"Mistress?" There was a tentative knock at the door. Joan didn't care. She didn't want to speak to anyone. Another knock. "Matron? I have something for you…"
At this she sighed. A visit she could ignore. Someone carrying packages she couldn't. "Come in."
The door opened with a squeak and the new maid came in the door. Was it Molly? She could only remember the name had sounded like Martha and it had wrung her to the core. Poor silly stupid girl traveling with….
She shook her head. "Yes? What is it?" She was in no mood to be polite or rude. She was, in fact, in no mood at all. Her world had shattered for the second time in her life and this time she didn't know if she could or even would, pick up the pieces.
The girl stood there in the doorway, unsure what to do. In her arms she carried a large wooden box. "Matron, I have some things that I was told were to be given to you."
"Oh? By whom?"
"The Headmaster ma'am."
She stood with a sigh and walked toward a small table. "Put it here please. Thank you." She dismissed the girl with a sharp nod and a wave and then she found her entire being swimming for just a moment as she looked in the box.
To the casual observer there was nothing of import in the box. A pair of wire rimmed glasses. A fountain pen, well chewed on one end. A cap. And leather bound book. A few other sundry items graced the bottom of the box, but those were the main contents. And they tumbled Joan's slightly off balance, mostly held together world.
"Oh John…" her words trailed off behind trembling fingertips as tears sprang instantly to her eyes. She pulled out the simple wire framed glasses and held them to her chest, caressing the cool unresponsive wire that had brushed his hair and face. She closed her eyes against the rising touch of memories and heartache.
"Can't I just be John Smith?!"
"But…but…no! This isn't what I want! It's not what it should be!"
As Joan opened her eyes and reached into the box yet again, she paused to wipe tears from her eyes. A widow twice over without being a wife more than once. Leave it to her to manage such a feat, she thought to herself with a pained smile. Her fingers brushed the leather journal and she looked at it, curious. Her eyes strayed to the shelf above her desk where the "Journal of Impossible Things" lay nestled. She didn't want to read it again. She didn't want to see the words of her lover again. But never would she let it leave her possession…
"So what's this then?" She whispered as she withdrew the book from the box. She inhaled deeply with only a minor sob and a catch of her breath, quite an accomplishment, and went back to the comfortable chair in which she'd previously been sitting.
She settled in, got quite comfortable, looked outside her window and around her room and did everything she could convince herself to do to waste time before concentrating on the book in her grasp. When there was nothing more she could do, she finally rested tear stained eyes on the relatively new leather cover. She caressed it with trembling fingers and blinked back another round of hot stinging tears. And then she opened the cover. In neat clear pronounced handwriting, the words took her heart and mind by storm. "The Personal Writings of John Smith."
She looked again to where the "Journal of Impossible Things" sat on the shelf and then, somewhat confused, she turned to the opening page.
Since I've begun writing down these impossible and most fantastical dreams of mine in a different journal (appropriately titled "Journal of Impossible Things") I thought perhaps it time to keep track of my more coherent daytime thoughts, thus resulting in this new adventure in literary journey. Perhaps in the sands of time, these writings will justify me in not being completely and utterly insane as my other journal indeed might. I only pray that future generations find both books together or, that if not, that they might find me a brilliantly creative author of adventure and fantasy rather than the truth of the troubling and horrifying nightmares which plague my rest and sleep.
Joan blinked and thumbed her way through the pages, disappointed to note that there were only a few pages of text. The rest stood blank, much as John Smith's short life had also done. She held the book close to her chest and inhaled it. In some way she hoped she might breathe in more of him than she'd known. Her lover was two dimensional at best, but her lover nonetheless. She knew so little of his thoughts. His life. His…
She settled into a comfortable chair and tucked her feet up under her skirt. The tea had grown cold long ago, but still she sipped at it and then, with a very deliberate sigh, she opened the journal again.
**
Today something absolutely extraordinary happened. I think Matron, Joan, may have feelings for me. Very forthright and quite vain of me to consider I know. But this afternoon for the first time we had a nice conversation and I very nearly didn't make a complete fool of myself. I say very nearly because there was that unfortunate tumble down the stairs but it didn't turn out quite as badly as one might consider in the circumstances.
While she was tending to my wounds (merely superficial I assure you) we had a splendid conversation. I don't quite remember all that we spoke of as her fingers in my hair were quite distracting. But we were getting along splendidly when Martha Jones (the maid, of all people!) burst rudely in and interrupted.
I've been trying to work with Martha on her manners but it seems an uphill battle. I believe if we keep pressing on, we'll make progress. We're already far beyond where we were when she and I arrived at the school, but still, it's a task that shall never fully be completed.
Joan was, of course, wonderful with Martha. She firmly took the girl in hand and showed her the error of her ways. I couldn't help but think that Joan's presence might be a good influence for Martha. One can never underestimate the power of good breeding and manners on the lesser classes.
I told Joan about my dreams. I didn't intend to do so, but my mouth started speaking before my brain had caught up and suddenly it was too late to back up, so I shared all of my dreams. The blue box and the metal creatures and the men made of metal. I showed her the journal and my drawings and she seemed genuinely interested and fascinated. I allowed her to take the book with her. I do hope that wasn't too straightforward of me. I shouldn't like to frighten her with my fantastical imaginings.
She mentioned a local dance tomorrow evening in town. I may ask her to attend as my guest if I can unloosen my tongue long enough to make the words form properly.
Joan smiled and ran her finger over the page, her heart leaping as the memories assaulted her. Such a racket he put up over the small cut on the back of his head. All masculine bellowing and blowing really. Such a fuss just to get women to do what we do best and care for them.
She blinked back tears and swallowed the nearly impossible lump in her throat before she turned the page.
The most extraordinary turn of events happened today. I summoned up the courage to ask Joan to attend the dance with me this evening.
We had gone for a short walk into town and after an odd set of circumstances, I asked the question so quickly that I wasn't even sure I had said it out loud. And then she laughed quite brilliantly and told me I was an extraordinary man which delighted me to no end.
On the walk home she explained my dreams to me. Or at least what she believes to be happening in my dreams. The doctor seems to be someone that she believes I'd like to be. A sort of braver, smarter, more adventuresome sort of self.
What she doesn't seem to realize is that the best adventure is living with a wonderful loving woman at your side. Sharing a life together with children and day to day drudgeries of dinner and breakfast and reading and sleeping. Those are the true adventures. To share your love and your life with someone you can't possibly live without. It's one that I fully embrace. I eagerly look forward to this adventure ahead and I believe it may be possible that Joan is that life for me.
I have no desire for this doctor's adventures. The life he's lived and the people he's lost frighten me and I can't imagine living that sort of existence.
I long for stability. Patterns. Comfort. Peace. There is no more.
I must go get ready for this evening. A night of dancing with Joan in my arms…that is my adventure!
Joan was able to just catch the sob in her throat just before it became a full blooded scream of frustration. The tears rolled from her eyes yet again and she could barely contain the shudders that raked through her body as she remembered the last time she saw John.
"I can't…I don't!" He had sobbed against her shoulder. "I can't be this…this….he's mad!"
"Shhhh." Joan had held John and stroked his back and shoulders soothingly as she would one of the young boys during an injury. "It will be alright."
"How will it be alright?" His voice cracked under the strain. "How can this possibly be alright? I must….I….DIE!"
She continued to whisper and mutter soothing utterances as he held on to her with breathtaking intensity, sobbing and trembling with the emotion of it. Then suddenly he stopped and pulled back.
"I won't."
"John…"
"I won't do it Joan. I can't. It's not me. I don't care what they say."
"But the journal John…"
He gripped her hands tightly. "The journal! It's impossible! It can't be! Who flies through the stars?" His eyes searched hers frantically. "Joan…I…" He swallowed hard. "I love you."
"I love you too John. My dearest John." She placed her hand on his cheek and stroked her thumb over it. "I love you too..." She couldn't stop the smile from spreading over her face at the words.
His face lit up with joy. "You're…everything."
"Oh John! What shall we do?"
"I don't go. I don't do this. It's madness Joan. Let's run away. We'll go where they can't find us…"
She couldn't stop the shake of her head. "People are dying John…"
"Do you want me to go?" His words had echoed through the room, laced with anxiety.
"No! Dear God no." She took his hands and guided him to a small bench. "Come sit down." When they sat together on the bench she began to stroke his hands. "Earlier you asked me if I wanted him. If you weren't enough for me." Tears glistened. "You are more than I'd dreamed. I stopped. I wasn't living anymore. And then you…you saved me."
"You're my adventure Joan. Nothing else. I don't want to be anyone else or anywhere else. Just you…"
And then he leaned forward and his lips touched hers in an exquisitely tender moment that remained etched in eternity for both of them forever.
Martha watched the Doctor touch his lips and she saw him blink back tears.
"You alright?"
"Always. I'm always alright."
"Okay."
Always alright. For the space of a heartbeat in the existence of everything, he'd known the precious gift of peace. Still, he was always alright.