Work Text:
Margaret frowned unhappily at her husband, Charles. He had been spending more and more time in the field with their son, James, and less time with her. She knew Charles had to work in their farm to keep a stable income, but sometimes, like now, it didn't feel worth it to her. The more time he spent in the fields teaching James how to do certain tasks, the more he seemed to distance himself from her. Surely if this kept up she would snap, and she wasn't sure how much strain their relationship could take.
"Charles, remember to try to stay clean as possible today, we have a portrait sitting in the afternoon." Margaret reminded as her husband stood from the table to head out. Charles nodded absentmindedly as tied his work boots and headed out the door, leaving his wife alone once more. When he got to the field their son James was waiting for him, a frown on his face as he looked at the sky. James looked at his father when he heard him coming closer, but did not lose the frown.
"Dad?" James started, "Is it okay if I ask you a sensitive question?"
Charles paused, thinking the question over. His son had a knack for asking questions that really make you think. Hesitantly, he looked at James with a concerned frown. Nodding, but not losing the frown, Charles gave his son permission.
"Go ahead." Charles stated, looking at James.
James smiled slightly, glad his father still listens to his questions. "Well, it's just, do you know how much time you've spent with mom lately?" James asked, tentative frown on his face. Slowly, Charles thought it over. As he was thinking, the elder man started to work.
"No son," Charles started, "I don't believe I do, why do you ask?"
He looked back at his son, noting the serious frown on the younger male's face. "Well," James started, "It's just, I hardly-" Charles watched as his nose scrunch up like it always did when James had a hard time articulating his words. "Think about what you want to say, visualize it in your head." The father advised.
Taking a moment to do as his father said, James tried again. "Well, I haven't seen you doing much with mom lately, and I think she might get lonely while we are working." James stated, voice wobbling as if he thought he might be in trouble for telling him that. Charles froze, eyes wide in realization. "No, she cant get lonely, she can walk into town and talk with the other woman-" Charles started to say, but was cut off by his son.
"Dad, she's not as young as she once was, and in this heat with her dress, she's more likely to pass out on the road." James told him, serious frown on his face now that he knew his father wouldn't yell at him. "Have you even talked, seriously talked, conversation and all, with mom lately?" The young man asked.
Charles shook his head slowly, it dawned on him just how little time he'd been spending time with his wife. As he thought about it, he noticed the time. Shaking his head, Charles let out a sigh with a frown on his face. "Why hasn't she mentioned anything to me?" He asked his son.
James shook his head, "If I'm being honest, I think she's telling herself that you just don't have time because working in the field brings money." Chancing a glance at his father, James flinched at the wide eyed stare of his father. Charles looked like his world had come to a screeching halt.
His eyes were wide, mouth slightly open with shock, his frame was stock still. "Dad?" James called, hoping to bring his dad out of it, it was almost time for Margaret and Charles portrait sitting. When it did not work James sighed and gently started leading his father back to the house.
Margaret, from inside the house, watched as her husband's form went stiff. Her curiosity piqued, she watched her son start leading Charles back to the house. As she finished dressing herself for the portrait sitting, Margaret couldn't help but wonder what the two men were talking about.
Sighing, Margaret finished up and went outside, standing only a few feet from the painter's easel. A few minutes later, James showed up, Charles in tow. She helped position her husband and sent her son back to the fields.
As the painter, a man named Joshua she believed, she couldn't help the small frown as she stared slightly towards her husband. She couldn't wait for the winter months, those were the ones where Charles spent the most time with her. Margaret took a deep breath, feet going numb from how long they had been standing there.
Ahead of her, Joshua chuckled, telling her it was okay to shift her feet, as he was only painting the torso and above. Sighing with relief she did just that, noting how much better she felt afterwards. Margaret sighed once more as her thoughts easily went back to her relationship with Charles.
Charles, in his frozen state, was trying to find something to prove his son wrong. He didn't want to admit that he had spent less and less time with Margaret, and more and more time in the fields with James. Because that would mean admitting that he had been leaving his wife all alone in their farm house. But, as he thought about it, Charles couldn't find fault in his son's words. He really had been spending more time working then with his wife.
It was then that his sense allowed him to find out he had been moved, and was not staring wide eyed at an easel. How long had they been here? He thought, curious. His wife was beside him, and his feet ached, so he deduced it has probably been a long time.