"I am not sure that I can do this." The sentence was low and shaky, barely perceptible amongst the chorused jumbling of road, wheel and horse hooves. A sigh, weighty and tired, quickly followed.
"Didn't we just talk about this but a block ago?" breathed a gentleman of middle years. He was solidly built, his clothes cut cleanly, his hands hard from years of work. The darkness beneath his sharp blue eyes seemed to deepen as it became apparent that his charge would yet again wish to wallow in her own insecurities. He couldn't help another sigh as he took in the sight of his niece. Girlish eyes peered shyly from the beneath a delicate curled fringe both intreating and demanding.
"When you barged into my room last night trembling and breathy I thought it was the insecurities of youth, but you just want me to feather your hat and I can't bring myself to do it", the man replied solidly. He did not miss the way she broke eye contact: the shift and jitter of having been caught red handed.
"I am simply nervous Uncle Bryan", she breathed halfheartedly. Her upturned noise crinkled as here eyes locked on her faint reflection of the carriage window.
"You should be if you are using an old coger's words to make yourself feel better." The tart glare sent the man's way made him snicker.
"That's better, I was beginning to wonder what demon had possessed you to make you so meek. Almost managed to make yourself out the picture of a real lady." The young girl's lip curled in disgust at the mere idea. This quickly turned into a giggle as she once again looked into her uncle's clear, amused eyes. Both parties relaxed into the comradery, and for a few moments the sense of excitement that had accompanied the young woman at the start of this adventure seized her with such ferocity that her feet began to shimmy and dance with the excess spark of energy. This was until the Populaire came into view. The woman's pale skin turned ashy. Her hands began to sweat.
"It could be all for naught" she murmured, the sound coming from a tight place in her stomach, as her eyes locked upon the imposing structure of the Opera house.
"Say the word and I could turn the carriage and it really would 'be all for naught'" Bryan commented flatly with an upward quirk of his lips. A moment stretched on in silence and the tiny woman's fidgeting only became more pronounced. Frayed nerves finally gave, and the man quickly traversed the tiny space of the carriage and seized the young woman's shoulder.
"Nanna, take yourself together!" He admonished, his ascent thickening in his agitation. So much so that the sentence would sound garbled to a foreign ear. Blinking rapidly the young lady finally arrested her gaze to her Uncle. Her eyes bounced from wrinkle to wrinkle around his face. They were a rarity on his person, only choosing to make their appearance when Bryan was well and truly frustrated.
"I am sorry Uncle, I just want this so bad!" She exclaimed with violent fervor. Bryan's face relaxed; his wrinkles winking out of existence one by one. Youth was such a tiring thing. Any given moment could promise one's death or birth. He for one was quite glad to be years past such an exhausting existence. A sharp rap upon the ceiling alerted them to the carriages arrival.
"A moment" Bryan called in response keeping his gaze on his niece who had begun to chew her lip in her anxiety. Taking a deep soothing breath, the gentleman relaxed into the seat next to his charge with a faint smile curling his lips. Softening his grip on her shoulder, he turned her gently to face him.
"Nanna" he called softly, in much the same manner that one might coax a tiny child or wild animal. Her bright hazel eyes met his desperately, holding his gaze like a life line within a hurricane.
"The road you have taken has been riddle with trials, you have gone against the grain, sailed across the great Atlantic, travelled hundreds of kilometers and braved over a kilometer through a storm by foot to be here." Nanna smirked impishly at this, her mind drifting to the fateful evening her hurried feet had taken her from the family home to the harbor.
Her family had been sitting in the parlor with a handful of her father's business affiliates. Not an uncommon scene for a Thursday evening. Men were strewn comfortably on couches and chairs with cups of bourbon in hand. Her father had lit his favorite cobb pipe and was now seeping large dragon like tuffs of honeyed smoke. The fire was lit in the hearth, and Nanna was sat across from her mother with sketchbook in hand. The rain outside had worked itself into the first heaving cries of thunder and lightning. It was then one of the younger men had had observed to the room how the color of Nanna's hat suited her, and how she should be occupying her thoughts with more domestic matters than art. He was a pretty fair looking young man with a stable income and prospects, but his presumptuous ways spoilt Nanna's humor. Here mother had just flashed the young woman a look that had her biting back her quicksilver tongue, when the doorbell rang. Confusion fell upon the gathered party. It was, after all, rather late to be called upon. A maid appeared promptly after, telegram in hand. Immediately Nanna's mother had jumped to receive the note. It was not common knowledge that her father could not read, and that was just how the family liked to keep it. Silence stretched another moment and then a smile bloomed on her mother's pretty face.
"What is it Nickerbackers?" My father inquired tenderly with his favorite pet name. Some of my father's colleagues shuffled uncomfortably at the intimacy but most smiled having become familiar with the closeness of Nanna's parents.
"Oh, nothing of interest to us" the petite matron intoned in a sing song voice, "but it may interest someone that their favorite uncle has just made port." Nanna was on her feet in an instant.
"Do you mean, have you thought, when did you-" the young woman stopped mid-sentence allowing for a calming breath to ease the agitation that had beset her body into action. Another breath to gather her thoughts. All of which was observed by some rather bewildered businessmen.
"Does this mean that you have given your consent?" Nanna questioned looking first into her mother's eyes, which had begun to sparkle with tears, and then to her father's smiling face.
"This place hasn't anything to offer you" her father stated simply. The careful constructed veneer of calm snapped out of existence as Nanna sprang into her father's arms, snatching her mother along the way. The moment was brief but the young lady cherished the memory of her parents' arms around her, and the warmth of their kisses on her cheeks. The rush through the forest that came after was a blur of cold and wet in Nanna's mind. Her quest to enlist her uncle as a chaperon had relit the spark of a dream that small minded people with their small-town ways had previously stamped out. Later her parents would tease her for being to excited to have the thought to call for their carriage, but, as her grandmother would say, it was all water under the bridge now.
As her uncle had said, it had been hard. The taunts, the jabs, the worry of spinsterdom, the lack of opportunity and finally stepping onto that boat and away from the loving home of her family. Nanna couldn't let it all be undone.
"You ready now Glefs?" Her uncle asked. An answer was unnecessary as he took in the set of her mouth and hard gleam of her eyes. A smile split his face to reveal hearty yellow teeth.
"Bout fucking time" he declared throwing opening the carriage door much to the coachman's horror. Nanna was quick to follow, but soon to the lead. Her steps were large for one so small, here head was high and her portfolio was tucked comfortably to her side. Bryan followed a few steps behind, his steps slow and his gaze observational. It was funny, but the Populaire looked like it was almost shrinking away from the lace and satin cased force charging its way.
Glefs: Norwegian for jaw-snap. It is a nickname for someone who is quick to snap at someone, or quick to emotion.
Nanna: Roughly pronounced Nawn-naawn