#cw: adultrey

[smolvenger]

Stella of Essex, or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed Series. Chapter Eight: Rhodendron

Fix-It Fanfiction Series of The Essex Serpent

Pairing: Some Stella Ransome/William Ransome, mainly Stella/Being Happy, and William/Being Held Accountable and Facing Consequences for Cheating Eventually Stella Ransome/Male OC

Series Summary: Stella must come to terms with not only her mortality but her husband's heartbreaking affair. A picture of a marriage of love and bliss torn apart by a husband's infidelity. And Stella herself in the center of it all, torn between a wife's duty and her own quiet but present rage. Where in the midst of devastating heartbreak she gains her strength, finds her voice, and dares to seek freedom, hope...and even revenge.

Chapter Summary: Stella flees from her husband's house and asks for the aid of an old friend in her predicament. She writes testimonies of William's infidelity to be sent and shared.

Warnings: Eventual Major Character Death, Female Rage, Good For Her, ANGST, WHUMP, HURT/COMFORT, DRAMA, Discussions of Adultery, and the Trauma of Being Cheated on, discussions of marriage, children, mentions of death, religion, drinking, brief cursing, and mentions of illness. Being Anti-William and Anti-C*ra, so if you like them or the pairing be warned.

A03 Link

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Prologue//One//Two//Three//Four//Five//Six//Seven

“There is a vision I have…Of slender women…who are born and raised to be perfect women. Who take whatever punishment we give them, and bounce back, strengthened by love, unconditionally. It is a vision that has become my life…there are still women. Women willing to sacrifice themselves for the love of a man. Even a man whose love is completely without worth”- M. Butterfly, David Henry Hwang.

��OPHELIA: I hope all will be well. We must be patient, but I cannot choose but weep”- Hamlet, Shakespeare.

I moved slowly, but I reached town. No one was around—no one around to recognize, stop or force me back to his house. I was fortunate in that. It was getting to be evening. The clouds were dark, and the wind picked up. I stared up into the sky, then closed my eyes and clasped my hands together.

“God, please protect me. God, give me strength.” I prayed.

I opened my eyes to the dark grey clouds and crossed myself solemnly as the few rain drizzles broke. I then continued further into Aldwinter.

By the time I reached Fanny’s house, it burst into a torrent of rain. I covered the bag beneath my coat and removed the money from my pockets quickly into the bag. So, help me, the money and letters would not be damaged beyond their use!

I had not exerted myself like this in a long time. My knees wanted to give in from exhaustion beneath me. The rain splattered from an angle and hit a part of me. Trying to gasp in a breath, I reached up with one shaking hand and began to knock on the door.

From the inside, I heard Fanny.

“Have you heard something? A noise? Let me take Carrie to her nursery..."

I knocked again. My wraps were fewer- but still urgent. I leaned against the wall to keep from collapsing.

“Oh God, no…it couldn’t be….” She fretted.

“You don’t think?” I heard the Austrian accent of her husband, Vince Kroeger, add on.

“The snake!”

How long could I stay out here? Any minute I could black out and collapse outside! Shakily, I used the doorknob to pull myself back to my feet, I kept pounding on the door with a fury, and I begged with what loudness my voice could muster.

“Fanny! Fanny! Please let me in!”

I heard footsteps at the door and the click of the lock.

“That’s no snake!” Vince commented.

Fanny opened the door and gasped seeing me. Her husband, a tall, muscular, strong-chinned man with wheat-colored hair slicked back, followed behind her. My tired legs finally collapsed beneath me. He caught my hand and pulled me up so I would not fall onto the threshold of the door and home.

“Why, it’s Stella!! Dear God, Stella! Here! Like this!” Fanny yelped.

“Get me inside, please! Quickly! And shut the door, now!” I begged.

He walked me over to the parlor they had. It was a red and white room with a tea table, a pink couch, white decorations, and a pretty grandfather clock. They placed me to lay down on the couch. It must have been shocking- me in a coat covering only my nightgown beneath and my hair was undone and free and a little wet in my face, hair, and coat from the storm. Fanny even squinted and put her finger in my hair. She pulled out the blue wildflower.

“What…what is this? Have you walked all the way here in the rain? Why are you here? Why are you scared?”

I heard the door close and lock.

“Mrs. Ransome, should I fetch your husband, does he…” Vince offered.

I shook my head desperately.

“No! I’m here because of William!” I interrupted.

From inside my coat, I pulled out the bag. I reached into it, retrieving the letters. Thankfully, there was no water damage to them from the rain. I began to file through them rapidly. The ones I knew were love letters I moved to the front, keeping the others to the back.

“What do you mean?” Fanny asked.

I placed the pile of letters on the little tea table in front of the couch.

“The children- Has he hurt them?” Vince asked seriously.

His green eyes lowered down onto the letters in curiosity.

“The children are safe…” I answered.

“Then what is it? Why are you out of your sick bed? Your house? What did Father Ransome do?” Fanny questioned.

She too tilted her head at the letters.

“What are these?” she asked.

I placed my hands together, hardly believing the words myself. They struggled to come out of me but did.

“W-W-W-William…. William is having an affair. I saw him with her, making love to her in the forest.”

“What?!” Fanny yelled, leaning back.

Vince swore, his eyebrows shooting up.

“Then I found these!” I answered, picking up one of the love letters and offering it to them. I set it down in a pile before them on the tea table.

There was a pause. Fanny and Vince began to take the letter and read it together. Then Fanny focused on it as Vince moved on to the next one under it. They saw The Woman’s name clearly and began scanning them through. What if they didn’t believe me? What if they thought me mad and burned them? Would I have to jump into the fires and fetch them before they burned and move on somewhere else?

You could tell that they reached where the contents became more amorous. Fanny blinked rapidly and then placed a hand over her mouth. Vince’s jaw dropped as he read the back of the second letter and then placed a hand on his forehead as he finished reading it. I removed the letter from her hand and clasped both of mine onto hers, begging again.

“Fanny, I know you have a spare room. I knew at least you of all the women here would pity me! Please, let me stay here! I told my children they could find me here- I cannot be with him anymore, not after this. If you cannot- then take me somewhere else, I can stay! Please! Please don’t let me go back to William’s house!”

She placed a hand over mine, her lips pressed together.

“Do you…do you believe me? Both of you?” I asked.

Fanny nodded, her brown, squinting eyes brimming with tears.

“Yes! Yes, I do! Oh, dear God, Stella! Christ almighty-Father Ransome himself an adulterer! I never could have imagined the day! How terrible! You poor thing! Poor thing!” she wailed.

“I never thought ever he would even think of this…and not now I’m…I’m…He never loved me!” I confessed. “Not after everything I did for him all those years! None of it was enough for him!”

I crumpled down onto the couch, burying my face in my hands to sob again. never thought there would be enough tears I could shed over William’s apprehensive betrayal.

Fanny leaned me in for an embrace and let me cry against her. She went “shhh” and patted my back and hair as I cried it out again. I felt her head turn towards her husband.

“Could you make some Chamomile tea, darling?” Fanny asked softly.

“Yes, mein Hertz,” Vince confirmed.

I heard his footsteps in the kitchen and some water running. Fanny then pulled me up and held my shoulders, looking into my eyes.

“Have you told William you know about it?” she asked seriously.

“He had not returned home by the time I departed. I left him a note to him saying I knew. Left some to the children too. Their notes said I would be here. Fanny, I couldn’t abandon them! What mother am I if I did that! What mother am I to do that…” I answered.

“But that means William could find their notes!” Fanny pointed out.

I nodded. My hands felt clammy beneath me.

“Please, Fanny, please don’t let him in! I can’t stand to even look at him anymore!” I pleaded.

“Of course not! she confirmed.

In the other room, I heard the tea kettle whistle.

“May I stay here?” I repeated.

“Yes, as long as you would like….” Fanny answered.

Vince returned with three steaming cups of tea. He handed one to each of us. He continually asked if I was alright as I drank my own liquid, sweetened with honey. Fanny continued to read through the letters, frowning as she skimmed over each and every page on the pile. Finally, she curled up her fist and slammed it onto the table, shaking the papers.

“God! William! And with her too! Her! The Londoner Widow!” Fanny cried angrily.

Vince gulped down his tea, then went over to check the guest room. I heard their infant daughter babbling from her nursery. Fanny then looked up at me, and then bowed her head low.

“I thought I saw something between them…” she confessed.

“Between them?” I asked.

First, she looked down and away, and then at me, eyes shiny again and frowning sadly.

“At the dance. They danced together and they seemed very passionate about it as they did it. How he looked at her that night I... I wondered if it was…was a look of longing. But I thought, William is a vicar and a loving husband, he would never, not to you, he wouldn't….and that I was only making up something silly and then I got distracted with my little girl. I’ve been…been terrified for her since Naomi …"

I nodded. Sadly, in the past, William had to lead the funeral services of Vince and Fanny's first three children. Finally, they had a little girl who was healthy. I could not blame her vigilant fear of her daughter, especially with word of The Serpent.

"But now…now I…” Fanny babbled on.

She wiped a few tears with her hands and sniffled.

“Stella, I’m so sorry. I should have warned you or told you about it…” she confessed.

“I was the one who encouraged him to dance with her at that party in the first place. And you weren’t sure about what you saw and wanted to look after your child! it wasn’t you; I was the one who made him stray,” I added on.

We embraced each other, letting the waves of crying and guilt wash over us again, released and free.

She took my hand to help me up. She walked by me into the guest room. It had white wallpaper with blue flowers and green foliage dotted across it. There was a tall bed with white blankets and next to it a desk with a mirror on it. A chair with a pink pillow sat next to an unlit fireplace.

“I was the one who introduced you to him in the first place! All those years ago! Oh, all those years we all swooned and giggled over William, who would have thought!” she muttered with anguish.

I made no reply. She led me to sit up on the bed. I looked down at the diamond shapes on the carpet and began to comment on my thoughts.

“But you see…I let him be with her. I just never thought…never imagined…. Fanny I- I thought it was just at most a little infatuation with her, like every other man in town. I thought it was me he truly loved. I let them walk together for the Serpent. I let them dance. I let her dine with us. I never thought…I never imagined once that…. not until…”

I wrapped my arms around myself.

“I practically pushed him in front of her! It’s my fault! It’s my fault I got consumption! It’s my fault for encouraging him to do this! It’s my fault I told him to dance with her! And it’s my fault he betrayed me!” I mourned.

She handed me a handkerchief to sob into. I began to cough some blood into it as well. Her fists clenched at her sides.

“Did you…ever tell Will to sleep with her? Not dance- sleep with her!” she asked.

“No, I never did,” I answered.

“Of course, not… it’s not your fault, it's his! He did a vile, wretched thing! Your husband should be the one crawling to you for forgiveness! You’re the innocent one, you’ve not done one bad thing since your marriage!” she replied.

She removed my coat. She then hung it up to dry on a rack on the wall.

"I've done bad things, Fanny..."

“You made us dinner countless times, grew flowers for my wedding, and even helped delivered my Carrie, Stella! It’s the least I can do for you! You helped every woman and person in town! You should hear what the other people discuss about you when you’re not around! What they’ve all said about you for years! About how Father Ransome was gifted with the sweetest, most virtuous woman on earth to be his wife and mother to his children! How lucky he had been to have you at all!” she commented.

“Really? I…I thought for years I was the one lucky he picked me….” I muttered.

I felt myself smile from the praise.

“Oh no, really, all this time, it was the opposite!”

I bent my head and folded my arms, but then looked back up at her.

“I never…but I’m not that…I…I…I thank you, Fanny….”

A bit of rain from the coat dripped onto the carpet leaving a little stain. My nightgown had been stained not only with a little blood and a little rain but also with the green stains of the grass from the forest. I felt Fanny’s eyes lead down to them.

“Can I…can I have a change of clothes, please? I think we’re the same size…” I asked.

She left, and then returned with a new nightdress. She helped me change into it. Vince arrived with a small plate of leftover dinner and then left, giving us space to talk. Surprisingly, I was ravenous and finished it quickly. Fanny lighted up the fireplace with a bit of wood and a match. She then gripped me by the shoulders, almost knocking over the plate on my lap onto the floor.

“There is one phrase I want you to repeat to yourself throughout this, Stella…it is not your fault! Do you hear me? Let me hear you say it!” she ordered.

“It…it is not my fault…” I repeated.

“Good!”

The baby began to cry.

“Ah! Little Carrie! I’ll be back soon- she must be hungry…” she excused herself.

She stomped out as Vince closed the door. Despite the infant’s crying, I heard another angrier, adult crying right outside.

“Scoundrel! The nerve of him! Cruel, heartless man! I ought to strangle Father Ransome myself when he’s on the pulpit on Sunday!” Fanny ranted.

“Calm down, dear, the baby! I can go to her if you cannot!” Vince assured her.

“No, no! That’s her hungry cry! Let me!”

She let out a frustrated sigh and stomped off to the nursery, uttering numerous curses that would make a sailor blush beneath her breath.

Vince cracked the door open and poked his head through.

“Mrs. Ransome…I do have a telegram and operate where I work. Tomorrow…I can, uh, walk you through the back door…and-and do you know where your own family lives?”

“I know their addresses, yes,” I confirmed.

“You can use it to send a telegram to your family. First thing tomorrow…I’ll even pay.”

“No, I have money-“

“No, let me!” he insisted.

He was right. I could only access wages through my husband and then they were his, not mine. This would probably be the only money I would ever access. They had to be used carefully.

“Alright. Tomorrow, if I’m still alive…take me there and I’ll send them. One more thing…do you have stationary, Vince? May I have some, please?”

“Yes.”

He left and then returned with piles of paper and a pen and then left me to write.

Outside thunder boomed. The baby wailed again, and I heard Fanny shushing her. I lowered my head onto the desk away from the papers and ink. I took in what shaky breaths I could. Then I jolted up with a fear that left my insides feeling watery.

What if tonight was when the consumption won over me at last? What if this was the hour?

Then I couldn’t stop now. I had to act. I would not die without the town knowing. I would not die letting William get away with this. I would not die letting this become a secret between friends.

I took out a piece of paper. I felt another tear roll onto my nose. I had to confirm this. Confirm to them and myself that my worst nightmare had come true.

“Dear Congregation,

Here, I lay, a charge against my husband, your Rector, the Reverend William Ransome of the Aldwinter Vicarage. His crime is that, without my knowledge, without my acquiescence, he had formed and consummated an extramarital affair with…”

I finished the rest of it. Then I got another piece of paper and wrote some more. My urgency steeled me forth.

“Dear Ladies of The Aldwinter Bible Study,

I write to inform you that I am in dire need of help and comfort. My husband, Father William Ransome, is having an affair.

I saw him meeting with her. They were kissing, embracing, and committing unspeakable acts in the forest within miles of our house. I then discovered the letters from and to William documenting their passion and having them in my possession. I shall reveal his lover’s identity should you ask me unless you have your suspicions. You are probably correct as to who she is.

I have no desire to see him anymore after this. I will no longer stay in his house.

I am staying at Mrs. Kroeger’s for the time being. I need your support immediately. I need you to bring my children to visit me whenever they can without their father in their presence. If you may, look after them, shelter, feed, and protect Joanna, John, and James! You shall send letters to me through Mrs. Kroeger. I ask you, do not allow my husband to even enter the Kroeger household.

Most of all, I ask you, if there is nothing else you can do, pray for me. Pray that I have the strength to bear this great pain, not only in my body but in my heart. If you can send the comforting words and presence of a friend! Or a prayer- a prayer that someday, I will feel what it is once more to be happy, now as I lay on what might be my deathbed!

Sincerely,

Stella Ransome.”

As it finished drying, there was a furious knock on the door. I jumped out of my skin.

“Mr. Kroger! Mr. Kroger!” a familiar voice cried out from the outside of the house.

Of course, It was only a matter of time until he came here! What if he found and read the children’s letters on their beds, as Fanny and I feared?

But then- the letters between him and The Woman! They were in the parlor! If he got into the house, even if Vince and Fanny kept him at bay, he would see them out there and retrieve them! He was a tall, strong man fond of running. It would be easy for him.

Shaking uncontrollably, I hurried into the room quietly. If I had to rip them from his large, handsome hands, so be it, I would do it.

But he wasn’t there. William kept knocking again and again at the door, continuing to ask to be let inside.

Fanny and Vince walked into the parlor and then froze, staring at me with big, frightened eyes. I put a finger to my mouth for silence and they nodded. Then I scurried to the tea table, picked up the letters, and Fanny quietly shooed me back into the guest room. From inside, I locked the door.

William continued to plead with desperation, “Mr. Kroger- it’s your Rector! I must speak with you now!”

“He’s coming!” Fanny assured from inside with false cheerfulness.

I hid every letter- mine, The Woman’s, and Williams, and then the bag of money within the sheets of the bed and settled back there quickly. I then lay on top of it, letting my weight feel the crinkling paper. I forced myself still, despite my shaking. If he got in here and burst through the door, they would be hidden. I rarely saw William extremely angry. He wasn’t the type to lose his temper and destroy things, God forbid he would rip out the bedsheets his dying wife was laying over! Even if he burst in here, forced me in his arms, and carried me home like a hunter with his prize, the letters, and even the money would be safe.

I heard Vince’s footsteps towards the front door.

“I’m coming, Father Ransome,” he answered calmly.

Like a child, I covered myself under the blankets and placed another pillow over my ears, squeezing my eyes shut. I held myself tight and would not let go. My heart roared in my ears, and I fought back any urge to cough, no matter how much blood I tasted in my mouth. I tried to think of anything, anything to distract myself. Trying to play songs in my head, reciting scripture, poetry, bits of my books and love stories, my father’s Greek myths, anything to block it out. I couldn’t bear to think what was happening outside, that any minute I would be forced back into the house and bed of my husband. I had to remain silent. I would not give a hint in the house now I was here should he enter.

I heard male voices from outside, but they were muffled by the thunderstorm getting louder.

Some time passed. There were no voices. Only the rain and thunder. I was almost partway through trying to remember Wordsworth when I heard a knock on my door that made my skin crawl.

It was Fanny’s voice that said, “He’s gone, Stella.”

I let out an exhale and let go of the blankets and pillows. I went to the door.

“What did he say?” I asked in terror.

“He asked if you were here or if I saw you, Mrs. Ransome, he said you were missing from home,” Vince informed. “I told him you were not here; I hadn’t seen you all day, and that William should ask somewhere else or look in the morning.”

“You lied to him!” I cried in amazement, a hand flying over my mouth.

“If he can sin, then so can I…” he remarked.

“But rest assured, he is no longer here, and he won’t be welcome in here…if we have to lie a hundred times, we’ll do it!” Fanny promised, she reached over and squeezed my shoulder in comfort.

I took one of the black blankets from the guest room and draped it over my shoulders. I took out the letters I wrote and found the envelopes where I left them. I folded and inserted the second letter in one and addressed it to Mrs. Lee’s house for The Women’s Bible Study as well as her, our eternal hostess. I wasn’t sure where to mail the first letter. If I mailed it to the church or asked for it to be printed in the bulletin, William would find it and read it. Most likely, he would destroy it easily to absolve the public knowledge of his affair.

No, it would need to be spread, I mused. Not only the Women’s Bible Study, but the congregation and every person in Aldwinter-had to know the truth about their priest. One easily destroyed letter wouldn’t do. I took out another piece of paper and began making a copy of it. And then another. Word would spread and if one was destroyed, then Hydra-like, another would appear in the next house in its place.

I hoped that at least the women of the Bible Study would read the letter for them and would use their most common weapon, the one they unsheathed at every study meeting before and after the Bibles were opened, my small sin, the one indulgence I gave myself to every time in the past- they would talk. And talking spreads.

Please, please, let them talk! I prayed.

I began to take out more pieces of paper and copy down the letter by hand as much as I could. I had managed a tenth letter when it chimed midnight. I sat at my chair, staring at the fireplace as it slowly burned the small logs.

Logs.

Wood.

The tree.

The tree with the blue ribbon.

The tree where they sinned in front of me.

I took out the pink pillow and hugged it to me. I heard a gentle knock.

“Stella, are you awake?” Fanny asked.

“Yes.”

I unlocked the door to see her and Vince.

“Do you need anything else?” Vince asked.

“Mr. Kroeger, you’re already taking me to the post office in the morning… Fanny, tomorrow, this letter must go to Mrs. Lee’s house. And these- these are copies of the same letter- if you could send them to any member of the congregation or anyone in town who knows of me, even. Please- put it in their boxes and slip it under their doors. I’d be grateful.”

She nodded her dark, curly head. I placed the envelopes into her small hand. Vince leaned closer to her and placed an arm over her shoulder, kissing the side of her forehead.

“My wife always was a little Valkyrie! All the more reason I love her!” Vince boasted.

To think I once had a love like that. I thought I would be happy dying as I was William Ransome's wife and the mother of his children. Back when I thought he loved me. Now here I was, to die without the love of my husband. A husband who I still loved, but could not return to.

I knew I had the love and loyalty of friends. I had to now learn to content myself with that. I didn’t know if a romantic love could ever enter my heart again after this, should I live even to the next week. I've learned my lesson from William. I couldn’t allow that anymore. No, I would only be opening myself to be hurt again.

“Of course, I will, first thing tomorrow morning…I’ll even lock them in the safe until then,” she promised.

Fanny looked down at the letters reading them. She swallowed hard, but her eyes were hard and resolved.

“Keep them safe as you walk and make sure they are delivered directly,” I requested.

“We shall…but Stella, it’s quite late!” she insisted. She even looked at the clock, frowning.

I looked back at the burning logs in the fireplace.

“I cannot sleep…I cannot stop thinking about William and…William and C-C-C-could you perhaps make another cup of tea for me?”

Vince put his hands on his hips and then turned halfway away to the parlor.

“I think tonight you need something stronger than tea, Mrs. Ransome!” he said.

He went out and returned with a huge decanter of golden whiskey in one hand and three glasses in another. He poured me a generous amount in one cup and forced it into my hands.

“But Vince…I really ought not to drink when it’s not a holiday…” I asked.

“When men learn they are dying, they drink. When men learn their wives have fucked another, they drink. You’re both- so twice the reason. Let’s drink. All of us…” Vince said.

Fanny poured herself a glass. I sat on the chair and they were on the floor. I stared into the liquid in my cup. I still didn't get rid of it, the unfamiliar smell and color fascinated me, enticed me. I felt myself raise the glass closer to my lips. Then it froze in hesitation.

“It will relax you…” Vince promised.

“If there is one night you become a drunkard, it’s this one…” she suggested.

Vince raised his cup. Fanny and I followed.

“Here…to Stella! May Reverend Ransome one day rot in hell! And may Stella Ransome live a little longer!” Vince toasted.

“To Stella!” Fanny repeated.

“To…to me…” I replied hesitantly.

I began to take the first drink in tandem with them. I coughed a little at the burn. Fanny brought a little water and a plate of fudge.

“You might need some sweets as well after today…” she offered.

Vince downed his whiskey in two big swigs.

“Who could imagine it? Mrs. Stella Ransome, The English Rose herself, drinking in my house!” Vince joked with a laugh.

Outside, I heard the rain pelt right over the roof and the grandfather clock chimed a quarter past.

“Well, who could imagine Father William Ransome an unfaithful bastard!” Fanny responded bitterly.

She frowned and drank hers. She kept a tight grip on the glass as if she wanted it to shatter in her hands.

I ate some fudge and sipped on the water. Then I sipped the whiskey again. Vince was right. The whiskey, far stronger than my occasional cup of wine, was relaxing me. I even felt my eyelids become heavy and I loosened my shoulders.

When I looked at the fire, I noticed that the center of the flames and the very bottom of it were a bright, light blue. Small, but present and in the heart of the fire. Slowly, I nursed at the whiskey until I finished it. Fanny led me to the bed and tucked me in. They left. The room became darker save for the fire’s glow. It was warm and comfortable. For once, I could be a child again. Some of the old lullabies my mother sang to me in girlhood entered my mind:

“Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green, When I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen”

In my younger days, I shared a bed with Elliott. When I was ten, I shared a bed with Edith, my little sister. Her now being old enough, Elliott being too old, and there being only a few beds to go around in the Harris houses. Edith and I still shared that bed when we moved to Aldwinter. It cut down on the cost of Father buying two separate ones. Then I entered William’s bed as his bride. I never had a whole bed all to myself until that night.

For that, as well as many things- the kindness and courage of Fanny and her husband, their belief in my word, their shelter, their protection from my husband, the food, the drinks, the access to papers for letters, the room that could lock, and now, this soft, warm bed that was completely mine if only for a night- I was grateful.

I grew more and more sleepy and even more at peace. I soon fell asleep in peace and woke up, rested, to sunshine late the next morning.

Vince managed to find extra clothes for me to wear, as well as a coat, shawl, and a hat not only for warmth but to avoid recognition. With his careful arm to steady and keep me up should weakness stir my legs, he walked me the back way into the post office where he worked, led me to a room, and seated me in front of a telegram machine, showing me how to form the message into it.

To think how different everything was just a year ago. I had my health. I had my husband. Now I had lost both, I thought, trying to think of what I could tell my family.

Vince sat over the chair and kept an eye out for any unwanted eyes or visitors in the tiny, musty, brown room.

“It costs you per word. So, my advice- make them short and put ‘stop’ in between them,” he warned

I began the first one.

WILLIAM HAS A MISTRESS. STOP.

HURRY TO ALDWINTER SOON AS YOU CAN. STOP.

I could hardly realize the words as I wrote them to be typed and sent off to my family members where they were. That was to be sent to my parents. I began the one for my brother, Brian.

WILLIAM HAS A MISTRESS. STOP.

HURRY TO ALDWINTER SOON AS YOU CAN. STOP.

My other siblings had to be notified too. I kept writing the words over and over each on different scraps of paper I ripped off. I kept typing again and again at an anxious and desperate speed, the words glaring back at me.

WILLIAM HAS A MISTRESS STOP.

HURRY TO ALDWINTER SOON AS YOU CAN. STOP

WILLIAM HAS A MISTRESS. STOP.

WILLIAM HAS A MISTRESS.

WILLIAM. HAS A MISTRESS.

WILLIAM. HAS A MISTRESS.

STOP.

I finished the last one. Vince made sure of the rest- that they would be sent off to my family members. We then quickly returned to his house without incident. I made sure the curtains on the windows were closed once I got back in the room. I had just removed the hat and coat when a knock on the door made me jump. Vince peeked through the curtains and confirmed it was his wife.

Fanny then entered the parlor, smiling triumphantly with a clenched hand over her head.

“I sent the letters without interruption- to Mrs. Lee and to each Congregation member I could!” she reported.

Now all I had to do was wait.

Wait for a response to my letters. For a word from friends. For a word from my family. For William’s knock. For a visitor. For help. For my children. For death. Anything.

[queen-paladin]

Hey guys, hypothetically, if you had a spouse or partner cheat on you/have an affair, what would you do?

It keeps popping up with actors I like in characters I play and...my brain can’t switch off fantasy and reality and it begins to hurt like I am the person being cheated on for some reason (which, yes, brains do that)

So to emotionally prepare myself should this happen in real life, what should one do when the person they love is unfaithful to them?

[smolvenger]

Stella of Essex, or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed- Prologue: Red Carnations

Summary: The Essex Serpent is reimagined and told from the perspective of Stella Ransome. And with a new ending. Stella must come to terms with not only her mortality but her husband's heartbreaking affair. A portrait of a woman who became The Ideal Lady her time and marriage required her to be. A picture of a marriage of love and bliss torn apart by a husband's infidelity. And Stella herself in the center of it all, torn between a wife's duty and her own quiet but present rage. Where in the midst of devastating heartbreak she gains her strength, finds her voice, and dares to seek freedom, hope...and even revenge.

Pairings: To a Degree Stella Ransome/William Ransome, with a focus on the tragedy of their marriage, and eventually Stella Ransome/Male OC.

Word Count: 614 (Pretty Short)

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

A03 Link

If you liked this, consider buying me a Ko-Fi!

Warnings: Good For Her Cinematic Universe, First Person POV, Bye-Bye Canon, This Fic will eventually have an Eventual Major Character Death towards the end, Cheating, and its consequences are discussed, children, marriage, We are very anti-W*lliam and anti-C*ra in this fic, so you have been warned. Sexual content but not smut or anything titillating. Angst. COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

┈┈┈┈┈❀┈┈┈┈┈

"Your children's mother, You see won and afflicted,

Made sad by you, And proscribed by you.

You know how once I loved you, cruel one,

Once I was dear to you, cruel one!

I am alone here, without love, driven away..."- Medea by Cherubini, English Translation

“What I did not know was that I had hit upon a truth of womanhood: However blameless the life we lead, the passions and the greed of men could bring us to ruin, and there was nothing we could do.”- Jennifer Saint, Ariadne.

My husband fingered another woman against a tree.

I saw it. I saw it from my window. I watched them like God watches us all.

What little breath I already had was knocked out. I blinked. Wondering if this was a dream. A bad one. And I would wake up again. Maybe I would wake up and feel him next to me. To feel strength in my legs, hunger in my stomach, the fresh air in my lungs, and the chatter of the children and the dog yelping from outside. That I would turn over and see him smile, pat my hair, and sleepily say “Good morning, my Stella, my star.”

Their moans and releases were silent. But I felt as if I could detect the rumble of them like an animal feels the rumble of the floor of an approaching predator.

Perhaps I should have stopped them. But what could I do? Slam the window, yell with my weak lungs? And even if I could, by the time I looked it was too late.

Perhaps it wasn’t him. The man who did that very act to me on our wedding night. It wasn’t the man who swore to love me. The man who promised to forsake all others, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer until death did us part. The man who weekly went to the pulpit to preach of The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. The man who preached studied and discussed the Ten Commandments, including the seventh one. The man who fathered my children. He was downstairs writing his sermon or drinking coffee. It couldn’t be it couldn’t be it couldn’t be it couldn’t be it couldn’t be.

I saw on his head the same hair as my two sons.

No, our two sons.

There was no denying it was him. And there was no denying what they were doing. Pleasuring her. Her. Her. Her. And I could see her mouthing the pucker and the slight drop of the jaw to create his name silently-

William. William. William.

I walked carefully to the wall, hiding. Maybe it was a vision. I looked at the blank brown of the attic, and then back again. To the light where dust fell as snow.

They were still there. And still making love. Trading our wedding bed, soft, carefully carved from the local carpenter as a gift of thanks to his minister on his wedding day, with sheets washed on Thursdays for some ancient, dirty, sharp oak among the thorns, branches, leaves, and snakes.

They never noticed me. And they might tell you they never noticed me.

But I saw them.

I am so sorry. I do not normally speak like this. Speak of such lewd, unspeakable things. What must you think of me? I fear you think I am some base thing. That this is a tale of forbidden desire and lust fulfilled in a moment of passion.

This is not that story. If you think it will be that you are mistaken.

Leave and fulfill your desire to be The Woman somewhere else.

Everyone wishes to be her. They wish to be the glamorous mistress whose beauty led a man away from the bed of his plain, boring, dumpy wife. They don't want to be the wife. No one wants to be. They don't wish to speak of me. People do not wish to acknowledge me. Or tell my story. They don't want to see themselves as me. Dull Stella. Frumpy Stella. Scorned Stella. Plain Stella. Passive Stella. Poor Stella. Unwanted Stella. Undesired Stella. Rejected Stella. Betrayed Stella. So they never speak of me. They don't want to see themselves in my position. They don't want to imagine that the ones they love most might betray them for another. They'd rather be the darling who men obsess over to break their holy oaths.

And yet it still happens.

I tell you this because before my story begins, you must know that this will happen. Because it was the most painful moment of my whole life. I must tell it now or I will be overcome with my own heartbreak as I recall the happy years of my marriage with William to recount it.

This is mine. Not The Woman against the tree. The one who was left watching. The wife who was left behind. Mine. And I cannot remain silent. About that, or before, or after.

And it must be said, read, and listened to.

[smolvenger]

Stella of Essex or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed Series. Chapter 7: Purple Hyacinth

A Fix-It Fanfiction Series of The Essex Serpent

Pairing: some Stella Ransome/William Ransome but focusing on the tragedy of their marriage, eventually Stella Ransome/Male OC

Series Summary: The Essex Serpent is reimagined and told from the perspective of Stella Ransome. And with a new ending. Stella must come to terms with not only her mortality but her husband's heartbreaking affair. A picture of a marriage of love and bliss torn apart by a husband's infidelity. And Stella herself in the center of it all, torn between a wife's duty and her own quiet but present rage. Where in the midst of devastating heartbreak she gains her strength, finds her voice, and dares to seek freedom, hope...and even revenge.

Chapter Summary: In Which, Stella mourns her husband's affair with The Woman. And makes a decision.

Warnings: Eventual Major Character Death, Discussions of Adultery and the Trauma of Being Cheated On, Female Rage, Mentions of Suicide, ANGST, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Illness, Victorian era Marriage laws, Religion, Mentions of death and the almost death of a child- but the child doesn't actually die. Greif and Betrayal and Stella grieving and being sad and angry about William cheating (she has every right to be), being Anti-William and Anti-C*ra so if you like them or this pairing you have been warned. Good For Her Plotline

Ko-Fi

Ao3 Link

Chapter Word Count: Less than 5K

Prologue//One//Two//Three//Four//Five//Six

“And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, That suck'd the honey of his music vows, Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh; …O, woe is me T' have seen what I have seen, see what I see!” - Hamlet, Shakespeare, II.I.132

GILDA Ah, these are the loving words... ...the scoundrel spoke once to me!

RIGOLETTO (to Gilda) Hush, weeping can do no good, etc.

GILDA O wretched heart betrayed, do not break for sorrow.- Rigoletto, English Translation

“Such was her affection for him, that she loved him in all places, and was desirous of doing anything for his convenience, credit, and comfort…How much more commendable was the behavior of these women than that of those who rail at their imprudent or incontinent husbands, and by their conduct render that home which before was undesirable, quite hateful, and insupportable!”- Alexander Walker, Woman Physiologically Considered, as to Mind, Morals, Marriage, Matrimonial Slavery, Infidelity, and Divorce.

“And (God) said…Hast thou eaten of the tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldest not eat? And the man said, The woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she gave me of the tree, and I did eat.” Genesis 3:11-12, KJV

I remember shaking.

They finished. they smiled at each other and kissed once more. William and The Woman wandered further into the woods, clutching hands.

My legs gave in beneath me. I caught myself. Doubting everything I saw. Wondering if I was in a nightmare. But it was when I looked down and saw how my knuckles were clenched and I saw the last tail end of William’s tan coat vanish that I knew it was real.

Pulling myself onto the windowsill. Everything seemed to spin as I returned to my- no- our bedroom.

I went to the bookshelf and grabbed one of my journals, one of the older ones. I turned it to the page with the gardenia from years ago. The one William gave to me. His very first gift. The one that gave me hope that maybe he loved me. Keeping it open, I clutched it to my heart.

I couldn’t cry. I hugged onto it tighter on the chair and ducked my head down, squeezing my eyes shut. Then opening them.

I used to love this room. That sacred space where so many beautiful memories and moments. How bitter, sad, dusty, and dark it all looked. The blue walls seemed grey in the dim light. The fireplace was cold and dark. The plates and pillows I decorated looked ugly and gaudy. It was all bitter and haunted and disgusting.

I went over and sat down on the bed. I placed a hand over the covers sweeping through them. It crumpled into a fist as I buried my face into the blankets.

This bed was mine and William’s. The centerpiece of our beautiful little world. It was the bed where our marriage was consummated. Where he used his body to tell mine it loved it. Where our five children were created. The bed where we had our own quiet oasis at the end of each long day. Now it was tainted and abandoned. Once it was dented from his weight and soft from the pressing of his body. Now it felt like a rock, even the blankets felt cold to me.

Did she know everything he promised to me? That he gave me flower seeds and wrote me love letters? That he held my hand as we watched Julianna’s small casket lowering into the ground? That he stayed up late rocking little James to sleep when he cried at night so I could sleep? Did she know what he said to me? That I was his star, his angel? That he made vows before none other than the regional bishop and all Aldwinter that he would be my husband. That he would be mine until death did us part. And he was still alive, and so was I. Sick, weak, dying, but alive.

I turned my face up and saw that we had decorated some of the walls and bookshelves with photos. I traced my hand over the photo of our wedding day- me looking down demurely in a white lacy dress with a bustle and William, then with only a hint of a beard.

There was a photo of me holding little Joanna on the day of her christening- christened by her father! The man who represented and lead none other than the church! Who spoke of morality, what was right and what was wrong, and how to avoid sin.

Then, finally, there was a photo of the five of us- of our three surviving children and us. I and William were seated, Joanna and John in the back and James on the side as the dog sat obediently next to us.

All those happy, peaceful memories and moments were for nothing!

I set down the photos and staggered into his study. His room. The very place where he learned all about how to be a Christian Man and preach it to others. On his desk were the piles of papers. I blinked, and then picked them up, reading them. I found they were not any drafts of a book. No, they were letters. Letters from The Woman. And drafts of letters to The Woman. The dates on the far-left corners were all recent. As early as the week she arrived here.

I read them word for word. There were discussions. Discussions of the Serpent. Of Leviathan. Of the Aldwinter beach. Of Joanna’s antics and Frankie’s. Of faith and science. Then it changed.

The letters were of love. Love. She returned his feelings. The drafts were all confessing the longing in his heart and body for her.

Not for me. Not for his wife. For her.

One letter from her wrote how she noticed how longingly he would look at her at dinner. That she noticed his glances and stares. It was at the very dinner where I made the roast, vegetables, and biscuits in her welcome. I wasn’t even sick then. And I was present.

The letter fell from my hand and I became dizzy, falling onto the chair and clutching onto its arm of it for support. I felt a lump in my throat, but not from blood.

Oh, God! Oh God, what had I done! It was all my fault! I thought it was at most a harmless infatuation, a small thing, nothing more! I had permitted him to dance with her the night of the party! I thought dancing with her would make him happy for a little while after seeing his torment in my condition.

Once, he had a great passion for me. Once, we were making love at the rate of twice a day. Once, we continued to regularly bed each other after the births of five children. Had he…no longer wanted me? Had my ill body now disgusted him? Was that the real source of his grief?

It then struck me. He had made love frequently and passionately to me. The whole time I thought it was for me alone due to its frequency, that I was his wife, and that he loved me.

Oh God, all those years, and now it struck me how naïve I had been! How come I not realized something about William this whole time? Fourteen years of marriage to him, and yet it never struck me the truth about him!

His weakness was lust!

That was his sin. That was the one closest to his heart and the one that made him twitch and struggle. That was his Achilles Heel.

Had I realized that sooner, I would not have allowed him an inch near The Woman. I would object and insist he avoids her partnership to search for The Serpent. I would not have sent him to the dance with her. I had given a hungry wolf a key to a den full of plump and injured sheep without thinking he would bite into one.

I crumpled the paper beneath my hand and set it down. I bit down on my tongue to keep from screaming until I tasted blood from it.

Were there more letters he was hiding from me? All this time? Had there been others before she arrived?

She, she, she, she…I never considered myself an angry, spiteful person. Not until now. I knew now how it was to truly hate. I had not a single redeeming thing I could think of The Woman. I wondered if I could even have the heart to look at her. I hated every bit of her. I felt a wave of anger and pure hatred I had not dared feel in ages. Even if Joanna admired her. Even considering her past, even if her husband beat and choked her, I felt no pity for her anymore. Cruel fantasies entered my mind. I wished that her husband killed her long before she set foot in Aldwinter. I wanted to slap her pretty face until it bruised. I began thinking of the truly awful, horrible things I could scream and hurl at her.

Yet I sat there, hands shaking.

I opened another drawer of William’s desk. I pulled out papers, scanning to see if there were any more letters or letters from any others before. And in the bottom of the middle drawer, I found a small hunting pistol. And bullets. I put it in my hands, filling one bullet into the gun.

Perhaps I should end it. End my suffering. Stop waiting for the consumption to take its final toll and get it over with. I should let him be free. Let him be happy. Let him finger her against a tree as many times as it pleased him. Let them walk on beaches and dance and father her children and live in his house in his bed and go to church and cook and clean for him as I once did.

3. Support him in his emotions without complaint

Or perhaps, this was the wrong method. Maybe I should pick a suicide more poetic. One only he would know of so he would know the severity of his betrayal. I would leave a note pinned to me and then fill my pockets with heavy stones, find his secret pond, and keep walking into the waters.

But…maybe if I did, then there was the risk that I would go to hell. Then, for all my work, devotion, and sacrifices for William, I would be damned, and he would get away with it and continue his affair now that I was out of the way.

Why should he be the free one and not I? Why could he take a lover and I could not? Why could he destroy our marriage vows and not I? Why should I be the one sent to hell after a life of faithful service and him the one to survive in sin?

Most of all, why should he be the one to live and I the one to die?!

I placed the gun down on the desk.

I opened the window for some air. And in a distance away-I saw him. Her son. The Woman’s son. Frankie. Sitting on the grass, Quietly looking out into the sky and the view of the town.

I picked up the gun and felt the gunpoint out the window at him.

Yes, part of me whispered. It’s perfect. He is right there. Frankie.

I could easily do it. One small movement of a finger and everything would change. If that is what William could do- move his finger and ruin everything, then so could I.

It would be worse than killing The Woman. Worse because She would live to suffer through it.

And oh, after such pleasure, she would suffer. Yes, she would suffer immensely. Her choice would bring her suffering for her sin, rather than the mercy of death. If she stole William from me, then I would steal Frankie from her. William proved my deepest, most silent fear true. She was better than me. Everything I could not be. But in this, The Woman and I would finally be equal. She would know the pain I felt in losing my husband with the pain she would feel for losing Frankie. In blood, she brought him forth and in blood, I would take him back.

I slowly walked closer. Frankie never noticed me and kept on picking at the weeds in the grass, face turned away.

My finger reached for the trigger. But I could not pull it. It trembled in my hand. I found tears were starting to flow from my eyes and my teeth were gritted.

Frankie turned around to look at the sky, his face in profile. Such bright, curious eyes. My children have bright curious eyes.

I lowered the gun and returned it to its drawer, shutting it. I closed the window.

How could I? How could I even consider such a horrible thing? What if someone did that to James, Joanna, or John? It was as if I almost murdered one of my own! Why should Frankie, an innocent boy, be the one punished for the sins committed by his mother?

I walked down the stairs. Not even the dog was around.

Without William, without my children, without my parents, without my siblings, without the clergy, without the people of Aldwinter…who was I?

I was alone. Truly, truly alone.

I then walked outside. My garden was dead and bare. Nothing but brown dirt and withered plants.

I walked around the house and off to where the woods began. I could see the attic window high up. I knew which tree it was. I had a feeling. I walked across the small field and into the woods. I approached the tree. The tree where they made love. I took off my blue ribbon and tied it around a branch on the tree.

As I walked further, I kept thinking of her- her with her red dress, her pale skin, and most of all her hair.

That was what William wanted! He didn’t a woman like me at all he wanted someone like her! Like her! Even with hair like her!

In a fury I ripped off the pins of my hair and threw them to the ground, loosening my hair, making it loose since that was how she wore it! If I had only worn my hair like hers, let each strand fall, perhaps William would have never strayed from my bed!

I hated it- I hated my hair, it wasn’t hers. I hated my sick body- it wasn’t her healthy, open, available one. I hated my character and interests- it wasn't her character and interests. I hated everything about myself- because it wasn’t hers. I hated myself since I wasn’t her.

I kept walking down, feeling my hair free and moving with the small breeze, not caring for the bitter cold. I embraced it. Anything was warmer than William Ransome’s marriage bed. I staggered onto a tree, out of breath, holding onto the branch, clutching it.

I let out a scream. I had not screamed since I was in labor for James. Birds flew away. I wondered if anyone heard me. But no one came.

Then finally, I sobbed. Not the quiet tears I had over almost murdering Frankie True, big, loud, violent sobs. I cried and cried

I then let go of the branch and collapsed onto the grass and dirt. I curled up into it like an animal or a child. And I cried more. Cried and cried and cried and sobbed and wailed and cried, face hot, tears everywhere, my body shaking from how deep they were. I was gulping for air in between sobs only to cry some more.

I cried for William, the generous, kind, handsome, open-minded, gentle, religious, and loving husband I met, knew, loved, and married. The William who made little jokes. The William who took morning walks and would show me the pebbles he found after. The William who spoiled me with gifts swam with me in a pond and said he loved me. How I thought that since he was a priest, he was a good man.

I cried for the old William I missed and this new William I just discovered. I cried for how this side of William was always there inside him only I was too stupid to realize it.

I cried about our wedding. I cried for our dances. I cried for our holidays I cried for the church, his church, his ministry, and the years I poured into helping it and its people for nothing.

I cried for the five children I brought into the world from him and yet despite the years of having them inside me and the great pain of labor and the risk of death on my part just to bring even them into the world, that that wasn’t enough for him. I cried for how the surviving children would have to learn that their father no longer loved their mother but someone else.

I cried for how I was now abandoned to die of consumption. I cried from how unfair it was. I cried for our dinners, the laundry, the meals, the garden, the list I followed, and everything I did for him and how it was all in vain.

Most of all, I cried that I wasn’t enough for him.

I felt the last sob escape me. Then there was no urge to cry. There was silence. Only the birds and the rustling of the trees.

I got up and leaned against the tree. I coughed out a little bit and saw that there was some blood on my hand. I wiped it off onto my white nightgown on the skirt. If a hunter or wanderer discovered me, I wouldn’t care. But what was I even to do?

Could I go back into that cold bed and stay there? Alone as he would go into the forest and roll around in the grass with The Woman? To pretend that I didn’t know and didn’t care? To pretend I approved? To pretend to my children and the clergy that I wasn’t devastated? To even die like this? To have fourteen years of my life as the wife of a vicar for nothing? To have my final moments be that alone, unwanted, and most of all, unloved by the man I married?

1. No matter what, you must overall support your husband in his ministry, friendship, and partner with him for a loving home atmosphere.

I blinked out of my thoughts as a crow let out his caw above me. Looking down, I noticed there were seven blue wildflowers.

It was still winter. Yet…here they were alive and blooming. Despite the coldness and death, they survived. I plucked one from the ground and twiddled it in my fingers, I placed it in my hair to feel it. Then as I plucked another one, I felt a tranquility wash over me. Just as it did when I found blue wildflowers at Julianna and Josephine’s graves.

I recalled losing my daughters. I recalled the dream I had after their deaths. I recalled what I heard them say.

“Save yourself, Mama.”

I remembered William’s words after the doctor’s fatal announcement. “She always was too good for this world.”

I could be good, saintly, perfect, and die.

Or live.

And I wanted to live.

I now knew what I had to do.

It would be hard. So, help me it would be hard. One part of it would be the hardest of all. But it would be worth it, I resolved. No matter how sick I fell. No matter if this was my last day or hour. I would no longer tolerate this.

I got up, and on the path back to the Ransome house, I passed the tree with the blue ribbon. I stared at it for a second. Before I acted on my plan, there was one thing that had to be done.

I walked to the front yard. The axe was still against the tree stump. I picked it up. It was heavy with my weakened arms, but my fury gave me strength, and resolve tightened my grip on the handle.

I returned to the tree with the blue ribbon. The tree where The Woman and William consummated their affair.

I picked up the axe and slammed the blade against the wood. I kept hacking it again and again and again. A sick, frail woman is no woodsman, but I kept at it. Grunts and even yells escaped my mouth. Let all Aldwinter hear me. I didn’t care. They all would know what he did eventually.

The tree could not be chopped down by me, it was far too thick and sturdy. But now it was marked. Weakened. Made ugly. Enough that when he returned, along with my ribbon, he would know what I thought of him coupling with The Woman.

I returned inside and upstairs. I got a coat and a bag that I slung over my shoulder. Any cash I could find I pocketed.

I was going to leave. I was going to get out of there. I was going to get out of the house and never look back. Even in my sickness, if I had to crawl out, I would do it. I would not stay in this house with him.

I went into William’s study. I took every letter to and from The Woman I could find and stuffed it into my bag. If it was of The Serpent or of Passion, if it was one from her or a draft of how he ached for her, I placed it in there. I would need them. No one would believe my words alone and he would no longer have a scrap of her. Not after he was writing and reading them as I lay coughing blood in the other room.

There was one thing this would mean. It made me tear up again at the thought.

14. Raise healthy, well-balanced children and be present for them.

I had to leave my children with him. They were gone and should they arrive, I wasn’t sure I would take them with me or that they would even want to leave the house. If I had the strength in my body to care for them and carry them off with me, I would. But I did not.

Besides, even if I did, consumption or no consumption, by law, they were his children. Not mine. A swift visit of the police or a lawyer and they would be taken from me to him. It would be a pointless battle.

And yet- I didn’t have to abandon them in my heart or my love. Despite how I sobbed at the thought of leaving them, I knew what the alternative was. And I knew they had a roof over their head, clothes, and food. I may have to forego being a wife, but I didn’t have to forego being a mother.

I took out three pieces of paper from the study. I wiped the tears off my white sleeve before they could drop onto the ink. On the first one, I wrote:

“John, James, My darlings,

I am not staying here. Know I will always love you and care for you. I will always make sure you are fed, clothed, and loved. You shall find your mother at Fanny’s. You may always come there and see me and ask something of me should you need it. Anything!

I cannot stay here with your father anymore. Ask him why.

Love,

Your mama.”

I placed it on John’s bed. On the second one, I wrote,

“Joanna, My love,

Your father has committed the amorous rite with another woman. He no longer loves me; he loves her instead.

I will be at Fanny’s should you need me. But I will no longer tolerate how your father has betrayed me. I cannot stay with him anymore. Your father will not be welcome at Fanny’s, but you and your brothers will be. I love you, my Jojo, and I will always take care of you. Find me at Fanny's if you wish to speak or need anything from me.

Love,

Your mother.”

I placed it on her bed.

Then, I finished one final letter. I walked into his bedroom. I found the journal with the page with the gardenia still on that cold bed. I ripped off the page and placed it there next to the letter.

It was the shortest one. The final letter read:

“Dear William,

My deathbed will not be one shared by an unfaithful husband.

Take care of the children.

- Stella.”

I took off my wedding ring and placed it on my- no, his blue pillow.

I thought of the outside. I remembered our walks by the pond and our swimming in it early in our marriage. Of our picnics and walks by the nearby ocean.

The ocean. The sea. The sea is inevitable. The sea is full of danger. The sea may delight and drown. The sea kills thirsty men who drink its salty waters. The sea never ends in its length or depth. The sea hides and houses the Leviathan. The sea was where had I chosen differently now or been less careful in the past, I could have drowned. The sea destroys.

But what of me? Me floating above- swimming in this and trying not to drown, while I was on land?

I recalled my own name, written down on the first page of the flower journal- Stella. Stella, of course, means Star.

Stars seem so small up in the sky. Glowing despite all the dark. Giving light to the night sky so that any lost traveler can find safety. Their light and dust are said to glimmer. Stars are called beautiful. They seem like such tiny, fragile things. We mimic them on paper and put them on Christmas trees. We paint them. We decorate dresses with them and make jewels in their shapes. We aspire to them and call people we admire after them- "stars." They are there to be looked at. Beautiful, but distant. Miniscule. Weak.

But if I accurately recalled what science I learned from Joanna's reading, stars are not small at all when you look at them. They are actually large. The sun itself is a star too. Even as they die, they become black holes and entrap and vanquish all who cross them. Stars are full of fire. Fire warms. Fire burns. Fire destroys. Fire spreads. Fire does not go down without a fight.

I knew which part of my name I had to become now. Maybe it was always there and asleep until then.

I looked around the house and upstairs. Goodbye house, I spoke silently. Goodbye kitchen was full of many meals. Goodbye children running up and down the stairs. Goodbye family dinners and parlor gatherings. Goodbye attic. Goodbye, the counter's I've cleaned hundreds of times. Goodbye nursery. Goodbye blue collection, my pretty pillows, pebbles, and plates- you aren't mine, you're his. Goodbye chairs and desks. Goodbye bed that was so warm when I first laid down on it and now promised nothing but heartbreak until death. Goodbye morning walks with William. Goodbye, false kisses, caresses, and promises. Goodbye picnics, games, books, questions, mud, scolding, and so much more of this old, lying life!

Above all, goodbye William. May sleeping with her be worth it.

I went downstairs, walked out the door, and left the Ransome house.

Outside, the sun was setting into twilight. I had to go while it was both dark and light.

I forced my eyes forward to town. I didn't look back. I never returned.

[smolvenger]

Essex Serpent but

every time Stella Ransomme does something good or pure I give her a cookie

every time her husband William looks at the main character I hit him in the balls with a sledgehammer and send him back to his wife.

[smolvenger]

Daily reminder that Stella Ransome deserved so much better than a cheating husband and tuberculosis