Work Text:
Molly sits near the lake, writing in her old, well-used notebook. Words flow like the ink from her pen, putting her thoughts onto the paper. Yesterday, she wrote a poem about Dutch and how she longs for him to look at her, but today… she pens a poem about loneliness. She wants the other women to like her, but… Molly doesn’t know how.
Sighing, Molly continues to write, so lost in her head that she doesn’t notice someone approaching and sitting beside her on the log. A gentle hand on her elbow snaps Molly from her thoughts, and she suppresses a flinch, startled.
“Sorry,” Mary-Beth says, her voice so sweet and nice and caring, “but I couldn’t get your attention. You were totally focused on writing.”
Amazed that Mary-Beth was the one to come see her, Molly turns her head. Mary-Beth smiles, holding an object tucked under her arm.
“Hello, Miss Gaskill,” Molly says, holding back the worst of her jealousy (why must Dutch want Mary-Beth more than his own lover? What does she have that Molly doesn’t?).
“Are you all right on your own over here?” Mary-Beth asks. She does this sometimes; Mary-Beth is the only woman in camp to ever question if Molly is lonely or invite her to join the others (but Molly always turns her down, because it would be so incredibly awkward).
Molly nods, despite the words on the page before her proving how lonely she is. “I’m fine. Just… writing.”
“I’ve seen you writing before,” Mary-Beth says. “I like to write too. I write romance stories… when Miss Grimshaw ain’t yellin’ at me for not doing my chores.” She giggles slightly.
Molly tenses, waiting for a passive-aggressive comment about how she never does chores around camp, but the remark never comes.
Instead, Mary-Beth continues, “You write a lot too, don’t you? What is it you write?”
“Just… poetry,” Molly says, a little embarrassed to admit it.
“Oh, that’s so interestin’,” Mary-Beth says. “Don’t worry, I ain’t about to ask to read your poems. A writer’s notebook is private.”
Molly smiles, her cheeks heating up. “Thank you,” she mumbles.
“Anyway, I’ve noticed you write a lot, and… your notebook looks kinda old. So… I was in Rhodes the other day and I saw this and…” Mary-Beth chuckles, before passing Molly the object. “I got you something.”
Stunned, Molly removes the simple wrapping paper, revealing a beautiful, leather-bound notebook. Running her fingers across the leather, she says, “This is… for me?”
“Sure, it is.”
“Why… are you doing this for me? I mean… we’re not even friends.”
“Yeah, but… we could be,” Mary-Beth smiles, and the morning sunlight makes her face light up, and for the first time, Molly notices how incredibly beautiful she is.
She flushes even redder, staring down at the gift Mary-Beth gave her. Her chest flutters like when Dutch first kissed her, but she doesn’t think too hard about that. Instead, she smiles back and says, “Yes, we… we could be friends.”