The New Life
a novel by Mark Robert Whitten
Chapter 13
Ignoring the protests of both his father and the girl he thought was his friend, Jess raced away from the nightmare he had found, from the girl he only thought he knew. He felt the hammer-hard beat of his cheap leather shoes beating against the hardwood floor as her hurtful words seeped into every part of his mind. Hot tears streamed across his face as he stumbled past the servants, guards, and all the people in the audience chamber and finally out into the open air of the courtyard. The sunlight stung his eyes and he had to run blindly, but he kept going, knowing somehow that it was the only way to keep the truth from catching him up. It was his only chance. He couldn't stop to think or respond to the voices of people calling out to him. He just kept on going, out of the castle, across the drawbridge and into the open city. He smashed into several people as he fled through the streets, ignoring their curses and stumbling to keep his balance as they shoved him away. Jess couldn't keep his footing, falling at last among the many unconcerned passersby.
As he dropped to his knees, the cold stone welcomed his defeat.
He was such a fool.
Jess wept against the smooth, dull cobblestones, not caring that everyone nearby watched. Children's voices asking their mothers what's wrong with that boy and why is he crying drifted to him. He didn't raise his head to answer as their mothers shushed them and pulled them away. No one else bothered him as he kept crying, pounding his fists against the street and trying with all his might not to vomit.
She was a noble. A noble! How could he have not known? How could she have lived with him and not said anything? How could he have been so blind? He was a fool, that was how. He had never really known her. He never really knew anything. He didn't know how long he wept against the cobblestones, his face flushed with anger and shame, but after a while, he felt the familiar roughness of his father's hands scoop him up and carry him to the side of the street. Without a word, father gingerly lowered him into the wagon bed and moments later, Jess watched the sky through tear-stained vision as they rode away from the castle, the city, and everything he thought he knew.
It was a long, quiet journey home. The hoof-beats of their draft horses, the jangle of tack and the groaning of the wagon were the only sounds Jess heard for many hours. Father said nothing, just mercifully left him to his pain. Jess wept against the wagon bed and as the sun beat down against his cheek, he closed his eyes against it. As the wagon bounced along the old dirt road his bitter thoughts of Leslie finally consumed him.
He had imagined more than was real. She had never been his friend. Not really. She had only tricked him; that was all. She had made him think that he mattered, believe that he was special. He wasn't special. He was just a fool who believed her stupid lies. Now it was over. He would never see her again. He knew it was for the best. He wasn't good enough for her.
But she shouldn't have lied to him. Jess pounded his fist against the wagon-bed and wept frustrated tears over her betrayal.
He must have sounded so foolish to her. He had shared with her so much of himself, things he had never shared with anyone. He had come to care about her more than he ever thought he could care about anyone, had worried over her when she was taken away and traveled farther than he ever imagined he could just to save her.
But she didn't need saving. She was never in any real danger. She was home.
She was probably laughing right then with her noble friends about the stupid, filthy peasant boy and how he had believed he was her equal. Jess remembered teaching Leslie how to milk their cow and pull weeds from the garden and a hundred other chores that were beneath her and felt humiliation roil inside him. Jess felt sick at his presumption. He remembered bathing with her in their little pond and he suddenly felt as if he might die of shame. Jess worried that Leslie might decide to pay his family back for the times that Ellie and Brenda had tormented her. He recalled the time father had whipped him and Leslie for being late for supper. Every time a patrol of soldiers passed, Jess felt his stomach tighten with fear that they would attack. None did. Still, Jess reasoned that Leslie might someday send men to hurt them for the times she had been whipped or bullied by the Aarons. He really didn't know that she wouldn't hold a grudge.
As much as Jess feared them, nobles were a mystery to him. They lived in a different world, with their servants, valets and soldiers in their big scary castles.
Leslie was better off in a castle. She deserved a castle.
After three days of tears and travel Jess finally detected the bittersweet scents of home. The grass was wet from a recent rain and he heard the squeal May belle made as she came running up to the wagon. Her voice rang out against the darkening sky, her shrill cries of "father!" telling everyone of their return. When her squeals turned towards him, he ignored her, not moving so she would think him still asleep. She reached for him then, shaking him in an effort to wake him from his pretend slumber. Father told her to "hush, and leave him alone." Jess didn't bother to sit up; he hadn't eaten much and he didn't think he had the strength left to lift himself off the wagon bed.
As he felt his father lift him, Jess still pretended to be asleep, hoping father would take him inside.
His wish was granted and from his pallet, Jess listened as father went downstairs and laid out everything that happened. He could hear the sounds of gasping and caught a few distinct words that weren't meant for little ears. The story was complex, but father never embellished, so it wasn't long before he got to the important parts—Jess knew father had gotten to the part about Leslie being a noble's daughter when he heard Ellie and Brenda's cries of "By the gods!"
Jess almost smiled. He knew it would be a tale repeated to wide eyes and stunned disbelief: A noble girl living right under their thatched roof. He wished he had the strength to be down there right then, to savor the looks on the faces of his obnoxious sisters, if nothing else.
The thought certainly tickled him: The snooty Ellie and Brenda, who fancied themselves akin to nobility, finding out that the girl they had bullied and sneered at was really their better all along.
His mirth burned to bitter anguish as he realized that Leslie was his better too.
As Father droned on about their return home, Jess let his thoughts drift back to a time before, when he barely knew Leslie—and then he cursed himself, remembering that he never really knew her—that far away time when he thought he did. Breakfast was served and Leslie was talking about her mysterious past. Jess was shocked to discover that she didn't have any friends.
He shivered as Brenda's admonishment rang through his memory.
You don't have any either!
Jess clawed away his bitter tears. "Brenda was right," he sobbed, "Brenda was right about everything."
As the pain of the truth bore down on him, he glanced over at Leslie's pallet. Through blurred vision he could see her ruffled blanket lying atop her abandoned pile of straw.
Gazing upon her forsaken bedding, Jess knew then that she would never return.
* * * * *
Jess wasn't sure when he fell asleep; he just knew the sunlight streaming through the window meant the day had started without him. He supposed he should hurry to his chores before father whipped him. He lifted his heavy head and glanced across the room. Leslie's pallet was empty. He smiled at the unkempt sight.
She was probably down below, making breakfast and waiting for him to…
Then he remembered.
As he turned away from the sickening sight, he felt something brush against his head. It was the sack that Leslie had used. It still contained the book they had received from Mrs. Vanderholt. Jess heaved a sigh. He supposed he should return it. He was finished with it anyway.
When he went downstairs, he found everyone was already awake. Brenda and Ellie quietly bothered mother about something, while May belle played with a doll she had received at the festival. Leslie had given it to her. Jess turned from the sight, preferring his sister's bickering to the reminder of his hated loss. Mother was just saying no for "the last time" when she noticed him. Everyone fell silent. Jess stood there, waiting for someone to speak.
When no one did, he started for the door. Mother's voice stopped him.
"Sit down, Jess," she offered. "You should have something to eat."
He motioned towards the door-flap. "I have to do my chores."
"Your father's doing everything today, you just sit down."
As Jess wearily complied, he met the gaze of his sisters. It had begun. Everyone would be quiet around him for the next few days. He thought it could even go on for a full week.
It had happened before. Once, when he was even younger than May belle, he had found a rabbit and named it Charlie. He loved Charlie, would feed him carrots, talked to him for hours and pretended they were great adventures, seeking treasure and danger. They had a great deal of fun. But one day, Charlie fell ill. Jess nursed him for several days, but he only got worse, until he finally died. Jess was heartbroken and everyone was kind to him after that, at least for a while. Even Brenda treated him like a normal person.
Jess sighed.
It was Charlie all over again.
Jess ran his finger in little circles on the table. It had been more than six years since Charlie's death and Jess had not given his old rabbit much thought; he found he could barely even recall the color of his fur. Jess' hand stilled. The thought occurred to him that he might forget about Leslie too. The very idea scared him. Even though Leslie never really cared for him and as much as he hated what she had done, he still found himself smiling whenever he thought about her.
Her laugh was lighthearted and full of life. Jess smile widened. He would have done almost anything to make her laugh. Often times, he fell face-down in the dirt, just to see if she thought it funny. She rarely liked when he fell, saying that he scared her and that he should be more careful, lest he get hurt.
Her smiles when he said he was fine were the most caring he ever knew.
They shared more than laughs, of course, swapping stories and fears and things he never got to share with anyone else and Leslie listened to all of his worries. She seemed to genuinely care about his view of the world and how he felt about things.
But it was all lies.
She never cared about him, not really; she just wanted to make fun of him. His fists tightened on the tabletop at the thought of her bragging to all her noble friends about how she had fooled him. Jess ground his teeth as he pictured their laughter.
Jess turned away from the table in disgust, cursing at the irony; he had finally managed to make Leslie laugh. He got his wish, but it wasn't what he expected. He decided he wasn't hungry after all and told everyone that he was going for a walk. Jess went upstairs and grabbed the book he needed before heading out. Mother said something about not to be out too late but he was already on his way.
Running to the forest wasn't the fun it had once been. There was no laughter, no song, nothing but the wind in his face and the pain in his chest. He felt his heart pound with every step, knowing it would never heal. As the breeze dried his tears, he ignored the waves of people on the road, intent on showing them nothing of what he felt. His only thought was to reach the trees and hide and only when he finally reached them did he allow himself to slow. He listened intently to the nothing that greeted him. The woods were quiet. Everything seemed strange. With Leslie the forest seemed magical, like anything was possible. Without Leslie it was an empty place, bereft of life. Jess strode through the darkest places, hoping to find a beast that would challenge him. Or kill him. He found none.
Then he saw it, the reason he'd come.
The cottage.
It was quiet. Even Mrs. Vanderholt's place seemed devoid of life. No smoke rose from the chimney and he saw no lights through the windows. He knocked on the door but no one answered. Jess peered into the windows, but the place was too dark to see anything. He wondered if he should go inside and leave the book for them. He knew he wasn't supposed to enter without permission but he had to return the book. He tried the handle. It was locked and after a while, he just gave up.
Leaving the book before the old door, he walked away from the sanctuary.
As he wandered, lost amongst the trees, he looked about the enchanted forest, savoring his final glimpse of what was once precious. The forest was their place, the secret they shared. In his heart, Jess knew he would never return to that magical place.
The pain of Leslie's lies had tainted its beauty forever.
* * * * *
A week passed. No one spoke of Leslie or often asked him how he felt. They seemed to know that anything they said would only open the still raw wounds. Over time, Brenda's rancorous nature started to show through but Jess only smiled at her insults. He never thought he would miss them, but as time passed, they returned like a summer rain. Mother even stopped reprimanding her for them.
His chores resumed. Jess was only too glad to be allowed to work again, knowing that work made you forget and that having a purpose was better than wallowing in grief.
As he walked through the yard, he reflected on how quiet his home had become. He missed his friend, missed her sound, her laughter, her stories. The farm was a lonely place without her. As he made his way to the chicken coop, he realized that for the first time in his entire life, he knew what it was to be lonely.
Jess had always been alone. He had slept alone in his loft and walked alone by the river and did his chores alone. He didn't much care about being alone. It was natural to him and he was used to it. But until he met Leslie, he was never lonely. He had never really known what it was to be lonely, that there could be something more than what he had. Leslie had changed him, changed his view of the world.
Before Leslie, he had been fine.
Jess wished he had never met her, never come to know her at all.
As he entered the coop, he tried to put aside thoughts of his former companion. He decided to concentrate on his chores and allow the work to fill the hole she had left in his heart. The empty spaces in the coop were places she should have been, places she should have stood. He bent to his task and whispered soothing words to the hens. The chickens clucked their complaints as he gathered the eggs and try as he might, Jess couldn't forget Leslie. She had built the chicken coop with him and gathered up the materials to whitewash it. She had stood by him with her hands on her hips, smiling in triumph when their work was finally complete.
Amongst the feathers drifting in the darkness, Jess could still see her dancing. He smiled. Leslie loved to dance and when she spun about in the midst of the chicken-feather-storm, she always looked like the queen of some icy world, dancing amongst the snowflakes. Jess always loved to watch her dance. He turned away from the bitter memory. He would never see her dance again. He was a fool for liking her at all. He cursed himself to get his head out of the clouds and as he left the chicken coop, he wiped the sweat from his brow with his free hand. The motion also reminded him of Leslie. The basket she helped make allowed him that free hand, allowed him to carry eggs without dropping them and Jess silently wondered how many reprimands he had been spared by not losing eggs.
As he headed for the house, he stopped to lean against the wall of the chicken coop. He stifled a sob at the thought of Leslie helping him so often, joking with him, bathing and eating and laughing with him, like he actually mattered. Jess glanced to the sky and asked questions that had no answers. "Leslie," he whispered, "Why did you lie to me? Why did you help me? Why did you even pretend to care?"
He looked down to see May belle staring at him, her round face bunched up in a frown.
"Who're you talking to, Jess?"
He didn't meet her gaze harshly, just looked at her with a hollow feeling. "Nobody," he answered. "Nevermind."
"Mamma says you ought to go back inside and talk." May belle stepped closer, clutching her little doll to her chest. "She says it might help."
Jess glared at her. "I don't think so, May Belle." He pushed past her and walked inside, not wanting to discuss how he felt with anyone.
As expected, Mother was waiting for him.
"Jess," she asked, accepting the basket. "Would you go down to town for me, please? I need a few things."
Jess nodded grateful for the opportunity to leave for awhile. She recited the list and when he had it memorized, he shuffled silently to the door. She called his name. He stopped for only a moment while she spoke.
"She loved you, you know?" Tears glistened in her warm brown eyes. "She was a nice girl."
Jess nodded and left without a word. As he made his way to town, he thought about how everything had changed. Leslie had brought meaning to his life, had given him purpose. Without her, he was alone. He kicked a rock and stumbled along, looking forward to the swim across the river. Normally he would take the bridge but he didn't want to delay and with the heat making his clothes cling to him, he was eager to cool himself down. His hopes were destroyed when he saw how fast the water was rushing. He didn't think he had the energy for a proper swim but he consoled himself with splashing some water across his arms and face. He even found a kind family that let him ride in their wagon, so he wouldn't have to hike the two miles upstream to use the bridge.
The family let him off on the other side. They offered to take him the two miles to town, but Jess waved them off. He wanted to walk the few miles and reflect on how unfair life could be.
All along the way, Jess considered the past, his present and the bleakness of his future. He would spend the rest of his life working on the farm and if he was lucky enough to find some girl to marry him, she probably would too. He wondered about Leslie's future. She would probably marry some wealthy noble and live in a great place. While Jess would eat dry bread and cold beans, she would feast on whatever fine delicacies that nobles enjoyed. Jess reprimanded himself. He was being selfish, he knew. Leslie had a brighter future than any he could offer. Who was he to want to take that away from her? He was nobody; a farm-boy and nothing else.
He set his eyes on the road ahead. Midday was approaching and he didn't want to be late.
The town was as quiet as the road and as he entered, Jess watched a manure cart pass by and thought again about how Leslie must have seen his family; as filthy peasants. He felt shamed by what he once thought, that maybe the things that people said about he and Leslie were true, that they would grow up together and—strange as it seemed—marry.
Jess stomach tightened as he tried to remember everything he ever said to her. He told Leslie his fears and dreams and of his hopes for the future.
He must have sounded so stupid to her.
Jess had everything mother needed collected in short order. He saw Hoager and Fulcher by the blacksmith's shop. They cocked their heads in invitation. Jess turned and started towards them. They wanted a fight. He intended to give them one.
As he neared, they ducked into the alley. Jess followed. They stood there staring at him. "Well, well," Hoager sneered, "if it ain't Aarons, the farm-boy!" His reedy voice incensed him and as he ran a hand through his slick black hair, he reminded Jess of nothing so much as a crow. He wished he had a stone to throw at him.
Scott looked about, expectantly. "Where's your girl, Aarons?" he snorted. "She leave you for a real man?"
Jess let the sack drop, not caring about the sound of breaking pottery it made as it hit the ground. He said nothing—there was nothing to say, really—instead glaring straight into Hoager's beady little eyes. Hoager laughed, looking back at Fulcher.
He didn't even notice Jess running towards him.
When Hoager turned back, his mean eyes went wide. He held up his hands in a feeble plea for mercy. "It-It was a joke…"
Jess felt the power of his punch before he threw it. All the pent up frustration of the past two weeks went into that single blow and as his fist connected with Hoager's nose, Jess felt it crunch. Hoager flew off his feet, landing hard on his back. He didn't moan or cry out in pain. As Jess panted in rage, expecting a fight, Hoager didn't even move.
Jess stood stunned. He never knew he could hit anyone so hard. His hand throbbed and he was sure he had broken something. The sight of Fulcher brought him back to attention; he barely had time to duck as the bully came in swinging. Jess landed a jab in his gut and brought his fist up as he doubled over, hooking him on the chin. Fulcher spun down hard and when Jess turned to the sound of voices, his blood ran cold.
The blacksmith was rushing towards them, his father right behind. Kneeling by Hoager's prone form, the blacksmith helped him sit up. His eyes burned like twin coal fires as he glared at Jess and asked, "What did you do to my son?"
Jess swallowed as be backed a step. He hadn't realized the connection; the two looked nothing alike. He couldn't meet the man's fiery glower and as father gripped his shoulders, Jess stared up into his big grey eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm sorry…"
Father held him tight as he dissolved into miserable tears. He wasn't sorry about punching Hoager; the vile rat had it coming.
He was sorry about Leslie.
He would always be sorry about her.
"Aarons' you're through," the blacksmith growled. Jess knew the man wasn't talking to him; Father had lost his job. Jess cried for that too.
As father stripped off his leather apron, he threw it at the blacksmith and led Jess away. Jess snatched up the sack of broken things and took comfort under his father's strong arm. They walked for awhile, neither saying much, but then Jess confessed something he had been holding to for a long time. "I hate her," he breathed. "I hate her so much."
Father didn't have to ask who he was talking about. "You don't mean that, Jess."
"Yes I do," he sniffled. "I wish I never met her. I wish she had never come here."
Father squeezed his shoulder and told him about the first girl he ever loved. Jess didn't think his father had loved anyone before his mother. It was a revelation. He listened quietly while father told him the whole sad story of how he met a girl and fell in love with her only to lose her to a fever.
When he was through, Jess couldn't help but ask how he went on without her.
"By remembering," father said. "By holding on to what we had, I was able to find a way to love again." Jess didn't bother telling him he was too young for love; he knew what father meant. "You just have to remember what she did, what made you care for her in the first place. Someday, all you'll have are the good memories."
Jess wiped his sleeve across his nose. He wondered if the good memories would include punching out Scott Hoager. He decided it best not to remind father about that; he knew he was lucky not to be heading for a whipping after costing the man his job.
As they headed home, Jess felt relieved. It was as if all the horrible feelings inside him melted away like snow by the hearth. He even felt hungry again. He resolved to ask for a big supper. Jess wanted a hearty meal so he could help his father work some more.
Father agreed. Something still bothered him. "What about your job?" Jess asked. "What are we going to do?"
Father looked out at the fields. Many were being worked by their owners. "I could work for one of them," he said. "People always need an extra hand for the harvest."
Jess agreed. He even offered to help. Father told him not to worry, that he had plenty of work at home waiting for him already.
When they caught sight of home they both froze in mid-stride.
Jess stared dumbfounded, his blood running to ice as he realized that work wasn't the only thing waiting at home for him.