have a confession.”
“A confession?” I asked, the fluttering in my stomach intensified.
“My father has business elsewhere, we are to leave.”
“Leave? France? But, why? How long?” My thumb pressed against the thorn of the rose.
“We must go, but we can write one another. You’ll write me a letter and you’ll place it here by the stones. I’ll have someone collect them for me.”
“Must you go? Can you not stay while your father leaves?” I sounded small and pathetic with my pleas. But I had envisioned a future, one filled with sunlight and adventure. Now he was leaving and I could feel the edges of my dream crumbling.
“Please do not look that way. I will return I promise. We will see each other again. When I return I will tell you of more adventures.”
I envied him, and his ability to just leave France and travel he world. I wanted him to want me there. Didn’t he want me there? Has this all been a delusion in my mind. My eyes fell to the rose in hand. It couldn’t have been a delusion.
“When my Father finds out I have become a woman he will allow suitors. I may not be here when you come back,” I whispered.
“You will write me,” he said softly taking my hands in his, “If a suitor arrives I will come back and take you away from here.”
“GET OUT OF HERE!” An angry voice yelled from the Saloon. Thomas stumbled out of the door tripping on the steps and landing in the soggy ground. I ran from the canal to his side. But he jerks his hand away from mine.
“I’m fine! Bastards!”
“What is the problem here?” Samuel asks.
“He owes more than he’s worth.”
Thomas reeks of alcohol.
“Come here again and I’ll skin you.”
“I’ll pay his dues,” Samuel said pulling money from his wallet.
Thomas slurs insults at the Saloon owner’s direction; he leans heavy on my shoulder now. The saloon owner takes the money from Samuel.
Thomas stumbles off of my hold roughly taking the reigns of our horse.
“C’mon Nic, Nicole. Lets get out of this stinking filth hole.”
I stared at Samuel whose brilliant blue eyes stared back. Was this goodbye?
“I-“
“Nicole!” Thomas yelled. I turned from Samuel to mount the horse. I glanced back at Samuel as we rode away, a dark silhouette against the snow.
I cried myself to sleep. My thumb pressed so hard against the thorn that it pierced skin and blood blotted my fingers. Denise questioned my tears, a sign or kindness that I didn’t care for. No one would understand.
Thursday came, and I sat by the fire reading a book. Thomas appeared in the door.
“Follow me Nicole.”
“Where are we going?”
“Same place as usual.”
I pull against his sleeve, “They told you not to come back Thomas.”
He jerks his arm out of my grasp, “They say that all the time, besides don’t you want to see your friend?”
“My-,” my face reddens.
“Yes, I’ve seen him.”
Thomas brought the horse around and we rode to the Saloon. There was no way Samuel was still here was there? I sat by the canal, but he didn’t show. Unable to sit here remembering him any longer, I stood and walked down the street. The ground was covered in snow. It was too cold to be out. My breath clouded the air, stung my cheeks and burned my fingertips. I could feel the tears fall and warm the frozen skin on my face. I wiped them angrily away. He said to write them. So that is what I would do. I would write him. I turned back toward the bank. The wind whipped my hair and I tugged the jacket tighter around me. There was this sinking feeling as I closed in on the saloon. The lights were out, but I had not been gone that long. Our horse was still tied up.
“Thomas?” I called. I knocked on the Saloon door but no one answered. “Thomas?” I called louder. Something drew me toward the Canal. A dark shape, my heart fluttered at the thought of Samuel. Breaking into a run I sprinted to the bank. As I closed in the familiar cloth floated in the freezing water. “Thomas?” I screamed. Stumbling down the rocks my footing slipped. I hit the ground tearing my gown and scraping my legs. My feet slipped by the mossy rocks as I pulled him out. His body was limp. I screamed again. I was screaming for help. My feet were numb. His body weight doubled mine. I struggled to pull him onto the rocks. His eyes were closed. I lay my head against his chest to hear his heart beat. A bright color against my blonde hair caught my attention. Red. My hands were red.
“HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!” I screamed. Lights began to flicker in the nearby homes.
“It’s going to be alright. T-Thomas,” my voice shook, my body shook. It could be from the water or the air. People were running toward me. Men brushed passed me picking him up and carrying him up onto the bank. They opened his shirt and there were gashes on his stomach. Blood oozed from the wounds. The men pushed me back.
“He’s dead,” one said.
“You don’t know that!” I screamed pushing past them. “Thomas.” I said dropping by his side, “wake up! Please wake up.”
“It’s the blacksmith’s son,” someone whispered. People were coming and going. They tried to take him but I shoved them. The voices quieted as someone broke through the crowd. I glanced up with tears streaming down my face. Father stood there, his face pale and in shock. For the first time in a long time he saw me. I had never wanted to be more invisible. With my bloody hands, bloody torn dress crouching over the body of his only son. He saw me, and then he fell to his knees and cried. I stumbled backwards away from his sobs. The sound shattering me, I fell into the snow sobbing a few feet away.
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