The Fourteenth and a Special Day

I smiled at the little class I led, fifteen six and seven year olds. I couldn’t say that they were fifteen little angels, far from it. David would constantly pull Betty’s hair, and Erin was a devil in is disguise, I knew it. But they were also children, and I was sure that’s how children normally acted. Pretty sure anyway.

        We were currently doing aloud reading, an activity for which I was very happy to see was allowed. The other teachers had suggested their own list of books, things like Peter Pan, the Wizard of Oz, Canterbury Tales for Children.

        I had thrown the lists out and gave the children my own suggestions and David, being separated from Betty and her brown locks, was standing and reading.

        “It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion,’ he said, carefully enunciating the words like I’d taught them “And while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad, that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends at a masked ball of the most unusual magnificence.”

        “Very good, David. Now, who’s next?” A small wood of hands shot up, the tallest and most erratically waving of which was Joseph’s. Joseph loved reading, it was his favorite thing and, I’ll admit he was maybe one of my favorite students.

But it wasn’t time for him to read yet. I liked to have Joseph read the climaxes; he always put in so much effort. I looked over the faces hoping in earnest to read to the rest of the class. Ahh, there’s one, “Justin, how about you continue for us?”

        Justin was a fatter boy, but cute in his own little way. He was one of the better readers, His finger trailed along the page as he read, “It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But first let me tell of the rooms in which it was held. There were seven -- an imperial suite. In many palaces, however, such suites form a long and straight vista, while the folding doors slide back nearly to the walls on either hand, so that the view of the whole extent is scarcely impeded.”

        I thanked the boy and was about to call for another reader when a knock came from the door. I got up from my desk and opened it and standing before me and the class was Booker, his hands behind his back and a look of embarrassed defeat on his face.

        “Booker, what are yo-“

Booker pushed his way into the room, snow still falling off his coat. The old coat, he shouldn’t be wearing it. It probably wasn’t even made yet, “I uh… I didn’t really like how we left things, earlier and…” he pulled his arm out from behind him and revealed a small bouquet of flowers, but before he could finish, Gabriel piped up.

“Who’s he, Miss Elizabeth?”

And then another child said out loud, “He’s so old! Is he your dad?”

        “Who is he?”

And the tide of questions flowed on up. Once one of them got a thought it seemed to run and jump and skip to the minds of the rest of the children.

I took the flowers from Booker and gave the class a glare that said ‘the next person to ask a question sits in the corner and shall certainly not be getting any gold or silver stars’ and then quickly hushed up.

        “This is… er. Class, this is Mister DeWitt. He’s a detective,” I looked down at the bundle of flowers in my arms, a rose or two snuggled in amongst violets and fern like plants and honeysuckle and hydrangea, “And it’s time for recess…” I said, tearing my eyes away from the flowers, “Joseph, please lead the class outside, and don’t forget your coats!”

        Booker stood aside as the kids filed past, I could only imagine what the two of us, standing together with flowers in my arms looked like to them. I was sure some of the children grinned at me.

        Finally the door closed and we were alone, “Booker what is all this?”

        “It’s the fourteenth and after this morning…”

This morning. I was angry with him this morning, that’s right. And it was right after I left that I realized her was right, but I couldn’t bring myself to go back to the apartment and tell him. Did he just stew there until now, trying to think of a way to make it better? I hugged the flowers, the paper wrapping them crinkling at my arms. Stupid man…

        “I mean, we both know what’s coming. And I guess we could try and-”

I cut him off “No, you were right. It would just end up like before. It wouldn’t help. We…” I looked up at him and smiled. It really seemed like a stupid fight now. Most of them were but it was so important to me before, it would just be a year before the archduke is shot, I thought we could do something, “I, already did enough.”

        I looked back to the flowers and then around the room. I should find something to put these in. There was a small vase that just decorated a table in the corner. I took it and put the flowers inside. I’d fill it with water a little later. As I brought the vase to my desk Booker, looking around the room spoke up again, “So that was Joseph, hm?”

        I’d talked about Joseph a bit at him before. That he was a good student and such, “Yes. He usually helps with taken the class outside, things like that”

        “I think I can see why you have a crush on him”

        I whirled around and sure enough Booker had that stupid stupid grin on his face, “Booker, I don’t-”

        “I looked like that when I was his age, you know” I had known. It was probably why he was one of my favorite students. Hair parted just so, green eyes, a softer face but who didn't have that when they were six?

We’d lulled back into silence for a while. It was like this sometimes, Booker was never very good at saying how he felt. Coming here and bringing flowers was probably the largest romantic gesture I could ever have imagined from him.

        And me, I… well, I guess I’d always want to take my lead from him. The apple and the tree and all of that.

        “I uh, I like your hair like that. Done up, I mean”

My hand went to the clip at the back of my head. The teachers had a strict unwritten rule about no loose hair, but mine wasn’t long enough to put into a bun like theirs. I bundled it up and clipped it. It held for a bit but I could already feel locks coming loose. I’m sure I must have looked like I’d just woken up. Leave it to Booker to make me feel self-conscious.

Booker pulled a honeysuckle flower from the vase and ripped off the stem. He put it in my hair by my ear. I smiled, “Thanks”

        He smiled back, “I’m sorry about earlier, I’ll try to be better, okay?” He hugged me close, “I love you, Anna.”

        Only we and the twins knew about our relationship, but Booker almost never called me that. It was always something special when he did. It was like; maybe he wanted me to know that whatever he was saying he meant it as a father too. I hugged him as hard as I could.

 

----

 

        I adjusted my corset and the neckline of the dress in the mirror. It had a blue bodice with folded white cloth wrapping around the arms to the back. It was held up with a thin outer corset that tied in the front. The skirt was layered in blue and white with lace lining the hemlines and surrounding the skirts at the knees. The neckline was scandalously low, barley covering my corset underneath. It was a dress to be seen in, fit for a ball or evening party, but I only had one person in mind for it. It was not a dress a daughter wore for her father.

        I hoped it would have the right effect, Bookers mirror- no, our mirror, was too small to see the full dress. I smoothed out the skirts, I’m sure it all looked fine.

        The soup I’d made sat still scalding hot in its pot on the table. I was lucky today was a Friday, the children got sent home early on Fridays. I’d never have been able to cook ourselves dinner otherwise. I felt like a real housewife and I couldn’t stop the smile over my face. I’d put this off for too long, and Booker would always try to run off when I’d done it before. It should be different now, of course, I’d gotten him to admit how he felt. He’d even given me flowers on Valentine’s. And today was special, besides. It’d been a year, and a little more than half that since the letter, and the most physical we’d been was an embrace and a kiss.

        I’d been waiting for it but still the sound of the door unlocking and opening startled me, with a gasp I spun around just as Booker opened the door. He started to greet me and stopped, his mouth hung open slightly. I couldn’t help but feel a little sheepish, despite myself. Booker looked from me to the table and back again.

        “What’s all this about?”

I hugged him, “Do you know what today is, Booker?”

        When he didn’t answer I looked back at him, “A year ago we-”

        “Came back…”

I nodded. Booker’s clothes were a little rumpled; dirt dusted his pants and coat, and muddled his face. His hair was slightly corded from sweat. It was how he looked when he first set foot in my tower. It was really how I’d always see him. Even when he’d shaved and scrubbed, or put on a new suit, I always knew that underneath all that he’d always just be this save gruff man.

        We sat down to the little dinner. We exchanged the usual conversations of how our days went, Booker said he liked my dress, I knew he would. There were a few things that I knew for sure about Booker, three of which were: He’s rather protective of me, was never good at admitting things to himself, and he couldn’t take his eyes off my neckline.

        He rather cutely jerked a bit when he felt my own leg rub against his, and I smiled again.  All the better to remind him of our previous nights together lifetimes ago.

I cleared off the table, leaning over a little further then I needed to. I set the dishes aside and came back to the table and took another drink from my glass. Booker finally got up, excusing himself to wash up, but I stopped him.

“I think you look fine, Booker,” I said, “You’ve got just the right bit of dashing flair that a girl li-”

        “I know what you’re trying to do Elizabeth,” he said back rather gloomily.

        “I’m just tired of this Booker…” I played with his tie, pulling at it and untying it, “I told you before I wasn’t sorry, and I know you’re not. Why act like this?”

        “Maybe I’m just not as confident as you ar-“

        I pulled on the tie and stood on my toes and our lips met in a soft loving kiss like we’d shared when he’d finally admitted how he felt to me. I pulled away, still holding onto the strip of cloth.

 

I hadn’t noticed how cold our apartment was until my layers of clothing started to fall away, but as the cool air met my skin I found that Booker’s hands were warmer and warmer. I would never be sure just how many times I’d given myself to the man, but it seemed that each time we’d first done this it felt the same, and now was no different. Butterflies filled my stomach, their fluttering wings brewing up hurricanes in my heart. Was it the same for him, I wondered.

        I half believed he could hear the thumping of my heart in my chest as we laid together, our love making matching its beats.

        Oh God I’d missed this. His lips pressed against mine, feeling his hot breath on my skin. Being like this with him. The hugs, and rare kiss, it just wasn’t close enough, it would never be close enough.

        My limbs encircled booker as somewhere inside me a switch I hadn’t known was there was flipped. It’d been so long. I buried my face in his neck and raked my nails across his back, the only thought in my mind being to do something, leave something behind, shown him what he does to you. I could hear Booker saying something, whispering sweet little things to me.

 

        I looked over the side of the bed at the dress. It looked almost like ice cream, the way it sat crumpled on the floor. I’ll have it cleaned and pressed tomorrow; I’ll wear it next time we go out to the theater.