Summary: A series chronicling the life of the Bellows family. Covers their early years as well as the eventual death of Sarah Bellows, and the consequences of that death. Overlaps with Ethel. Contains my own characters as well as characters from the film. Stories marked with an asterisk denote the ones that cover events directly or loosely mentioned in the film.
Main Tag: The Bellows Book
Fics:
grief is a most peculiar thing (sarah & ephraim)**
taffy and a warm jacket (sarah & ephraim)
words can never hurt me (gertrude bellows)**
Summary: An AU series about what could have happened if Ephraim confronted his prejudice during his time at medical school and returned to Mill Valley with a new outlook on his sister’s albinism. As he begins a secret relationship with Ruth, an albino circus performer, his relationship with his family becomes increasingly strained. In a different timeline and universe than my other stories
Main Tag Link: Pearl Street
Fics:
no one’s going to hurt you anymore (sarah & ruth) part 1 / part 2 / part 3
Summary: A short series covering Sarah’s time in the asylum, as well as her friendship with one of it’s long term residents, Emma Fultz.
Main Tag Link: Undesirable
Fics:
nowhere to go (sarah & emma) tw: asylum setting
tangled stiches - a short christmas tale (link to be added on Christmas Eve!)
Angstember Prompt No. 1 - “They Told Me You Were Dead”
(this turned out to be way more fluff than angst, but ehh oh well)
{spoilers for The Bellows Book}
Ephraim swallows at the thought of Harold, the sadness welling in his throat. A tear slips down his cheek, and for the first time in his life, he doesn’t try to hide it. As Ethel silently watches him, she realizes that she is looking at the same man that she left at Pennhurst; the one who is so full of self-hatred and grief and doubt that it’s a wonder that he’s even still standing.
“They told me you were dead”
Ephraim stands at the bottom of the stairs, his hat crumpled in his hands. He shifts from side to side, waiting for a response.
Ethel pulls the shawl tighter around herself. She’s smaller now than she was at Pennhurst, and her eyes are sunken. Still, her complexion is warm and her eyes are bright.
She’s getting better, he thinks.
Ethel shakes her head. Her hair floats around her face, the bun at the nape of her neck doing little to contain the soft curls. “No,” she says softly. “Did Ruthie tell you that?”
Ephraim takes a tentative step forward. The light snow crunches under his feet, and as he steps forward, he notices Ethel shivering. “No, she didn’t. The doctors at Pennhurst...they said….”
He trails off. He can’t bring himself to say it.
They stand in silence for a moment, Ephraim shifting back and forth while Ethel shivers quietly. She bites her lip, unsure of what to say.
“Diphtheria,” she says finally. “They thought it was TB at first, because of Violet.”
Her eyes well at the thought of Violet. Poor, poor sweet Violet...
And Harold too....
Ephraim swallows at the thought of Harold, the sadness welling in his throat. A tear slips down his cheek, and for the first time in his life, he doesn’t try to hide it. As Ethel silently watches him, she realizes that she is looking at the same man that she left at Pennhurst; the one who is so full of self-hatred and grief and doubt that it’s a wonder that he’s even still standing.
The man who realized too late that he wanted to do good with his life.
The old Ephraim is gone, and Ethel is delighted.
She descends the stairs slowly, partly because of her weakness and partly due to the fact that she wants to be gentle. Ephraim has never been gentle; it isn’t his forte. However, he needed gentleness. He had needed gentleness his whole life and had been denied it at every turn, and that denial had bred a dangerous hatred in him, but that hatred was gone now. Ethel could see that plainly.
Reaching out, she places a hand on his arm, just below his shoulder. She pulls him closer to her, and he obliges. He still doesn’t look at her, however. He stares ahead as hot tears roll down his face, his jaw set tightly and his teeth clenched.
Ethel slides her hand up his arm, allowing it to rest on his shoulder. She rests her other hand on his forearm and gently turns him to face more towards her. When he still doesn’t look at her, she moves her hand to his face, her thumb tracing over his cheek.
Finally, he looks at her, and for once his eyes are soft. “Come inside,” she says softly. “You’ll get sick out here in the cold.”
He nods silently, and Ethel hooks her arm through his as she leads him up the steps and to the large oak door. Ephraim thinks of how silly it is that he - a doctor - is being led by a sick woman, but he says nothing. For once in his life, he doesn’t protest.
The stairs are icy and slick, and for a moment Ethel falters. Ephraim snaps out of his stupor and steadies her before she falls. When she regains her balance, she glances over her shoulder at him, her brown eyes gazing into his. It goes unsaid, but Ephraim understands completely.
Thank you.
You’re welcome.
They’ve never stood so close before, but Ephraim has little time to process this before the door swings open. Warm air rushes onto the doorstep as Ethel quickly pulls him inside. She shuts the door behind herself and laughs softly as she brushes snow from his shoulders. “You’re so red!” she cries, and Ephraim can’t decide if it’s because of the cold, or because of her. As he glances around the room, he notices Ruth emerging from what must be the kitchen. She’s wiping her hands on an apron, and the hem of her gingham skirt is speckled with flour. They lock eyes for a moment, and Ruth pretends to not notice the fact that he is as red as a beet.
Ethel laughs softly again, and Ruth smiles.
She hasn’t heard Ethel laugh in months, and despite her hatred for Ephraim Bellows, she can’t help but be happy to hear her cousin’s laughter. Ethel turns to her in excitement.
“He’s come back!” she exclaims, and Ruth nods in acknowledgment.
When Ethel turns her back, however, Ruth locks eyes with Ephraim once again. A silent threat passes between the two of them before Ruth quickly turns back to the kitchen, leaving them all alone. Ephraim wants to explain everything to her. He wants to assure her that he’s changed now, but he knows she wouldn’t believe him, not after what happened to Sarah.
Sarah.
Tears prick at his eyes at the thought of her, but this time he fights them. There’s no sense in upsetting Ethel. Not now, at least. He wonders half-heartedly if she’s seen Sarah’s files yet. Surely she has, after Ruth nearly broke into his office to berate him. Despite that, he isn’t sure. He doesn’t have much time to contemplate it, however, because Ethel soon ushers him into the parlor.
It’s a cozy room, with plush sofas and armchairs scattered around the room. A large fireplace sits against the far right wall, a plush pink armchair sitting in front of it. The chair is out of place with the rest of the furniture, and Ephraim decides that it must be Ethel’s. A side table sits beside it, its top covered in novels, further confirming Ephraim’s suspicions. They sit together on the sofa closest to the door. It’s a soft cream color, and it reminds Ephraim of home.
He hates to be reminded of that place.
Just as they begin to settle themselves, Charles walks into the room and seats himself in the armchair opposite the pair. He stares at Ephraim for a moment before picking up a nearby newspaper and flipping it open.
Ethel shifts uncomfortably in her seat, feeling awkward now that her cousin is watching her. She knows what Ruth thinks of Ephraim, and therefore what Charles thinks by extension. She fiddles with the edge of a nearby pillow, her eyes trained steadily on the ground.
Ephraim, meanwhile, taps his foot nervously on the Persian rug that sits under their feet. It’s a pale green color, and it produces a soft thud, thud every time his shoe taps its surface. The only sounds now are the crackling of the fireplace, the whoosh of a turning paper, and the soft thud, thud of Ephraim’s shoe.
Ethel clears her throat, her voice still weak from the effects of diphtheria. “I missed you,” she whispers, her voice cracking a bit as she does so. Ephraim nods. “So did I.”
She nods in return, the remaining hair tumbling from the loose bun as she does so. Normally, it would be improper for a woman to wear her hair loose around anyone but the closest of family members, but considering the circumstances, neither she nor Ephraim is bothered. She’s sick, of course, and sometimes allowances must be made.
Ephraim swallows as his mind once again darts to Sarah.
You should have made allowances for her, too.
He shakes his head slightly, pushing the thoughts away. Now is not the time to upset himself, or Ethel. Instead, he focuses on her. Her hair is long, and it curls softly, but whether it’s by nature or by human manipulation, Ephraim isn’t sure. Either way, he decides, it suits her.
Suddenly Ruth calls from the kitchen for Charles, and he sets aside his paper with a look of annoyance. “I’m coming!” he calls, throwing a glare in Ephraim’s direction before striding out of sight.
When he’s out of their line of sight, Ethel smiles clumsily at Ephraim. She turns more towards him, her knees now pointed in his direction. She reaches out and grasps his hand, all the while keeping her eyes trained on his. She leans her head back onto the sofa while she watches him. It's as if she's unsure of what to say - and she isn't sure, especially not after what happened in Mill Valley.
Finally, she decides on the truth.
“I’m glad that you’re better.”
Ephraim nods, his eyes locked on hers.
“So am I.”
After a moment, she moves closer to him, leaning her head against his chest. He stiffens at the contact, unsure of what to do. Finally, he intertwines his fingers with hers, his free arm resting on her shoulder. Ethel places her other hand on top of their intertwined hands, nestling herself further against him. She sighs lightly, her thumb drawing across his. She smiles against his chest.
“Ruthie will kill us if she sees us like this.”
Ephraim smiles, his chin resting against her head.
“I guess we’ll just have to make sure that she doesn’t.”
