The Periods of Being

Chapter IX

Chapter IX

     Julie brushes her hair back to the state it should be as she helps Olive to get ready for dinner. The dinner gong has gone off a while ago, but her hair is still tangled in knots and curls. Julie holds a hand to the back of Olive's head to try to run the brush down her hair. Olive tries not to wince with each brushstroke.

    "Did you get suck in a wind tunnel, Lady Olive?" Julie teases as she gets another knot out. "Ms. Lillian told me she dressed you this morning. Did she leave your hair out of the mix?" Julie is just teasing again. She could never be mean toward another lady's maid like herself— or anyone in particular. Olive knows this because she has never heard another servant in Garthen Manor complain to her about her Julie. Who could? She is kind in any situation and never sent any prejudice to Olive when she found out about that weekend with Andrew.

     Olive knows she knows by the curious stare she gave to her that morning. As Julie tugs on the last knot in her hair, she is reminded of those moments during the doomed morning. She didn't say anything about the knots or the red-tint of shame on her cheeks then. Olive wonders if she read Julie's eyes right that morning, but she can't relive that experience, nor can she think about it. She brushes the memory away and keeps her attention onto Julie as she starts pinning her hair up in a new up-do; Olive's hair finally being clean of knots.

     "Can you look up for me?" Olive does what she is told, not realizing she has been staring down at her wedding ring this whole time. She gazes at herself in the mirror as Julie silently works on her hair. Her reflection turns wicked each time she looks at it. She takes in her red-stained eyes and the cracked, dry lips that used to be kissable. Now, she is certain if anyone wished to kiss her, they would be appalled at her lips and turn away. She'll do the same. Her lips are not the same ones Mark used to rub with the pad of his thumb and whisper: I love kissing these lips.

    She has to remind herself again that she isn't the woman that he fell in love with. She is different and not the revival type of different full of light and uplifting. She is the dead version of her former self. She should be getting a casket ready for herself alongside her husband's. A funeral for two is in order.

    Except she is still half-living, even despite her not wanting to be.

    "How has your time been so far back at Blythestone Manor? It must be somewhat nice despite the situation." Julie offers a small smile in the mirror, but Olive doesn't return one.

     "A little bit. It's nice to see the family again. It's been too long," she gives a vague answer. Her voice is monotone and forced like it was earlier with Freya. Tears from the maze are still fresh behind her eyes. She's been bouncing back and forth from breaking, and each time she swallows her tears down, the breaking point grows stronger. She is ready to break and sob for the rest of the night until tomorrow hits and she has to dry them for the sake of others. Tomorrow her eyes will be dry and irritated by the crying, but that is tomorrow and not now. She can't think too forward in time. Her heart breaks too far down the middle when she does so because when she thinks far in the future, Mark will not be in it.

     She sucks in her upper lip and chews it as Julie finishes with her hair. Julie grabs a mirror from the vanity to show Olive the back of her head where the masterpiece is pinned. Olive turns her head and nods at the up-do, seeing nothing new or nothing to spark any interest in her appearance.

     The hand mirror catches a glint of shine. Olive's eyes venture down to the vanity to find a green butterfly pin sitting next to her jewelry box. Her eyes widen at the sight of it. Her fingers reach out to it. Not to pick it up, but to make sure that the pin is actually there.

     "I thought I lost this," she whispers to herself.

     "Lost what?" Julie asks, still holding the hand mirror.

     Olive finally picks up the butterfly pin. It is light in her hands and still warm for the touch of Mark, whose hands are the ones that gave her this pin long ago. She thought she lost it. But here it is. Is this a sign from him? She bites her bottom lip to fight back the tears of such a hopeful idea. She flips it over in her hand. It smiles up to her in a loving gaze, as Mark would've. She shifts in her chair to face Julie with the pin in her hand.

     "Can you put this in my hair?" She asks with it extended to her like she doesn't even have a choice in the manner. Julie clenches her jaw at the sight of the familiar pin that used to be only used in the springtime to shine in the sun. This object is unfamiliar to the mourning time and the colors associated with the period. Julie sends a wary gaze to Olive.

     "Are you sure, m'lady?"

      Olive shakes the pin at her to take, allowing her actions to be her answer. Julie takes the pin with delicate fingertips and puts it into place in the back of her head. As the needles of the butterfly slip through her hair, her heart glows with memories of him. The pin was a gift— a beautiful one; the kind of gifts that left her hanging on the question of what she did to deserve it.

     "Just being you," he would say.

     If her lips weren't in a permeant frown, she could smile at the memory of his love.

     "There you go," Julie whispers as she steps away from the now finished masterpiece. Olive watches in the reflection of the mirror as Julie goes over to the evening gown she laid on her bed before she brought Olive's hair back to perfection. Olive stands and unties her robe to step inside the dress. Julie drags the black, gorgeous gown to her shoulders. She slips her arms through the sleeves and watches as the sleeves brush to up to her shoulders. Her arms feel bare without sleeves, but her gloves will hide one of her many insecurities: her arms and skinny wrists. Genetics that came from her mother rather than wanting to be skinny.

     Julie passes her the dark gloves and Olive slips them on up to her upper arms while Julie fetches her shoes. She puts those on when she is finished.

     She is now ready for dinner.

     "You look beautiful, Lady Olive." Julie praises. Olive twirls to look herself in the mirror again. She half-expects to see what Julie is seeing, but she still sees the dead version of herself. She sees everything but beauty. She sees pain. She sees heartache in the worst of ways— and death. All she sees is death.

     But she says nothing. Instead, all she can do is nod at Julie's remark and thank her.

     "I should probably head down before they come searching for me." Olive steps toward the door without saying any more to Julie, finding herself not able to find any words to say more or anything other than see you later tonight when she'll need to get out of this dress and go to bed. Julie doesn't stop her to get her to talk more nor does she move an itch. Olive sneaks a peek over to the lady's maid to see all of this and wonders if she should say a proper thank you, but her words defy her.

     She opens the door and exits the room to a dinner she wishes to be excluded from. Olive would rather stay in her room and try to stop herself from breaking down in front of herself instead of in front of her family. After tearing up in front of Andrew and then sobbing to Freya over a statue, she knows she won't be as strong as she was last night during dinner. Last night, she coasted through dinner in a numbness. Tonight, the numbness has faded away and she feels every inch of pain she should feel with Mark being dead. Dead. Death is too final for a heart.

     She sucks in her breath as she steps down the staircase.

     Feel nothing, she coaches herself. Not until tonight.