Tears of Leyden

by Baysinger-Ott, Naomi

  Then I fold the last sheet over. Was there anything more to fix? No. Did I want something to keep me longer? Yes.

  I purse my lips and giddily try to keep myself from knowing my true delight to be situated with him again. I feel my heart skip around and try to focus my attention on the present before I lose it completely. Holding in another smile, I make my way to the door.

  I hesitate when I reach it…Would he regret it?

  I listen for any sign of him fretting over something like this. None.

  I feel my body grow shivery and battle off the nerves. I slowly open the door. Nadeje sits at the table, reading through letters and not hearing. I close the door behind me and turn. He lifts his gaze to me and I already feel a blush making its way across my cheeks. He watches calmly and a little too solemnly after his tender handling of me yesterday. His gaze though, is still on me, and no matter his expression I feel a little unstable.

  His voice is gentle, but still lets me feel a little alone in the realm of affection. “Lyra.”

  My world tilts at his greeting. I struggle to find words with meaning. “Mr. Gilch,” I reply. I blush harder at the shakiness I hear in my voice.

  I can’t help but notice that he becomes a little less relaxed in his seat at the mention of his formal name. He grows tentative to me, then finding me speechless he takes the conversation.

  “Do you wish to sit?”

  I glance at the seat across from him and with a nod I step to it. I sit down and blush as I feel ungraceful in my movements before him.

  He watches me silently a few seconds, observing me tenderly, then his eyes once more grow solemn and he swallows and looks away. “I…”

  I watch him feeling my heart pound. I regret...? I shouldn’t have…? I never meant…?

  “I received a letter today.”

  I wait, a little relieved yet unsure. Why would I care for a letter?

  “I read parts of it…and found it to be…unclear to me,” he looks up and his eyes find me. “The letter was regarding you…it was signed…sent…its address was for you,” I grow a little more attentive. “Not for me.”

  I watch him, unsure of how to feel.

  “Would you like to read it?” He offers it gently.

  I nod.

  He fumbles with the papers in his hand, and then pulls out a cream envelope and holds it out to me. I reach across the table and take it, bringing it to me as I read the address. It is in a hand unknown to me…not that many I knew could afford the post…but still.

  There is no return address. Slightly disappointed, I slip out the parchment inside and unfold it. On the back was a red stamp with a strange design like a tree, and beneath there is an address signed in loopy cursive printing: Only to Ms. Orange. I turn it over and then begin to read the letter. At the very top is a line in red ink reading: In reference to certain details and plans.

  Then, the letter begins, though now in black ink, and in cursive.

  Ms. Thimlet,

  I apologize for the disturbance made by my server approaching you. I know it must have been startling and interrupting to your engagements at those times. I must continue this letter though, with the regret that I must say in those times with my servants, my message was miscarried.

  I am now writing to you regarding my intentions. It might be difficult for you to understand at this point, but I must beg you to not be frightened of my sudden introduction. I have been lost many months, and it is possible that you may think to be shy of me, and that I am but a stranger. I, however, have thoughts that I could return, and my passage into Leyden could be sooner than thought. Do not think I have mistaken you for another, for we are related, though how I cannot yet tell you. My plan is a serious one, Ms. Thimlet, and you being a part of it must agree that it is a safely kept plan from outsiders of our party. My plan has many roles, and you would be the focal part, but there is something which my servers have observed of you currently, which I must first discourse before continuing.

  I have heard that you have been engaged in certain activities which take up much emotion and thought. Forgive me for being so involved in your recent states but it is for your protection. I hear that your have been interacting with a certain man, to be more direct, a Spanish man. It hurts me to think that possibly your stay there has been forced, or that you are staying by your own choice. I worry only now, that this might ruin or help my plans if the second reason is accurate. In case you fail me, I regret to say no more than needed, and I feel further explanation is best in person.

  Here it is.

  I have men in the city who provide me enough to feel aspired, but I am in need of one joker. If I managed to make it to the walls without being seen, possibly I could save the city from starvation. To enter though, I am in need of your safety. I have heard of your imprisonment under Spanish housing, and the need for you to be safe to me is indescribable. If you are left as you are in their hands, when I arrive at the wall they are sure to do worse things to you than imaginable, and I cannot let anyone, especially you, be harmed further. The reason I chose you is because of our relation, which if you knew more of, you would be inspired to believe me, and also because I know you want Leyden safe too. In case this letter got into the wrong hands however, I cannot provide this detail.

  What you must do for me is, until the date I set, bury any relation or affections you have for your Spaniard. Be persuasive and let him be your pawn instead of your partner. You will win if you play my moves accurately. Act with him, and lure him into helping you. Use him. Get him to take guard next evening and leave him close to the lookout wall. Now, for you, meet my men that same night in the market when it is empty. They will direct you and help you to understand your position, and will keep you safe until my arrival. I, unfortunately, may not see you until our victory.

  If you do not consent to my approach, I am sorry to tell you that I have given orders to my men that you must accept. My men have instructions to make this clear to you, and harm may come to your Spaniard, which I would not want happening to anyone before you. So, I must urge you to concede.

  Silent

  P.S. Be sure to do as you are told exactly ‘else you may be lost, or worse, our city is lost.

  I am unsure of how to move. I feel Nadeje’s gaze on me and grow shakier than before. I have to draw my eyes from the page as I look away. No thoughts of giddiness are in me now. What relations have I to a ‘Silent’? I feel a prickly feeling inside me at the name, but I cannot remember from where I have heard it after the past few weeks.

  I feel cold and my heart is pounding guiltily…is it guilt? What does Nadeje think of me? I slowly look up from the letter then to Nadeje. He looks calm still, but there is something rigid about his posture. Is he upset with me? I feel my stomach churn. Does he not trust me?

  “Nadeje.”

  He looks to me and his eyes are serious but still calm. “You know him?”

  I swallow. “I…” I shake my head. “No.”

  He sighs. “Do you understand it?”

  I shake my head. “I…can…but why I am chosen is unclear to me.”

  He swallows. “You belong to him?”

  I look up at him confused. “Who?”

  He stares at me without any real expression. “To him.”

  I frown then realize he spoke of the letter. “I don’t even know who he is.”

  He looks down. “Should I suppose you aren’t truthful?”

  I watch him. “No.”

  For once his calm is more unsettling than if he were angry.

  He looks up at me and his brow furrows. “Then why…” He sighs and closes his eyes. “Lyra, Leyden is under Spanish arrest. If you were caught being of service to other people…”

  I shake my head. “I told you I don’t even know him…”

  He looks at me. “It doesn’t mean you won’t try.”

  I watch him.

  His face is tired. “I know you, Lyra.”

  I glance away and try to think of the truth. Wo
uld I? I look up at him.

  “Do you?” I inquire.

  He watches me silently.

  “If you do, I don’t know you.”

  He sighs. “Miss Thimlet, the letter is for you, and it is your choice. I wish it were otherwise, but that is something I cannot help.”

  I swallow. “I am female. My every choice is vulnerable to men.”

  He watches me. “It is your choice still.”

  I feel his words sink in. “I don’t want it to be.”

  He sighs. “Lyra, I am not able to stop your life. It is yours.”

  I search his abysmal eyes. “You…you could.” I feel my voice is shaking.

  His eyes close. I feel like he has just shut doors in my face, blocking out the rest of the world. “I cannot assist you in ways against my fellow soldiers…” He stops. “Ms. Thimlet, that letter could…”

  I half-want the rest. “Could?”

  He stands suddenly. “I care enough to let you choose without me…I have an event to tend to…”

  I feel my body grow stiff. “Nadeje…”

  “I’m sorry…please, I can’t seem to…” He shakes his head. “I will be back soon…I promise.”

  He strides passed. I feel all the blood rush to my head and can’t move.

  “I am your responsibility…”

  I hear him stop in his tracks.

  “You could lose your position if…” I say it as I realize the decision he is making, and that once again, it is all for me.

  He does not turn. “It is my rank and my choices, just as I give you yours, you must let me to mine.”

  I feel my throat tighten. Last night he’d devoted himself to my protection, he had adored me, held me against him until I was ready to let him go…but now this?

  He moves again. I hear him murmuring in Spanish and can’t find words to protest. Then, he opens the door and steps out. The door closes. I am left alone. I swallow hard and feel shaken.

  This time, I had not been ready to let go.

  Chapter 21

  I wait until sunset to begin to feel frightened. I’ve held it back all day, but now that it is night I feel too weak to defend myself alone if they came.

  I eat alone, and after feeling too exposed in the kitchen I migrate to my room, holding one of the few poetry books Nadeje had on his shelf, hidden behind maps. I close the door and then step quickly to dress into my nightgown. His sister’s nightgown he is lending me. I feel cold prickle my skin as I slip the fabric over my kirtle and bodice, not bothering to take it off in the middle of the lonely hut.

  I decided to stay. It took at least all afternoon to determine this and decide upon it. I thought of how I would be sold into unknown hands for service, and not even knowing the man who wrote it, of how I feel insecure with no promise of any harm coming to me…and then there was Nadeje.

  I thought deeply over his tender and lenient touches, his warmth and truthful purpose, and his gentle handling of me. I thought over it all, the honesty being shown in his every contact with me. I tremble and try not to think of it. Admitting it is difficult and hazardous, but this was my main reason for not leaving, it was that behind every feeling, sensation, or emotion he caused, there was always that one pull inside me that made me feel connected. It was security, the trust and equality which he treated me with since the very beginning.

  I get into bed and prop myself up against the pillows as I light my bedside candle. I curl up and pull the covers to my chest and open to the page in the book where I’d left off; distracting myself from waiting. Harm may come to you and your Spaniard. I feel tingles run up my arms and try to concentrate on the page. Images flash out in my brain of men, armed men, and harm coming to…I look away from the book, regaining my composure.

  What if they come? I turn back to the page and read on. What if they know I am not coming and they enter while I am alone? I curl up further, feeling surrounded by invisible dangers. I listen acutely, causing me to have to read some sentences over and over again, some at least three times. Where is he?

  Suddenly I hear it, a sound outside. It is the footfalls of someone stepping over the road. I stop, staring at one word on the page. I listen as the feet shuffle slightly over the dirt then discontinue. I don’t breathe. I listen harder. Why had they stopped?

  There is the click of someone working with a lock.

  I am paralyzed, I cannot move or think. There is the sound of the front door opening. For some reason this jolts me. I drop my book and move to blow out my candle. In a small breath the room is flushed into darkness. I can hardly see as I feel myself moving. I don’t know how it happens, but I find myself on the ground beside my bed, my back to the wall as I hug my knees to my chest. I wait as my eyes grow accustomed to the pale silvery moonlight outside my room. The door handle turns.

  The door opens and my heart falls two feet in my chest. Shadows move in the light, and then I feel my breath release. It is only one, which means the barely lit figure in the doorway is Nadeje. I relax inside, but still remain curled up and tense. I don’t know how he sees me, but after at most 10 seconds of watching him, he quietly starts in my direction.

  I watch his steps not sure of how to think or act. Should I stand? Should I remain and just speak? Should I run? I remain.

  When he is a foot or two away from me he stops and crouches before me. In only a glimpse of his shadowy silver face, I feel a flush of hot relief as he swiftly inclines and I am enveloped by his embrace. He pulls me close, my face buried in his chest. I feel his head press against my neck and my heart wavers as he burrows his face in my skin. I sink into it, breathing in the cold air on his clothes and little by little blossoming into his warmth. I slacken and exhaustedly rest against his solid figure. I absorb every bit of soothing warmth I can as he wraps me in. Release spreads as he cloaks me with his body, protecting me from the darkness in the room and shielding me from the invisible dangers.

  “Lyra,” he breathes.

  I feel myself weaken to his relief and care. He breathes something else, but I cannot make it out for he speaks in a Spanish murmur into my neck.

  “I’m sorry,” he says it softly. “Ms. Thimlet, I’m so sorry.”

  I move my hands up his chest to find a place to put them and pause at the unexpected warmth of his neck.

  He feels it and seems to grow more protective than before. “You are cold.” He says it half to himself. “What are you doing on the floor?”

  I am not sure if it is a question I am supposed to answer, for he half speaks to me, and half to himself, but little does it matter for soon he is gathering me with his arms, cradling me and lifting my cold feet from the floor and into his lap. I am grateful, but I also need him to remember the risks of this place.

  “Nadeje,” I say faintly.

  He nuzzles me and pleasurably snuggles into my neck.

  “Mr. Gilch…” I try to say it, but I lack words. “What would you do…if…what if they come?”

  He draws back a little to observe my face. “I know some routes,” he assures gently. “They run through the city…most guards don’t bother taking patrol there…we will be fine if you let me…” He watches me a moment. “Let me protect you.”

  I search his eyes. “I’m scared.”

  He observes me calmly. “No matter what happens you will be taken care of. Destiny isn’t just immediate future, it is the interminable.”

  I find it hard to breathe as his eyes remain on my face. “Our futures won’t meet again…will they?”

  He watches me. “You confuse me with your inconsistency in manner of subject.”

  I blush but do not look away, and manage not to shy. “I mean that you’ll go back to Spain after…” He waits, his eyes shining in the silvery light. “It isn’t right…allowed…for us to…” I feel the presence of his arms around me and resentment to my own words. “To interact in certain manners of…”

  “Lyra Thimlet,” his voice is soft, gentle.

  It rests my mouth. I am thankful.
>
  He watches me. “Do you mean companionship?”

  I feel my heart race and my face pale. “Nadeje…” I can feel his pulse through his neck, it is calm. “You…we couldn’t…you’re Spanish, I’m Dutch…we never could…” I feel my chest tighten.

  He watches me with a painful face. “Lyra.”

  I shake my head. “We are being disobedient now…”

  “Lyra…”

  I feel my heart sink and look to his throat. “Nadeje…”

  Suddenly, he traps me against him. I breathe, feeling each breath enter sharply with difficulty, yet the more I breathe the more the pain eases. His head presses mildly against the place behind my ear. My mind closes the door to undesirable thoughts. Then, there is a gentle pressure against my neck. I realize Nadeje is kissing me. I feel my world tip and the darkness around us envelopes me. His breath is soft and beats gently against my skin. I feel like I am choking. I can’t breathe ‘til the moment when he carefully lifts his lips from my skin. He remains hovering but slowly nuzzles his head back against me and puts his lips right above my ear. It is warm across my neck.

  Then, his voice is soft, almost a whisper. “The definition of love…”

  I freeze in his arms.

  “Is never the same.”

  I feel heat flood in through my ears and to my pulsing heart with a little relief.

  He curls his head closer to my shoulder. “There are many types of love,” his breaths gust out against my neck and chill my skin. He turns so that his nose brushes my ear. “Most try to classify it as but one,” he exhales lightly through his nose. “I say opposite,” he skims his nose against my neck. “One could speculate it as the opposite of hate…care or infatuation…” He hovers leaving me paralyzed with his absence of movement. “Amor…” I suppose it to be Spanish. “Amor is nothing of one meaning.

  “There is the love, unconditional love…between usually a moeder and a child, or a brother and a sister…” His voice is vibrating gently. “There are loves of attraction…fascination by another being’s looks or ways…” He nuzzles his face into my neck and I have to make myself not flinch from the influence of his words. “Love which lies between distance and visits but does not remain long is without promise…” He pauses. “There are others…of dedication, faith, religious strength…and none but of course love for something you feel for no particular reason.” It is quiet again before he continues. “Unfortunately, there is a love which begins with hate, disregard, or fear…I call it transformational love,” he lifts his face a little, hovering above my neck. “I once thought perhaps…it was hopeful you were acquainted with it.”