Emille

Chapter 7

Henry knew enough about proper relations between men and women to know that whatever was going on between Arthur and Ms. Simmons was thoroughly improper. They'd grown practically inseparable in the four weeks she'd been in the cabin, falling into an easy routine. Every day, they woke up before the break of dawn to go for a walk in the woods. They remained outside for half of the day, returning only when the ice and snow had soaked through their coats and turned their fingers frosty. Where they went, Henry didn't know. He wasn't privy to that sort of information. He wasn't privy to any information. Those two were relentlessly secretive. Henry bit back annoyance every time their voices lowered when he was in the room. He couldn't help but feel robbed of his rather grumpy mentor.

He couldn't help but notice Arthur's improved spirits, though. He was still a massive pain in the rear, but he did so with less...emptiness. Henry hadn't realized how hollow his mentor had been before Lillabet. Now his teasing and grunting held warmth. Especially when Lillabet scolded him for being so harsh with Henry. Arthur held his ground when she did so, but looked unnervingly abashed. She was the only person Henry had ever seen speak to him so boldly, so sharply, and get away with it. Despite feeling shut out, Henry was grateful for the reprieve Lillabet's presence granted him. He dreaded the day she'd leave.

He'd grown quite fond of Lillabet. She still made him nervous sometimes, with her forward language and tendency to wear men's attire, but her warmth usually offset any strangeness. She was unlike anyone he'd ever met. After she and Arthur came back from their daily walk through the woods, she changed from her trousers back into her bunched, frilly skirts and her jewelry. Henry could never predict what she'd wear in the evenings. On some days she wore muted, conservative narrow dresses. On others, she wore lacy dresses with endless frills and silks. Henry assumed her clothes were no doubt fashionable, but they were out of place in the cabin. On those days, she danced around the cabin to music only she could hear, sometimes getting Arthur to dance with her. Henry had nearly died of shock when he saw his employer sheepishly agree to dance with her for the first time. He still hadn't gotten used to that.

Arthur was clearly smitten. Henry knew it from the way his eyes followed Lillabet as she flitted around the cabin or sat reading by the fire. He watched her carefully, with reverence. As if he were committing her to memory. A quiet, solemn worship. Lillabet was harder to read. She watched Arthur too, a flirty, teasing glint in her eyes. But Henry got the feeling she was flirty with many. No, her saucy demeanor did nothing to convince Henry that Arthur was dear to her, too. On some evenings, though, he could have sworn he'd caught her looking at Arthur with something bright, something raw blazing in her eyes. When Arthur was laying out herbs to dry with meticulous care, or when he was cleaning his hunting knife by the fire, Lillabet looked at him differently. She devoured him with her eyes hungrily, intently. Henry had always looked away, feeling as if he'd intruded on something intimate.

There wasn't much to do in the cabin in the winter. Lillabet, though, had made sure that there was always entertainment. When the cabin was too quiet, she'd propose a card game, or tell a story, or pull out her paint supplies. Sometimes she made Arthur or Henry sit still while she painted them. She said she was practicing, always practicing. Her technique, or lack thereof, was remarkably terrible, even she could admit. Perhaps this was why she practiced so often. She usually painted Arthur. Said she was trying to do him justice, just once. She hadn't yet produced something that had satisfied her.

Aside from Sundays, when Lillabet rode off to attend church, the days all proceeded this way. Arthur had broken their routine only a few times. Once, during a full moon. Another time during a blizzard, and a third time when he'd heard a raw, animalistic noise echoing in the woods. All three times had been in the dead of night. He'd sat up, and told Lillabet he was going for a walk. She'd looked at him strangely, asking him why. He'd given no further explanation, just strode from the cabin and into the night. Lillabet had stared after him angrily each time, mouth settling into a thin line of disapproval. It wasn't unusual for him to leave in the middle of the night. In fact, before Lillabet, this had been a common occurrence. With Lillabet, though.....it felt disrespectful for reasons Henry couldn't explain. As if Arthur were breaking the dreamy content that had settled over them both. Shattering an illusion that they weren't ready to move on from yet.