Roderick

Ever since the night she left the note on my pillow, Thedra Clyde has been avoiding me. Before, this would have left me discouraged, but now I know her true thoughts about me and what an incredibly shy person she is, I only find her efforts adorable.

The way she skitters away like a shy rabbit whenever my name is brought up, blushing and holding her cheeks, it rouses the predator’s instinct in me. I find myself desiring to chase after her, to corner her somewhere and force her to confront me. But when I imagine doing such a thing I’m reminded that I myself am actually quite shy, and that I don’t really know what I’d say to her if I ever followed through with that instinct. And so things continue like this for a few weeks…

It’s mid-December now, just a few days before Christmas. I’ve returned to the countryside after ten long days spent in the city wrapping up year end business matters, ensuring I’ll be able to spend a peaceful, uninterrupted holiday in the country. I was so eager to return home that I left town as soon as I finished work rather than waiting for a morning carriage the following day, and rode through the snow and into the evening to arrive late last night. Too late to catch a glimpse of Thedra, but I sleep more soundly, knowing she’s under the same roof.

So far I haven’t seen her this morning. Another servant came to rekindle the fire in my room when I woke, and she wasn’t at breakfast. Eager to see her again after so many days away, I stroll with pretend nonchalance through the big house, my gaze immediately drawn by the flutter of each black skirt. But none of these maids are my Thedra.

Then by chance I happen to stop by a window and notice movement in the driveway below. A lone maid, stoically shoveling snow. She wears a hat and scarf and heavy winter coat that almost swallows her entire figure, but I’ve gotten so used to recognizing Thedra from her gestures rather than her features that I know her at once.

A sense of elation floods me, followed by relief. Then I frown.

Why are they making one little maid take on such an enormous task all alone? At this rate, it will take her hours to shovel the whole driveway.

An idea strikes me suddenly. I don’t even stop to consider it, but immediately move into action. Quickly I don my winter clothes and boots, my reckless heart beating faster and faster with each passing moment. It feels a bit strange. Only yesterday I committed to an investment of millions, but my heart did not beat then as apprehensively as it does now. After all, why should it? That was only money. But this…

This is the woman I love.

Thedra

It snowed three inches this morning. I know because I had this whole driveway shoveled out last night. And now I have to do it all over again.

It’s cold but I’m already sweating with the effort. My arms and lower back ache from yesterday’s chores, but honestly, it’s still not as bad as things were in the beginning.

Since her run in with Mr. Bentham, Evelyn has been far less blatant about her dislike for me with the distribution of chores, but every now and again she assigns me tasks like this that should probably be divided between two or three people. But I don’t complain. If I tell myself it’s for Mr. Bentham and not for Evelyn’s evil satisfaction, then I am happy to work hard. Something as simple as this is the least I can do to repay my debt of gratitude.

Mr. Bentham. I heard at breakfast he was back, though I’ve yet to run into him. When I imagine it, I find myself blushing again.

I wonder why it is that I get so flustered and shy every time I think of my master. Not for the first time I wish I’d had the courage to look him in the eye for once, and see his face for myself.

I know I got a brief look at him the day I sloshed him with water, but I was sick at the time and the memory is so foggy now I can barely recall what he looked like. I only remember thinking he was young; much younger than I’d pictured him. And that his chest, when I wiped it with the napkin, was big and firm.

I’m blushing even harder now, and I shake my head to banish the memory. “What on earth am I thinking?” I mumble as I dig my shovel in with redoubled efforts, making my way slowly but surely down the driveway.

After a while I become faintly aware of the sound of another shovel scraping through snow. I look up in surprise to see a figure at the opposite end of the driveway, working his way towards me. Relief floods me. Evelyn must have relented and sent me help after all. I think it might be the first time since coming here I’ve ever felt grateful to her.

With this, my job’s been halved. More than halved, I realize as I watch the speed with which he’s moving snow. I must work hard so I don’t fall behind.

Like this I shovel heartily, happy to hear the sound of the other worker’s shovel coming nearer to mine. Not much time passes, perhaps twenty minutes, when I realize we’re only feet from one another. Weary and winded, I straighten to thank him, only to realize with a start I don’t recognize this man.

“I’m grateful for your help,” I say. He glances up briefly, marking me, then moves a few heavy shovelfuls of snow as he makes a path directly to me. He straightens and I realize he’s tall, at least six foot, with broad, powerful shoulders. I don’t know why, but the way he’s looking at me makes me blush.

“I’m sorry,” I say a little shyly, “I don’t recognize you. Are you new here?”

His rugged face breaks suddenly into a smile, and I feel my eyes widen. He’s really handsome. Certainly, the scar along his left cheek is disfiguring, but it cannot detract from his smile, nor from the warmth radiating from his dark brown eyes. I’m a bit mesmerized when he suddenly opens his mouth to speak. 

“You mean to tell me you’ve been working for me two months now and you still don’t recognize your own master?”

I gasp with recognition. I know that voice!

Mr. Bentham!

My heart feels as though it’s been struck with a hammer. Panic fills me. My eyes fall immediately, my mind spinning so fast I can hardly form a complete thought. What is happening right now?!

“B-but, how? Why would you be shoveling snow?”

“Because it looked like you needed help.”

What’s he saying? He must have shoveled two thirds of the driveway— for me? Why would he do something like that?

“It’s impolite, you know,” he says, his voice low and slightly gravelly with exercise, “to avoid someone’s eyes when they’re speaking to you.”

What do I do? My heart is already beating so fast. I fear if I look him in the eyes it might really explode. Even so, I do not wish to appear impolite to this man. God, help me!

Slowly, slowly, I lift my eyes to his.

“That’s better.”

He’s looking right at me, leaning against his shovel, wearing an expression somewhere between satisfaction and— what is it? I don’t know him well enough— at least not his expressions— to guess what he’s thinking right now. But whatever it is, it’s more than my heart can take.

 I like him, I realize as I gaze up at him. I like him so much that I think I could die.

The instant this realization strikes me my head snaps back to its natural position. I stare at his feet, shocked at my own impudence, that I, Thedra Clyde, could ever love such a man as Mr. Bentham. I don’t know why; suddenly I’m shaking so much and I feel I might cry.

“Are you alright?” His concerned voice grips me, so kind, so gentle. How long has it been? I wonder as tears gather on my eyelids and fall from my wide-open eyes. How long has it been since I fell in love with that voice?

“You’re cold,” he notices my trembling, but does not guess the reason. I can only nod. “I’ll finish up here. You should head inside and drink something hot.”

More tears fall from my eyes. I want to answer, to tell him that he’s the one who should go inside and warm up. He’s already done so much, why should he have to finish my job? But I cannot speak. If I do he will hear me crying, and become upset.

“Thank you, Sir,” I somehow manage to mumble, and, without another word, turn and run for the house. Halfway there I realize I’ve forgotten my shovel, but I can’t make myself go back for it. Instead I run even harder, and burst upon the kitchen, startling everyone with my appearance. There are a few exclamations and questions, but I ignore them and run straight for my room.

Throwing my winter clothes in a heap on the floor, I stop short of my bed to view the silk carnation he gifted me laid across the pillow, a token I’ve foolishly slept with all this time, waking every morning to find the stem still clutched in my hand.

The colors of the soft red bloom bleed together with the rest of the room as my eyes overflow with tears, and I collapse into my bed with the flower pressed against my heart, weeping.

I like him. I like Mr. Bentham with every part of me. My heart, my mind, even my body. So why? Why does that leave me feeling so wretched inside?

 If my life had gone differently, if I were still the daughter of a wealthy baron, then I might dare to dream of something as audacious as standing by his side. But as I am now, what do I have to offer him but my family’s debts and disgrace? Even my fellow servants mock me and look down on me. How much would Mr. Bentham laugh if he knew the truth about my hidden feelings? That even now, as I cry my eyes out with shame, there’s a part of me that’s still imagining what my life would look like if I could be by his side.

“You’re a fool, Thedra,” I cry as I clutch the flower closer to my breast. “Stop being such a fool.”