by David Clark
The logical side of his mind submitted another argument for consideration. This was all a figment of his imagination caused by the stress he felt over the decision to leave his farm, Ainslee, and everything he knew, behind. To him that made sense, and when he thought about the handprints, he remembered how dirty he was the day Father Henry and Bishop Emanuel had come to visit. He had sat in that exact spot, perhaps he put his hands down there.
At the end of the day, William was more mentally exhausted than physically. Tomorrow was the day. The day he would walk away and start a new adventure. He had one last task to tend to, though. He had to tell John. His friend of all of his life was sure to have questions, and not just a few. William hoped giving him his farm would be more than enough to distract him and stop some of the questions.
While the sun still peeked above the rise of the hills in the distance, William made the walk over to John’s. He knocked on his door and called his name, as he always did. An act that annoyed John’s wife, Mary, more often than not, especially at this time of night when she puts down their two young boys. Luckily for her, this was the last time.
He waited outside for John, who emerged from the door before William called out for him again. John came out, as he always did, hands motioning for him to keep it down, which was, in most cases, too late. The children would be awake by the second or third call. No such interruption tonight, William had only called out once, and then backed away to wait. John walked toward him and asked, “Is everything ok, William? Is there something wrong?”
William stood and fidgeted with a rock that was under his foot. On the way over he rehearsed the talk a few times, and a few ways. The way he decided to start was not any of those. Instead, he took a page from how he had told Ainslee the day before. “I am leaving tomorrow,” he said.
“Leaving?”, John asked. His face and posture shocked straight.
“Yes. You know how long I have wondered what else is out there. I have a chance to find out.” William talked while he looked down and fidgeted with the same rock.
“Okay,” John said. His tone asked a dozen questions. The expression on his face asked a dozen more. “Where are you going, and when?”
“Tomorrow. I don’t know where.” The rock was getting a good working on. The dirt under it had been depressed and anything loose had rolled out of the way by the constant back and forth motion caused by William’s foot.
“Tomorrow?”, John exclaimed. William looked up at him and then toward his door. He half expected to see Mary walk out with that look on her face.
In a calmer voice, William said, “Yep, tomorrow. The farm’s yours. The crops are planted. My sow has another two or three months to go. The chickens have eggs every morning, just make sure you check them, and you already know about the cow.” John’s own cow became sick a few months ago and started to produce foul milk. After he put her down, William and John shared William’s cow. Each took turns milking and caring for her.
William had said what he needed to say, then he added, “You have been a great friend, John,” and then held out his hand. John took it, but William could tell it was more of a reaction than a willful movement. After a quick shake, William turned and walked back in the direction of his farmhouse. John stood there, hand still held out, and watched his friend of forever walk away. Before William reached the stone wall that separated the two tracks of land, John sprinted after him.
“William!”, he called. The huff and puff of heavy breathing emphasized every syllable of his name. This was probably the fastest John had run since they were teenagers. William stopped, but didn’t turn toward John.
When John reached him, he asked, “What is this all about?”
“It is exactly what I said.”
“So, you are going to leave, just as simple as that?”
“Yes, simple as that.” William didn’t mince words. There was no point to. Nothing John could say would change his mind, and he didn’t want to give him the chance. He said, “‘Night, John. Take care,” and started toward his house. He wasn’t good with farewells, especially those where the person was still living.
Inside, he turned in a little earlier than usual. He intended to get up early and head straight to town to meet Father Henry and Bishop Emmanuel before dawn, to tell them his decision. For the second night, sleep failed to arrive when needed. For the second night, he felt a hole in the pit of his soul. All the memories, his childhood, the life he knew, were left out there at the break in the fence where he had walked away from John. He tried to focus on what was ahead of him, but the past always crept in. Memories of summer afternoons in the fields with John. The times they’d snuck a little of his father’s whiskey out to the wall. Moments of mischief they’d got each other into, and the moments of heartache they’d both experienced with the loss of their parents, and then there was Ainslee. Vision after vision of her walking with them. The sun highlighting her auburn hair. She was the last vision he saw, as his mind gave in to the exhaustion and despair he felt. Familiar old creaks and shudders of his home were the last sounds he heard before his world descended into black.
For the second time in consecutive nights, sleep didn’t last long. This time there wasn’t an unbearable heat baking him in his bed, nor was there a blast of cold air chilling his bones. Instead, the room was comfortable. Embers continued to glow orange in the hearth, to produce warm air that circulated around the room. What was there was a presence. A presence behind him. One that watched him, and it was close. After what was there, or not, last night, there was no desire to turn over fast. So, he rolled his head as far as he could, with the hope of getting a glimpse out of the corner of his eye at whatever it was. All he saw was his ceiling, so he let his body shift ever so slightly to bring it into view.
Instead of a creature of flame with a goat head, there was the shape of a beautiful woman with long hair. She stood just a few feet from his bed, with her hands held together in front of her. In the darkness he couldn’t see her face, but could tell she had soft features. A sense of calm tranquility filled the room, along with the scents of lavender and lilac.
12
“William Miller. Do you really think you can just walk out on me like that?” The voice, one William considers the one of an angel in normal situations, had a tad of vinegar and a heavy dose of perturbation in it.
“Ainslee, how did you get in here?”, William asked as he sat up half-asleep, and rubbed his eyes. He scooted over to give her a spot to sit on the bed, but she had no intention of sitting. What William thought were hands crossed in front of her, was her hands on her hips. Her left foot tapped at a furious level, and thanks to the small ambient light the embers created, he saw she was biting her lip. Seeing that was a warning to him. Running off in a huff yesterday was just the first stage of her temper. The biting of the lip was stage four, and preceded the final explosion. The other two stages, pacing, and blowing the hair out of her face over and over again, must have taken place at her home throughout the day.
“I am waiting, Will.” She ignored his question, and didn’t change her stance.
“Yes, now I need some sleep. You need to get home before your father, or someone notices you are gone.” William braced for the impact that he knew was brewing underneath. That was when he saw something new, another blow of her hair out of her face followed by a hair flip to remove the strands that fell from a slight, but constant, bob of her head. This was serious. If there had been more light, he was sure he would see her cheeks flushed red.
“Don’t you dare try to tell me what to do, and enough about my father.” The foot still tapped as she resumed biting her bottom lip. “But I will tell YOU what to do.”
She paused and William got up and slipped on his boots and shirt. There didn’t appear to be any hope she would leave on her own. Even if she did, he wouldn’t feel right if she walked back on her own. The shirt slid over his head and he went to put an arm around her. “Let’s walk you home…” he started to say, but she ducked
his arm and retreated to the other side of the room. Now her arms were crossed in front of her. The bottom lip was still getting worked on.
“No. I am not going anywhere. You are going to take me with you.” The statement that escaped her mouth caught them both by surprise. Ainslee was the most surprised of all, her hand shot up to cover her mouth, as if to stop the words. The biting of the lip and foot tapping stopped, and pacing began.
“Come on, let me walk you home.”
She held up a single finger as she paced back and forth deep, in thought. Her left hand was on her hip, the right one soon joined it. This was different than how he had found her when he woke up. Then she was angry, now her shoulders were loose, and the wheels in her head were hard at work. Arguments and counter arguments that took place in her eyes, were mouthed by her lips. She froze, and said, “Yes, that is it. Take me with you.”
“No, that is not it. Let me walk you home,” insisted William.
“Why not? We have talked for years about wanting to know what else is out there. Why should you be the only one to find out?”
“This is nonsense, Ainslee. I have a big day tomorrow and need to get some sleep. Let’s get you home.”
There was no give in her. She stood her ground firmly. “No. It’s settled. Take me with you. It actually solves two problems.”
She was a woman who, once her mind was made up, there was no changing it, even when she was wrong. That was a trait that William normally found humorous and charming, but not now. He was in no mood to go around and around with her, as they had many times before, and needed to put this to a stop. “You are being silly, let’s go.” William knew as soon as he said it, he hadn’t put an end to it, not even close. He knew the trap of calling one of her notions “silly” and he had walked right into it.
“You don’t want to hear what it will solve?”
“Sure,” he said. Knowing this would take a bit, and there would be no stopping her until she was finished, William walked to the table and had a seat. He reached forward into his stack of sulfur matches and flicked it on his flint stone. There was a quick spark before a small yellow flame appeared on the end. Before it went out, William pushed it into his oil lamp and lit the wick, sending flickers of light through the room. Two turns of the wheel splashed bright light across the entire room. The vision in front of him caused his heart to skip a beat. Ainslee stood there in a blue dress, with hair fixed as if she were headed to Sunday mass. The vision was one that forced his head to question his decision to leave all over again.
“Well, first,” she started her pacing again, as if she were about to give a lecture in a great hall. “We both want to leave St. Margaret’s Hope. It is something we have talked about since we were young. This is a point you cannot disagree with.”
William resisted a roll of his eyes at her use of the full word, “cannot”.
“Opportunities like this don’t come around often. If either of us turn it down, there may not be another chance.”
“Well, first, the offer was not made to…” William attempted to reply to her argument for point one, but she shushed him and held up a hand while she continued to pace. “No response, until I have said both points, please.” He had to resist a second urge to roll his eyes.
“Second, you refuse to talk to my father and ask for my hand. “
“Now, wait a moment.” That point hit William right between the eyes, and stung at that. He stood up, but she stopped his attempt to respond further.
“Uh. Uh. Uh… let me finish.”
Finish, he would let her, but listen to this anymore he would not. The decision was made, and this was just a waste of time for William. It did cross his mind that this may make things easier on her, but it made it worse on him.
Ainslee continued, “As I said, you won’t talk to my father. So, we leave and go live our own life and you won’t have to.” She paused for a moment. William thought he saw her swallow hard and the emergence of a single tear on her cheek. Another hard swallow, followed by two loud sighs, ended the pacing. She turned toward him, a second tear on the other cheek. Her look less determined, and more of a plea, with a slight pout in her lips. What fire had been there earlier was gone, in fact her cheeks looked pale, more than just her normal fair complexion. The color had been drained from them as she turned toward him. A slight shake appeared in her body. The shake progressed to a tremble.
“Ainslee, are you ok?” William got up and moved around the table to her. Taking her by the arm, he helped her to a chair at the table, where he sat her down. When he tried to release her arm, her hands reached up and grabbed his, and wouldn’t let go. They felt warm to him, but the expression on her colorless face looked cold and scared. She pulled his hands closer to her cheek. The skin felt soft and cool against his hard rough hands. Her big eyes looked up and her pink lips uttered a two word phrase toward him, her voice pleading with each syllable.
“Marry me.”
“What?”, asked William.
Gripping his hands tighter, as if to never let go, she pleaded, “You heard me. Let’s start this life together, as husband and wife. You don’t even have to talk to my father. I know you have wanted to forever, you’re just too afraid to ask my father. You don’t have to now. You don’t. It is just us. You told me you are leaving with someone here visiting Father Henry. We could have him marry us before we left. I know he would do it, and he wouldn’t tell anyone. William, this is our chance. I can’t let you leave. We are meant to be together. Marry me. Marry me right now.”
William stood there in stunned silence, mind swimming with what she had said. He looked down at her. She looked up at him. “Okay.”
13
In the middle of the night, mixed among the normal creaks and groans of Father Henry’s modest timber raftered residence, was a single rhythmic rap. The nightly drop in temperatures and coastal breeze gave the single room building a voice all its own, but this new knock was not part of this voice. Every so often, what sounded like a loud tap paused before it started again. This pattern continued for several minutes before a new sound was added to the chorus of creaks, groans, and taps.
“Father Henry?”, whispered a voice through the brown-stained planks of his door.
The tapping resumed before a hint of light showed through the gaps in the door. Two large clunks were heard on the other side before the door cracked open. A single candle, held by the priest’s elderly hand, threw shadows on his face from below. Still half asleep and in his white sleep shirt, his weary eyes peered out at William.
“Son, everything alright?”
“Yes, Father. Well, kind of…” William moved a step to the side to expose Ainslee McLayer behind him.
Father Henry did everything but jump in surprise at the sight of her there at that ungodly hour of night. The door flung inward as he motioned with his right hand to usher them inside in a hurry. When both had entered, Father Henry stuck his head outside and looked around for anyone else, or anyone that might see these two young members of his flock coming inside. Inside there was a simple wooden table, with four chairs, in the center of the room. Along the stacked stone walls sat an assortment of furniture. A single table with a wash basin sat in the corner. A tin pitcher sat on top of the table. In the opposite corner was a writing desk. The surface sloped down, but a single ledge kept a stack of papers from sliding off; an inkwell and pen sat on the flat top. Two simple bunk-style beds were pushed up against the wall, the tossed covers in one showed which bed Father Henry had emerged from. The other’s occupant still slept inside. A few snorts and snores emerged.
Over the next hour, William and Ainslee sat at the table and, in hushed tones, explained their plan to the priest. Father Henry made several modest appeals to change their minds. Each time, Ainslee was able to present a counterargument. William never tried, or never had the opportunity to, before she jumped in when Father Henry took a breath. When he was finally satisfied, they had thought this through, he leaned back in his chair, cr
ossed his arms over his chest, and stared at the flame dancing on the tall candle in the center of the table. Or that was what the two believed he was focused on. On the table in front of the candle was a simple black leather-bound book. Several ribbons, of various colors, protruded out, marking pages of significance. On the cover, a single gold cross. Father Henry hoped for divine guidance from the good book.
He looked up at the two who sat across from him, both looked on with rapt attention and leaned closer to the table. “This changes things, then.” He pushed back from the table, and sat there for a second, lost in thought. He then stood up and said, “Wait here.”
Father Henry went over and roused Bishop Emmanuel, who woke up just as disoriented as his counterpart had before he opened the door. William could see Father Henry motion in their direction, which drew an inquisitive look from the bishop. This spawned a hushed conversation between the two. A shake of the bishop’s head here, another there, and several exaggerated hand motions, told William the discussion was not going well. He tried to hear what was said, but they talked too quietly, and the light was too low to allow him to see their lips. If he had to guess at the objections the bishop would be making, the rushed wedding would be top on the list. The church viewed the union between man and woman to be one of the most sacred. Anyone rushing into it was counseled against it. That was probably the conversation they were having now. How William would deal with this objection, he didn’t know. He hoped the bishop would listen to their reasons.
Father Henry left the side of his compatriot, and walked back toward the table. The flat smile on his face dripped with concern. Behind him, the bishop got out of bed and headed to a wash basin, mumbling the whole way. William prepared himself to hear that the bishop objected. As he grabbed Ainslee’s hand, he hoped she had the same thoughts he had had, and prepared herself too. Instead of coming directly to the table, Father Henry made a stop at a simple dressing table with a single drawer. It rattled back and forth on the wood runners as he pulled it open. After a quick search he pulled out a single piece of lace and then searched again. What he emerged with, William couldn’t see. It was a small object that he held in his closed hand.