by R N Merle
‘Stop turning now, Tom, or she’ll fall over.’ Darklin heard Bess to her left. Tom released her, and the world spun inside her head. She stayed still until the dizziness passed, and concentrated on the sounds around her. A robin chirruped in the trees, she heard James laugh, and his footsteps whisper in the grass as he ran in front of her. She swung her arm out but missed. Someone tugged on a lock of her hair, lifting it up before running away. She took steps forward, her boots scraping up the smell of earth, dried grass and flowers. She quickly learned how to move without falling, and her steps became bolder. To her left she heard Grace make a noise somewhere between a squawk and a laugh.
She sensed that someone was nearby, trying to stay still. The scent of lavender, damp clothes and river water filled her nostrils. John was within her arms reach, but she couldn’t bring herself to catch him. She felt it would be wrong; that her motives for touching him were not because she wanted to win the game. Her cheeks burned under the blindfold, and she turned abruptly away.
After a moment or two, she grabbed hold of Tom, as he tried to show off by seeing how close he could get, and her turn came to an end.
When the children became bored, they packed up and headed for home. This time, instead of sitting with his back to her, it ended up that John was facing Darklin, who sat at the stern with Grace asleep on her lap. Now when she looked up she would directly encounter John’s face. She twisted away from him, and dipped one hand in the cool glinting water, skimming the surface with her fingertips, leaving tiny trails behind her, that fanned out into ripples of liquid light. She tried to get lost in the distraction, but the discomfort of being available to John’s scrutiny was all she could think of.
All the way back, she sat uncomfortably. If she stretched out her legs they would bump against his, so she kept them tucked stiffly under her seat. At the mooring, after Darklin had safely passed Grace out of the boat, she got to her feet, but her legs were so numb from stillness that when she tried to take a step forward, she stumbled. John reached out and caught her around the waist before she fell. For an instant he held her against his chest, Darklin could feel the cool dampness of his shirt, as well as the heat of his skin.
‘Careful,’ he said, then placed his hands on her elbows, and helped her onto the bank.
In the golden evening light, they strolled from the riverbank back through the garden, casting long shadows before them. Darklin helped Bess prepare a meal, John got changed and saw to the animals, while the children chased around outside. They ate their supper in the garden, and sat there until it was time for Darklin to leave. She was tempted to stay longer, since Gressyl barely seemed to notice if she was there or not. But she knew it was not sensible, and eventually got to her feet and stretched. Bess and John both stood with her. ‘Thank you for all your help today, Darklin. See you tomorrow.’ Bess said, embracing Darklin and dropping a kiss on her cheek. Darklin turned to John to bid him goodnight. John leant down, and absently kissed her cheek, just as Bess had done. Darklin’s eyes locked with his in shock. Occasionally when she said goodnight, he would put his hand on her arm or shoulder. He had never kissed her before. He frowned, then smiled, realising his mistake but seeming to think nothing of it.
‘Goodnight.’ he said. Darklin turned quickly before either of them could see her cheeks start to blaze.
‘Goodnight.’ she called back, glad of the cooling evening air, as she hurried into the woods.
The next Sunday found Darklin, Bess, James and Grace sat in a circle by the chestnut tree. In the middle of the circle was a large basket filled with pea pods that had been picked that morning, waiting to be shelled. Bess intended to dry the peas to preserve them, but it didn’t stop each of them popping a few of the sweet young peas into their mouths as they were shelled.
The work was easy and allowed Darklin’s mind to wander as she prepared another lie she would tell Gressyl, about what she had done in Fallenoak. The questions Gressyl asked about her curses had become routine, and without variation. Darklin didn’t know if Gressyl was waiting to catch her out, but it unnerved her. She considered the lies she told more and more, fearful that Gressyl might pounce on the smallest mistake.
After a while, Bess got up to tend to the dinner, leaving Darklin to keep an eye on the children. James watched her carefully as usual, the same perplexed expression etched on his little face. Still, when she looked or spoke to him he would hide away, only now he would laugh at the same time, and it had become a sort of game between them. Darklin finished the peas, and then closed her eyes, pretending she was asleep. She leant back against the tree, listening to the soothing calls of the ever present doves on the roof. A few moments later, she felt something very soft brushing against her arm. She looked down. James’ tiny cushioned finger was tracing the scars left by the roses on the inside of her arm. Darklin stiffened.
‘Are you hurted?’ James asked.
It was the first time he had spoken to her directly. Darklin looked at her arm, something she usually avoided doing. The scars that had once been bright angry lines, had now faded to white. She had a distinctive burn mark on the inside of her wrist, which she had acquired helping Bess cook fish a few days ago. It was livid and red. She slowly pulled her sleeves down and tried to smile. ‘No, I am well.’
‘Will you play with me?’ he asked. He had the same green eyes as John, that looked enormous in his small round face. Darklin found them…appealing.
‘I will if you will tell me how.’
James reached behind him and took out a chewed willow stick, about a foot in length, and offered it to Darklin. ‘It is Willow’s stick, we throw it and he will fetch it. Willow!’ he called.
Willow, lying in the garden’s shade, had already seen his stick, and was trotting over. Darklin thought she could read the disappointment on his face when he saw that it was in her hand. She tossed it away, trying to show that she meant no harm, but to her surprise the dog chased after it, collected it and dropped it at her feet.
‘Now it’s my turn.’ said James, bending to pick up the stick. He could not throw it far, and almost toppled over from the effort. Still, the dog pounced on it, and brought it back. They took it in turns to throw it, until the dog was panting and tired. To Darklin’s surprise, he came to lie between them.
‘I like his fur.’ said James, fervently patting the dogs back. ‘You stroke him.’
Darklin didn’t want to offend James, after the progress they had made, and timidly reached toward the dog. Willow laid his head on his paws, seeming to give her his consent. She gently swept her hand over his warm coat.
‘He is soft.’ she said quietly.
‘I see you three have made friends at last.’
It was John’s voice. Darklin looked round and watched him approach. He was smiling. Darklin thought back to when she had first seen him, she had believed he spent his whole time laughing, but she was wrong. John did not laugh very often, but he smiled. It was nothing like Bess’ brilliant smile, nor like Tom’s impish grin. It was a smile that made her believe he was half thinking of something else, that made him sad in the same moment he was happy.
‘I thought you did not like dogs.’ he said.
‘He is not so bad as I thought.’ replied Darklin, and couldn’t stop herself smiling back. It was odd; with time she had found it easier to be around the other Somerbornes, but she was finding it more difficult to be at ease around John. The accidental kiss had not helped. Seeing him ruffled her, yet she craved being near him. His presence brought about a giddy delight, but also a tender ache, a yearning pain that could not be relieved.
He sat down facing her. Seeing John, Grace let out a squeal of delight, and crawled across the grass to him. The way that she moved, instantly reminded Darklin of the last dream that she had, about the family by the sea. They had been haunting her dreams all summer. In the dream, Darklin had been sitting on a patch of spongy grass, sheltered by a tall sand dune. The fair haired baby boy was crawling away from her, and she was pr
etending to chase him, but when she blinked, he had vanished. She searched desperately, running to the top of the dune in the hope he would be behind it, but she could not find him.
She frowned, recalling the panic and horror she had felt at losing him.
‘Is something wrong?’ John asked.
‘No, not wrong… There is a dream I keep having that I cannot make sense of.’ Darklin replied.
John lifted Grace onto his lap, kissed the top of her head, and tickled her face with a daisy.
‘Sometimes such dreams go away when you tell someone about them.’
Darklin tore her eyes away from watching John’s hand.
‘It is strange. I dream of a family, one that I have never seen in my waking life. They live in a cottage by the sea, the father is a fisherman or sailor, I think. Last night I dreamt I was looking after the baby, and then lost him. Seeing Grace just made me think of it.’
John frowned. ‘Does the family remind you of anyone?’
‘No, but I feel as if I know them.’
‘Could you ask your mother? They might be people that you met as a child.’
‘She doesn’t like to talk of the past.’
‘Perhaps Mrs Day would know what it means. I could take you to see her.’
‘No, it is nothing to worry over. It is just strange, that is all.’
‘Very well. Try to think of something pleasant before you close your eyes.’
‘I think of you,’ Darklin said to herself, worried by how easily the words could have tripped from her tongue. The stronger her feelings for him became, the more she wanted to keep them hidden.
‘I will try.’ she said aloud.
But Darklin was not as inscrutable as she had hoped. A few days later, she and Bess were lying in the long grass of the meadow, with wild flowers waving all around them. They had washed the bed linens, and had spread them out on the grass to dry. Darklin found she could be entirely at ease in Bess’ company, a natural harmony seemed to exist when they were together. She stretched out her limbs luxuriously, and pillowed her head on her arms.
‘Have you been growing? Your hem is near to the top of your boot.’
‘I think I might, a bit.’
‘How old are you, Darklin? I have never asked you before.’
‘Sixteen or so.’
‘Nearly the same age as me then. I turned seventeen in May.’
It did not seem that it could be true, Bess was a head taller than her, and had a woman’s figure. Darklin closed her eyes, and consciously smoothed the frown that had creased her brow.
Bess sighed audibly. ‘I have not seen my Joseph in such a long time.’
‘Who is Joseph?’ Darklin said, leaning up on her elbows in surprise. She had never heard Bess speak of anyone by that name.
‘Joseph is my intended. He is the young man that I am going to marry. But you mustn’t say so to John, he doesn’t know yet. It is a secret. It has been a secret for a year at least. We were going to be married in two years, when he turns twenty-one, and inherits the farm, but who knows how long it will be now. I can’t very well leave John on his own to look after the children,’ Bess twisted the seeds off a stem of dry grass and blew them into the wind. ‘Not unless he had some other help.’
‘Like a servant?’ asked Darklin.
Bess looked at her meaningfully, then turned her eyes to a passing cloud. ‘Or a wife.’ she added lightly.
Darklin painfully conjured in her mind the sort of person she thought John would marry, someone who would match him; a beautiful and good woman. She loved John, but she had never imagined herself being married to him. She was not a person who could become a wife, she thought. Speaking of the future upset her. She tried not to think of it at all, knowing her friendships with the Somerbornes would come to an end. She wasn’t sure when, but she knew it would happen, Gressyl would see to it, of that she was sure. But how she loathed the idea of someone else being John’s wife, even the thought of it was unbearable.
‘How did you… become his intended?’ Darklin asked to change the subject.
‘We have known each other all our lives, but when I saw him last year at the Christmas gathering, I realised that I loved him. He seemed to have grown from a boy to a man in one summer. And when he kissed me, I knew it was what was meant to be. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to kiss anyone else. He asked me for my hand that night.’
‘He kissed you…’ Darklin said to herself. She needed more information, but was embarrassed to ask. She thought of how John’s warm lips had gently touched her skin. The remembrance of the sensation made her blush and her stomach flip, but it hadn’t been something she could tell her future by.
Bess read the confusion on Darklin’s face, and seemed to guess what she was thinking. ‘You know how there are different kinds of love, like the love between friends, or between brothers and sisters; there are different kinds of kisses too. A lover’s kiss, is something meant only for that person. They tell you that they love you through their touch, with their hands or lips. You will understand what I mean when it happens. Everything will become clear.’
Nothing was clear to Darklin. What made Bess think that anyone would want her that way? John’s kiss certainly had not been a lover’s kiss. No matter how much she wanted it, she couldn’t imagine he would ever see her in that way. He would never touch her like a lover. Tears welled in her eyes, she threw an arm over her face, pretending to shield it from the sun.
After some minutes of silence, Bess spoke again.
‘Darklin, I did not mean to sound discontented. I am very happy to look after the children as long as I am needed. I would miss them all dreadfully if we were parted. There are times when I can hardly bare to think of it. I have my whole life to marry Joseph, and I know he will wait for me. I just wish I could see him more often, that is all.'
‘Does it ever worry you, being someone’s wife… having someone be your lord and master?’
‘No. I trust him with all my heart. I trust that he would never let any harm come to me, be it by his own hand, or any other. Don’t you want to marry, Darklin?’ Bess asked softly.
‘No one would marry a witch.’ she responded lightly.
‘You aren’t a witch, anymore.’ Bess stared at her, as if asking for a better reason.
‘I do not…I’m not….’ Darklin didn’t know how to finish, and her voice trailed away.
‘You know, you and John are very alike. You both have a quietness about you. A thoughtfulness. John has always been one to keep things close to his chest, but I am quite convinced he feels things more deeply than most. But he would never say… something if he thought it might burden someone, or make them uncomfortable.’
Bess had guessed her secret, then. That she loved John. Bess was trying to prepare her gently, for the fact that things would change, that John would marry. She would not be his bride, Darklin told herself bitterly. She put her hand over her heart, agitatedly trying to rub away a piercing ache, as if the thought itself had wounded her.
‘I never want to marry. I never want to be anyone’s wife.’ Darklin declared forcefully.
Bess looked shocked, then worried. ‘I wouldn’t go and shout it to the sky. If the fates hear you, they might not give you a chance to change your mind.’
The following day, for the first time in weeks, Darklin stayed away from Shadows End. She was still sore from Bess' words of kindly warning. She dwelt all afternoon in the forgotten orchard, nibbling on ripe pears, and lying in the circle of five apple trees, where John had been imprisoned.
She tracked the movement of the sun across the sky, hoping that the ache in her heart would fade with the light. She closed her eyes. If she slept, she might not wake until past nightfall, but found it hard to care. Her mind softly drifted between waking and sleeping. Suddenly, she opened her eyes, conscious of someone nearby. It was still light, late afternoon, she thought. She looked about her, and saw John walking towards her, only she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming. She
rubbed her eyes. He was still there, carrying a willow basket in each hand.
‘Darklin? Are you well? We were all wondering where you’d got to.’
His voice seemed genuinely concerned, and it made Darklin feel worse.
‘Why are you here?’ she almost groaned as she sat up, feeling confused and embarrassed.
‘I came to see if the fruit was ripe. We haven’t had a good crop here in years, but I hoped after all the pruning I did in the spring, we might get something.’
‘Is it your orchard? Its so far from Shadows End.’ she felt guilty, like she had been caught scrumping.
‘No, it doesn’t belong to anyone. I don’t think anyone else knows that it is here but you and me.’ He smiled, his half sad smile, seeming to sense that something was not right with her, offering his indulgence and understanding.
Darklin melted, a little. She watched him examine the trees for a while.
‘There are a good number of pears. Though the apples aren’t quite ready.’
‘I could help, if you would like.’ Darklin offered.
John nodded, and handed her one of the baskets. He manoeuvred himself onto the lower boughs of a pear tree, and began climbing, using his strength to move confidently through its branches. Darklin started to pick the pears she could reach, and as the tree was simple to climb, she worked along the lower boughs. It was pleasant work Darklin thought, as she twisted the fruit from the stem. She looked up at John, wondering what he was thinking. He looked calm, as always. Not hiding, not yearning.
Neither of them had noticed the onset of a bank of indigo clouds, barrelling across the August sky. John had filled his basket to the brim, and had safely got his feet back on firm ground, when the first giant raindrops thudded down.
‘Quick, follow me, or we’ll be drenched.’
Darklin was sitting with her legs dangling from a low bough, she was about to shuffle back along the branch, when John quickly reached up, placing his hands either side of her waist, and lifted her to the ground. He took hold of her hand, and Darklin was already breathless before he hurriedly led her away.