Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me, just the story I put them into.
Author's Notes: Due to extreme life situations and even more extreme time constrictions, Loyce is, unfortunately, not going to be able to co-author this story with me anymore, although we still talk about plot happenings every now and then. I'm going to miss writing with her, because it was a lot of fun. Sniff. Okay, just needed to let everyone know that. Enjoy this chapter; sorry it took so long to get out. I'm going to try not to let as much time pass before the next update. Thank you everyone who's still reading, and everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I appreciate it very much!
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And He Walks With Me
by Kristen Elizabeth
****
Dorothy had come to both dread and crave Wednesdays and Sundays. While it was true that there was absolutely nothing drearier than an hour-long sermon damning everything that made life enjoyable, it also couldn't be overlooked that Meetings were the two times during the week when she could get out of the stifling silence of her cousin's house and interact with the villagers, such as they were.
Her dresses still shocked them, and that absolutely delighted Dorothy. For awhile, she'd been afraid that Treize's mild disapproval of the bright fabrics and slit sleeves would start to echo the downright outrage she perceived from the town's women, but in the few weeks she'd been in the colonies, her cousin's attentions had been elsewhere, even in the midst of conversation. She wasn't sure what was preoccupying him, but as long as he left her alone to dress as she liked, she really couldn't bring herself to care.
That Sunday, five weeks after her arrival, she found herself walking--of all things, walking!--towards the nondescript Meeting House, facing another hour of religious babble and disapproving looks. Mariemaia was at her side, chattering as she too often did. The girl had been amusing for a brief time, but now Dorothy found her company irksome, to say the least. Even now, she went on and on about the new dress that was being made for her, and how it was going to be dark blue thanks to some sort of berry. Dark blue. Dorothy shook her head. In London, she'd had dresses in every color of the rainbow. Most of them had stayed behind, but the ones she still had, including the pale green frock she was currently wearing, were far more eye-catching than indigo blue could ever hope to be.
Still, she let Mariemaia talk, and let her believe that she was actually listening. Truthfully, Dorothy's thoughts of late had one path, and it inevitably lead to one person. The person who, as they drew closer to the Meeting House, came into their sight a few paces ahead of them. All pretense of giving a damn about Mariemaia's country clothing faded as Dorothy studied Heero Yuy.
He was, without a doubt, the most handsome man she'd ever encountered. And therefore, she wanted him more than she had any man before him. For a lady of her station, Dorothy considered herself well versed in the arts and practices of love, or more accurately, lust. Truly, she believed in the latter more. The first was an illusion, something a girl told herself the man rutting between her legs felt for her in order to relieve her own guilt. Lust, however, was tangible. It was power, a power she'd wielded over no less than five men in her short eighteen years. Lust was easy to explain, and even easier to sate. She felt no guilt over it, either.
Heero Yuy was a man built with the sole purpose of sating a woman's lust. How else could one explain his tall frame of lean muscles, his soul-piercing eyes, and that mouth that was so often set into a frown, perhaps to hide just how much pleasure it would be capable of creating. Some higher power had put him together just so, but Dorothy couldn't believe that it was the chaste god of his religion…anymore than she could believe that beautiful body and even more perfectly shaped hands were going to be wasted on a pale ninny like Relena Peacecraft.
Even now as she thought about their engagement, which had only just been made public at the last Meeting, she wanted to scream. Not that she had any intention or desire to marry Heero. He might have been set to take over the village's doctoring needs, but he had no money to his name, no title, and therefore held no appeal as a husband. No, Dorothy only wanted Heero in once place, and that was warming her bed whenever she felt the urge. But these damn Puritans were so uptight about sex and marriage; even if she could sway Heero into breaking his vows, unspoken or official, the consequences if they happened to be caught were, quite literally, a matter of life and death. And after the fiasco with Otto, she no longer believed in having a perfectly discreet affair.
She had no intention of having her neck stretched simply for a good roll in the hay.
Although, she thought, as Relena appeared around a bend in the same road they were all taking into town, with her pregnant sister-in-law and silly little maid in tow, it might be worth the risk just to watch the ninny's heart break.
"Tell me about Miss Peacecraft," Dorothy said suddenly, interrupting her young cousin in mid-sentence.
Mariemaia blinked. "What is it you wish to know, Cousin?"
"Don't be a child, Mariemaia," she snapped. "Tell me about her relationship with her betrothed."
"Mister Yuy?" The girl pursed her lips, thinking hard. "I am hard pressed to remember a time when they did not fancy one another."
Dorothy sighed. "That's not saying much. You're barely out of nappies."
Mariemaia's chin wobbled slightly, but she continued, for no other reason than to regain her cousin's favor. The first few days of their friendship had been so pleasant. Exchanging secrets, Dorothy's stories about life in London…she wanted to get back that sisterly affection, the woman's touch she had long been missing in her life. "'Tis said that the Minister cares not for the match. 'Tis also said…" She lowered her voice. "…that a marriage between my father and Miss Peacecraft had been discussed."
"What a wonderful match." She couldn't hold back her wicked smile. The very idea of perfect little Relena in an arranged marriage to her cousin who, although he was still a handsome man, was nearly twice her age…it was delicious. "Why did it not come about?"
"Miss Peacecraft and Mister Yuy are in love," the child replied simply, as though there could not possibly be another explanation. "I think it frightfully romantic."
Dorothy yawned behind her hand. "I think it frightfully dull, myself." Her cool eyes watched Relena. Heero had joined the trio of women on the very edge of the center of town, escorting them all. But Relena was the only one on his arm. "What on earth could he possibly find attractive about her?"
"Do you like her not, Cousin?"
"I have no care for women who are scared of their very shadows," she replied, sharply. "Relena Peacecraft has not the sense of a housefly, blindly following every rule set out for her. I pity Heero Yuy. It is a cold bed into which he is marrying himself."
Mariemaia looked up at the older girl. "What mean you by that?"
"Never you mind." Dorothy smiled to herself. "Yet."
****
It was all Hilde could do to keep her hands and feet still during the sermon. For fear that if she looked elsewhere she might seem guilty, she sat on the hard bench and stared at a spot just beyond Millardo's head as he spoke. He went on for what seemed like hours, but she could have summed it all up in one sentence.
If you give in to the pleasures of the flesh, you will burn in everlasting Hell.
The Meeting House was unbearably hot. Several times Hilde found herself pressing a handkerchief to her forehead, although Relena and Lucrezia shivered beside her. She supposed she must already have a toe into Hell.
Her secret was eating her up inside, especially when she was anywhere near him. Duo. Hilde allowed herself one small glance over her shoulder. He was in the back of the House, like usual, standing with the other handful of indentured servants. His eyes were closed and as she watched, his head lolled forward. He was half-asleep.
Strangely infuriated, Hilde turned back around. How could he not even be paying attention? He was just as guilty of the sins Millardo Peacecraft preached against; wasn't he worried about his own soul? Of course not. He wasn't the one who was being punished. And truthfully, she didn't want him to be punished. He already suffered so much for choices he was forced to make as a child. She would not add to his burdens.
Her stomach lurched, and she prayed that the cold meal they'd eaten before the Meeting would stay down. Nothing much seemed to these days; it was becoming quite a chore to keep her daily bouts of sickness a secret. She had no idea how far into her shame she was, and every night she fell asleep with the worry that her stomach might turn round in the night. Even now that fear made her blood cold. Secrets like the one she carried did not keep well.
But Hilde had no one to turn to, and her options, as best she could figure them, were severely limited. She and Duo could not marry. But if she had a child outside of marriage, the punishments both she and the babe would endure were too horrible to think about. There was little else to do, except pray for divine intervention. But even hoping that she would lose the baby was a sin. She had made her bed, even though it had really just been a soft blanket in the middle of the woods, and now she would have to lie in it. Alone.
"Hilde, whatever is the matter?" Relena whispered in her ear.
"I am fine," she replied just as quietly. "My apologies, missus."
The blonde girl took Hilde's hand. "We shall talk later."
"Later" turned out to be much later. The Meeting ended, and it fell upon Hilde to prepare the evening meal, as Heero came to dinner and Relena's attentions were certainly not on rabbit stew. As there was company, Hilde ate what little she could force down in the lean-to before she went inside the house to serve the family.
Jealousy was another sin she could add to her pile, for she felt its horrible bite whenever she looked at the betrothed couple. They were so obviously happy, especially now that they had Millardo's grudging acceptance, at least enough for him to welcome Heero to his table. She wanted to see herself in her friend's place; she wanted to sit down to dinner with Duo, free and clear of sin. The thought made her hands tremble as she ladled stew into bowls. She excused herself as soon as she was done, and escaped upstairs.
"Is something the matter with Hilde?" Lucrezia asked, breaking apart a freshly baked biscuit.
Relena shook her head. "I could not say, sister."
She felt a pang of guilt when she realized that the entire meal passed before she thought about Hilde again. It was just too much of a dream come true to share a meal with Heero with her brother's blessing. She couldn't eat much; she just wanted to watch him eat. It thrilled her to know that once they were married, she'd have this every day.
He stayed awhile afterwards, waiting for her to clear the table, as Hilde had yet to come downstairs. When she was through with the chore, she came into the living area and found him sitting next to the fire, examining the contents of her sewing basket. One item in particular seemed to have captured his attention.
"'Twill be sheets," Relena informed him.
Heero looked over at her. "For our bed?"
"Aye." Her cheeks felt warm and it wasn't the heat from the fireplace.
He set the basket down and stood up. "I would ask for a kiss, if the good minister rested not in the other room."
"I might grant thee one nonetheless."
"Would you?"
Relena closed her eyes as he came closer. His lips touched hers a second later, but it was an innocent kiss. When she opened them again, Heero was already starting for the door, collecting his cape, hat and gloves along the way. She moved into the doorway between the living area and the hall, leaning against the wood for support as she watched him don his winter apparel. "God go with thee," she said in a near whisper.
He opened the door, and glanced back at her. "Good night."
She let out a little sigh once he was gone. All it took was one look from him to leave her knees as unstable as a Christmas pudding.
It was then that she remembered Hilde's strange behavior. Gathering her skirts in one hand, Relena started up the stairs. "Hilde?"
Hilde heard her name being called, but couldn't bring herself to stir from the tight ball she'd tucked herself into under the quilts on the bed she and Relena shared. "Hilde?" She closed her eyes when Relena entered their room. The straw mattress sank a bit as her friend crawled onto it. "Are you feeling unwell, Hilde?"
She couldn't bring herself to lie, so she simply shook her head. But Relena didn't fall for it. "Should I call Heero back to examine thee?"
"Nay." Hilde turned a bit to see the other girl. Her friend was worried about her; her eyes gave her away. "Miss Relena, I have a terrible secret." Relena wasn't the type of person who would have pressed to hear it, which was why a second later, Hilde sat up and looked her master's sister straight in the eye. "I fear that…I am with child."
Relena brought her hand up to her mouth. "Oh…Hilde."
The girl's tears spilled over. "God punishes me, Miss Relena! For loving Duo too much, and letting my love lead me astray."
"Hilde," she repeated. Taking a breath, Relena reached for her friend. "Tis true that love leads you where it will, but it cannot be that a babe is punishment for any sin."
Hilde shook her head, her short, dark curls clinging to the moisture on her cheeks. "I shall burn in Hell."
"And where shall Duo be whilst you roast in Hell?" There was a pause. "He knows not?"
"Aye."
"He cannot marry thee."
"Aye."
Relena thought for a second. "If the child be born without a marriage, twill be thee who will suffer for it." She frowned. Hilde would suffer, and suffer greatly. Fornication was amongst the most grievous of sins in the eyes of the village. Yet, there was little she could do to help her friend. Hilde couldn't just disappear; she had nowhere to go. Her family would rather see her dead than live with the shame of welcoming an unwed mother back into their house. If she stayed, the villagers would dole out their own punishments.
"Tis hopeless, then." Sobbing, Hilde leaned into her, and Relena held her friend's trembling body tightly.
It was then that Relena remembered something. "Hilde." She pulled away and looked into her wet, blue eyes. "A marriage cannot happen, and the babe cannot be born. There remains only one way."
"What 'tis that, Miss Relena?"
The blonde girl stood from the bed and paced for a few seconds. "First you must decide if you are willing to endure the punishments, that you might have Duo's child. And Hilde, if you are not, I shall not judge you now or ever. 'T'were I in your shoes, I cannot say that I could, either."
Hilde's eyes darted about. She licked her lips and shook her head. "I could survive, Miss Relena, were Duo by my side, husband or not. But I shall not name him as the father, and put him through more than he already must endure. 'Tis my shame, not his."
"I know of your love for him, Hilde, but are you certain that…"
"Aye. Do not ask me again."
Relena nodded, rather reluctantly. After another moment, she continued, "There 'tis a woman who lives deep in the wood. Like her mother, who was once a villager, she has the gift of herbal healing. I have heard tales of other women who have sought her aid when they cannot conceive…or wish to carry no more babes."
Realization dawned, and Hilde's hands began to tremble. "Think you I should seek her out?"
"'Tis your choice."
"Duo shall marry me someday, Miss Relena. But it cannot be tomorrow, nor even in time for this child." She put her hand on her flat belly. "When that day comes, I shall have a hundred babes for him. But now…"
Grasping her friend's hand, Relena nodded. "I shall go with thee. It cannot be tomorrow; we must prepare a grand supper for the Magistrate and his family." She almost made a face, but stopped herself in time. "We shall go before the Sabbath."
"Miss Relena…" Hilde bowed her head. "I cannot thank thee enough."
Relena left Hilde sleeping a few minutes later, and walked back down the stairs. The fire was still going strong; she sank into her chair in front of it. All of the calm she'd displayed in front of her friend dissipated, and Relena began to quietly cry.
She feared the flames of Hell just as much as Hilde.
****
The onslaught of winter kept Trowa Barton from doing what he loved most in the world, working his fields and tending to his farm. With the harvest over and the ground frozen, there was little for him to do after the animals were fed and the firewood was chopped. He was not a man who liked to be idle, and his restlessness was slowly driving his sister to madness.
She told him this over the morning meal, before she would even let him butter his biscuits. "You know that I cannot clean whilst you hang about, whittling."
Trowa blinked. "I am sorry."
"Perhaps you should go into the village," Catherine suggested. "Or better yet, pay a visit to our neighbor up the hill. 'Tis lonely, he must be, knowing nary a soul in the colonies."
He bit into his dry biscuit. Their English neighbor up the hill had hardly been seen since he first arrived; he didn't seem like the type who would enjoy an unsolicited visit. But if only to humor his sister, Trowa nodded. "I shall then."
"Take with you some of my preserves." She stood up from the table to prepare a basket. "Tell him…" She paused, a strange little smile on her face. "Tell him we wish to see him at supper some night."
Because of his inability to say no to Catherine, Trowa found himself riding up the hill after breakfast with a basket of raspberry preserves and the remainder of their morning biscuits tied to his saddle.
Quatre Winner's house was certainly grander than the little cottage his parents had left to him and his sister. The fields around it were covered in snow; he doubted that come spring they would be planted with anything other than grass. The blonde man who owned them had probably never handled anything but money in his entire life.
Just as he was dismounting, the man in question appeared from around the corner of the house, carrying a bucket full of snow to be melted into drinking water. He stopped when he caught sight of Trowa.
The snow was pure white, but somehow Quatre Winner seemed even cleaner. His hair could not be called yellow, yet it looked like what Trowa imagined gold to be. His clothes were simple, but stylish, and the body that wore them was neither delicate, nor brawny.
Trowa landed on the ground and raised his hand. "Good morrow."
"Same to you," Quatre echoed. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he started towards his guest. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit, neighbor?"
"My sister wished that you have some of her preserves," he replied, untying the basket. "And she sends an invitation to sup at our home soon."
Was it his imagination, or did the English man's expression fall just a bit. "I thank your sister, then. On both accounts." He set his bucket down on the snow-littered ground, and took the basket. "Will you join me? I have not broken my fast yet."
Even though he was not hungry, Trowa nodded. "Aye."
It comforted him to see that the house was not nearly so grand on the inside as it appeared to be from the road. The tables and chairs were all coarsely made, and it lacked the feminine touches that only a woman could provide, such as curtains and pots of flowers. It was the home of a bachelor, the sort he would find himself living in once Catherine found a man to marry. Because he had little interest in marriage for himself.
"Make yourself comfortable," Quatre told him, gesturing to the table. "Would you like some tea?"
"Aye." Trowa sat, and without realizing it, watched Quatre as he moved around the hearth. The snow melted over the fire within minutes; it was immediately poured into a pot to boil. The blonde man gathered china cups, no doubt brought over from England, and set out a bowl of brown sugar.
"I am afraid I have no cream to offer you," he apologized.
"It matters not."
Quatre took the kettle off the fire. "You do not say much, do you?"
Trowa lifted his shoulders. "I speak when there is need to speak."
"You'd make a horrible courtier, then," he chuckled, continuing to fix their tea. "I was not much of one myself, I must admit. I had no interest in the affairs and scandals of the royal family. I spent as little time in London as possible, I assure you." He handed Trowa a cup.
"Is that why you came here?"
Quatre lifted the cork lid from one jar of preserves. "There were many reasons. That was merely one of them." Trowa nodded and sipped his tea. "When I discovered that my family owned this…this house, I decided it was time to leave England altogether and seek a life elsewhere."
"And have you found it?"
"A life?" He dipped his knife into the jam and spread it onto a biscuit. "I cannot say for sure yet. I will say, though, that if this is my life, it is certainly not for the weak at heart. Winters in England are never this harsh, and it's barely even begun, from what I hear."
Trowa set down his cup. "I know you not well, but I do not believe you are weak at heart."
There was something hanging in the air, and neither of them was willing to define it. So, it hung, thick, but intangible, choking their conversation. Finally, Quatre spoke. "Do you look down on me? For not attending your Meetings?"
"'Tis no man's matter how another man worships, or even if he does at all. I am only a man, and it is not my place to judge."
"I admire you for that." Quatre bit down on the inside of his cheek, drawing blood. "I admire you." A moment passed. "Forgive me. I only meant…"
Trowa held up his hand. "I judge not…lest I be judged myself." He stood up suddenly. "Shall I tell my sister to expect you next week?"
With the taste of blood heavy in his mouth, Quatre nodded. "Give her my thanks."
He nodded, and started for the door. Halfway to it, Trowa turned back around. "I admire you, too."
Once he was back outside, Trowa swung himself up onto his horse. He sat in the saddle for a long moment, staring down at his hands. When he looked up, he saw Quatre standing in the window of his house, watching him.
Trowa tapped the horses' sides with his boots, and the animal lurched forward. He guided him into a trot, putting as much distance between the house and himself as he could.
"God forgive me."
****
To Be Continued
Author's Notes: Due to extreme life situations and even more extreme time constrictions, Loyce is, unfortunately, not going to be able to co-author this story with me anymore, although we still talk about plot happenings every now and then. I'm going to miss writing with her, because it was a lot of fun. Sniff. Okay, just needed to let everyone know that. Enjoy this chapter; sorry it took so long to get out. I'm going to try not to let as much time pass before the next update. Thank you everyone who's still reading, and everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I appreciate it very much!
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And He Walks With Me
by Kristen Elizabeth
****
Dorothy had come to both dread and crave Wednesdays and Sundays. While it was true that there was absolutely nothing drearier than an hour-long sermon damning everything that made life enjoyable, it also couldn't be overlooked that Meetings were the two times during the week when she could get out of the stifling silence of her cousin's house and interact with the villagers, such as they were.
Her dresses still shocked them, and that absolutely delighted Dorothy. For awhile, she'd been afraid that Treize's mild disapproval of the bright fabrics and slit sleeves would start to echo the downright outrage she perceived from the town's women, but in the few weeks she'd been in the colonies, her cousin's attentions had been elsewhere, even in the midst of conversation. She wasn't sure what was preoccupying him, but as long as he left her alone to dress as she liked, she really couldn't bring herself to care.
That Sunday, five weeks after her arrival, she found herself walking--of all things, walking!--towards the nondescript Meeting House, facing another hour of religious babble and disapproving looks. Mariemaia was at her side, chattering as she too often did. The girl had been amusing for a brief time, but now Dorothy found her company irksome, to say the least. Even now, she went on and on about the new dress that was being made for her, and how it was going to be dark blue thanks to some sort of berry. Dark blue. Dorothy shook her head. In London, she'd had dresses in every color of the rainbow. Most of them had stayed behind, but the ones she still had, including the pale green frock she was currently wearing, were far more eye-catching than indigo blue could ever hope to be.
Still, she let Mariemaia talk, and let her believe that she was actually listening. Truthfully, Dorothy's thoughts of late had one path, and it inevitably lead to one person. The person who, as they drew closer to the Meeting House, came into their sight a few paces ahead of them. All pretense of giving a damn about Mariemaia's country clothing faded as Dorothy studied Heero Yuy.
He was, without a doubt, the most handsome man she'd ever encountered. And therefore, she wanted him more than she had any man before him. For a lady of her station, Dorothy considered herself well versed in the arts and practices of love, or more accurately, lust. Truly, she believed in the latter more. The first was an illusion, something a girl told herself the man rutting between her legs felt for her in order to relieve her own guilt. Lust, however, was tangible. It was power, a power she'd wielded over no less than five men in her short eighteen years. Lust was easy to explain, and even easier to sate. She felt no guilt over it, either.
Heero Yuy was a man built with the sole purpose of sating a woman's lust. How else could one explain his tall frame of lean muscles, his soul-piercing eyes, and that mouth that was so often set into a frown, perhaps to hide just how much pleasure it would be capable of creating. Some higher power had put him together just so, but Dorothy couldn't believe that it was the chaste god of his religion…anymore than she could believe that beautiful body and even more perfectly shaped hands were going to be wasted on a pale ninny like Relena Peacecraft.
Even now as she thought about their engagement, which had only just been made public at the last Meeting, she wanted to scream. Not that she had any intention or desire to marry Heero. He might have been set to take over the village's doctoring needs, but he had no money to his name, no title, and therefore held no appeal as a husband. No, Dorothy only wanted Heero in once place, and that was warming her bed whenever she felt the urge. But these damn Puritans were so uptight about sex and marriage; even if she could sway Heero into breaking his vows, unspoken or official, the consequences if they happened to be caught were, quite literally, a matter of life and death. And after the fiasco with Otto, she no longer believed in having a perfectly discreet affair.
She had no intention of having her neck stretched simply for a good roll in the hay.
Although, she thought, as Relena appeared around a bend in the same road they were all taking into town, with her pregnant sister-in-law and silly little maid in tow, it might be worth the risk just to watch the ninny's heart break.
"Tell me about Miss Peacecraft," Dorothy said suddenly, interrupting her young cousin in mid-sentence.
Mariemaia blinked. "What is it you wish to know, Cousin?"
"Don't be a child, Mariemaia," she snapped. "Tell me about her relationship with her betrothed."
"Mister Yuy?" The girl pursed her lips, thinking hard. "I am hard pressed to remember a time when they did not fancy one another."
Dorothy sighed. "That's not saying much. You're barely out of nappies."
Mariemaia's chin wobbled slightly, but she continued, for no other reason than to regain her cousin's favor. The first few days of their friendship had been so pleasant. Exchanging secrets, Dorothy's stories about life in London…she wanted to get back that sisterly affection, the woman's touch she had long been missing in her life. "'Tis said that the Minister cares not for the match. 'Tis also said…" She lowered her voice. "…that a marriage between my father and Miss Peacecraft had been discussed."
"What a wonderful match." She couldn't hold back her wicked smile. The very idea of perfect little Relena in an arranged marriage to her cousin who, although he was still a handsome man, was nearly twice her age…it was delicious. "Why did it not come about?"
"Miss Peacecraft and Mister Yuy are in love," the child replied simply, as though there could not possibly be another explanation. "I think it frightfully romantic."
Dorothy yawned behind her hand. "I think it frightfully dull, myself." Her cool eyes watched Relena. Heero had joined the trio of women on the very edge of the center of town, escorting them all. But Relena was the only one on his arm. "What on earth could he possibly find attractive about her?"
"Do you like her not, Cousin?"
"I have no care for women who are scared of their very shadows," she replied, sharply. "Relena Peacecraft has not the sense of a housefly, blindly following every rule set out for her. I pity Heero Yuy. It is a cold bed into which he is marrying himself."
Mariemaia looked up at the older girl. "What mean you by that?"
"Never you mind." Dorothy smiled to herself. "Yet."
****
It was all Hilde could do to keep her hands and feet still during the sermon. For fear that if she looked elsewhere she might seem guilty, she sat on the hard bench and stared at a spot just beyond Millardo's head as he spoke. He went on for what seemed like hours, but she could have summed it all up in one sentence.
If you give in to the pleasures of the flesh, you will burn in everlasting Hell.
The Meeting House was unbearably hot. Several times Hilde found herself pressing a handkerchief to her forehead, although Relena and Lucrezia shivered beside her. She supposed she must already have a toe into Hell.
Her secret was eating her up inside, especially when she was anywhere near him. Duo. Hilde allowed herself one small glance over her shoulder. He was in the back of the House, like usual, standing with the other handful of indentured servants. His eyes were closed and as she watched, his head lolled forward. He was half-asleep.
Strangely infuriated, Hilde turned back around. How could he not even be paying attention? He was just as guilty of the sins Millardo Peacecraft preached against; wasn't he worried about his own soul? Of course not. He wasn't the one who was being punished. And truthfully, she didn't want him to be punished. He already suffered so much for choices he was forced to make as a child. She would not add to his burdens.
Her stomach lurched, and she prayed that the cold meal they'd eaten before the Meeting would stay down. Nothing much seemed to these days; it was becoming quite a chore to keep her daily bouts of sickness a secret. She had no idea how far into her shame she was, and every night she fell asleep with the worry that her stomach might turn round in the night. Even now that fear made her blood cold. Secrets like the one she carried did not keep well.
But Hilde had no one to turn to, and her options, as best she could figure them, were severely limited. She and Duo could not marry. But if she had a child outside of marriage, the punishments both she and the babe would endure were too horrible to think about. There was little else to do, except pray for divine intervention. But even hoping that she would lose the baby was a sin. She had made her bed, even though it had really just been a soft blanket in the middle of the woods, and now she would have to lie in it. Alone.
"Hilde, whatever is the matter?" Relena whispered in her ear.
"I am fine," she replied just as quietly. "My apologies, missus."
The blonde girl took Hilde's hand. "We shall talk later."
"Later" turned out to be much later. The Meeting ended, and it fell upon Hilde to prepare the evening meal, as Heero came to dinner and Relena's attentions were certainly not on rabbit stew. As there was company, Hilde ate what little she could force down in the lean-to before she went inside the house to serve the family.
Jealousy was another sin she could add to her pile, for she felt its horrible bite whenever she looked at the betrothed couple. They were so obviously happy, especially now that they had Millardo's grudging acceptance, at least enough for him to welcome Heero to his table. She wanted to see herself in her friend's place; she wanted to sit down to dinner with Duo, free and clear of sin. The thought made her hands tremble as she ladled stew into bowls. She excused herself as soon as she was done, and escaped upstairs.
"Is something the matter with Hilde?" Lucrezia asked, breaking apart a freshly baked biscuit.
Relena shook her head. "I could not say, sister."
She felt a pang of guilt when she realized that the entire meal passed before she thought about Hilde again. It was just too much of a dream come true to share a meal with Heero with her brother's blessing. She couldn't eat much; she just wanted to watch him eat. It thrilled her to know that once they were married, she'd have this every day.
He stayed awhile afterwards, waiting for her to clear the table, as Hilde had yet to come downstairs. When she was through with the chore, she came into the living area and found him sitting next to the fire, examining the contents of her sewing basket. One item in particular seemed to have captured his attention.
"'Twill be sheets," Relena informed him.
Heero looked over at her. "For our bed?"
"Aye." Her cheeks felt warm and it wasn't the heat from the fireplace.
He set the basket down and stood up. "I would ask for a kiss, if the good minister rested not in the other room."
"I might grant thee one nonetheless."
"Would you?"
Relena closed her eyes as he came closer. His lips touched hers a second later, but it was an innocent kiss. When she opened them again, Heero was already starting for the door, collecting his cape, hat and gloves along the way. She moved into the doorway between the living area and the hall, leaning against the wood for support as she watched him don his winter apparel. "God go with thee," she said in a near whisper.
He opened the door, and glanced back at her. "Good night."
She let out a little sigh once he was gone. All it took was one look from him to leave her knees as unstable as a Christmas pudding.
It was then that she remembered Hilde's strange behavior. Gathering her skirts in one hand, Relena started up the stairs. "Hilde?"
Hilde heard her name being called, but couldn't bring herself to stir from the tight ball she'd tucked herself into under the quilts on the bed she and Relena shared. "Hilde?" She closed her eyes when Relena entered their room. The straw mattress sank a bit as her friend crawled onto it. "Are you feeling unwell, Hilde?"
She couldn't bring herself to lie, so she simply shook her head. But Relena didn't fall for it. "Should I call Heero back to examine thee?"
"Nay." Hilde turned a bit to see the other girl. Her friend was worried about her; her eyes gave her away. "Miss Relena, I have a terrible secret." Relena wasn't the type of person who would have pressed to hear it, which was why a second later, Hilde sat up and looked her master's sister straight in the eye. "I fear that…I am with child."
Relena brought her hand up to her mouth. "Oh…Hilde."
The girl's tears spilled over. "God punishes me, Miss Relena! For loving Duo too much, and letting my love lead me astray."
"Hilde," she repeated. Taking a breath, Relena reached for her friend. "Tis true that love leads you where it will, but it cannot be that a babe is punishment for any sin."
Hilde shook her head, her short, dark curls clinging to the moisture on her cheeks. "I shall burn in Hell."
"And where shall Duo be whilst you roast in Hell?" There was a pause. "He knows not?"
"Aye."
"He cannot marry thee."
"Aye."
Relena thought for a second. "If the child be born without a marriage, twill be thee who will suffer for it." She frowned. Hilde would suffer, and suffer greatly. Fornication was amongst the most grievous of sins in the eyes of the village. Yet, there was little she could do to help her friend. Hilde couldn't just disappear; she had nowhere to go. Her family would rather see her dead than live with the shame of welcoming an unwed mother back into their house. If she stayed, the villagers would dole out their own punishments.
"Tis hopeless, then." Sobbing, Hilde leaned into her, and Relena held her friend's trembling body tightly.
It was then that Relena remembered something. "Hilde." She pulled away and looked into her wet, blue eyes. "A marriage cannot happen, and the babe cannot be born. There remains only one way."
"What 'tis that, Miss Relena?"
The blonde girl stood from the bed and paced for a few seconds. "First you must decide if you are willing to endure the punishments, that you might have Duo's child. And Hilde, if you are not, I shall not judge you now or ever. 'T'were I in your shoes, I cannot say that I could, either."
Hilde's eyes darted about. She licked her lips and shook her head. "I could survive, Miss Relena, were Duo by my side, husband or not. But I shall not name him as the father, and put him through more than he already must endure. 'Tis my shame, not his."
"I know of your love for him, Hilde, but are you certain that…"
"Aye. Do not ask me again."
Relena nodded, rather reluctantly. After another moment, she continued, "There 'tis a woman who lives deep in the wood. Like her mother, who was once a villager, she has the gift of herbal healing. I have heard tales of other women who have sought her aid when they cannot conceive…or wish to carry no more babes."
Realization dawned, and Hilde's hands began to tremble. "Think you I should seek her out?"
"'Tis your choice."
"Duo shall marry me someday, Miss Relena. But it cannot be tomorrow, nor even in time for this child." She put her hand on her flat belly. "When that day comes, I shall have a hundred babes for him. But now…"
Grasping her friend's hand, Relena nodded. "I shall go with thee. It cannot be tomorrow; we must prepare a grand supper for the Magistrate and his family." She almost made a face, but stopped herself in time. "We shall go before the Sabbath."
"Miss Relena…" Hilde bowed her head. "I cannot thank thee enough."
Relena left Hilde sleeping a few minutes later, and walked back down the stairs. The fire was still going strong; she sank into her chair in front of it. All of the calm she'd displayed in front of her friend dissipated, and Relena began to quietly cry.
She feared the flames of Hell just as much as Hilde.
****
The onslaught of winter kept Trowa Barton from doing what he loved most in the world, working his fields and tending to his farm. With the harvest over and the ground frozen, there was little for him to do after the animals were fed and the firewood was chopped. He was not a man who liked to be idle, and his restlessness was slowly driving his sister to madness.
She told him this over the morning meal, before she would even let him butter his biscuits. "You know that I cannot clean whilst you hang about, whittling."
Trowa blinked. "I am sorry."
"Perhaps you should go into the village," Catherine suggested. "Or better yet, pay a visit to our neighbor up the hill. 'Tis lonely, he must be, knowing nary a soul in the colonies."
He bit into his dry biscuit. Their English neighbor up the hill had hardly been seen since he first arrived; he didn't seem like the type who would enjoy an unsolicited visit. But if only to humor his sister, Trowa nodded. "I shall then."
"Take with you some of my preserves." She stood up from the table to prepare a basket. "Tell him…" She paused, a strange little smile on her face. "Tell him we wish to see him at supper some night."
Because of his inability to say no to Catherine, Trowa found himself riding up the hill after breakfast with a basket of raspberry preserves and the remainder of their morning biscuits tied to his saddle.
Quatre Winner's house was certainly grander than the little cottage his parents had left to him and his sister. The fields around it were covered in snow; he doubted that come spring they would be planted with anything other than grass. The blonde man who owned them had probably never handled anything but money in his entire life.
Just as he was dismounting, the man in question appeared from around the corner of the house, carrying a bucket full of snow to be melted into drinking water. He stopped when he caught sight of Trowa.
The snow was pure white, but somehow Quatre Winner seemed even cleaner. His hair could not be called yellow, yet it looked like what Trowa imagined gold to be. His clothes were simple, but stylish, and the body that wore them was neither delicate, nor brawny.
Trowa landed on the ground and raised his hand. "Good morrow."
"Same to you," Quatre echoed. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he started towards his guest. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit, neighbor?"
"My sister wished that you have some of her preserves," he replied, untying the basket. "And she sends an invitation to sup at our home soon."
Was it his imagination, or did the English man's expression fall just a bit. "I thank your sister, then. On both accounts." He set his bucket down on the snow-littered ground, and took the basket. "Will you join me? I have not broken my fast yet."
Even though he was not hungry, Trowa nodded. "Aye."
It comforted him to see that the house was not nearly so grand on the inside as it appeared to be from the road. The tables and chairs were all coarsely made, and it lacked the feminine touches that only a woman could provide, such as curtains and pots of flowers. It was the home of a bachelor, the sort he would find himself living in once Catherine found a man to marry. Because he had little interest in marriage for himself.
"Make yourself comfortable," Quatre told him, gesturing to the table. "Would you like some tea?"
"Aye." Trowa sat, and without realizing it, watched Quatre as he moved around the hearth. The snow melted over the fire within minutes; it was immediately poured into a pot to boil. The blonde man gathered china cups, no doubt brought over from England, and set out a bowl of brown sugar.
"I am afraid I have no cream to offer you," he apologized.
"It matters not."
Quatre took the kettle off the fire. "You do not say much, do you?"
Trowa lifted his shoulders. "I speak when there is need to speak."
"You'd make a horrible courtier, then," he chuckled, continuing to fix their tea. "I was not much of one myself, I must admit. I had no interest in the affairs and scandals of the royal family. I spent as little time in London as possible, I assure you." He handed Trowa a cup.
"Is that why you came here?"
Quatre lifted the cork lid from one jar of preserves. "There were many reasons. That was merely one of them." Trowa nodded and sipped his tea. "When I discovered that my family owned this…this house, I decided it was time to leave England altogether and seek a life elsewhere."
"And have you found it?"
"A life?" He dipped his knife into the jam and spread it onto a biscuit. "I cannot say for sure yet. I will say, though, that if this is my life, it is certainly not for the weak at heart. Winters in England are never this harsh, and it's barely even begun, from what I hear."
Trowa set down his cup. "I know you not well, but I do not believe you are weak at heart."
There was something hanging in the air, and neither of them was willing to define it. So, it hung, thick, but intangible, choking their conversation. Finally, Quatre spoke. "Do you look down on me? For not attending your Meetings?"
"'Tis no man's matter how another man worships, or even if he does at all. I am only a man, and it is not my place to judge."
"I admire you for that." Quatre bit down on the inside of his cheek, drawing blood. "I admire you." A moment passed. "Forgive me. I only meant…"
Trowa held up his hand. "I judge not…lest I be judged myself." He stood up suddenly. "Shall I tell my sister to expect you next week?"
With the taste of blood heavy in his mouth, Quatre nodded. "Give her my thanks."
He nodded, and started for the door. Halfway to it, Trowa turned back around. "I admire you, too."
Once he was back outside, Trowa swung himself up onto his horse. He sat in the saddle for a long moment, staring down at his hands. When he looked up, he saw Quatre standing in the window of his house, watching him.
Trowa tapped the horses' sides with his boots, and the animal lurched forward. He guided him into a trot, putting as much distance between the house and himself as he could.
"God forgive me."
****
To Be Continued