America: Chapter 10
The Abernathy Trilogy
Abernathy, Abandon, America
by Kristen
America
Chapter 10
December, 1773
Justin
"I think Henrietta suspects us," I whisper, nestled up against Brian in the dark seclusion of my room. After our first--and only--desperate tryst at Frye's house, we determined it was a risk that should not be repeated. So, like before, Brian gets here whenever he can escape without notice. Though the occasions are growing more and more rare.
Brian shakes his head. "I don't think it's possible. Why?"
"She looks oddly at me. The few times I've been to supper, I often catch her at it."
"Probably because she thinks you dislike her. She told me so."
I hold my tongue, not wanting to say that she's right. "You and she have grown awfully close."
Brian sighs, catching my implication. "You're being unfair."
"She fancies you, Brian. If you can't see it, I can."
"Well, if that's true, it's not from any encouragement on my part. Or don't you believe me?"
"I do. I just don't want her to cause trouble."
"It seems like the only person bent on causing trouble is you," says Brian hotly.
I pull away angrily, more at his tone than his words, but he recants immediately, drawing me back to him. "Justin, let's not quarrel. Henrietta is nothing to me but a friend. And I can't very well have it otherwise when her father is paying me, and giving me a place to live."
"Alright, I'm sorry," I sigh in concession.
"I'll swear it if you like, Justin. There's nothing between me and her."
I nod in false acceptance, wishing I had never breached the topic. I remind myself that I get a scant few hours with him a week, and the last thing I want is to spend the time arguing. Still, if I am to be truly honest with myself, I can feel the jealousy running through my body as tangible as blood.
"And how is Lord Frye?" I ask, wishing to change the subject.
"Not well, after a bout of pneumonia. He grows weaker every day."
"He should be at rest in the country, it seems."
"I know," Brian agrees. "He gets terribly distressed at times. It's not good for his health. Only last month, one of his shipments was sabotaged by radicals, and he became so agitated, I thought it would be the end of him."
"What was the shipment?"
"Tea, of course. Something perfectly innocent."
"Well," I reason. "I suppose it's not innocent to some. The Tea Company is monopolizing the business, and many local colonists can't compete."
"It's not Britain's fault they can't run their businesses well enough."
"It IS, when the king heaps taxes on the colonial merchants, but exempts his own," I say bitterly.
"Justin," says Brian with heat in his voice, "Don't be so easily convinced by what your young friends are gossiping about on the streets. These radicals aren't having noble debates about fair trade. They're trying to throw off England altogether."
I sit up angrily in the dark, resentful of his patronizing tone. He speaks to me as an adult would to a disobedient child. "What do YOU know of it? Men like Frye are profiting off the hardships of the colonists, and England is patting them on the back for it. And you're helping him!"
"And what would you do, Justin?" he seethes. "Disown England altogether, like some ungrateful, petulant child, just because a few colonists feel they're getting a raw deal?"
I toss off the blankets and get out of bed, feeling my blood boiling under my skin. Despite the frigid drafts seeping unchecked through the window frame, the room seems hot, and even smaller than before. His sudden patriotism is ridiculous, and I tell him so. "England tried to kill you, Brian, or have you already forgotten? We came here to escape England."
In the dark, I can see him shaking his head.
"Brian," I say, trying to calm my voice back to normal. "There's a new spirit here. It's growing; I can feel it. These people... these 'radicals'...are trying to cast off the very things that are unjust about British law. They want to make laws that are fairer, to everyone. This can be good for men like us."
"'Men like us'! Since when did you become such a dreamer, Justin?" says Brian, incredulously. "Or has your new 'friend' given you those grand ideas?"
I bite my lip in silence, dually incensed by his condescension and by his newly exposed distrust.
"You don't know a thing about him," I say carefully. And as an added, random insult, from somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I see Henrietta laughing at my blindness.
"I think I know quite well," says Brian tersely. "You made the acquaintance of some tramp off the streets, and now you're suddenly at one with the Great Order of Sodomites, is that right?"
The line is down, and now crossed. My next words are out before I can stop them, calculated to bite. "He's not the only one I've been acquainted with."
Thankfully, I cannot see his eyes in the dark, though his silence speaks loudly enough. For the first time, I feel as though I've thrown myself down a flight of stairs, and against all my attempts to stop, I only continue to tumble faster.
"Don't jest with me," he says slowly, and with barely controlled wrath.
But it is too late. I'm already falling, and hurting more and more with each sharp step.
"You might allow me some diversion," I say, in a voice I can't even recognize as my own, "While you spend all your days in perfect domestic bliss."
The silence that follows is deafening. Finally, he speaks, his voice drawn and weary.
"Alright, Justin," he says, distractedly. I watch, immobile, as he pulls on his clothes and walks out.
I stand motionless until the sun rises, body frozen but mind whirling rapidly. Light grows and spreads in my bleak, desolate room, as all the while I try to figure out whether that exchange really just happened.
Abernathy, Abandon, America
by Kristen
America
Chapter 10
December, 1773
Justin
"I think Henrietta suspects us," I whisper, nestled up against Brian in the dark seclusion of my room. After our first--and only--desperate tryst at Frye's house, we determined it was a risk that should not be repeated. So, like before, Brian gets here whenever he can escape without notice. Though the occasions are growing more and more rare.
Brian shakes his head. "I don't think it's possible. Why?"
"She looks oddly at me. The few times I've been to supper, I often catch her at it."
"Probably because she thinks you dislike her. She told me so."
I hold my tongue, not wanting to say that she's right. "You and she have grown awfully close."
Brian sighs, catching my implication. "You're being unfair."
"She fancies you, Brian. If you can't see it, I can."
"Well, if that's true, it's not from any encouragement on my part. Or don't you believe me?"
"I do. I just don't want her to cause trouble."
"It seems like the only person bent on causing trouble is you," says Brian hotly.
I pull away angrily, more at his tone than his words, but he recants immediately, drawing me back to him. "Justin, let's not quarrel. Henrietta is nothing to me but a friend. And I can't very well have it otherwise when her father is paying me, and giving me a place to live."
"Alright, I'm sorry," I sigh in concession.
"I'll swear it if you like, Justin. There's nothing between me and her."
I nod in false acceptance, wishing I had never breached the topic. I remind myself that I get a scant few hours with him a week, and the last thing I want is to spend the time arguing. Still, if I am to be truly honest with myself, I can feel the jealousy running through my body as tangible as blood.
"And how is Lord Frye?" I ask, wishing to change the subject.
"Not well, after a bout of pneumonia. He grows weaker every day."
"He should be at rest in the country, it seems."
"I know," Brian agrees. "He gets terribly distressed at times. It's not good for his health. Only last month, one of his shipments was sabotaged by radicals, and he became so agitated, I thought it would be the end of him."
"What was the shipment?"
"Tea, of course. Something perfectly innocent."
"Well," I reason. "I suppose it's not innocent to some. The Tea Company is monopolizing the business, and many local colonists can't compete."
"It's not Britain's fault they can't run their businesses well enough."
"It IS, when the king heaps taxes on the colonial merchants, but exempts his own," I say bitterly.
"Justin," says Brian with heat in his voice, "Don't be so easily convinced by what your young friends are gossiping about on the streets. These radicals aren't having noble debates about fair trade. They're trying to throw off England altogether."
I sit up angrily in the dark, resentful of his patronizing tone. He speaks to me as an adult would to a disobedient child. "What do YOU know of it? Men like Frye are profiting off the hardships of the colonists, and England is patting them on the back for it. And you're helping him!"
"And what would you do, Justin?" he seethes. "Disown England altogether, like some ungrateful, petulant child, just because a few colonists feel they're getting a raw deal?"
I toss off the blankets and get out of bed, feeling my blood boiling under my skin. Despite the frigid drafts seeping unchecked through the window frame, the room seems hot, and even smaller than before. His sudden patriotism is ridiculous, and I tell him so. "England tried to kill you, Brian, or have you already forgotten? We came here to escape England."
In the dark, I can see him shaking his head.
"Brian," I say, trying to calm my voice back to normal. "There's a new spirit here. It's growing; I can feel it. These people... these 'radicals'...are trying to cast off the very things that are unjust about British law. They want to make laws that are fairer, to everyone. This can be good for men like us."
"'Men like us'! Since when did you become such a dreamer, Justin?" says Brian, incredulously. "Or has your new 'friend' given you those grand ideas?"
I bite my lip in silence, dually incensed by his condescension and by his newly exposed distrust.
"You don't know a thing about him," I say carefully. And as an added, random insult, from somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I see Henrietta laughing at my blindness.
"I think I know quite well," says Brian tersely. "You made the acquaintance of some tramp off the streets, and now you're suddenly at one with the Great Order of Sodomites, is that right?"
The line is down, and now crossed. My next words are out before I can stop them, calculated to bite. "He's not the only one I've been acquainted with."
Thankfully, I cannot see his eyes in the dark, though his silence speaks loudly enough. For the first time, I feel as though I've thrown myself down a flight of stairs, and against all my attempts to stop, I only continue to tumble faster.
"Don't jest with me," he says slowly, and with barely controlled wrath.
But it is too late. I'm already falling, and hurting more and more with each sharp step.
"You might allow me some diversion," I say, in a voice I can't even recognize as my own, "While you spend all your days in perfect domestic bliss."
The silence that follows is deafening. Finally, he speaks, his voice drawn and weary.
"Alright, Justin," he says, distractedly. I watch, immobile, as he pulls on his clothes and walks out.
I stand motionless until the sun rises, body frozen but mind whirling rapidly. Light grows and spreads in my bleak, desolate room, as all the while I try to figure out whether that exchange really just happened.