A Breath of Fresh Air:

Thomas wandered aimlessly across the grounds behind his brother's home, hoping the fresh air might clear his head. He'd just come from speaking to Percival about an issue with his steward and stepped out for a quick walk before lunch. Above everything else weighing on him lately, Cecilia was at the forefront of  his mind. So absorbed was he in his thoughts he almost didn't notice Miriam come to call him in for the midday meal. Still looking at the ground, he said, "I thank you, Miriam, but I'm afraid I have too much business back at the Hall."
      Miriam could tell his spirits were dampened. She nodded her understanding and said, "That's just as well. Why don't you let me walk with you back to the house?" Without waiting for a response, she laced her arm through his and they proceeded slowly across the grounds. After a moment of silence, she tugged on his arm and said, "What's on your mind?"
      From the forlorn look he shot her, Miriam knew at once what his answer would be. The only question was whether he would try to ignore it or not. Finally he gave up the battle of deciding and let out a long sigh that sounded suspiciously like Cecilia's name. Miriam gave a pout. "I thought you would be thinking of her. I can't tell you how sorry I was to hear about this Mr. Pritchard character."
      Thomas could see it would be pointless to hold out any longer. Turning to his sister-in-law, he asked, "Miriam, tell me, if you ever had a fight with Percy, what would you do?"
       Surprisingly enough to Thomas, Miriam laughed a little. "That's simple: I would leave him alone long enough for him to realize he was wrong." This evoked a sliver of a smile from Thomas, which was all her intention, and she soon enough revised the statement by saying, "But of course I'd apologize as well."
       Thomas seemed to be in the worst sort of agony, murmuring to himself, "I'm afraid an apology wouldn't be as effective in this situation." And then, looking up, he said, "Everything within me seems to be out of sorts; every time I think of her something deep inside my chest constricts  in the harshest pain I have ever felt--real, physical pain as though an arrow pierced my heart. And when I speak her name my lungs fill with water and I cannot breathe enough air to satisfy my body and soon I feel doomed to perish." He paused for a moment, searching for the right words to express the extent of the torture of his confusion. “What is it about love that makes you feel as though you are drowning?" He spoke slowly--desperately, knowing at that moment something inside him was dying, but knowing also that something else was coming alive, too.
       Miriam paused before answering, trying to make sense of his words in accordance to her own. When she finally found the words for an adequate response, they had come to his carriage outside the house and she left him with this last sentiment: "Maybe it's because we all have to let things in us die before we can wake up and remember how much we cherish the taste of fresh air. And that's what your Cecilia was--a whole gallery of fresh air."


Sitting in his carriage on the way back to Roudington Hall, Thomas felt utterly defeated. He knew he would never completely get over her, but he didn't know how he could ever live with such despair. Overcome by his hopelessness, he slowly slid his eyes closed and sent up a silent plea: Father in Heaven, if it be thy will for Cecilia and I not to be together, then let it be thus; only, let my pain be lessened. And if---he hesitated, knowing that what he was about to ask for was entirely impossible, and yet he couldn't help himself from asking--if there is still a chance for us, let me not be too blind to see it. 
    He opened his eyes quite certain that it would be a long time before the prayer was answered, if ever it was. But as he looked to his left he saw something remarkable; a pair of white party gloves lay on the seat opposite him. He picked them up and examined the delicate workmanship of the embroidery. They must have been Lia's.
     A slow smile spread across his face, for surly if ever there was a sign from the heavens this certainly was it. One thing was suddenly absolutely clear in Thomas' mind: nothing was too impossible for heaven.


Thomas preferred to walk across their adjoining out of Town estates, but he was in too much of a rush, fearing if he didn't take the opportunity that instant, it'd be gone forever. Finally he settled upon taking his horse. When he arrived at the stables, he met a strange sight. Obsidian, the horse that had belonged to Cecilia's father, was absent from his stall. Upon seeing the stable master round the corner, he called him over to inquire about it. The old man wasn't much help as he insisted no one had had the horse saddled in nearly four years, ever since 'the Master' died. This puzzled Thomas, concerned for the horse's sake of the lack of exercise. "And why is that," he inquired.
     "It would be unwise, sir. The horse is mad, he is."
      "Mad?" Thomas asked incredulously.
      The man nodded. "Aye. 'T were what killed the Master, sir. He were on it when the madness came on, inspired by a wild snake, no doubt, and the Master was thrown. Pummeled near death, he were, and his brute of a beast ran straight on into the forest. Doctor did what he could for the Master but an infection took hold, near 's I can remember. After the Master's death, we found the horse in the forest; wild as a boar, he was, and worse too, since he were kept hungry for so long. Even after all these years back, I don't believe he'll ever be quite right in the head again."
       Taken by a sudden terror, Thomas loathed to ask the question that then sat on the tip of his tongue, but it came out all the same. "And you're certain no one came out for a ride?"
      The old man's face twisted in an attempt to remember. "I might have seen the young Miss Wells in here earlier, if that's what you mean. Though I can't reckon as to why; she hasn't been on a mount since her pony days. That Mr. Pritchard was with her, though, and between the two of us, sir, I didn't care for the way he was addressing her. I might not be as smart as some, but I sure as anything can recognize a scoundrel when I see one, you mark my words."
       Thomas hardly registered the man's last words, so plagued with fear was he for Cecilia's well being. If she had indeed taken the steed out for a ride, nothing good could come from it. He mindlessly nodded and dismissed the man, too preoccupied in his thoughts to formulate a proper response. Instead he ran to the house, taken by the urgency of the situation, blood coursing through his veins so swiftly that his mind was filled with the rushing, pounding sound of his world crumbling before his eyes. If Lia was on that horse...if she were to be hurt...! He couldn't fathom the consequences.
      Reaching the house, he threw the door open and charged into the parlor, exclaiming, "Where is she?" There was only a maid in the room, who jumped quite largely when the door to the parlor had been forced open in such a way.
      "Who, sir?"
      Thomas was becoming more and more aggravated with every second. "Cecilia! Where is Cecilia? I need her!"
       Flustered, the maid replied, "I believe she went out for the day, sir. She had a terrible fight with Mr. Pritchard and sent him packing. He'll not be back, if I heard rightly." Thomas, dismissing the fact that the maid had listened in on the conversation as well as the fact that Mr. Pritchard was once and for all out of the picture, continued on in his search of the house, only concerned now for Cecilia and her safety. He spoke over his shoulder to the maid through his frantic search.
      "Where did she go?"
      "I believe she went for a ride, sir."