#ephraim bellows

[sie-werden-nie-vergessen]

So I’m rewatching the wax cylinder scene from the movie and it just got 10 times sadder for me, because I just noticed that right before Ephraim shocks her for the first time she really quietly begs him and says his name and that just makes the whole thing so much worse, because not only is she pleading her innocence, she’s also just a scared girl begging her brother not to hurt her 💔😢

[shapeshiftersandfire]

Ruth has a burning question for Verna (not shapeshifter related, but it's very important nonetheless). "How often are you overcome with the desire to punch Ephraim in the face?"

Verna runs her hands over her face with a heavy sigh. "How often am I..." With a groan, she leans back in her chair. "I mean the answer is too often, but like..." She throws her hand into the air. "Am I allowed to punch my nephew?"

[sie-werden-nie-vergessen]

Sarah’s Funeral - An Excerpt

He stares down at the grave, at the little white casket in the newly disturbed dirt. The casket has a viewing window, but his mother had it packed full of flowers to obscure Sarah’s face.

“We don’t need more of them seeing her,” she had said. She ordered the cheapest flowers, and most of them were half wilted by the time they had been laid into the casket.

Ephraim would know. He watched as they were placed inside, and he stood by as the lid was closed and fastened, and he watched as it was carried out to the ground. The grave itself was on hospital property. For all his family’s riches, they were laying their only daughter to rest in a pauper’s grave in an empty field. Her only company were the graves of the other patients who had remained unclaimed or unwanted.

What a fitting place.

This is your fault.

Sarah had been wanted, but not by her family. Emma Fultz stood close to Ethel, her usual sack apron exchanged for a black cotton dress and a wool cape. Ephraim glanced at her, but she only stared past him with empty eyes, her gaze resting on the little white box. It was December. It was too cold for her thin dress, but she barely shivered as she kept her eyes locked onto the grave. Her hat was off-kilter and too large for her head.

[sie-werden-nie-vergessen]

after mill valley

A little snippet of Ephraim and Ethel post Mill Valley. Ethel works as the head nurse in a small children's ward, and Ephraim has positioned himself as a psychiatrist in the same institution. Slice of life with a reference to Emma Fultz my beloved. Author's note: Yes, I finally figured out how to save Emma from a life of perpetual torture and loneliness in Pennhurst. This plot hole has been bugging me for over a year, so I'm happy to finally begin to wrap it up. Ephraim and Ethel might adopt her, honestly.

- Boston, MA, mid 1899 -

“Ephraim, have you seen my hairbrush?” Ephraim pokes his head out of the bathroom door and peers across the hallway at Ethel. She’s still wearing her dressing gown, and she frantically searches through the clutter on her vanity in search of the hairbrush. He smiles to himself and sets down his comb, placing his hands on her shoulders as he peers down at the vanity. 

Ethel huffs in frustration, having found nothing in the drawers. Ephraim gazes at her in the mirror, smiling as he watches her.

“You know, I could just buy a new one.”

Ethel turns around to look at him, her hair falling into her face. “No,” she says, brushing the stray hair aside. “I’ll find it, eventually. It’s alright.”

She smirks, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. “But I might borrow your comb in the meantime.” “You wouldn’t dare.” Ephraim’s voice is serious, but Ethel knows he’s joking. She smiles, raising an eyebrow as she looks at him. “Oh yes I would, Dr. Bellows. I might even steal your pomade too.” “And what are you going to do with that?” She shrugs. “I’ll hold it hostage, naturally.”

Ephraim rolls his eyes lovingly, turning towards the bed to grab his vest and jacket. “What do you think we’ll have to deal with today?”

Ethel arranges her hair into a bun, pinning it into place as she speaks. “I don’t know. Maybe a stubbed toe or spilled juice?” She smiles, happy to finally be dealing with simple problems, for once. Working in a children’s ward had its challenges, of course, but most days were simple and quiet, due in no small part to the fact that the ward currently held only 3 inhabitants, a fact that she was endlessly grateful for. 

She had seen enough children suffering to last a lifetime. Spilled juice and stubbed toes were a happy respite. 

“What about you?” She asks, standing from the vanity to put on her corset. “How has it been? I haven’t had a chance to ask.” Ephraim adjusts his collar, staring at his reflection in the dresser mirror. “It’s been usual. I sent a letter to Alan three weeks ago, so hopefully he can send the transfer papers soon.” “Oh, I hope so!” Ethel smiles, her eyes gleaming with hope. “After everything she’s been through…..”

Ephraim nods, thinking of the poor girl left to rot in Pennhurst.

This is your fault! You did this to her! You did this-

SHUT UP!

He shakes his head, willing the thoughts away. They’ve lessened considerably since he left Mill Valley, but occasionally they still cling to him, refusing to leave.

“I just hope that she’s alright. Well….as well as she can be, considering.” Ethel nods. “I hope so too. She took it so hard, after Sarah-” She stops herself nearly instantly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.”

Ephraim shakes his head, walking closer to Ethel. “No, it’s alright. You shouldn’t have to censor yourself for my sake.” “I don’t want to upset you.” “Don’t worry, I manage that just fine on my own.” The air hangs thick between the two of them, until Ephraim pats his pockets and continues on with his day, as if he hadn’t just been stricken with images of the horrors he had inflicted, the nightmares that he had only just escaped.

Ethel swallows, watching him closely. She steps forward, taking his hand into her own, mirroring the night Sarah had been found. “I’m always here.” She says gently.

Ephraim nods, his eyes closed, his mind whirring. “I know.” He opens his eyes, smiling stiffly, forcing his demons away. “You’re too kind to me, you know?”

Ethel shakes her head, smiling fondly. “I’m not kind enough.” She counters, breathing deeply.

“You aren’t a bad man, Ephraim. You have a good heart. Don’t forget that.” Ephraim would beg to differ, considering everything that he had done, but she seemed so sincere, so certain, that he didn’t dare defy her.

After a moment of silence, he settles for a simple “If you say so.”

She squeezes his hand before releasing it. “I do.”

[sie-werden-nie-vergessen]

Ever since my realization this morning about the wax cylinder scene, I’ve been thinking about Sarah and Ephraim and how immensely sad they make me. They could have been so happy, they could have had everything, and yet....

And Harold too. The poor boy just needed to realize that he could never please his parents, and that blindly hating his baby sister would never earn their love.

The three of them all deserved so much better. My darling little sad Victorians :(

[sie-werden-nie-vergessen]

always waiting

“You thought, because you were alone,

Your falsehood never could be known,

But liars always are found out,

Whatever ways they wind about;”

Sarah sat on the cold floor of the cellar, quietly listening to the stories that drifted down from the floor above. Her mother sat in the parlor, reading stories to her elder brothers.

Sometimes she closed her eyes and imagined that she was in the parlor with them. She could nearly feel the soft warmth emitting from the kerosene lamps that dotted the tables. Maybe her mother would wrap her up in a blanket and set her by the fire, and maybe her father would pat her on the head as he walked by. Maybe her brothers would be kind to her, then. Maybe her grandmother wouldn’t be so cruel.

Maybe then, she would be loved.

But she wasn’t loved, and she wasn’t in the parlor. She was in the basement, the same damp and dark basement that she had been in for ages.

Sometimes when Sylvie delivered her meals, she would leave the door unlocked “by accident.” Sarah had ventured upstairs a few times, but she rarely went to the parlor. It seemed almost like sacrilege to venture to that part of the house. It was where her family gathered, and she wasn’t welcomed there. But, then again, neither was Sylvie, and they didn’t particularly dislike her. Regardless, Sarah rarely ventured any further than the small hallway that connected the servant’s quarters to the rest of the house.

One time, Sarah had mustered up the courage to slip into the dining room. It was sometime around midday, and the entire family was off on some sort of social call. In the dining room there was a portrait of her grandparents hanging on one wall, along with a more recent family portrait on the other. Her brothers sat proudly on their parent’s laps, but Sarah herself was nowhere to be seen. In fact, Sarah had never really seen her own likeness in a portrait. Of course, she knew what she looked like. There was a mirror in her room, and Sarah often looked at her own reflection while Sylvie styled her hair in the mornings.

Sylvie was a good enough hairdresser, and she was gentle too, but Sarah always wondered what it would be like to have her own mother brush her hair. Sometimes her mother would read a story about a little girl, and in it the mother always brushed her daughter’s hair. Sarah wondered if that story ever made her mother sad, or if it made her angry that her only daughter had been born wrong, and because of that she would never brush her hair like the other mother’s did.

Sarah once told Sylvie about these wonders when she came down to the basement one morning, and Sylvie only told her that those worries were too big for such a little girl to have. But Sylvie frowned as she said it, and Sarah wondered if maybe those worries were bad, or if she was bad for having worried them up. Sarah didn’t ask though, and she only sat still as Sylvie brushed her hair for the day.

Sometimes Sarah wondered if she really did have worries that were too big. She was only 6, but she was clever. Sylvie had told her that once, but Sarah hadn’t known what it meant at the time. She never meant to worry big worries, but there wasn’t much else to do in that basement.

The story was coming to a close now, and Sarah could just barely hear her brothers shuffling. One of them, she thought it was Harold, begged for another story. Another voice, a deeper one, hushed him and said something that Sarah couldn’t make out. There was shuffling and scraping as people and furniture moved about the parlor, and Sarah’s eyes grew heavy. Her brothers would be off to bed soon, which meant that it was time for Sarah to sleep as well. She didn’t need to follow their schedule, because no one would ever come to check on her to see if she was asleep, but she wanted to be a part of the upstairs, even if only in her imagination. If she thought long and hard enough, she could almost see her mother standing in the doorway, coming to tuck her into bed. Sarah had never seen it happen, but Sylvie told her once that all little girls and boys get tucked into bed at night, and Sarah imagined that her brothers were no different. Sarah had no one to tuck her in, so she had to make do herself.

In the morning, Sylvie came in as she always did, with a hairbrush in one hand and a bowl of porridge in the other. Sarah was always awake before Sylvie arrived, and she scrambled out of bed to greet her. She always wanted to laugh and yell “Aunt Sylvie!!”, but she never could. No one but Sarah herself knew that Sylvie brushed her hair, and Sylvie had made her promise that no one ever would know. Sarah thought that it was because her mother might be jealous, but she didn’t know for sure. Her grandmother would be angry if she knew, but Sarah knew that her grandmother was always angry. Everyone knew that.

Sylvie brushed Sarah’s hair as she always did, and Sarah sat still and quiet. When Sylvie was done, Sarah ate her porridge and left the bowl by the door, and then she sat by her bed and waited. Sometimes a little mouse would come under the door to say hello, and other times she could hear a bird from outside. And sometimes the best surprise of all would come, and that was her brother sneaking down to see her.

Ephraim visited her less and less as time had gone on, but Sarah was so young that she barely realized that. All she knew was that someone still loved her, at least a little. Ephraim was mean to her when her parents were near, but sometimes he could be kind too. Sometimes he would even bring her a treat, although that too happened less and less.

Today was one of those rare days in which Ephraim came to visit her, and a treat had come along with him. Another surprise lay beyond the door, but Sarah didn’t realize that at first.

Ephraim slipped into the basement sometime in the late morning. It was a Sunday, and the family had just returned from church. Sarah had listened to the carriage wheels roll away early that morning, and a few hours later she heard them return. Footsteps stormed the house, and a few moments later Ephraim appeared at her door.

He wasn’t sure exactly what to expect when he walked into the basement room. Sometimes Ephraim wondered if he had dreamt it all up, if Sarah was even real at all. But she was real, and she was always sitting there patiently waiting. He was never sure if she was waiting for him or just waiting for anything at all, but she was always waiting. 

She looked at him as he walked into the door, and he stared back at her. The basement keys slipped into the pocket of his small waistcoat, and he shuffled from side to side, unsure of what to do. He hadn’t brought any books or toys to the basement this time, and he wasn’t sure what to do about the pale girl staring back at him.

Finally, Sarah spoke. Her voice was small and quiet, but she sounded older than her years.

“Your hair looks nice today.”

Ephraim glanced at the floor. His hair had been the subject of a debate that morning, although he knew that Sarah couldn’t have heard it. His mother was adamant that he needed to look proper for church, and so she had sat him down in front of her vanity and spent nearly an hour primping his hair, combing it and then uncombing it, oiling it and then changing her mind on the style. Finally she had swept it to the side with a bit of pomade, and he had cringed at the smell of it. He smelled like flowers and he hated it, and he knew that Harold would laugh at him for it.

Harold did, and Ephraim had shot him a glare as they headed towards the carriage that morning.

Ephraim looked up at Sarah. “I like your hair too.”

Sarah blushed a bit. She wasn’t expecting a compliment. No one had ever complimented her besides Sylvie, and it embarrassed her even then. 

“Thank you. Sylvie did it.”

[sie-werden-nie-vergessen]

The Bellows Book - Ethel’s Resignation (Sneak Peek)

I’m so excited to share this one with you all! It’s been in my drafts for months and I finally got around to polishing it up tonight. Obviously it will be much longer than this once it’s fully finished, but here’s a nice teaser for the full chapter. This contains MANY illusions to other parts of The Bellows Book, so don’t be alarmed if some references make no sense at this point. I promise that everything will fall into place once I can get more content ready for publishing. Time has just been a huge problem now, especially because my college classes have recently gotten very intense and I spend almost all of my time writing academic papers these days.

Content Below The Cut

Ephraim was being a coward, and he knew it. Rather than facing Ethel like he knew he ought to, he was hiding away in his room like a scared child. His father and brother were both at work at the mill, and Delanie was off making social calls with Gertrude. Surprisingly, his grandmother could be quite social when she wanted to be.

Sliding his feet off of his bed, he moved to his window once more, just in time to spot Ethel doubled over in some sort of fit. He opened the window slightly and was greeted with the sounds of a hacking cough, followed by a clearing of the throat. As Ethel began her walk down the driveway, he noticed that even her footsteps appeared weak. She plodded along slowly through the snow, nearly tripping a handful of times.

Ephraim wanted to help her. He wanted to rush out of the mansion and take her by the arm and help her home. He didn’t care that it would involve seeing Ruth again, or that it would certainly damage his reputation beyond repair when the world discovered what Ethel had learned. Why she hadn’t told them yet, he didn’t know.

He watched as she reached the end of the path, and then slowly made the turn onto the road back towards town. Another thought of concern flashed through his mind before he pushed it aside.

No! He thought. She’s tainted. She carries it - that curse - in her blood!

He turned around, his back pressed against the velvet of the curtains. He thought of Ethel, and of everything that could have been, of what might have happened if he hadn’t-

NO!

No! No! No!

Sometimes he feels as though he ought to beat himself in the head to push away his thoughts. This is one of those times.

He stood there for a while longer, listening to the ticking of the clock and the chirping of the few birds who braved the snow.

They reminded him of her, braving the snow in an attempt to bring something good to the bleak of winter.

He wanted to beat the thoughts away again.

Finally, once he was fully satisfied that Ethel was gone, he moved downstairs to retrieve the package she had left. Placing it on the foyer table, he carefully opened it. First there was a gingham tea towel, followed by a small batch of sweets and a few canned goods. At the bottom of the basket lay an envelope full of patient files, and a note in Ethel’s writing. Abandoning the basket and the food, Ephraim ascended the stairs with papers in hand.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he glanced back towards the kitchen, towards Sarah’s room. No, he thought. Now is not the time to dwell on old sins.

Slipping back into his bedroom, he slowly closed the door behind himself and moved towards his desk. He placed the files unceremoniously atop a pile of medical books and began to read Ethel’s letter.

To Whom It May Concern,

          Regarding my employment at Pennhurst State Hospital —

Resignation.

Ephraim wanted to scream, to throw something, to reach for his belt to have a go at Sarah-

No!

No, that’s what started all of this to begin with!

Shut up! 

No!

You murdered her!

It’s your fault that Ethel hates you!

She would have loved you, and you ruined it!

She couldn’t have loved me.

Ephraim was ripped away from his thoughts by the sound of the front door slamming open. Judging by the sound of heavy shuffling, the family had arrived home. He scrambled to hide Ethel’s letter, finally deciding on shoving it under his pillow. 

He straightened his tie, smoothed his jacket, and was just about to step out onto the landing when Gertrude brushed past him, her pearls clicking together as she walked.

“Well, don’t you look disgusting!”

“Grandmother, I-”

She waved her hand in dismissal, the other still firmly grasping her cane.

“I may not be able to see it, but I can smell it. You’re having trouble with that little girl from the hospital, and it’s obvious that you can’t control the situation on your own! You’re the talk of the town because of her, and if it doesn’t get settled soon, I’ll have to-”

“She’s resigning, Grandmother. She handed in her letter today.”

Gertrude’s face instantly softened. 

“Oh, well that’s good. Very good. More scandal is the last thing we need in this family.”

She leaned in closer, her milky eyes staring directly into Ephraim’s.

“You know that better than anyone.”

Ephraim nodded, although she couldn’t see. Satisfied, she continued down the hallway, her dog following close behind her.

[sie-werden-nie-vergessen]

No one:

Me: “I would fight Ephraim Bellows in the back parking lot of a Denny’s with no hesitation.”