Oh, Catherine

inspired in part by a dream I had.

 

 

 

Oh, Catherine

A short story by KC

           

          She looked at the setting sun in desperation, for there was no where else to look except his hurt, confused expression, so beaten and fragile in the fading light. The evening sky cast long shadows everywhere, soaking them in charcoal and soot and silver, disguising his vitality in pallor. And finally her eyes scanned over his, swept past, tentatively returned, looked bravely at his face again, now blank and sculpted in the half light, with only the shadows to fake emotions across his features.

            In the far west the red clouds were swiftly draining from sight, like blood from a body. Like some cosmic mockery of her pain. Perhaps the Earth had had her heart ripped out tonight too. Thunder threatened ominously in the distance, warning of a storm that was still maybe twenty minutes away. They still had some time left. Plenty of time to straighten up and return to the party as if his passionate declarations had never occurred.

            But she knew they wouldn’t.

            Whatever solace there was to find at that brightly lit celebration would be ruined by his furtive glances. The room would continue spinning with music and dance and laughter, and she would silently be dying under the heat of his glare.

            Once again she pushed his hand away, fearful of looking directly at that tiny, terrible box he was holding. He recoiled from her touch as if it had been a forceful slap, and then painfully composed himself again, coolly observing her face. Anything to help him hide the inner turmoil of loving and hating her at once.

            “It’s too late,” she said, that same distant, proper tone she’d used before, a stiff formality that might have sounded condescending had it come from anyone but her. But the words only provoked a deep sadness in him, a longing so deep that he scarcely knew why he longed it in the first place. Surely no man was meant to love a woman so powerfully. Surely this sharp throb, this damning, unnatural ache was the work of the devil and not honest love the way God intended it.

            Catherine stumbled back, catching a small sob before it escaped. She struggled to swallow it, to silence the weakness in her traitorous body. “Too late…” she repeated.

            His face lifted at this, fury darkening his handsome features. “How can you say that? Take those horrible words from your vocabulary. How can you stand there, how can you still feebly bleat it’s too late when every fiber in my being, down to the very smallest atom, reaches for you as intimately as if I’d been your lover a thousand times over.”

            Oh, God help her. She might give in, she could feel that sweet surrender tugging at the outer edges of her consciousness. It wouldn’t be difficult to raise a white flag, to let him slip on the ring and kiss her gently. But, no. She forced herself to move indifferently away from him.

            Shame and pride left him, “Catherine!” he called, he hurriedly hid that offensive little box in his coat pocket, sweeping the dark hair out of his eyes in the same movement. Willing rhythm to return to his erratically beating heart, for it was surely trying to pound out of his chest in disgrace, he turned toward her. He didn’t know what internal perversity had driven him to ask her again, after her first rejection. What cruel, self-injury tendency made him tape his broken heart out of hope, only to have it smashed again and again.

            She gazed at him sadly, one hand half outstretched as if to reach for him. Then with a small smile, one he might have mistaken for tenderness had he not known better, she dropped her hand and curled it into a fist. “This is madness, Cliff.“ she whispered, and her eyes traveled above his shoulder, studying the empty air intently to stop the tears from coming.

            Thunder sounded again, adding conviction to her weak voice. He knew she didn’t mean it. She couldn’t possibly mean it. How could any mortal woman cling so convincingly to his arms one day and spurn him just as convincingly the next? Unless one was an act.

            “I’ve been promised, Cliff.” His heart skipped a beat as she said his name like that, soft and mournful. As if she’d have willed the events differently. His eyes drifted to her left hand, the second finger displaying a ring that was most definitely not his. How silly his tiny diamond would have looked next to it, that precious result of his life’s savings reduced to a worthless trinket, and he hung his head, suddenly humiliated. “I know,” he said miserably, “but you don’t love him do you? Catherine, I know you don’t love him.”

            Her tone was now scornful, “It makes no difference whether I love him Cliff, you know that. Nothing but death could stop this marriage now.”

            “You could stop it, run away with me, let’s get away from here. Wherever you want to go, anywhere.” he couldn’t stop the words from pouring, couldn’t quell the begging and for some reason, didn’t want to.

            “I’m a woman, I’ve got no dowry, no prospects. What would happen when you got bored of me? When I no longer ignite this, this… this fire in you?” she waved her hands around, indicating his outrageous show. “What happens then? I go crawling back and consent to marry? And even if you never tire of me, what about you? You’ll be blacklisted, no one will risk employing you if it’s going to invoke my father’s wrath. You are a foolish man Cliff, if you think love is enough to provide a house and food.”

            “What does it matter!” he cried, laughing wildly as if she‘d delivered the best punch line. “We’d be together, Catherine. You are the foolish one, to think the loss of a house and food is too big a price to pay for your love. Come away with me Catherine, let’s bury that damned ring, or better yet, let’s mail it back to him from America.” he laughed again, tears of hilarity welling and spilling and mixing with the rain just beginning to fall.

            She just stared at him crossly, vaguely worried about the rain ruining her dress. And then seeing her angry expression he laughed harder. “I don’t see what’s so funny,“ she told him venomously, brushing droplets from her arm.

            The rain was falling harder now, working itself into a proper downpour and Catherine rolled her eyes. “Oh, honestly Cliff. Control yourself, it’s not worth catching cold over.” She began to make her way back down the hill but he caught her wrist, and spun her around, and then suddenly his lips were on hers, his fingers tangled in her hair.

            She tried to pull away, but the words of an argument died before even being formed. His mouth slanted over hers, sliding with the rain. And whatever it was that had been festering between them was being washed away. He paused and drew back, swaying a little on his feet, looking completely unsure of himself.

            And she hesitated, steadily holding his gaze, balanced on the edge of something infinitely more vast than the two of them, something unchanging and timeless and natural, waiting for some unknown sign. Some little signal from him that it was okay to plunge headfirst into it.

            And then, of all things, a look of seriousness crossed his face. “How did that make you feel?”

            The moment stretched, suspending them in it, and in that fraction of a second she saw everything and nothing. She was enlightened with the universe’s highest knowledge only to squander it buying a blade of grass. She had climbed the tallest peak without one misstep only to slip two feet from the summit and tumble back down. She had been granted the honest answer to any question only to waste it asking her own name. She thought she must be the most confused girl on the planet at the moment. That kiss had been perfect, and he wanted to spoil everything by analyzing it?

            “What?” she asked, gaping at him in disbelief.

            “How did that make you feel,” he repeated evenly.

            Her lungs screamed for oxygen, her mouth tingled, her toes were curled for God’s sake. How could he be so collected? So calm and composed… so unaffected? He didn't even have the decency to look uncomfortable, or awkward or even a little frightened. Anything would be better than this clinical indifference.

            She opened her mouth. Say something… anything you idiot, she scolded herself. “I… well…”

            "Because a woman who has promised to marry someone else, who is prepared to honor and obey him and bear his children, should not be able to kiss another man like that.”

            She closed her mouth in shock, a little unsteady on her feet, anger beginning to build and double and redouble inside her. “Oh, yeah?”

            He nodded, swallowing hard.

            Water poured down them, ran in rivers down the hill, it was between them, around them, and as they stood in the downpour it was inside them, dutifully washing away all the boundaries.

            The world was a safe place with lines. Nice, bold lines to separate good and bad. And Cliff? Wherever those bold lines were drawn, he stood on the immediately opposite side of them. Where authority existed Cliff sided squarely against it, denying, denouncing, parading around making people mad for the heck of it. He was a rebel, tolerated socially only because his mother begged it. There was nothing Cliff loved, nothing in him capable of the emotion, and in most opinions, nothing in him worth loving back anyway.

            So even if the difference was the most microscopic thing, she had drawn a line between them from the beginning. How dare he show up here looking so self-righteous, how dare he question the purpose of the bold, black lines, how dare he demand she cross them with him.

            And how dare he look so scandalized at her refusal. What sort of man must he be, to ask such a feat of her.

            So where did that leave them? Wet and shivering and lineless. That’s where.

            Her face flushed, a cold realization dawning. Was she…? Could he really be so crass….? To make her an experiment? And the more she thought about it, the more the idea formed and solidified. “Oh, you really are perverse, Cliff.“ she spat, dragging a hand through her ruined hair. “You’ve got some nerve, kissing me, making me think you-… what did you do it for? Huh, amusement? Just to prove to yourself I was attracted to you? Just for some sick little satiation of your pride?” She turned away from him in disgust, wiping her mouth as if scrubbing the remnants of his kiss away.

            “Oh, you rogue, you repulsive, depraved excuse for a man. Get away from me, get away from me!” She threw herself at him, shoving and beating and clawing, desperately trying to hurt him, to provoke him, to make him admit the truth of her accusations though she knew they were lies. Maybe… maybe if she could think the worst of him it wouldn’t hurt so badly. Maybe if her head forgot him her poor broken heart would follow suit.

            He took a startled step back and her feet slipped in the mud, but his arms were around her before she could hit the ground.

            “Let me go” she moaned sadly, “Cliff, don’t touch me.” but even as she said the words she sank against his chest.

            Maybe it was fear that made him release her. Maybe some subconscious part of him recognized and acknowledged that it was the polite and necessary thing to do. Whatever the reason his arms dropped, leaving her skin cold with the memory of them.

            “I…I think we should get back to the party, we’ve got enough explaining to do already.” She stumbled over the words, her tongue heavy and protesting.

            “I owe those people nothing, Catherine. They’ll think what they want to think, regardless of any apology or excuse I try and give them.” He shrugged, “Tell them whatever you want, I’m not going to offer a word.”

            “So you’re just going to…. You’re going to walk away and leave me to handle everything?”

            “I gave you the chance to come with me,” he said casually, the implied note of sarcasm biting deep. The words hung in the air, heavy with accusation and exhausted possibility, and he wasn’t particularly moved to retract them though he could see the hurt in her eyes. He shoved his hands in his pockets, frowning almost imperceptibly as one closed around that tiny box.

            She turned away from him and just as easily as flicking a switch the lines were re-erected, leaving them standing on opposite sides, with doubt and uncertainty and public objection between them. The moment for things unsaid had passed rendering them eternally unsayable, forever in limbo, forever on the verge of being confessed, of being choked back. It would never be the right time. Nothing ended. Nothing even begun.

            Nothing resolved.

            What Cliff remembered and longed for in a way he could neither help nor understand was the innocence of their first meeting. Both of them shy teenagers, kept at a distance in respect to social regulations, but their eyes traveling at light speed. Meeting in midair, retreating, meeting again, this time with a small smile of approval.

            There had been nothing between them back then, (except clothes Cliff had often thought regrettably) love had existed as an easily attainable sensation, taken and given and traded freely. They had had no obligations, no sense of honor or duty or loyalty. Life was governed by hot, intoxicating emotion, sweet and sharp and drugging. Everything so simple and straightforward, with hindsight only a wishful tool not yet at their disposal.

            Where did thing’s go wrong? Looking back, he couldn’t he pick the exact moment the things that came so naturally became forbidden indulgences, and his lack of answer was unsettling. He sighed, half-wishing for something he couldn‘t quite name, and then pushed the disturbing thought away, drawing his hands out of his coat, the left one clasped around that unmentionable box, the empty right a prediction of a lonely future.

            And he sighed again, because there was nothing else to do. Unspoken words were pointless to take back. Unconfessed feelings could neither encourage nor delay a decision. And Catherine had already decided, it seemed. She was content to walk away from him, cold and hard-faced and cruel, dragging the remains of his heart behind her.

            Lightning splintered across the sky, glinting off something metallic, and his eyes came to rest on the ring balanced so prettily on her shaking hand. It suddenly seemed like such an impossibly huge obstacle between them.

            They stared at each other for a moment longer and then, without a word, Catherine turned and left. He didn’t protest, couldn’t gather his thoughts long enough to even consider protesting, and with each step she took away from him a weight settled more firmly on his shoulders. But there was no help for it. After all, if you can’t fix a situation you’ve got to stand it.

 

            
            Rafe was handsome in a plain, modest sort of way, with hair on the darker side of being blonde, and watery, nondescript blue eyes. He was a hen-pecked, unremarkable man, stingily built, his face forever held in an expression of detached politeness, who had spent the majority of his adult life being pursued by women, not for his average features but for his financial security and last name. As the last male, and consequently the sole heir, of the Montecain line he was the talk of the town. It was only a matter of time before he was forced to settle down and when the moment happened it would every girl’s endeavor to look as domestic and weddable as possible.

            What no one had expected was his sudden and lasting fall for Catherine or her eager but unemotional reciprocation, nor their whirlwind courtship and engagement, which was the reason for the party tonight.

            But while it seemed Rafe Montecain was, at first glance, the county’s most desired man, it was silently agreed that Cliff played the indisputable role of leading man in every women’s secret daydream. There was an undeniable something about him that Rafe, and every other man for that matter, was lacking to his perpetual disgrace.

            And this was his exact thought as, with a dark scowl, Rafe collapsed back in his chair, silent and brooding. He was through playing second fiddle to that dark-skinned gypsy brat, and that, more than love, had spurred his decision to wed Catherine. She was Cliff’s dearest desire, it was common knowledge to the whole town. No doubt the reason for his heart to beat or his lungs to breathe or some rubbish like that, thought Rafe with a disgusted shake of his head.            Love. Bah! Who needed it? A women to warm his sheets and carry his heir, that’s what he needed. And why not land a blow to that insufferable brute’s ego at the same time?          He turned his gaze toward the floor expectantly, Catherine had excused herself rather bluntly earlier, in the middle of dinner, of all things, and had yet to return. He had let her go, only because he had missed the melting glances thrown between her and Cliff thirty minutes before, and had even failed to notice her disappearance coinciding neatly with his. 

            “Hello Rafe, don‘t you look so… lonely…, you can take me for a dance if you like, or something,“ purred a female voice, with the slightest possible stress on the ‘or something’. He glanced up, dimly recognizing her as Alissa or Alexis or some silly name like that, and with almost careless indifference he ignored her, turning slightly away in a gesture that was clearly dismissive. The girl backed up and retreated, her temporary courage dashed, confused tears in her eyes.

            He rubbed at his eyes pettishly, still fuming. It didn’t bother him so much that Catherine was gone, but rather it meant she was no longer on hand to parade around. Now the dance floor was scattered with slowly revolving couples, their bodies keeping time to a soft, sinuous song being played by the band. Rafe stabbed viciously at a tomato left over from his salad, grinning wickedly in quiet satisfaction when its skin broke, squirting juice across the table. Here he was, the very reason this party was even occurring, being made a fool of by his head-strong young bride.

            A hand clapped across his shoulders, an amused voice in his ear before he could shake the contact away, “This is your engagement party, not your funeral, look lively man.”

            Rafe turned around, a stinging reply on the tip of his tongue, but Jonah only laughed. “So sulky on such a happy occasion, are you already regretting your rash decision? Look outside, the weather is vicious and you are safely indoors, is that not reason enough to be cheerful?” He stretched his hand in the direction of the window, where the rain was driving against the glass. “Smile, cousin. Be glad that you have health and fortune, what else do you desire?”

            An unhappy smile composed itself across Rafe’s mouth, “I‘m sorry to say the ratio of irritating and joyful things are sorely unbalanced,” he said sourly, his eyes sweeping vainly across the room in search of Catherine. “My fiancé is nowhere to be found, it seems she prefers even the company of wrathful Zeus to mine.”

            Jonah rolled his eyes good-naturedly, “The whims of a woman,” he sighed in commiseration. 

            “I fear its more than that,” said Rafe in a deceptively low voice to disguise the fury shaking it, “-and I’m willing to bet that ill-mannered gypsy beast is behind this.”

            “Cliff? He’s a nuisance, yes, but harmless enough. I’d counsel against going to war with him over Catherine’s misconduct, especially if it‘s just to suit your own spite” Jonah laughed.

            Rafe’s eyes sparked dangerously, his chair fell back, his hand already halfway to Jonah’s face when the doors were thrown open.

            Every head in the room jerked sharply in their direction, the chatter slowing and then dying entirely when they saw it was Catherine, soaked and disheveled.

            Rafe was the first to reach her, “My God! What’s happened to you?” He cried, slipping his coat around her shoulders, and leading her to a chair. “Someone get that door shut!“ he added, as the high wind propelled sheets of water onto the floor.

            Catherine looked at him through unfocused eyes, then twisted to peer back into the rain, and seeing the horizon empty she seemed to crumple in on herself, wracked with brutal sobs. She covered her face with her hands, trying to muffle the heartbreaking sound, and a murmur of sympathy rolled through the crowd. Rafe gathered her into his arms, naively mistaking her revolted shiver as something else, but she was utterly inconsolable. His weak embrace only reminded her body of the entirely different pair of arms it was despairing of never feeling again.

            “Shhh, there now. You’re safe.” he soothed, stroking one cold, narrow hand along her back and dropping a kiss to her forehead.

            Catherine struggled against him as if she couldn’t bear his touch. “Leave me be,” she whimpered, “Let me go, I‘m fine. I only got lost on the moor and the storm overtook me.”

            “That’s a lie,” snarled a voice from behind her. For the second time in as many minutes all heads flew to the doorway, and the dark figure was suddenly silhouetted in a crack if lightning, tall and broad and unbearably handsome. He brushed water from his face, plucking at the drenched fabric of his shirt where it was plastered to his chest. “Tell them the truth Catherine.” he growled warningly, a muscle ticking angrily in his jaw.

            The battle between Cliff and doing the right thing was one he lost frequently, and as he neared the party his jog had slowed. It didn’t take much intuition to sense the mistake he’d made in coming back. He could’ve walked away, left Catherine to her miserable, loveless marriage. But it would’ve taken a stronger man than he to stop himself from appealing to her one last time. Nothing could keep him from her, but herself, and if she sent him away once more… so be it.

            So here he was, ready to lay his heart at her feet but the sight of Rafe tending to her sent jealousy surging through him. “Didn’t take you long, did it Catherine?” he sneered, raking his eyes so painfully over her that she writhed under his flashing glare. “You couldn’t wait to get back to him? This is the fiancé you hold in such high esteem?” He looked at his worn, calloused hands and then to Rafe’s pale, delicate ones. “Yes, I think I see why you prefer his touch, still, that didn’t stop you from seeking mine out.”

            “I told someone to shut that door!” snapped Rafe, anger fiercely coloring his face, and his voice loud and harsh and full of false authority.

            No one made a move to obey him, all attention was arrested on Catherine and Cliff, and how their gazes locked together in a power struggle. Then hers broke away, casting about helplessly, bottom lip tucked nervously between her teeth, expression caught somewhere between social horror and wild relief at seeing him.

            He regarded her quietly after his outburst, meeting her stare whenever she dared return his, presumably waiting for some cue that only Catherine recognized.

            “Don‘t do this here, Cliff. Anywhere else. Any other time.” she begged, wringing her hands together, her head swinging from him to Rafe and then back again.

            His calm face broke into a thousand pensive lines. “Tell them, or do you want to continue this charade? You could say yes, but your eyes would betray you, Catherine. Tell them, end this… this sham of an engagement while you can.“ he bit the words off like obscenities. “It stops here, Catherine. Tell them, or I will.” His ultimatum hung in the air, heavy with ominous sincerity.

            The room fell deathly still, filled with a shocked, roaring silence as the crowd digested his words, and what they could mean.

            And when Catherine finally spoke it was in a soft, hushed voice. “This can’t be, Cliff. It’s useless. Humiliate me, go ahead, it doesn’t change anything.” she said miserably, shaking her head.

            “Damn it, Catherine. Everything’s changed!” He roared.

            “Let well enough be, Cliff,” she sobbed, “Nothing’s changed. Thing’s are just as hopeless as they’ve been for the past five years.”

            “Prove it, then. Nothing’s changed? Kiss him. Kiss him like you love him, like you say you love him.” He jabbed a finger at Rafe, not even bothering to turn his head to the other man, but keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Catherine. “Kiss him Catherine, we’re all waiting.” He folded his arms over his chest, cocking an eyebrow in challenge.

            Rage swelled in her, and she whirled around, grabbing Rafe’s face, bringing it an inch from her own. And to all the guests it appeared she’d kiss him just to spite Cliff. Just to wipe that self-assured smirk right off his handsome face.

            But she stopped.

            Her lips trembled, and her knuckles turned white as she tried to stop Rafe from closing the rest of the distance. She released him, turning her face so quickly his mouth missed its target completely, and sheered unsuccessfully across her cheek. 

            “Oh, what have you done to me, Cliff?” she moaned, “To make me shun my fiancé and crave your touch?” She looked at him, his face held perfectly immobile and expressionless, and then the corner of his mouth twitched, stretching into a lazy, wolfish grin.

            And she threw up her hands, “Cruel Cliff, you’ve bewitched me and feel no remorse. Vicious, wicked man,” She cried, and threw herself toward him, her fist raised as if to strike him, but changing her mind midway. That fist uncurled into a gentle palm against his cheek, and as the right key turns a lock, their mouths came greedily together, and Cliff was slipping off Rafe’s ring though Catherine scarcely noticed. Then they broke apart, clinging to each other desperately, and she was murmuring against his neck, so low that no one could be sure she even said it, “Shameless, arrogant, perfect man.”       

 

 

 

The end J