Chapter 1) half a paycheck

.-.-.

Birmingham, Small Heath 1919,

It was a gloomy Monday morning, still too early for working men and women to head off to the factories. Besides a drunkard babbling to himself post passing-out, it was quiet.

A young lass hopped from sidewalk to the road, thankful for the large pompous city being at ease.

She became a resident of Small Heath a month ago, the city still frightened her. The constant chaos, The smoke, fire and heavy machinery. Although the war had ended and economy was flourishing, providing jobs and therefore warm meals and a roof over many fortunate heads, the thriving city seemed like a gigantic dark smoking monster ready to swallow her whole.

She despised Small Heath, every inch of it.

Skipping puddles as best she could, her pumps were worn down and anything but waterproof, she tried to find a street sign. After three weeks of residence, Small Heath was still a maze to her and she feared she would be running late on her first day of her new job.

Honestly, this possible job opportunity was the only thing that was keeping her going. A humble spark in the dark so to speak.

She passed a bakery and for a moment she dared to close her eyes and travel back to her hometown. To the paddocks, the cornfields, the sounds of crickets and the cleansing touch of morning dew. She would trade the stench-ridden cobblestoned roads back for the sandy streets. With just a handful of cars passing everyday simply because not a lot of men could afford to drive. Life had been hard and, disciplined, but kind. Waking up to feed the animals before heading to school. Sowing potato bags for winter, and, when money was tight, sewing clothes from potato bags. It didn't matter, there was a unity in their humble society where no-one was left behind.

Until the war.

First young men volunteered, thrilled by the promise of adventure. But death swept most of them from their feet like the plague.

After them, some of the older man went to war. Some for glory, some for money, but most to avenge their lost sons. Blood was thicker than water and the fathers wanted to see the enemy's blood.

Only a few men came back, what was left of them anyway.

A klaxon honked and the young lass swallowed away the bitterness of dejection.

Main Street. A sigh escaped her lips, according to the directions she was almost there.

Charlie Strong's Yard was nothing like she'd expected it to be. She'd been in the market with her mother when an older woman had picked her out of the crowd. The woman had talked about horses. Her heart had skipped a beat when she mentioned the noble creatures. After a few failed attempts at applying for a job in various textile mills she'd been dreadfully worried she she would need to get a job at the factory where her uncle worked. The man came back day after day covered with grime and occasionally with small, second degree burns from when the hot, molten steel was cast into ingots.

She was afraid she'd have to scrub her freckles off to her face clean of all the coal dust.

'Tell 'im Polly sent you, dear', the woman had said sternly, her lips pressed into a firm smile.

Hesitantly, she slowed down her steps as she walked along the docks. The lady had been kind to her, offering her a job at the stables, but during their short chat the woman made it clear with whole her bearing that she was not to be messed with. Her gaze had been clear and cold as she'd given her directions and the time.

Charlie Strong was, as Polly had predicted, smoking at the back of the yard leaning up against a chimney. His fingers scratched the tainted skin of his cheek as he watched the young lass approach.

"Yer the new stable lad?" He blurted out as surprised as he was amused.

Politely she took off her bucket hat and lowered it to her waist. It was a good way of hiding her twiddling fingers which she had the annoying habit of doing when she was nervous.

"I think I am," she answered, wondering whether she should keep her hat down or put it back on, "Polly send me," she added when the man in front of her laughed out loud. "Really, she did!" She pressed when Charlie's laugh turned into choking coughs.

"Bet she did!" Charlie spat amused once he'd got his breath back. "Oh Tommy's going to love this!" With his right hand he gestured her to follow him. Muttering to himself he guided her through the yard to the far back.

The stables weren't exactly as she'd pictured them, there weren't even half as many boxes as her family had at their farm. But this wasn't the time to be picky and so she quickly turned her disappointed gaze into a proper smile.

"Oy, Tommy!" Charlie spat, stomping out his cigarette on the ground. "I got ya your new stable lad. I bet Curly ain't tipping this one."

From the far side of the stable yard the outline of a slender build man appeared. Scrunching his sleeves up to his elbows, he laid down his pitchfork. Pushing his flat cap up rubbed his face. His icy light blue eyes sharply checked her out from head to toe and for a moment he seemed puzzled. Instead of focusing on her he turned his eyes to his uncle, shrugging his shoulders.

"Polly sends her regards. This is your new lad.. Or should I say lass?" Charlie added with a wink to her. "This is...wait a minute, what's your name lass?"

Uncomfortable, she peeked from the older man back to the younger one and vice versa. "Maria, Maria Lehman."

"Ah, Maria." Charlie tapped her on the back, his humorous grin a contrast to hers. "This is Tommy Shelby."

Two dark brows furrowed up from surprise. Then his jaw tightened and without giving Maria another look he shook his head. Rapidly he started to gesture with wild motions.

For her experienced eyes it was a piece of cake to understand what his signs mean: Why let a girl do men's work?!

Her hand clenched around her bucket hat as she huffed: "Because I will work twice as hard for half a paycheck, Mr Shelby."

This took both men off guard. Tommy abruptly stopped gesturing and dropped his arms rapidly to his sides. Charlie whistled: "Polly works in mysterious ways, ya' have ta give her that."

Tommy's jaws clenched and before anyone could say another word he raised his middle finger to his uncle, spun on his heels and marched back into the stables.

"Forgive my nephew's god awful manners, Miss Lehman, he ain't been right in the head ever since he came back from France," Charlie apologized matter-of-factly. "Well, I'll be going back to my business. Good luck with 'im."

"I have to work with him!?" Maria stammered, so thankful her hands weren't in plain sight.

"Afraid so, he's been in charge of the stables for the last few months. Don't worry, he ain't so bad. He's always been fond of Curly, but since Curly fell ill, you'll have ta do. Just don't bother him too much and then you'll get along fine!" Charlie added cheerful as he tapped her on the shoulder and headed off.

And so it became clear to Maria what the catch was in relation to her too-good-to-be -true new job.

Pulling on her hat, she straightened her back and walked into the stables. Although she didn't think it was going to be a pleasant first day she doubted her new employer would harm her.

She knew that he knew she was there although his back was towards her, and he continued pitching hay to one side. His motions were shot through with aggravation, and although she was clueless as to what she'd done she knew it was because of her.

"Where should I start?" She asked, her fingers plucking at the embroidered waistband of her high waist skirt.

The pitchfork clang to the stone floor, his shoulders hitched and Tommy turned around staring at her intently. Casually he signed to her: How do you know sign language?

"My mum was born deaf. She was taught as a child and when I was old enough she taught me." She answered, eying her new boss up and down. "But you're not deaf, I can tell that."

One eyebrow raised and he crossed his arms.

"You heard me come in here whilst you were facing the wall." She explained. hiding the fact that she had quickly realized that his motions clearly hid frustration and unprocessed grief at the result of losing his voice.

A simple nod was her thanks. He pressed his fists together twice: work. Then his pointed at his pitchfork and then to a storage space in the back. She nodded briefly and quickly started her chores. The moment she turned around to get the tool she could feel his icy blue eyes burn into her back. This was going to be a long first day.

.-.-.

The entire morning he bossed her around, pointing out where to find the wheelbarrow, tools, saddles, dry food, and location of the well for fresh water. Other than when strictly necessary he hadn't tried to communicate with her at all. If she asked a question, he would ignore her. Finally, when he'd ordered her to push the wheelbarrow full of horse manure to the dump, he went outside to smoke and didn't return.

She didn't mind his absence at all. For the first time that day she allowed herself to let her guard down and breath in the familiar smells that felt so much like home. Although she couldn't recall taking care of horses with names like as Rockferry, Percy Piper, Monaghan boy, Bourbon.

After waiting for more then an hour she wondered whether Tommy would return at all. She relaxed a bit more and headed to feed the beasts. Nuzzling Bourdon's nose she couldn't help herself and snatched an apple from one of the barrels. She hadn't brought lunch, frankly because there wasn't any. Her Uncle's household had expanded from four to eight after she, her mother and two younger sisters had moved in and money and food was tight. Very tight.

Given the circumstances it was very important for her to get a job rather than getting a good education. She didn't mind thought. She'd never had the ambition of getting a high education. Honestly. she'd always dreamed of a modest sheltered town life. Filled with hard labour, structure and animals. She highly doubted such future still lay only.

Sweeping the floors, she started to hum an old folk song she'd learned from her father during their evenings around the fireplace. As sweat started to form on her forehead she took off her hat and hung it on one of the nails sticking out from the girders. For a moment she paused in her labour and tried to untangle the ash blond strings of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. It had been a long time since she'd seen a decent hairdresser. Her aunt had offered to cut it for her, but she couldn't bring herself to have a pair of kitchen scissors butcher her waist length locks. Her hair was her treasure. Ever since she was a young girl she'd played with it and braided it. Her hair was the one thing this city would not take away from her. Quickly she twisted it into a bun to keep it from falling in front of her eyes.

She tidied up a bit more, her gingham print cotton dress getting specks of sand and dirt on the hems. Humming she swept some rotting apples from under the barrels and then inspected her hands. Both were a warm shade of red from wrenching around the wooden handles of the various tools. Working class hands. She was used to it.

Better to pull an occasional splinter out then lose a finger in the factory she figured.

"My young man wears a frown, with his eyes all closed and his head bowed down", she sang softly, watching the horses in their separate stalls, "my young man never sleeps, the rain it falls upon his back." Emptying a bag of hay into the feeding trough she hoped there would be more food on the table then just potatoes tonight. "The dust before his eyes is black, oft the times, oft the time my young man weeps-"

Tommy returned, startling her. With three nails pressed between his lips he marched passed her and got a hammer from the storage space. He didn't acknowledge her until he was passed her half way and then he took two shillings out of his pocket and gave it to her.

Tomorrow at seven, he signed after handing her pay, wear trousers.

.-.-.

A/N: It has been ten years since I posted anything on this site. I never thought I would pick up writing fanfiction again but Peaky Blinders captivated me. Well, Tommy did. And so I felt the urge to toy with him. War has always interested me, I don't know why but it does. I wanted to create a story again but didn't want a basic Tommy/OC coming to her rescue and save the day. Or an OC that would change Tommy and turn him into a hopeless lovesick puppy. So, what would be needed to prevent it from becoming plain and why would my OC be important enough to be around. Because let's face it, around 1920 women didn't have rights like we do now.

So... why not make Tommy a mute? Why not take away that his strongest weapon, his speech. It's for me, the writer, an extra challenge, because how to have to get two characters to communicate when one of them can't talk?

If you are looking for a Disney storyline and lots of romance, I think you'll have to find that elsewhere. Because it won't be pretty, I've done some research on war, PTSD, sign language and even took awhile to know bits and pieces about Birmingham around 1920. When it comes to stories I can get a little obsessed.

Also, English is my second language I have a mild form of dyslexia so bare with me

I'd like to address the song I've used in this story, it's from Kate Rusby called 'My young man', it's not mine, I only used it.

Many thanks to SusenLebeau for being my beta-reader 3

Xoxox Nuky