Castaway

Chapter 9: Summer Sweetness

"I have a strange feeling with regard to you. As if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly knotted to a similar string in you. And if you were to leave I'm afraid that cord of communion would snap. And I have a notion that I'd take to bleeding inwardly."

Rochester to Jane in Jane Eyre

Summer rolled in apace. The days were long and hot and the wheat in the fields was nearly ripe. Charlotte turned the lock in the schoolroom door for the last time, waving goodbye to the last of the children. There would be no lessons now for five or six weeks, as the children would be more than busy helping their parents bring in the harvest. Charlotte was glad. Holding hands, she and Molly walked the short distance down the street to their cottage. Sidney had now been living with them for a month and very soon, a decision would have to be made. He could not stay there forever. He must return to Sanditon, confront his brother, claim at least a part of his fortune and resume his former life. But maybe not just yet. Perhaps she could hold onto him for a little while longer, although part of her knew it was dangerous to do so.

Every evening, after talking in the garden until tiny pinpricks of stars could be seen overhead and the air turned cold, they retired to their rooms, Sidney now comfortably installed in her husband's former chamber. He had never done anything more than hold her hand. He knew she was still a married woman, of course, even if her husband was missing and presumably no longer of this world. But she had no concrete evidence of Bartholomew's death and the vicar had previously informed her that she would have to wait seven years before she could be officially declared a widow*. Seven years! Even so, there was an unspoken understanding between them. She knew why Sidney had sought her out and, equally, she recognised the depth of her own feelings which had never, ever gone away, even if she had tried to suppress them over the years.

Plainly and simply, she loved him. She always had. And she knew he loved her. She could see it in his eyes as he observed her animated expressions when she talked, she could see it in his smile when he came down to the breakfast table and set eyes on her for the first time in the day, she could see it in his laughter when they played and joked with Molly, and she could see it in the nervous tic that sometimes batted in his cheek when she caught him admiring her. If it had not been for that fateful fire and his foolhardy brother, they would have married many years ago. Who knows, perhaps they would have had a whole clutch of their own children by now. He would have been a good father. Molly had grown to trust him and yes, even love him. Sometimes, while Charlotte was preparing the evening meal, she would glance out of the window as Sidney chased Molly around the garden, or read her stories while she sat on his knee. Bartholomew had never paid much attention to his daughter. All his free time had been spent enclosed in his study, deep in prayer and contemplation.

Charlotte entered the cool interior of the stone cottage and began to untie her bonnet. It was a hot, sultry day, threatening a thunderstorm later, and her heavy dress was uncomfortable. But Sidney was nowhere to be seen. For a split second, she felt a sense of dread flash through her body, but then she heard a rhythmic thudding sound coming from the garden and instantly recognised the noise. Slowly, she approached the back door and stood there, unnoticed, observing him.

Axe in hand, one foot raised, he was splitting logs of wood with his brute strength, oblivious of her presence. Charlotte caught her breath as her eyes travelled from the strong hands gripped around the handle of the axe, to his sinewy forearms, and up to his bare torso, glistening with sweat. He was still thinner than he had once been, but he was regaining his strength daily. Her gaze dropped to the black breeches she had adjusted to fit his frame, which now sat snugly around his waist.