Shattered (Watty Awards 2011!)

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Darla, please make sure everything is spotless, and check his room again. Harry's ship gets in early tomorrow afternoon and I would so love it if he could just enjoy being home, you know?"

"Of course, ma'am."

Their voices were muffled, being on the other side of the wall between the kitchen and dining room. Harry, I thought. I had never heard the name. The senior Mr Dinsmoore perhaps? A brother?

I stifled a yawn, blinking back the water from my tired eyes as I slid some dishes into the large sink, turning to wipe my hands on the tea towel. I'd have to remember to ask Peter Dinsmoore about "Harry" later on.

~

He had closed the thin green volume in his long hands, clutching it as he gazed out the high window beside the desk. I slowly dusted Mozart again, noting that the sheet of music was gone.

I pulled the cloth behind my back and slowly approached Peter, hoping he would look up rather than me having to clear my throat awkwardly. Thankfully, he did.

"I hope you haven't been standing there long," he smiled. I rather like his smile, however thin and pale the cheeks that drew it were. I could hardly resist returning it with my own.

"No, I haven't, Mr Dinsmoore. Would it be alright if I asked you a question?"

"It would be."

"Well, then.. Who.. Who is Harry?"

Mr Dinsmoore looked a little bothered by the question. Uncomfortable, or slightly put off. He took a moment to answer, staring down at his green book, passing it between his white hands.

"Harry," he said in a careful, slow voice, "is my younger cousin."

"Oh, I see. And I heard that he's coming to visit tomorrow - coming by ship?"

"Yes he is. He's a sailor. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I just heard your mother and Darla talking about him. I wondered, that's all." I carefully smoothed my dress, forgetting about the dust cloth in my nervousness. It left a long, dark streak across the light gray fabric. "Oh dear," I muttered, trying to brush it off with my fingertips.

Of course, Mr Dinsmoore had noticed my embarrassment; thus, adding to it. I expected him to laugh, or turn his head primly back towards the window with perfect posture fit for the upper-class citizen he was. But instead, he raised his eyebrows just a tiny bit, and said something I knew to be painfully accurate.

"You're terribly nervous around me, Miss Butler. Why? What have I done to make you feel that way?"

I opened my mouth, but could not speak. No words could form coherently on my tongue. For I didn't really, truly know why I felt like that.

"Mr Dinsmoore, you can be quite certain you haven't done anything. I just seem to take a while to adjust. To different situations and everything." I sounded rushed towards the end of my short speech. I mentally slapped myself for never having the right words.

His warm eyes probed a little deeper into mine, and my heart skipped a beat. "You needn't feel that way. Honestly, Emma.

"I know things seem a little odd. I am, after all, a little odd, so that really can't be helped. But I don't bite," he smiled kindly, "and as much as it may seem otherwise, I am able to carry on an intelligent conversation."

"Oh Mr Dinsmoore, I have never doubted that you could! I never- "

"Peter. Call me that."

"Peter," I began again. "Whatever did I do to indicate I thought of you as less than intelligent? I never even thought that."

"Sometimes I feel like a fragile piece of china that people must avoid eye contact with and talk with carefully and avoid negative words when in the presence of and gingerly help around the room, as I am incapable. Don't tell me you don't feel that way."

I was surprised, even though I knew it was true.

"Mr Dinsmoore. I mean, Peter. I am sorry if I have upset you in any way at all. It was never my intention."

"It's fine. You haven't. I simply wondered what I had done, and it somehow turned to thoughts of the wrongs of the world. Or my small fraction of it." He smiled again, a sort of sad, knowing smile that made my heart drop a little lower.

"Emma, I'm sorry if I spoiled your evening."

"You didn't."

There was a long moment of silence before he spoke again.

"Would you mind helping me over to the chair in the corner before you go?"

"Of course not. I'll do it right away."

He slowly stood, grimacing as he pulled his arms away from the desk. I had my arm carefully around his waist and the other over my shoulder. He was very tall, several inches taller than I. If it wasn't for his pallor and thinness, he could almost be domineering. I helped him into the chair gently, gave him a smile and stood back.

"Goodnight, then, Peter. Sleep well."

"Night Emma. And thank you very much. And tomorrow, with Harry, just be careful around him, alright?" He furrowed his brow in slight concern.

"Oh. Well alright then."

"Night, Emma."