Chapter Text
Again, and again, the noise caused Thomas’ heart to jolt with anxiety in time to the pounding at the servant’s area door.
Something foul, something truly heinous was on the other side, determined to get in through the aged oak. This door had withstood the harsh English winter and the demands of enforcement for surely one hundred years; now, its career was to be tested in this one final ultimatum. Whatever lay on the other side was too powerful to be stopped. The door would inevitably fall, and when it did Thomas would have to face what was on the other side.
Again, and again…
When it broke through, would Thomas be strong enough, brave enough, to conquer this challenge? Would he be able to face down this beast, or would it triumph over him? But no, instinctively Thomas knew that whatever was on the other side was too powerful for him to stop, and too dangerous for him to avoid harm.
Something was niggling in the back of his mind, urging him to take notice and pay attention.
A voice, muted like it were issuing from a wall away.
With an almighty crash, the door finally gave way, falling to the floor in a wave of stone, plaster, and debris. In the billowing gray smoke that arose, a pair of blazing blue eyes swam into focus. They were animalistic and vicious, gleaming in a murderous rage-!
Thomas gasped awake, his own eyes popping open and his heart still thundering in his ears. He felt terribly uncomfortable, as if he were being strangled by his own blankets. Yet as he reached up to tug the cloth away, he found it was instead the work of the metal chain which kept his pendant safe. Thomas swallowed, staggering up in bed so that his necklace slumped to a more comfortable position. He was sweating profusely, despite the hour being a frigid November morning. As he turned to check his alarm clock, he found it to be 4:56 in the morning, only four minutes from the sounding of his wake-up call.
Annoyed at his inability to get four minutes of solid sleep, Thomas disabled his alarm and swung his feet over the edge of the bed to prepare getting dressed.
Traditionally, Thomas would have been lodging in Mr. Carson’s old bedroom and have with it all the luxuries it provided (such as a larger fireplace and a window overlooking the grounds). However, despite the finer lodgings, Thomas had refused to take up the room when becoming butler of Downton Abbey. He instead stayed in his old bedroom (for it was the one that gave him the most comfort) and merely moved Carson’s bed over to enjoy its larger mattress. Besides that, it had been business as usual for the past two years.
Methodically, he shaved and dressed, only pausing in his routine to make sure that his pendant necklace was hidden smoothly beneath his breast plate. It had served as his solitary icon of hope and kindness in the past months and had proved to be an invaluable asset when he nights grew too cold. Sometimes, when he was by himself and able to think without reproach, he would close his eyes and press his lips to the chaste metal of the pendant. In that, he would pretend he were kissing Richard Ellis instead, transported back in time to the moment when they had last spoken. Richard had stated his case well enough and assured him that they would meet again. Yet as every day passed, Thomas grew more and more certain that there would be no other meeting. That Richard would become nothing more than the most powerful of his memories. Like a picture fading in time from prolonged exposure to the elements.
Only a week had passed since the exit of the royal family from Downton Abbey. Like a swell of hot air rushing away, the house had been left sagging and exhausted. There had been so much to do in those prior days; for a moment, it had felt like the 19th century all over again. In lieu of meaningless tasks and chores, the Crawley family seemed somehow more simply and easy. It was almost silly to complain about a family that didn’t require a change in silver sets between lunch and tea. Yet despite the welcome release of pressure, Thomas found himself missing the royals if only for the fact that their presence had allowed Richard to be near. Life seemed almost meaningless, but not in that ugly way which had almost damned him in 1926. This time, it just seemed boring, which was a sensation that Thomas was wholly unaccustomed to feeling when it came to Downton Abbey.
His office was quiet and dark when he opened the door. He was the first one downstairs, with even the kitchens cold and still. He didn’t know why he’d come down, to be frank. There was nothing to be done save sit in his chair and wait for the others. In a mindless shuffle, Thomas sorted some mail from yesterday and made note in his calendar that nothing important was going on today. With that done, there was nothing else to do. Bored, Thomas slumped in his chair and listened to the softened ticking of his mantel clock.
It was hard, in these moments, not to think of that night in York.
That night had been so vivid in its emotional complexities that it had become imperative to Thomas’ mental health not to dwell on it in public. At times, he wanted to laugh. At other times, he was almost on the verge of weeping. That blissful high that he’d felt when Christopher had swept him into the dance hall had felt like a conversation with God. For the first time in his life, he’d been able to stand in aa room full of men like himself and not feel frightened of a simple conversation. It had been so beautiful, so euphoric, that despite the horrendous end he’d not been able to regret going. But having been bailed out had felt almost like betrayal. The other men had been so frightened, so pale and wane in the back corner of the jail cell. They’d stood out like a sore thumb among the common criminals of York. Christopher had stood by his side, nervous but not afraid.
“Don’t worry, love, “ He’d whispered in Thomas’ ear. “We’ll get out of this somehow”.
But only Thomas had gotten out, leaving Christopher behind for whatever fate awaited men like them. The papers had been less than kind, painting the patrons of Turpins as heathens and sexual deviants who’d been whoring themselves out half naked. In the papers, Christopher’s name had not been mentioned, but Thomas was waiting for it. All it would take was one mention of his name and his life would be ruined. He knew implicitly that Christopher knew that. Would he turn Thomas in for leaving him to suffer alone? Would he feel vindictive and want revenge? Thomas tried to put himself in the other’s shoes, but every time he did a wave of terrible melancholy washed over him. He knew that most residents of Downton Abbey knew he was inverted. But to have it flung out in the open where he could not deny it would be the worst possible scenario for him. He would rather be shot again.
So, like he always did when he felt the pangs of anxiety creep up on him, Thomas pulled out his pendant. There, in the palm of his hand, it gleamed dully in the lamplight. It seemed to be twinkling up at him, urging him to remember a night where things hadn’t ended so badly after all.
If he dwelled upon Richard’s memory (as he was often wont to do), the strongest sensation that he could recall was the dimples at the corners of his wide mouth. For some reason that Thomas could not explain, Richard’s vision had taken on the tinges of the Cheshire Cat. Like Alice stumbling through a looking glass, Thomas had found himself spinning topsy turvey at a most delirious and beautiful party. But all of that had been nothing more than a gaseous if fantastical affair compared to the interchanges he’d had with Richard Ellis.
He’d been so calm, so mature… but there had been an undeniable devious edge to him that made Thomas feel somehow understood. Like the depths of his depravity, which he’d become adjusted to endure alone, finally had a friend to play off. He didn’t know whether that was a good or a bad thing, now that he thought about it.
“Are you real?” Thomas muttered, “Or were you just a dream?”
“I should imagine I’m quite real, thank you very much.”
Thomas swore aloud, jerking violently in his seat as he realized that Elsie Hughes was about four feet in front of him. How long had she been there, gawping at him like a nosey little nutter! For her part she had no shame, and even had the audacity to smirk at him like she’d one upped him in her snooping.
“Mrs. Hughes, can I help you?” He demanded, heavily irritated to have been caught daydreaming at the age of thirty-seven.
“I was about to ask the same of you,” She said, gesturing to his pendant. “What’s that?”
Eager to keep his little slice of heaven private, Thomas quickly tucked it back beneath the bib of his livery to let it fall out of sight. “Nothing, just a pendant for my albert chain.”
Mrs. Hughes cocked her head, slightly inquisitive, but said no more about it. “So-“ Thomas rose up with a scrape of wood on stone. “Am I back to being necessary? Or shall I pack my bags?” He clasped his hands behind his back, snide in his derision. “I suppose I could make a living running a coconut shy and following the fair.”
“I knew you’d lump it,” Mrs. Hughes rolled her eyes. She shrugged out of her coat, hanging it over the crook of her arm. “Don’t fuss at Mr. Carson. He had enough of a time as it was trying to handle the King’s staff.”
“Ah yes,” Thomas sneered, eyes gleaming. “To succeed where I had failed. How good to know that we can rely on him in times of trial.”
Mrs. Hughes was not impressed. “Mr. Carson has many skills when it comes to dealing with difficult people.”
No prizes for who she was referring to. “Yes, he can be a doormat, a coat rack, a football-“
“A patient and wise leader,” she cut across.
Patient and wise, indeed. What a laugh. Thomas walked away, heading out into the hallway with Mrs. Hughes on his heels. Clearly, she wasn’t finished haranguing him.
“Did you have a nice time in York?” She asked. For some reason, it came off as rather accusative.
“Fine,” He refused to play into her hands anymore. The more he acted like it was a normal visit, the better off he would be. Even though the papers had been full of horror stories, there was no direct evidence placing him at Turpins. Best just to act like he’d never heard of it.
“Well, if you don’t want to talk to me- “She scoffed, as if he’d hurt her feelings by not spilling his soul onto the mat.
“It was fine,” He complained, entering the servant’s hall and sitting at the head of the table. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“Did you get along well with Mr. Ellis?” she asked.
“As much as to be expected,” Thomas shrugged. He refused to look her in the face when he answered. Though they’d never been terribly close, she still knew him well enough to sense when something was askew.
“Well, I’ve read in the papers that something rather … bad… happened the night you visited York. Maybe you heard about it while you were there?” she asked.
Thomas did not answer straight away, instead fiddling with the cufflinks at his sleeves.
Finally, when he felt that he could control the tone of his voice, Thomas replied. “I have to get to work, Mrs. Hughes, and so do you.”
By not answering, he’d inadvertently given her the confirmation she needed. She was unhappy, he could tell, but perhaps not for his own behavior. Either way, he would not press her. “As you say,” she walked off towards the kitchen, finally letting him be.
The day went according to plan for the most part. The nursery needed to be cleaned for the upcoming influenza season, so the children had to play downstairs en masse. George and Sybbie were old enough to enjoy themselves, but Johnny and Caroline needed company and guidance. As such, Thomas allowed the pair of them to follow after him while he instructed Andy on the cleaning of a silver chandelier, and after he needed a break he deposited them onto Mrs. Patmore who let them devour a portion of raw biscuit batter. After luncheon was served to the meagre party of Lord Grantham and Tom Branson, the servants were offered their own afternoon tea and a chance to finally relax. The children went back upstairs, save for Johnny who sat by the hearth and rolled a wooden motorcar across the filthy stone flag floor.
Allotted a break, Thomas sat daydreaming about the crook in Richard’s grin, and how he’d been so sure of himself when he’d pressed the finger to Thomas’ lips. Unable to help himself, Thomas had fetched a copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland from the children’s pathetically small library and was currently perusing a scene with the Cheshire Cat himself. The more he spoke, the more he sounded like Richard.
In the background, Thomas vacantly heard a few snippets of conversation from his staff.
“Daisy wants to have lots of flowers, but I’m not overly fussed,” Andy admitted. “It all seems so…” He gestured at the air, grasping for the word that would not come, “Complicated,” he finished lamely. “Can’t we just say our vows and be done with it?”
“Give her some breathing space,” Anna was tickled by Andy’s lack of understanding. “It’s her wedding after all.
“I thought it was my wedding too!”
“It’s the bride’s wedding first,” Anna said. Andy looked at Thomas, quizzically.
“Are you hearing this, Mr. Barrow?”
But Thomas wasn’t hearing it, not really. Instead he was far too busy amusing himself reading.
“I don’t like the looks of it at all,” said the King: “However, it may kiss my hand, if it likes.”
“I’d rather not,” the Cat remarked.
All Thomas could think of was Richard sparring with the King of England, refusing to kiss his hand like a good little servant.
“Mr. Barrow?”
Thomas gave a start, looking about to find Andy waiting for his answer. Even Anna was mildly perplexed, which was funny given that she never cared about him.
“Yes,” Thomas sat up straighter in his chair, tugging carefully at the lapel of his livery so that it lay flat.
“Are you alright?” Andy asked. “You’ve seemed a little distant lately.”
“Fine, I’m fine.” Thomas didn’t even bother looking at Andy when he said it. To avoid any more uncomfortable questions, he decided to head down to the wine cellar. In the cool and quiet, he would have more than enough space to gather his thoughts.
Leaving the servant’s hall, Thomas unlocked the wine cellar and descended into the dark. He took with him the book, flipping once or twice through the pages to see what else the Cheshire Cat had to say. So far, it had done a rather spot on impression of Richard.
He paused against an ancient rack of red wines, flipping near the back of the book to continue reading.
“And how do you know that you’re mad?”
“To begin with,” said the Cat, “A dog’s not mad. You grant that?”
“I suppose so,” Said Alice.
“Well then,” the Cat went on, “You see a dog growls when it’s angry and wags its tail when it’s pleased. Now, I growl when I’m pleased and wag my tail when I’m angry. Therefore, I’m mad.”
“I call it purring, not growling,” Said Alice.
Thomas smiled, thinking of how Richard had been so chaotically delighted to fuss with Mr. Wilson. He’d done a spot on impression of that London chap (Thomas couldn’t remember his name), howling and snarling into the Downton Post Office telephone. But his smile soon turned melancholy as he thought of all the ‘dogs’ in his life that he knew, and how they sat wagging their tails at marriage upstairs. His constant confirmation as an outcast had become something of an omnipresent cloud that he could not escape.
Setting his book aside on the top of the wine rack, Thomas tried to distract himself from his somber situation by fetching a wine for dinner. It would have to be decanted soon if he were to remain upon schedule.
Yet like Alice, overseen by a hidden cat in a tree, another pair of eyes were watching Thomas from the stairwell to the servant’s quarters.
“You’re not fine,” she said.
It was a little amusing, given their relationship. Perhaps she knew him best of all other creatures on earth. But she was smiling and seemed to understand that whatever was bothering him was not necessarily a bad thing. Thomas looked over his shoulder at Baxter, who was watching him with knowing and kind eyes.
“Am I so easy to read?” Thomas asked, rolling the wine bottle left and right to brush off soot and dust.
“A bit, “She teased. In a gesture of good faith, she handed him over his pack of cigarettes, which he suddenly realized he’d left on the table. “You left your smokes behind, and you never do that.”
He took them, then pulled one free to light it with a spare hand. He even offered her one, but she shook her head. “So?” she asked. “How did you like your night in York?”
It was one thing to dodge the question with Mrs. Hughes. Baxter, on the other hand, had known him since he was small and understood his behaviors like he were her brother instead of a co-worker. He wasn’t afraid to tell her things, simply because he knew that he could trust her. It was a sensation that he was wholly unfamiliar with.
“Difficult to say,” he admitted. He sat the wine bottle down on a table which held little more than a candlestick and a box of matches. “Equal parts heaven and hell. Have you ever had a night that simply didn’t feel real?”
“I did,” She said. “the night I was arrested.”
Yeah, funnily enough, that about covered it. “I know the feeling.”
“You’ve never been arrested,” She teased. “You’re much too smart for that.”
Little did she know he had been arrested in York. He shuddered at the horrendous memory.
“I know,” Baxter agreed, “I shouldn’t joke about something that horrible. Was Mr. Ellis nice? He seemed to be rather fond of you.”
Thomas turned away, fiddling with the wine bottle again. The cork was starting to deteriorate from age. He made a noncommittal noise but couldn’t help the smile that was beginning to crawl over his face.
“So?” she teased. She tilted her head, trying to see his expression over his shoulder.
“So what?” He turned on her, still smiling but now trying for a bit of defiance to throw her off the scent. It wasn’t working.
“Alright,” She toyed. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” But it was clear that she’d already made up her mind.
“There’s nothing to tell!” He lied.
She shrugged. But just when Thomas thought she’d give up, she turned back around with a devious little smile on her face. “Oh, by the way, I noticed that Mr. Ellis was the last to leave the house, when the royal family went home.” She paused, coy. “Andy says he was talking to you in your office. What about?”
“Train times,” Thomas said, for it was the quickest excuse he could come up with on the spot. Baxter just gave him a queer little look.
“Mm,” she tilted her head to the side, “Why did he need to talk to you about that?”
“Ms. Baxter,” Thomas was starting to grow just a tad bit annoyed with her hen-pecking. “I am rather busy at the moment decanting wine. If this can wait, I would be most appreciative. I cannot imagine you don’t have other pressing things to do?”
She just smiled and walked away, looking none too smug with herself. Had she been anyone else in the house, Thomas would have been irate.
That night, Thomas had to be quick to slip the children’s book back upstairs into the nursery before ringing the gong for dinner. Unlike the old days, there were hardly grand parties to attend to. Still, the Crawley’s liked to keep to their schedule and he was happy to do the menial chores if it kept the money rolling in. Dinner that night was a beef wellington with several vegetable side dishes, and as soon as the family were sorted Mrs. Patmore then spooned the leftovers onto their own dishes so that no food would go to waste. Funnily enough, the servants were more keen to eat the broccoli with cheese than they were to eat the rare beef slice. When dinner was finished, Thomas returned to his office just to get away from the crowd and have a moment or two in the quiet. Often, he found himself retreating earlier and earlier if only to have an excuse to look at Richards’ pendant once again.
In the light of his brass lamp, Thomas turned the pendant back to front, noting it had several light scratches on the other side. He had to wonder where they had come from, and if they were signs of a life of hardship or moments of leisure. Had Richard perhaps let this pendant fall to the floor when he lay with another man? Or had it been pressed against sharp corners of furniture as he squeezed through tight passages to aid the King? More and more, the image of Richard as a Cheshire cat kept coming to mind. He would slide like smoke through the cracks of Buckingham palace, vanishing from sight just as an offense came to mind. Nothing could touch him, in a home where everything was off limits.
A knock at the door startled him out of his reverie. He quickly hid his pendant beneath his shirt and sat up straight in his chair again, beckoning to the other side: “Enter”.
Andy opened the door, looking slightly nervous.
“Yes?” Thomas said.
“I’m done and dusted with the silver,” Andy told him.
“Good,” The lad was getting faster, that was around thirty minutes of hard work whereas before it would have taken forty five. “You’re free to do whatever you please for the rest of the night.”
“…Actually-“ And at this Andy shut his door so that they could be offered a bit of privacy. “I wanted to talk with you if you have a moment to spare?”
He shrugged, setting his ledger aside. For Andy, he could spare one or two moments.
Andy coughed, as if trying to sum up his nerve. Thomas wondered what ridiculous idea he had up his sleeve this time.
“You know I’m getting married?”
“I’m aware,” Thomas’ tone was a dry as his humor on the subject.
“Well-“ Andy took another step forward, licking his lips. “Daisy keeps demanding that I put my own personal touch on the wedding, but I can’t be bothered about the decorations. So she says I need to… have… something else.”
Thomas had absolutely no idea where this conversation was going.
“It’s not something I’d ever thought about before, but… well… we’re friends aren’t we?” He gestured between the pair of them. “You an’ I. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have even met Daisy.”
That wasn’t necessarily true. “Not really-“ Thomas mused. “His Lordship went up to London and you were called for an extra hand. I had nothing to do with that.”
“But you got me my position here!” Andy said.
“Once again, you give me far too much credit,” For though Thomas had put the idea in Carson’s head, he could not be held responsible for the rest. “Carson doesn’t listen to me about those sorts of things. It was probably Mrs. Hughes that backed your corner-“
“Well you mean a lot to me!”
For some reason that Thomas could not understand, Andy was angry at him. It was such a bizarre reaction that it rendered Thomas mute so that Andy could finally continue. There were pink splotches high up on his cheeks.
“So… I…” Andy shuffled a bit, now back to his nerves. “I want you t’be my best man, Thomas.”
For a moment, Thomas did not understand what Andy had meant, and almost asked him to repeat himself or explain. But then, with sickening dread, Thomas realized what Andy was wanting from him. It was far much more than he could give.
“… While I appreciate the offer,” Thomas kept his tone gentle, “I’m going to have to decline.”
It seemed as if Andy had not banked on this being an acceptable answer. It blew him away, and for a moment he was flabbergasted till he finally managed to choke out. “What? Why?!” He was upset, now, well and truly. Thomas almost felt bad for him.
Almost.
“We cannot forget who I am, Andy,” Thomas kept that same gentle tone lest Andy start shouting at him. “Both in this house and this community. I am your butler, I have to behave in a certain manor or I will be seen as falling out of line. And as for the rest, I am not welcome as a wedding figure in this community.”
“What?” Andy couldn’t understand, “I don’t even know what that means! If you don’t want to be my best man because you think I’m stupid or something then just-“
“Andy-“ He waved him down, eager to keep him from jumping to conclusions. “Think about where you’re having your wedding. In a church, right?”
“Well, yeah—”
“The local church?”
“W- yes!”
“Now have you considered what Father Travis would think of me being your best man?”
But Andy was too young, and too stubborn to look the facts in the face. “Why do I care what he’d say about you?”
“Because he is the one with the power in this community to marry you to Daisy,” Thomas said. Andy fell silent, his eyes sparkling with emotion. This conversation was becoming far too much of a hazard for Thomas to condone. “Andy, I cannot do it. It’s too risky. I’ll sit in the audience near the front for you, but that’s as much as I can do in public and you know it. I appreciate your offer, but for your sake, I am declining.”
Unable to hold his temper, or his tongue, Andy instead turned on his heel and marched out of the room with a hurt look upon his youthful face.
As the door closed, Thomas winced at the sound of slamming wood. He let out a slow sad sigh, and for the sake of self-pity rubbed at his brow methodically. He had a feeling this conversation was going to come back to bite him on the ass. He could only hope that the others in the house would understand.
But of course, this was far too much credit to give, to a group of people who had barely managed to get through an elementary education. If there was one thing that the staff of Downton liked to do, it was get upset at Thomas’ miniscule impunities. It didn’t matter if Thomas was acting in Andy and Daisy’s best interest; he was supposed to say ‘yes’ when asked to be best man, and since he had said ‘no’, he was going outside of tradition. Such horrors should not be allowed in a Christian environment. What was more, Thomas was surprised to find that he had gotten used to the tiny allowances of kindness that he’d been garnered for turning over a new leaf. Normally Mrs. Patmore would make him a cup of coffee, but the next morning she did not and claimed forgetfulness even as she made Mrs. Hughes hers. Then, over breakfast, Thomas made a small joke regarding the schedule and no one laughed or even cracked a smile. During tea, the radio stayed silent despite the fact that people liked to play it every chance they got, so everyone just in silence glaring dully at Thomas until tea break was over. By the time it was dinner, Thomas was ready to lose it over the first cough or grumble he heard. He’d like to think that this change in demeanor (no matter how small) was due to some other transgression he’d made. However, he was much too cynical after so many years working in the house to imagine otherwise.
Dinner was quiet and uncomfortable. Everyone ate in silence, while down at the far end of the table Andy had bloodshot eyes and an expression like a kicked puppy. Every so often, Bates would lean in to hear something Anna whispered in his ear and then turn to look sourly at Thomas. When Thomas finally caught the man’s eye, he quickly looked away but the damage was done.
Everyone was mad at him, he couldn’t avoid it any longer.
It was at the terse shuffling of a paper (how could anyone put so much irritation into a small act) that Thomas finally snapped. Losing all patience, he sat down his teacup with a short sharp smack and looked to Baxter who was still staring at him petulantly.
“Is there something going on of which I am unaware?” Thomas asked. The only person who would look at him now, was Baxter. She seemed to silently be saying ‘sorry’ but Thomas wasn’t interested in apologies. He wanted explanations for why his day had become so aggravating for such a small reason.
Ms. Baxter was none too pleased that this difficult task had fallen to her. She even went so far as to take a sip of her tea before answering in a soft voice.
“Andy is upset that you refused his offer to be his best man.”
Unable to hold in his annoyance, a string of utterances slipped past Thomas’ lips. He looked from Mrs. Hughes, who was glaring, to Mr. Bates, who just looked plain exhausted. It was 1920 all over again, and he was none too pleased.
“And is that the business of anyone else at this table?” Thomas demanded to his staff at large. When no one answered him (save to look embarrassed), he asked again in a slightly louder tone. “I said, is that the business of anyone else at this table!”
A soft chorus of irritated ‘no’s met his ears, though most of them were followed by tiny mutters Thomas could not discern.
“Then kindly remove yourselves from this conversation,” Thomas said. “I am the butler of this house, and I will not be a source of gossip. Andy is aware of why I said no. He is the groom, and he is the one whose opinion matters.”
“I thought you were turning over a new leaf,” Bates spoke up from his end of the table.
Now that pissed Thomas off.
“Mr. Bates, will you speak with me in my office,” Thomas rose up from his chair, shoving it back underneath the table. Bates was tense, glaring at him now.
For a second, he seemed to contemplate simply telling Thomas ‘no’ and seeing what happened, but Mrs. Hughes was giving him an expectant look and while he could get away with giving Thomas sass, he could not go against her at the same time. Heavily annoyed, Bates left the table and followed Thomas to his office where he promptly shut the door so they would not be overheard.
“I am trying my hardest to keep this as emotion free as possible, and you bringing up the past does not help!” Thomas snapped.
“Why did you turn him down?” Bates didn’t even acknowledge the other. “You hurt his feelings so badly last night that he cried in the kitchen to Daisy. Cried! Like a woman!” As if the worst name a man could be called was a ‘woman’.
This rather embarrassed Thomas. He didn’t like to make anyone cry, and certainly not a friend. He didn’t know how to respond when they did. “I- I was not trying to make him cry.”
“He told me that you said you wouldn’t do it because of Father Travis,” Bates clearly did not believe him. “But he thinks it’s because you think he’s stupid or don’t like him enough. A priest is not exactly a solid reason to reject such a nice offer from a good friend.”
“Mr. Bates-“
“I know I don’t understand your situation-“
“You are correct!” Thomas cried out, his eyes blazing with an inner fury. “You do not!”
This brought Bates to a pause, though it was tentative. Eager to get control over the conversation, once again, Thomas continued. This time, however, he spoke in a whisper eager not to be overheard by anyone out in the hall.
“That man knows what I am,” Thomas murmured. “Now what do you think he’d say if he saw me at the alter with Andy? He could very easily hold up the ceremony, he could even refuse to do it!”
“He wouldn’t do that,” Bates said.
“You don’t know what he’d do, and neither do I!” Thomas reminded him. Bates weighed this mentally for a moment before coming up short. “I have to assume the worst for Andy and Daisy’s sake. So please stop egging Andy on. His sentimentalities are going to end up ruining his wedding!”
“Well-“ Bates tried to say something, but came up short again so he just shook his head. Both of them were frustrated at the situation now. “I don’t like it.”
“I don’t like it either,” Thomas quickly agreed. “But there’s nothing to be done. And for your information, I am trying… very hard… to be likable.” He did not know how else to put it. Bates was confused by the term, eyes narrowing at the suggestion that being likable was the most important article of a mans’ character.
“Likable?” He relayed.
“You know what I mean,” Thomas said. Bates just stared.
“Is that all that matters?” Bates asked.
“I wouldn’t expect a man who is liked to understand,” Thomas said. Annoyed with Thomas’ rather superficial view of relationships, Bates raised his hands in mock surrender and changed the subject.
“Am I free to go or do you want to hash it out all over again?” he asked.
“You are free to go if you promise to speak to Andy and dissuade him, “Thomas said.
For a moment, Bates did not reply. He gathered himself, and finally said: “I’ll lend him a shoulder. I suggest you do the same if you’re really serious about turning over a new leaf.”
He left, quietly closing the door behind him.
He was still a little hungry, but didn’t want to go back out into the hall and eat with the others when they were mad at him. It evaporated his appetite and made him feel weak. Why couldn’t they understand? How was it possible that they both denied him his humanity and mocked him for it in the same breath? He’d very well like to Andy’s best man if only he could get away with it, but he didn’t know how Travis was going to react and if the man went sour Andy and Daisy would be the ones to pay for it. It wasn’t fair of them to keep asking him to turn over a new leaf, and then remind him of why the leaf was on the wrong side in the first place. How was he supposed to change his spots if no one would let him?
Apathetic and glum, Thomas sank down into his chair and buried his head in his hands. The aged sigh that slipped past his lips would have been better suited for a man of 90, not 37.