And perhaps, that was truly at the root of it all, that very question; or so he purported, and pondered, as he attempted to find his way home in the dark, having paid little attention to where he truly was.
This is going to be a long night. Mayhaps the longest of my life.
Chapter Seventeen
If there was one thing Hypatia couldn’t be accused of doing very often, it was getting lost in melancholy, or sadness. Most of all, it was crying. It wasn’t that she didn’t purposely do so, bottle it all up like some, force tears away for the supposed weakness they demonstrated, or anything thus, it was more that it had been a long time since she’d experienced emotions desperate enough, great enough—good or bad—to need to dwell in them, or have them be so overwhelming they couldn’t but be bodily expressed.
Whether it was a fault in her making, or her upbringing, or indeed, a fault at all, was neither here nor there. The point was, she had from a very young age learned that while others might ponder, and ruminate, and dwell—or rot, depending on one’s perspective—revel, or enjoy, certain feelings, or get caught in dark chains of thought they couldn’t escape from, she didn’t. It wasn’t that she’d always been content with her life—if there were powers above, they knew well she hadn’t been—but somehow her mind, or her heart, or whatever ruled her, allowed her to simply move on. Or notdwell.
So she would in all likelihood never leave her parents’ house, no use crying on it, if it could be changed, she would seize the opportunity. If one such never appeared, well, dwelling on her sad fate would not change it.
So what if Epi had broken her one and only doll? Screaming about it wouldn’t change it. Either the doll could be fixed, or it couldn’t, and if it couldn’t, well, its loss would be mourned promptly and succinctly.
That wasn’t to say there hadn’t been moments of despair, of sorrow—like when Granny Quincy, Hypatia’s only friend and who was like a true granny to her, died—but after a satisfactorily cathartic few days of sadness and crying, Hypatia had moved on with her life. When her parents had taken more interest in Epi, and denied Hypatia her sister lest they need her to assist with care or education or dressing or whatnot, well, she’d mourned that loss, and done what she’d been asked, and hoped her sister would be happy.
Only, as she discovered standing in the middle of the forge that night, she’d never quite been hurt as Thorn had just then. Part of her knew a great portion of the sorrow piercing her chest and threatening to rip her heart from it was due to the fact she’d beensoexcited to show him this, thinking it was just the thing to make him better, and more himself again. That she’d been so excited to do something for him, full stop; though why, now that remained a mystery, beyond the fact that she’d felt the need, the desire to, and notsolelyto make him feel better, and bring back the Thorn she’d missed of late. Another part of her was crushed, disillusioned, and hurt, as it had believed he knew, saw…so much she’dnotsaid; and yet another part desperately wanted to try and untangle it all, find answers as to how and why it had all gone wrong, and examine everything he’d said properly, to find a way forward.
Instead, she did as she felt she must, and stood there, and cried. She cried until her throat was hoarse, and her chest hurt, and there was a big trail of salty tears and other liquids running down her chin. For the first time in a very long time, she let herself feel the tremendous hurt—not only from Thorn’s words,but also from her confusion, and disappointment, and perhaps too all the strain of the past few days, and months and years. And when she had, she heaved in a deep, stilted and shaky breath, and wiped her face with her sleeve in the most unladylike way imaginable, extinguished all the candles and lamps she had lit, and took her lantern, and went home.
For a moment when she arrived back inside, she pondered cleaning up what was left of the mess in the hall—having told the others to simply go to bed and leave it until the morning—but she realised that would not be as beneficial as a proper night’s rest. So she climbed up the stairs, and hoped that Thorn had made his way home, or would, safely—she daren’t check—and cleaned herself, changed, and fell into bed, straight into a dreamless sleep.
A sleep which didn’t turn out to be particularly restorative, but was satisfactory enough to have her up at her usual early hour, dressed, and down to breakfast without any noticeable delay. Thorn wasn’t there, and Hypatia asked Henry if he’d been down already, because no matter what had passed between them, she still cared what happened to him. Henry told her he’d been down an hour prior, and was already out on the farm. So she ate her breakfast in quiet solitude, glad that no harm had come to him, and no search parties need be sent out. Then, she went on about her day, managing to not encounter Thorn—likely by his design, as there hadn’t been a day since he’d come she hadn’t seen him—for which she was glad, for it gave her time, and space, to sort out if not everything, then most of everything.
Not only for herself, but also, for whenever she spoke to Thorn, she needed to know where she stood on many things; what had happened to bring them to this, and how they might move forward. If indeed Thorn wished to speak to her about it all, find a way forward. Everything about him until now gave her hope he would, but then last night, he’d behaved in such a wayshe might not have believed him capable had she not seen it with her own eyes; felt it with her own heart. It was such a radical departure from all she’d known him to do and say and be, that she would never have wagered on it being possible. Even though she supposed, she’d always known he had to have some bad for all the good; as everyone did. Only she’d never expected it to be thus.
And so she worked, and she thought, and she ruminated, and pondered, and worked some more. By the time she was doing her evening checks of the pigs out in the pastures—Truffél and Lamb aiding as they seemed to prefer her company to Thorn’s—she’d come to a few conclusions, or revelations, or answers, or whatever one preferred to term them.
Firstly, that Thorn had behaved very badly indeed, and that she deserved an apology for such ludicrous, and vicious behaviour. In fact, she grew angrier the more she realised just how cowardly he’d been, ruminating for nigh-on a bloody fortnight, avoiding her, keeping all his doubts and fears and all to himself, without even bothering to ask for time to sort through any thoughts that plagued him. Although she understood how difficult it might’ve been to be so honest and forthright, well, they’d spoken of many things openly, and without reserve since the beginning of their acquaintance, and really, only so many excuses could be made.
Secondly, she had to admit that in many ways, though she didn’t like it, she understood where his fears and sense of inadequacy were stemming from, and such feelings were natural. She may not like them, she may know that it wasn’t up to her to engage in behaviours which might make him feel more useful or purposeful, it wasn’t up to her to make him feel like amanwhich she supposed was what this boiled down to in many respects; however, she did understand. He’d been brought up with certain beliefs, a certain path, and now was strugglingto find worth and a place; after having been left by a woman who in essence said he, his dreams, his future, weren’t enough for her. After being forced into a role so many purported he was unworthy of. And so much more.
Thirdly, she realised that—
‘I’m sorry, Hypatia,’ Thorn said from behind her, giving her a start as she closed the gate to the pasture she’d been in, Truffél and Lamb scrambling beneath it to stand at her feet.
Turning, she found him standing there, covered in exhaustion and dishevelment, which weren’t from his day’s work, looking as contrite and annoyingly as handsome as anyone could but no one should have the right to for how it could melt hearts, in the pale pink glow of a long drawn-out sunset.
‘Go home,’ she told Truffél, pointing in the general direction of the house. He looked up at her for a moment, then at Thorn, then snorted, and deciding he’d do as bid, set off, Lamb trailing and bleating behind him. ‘Go on,’ she told Thorn, as invitingly as she could.
‘I was an ass. A cruel one at that. My…sense of worth, my uncertainty and self-doubt, are not your fault, nor yours to bear the brunt of. All you’ve done is stand by my side, fight every battle, offer me yourself, and I threw it back in your face as though it meant nothing. And I am so very sorry, for all of it, and I know I’ve no right to ask for forgiveness, for you to want to take me back, but I am asking, because I care for you too much, for this, for us, to not ask. I never expected any of this, but I’ll be damned if I wish to lose it, to lose you now. I should’ve turned back last night, and fallen to my knees, but I was so caught in a horrid storm of thoughts, however I will do so now, if you wish.’
‘Tempting an image as that might present, Thorn, I don’t want you on your knees,’ she said, the attempted humour and playful jest marred by the sincerity of her statement, and tears pricking her eyes again. ‘I want us standing, together, as wehave been. I accept your apology. I don’t condone the manner in which you expressed yourself, and should you ever do so again, I might not forgive you, but in this instance, perhaps it was a good thing. I did a lot of thinking today.’
‘As did I.’
‘We never courted. We never spent time together before we married, and though we discussed some things, there is much we didn’t have time or occasion to speak of. I suppose that is a problem that plagues many,’ she said, offering a small smile, which Thorn took, with a grateful nod. ‘I for one didn’t imagine all that would happen between us. I don’t just mean the intimacy, but everything being…good. It felt easy, and simple, and I think we got swept up in it, and never really spoke of who we were, and what we need. I thought I was helping, taking certain things in hand, and I see now, how that might’ve made you feel without purpose. So I am sorry too.’
‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for,’ he said, taking a step towards her, then stopping, realising perhaps it was still too early for proximity. ‘Whatever I felt, however inadequate I felt, that was my problem, not yours. I should’ve come to speak to you, I know it’s because of things I heard as a boy, about what a man should and shouldn’t be, and how I felt, being handed my father’s trade, and all Helen said about my lack of ambition, and all the world has to say on what a proper and rightanythingis, and my own skewed views. Because of old wounds, and new ones too, and a sense I’ve always held that my worth depended on how well I controlled things, and handled things, and bettered myself, and supported others, but you’ve no blame in that. There are no excuses to be made.’
‘You should’ve spoken to me, properly,’ she agreed. ‘But I’m not making excuses for you. I happen to like explanations. They help me understand. And I think they can help us find ways to be better together, if you want that.’
‘Of course I want that,’ he promised vehemently, and she smiled, relieved.
‘Do you want to take over things with the farm?’
‘Not unless you wish me to. We continue as we were, together. With you mostly in charge, as you’ve the better grasp.’
‘If you’re sure.’
