Edmund pulled out his pocket watch and eyed the time. He looked over at Benjamin who was nibbling on the end of the fountain pen in thought. Throwing his feet off the bed, Edmund approached Benjamin again and peered over the back of the chair.
“What’s happening in the novel now?”
In a whisper, Benjamin spoke, “This is amazing. Incredible.” Turning around to face Edmund, Benjamin continued, “Beautiful work. Your writing is original, tasteful, and touches the human spirit—I don’t know what else to say. And all these characters sound so real.” Benjamin laughed softly and stacked the forty pages he had finished reading. He handed the story back to Edmund and smiled.
"Would you like fresh air? Food, perhaps?” Edmund offered, clutching the book close to his chest.
“Absolutely. I’m famished!”
Like the young boys they were, they sped out of the bedroom, knocking each other against the walls and furniture, each not wanting the other to get ahead.
“Is anyone else home?” Benjamin asked, twirling across the waxed hardwood floors. He kicked his shoes off so that he was in his stocking feet.
"The maids are here. But they won’t bother us, unless we bid for them.”
"Excellent!” Benjamin slid across the floor, his arms stretched out to the side and his feet turned out like a duck’s. “Come on, Mr. Seymour, don’t you have any fun?”
"I do, but I don’t pursue it in sliding across hardwood floors.”
Benjamin came to a squeaking halt and pursed his lips. Ducking his chin, he said in an innocent voice, “Have you ever tried it?”
Edmund scoffed, “Yes, when I was very young. Now, come off it, let’s eat before you run into something!”
The two of them strolled into the kitchen and began plucking through the leftovers and the food prepared for that night’s dinner. Benjamin snatched an apple and a plate filled with entrees and plopped up on the counter. Edmund, in fascination, followed suit and shared from the platter while sipping on a glass of wine. The two of them were quiet for some time, each enjoying possession of their food. It wasn’t until they came to the end of their course that Edmund finally spoke.
"I’ve never had another person my age as a guest.”
“Don’t you have friends?” Benjamin asked, licking the tips of his fingers.
Edmund’s shoulders rose and fell in aloofness. He wanted to leave the conversation with the physical gesture, but seeing that Benjamin expected an answer, he replied through an embarrassed laugh, “If you consider my tutors friends, then, yes, I have plenty.”
Benjamin patted Edmund’s shoulder and jumped down from the counter. “Well, if your grandparents don’t mind me here, I will be delighted to be a friend.”
“How did you come to know I lived with my grandparents?” Edmund said in quiet humiliation.
“I saw them getting in the carriage for their grand day out—the old battle-ax and her flunky.”
Edmund scowled. How dare Benjamin insult his grandparents! But he didn’t want to say anything. It was true.
“No matter,” Benjamin said. “I don’t have any friends either.”
"Why is that?”
“Haven’t you seen my behavior? I know I’m different, but I don’t mean to be. I suppose I’m—,”
YOU ARE READING
A Novelist
Historical FictionA troubled writer and an optimistic editor come at odds with each other when the novel they are editing threatens their grip on reality. Knowing no other way to escape the insanity, the editor swears to destroy it. However, the power between the nov...
