Seventh Day of Christmas #2
Kestrel sighed. Avoiding a kiss would imply she still felt more for him than she should. So she put a hand on his forearm, and when he looked up, she rose onto her toes, pulled his head lower, and kissed him on the lips.
Perhaps it was the effect of a kiss after such a long absence, or the remembered scent of him, or the continued shouts all around of “Happy New Year,” but Kestrel felt pulled back to their first New Year’s Eve together.
She seemed to be standing with Hank behind a closed door, the sounds of the party muffled and distant.
Four years later, the words he’d spoken were still stitched into her soul.
You’re so warm and enthusiastic, you say exactly what you mean, you’re like a bonfire in whatever room you enter.
So I noticed you, and then I admired you, and then .
. . And then they had kissed for the first time.
After their breakup, she would have bet the Kern Family Farm that she would never kiss him again, and yet here they stood, so close that there was no light between them, their lips together in a soft touch.
It felt so good, it hurt.
Kestrel stepped back. Hank’s eyes were dark in the low light—unflinching, soulful, and completely focused on her. She felt a trembling in her knees, a rising tension into her throat as if she would choke or cry.
He has no intentions, she reminded herself. He isn’t here for me. He’s selfishly, insensitively focused on his own guilt-reducing closure.
She turned away and looked for someone else to kiss to show that it’d been no big deal.
Mr. Culpepper was nearest, so she stood on a stool and planted a big kiss on his mouth.
She made sure this kiss lasted longer than Hank’s.
Then she offered a kiss to shy Mr. Houlihan, who accepted with a pleased, “Ta!” The Hardy Boys were nearby, so she smooched them both.
Lady Heartwright frowned at her, and Kestrel realized she’d stupidly crossed another line.
“Happy New Year, you gorgeous angel,” said Andrews, stopping to kiss Kestrel’s cheek. She instantly warmed down into her little toe bones.
“Thank you, darling,” she said. “I needed a friend just now.”
He smiled, as if he somehow could understand.
They refilled their wassail cups and toasted and laughed until a bleak-faced Mrs. Wattlesbrook called for their attention.
“It has continued to snow, and the road to Windy Nook is not cleared for the horseless carriage. I had hoped you could go by sleigh, but our groundskeeper, Edwin, says it is too deep to send out the horses tonight.”
“Are we snowed in, Mrs. Wattlesbrook?” asked Lady Heartwright. “How utterly delightful.”
“Yes, I think it best the Windy Nook party spend the night,” said Mrs. Wattlesbrook. “We can prepare private bedrooms for the ladies, but the gentlemen will need to share rooms.”
“Well, I for one won’t be sharing a bed with the boys,” said Bobby. He grabbed Charming’s hand and pulled her out of the drawing room, but not before catching Kestrel’s eye and giving her a wink. She shuddered.
As soon as the gentlemen followed Neville out to set up their sleeping spaces, Mrs. Martinez slid off the sofa, sighing as her legs flopped out.
Kestrel thought she had the right idea and relaxed down beside her, Gussie and Lady Heartwright joining them on floor cushions, knee to knee.
A slumber party mood unfurled between them.
“Are you ladies falling in love with anyone in particular?” Lady Heartwright asked.
“Why choose only one?” said Kestrel.
Lady Heartwright laughed. “You are of my mind, Miss Spinster.”
“Yes, Miss Spinster would rather not choose any particular gentlemen and just flirt with all equally,” Gussie said.
Lady Heartwright made a moaning noise of understanding.
“As far as I’m concerned, everyone is simply marvelous,” said Mrs. Martinez. “But tonight, for the first time, I realize how much I am missing my family.”
Murmurs of agreement. Kestrel stayed quiet.
“How about you, Kestrel?” Gussie asked. “Who is waiting for you at home?”
Kestrel smiled, trying to play along, and said, “My family.” Even in pretend play, the lie was so pathetic, she couldn’t manage to say anything more.
She felt as weak as a beetle-infested tree—one finger nudge and she fell right over.
Family. It was her kryptonite. And here in Austenland she felt surprisingly exposed, caught without her usual emotional armor.
The ladies’ conversation continued, but Kestrel couldn’t seem to track it. Her heart was roaring in pain, and that made her so angry, she wanted to punch through a wall. Beneath the rage was a lava-hot ache, constantly threatening to volcano up again. Why was she suddenly so sensitive?
It must be Hank. He was here, reminding her that she could never heal and move on, because she still couldn’t believe it hadn’t been real.
It had felt real. He’d never showed frustration with Kestrel’s faults and eccentricities, not even her chronic incapacity to put toothpaste caps back on.
He’d so fully accepted her as she was that he’d felt like her purest, most hopeful concept of a home.
The fact that he hadn’t actually been her home meant she couldn’t trust her feelings.
She had no compass, no ship, nothing under her feet.
She was drowning in an ocean of emotions with no hope that any of them told her the truth.
“. . . Certainly Captain Relish is delightful,” Gussie was saying, “but so is Colonel Andrews. I wish I knew what they thought about me.”
“That puts me in mind of a game,” said Lady Heartwright.
“A game?” Kestrel perked up at the hope of a distraction.
“No more games tonight, please,” said Gussie. “Miss Spinster always wins.”
Lady Heartwright’s gaze fixed on Kestrel. “This game is not about winning. But since she is always game, let us begin with Miss Spinster. Come with me. Hurry, before the gentlemen return!”
Lady Heartwright led them to the far side of the drawing room, where she opened the compartment in the wall that normally held the drinks cart.
“You will hide inside, and we will lure the gentlemen here one by one to ask them what they think of you. You will eavesdrop and hear for yourself how they really feel. We can all take turns over the next day or so while we are snowed in. Is this not a clever idea?”
Lady Heartwright put a strong hand on Kestrel’s shoulder, encouraging her to stoop down and step into the compartment. Even then, Kestrel’s mind didn’t catch up to the actual plan until Lady Heartwright shut the door.
Everything went purple-black dark. Kestrel’s breath caught. A hiccup of fear escaped her throat.
Her rational mind fired up and assured her that there was plenty of air, she wasn’t really trapped, she could exit the closet any time, everything was fine.
Lady Heartwright was speaking. “Mr. Kern! Come over here. We have a question for you.”
“Where’s Miss Spinster?”
“Aren’t you prescient? That’s exactly who we wanted to talk to you about.”
This was an awful game. Why had Kestrel agreed to play such an awful game? And in a closet with no air?
There was air, her rational brain tried to convince her, but that part of her was shrinking while another part was white-hot and sparking like a spinning firework until she was filled up with nothing but panic panic panic
panic
PANIC!
She felt for the doorknob, but there wasn’t one on the inside.
Air was too thick to fit into her lungs.
Her body shook. Her every cell clanged together like fire alarms. She was eleven years old.
Trapped. Abandoned. She could feel the space shrinking around her.
The box lid an inch from her face. Weights pressing on her chest. A ghostly, prickly heat on her legs, the memory of wetting herself.
No. She pressed harder against the door. No movement. Kestrel’s lungs seized, as if a ghost fist had entered her chest and squeezed tight.
“No,” wheezed Kestrel. “No!”
She hammered her fists on the closet door.
“What is that? Is someone in there?”
“Hank!” she yelled.
The closet opened, and Hank pulled her out. She wheezed and fought for air. His arm was around her shoulders. She pushed him away.
“I’m fine, I’m fine, I just . . . breathed some dust . . .” She moved herself away, out of the drawing room, into the hall, and just kept walking.
The corridor seemed to narrow like a long train tunnel, and she kept moving toward the end, walking without knowing if she really was moving. Her head felt light as dandelion fluff.
You will learn to live in peace.
She could hear Teacher’s voice again as if he stood at her ear. She spun around, but of course no one was there. The spinning made her dizzy, and she stumbled.
Shut up in there! You will learn!
He’s not here, Kestrel reminded herself. You’re not there. He’s not, you’re not. You’re safe.
But she didn’t feel safe. Her heart was still battering against her ribs. Her breath felt like a thick rope pulling in and out of her chest.
At the end of a hall, she found the narrow set of spiral stairs.
Somehow she climbed them, staggered into her room, and shut the door.
But still the alarm of danger clanged through her.
Anxious to free herself, she tugged off her clothes, dropping them on the floor, but the removal of dress and corset didn’t help her lungs feel fuller.
At least she hadn’t actually peed herself.
She tried to laugh. It came out like a sob.
Kestrel climbed into her bed, kicking the blankets away.
She couldn’t stand anything touching her.
Even her chemise and drawers felt heavy as stone, and she tore them off.
But as the minutes trickled by, she began to long for tightness.
She wrapped the blanket around, cinching herself in, trying to keep all her parts from breaking off and falling away.