Savage Beast-A Peaky Blinders retelling of Helen Keller

23.

It had been a year since the family had been taken into police custody, wrenched from Arrow House. A year since the awful incident that left Lily detesting touch of any kind, unless it was Charlie. It was Charlie she signed for when she needed comfort. Not Tommy, not the maids, not even Lizzie, who was around a lot more helping Tommy with business. The sweet young child with rosy round cheeks would lean in for kisses from Lily, who was now fifteen. Her birthday had come and gone with all the splendor of a grand holiday, and she had gotten braille books, basketfuls of sweet candies, and silk ribbons for her hair. Tommy lavished her with gifts, and all she could ever want as business flow increased money. But he could not buy her love, and still she turned away from him when he tried to caress her cheek. In part, it was because she was wary of men these days, but it also stemmed from the fact that she had only been in the...situation with Father Hughes because of Tommy's illegal business dealings. 

It was the twenty third of December, and a fresh coat of white snow lay on the ground. Children sang carols, women shopped for gifts. The Shelby's never used to bother with putting up a tree-Lily would always knock it over and rip open any presents underneath, not understanding the notion of waiting until Christmas day. But now, Arrow House held two Christmas trees, and the delicious spicy scent of fir trees tickled your nose the second you entered the house. 

Polly, Michael, John and Arthur had been released from prison, just before they could be hanged-they were inches away from the throes of death. Polly was fully in the depths of gypsy and witch speak, and reading tea leaves, throwing seances and the like. Lily hadn't seen her-or any of the other family members, since the day they were taken. Her heart ached for Polly. Tommy never told her she couldn't go visit, but she was too angry to ask, even now. Besides, he was too mussed up with the idea of whores, money, and business that he didn't even care all that much that Lily seemed to stop loving him. Or maybe he just presented it that way outwardly-you could never tell with Tommy, and that's how he liked it. 

It was late at night, and Lily curled against her soft bedsheets, lying awake. She reached out a hand, feeling the warmth of her gas lamp next to her bed. She couldn't fall asleep tonight-she just couldn't-too many bad dreams when she fell asleep. The dream she had had last night-or rather nightmare, was of Charlie getting hit by the awful priest, and when Lily tried to run and save him, she could only stand there, until it was her turn to be hurt. She had awoken in a cold sweat after that, and she didn't sleep much during the nights anymore. She stood, her blankets falling away, as she tiptoed barefoot across the wood floor, finding the space in front of the window. She placed her hands against the cold pane, reaching forward and feeling the cold seep into her fingertips. When her fingers were good and cold, she turned back to her bed, climbing into the warmth of her blankets. She tried to ignore the wet tears on her pillow, the taste of salt on her tongue where the trail dripped into her mouth. 

John had gone-passed. Another person, gone. She hadn't even seen him once since he had been out of jail, and now he was gone. Tommy was gone, having gone and called a family meeting to ask for a truce. They had a new enemy, and Italian. They needed to be strong together, Tommy knew this. But when Lily awoke to an empty house besides Charlie and a Maid who signed to the girl that her brother had died, she couldn't hold it together. She ran straight to the door, shoving it open and not bothering to close it. The garden-she needed the garden. It was a place of refuge, where she could hide her face in the cool greenery-and she did. 

Things were just falling apart. When she first learned how to communicate, the world felt full of possibilities. Now, it felt like being a Shelby itself was a curse, an added weight on her shoulders on top of her disabilities. 

Out in the fields, the fire burned, smoke tickling Lily's nose. Polly wore a black lace shawl, thick black liner smearing her eyes. They were mourning for Joh, his funeral was a Gypsy one-his body was burned inside the caravan, with his pictures and clothes. Lily clasped Polly's hand, grateful to be with her family again, even though it was in untasteful circumstances. Then she flinched, when she felt gunfire begun to rain down, her family scattering. She screamed, squatting down to the ground and covering her face, the grass poking her knees through her sheer black tights. Tommy grabbed her arm, pulling her up, and she leaned into his side, fear for her own safety dominating over her anger for him that still ran through her daily. He forced her palm open from it's tight fist, spelling that she was safe into it, that it was part of a plan. Lily set her jaw, pulling away from him. Tommy and his plans, always ruining her life, always mussing up family matters. He claimed it was to protect everyone, and for the business. But it seemed to the girl that it did more harm than good. Maybe that's because she didn't know all the information, but it was how she felt. 

Back in Charlie's yard, Lily pet the old horses she used to feed, feeling at home. Her boots were slick with mud, gravel crunching beneath her feet as she walked one of her favorites back and forth. He was a gelding, a chestnut thoroughbred. He was calm for his breed, and had always let Lily yank his mane and roughly brush him when she was wild as an untamed horse herself. It was a sweet sight, the girl among the horses. It was like a glimpse into the younger child she used to be.