Baker - G. BLYTHE

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-ˋˏ *.·:·. [TWO AND A HALF WEEKS LATER] .·:·.* ˎˊ-

CHARLOTTE AWOKE FEELING A DREAD IN HER STOMACH, ONE SHE KNEW ALL TOO WELL. That mixed with a cold chill in the air had her jumping from bed. She pulled on her dressing gown and didn't even bother lacing her boots before running out of the bakery and towards the Blythe house. She ran as fast as she could through the forest, jumping over logs fallen on the path and quite often slipping on freshly fallen snow. As she hurried up the path she couldn't help but feel the atmosphere around the house had changed to one of sorrow, if anything this confirmed her beliefs even more. She was certain that John Blythe had passed away.

She didn't bother knocking on the door, knowing that he wasn't probably likely to open it anyway and stepped into the kitchen to see Gilbert staring off into space a once hot drink in hand. She wasted no time weaving her way across the kitchen and wrapping him in a tight comforting embrace. Gilbert buried his face in the crook of her neck and tightly wrapped his arms around her middle, holding her close and letting the tears flow. They stood like that for a while, him letting out shaking breaths and her running a hand through his curls in an attempt to comfort the broken boy. 

When they parted Gilbert insisted that she borrow one of his jumpers since she was completely frozen to the touch and slightly blue in the lips when she walked into his house, she complied feeling the adrenaline leave her body and a freezing feeling replacing it. The two of them sat in his kitchen talking and not talking, at the moment she did whatever Gilbert wanted. She had promised John she would and wasn't likely to break that promise, she would have done it even if it wasn't a promise. A few times during the day, she walked past the bedroom which she had spent so long in before thinking about who currently lay at peace behind the door. Gilbert took a nap halfway through the day, Charlotte wasn't sure if he was actually asleep or not. During this nap, she quietly cleaned, prepped a meal for him to have later when he could stomach it and found herself lingering outside John's bedroom door. She managed to pluck up the courage to open the door and walk inside. To her it just looked like he was sleeping, of course she knew he wasn't but it was a slight comfort. She kissed him lightly on the forehead saying her final goodbye before closing the door back up. She quickly wrote a note to Gilbert, saying she would be back as soon as possible then walked home. Charlotte's mother wrapped her daughter in a motherly hug as soon as she crossed the threshold after seeing her tear-stained face. Her brother's words from Father's funeral rang in her ears that entire day 'all the prettiest flowers are picked first, the best people die first.' John Blythe went far too early.

-ˋˏ *.·:·. [TWO DAYS LATER] .·:·.* ˎˊ-

THE MORNING OF THE FUNERAL, CHARLOTTE AWOKE IN THE SPARE ROOM OF THE BLYTHE HOUSE. She stayed the night knowing that Gilbert would need the help in the morning, she stayed to keep him company. The talk they had late at night, over a warm drink, was one that bought the two great comfort. Gilbert talked of his and his father's life to begin with, everything that had been kept as a much-loved memory in his brain bought a soft smile to her face. The conversation turned to one focused on grief afterwards, they talked about John's death and all that came with it. He got everything he needed to off his chest, how he didn't really want to farm and how his father had advised him to travel amongst other things. After all, this was said and done, Gilbert turned to ask Charlotte questions about her father in an attempt to get to know the girl better. He much enjoyed the memories that she relived at that kitchen table, especially the ones from Ireland and about how her Father had always bought her home a bouquet of wildflowers when she achieved something. He enjoyed hearing about when they used to sit in his study together and read, hearing about the many walks the two had taken together through the forest. He put two and two together, quickly realising that she wasn't scared of walking through the forest, it just made her miss her Father. The two felt that there wasn't anything they couldn't share with the other person and each woke up the following morning feeling more bonded than ever before.

Charlotte and Gilbert walked gloved hand in gloved hand behind the carriage which held John Blythe's casket. He had originally walked alone but she quickly pulled away from her mother's arm and went straight up to him. They walked side by side for a while until Gilbert took her hand seeking the comfort it brought. The group of mourners dressed head to toe in fine black clothes reached the snow-covered Blythe plot, already pre-dug and ready. He clutched her hand through the entire service, not wanting to let go in fear of losing her too. The service was peaceful and short, just like John would have wanted it to be. The collection of mourners showed how many people John Blythe had affected in his life soon left after the service had finished, heading inside for the warmth, leaving Gilbert and Charlotte alone once more. The two moved to sit on a cold stone bench at the edge of the recently dug grave, Gilbert hadn't said a word to her all morning so they only communicated with hand squeezes or soft smiles meant to comfort the other. Gilbert was completely broken into thousands of pieces that would never fit together ever again. Charlotte was broken too but remained strong in front of Gilbert, she owed him that. 

"Do you think it hurts?" Gilbert asked in a soft voice staring at a droplet of water on his hand which came from a fallen snowflake. Charlotte changed her gaze from the overturned earth to him and felt her heart tighten at the look on his face. "Death, I mean," he added while tapping on his thigh with a gloved hand, the one which wasn't currently wrapped around hers.

 Charlotte took a deep inhale of cold air and cleared her throat, hoping to rid her voice of any signs of sadness. "No, I don't think it does. It's probably just like falling asleep, quick and painless," she answered telling nothing but the truth. She hoped that death was painless, she didn't want to bear the thought of her own father being in any more pain than he was on his deathbed. Death, for him, was seen as a relief from months of aching pains. As much as she hated to admit it, Charlotte was glad her father died when he did. He had no chance of getting better and he was in so much pain that she so hated to see, every single breath shot daggers through his body, she was glad he wasn't in pain anymore even though she missed him terribly.  

The two fell into silence again for a few minutes, a silence which neither minded. But then Charlotte got the sudden feeling that Gilbert wanted to be left alone, she was completely understanding of this and with a gentle squeeze of his hand she headed inside with the rest. Gilbert watched her walk towards his house, he watched how her hair blew in the slight breeze, how her black dress swung at her knees with every step and how her feet sunk down on the snow. Once she disappeared behind the door to his home, Gilbert was left feeling very alone. The seat next to him had turned cold, of his own accord, leading him to stare longingly at the casket in the ground as the hole slowly filled. 

Charlotte didn't see Gilbert again until everyone had left and she had started to clean, he came into the house and went straight to tidying the messed living space. Gilbert was frustrated about what Anne had said earlier, about him being lucky and better off than she was. The idea that one could be better off than someone else in this situation and the fact that she had the nerve to say it aloud without a hint of sympathy in her voice, greatly churned a feeling of hatred in his stomach. He didn't dare tell Charlotte about the interaction, knowing full well that she was likely to ruin a friendship that she cared about deeply. Even though he currently disliked Anne, he would remain impartial to her in Charlotte's eyes. 

Once the ground had been smoothed back over, the two-headed back out in the cold and placed bouquets of flowers onto the dirt (freshly picked flowers from the Rayhill's fields) and they both said a proper goodbye to the man. A man that had affected her so much in such a small amount of time. She just hoped that he wouldn't do anything irrational because of the death.