|
TITLE: The Courtship of Ivy Walker Part One: Red and Black Red — "Red and Black", from Les Misérables: The Musical
He would awaken to a pain in his chest, a pain that dwindled just a little with every passing hour. His eyes would travel to the chair beside his bed, and there we would see Ivy, her sweet face always hovering over him. Without being asked she would lead him to the chamberpot and turn her face delicately away, though he knew as well as she did that she could not see what he did; now that he was a little more healed sometimes she took him to the nearby outhouse instead. Then, returning him to the bed, she would call for her sister to help change Lucius' bandages. He would close his eyes for this. It was not that he feared to see his wounds; quite the contrary. Instead he wished to amuse himself by guessing whose hands were dressing his injuries. Both sisters' touch was gentle and skilled, but he imagined he could tell Ivy's apart from the younger girl's from the way her hands searched for the right place, as they always did to compensate for her blindness. When this exercise was done, Kitty would return to her own home, and Ivy would hand her fiancé a bowl of sweet hot porridge for his breakfast. He was not yet well enough to take anything more substantial, but he did not mind; after a few days the taste of it was irrevocably associated in his mind with Ivy, and the connection was not unpleasant. After finishing this porridge, along with a mug full of fresh milk, he would sit back against his pillows and wait silently for the question, the first thing that Ivy would say to him that day. "Lucius, will you walk with me?" Since his illness had begun to pass, the doctor gave him permission to walk out of doors, and even informed him that it would be beneficial to his recovery. The first morning after this announcement Ivy had asked him to walk out with her; from that day forward it became their habit. They would make their way through the village, slowly, arm in arm, and Ivy would talk to him. In the past, before their engagement, Lucius often marveled that so much could go on in one person's head. Her thoughts, her ideas, her imaginings were beyond what he would have expected, even from her. But since his illness she had been uncommonly quiet and spoke only of the most mundane things. And on this fine day, with the sun blanketing the houses and grass and trees in a golden light, Ivy said nothing at all. She inquired after his pain and whether it had improved, to which he responded in the affirmative, and after that fell completely silent. He longed to ask her what troubled her so. He longed to comfort her for losing Noah, who was so dear to her heart, but whose soul had been revealed as containing as much evil as any Creature ever could. He longed to say so much. But when he spoke, all that came out was a single question. "Ivy, what is my color?" She stopped and turned to him in surprise. With a sort of laugh, she berated him, "Lucius, I told you it's not proper to ask." "I think I'd like to know." His tone was firm and quiet as always. Ivy could feel the quickening of his breath and sense the general tension of his person, but she longed still to see the expression in his eyes. It was the only thing she missed about her sight. "I shan't tell you," she replied lightly, and immediately felt him withdraw from her just the slightest bit. That had most certainly been the wrong thing to say. Smiling, though she knew he was not looking at her, she continued: "I will tell you once we are married, dearest." No, you won't, Lucius thought. You never will. Of all the things you have said to me you will never tell me my color. Why, Ivy? What are you concealing from me? Aloud, he said, "I'm tired." "You are not," Ivy laughed. "You are merely cross with me." She spoke with authority; when he was truly weary she could feel his body droop against her own. And anyway they had barely been walking ten minutes. "I am not cross," he responded evenly. She still smiled at him. "I can't understand why you wish to know so badly. Your color is of no consequence." Then why not tell me? "Besides, I like to keep it a secret. It's a gift that's been given just to me." But it is my color. I want to know how you see me, Ivy. That's all I ask. Already you are keeping secrets from me and we are not yet wed. "Lucius, you must not ask me again. You have my word that I will tell you, when the proper time comes." Do not lie to me. It was not until she turned to him with eyes full of hurt that he realized he had spoken his last thought aloud. "Do you believe I am lying to you?" He wished above all other things in that moment that he could have denied it. But Lucius was not gifted at the art of deception, and even had he been he could not have deceived Ivy. "Lucius, answer me!" The pain and anger in her voice made his throat constrict and his heart clench like a fist. "I..." She stared at him. "Ivy..." Her sightless gaze was unrelenting. She felt his arm trembling as she grasped it tightly. "Forgive me." He turned away from her. There was a long silence. Softly now, she spoke. "Why are you afraid?" Truly, Lucius had never been asked that question before. He was used to hearing "why are you not afraid?", "have you no fear?" and even occasionally "you should be afraid!", but never this. And now he was afraid. He was consumed with the same gripping fear that overtook him those nights when he found himself on the Walker's porch, which he had done many times before Ivy's discovery of the fact. It was not, as he had led her to believe, a fear of her being harmed - though that was a part of it. It was the fear of losing her. He forced himself to speak. "I...I do not know...I do not know what I am about, Ivy. It was easy to watch you and dream of you. This, this is so hard..." "'Tis too real," she interrupted in a voice barely above a whisper. "I know." "I cannot...already I have angered you," he went on, more softly now, so that no one but herself could possibly hear. "People anger and vex and upset one another, Lucius, it is the way of the world. We must learn to live at peace with that fact. You loved me from a distance, and it was safer there, but truly, who wants to be safe from the bad things if it keeps away the good things as well?" After a moment, he replied. "You speak of the forest. And those within. And the world beyond." "Yes, I do." Silence reigned. "Lucius..." He looked at her. "I must tell you something. A secret that no one but ourselves can know." He waited. "Those we do not speak of...are not real." Lucius' brow furrowed ever so slightly. "There never were any creatures in the forest," she whispered, taking care that no one could overhear. "It was a story, a story the elders invented to keep us in the village and out of harm's way." And yet harm was here amongst us all along, Lucius pondered, strangely calm. Ivy frowned. "You do not seem shocked." "I am," was his reply. And in a way, he was. Still, he did not feel it. It all made sense. The elders, out of the goodness of their hearts, wished to protect their children and their children's children. But from what evils? "The people on the outside," he continued at length. "Are they so very bad?" Shaking her head, Ivy replied, "the young man that I spoke to was perfectly kind. A little strict at first, and he seemed surprised to see me, but that is to be expected." "Do you ever wonder what we are being kept safe from, Ivy?" She smiled. "Yes. But I am happy here, so it matters not." Her companion nodded. Yes, it was true. He cared but little for the world outside. He understood there was still some medicine left that was not needed for him; this would save the next few invalids until someone could be sent to buy more. What else could the outside world have to offer that was not already here? "Lucius, I did not tell you about the creatures merely to unsettle you." "I am not unsettled." "I told you because it is necessary that you understand...what colors truly mean." His heart swelled a little at these words. "Yellow is the color of love and protection, but it is also the color of fear...fear, to keep us away from the outside. We wear cloaks of yellow when we venture near the forest because it makes us feel safe, but all it means is that we have fear." "I know that, Ivy." His voice quivered ever so slightly. She pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. "And red...they called it 'the bad color' so that children would understand. There is no bad color. Red is...red is the world outside, it is good things and bad things, it is real things. Things that are unsafe. Deep joy, and deep pain. Love. Do you understand, Lucius?" "Yes," he whispered. "When I look at my father I see yellow. Protection. Love. Fear. But now, as I look at you..." she stopped. Lucius turned and grasped her arms. His jaw twitched. "Tell me what you see." She looked to be on the verge of laughing and weeping all at once. "I see red....and black...." Then he pulled her to him and kissed her, and she could feel his tears against her cheeks... Part Two: The Dance And when you get the choice to sit it out, or dance — Lee Ann Womack
Ivy Walker looked up at her intended. He did not speak often, but when he did, she usually found herself at a loss as to how she might reply. "I believed that I had," she replied quietly, mimicking his own taciturn ways. Lucius looked down at her, studying her face. "Was it some...animal of the forest?" he inquired hopefully, beginning in the back of his mind to suspect the awful truth. She said nothing for a long while, and her companion took the opportunity of studying the scenery around him. On their daily walks they often simply made their way through the village, but today they walked 'round it, close to the perimeter of the forest. The contrast of the flat meadow and the forbidding, tangled trees absorbed his attention for some minutes until Ivy spoke again. "Twas Noah." Lucius' heart leapt into his throat at the subdued pain in her voice. "I told them," she went on dully, "I told them I'd killed a creature so that the elders could decide whether to reveal the truth, in their time." He looked away. "You have great forbearance." "In accepting Noah's death? Aye, it gives me pain, but he was not...who I thought he was..." Lucius stopped and turned to her. "He was very ill, Ivy. He didn't know what he was doing." His tone was clear and earnest, and Ivy felt he truly believed what he was saying. "He knew," she replied softly. "He did not simply...no, no, he knew. He chose you. He went to you, Lucius, with every intention of killing you. And then he tried to frighten me away from my journey, dressed as a creature...he knew." "Perhaps he knew how to go about it...but he did not know what he was truly doing." Ivy looked down. "He..." the young man searched his brain for the right words. "He never...meant...to hurt you, Ivy." With these words her eyes filled with tears and she let go of his arm. Stunned, Lucius could only watch as she strode rapidly away from him. "Ivy," he called at last, finding his voice, and hastily following her. She faltered a little, her foot caught on a root, and she began to stumble. Within seconds Lucius' hands were on her waist and he steadied her, quietly pronouncing her name. The closeness was irresistible. Turning, she fell on him, burying her face in his shirt and murmuring "I'm sorry..." His arms crept around her as if he were afraid of offending her by holding her too tightly. But Ivy did not seem to mind. "I'm sorry...tis just...so much easier if I believe that he meant harm, but I know he did not..." She slid her hands up to his shoulders and pushed him away a little. "Do you not wish to know how he died?" I would only wish to never see you weep again. "I thought it was a creature. I heard its steps and the horrible sounds it made. So I went to the hole I had fallen into before and stood by its edge, then as the creature rushed at me I stepped away. And it fell. And then I knew." Oh, my dearest. Why must you know such things? Why has your life been full of pain? Why are you always in the darkness? "I smelt him. I smelt the cedar and berries and the sweet things that he was always eating, the soap and the dirt and the grass...all those smells that combined into the scent of Noah. Underneath the horrible decaying creature smell, I smelt Noah." "He had no color?" Lucius finally asked. Ivy shook her head slowly. "No. No color, or I should have known before...before I..." There was a hitch in her throat and she could say no more. Dear God in heaven, take this pain from her. His hold on her tightened. "Sweet..." was all he managed to say, but it was enough. They stood like this for many minutes, until, by some unspoken agreement, they broke apart and continued their stroll. After a time, Ivy spoke. "Lucius, are you happy?" He looked at her. Happy? What a word for it! My only wish since I was a little child was to spend every day in your company. Now we are almost never apart. I am complete, and yet incomplete because you are not yet fully mine. Yes, Ivy, I am happy, I am overjoyed, I am full of all wonderful things. Aloud, he said: "Yes." "Oh." Sweetheart, what have they been saying to you? What lies do they tell? Cannot they let me speak for myself? Must they imagine what I am thinking merely because I do not let it spill out like so many buckets of water? "Why?" he inquired. "They tell me..." Ivy paused. "They tell me that you never smile." Ah. "One may smile at a joke, Ivy. But not...not this..." "You do not smile at jokes, either," she reminded him, her mouth quirking just slightly at the corner. How difficult it is to please people! Especially a woman who is worthy of being pleased. She pulled his arm a little closer, nestling with her own. "Smiles do not come easy to you, do they, Lucius?" "No." "Nor speaking." "Usually." Her laughter was like the sweetest music to him. "I believe you must smile, sometimes. Or people will imagine that you despise me." "Do you imagine?" "No!" "Then I care not." Smiling at him again, she spoke. "I can tell that you are happy. At least, I thought...that is why I asked. I was right. Your color grows brighter." He imagined that at this moment she must be fairly blinded with red. Dropping a quick kiss on her forehead, he turned back towards the village, withdrawing from her a little while he still had the power to prevent himself from doing something he would later regret. About five nights ago she had begun leaving him to sleep alone. Usually, since his illness, she would keep watch, occasionally dozing in a chair beside his bed, just in case. But now he was recovered. And while he was grateful that the pain was nearly gone, he dearly missed her company - yet understood why it was best that she was absent. In a week's time, they would be married. Surely it would be the longest week of his life. The village had never been more full of joy than it was on the wedding day of Lucius Hunt and Ivy Walker. Directly after the ceremony the festivities began, with food, drink, and music, whilst the bride and groom stood and received their well-wishers. After nearly every man, woman, and child had shaken hands and embraced and congratulated the couple, Ivy turned to her husband and asked him if anyone was dancing yet. "No," he replied, but his tone sounded strange...different somehow... Curious, she lifted her hand up to his face and touched his cheek. As she suspected, she could feel his smile. She had been wrong, though, about the well-wishers - at least twice as many again came after this slight lull, with more advice and hugs and kisses and prayers. While her father engaged Lucius in an involved conversation, Ivy took the opportunity of stepping outside the tent to breathe. The cool air was as refreshing as she had expected. Taking a seat on a large rock, she let out a long sigh and thought about the future. This world...the only world she had ever known, was in jeopardy. Would the elders ever reveal the truth? What other secrets were there; what were they hiding in those black boxes Lucius spoke of? Would their village survive? And would she be able to keep the secret forever, if she had to? And, in the grand scheme of things, did it really matter? Suddenly she saw red in the darkness. Lucius had come searching for his bride. She could tell when he had perceived her; the red glowed more brightly than ever before. Her sensitive ears now heard the music in the tent take on a more jovial, foot-tapping beat. She waited. Then he walked to her and extended both his hands, saying: "Dance with me, Ivy Hunt." |