Abernathy: Chapter 4
The Abernathy Trilogy
Abernathy, Abandon, America
by Kristen
Abernathy
Chapter 4
August, 1770
Brian
For the past few weeks, I've been taking Justin with me to the village every day. I find myself able to get much more accomplished with his help, and am growing to truly enjoy his company. I've discovered that behind that quiet, nervous face lies an intelligent, interesting and clever young man.
He has begun to speak more freely in my presence. He never talks of his past, nor do I ask of it. But from hints in his speech and diction, I determine that he was born in the north, and must not have been a slave his entire life. He possesses an unusually vast knowledge, especially of art. And when I press, I find that he has an informed opinion about everything, from literature to religion to King George's governance of the Colonies.
I constantly marvel at how quickly he is becoming a fixture in my life. Already I cannot envision my home without him. He has become a sort of protege to William, not to mention being Arthur's new favorite companion. He even presents a new set of ears for Josephine's evangelizing. And I am finding that the more comfortable he becomes in my house, the better I sleep at night.
Justin
After two days of unmerciful rain, the grounds are a sodden mess. At breakfast, William reports that the north fence of the sheep pasture has been entirely blown down. Thankfully, none of the sheep were out, but the fence needs to be repaired as soon as possible. So Brian, William and I set out to undo the damage.
It is a very hot morning, humid from the recent rain. The air is buzzing with insects as we march through the soggy heath. We discover that several of the fence posts had loosened with the sodden grown, and had fallen over. Brian sets to work repositioning the heavy posts, while William and I pack mud around the bases.
It is difficult labor, made more so by the sun which now beats relentlessly upon our shoulders. I watch Brian as he works, shirt long since discarded. His skin is a honey-golden color, and is covered in a thin sheen of sweat that glistens in the sun. I cannot help but stare at his beautifully defined chest and muscular arms. He has the body of a statue, but with none of the cold rigidity. Instead he looks heated, powerful, and infused with life.
I think of how my discernment of him has changed in these two short months. At first, I eyed him warily, certain that I should be suspicious of any seemingly benevolent act on his part. But now, my perception is of a thoughtful, generous person, who has surprised me again and again with his kindness. He seems a genuinely good, honest man, and I am grateful to have him as my employer. I count my blessings for this turn of good fortune, and have determined to be extra diligent in my work, that he might see fit to keep me.
We move on to the last pole, and Brian has me stand behind him, holding the end of a cross-board as we feed it through the post. I try to focus on the task at hand, willing myself not to be distracted by the rippling of the muscles in his back. A single rivulet of sweat runs from his hairline down between his shoulder blades, and I feel my temperature rise well past the degree that can be attributed to my exertion.
The image of him stays in my head long after we have finished our work.
Later that night, after Josephine and William have retired to their rooms, Brian calls me to follow him outside.
"Are you tired, Justin? Ready to turn in?"
"No, sir," I reply. "I am not usually able to sleep until much later at night."
"And I as well," he says, smiling, and jabs a finger in the direction of the house. "I have lived with those two old-timers for so long, I've had no one to spend the evenings with. This is my favorite part of the day."
He leads me down the walk and towards the hills. The air is growing cooler with the sun down, and the breeze carries the sweet smell of heather across the heath. The sky looks as though it has been bruised by the storm--it swells purple and dark blue, with pink swaths hanging low over the mountains to the west. It is a beautiful evening.
After a short hike, we come to a steep hillside, and Brian sits, facing the reddish remains of the sunset. I sit down too, and when he reclines, I lie back as well, lacing my fingers behind my head. Side by side we lie, watching the stars gradually appear in the firmament. Tiny white moths dance around us in the grass, their only accompaniment the gurgle of the nearby river.
"I wonder whether Miss Booth survived these past two days without you," I say with a mischievous smile.
"Ugh," Brian groans, throwing his arm across his eyes. "Next you'll be asking what date we've chosen for the wedding. I'll start to call you William."
I chuckle at his agitation. I could not help but make fun of him. Our Miss Booth is the daughter of the innkeeper who rents an office to Brian. She returned to Warbidge recently, after completing her studies in France, and seems completely smitten with Brian. He has made it very clear to me that he does not return her fancy, nor can he stand her constant meddling while we are working. He seems to have very little tolerance for her.
"Why William? Does he believe her to be a good match for you?"
"William believes any available, breathing woman to be a good match for me. He wants children to be running around the house."
"So what holds you back?" I ask, wondering how far I am allowed to go with this conversation.
Brian sighs. "Lack of interest."
"In Miss Booth?"
"Forget Miss Booth!" Brian laughs, throwing a clump of dirt at me. After a few quiet moments, he finally answers my query. "In women."
"I imagine that makes it difficult to find a wife."
"I don't want a wife," Brian answers. "Or children. I don't care if I never marry."
"What does William say to that?"
"William believes that I need only find the right woman, and I will fall desperately in love."
"You don't believe it?"
"I don't know that I believe in love at all. Do you?"
"Yes." And I do. I think I do.
"Then it's settled. Since women hold no interest for me, I can pass any I meet off onto you."
I chuckle. "A noble offer, to be sure, had I any interest in women myself."
He looks at me intently. "None at all? How is it that you believe in love, then?"
I pause, unable to answer. Love, for me, was always some distant, ethereal notion, mixed up with other things for which I'd always longed: safety, happiness, freedom. I never had a vision for it, just a vague, hopeful dream.
"I don't know," I say, truthfully. What I don't say is that this is a moot conversation, since I, as a slave, am not even a legitimate member of society. Where would I find love?
But Brian seems very interested in this discussion. "When you close your eyes, and imagine yourself in love, who do you see?"
I close my eyes, hands folded over my stomach. I wait for some miraculous vision, but none appears. It seems I cannot even imagine into the future, only the present. I try a little longer, but somehow my thoughts begin to drift unchecked, and all I can see in my head is a vision of a broad, muscular back, sweat-slicked and gleaming in the midday sun. And it is not a far leap from there to imagine that same back, and how it would look bathed in the blue moonlight that fills my
bedroom on any given night.
I open my eyes suddenly, and Brian is watching me closely, his sober hazel eyes searching mine for an answer. "I don't know," I say again, weakly. He rolls onto his back silently and we recommence watching the stars.
Abernathy, Abandon, America
by Kristen
Abernathy
Chapter 4
August, 1770
Brian
For the past few weeks, I've been taking Justin with me to the village every day. I find myself able to get much more accomplished with his help, and am growing to truly enjoy his company. I've discovered that behind that quiet, nervous face lies an intelligent, interesting and clever young man.
He has begun to speak more freely in my presence. He never talks of his past, nor do I ask of it. But from hints in his speech and diction, I determine that he was born in the north, and must not have been a slave his entire life. He possesses an unusually vast knowledge, especially of art. And when I press, I find that he has an informed opinion about everything, from literature to religion to King George's governance of the Colonies.
I constantly marvel at how quickly he is becoming a fixture in my life. Already I cannot envision my home without him. He has become a sort of protege to William, not to mention being Arthur's new favorite companion. He even presents a new set of ears for Josephine's evangelizing. And I am finding that the more comfortable he becomes in my house, the better I sleep at night.
Justin
After two days of unmerciful rain, the grounds are a sodden mess. At breakfast, William reports that the north fence of the sheep pasture has been entirely blown down. Thankfully, none of the sheep were out, but the fence needs to be repaired as soon as possible. So Brian, William and I set out to undo the damage.
It is a very hot morning, humid from the recent rain. The air is buzzing with insects as we march through the soggy heath. We discover that several of the fence posts had loosened with the sodden grown, and had fallen over. Brian sets to work repositioning the heavy posts, while William and I pack mud around the bases.
It is difficult labor, made more so by the sun which now beats relentlessly upon our shoulders. I watch Brian as he works, shirt long since discarded. His skin is a honey-golden color, and is covered in a thin sheen of sweat that glistens in the sun. I cannot help but stare at his beautifully defined chest and muscular arms. He has the body of a statue, but with none of the cold rigidity. Instead he looks heated, powerful, and infused with life.
I think of how my discernment of him has changed in these two short months. At first, I eyed him warily, certain that I should be suspicious of any seemingly benevolent act on his part. But now, my perception is of a thoughtful, generous person, who has surprised me again and again with his kindness. He seems a genuinely good, honest man, and I am grateful to have him as my employer. I count my blessings for this turn of good fortune, and have determined to be extra diligent in my work, that he might see fit to keep me.
We move on to the last pole, and Brian has me stand behind him, holding the end of a cross-board as we feed it through the post. I try to focus on the task at hand, willing myself not to be distracted by the rippling of the muscles in his back. A single rivulet of sweat runs from his hairline down between his shoulder blades, and I feel my temperature rise well past the degree that can be attributed to my exertion.
The image of him stays in my head long after we have finished our work.
Later that night, after Josephine and William have retired to their rooms, Brian calls me to follow him outside.
"Are you tired, Justin? Ready to turn in?"
"No, sir," I reply. "I am not usually able to sleep until much later at night."
"And I as well," he says, smiling, and jabs a finger in the direction of the house. "I have lived with those two old-timers for so long, I've had no one to spend the evenings with. This is my favorite part of the day."
He leads me down the walk and towards the hills. The air is growing cooler with the sun down, and the breeze carries the sweet smell of heather across the heath. The sky looks as though it has been bruised by the storm--it swells purple and dark blue, with pink swaths hanging low over the mountains to the west. It is a beautiful evening.
After a short hike, we come to a steep hillside, and Brian sits, facing the reddish remains of the sunset. I sit down too, and when he reclines, I lie back as well, lacing my fingers behind my head. Side by side we lie, watching the stars gradually appear in the firmament. Tiny white moths dance around us in the grass, their only accompaniment the gurgle of the nearby river.
"I wonder whether Miss Booth survived these past two days without you," I say with a mischievous smile.
"Ugh," Brian groans, throwing his arm across his eyes. "Next you'll be asking what date we've chosen for the wedding. I'll start to call you William."
I chuckle at his agitation. I could not help but make fun of him. Our Miss Booth is the daughter of the innkeeper who rents an office to Brian. She returned to Warbidge recently, after completing her studies in France, and seems completely smitten with Brian. He has made it very clear to me that he does not return her fancy, nor can he stand her constant meddling while we are working. He seems to have very little tolerance for her.
"Why William? Does he believe her to be a good match for you?"
"William believes any available, breathing woman to be a good match for me. He wants children to be running around the house."
"So what holds you back?" I ask, wondering how far I am allowed to go with this conversation.
Brian sighs. "Lack of interest."
"In Miss Booth?"
"Forget Miss Booth!" Brian laughs, throwing a clump of dirt at me. After a few quiet moments, he finally answers my query. "In women."
"I imagine that makes it difficult to find a wife."
"I don't want a wife," Brian answers. "Or children. I don't care if I never marry."
"What does William say to that?"
"William believes that I need only find the right woman, and I will fall desperately in love."
"You don't believe it?"
"I don't know that I believe in love at all. Do you?"
"Yes." And I do. I think I do.
"Then it's settled. Since women hold no interest for me, I can pass any I meet off onto you."
I chuckle. "A noble offer, to be sure, had I any interest in women myself."
He looks at me intently. "None at all? How is it that you believe in love, then?"
I pause, unable to answer. Love, for me, was always some distant, ethereal notion, mixed up with other things for which I'd always longed: safety, happiness, freedom. I never had a vision for it, just a vague, hopeful dream.
"I don't know," I say, truthfully. What I don't say is that this is a moot conversation, since I, as a slave, am not even a legitimate member of society. Where would I find love?
But Brian seems very interested in this discussion. "When you close your eyes, and imagine yourself in love, who do you see?"
I close my eyes, hands folded over my stomach. I wait for some miraculous vision, but none appears. It seems I cannot even imagine into the future, only the present. I try a little longer, but somehow my thoughts begin to drift unchecked, and all I can see in my head is a vision of a broad, muscular back, sweat-slicked and gleaming in the midday sun. And it is not a far leap from there to imagine that same back, and how it would look bathed in the blue moonlight that fills my
bedroom on any given night.
I open my eyes suddenly, and Brian is watching me closely, his sober hazel eyes searching mine for an answer. "I don't know," I say again, weakly. He rolls onto his back silently and we recommence watching the stars.