Chapter 3
Jasper
My mother is determined to thwart my plans, not that she knows it. She keeps me busy for hours, preparing trunks for our trip in less than a week’s time. Catherine seems to be the only one who notices my desire to get away.
“What are you up to?” she asks the moment my mother is out of sight.
Catherine’s condition has improved steadily over the past many days, much to my relief. Her ailment has eased to the point where she’s back at her tasks, although her cough remains.
I debate lying to her for all of a second, not wanting to draw attention to my mission to sneak off. But if anyone would understand my newfound friendship with Abraham, it would be Catherine. She wouldn’t judge me for it. That much I know.
“I wish to see a friend,” I tell her, checking the doorway for my mother.
“Someone I know?”
I shake my head .
“Is it safe?” Catherine asks.
I nod slowly, even though the question is a complicated one. “We’re merely swimming. But he’s…a stable hand.”
Understanding lights her eyes. Fellowship between men of our classes is not commonplace. Abraham would be more likely to be my servant than my friend, a fact that makes me unduly angry to contemplate. No one should be forced to work so much harder than another for something as simple as living.
My mother walks into the room before Catherine can respond, and we go back to packing up her scarves.
“Perhaps Jasper should fetch some salted pork from town,” Catherine says, causing me to look at her sharply. Is she trying to help me escape?
The scrutiny on my mother’s face is an obstacle Catherine deftly evades.
“I’m still recovering,” she says, an excuse. Under normal circumstances, there would be no reason for me to do the duties of our housekeeper. “The reserve of dried meat is dwindling, ma’am.”
“No,” my mother says with a quick shake of her head. “We have plenty for our trip.”
“I don’t disagree,” Catherine says carefully. “However, after packing what’s needed, there will be scarcely any left upon our return.”
My mother’s expression is hard. She doesn’t like Catherine attempting to run the household, as Catherine very well knows. The simple fact that she’s willing to test my mother’s patience on my behalf has me finding some confidence within myself. Or perhaps it’s recklessness.
“I wouldn’t mind,” I tell my mother, shifting her regard my way. “I can visit the butcher. ”
After only a moment’s consideration, she shakes her head once more. “No. Catherine will do it when we return.”
I try not to let my disappointment show, but I can feel Catherine’s sympathetic eye watching me.
I’ve all but resigned myself to missing my stolen hours with Abraham when there’s a soft knock at my door.
The hour is late, dark creeping over the sky and my stomach full with stewed beef, carrots, and corn from our meal.
I ease off my bed, half-convinced the noise was only the wind. As it turns out, it’s Catherine.
“Come,” she says quickly.
I stare after her for a heartbeat before following.
Catherine leads me down the darkened hall and into the kitchen. My mother and father are nowhere to be seen, but I have no doubt they’re near. Catherine swiftly shoves a loaf of still-warm bread into my hands, a hunk of dried meat, three carrots, and a jar of fine apricot jam.
“Catherine,” I whisper, nearly overcome.
“Is it Abraham?” she asks, her hands gripping the outsides of my own. “The Morris boy?”
I can only nod. I’m astounded she guessed as much, but Catherine runs in circles outside of my own. She knows people in this town, inner workings, I never have nor will.
She nudges me decisively. “Then take it. Abigail is a good friend. I hate to see her and her boy suffer, but I haven’t dared…”
She doesn’t finish her sentence, but I understand. She hasn’t dared bring them food herself. If she was found stealing from my family, the consequences would be dire.
But for me?
“Do we have any butter?” I ask.
Catherine’s smile is bright, and she turns, fetching a small jar. She adds it onto the pile in my hands. “Go. I’ll leave your window unlocked for when you return.”
“Thank you,” I tell her fervently.
A single candle flickers at the table as I turn and rush down the hall.
My bedchamber is dark, but I reach under my mattress, feeling for the spare haversack I used to collect pine cones and sticks in as a child.
Finding the strap, I tug it free, carefully loading the food inside.
I stop for a moment, glancing at the outline of my wardrobe.
In the end, I leave my coat behind and crawl through the window.
The barest hint of light remains outside, the sky a dusky blue soon to turn black.
I thank the moon and stars for their light as I jog swiftly in the direction of Abraham’s creek.
There’s little chance he’s still there, but he said he lives close.
Perhaps I could find him? Or leave the sack for him to discover another day?
I feel almost giddy as I run, the haversack knocking against my hip with each stride. Hope flourishes inside my chest, even as my more rational mind tries to temper my excitement.
I’ve run away. For only a few hours, true. But I have never in my life run off to follow my whims.
Yet now, I have Abraham.
My lungs protest as I reach the hill that stands between me and my destination.
Sweat beads along my brow, my breaths harsh.
I ignore the burn in my calves and crest the hill without slowing.
There, not far off, water glimmers under the light of the moon.
I don’t see Abraham, nor anyone for that matter.
And for the briefest of moments, the weight of defeat crushes down.
But then I hear a noise .
I stop, working to corral my breathing, and listen. There it is again. A soft, questioning call.
“Abraham?” I shout.
I hear his responding laugh, and then there he is, a darkened form stepping out from the shadow of a tree. Exhaling a mighty breath, I tromp his way.
“I expected you to be gone,” I call out, not worried about the volume of my voice here. We’re alone save the earth and the starlight.
“I was for a while. I came back. Just in case.” He sounds happy despite the trouble I surely caused him.
“I’m glad you returned,” I tell him truthfully. “I apologize that it took me so long to get here. I was…waylaid.”
The outline of him comes into clearer focus the closer I get, although the details of his face are lost to me in the dark. “I understand. You’re here now. Although swimming may have to wait for another day.”
I let out a soft laugh, swinging the sack off my shoulder. “I… Well, I brought you something.”
Abraham accepts the haversack, his fingers brushing mine. “What is it?”
Voicing it aloud now that I’m here is harder than I expected. Will he find offense? Storm off?
No. He won’t do that. Somehow, I’m certain.
“It’s food,” I admit, my voice not cooperating enough for more than a whisper. I clear my throat before going on. “For you and your mother. If you want it.”
“Jasper.” My name is spoken quietly, the moon affording me just enough light to see Abraham twisting the cloth strap in his hands. “This is a kindness I can’t repay.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” I choke out. “Food should be available to all. You shouldn’t need to… ”
I trail off, not wanting to insult Abraham’s livelihood. There’s nothing shameful about being a stable hand. But the fact that he earns such meager coin for a life so hard lived… It’s not right.
“I don’t understand why it has to be this way,” I tell him.
Abraham steps close, his shirt stark against his tan skin, the fabric meeting near the middle of his chest, leaving his throat open to the air. His eyes, so dark, are difficult to see, and I wish it wasn’t so.
“You have a tender heart.” Abraham’s words don’t sound in the least like an insult, the way they would have had they come from my father. “I won’t ever ask this of you, Jasper. But thank you for the gift. I will not refuse it, either.”
My breath puffs out of me, and my hands itch with the desire to move, to show Abraham, somehow, how grateful I am for his easy acceptance.
But how would I explain it’s my own mind eased, knowing he’ll have food on his table tomorrow and the day after?
In the end, I give him the only words I can. “Thank you.”
The noise that rumbles from his chest sounds like gentle laughter. “I hardly know what to do with you.”
“You could sit with me,” I find myself requesting. “Tell me more of your life?”
Abraham takes a seat on the grass, and I quickly follow.
He sets the haversack aside, resting on his back with a sigh that has my chest squeezing tight.
I lie down beside him, my heart thumping beneath its cage as I stare up at the stars, my breath coming short again for no reason I can detect.
I force my breathing to slow. Let my pulse even.
Abraham hums before speaking. “When I was young, I imagined myself a fierce warrior. Do you know the constellation of the sword? ”
“The one to the north?”
He nods, hands beneath his head. “I’d imagine plucking it from the sky and using it to defeat my foes. Maybe even hunt a boar for me and my mother. It was folly, but I remember thinking if only I had my sword, surely I could conquer all.”
Abraham’s story pulls at a place unseen, the unexpected melancholy of it nearly stealing my breath away.
I swallow down the tightness in my throat, seeking out the stars that make up the constellation.
The sword hangs suspended in the sky above, the tip of the blade the brightest, seeming as if it’s staring directly at us.
“I think you’re braver than me,” I tell him. “I’ve never had grand dreams of defeating my foes. All I’ve ever wished for is to be happy. Happier than I am.”
“What would make you happy?”
I look over at Abraham, his face close, a hint of brightness reflecting off his eyes. “I’m not sure. A simple life.”
“With Catherine. In the countryside.”
“Perhaps,” I admit, voice hoarse.
“Where you aren’t expected to court a wife.”
My breath catches, my heart leaping into my throat. “I…”
“Do you know you have stars in your eyes?” Abraham’s words are soft. Spoken low. “I can see them clearly. Your wishes.”
I feel as if I can’t breathe. The world hangs suspended, for just a moment, the same as that sword in the sky.
Abraham breaks the stillness. “Do you wish to kiss me, Jasper Sinclair?”
My exhale is one of surprise. Fear. Many things I have not the time to put a name to. “That… That isn’t allowed. It ’s illegal.”
Abraham watches me, not voicing a response. I’m desperate to understand what’s going through his head.
Has he kissed men before? Is that why he’s asking? Does he desire to kiss me ? He wouldn’t pose the question otherwise, would he?
Unless it’s a ruse.
But no. I refuse to believe such. He wouldn’t be that cruel.
Is kissing Abraham something I want? It’s absurd, and yet… Women have never called to me. Not when my body was changing, turning me into a man. And not now, when I know I should appreciate their feminine allure. I should be looking for a wife, yet I’ve never wanted one.
Maybe there’s a reason for that.
It’s hard to make out Abraham under the darkness of night, but I feel as if I know him already.
His dark brows and straight, patrician nose befitting the warrior he fancies himself to be.
The brown eyes, like honeyed lacquer, that smiled at me upon our first meeting.
The cadence of his voice, even, and the laugh I admire.
The strength of spirit he possesses. The fortitude.
Abraham eases onto his side, bringing us closer. He seems to loom over me, and yet, I’m not afraid. Not of him. “Jasper?”
I bring my shaking hand to Abraham’s jaw, feeling a hint of coarse hair he must shave away. He covers my hand with his own, holding me to him, shifting his lips to my palm and placing the smallest of kisses there.
It rattles me to my very core. Shifts the foundation of all I know. It snaps into place the certainty that I have answers for those questions never before solved.
Would I have ever found the truth without Abraham? Without his lips pressed to my skin?
“Yes,” I say at a hush. “I wish to kiss you. ”
Abraham pulls my palm from his lips, a sigh of aching relief leaving his lungs. He holds my hand to his heart as the world around me goes dark. As Abraham leans in, blocking out the stars. There’s the whisper of his breath. The pulse beneath my fingertips. And then Abraham’s lips on mine.
My world explodes in a shower of white.
Abraham kisses me again and again, each press of his lips a greeting, as if he’s loath to say goodbye.
I would gladly linger in an infinite state of introduction with this man given the chance.
In fact, my heart races at the very idea of this ever coming to an end.
Perhaps he senses it. Because Abraham shifts his hand to my face, grip settling beside my ear, his fingers carding through my hair and making my very skin feel as if it’s alive.
His heart beats under my palm, the lifeblood of this man calling to me, reminding me of how very alive we are indeed.
When his mouth parts from my own, I nearly shake him. Because no. That isn’t right.
“Abe,” I plead.
“My heart.” His voice trembles, and I can only pray he feels the same desperation as me inside his chest. “Do you wish for me to kiss you again?”
Surely he must know?
“I wish for you never to stop.”