Work Text:
Far From the Madding Crowd
Bathsheba Oak
Bathsheba Everdene…
Bathsheba….
The name had always sounded strange; she never liked to hear it said out loud. Her parents died very young so there was no one to ask where it came from. She had grown accustomed to being on her own, some would have said too accustomed…too independent.
The other name she held for a brief time brought her as little pleasure as it did her then husband. Even now the repercussions of that brief marriage left a lasting mark upon herself and the good people of Weatherbury. She took no joy from the name Troy and wished to forget it. For her part, she mostly succeeded. If on days the guilt of her actions rose up so thick that it might choke her, she quietly slipped away to the Churchyard. She stood and read and meditated as the tones of the organ began and with a light step she would go round to the porch and listen.
Other days when she was stirred by emotions which she had thought long dead within her, something big lodged in her throat and an uprising to her eyes and she would allow the imminent tears to flow as they wished. Those days were fewer now; now she was embraced by happiness and a comfort she had not thought possible nor deserving. How foolish she had been in her youthful dismissal of his first proposal.
How arrogant she had been in her assurance she wished to be tamed and he would was not the man to do it. Perhaps had she accepted his first proposal she would not love him as well as she did now. Love had become a tired worn out thing after Francis, after Boldwood whom she had once injured out of sheer idleness.
Now she was the one to blush and stammer over her words as his gaze fell upon her. And still now after a year of marriage a moment’s glance between husband and wife caused her skin to heat and flame to an extent her husband would smile softly, brush her hair from her brow to kiss her softly then return to his chair by the fire.
Now her name did not sound strange indeed she liked very much to hear it said aloud. She had grown accustomed to being his Wife, some would say too accustomed...
Bathsheba…
Bathsheba Everdene…
Bathsheba…
Bathsheba Oak.