by Trish Telep
Rafe shrugged. "I think it's inevitable. Just like you'll become a woman."
"I most certainly will not!" I stood up and placed my hands at my hips. How dare he suggest such a thing.
Finally he looked up at me from his spot on the floor. "You can't not be a woman. That's what happens. We all grow up."
"You take that back!"
Rafe put down the clockwork piece and took the glass from his eye. He folded his arms across his chest. "I can't possibly take that back."
A woman was someone who had to sit around all day and talk about the weather. Who drank tea out of tiny cups that allowed for maybe two good gulps at best. Women nibbled at biscuits and left them half-eaten. Women wore tight uncomfortable corsets. I was not planning on becoming one of those.
I took another step towards him. "Take. It. Back."
The expression on Rafe's face was bewildered and frightened. "I ... can't ..."
I lunged at him and started to pummel him with my fists. He held up his arms to protect his face. Finally after several moments of struggling I managed to pin him to the floor. "Take it back, Rafe, take it back. Take it back or I'll hit you in the nose."
"I take it back, I take it back!"
"And promise me you'll never become a man."
"I'll never become a man."
"And you'll never go to war."
"I'll never go to war."
Finally, satisfied, I sat up, still straddling him, and pushed the hair out of my face. Rafe looked at me still concerned I might decide to give him a second helping. "Besides, you can't go to war," I said standing up. "You're too fragile."
Rafe sat up and started to collect his clockwork pieces that had been scattered about in the commotion. "Absolutely. I'd be ridiculous."
"Absolutely."
* * *
There is a tragedy that is inevitable when expectations run so high. It's a tragedy of great disappointment. It happened to me on the eve of my coming out party. I had turned sixteen an entire month before, but the season had been so full of other activities, and more than a couple of war fundraisers, that the party had been pushed back and back and back. But finally it arrived on the first cool day of fall. And as I'd sat staring at myself in the mirror, in a floor-length white gown, my sandy blonde hair piled high on my head, my waist cinched tightly in my corset, I felt as though all the years between this and the moment in Rafe's room had passed in a flash. That one moment I was vowing never to grow up, and then, in the next, I had.
"Drat," I said staring at myself hard. "Now how on earth did I let that happen?"
"Pardon me, miss?" asked my maid Silvia as she returned with some baby's breath for my hair.
"Oh, nothing, never mind."
Why was I doing this? Well, I knew why. I knew that I was doing it for Father. He desperately wanted me to realize that he loved me as I was, and not as the boy he'd originally wanted, and had spent my adolescence trying to make up for what he now considered a lack of propriety in my childhood. Ironic because I'd so loved that impropriety. He insisted on a coming out party because he thought that's what I secretly wanted. Even when I told him it was not. So the odd turnabout of the thing was, I was doing this to make him happy, not the other way around.
And here we were. The ballroom aired out and ready for many unpleasant suitors to pass through its doors. Let us celebrate that Imogen is a woman. The one thing she never wanted to be.
I did my duty well. I took a turn about the room with all the eligible young men under the ever-watchful gaze of their attentive mothers. Some of these lads were rather striking in their uniforms, though I was careful not to share with them my distaste for war as a rather overzealous method of solving problems. No politics tonight. Father had been more than clear. No jokes. No complaining that your corset is too tight. Just smile. And turn about the room.
Rafe was there, of course. I'd spotted him in the corner, standing there in his suit. Father had generously had one commissioned for him. I liked how little Rafe had changed over the years. He was still a slight creature, though now finally taller than I. His dark hair flopped about as he spoke enthusiastically with our member of parliament. His face was always cheerful, always warm. And he was always there when I needed to exchange a glance or roll my eyes, with a bright smile.
Thank the heavens for darling Rafe.
"You were the prettiest girl tonight," he said as we sat at the edge of the lake dangling in our feet.
"I was the only girl there tonight," I replied.
"That's not true ..."
"What? You think all those old biddies are girls, do you? You need to get out more."
"Can't you just take a compliment?"
"I ..." No, of course I can't. Especially not from you. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Of course, Father had no idea we sneaked out like we did. He didn't know that we had met in this way ever since he'd forbidden my visiting Rafe's room. Both of us in our dressing gowns, down by the lake, hidden from view of the house by the hedge maze. As if we could give up on such a friendship. What a ridiculous notion.
"So," asked Rafe after a pleasant silence, "any of them strike your fancy?"
"Pardon?"
"Any of those blokes?"
"Don't be silly, Rafe." I shook my head. Who did he think I was? Didn't he know me better than that? Such interests were beneath me. Marriage was simply not something I was looking for. Such was the privilege of being the daughter and sole heir of a very wealthy man.
"Well, that's good," he said, then stopped himself short.
I turned to look at him. He was staring out across the lake, apparently with some effort. "What's good?" I asked.
"Nothing." He answered a bit too quickly. "No, it's just ... it's good you didn't fancy them because they seemed right tossers. That's all. Shows you still have good taste is what I mean."
"Well, yes ... of course."
"I think I'm going to head up. 'Night."
It was such an abrupt departure I sat rooted to the spot in surprise. He returned, of course, a moment later--"I say, do you need an escort back?"
"No, that's fine, thank you, Rafe."
But then he was off again at a quick pace.
I wasn't a fool, though I was hardly well-versed in such things. But I knew in an instant what had transpired.
Dear God, evidently Rafe was in love with me.
When had that happened?
Later he told me this affection had come upon him so gradually that he'd hardly noticed it himself. But when he'd watched me turn about the room that evening--an activity I had thought made me look rather the fool--he had found it enchanting. Enchanting. His word. Of course his word. He'd always thought I was pretty, but that night he'd found me beautiful. And he knew it in his heart.
Such a romantic.
For me, well, for me the moment caused a great welling of panic inside.
I returned to my room in a fluster and lay wide awake. I must confess my first thoughts were not about returning the sentiment but about anger. Anger? Yes. You see, I resented that in one indiscreet moment Rafe had totally changed the nature of our relationship. It would never be normal again, and the more he pretended it was, I knew, the more awkward it would feel. Rafe was the one person with whom I was always able to be completely myself. Say those ridiculous things my father chided me for, make strange pronouncements. He'd once taken back his prediction that I would become a woman. And he'd promised to never become a man. Who else but Rafe would indulge such a fancy?
But it had happened. And there we were. Could I feel safe with him, the same with him, knowing what I knew now?
My own feelings didn't come into focus until a fortnight later. Though I might have guessed at them. After all, why did it matter so much to me that our relationship was changed if the relationship hadn't mattered greatly to me in turn? It had been an awkward two weeks, for the both of us. Trying to pretend to be normal. We hadn't sneaked out once to meet, and though I was rel
ieved not to be alone with him, I missed our conversations terribly. I missed most of all him sharing with me his latest inventions, which in recent years had moved on to life-sized versions of the models he'd made as a child. He'd even invented a communication system that ran through our house. A series of connected pipes that, with the push of a button, allowed one to speak to someone else in a room far off.
Once we ran into each other quite by accident in the music room. I'd forgotten a sonata on the piano, and he was winding the Waterbury clock. He'd taken to doing the rounds almost every day on his own, his father's arthritis getting worse by the year. Of course at this point in his life Rafe had more responsibilities than just those of a typical clock winder. Agents of the army had learned early on of his fantastic inventions, and had hired him to create weapon designs that he'd send along to London. It was an excellent situation, to be sure: he avoided going off to war by helping in the war effort in this way and got to stay at the estate while being paid rather handsomely by the government.
In any event, our meeting in the music room was awkward and brief.
"Oh, hello."
"Oh, hello."
Like that.
But then the thing happened. The thing that changed it all.
The thing came in the form of a young soldier about our age on horseback. He was in full dress uniform and took himself extremely seriously.
"Hello, sir," he'd said in a voice he forced low. "I'm looking for Mr. Rafe Wells."
My father had greeted the man in the foyer. Anyone from the army was of great interest to him. He'd have gone off himself, he'd always insisted, had it not been for his knee. An injury from another war that had been meant to be the end of all wars.
"Yes, of course," replied my father, and he went to fetch Rafe himself. I stood alone in the foyer then, the young soldier trying each moment to stand just a bit straighter until his head was so far back I could see right up his nose.
"I'm Rafe Wells," said Rafe, approaching the young soldier. He glanced my way briefly, but I had no expression other than confusion to share with him.
"Sir," said the young soldier clicking his heels together. "I have been ordered to deliver this to you. I ask you to gather your belongings and come with me immediately. It's a summons, sir." He passed over a letter, sealed with Her Majesty's stamp.
"Are you going to London, then?" I asked as Rafe read the letter. His expression was emotionless, but all color had left his face.
"No," he said looking up at me. "No, they want me at the front. Seems one of my inventions is acting up a wee bit."
"The front?" For the first time in a long while I felt as if I was going to cry. I never felt as if I was going to cry.
"Now, now, Imogen," said Father, sensing my heightened emotional state, "it's an honor to serve Queen and country."
"It is," said Rafe quietly.
"I must ask you to ..." began the young soldier.
"Gather my belongings," said Rafe interrupting him. "I know." He turned as if in a daze and started the journey towards his room. I looked at Father wide-eyed, then at the young soldier. Neither of them bore any expression aside from that noble indifference that was meant to be stoic.
I turned and ran after Rafe.
"Imogen!" Father called out, but his shouting my name had never stopped me from doing anything in the past. That wasn't about to change now.
I caught up with Rafe on the servants' staircase.
"Rafe!"
He turned and looked at me, still with that stunned expression.
"You can't go," I said, panting hard.
"I have to."
"No, no, it's silly. You can't. I mean, you, on the front? It's absurd."
Rafe looked down. "I can take care of myself, Imogen. I know you think I can't ..."
Drat. "No, I know that. I mean, you're no warrior, of course. But you are a capable ... person. It's just, it's silly. You're not a fighter. You never have been."
"I'm not going to fight ..."
"You could die!"
"We all die sometime ..."
"You can't go!"
He finally looked up at me again, and I could see the fear behind his eyes. "I have to."
"But you promised me you wouldn't."
He furrowed his eyebrows. "When? When on earth?"
"In your room. Back then. I don't remember the day, but you did. It was the same day you promised you'd never become a man." I felt silly now; it wasn't really the best argument. "But ... I guess you did."
"And I guess I have to go to war."
There was only one final argument that could be made. A realization that came in an instant of wondrous clarity. "You can't go ... because I love you."
The way Rafe stared at me then made me feel even more ridiculous than when I'd reminded him of his childhood promise to me. Had I been wrong all along? Had that little slip he made at the lake been nothing more than what he'd said it was?
"You love me?"
"Maybe. I don't know. How would I know such a thing?" Adrenaline was surging through my body. I felt as if my skin was buzzing.
Rafe took a step down so we were standing level with each other.
"You know because you feel it," he said softly. "You think about the person every day, you can't wait to see them again, and when you do you're overwhelmed with excitement. You love their laugh, their jokes. And you think that no one on this earth is as beautiful."
"But you're a little funny looking ..."
Rafe laughed at that.
Stupid Imogen. "You can't go then. Because I do love you. I do think about you all the time, and when you said what you did by the lake I was the most worried that I'd lose you somehow, that you'd be all different. And you were. And it scared me."
He took my hands in his. And even though we'd touched a thousand times before it felt this time unlike anything I'd ever experienced. "I have to go. It's my duty. And your argument, though wonderful, doesn't make sense. Most men have someone who loves them when they go to war. Now I'm lucky enough to be one of them."
He leaned in and I pulled back. I couldn't help it. How stupid.
"Sorry, try again," I said. I was doing this all wrong. I knew it.
This time Rafe moved much faster and I didn't have time to react. His lips were against mine, so soft and warm. So sweet. And all doubt in me washed away and was replaced by a feeling of complete certainty. As we pulled apart I knew what I had to do.
Rafe left an hour later, on a second horse the young soldier had brought with him. We waved and waved until we couldn't see him anymore, and still waved a moment longer.
"No tears, my girl," said Father. He didn't have to. I wasn't crying. I was determined.
Alone in my quarters, I re-read Rafe's summons. I'd asked for it as a keepsake, and he'd left it, most obligingly. The young soldier would take him where he needed to go and could serve as witness that he was indeed who he said he was. I, on the other hand, required this piece of paper.
My first act was to raid Rafe's room. I tore through his closet, eventually pulling out three work shirts and two pairs of trousers. His shoes were large on me, but I could stuff the toes with some scraps from my rarely used sewing kit. He had left his cap behind, so I grabbed that as well. I carried all of Rafe's clothing down to my room, tossing it on the bed. It was then that I took a moment's breath and doubt began to creep in. I couldn't really do this, now could I?
The plan was simple. Join the army and protect Rafe from certain death and so forth. The actualizing of it, however, was far more complex. The sanity behind it ... possibly wanting. But it didn't seem that absurd to me. After all, I was far more physically fit than Rafe, and no one had found it odd he'd been recruited. And I had actual combat skills with my fencing and such. The thing of it was, I was a girl. Quite the obstacle to overcome. And there was only one way I could think of doing so.
Acting like a boy wouldn't be a big problem. Whether he liked it or not, Father's early support had meant mine was a b
oyish gait. Speaking like a boy might not be that tricky either as I had inherited my mother's low raspy tones. It was a voice that I'd overheard discussed by other girls my age as "inappropriately independent." No, the greatest difficulty would be my appearance.
That, and finding a way to sneak out of the house without Father noticing. I needed time to get to Dover, which might take a week at least. The summons had called on Rafe to board a dirigible at the Dover sky port to fly across the Channel on Sunday next. He was to stop over in London for a few days beforehand to meet with the war cabinet and give a presentation on the theories behind his inventions. Poor Rafe, speaking in front of crowds was certainly not his thing. But his extended stay on home soil would give me enough time to get to Dover under my own power. What, oh what to do, however, about Father?
This concern gave me pause. I needed a sign of some sort, something that would give me permission to go ahead with this scheme.
"I'm going to Manchester for a fortnight."
The words echoed around the grand dining room that evening at supper as Father made the pronouncement.
"Are you?" I asked from afar at the other end of the table, grateful this once for the distance between us. I was certain the beating of my heart would have been audible to him had I been closer.
"Yes, evidently there's some trouble up in one of the factories."
"When do you leave?"
"Tomorrow morning, first thing."
Well, if that wasn't a sign I clearly didn't know what such a thing was.
With Father gone for so long I could easily quit the house without bother. Yes, the servants would notice, but they would probably assume Father was aware I was leaving. Two full weeks gave me ample time not only to arrive at the sky port, but to take flight. By the time Father returned and learned of my absence, there would be little he could do aside from worry.
That did concern me a bit, Father fretting over me. It did seem unfairly mean to make him worry. But I had to do this. I had to protect Rafe who I had just discovered was the love of my life. Surely he would understand the motivation, if not the action.
My brain fought me every step of the way, but my heart was set to purpose. I kissed Father gently on the cheek as he left the next morning, and two nights later, I performed the last, and most unpleasant preparation before my departure.
