Nicholas and Sam stood in the foyer of the home, hands clasped in farewell. His friend looked back towards the direction of the kitchen, to his wife that was still seated there, hollow. His face was solemn, and his eyes were sad,
“Neither of them deserves this,” Sam said. “They deserve a bit of happiness in their lives. The Lord knows they’ve both had tough starts.”
Nicholas nodded, thinking of Carol’s scars and about her parents perishing in a fire. Then he thought about Noelle, and all the things she’d endured while Henry had been alive.
“I’m going to get her back,” Nicholas said. “If it takes years, I don’t care. I’ll bring Carol back home.”
Sam nodded, stepping back. “Noelle deserves someone who will fight for her, and so does Carol. I have no doubt you’ll do what it takes. Just make sure Noelle stays whole through it all.”
Nicholas nodded, opening the door for his friend. The air was frigid outside, almost knocking the air from their lungs with its brutality. Sam whistled, rubbing his hands together before he made his way to the barn. Nicholas waited for the man to disappear around the bend before he went inside.
Noelle was still seated in the kitchen, staring into the cup of tea that he’d made for her. He was sure it was ice cold already, but she still took a sip, not even a grimace appearing. Her head was hung low, her shoulders drooped, and her hair hung limply down her back. It was paler red than usual, not as vibrant.
Her very essence felt dull, like the shine had been stolen from her and carted off with Carol. Nicholas took a seat across from her, weariness finally slowing him down for the first time in a while. He felt bone tired, like a man that had been awake all his life and never had the chance for restful sleep.
Noelle tapped her nails on the side of the cup, contemplatively gazing into the contents. At first, when she’d done it for the first time, he’d thought that he’d made her tea wrong. Granted, there had been more tea leaves left over floating in the cup than when she made it, but he was trying his best.
He even went as far as following her exact tea-making routine, down to tapping the spoon on the side of the rim two times. But now he didn’t know, she probably just felt a bit more at ease, finding some sort of solace in the dark red-and-amber liquid.
“Can I ask you something?” Noelle suddenly said, her voice strong and clear, unlike the soft and hoarse sound it had been earlier in the day. This was serious to her, if the clarity with which she spoke the question was any indication. “Something I’m unsure about. Actually—quite unsure about if I’m being honest.”
Nicholas nodded. “Ask away, sweetheart.”
He sat back in the chair, leaving his arms relaxed on the arm rests, not wanting to shut her off with his body language.
She suddenly looked up, her eyes clearer than they had been, mouth set in a determined line, and her body rigid. “When Beatrice…yesterday when you said those things—that you love me?”
Nicholas had to compose himself, keep the smile from painting his face, when he realized just where she was going with this. He should have known she would have second thoughts about it all, would question his devotion to her—and he didn’t blame her, considering the way they were unified and the reason why. And even though he now knew that he had loved her long before these three days, she didn’t, and he’d barely had the time to tell her properly. He’d hardly call blurting the words out to Sister Beatrice while she was taking their child away the proper moment, or even the moment where it would have sunk in.
“Did you mean it? Were you…were you serious?” She finished.
Nicholas almost flipped over the back of the chair with the urge to reassure her. How could she even ask? How could she not know? But he did not think she’d appreciate any sarcasm or incredulity today. So he stayed silently amused, nothing but seriousness on his face as he answered.
“As serious as a hangman's knot, honey.”
Almost immediately, a frown creased the skin between her eyebrows. “I’m serious, Nicholas.”
Oh, she’s very serious, and definitely not in the mood for his antics. Nicholas sobered up, pushing the amusement far away, replacing it with nothing but sincerity. He shrugged. “I am too. I didn’t say those things yesterday because I felt they would help our cause—I said them because I meant them, and I couldn't bear Beatrice minimizing our marriage and our vows.”
Noelle stared at him for a moment, so intently, that he almost felt prone to start straightening his clothes. It felt like she saw through him, as if she was peeling back layer upon layer to see what lay at his center. And usually, he didn’t squirm so easily, but this woman…this woman had the power to undo everything about him. She could be his downfall, and he’d go down smiling. But when she still said nothing, when she just looked at him as if she was expecting the other shoe to drop… his heart broke again.
Nicholas stood from his seat, walked around the table, and pulled out the seat right beside her. He turned it towards her, and then he grasped the upper and lower part of her chair, turning it towards his. Taking his seat, he scooted closer and closer, until their knees touched, and he placed his hands on the armrests on either side of her. Nicholas leaned in close, making sure she would internalize every single word he said.
“I am in love with you, Noelle. I have been from the very first moment I saw you, even if I didn’t know it yet. Everything I feel for you is genuine, and it is deeply ingrained into my soul. You are deeply ingrained into my soul.” He swallowed, Noelle’s eyes wide as they stared into his own. “I have felt happiness like no other in my short time with you, and while I would have preferred a more prepared and romantic wedding…”
They both laughed quietly, puffs of air mixing and mingling.
“I am still so extraordinarily happy and blessed to have married you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, with Carol and maybe a few more children someday,” Nicholas grasped her hands, placing them against his lips. She was crying fully now, tears streaming down her beautiful face. “You will want for nothing, you will never experience pain or heartache again. Not if I can help it.”
Noelle started nodding, clutching his hands tightly. His own tears stained her hands where they were pressed to his face. “I love you, Noelle Birch. And I will love you until the end of my days, to my very last breath—if you’ll have me.”
She gave a gasping sob, crashing her face into his shoulders as she clutched him closer. Nicholas released her hands, gathered her up, and settled her down on his lap. He held her tightly, as if the wind blowing against the door might find a way to blow her away from him. Her breath left hot puffs of air on his neck, her tears wetting his shirt and staining his heart. They held each other for a long while, both of them unable to move and not really wanting to.
Noelle suddenly lifted her head, face red and puffy but looking beautiful as ever, and Nicholas palmed her cheek. He let her see what he felt, put every scrap of emotion and love into his gaze so that she might finally see his sincerity… that he truly did love her. That she was worthy of love, despite having been shown the opposite her entire life. Nicholas showed her every raw emotion he could, and prayed to the Lord that it was enough, that he was enough for her.
Silence stretched as they gazed into each other’s eyes, a silence that did not need to be filled. One loaded with such emotion, it could have had a mind of its own. Noelle’s gaze flitted between his eyes, searching for the answer to a question she no doubt had posed in her head. So he sat quietly, patiently waiting for that wondrous mind of hers to decide.
Noelle spoke then, and he’d be damned if they weren’t the most beautiful words he’d ever heard. “I take you, Nicholas Birch, to be my lawfully wedded husband from now until my last days, up to my very last breath.”
Nicholas’ heart beat out of his chest, threatening to burst through his ribcage.
“I love you, Nicholas. Unequivocally, and unconditionally.” Her lips trembled as she spoke the words, her hands poised on his shoulders. “I love you.”
Nicholas kissed her tenderly, almost grunting at the unearthly softness of her lips. He kissed her deeply, for every kiss they didn’t have before this, and for every kiss they didn’t have to go without from now on. They loved each other, and while they were both far from being whole, they had each other. And when he woke the next day, he’d march down to that orphanage, and they’d have Carol. They would be a family again, no matter what.
The next morning, when Nicholas awoke, he was almost humming with determination and purpose. The morning air was crisp and cold to his lungs, almost burning with every breath he inhaled. The pine trees swayed in the soft winter breeze, the snow like a cozy blanket on the earth as he made his way to the front door of the orphanage. He’d left early that morning, careful not to rouse Noelle in his haste to get there.
The wooden porch groaned beneath his feet, the white paint chipped and peeling in some places. He knocked twice, his gloved hands making a dull sound. He hoped Noelle slept until she was rested, seeing as she hadn’t gotten much sleep in those last few days. She looked worse for the wear, and he was starting to get worried.
There was a dull thud of boots as someone came to open the door, Sister Beatrice’s smile fading when she laid on eyes on him. “It is no use, Mr. Birch. Carol is better off here, go home.”
He stepped closer, a palm on the door she tried to close in his face. Annoyance flashed in her eyes, her skirts seemingly vibrating with her irritation. He did not mean to be rude, but he would not leave there without having Sister Beatrice listen to what he had to say.
“Good day to you too, Sister,” he gritted out, barely containing his own annoyance. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not leaving here until you’ve heard what I have to say.”
Nicholas only noticed the other patrons sitting in the living area once the words had left his mouth. He nodded sheepishly. “Respectfully.”
Sister Beatrice considered it briefly, still holding the door partially closed, before she sighed and opened it fully. Nicholas stepped inside, inclining his head in greeting to the patrons who had just witnessed his demand. Beatrice motioned for him to follow and led him to a back living area that wasn’t as occupied as the one they’d passed at the front.
It was a large house, the interior as big as a mansion with multiple bedrooms, seating areas that served as playrooms, and bathrooms to accommodate the horde of children currently under the orphanage overseers’ care. Nicholas took a seat on one of the plush chairs, Sister Beatrice excused herself briefly.
She returned a moment later with Mr. Banks, who also looked less than happy to see Nicholas but was civil enough to grasp his hand in greeting. They took their seats opposite him, making it very apparent that they would listen, but it was very obviously Nicholas vs. them.
He rolled his shoulders back, unsure how to start. Nerves made a bundle of knots in his stomach, his throat feeling like it was closed up for some reason. He scratched the back of his head, and then he began. “I completely understand your reasoning with this whole situation, Sister Beatrice, Mr. Banks.” He glanced at both of them in turn. “But there is more to the story than either of you realize.”
Sister Beatrice’s shoulders tensed immediately, and Mr. Banks shifted his weight. They were already aching to leave, already uninterested; and he’d only just begun. Nicholas swallowed, willing every ounce of confidence he had into his voice and body as he continued. “Noelle only told you the gist of what happened, what made her decide to go ahead with the adoption despite not having a husband.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Birch, we have places to be and an orphanage to run…” Mr. Banks said, sitting forward. But Nicholas just went on, unfettered.
“When Henry was still alive, Noelle experienced something a woman should never have to. He was an unkind man, an alcoholic with the habit of picking on his wife whenever he returned home from the saloon, reeking of whiskey,” Nicholas said, hoping he wasn’t betraying her trust. “Noelle tried for years to give him a child, despite the horrible husband he was to her. But she couldn’t carry the babies to term.” He wondered if it was the fault of Noelle’s body or the countless beatings she underwent whilst trying to grow a baby. He supposed the answer was obvious.
“And when she proposed the idea of adoption, Henry was adamant for a boy. He did not want Carol, the little girl Noelle had an instant connection with; he wanted a boy that could inherit the ranch after him upon his death—as he was the last living descendant of his family.” Nicholas spoke with confidence, hoping this would be enough to convince them that Noelle was not a horrible person; that they were not bad people. “And when she pushed him, asked him again if she could bring Carol home, he hit her and—”
Nicholas trailed off. Details were not necessary, and he did not need to tell Beatrice every single thing Noelle had disclosed to him to get his point across.
“And you know what she did? She asked again, and again, took every beating he gave; trying to get Carol home. To adopt the little girl she was sure was sent to her to be her daughter.” Nicholas looked straight at Sister Beatrice when he spoke again. “Noelle Foster Birch, the same woman you scolded and treated like dirt, took countless beatings trying to adopt the very girl you took away from her.”
Mr. Banks cleared his throat, trying to speak, but Nicholas persisted. “She might have lied, and she might have deceived you. But she apologized, and after the things you said to her, well, she is devastated—and make no mistake, Sister, she did it all for Carol, just as she always would. She’d lie, steal, and deceive to keep Carol safe and happy; something I personally don’t think is that bad of a quality in a mother.”
Sister Beatrice looked away first, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. Nicholas looked at his clasped hands. “What she did, I agree, it was wrong. But is she not allowed to make a mistake?”
With that last parting question, Nicholas rose from his chair. He did not bid them goodbye, and he did not glance back as he left the orphanage. He only paused to get one look at a little blonde head, but left disappointed. He hoped his words were enough. Nicholas prayed that it would be enough to bring their daughter home.