Updated at 7:49 PM; 10 pages
Mood:  energetic
Chapter One
Minor Complications

"Wake up, you crackpot old fool!" screamed Mrs. Henwoode as she batted her husband's chest. "You've slept away the whole of the afternoon! Honestly, you can't possibly believe that I'm about to allow your sleeping anymore!" Mr. Henwoode rolled over in his chair, only to fall heavily to the floor and frighten Mrs. Henwoode. "Mr. Henwoode, you cannot slumber anymore, now get up! Your son will be arriving from Bermesforde in an hour." Mrs. Henwoode had quite the task of keeping her husband in line, although she did sometimes overreact and could often use a day out of the kitchen.
Mr. Henwoode was a comical man. He preferred chasing birds or ducks rather than feed them. He'd choose visiting the pub over visiting they're old friends of Pennly, and he'd much rather annoy his poor wife, rather than see that all the house tasks are done. He didn't care for small, quiet parties; He enjoyed large celebrations filled with chaos and uncertainty... He had long been known for his delightfully uncommon manner, and had always enlightened the inhabitants of his surroundings. Though his priorities seemed to be out of order, his intentions were always for a more cheerful sort of activity.
"Sweetums! I was only having a lie in," Mr. Henwoode explained. "There was a particularly stubby feather in my pillow, and because of it, I hadn't been able to get any sleep last night!"
"Oh, sure! Blame it on the pillow. James will be walking through that door for the first time in three years, and I don't want you looking like that twelve-year-old Anderson boy."
"I'm fond of the Andersons, Poppy dear! They're quite funny!"
"I'd rather judge a person by their intelligence, Charles, rather than judge them by how long they can balance a broom on their forehead!" Mr. Henwoode gave her a defeated look, and stumbled angrily into the bedroom.
Mrs. Henwoode would have very easily been classified as "an uptight house-crow" (according to Mr. Henwoode), and she also found herself to be the only sensible person in the house at most times; she spent most of her time caring for the usually duties and supervising her husband's activities if they involved anything fragile or breakable - she certainly paid an excellent amount of attention to detail, especially when attending to the cleaning of the rooms and preparing daily meals. She often complained about doing most of the housework on her own, but found no satisfaction at all when tasks were performed in any way that wasn't to her taste. Mrs. Henwoode was also a very loving and heartfelt woman, and although often found herself getting carried away with technicality, was one of the nicest ladies in the entire city of Hertesforde. She seemed to grow even more worry prone, when her son James left to attend school in Bermesforde.
James Henwoode was a very fine catch for the ladies of Hertesforde; He was well-kept, intelligent, gentlemanly, and uncontrollably handsome. He was fancied by almost every girl that had shared any of his school classes with him, yet he never let the attention feed his self-esteem. Like any sensible schoolboy of Hertesforde, he attended school only to obtain an education. James was no longer a young schoolboy, however, for he had left little more than three years earlier to focus on his studies in Bermesforde.
Mrs. Henwoode seemed to be dicing her carrots a bit more violently than she had been before. She grabbed her bread dough and started kneading it for a second time. "Charles! Get out here and clean up all your scribblings! If you're not here by the time I get this loaf cooking, they're going in the oven too!"
Mr. Henwoode came storming out of the bedroom, his arms flailing above his head and his eyes bulging out of their sockets. "No! NO! Not my beautiful poetry! I've spent hours on it!" He ran quickly to the kitchen table and scraped up all his parchment, looking like an extremely fussy child trying to rescue a toy. "Charles, I'd rather you spend your time engaging yourself in something more worthwhile than sitting by the fire and composing stories of fairytales and magical wands!" Mrs. Henwoode proclaimed as she brandished he bread pan at him.
"Poppy!" Mr. Henwoode chuckled in satisfaction that she had reacted in such a way. "I do not spend all of my time writing by the fire! It was only yesterday when I crossed upon old Arnold McDougal and whipped up a nice conversation. Although all we did talk about was the annoying behavior of our obsessing wives..."
"Jonathan Charles Henwoode! How dare you spread lies on such a stupid matter?!"
"How dare you criticize my poetry?!"
"How dare you talk to me in such a way?!"
"How dare you burn the pork roast?!!"
Mrs. Henwoode gave a panicked shriek and bustled over to the oven. She opened the oven door and a torrent of black smoke came billowing into the kitchen and into the living area.
"Curse that old clock and its blasted hands! It's stopped again! Charles, I've asked you to fix that numerous times and you haven't tended to it!"
"Poppy, I most certainly did tend to it; I took it to Fenworthy's on Main Street less than two weeks ago, and the old bloke... what's his name?"
"Martin?"
"Martin! Yes, Martin saw to it, but I now suppose that his skills with a clock are just about as disappointing as are his skills with a comb."
"That messy-haired scoundrel had better fix this clock before the pies burn too!" She pointed to the old mantle clock sitting near the oven. "What does one have to do to get decent service around here?"
"Well, that pastry shop on fifth is quite a cheery place, we really ought to..."
"Don't go rambling on about pastries, Charles," Mrs. Henwoode interrupted. "I've got a burning pig and I need you to help me sort this out, now grab a knife!"
"Are you sure you should be trusting me with sharp objects? You remember last summer at Fawnberry's..."
"Oh, hush up and do it! I need you to cut anything that doesn't look too appetizing... I'll lay out the rest on a platter, but you'll have to hurry!"
"Poppy, I cannot work with you breathing down my neck!" Mr. Henwoode demanded. "The stress is too great to bear!" He added sarcastically, only to be told off once again.
"Don't make me turn that knife on you..."
"All right! All right..." Mr. Henwoode stammered as he tore at the roast. "If the wife's not happy, nobody's happy." He added before he shoved a piece of unburned pork into his mouth. He then began to hum merrily, supposedly a simple tune he had made up to one of his poems. Mrs. Henwoode scuttled around the kitchen and the main living area, fixing anything that her eyes fell on. After about twelve verses of Mr. Henwoode humming and singing his little melody, he handed the sliced roast to Mrs. Henwoode and she began to position each slice on a platter. Mr. Henwoode licked his fingers as he continued to hum, and set the knife on the counter to allow another hand to lick. Mrs. Henwoode eyed him suspiciously, a mild look of disapproval at licking of his fingers.
"Turned out better than it would have before..." she said quietly as she set it in the oven to keep it warm. She wiped her hands on her apron, and snappishly told her husband to wash his hands, also. She knelt down near the fire, and started folding the laundry sitting near the hearth, sorting the clothespins out of the wicker basket as she did so.
"Thank you for your help, Charles." She added apprehensively.
"You're most welcome, my little Poppykins!" he said as if he were tickling a baby. He tottered over to the fireplace and crouched over with his hands on his knees. He puckered his lips, so big that it obscured everything else on his face, in an obvious attempt to annoy his wife again. Mrs. Henwoode effortlessly fastened a clothespin around his protruding lips, and continued her folding.
"Jens, pill fee here shoon." He said.
"Oh, dear." Mrs. Henwoode said under her breath. "If only James could have stayed in Bermesforde for one more year... I would have been able to knock some sense into this fool."


* * *


It was fifteen past five when Mrs. Henwoode looked at the clock, she scurried around the kitchen and the living area doing needless tasks and making sure things were a picture of perfection. Mr. Henwoode was knelt over the coffee table, attempting to make a tower out of a deck of old playing cards that he had kept hidden in the china cabinet for a long while. A light rain had begun to fall and drizzle down the freshly-shined windowpanes, and dark gray rain clouds moved closer, until a heavy rain fell, making it even harder to see if any travelers were walking up the stone path. The table was adorned with a lovely and delicious feast; the un-burned pork roast, boiled potatoes, caesar and ambrosia salads, and for dessert, two apple pies, a frosted lemon cake and a spotted dick pudding. Mrs. Henwoode had a perfect vision in her mind: James bursting through the door on a warm evening, landing in her and Mr. Henwoode's arms, more than overjoyed to be reunited with his parents... but it was going to be nothing of the sort. It was raining outside, Mr. Henwoode was building a castle out of playing cards, and James was late.
"He's late! He's fifteen minutes late! He has the nerve to..."
"Poppy... Poppy... You must learn to relax, it's nothing!" He stood up from beside the table, accidentally knocking down his card tower, and giving it a frustrated look. "Besides, how do you know the time? The clock is broken!"
"Charles, you forget there's a clock on the bedside table. I thought you'd remember that considering you've walked past it everyday for the last thirty years."
"Poppy, I can hardly tell time... you can't possibly think..." He gave a startled jump. "What was that?!"
There was a deafening crash outside. It seemed to be coming from the back. Mrs. Henwoode scuttled through the living area, followed quickly by Mr. Henwoode who had grabbed an umbrella, and skipped carefully over the cards that were now scattered around the table. The two of them flew out the side door, and tripped through the rain-soaked grass. With great difficulty, Mr. Henwoode popped the umbrella and held it over Mrs. Henwoode. They came up the grassy slope and around the house, to find that their largest maple tree had been completely torn apart; the largest branch holding the wooden swing had broken off for apparently no reason at all, except for the fact that it was dreadfully overgrown, and had been so for years.
"For goodness' sake, what can possibly go wrong now?"
Mr. and Mrs. Henwoode made their way quickly across the lawn, and towards the demolished maple. As the ground became level, they could see the Anderson's twelve-year-old boy named Barney running clumsily across the back field, looking back, a wild look in his eyes. His evil laughing and taunting could be heard even through the pouring rain and claps of thunder. Barney was disgustingly overweight, and had light colored hair parted neatly on the left, the right side curling up almost three inches above his head. He was an incredibly annoying and mischievous boy, always known for his extremely stupid acts of disrupting innocent neighbors and unsuspecting passerby.
"Get back here, you stupid old git!" Mr. Henwoode yelled furiously, threatening the very slowly disappearing Barney with the umbrella and forgetting to protect Mrs. Henwoode from the rain. "Hours of complicated carpentry went into that swing!"
"Charles, it's only a sanded board with holes..." Mrs. Henwoode began.
"I'll get you, Barney! That old maple has been growing in our yard for the past thirty-eight years!"
"Oh, no..." Mrs. Henwoode groaned as she clasped her hands around her face, suddenly forgetting that she was sopping wet and still getting wetter. "That's James' tree! And his swing... Oh, no..." Mrs. Henwoode was absolutely heartbroken as she observed the remains of the precious branch, not to mention her disappointment of the late arrival of her son, and the concept of something so incredibly dreadful happening on such a long-awaited Tuesday evening. Mr. Henwoode, umbrella still in hand, stepped over to the knots of branches and twigs. He made a brief attempt to untangle the ropes from the horrible mess, but it didn't take him long to realize that it was no use, at least while they were standing in the freezing rain. Mrs. Henwoode stood alone and shivering, arms folded tightly around her and her dress becoming even heavier. Mr. Henwoode couldn't tell if she was crying, or if it was only the water running down her face. Mr. Henwoode gave a short chuckle.
"Oh, come now, Mrs. Henwoode... It's only a maple..."
"Charles, it is not only a maple," Mrs. Henwoode replied with her lips pursed and arms still folded. "It is one of James' favorite memories of home and... and his childhood!" Her lip started quivering and she hid her face in her hands. Mr. Henwoode remembered giving the swing to James on his third birthday, what a fine July 18th that had been. He had tied it to his tree that very same day, and would spend hours on end attempting to flip over the largest branch. James was twenty-four now, and Mr. Henwoode too, was now depressed with the thought of James seeing the branch torn away from the tree.
"That fat old Barney... I ought to give him a good whipping..." Mr. Henwoode suggested.
"He doesn't need a whipping," Mrs. Henwoode reprimanded. "What he needs is a serious deprivation of extra meals! I knew he was heavy, but I'd never have thought that he was heavy enough to break a tree."
"I would have guessed he was heavy enough to fall through the church roof! He's like a miniaturized elephant, that Barney!" Mr. Henwoode managed to get a small giggle from Mrs. Henwoode. "Come on, Poppy, let us go inside. James ought to be here soon, and the least we can do now is return to the house to greet him..." Mr. Henwoode comforted his poor, weeping wife and escorted her back down the sloping grass. "...And what do you know? Now we've got a funny, no... not funny... an interesting story to tell him." Mrs. Henwoode gave a nod of agreement. "Let's go treat him, and ourselves to the wonderful supper you have prepared." Mrs. Henwoode was cheered up a small amount at the compliment she had received from her husband, and feebly turned away from the tree.
"Why must everything go wrong now?" Mrs. Henwoode sobbed, "First the roast... then the tree... James is late..."
"Just a few... minor complications, is all..." Mr. Henwoode responded, looking back at the tree.
"... There's a deck of cards that are needing to be picked up..." Mrs. Henwoode continued absentmindedly,
"... I had to sleep with a stubby feather in my pillow all night..." Mr. Henwoode added when Mrs. Henwoode had paused in her list of difficulties.
They continued their way down the grassy slope, around the house and in through the side door. They opened the door to find James standing in the living area, his baggage at his feet, and somebody unknown standing at his side.

Chapter Two
The Surprise


"James!"
"Mum!"
"James?"
"Dad!"
"James!"
"Oh, my dear James!"
James was a handsome fellow, with chiseled cheekbones and honey colored eyes. He was wearing almost all black... except for the silver fasteners across his jacket and around his cuffs. As it had always been, many girls in Hertesforde fancied him, for he was very gentlemanly both in appearance, and in manner. One girl in particular, named Fiona Anderson, was quite keen on James, and would most definitely be disappointed at the news that James was about to tell of.
"Mum, it's so wonderful to see you... and dad! Thank heavens you're still alive... You hadn't replied to my letters! I was becoming a bit worried... I heard from the Fawnberry's, and the Fenworthy's... even that old scalawag Arthur Wingham... I was afraid you hadn't approved..."
"Oh, James, of course we approve!" Mr. Henwoode interrupted. "Approve of what, you might say?" He added with an interested look on his dripping face.
James looked only mildly disappointed, "But... didn't you hear? I mean... I must have sent you at least three letters last month... Besides, almost everyone know, surely the told you --"
"Tell us what?" Mr. Henwoode asked in with a surprised grin on his face.
James brought forth a beautiful lady, her hair meticulously curled although slightly dampened from the rain, and wearing a cheerful pink dress with a matching hat perched on the top of her head.
"Mother... Father..." James nodded to the two of them. "I'd like to introduce to you, my fianc?... Miss Margaret Juliet Kennington." He finished slowly, as a great look of breathless relief swam down his face. She smiled happily to James' soaking parents, and insisted on shaking their hands, no matter how wet.
"I'm so pleased to have finally met you, Mr. and Mrs. Henwoode." Margaret said jovially, her warm hand meeting theirs. "Really, I can't tell you... I've heard so much about Hertesforde and your beautiful home... I've especially heard much about James' favorite maple tree behind the house with a swing, oh, how I wish it couldn't have started raining..."
"Yes, I'm sorry we're late..." James explained. "...you see, it was quite odd actually, I've never seen a train station so busy... it must be the end of term... there were so many travelers and so much rain to add to the confusion, that it had been a whole thirty minutes by the time we had found all of our belongings... but luckily, that good old Arnold McDougal drove by with his carriage, and he so kindly gave us a ride back here, for he had been picking up his aunt's... oh, what was it?" He looked to Margaret, "Oh yes, his aunt's sister in law's niece's cousin... But anyhow, it's all thanks to McDougal that we weren't another two hours late!"
Mr. and Mrs. Henwoode were audibly silent, and then Margaret chimed in.
"Oh, yes!" she added. "Arnold was so generous to bring us up here... Does he live near by?"
Mr. and Mrs. Henwoode stood mesmerized by the sudden news of their son's unexpected engagement, both standing on the playing cards that were still strewn about the floor. Their mouths had been wide open, both in shock and gratitude, from the moment they heard the word "fianc?." They were also confused as to why they hadn't heard of it from their neighbors, or why they hadn't received a telegram earlier. Mr. Henwoode managed to force a few dry words out of his open mouth.
"Arnold lives just on Apple Creek near eighth... Fianc??"
Both James and Margaret nodded excitedly, hand in hand in the anticipation of awaiting their reply. Mr. Henwoode's cheery face exploded with a grin too large to have thought possible. "Fianc?e! You hear that Poppy?! They're engaged! Oh, James, you clever bloke, you!" He gave James an excited punch in the arm, "What a wonderful thing to surprise us with! I can't believe it, engaged!" He hugged them both in his immense excitement, "Oh, congratulations! James! Margaret!" He then gave a thrilled and girlish squeal as he danced and twirled around the living room. "Engaged!"
Mrs. Henwoode still stood transfixed by the wonderful news. Her face too then erupted with a squinted-eye smile. "Oh, James, my dear!" She stepped toward him and cupped his face in her hands. "Oh, I am so happy for you!" She then moved toward Margaret, wrapping her arms around her. By then, Mr. Henwoode had returned beside Mrs. Henwoode and was dancing on the spot. "Margaret, I am so glad that you will be joining our family. What an honor it is to have..."
But Mrs. Henwoode was cut short. Margaret had flung her arms around Mrs. Henwoode, with tears of complete happiness and gratitude gently leaking out her twinkling eyes. Mrs. Henwoode was overjoyed with Margaret's apparent willingness to waste no time in growing friendly with James' family, and by the look on James' face, so was he. He too had gotten a bit teary, and when Mr. Henwoode had saw this, tears soon joined the water that had still been running down his face. After a long, tight hug with Mrs. Henwoode, Margaret hugged Mr. Henwoode in deep appreciation. There was a moment of teary silence, and as Margaret stepped back, Mr. Henwoode looked down at her dress.
"Look at you, we've soaked you both! I'm dreadfully sorry..." Mr. Henwoode began,
"Oh, don't worry about us; we have plenty to change into..." James expounded
There was another moment of silence,
"Why don't we all get freshened up, and then we can get started on our supper." Mrs. Henwoode scurried over to the table and put the pork roast back in the oven, as to keep it from getting any colder than it already was. "Come along, Charles." She beckoned him with a wave of her hand, "Don't sit down, you'll leave a watermark!"
Mr. Henwoode jumped up as quickly as if he had sat on an angry crab, and again, gave the new couple an approving smile. He followed Mrs. Henwoode through the kitchen, and by her order, started to lift Margaret's trunk up into the upstairs bedroom. As Margaret followed Mr. Henwoode, James was pulled aside by his mother and she gave him a deep look of concern.
"James! What about Fiona? I'm sure that she was expecting a proposal also! She's kept herself free of any other engagements, James what are you going to do now?"
"Mother, honestly. You don't expect me break my promise with Juliet, now do you?" James dared her to agree,
"Oh, no James..." She waved her hands in disturbance, "I'm only worried how Fiona will react, a few days ago I only did remind her of your past relationship, and that you'd be returning soon..."
"Oh, mother you didn't." James gave his worried mother a look of dissatisfaction, and silently scolded her as would a schoolteacher and a misbehaving student. Mrs. Henwoode gave a hesitant nod, and James had a small spurt of frustration.
"Mum! You couldn't have! I knew it would be difficult breaking the news, but to have her expecting me, honestly mum."
"James, I'm sorry! You've been so slow among your choosing, I only tried to help it along a bit!"
"Mum, Hertesforde doesn't have quite the selection, if I do say so," James tilted his head, "there weren't any I'd consider marrying... Mum, you wouldn't have me marry Fiona and have that Barney carrying the ring down the aisle! I simply can't imagine Barney visiting every week..."
"Alright, I'm sorry James, I'm sorry..." Mrs. Henwoode said, still sounding incredibly worried, "If I see her before you do, I'll tell her about you and Margaret... and hope for the best, but she frightens me, James! She frightens me!" Mrs. Henwoode reminded her son of the old incident with the Branson's, when Fiona had tackled Henry Branson after canceling his partnership with her to the Hertesforde Spring dance, and James gave a stifled laugh of unbelief towards his mother.
"Well then, it's good I'm not marrying her, now is it! We wouldn't want to have her tackling you when you burn the breakfast..."
"When have I ever --" Mrs. Henwoode argued.
"Never mind, mum." James turned her shoulders to him, "Now, I'd best go see what father's bothering Juliet with now." Mrs. Henwoode patted her son on the back as he flew up the stairs, and turned to the left. She walked to the fire and sat beside the hearth, obviously still troubled at the idea of Fiona's reaction. James stepped into the bedroom, finding Margaret's trunk set at the foot of the bed. James crossed the landing and found his father showing Margaret the loose part in the floor of the right room;
"You see, if you're ever to dance around in here, you ought to be careful or you might just as easily fall through --"
"Dad, I can take it from here. Mother will be wanting you to --"
"Well, of course." Mr. Henwoode answered, quickly examining the floorboards. "I'd better be off then, I'll see you at supper!" Mr. Henwoode showed himself out the door, and lumbered down the stairs.
"Sorry about him..." James said, looking out the door of which his father had just walked through, "... He tends to pull others into odd sorts..." James enfolded Margaret's hand in his, "Margaret, you can come get changed in here... this is my old bedroom..." James beckoned her across the hall and to the left door. "I'll wait outside and see that the cases are sorted."
Margaret gave him a grateful kiss.
"I didn't seem too nervous, did I?" She said sounding worried.
"No, of course not, dear..." He replied comfortingly. "They love you." He held her arms in his hands, "They absolutely love you, as do I!" He swept away her golden curls and gave her a reassuring kiss on the forehead. They stood, staring at each other, neither of them wanting to leave the other.
"Thank you, James."
"For the room? No, you can use it any time you --"
"For everything." She said simply, backing slowly into the room after one last hug. She closed the door quietly, and James made his way down the stairs to acquire the rest of their bags.


* * *


After Margaret finished undressing from her rain-soaked clothes and had changed into an outfit much drier, she traded the room with James and went downstairs to observe the Henwoode's home. As she entered the kitchen she found Mr. Henwoode crouched over, mischievously picking at the roast in the oven. A sudden warning came from the far bedroom.
"Charles, no snitching at that roast, you need to wash your hands!"
"The water's not working, Poppy!" He replied as he snitched a piece of pork. He turned to Margaret as to ask her if she wanted any at the moment, and she laughed at his disregard for Mrs. Henwoode's rule and shook her head. Mrs. Henwoode came walking out of the bedroom, fastening a pin in her hair, and James came sliding down the banister and bounded into the kitchen. He gave Margaret a kiss hello, followed by yet another warning from Mrs. Henwoode.
"James, you're going to kill yourself one of these days... You ought to be careful sliding down that railing or you might as easily fall and break your neck!"
"Mum, you and your silly worries... You'll kill yourself too if you stress yourself..."
"Yes, Poppy... You're much too uptight..." Mr. Henwoode agreed. Mrs. Henwoode gave her husband a glaring look, as if daring him to say more. He grinned with a shrug and finished the small piece he had managed to steal before Mrs. Henwoode set the roast on the table.
"Come sit down, now, or supper will get cold again!" She stopped Mr. Henwoode from going on any further, and beckoned Margaret to take a seat near her. "We need to keep up with our gossip, now don't we?" Mrs. Henwoode giggled merrily.
"I don't know if it is possible to share news of all the events I've come to the knowledge of, Mrs. Henwoode." Margaret chortled in reply. "I've heard ill news of the Masons and the Branson's while we were leaving the train station."
"Really?" Mrs. Henwoode speculated, her eyes wide open.
"Come, Poppy, it isn't polite to gossip..." said Mr. Henwoode. "Did you hear about Miss Cropforde and her supposed beau?" He added both with great interest and sarcasm. "She's only just turned twenty-two..." Mr. Henwoode scooted into his chair, "Now, how old are you Margaret?" Mr. Henwoode asked as he unsuccessfully took a snitch at the pudding.
"I'll be twenty-four next April. The twenty-fifth."
"Goody!" Mr. Henwoode answered in satisfaction. Not much younger than James... Too bad we won't be celebrating your birthday until next year, it was only last month!" Mr. Henwoode started discussing all the different types of cake with himself, but thought the better of himself and asked; "Now, have you any brothers or sisters?"
Margaret thought shortly and answered, "Yes, I've got an older sister by three years - her name's Cynthia, and I have a younger brother named David - he's nearly fourteen... Cynthia lives with my parents, and so does David... but he'll be staying with my Grandmother very soon..."
"Splendid! I hope we can meet them soon..." Mr. Henwoode was cut off when Mrs. Henwoode scooted him aside as she set the platter on the table. They all sat themselves around the table, Mrs. Henwoode and Margaret along the right side, Mr. Henwoode and James on the left.
"Charles, would you please say grace?" Mrs. Henwoode demanded. "Be sure to express gratitude for Miss Margaret's presence."
"Most certainly!" Mr. Henwoode agreed, then whispered to James; "She'll be keeping your mother off my back for the rest of her living days, that's for sure!"


"Poppy, please pass the ambrosia..."
"Charles, this is your fourth serving!"
"Poppy, I need at least four helpings of everything, you know that..." Mr. Henwoode repeated as he retrieved the bowl out of Mrs. Henwoode's hands. "Perhaps I need to jog your memory of our luncheon at the Brink last year..."
"Charles, you must hush up now." Mrs. Henwoode commanded and turned to James. "I must hear all about how you all came to the proposal!"
"Gladly!" James said, setting down his fork and getting ready to tell their story. "Well, we were both in Bermesforde, both involved in our studies as were many in that area..."
"What were you studying Jules?" Mr. Henwoode shortly interrupted. "Is it alright if I call you Jules?" he added.
"Of course, Mr. Henwoode. I've completed my courses in English Literature, European History and my final course of the French Language... the same as James was in."
"Same class?" Mr. Henwoode made sure to confirm.
"Yes, same class." James continued politely. "Jules and I had been introduced at a party at Bermesforde's main park; about two months after the term had started."
"He asked me to dinner the following week, and how could a girl refuse? Almost every girl in Bermesforde had been throwing herself at him..." Margaret told with a laugh. "I'm lucky he managed to make a pass at me, let alone ask for my hand in marriage."
James hooted cheerfully at hearing her view of the story. "You won my heart right off! I'm the one who's been lucky; every fellow who housed in my dormitory tried to make an impression and catch your eye... they all were furious at the fact that I had achieved to secure a date with the beautiful Margaret Juliet Kennington."
"Oh, and you reckon every girl in my surrounding accommodations weren't incredibly jealous?" Margaret complimented James. "They were all absolutely green with envy that I had gained the attention of the striking Mr. James Henwoode, and I wasn't ashamed to show that I knew of their jealousy... I've never had so many girls show that much hatred towards me in one week in my entire life!"
"I had many close encounters in the hall with several lads; many of them could have gotten violent if the professors hadn't been wandering the halls as often as they were..."
"One of my roommates, Gwen Hannah, I couldn't talk to her for ages! I just wonder what would have happened if I had walked to the campus alone, the morning..."
"When the following Saturday that next week had arrived, we had a candlelit dinner on the veranda, only after we had taken a stroll just off the shore of Crimson Lake..."
"And when he walked me home, her insisted that we stop by the bell tower, and while standing beneath the tower, he bade me goodnight with our first kiss..."
Mrs. Henwoode "Awww"ed and Mr. Henwoode mocked a disgusted choking when they came to this part of the story, then James continued;
"The following day we had lunch in the park, and meeting between classes became a regular part of our schedules."
"Always the point in which you know that things are going to stay..." Mr. Henwoode stated. "I remember, Poppy and I..."
"Shhh!" Mrs. Henwoode hissed at her husband and slapped the back of his head.
"Anyhow," James started again. "Things did stay, for she was kind enough to come to all the annual dances and parties with me... and only four weeks ago, I proposed to her under the bell tower."
"And of course, I accepted immediately... I don't think I slept a wink that night, I was so excited!"
After Margaret had concluded their engagement story, Mrs. Henwoode seemed to come out of her dazed look, and suddenly gave a small jump.
"Oh, goodness! I never thought to look at the ring... It's beautiful! James, where did you have it made?"
"I went to Levund's, near Birch... It's a fine little place they've got, there..."
Mr. Henwoode tuned to Margaret,
"Where do you live, Juliet?"
"My parents live on the north side of Pennly - I often stay with my Grandmother though, she lives near the west side..." Margaret explained. "It's quite peaceful `round there, but not as friendly as it is here, or so I've found."
"Yes, it's wonderful here." Mr. Henwoode agreed, folding his arms above his bulging stomach. "Do you know what else is wonderful?" Mr. Henwoode made a brief pause hoping they'd be able to guess, but continued anyway. "Poppy's spotted dick! Poppy, shall we clear away the plates?"
"Yes, Charles..." said Mrs. Henwoode with a small laugh. After clearing what was left of their wonderful dinner, she started to pump water into the kitchen sink, although no water came out of the spout.
"Charles, I'll need you to go outside and fix the pump." she ordered,
"But Poppy dear, it's still raining... mud... cold... and the pudding! What about the pudding?!"
"Charles, you must --"
"Alright, alright... where's my coat?"
"By the fire, Charles."
Charles slid on his damp jacket, popped the umbrella with a great amount of difficulty and said; "Don't start that pudding without me!" He merrily stepped out the door, crept along the side of the house, and under the kitchen window.
He trudged through the empty flower beds, his rain boots sinking into the dangerous soil.
"Look my dear, a little frog!" Mr. Henwoode squealed in delight and became distracted from the reason he was climbing through the gushing mud as a horrible rain fell. He then began sneaking upon it, as if he were a fox hounding a rabbit. Mrs. Henwoode threw the kitchen window open despite the pouring rain, and repetitively swatted Mr. Henwoode with her dish towel. "Don't trample my pansies, Charles! Don't you dare trample them!!"
"Stop it, Poppy! Stop it!" he guarded his face with his elbow, "Fantastic Poppy, just fantastic! I've lost site of the frog..." Mrs. Henwoode locked the windows tight again, after giving her husband one last whack. Mr. Henwoode quickly mended the pump, and trotted through the mud and into the house.
"Charles, you ought to take those boots outside..." Mrs. Henwoode had started drying the dishes. Mr. Henwoode obeyed bitterly and returned his coat and umbrella to their spots by the fire again. Mrs. Henwoode was dishing out brimming bowls of spotted dick pudding, and began slicing the apple pies and the frosted lemon cake. Mr. Henwoode skipped childishly over to Mrs. Henwoode's side and waited for his serving to be handed to him.
"Thank you, my little Poppy seed!" Mr. Henwoode sang as he danced with his bowl of pudding. "That sounds good! Poppy, could you make some muffins for tomorrow's breakfast? Chocolate, and lemon, and raisin, and blueberry, ooh! And those glazed cinnamon rolls with..."
"Alright, Charles! I'll make muffins. Now, go entertain James and Margaret while I was up - but please... do not mention the maple."


Chapter Three
The Party and the Plum

James had slept in the living area, on a comfy bed Mrs. Henwoode had made with the help of the davenport and some old blankets from the storage room. Margaret had come down the stairs early that morning, to rouse James and bid him good morning. Mrs. Henwoode hustled into the kitchen, checking on the muffins she was baking in request to Mr. Henwoode. Margaret jumped up, slightly embarrassed to be seen only in her night gown. She pecked James before a brief departure and scurried upstairs, as not to be seen by her future mother-in-law. Mr. Henwoode then came shivering through the door, unraveled a scarf from around his neck and set it on the rack.
"It's a chilly morning," he chirped merrily as he pulled off his gloves. "Poppy, you best be waiting to do your gardening around noon - are you baking muffins?" He examined feverishly, rubbing his hands together and his eyes growing wider as he made his way across the living area. James sat up lazily from the arm of the davenport and pranced up the stairs, his suspenders dangling from his trousers and his shirt sloppily untucked. He changed in the room opposite Margaret's, and the two of them returned to the kitchen and sat themselves at the table. Mrs. Henwoode loaded the remaining space of the table with plates and dishes full of hash browns, buttered toast, fried eggs, bacon and sausage, and Mr. Henwoode's favorite; blueberry and poppy seed muffins.
"Poppy! My little morning blossom." Mr. Henwoode gasped as she set the pans in front of him.
"You're welcome, Charles." Mrs. Henwoode replied before Mr. Henwoode couldn't thank her anymore. "Just be sure to leave some for Juliet and James." Mrs. Henwoode sat herself down and they started to serve themselves. "Charles, why are you pants sopping?" Mrs. Henwoode noticed that the knees of Mr. Henwoode's pants were wet and freezing.
"Oh! I've been driving in the croquet stakes! I figured we might as well find ourselves something to do, and it sounded like fun to get out the old mallets..."
"And that's why you've been out there since five o'clock this morning?" Mrs. Henwoode sounded shocked at the news of her husband waking up at such an unearthly our. "Honestly, Charles, it took you a whole four hours to pound in a few stakes?"
Margaret sat laughing silently at their quarreling, as James shook his head smiling down at his plate of eggs and hash browns.
"Only took the better part, Poppy... I spent the first hour up in storage just looking for those pesky stakes, I nearly fell through the floor, that room's boards are so poorly nailed..."
"We'd better tend to that." James agreed, having nearly lost the floorboards himself while changing his clothes barely five minutes ago.
"We'll see to that, James, make a date of it." Mr. Henwoode continued. "Anyhow, it took me a while to navigate my way across the lawn, you can't just post them in random places..."
"Father," James argued, "you promised you'd wake me at seven, you'd left me to sleep until nine! Poor Jules, not having anyone..."
"Actually, I was quite fine," Margaret stated, "it was quite interesting looking through James' old books..."
"Oh! You found his old things! Did you see his drawing of himself on the maple tree?" Mr. Henwoode asked excitedly, forgetting the recent event with James' favorite tree.
"No, I don't believe I did..." Margaret responded. Mrs. Henwoode slapped her husband's leg fiercely and he choked; "It's nothing, nothing..." There was an even knock at the door.
"Post for the present, and future Henwoodes! Telegram!" sang a cheery voice.
"Oh, do come in, Willoughby!" Mr. Henwoode answered as he set down his napkin. The postman, Willoughby, hopped in merrily and left the door open behind him, letting in a cool, sunny breeze. He was a jolly old chap, not a day over thirty-five. He handed Mr. Henwoode a small stack of letters; "Fine day, I might say," he decided as he gazed out the sun drenched window and sorted his next delivery. "I'm glad the rain has stopped, I wouldn't have been able to finish my route! That poor Timothy Green wasn't able to finish his the other day, he was chased all the way to Crimson by the McDougal's dog!" Mr. Henwoode gave a laugh of enjoyment, and look of concern spread quickly to Mrs. Henwoodes face. The postman waved goodbye, after granting his best wishes to Margaret and James (having heard the quickly spread news), and shouted back as he walked down the stone path; "See you at the picnic!"
The four of them gave each other a suspecting look. Mrs. Henwoode snatched the pile of letters out of Mr. Henwoode's hands, and quickly shuffled through the small stack. Mr. Henwoode sat shaking his thumb wildly, having been given a paper cut while having the post seized violently from him. Mrs. Henwoode, having come across a letter addressed by a Mrs. Eloise Meriwether, ripped it open and gave a gasp of rage, although she seemed very unsurprised by its contents which she read aloud to the other three sitting at the table;

Dear Charles, Poppy, James, and Margaret Henwoode,
We invite you to attend an engagement party,
celebrating the recent joining of
Mr. James Henwoode and Miss Margaret Juliet Kennington.
We will be having a picnic at Harrington Park,
at one o'clock of May fifth.
Luncheon will be served at one thirty.
Sincerely, Eloise Meriwether and staff.


Mrs. Henwoode let the invitation fall to her lap, and gave her husband a look of expectance, and annoyance. Mr. Henwoode shrugged guiltlessly as if it couldn't possibly be his fault at all, and turned his attention back to his plate of muffins. Mrs. Henwoode turned to James and Margaret.
"She has a staff? That woman's always been pressing her nose into other people's business, why can't she busy herself with her own affairs?"
"What kind of food will be there? Does it say?" Mr. Henwoode was shortly whacked across the head with the rest of the letters.
"Charles!"
"Sorry Poppy... Sorry..." Mr. Henwoode winced as he rubbed his head, but he seemed to forget about the pain very quickly, for another muffin was then shoved into his mouth. James didn't seem to have anything against the picnic;
"Mum, it's quite a nice thing she's doing... It's a surprise party! One surprise doesn't hurt..."
"Oh, poppycock!" Mrs. Henwoode whipped her lap with the mail. "Eloise is a prying old snoop who couldn't do without something to jump into. She knows that I don't enjoy her parties, and that's only because she informs me of them three hours before we need to attend..."
"Poppy, her ideas of being helpful are quite different..." Mr. Henwoode argued.
"They most certainly are!" Mrs. Henwoode agreed stubbornly. "I wouldn't go to this picnic if it weren't congratulating James and Juliet..." Margaret laughed understandably at Mrs. Henwoode's view of the situation.
"I feel as you do, Mrs. Henwoode. I was invited to dozens of parties while in Bermesforde, and I only attended a few... And especially around my birthday, I was bombarded with parties. I only went to the ones I wouldn't end paying for..." Mr. Henwoode expressed great amusement and satisfaction as he heard this.
"Ha! We've got a smart one, Poppy!" He clapped his hand beside his plate and turned to Margaret with a mischievous finger pointed at her. "I like the way you think, Jules." Margaret agreed humorously, and helped herself to the pile of muffins. James gave a hearty guffaw as he looked up and saw the look on his mother's face.
"Mum! No need to be so disappointed." Mrs. Henwoode had a disgruntled look on her face. "It will be fun!" Mrs. Henwoode finally spoke.
"I suppose." Mrs. Henwoode approved. "I reckon she has nothing better to put her time into, we can at least give her the satisfaction... I just don't want Juliet to feel obligated..."
"Oh, of course not!" Margaret insisted. "I look forward to meeting all of your friends. I've never been to Harrington Park, before..."
"And to think, Poppy!" Mr. Henwoode poked her excitedly, "When the lunch hour comes, you won't have to fix anything!"


* * *


Around one o'clock, the four of them set off down the street, and made there way toward Harrington. Mrs. Henwoode had dressed in finest noon dress, and Margaret had matched her cream-colored dress decorated with peacock blue flowers with her sun-hat. James and Mr. Henwoode wore their day suits, although it was too warm outside to wear their cleanly-pressed jackets.
Mrs. Henwoode pulled her husband along, not wanting to follow his theory of being fashionably late. James and Margaret straggled behind, noticing squirrels scattering up the trees and talking about their favorite happenings in Bermesforde. They walked along a winding, brick path through a patch of trees, and soon found themselves in Harrington Park. An extremely large group of people had already arrived; Eloise Meriwether's parties had always been very popular.
"Look, Poppy! Balloons!" Mr. Henwoode scuttled across the grass to join the group of children dancing around Martin Fenworthy who was struggling to pass a balloon to every youngster. The others were soon welcomed rambunctiously by Mrs. Meriwether, who had come dashing across the grass, lifting the hem of her dress off the ground to avoid spoiling it. Mrs. Meriwether was more than pleasantly plump. She was rather heavy, and had an obvious look about her that told others that she loved parties - especially the party's refreshments and meals. She was wearing a sunny yellow dress sprinkled with cherry pink flowers and frilly white lace. It was stretched tightly around her, looking almost as if her corset was about to burst, and it fluffed dramatically at the waist and rustled against her stout legs. A matching hat was fastened on top of her grizzled hair, and tied around her chin with a protruding pink bow.
"Hello, Poppy! Hello!" Mrs. Meriwether shook Mrs. Henwoode violently, "I'm glad you're on time! Because after all, you are the guests of honor!"
"Yes, I found out about three hours ago..." Mrs. Henwoode spoke under her breath. Margaret and James both gave a small laugh.
"It's wonderful to see, you Eloise." James acknowledged.
"Oh! You're so big!" Mrs. Meriwether clamped her hands around James' face and gave him an unwanted smooch on the forehead. James quietly struggled against her grasp, and was quite worried what she would do to Margaret.
"He's no bigger than he was when he left..." Mrs. Henwoode argued.
"Fiddlesticks, Poppy! He's much bigger! I'd say he's at least an inch taller..." Mrs. Meriwether then moved toward Margaret, after they had all politely agreed that James had grown, even though he hadn't at all. "... And this must be the famous Miss Margaret Juliet Kennington." Mrs. Meriwether declared slowly as she went in for a hug. Margaret approached her cautiously, and couldn't avoid a gradually squeezing bear hug. "Miss Margaret, I've been dying to meet you..." Eloise explained quickly, as if there were only a few seconds before she was to be struck by lightning. She began to guide Margaret away from the other two, who were suspiciously watching Eloise, wondering what rumor she could possibly be spreading now. "I've heard an awful lot about your Mr. James and Fiona Anderson..."
"And who might this Fiona be?" Margaret continued to be pushed along by Eloise. A concerned look spread to her face.
"Oh! He didn't tell you." Eloise lifted her hands away from Margaret's shoulder, and started toddling the opposite way, clearly expecting Margaret to follow her and beg to hear more.
"Tell me what? James hasn't kept anything from me..." Margaret tagged along behind Eloise. "Eloise, honestly."
"Miss Margaret, I know something that your very own future mother-in-law doesn't know. I believe it's safe for me to say that I'm the only one who knows - except for Miss Anderson, of course..."
"Eloise, you forget that I'm not familiar with Fiona Anderson, I don't even know who you are talking of!" Margaret was becoming quite frustrated that Eloise was keeping such an important bit of information from her.
"Alright, alright..." Eloise waved her chubby hand. She put a disturbed look on her face, which did a good job of convincing Margaret that it was a very important matter.
"Go on then..." Margaret ordered impatiently as Eloise mumbled words that were impossible to comprehend.
"See... um... James... well..."
"Mrs. Meriwether, I don't feel like hearing this from anybody else at the moment..." Margaret threatened to leave Eloise and deprive her of the pleasure of breaking such an important piece of information with someone who was so involved in the situation. Margaret stood in front of Eloise with her arms crossed, as if playing a guessing game with a small, unaware child.
"Oh, Miss Margaret..." Eloise pulled out a small hankie brought it to her face. "I've heard terrible news... your Mr. James has sent a letter to Miss Fiona Anderson, proclaiming his passionate love for her and asking for hers in return!" Eloise let out a small gasp and wiped the tears from her eyes, which suddenly became much more swollen and were now tiny slits. "How can I ever tell Mrs. Henwoode? She was so pleased that James had finally found himself a fianc?, I'm sure she's forgotten about poor Fiona..."
"Eloise, who is Fiona?!" Margaret demanded an explanation, and was now becoming quite angry. "I can't worry about James' old girlfriends if I don't even know who they are --"
"Oh, not old, Miss Margaret, not old..." Eloise shook her head rapidly, her double chin shaking also. "... It's happened just recently. Fiona and I had met in Trelly's not more than two weeks ago, and she told me about the letter. James had written it on February third, supposedly hoping that it would arrive on the fourteenth..."
"Eloise! Who is Fiona?!" Margaret was becoming extremely irritated by Eloise's efforts to drive her mad. Eloise's eyes became a lot larger, and had suddenly gone blank, not expecting this sort of reaction from Miss Margaret.
"Fiona..." Eloise finally explained calmly. "... Used to be quite the partner of James'..." Eloise tried to find the most suspenseful way to explain. "I'd say they were an inch away from engagement... When James left for Bermesforde, they couldn't help but write everyday... Fiona's kept herself free of any other relationships..." Eloise's eyes darted to all directions, expecting everybody to be hiding behind a tree stump or a table leg.
"Eloise, you're not sure that there's been an understanding?" Margaret suggested.
"Oh, I am, Miss Margaret. I'm absolutely positive." Eloise nodded her head wildly. "In fact, I've heard that they met during the school holiday in Crimson... just three months ago!"
"Rubbish, Eloise... You don't expect me to believe any of this, do you?" But Margaret most certainly did. Margaret had an uneasy look about her; she wished she hadn't even been dragged into this conversation. Suddenly, the circumstances got ten times worse.
"Oh, dear me... It's Fiona..." Eloise sneakily pointed out that the lady walking toward them was none other than Fiona Anderson. Margaret's eyes widened, but had to shrink back to their original size as Fiona stepped into the circle.
"Good afternoon, Eloise!" She welcomed herself into their mingling, and leaned in for an expected hug from Eloise. Fiona was of average size, about the same as Margaret; her waist was small (supposedly due to the works of a corset), and she seemed to be putting a great effort into walk gracefully and lightly. She wasn't as unpleasant as Margaret had imagined her; she was wearing a kelly-green dress, not nearly as fluffy around the waist as Margaret's or Eloise's. She had long curls of deepest brown flowing down her shoulders, but also a look of unkindness shown in her eyes.
"Fiona, thank you so much for coming. Where are the others?" Eloise greeted her in a friendly manner.
"They're seeing sure that Barney doesn't clean out the refreshment bar..." Fiona informed her, quickly glancing in their direction, talking as if this were a normal, daily routine. "... It's quite a fine crowd you've got here, Eloise." The three of the looked around at the groups of people, noisily chatting and addressing one another. Almost all of the children were chasing each other boisterously, colored balloons in hand. Then Fiona spat with a pure tone of hatred in her voice; "Clearly, everybody in Hertesforde wants to meet Miss... Margaret... Juliet Kennington..." her voice quivered with malice and loathing. "... I wonder where the little brat is..." She promptly turned her head back into the circle. "So! Introduce me to this lovely lady, Eloise!" Her eyes suddenly had a gracious sparkle in her eyes.
Margaret was then put in a state of unbearable discomfort. Tears of hurt and fury found there way to her eyes, and she exhaled painfully, not quite sure how to handle the awkward situation. She tried her hardest not to look as upset and humiliated as she really was, and Eloise, acting as if she hadn't heard what she'd said, introduced Fiona to the woman that she would most love to rip her hair out.
"Fiona, I've told you about Margaret, haven't I?" Eloise said nicely, bringing Margaret forward against her will.
"Yes, you have..." Fiona looked at Eloise, very suspiciously.
"Fiona, this is Miss Margaret Juliet Kennington... She is to be married to James." Eloise seemed to find joy in bringing both of them into this uncomfortable position, although Margaret seemed to be the one most effected by it; Fiona had a look of disgust scrunched into her nose, and barely gave a respective nod.
"I'm so pleased to meet you, Fiona." Margaret wore a false look of enjoyment and shook Fiona's hand.
"Same to you, Margaret." Fiona replied vaguely, and pulled her hand away immediately. There was a long moment's pause, Fiona and Margaret glaring at each other, Margaret with a small grin on her face.
"Well, girls..." Eloise broke in. "We might as well go and join the others..."
Right then James stepped up behind Margaret, gave her a slight tickle and whispered in her ear;
"They go get the good table, dear." He bade Eloise and Fiona hello, having no idea of the conversation they had just had. He steered Margaret towards a smaller table near the outdoor stage, where Mr. and Mrs. Henwoode had already been saving a seat. Mr. Henwoode sat rocking in his chair crazily, overtaken by spurts of laughter and a ridiculously large amount of balloons tied to his wrists, arms, and ankles.
"Jules! Have a seat, have a seat..." James and Margaret sat down side by side, in two comfortable chairs facing the stage. Margaret was to be cheered up shortly after. Two of James' old friends, unknown to Margaret, were running across the green field to their table; "Oy! James!" Both were clinging to the hands of their dates, who were desperately running behind them, but were also laughing and giggling rambunctiously. The four of them came to a rumbling stop as they nearly knocked their table on its side.
"Henry, is that you?" James jumped up and gave him a bear-like hug. "And Robert! I had no idea you two would be here!" There was a great tangle of arms as the three hugged and hopped excitedly, letting out shouts of happiness. Henry, Robert, and James had been quite the trio for many years, and now they had finally been reunited after several long semesters. Henry had sun-struck mahogany brown hair, neatly parted yet somewhat jostled from galloping through the grass. Robert's hair was quite longer than Henry's was, it was sandy-colored and like Henry's, had been caught by the running wind. Henry and Robert introduced the two cheerfully panting girls who had been stumbling behind them.
"Oh, James, let me introduce you to Miss Dianne Foster, we met in Kenston only a few weeks ago..." Henry displayed Dianne proudly, and although she seemed incredibly outgoing, she respectively grinned widely and nodded animatedly. She was presented in a squared-necked, raspberry-pink dress, garnished with a lovely white lace, and a matching sunhat, which she was holding onto in order to keep it from blowing away. Her tawny hair was finely curled, and was slightly jostled. Henry seemed to be quite fond of Dianne Foster; he wouldn't part from her waist, and seemed to want to sit down quickly, as to be sure that he would secure a seat next to her. "...She's agreed to stay until Friday."
"Well, that's splendid! Just splendid!" And before James could go on, Robert stepped up, as if competing for the spotlight.
"And James, this is Adrianna Pinnsley..." He forcefully pulled her in front of him. She was wearing a plaid apple-green dress, her sunhat in hand, primping her caramel-colored locks and whipping them away from her face. She seemed to be quietly conceited, yet also obstinately pleasant. And by the confused grin of both enjoyment and misplacement, she also seemed to be very na?ve, and considerably socially immature to a certain degree. "...She too is staying until Friday."
"It's nice to meet you both," James greeted. "I'm glad you'll get to stay a few more days." He then gently beckoned Margaret to rise from her seat, and he brought her to his side. "Well, I'd like you to meet Margaret, the reason Eloise has granted us with such a tremendous festivity." Margaret shook their hands, "Margaret, this is Henry Ainsworth... and there, here's Robert Barhydt." James was eager to lure her away, as if protecting her from being dragged off by such a boisterous crowd.
"My, my James... You've got quite the catch!" Henry shook Margaret's hand considerably longer than the others. "What convinced you to accompany such an absurd fellow?" James gave him a joking whack on the shoulder, and Margaret didn't have the time to answer Henry's odd question. Eloise had stepped to the stage, and gotten all of the party comer's attention.
"Thank you all for attending this fantastic celebration..." Eloise bellowed across the hungry spectators. "Join me as I express my gratitude, to such a lovely pair; James Henwoode and Margaret Juliet Kennington." There was a wave of applause thanking Eloise for her welcome, and also thanking Margaret and James for scoring such an occasion as to be hosted by such a tremendous party thrower. James and Margaret looked out at the crowd, and smiled and waved appreciatively. Eloise continued;
"And now, as the invitation card promises, I bring you my staff!" Her giant arms whipped into the air, gesturing towards the impressive waiters. Each man standing in line against the refreshment tables took a deep bow, skillfully balancing their trays on their hands. All were wearing crisp white shirts, and black vest with matching overcoats. Following the orders given by Eloise, her staff paraded in and out of the tables, all headed in different directions. On their shiny, silver tray they carried the first course; steaming almond tea and warm crumpets. It was quite the treat, for a small, frosty breeze had been blowing across the park. The breeze had become more pleasant by the main course, and the sun shone cheerfully above the many tables. James and Margaret sat gleaming at each other, the sun shining on their faces, the nice wind lifting Margaret's curls. James had moved his chair closer to Margaret's, rubbing her hand and throwing her into a fit of giggles. The Andersons were sitting less than four tables away, both Fiona and her mother glaring maliciously at the couple. Fiona was breathing heavily, trying to her envy. Mrs. Anderson had her lips pursed tightly and her eyes squinted evilly. Mr. Anderson seemed not to care of James' and Margaret's engagement, or of his wife's or daughter's anger. Barney, on the other hand, was shoveling his food into his mouth greedily, also attempting to steal a couple mouthfuls from his mother's plate.
The main course was fit for the occasion - a delicious chicken salad wrapped in buttery, flaky croissants. Enormous platters of ham and turkey sandwiches were in the center of every table, along with dishes of fruit and whipped topping resting beside every plate, and freshly baked potato rolls with a very wide assortment of marmalade. Glasses and pitchers full of pink lemonade were waiting at every table, in addition to icy orange and cranberry drinks. The main course was coming to a close, and the waiters were coming back around the tables collecting the empty dishes. A beautiful dessert was then served; a rich chocolate cheesecake, drenched in streams of melting fudge. Trays of tender nougats were set about every table, along with delicious strawberries dipped in dollops of white and dark chocolate. After they had been served the fantastical treat, and the remains had been cleared away, Eloise returned to the stage.
"Friends..." she crooned over the crowd. "Now that you are all well fed and satisfied, I propose that we busy ourselves with a dance!" There was a small round of applause of agreement, and the many people stood from their chairs and maid their way to the space surrounded by all of the tables. A moderate orchestra broke in, waiting for its cue. Henry and Robert, accompanied Dianne and Adrianna, had been sitting little more than eight tables away and were some of the first few to make their way out to the dance floor. Soon almost all of the part attendees were dancing gaily to the fine orchestra. James and Margaret enjoyed the dancing, as they couldn't take their eyes off of each other. Mrs. Henwoode had finally bullied Mr. Henwoode into dancing with her, and had quite the task of keeping him away from the refreshment bar.
Fiona, who was slouching off the edge of the dance floor and near the tables, rapidly turned around and dove towards Barney, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and whispered something rather angrily in his ear. Barney got a look of extreme mischief and delight at the suggestion Fiona had made, and hobbled away from his seat. All the men at the party were quite keen on saving a dance with Margaret, as was James. After many dances with people they weren't even acquainted with, James and Margaret found their way back to each other, and were now dancing to quite a joyful tune.
All of a sudden, out of thin air, there was a nasty SPLAT, and purple and yellow goop was sprayed over James and Margaret. A large plum had smacked into a nearby chair and left the residue to land on Margaret's dress and James' white shirt. It had attracted the attention of the majority of the dancing crowd, due to Margaret's sharp, earsplitting shriek of shock, and James' cursing. They all looked in the direction the plum had sailed from. No more than fifty feet away was Barney sitting on the thickest branch of the largest plum tree, which was straining against his weight. Shrill giggles of mockery and amusement were heard from the giant boy in the tree, whose chubby legs were dangling heavily from the branch.
There was an instant uproar from the crowd, and James abandoned Margaret and started darting towards the colossal nuisance, who was now struggling to hop safely to the ground. Every single man at the party left their dancing partners to join James in the stampede, obviously trying to impress Margaret and prove that they too, were brave enough to take on someone three times their size. Mr. Henwoode had joined also, and was right behind James, wanting to express his anger about the maple.
"Don't you dare break that tree too, Barney!" He waved a frilly sun umbrella that he had picked up from a table during his deadly pursuit. Several dogs who had joined their owners at the party were now charging at Barney, growling angrily. The majority of the ladies who had been dancing, had flown towards Margaret, wanting to help her with her plum-covered dress. Mrs. Henwoode and Eloise were the first at her side, wanting to be the one to assist her. Margaret didn't seem to be as concerned about her dress as she was about the outcome of the chase; James was now on Barney's tail, Barney only dodging James' flailing arms him by inches. James pounced on Barney, bring the monstrous boy to a hurtling into the hard grass, and those behind James had pounced on him also, bringing Barney to be the victim of a horrible dog pile. All with perilous looks in their eyes, those on top of Barney enjoyed having a reason to knock him around. Barney was now screaming in pain and fright, calling for his angered mother who didn't seem to mind that Barney was near being squashed to bits. Fiona stood, arms folded, excluding herself from the busy of ladies worrying about Margaret's dress. One by one the impact became less overwhelming for Barney, as the pile finally tipped over and came to the ground. They were all laughing at the enjoyment they'd found in chasing Barney, and were now making their way back to their dance partners. Mr. Henwoode was still over Barney, whacking him mercilessly with the umbrella, and cursing loudly. Mrs. Henwoode bustled over to pull her husband off of Barney, followed quickly by Eloise who yanked Barney off the ground with very little effort, and began whipping him with handful of long grass stalks.
"You'd... Better... Watch... Your... Manners..." She threatened Barney for messing up her party with every beat of the stalk. She seemed to have taken place of Mrs. Anderson's job of scolding him; Eloise returned Barney to his table, and Mrs. Anderson didn't bother in punishing him. James returned to Margaret, doubled up in a laughing fit, still with the remnants of plum scattered about his shirt.
"Look at you!" Margaret laughed. "Your shirt's covered!" She started wiping off what she could with a napkin from a table.
"Not as bad as you!" James pointed, laughing at the large amount of what looked like rotten marmalade spread across her dress. He obviously felt bad for her being the main target; He pulled in for a long, close hug, not worrying about increasing the amount of plum on either of them.
"James..." Margaret said through the brace of his arm. "Can I ask you something?" He unwound her from his hug and was listening to her interest. "It's about Fiona..." They were soon interrupted by Eloise.
"Oh, bless me!" Eloise gasped, fanning her handkerchief towards her face. "That Barney, he's almost given me a heart attack... Miss Margaret, I'm sure we can get you another dress..."
"I'm quite fine, Eloise..." Margaret insisted.
"But my dear, we don't want it to stain..." Eloise broke off; Fiona was strutting towards them, and Eloise was afraid of what she might do to make the party more of a disaster. She left James and Margaret, and clasped her large hands around Fiona's arms, and steered her away, guiding her towards another group of gossipers.


* * *


The party was coming to and end; Eloise's staff had begun to fold the tablecloths, and the guests were now departing, and saying goodbye to their friends. It was about six o'clock, and Mr. Henwoode, Mrs. Henwoode, James, and Margaret were now making their way back to the hill. James and Margaret led the way the way back to the house, and decided to take a trodden path through Garman's field as a shortcut. Mr. and Mrs. Henwoode followed them slowly, discussing matters concerning their son and future daughter.
"But James, if they don't move away, they may feel that they don't have enough privacy!"
"Oh, you're only worried that they'd get tired of you..."
"Still, Charles..."
"So you really are!" Mr. Henwoode was satisfied that he had guessed accurately.
"Oh, hush up Charles... Anyhow, we can always build an apartment..."
"Dear, Poppy..." Mr. Henwoode moaned. "The carpentry that that swing required of me was just about all I could handle..."
"Charles... You're going to be the one who tells James about the maple..."
"I'd rather be mistaken as Barney's chair, rather than inform him of that..." Mr. Henwoode got a worried look on his face, but Mrs. Henwoode no longer seemed to be bother by it.
"Ah, look at them Charles." Mrs. Henwoode was in a peaceful trance. They watched James and Margaret walking through the tall grass, talking warmly as James brushed the small of her back. James turned around and called to his parents.
"I'm going to take Juliet to the back, mum!" Mrs. Henwoode nodded absentmindedly, not realizing that the remains of the maple were waiting for him.
"But!.." Mr. and Mrs. Henwoode warned simultaneously. James had walked around the side of the house and up the slope. He let out a short yell of shock, and once again turned to his parents.
"What!" James was found disappointingly speechless. "What... Has happened... To... My tree?!" Margaret, dreadfully concerned about James' tree, was also giggling silently about his reaction.
"It's... It's not what you think, James!" Mrs. Henwoode wasn't able to find a suitable reply.
"Let's just say, James..." Mr. Henwoode shouted back rationally. "...Let's just say that this afternoon's incident isn't the only trouble Barney Anderson has caused."
"WHAT?!" James thundered. "He broke my tree?! Honestly... I could kill him..."
"Son, you nearly did at the party..." Mr. Henwoode thought out loud.
"... Well, I'm about to follow through with it, this time!" James threatened as Margaret was still at his side laughing quietly, trying to keep a straight face. Mr. Henwoode turned to his apprehensive wife.
"I'm not so fond of the Andersons anymore, Poppy."

Chapter Four
Fiona on Friday

James' grudge about the maple lasted until the following day, but it had take until Friday for the anger to fade from his completely. It was Margaret's fourth day in Hertesforde, and she had awoken to James beckoning and pleading for her to come and enjoy the nice morning before breakfast started.
"Come on, Margaret! I've fixed the swing!" He was knocking on the bedroom door, acting very similar to a whining child.
"I'm coming, James!" Margaret giggled at his childish begging. She was pulling on her light blue dress, and quickly brushing through her long hair. James had gone out earlier that morning to untangle the swing from the fallen branches, and had tied the ropes to a different tree on the opposite side of the yard. The two of them slipped out the side door around eight o'clock, and were running playfully through the dew-covered grass. A soft sun was rising over the far away buildings and houses, the trees were brightly fresh. James showed her his fine job of repairing the swing, and she hopped energetically onto the seat. James pushed her back and forth, gradually gaining speed and height. She kicked off her shoes and let her bare feet skim the cold grass. They were talking about Wednesday's events, and of Barney's poor attempt to escape from the stampede at the party.
"Did you see Eloise?!" James guffawed in a high-pitched tone as he gave Margaret a strong thrust. "I swear, she was about to kill him!" Margaret laughed hysterically at the thought, and also at James' way of explaining the episode. "I wonder if it was Fiona who put him up to it?.." He thought out loud, giggles still squeezing through his voice. "Wasn't there something you wanted to ask about her?" James continued to push her, but then slowed the swing down when she didn't answer. "Jules, is everything all right?" He clenched the ropes and brought her to a stop. "Jules?"
Margaret, still holding onto the ropes, turned her head toward him, though not completely facing him.
"I heard..." She started; her eyes became slightly blurred by a small pool of tears, "I heard about Fiona..." She was found nearly breathless, and wasn't sure how to reenact the conversation.
"Wait... What did you hear?" James blinked tightly, not understanding what rumor could possibly have been spread around.
"I was told about the letter you sent to Fiona a few weeks ago, and that you were having second thoughts about the engagement..."
"Bollocks!" James yelped, "Who did you hear that from?!" Don't tell me..."
"Eloise told me only after we'd arrived," Margaret twisted the ropes to face him, causing James to have to quickly untangle his arms and resituate his hands. "She told me that for years you two had been..."
"Margaret, you can't believe a word that Eloise says!" James let go of the ropes, and stepped back nearly tripping. "She's an excellent party thrower, but could never trust anything..."
"James, I'm not stupid, obviously something has been going on..." Margaret had slipped her shoes back on and gotten up from the swing.
"Nothing has been going on!" James became frustrated very quickly.
"Honestly..." Margaret's hands were on her hips.
"Margaret, if you must know," James started.
"Yes, I must!" Margaret shook her head with every word, even as James didn't stop talking.
"All right! Since you want to know so badly, I took Fiona to the Autumn Dance more than four years ago, and that was only because her mother asked me to nearly three months in advance..." James seemed slightly embarrassed at these words. Margaret moved her hands from her hips, and instead held her hands.
"So... There's nothing going on?" Margaret stammered, also slightly embarrassed that she had mistaken Eloise's word to be true.
"Dear me, with Fiona?" James laughed, stepping closer to Margaret. "Darling, there will never be anyone else to fill your place." James and Margaret sat stood hugging, and forgiving each other for their unnecessary dispute.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Henwoode had been in the kitchen preparing breakfast, and had heard to loudest parts of James' and Margaret's argument. She tiptoed through the living area, peeked through the curtains, and was astonished at the terrifying sight. Margaret was running up the slope, James nearly catching her with fierce fingers flared, and Margaret screaming at the top of her lungs. James tackled Margaret, and held her down, and horrified screams were quickly stifled through exhaustion. Mrs. Henwoode clasped her hand to her mouth, suppressing a loud gasp, and flew out the side door.
"Mr. James Henwoode! What on earth are you doing to poor Margaret?" a look of white terror on her face. "James, that is no way to treat a lady..." James, still lying over Margaret, stood up quickly and straightened himself, and hastily helped Margaret to her feet.
"Mum... It's not as it seems..." James tried to contain a fit of laughter, as was Margaret. They both were extremely embarrassed, but also knew that Mrs. Henwoode wasn't aware of the entire story.
"Oh?" Mrs. Henwoode wheezed, flapping her hands and fanning herself. "I didn't just see you attacking poor Margaret and nearly killing her?" Mrs. Henwoode looked absolutely furious.
"Mrs. Henwoode, I assure you..." Margaret insisted, still holding back her laughter. "James and I were only fooling around..."
"Margaret, you could have easily stained you dress!" Mrs. Henwoode suddenly seemed to be more concerned over this matter.
"Mum, please, we were only playing! We are sorry to have frightened you..."
"Rubbish!" Mrs. Henwoode chirped angrily. "You've scared me out of my wits!" James and Margaret stood shamefully, realizing that the appearance of it was far from acceptable. Mrs. Henwoode recognized their guilt, and removed herself from the lecture. "All right... I see that you know that your behavior was not of proper conduct..." Mrs. Henwoode exonerated, "Now, come in before breakfast goes to spoil."
James and Margaret followed Mrs. Henwoode inside, glancing at each other and barely repressing their uncontrollable amusement. The three of them scuffed inside, wiping their shoes as they did so. Mr. Henwoode was already sitting at the table, where large stack of pancakes stood towering above lemon cookies and grilled sausages. Mr. Henwoode looked very excited for the start of their meal.
"Good morning!" Mr. Henwoode sang as James and Margaret settled themselves on the opposite side of him. They chimed a short greeting back to him, and Mrs. Henwoode brought a pot of coffee to the table.
"Dad, we'd better tend to those floorboards today." James suggested as he dished several sausages onto his plate.
"Yes! Oh, I almost forgot..." Mr. Henwoode pointed his fork at James. "We'll do that this afternoon, all right?" James nodded in agreement, but became distracted very quickly; Fiona Anderson was trotting up the stone path, fiddling with the upper and frontal area of her dress. James let out a groan of dread, and stood up from his chair with a loud screech against the wood floor. Mrs. Henwoode let out a loud gasp;
"James! It's Fiona!" Mrs. Henwoode pointed towards the window.
"I know, mum!" James moaned irritably, he slouched, making his way to the door. He stepped outside, intending to keep Fiona outside after hearing the grounds on which Margaret stood.
"Hello, Fiona!" James said with a false smile.
"Oh... Why, hello James." Fiona teetered where she stood and stopped in front of him. She twisted her hair in her finger in a ridiculously apparent way with her right eyebrow raised.
"Er... What are you doing here?" James didn't particularly care why she was wandering to their doorstep at such an unexpected hour, and was trying to get their conversation over with.
"Umm, well, I've come just to see how you were doing." She dropped the hair she was twirling and was slightly disappointed that he hadn't reacted the way she hoped he would.
"Well, I'm doing all right." James said blankly, stating the obvious. There was a long pause. "So, how are you?" James tried no to seem so incredibly unpleasant, but had a sound of impatience in his voice.
"I'm fine, thank you..." She was extremely delighted that he asked. "Actually, I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the lake, I'm sure we'd have a good time..."
"Fiona," James become more aggravated. "I'm sorry, but I can't come to the lake." He tried to close the door,
"But James, it's a perfect day," Fiona reached an arm's length to stop the door, "I'm sure the wind won't bother --"
James stepped back out onto the threshold, closing the door behind him and speaking in a quieter voice, irritated that Fiona would ask such a thing.
"Fiona, you know this." James' frustration became more severe. "I am engaged to Margaret, and I'm sorry, but there's really nothing you can do --"
"James, I'm not trying to --" Fiona argued,
"Oh, but you most certainly are." James grinned falsely, You're trying to -"
"Interrupt?" Fiona suggested, folding her arms and glaring at him in a stance, "You think I'm trying to interrupt the plans you've made without even consulting me?"
"I does not matter what you think, Fiona." James raised his eyebrows, "I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do."
"Oh yes there is!" said Fiona,
"Well, then there's nothing I want to do."
"Look James," Fiona pointed a finger, "I'm not trying to steal you away from Margaret --"
"Then what are you trying to do, Fiona?" James folded his arms as she had done, and got what he expected; Odd squeaks and hollow sounds came from Fiona's mouth, and she tried her hardest to seem deeply hurt.
"James, I know that you loved me, I just know it..." She faked an unconvincing snivel and tried to force a tear from her eye, "I don't know why you'd ever go to Bermesforde with out proposing before you did --"
"Fiona..." James was lost for words, and couldn't help but laugh. "Fiona, I'm sorry --"
"James, this is exactly what you did three years ago --" She exploded angrily.
"Fiona, there was nothing I could have done three years ago, because there was nothing between us!"
"There most certainly was something between us!"
"No, Fiona..."
"Yes!"
"Then what?!" James flailed his arms, finally exploding as well. "How could you possibly think that I --"
"I knew it from the start, James..." Fiona pointed wagged another finger at him, "When you finally believed yourself, you fell in love with me the fall before you left --"
"Oh, you think I fell in love with you?! Because I took you to one blasted dance? Because you're mother came and begged me to?!"
There was another angry pause, and Fiona was lost for words.
"I have waited three years for your proposal." Fiona didn't want any more emphasis on the fact that Fiona's mother had asked James to take her to the Autumn dance, "And you go off, and you come back - back with her!"
James didn't want to listen to anymore that Fiona had to say.
"Fiona, I'm sorry, but you'll just have to go to the lake on your own..." James tried to close the door again. Once again, Fiona stopped the door with her arm;
"James, why are you doing this to me?" Fiona cried, tears of selfish rage rolling down her cheeks.
"Because I don't love you!"
"Why not?!" Fiona yelled,
"This is an example..." James chortled to himself.
"James, you'll regret marrying Margaret --" Fiona tried again to keep him in the argument,
"I most certainly will not, Fiona." said James,
"But --"
"Fiona, Margaret is the best thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life," James shouted, "and that does include the Autumn Dance that I had to take you to three years ago!" He added sarcastically.
"James, you... you are so immature!" Fiona barked, not being able to think of an excellent remark,
"Oh really, and you're not because you come and invite me to escort you to the lake at nine in the morning?!"
"Yes... No... I thought you'd have the etiquette to treat a lady better!" her arms flew tightly to her side and her chin reached the air,
"Well, I don't Fiona," said James agreeably, "and I think that gives me the authority to leave!" He backed through the doorway and slammed the door, nearly shattering the window. Fiona stood in shock for several moments, then pivoted on her heel and marched back down the path.
James looked as if he had had the best time of his life as he returned to the table.
"Feel better?" Mr. Henwoode asked through a mouthful of cookies, and was also acting as if nothing had happened.
"Much better." James panted. Both Margaret and Mrs. Henwoode looked as if they were in shock, yet both for different reasons;
"James Henwoode!" Mrs. Henwoode huffed. "How on earth could you speak to Fiona that way?" She said with a look of disbelief.
"Mum, it sounds like you care more about Fiona than you do the person I wish to spend the rest of my life with!" He said with frustration still stirring up inside of him.
"James, I don't want her mother to come crying --"
"She'll have a lot of nerve to come back here, and you shouldn't worry about what one hag of a lady thinks of the person who took her to a dance three years ago!" James' voice grew louder, and his eyes bulged in the thought of his mother feeling concerned for Fiona instead of Margaret at a time like this. Mrs. Henwoode, eyes wide open, pursed her lips and sat down stiffly. Margaret was still in shock, her eyes also wide and her mouth stretched open. She turned to James slowly, making him slightly nervous.
"I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you?" Margaret sounded amazed and flattered that James would stand up for her in such a way.
James gave Margaret an adoring look, "See mum, at least she appreciates what I've done." James leaned toward his mother. Margaret still hadn't taken her eyes off of him, and wrapped herself around his arm.
"Eloise will have to do some explaining." Margaret let go of James' arm.
"Forget about Eloise, I've got lemon cookies!" James cheered as he grabbed a handful from across the table.
"Lemon cookies!" Mr. Henwoode repeated childishly, fighting James for the plate of treats.
Mrs. Henwoode sat diagonally from Margaret as they all found their chairs; "Nothing like a lemon cookie to shut a fool up." she said.
Margaret took a cookie from the plate that Mrs. Henwoode had just pulled from James and her husband.
"Hear, hear." Margaret nodded in return.


"Who would care for a game of croquet?" Mr. Henwoode squealed as he hopped up from his chair. They had finished eating breakfast and were now clearing the dishes.
"Dad, we'd better fix that floorboard..." James protested.
"Nonsense, James! You promised we'd do that in the afternoon! We have a good two hours..." Mr. Henwoode bounced on the balls of his feet.
"Let's go, James! It will be fun!" Margaret prompted, nudging James in the arm.
"Really? Only if you want to..." James whispered.
"Of course!" Margaret said loudly. "Is it all set, Mr. Henwoode?"
"Of course!" Mr. Henwoode skipped through the living area, "I'll meet you two outside!"
"Mum, did you want to come?" James asked.
"Oh, no James... I'd better get these dishes cleaned... You two have fun though! You keep an eye on your father, James." Mrs. Henwoode warned.
"No need to worry, mum." James directed Margaret to the side door. James and Margaret came around the edge of the house, to find Mr. Henwoode chasing a small moth.
"Look James, a butterfly!" Mr. Henwoode yelled, leaping through the air and rolling on the ground. "Blimey, I've squashed it flat!" He screamed in terror as he lifted himself off the ground. "Ah, that's more like it!" He was pleased to see it fly away and out of sight.
"Dad?" James barked.
"Oh sorry... Let's get a move on, shall we?" Mr. Henwoode snapped out of his butterfly trance and picked the croquet mallets off the lawn.
"Here you James... Margaret..." He handed one to both of them. "We'll go in order."
The played several rounds, Margaret always in the lead; James showed her his technique for aiming, and she caught on very quickly.
"Blimey, Margaret? Where you on a league in Pennly?" Mr. Henwoode questioned, a look of amazement on his face.
"I wouldn't guess that there's a croquet league in Pennly, father..." James stated.
"I'd play often..." Margaret replied, "My uncle insisted on teaching me."
"Clearly he's done a very fine job, Margaret!" Mr. Henwoode complimented. He then turned around, preparing his aim for the ball.
"I think it's about time I show you how good I really am..." He became very serious. James and Margaret glanced at each other, waiting for his miss and an outrageous scream of frustration. "There we go..." He muttered to himself. "Watch this, you scalawags!" He swung incredibly hard at the croquet ball, sending it over the fence with an extreme force. He pivoted on his foot, with his mallet still propped over his shoulder. He faced James and Margaret, and let the mallet slip off his shoulder and swing in his hand.
"Well, I definitely gave a nice whack at it..." He looked nervously over his shoulder. James had a pure look of terror on his face.
"Dad... You've hit it into the dog pen!" A fierce storm of growls and roars was heard, shaking the fence and sending a shiver up Mr. Henwoode's spine.
"It's only a couple of pit-bulls..." Mr. Henwoode stammered, another series of horrifying barks came from over the fence, and several gnashing snouts were poking through the loose fence posts. Mr. Henwoode's bottom lip quivered uncontrollably, and he darted over to James.
"You just going to stand there, James?" Mr. Henwoode challenged, bringing his face close to James'.
"What? You're the one who hit it over --" James refused.
"Prove yourself, son!" Mr. Henwoode whispered to James. "Prove to Margaret you're brave enough to run past a few dogs..."
"Dad, you can't bribe me..." James refused.
"Fine James... I'll just go ring Mrs. Garman's bell, I'm sure she'll understand why you didn't prefer to just easily hop the fence and --"
"Dad, I'll have my leg bitten off! You don't want it to be your fault that I --"
"James, that's all right!" Mr. Henwoode waved his hands in the air. "You're scared! No reason to be, but if you don't want to..."
"I'm not scared, father... But any fool with the slightest bit of common sense would see that it's dangerous..."
"Dangerous? A couple of dogs? No James, it's completely safe!"
"You don't expect me to --"
"Jump it, son... There's nothing that could go wrong..."
"Yes there --"
"Look James, we're short one croquet ball, and it's up to you --"
"But you're the one who hit it!" James pointed.
"Fine, James. Margaret, your fianc? is afraid of dogs --"
"No I'm not!" James protested, and turned to Margaret, "I'm really not..."
"James?" Mr. Henwoode waited impatiently.
"Fine, dad, I'll go get it!"
"Fine!"
"Fine!"
"Fine!"
Margaret, who had been watching them quarrel with great amusement, was doing her best no to interfere with the argument. James marched to the fence as if he were a soldier walking to his doom. He got to the fence, and turned around.
"I'll need a foot up..." He hollered.
"Oy!" Mr. Henwoode dashed to the fence, the mallet still in his hand. He dropped the mallet and weaved his fingers together, getting a solid grip on James' foot.
"At the ready..." Mr. Henwoode chanted. James joined him;
"One..." James braced himself against the posts, but not quite enough. Mr. Henwoode launched James over the fence two seconds too soon, and James rocketed into the air. Margaret let out a surprised scream, trying to suppress her uncontrollable sniggering. Margaret hurried over to the fence, where Mr. Henwoode had let out a quick moan from slightly pulling his back. James' shouts of fear were blended with the perilous roars of the pit-bulls, and the fence shook violently. The croquet ball flew over the fence, and James' hands could be seen graspoing the fence posts. Mr. Henwoode and Margaret flinched at every shriek and rip they heard, yet made no attempt to rescue James; Margaret had no idea what she could do, and Mr. Henwoode seemed to enjoy James' struggling. James let himself fall over the top of the fence, then he landed on his hands and with a loud thud and rolled over on his back.
"I thought... We... Were only... Going... To play croquet..." James panted, large rips on both his pant leg and the side of his shirt were visible.
"It makes the game more interesting!" Mr. Henwoode crouched over James, his hands on his knees.
"Am I alive?" James whimpered as he sat up. Margaret crouched over him also.
"James, are you all right?"
"I don't know..." James dazed, not able to balance his head.
"Charles... What on earth did you do to James?" Mrs. Henwoode was prancing across the lawn, lifting her dress not to stain it.
"Why do you automatically assume it was me?" Mr. Henwoode complained. "It could have just as easily been Margaret..."
"Poppycock, Charles... James, are you all right? Bless me, look at you shirt... And your trousers!" Mrs. Henwoode forced James on his feet, and he stumbled on the spot clumsily. "James, I will have you doing anything of the sort, ever again."
"But mum..." James recovered from his dizzy spell. "Dad's the one who made me do it..." They all turned to Mr. Henwoode, who was whistling innocently and rocking on his feet.
"What?" He whined innocently. "It's James! He didn't have to go through with it..."
"Never mind... Never mind..." Mrs. Henwoode waved her hand. "James, come along... I'll mend your trousers."
James teetered after Mrs. Henwoode, and Margaret followed. Mr. Henwoode started humming merrily, and had picked up all the croquet mallets. The others were now inside, and a squat lady was coming toward him, bustling through the grass. She was very crow-like, yet also very plump. It was Mrs. Garman, their neighbor, who had never shown any kindness to them, yet didn't torment them as did the Andersons. She was walking very briskly toward Mr. Henwoode, and stopped when she had reached him.
"Mr. Henwoode, how dare you trespass in such an unreasonable manner?!" She wagged a finger in his face without greeting him with her approach. "My dog pen has always been very well protected, and I'd have that you'd respect your neighbor's property!" Mr. Henwoode backed away as unobvious as he possibly could, attempting to avoid the large amounts of saliva that were emitted with every syllable.
"Mrs. Garman..." He explained rationally, wiping the dampness from his face, "We simply knocked a croquet ball over the fence, and we need to retrieve it in order to continue in our game..."
"Mr. Henwoode, I advise that next time you lose a silly red ball in my yard, you simply ring my doorbell rather than frighten my poor dearies..." She turned her shoulders toward the fence and puckered her lips with the mention of her dog pen.
"Mrs. Garman, I assure you that we will be more cautious in our judgments, and that we will notify you of our next croquet match."
"Very well, Mr. Henwoode." She approved, "I trust that you will not bother any subject that may be within my grounds, whether it be yourself, or anybody else you may persuade to disturb my business."
"Thank you, Mrs. Garman..." Mr. Henwoode shuddered.
"Send my wishes to James and his fianc?." She said strictly. She turned on her heel and scuttled back around the fence, then disappeared from sight.
"Unpleasant woman..." Mr. Henwoode spoke to himself, "I wouldn't fancy a tea party with her, anytime soon." He retrieved the many colored croquet balls from the grass, and returned back to the house, only to be barked at as he brushed past the fence.

Chapter Five
Rue de la Fleur

Mr. Henwoode stepped back inside, where James was wrapped in an old quilt and Mrs. Henwoode was mending his trousers. He laughed at the sight of James, and continued through the living room. A cheery voice called from the door;
"Post! Telegram for the Henwoode's!"
"Come in, Willoughby!" Mr. Henwoode answered, and Willoughby stepped in, and swung the door behind him.
"G'day, Mr. Henwoode!" Willoughby greeted,
"Fine, fine..." Mr. Henwoode answered as he was handed a small stack of letters.
"It's a fine day... I'd be wonderin' what a nice man like you'd be doin' on such a beautiful one?" Willoughby looked out the sunny window.
"Oh, we've got a loose floorboard or two up there in the storage room... I'd expect it to take all day..."
"I can offer me assistance..." Willoughby started,
"Oh... No need, Willoughby..." Mr. Henwoode chuckled, "We've got James here, and I'm sure you've much important things to do..."
"As a matter of fact, I'm hikin' up to Fort Rodger to catch meself a splendor of fish..." He pointed out the window,
"Oh really?" Mr. Henwoode giggled excitedly, "You won't be frying them later..." He began to ask.
"Charles!" Mrs. Henwoode screeched, warning him to go no further in his attempt to take advantage of Willoughby's fish.
"It's a shame to be inside today..." Willoughby continued, "I expect a rainstorm to come by Sunday mornin'." He fiddled with the strap of his post bag and tipped his hat. "I'd best be off, now... Want to get a good spot at the lake!" The others thanked him for the delivery, and he stepped out the door, skipping down the stone path. Margaret followed James up the stairs, after he had been handed his trousers and had also gently refused to go outdoors again, obviously trying to avoid the neighboring dog pen. Mr. Henwoode skimmed through the small pile of letters, tossing the less interesting ones on the table as he read.
"Thomas' left for Kingston..." He flopped the tan envelope to the side, "... And another letter from Eloise... That's odd..." He cared little for Eloise's robin-adorned stationary and tossed it aside. "Ooh! The Monthly Journal!" He flicked the last letter behind him, and dashed over to the largest armchair to read his long-awaited stories. He had been receiving the Monthly Journal for over twenty years, yet had never submitted his own works. Every month he anticipated to read the published works of those who lived around Hertesforde, Bermesforde, and Pennly, as some of the authors were familiar in name, and acquaintance. Mrs. Henwoode bent around the kitchen chair to pick up the forgotten letter, and muttered the name uninterestedly.
"Charles..." She looked up, "We've a letter from Marian!"
"Ooh!" Mr. Henwoode had not been paying attention, "Listen to this! By Mr. Frederick Michael Sean - a riddle! What looks exactly like a chicken that has been cut in half?"
"Charles... You split head, there's a letter from - "
"The other half!" Mr. Henwoode was thrown into a fit of hysterical laughter, as he kicked his legs up and down making the china cabinet quiver precariously.
"Charles!" Mrs. Henwoode snapped, "It's Marian... She's written a letter..."
"Oh, Poppy... And this one! Oh, this ones funny..." Mrs. Henwoode ripped the letter open frantically, and threw the torn envelope aside. Her eyes darted from line to line as she skimmed through the finely-pressed parchment.
"Charles! Your sister has invited us to stay with her! Oh, her kind heart, she's always welcoming us..."
"Ooh! Marian! Her cooks do a fine job..." Mr. Henwoode squealed, without looking up from his newspaper.
"May seventeenth... hmm... We'll have to ask James and Margaret what their plans are..."
"Plans? What plans? Are they leaving?" Mr. Henwoode gaped at his wife desperately mouthing senseless words as his bottom lip quivered uncontrollably.
"They're only getting married, Charles..." Mrs. Henwoode looked up from the letter, "We must have a day set for the wedding..."
"Well, it's not as if they'll be having the ceremony in only two weeks..." Mr. Henwoode thumbed through the newspaper, and set it to the side of the armchair after not being able to find anything completely interesting. He sat up from the depths of the arm chair,
"I know..." Mrs. Henwoode stammered, "We just - we ought to know whether or not James wants to stay at his aunt's... especially with Margaret - we need to be sure that she wants to also..."
"Of course they'll want to!" Mr. Henwoode flung his arms open. Mrs. Henwoode nodded as she reread the letter. "Well, my dear," said Mr. Henwoode, "I'd best go tend to that storage room." He wrenched himself out of the chair, pecked Mrs. Henwoode on the cheek, and made his way up the stairs. He entered James' room, where he found James pointing out the window as Margaret sat on the sunny windowsill.
"Over here... that's the Wesley's... and there, that's where Eloise lives... yes, the big one, can't miss it..."
"James," said Mr. Henwoode, "are you going to spend all day -"
"I'm just showing Jules around, "James interrupted his father, "So she knows where everything is."
"Right..." Mr. Henwoode gazed around the room very uninterestedly, "Well, come along, James! I'll be need you help."
James exhaled somewhat defiantly, as Margaret held his hand in hers. They trailed slowly out of the room, and parted at the top of the stairs when Elizabeth turn for the steps and James followed his father into the extra bedroom. An old loveseat sat among several large piles of folded quilts, baskets and case of random notes and letters, cramped, towering bookcases, and a round, threadbare hearthrug.
"Why couldn't I have slept in here?" James waved an impatient arm around the sunlit room, half admiring its simplicity, but also recognizing its aging filthiness. "It's quite comfortable..."
"This is why." Said Mr. Henwoode and he bounced carefully on an area to the side of the door, "Too much of a give." Thin blankets of dust were lightly lifted off the floor, and with Mr. Henwoode's bouncing came the shouts of Mrs. Henwoode;
"Charles, you'd better watch yourself, you won't want to have to fix a crack in the ceiling, too!"
Mr. Henwoode spared a low grumble and with a forced calmness called; "No need to worry!" He resisted the need to roll his eyes, and instead looked up at James with a recovering smile. "Blast, that woman's a pain in the -"
"James?" Margaret poked her head through the doorway, "Hello, Mr. Henwoode... umm, James, you couldn't tell me where Eloise lives again?"
Without excusing himself from his father's presence, James stepped over the loose area of floorboards but stopped when he had comprehended what Margaret had asked.
"Where Eloise lives?"
"Yes."
"Meriwether?"
"Yes."
"Eloise."
"Yes."
"You're not visiting her, are you?"
A sheepish grin inched it's way cautiously to Margaret's now mildly-worried face. James smiled back.
"Of course... of course I'll show you where it is."
James directed Margaret back to his bedroom, and to the window once again. Mr. Henwoode called after him, though he seemed only to be calling to himself.
"Oh!" he proclaimed, his voice unusually high, "Shall I do this all myself?!" He stood there a few moments, waiting for a reply, then James stepped back into the room after giving Margaret a quick hug.
"No need to wet yourself," James laughed as he made his way to the edge of the loose floor.
"Sorry... sorry..." Mr. Henwoode said as he regained his composure. James suppressed a larger laugh, and moved to the other side of the loose area.
"Where's Margaret gone?" Mr. Henwoode asked when James crouched down to examine the floorboards with him,
"To Eloise'... I'm not quite sure why, though..."
Mr. Henwoode had started to tug on the floorboard nearest him.
"We've just got to replace the nails --" He wheezed as the floorboard came loose, "--they've started to bend. Did Margaret say why she was going?"
"If she did, she didn't tell me -" James had also begun to pry a floorboard from its place, "--Pass the hammer - We'll have to go ask mum..." James set the loose board to his side, "I doubt she'll tell us why..."
"Do you think she wants her to help plan another party?" Mr. Henwoode suggested with an insanely excited look in his eyes.
"I think you are the only one who wants to get caught in a mess like that, dad..." but suddenly an extremely terrified look came across James' face, as he looked up to inquire such a horrifying idea;
"Do you think she wants Eloise to help plan the wedding?"

* * *

Margaret was walking briskly down the stone path, and down the same, well-kept street they had walked down to attend Eloise' picnic party. She kept up her pace and checked the notes she had made on a slip of parchment, as she read the street signs on every corner and looked for the same, large house that James had pointed out only minutes ago. Her hat had almost blown away several times, as the wind was harder than it had been over the past few days, yet only by a small amount. She hadn't the time to fasten her hat, during her successful attempt to slip out of the house before James was able to keep her from visiting Eloise. She wasn't sure she would have fancied making up an excuse as to why she wanted to visit Eloise on no special occasion at all. Margaret had found Eloise home at last; a long, winding brick path lead the way to the doorstep, which was preceded with a luscious bed of pansies - delicious purple and yellow pedals swam among grasshopper-green leaves, and a handsome oil-lamp post stood in the center of another bed near the middle of the freshly-cut lawn. Margaret was quite hesitant to approach the gigantic, white house, not being sure of what kind of conversation Eloise would drag her into. Margaret ruffled the front of her pink, cross-checked dress as she strode up the walkway. She compared the address on the small piece of parchment to the brass number 14 n the side of the oak doors, and the lovely, glistening sign telling her that she was on Rue de la Fleur.
"Right," Margaret whispered as she folded the parchment and slipped under her sash. The dread of spending an entire morning with Eloise became heavier with the intimidation of the extremely large manor. She stiffly stepped up to the large oak doors, and rattled the brass knocking handle, which had THE MERIWETHERS imprinted into it.
"Good morning," came a droning, yet sophisticated voice, "I suppose you are here to see Ms. Meriwether." Eloise' butler was had opened the door to it's fullest extent, and was standing beside it. No sound came from Margaret's mouth; The house met her highest of her expectations, and she was in even greater awe of its appearance and only a small sound escaped her throat.
"I..." She started as she gaped wide-eyed at the size of Eloise' mansion.
"I shall fetch her for you." The butler stalked off around a flowing staircase and disappeared from sight. Margaret removed her hat incredibly slowly, as she was distracted by Eloise' wonderful home. Eloise then came bustling around the corner, looking disturbed and flushed, and gave Margaret a start by her booming welcome;
"Hello, my dear, dear Margaret..." Eloise approached her with a gentle embrace - very unlike the one she had received at the picnic party. Eloise then seized the hat from her hands and thrust it into the hands of a stout maid that had just appeared from the left.
"Hello, Eloise..." Margaret was quite relieved that Eloise didn't appear to be as socially demanding as she had been during their first meeting.
"Well, my dear, I'm glad you are here... I've only had a visitor arrive less than an hour ago..."
Margaret then felt silently disappointed. She was lead into Eloise' tearoom, where the left wall seemed to be entirely made of glass, as well as the vaulted ceiling. A beautiful set of wicker chairs and square table were basking in the fresh morning sunshine, and one of the chairs was occupied by person familiar to Margaret. Her tawny hair was pinned and curled, wispy bangs sweeping across her forehead.
"Margaret, this is Miss Dianne Foster. She's returned to town for a few days, and has kindly -- er - graced us with her presence."
"Oh yes, Dianne... We met at the picnic only a week or two ago..."
"Margaret!" Dianne had only just become aware as to whom she was being introduced to, "How very delightful! I was hoping we'd see one another again, soon, oh..." Dianne seemed almost overly excited at Margaret's arrival; Margaret secretly supposed that she had been having an incredibly exhausting conversation with Eloise, for she had been wearing an unmistakable impression of a toss between extreme boredom, and unwanted disturbing thoughts. Margaret did not know of what they had been talking about, but was soon informed as though it was some sort of weekly town news-spread;
"How wonderful!" Eloise clapped her hands together in a concluding fashion, "Clayton, find Miss Margaret another place - she must join us for tea..."
The butler pulled a wicker chair out from under the table cloth, and silently beckoned Margaret to sit down. She tread past Eloise and set herself down softly on the wicker chair across from Dianne. The butler then stalked past the wicker table and through a swinging door. Eloise scuttled back to the table, and dropped herself into a chair between Dianne and Margaret, as the butler trailed back to Margaret and set a pink flowered teacup in front of her. He set a crystal glass and a small, silver spoon beside it, and strode back through the swinging door. Eloise then lifted the pink flowered teapot from the center of the table and filled Margaret's teacup, proceeding by refilling Dianne's and her own.
"Sugar?" Eloise pointed a finger at the small sugar dish in front of her as she set the teapot back down,
"No... thank you..." Margaret breathed slightly uncomfortably. Eloise then began sprinkling sugar into her cup, and stirred it impetuously before clinking it back to its spot on the lacey table cloth. Dianne caught Margaret's eye, and stifled a small giggle by lifting her teacup to her mouth. There was an awkward silence for only a few moments, when Eloise chimed in after finally realizing the unnatural quietness.
"Girls - no need to fuss... Margaret, you've obviously come here for some reason," said Eloise as she was waving her hand, and smiling mischievously as though expecting her to burst out in ultimate confession.
"Well..." Margaret seemed faintly anxious to begin,
"Because you know..." Eloise appeared not to have heard her, "Miss Dianne and I have been talking about her problem-decked relationship with -"
"Eloise!" Dianne snapped quietly, practically swatting Eloise with her napkin, "You promised you..." She began to whisper, smoothing the napkin back into her lap,
"Oh, gobbledygook, Dianne!" Eloise laughed and slapped her hand to the table with a shaking thud, "Miss Margaret won't go telling anyone of your troubles with Henry..."
"Henry?" Margaret remembered aloud, "Oh yes! James' friend... With you at the party..."
"Yes, yes, very good Margaret..." Eloise continued impatiently, "anyhow, Dianne remained here in Hertesforde a few days after the party - she stayed in the Ainsworth's, naturally..." Eloise threw Dianne a frustrated look for no apparent reason, "She was too much of a handful for Henry's mother, so it seems..."
"I was not!" Dianne's eyes thrashed open and stared in awe at Eloise, "What do you mean at that, Eloise? You think I too uncivilized to make acquaintance with the Ainsworths, do you? You think that I'm here to complain about the way they treated -"
"Well, you're obviously not here to defend their case! Eloise proclaimed shrilly, "I suppose you are now trying to convince me into thinking that someone just as fine as Mrs. Ainsworth is -"
"--too good for me, is that right Eloise?" Dianne shouted back, standing up from the table,
"Well Dianne, I was only saying that you ought to look out about yourself -" Eloise scolded, "You believe it is her fault that Henry has been unwise in his choices of courting a - a lady such as yourself? I can hardly believe that -"
"Well, Eloise..." Dianne was temporarily lost for words, but did not show any sign of breaking down, "I'm obviously not getting anywhere by standing here and listening to your load of - your load of hogwash!"
Eloise let out a small gasp. There was a dreadfully silent glare between the little space that was left between Dianne's and Eloise' perilous eyes. Margaret watched in shocked amazement, wondering what could have possibly caused this sudden uproar.
"Dianne..." Eloise had finally gathered enough strength to provide another snide remark; "... I believe that you have made yourself heard well-enough. You have stepped the line, Dianne, I believe I will have to ask -"
"Eloise, you cannot ask me to do anymore." Dianne retrieved her handbag and strapped it across her shoulder, "I trust you will not be bothering me anytime soon, and I would also appreciate your efforts if you do not attempt to do so."
Dianne shot one last dirty look at Eloise, and looked toward Margaret, wishing she could have had time to apologize for her manner of leaving. Margaret shrugged, and sipped her tea to hide any expression that may have spread across her face. Dianne stomped out of the tearoom, and her footsteps could be heard all the way to the entryway, before the windows shook with the slamming of the front door. Margaret and Eloise sat in utter silence, Eloise looking plainly terrified, and Margaret feeling quite comfortable with the recent happenings.
"Eloise, I'd better hurry off before Mrs. Henwoode gets started with the luncheon..." Margaret rose from her chair, grateful to have a reasonable excuse to leave,
"Oh, no... no... Margaret, do not leave - you've come here to talk about something ---"
"No, Eloise, I think it's quite alright." She rose from her chair a bit more, this time, Eloise grasping her forearm and pinching it painfully,
"Margaret, I'm sorry for the way that Dianne Foster has shown herself. I was merely standing my way for Mrs. Ainsworth and her husband -"
"Eloise, I have not yet met Mr. or Mrs. Ainsworth, and only trust the relationships that I already have, especially with someone as fine as Miss Foster. Now if you'll excuse me -"
Margaret was thrust down alarmingly, causing an echoing knock of her wicker chair. Eloise' eyes filled with danger and looked at Margaret through pure loathing.
"Miss Foster..." Eloise recited maliciously, "Is a nasty, dirty little witch of a woman." Eloise' grip on Margaret's forearm tightened warningly, "If I ever hear of your meeting with her, I swear that I -"
"You're mad!" Margaret spat, revolted by Eloise' attempt to forbid from meeting with Dianne,
"Margaret, you'd better watch your -"
"Eloise, I dare say that it is neither yours, nor Mrs. Ainsworth's business whether or not Dianne and I continue to be friends." Margaret glowered coolly, "Now, you will let me leave in peace, or I am afraid that Mrs. Garman will have a say in the matter."
Margaret jerked her arm free of Eloise' grasp, and stormed from the room, without turning her head. She gave a gracious nod to butler Clayton, whipped through the oak door, and dashed down the threshold of off down the brick path. Her head lashed from left to right, trying to spot Dianne; she could not have been far from number fourteen.
Then she saw her.
"Dianne!" she called, and Dianne turned her head to see Margaret waving for her to wait. Dianne turned back the other way and sauntered slowly up the sloping road. Margaret lifted the hem of her dress from the ground and rushed to the left and toward Dianne, once again holding her hat in place. She continued to call her name, though not quite as loudly - but before long, she was catching her breath at Dianne's side, and was fastening her hat when Dianne remained silent.
"She has the nerve..." Dianne stammered after a few agonizing moments, now completely lost for words and trying to find a way to explain the recent event; "I could've... How... Why did she..."
Dianne now had her face buried in her right hand, her left wrapped around the front of her stomach. Margaret did not say anything, allowing only the chirping birds to be heard above the sound of the gentle wind, and the frequent sobs from underneath Dianne's hand.
"Dianne..." Margaret started warily, "... You know that I am more than willing to do anything for you..."
The brief intakes continued for another set of seconds, and Margaret tried again;
"Dianne, don't listen to a single word that Eloise said." Margaret paused, "She was completely out of order, and you have no idea where these things could be coming from... I'm sure that Mrs. Ainsworth would never say such things..."
Dianne gave a shaking sniff, and the hand covering her face darted beside the other; her face was strewn with tears, her eyelashes blurred and streams flowing down her cheeks.
"She might as well... tell me... exactly what... Eloise said..." Dianne panted as her chest heaved uncontrollably, "I knew... I knew..."
"You knew what, Dianne?" Margaret prompted sympathetically, trying to pull her hands away from her face gently,
"I knew... Henry didn't care... e-enough... a-about me!" Dianne was crying hysterically - Margaret was then feeling quite shaky herself, and did not wish to do anything that would at all worsen the situation.
"Oh, but I'm sure he does!" Margaret pulled her into a comforting hug. Dianne breathed heavily and her voice broke into a heartbroken sob. Margaret held her as she cried in complete agony and rubbed her back until Dianne spoke again;
"It... it seems... that... if he really did care... he... he would have... have tried... to help..."
"Help with what?" Margaret lifted Dianne off her shoulder and brushed her hair out of her face, looking her square in the face. She then hesitated, and struggled to fight back another set of tears.
"His... his mother... she didn't like me!" Dianne again fell into a desperate series of bawling and sobbing, yet summoned the strength to explain more;
"Sh... Sh... She told me... that Henry's always had trouble... choosing... the right kinds of girls..." she managed to elucidate through the uncontainable wheezing and sniffing, "and then she said... how -- how happy she was that Henry was able... to find someone... in only a few weeks... no matter... who... it was..."
"Well, I'm - I'm sure she didn't mean it in such a way --"
"Oh, yes..." Dianne's sadness was momentarily transformed into complete hatred, "... Yes... she did..." she retrieved an embroidered handkerchief from the depths of her handbag, "She'd visited Eloise at least once everyday during my visit - and Eloise invited me only yesterday to come meet her when she'd heard that I was returning for another few days..." Dianne and Margaret began to walk again, Dianne folding her arms and finally being able to control her uneven breathing to a certain degree.
"What'd she invite you over for?" Margaret asked curiously, absentmindedly picking a small flower from the side of the road and twirling it in her fingers,
"She told me to meet her for tea -" Dianne pulled a lacy invitation out of her bag unceremoniously and showed it to Margaret, "Obviously she didn't tell me why..."
Margaret held the invitation as and read it as they continued to walk slowly up the curving road; the invitation was addressed in its familiar sophisticated handwriting;


Dear Miss Dianne Foster,
Please meet me, Eloise, at my estate;
Number 4, Rue de la Fleur
At 11:00 tomorrow Saturday
and accompany me for tea.
Thank you for your time,
Eloise Meriwether and staff.

Margaret thrust it back into Dianne's hand, who then returned it harshly into her handbag.
"Why in the world does she have a staff?" Margaret laughed as she again ruffled the front of her dress. Dianne seemed slightly taken aback at such a change in the conversation, yet was all the same grateful to start poking fun behind Eloise' back. Dianne only laughed heartily, again wiping her nose with the handkerchief. Margaret stopped on their way up the road to examine a juicy, green apple dangling off a branch and over the street.
"I mean... is it really that difficult for her to totter around on those two incredibly large legs of--" But Margaret was interrupted by a high-pitched racketing sound, heading toward them from the top of the sloping bend. To Dianne's supreme dread, Henry and Robert were speeding down the hill, both clinging to the handles or the seat of a brand-new tandem bicycle. Shouts of excitement became louder and the small ringing of a metal bell was mixed in among the noise. Robert was perched on the pedals, leaving space for Robert to rest on the back edge of the hard seat. As they grew closer, Margaret could see that Adrianna Pinnsley was set in the second seat, looking much more calm and polite as they ventured down the hill. Henry and Robert screamed childishly, and came to a skidding halt to the side of Dianne and Margaret, nearly throwing Adrianna from her seat.
"Come on, Dina!" Henry lifted his leg from the side of the seat and made for Adrianna to take his place, "Hop along! Adrianna can sit up with Robert, and you can sit back here with me!" Robert, seeming overexcited, lifted Adrianna from her seat and placed himself upon it.
"No - no, Henry... I don't think I will." Dianne proclaimed in protest, "Come on, Margaret..." She had pulled Margaret's hand to follow her, wanting to leave Henry as quickly as possible. Henry seized Dianne's upper arm in a playful way and attempted to tempt her to the bicycle,
"Oh, Dianne, come on! It won't hurt, just come for a bit of --"
"No, Henry, I can't." Dianne pulled back at Margaret's hand, bringing Margaret into the center of the arguments and protests,
"Well, I can't see why not..." Henry waved an arm at Margaret; "I know you've a friend along, but we can - er - she can sit up here on the handle bars! Always safe --"
"Henry, I'm sorry, but we do not feel like riding the tandem."
"Why don't you --"
"Henry, I'd like to say goodbye to you..." Dianne had made up her mind, although she had never explained such an idea to neither Eloise, nor Margaret, "... I'm saying goodbye, because I am going to leave on the nearest train tonight."
Dianne was hesitant to continue up the hill, but knew that she would seem foolish to only stand and wait for convincing otherwise. Keen to hear what reason Henry would give for her remaining in Hertesforde, she dragged Margaret up the hill noticeably slower than she had been before, letting Henry's small grip fall and linger for only a moment's confusion.
Just as both Margaret and Dianne had suspected, Henry objected just as quickly as she had finished saying this. He pulled her arm back once again, bringing her to stand only inches from him and looking into her eyes with the most distressing concern;
"Having you been crying, Dianne?" He examined her face with utmost sincerity.
Dianne did not answer, only let her eyes fall somewhere else other than his. He supported her chin in his fingers and brought her eyes back to his own.
"What's been happening, Dianne?" Henry ordered, more than questioned. Dianne said nothing. She pushed his hand from her face and stalked swiftly up the hill, forgetting to pull Margaret along behind her. Henry chased after her, trying to face her. But as she did not stop to turn to him, he nearly tripped over a side hedge while circling around the front of her. Margaret followed also.
"Dianne, what's wrong?" Henry continued to trip around her, "Are you not having a good time?"
"No, Henry, I'm not." Dianne stopped to answer his question, and pursued her way past the apple tree.
Henry again looked slightly confused, but followed her anyway, knocking Margaret out of the way by accident.
"Dianne, please talk to me --" Henry pleaded, "I'm not good at this! I haven't any idea what I've done to anger you so, please, just tell me!" Henry tried again; "Dianne, what is it? Is it the room? Do you want to stay in a different one?"
Dianne gave him a look of greatest aversion, did not look back to Margaret, and dashed up and to the other side of the street. Henry looked back at Margaret, only looking a bit angry, and trailed after Dianne. Margaret looked back at Robert and Adrianna, shrugged in puzzlement, and followed Henry. Dianne, having the head start, was able to keep well ahead of Henry; he tripped several times over the sidewalk curb, a street lamppost, and a stray cat. Margaret sped up only when losing sight of Dianne, as to see which way she would turn. Henry had finally run out of breath after writhing free of a pruned bush. Margaret caught up to him, braced his arm to help him out of the briers, and helped brush his jacket of brown and green leaves. He stood clumsily on the edge of a neighbor's lawn, pointing in anger in Dianne's direction, and panting in both exhaustion, and rage.
"Why... did she run off... like that?" Henry spoke to neither Margaret, nor himself. Margaret kept looking around the bush, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dianne, but she had disappeared.
"I don't... get her..." Henry stammered more out of frustration rather than tiredness, "She's been acting like this ever since she got back." Henry just stood, waving his arms in aggravation, his mouth open and mouthing silent words. "I... I try to understand... but I just don't!" He kicked the grass and tried to hide the fact that he had just stubbed all toes at once. Margaret, eager to chase after Dianne - or tell James of what's happened, told Henry as little as much as she could without spending much time.
"Listen, Henry." Margaret stood several feet in front of him, "Dianne feels that you don't care about her." Margaret eyed him apprehensively. Henry stopped in his tracks; one hand rumpling his hair and the other at his side.
"What - why --?" He teetered on the spot and again started mouthing soundless words,
"She told me..." Margaret wavered to tell him so quickly, "... She told me that it was because of your mother..."
Henry looked at her in bewilderment.
"What? My mother? But then - why does she say I don't care about --"
"Because your mother said she was glad you had found someone, no matter who it was." Margaret hastened to finish the sentence. Henry's eyes then stupidly flashed from side to side, and Margaret started back down the road when he did not comment.
"Margaret!" Henry called, "Please - wait Margaret..." He caught up to her side, "Why did she tell you those - I mean - what makes her say that?"
"I don't know." Margaret said truthfully, and then turned down the hill in the direction she had walked away from Eloise' house.
Henry did not follow.
Margaret strolled down the hill, gaining speed as it grew steeper. Margaret did not mean to return to Eloise' house; she was to get back to James' home before anyone else was able to. She feared that Eloise may intend to interfere, and at this thought, Margaret lengthened her pace.
She turned left at the bottom of the hill, turned left again, and then turned left once more to make her way up the street she had walked down only a couple hours before. It did not take her nearly as long to find her way back to the house, than it had taken her to find Eloise'. She scurried up the brick path, and found sense in knocking on the door. She burst through the door, startling Mrs. Henwoode;
"Oh, child..." Mrs. Henwoode gasped in relief, "You nearly gave me the willies..."
"So sorry, Mrs. Henwoode..." Margaret glanced through the kitchen to the living area, "Have you seen James?"
"Oh, yes, he's still up in the storage room..."
"Why thank you --" Margaret started, but Mrs. Henwoode was already standing at the foot of the stairs and was yelling over the sound of loud hammering.
"JAMES! Margaret's down here for you! She needs to talk to you!"
Margaret remained by the front door, closing it softly and removing her hat from her head.
"What does she need, mum?!" James shouted in return, still continuing to hammer. Mrs. Henwoode turned to Margaret, looking at her from across the room, silently motioning her to shout an answer. Margaret's eyes darted from Mrs. Henwoode, to the staircase, to the ceiling, as she wasn't sure to whom she should reply.
"I need to talk to you about Henry!" She hollered reproachfully, "I've just been talking to Dianne! Could you come down here for only a --"
BANG.
James and Mr. Henwoode came crashing from above. The cracking and the rumbling and the screams of fright from Mrs. Henwoode were mixed in with the high-pitched shrieks from both James and Mr. Henwoode. They both plummeted through the ceiling and landed right on the freshly-cleaned table, showering it with dust and debris. James had fallen almost entirely head first, landing on his stomach underneath Mr. Henwoode, who had fallen flat on his back. James lay squashed by his father and they both groaned in complete pain.
Mrs. Henwoode stood in shock with her hands clasped to her face, and Margaret had jumped in fright and was clinging to her heart as if she had barely had a heart attack.
Mr. Henwoode did not pick himself off of James, despite the muffled moaning coming from the twisted James. Both Margaret and Mrs. Henwoode clambered from opposite sides of the room, and through the pile of dust and wood to pull Mr. Henwoode off of James. Both Margaret and Mrs. Henwoode seized an arm of Mr. Henwoode's, and pulled him up. His legs thumped to the floor, and not being able to support himself, relied on Mrs. Henwoode's head and shoulder until Margaret quickly dumped the broken floorboards off of a near kitchen chair. Mr. Henwoode slouched into the chair sluggishly, his eyes slightly unfocused and his grey hair thrown askew. His arm slumped from Mrs. Henwoode's shoulder, and she turned to James who had whimpered in the relief of his father's weight. Margaret moved from Mr. Henwoode as quickly as she could, trampling back to the table as to assure herself that James was still alive; being landed on with full force by Mr. Henwoode, would certainly have finished him off.
She soon found that her fears were in vain, for as soon as Mrs. Henwoode had rolled him over, he was clearly conscious.
"James, are you alright?!" Mrs. Henwoode cried, cradling his head,
"Wind... knocked... out..." James managed to gasp, and as then Mr. Henwoode lifted his head from the back of the chair, and merely laughed. His head was thrown back again in hysterical laughter, even as Mrs. Henwoode let James' head fall from the table, only to be rescued by Margaret's tender hands.
"Charles, what on earth can you possibly find funny at a time like --" but she was cut off. James had started laughing also, though it seemed much more painful for him to do so.
Margaret joined in the laughing chorus, unable to contain the mixture of shock and worry and amusement all at once. James and Mr. Henwoode obviously felt the same, though Mrs. Henwoode seemed keen to make them see the seriousness of the situation.
She too, could not help but laugh, and got lost in the uncontrollable jollity.


Margaret had helped James to the Davenport, and met Mrs. Henwoode in the kitchen after Mr. Henwoode had been assisted to their bedroom. It was nearly eight o'clock, and they had spent most of the day clearing what large pieces of ceiling that they could, although neither James nor Mr. Henwoode were in any state to help.
Margaret and Mrs. Henwoode stood near the stove where they were able to stand without tripping over the boards.
"I can let James have the bedroom tonight, I can just trade him spots --"
"Oh, no I wouldn't have that..." Mrs. Henwoode protested against Margaret humble suggestion, "... James can manage... I can just - scoot up the chair and --"
"Mrs. Henwoode, it's quite alright." Margaret insisted, I don't mind. I can change in the office area - and I - I promise." Margaret said reassuringly, "It's no problem at all."
Mrs. Henwoode gave an uncertain look;
"Are you sure?" Mrs. Henwoode struggled to ask,
"I promise." Margaret guaranteed.
That night, James slept in his old bedroom, feeling very sorry that Margaret was left to sleep on the cold davenport. To James' request, Mrs. Henwoode lit the fire and let it die with the night. James bid Margaret goodnight, when they were through visiting in his bedroom;
"Goodnight to you, James." Margaret answered as she blew out the oil lamp on the bedside table. She parted with one long, last kiss, and tiptoed back down the stairs, half wishing she could have stayed up there with him.

Chapter Six
Travels to the Everard's

Mrs. Henwoode had written to Marian the following morning. She told her of "the inhabitable state of the most used quarters of the house," and "the perfect timing of her kind invitation." James and Margaret were to leave to Pennly within ten days, and arrive on the seventeenth without Mr. and Mrs. Henwoode. Mr. and Mrs. Henwoode would then leave seven days after them, giving them enough time to repair the damage done to the kitchen, and still have one relaxing week left at Marian's.
"I only wish I could have stayed longer..." Margaret felt slightly disappointed as she and James packed their suitcases in the bedroom,
"Don't worry, love." James said, "We'll come back in only a couple of weeks... besides..." James turned to Margaret as they both sniggered, "...it will give us a week alone without mum or dad to --"
"James!" Mr. Henwoode burst through the door without any sort of warning, "The carriage has arrived. You'll have to go in a few minutes."
James glanced at Margaret when his father had left the room, and picked up Margaret's case after she had locked it. They then walked down the stairs, where Mrs. Henwoode was removing their cloaks from the coat tree.
"You'll need these..." Mrs. Henwoode said very quickly, handing them their cloaks and handing Mr. Henwoode Margaret's case, "Now - you two sure you've got everything you need?" Margaret nodded and James answered,
"Yes, mum..." he turned to Margaret for a confirmation, "Yes... I'm sure we do."
Mrs. Henwoode made sure they had both of their cases, and gave them each a tight hug.
"Oh, my dears..." said Mrs. Henwoode, "I shall miss you both." She gave James a kiss on the cheek, and he to her in return. James gave his father a slapping hug, and Mr. Henwoode added sarcastically with a fake weeping sound;
"Our parting is most aggrieving." James laughed and Margaret gave Mr. Henwoode a quick hug, and she followed James through the door into the frosty morning. They waved once more to Mr. and Mrs. Henwoode, and the front door slowly closed. James and Margaret, both glad that they were wearing their cloaks on such a bitter morning, stepped hastily into the door of the carriage after greeting the hired driver that would be guiding their carriage into Pennly. He shut the door tight behind them, and the secured their cases on the far side. James sat opposite Margaret, both of them near the left window. After a few moment's silence, James thought to himself aloud;
"I suppose mum and dad are just as pleased to get rid of us, as we are to leave."
Margaret laughed, her excitement growing in the thought of having a whole week alone with James. Margaret smiled at him from under the rim of her hat and he continued,
"But I suppose they are pleased for a completely different reason than we are --"
"James!" Margaret hushed him, swatting his knee.
"What did I say?" James said playfully, "It's not like anyone can actually hear us... Besides, I was only saying --" he cut off, seeing the light redness starting to spread to Margaret's cheeks. He laughed and turned to look out the same window she was.
Margaret tried not to let him see that she was as grinning in secret delight.
Several minutes passed, and finally James asked;
"What do you look so happy about?"
Outside the driver's cheerful whistling and humming could be heard among the rattle of the carriage and the even trot of the horses' hooves.
Margaret lifted her head, revealing her face from underneath her hat. She said nothing and then went back to looking out the window. James watched her for a moment, and laid back, looking out the window also, glancing back at her every other moment.
Nearly two hours had passed; they had talked of Pennly, planning what they would most fancy doing during their time there... "Grandmother doesn't know will be staying in Pennly..." Margaret said, untying the ribbon around her chin and removing her hat, "... but I'd prefer she didn't know..." she tousled the hem of her dress, and looked up to James; "What? Oh, and I reckon you'd just love spending the day with her..." Margaret suggested with a taunting look on her face. James looked back at her and snorted with laughter, all of his happiness welling inside of him. He bent across the small legroom between the seats, embracing her elbows in his hands and pulling her over to him with a gentle strength. Margaret lifted herself over to the space beside him, and James situated himself so he was facing her;
"You know your Gran's alright with this." James said quietly as he held Margaret's hand in his, "She may not have liked the news of our engagement... but at least... at least you're going to be happy."
A small tear glistened in Margaret's eye, and she said; "... I know. I know..." she laid her head on James' shoulder, "I will be happy - I am happy..." James laid his head on hers, "I just... I just wish that she could be happy for us."
James breathed deeply, "I know Margaret..." he brushed her hair down her back, "... only, the reason she wouldn't be happy, is because she wouldn't have anybody to rag on every waking moment."
Margaret laughed and adjusted her head. James turned and kissed the top of her shining head, and then asked concernedly; "You cold?"
"Mm - hmm..." she answered, her eyes closing and her head once again finding a more comfortable part of James' shoulder. James held her round the shoulders and stomach, and settled her in his lap while propping his legs on the seat opposite him. He draped his cloak across Margaret, and pet her golden hair. A slit of pale sunlight shone through the window curtain, and peeked across Margaret's beautiful face, reflecting on the rain splashed windowpane. For several minutes James sat, watching Margaret as she slept - he skimmed her cheek with his hand, and kissed her softly where he had touched her face. He felt as if he could have never be happier; here he sat, his gorgeous Margaret draped across him, the person he loved most in the world... he felt he would soon burst with his exhilaration... the plans for a new day - a new future - a new life...
His luck was unbelievable.
He let his head fall back to the seat, and he drifted into a pleasant sleep.
What seemed to be minutes later, James woke with a small start as the carriage bobbled on the road;
"Wow, Foally..." the driver called to the left horse, "No need to fret now... just a bit of a mud puddle... Wow..." The carriage tipped from side to side as it made its way down the mud covered road, moving about unpredictably and waking Margaret calmly.
"What's going on?" she asked curiously as she stretched up from the seat, and pulled the cloak from herself.
"Not sure..." James replied, pulling back the curtain and looking out the window. "Ah, it's the rain..." James said, "It's pouring onto the road..."
"Will everything be alright?" Margaret asked as she too moved to the opposite seat near the window,
"I hope so..." James started, "... It'd be horrible having to step out and push..."
The horses struggled through the deepening mud, and neighed furiously as they did so. They soon reached a drier part of the road, and saw no need in having to step out of the carriage.
Neither Margaret, nor James were able to get back to sleep, as the road continued to jostle the carriage and lead them down bumpy slopes.
"I wonder where he's going..." James said wonderingly, "The last times I've come we hadn't needed to take this road..."
Margaret sat silently, hoping that nothing bad would come of the unknown path. James pulled himself away from the window, and after several minutes began to rummage through his case.
"I've wanted to give this to you from some time..." James said, taking out a small box after finding what he was searching for, "... I could never find the right time to do so..." James moved across the seat and sat beside Margaret. The box he was holding was of fine, polished lacquer - a golden tab secured it and popped open easily. James pried the lid back in his hand, and displayed it amorously to his fianc?.
Margaret gasped and held her hand to her mouth. Inside the box lay a shining, silver necklace - an oval pendant dangled from a diamond encrusted chain shimmering in the sunlight. James lifted it from its place, setting the case aside. He grinned, pleased at Margaret's reaction. In the pendant a single, white opal swayed heavily with the rhythm of the carriage.
"It's for you." James said quietly, unfastening the tear drop chain and lifting it to Margaret's neck. Margaret removed her hands from her mouth and held the chain gently as James secured it around her neck and let it fall delicately across her collar bones. James smoothed it down her neck as Margaret gaped at it in fascination.
"James..." Margaret sighed in admiration, "How... Where did you get this?" she said slowly, still in utter amazement.
"Levund's..." James said as he tucked the case away, "...Got it the week after I got this..." James linked fingers with Margaret and looked at her engagement ring. "... I'm sorry -- it took so long to get the match." He kissed her hand and she looked into his eyes.
"I don't know what to say..." Margaret said blankly, "It's beautiful." She fondly kissed him and stared back at the necklace,
"I hoped you'd like it." James said proudly,
"I love it." Margaret replied, holding her hand to her neck, "I wish I had something for you --"
"Oh, no." James insisted, "There's n o need at all - it's a thank you. Thank you for coming back to my home with me."
Margaret laid her head on James' shoulder once again, though lifted herself back up quickly.
"You know that I'm the one that owes a thank you." She lay her head back down, and James stroked her back. They sat silently for a short while, then James spoke again;
"You know --" he began timidly, "I hope we can get a place of our own, right off..."
He broke off, and Margaret breathed deeply, "You do?" she said hopefully, "Really? That would just be glorious --"
"You really think so?" James was surprised that she was so excited, "Not just saying that? Because, we don't have to if you don't want to..."
"Oh, but I do! I really do!" Margaret assured him, "Where were you thinking of?"
"Well..." James moved back to his original seat. He bent over closer to Margaret and said to her elatedly, "...Alright. I will tell you where I would like to start... But don't thin k that that means that we have to --"
"No, go on!" Margaret encouraged him, also hopping in the seat in anticipation,
"Remember that one weekend in Bermesforde, when I had gone and I wouldn't tell you why?"
"You mean the week after you proposed?"
"Yes. Well, I found a nice little house - about the size of my parent's... It's here in Hertesforde, right near the border of Pennly..."
"You did?" Margaret asked excitedly, "So it's only a few hours away!"
"Yes! And the way I'd heard about it was through that Howard Davis - he shared my dormitory - his uncle has lived there for quite some time, and will be moving in with his Howard's family... I didn't want to tell you I'd gone looking for a house so soon... I felt it would've scared you a bit... Things were moving so... quickly..."
James hesitated apprehensively; Margaret began to appear somewhat distraught - her eyes blurred dejectedly, and she found it difficult to look James right in the face.
"You thought you'd have scared me?" She asked, sounding extremely hurt,
"No... I --" stammered,
"What did you mean?" she was then sounding slightly angry,
"Jules... I didn't mean any --"
"You though you would've scared me off?" Margaret question demandingly.
"Well, actually, I was afraid that that might have been the case --" James gave in truthfully, and slightly confused that Margaret would be offended by any statement of the sort,
"How --" Margaret began heatedly, "-- How could you question that I loved you? I mean... You thought that if you'd told me you'd gone looking for a house, I'd have left you? Why would you feel that you'd have to hide something from me like that? Were you unsure that --"
"Margaret dear, I wasn't unsure of anything. I'm not unsure of anything!" James was feeling frustrated partly by Margaret's view on the situation, and partly by his stupidity of bringing forth such a meaningless subject, "Sure, I might've been afraid that you would've taken it the wrong way, but I was afraid that you'd feel I was forcing you into something that you didn't want to do --"
"Well James, of course I'm not going to let you force me into anything, but don't you know that I will do anything for you, whether or not I really want to?" Margaret found it easier to look him in the face,
"Yes, I do." James continued, "I just didn't want to change your opinion on the matter --"
"But James, don't you see?" said Margaret, "You should've known that I could never want to change my opinion! Didn't you know that I... that I was there to stay?"
"Margaret, it was my own idiocy that would lead me to even thinking that you would leave me." James said straightforwardly.
"You mean that." Margaret stated, followed by James' reply,
"I do mean it: I was an idiot."
Margaret laughed, and took his hands in hers as she gazed into his eyes. "You know I love you?"
James smiled as his answer.
He straightened the hem of her neckline, flicking the pendant hanging on the chain. "I do." He said, "I hope you know that I love you more than anyone, or anything that's happened to me in my entire life." Then he continued amusingly, "Let's just say..." he began, "... you're absolutely no `Fiona' in my eyes."
Margaret laughed again, "Don't remind me..." she said jokingly,
"Alright, I won't." James said humorously, "But I must say, I'm glad that you're the one wearing that ring instead of her." He rubbed her finger gently.
"And the necklace..." Margaret said. James gazed at her... the necklace sent fresh specks of multicolored light onto her dazzling face.
"Yes, the necklace also..." James continued to hold her hands. They sat looking at each other, both caught in their own imaginations of the life they were about to lead... the lives awaiting their beginnings... and the new lives they would bring into the world... James imagined his own children; the precious lives he would share with Margaret and his future children...
"But what if Margaret doesn't want children?" James thought horribly to himself. The thought of this suddenly mad him feel slightly fearful - his throat went dry and his eyes went hollow with disappointment. He pulled back from the security of Margaret's hands, leaning back slowly and staring desperately at the seat, as if this would bring him comfort.
"James?" Margaret asked innocently, "What's wrong?"
James swallowed difficultly but couldn't find a sensible way to approach the subject of children.
"Nothing..." he said almost convincingly, "... It's nothing..." he busied himself by staring out the window instead.
Margaret, still looking at him, said, "Well, there must be something, or else you wouldn't have said there was nothing."
James gave a laugh of exasperation, but said no more. He went back to looking out the window, though Margaret spoke again shortly after.
"Come now, what is it?" Elizabeth urged him to answer.
James had decided to visit this subject once he had found a careful way to approach it. "It's nothing at all - and I'd rather not talk about it..."
"Talk about what?" Margaret leaned closer to him,
"Don't worry - let's just talk about something else..."
"Well, alright!" Margaret had become aware that James was uncomfortable in the situation he must be in, and turn their conversation in a different direction. "I went to see Eloise the day you collapsed through the ceiling --"
"A-ha!" James' mood had changed almost drastically. He pointed an accusing finger at Margaret, "Yes! So you did go to see Eloise! I knew it..."
"Anyhow..." Margaret laughed and pushed James' arm down, "I did go to see Eloise, and there's no reason for you to have a party over it."
James had been grinning with satisfaction, and had barely obtained his calmness once again.
"Are you finished?" Margaret asked only half seriously as James' laughs had been transformed into odd, silent sniggers. James nodded mannerly and held his face straight.
"At Eloise'..." Margaret continued, "... I ran into Dianne Foster --"
"Oh!" James acknowledged, "Henry's girl... I remember her..."
"Well, I don't think she'll be `Henry's girl' for much longer..." Margaret said. James sat up in total alertness;
"How do you mean?"
"You see..." Margaret explained, "... When we were having tea, Eloise started talking about Henry's mother... I suppose Dianne had only just told Eloise of the problems she'd had with Mrs. Ainsworth, and anyway, Dianne stormed out and so I ran after her..."
"Wait..." James stopped her abruptly, "What's wrong with Henry's mother?"
Margaret recited all that Dianne had said, and James replied with a shocked observation;
"She doesn't think Henry cares about her?" his mouth was slightly open as his eyes poured curiously into Margaret's. She shrugged, and then said opinionatedly,
"I for one think that Henry in any right mind would be able to see the way Dianne feels." She straightened her dress as she said, "He seemed completely clueless when Dianne left him on the road... She said she was packing and getting on the next train, which I don't blame her for. Henry ought to have been smart enough to see that he wasn't treating Dianne appropriately..."
"Well, maybe he was..." James suggested hopelessly,
"I assure you, he hasn't been aware of any of this and that's his fault. Not Dianne's." Margaret shot James a piercing look. James moved his focus to the rainy window, in an attempt to avoid any more admonishment from Margaret.
"I didn't try to make you feel bad..." said Margaret when she realized that this is what he had done.
"I don't feel bad." James turned his head to her once again,
"I was only saying..." Margaret insisted, "... that Henry has no excuse to what he has done, and that he should have followed your example in the way you treat your `girl'."
James smiled gently, and Margaret returned the gesture. He blinked slowly.
"That's far too kind for you to say." He said softly, "As I have not been as clever as you to think of such things..." James laughed at his own remark and Margaret chimed in also.
"How do you say that..." said Margaret, "...when you were kind enough to stand up for me to Fiona the way you did?"
James was fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve and he did not look up.
"Well, first of all..." James said casually, "...That Fiona's a blasted nincompoop if ever there were one." He looked up from his sleeve and leaned across the seat to Margaret. "And second..." he said, "...If there's anyone worth fretting over, that would be you."
Margaret gave a mock look of confusion; "Is that a good thing?"
James laughed, "Of course it is."
Margaret blushed slightly and looked out the window.


Yet another hour passed as they made their way through the softening road, and when the violent rumbling of the carriage had finally ceased, both James and Margaret found time to catch an amount of rest. James had reclined himself across the other seat again, after he had draped his cloak over Margaret's lap once more. Margaret was swaying gracefully with the carriage as she held her head on her hand.
Hours passed as they made their way through the fields and woodland of Pennly, and they had finally entered the main city when the rows of trees and houses met tall buildings and shops. They made their way across the city, and down the hills to where Marian's home was waiting for them. Cobblestone roads wound their way up through the park trees, and lead to the rising ground where beautiful houses sat in twisting rows. The carriage jerked to a pulling stop, nearly throwing James from his seat and forcing Margaret flat against hers. Margaret pulled the cloak from around her as James flicked out his pocket watch;
"Five thirty?" he gawked at the small hands, "Already?"
"Number eight, Green Wall, South side o' Pennly!" The driver announced cheerfully.
James opened the door quickly, as though to find proof that they had already arrived at the correct place. He straightened himself as he spun slowly around and surveyed the long vines and branches hanging over the wide roads, nearly blocking out the sunlight. Fresh rain sparkled in the emerald grass, and a fine brick house stood handsomely amongst the greenery.
James poked back inside the carriage, and gave surety to Margaret that they had arrived. Margaret was finishing the pinning of her hat, and gathered James' cloak. James draped his cloak across his arm, having Margaret hand it to him, and lifted their cases from underneath the seats. Margaret stepped awkwardly out of the carriage as the door shut behind her, and she draped her cloak over her forearm as well. She followed James to the driver sitting at the front of the carriage, where James set down his own case and fished in his pocket.
"That'll be seven pounds, Mr. Henwoode." The driver set the reins beside him as James handed him the coins.
"Thank you very much." James shook his hand appreciatively.
"My pleasure!" the driver regained control of the reins and tipped his head. "Now, come along, Foally! Mary!" the driver slapped the reins and the horses trotted away. "Good day to you!" the driver called as he lifted his hat, revealing his grizzled hair. James and Margaret waved goodbye, and James lifted his case from the ground and directed Margaret to the path. With the cases in one hand, he held his cloaked arm around Margaret's waist as they sauntered up the path.

Chapter Seven
Pennly

They stepped up several stone steps, and rang the bell. James and Margaret stood there quietly, enjoying the mellow silence. Hurried footsteps grew louder, and the door swung open welcomingly. Marian stood in the doorway, and jumped at the expected sight of James.
"Oh! James, my dear..." She said joyfully as she hugged him, "How are you? Come in! Come in..."
Marian beckoned them inside, where Margaret followed James onto a gorgeous, mahogany floor and a strikingly large front area; the sounds of their shoes on the hard floor echoed, and the large panes filled the room with a glowing light. Margaret gazed around the area - shocked at the unexpected state of the house. Of course, it was all familiar to James, so she thought it better to stay as close to him as possible.
"Jenkins..." Marian called graciously, "... If you will please hang their cloaks... and here, their cases..."
Butler Jenkins bustled to the scene, and was handed James' and Margaret's belongings. He bowed himself out of the room, and disappeared into a hall opening near the grand staircase. Marian breathed heavily and smiled blissfully.
"And this James..." Marian stepped toward Margaret, "...this must be Margaret!" Margaret nodded timidly and returned a friendly smile. James' eyes twinkled with pride.
"It surely is." James brought Margaret forth by the small of her back. Margaret curtsied politely, and Marian took her hand lightly.
"Why, James... she's a doll!" Marian squealed as she spun Margaret around with her hand over her head. "I'm simply delighted!"
"Gorgeous, isn't she?" James proclaimed. Margaret blushed respectively and was pulled to James' side once again. "Margaret, this is my aunt, Marian Everard." James announced unnecessarily. Margaret nodded.
"Thank you for inviting us..." Margaret gestured thankfully, "I'm so pleased to meet you..."
"Oh! I'm so pleased you were both able to come!" said Marian, "And with the incident and the ceiling and all, it's the perfect time for you to come for a visit..."
James laughed hysterically, though the memory of the inflicting pain of his father's weight was quickly shown on his now disturbed face. Margaret patted his back comfortingly, and Marian turned to the hall that Butler Jenkins had gone through.
"Well, you two..." Marian motioned them to follow her, "Your bedrooms will be on the main floor... I hope that is alright..."
"Of course!" James and Margaret echoed simultaneously. They shot a small smile at each other and trailed behind Marian. She led them to the left side of the curving staircase, and turned left down the candlelit hall where two closed doors shone in the flickering light. Butler Jenkins sidled sideways out of the hall, and made for the right side of the staircase. Marian opened the first door.
"Margaret, I hope you find this room comfortable during your stay." She pushed the door open and let Margaret walk in. A pale-blue and white plaid spread lay crisply on the between the dark wooded bedposts, her case set neatly at the foot. A bedside table and wicker chair were to the right of the bed, and a set of drawers on the right wall. A dressing table was on the left wall near the door, and a closet cupboard was stood against the wall nearest the right of the door. A closet door was closed on the left wall, and sunlit curtains covered a bright window, also to the left of the bed. Margaret pivoted and left the room, thanking Marian for its pleasantness. Margaret followed James and Marian to the second door a little further down the hall, where a similar arrangement was displayed: A navy blue spread over an identical bedpost, a night table, window, and wicker chair to the left of the bed, a closet cupboard on the left side of the door, a set of drawers on the far left wall, and the a closet door on the right.
"This room will suit you James, I trust." Marian held the silver doorknob in her hand. "I will let you two rest - as dinner doesn't start until six o'clock." She filed down the hall after excusing herself from their presence, and headed for the right side of the staircase also.
As soon as she was out of ear shot, James spoke softly;
"She'll loosen up in a day or so..." he said matter-of-factly, "...She's always nervous when we first arrive."
Margaret nodded comprehensively, and allowed herself to be directed into James' room.
James shut the door behind him quietly, as though not to disturb the constant stillness of the house. Margaret unpinned her hat from her hair, and set it beside her where she sat on James' bed. She became quickly distracted with her new necklace, and admired it serenely. James took off his jacket and tossed it to the bed, and rolled up his sleeves as he walked briskly to the window where he rolled the curtains back. He lifted the pane from the windowsill and locked his arms on the edge of the open window. He savored a cool intake of air and turned his head to Margaret. He decided not to break the silence; she looked so serene with the brightness reflecting in her hair, and spraying her back. Her head was bowed as she examined her necklace. James ambled from the sill, to where Margaret sat. He settled himself on the left side of the mattress, and watched Margaret contentedly as her back faced him. James moved his hand near Margaret's left leg, where she spotted it and took hold of it. She turned her head slowly and met his eyes ardently. They sat wordlessly for several moments, holding the other's hand.
"If I remember correctly..." James pointed to a door across from Margaret, "...I believe that door leads to the other room." Margaret let the necklace fall back to its place. She stood curiously from the bed, and reached for the painted door. She poked through interestedly and swung it open widely. She turned her head in James' direction, sporting a mischievous grin. James laughed and whisked to the other side to join Margaret. He stepped to her side and grasped her gently, kissing the side of her head. Margaret folded her arms into his arms, and laid her head against his chest.


About twenty minutes later, there was a knock on James' door. Margaret had dozed off on James' bed, and James had fallen asleep in the chair near the window. James blinked awake and threw the woolen blanket he had found in the cupboard to the floor. He walked quietly to the door, and inched it open.
"Dinner is served, sir." said Butler Jenkins.
"Oh, thank you very much, Jenkins..." James said, "...Margaret and I will be out shortly... You needn't alert my fianc? - I will wake her."
"Very well, sir." Butler Jenkins bowed and marched down the hall. James shut the door carefully and crossed to the right side of the bed. He rubbed Margaret's arms tenderly and brushed her hair from her face.
"Margaret..." James whispered, "...Margaret darling..."
She sat up slowly as she stretched her arms and back. "Why did you let me fall asleep in your room?" she said jokingly as James took her hand.
"Well, mine's all cooled off... let me open your window..." James let go of Margaret's hand and walked through the joining door to the window. He wrenched the window to its farthest height, and pulled back the curtains. Margaret followed him through the door and they exited her room hand in hand.


Dinner passed slowly. By James wit would have been considered incredibly boring, yet he did enjoy telling Marian of his studies in Bermesforde, and Margaret's as well. After dinner Marian had informed James and Margaret that her husband would be returning from his business on the same day that James' parents would be arriving, and Marian retired to the large staircase and returned to her quarters. It was 7:30 by the time James and Margaret left through the side door to the patio, and watched the sun redden and the sky drown in a blanket of thick clouds. Neither James, nor Margaret wanted to return to the house, so they walked arm in arm across the grassy slope.
"Green Wall Pond runs through the Everard's just back here..." James pointed amid the tall bushes and trees lining the top of the hill, "Let's run up there for a moment..." They walked a few steps, then Margaret broke into a full-speed run. "Hey!" James shrilled when he realized Margaret had slipped through his arms. James ran after her, snatching for her as they ran up the hill.
"Where are you going?" James shouted playfully as they reached the top of the slope,
"You wanted to run!" Margaret answered with a laugh. James laughed and he chased Margaret as she wove in and out of the tight trees. At last James had grabbed Margaret around the waist as she started around the shore of the pond. She let out a shriek of both merriment and defiance as James swung her around. He stopped when she was facing him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist once again. Margaret placed her hands on his arms as he bent closer. They stood in the gentle breeze as James leaned his forehead on Margaret's. Their eyes closed as they both breathed heavily. Margaret clung to James' arms as he pulled her closer to him. He kissed her forehead and supported her chin in his strong hand. He reached her lips and her grip tightened on his sleeves. James free arm strengthened around Margaret's back as her arms slid around his neck. James kissed her repeatedly but was dreadfully interrupted.
"James!" Marian called from the patio, "Oh James!"
They continued to kiss, though Margaret was the first to break away.
"Stop..." Margaret whispered nervously and shifted to push James' arms from her waist. James, feeling frustrated, ran his fingers through his hair, annoyed by Marian's horrible disruption. His eyes shot from Margaret, to the other side of the trees, instantly contemplating whether or not to answer Marian's call. He parted from the shore and strolled angrily around the trees where he was visible from the patio.
"Yes?" James shouted carelessly, feeling rather restless.
"James," said Marian, "I must know when you and Margaret would suggest we eat breakfast."
James felt even more irritated at the idea of being bothered with something as unimportant as breakfast.
"It does not matter!" James tried to sound as cheerful as possible.
"Well, when do you prefer?" Marian prompted,
"Er --" James found no concern in the subject of the breakfast time, "How `bout... nine?"
Marian nodded. "Thank you James!" she said, "We will eat at nine!" she started across the patio, "Wait! James - shall I send Jenkins to alert you in the morning?"
James clenched his fists absentmindedly, and answered.
"There's no need." he said, and Marian wandered off at his reply. She turned back at the door.
"Good night, James!" Marian called and waved motherly. James waved impatiently in return and moseyed his way back around the patch of trees. There he found Margaret sitting on a large rock, a stick in her hand etching shapes in the dirt. James walked slowly to her side, and slouched against the nearest tree. Margaret rested her head in her hand, with her elbow propped against her thigh.
"If only mum and dad were here already." said James, "We'd have something to keep Aunt Marian busy with."
"It just seems we haven't any privacy." Margaret stated as she spun the stick around.
"I know." James agreed,
"And it seems we're the main focus..."
"I know."
"...everywhere we go."
"I know." James agreed once more. But the last time he did so he crouched down beside her and said, "We'll make our own privacy."
Margaret looked up from the ground, seeming unconvinced. "How?"
James looked into her eyes. "Let's go into town tomorrow." he suggested. Margaret let a small smile leak to her face, but shook her head.
"I don't see how we can..." she said sadly.
"Why not?" James said, taking her hand and pulling her from the rock,
"I don't know..." she scuffed the ground with her foot, "...It just seems she'll get suspicious, that's all..."
They walked quietly down the green hill, then James said, "Well, it's not as if we're up to anything..." they headed for the side door across the patio, "...Unless, you had something else in mind..."
Margaret laughed and clouted his shoulder.
"Well what did you have in mind?" she teased.
James did not answer, but only smiled secretly to himself. They stepped through the side door, and walked as inaudibly as they could through the dining room, around the staircase, and into the candlelit hall. The house was not filled with the same glow as it had been earlier that day - there were now only stars to brighten the sky and shine through the many windows.
It was eight o'clock when James had led Margaret into his room, and had closed the door silently. James opened the joining door and retrieved the wicker chair sitting by Margaret's window.
"Why don't you got get changed..." James suggested, "...It's only eight, so we might as well stay up a bit and talk..."
Margaret smiled and left the room, closing the door behind her. James lifted his case from the foot of his bed. He brought it to his bed and flipped the top open. He hung his clothes in the closet cupboard, and changed into his nightshirt and trousers. He threw on his robe, secured it, and tucked his things away in the cupboard. He paced around the room trying to find something to busy himself with, when from inside Margaret's room he heard her call.
"James..." she said, "...Can you come in her for a moment?"
James opened the door where Margaret was wearing her white nightdress and her robe over, and was letting her hair down. She shook her hair out of the tress as James stood in the doorway awaiting her order.
"Can you help me with it?" Margaret asked. Her fingers were linked around the necklace and she motioned for him to help her remove it. James grinned and crossed to her dressing table. Margaret knew she did not need any assistance with removing her necklace, but wished for James to do it on the contrary. James twisted her hair and placed it on her shoulder. He unfastened the tiny teardrop chain and touched the back of her neck. He set the necklace carefully on the dressing table, as it twinkled in the light of the oil lamp. He brushed her hair through his fingers and let it fall gracefully down her back. Margaret turned to him and he led her through the door. James sat in his original chair and Margaret curled up in the other. Her arms were folded around her legs, and her head rested on the back of the chair. The cool night air soothed them both into a pleasant tiredness, though neither were quite ready to leave for their beds. They sat comfortable speaking non-stop of their wonderful years in Bermesforde - they crossed the subject of the wedding several times, but did not wish to stress about the ceremonial event at this point. They spoke of their plans for the next two weeks, and of their new excitement of their possible new home - James avoided the subject of children during their entire conversation. James was grateful that Margaret had not approached the subject, though he wondered if she had come to think upon those grounds.
James loved hearing Margaret's wholesome laughs, and felt slightly embarrassed when he had become aware that he had been staring at her for minutes on end. Margaret had not noticed that James had been gazing at her for such a long time, for she had been watching the moon rise above the mountains and settle in the sky. Her robe sleeves were pulled tightly about her arms, repelling the growing chill. James was sprawled his chair, sharing the blanket he had found in the cupboard with Margaret. It was half past nine when they both fell into a cool sleep, the breeze stirring the curtains and skimming their face.
More than an hour passed when James had awoken and realized he had fallen asleep - he saw Margaret resting peacefully on the chair, her hair blowing lightly in the wind. James closed the window, pulling the blanket to the side. He pulled the blanket from Margaret and draped it over his bedpost, and lifted her from the chair, carrying her as if she weighed nothing. He side stepped through the door, and stopped when he reached her bed. He bent down slowly and set Margaret softly on the bed, and made to pull the covers from under her. She moved sleepily as James lifted her slightly in order to unfold the bedspread. Her hand reached James' forearm;
"Stay here..." she whispered, though again fell quickly into a beautiful rest. James pulled the blankets over her and touched her face. He sauntered into his own room, where he decided to pull the chairs into Margaret's room and spend the night there. He lifted the chairs one at a time, and set them next to Margaret's bed. As he walked by the dressing table, he blew out the lamp, and shut the breezy window. He brought his pillow and the woolen throw into the bedroom, propped the pillow over the back of the chair, and reclined his feet onto the back of the other. He closed his eyes, and fell asleep to Margaret's silent breathing.
At seven thirty, James was roused by Margaret. He squinted against the bright window and rubbed his eyes. Margaret was still dressed in her night things, and was kneeling off the edge of the bed.
"Why don't you wake up now?" Margaret patted his face and shoulder. James shielded his eyes as he rolled from the chairs, and Margaret stepped around the bed to greet him. James was finally able to see, as he had turned his back to the window. Margaret had come running into his arms, greeting him with a morning hug.
"Come help me choose what to wear..." Margaret said as she pulled James to her closet and had opened its doors. James gave a fake moan.
"Ah, Margaret, you know I haven't any skill in women's fashion..."
As Margaret scanned through the dresses, James stopped her hand when it fell to a silk, lavender dress. He pulled it from its place and held it to Margaret's body, imagining what it would look like. James smiled and laid it on the unmade bed.
"Where this." James suggested, then kissed Margaret on the cheek. Margaret smiled after him as he left the room and closed the doors behind him so they could change into their day clothes.
James dressed into his black trousers, and a finely pressed, whit shirt, rolling the sleeves up as usual. He opened the window again to breathe the fresh air - the sun was barely peeking over the mountains, shimmering upon the dewy grass. A while later, Margaret walked through the door, knowing that James would be dressed long before her. She was wearing now wearing the lavender dress, the bodice wrapped tightly around her torso and a wide sash tied around her stomach. She was rolling to her head as she walked into view of a mirror hanging above James' dresser.
"Wait..." said James as left the window for the mirror, "...Leave it so..." he stepped behind Margaret and unrolled her flaxen hair, separating the top half from the bottom. With one hand he combed her hair with his fingers, leaving the upper half for her to pin up again. Her long hair curled meticulously along her back and shoulders. She twisted and pinned the upper half along the part in her hair, and smiled at James. James held one of her curls in his hand, letting it fall back into its place.
They stayed in the room until breakfast, partly avoiding Marian - James did not dislike his aunt, he only felt that she'd been invading his privacy, without knowing. Long since he was but a little boy, he'd felt that Marian had always considered herself a mother figure, rather than an Aunt. Besides... James still felt mildly frustrated with her and the happenings of the previous night. James apologized to Margaret for the way of his aunt, feeling sorry for Margaret and the sudden thrust into his family.
"It's alright..." Margaret insisted, "...If there's any family I want to be a part of, it's this one. We're only here for a couple weeks, and we've got the whole of one almost entirely to ourselves - and there's no way your Aunt can be as bad as my Gran..."
At five to nine they left their bedrooms, and sat themselves in the dining room for a long breakfast. About half way through their meal, Aunt Marian asked; "What are you two going to do today?"
James and Margaret risked a glance at the other, then James answered cautiously, "We - might go into town, today..." and when he saw the excited look on his Aunt's face, added, "...But... that was just a thought..."
"How wonderful!" Marian clapped her hands after her silverware chinked to her plate, "How wonderful - I've been needing to go into town for quite some time - why don't I escort you down? I'm sure it would be load of fun!" Before James could oppose her suggestion, she sad, "We will leave at eleven, today. Just enough time to wash up after breakfast..."
With immense difficulty James managed not to roll his eyes. Margaret made an odd squeaking noise, disguising it as a cough when she lifted her glass to her mouth. James then had to suppress a mall laugh, as well as his growing aggravation toward his aunt. Marian sat at the head of the table, her face glowing in a form of triumph.
"What other plans did you have for the day?" Marian asked cheerfully as she took a sip of her glass. James was hesitant to answer, not wanting to get wrapped into any other long activities with his Aunt. He opened his mouth with the absence of a reply, when Marian jumped in once again; "The rowboat's just been fixed for the pond - you could spend the rest of the afternoon up there - it's quite pleasant."
James was feeling slightly confused at the suggestion, but finally comprehended what Marian had said.
"Oh, really?" he responded shakily, "A rowboat?" with Marian's nod, a wave of happiness flooded through James - it would be wonderful spending a quiet afternoon with Margaret on the pond... maybe they could have a picnic dinner on the shore... maybe they could stay at the pond until it grew dark... maybe they could all the way through the Everard's and escape into the neighbor's trees... no matter what they did, James knew that they would have a splendid time.
Breakfast ended a quarter past ten - James and Margaret were dismissed from the dining area, and they disappeared into the candlelit hall, then through James' bedroom door. They found a moment's leisure before they readied themselves for their travel to the city. Margaret pinned her hat to her hair, and slid her hands into her satin white gloves. James put on his black coat, and wore his hat as well. Their beds had been made while they were at breakfast, and the windows were freshly polished. At quarter to eleven they went to the living area, James lounging in the settee and Margaret surveying the shelves of books lining the wall. A few minutes later Marian came down the staircase, wearing a dress, hat and gloves all adorned in identical frilly lace. She held a frilly parasol in one hand, and lifted her dress in the other.
"Hello again," she said merrily as she walked to the door, beckoning James and Margaret to follow. James slouched from the chair and Margaret placed the book she had been flipping through in its proper place. James shuffled Margaret ahead of him as he closed the door, then caught up to her side and held his arm around her. They kept a considerable amount of distance between themselves and Marian, but were soon right behind her when she opened the door of the carriage. Marian told the driver where they wished to go, and shut the carriage door behind her as she climbed in after James and Margaret. James and Margaret sat opposite each other, and Marian nestled herself into a seat next to James. Margaret snuck James a look of both pity and amusement when Marian look out the window, supporting her parasol against the floor and resting her hands on it. The ride down Green Wall and down forty-third street was almost completely silent, then James struck up a conversation with Margaret, trying his best to include Marian. Although Marian found no interest in the subject of French literature, she smiled weakly but turned her head to the window once again.
About 20 minutes later they were amongst the hustling of the city - the carriage stopping frequently and the sounds of hundreds of voices mixed with the rattling of the carriages and hooves. The driver the stopped the carriage and the three of them stepped out. They were to meet the driver back there in three hours, and from there would travel back to the Everard's. They walked a little ways down the wooden sidewalks, examining the shops and discussing which they would like to stop at the most.
"James... Margaret..." Marian called from behind them, "I will meet you back in this store in two hours." She pointed to a wooden sign bearing the title `Harris and Co.', "You two, just do as you please, and I will take care of my business.
James hid a hint of joy, though found that he felt sorry that Marian would be shopping on her own.
"Well... Only if you're sure..." James said, then Marian chirped,
"Oh, certainly!" she insisted, waving her hand and starting the other way, "I prefer to do my shopping on my own terms - keep my concentration that way..."
"Alright..." James laughed as he too turned the other way, bring Margaret along, "... See you back here."
They went their separate ways - Marian walking up the street, and James and Margaret making their way down. They walked past the many arrays of shops and signs, looking through the display windows as they passed. Pastry shops, clothing stores, jewelers, tailors, and libraries occupied the strips and corners of the streets. Margaret was the one to navigate their way through the winding roads and crosswalks: she had often been to this part of town.
"Let's go here..." Margaret pointed into a shop on the right. She led him by the hand just before he could catch a glimpse of the sign over head.
"The Andersilk Tea Shoppe?" James asked as he was pulled through the glass door."What on earth is --"
"It's a tea Shoppe." Margaret said as she closed the glass door behind them and the bell rang after them,
"Why yes, I see that..." James said, "...But what are we doing?"
"Oh, this place is wonderful." Margaret said quietly and reassuringly, "It is where all the couples come." Scattered around the Shoppe were dozens of small round tables, every other in use of a young couple engaged deeply in conversation, or otherwise physical activity.
"Yes, but must every couple come here?" James eyed the restaurant,
"Oh, yes." Margaret persevered, "This place is classic, James! It has to be one of the most romantic shops in town..."
James could see why she emphasized the word romantic... she looked apprehensively around the room - it was not being there with Margaret that made him uncomfortable, it was the ambiance of the shop that James could not help but be uneasy about.
"Why such the worried face?" Margaret said, taking his arm,
"Well --" James said in a mock-nervous voice, "Only the fact that lovers surrounding us are consumed in their goings-on..."
Margaret laughed as a busied waitress guided them to a table near the far wall. They sat themselves opposite each other and ordered their tea.
"Why James..." Margaret teased after the waitress was out of earshot, "... I believe that you were the one that suggested we gain our privacy by coming into town..."
James grinned expectedly. "Yes..." he agreed, "... but I hadn't any idea that twenty other couples would be wishing accomplish the same thing."
Margaret laughed and rested her chin on her hand.
"It's not a bad place, you know..." James said acceptingly as he observed the shop, "... Do you think Marian would approve?"
Margaret laughed again as James brushed her hair from her face. "Of course not." She said smiling.
"Well..." James said, "... I suppose we can afford another spree..." he leaned forward in his chair, "... We ought to do as Marian says, and take a visit to the pond today..."
Margaret giggled noiselessly as their tea was brought to their table. She stirred it carefully and took a small sip.
"How do you do that?" James said as he set his teacup on the saucer, without it ever reaching his mouth.
"Do what?" Margaret asked as she too set her teacup in its place.
"Your eyes..." James said, gazing at her, "...the shift in such a way... I wonder how..."
"Wonder about what?" Margaret said, blushing slightly as her eyes darter from James to the hands.
"...Beautiful..." James said as his answer, "...just beautiful..."
Margaret was blushing even more furiously than before. She lowered her head, hiding her face in the extreme flattery.
"How is it that you are so charming?" Margaret said as she lifted her head, "You flatter a girl with only a few simple words..."
James folded his arms onto the table, and gazed into Margaret's eyes - the sun twinkled on her face as she turned her head slightly. James touched her face with his fingertips, moving his hand to her neck and pulling her in for a soft kiss. They pulled away slowly, Margaret sitting on the edge of her chair. James returned to gazing into her eyes, and watching her glow in the sunlight. Several moments passed, then James said, "I feel the mood of the place is finally soaking in."
Margaret blinked slowly as she laughed cheerily, and said, "I wish it could be like this everyday." Her eyes fell to the table.
"Oh, it can." James said, twirling on of her locks in his fingers. "As long as we're together..."
Margaret let her hand fall to the table. "I mean for now - or at least..."
"What is it?" James prompted concernedly,
"Sorry --" Margaret replied hurriedly, seeing that James was beginning to look troubled, "Sorry... what I meant was... it's just, I wish we could find a way not to hide... we always seem to be sneaking around, and... what I mean to say, is... it's our only chance to have this feeling. We'll never have this again - what it feels like to be engaged... it seems everybody's taking that way --"
Margaret now regretted that she'd said what she did - she felt she was confusing James in every worse way. James bent in closely and held her hand in his.
"I know what you're saying." James assured her, "I know, I like the feeling too - but you know what feeling I love the most?" James looked deeply into her face, and said in almost a whisper, "I love the feeling of knowing that you are going to be with me for my entire life." James leaned in even closer. "Nobody can take that away."
A single tear welled in Margaret's eye. Her lip quivered as she leaned back in her chair slightly.
"I'm glad you approached me in the park, that day in Bermesforde." Margaret said, wiping the tear from her eye as she remembered the day they had met, "Who knows who I'd be with, if you hadn't come." She rested her elbows on the table.
"I would have come, sooner or later." James smiled.
"I know you would..." Margaret said, "... You are the first person I've ever really trusted."
"You've had it rough." James said, looking up at her.
"I thank you," Margaret said, "for all that you have done for me."
"There's nobody else I'd rather do it for." James said, "After all, you are my first love."
Margaret smiled. "As you are mine."
James grinned and gazed at her a moment more. He slid his chair to the other side of the table, sitting as close as he could to Margaret. He turned her chin and kissed her on the cheek.
"Are you as excited as I am?" James said, laying his arm on the back of Margaret's chair.
"For what?" Margaret said quietly, "For the wedding? For the house?"
"All of it." James said. "Are you as excited as I?"
"Of course I am." Margaret could not help but smile. "I hope we can get the house." Margaret said in a daydreaming voice, "I can't wait to see it - do you think we'll be able to see it on our way back?"
James pulled his saucer to the place in front of him. "I'd suppose so..." he said, "I assume my mother and father will be traveling back with us - I'm sure they wouldn't mind stopping, though."
Margaret looked away from James, as if deciding to leave the subject as is was, but turned quickly to him.
"What does it look like?" she asked, a thrilled glint in her eye.
James finished his sip of tea. "It's lovely." He said, facing her and using his hands to guide his way through the story, "It's a three acre piece - the whole lot of it's trees. The houses aren't visible from any other, but they're very close. If someone were to sell their land they'd all be connected. Anyhow, it's not far from town - you could walk there in less than ten minutes."
"What's the town?" Margaret asked, although she did not want to interrupt.
"It's in Riverside, not too far from Crimson. I tell you, it's all green down there - loads of trees. The house looks small, but it stretches far back. You can't see the houses neighboring it, the trees are much too thick. But don't forget, the neighbors are close by. I wasn't able to meet them, only take a look at the house."
"Was there a good spot of grass?" Margaret asked, "You know - good for the children to --" she cut herself short. Her eyes darted wide for a split second but she looked down at her lap and did not look back up.
They sat in a terrible silence. James had looked up from his teacup, his eyes wider than usual in both anxiety and amazement. Margaret's face went red, and a tear was once again noticeable in her eye. James took a deep breath.
"Children?" he James stammered, "You - you want children?"
Margaret nodded. Her eyes closed and her lips tight together. Her face was growing redder as the tear ran down her cheek.
"What's wrong?" James said, almost demanding an answer rather than comforting her.
Margaret sniffed and looked up.
"I knew you wouldn't want it." Margaret said, louder than was necessary. "I'm sorry I even said it. I'm sorry --"
"Wait..." James said, "What wouldn't I want? You can't be talking about childr --"
"James, I'm sorry." Margaret said with a bawling intake, "All I've done is --"
"You've done nothing!" James said,
"James, you know I --"
"I know nothing!" he said,
"What are you saying?" Margaret said, suspecting a fault in his tone. James looked at her and breathed deeply, a sympathetic look in his eyes.
"Nothing." He said quietly. He held her hands on the table lightly. "Why are you crying?" he asked after a small pause, "What's wrong?"
Margaret was regaining her composure, though could not look up just yet. Through her crying she stuttered the words; "You... don't... want to... have children."
Nobody in the Shoppe had seemed to notice that Margaret was crying - they were much too occupied with their other relations. James tightened his grip on Margaret's hands.
"No, no darling... I do want to have children." James said truthfully, "I want a family."
They sat silently for a moment, then James pulled a folded handkerchief from his pocket. He handed Margaret the handkerchief to Margaret and his hand was secured once again around hers. She wiped her eyes, and looked up slowly. When James realized that Margaret was not going to speak, he situated himself on the edge of his chair.
"Margaret..." he said, "...you are the most important person in my life." He breathed deeply and looked at her. "This is something I want. Something I have been waiting for. Margaret, you are the person I want to share this with. I want it."
Margaret was looking at her lap, breathing deeply and rubbing the JH embroidery on the handkerchief with her free hand. James looked at her, waiting for a response. Margaret was afraid of starting to cry again, so she continued to stare at the handkerchief. James realized this, but did not speak either. Without paying heed to the situation, James reached for her beautiful face, feeling uncontrollable as he held her cheek in his hand. He drew her closer to him, embracing her in an impassioned kiss. Margaret nearly fell off her chair - the leg skidded loudly across the shining floor, bring her to the edge of her chair. Several couples looked up from their tables, throwing nervous glances in James' and Margaret's direction. Margaret's hand was hooked around the hand touching her face; the handkerchief had fallen to the floor and was forgotten. Margaret brought her hand to James face, but James pushed her away reluctantly, pulling his lips from hers and holding her forearms in his hands.
"We've got to get out of here..." James said, "... We'll frighten the crowd..." he pecked her on the lips before he beckoned her from her seat, and they gathered their things. They had practically run to the door and had swung the door open, when Margaret had darted back to the table, snatching the handkerchief from the floor. Margaret flitted back to James, where he was holding the door open, then James dashed back to their place, throwing his extra change on the table. He ran back and together they whisked out the door.


James was leading Margaret down the sidewalk; she was holding her hat to her head as they ran down the wooden planks, and passed the many shop windows. Margaret turned in to Lankton Clothing Items and yanked James' arm after. With only a minor whiplash, James was lead through the racks and displays of dresses, shirts and trousers - she dragged him all the way to the back of the clothing store where many thin shelves divided the cartons of wrapped ties and sashes. They stood in the thin space of the first shelf, and looked at each other, as if second guessing whether or not they should be hiding in the back area of a town clothing store. They took their turns taking fleeting looks toward the corner, where the small wall separated the shelves and the displays. Margaret was shaking slightly, partly from the act of sneaking about and the fear of being seen. James held her upper arms in his hands, as though to comfort her in this time of "wrongdoing". Margaret nervously linked her hands around his neck, looking down as she rested her head. James lifted her head by brushing her nose with his, and they were once again kissing away. Their arms tangled around one another, only to be shortly interrupted by the sound of an irksome voice:
"Yes, put the order on my account. I would like this packaged - a single parcel, yes..."
"And the address, ma'am?" they heard the counterman say,
"Number 17, Red Maple, Hertesforde - I'm sending it to my granddaughter, Miss Margaret Kennington..."
James and Margaret froze - their eyes wide, they glanced at each other and Margaret peeked quickly around the corner. She shot back into the space of helves, pulled James to a lower height and said in a terrified whisper,
"It's my grandmother!" she looked around the corner once again, then looked back at James, "We have got to get out of here!"
James looked every which way. "Alright..." he said, "Come on... This way."
James moved in front of Margaret, and grabbed her hand. He ducked as low as possible, Margaret following his actions and following him as he founded the straightest way across the back wall. As they reached the open doors they sped into a full run, sprinting up the road as Margaret shouted the directions to the mercantile. At last they had found the place at which their carriage had been stopped, though they did not enter the mercantile. Instead Margaret told him to go a bit further, then led him into a small little restaurant.
James had been brought into a cake shoppe, where large, glass cases protected every assortment of cake imaginable; from slices to platters, to gigantic wedding cakes, every sort and flavor was available. James did not ask any questions involving the reasons for entering a decorated cake shoppe - Margaret provided an explanation when she saw the adoring look on his face.
"No reason to fret, James... We've only come for a treat..."
James turned to her, grasping her face, and kissing her on the top of the head. Margaret laughed, and stepped to the counter, closely followed by James. They discussed quietly which flavor they wished to choose, as they would be sharing the slice.
"There's the Candied Angel Food --" Margaret said, "Then there's the Caramel Brownie...."
"Frosted Carrot, Double Strawberry, Devil's Food, Lemon Glazed..." James stopped when Margaret gave him a look of uncertainty.
"We can only get one." Margaret said, "You choose."
"Are you sure?" James said,
"Oh yes, of course." Margaret said cheerfully, "Just choose one!"
James surveyed the glass covering, his hand to his chin as he thought with deepest pensiveness. He ran a finger across the glass, once he had finally chose his favorite.
"Devil's food." He said simply. "I've just got to..."
"Alright!" Margaret said happily, "Let's order, now..."
A thin man approached the other side of the counter, standing straightly and preparing to take their order.
"How may I help you?" he said readily,
"Hello --" Margaret said, "We would like one slice of the Devil's Food."
"With the chocolate glaze." James added hurriedly. The counterman gave James an odd sort of glare, and slid the knife meticulously into the center of the cake. He was hunched over, cautiously slicing from the center to the iced edge. He carefully set it onto a fine china plate, handing it to James and Margaret. Margaret held it, as James scooped the cost out of his jacket pocket, and then they found a place to seat themselves. A small table in the tall window was drenched in the sunlight, and pair of table sets awaited them. Margaret sat the plate on the table, and James draped his jacket on the back of his chair. He sat opposite Margaret and the two of them picked up their forks. Margaret picked the first bite, followed by James who chose a particularly large bit on the frosted end. It had been only fifteen minutes by the time they had completely finished, and they looked out the window.
"Fine day, `tis." James said, looking as high as he could while squinting against the sun, "Seems to be a bit warmer. `Course I'd expect it, it's nearly June..."
Margaret nodded. "I love the trees, though. They make up with the shade..."
They sat quietly for a few minutes, then James rustled in his chair. "Are we off?" he said, gathering his jacket and swinging it over his shoulder.
Margaret stood from her chair. "Yes, let's go..." she looked back at the table, making sure that she'd not forgotten anything. Margaret met James' arm, and walked by his side out of the door as they waved goodbye at the counterman.
They walked past the display windows, and were inside the Harris Mercantile. It was only a matter of seconds before they heard Marian's cheery voice ringing from across the store.
"Yoo hoo!" she called to James and Margaret, waving in the far corner, "Over here!"
They spotter her near a row of high shelves, where she was being helped by a young shelf keeper. He retrieved a box from the second highest place and handed it to Marian, smiling brightly as he walked away.
"I've just about gathered all my things..." Marian said, the box under her arm and a number of parcels also, "...Do any of you need anything while we're here?" Margaret glanced over her shoulder.
"I think I'll take a quick look over here..." she said, taking a step toward the line of fabrics and cloths, "...I've been wanting to start a dress..."
Marian looked over at the line. "Alright! Well, I will just sidle over here - I'll pay for my things, and you two find what you need. Then shall we go home?"
James nodded. "If you are finished, Marian..." he said, "We won't be long, now..."
Marian gave him a furtive look. "You're to help Miss Margaret pick the color of her dress?" she said, a mischievous look in her eye.
James glanced at Margaret, then grinned.
"I'd love the input." Margaret said to Marian, looking up at James, "He'll help me choose."
Marian smiled and walked to the front counter, and James and Margaret hurried to another set of shelves. They surveyed the rolls and racks of colors, several of them catching their eye.
"How `bout this one?" Margaret said, pulling out a tan fabric and comparing it to her lavender dress.
James observed her carefully. "It's no good." He said, putting it back in it's place, then brushed his hand across the small of her back, whispering in her ear. "It does not compliment your eyes." Margaret looked at him, giggling quietly. "We need something blue." James said, rolling his hand along the different shades, "The cornflower... No, it's much too plain. Ah - this."
James held a light turquoise fabric to Margaret neck, letting it drape across her front as he studied it adoringly.
"You like this one?" he looked at Margaret, anxiously awaiting her answer.
Margaret smiled and raised her eyebrows. "You've fine taste, Mister Henwoode." Margaret said, looking up at James as she held it carefully, "It seems you do have skill in ladies' fashion." James folded the fabric to moderate size, and handed it to Margaret.
"I hope that is a good thing." James said, trying to fight a smile. Margaret grinned and James burst into laughter, guiding her from the shelf and to the front of the counter. They paid for the fabric, as it was wrapped into its brown parcel. They met Marian at the open doors, as theie carriage came to a stop in front of the store.
But as they stepped through the doors, they found that it was not their carriage -- the carriage door opened, and out came an elderly woman clad in a dark violet and ridiculously large hat. Margaret gasped, and so did the woman.
"Grandmother..." Margaret said, jumping back slightly.
"Margaret." The woman responded, a look of disapproval on her wrinkled face, "What on earth are you doing here?" she demanded, rather than questioned.
"We - we were just --" Margaret began,
"I trust you are well." the woman said, an uninterested tone in her voice.
"Yes, Grandmother." Margaret said timidly.
There was an awkward pause, when her grandmother barked, "And who is this?"
"Grandmother, this is Mr. James Henwoode, and his aunt, Marian Everard." Margaret answered quickly, "Mrs. Everard has invited us to her estate."
Margaret's grandmother glanced at them both censurably, and raised her eyebrows at Margaret.
"Oh - James, this is my Grandmother, Emmaline Roderick."
Mrs. Roderick gave James a loathsome look, her nose twitching into a snarl.
"So this is your fianc??" Mrs. Roderick said, turning to James. "Margaret has not told me much about you..."
"Well, Grandmother, I felt there was no need." Margaret said with what seemed to be a great effort, "I'd written you before."
"Well, then I see there's no need to me more of your fianc? at all!" Mrs. Roderick said sarcastically, "Of course, you inform me that you will be leaving immediately to some, herded countryside with your husband-to-be, but am I told of any such character? No, it does not matter when I find something to be completely unacceptable, you just go along as you please --"
"Please, Grandmother that's enough." Margaret said angrily.
"No, Margaret, you will hear me out --" Mrs. Roderick began,
"I needn't hear anything you have to say." Margaret insisted. Marian stood, watching unaware of any discomfort between Margaret and her grandmother. James, wishing he could speak on Margaret's behalf, found there was nothing he could do without risking the permission of their engagement. Mrs. Roderick stood, her foot tapping heatedly as she glared at Margaret.
"You are of poor judgment, Margaret." She said, folding an arm, and her other hand tightening on the handle of her cane. "I fear you've done as your mother... Marrying someone of --"
"Marrying someone of what?" Margaret said.
Mrs. Roderick stood furiously. "Tell me, Mr. Henwoode." She said, piercing James with an intimidating glare, "Are you in the trade?"
James was relieved that he was able to find a combative answer. "I am not in the trade, Mrs. Roderick, more rather in the press."
"The press, ah..." Mrs. Roderick said, unable to find a flaw in the profession, "...a reasonable vocation." Then as if to find another subject on which to lecture Margaret, she reached for Margaret's parcel. "What is this?" Mrs. Roderick said, ripping the brown paper open to reveal its contents. "What in the heavens - Margaret, what color is this?"
Margaret lowered her head, holding the ripped parcel as Marian lifted part of the fabric from its place. "Turquoise." Margaret said, and Mrs. Roderick flipped it into Margaret's hands. Mrs. Roderick smirked and said,
"It seems your taste in fabric is also horrid." She stalked past James and Margaret, and disappeared in the mercantile.
James looked at Margaret, though neither of them said anything. Margaret, a deep look of disparity on her face, was enlightened when she said to James; "She forgets she wore that color to the societal gathering last year." James laughed and pulled Margaret in for a quick hug. The correct carriage then pulled into view, and Marian led them to the door and they stepped through together.

Chapter Eight
A First Reunion

Nobody spoke the entire way back to the Everard's. Only Marian's quiet humming was heard with the jangling of the carriage wheels. James tried to catch Margaret eye, as a way to comfort her, but Margaret stared at her feet until the carriage pulled to a stop in front of Marian's house. They stepped out of the carriage, and walked up the slope. Once they were inside, Marian excused herself to the stairs, and Margaret jogged her way to her bedroom and shut the door behind her. The door slammed in James' face, though Margaret did not mean anything of it. James walked through his bedroom door, and to the joining door where he knocked quietly on Margaret's door.
"Margaret..." he said, "Margaret, can I please come in?"
Behind the door James could hear Margaret's crying, unable to stifle her sudden gasps and sobs. James did not knock, nor did he call. Yet he knew that Margaret would want him in there. James twisted the knob and eased the door open, to find Margaret sitting on her bed, and James' handkerchief at hand. James rushed to her side, cuddling her in his arms. Margaret breathed deeply against his chest, growing warmer as James wrapped her tightly in his arms. James held her still, rubbing her back as she continued to cry.
"Margaret..." James said hopelessly, "...what's wrong, darling?"
Margaret lifted her head, just enough to say through miserable gasps, "She'll... never approve..." she said, "...I may... may have... told her... early enough... but it makes no difference."
James brushed his fingers through her hair. "No, no..." James said, "...as long as you love me... as long as you want to, we can do this."
Margaret lifted her head once again. "But it doesn't matter what we want. At... at least not to her..."
James lifted her from his chest, holding her shoulders and staring her in the face.
"We need this." He said strongly, peering into her eyes. "I need you."
Margaret blinked tearfully, sending a tear down her cheek.
"I need you." She repeated to him. "I need you, James - I love you."
"I love you, Margaret." James said, holding her hands. "Nobody can --"
"--take that away." Margaret smiled through the glistening tears.
James smiled in return. He brought her face to his and kissed the tears below her eye. He swept a strand of hair from her face, and let it fall behind her ear.
"Wait here." He said suddenly, stroking her thigh and rushing to the joined door. Margaret could hear him open his closet cupboard, and remove something from the bottom. Curiously, she stood from the bed, and crossed slowly to the door. She leaned against the doorway, wondering what James was doing. His case was on his bed, where he was carefully shifting the contents, clearly searching for something. James looked up, and smiled when he saw Margaret standing there. He looked back down, finding a coat pocket and pulling out a thin, tan envelope. He walked back to the door, and brought Margaret to the wicker chair, wetting her lightly on his lap. She laid against his chest, her head on his shoulder and James' arm around her. James opened the envelope and set it aside, handing the parchment to Margaret.
"What is this?" Margaret asked as she unfolded it.
"From my father..." James explained, "...he knows how fussy she can get over conversation, he thought he'd write it to me - he only gave it to me a few days before you and I left Hertesforde..."
"Your father?" Margaret said,
"I thought you might like to read it." James said. Margaret began to read it silently, while James read it from behind her.


Dear James,
I'm sorry I have to write to you like this - you know how your mother gets when entering a conversation. I didn't want to have her spoil my moment of telling you that I think you have become a tremendously respectable man! I am proud of your actions and of all that you have done on your own; You have completed your studies, and you clearly have a fine career at hand - yet foremost important, you have chosen an excellent wife. You and Margaret will be wonderfully happy and the years to come will be absolutely glorious. She will truly be the woman to bless you life, and the life of your future family with happiness and love. Margaret has proven herself and her love for you, and it shows when the two of you meet eyes.
James, I write to you, expressing my excitement for your blessed life with your lovely Margaret
Sincerely, your father.


Margaret's eyes glowed as she finished the letter. She folded the letter and handed it to James, struggling to restrain another set of tears. James pulled her neck to him, and he kissed her gently on the lips. He brushed the rim of her neckline, and tightened his arm around her once again.
"We're not fighting this alone." James said quietly, his eyes shining into hers, "Margaret, we are going to be together forever."
The tears leaked down Margaret's face. "I know, James." She said. "I know."
James smiled and kissed her once again, then turned to the envelope and slipped the letter back inside. James stood slowly from the chair, Margaret sliding off of him in the process. When James heard Margaret weep quietly he immediately sprung around, grabbing Margaret in a comforting hug, her chin pulled onto James' shoulder and James' face buried in her hair. They teetered on the spot as they stood wrapped around one another, then James loosened his grip around her and sat with her on the bedspread. Her eyes were blurred in another shower of tears as she gasped occasionally, her shoulders jumping as she did so. After several minutes of sitting next to James, she had calmed down. James turned Margaret's body to him, resting an impassioned kiss on her lips. James had found that if there was one thing to help comfort Margaret, it was kissing. James was certainly glad of that, because he felt he wouldn't have been able to stop himself. Margaret felt the same.
Their romance continued for many enjoyable minutes; they had rolled onto Margaret's pillow, James' head cradled in Margaret's hand, and James' arms around her waist. It was when Margaret nearly fell off the bed that James' put a finger to her lips.
"We'd better not stay here..." James said, "...It's too easy for Marian to come knocking."
Margaret looked around the room, and James saw her eyes hit the window.
"Of course!" she said, lumbering from the bed and prancing to the window. She lifted it open and turned to James. "The pond! Marian suggested it herself..."
James smiled mischievously and crawled from the bed, then joined her at the window. He glanced over the small edge.
"There's far too many flowers... blasted pansies... Marian would have a fit..." James shuffled to his own room, leaping over his bed and bounding to the window. "Come, Margaret!" James said, waving his hand and throwing the window open. Margaret skipped to James' side, and surveyed the area beneath the window.
"Good." She said, "No flower beds." She lifted a foot the windowsill, but was quickly stopped by James when he lifted her in his arms and helped her out the window. Margaret was on the patio, watching James as he cautiously climbed out of the window and stepped over the sill. He shut the window behind him, making certain that the latch did not lock on its own. He took hold of Margaret's hand and ran with her up the hill, and around the towering trees. Sure enough there was a small rowboat waiting on the shore of the pond, the oars dangling out of the iron loops. They walked hurriedly to it, but slowed once they had reached the rippling waters. James swung the boat around, then helped Margaret into the boat, steadying it as she made her way to the far end. James gave it a good shove from the shore, jumping in and bringing Margaret to a fit of laughter as she watched his panicked expression. The boat wobbled as his feet found their place, and his hands grasped the oars before they pulled into the loops. Margaret continued to laugh, and James fought a grin as he straightened himself. A laugh escaped his mouth as he rowed their way to the center of the pond.
The water was as clear as glass; only pink and white glowers surfaced the water, glazing it in a blanket of soft pastel. Margaret lounged against the back rim of the boat, her feet crossed and nearly reaching James'. James tickled her foot with is, as he rowed effortlessly, smiling at her expected reaction. She laid her head across the back of the boat, looking far into the sky through the tall trees. James sat comfortable, gazing at her through misty eyes at her shadowed figure. The sky covered her in a dusty gray, sending streaks of pales light across her lavender dress.
"Perhaps Marian will let us picnic out here, tonight." James said, remembering Marian's idea. "Just you and I..." Margaret did not respond for a short moment.
"That would be lovely." She said dreamily, letting her hand skim the water as her arm fell over the edge. The pink and white flowers parted as her fingers touched them, creating ripples on the glassy lake. They sat silently for several minutes, enjoying each other's silent presence and the sound of the wind against the trees. As they passed under an overhanging branch, Margaret sat as tall as she could, reaching for the nearest leaf. She pulled it from its stem and the branch sprung back quickly, sending a spray of blossom petals and pollen over the moving rowboat. Margaret sneezed shortly as her eyes stung in the billowing pollen. She laughed as she wiped her eyes.
"Where's a kerchief when you need one?" she said casually, settling herself against the rim once again and skimming the water with the green leaf. James laughed and felt his heart brighten.
Margaret went back to looking at the sky, as James watched her admiringly. He was not sure what to start a conversation about - though he knew he had an amount of time to decide. Margaret dipped her hand in the water, as if checking the temperature. Then without looking at James, she lifted her dress slightly and began to untie the laces of her white boots.
"What are you doing?" James asked, a fearful shake in his voice.
Margaret glanced up, giving him a furtive look.
"May I acquire as to why you are unable to see a lady's feet?" Margaret teased, unfastening her next boot. "Is it your mother who forbids you of seeing a woman's ankles?"
James laughed good-naturedly.
"As a matter of fact, it is." He said, laughing again, "She believes the rule to be courteous."
Margaret smiled and slipped off her stockings. She pivoted on her seat and hung her feet over the edge.
"Rules are meant to be broken." said Margaret, flicking her head in James' direction. James laughed quietly as she turned, kicking her feet softly in the water. She wrapped her dress tightly around her legs, in order to avoid its fall into the water. She seemed extremely relaxed to James, her eyes closed and her face touched by the wind. It was surprising to James that he did not feel uncomfortable in the situation; surely his mother would never approve of such an activity, yet he felt her opinion did not matter at the moment.
James watched her hypnotically, her fair skin glowing in the hazing sky. She was sprawled across the boat, her hand over one edge and her feet over the other. A small while later, Margaret lifted her legs back into the boat, and turned to face James. She rested her arms on her knees, and tapped her heels as if to speed up the drying process. She crossed her right leg over the other, and pulled her stocking back onto her foot. And up to her knee. She propped her foot on the wall of the boat, and tied the laces of her boot up her leg. She switched her leg over the other, and slipped the other stocking onto her bare foot.
"Here..." James said, letting go of the oars and scooting to the edge of his seat. He lifted her ankle in his hand and held her boot in the other. He slid her foot into it as she rested her hands behind herself and watched James' handiwork. Margaret was slightly amazed at James' ability to tie the laces; her eyes darted from her foot to his face, as if searching for a hint of confusion in his handsome face - but there was none. He continued to tie them with a quickened ease, crossing on lace over the other and fastening them securely. As he finished he smoothed it up her leg, and set her foot softly on the floor of the boat.
Margaret compared the laces; they were identical. She looked up at James as he was regaining control of the oars. He smiled at her as she shook her head.
"How?" she started, "How did you..."
James smiled once again, "I'd watched you tie them." He said.
"But - when?" Margaret said.
"Just now," James said, "I'd watched you tie them."
Margaret grinned in disbelief.
"Honest?" she said,
"Honest!" James laughed, rowing back to the shore of the lake. A minute later the boat was grinding against the sandy dirt, and James hopped from his place. Narrowly missing the edge of the water, he pulled the boat ashore, and held out his hand for Margaret to take. She lifted her dress and balanced herself in the boat, and took James' hand. She jumped to the ground, where she was pulled to James' side. She was then led by the hand around the trees, and down the grassy hill. Their shoes tapped on the patio as they walked to the window, where they had climbed out an hour and a half earlier. James lifted Margaret in his arms, and helped her into the window. She landed beside the wicker chair and turned as James was climbing through head first. He began to laugh at himself uncontrollably, as his legs fell to the floor and rolled onto his back. Margaret stood laughing as he lay there on the floor. She walked to him and knelt at his side, rubbing his chest and shoulders affectionately. She closed her hands around his face and lifted his head slightly, bending over and laying a loving kiss on his lips.
Several minutes were spent on the floor, when James paused their doing and left to ask Marian if she would excuse them during the dinner hour. He found her in the living area, where she was finding a book on the high shelf.
"Aunt Marian." James said quietly, "Can I speak with you a moment?"
"Oh, yes - of course James..." she said, a hint of worry in her voice. She turned to James, a book now in her hands. "What is it?"
James cleared his throat softly.
"Well... I was wondering..." he said, "... If... would you mind if Margaret and I ate outside, this evening?"
Marian scrambled for words.
"Oh... oh yes, I suppose so --"
"Only if that's alright with you..." James said,
"Oh, of course... of course... really." Marian said, sounding half exasperated, "I'm sure you will have a fun time."
"Really?" James said, "Why thank you, Marian - we owe it to you..."
"Oh, nonsense." Marian said, "Now run along - I'm sure Margaret will be waiting for you..."
James nodded gratifyingly, and walked around the corner to the hall. Marian stood at the shelf, watching James round the corner. She slammed her book shut loudly and pushed it onto the shelf, then strutted to the window. She glared out of hit, her arms folded and her face tightening in anger. On the opposite side of the living area, a maid was dusting behind an array of frames. As she made her way around the edge of the room, she neared Marian on the large wall of windows.
"If you don't mind my saying, ma'am - I'll go on ahead and say it." The maid said as she continued to dust, "But if you do mind, I won't be sayin' anything."
Marian caught her eye and did not protest, so the maid finished.
"It seems to me it's not your nephew you envy." She said, "Mr. Everard's been gone a long time, hasn't he? I'd suppose you're getting' a bit lonely."
Marian did not answer. Her lips were pursed dangerously and she tapped her leg impatiently. The maid trotted across the living room floor and into the dining room.
"Trudy." Marian said to the maid, "Please bring my dinner things to my room." Marian started across the room and headed for the stairs. "I'll be eating in my room tonight."
The maid curtsied and disappeared through the swinging door, into the small kitchen.
"James had informed Margaret of Marian's approval, and was now organizing his closet as Margaret fixed her hair in James' mirror. At six o'clock James left for the kitchen and gathered some things for their supper. The maid found him a basket from a kitchen closet, and helped him prepare it. James left with the basket in hand, and met Margaret in the hall. James retraced his steps as they walked to the side door on the opposite wall of the dining room.
Once again they were on the shore of the pond, and were spreading a blanket across the thinning grass. They sat sheltered by the trees, close enough to feel the breeze of the pond. Margaret sat herself gracefully on James' left as he began to empty the basket of its contents. He set a dish of baked chicken on the covered ground and Margaret removed its lid, letting a scent of warm spices reach their noses. James brought out a stack of two plates, knives, forks, two glasses, a corked bottle of raspberry cordial, and buttered rolls wrapped carefully in a white cloth. He blessed their meal and they began, James lying on the blanket, resting on his elbow. They sat quietly, listening to the soft chirping of the birds overhead, and the rippling of the glassy water.
"What do you suppose we'll be doing the next two weeks?" Margaret asked, helping herself to the cordial.
"I suppose we'll spend our time close to each other --" James said, "There's no reason for our parting while we're here." He smiled as Margaret returned the gesture. "Mother and Father are mice compared to Marian... so their arrival won't be a complete disturbance."
Margaret looked away at the shimmering pond. "Well with, or without Marian..." she said, "I'm glad I'm here, James." She lifted her head as she watched the steady waves of the water. James let his hand fall tenderly to her leg, and rub it shortly.
"I'm glad you're here, too."
With a gentle beckoning her pulled Margaret to him, where she situated herself between his knees as he sat up from the ground. She reclined against him as he laid his head on her shoulder. His lips touched her neck and she turned her head, his lips meeting hers as his arms closed around her.


The next four days passed slowly. James and Margaret enjoyed only the time they spent alone in their rooms, and were grateful for their growing distance between themselves and Marian. It was the day before Mr. and Mrs. Henwoode would be arriving; the sun was beginning to set and they had already eaten their dinner in the dining area. James and Margaret were sitting in James' room, reading the books they had retrieved from the shelves two days earlier. James stretched from his chair, and crouched in front of Margaret, sitting near the end bedpost.
"Let's go for a swim." James said, peering over the top of Margaret's book. She closed the book, looking at James as if e had purely gone insane.
"Now?" she said, setting her book on the bed. "Are you mad?"
James held her forearms in his hands, though he had grasped them hurriedly.
"Look, Margaret!" James said, "It's wonderful out there!"
Margaret glanced from James to the window, but was stopped before she could say anything.
"Marian won't come down." James added persuasively, "It's our last night alone. Tomorrow we won't be --"
"Alright - alright!" Margaret said, a smile spreading over her face. James smiled back at her, seeming slightly mischievous. "Come on, then." Margaret said, "Let's go..."
They both stood, and James led her slowly to the window. He caught her by surprise when he swept her into his arms, and once again helped her out of the window. He climbed out, one leg at a time, closing the unlocked window behind him.
They rushed up the hill together, all the while hushing their loud laughter as not to be heard by Marian. They whipped around the trees, and were at the pond where they would spend their time, well into the night. The sky was growing darker overhead, only a peek of light shining through the evening clouds.
Without a word and only a nervous glance, Margaret parted and found a place among the edge of the trees. Margaret slipped off her shoes, and untied the bodice of her dress, following the tie along the skirt. She hung her dress on a low branch, and tiptoed through the sand wearing her under gown, and let down her hair as she did so. Her toes were swallowed by the cool water, sending a chill through her body as she continued slowly into the pond. The shallow water deepened rapidly as the slope became steeper, Margaret's dress growing heavier as she gradually walked in. The water was past her knees when she looked up.
James could not bee seen near the trees - perhaps he had run back inside to get something he'd forgotten? But his shirt and jacket were hanging on the tree... and his shoes were underneath.
"James!" Margaret called, sounding almost frightened, "Where are you?!"
A split second after Margaret realized what he must have been up to, she felt a sharp grasp behind her leg and immediately fell over. She let out a short scream, but the water quickly stifled her. She felt James' hands pulling her in like a fishing net - his strong hands slid up her thigh, her waist, then her shoulder, then his hand slipped sleekly down her arm and found her hand. Their heads reached the surface and they both gasped for air; Margaret for her sudden panic and unaware attack, and James for the extreme length of time he had been holding his breath. They both laughed hysterically, treading the water as they drifted slightly. James twirled her closer to him, and she splashed him playfully. He spun around, blocking his face, then looked back to find Margaret. She swam to his side, and darted from the bottom of the pond, pulled James head and shoulders underwater. She held him under the water, but he soon found his way to the surface and said through a dripping face,
"Try this!" he turned his back to Margaret, and instructed her to stand on his shoulders. He sank under the water, and used his hands to help Margaret's feet find their place. With only a slight warning he sprung out of the water, balancing Margaret on his shoulders. She fell with a splash on James' right, laughing and screaming all at once. She swam a little ways further into the water, closely followed by James. The water became too deep for her to stand in without her head going under, and James saw this. He pulled her to him, supporting her slightly against his body. He wrapped his arms around her, embracing her in a devoted hug. Margaret's arm twisted under and around his shoulder, and her head rested comfortable on his shoulder. She was curled against his bare chest, their skin growing warmer as James cuddled her. He stretched her under gown from her arm, and kissed her shoulder as she lay against him. He kissed her neck, gradually reaching her lips.
She lay on his shoulder, as they spun slowly in the subtle waves of the pond. Their eyes were closed, both of them enjoying their glorious seclusion. Eventually they drifted to the shore, where they collapsed on the sanded grass, Margaret's dress weighing her down. James was not used to seeing Margaret in her under gown, let alone in such a way. It became quite revealing, as the heavy water pressed the fabric tight against her skin.
The last of the warm air brushed through the sky, bringing a sudden tiredness to their eyes. James rolled onto his stomach, resting his chin on his arms. Margaret reached for his arm, and closed her eyes in the comfort of his presence. For several minutes they laid there, waiting for the others suggestion as what to do next. Margaret sat up from the grass, and walked to the water in order to rinse herself of the sand and grass. James followed her, rinsing himself as well. He walked to the left of the pond to gather his things, Margaret walking back to the trees.
She forced the dress across her dampened skin, and fastened it tightly around her wet under gown. She rung her hair, the excess water dripping down her back and shoulders. She held her shoes in her hand, and started around to James, where he had put on his shoes and was now buttoning his shirt. He draped his jacket over his arm, and set his other arm around Margaret's waist. They set off through the opening, the glowing lights coming into view from Marian's house.
James lifted Margaret romantically into his arms and carried her, his jacket tangled about her and her shoes held in her hand. His pace grew faster as he came down the hill, and tiptoed across the patio to the unlocked window. The lamp overhead shone against the window, illuminating the area in the black of the night. Margaret pushed the pane up with her slick hand, and was lifted through the small window. Her feet thudded on the floor as she landed in the dark bedroom, James landing at her side. He closed and locked the window, drawing the curtains tight to it, blocking out the twinkling starlight. Margaret stood by the bed, awaiting the result of James' process of lighting the oil lamp. Their shadows flickered in the yellow light, a sense of warmth spreading into their cold bodies. James rounded on her, as if pulling her in for another display of romance - but Margaret stopped him before he got carried away; she was far too cold and needed to change into some drier clothes. She timidly pushed James away, and circled around the bed, through the joining door. The door clicked behind her, and she let her dress fall to the floor, peeling the under gown from her skin and leaving the soaking bundle by the door. She hurried into her night gown, frantic to get into her warm clothes. She brushed her hair to her left side, and tied the end of a tight braid. She pulled her robe tight around herself, and peeked into James' room. He had clearly already changed into his night things, and was lying fast asleep on his unfolded covers. Margaret giggled quietly, and bent over to kiss him softly on the lips. She blew out the lamp, and eased to her bedroom, with only the walls to guide her.
The next morning James awoke before Margaret did. Margaret entered James' room to find him organizing his belongings, almost in a nervous fashion.
"Mother's likely to hold an inspection." James said when he saw that Margaret had come into his room.
"No good morning?" Margaret said, holding her robe shut and smiling tenderly. James let his things be forgotten, and he made his way around the bed to where Margaret stood. He kissed her limitlessly, holding arms on her waist.
"Good morning." He said quietly, pecking her once again. He busied himself in his work once more, and Margaret turned into her door way, in order to get ready for their breakfast with Marian.
Margaret wore her cream colored dress with the small blue flowers o it, and pinned her hair half way up as she had done on their second day. James pulled on his jacket, although the sun was shining strongly that morning. They hurried into the dining room, not wanting to cause an even longer wait for Marian. Margaret sat across from Marian, James sitting at the head of the table. At first Marian did not say anything, only stirring the tea that had been served to her. Without so much as a glance, she said,
"Your mother and father arrive, today."
James swallowed quickly. "Yes, yes... I've heard they've left early - I suppose they'll be here around --"
"Two thirty." Marian finished his sentence, then carried on the conversation, "I've invited a few more people to stay with us, for a few days..." Marian said, grabbing James' and Margaret's attention, "I hope neither of you oppose --"
"No!" James and Margaret chimed loudly, not wanting to sound bothered by the affect that other visitors may have on their privacy,
"Not at all..."
"Who will be staying?"
Suddenly Marian seemed to be cheerful, and was quite interested in the subject.
"Well," she said, "James, I've invited your Uncle Paul's family, and Frederick's family - Marcus will be bringing his wife and his new son, Matthew, of course... I don't believe you have met the youngster - what a fine boy. Mr. Everard will be accompanying Margaret's grandmother, Emeline Roderick --"
James nearly spilled his entire glass over the lace table spread. Half of the dark juice seeped into the fine cloth and trickled to the floor. Margaret jumped, alarmed by Marian's sudden, and most certainly unwanted news. She forced a painful smile onto her face, struggling not to become desperately filled with rage and anger.
"Oh, really?" Margaret said, "Well it will be nice to get to know James' side of the family --"
"Yes, of course!" Marian said, sounding pleased at her reaction, and having forgotten very quickly about James' incident, "That's why I've invited your grandmother - I'm sure she'd like to meet the family in which you are to be married... your brother and sister will be coming, also..."
James nearly flipped his plate from the table. He immediately slid from his chair, grasping his napkin in an attempt to rid the table and floor of his mess. This time Margaret did not look at James; she stared at Marian, her eyes finally falling to her plate, where a small tear found a place in her eye. Trudy bustled into the dining area, helping James clean the floor with a wet towel. Marian sat eating, unaware of the problems that have been caused by Mrs. Roderick's stay. At last James climbed into his chair, brushing his hair out of his eyes as Trudy nudged through the swinging door.
"So." James said rather breathlessly, "A first reunion, ay?"
Neither Marian nor Margaret spoke. James quickly decided the he should not further his efforts to lighten the mood of their breakfast.
An hour later James followed Margaret into the hallway, fighting to keep up with her fast strides. She had stormed from the table as early as she was allowed to, regardless of what Marian thought. James was obviously concerned for Margaret, and followed her from the dining room as Marian strolled up the stairs. Margaret strode into her room, slamming the door violently behind her. She slid to the floor, he head falling to her knees as the door rested behind her.
James lumbered into the door, unable to stop at his high speed. He knocked several times and without waiting for an answer, he jogged through his own door and marched to the other. He approached the door carefully, as if not to seem too eager to barge in on Margaret.
"Margaret..." he said, "...will you please - please let me in..."
James pressed his ear to the door; he could hear Margaret's broken sobbing, and her sudden gasps in between. Somehow, James knew that he should not turn the doorknob. He too slid to the floor, resting his head against the door as though it would bring him closer to his dear Margaret.
All he could do, was listen, and wait.


The entire morning was spent in their rooms, separated by Margaret's sorrow, and James' fear of worsening it. James ate his lunch alone, excusing Margaret with a half-false tale of her feeling ill. He waited in his room the whole of the afternoon, waiting for his mother and father to arrive. At two thirty James began to pull on his jacket and left through his bedroom door, and surprisingly, nearly crashed into Margaret as he did so.
"Margaret --" he said lowly, a sort of hoarseness in his throat, "Margaret, I'm sorry I didn't... didn't come..."
Margaret put a finger to his lips, then slowly smoother her hand across his cheek. He did not need words to understand what she was saying... to understand that she was also sorry, and that she was not angry with him. He closed his eyes, as Margaret neared him and reached for his handsome face, pulling him in for a soft kiss. She pulled away, helping James pull his jacket across his shoulders. They left the hallway together, walking past the large living area, the sun shining on Margaret's tear strewn face. She pressed her hand against cheeks, attempting to clean her face of the dry tears. James held her hand, bringing it from her face, as if telling her that it did not matter whether or not their were tears on her face. He pulled her tight to him, and led her out of the large oak door to the brick walk. The pattered down the few steps, and were walking down the path just as a carriage pulled to a stop on the cobblestone road. James and Margaret watched two familiar figures step out of the carriage, smiling as Mr. and Mrs. Henwoode's faces peeked from behind the carriage door.
"Oh, James!" Mrs. Henwoode shouted, grabbing her things and running up the walk. Mr. Henwoode paid the driver, and quickly gathered his things, darting after Mrs. Henwoode.
"Jules!" Mr. Henwoode squealed and wrapped his loaded arms around Margaret, then moved to James as Mrs. Henwoode traded him.
"Oh, my dear..." Mrs. Henwoode said, pulling Margaret into a tight hug, but quickly retracting. "How I've missed you both... the house has been so quiet..."
"It hasn't been that quiet, Poppy --" Mr. Henwoode said, "Your voice seems to have magnified now that there are two less people to bounce the sound off of..."
"Hush up, Charles." Mrs. Henwoode said, fighting a small laugh, "Let's move along inside - Marian will be wanting to greet us..."
The four of them scurried up the brick path, James in the lead, carrying his mother's heavy case. As they stepped into the vast entrance, Marian came down the staircase, a red and gold dress stretching all the way up to her neck.
"Charles - my dear Poppy, how very good it is to see you..."
She came down the last stair, walking to Mr. and Mrs. Henwoode in an open armed embrace. She hugged them gingerly, then back away several steps, folding her hands. Trudy and Butler Jenkins appeared on their right side, quietly taking Mr. and Mrs. Henwoode's bags from their hands. They both trailed up the stairs, then Marian finally spoke.
"I've invited the others to stay for the next few days also, I am pleased to tell you - I hope you will find yourselves comfortable in the same room Paul and Frederick, and of course Katherine and Lorena... there are curtains of course, and there are perfect amounts of space when they are drawn..."
Mr. and Mrs. Henwoode gaped at her wordlessly.
"Why, yes..."
"Of course..."
They too, were shocked at Marian's unexpected plans, yet did not seem quite as disturbed by the prospect. Marian finished her reciting of the arrangements;
"The entire family will arrive - as well as Margaret's grandmother - by later this evening... Marcus, Abigail, and baby Michael will stay together - Daphne, Carlene and Sarah in one room - Margaret, your grandmother and sister will share - your brother David will sleep in the room next to yours and James and Lucas will share a room upstairs! It all works out - I'm so glad that it --"
"Why can't I stay in the same room I'm in right now?" James blurted out, feeling rather defensive.
Marian came up with a rebuttal quickly;
"There's room enough only for one down here..." she said, "...we need two to share a room, upstairs --"
"But David and Lucas could share the room - I'm sure they'd enjoy themselves... and I've got all my things unpacked - I'll just have to load it all back up again!"
Marian seemed to be momentarily lost for words. She finally uttered a few word from her open mouth, her eyes darting uneasily in a sudden search for an answer.
"It's - it's just a preferred arrangement, James... I'm sure you'll get along fine --"
"I know I'll get along fine," said James, "but the change is unnecessary --" James said, feeling rather heated. Margaret was filled with the same amount of worry, a concerned look furrowing her eyebrows and helping her clutch her hands even tighter to James' arm.
"Mrs. Roderick left a specified arrangement, for whatever reason." Marian said agitatedly.
"This is her doing?" Margaret said, snapping out of her dazed confusion, "She's moving James upstairs?"
Marian babbled several incoherent words, not having seen it in such a way.
"She did not - include any... any particular reason..." Marian said carefully, desperate to prevent any other reactions from James, "...I suppose - I suppose some changes can be made..."
James breathed deeply, feeling hopelessly defeated by Marian, and most certainly by Margaret's grandmother.
He looked down, avoiding the others' eyes. He felt ashamed that he had reacted the way he head, though would say the same things to Margaret's grandmother if it were to help him stay in the room next to Margaret's. Mr. Henwoode saw that James was feeling uncomfortable, so he stepped toward the living area, pointing to it with flailing arms.
"Shall we - er... shall we go, go sit down?"
"Yes...yes..." Mrs. Henwoode said, pushing her husband from behind and guiding him to the living area. Marian walked swiftly ahead of them, and sat on the edge of an arm chair, beckoning them to sit down. James and Margaret followed slowly, then sat themselves on the loveseat, Mr. and Mrs. Henwoode sitting on the davenport.
"The storage room is all taken care of..." Mrs. Henwoode said, a few minutes into their conversation. "Charles and I have been working on it all week, with quite a bit of help - so James, you won't need to spend any more nights downstairs."
James and Mr. Henwoode laughed heartily, helping to ease the tension in the silent living room. Margaret smiled at the sound of James' laugh, and tangled her fingers around his. She crossed her left leg over the other, slightly knocking James' leg with her foot. He looked at her shortly, grinning at her as the conversation carried on.
Marian seemed to become less stressed as they sat there, finally seeing that James and Margaret were enjoying themselves, and realizing that the other visitors would also. A couple of hours were spent in the living area, then they all parted and would stay in their rooms until the others arrived, which would be only a little while before the dinner hour.
James and Margaret were in Margaret's bedroom, enjoying their last moments of complete privacy for the entire following week.
"I'm sorry I acted the way I did - with Marian..." said James, once again feeling guilty for the way he displayed himself. "...I'm glad that you and your brother will be staying close to each other - I'm sure you've missed him a lot over all these years... I --"
"The only person I want to be close to is you, James..." Margaret said, brushing her hand across his face as he knelt on the ground and she sat on her bed, "...I've spent plenty of time being bothered by my brother." Her eyes brightened as James smiled at her, but her face slowly dropped into a gaze of worry. "But I'd understand if he were to empty his frustration on me..." she said, "...cooped up with grandmother all this time..." Margaret blinked away from James, her eyes shining against the sunlight.
James understood her unspoken words, and turned her face back to his.
"She's really hurt you, Margaret." He said tenderly, "Hasn't she."
Margaret looked him in the eye for a long moment, as if deciding whether or not to do what she was about to. She turned her hands over, revealing the palms of her hands. She glared at two small scars across the thumb, and palm of hands. The marks on her left hand were most distinguished; permanent welts slightly whiter than the rest of her skin. James held her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over the thin white lines.
"What are these?" James demanded concernedly, "Who's done this to you?"
Margaret pulled her right hand gently from James' grasp, and ran a finger over the scar on her left hand.
"This." Margaret said, lettering her hand finish the trail. "I asked her about my mother and father." Margaret said, stroking the mark. "I told her that I wanted to go live with them - that I missed them." Margaret looked up and rubbed her hands across her legs. "She struck me before I could say anymore. She didn't want to hear it."
James saw the tears glistening in her eyes, and rejoined his hands with hers. "When was this?" James said, sounding almost angry as he asked her. Margaret looked back at him, but turned down to her hands.
"I was fourteen." Margaret said, "I'd done everything I could to reach them - she found out I'd written them. Nearly tore the dress off my back, wrestling me to the ground. Last time I saw them was before I left for Bermesforde, at the train station. They'd acted as if nothing had happened." Margaret stood, and walked to her dresser where an open drawer lingered in its hinges. She slammed it shut, the sudden knock echoing throughout the room. "As if they'd done nothing wrong."
There came a racketing rumble as fast feet came down the grand staircase.
"Paul and Katherine and Frederick and Lorena are here! Marcus and Abigail and Michael! Daphne and Carlene and Sarah! They're all here! Everyone, come quick, they're here!"
Mr. Henwoode's yelling could be heard all through the gigantic house; his obnoxious yells grew louder as he skipped down the stairs and dashed to the large, front doors, throwing them open and heading down the brick path.
Margaret wiped her eyes as quickly as she could, in case anybody happened to enter. James stood slowly, walking to Margaret and holding his arms around her from behind. He kissed her ear, then rubbed his head against her neck. Margaret brought her hand around his neck, pulling her lips to his. They both regretted having to stop abruptly, but they knew that they were to report to the welcoming immediately. Margaret was actually quite excited to meet James' family, though felt anxious all the same. She smiled a weak smile at James, and they left the room together. Mrs. Henwoode and Marian were racing down the stairs, laughing as they spotted the others through the open door. James and Margaret followed them, though they did no run nearly as quickly as the others did. Margaret scurried behind James, a smile growing on her face as the relatives came into view. James looked back at her, grinning as he saw her excited expression. He was glad that she had cheered up in such a short amount of time. As they stepped through the door, a thrilled group of friends busied themselves among their family, filled with animated activity. A swarm of hugging and kissing made its way up the brick path, when a younger, blonde haired girl wearing a frilly, light blue dress pointed looked up at the front doorway.
"That must be James' fianc?!" The girl proclaimed, galloping up the stairs to where James' and Margaret stood. She leapt into James' arms, and was swung around madly as James laughed cheerfully. "Cousin James!" the girl screamed, "How are you? It's so good to see you!"
"I'm wonderful, Sarah!" James said, hugging Sarah as he set her on the ground. It was clear to Margaret that Sarah was of the rambunctious kind, and that she would certainly be able to add a large amount of interest in any event they would take part in. Margaret smiled as the others slowly made their way up the path, but stopped as James waved his hand. "My dear family!" James said, the other smiling back at him. James, Margaret and Sarah looked over the crowd of at least ten other people - all of them in their hats and holding their heavy cases.
"Who's that you got there, James?" asked a stout man, a few gray wisps of hair visible from the sides of his bowler hat, "That wouldn't be your fianc?, now would it - she's far too pretty for you..."
James laughed and brought Margaret from the side rail. "You may be somewhat surprised that I was able to attract such a lady..." James said, "...So I will take such a time to introduce my fianc?, Miss Margaret Kennington."
"Hello, Margaret!"
"Nice to meet you, Miss Kennington!"
"At last..."
"I knew she'd be fit for James!"
"Can't believe we've waited so long..."
The many voices of approval rang through the crisp air, all of them lifting their heads to see from under the brims of their hats. James absentmindedly let his arms sneak around Margaret's waist, pulling her a bit closer and watching her admiringly. Marian scuttled to the stairs, and climbed the first steps.
"Come inside! Come, come now!" Marian said, waving her hands and hurrying up the remaining steps. "We can mingle indoors - I feel a light shower coming on..."
James and Margaret followed her quickly, a sudden rush of people flooding toward the entrance. They fluttered in the direction of the living area, watching the others flow in, in a frenzy of questions and suitcases. Finally the cases were sorted into crooked rows, roughly arranging the order of the rooms and their occupants. Marian had informed the visitors of their sleeping arrangements as they cam through the door, finding a standing place in the foyer. The ladies among the bustle were daintily removing their gloves, as the gentlemen lifted their hats from their heads.
"I suppose you must all get settled in your rooms..." Marian said, "...afterwards we will have plenty of time to get to know Miss Margaret! I shall show you the way..."
Marian started her way up the stairs, the other retrieving their bags from the row, silently questioning why they had set them down in the first place. They trailed slowly up the stairs, managing not to fall on the catch of the ladies' dresses.
"Wait for me!" Sarah called frantically as she darted ahead of the others. She grasped her things and came to the same pace as a pair of girls, satisfied that she had caught up with them. Mr. and Mrs. Henwoode followed them, joining in the enjoyable chaos and chatting of excited relatives.
James and Margaret stood near the living area, awaiting the others' return in a quiet conversation.
"They really are quite friendly." James insisted, linking his hands behind his back as he teetered on the spot. "The may not've seemed friendly, but you'll be getting to know them, of course..."
Margaret gazed at him, his eyes gliding up the staircase in a sort of twinkle. She took his hand, quickly folding her fingers through his. She smiled at him, his head turning toward her as he noticed her smile. He took a last look at the staircase and rounded Margaret, pulling her to the davenport. He lounged against it comfortably, leaning his head against the cushion as Margaret sat beside him. She slid her arm into the space between James' back and the tight fabric of the couch, leaning her head on his shoulder and placing her hand near his neck. James leaned his head on hers, though shot up quickly as he heard footsteps coming down the grand stairs. Into view there cam Mr. and Mrs. Henwoode, followed shortly by two couples that Margaret had seen among the visitors, including the stout man that had called out among the whirl.
"James... Margaret... come and say hello..." Mrs. Henwoode hurried to the davenport and motioned them to stand up.
"Mother --" James said, "we're standing as it may --"
"Margaret, this is James' uncle Paul." Mrs. Henwoode introduced the stout man, his large stomach bulging in his trousers and his round face perched on a short neck. He held out a pudgy hand to shake James'.
"Uncle!" James said, pulling his uncle into a slapping hug, "How are you? I hope you are well..."
"Oh, of course I am well! There's no need to ask - I've been itching to meet this fine young lady..."
"Oh, yes..." Mrs. Henwoode said, pulling Margaret forward a bit further, "Margaret has studied in Bermesforde, same time as James."
"Oh really, Margaret!" Uncle Paul said, bringing a slightly plump woman to his side, "That's just wonderful! You know, my Marcus attended his classes in Bermesforde - that was several years ago, of course. He's brought his wife and his new little baby boy - just splendid, isn't he Katherine?"
"Oh, yes... I mean, the baby of course." Said the plump woman, "I'm so very pleased that little Michael was fit for the long travel - but of course it has all been worth it! We've all been so excited to meet you, Miss Margaret - I'm Katherine, by the way..." Katherine shook Margaret's hand vigorously, "'Tis very nice to meet you, Miss Margaret! I daresay, I would have been most troubled if James had not returned with such a fine lady, as are yourself - I'm glad that you and James have found one another at last..."
"Why thank you, Katherine..." Margaret said, graciously taking Katherine's compliment, "I might add that I too would have been most troubled if James had returned without me..."
Paul and Katherine let out a boisterous laughter, Katherine scuttling to James and squeezing him in her arms. She backed up with Uncle Paul, allowing the space for a new introduction. A much thinner man took a large step forward, shaking the couple's hands in a warming hello.
"Hello, Margaret!" said the man as his apparent wife followed in the shaking of their hands. "I will introduce myself, I am Frederick Hans, Charles' younger brother on that account... this is my wife, Lorena - our daughters are upstairs, unpacking their things." Uncle Frederick inched backward politely, folding his hands behind his back. "I do say, you are magnificent. You exceed all we've been told of you - I'm sure Lorena does agree --"
"Why, of course I do!" Lorena said, her frail, but slightly younger arms waving in a gathering kindness, "You truly are magnificent - a very fine match."
Aunt Lorena surveyed them benevolently, smiling at them through a partially wrinkled face. Their grizzled heads turned to the staircase, where three girls came swiftly down the stairs, Sarah bounding in the lead.
"Father --" she said, you haven't by any chance mislaid my hat... Carlene says she saw it in the carriage, last..."
"Sarah, your hat is in my bedroom, I shall fetch it for you once we are finished..." Lorena answered Sarah's request, leaving Frederick in no worry at all.
"Margaret, this is my youngest daughter Sarah." Said Uncle Frederick, struggling to get Sarah to pay her attention to Margaret. "You can worry about your hat later, deary..." Sarah turned and curtsied shortly, finally coming to her father's side and calming herself. "Sarah is fifteen..." Uncle Frederick implied.
"I'm nearly sixteen..." Sarah argued, "I'll be sixteen this summer!"
"Of course, deary." Uncle Frederick said, shooing her to the side and beckoning the two other girls forward.
"You are such a child." Margaret heard the tallest one whisper, following the other to her father.
"Now Margaret, this is Carlene - she is nineteen, and this is Daphne. She celebrates her twenty-first birthday this summer, also..."
Carlene smiled at Margaret, Daphne taking the lead and hurrying to hug Margaret. Daphne was clearly the eldest of the three; she was tall and delicate and her eyes shone in a form of vivacity. Her dark hair though curled, was pulled finely around her head and tied in the back. An ebony choker was fastened tightly around her slender neck, leading to a scarlet dress adorned in a lovely, snowy lace. She hugged Margaret gently, smiling at her blissfully. She moved to James, and hugged him also though seemed to do so much more awkwardly.
James and Margaret smiled as Carlene came round the line, having hugged Margaret shortly with an obvious shyness. She side stepped to James, seeming much more comfortable while giving him a quick hug, than she did with Margaret. Carlene was wearing a shining, emerald green dress, a shaded pink rose pinned to the center of the neck of her dress. Her hair was smoothly pulled to the back of her neck, where it was pinned securely in its tress.
As the girls reformed the circle, Sarah suddenly dashed from the group and skipped up the stairs.
"The girl never stops." Aunt Lorena sighed at Sarah's rowdiness, a small laugh in her statement. "Margaret, I do hope you won't be bothered by her..."
"Oh, no. Of course not." Margaret insisted, holding James' hand, "Seldom have I been able to spend some real time with my sister - so I assure you, I will definitely enjoy her presence --"
"Oh yes! Your brother and sister are coming to stay, also!" said Katherine, "And your grandmother is coming also?"
"She is." Margaret said, her eyes falling to the ground.
Right then Sarah came sprinting down the stairs, a tall boy being chased by her in a pandemonium almost ear breaking.
"Sarah!" Aunt Lorena shouted, scolding her youngest daughter, "You stop that, child!"
"Yes... Lucas! Stop! Lorena is right..." Uncle Paul called, "Come meet James' fianc?!"
Lucas came to a slow as he neared the group, his straight, brown hair blowing furiously in the speed of his run. He placed his hands on his sides, slightly breathless as he faced James and Margaret.
"Of course! James' fianc? - how do you do?" He shook Margaret's hand, kissing her on the cheek, then was caught in James' friendly embrace. Lucas was clearly delighted to see James, as he was smiling at the pair of them with an elated grin. "Fool, you look happy!" Lucas said, "I can't imagine why you wouldn't be, a pretty girl like that..."
"You can't have a go at this one, I'm sure!" James said, holding Margaret's hand and folding his arm around her. "So how've you been, Lucas?"
"I've been well..." Lucas said, casually folding his own arms, "Haven't been nearly as lucky with the ladies as you, I suppose I should say..."
"Marcus, you're hardly eighteen!" Katherine squealed, "I've lost count of the girls you've courted already..."
"You've courted even more?" Sarah questioned, now standing between her mother and Carlene. "I can't get even one boy to look at me, let alone ask me to a party or something--"
"That's because you're far too young to go to parties and the like." Lorena said, "And who would you fancy going to a party with? Not somebody from your school..."
"Well I haven't met anybody other than the people at my school, because I'm not allowed to go anywhere other than my school." Sarah argued, seeming mildly upset by the subject.
"You came with me to the winter party last year, Sarah..." Daphne said, "...You know you've had plenty of chances to come to the other parties with me --"
"But all the others are completely boring." Sarah complained, fluffing the blue ruffles of her dress beneath her satin sash.
"Well then, if you think the other parties are boring, I see no point in you nitpicking on the subject." Frederick said, winking a small smile at Sarah.
"Nitpickers usually can't find anybody to court them to the parties, anyhow." Lucas said, throwing a teasing look at Sarah. She darted through the group, once again sending Lucas into a run as she made her frantic pursuit. Lucas whooped as he ran in circles, barely quick enough to dodge Sarah's quick grasps for his collar.
"Sarah! Get back here!" Aunt Lorena chirped, "You needn't waste your energy indoors - why don't you go play in the yard, for a moment..."
Mr. Henwoode was at last coming down the stairs, accompanied by the person who Margaret knew must have been Marcus, and his wife carrying their baby Michael.
"Just helping Marcus set up the baby crib for Michael..." Mr. Henwoode exclaimed, "Wouldn't mind sleeping in one, myself - would stop me from rolling off the edge..."
Mr. Henwoode joined the others, Marcus and his wife walking to James and Margaret.
"You must be Margaret..." said Marcus, taking Margaret's hand and kissing her on the cheek. "How are you? I'm Marcus, and this is Abigail, with our little son Michael..."
"So very nice to meet you, Margaret." Said Abigail, giving Margaret a one armed hug and a kiss on the cheek as she held baby Michael. Abigail had long, blonde hair, the top half tied in the back, and the elegant twist trailing to her periwinkle dress. Marcus had sandy colored hair, brushing swiftly across his forehead, framing a face most similar to Lucas'. He smiled softly at Abigail as she bounced Michael in her arms, and hurried to sit down on the davenport with him. Marcus gave James a hurried hug, patting him on the back as the entire group slowly migrated into the living area. Marcus sat on the arm rest beside Abigail, followed by Daphne, Carlene, and Margaret, then James finishing the end on the opposite arm. Lucas stood near James, supporting himself against the back of the davenport. Katherine, Mrs. Henwoode, and Lorena squeezed onto the love seat, as Paul, Mr. Henwoode, and Frederick stood along the window, leaving the armchair vacant for Marian. Sarah sat on the floor, below her mother's feet.
"James, why don't you come have my seat - you'll be much more comfortable..." said Mrs. Henwoode, "you needn't sit on the arm, dear..."
"I'm alright here, mother..." James said, "Unless you'd rather sit here..."
"Oh! No dear... I'm just fine... but I can stand over there if you like --"
"Of course he wouldn't like for you to stand, standing's left for the men!" Uncle Paul patted his chest as his voice deepened, "Poppy, you just stay where you are and don't case such a fuss."
"Well, I'd understand if she were to cause a fuss." Katherine said with a laugh, "I'd understand perfectly if Poppy did not want to share a seat with such bickerish women as we!"
"You wouldn't call yourself bickerish, would you Auntie?" Sarah asked Katherine as she spun around on the floor, "If anybody's bickerish, it's --"
"Never you mind, dear." Aunt Lorena shushed her, "Remember to mind your manners --"
"I always mind my manners." Argued Sarah, "Just don't mind the well, is all..."
Aunt Lorena and Sarah pedaled off in their own, muffled quarrel, and Uncle Paul struck up a conversation.
"Now, James... I've forgotten whether or not you are interested in politics - you know, that's what really got me going as a young chap."
"I am greatly interested in politics, Uncle," James answered, "though I have not yet experienced it first hand --"
"Ah! Yes..." said Uncle Paul, "I understand young fellow... I too had little experience in the political sciences of my day."
"I have studied extensively." James said, "The college library is filled with the most fascinating of documentaries..."
"Debating?" asked Uncle Paul,
"Yes - debating was what I found most interesting... I find it most intriguing, the contrast of perception of lawful constructions --"
"Matthew's a fine debater." Said Daphne, her hands folded gracefully across her lap, "He joined the Kenston Counsel during his first year --"
"Matthew? Who's Matthew?" Lucas asked her from behind the davenport.
Sarah's head shot from her mother's argument to answer Lucas' question.
"Daphne's fellow --"
"Sarah." Aunt Lorena warned her,
"What?" Sarah's eyes widened, "It's true - he's been keen on her for ages..."
"Oh really!" Uncle Paul piped, "Matthew... what's the name?"
"Matthew Carl --"
"Matthew Carlman." Sarah said before Daphne could finish.
"Sarah, do not interrupt." Said Uncle Frederick as he leaned against the windowsill.
"Anyhow," Daphne continued, "His name's Matthew Carlman and is a fine politician." She threw an angry look at Sarah, returning her attention to James and Uncle Paul.
"Our point is, James..." Uncle Frederick subtly rescued Daphne from the subject, "We all think that you ought to join Paul, Marcus, your father, and I at the political counsel, tomorrow. It starts on Tuesday, the twenty-fifth, and carris over to the twenty-sixth --"
"So it's an overnight." James confirmed, "We'd stay in a hotel?"
"Yes, we'd find a hotel to stay in... I'm sure we'd be able to acquire a room large enough for five..."
Uncle Frederick pecked a finger around the room, counting the attendees.
"Unless that's six..." added Uncle Paul, "I have not yet convinced Lucas to join us."
"Well, I didn't say I didn't want to go," Lucas explained, "All I said was that I wasn't sure whether or not I wanted to stay for the second day."
"Lucas," said Aunt Katherine, "there's only a slight chance that you'd be able to travel back after the first meeting, I doubt you'd be able to..."
"I know, mother, you've got to hear me out." Answered Lucas, "All I meant was that it's ridiculous to carry out a meeting overnight - it's unnecessary... A person can only endure the better day's worth of seminars - and, and lectures --"
"It's more than just lectures, m'lad." Said Uncle Paul, "It's a fine opportunity to learn how it works in the real world!" he shook his fist in excitement.
"It's also an excellent way to hear from colleges." Said Uncle Frederick, "It's always the most honorable professors that attend these conventions..."
"Look." Lucas said, only slightly frustrated, "I'm not saying that I'm not going..." they all turned as Marian cam wandering down the stairs, "...I'm only saying; why miss a lovely day at Marian's?" he dramatically swept over to Marian, bowing in a welcoming greeting as he guided her in the direction of the armchair.
"Why would you miss a lovely day?" Marian asked curiously, a tiny hint of disappointment in her voice.
"A political counsel." Uncle Paul declared, "There's a convention on the west side - it carries over two days."
"Political?" Marian contemplated as she folded her hands across her knees. "I'm certain Mr. Everard will want to join you in your travels..."
"Oh yes!" clapped Uncle Frederick, "That makes seven!"
"Or six." added Uncle Paul,
"Or seven." Uncle Frederick pointed at Lucas.
"Five and a half." Said Sarah, turning away from her mother, "But Lucas, I don't see how you'd want to go, it sounds incredibly boring..."
"Sarah dear, you think everything is boring." Aunt Lorena said quickly.
"I don't think everything is boring." Sarah claimed, "I like swimming and tennis, and running races and climbing trees..."
"So why not, Lucas?" said Uncle Frederick, "Why not have a go?"
"...and tagging and hide and seek, and parties, only the fun ones, and cherry picking, but that's only when I get to eat some, and --"
"Shush." Aunt Lorena swatted Sarah's shoulder with her fingers.
Lucas paid no attention whatsoever to Sarah's display.
"I suppose I will go." He said, a note of relief in his tone. "Yes, why don't I - there's no harm to be done..."
James looked almost blissful that Lucas had decided to join them for the counsel; for what Margaret did not know, James and Lucas had for very long been not only cousins, but the best of friends at all of their family gatherings. Although Lucas was somewhat younger, they had always enjoyed the other's childish ways and hopeless acts of stupidity.
"We're all glad you're coming!" said Uncle Paul, a large smile on his equally large face.
"And going." Sarah joked, though the others did not catch the sarcasm. She was once again swatted by her mother, as everybody turned their heads to the front windows. The sound of a carriage had come to a stop in front of the house, its visible travelers following the same routine as the previous visitors.
"Why, Margaret, that must be your grandmother!" Mrs. Henwoode said excitedly.
"Splendid!" Marian stood from her arm chair, beckoning the others to stand also. They sluggishly made their way back into the foyer, as Marian opened the door to the last threesome. Mrs. Roderick's crow-like head flicked around the doorway, quickly examining the entrance and those waiting beyond it. Marian routinely stepped to the door, motioning them all inside.
"Come in, come in... don't want the raindrops to fall on you..."
Not one of the new arrivers spoke, their cautious eyes shifting in varied reasons. A cloaked lady stood cowering behind her grandmother, and was apparently Margaret's sister Cynthia. A thin, but well-built boy stood to the side of his sister, looking almost incredibly nervous as the others welcomed him. Margaret stepped to her siblings, James trailing behind her to meet Margaret's brother and sister. Margaret paid no greeting to her grandmother, though her grandmother did not seem bothered by her actions. Brushing past her grandmother, she hugged her tall sister, followed by James as she then hugged the scrawny boy.
"Cynthia - David!" Margaret cheered, "How have you been? I hope you are well..."
They nodded timidly in their quiet response.
"Well, I'd like you to meet Mr. James Henwoode..."
"How do you do?" James said, shaking their hands.
"...I'm sure grandmother's told you all about him..." Margaret looked at them, searching for the slightest answer in their anxious faces. James quickly sensed the awkwardness, and moved to Mrs. Roderick.
"So good to see you again, Mrs. Roderick." He said, shaking her hand as though that was all the old woman would have allowed. There was no reply, so Margaret spoke.
"Go on then. Remove your cloaks - there's nothing to be shy about..."
Cynthia let loose a weak smile, and untied the top of her cloak. Her brother followed, unfastening his and clenching his fist around it. Their cloaks were taken by Butler Jenkins, and were hung on the coat tree with the others.
"James, this is Cynthia, my older sister - I've told you about her..." Margaret held out a hand toward her sister, who bowed her head respectively and smiled a small bit easier than before. "...This is David, my younger brother..." David did not look up; he barely showed any sign of having heard Margaret, though it was apparent that his face was rushing red.
"Why, hello David..." James said, crouching down to a small extent, "How old might you be?" he said in a rather soft, careful voice.
"Thirteen." David muttered, his chin still pinned to his neck.
"By golly!" James said, straightening up, "Thirteen, what a fine age - I would have said you looked older... and younger just the same... you seem to be farther along than I was at thirteen, I was barely up to mother's elbow by then."
Everybody let out a small laugh, especially Uncle Paul, Frederick and Mr. Henwoode who had guffawed heartily. James knew that what he had said about his own height was hardly true, but knew that it was a lifting compliment all the same. The effect had met James' expectations, for David had lifted his head a few inches and his eyes reached the height of the others'. His head rose slowly, as their introductions continued.
"Why Miss Cynthia," said Uncle Paul, "are you as tuckered by the carriage ride as we are, or do you live nearby?"
Cynthia seemed only slightly startled that she had been asked a question of such great importance. She opened her mouth to answer but choked back as Mrs. Roderick answered in her place.
"We do live nearby." Said Mrs. Roderick, "Although, Cynthia usually stays with her mother and father - and no, don't worry about any tuckering..." Mrs. Roderick looked revolted at the use of such a word. "We are fit for a carriage ride."
Almost every person in the foyer looked surprised at such a barked reply.
"Grandmother - would you like Jenkins to take your cloak?" Margaret tried after several long moments,
"No, please." Mrs. Roderick snapped, bringing her umbrella into her hands. "I will keep my things in my room."
"On that note, let me show you to your rooms..." Marian said, her voice droning across the foyer. She pivoted on her heel and started up the stairs, Cynthia and Mrs. Roderick following her as Butler Jenkins carried their cases. Margaret kept David behind, knowing that he would be occupying the room next to her. James now was grateful for the fact that David would be able to stay next to Margaret.

Chapter Ten
Dinner on the Patio

Cynthia and Mrs. Roderick had returned from the upper floor, and had joined the rest of the party on the patio for their dinner. Uncle Paul had insisted on eating outdoors, for the breeze added a touch of cool, and the setting sun filled the sky with warmth.
"We are not to miss an evening such as this!" Uncle Paul had said.
The others seemed to have agreed to Uncle Paul's insinuation, for they had all eagerly helped to set out the extra wicker chairs and tables to sit themselves at. All of the men sat at the largest table, as the ladies split into a rough age assortment. Margaret, Cynthia, Daphne, Carlene, Sarah, and Abigail sat at the middle table, while Marian, Mrs. Henwoode, Katherine, Lorena, and Mrs. Roderick sat at the end table.
They had all been served their wonderful plates of chicken salads and lovely baskets of croissants at every table. Abigail was gently rocking Michael in a baby swing perched next to her seat.
"How old is he?" Margaret asked, nodding her head towards Michael.
"Almost seven months." Said Abigail, a glimpse of pride in her eye.
"He's getting along fantastically, isn't he?" said Daphne.
Abigail smiled. "It's been a lot of word..." she said, "...but he certainly is fantastic."
"Do you do all the work yourself?" Margaret asked curiously, "Taking care of him, I mean."
"Yes, I agree to ask --" added Daphne, "Have you hired a nurse to do the caring?"
"At first I felt that a wet nurse would not be necessary..." Abigail explained, "...though I found that I was unable to manage on my own, with Marcus gone, of course. I've hired a part-time nurse to help every other day."
"Well, that sounds perfectly reasonable..." Daphne sipped her glass.
"Yes." Said Margaret, "It does."
"Although, it's all a matter of what we're able to afford..." said Abigail, taking a glance at Marcus and gazing a small smile at the nearby table. "I've been certain that full-time service would not be appropriate."
"Do you acquire a maid service?" Margaret questioned, though not wanted to force any discomfort.
"The maid that comes through our service..." said Abigail, "...she helps do the caring for Michael, as well as a share of the housework on the same schedule."
"Well that's good, isn't it?" Margaret thought aloud, "Get it done all in one go."
"It is good." Abigail nodded.
"Well, I don't see why it's good." said Sarah, "Why not get a full maid service, instead of only part?"
It was clear to Margaret that Abigail was completely used to Sarah's uncalled remarks.
"Sarah, it's too up front of you to say --" started Carlene,
"Sarah, you've never known otherwise, and you're obviously far too narrow minded to see." Daphne scolded her, throwing her an angered glare.
"I am not narrow minded." Sarah protested as her head fell slightly. "I'm open --"
"Open mouthed, I fear." said Daphne.
At the table on the far right, Marian, Mrs. Henwoode, Katherine, Lorena, and Mrs. Roderick were chatting in the light breeze.
"Well, you all know that Marcus has moved away..." said Katherine. They had been talking about Marcus' financial progression and were wandering on the subject, "I didn't expect him to move away so soon, but I do say I'm glad for it."
Mrs. Henwoode snorted. "Why are you glad he's moved away?" she said, "I can't bear the thought of the day that James must leave. He and Margaret have only just arrived..."
"What makes you think that they'll want to stay?" said Katherine,
"Yes, but Katherine, what makes you think that they'll want to leave?" Lorena said, proudly taking a sip of her tea.
"Why would they want to stay?" Katherine threw her plump arms off the table, "Married couples want to run off... chase their own dreams... get a taste while they can..." she paddled her hands in the air.
"Well, they can't chase their own taste for some time..." Mrs. Henwoode argued. "They need to find their own ground, their own level - they all start some place different, you know."
"Well, that's what the chasing is for..." said Katherine, "They need to find the ground on their own, and the level will come into play!"
"I agree, Katherine." said Marian, "Andrea would have never found her place if I hadn't been forced to pry off a bit..."
"Yet you needn't pry too far..." said Lorena, "I don't have the experience that you two have, but I do know that Daphne won't want to travel far away..."
"Of course she doesn't now..." said Katherine, "She thinks she doesn't want to travel away, but once that ring's on the finger and the cake's been cut, she will travel far away, looking for anything but the same. And that same thing will be anything that she can get alone with her fianc?."
There was a giggling silence at the table.
"Katherine, you speak of it as if it's a bad thing." Mrs. Henwoode said, "I don't think it a bad thing that James will want to move away - it's just, it's hard to think about it."
Marian patted Mrs. Henwoode's hand. "I know it's hard." she said comfortingly.
"They've just got to get their own space - their own air to breath." Katherine shook her fists in her impassioned statement.
"They've got to breathe the right air, though." Mrs. Roderick said through an eased snarl. She had not said anything else the entire evening, and had caught the attention of the table. "I won't have them, squandering about in the washerts..."
"How do you mean, Emeline?" Mrs. Henwoode asked, averting the intimidation.
Mrs. Roderick breathed deeply, and angrily turned her eyes to her plate and did not engage herself any further.
On the far left table, the men were discussing the events that were to take place at the political counsel.
"Not the last year, but the year before that," Uncle Paul said to Lucas, "I met a professor and scholar of the Kenston University. He said that the University was one of the very finest, and I think it's one that you ought to consider."
"I know, father, but I've already taken a liking to the other universities." Lucas dropped his head onto his hand, scraping his fork against his plate exasperatedly.
Paul finished taking a large gulp from his glass; "What might the others be?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in an expected tone.
Lucas glanced at James. "I'm fond of Bermesforde, father." Lucas said, announcing it at last.
Paul was slightly surprised at his request. He took another drink from his glass, and looked at James. "Lucas..." he said difficultly, "I know - I know that it is the college that you would prefer..." his eyes shot nervously around the table. "Thought, I'm not sure your particular studies have met the requirement --"
"But why is it a matter of my requirements? I come into my money next year." Lucas' voice grew louder than he would have liked.
"Lucas, I'm not certain that the cost can be fully covered..."
"But father, the cost wouldn't matter, you've got the fund, I've got my account, what is it that we cannot fit into?"
Paul breathed deeply, resting his hands on the edge of the table. "Lucas, Bermesforde is a very demanding school." he stretched for words, "I'm not sure, sure that your previous studies have --"
"You mean you're not sure that I'm smart enough." Lucas shot his head up from the depths of his hand, staring at his father through hurt and angered eyes. He laid his head onto is hand once again. He did not meet the others' eyes, unlike his father's who was searching the group for a personal excusal.
"Er - have you heard what else, will be happening this year at the political counsel?" Frederick asked cautiously, hoping to steer the conversation away from Lucas.
Paul jumped at the chance. "Oh - yes, of course... I've heard of several activities... they've extended the bar hours... yes, of course I would know that... they've added several new club rooms - complete with the works - they've arranged vacancies at several of the nearer hotels, also." Paul picked up his glass. "Far too many late men at the meetings, I suppose."
James had been curious of one thing for the whole of the evening. "Are there dances, Uncle. Do they invite the ladies?"
"Oh yes, dances of course." Paul answered excitedly, "Every lad's obliged to go -- but James, I doubt that Margaret would be able to travel up in time - it is several hours away..."
James slid his fingers down his glass, his jaw tightening. "No... It's nothing like that..."
"James, there's a lady for everyone." Paul said, expecting an eager reaction.
This was exactly what James had feared.
At the middle table the ladies were still talking of baby Michael.
"And the feeding..." Margaret asked timidly, though surely. "The nurse doesn't..."
Sarah snorted into her plate, flinging her hand to her nose. Carlene slapped her forearm, Daphne turning her head to them disturbingly. She turned once again to Margaret and Abigail, as Abigail answered.
"It is said that feeding your own limits the number." Abigail said, surprisingly not embarrassed by the subject. "But I would not allow a nurse to do it."
"I'd think that." Daphne said, nodding her head approvingly, "How often does he need to be fed?"
Abigail swallowed her bite. "He is on a different scheduling than I, though also more rapid."
"I'd think that, also." Daphne assured, "He's a growing baby - of course he'll need more than we do."
"Surely." Abigail said, "Though it's not as if I enjoy it."
Abigail, Margaret, Daphne and Carlene all laughed hilariously, though Sarah did not. She was not sure whether or not she had understood what they meant.
"Charles is always leaving his things about." Mrs. Henwoode was saying at the left table, "I can't know when the day will come that I will burn his parchment and his writing, though I know that I day is nearing --"
"I know what you are going at, Poppy." Katherine said, "Paul has always been a pig - then look at Marcus and Lucas - they are soon to follow in his father's horrendous habits..."
"Frederick's forced to clean after himself." Lorena said, "With three girls and three meals to prepare, there's far too much for one to do everyday --"
"Poor Margaret." Mrs. Henwoode laughed tiredly, "James has not been forced to clean after himself. Hopefully they will be able to afford some help when they get a place of their own..."
"We've been lucky in that area." Katherine said, "As far as the wages have been rolling, we've been able to abide a considerable amount of maid service... I must say I've grown lazy over the years..."
"We haven't the wages, or the need." Mrs. Henwoode said, "The money's gone to James' studies, and Charles has dedicated his savings to the home renovation - and there's only the two of us, rarely the three or four of us, so there is really no need at all to worry over a maid service..."
"I wish I were the same." Lorena said, "I'd prefer not to have the maids but with the girls' dresses... I'm not able to manage the laundry on my own."
"I've walked the road." Katherine said, toasting her glass and throwing her head back.
"Daphne's Matthew has been over almost everyday during the past few months... of course that's adding to the meals and the housework."
"How is Daphne doing by the way?" Mrs. Henwoode asked, leaning over the table in a hushed voice as Katherine nodded her head vigorously.
"She's had it rough." Lorena said, folding her hands into her napkin. "The stupid goat won't propose - she's been waiting at least a year..."
"So Matthew's getting nervous." Mrs. Henwoode confirmed, leaning back into her chair. "I wouldn't know what to expect; James didn't tell me of Margaret until he returned."
"I'm hoping that's what'll happen." said Lorena, "A surprise - though I guess it'll be a surprise, anyway; I wouldn't be surprised if he backed out of their years."
Both Katherine and Mrs. Henwoode clapped theirs hands to their mouths, gasping from the shock and shaking in worry.
"Blessed mercy --" Katherine said, fanning herself with her thick hand, "Oh, my dear, dear Daphne." She continued to fan herself, reclining in her chair and struggling to hold her head above her shoulders.
"Whatever will she do?" Mrs. Henwoode whispered, her voice higher from the growing suspense.
Lorena's face softened. "She's met this other bloke -"
There were squeals from Katherine and Mrs. Henwoode.
"--Whitney's the name, Warren Whitney, they met in Kenston."
"Same time as --" Mrs. Henwoode began to ask,
"Same time as she met Matthew." Lorena finished. A closing sound to her voice, though she did not stop. "Warren actually told Daphne that he wanted to propose to her - that he had been thinking of doing it - he was asking whether or not she felt for him the same way, but she got scared and turned the other way."
"No!" Katherine gasped, her dramatic reactions causing the entire table to jerk. "She can't have."
"She went straight to Matthew, promising him that she would not part from him once their term had ended. Lonesome fool, she doesn't see that Warren loved her... or still loves her..."
"He's come again?" Katherine asked, he hand once more to her mouth.
"No." Lorena answered discouragingly, "But I would anticipate that he --"
Uncle Paul was ringing his glass.
"My dear family." he said, holding his glass and knife in separate hands, "I feel it only necessary, that with our departure tomorrow, we close this wonderful evening, with a lovely thank you to our lovely Marian."
The tables were filled with a grateful applause, all turning toward Marian in their praise and thanks.
"And we --"
Frederick had interrupted Paul, by violently tugging the shoulder sleeve of his jacket and bringing him to eye level. He whispered something in his ear and Paul shot back up.
"I close with a wish from the men's table; May all our dance partners, overtaken - by your faces."
The ladies did not clap, though neither did they show any sign of comprehension. They looked at each other confusedly, hoping to find the meaning within Uncle Paul's proclamation. Paul glanced unsurely at his table, then sat back down. He soon stood again, for the others had begun to leave their seats, as Trudy and a pair of other maids came to fetch the plates. Margaret twisted around her chair, finding James arm as he had hurried over to her seat. She folded her arm around his and they began across the grass, slowly heading for the hill. As each table was cleared Frederick and Mr. Henwoode stacked the tables against the patio wall, leaving the chairs in their places and creating a sitting area. The others paired into their own groups for chatting, some sitting, and some standing. Abigail and Daphne wandered around the patio, the older women still in their own gossip, Marcus and Lucas in their own discussion and the older men rejoining in their dialogue.
"I am sorry I must leave tomorrow." James said as they paced up the slope. "I'd choose not to go, but they say --"
"It's alright, James." Margaret insisted tenderly, folding her other hand across his arm. "I'd prefer your stay, also." she said, "But I understand that it is a good chance for you to --"
"I don't see the need of going..." James said, "I needn't discover any professors - and although I may find it interesting, I don't see why they must stretch over an entire two days..."
"I don't see, either." Margaret said, shaking her head. "But of course, I don't find it incredibly interesting, and I simply cannot go."
"Margaret." James said intricately, "They say there are to be ladies at the evening dances. I'd hoped their wouldn't be any parties, but I fear that I --"
"James," Margaret said, "It's alr --"
"No, Margaret. It isn't alright." James said, rubbing his forehead with his free hand, "It isn't - I shouldn't have to go - I promise that I will try my hardest not to --"
"James, you needn't stress over it." Margaret said, though she was beginning to feel his worry in the matter, "I know that it is natural... that it is normal to attend... I'm sure that there are plenty of fellows who wouldn't even consider telling their fianc?s - or even their wives that they would be attending the parties. But I trust you, James..."
"But what if trusting isn't enough." James said, "These things are the things that cause problems, Margaret - I don't feel right going to them --"
"James, you may not feel right, and that's because it isn't. You must find a place... a --"
"A drawing room." James suggested,
"A drawing room, yes... or perhaps a men's club room, where you can stay during the parties... that is, of course, if you feel you need to..."
"Of course - of course..." James said quickly, peering into her eyes for more suggestions.
"Though..." she began.
"Though what?" James said, "Anything at all --"
"Can you promise me something?" Margaret said, closing her fingers around the hem of her jacket.
"Of course, Margaret, anything at all." James held his hand about her fingers.
"Can you promise me - that you won't look at any of the girls?" Margaret said, "Can you promise me you won't compare?"
James laughed with a simple relief.
"Margaret, ten of those girls couldn't compare with you." James said, brushing a loose lock behind her ear.
Margaret smiled, flushed by the flattery.
"My dance card will remain empty." James said, reaching her chin to his and pressing his lips softly against hers.
"Really?" Margaret sighed quietly as she lost herself in his eyes.
"Rest assured." James said, sweeping his hand to the small of her back and continuing up the hill.
"Look at those two." Katherine said, gazing at James and Margaret. She slightly turned her head toward Mrs. Henwoode. "Need to pry 'em apart with bars of iron, I'll give you that." She clucked naughtily though she found the pair to be lovely.
"It's true." Mrs. Henwoode said as Lorena rejoined them, "I can't imagine what they do while they're upstairs alone." Katherine and Lorena giggled mischievously. "I should have thought of that before I sent them on their own for a week."
Katherine and Lorena were now hooting uncontrollably, bringing their hands to their noses and stifling their enjoyment. Once their laughter had died down, Mrs. Henwoode spun around in search of a missing guest.
"Where's Mrs. Roderick gone?" she asked, puzzled by her sudden disappearance.
"She's left inside." Katherine answered plainly, "I saw round the house and go through the side door." Katherine tipped toward Lorena. "I didn't stop her for the sake of my own sanity."
Katherine and Lorena were once subdued in their own, uncontrollable laughter.
Marian called from over the crowd. "Charles, will you honor us with your verse?"
The attention had turned to Mr. Henwoode, who stood amongst Paul and Frederick. James and Margaret were now sidling down the hill, joining the others at the patio.
"Why yes, Marian. Which verse did you prefer?" Marian lifted her hands and shrugged, turning to Mrs. Henwoode for a preference.
"Poppy, do you have a request?"
"A limerick!" Mr. Henwoode answered for his wife, as he brought up his chest in pride. "I have a wonderful one... here goes;"

There once was a Princess of Whinging,
who sat in her tall tower singing.
When the Prince came along,
he had sampled her song,
now his poor ears too won't stop ringing.

Most everybody clapped though others joined in the merry tune singing a chorus;

Tra la, la la la la
Tra la la la
Tra la, la la la la, la la

Mr. Henwoode continued happily;

There once was a maid of Bluewater
who sent in her poor sheep for slaughter.
But a fine bloke named Sam,
he had saved the poor lamb!
Yet he now has a sheep for a daughter.

Tra la, la la la la
Tra la la la
Tra la, la la la la, la la

There once was a fellow from Yorkshire,
who spent his sad days by the fire.
But when called by the King,
`twas a very fine thing;
For now he is known as a squire.

Tra la, la la la la
Tra la la la
Tra la, la la la la, la la

They all finished in the chorus once again, laughing joyfully at Mr. Henwoode's humorous lyrics. They clapped in their compliments, smiles now glued to their faces.
James and Margaret snuck quietly behind the others, walking briskly around the house and stepping through the side door. They walked to their hall and into James' room, where he would need to start packing his things and take a last parting.
He repacked his clothes, which he had so carefully folded into his drawers only earlier that day. Margaret helped him, removing his things from the closet and laying them across his bed.
"I'm sorry I must go." James apologized once more, folding his things into his case, "And I'm sorry I must sleep upstairs."
"I am sorry also." Margaret said, "I will miss you tomorrow and the --"
James had swept her into his arms, one arm around her waist and her right hand in his left. He danced with her quickly, though slowly at the same time, leading her in a three-step circle.
"There's a girl only fit for a wisher," James followed the tune, "And a fellow would certainly miss her.
"When I leave I'll dismay...
"But to you I will say,
"My Miss Margaret's... a very fine kisser..."James dipped her into a low hold, supporting her in his manly grasp. He kissed her dreamily on the lips, his arm folded around her back as her neck stretched to his handsome face.
He lifted her back up, bringing her tight against him.
"You though of that just now?" Margaret said, smiling as she challenged him.
James smiled as his answer.
"I do know another." James said,
"Another song?"
"Another poem. A sonnet."
Margaret would have asked what it was, but James took her into his arms again, brushing her hair from her face and curling it behind her ear.
"If thou must love me," he said, "let if be for nought Except for love's sake only." He spun with her rhythmically, "for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day" James stopped her, his arms around her and his eyes pouring into hers. "For these things in themselves, Beloved, may Be changed, or change for thee, -- and love, so wrought May be unwrought so." he started spinning with her again, "A creature might forget to weep who bore Thy comfort long, and lose thy love, thereby!" he stopped her, holding her closer and tighter than ever, though his embrace was gently. "But love me for love's sake, that evermore... Thou mayst love one... through love's eternity."
Margaret looked at him, with only the finest of pleasure in her eyes. "I've heard that before." Margaret said, trying to remember where the poem had been read. "Isn't it..."
"Sonnet from the Portuguese, number sixteen." James said, still in a dancing pose. He spun her quickly around once more. "Elizabeth Barrett Browning."
"Elizabeth Barrett Browning." Margaret repeated, glancing away from James, but finding his eyes once again. "Of course! We studied her periodically in literature - she was often used in my books..."
"That's where I found it." James admitted, a mischievous smile inkling on his face.
"Where?" Margaret asked, not sure of what he meant.
"In your literature book!" James laughed, "I saw it lying in your dormitory."
"What?" Margaret shrieked, her high voice reaching laughter, though suspicion at the same time.
"Now is... not a time to ask questions --"
"No, what were you --"
James pulled her head toward his, kissing her once again.
"Will that stop you from asking questions?" James said, smiling at her curiously,
Margaret pondered the suggestion. "No," she said, "What were you doing in my dormitory?" she laughed at the idea, "In a shared girls' dormitory?"
James laughed hysterically, sending an echo throughout the small room.
"No, honestly James!" Margaret demanded,
"It's no matter --"
"James..." Margaret pleaded, though she too was trying not to laugh.
"Alright, I was doing just that." James said conclusively, "I was searching for one of your literature books so I could memorize a poem."
"You were not searching for a book," Margaret argued, "You took a literature class yourself!"
"Well Margaret, you have forced me to lie." James confessed plainly, "Now if you don't mind, I will be taking my things to my room." James held a straight face, and unfolded Margaret from his arms. He crossed to his bed and gathered his things, putting his hat on his head and tipping it to Margaret.
Margaret laughed, though had not finished her interrogation. "Mr. Henwoode, I demand that you tell me at once what your business was, prowling around in my dormitory!"
James opened the door, stepped to the doorway, and pivoted on his foot.
"My dear," he said, "I must inform you that college gentleman are not the most mannerly of the sort. Surely you are aware of that." he suppressed a laugh, and tipped his hat once more. "Good day."
He marched down the hall, leaving Margaret to stand alone in his room. She dashed from James' bedroom, following his pace and catching up to his side.

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"James, you must tell me, or I am to go mad!" Margaret said, though this did not convince him. She hurried along in his fast strides, as he looked straight ahead and began to climb the grand staircase. He turned his head, his hat still sitting on the top.
"If I tell you, you will go mad." he barely winked a small smile, and continued up the stairs.
"But James, I am never to guess what you could possibly --" Margaret stopped him as he went up the stairs. "I've been missing my blue sash." Margaret said, looking up at James who was standing three steps above her.
"It was not the sash." James responded, and took another step. Margaret followed.
"If it was not the sash, I don't know what it could have been --" Margaret gave a horrifying gasp, James turning around in surprise. "My sapphire earrings!" her eyes widened dangerously, "It's been you all along --"
"That must have been one of your roommate's doings, for it was not I." James answered perfectly innocently, though he was not to give Margaret any clue to her guessing.
Margaret contemplated the thought pensively. "My gloves?"
"No." James replied as they walked up the stairs.
"My hat pin?"
"No."
"My literature notes?"
"No."
"One of my letters?"
James rounded to the end of the curved hallway, stopping at the second to last door and opening the dark, furnished door. "No."
"James, whatever you've taken, I am to have it back!" Margaret said, as James began to close the door. "James..." Margaret stopped the door, poking her head in. She used a more serious tone in order to force the truth out of him. "James... is it something I must know?"
James, who had been being playful the entire time, dropped his things at the inside foot of the door and reentered the hall, standing close to Margaret.
"The reason I was prowling around in your bedroom," James said, "was because I need proof that Harrison Alan hadn't asked you to the mid-term party."
Margaret had a soft look in her eyes, and she slid her hand around the buttoned hem of his shirt. Though her state was soon shaken, for she quickly comprehended the look on his face.
"James, you're lying." Margaret said, swatting the hem of his shirt sharply against his ribs.
"You're right, I am." James teased, effectively playing with her mind. He kissed her on the forehead, and quickly snapped the door shut, leaving Margaret in the hall. Margaret took an angry step to the door, though thought otherwise and started swiftly down the hall. She was not entirely mad at James, though did not like a puzzle that she could not solve.
She had passed a door on the right, but was stopped at the second by her grandmother.
"Grandmother." Margaret gasped, quickly gaining her composure and folding her hands, her arms extended. She bowed her head down, not wanting to be caught in a lengthened conversation. "What are - what are you doing up here?"
"I got tired." Mrs. Roderick said plainly, though scornfully at the same time. "Why are you up here? Your room is downstairs."
"Yes, Grandmother - I was just, just helping James bring his things to his room."
"It didn't sound as if that was so." Mrs. Roderick said sneeringly, "You two were quarreling. Talking as if you were a married couple --"
"Yes, Grandmother, I would hope so." Margaret said.
"Watch that tongue with me, girl." Mrs. Roderick barked, "If one thing's to be clear, you will behave yourself from now on."
"Yes... Grandmother." Margaret said, fully expecting her grandmother to think that she had not been for the entire past two weeks. Although it was expected, it still hurt.
"That includes tomorrow." said Mrs. Roderick. Margaret's eyes had darted to her in an anxiety of what was to happen the next day. "We are to attend a sewing party tomorrow before noon."
"A sewing party?" Margaret asked, "That's ridicu --"
"What's the ridiculous is the way you and your fianc? act in front of everyone." Mrs. Roderick snapped,
"How do you mean?" Margaret snapped back, a hateful glare trading places with her grandmother's eyes.
"Don't play dumb with me." Her grandmother snarled, "You know exactly how you play with him."
Margaret was furious. She opened her mouth, but no words came to argue. But her grandmother was not finished.
"Your fianc? is never to step foot in your room." Mrs. Roderick ordered, "You will see each other during meals and rest hours, otherwise you will not be wandering off on your own." She backed into her doorway. "Now, go and fetch your sister, I would like to talk to her."
Margaret felt she could have screamed. Her grandmother was depriving her of all her comfort... her pleasure... her reason for staying. She took a last grimace at her grandmother and rushed down the hall, heading down the staircase. Mrs. Roderick closed herself in her room.
James walked quickly down the hallway, having listened to Margaret's and Mrs. Roderick's argument, and finally hearing that Mrs. Roderick had closed herself in her room. He hurried around the curving hallway and followed Margaret down the staircase, struggling to catch up to her.
"Margaret..." he called, "Margaret please..."
"There's nothing I can say." Margaret said, "Is there? She's hated me my entire life and she hates to see me going."
"Wait, Margaret..."
"James, I'm starting to think that this isn't going to --"
"Margaret!" James snapped, "What are you saying?"
Margaret breathed deeply, stopping at the foot of the stairs. "James..." Margaret said gently, "If my grandmother doesn't want this," she looked at James, "this is not going to work."
James was dumbstruck. He blinked, yet he still did not understand. "Margaret --"
"James, I'm sorry... I never should have --"
"Margaret." James said, "If you don't want to do this..." he swallowed difficultly, "If you don't feel that you... that you love me... I'll understand..."
"No, James - I do love you! I do!" Margaret was now crying, "But... I don't know what to do about her --"
"Margaret --" James clenched his strong hands below Margaret's shoulders, "We cannot give in, if it is only because your grandmother."
"But you don't understand..." Margaret said,
"I'm aware that I understand perfectly!" James let go of her arms, "You are afraid." he stared at her, pointing a menacing arm and finger up the staircase. "You are afraid that what your grandmother says, goes. You are afraid that she has the will to tear us apart, Margaret, you are afraid that --"
"James, she does have the will!" Margaret whispered through her tears, "She does! She will separate us if she needs to do so, and --"
"And what?" James demanded, quickly losing his sympathy.
Margaret stood in the agonizing silence. "James, I --"
"It's alright." James nodded stubbornly. He turned and walked away from Margaret, storming across the dining room area, and slamming the side door behind him.
Margaret bit her lip, stifling her painful sobs. She looked up the staircase, as if expecting to see her grandmother gazing down on them. Margaret hurried across the dining room floor, following through the side door.
The others were still on the patio. Margaret looked among them, but could not find James; he's gone to the pond.
She wiped her tears then stepped up to her sister, who was sitting in a wicker chair, running her hand over the fresh pansies.
"Cynthia, Grandmother wants you." Margaret said, frustrated at both James, and her grandmother.
Cynthia stood slowly from her chair. "Why?" she asked,
"I don't know, she did not say." Margaret wanted to hurry up the hill.
"Where is she?"
Margaret clenched her teeth. "She is up in her room. I suppose she wants to talk to you about the sleeping arrangements."
Cynthia noticed Margaret's anger. "Has she just spoken to you about the arrangements?" she did not know whether or not this was a matter that would anger Margaret.
"Yes." Margaret answered, "She has."
Cynthia walked along the edge of the house, entering through the side door. Margaret did not ask Mrs. Henwoode or any of the others if they had seen James; she simply walked across the grass and hurried up the hill, rounding the gap of trees on the left. As the trees thinned Margaret could see James sitting on the shore, throwing rocks into the pond's rippling waters. His head turned, and he saw Margaret approaching him slowly. After several moments, he stretched up and stood, his hands in his pockets as he gazed over the water. Margaret was finally at his side, and she joined him in his gaze, hoping that James would be the first to speak. When he did not, Margaret finally tried to apologize.
"James, I'm so sorry that I've said such things..."
James turned his head toward her, though did not meet her eyes. "You were saying the things as you felt them." James stated, "You can't be sorry for that."
"Oh, but I am, James!" Margaret pleaded, "I've been so stupid to even think that --"
"Margaret, sometimes there's nothing you can do." James said, meeting her eyes at last. "You're right; if your grandmother is to break off the engagement, then there's nothing we can do to change that."
Margaret wept quietly, aching tears rolling down her tears. She closed her eyes, and did not hear James' quiet steps toward the gap. She spun around suddenly, seeing that he was to leave.
"What can I do." Margaret beseeched rather than asked. "What can I do to undo what has been done."
James turned back.
"Margaret, sometimes there is nothing you can do." James said, as more tears rolled down her face.
Margaret did not respond. She turned her back to him and sat on the grassy sand, crying hopelessly into her hands.
"Margaret..." James said quietly as he realized her pained heart. He approached her cautiously, though moving quickly all the same. He knelt at her side, wrapping his arms around her, sheltering her head against his chest. She was sobbing quietly, her sounds muffled against James' body. He shushed her, rocking slightly and softening his words.
"I am sorry." James said, "I have been a fool --"
Margaret stopped him through her tears. "Please - please forgive me..." Margaret begged, resting against his shirt. "I can't bear... being - with my grandmother --"
"I won't go." James said, "I won't go... and everything will be fine --"
"You must go." Margaret said, "You have already promised - and she will know that you have stayed for me. She will say more things..."
"Margaret, all she said was that I can't come into your room, it's perfectly fin."
"You heard her?" Margaret looked up,
"I heard her." James nodded with a small laugh.
Margaret inhaled strongly. "Not only did she mean that we cannot visit each other," she said, "...she says we act poorly in front of the others."
James laughed loudly this time. "Well you have to admit, we are often unable to control ourselves."
Margaret would have laughed, but another though entered her mind.
"I am to go to a sewing party tomorrow." Margaret said sadly, "I suppose the next day I will be doing the same."
"Well that's nothing to worry about, you can start your new dress!" James said, hoping to enlighten the idea.
Margaret sat motionless. "Grandmother doesn't like the color."
James stopped her immediately, lifting her from his chest and propping her in his hands. He looked her in the eyes, his penetrating stare causing her eyes to shift.
"You must listen, Margaret." James specified, "You mustn't mind what your grandmother says. You let her control you in such a way that you have nearly jeopardized what we have so long worked to bring to place... this cannot work when your grandmother is so strongly effecting the way you feel about us -- Margaret, it is either me, or your grandmother. Obviously both cannot be had. Not fully."
Margaret nodded. She waited, then pressed her hands around James' face, pulling him into an amorous kiss. James gently pulled away, holding her arms and opening his eyes to look at her.
Margaret grinned widely.
James did the same.

Chapter Eleven
The Political Counsel

James had kissed Margaret goodnight earlier the previous evening. They had gone in before the others had, standing in the hallway in order to maintain their privacy. He'd swept his hand across her cheek, slid it down her body, and had sorrowfully parted up the staircase. Lucas had appeared a half an hour later, wondering why James had gone inside so early.
"I'm tired and could do with an extra spot of sleep;" James had said, "Besides..." he said slyly, "...Margaret and I have been up late the past week doing... you know." James knew that Lucas would be satisfied with such an answer and would not ask further questions.
It was now the twenty-fifth; the Tuesday on which James, his father, Marcus, Frederick, Paul, and Lucas were to leave for the political counsel on the west side.
They were eating breakfast around the dining room table, as that morning's weather was of no particular wonder.
"This morning hour would be no more enjoyable if it were to be spent outdoors." Uncle Paul had said, "Tuesday mornings are often very bleak."
A wonderful breakfast was set before them on the peach-colored cloth; pancakes and sausages and fried eggs were shared among the sitters, and that morning they were in for a special treat.
"Muffins!" Mr. Henwoode cheered as the baskets were brought out, "Look Poppy, loads of them! Blueberry and poppy seed and raspberry and oh, are those chocolate?"
Although Mr. Henwoode was the only person overjoyed to see the baskets of muffins, his reaction was none the less a lifting delight. As breakfast came near to its close, the subject of the counsel bustled into the conversation.
"What time are you to leave today?" Marian asked Paul, as he was sitting nearest her.
"I trust we will be leaving at noon." Uncle Paul glanced at his brothers, "That's when the carriages are scheduled to arrive, at least."
"That's perfect!" Marian smiled, "Now, the sewing party starts at eleven thirty... it only takes a couple minutes to walk there, so we will leave to Mrs. Travers' only a little before then."
"And what about David?" Uncle Frederick asked, "Surely he isn't to attend the party with you?" he laughed jovially.
"Of course there are some things that can be planned..." Marian suggested, "He can just stay here if he like, and there's also Mrs. Alan just up the street, she has a younger son..."
"Alan?" Daphne inquired, a look of worry on her startled face.
"Alan... yes... are you alright my dear?"
Daphne looked at Marian, acknowledging her answer. "Yes... yes... excuse me..."
Daphne dashed away from the table, and hurried up the staircase.
"That was odd..." Uncle Paul said, though he did not know what Marian, Katherine, Lorena, and Mrs. Henwoode knew.
Margaret continued on the activity of her brother. "Marian has a fine library." Margaret said, "He may want to have a look at it."
"Oh yes! Of course! And there's also a library just half way into town..." Marian recommended.
The front door opened. An older man of graying hair stepped in, a black cloak swaying about him. He removed his hat, hanging it on the coat tree beside the door. He turned around, and saw the many people sitting at the dining room table!
"Great Scott, Marian what have you been up to?" he grinned widely at the wonderful surprise.
Marian did not greet him with a smile.
"Margaret, this is my husband, Gregory Everard."
Margaret felt difficultly focused on. "How do you do?" Margaret said, standing from her chair.
"How do you do." Mr. Everard repeated, reaching across the table to shake Margaret's hand.
"Gregory, this is Margaret Kennington, James' fianc?." Marian said.
"Wonderful!" Mr. Everard said, "Just wonderful... is that why all of you are here? How very splendid!"
"We anticipated your arrival yesterday." Marian said, "You had told us that you would be traveling with Mrs. Roderick and her grandchildren."
Mr. Everard did not wish to start an argument in front of the others. "More business came up." he answered nervously, "I was stuck in Riverside."
James and Margaret threw secret looks at each other, smiling indefinitely.
"You'll be pleased to know that the others are leaving for a political counsel in a few hours." Marian said, "I suppose you will want to be going with them?"
Mr. Everard looked at her carefully, his sharp, yet rounding face revealing anxious eyes. "Of course!" he answered, "That would be wonderful! I trust it is on the west side?"
The men at the table nodded as they chewed their food.
"Yes, I have heard of it." Mr. Everard said, "It is an overnight, isn't it?"
They nodded once again.
"When do we leave?"
"At noon." Uncle Paul said. "I tell you, you are doing a wise thing by coming." he pointed a fork at him, "They've planned a load of new activities."
James glanced at Margaret, remembering the promise that he had so gladly made.


Mrs. Travers' house was the last house on the street, although it faced up the hill because of the road's turn. The ladies would leave to her house in about ten minutes, and the men would travel away while they were gone. James and Margaret stood out on the left side of the house, partially hidden by the trees aligning the left fence.
"They've been at it nearly ten minutes." Sarah complained, looking out and to the right of the large, living area windows. "I wonder how they breathe --"
"It is no business of yours." Daphne said, pulling on her lace gloves. "Sarah, come away from the window."
Sarah could see James and Margaret kissing romantically in the undeveloped trees and the spreading flowers; Margaret's neck in his hands as his lips caressed her face, their eyes closed. His arms clinging to her body, her hands moving anxiously at the though of stopping.
Margaret was dressed in light blue, a darker blue edging her neck, cuffs, and the bottom hem of her dress. The top half of her hair was pinned securely, delicate curls falling down her neck and shoulders. James was wearing his black trousers and a pressed white shirt, his coat left in his bedroom with the rest of the things he had packed.
James did not notice the tears sliding down Margaret's cheeks.
"How long can it take them?" Sarah said impatiently, though was fascinated at what they were doing, "I wanted to say goodbye to James!"
"You can Sarah, because Margaret must say goodbye to James, also." Daphne explained.
"I don't think she'll like to..." Sarah said plainly, "...Though he won't like to anymore than she..."
"Sarah --" Daphne started,
"What?" Sarah said, "What am I saying?"
"What she's saying is that you are far too involved in the privacy of others." Carlene explained gently.
"What would she know about privacy?" Sarah said, "There's no reason for her to have it."
Daphne turned to her.
"Daphne, you aren't to take offense to that, all I meant was that you should have snagged Matthew while you had the chance --"
"I won't hear anymore about Matthew." Daphne ordered.
Sarah decided not to carry on anymore; James and Margaret were far more interesting, anyway.
James pulled Margaret against him, his arm pressed tight around the small of her back and her feet weaving beside his. She winced in pain, and James pulled her away instantly.
"What is it?" James asked. He saw the tears on her face. He stroked her face with his thumbs, clearing the tears away.
Margaret did not look up at him. "I do not want you to go away." her voice stressed in her crying.
She had not winced in pain.
James pulled her into a tight hug, rubbing her head with his hand. "You mustn't worry so." James said with a small smile.
"I would have said so but I knew that you couldn't stay." Margaret said before James could question her.
James breathed deeply.
"I want to come back tonight." James said. "I will hire a driver..."
"No --"
"...I will come back before the others..."
"No --"
"...I could come back a day early and nobody else would make you go to the parties --"
"No, James you mustn't --" Margaret said, though she did not want to. "You can't."
James would have argued, but he knew there was no reason. He knew what she meant.
They stood there, James' arms wrapped around her as he kissed her head. They spent their last minutes standing quietly, enjoying each other's warmth in the morning sun.
They heard Mrs. Henwoode's call; James unwrapped his arms and slid his hand down her arm, finding her hand and walking with her around the front of the house. Mrs. Henwoode was standing in the middle of the brick path, the other ladies already a short distance down the hill.
"You go ahead, mum. I'm going to walk with Margaret." James said to his mother, leading Margaret by the hand. Mrs. Henwoode saw that there was no changing his mind, so she continued quickly down the brick path. James hurried inside, and he led Margaret up the grand staircase.
"Your grandmother's away with the others." James said to Margaret. "She won't mind if you come with me now."
Margaret smiled agreeably, and followed James up the stairs and around the curved hall. Everybody else was in their rooms, packing their things for the counsel. James opened his bedroom door slowly, where Lucas was standing above the left bed, packing his case and folding his trousers.
"Hi, James." Lucas said. "Margaret..." he nodded to her, though was unsure of what she was doing in his room.
"Sorry Lucas - just come to get my cloak..." James unhooked his hand from Margaret's, leapt to his bed on the right where his cloak, hat, and gloves lay, and slid his hand along the small of Margaret's back. With a short wave he had closed the door behind him, and he and Margaret wandered down the hall.
"Need to bring anything?" James asked her as the walked down the staircase.
Margaret shook her head.
They crossed to the door, James tying his cloak as he brushed her through the door. He closed it behind them, reentering the dewy morning and the warmness of the approaching sun. As they turned off the path and headed down the street, they could see that the others were already inside Mrs. Travers' house.
James did not know what to talk to Margaret about; all their current worries were of those that they would be needing to deal with over the next few days. Instead he brought up a subject that he knew that Margaret would enjoy.
"Riverside has more trees." James said, winking a small smile at Margaret. She smiled happily, squeezing James' hand. "I suppose mother and father will let us stop on our way back." James said, tipping his hat onto his head. "Perhaps we can get a separate carriage."
James did not look at her, but he knew that she was smiling again.
Only one more house remained between them and Mrs. Travers'. James stopped Margaret and turned to face her, pulling her toward him. He held her hands in his, and bent his arms so her hands were near his face.
"Margaret." he said lowly, "I will travel back tonight. You must wait for me - I will do all I can to leave before the others."
"James, I --"
"What your grandmother thinks will not matter." James nervously glanced toward the house of the sewing party.
"I know that James... but it is nearly three hours away... the meeting probably won't end until late tonight --"
"Which means that I will not get back until it is late." James said. "Margaret, you must wait up for me."
"I will, James --" Margaret promised,
"Margaret, I am not sure that I can stay for the entire night." James said, "I may have to travel back again."
Margaret opened her mouth, but for several moments no words came. "James... I - I can't have you traveling all the way for only several minutes --"
"I want to." James stepped closer to her.
"I want you to, too." Margaret said. James swept his hand across her cheek, kissing her lovingly on the lips. He pulled away slightly.
"Once would think we're pathetic." James said, "We can't stay apart for a mere twenty-four hours."
Margaret laughed. "It's more than that." she slid her hand down the hem of his cloak, finding the hem of it jacket.
They stood for a moment, gazing at one another.
"I cannot guarantee that I will be back tonight." James said, "But I give you my word that I will try my hardest."
Margaret smiled tenderly. "I know."
Inside Mrs. Travers' house, Katherine and Lorena were sitting near the front windowsill, nearly pressing their noses against the window.
"Look at the two..." Katherine said to Lorena, clucking her teeth, "A lovers' parting is the worst thing to ask of a pair." She and Lorena looked out the window, watching James steal another kiss from Margaret. At last they had parted, and Margaret started toward the cobblestone path, taking a last glance at James as his cloak billowed in the breeze.
"He's looking back..." Lorena said to Katherine, "Oh... too bad she didn't see it..."
"Oh, here she comes." Katherine panicked, spinning around in her seat as Margaret walked through the open door. Lorena spun around also, grabbing a cross-stitch and pretending to sew the pink and green stitches. When Margaret looked to the right, Lorena threw it to the spot on the couch beside her and bustled over to the thread rack.
Margaret stepped to the left of the front door, where Mrs. Henwoode was chatting with a lady who must have been Mrs. Travers. Her dark gray hair was pinned in a bun on the top of her head, leading to a sharp jaw and friendly eyes. She was of average size, her stomach stressing under the force of her dress. Her eyes moved from Mrs. Henwoode to Margaret, questioning her name.
"This must be Miss Margaret?" Mrs. Travers speculated, looking Margaret up and down. Margaret moved her hands anxiously, and gave a small curtsy to Mrs. Travers.
"You are kind to invite me." Margaret said quietly, looking from her to Mrs. Henwoode. "You have shown a great welcome to a visitor." Although Margaret did not mean this, Mrs. Travers seemed satisfied.
"Oh, my dear! She's delightful, Marian!" Mrs. Travers called to Marian across the room, "Marian, I do say you find your acquaintance among the most wonderful of people."
"They are not an acquaintance." Marian said, "They are dear family." She smiled across the room, and Margaret found her departure. She side stepped into the left living area, to where the other visitors were finding places on couches and chairs. There was nobody that Margaret did not know, as she had anticipated the inviting of Mrs. Travers' friends and neighbors. Katherine handed her a cross-stitch loom, the white cloth already clamped in the wooden socket. Margaret took it, and sat beside Katherine, who had brought a sewing basket to the seat beside her.
On the far left wall, Daphne, Carlene and Sarah were sitting on a couch and cutting their threads. Abigail sat in a dining room chair across from Margaret, Mrs. Roderick sitting next to her and keeping a watchful eye on her granddaughter. Marian and Mrs. Henwoode sat on a bench facing the far left wall, as Mrs. Travers found an armchair which finished the circle that continued with Lorena, Katherine, and Margaret. The ladies were moving constantly, finding the right thread and needles and rearranging their fabrics. Margaret followed the sketched pattern on the cloth, embroidering a flourish on the corn of a white handkerchief. She chose a blue thread, and tied a knot through the needle after cutting it from its spool. She did not know whether or not she would keep the handkerchief, though she knew that the matter was one that she would not mind.
Among the conversation being had by Marian, Mrs. Henwoode, Abigail, Mrs. Travers, Katherine and Lorena, Margaret could hear Sarah asking Carlene's advice.
"Carlene, how do you go from here?" Sarah said quietly to Carlene, holding her loom above Carlene's project. Carlene looked annoyed at Sarah's question, and set down a lace doily that she had obviously brought with her.
"Look, Sarah..." Carlene said, showing her the stitch. Carlene pushed it back into Sarah's hands, continuing her work on the lace.
"I'm sorry to bother you, Carlene." Sarah teased, "But as you can clearly see, I am not yet advanced enough to work on delicate laces."
Carlene looked flattered at what Sarah had said.
Daphne saw that Margaret was interested in Sarah's and Carlene's friendliness, and looked up from her own cross-stitch to speak to Margaret.
"It's Carlene's hobby." Daphne explained, "I wouldn't be surprised if she were to produce a lace sash one of these days..." Carlene again looked extremely flattered, though pretended not to have heard Daphne. "I, on the other hand, am not as experienced."
Margaret laughed in agreement, and turned her focus back to her stitching. She watched Katherine's busy hands, noticing a new stitch that she had not yet known. Margaret was pleased with herself for knowing nearly as much as Daphne, and did not bother to watch Katherine any closer. Mrs. Travers on the far end was stitching lace to the collar of a green bodice, the sleeves draped over her legs. Margaret found no interest in what she was hearing on her right, so she turned back to Daphne, Carlene and Sarah on her left. Carlene took the stitching loom from Sarah's hands.
"Do it here." Carlene pestered, showing Sarah how to loop the thread and tie it through to the other side. Sarah rolled her eyes and tried again.
Meanwhile, James and Lucas were in their room, doing the last minute packing of their cases and drawing the fasteners shut tight.
"Are we all to travel in one carriage?" Lucas asked, breaking the silence, "There's seven of us going..."
James did not look up. "I don't know." he said plainly, turning to gather his things. "If there's more than one I wouldn't mind avoiding Mr. Everard..."
Lucas looked suspicious. "Why?" he asked,
James shrugged. "He's bound to go asking about what Margaret and I have been doing for the past week."
James realized that he had begun to lead Lucas into a conversation based only upon their activities, and regretted what he had said.
Lucas was mischievously hesitant to ask. "What have you been doing?"
James glanced at him, but did not say anything.
"Is it embarrassing?" Lucas guessed,
James did not say anything.
"No... no..." Lucas changed his mind, "It's naughty. Isn't it? You don't want to tell me because you know that if I told another, you would surely be reprimanded for your doing. James, you must tell me!"
James shut his case, and looked at Lucas who had a hungry look in his eyes. James could plainly see that Lucas was thirsty for something to think about; something other than the worries of every day worries... he had to tell him something.
"Why must you know?" James taunted, threatening not to tell.
"James, you know that I haven't been able to keep a girl..." Lucas said, making James laugh heartily, "You've got to let me in on your secrets! Give me anything!"
James looked at him apprehensively, aware of what he would possibly be exposing. "What is it you want to know?"
Lucas looked at him, folding his arms in expectance of a response.
"There's nothing you ought to be tampering with." James said, "There's not a single soul I would tell..."
James knew that he would love to tell Lucas - to tell him of himself and Margaret in the Andersilk... how they escaped into the back of the clothing store... their night at the pond... how he had touched her the night before... about their unwanted goodbye. The secrets were all his own, and he was itching to share them. He would not share with him nearly as much as he had; for the secrets were also Margaret's.
"It's silly, really..." James admitted, "I fear what will happen if I tell you..."
"James, I know asking you to confess," Lucas waved his arms, "I'm asking you to tell me how to keep a lady! How to court her, how to treat her... how to please her."
"I understand." James said. "Though of course I have... I've had so much practice..."
They laughed energetically.
"Alright..." James gave in, "Alright, I'll tell you..."
Lucas sat on the edge of his own bed, James doing the same.
"Margaret's very easy..." James explained, "...She's been nice enough to give me a chance." They laughed at James once insecure approach, "But she's given me a chance, because I've let her. You see?"
Lucas gave him a confused look.
James resituated himself, and used his hands to explain. "You see --" James clarified, "You can't expect too much of a lady." he said, "It's not all fun right off - she has to feel safe... and... and wanted. That's why you never toy with the ones you don't want."
Lucas nodded his head, finally beginning to understand.
"I'm underestimating her, really." James said. His eyes hazed over, and grew cloudy as he began to speak about his Margaret. He looked Lucas in the eye, so he knew to take him seriously.
"What is it?" Lucas asked, and comforted at the same time.
James waited a moment. "There's something about being with her." he said, "There's something about the way she lets me hold her... she wants to be in my arms. Somehow I know that."
Lucas waited also. "How do you know?" He asked innocently, not quite understanding what James was saying.
James laughed slightly. "I'm not sure you'll need to know anytime soon... but you know." James said, "You just know." James wiped his eye. "I'm sorry... sorry - just getting a bit... bit teary, is all..."
Lucas rescued the silence, "I didn't mean for you to get all emotional on me..." Lucas said, patting his back from across the gap between the beds, "What kind of things do you do with Margaret?"
James smiled, "Far too much."
Lucas gave an excited guffaw, and leaned in to hear more.
"She likes to be alone, a lot." James said, "She likes the private places."
Lucas gave a guess, "Inside?"
"Or outside." James answered.
Lucas nodded comprehensively. "Picnics?"
"Only by water."
"Why?"
"Incase you want to go swimming."
Lucas squealed girlishly, clamping his mouth and laughing as he kicked his legs. "You swam with her?" Lucas was amazed at what James had accomplished.
"We were bored..." James said, "...and there's a pond in the backyard... you can't expect us to not --"
"The pond back there?" Lucas pointed out the window, "James --" Lucas said, "How did you ever accomplish that?"
James shrugged, "It was dark --"
"It was dark?!" Lucas said, a shocked but excited look on his face, "Son of the devil --"
"Look... it's not as bad as it --"
"Did you see her naked?" Lucas suddenly settled down, awaiting James' answer,
"Lucas, what are you playing at?" James said, laughing as he bounded toward Lucas and pushed across his bed, making him flip against the wall. Lucas groaned, crumpled in a heap at the foot of his bed. He rolled over,
"You said you sent swimming!" he laughed, sitting up again on his bed.
"That doesn't mean she was naked, scholar, she only took off her dress --"
"She took off her dress?!" Lucas squealed once again,
"No! Not like that --" James said, "you know nothing about what women wear, do you?"
Lucas laughed, "No, but neither did you until last week."
James would have pushed him again, but wanted to explain his case. "She was wearing her under gown, of course - and we were in the water the entire time..."
"But those things are real thin, aren't they?" Lucas asked, "If it got wet it would nearly be --"
"Lucas --"
Lucas squealed again, rolling onto his stomach as he fell onto his bed. "You're a scandalous one, aren't you?" Lucas complimented, "I wouldn't mind seeing Margaret in a watered down -"
"You never will, so don't flatter yourself." James said, concluding the subject with a laugh. James turned away, and Lucas panicked.
"No! Wait - tell me more! Please... what else do you two do? I promise I --"
"You know I'm trusting this to you --" James assured, "If you tell anyone I swear I'll --"
"I know!" Lucas promised. "I won't tell anyone..."
"Good. Then what do you want me to tell you?" James would tell Lucas one more thing.
Lucas opened his mouth in wonder, "Well, I don't know - I can't guess what else you've done now that I've heard about your swim..."
"Alright..." James stopped him, "Fine, I'll tell you that when we went into town, we went to the Andersilk and then escaped into a --"
"You took her to the Andersilk?" Lucas was in awe.
"Then we slipped into the back corner of a clothing store." James finished, leaving Lucas to imagine what he pleased. When Lucas realized this, he pleaded for more.
"You didn't." Lucas said in disbelief, "What'd you do?"
"Luke, you're not that slow are you?" James laughed. He picked up his case, and opened the door as Lucas walked out with his own. They tipped on their hats, as they draped their cloaks across their arms. They walked around the curved hall, readying themselves for their journey. "We did the same thing in the store as we did in the garden this morning."
They walked down the stairs, the five others standing by the front door.
"Where you been, Lucas? James?" Paul piped, "Come along now, the carriages have just pulled up."
James nodded to Lucas, who nodded back in gratitude that there was not only one carriage waiting for them.
"You well set?" Frederick said, picking up his case and tightening his gloves.
James nodded, and Lucas did also.
"Alright, then..." Paul grunted, bending down to pick up his case also, "We're off!" He led the way out the door, followed by Frederick, Mr. Everard, James, Mr. Henwoode, then Marcus and Lucas. The door was shut behind them, as the carriage doors were opened for them. Mr. Henwoode brought James to a slow;
"James, I hope you understand - that I know it's hard for you to leave Margaret..." Mr. Henwoode said as Marcus and Lucas passed them. "You're a good sport to come along with us."
"I'm always a good sport." James joked, smiling at his father. Mr. Henwoode laughed and slapped James on the back, then pushed him to continue their way down the path.
"We will sort by age." They heard Paul say as he lumbered into the second carriage, "Marcus, James and Lucas in the first carriage, the others follow me - unless of course, anyone wishes to be seated otherwise."
"I'll go this way, then." Mr. Henwoode said to James "I don't want to go off, getting mixed in with the wrong sort." James smiled at his father as he climbed last into the carriage, and poked his head back out. "The meeting starts at four." Mr. Henwoode called out to him, "We'll see you an hour before then, and no need to worry about drivers - they know where to go."
With a last wave the door was shut and James walked to his carriage, where Marcus and Lucas were sitting nonchalantly on opposite seats. He tucked his case away, jumped in beside Marcus, and closed the door.
Despite the warm air and sunshine it was clear that a rainstorm was to drift over them with the next hour.
"Why must it always rain when I travel?" James said as he saw this. He turned to Marcus who was sitting on his left.
"No idea..." Marcus said, pulling out the morning's paper as he hadn't the time to read it during breakfast.
"It rained when Margaret and I traveled up here last week..." James added.
"The humidity." Lucas teased, "Did it prohibit you and Margaret from doing as you pleased?"
James gave him a look of warning, but was glad to know that Marcus had not heard what Lucas said. James then decided that he was being far too careless with what he was saying, and felt it better not to say anything at all. He looked out the window, hoping that either Marcus or Lucas would break the lingering silence. He carefully looked over his shoulder, not wanting to seem as if he were approaching a conversation. Marcus was intensely absorbed in the morning story, his hat now on the cushioned seat. Lucas had reclined his feet on the little space between Marcus and the left wall, and was gazing sleepily out of the window. James did the same as Lucas, and supported his feet on the opposite seat and removed his hat, letting the passing houses and trees rest his eyes. The sooner he fell asleep, the less time he would spend in the rumbling carriage.


Margaret now felt as James did; with every stitch she made, she came closer to James' return - hopefully he would be returning that night.
She feared that James would go to all lengths to visit her that night. James was the kind to choose to do something and follow through, and Margaret knew this. Before their parting James had told her that he wanted to visit her that night, and he'd made it clear that he was going to try his hardest. Although she desperately wanted him to come, she was dreading his long and hurried travel. She was beginning to feel dizzy - the hot air in the room squeezed around her - she dropped her loom to the floor and toppled from the room, burst through the front door and rested beside the wall of the porch. Flat against the wall, her chest heaved as she gasped for air, a single tear leaking from her eye.
"You needn't put on a show." Mrs. Roderick droned as she closed the open door behind her. "They all think they have disturbed you and are fussing over your display."
Margaret did not speak.
"You must learn to control your manner, Margaret." Mrs. Roderick approached her, "You've let yourself pin your heart to the sleeve of an unstable man -- you fret over a schoolboy... a child!"
"He's... not --" Margaret gasped as her lamentation became more severe,
"But he is, Margaret." Mrs. Roderick said, placing her wrinkled hand on her shoulder. "He's a lad - in search of a girl that can fulfill his every need - be there, to kiss away his pains..." her voice grew harder. "You are only a body, Margaret. He has deceived you - as you have deceived yourself."
"Stop!" Margaret shouted, "Stop - I won't hear another word --"
"Don't do this to yourself." Mrs. Roderick said, "I have never seen you so pained - so sorrowed... you would not have been this way."
Margaret could not speak. Her sides ached from grasping and she could not summon the words - she pushed past her grandmother and hurried down the path, trembling in troubled anger. She hurried up the street, forgetting the party, and Mrs. Roderick behind her.
Mrs. Henwoode could see Margaret through the window, as she furthered up the road. Mrs. Roderick reentered the room, folding her hands across her stomach.
"Mrs. Roderick - where is Margaret going?" Mrs. Henwoode began to ask.
Mrs. Roderick paused. "My granddaughter is feeling ill - she wished to return to Marian Everard's, if that is permitted..."
"Of course, of course..." Marian said, nodding her head rapidly,
"Well is she alright?" Mrs. Henwoode asked, beginning to setting her things under her chair,
"I assure, she will be just fine." Mrs. Roderick waved her hands.
"Until she is, I will stay with her." Mrs. Henwoode insisted, standing up before the others would convince her otherwise. "Please excuse me..." she nodded from the room and brushed past Mrs. Roderick, hurrying out the door.
She lifted her skirt slightly, as she sped up the steep hill in pursuit of Margaret.
"Margaret... Margaret darling..." Mrs. Henwoode called. Margaret kept walking, her arms folded around her stomach. At last Mrs. Henwoode had caught up to Margaret, walking quickly at her side. At first she did not say anything; she only listened to Margaret's violent tears.
"I don't want to come back tomorrow." Margaret said, though she may have been promising it to herself.
"That's alright, dear - that's alright," Mrs. Henwoode said,
"No - I mean; I want to leave. I must. As soon as James gets back we must leave."
Mrs. Henwoode was slightly taken aback by Margaret's demanding composure, though respected her request. "That's perfectly fine, dear." she said, "If there's anything I can do..."
"I don't want to go back to the party." Margaret said firmly, "I'm sorry - but I just can't --"
She could no longer think of anything to say. She had slowed down as they reached the declining side of the hill, and had now stopped in her tracks. Her arms shifted uneasily as Mrs. Henwoode rounded her, and saw that more tears were rolling down her face. She lowered her head, and let herself be guided by Mrs. Henwoode to the Everard's.
In what seemed to be seconds later, Margaret was in the closure of her room, sitting on the bed beside Mrs. Henwoode Margaret's crying had not yet seized, though Mrs. Hewoode was doing her best to comfort her. She was stroking her back, weaving her wavy hair in and out of her fingers. Margaret sat with her head bent, and a handkerchief repeatedly being lifted to her face to stop the tears.
"Why, look at this beautiful hair." Mrs. Henwoode said, combing her fingers through the shining locks, "My, how I wished to have a girl... of course, James did fill a spot and a half, but of course I was outnumbered... I always hoped for somebody to work beside - and I think James hoped the same."
Margaret subtly turned her head, revealing her face in a secret question of what James had hoped for.
"James was often lonely." Mrs. Henwoode explained, "Especially when he was younger - when his father was away, working. He's always been in need of a brother... or a sister." Mrs. Henwoode saw that Margaret's tears were now being transformed from tears of pain, to tears of a lessening sadness... of a cry for James... "I think you're what James has been hoping for. All this time."
Margaret let out a soft call, as if calling for James' arms to rest in. She stifled more cries, as Mrs. Henwoode collected her in her arms.
"You've helped him along, Margaret..." Mrs. Henwoode said, "...you work wonders that those other than you could ever perform."
She laid Margaret in her lap, holding her gently.
"How he loves you so." she said.
Margaret closed her eyes, shedding a last tear as a calming ease swept over her.


The three hours had passed quickly, considering James had slept the entire way to the west side. Through the three and a half hours spent at the first meeting did not pass nearly as quickly, James took pleasure in the fact that he would be seeing Margaret in a few hours time. He was now back in one of the rooms that he and the others were to stay in, as they had to split up into two rooms.
"I hear most of the parties are to take place tomorrow night at the third building on twenty-third street..." Uncle Paul was saying, "...Though of course, there are several socials taking place on the second and third floors --"
"For whichever you are to attend, I hope you are able to excuse me." James said, "I have heard from an old friend and have been informed that he has attended, and is staying on fourth street."
The others looked at him. "Is that so, James?" Frederick said interestedly, "Who might that be?"
James said the first name that came to thought. "Harrison Alan." he lied, adding an equally false look of liking to his face.
"When are you to leave?" Frederick asked, "Perhaps you can come with us for a little while..."
"I am afraid I must leave as soon as possible." James said, "He travels with a group of other friends of his and may be obliged to another party - I expect I will be tempted to join them, also..."
"Very well, very well..." Paul said, "You go along then, anybody else wanting to join me downstairs, I will be leaving in five minutes." he waved his arms, shooing them all to get done what was needed. James nodded a short farewell, and left the room quickly. Just as he closed the door behind himself, his father hurried out the door and grabbed James' shoulder.
"James... James --" Mr. Henwoode said, "Where are you really going?" he had obviously alleged a flaw in James' excuse.
James wasted no time on confirming his tale. "I must go see Margaret." James' said, "I have promised her that I --"
"You better hurry along." Mr. Henwoode said, "Explaining otherwise to the others will get us both in a bind." Mr. Henwoode hugged his shoulder with his hand. "Travel quickly - catch the train if you can."
"Thank you, father." James said breathlessly. He knew that only his father would have suspected this. "It is only eight thirty - I expect I will be able to..."
"We needn't waste any time." Mr. Henwoode said, "I'll see you in a bit, I suppose..."
"Yes, I --"
"Be sure that Margaret is at her best..." Mr. Henwoode smiled, "...if you must stay I will find a way to excuse you..."
James smiled back at him.
"Thank you..." he said, hugging him quickly. He ran down the hall, turning right to the staircase. Mr. Henwoode waved to him, hoping that he would be able to catch a train.

Chapter Twelve


Margaret spent the evening in her bedroom, after sneaking up to James' room where she knew a book lay that he had borrowed from Marian's library. She was given a shock when she nearly bumped into Trudy in the hall, thinking it might have been her grandmother.
Mrs. Henwoode had returned to the party an hour later, those it was only two hours before she and the others returned.
David had spent the midday hours next door, and was now sitting quietly in his room with a spinning top he had borrowed from the boy living up the street.
It was now eight o'clock, and Margaret was waiting anxiously in her room. Dinner had finished quickly and the others were now chatting quietly in the living area, or had retired to their rooms for a few hours' peace. Within the next hour they would all walk silently into their rooms, and would appear midmorning the following day.
Every minute crept by, passing sluggishly with a nervous anxiety. She paced the bedroom floor restlessly, hoping to find something to busy herself with. In order to catch a glance out the front window Margaret had asked the maid for a washing basin, though she found no immediate use for it. She knew that James would not have arrived that early, but the anticipation left her in need of assurance. She promised herself that as soon as the others had gone to bed, she would creep out to the front window, and wait for him to come.
She would not yet put on her night dress, though she wore her robe over her under gown and let her hair down. Her bare feet grew cold against the hard floor as she crossed to the dark window, staring out into the growing night absentmindedly.
There was a clap of thunder. Dazed by the sudden roar, Margaret looked up into the black clouds, where heavy raindrops plummeted from their heights.
There would be much more than rain.
At ten o'clock Margaret heard the last person climb the stairs; possibly Marian or Trudy as Margaret thought. Margaret had been sitting on the wicker chair, wrapped tightly in a woolen blanket as she rested her head on her knees. She crept silently to her bedroom door, bringing the blanket with her. She twisted the door knob warily, as not to wake David next door. She closed it as she moved stealthily down the hall, and turned into the living area to where the windows met with the front view. Margaret sat in the armchair, where she could be hidden by the corner if needed. She could see the front path from the chair, as well as where a carriage would be pulling up, if that was how James was to travel.
The rain had worsened by far, and a horrendous wind had begun to intensify. The trees thrashed against the gigantic windows, making it impossible for Margaret to hear any arrivers. She had to watch closely, though the watered windows and winded rain made it most difficult. Thunder shook the enormous window panes, as lightning struck in its turn sending a temporarily blinding light over the diminishing houses in sight.
A slow hour and a half passed, and by accident, Margaret's eyes closed and she fell into an uncomfortable sleep. She was roused by a sudden cracking thunder, when she realized that she had fallen asleep. It seemed to be hours - she surely must have missed him. What if he'd come and had to turn right around because she hadn't come out to him? Surely James would not come and leave without a visit - he could have come around back and take a tap at the window...
Margaret stood hastily, and tiptoed quickly to the window to take a desperate look for James. When she came to her senses and decided that he wasn't there, sure enough behind the trees she saw the fast hooves of a horse and its rider, dashing through the freezing rain up the hill.
She took no caution as to whether or not anybody in the house would hear her running, and she soon learned that nobody did. She dropped the blanket and swept out the door, closing it rapidly behind her. Her hair was tangled around her face as the violent winds spun around her, and the water slashed her face. It was only seconds before she was sopping wet, the robe heavy on her skin and her under gown forgetting its purpose. She was about half way down the path when the rider moved swiftly down the road, and stopped abruptly in front of Marian's house. The horse tossed its front legs in resistance as the reigns were pulled tight, and the rider pulled him around. Margaret squinted through the rain, as the rider showed his face. It was James.
"James!" Margaret screamed, though her voice could not be heard over the brutal thunder. She clapped her hands to her mouth in surprise and sped down the rest of the path, as James lifted his leg from the right side of the horse and hopped to the ground. He turned around and he too sped toward her, his arms wide. No matter how wet he might have been he wrapped his arms around her, covering her in the black depths of his cloak. Though he said nothing, he did not need to. She clung to his chest as his face slid down her neck, kissing her neck and shoulder as their grips tightened on each other. She moved her hands up his shoulders and brought her hands to his upper neck, directing his mouth to her own. He kissed her overpoweringly, though Margaret managed to pull him away temporarily in order to ask him of his circumstances.
"Darling --" she gasped, gently forcing him to stop, "James - how long have you been traveling?" she asked him, almost yelling through the storm.
He held her shoulders in his hands. "I left almost four hours ago." James said loudly, shocking Margaret with the news, "I caught the train - I probably could have gotten here quicker... I spent almost an entire hour at the station --"
"Four hours?" Margaret said, "James - you must be exhausted --"
"I'm quite alright --" James said, "but I must go. My father's lost an hour's time..."
"I suppose you can't stay..." Margaret said disappointedly,
"The excuse I gave does not permit me to stay any more than I can --" James said, also disappointed by this. "Your feet... you're soaked - you must be freezing..."
Margaret smiled, telling him that she was alright. "How long will it take you to get back?" she asked him, a look of concern now on her wet face.
"I trust I can get back in half the time." James said, pausing also. "I'm sorry I can't stay... I --"
"It's alright, James." Margaret insisted, "Just as long..."
She pulled his neck into a longing kiss once again, only the rain separating their lips. He slipped his hands around her waist, feeling her robe pressed against her skin.
"You must go..." Margaret whispered in his ear as he kissed her neck.
"I know..." James moaned, his low voice muffled against her jaw line.
"I'm sorry..." she regretted, reluctantly trying to draw him away.
"I'm sorry --" James said, "I'll stop now..."
Margaret gave a small laugh; "I wish you wouldn't." she said.
James was cheered by her smile. He kissed her strongly, his hand slightly disheveling the wet hair along her neck. He pulled away quickly, and immediately spun around to the horse. He clamped his left foot in the stirrup, and swung his right leg over the opposite side as the horse began to move impatiently. "I shall see you on the morrow --" James proclaimed, "I do not expect to be back `til late." he looked out over the storming clouds, as if surveying his awaiting journey.
"I will wait up again." Margaret agreed, "I do not want to wait until Thursday to see you."
James bent down from the horse, supporting his foot in the stirrup and reaching for Margaret's neck. She stood on the balls of her feet, placing her hand behind his head as they shared a last kiss. He pulled away, brushing his hand across her cheek once more.
"Hold that for me." he said amorously, straightening up and regaining control of the reigns. The horse pivoted on the spot, and James turned to her once again. "Good bye my dear." he said, taking a last look at her. He sped away, gaining speed as he disappeared into the blizzard of rain and fog.
Suddenly the warmth that had filled Margaret for those few precious minutes, was gone. She stood in the escalating amount of rain, watching James until he was no longer in sight. Slowly she turned, and though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she ambled up the brick path.


"She must have gone cold in the night, the poor dear..." Lorena said. She and Mrs. Henwoode were standing above Margaret, who was still sleeping soundly in her bed. "Her nose is bright red - she would have warmed up by now, it's nearly nine."
"Perhaps the window was letting in a draft." Mrs. Henwoode supposed, "The rain was terrible last night - it was bound to cause some kind of a problem..."
"Might not've only been the draft..." Lorena speculated, "...I myself felt that my middle-blankets were too thin --"
"I'm afraid she may not be able to go to the party, today..." Mrs. Henwoode observed, "...rather, she didn't want to go, anyhow..."
"I don't blame her." Lorena agreed, "I was bored stiff yesterday - perhaps we can all make an effort of leaving a bit early, today..."
"I suppose Margaret can come later today..." Mrs. Henwoode suggested, "That's all she needs - a good rest's sleep. It would be dreadful if she was to fall ill - especially with our traveling in a few days... it's also awfully dangerous, nowadays..."
"We should ask Marian of her opinion --"
"Keep it quiet in front of Katherine, though... she tends to get a bit pamby --"
"And get her a bit of soup - that ought to warm her throat --"
"And a bit of warm water would do her good --"
"Might as well keep the others out --"
"Though there's no reason to quarantine the place..."
They stood on the spot, their arms folded as they pondered for more suggestions.
"I'll inform Marian of Margaret's absence." Mrs. Henwoode volunteered.
"I will fetch her a spot of breakfast." Lorena followed. They clicked the door behind them, as they split off in search.
After obtaining Marian's advice and a bed tray of eggs and toast, they stepped quietly into Margaret's bedroom, to rouse her gently.
"Margaret..." Mrs. Henwoode said as she rubbed Margaret's shoulder, "... Margaret darling..."
Margaret rolled sleepily onto her back, sheltering her eyes with her hand.
"We want you to stay in bed, dearest." Mrs. Henwoode said, "It seems you've caught cold."
Margaret, who felt no effects of sickness whatsoever, sat up quickly from the pillow and realized that this was all to her benefit. She scooted on her hands to the bed post, and refolded the blankets over her.
"Yes... of course..." she said,
"It will only do you good to stay in bed, today." Mrs. Henwoode advised, "It is a cold morning and the chilly air could worsen your condition."
"If you did want to come to the sewing party for a little while," Lorena said, "you could come for the last hour or so... though I suppose it would be the last two hours; I was gong to try and leave an hour early..."
"Whatever you choose to do, Margaret..." Mrs. Henwoode coddled, "we hope it is in the best interest of your well-being..."
"And speaking of..." Lorena said, "...I've here some eggs and toast for you..."
"Oh, bless your heart, Lorena - you are too kind..." Margaret said as Lorena set the tray across her lap.
"It's nothing, dear." Lorena said as she crossed to the door, and spun on her heel. "Would like a bit of juice, Margaret?"
Margaret looked up; "Only if it is on your way, thank you..." she answered.
Lorena smiled curtly, and exited the room.
"Margaret, have you gone ill over James?" Mrs. Henwoode interrogated as soon as the door had closed.
Margaret held a bite to her mouth, though she lowered it to her plate as she made to confess.
"Well - Mrs. Henwoode..." she said difficultly, "...I do miss him... it's just - last night, I --"
Katherine burst into the room, her arms opened wide and her shawl askew.
"Oh, my poor Margaret..." Katherine said, squeezing Margaret and nearly throwing her tray over, "I have heard of you sickness, you poor thing... so very dreadful it is..." Katherine sat back slowly, and looked at Margaret pitiably; "You have gone sick for the boy." she said, "Oh, we never should have sent him away - this is the exact sort of thing that ruins a lovers' heart --"
"Katherine, I feel your services have been put well into place." Mrs. Henwoode stopped her,
"What services?" Katherine said, oblivious to any of the subjects she had stirred.
Lorena had reentered, holding a glass of juice in her hand as she walked towards Margaret. "Oh, Katherine how you do get pamby." Lorena said, motioning Katherine from the bed as she set the glass on Margaret's tray, "Come Katherine - I have just seen that there is an over-supply of lemon meringue in the kitchen... we ought to see to it --"
Katherine jumped up excitedly, and with a short wave, scuttled out the door as Lorena followed.
The door clicked shut.
"I'm so sorry Margaret --" Mrs. Henwoode said, "Katherine should not have brought James to your mind so early in the day --"
Margaret looked down. "I assure you he was brought to my mind before then."
Mrs. Henwoode sat in the wicker chair; "Oh - now I have worried you..." she said, "I'm oh so very sorry..."
"No need to worry --" Margaret said, "It's alright..."
Mrs. Henwoode stood again. "I will leave you to your breakfast..." she said kindly, "...you give us a call if you need anything - alright?"
Margaret nodded.
Mrs. Henwoode smiled and she too left the room, closing the door behind her.
After Margaret had finished her breakfast and the tray had been taken away, she propped her pillows behind her and rested her back comfortably upon them. She pulled the book that had been in James' room from the beside table, and flipped to the page she had marked her spot with. No more than a few seconds later did her grandmother enter, her hard face showing no friendliness. Margaret did not greet her, nor did she acknowledge her unwanted presence. Her grandmother crossed to the left side of the foot of her bed, the heels of her shoes tapping dangerously.
"It seems your little scheme has come to your advantage." Mrs. Roderick said irately.
Margaret did not look up from the page. "It seems you blame me for my illness."
Mrs. Roderick stood at the foot of her bed, her nostrils flared and her eyes flaming. "All I blame you for is the way you present yourself." she said, "You have fallen ill due to the brief departure of your fianc? --"
"Grandmother, that's not right at all --"
"You underestimate me." her grandmother said.
"No, all I'm saying is that what you are saying is out of order - you criticize me for simply missing him; you can't say that that is something I should not be doing --"
"I have the liberty to say whether or not you are going to spend the day in bed, because of your insecurity!"
"I am not in bed because of James, I am in bed because I am ill." Margaret declared. Her grandmother gave her a last look of malice, then pivoted on her foot and marched from the room.
"You are not going to have anything to do with that boy." Mrs. Roderick said, "For whatever reason I may give." She slammed the door behind her, leaving Margaret in complete fury.


At noon James and the others took a place in the smoking room, as the meeting had been dismissed for a short break. Though James did not care to be there, he tagged along behind Lucas to a small corner near the bar. Mr. Henwoode, Mr. Everard, Paul, and Frederick were introducing themselves to another group at the next table, and were all soon engaged in a loud conversation.
"And you, there..." said a large man on the far end by the name of Mr. Vall, "...what have you brought yourself to?"
James looked up from the table, having only heard what he had said. "The press." James said uninterestedly, then went back to tapping his fingers on the table.
"The press, ah - yes, a very sensible study. I trust you are a writer?"
James nodded after looking up shortly.
"Yes - wise indeed; it's much more stable than the trade... only last year the market was driven otherwise and our enterprises were destroyed --"
Mr. Vall's voice wandered off, as James had no interest in the subject whatsoever - at least not then.
"Come here, boy - let me have a seat next to you..." Mr. Vall lumbered from his own chair, though did not catch any attention from the others at the table as they were all absorbed in their own conversations. He pulled a chair up from the bar, bringing an unknown glass with him. He sat beside James, quickly becoming comfortable.
"What else, then?" Mr. Vall said, "Surely that's not all you've got going for yourself..."
James looked up at him. "How do you mean?" he asked,
Mr. Vall gave a small laugh, "A girl!" he said, "Haven't you got yourself a fine lass waitin' along for you?"
James could not help but smile. "Fianc?, actually." he said happily.
"Is that so?" Mr. Vall said excitedly, "Isn't that something - what business do you have down here, then? Surely the little lady's more important than a conference..."
"Group travels." James said, "Got wrapped up in it and couldn't find my way out --"
Mr. Vall guffawed rambunctiously; "It's always good to have a girl." he said, "It's a kick to play along with `em."
James gave a false laugh, trying not to displease Mr. Vall.
"No..." Mr. Vall said, "A lady's not worth settin' your heart on. No merit comes from expectin' of `em."
James looked up at him, showing that he did not quite understand what he was telling him.
"Girls are a fickle tale, my friend." Mr. Vall continued, "There's not much to count on when they're runnin' off to suffice their needs..."
James turned away, not wanting to hear anymore of Mr. Vall. "Excuse me..." James said; he stood up quickly from his chair, and left the smoking room.


Margaret was wearing her white dress, its lace neck buttoning around the collar and the extravagant sleeves falling at the elbows. The other ladies had left several hours before her, and she had now joined them at Mrs. Travers' again to work again on their projects. Margaret had spent most of the day by the pond, reading the book from James' room and tickling her toes with the cool water. It was good that nobody had seen her, for they would have lectured her on the effect of cold water, and those of insufficient health. Margaret chose to walk down to the party at two o'clock, for Lorena had informed her that she would be trying to leave at three, although the party ended at four. Margaret was sitting on the right side of the couch, Daphne, Carlene and Sarah near the entrance, Lorena, Katherine, Mrs. Roderick, Mrs. Travers, and then Mrs. Henwoode. The conversation seemed not to differ greatly from that of yesterday, so Margaret in turn listened to Daphne and Carlene.
"Mother wouldn't hear of it." she heard Daphne say,
"Come on, Daphne..." Carlene said, "...I'm sure that mother would let us into town, it's not that far away --"
"I know it's not far, it's that she would require the involvement of a chaperone."
"You're going into town?" Sarah asked, thrilled at the news, "Oh, please - I do want to come..."
"You can't come - not if mother doesn't approve --" Daphne said,
"Well, she'll have to approve of you first, won't she?" Sarah reasoned with her,
"Please do convince her, Daphne..." Carlene said, "It would be so much fun..."
"Well what do you want to do in town, Carlene?" Daphne said, "Suppose you want to hitch a fellow and take `im to the Andersilk, do you?"
Carlene let out a muffled squeal of embarrassment and delight. "Daphne, you wouldn't have suggested that if you hadn't taken fancy to it, yourself." Carlene said,
"Who's the Andersilk?" Sarah asked curiously,
"You mean what is the Andersilk." Daphne said.
Margaret would have answered for her, but would clearly be drawing too much attention to herself. She hid a smile and focused on her loom.
"Alright, what is the Andersilk?" Sarah asked again.
Sarah's question was interrupted; the front door opened and there was a knock on the door frame. "Hello... I'm sorry - is this the estate of a Mrs. Travers?"
The voice came from an attractive man, who could have been only a couple years past twenty-five. He removed his hat, revealing dark brown hair, and rich, chocolate-colored eyes.
"Great Scott, who is that?" Mrs. Travers said under her breath, "What is your name, young man?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but Daphne's voice reached their ears first.
"Warren?" she gasped, a high scream rasping through her shocked tone.
"Mr. Whitney..." Lorena said, "What on earth..."
"My deepest apologies, madam." Warren said, "But I wish to have a word with your daughter."
"So that's Mr. Whitney?" Margaret heard Carlene ask quietly,
"Whitney, who's Whitney?" Sarah said loudly.
Daphne stood from her seat, immediately forgetting what had occupied her earlier.
"Wait! You forgot to tell me about the Andersilk!" Sarah yelled after her,
"Sarah!" Lorena gasped, "Where on earth are you learning about such things..."
Daphne was pulled out of view, Warren speaking low and quickly. Nobody else could hear what he might have been saying, though nobody, not even Sarah or Lorena, bothered to strain their ears. Margaret and Carlene on the other hand, were the only ones who were able to roughly hear what he was saying.
"Daphne, you must come with me." Warren said.
"But Warren --" Daphne argued, "I can't... Come with you where?"
"I don't know..." Warren admitted, "Daphne, I've been searching for you - I need you to be with me."
"What?" Daphne asked in astonishment, "What do you mean be with --"
"Daphne, you mustn't marry Matthew." he said, closing his hands around her face.
"Warren, I'm not engaged to him - or to anybody for that matter..."
"I know that..." he said, "and I know that you would marry him if he gave you the chance." Warren moved closer to her. "Daphne --"
"No, Warren. I can't --"
"But if you love me." Warren said, slowly convincing her.
"Oh Warren..." Daphne said, almost crying as she was forced to make the decision, "...I do...."
Warren grinned widely, and kissed her as he pulled her closer to the door. "You'll marry me, then?"
Daphne flung her arms around his neck, kissing him once again.
"Will you come with me?" he said, pulling away from her.
Daphne took a last glance into the living area. "Let's go." she said.
Warren kissed her once again, and looked around the corner. He pulled her by the hand, their arms stretched as Daphne caught up to him. He looked back at her, as she lifted her skirt to run up the hill.
Mrs. Travers spotted them, their disappearing figures nearing the top of the hill. "By Jove, what on earth are they doing?"
With these words there was a sudden rush to the window, and a silent fight for a spot on the couch.
"They're running off!" Katherine screeched.
Sarah had failed to claim a spot by the window, so she ran to the doorway and stood on the terrace.
"Daphne!" she hollered after her, "Where are you going?!" she tromped back into the living area, falling heavily beside Carlene. She blew air through her lips; "She's daffed." Sarah said, "She's daffy Daphne. That's what she is." she did not hasten to admit that she was also awfully disappointed that she hadn't learned what the Andersilk was.
"Daphne!" Lorena howled after her, "Daphne!" her horrible shouting was of no effort; Daphne was long gone.
Carlene seemed to be the only one not creating a scene, except for Mrs. Roderick who took no interest to it. Carlene sat, continuing her stitching without giving so much as a glance to the door.
"It was bound to happen." Carlene said, causing another wave of people to return to their original seats.
"However do you mean?" Lorena said exasperatedly.
Carlene breathed deeply. "Mother, can't you see that Carlene's been bored to death at home, and she's been waiting to be carried off by Matthew... or Warren... she never could decide and anyhow, now that she's just gotten the chance she was able to decide that Warren is the one for her, and that this has saved her a great deal of time wasting away on Matthew. Don't you see?"
Aunt Lorena was bewildered.
"She has not been bored to death --" she started,
"Yes, she has." Carlene said.
There was a short pause.
"Yes, I suppose she has been bored to death. That explains her obsession for pressing flowers."
"Ooh, I absolutely love to press flowers." Katherine said,
"My daughter has run off with some man that I've met only once, and now I have no idea whatsoever where she's gone off to." Lorena said,
"Isn't that called eloping?" Sarah said.
"Sarah, you're not helping the situation along --" Carlene said,
"Well, I don't see what the matter is with it." Margaret stood up, and there was a great deal of gasps throughout the room.
"My shawls - whatever do you mean?" Katherine held a hand to her chest as she gasped for air,
Margaret quickly grew frustrated with their reactions. "It's obvious that Daphne wanted to do this, or else she never would have done it --" she said, "Why must we stifle a good thing when it happens --"
"Margaret, that is enough." Mrs. Roderick said, though nobody seemed to hear her. Margaret eyed her, but then turned to Mrs. Henwoode.
"I agree. This seems to be exactly what Daphne needs." Mrs. Henwoode said.
"Well, what I need to do is figure out where Daphne's going." Lorena said angrily.
Marian patted Lorena's knee; "You needn't worry, Lorena," she said, "She'll turn up on the doorstep sooner or later, and tell you all that happened..."
"No bad could come of it." Margaret said as she sat back down.
"Your opinion does not matter now, Margaret." Mrs. Roderick said,
"My opinion of my engagement seems not to matter, either." Margaret said quietly, though loud enough for her grandmother to hear. Mrs. Roderick opened her mouth to retaliate, but she was stopped by Marian.
"Harriet, I think we ought to go..." she said to Mrs. Travers,
"Only if you must, Marian --" Mrs. Travers said politely, "This day has gone all to a fret..."
"It most certainly has..." Marian said as she stood from her seat, "I'm so sorry that we must go --"
"That's quite alright. Perhaps you and I could meet again next week?"
The ladies waved their short goodbyes, as Marian lingered behind to schedule her next visit with Mrs. Travers. Sarah dashed to the front of the group, begging Carlene to race with her.
"Carlene, do have a go with it, you're growing up too fast..." Sarah pleaded with her.
"Ah, senility." Katherine said, "Something that is forced to fall upon us."
"Something that Daphne has just reminded us of." Said Mrs. Henwoode,
"Senescence is one subject I care to avoid." Lorena said bluntly.
"Come, come now, Lorena..." Katherine chirped, "Daphne's leave has brought you to such an unlikable mood - you really must have a cheery..."
"Katherine's right, mother..." Carlene said as she turned back to them, "I don't see why you're having such a fuss over Warren - by the looks of it he seems to be nice, and --"
"By the looks of it he's an impulsive delinquent in pursuit of destroying my Daphne." Lorena shot back.
Sarah could be heard ahead of them singing; "Daffy Daphne, daffy daffed Daphne..." as she spun around in violent circles.
"Lorena..." Katherine stifled her, "It's you yourself who insisted that you knew all that Daphne wanted..." she glanced to Mrs. Henwoode then back to Lorena, "...you made it sound as if Daphne wanted to be tied to a leash - even when that special boy came along."
Lorena scowled. She did not want to admit that she had said so much as that; she didn't know what Daphne wished for, and was afraid that she thought her own expectations to be superior. She did not reply.
The rest of the way was spent in silence. They were now all walking at their own pace, anxious to rid themselves of the awkward tension. Margaret turned on to the grass, not wanting to go inside right away.
"Margaret dear, where are you off to?" Mrs. Henwoode asked behind her,
Margaret glanced back at her; "To the garden." she responded, and continued on.
"Alright, then --" Mrs. Henwoode said, "But you oughtn't stay out too long, you'll catch cold."
Margaret opened her umbrella, convincing Mrs. Henwoode that she wouldn't let a possible rainstorm discourage her. She lifted her skirt as the grass gradually sloped, and rounded the house and patio. She crossed to the gap before the pond, but stopped by a blossoming tree, sprinkled with fresh, white flowers. A bed of cerise poppies surrounding the tree thinned as they reached the trimmed grass. Her eyes skimmed the line of trees to where they grew into a close, denser forest. The sky darkened behind them as rain clouds rolled nearer, overcoming the bright sky with a rich blue and gray. In the distance a low rumbling could be heard, shaking the tops of the trees. Margaret could smell the rain, though it was still several miles away. It would be night when the rain came, and that meant that James could possibly be delayed. Margaret thoughts were disturbed by the shrill calls of her grandmother, who had walked onto the patio without her awareness.
"Margaret!" she called, "Margaret, get down here."
Margaret resisted rolling her eyes as she walked slowly down the hill, swinging her umbrella in her hand. Her shoes tapped on the large bricks as she tread onto the patio and stepped closely to her grandmother, just at arm's reach.
"What is it?" Margaret said dully,
"I have come to talk to you about your conduct, earlier today." Mrs. Roderick said.
"What is there to talk about?" Margaret said, making to turn away from her,
"Don't" Mrs. Roderick barked as she grabbed Margaret's arm "walk away from me, Margaret." she let go after making Margaret face her, "Your so called `protocol' has influenced your decision making and I have come to your guidance."
"You haven't come to talk to me about my protocol, you've come to talk to me about my fianc?." Margaret accused her, "I'm sorry Grandmother, but this is not a discussion I care to have --"
"Margaret --" Mrs. Roderick snapped, "If there's one thing I must do, it is stopping you from making the biggest mistake of your life."
Margaret turned back to her.
"You can't go off and marry that boy!" Mrs. Roderick spattered, "You marry him only because he was the first to come along --"
"I marry him because he loves me, Grandmother!" Margaret retaliated, "He really loves me!"
"I have not raised you to believe in such - such erratic nonsense --"
"No, you have raised me to be unhappy... to be afraid - to hate myself! James loves me, don't you see that?! He is something that I've needed for a long time --" Margaret shouted, "I need him!"
That was it. Mrs. Roderick swung her fist at Margaret, striking her across the right of her face with her gnarled fingers.
"Do not tell me you love that meager fool." she spat at Margaret.
Margaret clutched her face, the red prints throbbing as they were overcome with heat. She did not look at her grandmother; she dropped her parasol and stalked past Mrs. Roderick, heading through the side door.


It was now eight o'clock. James and the others had caught the train out of the west side, and were now seated in a middle compartment in the fourth car.
"It's a shame we're missing the last parties..." Lucas said, with a nod of agreement from Uncle Paul, "...I'm sure there would have been a social with the ladies..."
"Most of us have women of our own at home, Lucas." Mr. Henwoode said, "We'd best be off before they find male replacements."
There was a chuckle throughout the compartment.
"Are you reminding me of my inadequacy?" Lucas said, a discouraged look on his face,
"No, only of your lack of women." his father teased.
Marcus laughed helplessly to himself, only to receive a kick in the shins from Lucas across the seat. He moaned painfully, but found pleasure in Lucas' telling off.
"Lucas..." Uncle Paul warned,
"Father --" Lucas made to argue.
"Lucas, you've always been a troublesome fellow, haven't you?" Frederick laughed,
"He most certainly has been." Paul said, clapping his hand on the seat, "He's the one that made me wish for a daughter - and you know what trouble they can be..."
Mr. Henwoode, Mr. Everard and Frederick all let out rambunctious laughs, though Frederick soon stopped.
"Ay, watch it now..." he said.
"Come on, Freddy - you have to admit that girls are more trouble than boys, don't ya..."
"Well..." Frederick thought, "...I suppose that when you point it out..."
"Ah!" Paul said, "You see I'm right? Girls are far too complicated. Boys are straight up and forward, when girls hide their intentions, no matter what they may be."
"That's not always true, dad..." Marcus looked up at him,
"How so, Marcus?" his father challenged him.
"Well, what intention does a girl have to hide?" he returned the question, "Surely nothing drastic..."
"Well, you've been lucky..." Paul said, "Your mind has been spared of the harmful facts of women."
There was another series of laughter around the seats, "Father, I think the little harm that comes of Abigail has passed." Marcus said.
"And how would you know anyway, Paul, you haven't got a daughter." Frederick said,
"But they're not the only of women." Said Paul,
"Yes, but surely Katherine hasn't supplied you will all the experience you now hold..." Mr. Henwoode put forth.
Uncle Paul pondered the statement. "Right you are, my brother..." he said, "Though I stick by what I have said; girls really are more difficult than boys."
"It's not that we don't agree with you, Paul..." Uncle Frederick said, "...we'd only love to hear your reasons - you know, I have three of them."
"Well first of all," said Paul, "Girls don't do the asking. It's the men that have to stir up the courage to do anything with a lady, and that puts us in such a state..."
"Yes, we are required to make any proposal." Frederick said,
"And the girls are more... more connected to their decisions - don't you agree?" Paul asked,
"Yes, their mind-set is far too emotional." Frederick waved his hands,
"Well it has to be doesn't it?" James was suddenly interested in what they were saying,
"Does it?" Frederick tested,
"If the ladies weren't the ones to be affection I can't imagine what kind of mothers they'd be." James answered.
Paul and Frederick seemed to be dumbstruck. "What an intelligent lad you are, James..." Paul said,
"Yes, James, you're right." Mr. Henwoode complimented.
"So even though they may cause a little fright at first..." James continued, "It's the girls that make everything possible."
Uncle Paul paused once again. "You are very insightful, James." he said,
"Yes, I can't remember having ever thought that way at your age, James." said Frederick.
"James has always been very philosophical." Mr. Henwoode said, "Literature has long gone to his favor. But I suppose he has no distraction - male, or female, to keep him doing otherwise, siblings, that is."
"He was lucky enough not to get any." Paul laughed, followed by Frederick whose wit was conquered once again.
The entire three hours on the train were spent subtly criticizing each other, hoping to entertain themselves and their exhausted minds. Paul fell asleep, his round head rolling onto his shoulder as snores broke the silence every so often. Mr. Everard, Mr. Henwoode, Frederick, Marcus and Lucas seemed terribly tired, though they managed to keep their eyes open in order to stare absentmindedly at the wall. James leaned his hand against the cold window, resting his head wearily in his right palm and gazing out the frosty window. He had expected that evening to be somewhat warm, though his expectations were replaced with yet another cold rain and a blistering fog.
At last the train pulled into the Pennly Station, jerking them all awake with its rough stop. They gathered their cases from the top and bottom racks, sidling one after the other out of the sliding door into the crowded corridor where dozens of other passengers were hurrying to step out. They had gathered at the entrance barrier, where they hired a driver to take them back to Green Wall.
The station was another twenty minutes south of the main town, which James realized when they crossed the main road. Forty minutes were spent struggling to stay awake, as the carriage was not supplied with lit lanterns to split through the eyes. The thought of bed lingered - though James had never felt so awake. Although it was too late that night to visit Margaret, he would see her early the next morning. Even if that meant he had to wake her in the wee hours at her door.
James felt for Margaret; he had been gone all this time, without her knowing of his exact whereabouts, or even a slight idea of his activity. She had been stuck at the Everard's with the obligation to attend a tiresome party, with an invitation she was forced to accept. He did not see how they both were put in such a place; he had been practically required to spend his time at the counsel, leaving Margaret in yet another straining pastime. `No longer will I find the need to fit the requirements of others,' he thought to himself, `Who is another to tell me how to spend my time?'
The others in the carriage were chatting once again, Uncle Paul the natural leader of the conversation. He was sitting next to James, and was still speaking of the contrast of the men and the ladies.
"You're lucky to find one such as Margaret, m'lad." Paul said, seeming to speak almost drunkenly,
James was cheered by the subject of Margaret.
"You know it's the more feisty ones that got the skinny waist?" Paul continued, although this did not find significance in James mind. "I'm sure you'll have a splendid time with Margaret - have you and particular plans for the honeymoon of yours?"
James shook his head, "No, sir." he said tiredly.
"That's alright..." Uncle Paul said, "...I'm sure you'll find your celebratory activity to be most intriguing afterwards." He leaned in closer to James, "You'll have load of fun with her... just poor her the good of a brandy, and you've got yourself a lass --"
"That quite enough, Paul..." Mr. Henwoode stopped him from the opposite seat, "I wouldn't fancy my son being disturbed with your own ideas..."
"I trust that James had a sturdy mind of his own, Charlie," Uncle Paul said, "If he doesn't, it wouldn't hurt to give him a few pointers for that time after the wedding --"
"I trust his mind, also." Mr. Henwoode said, "Yet there's no reason to corrupt it with yours."
Uncle Paul laughed though his eyes grew hazy once again, "You out-smarter, you..." he yawned. His head rolled onto his shoulder once again, as a sounding snore perturbed the carriage.
They finally arrived at the Everard's, and managed to lumber out of the carriage in a half-sleep. James was the last to climb out, but made no hurry to keep up with the slow pace of the line. Once inside James was grateful for the noise that the others were making, as he hoped that Margaret would hear them and would realize their return. With the restriction put in use by Mrs. Roderick, James knew that he could not go to visit him on his own. Perhaps if they were to meet in the hallway, but not on his own. It would be only too easy to pull Margaret out of her room, but it would also be too easy for Mrs. Roderick to realize that they'd returned, and come looking for James. He hesitated at the bottom stair, waiting for an extra second to see that Margaret would appear, but she did not. He followed the others up the stairs, taking a last glace down the hallway.
As he walked around the curved hallway, he was only at the second door when Carlene appeared at it, as she had returned from the bath. She was wearing a white night dress, her hair still pulled back and a washing basin in her hands.
"James --" Carlene gasped, as she scuttled to the door in her slippers, "I am so glad that you are back..."
"As am I, Carlene." James responded, "How have you been?"
"I have been just fine, James - though I am glad I have seen you this evening. It's Margaret - she hasn't been doing so well..."
"Margaret..." James repeated, "Why - is she alright?"
"I heard her asking your mother over you..." Carlene answered, "...she's been wanting you - I don't know why, but she has not been feeling well; I'm afraid she's fallen ill --"
"Thank you, Carlene --" James said, "Thank you for telling me so..."
Carlene slipped into the bedroom door. "Good night." she said,
"Good night, Carlene." James said hastily as she slid the door closed.
James had to go down - he took a nervous glance at Mrs. Roderick's door; the others were already in their bedrooms, and Lucas was probably already asleep. Margaret was downstairs, and he was without assurance of her condition. He turned back down the hallway, and ran as quietly as he could, still in cloak and hat. He set his case at the top of the stair, and hurried down the steep stairs. He turned at the banister and flew down the hall, though quieted himself at Margaret's door, careful not to wake David. James turned the doorknob, and pushed the door open, forgetting to stop the door at the wall.
"Margaret..." he whispered through the darkness, "Margaret dear - are you alright..." He heard her quiet cry, and he darted to her side. "Margaret - it's me... everything will be alright..."
He ripped off his gloves, and flung them together onto the wicker chair by the window. He stood over her, bending down to lift her from her pillow. Her stifled sobs struggled as James secured her. She quivered at the touch of his cold hands, though found comfort in their strong embrace. He lifted her back and her neck, as her limp figure fell over his arms.
"Margaret - what is this?" James said as he saw her damaged face. There were purple prints across her right cheek and cheekbone, with a read rawness to them and a horrible black shadow. He was shaken by her appearance - so unexpected and so very drastic. He pulled her into his arms, helping her chin over his shoulder as not to hurt it. Margaret did not want to explain to James what her grandmother had done - she felt shameful... embarrassed... yet it was hurting more than ever. James held his arms around her, supporting her against him. He moved her head to his other shoulder, and kissed her neck continually. He had missed her for those many, strenuous hours, and had longed to see her - to touch her. Yet he was also trying to comfort her, though he did not know her need for it. "What is this - please..." James pleaded with her. He moved her to his other shoulder again, where she laid the left side of her face and tried to explain.
"She said... she said I can't marry you..." Margaret struggled through her tight throat, "She says it's nonsense - and that it's... it's a mistake. She says I can't love you but I do --" Margaret did not want to tell James the things that her grandmother had said about him; that he was meager... erratic... the first to come along. She was thrown into another silent worry of tears and gasping, as James clutched his arms around her.
At first James did not speak.
"It's not a mistake." James said, "What she's said must be forgotten. But this?" he lifted her from his shoulder, gently brushing his hand across her bruised cheek. "Why did she do this?"
Margaret looked at him, but then looked back down at his cloak. "I told her I needed you." she said, restraining another river of tears.
James could not help but feel good at this. To show this to her he held his left hand on the left of her face and his right hand on her neck, and led her into an ardent kiss, feeling the warmth of her lips and the need of her grasp. She held to his chest, though could only find the strength to do so lightly. They had so longed for this moment - to break the tension that had been mounting for those two days. Margaret's delicate injury made this much more difficult, or so James thought; it was easier for her to be distracted by something other than their purpose. James had thrown his hat to the floor, tucking his hand muscularly behind her back. They were gradually lowered together to the pillow, though the pressure between him and the pillow made her recoil. Her hand darted from James' collar to her cheekbone, where she had been pressed. James lifted himself slightly, seeing that she was hurting. He brushed his hand over her forehead, clearing her hair from her eyes.
"Wait..." he said to her, sitting up quickly from the bed and seeing the washing basin on the dresser. He stood up and quickly rounded the bed, retrieving the basin and a cloth beside it.
"It's hot..." Margaret said as she gently rubbed her cheek. James sat down beside her once again, facing her as he placed the basin between each other's opposite leg. He wetted the cloth in the water, which had grown cold since its last use. He wound it around his hand, then held it in a fist as he raised the cloth to her face.
"You know, yesterday during a break from the counsel..." James said, taking her mind off of its throbbing pain as he stroked the cloth across her cheek tenderly, "...a man at our table asked of you."
Margaret looked up at him, shifting her head slightly.
"That's right." James said as he saw a small grin, "He asked me if I had a girl, and I was proud to say yes." James smiled at her. "And then he said that `a lady's more important than a political counsel', and you know what? He's right." He used his free hand to pull Margaret into a short kiss. "He was right."
James then grew angry at himself. Why hadn't he seen this before? Surely he would have had the common sense to stay for only the first day - or not attend the counsel at all. There was no excuse that he could give for letting this happen. Margaret is hurt and there's nothing that can be done. What else could have happened to her? All of these thoughts flooded inside of him - a whirlpool of anger at himself and at Mrs. Roderick. He suggested the only solution that might help him feel less shameful.
"Margaret..." he said gently, "I was wondering if you would like to leave tomorrow." He looked down from her, "I am sure that all would be understood."
Margaret looked up at him, catching his gaze. "I feel we must." she answered softly,
"How so?" James wondered of the similarities of their reasons,
"I fear what else could be done by my grandmother." she said, although she did not want to speak about her, "Besides... it seems like it is time for us to leave. We have been here more than ten days and it --"
"I know what you mean." James smiled, "I feel I must leave for the sake of my sanity."
Margaret stifled a small laugh, seeming to forget her throbbing cheek. "I'm glad you are home." She said, smiling cheerfully at him.
James gazed at her amorously, watching the subtle shine of the window in her eyes. He drew her chin to him with his finger, and pulled her gently to his lips. He kissed her adoringly, then inched away gently. "We are not home, yet."
They shared an affectionate embrace, nearly forgetting that James was not to be there. James pulled away and lifted himself from the pillow, where they had come to once again. "Pack your things in the morning." James said, "We can continue later." He kissed her once again, her chin reaching for his as he parted. He bent down to the floor, grasping his hat as he pecked Margaret for a last time. "Good night." He whispered, then crossed to the door's slit of light. He looked back at Margaret as he closed the door silently behind him, and stepped quietly down the hall.
He had left his gloves.

Chapter Thirteen
A Last Provocation

Breakfast has finished only several minutes before, and the sun was peeking through the dew covered windows, sparkling throughout the living area, the landing and the dining room. Uncle Paul, Katherine, Frederick, Marian, Mr. Everard, Marcus, Abigail, Michael and Lucas were out on the patio, enjoying the early hours before the expected heat settled in. Sarah and Carlene had gone into town with Lorena, having had pleaded with her to take them for a morning of light shopping and possibly a dined lunch. Mr. Henwoode had gone for a morning stroll, possibly to chase the ducks on the cold pond down in the park, only several streets away. James and his mother were sitting at the end of the dining table, examining a letter that Marian had received from her daughter, Andrea. Margaret was supposedly in her room preparing her things, as James had already finished. James had come out to tell his mother that he and Margaret were to leave a little while before noon, hoping to hear a note of approval.
"We must find a kind way to tell Marian..." Mrs. Henwoode said, although she did not look directly at James, "She is easily offended with the leaving of her guests."
"Yes, but mother --"
"James, I know you would like to leave, and I doubt that you won't be able to... but you must take into consideration the excuse you give to your Aunt."
James breathed heavily, frustrated with the pettiness of his mother's comprehension. He bounced his heel on the floor, hoping to distract himself from his own annoyance.
"Andrea is to have a child." Mrs. Henwoode said informatively, "Oh, how wonderful..."
James rolled his head down, eventually turning his head to his mother.
"Please mother, we've been here an extra seven days..." James reasoned with her,
"James --" Mrs. Henwoode warned him.
He stood up noisily from his chair, and walked to the front dining area window, looking down at the sill absentmindedly. He found no immediate way to convince his mother, and she found no immediate need to reprimand him any further. James arms were folded, as he glared out the window at the overgrown trees. There was a slamming sound behind him... and a screaming - it had come from the stairs. Whether or not it had, James was soon informed of. He could hear Margaret's desperate cries; Mrs. Henwoode had heard them also. Mrs. Roderick appeared from the hallway, dragging Margaret mercilessly behind her. Her fist was wound in her granddaughter's hair, the other at the shoulder of her sleeve.
"Filth!" Mrs. Roderick shouted hideously, "Dirty work of the devil..." Margaret failed to climb from her knees as she was tugged violently, issuing a horrifying scream as Mrs. Roderick jerked her forward.
"What are you doing?!" James bellowed as he started toward her.
Mrs. Roderick swung the back of her hand at Margaret, knocking her chin upward as she hit her right ear brutally. "Nasty girl of the fiend --"
"What are you doing?!" James repeated menacingly as he rushed toward Mrs. Roderick.
"James!" Mrs. Henwoode stood hastily from her chair, pushing it over as she hurried to stop James. She ran after him and wrapped her hands around his waste, attempting to stop him from adding to the commotion.
"Stop!!" James yelled at his mother as he pushed her hand sharply away, "Stop it!!" he had reached Margaret, and had swung his arm under Mrs. Roderick's, thrust her hand from Margaret's sleeve. Something else was in her hand - though James did not know, nor care what it was.
"You're filth!" Mrs. Roderick screamed, "You're all filth! Evil knows what you do in the dark --"
"Stop!" Margaret wailed through breathless moans.
James grabbed Mrs. Roderick's wrist, pulling her fist out of Margaret's hair.
"James - what on earth..." Mrs. Henwoode shouted from across the room,
"Take your hands off her!" James hollered, his eyes blazing in anger,
"Wallowing in the devil's work --" Mrs. Roderick said, glaring maliciously at James and Margaret, "Margaret has sold her body to your dark desires - you sin in the shadow of wickedness --"
"No - it's not that!" Margaret begged her, "Please - it's not any of it!!" James squatted down beside her, wrapping his arms under hers and burying her face on his shoulder,
"What is this?!" Mrs. Henwoode screamed,
"Margaret has broken her immorality --" Mrs. Roderick said dangerously,
"Show of it!!" James stood up from Margaret, leaving her on the floor, "Show this yourself!!"
"You cannot hide your doing." Mrs. Roderick responded.
James did not know what this meant... Lucas had told her. He had told another and it had been found out by Margaret's grandmother. There was no way he would be able to deny his own word. He would have to stand.
Mrs. Roderick penetrated him with her stare, her eyebrows raised and her eyes flashing perilously. She brought her hand from her side, and revealed what she was holding in her hand; she tossed a pair of black gloves between herself and James, looking at James as his eyes followed the pair to the floor. They were his.
"It seems you've been found out." She spat through a hidden smile.
James looked at the gloves, realizing that this was his entire fault, furious at himself for leaving them with Margaret.
"Show to me that they are not yours."
James let his eyes fall away from them. His head lowered slightly, feeling that he could no longer endure the woman's proud accusation. He stepped closer to Margaret and bent over, helping her to her feet. Margaret was holding the right side of her head, refusing against no protest to remove her hand. She was hunched over in a boundless pain, as James wrapped his arm around her.
"If there's one disgrace here I am sure that the shame is not ours." James said, his jaw grinding as he spoke to Mrs. Roderick. He directed Margaret to the stairs, and they set off away from the scene.
"Don't you dare --" Mrs. Roderick began,
"We will go where we please." James barked back at her, turning on the first stair as he held his hand on the small of Margaret's back. They started up the stairs again, and did not waste a look behind them.
Mrs. Roderick stood speechless, her lips pursed angrily and her hands folded tightly. Mrs. Henwoode glared angrily at her, and left into the dining area and through the side door.


They were sitting on James' bed, the door closed behind them and the draperies illuminated by the growing light. James was holding Margaret, resting against the wall as Margaret lay on his chest. It was nearly half an hour later, when Margaret fell into an injured sleep, though her face was still stained with tears. James had fallen asleep also, hoping to slip away from his regret and sorrow for Margaret. It was his own fault for his carelessness, and Margaret had had to suffer the consequences. He felt Margaret stirring against him, her body trembling painfully. His eyes opened easily, and he saw that Margaret had not awoken. He sat up slightly, holding her in his hands as he made to resituate her. He turned so that he was lying down, and helped Margaret's head onto his arm as he cradled her. He kissed her neck, overcome by her simplicity, though she was flawed by the painful reminders of her grandmother. Margaret's eyes eased open at the feel of James' touch, and she turned her head slightly to him. James was propped over her, gazing at her eyes as she touched his face.
"I'm sorry..." she whispered silently to him.
James sensed a tear winking behind his eye. Her words were of that that had not been needed to be said, and in turn he felt that he was the one who should have said it. He felt her yearning eyes and hands, her fingers closing around his sleeve and her other hand around his collar. He dove into her lips, unable to control himself. Margaret wrapped her arms around his neck, receiving the dose that she had tempted James to give. James rested himself on her, kissing her face and lips as they slowly rolled away from the wall. They were near the edge of the bedspread when the door flew open, and a surprised voice rang throughout the room.
"Great Oldham of Chap, what are you doing?!" Lucas squealed, James quickly sprung off of Margaret, and lumbered to the floor where he landed on his knees and elbows.
"Sorry..." James grunted,
Margaret sat up quickly once she was free of James' weight. James pulled himself from the floor and stood coolly, his arms folded as he looked casually from Lucas to Margaret. "So - Lucas?" James said, "What are you doing?"
"I've come to get my jacket." Lucas answered manifestly, though he raised his eyebrows in turn for an explanation. "Are you going to leave me with the thoughts that might be swimming in my mind?" Lucas was curious to know, but asked for their answer with a perfect subtlety.
James looked back at Margaret. There mouths were red and their hair ruffled, and James could not hide a guilty face, as Margaret could not hide her blushing cheeks. She suppressed a laugh as James looked at her, a perfectly solemn look about him.
"If we did, what might they be?" James challenged him with a half smile,
Lucas walked slowly to the foot of his bed, where his jacket lay draped at the bottom. A confused and cautious look on his face, he eyed James.
"Margaret and I have come here in seek of solitude." James answered plainly, "It seems that the lower floor is a place not to find it." He fought a mischievous smile.
Lucas spoke more loosely. "It also seems that this particular place may not be any better."
James looked at Margaret again, finally laughing quietly. Lucas walked out of the room, laughing also to himself as he closed the door.
James turned around and stepped toward Margaret, bringing her forward with his hands around her waist. He kissed her once again, then pulled back as he slid his thumb along her bottom lip.
"Shall we go?" James suggested, talking as if he was continuing a long conversation,
"Go where?" Margaret asked, a slight tone of panic in her voice,
James pulled her to the closet cupboard, where he retrieved his case.
"Away!" James said cheerfully. He set his case on the bed, flung it open, and repetitively packed his hanging clothes into its depths.
"Away?" Margaret stepped after him, "Away to where?"
James did not look up at her. "Anywhere we want to go." He said. He clicked the locks shut, and stood the case up on his bed. He turned to face Margaret. Her lovely fa?ade glowed in the morning light behind her, her eyes catching the glint. James brushed his hand under her chin. "Shall we?"
He was careful not to touch her injured cheek; it was not yet blue or black but it was surely damaged, and though it was only red it seemed to be a welt rather than a punctured bruise. Within the welt there seemed to be a slight cut, as if a fingernail had met her skin quickly and sharply. Her left ear had been hit with such force, that the cartilage was bruised slightly and was apparently sore. There was a faint remnant of blood behind her ear, where her hair had been pulled with an extreme rage. Only anger could have caused such a mark on her face, and James was sorry that he had witnessed the cause. He was sorry that Margaret had to experience it for that matter.
"I shall gather my things." Margaret said, stirring James from his thoughts. She was looking up at him with almost dream-like, and he was surprised to think that she was not thinking of her soreness, when the pain was so apparent to James. He was not surprised, however, that the injuries did not disgrace her beauty. He resisted kissing her for a moment, to excuse himself for their cause.
"I will fetch a driver." he said quietly, his low voice soothing her. He could no longer resist, and he stepped closer to her, wrapping his hands around her back and shoulders as he kissed her softly. He pulled his lips from hers and swept his hand around her neck, silently telling her to wait there for him. When his arm could no longer reach her he turned from the room, and marched quietly from the room. Margaret sat on his bed after the door had been closed, waiting for him to come back.
James returned less than ten minutes later, having alerted a carriage to be with them shortly. He picked up his case and his cloak and hat, and with a free arm he escorted Margaret into the hall.
In her room James sat his things on her bed temporarily, watching her fold her dresses loosely into a case slightly larger than his own. He watched her waist, thin and agile as she bent down to the dresser and retrieved her personal things from the bottom drawer. With a small grin on his face, and a certain desire in his eyes, Margaret looked up to him and saw his expression. She smiled at him, though the grin was mostly in her eyes. She turned back around, tending to the last items. Once her case was closed tightly, James retrieved it and his things from the bed, and followed Margaret from the room. She walked as closely to him as she could, though the cases separated them slightly.
While James was fetching a driver he had spoken to his mother, telling her that he and Margaret wished to leave without a `fuss.' She agreed to tell Marian that they had left, and assured him that the news would spread slowly and softly. Margaret did not ask whether or not to bid farewell to the others, for James would not have walked out the door without excusing himself and Margaret. She followed him down the path, to where the carriage was waiting for them. They loaded their things, and after James had told the driver where they wished to go, he climbed in after Margaret.
"Why are we going to the train station?" Margaret asked as she scooted down the seat and James closed the door. "Will it be faster than the carriage?"
The carriage jerked forward and was pulled evenly down the road.
"Not by far..." James answered, "The station is bothersome, but there's a train leaving for Riverside this afternoon."
"Riverside?" Margaret gasped, an excited highness to her voice. James laughed at her reaction and she did also, as she leapt to him beside her and folded her arms around his neck. They rocked back and forth, Margaret still squealing with delight. She was kneeling on the seat, nearly pulling James down in her excitement. She kissed his temple, thanking him for the awaiting destination. James slipped his left arm around her back, pleased with her response. He motioned her closer to him, as she kissed his ear and laughed again in anticipation. He stretched up slightly, lifting himself from the seat as he moved away from the carriage wall. Margaret walked backwards on her knees, making room for James as he scooted closer to her. James soon found that she was more pleased with the news than she had earlier appeared; she turned his head with her hand as kissed his lips, then kissed his neck as he slowly reclined onto the seat.


Forty-five minutes later the loud sounds of the station could be heard, and James and Margaret delayed their display in order to gather their things. When the carriage pulled to a sharp stop, James bounded out the door in a hurry for the train. He helped Margaret hopped out, and after paying the driver they ran off down the many benches, barriers, and thudding planks. The station was packed with people, every person in pursuit of their train and their destination, all with their own story to tell. They stopped quickly at the ticket booth, and bought two two-hour tickets to Riverside. When they found their train they hurriedly handed the conductor their tickets, and once approved the stepped through the nearest door and walked up the cramp steps. Nearly everybody that was to ride in that car had been seated, so there was very little traffic as they sidled down the hall in search of a compartment. Margaret followed James, as he led her difficultly to a compartment in the middle of the half end. The door was still open, though there were two people already occupying the left seat.
"Excuse me - is it alright if we --"
"James!" the man in the compartment jumped up,
"Henry?" James said exasperatedly. Henry hurried to him and gave him a slapping hug, the cases in James' hands swinging dangerously.
"Great Scott, what are you doing here?" Henry said, laughing excitedly,
James motioned to Margaret and brought her forward. "We're just leaving to Riverside - we've been at my Aunt's the past ten days --"
"Really?" Henry exclaimed, "We're heading for Riverside also, obviously... the first train we took was delayed and we ended up a couple hours past it... not sure how, though..."
"Oh yes, and this is Dianne?" James said, looking around Henry at the girl that had been sitting beside him. Dianne stood up and was pulled to Henry's side.
"Yes, you remember Miss Foster, don't you?" Henry said to James, "Do you, Miss Margaret?"
Margaret was pleased to see Dianne. "Yes, I do!" Margaret said gleefully, "How are you, Dianne..."
They joined hands and pulled halfway, kissing each other on the cheek.
"Margaret, how good it is to see you! Come - sit..." Dianne pulled Margaret to the seat where she was first sitting, confirming that James and Margaret would be joining them. James stored their things over head, and sat on the right seat beside Henry after sliding the door shut. There was as brief moment of silence when James sat down, all a little dazed at the remarkable coincidence that had just taken place.
"So Dianne... Henry... what were your original plans of travel?" James asked, clapping his hands together and becoming more comfortable in his seat. The train slowly began to move, it's whistle blowing loudly though the sound was muffled by the sunny window.
Henry looked at Dianne, then back to James.
"There is a political convention on the south end --"
James laughed aloud, "Political?" he looked at Margaret, "I've only just returned from a political convention. I left Margaret to wait for two whole days while I was at it --"
"Blimey!" Henry replied, "So you've only just been to one... I suppose it wouldn't do any good inviting you to come with me..."
"Actually, it wouldn't." James answered bluntly.
"Why are you coming along, Dianne?" Margaret asked interestedly,
"Henry asked me if I wanted to travel with him." Dianne said, "He said he'd be gone for a few days and that he would get me an extra room if I wanted --"
"And it's also an ingenious way of getting away from mother." Henry laughed, "She's been picking away at us like a goose and a breadbasket --"
"Us also." James said, "We've left my Aunt's house early because our rooms have been split apart." He nearly caught himself mentioning Margaret's grandmother.
"Can't stand a closed door, ay James?" Henry laughed again. James chuckled along with him as the men and ladies were separated into their own conversations.
Dianne and Margaret were turned intently toward each other;
"Margaret, I am so glad you are here..." Dianne said, "...I've been wanting to talk to you..."
"As I to you, but --" Margaret started,
"Yes, this would not be a good time or place." Dianne agreed, "But will you promise me that you will save a moment for me in Riverside?"
"Yes, but --" Margaret was interrupted,
"Oy, what you two talkin' about, over there?" Henry jumped in, turning his head from his and James' conversation, "You're speaking too quiet - that or rather I've gone deaf!"
"Never you mind, Henry." Dianne said to him.
"But my little love dove..." Henry said, getting up from his seat and squeezing between the window and Dianne. Margaret scooted over slightly as Dianne did, but James bent over and held out to his hand to Margaret. He pulled her across the gap, and as he took Henry's place, filled Margaret with his. He was glad to be sitting next to her.
Henry had slid his hand around Dianne's upper back, and was motioning her nearer him.
"No Henry, not now..." Dianne said, pushing his face away as he made to kiss her. They both turned their heads to James and Margaret, expecting to see their disapproving eyes on them. But they were not distracted by Henry and Dianne; Henry and Dianne saw James whispering in Margaret's ear, holding her hair back slightly as he kissed her cheek softly. Henry and Dianne immediately turned back to each other, and taking one another's heads in their hands, began to kiss violently. James' and Margaret's attention was then turned to them, as they looked at Henry and Dianne with both a startled and apprehensive expression.
"Henry... Henry..." James said calmly, grabbing Henry's arm and pulling him away from his awaiting lady. Henry's lips pulled from Dianne's, and he let James guide him back to his original seat. Dianne sprung back and moved to the window, making room for Margaret.
"Sorry!" Henry squealed as James forced him into his seat, "Sorry! Sorry..."
"It's alright, Henry..." James said, "We just didn't want you to drown Miss Foster..."
Dianne laughed good-naturedly, returning to her an appropriate manner, although her mouth was still red.
"I was pretty close." Henry laughed, saving himself from any awkward pauses.
"It's alright..." James laughed also, hinting that he himself had displayed himself in such a way, one time or another. He did not want to admit that that had been only ten minutes ago in the carriage.
"Dianne and I have been deprived." Henry said, "I daresay my mother has taken her toll and has driven us mad enough."
James leaned and spoke to Henry rather quietly, though the ladies across the seat were able to hear.
"I think it is the gentlemen that are more likely to be driven insane." When he finished he and James were thrown into uncontrollable laughter and giggling.
"Although Dianne does seem rather ravenous when she sneaks into my room..." Henry said, "...You'd think she'd escaped from an asylum --"
Dianne kicked his foot sharply, making Henry recoil and break the story.
"I fear to say that I would have been thought to be insane, also..." James said, sparing Dianne some embarrassment, "Only more than a week ago Margaret and I went into the Andersilk --"
"James..." Margaret threatened, for it was a subject that she had treated carefully, especially when among her lady friends.
"The Andersilk?" Henry said in amazement, "I've always wanted to go there! Why didn't we?" he looked at Dianne, "Stop! Stop the train!" he joked, beating his hand on the window,
"Then we --"
James was cut short by Margaret, as she too kicked him sharply in the foot. He suppressed a moan, "Alright... alright I won't tell..." he said to Margaret, promising to keep secret,
"Tell what?" Henry said,
"Nothing..." James answered,
"But what is it?" Henry pleaded once more.
"Henry, if they do not wish to tell you should mind that." Dianne said to him.
Henry looked at her, and sat back in his seat, seizing to lift his eyes in his challenging stare. Diana rolled her eyes at him playfully, and turned to James and Margaret.
James was talking in a hushed voice to Margaret, making it clear that he was attracted to her unusual feistiness. Dianne could not hear them, so she decided to watch the window instead.
"James - must you do this now?" Margaret said quietly as he brushed his hand around her neck. He was smiling as he kissed her jaw line, and bringing his other hand to her neck. Margaret failed to stop him, but was no longer trying to.
"Oy, what'd you stop us for, then?" Henry complained, bringing Dianne's attention also to them.
James turned his head from Margaret's hand, though she was still embraced in his hands. "Midday break, is all." James said, implying that it was of normal routine.
"Oh." Henry said, "Of course!"


The couples were huddled in their own corners; James and Margaret by the door, Henry and Dianne by the window. Henry and Dianne had fallen asleep, Henry lying on the gap of floor, his head and knees reclining within the seats, as Dianne leaned on her hand on the windowsill. James had blocked Margaret in the tight corner, his hands on her waist and her chin leaned back. James washed over her face with a shower of kisses, kissing her face over and again. Margaret too seemed to be in a trance, her arms fallen at her sides as James supported her. She was nearly on his lap, her legs crossing over his and covering him in her yellow, pink-flowered dress. She slid her hands up to his face and was pulling him tighter, keeping him in her reach. Only seconds later the train whistle blew, and the train pulled slower. At this sound James and Margaret reluctantly pulled apart, Margaret holding James from her as he did not want to stop.
"Stop it..." Margaret giggled as he pulled her waist once again and kissed her beneath her eyelid.
Henry stretched from his sleep, wondering how he had come to the floor of the compartment. He slithered up the edge of the seat, and after seeing that James and Margaret were awake, tugged Dianne's back softly and roused her awake.
James and Margaret had stopped their flirtation, and Margaret slipped off of James as Dianne slowly woke also.
"How long have I been sleeping?" Dianne asked quietly,
"Dunno." Henry answered, "I've only just awoken myself."
"We've been asleep most of the time." James lied, convincing Henry of their activity, "We woke only a few minutes ago."
"I thought I heard the whistle." Henry said.
"It blew only a little while ago..." James said, standing up as he did so, "We're near stopping." He lifted his and Margaret's cases from the top rack, along with his cloak and hat. Henry did as James, and pulled their things down also. Dianne stood up, wrapping her cloak about her.
"It looks like it's been raining." Dianne said, looking out the window.
Margaret assisted James and set her case on the seat. "Why must it always rain when I travel?" she said.
James smiled, and laughed in his throat as he set his case on the seat, also.
"What is it?" Margaret asked, attempting to unlock her case in pursuit of her cloak.
Before Margaret could open her case, James draped his own cloak over her and pulled it up to her neck. Margaret unbent herself, and turned to look at James at her side. She resisted kissing him, and James she. He fastened the cloak fittingly around her neck, and fixed the collar to protect her from the rain, still falling outside. He smoothed it around her shoulders, and tugged her to him by its edges. Without saying anything he kissed her forehead, and then quickly looked to Henry and Dianne. "Where are you two to stay?" he asked them.
Henry turned away from Dianne, and gathered his things. "Not far from here..." he answered, "The counsel's only a half an hour from here, so we probably won't bother with the extra traveling today..."
"We've come to look at a house." James informed him.
"No really - where?" Henry asked,
"Only twenty minutes from here - or less."
Margaret smiled at this news.
"Well, then we should get a hotel nearby!" Henry said, turning to Dianne and back, "I'm sure there's one within five minutes - it's a station, there's bound to be!"
"Of course --" James replied,
"And it's late season... there won't be nearly as many people seeking rooms..."
"Of course..." James said again, "Margaret, would you agree to that?" James looked to her,
"Oh - yes!" Margaret said,
"Woop - yep!" Henry chirped quickly, "Dianne! Would you agree to that?"
Dianne turned to him and pushed his shoulder forward. "Yes, Henry..." she said, slightly frustrated that he was depending so much on James' actions.
"Well. Then..." Henry said, sounding nervous.
The train was slowing down, the screeching sounds of the track vibrating through the floor and far wall. The car's occupants had begun to emerge from their compartments, moving noisily down the corridor as their luggage banged against the walls. James slid the door open, and led the way out of the compartment, carrying Margaret's case behind him.
Henry was glad that he had taken Dianne's case before she noticed that he had done so by James' lead.
Margaret followed James out of the compartment, then Dianne, then Henry, in a slow line of busied travelers. At last they had climbed down the car steps, made their way across the platform, and had gathered by a bench along a barrier. James had motioned the ladies to take a seat, while they contemplated where to take their places for the night.
"The Barklow's is only down there..." James jerked his head to the right of the platform,
"Yes, but we'd be hearing the train all night." Henry put forth, "We should get a driver and go a mile east, or so..."
"We'll ask the driver for a place." James said, "We ought to get there soon. The rain's getting worse."
They hailed a driver on the other side of the shops and barriers, and traveled across the track away from the busy turmoil. As soon as they had crossed the track, the trees rushed into forest of thick and secure greenery; a thousand pine trees and trunks and branches were spread over the waving slopes, only the thin road winding through the sea of green. Brief partings in the trees could be seen, where streets and homes had grown among the foliage.
"You were right." Margaret said, looking out the window, "There really are a lot of trees."
James and Henry laughed aloud.
"I've underestimated its appearance." James said,
"It's wonderful..." said Margaret,
"Oh yes - you two may be living down here." Henry remembered.
They all watched the passing scenery, looking out the wet windows at the never ending green. Dianne's eyes were tired, and Margaret wondered why until she realized that Dianne had been traveling more than three times as long as she. She wished Henry would do something to try and cheer her; for some reason she seemed dreary and could use a lightening up.
James, on the other hand, was well into play with Margaret; he was tickling Margaret's feet with his one, squeezing her ankles between his shoes and slightly stroking his foot up her calve as he crossed her leg. He nearly laughed out loud when Margaret's skirt lifted slightly, making her gasp and widen her eyes playfully as it flicked up to her knees. She dusted it down hastily, her eyes darting toward Henry and Dianne to make sure they had not caught their awareness. When they were sure they had not, Margaret set her hand on the door, moving it smoothly to the middle of the small window sill. With a hidden smile James slid his own hand onto the sill, and tightened it around Margaret's. He teased her by rubbing his hand up her forearm, and after quickly securing his hand around it, he pulled shortly and made her spring forward slightly, her back leaving the seat and her feet thudding on the floor of the carriage. Luckily Henry and Dianne had not noticed them. James suppressed a fighting laugh, and Margaret had covered her mouth and nose with her free hand, her eyes squeezing shut with the extreme laughter. After calming himself, James was the one to come off the back of the seat, and kiss Margaret's hand. He teased her once again, by turning her hand over, and kissing her wrist. Margaret tugged away jokingly, keeping her arm away from him. When James stopped trying to snatch her arm back, she caught his eye, and kissed her wrist. He smiled widely at her.
A small while later the carriage took a curving left, leading them down yet another tree-surrounded road. There were more shops and houses along this road, the gravel growing thicker as they progressed. The grinding of the gravel beneath the horses' hooves had at last stopped, and they stepped out into the light rain. Henry and James shared the cost of the driver, and directed their ladies into a tall, handsome inn. The road seemed to lead to one of the most pleasant parts of Riverside, as it was filled with beautiful shops and well-kept houses. They walked across the wooden sidewalk, and entered the Callwin's Hotel.
The hotel was much more crowded than expected, though not nearly as crowded as the once James had been to only a couple of days earlier. It was then that Dianne and Margaret realized, that the entire lobby of the hotel was filled with only men.
"Blasted conventions come in groups." James murmured to himself, "No offense, Henry..."
Henry ignored the indirect criticism. "How many rooms do we need?" he said, looking through the crowd to the front desk.
"Four." James said, "Or two joint rooms if we can... that is if you all find that appropriate..."
"Oh, yes..."
"Surely --"
"Of course!"
The approval rang throughout their group.
"Right then..." James said, speaking more quietly to Henry, "Henry - I need to know how many nights you are staying."
"I am almost certain that we are staying two nights." Henry answered, "No more than that."
"Right..." James said, considering whether he and Margaret should stay the same amount. They inched through the crowd to the desk, where Henry stepped up first and secured a joint room. He stepped aside with the note and key, placing his free hand on Dianne's waist and directing her gently toward the stairs. James stepped up, Margaret close behind him.
"Is there a joint room available?" he asked the man at the counter,
"Not a suite?"
"No."
"Two left." said the stout, bearded counterman. "Which one'd ya like?"
"What number was he?" James pointed his thumb at Henry and Dianne, waiting for them off to the side.
"They've got number thirteen..." the counterman slid a finger down a row of dangling keys, "...twelve's full, I can get you ten `r eleven."
"We'll take eleven." James said, pulling out his book to pay.
The counterman motioned to Margaret, who was listening behind James. "Little lady with ya?" he said to James, leaning slightly across the counter.
James did not look at Margaret; he kept his eyes with the counterman's, watching him apprehensively. "Yes she is." he said, almost warily.
"Best be keepin' her close." the counterman said. His eyes skimmed the crowds of men, grouped among the areas of the lobby in social corners.
James looked slowly around over his shoulder, then looked back and was handed the key and a room number note.
"Thank you..." James said, to the counterman, his mind now wandering elsewhere. With a minor fumble James secured his book and the note in his pocket, and had readjusted the case in his hand. Able to hold both in one hand, he offered his other arm to Margaret, and she took his hand. Unlike James until then she had not realized the incredibly large amount of men in the hotel, most in the near age of James. He and Margaret followed Henry and Dianne, starting up the stairs to the second floor. In spite of the many whistles and words of acknowledgement received by Dianne and Margaret, they continued their way to their rooms.
"You needn't worry..." James said in Margaret's ear as they turned on the stairs, "They are of no importance." He rubbed his thumb repetitively along her hand, as he felt a tightness in her grip. As they stepped to the landing they turned down the left hall, passing a smaller hall around the stairs. They squeezed along the hallway, as several others made their way opposite. Henry and Dianne let James and Margaret by, as their room was down a little further. Their room was the second from the end of the hall, which ended with a small window covered in thin, white curtains. Margaret let go of James' hand, enabling him to slide the key into the lock and open the door. He nudged the door open with his knee, and led the way inside. Margaret felt and unrealized wave of relief wash over her, feeling contempt in the safety of their room. She walked in a bit further past the end of a handsome bed, as James closed and locked the door behind them. He set their cases on the floor beneath a desk, and tossed the key onto a table. "What's wrong?" he asked Margaret as he saw her, her eyes slightly wider than their usual state.
"Nothing." Margaret said, almost convincingly.
James did not say anything. He smiled a small smile, and approached Margaret, taking her waist in his hands. He pulled her into a warm hug, rubbing his hands along her back. He could feel her shaking slightly.
"Are you nervous?" he asked her, pulling back in front of her when she replied.
"Only a little." she said, her eyes darting from his to her hands on his shoulders. She moved her hands down to her sides, but regretted doing so when James began to think that she was nervous about being with him.
His concerned eyes asked for him.
"Are you going to be leaving?" she said, shifting her hands around his elbows.
James grew less anxious. "No." he said, "It's the gentlemen, isn't it?"
Margaret nodded.
He smiled, and slid his hands around her back. "You and I are staying right here." He sensed Margaret's smile, and pulled her in for another hug. He kissed the hair falling around her neck, stepped back slightly as he brought his hands to the tie of the cloak. He unfastened it, and flung his arm over her head, bringing the cloak to her side. He set it on the foot of the bed.
"Which room do you want?" he suggested, rather than asked. By the hand he led her through an open door, perpendicular to the one he had locked. A long, thin window at the top of the wall lined the left wall of the room, letting in a soft light. It was certainly more fit for a lady than the other.
"You better take this one." James said, "Less chances of a male intruder finding you."
Margaret gasped accusingly, and playfully slapped his chest. He rubbed himself jokingly, moaning as he bent over slightly.
"I was only joking - only joking..." he said, as he straightened up and Margaret hugged his arm.
"If anybody's coming through that door it's going to be you." Margaret said, almost demanding of it.
James laughed mischievously, "Is that so?" he said. He kissed her romantically, as he gradually brought his hands to her waist. He caught her surprise by pushing her slightly, making her fall onto the bed behind her.

Chapter Fourteen
At the Hotel

Dianne was sitting at the foot of Henry's bed, rubbing the post as she sat silently. Henry was reading a book he had gotten out of his case, laying propped on his elbow near the pillows.
"What do you want to do?" Dianne prompted him for the fourth time. Henry did not seem to realize the angle at which she was approaching from.
"Just go have a lie down before we go to dinner." Henry said, looking up momentarily from his book.
Dianne rolled onto her stomach, supporting her head in her hands. "Henry, how thick you are." she said.
Henry sat up, looking at her in a challenging way. "Thick." said Henry, "You say I'm thick."
"Yes, you are thick." said Dianne, sitting up also.
"Right then, what do you want to do?" Henry said, tossing the book to the pillow.
Dianne raised her eyebrows at him, frustrated that he hadn't realized her approach yet.
"Do you want to go outside?" he guessed, though made it sound as if he were reading her thoughts.
Dianne sighed exasperatedly. "Why have I been going after you?" she joked, "I could get a lot more with one of the fellows out there..." she slid of the edge of the bed and started slowly toward the door, "Or James for that matter... either one would be much more romantic..."
"Ay!" Henry yelled, standing on the bed. He jumped and thudded to the floor, in pursuit of Dianne who was now walking quickly to the door. He pounced on her as if her were catching a fish in the water, bringing her to the floor with a surprised scream. He pinned her to the floor under his falling weight, squashing her legs across each other.
"What are you doing?" Dianne laughed, as Henry squirmed on the floor,
"If you go out there alone you'll be jumped on like a jackal after a rabbit!" Henry said desperately,
"Well apparently you are a jackal just the same as the others!" she struggled to turn over as her legs were temporarily incapable of doing so.
"No girl of mine is going to waste her time on those fools." Henry said, smiling up at her, his head laying upside down on the wooden floor. He let her legs free and crawled up beside her, kneeling over her and helping her up. She sat opposite him, Henry holding her hands and pulling her in.
He laid a long-awaited kiss on her lips, bringing his hands around her neck and shoulders.
Several minutes later there was a knock on the door, and Henry unwillingly separated himself from Dianne and lumbered to the door. He slid the lock open and found James standing in the doorway.
"Hi Henry..." he said, then looking over Henry's shoulder to Dianne, waved to her down on the floor. "Hello, Dianne..."
"Hi..." she said embarrassedly, waving her hand.
"James --" Henry said, slightly frustrated. He pushed James out the door and followed him, closing the door to the room. "James, you've caught me at the worst of moments. I hope this is really important..."
"I've come to confirm dinner arrangements." James said, "Were you two planning on going out?"
"Kind of..." Henry said, combing his fingers through the back of his hair, "Do you want to join us?"
"Margaret does not wish to go out, and neither do I actually." James said, "We'd hoped that you two would want to dine with us for lunch..."
"Of course --" Henry said, "We'll probably be eating breakfast late... with all the travel --"
"Of course." James said, "But wait - you'll be at the counsel tomorrow... do you want us to come find you?"
"No --" Henry said, "Dianne's just the bait in the pond if I take her there."
James nodded understandably.
Henry rubbed his chin, then flung his hand out in a concluding way. "You know, I'm not sure I'm even going to go..."
James raised his eyebrows,
"I mainly used this to get out of the house..." Henry explained, "Going to it would just get in the way of Dianne, again..."
"And let me tell you, the convention is not as interesting as it would seem."
Henry laughed, slightly relieved that he would not have to go.
"Right then... I will turn back to my business, as you will want to also." After clapping Henry on the shoulder he strode down the hall, leaving Henry in only a slight state of confusion.
When James was back inside with the door locked behind him, he turned and saw Margaret standing by the window, its light shadowing her face and figure though her eyes glistened.
"It's all set." James said, walking closer to her, "We are to have dinner in our bedrooms..." he slid his hands around her waist, "and we'll have lunch together tomorrow once everybody's cleared out." he kissed her neck and pulled away slightly, looking for her approval.
"Thank you for doing that." Margaret said, twiddling with the collar of James' shirt, "I'm sorry I don't feel like going out..."
"That's alright..." James said, brushing his fingers through the golden locks behind her neck, "There're a lot of expecting bachelors out there --"
"I know... I saw..."
"During lunch they'll all clear off."
Margaret thought for a moment.
"Is Dianne going to come along with us?" she asked,
"I've just spoken to Henry..." James said, "...he said that he is not going to go to the convention." He laughed slightly, "I wish I had done the same..."
Margaret kissed him.
"You went because you had to." she said reasonably, "That's alright."
"Yes, but --" he swung around to the other side of her. "I didn't have to go!" his tone was in apology for Margaret, his brow furrowed sympathetically. "I should have stayed for you... now I don't know what the limit is - probably whatever somebody tells me to do."
"James, the limit is what doesn't feel right." Margaret said.
James took Margaret's hand, and guided it to his heart. "This feels right." he said.
"Because it is." Margaret shrugged, an entranced look in her eyes.
"But --" James said, "I mean... one would think our circumstances to be inappropriate." he stepped away slightly from Margaret, "One would think our behavior to be unsuitable..."
"What are you saying?" Margaret demanded quietly.
"It seems right to me, but it may not seem right to other people --"
"On what subject are you speaking?" Margaret said, "I thought we were talking about your going away... and now we are talking about our inappropriate behavior - James, I don't understand."
"I was just thinking about what we do when --"
"You're talking about my grandmother." Margaret said, "James, you are the one that said I should not care about what she says,"
"I know --"
"You are the one who told me that she could not affect us,"
"I know, but --"
"James, was that all untrue?" Margaret looked absolutely heartbroken.
"I'm sorry." James said, moving closer to her once again, "I was just thinking of --"
Margaret was the one to move away. "You've changed the subject so rapidly, I know something is wrong." she said, moving around to the desk on the left wall.
"Margaret, nothing is wrong," he said, "Now nothing is --"
"So nothing was?"
"Nothing at all."
Margaret looked temporarily reassured, but she turned on him once again. "Then what caused you to say those things." she sat in the chair by the desk, and looked to its scrubbed surface, a mirror dangling right above it. She looked into it briefly, but quickly flinched away at the sight of her injuries. Though the swelling of her cheekbone had gone down, it was still red and slightly blue. Her left side seemed to be perfectly normal, but it still ached dully.
James walked slowly from behind, and bent over her shoulder as she sat at the desk. "I am sorry you are engaged to a fool." he said quietly, hiding a smile.
Margaret laughed and smiled, looking behind her shoulder. "I'm the one who said yes."
"Is that so?" James laughed in return, tickling her sides, and creeping closer to her. "Now tell me. Is there anything that needs fixing."
Margaret thought for a moment.
"You still haven't told me what you were doing in my dormitory." she turned over the left side of the chair, facing James.
"You want me to tell you." James said,
"You have to tell me." Margaret attempted,
"How about I kiss you instead." he suggested with a smile.
Margaret tickled his nose with her finger. "I can kiss you anytime I like."
James thought quickly. "Does that mean you will kiss me now?" he laughed, pleased with his fast thinking.
"Only if you tell me what you were doing." Margaret said, hopefully forcing him to tell.
"No, I think I will kiss you instead."
Margaret could not think of a striking remark, nor did she try to find one. She smiled and James kissed her.


The next day they ate breakfast in their rooms, after sleeping in and gaining an extra rest, most needed by Henry and Dianne. James was the one to rouse Margaret, though he almost thought against it. However he knew that she would not be exhausted, and was glad when he found her half awake. He knocked quietly on the door, and left it open behind him. He stepped to the right side of her bed where she was facing, and bent over, rubbing her shoulder softly. She rolled onto her back, the high window showering the light onto her face. She squinted slightly, but was at ease when James bent down and kissed her. He told her that breakfast was on its way, though to be in no hurry.
It was ten o'clock when the tray arrived at their door, and James set down a book he had been reading. He retrieved the tray and brought it into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. He set the tray on his bed, and knocked on Margaret's door.
"Margaret..." he called softly, "...Margaret darling..." he knocked, but there was no answer. "Did you fall asleep again?" he asked aloud, though was mostly wondering it himself. He opened the door and found her bed covers still lifted, though she was gone. He looked to the door of the bath connected to Margaret's room, and walked to it.
"Margaret, come out - breakfast is ready."
"I can't, I am in my bath!" Margaret called from within.
James was to respond, but the door to the hall opened and James saw Henry through Margaret's door.
"Henry --" James shrieked, "Henry, you can at least knock, Margaret could have been dressing!"
"What about you? You could have been dressing!" Henry pointed out.
"Even then it would not matter..." James said, walking out of Margaret's room and closing her door.
"Dianne's here, so it would." said Henry. Dianne stepped into the room after Henry, forcing into the door as Henry stopped her way.
"Where's Margaret? I need to talk to her." Dianne said to James.
"She is in her bath." James said, "She will --"
"Oh," Dianne said casually, "Then I will go speak to her." She began to open the door to Margaret's room, when James pulled it shut.
"But she's in her bath..." he explained,
"Yes, so I will go see her." Dianne said, her eyes widening with a hint of laughter.
"But she's in her bath." James said,
"Yes, Dianne, she's in her bath." Henry repeated, laughing at what seemed her inability to understand.
Dianne opened her mouth in comprehension to their complaint. "I'm a lady..." she said, "Margaret's a lady... I can see her in her bath, can I not?"
James and Henry looked at each other.
"You could see each other in your bath, couldn't you?" she challenged them,
"Well, yes..."
"Of course..." they nodded.
"Then I will go speak to Margaret." she opened the door and stepped behind it, closing it as James and Henry tried to follow.
"It's not the same with the ladies..." Henry said to James.
"Of course it isn't." James looked at the door,
"The ladies have too much to hide." Henry said innocently. "Oh - I forgot to tell Dianne about dinner tonight..."
Henry began to open the door to Margaret's room when James leapt in front of him.
"Dianne may be able to follow, but that doesn't mean that you can!" James exclaimed, surprised that Henry would consider opening the door.
"Look, mate, I wasn't going to have a look, I just need to talk to Dianne --"
"Well, can't you wait another minute or so?" James laughed,
"Oy, you just envy Dianne because she's able to see Margaret in her bath and you aren't." Henry said.
James continued to stand in front of the door, keeping as much space between Henry and Margaret as he could. "So... so what if she gets to go in there?" James said reasonably, "That doesn't mean that I envy her,"
"There are a lot of things you don't mean." Henry said, though he was not sure what he meant.
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know."
Dianne opened the door quickly, making James stumble behind himself. She closed it behind her as James regained his balance, "Margaret's getting dressed." Dianne informed them,
"You two've had breakfast yet?" James asked,
"We're having it delivered to your room." said Henry,
"Oh..."
"If that's alright..."
"Of course!"
There was a short knock on the door to the hall, and Dianne disappeared behind it briefly. She reappeared with the tray.
"You can have the table." James said, "Margaret and I won't need it."
Dianne walked to the table and gingerly set the tray upon it, then sat in one of the chairs that had been tucked under. Henry parted from James and followed Dianne, removing the silver lids of several dishes. James ran his fingers through his hair, twisting around on the spot as he waited for Margaret. He heard Margaret's soft call from behind the door, one only he could hear.
"James." she said softly, "I want you to come in..."
James opened the door and saw Margaret dressed in her white dress, the blue flowers falling delicately over her figure. Her hair was not wet.
"I did not wash my hair..." she said as James looked at her and closed the door, "Are Dianne and Henry here?"
"Yes... they are to eat breakfast with us." James informed her,
"Lovely." Margaret said quietly. She turned to a mirror, and began to pull her hair up.
"I will leave it down." she said finally, turning to James.
"It looks wonderful that way." he gazed at her, her curls shining in the light.
"I wondered if you would like to go to the hill today." James said, "Later today."
Margaret looked toward the high window. "Back there?" she asked excitedly,
"It leads into a gully." said James.
"That sounds wonderful." Margaret said, "Do you think it is going to rain?"
"It looks like it," James said, "but it won't."
He took Margaret's hand and together they entered his room.
Henry and Dianne had started their breakfast, gazing at each other dreamily and kicking each other's feet slightly. James sat on the edge of the bed, as Margaret curled on top of it.
"How would you like to come with us to the gully?" James said to Henry and Dianne, "Margaret's said that she would like to go."
They snapped out of their trance; "There's a gully?" Henry asked, "Just over the hill?"
James nodded. "Just along those trees."
"We'd love to go." Henry looked at Dianne, his gaze softening, "Right?"
Dianne nodded.
They finished breakfast, and had their trays taken away. At eleven they seemed that all plans they must have had, had been forgotten and seemed much less exciting than they would have been.
"We could go to the gully, now..." Henry suggested, "It sure is warming up a bit, and I'm sure that if it's going to rain it will be later today."
"It's not going to rain." Margaret said plainly to him, "Although it may look like it."
Henry looked at Margaret, then to James.
"It's not going to rain." James confirmed, hiding a small grin.
"We might as well go now..." Henry said, "We'll be bored to death by the time we decide to go..."
"Yes, why don't we?" Dianne agreed.
They left through a back door of the hotel, leading to a tiled terrace balancing over the edge of the hill. The hill grew quickly, its slope growing with every step. Each gentleman took their ladies' hand, helping them up the hill as the lifted their dresses slightly. At last the hill rounded, and the gully came into view. Long, thin patches of trees were scattered through its depths, hiding its unknown places.
"Look there, it's a spot of water!" Henry shouted, pointing to the bottom left, "Let us go, Dina, come!"
Dianne took a short look at Margaret, and shrugged with a smile. Henry took her hand but she was soon lost as he stumbled along the hill, its steepness as violent as the other side. He rolled clumsily down the hill, laughing and groaning and calling Dianne's name all at once.
"Want to?" James said to Margaret, though he gave her little time to reply. He grasped her hand and started down the hill, though not nearly as quickly as Henry.
"Henry, wait up!" Dianne called after him, sliding her hand along the hill as she kept her balance, "Wait for me!"
Henry would have stopped, but the hill kept him from doing so.
Margaret followed the same strategic pattern as Dianne, sliding her hand along the hill. James stumbled occasionally as the grass evened out, and they reached the lower part where it grew level.
Henry had been at the bottom longer than any of the others, sprawled out on his back and gazing pointlessly into the sky. His vest and coat were covered in grass, slightly beaten about by his rolling. James was wearing only a white shirt, its collar loosened and its cuffs rolled to his elbows; much better at meeting nature's strict demands. Dianne ran to Henry, as she had ended up further to the right. She laughed as she came toward him and bent beside him, pulling his arm and encouraging him to stand.
"Come along, Henry!" Dianne said as James and Margaret neared them, "We'll go along without you!" Dianne helped him to his feet, and he brushed his trousers free of the grass. James and Margaret led as Dianne and Henry followed, also hand in hand. They started into the trees, hoping to find the water that Henry had spotted at the top of the hill. The ladies moved slowly through the trees, their dresses catching on the low twigs and branches. At last they came to an opening, its soil dark and the grass thinning. The water came into view as they rounded the trees, its water a silvery blue as it reflected the sky. It was not as bright as the Everard's pond, James and Margaret thought to themselves, though it was only the trees that darkened its surroundings. The water was framed by bowing trees, fresh, pink blossoms clustering on the branches and sprinkling onto the glassy surface.
"Let's have a go!" Henry cheered, immediately beginning to undress,
"Henry, what are you doing?!" Dianne squealed, turning slightly as if to protect herself from an unexpected sight.
Henry hung his jacket on a branch. "Dianne, I'm not that clueless..." he said, unbuttoning his vest, "Let's jump in, I'm sure it'll be nice!"
James pulled Margaret away slightly, as if trying to protect her as Dianne had attempted. They quietly contemplated whether or not they wanted to get in the water, as Henry unbuttoned his shirt.
"James, I will if you want to..." Margaret said, telling him that she wanted to get in, "I mean... it will be nice..."
"It would be fun." James said, "Do you want to?"
Henry was removing his shoes and socks, tossing them under the nearest bush.
Margaret nodded, shaking slightly.
Henry hooted, and ran into the water, diving as it grew deeper in his gigantic splashes.
"Help me, it's in the back." quickly deciding as she spun around, lifting her hair to the front of her shoulder.
Dianne stood near Henry's clothes, laughing uncontrollably and covering her mouth with her hands.
James unbuttoned the back of her dress, letting Margaret pull her arms from it.
Dianne saw that Margaret was joining, and began to unbutton the front of her own dress, also.
James loosened the cuffs on his elbows and unfastened the front, sliding it from his arms and tossing it onto the branch. He took off his shoes as Margaret kicked off her own. The three remaining entered the water, the ladies in their under gowns, the gentlemen in their trousers and undershirts. Dianne headed directly for Henry, wading quickly through the water as her dress dragged down.
Margaret took James' hand, both of them retaining their balance as they stepped over the slippery rocks and sand. Margaret dipped her hand in the water, as James' right arm raised in the steadiness.
Henry and Dianne fell into the water together, holding each other tightly as Dianne's high-pitched screams neared the water.
The water deepened quickly, the pond not as wide as the Everard's. They were already in the center of the pond, the water only up to their stomachs, though its deepest point was far over their heads.
James was the first to act; he swept Margaret into his arms, her wet dress draped over his forearm as it trickled into the water. Margaret hooked one hand around his neck, the other still skimming the water. When she realized James' she kicked her legs, screaming shrilly, quickly attempting to forbid James of what she could not stop. With a shouting laugh James bounced her out of his arms, throwing her into the water and diving after her. He opened his eyes and saw her lifting herself from the bottom, her faint outline rising. With a powerful stroke he reached her and folded his hands around her waist, as she buckled her hands on his arms. He drew her towards him, and kissed her, pressing his lips against her chin. They rose to the surface, where James pulled her close to him once again and she wrapped her arms around his neck. She relaxed against him, her eyes closed as they bobbed above the water. Henry and Dianne could not be seen, most likely playing underwater. James and Margaret enjoyed each other's grasp, their gentle touch on one another. James felt a tugging on his foot; Margaret responded to it also. She slid her arms from his neck to his chest, as James looked onto the water, and kicked his feet. Seconds later Henry emerged, gasping and brushing his hair from his face.
"James, you nearly tore my face off!" Henry said. Dianne appeared behind him.
"Well if I didn't, I'm about to." James threatened, easing Margaret from his embrace. With a long stroke he paddled after Henry, who was swimming away and shrieking girlishly. Dianne hopped through the water to Margaret, brushing her hair back as she stretched her arms behind her head.
"You and James have done this before?" Dianne suggested rather than asked.
Margaret looked down at her hands, wiggling them nervously. She thought of it as something Dianne would frown upon.
"There is a pond behind his aunt's house." Margaret said shamefully.
Dianne watched Henry and James for a moment, leaping onto each other and attempting to briefly drown their opponent.
"Henry and I went to Somer's Lake one night without his mother knowing." Dianne said; this surprised Margaret.
"You did?" Margaret teased, "And I suppose it was Henry that influenced you into getting in."
Dianne laughed at the similarity and they agree to join James and Henry. They swam to them, momentarily distracting them from their fight of splashes and pounces. When the ladies formed the square James and Henry stopped, though jumped simultaneously onto their ladies. The girls screamed as they were engulfed by the water, but were equally capable of holding their gentlemen under. Margaret pulled James' head under, and Dianne climbed onto Henry's shoulders, then forced him to topple over. When James came up he had set Margaret's feet on his shoulders, and they balanced as they had done less than a week before. James slid his hands up Margaret's legs, gripping the back of her knees, secretively sliding his fingers under the soaking fabric and peeling it from his skin. Chills ran up her spine, though the feeling was interrupted as she fell into the water with a short scream. James did not let go of her legs; they twisted in the water until at last he pulled her in as if she were an anchor, moving his hand to her stomach and burying his face in her neck. Her hair swam around him, the golden locks dark in long, sleek waves. Margaret's chin reached the air, and James uncurled from her as they stood up, easily catching their breath.
This was another of their secrets; a secret of the water. He knew Margaret would not tell.
"Oy, come over here!" Henry shouted as he began to swim to the far end. Dianne followed, eager to know of his idea.
As Dianne and Henry swam away, James turned Margaret's head to him and they kissed wildly, savoring their daring moment. James leaned to follow them, but they continued to kiss as they began to move. When Henry and Dianne reached the opposite shore, James and Margaret pulled away and swam after them.
The shore seemed to be cut out of its side as the ground was several meters higher than the water. The roots of trees slid out into the water, especially those of a larger tree, its flowers in full bloom.
It seemed that this was what Henry had been swimming to; as James and Margaret rested near the steep shore, Henry had climbed the lowest branch of the tree.
"Look, it's splendid!" Henry said, "No shallows, no rocks, no roots - hopefully no roots..."
"What is it?" Dianne watched him, sitting on the steep shore and bracing her hand on a branch.
"Come up here, Dianne!" Henry encouraged her, "Just step up there!"
Dianne sat up from her spot and with a stretched step, she climbed onto the branch, a little higher than her waist, and made her way slowly out to Henry with the help of the overhanging limbs. She inched to where Henry was, their feet intertwining as Henry held her to him with one arm, the other arm holding to the branch overhead.
"Step back." he said to Dianne,
"What?"
"Just step back." Henry said again, comforting her this time with a smile.
Dianne bit her lip, then stepped backward as she shut her eyes and screamed. Henry screamed with her, holding onto her as they fell down from the branch.
Margaret climbed up first, James holding her waist in his hands, only to fell her move. She climbed easily, though walking on the branch was most difficult. Jams lumbered after her, stepping in the same spots that she had, holding the branches that she had. Margaret stopped where Henry and Dianne had jumped off, looking down at them having paddled off to the side. They were cheering them on, encouraging them to jump. James skillfully slithered around Margaret, leading her further.
"Ready?" he said quietly. Margaret took his hand, clenching it as her other hand let go of the tree. She smiled and with a pull, James darted off the tree and Margaret leapt after him, shrieking and laughing as they jumped. Their shouts were muffled by the water, their fall stopped by the water's cool feel and billowing lightness. Margaret twirled around him under water, wrapping her arms around him as James held her arms. They kicked off from the bottom, their heads bobbing the surface as the yells of Henry and Dianne reached their ears. They all swam again to steep shore, excited to jump off again.
The gentlemen helped their ladies up the trees, although the certainly did not need it. The ladies' legs were most exposed as they bent their leg up to the branch, their dresses rising in their flexibility. They felt weightless as the gentlemen placed their strong hands on their waists, lifting them effortlessly as their muscles flexed. James and Henry would occasionally jump off first, waiting to catch their ladies as they jumped off. At one point James lifted Margaret into his arms on the edge of the branch, and jumped off with her holding to his neck. This new excitement swam through the couples, the excitement that only a careless moment would bring. As the girls landed in the water their dresses swam above them, the gentlemen able to see only a blurred outline of their entire legs.
As they climbed onto the steep shore the fabric pulled tight to their skin, their wearing seeming almost completely useless. The bottoms of the girls' dresses were stained with mud, as the shore soaked and the soil seeped through.
James and Henry, with their arms more able, climbed out to the edge and held only to the branch above, making their way out further to where their feet dangled. They dropped with the scream of the girls, frightened that they would somehow hurt themselves.
When jumping from the tree grew tiresome, the couples undecidedly parted into their own activities, doing what they pleased. James and Margaret swam through the deep end to the far left, where James helped her out by the hands as her dress tripped her. Slowly they walked into the trees, still with both their hands connected.
In a small closure James sat on a low branch, low and wide and perfect for relaxing. James helped Margaret onto the tree, as she slid onto his lap and James held his arms around her. Margaret lay on his chest, rolling the back of her head onto him and looking up at the sky, where only spots of sunlight flicked through the trees. James rubbed his hand along her ribs, laying his other arm behind his head against the tree.
Henry and Dianne had gone to the right of the pond, in a similar closure to James and Margaret's. Only a luscious line of bushes was between them and the pond, though branches of trees tangled above it. Dianne was lying on the ground, Henry crouched above her from her side, propped on his elbow. He slid a hand across her stomach, hooking it behind her back and pulling himself closer to her. He held her head in his other hand, and kissed her passionately, feeling her yearning for him.
Margaret was lying on James, her back across his legs as he sat on the branch. Her legs were propped against the long trunk of the tree, her feet crossed and her dress falling and revealing most of her legs. James bent over her, kissing up her arms and her neck, reaching her lips as her hands held his neck.
Dianne had propped herself against a tree, sitting with her back curved against it. Henry was on his knees, holding her chin in his hands and kissing her neck and face repetitively. Dianne clenched her fingers to his shirt, the other hand on the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair.
Margaret sat up from James, following his lips as he stretched above her. She pulled her legs in, and curled them under her, putting her feet on the branch. Without any warning she tore from James' embrace, and stood up quickly on the branch, her dress falling back to her ankles. James did not ask what she was doing; she found a place for her hand on a higher branch and she placed her foot against the trunk, and pulled herself proficiently up the tree. She rested herself on a branch as high as James is tall, dangling her feet above him. James laughed at her doing, and jumped from his spot on the tree, looking up at her from the ground. He teased Margaret by reaching up and tickling her feet, making her kick and scream with laughter. James followed her up the tree, gaining the same foothold that Margaret had and motioning her to scoot over slightly. He sat beside her, dangling his feet with hers also and bracing his hands on the tree. He and Margaret sat silently for a moment, contemplating what to do next. James finally reached his nearest hand to her chin, and turned her face to his. He kissed her softly, tempting her lips and making her arms tingle. Her hand nearest him moved up his back, holding his neck and pulling him closer to her. Distracted by each other's constant repositioning, they nearly fell backward out of the tree. James jerked forward, pulling Margaret and assuring that she was balanced. They were again overcome by each other's lips and started slowly back again, making Margaret laugh and scream piercingly.
Henry peeled his lips from Dianne's; "What the blaze?" his head followed in the direction of Margaret's scream. Dianne looked upside down from under Henry, peering through the low thinness of the bushes. She breathed heavily and rested her head, waiting for Henry to start up again.
"We better go see if she's alright." Henry said to Dianne, turning his head back to her.
Dianne sighed. "James can take care of her." she said promisingly, holding Henry's neck in her hands.
"That may be exactly what he's doing." Henry laughed.
Reluctantly, Dianne stood up after Henry with the help of his hand. She straightened the front of her dress followed Henry from the clearing, then he took her hand and they started their way. They did not go through the water, though there was a large amount of soil and grass to be cleaned from their clothes. They ignored it, eager to return to their previous activity. At last they reached the opening to James' and Margaret's closure, where the light grew warmer and deeper.
James and Margaret had come down from the tree, now standing. Margaret was pinned between him and the trunk, her and James kissing uncontrollably. Margaret held James' forearms, though his hands were behind her back. They were so close that her feet alternated between his, sliding past him with the curve of the trunk.
"James, what the brandy are you doing to `er?" Henry accused, half seriously, half jokingly.
James peeled himself away, but was pulled violently back by Margaret's hands bracing his collar. He laughed heartily, his sounds muffled by Margaret's lips.
Henry shrugged, and together he and Dianne left for their own clearing.

Chapter Fifteen
The Second Night

Later the couples emerged, meeting at their hanging clothes and slipping back into them. By then their swimming clothes had completely dried out, though the girls' dresses were still stained with thin mud. They trailed quickly through the trees to where the hill began, remembering where they had come from the other side. They raced to the top, though did not go all the way up. Without trying Dianne and Margaret split off on their own, talking and laughing as they ran partly down the hill again. James and Henry slowly walked along the slope, before sitting down and looking down across the view that the hill led to. For a while James and Henry sat silently, enjoying the simple feel of the wind on their faces, and the rustling of the leaves. James had his shirt unbuttoned halfway, letting the wind catch the fold of the fabric and the light creases. Henry wore only his vest over his shirt, setting his jacket on the grass beside him. They watched Dianne and Margaret while they sat, their eyes growing hazy as they stared at them thoughtfully, the wind drying their eyes. James held his arms on his knees, leveling himself on the hill.
"You know," said James, "sometimes... sometimes I think, that Margaret I... we're meant to be together, aren't we?"
Henry was not taken aback by James' insightful approach.
"Let's hope so." Henry said, laughing to himself.
"No - but you know what I mean, don't you?" James said, turning his head to him but letting it wind back again.
Henry spoke when James did not. "I think I do."
James looked at Henry; he was watching Dianne, turning after Margaret and laughing as Margaret whirled around to face her.
James looked away from Henry. "She's the one, isn't she."
Henry turned to James. "Dianne?"
James nodded.
Henry looked back at Dianne. He spoke several moments later, "She's the one I want."
James nodded again. "The one you need."
Henry agreed with a smiling nod.
James smiled too, pinning his eyes on Margaret.
"You know it was said by Elizabeth Barrett Browning;" James recited, "that God's gifts put man's greatest wishes to shame."
Henry nodded slowly.
"You better hold onto this one, Henry." James said to him. He turned his head to him once again. "It just may be right."
Margaret sat on the ground, Dianne following her tiredly as they had been running and twirling their way across the hill. They were out of sight of Henry and James, where they laid on their back, letting the sun wash over their faces as they shielded their eyes. Margaret rolled onto her side, and began to comb her fingers through a patch of clovers.
Dianne supported herself on her elbows. "Henry claims he's found one with four leaves." Dianne explained, "He claims it but I doubt it."
Margaret laughed, continuing to brush her fingers over them. "You do not doubt his intentions, thought?" Margaret asked, "Surely you don't."
Dianne looked down towards the trees at the bottom of the hill. "I don't." she said truthfully, "Though I question his timing."
Margaret stopped her hand. "Is it too early?" she seemed to speak through a panicked concern.
Dianne shook her head. "He keeps waiting." she picked a clover and threw it past her feet.
"But you know it's coming..." Margaret encouraged, "You know it's coming soon."
Dianne waved her hand. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... you don't have to worry about it --"
"But I've promised to spare a moment, so it is yours." Margaret touched her shoulder, "It is my duty as a friend to do what I can.
Dianne smiled.
They had become friends.
A cloud broke; tumults of gray mist and raindrops fell down on the distant trees. They watched it as it poured when thunder struck and sent a second downpour. They held out their hands, letting the tiny drops transform into a strength of water that washed over them. The wet hair that Dianne had so hard tried to fix was soon as it had been, wet and cold and splintered into long ringlets. She let it out of its tie and let it fall down her back, as Margaret had left hers. Their dresses were soon wet, the drops soaking into the fabric. Dianne and Margaret were standing, watching the furthest could as if waiting for it to approach. Lighting flashed and thunder sounded soon after, making them shriek shrilly and leave their place. Dianne and Margaret ran across the hill, nearing the trees above them as they headed for the way tot the top. As Dianne sped around the trees she screamed and her hands clamped to her mouth.
"I'm sorry..." Henry said to her quietly through the rain. He had come down the hill in search of them, and was relieved to see Dianne. He took her shoulder in his arms and hugged her tightly, as if they had both been waiting for the embrace for the entire time. Without yelling through the storm Margaret passed them, forgetting to lift her dress as she ran. The rain grew even thicker.
She could see James at the top of the hill, looking out desperately for them. When he saw Margaret his face flooded with relief, and he moved slowly down the hill to her. They slipped their ways to each other, but found comfort in each other's arms. James pulled away to look at her. "Where are Henry and Dianne?" he shouted over the thunder.
"I don't know!" Margaret yelled her answer, "They stopped back there!"
James looked down over the line of trees.
"Shall we go find them?" Margaret suggested loudly.
James did no speak, though he seemed unsure. He shrugged and opened his mouth to reply, but he soon had no need. Henry was pulling Dianne quickly behind him, coming around the trees and up the hill. Margaret turned and saw them, joining James in a grateful smile. Soon Henry and Dianne had joined them, though they picked up pace again. The couples set off hand in hand, down the other side of the hill to the hotel. The ladies wrapped their free arms over their heads, hoping to lessen the amount of water soaking into their hair. A roar of thunder echoed through the sky, and more screams came from Margaret and Dianne. James laughed vociferously at their high pitched screams squeals, squeezing Margaret's hand and pulling it into his side. They managed not to slip or fall as they made their way quickly to the hotel, where a glowing warmth awaited them. They dashed across the terrace past the many umbrella-covered tables, where diners and readers previously sat. The chairs were now flipped onto the tables, and the umbrellas closed. James led them in, though he was only paying heed to Margaret's being. They hurried past several male travelers, reading and talking and drinking coffees by the fire. Dianne and Margaret ignored the comments coming from a few of the younger men.
James held her hand at the curve of his back, rubbing his thumb across hers. They scurried up the steps, Margaret and Dianne giggling excitedly at their beau's' enthusiasm. They moved down the hall, less difficultly now that it was not crammed with passersby. Henry and Dianne parted at their door, Henry fumbling in his pocket for the key.
James unlocked their own door, pushing it open with his busy hand and shuffling through. Margaret followed him, and he locked it shut.
Although it was only four in the afternoon, it seemed to be late evening; the iron clouds darkened the sky and filled the room with a merciless chill. A maid had been in to close the windows, iron the draperies, and fix the beds. Because there was no fireplace to warm the room, a cold air still surrounded the pane of the window.
There was a message on the desk. James snatched it from its place, and read it silently.
"I need to go to the front desk." James said to Margaret, "Verification of our stay."
Margaret was looking over her shoulder. She did not want him to leave.
James tossed the paper to the desk. He saw that Margaret was shivering. She looked away from him and instead looked to the floor, where she slowly slipped her shoes from her feet.
James stepped to her, realizing her slight discomfort. Behind her he slid his hands up her waist squeezing his hands along her back and ribs. When he reached her shoulder blades his hands narrowed to her neck, rubbing her softly. He moved to the top button of her dress, alternating slowly down her spine. Margaret turned her head with her shoulder, letting her wet hair fall to her front. Her hands were folded across her chest, her arms buckled in the cold. When James finished helping the buttons of her dress, he brushed his hands on her and kissed her neck, letting her scent linger. When he saw that she was cheered he tickled her sides, then unfastened the top button of her under dress as if to tease and excite her. She spun around quickly, her mouth gawking in surprise as she gasped. She giggled and pulled him to her, pressing him to her front and kissing his lips. She tightened her arms around his neck, and let him bring his hands to her and do as he pleased.


James had left for the front desk, having pulled his jacket over his shirt, halfway undone. He'd kissed her shoulder and whispered he'd be back in a short while, then left through the door and locked it shut.
She felt safe when he locked it.
Margaret slid from the covers of her bed and slipped her arms into her robe, letting it fall softly across her shoulders and stomach. She tied it loosely, the sash falling around her hips and legs. She walked into her door and closed it, letting her robe fall to the floor in her seclusion. She pulled on a clean under gown, unfolding it from her case on the floor. She chose her light blue dress, straightening the dark edge around her neck. She did not put stockings on her feet, but she did wear something special; she unrolled James' necklace from a cottony handkerchief, letting its heavy links fall across her fingers. She tucked the handkerchief away in her case, then stood at the dresser where a mirror hung. She lifted it to her neck and brought her hands behind her head, and fastened it after a moment's difficulty. It fell across her collar bones and followed the shadow her neck, falling to the edge of her dress. Margaret smiled at its appearance, and flipped her hair behind her shoulder. It had dried into falling curls, bouncing as she enjoyed the satisfaction of the result. Margaret lifted her dress to her knees and bounded to the door, excited for James to come back. She closed her door behind her, quietly twisting the doorknob back into place. She walked to James' bedside table and lit the left lamp, blowing the match out as she set it on the rim. She was opening the drapes of the window, hoping to let in a small amount of light when the door clicked open and James stepped inside. He did not see Margaret right away, but when he looked up from the back side of the door he saw that she had redressed. Her arms busied with the curtains and her waist jerked in the direction she pulled. She turned around, seeing James at the door and leaving the window to be forgotten. She dropped her hands to her sides, absentmindedly ruffling her dress in her hands. James kicked the door shut behind him and looked at Margaret, a look of yearning in his eyes. He strode slowly toward her, the hunger in his eyes reaching hers. In the last step they reached each other quickly, Margaret bringing her arms around his as his hands spread into her hair. They kissed passionately, James moving his hands down her hair onto her neck. He held her chin in his hands as they found each other's lips, Margaret sliding her hands into his jacket. James rapidly slipped his hand down the front of her neck, where his fingers found the chain of her necklace. He wound his fingers in the sparkling links, rubbing them through the tight embrace of his knuckles. A wince came from Margaret's throat as it tightened around her neck and James pulled her closer. She could feel the chain pressing into her skin, intensifying their grip. Her feet tripped as he pulled her even closer, James leaning into her lips. She grasped to the opening of James' jacket, though stumbled backwards as James kissed her neck. With a small outcry she fell backward, nearly fainting as her arms fell. James caught her and let her lead them to the wall, where he helped by holding her waist in one hand. They knocked against the wall as James pinned her there, continuing to caress her neck with his lips. She moved her hands to his face, letting her fingers fall over his ears to his jaw. She felt the hair falling around his forehead and neck, to where the loose curls peeked over his white collar. Without warning Margaret grasped his collar and tugged him around her, spinning him behind her and pushing him to the wall where she had been. Their lips locked once again as James savored the surprise.
It was his turn to be pinned against the wall.


* * *


"It's such a cold day..." Paul said as they sat on the porch behind the Everard's home, "Why ruin a perfectly good afternoon when Tuesdays are reserved for bad weather."
"You should not mind the rain, it keeps the grass growing." Mrs. Henwoode said, "Keeps it green."
Sarah turned toward the center of the table as she entered their chatter.
"Why did James have to leave so soon?" Sarah complained, kicking her leg and scraping her foot against the ground, "I never get to say goodbye to him, he's always running off..."
Mr. Henwoode stepped from the side of the table, grabbing Mrs. Henwoode's arm and guiding her from her chair.
"What? What is it?" she whispered angrily as Mr. Henwoode pried her to what used to be James' window. He leaned in and whispered for nobody else to hear.
"James... why sis he running off?" he asked hurriedly,
"I - I don't know..." Mrs. Henwoode shook her head, "He just felt like it was time for them to leave..."
"I know you know so you know you must tell me what you know." Mr. Henwoode said, closing his hands around hers tightly.
Mrs. Henwoode considered this. "Alright... alright but you must promise that you will not tell anybody else."
Mr. Henwoode brought his arms to his sides. "Well I didn't know it was this important --"
"It is." Mrs. Henwoode said, "Come here..." she bent in and whispered closer to him. "James and Margaret and Emeline had a row - they got in a horrible brawl and James and Margaret left because of it."
Mr. Henwoode folded his arms thoughtfully. His brow furrowed; "She didn't call off their engagement?"
"No - no..." Mrs. Henwoode assured him, "But she might as well have done that - if James and Margaret were still here I fear that is what would have happened."
His eyes widened. "Do you think she will?"
Mrs. Henwoode shrugged. "She's too proud to track them down. Running was the only thing to do."
Mr. Henwoode sighed. "Sometimes I don't know what that boy is up to."
"James was right by running - I just don't know that he should have done it alone."
"You mean you don't trust him?" Mr. Henwoode became worried.
Mrs. Henwoode folded her arms. "I'm not sure I trust him alone with Margaret."


* * *


They were sitting at a round table, shaded outdoors as the sun showered over them and dried the rain from the streets. James, Margaret, Henry and Dianne were eating their dinner at a small restaurant, among the tables displayed before the opening of the glass doors. Each couple was still entranced with their opposite, gazing at each other from across the table and straining not to continue their violent romance that had taken place in the hotel.
Margaret was kicking James' leg, tapping his knee with her foot with the concealment of the long tablecloth. She supported her right leg with her left, her knee propping her right leg into place. James slid his hand under the spread and grabbed Margaret's ankle, though was not quite as discreet when Margaret began to giggle and pull her foot away. Margaret looked at her and with a smile, managed to keep her foot in his lap. He began to unlace the long tie along the front of her leg, beginning to slip off her shoe.
"May I help you in any way?" a waiter quickly approached the table, demanding his assistance rather than questioning it.
James dropped Margaret's foot, making it fall to the ground and jerk her in her seat. She covered her mouth and turned in her chair, unable to look at the waiter and keep her composure.
"No, we are splendid." James said, looking up at the waiter and resting his head in his hand, "Splendid."
Margaret was laughing uncontrollably.
"Of course." the waiter bowed and walked from their table.
James turned back into place and looked at Margaret, who was now holding her mouth in her hand, tears streaming down her cheeks. James slowly broke into his own laughter, making Henry and Dianne fall out of their trance.
"Ay there James, why are you going on disturbing the peace?" Henry put forth,
"Oh, go back to your own gawking..." James joked, "It's not my fault Margaret is unable to contain herself."
Margaret's hands darted to the arms of her chair. Her mouth was open widely, gasping at James' remark. James watched her for a moment but spoke when she did not.
"Well it's true!" James said to her, "You are not able to contain yourself because you find me far too pleasurable."
Margaret let out a hard breath, resting her shoulders and shaking her head at James. "I can contain myself." Margaret said, picking up her glass.
James hid a smile. "You cannot."
Margaret nodded rapidly. "I can." she set down her glass.
"You can't."
"Can."
"Can't."
"Can."
"What was this just now?" James teased.
Margaret pursed her lips. "You let me fall!" her eyes widened, challenging him.
James could not think of a striking reply.
"Can't." he said,
"Can."
"Can't."
"Can."
"Can't."
"Can."
"Alright, then prove it to me." James returned the challenge, "For the rest of the evening you cannot flirt or else you will lose all of its benefits." He folded his arms.
Margaret leaned back in her chair. "Is that all that I have to do?" she said in a bored voice.
James nodded. "It is."
Margaret pursed her lips again.
"And you must resist kissing me." James said, leaning his folded arms on the table.
Margaret sat up quickly, grasping the arms of her chair. "That you can't do --"
"Can."
Margaret sat back again, eyeing him mischievously. For several long moments they watched each other, surveying the other's behavior. They were both trying not to smile.
Sooner or later Margaret was being challenged; James had slid his foot under her dress, and was now running his foot under her under gown. Margaret jumped slightly when she realized this, but fought a giggle. She did not break James' stare. He continued to run his foot along her, until his leg was fully reclined.
"Please remove your foot, Mr. Henwoode." Margaret said, tightening her cheeks.
James fought a laugh. "I don't want to."
"Why not?"
"I don't know."
"Well you should." she crossed her right leg over his.
James jumped. "You can't do that!" he said,
"Oh, but I can." Margaret said. She uncrossed her leg.
James watched her. "Then why don't you?"
Margaret straightened her dress. "I want you to lose its benefits." she said plainly.
James laughed and jerked his foot against her leg, making her jump the spot under her dress. She managed to push his leg off of her chair, though he did not fall to the ground as she had. Instead he held out his hand across the table, beckoning hers.
"What are you doing?" Margaret said, although she did know.
James motioned for her hand.
Margaret reluctantly gave her hand to him, letting his fingers lift her wrist. He pulled her arm across the table, and kissed her hand. He tilted her hand slightly away from him.
"I can, you can't." he said slyly. He turned her hand over and kissed her palm, letting her hand retreat into her lap. She lifted her hand and kissed it where James had.
"Yes I can." she said.
James smiled.
At eight that night the couples returned to their rooms, partly sorrowful that it was their last night to spend at the hotel. Though James and Margaret were not as displeased as Henry and Dianne; James and Margaret had an empty house to return to.
That evening James and Margaret resisted another series or romance; the night was far too alluring. They simply kissed goodnight, shared another long kiss, then kissed goodnight again. Halfway through Margaret's dressing, James burst through her door and kissed her again, though promised that he would see her next in the morning. As Margaret was pulling her blue dress from her waist, but quickly stopped and decided to pull it back on. She slid her arms back into the sleeves and fastened the back, and slipped through the door as she retied her sash. She saw James as he was busying himself with the desk drawers. He turned his head and saw her.
"What is it?" he asked concernedly.
Margaret struggled to keep an unworried composure. "It's nothing..." Margaret said, "I've got a stomach ache - I think I'll just go downstairs and ask them if they have anything..."
James stood up from the desk. "Do you want me to go for you?" James asked, watching her eyes shift.
Margaret shook her head. "I'm alright." Margaret said, though she sounded almost exasperated, "I'll be back in a moment."
James nodded. "Alright..." he said, swallowing stiffly. "If you need me... just - just give me a ring..."
Margaret smiled. "Alright." James stepped to her and took her hands in his waist, leaning in softly and kissing her, letting his lips trail up to her ear. At last he pulled away and brushed his fingers along her neck, and pecked her goodbye on the neck. She quietly left through the door, James making sure to leave it unlocked.
Margaret walked slowly down the hall, watching the ground as she made her way to the stairs. It was not her stomach aching as she had told James; it was more abdominal. Margaret rubbed her lower stomach and huffed in frustration, angry that she felt ill on such a night. She slid her hand down the railing as she walked steadily down the stairs, though was slightly hurried as James awaited. As she approached the last stair she saw there was nobody tending the front desk. She turned right in pursuit of the tender, as the lamps outside were glowing over the tables on the terrace. Margaret walked through the area filled with tables, couches, and fireplaces; she had not thought of all the gentlemen that would be busied there. She glanced nervously from side to side as whistles and uncivilized remarks flew, hurrying ever faster to the side door.
She was at last on the terrace; only a couple of the tables were occupied by readers seeking the cool night air. Margaret was relieved by this, and even happier when she saw the same, stout deskman that had assigned them their room. But now she had no need to ask him of anything. It was not a stomach ache after all - James would understand that. She turned back into the door and closed it behind her, realizing several pairs of eyes were on her. There was a group of men the same age as James, sitting around the fire and watching her like hawks.
"She's a pretty one, she is..."
"She belongs to the brown-haired one..."
A man in a sleek, but smoke-burned suit stood up from the hearth, his dark brown hair tied in a ponytail at his neck. He walked slowly towards Margaret, his arms swinging as his eyes flashed dangerously.
"You belong to that dark one." he said lowly, standing in front of Margaret. She had not made it to the stairs. Her throat tightened and she did not reply.
"What's his name..." the man continued, "Homewoode?"
Margaret did not correct him. "Yes." she said reluctantly.
A series of grunts and mischievous laughs sounded from the depths of the hearths and chairs.
"You like him, don' you pretty face?" he said, folding his arms loosely, "You call him a real fancy?"
Margaret shifted from foot to foot nervously. She would not play his game.
The man grabbed her left wrist. "Ah, see?" he held her hand high, pressing his thumb into her palm. "He is a real fancy. Just like this ring --"
He made to remove her ring but Margaret pulled her hand away. She brought her arm quickly to her side and stepped around the man, hurrying toward the stairs.
He moved in front of her.
"But you aren't married yet..." the man said, "I'd know if you were..."
Fear grew inside of her.
"Looks like he's got you a necklace to match." he said, "You like that?"
Margaret tried to step past him, but he did not let her.
"Come on, pretty face, give me a chance..." he held out his arms, as if showing himself off. "I may not be able to buy you a ring as fine as that one but I'll sure show you a good time."
Margaret looked carefully over his shoulder, hoping to find a deskman - or somebody who would help her away.
"Come on, what's your name, pretty face?" the man said, "I'm sure it's as pretty as your eyes..." the man touched squeezed his hand along her chin, the slid his hand to her neck - where James had kissed her only moments ago.
Margaret pushed his arm sharply away then glared at him, rubbing her hand on her neck to make it clear that she was disgusted. She stepped past him and strode away, though he did not make it so easy. He grasped her upper arm and kept her in place, making her spin slightly on her foot. The seated men grunted interestedly.
"Now, here, pretty face, a little talk won't hurt any." the man pulled her to him and quickly his found her waist. His hand was sliding up her... "A little nothing won't hurt." along her ribs and higher and higher...
Margaret burst. She swung her arm at him and her elbow met his chest, her fist striking his chin and making him stagger. She pushed his arms from her and sped to the stairs, nearly reaching the first step.
He grabbed her waist, pulling her from the step and swinging her so he was now separating her from the staircase. Margaret was screaming desperately, fearful tears leaking to her cheeks. She fought and screamed as the man pinned her elbows to her sides, and directed her back near the fireplaces. Angry words and demands were barked into her ear, as he pushed her against the wall.
Why was nobody helping her? She thought desperately, a room full of men and they all watch as this happens to her. Margaret screamed angrily as the man held her hands up near her head, holding her wrists to the wall. Most of the men turned to watch, several of them standing and coming nearer. The man holding her there struggled to quiet her, and soon gave up. She shrieked desperately as the man his hand from her neck to her stomach, as Margaret struggled to hold him off of her. Tears poured down her cheeks, her hair sticking to her face as she fought against him. He grasped the dark-blue edge of her collar, and with a sharp whip of his arm it ripped clean along the seam. Margaret yelled as he jerked her forward and she was forced against him, though he moved against her on the wall and found her collar again. He ripped down the front along her shoulder where the thread was now frayed, with only her under gown left. Margaret folded her arm across her front, begging for help from the men filling around her. Several shouts of reprimand were now among the cries of Margaret, as several men slowly stood to help her. The man demanded that she mustn't fight, and he grabbed her neck.
James heard something; the high screams and pleas for help would not have been heard any other time. There were no other ladies in the hotel - at least none that would be screaming in that way at night. James ran out the door, and darted down the hall as Henry emerged from his door. He had heard something also.
"James, what --"
"It's Margaret!" James said, "Margaret went downstairs --"
The man was kissing her. He kissed her all over her face down to her neck, letting his nose nuzzle in places to the amusement of the crowd. Margaret screamed frantically, using all her might to throw him off of her. He was licking her, letting his tongue trail up her neck. James had not done that before -- only James could kiss her - that was saved for James... what else would the predator steal? Margaret screamed at the thought.
Henry followed him down the stairs, skipping three steps at a time. They spun around the railing and at last they had landed on the first floor. They could hear her constant scream - her desperate cry. James followed it with Henry close behind him. They turned into the area filled with couches, and burning fireplaces, following the eyes of the groups of men.
"MARGARET!!" James bellowed, pushing his way to her, knocking over idiotic gatherers that stood stupidly watching, drinking their glasses and laughing. A fire lit inside of him; he wrenched himself violently between the man and Margaret, his only purpose of getting the man away from her.
"WHAT IS THIS?!" James shouted, turning his head as not to shout in Margaret's ear. Henry's fist landed squarely against the man's jaw, making him spin on his feet and fall onto his stomach, knocking his head on the brick hearth. When the man did not stand, Henry watched those standing around, making certain that none of them dared challenge them. Thankfully none of them did not.
James held Margaret's chin in his hands, pressing himself against her as if to hold her safe. "What's he done?" James said to her, "He's injured you."
Margaret shook her head, now cradled against James' chest and shoulder.
James hugged her tightly, rubbing her back rapidly and warming her against him. She sobbed uncontrollably into his shirt, clinging to him tighter than she ever had. As James moved his hands along her back he found that her dress was torn; the fabric from her neck all the way to her shoulder had been opened, the collar helplessly damaged. James turned his head toward the crowd, though did not look at them.
"You watch and let this happen?!" James shouted at them, "You watch and mock her?!"
The room was silent.
"You all make me sick." James said lowly, letting those hear it who wanted to. He turned his head back to Margaret, and once again held her chin in his hands. Silently the watchers parted shamefully from the room, filing to their rooms and daring not to speak. Henry watched the man on the floor, assuring himself that he would not wake.
James kissed Margaret, curing his own grief and hoping to comfort her, though series of tears continued to find their way to her eyes. James asked her what had happened; he did not want to talk about it in their room.
"He - he said - I belonged... to you... and... he tried to take your ring - so I... I left but he - pulled me back and... then he started to... to touch --"
"You needn't --" James said, hugging her tighter as she broke into sobs, "You needn't tell me..."
"...then he - he ripped my dress... and - and he tried to see --"
James began to move her from the wall, slowly making their way to the stairs, though she still held herself between him and the wall.
"...he - he took it..."
James stopped. "What did he take?"
Margaret cried quietly. If it was what he dreaded she would have been much worse - it couldn't be.
"What did he do?" James asked, more panicked that time.
Margaret spoke quietly. "He took your kisses." she cried silently against James' chest.
James pressed her against him, feeling her limp body lean on him and her embrace loosen. He propped her in his hands, kissing her lips and cheeks and kissing her neck, repairing her where the predator could have possibly taken his pleasure.
"Everything's going to be alright, see?" James said, "Everything's going to be alright..." James hugged her again and lifted her into his arms, letting her head fall into his shoulder and her hands cling to his neck. Henry followed James as he left to the stairs, being slowly guided from the room. At last they were walking down the hall, where Dianne poked her head from her door to question their whereabouts. She brought her hand to her mouth at the sight of Margaret, tears nearly leaking from her eyes. Henry left James alone with Margaret, after being assured that she would be alright.
James pushed through the slightly ajar door, and kicked it closed behind him as he brought Margaret to her bed. He locked the door and hurried back to her, bending over her to see that she was alright.
"Margaret..." James said, "Margaret my darling..." James lifted her waist and helped support her as she sat up, exhausted and distraught. James unfastened the back of her dress, helping her slip out of it. She stood and slid it off herself, tossing it to the floor and letting James hug her, calming her shivers. She found comfort in his tight embrace, him towering over her and protecting her from whatever may come. She sobbed silently into his chest; the humiliation was far too great to bear.
He held her there, running his hand over her hair as he comforted her. It was so different being held by James.
A while longer Margaret finally seemed to be calmed, though she still sniffed and hiccupped as she gathered her night things. James hugged her arms and her waist from behind as she bent over her case, preparing for a short bath. He ran his hands over her arms, his gentle touch more comforting than ever. She was shaking uncontrollably.
He kissed her at the door of the bath, letting her slide in as his lips pulled from hers. At last she smiled.
She let her under dress fall to the floor, after letting the water run. She dipped into the warm water and began to wash herself, scrubbing her face and neck and shoulders. She felt cleansed.
After she had dried herself and slipped into her night things, she stepped into her room where she found James.
He was there to hold her as she began to cry again.

Chapter Sixteen

James did not sleep much that night. The things he had seen replayed in his mind, making him feel worse every second.
That morning they left the hotel. As they walked through the lobby and returned their key, there were no remarks made from the groups scattered around them. Word had spread quickly.
James convinced Henry and Dianne beforehand to stop shortly at their potential new home, which was easily on their way and near the main road. Margaret laughed excitedly when James informed her of this, and seemed to have forgotten what had happened the night before.
He was glad she was happy.
They returned to the winding road that had led them to the hotel, trotting through the soft roads and the hardened mud. About twenty minutes later they turned right onto a thinner road, where houses were scattered among the trees and luscious drives could be seen. The road was well kept; although there was no gravel, it was packed hard and would not soak easily. The road was very long, but about halfway down James knocked for the driver to stop, and Margaret peeked out the window. She bounced on the seat excitedly as he opened the door, and helped her step out. She looked out and gasped at the sight.
The house was white. Its right side faced them as the front led along the side, to where a large patio was shaded by the trees. Large, gray bricks formed a curving path to a door on the right side of the house, and the large, brick drive led to the front door and a high porch. The drive rounded at the end and met the patio, leading to the patio steps. She loved it.
Margaret lifted her hands to her mouth, and turned to James who smiled at her reaction. He hugged her tightly, as she nearly broke into tears. They knew they had found home.
Margaret squealed excitedly as she bounced up and down, James laughing as if he had accomplished his greatest aspiration.
"James..." said Margaret, "... I don't know what to say..."
James smiled at her and smiled at the house. She really was happy.
"...I..." Margaret began, but could not finish. Her throat tightened in her exhilaration, thanking James for what he had found. She jerked his head from the direction of the house, and kissed uncontrollably, pressing her lips hard against his as she held his jaw. James quickly bent his knees and hooked an arm around her thighs, lifting her off the ground as his other hand caress her neck. She towered over him, his head bent back as Margaret forced her lips onto his. He staggered slightly, balancing Margaret and her unpredicted movements. He turned on his feet, wagging her slightly, making them both smile as their lips found the other's. At last James set her to the ground, bringing his other hand to her neck and continuing to kiss her. Margaret held his wrists and after a moment pulled away, looking at his eager eyes. "I love it." she said, letting him kiss her again.
"I love you." James said between kisses, breathing heavily as he pressed her to him.
They nearly forgot about the awaiting passengers, when James pulled from over her. "Come here - I want to show you something." he pulled her by the hand, locking it to his side so she would stay close to him. Margaret followed him in a brisk run across the grass, past the right side of the house.
"What is it?" she asked impatiently. James smiled at her excitedly.
"It's over here." James said, leading her to the back of the house. They traveled closely to it, though they did not enter it. Past the patio a small path started into the trees, leading into its tight branches. James led her easily through it, none of the branches catching to her dress. The path ended quickly, though its end was well secluded by the trees. Margaret gawked when they reached the end.
A small pool lingered between the flowing ends of a thin stream, its clear water flowing nearly motionlessly and bouncing on the surrounding rocks. James held his waist on her hand as he watched Margaret, savoring her reaction and laughing as she squealed.
"A pond?" Margaret whispered amazedly, pulling James hand further around her waist until both arms were folded completely around her. "It's wonderful."
James nuzzled his nose in her neck, sweeping her hair behind her shoulder as he did so.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Margaret cooed, turning her head although she was not facing him.
James kissed her neck. "It was a surprise." James said, continuing to kiss her.
Margaret lifted her head higher, until she was facing him from behind. "It was a good one." she said quietly, tickling his chin with her lips. He laughed to himself as Margaret turned around and kissed his neck repetitively, bringing her hands to his head and rubbing her cheek along the sandpaper of his chin. James suddenly sprung into action and his hands tightened on her waist, pressing his lips to her ear and her hair and making her sigh with longing.
"I love you too." she said softly in his ear, her head rolling in his hands.
He kissed her strongly, pulling her jaw away. "We must get back." James said to her.
Margaret hesitated a moment, then kissed him again.
"We must get home." she said, reminding him what they would be able to do once they had returned.
As if he needed reminding.
James kissed her again and abruptly slid his hands down her arms, interlocking his fingers with hers and pulling her to him. He tore his lips away and began running, Margaret chasing after him. Out of breath they reached the carriage, flinging the door open and hopping inside. It was obvious that Henry and Dianne had sprung apart only moments ago.
The couples shared the same seats, oblivious to the opposite couple's goings on. Henry and Dianne were engulfed in each other's lips, James and Margaret somewhat less obnoxious. James had lifted his leg onto the seat, Margaret sitting between him and reclining on his chest. Her head lay on his shoulder, as James combed his fingers through her hair, kissing her neck every other moment. Margaret giggled as James whispered keen words to her, his low voice rumbling quietly as he laughed along. She loved the feel of his voice; his throat vibrated as his soft words soothed her, as well as the beating of his heart in her back. He loved the feel of her, also - her neck pressing against his shoulder and the gentle heaving as she breathed... he wished Henry and Dianne were not in the carriage.
Of course Margaret had thought of the preceding night's incident... she could not help but think of it. But it had happened - and she would have to be reminded of it. She did not need to let James be reminded of it, though.
Margaret was comforted when the familiar streets and shops passed by; they were near home - the one place she wanted to be. And better, alone with James.
Yet something made her feel closed off. The trauma of the night before had somehow made her feel distant... but when James was holding her, somehow that barrier fell and everything was alright. James knew this.
James was plainly grateful that he had gotten to her the night before as soon as he did - and Margaret was indeed also. He knew that it was possible for her to recover, though it was nonetheless a traumatic ordeal. James was glad that he and Margaret would be alone for the next few days, without the input of anybody else. He didn't know if any input was necessary.
Margaret smiled when the familiar houses and trees began to pass. James was pleased to see this. She perked onto the edge of her seat, her hand on the windowsill as she gaped excitedly out the window. James smiled as he watched, and Margaret smiled back when she turned and saw him. At home she knew that everything could be alright. Maybe it was.
The carriage stopped in front of the house, letting James and Margaret say their short goodbyes to Henry and Dianne. Everybody exchanged kisses on the cheek, except for James and Henry who slapped each other and promised to see one another by the end of the week. James and Margaret waved to the carriage, as it pulled forward to the streets ahead. James lifted their cases from the ground, Margaret taking James' arm as they walked up the path. After unlocking it James pushed the door open, letting their cases knock against it as he let Margaret through. The ceiling caught his eye and his head darted to where it had been perfectly repaired. The plaster seemed to have been sanded down, though had not been painted to match its surroundings. Less or more, it looked just as it had. James grinned at it, as he continued his way after Margaret. Margaret walked halfway to the table, looking around to the stairs to the living area, to the window and the table. She turned around as James closed the door, and set the cases on the ground. Before he could look up she leapt toward him, throwing her arms around his neck and squealing in delight. James laughed and lifted her off the ground, swinging her in circles and letting her body swing around him when he stopped. "I love you." she said once she had landed on the ground.
"You've told me." James assured her teasingly.
"Can I not tell you again?" Margaret asked,
"I suppose so." James said in jest. He spun her around once more and landed a surprise kiss on her lips. "I love you more."
Margaret pushed away from his chest and walked around the table. "There," she said, wagging a finger, "you are wrong." she stood on the opposite side of the table, watching him fold his arms in his stance.
"I am, am I?" James said, challenging her with a grin.
Margaret nodded once, and turned from the table. "You are." She started slowly toward the staircase, her shoes tapping loudly on the floor with each step.
James stepped after her.
"I am?" he said, his arms still folded.
"You are." Margaret grabbed the end of the railing.
James unfolded his arms. "I am sure I am right." He burst into a full run and chased after Margaret, who squealed and ran quickly up the stairs. James grabbed her waist, pulling her down a step as he caught up to her.


* * *


"...and she told me, that Henry and Dianne were in the carriage also. They had been with them."
Mrs. Anderson clicked her tongue. "She told you that?" she asked Eloise.
Eloise nodded. "Mrs. Waldrick told me during tea. She saw them passing while she was in town. All four of them together."
Mrs. Anderson breathed heavily, though her tight throat only allowed so much air. "Where'd they gone?" she asked after a long moment's thought.
"Heaven knows..." Eloise shook her head, her loose cheeks flapping, "Henry and Dianne left little more than three days ago. James and Margaret..." Eloise looked from side to side, as if searching for unrightfully surrounding eavesdroppers. "...thirteen days."
Mrs. Anderson gasped. "Thirteen days?" her dangerous eyes in distraught, "They left thirteen days ago? My shawls, where did they go?"
"That I don't know - but Charles and Poppy..." she said more quietly, "They left seven days after."
"Seven days?" Mrs. Anderson gawked,
"Seven days on their own." Eloise nodded, "I can only imagine..."
"No..." Mrs. Anderson gasped, "You don't mean..."
"I do." Eloise said, nodding rapidly.
Mrs. Anderson thought a moment. "What did you mean?"
Eloise stopped nodding. "I'm not sure."
Mrs. Anderson breathed quickly. "Whatever it was it cannot have been good." she said, "It can't be."
"Are you to tell Fiona?" Eloise asked.
Mrs. Anderson eyed her, her nostrils thin slits. "What good would it do?" she demanded, "I cannot undo what has been done."
Eloise thought a moment. "That you cannot undo - you can do." Eloise said, using her fingers to explain.
Mrs. Anderson looked at her. "That would be harder to undo."
"Yes..." Eloise agreed, nodding once again.


* * *


Margaret was flung onto the bed, her knees bent around its edge and her hands by her head. James bent over her, his hands running through her hair as they kissed nonstop. He linked his hands around her collar and pulled her up until she was sitting, crouching down and lifting her around the waist from the bed. She held to his shoulders as he held her thighs to his stomach, bringing her to the right wall. His hands ran along her as he let her to the ground, where she immediately found his lips and held his head in her hands. James stumbled forward pressing her into the wall, knocking her flat against it though she didn't seem to notice. He laughed at his own clumsiness, tickling her sides as he did so. Margaret squealed in her throat and pushed his arms down, laughing once she tore her lips from his. He tickled her once again, making her kick against the wall in defiance. She shook her head as she laughed hysterically, begging him to stop though he did not. She slithered around him and made a running to the door, forcing James to chase after her. He grabbed her waist and tickled her again, making her slip to the floor in hilarity.


* * *


"Roderick. E. Roderick."
The few letters were slid under the small window of the post office, which she never found the need to check daily.
Mrs. Roderick fanned through them, surveying the return names and addresses before her. She began her way up the street, walking stiffly and coldly.
But the bottom letter... Kennington. It was sent by Kennington.
Surely Margaret had not sent it. She would not send her a letter to her.
If she were to send a letter she would sign it Henwoode.
Henwoode.
She and that scoundrel were probably going at it right that moment.


* * *


James chased her down the stairs, swinging over the banister and landing right behind her. She screamed and ran by the davenport, right before James pushed himself into her and knocked her onto it. His lips locked with hers, her hands holding his neck.


* * *


Henry stood behind the dining room chair, his hands clenching its top in frustration. His mother faced from across the table, her eyes dangerous and her nostrils flared.
"You told me you were going to this counsel, and that you were going to come back the day after." she hammered her hand into the other, "Henry, that is not what you did!"
"Mother --"
"And worse, Dianne was with you."
"Because you approved of it." Henry said more quietly, "Dianne traveled with me because you said she could."
"But did you specify how long you would be gone/" Mrs. Ainsworth snapped, "I did not even know where you had gone!"
"Mother, please listen to me --" Henry said.
Dianne crept to the top of the stairs, not letting either Henry or Mrs. Ainsworth see her. They fought a lot this way. But this was the first time she had listened.
"Henry, don't think I can't guess what you've been doing. You've been alone for three whole days --"
"And I suppose that means, that you automatically have reason to suspect that Dianne and I have --"
"Henry listen to me!"
"Is that true?" Henry said, pushing the chair and letting his arms fall heavily to his sides, "Is it true that you must despise us so much that you must take away all that we've --"
"I do not despise you --"
"Then what is it?" Henry demanded, his voice rising to an even greater volume, "What is it I've done wrong?!"
Mrs. Ainsworth loosened her stiff stance, staring at Henry without end. She gritted her teeth. "It's Miss Foster."
Dianne's heart fell. She covered her mouth before she gasped, stifling tears of hurt and anger. She did not run. This was Henry's test.
Henry's heart fell. His chest heaved as he breathed angrily, looking at the floor and clenching his teeth. He tried to respond. "You leave Dianne alone." he said, nearly under his breath.
"What?" Mrs. Ainsworth questioned quietly, surprised that he would defy her.
"LEAVE HER ALONE!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, "Leave her alone! She doesn't - she doesn't deserve this..."
"Then what does she deserve?" his mother scolded, "What could she deserve --"
"She deserves a whole lot more than the likes of you!" Henry shouted, waving his arm at her. He turned on his heel and stalked to the stairs, climbing them steadily. His mother yelled at him for saying such a thing - for treating her so. But Henry did not look back. He turned the corner and found Dianne standing against the wall, her hands at her side and her face strewn with tears. Henry stopped, now concealed by the wall though his mother's distant yells echoed to the tall ceiling. Dianne smiled, her eyes shining behind the pained tears. Henry quickly realized that she had heard what they had said. His eyes sighed a great relief and he stepped to Dianne, scooping her waist and neck into his hands. He kissed her powerfully, pressing her into the wall as her throat whimpered quietly. He pushed his lips into hers, kissing away the pain and savoring their victory.


* * *


James pressed his hands into her sides, supporting himself over her as she laid on the davenport, one leg hanging over the edge. Her back curled as he pressed against her, wincing slightly but being quickly distracted by his embrace. She squealed when he nearly fell flatly onto her, when a pounding knock on the door disrupted their display. He rolled to the floor and let out a hard breath of frustration, standing up and helping Margaret by the hand. She reluctantly got to her feet, also aggravated by the repetitive pounding at the door. She followed James across the kitchen floor, giggling at his hushed cursing.
"Wait!" Margaret whispered hoarsely, stopping by the kitchen window, "James, come here."
"What is it?"
"Just come here!" she waved her hand, beckoning him around the table. She looked discreetly out the window. "It's Fiona!"
James held a fist to his mouth, stifling his laughter and struggling to keep his knees from buckling. Margaret shook her hands, begging his opinion. "What do we do?" she asked hurriedly, stifling her own laughter.
James laughed. "It's just Fiona..." James said, "We just answer it."
Margaret looked from him to the window, then hooked her hands around his collar. "Come here." she ordered, dragging him noisily through the living area.
"Margaret?" James asked quietly, "What are you doing?"
Margaret led him to the side door.
"We're not leaving?" James asked her, watching her. She did not respond. She threw the drapes open of the window near the door, pushing them to their far sides.
"Kiss me." she ordered, waiting for him to follow.
"What?" James looked out the window, a look of mischief spreading over his question smile.
"Kiss me." Margaret said, "She will come to the side door to knock again and she will see."
James did not take his eyes from hers. "So you are using me to play with her mind..." he said, loosening his posture.
Margaret lifted her chin slightly, gazing beckoningly into his eyes. "Kiss me as if you will never see me again." she lifted her chin even further, revealing her slender neck.
James glanced toward the window, sure that he could hear Fiona's footsteps approaching. Without speaking he folded his arms quickly around her waist, soon getting lost in her embrace and moving his hand to her neck. His lips pulled her to him, Margaret rapidly loosing herself, also. She held to the wrists of his sleeves, nearly unable to handle James' overpowering display. Surely enough Fiona was walking briskly to the side door, when she jumped back and saw them through the window.
James was kissing her all over, violently caressing her neck and her face and her ears with his lips. His hands were tangled in her hair, dying to get closer to her. Margaret was entranced; her eyes closed as James felt her, letting him touch her.
Fiona stepped to the door, watching them in a heartbroken jealousy. Her chest heaved in anger, envying Margaret and the way in which James seemed to be oblivious to everything except for her body. Even more than her body.
James grabbed the front of her dress and turned her against the window, her hair pressing into the glass and her back rounding against the sill. Fiona jumped back at this, startled by the sudden knock against the pane, her eyes catching their embrace. Margaret between his legs - her hands holding his neck and grasping for the front of his shirt. James would not let his lips part from her, nor hers from him. Fiona watched his hands run down her back... and further and further until they wrapped around her stomach and curved tightly around her thighs.
Her eyes filled with tears.
Before she could cry she banged on the door, her fist pounding against it until it hurt. She glanced toward the window, a soft cry reaching her throat as she continued to knock. At least she could not see them now that she stood at the door.
"Come." James whispered in Margaret's ear then pulled her from the windowsill. He led her by the hand, leaving her just behind the door.
At last the doorknob turned, and the door was quickly thrown open.
"Hello, Fiona." James said, leaning in the doorway. Margaret was not seen.
"James..." Fiona acknowledged with almost a sigh. "How do you do?" she asked quietly, fighting back tears.
"How do you do." James returned, nodding.
Fiona looked up from the ground, her hands folded in front of her. "I've come to speak to you." she said to James, and with a glance into the house, "Alone."
James folded his arms. "I am sorry, but I am not alone."
Fiona ignored his remark. "You have been gone an awful long time." she said, almost accusingly.
James hid a grin. "Margaret and I have been at my aunt's house. We will be alone throughout the weekend."
Fiona looked to the ground. Why was he taunting her so? "I suppose Margaret is here?"
James' expression did not change. "She is." he said, "You wish to speak to her also?"
Fiona watched the ground. "No." she said softly, shaking her head.
James began to take light pity on her. "Why don't - why don't you just meet me out front he said." he closed the door quickly, leaving Fiona outside. She turned slowly, beginning to walk around the front of the house.
Once James had seen that Fiona had passed the window, he caught Margaret unawares when he ceased her waist in his arms and found her lips. He kissed her wildly, Margaret stumbling on her feet in surprise. When he pulled away he pressed his forehead to hers, breathing heavily.
"What was that for?" Margaret asked quietly, though she did not object of it.
His eyes peered into hers, as he caught his breath. "I may never see you again." James said, hiding his laughter. "When she is provoked she tends to get violent. I fear she may kill me."
They laughed uncontrollably, struggling to silence themselves. "I don't blame her if she is angered." Margaret said once she had calmed herself.
"I will be surprised if she isn't." James said, pecking Margaret and squeezing her arms. He trotted off across the kitchen, Margaret following a few steps but stopping at the table. James opened the door, Fiona waiting on the threshold.
"Hello again." James said, sounding as if he had not expected her to be there, "Now what can I do for you?" he said casually.
"I need to speak to you in private." Fiona said quickly, "I must speak to you outside."
James turned to Margaret. "Is that alright?" he asked her.
Margaret walked steadily to the door, standing beside James. "Of course it is." she said, looking indifferently at Fiona, "I will be upstairs." Once James turned to her, her lips connected with his and she kissed him fervently, sliding her hand down his face and detaching with a loud slurping sound. James brushed his hand across her waist, watching her eyes meet his and beckon him to follow her. She parted and walked temptingly through the kitchen, looking over her shoulder and continuing to the stairs. Fiona watched this, her nostrils flared and her jaw gnawing at itself. James turned back to her, as if none of that had happened. "Well shall we go outside?" he said, motioning to close the door behind him.
Fiona stepped backward, letting him follow. "James - how can you kiss her when we both know that you love me!?" Fiona snapped as he closed the door. He watched her casually, folding his arms as he listened. "You play with her only because she is - there... you are throwing away yourself only because you are not willing to wait for the right one to come along --"
"Margaret is the right one." James said strictly, unfolding his arms. "And Fiona --" James said more quietly, though he was impatient. He leaned against his hand. "- I thought we'd already been through this..."
"You might have, but I haven't!" Fiona said, "You go gallivanting off on your for almost two weeks without so much as even telling me where you're going --"
"I most certainly did not gallivant and how on earth do you know what Margaret and I have been doing?" James said, his voice growing louder.
Fiona did not answer. She folded her arms and shifted on her feet uncomfortably. "I don't know." she said nervously, looking at the ground.
"And you speak as if I must tell you where I go - Fiona," James said, softening his voice as to sound more sympathetic, "I am not yours." he said, "Nor are you mine - I cannot tell you that I --"
"I am yours!" Fiona said, leaping from her timid state and grasping his hands in hers, "I give you my heart and you have it to do what you might --"
"Fiona --"
"You have never given us a chance --" Fiona said desperately,
"Because there is no chance to give!" James said pushing her hands toward her and releasing his own, "Fiona, how can I tell you that I do not love you and I never will - it is hard for me to do because you seem not to understand."
"It is hard for you because it is not right!" Fiona said, shaking her arms at her sides, "James, I give you my heart!"
James loosened his shoulders. "I have Margaret's." he said, standing back from Fiona, "And he has mine. Desperately. She desperately has my heart -- and I am desperately in love with her." he looked directly at Fiona. "I have given her my heart willingly."
"And I give you mine!" Fiona said, jumping closer to him, "Don't you see? I --"
"Margaret has also given her mine and it is the heart I have chosen."
"What is it?" Fiona demanded.
"What do you..." James waved his hand, not understanding what she meant.
"What is it that makes Margaret the one?" Fiona waved her arms, "What makes us so entirely different?!"
James folded his arms, and looked at the sky. It was going from blue to yellow to orange - the white clouds fading into its colors and settling on the distant mountains. It reminded him of Margaret.
"You are not her." James looked at Fiona, "You are not the same." he could no longer speak to Fiona delicately. It had to end. "I am unable to look into her eyes and see the one thing I have been searching for;" he paused.
Fiona stood impatiently. "What?!" she ordered.
"Margaret." James said, "She is the one thing I have needed."
Fiona looked dumbstruck. She froze on the spot, James watching her heedlessly, finding no need to comfort her.
"James..." Fiona said, sounding on the verge of tears, "You can't do this..."
"I am sorry." James said, "But that is all I can say to tell that I do not love --"
Fiona took his face in her hands, pulling him quickly to her and kissing him hurriedly. He pulled away but she did not let him, her hands hooking mercilessly around his neck as her lips wrapped around his. At last he managed to break loose, throwing her hands from his neck and stepping back. "What are you doing?" he said, holding out his hands in expectance of an explanation.
Fiona stood where she had been. She folded her hands against her chest and stooped in hopeless. She was now crying. "I give you my heart - please take it!" she begged, throwing out her hands.
James backed away. "I do not want it."
Fiona closed her eyes, bowing her head in sadness. When she looked James had stepped away. He stalked up the path, stepped through the door, and with a last look behind him he closed it. Fiona watched him, her eyes clouded in tears and her voice cracking into sobs.
She gazed at the door, unwilling to believe that it could never be. She turned slowly, and folded her arms against the chilled breeze, dreading the fact that her mother was waiting at home for her.


James combed his fingers over his hair, letting out a hard breath as he walked across the kitchen floor. He wished he had not had to be so unkind with Fiona. But something seemed to be leading her on.
He walked noisily up the stairs, removing his jacket as he did so. When he entered his room Margaret was waiting for him, standing at the mirror and letting down her hair as she had twisted it before he came. "What is it?" she asked him when she saw the disturbed look upon his face. He threw his jacket on the bed and without an answer, he walked quickly to her and pulled her to him, directing her lips to his. He pulled away and turned quickly, making to unbutton his collar.
Margaret teetered on the spot, blinking dazedly and using the dresser to balance herself. "Alright - what was that?" she asked, regaining her composure.
James looked away from her, removing his tie in annoyance, tossing it to the bed also.
"I was cleansing myself of Fiona Anderson." James said, shuddering violently.
"You mean she kissed you?" Margaret asked, taking a step toward the bed.
"Yes, she kissed me." James said, facing Margaret.
"Oh." Margaret said, sounding slightly let down. She fiddled with the thread on the bedspread, not meeting James' eyes.
"Fiona's got something playing in her mind - I had to let her know once and for all." James said, waving his arm as if closing the process.
Margaret did not say anything; she turned to face the bed and looked at it without interest, though unable to meet James' gaze.
James stepped toward her, now finding the need to humor her. "I have been contaminated - you may as well kiss me never again." James said, hiding a smile. Margaret looked up from the bed, a small smile reaching her face also, a hint of laughter in her eyes.
"I believe you." she said, looking back at the bed, still smiling.
"Are you saying you didn't?" James said, almost teasing her.
Margaret shrugged. "I don't know." she said truthfully.
"Because you shouldn't believe me - Fiona nearly carried me off." he said jokingly, stepping behind her. He slid his hands down her arms, holding her wrists and kissing her neck.
"I'd believe that, surely." Margaret teased, behind her arms against her chest as James held to her wrists, Margaret letting him kiss down her shoulder.
"Surely." he said through muffled lips, laughing slightly.
Margaret giggled, James tickling her arms through the fabric with his lips, and tightening his grip. After letting him kiss her arm a moment longer Margaret turned her head, James moving off of her though his hands held to her wrists. "Now you have given me reason to prove myself." Margaret said, "I daresay I have the need to prove my capabilities."
"And I look forward to that - but I cannot help but think that you feel you have been tested." James said,
"I most certainly have been." Margaret said, turning around to face him, poking a finger into his chest. "Now I must impress upon you my passion, because it seems that I am not the only one who has."
James backed away. "Well..." he said to her, "Are you going to do that now?"
Margaret grabbed him around the neck and kissed him wildly, pressing her lips hard into him and releasing quickly. She stepped back with a mischievous grin.
"No." Margaret said, "I'm not. Instead I will leave you to wonder what it is you might've missed and will excuse myself from your quarters." she pivoted on her heel and marched away, James catching her by the door.
"Wait!" he yelped, "What might I wonder about!?" he asked frantically.
Margaret tickled her finger under his chin. "Goodnight Mr. Henwoode." she said, James leaning in naturally for a kiss. Margaret closed the door behind her and stood near the stairs, grinning as she waited for him to follow.
Chapter Seventeen
Saturday

With the arrival of Saturday morning came a mild sunshine, its rays hidden by the fading clouds of the previous night's rain. Margaret had slept soundly on Friday night, having been given James' bed to spend the nights in. James had slept in the storage room, which to his relief had been repaired completely and showed no sign of weak flooring. A bed had been made in the storage room, most likely the doing of his mother before she had left for Marian's. They slept with their doors open, as if attempting to be less separated by doing so.
James crept into Margaret's room, crawling onto the bed and laying beside her. He wrapped his arm around her stomach and inched closer to her, pressing his face into her hair and kissing her cheek.
"Morning, lovely." he said to her, "You must wake or I shall go mad with lonesomeness."
Margaret rolled onto her back, smiling at the ceiling as James continued to kiss her awake. She giggled at his soft tickling, wrapping her own arm around his back and reaching her body towards his. He sat up, bringing Margaret with him as she pressed against his chest.
"Please wake up." he said playfully, "Please, please, please, please, please..."
Margaret laughed quietly. "Alright - alright. Alright!" she wrapped her other arm around his neck and began to kiss his jaw, giggling at his indirect demand.
James held her tightly, feeling her heart beat against his as her arms wrapped around his neck. For several minutes they just sat quietly, closing their eyes and relishing the warm of the morning bed. Slowly he ran his hands along her sides and back, feeling the thin fabric that separated him from her skin. She shivered slightly, overcome by the masculinity of his strong hands. "Are you fine?" he asked her quietly,
"Yes - just fine." Margaret answered.
"Shall we go?" James asked after a moment, beginning to slide from the bed,
"Let me get dressed..." she said, sliding after him. James eventually tore his hand from Margaret's, leaving her to get dressed after closing the door behind him.
Margaret slipped the nightdress from over her head, flipping her hair back over her shoulders. She tossed it into a ball at the foot of the bed, then walked into the joint room where the wardrobe stood. She had hung a few of her own things in there, though James' still occupied it. She liked having it this way. When James had seen this he had stopped only briefly in his tracks, then had smiled and found yet another reason to kiss Margaret. She liked that, too.
She chose her yellow dress with pink flowers to wear that morning. Because of the tight bodice, she felt she was most attractive in it. She knew James fancied it, also.
Little more than a half an hour later Margaret had finished dressing, and had pinned her hair up letting a few long curls fall over her shoulders. She tied the laces of her shoes along her shins and leapt up from the chest at the bottom of James' bed, excited to find James downstairs. She slid her hand along the banister, then hopped from the bottom stair into the kitchen. James was standing at the front door, where he had just taken the post from Willoughby.
"Good day." James called out to him, then closed the door. After finding nothing of interest he looked up from the small stack of letters, and saw Margaret standing at the foot of the stair. He smiled and flung the letters to the counter, then ran rambunctiously toward her making her shriek as she made to run away. James caught her around the waist and lifted her above the ground, flipping her around in his hands until her front pressed against him. She linked her hands around his neck, looking into his honeysweet eyes.
"Good morning." he said to her, his low voice calming her ears. He kissed her strongly, pulling away only to see her eyes.
"Thank you for waking me," Margaret said once James had set her down, "Sorry to keep you waiting."
They began to walk toward the table. "Well you did keep me waiting, but that's alright." James teased. "Come now, do you want some breakfast?"
Two small plates filled with toast and pancakes sat on the table. "I'm sorry we've nothing of taste, again." James said with a laugh, "We haven't anything fresh because there's been nobody to take care of it."
"No - it's quite alright." Margaret said truthfully, "It is what I would fancy this morning."
James separated his arm from the small of her back. "You are kind to say so." he said with a small laugh, taking the plates and flatware into his hands, "Shall we go into the dining room?"
Margaret grinned. "Alright," she said. She picked up the mugs and the pot of tea that James had heated, and followed James through the living area and into the dining room. The room was lined with windows - and two china cabinets rested beside the entrance of the door. The thin draperies let in the perfect amount of morning brightness, as the room was cool and shady. James left for a moment and after Margaret had seated herself, he'd reentered with the pitcher of maple syrup, a small dish in his hand.
"Look what has been given to us by Willoughby." James said, setting a dish of plump strawberries between them, "Aren't they lovely..."
Margaret crooned through the bite of toast she had just taken, "They are lovely." Margaret said after swallowing.
"Seems we do have something of taste." James said, pouring syrup over his pancakes. "Thanks for Willoughby." he handed the syrup to Margaret.
"Thanks to Willoughby." she repeated, laughing quietly.
Several minutes passed peacefully, eating quietly and catching each other's eye every other moment. When James caught Margaret's eye for but the tenth time, he sat his fork noisily beside his plate.
"My, Miss Margaret you are beautiful." he said, leaning back in his chair. He rested his elbows on the arm of the chair, watching her as if expecting her to explain her state.
Margaret flushed, her back arching slightly as she sat back also. "You flatter me." she said easily, "Are you playing?"
James opened his mouth in mock astonishment. "Me? Play?" Margaret laughed and he slouched back. "No." he said after a moment's relaxation, "I do not play. I only speak the truth."
Margaret sat up. "The truth can be bent, sometimes." she said, "So can your intentions."
"And what might my intentions be?" James asked, again interested in her explanation.
Margaret shrugged. "I don't know." she returned to the back of her chair, a concerned look now on her face.
"Your worried?" James sat up, leaning further than would be normal, "You think my intentions are faulty?"
"Faulty?" Margaret sat up, grasping the arms of her chair, "Faulty - of course they are faulty."
James straightened his back, resting his elbows on the table.
"I'm sorry." Margaret said, resting her shoulders. "I should not have accused you so."
"I assure you my intentions are no more of fault than yours," James said, "It was only the other day you commanded me to kiss you as if I would never lay eyes on you again --"
"And a very fine kiss that was..." Margaret assured him, "But James, we are not yet married and though - we act as though we are."
"You wish me to act as a perfect stranger?" James laughed, "Margaret, I know I may be more extreme than what one would think to be mannerly, but you cannot expect me to be - be alien to your own self,"
"And I don't and I do not deny that my intent may be that other than in order..." Margaret said, "But I just hope you understand..." she stopped, unwilling to explain more than would treat James unkindly.
At last James broke the silence. "Of course I understand." James said, though sounded as if he hated to say.
Margaret put her hand on the table, beckoning him to hold it. "James, I mean to do the same as you." Margaret said, "I only fear that one day I will get carried away, and that whatever your heart is kind enough to say you will not be able to fix it. That is what I have meant to say."
James took her hand. He wrapped hers in both of his hands and pulled her arm to him, kissing her fingers. He set her right and his left hand back to its place.
"I thought myself to be capable of fixing anything." James said, smiling at her.
Margaret laughed. "No - I meant -"
"I know." James smiled, "You say it, and I hear you." He sat back in his chair once again. "No longer shall I sneak into your bedroom at night,"
"And no longer will I beckon you." she too leaned back. "Though it will be hard,"
"Very hard." James nodded.
"And I shall hate to do so..."
"And so shall I." he said.
Margaret momentarily seemed assured, but sensed apprehension in her own mind. "But are you sure we cannot make an exception?"
"Margaret --"
"I know, but darling there may be some way that we mustn't need to deprive ourselves, and it's --"
"Margaret, you are the one who has brought me to my promise..." James said, rather accusingly,
"I know... I know - but sweetheart,"
"See, you are beckoning me already."
Margaret gave a short shrill shriek, tossing her feet and letting them clap loudly against the floor. James laughed to himself, struggling immensely to keep a grin from his lips.
"I am. Aren't I?" Margaret admitted, calming herself.
James nodded. "You are."
Margaret blew out a hard breath. "I don't think I have ever felt more idiotic."
James giggled quietly to himself. "I have run out of times to say that to myself."
Margaret giggled also, smiling at him. "Your words can fix anything." she said to him, almost questioningly.
James sat up, taking a sip of his tea. "Almost, Miss Margaret." he wagged a finger, "Almost. That is why I think we should keep to the promise."
Margaret sat up, leaning closer to him. "Darling..."
"No, Margaret."
She leaned even closer, taunting him. "Sweetheart..."
"Don't you even try..."
"Dearest..."
"Come now,"
"Love. Gorgeous. Pet."
"I am not a pet." James stood up slowly from his chair, pressing a finger to her lips.
"Flame..." she said, moving his hand from her mouth, "Beloved."
James stood, looking at her from across the table.
"Admirer." she continued, "Suitor... Escort --"
"Escort?" James barked,
"Escort." Margaret repeated, "Admirer."
James walked slowly around the corner of the table, making his way steadily to her.
"Prize. Treasure. Turtledove."
"Turtledove..." James said, "I like that."
"Casanova... swain... charmer... wooer..."
"Do you think of these in your sleep?" James said, bending his knees once he had reached her seat and leveling himself with her.
"Mio amante..." she spoke more slowly, watching him inch nearer to her, "...mon favori..." he bent into her, "...mi marido..." his lips touched hers, possessing them softly and entrancing her mouth.
"We mustn't." Margaret said, springing away and standing also, "We have made a promise - we mustn't break it again --"
"Margaret, since when can I not kiss you and since when can you speak four different languages?"
Margaret watched him, shuffling her feet in anxiety.
"You studied English literature." James gawked softly, waving his arms in awe.
Margaret was not thinking of the foreign literature. When she did not speak, James did.
"I made the promise also." James assured her, "And I intend to keep it." he walked slowly to her, his voice quieting. "But truly you mustn't keep my lips from yours."
Margaret watched as he approached her, sliding his hand behind her neck.
"Then hands." she said quickly, "You must keep your hands."
James removed his hand, letting it fall to his side. "Alright, then." he said, accepting her demand.
"And eyes." she said, laughing now, "Even your eyes must be kept from mine, as they are the strongest of all allurement."
James moved closer. "Ah, so they allure you, do they?" he laughed as she did, "Well, then what if I touch your eyes, kiss your hands and watch your lips, waiting for them to spring to mine?" James said, placing his hand on her waist.
Margaret laughed. "If you are willing to think of such a riddle only for a kiss then I suppose you deserve one." she said, letting his hands tighten around her. She brought her hands to his cheeks and kissed him sprightly, letting him sample what she had so nearly threatened to take away. When they pulled away James let her move her hands to his.
"And the promise is now in effect." he said, pecking her once again. He took her hand in his and began to lead her from the dining room.
"Only for a little while..." Margaret said, grinning once he turned to her. Together they walked through the living room, leaving through the side door and closing it behind them. James walked behind Margaret, holding his hands on her waist though they had only just promised against it. Only seconds after they began towards the back yard, they were called by familiar voices.
"James!"
"Margaret!"
They turned around to see the faces of Henry and Dianne, smiling brightly as they neared the front path.
"Oy, Henry!" James called back to them, "Come round back!"
Henry waved in acceptance and continued with Dianne, James and Margaret turning and making their way around the back of the house. Once they reached the swing James motioned Margaret to sit, and began pushing her gently until at last she had reached a violent speed. Henry and Dianne had finally come to the swing, hand in hand as they situated themselves near James.
"So how've you been?" James asked energetically, giving Margaret a brisk push.
Henry sighed. "We only wish we could have the house to ourselves, as you and Margaret do." he explained, "But thankfully your loneliness gives us reason to come and visit you."
James laughed. "We've hardly been lonely - I'm actually dreading the moment my parents arrive."
"Not so!" Margaret said from the height of the swing.
"Oh?!" James shrieked, stopping the swing once it had come back down, "What makes you say that?"
Margaret shrugged, and opened her mouth to speak though she soon had no reason.
"You needn't explain, Miss Margaret, every lad's in need of his mummy." Henry said, mocking James.
"Oh - oh and I suppose that's so." James said.
"Margaret, you're to be married to a mummy's boy. Dianne, I hope you know that I am in no need of my mother." Henry added.
"And I will hold you to that." Dianne said, "Margaret, I do hope you have been well..."
"I have." Margaret said, "You are kind to ask. I trust you are likewise?"
"I suppose I am." Dianne said, quickly interjected by Henry.
"What is to suppose?" Henry said, "Either you are, or you are not. It is clearly simple."
Dianne threw him loathsome look of annoyance, but quickly received a sharp tickle in the side from Henry.
"Say we take a run in the field." James said mostly to Margaret, bending over her shoulder as he held to the ropes.
"Ay, Margaret what would you say if I were to take a fly on the swing?" said Henry, securing his hand around the left rope. James unbent from over her and Margaret stood, circling the swing and joining James on the side.
"We ought to." Margaret said, "We should in a moment."
Henry propped himself in the swing, his feet hard against the ground until at last they lifted free. "Dianne, come and have a go." Henry called as he flew back and forth.
Dianne stepped to the in front of Henry as he stopped his feet on the ground, helping her slide onto his legs and hold to the ropes. She held easily to him and squealed as he again lifted his feet from the ground, the stress only slightly higher on the tree branch.
James walked behind them and pushed against Henry's back, helping them gain their speed as they nearly leveled with the ropes top knots. Margaret stood behind James, holding to his waist when he pushed them and hugging him close to her when his arms were free. Margaret squealed when James suddenly ripped from her, and began performing daring tricks as he ran around and under and flipped beneath the swinging couple. Dianne shrieked loudly also, Henry only laughing at the idea of trampling James with the swing. James rolled from off the ground and returned at Margaret's side, slightly out of breath, and his shirt only slightly grass stained.
Margaret laughed to herself as James folded his arms and awaited Margaret's praise.
"James, you mustn't be so proud - if you had died you would have only died conceitedly."
James grinned to himself. "Does that impress you?"
Margaret turned to him. "Your performance or your dying a conceited man?"
"Either." James shrugged.
Henry was still hyperventilating with panic and laughter. "James, you blasted fool - you've nearly killed us... we've only just been --" Henry toppled forward, Dianne screaming as Henry flipped over her and squashed her to the ground. James laughed and began toward the crumpled heap, Margaret gasping and also reaching them in a faster stride.
"Are you alright?!" she gawked, bending down to them. James at last reached them and merely stood with his arms folded across his chest.
"Henry, you've always been a clumsy goat." James laughed, bending down and rolling Henry from atop Dianne. He gave Dianne his hand and helped her to her feet, leaving Henry on the ground in both amusement, and loss of breath.
When at last Henry had rolled from under the swing, James took his seat and kicked off from the ground, swinging gracefully as Henry struggled to his feet.
"Margaret, do as Dianne did." James called to Margaret, slowing his speed only slightly.
"You mean fall down?" Margaret teased, giggling at Dianne. Margaret started toward James but was intercepted by Henry, who ran behind James and pushed him violently, his speed rocketing dramatically as he nearly lost his place.
"Blast, Henry!!" James cursed from the air, "Break my neck while you're at it --"
Henry laughed and continued to push James in the swing, Margaret no longer trying to seat herself on his lap.
"Margaret, do you want to show me where you are staying?" Dianne asked Margaret, not easily entertained by their obsessive swinging.
"Alright --" said Margaret, excited for Dianne to know that she was housing in James' bedroom, "...it would probably be a lot more interesting..."
They began across the grass, passing the swing as James' calls mixed with Henry's.
"Where's she off to?" Henry said, running after them and forgetting to push James. As he ran around the swing James had reached his highest point. Propelling himself from the swing, James went flying through the air and landed squarely on top of Henry, driving him into the ground from behind. James wrapped his arms around Henry's upper stomach as he tackled him to the ground, Henry completely winded by James' sudden attack. Henry shrieked as he flattened by James' weight, struggling in vain to through James off of him.