Chapter Text
It was a cold, snowy morning in January when they first met. The snow was gentle, the wind blowing it across the surface of the blacktop like a wispy fog as she parked her car and checked her reflection in a compact mirror she pulled from her purse.
Her name was Bev. Beverly Lee Johnson. Growing up, her parents called her Leelee, but the nickname never stuck past the age of thirteen. She became Beverly, then Bev once she reached her thirties. It was never a conscious choice on her part, nor anyone else's for that matter. They just called her what seemed most apt, and at forty one years of age, Bev fit the bill better than Leelee or Beverly did.
Despite the short walk from the car to the front door of the library, even so, that was enough time to feel the sting of winter. It was nipping at her full, rosy cheeks, and even beneath wool tights and warm gloves, she was well aware of the wind’s frigid nature.
Inside, however, was warmth, and she smiled to herself as soon as she felt the cold begin to leave her. It remained where it belonged; outside and away from someone of her delicate disposition. She brushed a bit of snow off of her coat in the entryway, and fixed her hair so the strands blown loose by the wind were returned to their proper place. Her black Italian cut was fashionable once upon a time, but no longer. Not unless one were to visit the precious town of River Falls, that is. There, it was as normal as normal could be.
Bev was born in River Falls. She'd never known life the way others lived it, nor did she particularly wish to. She understood, as all the town's citizens did, that other towns and cities had developed and mutated in odd, unnatural ways. She understood the importance of adhering to this town’s traditions, of modeling proper behavior for women and girls younger than her to aspire towards. She understood, as her fathers loved to put it, a woman's proper place in society.
Her list of errands today was short. She was just popping over to the library early in the morning, before work, to check out a few books for her husband and one for herself. She was fond of romances, fond of their happy endings, and she was excited to start another.
She waved hello to the librarian, a woman with platinum blonde hair and cat eye glasses whose pencil skirt and blouse hugged every curve of her body. An older man in a red sweater vest, retired it would seem, was reading through a stack of biographies, each dedicated to an American president. From Washington all the way to Taft, from what Bev could see, this would comprise his reading for the day.
Bev rounded one of the library shelves while removing her scarf, and tucked it away into her purse along with her gloves. She had been sent by her hubby on a very important mission, with a list of books to check out, and the first on her list was a copy of The Count Of Monte Cristo (for him).
Once she'd found that, she made her way through the stacks with great efficacy, picking out copies of The Ad Man's Guide (for him), A History Of Googie (for him), and Pretty Gifts For Pretty Wives (for her) when she stumbled across a greatly unexpected sight.
There was a girl in the library. A girl sleeping in the library, wedged into an alcove near the far windows of the building. The stacks would have hidden her from most, especially so early in the morning when the library had just opened its doors for the day, but there she was.
She was dirty, skinny like a twig, with hair and clothes and face unwashed. The poor thing had wedged herself between one of the stacks and a frosted over window by the rear corner of the library. A green and red flannel blanket was pulled up to her chin, knees drawn to her chest as she slept. She breathed softly with her head resting on a hand-me-down backpack stuffed full to bursting.
Bev stepped closer, and got a better look at the girl. She was short, petite, bordering on malnourished. Her blonde hair was greasy and tangled, her cheeks rosy from the cold. She wore a blue flannel shirt, bulky grey winter coat, wool hat, baggy jeans with scuffed ankles, and black converse that were soaked through from the snow and slush. Like their wearer, they were weeks if not months overdue for a washing.
Bev knelt down, her full skirts rustling, and reached out to touch the girl’s cheek. It was freezing. Bev frowned, her heart breaking for the poor little thing. She removed her swing coat and moved forward to drape it over the girl for more warmth when a pair of green eyes snapped open.
The girl snatched hold of Bev’s wrist.
“Who the fuck are you?!” She cried out, scrambling backwards. She grabbed her backpack and held it against her chest as tightly as she possibly could, knuckles turning white from how deeply she dug her fingers into its canvas fabric.
“My name is Bev… What’s your name, sweetheart?”
The girl calmed as she adjusted to waking, and realized that Bev meant her no harm. She slowly relaxed her grip on her bag, but still kept it close to the chest for safekeeping. She was shivering, the poor thing. Bev wanted nothing more than to wrap her up in a warm hug.
“I don't know you,” The girl said, dodging the question. She wasn't the most skilled at the art.
“Maybe not,” Bev said, smiling gently at the girl. She reached out slowly, and guided the girl to look at her again with a hand cupping her cheek. “Do you have a place to stay?” She asked, knowing the answer already. They both did, and the girl just looked down in answer.
Bev put her hands on the girl's shoulders, and then helped her up to her feet slowly. She brushed off the girl’s coat and offered her another warm smile, to which the foundling just crossed her arms and looked out the window.
“I work at our town’s foster agency,” Bev told her. “Why don't you come with me? We can find you a home, and a family-”
“I’m eighteen,” The girl said gruffly. Bev just kept on smiling.
“That's no trouble at all. We pair plenty of eighteen year olds with welcoming new homes. I hate to resort to saying it, but it's actually the law that anybody without one must be paired with a family to look after them until they can live on their own. It won't be so bad, I promise.”
She held out her open hand. The girl looked at it for a long, quiet moment, before she sighed and shook it.
“Fine,” She said, thinking only of a soft bed to sleep in for a few nights. “Molly. My name's Molly.”
“It's wonderful to meet you, Molly.”
– – – – – – – – – –
The foster agency was a rather cozy building, just a few miles north of the library, at least according to Bev. Molly rode in the passenger seat of the older woman’s car, impressed by its vintage appearance but equally confused by the town’s decades out of date style. Everything from the buildings to the cars to the people milling about town looked like she was watching color footage of a bygone era, and she couldn't help but to broach the subject after several minutes of riding in silence.
“Why do you dress like that?”
Bev, looking ever the spitting image of River Falls’ mid century conformity, smiled sweetly and patted her hair. “Well, why wouldn't I? Isn't it darling?”
Molly wrinkled her nose. “You're dressed like… like I don't even know what. Like that old TV show I Love Lucy, like some fifties housewife. Why does everyone I've seen so far dress like it's still the fifties?”
“Because, you dear thing, it's just the way things go here! I dress this way because everyone else does. It's quite normal, really. It's what's expected.”
“It's really not, but go off,” Molly muttered under her breath. “So you dress like this because everyone else does, fine. But why do they dress like this? Why are all the cars so old?”
Bev smiled still, and stood by her point. “Well, it's just what's expected, that's all.”
Molly endured the rest of the car ride in silence, before Bev parked the car outside of what was, admittedly, a rather cozy looking red brick building. A large sign proclaimed “Happy Homes Foster Agency”, and Bev walked Molly past the sign and up the walkway to the center’s front door with an arm around her shoulder.
“I promise, there's nothing to be afraid of, dearie. We'll just fill out a bit of paperwork and get you situated. You'll be in a warm bed with a full stomach by the end of the day, I promise.”
Molly rolled her eyes. She had never been through this sort of situation before, but life had beaten her down well enough for her to know that she would, in all likelihood, be back on her own by the end of next week. She had just assumed that being eighteen would mean she was no longer at risk of being fostered if some nosy neighbor found her.
Her only saving grace was that they didn't seem too interested in contacting her folks back home. Bev hadn't asked about them at all, or where Molly originally called home at all. It was a small bright spot in an otherwise thoroughly annoying situation.
Her stomach growled, and she prayed that this wouldn't take too long.
She quickly found herself sitting across from Bev, with a varnished wooden desk in between them. She had decorated her desk with a framed photograph and a small stuffed bear, sitting on opposite sides of a heavy black Remington typewriter stuffed with paper.
A look around the room showed two other desks, each of which carried their own stuffed animal companion. It occurred to Molly that they weren't for the people who worked here, but for those they were trying to help. A way to comfort a child without a family until one was found.
She brushed her finger against the bear’s soft foot, and then sat back in her chair, arms folded, hoping Bev wouldn't notice that the bear was now crushed between her arms and stomach. The older woman did notice, of course, but said nothing to indicate she had. She'd seen, and helped, her fair share of girls like Molly. None in quite this predicament, but orphans and those who had been separated from abusive parents so the adults could be taught how to behave properly. They could be touchy, but still needed the reassurance only a soft, stuffed friend could provide.
The sound of heavy typewriter keys being pressed was all that staved off utter silence for some time, before Bev looked up and met Molly’s half-lidded gaze. The woman smiled, and Molly shifted slightly in her seat.
“I'm just about finished, dear. We'll have you home in two shakes of a lamb's tail, I promise.”
“Sure, whatever,” Molly muttered. Home was a place that Molly loathed to find herself, and that applied nearly as much to this bizarre little town as it did to the home she'd survived and escaped from.
Several minutes later, Bev slid a sheet of paper across the desk to Molly, and set a pen down beside it. “This isn't permanent, not yet. Right here we just have an agreement to undergo a temporary arrangement with an available family who have been vetted and approved by this agency.”
“For how long?” Molly asked, only giving the document the briefest once-over to verify she was being told the truth. From what she could tell, Bev was being honest.
“This agreement guarantees a minimum of one month, though it can be extended if you and your new foster parents agree. If you like them enough, well… You can jump right ahead to formal adoption whenever you like. How does that sound?”
“I can do one month,” She said, scrawling her name in print on the signature line. She didn't notice the way that Bev’s smile faltered at her words, as the woman was back to smiling by the time Molly passed the form back her way. “When do I move in?”
Bev stood up from her desk, a manilla folder held against her chest, and giggled. “How about we pop on over there right now? Your new Mom will be ever so happy to help you settle in.”
– – – – – – – – – –
The car pulled into a driveway that was identical to countless others, which led up to a house that was identical to countless others. It seemed as though there were just three or four types of homes in River Falls, being either one or two stories, with roofs which were either peaked or butterflied or half-flat and half-sloped. Some had simple walkways to the sidewalk, while others had cobblestone paths, and others still small rectangular strips of stone.
Save for the house number, she couldn't really tell the difference between the house she was brought to and the one across the street. They were both two story homes with a flat roof that joined to a higher, outwardly-sloped counterpart. They were both built with tan brick exteriors, red-brown roofs, a chimney, and attached garage.
Their windows were large and inviting, as if they had been built not for privacy but to show off just how perfect a family could be. She looked to the home across the street and saw just such a family; a man and woman in the same sort of vintage clothing as Bev and her ilk, cuddling on a sofa and watching their fire. She felt her heart kick at the sight of them. Why was it that nice couples were never the ones to raise kids like her?
She looked back to the house that aimed to take her in, and to Bev standing by its front door. The brunette busybody was smiling, almost eager but almost nervous, as Molly trudged her way along the cobblestone path to join her, before opening the unlocked door for the girl.
She entered the house with Bev’s hand on her back, and found the inside perfectly suited the exterior; mid century modern furniture filled the living room, with a large sofa sitting opposite an old fashioned looking television, complete with audio-visual dials and a porthole screen. A modest bookshelf sat against another wall, while Bev pulled off her coat, then took Molly’s, and hung them up on a spindly wooden coat rack by the door.
A framed piece of needlepoint said “Home Is Where The Heart Is”, and just beside it was a photo of an elderly couple; her new so-called family perhaps, or their parents. Just a bit further into the house was the kitchen, complete with black and white tile floors and a shiny blue refrigerator unit, which matched the color of the oven, the microwave, and the bread box.
A kitchen island was spotless and sparkling, host to a bowl of fresh fruit and a book titled “Your Teen And You”. Like the living room before it, and the dining room through the doorway, the kitchen was impeccably ordered and impossibly clean. Save for the aforementioned book, it lacked even the tiniest bit of clutter, with not a pile of mail or collection of empty beer bottles or even a dirty ashtray to be found.
It was too perfect a home to be real. It was the sort of house that only existed in old magazines or tv shows. Compared to the one and only home Molly had known, it felt like it simply had to be fake; lies on lies meant to hide some awful truth.
“There's a bedroom upstairs, just for you,” Bev said from behind her, a comforting hand on Molly’s shoulder. The girl shrugged it off. “I'm sure it's bare now, but once you settle in you're more than welcome to-”
“I thought you said that the woman who would be fostering me was home?” Molly said, leveling the older woman with a suspicious, somewhat accusatory look.
Bev’s smile betrayed her, wobbling ever so slightly as she spread her arms in an open, welcoming gesture.
“I am home, Molly. My wonderful husband and I have been at the top of the wait-list for the past few months, and now here you are. I… I really am ever so glad to meet you, Molly. Would you let me show you to your room?”
Molly looked at her, this strangely dressed woman in this strangely furnished home in this strangely old fashioned town, and she felt every fiber of her being scream out in panic. She knew that she couldn't trust this, that she couldn't trust a woman who plucked her off the street and pulled her into her home. Not when that woman was just out to play Mother and daughter with her. Not when she hadn't told Molly until the very last moment that it was her, her and her husband, who she was going to get stuck with.
Then she remembered how cold it was outdoors, and how hungry she was, and how nice a soft bed would feel underneath her tired and aching body. She let her bag drop from her shoulder, hanging now from her hand, as she nodded slightly and turned towards the stairs that branched upwards from the living room. Bev watched her climb the stairs, hands clasped together over her waist, and allowed herself just a bit of hope for the days to come.
The bedroom was, well… Pink. A soft, pastel pink, which stunned Molly into silence the very moment she was confronted with it.
A large full sized bed was dressed with two white pillows and quilted sheets. A six drawer dresser made of varnished wood sat against the wall, beneath a window whose curtains matched the white of the snow outside. Over against the far wall of the room was a vanity, complete with mirror and stool, and which was, to Molly’s surprise, already stocked with a modest complement of makeup.
The closet, however, was empty, as were the dresser drawers. She dropped her backpack down on the bed, and as she opened it to put away what items she did have of her own, Bev spoke up from where she stood, just on the other side of the doorway.
“I wasn't sure what size clothes you would wear, so how about we go do some shopping tomorrow?”
Molly huffed. “Yeah, me and my boatloads of cash,” She snarked. Bev, to her credit, took the rudeness in stride.
“You don't have to spend a single red cent, dearie. I've been putting money away for exactly this purpose ever since they hired me on at the agency. I would be ever so happy to finally spend it on you.”
“Maybe,” Molly said, begrudging but even-keeled. The warmth of the house’s interior finally started to reach her, and she thumbed the slightly fraying cuffs of her flannel shirt. One glance at Bev’s period dress, however, and she reconsidered the offer. “Just… no dresses, alright?”
Bev giggled at that. “We'll see. Now, I'll let you get settled in, okay? While you do that, I'll be just downstairs fixing us girls some lunch.”
“Don't you have to go back to work?” Molly asked. Bev just shook her head no.
“Don't you worry your pretty little head about any of that, dearie; I've got the day off so I can spend it with you. Just call me if you need anything, anything at all, and I'll come running.”
Molly nodded slightly, and began to carefully unzip her bag, guarding it with her body between it and Bev.
“Yeah,” She said. “Okay.”
She watched out of the corner of her eye as Bev departed; then zipped her bag back up and slid it under the wooden bed frame, lowering the comforter to hide its location. It would be dumb to unpack everything and trust these strangers to leave her things alone. Keeping her things close, keeping them safe, was as vital as food and water.
Her whole world was inside that bag. She couldn't risk some woman throwing any of it away just because she didn't understand what something meant to Molly or didn't care. She didn't owe Bev her trust, and she wasn't going to give it anymore than she was forced to.
She crept into the hallway after a brief exploration of her sparsely decorated room, and found the nearest bathroom. Plush rugs were soft and cozy underfoot, and the room was spotless and shiny and new; lacking even the slightest grime or soap scum. The medicine cabinet held toothbrushes and paste, dental floss and a small glass bottle of pills whose name she didn't recognize.
She shut the cabinet, and looked at her own reflection in the mirror. There was Molly, eighteen and woefully out of her element, moving into a stranger's home against her will and wishes.
Her stomach growled, and she sighed deeply, before heading downstairs.
There was a bowl of hot tomato soup resting beside a golden brown toasted cheese sandwich; cut in half diagonally and plated handsomely. They were accompanied by a glass of water with a lemon wedge, and Bev was just setting them down when Molly descended the stairs. She wore the same dress as before, only now with the addition of a ruffled white apron around her waist.
She wasn't even trying to dodge the accusations of dressing like a fifties sitcom housewife, but Molly didn't have the energy to debate the matter any further. Her stomach was aching from hunger, growling intermittently, and she just wanted something to sate it.
A warm homemade lunch was more than she ever could have asked for.
Molly collapsed into a waiting chair at the kitchen table, and Bev smiled softly before turning to plate her own lunch for the day. Compared to Molly, who wolfed down her food like she was frightened it would soon be rescinded, she ate at a snail’s pace; taking small and delicate bites before sipping daintily at her glass of water or a spoonful of soup. Not a crumb spilled off her plate, while Molly was left with countless around her lips, which Bev noted with a small giggle.
“Here, sweetie, let me get that for you,” She said, grabbing a napkin off the tabletop. She moved to wipe Molly’s mouth, only for the girl to shrink back suddenly to escape her reach.
Molly didn't say anything. She just looked at Bev, and realized what the woman had been trying to do. Sheepishly, she rubbed at her mouth with the sleeve of her flannel shirt, before lowering her guard.
“How do you like it? Was everything alright?” Bev asked. Molly nodded slightly.
“It's good,” She said, understating just how amazing the meal tasted. It was the best food she'd eaten in, well… longer than she cared to admit. So she didn't admit it, and she left it at that. “Thanks.”
“Anything for you, sweetie. Remember, our home is your home now, so you can do as you like. There's no need to rush and hurry to leave, okay? If you need anything, anything at all-”
“Just call for you. I remember,” Molly said, before turning to leave the table. In the time it took Bev to eat a quarter of her sandwich, Molly had devoured her own along with every drop of soup she had been given.
She watched as Molly returned to her bedroom, and shut the door behind her. Bev considered chasing after her, trying to assure the girl that she was a source of comfort, not danger, when the rotary phone in the living room rang shrilly.
“Johnson residence!” She said as soon as she plucked the shiny black phone from its base and held it to her ear. Her seemingly endless smile grew ever wider when she heard the voice on the other end of the line. One glance at the clock on the wall told her it really was that time of day.
He was on his lunch break.
“Hello Darling~ Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry I wasn’t at the office when you tried to call. Yes Sir, I was given the rest of the day off. Yes Sir, I'll be turning in my resignation tomorrow. Yes Sir, I will. Where did I find her? Well… I found her at the library, Sir. Yes, I'll have dinner ready for you tonight, Sir.
“I'm sure you'll love her, Sir. I'm sure she'll love you too, once she gives us a chance.”