Previous Posting: Wentworth was about to ask again, when the old man called: "Aine." Wentworth had not noticed any noise inside the cottage, but now there was the sound of several pairs of feet. The door to the cottage creaked open, and a woman emerged from the shadows. He first noticed she was rather tall, and very large with child. The man pointed to the bench.
She turned to them and smiled.
Wentworth was shocked. The woman was the most beautiful he had ever seen.
She greeted them, and then went to the woodcutting pair.
Despite her condition, the woman moved with grace and a sort of languid ease. Her hair was wonderfully thick auburn, and straining to break free of the combs that held it in check. Lovely green eyes competed for supremacy with rosy cheeks, and a nose lightly dusted with pale freckles. This woman was no poor drudge, the likes of which one would expect to find attached to either of these rustic characters. In Gaelic, she asked the old man who the visitors were and he replied in less-than-flattering terms they were English strangers come to leech off him. The younger man laughed and let the axe swing down from his shoulder. As recompense for his derision, the heavy axe head bashed the splitting block, and bouncing back to clout him in the leg. The old man finally found something amusing.
Wentworth found his bearings and directed his statement to the woman. "My friend and I need some water."
"It looks as if you need more than water." Aine responded in English and then moved towards the door. To someone inside, she gestured and said, "Shoo, you two peepers." He heard children giggling and light steps fading away. "Bring her in the house." Aine disappeared inside.
Wentworth was about to rise and see to Anne when the old man called to Aine, and began a fine Gaelic tirade. The old man had a limp and had to struggle to drag one leg as he went to the cottage. The younger man looked at Anne and Wentworth and decided it was better to watch the spectacle unfolding in the cottage. He slammed the door, causing a fine shower of dust from the eaves to fall on Anne.
She did not seem to notice. She leant her head against the house and sighed. "All this over a cup of water. I thought the Irish were a very hospitable people." Anne straightened and looked down at herself. With more energy than she had shown the whole morning, she brushed the sleeves of the coat and smoothed her dress. Now and again, she glanced to the door. The heated voices drifting out were embarrassing. "I can just imagine what these sort of people say to one another."
Anne said this with perfect seriousness, without a hint of sarcasm or disdain. Laughter was Wentworth's first instinct. This he subdued immediately. His next thought was that, very likely, her understanding of the sort of people with whom they were dealing was a mere abstraction, based on nothing more real then sensationalised accounts of the plight of the poor, and observations made on market days when she was forced to mingle with "these sorts." Her sheltered life at Kellynch Hall made her ignorant of the true depth of struggle, sorrow, and fear that life meted out to much of the world. He was truly thankful that she was so unburdened with the truth, and free to be so naive, for he, on the other hand, knew many aspects of their life all too well.
He was also glad that while this dear girl may comprehend the argument that raged within was all about the two of them landed on the doorstep, she would have absolutely no knowledge of the sorts of words they were using, and would be horrified if he told her. These observations were just the sort of differences between them that made their earlier break up understandable.
Rather than answer her, he rose and began to look about the cottage. As expected, there were a few more rotting buckets here and there. Around the side of the house, he found someone had been making wattle. There was a low stool, on the sunny side of the house, where they sat to split and weave twigs and branches from nearby bushes. Bladed tools lay discarded in the grass. There was also a bucket of water with a dipper sitting close at hand. The water looked uncontaminated. He ladled some out and smelt of it. He was surprised, and relieved, it was not fetid as he might expect by the look of the place. He brought some to Anne. "They may not be all that hospitable, but I have found some water. If we drink fast, we may be gone by the time they finish rowing." She smiled at this. "I'll hold the cup, you drink."
She touched the rim of the dipper and the handle, near his hand, to guide it. Her eyes closed at the touch of the cold water. She swallowed and said, "It is wonderful. Here, you have some." She offered it with a smile.
He took a little, leaving her the remaining. "It is good. Either we are both so dry we will drink anything, or there is a spring nearby that supplies them." He offered her the rest, which she took, and then he went for more. Just on the other side of the water bucket, he noticed a scrap of leather laying on the ground. He nearly dismissed it as more trash, but as he looked away, he saw clearly the outline of a fair-sized square. It occurred to him that this would be the perfect location for a hide, surrounded as it was by the unassuming landscape. He itched to look inside, for it was not overgrown and might be in use just now. If there was an opportunity, he would make a search, but at the moment it was more important to see to Anne. As he was dipping out more water, he heard the door bang open. He looked around the corner and saw the three step out.
The younger man went back to the woodpile, while the older man paused before the bench. He stabbed the air, pointing at Anne, snapping at Aine, "You see, that cur left her here. Send her off—"
Wentworth dropped the dipper, which clattered to the ground, drawing their attention. He got between the man and Anne. "I've not left her, and all we wish is some water—" He prayed his long-neglected Gaelic was understandable.
"—which you found! And stole!" The old man jabbed him in the chest. Wentworth looked down and saw that water had splashed his waistcoat.
"Tomas! The water comes from the sky, for heaven's sake. Moreover, the woman is obviously ill. Leave her be." Aine spoke English this time. She sidestepped Wentworth, and said to Anne, "Miss, I hope to help you." She then laid her hand on Anne's forehead. He observed there was a thin band of gold on her ring finger. Aine turned to him and asked that he bring her in the house.
When the old man realised what was coming about, he said in heavily accented English, "Stray dogs bite, Aine." Wentworth hesitated to take Anne even deeper into the oppressive and perhaps volatile situation.
Aine turned to the man. "You are truly poor when you cannot show the slightest bit of Christian charity, Tomas. Our bread comes from the hand of others. The lest we can do is give it freely." She motioned them to follow.
Wentworth knelt before Anne. "I think this is our best hope right now, but if you wish it, we will move on."
Anne's eyes pleaded for relief, but she said nothing. Wentworth knew she was too exhausted and confused to add her thoughts. She needed him to settle on a course of action and take care of her. He took her in his arms and picked her up. It was surly a trick of his mind that she felt even lighter than she had earlier. As he passed into the darkness of the interior, he could hear Tomas mutter some colourful Gaelic profanities. He then punctuated them by spitting.
The cottage was one large room, and Aine pointed to a bed in the farthest corner. "Put her here, and we will see to her." He scanned the room for others and saw two small, stick-thin girls standing by a table. Wentworth followed Aine's instructions and gently placed Anne on the bed. He knelt and began to unbutton the coat.
Aine was by his side. "I see no ring, sir." He glanced up. Her expression had lost its lightness. "If you are not her husband, you have no business doing this."
He took his hands away. "No, we are not married. But we are good friends and I have been helping her—"
"There is no need of that now. The girls and I shall care for Miss—"
"Elliot. Her name is Anne Elliot."
Aine rose, taking his arm as he helped her. "Miss Elliot is in capable hands, Mr—"
"Wentworth. Captain Frederick Wentworth."
"A man of the sea?"
"Yes, I am a sailor."
"So are most of my family. We shall all get on splendidly. Now, you go out and use what I think is your considerable charm on Tomas. As you heard, he is not fond of strangers." She smiled and called the girls to her.
This woman was truly amazing. Her beauty aside, her manners demonstrated she was not born to this sort of life. She, in fact, by her speech, might be closer to knowing of Anne's way of life than he. The strangeness of the circumstance and contrary nature of those involved was growing more pronounced with each passing episode.
Wentworth did as Aine instructed him. And while he came to an understanding with Tomas, he did not truly win him over. But, the peace held through the day, and as he now sat overseeing the fire, he hoped that his efforts paid off with Anne’s full recovery.
*
She was finally warm. Delightfully so in fact. The sheets of the bed she occupied were soft and smelled freshly laundered. She was not certain why such mundane things as warmth and clean sheets would make her feel so cheerful, but they did. There was also the sound of a fire and the scent of cheese toasting. Her stomach protested its emptiness. Even with all of this, she had no strong urge to move or investigate her surroundings. To remain quiet and comfortable was enough.
The sound of metal clattering onto stone and a hushed male voice swearing a mild oath rouse her curiosity enough that she opened her eyes. A bright blaze drew her attention and she turned her head to see Frederick Wentworth, shirt collar standing wide open, staring at her. He stood frozen, a knife in one hand and a slab of cheese—melting cheese—in the other. Neither of them spoke until a crown-sized gob of the cheese oozed off the slab and landed on the top of his bare foot. Again he swore.
He was attending to his foot when she asked, “What are you doing here?” His presence was most welcome, but quite unexpected after a two-year absence. As she waited for a reply, she looked about and realised she did not even know where “here” was, and that his answer was more significant than she originally thought.
The fire cast an orange light, which caused his puzzled look to take on a sinister sort of glow. He put down the knife and the cheese, and moved carefully toward her. The two of them might as well have been the only man and woman in the world, for outside the fire’s light was nothing but pitch-blackness.
He was by her side, but she felt his unease as he looked away to the other side of the room. When he turned back, he smiled. "How are you feeling?"
Anne still had no idea where they were, but his manner made her feel safe. "Well enough. I am tired though, very tired. What is this place? And what are you doing here?" His lack of an answer did not disturb her as it might have years ago.
"We are staying in the cottage of Tomas and Aine." His expression was troubled. "Do you not remember the
Baron's Bride?"
She thought for a moment. The words sounded familiar, but held no special meaning, nothing which begged her to concentrate and remember fully. "Vaguely. Who is she?"
Wentworth was about to speak, but chose to go back to the fire and melt again the cheese, spreading it on some bread he'd left near the fire. When he returned, he helped her sit up and gave her the bread. "You must be hungry." He cut small chunks of cheese and ate them as he watched her.
The toasted cheese was delicious. "This is the best thing I've had to eat in ages." She almost didn't care where they were, or who Tomas and Aine might be. They were comfortable and snug in this tiny cottage—with each bite of the cheese bread, she remembered about the ship and sailing to Ireland with her father and sister. There had been a chase and a battle. She remembered his coming to her.
It was disappointing to remember the outside the cottage. With the memories, came the knowledge of his fall from grace.
"You remember it all, do you not?"
"You always were perceptive."
"I have to be."
She looked at him and noticed something smudged on his cheek. The desire to reach out and touch him was strong, but one she resisted. "Why is there a smear of white on you cheek?" She then noticed there was white on his hands, his pants and speckling his shirt.
Wentworth smiled and glanced down. "It seems our host has built another room onto this cottage and needed help to finish the interior walls. I am painting and plastering in exchange for our generous accommodations."
"And what do you know of painting and plastering?"
"All sailors know how to paint. When there is nothing else to do, a good coat of paint will keep a crew marvellously employed for an afternoon." She had finished the toast, and he offered her piece of raw cheese. "As for the plastering, Tomas is pleasantly surprised that I am not a complete booby at it. So, perhaps my fortune should be sought at the end of a trowel."
Anne smiled and thought that while such a shift in careers would do nothing to elevate Frederick in the eyes of her father, but it would certainly be more desirable than smuggling. "Well, thank you for working to keep us sheltered. I now remember that last night was very uncomfortable." She wanted to add only because of the cold and not in any way the company, but she thought it best not to delve too deeply into the matter.
It was then she realised Frederick was looking at her in an odd way. It made her uncomfortable and she was about to ask what was the matter when he spoke. "Keeping you safe was my only desire then, as it is now." He looked away and then moved back to the fire. "How are your feet? Are they still sore from the cuts?"
She was happy to find that she'd completely forgotten about her painful feet. When she reached down she found they were no longer wrapped, and when she touched each one, she could feel the sores, but they caused her no pain. "They are practically healed. I do remember Aine putting and unguent on them. It burned like fire for quite some time. She gave me a draught of what I thought was wine, but now I realise it was something else, as it had a pungent aftertaste of mint."
"That drink must be why you slept through the day. In fact, so that you did not miss the Christmas Eve feast, Aine has postponed it until tomorrow. Her nieces were extraordinarily disappointed when Cavan took them home." He was spreading more cheese on a slice of bread.
"Are those girls his granddaughters?"
Frederick glanced her way. "No, they are Cavan's girls. He is Aine brother."
"But he is so old."
Wentworth paused for a moment. "Ah, no, the old man is Tomas and he is married to Aine."
Anne was certainly used to the notion of much older man marrying younger woman, but this pairing seemed quite wrong somehow. While she seemed to remember the younger man was not particularly bright, she did remember that the man Tomas was mean and vulgar, and that Aine was very beautiful.
Aine was very kind to her when she helped her get into bed, and then to tend to her. Anne thought that such beauty deserved something better than a vile old man. Quite unbidden, she remembered that Aine was with child. The thought of Tomas as a father was revolting.
Frederick fetched a cup of water. "I know it is off-putting, the thought of him, but he is grudgingly allowing us to stay under his roof. Such as it is."
She took the cup and drank again of the wonderful water. "Yes, he is. That is something." When she gave him the cup, her fingers brushed his. And he did not pull away. "Where are you sleeping?"
He gestured towards the hearth. "There. I said I would feed the fire through the night. Tomas informed me that would use too much wood. The old codger and I argued for some time, but I was eventually allowed to go out and cut a decent supply for the night." She looked and saw his handiwork, a great pile of wood just to the left of the hearth.
She also saw no bed for him. "But you have noting to sleep on. Or any covering."
He lifted the arm of his great coat, spread on the bed. "You need it more. Besides, Tomas reasoned that were I too much at ease, I would neglect my task. He pointed out the cold will awaken me and I will not fail to do my duty." He laughed a little.
"Tomas is a very hard man."
"You do not know the half of it, Anne."
Comments (7)
I get so greedy for MORE! I just love your stories and the way they always suck me in, and keep me from doing my chores!!! Thank you.
@doris3399 - Thanks Doris. I have to start moving a bit faster on this. Gots to get back to writing the novel.
I am curious, Susan. Do you know where this story's going or does it develop as you flesh out the characters? This idea of writing and posting is still a little new to me. I guess I previously assumed the story was written and you posted a little (a niggling little, sometimes) to appease your very grateful readers. But that's not the case, is it? Anyway, very engaging story. Surely Tomas is not the husband of such a beautiful woman (more beautiful than Anne -- really, Susan!)
I too am greedy for more! But, we know you have a LIFE...so we will wait anxiously while you live it and think up some more of this wonderful story! I'm very curious about this "family" that Anne & Frederick have met.
@scmema - Most of the time, the story is a vague outline in my mind. When I posted Dream last year, much of it was written, but some major parts came along in the writing. Pleasant Days hatched from a bit of dialogue I heard in my head. The challenge was to create a story that put the characters in the proper circumstance to have the conversation. That initial scene is coming up in the next posting or two. I will tell you that while the dialogue had a particular tone when I first conceived it, it now is quite different. AND, I will also tell you that two characters have popped up out of nowhere, and one that was in the original outline, has taken on a life of their own.
Writing is as much about being open to the characters and their whims as it is about structuring a good story that moves.
I've got to finish this one before it goes completely rogue and becomes a novel.
Thanks for asking.
@MargaretinVa - This family is quite interesting. I think you'll learn a lot!
I actually hope this turns into a novel!! It is so exciting to see Anne and Wentworth by themselves, no Elliots or Musgroves to interurpt them.