Thought I would break the chain and try to do an author's note before the chapter. I hope you like this one. Some people commented that they thought Nathan needed to apologize to Nyrah, and I was like..."I totally agree!"
Hope you all like the chapter! Comment on your favorite chapter so far!
Any ship name ideas?
When I approach the back door of Abigail's Cafe, masculine voices sound loud enough for me to listen in. "You're supposed to mince the garlic. I thought you said you could cook."
"Well, Allie doesn't complain, although she's been offering to cook more lately." I hear a pot being stirred slightly.
"I was at Elizabeth's earlier, she had this big bouquet of flowers on her table. Someone left them by her front door. No card."
"Sombody got her flowers?"
"Yeah, thought you might know something about them."
And audible sigh, and the man I know to be Nathan inquires, "Did she like them?"
"You could say that." It becomes so silent after that, dragging on for eons, and I take that as my que to barge in.
I pretend to be surprised at what I observe. "What a rare sight. Two men of the law cooking together."
Bill smirks, "Nyrah, come and teach this little boy what it means to mince the garlic." Nate rolls his eyes, one hand in his pocket, one stirring the pot. "Little boy?"
I soak in the scent of spices, practically shoving my face into the pot Nathan is tending. "Some type of marinade?" I ask.
"You like it?" Bill unwraps another package of ribs, casting the stained paper into the waste. I catch Nathan staring at me again. I contemplate as to whether he really was curious about Elizabeth's flowers. "Without a doubt, but I have a feeling you men will join us at the party anyway, so I hope to eat one of them." I emphasize the word "men," for the sake of Nathan.
"Not a chance." Bill swipes the silver spoon from my fingers, forbidding me from tasting the marinade. I only wanted a lick. I wasn't about to snack on an entire spoonful. My tongue shrivels at the idea, before my lip pouts in protest. Nathan fails to hold back a chuckle. "Fine, be a grumpy Aragog."
"What on earth is an Aragog?" Wouldn't Bill love to know. I suppose I could inform him, but not explain where it's from.
"A massive spider twice your size. His offspring love to attack people in one massive wave."
The Judge's brow lifts higher than the eiffel tower. "Sounds about right," Bill agrees, "but I think you read too many books."
I wave off his accusation because I am not a book lover at all. I read once and a while, but I prefer movies or crafts to keep me busy. "Yeah, but I didn't come here to talk about my reading habits. I came here to ask if you happen to know if I left my purse here yesterday."
"Over on the shelf."
"Thank you." Turning to leave with what I came for, I anticipate the fun of Clara's party tonight, though, Nathan has another idea than for me to walk outside into the mountain valley air, and go on with my day
"Nyrah?"
"Hm?" I hum teasing the beads on my hurricane gray purse. "Yes?"
"May I please...speak with you?" He opens the door, motioning to the back yard deck "I only need a couple minutes of your time." His voice shakes like a squirrel on a rope. Is this about his father?
Beneath the shade of a spruce awning, we stand nine inches from one another. His breath against my cheek, I speak first after the door clicks. I gaze up into his piercing cracked marbles, their enticing hue wavering my courage. "You rang?" I joke, though he won't understand I'm quoting The Adam's Family. Yet another ancient classic I miss out on.
"I have a confession to make." His throat squeaks, as if a handful of push-pins claw against his esophagus. Nate swallows to clear away the gunk forbidding him to speak. I tap his boot with my own, edging him to continue, but not without an encouraging smile. "I read it," he declares. What is he talking about? Read what?
"Nate, you're making no sense." I lay a hand on his arm, but he pulls away. "You're scaring me."
"Your journal!" He blurts out, awaiting any spark of anger on my face. He read my journal. "Please, forgive me. I don't even know why I did it anymore, and I wouldn't blame you for never speaking to me again." He read my journal. All Nathan receives from me is a curt not as I stare into space. I trusted him, and though he deserves every word I could say to him, every scream roiling in my chest, I say nothing. He knows the deepest parts of me now, and what I know about him pales in comparison. He probably thinks I'm mad for thinking I'm from the future. I almost interrogate the man as to when this occurred, but I'm enlightened by my mistake. I left it beneath my pillow! With a face drawn into cupped hands, trying to alleviate the pressure building in my forehead, I hear Nathan scramble for more to say. "Nyr-"
"Don't." I hold up a finger. "Good day, Constable." I shoot him an icy glare, shuffling away in complete torment. I want to forgive him instantly, but what did he expect would happen when he made a revelation of such a nature? Has all of this been an investigation for him? Since he could not find record of anyone named "Nyrah Sutton," he had to snoop through my things? Did he ever care for me at all? Ten thousand more questions swirl around as I watch my feet move of their own accord, right to my house. Scalding tears turn my eyes red, red as blood, but they dry up as rage takes over. A fury hive of killer bees keep home in my stomach. I was wrong to ever think I could fit in here.
A clamourous bang on the door sends an earthquake through my bones while I lean on the eggshell doorframe. The handle pokes my spine, but I ignore it. "Go away, Constable!" How am I to get through the party tonight? It is not long, and I concentrate on heavy footsteps fading in the distance.
Flapping my skirts above the ankles, I traipse upstairs. I am in charge of making party gifts for all of the women. In a wooden box, I line up various perfumes along the bottom. The subtle clink of the bottles soothes my ruffled spirit. I love that sound. Every label is different. After all, we cannot have a group of woman always wearing the same perfume can we? I place a Honeysuckle Essence under my nose. Sweet.
My cheek is wet now. What do I want? Why am I here in Hope Valley? What is the Point of all this?
Peter comes to mind. I suppose he is my role model. I always try to be as understanding as he had been, but I fall short every single time. Nathan crossed a line.
Molly spins the white and blue paper wheel on her turn, and it clicks over the section that reads "Give the Bride Advice." The glee flitting about the room is intoxicating. I'm less furious than before, so I hold my chin high. I'm seated beside Rosemary, and she is the loudest giggler by far. The men on the other side of the room are pitiful puppies while watching our group have fun.
"Okay, so my grandmother always said to me..." She stops for a moment grasping onto a dusty memory. "Always choose to love him, even even if hurt is all you feel, for feelings can often deceive and hide a treasure real."
What an interesting quote. "Did she come up with that herself?" I ask
"I'm not sure, but grandpa always left his muddy boots in their bedroom. Every time she got worked up about it, she said it to herself. She told me she would also remember it whenever they had an argument." Our half of the room erupts into applause and Clara thanks Molly for sharing.
"It's Nyrah's turn!" Florence laughs with excitement, and I saunter over to the wheel. Oh, please let it not be anything too complicated! The arrow hovers over "spin again," so that is exactly what I do, before the words "Compliment the Bride" pop the balloon in my stomach. I can accomplish that.
"Ooh, that's a good one." A lady name Dior speaks up.
"Yes!" Rosemary raises her arms. "Alright, Nyrah. What have you got for Clara?" Elizabeth chuckles at Rosemary, eyes wide in my direction, anticipating what I will say.
"Clara," I utter, "I want to compliment you, and of course, the wheel has nothing to do with this." I add sarcasm. Other women listen in amusement, laughing at my jest. "No, honestly, I would say this even if it never asked me to. You are a beautiful bride, and a precious friend to me. You shine brighter than a star when you smile, and the times I see you smile the most, are when you are with Jesse. You have chosen a good man. Right on." I wink at her when I say that last part. No one else gets it but the two of us. She laughs and her smile shines brighter. Joyful tears coat her eyes as she hugs me. "Thank you, Nyrah. I can't imagine life without you."
"Aw," all the ladies sigh at the sweet moment. It's Florence's turn and she has to tell an embarrassing story about the bride. Elizabeth takes notice of the men's espial upon our group. "Look at them," she states with pity. "Are we being cruel?" Rosemary takes notice of the boring poker game taking place in the other half of the saloon.
"Are you kidding?" Rosemary disagrees with a jeer. "This is all innocent fun. Let them call this a 'bridal shower.'" Mrs. Coulter twists her face into a replica of the men's mockery from earlier.
"Would you just look at them?" Elizabeth says again. A moment later, Rosemary bursts into a laugh, almost a cackle, and yells as loud as possible so the men will hear. "Oh, Elizabeth that's hysterical!" Elizabeth's brows furrow in confusion, before untangling when she discovers what Rosemary is doing. Lee is quite perturbed. The men don't share in his charge for enthusiasm.
I ignore all of the fun on this end and focus hard on Elizabeth making eye contact with Nathan, then with Lucas. Lucas waves at her, and she waves back, but poor Nathan thinks she is waving at him, so he gives her one as well, a mug of liquor in his hand. Elizabeth lowers her hand, fully aware of the awkward transaction, and Lucas gives Nathan a side-look. Nathan's fingers fumble back to his side.
I almost give the Mountie an expression to show him I'm in his corner, but then I recall what he told me this afternoon. He must care for Elizabeth, or that awkward handwave wouldn't have happened. Or he could have been trying to be friendly. Elizabeth jumps up, wishing to escape the situation, and asks all the ladies if anyone wants more punch.
Not too long after that, the men mingle with our party, and Lucas shows Elizabeth how to shoot a dart backward using a mirror. The display is amusing as Elizabeth misses the first time. The dart slpashes into Nathan's cup, spilling onto his shirt.
Later, when Elizabeth has gone through three contests and won, Nathan asks Elizabeth to teach him how to play when everyone else moves on to other things, their romance budding before my eyes. I just want to leave. Clara is talking to her guests, and I'm a wall-flower. I cannot risk leaving and offending the bride or the groom, so I decide to pile on mashed potatoes, steamed carrots, and succulent ribs that Bill and Nathan prepared earlier onto a plate.
Elizabeth joins the line later as well, with two men sticking rather close to her. I can tell she enjoys their company, and who am I to tell Nathan not to pursue the spotless lamb? He moves on quickly if he ever had interest in me, and I am beginning to doubt that was ever the case. I sit beside a random citizen, making idle conversation about their farm. Fiona stops by on her way to sit with Henry Gowen, which saves me from delving further into the subject of manure.
"You look lonely," she observes, chomping on a pinch of barbecue chicken. Red poker chips clash onto the floor, distracting my focus for a moment. "Do I?"
"Anything you want to talk about?" Fiona's soft eyes twinkle in the dim light of the saloon, dark curls held back with pins on each side. Her hair is as short as mine was when I arrived in Hope Valley.
I grin with appreciation. "Not at the moment, but I thank you for checking up on me."
After the festivities are concluded, I hug Clara one more time. Everyone walks home together, and I walk home by myself. I share a glance with Nathan, but I'm not ready to discuss the matter, and I know he can tell this is the case. The Coulters and Elizabeth stroll together, discussing the night's activities. Discussing how big little Jack has grown. I decide to take the longer way, and I pick up voices nearby.
"Alright. Then I'll say it for you." The voice voice belongs to Rosemary. "Your heart is open again, isn't it?" Three seconds tick on the clock as my own heart behind the sternum thunders and thumps. "And now it's being pulled in two different directions." Three more seconds. "Well, I for one am thrilled for you!"
Elizabeth grunts, "Don't be, besides, I fear I misread both of them, anyway."
"What do you mean?"
Devastation. Pure devastation. My ears cannot absorb another sentence, so I transform the long way into the short way. It's happening. Both of them care for her. Tomorrow Nathan and Lucas will bring her flowers and I will be left at home slaving over flowerpots and a vegetable garden.
I have this dream where leaves of the purest gold reflect the sunrise. The rustling of their precious veins against one another slow. I watch as violets dance in constricted time, tickling my ankles. I'm spinning slow, my limbs heavy like when one floats in the depth of the ocean. Tiny bugs flurry and scatter when my flowing skirt disturbs them. Two fawns nibble the sweet emerald plants along the edge of a forest, and I run fingertips along the bark of a sturdy oak. The scent of living hedges, earthworms burrowing deep in the soil, and daisies in the valley coil into my soul. A landscape, serene with ants marching in harmony and spiders spinning intricate silk, glows with a peaceful yellow. Sunburnt rocks bask in rays by a tripping stream. I am happy in this place. Tranquil.
But this dream is not everlasting. A head of waves the hue of dunes just before a mirage. Eyes of jade and earth. Toned muscle and freckled nose and neck. I've never seen Jude without his glasses. He stands, not in his business suit, but in a button-down white collared shirt and brown breeches. There is a rustic casualness in his dress.
"Promise me something," he commands. I am not myself. It is as if the landscape is a pair of shackles over my emotions. I am angry, but I am also not angry at the same time. "Answer me."
His hand embraces my chin, pulling my lips closer to his. "What do you want?" I attempt to snarl, but it shows as an adoring smile.
"I want an heir," he takes advantage of my lack of control over my own body, about to kiss me tenderly. I bolt upward in bed before it happens, sweat pooling in the hollow of my neck. An heir. Jude wants an heir. In my dream. I scan the room to ensure the man is not in the room with me. Images shiver between the cracks of my brain. I am desperate to knock the pollution out of the cranies, but I know it is impossible.
No Jude in the closet, and no stalker under my bed, I quickly dress into a brown skirt and cream blouse. I'm honestly hideous in cream. I grab my journal, pen hovering over a fresh page, but I drop it back into the well. I need a break from writing in it. From everything. I race downstairs to make a phone call to Lucas. A few days off will be good for me.