Gabriel's role was to watch and wait. He watched Bathsheba with William Boldwood, watched the way she played with his emotions, sending him the Valentines card, knowing how it would make him feel. Then later, in the barn, enjoying the peace as he worked, she had appeared, looking so oblivious, so cheerful. He tried to ignore her, continuing with his task, but her request seemed like a demand and he couldn't say no.
"Will you show me?"
He felt self-conscious in his shirt with the apron tied loosely around his waist.
"I would not want to get dirt on your fine clothes."
"What this?"
She pulled at the cloth of her dress as if she was wearing a rag.
"Some would think that finery indeed."
She shook her head at him, hands on her hips, looking at him skilfully handling the grinding wheel, making it look easy.
"I want to learn."
She was almost like a child in her stubbornness and he could almost imagine her stamping her foot, yet she smiled at him as if she was aware of her own impatience.
"I must be useful around the place Mr Oak. I must be a good example to the farm-workers."
"You are."
He meant it sincerely, but she looked at him quizzically.
"I think that sometimes you do not approve of me, Mr Oak."
Gabriel stared down at the knife in his hand, running it backwards and forwards against the sharpener, pretending that he did not have an opinion on this. As she came towards him, he stepped back, holding the knife clear. She held out her hand. He did not give it to her.
"I will show you," he said.
She stood in front of the wheel uncertainly and he placed the knife in her hand, immediately conscious of her so close to him. He kept his hand on hers as she lowered the knife and he kept the wheel turning.
"Keep the edge of the knife in the middle."
He gave instructions, looking over her shoulder. Her hand felt small and warm in his. Her hair tickled his chin and smelt of lavender. He could hardly concentrate. It took all his will-power not to put his arm around her waist and hold her steady against him, not to kiss her as she looked up at him saying,
"Am I doing it right?"
"Yes, but keep your eyes on the task!"
"Oh, yes, of course."
As she turned back, she suddenly recoiled, holding her hand to her eye, blinking rapidly. Gabriel lowered her hand away from the wheel and stopped turning it. She looked at him almost angrily as if it was his fault.
"Let me see," he said cupping his hand beneath her chin and tilting back her head.
"I am quite alright!"
She moved away from him so abruptly, Gabriel stepped aside, laying the knife back down. She rubbed her eye, making it worse.
"Please, let me help you," he said quietly, "I would hate it to be known that my guidance succeeded in blinding you."
"It did not!"
She stopped rubbing and blinked at him, breathing heavily.
"I thank you not to interfere."
He looked at her quizzically.
"Interfere?"
"It has come to my attention Mr Oak that you do not approve of my friendship with Mr Boldwood, although what concern it is of yours I do not know."
"It is not your friendship with Mr Boldwood I disapprove of, but rather the way you play with his affections. Do you not think that it is foolish and unkind?"
"No I do not, and it is not your place Mr Oak to speak to me on this matter. I think it would be better if you leave."
Her words stung him and a spark of anger bubbled up inside him, making him blurt out,
"I would prefer to leave at once!"
"Then go. I do not wish to see you around here anymore."
In the glow of the lamplight, her eyes sparkled with tears.
"If that is what you want."
"It is."
"I will go in the morning."
She nodded and turned away, almost stumbling in her haste to get to the door. He had to resist the urge to run after her, to tell her that he was a fool, that he didn't want to leave. He felt that she didn't value him as she should, that she didn't value his opinions, or seek his advice. He felt jealous, seeing how she flirted with Mr Boldwood, but he also felt pity for the man, a widower, not used to the attentions of such an enchanting lady like Bathsheba.
How she infuriated him!
He slammed his fist against the door, making an almost animalistic howl. The morning would come soon enough and he would have to leave. His pride dictated it. He would walk away, into the countryside knowing that he would never see her again. It was unbearable, but maybe the torture would be over, he could only hope for that, long for it. His new life could begin, away from this place.
