The Fallow

by Alicia Britton

  His eyes lolled open once he was well on his way to experiencing some shred of relief.

  But something caught his eye outside the window. A glint, like a reflection, and then in one corner, a flash of black. And then both were gone.

  What in the world. . . ?

  He didn’t know what he saw, but he wasn’t going to take any chances.

  And upon his grandiose emanation and the bloodshed that ensued—he was in that kind of mood—he conjured up a new plan. And it was brilliant!

  Herald, Virtue, and The Verity Chronicles would bend over and experience truth the way he intended.

  They could call for “revolution,” but every day, every month, and once the winter set in, there would be fewer and fewer people around to answer that call. They were on a downward spiral and soon they’d become an expense rather than a weak investment.

  And the last thing Captain needed was another expense.

  Chapter 6

  Herald

  Captain left the lighthouse. Virtue was dangling on the arm he offered.

  The image of that was Herald’s only company.

  Hours later and he was still glaring through the glass in the lantern room, taking pauses only to blink.

  His mood did not improve when he put his hands in his pockets to warm them. He squeezed his fist around the paper he had with him for the last nine days at all times.

  He should have left it there. But no, he pulled out the wad.

  Scribbles . . . notes . . . draft one . . . draft two . . . draft three. . .

  LETTER OF INTENT

  My Dear Sweet Virtue,

  At first, I had your words. They haunted me. They inspired me! And the day I met you, my world would never be the same. You looked at me as if I were truth incarnate, when in all actuality, I was a mere reflection of your light.

  The first graze of our fingertips, was it by chance or an act of fate? My body was torn between stronger and weaker. My mind became about as sharp as a flower petal. But my heart never had any doubt. Our love was meant to be. We became one, not two. And if there is such a thing as a soul, forever would mine crave its better half.

  .

  Bad.

  .

  Worse.

  .

  Is this really the best I can do???

  Eternally yours,

  Herald

  He crumpled up every last shred of paper, incredibly grateful that in his other pocket he had a box of matches.

  And he didn’t regret squatting down and lighting it all on fire.

  Why did I even bother? It wasn’t as if he could get married, even if he wanted to. Scratch that. Even though he wanted to . . . more than anything.

  But as he watched the flames take form, the paper char and shrivel, he remembered why . . . and quite vividly. His Christmas Heritage gift the year prior was wrapped in red and decorated in freshly fallen snow. And it was hope that tasted so sweet, like a dark, deeply crimson candy.

  If he was ever to give Virtue his “Letter of Intent,” it was for the principle of it, and it therefore had to be perfect. It had to surpass perfect, if he was being honest with himself, something he always strived to do. Virtue deserved nothing less.

  ***

  “It’s about time,” Herald muttered to himself.

  He broke the official Portsmith University seal on the envelope addressed to him. He was expecting his invitation to the annual Christmas Heritage Gala that was to take place the following night. Everyone would supposedly be there—administration, faculty, staff, students, alumni, as well as their guest(s). For the average faculty member, a “plus one” was allotted. But those of prominence were known to bring as many as ten of their wives.

  There would be toasts and speeches, ostentatious gowns, bow ties, and back patting. And it wasn’t as if Herald really wanted to go, especially alone, since he had no one in his life he could feasibly take with him. But, even so, his course-load had been horrific over the last semester. Since his salary left much to be desired as well, he was at least looking forward to the “thank you for your services” courtesy. Everyone else in the English Department had received theirs weeks ago!

  After opening the parchment, he didn’t discover the fancy calligraphy, two tickets, or the response card. Instead, he received a neat, very formal, and a completely unanticipated “Letter of Termination,” effective immediately.

  The administration may have linked him to The Verity Chronicles somehow. They wouldn’t find anything in his office, but apparently just the suspicion of “wrongdoing” was enough to end his whole academic career.

  Sad to say, he befriended and trusted the few people who knew about his literary endeavors on the side. They shared similar interests, beliefs, and had been curious and supportive. So it wasn’t his termination that bothered him the most, but the fact that he had been betrayed.

  Herald stuffed the envelope in the pocket of his blazer, determined to get to the bottom of this outrage. He would go to the Gala anyway, despite them all! If nothing else, he would make it his goal to offset his lousy salary by drinking himself into a stupor.

  On his way out of the Mail Room, he made sure no one was looking and then removed the rubbish bin from its place by the door.

  In the blustery courtyard, he dug through it until he found what he was looking for—an invitation someone decided they didn’t need or couldn’t use.

  The following night, Herald met Law at Smitty’s Tavern an hour before the Gala was to begin. He needed a pep talk, the kind that only Law could give, and a couple of shots of courage. The cheap bottle of moonshine Law had bought for the occasion tasted like corruption and burned like tyranny! But that was the whole idea. If corruption and tyranny didn’t agree with his system, then he would get it all out of his system, one way or another.

  Herald slammed his last shot-glass upside-down on the bar and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, amid shouts and cheers, battle cries and “go get em’s,” he sauntered out of the tavern as ready as he would ever be.

  He was going to the Gala—and that move was bold enough for him—but after receiving so many words of encouragement, he also intended to give the Chancellor, his minions, and the Board of Trustees a loud and very public piece of his mind.

  Before that happened, though, he made sure to find the bar. “Your finest brandy. A double. And make it snappy,” he uttered as if he were well-practiced in the art of snobbery. If it wasn’t for his blazer, slightly frayed at the wrists, the bartender may have even taken him seriously. Instead, he gave Herald the once over and reached for a sad excuse for liquor, likely the kind reserved for students without means. And he poured it into the smallest snifter Herald had ever seen and was in no particular hurry.

  “Cheers,” he said bitterly, raising his mini-glass.

  Then he slumped onto a barstool in the corner. And there he sat, watching, fretting, letting his hatred for the University smolder. Everything the school said it stood for—progress, enlightenment, equal opportunity—was a lie in pretty packaging. Even he had bought into it once upon a time.

  Herald would occasionally find the strong words he was looking for. And then he’d flush them from mind with the liquor he was beginning to consume to excess. Even ounce by itty-bitty ounce, he was still managing to make it happen.

  Then everything changed. It was a reality check. A sobering moment. His wake-up call. And it wasn’t so much an it as it was a she.

  Herald wandered back to the bar, and yet his eyes were fixed on the entryway and the mob of men who were already beginning to flock. “Would you like another, sir?” the young lady bartender asked him this time.

  “No, a water please,” he replied mildly, returning his snifter. “Thank you.”

  He legitimately had no clue Virtue would be attending the Gala with her father, Dr. Wallace Alexander, the former Chair of the English Department. He was demoted for questionable teaching tactics, though not fired as Herald had been. But he was still well received by h
is students, colleagues, and superiors. It certainly didn’t hurt that he had his gorgeous daughter on his arm rather than his—alleged—shrew of a wife.

  Virtue was his youngest daughter and the only one still unmarried, eight months shy of Bearing Age, and rumored to be the most intelligent—Herald had no doubt about that—mild-mannered and modest—he’d vouch for that too—and the most attractive of the bunch.

  Herald sipped his water, his eyes unmoving. Though he hoped for a full view of her red gown, he neither needed one nor was it required for him to meet her sisters to know that “most attractive” was entirely accurate as well. Apparently, this entitled her father to parade her around like a show pony for all of Portsmith University’s most eligible—the young and ambitious, the distinctive and charismatic, and also the old, the pompous, the hideously dirty, and those who were bloated with more money and wives than one man could feasibly manage.

  And Herald couldn’t bear to watch, not even from afar. That was really all he could get away with. He would have had trouble getting anywhere near her, even if he tried. Even if he was allowed to try.

  He wasn’t supposed to be associating with her in any way. It wasn’t his place to know a thing or care at all.

  And yet he did. He knew too much. He cared too much.

  Herald had been meeting with her secretly, twice a week for over six months. It was in regard to her writing, but even so, it was time he always looked forward to. And reading into her words, and sometimes discussing the inspiration behind them, he truly believed he had gotten to know her . . . better than most.

  But that hardly entitled him to a damn thing, he realized. Not a smile. Not even a glance in his direction. And while Virtue was receiving introductions, pleasantries, ogling to the extreme, and a few very suspicious envelopes, Herald was edging his way out of the assembly hall; his goal to be seen and heard perhaps forever out of reach.

  He took the back way out and stepped into an empty courtyard. He felt the snow flurries before he saw them. Looking up, he spotted the flakes falling through the halos of light surrounding the walkway lamps.

  Winter would be another unforgiving beast to endure now that he no longer had a stable income. But for a fleeting moment, he perceived it as pure and innocent. He took a seat on a bench to appreciate it. And he remained there, as if frozen, because he didn’t have any other place to go. His office had been searched and confiscated, the room he had been renting had been vacated as well, just in case the University had alerted the Authorities. And he couldn’t return to Smitty’s Tavern, because they were expecting results from him. Or at least a story to tell. And he didn’t even have that!

  “Do you know, Herald. . . ?” The voice. The name that so few people knew. “You could have at least said hello,” she continued, strolling closer, a playful bounce to her gait. “I would have pretended that I had never met you. And I would have enjoyed fooling everyone.”

  She put her arms up and spun around in the new coat of slush on the ground. He tried to smile, but his heavy heart was dragging it down. “By the looks of it, you were getting along just fine without me.”

  Virtue glided into the spot on the bench beside him, carefully aligning her black dress-coat over and underneath her gown to protect it from the snow. And Herald moved over, making sure to give her plenty of room.

  She set her red beaded bag down in her lap. The envelopes inside of it were popping out, making their presence known. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you sound jealous.”

  “My apologies,” he replied eventually, biting his lip. Then he closed his eyes. And he didn’t appreciate the spinning sensation he was experiencing. “I’m ashamed to say that I’ve had too much to drink tonight. And men who overindulge rarely ever have respectable things come out of their mouths.”

  “Respectability. . .” she said, her voice deep and mocking, as if she was imitating her father. “Is never a bad thing. But I’d rather have your honesty.”

  “Don’t you always?”

  “No,” she stated simply. “You sometimes hold back.”

  “Well, in that case, you’re in luck. I’m incapable of holding anything back right now.”

  “All right, then. I’ll take full advantage of that. My writing. Your honest opinion, Professor.”

  “That’s an easy one.” He smiled, probably his first of the night. “Always impressive,” he leaned closer to her to say. “Poignant, bold, heartfelt and perhaps a little raw and untame . . . at first. But with each new piece you’ve revealed to me, I’m astounded by how much you’ve grown. And that troubles me. Pretty soon, what on Neoterra would you need me for?”

  “Oh, stop!” She leaned over to nudge him in the arm. “You’re brilliant, Herald. I hope you’re aware of that.”

  She had boosted his talents way out of proportion, but still, he didn’t bother to deny the much-needed compliment.

  And then he was considering the possibility that she had a few too many drinks in her system as well. She seemed markedly less shy than she usually was.

  They had rebounded from the contact, but the space he had left between them was no longer there. Her gown was partially splayed over his knee. Simple, elegant—she probably made it herself as she was known to do—and there was a silky shine to the fabric. It made him want to slide his finger across it.

  “And what is the reason. . .” she went on to say, whisking him away from his state of pure lunacy. “A brilliant man, such as yourself, would be sulking alone in a corner during what was supposed to be a ‘celebration?’”

  “You noticed.”

  She blinked heavily, capturing his attention with her long eyelashes. Then she nodded once.

  “That’s because Portsmith University isn’t nearly as impressed.” He pulled from the pocket of his blazer his Letter of Termination and offered it to her. Hesitantly, she took it. He leaned forward, his elbows to his knees, and stared at the ground while she read it.

  “I’m so sorry.” She folded the letter back up and returned it to its envelope. “But I’m excited for you as well.” She placed a hand on his back. “You’re destined for greater things, Herald. I’ve always believed that.”

  He chuckled. He couldn’t help it. What could he have possibly done to convince her of that?

  And rather than let the pity set in and the mood plummet, he suddenly snatched the envelopes from her bag.

  She yelped and grabbed for them, but he lifted them out of her reach. “What secrets, might I ask, are you keeping from me?”

  He rose from his seat. And so did she.

  “You give those back this instant!”

  He had to whirl around for a chance to open one. He held the paper high and away from her and tilted it toward the light. “Letter of Intent,” he read aloud, annunciating every “t.”

  “‘Dear girl in red. You are beautiful.’ Spelled, by the way, B-E-U-T-I-F-U-L-L.” He put an I’m-swooning hand to his forehead. “‘I don’t have a wife yet. But I want my first one. Will you be mine?’ How original! How deeply moving and romantic!”

  “And you think you could do better?”

  Lifting an eyebrow, she took a step closer to him. And he took another step back.

  “Oh, I could do a lot better,” he assured her. “If I ever wrote a Letter of Intent, it would be. . .” He made an I-think-therefore-I-am pose. “Well, I am brilliant after all!” Then he flipped open the second letter. “And, oh, look!” He tapped a specific spot on the page for her to see. “In this one, you’re supposed to circle ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ But. . .” He patted himself down. “I can’t seem to find my red pen. And that’s unfortunate. His grammar is atrocious!”

  “Herald. . .” Virtue held out her mittened hand.

  “Ah-ah-ah. I’m not finished.” Herald flipped to the third letter. After browsing though, he gave her an over-the-top cringe. “Oh, dear. This boy was in my Epic Poetry class. And I have to say, this is embarrassing for us both!”

  After that, he was ready to give
them back. But her expression slowly fell, as if she didn’t want them back. And when he offered them, she didn’t take them. He was the one who had to return them to her bag. “I’m sorry. I was only being facetious. And I know that you know what that means.”

  “It isn’t that.” They retook their seat on the bench. “I don’t know these men. Any of them. I don’t have a way to get to know them . . . or any desire to for that matter. And the clock is already ticking toward my twenty-fifth birthday! I haven’t yet seen what I want to see. Or learned what I’ve hoped to learn. I’ve never left Portsmith. I’ve never been to a formal school or had the opportunity to attend the University.”

  “You’re not missing much. Lousy food, dirty washrooms, slobbering rascals, classes you’d be bored in. . . .”

  “New ideas. And friends,” she pointed out.

  “You have me, don’t you? And I can be both. Anything you want to know, I’ll teach you. And anything that I don’t know, I’ll find out for you.”

  She took a moment to digest that, and at the end, she smiled. “And what would you ask for in return?”

  She placed her eyes directly on his. And practically moved the ground beneath him. “The . . . pleasure of your company?” He was amazed he could even come up with that, considering how tied his tongue suddenly was.

  “Is that all?”

  “Well, I’m . . . not entirely sure,” he stammered, thinking of all the things he’d like in return but would never ask for. “But, if, say, for example, you would—”

  She then stood up and turned to face him. “Close your eyes.”

  “What?” he asked, looking up at her. But then he obeyed without any further hesitation. And she made sure he couldn’t see by placing her mittens over his eyes as well.

  Their interaction so far had ranged from somber to outright silly, everything in between, and back again. So he wasn’t quite sure what to expect with his eyes closed. Pain? A face full of snow? Either of those would have been in line with the rest of his night.