New story. I anticipate this to be about 5-6 chapters long... but then again i'm not sure of the response and how its going to run. If you guys don't like it I'll scrap it.

Enjoy.

She doesn't remember the first time she saw him. Really he's always just been around since the very beginning of her few hazy recollections of childhood. Asking her the very first time she saw him would be like asking her to remember the first time she felt sunlight on her face... or the first moment she knew she loved her baby sister.

(Pointless)

He used to catch moments in the earliest of her days; flitting so scarcely around her that she never really knew who he was or what he was there for. Sometimes she would catch the swoop of a brunet curls or the pleasant resonance of laughter and she would recognize his presence. But she never really paid attention... never really questioned his importance or his reasons for being where he was. Just a minor blip on her ever-growing radar of expensive lifestyles and judgemental wealth.

(Pointless)

Ask her the first time she met him though... and then her word changes. The first time she caught the glint in his eyes... the first time he was no longer just the boy who was around.

She wore a dress that clung modestly to her shoulders... the drag of material heavy across her back as it skittered down in falls. It rose in bunches at the meeting at the end her spine... too much material for just one dress for just one girl. She almost rolled her eyes at the way her small heels kicked at the tail, wishing ever so that it did not fall the way it does and scrape pointlessly against her ankles with every move she makes.

She barely remembers the reason for donning such a dress in the first place.

She knows though that the air was dense... the ground soft from the previous shower of morning rain that sunk itself unapologetically into the mud. She took heavier steps to manoeuvre her way to the car; perfectly concealed annoyance etched upon her young face as she held her sisters hand ... the little girl still caught up in the naiveties of dressing prettily and getting to wear Mother's pearls for the first time.

(Really very pointless)

"S... S...ahhh..." the words form around her small mouth daintily, her fingers still clutched in her older sister's and for a moment the elder girl looks down fondly at the young girl, a smile tugging at her lips as the four year old struggled with the letters rolled of her tongue.

"Ayyy... It's pronounced Ayy" she offers and startled blue eyes look up at her, realisation surpassing confusion as she blinks in awe.

"Oh right.." she giggles and licks her lips. "Esss...Ayyy... Arrr..." she trails off.

"Ayyy.." she supplies, tugging on her hands gently as they continue to walk. "What's next Beth?" The young girl looks up at her, her eyes squinting as her older sister leans down as though to whisper a secret. "H.." she puffs the letter against the shell of her small ear, spurring a giggle as she leans back again. "And what does that spell?"

Again there is silence... but not the silence of ignorance..rather the silence for dramatic effect. Barely four years old and she knows that her sister is going to be a handful.

(In the best possible way)

"Saaawwahh!" she gasps, hands up in the air with a complete look of adoration on her features as she smiles back at her sister. Sarah laughs, her hearts pangs at the innocence of it all and she has the strangest wish to bottle that look on her sisters face and capture the moment. That look of pure love. She can hardly remember the last time she saw her father let alone when he looked at her that way.

"Close enough" she says and pulls the younger girl closer to her almost cradling her innocence in some way. She would lose the cute lack in her diction very soon...

.. that's what private tutors and singing lessons were for.

(Pointless.)

She's distracted for a moment; caught in the game that plays across her sister's features and for a second doesn't stop to look before each step the way a proper lady should. The way she's meant to guide... full of poise and grace.

Too much grace for a ten year old.

But then she's stumbling, the extra material of her dress catching around her feet and she has no choice but the fall, her heart quickening in a way she knows is fear. Not of hurting herself... no.

But of ruining her ugly expensive dress.

Father would be mad.

But before she can even consider the consequences of mud stains against rose silk, there are a pair of arms... small and sturdy catching at her elbows and righting her in less than a blink of an eye. She swivels, encountering his brown eyes for the first time... filled with something so foreign to her that for a moment she's deemed speechless.

"Careful there Miss Walker," he nods cheerfully, his lips pulled up in a grin as he rubs the back of his neck. He's tall... way too tall for the age of ten. She knows he is of her age. Their birth only separated by three days. "Wouldn't want to ruin your dress."

She narrows her eyes at him. Because of course he is a boy... and boys are stupid. "What if I wanted to ruin my dress?" she asks, forgetting her manners for a moment and he is startled, his eyebrows raised as he looks at her. Like she's confused him. Like he doesn't know what to make of her.

(Good)

And then he grins, a surprisingly warm gesture as laughter fills his face. "Well it don't matter... because you'll still be the prettiest girl... especially with mud stains. Brings out more of the natural look." He says it as a joke... and she can tell from his jovial demeanour that he is a relatively sunny character. But she doesn't know what to make of him.

She doesn't smile.

He continues as though oblivious to her scrutinizing. "Of course though... still never as beautiful as you little Miss," he winks down at Beth, who sidles next to her older sister, blushing adorably as he bends toward her. He moves as though he wants to tap her on the nose.

A gesture of affection Sarah is sure.

But he stops himself. Because you do not touch the wealthy unless asked or necessary.

Of course.

He is too common.

"Thankyou", she nods, and turns toward the car. Their driver waits patiently for them.

"It's no problem Miss Walker," she stops and turns to look at him, the plaid jacket across his arm faded with wear. "Happy Birthday." This he says softer, looking straight into her eyes a look of fear across his features.

As though he's not sure whether he was allowed to say that.

Because he isn't. Not really. He is not her personal servant so there is no familiarity which allows him recognition. He is not her friend which would allow her to smile at the words and thank him for remembering. He is not her family for another year of her life to be celebrated with gifts she would most likely grow tired off.

But she smiles anyways. A small barely there smile that has him grinning back ten times as wide. She feels almost a sense of longing as she walks away... perhaps because of the way he digs his heel into the ground and whistles a tune whilst still watching her. Perhaps it's the way that she's always known him but never really knew the melody of his voice.

But she knows definitely that she smiles just a tiny bit wider when she looks down at the crook of her elbow and sees an unmistakable brown stain there from where his hands had touched her skin. Of course he would have dirt beneath his fingernails.

But the notion make her giggle rather than repulse. A dark smudge against the pale of her arm. She feels... almost content at the sight.

(She was the prettiest girl... mud stains and all).

She searches for him every so often. As though their one per chance encounter has allowed the barrier of conversation to break. She doesn't know why he interests her so... but the unruliness of his hair and shyness beneath his skin intrigues her. She enters the kitchen, her sister perched on a chair being fed by the cook's daughter.

Same brunette hair. Same sunny demeanour.

"Goodmorn Eleanor" she says, walking forward and retrieving her plate of fruit and waffles off the counter.

"Goodmorn Miss Walker" the elder girl replies, looking up and nodding slightly as she cuts up Beth's breakfast.

She doesn't say anything else.

She's not allowed to.

Sarah wishes she would.

"I was wondering if..." Sarah looks down and lays her fork neatly on her plate. "I was wondering if you could assist me in something."

The girl looks at her, a small smile gracing her face and she wipes at Beth's cheeks. Eleanor could only be of ten and eight years. It's been three years since she's assisted her mother in the kitchen. Mary.

Sarah knows their names.

She doesn't know if she should ask them to say hers out loud just once.

"Whatever you need Miss Walker," she nods and turns to face her, head cocked to the side.

"I need to speak with your brother." she says it quickly, as though the girl would not hear the words but rather just accept her request.

"My brother?" Eleanor asks, her eyebrows furrowed as she stills in her motions. " I assure you Miss Walker... my brother is a good boy. He would not steal or do any mischief. I swear by it."

"I do not mean to seem abrupt Eleanor but this has nothing do with stealing... I...," Sarah looks down again and wonders how to phrase her words. "I have something to give him."

"Something to give him?" She asks, but the younger girl does not elaborate. "He is down by the stables surely the last I saw of him at six this morn." Sarah nods and stands, running her hands down her dress and dabbing the napkin at her lips. She moves quickly, hair neatly twisted and not a blemish upon her constructed appearance.

She was all too dressed up for nowhere to go.

(She wondered what it would feel like to have a tangle in her smooth blonde hair. Blasphemy.)

"I ain't mean to pry Miss Walker... but what may you have to give him?" Eleanor's voice calls after her; unsure and yet determined in the way she clenches her fist slightly... as though fighting her every instinct that surrounds their world.

The rules, the rules, the rules.

Sarah turns and smiles bashfully at her for a second, azure eyes looking upon her with interest. Because she's glad she pried. "Words Eleanor. I have words to give him."

"Words?" she remains quick, as though unaware how inappropriate her questioning of her Master is. And Sarah nods. Because she is blissfully unaware too; the slight tickle at the heat on her cheeks remaining a useful enough distraction.

"It is his birthday is it not?"

(Inappropriate. So very inappropriate.)

"Well... yes?" The brunette girl replies... not sure really why and how this conversation may end. But then Sarah nods; and a shift takes place in the room.

In which the rich deems it particularly important to address a servant on such an occasion. "Then I have words to give him," She says it as though it is obvious- and all the servant girl can really do is watch the small Master leave the kitchen and walk out in search for the servant boy she had only just met on one occasion.

(Rules, rules, rules.)

His voice resonates across the empty barn when she find him- the perfect hums and hitches laying through a character... a meaning behind words that Sarah had never took the time to find. She had perfect pitch, perfect posture. But he had cracked notes and mesmerising tone.

She wished she could hit replay over and over again. Save the feeling of his voice washing over her skin. But instead she taps on the heavy wood, alerting him to her presence and she's almost sorry when his song stops abruptly.

Although she really couldn't be when the light brown of his eyes connect with hers.

"Miss Walker!?" he gasps, clutching his heart comically and stumbling back as he looks at her; exasperated shock upon his features. "You best mind not walking in on a lad so suddenly- lest you want to give him a heart attack."

If her father were here, he would admonish the boy. Tell him that poor folk do not tell rich folk what to do. That she may walk wherever she so pleases. But her father is not here. So Sarah laughs... First at the mock offense on his features... and secondly for the delightful way his words make her want to grin unabashedly.

No one beneath her class has spoken to her in such a way before.

She decides she likes it very much.

"Yes well Charles.. I highly doubt a boy of your age be in danger of suffering a heart attack. Anyhow my mother used to say that I am the best kind of surprise." She blinks at the mention of her mother from her own lips, startled at the easiness of the words spilt. She had rarely spoken of her since her death- the memory sharp and tragically sour that it still pulled tears from her eyes. She looked at the servant boy and he recognised the flicker of her face, quickly running a hand through his hair as he stepped forward.

"Well, Miss Walker I would be a liar to deny her right. What may I have done to gain this privilege?" He eyes her pristine clothes and hastily brushes his own dirtied hands on the course of his slacks, his work boots scuffing the hay.

"I... I know that today is your day of birth," she replies and stands her ground as he widens his eyes at her.

"You do?"

She nods promptly, her nails digging nervously into the material of her dress. Which is ridiculous. Because he is a servant and she is his master. She has no reason to be nervous.

Besides he is a boy. And boys are stupid.

He steps forward again and her hands clench tighter. "I came to wish you." She says the words out loud and if it were possible for his eyes to be wider than they previously were than she was sure it would be. His mouth opened slightly as he regarded her; unsure of what to say... unsure of what to do.

But then again so is she. No one teaches you these things. No one would guess you would need a lesson on how to pay respects to a servant. Or how to accept respects from your master.

He looks at her for longer still and she shifts uncomfortably at his staring, the change in her movement suddenly causing light to spill into his eyes and a small grin to catch on his face. "Thank you very much Miss Walker. I am to be ten and one year today. And for the first day ever my father has given me a project to do. My very own project." He says it happily, like it is all he has ever dreamed of, and Sarah for a moment wonders whether it is.

But the way he whispers the emphasis on his own... that conspiratorial grin on his face. She thinks that it makes him happy... excited. "Well I'm glad for you Charles."

"Would... would you... maybe... like to see it?" he asks nervously, stepping back for a moment like he already expects her rejection. But she's curious. So very curious. And so she hesitates only momentarily before nodding; a small smile gracing her face. He grins in response and swipes at the hay upon the bottoms of his pants, pulling at his shirt as though readying himself for an important task.

And for some reason she seems to understand the gesture.

And then he moves forward... too much forward until he is standing no more than a foot away from her. He watches her curiously before slowly extending his hand out to her. At first she blinks stupidly at the drawn arm; wondering what might he mean to do. But then he repeats it and nods his head and she all but gasps at the boldness beneath his request.

He means for her to grasp his arm.

(The rules...all those rules.)

"I'll show you where it is," he nods again and smiles; only kindness beneath his features. And so she leans forward and slips her small hand in his and for a second they both remain still. Because he has surely never felt skin as soft as hers. And she has never been comforted my skin as worn as his.

It's grooved and rough in the same way the melodies of his voice is; all so very new to her that she almost snatches her hand away at the way it makes her heart pound curiously. But the warmth of his skin compels her to remain in place; his hold tightening slightly as grins. "It's just this way Miss Walker...though we have to be quiet. My father has been up all of last night working you see so he is trying to catch up on a few of his winks. The last time I disturbed his sleep he made me clean out the horse pen with just a small broom and bucket..by myself.." he shivers suddenly and Sarah holds back a giggle. "I'll spare you the traumatizing details."

He laughs and moves forward, the grasp on her hand remaining as he leads her suddenly. She's not sure why but the notion of being led by him... causes a tickle to her cheeks and she grins. Because this is possibly the most risk taking adventure she may have ever taken.

And she is thrilled.

He catches on to her excitement, pulling her quicker until they are running hand in hand. Towards something more than just a birthday surprise Sarah is sure... but for now she barely cares for the consequences or words. For now.. she is just a girl who for the first time feels a sense of normality with the young servant boy.

And yes boys are stupid. But maybe... maybe Charles is the one boy who isn't.

He stops abruptly, exaggerating his slow steps as he brings a finger to his lips. "We ought to step lightly Miss... Father is especially sensitive to noise" he winks at her, crouching low as he opens the door to the small barn on which his family resides. The door creaks offensively and both the children freeze; eyes wide as they wait for supposed impending doom. But then the faint echoes of snores permeates the air and they both clench their teeth in order to stop their laughter from surfacing. Charles motions to her, creeping slowly into the open space and she has but no choice to follow, trailing only a short distance behind him as he moves. He crouches low, grasping her hand and pulling her down with him so suddenly that she lets out a tiny squeak.

Immediately he cups a hand over her mouth, eyes wide as he scans the room suspiciously. Neither of them seem to notice their newfound proximity. Sarah leans into his touch, tapping his arm at her now silence and he nods, letting go in order to crawl forwards. "Just here to the left Miss..," he whispers and she throws him a determined expression, following his lead. His hand reaches out, grasping at a solid object- momentarily letting out a silent cheer and pulling on it with force. But then she grasps his arm tightly, her eyes wide as she all but watches the resonating force pull another object of the flat surface.

"Charles.." she hisses and he looks, his face shocked as the shatter of glass disturbs the sturdy silence that they were previously in. They both hold their breaths, looking at each other with worry mirrored on their small faces.

"Chuck? Is that you?" An older, gruffer and tired voice calls out and Charles stands abruptly, pulling Sarah with him.

"Run Miss Walker! It's our only hope!" he dashes forward and she all but squeals at his antics; both of them rushing out of the darkness into the brilliance of the morning sun and continuing until they reach the same empty barn- gasping at clutching at their side with laughter still written across their faces. Charles still holds onto her hand and she still lets him- simply and beautifully ignorant of their position.

Until the breath that they had lost returns.

And the light breathes a reality.

And then the rules upon rules come flooding back; bursting any shift previously made.

He lets go of her at the same moment she pulls back, stepping away from his proximity and righting her dress as he looks away.

He has a shy look on his face... but his previous doubts about whether or not to speak to her are all but forgotten as he motions her toward the back of the barn. She nods and follows.

They do not touch.

"My father fixes things. He is very good at what he does Miss Walker and one day I hope to be just as good as him." He smiles and sets the object he hold in his hand down on the table down in the far back corner. It is of average size, its base made of a heavy wood that curves up as though carved very precisely through patterned detail. She see's glass- thin and fragile connecting to the top of its wooden structure... glass that seems to have been melted again and again until it resembles liquid rather that solid material. "It is a lamp you see?" he gestures to a little switch on the side which he deftly flicks and instantly light illuminates the glass covering until the details woven are displayed as shadows across her skin.

She almost gasps at the beauty.

"You made this?! By yourself?" she asks incredulous, stepping forward to trace a her fingers across the cool planes.

"I sure did Miss Walker. I used to only read by candlelight previously but have learnt through watching my father on how to connect this light bulb and the wiring to the switch here... see?" he grins and points. "These bulbs are golly expensive but it was my birthday present. I was so excited when Mother and Father presented me with it yesterday. They knew you see that I was saving for it so I could finish the lamp. Do you like it Miss Walker?" he asks enthusiastically and she nods though a lump forms at the back of her throat at his words.

Because they have a whole stack of light bulbs in their maintenance cupboard and she never even though twice about needing the light.

But he did.

"You like to read Charles?" she asks, stepping back from the light as she catches his smile illuminated by the light of his lamp.

"I love reading. It is the biggest treat whenever we get a new book. Of course Ellie always gets to read it first but she is luckily quite fast and only ever seems interested in books about the human body. I like reading anything and everything."

Sarah ponders for a moment, completely astounded that he could in fact read. It is highly unlikely that all or any servants for that matter undergo an education that would allow them literacy. "How long have you been able to read?", she asks; wonder filled in her eyes.

"Oh since I can remember from when I was a much younger lad. My father is very intelligent man you must see Miss Walker. He is the one who taught me how to read and write. He says it is every man's advantage.. that he know how to use his brain because above all else... even money. It's the one thing we have to utilise." He nods and flicks off the lamp and as soon as the light disappears, the rules upon rules constructed within her world re-enter the forefront of her mind and she is all but walking backwards in order to reach a comfort zone she didn't know she had.

Because money... money, money, money. That is all she has ever known. All her family knows how to survive with.

They are so different. In the ways that he builds lamps for books that he barely gets to read... and she... she owns a library full of them that she doesn't even bother to touch. He has hay stuck in the curls of his hair and a detailed accent to his words. And she gets primed at dressed every morning for classes that make her voice so even and particular... she wonders why she isn't monotone.

He knows the ins and outs of his family.

She doesn't even know when she will see her father again.

"I must be going" she turns to leave, her throat tightening in a particular manner that she does not recognise. Because does she envy a servant for the life he leads?

Surely not. Absolutely not.

"Oh... well... thank you for stopping in Miss Walker. I am so very glad." He waves at her sheepishly and he heart thuds at his antics turning to face him as she nods.

"You're welcome.." she looks over his appearance as though cataloguing this moment to memory and smiles at him slowly. "Happy birthday Charles".

His smile widens at her and he steps forward suddenly, "It's Chuck Ma'am," he stops unsure... looking down at his feet for a moment before continuing. "What I mean to say is... that you can call me Chuck... if you like?" he winces slowly at his proposition.

She bites the inside of her cheek to stop from smiling. It's too informal. But she is dying to find out how the name tastes off her tongue... how it resonates from her lips. And so she turns and walks toward the open entrance of the barn, smiling to herself as she repeats the words that she should not say. "Good day... Chuck."

She trails a hand across the wood of the walls, and walks away before he could respond. Because she feels as though he can get her to do anything... to break every rule.

And what would happen? What would really happen if she were to step forward and ask him to call her by her name.

Her real name.

(Wishes, wishes, wishes)

She's too young to even begin to wonder about the position she now puts herself in... already questioning the privileges of her life. Already wondering why they were different...

(Money, Money, Money)

And so she lets the tension leave her chest, opening the doors to her home as she giggles to herself. "I like the name Chuck."

Don't judge me on my old time speak... I really have no idea how they used to talk. :P

sooooo...

Tell me what you think.