Oh take me, oh take me, I’ll wait till night be fadin’,
Take me, Nodens, so I ye entreat.
Then one day a ship on the horizon was seen,
And the woman of silver and grey knew ’twas the sea that had sent it,
So into the waves she walked, serene,
And swam to the ship, reaching it as the waters winked, moonlit.
As anchors were raised, she sang to the sea, arisen!
Thank ye for taking me to those I’ve yet to meet!
I’ll wait no more nights to see those horizons,
You’re taking me home, life’ll be sweet.
You’re taking me home, life is sweet.’
The last notes hung and echoed, stillness and continued silence from the congregation allowing them the time to drift and wander to the furthest rafters. Cheeks burning, fromThorn’s steady and heady gaze, so like that she’d missed of late, yet still plucking at the strings of her heart for its dash of torment, she sat back down, forcing herself to smile to everyone gathered.
Finally, they seemed to wake from hypnosis, or stupor, a great wave of cheers, congratulations, and banging cups meeting her ears. Reassured, she smiled wider, meeting her husband’s gaze again, and trying desperately to let him know that whatever was bothering him, she could make it better.
They all can, this night can, if you’ll only let it.
Let me.
Chapter Sixteen
Thorn was entirely aware that since their unsatisfying, yet admittedly somewhat fruitful trip to market, he’d been something of an ass. Skulking, grumbling, retreating, from Hypatia, and anyone else who dared come near. He’d become himself as he’d been in the days, months, and yes, to a degree, years, after Helen and Frank’s betrayal; a mood, a melancholy, an anger, a feeling, whatever one would term it, which he’d only conquered through industriousness, and admittedly, a hardening of his heart.
He was also entirely aware that Hypatia had done nothing so treacherous, or repugnant; that all she’d done was work to the bone to help him make their home, their livelihood, a success, or like tonight, to make their neighbours and new friends, feel welcome, and thanked, for all the good fortune and grace they’d shared. He was entirely aware that it was his own fault, his own problem, that he’d let some idiot he knew not one whit of twist his heart and mind with laughable and ridiculous words and opinions, said in passing, and that he himself was a better man than this—the thoughts, or the ensuing behaviour—and yet.
He couldn’t seem to stop any of it—the thoughts, or the behaviour—though he justified his recent behaviour on a strange case of preservation; distance meant he could sort out his mind, and his heart, and go back to the loveliness that had been,without saying or doing anything that might injure Hypatia, or anyone else for that matter. He told himself that, all while he knew distance, silence, just made the thoughts rot and boil ever more.
She doesn’t need me.
She doesn’t want me.
I’m not good enough.
I could leave tomorrow, she’d be fine.
Does she even like me?
I suffer without her near, and she thrives, as ever, carrying on as if nothing were wrong.
Though of course, nothing truly waswrong. There were minor catastrophes, and problems, with straightforward solutions. Still, Thorn couldn’t snap out of it.
Tonight’s dinner, or party or whatever they were calling it, might’ve done the trick, had Hypatia not been so damnedglorious. Transforming their house into a welcome home, making it all so beautiful, and taking care of all the arrangements, and eventhinkingof doing it to thank all those who’d showed them kindness. All he’d been able to think was:she didn’t need me but to supervise the butchering of the hogs, and their cooking, man that I am, those are my only duties. He conveniently discarded the reminders his mind gave him that he might’ve very well made daisy chains with her if only he’d asked,talkedto her, said one word; she wouldn’t have cared one whit, or perhaps she might’ve been happy for him to do so.
The evening had revived him in many ways. It was easy not to maturate in one’s own poisonous thoughts when one was distracted by good food, good drink, conversations and games with children. Except that one glance at Hypatia across the room, and how she held everyone’s attention, and shone so bright, and laughed so magnetically, and he would want to be there, by her side, soaking it in. Soaking her in. He wanted herperhaps more than he’d wanted her thus far, and not just her body, but her heart, and her soul, and her thoughts, and her sorrows, and when she’d sung that song, he’d been transfixed, and yet so very sad, because she wouldn’t let him have any of it, and rightfully so, he had no business having any of it, he didn’t deserve it, her, not given the thoughts he was harbouring, and also he had no right, not given the nature of their relationship, agreed and shaken upon, and the fact they’d been married, what, just over a month now?
I can’t even recall—what day is it today?
And to make it all worse, Hypatia hadn’t allowed him to go back to his room and sulk further once the last of their guests departed,oh no, she had to lead him through woods, and paths, and fields, to who knew where, glancing back so often with hope and mischief in her eyes he wanted to get caught up in, but refused to be ensnared in, stubborn bastard that he was.
