Kiss Me, Connor Kenway

Ratonhnhake':ton Kenway and Signorina Campi

It was December at the homestead. The white snow was falling down heavy, but silently in front of my window. The house was cold, but I had the fire places going constantly. Good thing we have plenty of wood to burn. Connor was frequently leaving the manor, going out for long periods of time. Three days, six days, a week and a half, three weeks. He said he was going and visiting old friends or he was busy hunting, but he never came back with meats or furs. I noticed that he didn’t cover up his tracks well with me, and I assumed it was him being secretive about what he actually does.

What is it that he's hiding from me? Maybe he goes off and kills the white men who fight for the Revolution? It makes sense because he does come back with his robes blood stained, and he doesn't want us white people to take his land. When I ask what happened he claims that he was hunting, but then again, no meat was in his hands or bones or furs. As I lived with him longer, I became more suspicious of who he actually was. Was he the man that I thought he was at first?

My father has been coming to me in my dreams. I would have a dream of me walking around with Connor and I would see him behind a tree, watching me with a disappointed stare. Or we would be picking the last fruits of the harvest and my father would be crouched down in front of me, picking with me. Connor, in the dreams, never noticed him there, but I did. And my father would eerily keep picking fruits while staring at me. I saw in his icy blue eyes that he was pained that I still didn’t listen to him and leave the manor, but I am staying here. Connor is taking care of me better than anyone else. To be honest, I feel like some important queen, high class and being pampered. He always makes sure I eat enough, I am warm enough, I'm comfortable enough. I will show Father that he is wrong about the Indian.

Ah, so many conflicted feelings. One moment I am saying how I’m doubtful of Connor, the next I’m saying how great he is. He’s so mysterious that I can’t figure him out, it's frustrating! But, I will say the facts that I know so far:

He is kind, generous and a serious man, but I know he’s hiding something from me. A few months ago when I was first living with him, I had a small feeling, but I know for sure now. He is responsible and strong, physically and emotionally. He's never talked to me about his people, but the little he does, I can see it is like stabbing a knife into his heart, ripping out all of the emotions he had left. I saw he was empty when he talked about them, when he rarely spoke of them. He never told me about his family and I wondered, did he have a bad relationship with them? Or was it too sinister to remember the awful memories of your family and friends being sent out to the west, forced out of their homes and land?

This poor, young man appears to be so lonely. No one comes to visit him, he sits in his room usually, isolating himself, or he's usually accounting and writing in his ledger when he's home. I cook for him, offering different styles of my Italian dishes, which he enjoys and we talk. I’ve been able to open up a little bit and act like my joyful, silly self in front of him, and with the little he’s seen, he was amused and a little surprised that I acted that way, that I had that side in me. Of course I still acted like a lady, but once in a while I’d make a silly comment or a funny face. I usually got a chuckle out of him, which encouraged me more. Then again, that mystery lurks inside those eyes of his. I feel as if an evil is diffusing off his aura.

Oh goodness, my feelings are so conflicted. What do I choose? Oh, curse you Father, wherever you may be! You’ve put these twisted feelings inside of me, and now I can’t find a clear path to go down. I let out a long sigh, and got up from my seat that I was sitting in. I looked around in my room and felt the cold chill from the bitter winter outside. Even with the boots that Connor made for me and my clothes that he bought, I still felt cold.

I tucked my scarf down into my shirt, and grabbed my jacket that was lying on my bed. It was noon about and I've done all my chores, so there was nothing left to do but take a stroll in the woods. I spun my white jacket around to my shoulders and slipped it on, buttoning it up. I walked downstairs swiftly, feeling the tails of my jacket flowing behind me, and opened the door, the fresh, cold air greeting me. It was still, and silent. It was snowing very hard and the dense quietness of the forest was peaceful. I took a step out, seeing my breath escape from me. I kept my hair down so I could get more warmth around my neck. I let the door softly close behind me, not wanting to disturb the silence. I began forward, feeling the snow drift and place onto my hair, clinging on, and melting due to my warmth. The crunchy snow was crackling under my feet as I admired the pure beauty of the land.