Chapter 5
Jasper
My fingers drum against the sill as I watch our trunks return to the carriage waiting outside my aunt and uncle’s house in the country. Their dog races around the butler’s feet, yapping excitedly.
Five and a half weeks. It’s been five and a half weeks since I last set eyes on Abraham. It will be six by the time I arrive home.
Has he forgotten me? Does he still want me as I want him?
The letters I wrote are tucked safely away inside my trunk, bundled within the pockets of a coat so no one will find them. Even so, I watch the butler lift the trunk into the carriage, my heart in my throat. He moves on, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Voices come from the hall behind me.
“Yes, well, you should try your best to return before next summer,” my aunt is saying, talking, I assume, to my mother. “You know how much I adore your company. It can get so quiet here. ”
“Traveling in the winter would be difficult,” my mother says, although she sounds as if she’s considering it. Sometimes I think my mother would have preferred to stay in the countryside instead of moving to town when she married my father. But she’s never said as much.
“It would be near impossible,” my father cuts in. “Besides, I can’t afford to be away from the printer for so long.”
“Perhaps my sister could come alone before the snow arrives,” my aunt proposes, the five of them, my uncle and Catherine included, in the parlor now. She looks at my mother. “You and Jasper both. Surely Catherine could stay and tend to the home?”
My mother looks wistful, but my father shakes his head. “We’ll talk about this another time. Is the carriage packed?”
It takes me a second to realize my father is asking me.
I nod quickly, glancing once more outside the window. The butler is approaching the house now. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Let’s be on our way.”
My father says a quick goodbye to my uncle, a rather quiet but kind man.
Father nods my aunt’s way before beckoning me out the door.
I watch my mother and aunt for a moment, their parting words to one another far more heartfelt and lingering than my father’s.
I’ve never seen my mother as soft as she is here with her sister.
When I get out to the carriage, I push the small window covering aside so that I may watch the countryside as we travel. Catherine settles beside me.
She saw me, one day, writing to Abraham. She didn’t ask, but I’ve seen her curious gaze aimed my way often. Perhaps she thinks I’m courting.
It’s almost absurd to realize I am, in a way .
What would she think if she knew it was a man my affections lie with, not a woman? Would she— could she—understand that, too?
It’s not accepted. But a small corner of my mind recognizes the fact that it must happen. Men lying with one another. Maybe women, too. If no one ever felt this way, there wouldn’t be laws prohibiting it.
Surely, I should care about that more than I do. But I can’t see how it’s wrong. Not when, for the first time ever, looking at another, touching them, feels right.
My mother waves to my aunt as our carriage sets into motion. We rock with it, and I offer my mother a small smile when she wipes discreetly below her eye. She looks away quickly, and I wish, not for the first time, she didn’t feel the need to hide herself so.
I let my mind drift as we begin the steady journey toward home. Toward Abraham.
Five and a half weeks has been far too long.
I wash myself with quick movements, despite the water being pleasantly warmed from the hearth.
As soon as I’m certain I’m clean, I step from the tub and dry off.
My clothes have been returned to my wardrobe thanks to Catherine, a few articles set aside for laundering.
I nearly trip over my own feet in my haste to dress .
I pass Catherine in the hall. She’s unpacking the last of our trunks from our arrival yesterday evening.
“Eager to get to the printer this morning?” she asks, amusement in her tone.
My heart thumps painfully. I don’t care for secrecy between me and Catherine, but what could I possibly say to explain Abraham?
“Yes,” I lie. “I didn’t realize I’d miss it so.”
I wait for her to catch me out, but she only hums. “Then be off with you.”
With a nod, I head out the door.
My walk feels as if it lasts hours instead of mere minutes. I pass familiar faces, buildings and houses I’ve gone by hundreds of times, even a gaggle of children being led to school. I see almost none of it.
The scent hits me first. The horses. The sound of a gentle whinny. I can scarcely breathe.
I slow at the front of the stables, grateful there’s no one close enough to be paying attention to me. Victor and a single patron are standing inside, but neither notices my presence. My pulse races as I search for him.
What if he’s gone? What if he doesn’t wish to see me? What if—
Abraham steps through a wide door at the back of the stables, and it’s as if all the air leaves my lungs.
There’s sweat along his brow, his hair disheveled from his work.
His shirt is streaked with dirt, the laces along the top open enough for me to glimpse his chest. He’s broad and young, yes, but not youthful in appearance.
His physique is that of a laborer. He’s not soft. Not feminine.
Yet I ache for him in a way I never have for another, expectations be damned .
When Abraham spots me at long last, the world simply…
stops. His throat catches, his entire body going still and everything around us seeming to quiet.
I wait with breath held, sure his dismissal now would crush me.
But his lips tip into a smile, and my very being soars and expands, as if I’m a bird taking its first flight of spring.
I can’t temper my own smile. It bursts from me big and wild, and I swear Abraham nearly comes to me. Nearly strides my way to wrap his hands in my hair and press his lips to mine.
But, of course, he doesn’t. He can’t.
Victor says something to Abraham, and he nods quickly, his attention diverted for a moment before coming back to me. I see the apology in the eyes. The absolute longing. I nod in return, taking a step away, knowing I’ve already risked far too much in my transparency.
Catherine’s question from so many weeks ago returns to me. When she asked about my friendship with Abraham.
Is it safe?
No, I daresay it’s not. Not anymore.
It isn’t easy walking away, but I force my feet through the motions.
I meet my father at the printer, my fingers smudged with dark ink before long.
I nod along as one of the older men discusses the importance of the newspaper, not disagreeing with him yet angry, all the same, that so few are allowed the opportunity to read.
Should knowledge and wealth not be shared equally? What benefit is it to have extra food on the table when others have not enough to get by? Should not all men and women learn the alphabet? Are we not stronger if we gain wisdom from all?
It’s a relief when my father and I leave for home. He looks over at me proudly, not knowing the thoughts inside my head. Not knowing how much I’ve surely failed him already .
Our meal is quiet, my father’s nose in his workbook, my mother seemingly preoccupied with missing her sister. Catherine, of course, is absent, not allowed to share food with the rest of us. Is she not family? Does she not deserve to eat at the table considering all she does for us?
By the time the sky is dark, I feel nearly ill. It’s in my head; I know it is. But I don’t understand the motives of men. Greed and pride and malice, even, to stand atop the weak in order to feel strong.
What would happen if those at the bottom stood up? The thought nearly has me laughing. Surely, the men up high would topple.
I wait until the house has drawn quiet before slipping out the window.
My letters are tucked safely within my waistcoat, a sack of food in one hand and a lit oil lamp in the other.
It’s a risk bringing it with me, but I chance it this once.
The trek feels infinitely long tonight, my desire to see Abraham seeming to put me further and further away from him. But finally, finally, I crest the hill.
He’s there, as I knew he would be, standing beside the creek.
I don’t realize at first that there are tears tracking down my cheeks.
I feel them once I start to move swiftly down the hill, the wind cool against the moisture on my skin.
I couldn’t care less. Abraham meets me at the bottom, and I don’t stop or think.
I set down the oil lamp, drop my other possessions to the ground, and the moment warm palms bracket my neck, all the noise, all the worry and anger and unease… it melts away.
Abraham’s lips meet mine, and it feels like falling. We are falling, I realize a second too late. He lands on top of me, the both of us grunting at the impact before laughing. His mouth presses to mine again, his body blanketing me, warm and strong and secure .
“Jasper.” His voice is but a whisper, his thumb rolling over my cheek. He does it again, wiping away my tears as the curves of his lips brush mine.
“Don’t stop,” I beg of him, pulling him into another kiss, wondering if I could tie us together, never to be parted again.
The world makes sense when Abraham is near.
A soft rumble leaves his mouth, his body rubbing against mine in a way I’m not expecting. I gasp, hardening in my breeches at the touch. He does it again.
“A-Abe,” I manage.
He rocks against me once more, his lips on my jaw and then my neck. “Do you wish for me to stop?”
Do I?
“No,” I say at once, my head going dizzy, my breath coming short as I feel his hardened prick pressing insistently against my hip.
His mouth finds mine again, full of passion and reassurance both. It seems to pain him to pull back, and I don’t care for it either. Not when I told him to stay. His absence leaves me cold, but his voice is gentle.
“Come. I know of somewhere private we can go.”