Chapter 2

June 15th, 19--

I haven't done much dancing in my life. This was especially true when I was a girl; mother never saw the need for me to learn. I've danced with Thomas then, of course, but it's all been waltzes and the like-the sort of thing mother would approve of. The realities of my life made that night in the woods with Jesse Tuck more than a simple rebellious excursion.

Winnie's hand froze as she stared at the desk in front of her without really seeing it. She came back to herself only after she noticed the thick drops of black ink marring the page after her last word. She carelessly used the white lace handkerchief she kept in her sleeve on them before returning to her task.

It was a glimpse of heaven-rare and true, almost perfection on earth. Grasping at the threads her mind gave her, the feeling of the pen in her hand and the words on the page became her only bridge between reality and memory. The wind was warm. The occasional serenade from an owl, or raven, or whatever it was, seemed to be coming from the stars themselves. Somewhere, I could swear I smelled Jasmine. Whether that was my imagination, I don't remember, but the silence itself was intoxicating.

Shadows from the fire flickered on the rocks. Light moved in and out, left patches of shadow in its place. It was the only man-made light we had or needed. It made the world around me glow a soft white-orange. My dress had…gotten wet, I think, and I was wearing nothing but a chemise, my corset and one petticoat. Not even my shoes.

Slowly, she remembered the feeling of cold, hard dirt on bare skin. It had been easy to dance on that rock, easier than she would have imagined. It was almost as if the ground were inviting her to do so. She looked down again as the smell of smoke and the crackling of dead leaves under foot returned to her. The world was opening its arms to me that night, inviting me to take up my part in the splendor of, 'all that had been made.' For once, I had the opportunity to dive into the delicious reality of what happened around me every day, the things I had been brought up not to notice.

My chemise was white. I remember, because I noticed how starkly I contrasted with all of the brown and gray and green around me. Fine white cotton and a thread of pink silk along the bottom: I had always wondered why people took the trouble to put beautiful things where no one could see. My hair framed my face when I looked down; brown silk with the light from the fire reflected off of it. It curled gently when it was allowed to go free-I had hardly seen that before. I think that was the greatest pleasure of all, looking back-the simple freedom of being able to see my own hair fall along my arms and onto my shoulders. I was looking away from the fire, listening to the bird crying in the distance, before the music started behind me.

"They're playing for you." Again, the memory of a human voice tumbled in on her thoughts. She shook the words off gently and, choosing not to write them down, focused on the page.

He started tapping on a rock with the stick he was holding. Once I picked out the rhythm I started swaying to it. I smiled over at him and he picked up the pace, daring me, I suppose, to dance. I remember spinning a little, moving from my spot. I danced alone for a while, and then the music stopped…

The memory of what happened next encroached on her, unwelcome and unwanted. She could feel her cheeks coloring and a sharp tugging at her heart that she could not identify. She was still trying to find a name for it when she was shaken awake by the sound of her own name.

"Winnie!" The rumble of someone bounding up the stairs made her snap back to attention and turn toward the door. Seconds later, Thomas Jackson leaned in with a lop-sided grin, his sandy hair slightly tussled by the excursion up the steps.

"Are you sure you want fly about like that?" Winnie smiled back as she pushed herself to her feet. "I'm surprised Mother isn't already having a conniption fit."

"I try not to fly in polite circles if I can help it," he answered, still leaning on the door, "but I should think that your mother would be used to me by now." Winnie nodded, laughing, as Thomas caught his breath. "Terribly sorry if I startled you, but I was hoping you would join me in the garden. Gabriel has been begging me to teach her croquet all summer, and when I told her that you play better than I do, she insisted you join us for the first lesson." Thomas unsuccessfully fought a smile, and Winnie realized that the excuse was part ruse. The main reason for her presence had little to do with Gabriel.

"It would be my honor." Thomas nodded and offered his arm to escort her out. Turning to get her handkerchief from the desk, Winnie saw the open book on the table, and the flash of memory that had been wooing her moments earlier returned to her mind. She hoped that Thomas didn't see the slight, determined shake of her head as she closed the book and returned the handkerchief to its place. She focused her eyes back on him and tried to smile, leaving the memory in the room behind her as he led her out the door.