I have received one reject letter from that batch and another “undeliverable” from the post office.  (It had the same SASE as the first “undeliverable” - the thing is cursed, apparently.  I threw it out.) 

So I am now waiting on two responses.  One of the agencies only responds if interested, so I may never hear from them.  (It’s kind of like shouting into a black hole – don’t expect an echo.)  The other one should get back to me by mid-August.  Keep your fingers crossed!

Ann’s head turned slowly as she took in the atmosphere of the Renaissance Festival.  The weather was beautiful, and even though they arrived before the gates opened, they were part of a large crowd.  People in shorts and tank tops mingled with a host of costumed characters; as she watched, Ann spotted an authentically attired Lady of England, a fantasy-book swordswoman complete with broadsword and chain mail armor, an elf in the loose tunic and breeches of Erova, and a burly pirate herding a trio of little girls in fairy wings.  She shook her head and grinned a little to herself before jogging a bit to catch up with her trio of girls.  As she neared, she heard a good-looking young man in a floppy brown hat ask them, “Ladies, would you like to taste the King’s Nuts?”

All three giggled at the double entendre and held out their hands for the offered samples of roasted almonds before continuing on.  Rolling her eyes, Ann strolled along behind them.   As they made their way towards the first jewelry shop, she marveled at the swirl of long skirts that surrounded them.  Brightly colored handkerchief skirts, heavy velvet hoop skirts, and layers of ruffled linen skirts brushed together and drifted apart as the women wearing them moved in and out of the shops lining the dusty dirt path.  Ann self-consciously lifted the hem of her own burgundy skirt, suddenly more aware of the likelihood that DeeDee would be getting a much dirtier version of the borrowed costume returned at the end of the day.

Quickly bored with silver and gold earrings and bracelets, Ann ducked into the handmade soap booth next door.  Her hand strayed unknowingly to the dragon pendant at her neck.  She had been quite pleased at the way the neckline of the bodice she wore framed the necklace in its usual spot on her sternum.  She reached for a roughly-cut bar with her free hand, brought it to her nose and gently inhaled, the sharp bite of cloves and patchouli mingling with the waxy scent of the soap.

“That is a beautiful necklace!”

 Ann’s first response was to protect her pendant with her hand, followed quickly by pulling her hand away and blushing nervously.   “I touch it a lot without thinking about it,” she explained, embarrassed.

 The woman in the gypsy costume approached.  “It’s very unique,” she said, reaching slightly toward Ann.  “Do you mind if I touch it?”

 Uncomfortable agreeing but afraid to seem rude, Ann shook her head slightly.  As the gypsy lifted the dragon in the palm of her hand, Ann felt an unpleasant, almost ripping sensation in her chest.  Sucking in a quick breath, she lifted it gently by the chain from the woman’s hand and returned it to its proper place.  Once it had settled against her skin again the odd pain dissipated.

The woman seemed unfazed by Ann’s reaction, and asked, “Did you buy it here?”

“No,” was the reply.  “It’s a family heirloom, from my grandmother.”

Seeming a bit disappointed, the woman dropped her hands, “Well, it is gorgeous.  You’d probably sell a bundle of them if you found someone to replicate the design.”

Ann simply nodded, unsure of the proper response.  Apparently this was enough, because the woman wished her a pleasant day and returned to shopping.  Ann reached for another bar of soap without looking, a bit unsettled by the interaction, but before she could lift it to her nose she heard her name called.

“We’re going to find a spot for the Scottish music group across the street; are you coming?” Trish said from the door, DeeDee and Carrie visible behind her.   Glad for the distraction, Ann nodded as she set down the soap and headed towards her friends. 

**

As the Scottish band ended with the requisite plea for tips, Ann stood and stretched.  Greg had found them just before the performance and sat closer to Ann than she would have liked, and she was now grateful for a polite excuse to put a bit of air between them.

Giving him a slight smile, Ann asked politely, “I heard that you called my sister for advice.  Did something happen?”

He was obviously pleased at her attention, but didn’t smile much as he replied, “My apartment was broken into, and I wanted to ask about something that my insurance adjustor told me.”

She was surprised at this response; she hadn’t heard anything about it.  “Your apartment was broken into?  Was anything stolen?”

“Oddly enough, the only thing they took was my uncle’s antique sword; everything else was still there,” he answered.

“Weird,” Ann said, puzzled.  “That’s a strange thing to have stolen – and that was a family heirloom.  I’m sorry.”

Greg shrugged.  “It sucks, but there isn’t much I can do.  The police said there’s been a series of thefts of weaponry lately.”

“Huh,” was all she could think to add.  Turning toward Carrie and the others, the two started walking away from the stage.  The gentle breeze that had been blowing occasionally throughout the day gained a sudden new strength, toying with the ends of Trish’s belly-dancer skirt and brushing stray hair from Ann’s face.  Closing her eyes, Ann breathed deeply of the air and a smile came unbidden to her lips.  She turned her face to the wind and closed her eyes, images from her recent dreams surfacing like dolphins rising to breathe.  For a moment she almost believed that the she rose, the ground moving away from her as she sliced through the air.

Reality hit her with two blows, as the breeze suddenly died and Carrie asked, “Aren’t you the one who’s hungry?  Come on!”

Sighing, Ann returned to the ground and the present and headed for the food stands with her friends.

** Copyright Leigh Whitted

White puffs of cloud floated below her, the sky a brilliant expanse of azure.  The sun shone warm on her back.  Too warm, she decided, and angled her body down.  Cool droplets of water condensed on her skin as she sliced through one of the larger clouds.  Reaching the bottom refreshed, she leveled out and soared gently as she took in the landscape.  A blue ribbon of river wove through the green fabric of farms, trees adding dark accents to the tapestry.  Occasionally a homestead appeared; the thatched roofs of buildings and pale dirt of paths seemed to compliment rather than contrast with the surrounding environment.  

Up ahead, two hawks circled; she turned in their direction and made her way lazily toward them.  When she reached the thermal, she stretched her wings, letting the warm air carry her ever slowly higher, back to the level of the clouds.  As she rose her eyes followed the river, its flow sedate as it neared the coast, as if the water was tired from its reckless headlong rush down from the mountains.  She could see a sparkling swath on the horizon, the ocean turned silver by the sun. 

Smiling to herself, she ended her upward spiral in a gentle glide down, gaining speed as the ocean rushed toward her.  She tucked her wings and dove at the last, gaining speed before flattening her flight just above the water.  The wind that blew against her face was laced with salt, and the gulls on the shore called to her.  No, that wasn’t the gulls.  It was a beeping sound, a sound she should know.  Shutting her eyes to think, she focused on the sound…

And opened her eyes to find herself flat on her back, looking up at a ceiling.  Panicked, Ann sat up, her breath coming fast and her heart racing, before she recognized the sound as her alarm clock and the ceiling as her own.  Disappointed, she realized that it had been a dream.  She felt inexplicably bereft, and a tear slid down her face as she reached back to turn off the alarm. 

Ann stood up and absently scratched between her shoulder blades.  Spotting today’s costume lying out on the chair in her room, she wrinkled her nose and opted to have breakfast in her pajamas.  She walked down the hall while pondering her dream from last night.  Since she had started wearing the pendant, her dreams had been growing increasingly vivid.  Without thinking she reached up to touch the dragon around her neck as she entered the kitchen.

 “You must have been sleeping hard, I’ve never heard you let the alarm go that long,” Carrie said, presenting an interesting anachronism as she poured coffee in a flowing renaissance dress.  When she looked up at Ann, she added, “Are you wearing that thing to bed now?”

The disapproving look on her sister’s face made Ann drop her hand and hedge her answer.  “I forgot to take it off last night.”

Still distracted by her dream, Ann moved around the kitchen, making breakfast.  She didn’t pay much attention to her sister’s ramblings about the plans for the day until she heard her say, “Greg is meeting us there.”

Frustration welled up inside Ann, sending thoughts of her dream fleeing to a hiding place in the back of her mind.  She turned toward her sister and let her hand smack onto the counter.  “Why would you do that?  How many times have I asked you to stop trying to set me up with Greg?”

Raising one hand defensively, Carrie tried to calm her sister.  “I ran into him a few days ago; he called me to ask my advice.  He’s had a rough week and I thought it might be good for him to do something fun.  Besides, you two are friends, remember?”

Scowling, Ann yanked open the microwave door and pulled out her breakfast sandwich.  “We used to be friends.  Until he decided he had a crush on me and started asking me out all the time.”

Carrie sighed.  “I still don’t understand what the problem is.  The two of you are good together.”

“This is the last time I will tell you this,” Ann replied, one hand on her hip and a scowl on her face.  “I am not attracted to him.  You have to be attracted to someone to want to date them, and I do not find him the least bit attractive.”

“Fine.”  Carrie raised her hands.  “I’ll stop.  But he is meeting up with us, and you need to be nice to him.”

“Whatever,” Ann replied as she stalked into the living room and turned on cartoons.  She wouldn’t admit it to her sister, but she couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t attracted to Greg.  He was a good match for her, and they had been friends.  In fact, it wasn’t just Greg; she’d never met a man that had seemed attractive to her. 

After giving her a bit of time to cool off, Carrie finally walked into the living room and said to Ann, “The girls are on their way, and we can leave whenever you are ready.”

Ann nodded and stood to take her plate to the kitchen.  “Sorry,” she mumbled to her sister, before going back to her room to change into her costume for the day.  Closing her eyes for a moment, she let her mind go back to her dream , with a fleeting wish that she could remain there.

** Copyright Leigh Whitted

As Ann arrived home from work, she mentally braced herself as she physically braced the Styrofoam to-go containers of food and reached for her apartment keys.  She really hoped that her sister’s friends had not arrived yet; it was bad enough when she silently compared her work attire to Carrie’s, but it was infinitely worse with comments from Trish and DeeDee.  Unconsciously holding her breath, Ann entered the apartment.

 She let the air escape her lungs with relief when her sister, already changed for the evening, rushed to meet her.  “You have perfect timing.  The girls are on their way.”  Relieving Ann of the trays of food, she added, “Thanks for bringing dinner!” as she carried them into the kitchen.

 Tossing her keys into the bowl by the door and shrugging out of her backpack, Ann shouted to her sister, “The bigger one on the bottom is yours.  It’s baked ziti in marinara sauce.  I also brought bread.”  As she walked past the kitchen on her way to her bedroom, she pulled the still-warm loaf out of her bag and set it on the counter.

 “You’re awesome!  I’m so glad you worked the lunch shift today,” Carrie replied, pulling plates from the cabinet and setting them on the counter next to the food.  

 Ann paused long enough to add, “I don’t need a plate; I can eat mine from the container.  I’m just going to shower and change before I eat.”

 As Carrie turned to respond to her sister, the doorbell rang.  With a grin, she rushed to the door, sister momentarily forgotten.  Ann retreated to her room, just hearing the greeting squeal of the three friends before closing her door.  She never could understand how three professional women turned into shrieking schoolgirls when they were together.

Knowing that her dinner was waiting on her, Ann showered quickly.  She twisted her wet hair into a plastic clip and threw on some reasonably presentable clothing.   Once she was dressed, she padded barefoot out to the kitchen and grabbed her food, a fork, and a can of soda from the fridge.  She carried it to the living room where the others were sitting and paused at the doorway to look at them.  Even on a weekday evening when they were simply hanging out, they always looked so put together.  All three had their hair pulled back in loose tails, much neater than Ann could ever create, and even though they were all in jeans, they could easily have headed out the door to a club or dinner out and not looked out of place.  Ann glanced down.  That was definitely not true of her faded jeans and wrinkly shirt.  Taking a breath, she walked in and claimed a spot on the floor by the coffee table.

 “Hi Annie!  Thanks for bringing us dinner,” DeeDee greeted her as she sat down.  Ann mentally flinched at the nickname; she had told the girls time and time again not to call her Annie, but it happened automatically.  None of them called each other by their full names.  Caroline the lawyer, Deirdre the bank manager, and Patricia the public relations genius became Carrie, DeeDee, and Trish, giggle girls, when around each other.   She knew that her disdainful reaction was not fair, because Carrie’s friends were easy to like and infinitely sunny, and she had known them since the three girls had become inseparable in high school.  But somehow, as the other three had grown more comfortable with who they were, Ann had grown more estranged from herself, and she was always jealous of the ease with which they handled life.

 “What are you having for dinner?”  Trish’s question pulled her out of her thoughts.  “This ziti is excellent, by the way.  I’ll have to bring some of my colleagues to your restaurant for lunch.”

 Ann mumbled a disclaimer about it not being her restaurant before answering the first question. “Spicy 4-meat spaghetti.”

 “You and your spicy foods,” Carrie shook her head and turned to her friends to add, with a confiding tone, “She’s been craving a lot of meat lately.”

 “Maybe you’re not getting enough iron?” Trish asked, giving Ann a concerned look.  Ann just shrugged.

 “I wish I had your metabolism, Annie,” DeeDee added.  “You eat whatever you want and just stay so skinny!”

 Ann looked down at her food, embarrassed, as the other two added similar comments.  Before she was obligated to respond, Trish gasped and changed the subject.  “I forgot to tell you, I got the cutest costume for Saturday!”

 Paired appreciative responses from Carrie and DeeDee let Ann breathe a sigh of relief and return to her dinner.  She ate quietly and let the flood of conversation sweep past her.  But her escape didn’t last long.

 “You should come with us, Annie!” Trish grinned at her friend’s sister. 

 Surprised, Ann looked up.  “To the Renaissance Festival?” she asked.

 “Oh, it’ll be so much fun!  You should totally come with us!” Carrie added.

 Shaking her head, Ann started to try to back out.  “No, I don’t think – “

 DeeDee chimed in, “I have a spare costume that should fit you!   Annie, it’s been so long since you’ve gone out with us, and I know you’ll like it.  There’s music, and food, and dragons…”

 “And maybe that cute elf who worked the jewelry booth last year, do you remember?”  Trish asked the other two.

 Smiling, they both nodded.  Carried turned back to Annie and used a different tone.  “I know you don’t work on Saturday, and it really has been a while since we’ve done anything fun together.  It won’t be all day.  Would you do this for me?  Please?”

 All three girls turned their best pleading looks in her direction.  Sighing, Ann finally gave in to peer pressure.  “Ok, I’ll go,” she replied, a bit startled by the happy shrieks that she got in reply.  Loudly she added, “But I’m not wearing a costume!”

** Copyright Leigh Whitted

Ann blinked, startled, as the front door of her apartment opened.   The sound had forced her back into reality, tearing her from intensely vivid daydreams of flying, wind in her face, earth below.  She glanced down at the magazine in her lap, recognizing the aerial image as the captor of her imagination, and shook her head to dispel the remnants of cloud.

Her sister Carrie’s keys clattered into the ceramic bowl that sat on a table near the door.  Noticing the look on Ann’s face, she paused.  “Something wrong?”

“Do you ever feel like you’re in the wrong body?” Ann asked, setting her magazine on the table and leaning forward to rest her chin on her upraised hands. 

With a teasing tone, her sister replied, “Not planning to go cross-dresser, are you?” as she hung her designer purse on its usual hook and walked across the carpeted floor to their kitchen table, mail in hand.

Ann gave her sister a disdainful look and said flatly, “no.”

Carrie dropped the mail onto the end of the table and rested her hands on the back of one of the pale wooden chairs.  She knew if she waited, one perfectly plucked eyebrow raised, her younger sister would elaborate. 

Ann took a moment and studied the successful young woman standing across from her.  Even after a long day, Carrie’s golden hair was neatly styled, not a single wisp escaping from the elegant knot at the base of her neck.  Her smartly-tailored suit accentuated her curves while making her look exactingly professional.   She looked so comfortable in her own skin Ann couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy.  Sighing, Ann ran her fingers through her unruly honey-colored hair and tried to find the right words.  “I get these disjointed moments, times when I blink and the world I see is not what I’m expecting.  Sometimes, my body feels wrong, as if the shape I’m in doesn’t match the shape I am.”  The confused and slightly worried look on Carrie’s face let Ann know that she wasn’t explaining this in a way her sister could understand.  Struggling to put words to something she herself didn’t fully understand, she finally asked, “Are you ever surprised when you look in the mirror, like you don’t recognize what you see?”

“Every morning before I put on my makeup,” the other woman replied with false sincerity, eliciting an eye-roll from Ann.  Dropping the sarcasm, Carrie added, “Sorry sis, I’ve never experienced anything like that.  I’m not sure how to help.”

Ann just nodded, still unsure if it had been a good idea to confide in Carrie.  The two were so dissimilar in personality that if they hadn’t looked so much alike, no one would have believed they were sisters.  Shaking her head, she put on a smile she didn’t feel and asked, “How was work?”

Carrie replied with a grandiose sigh, turning from the table and walking into their kitchen.  She raised her voice as her black patent pumps clicked across the floor.  “There was another continuance.  I get so tired of going downtown for no reason.”

Once the sounds of ice clinking and liquid pouring stopped, Ann replied, “Did you get anything done today?”

“Not much; I spent most of the day driving.”  Sipping her pomegranate juice and Sprite, Carrie returned to the table and took the chair opposite her sister.  She started flipping through the mail as Ann gave a requisite wordless murmur in response and returned to her magazine, turning the page quickly to avoid the dangerous sky-image. 

“Hey, Mom sent you something,” Carrie said, mildly surprised, as she tossed a padded envelope across the table.

Ann made a face.  “What on earth would she send me?”

“I don’t know, open it and find out.”  Carrie slit open an envelope with her manicured nail and pulled out a bill.  Ann watched for a moment before brushing an errant strand of hair off her face and turning over the padded mailer labeled prominently ‘Fragile’.  Pondering it as she passed it between her hands, Ann finally shrugged and stuck her bitten-off thumbnail under the flap of the envelope.

Once she tore it open, she pulled out a folded note.  As she skimmed through the contents, Carrie asked lightly, “What does it say?”

Instead of answering, Ann pushed on the folds of the envelope to open it and carefully poured the contents onto the table.  A pewter pendant on a long chain gleamed dully back at them.  The two sisters looked at the dragon, wings outstretched, a perfectly smooth golden-colored gemstone grasped in its claws. 

“It’s Grandma’s necklace,” Carrie goggled with her mouth open. 

Ann nodded and passed her the note.  “She wanted me to have it.”

Carrie cleared her throat and read the note aloud using her ‘court voice’.

“Dear Ann, Hope you are well, blah, blah – okay, here’s the good part.  When your grandmother was ill, she made me promise to give you this necklace when you were old enough.  It was an heirloom from your grandfather’s family in the Old Country, and he had asked when you were born for her to eventually give it to you.  I had set it aside with her other belongings when she passed and just rediscovered it in the box of her jewelry while clearing out the closet.  As it is yours, I am sending it to you.  Please remember that it is irreplaceable and take special care of it.”

Ann snorted at the last line.  “She really doesn’t trust me with jewelry, does she?”

“Because you never wear any,” Carrie replied with a hint of scolding.  She set down the note, leaving the remaining words unread.  “Are you going to try it on?”

As Ann lifted the pendant off the table, she felt a slight pulse run through her hand and arm.  She glanced down at the dragon resting in the palm of her left hand and was surprised to see the translucent citrine stone seemed lit from within.  Delicately she touched the jewel with the very tip of her right middle finger, concerned about the glow but suddenly drawn to the necklace as if it was a missing part of her.  The stone seemed to pull her in; she couldn’t take her eyes off the pendant.

Without warning, Carrie snagged the chain and pulled the dragon out of Ann’s hand.   Ann instinctively growled low in her throat and tried to snatch it back.

“Calm down,” her sister said, oblivious to the depth of Ann’s violent reaction.  “I’m just going to fasten it for you.”

Ann felt a sudden point of warmth against her chest, keeping her from replying.  Carrie settled the dragon and fastened the chain. A weight Ann had never known was there suddenly lifted from her shoulders.  She breathed a deep sigh of unexpected relief, feeling for the first time as though her world was aligned, as if some key piece to her puzzle had fallen into place.  There was more to this family heirloom than she knew, but Ann was certain she would never take it off again.

**Copyright Leigh Whitted.

Slipping the medallion into the pouch on her belt, T.K. paused to admire her carefully created appearance in the mirror.  Small and slender, a black a-line skirt and white buttoned-down shirt accentuated her petite frame and strikingly pale skin.  The professional image of the outfit was spoiled by her chunky black boots accessorized with large metal links and the black collar that hugged her slim neck.  Her shiny black hair, so dark it barely shone in the light, was cut in a short, spiky style that still made her look feminine.  Pleased with the overall effect, she confidently strode toward the door of her home.   She knew that her appearance would be incongruous on Erova, so she stopped long enough to don a flowing hooded cloak made of rich black velvet.  Walking was not her usual mode of transport, but horses would not pretend to tolerate her presence, much less suffer her to ride, so walking would be her only choice.  Fortunately, her destination was not far, and she had magic enough even in this shape to keep herself comfortable no matter what the weather.

The path to the ruins was dirt, well compacted but with the intrusions of plant life that disuse brings to a road.  Ancient fir trees shadowed the lane, their lowest branches high above Te’Kalyn’s head.  Birds stilled their voices as she walked near them; they recognized a Khai as a predator regardless of her current shape.  The world around her provided little distraction to the young woman, absorbed as she was in her own thoughts and plans.  She was finally within yards of her lifelong goal, finally near the ruins and her passageway to another world, a world more suited to her tastes and desires.

Te’Kalyn walked around a bend in the road and the ruins suddenly loomed ahead of her.  She had spent the last year overseeing her servants as they meticulously rebuilt one wall of the damaged structure.  The original stones, identified by magic, had been collected from their scattered resting places, including three smaller ones that had been recovered from the walls of her own home.   Now, standing again where it had stood centuries ago, was a gateway.   Te’Kalyn gently stroked the smooth wood of the door.  This was the only part of the gate that was not original, for the door had long since deteriorated.  It had taken weeks of magical work to recreate the door – for something this important, a substitute could not be used.  Everything about the gateway must be identical in magical signature to the original structure in order for it to work.  The Khai had not been pleased at the amount of magical energy that the re-creation had required, but it was fundamental to her goal, and so she had spent herself dry for days on end.

Now, at last, she had received the final requirement for passage: a key medallion.  The slimy little magician who had created the metal disk in her pouch had somehow managed to steal and duplicate a very strategic key, one of the few that could open any gateway, regardless of age or deactivation.  This theft and the subsequent results of his work had proven the depth of the man’s talents; it had been unfortunate that she had been unable to allow him to continue using those gifts.  It had been quite enjoyable to watch the man twitch and struggle as she slowly drained the life from him, his painful whimpers turning to agonized screams as she finished him off with flame.  Smiling a little to herself at the pleasing memory, Te’Kalyn removed the medallion from her pouch and approached the gateway.  Making certain that the symbols were oriented correctly, the Khai reached up and placed the surface of the disk against the matching depression in the stone to the right of the door.  She used a tiny trickle of magic to activate the disk, and the metal warmed in her hand. 

For a moment, nothing happened.  T.K. was unsure if the process would work; each part had been done correctly, but with a rebuilt gate, a replica of the door, and a magical duplicate of the medallion, there was always the possibility that a flaw had found its way in.  After a moment, though, the wood began to give off a glow visible to the Khai’s other sight, and she smiled insidiously.  Placing her hand on the knob, she opened the door, shed her cloak, and stepped through into a different world, the first Khai in a generation to venture onto Earth.

** Copyright Leigh Whitted.

Their familiarity with each other quickly became apparent.  Though he carefully schooled his face, Belinda could read the answer as he neared.  Chris watched her transformation with regret.  Her face fell, but she was only visibly upset for a moment before she gathered herself.  For the first time, Chris saw his friend retreat to within the protective shell she wore around everyone save him.

“He said no,” she said simply as the young man neared. 

All Chris could do was nod, fighting the overwhelming sadness that descended.  To keep himself from crying, he turned from her to dismount.  Once on the ground, he kept the reins in his hand.

As he reached for her hand, Belinda subtly pulled back from him.  That slight movement was enough to shatter his heart. 

“I cannot fight my father on this.”  He took a breath.  The words he had prepared, about duty and honor, fell away as his feelings broke through.  “I will not ask you to remain alone for me, Belinda.  You dream of family, and children, and I will not keep that from you.  But know that while my father will not allow me to marry you, he cannot force me to wed another.   My heart belongs always and only to you.”

Without meeting his eyes, Belinda nodded slightly.  As they stood, both miserable and unable to comfort each other, the silence deepened.  Finally, Chris nodded slightly as if something had been decided, and turned to remount his horse.

A sob from behind him stopped him, and as he turned, Belinda flung herself into his arms.  “I love you, Chris!”

Tears running down both of their faces, the two friends held each other close for a moment.  With a final, tighter hug, they stepped back.

“Goodbye, Belinda.”

With all the willpower he could summon, Chris mounted and rode away without looking back .  As he did, from over his shoulder, he heard, “Goodbye, Chris.”  The finality of those two words was nearly more than he could bear.

**copyright Leigh Whitted

As the fifteen-year-old heir approached, Belinda’s pleasure gave way to concern.  Chris did not look happy, and she had no idea why.

“Good afternoon, Chris,” she said as he approached. 

The young man said nothing as he tethered his horse and dropped to the ground near her.  Trying to keep the worry from her voice, Belinda said lightly, “I thought you would be on the hunt today.”

Chris fell back onto the clover, his arms spread to his sides and his eyes on the tree above him.  “My father and I had a disagreement this morning.”

Through all the years they had been friends, Belinda had never known Chris to fight with his father.  For all his complaints about the responsibilities of a noble’s heir, the young man truly loved the elder Lord Halbrook.  THe girl quietly moved nearer to him.

Her brows furrowed, she asked, “Why did you disagree?”

Chris didn’t move even as much as his head.  “There is a young lady visiting the manor that my father wants me to marry.”

A heavy feeling settled into Belinda’s stomach as she forgot to breathe.  Struggling to gather herself, she almost missed his next words.

“I told him no.”

As if a thick blanket had been lifted from her body, Belinda felt suddenly lighter.  Confused and worried at her own reaction as much as his, she took a few deep breaths before replying.  “Your father is angry with you for saying no?”

Still staring at the leaves, as if unwilling to look at her, Chris shook his head.  “He’s not upset by my refusal; he’s angry because I wouldn’t give him a reason.”

Belinda’s brow furrowed as she tried to find a reply.  Before she could say anything, Chris suddenly sat up and faced her with a pained look on his face.  “The truth is, I have a reason.  I just can’t tell him.” 

Pausing, his eyes frantically searched her face.  She was suddenly both terrified and excited to hear his reason. 

Taking her hands without dropping her eyes, Chris held them for a moment.  “I love you, Belinda, and I can’t marry anyone else.”

“Chris,” was all she could say before he reached for her.  The kiss that followed was all she had kept herself from dreaming of for years.  His hand tangled in the hair at the base of her braid, holding her to him for long moments that felt like they lasted forever and were over too quickly.

Gasping, they both pulled away at the same time.  Belinda blushed furiously and Chris stood and walked away, his hand in his hair.  The two took a moment apart, both fighting the desire to repeat the kiss.  Belinda watched, heat running the length of her spine, as her best friend struggled to gather himself.

Suddenly, Chris seemed to come to a decision and returned to her in a rush.  He grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet.  “I can’t truly ask you this until I speak to my father, but if he agrees, would you marry me?”

Eyes wide, Belinda could only nod in disbelief.  Chris grinned, pulled her to him for another quick, fierce kiss, and rushed to his horse.  As he swung himself into the saddle, he told her, “I’ll find him and ask him today!”

Belinda watched him ride away, belated realizing that she had not told him something important.  “I love you, too, Chris,” she said quietly to his disappearing back.

**Copyright Leigh Whitted**

The girl looked up and blushed slightly as she replied, “Good afternoon, Chris.”

He tied his horse and then flopped ungracefully onto the grass near her.   “Sewing again today, I see.”

Belinda laughed lightly.  “Must I always explain?  As long as my hands are productive, I am free to sit outdoors or wherever I like.  Sewing is the easiest task to bring with me.”

Chris sighed in response.  “I just prefer to have your undivided attention, that’s all.”

“I am sure that you brought a book with you, as well, and will likely be reading before long,” was the girl’s reply.

“Hmm,” the young man said as he pulled a small text out of his pouch and leaned back against a tree.  “I think you know me too well, Belinda.”

With another hint of a blush and a tiny smile, the girl simply shook her head.

The two sat near one another, absorbed in their separate tasks, for quite a while.  This had become their habit in the two years since Chris had dealt with Belinda’s bullies; each of them taking any opportunity to sit in the grove, on the chance the other might appear.  They had become fast friends.

Chris glanced out of the corner of his eye every so often, watching the girl to judge when she might be amenable to a discussion.  As she tied off the end of the seam she was finishing, but before she could pick up the next sleeve, Chris spoke up.

“If you could be anything in the world, what would you choose?” he asked.

With a rueful shake of her head, Belinda turned to face her friend.  “This conversation again?”

Chris nodded, closing his book.  “You didn’t answer the question the last time.”

“And I won’t answer it this time, Chris.  You may as well ask a cow if she would like to produce wool or pork instead of milk.  I am as likely to have a choice as she.”

The young man sighed, slightly irritated.  “You have more choices than a milk cow.”

Shaking her head again, the girl looked to her empty hands in her lap.  “I can choose to spin or weave today, knowing that whichever I choose not to do I will need to complete eventually.  I can choose to trade chores with Samantha, and sweep the floor instead of washing the dishes.  I live a small life, with small choices.  You are the one with all the possibility in the world.”

Chris barked a single laugh.  “Possibility?  You think I have choices?”

He felt bad for his harsh tone when Belinda gave him a hurt look.  “You have money, and time, and freedom to make choices.  You have more control of your life than I do,” the girl replied.

The young man shook his head in response and began tearing at the clover near his crossed legs.  “My brother has the freedom of choice, not me.  He has control over his life.  I bear the weight of inheritance.” 

Meeting Belinda’s eyes, Chris was surprised to see empathy in them.  She gently laid her hand on his knee, a rare moment of physical contact for them.  “It appears that we have more in common than we knew.”

They sat, eyes locked and perfectly still, for an infinite moment.  Just as Chris began to feel a strange heat dance on the back of his neck, Belinda removed her hand and turned away to reach for her stitching.  Expecting the end of the conversation, the young man opened his book just as she asked, “Knowing that neither of us will truly get to choose, would you still like to discuss your first question?”

Struggling with his unfamiliar longing to have her hand on his knee again, Chris simply shook his head, cleared his throat, and coughed out a simple, “No.”

Unaware of the young man’s thoughts, Belinda turned and gave him a smile.  With a glance at the sun, she replied, “I guess we don’t have time, anyway.  I need to return home to start dinner, and I’m sure you have somewhere to be.”

Murmuring his usual farewell, Chris sat rooted to the spot long after Belinda had gone, pondering the truth that had appeared beneath the words of their conversation.

***copyright Leigh Whitted

“I’m sorry, Chris,” the girl got out between sobs, “I didn’t mean to ruin the afternoon.”

“It isn’t your fault,” he replied.  Belinda could hear the controlled heat in his voice.  “How long have those two been tormenting you?”

Sniffing loudly, Belinda leaned back so she could see her friend’s face.  “It started in the spring, on a day when Mother sent me into the village to pick up our bread from the baker.”

The look on Chris’s face grew dark. “They’ve been bothering you that long?”

The girl sniffed again, surprised at the strong reaction the young noble was having.  “At least once a week.  The more I try to ignore them, the more they tease me.”  She paused and swallowed as her tears began again.  “Today was the worst.”

Belinda tried and failed to restrain her emotions as she thought again of the hateful words of the two boys, and as she reached up to feel the sticky egg in her hair, the girl lost her control and began crying again.  She was grateful when Chris pulled her to him in a hug.

“Did you tell your family?  Why doesn’t your mother send one of your sisters into the village instead?” Chris asked.

Her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt, she shook her head and replied, “My mother thinks I am being silly, and that the boys are just trying to flirt with me like they do with Samantha.”  Belinda’s face reddened as she thought of the embarrassing conversation they’d had.  There was no way that those boys had any other motive besides malice, but there had been no convincing her mother.

The two friends had seen little of each other outside of the village feast days, but Belinda still knew Chris well enough to sense the contained anger in his sigh.  She marveled at his response; none of her family had been this incensed by the bullies’ behavior.

“There is nothing I can do about your family, but those two boys should leave you alone from now on,” Chris said, surprising Belinda so much that she pulled away and stared at him in shock.  Unfazed, he continued, “If they start bothering you again, let me know.”

“What did you do?” Belinda asked, flabbergasted by the protective look on his face. 

“After I saw them throw that egg on you, and you ran off, I confronted them.  I told them that my father would be interested to know about their behavior, and that if it happened again I would ensure that they tasted the lash,” he replied.  With a small smile, he added, “They weren’t too impressed at first, but once they realized who I was they both turned as white as snow.”

Her face a mix of amazement and gratitude, Belinda flung herself at the seated young man, hugging him fiercely.  As he chuckled and hugged her back, a new sensation of warmth and belonging flooded through the girl. 

After a moment, the two both leaned back.  Chris looked a bit sad as he said, “Unfortunately, my father wants me to participate in the evening festivities this year.  I have to go back to the manor to prepare.”

Belinda’s face fell, but she quickly hid it and smiled broadly at her friend.  “Of course,” she said, “you are his heir and have many more people to worry about than one silly girl.”

Chris shook his head as he stood, Belinda standing a moment later.  “You are not a silly girl,” he told her, taking her hands in his.  “You are my best friend, and I always worry about you.”

Swatting him lightly on the arm, she scolded, “Go on, you’ll be late!”  With a grin for her, the young heir turned toward the village.  Belinda hugged herself as she watched him walk away, hoping that this sudden odd mix of warmth, hope, and disappointment she was feeling didn’t mean what she suspected.

** Copyright Leigh Whitted