The Periods of Being

Chapter III

Chapter III

     Olive doesn't leave her room after her bath. She can't find herself to go out. She now wishes she had allowed her lady's maid, Julie, to come with her on the same train, but she thought it best for Julie to wait until tomorrow to come to Blythestone Manor. She didn't want her to have to pack up as quickly as she did. She deserved the time Olive never received. As she reads next to her window in another black dress that she put on after her bath, she longs for the company of Julie. Julie is more than just a lady's maid; she is her closet friend. Even though she pays her, Olive truly believes Julie is genuinely nice to her. With her hair dripping wet and her dress feeling as if she put it on wrong somehow, she misses the companionship of her friend.

    After living through the first moments back home, she wonders if she should've waited to come until tomorrow like Julie. She flips a page of her book mindlessly as she thinks about it. She packed her favorite book without thinking about it this morning, and as she reads, she remembers that the book wasn't her favorite because of the story, but because of the memories of it. The first time she read this book was when she was being courted by Lord Mark of Garthen Manor. He was a dream, and this romance story fueled her passion for falling for him and her confidence to dance with him at the ball that was held in Garthen Manor one evening.

     The music from the past glides in the room like free butterflies in a garden and before she is aware of it, she is back to the first moment of being in his arms and spinning on the floor of the Great Hall.

     "Do you like this song?" He asked her then. She wasn't even paying attention to the music playing. All she could focus on was his charming smile and the light trapped behind his blue eyes, forever looking as if they are sparkling and glittering with life.

     "I haven't heard it before," she confessed then. She wasn't a fan of music. More so because she was untalented in that range of art. She was— and still is— jealous of Freya's talent with the piano.

     "Really? Never?" His eyes were wide at her response and gave her a clear view of his eyes. She could've drowned in them. Every day, when she woke up next to him, she wished to. Even now, in her memories, she wishes to sink into his eyes, be wrapped in his arms, and be able to ask for his forgiveness. Do I deserve it, though?

     Olive slaps the book closed, not able to handle more of the memory or the thoughts that were starting to swirl like an eye of a hurricane in her mind. Tears flood her eyes, and she tries her best to blink them away, not wanting to fall down into that hole again. She could allow herself to drift in the dreams of her memories, but she can't just yet. She'll allow herself that luxury tonight when she is alone and able to cry without the possibility of someone walking in.

    In the bath, as she tried to vanquish the smell of sickness, she allowed herself to cry. The result was blotchy eyes and endless tears wishing to come out even now. Her eyes sting with dryness. She rubs them with her palm, only making the redness more bright and noticeable. She unlatches her once favorite book from her hands and carefully sets it on the table next to her and stands to go over to the large curtained window. The light stings her eyes and she squints to look outside.

     Where did the dark clouds go?

     The sight of the sun makes her long for a cloudy sky and raindrops on the window. It would fit her emotions more than the sun and clear blue sky. The blue resembles Mark's eyes too much.

     He is everywhere, she cries in her mind. When he was gone, sentenced off to fight for his country, his presence was everywhere. And now, even after being sentenced off to Heaven, he reminds her that she isn't alone.

    "I'll miss you, you know?" He whispered to her during their last night together before he left to join the war. They were laying in bed, facing each other in the darkness of their bedroom. His voice was rough like he was about to cry, but he kept the tears inside. She didn't hold her tears then in front of him. The sight of her tears caused his own to drip onto his cheeks. He used the pad of his thumb to brush hers away while leaving his to glide in a full journey to the pillowcase.

     "I'll miss you so much so." Tears invaded his eyes at her words. The only time she has ever seen him cry was at their wedding, but watching him cry at that moment was heart-wrecking. She cried more at the sight of his tears.

     "I love you, Mark," she spoke. "I love you so much."

    "And I love you, my olive branch. Forever and a day."

    Olive breathes in deep at the remembrance of his nickname for her. An olive branch represents peace and with her name being Olive, he found the nickname to be humorous at first, but then found it sentimental. He said he called her so because she gave him peace at the moments he felt defeated. She didn't deserve him. She reminds herself of this again. He deserved so much more than her. He was so perfect and she is so...not. Despite her not deserving him, she can't help to feel a sense of honor to have spent time with him. Her breath hitches at the memories of being in his arms under the covers of their shared bed.

    When he left for the war, there was never a thought of him never returning. There were some dark nights that tried to put the image in her mind, but she banished them away. He is coming back; he promised, she'll tell herself. There was always the idea of him coming home and finally sharing a bed with him.

    Now, with the inevitable telegram and a soon-to-be-arranged funeral she'll have to face, the promise is simply a dream. Tonight will be the first night that she'll have to sleep knowing that he will never be coming back. Her stomach dares to do another flip at the reality settling in around her. The world spins again and she grips the window mantle to try to steady herself.

     She once thought that confessing her sins to him would be the worst part of his homecoming. The reality of him never having a homecoming is a worse punishment than the first.

    A knock sounds on the door, making her jump. She loosens her grip on the mantle and faces the door. She swallows loud before finding her voice as she wipes the tears she wasn't aware she shed.

    "Lady Olive? The dinner gong run, are you ready to get dressed for the evening?" A female voice asks behind the door. She had been so lost in her thoughts that Olive never heard the gong go off. She places a hand on her forehead and hopes that she isn't losing time with all her sorrows. Losing time will be better than spending time thinking over a lost husband, she thinks to herself. If she should be losing time with the memories of her alive husband, she thinks it as a blessing rather than being trapped in stretched time thinking about her lost one.

    She ventures toward the door and opens it for the step-in lady's maid, Ms. Lillian. Before Olive married, Ms. Lillian used to be her lady's maid along with Freya's as well. It is normal for sisters to share a lady's maid before they are married. Once they are married, they can choose one. When Freya was married, she chose Ms. Lillian.

    Ms. Lillian is older than Julie by miles. Smile lines crease on her eyes as well as wrinkles that run down from the bell of her nose to the corners of her lips. Besides all the wrinkles, Ms. Lillian is beautiful and deems respect. On Julie's first day, she insisted on not be called Miss. The reminder of the memory makes Olive believe this was the first moment that they were bound to be friends.

    "Lady Olive, how are you doing? Better, I hope," Ms. Lillian greets as Olive opens the door for her. She walks in with a straight spine and goes over to the wardrobe to pick out a sleek, mourning dress for her to wear for dinner. She doesn't wait for Olive to answer her before asking: "Are you ready to get dressed, m'lady?"

    Her mind runs with the answer of no. She would rather have dinner in her room, but that isn't an option for tonight. Her family will be expecting her at dinner tonight, especially since she hasn't visited in a long time. So, she turns around to have her back to Ms. Lillian and moves her damp, long brunette hair over her shoulder to bare the zipper. Her actions present a yes answer, but the words on her tongue try to protest with a no.

    Ms. Lillian sets the mourning gown on the bed before she walks over to unzip her gown, beginning her magic on the sorrowful Olive.