The Diary of Cozette

by Amanda McIntyre

  “No…time,” he groaned, pushing his crotch stiffly against mine. “You will pay dearly, cousin, for not complying. I swear.”

  I closed my eyes, praying he would stop, fearful that if I moved an inch, he would do much greater damage. I lay still, my tears streaming from my squeezed tight lids, his bulging crotch pushing in a bizarre erratic movement against my clothed body. His breath caught and a groan followed. He fell exhausted on top of me.

  My skin was clammy, drenched in fear.

  He pressed his crotch once more against my belly and whispered with menace in my ear, “You will learn in time, dear cousin, how to better please a man.”

  I pushed him off with all I had in me and scrambled with haste down the rope ladder, his laughter chasing me the entire way. I did not stop to think that I might lose my footing and break my neck. I was humiliated beyond belief, captive in my cousin’s horrid snare of deceit.

  He leaned out of the tree-house window with a satisfied cruel grin plastered on his face.

  “No one will believe anything you tell them, Cozette. You come from filth and filth you will always be.”

  I ran until it was dark, hiding in the woods. I shivered inside a hollowed-out log after giving up my breakfast and wondered of my options. I would have to tell someone. He could not get away with this. I made the decision; never to be so vulnerable again.

  And now, Edward has told his parents that I brazenly took off my clothes and tried to seduce him.

  “It was awkward, Mother. I did not want to insult her and yet I did not know how to respond to such an advance. I—I’ve never seen a girl with no—”

  “Enough,” his mother halted him with her upturned hand.

  “You must believe me, Mother. I have treated her with the same regard as you, well aware of the circumstances of her unfortunate upbringing.”

  I stared at the lying filth, astounded the same blood ran through our veins.

  “Anne Cozette, what have you to say to these allegations?” His mother stood between us, her arms folded over her chest, her mouth stretched in a firm line.

  “With due respect, Aunt Eleanor, what he says is a lie—”

  Her expression changed from stern to one of horror.

  “I was reading in the tree house, when he came upon me and forced himself on me most cruelly, like some wild animal.” I stood my ground, chin thrust upward in determination. I kept my hardened gaze on that of my weasel cousin. He would perhaps now receive justice for his offense.

  “That is simply preposterous, child. Edward is no more capable of such vile behavior than am I. I would recommend dear girl that you immediately come forth with what truly transpired, or I shall be forced to consider your future here. Frederick, have you heard what she has said about your son?”

  My uncle remained silent, removed from the conversation, as he sipped his tea and read his paper. He did not utter one word in my defense. The odds of the truth being revealed were dwindling by the moment and so I took a stand in my own defense. “I will not manufacture a story in order to appease your blindness, Aunt Eleanor. I have given you the truth and that is all I can offer.”

  Edward’s lip curled to a sneer. He clasped his hands in front of him, playing the part of the innocent child with supreme dedication.

  “You are a smart-mouthed little witch and I knew it the moment you stepped into my home. Very well, Anne, I have tried, most dutifully, and only in your dear father’s memory to bring you up properly. But I can see now that to allow you to remain endangers the upbringing of my child, and I cannot abide that. You give me no choice but to send you away from here. I can only hope that one day you will learn to become a respectable member of society.”

  My heart stopped altogether. What was to happen to me? Was she sending me to a boarding school? “But you cannot, I have done nothing to cause this offense, you must believe me.”

  “Frederick?”

  My uncle at last drew his gaze to mine and seeing his haggard look, I knew he had no choice.

  It did not take long for my aunt to arrange to send me away, citing that I was unruly and had tried to use my evil manner to corrupt her precious son. I will be sent to a place called Foxhead Asylum, a home for orphans with a strict code of conduct required by its proprietors.

  “Perhaps they can manage to teach you what I cannot,” she sniffed, handing me my bag.

  Over her shoulder, I could see Edward’s wicked grin, meant to mock me as the carriage ambled away. It only stiffens my resolve not to let him see me cry.

  ~A.C.B.

  January 11, 1871

  I’ve not had reason or desire in truth, until now, to continue my writing. The rejection of my family and Edward’s abuse has taken its toll. I was sure that coming to the orphanage I would most assuredly shrivel up and die, alone.

  Elizabeth changed all of that with her arrival at Foxhead. Unlike other children who arrive in battered clothes, Elizabeth arrived wearing a lovely plaid skirt and a pristine white blouse. Her skin is pale and creamy, her eyes blue as a sunny winter day.

  “My name is Elizabeth.”

  I glanced up from scrubbing the front hall of the main house. I suspected that the Abbots had hired a new schoolmistress to teach us. “Anne Cozette, mum.” I rose to offer a clumsy curtsy.

  She giggled.

  “I am here as you are, a new resident of Foxhead. Mrs. Abbot instructed that I should find you and you would teach me the proper way to scrub floors.”

  I looked at her fine clothing and my gaze traveled to her hands, soft and flawless, like the rest of her. “You’ve never scrubbed a floor?” I glanced down at my ragged skirt, soaked dark with muddy water.

  Her smile permeated the darkness in my heart and from then on, we were inseparable.

  We stole away together after the noonday meal and wrapped in blankets against the weather we perched on the railing of the back porch.

  “Do you know his name?”

  Elizabeth nudged me through the woolen blanket.

  I followed to where she focused her attention. A young man, whom I had seen from time to time, was chopping wood and wore no coat. The sweat from his exertion caused his white muslin shirt to stick to his solid torso. “I think his name is Ernest.” I took a bite of a cold biscuit, savoring each precious crumb. “He works for Mr. Abbot.”

  “He is very handsome,” Elizabeth remarked with a grin.

  Her gaze was intent and I frowned, quite unsure what she saw as so remarkable.

  “Have you made his acquaintance?” she prodded.

  “Are you mad?” I stared at her in bewilderment, and then remembered she hadn’t been here long. “He’s a strange boy, quite of some strength you may have noticed—”

  “Indeed, I had.” She giggled.

  “We are quite defenseless here, you know. Anything could happen and no one would be the wiser. No thank you, I have kept to myself and been quite content as a result.”

  She glanced at me and the corner of her mouth quirked in a sly grin.

  “What notions are you entertaining, Elizabeth?” I looked at her warily.

  “We were strangers once, just earlier today and look at us now. We are strangers no longer. Come on.”

  She hugged her blanket tightly as she gingerly maneuvered down the narrow wood steps. I sat, jaw agape in amazement at her lack of regard for our safety, but did not know what more I could say. Obviously, I would have to trot along with her scheme to keep her out of trouble. With a loud sigh, I hoped she would see my disapproval as I followed but kept an eye out for Mr. and Mrs. Abbot. They would use the whip if they caught wind of fraternizing between the boys and the girls.

  I grabbed Elizabeth’s arm. “What if the Abbots should see us? You can’t simply walk up and introduce yourself in plain sight. Come Elizabeth, I beg you to see reason. This is most unwise.”

  Her gaze darted to the house. “We’ll pretend to be taking a walk and we’ll meet him near the cellar door where the wood is stacked. No one can see us on
that side for there are no windows.”

  I didn’t like the idea, but I had to admit the adventure of it sounded exciting! The last true excitement I’d witnessed was when one of the younger boys placed a mouse in Mrs. Abbot’s kitchen.

  We sauntered past the young man, barely given notice when he glanced up at us. He gave no indication of interest, and instead brought his ax high over his shoulder and brought it down with a loud crack, splitting in two the chunk of wood before him.

  Elizabeth grabbed my arm through the blankets and smiled as she led me in haste to the side of the house. Huddled together we waited. My toes began to numb from the chill and I wondered again at the folly of this idea. But her smile did not diminish in warmth. Had I remembered what it was like to have an older sister, Elizabeth would be my image of one.

  As expected, Ernest came around the corner of the house, his arms laden with wood. He stopped and stared at us.

  “I’m Elizabeth and this,” she pulled me to her side, “is Anne Cozette.”

  “Just Cozette, that’s what I prefer.” I glanced at my beautiful friend. She was clearly smitten with the Abbots’ handyman. I could not tell if the regard was mutual.

  “Mr. Abbot does not take well to the residents interacting with one another. Especially the boys to the girls,” he replied.

  “You make a simple hello seem like an obscene thing. I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name?”

  “His name is—” I received an elbow in my side.

  “I did not offer it, but now it would be rude not to. I am Ernest, milady.” He attempted a bow, but it cost him his balance. The wood tumbled from his arms. “Bloody hell,” he mumbled as he stooped to pick up the wood. “Oh, pardon my language,” he uttered with a passing glance.

  Elizabeth rushed forward to his aid whilst I hung back, afraid of…I wasn’t quite sure.

  The wood properly stacked in his arms, he thanked Elizabeth and returned on his way to the stack piled high inside the lean-to next to the house.

  “Elizabeth?” Mrs. Abbot’s shrill voice called from the back of the house. Without hesitation, Elizabeth scurried around to the front of the house, making it appear she’d been out for a walk.

  I spied a forgotten piece of wood on the ground and snatched it up. Tripping on my blanket, I skidded to a stop in the damp grass, jabbing Ernest in the back with the end of the log.

  “My apologies. You left this one.”

  His smile was tight, but his dark eyes snapped with warmth. “Cozette, is it?”

  “Yes,” I whispered in a brief response hoping that Mrs. Abbot wouldn’t come round the back of the house and catch us.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you.” He smiled then and put out his hand in greeting.

  Cautious, I drew my hand from the confines of my blanket and accepted his. It was callused from work, but a firm grip, solid and strong. I sensed camaraderie betwixt us that I cannot explain. “Delighted,” I responded with a slight curtsy and dared not tarry though I had the unspeakable urge to do just that.

  He smiled and I slipped from his grasp. All the way back to the porch I kept my head down and did not look back. Visions of cousin Edward taunted my memory and guilt besieged me. I hated my cousin at that moment.

  I do not know what my future at Foxhead holds, but Elizabeth gives me hope and sparks my desire to take pen to paper again and write. In the most depressing of situations, her smile and her kindness are a breath of spring. Now there is Ernest. Perhaps between the three of us, we will manage through these years until we are old enough to strike out on our own.

  ~A.C.B.

  June 15, 1871

  Being one of the older girls at the orphanage I am called upon by Mrs. Abbot more often than not to manage the chores and oversee the younger girls in various tasks from gardening to laundry as well as tending the chickens. I rarely have time to sleep, much less to write, but these precious few moments I steal behind the chicken house as my wards collect the morning eggs. There are times I question the wisdom of writing in my journal at all. If the Abbots were to discover my entries, I cannot imagine what would befall me. I have seen the cruel discipline inflicted on the boys for not completing tasks to Mr. Abbot’s liking. In addition, I have heard that Mrs. Abbot keeps a black strap in one of her kitchen cupboards. Rumor or not, I do not wish to find out firsthand.

  However, today, my heart is exceedingly downcast. I had noted, but perhaps ignored, the number of young girls disappearing in the middle of the night. I presumed, for whatever reason, that their new families had come for them. Yet, today I found a note from Ernest in a secret jar we keep in the root cellar. He says he must speak with me; he has news of Elizabeth’s recent departure.

  “I have no proof, but I suspect that the Abbots are making a handsome profit with some of the adoptions. At least Mr. Abbot, at any rate.” Ernest’s expression revealed his concern. “I do not know if Mrs. Abbot is aware of her husband’s private agreements with some of the wealthy lords in the area.”

  I paced the cellar floor, not wanting to think of Elizabeth in the hands of someone who might inflict harm on her. “Ernest, is there anything we can do? Any way we can find out for sure what has happened to her? Perhaps we should go to the authorities?” I sat down on the floor and curled my arms around my knees. Ernest settled on the floor beside me.

  “I’m afraid not, Cozette. If we were caught, we’d likely wind up in a much worse position.” His voice was low, but I could hear the anger in it.

  “Poor Elizabeth, she is such a gentle and kind soul. I pray that she is with someone who truly has her well-being uppermost in mind.”

  His silent response was clear evidence that he did not share my hope. In my heart of hearts, I’d seen enough cruelty inflicted on the children here to know his disbelief was well-founded.

  “Oh, Ernest, it makes my heart sick to think about it.” I rocked my body against my arms trying to remember how it once was when my mother would rock me in her lap, her hand on my hair, soothing away my fears.

  We sat in the dark, Ernest at my side. I wept for my friend, praying she would not encounter someone as brutal as my horrid cousin.

  Ernest held my hand, gently brushing his thumb over my fingers, as I sobbed. He did not chide me for my sorrow, nor take advantage of my most vulnerable state, but sat like a loyal friend, his quiet hushes murmuring low and gentle.

  I was not afraid to be alone with him as he was not like Edward, though he was perhaps close in age. His dark hair brushed his collarbone and his eyes sparkled in the shadows.

  His body was lean and strong from the heavy labor Mr. Abbot imposed on him. He seemed an old soul, born of gentleness I’d never seen before, and despite that he would have every justification to be angry and bitter about his situation in life, he was neither. I knew, as well as I knew the back of my hand, that he would never harm me.

  “Would you hold me for awhile, Ernest? I need…”

  I had no need to beg, for without a word, he gathered me into his embrace, wrapping both arms protectively around me as we sat on the cold dirt floor.

  My cheek rested against his young, solid chest and though his threadbare shirt smelled of the earth and his body had not seen soap in days, I found myself at total peace in his arms.

  I sniffed, finally too spent to cry anymore and found myself needing most desperately to know more about him. “Why are you here, Ernest? Where is your family?” It quieted my heart to sit here in the dark with him.

  His hand brushed through my hair, comforting in his caress.

  “My mother is ill. I came here for work when I heard of the Abbots establishing an orphanage. The wages are meager, but I am able to send a little back home to help out.”

  “Do you have any siblings?”

  “No, it’s only my mother and I, though I’ve not seen her in many months.”

  “And what of your father?” I turned my gaze upward, studying his handsome profile.

  “I never knew him.”

  Th
e tone in his voice gave reason to believe he did not wish to dwell on the subject further. I was as content to not speak at all.

  I snuggled close. “Do you think our lives will ever change, Ernest? Will we always be as poor as we are now?”

  He gave my shoulder a squeeze and companionship swelled within my heart. I’d never had a relationship such as this, with another male, other than Edward. True, I could scarcely classify my dealings with Edward as a relationship. I had no idea that this type of kinship could exist between a man and a woman.

  “We make our own destiny, little bird. With determination, I suspect we can become whatever we wish. After all, we are young and able to work to care for ourselves.”

  He rested his chin on the top of my head. I gave a contented sigh with a silly wish that I could go on forever with the beating of his heart against my cheek. The worries of life seemed a million miles away. “What do you want to do with your life, Ernest?”

  In the stillness, I heard a mouse scurry across the straw. It skirted past my toe and with a shriek I leapt into Ernest’s lap, cowering in fear of the bloody rodent. Now I would give that same miserable creature my silent gratitude. The mouse alone had prompted in less time what it would have taken me weeks, if not months the courage to do.

  I was keenly aware of our intimate connection, emotional, yes, that as well, but this realization was visceral.

  Curious, I wondered if Ernest entertained similar notions. The very idea that he might too have some unusual feelings caused my heart to beat faster. He shifted me on his lap, clearing his throat, unsure what to do with his hands. Still, I had no wish to return to the floor and the prospect of the mouse scurrying about. Between the mouse and Ernest’s discomfiture, I would sooner be safe and face Ernest.

  “I—I write poetry,” he stammered. “I would like to see my work published one day.”

  The very thought of him reciting poetry to me, seated by a lake on a brilliant summer’s day brought great joy to my heart.

  “Oh, please share with me one of your poems,” I begged, wiggling with excitement.