The Rugged Edge

Chapter 10: The Guard Who Could Smile

How do they smile
while I crumble with woe?
How is there laughter
when joy's caught in my throat?

. . . . .

A couple of nights later, I was dressed all in black again, stealing away to the camp. Quinnie was the first to see me.

"Eloise!" she exclaimed. "How did it go?"

"Well... nothing much happened," I said.

"Well, that's alright, I'm sure you'll find something soon." She blushed. "Sorry, Geraint told me you were a spy in the castle. He tells me about pretty much everything, even if it's against the rules... Oh! He'll be here tonight, he said, as early as he could be! You can meet him."

"Alright," I said.

I'd thought very much about the guard who had, apparently, stolen Act CXII. I'd thought of him almost everyday since I was eleven. Mostly with anger, or at least regret. But now I just felt curiosity.

"I think he'll be here soon," said Quinnie happily.

"I'm eager to meet him," I replied cheerily, more cheerily, in fact, than I'd been in a very long time.

Quinnie smiled. "You know, we got a new recruit today. Apparently she was here a long time ago, but left and just rejoined. She knows Rufus."

I wondered vaguely who it could be, but I thought I already knew someone who fit that description very well. And sure enough, Bessy, who had been sitting with her back to us on a log, stood up and hurried over to us, smiling.

"Hello, Ise, dear," she said, and hugged me.

"Bessy!" I exclaimed. "Why are you here?"

"I joined up again... I thought they could use me now, since they don't threaten you any longer. I mean, Rufus still doesn't mean to let you be queen, but at least he won't hurt you."

She smiled sadly, but there was a glimmer in her eye at being a "wild woman" again.

"This is Quinnie," I said.

"Oh! You know each other," Quinnie said, still smiling. "And Geraint's coming, look!" She pointed into the trees, towards Rokenfort.

Sure enough, a tall young man with dark hair came hiking through the brush. The firelight shone on him so that I could see that he wore a guard uniform just like all of the guards that I'd seen around the castle, with high boots and a sword in its sheath. He looked like he could be eighteen or nineteen. He watched his boots against the leaves, and didn't look up until he reached the treeline. He smiled widely when he saw Quinnie.

"Quin!" he exclaimed playfully, but with clear joy.

Quinnie ran and hugged him. Already, I could tell that they had a fantastic sibling bond, and for a second I wondered what that could be like.

Quinnie let go abruptly, holding out her hand to me as if she were introducing a long-awaited performance, and said with a relish, "Geraint, this is Eloise, and this is..."

"Bessy," complied the sweet old lady, smiling like usual.

Geraint smiled, too. "Very nice to meet you. I've heard about both of you."

I smiled awkwardly. I mean, it was awkward to think that anyone had heard of me.

Bessy briefly placed her hand on my shoulder and said, "Ise, dear, I'm going to go help with dinner; the men have just arrived." And she left.

"Ise, huh?" said Geraint playfully.

"Oh, no, it's just a nickname..." I said quickly. It felt weird to have anyone call me that except for Bessy. She was, you know, Bessy... and I'd just met these people.

"No, I like it!" exclaimed Quinnie amiably. "You should keep it."

Sure, I thought. That's not going to happen. But it was too late.

"Right, Ise, we'd better get to eating or we'll miss out on the good stuff - there are still carrots left," said Geraint amiably. It was only then that I noticed how much he looked like Quinnie.

I spent my second night in the rebel camp with Geraint and Quinnie. It was the best time I'd had in all my life. They were both so open and kind, so easy-going, even though I knew how hard Geraint's job must be. He was so older-brotherly, and Quinnie wasn't afraid to show that she looked up to him. I wished I'd been born into that family rather than as a princess. As I thought this, I almost found myself crying for the family I'd never had.

What was with all this sudden wanting to cry?

After a while spent sitting and eating, and listening to the brother and sister laugh, a middle-aged man came over and plopped down next to our little trio.

"Hello, Geraint," he said, smiling (how could everyone smile so much?). He had dark hair and looked like an older version of Geraint. It was then that I realized that both Geraint and Quinnie, in addition to this new acquaintance, all had bright green eyes.

"Ise, this is our father," said Quinnie. It felt so new that she called me Ise, yet somehow natural.

"Broderick," said the man, putting out his hand. I shook it.

"Eloise."

At that late hour on that dark night, I found a puzzle that would press on me for a very long time. That family - with their sweet ways, their joyful ways - left an imprint on my mind. As I went to bed that night, I couldn't find out how they did it. Maybe it was my own life that I compared it to. I'd never seen a life of joy, except for maybe the first four years of my life, and I'd never been able to laugh. Even with these people, the weight of everything I knew and lived for hid away any laugh. Any sincere smile. So Quinnie's gentle and happy countenance, Geraint's brotherly and playful ways, Mae's motherly smiles, Broderick's mirroring of all of these personalities... they all puzzled me. When the whole world was a grey mess, a gloomy haze, they seemed to be able to see a slim shaft of sunshine, and grab hold of it. I even felt angry. How could they be happy when so many people suffered - when I suffered? When everyone I saw seemed hopeless, they had hope.

And suddenly I wanted that. I wanted to be hopeful. For the first time in a long time, I fell asleep with this thought: I cannot be hopeful. There's nothing to be hopeful for.