Saturday's Lady

Twenty

Emma saw his face in her dreams, with his thick red beard and the tears in his grey eyes.

Why, Emma? he begged her without words. Why don't you see I've changed?

You haven't, she replied. You couldn't.

Eventually she gave up on sleeping and went to the window, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders against the chill. She fingered the fringe on the edge absentmindedly as she stared at the street below. It was perfectly still-- the snow was brown from dirt and piled along the road, the trees frosted and pristine. Stars glimmered from the sky less clearly than they did at the farm, and the moon was just shy of being full. It was a beautiful, freezing night, and Emma hardly saw any of it.

She looked towards the mountains in the west. They glowed an eerie blue in the moonlight, clear and sharp, and Emma realised she could never just run away to them. Her father seemed to have done that, and Andrei's father too, long ago.

She had been thinking about Andrei for hours. How could she not? The easy friendship they'd been building up for months was at a crux. Either they married, or they spent the rest of their lives in a tense dance around each other.  Either she lost his friendship forever, or she had to add everything that came along with being his wife. 

The Sunday evenings in the parlour could be lost, and Emma would have nobody to really talk to, nobody who would offer advice or comfort, except Mrs. Remigrant, but there was still the strain of employer and employee. There was Abigail, who was sweet enough, but not a complement to Emma the way Andrei was. They were well suited. A blind woman could have seen it.

But if she said yes, if she married him-- it wouldn't just be Sunday evenings but every evening, and there was the promise of being herself again. Andrei would always be there to talk with her, and Emma didn't doubt for a minute that he loved her. They could go to the mountains, to escape, they could both duck out of high society, they could really be happy. She believed it with her whole heart.

It was just the idea of marriage that troubled her. Kissing Andrei was one thing. Marrying him, living with him, having children with him-- that was completely another. How much of her independence would be lost? What would she really gain?

Was she going to marry him to save their friendship, or because she loved him?

It was a given, she thought as she stared out, that she would marry him. It was expected. She couldn't take the chance of him exposing her secret, even though she knew he wouldn't anyways. No, she wanted his friendship and his companionship and his love. She wanted to get out of this tangled mess she was in, and marrying Andrei Liniski would take care of it-- not to mention that he was rich enough that she'd never go hungry or cold again in her life, and nor would her children.

What a terrible way to decide, Emma scoffed at herself, do you want to marry him or do you just want change?

The floorboards creaked as she padded back over to her bed and crawled under the sheets. She closed her eyes and tried to picture Andrei's face.

She saw him in front of the fireplace, hunched over the table as he moved a chess piece. His jacket was slung over the chair and his sleeves were rolled to the elbow, and she saw his smile as he looked up, waiting for her to move, both unsure of whether the other person was letting them win or if both of them were simply terrible at chess.

His lips moved as they danced for hours on end, and she couldn't remember the words but she remembered how free she felt, there, in his arms. How intelligent she felt when they talked. How he listened to her and how she loved listening to him.

And then Emma remembered how he'd kissed her, and how she'd kissed him back! Yes, if she could talk to him forever about books and politics, if they could go on long walks and dance for hours, if he would kiss her and she would kiss him back, then she could be happy. If that's what their marriage would be like, then she would take it in a heartbeat. 

But she wasn't naive enough to believe that marriage would be easy. Hadn't she seen it with her own parents? Hadn't their love soured, and turned cold, and left? Love took work. Emma was willing to do it, but what about Andrei? Fear nagged at her stomach.

She still felt his touch, and saw his beautiful face again in the firelight before he kissed her. Against the fear, she smiled into her pillow. Perhaps they would wait a while before marrying, but Emma would accept Andrei! She would marry him! The thought made her stomach warm and her cheeks warmer. She knew it was the right choice, felt it deep down in her soul. Now that the choice was made, she couldn't believe that she'd had any misgivings at all.

"I've been thinking about it a long time," she murmured to herself in the moonlight. "Even when I didn't know it." The realisation dawned on her just how often it had crossed the back of her mind. How often she had adjusted herself in the parlour, so the firelight would lay just so across her features. How she had always taken such care with her hair before he came. The feeling as she opened the door, and they smiled at each other; the triumph when she beat him at chess and the laughter when she lost. How many times had they tried to navigate the world around them together, how many conversations about books? How much advice did they give each other? 

How often had she wished it could be forever?

And now it was, or it was going to be, and Emma closed her eyes at peace, feeling only complete confidence and seeing his face before he'd kissed her, and she fell asleep with his silhouette etched into her eyelids.

I'll write Anne in the morning, came the drowsy thought, I'll write her in the morning.

*****

Mrs. Remigrant stood calmly at her bedroom window, still in her pink nightgown.

"Ah, yes, Emma!" She turned with a grin as soon as Emma knocked on the wide-open door. "All those times you doubted me look silly now!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am?"

Mrs. Remigrant gestured for her to enter and close the door. "I've gotten a message from Mr. Liniski. There's no other way to say it--" she leaned forward and stage whispered-- "he wanted to speak with me about marrying you!"

Emma couldn't keep down her smile. "I thought he would have said something earlier!"

The old lady's jaw dropped eagerly, ready to hear whatever news Emma had. "Have the two of you discussed it?"

Emma nodded. "Last night. I don't know how it came up, but he proposed and told me to give an answer soon."

Mrs. Remigrant squealed and clapped her hands together. "I knew you would be better off without a chaperone! But, Emma," she said, dropping her voice, "I must admit that there is an awful situation. How can we conceal the fact that you're not, well, my niece? I didn't think of it ever before. I'm sorry for that."

"He knows already. Last night he could see I was upset, and I don't know why but I told him everything-- and he proposed just a minute later!"

"Oh, thank heavens," huffed Mrs. Remigrant, heaving herself into her chair. "I realised that while I could pay easily, your future husband might not like the fact that his bride isn't, well who he thought she was."

"I thought of that yesterday too," replied Emma carefully, "but he said he didn't care about any of it."

"I'm assuming you accepted him?"

"Not yet," Emma said, shifting from one foot to the other, "I knew I wanted to marry him but I had so many questions at the moment. But I thought it over long and hard, and I'm going to tell him yes, today."

"What are you waiting for?" cried Mrs. Remigrant, springing up. "Go get dressed! Go call on him! I'll go with you and we can get everything sorted out!" Without warning she threw her arms around Emma and kissed her cheek. "It's foolish, but I'm excited for you. I've really grown to treasure you, Emma."

Emma held Mrs. Remigrant tightly. "And I you. I've only recently realised what you've given me, and I think I'll be grateful for eternity."

The two women let each other go and smiled at each other. 

"Go put on your walking dress," whispered Mrs. Remigrant excitedly. "You have a proposal to accept."