Between Innocence and Despair

By Ethan Surland

Andrew Witchland is a despondent and depressed man in search of hope. He is poisoned with destructive memories of his service in the military. After fleeing into Northern England, Andrew is forced to live behind a false identity. He walks through the moors daily in the chains of his own depravity in search of a key to free himself.

Rachel Graceling is a young and wealthy lady, whose life is headed into a forced marriage. She is desperately trying to find a way out of the clutches of a man who wants her for ambiguous reasons.

When their paths inevitably cross, Andrew Witchland wonders if he can trust Rachel Graceling with his darkest secrets. Or if his past is worth telling her and losing a very precious relationship that may save his sanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jan 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490855653

Ethan Surland

Ethan Surland was born in Baltimore Maryland and resides in Frederick Maryland with his wife. He finds his inspiration for writing in poetry, music, and art.

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Copyright © 2014 Ethan Surland.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4908-5564-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-5566-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-5565-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014917865

WestBow Press rev. date: 10/03/2014

Contents

Past the Doors of Lucidity

A Night of Promises

An Unexpected Visitor

Imaginary Danger

A Glimpse of the Past

Decision

A Moment of Dreams

A Glorious Escape

The Guest

A Change in Mind

Behind the Trees and Boundaries of the Mind

Mr. Witchland

In A House Of God

The Reverend

Answerless

A Golden Day

Forced Stipulation

A Change

Rising Hope for a Dimmed Disposition

A Twist

Miss Elizabeth

A Little Gained

The Better One

Margret’s Puzzlement

Reunited

Here Comes the Carriage

A Turn of Events

A Way Out of the Dark

Dinner at Witchland’s

Reflection

Two for a walk

Departure

A Brighter Future

Ball of Insanity

Breaking from the Nightmare

Rachel’s Thoughts

Less Quiet Evening

Letters

Jolly Old London

In Between

The Couple

Breaking the Past

Bringing the Darkness into the Light

A Nightmare through the Day

Beneath a mask of Holiness

Through the Gates of Torment

Behind the Window

Further Unmasked

Falling into Dreams

At the Crossing of Passion and Dream

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Past the Doors of Lucidity

M y aggressor, my rival, and my bane are found in two spoken words that fashion my simple but ever deepening name. My name, who I was, and who haunts me, even to this very day, through restless dreams and moments of unbearable reality, has been said with the laughter of friends, whispered by the longing of a lover, and cursed by the power of the Almighty. Those two words, the fear they bring, the memories they stir, and the emptiness at their spoken sound all correlate together when I dare my sanity enough to speak—Alexander Coldland.

But that name is forgotten by all creatures but me. Two words that are not found in the memory of any man, woman, or marked grave. Though, I am by all accounts dead, as forgotten men of the past are. I am surely dead to the musings of others, for life was raptured from me because of my past deeds. Yet I find myself not on the gates of heaven, but a measureless eternity from God. Yet, to say that I am a ghost or some lingering spirit would be a lie. Though I do not claim to have any life left buried in my heart and flesh, my reality is a chain of jaded days that continues to grow and pull my soul along the dark road of life. That is the reality of Andrew Witchland, the name others now call, and the name I have chosen for myself.

As I stand out here in the cold, wandering the foggy moors of northern England, I cannot help to look around myself and see the emptiness that has grown through the ages. Once upon a time, the men of England fought a bitter war against the men of Scotland for this piece of land. The very one I walk on. Though no one remembers their names and no one knows their faces, they too lived and died. And as I walk out on this forgotten ground of blood, I can almost hear them call out to me. Because, soon I will join them, and walk the same ground they do for an eternity—hopeless and forgotten. I know this because I stand at the door of death. Though it may be years distant, what is years, and who would count them if the vastness of a dark eternity could be seen?

I am a soul of emptiness; longing for life, and because of that yearning, I have not yet given up on the hope that life may penetrate into my veins again. My fingers brush the flowers and weeds of the moors and I can feel the morning dew that has so gently kissed each one of them. It shouts of life! The mist and fog of the morning smells of a brisk sensation of life and vigor! All of that feeling is what I crave, and my heart and body would all try to bring the life out of those living things and into myself, but it cannot be done! For there lies a stonewall that blocks joy, life, and laughter from my soul, and I cannot break that barrier down, for it is a punishment from a higher supernatural being. The being that has created this reality for me to live in, I do not know, but the reason for my punishment—I do. The curse may not be from God, because I have left all things to go search for him. I cannot find him in the beauty of the moors, and if God is not there at the flower of the world, then man cannot find him.

So the supernatural punishment could either be from some other source, or perhaps my subconscious mind. Because I have done something dark in my past, and I do deserve to suffer for it, if God is near me and is simply ignoring me, then may he have mercy on my jaded soul. For I do not know how much longer I can keep breathing under this void that has sealed my life into the shadow of pain forever; my only prayer is that someone would break me from this prison. And that is my only request that I ask of God. Forgiveness is not something I will ask of him. Forgiveness is only for those who can be forgiven. And nothing I can do would ever warrant that from even a merciful God.

I suddenly gasp in ever present despair and break the lock of musing from my mind. Bringing myself back to the day, I turn around and head back home, completing my everyday walk through the morning. My heavy boots stamp the mud that tries to hold them in place as though the moors did not wish me to leave. Maybe it’s God telling me to stay, maybe he is calling me here to search for him a bit longer, but he can wait till the morrow, because I already came today and my search was once again in vain.

Walking through some trees, the sight of my beautiful mansion comes into view. I knew that the servants were definitely scattered about, and working on getting my breakfast together before I came home. As I reached the large wooden doors, a cold wind brushed my back. It was like a last message from the moors, or maybe even God. And in the wind I thought I could hear three words that described me completely; empty, overcome, and of course—forgotten.

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A Night of Promises

R achel swung the front door open and jumped at the sound of commotion that sent a spring in her heartbeat. Startled, she stepped into the decorated foyer to see her sisters arguing and parading themselves around in what looked like a shameful attempt to dance. Her older sister and her mother talked excitedly to each other, but so fast that Rachel doubted they heard one another. She closed the door and stood unnoticed for a moment. Her eyes caught a glimpse of Matthew standing in the corner of the other side of the crowded room; his gaze met hers and he offered a smirk. His dark blue eyes went over to the parade and back to hers, and he rolled his eyes in a way that sarcastically said women, then brushed a hand through his hazelnut hair and quietly evanesced out of the room unnoticed and forgotten like her.

Unable to put up with everyone being exited by some news that was a mystery to her, Rachel quickly ran into the fray, darting through the labyrinth of people and boldly stepped in front of her aging mother. But this did not stop her older sister, or mother from halting their chatter to inform Rachel the reason for excitement. Or even notice the second oldest sister standing before them with hands on her hips and a demanding expression masking her curiosity. For a brief second Rachel felt angry, but it faded as she sighed and accepted that everyone was caught up in their own world that was so strongly connected with new fortune and not her. She would simply have to make herself known to them, so quickly she gave an attentive cough, but it went unheard in all the noise, as a splash is drowned out in heavy rain.

How foolish! She thought. If they cannot see me, then a polite motion of here I am will simply not do! Taking rasher actions, Rachel grabbed her mother’s arm like a child demanding attention, and shouted barely loud enough to carry her voice above the waves of disorder, Mother, what is going on?

Her mother’s world governed by the unknown news shattered at Rachel’s declaration for courtesy and revelation. Her gaze fell down to her daughter, and her lips dropped into a deep frown. Rachel, you know perfectly well that I do not approve of any yelling in my house. Now you are definitely old enough to be able to act like an accomplished young lady and do a little rational thinking in your own head! Has Mary not taught you anything about simple courtesy? Hmmm, well it is most certainly clear that she has not!

It was Rachel’s turn to frown; she hated it when her mother talked in a condescending manner to her. And when she physically looked down upon her, Martha stood only a few inches taller, but she had a secret method of making herself appear to be much larger. Rachel’s annoyance also spurred because her mother would never stop ranting and practicing her habit of blaming the past governess. Which was ridicules because Mary had finished the youngest sister’s education last year and had not been to the house in months. To further the annoyance, she only started saying it after the governess had left.

Oh, come now, Mother, said her older sister, Ivy, coming to her aid as she usually did. We were all exited, and she simple wanted to know about the ball that is coming up!

Rachel’s face flashed in excitement. A ball! When? And where? The town of Trent was quiet, and in Ivy’s own words could be described as the dullest place in England.

Martha’s eyes mirrored Rachel’s with enthusiasm as a smile grew on her face chasing away signs of age from everywhere but her silver hair; it always surprised Rachel how fast her mother’s mood could change. It will be held at the Benndricks in only two weeks! And of course some very significant families will be attending! The Benndricks are after all very wealthy, and that name alone could purchase the finest home in York.

And significant families come with countless significant men! Ivy exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air and twisting around with more grace than a dancer.

Rachel laughed. There was something about her older sister’s excitement and fervor that always made her smile. But reason was had for being indisputably merry; a ball was being held at the Benndricks! That name alone is a tale of wealth and great fortune. The word party if spoken by the Benndricks, would mean a night of the finest foods, music, and unhalted dancing. Each room would be decorated so much that the smallest most insignificant thing would be doubtlessly beautiful and expensive. But they were not hosting a party, they were hosting a ball! Rachel’s heart leaped at the mere thought.

Ivy was also right about the men-rich, handsome, finely dressed, and very single men…everywhere. She looked up at her sister and grinned. Well, save some for me! It’s about time a rich and handsome looking gentleman came into my life!

Rachel! Squealed her mother. Do you forget that the Reverend Benedict has shown some considerable interest in you? Please, you will break the godly man’s heart! And I further disapprove of you talking of courting like selecting cattle.

Rachel’s heart sank to the lowest depths of her ever felt despondency; why did she have to be the one cursed with having the Reverend fall in love with her? The Reverend was a nice man, and he was a man lead by conviction, but he was not matched for her. It was said that love was only a luxury for the rich. But Rachel knew looking around their mansion and getting invitations to a ball by the Benndricks, it was not hard to tell that they—the Gracelings—were affluent. Though her father had died early, he had left them rich till the end of their days.

Mother, the reverend will not be there! He cannot attend balls! Rachel closed her eyes in frustration. And what of my feelings? I do not love the man! And yet you insist on me marrying him just because he comes to pluck me, as if I were a piece of fruit that he could simply reach out and take!

Her mother looked at her blankly. He is a well-rounded, godly man, with a good heart, and will make our family appear very complete! And far more prominent, for we have the rich taste in our names, but we need the heavenly and spiritual brought into our family’s name as well.

Well, do not worry about it now! said Ivy, obviously still caught up in her private dream. I should be engaged and married first! I am the oldest after all!

Then in that case, Rachel, you will have to wait a long time! said Elizabeth, as she grabbed her twin sister Rebecca and hugged her tightly.

Rachel looked over at the two twins, the youngest in the family. Why?

Because, Ivy doesn’t have a lover, and it will take her a very long time to find a man who would be insane enough to marry her!

You shut your mouth! interjected Ivy, her hazel eyes flared with a deep seeded anger. You have no right to speak to me like that!

Rachel placed her hand on Ivy’s shoulder hoping to calm her down. But she had expected Ivy’s firework burst of anger as the words left Elizabeth’s mouth. It was always a secret and deep fear haunting Ivy that she may never get married. Afraid she would reach the end of her days old and lonely—having lived a life without ever tasting love.

A needless worry, my sister, thought Rachel. Her sister was beautiful by all accounts. Ivy stood tall for a lady, and carried herself with pride and a sparkling personality. But Ivy did not need to open her mouth to receive attention from every man in the room. Ivy’s skin was white, like the rest of her family, but her long curling blond hair was a family mystery. Everyone in the Graceling family had dark hair except for Ivy. Ivy also had a white smile, pretty eyes, and the perfect form. With her bubbling laughter and breathtaking beauty, she was prestigious enough, just looking at the men who stared at her as she waltzed by them was all the evidence needed. Though, it did help that Ivy had spent her life trying to learn and enhance the art of seduction. She always said, I will find the richest, kindest, and best looking man in England. Then I will throw such a spell on him that he will die to propose to me!

Rachel laughed softly at her sisters; bickering would always be a family trait; she then flashed a grin at her brother who had slipped back into the room unnoticed. Their eyes met and she smiled, both understanding the same joke. Her brother looked over at the girls, and said, Ivy, Elizabeth was only joking with you. No need to get all upset and flustered.

Ivy responded by closing her eyes and shaking her head. I do not like it when someone jokes about my lack of love life, she said coldly, but with a hint of warning that further jokes would make her cry.

Elizabeth, not catching the warning, grinned at Ivy. Yes, my sister, I was only teasing. I am sure you will find a poor man out on the streets that will be desperate enough to marry you.

Rachel clenched her teeth and turned her head to Ivy. Her sister’s lips trembled, her eyes started watering, and then she sprang out of the room sobbing, leaving the room behind awkwardly quiet.

She is way too emotional; I fear she will fail also as a wife; Crying every time cows fail to give milk, said Elizabeth, adding a sarcastic sigh to her final tease.

And I think that you will be scrubbing the laundry! scolded her mother. What were you thinking, you know perfectly well how your sister feels about getting married. Margret’s signs of anticipation had vanished, and what remained was an angry looking old woman. Her arms slowly folded and her eyebrows leveled, a sign she always shown when cross.

The laundry is for the servants! complained Elizabeth. Why should I do what we pay them for?

Elizabeth glanced over at her mother, standing alone. Her twin had left her side, and headed in Ivy’s direction.

"You mean what I pay them for, answered Margret. Well it’s about time you learned to be humble like a servant! God resists the proud and gives grace to the humble! Remember that when you are carrying water from the well to wash the clothes today."

Her mother turned around to leave the room, but stopped and turned to Rachel, her expression unmoved. And we will talk about you and the Reverend later, she added in a cold voice. Then she left the room, leaving Elizabeth and Rachel standing silent.

Rachel could hardly describe herself; the joy and sudden anticipation was darkened by her mother’s last words. And her mood will be livid all day long! But if anyone deserves to be fuming in this home it is me! How dare she? I am not a child!

Rachel felt the brisk touch of anger deep inside, then she quickly walked past her sister, determined not to run off in a cloud of emotion in front of Elizabeth. Rachel was grinding her teeth hoping Elizabeth would for once keep her mouth shut. Breathlessly, she passed her sister who did not speak one word and showed no sign of insult. Rachel calmly opened the door and closed it leaving her sister shocked and flabbergasted at the amount of work that was to be done.

Once Rachel stepped outside the house, she could feel the sun’s warmth embrace her body. But as she moved out of its arms into the shadows of the home, so faded the warmth, till the blatant chill of spring held her. The feel of the cold spring morn suited how she felt—far better than the warmth of the day.

She had held secret hopes and premonitions that her mother would give up the idea of marriage to the pastor. Reverend Benedict was not a very attractive man, but that was not the real reason she disliked him. He was so dull in everything he did. He would not try to romance or even court her. Claiming that he was too busy doing the things of God to waste time courting. That irritated her, he has no time for me, but he still wants to own my heart. In her darkest thoughts she wondered if he wanted her just for the money. After all, it was no secret that her mother wanted clergy in the family. And this was quite the opportunity; Rachel knew the thought would cross the mind of any man, even if he was a pastor.

If you wanted me without wrong intentions, you would try to love me! Rachel placed two hands on her head and pressed down on her skull in frustration. If she felt comfort in anything, it was that she was not alone in her thoughts. She believed that God would want him to fight for her heart. After all, was not the Bible from God? And it was filled with poetry to romance the human heart. Rachel smiled thinking of the sweetness in every line of The Song of Solomon. That was a man who loved, and he was a man doing God’s business.

Rachel walked down a path lined with trees that lead to the house, and in every season she thought it was beautiful. Every time she walked by herself down the path, she wondered how many more times she would walk it; alone down the path, and left to her own thoughts. Strolling the green isle always gave her hope. Hope she needed more than ever after her father died.

Rachel’s mind played the events that had occurred over and over again till she felt as if she was there and had died also. Her father’s carriage went off into a river during the storm. Rachel had learned to search for hope in each day. But the quest to find it today was slow coming, and she found her fears more real than ever before; it appeared that she would be taken by a man who did not love her. He was a man who believed in rules and not laughter; one who found all dancing sinful and romancing irrelevant. Could this man truly love me? Many times she became angry with herself because he was a worker of God. But now he seemed less God, and more rules of life.

And why should he treat me so undeniably rude? I am certain if that man had a daughter, he would want her properly courted. Am I not the same, just because I have no father to stand up for me? And left unprotected by a mother who sees fraudulent family image as the true ever present God? A man of morals would find a lady’s heart too important to leave unattended.

If he denies himself the simple pleasures of life, he would deny them for me as well. If he takes me, then I will be reduced to nothing more than a prisoner. No more balls and dances, much less laughter, and absolutely no idle talk. Suddenly a fear hit her—what if this is the last ball I will attend? What if he comes to take me away soon?

Rachel began to feel sick in the depths of her stomach. She closed her eyes and the world disappeared. She breathed in the chilled morning air—she was completely alone. Eyes so tightly closed that no sun light slipped behind her eyelids; in this brief moment of absolute solitude she was safe. No man was coming to force marriage on her—she was alone. All alone without worries, fear, or complicated people, this fleeting moment began to make her wonder what a life of solitude would bring. What if she could just run away and live on some distant mountain, or even be a stowaway on a ship headed to America.

But if this was all imagination, why stay alone? She began to imagine the gentleman of her dreams. His eyes were green like the lush hills, and he was tall, sincere but mysterious, and his speech was romantic; romantic beyond the words of the greatest poet who ever loved.

Her eyes stayed firmly shut as she reached out her hand to him, waiting for a warm and strong hand to take hers. He smiled at her and paused, then slowly took her small hand and kissed it softly. She giggled at the sensations that sparked in her as his lips brushed her hand. Then as natural as branches swaying in the wind, he led her slowly into a dance. Rachel moved and twirled around, laughing and smiling with the man that had just evanesced into her life. Back and forth and around they went, but always with their eyes staring into each other’s. And every time she twirled around, she found herself locked into his gaze once again. Those eyes would never hurt her; those eyes told of a man who loved her more than his own life; those eyes were filled with adoration, laughter, and a deep desire to be close to her always.

And she would love those eyes as they loved her. Rachel longed for him to see the same qualities in hers; she would love him always, care for him, manage his house, and speak of him worthily to everyone. If he desired something, she would make sure his wishes were satisfied, and she would do everything she could to stay beautiful for him. So much so that he would never look back on this day with regret. They were each other’s for eternity.

Rachel! The sound of her brother’s voice ended her dance, and so vanished her partner; she opened her eyes to see Mathew gazing expressionlessly at her. Her face flushed instantly.

Mathew… Rachel stammered, but she found no words to explain and no lie to cleverly cover herself. She touched her warm face, how red am I? Perhaps if I am red enough, I could blame it on sickness, or say that I am feeling dizzy and faint.

Mathew shook his head and the expression on his face still remained. Has my younger sister lost her mind?

Rachel failed to determine whether he was being serious or not. If I act aggressive, perhaps he will blame it on my moods and walk away. No, I have not lost my mind! Haven’t you ever seen a girl dance before?

Mathew laughed, and Rachel felt slightly comforted. Yes, I can honestly say I have seen that happen before, but every time I have seen it the lady always had a partner.

Rachel took a deep breath; Well if you must know, I was… She blushed then cursed herself for letting her embarrassment lay unconcealed in front of Matthew.

Mathew laughed again. You were picturing Mr. Wealthy and Handsome in your head. His eyebrows narrowed, then he waved his hand at her. And do not even try to deny it, or I shall tell everyone and your reputation will be known as the insane Rachel Graceling of England.

Rachel glared. "Do not say a word! Or I shall never speak to you again!" It would be bad enough having Elizabeth know, but the whole town of Trent would be mortifying! All the wealthy snobs would call me the silly girl that had failed to grow up. What man would want that? The only thing that would crush any man from wanting to speak to me would be a rumor that distasteful!

Mathew grinned at her. In that case, the secret is safe with me. Would not want my favorite sister to never say a word to me again, now would I?

Rachel looked at him for a moment. Mathew, it’s not good to have ‘a favorite sister,’ what would the others do if they knew?

He hid his hands behind his back and paced while looking up to the sky, like he was in deep thought. Well… Ivy would blow away in a storm of hopeless female emotion, Elizabeth would hardly care, and Rebecca would not speak no matter what she felt.

Rachel smiled. Her brother was very right. And mother would be in a fluster, she said, and grinned, relieved that he was letting her off on a laugh.

Of course, he answered, what else would she do? He walked beside her and motioned for her to follow him down the path leaving the house.

So tell me about this man. Does he exist and do I know him? Matthew said, his voice to Rachel’s surprise sounded interested.

But then, you have always tried to protect your sister. So why should I be surprised? Rachel sighed to express herself. No, I am afraid he was just an apparition I created. I do not believe such a good and handsome man does exist. And if he lives, his path in life will not cross mine.

Matthew rolled his eyes. Oh, that does hurt my soul! I shall cry so much tonight that God himself will feel sorry for my pain. Such a good man does not exist…

Rachel smiled at her brother. You will put some woman in ecstasy one day, and I am sure she will be the most gorgeous woman in England.

Mathew put his arm around her. And you will do the same to a perfect man.

The words as he uttered them took her by surprise, though his response suited his mannerism, Rachel was wounded by his words. Surprised by the impulsive pain, Rachel was quiet as she bent her head down begging herself not to let tears fill her eyes. But she saw Matthew’s concerned look in the corner of her eye and knew he had spotted the pain on her face. Turning her head away from him, she said quickly, Yes, but I am uncertain that he will not do the same to me.

Mathew was silent as he chose his words carefully, saying them slowly and pondering each word, The Reverend is a good man, but he cannot make you content. Is that because you chose to be unhappy with him?

Rachel walked in silence until she approached the boarder of rudeness, then sighing loudly again she shook her head. No, he simply doesn’t love me, or he doesn’t understand that love is a two sided coin.

Harsh words for a pastor, but do you know what love is? Or are you basing it off the fairytales we grew up with? Rachel, outside of this family, you have had no experience with what it means to love a person for marriage sake, Matthew said, squeezing her shoulder with his arms gently around her.

Rachel looked up at her brother letting her emotion freely show. I know there is no such thing as an absolute perfect gentleman to fill the spots of desire that every woman wishes for. But I know that I am to love a person for imperfection as well as the perfection. Mathew, would I base my heart on childhood stories? Or the simple desires every woman wants in a man?

Mathew smiled again. Possibly, quite possibly. No man can understand the mind of a woman.

Rachel laughed, relieved that her brother saved her from tearing with his simple jest. Then he should not try! Because no man can understand our minds, she ended, with laughter.

Well I do not!

Rachel shook her head. Well, having nothing but sisters has taught you some things. And I think it has made you more aware and protective of the home and family.

I fear father did not marry mother for her ability to understand finances and other every day cares.

No, I think you’re right, he did not, she added with laughter, but deep inside she was forced to acknowledge an undying sting of pain that her mother had caused all of them. She had been balanced by her husband, but now the balance was gone and the Graceling home was a ship in storm far too often.

They both said nothing for a few moments till Mathew broke the silence, bringing Rachel back to her present bitter reality, Rachel why do you think that the Reverend Benedict doesn’t have a deep and true affection for you?

Rachel closed her eyes and pictured the preacher in her head. It did not matter how many times she tried, she could never see any affection in his eyes. He doesn’t love me, and you can see it in his lack of affectionate words.

A man may be few of words but great in heart.

Yes, he may, but then he is great in actions, and the Reverend fails in that as well, said Rachel, leaning against her brother.

Can one be few in both, but still love? said Matthew, with the sound of attempted annoyance ringing in his voice.

Rachel ignored her brothers play, and responded to him purely by her heart, Perhaps, but he is not a man, and less a man than the poorest is the Reverend if he believes he may cheat on his manhood for me but make it up in service to God.

Mathew nodded. Then if you really believe that is true, then less a woman you are if you let him take you as his wife, said Mathew, accepting his sister’s wish for a serious conversation.

Rachel nodded, then tearfully looked up at Mathew feeling some weight roll off her shoulders as she allowed her brother to see how desperate she felt. Then what am I to do?

The day he comes for you, tell him no, and then if you have the boldness to say no, you must have the boldness to say why. And whatever your choice is, I will be there to support you.

Rachel rested her head onto her brother’s shoulder. I will do that, but mother will hate me.

She may, for a time. But she is a woman and will get over her emotion soon enough.

Rachel laughed. Well, I can say comfortably that you are my favorite brother!

Good, I am glad I am something to someone. He looked off into the distance. On the night of the ball be sure to look for that man you imagined.

He doesn’t exist, silly! Rachel said laughing. I was not deceiving you!

Mathew was quiet again, then he stopped and pulled her back to the direction of the house, his face painted with sincerity. He exists somewhere, Rachel, even if you don’t know where.

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An Unexpected Visitor

I sat beside my newly born fire and watched its constant dancing as I sunk deep in a chair and enjoying the morning quiet. Usually at this time I would have been out taking my morning walk, but today I was sick. After all the cold mornings, never has one brought me a sickness, but today I was touched by the chills, headache, and fever. My housekeeper, Mary, chided me for being out of bed, but my housekeeper could never understand my inner restlessness that made nights unbearable enough. Nor could she see the ghost’s that taunted me and rattled my chains, so by my jaded heart, I would not also suffer in bed by day.

Instead, I sat gazing into the flame and waited for my breakfast to be prepared. Staring into the fire, I found it warming, intoxicating me, and flooding my senses like brandy. For a brief moment, I felt surcease from the constant weight I carried on my shoulders. All the agony, fears, and sorrow of the past melted as the warmth burned away memory. I started wondering in the deepest wells of my mind what it would be like to love again. To be close to an attractive woman, to see her smile, hear her laughter, feel the softness of her skin, and the smell of her perfume.

The thought was more intoxicating than the fire, to be able to give my grief and jadedness over to someone. Someone who would not look at my past and scream, and someone who knew that God forgives anything, and who could convince me of that. It had been too long since I loved, perhaps the time needed to come again. Perhaps that would be my salvation from the depression that flooded my veins, condemned my heart, and dulled my senses from everything I knew was good. That disease kept me from feeling alive, or even from feeling the simple joys that every other human could indulge in.

Mr. Witchland, called a voice from the present.

Instantly, pain of the deepest kind bit me from every direction, as the warmth of the fire faded and all of the abysmal reality came pouring into my mind. My teeth clenched and my eyes shut from the old acute pain as memories flashed through my head. I buried my face into my hands—I was such a fool—I could never love again. I had fallen from the grace of God and the potential to forgive myself; I was soulless and unlovable—no foolish woman could care for a dead man. Or bring me back to life.

Mr. Witchland, your breakfast is ready.

I looked up to see Mary gaping at me; she would never understand who I truly was, but still made normality out of my misery. I will be there in a moment… thank you, I gasped, the pain of who I was, and feeling like a spiritual criminal—damned to hell, never failed to sting me with fresh suffering.

Mr. Witchland, are you alright sir? Can I bring you something now, a blanket, tea, or, a preacher? Her voice said the last word with authority as well as superciliousness. She firmly believed that my healing would only come from the church. Of my past, she knew some, and well enough to know I suffered from it, but I had gone to the holy place, and by the Reverend’s words, God punished men from the past sins committed. If I was looking for hope, it would have to come from the Bible, or God himself. There was not another preacher for a long distance. And so I had prayed for healing and forgiveness, and if God lived, he would certainly in some way send a message to me eventually. An answer of some sort, because I showed devotion in my prayers. And if a God who created beauty and earth would find honor in anything, it would be devotion and belief.

No, not today, was all I replied. I was too tired to play word games with Mary, or listen to the advice of someone who knew little of my every present darkness. We both held our current positions and refused to move. Mary, I did not doubt, was angry for me never listening to her, and I tried only