Her Kind

Chapter 6

I faked illness over the next few days. A doctor was called, and when he could not find anything physically wrong with me, nerves were determined to be the culprit. I was prescribed bed rest, which suited me fine. I had decided I liked my own company far better than those around me. Then it was decided that Mrs Orton was to check up on me several times during the night. She mostly brought me food, instructed to do so by my father, as I was to put on weight. This meant, of course, that I could not make my nightly excursion, and even after I professed a miraculous recovery the very next day, Mrs Orton still came to my room. I cursed my ill luck.

Once I was finally left alone to myself I returned to the cemetery late at night. Night after night, I waited, and night after night, I left disappointed. My concern gave way to melancholy, but also indifference from hiding it from those who saw me during the day.

I was often tired, wishing I were allowed to rest more. My father, of course, made note of my lack of energy. “There are some women, I know, that can be accused of being too lively, but really, she looks like she would sleep through the rapture.”

“She has just come out of an illness. Perhaps she is in need of the extra rest.” This was the younger Mr. Burkmore.

“Yes, that’s possible.”

I said.

“She speaks.”

“Yes,” I said, “when I have something worth saying. I suspect if we all adopt this practice, some of us would never utter a word.”

The Burkmore’s both shot out in laughter. Initially, I was confused as to why til it dawned on me my words had somehow been construed as humorous.

“By God Littrell, there’s a piece of wit for you.”

Mr. Burkmore and his son continued laughing, but my father did not. He just looked at me. I thought he might be angry, but the look on his face was indecipherable. It was apparent, however, he was not nearly as amused as the Burkmore’s.

I dined with them, and once more, Elliot Burkmore took an interest in me.

“You are a great reader, I suppose?” He asked.

“I read. There is scarce little else to do.”

“Tell me, what are some of your favourite books?”

I told him a few of my so called favourites.

“I suppose you are quite fond of romances.”

This was the elder Mr. Burkmore. “Most women are.”

“They appeal to me no more or no less than other books. They can be interesting, I just wonder sometimes. Is that how it’s supposed to be?”

The men at the table all looked at me.

“How what is supposed to be my dear?”

“Romance. Is it always like it is in the books?”

They all laughed a little.

“For women, yes, else you all get terribly disappointed, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t know, Sir.”

“Yes, well, men concern themselves with more important matters, generally. Elliot has never been a voracious reader, I’m afraid.”

“ I dabble now and then.”

“And you’re father, I doubt he’s cracked open a book in years. One that wasn’t a ledger that is.”

It was evident from the scorn on my father’s face that he was not enjoying the current conversation.

“Are we letting her direct our conversation now, gentleman? Talk of books and romance. I swear this is one of those French saloons.”

“Come, come, Littrell. This charming woman, your daughter, is to be my wife. You will allow me to get to know her a little better.”

“You make her chatter on and on, and it bores me.”

“Well, I find her fascinating.”

He was being kind again in the way he had been before, with something of a keen interest, and I did wonder why.

“I wonder, Sir,” I said, directing my words to my father. “That I should be able to speak too little and too much?”

My father just looked at me, the same look he had given me earlier that day, and said, “What?”

“Earlier, you remarked on my speaking too little. Now you remark on my speaking too much. You will forgive me for being confused.”

Again, the Burkmores seemed pleased with my response. Elliot had a smirk on his face, and if I was not mistaken, the elder Burkmore was regarding me approvingly.

My father just stared. I should have been terrified. I was a little frightened, but I still looked directly at my father and did not turn away like I would have done. His response, when it came, was most unexpected. He took a serving spoon protruding out of a dish. Heaping a sizable portion upon it, he presented it to me, holding the instrument close to my face, with a menacing look.

“Eat,” he said.

“Sir, I have plenty of food on my plate.”

“I said eat, girl! You are far too skinny for my liking. I will have you eat.”

“Come now, Littrell! Leave the girl alone.”

Mr. Burkmore had come to my defense. If my father had heard him, he showed no outward sign.

“What say you, Elliott? She’s to be yours. Don’t know what you plan on doing with her, but I for one, wouldn’t want to lie upon such a heap of bones. She’s practically jagged. She’ll eat what I tell her from now on. Make you a proper wife, should you want it.”

“I am my own man, Littrel. I decide what makes me a proper wife, as I have the good sense to do so. Something you lack. Let’s not forget that.”

At this, my father faltered. Then slowly, he did concede.

The rest of the meal we ate in near silence. Neither my father nor the younger Burkmore spoke another word. My father sat, almost snarling down at his food, while Mr. Burkmore seemed greatly preoccupied with his thoughts. It was the elder Mr. Burkmore who broke the silence.

“Dear girl. If you have finished your meal, would you be so kind as to leave us gentlemen? There is a matter I think we wish to discuss.”

They were going to discuss me. I could tell. Why, then, should I be excluded, I did not know, but as the company of these men was most confusing and uncomfortable to me, I complied. Still, the content of what they might say greatly intrigued me. I closed the door slowly, leaving a small sliver open. There I stayed, listening to the sound of their voices as the conversation continued without me.

“Not the dullard you would have had us believe, at least not completely.”

This was the elder Mr. Burkmore, and I dare say I was almost flattered at the words he spoke.

“We had little reason to believe she would be otherwise, considering her father.” Said the son.

“Gentlemen,” my father said, most meekly, “May I remind you, you are guests in my house. It is not becoming to treat a host in this manner.”

“Really, Littrell, and what do you intend to do about our inhospitality?”

“Sir,” my father said, “Among gentlemen, there is a certain respect that must be given to a man in his home.”

“And I, Sir, may have the look and bearing of a gentleman, but ask me what I am and to the likes of you I’ll tell the truth. That’s the difference between you and I, Littrell. Even as I pretend, I know what I am.”

“Sir, I must insist, at the very least, please do not disparage me in front of my daughter.”

“Look at this, father, the man has suddenly gone paternal.”

I did hear the elder Mr. Burkmore laugh.

“I should be thanking you at least on one part, Littrell, or two really,” said the younger Burkmore.

“There is your foolishness with cards, but also, thanks to you, I am shaping up to be a much better husband than you were a father, and with no real effort on my part.”

At this, the elder Burkmore did speak up.

“What’s this, son? Have you developed affection for the girl?”

“Affection as one must feel for one so piteous. You may not have raised a true gentleman, but you did raise one who does not look on with complete indifference a lame and wounded animal.”

“I understand. Why should you be unkind?”

“Precisely, Father.”

They spoke more, but I could not listen any longer. Their words had caused such distress as I had never felt before. I knew most ardently now what I had known before, that I could not marry Mr. Burkmore. I did not know this man, but what I did know made me wretchedly unhappy. I thought back to the talk I had had with her in the graveyard, when I had asked if all men were cruel. She had said some are cruel, some are kind, and all are cruel and kind in turn. I didn’t understand, and how could I when all I had felt of men was their cruelness. Women could be cruel, too, I knew. But she wasn’t, and neither had been Miss Castor. I went back to the graves that night, but only in part to see if she would finally come. This place that had once instilled fear in me was now the only place I felt truly at peace. Even without her there, I had discovered a calm in myself, much like the calm among the tombstones. Here I was home.

She came not.