"I am the weight of blood that's shed,
I mark the end of mortal breath,
But for you, my queen, I my wing shall spread,
For you are War and I am Death."
December 19, 1908
Saturday,
Frostshire
Christian's mind had been completely occupied all night before he had arrived at Frostshire. The sight of the corporate environment after spending a few days at mellow and welcoming HollyDale was taxing. But what bothered him more was the panic that had attacked his soon-to-be bride.
The carriage had arrived at the Evans' residence and Christian stepped out, the cold wind blowing over his face. A moment was spared, gazing at the rustic lampposts that were planted evenly at the side of every street, snow sleeping peacefully over the hat of each lamp. He stepped into the building and strode up the stairs, taking two at a time.
The tall man removed his trench coat, so the snow upon it wouldn't melt itself inside the room. As he waited for the door, tapping a finger against the envelopes in his hand, he wondered how Miss. Charity was doing. Allen would be anxious about Alex, but he could not have afforded to leave his ill mother.
With the click of the door, Christian perked up to see Mrs. Evans stand at the door, a warm smile over her face that did not quite reach her troubled eyes. "Christian! Come inside", said the elder lady, stepping back to make way.
"It's a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Evans, I received your letter just yesterday", said the dark-haired man, walking into the house. "Oh, you shouldn't have taken the trouble to come all the way..." he heard her say, the sorrow still evident in her voice.
"Ah, Mrs. Evans, how could you say such a thing?" Christian continued, striding towards the room he knew Alex would rest in. The lady hurried behind him, nearly running into his chest when he stopped and turned outside the closed door.
"Is he awake?" asked Christian, in a whisper. "No, no, the physician just left, so he must be reading", replied the lady, passing by his side to open the door. "Alex! Look who's here to see you", said Mrs. Evans, stepping to a side, letting Christian, who was behind her, to present himself.
He saw his golden-haired friend's meadow-green, dismal eyes light up for a moment. "How are you feeling?" Christian asked, taking a seat on the chair beside the bed. Alex shrugged, before wincing as he lifted his body to sit up.
"Rest", said Christian, placing a hand on his friend's bare shoulder. Ever the smart, sunny Alexander, just seeing him as injured was severe. The man looked forlorn, and Christian leaned forward, resting his elbows against his lap.
"Allen wanted to visit, but his mother was ill. He was ruined to hear your news", he informed and Alex, who seemed to still be passive, nodded, "Lovely that he takes care for her." It truly was, for Allen was adopted.
"Do you still feel pain?" the dark-haired man asked, turning to his friend's agonised face and saw him nod slow. After a moment of cold reflection, he started: "Blood", closing his eyes tight.
Christian saw Alexander bury his face in his hands like he was reliving a deathly event. "They're all gone", he whispered, his eyes bearing embers. It was terrible seeing him as destroyed. Why did it have to be Alexander of all of them? He was always the cheerful, juvenile man that saw daylight in the darkest night.
"He was only just married. He hadn't even seen his new-born daughter. His wife had written to him", Alex said, his voice scarred by emotion. Pangs of angst stabbed his heart as he listened. "And then Gerald's mother was sick, he was worried before the attack even began..."
Each story behind the lives laid down seemed to make war look far crueller than he had ever imagined. "You don't even need someone waiting home for you, to have to live", said Alex, his tone as one far older than the spritely man Christian and Allen knew.
"Death claimed too much", Christian stated. What could he say?
"Wouldn't death, when invited by war?" Alexander said, his face vexed. "Most of my comrades' last breaths were spent telling me to tell their families they loved them... if I survived to convey."
Raking a hand through his hair, Christian nodded. A long pause of silence was followed by a sniff from Mrs. Evans. "I cannot imagine what would have happened–", started she, unable to continue the sentence.
It was truly deathly how Alex could barely consider that his leg was lost when the alms spared by War was what was left of his scarred life.
"Two seconds before you were to let destruction cause its havoc, if you were to look into the eyes of a human pleading to live, would you still fire the cannon?"
~
The gents observed silence and passive conversation before Christian promised Alexander that he would visit the families in his stead.
Alex's eyes bled tears, but he did not speak. After spending hours of company, Christian held his friend's hand against his chest, "As long as this heart is beating, there will be all of you residing in the bivouac of gratitude."
Rising to his feet, the tall man drew his envelope from his vest and handed it to Mrs. Evans with a smile. "I hope this would cover for any expenditure", he said. "If there is further need, my father will more than obliged to extend."
Alex looked thankful and his mother was at a loss for words. "Christian, you did not have to..." she began, as she looked at the cover. "In fact, you have much to look after, why did you have to make your way here?"
"There's no business more consequential than meeting a soldier that's taken a lash for my protection, if not the defence of every person I have known", he said, giving her a calm smile. For a moment, distant in her eyes, he could see pride and meaning.
~
December 19, 1908
Saturday's dusk
HollyDale
Merry stared vaguely out the window, the half carved block of wood in her hand. Who, indeed, was Blaize Hill? She could not forget the flashes she saw, but the fact that Christian did not seem to be aware began tearing down on her guilt. What had she blabbered?
Beyond that point though, a part of her wished the man remembered Blaize Hill, for he seemed to look quite much like her. If he held any evidence to being related to her by blood, although there was no hope of her having a family in him (for she had seen the man passing on), there would be granted a chance to know of her past.
Further, was the child he had saved from the fire not Nate? Or had he perhaps forgotten? There wasn't a scarce chance one would forget such a significant occurrence, for the lack of recognising a 'Blaize Hill' was justifiable, but wearing a scar from an act of bravery was far too impacting to be forgotten.
Accusing him of unkindness was a thought that severely hurt, for he had bought their Orphanage a grand sum of delicacies to their liking, even after she had treated him as disrespectfully. She desperately hoped he would return soon enough for her to show him her apology.
A faint fear began stinging, for he had met Bianca that morning and with Merry's deficiency of grace and lack of past, she saw no reason left in the man to marry her, save Ladye and Charity's wish.
Her 'lack of past' pushed her to think more of Blaize Hill. She remembered the old and torn Bible from Ladye's Library that she had always protected from customers. It had the name 'Florence Hill' written thereupon in cursive hand-written script.
Were they possibly related? Could Florence Hill be related to her? Merry knew that the prospect of a lady, whose name was on the page of a book in their library, being related to her, an orphaned child brought to Charity's doorstep from a place no one knows of, was far-fetched, for Merry was rumoured to be from a place beyond HollyDale.
She continued looking out the window, where the happy townsfolk seemed to be decorating the streets for Christmas. A smile appeared on her face, the reflection of which she could see on the glass before her.
Just then, the door creaked open and Jesse entered. "Momma called you for the family prayer", said he, waiting for her at the door. She nodded and slid off the window's ledge upon which she had been seated. She had held a long and deep conversation that evening with Jesse, who had told her a great deal about how kind and thoughtful Christian had been, paying deep attention to yearning.
It was crippling to know that she had let her emotions destroy her after Charity had always instructed Merry to be patient, for her gift would grant her to misjudge many.
~
Merry finished reading the eighth chapter of the book of Matthew, thinking of all the various times when Jesus had healed those that had sought him, with faith. Lepers, palsy, fever, the possessed healed, the dead raised to life and the gales of storm were calmed.
"When the even was come, they brought unto him many that were possessed with devils: and he cast out the spirits with his word, and healed all that were sick:
That it might be fulfilled which was spoken by Esaias the prophet, saying, Himself took our infirmities, and bare our sicknesses."
After the little circle had finished singing the hymn, they prayed, making special mention for those that were sick, or faced turbulent tempests in life that needed to be calmed.
~
Jesse lay still in bed, wondering what his past may have been. He had been found, with no memories of where he had come from, admitted into the Orphanage when he was six. The child had never once shed thought of where he may have come from, for his life had many other aspects he needed to be bothered of, to ensure he wouldn't have his Future become a reflection of his past self: a Nobody.
After a conversation he had had with his sister earlier that day, he wondered if he was someone who had, perhaps, been loved.
A shaft of light broke through the door that slowly opened to show Allen enter the room, a sleeping Andrew on his shoulder. He watched till his brother gently placed the slumbering child to bed, tucking a warm blanket to keep the little one safe from the biting cold.
Allen unfastened the first few buttons of his shirt, before walking over to Jesse's side. "Aren't you asleep yet, Jesse?" he heard him ask, voice hushed.
"I'm not sleepy", he replied, lying still, for sleeping John had his little palms rested against Jesse's chest and he did not want to disquiet the child. Allen took a seat at the side of his bed.
"Thoughts keeping you up?" his big brother asked, giving him the growing suspicion of whether Allen could read minds. "A little bit", he admitted.
"Charity is far better and we're all safe. There is no need for worry. And if there is anything you need to talk about, I'll be here to listen", said the amber-haired man.
Jesse knew his brother meant every word. He had oft wished Allen was his father, for there was a strange feeling of trust and consonance they seemed to share. "Of course", said he, "I'm glad Charity is much better."
"It truly is a relief. Especially with the physician out of town", said Allen.
"I wonder what may have prompted him to leave, for the man never leaves HollyDale; especially not in Winter."
"There was an attack at the coast and many soldiers were injured gruesome. Physicians have been travelling to lend a hand", said Allen.
"I see."
Jesse knew that his brother had been vexed all day for reasons surpassing Charity's illness. Christian had visited with a certain letter about their fellow friend's grave situation and Allen had not gone with him, for Charity needed attention.
The child could not imagine how many other children this orphanage would adopt, but he hoped his little siblings would someday see, in him, what he saw in Allen. He noticed his brother rise and make his way to his bed, where Andrew slept.
"Good night", he wished and Jesse returned.
Just as he drifted to sleep, a tiny kick against his knee made him realise John was having some sort of nightmare. Whispering a low hush against the child's ear, he laid back against his pillow hoping the he would calm, with no trace of unpleasant memories when he awoke the following morning.