Words on a page

It was a terrible idea to visit the Lennox estate. Now Ceci wanted to visit everyday, and constantly searched for excuses to go. She wanted to walk the halls and corridors, examine the pictures on the walls, the books in the library. She wanted to read every book in that ridiculously enormous library. She wanted to sit in Corran's study and inspect every object he had touched. She wanted to sit in the window and stare out at the beautiful courtyard; explore every hillock, meadow, pasture and wood of the land. She wanted to sit beneath the shadow of that fantastic castle of a house and stare up at the clouds in its windows.

Corran let her shuffle back and forth, up and down the isles of bookshelves to her heart's desire. He didn't criticize as she bent over on her hands and knees to read the spines of books on the bottom shelves. "Oftentimes you find the best books buried at the bottom. I believe that's so because you have to work harder to find them."
Corran smiled down at her, hands clasped behind his back, the very picture of a gentlemanly host.
He didn't say a word even when she climbed to the top of the library ladder to exam the books at the very top. (He only looked away modestly when she lifted her skirts to climb unhindered.)
When she was finished, she carried a stack of books which were quickly transferred to Corran's arms at his insistence.
Upon leaving the library, Ceci and Corran turned round another corridor. This one opened out into a little circular alcove. A spiral staircase swirled beautifully up to the next floor, and a little girl sat near a curved window. The window had panes of blue glass and a small wooden easel sat in front of the little girl. She was the palest child Ceci had ever beheld; her ringlets were almost white and her skin was the color of ivory. She wore a long dress of light blue that seemed unnaturally long on a child so small. The little girl hummed to herself as she painted. As Ceci watched, she stopped a moment and gave a little jerk of her hand. A small musical sound erupted in the round room; Ceci realized she had a little harp at her elbow and had plucked one of the strings.
The girl finally realized she wasn't alone; she looked up at the two figures standing in the corridor. For an instant, astonishment sprang to her small face. She fancied some exotic lady had made a sudden appearance in her presence; Ceci's long dark ringlets, unbound, unhampered and falling down her back were fascinating.
Corran stood behind Miss Moore, hands still clasped carefully behind his back, and studied this first encounter. It was like something from a fairy story; an angel meeting a sprite.
Corran reached out and gently led Ceci to the little sprite sitting by the window, who stood up, hastily, recognition dawning on her features.
"Pearl, look who I've brought you to meet," Corran said.
"Is this her? Oh, I knew it must be," Pearl exclaimed, a brilliant smile alighting on her face.
The angel at Corran's side let her elbow fall from his grasp. "Pearl?" she said, surprised.
"Would you let me call you Cecily? Like the one in Italy?" Pearl said, suddenly clasping Miss Moore's arm.
"That's Sicily, Pearl," Corran said.
Cecil suddenly let out a laugh. It wasn't a polite laugh, or a giggle, or a chuckle like Corran's; it was a loud, wholesome laugh and it rang around the round room and up the spiral staircase.
Pearl dropped her grip from Ceci's arm, startled.
"Sicily," Ceci said, clasping a hand to her chest.
It was the most incandescent smile Corran had ever seen on a woman's face.
Pearl wasn't sure whether she should humor this crazy lady or run away.
"Pearl is a beautiful name," Ceci said, "And I adore Sicily," she stopped to giggle. "Do please call me Sicily."
"Al... right," Pearl replied.
She looked up at her brother, who's face displayed an almost foolish aspect of pleasure.

Let me be

They say a girl like me should wed,
And take a man to lay in my bed
But I would like to stay young and free,
And oh, I wish they would let me be
Oh, I wish they would let me be...
Let me be.

Robin the miller he's fond of brass,
He sees a fool's face when he looks in glass,
Thinks he'll bargain like grain for me
But oh, I wish he would let me be
Oh, I wish he would let me be,
Robin, let me be.

There came a man names Bonnie Jim
He looks so fine in his holiday trim
Thinks he'll take me off to the sea,
But oh, I wish he would let me be
Oh, I wish he would let me be,
Jim, let me be,
Jim, let me be.

Cousin Dick he has gold and land,
He thinks all this will win my hand
My hand or lips he will never see
But oh, I wish he would let me be
Oh, I wish he would let me be,
Dick, let me be.

This young soldier boy is Ned
His gun's like his own, he can shoot me dead,
His eyes are blue but they don't see me,
Oh, why does he let me be?
Oh, why does he let me be?
Let me be,
Why, let me be?

Kate Rusby

Even more words on a page

"My brother, Theodore, has recently joined a Northern military outfit. That is to say, in plain English, that he's joined the bloody army. Please believe me that when I say it simply I do not mean to insult your intelligence, which I regard to the highest degree, only that I feel very near the end of my rope, at my wit's end, however you may have it.
That feels very odd to write in a letter; almost as though I'm having a one-sided conversation, even though I try to imagine your thoughts as I write.
In any case, you will be the first to hear the startling news. It will be the word in every household, no doubt, that has heard of the Lennox family. I believe you know I don't mean this pompously; only that secrets are never secrets for long when people so love to gossip. You don't; perhaps you pity me. That's good, for I need all the pity I can gather up. I'll store it away and perhaps use it to my advantage one day.
I apologize for the nonsense. I will simply blame it on my longing to speak with a rational, honest, kind-hearted human being again. By this I mean you must come visit me, or give me leave (sooner rather than later) to visit you at your convenience.

Always Sincerely,
Corran Lennox"

Ceci smiled down at the small spiked handwriting. It was silly to be writing letters when they lived only three or four miles apart; still, it was something she had easily learned to enjoy. She rarely received letters of any importance, and even more rarely letters she enjoyed reading. She turned the creased paper around to read,

"Post Script: It is also my pleasure to inform you that I've recently discovered a novel I hope you will greatly appreciate. Do come and borrow it at your convenience. -C.L."

Could she deny herself the pleasure of visiting the mysterious Lennox estate? She tried to deny that such a visit would give her any pleasure. It most certainly would, she knew deep down. And why had she not yet attempted the visit? There was no explanation that sounded at all coherent in Ceci's head. She wished to, but was at the same time afraid. Afraid of what? Who knew? She didn't; she couldn't put her finger on it, wouldn't give the source a name.
Rarely did Ceci ever deliberate over something she wanted. Usually, she took the time in hand to enjoy and didn't think twice. Only recently had she begun to care what people thought of her actions.

The next morning, Mrs. Eleanor Moore strode quietly down the hall past Ceci's open bedroom. "Cecily, Cecilia dear," Mrs. Moore called. (She could never decide if she'd meant to name her daughter Cecilia or simply Cecily and thus called her both.)
Ceci looked up from her seat at the window.
"Frances wants a companion into town. She must go for a new bonnet for church."
Frances called loudly and sourly from down the hall, "No, I don't!"
Mrs. Moore turned to correct her daughter, "yes, my dear, you do."
She turned back to Ceci, but before she could continue, Ceci jumped up from her seat. "I'd be quite happy to walk with Frances, Mama."
Mrs. Moore smiled and turned smartly to continue her journey down the hall.
"Fudge." Frances said as she brushed past Cecil's door.

Heavens! Ceci thought, gazing up at them and throwing her arms wide in gratitude. It was an excuse, though a very far-fetched one, to visit Mr. Lennox at his estate. It was good enough, at least, to convince her crossed and confused feelings on the subject. The estate, she knew, was out of the way from town, but she chose to ignore the fact.
Frances scowled down at her muddy boots. This never bothered Ceci; Frances was rarely seen without a scowl these days.
Frances now looked over at her sister and raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?" she demanded.
"Thanking God," Ceci replied. It sounded like a child's Sunday school reply, but the simplicity of it pleased her.
Frances knew better than to scowl at this, so she simply turned back down to her boots and tried to keep stride with her sister, who was practically trotting.

The sisters parted at an impasse; Ceci traveled over the fences and fields toward the wide open country of Lennox land to its center Estate. Frances didn't bother to wonder where her sister was going; she was always tromping off to odd destinations. Frances simply continued down the muddy road to town; she was more than happy to continue alone.

The land was beautiful. It was rich, green and golden; the shadows fell perfectly with the late afternoon sun and wind stirred the farm pastures in such a way that delighted Ceci. The manor, when she finally caught a first glimpse of it, sent a chill down her spine and along her arms. It was enormously grand, formed completely from dark gray stone and dark red brick. The tall windows seemed to shimmer as they reflected the blue sky. It was very square, and two straight marble pillars framed the doors. Ceci approached them slowly, her mind racing absurdly for some reason to retreat; the grandeur of it all startled her.
She managed to raise a hand to the knocker, but before it made a sound, both doors swung open, and a tall man in deep blue livery gazed down at her. In the same moment, the man was ushered aside, and Corran Lennox replaced him in the doorway.
"Miss Moore," he cried, a steady, ecstatic smile on his face and in his eyes. That was greeting enough.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Lennox. I hope this isn't an inconvenient time?" Ceci replied quietly.
"Oh no. It's a lovely time. I'm so glad you decided to come," he reached out and grasped her hand.
"Thank you for inviting me," she replied, allowing a smile.
Corran led her to the library, commenting on aspects of the manor as they passed.
Ceci stopped at a painting that hung in the tiled hall.
Realizing her following footsteps had stopped, Corran turned and joined her at the painting.
"That is beautiful," Ceci said, as though stating a fact.
It was, in fact, a portrait of Corran's mother. The woman in the painting gazed out of a large window, so that her face was in profile, even as the window reflected her full features. She wore a bold shade of green, and her long dark red hair fell in ripples down her back. Beyond her, the window showed a sky of rusty sunset colors. It was a striking portrait.
"Yes," Corran breathed, his gaze intent on Ceci, who earnestly examined the portrait. She was incredible, he decided, this young lady who stood beside him.
After a long moment or two, they turned back toward the library. Corran fetched his special book for Ceci, who grinned delightedly as she read the spine.
"Careful," Corran told her, "It's a romance, and the heroine is almost too much like you."

More words on a page

"Teddy, I'm trying to find this book, The Natural World. Would you help me? I can't seem to find--"
"No, Pearl!" Theodore Lennox thundered down the hall, pushing aside his little sister. His face was the color and consistency of hot coals, and probably just as dangerous. His mind was focused on one problem, one unbelievable, inconceivable, completely ludicrous problem, and he was driven to find the source of it. He slammed his way through the library to his brother's study.
Pearl remained standing aside where Theo left her, pale shock frozen on her face. Her eyes were so wide with fright they looked as if made of glass.
Corran looked up, surprised, as Theodore smashed his way through the door. He had been engrossed in a novel he recently discovered buried in a dusty corner of the library; penned by a Henrietta P. Glosier of New England. Now he dropped the book and stared up into his elder brother's fuming red face.
Theodore raised a shaking finger and stabbed it at Corran. "Y-you--" He spat out. He struggled to swallow.
"Theo," Corran began, realizing slowly, and with growing horror, what this anger pertained to.
"Shut up!" Theodore roared. Every muscle in his body quivered visibly with his fury. Unexpectedly, he fell to his knees, shaking the small bits of furniture and book shelves. His head fell down against his chest as though his neck could no longer bear the weight and his arms fell limp to his sides.
"Theo, in God's name, please," Corran stood slowly and made to approach him.
"Don't," Theodore whispered, "even come near me."
Corran couldn't fathom how he was in this position. He assumed his father had approached his eldest son with the disturbing news weeks ago. It was quite apparent now that it hadn't happened. For the first time in his life, Corran cursed his father's actions. That Sir Edward hadn't informed Theodore of his disinheritance in favor of the younger Lennox was like a death sentence to their brotherhood.
Dear God, help me, Corran whispered, almost inaudibly.
Theodore slowly raised his head and Corran saw with a pain to his chest the despair on his brother's face.
"So, that's it," Theodore said, still in that horrid rasp of a whisper, "I'm finished. There's nothing left! How--" his eyes widened in a mad stare, "could you finish me off like this?"
Corran stood quite still.
He had no idea what words he should say, how he could proceed. He was aware, with a new and nasty reminder like a shock to his nerves, what this meant to Theo's future. With no inheritance to speak of, he was practically disowned from the family name. He had virtually nothing beside his father's and younger brother's good will.
Theo stood up. "I suppose you'll say I brought this on myself? My bad habits, my vices, I did this. It's father's last stand against me, isn't it?"
Corran remained still and silent. He was clenching is jaw so tightly he thought it might shatter.
Theodore gazed at his brother for another instant, then turned and swiftly left the room. Corran could hear his heavy footsteps down the tiled hall.

A moment later, Pearl stood in the doorway Theo had just vacated. She clutched a small green book to her chest. To Corran, she looked like a ghost of a thing, her round, pale face blending into her pale hair which fell limply against her pale dress. Her eyes looked wild with confusion and alarm. She was at that moment, the very picture of a pearl; only not the poetic version she was named for. Corran was reminded suddenly of part of a Gnostic text he'd once read, The Hymn of the Pearl:

"When, a quite little child, I was dwelling
In the House of my Father’s Kingdom,
And in the wealth and the glories
Of my Up-bringers I was delighting,
From the East, our Home, my Parents
Forth-sent me with journey-provision.
Indeed from the wealth of our Treasure,
They bound up for me a load.
Large was it, yet was it so light
That all alone I could bear it.
Gold from the Land of Beth-Ellaya,
Silver from Gazak the Great,
Chalcedonies of India,
Iris-hued Opals from Kãshan.
They girt me with Adamant also
That hath power to cut even iron.
My Glorious Robe they took off me
Which in their love they had wrought me,
And my Purple Mantle also
Which was woven to match with my stature.
And with me They made a compact;
In my heart wrote it, not to forget it:
'If thou goest down into Egypt,
And thence thou bring’st the one Pearl --
'The Pearl that lies in the Sea,
Hard by the loud-breathing Serpent --
'Then shalt Thou put on thy Robe
And thy Mantle that goeth upon it,
'And with thy Brother, Our Second,
Shalt thou be Heir in our Kingdom.'"

Words on a page

Ceci sat in her little garden, contemplating. She wanted to go and visit her cousin Marguerite, but was afraid of getting in the way; Marguerite was slowly becoming accustomed to the idea of being engaged, and Ceci felt it the best thing to let that blossom on its own. Also, she didn't want to accidentally come across Marguerite and Christopher in a private moment. All this left her with a strange feeling of awkward loneliness.

Of a sudden, the sound of heavy hoof beats came to her from the lane. She hurriedly stood up to see that it was Mr. Lennox on his great gray horse traveling at a slow walk down the lane past the Moore's farm. Cecil's instinct was to bid him good morning, a she always did when a friend passed by. Still, she hesitated, that awkward feeling she was so unaccustomed to still lingering.

However, the movement as she rose caught Mr. Lennox's eye and he turned and saw her.
Standing so perfectly still in the garden, flower faces nodding around her legs and a curious look of diffidence on her fair features, Corran Lennox paused longer than he meant.
Covering up his embarrassment for staring, he raised his broad-rimmed blue hat from his head, revealing a tousled head of dark red hair. Ceci couldn't help but grin a little at his comical appearance. Hesitant, she raised a hand in greeting.
"Good morning, Miss Moore!" Corran called, waving his hat a little. His horse, Xerxes, halfheartedly consented to turn round again, towards the pale girl without a bonnet over her curly head. "How's the day?" he continued, dismounting easily from the great horse's back.
"Good morning, Mr. Lennox. It is a perfect morning! How was the ride?" Ceci stepped out of the garden, to meet him at the gate. She leaned forward to rest her arms against the hinges.
"It's been a good, though uneventful ride," Corran replied, "Until now. What a lovely garden." He wasn't looking at the garden at all, but admiring Miss Moore's unbound, windswept dark hair.
"Yes. It's my garden, though I suppose I can't take credit for the flowers; they grow and bloom with hardly a hand from me. They are quite lovely though." Ceci finished with a sigh.
Corran smiled. His horse snuffled behind him, clearly anxious to be moving again. But then, he was always restless.
"Miss Moore," Corran said, "Xerxes and I were on our--er, roundabout--way to town. Would you care for a walk? Perhaps you'd like to join us?" (Corran wondered at his boldness. He almost never appealed for a woman's company; he usually lacked the confidence.)
To his hidden delight, however, Ceci gave a little laugh and said, "Mr. Lennox, you're my savior. I'd love a walk!" She lifted the gate latch and passed through. As she looked up at him, she realized what the odd look on Corran Lennox's face referred to. She hastily continued, "Oh, I just meant... well, I'd been sitting there so long, quite without any amusement or friends to see. You've saved me from a tedious afternoon, Mr. Lennox." She smiled up at his broad, bright eyes beneath tousled red hair.

After their difficult first meeting and the painful circumstance that ended it, Ceci found, to her surprise, she could walk beside Mr. Lennox and talk easily. She wished that she could do it indifferently, as well, but found herself listening intently for his replies. She admired his carefree stride, careful answers and soft chuckle when she was lucky enough to make him laugh. She also appreciated how he wore his clothes simple and worn instead of stiff, starched and polished, as she expected of a man worth thousands. They were uncommonly bright, though, just like his hair.

They spoke mostly of literature, and Ceci fought the envy she felt as he spoke of his library. She relied almost entirely on the tiny book shops in town. Without thinking, she said so, regretting it instantly, for it sounded so pitiable spoken aloud.
"You know, you may come visit our library and borrow as many books as you wish-- at any time convenient." Corran replied.
"Oh..." Ceci bit her lip, imagining shelves upon shelves of books she could read without depleting her small fund. "That's very kind of you," she said.
He began to tell her of the books she must read.
"Do you have any books that were written by women?" Ceci asked.
Corran seemed a bit surprised. "Women authors?" he looked down a moment. "Well, I came across a novel written by a Countess, but I believe most I've found were probably penned under a male pseudonym." He turned to Ceci, who only nodded. "You can always come and peruse yourself," he offered. He was almost afraid he'd offended her-- once again.
She turned to give him a half-smile, "yes, thank you."

Coming down the lane into town, women's eyes turned suddenly in Ceci's direction, and she was reminded that she was accompanied by the richest young bachelor in the county. She dared a glance at Corran's face, to see he had shoved his blue hat so far down that the broad rim hid the better half of his face. Underneath, his expression showed his embarrassment. Ceci laughed. Loudly, in fact. She couldn't help it, after all he looked so ridiculous.
Corran, surprised, looked up from beneath the brim.
Ceci laughed again, the sound ringing down the lane, past the shops and milling people. If Mr. Lennox was embarrassed before, he was bewildered with it now.
"Do take the hat off, Mr. Lennox. Everyone knows it's you! Or are you afraid their gaze will bore holes into your skin?" She grinned, daring to reach up and lift the brim a little to see up into his face.
"Besides," she added, as he pulled off the blue hat, "We all admire your hair so much; you can't hide with hair that shade!" She laughed again.
Corran turned his gaze to her again, smiling now. "Only you would say such things," he replied.
"Why?" she smirked back, "I suppose I'm the only one brash enough to tell the truth."
She suddenly noticed the glare of half-a-dozen posh and proper young women in tight bonnets. She sobered and began to regret her laughter.
"I... I'm sorry if I was rude," she said, wishing she had a bonnet to cover her unruly head.
Corran looked surprised again. "Why? Really, you're quite right. Miss Moore," he said, bending down to speak near her ear, "if it's so absurd to hide my identity by wearing this ridiculous hat, you must stop wishing you had one to cover up your honesty." His eyes glanced up at the gazes fired at them.
Ceci smiled nervously. It was troubling how easily Mr. Lennox read her thoughts.

Abandoning Xerxes to the company of other tethered horses, they stepped into a little shop. It sat in the corner, quite modest and unadorned compared with the fancy wares displayed in the other shops' windows.
Ceci was drawn to a little porcelain figurine placed near a small display table. Corran noticed the little figurine and was instantly reminded of her; the little female figure curved into swirls and waves like water where her hair and dress fell. It was an exquisite little thing. Ceci admired it only for a moment after glancing at the price. As she continued to search the little store, Corran caught the little figurine up and bought it from the shopkeeper; as improper as it would be, he would give it to her-- it was so much like her, it practically belonged to her in the first place.
As they passed out of the shop, however, a voice called out to Ceci. She turned, slowly, anticipating the source of the sound.
Corran caught the unnerved expression on her face before she forced a smile to her lips.
"Why, Mr. Carter!" she replied, overly loud.
The man was positively beaming. He was a large man, not terribly tall but very broad. His skin was tanned the shade of a farmer. He put out his hand to shake Corran's. "Mr. Lennox," he said, nodding.
Corran shook his hand, disquieted by the way he gazed at Miss Moore. The two could not have made the situation clearer; the poor man, James Carter, was desperately in love with Ceci Moore, and she was, by degrees, intent on having nothing to do with him. Everything became suddenly and almost unbearably uncomfortable. Mr. Carter insisted on accompanying Ceci home. She glanced quickly at Corran, who saw, for just an instant, a pleading look in her eye. But she said evenly, "How kind of you, Mr. Carter." Then she turned stiffly to Corran and said, "And thank you, Mr. Lennox, for the walk. It was... very nice."
If he hadn't felt so guilty in leaving her with the man, Corran might have chuckled at the phrase. "Very nice" were words that stiff, simple, timid women used to describe things. They were not words he felt belonged to the vocabulary of Miss Moore.
Slowly and regretfully, he mounted Xerxes, setting the little porcelain present in his pocket as he set off home.

Light

They were born from the clearest, brightest, warmest light. The purest of light. Each tiny, individual light broke and traveled away from the beautiful expanse of light from which they came, and each little light belonged always to that great expanse, the boundlessness that meant Love and Life to each one. As they floated apart, each tiny speck slowly became aware of an abyss of darkness beneath which seemed to loom closer all the time, threatening to engulf and extinguish. Each moment of their existence, the little lights felt the atmosphere swallowed slowly by this darkness, as if it were casting a shadow over their tiny beings. Caught between this growing shadow and their longing for freedom, the little lights simply bumped and bounced along, static and yet always moving. They feared the darkness, but were too dim to realize that though the abyss hung below, the expanse of light shone brighter above; they looked down instead of up. But hope was there; the light was never swallowed by the darkness. The darkness shrank far from the light and once in a while a little speck would make its way slowly back to that expanse. Each one belonged to that beautiful light, always apart of it and always called back to its belonging.

Words on a page

Marguerite was very distressed.
It was just yesterday that she accepted Christopher Tout's marriage proposal, and she was very distressed. Ceci laughed heartily at her poor cousin's countenance as she crossed the room to the window where Marguerite sat.
"Underneath it all," Ceci said, beaming down at her, "I know you're in a state of absolute ecstasy."
Marguerite lifted her furrowed, worried face towards her cousin. "You're quite right," she said. To Ceci, the bright, joyful glow in Marguerite's eyes betrayed her delight. She knew her cousin well enough to recognize the way in which she hid her joy. She also understood, though not completely, the overwhelming enormity this engagement promised; how it meant to completely change dear Marguerite's life and shape her future. "Ceci," Marguerite said quietly, gazing listlessly down at her hands folded in her lap, "I can't concentrate on any one thought! What am I to do now?"
"Hmmm," Ceci hummed, reaching out for Marguerite's hands. She helped her cousin to her feet and wrapped her arm about her own. "First, you and I will go downstairs and see what your father has to say about the business. I expect your Mr. Tout has spoken to uncle?"
"Oh, yes, my... Christopher called early this morning," Marguerite replied.
"Hmmm," Ceci hummed again. She carefully guided her unsteady cousin down the stairs to the doors of her uncle's study. She rapped smartly on the thick door.
Of a sudden, Christopher Tout burst forth, missing Marguerite's shoulder but hitting Ceci's toe.
Ceci bit her lip to keep from yelping. When she looked up to Christopher's face, she started. She'd never seen a face so transfigured. He looked like a saint, his face was so aglow. And when his dark eyes fell on Marguerite, they very nearly glimmered with delight. Ceci released her cousin's arm, for Marguerite's face was fixed on his. He grasped her hands and pressed them to his chest. As he began to lift her fingers to his lips, Ceci stepped back around the corner into the hall, out of sight. As she turned in retreat, she just heard Christopher whisper, "He's given his consent."
Ceci abandoned her cousin, ducking out into the garden and climbing carefully over the garden fence. For some absurd reason, her face was flushed and her hands trembled slightly. The passionate happiness she'd accidentally come upon in that house brought unbidden thoughts to her mind and an odd extra warmth to her skin. She headed through her uncle's pastures, traveling the lonely way back home.