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| The Wonder of
Winter's Darkness Part Four by Marcy Wilson-Cales |
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Barnabas
followed Julia out of that tight and constricted
room. Her manner was brusque and tense. He could
not blame her. he should have said something in
the doorway, and now the silence hung between
them, swelled until he felt mere words would not
be enough to break it. As usual, words had failed him around Julia. And he had hurt her again. The kitchen spoke of living. The fireplace might have been from the Old House, as the table that was an enormous plank of time-polished rock maple meant for performing all functions; the walls were swallowed in shelves of all widths and functions, ship-lapped and solid, and fruitwood hooks held the stores of cooking utensils. A braid of wakling onions hung from the ceiling beams, among a rstra of blood-bright peppers. Barnabas abruptly realized Julia had patterned her private rooms at Wyndcliffe like this kitchen. This, at least, was her home if nothing else was. She was sitting down by the table, twisting around to pull another one off a shelf behind her. "What's going on?" No words of how good it was to see him, no hello. Just a brief, returned embrace in the living room. Barnabas inwardly winced, because he had said nothing, and she naturally assumed he was here on business and not to see her. I am so sorry, Julia. I should have told you the truth. How could I have let important words lie unspoken for so long? I did not mean to hurt you; I would never do such a thing to you--not any more... "It's...Amy." Barnabas glanced at his hands as he spoke. "She is not taking to her brother's departure at all well." Julia grimaced. "She seemed to accept it..." She shook her head and poured him a cup, adding a strong amount of whiskey in it for heat, pushing it forward across the table without a further word. His chapped hands closed around a mug that felt hotter than glowing coals, and he saw with some alarm that his nails were quite gray. Julia's eyes lingered over his hands, deliberately noticing it without speaking the obvious, and she did not risk his dignity by asking how the rest of him was. Lately, she had not been pressing him in any matters concerning his health and well-being; something he had wished for for years. And now, with her backing away from him and giving him this sudden space... He found that much of Julia's native affection had been couched in softened medical terms. It had been the safest way she could express her care for him without causing him any undue embarrassment. Barnabas wished that that once-maddening concern (as so many things) were with them again. He couldn't even accuse her of mothering him or pestering him; she had been too leery of his feelings for even that. No, nothing more than a delicate, softly phrased question as to his everyday health, or broader language if she felt he was overstepping his common sense...she had simply asked him, mostly, as a doctor being concerned for a patient who was also a friend, and for a long time, even that mild display of emotion had irritated him. Perhaps in an ironic footnote to his thoughts, Julia was pouring herself from the whiskey bottle, and drinking the results without any dilution. "I...don't know what is happening." He confessed, meaning both Amy and himself. his own confusion leaked into his words; Julia's face creased faintly in a frown, reacting to it. Both of them were close to the little girl, and for Barnabas to be puzzled was not a good sign at all. "She… she acts as if Chris is dead, Julia! She is constantly mourning for him." "Dead?" Julia repeated, eyes wide. "She refused to say so." he admitted. "But her actions betray her feelings." To Be Continued |