Brandon's Occupation

Colonel Brandon, leaned against the wall. He ran his hand across the closed door. Inside that very room the woman he loved lay, perhaps dieing.

"How can I bare this?" he whispered. He moved to sit in a chair but turned back to the door, it drew him to it like the moon drawing a wave. He pressed his fingers around the frame of the door and again leaned beside it.

The door opened and Elinor, emerged, her shoulders slumped and her eyes dark. She carried a bowl of rags and he knew they had been used to dry his beloved Marianne's own blood.

"What can I do?" he said, his voice catching in his throat.

Elinor, closed the door behind her and kept her voice low, "Colonel, you have done so much already."

"Give me an occupation, Miss Dashwood, or I fear I shall run mad." He stared into the room where they stood but he saw nothing of it.

"She would be easier, if her mother were here."

Brandon, looked at his dear friend, the first feeling of any hope filled his chest. "Of course."

****

The colonel, mounted his horse. He looked up at the window of her room before turning to go. At a fast pace he pushed the animal away from the house that held the one person who mattered most in the world.

If she should…before I return…

Even in his own mind he could not allow the words. He pushed all thoughts from his mind and rode.

Minutes passed, then hours. He felt as if her had been riding for days. Still he would not think of her lying in that bed, but he could not remove her from his thoughts, wholly. She was far too deep within his soul for that.

"Think of her as she was," he whispered.

The moment he first met, Marianne Dashwood, came to him and he let his mind wander on that day.

An angel, I heard an angel's voice coming somewhere in the house of my friend. I had not thought as I stepped into the room that I would indeed find an angel's face to match the voice. And yet I did.

The light of the setting sun blinded him as he pushed his horse even harder. His hands worked the reins of their own accord as his mind was too lost to make commands.

There she was, her hair fairly sparkling by the light of the window. Her face so lovely. I fear, I fell in love with her at that very moment.

Letting go of one of the reins he pounded a fist to his chest.

Had, God, only spared, me those feelings. Had I never walked into that room to see His angel, perhaps my wretched heart might have survived. Yet how could I have not loved her? Even to see her draw or read, to see her smile was more than any man could bare. No. I shall not regret. To have even known her…how can I ask for more.

The sun finally set and the cool night air came upon him. He pulled his cloak closer, praying the air warmer near Marianne.

Ah, but yes…I do regret…honor and propriety… Had it not been for those, I should have told that scoundrel, to leave her. I should have taken pistol to his head.

This idea gave, Brandon a reason for a slight smile. It spread across his face and he found himself wishing to turn and head in the direction of the gentlemen in question.

"Her mother," he told himself. "She needs her mother, more than vengeance." So he pushed the thought of a pistol out of his mind as well.

As night deepened so did, Brandon's fears and he could not but think of her still and lifeless.

I shall, surly never see those eyes again. Those eyes that even when looking at another can fill me with such pleasure. Blue as the sky, are they not, and still more when she is smiling. Should those eyes close…What then Brandon? What then shall your life be? You are nothing but an absurd old man, who never should have looked upon a face so fair.

Hours passed and he continued to berate himself, yet as the moon took it's highest place in the sky, the house for which he was riding stood proud and tall before him. He rode into the drive and leaped from the horse.

There was stillness and the house was dark and empty. Like ghosts in the night, echoes of laughter and sunshine, seemed to be around him. Memories of happier times pounded in his ears.

Brandon looked into the sky and removed his hat, "if she lives, Father, I shall be here to hear that laughter again. And to see her smile."

He knew he had no right or claim, but he also knew he should rather die than to be without his angel.