6Waking up in the room she had grown up in was a bit disorienting, at least at first, the slight furrow in Evelyn's brow as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed belying her initial confusion while her feet came to rest flat upon the warmth of the plush carpet she had picked out at sixteen. A faint smile ghosted across her lips as she glanced down at the familiar hot pink material, and the subsequent memory of the expression on her father's face when he saw the color first hand. It had been her mother's idea, allowing both girls to choose the majority of the décor for their bedrooms during the remodel—the reveal of that particular facet of information being something that Evelyn could clearly recall provoking squeals of delight from both her, and Tristan as well.
Her father's reaction, however—that had been something a bit closer to amused resignation.
Suppressing a small laugh in response to the memory, Evelyn stood from the edge of her bed, and deposited the blanket that had curled itself around her legs while she slept behind her on the mattress, one hand moving to shove tangled hair away from her face while she padded to the dresser at the far corner of the room. Just a single glance in the gilded mirror above it had her cringing, her reflection very obviously not flattering despite her apparently foolish hope that it would be the opposite. She had never been one of those girls who could wake looking refreshed and energized, at least not without a good two cups of coffee, and a shower, first. And although the smell of pancakes and bacon wafting up the stairs was temptation in and of itself, she forced herself to venture back to the suitcase her father had placed beside the door, instead, her hands rifling through it until she found a shirt and pair of pants that were not overly wrinkled as a result of their extended stay therein.
Despite their apparent happiness that she had returned home, Evelyn knew that appearances still meant far more to her parents than either of them would ever admit out loud.
Somehow able to resist the urge to laugh again at the thought of her turning up for a day with her family in wrinkled clothes, Evelyn opened the door to her bedroom, and headed down the hall toward the bathroom, her gaze lingering on the assorted family photos lining the walls as she went. School pictures of both herself, and Tristan, were prominent, as well as a picture she recognized as being from her first year on the school's equestrian team—Tristan after a ballet recital—their parents on one of their anniversaries—and although she did not want to fall prey to such a feeling, particularly when she was still very much determined that her stay here would be a brief one, Evelyn could not help but give in to the faint sense of relief she felt at the familiarity of it all, her attention turning to the bathroom door at the end of the hall while the reassuring sounds of her parents and their muffled conversation in the kitchen downstairs reached her ears.
Whether she agreed with what they did half of the time, or not, she would have been a fool to pretend that she did not love them with all that she had, regardless…
They were her family. And when push came to shove, that was all that mattered.
…
"There you are. Thought you might have decided to sleep all day," Elliott teased, watching as Evelyn plopped down in the seat beside him at the dining room table, and handing her the plate full of pancakes and bacon that Karen had just given him mere seconds before her arrival, "Eat up. We've got a busy day ahead."
"We do? I thought we were just—"
"Just what, sweetheart?"
"Staying in," Evelyn finished, picking apart one of the strips of bacon with her fingers, and lifting a brow as she caught the surprise that was so apparent in her father's gaze before he replied.
"Did you forget it was Sunday? Got a family tradition to uphold here, kid—"
"Right—church, brunch, riding around the property."
"You got it," Elliott confirmed, aware that Evelyn appeared a bit less than thrilled at the prospect of leaving the house, and stowing that fact away for a later time when he might question her about it if the two of them were alone. In spite of his desire to get to the bottom of exactly what had pushed his daughter to return home in the first place, he knew that if he were to question her with Karen around, Evelyn would never be as forthcoming as he needed her to be to keep her safe. Of course Karen meant well—both he and his daughter knew that without a doubt. But they also knew that her need to keep every aspect of their family's lives in tip-top shape at all times was only too likely to mean that Evelyn would never be comfortable letting her mother in on the details behind her return to Charming.
He could only hope that she would trust him with the information, when the time came for full disclosure…
"You okay with that, sweetheart?"
"I—yeah. Yeah, I guess I am," Evelyn admitted, forcing her reluctance to the back of her mind so that she could focus instead on the familiar, syrupy smell of the pancakes on her plate, "Though I suspect I'll have to go right back upstairs after this, and change—"
"I'll let you wear one of my skirts, if you'd like," Karen suggested, placing the final plate of pancakes and bacon in front of her husband, and dropping a kiss against his temple before she took her own seat beside Tristan, who was a bit too engrossed in her own breakfast to pay much attention to the conversation taking place, "Fix up your hair, maybe a little makeup, too."
"I think I can find something of my own, Mama."
"Well if you change your mind—"
"You'll be the first to know," Evelyn assured, managing a faint smile in the hopes that it would dissuade her mother from pressing any further, despite the fact that she genuinely did appreciate the offer. In truth, she didn't have a clue if she even had anything in her suitcase that would meet the requite standards for attending a church service, much less brunch at the country club after the fact. But in spite of the momentary uncertainty that such a realization inspired, Evelyn forced herself to square her shoulders, and force that lack of confidence to the side in favor of popping a small bit of pancake into her mouth, so that she could put her best face forward in preparation for the day ahead.
She was an Oswald. That was just what they do…
…
Roughly an hour later found Evelyn squashed between her father and Tristan in their family's pew near the pulpit, loose tendrils of hair wafting around her face while the blades of the fan directly above them whirred in a monotonous counterpoint to the sermon echoing around the room. She had never been particularly religious, even in spite of how fervently her mother had always insisted she attend Sunday services with the rest of the family year after year. But no matter the familiar reluctance that being back inside this building provoked, she was not about to trade the comfort provided by her family's steady presence for anything in the world.
With as absorbed in her thoughts as she was, Evelyn found herself jumping as she felt Tristan's hand bumping against her thigh, her gaze drawn downward so that she saw the half-folded piece of paper clutched between her sister's fingers. With a smile toying at the corners of her mouth, she accepted the page, doing what she could to unfold it so that it would not make a sound. Almost immediately, her memories strayed back to all the times she and Tristan would entertain one another in this way when they were younger, playing games of tic-tac-toe, or simply passing notes back and forth to make the time go by faster. For their part, her parents had always turned the other cheek, such as it was, pretending that their daughters were as riveted upon the sermon as they appeared to be, themselves.
It would have been a lie to pretend that they did not appear to be doing the exact same thing, now, the only proof that they had even seen what their daughters were up to being the soft smile of amusement and resignation Karen gave before squeezing her husband's hand and returning her attention to the man standing at the pulpit.
Satisfied that they were not about to be reprimanded, Evelyn turned her attention to the paper in her hand once again, a small frown marring her brow as she read the words Tristan had scrawled in the top corner of the page.
You alright?
Reaching for one of the sharpened pencils stowed in a small divot in the pew in front of them, Evelyn snagged a spare hymnal as well so that she would have a smooth surface to write upon, her lips pursing together for a moment before she wrote back.
Of course. Why wouldn't I be?
Tristan practically snatched the paper from Evelyn's hands so that she could reply, the gesture prompting a soft laugh that the older of the two sisters rather quickly turned into a stifled cough to avoid drawing attention to what it was they were doing. After ensuring that her father was not about to turn to get a better look at what she was up to, she turned back to face Tristan directly, one brow quirking up in silent inquiry as she finished writing whatever she had upon the page before shoving it Evelyn's way with a look of determination the likes of which her older sister had never seen before.
Because you have that look you get when you're hiding something. I should know—I'm the one that picked it up from you.
Accepting the paper once again, Evelyn shifted just a bit to cross one leg over the other so that her lap presented a sort of makeshift incline to better hold the hymnal and give her a bit more stability for writing. Only the briefest of pauses ensued between the movement, and the soft sound indicating the scratch of her own pencil moving against the paper, a sigh escaping while Evelyn took a moment to reread her words before handing the paper back to Tristan once more.
I'm just tired, little sis. That's all. No need to worry and give yourself grey hair before your time.
Predictably, the words caused a small scowl to take over Tristan's features, her attention now entirely focused upon the paper in her lap as she chewed the eraser on her pencil for a moment before concocting a reply. In truth, Evelyn was more than a little touched that her sister had seemed to sense her distress, and even more so that she had decided to ask about it, rather than pretending it simply did not exist. But in spite of that feeling, she was also very much determined to keep her little sister out of the line of fire when it came to her own personal issues, a strange sort of determination taking over her features as she took the paper back and read Tristan's reply.
Will you tell me more, later?
Suddenly aware that the rest of the congregation appeared to be rising, thus signifying the sermon's end, and the beginning of the final hymn, Evelyn was only able to manage a nod for her sister's benefit before she was crumpling the page in her hand and stowing it in her purse for safekeeping. To avoid drawing further notice to their inattention, she stood as well, a gentle hand resting on Tristan's shoulder to persuade her to do the same. And although she was well aware of her father's questioning gaze as he appeared to sense their brief delay, Evelyn persuaded herself to lean against his arm so that she could read the hymnal he held in outstretched hands, her voice lifting to join the others while she simultaneously turned just a bit to send her sister a conspiratorial wink.
Old habits truly did seem to die hard…
…...
"You two ever think of doing a duet up there?" Police Chief Wayne Unser inquired after shaking Elliott's hand as the family exited the church, his attention now turning towards the man's two young daughters as he awaited their reply.
"Not really. Evelyn doesn't like singing in front of large crowds."
"As I recall, neither do you, Tris," Evelyn added, giving her sister an affectionate nudge in the ribs, and laughing as she realized Tristan appeared to almost immediately retaliate in kind.
"I sing in the choir!"
"Yeah—with other people."
"Well you would be 'other people', Evie," Tristan pressed, a satisfied grin spreading across her face as she watched her older sister's reaction, and saw the precise moment when Evelyn realized she had been backed into a corner, willingly or not. Unser seemed to see it too, if the chuckle that shook his frame was any indication. And although Evelyn was not entirely prepared to admit it out loud, she was not quite so foolish as to pretend she could get out of her current situation easily, her eyes narrowing at both the elderly police chief, and her sister as well before she spoke.
"How much did you pay him to side with you on this, Tris?"
"Trust me, Evelyn, if I was going to be on anybody's payroll, it wouldn't be this little lady's," Unser assured, a sly smile crossing his lips as he took in Tristan's widening eyes, and took the liberty of looping an arm around her shoulders to pull her against his side, "She seems like she could be a bit of a tough taskmaster."
"You have no idea—"
"Hey!"
"Man has a point, sweetheart," Elliott intervened, shaking his head over the antics of his girls, and simultaneously extending an arm so that Tristan would return to his side for him to pull her close, "You both tend to be a bit narrow-sighted when you get something in your minds."
"How'd I get brought into this?"
"You taught your sister all she knows, Evie. Even I know that."
"Maybe you'll take my side, then?" Evelyn persisted, glancing at her mother, and finding herself fighting the laugh that tried to bubble up even in spite of her desire to maintain an appearance of genuine contrition. Were she to be honest with herself, she rather enjoyed their current line of conversation, for more than just the fact that it allowed her a reprieve from the questions she knew were coming about her sudden desire to come back home. But before she could say or do anything to continue the easy joking that appeared to have risen between them, Evelyn found herself whipping her head around to glance at the road as the sound of a foreign rumbling effectively startled her from her internal musings, her eyes widening as she realized the noise came from at least half a dozen bikes rolling past the church, each man wearing an identical leather vest with a reaper stitched upon the back.
"Who on earth are they?" She inquired, aware of how her father had almost immediately come to stand at her side with Tristan in tow, his free arm pulling her close as though doing so would shield her from what was to come.
"No one you need to worry about, sweetheart. Let's just go get some brunch, okay?"
No matter what else happened in the wake of his daughter's return to Charming, Elliott Oswald would be damned if the Sons of Anarchy even crossed her radar…
…
Hello there, angels! And welcome to chapter two! As with all of my stories, I am absolutely blown away by the amount of positive feedback this story has received so far, and with a short first chapter, to boot! I really cannot express enough how much I appreciate your support, and I truly hope that you enjoy this chapter as much as you appear to have enjoyed the last!
As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to all that took the time to read, follow, favorite, and review the story so far (and special thanks to last chapter's reviewers: happu lowon, Ineveryfandom, caremarie15, BloodforInk, and Queenbrowniecookie)! I appreciate your words of encouragement more than you can possibly know, and I hope that you like what you find in the second installment of Evelyn's tale! I look forward to reading your thoughts this time around!
Until next time, dearies…
MOMM
