Chapter 38
Frolic
Sorry, it has been so long. I just haven't felt like writing anything at all, which has been a strange thing! If people are still interested in reading this story please be sure to review it afterward.
It was as quiet and tranquil as any afternoon. They'd brought their various items to the tea-table out on the outer lawn. The branches of the willow tree cascaded offering shade and rustling gently in the breeze.
"Emma, do you hear that?"
"Hmm? That must not be the next line in the reader," she said, a smile cracking over her lips naturally as she looked up from her sketchbook. Amy had been holding the book and Emma had been sketching the sight in front of her from memory until she had cause to look up.
The child picked the book up again from her lap, "No, the next line is "the cat sat on the straw mat — but we've done this one before a hundred times and I might've even have memorized most of it"
"Well you aren't supposed to have memorized it, you should be reading each word as if you are seeing it for the first time" she instructed, and then sighed, "and it hasn't been a hundred times but I do wish I had more materials for us to practice with"
"Maybe not a hundred times but I do think I know all the lines in this reader by heart," the girl said, "But that sound is the very same sound that Mr. Knightley said was coming from the tadpole pond yesterday, and he said he might show me how to catch one,"
"Yes, he very well might and it is coming from the smaller pond but it would be the frogs making the sound you hear!"
The girl's whole face lit up, "Frogs really? Mr. Knightley didn't say anything about frogs. Can we see one? Could Mr. Knightley help me catch one? If we did catch one would I be able to keep the Frog as a pet?"
Emma chuckled internally, the rapid-fire questions were so true to her own personality and way of being.
She wanted to tell her that if she did catch more than one, Mr. Knightley might help officiate a race, as he had done many a time when she was a girl but instead she gave the right answer, the obviously adult answer.
"It is Wednesday. Mr. Knightley spends each Wednesday in his office working on paperwork and other such things required for the workings of his estate. This simply means you must not disturb him, especially not on Wednesdays"
"Would he be very cross?" The girl asked her eyebrows arching to a questioning expression.
"No, in fact, I've never seen him cross at anyone other than myself," Emma offer "but never unprovoked," she assured. And then at the look on the girl's face she felt urged to continue, "and he is the sort of spirit that even if he were upset he isn't wild or ever violent about it— you would merely know he is cross by the expression he wears on his face. In many cases, he might not say a thing about it for several days while it brews internal until he can't help himself but to mention something about it,"
She wrinkled her nose, unconsciously – distinctly remembering the exact feeling as well as the hundreds of times she'd seen that exact face upon him hitherto.
The girl nodded and then offered another possibility. "Do you think you and I might be fast enough to catch a frog?"
Emma again held back her instinctual answer, which was nearest to a most confident "certainly".
She considered it a moment. She had done many things in recent weeks and months that she'd been unaccustomed to since girlhood. Once more doing everything from games of tag to riding horses, and for most of these, she'd been almost unfazed by the passage of time. And that was especially true once the nervous sensation of being rusty or inadequate had passed.
"Finish your reading, properly mind—" she added the edge to her tone that Miss Taylor would often use. "And then I'll consider it," she promised.
She had given the noncommittal reply to bide time to decide but the way the little girl's face lit up, she could tell it was taken as a statement of affirmation.
She realized exactly then that she could not tell her no—not when her eyes were so bright and she had been so eager to begin working with her reader again—sounding out each word carefully and forgoing rote memorization.
And it was just in that way that she found herself with her skirts tied up as high as they go, perched on a series of rocks hovering like a hawk above a fat-looking frog. And while her frame was still, her mind was racing. Thinking over and over in her mind how lightning quick they would move from past experience. And there was the pressure to succeed in this venture. To her mind she had no choice but to catch it now, she'd come this far—she could not stand to disappoint.
She steadied her breathing, willing the pace of her heart to slow back down—being overly excited would not aid her cause or her patience!
Amy for her part was as quiet as a mouse; watching silently from her own perch on the bank as if studying a sacred art form to employ the technique for future endeavors.
And Emma, once she felt the timing, bent her form slowly, crouching so as not to disturb the water and she was satisfied because the clouds overhead meant she did not cast a shadow, despite the sun's place in the sky.
The frog appeared blissfully unaware.
And just like the springing of a trap, she darted out with both hands, quick and direct. And she was perhaps even more surprised than Amy to feel the amphibious creature beneath her fingers. Amy for her part exclaimed excitedly. And Emma smiled, unconsciously at the result, having caught the frog around the midsection, reveling in the proud feeling. She had not lost her edge and then just as she embraced the sensation of her success, she teetered forward and at once felt the incorrectness of her center of balance. Reflexively she recoiled backward and upwards to right herself, but the action was overzealous and she careened backward in the opposite direction. So much so, that before her next breath she was tipping backward into the water without the possibility to correct the motion. A shriek, which she would have also claimed to be automatic, escaped her but the frog did not.
Amy hearing her exclamation, screamed in full terror as if the action of falling backward was certain to cause grave harm to her dear friend and teacher.
The child was screaming Emma's name in a full panic the moment Emma hit the water. A splash of water and algae, and her hind end sank into the mud at once. And she was grateful that it was not so deep, and even at the full depth, this section of the pond allowed her to sit with the water only touching the start of her breastbone.
The coolness of the water took her breath for just a moment but she quickly drew it back, in order to assure her companion, "It's alright, I'm alright," she told Amy as soon as her lips and lungs co-operated, but the girl had been screaming so loudly, at first she hadn't seemed to hear her. It was not until the water settled, that Emma held the frog above her head, hoping the girl would see that everything was all right, including the squirming creature.
"I was worried you were about to be drowned," she told her, tearfully "and it would be your fancy dress pulling you right down to the deep, and my fault for sending you for that frog in the first place," the girl was wiping back tears and clearly trying to regain her composure.
"It's alright," Emma assured. She was at a slight loss as to how to remove herself from the pond without giving up and releasing the frog. It had become such a prize now that she had entered the water for want of it. She wouldn't want to simply forego the victory now.
"You aren't hurt?" Amy asked.
"Nothing but my pride, it can be our secret but you won't say anything about it," Emma said, "Well, ours and the laundress, for I don't think I can hide the truth from the woman that works to restore this dress."
"Oh, your dress, I hope it isn't ruined"
"She's rather talented, I'm sure through my childhood I've given much worse and hadn't noticed dresses any worse for the wear. Laundresses seem to be a special sort of magician."
"Can you stand?" Amy asked biting her lip, she was on the bank several strides away and likely realizing she would not be much help, the slightness of her frame and the shortness of her limbs.
"Not without giving up on our prize" Emma explained, beaming at the frog for good measure.
"Should I strip down to my skivvies and try to help you up—I'm a—a afrightful of that because I don't know how to swim if I slip in? Shall I fetch Mr. Knightley?"
But by that point George was running into the yard, looking flustered as if he had left the study in the rush of it all. He must have heard the screaming, or perhaps worse if a servant had run to summon him. She didn't want to dwell on that.
It would have to do, as Emma knew she would not be able to get free without losing the frog if unassisted.
"What is happening, I heard the most blood-curdling screaming?" he called out as he approached.
"I'm sorry Sir, that screaming was me, I was full of fear when Emma fell into the pond" Amy atoned.
"Emma are you hurt?" he asked but unlike Amy, he did not stay on the bank but rather stepped right into the water. And unlike Emma he had not taken the time to remove his shoes, so when he entered the water it was boots and all.
"No," a laugh escaped her, maybe a mixture of surprise and modification, "No, I'm quite well. I was simply trying to figure out how to get myself righted without giving up on the frog, it seemed an impossibility—I wondered to flag down William Larkin next I saw him, he seems the sort that would not let a frog slip from his fingers," her tone retaining a humourous tone in spite of her situation.
"Amy will you go to the housekeeper, or the first servant you find and calmly ask after some towels, three or four shall do it," and as an afterthought, he added "please,"
Emma cut in, "And please say they are for Mr. Knightley's dog, which is about to be given a bath,"
George sighed.
Emma looked at him fully, "What? I don't wish to make up a falsehood but it will ensure that we are given the poorer towels of the lot and that I am not mortified beyond belief. I can already picture Mrs. Hodges' face—she can be most disapproving when she sets her mind to it," Emma explained, and Amy still looked at them both wide-eyed. And they must have been a sight, for Emma still sat where she had fallen, and Mr. Knightley stood, as if a soldier at ease, though the water overflowed his boots.
"On second thought, go around to the back doors to the cook, ask Cook or one of the kitchen maids for the towels, front and back of house hardly keep up with one another, though I know Mrs. Hodges does try to know everything at all times."
"Alright," Amy nodded, but hesitated for another moment.
"Come find us in the stable, the stable nearest the house," Emma added, and with that Amy took off in a full sprint towards the house.
"You might need to forego the frog," he said, looking at her scrupulously as if trying to account for the situation.
She shook her head, she certainly hadn't given up yet, "Surely you can pull me up, while I hold the frog,"
"I'll injure one or both of you if I try to pull you by the arms,"
"Then please do it like you would if you were placing me atop a horse, by gripping around the ribcage"
"The leverage is wrong, I might end up right beside you in the drink," he said but his tone was teasing. "But I'll try it,"
And his words were true, for as soon as he had said it, his hands came around her torso, just above where the water began and she shivered immediately at the warmth of his hands, she hadn't realized how chilled the parts of her body that were out of the water had become. And if she had thought she'd lost her breath on hitting the water, this was a repeat of that same sensation only more pronounced as it was almost as if her stomach teetered and dropped with the loss of air from her lungs.
"Alright, I'll pull you up on the count of three," he explained.
"Just a moment 'till I've caught my breath again," she told him, trying not to heave in the air too aggressively, for she was conscious now that he would likely feel each drawing in and expelling of breath because of the placement of his hands.
"Your hands are very warm" she had commented absentmindedly. And it might have been the wrong thing to say for she was sure her cheeks matched his, for it was the first time she had seen his face colour in something other than anger, ever, at least as far back as she could remember.
"Alright" she agreed for her breathing seemed as close as it would be, so long as his hands were placed as there were she expected her breathing and heart would not be able to return exactly to normal, she would need to settle for close enough. For the longer she sat waist-deep in the pond, the more chance there was for onlookers and the idea of workers on the estate looking at her sped up for heart more so than her husband's hands.
"On three," he said and on the first two counts his hands constricted and as he had promised on three, he pulled her toward him. And despite his doubts, it was as if her weight was nothing to him, vaulting from the water with a cascade of water and muck falling from her and her dress.
The frog still perfectly in her grasp.
"Here, hand me the frog and that will allow you to carry your skirts."
She blushed again, "it's a horrible thing to ask and you can deny me without any recompense, but might you carry me all the way to the stable? You lifted me like I weighed nothing whatsoever and I'm afraid if I try to walk with anything more than a crawling pace my wet skirts will bind and trip me up."
And his grunt of acknowledgment was all she had before he scooped her up, he carried her bridal style, and the frog she clutched against her stomach until they reached the stable, after which he fashioned a temporary enclosure in the grass using a feed pail.
Emma had located a horse blanket in the tack room; she brought it over to her husband who stood with his hands in his pockets, surveying the frog's makeshift cage. "It ought to hold him for now, was there anything else you needed?"
"I was thinking to send Amy back for a nightdress and my wrapper once she is back with towels but I found this, if you would be so kind as to help with the buttons," she said all this and then turned to show him her back and the trail of buttons.
"Emma, surely Amy might be better suited,"
"George, I assure you these exact buttons have almost sent my own maid into a fit as they are devilish and very stiff under normal circumstances. Amy would not have an advantage and I would think she might be half in tears if she thought she wasn't capable to help free me. Wet as they are you might have to volunteer to break them if they don't submit to the regular method.
"Very well, but I won't undress you standing in the open air, for health and propriety alike,"
"Ah yes, I'm not sure which would be worse to die of a crisp breeze or true mortification, but rest assured I wasn't asking you to, the third stall is vacant," she said motioning with her arm to the third stall on the right, almost as a butler might leading someone to their seat at an opera.
And so it was that she stood in the corner of the stall, horse blanket wrapped around her neck like a shawl for warmth, but shivering nonetheless. His fingers working away at the buttons, and it wasn't until he had unlocked about ten or fifteen buttons to the middle of her shoulder blades that she trusted her own voice to speak to him once more.
"This really wasn't how I had imagined it in my head," she chuckled at her own silly antics and perhaps her own misfortune.
He was remarkably quiet, almost like he didn't hear her but she knew he had, as his fingers had stilled for a second after she spoke, perhaps he didn't understand what it was she meant.
"How had you imagined it Emma?" he asked his tone betraying nothing and maybe he had only wished to pass the time by speaking rather than her shivering and silence.
"I hadn't imagined it at all when I thought I'd live and die a maiden, but when we were to be married – and especially after you had kissed me in front of everyone at the church when you had not expressly needed to do. So, I thought for sure you were going to do everything with the careful precision manifest in all of your life and work. I had the full expectation that our wedding night would be as any wedding night before it." She confided.
He pulled at the buttons, and when he spoke he seemed a man in concentration, "And you were disappointed?" he asked.
"I would not say it that way. At the time I was equal parts relieved as I was disappointed –I think the disappointment and feeling of being insecure grew with time—to the point, I would have said I wished it was not left undone but for knowing your feelings on the topic –I would not want someone coerced into a task they had not wished for."
He cleared his throat. "I don't believe I'd given you my feelings on the topic,"
"It was my impression that you made your thoughts very clear,"
"You can step out," he told her, he stepped back enough to permit her space to do so.
"Had you ever thought of it?" she asked, feeling emboldened suddenly, for if she did not then she likely would not have the opportunity again and while she spoke she was tugging at her wet garments, such that they pooled at her waist –the material catching up upon itself. She wrapped the horse blanket tighter, for she was not so emboldened as to let herself stand before him in such a state. Had he been as torn as she was on their wedding night, the choice had been entirely his—had he been debating with himself on if to go to her or to sleep alone as he had every night before?
He cleared his throat again. "Emma, I—"
And he seemed at a loss for words, which was probably for the best, as Amy came in holding an armful of towels.
"Thank you," Emma smiled, tugging the horse blanket more firmly, tucking it to allow it to sustain its place, and bending to take the towels. "I'd hoped to send you on one more errand if you'd indulge me,"
Amy nodded, her eyes bright and ears keen.
"Would you be able to go to my closet and in the middle dresser there is a bottom drawer of night dresses—select any one and take my wrapper from its place –I think I've left it over the chair by my dressing table."
"I will, and I'll be very fast," she promised, briskly moving from her spot before Emma.
She turned her attention, "Will you bring me a pail of clean water? I'd be tempted to simply dunk myself in the horses' trough but I don't think you'd approve,"
He made no comment on her assessment, and the only words he did say were a few minutes later in handing a bucket three-quarters full back to her, "It from the well so it is cold as ice,"
"I'll bear it in mind," she acknowledged. He stood at the front of the stables, and she slipped back into the stall for cover.
She placed the blanket over the wall of the stall and took a quick deep breath before pouring the bucket over her body for an inaugural rinse.
"Oh heavens, mercy sakes, that's positivity glacial" She hissed out and in the distance, she heard his distinctive chuckle. He'd found her funny from her earliest memories. "I'm glad to offer you amusement if nothing else"
Teeth chattering again, she wrapped a towel and then added the horse blanket back around her body.
"Come here," he motioned to his side, as she came around the stall.
"You wish to say nothing, if not to tease me, is that it?" she chipped.
"Maybe but I'll not have you die of pneumonia on my watch," he offered, his tone still teasing, but arms moving to pull her into a hug.
And the warmth was immediate, everyplace that had contact between his body and hers, almost like the heat from a radiating fire.
And that fire threatened to break into flames, as he kissed the top of her head.
