Thursday, September 27, 2007
Words on a page (or I really need to find a better title for this...)
No one thought James Carter would survive long after the flames devoured his house and his livelihood. Cecilia knew quite well what everyone thought. And yet her days that followed the terrible incident were spent by the man's side, constantly leaning over his body as he lay still and bedridden. The bed belonged to the parson, who dutifully took in the homeless and the tragedy-stricken. James Carter was immediately examined by the apothecary, and Ceci herself arranged a room for him as soon as she heard the doctor's diagnosis: it was grave, but not fatal.
The way she doted over the poor man, everyone was sure she had promised herself to him and that they were engaged. Why else would she remain his constant nurse, vigilantly tending to his every need? But in truth she had not promised him anything. It was her relentless compassion that drove her to care for Mr. Carter. Compassion... tinged with a guilt she did not understand. It was through no fault of her own that his home and his work was destroyed.
It might have been the fact that James Carter, a helpless invalid, had begun to slowly hate her. For all his adult life he had doted on her, loved her from afar, made secret dreamy plans to bring her home as his wife. Those dreams went up in flames along with his house, his land and all his possessions, including the hearty sum he'd hidden away beneath the floorboards. It was all gone. And there she sat, day in and day out, spoon-feeding him like a little child, washing his sheets and helping the parson's wife change his clothes, to his utter shame and embarrassment. For the first time as an adult, he was dependent, completely helpless. And dependent on whom? The very woman he had always worked and desired to provide for, that she might depend on him, look up to him, love him. And now he knew with desperate certainty that that design was undone. He began to abhor her very presence, which was his daily reminder of this horrible truth.
But... could he not see her eyes as she tirelessly sat by his bedside? He missed the love in her look as she patiently cared for him. Her face glowed with life and compassion when she washed his face or brushed his hair. He did not understand any of this and was instead lost in his own misery. Day by day he grew more desperate and soon Ceci realized she must make an effort to ensure he didn't do any harm to himself.
It should be plain and clear by now that James Carter would never make any sort of husband for Cecilia. By "any sort" I mean to say that we all, without fail, hope and wish and dream for that someone who understands us and--very simply--completes us.
And though the more cynical among us love to assert the unrealistic sentimentality of this desire, still all the same it exists and the honest ones admit it.
In this story, for the good of our heroine (and subsequent hero...) she does not marry Mr. Carter, farmer by profession. However, Ceci leaves, in time, an indelible mark on his memory that he only understands in his old age... as gratitude.
Good for him.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Words on a page
Quincy was experiencing a state of boredom.
Unfortunately, boredom in relation to Quincy meant trouble.
Today the sun was out, the day was warm, the sky was an incredible shade of October blue. And yet, Quincy was completely devoid of interesting things to do.
If you've ever had the pleasure of understanding the behavioral characteristics of 11 year-old boys, you may know how quickly they find trouble--or trouble finds them. On this day, all Quincy had to do was get it into his head to go exploring.
This led him through the pastures behind his home, out into the open countryside.
Leaping over pasture fences and running swiftly through the tall meadow-grass, Quincy imagined he was riding a horse; an enormous dark-gray stallion just like the one his sister's friend Corran rode. Xerxes was a fantastic name for such a fantastic horse; he envied Corran, that man with the orange hair. Ceci always chided him for calling Corran by his first name. However, Quincy thought it perfectly normal; they both were young men coming into large inheritances, had much in common, and might as well start it off on a first-name basis.
Such was Quincy's reasoning and it sounded perfectly valid in his own mind.
Quincy was lost in his own imaginings and did not realize where he was for quite some time, and by then the sun had sunk much closer to the western horizon. Quincy gazed up at the glow of the sunset. It suddenly came to his attention that a low gray haze was growing in his periphery. It looked like the sun was singeing the tops of the trees.
Quincy jumped as a bright lick of flame fluttered suddenly above the far-away tree-tops. Without a second thought, he began racing towards the spot. A flame so high could not simply belong to a farmer's bonfire. Something was most definitely wrong.
As his heart beat wildly against his chest, Quincy wished his legs were longer so that his stride might stretch a greater distance. It seemed like ages before Quincy reached the sight of the flames. A sight it was, and Quincy's heart leaped in panic. He knew the small farmhouse that was now quickly becoming consumed in flames: it was James Carter's house. He flew like the wind, back the way he'd come, back toward home. Despite his somewhat scatterbrained, self-centered nature, he knew he could not put out the fire on his own. He was also aware of the fact that the closest homestead was across the farm land he was currently crossing, and that would be his home.
He reached the house within minutes, though it seemed like hours, and completely out of breath, he waved his arms frantically as he continued straight through.
"Fire! Fi-ER!" he hollered.
No one seemed present, for no one answered.
He ran back out the door and was nearly trampled by a great gray horse.
Mr. Lennox was coming up the lane. He stopped abruptly as Quincy rushed past.
"Fire!" Quincy screamed.
Corran looked startled for a moment. "Where?" he asked quickly, looking up at the house.
Quincy gasped for air. "James... Carter..." he breathed.
Without another word, Corran scooped Quincy up by the shoulders and dropped him on his horse's back. "Hold on tightly!" Corran ordered. He set off at a gallop.
Quincy nearly tumbled off backwards as the horse lurched into stride. He grasped at Corran's jacket and held on for dear life. He managed to peer back a moment and just glimpsed his sister Ceci running round the back of the house. When she saw the two of them racing down the lane, she dropped the handful of wildflowers, picked up her skirts and began to follow in a skipping run. She tried to call out to them, but the wind was rushing past Quincy's ears and the thud of the horse's hooves meeting the earth drowned out all other sound.
They reached the burning house almost instantly. Quincy's heart raced as wood and brick tumbled away from the half-consumed structure.
Corran fairly tossed Quincy off his mount, jumping easily down. Before Quincy could stand again, Corran was already through the dark entrance that was once a front doorway. Seconds passed and Quincy knew there could be no chance of extinguishing the flame until it had burnt away.
Of a sudden, Ceci was at his side, breathless. She was screaming and tears were streaming down her red cheeks. She shrieked at him, "Where's Corran?" And Quincy could only point at that dark entrance. Before either of them could do or say anything else, there was a horrifying groan and squeal, and the roof collapsed.
Quincy thought his lungs would burst or his heart would give out as his sister let out a cry of anguish.
There was a strange silence following the crash of splintered wood and crushed brick; in that silence, something emerged from the yawning shadow of a doorway. A bent figure stumbled and dragged a lifeless bulk out into the open air.
Before Quincy could react or even understand what was happening, Ceci was with the two dark figures, bent over both. She was both weeping convulsively and attempting to examine the lifeless bulk. The other figure collapsed, coughing a wheezing cough and shuddering on the ground.
Quincy found that his feet were finally moving, of their own volition, it seemed. The collapsed figure was indeed Corran. He was struggling to breathe. He was also blackened and bleeding around the arms and legs. A gash seeped on his forehead, trickling into his dirty red hair. Ceci was bent over the still, silent figure. Quincy realized the man was dead; he was not chocking and heaving like Corran; he wasn't moving at all.
And then, in an incredible moment, the still body suddenly convulsed; his chest flew upward as though his heart or his lungs were about to leap from his ribcage. Ceci gave a cry of astonishment. The man began to breathe and choke. James Carter was alive.
Unfortunately, boredom in relation to Quincy meant trouble.
Today the sun was out, the day was warm, the sky was an incredible shade of October blue. And yet, Quincy was completely devoid of interesting things to do.
If you've ever had the pleasure of understanding the behavioral characteristics of 11 year-old boys, you may know how quickly they find trouble--or trouble finds them. On this day, all Quincy had to do was get it into his head to go exploring.
This led him through the pastures behind his home, out into the open countryside.
Leaping over pasture fences and running swiftly through the tall meadow-grass, Quincy imagined he was riding a horse; an enormous dark-gray stallion just like the one his sister's friend Corran rode. Xerxes was a fantastic name for such a fantastic horse; he envied Corran, that man with the orange hair. Ceci always chided him for calling Corran by his first name. However, Quincy thought it perfectly normal; they both were young men coming into large inheritances, had much in common, and might as well start it off on a first-name basis.
Such was Quincy's reasoning and it sounded perfectly valid in his own mind.
Quincy was lost in his own imaginings and did not realize where he was for quite some time, and by then the sun had sunk much closer to the western horizon. Quincy gazed up at the glow of the sunset. It suddenly came to his attention that a low gray haze was growing in his periphery. It looked like the sun was singeing the tops of the trees.
Quincy jumped as a bright lick of flame fluttered suddenly above the far-away tree-tops. Without a second thought, he began racing towards the spot. A flame so high could not simply belong to a farmer's bonfire. Something was most definitely wrong.
As his heart beat wildly against his chest, Quincy wished his legs were longer so that his stride might stretch a greater distance. It seemed like ages before Quincy reached the sight of the flames. A sight it was, and Quincy's heart leaped in panic. He knew the small farmhouse that was now quickly becoming consumed in flames: it was James Carter's house. He flew like the wind, back the way he'd come, back toward home. Despite his somewhat scatterbrained, self-centered nature, he knew he could not put out the fire on his own. He was also aware of the fact that the closest homestead was across the farm land he was currently crossing, and that would be his home.
He reached the house within minutes, though it seemed like hours, and completely out of breath, he waved his arms frantically as he continued straight through.
"Fire! Fi-ER!" he hollered.
No one seemed present, for no one answered.
He ran back out the door and was nearly trampled by a great gray horse.
Mr. Lennox was coming up the lane. He stopped abruptly as Quincy rushed past.
"Fire!" Quincy screamed.
Corran looked startled for a moment. "Where?" he asked quickly, looking up at the house.
Quincy gasped for air. "James... Carter..." he breathed.
Without another word, Corran scooped Quincy up by the shoulders and dropped him on his horse's back. "Hold on tightly!" Corran ordered. He set off at a gallop.
Quincy nearly tumbled off backwards as the horse lurched into stride. He grasped at Corran's jacket and held on for dear life. He managed to peer back a moment and just glimpsed his sister Ceci running round the back of the house. When she saw the two of them racing down the lane, she dropped the handful of wildflowers, picked up her skirts and began to follow in a skipping run. She tried to call out to them, but the wind was rushing past Quincy's ears and the thud of the horse's hooves meeting the earth drowned out all other sound.
They reached the burning house almost instantly. Quincy's heart raced as wood and brick tumbled away from the half-consumed structure.
Corran fairly tossed Quincy off his mount, jumping easily down. Before Quincy could stand again, Corran was already through the dark entrance that was once a front doorway. Seconds passed and Quincy knew there could be no chance of extinguishing the flame until it had burnt away.
Of a sudden, Ceci was at his side, breathless. She was screaming and tears were streaming down her red cheeks. She shrieked at him, "Where's Corran?" And Quincy could only point at that dark entrance. Before either of them could do or say anything else, there was a horrifying groan and squeal, and the roof collapsed.
Quincy thought his lungs would burst or his heart would give out as his sister let out a cry of anguish.
There was a strange silence following the crash of splintered wood and crushed brick; in that silence, something emerged from the yawning shadow of a doorway. A bent figure stumbled and dragged a lifeless bulk out into the open air.
Before Quincy could react or even understand what was happening, Ceci was with the two dark figures, bent over both. She was both weeping convulsively and attempting to examine the lifeless bulk. The other figure collapsed, coughing a wheezing cough and shuddering on the ground.
Quincy found that his feet were finally moving, of their own volition, it seemed. The collapsed figure was indeed Corran. He was struggling to breathe. He was also blackened and bleeding around the arms and legs. A gash seeped on his forehead, trickling into his dirty red hair. Ceci was bent over the still, silent figure. Quincy realized the man was dead; he was not chocking and heaving like Corran; he wasn't moving at all.
And then, in an incredible moment, the still body suddenly convulsed; his chest flew upward as though his heart or his lungs were about to leap from his ribcage. Ceci gave a cry of astonishment. The man began to breathe and choke. James Carter was alive.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
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."
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:
"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.'"
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.'"
Thursday, August 23, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, August 06, 2007
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.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Veronique
There was a long silence. Tense with anxiety and hope, and shaken by his great love so long held in check, John fought to keep himself steady to her need.
"No need to make up your mind now, Veronique," he said gently. "I'll wait in Dunedin for your answer for as long as you like."
"John," she whispered, still with her face hidden, "why didn't you tell me before that you loved me?"
"Because it did not seem right to tell you. You see, until just lately you weren't grown-up."
"Was it hard to wait?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, "it was hard."
She was silent again, and he wondered agonizedly if she was antagonized by his past control, his present reserve. He need not have worried. She was pondering on the nature of his love, that, like Papa's, put the other person first. That was a thing that Frederick had never done.
Then she asked irrelevantly, "How did you know that Papa and I called our valley the Country of the Green Pastures?"
"Your father told me. But long ago, when I was a little boy, I called it that myself."
"The Twenty-third Psalm was the first I learned to say by heart," said Veronique. "Uncle Samuel taught it to me."
"The first I learned, too," said John. "And it's still my favorite."
"Mine too," said Veronique. "We think alike about lots of things, don't we?"
"Naturally," mumbled John. " 'For we were nurst upon the self-same hill, fed the same flock...' "
Suddenly she turned to him, lifting a transfigured face, and slipped her arms round his neck. "Your country is my country," she said.
Regardless of who might be passing by in the street he flung his arms about her, while old familiar words sprang to his lips as the pledge of faith. " 'The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.' "
From GREEN DOLPHIN STREET
A Novel by ELIZABETH GOUDGE
William
O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune!
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.
Robert Burns
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune!
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.
Robert Burns
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Words on a page
Ceci was abruptly stopped by Mr. Brooke in the dramatic departure from what she thought a very off-putting conversation. She left her friends feeling almost humiliated by Samuel Redford's part in the dialogue. She would never admit it to herself, but there was also a quiet, lingering feeling of disappointment in her new acquaintance. She loved the country, her country,and its people, but nearly everyone she knew, excluding Marie Tout, her parents, and in some ways, Marguerite, expected a woman to be a meek, uneducated bumpkin. In the back of her mind, hidden behind her festering grudge against the well-to-do class, she'd hoped this gentleman possessed a more liberal viewpoint and might, if not argue her point, at the very least sympathize with it. But she was wrong, and in a way, it was a relief. She felt that if he had stood to her standards, she would be a traitor; first, because she had found a fault in the society of country folk she held so dear and belonged so thoroughly to, and second, because of the tiresome vow she'd made to herself and to the love she had for her sister to forever loathe the prideful upper crust.
Her mind was so engrossed with these thoughts that she hardly heard Mr. Brooke call her name until he was suddenly directly before her; she stopped mid-step, startled.
"Oh, Miss Moore-- are you alright? You're not leaving--?"
Poor Mr. Brooke.
"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Brooke. A terrible headache has just come upon me, and I'm afraid I'll have to retire early. It was a lovely party, though. You always give the most beautiful evening parties, you know."
Ceci said this hurriedly, for she was dismayed by dear Mr. Brooke's disappointment, but knew she could not stay.
"Well, dear, if you would just take a glass of wine, I'm sure--"
"No, no. Please," Ceci interrupted quickly, closing her eyes and pressing painfully at her temples, "I'm sure I'll be quite ill if I don't get home soon."
Quite suddenly, Mr. Corran Lennox was at her elbow. "Miss Moore, I'm terribly sorry-- are you alright?"
His anxious look sent a frustrating mixture of relief and annoyance through Ceci's mind.
"Quite, thank you," she replied, stiffening again. Why must he grasp my elbow like that as if I were about to swoon away?
"She says she has head-pains," Mr. Brooke said, with a sudden grin.
"Has she?" Mr. Lennox turned to Ceci. "Have you? May I walk you home? I only have my horse, but you might ride him--"
Ceci frowned. In a minute, she really was going to have a headache.
"You do begin to look ill, Miss Moore," Mr. Brooke said, hiding a grin behind a mask of worry and concern. "I believe you should let Mr. Lennox escort you home. It is most gracious of him, and your parents would be grateful, at this hour."
Ceci raised a hand to her head. Oh, for heaven's sake.
"Do let me take you home. Please," Mr. Lennox's grip on her elbow tightened slightly.
Well, if you're going to make that much fuss, Cecil thought. But what in heaven's name is that Brooke grinning for?
"I'm very much obliged," Ceci said finally, allowing Mr. Lennox to turn her in the direction of the house once more. "Mr. Brooke, be so kind as to tell Marguerite I've gone home with a little headache. Perhaps," a twinkle lit up her eyes for an instant, "You could suggest Christopher Tout to take her home?"
"Yes, yes, certainly." Mr. Brooke agreed vehemently, grinning ear to ear.
Though her mother and father had raised her to aspire to brains over beauty, Ceci always knew they would never approve of her secret inclination to wear men's trousers in order that she might ride. Really ride, not side-saddle, as young ladies were supposed to. Whipping wind always did wonders for her health.
Corran Lennox, expert equestrian, noticed that inclination in the way she mounted his horse; he smiled to himself. So far, this young woman had blasted away many misgivings he'd had in his thoughts after they'd met. He really was impressed by her, almost to admiration. She possessed a spirit that frightened away men who got a glimpse of it; but on the contrary, she had an inherent warmth and happy personality that drew people to her. Her careless laughter contradicted her sharp, thoughtful mind, a mind that had been built on a sound (though nontraditional) education. Yet, all of this fit comfortably into one person. In short, this was a young woman of paradox.
She immediately corrected her mistake, and mussed-up her dress to sit side-saddle. The poor horse looked almost as uncomfortable (with a lady on his back) as she did.
"If you feel faint, do tell me so at once. I'd hate for you to fall off and do harm to yourself." Corran looked up anxiously beneath his broad-rimmed blue hat.
"I'm perfectly well, Mr. Lennox. You needn't be afraid that I'll fall." Despite the comical nature of his hat, Ceci frowned down at him.
Corran took the lead, patted his horse's shoulder and began down the road.
Silence was never a thing Ceci could bear comfortably. Especially with someone near to a stranger. She said,"If you don't mind, Mr. Lennox, might I ask what you thought of Mr. Redford's conversation just now?"
"By 'Mr. Redford's conversation,' do you mean the way you bullied the poor fellow, or the way he answered your questions?"
Though he said this with a light, teasing manner, Ceci couldn't help but be indignant. It appeared very clearly in her voice.
"I'm sure I don't know what you could mean by bullying."
"You were merely trying to make a point, I know." Mr. Lennox said. "I only wonder, as you and Mr. Redford are such long acquaintances, why you took the trouble to wheedle away at the man when you must have already known what his answers would be. So, I suppose, to answer your question, I thought the conversation to be very curious."
He couldn't see it in the darkness, but Ceci was blushing furiously.
"Mr. Lennox," she said, gritting her teeth in anger, "I know it is the custom of such gentlemen as you to humble others with an arrogantly impressive display of conversation, but I must tell you I find it to be terribly ungracious and quite hateful."
Corran stopped. He turned round and looked up again at Ceci from beneath his hat, now askew.
"And what," he said, with an edge of cold in his voice, "would bring you to make such an assumption about me? How would you propose to know me so well?"
"Because you come from a society typical of such behavior, Mister Lennox." Ceci replied, spitting the words.
"Typical, really?" Corran paused. Then he shook his head and in silence, continued leading the horse down the lane.
Ceci was unnerved by his silence. Her anger continued to seethe, and underneath it, a growing sense of guilt that only made her more frustrated.
Of a sudden, Corran stopped again and looked up at Ceci. "Well, Miss Moore," his voice was very quiet, and despite the silent street, Ceci had to lean down a bit to hear. "I must tell you that when I first met you, I thought I saw such great kindness in you--real warmth, the kind I find so appealing in my country acquaintances. But I think you've proved that first impression quite wrong; and as for my behavior, I believe it hasn't been half so high and mighty as yours. " He turned now, walking slowly. "How does that little passage in the Bible go? Something about a splinter in your neighbor's eye?"
Now the guilt really did pervade Ceci's thoughts. In fact, it took her completely over. She had behaved monstrously. It was unkind to make a fool of poor Sam Redford. And to try and justify it in such a way...
... the journey down the lane seemed to draw out for ages. The whole long way, Ceci reflected and became more and more unnerved and upset.
Finally, they came to her house, and quietly she said, "We've reached my home, Mr. Lennox."
Mr. Lennox carefully and silently helped her dismount and walked her down her own walkway. Near to the great oak front door, Ceci said, "I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Lennox."
Corran nodded politely, avoiding her gaze as he turned to leave, until she said--almost in a whisper, "Before you go, I must apologize," she took a step forward with a contrite countenance, "for my appalling behavior. It was... most unkind and impolite. And really-- you must know, Mr. Lennox-- not a true example of my usual character."
Mr. Lennox smiled. "I know," he said.
Her mind was so engrossed with these thoughts that she hardly heard Mr. Brooke call her name until he was suddenly directly before her; she stopped mid-step, startled.
"Oh, Miss Moore-- are you alright? You're not leaving--?"
Poor Mr. Brooke.
"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Brooke. A terrible headache has just come upon me, and I'm afraid I'll have to retire early. It was a lovely party, though. You always give the most beautiful evening parties, you know."
Ceci said this hurriedly, for she was dismayed by dear Mr. Brooke's disappointment, but knew she could not stay.
"Well, dear, if you would just take a glass of wine, I'm sure--"
"No, no. Please," Ceci interrupted quickly, closing her eyes and pressing painfully at her temples, "I'm sure I'll be quite ill if I don't get home soon."
Quite suddenly, Mr. Corran Lennox was at her elbow. "Miss Moore, I'm terribly sorry-- are you alright?"
His anxious look sent a frustrating mixture of relief and annoyance through Ceci's mind.
"Quite, thank you," she replied, stiffening again. Why must he grasp my elbow like that as if I were about to swoon away?
"She says she has head-pains," Mr. Brooke said, with a sudden grin.
"Has she?" Mr. Lennox turned to Ceci. "Have you? May I walk you home? I only have my horse, but you might ride him--"
Ceci frowned. In a minute, she really was going to have a headache.
"You do begin to look ill, Miss Moore," Mr. Brooke said, hiding a grin behind a mask of worry and concern. "I believe you should let Mr. Lennox escort you home. It is most gracious of him, and your parents would be grateful, at this hour."
Ceci raised a hand to her head. Oh, for heaven's sake.
"Do let me take you home. Please," Mr. Lennox's grip on her elbow tightened slightly.
Well, if you're going to make that much fuss, Cecil thought. But what in heaven's name is that Brooke grinning for?
"I'm very much obliged," Ceci said finally, allowing Mr. Lennox to turn her in the direction of the house once more. "Mr. Brooke, be so kind as to tell Marguerite I've gone home with a little headache. Perhaps," a twinkle lit up her eyes for an instant, "You could suggest Christopher Tout to take her home?"
"Yes, yes, certainly." Mr. Brooke agreed vehemently, grinning ear to ear.
Though her mother and father had raised her to aspire to brains over beauty, Ceci always knew they would never approve of her secret inclination to wear men's trousers in order that she might ride. Really ride, not side-saddle, as young ladies were supposed to. Whipping wind always did wonders for her health.
Corran Lennox, expert equestrian, noticed that inclination in the way she mounted his horse; he smiled to himself. So far, this young woman had blasted away many misgivings he'd had in his thoughts after they'd met. He really was impressed by her, almost to admiration. She possessed a spirit that frightened away men who got a glimpse of it; but on the contrary, she had an inherent warmth and happy personality that drew people to her. Her careless laughter contradicted her sharp, thoughtful mind, a mind that had been built on a sound (though nontraditional) education. Yet, all of this fit comfortably into one person. In short, this was a young woman of paradox.
She immediately corrected her mistake, and mussed-up her dress to sit side-saddle. The poor horse looked almost as uncomfortable (with a lady on his back) as she did.
"If you feel faint, do tell me so at once. I'd hate for you to fall off and do harm to yourself." Corran looked up anxiously beneath his broad-rimmed blue hat.
"I'm perfectly well, Mr. Lennox. You needn't be afraid that I'll fall." Despite the comical nature of his hat, Ceci frowned down at him.
Corran took the lead, patted his horse's shoulder and began down the road.
Silence was never a thing Ceci could bear comfortably. Especially with someone near to a stranger. She said,"If you don't mind, Mr. Lennox, might I ask what you thought of Mr. Redford's conversation just now?"
"By 'Mr. Redford's conversation,' do you mean the way you bullied the poor fellow, or the way he answered your questions?"
Though he said this with a light, teasing manner, Ceci couldn't help but be indignant. It appeared very clearly in her voice.
"I'm sure I don't know what you could mean by bullying."
"You were merely trying to make a point, I know." Mr. Lennox said. "I only wonder, as you and Mr. Redford are such long acquaintances, why you took the trouble to wheedle away at the man when you must have already known what his answers would be. So, I suppose, to answer your question, I thought the conversation to be very curious."
He couldn't see it in the darkness, but Ceci was blushing furiously.
"Mr. Lennox," she said, gritting her teeth in anger, "I know it is the custom of such gentlemen as you to humble others with an arrogantly impressive display of conversation, but I must tell you I find it to be terribly ungracious and quite hateful."
Corran stopped. He turned round and looked up again at Ceci from beneath his hat, now askew.
"And what," he said, with an edge of cold in his voice, "would bring you to make such an assumption about me? How would you propose to know me so well?"
"Because you come from a society typical of such behavior, Mister Lennox." Ceci replied, spitting the words.
"Typical, really?" Corran paused. Then he shook his head and in silence, continued leading the horse down the lane.
Ceci was unnerved by his silence. Her anger continued to seethe, and underneath it, a growing sense of guilt that only made her more frustrated.
Of a sudden, Corran stopped again and looked up at Ceci. "Well, Miss Moore," his voice was very quiet, and despite the silent street, Ceci had to lean down a bit to hear. "I must tell you that when I first met you, I thought I saw such great kindness in you--real warmth, the kind I find so appealing in my country acquaintances. But I think you've proved that first impression quite wrong; and as for my behavior, I believe it hasn't been half so high and mighty as yours. " He turned now, walking slowly. "How does that little passage in the Bible go? Something about a splinter in your neighbor's eye?"
Now the guilt really did pervade Ceci's thoughts. In fact, it took her completely over. She had behaved monstrously. It was unkind to make a fool of poor Sam Redford. And to try and justify it in such a way...
... the journey down the lane seemed to draw out for ages. The whole long way, Ceci reflected and became more and more unnerved and upset.
Finally, they came to her house, and quietly she said, "We've reached my home, Mr. Lennox."
Mr. Lennox carefully and silently helped her dismount and walked her down her own walkway. Near to the great oak front door, Ceci said, "I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Lennox."
Corran nodded politely, avoiding her gaze as he turned to leave, until she said--almost in a whisper, "Before you go, I must apologize," she took a step forward with a contrite countenance, "for my appalling behavior. It was... most unkind and impolite. And really-- you must know, Mr. Lennox-- not a true example of my usual character."
Mr. Lennox smiled. "I know," he said.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Words on a page
Corran William Lennox had spent the better part of two days lost in painful thought concerning the interview he'd had with Sir Edward. Thank the Lord his dear father still retained excellent health. Thank heaven he was allowed a few years to settle these terrifying prospects in his mind and grow accustomed to the bulk of inheritance that would lay on his shoulders. Those were the thoughts that he clung to.
Lost in thought soon became unbearably restless; against his first impulse, he decided to attend his good friend Brooke's evening dance. He could put the heavy troubles away for a time, enjoy himself and come back to them later. He sent along a note of his acceptance of Mr. Brooke's invitation, apologizing for the lateness.
To put off the constantly reappearing worries of late, Corran wore his brightest colors that evening: deep blue with a striped green and light-blue vest, a bright blue cap, and an orange blossom in his lapel. He looked a little eccentric, he supposed, but the colors made his mood a little lighter. He laughed at the expression on Pearl's face as he passed her on his way to the stables.
He could see, hear, and smell the activity, excitement and gaiety before he reached the little farm manor. How he enjoyed leaving behind the cold stuffiness of his social circle for the warm gentleness of country folk and their assemblies. He had undoubtedly been born into the wrong social class.
Mr. Brooke overflowed with joyful grins and words upon his arrival. Corran smiled gratefully at his friend's earnest attentions. Brooke offered introductions without even being asked, and Corran was grateful for that as well. He had never quite grasped the art of introductions with strangers.
Mr. Brooke knew exactly whom Mr. Lennox should meet; she stood, stiff and straining on one side of the lawn, in quiet conversation with friends. Mr. Brooke thought it the greatest thing in the world that his two favorite party guests should meet. Corran recognized, even before they formally met, the book girl he'd passed on the road to town that morning's ride, the girl who'd immediately struck him and stuck in his mind. Her cold formality could not fool him; her hand was soft and obliging of its own accord as he bent over it. It seemed she could not be frigid if she wanted to; her own intrinsic warmth betrayed her, and Corran recognized it immediately. Clever Mr. Brooke quickly ushered Corran away to make more new acquaintances, and Cecil was left to reflect on first impressions.
For Corran's part, he could not help but cement one eye, one ear, and one area of his thoughts to the book girl for the rest of the evening. Every significant movement, reaction and conversation he caught and turned over and over in his mind. It wasn't terribly difficult. Standing on the opposite side of the lawn, conversing with a group of new (and eager) acquaintances, he could easily pick out her voice, and especially her laughter. Every other word began with laughter. He wished at times to know what was so damned funny that she should laugh so profusely. He began to pass off the Miss Moore as a member of the ridiculous order of females, of the giddy, featherbrained character. What other conclusion could one draw from a woman who laughed all together too often? And especially at social gatherings?
The nerve, Ceci thought, her thoughts seething. Brazen arrogance of the man to show up at poor Mr. Brooke's private party just to revel in the natural adoration of decent country folk. It's disgusting, the appalling vanity of this order of society weasels. She had not even the will power to plaster a smile to her face as he bent over her hand. She received his politeness with an icy nod. Poor Mr. Brooke stood beside the two of them, grinning like a fool. If she had an invisible boot or a pitchfork, she'd send this Mr. Lennox on his way, away from her. The minute he turned his back, she scowled. Marguerite, who had never seen her cousin in such an attitude before, was taken aback. Marie only looked confused. Christopher only looked at Marguerite.
When Ceci turned back to her company of friends, she almost laughed at the curious looks on their faces. She forgot her anger and annoyance for the moment, and that suddenly put her at ease.
"Well, let me tell you who would match our Mr. Corran William Lennox best of our humble little party, since he seems to be so desperate for feminine adoration. I believe Sophia Mills would make him the perfect mate."
Maria let out a hearty gaffah. "Miss Sophia Mills? She has a brain the size of a bird's!"
Marguerite, in all her self-righteous dignity, looked shocked.
"Yes, and so I said, perfect; for she has the beauty with no brains. You know gentlemen, especially of Mr. Lennox's character, prefer a woman that complements his looks. They're always loathe to bother with a woman who might challenge him or provide an alternate opinion. Men can never get on well with a woman who possesses a strong mind."
"But you know, Ceci," Maria objected, "gentlemen, especially those like our new friend Mr. Lennox must have a wife who is good in society, one who will speak very little, but speak it well and will always be persuaded to agree with him, so that he can always get his way."
"And so?" Ceci asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement, "who would fit that description? Beautiful, brainless, agreeable and a society belle?"
"Susanna Greggs." Maria replied with a smirk.
Ceci laughed with abandon. "Susanna? Oh, Maria, you are cruel. She's such a timid girl! Mr. Lennox would bully the poor thing till she'd be too afraid to open her mouth!"
Maria considered, and nodded.
"If not Sophia Mills and most definitely not Miss Greggs, then the woman is--"
At this point in the conversation, Ceci was interrupted by Samuel Redford, William Redford and Corran Lennox.
"Have you met this fellow?" Sam said to Ceci, gesturing behind him at Mr. Lennox.
Ceci nodded without expression. Oh, why in heaven's name would they bring him over here once more?
"A dandy chap, he is," William said.
Oh yes, thought Ceci, let's spread our words like true country cretins, that he might have more to deepen his self-importance.
"I'm sure," replied Ceci, clasping her hands together with self-contained fury.
"Did I hear Miss Greggs mentioned just now?" Sam said. The whole of the countryside knew (very well indeed) his devotion for Susanna Greggs.
Maria stifled a smirk. "Yes, actually. We were just discussing--"
Will interrupted. "Well, we all know who among us's taken a fancy to her!" Ceci suspected he said this before his cousin had a chance to enumerate the young woman's many charms, as he had a habit of doing.
Ceci laughed at the surprised and annoyed expression on Sam's face, but her laugh died away quickly when she caught Mr. Lennox's intent glance. Her clasped hands tightened again. "Mr. Redford," She said, addressing Samuel. "How would you act if Susanna quite suddenly refused to attend church?"
"How do you mean?" Sam asked, looking confused.
"If she expressed an averse opinion of the Anglican Church and stated an intent to enter a different Christian denomination?" Ceci kept an eye on Mr. Lennox's looks and movements.
"Leave the Anglican Church?" Sam said, aghast. "What? You mean, if she wanted to become... Catholic?"
"Yes, perhaps, Catholic. Or of the Lutheran persuasion. Tell me, what would you do?"
"Well," Sam said, looking upset, "I would refuse to marry her, I suppose. No wife of mine will be a Catholic... or one of the John Calvin, Martin Luther tribe."
"No?" Ceci said, feigning surprise.
"She--she hasn't spoken of such an idea to you, has she?" Sam said, leaning forward in frightened, hushed tones.
"No, not to me she hasn't. I just wonder, Mr. Redford, why you would refuse to marry a woman you obviously admire, simply because she believed or expressed something contrary to your own persuasion?" Ceci let a tiny grin touch her eyes, for Corran's expression at her side was one of surprise, and... could it be? Indignation?
"Miss Moore, erm, with respect," (Sam was ever the gentleman) "What woman has the just right to make decisions adverse to her man's?"
Ceci raised an eyebrow. She always knew this to be Samuel's standpoint, as most men of her acquaintance, but to hear it spoken aloud peaked her annoyance. "And so, Mr. Redford, you prefer a woman to be timid, quiet and agreeable?"
"Well..." Samuel stopped for a moment and looked slightly unbalanced.
"Good. I'll tell Susanna you said so." Cecil nodded politely to Mr. Lennox and left them, making her way stiffly across the lawn.
Lost in thought soon became unbearably restless; against his first impulse, he decided to attend his good friend Brooke's evening dance. He could put the heavy troubles away for a time, enjoy himself and come back to them later. He sent along a note of his acceptance of Mr. Brooke's invitation, apologizing for the lateness.
To put off the constantly reappearing worries of late, Corran wore his brightest colors that evening: deep blue with a striped green and light-blue vest, a bright blue cap, and an orange blossom in his lapel. He looked a little eccentric, he supposed, but the colors made his mood a little lighter. He laughed at the expression on Pearl's face as he passed her on his way to the stables.
He could see, hear, and smell the activity, excitement and gaiety before he reached the little farm manor. How he enjoyed leaving behind the cold stuffiness of his social circle for the warm gentleness of country folk and their assemblies. He had undoubtedly been born into the wrong social class.
Mr. Brooke overflowed with joyful grins and words upon his arrival. Corran smiled gratefully at his friend's earnest attentions. Brooke offered introductions without even being asked, and Corran was grateful for that as well. He had never quite grasped the art of introductions with strangers.
Mr. Brooke knew exactly whom Mr. Lennox should meet; she stood, stiff and straining on one side of the lawn, in quiet conversation with friends. Mr. Brooke thought it the greatest thing in the world that his two favorite party guests should meet. Corran recognized, even before they formally met, the book girl he'd passed on the road to town that morning's ride, the girl who'd immediately struck him and stuck in his mind. Her cold formality could not fool him; her hand was soft and obliging of its own accord as he bent over it. It seemed she could not be frigid if she wanted to; her own intrinsic warmth betrayed her, and Corran recognized it immediately. Clever Mr. Brooke quickly ushered Corran away to make more new acquaintances, and Cecil was left to reflect on first impressions.
For Corran's part, he could not help but cement one eye, one ear, and one area of his thoughts to the book girl for the rest of the evening. Every significant movement, reaction and conversation he caught and turned over and over in his mind. It wasn't terribly difficult. Standing on the opposite side of the lawn, conversing with a group of new (and eager) acquaintances, he could easily pick out her voice, and especially her laughter. Every other word began with laughter. He wished at times to know what was so damned funny that she should laugh so profusely. He began to pass off the Miss Moore as a member of the ridiculous order of females, of the giddy, featherbrained character. What other conclusion could one draw from a woman who laughed all together too often? And especially at social gatherings?
The nerve, Ceci thought, her thoughts seething. Brazen arrogance of the man to show up at poor Mr. Brooke's private party just to revel in the natural adoration of decent country folk. It's disgusting, the appalling vanity of this order of society weasels. She had not even the will power to plaster a smile to her face as he bent over her hand. She received his politeness with an icy nod. Poor Mr. Brooke stood beside the two of them, grinning like a fool. If she had an invisible boot or a pitchfork, she'd send this Mr. Lennox on his way, away from her. The minute he turned his back, she scowled. Marguerite, who had never seen her cousin in such an attitude before, was taken aback. Marie only looked confused. Christopher only looked at Marguerite.
When Ceci turned back to her company of friends, she almost laughed at the curious looks on their faces. She forgot her anger and annoyance for the moment, and that suddenly put her at ease.
"Well, let me tell you who would match our Mr. Corran William Lennox best of our humble little party, since he seems to be so desperate for feminine adoration. I believe Sophia Mills would make him the perfect mate."
Maria let out a hearty gaffah. "Miss Sophia Mills? She has a brain the size of a bird's!"
Marguerite, in all her self-righteous dignity, looked shocked.
"Yes, and so I said, perfect; for she has the beauty with no brains. You know gentlemen, especially of Mr. Lennox's character, prefer a woman that complements his looks. They're always loathe to bother with a woman who might challenge him or provide an alternate opinion. Men can never get on well with a woman who possesses a strong mind."
"But you know, Ceci," Maria objected, "gentlemen, especially those like our new friend Mr. Lennox must have a wife who is good in society, one who will speak very little, but speak it well and will always be persuaded to agree with him, so that he can always get his way."
"And so?" Ceci asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement, "who would fit that description? Beautiful, brainless, agreeable and a society belle?"
"Susanna Greggs." Maria replied with a smirk.
Ceci laughed with abandon. "Susanna? Oh, Maria, you are cruel. She's such a timid girl! Mr. Lennox would bully the poor thing till she'd be too afraid to open her mouth!"
Maria considered, and nodded.
"If not Sophia Mills and most definitely not Miss Greggs, then the woman is--"
At this point in the conversation, Ceci was interrupted by Samuel Redford, William Redford and Corran Lennox.
"Have you met this fellow?" Sam said to Ceci, gesturing behind him at Mr. Lennox.
Ceci nodded without expression. Oh, why in heaven's name would they bring him over here once more?
"A dandy chap, he is," William said.
Oh yes, thought Ceci, let's spread our words like true country cretins, that he might have more to deepen his self-importance.
"I'm sure," replied Ceci, clasping her hands together with self-contained fury.
"Did I hear Miss Greggs mentioned just now?" Sam said. The whole of the countryside knew (very well indeed) his devotion for Susanna Greggs.
Maria stifled a smirk. "Yes, actually. We were just discussing--"
Will interrupted. "Well, we all know who among us's taken a fancy to her!" Ceci suspected he said this before his cousin had a chance to enumerate the young woman's many charms, as he had a habit of doing.
Ceci laughed at the surprised and annoyed expression on Sam's face, but her laugh died away quickly when she caught Mr. Lennox's intent glance. Her clasped hands tightened again. "Mr. Redford," She said, addressing Samuel. "How would you act if Susanna quite suddenly refused to attend church?"
"How do you mean?" Sam asked, looking confused.
"If she expressed an averse opinion of the Anglican Church and stated an intent to enter a different Christian denomination?" Ceci kept an eye on Mr. Lennox's looks and movements.
"Leave the Anglican Church?" Sam said, aghast. "What? You mean, if she wanted to become... Catholic?"
"Yes, perhaps, Catholic. Or of the Lutheran persuasion. Tell me, what would you do?"
"Well," Sam said, looking upset, "I would refuse to marry her, I suppose. No wife of mine will be a Catholic... or one of the John Calvin, Martin Luther tribe."
"No?" Ceci said, feigning surprise.
"She--she hasn't spoken of such an idea to you, has she?" Sam said, leaning forward in frightened, hushed tones.
"No, not to me she hasn't. I just wonder, Mr. Redford, why you would refuse to marry a woman you obviously admire, simply because she believed or expressed something contrary to your own persuasion?" Ceci let a tiny grin touch her eyes, for Corran's expression at her side was one of surprise, and... could it be? Indignation?
"Miss Moore, erm, with respect," (Sam was ever the gentleman) "What woman has the just right to make decisions adverse to her man's?"
Ceci raised an eyebrow. She always knew this to be Samuel's standpoint, as most men of her acquaintance, but to hear it spoken aloud peaked her annoyance. "And so, Mr. Redford, you prefer a woman to be timid, quiet and agreeable?"
"Well..." Samuel stopped for a moment and looked slightly unbalanced.
"Good. I'll tell Susanna you said so." Cecil nodded politely to Mr. Lennox and left them, making her way stiffly across the lawn.
Words on a page
Joyful, whistling Mr. Brooke strolled down the cobblestones to meet his guests. His favorite among them was the young Miss Moore, for her presence always made a pleasurable time. Arm in arm with her cousin Marguerite, her laughter fluttered through the air before her like a herald as she made her way up the lane. Smiling broadly, Mr. Brooke eagerly sent forward a hand to receive hers for a kiss. She laughed again. The little farm manor, so sweetly situated between field and meadow, was Ceci's favorite country villa and Mr. Brooke's soirees ever promised a delightful evening.
As ever, the manor was spectacular: lit with a thousand beeswax candles and glittering with chandelier prisms and the sparkles of ladies' gowns. The wood floors were waxed to mirror-perfection and the gold and white of decorative drapery spread a warmth through the rooms. A little string quartet played in the corner, and the lovely music carried easily through the hall. Ceci cast her eyes about for familiar faces. There was Sam Redford in the midst of some profound political discussion; he certainly didn't waste time, Ceci noted. And there, Mr. Redford's cousin William, forever the antagonist. Certainly they would be arguing the same worn out issues that continually plagued the country class. Ceci had learned long ago not to enter into conversation with this particular duo, for neither of them listened to differing opinions and were constantly repetitious.
Ceci jumped; suddenly by her side appeared James Carter; wickedly, he bent close to her ear so that her dark curls brushed the tip of his nose, and whispered a request for a dance. The sudden invasion unnerved her, but she hid her discomfort with a smile and a nod. To note here, Ceci's smile appeared at the corners of her mouth, but did not quite reach her eyes; Marguerite alone noticed it. Marguerite also noted her cousin's over-eager steps while she danced and the way she avoided catching James' eyes, averting her glance as she skipped her way through the crowd.
When the music died away again to the sound of appreciative applause, Mr. Brooke made a show of opening the great windowed oak doors and ushering his guests out onto the veranda and moonlit lawn. Moonlit, for this was a night when the grand harvest moon sat just above the horizon, which glowed a rich orange. Discomfort died away from Ceci's pale face and she sighed happily. The evening air cooled her nerves and she smiled at her cousin. Around them, elegant women with feathers and fans milled arm-in-arm with dark-suited gentlemen. Whispers in the air became laughter and conversation again, and the little quartet re-situated itself on the lawn, lit by the candlelight through the oak doors. Milling herself, Ceci found Marie Tout and her brother Christopher engaged in argument about whether the city or the country was better in the summer or the winter months. Ceci always enjoyed Marie's company; though she bore an altogether plain appearance, she had a perfectly amiable personality and always made her laugh. And her brother Christopher, a tall, handsome, dark-haired fellow was—she was quite sure—in love with her Marguerite. No doubt Marguerite returned the sentiment, though both were so bothersomely shy and indecisive that nothing had yet been done about it. And so Marie and Cecil often made it their end to attempt to leave the two alone together or goad them into conversation on particular subjects. Tonight, with pale, silent Marguerite at her elbow, Ceci began to talk of a friend who had set her wedding date for the late summer months, but had decided after much consideration to hold the ceremony in the country.
Marie quickly piped up with, “Oh yes. I am sure she was right; weddings, you know, are so much pleasanter in the fresh open air of the country, in both summer and wintertime. After all, who would want a ceremony stuffed up in a crowded church outside a busy street? Not terribly romantic, indeed. What do you think, Marguerite? If it had been your wedding, summer in the country?”
Marguerite bit her lip. “I think I would agree that in the summer, a wedding in the country would be much more agreeable. But I do enjoy the city. It's um—very busy and exciting. There's always so many things to do.” Her face peered up at Christopher's for just an instant. He looked uncomfortable.
Marie grinned at Ceci. “You know, we shall never ask your opinion, Chris. Men are never allowed their opinion concerning such things, since tradition holds that the poor bride must manage all the wedding plans!”
Ceci giggled. “It's too true,” she said. “I'll make note of it when your time comes, Marguerite. You'll have my help, at least.”
Marguerite blushed.
“Oh, how exciting it would be to have a wedding!” Marie exclaimed. “We haven't had anyone married in months and months. Not since Clement Hall and Diana Newberry were married last year; and they moved away!”
“It would be nice, wouldn't it, to have a wedding.” Ceci laughed again at poor Christopher and Marguerite's unnerved expressions, both simultaneously trying to catch and avert each other's glances.
Marie laughed (with wicked undertones) along with Ceci. “A wedding and then a christening!”
Ceci was a little surprised at Marie's audacity; but after all, he was her brother.
Ceci suddenly became aware of a hush spreading through the crowd of guests. A few awkward laughs hung in the silenced air; Ceci looked about to see the reason.
There was a fellow standing in the oakwood doorway, speaking animatedly with Mr. Brooke, who beamed and frowned in succession. The hush tapered away as a feminine rush of whispers broke out.
“Who in heaven's name...?” Ceci said, staring fixedly at the young man. She'd certainly never seen him before but felt oddly that she'd encountered his personage once earlier.
Marguerite and Marie both knew at once. “Oh, Ceci,” Marie began, a little exasperated. “Did you not hear Mr. Brooke speaking of the gentleman? The man couldn't shut up about him.”
Ceci gave her a blank look. “His name is Corran William Lennox. He lives on that enormous estate on the other side of town. His father is Sir Edward Lennox, of a very old and wealthy family.” This information was whispered to Ceci by the ever-present Marguerite. She didn't notice, but at her side, Christopher gave her a surprised look. Marguerite continued, “His father's estate is worth thousands; Mr. Corran Lennox is the most eligible bachelor in the north country and he hasn't even reached five and twenty yet.” Christopher's look became more worried then surprised.
Ceci touched Marguerite's arm appreciatively and leaned around to attempt to get a better look at the man. I hope he's homely, she thought. It'd be easier to detest him and all his wealth and airs if he's unbearably ugly.
In this, she was unfortunately disappointed.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Words on a page
Corran awoke in the night with a panicked start. A painful gasp escaped his lungs as he sat straight up in his bed. Howling had begun directly below his open window and his shaking legs rushed to look out. There in the grass, half lit by moonlight, lay the form of his elder brother Theodore. Clad in nightshirt, dressing gown and his thick riding boots, Corran rushed down the stairs and burst (quietly, if you will) out the door.
His brother was cold as death, but still breathing when the young man finally reached him. One of the dogs, who produced the frightful howl, stood at Theodore's side. Two years ago, this had been a common occurrence, a routine. But tonight of all nights, Corran stormed inwardly at his elder brother's drunken carelessness. He had been drinking and gambling once again and tonight managed to stumble in a stupor to his father's front door. When the first of these episodes began, Corran vowed he would never permit knowledge of Theo's behavior to reach Sir Edward, for his father's sake as well as Theodore's. The aging man already knew his eldest son's (once his pride and joy) gambling habits and loose acquaintances-- what would happen to Sir Edward's health and dignity if he knew the full extent?
Corran dragged his unconscious brother up the staircase without a sound. Thankfully, Theo did not begin groaning until he was safely down the long dim hallway and behind a closed door. Corran administered a glass of something to delude the concentrated effects of the liqueur, set an empty basin beside the bed and left his brother to recover. He would not sympathize with Theodore's certain head pains in the morning; he only hoped the booze and brandy would not have any lasting effects.
The next day did not set Corran's nerves at ease. He was troubled and nervous all morning at his brother's disturbing aspect. A haze from the previous night's drinking bout still lingered in Theodore's eyes and his mind and voice were confused. Exhaustion, it seemed, produced the beginnings of a fever and Corran feared calling for a doctor. He managed to obtain the services of the local town doctor, the physician of one of Sir Edward's tenants, who knew how to keep a secret.
Near evening, however, the haze and fever subsided, and Theo fell into a heavy sleep. Corran thought it safe enough to let his brother to himself. This meant, unfortunately, that word had to be given in some form or other to Sir Edward that his eldest son had returned home, never mind under what circumstances. Corran's instinct was to enlighten his father through Pearl somehow; as his only daughter and sweetheart, she had a knack for softening the blow of troublesome news. But this was a trick he'd long outgrown. It was, in any case, he who discovered Theodore on the doorstep and if he was any kind of man he would have the courage to approach the subject himself, despite his father's uneven temper.
The conversation began, as Corran was well prepared, with initial anger. The trust Sir Edward had once placed in Theodore Lennox had long since declined and the truth Corran carefully omitted about his situation, Sir Edward quickly suspected.
"What is possibly left to him now?" Sir Edward said despondently. Hands clenched behind his back, he paced the polished floor before the fireplace.
Corran knew better than to attempt an answer.
Sir Edward stopped and turned to his son. "I might as well tell you now, Corran, that your brother will not retain much inheritance when I am dead. There is not much now that I would trust him with and I know that you will dutifully care for your stepmother and sister when I am gone."
Corran's eyes darted to his father's face. "I don't understand you," he said, a painful feeling of apprehension growing in his chest.
Sir Edward let out an impatient sigh. "Of course you do. I know full well how you recoil from participating in the prosperity this family enjoys. It is a responsibility I would rather not impart, knowing how it would burden you. Still, there is nothing else for it. You had better grow accustomed to the idea and rest your thoughts on future plans."
Corran rose from his seat, gripping his fists at his sides. "You cannot think of tying me here... surely you're not serious!" he said, completely abandoning his calm disposition.
Sir Edward's eyes flashed. "Understand, Corran, this estate and the wealth it entails will be yours and you must accustom yourself to the idea. Take pride in what generations of men have worked to vouchsafe you."
Corran sat where his father left him for hours, attempting to dispel the combination of dread, anger and disbelief that invaded his thoughts. He could not possibly accept sole inheritance of his father's wealth; yet it seemed he had no choice. Something dark and heavy lingered on his chest; it would cost him many sleepless nights and more.
His brother was cold as death, but still breathing when the young man finally reached him. One of the dogs, who produced the frightful howl, stood at Theodore's side. Two years ago, this had been a common occurrence, a routine. But tonight of all nights, Corran stormed inwardly at his elder brother's drunken carelessness. He had been drinking and gambling once again and tonight managed to stumble in a stupor to his father's front door. When the first of these episodes began, Corran vowed he would never permit knowledge of Theo's behavior to reach Sir Edward, for his father's sake as well as Theodore's. The aging man already knew his eldest son's (once his pride and joy) gambling habits and loose acquaintances-- what would happen to Sir Edward's health and dignity if he knew the full extent?
Corran dragged his unconscious brother up the staircase without a sound. Thankfully, Theo did not begin groaning until he was safely down the long dim hallway and behind a closed door. Corran administered a glass of something to delude the concentrated effects of the liqueur, set an empty basin beside the bed and left his brother to recover. He would not sympathize with Theodore's certain head pains in the morning; he only hoped the booze and brandy would not have any lasting effects.
The next day did not set Corran's nerves at ease. He was troubled and nervous all morning at his brother's disturbing aspect. A haze from the previous night's drinking bout still lingered in Theodore's eyes and his mind and voice were confused. Exhaustion, it seemed, produced the beginnings of a fever and Corran feared calling for a doctor. He managed to obtain the services of the local town doctor, the physician of one of Sir Edward's tenants, who knew how to keep a secret.
Near evening, however, the haze and fever subsided, and Theo fell into a heavy sleep. Corran thought it safe enough to let his brother to himself. This meant, unfortunately, that word had to be given in some form or other to Sir Edward that his eldest son had returned home, never mind under what circumstances. Corran's instinct was to enlighten his father through Pearl somehow; as his only daughter and sweetheart, she had a knack for softening the blow of troublesome news. But this was a trick he'd long outgrown. It was, in any case, he who discovered Theodore on the doorstep and if he was any kind of man he would have the courage to approach the subject himself, despite his father's uneven temper.
The conversation began, as Corran was well prepared, with initial anger. The trust Sir Edward had once placed in Theodore Lennox had long since declined and the truth Corran carefully omitted about his situation, Sir Edward quickly suspected.
"What is possibly left to him now?" Sir Edward said despondently. Hands clenched behind his back, he paced the polished floor before the fireplace.
Corran knew better than to attempt an answer.
Sir Edward stopped and turned to his son. "I might as well tell you now, Corran, that your brother will not retain much inheritance when I am dead. There is not much now that I would trust him with and I know that you will dutifully care for your stepmother and sister when I am gone."
Corran's eyes darted to his father's face. "I don't understand you," he said, a painful feeling of apprehension growing in his chest.
Sir Edward let out an impatient sigh. "Of course you do. I know full well how you recoil from participating in the prosperity this family enjoys. It is a responsibility I would rather not impart, knowing how it would burden you. Still, there is nothing else for it. You had better grow accustomed to the idea and rest your thoughts on future plans."
Corran rose from his seat, gripping his fists at his sides. "You cannot think of tying me here... surely you're not serious!" he said, completely abandoning his calm disposition.
Sir Edward's eyes flashed. "Understand, Corran, this estate and the wealth it entails will be yours and you must accustom yourself to the idea. Take pride in what generations of men have worked to vouchsafe you."
Corran sat where his father left him for hours, attempting to dispel the combination of dread, anger and disbelief that invaded his thoughts. He could not possibly accept sole inheritance of his father's wealth; yet it seemed he had no choice. Something dark and heavy lingered on his chest; it would cost him many sleepless nights and more.
Brontë
'Don't talk any more of those days, sir,' I interrupted, furtively dashing away some tears from my eyes; his language was torture to me; for I knew what I must do--and do soon-- and all these reminiscences and these revelations of his feelings only made my work more difficult.
'No, Jane,' he returned: 'what necessity is there to dwell on the Past, when the Present is so much surer-- the Future so much brighter?' I shuddered to hear the infatuated assertion. 'You see now how the case stands-- do you not?' he continued, 'After a youth and manhood passed in unutterable misery and half in dreary solitude, I have for the first time found what I can truly love--I have found you. You are my sympathy-- my better self-- my good angel-- I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you-- and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one.'
'No, Jane,' he returned: 'what necessity is there to dwell on the Past, when the Present is so much surer-- the Future so much brighter?' I shuddered to hear the infatuated assertion. 'You see now how the case stands-- do you not?' he continued, 'After a youth and manhood passed in unutterable misery and half in dreary solitude, I have for the first time found what I can truly love--I have found you. You are my sympathy-- my better self-- my good angel-- I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you-- and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one.'
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Brontë
'...I was an intellectual epicure, and wished to prolong the gratification of making this novel and piquant acquaintance: besides, I was for a while troubled with a haunting fear that if I handled the flower freely its bloom would fade--the sweet charm of freshness would leave it. I did not then know that it was no transitory blossom; but rather the radiant resemblance of one, cut in an indestructible gem. Moreover, I wished to see whether you would seek me if I shunned you-- but you did not: you kept in the school-room as still as your own desk and easel; if by chance I met you, you passed me as soon, and with as little token of recognition, as was consistent with respect. Your habitual expression in those days, Jane, was a thoughtful look; not despondent, for you were not sickly; but not buoyant, for you had little hope, and no actual pleasure. I wondered what you thought of me-- or if you ever thought of me; to find this out I resumed my notice of you. There was something glad in your glance and genial in your manner when you conversed: I saw you had a social heart; it was the silent school-room-- it was the tedium of your life-- that made you mournful. I permitted myself the delight of being kind to you; kindness stirred emotion soon: your face became soft in expression, your tones gentle; I liked my name pronounced by your lips in a grateful, happy accent. I used to enjoy a chance meeting with you, Jane, at this time: there was a curious hesitation in your manner: you glanced at me with a slight trouble-- a hovering doubt: you did not know what my caprice might be-- whether I was going to play the master and be stern, or the friend and be benignant. I was now too fond of you often to stimulate the first whim; and, when I stretched my hand out cordially, such bloom and light and bliss rose to your young, wistful features, I had much ado often to avoid straining you then and there to my heart.'
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