TURNING PAGE | ❝I surrender who I've been for who you are.❞
After the loss of her husband, Winifred Erstwhile must come to terms with her new life amidst her grief. In a world where society views her through the lens of marriage, the widow slow...
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1812.
"ALRIGHT, HERE WE ARE," SAYS WINIFRED. Her hands have been folded on her lap for most of the journey home in the carriage. She would have held onto those of her husband's, but he numbly pried them away at the start of their trip, instead resorting to gazing out of the window at each passing tree in the landscape.
The Joseph that sits opposite her feels... different.
Winifred had no clue what to expect. All she had known was that a week ago, she received word that Joseph had been injured. In the town where he was stationed, he had stepped in to break up a conflict, only to sustain injuries that would put him out of practice for a substantial length of time — a broken collarbone along with a couple of ribs. In that time, he had also contracted a fever, although that had luckily broken by the time Winifred reached him. Joseph was to return home and recuperate for a couple of months.
Beyond her obvious concern, she did not think any deeper about it. Broken bones heal, after all. She just did not expect Joseph's spirits to be so broken as well. Winifred had thought the militia would have been kinder to him than being in the thick of the battlefield.
If she stops and thinks about it, she can recall his duty grading down on her husband over the years. His boyish wonder has dimmed the more he commits himself to it, sobered by the things he sees — only Joseph never tells her what he has seen. However, until now, it had only come in smaller bouts that often lifted themselves again after a small time being back with Winifred... but not today, where he has hardly uttered a word the whole carriage ride home.
Having stopped in front of the entrance at Highbourne, Winifred steps out of the carriage first. "Here, darling," she holds out her hand to her husband encouragingly.
"Winifred, I can get out by myself—"
"The last thing I want is you tripping over your big boots and breaking another bone. Come on now, Joseph."
Joseph sighs, one of the longest she has ever heard from him. He twists in his seat, wincing slightly at the tenderness around his battered body. The tiredness instantly travels up into his eyes; the bright blue hues have been dulled to an overhanging grey day. Gripping Winifred's hand, he steps out of the carriage and lands his feet squarely onto the ground. With his free arm, ever so gently, she weaves her arm through it and guides him with great care towards the door.
