Further Up & Further In

First

He said he loved her from the moment he laid eyes on her. Though she tried so hard to keep it pinned, her hair fell down in pieces around her face, and her cheeks were flushed from working. She laughed more brightly than a child on Christmas. Frank was a young man when he began working on her father's farm, and she was the most beautiful young woman he had ever seen. Helen, she was called. Her family called her Nellie. And Frank didn't think of himself as a show-off, but every job he did, he did to impress her.

She, on the other hand, wasn't so certain of love at first sight, but she knew he made her laugh. She thought he was handsome, too. But more than anything, Frank was kind, and she liked that. While he showed off hauling hay, he also went out of his way to help her carry her baskets and pails, and as he did he would talk to her. Sometimes they did more talking than working, until Helen's dad came around and gave Frank another job. No, she wasn't so sure of love at first sight, but maybe their first conversation was enough.

They attended the same church, Frank decked out in his Sunday best, tipping his hat at Helen. His face was always brighter red than her soft flush. Then he sat next to her in the pew, always leaving a respectable distance, but it was close enough. It felt impossible at times, natural at others, wonderful at best, and nerve-wracking at worst. The space between them was expected, and it was comfortable, and all that really mattered to Frank was that she was next to him. And although Frank loved to sing, sometimes he sang quieter so that he could listen to her lovely voice instead. She harmonized beautifully; a skill he had never quite learned.

At the same time, Helen wore nicer dresses, and tried a little harder than usual to keep her hair pinned in place. She loved to hear his voice ring out all the hymns she loved. Soon enough she found herself harmonizing to his voice in particular. When they prayed, though she was usually so good at keeping her eyes shut and herself still, she couldn't resist peeking at Frank out of the corner of her eyes, grinning at the sight. His hair fell over his forehead, and his mouth moved, forming silent words from his own heart. She made a game of trying to guess what he was saying. And one day, as they said their goodbyes, her carefully pinned hair fell from its place, and Frank tucked a piece back behind her ear. She thought about it for weeks.

He called her Nellie, too, now. Their hands touched as if by accident - passing pails and tools - until they found themselves holding hands on purpose. With purpose. Her parents invited him to family dinners, which he ended by having long conversations with her father on the porch. By the time he asked if he could marry her, he was already like family. And Nellie, sweet Nellie, only seemed to grow more beautiful with time, so that when he asked for her hand, Frank thought his heart might burst at the sight of her. Oh, how she smiled; how she hugged him, with her arms thrown around his neck and her feet lifting off the ground. Oh, how he loved her. He got the job in the city for her. He bought the best house he could afford, humble as it was. All for her, of course. Anything for her.

She thought the meager house lovely. She insisted London was lovely, too, even though she'd always been a country girl, and remained one at heart. She wasn't the farmer's daughter anymore. The other ladies on the street called her Helen. Of course it was her name, but sometimes it surprised her. Helen, the cabby's wife. The years began to pass, and though they weren't newlyweds any longer, it still felt like it most days. Helen noticed Frank looking older, aging too fast, and he was always tired from working in the city. They'd never been city folk, and they'd never much gotten along with them. Frank's temper grew shorter, though she rarely saw him lose it. He was as gentle as he could be with her, but he didn't move his mouth when he prayed anymore. Still, Helen thought, he was handsome.

He didn't like the city much, but he continued to do what he could to provide for his wife. Nellie was as sweet as ever, hardly looking as if she'd aged a day since he met her. She wasn't tired like he was, but he could see her smile wasn't as bright as it used to be. Frank started to think he might like to buy her a farm, if only he could. Perhaps her father would sell the farm to him, or perhaps he could find a smaller property. They'd only need enough room for the two of them... and Strawberry, as it was. The horse would be happier in the country, too. But before Frank even got close, he found himself somewhere strange. He did what he did best: he sang a hymn, and he listened. The country that appeared before him was unlike any he had ever seen, and he could stay! He would stay. But not without his wife.

She was up to her arms in soapy water, doing the washing like a good housewife was expected to. She was good at being a housewife, and really, she didn't mind it. But she missed the country air. As always, her hair was falling loose out of its bun, and just as she thought she might like to dry her hands and fix it, she was gone. Helen didn't panic. She just took everything in, the way she always did. There, a lion, and there, Frank. She put her wet hand in his, inexplicably happy. She loved the fresh wind that blew on her face, and the look of the Lion made her feel at home.

They'd never been much like royalty. They'd never even wanted to be. But Frank couldn't deny that he was happy here, and this was the best he could do for his Nellie. It was the best he could do for the Lion who was so ineffably familiar to him, as well. He watched Nellie walk towards him in new clothes, Narnian dress, as it was called. She was like an angel of a woman, he thought. And her hair, which had always fought against being pinned, hung loose around her head in the natural way he liked best. Queen Helen, they called her. His Nellie. Beautiful. Sweet. His harmony.

This country was not like her own country, but she didn't miss England much, even now. The dress she wore was more beautiful than even her nicest clothes back home, yet more comfortable than anything she'd ever owned as well. And when she saw the castle in which they were to live, she was shocked. But there was Frank, dear Frank, looking younger and more like the boy she'd fallen in love with already. He looked stronger, too. He looked ready, though she could tell, like she always could, that neither of them truly felt it. Helen slipped her hand back into the hand of her husband. King Frank, now. Her funny farmhand, a king.

They looked at each other, not for the first time, and yet, completely anew. They were changed.

Frank loved her from the moment he laid eyes on her. This time Helen loved him at first sight, too.