Excited and full of hopes she had left Whitby. Despondent and broken-hearted she now returned. But she’d be damned if she showed it. Though all she had wanted to do on her last day in Paris was to lie in bed and hate the world, she had gone out to buy presents for her brothers and for his brother’s new wife (in the morning, when she knew no one from Sophie’s circle was out). She was wearing a smart emerald dress that brought colour to her face, and she mentally practiced bragging about how wonderful Paris was, during the last leg of her journey, until she almost believed it.
 
Paris had been wonderful. But it could be burned to the ground for all she cared.
 
Her sullen expression returned just like that, while the train slowed and the thin tidal Esk turned into the Whitby harbour.
 
A few minutes later, her gloominess had tenfolded while she instructed an incompetent porter with a smashed up face to handle her belongings with care. She had forgotten how backward Whitby and its inhabitants were. How could she deal with this all over again!? Especially after Paris? But Paris held Sophie. To hell with Sophie! The illiterate Whitby fishwifes would make better company than Sophie!
 
She stepped out on the platform once the porter was finally stacking her things the way she wanted, and looked around. Now where was that other incompetent servant… Ruth? Ruby? Rose? She doubted Zech would come meet her in person…

Had Ruth had only one sister, perhaps a little closer in age, with interests so close to her and a similar character, perhaps they could have grown up in a little kindgom they had created on their own. They could have grown closer as the years went by and as Ruth went into the world first and grew accomplished, she could have guided Nesah down that similar path.

But they were born Meijers.

Ruth read correspondence about 10% faster than her brother, which meant she at least knew their sister was going to arrive when she did. She showed up with her bike and waited with her hands deep in the pockets of her bloomers-that-pretended-to-be-a-skirt. She wished Zechariah had left his fop in the pocket of the particular vest she was wearing, as if that could have made the train faster.

The train stopped, people got off and Ruth slowly started to walk down the platform looking for her sister. Ah! here. She looked about six weeks from turning good for picking and eight from being good marmelade. Ruth tried to convince herself to behave. She cleared her throat and greeted Nesah loud enough to be heard by Sophie, back in Paris. “Little sister!” she strolled down the platform. “Very punctual indeed. You look tired, have you eaten something? Shall we eat something now? You have more baggage than I expected, you think the carriage will suffice or shall I check if they have sherpa outside?” she had meant to be uplifting, honestly.

Nesah's sour expression... soured. Ruth? What on earth was Ruth still doing here? And more importantly, was she still staying at Zech's? Zech she could deal with. Between work, barber visits, and bullying the maid, he barely had time to notice his sister. But Ruth had been the one sibling she was most intimidated by, the one sibling she knew she couldn't play tricks on and win. The sibling most likely to see through any act she put up.

She tried to smile, but frankly, she was too exhausted to even fake excitement at seeing her sister. "Hello Ruth, I didn't expect you here..." she said, ignoring the jab. She snapped head and voice at the porter: "Careful with that top box!" Then she turned back to her sister. "The carriage will do. Are you still staying at Zech's?"

She hoped Zech would be comfortable on the sofa. And that this time it would not break mid-use.

Her youngest sibling’s expression became that every sibling made upon seeing her again after a while. It was love, she was sure. It just had its own form, as she had tried to explain to Kitty. Perhaps it was just their usual interaction style, perhaps something was up, because to Ruth, Nesah did not look like somebody freshly back from Paris. Where were the joy and the smugness? And what was up with that smirk? Oh, maybe it was supposed to be a smile.

“Clearly you didn’t,” sometimes she wished she were a more merciful type. Alas, not Ruth.

“What’s in the top box?” Ruth asked, curious. Was Nesah trafficking something? It would explain the mood. Ruth nodded. “Do we need a second cart?” she asked practically and nodded again. She tried very hard to not continue the conversation on the subject, as Nesah was close enough to her to know she wouldn’t choose to live with family, not anymore. Ruth had left home very young and had never been back, no matter what happened.

"Contraband," she stated, in an attempt to silence her sister.

Adonai, at least Zech knew how to be quiet. He liked to be left alone as much as she did. There had been times during her previous stay when she had almost forgotten he existed. Ruth on the other hand, was of the 'very present' persuasion. How was she going to secretly nurse a broken heart under her Ruth's observant eyes and brazen questions? Perhaps she'd take her chances with Uriel and the tramp.

The porter paused and looked up nervously at the top box. Nesah began to walk and snapped her fingers. "Let's go," she commanded, before turning back to her sister. "Don't be ridiculous. One carriage will do."

Now that her luggage was secure, she observed Ruth carefully. It had been a long time since she had seen her sister. Could it be that she looked even more masculine than before? Ruth would have enjoyed Paris alright. She'd blend right in at Le Hanneton.

... Was that Zech's vest?

She knew it was. She had tried it on. And she disliked Ruth even more now, realizing that her sister dared to go out dressed like that.

"You look... good. I suppose I haven't kept up with Whitby's latest fashion. Are vests and bloomers a thing here now?"