Fictober Prompt Day Seven! Prompt: "Do you recognize this?"
Pairing: Sarah Fier/Hannah Miller (Fear Street)
Read the story below or on Ao3!
The Millers’ home always smells of baking bread, of charred wood and ash, of the sprigs of wildflowers carefully gathered and tied together to bring a bit of cheer to the place. Among the stifling, cramped homes in Union, it is surely a standout, the merry brightness no doubt brought about at the insistence of Goody Miller, who makes up for her own lack of cheer by keeping a clean and orderly home.
Though, Sarah is far more likely to blame the swelling of joy she feels whenever she has reason to call upon the house on the Millers’ daughter, rather than any freshly baked loaves pulled from the oven or bundles of flowers.
The door is ajar, no doubt to let in the spring air, and Sarah pushes it open the rest of the way, poking her head inside with a touch of cautiousness. She wouldn’t put it past Grace Miller to swipe at her with a broom or something, to try and chase her off then claim she’d thought it was some sort of forest creature nosing about. Thankfully the main area of the house seems to be quiet aside from the popping and crackling of the wood burning in the hearth, the low flames heating whatever admittedly delicious smelling dish is currently simmering in the cast iron pot hanging over the fire.
“Hello?” Sarah steps fully inside, eyes hopefully searching the sun brightened corners for the face she’s come to so long to see. “Hannah?”
It seems unlikely that, even among the most trustworthy residents of Union, that the entire family would’ve just abandoned their house and left the door open, but several moments go by without an answer to her call and Sarah is starting to doubt her luck.
But then the floorboards creak and from somewhere in the recesses of the house comes the voice she’d so hoped for. “I’m back here.”
Sarah sets the basket of eggs and blackberries on the rough hewn table and follows the sound of something heavy being drug across the floor. When she enters the back bedroom, she’s surprised to find Hannah in the process of pulling of large wooden trunk out across the floor, her brow furrowed from the effort, braids coming loose.
Hannah blows out a breath, letting the trunk thump to the ground. She straightens, wiping her hands on her apron before glancing back toward Sarah. “How my parents ever managed to drag this all the way across the settlements is truly a mystery.”
Sarah can’t help but smile, shaking her head as she attempts to take in the solid wooden trunk, though it is far less intriguing than the girl standing beside it. “An act of God,” she teases.
Hannah looks like she isn’t entirely sure whether Sarah is being sincere or committing some sort of blasphemy, which is a look Sarah is used to being on the receiving end of during every Sunday sermon. Not that the uncertainty keeps her from smiling, which only makes Sarah’s skin prickle with a sudden heat, which is becoming all too common as of late. Something about Hannah -the sight of her, her smile, just being around her- has gotten her all twisted into knots, making her heart beat with a fervor that Sarah has never felt before. Being around Hannah is like taking that first sip of cool water on a summer’s day: it only makes her want more.
She’s spent the majority of her life in the company of Hannah Miller, just like she has all the residents of Union, but as of late, Sarah feels like she’s starting to see Hannah for the first time.
“What are you doing?” Sarah asks, hoping that none of this -the sudden crackling of fire in the pit of her stomach, the heat at the nape of her neck, the surge of hope in her heart- shows on her face.
“Oh.” Hannah brightens somewhat, glancing back toward the trunk. “I thought I might see if I could find some clothing for the Williams’ new baby. My mother has kept so many things and it’s not like they would fit me anymore.”
They both laugh at the idea of this, though Sarah thinks her own laughter has more to do with the sound of Hannah’s, how it washes over her like sunshine, like a summer’s breeze, like the soft patter of rain through the trees. Hannah’s smile, so often polite and restrained, is wide and genuine now, her blue eyes sparkling, and Sarah has to swallow, has to press the nails of her hand into her palms to try and force down the part of her that seems to grow suddenly too big to be contained by the tightness of her chest.
“Have you seen her? The baby?” Sarah asks, because it seems far safer than anything else she might say. Like how she quite likes Hannah’s hair wild and half-undone, the braids full of twisting strands, hanging crooked. Or how she’d been waiting all morning to find the excuse that would take her here. How she’d hoped that when she saw her, Hannah would smile, would brighten in the way Sarah has come to crave.
Hannah shakes her head as the two of them settle on the floor in front of the trunk. “No, not yet.” She undoes the latch with a shrug. “But my mother is there now and my father was by earlier to give his blessing. They both say that the baby seems healthy and strong.”
This, Sarah doesn’t bother to point out, would certainly be a blessing considering the recent string of bad luck that seems to have befallen both infants and children in Union as of late. Even the alderman’s own brother had recently lost his child despite the best efforts of the midwives and apothecaries. “Well then she certainly deserves such,” she reaches into the trunk, pulling out a threadbare apron, “charming gifts.”
Hannah rolls her eyes, taking the holey fabric back from Sarah. “Not everything is…still useful.”
As Sarah leans forward to get a better look at the contents of the trunk, her shoulder brushes against Hannah’s and Hannah certainly doesn’t seem to mind, not bothering to shift and put any distance between them. Sarah glances at her quickly, only to let her gaze flit away quickly right as it seems like Hannah is about to turn in her direction. “Oh, maybe this,” Sarah says, clearing her throat and reaching for a carefully folded white gown. “Seems more appropriate.”
Hannah takes the baby gown from her, checking it over before refolding it and setting it aside. “Good eye, Sarah Fier. How lucky that you came along to help me,” she teases.
The words, the curved smirk on Hannah’s face, the way her shoulder briefly presses against Sarah’s, all of it only conspires to leave Sarah feeling tongue-tied and flushed and she’s thankfully spared having to come up with any sort of response by Hannah pulling something else out of the trunk and holding it up. “Do you recognize this?” There’s a hint of wistfulness in her voice, her smile softening.
And, well, of course Sarah recognizes it. The memory of Hannah wearing that particular dress, with its careful embroidery and pressed fabric. Despite what had surely been hours of effort on Grace’s part, the fabric is still stained in places with mud. Much to Sarah’s sudden chagrin.
“Of course.” Sarah reaches out, letting her fingers lightly brush the fabric. “You were wearing this the day your father gave his first sermon in Union.”
Hannah nods, that wistful expression still in place. “My mother had wanted everything to be perfect that day.”
“You did look quite charming,” Sarah assures her. “Certainly the best dressed seven-year-old in all of Union.”
Hannah lifts an eyebrow. “Before the mud, of course.”
Sarah presses her lips together but likely does a terrible job of hiding her smile. “Yes. Before the mud.”
“My mother was certainly not very Godly that evening,” Hannah remarks. “I think I still have a scar from that lashing.”
Sarah winces, chewing the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t escaped her own punishment, of course, but it seems worse to think about Hannah getting the same, seems to sting anew even though nearly a decade has passed since that afternoon. “I suppose I really always have been a terrible influence.” She means for it to sound slightly teasing, so it comes out entirely too sincere for her liking.
Especially since she’s been hearing such an accusation far too often as of late. And she’d certainly heard it that day, after church had finally let out of after what had felt like hours and hours, especially to a seven-year-old whose only reprieve could be found in doing chores for the rest of the day. In the midday sun, it had been far too tempting to engage in a bit of rough housing with Isaac and some of the other boys, and had been even more tempting to draw the new pastor’s quiet and pious daughter into the play when Hannah had wandered over, standing by and watching. Hannah hadn’t exactly resisted, gathering up handfuls of mud and throwing them in earnest like the rest of them, hadn’t seemed to mind when it had splattered across her perfect white dress, hadn’t seemed to mind, either, when Sarah had tugged at her braids and gotten mud on her cheeks.
“No, definitely not,” Hannah assures her, putting the dress back into the trunk. She puts her hand over Sarah’s, offering her a smile. “I didn’t mind.”
The touch of Hannah’s hand is unexpected but not unwelcome and Sarah wonders if Hannah knows, if she can hear the sudden way Sarah’s heart jumps, how it seems to crash like thunder. Or maybe it just seems that loud to her own ears.
“I…” Sarah isn’t sure why she’s opened her mouth, what she could say that doesn’t seem dangerous, doesn’t leave her entirely vulnerable.
Hannah doesn’t move to pull her hand away, letting her fingers rest lightly entwined with Sarah’s own. “That was the first time I truly felt at home here, you know. Like being here in Union might not be so terrible, if I had a friend like you here.”
Sarah smiles, ducking her head because she can feel the heat now on her cheeks, is certain it shows on her skin. “Someone to get you into trouble?” She’s teasing, though it does little to hide the pleasure in her voice.
“Of course,” Hannah says, leaning closer for a moment and Sarah isn’t sure if it’s accidental or intentional but either way she doesn’t shy away from the sudden closeness. “Someone who has always seen me as more than just the pastor’s daughter.”
Their eyes meet once more and Sarah’s tongue feels heavy, clumsy and leaden in her mouth, and maybe that’s a good thing. Otherwise she might be tempted to assure Hannah that she sees her as much more than that. That, as of late, she’s been seeing far too many things in Hannah, things she knows she shouldn’t be letting her thoughts linger on. But those thoughts persist anyway and rather than leaving her rankled with shame, Sarah only feels all the lighter for them, bright and bursting with the same sunlight that seems to twist itself in Hannah’s braids or sparkle in her eyes.
“Well, I suppose someone has to,” Sarah manages finally. “Lest you start getting too full of yourself.”
Hannah shakes her head, smiling. “What would I do without you, Sarah Fier?”
“Likely not ruin your nice clothes with mud.”
“Well.” Hannah smirks. “Where’s the fun in that?”
