“Change out the kettle” said Gregor to the hand in the kitchen, “It tastes like metal.” The hand went to do so.
He usually wasn’t so involved with the work being done, but after everything he was probably feeling distressed, or upset. He opened the cupboard and grabbed his large wooden mug. He headed toward the door across the room that went downstairs to the cellar. He lumbered down the creaky stairs to the chilly cellar with cold stone floors. Of course that didn’t bother him at all, since he never got cold. Gregor was never bothered by the cold, he was one tough cookie. He went to the keg of cheap beer, the stuff he opened when he was going to have a lot. When he wasn’t drinking for taste.
When he finished who knows how many glasses, he came back to the land of the living. As he came from the basement doorway, Eliza was weakly making her way off the last few steps. Her hair barely back, and no real outside dress, with a thin shawl draped over her shoulders.
“Elizabeth? What are you doing?” he came towards her.
She didn’t answer him. She didn’t even acknowledge him. Not something she ever did.
“Elizabeth!” he repeated with more power, coming to stand right in front of her.
Being blocked by him, she stopped. She stared straight ahead of her, into his chest, lifelessly. Then slowly looked up into his eyes. The lack of light in her eyes, the life replaced by resentment and misery startled him on the inside, just for a moment.
“Go back to your room Elizabeth” he said, “You need to calm down. You can continue work after you-”
“No.” she cut him off, stunning him.
After a second, he could for the words “Are you crazy?”
She looked away as if realizing something, “Maybe” she said softly, “I guess we’ll find out.”
Then she walked right past him, and he didn’t even move. Maybe he let her go out of, guilt, or maybe it was shock. Either way, it didn’t matter to Eliza, nothing in that moment did. Including the cold, because she left wearing what she was, despite the early morning winter cold and snow.
She closed shut the door as she left out the front, in her house shoes. She started down the road, walking weakly, but not losing the power to go on. The air was thin and cool and brisk, hitting her face like a whip. Cutting through her clothes and chilling her to the bone. She didn’t care. The entire world was muffled in snow, giving a feeling of peace, and her thoughts. Her thoughts both hadn’t stopped, and hadn’t started. A sentiment only those who experienced it could understand. But slowly, on her way, her mind planned without her. She didn’t know where she was going, but her mind was taking her there. She was letting her brains autopilot take control, trusting her subconscious mind. And trust it she did, for a two hour walk unprotected in the bitter cold. Finally she found herself at a familiar doorstep. Her hands were so frozen she couldn’t even feel herself loudly knocking on the door. A house maid opened the door and saw her, pale, red and weak, covered in snow. “MISS ELIZA!” she shrieked at the top of her lungs. She looked as if she had to be warmed or she would die within minutes.
By the fire, wrapped in two thick quilts, in new clothes, shaking. The house maid put a cup of hot tea on the table next to Eliza, and gently brushed her still damp hair back.
“June! Where is she!?” a woman’s voice came through the hallway.
She came in the doorway and looked shocked at the shape Eliza was in. Mrs. Clara Potts. Also known as “Her own woman.” A tall, elegant woman, with short waves of white of hair, not passing her ears. A beautiful elderly woman.
“Eliza Connor” she demanded, “what happened?”
Eliza’s gaze slowly moved to Clara’s eyes, and lingered before saying, “Clara…it hurts…”
Mrs. Potts stirred her tea, looking gloom. She tapped it off and handed it to Eliza to drink. Eliza had told her everything.
“Amelia…” Mrs. Potts sighed.
Eliza sipped the tea, not saying anything. Her hands and feet had thawed, but still ached like they never had before. Along with every other bone in her body, her head, face, and skin. But it didn’t seem to even bother her. She hadn’t mentioned physical pain the entire time she had been there. Over an hour.
“So” said Clara, looking seriously into Eliza’s eye’s, “What are you planning to do?”
Eliza didn’t look up from her cup, “I was hoping maybe you knew more.”
“No. I don’t think that’s so.”
Eliza looked up at her, slightly confused as to what she meant.
“I think you know EXACTLY what you want” said Clara surely, “I think you wanted me to tell you ‘go ahead’”
She was right. Eliza knew it. Her thoughts clouded over again, and she said it, not even really knowing what she was going to say, but with surety, “I want to make him pay. I want this to never happen again. I want to make it different.” Tears started to well in her eyes.
Clara’s soft, aged hand reached to tenderly hold hers. She looked Eliza in the eyes, with fire in her own and said, “Then do it.”
Clara was known as “Her own woman” because of her very rare, circumstances. See she was married at a young age, to a man her Father had picked, as most of all woman are. She was nineteen, and when she first met her groom to be who was twenty-three, and he fell deeply in love with her. He treated her better than he treated any man in his entire world, and did anything for her that would make her happy. And because of this, Clara fell in love with her dear Husband Charles, and they were undeniably the happiest couples anyone who met them had seen. They lived a long, happy life together, until at the age of forty-six, Charles became sick, and was going to passed away. Clara didn’t know what she was going to do, and was sure she was going to lose everything. But on his last day he had enough strength to stand, he called together all the men he worked with, and the men of his family with his last dying wish. He almost gave his brother a heart attack when he announced he was leaving all but a portion of his wealth, and his title, to his wife. Clara was just as shocked as everyone else. Her son had signed off on it as well, knowing he could make his own wealth, and that his mother would help him. And that his son was the tie-holder to the will, which means any disputes the others may have, had to go through him. So that decision wasn’t going anywhere. And it didn’t. over a decade, and many attempts later, she still had everything that her Husband left her. And her son is successful in his own right, and still come home to see his mother. Because of this, Mrs. Potts became strong, and unafraid of the men around her, and had been doing what she could, though not much, to help young woman, and change what she could.
So in telling Eliza “Then do it”, she was saying to her that she would help her, in any way she could.
Behind Eliza’s lifeless eyes grew a spark of determination, ready to do what she wanted to do. No, NEEDED to do. That spark caught fire, and Eliza looked into Clara’s eyes and said with strength in her voice, “Clara, I’m going to need a favor.”
Comments (1)
See all