My lover and I were living in a castle built upon a lake. Now, when I say upon, I do not mean, seemingly built as if it were on the lake, but truly it was situated upon the water thereof. The mechanics behind such a feat was unknown to me, but seeing as my spouse was comfortable with it, I decided I would be too.
There was but one way to get to the castle (two, if you were clever), one was to cross the long, narrow strip of a bridge, scarcely wide enough for our automobile to squeeze onto (or, if you were of the clever sort, you could row your self to the castle, from the shore, in a rowboat. Though, when I mentioned this to my love, he dismissed it saying no one would dare to directly cross these waters. I thought it best to not mention it again, but wasn't entirely convinced that it couldn't be done.). Before one could cross the bridge, they were met by a large (and I mean really very large) and heavy (and I would like to put a strong emphasis on heavy), iron gate. The moment we were let in, the loud clack of the iron bars closing was deafening. I was sure that nothing, nor no one, could ever breech such a precaution. I decided to not expect unexpected company.
My new life in the massive fortress was a simple one. Stripped of social visits and means of communicating with family (for there was no modern means of communication in the entire household), I spent my time arranging, and rearranging, furniture and the beautifully framed works of art that were scattered throughout the castle. I would amuse myself by putting the painting of the bright haughty peacock in the bathroom, which was decorated in soft pastel yellows, and the combination was so revolting, I found it humorous. This peacock painting became a fast friend, and I found I rather liked it in the dining room, where I spent most of my time writing, drawing, and setting the table for my husband's return.
He wasn't home much, leaving on important business trips for days on end, the important business always a mystery to me. But I was determined to play the dutiful wife, never questioning, always waiting, for I knew it pleased him. On those rare days when he was in, and not locked up in his study in the high tower (of which I never dared venture in. He didn't need to tell me he didn't want company when he worked, and never asked that it be cleaned, so I never asked), he would sweetly remind me why I loved him, with romantic evenings, and lazy mornings together. Yet, those happy moments with him, seemed like a distant past, when I watched him saddle his horse, and ride away to pursue who knew what. (curiously enough, he never took the automobile. When I asked him why that was so, he simply replied that he got carsick.) Odd behaviors like thus were troubling to me at times, and would keep my thoughts busy as I worked to understand his lifestyle.
On one such occasion, it was late morning, and I had spent the majority of my day in the dining hall, pacing and sitting at the window, appreciating the wondrous view of the lake. I had awoken with a feeling of overwhelming anxiety, without a proper explanation as to why. I just knew that I was horribly at unease, and immensely noted how alone I was. (For my love had once again left for one of his trips, and wasn't expected back for several days) All at once, I no longer felt safe in my own fortress of a home.
It was then that I heard the knocking at the door. It was a foreign noise to my ears, and the hollow pounding of wood echoed like a violent intruder throughout the halls. Ever since living here, I hadn't had a single visitor, I was so sure that the obvious unwelcoming display of our iron gate took care of such visits. My anxiety began to bubble into suspicious fear, but I suppressed it with curious courtesy, and made my way to the door.
I was greeted by an elderly couple, with friendly faces, and tired postures. The man was leaning heavily upon an oaken walking staff, with his wife (for I assumed them to be married) supporting an arm. The man gave his name before I could inquire it of him.
"Bradly O'Conner, my young lass. And this be me lovie, Mrs. O'Conner."
"Bonnie, deary, just call me Bonnie", the woman intervened, smiling a warm smile. When she smiled, it caused a chain reaction of charming wrinkles to ripple into action about her face, dancing eyes framed with crows feet, and dimples (no doubt one of her winning charms in her youth) ornamented with deep lines, a sign that her smile was well used.
Realizing that I was staring, I quickly excused myself with a blush and turned to address the older fellow.
"And I be Tessa Dior, mistress of the household." Without a clue as to what else to do, I hesitantly offered,"Would...you and your wife, care for a drink?"
The man, or, Bradly, rather, had a smile that was of the contagious sort. Though his wide smile revealed a missing upper tooth, I couldn't help but return the cheery grin.
"You are kind, my lassie. We are tired, and have had a tiring day, a drink, and a sit-down, would be most appreciated." With that I opened the door wider, to welcome them in. As I turned to shut it behind them, I noticed something that caused my blood to freeze. There was a small rowboat, rocking with the gentle waves of the lake, docked to the rocks of the castle base. My darling's words of assurance that, what was it? "No one would dare to directly cross these waters, there is no need to worry about that", played in my mind, teasing me relentlessly. Yet the couple seemed friendly enough, surely a quick refreshment and brief small talk would be enough to send them along their way. But as I heard the click of the door sliding back into place, I was once again very aware of my anxiety that I had awoken to.
(more to come)
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