Mary Crawley (forgetwhatisay) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-09-10 20:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, mary crawley, merrill |
Who: Mary Crawley and Merrill
What: Merrill catches Mary grieving for her former life
When: Recently
Where: Bag End (Near Baggins’ Home)
Rating/Warning: PG, For General Angst
Status: Complete
For weeks now, Mary had given the impression that everything was on the up-and-up. She had a stable job, she was connecting with a new part of her family, she'd even sort of made a new friend in Integra. But for her, the truth was that keeping a stiff upper lip was more than a saying, it was a way of life.
Girls like her, the first-born into privilege and society, had many expectations placed upon their shoulders, even in this generation. Some weighed more than others. Maintaining an appearance of control and happiness, which had always come so easy to her, suddenly felt like an anchor tied to her neck. And Mary was very certain she preferred her neck snap before anyone realize just how unhappy she'd become.
Crying was something she did totally in secret, and she frequently escaped to Bag End to do it.
Merrill was not the best at being sneaky. She tended to spoil surprises by accident. It would be just her luck for Frodo to be sitting out in Bag End when she was trying to set up a surprise. She opened the door, a vase of large sunflowers in her arms. Before she could decide where to set them, she spotted her distressed niece. "Mary?"
Mary looked up from the kitchen table, where she had been sitting with her palms pressed against her eyes. Mid-sob, she choked. Her vision was too blurry to make out who was standing in the entryway, but she knew her aunt's voice, and as gentle as it was, it still shocked her. She felt sick to her stomach. "Oh.. Aunt Merrill... I..." She had no idea how to excuse herself.
Merrill put the vase down next to the door, concern written across her face. She moved into the kitchen, sitting down next to Mary. She and Mary were friendly, but not especially close. Still, Merrill should have known the girl well enough to know she would prefer distance--probably prefer Merrill to pretend she'd seen nothing. But Merrill couldn't do that. She was too used to playing the mother role, both at home and work.
Merrill gingerly placed a hand on Mary's back.
"I'm sorry," Mary blurted out. She didn't know what to do, other that apologize. She felt so much like a child being caught doing something they shouldn't.
"You don't have to apologize, Mary," the elf said. Mary hadn't done anything wrong, not that Merrill knew. She'd been a wonderful house guest, and more helpful than Merrill could have asked. "Your uncle and I love having you here."
Merrill wasn't sure exactly what was wrong, and didn't want to push Mary to say more than she was comfortable with. She didn't want to guess, either, though she suspected homesickness might be the culprit.
If only it was as simple as mere homesickness. The real trouble was Mary didn't know where she belonged or what was home anymore: certainly not in England for the time being, and America felt like a vacation that refused to end. "I'm just...frustrated," she said, as she fought to pull herself together.
Merrill nodded, rubbing the girl's shoulder lightly. She thought she might be beginning to understand. Mary was a bright young woman, and she was living in her uncle's house, working for his company... It wasn't a bad place to be, but it didn't seem as though the girl had much to call her own. She wasn't working toward her own career, and didn't go out with friends or boys very often... Merrill felt a bit silly for not realizing earlier that her niece might be depressed. "Your life isn't exactly how you expected it to be by now, is it?"
"My life..." Mary said, with a grim smile appearing, like it was some sort of sick joke, "...seems to have ended, and this is more like--" She caught herself. "No, Aunt Merrill, I don't mean here, in this house. This is lovely and I do love you and Uncle Frodo dearly. It's just that you're right, it's not at all how I planned to spend this year."
"Oh, I know, it's not about us. But you're working at Frodo's company, living in his house, helping take care of his child--Mary, you've been an invaluable help here, and you must know your uncle and I appreciate you very much, but you have you do something for yourself!"
Mary leaned back in her chair, releasing a sigh. "I'm trying, Aunt, really I am. It's just that... I feel as though everything that defined who I was has been taken away, and I'm not sure how to begin again."
Merrill frowned slightly. "I'm sorry, Mary," she said softly. "I don't think I know very much about who you were," she admitted. She wasn't sure how helpful she could be in these circumstances. "What plans did you have for yourself before you came here?"
The real truth was that Mary have never really bother to make plans, but she'd always expected things would go a certain way. Life, for her, was supposed to be easy--in the sense that she usually got what she wanted without much work. Money, a home, a husband: all those things were supposed to simply happen. Now, on top of the loss, she felt sick over how spoiled she’d become, but some changes hurt much more than others.
"Mostly,” she said, ”I'm having trouble understanding why my mother forced me to leave."
Merrill's eyebrows lifted. It was true, she hadn't gotten many details about the girls' visit, but she hadn't expected that. "Forced you? I didn't know she had."
"Well, she made it very difficult for me to say no." Of course, Mary believed her mother had done everything she thought was best for her eldest daughter. It wasn't her motives she questioned, it was the culture that had shaped them, a culture she'd formerly never questioned before.
Merrill nodded, not sure what to say. It was hard for her to imagine, sending a child away like that. She had assumed all this time that the girls had both wanted to come. "I'm sorry, Mary."
"And the worst of it is," Mary sounded exasperated now. "It's not like it isn't a scandal anyway! Everyone knows, it just can't be spoken about publicly. ...I haven't heard from a single friend."
Merrill frowned. "Mary, I'm so sorry your friends haven't reached out." They didn't sound like very good friends. "I can't imagine anything so bad that would justify someone abandoning you. You deserve better."
Mary felt the tears coming again and her throat tightening, as well. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, as if bracing herself. There weren’t any tissues closeby, so she ended up wiping her face with the back of her hand. “Do you know all about it, too, Aunt Merrill?” she asked, almost in a whisper.
Merrill shook her head. "I don't know. You don't have to tell me, though. I've done things I'm not proud of, too. It's in the past, and one of the best things we can learn from it is not to judge others so harshly. I don't need to know about one incident--'scandal' or not--to see the quality of your character." Gingerly, Merrill reached out to stroke her niece's hair in a motherly, hopefully comforting way.
Surprising herself a little bit, Mary leaned into her aunt’s hand. It had been so long since she’d received any real comfort, especially of the maternal sort. Seeing everything Sybil had gone through with their parents had made it even more difficult to reach out to them, though she secretly wished she was a free spirit, like her sister. It seemed like things rolled off her so much more easily.
Merrill wrapped her free arm around Mary's shoulder, moving to give the woman a hug. She couldn't fix the past, and she couldn't take the hurt away, but she could be supportive for her and that's what she intended to do. If Mary's mother wouldn't do it, Merrill would.
Mary closed her eyes and sighed, allowing herself to enjoy an embrace from a family member she could trust, even though they weren’t technically related. Perhaps that made it easier.