Before
—————
There are certain things you do to me
Things my heart cannot withstand
I hope you know my love for you
Runs far beyond this boundless land
—————
I remember the days that followed to be the worst of my life. The hours felt like weeks, yet at the same time, like seconds. Time seemed to run without rhyme or reason, speeding through the glimpses of happiness and choosing to rest in the worst moments. Moments where I'd feel myself slipping again, about to the break the promise I'd made myself.
That morning, when I woke up alone, I was busy. It had helped immensely. Swept away in my routine, there was no time to dwell on my situation. I did everything with purpose, every step, every chore, all done to blockade what I knew I would eventually have to face.
The first day, no one batted an eye at his absence, including me; but for obviously different reasons. I understand why they wouldn't question his not being here. It was often that Tewkesbury would make his way into town early in the day. I never knew what he did there during the day, but at night, he drank himself blind; that much I remember all too well. I was the only one who knew he wasn't coming back.
It wasn't until early morning the next day that the manor was turned upside down, everybody with eyes sent to search for him. I however, headed straight to my room. It had taken me no more than 24 hours to realize how I felt.
I wasn't nearly as sad as I was angry.
When my father had passed, I was devastated, and understandably so. In that circumstance, he had been robbed of time, taken away by a force beyond his control, and anyone's for that matter. But he never wanted to leave me.
Tewkesbury left by his own volition, and I hated him for it, with a burning passion. Every promise felt like a lie, every sweet word was now tainted by the knowledge that he had chosen to leave me. I hated him, but I hated myself even more for letting him do what he had done, for doing what I- what we had done.
The concept of virginity never made sense to me. How can you lose something that doesn't physically exist. And if I can't hold it, then how could he have taken it from me. But I soon realized that it didn't matter what I thought. When it comes to something like this, a man's opinion is the only one of importance, and I had just cut my future in half.
I didn't feel at all different, nothing had changed. I was still me, in every way, perhaps a little lonelier (something I wasn't willing to admit at the time), but in essence, things were as they always had been. But I couldn't tell anyone, because they wouldn't feel that way, that much I knew about the world.
Until then, the manor had never really felt lonely. Even when he was still here, there would be days we would see each other, but he had always still been there. And now all of a sudden, he's gone. It feels like I've lost whatever tethered me to this place, and I'm left feeling like a tourist in this extravagant building that no longer holds anything of importance to me.
It dawned upon me that this is always how it was supposed to be. This is what it was like for everyone else who worked on the estate, because work was all they ever did here. It was nothing more to them then their place of employment. Sure they lived there, but it was never their home, and neither was it mine. At least not anymore.
Far easier to attempt acceptance, I didn't go looking for a reason. If he had left a sign, I didn't want to see it, not wanting to give him any more of my time, any more space in my mind. I felt he didn't deserve it.
I threw myself into my work, what I could ignore couldn't hurt me, and all I wanted to do was forget. I made sure the halls were spotless, every piece of armor, every vase, every window sill. I dusted away everything that was present that day, that had witnessed what had happened. My life was clean, I had cleansed it.
Sometimes I'd overhear them in the parlor, his mother and grandmother. I hated that room. I only ever entered it do do my chores but even so, every second I felt between its walls felt like being underwater. It was suffocating. The distress on Lady Tewkesbury's face was evident, the dowager trying her best to console the woman while his uncle paced back and forth on the opposite side of the room.
Unconsciously, I'd accidentally linger. Seeing them like that reminded me that they had a greater reason miss him. Tewkesbury was not my family, and if I had ever considered him so, I definitely no longer did.
His uncle would notice me staring and send me a harsh stare, I'd scurry off, pulled out of my daze. I was probably closer to Tewkesbury than any of them had ever been. But I would never be part of that world.
My mother tired to talk to me about it. I think she knew we were friends, but never that close. I'd just handed her a basket of eggs, the sun hadn't even come up yet, the sky still overcast. "Honey," she called out so me just as I was about to leave, "how are you feeling?" I could tell she was being cautious with her words. Maybe I hadn't been as good at hiding thing as I thought I had.
"Fine." I told her, sending her a small smile. It was all I felt I could muster in the moment. She just nodded her head back at me and let out a hum, so I took my leave.
After that, I felt better. I hadn't cried, an effect of my anger trumping whatever sadness I felt. Life just went on. Chores, lunch, more chores, dinner, miss my father, and then sleep. I thought I was doing well, so I tried to push it.
I felt calm as I trudged through the fields, lifting up the hem of my skirts to avoid rimming them in mud. My workbooks squealed and squelched in the watered soil and make the journey more tiresome than it usually was. It was either those circumstances that caused the walk to take significantly longer than it should have, or my unconscious unwillingness to acknowledge Tewkesbury's existence in any way shape or form. My guess is as good as yours.
But the rain had been good for the earth, tracing every leaf and every blade of grass in a slim coat of water. By the time I arrived, I assume the majority of this water had been transferred from the grass, onto my skirt. I twisted the fabric in my hands and watched as a small stream trickled down. My eyes followed it to the ground, where something lay. Something I hadn't seem before.
A branch lay by my feet in the dirt, it's far end cut cleanly off. Suddenly, I wasn't all that calm anymore. The idea that something had changed didn't sit well with me. It grabbed onto and clenched my guts, squeezing at my stomach, making me feel ill. I didn't like that time had passed, that I had spent time here without him. And that things hadn't been kept the way they were forever.
I couldn't bring myself to climb up. It would be the first time since the first time that I would be doing so without at all expecting him to be up there. For the first time, I knew he wouldn't be waiting for me with a book in his lap, ready to make fun of me for taking so long. I realized I never really liked the treehouse that much; it smelled like moss, the wood was rough, splinters were almost unavoidable. I think I just enjoyed his company.
—————
The weeks went by slowly, and excruciatingly so. But things had calmed down around the manor. People had realized that he'd be found when he'd been found, and no amount of panic or unnecessary distress would change that. Something I had embraced from the very beginning.
On one insignificant morning, the day of which I would not be able to tell you (for what reason is there to keep track of what day of the week it is when every day of the year is virtually the same?), I was sent to collect in town. A small bag of simple supplies such as quills and ink, preselected and prepared for pickup. I was just the transport.
The walk home was easy, and I took the time to think about what had consumed my mind for the past few days; the fact that I was weak minded.
Perhaps not in the traditional sense. I was able to understand people, and hold my own opinion on view. I could argue, and defend my beliefs. But I was easily manipulated, by none other than myself. It had taken me so little effort to accept certain things, certain bits of information I had convinced myself were true. Maybe I couldn't trust myself as much as I thought I could.
It seemed so simple to take the easy way out wherever it was available. I never second guessed, never batted an eye, just accepted that what I was doing was what was right, and that whatever that was would be for the best.
The rhythmic clatter of hooves on dry, sand-like earth snapped me back to the present. A pair of riders approached me on the path, shadowed by a line of trees, separating me from the endless fields of patchwork green. I heard one of them tell the other to go on ahead, and that he would catch up to him in a bit.
He halted his steed right beside me and I looked up at him. The horse whinnied to my right and I couldn't hold back my smile, animals always got the best of me. "Why hello Florence" he said down to me, cheekily.
"Why hello Jonathan"
I sent him a polite smile, one my mother would approve of, and received one in return. I was relieved when he decided to speak first, not really knowing what to say or how to say it. I didn't really speak to anyone else at the manor, something I had only realized afterwards.
"What'ya got there?" He asks, referring down to my bag. I open it up to show him it's contents.
"Stationary," I told him, "for the masters." He nods before reigning in his horse while it tries to proceed with the journey.
Jonathan offered me a ride back to Basilwether, but I refused, for various reasons. The first being that he had someone waiting for him and I wouldn't feel right keeping him from whatever it was he needed to do. And the second, being that I did not really want to be that close to a man right now, physically.
I'd never minded it before, when he last offered to escort me home some months ago, I gladly accepted his offer and we were on our way. But this time, I felt overwhelmed at the thought of it alone. I guess I knew things now, things I didn't before.
"That young viscount have you running around all day?" He contested, relaxed in his manner. Observing him then, I wonder if he knew. Knew that Tewkesbury had disappeared, was saying it to mock the situation, or was completely oblivious to how hard his words hit. Unaware of what they sounded like to my ears.
"No no," I reassured him politely, too afraid to assume, "His uncle rather." And with that, I ended the conversation.
He left right after that and I returned to the estate alone. By then, the sun had already set, bidding the world a good night and promising to return the next day. Light shining through the windows illuminated the courtyard, ripe with life in the warm summer air. We could have had so much fun this year.
I treaded up the stairs, brushing past some of the other maids scurrying through the halls, rushing to prepare supper. I stopped just in front of his Uncle's study, patting down my skirt, tucking stray hairs behind my ears, and trying my best to straiten out the creases in the delivery package I had picked up for him.
My knuckles knocked twice against the door, only pushing it open after I'd heard an "enter" from the other side. Walking in, I saw him sitting at his desk, shuffling through papers and glancing over at others, splayed out across the workspace. A short moment passed, and I decided to speak first, having been unacknowledged and left mildly uncomfortable.
"I have your package, Sir," I said, properly. He peered over the pages and quirked an eyebrow at me, asking for more information. "The stationary you requested, from over in town." Understanding spread over his expression and he raised a hand to wave me over. I swiftly maneuvered my way through the unnecessarily large room before placing the parcel on the end of his desk. I curtsied as low as my tired legs would allow me to go, and turned around to leave.
"Girl." I heard from behind. It took me a moment to wipe the disdain off of my face, not wishing to be chastised. Once it was gone, I faced the old man once more to find him pointing over at the chest of draws, a tray of dirty dishes sat atop it. I assume he didn't feel the need to ask as by the time I looked back over at him, he was back to reading. I quickly picked it up and left the room.
As dinner time approached, the best word to describe the kitchen would be havoc. Our chef shouted over herself, trying to train the new staff (a task she had to take on every so often as no one seemed to be able to stand her yelling for more than a few weeks). I weaved between benches and baskets, doing my best not to get in anyones way while making my way towards the sink.
This morning's newspaper lay rolled up beside the dirty plates. I picked it up and placed it to the side before dropping the lot into the basin carefully, as to avoid splashing. Women and girls, none as young as me but still close in age ran panicked around the kitchen, hastily handing off dishes to smartly dressed men. They delivered the food to the table, where hours of work would go unappreciated the way it does every day at 6pm.
It would have been rude to contribute to the already lengthy clean up process, so I withheld from leaving any traces. Reaching for the newspaper, I found that it had unrolled upon placing it down. The image that flashed past my gaze made my chest sting, as if he were here again, poking needles into my heart, held in his hands after having ripped it out from within me. I couldn't do this, not now.
Not here.
Not in front of all of these people, people I worked with, people I knew. And not in front of my mother, I don't think I could've explained it to her without sounding insane. Eyeing the paper in my peripheral, I put on a strong face, one that gave nothing away, and stuffed it under my skirt before rushing out of the overwhelming room.
Stunned and fuzzy minded, I made my way back to the lodge, bursting through the door with impatience and desperation.
With need.
I needed to see what I thought I had seen, I longed to see it. To see him. I thought I was passed this, I told myself he didn't effect me. That he was gone and that was that, there was no reason for him to occupy any part of my life. But all it took was a glance, a split second for me to descend back into the pit I had worked so hard to climb out of.
I sat on the edge of my bed and brought the candle on my bedside stool closer, holding it up to the parchment.
There he was.
It was only a sketch, but from the hair to the title, I knew it was him. The paper forced me to accept reality. That he was still out there, doing something. Talking to other people, walking other roads, thinking about other things.
And for the first time since it happened, I cried.
Tears dribbled down my salty cheeks, plopping one by one onto the paper, soaking into it in growing patches. The liquid smeared against his face, ink drifting in different directions, reaching out like blooming flowers. I let it out, and it felt amazing to cry. That is until I ran out of tears, and was left with nothing but shame, regret, and a soggy newspaper.
It was my fault for giving him the power to do this to me, providing him with the means to break me.
I would never make that mistake again.
—————
I sat across from my mother at the communal table, picking away at my bread roll. It was early in the morning, but I had barely slept. There was something I wanted to tell her.
"Mum?" I inquired, dropping my hands into my lap. I watched as she lifted her chin to look at me directly. She cocked her head to one side, a gesture that told me to go ahead, so I did.
"I think I'm ready." My voice was calm, consistent. I was sure of this, definitely. This is what I wanted, and I know that she's wanted it my whole life. Everybody wins, so it's perfect. Right?
She smiled at me lovingly, something I didn't know I needed until I had it. Knowing it would make her happy made me happy, and I really needed it at the moment.
"Alright then," she settled and reached for my hands, taking them in her own and rubbing them gently.
"Lets find you a nice boy."