January 793

January 12th
Oh, but how should I describe today? It was normal, at first, like any that I had accompanied Father to town. It seemed some business had gone poorly and the price of the sorghum was being debated. As bored as I was (and in the heat of summer it is so hard not to be bored) I begged to go along. Finally he caved and agreed, so long as I stayed in the carriage and didn’t talk so long as he was negotiating.

I assumed it would go like every other trip. I would listen in to the dealings, and if they went well, beg father for whatever bauble had caught my fancy.

It did not go as any other day. There was no deal. The shipment had been taken by pirates of all things, and now the merchant wanted to have a percentage of him money back! Father refused, of course, but he was so distraught at the loss of profit that he insisted upon stopping to meet an ‘old friend’ instead of going home, as was the usual routine when things did not follow his plan.

This friend of his was none other than a barkeep in the port! To think that he would ever go to such a place! And he even made me swear an oath that I never tell mother of the deviation from our errands. Father actually took me into this bar and ordered himself a drink. As I am sure you can imagine, this came as a shock to me. I have only known him to drink of the finest quality, and then only in the presence of other men, never before me!

He said that the key to good business was to learn when you needed to use the power you have gained. That, as my brother had taken up rank in the Imperial Navy that it was to fall on me to marry well and keep the books. That all business should stay in the family and that my future husband would be for show alone, and that I was to do the work from behind the curtain, as that was how a lady should be, powerful, poised, and discreet. I do believe that he was, at this time, inebriated, if you can imagine that!

Though that is not what made today so unusual, in fact it was far from it. That was only the beginning.

After sitting down at this place he proceeded to explain that there were three, and only three powers in this world, and that mothers talk of faith, though we should always humor her and respect it, was bogus. He told me that the only three powers that mattered were the law, excessive force, and profits. He explained that I must never speak of what he was planning to do with anyone, not even my mother, or my future husband. He also said that my brother, bless him, could not know or he could be taken as a traitor! Those are, in truth, the words my father used.

He spoke to the barkeep in such a hushed tone that I could not distinguish the conversation, but I believe he used the words Hired Guns. The barkeep pointed to a table at the back and turned away, and father wrapped my sash around me as if it was the coldest day of the year, insisting that I keep it there despite the blasted heat, and that no matter what, I could not utter a single sound. It was as if he was scared for me to be seen.

I followed him to a table in the far corner where it was dim, and smelled of something sickeningly sweet. The air itself seemed hazy. Two men sat at the table, they were neatly shaven and dressed in the most fascinating of ways, their boots came past their knees, and the had about them weapons of many varieties. Father asked if they were open to possible negotiations and the one with the pipe grinned, waving for father to take a seat. I was not sure what I was to do, and the way they grinned made my heart skip. Perhaps it was because I feared them? But I think it was because they excited me, they were so handsome and charming. They sat in that dirty place as if they were the lords of some great kingdom, and even father knelt before them.

As father began to speak with them about the issue he had come to town to resolve, and about several other attacks that I had not heard of until now, I felt a hand on my arm.

I turned in surprise to find myself staring into beautiful gold eyes. A woman was standing beside me, like none I had ever seen before. Her skin was such a lovely bronze color and her black hair was pulled back into an intricate series of braids falling down past her hips. She wore pants that fit as if they were her own skin, and her shirt had no sleeves, leaving her arms bear and showing the patterns that spread across her skin in some strange design.

“We are all equal at this table, there is no reason that she should be treated any different than the rest of us, is there?” she looked at the two men, who only laughed, and then at Father, a look so cold I began to shiver.

Father nervously shook his head, it seemed he did not know how to address this woman. Father, who was always in control, who always seemed to know what to do or say to get what he wanted, was at a total loss for words.

Slowly I slid into the seat beside my father, not sure what else I could do. The man with the pipe grinned at me again, sending another shiver through me, as if he was looking down into my soul. His steely blue eyes seemed to miss nothing as he motioned with his pipe towards the door.

“Relax, Eleana. Sir, your daughter is far too lovely to be in such a place as this. Send her somewhere decent before she dies from the heat and the smoke. We have no plans to move ‘till the day cools off.”

The woman looked at me for a moment and nodded. “Though I believe the choice should be hers, I do agree. This is not a place for you. Whether you stay or go, though, that is a decision only you can make. So what will it be, little princess?”

I looked at my father, not sure what I was to do. He looked back at me, his expression helpless. This frightened me to an extent that I have ever know and I ran away from the two kings, from the strange woman, from that horrible place. I stopped just a short way down the street pulling my sash away from my head and looking desperately for father, but he had not followed me.

This, my friend, is where things become the strangest.

I stood there, watching the door for father, hoping that he would come and take me home where I was safe, but even after an hour he had not stepped out of that god forsaken place. I began to cry, not knowing what else I was to do. After all I did not know where the carriage was, as we had left it at the dock, and I certainly didn’t know the way home.

That is when it happened.

A boy, near in my own age came and stood before me, holding out a handkerchief. He seemed so concerned that I was crying that I almost felt I could trust him. Still, you know what father says. Because we have power we can trust no one.

I took the handkerchief, not wanting to seem rude and quickly regained my composure, and oh, this is what we can never tell.

He was beautiful! His read hair falling around his tanned face, his dark eyes filled with true concern, his clothing the same strange boots and belts as the two men inside, yet it was simple, black pant and white shirt.

He asked over again to see if I was okay, suggesting that he could help me to find my way home.

“A lady of your station should not be in this place alone, not if you do not know the streets.” He said. “I do understand if you do not feel you can trust me and I should be happy to fetch a man of credentials, Marines is what you call them here? Or is this outside their jurisdiction, perhaps there is a sheriff or constable you would like me to send?”

I was taken by surprise that he could be so eloquent! Never had I met anyone outside of my father’s associates or their families that spoke so well, so I assumed that he must be of our station, perhaps he was the son of one of the other plantation families.

I assured him that I was confident to walk with him, but that I did not know the way to my carriage. He smiled and said it is was of little matter if I knew what it was near, as he had learned this town quite well and soon he had escorted me back where our footman was sitting, waiting diligently as always.

When I asked if he would like to wait with me until father returned he declined, stating that he was not worthy of a lady such as I, but that he hoped that our paths would again cross. I begged he give me his name, but he refused this as well, adding that he would tell me only if we met again. Then he walked away without even letting me make my own introduction or even offer my gratitude.

Father never asked how I made it away from there, in fact, he pretended that none of these things happened at all, even stopping along the way home to buy me a new bonnet! I suppose it was in apology for the horror of the day, but he did not need to do that. Meeting that boy was all that I needed to make up for such a day.

I think that soon I will slip back into town that perhaps I shall meet him again, though we can tell no one of this, if father were to know I fear he would be angry. My sister seems like she may wake soon, and it would be disastrous if she knew about you, so I will

hide you away for now. Good night my dear friend.


January 13th or 14th. I’m not really sure.
I don’t know the hour, nor what has awoken me from such a fantastic dream, but I do know that my heart is racing! The light of the moos shifting through my curtains only creates a surreal feeling that makes me question if I am awake even now.
Never have I known such a dream as that. It was that man again, smiling at me. He took my hand and led me away from this house, away from this town and to a place that I never could have imagined. I don’t know how to describe it! I feel embarrassed for having dreamed it! So much so that I don’t even know how to tell you, my dear friend.
To have dreamed such a thing. If anyone where to know I should surly be punished for such impure thoughts. But I did enjoy it so…
It is still the dark of night and there is a slight chill in the air. I suppose it may rain soon, by the feeling of it, so I will return to my slumbers, and perhaps I will dream such things again.


January 14th
So the rain began around lunch today, coming down so heavy the sky looks black. Lydia and I went into the attic to see if we could see the ocean, but had no luck. Edgar caught us slipping up the steps and sent us back to the study for lessons.
I understand why my sister would need lessons, she is only twelve, after all. But I am nearly seventeen, why should I study? If only Edgar had something to do then he wouldn’t always be so nosy. Leave it to father to pick the militant type to be the family butler.
I think that once the rain stops I will sneak into town and see if I can meet that boy again. I still have to thank him properly, and, I realized that I still have his handkerchief, I need to return it soon.
Well, my dear friend. I hear them calling me for supper, so I must put you away for a time.



January 24th
It’s been two weeks sense father and I went to town, and he has yet to say a word to me. I don’t imagine he is angry, if he was then surly he would have scolded me by now. Could it perhaps be that he fears what I might say? Is he ashamed of what took place, that I saw, that he allowed me to enter such an establishment?
If only he would speak to me then I have a thousand questions I wish to ask.
The rain has not let up yet, so I have been confined to the house and unable to escape to town. I do hope that I will be able to see that boy again. For some reason I can’t stop thinking about him.
I have met many boys of my own age, but none of them mattered really. Most were arrogant and rude, or were unattractive to an amusing extreme! Not him though. He was handsome, mysterious, and charming. I still have his handkerchief in my pocket, as I have been waiting for a chance to return it.
If only the rain would stop I could find a reason to slip into town and no one would be any wiser. At least a wet season will turn a good crop, I suppose. Though if I don’t escape soon I will go mad. There is nothing to do but lessons. Language is an extra hour each day because I can’t go riding in the rain. Ever sense the sickness I had a few years ago I can’t so much sit in the bath for too long without mass hysteria! They are all so convinced that I will become as fragile as mother.
And Lydia is scared of the storm, so she insists on staying in my room at night now. I really am about to go mad.
It sounds as if she is coming back, so you must go back into your safe place, my dear friend.


January 25th
I woke this morning before anyone in the house. I dreamed of him again, my friend. I can’t stand the mystery any longer. I have to know who he is!
It seems the rain has stopped and the sky has cleared, so I plan to go into town today and see if I can meet him again.
Mother has taken to coughing again, so I don’t know how easy it will be to speak with her, but I will try and talk her into letting me go for a ride, I would hate to walk all that way. Wish me the best of luck, my dearest friend.


January 25th
Today was fantastic! I went to mother as they cleared away the breakfast things and asked if I could have the day to myself. If I could please ride alone that I could collect my thoughts and have some time alone. She agreed that a girl of my age needs time to be free before she is bound to a life of routine and society. She even requested that Edgar arrange a basket lunch for me, that I could stay away until dinner!
She made me promise that if it was too damp, or if it looked as though it might rain I would find the nearest dry shelter and send for the carriage, and not try to ride home nor stay out. They worry so much it is irritating!
Well, with Mothers permission I went to the stables and was saddled and on the road before mid-morning. As Mother believed I was planning on riding through nature, else she wouldn’t have allowed me such freedom, I had to keep off the road until I had left the house.
I couldn’t imagine where I would find him, but I made it to town without any issues. It was after I had gotten to the edge where the streets began to split off in strange directions that I realized to see the flaw in my plan.
I decided to find the dock and see if I could back track to where I had first met him. Surly there would be someone that would be able to help me if I could make it that far, though I shudder at the thought of seeing that tavern again.
Luck was on my side though and as I approached the docks I saw him walking up the dock. I quickly dismounted and started towards him, but a sudden wave of fear came over me. Had had he really wanted me to come back? Was the reason he refused to tell me his name that he didn’t want me to find him? My heart was racing and seemed too had forged an intense battle with me head. I watched him for a moment before I decided it was best if I just left. It was then that he saw me. He smiled so wildly I felt as if he had waited this entire time.

He walked quickly to stand before me, his attire as unique as the first meeting. His cheeks pink, as if from too much sun, and his hair pulled away from his face by a single red ribbon. He stood before me, as if waiting for me to speak before he finally reached to offer me his hand.

He requested I escort him to a local bake shop that he said he frequented when he was in town. When I asked where he was coming from he grinned in a mischievous way and said that he could come from anywhere, as the world was his home.
Oh, my dearest friend! He was truthful that the sweets at the show were divine. He spent the entirety of the luncheon looking sheepishly at me, and then at the floor, making light conversation about everything in the room. Each time I attempted to make an introduction he would notice some odd spot or missing peg. And despite the number of times I asked him about himself he refused to give me his name through the entire visit. It was not until he had assisted me back into the saddle (something difficult to do when one is so afraid of 'touching' another) and I turned had away to ride home that he finally called back to me.

“Ferron Rowe! My name is Ferron Rowe, and if we meet again, My Lady, please share yours.”
And he vanished as if he was never there.
When I got home I told mother that I spent the day riding, and that it was inspirational, so I would like to go again, if possible, tomorrow. She nodded, but I fear she suspects that I was not truthful.

We shall see what tomorrow hold, my friend. Though I cannot wait to see Ferron again.


January 27th
The house is quiet again. The staff is staying in the kitchen and Lydia is scared to leave her room, not wanting to be caught up in any form of work, or be the one to hear any bad news. Even lessons have been called off. The silence is broken only by the occasional footstep or the sound of the door to fathers study or mothers room.
It started yesterday morning. Mother said her chest was causing her great discomfort, so she didn’t want to join us for breakfast. By lunch she had sent the tutors away and demanded the entire house remain quiet. By supper the only sound was the echo of her coughing ringing through the hallways.
It was sometime during the night that her coughing became much quieter and was accompanied by the rasping as she gasped for breath. Her fever reached its height just before midnight, and the doctor was here before first light.  
Each time she becomes sick it seems that it takes longer to regain her health. I fear that each illness will be the one she loses to.
I am going to go and see if she is awake. I have to tell her about my adventure. I can’t take the guilt of having deceived her.
Let’s hope for the best, my dearest friend.


January 28th
I think I shall cry! I have not been allowed to see mother at all! In fact Lydia is going to stay with Benjamin’s fiancé. In truth I begged to go along, I want nothing more than to see my brother, for him to come home and make everything right. I know it’s unreasonable, but I feel as if he was only home Mother would get well, Father would relax a little and go back to his old self, and Lydia would stop being afraid of everything. Father won’t let me leave. He says that I am needed here to help care for mother.
I must go and help Lydia pack. She is leaving tomorrow morning.


January 30th
Lydia left yesterday, though she cried the entire time. They did let her into the room to see mother, but that only seemed to make her cry more. So far all I have done was hide in my room and practice my art. There is nothing for me to do, and Father still has said nothing to me. I feel so isolated I am about to go back to town just to find someone to remind me that there are other people still living in the world.
I want to talk to mother, but they refuse to let me, they say it would be too much stress. That if Lydia was not leaving she would not have been allowed either.
I suppose I am going to sneak into the kitchen and see if I can find something sweet. Maybe that will at least improve my mood a little.


January 31st
Edgar surprised me this morning! He came to wake me, as he does every morning, but this time he offered me a cup of coffee. He said that if I wanted to talk he would be in the kitchen, and that there would be cake.
I decided to take him up on the offer around lunch. I couldn’t take the quiet any more, I miss Lydia already. I can’t stand being alone like this! First Benjamin is sent away, now Lydia? I can’t visit Mother, Father won’t speak to me.
I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that Edgar would be the one to step in and try to help me, he has always been as much of a father as Father has, and with a much kinder temper. Though we can never tell anyone about that. If Father heard he would become angry and send Edgar away.
Anyways, when I reached the kitchen Edgar was there, waiting, as he had promised. He had the cake already cut and plated, and a pot of tea still hot. He offered me a seat and stood leaning against the counter, waiting.
He was right, as soon as I sat I began to cry, and he stood there the entire time. He always is there when I need something, so I decided to tell him about Ferron, and about how I met him, though I did leave out How Father and I became separated, and what business father was conducting. I told him about sneaking into town, about the bake shop, and how I wanted to go back.
He only shook his head and smiled. He said that I should get some rest, and that he would need to talk with me tomorrow. He promised to see if I would be able to see Mother after I had taken a nap.
I am going to lie down now, as I do have a head ache, and hopefully I will be able to visit Mother this evening, even if only for a moment.


January 31st
Edgar was able to work a miracle and I was able to sit with mother for supper. She is so pale she is nearly blue! I asked her when Lydia would be able to come home, but she said she likely never will. Mother actually said that she believes that she will die! By some act of God I was able to maintain my composure throughout the entire visit, though I am not sure how, as all I wanted to do was hold her and cry.
I don’t understand how she could say something so horrible. That she is going to die and that Lydia will never come home?
I told her that I could care for Lydia, as I am nearly of age, and that I that she was not going to leave us anytime soon. She only shook her head, saying that my struggles were only just beginning and that it was best for everyone this way. I tried to say that Edgar and Father would still be here, so we would be fine, no matter what happened. She only smiled, a smile that was so empty and sad that I thought for sure I was about to break! She said that Father would be the one needing to be looked after.
The doctor came in demanding I leave as she said this, so I don’t know what she could have meant by that.
Perhaps tomorrow will be better.
Pray for us, my dearest friend.

Reviews

[K.N. Thorn]

This was a wonderful piece of writing Ms. Emme. I love that you have written it as journal entries, makes it very interesting and gives you a general timeline. You do have some editing to do and it made it difficult for me to read in some places, but all I had to do was reread it and I was able to get a general idea of what you meant there was also a few words you were using other spellings for such as 'read' and 'red'. I love the time period and the world you are painting and I can't wait to see where the young love story goes. :) Great job!

[Kitalia Emme]

I know I have a good bit of editing to do, I am sharing the first draft so that I can make any major changes now.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read it. It means the world to me, really it does!
I have several more chapters and am open to any suggestions/critisism, as this is one I hope to refine well enough to see in print.

[K.N. Thorn]

It is definitely worthy of print I enjoyed it very much. It took me most of the day to read it, I kept getting interrupted but once I had started I just had to read it to the end!

[Kitalia Emme]

You read all the chapters? If so I am beyond words.
As it stands I am so flattered by your kindness. I have poured so much into this, and hope to see this, as well as the others that accompany in, in print sometime in the next five years. To know that you like it is a huge moral boost.
It makes it so much easier to push though when the words don't flow as easily, or when I get discouraged. Thank you so very much

[K.N. Thorn]

Your welcome and sometimes when you can't get your flow going it is probably from something else inside your wonderful mind. Sometimes we have to step back off a project before we can continue with it, it is something that has happened to me a couple times. I am glad you found encouragement in my words because we all get down on ourselves and need help getting back up again. You are a very good writer and I hope you can achieve your goal with this piece. :)

[Kitalia Emme]

Thank you so very, very much.

[K.N. Thorn]

:) Anytime!

[Chris]

Writing historical drama works well and can really fuel an author's (as well as reader's) imaginings, but do you think the sense of the language used should reflect the chosen time to add to the seeming authenticity of the period? I don't mean that you have to use olde English or whatever spellings or forms but - I mean like - does "bogus" really, really fit?

Journalling works well for period work.

[Kitalia Emme]

This is actually not a historical work, but set in another world all together. :)
Truth be told if I was planing a historical piece I would use Olde English, if I was basing it in Scotland then I would ask my Daddy about appropriate slang, and as I have been developing a language for the region where one of my characters is from I have been driving my uncle (speaks Mandarin) and my Grandmother (speaks Thai) crazy as I have been breaking down the structure of their languages.

I am using an Edwardian style dialect that I am borrowing from both the southern and western regions of the USA (Looking over old family writings, bugging grandparents, etc.) as I want it to be familiar, but still slightly off.

Thank you for taking the time to inquire. :) I love it when people make me stop and think, or explain my thoughts.

And Genna will explain, little by little where their world is, and what it is like.

[Chris]

That will help since there IS no bookjacket yet - to view.

[Kitalia Emme]

:Nods: I have not found the right wording as of yet. Every time I think I do, then I come back the next day and hate it.
This is something that I hope to remedy soon.

[R Smith]

A professional writing Kitalia, one or two spelling issues but understandable when in full flow, the urge to move the story along must come first, editing second, but the main thing is the quality of the story and that as i'm finding out from you Kitalia is top notch, you have the ability to keep the interest mounting and the many parts that go to making up a story, i.e. plot lines and dialogue are tools you use with ease, so far a fascinating read and the question is where are we going ?

One thing I learnt from a writing course i tried is that a good story can be summed up in 50 words or less, the suggestion was that if it took you more than 50 words to describe the plot then there is something wrong with it, that's not my words just the instructions on that course but its worth a try to put the entire tale into 50 words and see if it works, just an interesting thing to do, of course that does not apply to this story the quality is already obvious :)

[Kitalia Emme]

I could sum it up in such a way, however I would hate to spoil the ending :)

Thank you so much for the review, and I will be running through and editing carefully before seeking publish. I am sharing now as a way to refine it before I take any final steps, as when you stare at something for so long you begin to go numb to it.

[R Smith]

yeah I get that, re-reading is hard when changes seem to happen and then disappear and your left wondering what was that, did you mean if you sum it up it would spoil the end cos you don't know that yet in which case we are alike, i never know where somethings going lol

[Kitalia Emme]

:) I have a time line, a one paragraph overview, and character sheets. I just have them under lock and key.

[R Smith]

ah ha! good thinking, like I said very professional :)

[Kitalia Emme]

:) My home is over taken by the charts and maps I have drawn. The deck of cards and chess pieces that represent the characters. I take notes at work.
"Tidesong" is my life. I never thought of it as a profession as much as it is a passion.

[R Smith]

Like I said very passionate......I think I said that :)