Introduction: (A Sensible Mind)
She's always cold now. Works with pale hands, trembling fingers that earn her an "Are you alright?" almost daily. Doesn't know whether it's to do with an especially cool early November, or the other thing.
The other thing's left a small scar on her hip. She hadn't noticed it until two days ago, a little half-moon; and maybe that's why she's moved back into the big house. That's what she tells herself, anyway, when she bathes at night; scrubbing at it harshly with movements that make the candle's flame flicker. Making it worse, really. That tiny scar that she knows in her sensible mind is only visible under careful inspection.
The same sensible mind knows, of course, the truth of why she's moved back. Packed what she absolutely needed on a rainy Thursday and arranged it in a drawer across from the small bed in the small room. Brisk, no-nonsense movements she'd learned as a girl. The small bed she's known for longer than her married one.
The other thing. There hadn't even been a bed.
Anna, the sensible girl with a heart that loved and cherished with as much strength as a spring sunrise; shining bravely even in a cold, dewy morning. As a girl she'd worn her hair in a braid down her back and kept her spirit in check. Grown to be a gentle, patient young woman who looks delicate at times. She'd been the girl who wasn't afraid of mice in the servants' hall at night. Who'd picked them up in her hand with a giggle at the footman's look of surprise and tiptoe out into the kitchen courtyard to set the little thing free. Is now the young woman who isn't afraid to defend her point of view, to defend others, to carry a dead man in the silence of a nighttime corridor.
And for the first time in her life Anna finds herself afraid. More fear in that sensible mind than there'd been in wartime, even. It sounds silly when she thinks of it that way. Silly like it's something she can easily rid herself of if she wanted to.
Rid herself of that scrape on the window sill as she'd fallen, the fall that'd left her that scar. A half-moon like the curve of a fingernail planted on her hip. A reminder of that ill-fated night. Of that headache.
Anna's always cold now, and restless like those nights before she'd had arms around her to hold her still. She's reacquainting herself with numb toes and lonely mornings with the sky out her window looking darker and darker as autumn turns to winter. She misses the rose-hued dawns, the sun rising with them on the morning walk from the cottage to the abbey. Them. She and her husband.
Anna hears the ringing bell and sits up in bed, ignores her numb toes and trembling hands as she gets out of bed, tries to not think of Mr. Bates waking at the same time, alone in the cottage. As she dresses she brushes her index finger over the scar and dwells for a moment on why she's here and not there. Squares her shoulders and continues dressing.
She's not going to think about it. Not today. "Are you alright?" they'll ask. And she'll nod and carry on living. The other thing she'll house on a shelf in the back of that sensible mind.
But Mr. Bates can see right through her. She's as transparent as a glass of water in his eyes. A book he can open and read with ease.
What Anna doesn't know is that these days to him she's not easy to read. A book in a foreign language. Bits and pieces he can make out, but the rest is a secret. Bates wants to know, once and for all, what those stares out frosted windows mean. What's making her shiver besides a black dress that's too thin. For the moment all he can content himself to do is watch her exist, wonder about the unreadable look in her clear blue eyes.
How lovely, to exist at the same time.
A/N: So, I hope this came across as readable. It might be a little "out there"...Let me know if I should continue. I actually think it could stand alone but at the same time I feel like it needs a follow-up. And I know the post-rape storyline has been done again and again, but why not give it my own take! Boom.