Darkest Pattern- The Door

by Riva Zmajoki

  That’s why she lied in the bed without further hesitation and tried to pull the covers with her healthy hand. The lady saw her struggle and came to cover her up. At that moment just before sleep, the lady looked like an angel, the way she imagines her mother would look like if she lived long enough to leave a clear memory in Belva’s mind.

  Although she tried to fight off sleep, her alertness was gone, she felt safe in lady’s boudoir. As she fell asleep she hoped that she’ll dream of this lady that was gentle towards her, it was hard to remember gentleness. For the longest time, her life was a constant struggle, quarrel against the world and a rebellion. It was hard to fight this lady. If she wanted, she could do to Belva whatever she wants. That made Belva smile as the sleep finally won and her thoughts ran with the images of them naked in the woods.

  Soon the dream turned to a nightmare full of dogs barking and Belva woke up suddenly to a strange place. It took her a moment to remember where she was. In the white house of the white lady with dangerous lips.

  Belva got up to examine the room. On the new terrain, it was important to know your exits. There were two doors. Belva didn’t dare go press the knobs because servants could be on the other side. Instead, she listened pressing her ear to the door and peeked through the keyholes.

  Finally, he dared to press the knobs and discovered them both to be locked. The only exit was the window. Hiding behind the curtain she peeked through the window and discovered that there was a window sill wide enough to stand on, but she hoped that she won’t have to use that exit. For some things, she was simply too old. In need, she’ll do whatever, but sometimes she wished that there were fewer needs for foolishness like jumping out of the moving carriage.

  Next, she examined the contents of the room. Everything seemed ordinary. The only decoration was covered by a sheet. Belva peeked under the sheet just to see a huge needlepoint which showed two naked women. One was lying down while the other kissed her breast. Belva quickly let go of the sheet.

  Her lady was truly a devilish woman. Not that Belva believed all that nonsense they poured in her head in the Sunday school. Even those legends slaves shared with her since she was on the move didn’t play any music in Belva’s heart.

  For her, it seemed that it made no sense to think about beyond and unreasonable divine beings. There were enough problems to fix on this side to be worried about their opinion of things. When something was broken it was your duty to repair the damage and all the divine beings on this world and on another couldn’t help you.

  In most of the stories, divinity was concerned with maintaining the existing order, Belva had no interest in that chore. Surely, the future will make up new divine beings to approve of the new world their struggle will create.

  After that high and mighty thoughts, Belva laughed at herself. Closed, under the key, at mercy of her lady, she was surely the one to bring the future forward. An old tired dark woman who just ran and runs until she falls down broken.

  It was best to try to get some more sleep.

  Her pistol was placed on the nightstand. Her lady was a foolish woman too, she didn’t even empty her pistol while Belva slept. That made Belva smile with fondness. Before lying back down she put her pistol under her pillow just in case her lady remembers to be wiser.

  There wasn’t long and Belva was sleeping again, but this time she wasn’t in the pleasant company of her lady but alone in the woods, and of course that those damned dogs were there chasing her.

  The music could be heard all through the corridors. The sound made Josephine cringe inside. It wasn't surprising to meet Major-Domo’s reprimanding gaze when she entered the room. He had to endure the talent of their guest while she was away.

  Josephine sat beside her young guest on the piano chair. Major-Domo withdrew more than willingly. She was still shaken thinking of the injured woman in her bed. Josephine used the pause her guest made from her clumsy tapping on the keynotes and put her hands on the black and white keys. The girl looked at Josephine with a smile.

  Josephine returned the smile absently hitting the first key. After that, she played without thinking about it. The melody she produced was full of melancholy and hope.

  “That was wonderful,” the girl clapped impressed.

  Josephine completely forgot that the girl was there, sitting beside her.

  “I’m embarrassed before your skill,” the girl blushed and Josephine realized that all of the unattractiveness of her aching leg was forgotten before the beauty of the music.

  That bothered Josephine because she loved music in all her purity. It was the only thing which transcended her to another place. That’s why she never used music in her conquests. There was too great of a risk to smear the music with her rises and falls in the messy game of catch and release.

  The girl looked ready, a bit too soon, ready. Josephine wasn’t in the mood for the next stage of courting so she just pressed one kiss to girl’s cheek. Then she called the maid to escort her guest back to her room. When she left, Josephine didn’t invite her to knock to her door if she gets frightened at night. That was one of the lazier tactics, which proved to be productive more than any amount of pressing or pushing. Only one slightly open door and girls would just slip in.

  Josephine went to the anteroom by which the dark injured women lied and slept. Instead of listening in before the door, Josephine turned towards the window wrapping her arms around herself. There was a pressure in her chest to check up on the woman’s sleep, to listen to her breath, to check is she well. Josephine resisted that pressure. She did promise the woman that she won’t be obligated to anything if she comes for help and that was one promise she will keep.

  When she fell asleep her dreams were restless. She dreamt of the woman leaned over her with her pistol pressed to Josephine’s forehead.

  In the morning, she felt out of place and tired, defeated.

  “Have you hurt yourself?” Major-Domo leaned over to her all flustered and discrete.

  “Excuse me?” Josephine was puzzled.

  “The maid found some blood on the tiles this morning, and last night you did a request for some bandages after your walk,” he observed her intensively.

  “Oh, that? My dear,” Josephine decided not to share with him her secret. There was no clear thought of why she didn’t confide in him in who she had endless confidence, maybe it was the comment in the carriage after the woman jumped out in the danger. “It was just one small clumsiness on my part. I didn’t want for our guest to get upset so I sent her to you.”

  “You should be examined,” Major-Domo said determinately. “I’ll send for the doctor.”

  “No, there’s no need really. It’s just a small thing, and I feel ashamed as well. It will heal quickly. I’ll just change my bandage and keep it clean.”

  “The maid will help you.”

  “Better not, it’s a really awkward place to show off,” she waved him off.

  “Certainly,” he withdrew. “If it should start to burn or swell we’ll be obligated to call the doctor.”

  “Of course.”

  After that Josephine acted as the walking is hard and she leaned on her guest a bit. In other circumstances, she would enjoy the contact, but now she just withdrew on the first chance she got. Using her new excuse she called the maid to bring her new bandages and a plate of food.

  When everything was there Josephine sent the maid away and slowly entered her own boudoir. It turned out that the woman still slept. Not knowing what to do Josephine sat in the armchair by the door and looked from the distance the sleeping woman. The woman tossed and turned in her sleep. Her hair was all messy and her curls were pressed on her glistening neck. She looked younger in her sleep, almost innocent. Only the pistol under her pillow spoiled that illusion, but that made her even more appealing, the danger within her.

  The woman woke up suddenly sitting upright with the pistol already in her hand. It took her few moments to notice Josephine.

  “It’s you,” she sa
id looking down on her clothes all crumpled from her restless sleep.

  “Good morning,” Josephine said hoarsely, she cleared her throat before continuing. “I brought you some new bandages.”

  Her eyes fell on the tray.

  “What about patrolmen?”

  “What patrolmen?” Josephine lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “Do you want some with your breakfast?”

  That made her relax so she piled up the thrown out pillows on the headpiece and sat leaned in them to observe Josephine. The woman looked at home in Josephine’s bed, it seemed as the bed was hers, not Josephine’s. It didn’t seem as the woman was ashamed before Josephine because she made no attempt to cover her barely dressed body. The lack of shame was refreshing. Josephine was tired of the string of virtuous virgins and their endless shame.

  The woman looked around examining the room. Josephine looked only at the woman.

  “I smeared your whole bed with my blood,” the woman finally said.

  “It isn’t the first time that happened,” Josephine waved it off dismissively.

  The woman threw a fit of laughter.

  “You’re a rascally woman, aren’t you?”

  “And you?” Josephine couldn’t resist but to ask.

  Instead of the answer the woman just shrugged her shoulder, but then squinted from pain.

  “I’m a stupid and rebellious woman,” she said with a strain in her voice. “Where are those bandages? These ones are quite ugly.”

  It was a bit hard for Josephine to get up from her armchair. There was a feeling as she was permanently pinned for that place. Certain kind of safety was the distance between them.

  Resisting her fear Josephine sat on the edge of her own bed and in silence changed her bandage.

  “Here, in the closet, you have a choice of dresses. Pick one,” Josephine was surprised just how much she was bothered by the exposure of the woman’s body.

  The clothes were an armour, there was safety in its layers. Josephine will feel better when the woman would look unobtainable as much as she was out of grasp.

  “I can’t wear a dress like this,” the woman objected.

  Josephine looked at her messy hair and dirty hands. There was truth to her words, there would be dirt all over the dress, which would be hard to explain to servants.

  “I will tell the maid to prepare me a bath and that I will bathe by myself.”

  “You can’t empty the tub by yourself,” the woman pointed out.

  “I already told them that I hurt myself so they won’t suspect much. Besides, I still bleed from time to time.”

  “But you don’t bathe then,” she shook her head worried.

  Josephine got up and opened the heavy curtains to let the light in and chase away the anxiety and the sense of a prison.

  “I will let you know when the bath is ready. There’s food on the tray.”

  The woman nodded accepting the risk of the bath sinking back in Josephine’s pillows.

  “Hey,” the woman stopped Josephine at the door.

  “What?” Josephine didn’t dare to look back at her.

  “Won’t you even ask me what I did?”

  “No,” Josephine carefully closed the door behind her.

  Belva could feel her heart beating in her throat when the door closed behind her lady. There were such grace and humility in her movements, there was nothing vain or presumptuous, nothing that would suggest that the lady feels superior to her. There was no trace of disdain or disgust, nothing condescending.

  The way she held herself was so self-contained and reserved. There was nothing left of that wild woman in the carriage which risked death for a kiss. It was maddening to try to understand her motives or her thoughts.

  The entrance of a patrolman would be more understandable than this. Did she want something from Belva or not? Why risk so much for Belva’s comfort?

  It was enough of her to offer her a dress, a real dress for a lady, not a rag with which she can easily blend in the barracks full of slaves, but the lady went out to make a bath for her as well.

  A bath. The only bath for which Belva knew for years now was a jump into a cold stream. Usually not from such great heights as the other night, but still, it wasn’t a pleasurable experience.

  Soon the lady returned and led her to the lavatory beside her room.

  Even that was out of the ordinary. She gestured towards Belva as Belva was the mistress, the lady of the house, and the lady her servant. There could have been real patrolmen in the lavatory but Belva went in leaving her pistol behind. Somehow she felt safer that way. The pistol evoked violence. If she was to be apprehended in lady’s home she would rather for it to go without firearms.

  The bath was really there. They filled the bath with the hot water. The towels were stacked up on the table beside the tub. Belva felt like crying. Her lady left a dress that Belva picked up on the stand and fresh change of the underwear beside it. Then she closed the door of her boudoir and Belva saw the key on her side of the door.

  Belva looked at the key and then just undressed herself deciding to ignore the key. She submerged herself in the tub leaving her shoulders out of the water and started to rub her skin with the scented soap. It was as she was in heaven.

  To wash her hair was such relief. The smell, the water, the tub, everything was divine. When she was done with the manic cleaning Belva lied down in the tub and let herself a moment of stillness. It was a moment of peace when she believed that no patrolman will come through that door.

  Her heart eased up for a moment and wasn’t filled with anger and hate, with injustice and resistance. It took her a while to comprehend the feeling was content.

  That feeling was risky and dangerous, but she let herself to feel safe enough to feel it. It would be less believable that, if her lady was taking a bath, she would just scrub herself in a hurry and get up. Surely, after all that effort into preparing the bath the maid who waits before the door, as she should, expects of the lady to lay in the tub some more.

  When the panic started to rise again Belva got up and used all the towels to dry herself. The rubbing and friction was such a thrill.

  Then it was time to dress up. Her clothes were soft and silky. The dress was beautiful, most humble she managed to find in a closet full of ravishing dresses. Without a crinoline, the dress wasn’t as puffy as it should but its width brought pleasure to Belva.

  There were no problems until Belva pulled up the dress to her waist, but it was a problem to get into the sleeves, especially since her bandage was wet. She could find a way, but there was a mischievous thought she couldn’t shake off. There was a willing servant in the other room.

  To shake things up and find out more of her lady Belva opened the door and asked for help with the dress. Surely, that was an innocent enough of a request.

  Josephine closed the door and let the woman deal with the tub on her own. There was a certain sense of pride within Josephine that she wasn’t even tempted to peek through the hole in the wall and observe the woman in the tub.

  Instead, she fiercely pulled the dirty sheets of the bed. Then she put new ones with care straightening them up turning the bed into a firm flat surface. This was the bed which Josephine always made herself. She had time for that. She had too much time.

  “You’re a strange noblewoman,” the woman’s voice startled Josephine when she was done with the bed.

  “You’re a quick woman,” Josephine turned to her just to see that she wasn’t completely dressed.

  “It’s no time for soaking until the water is cold,” she said dismissingly. “Help me with this dress and I’ll be on my way.”

  “You’re going?” Josephine was shocked as that wasn’t expected of the runaway woman to go. “Where will you go? You’re wounded.”

  Josephine crossed the room all upset and helped her to get in the dress. Then she noticed the bandage and replaced it with a new one before helping her in her sleeve. When she adjusted her top and pulled on her corset string
s Josephine carefully worked around her breast avoiding direct contact with her skin.

  “Do you really want for the patrolmen to come knocking on your door looking for me?” the woman frowned in wonder but Josephine avoided her gaze examining the dress.

  “No one will look for you here,” Josephine waved her worry off noticing that the dress was a bit too tight for the woman, but it looked anything but bad on her.

  The woman looked absently at her and walked towards the window.

  “Well, maybe one night longer.”

  When she was turned with her back to her, Josephine noticed her wet entangled hair and grabbed the brush off the nightstand.

  “Let me comb your hair, with the hair like this no one will ever believe you’re anything but a fugitive.”

  “I can do that myself,” she touched the strand of her hair not turning around.

  “No, you can’t.”

  Without further encouragement, Josephine approached her back and started to comb her hair carefully entangling her curls. The woman let her touch her hair all the time looking through the window.

  She’ll stay another night, Josephine’s heart pounded wildly in her chest threatening to bust out through her ribs. There was silence between them. Josephine wasn’t willing to break it, she didn’t want to give the woman a reason to change her mind.

  Her curly long hair straightened up under the comb reaching to the half of her back. The hair itself was a challenge. Josephine never had a chance to comb a hair like hers. Not wanting to be beaten by her hair she focused on entangling all the knots and twists trying not to cause her unnecessary pain.

  It was already evening when the brush started to go through the whole length of her hair without resistance.

  “You didn’t pull my scalp even once,” she said finally breaking the silence.

  Josephine was startled by the sound of her voice so she finally stopped with the combing. The woman went through her hair with her fingers.

  “There is some time since my hair was so soft.”

  Josephine turned away from her and put her brush back on the nightstand, but not before taking the hairs from the brush and letting it fly away through the window.