#Antoine Duplanchier

[aheathen-conceivably]

Antoine now found his days consumed by music coming from the depths of his mind. Nearly every minute he could see piano compositions in front of his eyes, assemblages of notes that he had been suppressing without anywhere to play them. He could feel his fingers move to their arrangements even as he tried to work, knowing as if by muscle memory the keys he would need to bring them to life.

Only he didn't have his beloved piano, the one he could have sat before and effortlessly opened his mind so that the notes flowed through his arms down into soundwaves to fill a room. He only had a guitar, which had set his mind ablaze but still seemed like a familiar puzzle he didn't quite have a map for. So without any teachers or instructional books, he spent every second he could with what was now his guitar, wordlessly transforming the notes he knew as piano compositions onto a new instrument by ear.

Zelda’s moments of rest were even fewer than Antoine’s. There was no differentiation between work and home as she tried to balance the endless array of chores with Josephine and poured her hours into the soil with Giorgio. Even still, in between her moments of work she would stop to watch him play.

She knew that he would stop if she only asked, but her presence was never enough to take his attention away from the instrument that was now his constant companion. The only thing that truly seemed to draw him from its orbit was the approaching sound of Violette’s footsteps as she returned from the schoolhouse and recklessly hopped the fence to get to her father faster.

There was nothing she loved more than returning home to find her father already there after a day at Hines ranch. She would draw him to his feet with the promise of teaching her new dance steps or playing the latest notes he had learned. Only Zelda’s reminder that there was homework to be done or chores to be completed would bring either of them back to reality and draw a half-hearted admonishment from Antoine that Violette must always listen to her mother.

Still her olive eyes flickered back and forth between them, trying to find the weakest link to focus her attention on so that she wouldn’t have to do as she was told. Only the promise that if she completed her chores fast enough she could come back outside seemed to work, and then she would scurry off inside the house with the sound of the guitar still echoing in her ears.

Usually the sun was still up when she emerged back outside to find her father; but it had begun to sink lower, coloring the sky with atmosphere that seemed painted just for them. Then he would play as she danced, the notes more whimsical and upbeat than they had been all day, until Zelda’s never ending list of tasks had been completed.

By then, the sinking sun had begun to shine directly on their faces as Violette seemed to finally grow tired, fighting lidded eyes so that she could watch her father’s hands on the strings of the guitar as she committed them to memory. Little by little she learned to play as he did, matching notes to hand position and listening to the subsequent pitch changes in her mother’s voice as she often sang along; until finally, the afternoon would overwhelm her and she couldn’t fight her sleep any longer.

Then, Antoine would carry her up the stairs to the little room at the corner of the farmhouse that captured the last vestiges of desert light. She would always remember it filtering through the lace curtains of the windows as she weightlessly moved through the house, trusting his every step and wondering if her mother was still singing downstairs, or if she could merely hear her voice echoing in the halls of her dreams before her head even hit the pillow.

So day after day they got ever so slightly older, ending each night much the same as the one before and knowing that in the morning, the sun would invariably rise in the clear desert sky just as it had that day. It wasn’t as though life was perfect, far from it. Age and hardship had made their proclivities toward ignoring the struggles around them all the more difficult to maintain, but at least when there was music and one another, none of it seemed quite so important.

#1933 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Zelda darlington #Antoine Duplanchier #Violette darlington

[darlingtons-after-dark]

Antoine carried Zelda all the way up the creaking stairs and down the hall until they found a door ajar into a large, but shabby bedroom. He set her down softly on the floor as the two of them silently looked around the space that was to be their new home.

There were vestiges of warmth even alongside the dilapidation; furniture and keepsakes of the previous inhabitants sat forgotten amidst the ravages of time and the harsh desert landscape. Still the linens were fresh and there was a single jar of flowers left for them by Giorgio.

Zelda looked toward Antoine with a wry smile, seemingly unbothered by their new surroundings, “It’s not quite the gilded palace of your youth, is it?”

Antoine returned the good natured teasing with a smile of his own, before throwing off his jacket and gently pushing her toward the bed. 

Already growing breathless Zelda tried to continue, “What’s a man with more robes than me to do here? One with more shoes than books? Does he give up the fine trappings of city life to become a simple farmer?”

By that point her wedding dress was already over her head and crumpled on the floor, “I don’t care Zelda, they can take it all. I don’t want any of it.”

“No? None…none of it, Mr. Duplanchier? Why’s that?”

“Because you weren’t my wife in that palace. But even if this house crumbles into the sand around us,” his voice trailed off as he buried himself in Zelda’s coiffed hair, “You’re my wife here.”

She reached down to help him with the last of his buttons and looked up to meet his eyes, all good natured teasing settled into a silent tension. Antoine cupped her chin in his hand before pushing her down onto the bed.

#year: 1930 #Darlingtons after dark #sim spice #sims spice #Antoine and Zelda #Antoine #Zelda

[aheathen-conceivably]

The wooden floorboards in the hallway that connected Zelda and Antoine’s bedroom to Violette’s slowly grew more worn with time. On some nights it was Zelda’s feet that walked back and forth over them as Antoine got to spend a few moments alone with his guitar; on other’s it was Antoine’s as Zelda read a few pages of a book between her hours of work and sleep.

On that night it was Zelda’s steps that echoed down the hall. Before she even opened the door she knew that the sounds of guitar awaited her; but not even that could make her feel better, so she didn’t bother to look at Antoine as she entered the room. Instead she walked straight to the vanity and reached for the zipper between her shoulder blades. As she struggled with it Antoine spoke behind her, “Is she asleep?

His playing hadn’t stopped, because his months of practice had already made it so that he could easily speak without ever missing a note, just the way he could at the piano. Despite herself, Zelda let out a small laugh with her answer, “No. She acted like she is, but I know the second I closed the door she opened that book again.”

His voice kept coming, unbroken alongside the music when all she wanted was silence, “There are worse rules to break. I would wager a bet you were much the same with it when you were young.”

Zelda kept her eyes on her reflection as she gave up trying to unclasp her zipper, instead redirecting her fumbling hands to her earrings. She offered Antoine nothing but a terse nod in response, but the void of her silent answer was quickly filled with the vibrations of guitar strings. As her earring back refused to budge she turned away, retreating into the cold silence of their bathroom to undress alone.

When she emerged the room had grown quiet, the guitar neatly set against the opposite wall and far out of reach. Antoine was on the edge of the bed, looking at her intently. She looked back at him, wondering how she could deflect the pain that she knew he had detected. Before she could think of anything he spoke, asking her what the matter was. Her hands fluttered as she avoided his gaze,  “Nothing, it's - it's the corn. It’s not growing as well as last year, no matter how I try.”

But he wasn’t fooled, and when he said her name, it was filled with an honest imploration simply to talk to him. She started to spiral, because she knew that the moment she spoke, she would reopen the wound that they had both been trying to ignore for months. But again, he said her name, this time even calmer and softer than the first time. Another half dozen lies went through her head, but each of them seemed like a paltry waste of energy; so instead, she sat beside him.

“Zelda, I know it's not the corn. I know your face. Don’t lie to me.”

He’s here, telling him won’t jeopardize that. You know that. You know. “It’s just - it’s just in those brief moments when she opens up to me, when she’s kind and excited to be around me, I realize just how much more she likes you, how much more she likes Josephine…”

His hand immediately went for hers, a tangible guilt driving his touch that she had been fiercely trying to avoid, “Don’t say that. It's not true, you know it's not true.”

“No, no. It’s fine, it is true,” she tried to brush it off, to look at their hands and stop herself before her words went too far, “I suppose it’s only natural. I was more like my father. It just makes me wonder, makes me think if we had another, maybe they’d be more like me, maybe they’d…”

But she had already done it, and she knew it. She had shattered whatever tenuous peace they had found in their untenable solution to preventing any more disappointments. She dropped his hand and tried to move away, but his arms immediately went around her. “Zelda, we can try again. We can try all you want. I didn’t want to push you, to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, I know. I’m — I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to be disappointed anymore. If we didn’t — then I wouldn’t — then at least I would know there was no chance. I should have told you…”

With the words spoken it was easier to let him pull her closer. Immediately the guard she had so carefully constructed crumbled, “Please don’t apologize, please. You didn’t need to explain. I knew. I understood.”

Half of her was crying with relief as he pulled her back onto the bed against his chest. They had never consciously decided to cut out this part of their relationship, only drawn an inevitable link between the pain that wouldn’t stop coming and any sort of intimacy that wasn’t purely domestic and mundane. It had become a way of doing what they did best, ignoring the problem until it became a problem itself. Only then it was even harder to tell him why, because as the physical distance grew between them, so did the emotional one.

So now, both seemed to unravel together, the spoken words lifting the wall that had risen and seemed impossible to break through before. As his hand traced along her face, it became easier to speak too, “I just…I don’t want to try anymore. I don’t want to plan it or time it or think about it. I just want us to go back to the way that we were when we first got here. I just want it to be about us again.”

He looped his arm around her shoulder and her entire body responded to the movement, letting go of it’s tension and relaxing into every point where their bodies met. He sensed her movement and tightened his grip, “Then we don’t have to, my love. It can be what you want it to be, okay? If it’s meant to happen, it will happen. We don’t have to worry beyond that any more than you want to.”

She reached over to take his face in both of her hands as she leaned over onto him. Then she kissed him, truly kissed him, for the first time in months. If it’s meant to happen, it will happen.

#1933 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Zelda darlington #Antoine Duplanchier

[aheathen-conceivably]

Twilight was beckoning over the horizon, battling with the sun as it sunk below the mountains. Its rays cast the final streaks of light through the sky, sending all the colors of the desert into one final blaze. Antoine rarely stayed at Abraham’s ranch this late, at least not when Zelda hadn’t taken Violette up the hill to meet him in the afternoon. But tonight Abe had besieged him with coffee and cigarettes in an uncharacteristic display of emotion; so Antoine remained, sitting with him as the first stars began to appear in the sky. 

The fire was crackling in front of them and Abe seemed antsy, as though he was waiting for the comfort of night before he began speaking. Antoine knew better than to ask what the matter was, or even to be the first to speak, because when he got that way someone else’s attempts to draw the words out only made him bury them deeper inside. So he kept dragging on his cigarette, watching the fire dance as the air grew colder and the sky rapidly fell to the inevitable pull of darkness.

But as the final blue of daylight began to give way to a bruised purple above them, Abe threw his cigarette into the fire and brought his hand to a handle of wood near him that Antoine hadn’t noticed before. His fingers trailed on its tip aimlessly as he kept staring into the fire, “I told you my granddad came out here to herd cattle, didn’t I?” Antoine nodded his head in agreement, a gesture that wasn’t really needed for Abe to continue in a gruff voice, “Well he didn’t. Not really. That came after. He came out here to outrun the patrols after he escaped Alabama.”

Antoine kept his cigarette on his lips. He didn’t have to ask for details to know precisely what Abe meant, or the sort of pain he must have felt in saying any of this. He thought of Silver, and how distrustful she was of anyone. Only horse who ever knew my granddaddy, and he always kept her nearby. 

Abe’s finger ran along the wooden handle next to him and a low note escaped it. Antoine immediately recognized it as a B flat, and then realized that Abe’s hand was nervously moving up and down the handle of a guitar, “This was his. Then my Poppa’s. Only Poppa wasn’t content to stay out here. He got some idea in his head that he was meant to be a blues musician. Word after the war was it was better for us up there, so he moved me out to Chicago chasin’ some dream and false promises when I was just a boy.”

Now the words seemed to come more easily, like a song once it started or the faint dissonance echoing from the strings of a rarely played guitar that had the whole story locked inside its cavernous body. “He never gave up. Not when Momma left him. Not when I married Mabel and moved back out here with Grandad. Not ‘til the riots of ‘19 when he was just on the streets, walking alone back from a gig when the crowd found him, riled up on some horrid hatred and set on violence no matter who crossed their path…”

He stopped in his tracks and moved his hand from the guitar to wipe a lone tear from his eye. The faint sounds that had been coming from his hands on the strings settled into the loud silence of a desert twilight, filling in the ending to the story that Antoine didn’t need to hear to know.

Abe seemed to purposefully pull himself back into the moment, redirecting his attention to the guitar beside him. Then he brought it onto his lap and spoke looking directly at it, as though it had a life and a mind of its own, “You know, all his life he had some hair-brained idea that I would be able to play like him; but truth is I’m no better now than when he himself tried to teach me. And if he couldn’t, nobody can.”

He stretched out his hand, offering Antoine the old but clearly well looked after guitar, “I know I haven’t been able to pay you what your work is worth, and you’re always going on about your piano back in New Orleans, so I thought this might bring you some joy. More joy than it ever brought anybody else, maybe.”

Antoine looked down at the extended instrument frightfully, because he knew it wasn’t just some guitar. It was just as alive as his piano had been, because someone had poured their very soul into it. Abandoning it had been like leaving part of himself behind, the part that had been ripped to shreds and then reassembled by the movement of the keys. He yearned for it every day of his life here, no matter how happy he was.

But the soul in the guitar before him wasn’t his memory, or his pain. It belonged to another man, one who had been parted from it in violence and hatred. “I…I couldn’t, Abe. It’s yours. It’s your father’s, your family’s. Surely it belongs with you.”

Abraham stretched his hand out further, the emotion coming back to him for a minute as his voice went raw and he dared to lock eyes with Antoine, “I insist, chap. I want somebody to play it again. Give it life, make it sing. The way he would’a wanted.”

Abe inched the guitar closer to Antoine, and he moved his arms to accept the burdened gift. Because how could he say no to that? He had seen himself in Abe since the day they met, in his humor and the incessant guard he refused to let down. They spent nearly every day together, mostly talking about horses or work, somehow never with the need to show any other side of themselves. Now here he was, without armor or pretense, asking for nothing but to see some semblance of his father’s memory find life and joy again.

As Antoine settled the guitar in his lap, Abe left his hand on its neck for a moment. Then he let it fall away, moving the strings along with him as though it were saying goodbye. With his palm wrapped around them, every echoed sound moved up Antoine’s arm into his soul, as though it were speaking directly to him.

#1933 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #tw racism #Antoine Duplanchier #abraham hines

[aheathen-conceivably]

“Good morning, birthday boy.”

Both Antoine and Zelda were now well used to rising at sunrise, so the words hadn’t woken him; but they did pull him out of the nebulous ether between sleep and wakefulness, so he moved closer to the woman curled around his back, “Oh, is that today?”

“Don’t play coy with me. That’s my job.”

Her hand wrapped around his waist, down his chest and to his drawstring, “I’m an old man now, my love, how could you possibly want someone with such wrinkles? I do believe I even found a gray hair yesterday.” A light laugh sounded in his ear, prompting him to turn and face her, “You can be so dramatic for a stoic. Thirty-six is not old.”

It was getting harder to answer her, to keep his tone measured as one of her hands wrapped around his neck and the other grazed up and down his arm. He brought his hand to her thigh, just below the lace of her silk shorts, “Oh you don’t believe me, do you? You should have heard the creak my knee made yesterday. I think it even scared off one of the horses.”

This time she did laugh aloud, shaking his hand off her thigh by throwing her leg onto the other side of his waist and sinking her weight down onto him. Her tone was as close to mocking as it ever came, “Yet not a peep from mine. Thank God at least one of us is still young enough for this.”

“Oh you’ll see one day, young lady. It’s tough to get old…” But by that point he had all but given up trying to speak without his voice descending into sighs. Her lips were trailing down his stomach, just slowly enough to answer him with a smile he had to look down to catch, “Sounds terrible. You poor thing. I suppose I’ll have to take care of you from now on, won’t I?”

Antoine took another glance out the window, where the day had already somehow grown brighter than he realized; but still he didn’t hurry Zelda with the last of his buttons. She caught his glance and finished the final one, “Don’t worry. You’ll barely be late.”

He pulled her close to him before grabbing his hat from the hook on the wall, “I know. And Mabel’s bakin’ a cake for lunch, so I doubt it’ll be much of a hard day.”

“Oh, so you did know.”

“You don’t have a market on coy, my dear.” He pulled his arm away and returned her wide smile, placing the hat on his head before grabbing her hand one final time, “How ‘bout you bring Violette over after you and Gio finish up work? She can have some cake and you and Mabel can enjoy yourselves.”

She answered with a quick kiss before turning to dress in her own work clothes, “Sounds great, old man.”

After their morning tasks, Antoine was standing in the stables with Silver. Before his daughter got there or he got another minute older, there was one thing he knew he wanted to do; and if he didn’t have the confidence to do it today he knew he never would. 

She had been friendly with him for weeks now, and he kept hearing Abe’s words in his mind tempting him like a daydream, “You get her to let you ride her and you’re welcome to, anytime you like.” Only she wasn’t some trained horse, she was wild and distrustful. Sometimes her nostrils still flared menacingly in his presence and he thought that maybe, despite all their time together, she still even hated him. But as he ran his hand along her shining black coat, she blinked slowly, trustingly, and he knew that it was the day.

He went to the front of the barn, where he grabbed the riding gear that had sat tempting him every day. First he set the blanket atop her, then the saddle. He stopped periodically as he adjusted it, listening and looking for any sign of her anger, but she stayed patient with him each step. Finally he placed the bridle on her face and buckled the strap in front of her chest. It was like she understood that the movement had fully encircled her in some sort of trap, and she kicked her legs angrily as her eyes went dark.

Any other day he might have walked away, or undone the buckle around her chest, but today he knelt down in front of her so he could look her in the eyes. “Hey old girl, hey,” the words were half spoken, half whistled, “it’s me, okay? Just me. You can trust me.”

Her kicking stopped and her eyes seemed to settle on him, blinking slower and slower as he ran his hand along the side of her neck.

He walked beside her, letting out a shaky breath and putting a hand on her thigh. Alright, Antoine. Now or never. Don’t think about her throwing you in the sand. Don’t think about her breaking your back with one kick. He grabbed onto the horn and hoisted himself up onto the saddle. In the movement his knee let out a low creak and he laughed aloud, louder than he intended to, “Old man.”

Only his voice seemed to stir something in Silver, and she immediately turned to trot out of the stables. He grabbed the reins immediately and went over everything Abe had told him. Don’t pull too tightly. Stay calm. Your feet matter just as much as your hands. Talk to them with every move you make. Stay fucking calm.

Out in the desert sunshine, he passed Abe in his favorite spot next to the fire where he had sat to eat his cake. Antoine didn’t dare fully turn to face him, but out of the corner of his eye he could see his eyebrows raised impressively and a small approving smile on his face.

The closer they got to the edge of the farmyard, the more Silver seemed to remember exactly what she was doing, and perhaps even exactly where she was going. Her feet moved slowly at first, and then faster and faster as Antoine’s guidance grew more comfortable and confident. As the hills opened up and the flowers parted for them, it was like he forgot to be afraid or to wish that this moment was everything he had ever dreamed of, simply because it was.

#alert alert Antoine is now an adult #did I give him the most subtle wrinkles possible because I’m having an existential crisis about it? #…..maybe #but he’s back baby Yeehaw Antoine is BACK #1932 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Antoine Duplanchier #Zelda darlington #Abraham Hines #sim spice

[aheathen-conceivably]

Zelda took a deep breath and stared at the cracked tile on the other side of the wall. It had been witness to every one of her reactions this past year, quietly watching as she tried to sort out her emotions at the end of each month. She and Antoine had taken so many precautions in New Orleans after Violette was born, that she had assumed the moment they stopped it would be as serendipitous as it had been for Violette. 

At first, it had simply been that neither of them seemed willing to resume their careful habits. Then, gradually, it dawned on her that perhaps it was purposeful for them both, that they had mutually and almost telepathically realized they were ready. But still she sat here each month, sometimes like clockwork, but other times just late enough to allow them to think, this is the time.

But then she would inevitably look down to a sight she already half expected to see, telling herself the same thing that the crack in the wall had heard a dozen times before: You always said you didn’t want anymore. Even now do you, truly? Life is so quiet again, so peaceful and stable. You don’t want that to end.

But the undeniable wave of disappointment that washed over her, this time even stronger than the last, told her what she already knew. She was lying on to herself.

She washed her hands and stepped out of the bathroom. Antoine bolted to his feet and she kept her gaze on the ground before she looked back up to him with lidded, tear rimmed eyes. That one look was all he needed to know what had happened. Immediately her posture crumpled as his footsteps came nearer and he put his arms around her.

He knew by now to bring her head down to his shoulder so that she could cry in peace without anyone’s eyes on her, even his. With very slow movements, he ran his hand over her hair again and again, until her silent tears became loud sobs and then finally subsided back down into steady breathing.

Convinced that her tears had quieted, Zelda finally pulled her face away from Antoine’s shoulder; still, she kept her eyes squarely on his tear stained robe. “You’re disappointed, aren’t you? I don’t — I don’t understand why I can’t. It was easy the first time, easy for my mother…” Her voice trailed off as her tears resumed, threatening to drown out each word in a sob, "Is it me? Is there something wrong with me? Am I broken?”

“Zelda, look at me.” She did as he asked, but only because his voice had taken on a commanding tone he rarely used in her presence, “there is nothing wrong with you. Nothing. You could never disappoint me, because I am perfectly happy with what we have, forever and always.”

His answer had been too perfect, too cloaked in love to really abate what she needed to know. “But you want more, don’t you? More I can’t give you?”

Cognizant that her eyes had begun to grow glassy again, he moved his hand from her face back onto her hair and spoke very carefully, “I…of course I want more, my love. I want as many children with you as we can be blessed with, as many little faces with your eyes and your smile that we can dream of; but I am happy. More gloriously, deliriously happy than I ever could have imagined with exactly how our family is now.”

Her eyes began to cry once more, this time just as much in love and gratitude as in disappointment, and she tried to bury her face in his shoulder again. Instead Antoine wrapped his hands around her chin and gently angled her face toward his own. “You believe me, right? You know that I’ll be happy no matter what? That you are not broken and there is nothing you can’t give me.”

She looked straight into his eyes and nodded her head yes. He smiled and brought his lips to her forehead before lowering her head back onto his shoulder again, this time without a single tear.

#1932 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #1930s #Zelda darlington #Antoine Duplanchier

[aheathen-conceivably]

🎶 The night he died, my dad had a dream 🎶

Antoine got home just before midnight, a rare occurrence for him since moving to Strangerville. He had sat with Abe for hours after he took the guitar from him, using rolled tobacco and caffeine to try and ignore the humming that was coming from inside of it even as they talked. He had told himself that he had accepted it for Abe; but he wouldn’t play it. It belonged to another man, and whatever story was inside of it wasn’t his to tell. 

Still the moment he got into his own home, now grown dark and quiet as his family had long been asleep, he could still hear it humming. Constantly and consistently, it begged simply to be heard again. He collapsed onto the couch, unwilling to touch the strings but unable to part from it in any way. As he laid it across his lap, his hands hovered near the body so that he wouldn't accidentally draw a single sound from it; because if it did, he knew that it would sound like pain and shared memories that weighed on him at all times.

Unbeknownst to him, Zelda had walked silently down the stairs behind him. She was never able to sleep when he wasn’t there, no matter how exhausting the day might have been. So when she heard his boots in the kitchen she had put her book aside and gone to find him.

Now she stood in the archway as he looked down, seemingly lost in a sight she couldn’t see. She called his name quietly, so as not to startle him, but loud enough so that he turned around. Only even as he looked at her, his eyes were glassy as though trapped in a reverie, and the relief he might have felt seeing her never quite reached his face.

She walked nearer, albeit cautiously, uncertain what had happened or how the guitar she could now see in his lap had gotten there. As she approached, his posture grew more inviting, as though her nearness alone made her more real than whatever reverie was occupying his mind. He moved aside slightly, carefully shifting the guitar as he invited her onto the couch next to him.

Her calm silence seemed to have some effect on him, and he reached one finger out toward the neck of the guitar. Still he avoided the strings, running it up and down the wood grain on the side as he told her everything that Abe had explained to him, about his grandfather and his father, about Chicago and what had happened to the man who had once played the instrument.

As he finished she looked down at it as well, as though she could very clearly see the spirit that haunted Antoine’s mind and inhabited the hollow body of the guitar between them. She reached her hand out and looked toward Antoine before bringing it down, “May I?”

He shook his head yes, although he was unsure if even he had the authority to touch it either, and they both lapsed into silence. Her touch on the shining metal strings was so soft that it barely made a sound, much like her low hum when she sometimes still sang to herself in the fields. She moved her hand down onto the base of the guitar and it let out something that was almost like a soft sigh. Sadly, she laid her palm onto the wood and let it fall back into the quiet state it had been in a moment before.

Then she moved her hand back along the strings and he realized that she was humming in tune with them, singing in the soft but immensely sad way without barely making a sound like only she could. 

When she finally spoke it was low, and almost mournful. “What was done to him was horrible, and for that I am so sorry,” her voice paused as she reached the top of the handle, stopping there as though in memory before her hand trailed back down to the base, “But I know that’s not the only thing in here, because you don’t make music only out of pain, you make it out of love too. Out of all the joy and memory that flows alongside the pain. He played to feel it all, to move through it and past it and to make sure others could feel it too, so that even if you don’t speak it, you’re not alone.”

Then she took his hand carefully, holding it tenderly above the strings, “The same way I know you did.”

She turned his hand over in hers, running her thumb along the inside of his palm before flipping it back toward the guitar again. The echoing vibrations that had been coming from them seconds before ceased just as her hums did, as though they were both leaving a quiet space for Antoine to move into as she brought his hand down onto the weathered wood.

She left her own hand atop his for a moment, just so that he knew she would stay there for as long as he needed. When he made no move to pull away from the strings that he had been avoiding so diligently before, she slowly brought her hand to his face and her forehead to his.

They stayed that way for a moment, always able to better sense what the other was feeling without speaking. Antoine’s other hand met Zelda’s on his face, and with a small smile she noticed that the other remained on the guitar.

She moved to stand, understanding when he needed to be alone, and brought her lips to his forehead before looking into his eyes to be sure that he would be okay. Then she treaded out as silently as she had entered, pausing in the doorway as he slowly picked up the guitar from his lap. She stood there to look back at him for a moment, knowing that he was once again trapped in a reverie and wouldn’t notice her presence.

Just before she turned he brought his hands down onto the strings, moving them so that by the time she walked away soft sounds had already begun to follow her back up the stairs. By the time she reached the top they were coming quietly but quickly, and she paused once more to listen to them. It the first music he had played in almost four years.

#1933 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Antoine Duplanchier #Zelda darlington

[aheathen-conceivably]

Violette had tried not to think about Will’s question for weeks. Still, there were small moments that brought up the confusion she had felt when he asked. They weren’t as common now as they had been in New Orleans, but even people who were friendly had a way of asking one too many questions. She had never had any questions about who she was. They were her mother and father, and that’s all she thought she or anyone else needed to know.

Still, she wanted answers for herself, to root her new-found bravado in some sort of concrete truth. But for all she wanted to ask, she didn’t feel like she could go to her mother or father. Least of all because she was old enough now to see their faces when the questions took on a malevolent tone. Her mother’s small wince before she turned to look at her father, his face now a mask of angry stone. Then her polite but terse answer to try and prevent the situation from getting any worse, even while her father’s arm gripped around her shoulders more tightly.

There were moments when she wanted to speak to her mother like she had once done when these things happened. But Violette had long noticed that her mother had a way of avoiding difficult questions, of getting lost in her thoughts and forgetting to answer, or just responding with a pleasant platitude that made her feel better in the moment but gave her no real answers. 

So she stayed silent, instead thinking that maybe she could talk to her father on the way to the ranch. But she needn’t even look at him to hear his voice descending into the heavy tone that happened when his face grew dark, Who made you question yourself, Princess? Huh? Where are they? Tell me, I’ll take care of them for you. 

She couldn’t quite name it yet, but she could sense fear in their answers: the fear that her life might be more difficult than theirs had been, and that there was nothing they could do to stop it. As she encountered their avoidance and anger, she could sense that this fear would keep her in the shadow of their protection forever, even once she was grown. Only in trying to protect her, they couldn’t see that she wasn’t afraid; she wanted the truth, and she slowly realized there was only one person who would give it to her.

When she entered the cabin the first thing that Violette heard was the sound of cursing coming from the kitchen, “Goddamn bread. Foolproof rise recipe, my ass…”

As she stepped nearer she could hear rustling, like someone was frantically flipping through the pages of a book. "Can you not cooperate for once? Just fucking once! Goddamnit, I'm trying, the least you can do is meet me halfway!" The frustrated voice was replaced by the sound of something heavy hitting the floor and rolling away just as Violette reached the doorway.

Her Aunt Jo looked up at her presence, seemingly talking to herself amidst a messy display of canned products, flour, and half finished attempts at cooking. As soon as she saw Violette she wiped the flour from her brow and tried to cover up the look of frustration on her face. She only succeeded in transforming it into guilt that Violette had seen her outburst, but quickly realized that her niece was too preoccupied to register her emotions anyway.

It took Josephine barely a split second to see that Violette wasn't herself. Her usual long strides and childish bravado had been replaced by sheepishness, and before she could even acknowledge her the words spilled out of her mouth. “Aunt Jo, what–what are you?”

Josephine looked at her quizzically, but she quickly continued in a rush of words too long hidden, “It’s just, Momma doesn’t look like me and Poppa doesn’t look like me but you do, and the kids ask me at school and Billy looks like his Poppa and they all seem to think there’s something wrong with the way I look or with Momma and Poppa together and I don’t understand. Is there something wrong with them? Am I supposed to look like you or like them? Is there something wrong with me, with not looking like either your momma or your poppa…”

Her voice trailed off and a wave of understanding washed over Josephine. She moved around the flour covered table and took her niece's confused face in her hands, “Lottie, look at me. My father looked like your momma too, do you understand? And he looked different from my mother and from me, so I know how they look at you, how you feel and the things they ask. That’s why I told you that you can always talk to me, because you are never alone, okay? You never have to feel like no one understands."

She almost stopped there, wanted to stop there, but Violette was staring at her with her mirrored olive eyes. They seemed remarkably unafraid, perhaps even angry that she had stopped speaking at all; Josephine knew that it was time, just the way she had long ago told Zelda would happen. So she took a deep breath and sunk to her knees next to Violette.

"You need to know there are people who think that others are lesser, simply because of the color of their skin. Those people don’t want to know that people like us exist, or that your parents could love one another. Some of them can’t believe it for all they’ve been told. So they ask and ask to try and make sense of it, because it—we threaten the lie that they’ve told themselves: that black and white people can’t live and love just the same. That one is inferior to the other and so they must be kept separate.”

At her last word, Josephine’s stomach sunk. She knew that part of Violette knew all of this, had seen it or felt it and internalized it to some extent, but to say it so bluntly was another matter. She could feel the nausea rising, so she could only imagine what a child must be feeling, but still Violette’s gaze remained resolulte.

She pushed back her niece’s hair and continued, “Just this, us, the love that your parent’s have and their lives, it threatens these people. So they will try to tell you that there is only one side of you, to put you in a box that fits their prejudices rather than challenge them. They’ve tried to draw a line in the sand that would split you in two; but you are you. You are whole and your parents love each other very much. That’s something to be proud of, no matter what anyone else may make you feel. Do you promise me you’ll always be proud of who you are and how you look, Lottie? Of your parents and the love they have for one another?”

You are whole. It would ring in her ears for the rest of her life. Every time she saw a sign telling her where to sit or someone looking at her parents hatefully. Every time someone stared at her a little too long only for a wave of disgust to wash over their face, or each time someone tried to tell her, whether in words or in actions, you aren’t really one of us. She would hear it in her mind like a refrain, a comfort radiating from this very day when her aunt’s arms were wrapped around her, even when she was long gone and there was no one left standing between her and the world’s vitriol.

I am whole. It lodged itself deep into her brain, creating a connection within her that kept her from splintering even when the world drove the wedge deeper into her psyche and tested the mantra to its limits. But on that day all she could do was nod her head in agreement and try to comprehend everything her Aunt Jo had said as she hugged her.

#1932 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Zelda darlington #Antoine Duplanchier #Violette darlington #Josephine Duplanchier #tw racism

[aheathen-conceivably]

When Zelda arrived at Hines ranch later that afternoon, Antoine was still riding Silver through the desert, now with Abraham and Banjo by his side. But when she looked around the farmyard, the only sign of them was the absence of two horses in the enclosure and Mabel on the front porch with her youngest children.

Mabel wrestled the restless toddler on her lap and waved Zelda over familiarly, giving Will a small shake of her head that meant he had permission to run off with Violette. Only Violette required no such approval from her mother, and she set off after William without a backward glance the moment she saw him.

Zelda settled onto the swing, listening to children’s laughter echoing through the desert as she and Mabel lapsed into easy conversation. It was easy to remember why she liked it here, because everything about it reminded Zelda of the time she had spent on her cousin’s farm as a child. It had always been full of liveliness; and even if she hadn’t been the one playing games or making noise, it had pleased her to experience it through others. 

In comparison, her quiet house with her only daughter sometimes felt so different than the life she had imagined when they moved out here. Part of her loved the quiet; but sitting with Mabel she could hear her childhood again, and imagine what a house filled with more sounds and more children might be like…

Her growing reveries were interrupted by the approaching sound of horse’s hooves and then the patter of her own child’s feet, seemingly more attuned to the comings and goings of her father than even Zelda. 

He rode through the entrance of the ranch moments later, face splayed with happiness and the confidence of a man who had been doing this his whole life.

He hopped off his horse the moment he saw Zelda and wrapped his arm around her to lead her to the towering animal standing behind him. Zelda had of course seen the horses when she visited Hines ranch, but had always avoided coming this close to them. It was like they could sense just as much as she could, and their hyper-observant eyes peered into her soul.

She took two small steps forward, comforted by Antoine’s arm around her but admittedly unnerved by the horse’s gaze. Antoine looked at Silver’s large suspicious eyes as though to say, be on your best behavior, and then spoke as he placed his hand on her face, “Miss Silver, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Duplanchier.”

He took Zelda’s hand with its ring glittering in the afternoon sun and moved it toward where his had been. Silver sniffed at the woman in front of her and then looked back at Antoine, who’s small nod of encouragement Zelda would have assumed no animal could have understood. But upon seeing it she closed her eyes and let Zelda rest her hand near her face. Near silently Antoine spoke to Zelda, “You see? I told you she’d like you.”

A small shuffling sound in the sand alerted Zelda to her daughter’s growing impatience near their feet. Antoine stayed looking at Silver, mitigating her uneasiness about the new arrival by keeping his hand on the side of her neck. Zelda nudged at him softly, turning his attention down to the green eyes who were just waiting for him to look at her. The moment he did she lit up, “Happy Birthday, Poppa! Did you get to ride her? Did you finally do it? Will she let me try now?”

He swooped down to pick her up, bringing her close to Silver, who had now realized her second favorite person was there too. “I did, Princess. And we can try if Momma says it’s alright.”

Now that Antoine was there Violette was sure to give Zelda her sweetest gaze, asking for permission before running off on her own again. Zelda simply wanted to be with them, to sit with Antoine as the sun set and listen to Violette laugh with Will. But how could she say no to their excited eyes, even if it meant she was going to be left out of their games again?

The sound of hooves trotted away and Zelda felt a twinge of anxiety in her stomach. It happened sometimes when Violette ran from her toward Antoine, or when they spoke for hours on end while she only gave her the quickest responses. It was hard to identify the feeling, mostly because it was so enmeshed with happiness for Antoine and the relationship he had with their daughter. But she couldn’t stop it, even as voice spoke from behind her, “They’ll be just fine, honey.”

Zelda turned at the sound, only to see Mabel with a soft look in her eyes. Zelda was confused by her words until she realized that she must have seen the worry in her posture. “He learned to ride from Abe, I promise you have nothing to worry about.”

Do you ever worry your child doesn’t like you? Like they would rather spend time with anyone other than you? But before she could speak, Lillie Mae ran at them full speed. Mabel bent to pick her up, nodding at the never-ending stream of words coming out her mouth. Zelda looked at them and felt the small anxious twinge again.

She brought her hands to her stomach and then looked out to the horizon where the figures of Antoine and Violette were becoming smaller by the minute. Then she looked back at Lillie Mae and allowed herself a thought that she had been trying to nudge to the back of her mind month after month. Maybe today had been just as lucky for her as it had been for Antoine. Maybe it had finally been the day.

#1932 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Zelda darlington #Antoine Duplanchier #Violette darlington #William Hines #Abraham hines

[aheathen-conceivably]

🎶'Cause he held in his arms, and he taught me to be strong 🎶

Although Zelda and Giorgio’s efforts on the farm were growing less dire, there were still days when some of them had to go without meals. Rather than leave Violette there with empty cupboards and exhausted adults on days when she wasn’t at the schoolhouse, Antoine would bring her to Abraham’s ranch with him. 

It comforted him having her so near, seeing her run unencumbered on the sand without any of the worries that plagued his or Zelda’s mind. She seemed happy and comfortable there, but sometimes it terrified him that she was growing older and there was nothing he could do to stop it. It seemed like only months ago that she’d been born, not over seven years before. Soon enough she’d be a young woman, and the thought alone was enough to make him panic. He wanted nothing more than to freeze time at exactly this moment, before anything could hurt her or take her away.

He was happy that she had William, who was such a kind and soft spoken boy that was always happy to play whatever games Violette suggested.  But even his presence reminded Antoine that one day there would be a boy he couldn’t protect his baby girl from, one who would break her heart and make her cry, just the way he had done when he was young. 

He only hoped that he would be there when it happened, to help her pick up the pieces and stay as strong as he knew she was now. Every day he could see his mother and sister not only in the color of her eyes, but in her temperament too. She was strong willed and stubborn, but she allowed herself moments of such fancy and wonder, that he couldn’t help but see Zelda in her too. Each and every one of them triggered a fire in his soul, a pure rush to safeguard them against the rest of the world, that all of them combined in his only child was enough to make his heart burst.

He told himself at least he had her there with him now, that if he could focus on exactly the girl she was now and give her everything she could possibly want, he would show her the type of man and life she deserved; because above anything, he knew that she deserved the world.

He wanted to give her the best sides of himself, the moments in his day that made him feel happiest and uplifted him from the drudgery of the world. So of course, he took her to meet Silver. He had been worried that the horse would respond to Violette the way she did with everyone else, but she seemed to immediately sense that the child was Antoine’s, and thus an extension of the trust she already had for him. With amazing softness, she lowered her head toward Violette, and the child’s usual harsh bravado softened in turn, transforming into a gentle, hushed amazement as she looked into the horse’s eyes. “Poppa, I love her!”

He could feel the pride welling in his chest, threatening to burst into tears, when she looked back at him with excited eyes, “Can we take her home, Poppa? Please? Please!”

“I’m afraid she lives here, Princess. But I’ll get you your very own pony one day. I promise.” Her face transformed even more, brightening with excitement as she continued to pet Silver. The horse seemed so content, that Violette brought her face against her nose. Antoine panicked, bringing his hand forward to stop her, but the horse stayed calm, looking back at Antoine as though to tell him to calm down for once.

With her face still close to Silver’s Violette turned her eyes up at her father, “Can we at least ride her then? Pretty please?”

Antoine had asked himself that very question every day since Abraham had offered. But he didn’t want to tell his baby girl he was afraid, or that the stories of the men she had kicked into the sand were more gruesome than any Western he had ever read. So instead he simply said, “Maybe one day….”

Even a child could hear the wistfulness in his voice, but then Abraham’s curses from outside punctuated the moment. Antoine knew that meant one of the horses was refusing his commands, so he gently moved Violette’s hand away from the horse and opened the stall gate. “You go and play with Will now, alright? We’ll visit her again tomorrow.”

She looked up at him with her big olive eyes, trying to stop him as his boots headed for the door of the barn. She needn’t say a word to besiege him to stay; but he mustered even more strength than needed against the most stubborn of horses to drop down on one knee and kiss her goodbye, promising that he would come and find her at the end of the day just as he always did.

#1932 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Antoine Duplanchier #Violette darlington #William Hines #Abraham Hines

[aheathen-conceivably]

It had felt surreal to make up her face and feel the thick fabric of a party dress on her skin. Then even more surreal to actually leave her room, get into Giorgio’s truck and drive out to the mesa to meet a family of strangers. The world seemed to blur and tunnel into a stream of noise as they walked through the ranch toward the smiling faces waiting to greet them.

On unsteady heels she stood behind her brother, Zelda, and Violette, leaning onto Gio’s arm as they introduced themselves: Abraham Hines, third generation rancher and Antoine’s new employer; Jessamine Hines, Abraham’s grandmother and lifelong resident of Strangerville; Mabel Hines, local cook and native of Chicago; and then finally, their children Adeline, William, and Lillie Mae Hines.

As they proceeded with the awkward machinations of first time introductions, Josephine smiled in the background. With envy she thought back to all the moments she had been able to bring a group together with a witty retort and a laugh. Instead she stayed quiet as they got acquainted, their comfort with one another growing with every word, until finally the child who had introduced himself as William went to Violette in a stream of happy chatter.

Although she looked up toward her parents quizzically, unsure of how exactly to interact with anyone her own age, his movement and the subsequent giggles that rippled amongst them seemed to finally bring the party together. Smiling and chatting, they retreated inside for dinner. The children walked off first, Violette’s reservations still palpable, and then Zelda, Jessamine, and Mabel as they engaged in easy conversation on the state of the schoolhouse as Antoine and Abraham chuckled together quietly at the success of their plans.

Even as their voices disappeared behind the wooden walls, Jo’s feet remained firmly planted on the desert sand. Take a breath, Josephine. Go inside. Speak like you used to. You know how to do this, you must. For Violette.

Yet her legs seemed unwilling to move, to fall in line and follow everyone else. She wanted to turn and run, to throw her red heels into a valley and disappear amongst the orange rocks. Maybe no one would find her out there. Maybe Violette would be fine with her mother and father; maybe these new friends were all any of them needed. Maybe they didn’t need her, maybe she could disappear, she could run….

But then Gio turned around, his eyes soft and worried as he searched her face and read her thoughts. He extended his hand and whispered words of reassurance that he’d be with her every step of the way, ready to start up the truck and run with her if she needed to. His hand on her shoulder seemingly held her in place as the buzzards circled and the desert called. Run, Josephine. Run. Run before it’s too late. But he lifted her face to his and nodded, pulling her toward the house and away from the desert.

Throughout dinner the merriment of the table seemed to come from the other side of a glass, the rich and abundant food a memory from her past and not a current reality. Through it all she told herself that she was doing it for Violette. She was smiling and speaking and simply existing for Violette. She couldn’t have said at what point in the night that determination began to shift in favor of herself or when the words and the faces moved past the glass and into her reality, enriching her soul rather than draining it.

Maybe it was Giorgio’s constant attentive gaze, or Violette’s growing smile and dwindling fear, or perhaps it was just being surrounded by laughing strangers again, buoying her from herself and the empty space she had found in the silent room. But little by little Josephine found that she was enjoying herself more and more. Perhaps more importantly, as forks clattered to the table and children began to play in the adjacent rooms, she could recognize the smile on her face and the tenor of her own voice as it spoke to others. For the first time in months, she felt like herself.

After Mabel had cleared the plates and returned to her seat next to Abraham, the room was filled with quieter, adult conversation carried along by scratchy music coming from the small radio. They sipped their coffee as they discussed the state of the town and employment, until Abraham cleared his throat and looked toward the parlor, where the children sat gathered near his grandmother’s feet. Satisfied that they were too engrossed in her story to hear him, he turned back to his guests.

“Now as I told Antoine, getting Violette enrolled at the schoolhouse shouldn't be any problem. There’s only a handful a’ black children in town, and most of their families been here too long for any efforts at segregation. Luckily this town’s got a long history of safe harbor since before the war, back when my granddad settled here, and barring any Texan influx it should stay that way. But with that new road running through town and the price of our crops tanking, you’ve got to forgive myself and anyone else for the cold welcome you might have gotten these last months.”

He paused for a moment to look at the photo over his shoulder before his eyes settled back on Antoine, “But I’m no stranger to the rest of this country. Neither me nor Mabel. I know what you must have dealt with down there, and we’ve got to stick together. You’ll make it here, all of you. I’ll try and make sure of it.”

His tone was imbued with such a warm note of certainty, brighter and more steady than anything any of them had heard since they arrived, that each one of them actually believed it, even Josephine.

#1931 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Zelda darlington #Antoine Duplanchier #Josephine Duplanchier #Giorgio Mistretta #Violette darlington #Abraham Hines #William Hines

[aheathen-conceivably]

It was the happiest that Violette had seen her parents in months, but she was miserable. All evening her father had talked about his new job, about the horses that roamed the pasture, the possibility of pay, and the family he had met. The Hines. Violette didn’t know who they were, but to her ears it sounded like they were going to take her father away from them, so she’d be left day and night without him, with only her mother and Uncle Gio and an aunt she no longer saw. 

Even worse, The Hines wanted them all to go to dinner at their ranch. Antoine explained excitedly that she would get to meet William, and he would tell her all about school and her new classes. School. That was even worse than The Hines. How long would she have to be there? She had never left home, not since England. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay there all day and dance, dance until her father came home and she could dance with him.

So the next morning she connived a plan. You are never to go into Aunt Jo’s cabin, Violette. She’s tired. She’ll find us when she’s ready. We have to give her space, she asked us too.

You are never to go downstairs, Violette. Why? Why not? Why did they get to tell her what to do? She watched her mother in the fields, watched her toiling away with Giorgio. Why wasn’t her father there with her? Why wasn’t her Uncle Gio in the cabin with her Aunt Jo?

She was tired of their stilted explanations, tired of waiting for her father to come home and her Aunt Jo to come out her own. So satisfied that her mother and Uncle Gio were distracted with the burgeoning crops, she turned away from the window and went outside.

Josephine hadn’t even heard the footsteps in the cabin. She was so used to detecting Giorgio’s heavy feet or Zelda’s light, hesitant ones that the sound of a child’s steps didn’t even register until they were already in the room and the door had been shut angrily.

Only the moment Violette saw her aunt her angry resolution faltered and she stood there, staring at a woman she felt like she hardly recognized. Josephine immediately noticed her expression and tried to smooth down her hair, straighten her dress, anything she could that might make her look more presentable. But it didn’t work, and she could see the bewilderment in the child’s eyes. It pierced through what was left of her armor so that it took everything in her not to crumble. 

“I’m…I’m sorry, Aunt Jo. I’ll go back to my room.”

Josephine’s throat closed up and her limbs stayed heavy. All she had to do was stay quiet and Violette would leave, leave her alone to sink back into blissful darkness. There was nothing in the world she wanted more, to forget the look on Violette’s face and what she must look like through her eyes. With horror she saw it quite vividly, a broken woman, so caught up in her own nightmares that she hadn’t even realized an innocent child needed her. So instead she extended her hand out to her.

Violette immediately ran to her, crawling onto the bed and beside Josephine. She laid there quietly for a moment until her aunt began to run her hand over her hair. “Poppa told me I’ve got to go to school, Aunt Jo.”

Josephine tried to muster the energy to answer appropriately, but still found her voice low and hoarse as she spoke, “Did he, now? And do you not want to go?”

For a moment Violette stayed silent, and Jo could tell she was moving her hands nervously, “I don’t know. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave you and Poppa. Will you be okay here all by yourself when I’m gone?”

Josephine pulled Violette close to her for a moment, hoping that it would hide the pain that crossed her face. A single solitary tear fell from her eye into Violette’s hair, the exact shade and curl of her own. She tried to find in herself to answer, to tell the child who was like her own that she would be, even if she knew it was a lie. Instead Violette looked up at her and spoke,

“Poppa got a job. He’s leaving the farm too. I suppose we’ve all got to sooner or later. He wants us to go down to where he works, his new boss wants to cook for us, says it’ll do us good. But I’ll only go if you come with me. I…I don’t wanna go alone. I don’t wanna go without you. Please”

The smallness in her voice almost broke Josephine’s heart, broke it enough that she regretted keeping Violette out at all, that she had prioritized her own pride and image when someone else clearly needed her. She mustered all the energy she had to pull Lottie close to her and answer without crying, “Of course I’ll go with you, my love.”

Then she realized that despite the tightening ball of fear in her chest, she was smiling for the first time in months.

#1931 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #the darlingtons #1930s #Violette darlington #Antoine Duplanchier #Zelda Darlington #Josephine Duplanchier

[aheathen-conceivably]

🎶 In the desert you can't remember your name 'cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain

It had been months of looking for work, of walking the compacted sands and hot asphalt of Strangerville as Antoine’s hopes dwindled closer to nothing. The most recent shop that turned him away had given him directions to a ranch so deep in the valley he hadn’t even known anything was there before. He had second guessed going at all, wondering if it was a fool’s errand or a disgruntled local’s cruel idea of a joke. 

But as he walked onto the plateau that spanned the top of the landscape, his worries melted into stunned silence. It was like a different world, suspended above the one below with vistas so grand he didn’t know they could possibly exist in this world. As though his wonder couldn’t grow, he suddenly heard neighing that he recognized from his fondest memories.

There was no word for the horses other than magnificent, no way for him to express how much they fulfilled every dream he ever had of this place or every feeling of freedom he expected to find here. They seemed to live the way he wanted to, simply existing in the hot desert air without any bounds placed upon their heads.

“Hey, mister! Mister! You looking for work or somethin’?”

Antoine pulled his eyes away from the horses begrudgingly, toward the voice that had spoken to him. It was a lone man across the enclosure, his heavy boots marking every step he took across the sand toward where Antoine stood. 

For a moment, Antoine smiled at him. When he left New Orleans he had never expected to see anyone here who looked like him, and the unexpected presence of another black man immediately made him feel more comfortable, “I am, sir. Work on your ranch. I was told you were looking for help.”

Antoine’s relief quickly dissipated as the man narrowed his eyes and spit into the sand, “Well that was before all you Okies started passing through. You know I’ve got a family to feed too right? I can’t just hand out jobs to every straggler who walks by.”

For a moment Antoine went to respond, but he could see the purposefully hardened expression tighten on the man’s face, so he simply tipped his hat and walked away.

Before he could take ten steps a small, breathless child ran in front of him, “Sir, wait! My momma just finished a loaf of bread, if you wanna come inside! She can spare a slice or two and maybe some jam, maybe…”

Before he could finish a loud voice boomed from behind him, “William you leave that man alone, you hear? I’m sorry, mister. My son, he’s a bit soft hearted, I’m afraid.”

Antoine looked down at the boy and smiled, “That’s alright, I’ve got a girl just about your age. Her name is Violette. But you tell your momma to save that bread for someone who really needs it, alright, son? I’ll be just fine.”

The sound of heavy boots approached again, and the man put his arm around his son before looking back up at Antoine, “You ain’t no Okie, are you? Not with that voice. Where are you from, anyway?”

“New Orleans. We have a farmhouse down the way, just before town.” 

“New Orleans, huh?” The man looked back down at his son with a whistle, as though the words themselves were foreign and impressive. Then he gave him a quick tap on the back, “Go back inside to your Momma, Will. Tell her I’ll be in shortly.”

As his small feet ran away, the man looked back at Antoine, “Listen here, I’m Abraham. I don’t have much, not enough to guarantee pay week by week, but at least it’s something. And your girl, Violette you said? She’s welcome to eat here if you need. My wife works down at the schoolhouse but she’s a mighty cook. We can get you set up with schooling too. But don’t expect much else; I reckon the pay round here isn’t gonna get much better with time.”

It was a better offer than Antoine had heard since he arrived, and pay seemed inconsequential next to that fact that Violette wouldn't have to go hungry again; maybe she could even have a friend in this lonely and foreign place. He looked down at the the man’s hand extended in front of him and reached out to it like a lifeline, “I’ll take it, sir.”

#1931 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #the darlingtons #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Antoine Duplanchier #William Hines #Abraham Hines

[aheathen-conceivably]

🎶 She’s my sun, she makes me shine, like diamonds 🎶

I've seen the world, lit it up as my stage now Channeling angels in the new age now Hot summer days, rock and roll The way you'd play for me at your show And all the ways I got to know Your pretty face and electric soul

Dear Lord, when I get to Heaven Please let me bring my man When he comes, tell me that you'll let him in Father, tell me if you can All that grace, all that body All that face makes me wanna party

Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful? Will you still love me when I got nothing but my aching soul? I know you will, I know you will, I know that you will

Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful? Will you still love me when I'm not young and beautiful?

I do.

(My immense gratitude to @vintagesimstress who is and perhaps has always been Zelda’s biggest fan. She made this wedding dress especially for her and waited patiently while I strung you all along for this very moment. This scene would not be nearly as beautiful without it, and I cannot thank you enough ♥️)

#ahem…how did that dust get in my eye #1930 #sims 4 historical #ts4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #the darlingtons #1930s #zelda darlington #antoine duplanchier #violette darlington #josephine duplanchier #giorgio mistretta

[aheathen-conceivably]

The wedding portraits of Mr. and Mrs. Antoine Duplanchier, taken immediately after their arrival in New Mexico in January, 1930 alongside Josephine Duplanchier, Giorgio Mistretta, and the newlyweds' daughter Violette Darlington.

#1930 #sims 4 historical #ts4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #the darlingtons #1930s #family portrait #antoine duplanchier #zelda darlington #violette darlington #josephine duplanchier #giorgio mistretta

[aheathen-conceivably]

Despite all their struggles since they had arrived in Strangerville, there were moments that Violette would later remember simply as perfect. Even at six, she was wise enough to realize that those moments only came when her father was home and he and her mother were together.

Most days she spent alone with her dolls while everyone worked. At first, her Aunt Jo would come in to play with her or tell her stories, but now it seemed like even she had disappeared. Sometimes it felt like she was alone for so long that as soon as she heard the door open she would rush downstairs to see who had arrived. 

Often it was her mother, her brows furrowed as she tried not to look toward the counter where she would soon have to prepare another dinner from their dwindling pantry. Other times it was her father, his face riddled with defeat before he noticed Violette and hid his suffering. Violette couldn’t quite name their pain, to identify it as the struggle to live, the desperation to provide for the people around them without any security that their efforts would amount to anything. But then she would see him, or he would see her, and whatever emotions had worried Violette a moment before would disappear.

In those moments she could see that the world ceased to exist for the two of them. She was old enough to recognize love but not quite wise enough to comprehend how struggle intensified it, to know that the feeling of only having each other to cling to was born in pain, or to realize that her parents had walked through their own fire to reach that point. She could only see that they were happy, and in turn their happiness infected her.

Suddenly the meager pantry didn’t seem so intimidating, and her mother’s fear of the surrounding kitchen melted away into the fact that the three of them were there to cook together. It mattered little what they ate or that Violette had spent much of her day alone. For her it all coalesced into those moments, and the memories overshadowed the way she had seen her mother that afternoon, or the glimpse of defeat she had caught on her father’s face the day before.

And then there was music – music just the way she remembered coming through the floorboards below her room or the colorful streets outside her window. All day alone in the quiet, she missed the music, longed for the liveliness that had once surrounded her. But after dinner, she forgot to reminisce on what her young mind remembered only with nostalgic longing. The radio played as loud as the music from below and here, her father was there to dance with her. She needn’t sneak to see him play or imagine what they might look like; he was there, smiling down at her as her mother contentedly drank her after dinner tea, seemingly at peace after a day of work.

As she danced in those moments, Violette decided that as long as her father was there, her mother could never be unhappy again, and maybe, just maybe, if she had someone like him one day too, she would be just as happy for the rest of her life.

#1930 #sims 4 historical #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #the darlingtons #1930s #violette darlington #zelda darlington #antoine duplanchier