The British Are Coming

Part 3: Inclinations & Informalities

The rain beat steadily, like so many fingertips drumming against the wooden roof.  Above the noise, you heard your soldier whimpering from the other room, punctuated by a louder groan. 

It was two days since your uncomfortable exchange with the soup.  Sadie took over the meals after that.  You couldn't seem to bring yourself to sit there while he stared at you with those inquiring eyes.  Some meals he remained silent, obliging her.  Others, he scoffed and turned his nose up at her presence.  You watched out of the corner of your eye, pretending to mend some clothing by the fire.

"That will do!" he waved his hand at her, dismissively.  Sadie turned her head to look at you with unmistakable ire in her eyes.  She stood, slamming the plate and utensils on the bedside table before she stormed out of the room towards you. Furiously, she signed to you, her breath flaring her nostrils with impatience.

"How long with him?" she glared, quickly brushing strands of raven hair from her eyes as she signed.  You stood and tried to calm her.

"Until he's better," you said smoothly.

"He's stronger today than yesterday.  He can feed himself."  Her mouth was set in a frown, eyes narrowed with contempt.

You nodded in agreement, glancing at him from afar.  His hands were folded neatly on his lap, eyes downcast, pretending like he couldn't hear anything that transpired.

"You're right," you said softly, but her demeanor was just as much incensed.  You looked back at her and sighed, patting her arm affectionately.

"It won't be much longer," you assured her.

Sadie gave a dubious grunt and headed for the door grabbing her hat off its hook.  She knocked on the door to get your attention.  Somehow in the short time it took her to walk to the door, your eyes we're back to resting on him.

"Remember who he is," she signed before slamming the door behind her.

"Yes, I know," you mumbled to yourself, staring at the fire. You slipped the other day, letting your reserve falter.  It was just a moment of weakness.  It won't happen again, you told yourself.

"She doesn't like me very much, does she?" the stranger called from the bedroom.  You had to stop yourself from audibly gasping.  His voice startled something inside of you.

Calmly, you placed your mending on the table and approached the bedside.

"You could stand to be nicer," you scolded him, "you treat her like a servant."

The soldier's face screwed up in a genuine expression of confusion.
"Isn't she?" he asked looking at you, "Yours, I mean?"

You began to tidy up the nightstand, gathering the used dishes in your arms.  Keeping your hands busy and any inclination at bay.

"No," you chuckled slightly at his ignorance, "far from it.  Sadie's like a sister to me. If anything, she's the commanding one," you shook your head smiling.  Ever since you were girls, Sadie had a way of coercing you into trouble.  She once convinced you to mount her uncle's mustang, knowing full well the beast would not acquiesce.  In seconds, you were thrown to the ground in a patch of mud.  Both of you had your hides tanned that day, but Sadie couldn't stop plotting for more trouble.  You two giggled under the blankets that night, behinds sore but hearts full of mischief.

Things were so different then.  She used to be so carefree, but that was before the war, before they got to her.

"Why doesn't she speak?" he asked, more attentive now.  He sat up straighter.  You noticed less stress in his face when he did.