"What are your plans for the day?" We had alighted from the carriage when he posed that idle question, barely looking at me as I clutched my newly wrapped package in my hands.
"I was going to go to the lake." I volunteered, wondering why he was interested.
He patted the side of the carriage horse, looking bemused by my statement. "What lake?"
"The one past the orchard in your yard." He walked with me as I began to wander down the dirt path to the side of the house. "Do you not know what's in your own yard?"
"You're referring to the pond? I haven't been there since I was a boy." I flushed at his correction but refused to look embarrassed.
"Would you like some company?" he asked, after realizing I would not rise to his bait and defend myself.
I kicked a pebble, feeling flustered by his request.
He observed my silence and misconstrued it, "I'm sorry, that was forward. Perhaps you are meeting someone there."
"No!" I answered quickly, though it hadn't really been a question. He stopped and stared at me, seeming to be at a loss as to what to do or say. It was amusing, but I regarded him solemnly. "If you would like to come, you may, though my activities there may not be of great interest to you."
He smirked at something I was not privy to and then shrugged, "You may be surprised at what I can find interest in."
The comment sidled by without response as I continued my walk to the outer edge of the fence. I opened the latch and walked out to the grove, letting him tread through behind me as I held the gate for him. He didn't comment on my gentlemanly action, though I knew he had noted it.
I'm sure he found it highly entertaining.
We switched places as I secured the gate, observing his back, relaxed and strong, in front of me. I opened my mouth to inquire if he knew the way but flinched as a loud bang cracked the still air. We both spun around and a second later he exploded into a fit of laughter behind me, while I tried to keep my composure at what I was seeing. The gate hung on its hinges, and half the fence on the right side had tipped over.
"I don't know why you're laughing," I commented as I turned to him, noting how endearing he looked when he allowed himself to smile, "You're going to be back out here fixing it now."
He shrugged again, a habit that could easily be amusing or irritating, and I strode past him, resuming my position as leader.
When we reached the pond, we both stood to gaze at it before he shifted to look at my profile. "So, what do you usually do here?"
I blushed. "I swim."
"In what . . ." he trailed off and blushed as well. Starting away from me, he bent to pick up a smooth rock; tossing it easily into the still water and watching it skip almost musically across the surface. "I didn't mean to intrude."
"I wouldn't allow you to intrude if I didn't want you to." I bent to sift through the grass, ignoring his look at whatever my words may have implied. I settled my package a safe distance from the water and picked a nice rock. I mimicked his stance to toss it. It sunk without any grace. He snorted at me drolly.
I bit back a reply and asked if he minded that I remove my shoes. I didn't wait for him to answer and slipped off the constricting things, removing my socks quickly. When I rose, he stared at my feet until I colored with self-consciousness.
"They're only feet," I huffed.
"I didn't say they were anything else. Double socks. Just as I deduced."
I sighed, ignoring his moment of self-congratulations, trailing my foot into the crisp water, swirling it languidly with my toes. The small rocks under my soles bit into the sensitive and rarely used skin, but it didn't bother me. I glanced up at him to see if he was still watching me, but his back was turned, crouching down to search among the dank grass. I stepped further into the pond, my petticoat skimming the top.
He shifted behind me, and I heard his shoes against the pebbles, coming closer. I pretended to ignore him, not wanting him to think I was paying close attention to his every movement. When I heard him again, he seemed surprisingly near.
"Your hair is falling out of your pins."
I reached up to fix it, but he had already pulled one of the pins out, gathering my hair up and twisting it expertly, and re-securing it. I suspected he occasionally had done this for his mother.
Before I could turn to thank him, I felt my scarf tumbling from my neck and falling to my feet. His fingers breezed across the exposed skin above my dress, ghosting across the bottom of my neck and playing softly with the few short tendrils that hung there.
He had removed his gloves.
I went rigid, so much so that he stilled in his movement before resuming his travels slowly. The pads of his fingers were wet from condensation but were surprisingly warm against my chilled skin. I bit down on the fleshy sides of my tongue.
He stayed at my hair for a bit, giving me ample opportunity to pull away from him. My mouth fell open, prepared to say something, I'm not sure what, but only a rush of air escaped. At the sound, he moved again, whispering behind my ear and across my jaw, his fingernails raking against my skin. His large hands wandered down the sensitive underside of my neck before pressing lightly down on my pulse as if measuring the bird's wing beats against my skin. The mist in the skies clung to my face, and my breath could be seen in the air, abrupt and shallow.
I licked my lips and swallowed, trying to wet my throat, which had become unbearably dry. It didn't help, but every pant rasped raw against my chest and lungs. We stayed like that for some time, before I realized that he was moving incrementally up to my face. His hand vacillated though and disappeared back around to claim space on my spine, his hand shaking noticeably as he spread it out, and his fingers almost braceleting my neck.
I felt him shift and heard the grass swish beneath his boots. I knew that he was standing right behind me, his breath rustled against the few strands of hair that were too short to stay in my clips.
"Do you want me to stop?" he shocked me by asking, the uncertainty in his voice barely covered by the low intensity of his tone. His words brushed against my neck.
"Yes," I blurted out, the words hurting my dry throat. No. I didn't mean to sound abrupt, my words were harsh with confusion and fear. Fear of something.
His hand was gone immediately. He offered a quick, clipped apology, his voice tinged with a sort of horror at what he had done, before disappearing back in the direction of the house.
"Mum. Look at these." I thrust the brush and combs under my mother's nose. I had just spent a great deal of time sitting by the pond in solitude, thinking things over until my head hurt, and returned to find my mother still resting in her bedchamber. I climbed onto the cot with her and sat on my knees.
"Can you believe it? They look just like a lady's." I continued to hold them out to her as she settled into a sitting position. She put her hand on my knee while feeling the gift with her other. "He bought those for you?"
"Yes. He could not find a suitable violin, and I think he simply wanted to spend his money on something." I went to the mirror and tried to pin my hair up with the comb. The purple and white complimented my hair nicely.
"He is buying you gifts now?" My mother sounded suspicious.
I looked at her reflection in the mirror. "What do you mean by that?" I pulled my shawl up, feeling as though somehow she would be able to see the trail his hands made on my shoulders.
"Nothing, dear." My mum arranged her slip and swung her legs out of the bed, pressing her fingers to her head in pain.
I ignored her condition and pressed her to continue, "Please, say what you are thinking."
She continued to massage her temples for a while before answering me, "Do you not think it a tad odd for a gentleman to buy you gifts?"
"He did not purchase them as a gift from a gentleman to a lady. He was just being kind because I admired them."
"But you are a lady, Mary. I merely want you to be the right kind."
"The right kind? I am afraid I do not understand you." I moved away from the mirror and came and stood on her side of the bed, willing myself not to look guilty about my day's activities.
"There are many types of ladies, Mary." She looked tired, and I knew that she was not well. I went to guide her back down to the pillow.
"And which type am I?"
She resisted my efforts and stood up to grasp my face. "You are the best kind, my sweet heart. It does not come from money or pretension. It comes from the inside. It is your character and your purity. That is how I wish you to remain. I do not want you to become-" she broke off abruptly.
I removed her hands; a bad feeling developed in my chest. "Become? Become what, mum?"
She gave me a sad smile. "The type of lady who receives gifts from gentlemen who have no intention of marrying you."
I took a step back, flustered at the thought. "Marriage? No one has spoken of marriage."
"That is exactly my point."
"No, that is exactly my point."
She stared at me; unseeingly but no less disconcertingly. "Do not do anything you will regret, Mary."
"I have not made any plans to." My skin tingled where he had touched.
She sat back down, clasping her hands together in her lap. She looked spent by our conversation. "You just need to remember that you can find yourself making decisions that affect your entire life. I do not want you to ever look back and wish you had acted differently."
"Do you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Are you saying you have regrets?" I knew I should not ask. I knew I may not want to know the answer.
"Yes." It was barely audible, but I caught it.
"What?"
"I regret where I ended up, that is all."
"Do you regret marrying papa?" I tried to back her into a corner; I had never been so cruel to her before.
"Yes."
I was shocked into silence. I had not expected her to respond in that manner.
"Why ever for?" I asked after an eternity. "You loved each other; he treated you so well. You had no idea he would pass away so soon."
"But he did."
I reached for her hands this time, but she would not look up at me. "You persevered, mum. You have your pride. You can say that you survived."
"But not without compromising myself." She sounded as if she were confessing, and it made me uncomfortable.
"How?"
"Darling, did you never wonder why we were forced to leave Ireland?"
"Yes, but I figured we did not have enough money to stay."
"Do you not remember how we left our home?"
Memories came into my mind of running, my bare feet slapping against some hard cobblestone. My dress was wet, but I had not had enough time to put a slip under it. I was being dragged by her. And chased.
"A little. Why did they run us out?" I responded.
"They said they did not want me there because of what I was. Your brothers had no sympathy for me. I took the chance to start over."
"What exactly were you?" I knew before I even asked. Somehow I had always suspected somewhere in a part of me that was reluctant to acknowledge it.
"They found out-" she was crying now, "You were just so young, and I had to take care of you." She grasped my hands as if she were afraid to let me go. "Money was so hard to come by."
I pulled my hands away, repugnance mixing with compassion. I stared at her and then turned away.
I started to leave. "I cannot-"
"Mary."
I was out of the door, my mind in a tumble of memories now tainted with her confession, like a portrait marred by sticky fingers. I was nearly down the hall when I heard a thump from the room.
I was not sure what it was, or what ill it boded, but my anger dissipated into a great cloud of worry. I retraced my steps back to the room but could not seem to will my feet to move very speedily.
On the other side of the threshold, my mother lay prone on the floor, apparently having tipped headfirst from her sitting position on the side of the bed.
I had lived in that crowded room for nearly a year. I knew its shadows, its drafty spots, the bumps and curves of the old mattress. But now that doorway was an entryway into another world that didn't really exist, that I was suddenly alienated from. As long as I did not cross it, I would not really be part of it.
I must have made some sort of noise. I heard the distinct step of Mrs. Holmes speedily descending the stairs and walking around me as she went to my mother's side with no hesitation. She leaned down and brought her face close to my mum's. They stayed that way for a great deal of time like some horrible painting created just to torment me.
After what seemed like an eternity passed, she raised her eyes to look at me, her hand resting on my mother's back. She did not have to say anything; I could read the truth in the lines of her face and the sympathy in her eyes. Mrs. Holmes stood with difficulty, came to me, and attempted to embrace me, but I pushed her away, and she fell back. Distantly, I was aware that I must have been causing a commotion, but everything felt so far away.
Arms wrapped around my waist and grabbed my hands, pulling them together under my chin as if I were participating in a forced prayer. I was lifted and brought out of the hall and into the kitchen. I fought all the way, but my kicks and struggles did not seem to faze my holder, and he just kept leading me away, half carrying me towards the back door. I wanted nothing more than to go back to my mother; to try to wake her because Mrs. Holmes had obviously not tried hard enough. I landed a hard kick to the shin of the person behind me and heard a soft curse. The arms did not slacken though, and there was a firm but gentle voice behind my ear, "Stop fighting me, Mary. I am trying to help you."
"Let me go," I begged. My voice was rising shrilly, I hardly even recognized it.
"Shhhh, everything will be all right." He grabbed at my chin, trying to still my frantic thrashing and the knocking of my head against his face.
"Don't lie to me!"
It was the last thing I remember saying.