Dark Diary

by Anastasia,P.

  It was the year 1606. I was only about six years of age in a large, unfriendly land known as Ireland. At least, it began as such.

  Four centuries later, I can vividly recall the day I was separated from my mother. My father had recently passed away and she had been forced to give me up to a life of indentured servitude right before she fell victim to the same fate. I was luckier than most; the family who took me owned a large plantation near the shore. The owner was of English descent, his wife was Irish, and together they had a tiny little girl whom I mirrored in age.

  On the first day of the traumatic beginning of my new life, my mother knelt down to the ground, cupped my face in her warm, weathered hands, and smiled hard to keep herself from sobbing. Her fingers drove through my hair and then she pulled me to her chest in a tight embrace.

  “You are meant for great things, my son,” she whispered, the warmth and love of her words distracting me from the reality of what was happening. “I hope God will forgive you for my sin.”

  With those words drifting hazily through my young mind, I was taken away by the strong hand of the man who was Kathryn’s father.

  The first night was hell for me in that place. Not one man or woman in the household glanced at me a second time. Curled up on the hard floor of the pantry alcove inside the massive servants’ hall, I did not sleep at all. My mother would return for me. I was sure of it. But the vacant darkness suggested otherwise.

  Morning came, and amongst the bustle of servants doing their chores, I saw a glimmer of blue color beaming my way—a tiny red-haired girl in a frilly, white dress was watching me from the hall.

  I ignored her stares and sat in a corner up against a cupboard door where I rested my face in my lap… and cried.

  Not long after, she approached me. She did it carefully—tip-toeing closer so as not to startle me. I lifted my damp face from my knees and looked toward her shyly, embarrassed to let a girl see me disheveled.

  At first, little happened between us, but I felt a comforting warmth in her tender smile. And then she knelt down onto the dirty floor at my feet, cupped my cold, shaking hand between hers, looked me straight in the eye and said, simply, “Let us be friends.”

  IT WAS RUMORED THAT KATHRYN Shallon carried the blood of an ancient king in her veins. Though she may have had royalty in her genes, her father cared very little for his mixed-breed Irish mutt and often disregarded his daughter. Despite the intentions of her mother to segregate us in light of his negligence, Kathryn and I became very close friends, growing up in the same, majestic household.

  I spoke little at first, though I knew very well how to. It was not long before our lives united and both English and Gaelic words were common between us. She spoke with an elegance acquired from her noble lineage and I was quick to learn the differences in the languages spoken by the separate classes to which we belonged. I used each dialect only where it would be considered acceptable by those around me.

  It was overlooked by Kathryn’s parents in the beginning—our closeness. Like a brother, I was both cohort and confidant in every scheme she plotted. I grew with her and she passed her knowledge of reading and writing on to me so that I would not be ignorant in the eyes of others.

  She may have been born of higher status, but the years of time spent at each other’s sides and the hours of teaching she shared with me made us much more than servant and master. And though I always had work to do, there were brief hours of fading light and early dawn where we found the time to speak to one another.

  It was an age when a man’s life was worth only as much as the change in his pockets, and I had none. Still, I was determined to arm myself with what currency I could. It was uncommon for a servant to be educated in the higher arts of calligraphy and inflection, but I took pride in my decision to secretly master them both. And I will always be grateful to Kathryn for lending me her patience as my teacher.

  Things were fine with my quiet new life. I spoke to few, complained of nothing, and kept to myself during the day as I worked around the manor. Everything was as it should have been.

  Until we changed…

  When our eyes met, Kathryn would return a shy glance. Her breath quickened whenever I approached. Her fingers often brushed against mine, inadvertently, or so she wanted me to believe. I, too, felt a disturbance in the air between us.

  The angelic curves of her face and the subtle blush of her cheeks became apparent to me. Her eyes bluer than the sky. Her lips the color of frosted rose petals.

  Words were harder to find, and the scent of her presence filled me with new thoughts and desires—desires I cursed myself for conceiving at all. And so, I ignored them. With all of my might I pushed my feelings aside in order to preserve the friendship we had. In her world, it was not within my rights to feel the way I did.

  Kathryn called for me one evening, just before the sun had begun to sink below the horizon. I hesitantly obeyed and went up to her room. It wasn’t the childish snickers from the young servant girls that discouraged me from going, but the unsettling and increasingly frequent glances of suspicion I’d recently begun to receive from Kathryn’s mother. Her father, on the other hand, took little notice of our meetings and sometimes ignored my presence altogether.

  When I approached, she sat on the edge of her bed and motioned for me to partially close the door for privacy. As always, I did as I was told, but the creaking of the iron hinge planted a seed of guilt in me this time.

  She held out her hand and curled her fingers inward, drawing me closer. Reluctantly, I neared her bedside and watched as she pulled a white handkerchief from a plate, uncovering a sumptuous array of baked sweets.

  “For you, Matthaya.” Her voice was pleasant as her hand gestured to a space beside her on the bed.

  She had always done this for me—saved bits from dinner. “You deserve more than you are given,” she’d always say. Her kindness comforted me on my darkest days.

  Some of my duties were pleasurable—working with the family horses was a secret escape I treasured—but beyond that I’d often find my hands calloused and aching, my skin burnt red by the sun’s rays. Working with the animals. Repairing the things I knew how to repair and learning to fix those I did not.

  I had been worked very hard with burdens no man should have had to endure, but I had no other choice, and I was not the only one. It was the world I had been given into and the life I had been forced to live. One my mother likely endured, as well, but I would never know.

  “Sit with me,” Kathryn requested, a sweet smile curling at her lips.

  I hesitated, looking down at my tattered clothes. The sweat was still moist on my brow, my hands not their cleanest, and I feared the dirt might tarnish her rare silken coverlet.

  “It’s alright, Matthaya,” she assured with a sweep of her auburn lashes, patting her hand on the bed near her hip and grinning to soften the command. “Sit.”

  I did as she had asked and sat beside her. She put the plate onto my lap and took one of the sweets for herself.

  Kathryn’s manner of eating was anything but dainty, and I chuckled at the way she quickly munched down the small treat.

  “It’s not polite to stare,” she sneered jokingly, wiping a crumb from her lower lip.

  My eyes returned to the biscuit in my own hand and I brought it up to my mouth.

  A small bite of it was all it took for me to relish the elegant texture and sweetness. It may have been a small thing for her to share, but it was a piece of heaven to my taste buds, just as staying within Kathryn’s company was a moment of paradise in my otherwise chaotic day.

  “Your eyes are beautiful,” she said, as if she had just noticed them.

  “What?” I looked up, half of a biscuit still pinched between my fingers.

  “Matthaya, you have magnificent eyes,” she continued, reaching out to graze my cheek with her fingertips. My brows twitched from the contact. “Like the emeralds of a Celtic crown, they shine—strong a
nd brilliant. I’ll never forget them…” Her voice trailed off as she lovingly fixated on me.

  I wanted to retort, but heard a soft patter of footsteps in the hall and realized our conversation was now over.

  “I must go.” I stood and tucked the leftover sweets into a pocket in my tunic.

  “Wait,” she said, tugging at my sleeve as I turned. Her romantic blue eyes glistened with concern. “I want to help you,” she whispered, her gaze intensifying. “Please, Matthaya, return to me on the morn tomorrow. There’s something I wish to do for you.”

  Kathryn’s mother paced the halls just outside her room. I had already long outstayed my welcome in the house. I had to leave.

  I nodded in agreement and flashed a gentle smile along with it.

  “Yes, Milady.”

  She chuckled.

  “To you, I am only Kathryn,” she corrected. “And I am always your friend.”

  Her eyes embraced me with their compassionate gaze and an unfamiliar layer of maturity garnished her voice.

  I left the room and spotted her mother, Lady Maria, a few doors down. To avoid a confrontation, I bowed and swiftly dismissed myself from her presence.

  Kathryn’s mother had her suspicions about our relationship, so I had to be watchful of my actions. I could not escape Kathryn’s heightened feelings for me, or my own constant thoughts about her, but we had to keep them hidden from everyone—including each other.

  I COULD NOT ACT AGAINST Kathryn’s will. Per her request, I met with her the next morning at dawn.

  Her father was out on business for the day, so that was at least one less stress on my mind. I feared him more than any other, as he was less forgiving and more foreboding than Kathryn’s mother. I had heard—and seen—horrible things happen while Lord Shallon was intoxicated, but he was even worse sober. Impatient. Provocative. He would strike someone down over a rumor before confirming its validity, and I cringed at the idea of what would happen should he misinterpret my situation with his daughter.

  I swallowed my fears and entered Kathryn’s room. She motioned for me to shut the door, completely this time, and then pulled open her window curtains. Sunlight burst through, washing across her skin like heaven’s light. Morning glow poured over her, embellishing the gentle folds in her shimmering, green satin dress and setting the long curls of her red hair aflame with copper sheen.

  Kathryn stepped closer, pulled a chair up behind me, and then took a seat directly across from me in another chair. She plopped down and a porcelain bowl of water swished around in her lap. There was a washcloth already fully saturated and resting at the bottom.

  She withdrew the cloth, wrung out most of the water by making a tight fist, and then opened her fingers and brought the rag up to my brow. I wanted to squirm and pull away, but my body refused to budge once the cool moisture wicked my forehead. The fresh water soothed my face and I closed my eyes as her fingers guided it over my skin.

  It was surely a sin for a lady to tend to a servant the way she did, and I wanted to tell her that. But her attention was so heartening, I couldn’t resist letting my shoulders relax and allowing my weight to sink deeper into the chair.

  She swept a stray lock behind my ear. My lashes rose and I looked her in the eye. Her breath stopped and the cloth fell from her hand, splashing into the water bowl.

  “What? What is it, Kathryn?” I asked, startled by her silence.

  Her hands grasped my face and a thumb slid across my cheek.

  “Matthaya.” She paused to look me over. “Behind all that dirt and hair, you are very beautiful.”

  What!?

  “No!” I pulled my face from her grasp and hissed. “If your father were to hear you, he would kill us both.” Her honesty was kind to my ears but painful to my heart—we were not at liberty to think such things and the struggle to ignore them grew more difficult with age.

  “I’m not finished with you!” She pulled on my arm hard as I attempted to stand.

  “You cannot change who I am,” I growled, flopping reluctantly back down onto the chair. “This will not alter the way they feel about our friendship.” I crossed my arms and tucked my hands into the bends of my elbows.

  Metal clinked as she took a small pair of shears into her hand.

  I didn’t like being touched, but…

  “You do know how to use those? Don’t you?” I asked, a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

  She said nothing in reply and wrinkled her lips angrily to one side. I looked away.

  Lock by lock, unkempt pieces of my hair drifted to the floor. A frightening amount of hair was coming off.

  She took a small comb from her dresser and ran it through my hair, brushing more to one side than the other, some back behind my ears and then the rest down against the nape of my neck. I rubbed the base of my neck with my fingertips and looked back toward Kathryn, who was now holding a dainty mirror in her hands. It was odd, indeed, feeling nothing where hair had once been.

  A groan slipped from my lips involuntarily as my reflection was revealed. “It’s too… plain.” I raked both hands through my hair and ruffled it between my fingers to give it more life. “Otherwise, it’s wonderful,” I noted with a grin. “Much better. Thank you.”

  Kathryn sighed in relief.

  She didn’t argue with my adjustments and turned to gather a pile of fabric from atop her dresser. She handed the stack of clothes to me and I stiffened.

  They were her father’s.

  “He disposed of them years ago, Matthaya,” she said. “And I assure you they have long since been forgotten.”

  The jacket was made of fine linen, deep ruby-colored and looked to be my size. I pulled my arms through the sleeves, shrugged it over my shoulders, and marveled at its near-perfect fit. Both the color and texture were exquisite—something the likes of which I had rarely seen and certainly never possessed.

  Though it sorely matched my dingy off-white tunic, the jacket felt good—wonderful against my skin—and I couldn’t help but smile at the way it fit me.

  But as I turned my wrist over to study the details, a fine pair of silver cufflinks snagged my attention.

  “Are you certain your father does not want these?” My thumb massaged the soft fabric again.

  “Yes.” Kathryn nodded. “I am certain of it.”

  My stomach churned anxiously. Her father was a horrible person and I wanted no part of him—even if it meant giving up the one piece of finery I could have called my own. What I would have given to wear something as fine as it in Kathryn’s presence. But it wouldn’t change me or my place in society. Nothing could.

  I slid the jacket from my arms, folded it neatly, and then stood and handed it back to her. “You can dress me however you wish, Kathryn, but it will not alter the reflection I cast.”

  “I am not trying to change you.” Kathryn’s voice broke and she hugged the folded jacket close to her chest. “I swear it, my love.”

  “Your love?” I echoed bitterly. “I am no one to your family. I am nothing to those above me, and despite how you may disregard the fact, that does include you.” I turned to leave. “Regardless of what you believe, Kathryn, I will never have permission to love you.”

  She gasped and I immediately made the regrettable mistake of looking back at her. Her pupils were enlarged and her eyes were pink around the edges—the whiteness in them shining with the threat of tears.

  Everything she had done for me had been out of the love and kindness of her heart. She had been my friend for as long as I could remember and I could not stand to see her cry.

  “I appreciate your good intentions,” I said in a quieter tone, approaching her. “But I cannot help but fear that others will misinterpret them.”

  Her frown radiated with sorrow dark enough to shake the heavens. Her smile had always been uplifting and angelic, but her sadness hollowed out my body like death seizing a victim.

  “Please!” I took a step closer and cupped
her warm, reddened cheek with my palm. “You do not understand how painful it is for me to see you like this. You mustn’t cry when I am with you.”

  “But, Matthaya, I…” Her breaths were short and sporadic as she gathered the strength to look me in the eye again. “The feelings of others may never change,” she said, choking on tears, “but my feelings for you have grown stronger with each passing day.”

  As had mine…

  “I cannot approve your confession, Kathryn.” I bent down onto one knee and grasped one of her hands between my own. “God knows what your father would do to me if he suspected anything other than child’s play. Our friendship means little to him.” My hands tightened over hers and I hardened my gaze. “Do you want to lose me forever?”

  “No!” She shook her head violently. “No!”

  “If you wish to keep me near, you must tell no one else of your feelings.”

  She trembled within my grasp as I spoke. I didn’t want to scare her, but I had little choice. I would have given anything to be by her side—and everything to remain there. As friends or… more.

  Our differences were facts we had to face. Sooner or later, she would be forced to marry some other man and would be lost to me forever. Until that day, I could not bear to be parted from her and, until that day, I would not ignore the tears she shed for me.

  I awoke the next morning, the crowing roosters rousing me from my sleep. The servants’ quarters where I stayed were small and plain, but they suited the very basic needs of living. I was lucky enough to have my own room, though I was hardly there at all. With Kathryn’s frequent invitations to join her elsewhere, one might assume I was an average member of the household.

  There was a bowl of mostly-clean water placed atop the dingy table near my bedside. I dipped my cupped hands into it and splashed the water onto my face. The air was already hot and sticky—a sign the day was going to be long and the sun unforgiving.