Power and Lies

Twenty-Six

Her world is made of glass, unyielding yet fragile. At any moment a stone may shatter the peace she was clinging to like a vessel. Freya clung to her husbands hand as they crossed the threshold of their new home, a near mansion in comparison to their old abodes. Her mind flittering back and forth between the reality of her new life and the fear at any moment it could be yanked from her kept her alert, objectively terrified as they entered. All of their furniture was scattered about, brand new pieces Tommy had created for them, and painting paintings adorned the walls, crafting the feeling of a genuine home.

"It is okay," He whispered to her, aware of her fears. She admitted them to him nights ago in terrors he had to shake her from. Nightmares would not stop. And now, as her fingers traced the stair banister, she did her best to forget them all.

Only four months before had they had their secret wedding and whisked off on a loving honeymoon to Scotland, where they spoke to nobody and lived lives where nobody knew who they were. Being anonymous has been glorious in a way she had never expected. Even Tommy seemed to enjoy it to a degree. But when their feet had landed on the streets of Small Heath once more the paranoia and fear had taken their places back within her. Only now they were worse. They had been gone for too long, she feared. People would think the Blinders were weakened without Tommy's presence and prepare to do the same things to their foothold as they had done to others.

"Come back to me," Tommy whispered to her and she glanced at him, taking in a shaky breath. So often now he had to bring her back to reality. She was unsure where the extreme spike in fear had come from, but she longed for it to go.

"I am sorry." She whispered to Tommy, reaching her fingers out to grab his hand which she readily wrapped around her own. He tugged her gently to him and wrapped his arm around her, kissing her gently on her temple.

"Have you written to your mother yet?" She shook her head, appreciative at his attempts to change the subject, albeit to another anxiety inducing one. She had not written her mother to tell her of her marriage to Tommy, and how wonderful it all was. Part of her wanted to withhold that information from her parents, lock it up in a box reserved only for her. It was such a beautiful thing, she was afraid that they would ruin it somehow.

"I will do it soon. I promise." Both of them knew it was likely not true, so they let the words hang in the air between them.

The house was manned with an expansive staff, and soon they had crafted a dinner unlike anything she had ever seen. Even with the maids and cooks of her childhood she could never dream up something like this. Tommy had truly taken it seriously when he promised to give her the best life possible. Although she would be just as happy in a shack, as long as he was with her.

It was at the dinner table he proposed she see a fortune teller. She had been absently plucking at some potatoes when he brought it up, and she had looked at him as though he had gone mad. She knew Polly had done it once before for her dreams, something Tommy had learned about and berated her for. She worried the same would happen to her should she follow through with his requests.

"Perhaps," She agreed half-heartedly.

Melancholy had grasped her, and she could not seem to shake it. At this point she would do anything to get the aggressive happiness back she had at their wedding. "Will you have them come here?" He nodded in return and together they finished a quiet meal and laid in bed staring at the ceiling.

When the fortune teller arrived she had not expected someone young to stand before her. She had, instead, expected an old lady with a crystal ball to be at her table. Still, a young woman sat before her, her eyes staring deep into Freya's and a purse to her lips as she analyzed her. Freya squirmed under the stare, but did not look away. Several minutes had passed before the woman approached her, her hand touching Freya's.

Tommy had assured her that the fortune teller had come with high recommendations, and she had at the time wondered how exactly one could recommend a fortune teller when the future had not even happened yet. But as she watched the girls body go rigid and her eyes roll back, she suddenly understood. If nothing else, she was impressively theatric.

When she came to, she smiled at Freya, a broad smile that made her look even more youthful.

"You are good fortune." She stated simply, not bothering to elaborate.

"Then why do I have nightmares?"

"Why do any of us dream? They just happen. No dream reader can tell us why we have the dreams we have when we dream for two."

Freya looked at her in confusion and gnawed at her lip, trying to decipher the woman's words.

"What do you mean?" She finally gave up and the small woman laughed. It was not a beautiful sound, but it suited her.

"My dear, you do not need a fortune teller. You need a doctor. You are pregnant."