Fireflies

by P. S. Bartlett

  “Oh! So you hide yourself from me but show the new stable boy yer under-things?”

  “Oh mother I’m innocent. I heard him yellin' at Rascal and I ran to find out why. I got so angry I lost me head fer a moment is all. I don’t believe he could tell what I was wearin' from down there anyway.”

  Sarah sauntered away from her mother and tossed her clothes back onto the bed.

  “Where's old Dan Flynn anyway?” Sarah asked as she slid on her riding breeches.

  “Alas old Dan has taken ill to his bed overnight. We'll be saying prayers for him. The new hand is his brother's boy. Get dressed and come to breakfast and from now on, mind your clothing before you expose yourself to the rest of the help!”

  Her mother whipped around with a foul sneer and a “Hmph!” and slammed the bedroom door.

  Sarah's family had money and plenty of it. Their lovely estate sat well maintained in the country, about twenty miles from Dublin. She had the best clothes, the finest horses and the grandest home she could ever imagine. She’d been educated as far as a woman was permitted to go and had learned piano and voice from her mother since she was a little girl, as her mother had before her. Sarah was being groomed for only the most elite of gentlemen to fight over. Winning her affections meant a comfortable life and a high place in society.

  She treasured her lovely baubles and enjoyed her fashionable clothes. She'd sigh for days waiting for the next party so she’d be able to wear a new gown and shoes. She was an only child and often quite lonely but her first love, her beautiful horses, had become the only companionship she needed. Her father had acquired some of the most highly pedigreed stallions and show jumpers in all of Ireland. Her stable boasted horses which had come from generations of champions. Her passion for them outweighed any party or fancy dress and this new stable hand had learned that his first day, although not completely without benefit.

  After breakfast, Sarah headed for the stables to check on Rascal and to make sure the big, bossy hay pitcher understood her passion and handled Rascal well. His wide back faced her as she stepped up behind him in the soft dirt.

  “Well? Did ya’ do as I told ya'?” she remarked, holding her crop in her right hand and placing her gloved left hand staunchly on her hip.

  Startled, the large young man spun around and nearly tripped over his own feet trying to avoid bumping into her. What a vision he beheld. There before him stood Sarah in her riding habit. Her flowing cream colored skirt and fitted black jacket, over the tightly buttoned white shirt, stole his breath. Her raven hair had been pulled back into a bun and on her head she wore a large plumed riding hat, with the right side of the brim swept up.

  “Oh! Me heart Ma'am! You scared the life outta' me.”

  He leaned back, placing his meaty hands over his chest. He'd never seen such a thing in all his days and it appeared obvious to Sarah she startled him, which thrilled her.

  “Well? Did ya?” she asked again, without a flinch.

  “Yes, yes I did Ma'am. You know your horse that's for sure,” he replied, running his thick fingers through his wavy auburn hair and relaxing enough to place his own hands loosely on his hips.

  His bright green eyes sparkled like grass through a droplet of dew. Sarah’s breathing became difficult and she took two steps back for air. His cheeks were kissed pink by the sun and his skin shined, damp with perspiration. His once white shirt clung to his chest and shoulders. For almost a minute she stood silent, committing every inch of him her eyes covered, from the unruly curl lying damp on his forehead to the small tear in his left boot, just to right of his laces.

  “Dillon,” he spoke, as he wiped his palms on a rag he'd pulled from his back pocket and reached to shake her hand.

  “Dillon,” she repeated and dropped her crop while extending her own hand to meet him half way.

  He instinctively knelt down next to her to pick it up.

  “Dillon's an odd name fer a young lady Ma'am,” he snickered, handing the crop back to her.

  “Sarah. Sarah Jameson. Thank you. I'm sorry for yellin' at ya' this mornin' like a mad woman from me window.”

  Her face flushed as the embarrassment now washed over her and she lowered her nose.

  “He's your horse. You've every right,” Dillon replied, turning back to his work, cleaning the saddles.

  “Well, I'm not usually so harsh but Rascal is me best horse ya’ see. He's very special to me, Dillon.”

  She liked saying his name. She repeated it in her head over and over again.

  Sarah became uncomfortable. Her clothes squeezed her tight and her palms were damp, causing her gloves to stick. She pulled at her right index finger to free her hand and then poked it inside of her collar, tugging at it and running her finger around the inside for some relief. Her eyes fixed on Dillon's back as he hunched over. The material of his shirt had been worn thin and now almost soaked with sweat, revealed the definition in his shoulders and a sigh escaped her lips.

  “I'm sorry Ma'am. Did you want me to saddle him up for ya'?” Dillon said glancing back at her.

  “Um, Yes! Please! I'd like to take my ride before it gets too warm,” she blurted out.

  Dillon stopped his chores and hurried to bring Rascal out of his stall. As he prepared the shiny black stallion, Sarah barely breathed. A light but shaky sensation filled her stomach.

  “Easy boy. Good boy.”

  Dillon spoke to Rascal as he placed the saddle on his back. He secured the billets and began walking the horse out of the stable into the yard.

  “He's ready Miss Jameson.”

  Sarah willed her legs to move forward.

  “Thank you, Dillon.”

  She took the reins in her left hand and placed her foot in the stirrup. Without a thought, Dillon reached down and before she had a moment to protest, his hand gripped her boot and lifted her effortlessly up onto the saddle aside.

  “You didn't need to do that, Dillon. I've done this hundreds of times meself,” she fussed, settling into the dark leather, positioning herself and straightening the flowing skirt she despised wearing when she rode.

  “Oh, I'm sorry yet again, Ma'am. I guess I need to learn me way around here until me uncle is well.”

  Dillon stood down, looking up at her from below. His eyebrows rose with shock when Sarah tossed her riding skirt and he caught a brief glimpse of her soft leather chamois breeches.

  “Never mind. No harm’s been done. Make sure there's carrots for him here when I return. He likes carrots after a ride,” Sarah said, trying to keep their conversation simple.

  “Yes Ma'am.”

  Dillon smiled and turned, then jogged toward the barn.

  “Oh and Dillon?!” she shouted, pointing her crop like a sword toward her bedroom window as Rascal walked anxiously in a circle. “I don't know what you think you saw this mornin' but that was an accident that won't be happenin' again and it's best if you just forget about it.”

  “Why I don't know what ya' mean Miss Sarah. The sun was in me eyes. I heard you plain enough though.” Dillon replied throwing Sarah a toothy grin, exposing dimples so deep they’d easily hold a cup of water.

  Sarah showed Rascal the crop and off they flew into the big trees beyond the yard. She lost herself in the warm breeze of Rascal's stride, as he cut through the summer air but in her head over and over in Rascal’s hoof beats she heard, ‘Dillon.’

  He was a bit overwhelmed with this spirited young miss and was anxious for her to get going and out of his sight for a while. Although he found her lovely and amusing, he'd seen quite enough of her for one morning. He thought her spoiled and immature to say the least but even after she departed to the field, his thoughts betrayed him again and again.

  In the days and weeks following, Sarah would dress to ride as usual and after breakfast, head straight to the stable but each day became less and less to do with Rascal as it was about Dillon.

  Poor old Dan had passed in his sleep only a week after he fell ill and Sarah felt somewhat guilty of t
he fact she'd hoped old Dan would not be returning to the stables, although she had prayed for him and wished him well.

  Seeing Dillon smile became almost her whole existence, along with watching as he pitched hay and bought water from the well for the troths as he whistled. When she wasn't spying from her window, she lingered in the stable grooming the horses and helping Dillon with his work.

  Her father spent most of his days away in Dublin at his law office or in his library and her mother’s days consisted of giving orders to the house maids and planning meals and dinner parties for polite society. It surprised Dillon the extreme amount of time this young woman spent completely alone before he came to work for them. She appeared to have no friends her own age and the only time she spent away from the stables were the evenings, when she would read to her grandmother after dinner or practice her music.

  The leaves had begun to turn and the air filled with rich damp autumn breezes which meant her sixteenth birthday grew near. She wished for Dillon to be able to join her for her birthday dinner with her ma and da and grandmother but she accepted it as impossible if not only for his position in life, most certainly for his faith.

  After dinner, she crept into the kitchen and placed a huge piece of chocolate cake on a fine china dish and wrapped it in a burgundy linen napkin. She slipped one of the silver forks from the drawer into the sleeve of her pale blue birthday dress and headed out to the stable.

  Dillon worked, sweeping up for the evening and making his final check of everything before turning in for the night in the loft. Sarah flushed with hope that Dillon would mention her beautiful gown and tell her how lovely she looked. She tingled beneath her skin at the thought of Dillon feeling the same way when he laid eyes on her, as she felt while looking at him. She'd never experienced happiness to such a degree in her life as she did in his presence. She dreaded the idea that the undeniable affection and obvious attraction they shared may wither and in her innocence, wished hard for its bloom.

  Sarah stepped carefully on the straw not yet swept to avoid dropping the plate.

  ''Hello, Dillon, I have a surprise for you.”

  “Well what is this? A surprise fer me? You shouldn't have!” he said teasing her as always.

  “Today is me birthday and I wanted you to have a piece of me cake.”

  Sarah carefully removed the napkin covering the dish and handed it to Dillon.

  “Oh, almost forgot, here's yer fork,” she laughed, reaching into her fluffy blue sleeve.

  “What is this? It smells amazing, Sarah. Did you bake it yerself?”

  “Oh no, the cook did but I watched her very carefully and I...” she spoke until she noticed Dillon laughing quietly at her, trying not to lose his first ever bite of this ambrosia.

  “Oh Dillon!” she laughed with him. “It's delicious isn't it?”

  Dillon nodded his head as he continued to shovel the chocolate layers of pure delight between his lips until seconds later, nothing remained on the plate but a smear and a few crumbs where the cake had been.

  “My goodness!” Sarah laughed.

  “Oh Sarah, that was the mightiest bit of food I've eaten in me whole life! With you in yer blue gown, I feel I've been served by an angel!” he said smiling at her briefly and then the smile slid away.

  He'd fulfilled her first wish but their eyes met for far too long until an awkward silence seeped in. His gaze never left hers until the spell dissolved when Rascal's loud neigh took them both again to laughter. Dillon handed her the china dish and silver fork and he returned to his work.

  “Dillon, how old are ya'?”

  “Ahhh now let me see...”

  He ceased sweeping and leaned on the broom with both hands, squinting his green eyes for a moment.

  “I believe this winter I'll be coming up to me nineteenth birthday,” he answered and returned to pushing the broom.

  “Ya' think? You mean ya' don't know?” Sarah asked, concerned with Dillon’s inability to recall his own birth date.

  “Well ya' see I lost me ma and me da when I was oh about this high,” he explained to her, holding his open hand at around waist height.

  “I'm sorry,” She said in a whisper, leaning against the door of the Racal’s stable, watching Dillon work.

  “Don't be sorry. I went to live with me aunt and uncle and they fed me, they put clothes on me back and they taught me about horses and now, I've had me first slice of chocolate cake served to me by the loveliest girl I've ever laid me eyes on,” he smiled, peeking over at her, never breaking his rhythm.

  “So, you're happy...I mean, taking care of the horses?”

  Dillon gave a heavy sigh as he could no longer suffer the bonds of his station in life; those bonds had struggled against his will and were failing. Beneath his social class and employ, he stood after all a man. Away from polite society and snobbery, he still had every right to be one. He had a man's heart and a man's desire. He no longer wished to play at adolescent flirtations and had grown frustrated with Sarah's fresh freckled face, her innocent allure and her sweet melodic laughter in his head, when he struggled to sleep and not think of her next to him.

  He stopped and leaned the broom against the stable wall. He took three steps and positioned himself only inches from her. He rested his right hand next to her shoulder and his left on his hip, leaning slightly over her, which sent an effervescent rush through her veins and her heart stuttered as if she had been kicked by Rascal.

  He stared down at her, those green dew drops, soft and frightening all at once, locked onto her azure pools of light. The warmth of his breath on her face turned her pale cheeks to rose and she pushed flat against the door, her arms glued to her sides.

  “Happy? No, Sarah. Taking care of horses doesn't make me happy,” Dillon said, shaking his head slowly from side to side but never breaking her gaze. He now understood he possessed an equal amount of power over her as she did him but to wield such a weapon could bring the destruction of them both.

  With that one second of negative thought, reality betrayed his desire and his heart, and placed doubt where passion had burned for months.

  “Then what is it?' Sarah asked, knowing what she truly wanted him to do was kiss her, for in her innocence, all she knew or had ever seen when she looked at Dillon, was a man and nothing less.

  Fear, excitement and expectation all at once stole all moisture from her mouth but the kiss she’d dreamed of didn’t come. The second it had taken Dillon to plant that tiny seed of doubt in his mind had rerouted his thoughts from taking what he knew was his to pushing it away for its own good.

  “I'm happy to have a home. I'm happy to have food in me belly and an honest pence in me pocket.”

  Dillon removed his hand from the door, tapping Sarah on the tip of her freckled nose with his index finger playfully and backed away but not before taking in a deep breath of her. He'd never smelled anything as enchanting as Sarah and he needed distance. He turned around and lumbered over to his broom and began sweeping yet again. He deliberately faced away from her as his eyes could no longer bear the sight of her.

  Sarah assumed all of the blood had rushed from her head and she didn't dare move yet, for fear she'd fall flat to her face on the floor.

  “I'd better go,” she said sounding a bit disappointed but frightened, as well as sad.

  She pushed herself off the door and watched Dillon from behind for a few more seconds, still trying to find her equilibrium.

  “Did ya' hear me Dillon? I said I was goin'!”

  Their moment was ending. If he spurned her now, knowing her delicate heart had been waiting for his to be pressed against it, he may as well have struck her down and left her feeling played with and made a fool, without even having touched her. He had no fight left in him as his mind still reeled from the scent of her. In his thoughts, he begged her to leave and not compel him to look on her again but he was only a man and those thoughts twisted and turned inside of him from moment to moment like a tempest.

  “
Well then ya' better go because if I have to look on ya’ again, I'm gonna kiss ya' so hard I might break ya',” Dillon whispered through his clenched jaw, his thoughts desperately escaping his lips yet his eyes remained locked in the opposite direction.

  His head hung down, with the broom holding him up as he slumped onto it. Sarah rushed to him, wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his back. Dillon wouldn't allow himself to release the broom. He thought if he took her in his arms, he would never be able to let go.

  Sarah clung to him tightly, laughing and crying all at once. Dillon turned his face away and wouldn't allow himself to even glance down at her as she released him for only a moment to pull the broom from his hands and toss it to floor. She embraced him again, squeezing him and looking up at him, struggling for a glimpse of his face. His thick arms fell limp at his sides.

  “Look at me, Dillon, please! Kiss me, Dillon,” she pleaded through her tears.

  “Sarah, no! This can't happen. There's no way this can ever happen,” he whispered all the while knowing his words and his heart were at odds. He was completely powerless and had no fight left in him.

  Sarah reached up into his hair as she pressed against him.

  “You don't know how long I've wanted to push my hands into this fire.”

  She spoke in whispers so as not to be discovered, looking up at him again with tears streaming. She slid her shaking hands down the sides of his face, pulling it down, forcing his eyes into hers at last.

  “It's just a kiss Dillon. It's only a kiss,” she whispered up to his mouth.

  “No, it’s not.”

  He helplessly caved under her surrender and covered her small, delicate lips with his, pressing down gently for only a moment, before his arms and his body followed them, until he thought he'd inhale her completely.

  He tasted of grass and chocolate and buttermilk. Her small frame began to pour into his embrace like water and again, she reached up into the waves of his mane and pulled at it firmly to hold on to him.

  Something deep inside of her was changing and a passion grew until it seemed to overwhelm her completely. She began to fall away, as if she were travelling in and out of her own head; the deeper his kiss, the faster she fell. A moment later, the spell was broken by her father's voice and if not for her entangled fingers in his hair, Dillon would have spilled her to the floor.