The Ember In The Storm (undergoing editing)

Part II

   After finding a successful way of cleaning the floor, Elizabeth's heart was put to rest, giving Scarlet a word of gratitude for the extra hand.

Jackson would have murdered her and cleaned the ink up with her hair, she would not put it past him.

Elizabeth's face heated up— not from the murder, of course, but from the thought of Jackson.

Following the news of his arrival, she made sure to dispose of any of her belongings that interrupted his from sight. She cleared the table and set everything correctly with a new bowl of ink and threw her drafted papers of literature away down into the disposal basket.

Once she was convinced it was good enough, she decided to freshen up.

As she bathed, she soothed her left cheek with winces. Scarlet had helped bandage the wounds as well.

God bless her soul.

Elizabeth also staggered with each step, her sprained ankle was giving her the worst time.

"I can't believe Senior would do this," Scarlet had said. "You should tell Jackson about it immediately."

"That would worsen everything. He and his father would argue and knowing him, he would do exactly what his father did not want him to just to get on him."

Furthermore, Elizabeth still stood on her word. Besides, who was she to seek safety in a man she was to fear? Slaves got beaten up all the time for the smallest reasons, she was nothing different.

Elizabeth washed her hair of all the dirt. Yet it seemed that every time she rinsed through, the image of Senior Anderson stepping onto her head played over and she would wash again.

Finally, she had washed her hair for the seventh time before she was sure it was clean enough. Her feet squeaked against the wooden floor boards with every step she took.

Droplets of water dripped on the ground from the soaked strands.

With effort, Elizabeth managed to limp to the bedroom, humming to herself as she stood ahead of her closet.

"I have no idea why it still surprises me that you are here."

Elizabeth froze.

He's here.

She turned her head swiftly and caught sight of him standing by the entrance, his back turned to her as he brushed a hand over the doorknob.

He was clad in only a ruffled white shirt, cream white breeches and black knee length boots. A navy blue military jacket hang on the coat-hanger beside the doors. It was not there before.

How long had he been inside? Christ, how did she not notice him before?

Finally, he turned his body to face her, crossing his arms behind his back. His eyes began from her bare feet to the soaked strand of hair at the top of her head.

Elizabeth looked away from him before his eyes could settle on hers, gripping the clothe around her body tighter. Her hair draped over her face at the movement.

"My apologies, I had no idea you were in. I will leave immediately," she second guessed about running for the bathroom again.

Jackson opened his mouth to correct her that that was not what he meant, yet he refrained from it. "You left the bedroom door open. Close it next time you take a bath, anyone could get in,"he walked a few feet ahead, stopping by the corner of the bed to take his boots off.

Elizabeth took a step back and turned for her clothes, gathering as many as she could. That day she would be dressing in the restroom.

"What happened to your foot?" His words were tainted with curiosity and sheer concern— by the gods, she may have actually hit her head too hard earlier.