It’s almost absurd to realize I am, in a way.
What would she think if she knew it was a man my affections lie with, not a woman? Would she—couldshe—understand that, too?
It’s not accepted. But a small corner of my mind recognizes the fact that it must happen. Men lying with one another. Maybe women, too. If no one ever felt this way, there wouldn’t be laws prohibiting it.
Surely, I should care about that more than I do. But I can’t see how it’s wrong. Not when, for the first time ever, looking at another, touching them, feels right.
My mother waves to my aunt as our carriage sets into motion. We rock with it, and I offer my mother a small smile when she wipes discreetly below her eye. She looks away quickly, and I wish, not for the first time, she didn’t feel the need to hide herself so.
I let my mind drift as we begin the steady journey toward home. Toward Abraham.
Five and a half weeks has been far too long.
I wash myself with quick movements, despite the water being pleasantly warmed from the hearth. As soon as I’m certain I’m clean, I step from the tub and dry off. My clothes have been returned to my wardrobe thanks to Catherine, a few articles set aside for laundering. I nearly trip over my own feet in my haste to dress.
I pass Catherine in the hall. She’s unpacking the last of our trunks from our arrival yesterday evening.
“Eager to get to the printer this morning?” she asks, amusement in her tone.
My heart thumps painfully. I don’t care for secrecy between me and Catherine, but what could I possibly say to explain Abraham?
“Yes,” I lie. “I didn’t realize I’d miss it so.”
I wait for her to catch me out, but she only hums. “Then be off with you.”
With a nod, I head out the door.
My walk feels as if it lasts hours instead of mere minutes. I pass familiar faces, buildings and houses I’ve gone by hundreds of times, even a gaggle of children being led to school. I see almost none of it.
The scent hits me first. The horses. The sound of a gentle whinny. I can scarcely breathe.
I slow at the front of the stables, grateful there’s no one close enough to be paying attention to me. Victor and a single patron are standing inside, but neither notices my presence. My pulse races as I search for him.
What if he’s gone? What if he doesn’t wish to see me? What if—
Abraham steps through a wide door at the back of the stables, and it’s as if all the air leaves my lungs. There’s sweat along his brow, his hair disheveled from his work. His shirt is streaked with dirt, the laces along the top open enough for me to glimpse his chest. He’s broad and young, yes, but not youthful in appearance. His physique is that of a laborer. He’s not soft. Not feminine.
Yet I ache for him in a way I never have for another, expectations be damned.
When Abraham spots me at long last, the world simply…stops. His throat catches, his entire body going still and everything around us seeming to quiet. I wait with breath held, sure his dismissal now would crush me. But his lips tip into a smile, and my very being soars and expands, as if I’m a bird taking its first flight of spring.
I can’t temper my own smile. It bursts from me big and wild, and I swear Abraham nearly comes to me. Nearly strides my way to wrap his hands in my hair and press his lips to mine.
But, of course, he doesn’t. He can’t.
Victor says something to Abraham, and he nods quickly, his attention diverted for a moment before coming back to me. I see the apology in the eyes. The absolute longing. I nod in return, taking a step away, knowing I’ve already risked far too much in my transparency.
Catherine’s question from so many weeks ago returns to me. When she asked about my friendship with Abraham.
Is it safe?
No, I daresay it’s not. Not anymore.
It isn’t easy walking away, but I force my feet through the motions. I meet my father at the printer, my fingers smudged with dark ink before long. I nod along as one of the older men discusses the importance of the newspaper, not disagreeing with him yet angry, all the same, that so few are allowed the opportunity to read.
Should knowledge and wealth not be shared equally? What benefit is it to have extra food on the table when others have not enough to get by? Should not all men and women learn the alphabet? Are we not stronger if we gain wisdom from all?
It’s a relief when my father and I leave for home. He looks over at me proudly, not knowing the thoughts inside my head. Not knowing how much I’ve surely failed him already.
