the gaudin heir

Learn more about Theo.

The lines of his smile were exactly the same, if deeper, than in her memory. Ruthie hardly had to look at them to know they were there. She could take him in in glances and let her thoughts fill up the rest.

As if I’m seventeen again.

She had taken an unfortunate sip of tea just then – and choked. “Hardly.” Ruthie murmured with a dark look, blotting her chin with her napkin.

Tea burned in her nose for a moment, and distracted her from any blush that may rise on her cheeks. It did not, contrarily, distract from his. Ruthie’s lips flinched, wanting to grin.

“Yeah,” said Ruthie, which was less of an answer and more a way to mark time. She shook her head, as though clearing scattered thoughts. “Just me, too, then. Pa’s got a new lady living with him, and–” Ruthie laughed, remembered where she was, and kept it quiet. Thoughts flickered across her expression; familiarity changed to reform. Ruthie realized she was leaning her chin on her hand and sat back as though she’d been burned.

“I just moved into a place nearby. Above the store. It’s not a manor, but–”

One shoulder lifted in a shrug.

“I’m not seventeen there.”

.

“Hardly, indeed,” Theo echoed, though he struggled to place her words as he watched her recompose herself. Was this a way for her to stop him taking a trip down memory lane? Was the past the past?

Or were they now both older, more mature --- perhaps bolder?

He averted his gaze, partly to give her a moment of privacy, but also partly to try and make sense of their conversation. He hadn’t been prepared to see Ruthie again - though of course, he’d known it was a possibility, but now that they were actually here, it was much harder to keep his thoughts in order. 

But then she spoke again, and while he was interested in hearing more about her family, too, the way she said that last part definitely wasn’t his imagination, was it? And neither were the butterflies in his stomach following her statement. “Not seventeen here, either,” he murmured, momentarily forgetting they were in a public place. 

“You really do seem well,” he then scrambled to add, himself also leaning back in his chair just a little more as he now blushed a deep shade of red. 

“Actually, I uhm, I was going to spend the weekend clearing out some of the old cookbooks, seeing if there are any hidden family gems I could try,” he then began, changing the subject. “If you’d like .. I’m sure most of the recipes would require .. an extra hand or two.”

⸻ December 1923. Five minutes past closing. Pegamon Pub.

Now, he hated being trite, but some things were true: there was something magical about this season, and it ain’t just because it was Albion or the Valley, yeah? Something about the first hush of snowfall, that first truly cold wind knocking you over, that first morning after looking out onto a land rendered fairy-tale white that had even jaded city slickers like himself staring out in child-like glee. 

Made people coming rushing to get themselves cozy drinks, cocoa at Albey’s or hot toddies here at Old Peg’s. It was a festive enough night that they’d called him up to the bar to assist, leaving him with a high heady enough that he didn’t even care as much about the extra-long tidying up after close. 

He was still humming a little something to himself when the gust of cold blew in. 

“We’re closed,” he said without looking up, and when he did, he found himself looking up and up and further up. “Hey. Hey, Teddy Gaudin! How’s Spaden and the Specklings?”

For a moment the long figure reminded him of his even-longer bill at the diner, and he put down his rag and glass to come around the bar. 

“This ain’t ‘bout the tab, is it? C’mon, I bet we can come to some agreement, yeah? Come on in, have a seat, my treat.”

@oftenderhands​ 

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Theo wasn’t one to visit pubs, but the days where he didn’t have to be at the diner only seemed to get longer if he spent them alone at the manor. And so, seeking some solace from the cold outside, he’d uncharacteristically decided to finally head down to Pegamon. 

At the sound of his name – well, almost at least, he merely nodded and dipped his head down before he replied. “They’re all great; precious little things,” he said with a warm smile, taking a few strides more inside as he started to unbutton his long coat now that the heat from the room started to wrap around him. 

“No, don’t worry. You’re all good.” It’s not like Albion was big enough to dodge bills, especially not now that the snow was sticking and they were essentially stuck until the world would thaw. “But I’ll take a drink, if it’s not too much to ask.”

“Oh.”

Three emotions met at a crossroads: a queasy dislike that she couldn’t shake (the first rejection always smarted the most) met guilt and shock like cold water on a winter’s day (though she couldn’t place if it was real or feigned) first. They battled it out on her features for a scant moment, before Theo broke in again. Gentle, guiding. Catching her attention, lifting her gaze. Ruthie watched his smile and found one of her own – small, more a flinch in the corners of her mouth than anything else.

Sorry.

“That’s right.”

Merry birds trailed around her teacup, the wings of a bluebird moving slowly beneath the glaze. The branch below held pink leaves, softly shifting in an invisible wind. She sipped slow, not ready for the reading of the tea leaves waiting for her at the bottom. 

Ruthie tilted her head, looking him over. The ways that he had changed were outnumbered by the things that rang true in her memory: the lines around his smile, his one, slightly tilted tooth, a shifting, different sort of green in his eyes than her own. She nodded, slowly. Of course it would be like this.

“Are you in that big house by yourself, then?”

Did you come back alone, then?

.

Of course, he knew it’d be somewhat of a conversation stopper, explaining the reason why he was back. But he’d gotten so used to the unease  of the other person when he talked about his mother’s death, he seemed to have forgotten how easy things with Ruthie had always been. As natural as breathing. 

And so instead of scrambling for a reply, he sat in the silence, his own focus momentarily pulled to his cup of tea as he stirred it with the little spoon that seemed ridiculous in his large hand. He looked at the soft rose color of the drink, at the way it swirled because he directed it to, but he wasn’t really paying attention; instead his mind kept thinking about the way her soft golden hair curved around her face and framed it so right. Despite the years between them, he still knew what those gentle locks felt like between his fingers.

He smiled warmly, gently, at her question, and followed it up with a soft nod. The house had always been busy – with his parents, the household staff, or friends of the family. Now, it was empty, hollow. 

He lifted the cup from its saucer, as if taking a sip would down the loneliness too, and then held onto the fragile cup before he spoke. “I’ve mostly kept to my old bedroom, it’s as if I’m seventeen again.” His cheeks flushed pink, immediately transported back to those simpler times. “It’s just me.” Was that abrasive? They were just catching up, right? But he was too curious to stop there.

“What about you?” 

-

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the thought of having an exciting evening in Albion. He shook his head as he tried to gather himself, perhaps an apology was owed since it wasn’t exactly clear what (or who) he was laughing at. “I haven’t had myself an exciting evening since I left the city. Sorry to say!”

His hand reached for and landed on top of his hat, idly turning it in circles on the surface of the counter. Theo seemed to fit right in to this small town, which was as quiet as peaceful as the man in question. Eddie feared if Theo set foot in New York City, he’d be immediately swept away by the frenzied tides of people–height or not.

“No, no,” Eddie shook his head, waved a hand at the jug. “I’d better stick with one tonight.” His own thoughts were tumbling over each other, and he was in no state to notice, care, or try and stop himself. He looked over the edge of the mug as he took a careful sip of coffee.

“I gotta say I’ve never had a bad cup of coffee here. To tell ya the truth, it’s the best damn coffee I can remember.” Another sip, and a glance around the empty diner. “You ever get lonely here in the middle of the night like this? I used to work a club back home, it was always bustling even late into the night. It’s too quiet here, for me.”

.

Once the coffee was made and the cup poured, Theo had little other things to do. The bread was rising, the dishes were done, the counter wiped. But it felt strange to do nothing, and so instead he picked up a water jug and filled it up, then started going around the room to give the plants some water. These after-midnight shifts were always a great way to get caught up with a few tasks on his mental to-do list.

At the other’s statement, he couldn’t help but chuckle. It wasn’t the first time he’d been praised for the food or the drinks he prepared, but it never failed to make him feel proud of his talents. “Good,” he merely responded. “A proper cup of coffee shouldn’t be underestimated.”

When Eddie continued, there was a part of Theo that wondered if the question had been deliberate. Did the patron feel lonely? “No, actually – not really.” That might not have been the full truth, but he wasn’t really ready to face that reality.

“I like the peace and quiet. When I was growing up, the house always tended to be loud and filled with people, so I’m happy for these types of scenes,” he said earnestly. He still remembered the myriad of social events and dinner parties where he was forced to make an appearance, when he would’ve much preferred to just stay holed up in his room all night – so this was nice. 

“But a club, you say? That sounds exciting. I suppose coming from that all the way to Albion would be a big change. Maybe be too quiet.”

Ruthie took five steps until they caught pace, moving along the lane in a familiar rhythm. On the sixth step, he spoke. On the seventh, she exhaled.

Not everyone was glad to see her, but she found a special relief that Theo was.

—

Tea steeped and steamed on the round table between them, Ruthie’s hands encircling her porcelain cup from a distance. It was too hot to touch.

“So.”

If Madame Lange was surprised to see them – or just her, or just him, or just the combination of the two – she hid it well, escorting them inside the room and dispensing of their orders with one of her stewardesses. Amidst the lively chatter, Ruthie could almost drown out the sound of her racing heart.

“How…” Green eyes cast around the room – the gilded painting over his shoulder, the arched window beside them – ricocheting aimlessly until they had no choice but to return to him. “How’s your mamma?”

Still full of judgement and vinegar?

.

His knees nearly bumped up against the table top, but he was cozy, sitting there with one large hand wrapped carefully around the hot cup of white pear tea and the other rubbing up and down his thigh to warm up some. 

He’d been a little caught up in thought when she spoke, but her ‘so’ brought him back to the present without getting rid of the memories of them both disappearing behind his eyes. She’d always been such a happy part of his life. 

–– Now, though, he couldn’t help but remark that she seemed .. nervous. Ill at ease? Or maybe just a little awkward to be in the same room again after all those years. Unfortunately, as she continued, Theo’s face turned into what looked like an apologetic grimace: his reply was very unlikely to make things less awkward.

“Actually, she’s .. the reason I came back,” he started, unsure of how to break the subject. “I mean - Funerals don’t plan themselves.” He looked down at his own lap for a moment and nodded, but then once again looked up to her with what he hoped was a warm smile, a way of telling her he was fine talking about this.

“So, as the last Gaudin standing ...” There really hadn’t been any other chance, even if returning had, despite everything, felt right from the start.

There was a hint of something in the air. Was it anise? Peppercorn? Had she caught that along his collar, or made it up in her mind? Ruthie stared, and once realizing she was, looked intently anywhere else.

Temporary.

It had all become temporary. Or, rather, she was temporary, slipping from one town to the next, one kitchen exchanged for another. Gingerbread to buoy spirits, lemon zest to coax a good day. Salted rye for a passing, to fill the mouths of those left behind. The places were permanent. The people – she among them – were not.

Ruthie exhaled sharply.

“Yes. No. I’m–”

The valley had wanted her to leave, once, and the sear of it still burned hot in rejection. She had always been a little troublesome, a little mischievous. Never prickly. Never cruel.

Never on purpose, anyway.

“No,” Ruthie amended, saying out loud what had only been a wild, willful thought. Her sigils had stopped working. Sunrise blessings over rising dough held no sway. Eventually, orange slices were just orange slices.

She shifted her weight a bit, nodded. “I think I have to be here. I don’t think–” A shrug, bob of her shoulder, but also a bit of curious searching, question budding on her lips and refusing to form. “–Magic doesn’t work when it’s away from here.” Did you lose yours too?

A beat. The crux of her fingers grew cold where she had washed them and only dusted dry.

“Tea.” She said. “I think we need tea.”

.

As much as his own mind was still failing to catch up with his eyes, Theo took in the woman in front of him and could only be reminded of how much she was herself. Be my guide, he’d use to say to her when her mind bounced from one place to the other, and then he’d wait patiently for her to talk him through all the subjects her racing thoughts had already passed. 

But they weren’t seventeen anymore, and he would have to do with the thoughts she actually spoke out loud. “It’s not the same,” he agreed when she talked about Albion. Nothing would ever be the same as Albion – as stifling as it had been for him, at times.

“Yes,” he then agreed with a sharp nod, happy for the suggestion. They could do with some tea. With something to stir and taste and otherwise occupy the space between them. So many lost years, so many words unspoken. 

Flory’s had needed the help. Her feet met soft dirt as she walked out the back alley, dusting the remnants of flour from between her fingertips. It wasn’t a job. She wasn’t settling in the valley. It was just that Meredith hadn’t shown for work the past two mornings, and after Papa went to inquire about her health, learned that she had a sprain in her ankle, so there was no one to start the ovens at the beginning of each day. And Ruthie knew how to start an oven. Ruthie knew how to knead bread. Ruthie knew what blessings to chant over fennel and rye, and the scattering of rosemary into risen dough. Ruthie knew what to do, and Flory’s Bakery needed the help.

It was hard to say if she had volunteered or been volunteered, and either way –

She saw him, of course. Not him. Not Theo. But a figure, turning the corner, and she didn’t bother to move out of the way, thinking that the road was wide enough for the both of them and he could surely move aside. 

Heavens, he said, and her eyes flew wide.

This happened with such a regular cadence that Ruthie had begun to expect it: a familiar face at the grocer, her primary teacher gathering night lilies by the river, two of her acquaintances, now married and carrying a child of their own. It was all familiar enough to be jarring. It didn’t knock her out of time nor place.

“Theo, you–”

She was seventeen again, with flour under her nose, cutting the last piece in a lattice pie to slot into the oven on one of the last, fading days of October.

She was standing in the middle of the meadow, calling back to a dark-haired figure, beckoning him forth.

She was whispering mischievously behind a lazily-held hand, her gaze darting across the room, her attention on the part where his leg touched her own.

She stepped forward, onto a pebble, and was in Albion again.

“–look nice.”

Ruthie shook her head. All of the usual comments came and went, unimportant. You’re here, you came back, how is your family, where are you going, it’s–

“I’m not staying.”

Which was a dumb thing, really, and so uncertain that it couldn’t be true or otherwise.

Running into familiar faces wasn’t as common for Theo as it was probably for Ruthie. He’d seen a lot of people from his past at his mother’s funeral, but the awkwardness and the aura of grief had left him with mostly hazy memories from those first days being back. 

Since then, even he had to agree he’d been more of a hermit than he’d want to admit. Other than work, he spent most of his time in the kitchen of the manor, where he’d gotten his start and where he now found a peaceful way to take his mind off things. He could spend hours getting lost trying to perfect a new recipe, and if he had still been seventeen, Ruthie would’ve eventually pulled him away and gently forced him to take a walk outside before he’d become one with the cutlery. 

But he wasn’t seventeen anymore. They were both more than a decade older, and it seemed that instead of time creeping into her skin and wearing her down it had only made her grow more into herself, so much so that he spent too long looking into her warm eyes before he cleared his throat and eventually glanced down at his bicycle, a soft pink flushing his face.

“Oh.” Did he sound disappointed when she said she wasn’t staying? Did he feel disappointed? “Right.” What else was there to say? “Okay.” She was here. He looked nice. She wasn’t staying. They were here. 

His hat dropped onto the diner counter as Eddie also dropped into a chair. He’d come to Albion for a change. He wanted to stop being so… nocturnal. Restlessness had another idea for him–just one drink at the pub after dinner.

Turned to two, then three…

Pegamon was a far cry from the Chipmunk Club back in the city. Most nights were standing room only. The drinks flowed endlessly and the lawlessness of it all made the excited fever pitch of music and dancing intoxicating. No, Albion didn’t have a place like the club, but any place with a bar and a friendly (enough) bartender sated him.

Eddie couldn’t drag himself home to the Miltons in such a state. He needed to sober up a bit, get a little coffee and food to soak up the ale. His tall frame slumped over the counter and he tried to prop himself up on his elbows. “Hey, Theo.”

The diner counter was like the pub only it was deserted, quiet, and oddly peaceful. Eddie didn’t answer right away, letting the static sound in his head clear out now that there was, mostly, silence. “Yeah.” He dragged a hand over his face. “What time is…” Trailing off, he checked his watch. “Oh. Say, you wouldn’t happen to have any coffee for me, would you?”

.

The experience working in a diner that Theo had worked up over the years came in useful in many ways, though one of the most useful was definitely the ability to gauge the drunkenness of a person solely by the way they entered. And so, an amused smirk crept up on his face as he watched the patron saunter in, though he didn’t comment and instead only raised his eyebrows when Eddie started to ask a question but then trailed off before he got to the end of it. 

“I’ll ..  make it strong,” he replied with a soft nod when the man ordered, anticipating that he might appreciate it. He ducked into the kitchen for another moment to check on a pastry that seemed to be rising beautifully, then walked over to the stove where he still had a little bit of water boiling and picked up the pot so he could add it to the jug with ground coffee on the counter.

The cold was biting, and even though he’d put on his brown leather gloves when he’d left work, Theo’s fingers felt stiff around the handle bars of his bike. With his front wheel ripped from the inside due to the moldering, it was bound to be a long walk home – and honestly, Theo should’ve anticipated this. His bike hadn’t taken well to the man’s almost ten-year-long absence. He’d tried to push through for a few minutes and cycle home, since he’d have to replace the wheel anyway, but that turned out to be trickier than simply holding on and walking next to it. At this rate, however, his toes were likely to have turned black by the time he made it back to the manor.

Starting to take slightly larger strides, he looked down at the rubber once more as if studying it more intensely would somehow fix it, but then he turned a corner into a slightly more desolate road and immediately pulled the bike back when he nearly crashed it into the spunky form of a feisty blonde he’d once known all too well. 

The sleeves of his light cream-colored shirt were rolled up over his elbows, and the apron hugging his hips had old and new stains painted all over it, but Theo was gently humming as he whisked the flour through the dough for a new bread recipe he'd written down in his black notebook a few days earlier. He liked having late night shifts, because it allowed him to play around in the kitchen, and even as a child he'd been more of a night person.

Right now, it was so quiet in the restaurant that you could almost hear Specks contentedly purring away on the counter, and every time Theo passed the sleepy cat he gave his head a massaging pinch before he wiped his fingers on his apron. At the sound of the bell above the door jingling, the tall baker picked up the bowl in which the dough was nearly ready and peaked his head out the kitchen door into the main room, smiling at the familiar sight. "Hey, Eddie – late night tonight?” he asked the other man, then put the bowl down again to get a clean towel to cover it with.