by Jill Cooper
I glanced at him and he shook his head, telling me not to say anything. I huffed silently and finished up the chores at hand. “Is it all right if I’m excused for bed? I’m tired and sounds like tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”
Momma nodded and pointed to her cheek. Maybe she wasn’t as mad as I thought she was. Maybe she was just tired and in pain. I planted a big kiss and gave her an extra big squeeze—maybe I held her just a little bit too long. “I love you, Momma. Love you, Poppa.”
As I sprinted down the stairs, I heard their voices, “You ever get the feeling there’s something Abby isn’t telling us?” Momma asked.
“She’s an inquisitive girl but she’s a good girl. She’s kind. Remember when she was little, how she used to draw sometimes?”
Momma shushed him loudly. “We’ll have none of that talk in this house. As far as everyone knows, that never happened. If the ministers heard? Really, Robert!”
I crept downstairs and slid onto my bed. How much longer could I keep my secret? Some days I felt the walls closing in.
After undoing the thick metal buckles of my black boots, I kicked them off. Finally, I was able to stretch my toes and settle in for a long night’s nap. But first, I reached into my floor boards and pulled out a leather-bound book.
My finger traced over Jane Austen’s name before I flipped the book open to page seventy-two and continued to read.
“Emma could not feel a doubt of having given Harriet's fancy a proper direction and raised the gratitude of her young vanity to a very good purpose, for she found her decidedly more sensible than before of Mr. Elton's being a remarkably handsome man, with most agreeable manners; and as she had no hesitation in following up the assurance of his admiration by agreeable hints, she was soon pretty confident of creating as much liking on Harriet's side, as there could be any occasion for.”
As I read, I no longer saw the words but instead my mind filled with pictures. They were full color, great, vibrant, and intense emotions I hadn’t felt before. The further I delved into the story, the lighter my heart felt.
Would they fall in love? Why did I care so much for people that I had never met and weren’t even real?
“Abby! What’s that bright light coming from your sleeping cove? Is your candle burning too hot?”
I snapped back to reality and I felt as though I were in a fog. The words on the page glowed brightly golden. It had happened again; something that I couldn’t control.
I threw the blanket over my book, then blew my candle. “Sorry, Momma. Going to sleep now.”
Her footsteps carried her away and she muttered softly. “I don’t know what she’s doing in there with no work to be done…”
If only she knew. If only I could tell her. I dove under my blanket and the book glowed just enough that I could make out the words.
Another chapter…just a few more lines and I would go to sleep.
Chapter Six
Tarnish Rose
In the morning, I stocked shelves. As I stood on the ladder, my hand fluttered to my mouth and I let out a big yawn. Luckily, no one’s around yet. Poppa was helping Momma clean up the kitchen after our measly breakfast and I wanted to get a jump on my chores.
Being up high gave me a good view out the window to the city street. The blinds were drawn up high and across the way I could see Mr. Rumples sweeping the sidewalk.
There was a decent amount of foot traffic in the city that morning and I hoped that would translate to goods sold. Once down the ladder, I organized the counter top so it was neat and tidy. Then, I put the kettle on for tea.
Momma came downstairs and put some tea samples on the counter. “That was a good breakfast you threw together this morning. I—.” Momma gasped. “Abby, where are your contacts? Robert, she's not wearing her contacts.”
Oh, right. I forgot them. Again. Stupid things hurt my eyes and I hated wearing them even if they were for my own good.
Poppa waddled over to me so he could peer into my face. Before he did so, he put his glasses back on and I shrunk backwards. “You're right. I didn't even notice.”
“Well, of course I’m right.” Momma shook her head. “Abby,” Momma’s voice was concerned but compassionate. “I know you don't like them, but you have to wear your contacts. What if a minister saw your green eyes? Or one of those hunters got too close to you? Your father worked hard to make them for you….”
“I'm sorry, Momma. I'll try to where them more. I just…forgot them in my sleeping cove.” Poppa and Momma both gave each other a knowing glance. They knew how much I hated them, but they were right.
I should wear them. It’d keep the hunters off my tail. Maybe.
Momma shook her head. “Be more careful. You have to think. Take care of yourself. Your wedding is less than six months from now. Months, Abby!” She stomped off and Poppa rushed after her to talk to her.
I sighed and rested my back against the counter. Wasn’t there anything I could do that wouldn’t anger Momma? I didn’t know why I was so desperate to stay with my family if I was such a disappointment.
When the front door’s bell dinged, I expected it would be Mr. Twindle for his morning tea but instead entered the Minster of City Affairs in his gray pinstripe suit and shined shoes. He was a balding old man in a bowler hat and his brown eyes glowed blue around the edges. He had his fancy walking stick with him; the one that has a shining jewel on the top.
Means he was special, one of the elite. He was allowed things like extra food, permission to read. Why wouldn’t he? He controlled the hunters and reported directly to the Dark Lord Creighton.
There was something unnatural about him, as there was with all the ministers. I swallowed hard and tried to gather my thoughts swiftly, standing up straighter as I adjusted my apron.
My heart galloped away, and my palms sweated as I checked quickly that my hair bun was kempt. “Minister, good morning.” Is there an edge to my voice? “Care for a spot of tea? The morning looks a little moist.”
“Abby,” the Minster grumbled as his eyes swept across the shop. I don’t know what he expected to find. He picked up a vial and gave it a hearty shake. “Everything seems to be in order here.”
“As always. Tip top.”
He stared into my face and his eyelid twitched. “What’s that? Your eyes?”
“My eyes?” I hadn’t put my contacts back in yet. Crap. Oh, I was going to get it.
“Why are they green?” the minister reached into his pocket and pulled out a binnacle and fitted it over his eye.
My mouth opened and instead of words coming out, there was only a trifling squeak. Outside the window, a hunter floated by as they did every morning. But this time, it was different.
It stopped at the window, its robe up against the glass, and it pressed its hooded face close. It’s dank, hot breath fogging up the glass in a darkened circle. It wanted in? What had it sensed in me that made it so curious as all that?
The Minster of City Affairs grunted. “Seems he thinks there’s something about you that needs questioning. Is there something you’d like to tell me, Abby? Or should I invite him in?”
Invite him in? My books, my parents, my everything would be in danger.
My knees grew weak. “No, Minister. My eyes…”
“They’ve always been green, Minister.” Poppa charged in from upstairs and stood beside me at the counter. “We usually have her hide them, but she must’ve forgotten her…herbs this morning.”
“Yes, I forgot to take them.” I swallowed and tried to regulate my breath, so the minister wouldn’t see my panic. “I’ll take them. Immediately.”
The Minister didn’t move on from me yet. He smacked his lips and continued his deep scowl. “The color is strange. Almost like they shine…”
“She was born early, Minister. I’m sure that’s all it is. Her eyes hadn’t finished developing yet.”
My father’s ludicrous answer appeased him, and I couldn’t help adding to it. “I’ve had trouble seeing ov
er distance and in the dark, Minister.”
“Well, do be careful out there, youngster.”
“She’s come of age,” Poppa said proudly and placed his hand on my arm. “Soon, she’ll be ready.”
“I heard, I heard. The Tippin boy, isn’t it? Your union will bring much to our town, but where Mr. Taylor, were you? When I first entered your shop, you weren’t at your usual station, unusual for you at this time of day.”
“Uhh…sir?” Poppa’s eyes blinked and I’m sure he understood the question but instead he struggled to find the answer. I thought to quickly nudge him with my elbow.
“I’d expect you have a lot to do here in your shop, so where were you when I entered?”
“I was helping my wife, Minister.”
“Your wife?” the minster repeated as though he didn’t understand.
Poppa stammered, and I stared at him as he answered. “She’s not unwell. I was just helping out.”
The minister stared at both of us and then broke out into a slight chuckle. “Don’t go around giving us husband’s a bad name now.”
I laughed, a little too hard.
“Her job is up there. Your job is out here. Don’t forget that.”
Poppa stuttered over his words as if he had tripped. “I w-w-won’t.”
“Have a meaningful day. Keep your eyes hidden, Abby. You wouldn’t want anyone to think you might be cursed.” He offered the words like advice but instead, I took them as a threat.
If anyone even suggested that I was cursed, that I would shame my family, they’d hear an earful from me, even if they were the minister.
“Wouldn’t want that, Sir,” I said, barely holding onto my anger.
He stepped outside and continued down the road. The hunter stared at me a moment longer and the terror built. He might come in. He might have sensed my books.
This hadn’t happened before. Things were getting too close.
Finally, the hunter swept away, and I breathed a sigh of relief to finally be rid of him.
“You’re contacts, Abby!” Poppa’s hands shook in the air with rage once the Minster of City Affairs was gone. “You’re contacts!”
“I’m sorry, Poppa. I’m sorry.” I rushed off to my room to find them. It hurt to slide them against my eye and I blinked several times to right them as I returned to the shop.
Poppa steamed as he paced back and forth. “You brought the hunter in here. We must be careful. We must be diligent, girl!”
“I’ll try harder. I don’t mean to…” I stared down at the floor and he took me by the shoulder.
“I know it’s hard. There’s always been a streak in you. Defiant. Creative,” Poppa whispered as he leaned in. “But these are the way things are. We can’t change them.”
Wasn’t that the truth?
“Yes, Poppa.” I tried to remember my early teachings with Momma before I was old enough to go to work.
Don’t be different. Fit in. Don’t rock the boat or make waves, because there are no oceans. At least not that my eyes had ever seen.
“That hunter…. I never saw any of them do anything like that before.”
“My eyes,” I tried to explain it away.
Poppa shook his head, unconvinced. “You always had green eyes and that never happened before. Is there anything I should know?”
Should? “Definitely not. Nothing you should know.”
Relieved, Poppa sighed. I had given him everything he want to hear, whether he actually believed me, was debatable. “Good, good. Tonight, we have dinner with the Tippin family so we can put the final touches on your union with George. We don’t want to mess that up, Abby. Your mother and Mrs. Tippin have been working on this dinner a long time.”
“Wow,” was all I could think to say as I struggled with breath. A dinner with both sets of parents while George and I behave as friends who have done little else. It didn’t exactly sound like good times. “I’m sure it’ll be…fun.”
“As sure as I am. I haven’t worn my good suit in so long, I just hope it still fits.”
I laughed. “I’m sure it’ll fit you just fine.”
Poppa shook his head and muttered. “All that damn flatbread would disagree with you.” He shook his head and headed for the curtain that hid the stock room and returned shortly with a small glass bottle.
“What’s that?” I asked.
He shook the jar. “A salve I’ve made special for your mother’s back. A few minutes with this and she’ll be back in tip top shape.”
I wiped my hands on my apron and mulled over his words. “Momma will be okay, won’t she, Poppa?” I wasn’t sure if I could accept the answer if it was anything but yes.
“Of course, she will, Abby.” Poppa smiled brightly, and the apples of his cheeks lifted his glasses. “You have nothing to worry about.”
I had a feeling Poppa had just told me everything I wanted to hear, too.
Chapter Seven:
Tarnish Rose
Later in the evening, we rang the bell at the Tippin home dressed in our Sunday best. My gray shirt was neatly pressed and paired with a long skirt that covered up my recently cleaned boots, which made me wonder why I’d bothered cleaning them at all.
Momma had spent a great deal of time braiding my hair, so it went around the base of my neck in an elegant bun. “A girl coming of age should take care of her appearance,” she had said at the time and all I could do was nod. The excitement of being with George was tempered by fear of being on my own and away from my family.
Poppa was in his best black overcoat and his forehead sparkled from how he had scrubbed it clean; he smelled of ginger while Momma smelled of apples and cinnamon. Between her gloved hands she held a freshly baked pie. I hadn’t realized we’d had any apples left, but she’d said that she had been saving them for a special occasion. Her eyes were tired, she looked beautiful in her white and gray striped dress.
I was sure once I was a grown woman, I’d never equal her beauty.
“Taking them a while to open the door,” Momma said out of the corner of her mouth and a moment later, George’s father, Montgomery, greeted us. Momma’s eyes lit up.“Well, Mr. Tippin! Hello!”
“Sandra, Robert.” A thin and tall man, Montgomery bent at the waist to greet us. “I’m sorry for the delay. There was a slight problem in the kitchen.”
“I’m sure you took care of it,” Poppa said and shook the man’s hand as we entered the small house. It was warm inside the cramped living room and dining area, but it felt like home from all the time I spent there. I had the room memorized from where the green ripped chair was and how fabric cloths of grey and white, even though they were frayed, hung above the dressers and storage units to cover up the many imperfections in the room.
“Something smells good,” I said with a smile.
Montgomery nodded toward me. “Hello, Abby. Forgive me for being rude. Today’s been…well it’s been a day, hasn’t it?”
I wasn’t sure if he was referring to what happened yesterday, so I just gave a quiet, “Indeed, it has, sir.”
“I made a pie. Is it all right if I set it down on the table?” Momma asked.
“Forgive me, yes. Let me do that for you.” Montgomery took it from Momma and set it down. “Well, that smells good, doesn’t it? Pie will be a real treat for us. We don’t often live the lives of a merchant.”
Momma and Poppa glanced at each other with dumbfounded expressions. “Well, I just thought it would be nice,” Momma explained, “to celebrate the union of our children and our families.”
“Oh no, I didn’t mean it that way! I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to insult you in any way. Please forgive me.” Montgomery clasped his hands together and I was sure he meant what he said, but why was he so nervous? I had been at his house countless times since I was a child; he knew us and what kind of people we were. We never lorded our status over anyone.
“Maybe if we had a drink and relaxed.” Poppa patted Montgomery on the back. “Abby, be a dear and go see
if Mrs. Tippin has anything for you to do in the kitchen.”
“And see what is keeping George, if you don’t mind,” Montgomery said. “It’s not like him to be this rude.”
“Yes, Mr. Tippin.” I did a quick little curtesy, even though I never performed them very well, and then escape down the small hall. I heard what sounded like crying coming from the kitchen and I paused. Did I go in? Did I give Mrs. Tippin some time alone to gather herself together?
I glanced back toward the living room and heard Momma’s polite laughter—which often meant she wasn’t amused at all. Scowling, I rested my hand against the wall, unsure of what to do.
“Why the long face?” George asked. Just to my left, he stood on the single step that led up to his sleep space. A tight fit, he slept in a tiny crawl space above the house that was often drafty and cold.
“Your mother,” I whispered, “she’s crying.”
George put his hands on my waist and I stepped up onto the stair to be with him. He locked his wrists around me and I rested my hands onto his chest. “She’s often crying about something. Father calls her hysterical.”
Hysterical? As in mentally unstable? Unfit? “I’m sure that’s not it. Maybe she’s just emotional.”
George’s eyebrows rose. “I wish that was all it was. Father sometimes has to pick up the slack for her, but I fear he’s growing weary of it. I think soon he’ll call the ministers.”
“What?” I whispered, and my heart skipped. “He wouldn’t do that to his own wife.”
“What’s to stop him?” George’s eyes darkened. “It’s not as if he loves her. All hours of the night, they argue and fight. The words he uses…well, I wouldn’t dare say them in the presence of you.”
“You’re a gentleman. I’m sorry that things are hard, but I’m sure he must love her. They’ve been together all these years. He has to feel something.”
