Influences of Stars

Chapter 26

There is a confusion in the act of intimacy for Charis. She thinks she should be traumatised by it, for Yeardley comes to her against her will. Yet, whilst a sickness grows within her whenever she thinks of him against her, she longs to be touched as she imagined she would be as an adolescent.

It only gets worse when she sees Tibby.

Charis sits by the window, the only piece of freedom she is afforded, and stares blankly into the snow drenched world. There are footprints leading to the house, meaning Yeardley must have guests. Sometimes she dares to sneak from her bedroom and listen into the conversation, just so she can hear a different voice. She adds that voice to the collection in her mind and uses it at her will whenever she needs some company. Sometimes she can attach that voice to her body, and it is that person who visits her later-in the middle of the night- and touches her all over in mutual desire, in love.

With Yeardley, she doesn't exist as a whole. He forces himself to be contained and hence he doesn't look at her or touch her. She is a vessel for his child, after all, and nothing more. With this distance, she forgets that the rest of her exists as well until some imaginary person comes and listens to her. They understand her mind; they know what she yearns for and see her entire body.

Is it a sin to imagine this? Charis hears Yeardley's condemnations of being weak in the flesh, but her fear of punishment is being overridden by a desperation which has been building for so long. She has never been so rebellious; the meekness is being bled from her and, with a smile, she imagines someone, a person without a face, lowering their body to hers.

The cold air from the window stops her face from flushing, but the view soon yanks her mind from its momentary pleasure as it presents her with an image she longs for. Tibby and Gideon are Yeardley's visitors, though they are now leaving. Both are buried in wool and cloaks, but as Tibby moves her arms Charis can see it; yes, it is true! There is a child within her, close to its term. And before they walk away, Tibby kisses her husband. It is something so warm and beautiful that Charis feels the snow shall melt into spring.

She tries to feel elated for Tibby. After all, she seems to have found happiness within the life she is condemned to. That wild creature, who always swore she would runaway rather than marry, has a bliss about her. However, Charis is too aware of the flatness of her own stomach. She places her hand on the privation and can see Tibby's swelling in her mind as she reached out for her husband and kissed him in love.

Why should Tibby be blessed in this way when she never wanted that life? It is Charis who yearned for love, for children! Yet Tibby is being passed them without a second thought. Why should she be gifted with this life of quietness when Charis sits alone, night after night, locked away in a deadness in need of a child?

Not only that, her life depends on it now. Once Charis dreamt of a quiet life as a mother for its own sake, but now she needs to be with child if she wants any chance of living. The blood which stains her sheets each month is a warning, a burning flag that screams to her eyes, begging her to present the world with a child before she melts into this danger.

Despair overwhelms her.

"You've seen your old friend, then?" Yeardley says as he enters her bedroom. He moves over to her and pulls the shutters over, blocking out the light and the world with it. Charis stares blankly at the wood, her eyes unblinking as tears silently fall from them. She nods. "I should have wed her when I had the chance, I see. She's due to give birth soon. There's something so wonderful about seeing a wild woman broken into her proper role, isn't there? I wish I had had the satisfaction myself."

His breath fans against Charis' face. She tries not to look disgusted.

"God left you alive for a reason," he says, "Any day now, I am sure you will conceive. Will you pray with me for this happy occasion?" He holds out his hand so that he might lead her downstairs. She takes it, closing her eyes and sinking into this contact. She suppose she ought to be disgusted by his touch, but when she imagines his hands belonging to someone else, she can derive a joy from it.