In Her Element

“Would someone please pass the cherry preserves?” Almyra looked up the table to see Frederick reaching out to take the jam and said pointedly, “Rupert, if you would…?” With arched eyebrows, he eyed her curiously, but complied. She took the small bowl from him, ignoring the looks that Matthew and Frederick were exchanging.

“Almyra,” Matthew started slowly, causing her to stiffen; and she sat there, ramrod straight, immediately apprehensive as to what he would possibly want to say. He looked at their mother, noticing that, although she continued buttering her toast lightly with an air of nonchalance, her deliberation with her strokes of the knife and her twitching ears signified that she was paying astute attention to the interactions going on around the table. Nevertheless, Matthew forged ahead, but he chose his words carefully.

“I feel as though we have not spent a sufficient amount of time together since I have returned—“

“And whose fault is that, Matthew?” interrupted Almyra.

Matthew continued as though she had not spoken, certain she was making as effort to unsettle him. “I would like to rectify that, get to know you better again. After all, I am…” Here Matthew faltered and flushed a cherry red to match the preserves that Almyra had spread on her muffin.”…the man of the house.”

Almyra nearly grinned at her brother’s awkwardness at his pronouncement, but she kept her features still and emotionless, although not without difficulty. She must have been convincing, however, for she could see in his eyes as Matthew’s confident resolve to discuss the goings-on with his sister deteriorated bit by bit; and suddenly she was struggling not to cry out and rush into his arms to comfort both him and herself.

“Please, Almyra,” his eyes and tones pleading with her not to shut them—him and Frederick—out.

“Well, this is most touching, Matthew, but Almyra is going out today so this is all futile,” her mother cut in suddenly. Shock flitted across Almyra’s eyes. Was her mother helping her knowingly or was she oblivious to the deeper meanings of this all?

Matthew, too, was taken aback, and was impersonating a fish, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly in an unattractive manner. “Out?” he exclaimed! “Do you have a courter to meet? I thought that was only happening after the ball.” He hurried to continue talking, aware of how Almyra’s eyes were shutting everything out—exactly what he was trying to prevent—even as she blushed, making him wonder if he was right. This in turn made him sad that she had not told him something that years ago she would never have kept from him. “At the very least, will someone be accompanying you?”

“Rupert. Miss Lisle.” Almyra stood abruptly, nearly slamming into the maid who had been hovering there, unsure of whether or not to take Almyra’s plate. Almyra muttered a quick apology to the girl and an “excuse me, please” to the rest of the room’s occupants, ready to leave, when Frederick’s voice reached her.

“Almyra. Please. Listen to your brother.”

Almyra spun around, this time colliding fully with the poor maid, which resulted in water and jam down both their fronts, as well as a broken plate and glass—only one of each, as thankfully she had taken Almyra’s dishes first. “No.”

“Yes, Almyra.” His voice was low, dangerously so, but his eyes belied the angry tone with the evident concern in them.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

He sighed as one did with a stubborn child, the thought of which made his lips turn up a bit, for only children would argue in such a manner as “yes, no”.

“Almyra, you must.”’

“No, I do not,” she said, but suddenly with less conviction than before. They locked eyes and the air crackled with the stubbornness and determination—the former from Almyra, the latter, Frederick. Rupert, Matthew, and Mrs. Carlton swung theit heads back and forth, unsure if they were to laugh or not, while the pitiable maid crouched at Almyra’s feet, attempting to collect all the shards of the broken plate and glass, lest anyone step on one and get a cut. Almyra, partly out of kindness and partly to break her gaze from Frederick’s, knelt to help the girl. The girl looked up and blushed a little, flustered as her employer’s daughter went on her hands and knees, crawling around to gather those pieces that were scattered.

They worked steadily as they picked bits and pieces off the floor, wincing as the jam spread all over. Almyra thought she saw something in her peripheral vision and tried to turn around, only to slam headlong into a pair of booted feet. She remained as she was, in her uncomfortable crawling position, staring at those feet, and trembled as tears once again threatened to spill over. A hand reached down and grasped her forearm with a sturdy grip and pulled her up. The hand then slid down to her palm and gave it a squeeze. She looked up, expecting to see Rupert’s dark brown eyes, and was startled when she met with a pair of blue ones that belonged to Frederick. Before she could wrench her hand from his, he dropped hers and quickly moved away, back to his chair, where she had ended up when crawling around on the carpet. She began shaking again, harder than ever, and now Rupert steadied her until the tremors passed and she calmed. She nodded at him, and he released her. She straightened her skirt, ignoring her mother’s bewilderment, her brother’s concern, and most of all, Frederick’s pained look.

“We leave at half past ten, Rupert,” she announced with a finality that left no room for discussion, and walked out, presumably to clean herself and change into something more suitable for an outing. Four pairs of eyes followed her exit, but only one was followed by a mental search too—one that felt the turmoil that was Almyra’s emotions; one alone who felt her resolve break as her wet eyes finally allowed the tears to overflow and leave tracks on her cheeks.

A sharp voice cut through his thoughts, demanding an explanation for what had just transpired. Frederick heaved a mental sigh and withdrew from Almyra’s psyche. He cut his eyes to his hostess, and he would have laughed, had the situation not been so unmistakably serious; Mrs. Carlton was very indignant over not having complete understanding of the occurrences in her home, as was her right, and it was reflecting in her stiff posture that Almyra imitated so well. Alas, as it was necessary for it to remain so, none of the three men in the room replied, and she stalked regally out of the room.