Spellbound: The Awakening of Aislin Collins (11 page)

“What are you thinking about?” she
asked.

“About our youth and our time spent
together. Do you remember playing in your backyard?”

She laughed at the memory and smiled, “Aye.
My favorite memories of our times together were when we would braid
each other’s hair and dress in our mother’s clothes, pretending to
be royalty.” She looked into the distance and sighed, “I do not
have time for such childish things anymore. I have been working on
my hope chest lately. Father has found a husband for me,” she
said.

I looked up from my cup. I had remembered my
vision and hoped that I was incorrect. “Jack?” I asked.

She shook her head stiffly in reply, “His
name is Gillis Sutphin. He is a wealthy businessman from Virginia.
He has a plantation just near Jamestown. That is all I know so far…
but he is coming to meet me in a month’s time. We may be married
before you and Zachariah are.”

“What about Jack? I thought that you were
smitten with him?”

Abigail scoffed at my comment and waved her
hand in the air to banish the thought. “Jack has nothing to offer
me. He is just a boy.”

“But I thought that you wanted to marry him
and that his family’s status was enough for you?” I asked, hoping
to remind her of her own thoughts and not those implanted by her
parents.

“Jack’s only potential is to become a print
press like your father. I want to marry someone who can provide me
with the means to which I am accustomed. Not fall into squalor…”
She caught herself before she finished her sentence, but we both
knew how it would have ended—“into squalor
like your
family.”

“My family is well off Abigail. We just do
not feel the need to show it like some families do,” I said through
gritted teeth.

Seeing my growing anger, Abigail excused
herself. I sat quietly in their enormous sitting room, swirling my
tea and wondering if I could read the leaves. Suddenly, I felt
someone watching me and I looked up to see Mrs. Marthaler in the
doorway.

I stiffened at the sight of her and expected
to be yelled at for doing something wrong when, to my surprise, she
smiled at me. She then walked over and took Abigail’s seat, sitting
directly across from me she waved for a servant to pour her a cup
of tea. She held the saucer daintily in her hand as she turned her
attention to me.

“When I was promised to Abigail’s father I
cried for a week straight,” she said. Her sandy blonde hair was
pulled back in a tight bun, and when she spoke, her forehead
pinched and wrinkled as though she was recalling a bad memory.

I was surprised by her words and did not
know what to say. “Why?” I asked.

“I was very young. Much younger than you are
now and he was brash and harsh handed. I wanted to marry a boy who
lived down the road from me. We had grown up together, much like
you and Zachariah had, and I loved him dearly. But, my father had
given my dowry to another and the agreement was made. Now, almost
twenty five years later, I sit looking at a girl who wears the same
expression of fear and grief that I once carried.”

“Zachariah told you of my behavior?” I
asked.

“No. Zachariah said nothing. But my husband
has told me much of your belligerence toward him and your rejection
of Zachariah.” She took a sharp breath and squinted at me, as
though she was not sure how to word what she wanted to say, “It is
not wise to test my husband’s boundaries. He is a man in a position
of power and the laws the commoners live by do not necessarily
apply to him,” she said quietly.

My heart pounded at her words, “Is he going
to kill me?” I whispered.

“No, but he is not above beating you in
public or scarring you for life. You have been acting very well for
the past week and he has noticed it. Please Aislin, you must
continue with your behavior. Do not let your temper or pride force
his hand. He enjoys nothing more than breaking the spirit of those
who dare to defy him.” She looked up quickly when Abigail walked
back into the room and she placed her tea on the table for the
servants to take away.

“Aislin will stay for an early dinner with
the family and then Zachariah is to take her home,” she said to
Abigail in a cold voice.

I knew then that my family was not the only
one with secrets. Mrs. Marthaler was not harsh because she hated
me. She was harsh because she hated her life.

********************

We had adjourned to Abigail’s bedchamber for
the remainder of the day. It was a large room, that faced the front
of the house. It had a nice sized window that overlooked the front
yard and seemingly endless forest that led back to town.

I stared out the window longingly, as I sat
on Abigail’s canopy bed. The room was as uncomfortable as the rest
of the home, but this room in particular had a forced air about it.
The bed was covered in pink silk, which hung from her canopy, and
draped the sides. The bed’s curtains matched the window curtains,
as did her bed sheets, and the upholstery on the chairs. Mrs.
Marthaler had imported all of the furniture from Europe, because
she said that ‘Nothing in the Colonies was good enough for
Abigail.’

Abigail spent the rest of the afternoon
showing me the contents of her hope chest and explaining how she
envisioned her married life would be, living as the mistress of a
plantation. I listened for a good while but kept envisioning her as
she was in my premonition—old, worn and covered in bruises.

“What about love?” I finally
interrupted.

“Pardon?”

My words confused her.

“Do you not care about love? Will you be
alright giving yourself over to a man you hardly know… do you not
fear that he may be cruel or hard hearted toward you?”

Abigail looked as though these thoughts had
never crossed her mind. She trusted her father so much that she
would have married the devil himself if her father thought it to be
a good idea.

“Why would he be cruel towards me? I will be
a wonderful wife and I will give him no reason to discipline me,”
she said in a matter of fact tone.

“What if he does not find you pleasing? What
if he only wants your dowry?” I prodded her, hoping to get her to
understand that life was more complex than she cared to
imagine.

Her face grew red and her voice rose, “That
is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. You are just
jealous because my husband will be wealthier than Zachariah!”

“I am not!” I yelled back, “I am worried
about you. Can you not see that?” I pleaded.

“Worry about someone else, I am fine, “she
hissed.

I reached out and grabbed her arm as I gave
her one last try, “It is not the possessions you accumulate that
make life worthwhile. It is the people you share your life with
which make each day worth living. If you do not have love… you have
nothing,” I warned.

Abigail would hear no more. I had threatened
to crush her dreams of wealth and happiness, and she would not
listen to reason. She yanked her arm from me and turned her
back.

********************

We were called to dinner and the
conversation ended, but she refused to acknowledge me. Now, my time
at the Marthaler’s had become even more unbearable. I had no more
allies to depend upon.

When we walked into the dinning room Mr.
Marthaler, Mathew and Zachariah all stood. The room was narrow and
long, with an ornate crystal chandelier that hung over the center
of the long, walnut dinning table. I was asked to sit between
Zachariah and Abigail and if my placement between Zachariah and his
hostile sister was not uncomfortable enough, as I looked up at the
wall, I was greeted by a portrait of their parents. Both were
dressed in the finest clothing available. While Mr. Marthaler’s
expression was ridged, Mrs. Marthaler’s portrait had a simpering
smile, an expression that I had never seen her use in real life.
The portrait made me even more uncomfortable because their leering
eyes seemed to be transfixed upon me.

The table was bedecked with crystal, brass,
and lace. Candelabras sat at either end of the table, and large
sconces on the walls, all helped illuminate the room
.

Mr. Marthaler immediately said the dinner
prayers, and kept our heads bowed for what seem like an eternity as
he listed off their many blessings. I peeked over to the corner to
see the servants giving each other looks, as they knew that all the
Marthaler eyes were closed. I thought that this would probably be
the prime time to murder the whole family, if someone wanted to.
Then I realized that thinking such thoughts while surrounded by
those in prayer was not the best of things to do, and I drifted off
into private thoughts of Greer as the prayers continued for what
seemed like ten minutes.

During dinner, the women were expected to
remain silent and listen to the conversation of the men. I thought
it amusing that little Mathew’s comments about playing with beetles
was considered more important to Mr. Marthaler than inquiring about
the welfare of his wife or daughter.

Even though he was a horrible person,
Abigail could not see it. She adored her father and wanted nothing
more than to please him, no matter what the cost.

As we ate, my unease grew. Zachariah used
the tablecloth to hide his lecherous deeds as he placed his hand on
my knee. I flinched at his touch, and in response, he kept trying
to move his hand higher up my leg. I brushed his hand away numerous
times, but he only thought it to be some sort of game and became
more aggressive in his attempts.

His father kept talking of the nightly hunts
and the difficulties of tracking the mysterious animal. There were
no paw prints, no broken twigs or branches. Even the Natives could
not locate the beast. He droned on and on and finally Zachariah’s
hand was moving farther up my thigh and all my efforts to press his
hand away were useless. I found nothing else to do, so when tea was
served I dumped my steaming cup directly on his arm.

********************

My cloak was wrapped around me and I waited
at the door while his mother gently helped Zachariah get his coat
on without brushing the skin where the bandage laid over his
blistered arm.

He was charged with the duty of walking me
home before the sun set for the evening.

Mrs. Marthaler suggested that Zachariah take
the carriage, so that we were both protected and the journey was
swift, however her husband disagreed. He told Zachariah that he
would not risk losing another horse to the prowling beast. He gave
Zachariah one of his pistols and told him to be on guard. We were
to walk.

Mr. Marthaler shut the door behind us, and
we began our journey. We had a long walk ahead of us before we
would clear the looming forest’s presence, and I felt the pressure
of awkward silence forcing me to say something.

“Here,” said Zachariah, as he jutted out his
uninjured arm for me to take.

I begrudgingly obliged and we walked along
in silence. I could hear a crow’s call from within the forest, and
I paid strict attention.

“What are you looking for?” He followed my
gaze into the tree line.

“Nothing” I replied in haste. Crows often
brought signs from the Goddess and I knew that this particular call
meant something, but I could not interpret the message with
Zachariah around.

Our walk continued, and led us deep into the
forest. On either side of the path were tall trees that swayed in
the wind. The grey hue of dusk caused menacing shadows to jump from
the darkest corners of the forest and cast ghoulish images on the
dirt road. We both heard the crow’s call again. It was closer this
time and alarming in its volume. It sounded angry.

“Bloody bird,” Zachariah growled under his
breath.

I felt uneasy as I listened to the crow’s
call, and I looked up to watch the magnificent creature gliding
high above our heads, squawking loudly as it flew.

“Too bad I don’t have my rifle,” he
mumbled.

“It isn’t bothering you,” I snapped.

“You don’t find that noise irritating?” he
asked sarcastically.

“No … I think it’s pretty.”

He scoffed as he gave me a look of
disapproval, “You
would
.”

From that moment on, we walked in silence.
The crow followed us from a distance, and made just enough noise to
keep Zachariah in a state of annoyance.

He winced every once in a while, looking
down at his arm in an attempt for sympathy. I realized that between
this event and my conversation with Abigail, I must do something to
make amends with at least one of them.

“I am sorry I hurt your arm,” I said
stiffly.

“It was an accident. I am not mad,” he
replied.

You are indeed a dimwitted twit if you
think that was an accident.
I thought to myself.

“You were startled by my advances. It is to
be expected. After all, you are still innocent in the ways between
men and women,” he said condescendingly.

“Have you had many girlfriends?” I asked out
of complete surprise. Although I knew that many young women desired
his family’s wealth and status, I could not imagine why any woman
would look lovingly upon Zachariah.

“I am desired by nearly every woman in this
town, Aislin. There are also many wenches who lurk around the
ports, looking for adventure with merchants and pirates. But their
services are not utilized just by the men of the sea.”

I felt my stomach turn at the thought, but I
knew he spoke the truth.

“I am not one of those women, Zachariah, so
please respect that I plan on waiting until my wedding night.”

“Ah yes, I wanted to discuss that with you,”
he said, as his dark brown eyes looked me over.

We were walking slower now. He was too busy
thinking of wicked thoughts to be bothered keeping a brisk pace and
getting me home safely.