The Whipping Tree

I: Lavender and Viridian

         Escape. The word implies the life she lives now is incarcerating.

         “And I you, Boone.”

*

         “Really?” she asks faintly. “Who is it?”

         A smile appears on the maid’s face. “Mister Tomas Morley.”

         Joan’s jaw drops. “Tomas?” she repeats.

         He is her friend, and part of the most respected family in Brevinham. That is the only reason why Joan got to know him all those years ago.

         Her mother, though courteous and polite as the Lady, did not want Joan playing around with just anyone. And though her father was often on her side concerning these things, he agreed with Lady Ailemer. They did not want Joan befriending the poorer folk, for fear that they would take advantage of her; Joan always thought it was an issue of image.

         Joan had a poor perception of what merchant kids were like. She only knew Maud, and despite the fact that they are cousins, growing up together, Joan never felt at home with her.

         She and Tomas met during one of their parents’ dinners, and while the adults sat in the dining hall discussing fabrics and imports from places far away, Joan invited Tomas to see their backyard, where the flower beds were.

         The minute they walked out the door, Tomas loosened his collar and laughed, telling Joan how his death would have been the bleakest in all of Drachmere: asphyxiation by shirt collar.

         And Joan giggled, decided she quite liked him for his humour and the tuft of hair that stuck out straight from the back of his head like a tail.

         He left for an apprenticeship in Hildegard in the spring of Joan’s fourteenth birthday, and though he promised with fervent hugs and kisses to the forehead that he would send letters so frequently the mail carrier would despise him, it wasn’t the same. The mail carrier did get angry, and Tomas’ letters were always several sheets long, but the mail took several days, if not a week to arrive, and though sometimes the matters weren’t pressing, Joan needed his advice quickly, and the mail carrier just couldn’t walk fast enough.

         Joan feels a warm feeling overtake her, soothing her previous nerves.

         It can’t be. The last time I heard from him he told me we wouldn’t see each other until at least a year passed.

         “Yes, Miss Joaneveive. He is waiting outside to speak to you.”

         Joan leaps to her feet and tugs a nightshirt over her clothes. She must change again before midnight, for she and Boone would be travelling for most of the early morning.

         “Tomas,” she says in wonder, under her breath. “Could you please tell my mother or father where I am if they ask?”

         The maid nods and trails after Joan as she runs down the stairs and makes towards the front door.

         “Tomas?” she calls, her voice tentative. A crescent moon hangs above, but it does little to illuminate anything. Joan feels as though her voice is swallowed by the night, and a shiver runs down her spine, not just from the cold.

         “Joan!”

         She turns and catches sight to Tomas, and a grin breaks out across her face. She runs to him, the hem of her nightdress lifting as she closes the distance between the two of them.