Page 34 of Colour My World
Elizabeth stilled.A lie? Or simply a burden?She had begun to perceive the difference: not all untruths were voiced. Some lingered in the spaces between words, in the reluctance of a voice forced to deliver it.
She shivered. Jane placed a shawl across her shoulders; Mary rubbed her hands.
Outside, she learned the reason for the vicar’s lies.
“Shameless girl!” Mrs James whispered.
“She was seen more than once with him.” Miss Carter peered over her shoulder.
“A tryst in the vestry, so it is said,” Mrs Webb said.
Elizabeth knew not if they spoke the truth—but the relish in their voices betrayed a bottomless appetite.
Mrs James gestured towards the vicar. “And look at him.”
The pastor stood with the groom-to-be.
“Does he not carry a burden in his eyes? I daresay he is more than a spiritual guide to the young lady.”
Is there not a single soul of integrity among them? Aside from Jane, Mary, and Charlotte, is there not anyone I know untainted by deceit?
She looked for her father. He was speaking to Mr Lucas, whose voice carried. “And so, I said to the man, a handshake binds it. Let no paper or seal be required between gentlemen of their word.”
Her father nodded. “As it should be, my friend. As it should be.” The colours surrounding them remained constant.
Elizabeth exhaled in relief. There were still a few good men left.
That evening, Elizabeth sat in her usual place at the dinner table. Her father had few rules, but one maxim, none, not even Mamma, would challenge: his desire for the family to dine together.
She glanced down the longboard.
Lydia kicked the table leg as she toyed with her spoon, pouting magnificently over the stewed turnips. Their mother had yet to notice.
Elizabeth had. And Lydia’saireshimmered gold--brightwhen she laughed, dim when ignored, and vibrant whenever she drew attention. She basked in it like sunlight, and wilted just as quickly without it.
Their mother scolded Kitty for slouching.
Lydia’s lip quivered. “I do not like turnips, Mama.”
Her mother tone melted. “Oh, my love, then you shall not eat them! Dreadful things. I shall have Cook prepare something more suitable.”
Lydia beamed. She was playing a part, though whether for their mother or herself, Elizabeth could not tell.
Kitty scowled and pushed her potatoes with her fork. Herairenever quite settled.
Mary sat straight-backed, her spoon rising and falling as if by rote. Her silver cloud did not ripple or dim.Mary did not seek attention, and so, no one thought to offer it.
Elizabeth turned towards their mother. Heraireshifted constantly: amber worry, gold hope, orange frustration. It flared when she scolded Kitty, softened when she coddled Lydia, dimmed as she glanced at Mary.
But when she looked at Jane, Elizabeth blinked. A warm white glow suffused her mother’s cloud.
Jane is the sum of all her hopes.
Elizabeth swallowed the hurt.Must we always be measured against one another?
When her mother turned to her, there were no soft tones, no steady glow. Only flame, flickering and flaring, always on the verge of consuming.
Elizabeth turned to her father. By contrast, he remained unmoved. She had expected shifting hues, flickers of thought but there was nothing. Or rather, not nothing. Hisaireheld firm.Was this what absolute certainty looks like? Was this what it means to be entirely at ease within oneself?
