welcomed sentiments ➵ bethyl au

1

It was all Maggie's idea.
Their father was an emotional wreck whom holed himself up in his room, and only came down to eat. Beth and Maggie themselves, they were hopeful. They bonded more after the passing of their brother and mother, a closely knit couple of sisters.
But it was Maggie's idea.
She was cleaning out the attic with Beth, tears slipping down their cheeks and staining photographs as they flipped through scrapbooks and photo albums.
Beth was staring at some sheet music that she could easily learn on her guitar. Some Paddy Reilly song, her father loved his music. It would probably make him smile, make him come out more.
Maggie found hidden recipes their mother wrote. A lot of sweets, cakes and pastries. She called Beth over, and she joked that they could open up a bakery. That was the first time it was mentioned.
The next time it was mentioned, was when they heaved the heavy boxes of faded paper down to the kitchen, where they sorted through recipes, finding something they knew their father would love.
Eggs split and sorted to whites and yolks, constant whisking, gradually adding and tasting and baking and chilling, approximately 3 hours later, Maggie sent Beth up to their father's room to call him down to eat.
Maggie had already had a roast in the oven, a proper dinner to be followed by a proper dessert. Hershel would've laughed if they had only set out a pie.
Beth shuffles up to his room, passing by the mirror in the hall. She takes notice to her blonde hair, a haphazard mess that barely looked like a bun. Flour cakes her cheeks and nose, and she looks paler than she thought was possible.
He'd take notice to this, surely. He'd feel concern, he'd want to come out of his room and he'd want to see what happened. She dismisses going to the bathroom to clean up and heads straight to his room.
Several knocks, a weak, "Daddy, it's Beth. Dinner's ready.", was all it took for Hershel to wander aimlessly out of his room, as if he was in a haze.
They sit down, they say grace, they eat their meal. It's clockwork. He stands, thanks his daughters, when Maggie catches his arm.
"No, daddy, we have dessert."
His faces reads of despair, and Beth steps in, nodding.
"Just try it? It's our first time, made it for you."
He nods weakly, sitting again, and Maggie heads to the cut a slice while Beth clears the table.
In a matter of minutes, he's asking for another slice, a twinkle that was lost in his eyes finally familiar again. He mentions that they should open up a bakery, together. And at first, it's laughing, hugging and being reunited as a family, a whole family, for the first time in months.
But then, then he's serious. So they save.

➵

She practices her guitar in her father's room, playing for him when he's reminded of a fond memory, or simply when he wants to hear something worth listening too. The commotion of the small families bustling in and out to purchase a pie or a pastry wasn't worth listening too, he'd tell her.
She'd laugh and nod and play a song, and then Beth would lean her guitar against the wall and rush back downstairs, tying her apron in a knot.
She's about 20, and and the idea was when she was about 16. Maggie's still adamant about renovating the vacant building a couple blocks down from their home so that they can regain their dining room for family dinners again, but for the time being, their father is happy.
So they continue on, baking with a tiny oven and sending Maggie's boyfriend, Glenn, on runs to the grocery store to pick up flour, and eggs, and "babe, what the hell is cream of tartar? I can't find it."
It's usually the same, though. The sheriff's wife, some librarians, teachers. Once in a while, it's a rumored ruffian, a Dixon. Beth doesn't know how harmful they could be. Or how harmful he could be, being that the same pale, balding man that reeked of alcohol, speaking loud and raspy came in once in a blue moon.
Beth would mention it to Maggie as they scrubbed pans and pots at the end of the day, and Maggie would shrug.
"Don't know much. Glenn says he has a brother, never seen him though."
"He loud, too?"
Maggie snorts. "M...Merle? Was his name? Don't remember. He is loud. Don't know about his brother. Don't want to know. Rough and tough, probably. Probably been in jail, too. Not interested."
"I'd hope not, I think you and Glenn are cute together," Beth teases, bumping her hip. "You thinkin' about hookin' up with a Dixon?"
Maggie laughs in turn, following the joke. "Yeah, don't tell Glenn. He'd get pissed."
"'s too bad. Thought you'd have a baby with him one day."
Beth glances towards Maggie, who's innocent smile turns, still a smile, just far too serious.
"One day."

➵

She's about 24 now, and Maggie's wishes of moving the makeshift bakery from the dining room/kitchen area to the vacant building down the street has finally come true.
Her dreams of being married and expecting are high up there, too, checked off the list with the bakery.
Beth feels professional. There's uniforms she's designed with Maggie and a team of people working with them, some volunteers and some in which they're paying.
She also feels fit for her job. She feels it when she's joking with customers as she ties up their delicacies into petite little boxes, offering discounts to the regulars and writing specials of the day on chalkboards.
She feels it when it's the end of the day, and Maggie's at home resting, (because she's pregnant and she works too damn hard) and Beth gets to flip the sign from We're Open! to Sorry, We're Closed!
This job was recently placed into Beth's hands. She rises early to open up and work an early shift, and leaves midday to check on her father and tend to him for a bit, then returns at the end of the day and works for an hour or two before closing up.
Beth was in the midst of scrubbing a stubborn pot when she hears heavy knocks on the door. She hates these, when they happen. She'd send a scary-looking employee. Tyreese, usually. But she let him have the day off, something about a nephew catching a cold and his sister was out of town.
Beth dries her hands on a dish towel, and the knocking, though now it sounds like thudding, won't quit. It's annoying, now, rather than scary, and her irritated glare is clear when she unlocks the door.
"We're closed."
"Your lips ain't, honey," a man slips out of the darkness, and tries to slink into the bakery. Beth slams the door in front of him, but slips on the floor. He stumbles backward, frowning.
"Just want a hug, darling, you look lonely."
She's horrified, and makes an attempt to lock the door again, and to her surprise, she succeeds.
She's slightly proud, but doesn't let herself have too much pride, because the man is not very tall and not very sober.
At all.
But he's still there, thudding on the door. His greasy mop of brown hair is probably as equally unwashed as the purple sweater he's wearing, and his teeth are undeniably yellow.
She hates that the doors are clear, and that he can see into the store, see her every move. He hoots and hollers for her to open, and she's still horrified.
The idea of calling the cops never crosses her mind--all she can do is sit there, sit there and stare at the man banging his fists against the doors.
Then, then it registers in her mind. Text Maggie.

Beth
maggie please don't come over but im here at the bakery and theres a homeless guy trying to get in i locked the door but he wont leave and im still here

She gets a response a few minutes later.

Maggie
Shes sleeping this is glenn

Maggie
Do u want me to come over?? Call the cops or something

Beth
dont ill be fine

Maggie
Call the cops

Beth
wait

Maggie
Im coming over

Maggie
Just tell me ur calling the cops

Reading the texts back later, she feels awful that she never responded, but to be perfectly honest, she never expected what would happen next. She pictures herself dialing the number and some cops pulling up, Maggie would make a big deal but they'd be fine.
No, instead a rugged man riding a motorcycle zooms by, and she's startled by the sound of the engine, and how it immediately cuts off. The homeless man switches his attention, diverting it from Beth inside the bakery to the man leaping off the motorcycle and striding over to the homeless man, swinging his helmet at his jaw.
He collapses to the ground when the impact of the helmet meets his jaw, and the motorcyclist's eyes meet Beth's through the window.
She's taken aback, still not sure of what exactly just happened, but she steps to the door, extends her arm and flips the sign, so that it reads We're Open!