February 3, 1800
Mr. Edelstein is astounded at how fast I'm learning. He's already teaching me some words and how to form sentences. I learned how to say 'My name is Elizabeta.' He's so proud of me!
He told Roderich, and Roderich was so proud too! Tomorrow, I'm going to see Gilbert, and I'm going to tell him too! I hope he's just as happy as me!
Joyously,
Elizabeta
Elizabeta pulled her coat on and fastened the belt. She could say a bunch of articles of clothing in English now, and said each one she knew as she dressed. Mr. Edelstein listened from the door of his study, and he smiled approvingly as she got them correct.
"You're doing exceptionally well, Elizabeta," he mused. The girl looked up, her eyes warm and exultant.
"Thank you, Mr. Edelstein! I couldn't do it without you as my teacher, though," she replied. He chuckled.
"You're a smart girl, Elizabeta. I think you would have learned sooner or later without my aid."
"No, no, no!" she said, looking up in shock from her bootlaces. "I'm not that bright at all, sir. It's all because you make English seem kinda like German. It looks weird until you explain a little." Then she finished lacing up her boots and stood up. She looked like a little doll; her curls were pulled back with a silver clip, but half of them cascaded from her cap. She had a green scarf wound around her throat that hung down her back. Then she wore a slate colored jacket lined with a multitude of buttons and a thick pair of matching pants. Her boots were tall and of a military grade, with laces up to her shins.
"Are you sure you want to go out?" Mr. Edelstein asked, glancing outside. Snow had just begun to fall, coating the city in a layer of white. She nodded, beaming.
"Yeah. I was going to meet Gilbert today for some warm whiskey," she said. She saw the concern in his face and put her hands up. "I was only going to have a little, sir. It's only because I can rarely meet him when liquor or business aren't involved."
"I wasn't worried about that…" he said quietly, but she didn't seem to hear.
"I'll be home before sunset!" she said with a bright smile, and she opened the front door. A blast of icy air entered the house, and Mr. Edelstein shivered before Elizabeta waved and exited, slamming the door. Mr. Edelstein sighed.
"Elizabeta…"
The girl hurried toward the tavern, holding her cap down with one hand to defend it from the biting wind. The storm was beginning to pick up, she noticed, the wind getting harder and the snow falling faster. She drew the scarf over her raw nose and opened the pub door. Heat rushed out and greeted her, and she took its invitation gratefully.
The door closed heavily behind her, and she began to search for her friend. It only took a few minutes, because she spotted him beside the fireplace, drinking greedily from a large stein. She removed her hat and trotted over. He glanced up, his lips still pressed over the thick glass, and nodded before setting the glass down.
"You came in this weather?" he asked as she sat down. She nodded and began to unbutton her jacket.
"Yeah. I don't think Mr. Edelstein wanted me to, though."
"I don't blame him," he said shortly, and he hailed a waiter, demanding another drink. Elizabeta laughed when he didn't ask her for one, and she asked the man herself. The man started a little, stared, then nodded and hurried off. Gilbert looked over, and a smirk was entertaining itself on his lips.
"You've gotten bolder."
"Well, you didn't order for me, you schweine," she retorted good-naturedly. He chuckled as she slipped her coat off. Her fingers were red and swollen from the cold, and Gilbert glanced down.
"Your hands…" She looked down too.
"Oh? They're just cold," she laughed, "They'll be okay in an hour or so." He shook his head.
"You make me feel like die arschlock," he murmured and reached across the table. She gasped softly as his warm hands, hard and calloused from service, closed around hers. They were so much larger, and covered her frigid ones easily. Elizabeta looked up to meet his gaze. His eyes were locked on her face, rapt but blasé.
"Are… are you drunk?" He was taken aback, and she felt his hands convulse as if seizing. He scowled; then he laughed and squeezed her slightly throbbing hands gently.
"Not yet," he chuckled, "I'm still sober." She looked away, feeling the beginnings of a blush.
"I think my hands are warm now."
"Don't act so embarrassed," the pale man said, chuckling, "It means nothing except I'm not cruel." He rubbed her knuckles gently. "This is the only kindness I'm gonna show you ever again, and only 'cause I didn't get you a present for Christmas." She shook her head.
"I didn't get you one either."
"But I'm a gentleman."
She snorted, but he only shook his head and warmed her hands. The redness faded slowly, and he elevated her hand with one to study it before slowly releasing it.
"There." The hot alcohol arrived, and she picked it up quickly. He laughed and in one smooth motion, he drew the glass up and took a long draught. Then he let it hit the table with a bang and wiped his mouth sloppily on his sleeve.
"So what did you want to talk about?" he asked, and she sipped her drink. She still didn't like the taste of liquor, but drank it to warm herself.
"Nothing in particular. What have you been up to?"
"Nothing in particular," he repeated mockingly. She huffed.
"You're so mean."
They kept chatting for a while, and she felt pleasantly drowsy from the liquor. But Gilbert was unfazed. Maybe it was because he had such an incredible tolerance for alcohol. Maybe it was because he was drinking it slowly.
Then the door opened, and a gust of icy wind chilled the pub throughout. A man, covered from cap to bootlace in white snow, stumbled in.
"Oi! It's'a blizzard out there!" he called out, "There ain't no way any a' ya can leave!" Everyone looked at him, then clamored to the windows. The man was right; it was impossible to see through the thick sheets of snow blowing past the window. Elizabeta's heart stopped. She couldn't get home; everyone would worry about her…
"Barkeep, another please?" she looked up, and Gilbert held aloft his newly emptied stein. "If I'm gonna be stuck anywhere, a bar is the best place." The man carried him another glass, looking stupefied, and Gilbert drained the whole thing within seconds.
"I'll pay extra if you can find me a bigger mug." The man nodded and disappeared into the cellar. Elizabeta stared at him.
"What?" he asked simply. She scowled.
"We're trapped, and you're drinking?"
"What else can we do?" he replied easily, accepting a larger mug filled to the brim. "I might as well enjoy myself." He took a long draught, but Elizabeta grabbed his wrist and he stopped. He looked at her in surprise.
"You're not getting drunk around me," she said slowly. He let out a soft bark of laughter.
"What, are you afraid?"
"No!" she lied, and looked away. He studied the sliver of face he could see, then set his drink down.
"Alright, I'll practice moderation." She looked back in shock.
"Really?"
"Yeah," he said, stretching.
The fire was warm and many people crowded around it. The barkeep's wife brought the people potato au gratin and fresh bread and butter for a meal, free. Everyone thanked her and praised her great cooking, and she just blushed and waved the compliments away.
"It's only right," she said with a convivial smile, "That people have a hot meal for dinner, no matter where they are." Gilbert grinned, and he must have felt generous, because he bought everyone trapped in the tavern a drink of their choice. Elizabeta looked on him with awe at that moment, and he glowed with pride.
Blankets were passed out throughout the tavern, but people had to share. Elizabeta looked around and decided she only knew one person here.
"Uh… Gilbert?"
"Yeah?" he asked, running his tongue over the rim of his stein. She swallowed and banished all undesirable thoughts to the farthest reaches of her mind.
"Would you… mind sharing a blanket with me tonight?" she said, slowly turning a vivid crimson. He started, then studied her face; his eyes and her cheeks were identical in color.
"Sure," he said easily, "Better than sharing with a stranger, eh?" She nodded and mumbled something inaudibly. Gilbert chuckled.
"Wanna claim the spot near the fire first?" he offered. She looked up sharply.
"I'm not lying with you until I have to!" she snapped, than covered her mouth. "Oops, sorry…" She didn't see the flicker of pain in his eyes, nor the way his smile was too tight, too stiff.
"It's alright. I know; you have a fiancé." He laid their blanket out directly before the fire. "Here; we'll be warm, so we won't have to worry too much about the blanket. It'll be more like cushioning for us." She nodded. She was so embarrassed; she had just snapped at her best friend, and over what? Nothing. He returned to the table and drank down his beer to the dregs. The fire crackled and hissed, and the only sound was the dull hum of the other bar-goers.
"Barkeep?" Gilbert called over, and he held his empty stein aloft. Elizabeta stared at the table remorsefully. How could I make up for such an error…
"Elizabeta." She looked up, and Gilbert offered another tight smile.
"You don't need to feel bad. You're engaged to another man; I sounded far out of line. You had every right to chastise me. So, don't look sad, okay?" She stared in wonder, and he took his beer from the bartender and took a long draught.
He was furious at himself for being late. He was furious at himself for upsetting her. For missing his chance. For not being smooth enough. For thinking such sinful thoughts. For considering that he might have a chance with Elizabeta. For all that he was. The alcohol was making it more painfully aware, too, but he didn't dare stop.
Another hour passed, and people began to turn in. Elizabeta decided to go to bed, but Gilbert stayed up, drinking his booze and staring into the flickering flames. Long after she had fallen asleep, he finished his final mug. No one but a scarce few people was awake. He wiped his mouth and removed his military coat, hanging it on the back of his chair. Then he got up and sat down on the blanket. Elizabeta looked so serene like this. Her hair was tossed around her head, most of it loosened from its clip so she had a chestnut halo. She had curled in a semi-ball, and her fingers were curled and skyward near her face. Her lips were parted and pouting, and she grumbled something in her sleep and shifted slightly. Gilbert studied her undisturbed form quietly. He brushed a few strands of brunette from her face, accidentally brushing her cheek. That was the fatal mistake. His eyes locked on her lips, and before he realized it, he was leaning forward. He could feel her breath on his lips, soft and whiskey-scented, and he almost moved in the last inch. But something stopped him. He stared at her serene face, and suddenly, he pulled away.
"… Gut nicht," he murmured softly, touching her forehead gently, and he rolled over and tried to sleep.
He woke from restless sleep when something brushed his hip. He glanced over his shoulder in surprise. There, snuggled up to his back, was the very girl who had declared earlier that she was engaged. He chuckled; her face was resting against his back and she was pressed flush against his back. Slowly, despite the voice of reason in his head, he eased her arms off. Then he rolled over, and she snuggled against him again.
"Mm…" she mumbled. Gilbert didn't push her away this time. She buried her face in his chest and curled her arms around his trunk tightly. He smiled weakly and stroked her hair slowly while she slept.
If Roderich had seen what took place that night, he would have found Gilbert, and possibly even killed him. Neither man knew how much Elizabeta meant to the other, but both understood what obstacle stood in their way. Both knew what needed to be done. Yet though Gilbert was a soldier, did he have the internal malice to rip apart a happy couple? And did Roderich have the bravery to pull Elizabeta from her best friend?
Elizabeta woke alone, by cold sheets. The fire was still burning, but the flames had receded to little flickers of orange light. The girl sat up with a yawn and looked around groggily. The snow had stopped falling, and white light filtered into the pub through the window. Many people were folding up their blankets and thanking the owner before leaving through the front door. The man's wife was cooking a breakfast for everyone who asked, and there were a few people who were staying to eat.
A kind woman asked her if she had slept well, and she nodded and got up.
"Your friend left early this morning," the woman continued, "He said not to worry, and thanks for the night." Elizabeta flushed and turned away.
"Oh… t-thank you," she said, staring into the fire. Thanks for the night? Oh, dear… what happened…!
She offered to help the bartender's wife, and the woman thanked her profusely and gave her an apron to wear. For two hours, Elizabeta helped the woman cook and wash the dishes, and finally, at noon, the woman helped her home.
As soon as she walked through the door, she was assaulted with questions. Roderich took her by the hands and drew her to his chest, crushing her in a hug.
"Elizabeta…" She smiled and returned his touch carefully.
"I'm sorry- there was a storm, and-"
"Don't talk," he said weakly, resting his forehead on her shoulder. Mr. and Mrs. Edelstein hurried from the study.
"Elizabeta!"
"I'm sorry, ma'am, sir," she said, and she felt herself tearing up. The woman bid her farewell, and Elizabeta thanked her.
"We thought you were lost in the storm," Mr. Edelstein said slowly.
"No, I stayed at the tavern," Elizabeta said, and the tears became almost unbearable. She sniffled softly.
"Elizabeta dear…"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she cried out, gripping Roderich's shirt tightly, "I shouldn't have gone out! I was so imprudent!" Roderich smiled shakily and held her tighter.
"It's alright… darling…"
Elizabeta said nothing of sharing a bed with Gilbert that night, and she swore she would never would. After she calmed down, Roderich brought her to the music room and played piano with her for hours. He didn't pressure her to talk at all, and they sat in silence, secretly communicating with the ring of the keys under their fingers. It was beautiful interaction, rare interaction. It was a symbol of love.
But Elizabeta couldn't shed the feeling of partaking in such a sin. Her heart was heavy with darkness, with remorse. She couldn't help shedding a few tears as the day progressed, wanting to apologize but wanting to protect her friend from her fiancé's rage. That night, she slept alone, but she couldn't will herself to drift off. She lay awake the entire night, on her knees before her bed and praying that Roderich would never learn of her crime.