Chapter Text
Enola ran as fast as she ever had in her life. Though her occupation called for such physical activity often, she didn’t recall ever having to sprint at such a speed.
Yet, there she was, halfway to the treehouse and so close to tagging the small, speedy body a little ways ahead of her—by some miracle—and winning the game.
“You won’t catch me!” shouted the little girl, when she suddenly tripped over a tree root and tumbled across the grass with a loud thump, landing hard on her elbows.
“Ivy!” Enola cried out. The girl let out a mediocre ouch, which contradicted the obvious pain she was in. Enola immediately made her way over to Ivy, cradling the child’s head in her lap. “Oh, no, darling, are you alright? Tell me where it hurts.”
“I’m fine,” Ivy lied, sniffing back her rebellious tears. She pointed to her elbows, scraped and bloodied from the fall. She almost smiled—they looked like battle scars.
Enola lifted the child’s arm gingerly and turned it over to view the gross gash, which, to Ivy’s misfortune, had a matching stain of scarlet on the other elbow.
Enola winced at the injury and stroked long, honey-colored locks out of Ivy’s face. “I’m sorry, my darling. We shouldn’t have been playing out here. It’s still easy for you to fall with so much shrubbery.”
“Is that why Papa gets upset when we play outside?” Ivy asked.
“No, no,” Enola said, laughing to herself. “He only gets upset when you get hurt.”
“But he always calls you ‘reckless’.”
Enola giggled, then whispered, “That’s because I am.”
“ENOLA!” a voice boomed in the distance.
“That would be him now.” Ivy laughed and turned towards the sound. A tall, handsome, fair-skinned man with chocolate-brown hair approached them, with an enraged look on his face that negated nearly all visually pleasant attributes about him.
“Where on earth have you two—Ivy!” He scrambled towards the girl, who still sat on the ground in her mother’s arms. “You’re all bloody!”—he turned to Enola—“Heavens, Enola, how did you let this happen?”
“Calm down, Tewksbury,” she soothed, “It was an accident. Nothing’s broken. I was just about to take her inside and patch her up.”
“How did this happen?” he asked again, panicked.
“I’m alright, Papa,” Ivy lied, again. “It doesn’t hurt like how it looks.”
“Of course it does,” he contradicted, lifting her arm and analyzing her wounds. She winced, and he caught it. “Let’s get you inside. You don’t want that infected. That will hurt worse than it looks.”
“But I want to keep playing!”
“Reckless…just like her mother,” he grumbled under his breath.
“We were just talking about how you always say that!”
Before Tewksbury could say anything, Enola added, “Your father’s right.” She pulled herself and Ivy up. “It’s time to go. You don’t need to be any more hurt than you already are.”
“But you go out and get hurt all the time!” Ivy whined. Tewksbury cocked a brow and turned towards Enola furiously. She looked around cluelessly, feigning innocence.
“No I don’t!” she hissed. “Now come along.” She took Ivy’s hand in hers and started forward. Ivy didn’t budge.
“You and Papa always say lying is bad.”
“I’m not—“
“I thought you said you wouldn’t be taking anymore dangerous cases,” Tewksbury said seriously.
“I’m not psychic,” Enola retorted, rolling her eyes, “I can’t possibly foresee the kind of danger a case may hold.”
“No, you can’t, but should it come, you can avoid it,” he told her sternly, reaching for her hand. She pouted, but let him take it. “You can ask for help.”
“Obviously, I have!” she yanked his hand around, gesturing to her very much still-alive body.
They began walking and he drew his head close to her ear, bringing his voice to a whisper. “And you can also make an effort not to set a bad example to our daughter.” He looked to Ivy. The girl’s eyes were intent on the greenery lining the path before them, her mind likely roaming somewhere between lotuses and daffodils and the unarguably intoxicating smell of the first.
“How dare you!” Enola whisper-shouted. “I am not a bad example.”
“If you act invincible, she’ll think she is too,” Tewksbury argued. “And I don’t need my daughter throwing herself in danger any more often than my wife does. I already have one reckless woman on my hands.”
Enola waited to speak. “I don’t think I’m invincible.”
“I said you ‘act’ like it,” he corrected.
“Puh-tato, puh-tah-to,” she grumbled.
“Good grief, I thought I was only taking care of one child,” Tewksbury sighed, running his free hand through his hair.
“I’m her mother,” Enola declared, eyes narrowing. “And you are her father. Therefore, the ‘taking care of’ is evenly distributed amongst guardians. No need for complaint.”
Tewksbury smirked. “Not exactly ‘even’. Now I’ve got two to worry about.”
Enola stopped in her tracks and let go of his hand, placing it on her hip and glaring daggers in his direction. “You know, Viscount Irritation, calling me a child multiple times in one conversation is completely unnecessary and not at all amusing.” Suddenly, Ivy had involved herself with the discussion once more, crossing her arms across her chest and pouting.
“I wasn’t talking about you,” he soothed, suddenly seeming dazzled by the woman before him, had he not been beyond smitten with her already.
The detective’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. Then she collected herself. “How do you know?” she demanded, swatting his chest. “Who told you?”
Tewksbury glanced down at Ivy, who was now feigning preoccupation with a nearby plant.
“Blast,” Enola cursed, forehead in her palm.
“Sorry, Mama,” Ivy apologized. “I thought it was important to share.” The girl and Tewksbury shrugged in unison.
“It was meant to be a surprise,” Enola said, letting out a defeated sigh. “Well, I suppose now you know.” Then all disappointment was erased from her face when she looked up at the beaming, beautiful grin that was her husband’s expression, his eyes gleaming with adoration and unadulterated joy. She couldn’t help but smile too.
Tewksbury took a step towards her, interlacing both their hands now. “So it’s true?” he asked softly. She contemplated her reply before moving his palms to her abdomen. She nodded, first gently, before it turned into an excited and nervous bob of her head and she was practically bouncing with glee.
“Yes. It’s true.” His lips went to her mouth and he kissed her with intensity and evident mirth, before moving them to her hands, which still rested over his, and then to her lower belly. She laughed before bringing his face to hers again and kissing his grinning mouth—before pulling away to look at him—then every inch of his face.
At this point, Ivy had sneaked away from her preoccupied parents and found herself lying in a small patch of flowers, her mind drifting away into oblivion, her emotions far from running wild but still nothing short of ecstatic for a new sibling to play with. Her thoughts, on the other hand, were all over the place, as usual; a sometimes useful but usually inconvenient gift inherited from her incessantly thoughtful parents.
Her grandmother—on one of the rare occasions Ivy had seen her—had once said the child of two thoughtful parents receives a double portion of wisdom. Ivy didn’t know what “wisdom” meant, but Grandmother smiled as she said it, so it must’ve been good.
Ivy daydreamed nearly every second of every day—she was so often deep in thought, she would he unable to hear the world around her. If she thought hard enough, her imagination almost became real. Whenever life began to overwhelm her, she’d retreat to the comfort of the world that lived within her thoughts.
This was so much so—especially in that moment, lying in the enchanting, colorful greenery of early Spring—that, only for a small while, Ivy couldn’t hear her obviously concerned parents calling for her.
“Mama?” she finally called back.
Enola and Tewksbury ran towards where their daughter lay in the grass. Tewksbury stopped when he’d reached a certain distance so he could observe the way Enola interacted with Ivy—in an endearing way, he saw Enola speaking softly with a younger and wilder reflection of herself. A reflection he’d helped to create.
What a wonderful life I live, he thought.
He captured the image in his mind before joining them in the grass to retrieve Ivy.
“Come along,” Enola said as her huband lifted the girl up and into his arms.
“I can walk, Papa,” she claimed, though she still clung to his shirt in fear of falling from the height at which he held her at. Ivy had always been afraid of heights.
“Do you want to walk?” he asked. She frowned.
“No.”
He laughed to himself. “Just like her mother.”