Chapter 1 - "What is it that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the words I have read in my life." --Walt Whitman:

Chapter One of my Books

  Breath. Breath. In then out. Breath. In and out. Breath. That's what I told myself as the maid pulled the strings of my corset tighter together. But, of course, when one tells themselves to breath, they cannot. With each pull and each staggering breath, I came closer and closer to my impending death. Why go to all this trouble for such a small occasion? Shall I be expected to put through similar torture every time I am to leave the house? I said as much to the maid, but she just turned her nose up at me, pivoted on her heel, and stalked out of the room, having finished her duties regarding me. She couldn't stand me. I think that had something to do with the fact that I so openly preferred her elder sister, who, as she was pregnant, was taking the next week months off. That suited me just fine. I did not have to like her and she did not have to like me, however, we did have to stand each other, if only for a week. At which point my sister, Martha, will be returning from her trip to Grandmother Porter's and Sally, the maid, will go back to caring for her. I hadn't a clue who would be taking the job of my maid for the month before I go back to school. My school was a small place where only the wealthiest families attended. I had the pleasure and the luxury of being of this wealthy class. My mother, who was fortunate enough to marry a kind man that she loved - who happened to be a very successful lawyer in the city, where my mother, father, and younger brother live. I would say that I live there too, as that is my parents’ home and I am not yet married, but I live there all of three months of the year. As I said, my mother married into wealth, she was not always as take care of as she is now. Before my mother married my father she had been but a tutor. She had tutored young children, girls mostly, in the art of ballet. My mother was, and still is, a beautiful dancer; such fun to have at dances and the like. If my grandmother had not needed tea to sooth her aching stomach the day my parents met, I might never have been born. I try to remind myself of this each time I go to visit Grandmother Daymen who is cranky at best. But you need not listen to my life story, you are here for a love story, and a love story I will give you - but all in due time. Love is not something to be rushed but, like a pearl, takes time to be made perfectly, for when it is you can feel the magic of it rushing in your veins.
    Back to my room. After Sally departed I added the finally touch of all my outfits, a string of five oddly shaped sapphires. I had had it specially made for my sixteenth birthday. The six stones stood for the number of people in my family; the variety for my eyes, as they were the exact same color. But the shapes, that's what made the necklace so unique. Each stone was a different shaped chosen by yours truly. The first two that hung down were mother and father's. My mother's was a heart, while my father's was a sunburst. The next drop was a signal stone; it was for Sophia, my older sister - her stone was a tear drop. Down the chain was another set of two, which was for my younger siblings. Martha's was a square stone with a flaw right in the center and Stephen's was a small, pearl shaped bead. The final gem on my necklace was mine. It was sizable - about the size of a river rock. It had been polished but not cut; the exact size that it was around my neck was the same size as it had been when was brought in. It was perfect in every way. 

    I stood from my perch in front of the vanity, turned, and looked into the full length mirror. I have to say, the corset did do wonders to my waist. I gave a small sigh, brushed a stray piece of hair out of my face, and walked out of my room. In the hall, I nearly ran into my mother, who was exciting Martha's bedroom across the hall. 

    "Mother, you really must do something about these halls. The size is horrid," I speculated. 

    "There is nothing I can do about the size of the halls, my darling." I gave an exasperated sigh and continued on my way towards the drawing room, where Petra was waiting for me. As I entered the room, Petra gasped, jumped up from her chair -- in a most unladylike manner -- and skipped over to me. 

    "My, my Ev. You look simply divine," she proclaimed, quite loudly. 

    "Why thank you," I said, in an almost whisper, countering her loud voice. Before speaking again I surveyed what was going to be a tremendous outfit, and it was. She wore a pale green dress, with light brown lace, that matched her eyes to a tee. Her dress was one of the new ones that were so popular now, the ones that had several layers of extra fabric in the back, making the backside of the wearer larger -- to the extreme. Her dark, almost black, hair was up in their usual curls and perched upon her head was a simple brown hat. 

    "Pet, my dear, your dress is quite the sight," I told her, as to not offend her, and tell her how ridiculous I thought the whole thing was. 

    "It is isn't it," Petra murmured, fingering a piece of lace. "Charles made it." Hmmm, interesting. I would have thought that Charles had the power to make something so....so....ghastly. Continuing, Petra said, "And the hat. What do you think of the hat?" 

    "It is quite a nice touch. Did Charles make that as well?"  

    Petra looked thoughtful for a moment before saying, "Yes, I believe he did. But he did not make it for me. He made it for my father; I have stolen it from him. Shh, don't tell anyone." Petra placed on gloved finger in front of her lips to further make her point. 

    "Shall we," I asked, I was eager to finish this outing and get out of this awful contraption that made my waist look gorgeous. With a nod of consent from Petra, I chose a blue coat that matched the lace on my dress, and walked towards the door. Jasper, our driver, was standing just outside the door, carriage ready, anticipating our exit. 

    "Miss Daymen. Miss Greene," Jasper said with a smile as he opened the carriage door, "will you be needing a chaperon today?" 

    Before I could answer his question, Petra nearly screamed, "Petra! My name is Petra!" 

    "Yes, of course, Miss Petra," Jasper said, still smiling. Petra seemed happy enough with this and slid into the carriage. Jasper raised his eyebrows to me, as if prompting me to answer his question. 

    "No, not today Jasper. We're only going to the market." With a nod and a smile Jasper ushered me into the carriage. The door closed with a snap. I looked across from me where Petra was looking out the small window of the carriage that overlooks the driver's seat. 

    "He is quite cute. Don't you think," Petra exclaimed, "With his slightly too long, curly black hair and his deep black-brown eyes." 

    "I suppose." I really hadn't ever thought of Jasper that way -- he was like a brother to me. Petra gave out one of her sighs that always seems to escape her when she is pining for a boy. 

    She turned towards me and asked, "So do you think I have a chance with him?" This surprised me. Petra only asked that if really was interested in someone. 

    "The question is not if you have a chance with him, but does he have a chance with you." 

    Petra looked confused. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

    "Well, what I mean to say is, would it be possible for Jasper to court you. Would it be socially acceptable?" 

    "Hmph, who cares about society’s rules?" 

    "Petra, my darling, everyone does." 

    "That is not true." 

    "How so?" 

    "I don't care." 

    "Well, Petra, you are one in a million." At that moment we had reached the market, where I was to choose the vegetables for tonight's supper. This is just one the rituals my mother had me do, to keep me grounded, as she said. Jasper brought the carriage to a halt. He hopped down from the driver's side and opened the door. I made my descent first. Once I was on the ground I moved slightly onto the side and turned to watch Petra descend from the carriage after me. Petra was pulling all her charms out. She batted her eyelashes, gave Jasper a small smile, and held onto his hand a bit longer than was absolutely necessary. When she did let go, she let her hand drift out of his, leaving him wanting more. Jasper was eating it up. Petra leaned down and whispered something in his ear, which made him smile. 

    When Petra came over to me, a broad smile on her perfect face, I asked what she had whispered in Jasper's ear. She shrugged and said, "That we would be done in no more than thirty minutes." I raised my eyebrows, but decided to drop it. We both made our way to the center of the outdoor market, where the vegetables were kept. I chose a few tomatoes and a head of lettuce. I turned to the left where I knew the potatoes were and nearly ran into a pair of pale green eyes. 

  

**** 

  

    "Mother, must I go with you," Nathaniel asked. 

    "Yes, Nathaniel, you have to," she retorted. He sighed. Why must he always go with her everywhere? It's not as if he doesn't have other things to attend to here. But, of course, mother never understood his art. Father had, and would still, if he were still here. But he isn't, Nathaniel reminded himself. He looked into the mirror on the far wall of the drawing room. A fairly tanned, dark-haired, mint green eyed, 17-year-old boy stared back at him. The boy's face was blank -- expressionless -- just as it had been for the last year. Every time he looked into the mirror this is the face he saw. Nathaniel wanted something different, but every time he tried, nothing ever happened. Slowly, he got onto my feet, made his way to the inner hall, and the opened the door. The warm, summer air rushed in, bringing with it slight joy. Nathaniel went around the house where the carriage sat waiting. He opened the door and stepped in, not waiting for the coach to open it for him. Settling into the plush of the interior, Nathaniel heaved a large sigh and closed his eyes. Several minutes later his mother joined him inside, making a fuss about her dress, which was, to Nathaniel's inspection, perfect. As perfect as a black dress can be, that is. 

    "Oh, I cannot wait for this mourning period to be over. This veil is always in my way." All Nathaniel could do was staring at his mother, shocked. Though he shouldn't have been, of course. Nathaniel's mother had never loved his father, or really cared for him. She married because of him money. Nathaniel had promised himself from an early age to marry only because he loved someone and they loved him back. It was common knowledge that, although, his mother almost couldn't stand his father, he was truly, deeply in love with her. Nathaniel must have drifted to sleep because before long he was being shaken awake by his mother. 

    "Nathaniel, wake up! We have arrived." The door opened to reveal the coachman and, beyond him, the outdoor market where his mother did her shopping, though everyone knew that the only reason she did this was to get out of the house, as she was not allowed out for much of anything else, until her mourning period ended, nine months from now. Mrs. Lane stepped out of the carriage; Nathaniel followed her. He was pleased to be out in the sunshine, but not here. The market was so dull. There were never any men here, and the only women that came were her mother's age or older. Walking over to his favorite bench, Nathaniel spotted a very nice carriage pulling up behind his. Not often did one see such a nice carriage at this market, or any market for that matter. Usually the servants did the shopping for the wealthier families, like his own. Of course, his mother has her reasons for doing her own shopping, but he didn't know of any other families that bought their own food. This carriage made Nathaniel curious. He watched as a young lady, seventeen at most, stepped out of the carriage and turned to wait for whoever else was in the carriage. Nathaniel studied the girl. She had a slight smile on her face, as if whatever she was looking at was amusing her. Nathaniel briefly flicked his eyes to the carriage where another, about the first girl's age, made her way down from the carriage, before moving back to the first girl. She had white blond hair and stood at an average height. She wore a dress of pale blue with dark, midnight blue lace; her waist was impossibly small. In Nathaniel's opinion she looked gorgeous. Why had he never met her before? Perhaps, in his recent depression, he had missed her. Her friend was short and outrageously dressed. As far as Nathaniel could tell, the second girl was reason for the smile; she seemed to be whispering something in the coachman's ear. 

    All at once, Nathaniel decided that he must speak to the first girl. How could he not? Nathaniel slowly stood from where he was sitting and watched as the girl walked to the vegetables. Nathaniel walked towards where she was, not taking his eyes off of her. Nathaniel stood next to her, not exactly sure of how to go about talking to her. Just as Nathaniel turned to talk to her, she turned as well. She stopped short, slowing bringing her eyes up from where they had been trained on the ground to Nathaniel's face. She wore a shocked expression. Behind her, the second girl giggled. The first girl turned her head to look at her friend quickly, before turning back to Nathaniel, a blush creeping up her face. 

    "I...I...I'm sorry," she started, "I didn't see you there." 

    "No, no," Nathaniel said with a weak smile, "The fault is all mine. I should have been more observant. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Nathaniel Lane, son of the late Edward Lane." 

    "Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Lane. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Evelyn Daymen, daughter of Peter Daymen," Evelyn said with a brilliant smile. Evelyn, what a pretty name, a pretty name to match a pretty face. 

    "Nice to meet you as well, Miss Daymen." In an effort to be polite, Nathaniel looked past Evelyn to her friend, asking, "May I know your name as well, Miss?" 

    The girl stepped up, smiling, "Why yes, Mr. Lane, my name is Petra Greene, daughter of Thomas Greene and don't you dare call me Miss Greene -- I am not my elder sister." 

    "I wouldn't dream of it, Miss Petra," Nathaniel replied. 

    "I'm sorry to be brief, but I must excuse myself and my friend. We have much to buy and limited time. Perhaps we shall meet again, Mr. Lane," Evelyn said, with a polite smile. 

    "I do hope so," Nathaniel expressed. Evelyn and Petra went around Nathaniel, chose seven potatoes, and disappeared behind the corn stand. Nathaniel let out a sigh and closed his eyes. Evelyn's face danced before his eyes. Her perfect, pink lips upturned in a smile, she slowly dropped a lid over her right eye, winking. 

    His mother's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Wipe that silly smile off your face and let us leave!" Smile? Nathaniel touched his mouth and sure enough the corners of his mouth were significantly higher than the rest. Perplexed, Nathaniel followed his mother where their carriage was. Before stepping into the carriage, Nathaniel caught a glimpse of Evelyn entering the carriage she had arrived in. Seeing her face again was enough to get him through the ride home. At which point he could be alone with his art. Inspiration had struck him. 

  

  

**** 

  

  

    Behind the safety of the corn, Petra let out a low giggle. I playfully slapped Petra's arm in response. 

    "Could you have gotten away from him any quicker," Petra giggled. 

    I gaped at my friend, "What are you implying?" 

    "It seemed to me, that you couldn't get away from his fast enough, though he was overly enthralled with you. He didn't want to let you go. He watched you the whole time, even as we walked away." 

    I gave Petra a long look before saying, "I was merely keeping it appropriate. It is not proper for a lady or ladies, in our case to spend more than an introduction with a man we just met." Petra rolled her eyes, as if to say that she didn't care about society's rules. I gave my friend a small smile and fingered the large sapphire at my neck. I chose seven pieces of corn and made my way to the kind lady where we were to pay. She wrote out a receipt for me and respectfully handed it to me without a word. She knew who I was, or -- more accurately -- she knew of which social class I was born into. I handed her the correct amount of money. Looking around the market, I spotted Jasper sitting on the step of my carriage, staring at the cloudless sky above. Slowly and cautiously I made my way to Jasper's side, not wanting to scare him with a sudden approach.

    "Jasper, if you would be so kind as to open the carriage door for me," I said, as nicely as I could. Jasper jumped to attention. He turned, pulled the door open in a swift moment, hardly detectable to the human eye.

    "But, of course, Miss Daymen," Jasper replied, with a wide smile and wink. I pulled myself into the lush inside that made my carriage warm and inviting. Though I couldn't see Petra, I heard her.

    "Mr. Jasper, so sorry to keep you waiting," she laughed.

    "I would accept your apology if there were anything to apologize for," my coachman said, "But as there is not, I am afraid I cannot."

    There was a pause in which any number of things could have happened. Then Petra said, "Hmmm, well, it is a pleasure to have you as a coachman." I heard a low murmur -- someone was whispering, who I couldn't tell. After a moment Petra joined me in the carriage, a broad smile across her face. I waited to ask her what would cause such a glorious smile until after the door was firmly closed and Jasper had taken up his seat in the front, humming a happy, little tune to himself. All I got was a dramatic wink, before my happy friend settled into the soft velvet surrounding us and dozed off.

    I sat on my side of the carriage and silently reflected on what had transpired at the market earlier with Nathaniel. The first thing I had noticed about him were his pale green eyes. The mint green tint of them had taken me my surprise; they stood out. His face, round and permanently flushed, was a deep brown. His ears were a bit small for his head and oddly shaped. His short scorch of black hair made his eyes pop. He towered over me, a good head taller than me. His shoulders were broad and built well. His arms had shape, but not so much that it became grotesque. I did not get a chance to see his legs as they were swathed in long, tailored pants. Of course, I had heard of his father -- a sad occurrence when he had passed -- and his mother, but she had not known that Mr. and Mrs. Lane had had son, much less a son so good looking and her age. Surprised, I reeled back. Had I just thought of Mr. Lane as good-looking? After I thought for a moment, I surprised myself more. I could picture Nathaniel's face as clearly as if he were standing right in front of me, down to the faint scar running along his hairline. It would be an extravagant understatement to say that I did not have what was called "photographic memory".  How odd.

    Before I could think anymore of it, I was shaken back to reality by insistent hands. "Ev, my dear, that is not very lady-like at all," a voice scolded me, then laughed. Slowly, I opened my eyes to find my friend nose to nose with myself. I gasped and tried to move away. My attempt was thwarted by the wall of the carriage, where I had been resting my head. Having finally woken me up, Petra pulled her head back and stepped out of the carriage. I followed. Amused yet confused, I observed that it had grown dark since I had dosed off.

    "Petra, my it has grown dark. Do you have the time?"

    "It was approached the hour of eight, my friend. Dinner is ready." I nodded and lead the way inside my house. Inside, I made my way to the family dining room, where all but myself and Petra were sitting, waiting for me, evidently. Quickly, I sat in my regular spot and bowed my head for Grace.

    "Dear Father in Heaven," my mother started, as always, "please bless our family and guests. Please bless the food we are about to consume. Let your healing power heal our hearts." My breath caught in my throat on the last part, but before I could think too much of it everyone else had said amen and had begun eating. I picked up my fork and slowly pulled the lettuce and tomatoes to my mouth. I ate the entire meal in this way -- with a uncharacteristic slowness. When the meal had finished, everyone moved to the the private, family sitting room upstairs. We drank tea and coffee. My father told stories of his recent trip to London. My mother told stories of her childhood -- ones I'd heard before, but never got old for me. Petra talked about our trip to the market that day, including our meeting with Nathaniel.

    "Oh my! I have heard of the Lane's son. Ever since his father's passing he has been so glum. I do hope you treated him well, Evelyn," my mother exclaimed in her loud voice. Sometimes I wonder where I got my soft-spokenness from.

    I smiled to my mother and said, "Of course I was, Mother. And he did not look very glum today to me." Under her breath, I heard Petra say that may have had something to do with me. I shot my friend a glare and smile sweetly back at me. My father yawned and Petra stood.

    "It is getting late," she said, "thank you Mr. and Mrs. Daymen for another wonderful dinner. It was quite delicious. I must leave you all now, my parents are probably wondering where I am." This was said with the same smile as she always had, but at the last part she smile faltered a bit. It was well known that, as the second eldest of twelve, Petra was more or less invisible at the Greene house.

    I stood as well and walked with Petra downstairs and to the door. Outside, I saw Jasper waiting to bring Petra home. I gave my friend a hug and a kiss on each cheek before turning to go back into the house. Slowly I made my way back upstairs to the sitting room where my family was. As I entered the room I saw that in my absence my mother had picked up Stephen, who had fallen asleep on the red settee near the window. My father had apparently left the room, as I could not see him anywhere. Soon, I could hear the strains of the piano, where my father was sure to be practicing, just as he did every night. I walked across the room to my mother. I gave her a small kiss, in goodnight, and exited through the opposite door. Once in my room, I unfastened my necklace and placed in on it's stand, where it would sit until the next morning, when I dressed again. I untied the strings of my sleeves and skirt, I deposited on my room divider and called the maid. Quickly and quietly she entered my room. Just as fast and silently, she undid the lacing of my corset, freeing me of the bone crushing contraption. I breathed out a sign of relief. Before I was finished, I heard the click of the door as Sally left. I pulled a night gown over my head and walked over to my cherry sleigh bed. I pushed my feet under the many layers and laid my head on a goose feather pillow. Even after my nap, my eyes quickly drooped closed and I fell deep into sleep. It was a dreamless night that night, not a single dreams crossed my mind. Nevertheless, when I opened my eyes the next morning, the first thought in my mind was Nathaniel.

 

****

 

    Carefully outlining the two pairs eyes that were the largest on the canvas in front of Nathaniel, he finally finished the charcoal part of his drawing. At last, he was ready for oil pastel: colour. It had taken him six hours to draw all twenty-three pairs of eyes that were now staring back at him. He slowly put the charcoal back in it's place and picked up the oil pastels. He opened them. Here, Nathaniel stopped short; he was having trouble deciding what he should do about Evelyn's eye colour. He would have to settle for the closest thing to her beautiful eyes: the sky blue. Slowly, Nathaniel brought the pastel up to the canvas and softly filled in the pupil. Setting aside the blue, he picked up a soft gold and made light strokes here and there all around. He went over the gold ever so softly with more blue.

    In no hurry, Nathaniel went to the back of the room to survey his work. Much to his surprise and delight, the eyes were an exact replica of Evelyn's. The gold did a perfect job of deepening the blue towards the center. Smiling, Nathaniel walked back to the table where his pastels were sitting. Putting back both the gold and the blue, Nathaniel chose a light green, that he fancied matched his eyes to a exactly. A few light strokes later, Nathaniel was happy about the end product of his picture.

    With his characteristic slowness, Nathaniel climbed the stairs from the cellar, where he kept all his unfinished projects and art supplies. In the closet near the family dining room, old frames that were damaged in his mother's opinion sat. Nathaniel chose a plain black one that had once held a picture of his father. On the back the prop was hook was broken: unhangable. That was no problem; Nathaniel had not been planning to hang it anyway.

    Again, he went down the stairs. Delicately, Nathaniel transferred the picture into the frame. With the back secure, Nathaniel looked at it. He had chosen the frame well. It accented the charcoal eyes well. It was gorgeous. By far Nathaniel's best.

    On the second landing, Nathaniel ran into his mother. "What's that you've got," Mrs. Lane sneered. Nathaniel presented the picture to his mother, knowing what question would erupt from it. She looked at it in disgust, "Why have you gone and drawn all those eyes?"

    "I have my reason's, Mother," Nathaniel replied, through clenched teeth.

    Softly, Mrs. Lane ran her finger around the edge of one of Nathaniel's eyes. "These are yours," she said, looking up to confirm. When Nathaniel nodded, she moved her had to Evelyn's and said, "And these are...whose...?"

    "A girl I met today at the market. She had amazingly beautiful eyes." Nathaniel's mother nodded, turned, and walked away, a stricken expression on her face. Slightly confused, Nathaniel went down the hall to his room. He turned the knob and walked in. With long strides, Nathaniel walked over to his desk. High, almost too high for Nathaniel, was a ledge. Standing on the points of his toes, put the picture there. His desk was opposite his bed and, therefore, it would be the first thing he saw every morning and the last he saw everyday. The next few months were going to be very Evelyn filled.

Author's Note

I have only done minimal editting on grammar problems so beware

Reviews

[Wildecat]

This is a fabulous write, wish I could write like this. Well done.

[Liza And Natasha]

This is awesome.

[Dawn]

Thism is a very good story. write more!!!

[Ronald Butterfield Jr]

Wow you are really good i wish i was as good as you.