The Diary of Cozette (3 page)

Being one of the older girls at the orphanage I am called upon by Mrs. Abbot more often than not to manage the chores and oversee the younger girls in various tasks from gardening to laundry as well as tending the chickens. I rarely have time to sleep, much less to write, but these precious few moments I steal behind the chicken house as my wards collect the morning eggs. There are times I question the wisdom of writing in my journal at all. If the Abbots were to discover my entries, I cannot imagine what would befall me. I have seen the cruel discipline inflicted on the boys for not completing tasks to Mr. Abbot’s liking. In addition, I have heard that Mrs. Abbot keeps a black strap in one of her kitchen cupboards. Rumor or not, I do not wish to find out firsthand.

However, today, my heart is exceedingly downcast. I had noted, but perhaps ignored, the number of young girls disappearing in the middle of the night. I presumed, for whatever reason, that their new families had come for them. Yet, today I found a note from Ernest in a secret jar we keep in the root cellar. He says he must speak with me; he has news of Elizabeth’s recent departure.

“I have no proof, but I suspect that the Abbots are making a handsome profit with some of the adoptions. At least Mr. Abbot, at any rate.” Ernest’s expression revealed his concern. “I do not know if Mrs. Abbot is aware of her husband’s private agreements with some of the wealthy lords in the area.”

I paced the cellar floor, not wanting to think of Elizabeth in the hands of someone who might inflict harm on her. “Ernest, is there anything we can do? Any way we can find out for sure what has happened to her? Perhaps we should go to the authorities?” I sat down on the floor and curled my arms around my knees. Ernest settled on the floor beside me.

“I’m afraid not, Cozette. If we were caught, we’d likely wind up in a much worse position.” His voice was low, but I could hear the anger in it.

“Poor Elizabeth, she is such a gentle and kind soul. I pray that she is with someone who truly has her well-being uppermost in mind.”

His silent response was clear evidence that he did not share my hope. In my heart of hearts, I’d seen enough cruelty inflicted on the children here to know his disbelief was well-founded.

“Oh, Ernest, it makes my heart sick to think about it.” I rocked my body against my arms trying to remember how it once was when my mother would rock me in her lap, her hand on my hair, soothing away my fears.

We sat in the dark, Ernest at my side. I wept for my friend, praying she would not encounter someone as brutal as my horrid cousin.

Ernest held my hand, gently brushing his thumb over my fingers, as I sobbed. He did not chide me for my sorrow, nor take advantage of my most vulnerable state, but sat like a loyal friend, his quiet hushes murmuring low and gentle.

I was not afraid to be alone with him as he was not like Edward, though he was perhaps close in age. His dark hair brushed his collarbone and his eyes sparkled in the shadows.

His body was lean and strong from the heavy labor Mr. Abbot imposed on him. He seemed an old soul, born of gentleness I’d never seen before, and despite that he would have every justification to be angry and bitter about his situation in life, he was neither. I knew, as well as I knew the back of my hand, that he would never harm me.

“Would you hold me for awhile, Ernest? I need…”

I had no need to beg, for without a word, he gathered me into his embrace, wrapping both arms protectively around me as we sat on the cold dirt floor.

My cheek rested against his young, solid chest and though his threadbare shirt smelled of the earth and his body had not seen soap in days, I found myself at total peace in his arms.

I sniffed, finally too spent to cry anymore and found myself needing most desperately to know more about him. “Why are you here, Ernest? Where is your family?” It quieted my heart to sit here in the dark with him.

His hand brushed through my hair, comforting in his caress.

“My mother is ill. I came here for work when I heard of the Abbots establishing an orphanage. The wages are meager, but I am able to send a little back home to help out.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“No, it’s only my mother and I, though I’ve not seen her in many months.”

“And what of your father?” I turned my gaze upward, studying his handsome profile.

“I never knew him.”

The tone in his voice gave reason to believe he did not wish to dwell on the subject further. I was as content to not speak at all.

I snuggled close. “Do you think our lives will ever change, Ernest? Will we always be as poor as we are now?”

He gave my shoulder a squeeze and companionship swelled within my heart. I’d never had a relationship such as this, with another male, other than Edward. True, I could scarcely classify my dealings with Edward as a relationship. I had no idea that this type of kinship could exist between a man and a woman.

“We make our own destiny, little bird. With determination, I suspect we can become whatever we wish. After all, we are young and able to work to care for ourselves.”

He rested his chin on the top of my head. I gave a contented sigh with a silly wish that I could go on forever with the beating of his heart against my cheek. The worries of life seemed a million miles away. “What do you want to do with your life, Ernest?”

In the stillness, I heard a mouse scurry across the straw. It skirted past my toe and with a shriek I leapt into Ernest’s lap, cowering in fear of the bloody rodent. Now I would give that same miserable creature my silent gratitude. The mouse alone had prompted in less time what it would have taken me weeks, if not months the courage to do.

I was keenly aware of our intimate connection, emotional, yes, that as well, but this realization was visceral.

Curious, I wondered if Ernest entertained similar notions. The very idea that he might too have some unusual feelings caused my heart to beat faster. He shifted me on his lap, clearing his throat, unsure what to do with his hands. Still, I had no wish to return to the floor and the prospect of the mouse scurrying about. Between the mouse and Ernest’s discomfiture, I would sooner be safe and face Ernest.

“I—I write poetry,” he stammered. “I would like to see my work published one day.”

The very thought of him reciting poetry to me, seated by a lake on a brilliant summer’s day brought great joy to my heart.

“Oh, please share with me one of your poems,” I begged, wiggling with excitement.

“They are unpolished…rough at best, Cozette.” He spoke with subtle restraint edging his voice.

“Please, Ernest?” I slipped my hand around his waist in a friendly hug equal in fashion to what he had shown me.

“Right, uh…very well. Then we’re…off to bed, then. It will be hell to pay should Mrs. Abbot find us.”

“Just one then, and I’ll obey whatever you wish.”

“Doubtful,” he mumbled.

Unsure I heard him correctly I sat straight, face-to-face with him. “Please accept my apologies Ernest, but I am not clear if I heard you correctly. Would you be so kind as to repeat it?”

His soft breath wafted across my face as I waited. These newfound emotions put thoughts in my head that a proper young woman should not have. I knew this and yet was compelled to stay.

“It is not important and we should not waste precious time. Do you wish to hear my poem or not?”

His abrupt tone, so quick to turn, startled me. Indeed, his brooding manner would serve him well as I imagined him years from now, seated in a library surrounded by leather volumes of his work, his head bent in stern concentration on his craft.

“Yes, most passionately, Ernest.”

His clipped manner bruised my youthful ardor and I leaned against him, like a child awaiting a bedtime story. Secure in his embrace, regardless of the reason.

“There is one I have dabbled with, though it is not finished, I need to add flesh to it.”

“Flesh?” The very word in the swirl of emotions inside me and added to the surreal veil of darkness, caused goose bumps to rise on my arms.

“It only means that it is not yet to my complete satisfaction, my little bird.”

“Ernest, why do you call me your little bird?” The musky scent of his skin wafted near my nose as I pressed near, taking comfort in the steady beating of his heart.

“You are like a new bird, Cozette, urged by your sense of adventure, yet unaware of the perils of the world below.”

“But do not all birds eventually leave the nest, Ernest?” I traced my finger over the soft edge of his shirt, tempted to touch the skin beneath.

“True, and one day you will leave the protection you’ve come to know. And you will know then of what I speak.”

I smiled. “I shall never desire to leave here, Ernest, as long as you are here.” I leaned back to look in his eyes and sensed more than our companionship pass between us. Nevertheless, neither of us acted upon it.

“If ever more lovely a sight do I see,” he began, “amid a world so bleak. ’Tis one so slight, so fair and sweet, who comes with the moon, in secret to meet. Shall forever hidden our—”

He ended there and I waited for the span of his heartbeat.

His voice soft and low touched my heart in ways unexpected.

“Our…? Our what, Ernest?” My head on his shoulder, I lay content, staring at the murky, cream-colored image of the moon through the filthy windowpane of the cellar.

“That is where it ends. I have not finished it.”

“There is great mystery in it then, isn’t there?” I whispered, turning my face into the warm, earthy scent of his neck. “I am quite certain, if you will it, the rest will come to you. I’ve no doubt your gift will be read by many one day.”

“You flatter me with your words, my little bird.”

His fingers lifted my chin and in the dim moonlight, I saw his eyes glittering like river stones. They held me captive and my body reacted in ways I did not fully understand. Yet I was not afraid to be alone with him.

“I speak the truth Ernest, not with pretense of flattery.”

My young breasts experienced an odd heaviness and between my legs, a strange awareness. Most keenly was I alert to the protrusion I sat upon and memory of Edward’s sinful postcards leapt to my mind. Was Ernest capable of the same aggressive actions as my vile cousin? I could not believe it, even as I waited, my heart pounding hard in my chest.

He held my gaze, hesitating as he lowered his head, his breath upon my face, warm and sweet. Unhurried he waited, his eyes searching mine, in silent invitation for me to close the distance between us at my will.

When at last I could no longer stand the anticipation, I cupped his face in my hands and rushed to meet his lips with a fierce desire.

Heat, fueled by youth and desperation, created the ferocity inside me. I shifted, lifting my skirts, placing my knees either side of his hips to get as close as I desired to be. I was most painfully aware of the pulsing sensations between my legs, but had no shame in possessing them.

I held his face in my trembling hands as his mouth slanted over mine. His mouth divine, I treasured each touch of his lips. I could not, most certainly did not, quell the passion rising strong inside me as his tongue pushed between my lips. I moaned against his mouth as his firm, callused hands skimmed under my skirt and moved over my naked thighs.

He responded in kind against my mouth showing his pleasure when I pressed the warm dampness betwixt my legs against his bulging manhood. I sensed his ardor grow in response to my subtle movement. Each kiss left me most desperate, setting to fire a blaze that started at my mouth and burned to the deepest part of me.

In my sensual haze, reason had no virtue. I would have obliged had he turned me onto my back and taken my virginity altogether most willingly, even as he had already stolen my heart.

Instead, and to my great disappointment, he pushed me gently from his lap and hurried to his feet.

“I cannot…not like this,” he choked out in a whisper and took leave, disappearing into the darkness without a word. I was left utterly confused and breathless.

After a few moments, I gathered what was left of my pride, remembering Edward’s words as I hurried back to my room. I lay awake into the wee hours of dawn replaying the incident in my head. What had I missed? How had I offended him? Was my behavior like that of a common whore? I would find him and make him tell me to my face.

He had no knowledge of what he’d awakened. I was captivated by this curious desire to feel again the intensity of the raw hunger of passion.

Were these the same emotions that drove Edward to his mindless aggression? If so, then is it possible to have such feelings without being connected to the intimacies of the heart? Nevertheless, all the better the passion if given these intimacies?

So many are the questions spinning through my mind and I have no answers, but this I do know. Ernest by his gallant and gentle compassion, has restored, perhaps set free for the first time that which Edward destroyed. He is evidence that there are still gentlemen in this world turned upside down.

~A.C.B.

Ernest says we cannot meet and does not know when we will be able to again. He fears Mr. Abbot is watching us more closely. I have kept busy with my chores and have taught some of the young girls to read and to write. I hope he will send word soon to meet him. I have so many questions with regard to these unusual feelings inside me.

I am not sure Ernest feels the same after we last met, but I am compelled, when I see him again, to press him further for the answers I seek.

I have caught Mrs. Abbot watching me from the window as I hang the laundry. Perhaps Ernest is right—we need to be careful. I would hate him to lose his position. Now that Elizabeth is gone, he is the only one here saving me from going mad.

~A.C.B.

Today Mr. Abbot sent Ernest and a few others to a neighboring farm to help with the harvest.

“We are cheap labor, Cozette. Mr. Abbot says the pay is good and has promised each of us a share of the payment, once the harvest is complete. I do not trust him, but neither can I turn down the offer. My mother grows more ill. I am afraid in this I have little choice. I will return after harvest, they say, late September, early October.”

Over two months without Ernest? I had to be strong. I didn’t want to appear childish. If I wanted Ernest to see me as a woman, I would have to be strong. “I will think of you daily.”

His eyes touched mine in a way his hands could not.

“You will? I will carry that thought then and it will make the time breeze by. I will send word when we are to return. Meantime, please be careful, my little bird.”

I stared at him over the clothesline, my knuckles white from holding it tight, keeping myself from skirting beneath it and into Ernest’s safe embrace.

“Mr. Abbot is waiting.” He gave a nod, looked at me once over his shoulder and disappeared around the side of the house.

“I will do the same, Ernest,” I whispered after him.

I do not know how I will stomach these next few weeks, but for the sake of Ernest, I will find a way.

~A.C.B.