The tension built between Rosalind and Eleanor like stormy weather gathering its forces. There came a small falter running over the aspect of Eleanor's detached calm, though her eyes did not waver. Her mind ran overtime, almost visible in the clicks of the wheels turning within. Outside Eleanor's door, all this confrontation was entirely unknown to the town, as it rushed on along with its daily round of murmured noise.
Then it was Eleanor who broke the silence, her voice low and measured. "You love him too." The phrase wasn't a question; it was a statement, with an undercurrent of amusement as if she'd known this would be so all along.
Rosiene batted no eyelash. She had said her confession and, now, there was little use denying it. "Yes," she replied simply, the weight of a thousand words settling between them, "I have loved him for a long time. But he's too engrossed with you to even notice.".
This speech, Eleanor groaned quietly, as if an intrusion on her daily routine. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back into the frame of the door; her eyes locked with Rosalind's, having a blank look on them. "And what, pray tell do you expect me to do about that, Rosalind? I can not make Alaric love you.".
No, said Rosalind quietly. But you can stop the procession. You know what he means to you and do nothing to keep him from his fate.
Eleanor's expression flickered, just for a moment, but then she straightened, her confidence returning. "I've never encouraged him. I've simply been. polite."
"Polite?" Rosalind echoed, incredulous. "You've let him believe that he has a chance with you! That's more than polite—that's cruel."
Eleanor shrugged. Undeterred, Unconcern rode into town for her once more. "Alaric is simply infatuated, I suppose, but he'll outgrow it. All these fancies do, Rosalind. He's in pursuit of a dream, not me. He likes the notion of me -a notion he's fabricated in his own head. It has nothing to do with who I am.".
Anger flared for a moment within Rosalind's breast. "And you're going to sit there and let him continue his pursuit of the pipe dream? You don't care at all, do you?
Real feeling-the right guilt, maybe, or frustration-flitted over Eleanor's face. She blinked before speaking and went on in a softer voice, "It's not that I don't care, Rosalind. It's just. I have my own reasons for being here, and Alaric's feelings aren't part of my plans.".
What plans? she asked, her interest piquing over herself.
But Eleanor was silent, drawing back from the door, her face set like stone again. "Go, Rosalind," she said. "I think we have said enough.".
She lingered, a transient afterthought flicking across her mind. There was something in her that felt Eleanor was holding back from her. Yet she knew she would come to nothing making a point-so turned round and left the room; Eleanor standing in the doorway, watching her go.
END
But it seethed in her head to turn back through the town square, for facing Eleanor was meant to be the end of everything. Maybe Eleanor would wake up and come out of the game she was playing with Alaric's heart. Now Rosalind could hardly be so nearly sure any more. Eleanor was far, far more complex than Rosalind had ever assumed, and her motivations remained maddeningly unclear.
She had been so lost in her own thoughts that she almost ran into Alaric. He was by a stall, eyes scanning through a row of leather-bound notebooks, his furrowed brow concentrating on the thought. When their eyes met, a shy smile bled across his face.
"Rosalind! I came here looking for a new notebook. Mine is nearly all filled up, and I wanted to— "
He fades out as his face loses its glittering smile, thinking about the expression on her face. "Is every thing all right?
She tried to smile, but saw him; her heart was sore at the view. Alaric had this shy, awkward way and that earnest, open heart with no conception of what lay beneath the surface. He had no idea how deeply Rosalind cared for him or how totally oblivious he had been towards her feelings all this while.
Everything's okay, she lied. Just. thinking.
Alaric nodded but still wasn't quite convinced. "You seem distracted. Is everything alright?
She hesitated. Now she could say everything to him, confess her feelings to him, talk about the fact that she had had an incredibly long conversation with Eleanor, share all her cards. It didn't make sense for her to do so maybe, more than likely fear, or maybe she knew once she told him the truth everything would change. "I'm fine, Alaric," she said again, her voice steadier this time. "Just a lot on my mind."
Alaric nodded slowly, his eyebrow still furrowed. "Well, if you ever want to talk. you know I'm here.".
Rosalind smiles. Her heart hurts with everything she wanted to tell him, but nothing of that will ever come out of her mouth. "I know. Thanks.".
---
There she sat by the river, her favorite comforted spot, late that afternoon when the sky was growing dark and the first signs of a storm began to gather on its edge. But the river's surface lay unruffled, though an unquiet mess inside her heart was mirrored in the gathering above-the colors of cloud like the signals of an unquiet storm.
She thought of Alaric-so diffident and gracious, how he stumbled over words when Eleanor was nigh, how unconscious he seemed of the good in him. Rosalind had always found herself able to like what was in him-the quiet mind, the mercifulness, the gentleness. But his love for Eleanor made him blind to everything else.
And then there was Eleanor. Rosalind never could work out her. She was veiled and mystical, mystery not of lovely features and charming voice. But seeming locked away, not letting the world in on what it was. What it was, and what Alaric had to do with it, was anyone's guess.
The first droplet of rain splashed on the surface of the river. She was just sitting there, not even stirring, her head immersed in her thoughts as cool rain seemed to wash away for a moment the weight of her worries that rose within because of its touch on her skin. But the storm had just now broken. --- And that night, the rain pounded against the small cottage windows, waking her up. Everything she knew was gone: to wait for Alaric to get his senses again. She needed to be bold if she was going to win his heart. To prove to him there was more to love than that abstract, unattainable dream he had created around Eleanor. And so, on the stormy outside weather, so did Rosalind decide. The next day would be when she would start her plan. She'd make Alaric see that right before his eyes is someone who so loves him was always there waiting only for him to see. Little did Rosalind know, the storm she was about to unleash was to change everything.