Tears of Leyden (35 page)

I swallow despite the difficulty. “It won’t happen, ever,” I say it lightly, but it is hard enough to leave a dark mark staining my heart.

He turns his face to my ear. “You do not have to be secured by the church…or give up your belonging for one another,” he teaches softly. “You only have to have an agreement.”

I feel the stain slowly cleanse from my heart’s surface before it could bleed through. “You love me.”

He echoes me in response. “I love you.”

It is an agreement…but not the one we want.

“You know it?” it is uncertain and shaky, the weight of our secret already making me anticipative.

He is gentle. “I know it.”

There is a small pause between us and I think of nothing but everything. How it all would change if we took this opportunity. I am drawn back by the solid beating of his heart I hear through his chest.

“Lyra,” it wakes me to him and for the first time I feel the true equality between us, how he treats me with the same respect as any man would treat another man.

I tilt my head up and tad him gently with my nose.

“Together…” he is soft, starting the sentence of the first vow. “In rank and drink, in food and blood. God faces us with this grant of linking our lives to one another’s…”

Chills run through me as the words are spoken so close to me, so dearly to me, and I am thankful that Nadeje does not let me go. It is short but suffices, and as he dawns on the last words of the prayer and ceremony, I wonder if God is truly listening or if we are just making promises to someone’s absence.

“We once were sacrificed into this world to make contributions and make up elements, and now God, in my life, our lives, we wish to make the kindle of tying to another human being. In all faith and virtue, there lies a new peace for those who search. We search for your blessing. I would ask that I, Nadeje Zandige Buskirk Gilch, and Lyra Thimlet Orange may be blessed with this peace for the future years, or days, however long we will be granted together.”

“Buskirk?” It is a light breath and I realize I have interrupted the sermon.

He does not hear however, and continues. “Trusting in you…we would trust in ourselves the responsibility and bonds to this place where we put our own hands within each other’s, now and ever more.”

He pauses a moment as though unsure if he should announce it or let it pass.
They were the rightful words of a preacher or Pope…
He lifts his face a bit and urges me up with a light nuzzle to my hairline. I meet his request and look up to him. His eyes are warm and brilliant, full of something holy yet still remaining beneath the realms of the revered. I love him for that; he knows his place on earth and never tries to be above or below it, unlike other men, who always strive to fight for their destinies but fail to recognize their true purpose in life.

He searches my expression and for all I know I hope he finds the love and reverence I hold for him there.

“Do you wish it?”

I try not to smile. “I wish this,” I realize it is my turn. “Do you wish it?”

He is soft. “I wish this,” he watches me. “Promise.”

I feel my cheeks burn at my forgetfulness. “I promise.”

His eyes are smiling despite the firm setting of his mouth. “Forgive our lack of accompaniment.”

There is a pause and I hesitantly wait.

“We do swear and ask our faith.”

I feel his hands warmth along my waist and wonder if he feels mine too.

I feel the absence of his speech and realize it is now that we are left to close the prayer. I feel my heart flutter and make myself stay grounded to my spot. His eyes hold mine and I feel shivers run down my skin as I expect it to happen. His gaze slowly lowers to my lips and I weaken unsure of what to do or say.

In an attempt to distract myself from near fainting, I think of anything but how my eyes drop down to his mouth, and how it looks absolutely like the softest surface I was ever allowed to touch in my life. He lowers his head down.

Nadeje Zandige Buskirk Gilch…Nadeje Zandige Buskirk Gilch…Nadeje Zandige Buskirk Gilch...

I hesitantly take hold of his shirt’s fabric and feel the trembling inside harden as he draws closer. His eyes look to mine again, then back down to my mouth and he leans close.

“May I kiss the bride…?”

I feel his words enter me like music and the only thing I can seem to do is listen. I make myself respond. “Yes.”

He inclines his head and our noses brush together. My eyes close and I tilt my face up a bit. I feel the warmth of his lips so close to mine and the feeling causes hundreds of sensations to run through me all at once. I can feel nothing but his heat though, and his arms.

Then, all stops.

“Buskirk?” it is a light breath, whispering out in time before his bottom lip dabs mine. I hardly feel it however, too taken away as I realize it…

“It means bush church…or church in the woods…”

I open my eyes to find his still closed. “I know.”

He leans to kiss me but I stop it.

“It is Dutch.”

I feel my hands are clamped around his shirt. For once I know why.

He lifts a bit and his eyes open. I feel my heart fluttering but not only from the kisses.

“Nadeje?”

He watches me uncertainly.

I back away a bit feeling my heart throb. “Why?” It is a whisper.

He stops too.

“Is your Sur name your moeder’s or your vader’s?”

He seems concerned. “Lyra…”

“Nadeje,” it is earnest.

He seems confused. “My moeder’s.”

I stare at him. “You said you hardly knew him…” it is weak, but he seems to grow to understand.

My heart pounds.

“His job was to work as an attendant to the trips back and forth from Spain and Holland…but he never was spoken of as if he was previously from…”

I swallow hard. “Your vader was Dutch.”

It hits him hard, harder than expected from him. I see it in his face. He looks uncertain a moment then anxious, and then scared…then nothing at all like my calm Nadeje.

“It could aid the request…” his eyes are twinkling.

I don’t know what to do. Happiness takes over my whole being just like that. I want to run to my vader, to the world, to the universe and shout out my victory. My new hope. However, I do the exact opposite of running to the door.

I jump on him, throwing myself and my arms around his neck and against his chest. He locks me to him in the embrace and somehow I feel the same thudding rhythm synchronized between our chests. I turn my face into his neck and feeling my face there, he suddenly scoops into my neck and starts kissing me. I giggle a little and his lean towards me makes us totter back so that I end up on my back with him on top of me. I giggle more and more until finally, I am laughing, and hearing it he abruptly twists over and hauls me up over him, hugging me tight and clamping me down to him tighter than I would have believed possible to breathe. Yet I breathe.

He turns over slower onto his side and gently feels my hair, lightly tracing down the side of my face with his free hand. I watch him, the smile now gone, his too. I can’t help but wonder what we could do now, without going against law, without being discriminated.

Everything.

He is mine. I could stroke him, touch him, comfort him, feel him, kiss him, take shelter with him, care for him, love him, and most significantly, I could now express myself to him. He is mine.
All of him
. As I am his.
All of me
.

He carefully captures the shoulder neckline of my dress in his hand. I do not feel nervous or resentful in any way, I just feel at peace, the want for him to continue and the want to share with him everything I have all occupying my mind in this moment. He lightly draws it over the slope of my shoulder, leaving it bare. Feeling the allowance of the dress, he lets it go and does not pull further in order not to hurt me. He slowly comes nearer and as though seeing nothing else in the world, focuses in on me. He warmly rests his face in my neck, the heat of it making his face cool as he presses cordially. I relax further into the bed, wanting only for him to relax too…wanting nothing more than to please him. He kisses the crook of my neck, and then peels his lips away and he comes back to me. Seeing no resentment, he brings me into him. I feel his face venture below my cheek, and his hands work comfortingly at the laces in the back of my dress. I feel them loosen. His fingers unforgettably fold into the fabric and venture between the laces, sinking past the layers to find my back. I burrow closer, letting him feel that I only wish to be warmed by him. He feels my acceptance, but instead lays his hands out over the laces and folds, not seeking me, finding me here as I found him and knowing I will be here always for him to explore and to show his passion to.

He quietly feels the laces and begins to tighten them. When he has finished, he seems unsure of how to tie it. I do not mind and nestle into him to show him this much. He becomes sure again, and then gently presses me under him to lean over top of me, to see me, to speak to me. His eyes are twinkling and lovely in the lamplight, and I can’t seem to stop searching them for the oddest things.

“I am sorry,” he gently breathes it to me, strain in his throat.

I watch him. “No,” I say it softly, assuredly.

He balances himself up on his elbows over me, looking down. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

I blink. “Live.”

He cracks a smile. “I meant it to be romantic.”

I lightly feel his hair. “I am following your example of staying calm and honest.”

He drops down and bundles me to him. “Are you saying I am not romantic?”

I giggle. “You are passionate.”

He chuckles a little against me and turns to his side, bringing me against his chest. “You are beautiful.”

I blush a little, lightly feeling his collar. “You are dutiful.”

He brushes my hair. “You are loyal.”

I smile. “You are bountiful.”

He frowns against me. “Are you saying I am fat?”

I laugh at the remark and feel over his abdomen. “No.”

It is low and playfully grumbly. “You had to check. Great.”

I pull him to me and snuggle closer. He is warm and the surface of his body feels right for me.

I grin. “I love you.”

He smiles. “You are lovable.”

I push at him and he chuckles back to me, drawing me tightly in. “If we were alone completely, I would define that…elaborately.”

The vibration of his voice is soft and warm, deep and rich, loving and full. I go a little breathless as I see what he is implying and can only answer with a small sound. “Nade.”

He feels my presence dwindling with his address to that possibility, and lightly nuzzles me back. “I love you, and will wait years for you to be prepared for me…I only ask that you tell me as soon as you are.”

I would have said “now,” if not for the knowledge that here cannot be the right place, the right shelter, or the right safety. It needed to be somewhere else alone;
all
alone.

“Leifde.”

I relax again, only now I find myself less conscious of his every touch. I close my eyes and rest in his embrace. Everything outside of it seems an illusion. Everything outside of me feels foreign apart from Nadeje. I snuggle closer. He wraps me in. I allow myself to drift
. I am safe. I will be safe. I have found peace. I can remain at peace.

My eyes flutter open to the sounds outside the door to my room. The door opens and so does a new path. We don’t look up until there is a clearing of a throat which causes Nadeje to raise his head and look in the direction from which it came. There is a moment of silence as he observes it, then he comes back to me and begins to let me go. It takes a moment but I manage to stop clutching him. Our eyes meet and linger and his hand passes along my cheek. He stands off the bed and starts for the door. I follow a few moments later, and see that some guards and my vader stand in the door.

I feel my head spin as Nadeje walks to him and leaving respectable space between himself and my vader he bows his head and raising it looks him directly in the eyes.

“May I speak with you?” it is sincere and firm and holds certainty.

I watch his back and can’t help but wonder if I had always seen it the way I do now; strong and able, slender and firm with a sense of commitment to everything he binds to.

My vader glances past him to me as though to make sure no harm has been done. Seeing me standing however, he looks back and gives a single nod.

I step forward as they begin out the door. Nadeje does not turn back to me but I don’t mind; I trust him as much as I did my own moeder after birth.

As I start forward, vader holds me back. “There is a dress coming for you and I hope for you to be fed within the hour. You feel better…I presume?”

I nod once but by the time I look up to him he is starting out the door. Every ounce of me wishes to follow, but I remain put.