was her only small ritual.

For a few moments she just sat, tucking her feet under her and curling into him a little bit. She couldn't just leave it hanging there like that, though, so, finally, she went on. "I was fifteen when I got pregnant. Sixteen when she was born." He probably could have done the math and figured out it was something like that, given how old she'd been when she got here, but. "I'd run away from home with this boy. Things were...I wanted to get away, and I thought he loved me. Or...I wanted to believe he did. But when we found out I was pregnant, all he wanted to do was run. I went back home, but my dad kicked me out after a few weeks. So, I went to my sister. She's seven years older than me. Normal. Married. Lives in the suburbs. Her husbands got a good job. But she can't have kids. So when Amanda was born...I could tell how much they wanted her. They thought I was just a screw up. Hell...I'd run away, dropped out of school, gotten knocked up, all before I was old enough to drive, so." She shrugged. "They could give her everything I couldn't. So, I left her with them, and I ran again, and a few months later, I ended up here."

[offering-hope.livejournal.com]

His hand move from her back to her cheek, cradling it, thumb brushing over her skin gently.

"I won't leave you, Lydia," he told her softly. She was sure she could gather that much on her own, but he also figured that it couldn't help to say the words aloud and make them real. "You're stuck with me. Our daughter, our son -- whichever it happens to be -- is stuck with us."

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

Something she didn't realize had tightened up in her loosened again. It was a pretty big secret she'd been keeping, after all, and while their pasts might not be something they talked much about...she'd been worried he'd be angry.

Leaning into his touch, she gave him a small smile, turning her head to press a kiss to his palm. "That's good. 'Cause you're sort of stuck with me, too."

[offering-hope.livejournal.com]

He slid his fingers down from her cheek to catch her chin between them. He tilted her head up faintly, gently, looking down at her for a moment, his lips curled into the faintest of smiles. Then, finally, he leaned down to brush a kiss over her lips. "That's good to know."

[thepainted-lady.livejournal.com]

Lydia returned the kiss softly, sliding one hand up to cradle against his cheek, smiling a little against his lips and relaxing against the warmth of his chest. For the moment, at least, it felt like her world was complete, like nothing could ever intrude on the perfection, no matter what wolves were baying at the door.