Beckoned

The smell of rain greets me first, but the dew dancing upon the blades of grass tickling my ankles is the next tell. Songs falling from the branches greet me in joyful proclamation of the sun rising another day, past the tears that fell just hours ago. Fog kisses my arms and nuzzles my mind into submission of emotion as the lace of my nightgown begins to dampen and cling to my skin with every step. Shadows peek from my peripheral, what they are is not mine to know, but they are familiar in devastating delight. Whether or not I desire them, they follow me through the meadow and up the hill.

The estate ahead reaches above the mist, beckoning and dismissing, uncertain of fate’s existence and if it will witness devastation or celebration once again. A home that holds secrets and wealth, mocking even in memory, echoes of the rich and noble sneer at me through the walls into the open air, where one should feel free.

It was foolish; I should not have gone in the first place. I was never meant to meet him, smell him, touch him, or even breathe his air. Perhaps then I would have slept. Perhaps then I would not still be walking towards his fortress that repels as it pulls. Perhaps I am possessed because my legs waltz onward through the grass, my nightgown growing in wetness and new tint of green. My jaw clenches, but my feet mustn’t stop, not until we meet once more. Then I will move on, or move back, I suppose, to a time when I did not know what it was like to share his oxygen. Ideally, a time and place where my duty is not to be a maid, and he is not betrothed. To a time where I may have a chance at love, that is not to a man that is responsible for the cleanliness and care of a cow or horse, but rather judging the quality of milk or the speed at which he may ride. Though his soul is still kind and his heart still beats to his own drum, and of course, he does not care for money, though he does have it. A man who knows what he desires and settles for nothing less.

My feet slow at the final valley. That is him, and so he does not care for me; it is not love, it cannot be love. It was a moment, a single moment in which our eyes met, and I swore he felt the same as me. I am deluded! He will send me to the madhouse if I continue on my way boasting about my admiration! If one is passionate and powerful, then he would have come to me in lustful panic. Though… what if he is thinking of me as he wakes? What if he is uncertain of what it would mean for his status if he were to admit his love for a maid at first sight and, so, he waited till dusk to see if his emotions fled?

A step forward, and another, holding my hem until the peak is beneath me. Burgundy curtains hang heavy in every window besides one, his. They are drawn apart, perhaps a sign he, too, did not sleep after our meeting! Or perchance, he has simply woken early to get ready for a personal affair or to take an early morning ride. I am mad! Simply mad. I cannot keep playing this game in my mind. The shadows followed me, begging to be seen, though not willing to reveal themselves. Take the risk of embarrassment and humiliation, or turn around and head back into my quarters; those are the choices. Though it seems the universe has made a choice, as someone emerges from the bottom of the hill, where a back entrance hides in the cobblestoned walls. Though the mist conceals, my memory is much too strong; I know who it is. The grass meets me on my stomach. Please, sir, do not look up.

He differs from last night with unkempt hair, heavy eyes, and the shadow of a beard escaping. The ruffle of his shirt is tattered, and his breeches are scuffed with clay-ish dirt. His head flies left to right, a step at a time, and another glance, another step. Looking for me? No, that is foolish. There is no possibility of that. He continues on four more paces until turning back to the door and running in. Inhibition flees as my heart pounds in my ears, stumbling downhill to the corner from the door, footsteps echoing from what could be his feet pacing back and forth in lust-filled thoughts of me. Two beings inside my mind continue to battle for sanity or love and hope…what was that? A fall? A door shutting? The thud is followed by footsteps that approach the door, and the stone well before me presents itself in hiding grandeur. My knees crack as they bend behind the tall dirtied reservoir; I should reveal myself, or make a run for it, or pretend the cat escaped and was simply searching for him. My green muddied hem stares back at me in farce, no man could desire me in this! That is it, I must run back, and it seems now is the time as the footsteps fade back into the distance of the hall. 1,2,3 run, before he can see it is you, and perhaps he will just think you are a random woman! A mystery! A-

Body.

A body, at his feet. Surrounded by the dewy grass, a proposed new marker of an everlasting love and risk worth taking, just moments ago, before I walked the hill. A body, about my size, wrapped in linen fabric. My feet plant to the ground as if it will take me down next, vines wrapping around my neck as his eyes prick mine, his body towering over the wrapped one beneath him.

“I did it for you,” he cries.