moments that define, clare

[edward hawthorne]

He was marrying Miss Clare Abernathy of 7 Belgrave Square, London. Their wedding would boast of two hundred guests of lords and ladies. Most of who would attend their engagement soiree. They would honeymoon in France, as was fashionable. Their engagement would be the talk of the city for months. Two of the oldest, prestigious families in London joining in a previously unarranged match – it was a real-life fairytale. The charming prince marries the beautiful princess, to live in an enchanting castle atop the hill. But somewhere along the way, the pages of their fairytale had been torn out.

Yesterday, he was marrying Miss Clare Abernathy. Today, he felt like the stone statues perched along the rooftops – watching all that unfolded beneath them, helpless to it all.

The air that filled the space between them was thick and heavy, burning with the words neither of them could say. It was unbearable. Edward fidgeted by the door, his arms crossed tight against his chest. A soft breeze ran its fingers through her soft, chestnut curls. He closed his eyes, frowning. He turned quickly to the door, but it had been locked. Something in his stomach hollowed.

Out of the corner of his eye, a flash of light caught his gaze. He watched as Clare slipped the diamond and sapphire ring off her slender finger and curled it tight into her small fist. It had been his grandmother’s ring. He had been so nervous when he’d given it to her that day in the gardens. He hadn’t known what to say – Will you marry me? Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife? When he finally bent down and opened the small box, the only words that came out of his trembling lips were, ”Will you?”
”Oh Eddie! Of course I will, of course,” she had replied, a smile tickling across her full lips. He held her hand in his, and gently grasped her white glove and pulled it off. Both of them smiling so wide, he didn’t think he could contain this kind of happiness within him. The golden circle slipped effortlessly onto her pale finger. Soon, her arms were encircled around his neck and her lips softly upon his. He had startled at first, this so uncharacteristic from her usually demure manner. But as their kiss deepened, he wrapped his arms around her thin waist and found he could not love her more.

The ring sat empty now, upon the closed book beside of her. Had that been only a sign of a reckless girl to come? No – he had loved that moment. The feel of her beneath his hands, the touch of her lips against his. He furrowed his brow. What had she done? She had ruined everything they had. Hadn’t she loved him? He had given her all that he knew to give.

”Eddie…” It was a voice from a memory, but devoid of it’s mirth and lightness. He watched as she slowly walked down the stairs, the copper curls of her hair gently bouncing with each step. It stung to watch her leave, to not understand.

“Please don’t call me that.” She stopped shortly, her figure turned from him, the arc of her silken dress golden in the sun. He could hear hooves clattering against cobblestone from the other street. Trees swayed softly against the breeze. His heart thumped erratically against the cage of his bones.

“Why?” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Why did you do it?” He clenched his hands by his side, staring down at her. His breathing was shallow as he fought against everything not to break.

Despite everything, he loved her. With all that his heart had to fill, he loved her.

Still.

[clare abernathy]

Clare was seven when her father had presented her with the intricately carved dollhouse for her birthday. It had been an exact replica of their summer home in the country. She had been mesmerized, her fingers trailing over the white-washed siding and pale blue gingerbread along the steep gables. Miniscule paper flowers of red, purple and blue filled window boxes with perpetual summer. Wicker furniture was set in place upon the wraparound porch complete with a small pitcher of lemonade on a petite table. “Oh, Papa!” she had gasped, certain that she had never seen anything lovelier. Pleased with her reaction her father had turned the house around, revealing a small, silver latch on the back. “There is more, love.” His fingers deftly released the clasp and he opened the house to reveal the interior. Each room from their summer home had been captured in sunny colors and magnificent detail. In the kitchen, a servant was standing over a stove covered in small copper pots while another sat mending at the sturdy oak table, a small basket of bobbins and fabric at her feet. A piano sat before the large, lace-covered windows in the drawing room and a pink satin coverlet was placed neatly upon the poster bed in her replica bedroom. “Do you notice anything out of sorts with the house?”

“Not at all! It’s perfect,” Clare had exclaimed as she turned to face her father. “It’s the best present ever. Thank you ever so much!” He had chuckled in response and patted her head. “Perhaps a family to live here? This is a home far too grand to be occupied solely by servants don’t you think? Perhaps these will remedy that.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and retrieved a small parcel wrapped in tissue and tied with a pink satin ribbon. Clare held out her hands eagerly, her eyes bright with anticipation as her father placed the package in her palm. She gingerly removed the wrapping, allowing the pieces to drift to the flow like feathers about her feet and stared at the small porcelain family of four that had been hidden inside: A father with flaxen hair; a mother with her auburn tresses secured in a chignon; a small babe wrapped in white and a little blonde-haired girl in a pink dress.

She had spent countless hours playing with the house and its occupants, creating fantastic tales of love and romance. The fairytales her nanny read to her at night came to life beneath her hands and her characters always found their happy endings. Until one day when the mother was playing the part of Esmeralda – a beautiful princess who had been abducted by pirates. The only way she could escape and marry her true love was to crawl along the cliffs to the waiting harbor. Clare had been making Esmeralda walk along the top of her banister when her grip had loosened and the doll had fallen to the ground, her face shattering. No amount of tears had been able to reverse the damage. Even after her father had purchased a replacement the game was not the same. The new doll didn’t have the same history and she no longer wished to play the way she once had.

She and Edward were no different from the dolls she had once played with. They had each filled roles in the tale others had crafted – dutiful daughter and promising son. Their future was bright with promise. A week ago Clare and her future mother-in-law had searched for new linens for the town home she and Edward would occupy once they were married. They had sat at a small table and sipped tea while the shop keeper laid various samples before them. Later that evening the two families had dined together and he had squeezed her hand beneath the table. Everything had seemed so perfect and untouchable in that moment. She had believed in the tale that had been woven for them. She was utterly content.

But she had fallen and Edward no longer wanted to craft a tale around a broken doll.

Her hands clamped into tight fists at her side as anger colored her vision. He had once told her that he loved her and that she was all he could ask for her. Beneath these same trees he had promised to always be true, vowing to never leave. She had returned his sentiments; believed in them. In a moment all of that had been forgotten. Edward believed what he had seen rather than what happened. Even now, safe from the accusations of others he did not seek the truth. Her words were of no merit. Her mind drifted over the delicate pictures created throughout their courtship revealing questions she had never seen before. Had Edward ever loved her? Had he ever believed in her, in them? Moreover, had he ever listened to the truth of who she was or had he opted to fabricate his own tale? As she struggled to articulate these sentiments his anguished voice tore through her. “Why? Why did you do it?”

Clare turned to face him once more. The man standing above her on the stairs encompassed a thousand memories. Edward was written across the pages of her past and she could not bear the thought of a future without him. The reality rested in the uneasy space between them. Unspoken words rested in the shadows. Her hands opened in defeat at her side. She could see no compassion in his gaze, only condemnation. Her answer didn’t matter for he had already chosen what to believe. “I thought you knew me.” Her voice cracked alongside her heart and she blinked against the embittered tears that burned her eyes. “How can you do this tome?”

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[edward hawthorne]

He stared at the lines of his hands as if they held the answers. How had they come to this? She turned. She was still as beautiful as ever. But now a sadness paled her usual bright features. ”I thought you knew me,” she said, her voice a thin waver. ”How can you do this to me?” For a moment, overwhelming sorrow reflected in him and tore at his flesh. ”I thought I knew you as well,” he replied in barely more than a whisper.

He spun his cufflinks between his fingers. Images of his moments with Clare drummed across his mind. The bright bows she would wear as a child, the lightness of her laugh, how she tucked her hair behind her ears. But then the brief image of the stranger, his body pressed against Clare, seared and replaced him with numbing anger. “But I saw you!” he cried out in exasperation. “Everyone saw you!”

He stared at his hands again, rubbing his thumb against the lines. “Is this how you wanted it? You could have told me Clare. If I wasn’t, that is, if you didn’t want this…” He turned towards the railing and gripped the iron tight, his knuckles puckered white. He couldn’t understand why Clare was making him feel like he was the one who betrayed them. He had only seen a glimpse – two tangled bodies before the man was off running and Edward and his friends with him. Why would he have run had there been nothing to hide? By the time he had gotten back, Clare had been swept away. Surrounded by the hiss of whispers, he had listened as hundreds of others had called off his wedding before he had even spoken.

He closed his eyes. It had only happened last night. The events were too fresh in his mind to make any sense. The thudding of his heart droned out rational thinking. He felt tired, like his bones were suddenly too thin and his flesh too heavy. He turned slightly, his hands still clutching the railing. ”Did you ever love me?” he said - the words pulled taut through his clenched jaw, and his voice like the crunch of gravel.

He stared at her for a quiet moment. The seconds ached between them. He wanted to reach out and hold her hand, but she was a stranger now. She opened her mouth as if to speak but the door suddenly flew open behind them.

“Mister Hawthorne?” a servant asked, standing in the doorway. “Your father bids you.” Edward nodded and the servant closed the door, leaving them alone once again. He straightened and released his grip from the railing. He caught Clare’s gaze, her teal eyes still catching the pound of his heart. He hated that, when all he wanted was to forget they ever happened. He furrowed his brow as he put his hand on the brass doorknob.”My father was right.” he said, his mouth set in a rigid line. ”Keep the damn ring.” And he left her, alone.

He found his father standing by the front door, his posture as rigid as ever, obviously avoiding eye contact with Clare’s father who stood close by. As Edward reached the door, a servant opened it and his father left without a word. Edward paused by the door, and looked towards his once father-in-law. “Goodbye Lord Abernathy.” He smiled softly, but obvious dejection pursed Oscar Abernathy’s lips and pinched his brow. He nodded with some finality as Edward left him, standing quiet and solemn.

He met his father in the waiting carriage. ”That daft Abernathy. Actually believes his daughter didn’t do anything! This is an inconvenience surely, but I’m glad our family didn’t end up associated with their sort.” His father scoffed and shoved his leather gloves on. Edward sat quiet, the word “inconvenience” pressing its weight on his thoughts.

“Did you get the ring like I asked?” his father asked tersely, his back aligned perfectly with the back of the seat. It was a moment before Edward shook his head. ”No...no, I forgot to.” He sank deeper into the seat, feeling the weight of his bones dragging him down. His father made some stiff reply about getting it back but he stopped listening. He kept going over all the words he said, and all the words he should of said to her. He wanted them gone and replaced only by Clare's comforting grasp.

What had happened was not an inconvenience. It was a loss.