Tears of Leyden

by Baysinger-Ott, Naomi

  I briefly become eased, reconsidering how his moeder was remarried to another gentleman of good Spanish descent, raising her rank higher, but not entirely her children’s. He had explained to me, that his moeder’s will was tied to his vader’s and that together they had agreed that Nadeje was to inherit their house and wealth. He planned to share it with his sister after their moeder died and to marry her well, but then she died too. He was left sickened and couldn’t seem to think straight about anything but religion.

  His step vader was still alive and took over most of the house while the death of Nadeje’s sister still haunted him. He was described as a kind man, but Nadeje affirmed he was still worried that kindness wasn’t everything.

  I agree.

  When he was offered the position of becoming a soldier, he took it with fear that he would be turned out of his house by his step-vader and with mixed grief and anger. After he had joined he received no letters, and he knew that his choice had been wise when he finally heard news of his step vader’s remarriage to another woman, whom Nadeje decided quickly he never wanted to meet. After all these changes, he established that marriage was not the option he desired, and had pledged himself to find ways to help people who were lost or hurt. The only place he could quickly do this was the army without becoming one with the church (as he didn’t want to become).

  I lightly rub my face to his shirt and he seems soothed. I think over what would have happened if his choices had turned to the church instead of the war, and how if it had we wouldn’t be here now. It is hard to imagine, but less hard than to think of losing him.

  “I love you,” it is soft but loud after the quiet moments.

  It makes me feel pain yet joy. I feel my throat clogging up again. “Nade,” I croak gently.

  He reliably nuzzles me and I let the tears rise, knowing he would rather me to express than suppress it. “Hmm…” he hums to me gently, questioning my response.

  I hesitate to answer him as I fear to fall to pieces again, but I make out the words somehow. “There must be a way.”

  I am momentarily frightened that he had not heard it, but he indicates that he has. “If there was I would be following it.”

  I feel the tears leak. “I can’t let you go without…”

  He pacifies me a moment with a brush of his face to my ear. “You do not need me. You need me and I will not rest in peace. Do not need me.”

  It is soft, but it burns my inner flesh. “I can’t love you if I can’t need you.”

  He lifts away a bit and urges me up with him. His eyes are not scarce of gentility and they still hold the calm I admire so much, but they are sincere. “The more you need the less you can let yourself be free,” he whispers. “You can love me,” he leans closer and his eyes pierce mine. “You can feel a need for me…but anyone cannot need anyone to survive…if you need, it makes you vulnerable and dependent…it makes you attached so that when the time comes, you cannot let go.”

  I for once do not wish to listen to his moralities, and feeling only more needful I look down and away.

  He gently moves his hands up to my hair, and cupping my neck urges me to look up at him. “I only say it because I do not wish to see you vulnerable to life. You are meant to play a part of it and figure it out…to contribute to it…not to be lost in it.”

  It is soft and meaningful, full of the want to open my eyes to better things. I read his expression a moment and then glance to his lips waiting for them to move. They do not and I look up to find him exploring me as well. I swallow and ignore the tears as they prickle my vision and his face goes blurry. He uncertainly puts pressure around my neck towards him and I close my eyes and duck my head close. He cordially pulls me in and tucks me below his head.

  I reach into his stomach with my hands wanting to grab to something and hold on, but all I can wrap my fingers around is his shirt, which is an insubstantial object. I bare my hands into fists and let them slide down to his lap as they become useless. The tears cooling my hot cheeks do not help me to feel strong and that my need for him is not allowed I feel briefly very lost and untied. I let my tears stream again and do not try to stop them now.

  “I can’t let you die,” it is weak and broken and my voice feels sick in my throat.

  He bows around me a little more and I feel less alone. “Death is only a long sleep, one where the same person is let to be free from every bond. It is natural and would take place all the same…I cannot let you make it harder on yourself.”

  Or you. I feel his words make sense to me now. The more I tie him here with needs and my own weakness, the more he will have a harder time leaving if he did…go away. I try hard not to let out any more words of pain, but as I do it just makes me feel adapt to keeling over with sobs.

  “Nadeje,” I whisper it, only wanting him to hear the word.

  He cloaks me against him softer now, with less of a solid tense hold.

  I feel more tears leak. “I love you,” it is weak.

  He gently presses his hand to my back. “I know it,” it is soft and caring, assuring me.

  It does not assure me that I won’t be alone though. More tears fall. “A lo-ot.”

  He is solid and warm and just right for me to let out tears on. “It gives me joy to hear it.”

  I feel my throat opening up from its tightness as my chest tightens instead. “I cannot stop loving you,” it is half a breath, half a trembling sob.

  He presses his hands firmly to me. “Lyra.”

  “I can’t let you go,” it bubbles up my throat and I break down.

  His voice is soft against my neck. “Beloved.”

  I burst against him. “I can’t let t-them take y-you…” I am shaking violently and can’t stop it.

  “Leifde…”

  “I can’t let you leave…p-please….don‘t let them take you away…I can’t do it…I can’t let you die w-without m-me…Nadeje…I can’t let you go…I can’t….I loved you…I l-love you…I won’t l-let you be hurt…I can’t…I can’t…”

  “Shhh…Lyra…”

  “I want you alive,” I sob. My hands crib around his neck and I press closer. “I wanted you…I want you…want to be yours…wanted…n-no-o-o...”

  He turns his face into my hair and nuzzles my ear. “You are mine…always…”

  I hide against him, not wanting his morals and principles and beliefs…just wanting him. “N-no!” I snap.

  He follows me and presses his face to my ear.

  “I want to be with you always,” it is frailer.

  He brings me closer. “Dearest…”

  I burrow in and don’t want to ever come out. Not until I know he will stay with me for the rest of my life. “Nade,” it is pleading.

  He cuddles me to him and lightly earths into my neck. “You must breathe…”

  I ignore him and sob into his chest, rocking against him. “No-o…”

  He pulls me tightly against him. “Shh…calm down…calm down, you are only hurting yourself.”

  I quiver against him feeling weaker than I had realized while I was sobbing, and the tiredness in my body tells me I have used up a lot of energy for worthless weeping. I resent it.

  “N-no!” I sob, starting up again.

  He hushes me.

  I feel the rawness of my throat and breathe a moment, regaining my energy. I feel my head sink into him and my body grows limper.

  He waits a few moments before moving me further. He kisses my ear. “Are you at ease?”

  I tremble and shiver at the same time and he feels it with protective disposition.

  He turns his head to mine and presses me to relax. “Let it go…” he soothes. “Let it all out to me if you have to.”

  I sob once into him and he waits for me to finish.

  “There,” it is right to my ear, and the sound is like a warm vibration of music to my toppled mind. “It is here that I can think without worrying for you.”

  I cringe at the mention of my troubling him and he feels it an
d gathers me closer.

  “I wished for you to cry to me,” he murmurs. “Do not regret it.”

  I swallow hard and choke back the sob waiting in my throat.

  He leans his face to my neck and waits a few silent seconds, giving me time. He inquires after me. “Better?”

  I clench my hand into a fist even though it is weak. “No-o!”

  He is undaunted by it. “I suspected you to answer as such.”

  I push closer and resent him at the same time. “No-o…no, no, no…Nade…”

  He is softer. “Shh...”

  I swallow. “I don’t want you to be n-near me unless I can b-be with you.” It is a sob and I stop it there, unable to go further without hurting us both more.

  He is silent for a few beats. “You are referencing companionship again, Leifde?”

  I am nervous of his words yet happy for his understanding. “I want to be named under your Sir name…not my vader’s.”

  It is silent at least twice the amount of time than the last.

  “Lyra?”

  I feel small and my voice is strange. “Gilch…” it is almost a whisper. “Marital.”

  He is gentle. “You wanted me.”

  I whisper it. “Yes.”

  There is a moment of quiet and then, he undertones someone of great knowledge once more. This time I willingly listen. “It is disallowed…nevertheless vows only hold so much.”

  I swallow despite the difficulty. “It won’t happen, ever,” I say it lightly, but it is hard enough to leave a dark mark staining my heart.

  He turns his face to my ear. “You do not have to be secured by the church…or give up your belonging for one another,” he teaches softly. “You only have to have an agreement.”

  I feel the stain slowly cleanse from my heart’s surface before it could bleed through. “You love me.”

  He echoes me in response. “I love you.”

  It is an agreement…but not the one we want.

  “You know it?” it is uncertain and shaky, the weight of our secret already making me anticipative.

  He is gentle. “I know it.”

  There is a small pause between us and I think of nothing but everything. How it all would change if we took this opportunity. I am drawn back by the solid beating of his heart I hear through his chest.

  “Lyra,” it wakes me to him and for the first time I feel the true equality between us, how he treats me with the same respect as any man would treat another man.

  I tilt my head up and tad him gently with my nose.

  “Together…” he is soft, starting the sentence of the first vow. “In rank and drink, in food and blood. God faces us with this grant of linking our lives to one another’s…”

  Chills run through me as the words are spoken so close to me, so dearly to me, and I am thankful that Nadeje does not let me go. It is short but suffices, and as he dawns on the last words of the prayer and ceremony, I wonder if God is truly listening or if we are just making promises to someone’s absence.

  “We once were sacrificed into this world to make contributions and make up elements, and now God, in my life, our lives, we wish to make the kindle of tying to another human being. In all faith and virtue, there lies a new peace for those who search. We search for your blessing. I would ask that I, Nadeje Zandige Buskirk Gilch, and Lyra Thimlet Orange may be blessed with this peace for the future years, or days, however long we will be granted together.”

  “Buskirk?” It is a light breath and I realize I have interrupted the sermon.

  He does not hear however, and continues. “Trusting in you…we would trust in ourselves the responsibility and bonds to this place where we put our own hands within each other’s, now and ever more.”

  He pauses a moment as though unsure if he should announce it or let it pass. They were the rightful words of a preacher or Pope…He lifts his face a bit and urges me up with a light nuzzle to my hairline. I meet his request and look up to him. His eyes are warm and brilliant, full of something holy yet still remaining beneath the realms of the revered. I love him for that; he knows his place on earth and never tries to be above or below it, unlike other men, who always strive to fight for their destinies but fail to recognize their true purpose in life.

  He searches my expression and for all I know I hope he finds the love and reverence I hold for him there.

  “Do you wish it?”

  I try not to smile. “I wish this,” I realize it is my turn. “Do you wish it?”

  He is soft. “I wish this,” he watches me. “Promise.”

  I feel my cheeks burn at my forgetfulness. “I promise.”

  His eyes are smiling despite the firm setting of his mouth. “Forgive our lack of accompaniment.”

  There is a pause and I hesitantly wait.

  “We do swear and ask our faith.”

  I feel his hands warmth along my waist and wonder if he feels mine too.

  I feel the absence of his speech and realize it is now that we are left to close the prayer. I feel my heart flutter and make myself stay grounded to my spot. His eyes hold mine and I feel shivers run down my skin as I expect it to happen. His gaze slowly lowers to my lips and I weaken unsure of what to do or say.

  In an attempt to distract myself from near fainting, I think of anything but how my eyes drop down to his mouth, and how it looks absolutely like the softest surface I was ever allowed to touch in my life. He lowers his head down.

  Nadeje Zandige Buskirk Gilch…Nadeje Zandige Buskirk Gilch…Nadeje Zandige Buskirk Gilch...

  I hesitantly take hold of his shirt’s fabric and feel the trembling inside harden as he draws closer. His eyes look to mine again, then back down to my mouth and he leans close.

  “May I kiss the bride…?”

  I feel his words enter me like music and the only thing I can seem to do is listen. I make myself respond. “Yes.”

  He inclines his head and our noses brush together. My eyes close and I tilt my face up a bit. I feel the warmth of his lips so close to mine and the feeling causes hundreds of sensations to run through me all at once. I can feel nothing but his heat though, and his arms.

  Then, all stops.

  “Buskirk?” it is a light breath, whispering out in time before his bottom lip dabs mine. I hardly feel it however, too taken away as I realize it…

  “It means bush church…or church in the woods…”

  I open my eyes to find his still closed. “I know.”

  He leans to kiss me but I stop it.

  “It is Dutch.”

  I feel my hands are clamped around his shirt. For once I know why.

  He lifts a bit and his eyes open. I feel my heart fluttering but not only from the kisses.

  “Nadeje?”

  He watches me uncertainly.

  I back away a bit feeling my heart throb. “Why?” It is a whisper.

  He stops too.

  “Is your Sur name your moeder’s or your vader’s?”

  He seems concerned. “Lyra…”

  “Nadeje,” it is earnest.

  He seems confused. “My moeder’s.”

  I stare at him. “You said you hardly knew him…” it is weak, but he seems to grow to understand.

  My heart pounds.

  “His job was to work as an attendant to the trips back and forth from Spain and Holland…but he never was spoken of as if he was previously from…”

  I swallow hard. “Your vader was Dutch.”

  It hits him hard, harder than expected from him. I see it in his face. He looks uncertain a moment then anxious, and then scared…then nothing at all like my calm Nadeje.

  “It could aid the request…” his eyes are twinkling.

  I don’t know what to do. Happiness takes over my whole being just like that. I want to run to my vader, to the world, to the universe and shout out my victory. My new hope. However, I do the exact opposite of running to the door.

  I jump on him, throwing myself and my arms around his neck and against his ch
est. He locks me to him in the embrace and somehow I feel the same thudding rhythm synchronized between our chests. I turn my face into his neck and feeling my face there, he suddenly scoops into my neck and starts kissing me. I giggle a little and his lean towards me makes us totter back so that I end up on my back with him on top of me. I giggle more and more until finally, I am laughing, and hearing it he abruptly twists over and hauls me up over him, hugging me tight and clamping me down to him tighter than I would have believed possible to breathe. Yet I breathe.

  He turns over slower onto his side and gently feels my hair, lightly tracing down the side of my face with his free hand. I watch him, the smile now gone, his too. I can’t help but wonder what we could do now, without going against law, without being discriminated.

  Everything.

  He is mine. I could stroke him, touch him, comfort him, feel him, kiss him, take shelter with him, care for him, love him, and most significantly, I could now express myself to him. He is mine. All of him. As I am his. All of me.

  He carefully captures the shoulder neckline of my dress in his hand. I do not feel nervous or resentful in any way, I just feel at peace, the want for him to continue and the want to share with him everything I have all occupying my mind in this moment. He lightly draws it over the slope of my shoulder, leaving it bare. Feeling the allowance of the dress, he lets it go and does not pull further in order not to hurt me. He slowly comes nearer and as though seeing nothing else in the world, focuses in on me. He warmly rests his face in my neck, the heat of it making his face cool as he presses cordially. I relax further into the bed, wanting only for him to relax too…wanting nothing more than to please him. He kisses the crook of my neck, and then peels his lips away and he comes back to me. Seeing no resentment, he brings me into him. I feel his face venture below my cheek, and his hands work comfortingly at the laces in the back of my dress. I feel them loosen. His fingers unforgettably fold into the fabric and venture between the laces, sinking past the layers to find my back. I burrow closer, letting him feel that I only wish to be warmed by him. He feels my acceptance, but instead lays his hands out over the laces and folds, not seeking me, finding me here as I found him and knowing I will be here always for him to explore and to show his passion to.