𝐋𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐚 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 🍞PEAKY BLINDERS 🥖

Chapter Seventy-Six

Wanted to make sure I got something out, so this isn't edited very well. Part two of the funeral/Abarama Gold's intro coming next chapter. 

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

"Kizzie."

Arthur's disappointed voice was swallowed up by Polly's cackling.

The woman nearly fell sideways.

"Do you even know what 'truce' means?"

Her aunt suddenly stopped. "No! It's been decided. My niece's vote has been cast."

Kizzie didn't know what it meant. But she knew it very clearly meant something bad. She just wanted to make her aunt feel better. And she liked the way the word sounded. Felt like Shelta on her tongue.

Tommy threw his cigarette aside like it was a parasite. "Doesn't matter." His blue eyes shined ice cold. "Peace wins--five on three. Let's go to war."

The family stood, minus Kizzie and Polly.

She didn't know where to go. And the colors of the family melted against her skin in a disagreeing way. Everyone was upset with her, but would never dare say so.

"Kizzie," Tommy cut through her thoughts.

"Hello."

He remained a table's distance away and held out his hand like he sometimes did with Charles. Like he always did with her when younger.

"C'mon."

She stood and put in her chair. "Your colors aren't as mad with me as the others."

Tommy sucked in his lips. "Is 'truce' one of the things Alfie taught you?"

Kizzie understood his anger with her, not him.

Her stance faltered. "What?"

He raised his brows. "You said he sometimes teaches you things."

"What if it is?" It wasn't.

Tommy took a step forward, his outstretched hand faltering. ""Then I don't understand why you wouldn't want your family to be at peace. Especially right after John."

Unexpected tears welled in her eyes. "I just didn't want Aunt Polly to be sad."

Tommy's icy blues melted. He beckoned her again. "C'mon, lambkin."

Kizzie slowly reached him and laced their fingers together.

"We have a funeral to attend."

♡ ̆̈

Tradition demanded fire.

Kizzie stared at the caravan-pyre as family members tucked flowers, letters, and twigs into crevices. Then at her own flowers. She couldn't do this.

Her heart raced like it was rolling down a cliff. Somewhere inside this caravan, John layed. She wasn't involved in his preparation. Tommy took responsibility, and he didn't share what happened.

Kizize glanced his way. His watchful eyes made laps around the caravan, slipping between the others.

"Kizzie girl."

She turned. "Hello."

Arthur smiled. "Let's give these to John, yeah?"

She gripped them tighter and whispered, "I'm not sure I can."

The smallest of frowns cracked his smile. "I'll help ya."

But he didn't want to. Not really. Kizzie knew her eldest brother wanted to crawl into a hole and die rather than be here. But he was the eldest. And one of Kizzie's favorite people. Maybe he felt like he needed to be here.

Arthur nudged her forward with a gentle hand to her back.

Kizzie walked with him. In another scenario, she looked like a bride, dressed in black and gray and carrying red roses. She didn't know if John liked these. And she hated knowing that whatever John liked no longer mattered.

"That's a beautiful spot, Kizzie," Arthur told her, once she crouched down and tucked her bouquet against the wheels.

"Okay."

"C'mon. We're about to start." Arthur tucked her into his shoulder as he led them back to the others.

Kizzie ignored the stray stares. She didn't really mean to call a truce.

"This is how John wanted to go," Tommy addressed them. "On the smoke." His eyes found his sister. He stood straighter, stronger.

Kizzie couldn't imagine wanting to die by fire. The burns she got from a tea kettle or from standing too close to the fireplace were frightening and impossibly painful. She wasn't sure how she wanted to die, if she took the time to think about it, which lately, she did.

Maybe in her sleep. Next to Alfie. But that wouldn't have been fair to him; to wake up and have her be ice cold and rigid.

Kizzie stole a look at her brothers. She would be leaving people behind, and the guilt ate her alive.

"The truth is," Tommy continued, "we died together once before. Arthur, me, Danny Whizzbang, Freddie Thorne, Jeremiah, and John. We were caught off from the retreat. No bullets left, waiting for the Prussian cavalry to come and finish us off." Heat burned off Tommy's skin. His pale face emitted a pinkish glow.

Despite everything, Kizzie wanted to comfort him. He and John were close--she knew that, even without needing to know of their wartime happenings.

She found Finn further down from her. She wished they were close enough to feel comfortable together, like they used to be. Tomorrow, he could be the next one gone. Her twin.

Arthur gripped her hand. Did he sense her growing unease? ""S'alright, Kizzie girl."

"Okay," she whispered, not believing her words.

"Jeremiah said, 'We should sing In the Bleak Midwinter'... But we were spared. The enemy never came. And we all agreed," Tommy's tender eyes found Kizzie. A surge of blue collided with her. "That everything after that was extra."