by Rebecca Foxx
"Come in," she said in her tender voice.
It was Lily, their servant, a small bony woman whose incredibly fast movements deserved surprise.
"This is for you, Miss Annabel," said Lily extending a basket to Annabel." A little boy asked to give these paints to you. They said that you paid yesterday and forgot to take them from the store."
Annabel was surprised. She had never went to store, paid for some paints and forgotten them there. Not previous day, not ever. But she tried to conceal her surprise and instead thanked the servant.
The basket was indeed full of paints and paintbrushes. but when the door was safely closed, her smart mind knew what she had to do then. She threw all the paints on her large wooden writing table. And she found what she expected. A folded paper, a note. She opened it and began to read with excited heart, trembling fingers and curious mind, as if a thirsty man after wandering in the desert for a week or two, suddenly found a bottle of water.
She read:
Dear Annabel,
This was probably the best way I could reach to you. I cannot forget you and long for seeing you again. I still remember your tender voice and soft smile. Please, keep your promise. My music needs your lyrics to become a song. Meet me on the great bridge at seven this evening.
With Love
G.R.
Annabel's beautiful full lips reminding ripe berries, trembled while uttering those words. She ran to the open window, but could not see anyone. She jumped to her bed and read it again and again.
It was seven o'clock and the wind was there to greet them with its cool large wings. The bridge was resting on the narrow wing of the river. It was quite far from the country noise and crowds, however, it was a good place to follow the folks beyond the blue veil of the evening. Many artists had painted this stones over the water.
The bridge was a perfect contrast to the rest part of the countryside that was absorbed in the orange of the rising and dying suns, hopes being born, dead and reborn again. This place was particularly absorbed in blue. It seemed as if all blues were born in this very place.
Maybe he also came here with his guitar and hid his passions from the world before he would be brave enough to dedicate them to the drunk folks sitting and drinking unable to reproduce the events of passing nights in coming mornings. Annabel loved this place. She longed to use her blue paints instead of orange. Just today she could be unfaithful to sweet orange.
When she arrived, she saw him there leaning on the rough stones of bridge. He was scattering his thoughts over the river. But they were good swimmers, that managed to swim up and come back to his mind. She came, and he did not tell anything to her. He just looked at her as she smiled.
He did not even smile. And then he kissed her lips passionately until they both were out of breathe from mad feelings of passion and love.
"Annabel... I am head over hills," said the young man. "Be my music, I want to play you..."
"George..." she whispered, but her words were stopped by his sudden passionate kiss again.
They kissed again and her red lipstick, that she had used for the first time in her life, and that perfectly matched with her dress covering her knees and having small flowers, was gone. He played his music on her lips, and he had also the most beautiful lyrics for her ears.
As to the actual role of guitar that rested on the ground, that was great. She heard his music, that was all love, pain and extreme swings of moods.
Annabel accompanied the music with spontaneous words about new rising world between blue and orange. She sang how beautiful poem could be written in colors and notes of music. And that poem was actually love.
"No," said Annabel when he intended to accompany her on the way back home.
He insisted, and she said "no" again.
I love you, George, but our love should be a secret. My parents will kill both of us and our song today will be the only magic that will stay on the bridge, she whispered in her thoughts walking alone.
Their love was beautiful as a new blossomed flower, but would it wither like a flower too?
They went on dating in secret. They met and stayed together longer when the Morrison were on vocations, or busy in the evenings greeting guests and being guests themselves in luxurious noisy parties. Annabel used to disappear in the middle of those events, and it seemed nobody noticed that.
And one of those days, when she was going to leave the house and join her sweetheart, who waited for her as usual, there, near their house, and then ride somewhere close to horizon on his brown loyal horse, she did not see his shadow from the window. He was not there as they had agreed on previous date. Annabel went down anyway.
She went to their usual place where they made love, sang songs, wrote poems for each other and gave promises to each other.
George was not there. Nobody was there. Annabel stood confused and anxious. She understood, that there was no one she could ask about him, to know his place or know how he was. But he came. He had seen her window closed, which in their secret language meant that she was out, no longer waited or could not go out. He found her there in desperate state.
Her big beautiful body was trembling. It greatly fit in his masculine arms. She could not suppress her tears.
" I wondered how I could find you. Oh my God, I love a man who I know nothing about..." Annabel uttered in hardly heard voice.
"Hush, baby," George smiled. With a very easy movement he put her on his horse, she coiled her arms around his waist, and they penetrated the valley through the black night, black like the birds whispering something to each other all night long, black like the coffee he made for them, when they arrived at his place.
It was a small house made of wood. And everything inside, the table, cups, chairs, bed were made from wood. He made a coffee that she drank like a baby deer would drink milk in the heaven.
"This is where I live. This is far from being good. well, I do nor even dare to compare this to your house," laughed George, and his laughter turned her on.
"I don't care. I would live here with you..." said Annabel trying her best to convince him, though she was sincere indeed.
"I know, my Anna," he caressed her hair.
They understood each other without any words. And they knew that both wanted so much just to lie on the bed and dream wild fantasies, before the reality turned to nightmare...
But they did not just lie to dream, as innocent and tender caressing grew into something stronger in passions. He kissed her neck, every inch of her back and kissed her hair. Her hair smelled jasmines. He played her body like he would play the guitar, whispering about his deepest feelings...
Annabel loved the sensation of his head resting on her breast and feeling of his breathe on her naked skin. George loved to hear her heartbeat and felt very safe. For the first time in his life he felt that not only he saved and guarded someone, but there is a place, where he could be safe and sure that gunshots could not infer his love and peace.
Just feeling so close, being resolved in the small room full of the scents of their bodies and breathing, slight smoke that was born from the already extinct cigarettes and was about to die, the smell of black bitter coffee dancing its bold passionate dance over their bodies, created strong wishes of being united, being closer, as close as possible, and such closeness was possible only between a woman and a man, who loved each other to death.
After the revolution that happens one and only time in the girl's life, she felt both happy and lost. The same day at home, where Annabel managed to come back every time through the back door, she thought about their late evening lovemaking while taking hot shower.
She erased the blood and last remaining suspicions about George. She had chosen to dedicate herself thoroughly to her ideals. She thought again about his own wishes to keep their relationship secret. She remembered about the stranger and regretted for not being sincere with George and telling him all the truth.
But her intuition prompted her, that she herself would have
to hear some truth in the near future.
Chapter Two
Gunshots And Spirits For Sake Of Love And Justice
"I do not know who that man could be," declared George."But he must be my secret rival."
"Rival? What do you mean?"asked Annabel. "Why should you have enemies or rivals? Tell me the whole truth about you and your secret affairs."
The silence was screaming. Every second he did not answer, Annabel felt confused and prepared herself to hear something horrible, to know the ugly truth. She thought that soon she would even regret for striving for the truth, as it would be like a gunshot in a clear peaceful day.
"Please, George, I need to know everything. I love you! Be sure I will stand by your side. I will not let you down even if I know that you are a criminal, that you kill and rob people. I will not judge you, I will just try to help you to see the in the right and honorable way!" and she burst out with tears.
George calmed her.
"Annabel, my love, you will not have to feel shame for loving a criminal. I am not one. I am the one who struggles against crime. Yes, my name is George Ray. I am a cowboy, a simple country man, who loves to play his guitar. But I am also the leader, the founder of a secret organization, that fights against the crimes. Strange things happen in this area you know nothing about, Annabel."
She was listening to him with her eyes wide open, consuming his every word not only with ears, but with eyes too. A girl in love wants so much to believe in every word her beloved man says.
"Do you believe me Annabel?" asked George. He just understood that he simply lacked all necessary means to convince her in the truthfulness of his desperate words.
"I believe you," she said.
"Do you believe in my words, too?" asked George.
"And in your words too," said Annabel with begging gaze to go on.
"All I say to you now, should and must be secret. It should stay between me and you. I would not like to involve you in these affairs. It is not at all safe. Our organization has only 10 members. And we try to find out the people who stay behind all those crimes. They must cooperate with police as some crimes are linked to wrong people, to those who do not have any connection to them, they are just weak point, poor and deprived from any means to support their rights. Some, of course, have criminal past, but they are not the actual criminals that deserve the punishment. The true criminals pay them, share the robbery and wrong dirty money, and what do we have in the end? Corrupted police and unfair government!"
George was getting hot with every word, stressing every syllable and trying to explain in the best way to inject his ideas into her mind.
She did not say anything but listened to him with inner pride. She was proud of him, of his passions for justice, and his bravery to stand for his principles. However, her silence was the result of her astonishment and urge to know as much as possible. And he was afraid, that, perhaps, she did not believe him or he failed to satisfy her interests.
"I would like to keep you away from all this story, these crimes. You insisted but that is all I can tell you. Even this much was enough to trouble your innocent mind. Here we should stop and ..." he said with exhausted and desperate mannerism, wanting to add something else, but then feeling it to be unnecessary.
"George?" murmured Annabel.
"Yes, dear?"said George and he felt that now he would lose his grip and collapse from fear of losing her.
"I want to join your group." declared Annabel with clear and bold expression of thoughts and voice.
"No, it's perilous!" said George worried and at the same time quite surprised from her sudden declaration.
"I do not really want it just to support your choice and be closer to you. I feel I do not want just to sit and wait. I want to stand up and struggle. It interests and excites me." said Annabel in such enthusiastic way as if she had waited for this moment to come for all her life.
"I will feel so happy, if you just inspire me with your presence in my life, with your paintings, with your warmth and compassion. That is the best thing you can do for justice, for me to feel inspired to struggle for both of us," said George and he was sure that his words convinced her from her crazy thoughts to join his group and get involved in perils she did not have even slightest idea about. But he was just sure because, despite the months during which they shared love and understanding, he did not really knew her true fiery nature.
Later he came to know that she gave all her fire not only in hot kisses and hugs, on the wet blankets of nights, but also under gunshots.
Annabel had already made up her mind. She was sure that times had come to fill her veins not only with tender and safe pleasure of art, but true sense of life, the possibilities to change what she did not like, to change the world for a better place. In short, she obtained the meaning of higher principles.
"I do not want to sit and see the world changing and be the passive result of that change. I want to be one of its causes. I am fully aware of my decision," said Annabel with confident smile.
And she convinced him. George said nothing, but hugged her with all power he felt in his arms. He kissed her forehead and saw how flames of mature passions were dancing in the big brown eyes of her beloved woman.
The meeting of the group, which members were both doves and eagles of peace and justice, was held in the dark forest. They greeted George when he came, but then, they were so surprised to see a girl with him. Some knew her. They knew Great Martin's daughter.
Annabel first felt shy to see their confused faces. But she believed that her arrival with George and also being the daughter of a country authority must have inspired trust. The other thing that made her a bit nervous was unexpected coldness of night. No one expected the rain, but they knew where to move to. It was a semi-built house that reminded medieval ruins.
When they entered the building, it seemed as if all the winds had gathered there to play some evil games. Annabel snuggled up to George. He calmed her body and mind with a tight hug and kiss on her cheekbone. They closed the doors and some of the members, a tall young man with curly orange hair put some wood in the fireplace. Soon the room was filled with warmth. And that warmth rose not only from the burning wood that were turn into ashes, but also the compassionate and gentle smiles of the members, who welcomed her at last.
«If we need some means, support or relations to get closer to our goal, I can speak to my father. I am sure he will be willing to help us. He had always been by the side of justice,» said Annabel with proud mannerism.
However, Annabel was told that, in spite of the fact, that they trusted Mr. Morrison, all they did and would do had to be confidential. They spoke out one by one telling about the news they had found out since the last gathering and discussed their further steps to be completed in coming week. George gave instructions to all members, and they parted like they used to do every Friday.
Annabel, being faithful to her emotional feminine nature, was first looking at the strange events of the day as an adventurous act. She was more involved in her fantastic girlish dreams of conquering the evil. She slept imagining the adventures she was to share with George.
Indeed, the next day was full of events, that made her more conscious about the seriousness of the actions she did and the issues that the secret revolutionary group struggled for. It seemed as if she had managed to convince George about her intentions and being serous about plans, yet she had failed to convince it to herself.
That was why George decided to teach her how to shoot to a certain spot in the sunny breasts of valley, that extended beyond the burning horizon. He was teaching her how to hold a gun, how to shoot, how to do all that without fear and insecurity. Sometimes they broke their lessons with hot kisses, and Annabel understood that every time after the exchange of those crazy passions, she was more enthusiastic to shoot and did it better, with upmost confidence.
She could not explain why and how she was not against shooting birds she used to tenderly paint on the canvas.
As if he could practice it any moment if needed. However, now Annabel put a blanket on the valley grass, under a shadowy tree, and he watched with love and compassion how his girl prepared a fine lunch for them. The view of red apples, freshly smelling bread, inviting bacons and her feminine nature to nurture him, made him secure.
He felt that for the first time in his life, since his mother had died, there was again a woman in he world ready to take care of him. And those feelings he felt another day too. Another day when he was teaching her young and innocent student how to kill birds, how to trust herself while shooting, how to defend herself against the peril, that can occur any time during their investigations.
