Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE Pt3, CH.14 The Sacrifice For Freedom
'Twas the night after Tristan Forsythe's insidious 'proposal' and Felicity lay wide awake in bed in her nearly-dark rrom, feeling icy chills run down her spine despite a small crackiling fire going in the white marble fireplace. She was still dressed in her dark green day dress, which Lettie did not think suspicious, for Felicity slept in her clothes most of the time, anyway, saying it 'helped her feel safer.' Being bound up in a corset herself, Lettie knew there was truth to that. The dark girl was fast asleep on her cot, oblivious to hte wicked arrangement soon to be carried out.
Felicity had herself bolted the jib door late that evening, so that Lettie would not feel compelled to use the key to have it thoroughly locked. She felt she had done a theatre-worthy job of acting like there was nothing wrong, like she was not about to send herself straight to hell. Reginald came and went, looking sicker than ever but assuring her that they could "leave tomorrow when the roads were better,"yet he acted like his words were just empty sounds. Not that Felicity cared, for she had far worse troubles than his.
She and Lettie went to bed around nine thirty, according to the tall grandfather clock in the hall outside. Lettie wasted no time in getting to sleep, whereas Felicity lay awake in impending doom, staring at nothing in particular with her back turned to the sleeping slave girl. Her mind was whirling at tremendous speed, thinking...rethinking.
So she had lost Ben forever. Ben hated her, and that hurt so very much...but she still loved him. If she didn't, her heart would not ache so terribly much. She had loved him damn near her entire life, from the age of nine up until now. That love had had just continued to intensify- it just could not simply die. Not something that strong, something that had continued to live within her like a growing bon fire for so long.
She just couldn't go through with it.
To do so would be a cruel, ugly mockery of the physical love she had wanted so very much with Ben. No doubt, Tristan Forsythe would be very angry and very vengeful, most likely wanting to kill her. Felicity had no idea what to do about that. A lot of screaming, enough to wake stupid Reginald, his relatives, the servants, the dead and anyone else who lived within a mile of the place. She felt she had indeed perfected the art of the peircing scream whilst at sea.
Ben no longer loved her, Reginald was no longer a threat to her her family, so...what did she have to lose?
Myself! a voice in her head yelled. You simply cannot do this! He is not a god, he is not a witch, and he cannot control your life. Do what is right, Felicity. Say NO! Then get Lettie and run away from here. There are bound to be good people in this part of England. I will be thrice damned before I allow Tristan the Devil to claim my soul, or Lettie's!
As quiet as a mouse she slipped out from beneath the covers, into the slight chill of fresher air. her stockinged feet found her shoes precisely where she'd strategically placed them. In a matter of seconds she was at the jib door with her grey woollen cloak over her arm. She glanced over at Lette, who's back was turned toward her, breathing slow and deep.
Moving slowly still, Felicity unbolted the jib door, holding her breath. It was nearly midnight now, according to how her 'inside clock' felt. She had a frantic impulse to wake Lettie up and say, "Let's just flee, out the front door! Tristan is out back in the barn, so let's go!" But the thing that stopped her from doing that was the thing she felt she had to do.
She intended to kill Tristan Forsythe.
She had kept the knife that had been brought with her dinner that evening, slipping it into the pocket of her petticoat with a movement so fast that not even Lettie would have noticed. And she did not tell Lettie about it, either. Felicity was determined to do it herself. For Lettie to even know that she was going to kill Tristan would make the girl an accessory, and therefore punishable by death.
No, it was better this way. 'Tis not as if she had never killed before. The two British deserters at her grandfather's plantation. 'Twas in defense of Nan and myself. I do this to save myself and Lettie. And for the common good. She mentally ignored every moral argument that her conscience tried to bring up. Her anger and desire to be free shut her reasoning up good and tight. She slipped out into the hallway, which was almost completely dark except for a couple of wall sconces left flickering. She closed the jib door together just as quietly, fling on the grey cloak, and moved with as little sound as possible to the staircase. There she paused suddenly, a hand going to her forehead.
Whoa.
The sharp pain nearly caught her off guard, reminding her that although she had not had much to eat the past few days, she had not had very much of the powders, either. Felicity winced and gripped the stair rail with a firm hand as she continued to descend. Had to do this, had to see it through and take back control of her life. For her and Lettie.
Just as Tristan had told her, there were none of Reginald's 'night watchmen' about the house. Idly, Felicity wondered if the devilish cousin had them murdered. She hastily slipped through shadows into the small kitchen at the back of the house, and was actually surprised to find the back door unlatched. She cracked it open just a bit, and was instantly met by crisp night air.
'Twas time to face the devil.
She stood outside the door on a white shell path that led away from the house, then forked off to the left and to the right. The right path would take her to the gardens, and the left led to the big barn, plus an odd assortment of buildings that housed specialty servants and snimals smaller than horses. She did not really care what those buildings were for or whom the occupants were. Her aching head was focused as much as it could possibly be on the task at hand.
There was a lit lantern hanging from a shepard's hook post at the fork in the path, lighting the way to the barn. With each step she dreaded the confrontation more and more. Her heart was beating so fast in her ribs that she no longer felt the cold. The closer she came to the barn, the slower her stride became. it was bound to be midnight now. She saw a large crack, enough to allow a slim person through, in the wide white barn doors and soft lantern light emanating from within.
Her mouth went dry.
Just outside the doors she stopped, trying to compsoe herself, trying to collect her bravery. 'Twas awfully hard to do when one's head hurt from lack of powders! She inhaled and opened one of the doors a little wider.
"Felicity," instantly drawled the smug and victorious voice of wealthy, handsome, titled Tristan Forsythe. He might have been truly handsome if not for his evil nature. Not that Felicity felt she would have been tempted had he been a decent sort; she could appreciate a fine-looking gentleman, odf course, but her broken heart and body still belonged to a man that no longer wanted her.
Which was what was making this so hard. Part of it, anyway. She still loved Ben Davidson so much that it actually, physically hurt. Ben would never have anything to do with her now- hell, she was sure she would never see him again, yet she was about to risk her life in turning down what might have been her only chance to get home, because she still loved him too much to turn her back on that love the way he had.
Lord, men were so much trouble!
She met Tristan's lusty grey eyes with her steeled, hardened green ones. When she spoke, her voice was steady and clear: "Do not get excited, Tristan. I have changed my mind. I should have never given you the impression that I agreed to such an act of atrocity to begin with."
Of course, he did not take her words seriously. He merely smiled his slantwise smile, unfolded his arms, and straightened up away from the corned of a stable he had been leaning against. "Such a flirt you are, Lady Forsythe. 'Tis only natural for you to be nervous your first time. I'll try not to hurt you...too much."
Immediately she held up a hand. "Stop where you are, Tristan. I do not want this. I don't care if you promised to send me home by witches' magic. Nothing is worth sacrificing my dignity and self-worth for."
He still found her words amusing. "I see. Going to continue playing the part of the resistant hellion, eh, m'lady?"
"I said stop! Do not come any closer!" Instinctively she backed toward the barn doors, readying herself to bolt if need be. She remembered she had planned on killing him, however, and put a hand near her petticoat pocket beneath her cloak. He was still slowly advancing. "I mean it, Tristan! I don't want to have to..."
"Have to what?" he encouraged in his slippery tone. "We made a deal. I am here, showing my willingness to keep my end of the bargain. And here you are, your very presence proving that you are willing to keep yours."
"No," Felicity repeated firmly. "I was willing to come out here to tell you no. You cannot threaten me nor harm me in any way. I can assure you of that." And with that, she tried to quickly withdraw the knife from her petticoat pocket...but it snagged on the pocket hem, making her glance down at her dress in unexpected surprise.
And a glance away was all it took for Tristan Forsythe to lunge forward, grab one of her arms and twist it up behind her back as she yelped in shock-pain, and whip the crook of his other arm around her neck from behind. "And I will assure you, little hellion, that you will keep your end of the bargain!" he hissed in her ear.
Gripping her twisted arm and squeezed neck tight, he turned the both of them around. He looked for an empty stall and forced her towards it despite her squirming and sqeaks of protest. Had she been able to draw at least half a breath she would have screamed.
"I told you," he breathed hotly in her ear, "I always get what I want."
His arm slipped a little around her sore throat, enough for her to growl out, "I may still be in love with a man who no longer wants me, but I will not insult the love I had hoped for by giving myself to you!"
"Oh my pretty little dear one, you are sadly mistaken!" Tristan thrust her out from himself so that she was thrown hard into the straw on the even harder floor of the empty stall. Horses in other compartments were stamping and snorting uneasily at the loud disturbances.
Right away Felicity scrambled to get up, to pull the knife out of its pocket, but Tristan was at her, grabbing a fistful of her messed hair and pulling her up. She grimaced and clawed like mad at his clenched hand at the back of her head while groping for the knife. He used her hair to wrench her around and face him. She screeched her outrage, instinctively bringing a hand across his face in a stinging slap.
But that put him into a rage she wasn't prepared for. He back-handed her across the jaw so hard that for one fleeting second Felicity wondered if her head had been spun backwards. But the blow was a brutal one; she hit the hard stone floor of the stable, unconscious even before she collapsed.
That was all he needed. He struggled in haste to remove his thick outer coat and was reaching back behind his waist to untie the tightening-strings of his breeches when Felicity groaned groggily. Her entire head was banging and her jaw felt thick and numb. She had the sensation of continuous spinning although she was lying prone on her back. Then she felt hands; hard, frenzied hands, trying to push the layers of her petticoats and dress up.
NO!
Her body stiffened, knees locking instinctively as much as they could. Oh God, this couldn't be real, this could not be happening. Her eyes fluttered open to see Tristan kneeling over her, his face set in a determined snarl. She didn't care if both of her legs had to be broken before he could assault her, she was not going to give up without fighting. Of course he was trying to part her knees with his rough, iron-like fingers. She clenched her teeth, squirmed and tried to pummel him with her fists, but she was losing strength quickly, feeling on the verge of passing out again.
He managed to catch one of her flying fists and grip it crushingly. "Do not fight me!" he ordered ragefully, rearing up on his knees to strike her again, but Felicity had withdrawn the knife and attempted to stab him with the last of her strength. But oh, he was faster, grabbing the wrist that held the knofe and slamming it down upon his muscle-hard thigh, forcing her to drop it. Tears of pain welled up in her eyes.
"Scream and you will die," he commanded coldly.
"You're just going to kill me anyway!" she yelled back at him.
"Not before I get my satisfaction, hellion!"
Both of them were aware that he could not keep her pinned down and assault her at the same time, so he attempted to get both of her skinny wrists clamped down above her head with one of his larger hands so that he would have his other one to rip those skirts out of the way. He squeezed her neck again. This made her gasp and beat at his muscular arm with her one free hand. Felicity felt him trying to wrench her knees apart again, and the way her legs were shaking, he was about to finally succeed. She couldn't breathe. Her vison was coming and going, her strength was fading rapidly. She was either going to pass out or die...
Suddenly he went rigid, straddling her legs, his breath simultaneously hitching. Through eyelashes fluttering like mad to stay open, Felicity saw his eyes go wide with some kind of shock that she couldn't see. She wheezed hard as his hold on her throat eased suddenly. gaping, she saw that he'd gone stiff because there was a pitchfork in his back.
Holding the handle of that pitchfork was a very angry, very murderous-looking Lettie.
As Felicity continued to wheeze wretchedly, Lettie grabbed a heavy wooden bucket at her feet and with both hands swung it so that it cracked the pain-frozen Tristan Forsythe in the head, knocking him off of Felicity. He hit the floor on his side with a whump! groaning, one hand trying weakly to grab at the pronged barn tool in his back. He suddenly convulsed and went still.
Lettie dropped the heavy bucket and extended her hand. "Get up."
Felicity was shaking like a maple leaf in a wind storm. Still wheezing, she clasped Lettie's strong dark hand with both of her weakened ashen ones, and was hauled up like a rag doll. Instantly, her quaking knees gave out and Lettie had to grab her under the arms to keep her from puddling on the floor.
"Stand up! You must stand up!" Lettie commanded.
"Le- Lettie, how d-did you know-"
"How did I know you were going to be out here to submit to him?" Lettie's eyes were dark with anger. "I overheard him threaten you while I was behind the door to the stairs. I heard all that passed between you."
Felicity struggled to remain standing on her own, to control the shake in her voice. "Then why didn't you say anything?"
"Because I had hoped you would change your mind." She almost sounded offended.
"Oh but Lettie, I did!" Felicity squeaked in tears. "I came out here to tell him that I changed my mind! That I just could not go through with it. I'm sorry-"
"Sorry?" Lettie was taken aback. "Why should you be sorry you could not allow him to abuse you?"
"Because I wanted to buy our freedom!"
"Foolish white woman!" the slave girl scolded, gripping Felicity firmly by the shoulders. "He would never have given you freedom of any sort, he never intended to! The first time he used me he said he was willimg to give me freedom in exchange for a night a fascinating woman of color. I told him no, that I wanted nothing from him and that I found him repulsive. But he forced himself on me anyway, and again later on. He is not a man of his word. To him, women of all color are his slaves!"
"I'm so sorry!" Felicity cried desperately. "Oh Lettie, can't we just run away from here, now, right this moment? It doesn't matter what direction..."
A groan issued from the young man on the stall floor. He had rolled onto his stomach. Cloe to panicking, Felicity whispered shrilly, "I have a knife! I meant to kill him tonight, but he knocked it out of my hand as we struggled!" Without thinking, she clasped her aching wrist tenderly to her chest. "It is here, somewhere..."
Lettie's voice was low and full of loathing. "I feel the same way. But killing him before fleeing..."
"What?" came Felicity's near-hysteric reply. "But if we do not-"
"If we kill him and run, then we will be hunted by men with weapons and dogs. The chase after us will be greater than merely looking for a runaway slave and her white mistress."
And no one would believe them, Felicity realized. Lettie would be put to death without question, and Felicity knew her fate would not be any better. She glanced at Lettie and saw that the dark girl was deep into the process of some major decision-making. Lettie gave thier surroundings a good look, looked down at Tristan, then met Felicity's stricken eyes with firm resolve. "But if he is not stopped, he will continue to persue us, all for his evil pleasures... Now, bring to me the lantern on that far post."
"Why? What are we going to do?" But even as Felicity asked her trembling legs were taking her to the lit lantern nearest the opposite end of the stables. The watching horses' ears twitched as she hurried along.
"Making an end to all of this," Lettie replied in her serious voiced, exotic accent as she too withdrew from its nail the flickering lantern nearest to her. "I have thought about it; the risks in fleeing will not be as great as the risks in staying. The time has come, woman." She took the lantern from Felicity. "Now, open the doors the horses' enclosures. They need to be freed as well."
Gaping, Felicity glanced at the lanterns Lettie was holding and, like magic, understood what the dark girl was planning. Lettie was going to set fire to the barn. Of course this would wake the household and the servants, but everyone would be chasing after these prized and expensive horses, for according to Reginald, some of these beauties came from other lands and were in high demand for breeding. Not that Felicity wanted to see these magnificent animals harmed or killed, but getting them rounded up would definately buy her and Lettie extra escape time. Yes! She and Lettie would make off into the night while the horses ran amok in a panic.
And Tristan Forsythe?
If he remained like he was or died from a pitchfork being stuck in his back, his body would burn up in the fire, for judging by the wrathful look Lettie was giving his still form, the slave girl intended to start the fire around or even on him.
Felicity quickly moved from stall to stall, unlatching doors and opening them wide. She even removed the halters of those who were wearing them, for that would make them even harder to catch. The idea of taking one of these horses for her and Lettie to ride swiftly away on was tremendously tempting, but her reeling mind spun out all of the reasons why she shouldn't; the horses were branded with the Forsythe 'F': if they were found with a branded horse, that would be even more trouble. A horse was hard to hide. There would be hoofprints in the damp earth leading away from the estate, tracks that appeared to be guided instead of the random wadering of a horse that got loose. They could be tracked-probably not at first, but eventually the tracks would be discovered. The less Reginald's men had to go on, the better off she and Lettie would be!
And as for their own footprints, Felicity reckoned they would just blend in with all the other footprints there would be from people chasing down the horses. The horses moved out of their stalls uneasily, wide-eyed and twitchy-eared, unsure of what to do. Horses were smart; they knew when something was going on, or about to happen. Penny was that way. Felicity staggered back to Lettie, her head pounding as wildly as her heart was, her jaw aching just as much.
"N-Now what?"
"Did he...hurt you...in that way?"
A wave of nausea passed through her. "No. Almost, but no."
"Then can you run?"
"Like the wind," Felicity breathed in a fast reply, as assuredly as she could, for her knees were incredibly sore and shaking. She felt as though her head and limbs consisted of dry leaves ready to wither away to ashes.
"Good. Then prepare to run." Lettie's dark angry eyes swept over Tristan Forsythe, still laying face down in the straw, then she swiftly strode to the stack of hay bales along the wall just inside the left barn door, sat the lanterns down, and with a strength she seemed too slender to possess, pushed the bale stack over, sending them tumbling off of one another. with fast movement and angry hands, she grabbed up and strew hay all over the place. The dry stuff would ignite like lightning.
Felicity glanced down at Tristan, her expression unreadable. All of her life she'd been told how evil it was to hate. The Scriptures even said to 'love thine enemies.' All of her life she'd tried to abide by the Scriptures, the Bruton Parish preacher, her parents and her own moral conscience. But for the past few months it seemed to her that all she had done was hate. Hate Reginald, hate his servants, hate Tristan, hate Ben Davidson, hate anything and everything, even hating herself for being so weak even after the man she loved more than anything in life abandoned her. She likened herself to a big army cannon about to go off. Staring down at Tristan now, she felt no remorse for hating him. Not after what he had done to Lettie. Not after what he nearly did to her.
And neither was she having second thoughts about what was going to happen to him.
Lettie's job of strewing straw around couldn't be any more effective. Not where creating a fire was concerned. She took the glass top off of one of the lanterns, then gazed up at Felicity. "Are you ready?"
"Yes!"
"Good . I will light the fire on this end. Then we will open the doors of the other end, and I will light the straw down there after the animals run out. The building will go up fast." Lettie's dark eyes fell onto Tristan Forsythe. "As will he."
Felicity nodded her seemingly-bloodthirsty agreement.
Lettie rose, turned to the largest hay clump in fromt of the now-closed doors on their end, and tossed the uncovered lantern bottom inot the clumps. There was an instant whoosh, a briliant blaze of light, then fire took to the straw almost greedeily, running to one of the doors and the wall beside of it.
"Go! Now!' Lewttie hissed.
Felicity didn't need to be told twice. She whirled, jogging for the other end of the barn where the horses were clustered nervously, prancing and tossing their heads. It showed in their eyes they were quickly becoming fearful of the smoke and flames at the other end of the stables. Felicity had heard Lettie just behind her, when suddenly there was a gasp; she looked back and saw that Tristan had not only moved, but he was getting up fast, having caught Lettie by an arm.
Uttering s surprised yelp, Felicity acted without thinking. She started back to Lettie with every intention of throwing herself at Tristan to knock him down, but the lithe, athletic young lord whipped the knife that he had knocked out of Felicity's hand to Lettie's throat from behind, twisting the dark girl's arm behind her back like he had Felicity's earlier. All minus the pitchfork in his back. It had not been so deeply embedded in him after all. A gash in the upper left corner of his forehead from Lettie's bucket-blow was bleeding down that side of his face despite his mussed white-blond hair matted to it.
"Bitches from hell!" he cursed at them, his eyes crazed with rage. "I'll bloody kill the both of you!"
"No, don't!" Felicity cried out immediately, fearing the blade so close to sinking into Lettie's throat. "You want me, not Lettie! I am the one who misled you!"
The fire was rapidly spreading up both doors, above the doors, the rafters at that end of the roof. People would be running and shouting any moment now.
"Oh no, hellion, I ma going to make the both of you suffer!"
"Run!" Lettie growled urgently at her despite Tristan's grip on her. "Go wiothout me! Go!"
"I will not leave without you, Lettie!" Felicity shouted determinedly over the crackling of the fire and the now frantic whinying of the horses.
"Well that is just so idiotically sweet!" Tristan snapped, his eyelashes fluttering as though he was having trouble stayng awake. "I'm going to just finish the two of you now!" Obviously he meant to slice Lettie's throat right then and there, but he wavered uncontrollably, whether it was from blood-loss, having had a pitchfork stuck in his back or having been struck by a heavy wooden bucket, Felicity didn't care. She saw him begin to sway dangerously...
...which was just enough of a distraction for her to lunge forward and grab Lettie away from him as he dropped to his knees. But he grabbed ahold of Lettie's nearest ankle, causing her to fall. The force of her falling had pushed Felicity forward so that the horrified red-head was clear of the burning rafter that fell between her and Lettie, flaming brilliantly. The place was quickly filling with smoke, burning eyes and filling lungs. Behind Felicity, the horses were panicking furiously now, wanting to get out desperately. Felicity coughed and tried to find a way around the flaming, crackling, fallen rafter that lay at an unencouraging angle between her and Lettie. Fire was spreading from it to the stables, which were beginning to go up all too fast.
"Come on!" Felicity screamed as she watched Lettie try to get to her feet while coughing, too. Tristan Forsythe was unconscious again. Or dead. It didn't matter, for neither young woman was about to try and help him in any way. "Jump over!"
Lettie coughed and clenched her teeth. "The flames are too high! You must get the animals out before they burn! You must go!"
"I WILL NOT LEAVE YOU!" Felicity screamed in panic. Her smoke-dried eyes frantically looked for a way Lettie could get around, over or under the obscenely angled length of wood that blocked the aisle between the flaming stalls. The heat was outrageous. "Lettie, jump!"
But Lettie was suddenly very still, gazing at Felicity in thought. "Here!' she yelled, and she picked up the knife that had been held to her throat and tossed it over the flames between her and Felicity. It fell at Felicity's feet. "Take this and go! I cannot go with you."
"WHAT? No, there is a way! Just jump, and if you catch fire we will beat it out!"
Lettie gazed at her steadily. "No. But perhaps we will meet again...Felicity."
Insane panic clogged her throat more than the smoke was. "LETTIE...!"
"My name is Lalamika," the dark girl said with smouldering pride that burned brighter than the eighty-percent of the barn that was aflame. "It means pray for mercy. Let it spoken by no other white."
Felicity shook her head no by way of reply, but she was crying now. "I promised you I would not leave here without you and I meant it!"
"I know. But I now release you from that promise. Go!"
"NO!"
Lettie-Lalamika in truth, was backing away from the fiery obstacle, back toward the worst of the fire, unafraid, proud...frighteningly proud. "Go. Do not look back."
The horses were rearing aginst the doors of the opposite end of the barn. They were panicking blindly now, whinying and pounding the door with their hooves. They needed to get out. Felicity's teary green eyes met Lettie's dark, mysterious ones one last time, pleading, but the slave girl would not budge. They stared at each other only an instant, mutual respect and the bond of sisterhood, then Felicity whirled and ran like mad to the opposite end of the barn that was just beginning to go up, brushing past the horses and their dangerous rearing. With trembling hands that felt like they were made of cotton, she unlatched the doors and swung them wide open. She did not look back.
The horses were out in a hurry, tossing their heads, flaring their nostrills to get their noses full of fresh, winter air as they did indeed scatter, trotting in all directions. And indeed there were frantic voices, coming from the manor, but the souces of those voices were not yet to the blazing barn. Felicity ran. She just ran. Not to the manor, God, no. That would not only be plain stupid, but an insult to everything Lettie had done for her and sacrificed. It would be suicide.
And she ran. She had no idea where she was going. She was only vauguely aware that she would eventually come to a fence, for she had seen the tall wrought iron lengths enclosing the gardens when she had been out with Reginald. But there were gates, for livestock was turned out into the hilly pastures to graze, and they had to have gone through gates. Those gates were probably locked. But her and Lettie's plan had been to climb a certain tree in the garden and drop over the tall fence by hanging off one of the braches that over hung that fence. Like a maniac, Felicity made for the garden.
She still did not look back.
Oh there were plenty of people out and about now. All attention was on the barn, however. The completely lit structure, what was left of it, anyway, stood out against the black night like a miniature sun. But Felicity ran on into the garden, knowing exactly where that gnarled tree was and determined that nothing should get in her way. If she came across Reginald this moment she would pound his balding head into the mud with her own bare hands! But that would not be likely. All focus was on the burning barn and getting water to put out as much of the fire as could be.
She found the tree, hiked up her skirts, and began climbing in haste. She did not feel the cold of the thirty-some degree winter's night; she was too full of adrenaline. She could still feel the heat of the flames in the barn on her skin, still tried to stifle her coughing from inhaling the smoke. The tree had rough bark that her hands could not slip off of easily, which despite the cold was a good thing: she was shaking badly from head to toe. The tree also had good climbing branches. It's gnarled knobs and twisty arms made for easy grabbing. It also helped that Felicity was a good climber. Trees and rooftops. Her childhood playthings.
When she was straddling the gnarly branch that went out over the six-foot wrought-iron fence she refused to slow down. She refused to stop and take a breath. She scooted out over the fence on the branch, then did as she and Lettie had planned; she dangled from it, collected herself, then let go, dropping to the ground on the other side. She landed on feet so shakily that she continued on to her butt. But she was not hurt. Adrenaline was still rushing thorugh her.
She was free.
Still she did not look back. She did not wait to listen for anyone moving about. She did not think at all. She just ran. Unknowing of what direction she was going in or what lay ahead of her in the near blackness. She ran for her life. She ran for Lettie's life. She ran faster than she had ever run in her life.
After all, what was freedom if one did not seize it?
Snow can wait, I forgot my mittens lines from 'Winter' by Tori Amos.
Wipe my nose, get my new boots on
I get a little warm in my heart when I think of winter
I put my hand in my father's glove
I run off where the drifts get deeper
Sleeping beauty trips me with a frown
I hear a voice, "You must learn to stand up for yourself, cause I can't always be around"
He says, "When you gonna make up your mind?
When you gonna love you as much as I do?
When you gonna make up your mind?
Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I always want you near"
You say that things change, my dear.