Treasured

(A Special Chapter) (28)

In Honor of 100k views, I am posting some special chapters! The first 2-3 will be in Mr. Eddie's P. O. V. Enjoy!

Also, special chapters are basically one shots or bonus chapters that I didn't know how to fit into the flow of the main story. They may mention Orion or other things that point to an earlier time in the story, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's a flashback.

Mr. Edward Price

I frowned, staring down at the second note that was left for Wren. He hadn't wanted to open it, and I couldn't blame him. Wren was delicate and frightened already which was more than understandable when one remembers that he was thrown off of a balcony and crippled by the same person who snuck into a bedroom he was sleeping in to leave the note in the first place.

The contents of the note were concise but just as equally chilling. Even though I would consider myself to be a man of action, the words gave me pause.

Wren,

Just as silently as this note was delivered, so will your death come. By my hand, your heart will still, and we will both vanish - ghosts to the world.

Wren hadn't been with us more than a few weeks, and yet...well, I believe the lads loved him wholly. I could see it in their actions, words, and looks.

To be honest, I was like melted wax in his hands. I never felt so vulnerable than when I was around him. He had the talent of looking through you and into your soul. He could see who you were despite the emotional walls or facades.

The way he looked at me as if I could carry the world on my shoulders and still have a hand free to treasure his heart...it pushed me to be better than I was. I wanted to be the one he ran to in trouble. I wanted him to feel safe and cared for in my arms.

I wanted to ravish him, and show him how much I loved him both in word and deed. I wanted him to fall apart at my slightest touch, to crave my lips on his skin.

More importantly, I wanted him to be happy with me. He had brightened my day with his smiles. The effort he put in to make us all smile, the way he was so eager to contribute no matter how small the task was, the love that he lavished on us all so freely...I couldn't fathom how perfect of a creature could be within reach.

~

"Sir," Fletcher knocked on my door just before breakfast. "June is having another episode..."

I immediately put my quill down, scrambling for the stairs. My heart was pounding in my chest, sympathy welling in my very soul.

June was never expressive, so most people would never guess he had a physical ailment. But every few weeks he would have such a bad headache he couldn't move from his bed. The lights were too bright, sometimes he couldn't stomach any food, and he was in absolute agony. His sight would go completely off, and the room spun in circles. I hated that for him, especially since he never complained.

"Fletcher, go get some peppermint tea, and let the lads know lessons are cancelled for the morning although they will still be tutored this afternoon," I quickly decided as we reached the hall which led to June's door.

"Alright, Eddie," Fletcher nodded.

"Fletcher," I snagged his wrist before he could retreat to the kitchen.

Pulling him to me, I pressed my lips to his cheek, letting him lean his weight on me for a sacred moment. Fletcher was the calm and peaceful force that influenced the other lads. He was just playful enough to keep good humor, but mostly he was steady and kind and it reassured the younger ones. But sometimes he needed that for himself too.

"Hey, I love you," I whispered, putting all the weight and sincerity I could muster into the words.

My hands curled into his hair, tilting his face so I could pepper his nose, chin, and cheeks in tiny little pecks. He fluttered his lashes, a small smile quirking half of his mouth up.

"I love you too, Eddie," Fletcher softly replied, covering my lips with a firm press of his own.

He tasted of something sweet and cool. Like snow and molasses candy. I turned, content with the knowledge that he knew how I cherished him. Before I let his hand slip out of mine, I squeezed it slightly. Oh, how I loved my boy.

~

June's room was dark, but I could still see the perspiration on his upper lip. I sighed quietly, pouring some water in a basin and wringing a rag out. I placed it on June's forehead, making him sigh in relief. I quickly removed my vest, coat, and boots, crawling into bed with June. He rested in my lap, humming as I continued to wash his face and neck and massage his aching head.

A gentle knock on the door had me glancing up, a small smile appearing as two little angels appeared. Sal carried the tray filled with breakfast and tea, while Wren followed behind, a book in one hand.

Sal gently put his service ware down on the night table, pouring three cups of tea and making a small plate of food for me. It was something light, with little aroma for June's sake, but it would serve me quite well.

"Feel better, Ju-Ju," Sal whispered, stroking the poor man's cheek gently.

June grunted, turning slightly so he could peck Sal's hand although his eyes remained closed. Meanwhile, Wren had made himself comfortable, squirming until he was cuddling June and rubbing his arm or stomach. He quietly handed me the book, and I saw with surprise that it was June's favorite collection of poetry. Wren was more observant than I had given him credit for.

"Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,-
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies."

I admired John Keats, but this poem struck a special chord within me. In many ways, I felt that the boys I cared for were in their spring, while I was fast approaching autumn. And yet, Keats in a way, was soothing to my spirit, for while I realized I may be approaching autumn days I knew my song would be remembered by those closest to my heart.

June smiled gently as I quietly read the poems that were so cleverly written. Wren, on the other hand, softly slept, lulled to sleep by June's warm body and the sound of my voice. Wren's little hands cradled June's waist, his cheek pressed against June's strong chest, his curls fanned out against June's white shirt.

I lifted my warm cup of tea to my lips, enjoying the sweetness of the moment. Rest did not come easy these days, but here, in the safety of two of my loves, in the warmth of their own affections, in the security of their arms, I felt at peace.

1,397 words.

A shorter chapter, but hopefully enlightening to Mr. Price's mind and thought process.