Celeste

5.

"No, Celeste, your stitches are much to wide! Position your needle!"
The voice of matron newt is much like her given name, high and squeaky.

I huff, trying again. When will I ever truly need it? Is my new husband going to force me to sew flowers into his suits? The garden is to distracting in any case, blustering with summer.
The apple tree filters the light on our cold bench, sending leafy shadow skittering across my ruined scrap of  Hastily stitched and deformed flowers.

The pond glimmers as Gloria feeds the fish, drawing my gaze despite my Oh-So-important embroidery.

I spot a golden flash of scales as a fish braves the surface for food. I can't help but smile as Gloria jumps in surprise, turning grinning eyes my way.

"Celeste!" Snaps me out of it. I turn to see matron newt's eyes bulging as she scolds me, "you must pay attention! It is unladylike to zone out!"

I roll my eyes. "I'm getting married in just over a week, matron. I doubt needlework will help me."

Her eyes, normally so large and seemingly transparent, narrowed.
"Your husband will expect such things from you. It is best that we cover the basics, wether you use them or not."

I give a snort, "it's arranged. I doubt he cares so much about embroidered flowers."

She returns to her work, nose flaring with anger, eyes shifting to her beautiful practiced roses. "Of course. That is the best way to ensure marriage with the likes of you, wilful and disobedient"

I continue with my ruined work too, "at least I'm not an old spinster." I smile. The look she shoots me is one I am quite accustomed to.

The morning sun is accompanied by twittering birds, flinty and unreachable high up in the tree. Gloria goes to fill the bird feeders, hiding a smile behind her hand. She mimics matron newt's stare when she spots me watching her, twisting her mouth and bugging her eyes.

I giggle quietly to myself, pulling the thread through. The line snags sharply, and I give the fabric a tug. It rips in two, and I groan in defeat.
"Tsk. Celeste, what did I tell you yesterday? You must even your stitches and pull gently, if you pull to hard -"

"This is ridiculous! I'm leaving tomorrow night, and you want me to sew?"
Gathering my skirts, I take my leave. The torn scrap of fabric lays on the bench.

I almost run into my father as I enter the house.
"Ah, Celeste. The seamstress is here with your new dresses." He says, before walking smartly into the the living room.
I huff before following him.

Marge thorndew sits like a statue on the couch, a large trunk is by her side, groaning with bundles of fabric.
She's a small woman who forgets little things, like the ribbon tied on her wrist, or the hair pin on the edge of her glasses, the tape measure about her neck, and the shiny line of pins marching up her cardigan.

She owns the only boutique in town, 'marge's emporium'
It's a big shop, running in the family for generations, small timid women who have skills with a needle. I like her as she is quiet, only muttering about colours clashing, and work needed. She can create masterpieces with nothing but scraps.

Marge gave a nervous smile as I entered the room, fumbling with the clasp on the dark trunk as I seated myself. It opens with an ominous creak, and she reaches inside, pulling out a silky white dress with grey flowers creeping up the seams. It's my wedding dress, I reckoned, as I gingerly take the heavy layered fabric out of her hands, heading upstairs so that I can try it on.

19 dresses later and I am absolutely exhausted, covered in pin scratches. Father let me go, discussing to Marge about the journey I was to take. I thanked her kindly, mindful of the pins in her jumper as I hugged her farewell.

I left at the same time she did, headed to the docks instead of towards the town.

Eli was carrying boxes onto a merchant ship when I arrived, sweating hard in the sun.
The boys about him laugh and jest, juggling oranges and throwing rotten fruit at one another.

As I approach, parasol twirling in thought, the laughter dies, fruits stop being airborne.

"Hello, Eli. Can we talk?" I asked, biting my lip.

He passed the box on to another wide-eyed helper, giving me a deadpan look.
"I know about the marriage, Celeste." Is all he says.

"I don't want it either, Eli."

"What do you want?"

I look out, past the bustling ship to the hard blue edge where the sky and the sea meet. A lone cloud is bright against the backdrop.
"I don't know"

"Highbrow? That awful place?"

"Father says it's for my own good."

"Why not stay here with me?"

"I don't know..."

"You don't know a lot."

"I know that I'll miss you terribly." I say, turning to his hard eyes.

"That's not enough."

"It was bound to happen Eli, don't focus your anger onto me."

"Why not marry me?" He asks, eyes sofening.

I look down, at the old wooden planks of the dock.
" I don't think it will work out, Eli. Can't we pass ways as friends?"

I look up and to my great suprise, a tear slides out from his eye, a streak of emotion on a blank face.
"Yes."

Not caring how it would look, I embrace him in a great hug.
Like two statues, we still hug as people pass boxes beside us, casting odd looks and whispering to one another.

He smells of sweat and salt, the clear sign of the great sailor he's going to be. The stuttering breath in my ear is the only other sign he's upset.
The loud sound of a boat horn shocks us apart, blinking back tears, I gently peck a kiss on his cheek.

He cups the side of my face, as if he's trying to memorise every part of it.
"Goodbye miss reed."

I smile a sad smile. I look at the scar on his cheek, noticeable only if he smiled a certain way.
"Goodbye Mr writ" I whisper.

We part ways.