21 Elle To Dance
Elle
To Dance
Am I losing Liney?
Our threats were once easy to spot. My contract, her lungs, the sparks that can set off screaming matches. They all burn, yet I can smother each.
A wedge in the shape of Bridget has created a much different challenge.
“Don’t just lower your voice. Flatten the peaks yours naturally rises to,” I explain to Liney.
A light rain pings at our windows while she stares out at the island. There’s a smile curling the edges of her lips. I peer out the same window and find Bridget making doodles with her finger on the frosted glass from outside.
“Are you listening, or is the rain going to teach you?”
My harsh tone snaps her back to me. I regret it as soon as her eyes flash with fear.
“Sorry. Voice. Right.” She rubs the skin at the back of her neck under her cropped hair.
Once, I would’ve asked her about this change in disposition, but now every word between us must be carefully measured.
Does she fear my promise of freedom may be taken away?
Will any words from me that aren’t perfectly doting be taken for the worst?
She doesn’t understand how gentle I’m being with her and, by extension, Bridget.
Bridget has turned out to be horribly charming. I try to consider her only a temporary inconvenience. But how do I keep the distance when it’s obvious she’s brought color back to Liney’s world?
I’ve been hiding handkerchiefs I cough blood into at night.
Vomiting up your gallbladder doesn’t do wonders for your health.
I pass the coughs off as having caught a bad cold.
Bridget offered to search through our stores for some herbs she could create a salve with.
She knows all sorts of remedies from her trips overseas.
A magnet for Liney’s curiosity and an all-too-helpful thorn in my side.
I never should’ve offered Liney the trip.
Especially not with Bridget. While in some ways it’d be helpful to have her so close at hand, she could also slip away while on the mainland.
It’s too risky. All because I can’t drum up the courage to kill someone with the possibility of it not being necessary.
No matter how solid Bridget appears, I must be certain before I commit.
Perhaps I could even renegotiate—it worked once before.
Mr. Pratterman hasn’t returned. He promised to give me enough time.
If I’d lost my chance, he’d be here to gloat.
So what’s stopping him? Could there be something greater I can offer in exchange?
“Elle?”
I snap out of these daymares of futures to be reckoned with.
“Say it once more but really emphasize the confidence. Like you’ve never considered you could be wrong,” I say, using the tone myself.
It comes naturally. More than acting masculine, whatever that means—I truly see no difference in essence between the me I am on this island and the me I pretend to be on the mainland.
What would my mother have thought of her eldest daughter—literally nicknamed after the feminine French pronoun—dressing in a dead man’s clothes and feeling more at home there than she ever did in a dress?
“Everything you say is set, stonelike, into being.”
“So, like you.”
I roll my eyes to give her the satisfaction of a taunt well played, but I wish I could tell her how unsure I always am.
Is that where my jealousy stems from? They can be honest with each another with no fear of consequence.
Bridget runs her hand through Liney’s cropped curls. My sister’s grown to like it, much easier to maintain than the mane she had. They’re in the middle of one of Bridget’s travel stories as I busy myself with packing. The rain was lighter today. It’ll break soon. It has to.
“My favorite city was Venice,” Bridget says, grinning. “It’s part of the Austrian—”
“I know where Venice is,” Liney replies, rolling her eyes. “Even shut-ins have maps.”
Bridget grimaces. Yet as quick as the hurt’s there, it’s gone. Bridget processes emotions much faster than Liney or I do. “There are truly two cities among the islands. One in the shops and one in the pews. Exciting, beautiful, but pious. But there’s a long history of another city. Underground.”
“How can there be anything underground when they’re islands?” I ask, sitting straight.
I assumed our island was unique in the hidden architecture below. Then I realize I’ve interrupted what they may have mistaken to be a private conversation held all of five feet from me.
Bridget opens her mouth, surprised, then closes it again. It takes her a moment to decide what to say. I don’t understand how my question would be difficult to understand.
“Underground isn’t literal. While my father sold trinkets and maps in the larger canals to fund our travels, I explored the city.”
Bridget describes secret parties full of masks, alcohol, and dancing. Nights of candlelit halls and dark corners housing secret trysts.
“Imagine having no idea who surrounds you. You could be anyone under your costume. The doge himself could be dancing beside you. I only drummed up the courage to peek,” she admits, laughing.
“I was barely old enough to be let in, and it was the loudest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Have you ever looked at something so brilliant you can’t keep your eyes on it? ”
I have to look away from the two of them. Oh, I could guess who Liney’s thinking of with her puppy-dog eyes trained on Bridget.
“It sounds magical,” Liney agrees. “Did you go without a chaperone?”
“A group of courtesans took me under their wings for the night when they noticed me eyeing the entrance. Lent me a beautiful dress and mask. Age, gender, status—it all melted away. I still dream of that place. To dance with someone there.”
Bridget’s gaze is searching Liney’s. Should I give them privacy? No. This blooming whatever-it-is between them will only make the next step messier. Bridget’s value to Mr. Pratterman is surely only increasing with every attachment made.
“I like to dance,” Liney says, breaking my heart. “I got to attend some balls once Elle got engaged. I danced with at least a dozen officers from the Citadel at the last one. Barely caught my breath all night!”
“Oh,” Bridget says softly. I peer over. Her eyes have tensed at the bottom edges.
Oh, Liney. Sweet, innocent girl. She’s so used to camouflaging her interest. Could Bridget be a kindred spirit in that regard?
I hadn’t considered the possibility—what are the chances?
Though I suppose I have no way of knowing.
Is Liney so singular in her preference, or is there a greater world out there that doesn’t prescribe to the rigidity of man and wife?
“It’s her asthma,” I interject again, to save Liney and rescue my own train of thought. “She’s had a few episodes, but normal exertion doesn’t provoke it. Mainly running or dancing for long enough. So many men show up, it’s only proper to accommodate.”
“Elle,” Liney whispers, shaking her head. Have I embarrassed her? Perhaps that comes with the territory of elder sister. Despite the rot inside me begging to tear the two apart and devour Bridget, she’s grown on me.
Bridget nods, but there’s something so careful in her movements now. Liney squirms. She changes the topic. Bridget slowly warms back to life after my sister’s ranted through her encyclopedic knowledge of four tidal species.
It’ll hurt Liney when I tell her I won’t bring her with me on the supply run, but I’ve done much worse for the sake of less. And another plan has begun to form. Somehow riskier than merely asking how to stop this decay within me. God help me; am I truly considering trying to save her?
The rain truly lets up for the first time in days, and it comes to all of us as a respite.
They beg me to let them take a walk. Liney hugs me when I consent.
I cherish this new ritual while it lasts.
I hold her tight to me, as though the pressure can prove something.
Can she feel it? How all these machinations are for her?
“Don’t stay out there too long!” I call as they reach the door. “You’ll catch a chill.”
Liney turns to show me her scarf wrapped tightly to cover half her face and her woven hat pulled down past her ears. Bridget peers around her, hood heavy over her head.
“Perfectly cozy,” Liney says through the fabric. “I’ll overheat before I freeze.”
Bridget lingers at the door after Liney’s already walked out.
“I’ll make sure she stays warm,” she promises. “Maybe get some sleep while we’re gone?”
The door shuts behind her. It was hard enough when Douglas began helping me.
But for my future prey to offer her protection of my sister?
She doesn’t know what torture her kindness has created.
Our home has filled with laughter and stories.
What I used to give to Liney before it was crushed out of me.
Is that what she needs? If Bridget can earn her heart, where does that leave me?
Yet Bridget can’t save herself from the Devil with the moonlit eyes.
I’m finishing up a soup for their return when Douglas appears. I remove a fresh loaf of bread started by Bridget from the oven. We’ve run out of a few key ingredients thanks to the extra mouth to feed. All the more reason to get to the mainland as quickly as possible.
“Dare I say you’re coming to enjoy Miss Coleman?” he asks, eyes soft with too much admiration for me. I haven’t decided whether to attempt to save or damn her.
These shifting dynamics have dismantled the rules I understood. When I laugh with Douglas while I stir, it happens without decision. My smile cracks through my nature as a newborn bird would an eggshell. When I tease him, it’s to see the color creep into his cheeks.
I set the table but peer out the kitchen window every few minutes. I spot movement in the trees every once in a while. At least they’re keeping from the shore.