The rest of the morning seemed to pass with alarming speed in Ophelia's opinion, even with her poor friend having fallen asleep on the couch his head still lolling on her lap. She wondered how often John slept in the Cholera ward, his precious books and other effects easily stolen if not watched. Or perhaps he had other reasons for little sleep. At least, now he had a place for his things.
But the woman wondered, more like imagined he never needed sleep though she knew it to be impossible. The image came of the powerful, ever-watching gargoyle perched high on a church tower, protecting those within. Yet here he slept, his body having released all its tension, his face soft in the light of the slowly dimming fire light. But yet, she dare not move to take care of the fire for fear of waking her friend. Instead she let her one hand continue to lay over his back, book still in hand as she desperately continued to try to read. But the words on the page blurred as she noticed a change in the man's breathing or a slight shifting of his body. The couch certainly wasn't the most comfortable place for him to lie. Perhaps when he moved in, Mr. Jenkins-Ernest, she corrected herself, would help them find a bed to move in next to the small shelf Aron had built in the main room. They would only have to move over the dining table closer to the balcony door.
The thought of it made her feel as if she were sitting with her back directly against the fire, its heat upon her. What had she been thinking, inviting a friend to lie down on her lap? She certainly had never done such a thing with any man before. Yet, it had felt so right and natural with John. His presence brought so much peace to the kind of loneliness she had endured, if she could call it endurance. Sure, she had grown up in a wealthy household, but everyone was kept at a distance from her once her mother passed. And it had only worsened once that wicked woman Evelyn came. It seemed she had been locked away from the outside, if only for her "protection" as her father had claimed. As if she needed to be more aware of her skin condition being something that would cause others to want to hurt her at such a young age. It still pained her to remember those words, though she knew they had been planted by that witch.
Sure, she had Aron to keep her company, but even back then she knew she wanted something different. Even through all those years in the convent, though the sisters would have called her sinful for her thoughts. Blast them, was her opinion. Why else would G-d have given mankind such ability to desire and love, if not to embrace it? And she had been good, and had never acted upon such desires, knowing one would come along. The one person her desire had been directing her towards her whole life would surely come, she always thought. Needless to say, it certainly was a mysterious force that brought her to John.
In such a place of suffering and pain, she often saw him reading or sitting in contemplation.
At that time, not fully understanding the welling of emotions within her, Ophelia kept her distance. She had felt so unsure of how to approach someone she felt the winds of fate guiding her to. What could she have said? 'Hello, I believe God just sent me a nudge in your direction. Want to find out why?' She would have sounded like a nutter. So she watched him when she could, or sometimes worked up the bravery to take a bowl of soup to him. There was the quick exchange of "Thank you, mum" and "You're welcome" enough times, though she never did correct him, not wanting to insult the man.
But then she watched a woman, named Vanessa do so much more. This woman, who exerted such a powerful force of her own leaving Lia feeling a kind of strange kind of kinship with her, like two opposite magnets nearing. Perhaps that was why she stayed away more so; that kind of attraction felt dangerous. Even the raven eyed woman seemed to notice it as they passed each other when working.
Lia watched the two talk about such wonderful and terrible things: love, poetry, religion, and social customs. Based on how the woman spoke and acted, she and Lia shared a similar upbringing, which Lia found interesting if anything. But she remembered hearing most poignantly about was about his heartbreak, and she wished the worst of G-d's curses of disobedience upon the head of the woman who caused him to give up on mankind. Lia cursed herself for not saying anything sooner as Vanessa had agreed with him, looking just as haunted.
That was the moment she decided she couldn't let him go. She had cared about him at a distance for too long. The fear of never seeing him again finally pushed her to do what she should of done months before, and finally speak to him.
And now here he was, on her lap, in her flat. Such miracles it seemed to her that the almighty granted, small ones at the least. Ophelia finally gave up on her book, having not turned the page for at least two hours based on the clock on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. The fire was lower now for sure, but a large steady log had caught and would safely burn for a while now at least. The woman allowed her attention to turn fully on her friend, her hand on his back still over his spine. She slowly let her fingers trace up and down his shoulder blades, over the worn, black, cotton shirt. She could feel the raised scars, littered along his back as she felt along his lower back as well. She had guessed he would have had them elsewhere besides his face and wondered what they looked like or where they came from. She wondered if John would ever tell her such things though. She did fervently hope that one day he would be comfortable enough to do such things. Perhaps then, she could tell him her own dark secrets.
The man stirred again, more so than before staying Ophelia's hand. Suddenly his head turned, blazing yellow eyes filled with terror as they stared upwards, his body rocketing upwards like a panicked animal. Ophelia kept a firm hold on him somehow, her hand that had been on his back, gripped his shoulder and stayed there. She watched his eyes confusedly search the room until he turned to see her,actually see her, letting out a held breath. Blinking rapidly he exhaled out her name,
"Lia." She smiled,hearing her preferred nickname though admittedly a bit worried, considering the circumstance. She used her hand to encourage him to lean back against the couch sitting up, his body tense and muscles almost seeming to twitch against the foreign touch. But she felt she shouldn't let go. His eyes scanned the room as if coming out of a terrible vision of a dream. The woman waited till the heavy breaths calmed before asking,
"Nightmare?"
"Was I sleeping?" he asked still coming out of it, " I don't remember falling asleep." Lia pushed herself to smile,
"Most people don't remember falling asleep. Would rather go against the point of it, don't you think?" A flash of the slightest bit of amusement crossed his features before disappearing again.
"That would make sense," he was glancing at the clock and then around the room, brow furrowing.
"You slept for around two and a half hours I`d say," the woman said feeling a bit of entertainment at his confusion. He always seemed so composed whenever they had spoken before. She wondered if he truly was unaccustomed to sleeping. If the nightmares were always that bad, she didn't blame him. When he finally turned to meet her eyes his face was swathed in apology. But she couldn't allow that.
"You didn't drool or anything if that what`s your worried about,unlike Aron who I swear dumps a pitcher of water onto his pillow every night. But,I'm excited to know I am actually a magical slumber-inducing pillow. I must be careful to use my powers more wisely in the future,eh?" John`s face sparked again with a smile.
" On the contrary, you could surely cure any insomniac. A revelation of the times and surely more effective than magnets. Imagine the headlines," he spoke quietly, seeming to understand the lack of a need for apology.
"Oh yes! the great cure of the age, ladies and gents for two shillings you too can sleep soundly after a close encounter with the Great slumber-inducing Lady Broderick!" she wiggled her fingers over her head like sparkling lights for greater effect, " Would you be my manager?"
" Of course, great sleep-inducing Lady Broderick, though I certainly will be wary of your power in the future." It seemed the terrible dream that clung to him was finally starting to loosen its hold and slither back into the darkness.
"Your first order of business then is to create a catchy title then, Mr. manager. I must admit I have no creativity with such endeavours. And perhaps some tea will help you think?" Ophelia asked satisfied enough to let her hand finally leave him and walk over towards the small stove, grabbing the kettle.
"Did I hear you say you burn tea?," the man asked, unsteadily getting up and the woman hearing a few popping sounds as his body recovered from the odd sleeping position," If so, I can make it. Wouldn`t want to anger your brother." Ophelia tried not to be offended, since he wasn't entirely wrong. She handed him the kettle, trying not to pout too much, thankful Aron had filled it enough earlier that day. She let him start heating it up while she went over to the fire and worked to bring it back to a full roar.
Once the fire was tended to, she turned brushing her dress off to see John smiling down at her. He looked lost in thought and she grinned back, standing fully. Lia didn't think she'd see him with such an expression so many times in a day. Perhaps his face would get sore the next day from smiling so much. She hoped it would. She could think how he just look so right here, the perfect image of domesticity. She let out a happy sigh at such a thought which thankfully he seemed to not hear.
It took the water coming to a rolling boil for him to come back, looking around for the teapot briefly. Lia silently got it and replaced the sodden leaves inside so he could pour the hot water side, and she swirled them around the pot, trying to look elegant but spilling a little over the edges. She wiped it off with a nearby cloth and placed it on the small counter, finding the tea cosy hanging on the wall and placing it over the pot.
"You take milk or sugar with your tea?" she asked quickly.
"Usually black. Never had it with anything else to be honest. Builder's tea I've heard it called."
"You have worked as a builder then?" She asked, intrigued. He never had talked much about work he had done. His eyes were watching the clock, his lip quivering for a moment. She heard him mumble something and then say,
" But I am at least strong."
"You are strong, bet you could pick me up as easily as you would a flower…" Ophelia thought-or said. Did she just say that aloud? She saw the look of disbelief and amusement on his face and covered her mouth. Oh lord she did, "I mean, So did you-did you ever build houses?" He luckily seemed to be unable to comment...on her comment and answered the question instead.
"More like grunt work. My first bit of work in London was in a theatre actually," a small, sad, smile lit upon him, " A man named Vincent took me in, more like a father than anything I had known before." The woman nodded intently, remembering something.
"Wait, you mean the Grand Guignol? Aron works there sometimes. He heard they had lost a good stage rat a while ago. Vincent is such a kind man, I`ve had tea with him before. I admit though, he is a bit self-absorbed but in a most amusing way" The smile grew.
"He had admitted it as such to me, the first night I met him. I'm glad for Aron. He likely fits in there much better than I did." The man`s voice changed to a tone of slight jealousy but he seemed to break himself from wondered what had happened there. Her mind immediately went to one of the male actors, Samuel, Seth, something starting with S. One day while helping backstage with Aron she watched the cocky twit harass hald the stage crew until a mysterious bucket of water landed on his head. Thankfully her brother wasn't caught for that particular prank. She smiled at John wondering if he ever did such things. She saw a stray piece of hair dangling forward and reached to move it behind his ear.
"I doubt anyone could do a better job then you did. I know you do a better job than my brother," she said thinking of how much Aron goofed off at the theatre.
"Perhaps I'll have to see what he thinks about that. Aron will be so sad his sister has so little confidence in him," The woman gave a quick exaggerated gasp before scoffing,
"I'll tell him myself. He enjoys pulling pranks of stuck-up actors as much as working. He either never gets caught or Vincent enjoys it. Apparently one of the actors...Stephan, Stewart, Something like that, has had a much cooler temperature with a 'spirit' on the loose" A look of recognition passed over her friend's face,
"Then the company is likely much happier for it. Anyway,should we use the same cups as before?" He went over to the sink where on the small ledge the dishes from earlier had not yet dried.
" Considering those are the only ones we have, yes," She said allowing him to change the topic. Ophelia was elated he mentioned anything from his past, even though it seemed to not be entirely happy memories. With her answers the man set himself to taking a small cloth hanging next to where to tea cosy was and drying to cups and dishes, seeming content to make himself useful. As he finished he handed them to her and she set the saucers,cups,and tea strainers on the the table. She glanced at the clock as they finished,
"Just in time," she said going back over and was about to grab the pot, but John beat her to it and started bringing it back to the table. She pretended to huff in indignance going to grab the sugar instead.
"Well today, another grand adventure shall be sugar with your tea then. Perhaps next time, we'll be so daring as to try it with milk." She brought it over and let him pour the tea into the cups before she dropped the sugar in. She took a small spoon and swirled it around till the small cube had dissolved and motioned for him to sit back down. He did so, after placing the cozy back on, and gingerly took a sip as she stirred the sugar into her cup.
"It is...very sweet."
"I do believe that is the sugar," she said without hesitation looking at his face twist in surprise at the taste. She noticed he held the cup well. Yet again he seemed to handle everything with such delicately as if afraid he would break something. She sipped at her own tea,
"Aron likes it black as well or with milk. I am the odd one out in that regard. You might like the milk better." He nodded in response.
"I'll take the next one black then. Thank you for the adventure though." And for a moment they lapsed into silence Lia amusedly watching John grimace as he finished his cup though trying so hard to not show it.
"So perhaps we can try a different, less frightening trek then. You ever composed a poem yourself? I can only imagine you could do it as easy as breathing," she started, " It takes me so long. I can barely memorize them, but I admit to enjoying attempts at composition," She sighed a bit thinking, "though I cannot rhyme well without sounding like a child or use the tetrameters. I suppose it sounds bit more...modern though." She had started just going on again and finally noticed her friend seemed frozen in shock at perhaps her compliment. It maybe was a bit bold of her. Noticing her silence, he stuttered a response,
"I-I don't think it would be so easy...yet I have never attempted composing myself. Everything I'd ever wanted to say I've been able to find better said from greater minds." Ophelia truly felt surprised and in her excitement, she stated a bit more loudly than she intended,
"Then you must try! If I am able to fumble around and do so, you should be able to as well." He sat silently, looking a bit flustered, thinking. She had been too forward again, darn it. It was like a bad habit today. What had gotten into her? She sighed and her friend likely mistook her worry saying,
"I can try. I make no promises as to the quality though." Lia quickly finished her cup in a final sip, getting an idea. She rose from her seat and made her way to the entrance of the bedroom,
"Then I have a present for you," and before he could protest as she knew he could, the woman almost ran into the room, half-closing the door and rummaging through the small trunk under the bed until she found a small somewhat battered but unused journal. Ophelia had never been one much for keeping daily journal entries, but had one time bought a set of journals at an impulse. This one was the second part of the pair with her current journal, where she kept a variety of her attempts at composition or small drawings when the mood struck her. Bound to it was a small silver mechanical pencil and lead. It seemed the perfect gift, even if the edges were a bit bent and the cover a tad scratched.
Holding the object behind her back, the woman walked out of the room and watched her friend about to speak as she thrust the small book into his hands,
"No protests. And don't thank me either. Just use it," meekly the man held the book looking over it as it it were a precious jewel, obeying her wishes. She certainly hoped so.
"Ever used one before?" she asked cheekily, breaking the spell of his silence,
"No, but I understand the general idea," he shot back sounding a bit rough. She couldn't quite tell if he was trying to joke back or possibly offended by her statement. She hoped she hadn't offended him. Oh lord, what if he couldn't write… She started to say an apology when he asked,
" May I give it a go then?" the roughness smoothed over into excitement.
"Of course," she stated, feeling like she had dodged a bullet. She watched him write down the date in perhaps not the most elegant lettering, but still sound enough looking. She poured herself a second cup of tea, managing to not spill any and took a few sips peeking over as he wrote, slowly and carefully.
'Presented from Miss Ophelia Broderick, the great sleep-inducer who needs a better title. Perhaps, the gracious Miss Broderick or generous Miss Broderick.' The woman couldn't hide her happiness looking at what he wrote,
"Much more apt, and easier to say for sure," she said as John looked up, smiling again.
"I have used it. Now may I thank you?," he put down the book and pencil,
"I suppose I shall have to accept your thanks since you did as I asked," the woman said smiling back at him.
"This may be the most precious gift I have ever received. Thank you."
" Speaking of presents and books, you see the empty shelves behind me?" the woman said pointing over her shoulder. Aron had made them quickly, working with some extra material Vincent gave them, about three sets high and a hands width wide. She still needed to sand and stain them, but they had been made in time somehow.
"That's for your things. Aron and I hoped it would be enough space. Care to test it out?" John peeked around her,
"I was curious,seeing it before. I hope I'm not forcing you nor your brother to move your things elsewhere for me."
"Nonsense. Aron built it at my request.I still have to do the finishing touches eventually, but it's almost there." the man's face flew into shock at such a statement . After today he might not be able to say he could be ever be surprised again if she kept this up.
"Surely you jest."
"Did I not say we intend you to be able to live here," she said with a sly grin, "I was thinking not to long ago about the best placement for a bed out here. Even if you are not working right away, I have a small set of funds to pull from for such things." It seemed he could not speak. His eyes darted from her to the journal and shelf behind her.
"It is too much, Ophelia. I have nothing to offer to match the kindness you are offering. I can't become a burden here."
"You can call me, Lia you know. Also, then let us talk to Earnest. I'll be with you the whole time."
"I hardly think I look appropriate for such work," he said with a bit of a sigh.
"Then we'll get you some proper clothes. A nice beige shirt perhaps with a matching collar...perhaps a dark waistcoat and pants to contrast it. And you might look nice in a bowler. We could bind your hair back with it," she said appraisingly, thinking about what colors would work well together. Better yet, they could go down to Monmouth street first for a few cheaper items before visiting the shops Aron often went to. She knew she had a measuring tape somewhere in her trunk and could get his measurements today as well.
"...Lia," the man said calmly, her nickname still sounding foreign to him to say aloud it seemed," That's not what I meant," The woman looked up at him as he drew a shaky breath.
"Oh,nonsense. You'd be working in the back and doing deliveries most likely once you're hired. No need to hide. Old Earnest cares more about someone's ability to read and love books as earnestly as he does," she said with a giggle at her own terrible joke, hoping it would be enough to stop John's train of thought. He scoffed, whatever self-insult he would have said, shaken off for now. But for how long?
Without thinking Opehlia got up and moved to the closer chair, schooching it up next to his, and then leaning in and kissing forehead,
"And when you live here, i'm going to make it a house rule that you're not allowed to talk badly about yourself in that way." She watched him take another deep shaky breath as he tried to move away, and she noticed he was starting to tear up, though he was trying to hide it. Oh lord, what did she do now? Feeling a bit of panic, she leaned over and wrapped her arms around him, unsure of what else to do. She had seen him cry from a distance back in the Cholera ward to many times. She always imagined she could do this. Perhaps it was a selfish thing for her to do.
But then she felt his arms wrap around her awkwardly at first and she could hear the somewhat held back, choked sobs. She rubbed her hand up and down his back slowly, the same way she had done after saving Aron from the fire. He had just been a boy still, even so young he was ashamed to cry in front of her. It was a silly thing really, she thought. If crying lets out the pain, let it leave like poison from a wound. After a moment, John's grip shifted and grew tighter around her, his head on her shoulder as they both leaned against each other. His body shook from sobs now, seeming to understand that she was accepting of the emotions. She stayed quiet in that moment, continuing to hold him and that space for him. If he was like any other man she had known, he likely had always been forced to be the strong one, in the face of others, whether it be physical injury or ridicule.
She remembered watching as John had waited for Vanessa to leave before giving in to weeping. She always thought it was so sad he had waited. As far as Ophelia was concerned, if you wanted to be honest with someone, then seeing them at their most vulnerable state, perhaps their worst state was sometimes the most honest way to see them. And it seemed when men or anyone couldn't be honest they resorted to violence as the only other option of showing emotion .It helped no one.
The woman felt her shoulder of her dress grow damp.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled after a while, still leaning against her, "I'm so sorry. Your dress is wet." He slowly pulled back.
"It seemed something that needed to happen long ago. To many of us try to bear the weight of the world alone. We are not titans, John, or gods. We are but mere mortals," she said finally releasing her hold on him quickly getting up and grabbing a handkerchief from a table near her bed and going back out to give it to her friend. She watched him wipe his face as she thought. She knew his view on a lack of afterlife, but assumed just because he had pagan views didn't mean be actually believed humans were meant to endure this world alone. Even if they were somehow only accountable to themselves.
"I have always been alone," the man started to say, the woman feeling a twinge of anger but mostly sadness at such a statement,
"Well, you're not," she shot back, "And I don't intend you to ever be so again."
"You can't ensure such a thing," he said with a long sigh, "I can't accept that. No one has done that," he paused for a moment, " You don't know enough about me to say such things."
"Then tell me. I want to know." He looked both angry and worried for a moment.
"I can't."
"That's fine as well. I make no promises. I'm simply saying my intentions. Call me insane, but from the first moment I met you, I felt the light of God's path open up and tell me to go to you. I was a fool to not have followed it sooner. I dare not try to explain it,for I know not how, but these past few months spending time with you have been some of the best of my life," she said more rapidly than she would have liked but amazed at the words tumbling from her mouth before she had the chance to process them. She felt pinpricks of tears herself. If she hadn't scared him off before. This was bound to do it. So much for keeping composure during the visit, she thought. To late now, "I can no longer imagine a life without you there," she blurted out. The man was shaking his head in disbelief.
"Lia…" he slowly moved his hand over hers, "I have dreamed for to long of such things being said. I never thought of what to say in return. I never thought about what it would be like with that other person...what they might have to endure being with me," he paused taking a long breath, "I can never go to a ball with you, take you to a fine restaurant, or stroll in a garden in the light of the summer sun. I am made for the dark and lonely places. You are like a beautiful flower I dare not close the shutters on. I don't want you to be trapped in my world." Lia took his hand between hers.
"Then I shall bring you into mine," she said taking a steadying breath, "And in case you're wondering, yes I have thought about it. In case you forgot, I too have lived in the dark and lonely places. I decided to slowly come back into the light. I'll show you the way."
She watched her friends face twist with guilt at her words. She gently let go of his hand, going across the room, picking up the book of Keat's poetry she had been reading earlier. She saw the bookmark marking the page of the poem she kept going back to time and time again. She felt her heart fluttering at the idea of what she was about to do, for it felt more personal than any confession she had yet made. It was in the language John knew best, certainly better than she did. Clutching the book to her chest she went back and sat down beside him.
"Maybe you were right, about poetry I mean. Keats said something far better than I ever could. I may not be able to pull it from memory but if you'll bear with me, I want to read something to you." He nodded in response silently as she opened the book trying not to shake. How many times had she tried to remember just this one stanza so she could tell it to her dearest friend. But it was fine like this. She started, trying to pretend she was just practicing as she had with this for the last few weeks.
" Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane
In some untrodden region of my mind,
Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain,
Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind:
Far, far around shall those dark-cluster'd trees
Fledge the wild-ridged mountains steep by steep;
And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees,
The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull'd to sleep;
And in the midst of this wide quietness
A rosy sanctuary will I dress
With the wreath'd trellis of a working brain,
With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,
With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign,
Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same:
And there shall be for thee all soft delight
That shadowy thought can win,
A bright torch, and a casement ope at night-"
But before Ophelia could finish the last line, John grasped her hand away from the book, bringing it to his lips. He held it there for a moment with both hands before finishing the last line.
"To let the warm Love in."