The night of the woman’s visit, I sat with Thea in the kitchen while she cleaned an assortment of phials. I was silent, looking into her face every once in a while, willing her to look up at me. It took nearly half an hour for her to do so. She seemed lost in thought, and I hadn’t the courage to shake her from her reverie.
Finally, she set a bottle aside, and lifted her eyes to mine. “What?” she asked. Her voice was filled with a venom that I could tell was not meant for me.
I was nevertheless discouraged by it; and my attempt at soliciting a dialogue suffered for it.
“Well, I was just wondering – I mean, isn’t it . . . ?”
“If you’re going to say it, Kate, say it.”
I shivered. I thought of what she had done; and I remembered what I had done, not two months before. Was it the same thing? No, no, of course it wasn’t. I killed my own father – with my very own hands! Could it get any worse than that? I had thought that I could escape it, if I fled from the place where the deed was done. It seemed, however, that this was not the case; for the memory of it only trailed after me like a discontented spirit, shaking loudly for my own benefit those chains which bound it, most unwillingly, to this world.
Yet why should I be haunted by this unbearable guilt? Why should my life, and my heart – already so debilitated by that unforgettable crime – be further sullied and stained? He would have killed me, had I not done what I did. I knew this well; for it filled me with its truth, with every breath that I drew.
But the deed was still fresh on my heart! It coated me from head to foot, thick and sticking like the blood that had covered me, discolouring my skin – just as now, it discoloured my soul. I was guilty, guilty as sin. No matter my reasons, I was sin itself.
I was neither looking at nor speaking about Thea, when I whispered, “It was murder.”
“Excuse me?” she said sharply.
I looked up. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
Her eyes bore into mine, two chips of ice that drowned my heart with their frigidity. “You think it was murder?” she asked. “Well, wasn’t it just as horrible – what he was doing? You think it was all right, what he was doing to her?”
“No, Thea, that’s not what I –”
“That’s not what you meant? That obviously is what you meant – for there was no other way to save her from her fate! Is that what you think would have been right, Kate? For her to die at his hand, and for him to go on living, no doubt taking another wife to beat and torture? No one would have done anything about it, you know. No one would have done anything! Is that how it should have been? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I heard you, damn it!”
I swallowed thickly. “Why are you being this way?”
She glared at me. “I’m not being any way. I’m being myself. This is me; this is what I do. If you don’t like it, then maybe there isn’t a place for you here, after all. I’m not going to change to suit your conscience, so either adapt yourself to it – or leave!”
I was stunned. Thoughts of my father drifted away; and I could think of not a word to say. I had been afraid nearly every day, you see, that my stay would find itself running short; and I had only just begun to triumph over that insecurity! Thea’s words fused a white-hot current that ran up and down my spine once, twice – and as I rose from the table, walking quickly away, the sting did not fade.
I raced upstairs to collect my things, taking only what I had come with. Thea had bestowed upon me other things during my stay: comfortable clothes, little pieces of jewelry, books. I left all of that, but my own things I stowed away in my old ratty brown bag.
With all of my meagre possessions in hand, I stormed from the house. My shock was mixed now with anger, and with hurt. I did not favour Thea with a glance, as I made my way out the door – but I knew that she was still sitting at the table.
I let Charlie loose from the stable and fit him with his saddle. I stuffed my things into the saddlebag, climbed up on Charlie’s back, clicked to him once and was off.
Night had fallen down to claim the earth; and the air was deathly cold. As I rode, shivering against the gelid wind, I realised even through my pride that I should have taken the thick old cloak Thea had given me. But I would not turn back; I would not grovel at her feet! I would not apologise. My life till then had consisted of nothing but long and endless strings of apologies, meant to placate the unstoppable force which could do me most harm. But now that force was gone; and I would be damned to the grave, if I would bow to another!
I forced Charlie into a gallop down Merrilee Road. He grunted every now and then, but did not slow his step. I patted his flank and urged him on.
My teeth began to chatter after the first hour’s ride. Around then, I lost track of where I was even going, and realised too late that Charlie had strayed off the main road. I had absolutely no idea where I was.
I finally signalled Charlie to stop. I looked around, hoping that, if I recognised anything, Charlie and I could retrace our steps. But after a time, I had to admit to myself that I was lost. I cursed myself, and cursed the blinding tears that had prevented me from keeping a check on Charlie’s direction. I recognised nothing, and saw no place whatever where I might inquire my location. There was no light in that tiny corner of the world, save for the mocking glow of the stars overhead.
The wind blew through my skin, and chilled my bones. I rubbed my arms frantically, desperate for the blood to rush up and make me warm again.
Charlie was beginning to fidget. I murmured to him, stroking his mane in what I hoped was a comforting manner; but he continued to make his displeasure known. He reared back once, and I needed grab onto the saddle horn to keep from tumbling down.
I had ever loathed the darkness; especially as a child, but to no greatly lesser degree as an adult. When I was in my bed, with a candle at my side, my fear always seemed to dissipate. Here, though, surrounded by nothing but cold and shadows, with no one but Charlie to keep me company (and he did not seem to be in a very talkative mood), my fear grew quickly. I wished the wind would cease its howling, for the sound of it only served to make me more nervous; I imagined ghosts crying in the sky, soaring towards me with the intent to possess my body for their own use.
And I was certain that they would never give it back.
I was sure that I heard werewolves howling off in the distance, beckoning me towards the forest. I heard the cry of a banshee, which cut through the night to warn me of impending death. I heard the voice of the devil himself, offering me a warm coat in exchange for my soul.
They were foolish, childish things to think, I know; but I could not help thinking them. The ghosts continued to swoop all round my head; the banshee continued to scream, and the werewolves continued to howl. The wind turned my blood to ice; my teeth clacked together harder than ever. I felt like screaming. I felt like crying. Yet, if I were to cry, I was sure that my tears would freeze as they fell from my eyes, covering my face with a thin sheet of ice.
“Oh, Charlie, what kind of mess have I got us into?”
As I had suspected would be the case, he refrained from answering.
I kept heading straight. To turn would be senseless; I was already lost.
But we had not wandered very far, when I heard my name being called. My first thought, was that my otherworldly pursuers had finally caught up with me; my second and more reasonable thought was that Thea had come looking for me.
“Kate! Where are you?”
I did not intend to answer her, but my resolve was quick to break. Without her I would freeze. Already my bones had turned to ice, and would shatter before long, into great long shards to pierce my skin and bleed me dry.
Thea continued to call out, and I followed the sound of her voice.
“Kate? I know you’re out here somewhere. Please answer me.”
I was fairly close now.
“You’ll never find your way! Please, Kate.”
I saw her there in the moonlight, sitting atop Zebulon. The horse looked almost silver.
She saw me, then. She put a hand to her heart, and exhaled with relief. “God!” she cried. “What were you thinking?”
“Nothing, evidently.”
Her face appeared to soften. “I’m sorry, Katie.”
“How did you find me?”
She shrugged. “Well, I didn’t – not really. I’ve been riding for over an hour. I just kept calling your name.”
But I would not answer her.
“I’m in no position to barter,” she said. Her voice was tremulous, and seemed in danger of breaking. She raised her eyes to mine, quite timidly. “Can you forgive me?” she asked.
Both the tears in her eyes, and the tugging at my own heart, made me nod.
***
The house was cold when we entered it. I started immediately for the stairs, eager to pile myself high with many quilts, but Thea held onto my arm. I looked back at her.
She said only one word.
“Tea?”
“Sure,” I replied, almost reluctantly. “Let me fetch a blanket.”
I went into the parlour to grab one of the throws off the sofa, and then returned to the kitchen. Thea was busying herself with the tea-making, and she seemed hesitant to look at me.
“I’m not angry with you, Thea,” I said softly. “I was never angry; only hurt.”
She stood beside the table, a hand on her hip. “That’s even worse.”
I went to stand next to her, reaching out to touch her arm. “Don’t be upset. Everything’s as it was.”
She nodded, staring down at the table.
“What’s the matter?”
Her breath came sharp for a moment. “Nothing’s the matter,” she said quickly, turning away to check the kettle. A moment later, she cried out.
I rushed over to her. “What happened?”
“Nothing. Just – stupid, I burned my hand. . .”
“Come here,” I said, leading her to the sink. I turned on the tap, and slid her hand under the jet of cold water.
“Is that better?
“Mm-hmm.”
I looked down at her hand. An angry red welt was springing up on her palm, livid against a backdrop of snowy white.
I blew gently on the skin.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, pulling her hand away. “It’s fine, really.”
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s not – just never mind. Would you pour the water, please?”
I took care of the kettle, while she went to rub something on her hand. I threw furtive glances in her direction, examining with some anxiety the unwholesome look which had stolen across her face. Perhaps a little bitter – perhaps a little unhappy?
I said nothing of it; for to do so would be unwise, considering a lack of knowledge for its cause.
So I just sat at the table to drink my tea.
When Thea came to sit across from me, she said not a word. She only sipped her tea in silence.
I did not intend to say anything else before retiring to bed (for I was almost certain that she did not want me to), but she spoke before I reached the staircase.
“Do you think me terrible?”
I stopped, and turned around.
She got up from her chair. “Do you think me evil?”
I shook my head; for certainly I did not. “I think nothing of the kind.”
She dropped back into her seat, appearing somehow deflated. Had she expected me to respond differently?
“It’s not my place to judge you,” I said. “And even if it were – I wouldn’t.”
She lowered her face into her hands, and began to sob.
I was struck bemused. I watched her for some time (quite long enough to be ashamed of myself). My instinct was to move nearer to her, but I was not sure if I should. You must understand; I had only ever borne witness to my own tears. And, quite honestly, a person cannot actually view the tears which steal down one’s own face, unless one so chooses to examine them in the glass; which of course I had never done. I had never seen the way the human visage contorts, under the strain of mortal agony; I had never seen the way one’s eyes become swollen, and one’s face becomes flushed, due to the heavy pressure of the tempest raging in the deeps of one’s heart.
But I saw all this, and more, when Thea dropped her hands, and lifted her wretched face to mine. I was convinced that, even if I were to try to comfort her, it would be to no avail. What could I say, what could I do, to soothe the terrors which had taken hold of her so tightly?
It was my first effort; and I did quite as well as I could. Had it been anyone else in the wide world, I would have fled directly, and held my pillow over my head till the image of their miserable countenance vanished from behind my eyes. But I could not do that, for it was not anyone else. It was Theodora Alaster.
“You should think it, Katie!” she cried, throwing her hands up above her head. “You should think me evil! You should think every bit of it!”
I went to kneel beside her. I took her hand in mine, and pressed it softly.
“You are not evil,” I said. “There is not an evil spot all on you! You did what anyone else would have been afraid to do; what no one else would have had the courage to do. You saved a life, do you know? There is nothing evil in that.”
She threw her arms round my neck, and buried her face in my shoulder. She said nothing, and did not indicate whether or not my words had been effective; but she held on to me so long, and so tight, that I could only think she appreciated them.
“Come,” I said finally, lifting her face so that I might see it more clearly. “No more unhappiness tonight. Shall we go into the parlour, and rest there a while?”
She only nodded, and stood with me to make the short trip into the adjoining room. We sat down upon the sofa, hands clasped tightly for what seemed a long while; until she laid her head down on my shoulder, and closed the eyes of her troubled face. I lay back against the cushions, and let my own heavy eyelids slip shut; and then we fell asleep, with a thick and inescapable weariness thrown down upon us, which took hold like a gripping fist and held firmly till sunrise (a phenomenon which was, upon settling ourselves down on the sofa, only a few shorts hours away).
When my eyes fluttered open, they were surprised at the light which filled the room. Each time I lay down to sleep, I was sure to close the curtains of those double windows, in the room at the top of the stairs. Upon waking in the parlour, I was momentarily bewildered; but realisation, of course, dawned quickly upon me, as I looked at Thea’s sleeping face, which had slipped down into my lap. I saw the peace which had come into it, the priceless gift rendered by sleep; but also saw the shining tracks of her tears, running all down either cheek; and felt again quite helpless.
Thankfully enough, the first visitor upon her waking expression was a smile, albeit a rather befuddled one. She looked up at me with bleary eyes, quite as unsure as I had been, as to where she was; but it all came upon her almost instantaneously, and she sat up quickly, looking almost embarrassed.
No words passed between us. It was evident that a bothersome drowsiness still hung upon both of us; and that the day had so far begun for neither of us. We rose up with the uniform inclination to retire to our respective rooms. I expected Thea to depart with no further explanation; but as if it were quite the most obvious thing in the world to do, she ducked her head towards mine, and bestowed a kiss upon my lips.
My head was left spinning, and my hands were left shaking; for an instant later she was gone. So it was off I went, up the stairs to my own bed, shaking my head and murmuring long strings of questions to myself (which I proceeded to answer for myself, rather ineffectually). My dreams, that morning, were filled with familiar fancies, which had been rekindled by Thea’s unexpected kiss.
I will go on now, I suppose, to offer a summation of about three nights thereafter (for these things are indeed the only significant points of those da
ys, for me). On the first, there was rather a long embrace; an embrace I thought at first was meant to be a replacement for the kiss of that morning, which would surely not be imparted again. So, of course, I was quite as surprised as I was pleased, by the kiss which did in fact follow. And then, there was a parting of the ways, quite identical to that of the dawn-time parlour.
On the second night, there was a similar set of the former (indicating the hug and the kiss), followed by an identical occurrence of the latter (or, the departure to our sleeping quarters); but with a serious look passed in betwixt. On the third night, there was none of the former, and none of the latter (so quite naturally nothing in betwixt). There was a cup of tea, a wordless glance, and then a joining of hands, after which we retired together (with no plan to do so discussed beforehand) to Thea’s own bedroom, which was located just inside the hallway behind the kitchen. Perhaps I need not prescribe every detail; but simply provide the assurance, that afterwards I received just as many kisses as I could ever hope to have. It was there we slept, every night thereafter which we spent in that house.
And I should warn you now, that we would indeed not spend every night of our impending future, in that house. Or perhaps I am getting ahead of myself. There is more to tell, before I tell you that.
Chapter 12
Though the content of the days themselves never actually changed to a very great extent, they all began to seem different. I no longer had to hide what emotions had previously been stifled almost to the point of my own form of illness; for I found, now, that I could express them whenever I felt the need, and have those of a very similar kind returned to me with equal, if not greater, strength. There was nothing ever said between us, either clearly or distinctly, which would have served as an explanation for this – so I tend to assume, that the only thing accountable was a perfect and hopeless synchronising of mind and heart, which can ever be felt, but which will quite forever be somewhat difficult to explain. All I knew was that, when we stood together in the kitchen, I no longer had to step to the side to avoid contact with Thea’s arm; she often came up behind me anyway, arms around my waist while I chopped things that ranged from everyday onion to some stringy, dirty root that made my eyes water just as badly. And I remember, oh how I remember, the very first time that her eyes burned so deeply into mine, transformed into the strange blue embers that made my heart hurt just a little. It was not, of course, only my eyes that were burned by hers, but every bit of me that had ever belonged to me; and it is in this way, you know, that one should never allow oneself to be burned, if not with complete and utter certainty.
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