Unsettled

[Adelaide]

With the candle out it seemed pointless to carry it so she set it down on the bottom step which was worn smooth by age and made crooked by disrepair. She continued on her way towards the girl, blinking her eyes, trying to blink away the last of the light from the candle that clouded her night vision. As it was she could barely make out the child in the shifting shadows underneath the trees at the edge of the orchard. The branches of the old trees danced and swayed in a way that made it hard to keep track of details but she was certain she could see the girl. Keeping her eyes pinned to that particular patch of darkness she hurried over the dark ground.

The wind seemed to be picking up as if a storm was coming in though she was almost dazzled by the display of stars above her, untainted by the light of man. The wind was cooler than it should be at this time of year she thought as she wrapped her arms around herself as she walked. Not that she would know, having never been in Romania at any time to compare it too.

"Hello!" she called in Romanian, it being one of the words they'd covered that day. "Are you lost?" she asked in English, just to keep taking and to avoid the strange crawling feeling that was creeping along her skin with each gust of too cool breeze. She could just make out the girl, just begin to see the shape of her, the long skirts and pigtails that hung by her shadowed face.

Poor thing, she thought, her parents must be so worried. I know I would be. She didn't think Romania was so different that little girls went wandering empty orchards in the night with no compunction. If it were her daughter… The thought gave her pause, she halted for a second as her stomach knotted and her eyes stung. She blinked her eyes, biting back an unexpected sob as the thought hit her as hard as a fist to the gut. It wasn't her daughter, it couldn't be. Somehow in the moment of blinking away tears she lost sight of the girl.

"Hello!" she called again in Romanian, panic making her accent atrocious. "Where are you?" The last in frantic English, the tone making the words need little translation.

Ahead of her, where she had last seen the girl the shadows seemed to thicken. Confused she stopped, the crawling sensation on her skin inescapable now. Margret took a hesitant step backwards and then stopped. But it was too late, from ahead of her, from within the deepest part of the shadows rushed a wind. Invisible but with a force that made her stumble back it hit her before she could do more than suck in a breath to shout. It stole her breath as it slammed into her and all over her body if felt as it hundreds of small fingers were pinching her. She got enough breath to let out a shout and then it was past and the air was eerily still, the darkness around her silent and empty.

 

[Discordant]

Ciprian followed behind, gradually gaining ground on his employer. His attention completely focused on Margret, he'd lost sight of the girl some ways back. So when the American pulled up short, evidentially in the spot where the girl had been, he wasn't surprised she was gone. Surely she had just scampered further into the orchard, or perhaps even just headed home after investigating the town's new residence. He read little into the child's existence, save for the unnatural way she stood still while watching the house.

In fact, most of the concern Ciprian felt was for the state of Margret. She seemed almost possessed by a desire to help this child, a child whose only fear out here in rural Romania was the occasional wolf. It wasn't as if she would be killed or kidnapped by a stranger in this close-knit community. Still, he understood Margret's concerned, unwarranted as it might be, but the magnitude of her reaction baffled her.

"Meg, are you alright?" he asked.

Only then did he notice the unseasonable chill in the air. From the kitchen, the night looked clear and pleasant. However, now that he stood out here, listening to the wind whipping through the apple trees, did he realize how strange the weather was. Perhaps a storm was coming, though no clouds prophesied such an event.

"Let's go back inside," he urged. "I'm sure we just spooked her and she ran home."

 

[Adelaide]

She shook, speechless as her mind tried to come up with a rational explanation for what had just happened to her. A hundred small stings were fading all over her body, soon to be gone and little enough evidence. Yet she'd felt it, surely she had and it made no sense, not one lick. She played the scene over and over in her mind, the flight outside, the shape of the girl in the shadows and then…

She blinked. I made no sense, no sense at all and there was nothing in her experience to frame it with. So when Ciprian came to stand at her side and spoke, she jumped and let out a startled cry she tried very hard to turn into a little laugh. The sound was odd, not one thing nor another and likely further proof for him that his employer was mad.

She wanted nothing so much as to throw her arm around his neck and shake against him. She wanted him to hold her and tell her in his rumbling, accented voice that things were fine and then provide some anecdotal tale that would explain everything and make it all better. But she didn't, because she'd already pushed things and turned them awkward and she'd learned with Seth that her impulses and readings of people were not to be trusted.

"Spooked her?" she laughed, this time it was more true to her emotions, a wry, shaky sound. "I think I mostly spooked myself. Do you think she'll be ok?"

He didn't seem all that alarmed about the girl and that made her feel foolish. Maybe little children wandering around at night wasn't unusual in Romania even though it would have been in the States. But then, she wasn't in the states anymore and she needed to remember that and to let him do his job and guide her. She should have taken the time to take her cues from him.

"Yes, let's go in." she said and let herself be guided into the house. She picked up her candle from where she'd put it and walked into the kitchen, lighting her candle from the one left on the counter. As the light flared and caught her features her exposed skin, face, neck, hands, parts of her chest showed small fading red marks the size of small fingertips. She picked up the unused candles he'd grabbed for her and slipped the matchbook into the pocket of her pants and smiled ruefully.

"Bed now? I think it's well past time. Will you walk me up again?"

 

[Discordant]

Sensing that she needed it, Ciprian put an arm around her shoulder as he guided her back to the house. Unlike the hand holding incident this morning, this gesture felt completely natural. He was giving comfort to someone who was obviously shaken, nothing more than that… or was there? He did not let himself dwell on that thought.

"I'm sure she will be fine," he reassured, and it was mostly true. While he did think there wasn't any great danger out here for a child, after all, if Mr. Dobre's sheep were safe from predators, than likely a little girl, who was hardly as tasty, would be as well. Even so, the girl's appearance and demeanor were odd to say the least. "She probably came from one of the houses on the outskirts of the village, no more than a few minutes' walk away. I'm sure she just wanted to stare at the foreigner."

He was worried about Margret, but not because he thought her unhinged. Rather, he assumed the travel and the new environment were taking a toll on her nerves and nothing more. She had a long trip, and Ciprian reminded himself this was only her second day in the country. She had so much to absorb and could be forgiven a little jumpiness. He suspected she would settled in nicely over the next week.

Reentering the house, he let his arm fall away.

"Of course I will walk you up, Meg," he said, taking back his own candle.

He did not seem to notice any marks on Margret's skin, but then he wasn't particularly staring at her either. Their ascent to the second floor was quicker this time. He escorted her to her bedroom and even opened the door for her. Perhaps it was unnecessary, but he followed her inside and walked the perimeter of the room, letting the flickering candle light get a good look into every darkened corner. Then he went to the window to look out. Of course, there was nothing out there, but his intent was simple enough. He wanted to demonstrate to her that this room was safe, and that she could sleep well tonight knowing that nothing lurked in the shadows.

Moving back to the door and stepping out, he said with a smile, "Goodnight, Meg. Sleep well."

 

[Adelaide]

She watched with barely concealed gratitude as Ciprian made his circuit around the perimeter of her room. His light seemed to reach farther into the darkness than hers had, revealing the empty darkness where before she had felt something. Was it the presence of another human in the room or simply something about Ciprian that made the light go further? To her mind it was the latter and her exhausted mind relished the fancy even as it settled on it. She watched him gravely and then gave him a soft, exhausted smile as he stood at the door. She could still feel the weight of his arm about her shoulders and had to hold herself from brushing her fingers lightly over the back of his fine hand as he moved past her and out into the hall.

"Thank you, Ciprian." She said but the three words couldn't possibly encompass all that she felt for this man, a stranger but for a short, intense acquaintance.

"Sleep well, sweet dreams." And then the door was closed and she was by herself in the dark room with her gently flickering candle that did not nearly as much as his to beat back the shadows.

She kicked off her shoes and then padded over to that strangely carved bed which she most decidedly did not look at as she stripped out of shirt and pants, absentmindedly folding them and putting on the trunk at the end of the big bed. Underthings came next but those she let fall to the ground before she slipped into her pajamas. That act took all but the last of her strength so she rolled onto her bed, not bothering with covers and then blew out the small bit of light her candle provided. Darkness closed in around her but her faith in Ciprian's tour made it easy enough for her to close her eyes and let sleep take her into its warm embrace.

When the shadows stirred and cold fingers brushed tangled black hair back from her cheek to dance contemplatively over the red welts on her skin she was too deeply asleep to feel it.

 

[Discordant]

Sleep well. That was the last thing Margret said to him as he walked into the hall. If only it were that simple. If only the well wishes of others could vanquish the nightmares, replacing them with candy-coated visions of joy and innocence. But Ciprian hadn't had a pleasant dream in well over a decade.

In his room, he tried to read by candle light. True to form, it was a Danielle Steel novel, Safe Harbor. He read not for enjoyment but because he wanted to push back sleep as long as possible. In the end, the fatigue of a day's worth of activity caught up to him, and he fell asleep with the book on his chest.

As usual, the nightmare came.

He crouched in the closet, holding back tears. His small hands cupped his mouth to stifle the scream threatening to escape his throat at any moment. The thin crack in the closet door, he dared not reach up to try to shut it fully, looked out onto a blood soaked bedroom. The head of an axe, equally coated in gore, drug along the wood floor of the ancient farmhouse.

"Come out little Ciprian," the slurred voice said. "Nothing to fear. Your mother and I just had a little disagreement. You'll need to be punished, like your sister, but I promise it will not hurt."

He could feel warm urine trickled down his legs, could smell its acrid odor and knew for sure it would give away his location. But the voice trailed off, the axe head moved out of sight, and quiet returned to the closet.

Suddenly the door burst open.

But it wasn't an axe wielding middle age man who confronted him. No, silhouetted against the backdrop of the bedroom stood Margret. As Ciprian's eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, he could see that she was smiling and offering a hand for him to take.

"I'm here now, Ciprian," she said warmly. "I won't let anything bad happen to you. I promise."

He wanted to take her hand, to let her lead him from the closest. But he couldn't do it. Despite the fact that she was a beacon of hope in a hopeless situations, he felt there was something wrong, a darkness behind those loving eyes that was not of her own making. Something or someone else watched from behind those eyes, and it had no interest in helping him whatsoever.

And then thankfully, the nightmare ended.

 

[Adelaide]

She woke aching and stiff as if she'd run too far, too long. Which in fact she had. She groaned and rolled to her side where a slice of light had slid its way through a gap in the curtains. It sliced right through the last of her sleepiness and she groaned and sat up, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. "Shit." She muttered as she rubbed at her eyes.

How much of this fatigue filling her was jet lag, how much was stress and how much was it all the garbage of the past few months catching up with her? She didn't know but lingering in the bed wasn't going to bring her any answers. She slid out of the bed, keeping her eyes from the strange headboard as she did so since she was in no mood to consider its unsettling lines.

She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, adjusting still to being conscious when her body still wanted the comfort of sleep. She blinked and let her eyes adjust now that they'd been sliced open by sunlight. As they focused, particularly on the back of her hands she frowned. Small, faint pink welts dotted the back of her hands. They were not raised but slightly darker red spots that made her skin almost look blotchy. She raised a shaky hand to touch one, it did not hurt, it didn't itch. She closed her eyes and shuddered, trying not to think about that strange moment she had half-convinced herself she'd imagined when she'd gone into the yard after the little girl.

The little girl, Margret hoped she'd made it home alright. If she hadn't been so spooked the night before she'd have insisted they track her down. How would she even check in on her, she didn't know what the girl even looked like? It was so much easier to fret over the fate of the girl than it was to consider the strange and frightening thing that had happened to her. She would maybe see what was on the docket for the day and make inquiries in the village, if he guide was willing.

A shower first, just in case there was a rash and it was something on her skin setting her off. She headed down the hall to the bathroom, noting as she went that the lights had come back on sometimes during the night. A scowl meant for the power company crossed her face as she turned off the lights as she passed their strangely placed switches.

In a few moments she'd slipped into her clothing for the day, her favorite pair of blue striped running pants because there was some serious hair of the dog in order paired with a matching shirt and over that a comfortable hoodie. Sneakers on her feet spoke loudly of her intentions as she jogged down the stairs into the overly lit foyer. She paused under the painting of the grim-faced ancestor and wondered if it would be disrespectful or wrong to have the darned thing taken down. It was a grim piece of work and while she wasn't in full on redecoration mode, she was pretty sure her vision of the place didn't include such a grim spectacle as the painting. She'd have to ask Ciprian about a ladder so she could get it down.

She shook her head at it and made her way into the kitchen. The absence of smells coming from it told her she'd beat him down for the morning, which pleased her greatly. She was grinning as she slipped into the kitchen. She wasn't a great cook by any stretch of the imagination but eggs and breakfast foods were hard to mess up and it pleased her to think she could do something for him. He'd been so kind, she could still feel the weight of his arm around her shoulders still.

 

[Discordant]

Ciprian woke later than usual. Owing to his bad dreams, he'd always been an early riser, but when his feet dropped onto the floor this morning, the sun was already well above the horizon. He prepared his things and slipped into the bathroom, first making sure Margret didn't already occupy it. The noises from downstairs indicating that she had already beaten him to the kitchen.

Once finished, he emerged from the bathroom but did not immediately head downstairs. Instead, he went to the far wall to look at the strange crack he'd spied two nights before, the first of the many items on his to-do list. In the light of day, the crack looked even stranger than it had before. He ran a probing finger over the perfectly straight fissure. It wasn't deep, didn't pose a danger to the integrity of the house, but he would swear it had lengthened even if just barely. It looked as if someone had intentionally carved it into the wall. More than anything, it reminded Ciprian of a seam, but of course that was silly. It only extended two or three inches along the center of the wall, hardly big enough to form the seam of anything useful. Shrugging, he decided the best thing to do would be to fill the gash and repaint the wall. It wasn't crucial however, so would have to be relegated to the bottom of his list.

He headed down stairs and, entering the kitchen, found Margret already preparing breakfast.

"Good morning, Meg. I'm sorry you had to cook," he said with an apologetic tone. "I do not usually sleep so late."

Ciprian marveled at how comfortable he felt around Margret, how this morning ritual of eating breakfast together felt so comfortable after only a couple days. This was technically day three of their living arrangement, and he had never felt so comfortable around roommates he'd lived with for much longer.

 

[Adelaide]

She looked back over her shoulder at him as she flipped the last egg, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him before turning back to her work. She wanted to smile despite the uneasy feeling that had filled her all morning. She'd worried about the girl and fretted over that in an effort to avoid thinking about the strange wind and the pink welts all over her skin that were still visible in the morning light. It wasn't entirely effective, this avoidance but it was bolstered by the appearance of her guide.

"Pish-posh" she said watching the egg sizzle in the pan. "I don't mind cooking at all, though my talents in this matter are limited."

She could do scrambled and over easy, omelets were beyond her and she was more used to microwaving bacon than cooking it on the stove but she'd managed, sort of. The bacon she was used to came sliced and was pale pink not the thick wedge of ruddy red she'd had to wrestle a knife through. While the strips were not even by any generous stretch of the imagination, they were cooked and smelled wonderful in a plate in the center of the table. Beside it was a plate of some of the rustic bread from the other night, stale but perked up with some toasting in a dry skillet. She was rather proud of that innovation and allowed herself a mental pat on the back. It gave her hope she'd find a place here. That small little victory was surely one of many to come.

"I'd like you to let me cook now and again, though you would be wise to watch over me when it is anything more complex than eggs."

She slid the last egg onto a plate with two others and picked up a matching plate and walked them to the table, putting one before him and one in front of the seat she'd taken the day before.

"I have no clue how to work the coffee maker. Would you be a saint and show me?"

She gave him a pleading smile, brushing a stray bit of hair out of her face with the back of her hand. "Also, what's on the agenda for today?"

 

[Discordant]

Ciprian eagerly received the plate, sliding a couple slices of bacon and bread on it to keep the eggs company. He dug in without delay. Margret was under selling herself. The food, while certainly not some gourmet preparation, was delicious nonetheless. While Ciprian had originally grown up in the country, he'd spent the last few years exclusively in the city and forgotten just how good fresh food tasted.

"I confess, I am not much of a coffee drinker," he said between bites of bacon. "So I'm not sure if I can be much help, but we can try and figure it out together."

He mulled over her question about their agenda as he assembled the perfect ratio of bread, eggs, and bacon into what could only be described as the world's most unaesthetically pleasing breakfast sandwich. Despite its rather sloppy appearance, it was heaven in his mouth. He swallowed with an audibly hum of delight.

"Well, I've got a few things to take care of around here this morning. I'd like to go out and see what kind of progress the hands made yesterday. I would say the morning is free for you to do whatever comes to mind. I thought perhaps in the afternoon we might return to the village and see if we can find you some furniture for the downstairs rooms. The house won't feel like a home for you until we do.

"Speaking of furnishings, I meant to ask you about the portrait in the foyer. If you are not fond of it, I would be more than happy to removed it and put it with the rest of the stuff out back. Speaking of which, I do need to make arrangements for having that removed, it's quite the eye sore. Oh, but if you like the painting then—"

Ciprian stopped suddenly as his gaze lifted from the plate to Margret and he noticed the marks on her skin for the first time. "Meg, what happened to you? Are those hives? Are you allergic to something? Perhaps your bedding?"

 

[Adelaide]

She bit back a little groan when he said he didn't know how to make coffee. She didn't exactly have a coffee habit but she was going to be less happy without one. She looked longingly at the percolator-contraption thingies before she stood up and put the kettle on. Tea it would be then until she could puzzle it out. Which, considering that the thing looked like lab equipment meant she wasn't going to get anywhere fast.

So she would have a morning to herself then. A run for certain, to ease her over extended body with more of the same. Then maybe a morning writing. The thought was oddly unsettling. She hadn't failed at writing yet because she hadn't really tried. Trying would change things, not necessarily for the better. She brightened when he mentioned the painting, jarring her forgotten mental note to ask him about it.

Her smile grew, pleased to find they thought alike in this matter except that it then curdled when he mentioned her rash. What could she say about it? Oh this? A freaskish wind flew at me last night and what felt like a hundred rabid pixies pinched me. That wouldn't do, not at all. Eyes hooded with fear she dismissed it.

"Maybe, or maybe something I ran into in the orchard, some of the paths were wildly overgrown and I just sort of charged through, I'll be more careful now." Her face twitched and her fingers touched her cheek and she longed to say something and opened her mouth to give it a try, to see if he'd seen what she'd seen, if he'd felt any of it and were afraid to say as much for fear of looking mad, just like she. The idea of another connection almost made her open her mouth but in the end, she chickened out and moved onto safer grounds.

"About that painting though, yes, please that thing is dreadful. It looks like they tried to win some sort of dour competition. But maybe not throw it out. I mean.." she rolled her hand vaguely as she sat down in her seat, "It is an ancestor of mine or something, or maybe even the work of some famous Romanian artist in his early, gloom days?" She shrugged.

"Maybe not the trash heap. We should stash it in the attic or the basement so we can scare ourselves silly when we've forgotten about it." It seemed a better solution.

 

[Discordant]

Margret didn't seem overly concerned about the rash, so Ciprian saw no reason to worry about it either. At least, that's the way he read the situation. He was focused on the fact she agreed that the painting needed to go. He couldn't say exactly why, but that decision filled him with a great deal of relief.

"Excellent," he said, crunching on the last bit of bacon, "I will remove it as soon as we are done hear. I haven't had much chance to check out the attic, so perhaps the basement is the best place for it at the moment."

Rising, he picked up the empty plates and headed for the sink. He stopped the drain, ran some water, and squeezed a healthy dose of soap into the filling basin.

"Since you cooked, I guess it is my turn to clean up." He said, grabbing a dish rag and getting to work on the dishes. Truthfully, it wasn't much of an effort. Beside a little egg residue, easy enough to wipe away when fresh, the plates were nearly clean. "So tell me Meg, What do you plan to do with your free morning?"

At that moment, he was filled with the same strange desire not to be away from her as he had outside her bedroom door the night before. Ciprian never minded being alone before, so this sudden need to have company, her company, was alien to him. But of course, he said none of this.

 

[Adelaide]

She finished her meal while he began the dishes, savoring the eggs, which while not cooked perfectly or prettily had enough substance to override that. The eggs back home had pale yellow yolks from sad, anemic little chickens. These were not that, bright yolks which were almost orange in color as if the hens had absorbed the sunshine made for tasty eggs. Though she found she couldn't exactly describe the flavor change, except that they were more eggy and delicious. The bacon to was wonderful, rich and fatty without resorting to salt to perk up the flavor. She may not be a good cook, but the food more than met her half way.

Her eyes lifted up from the plate and owing to their relative positions in the kitchen her gaze fell onto Ciprian as he washed the dishes. She found herself watching him, warmed by the domesticity of the moment as well as the play of lean muscles across his back under his shirt. The sunlight coming in through the window over the sink caught him just right, picking up bits of light in the darkness of his hair. She was reluctant to finish her breakfast simply because she felt such bone-deep contentment filling her at the sight of him that she didn't want to break the spell. But his words did break the spell and it was just as well. It would be rather embarrassing for him to turn around and think she was ogling his bum, which she really hadn't been. Really.

"Um," she began her thoughts reluctant to leave the moment, "I was going to go for a run, to stretch these sore muscles and let them know who's boss. Then I'm going to sit down at my laptop and write for a bit. I need to get into a routine if I am going to get anything done. But just let me know when you are ready to head to the village to look for furniture, I'm looking forward to going."

She smiled at him, her blotchy face catching a bit of the same sunlight that danced over him and it almost chased away the shadows under her eyes.

 

[Discordant]

Ciprian finished the washing and dried his hands on the dish towel. Turning toward Margret he sensed, if not fully understood, that she was clearly in a better mood this morning. Perhaps it was the prospect of having a morning to herself. The truth was, he didn't really need her for most of the chores that needed doing around here. Still, he wanted to include her, make her feel she was a vital part of the operation of both the house and the farm.

"That sounds like an excellent idea," he said. "Well, I should start on my chores. I think I'll begin with the painting. I will come find you when it's time to head out."

As he walked toward the kitchen door, he resisted the rather odd urge to kiss her on the forehead. Where the hell did that come from, he thought, pushing through the swinging door. Am I going insane? That would have been completely inappropriate.

His quick familiarity and attachment was both uncharacteristic and unsettling. It usually took him months to develop a rapport with anyone let alone kiss them on the forehead like you might a sibling or a spouse, yet he felt that with Margret after only a few days. Maybe it was the fact they were the only two people living in this large and rather empty house. Maybe it was the fact that they were both outsiders in the community, needing to cling to each other for comfort and support in this foreign environment. Whatever the reason, Ciprian would have to resist those strange impulses if he hoped to keep his job.

Ciprian pushed those thoughts away as he stopped in front of the painting. The stern man looked down at him as if judging the young Romanian for what he was about to do.

"Whoever you are," he said to the portrait, "I'm afraid your days are numbered. Time to put you in storage."

There was just one problem. The painting was a little too high for him to take down easily. Oh, he could stretch and probably get it, but he didn't want to risk it. As much as he disliked the damn thing, he really didn't want to damage it. Instead, he headed for the back of house, sure that he left the step ladder near the servants' cottage.

 

[Adelaide]

She sat in the kitchen for a long moment after he left and felt a strangely bereft. Part of her wanted to scoot after him and ask to tag along as he did his chores. It wasn't that she didn't want to help but she was likely more of a hindrance than a help. She knew how annoying it could be to constantly have to halt yourself in routine tasks to instruct and inform someone. How many new hires had she trained in the course of her misapplied career? She didn't want to be annoying to him, not at all. And in thinking so she realized it felt like a stronger impulse than it should have.

Scratching her head she stood and headed for the back steps out of the kitchen, determined to make use of them and help to normalize them after their part in the strange dreaming of the night before. Because it had been dreaming, she was certain. What she'd felt had just been a hallucination brought on by jet-lag. She almost believed it and was happy to skip over the fact that having hallucinations for any reason ought not be a comfort.

Stretching perfunctorily she began her run by circling the barn and the caretaker's cottage that Ciprian would not be using. She waved to farm workers and sheep alike and felt more warmth coming from the sheep than the men though the men watched her for longer. Had that been a bruise she'd seen on the largest of the men's faces? Necu? She wasn't sure and didn't have the words yet to ask how he was so she stuck to a wave and a smile. She headed then towards the orchard, wondering if she'd see the old lady again.

For a long time there was only the act of running, which was just what she wanted. Everything fell away as she focused on one foot and then another on the uneven ground in the rows between the trees. Each step pounded familiarly up her body and her tight, sore muscles loosened and gave way to pleasant endorphins. She didn't run as long as she wanted, stopping and turning around early so that she could run back without over-doing it. Also, she was eager to leave her own company because as her muscles loosened she found herself beginning to think and that wasn't what she wanted to do at all.

She tried to focus again on the task at hand and for a little while it worked but she needed to pay attention to the terrain and not just the act of running so her awareness was divided. Was it paranoia or exhaustion that made her see flitting shapes darting from the shade of one tree to another? She kept catching things moving out of the corner of her eyes and when she looked at the spot she had thought she'd seen movement, there was nothing. The lighting must just be strange here, she thought, wondering about latitudes and knowing the musing was bullshit. She picked up the pace.

Relief washed over her as she burst through the edge of the orchard and into the grassy lane that led to the house. The sound of the breeze whispering through the apple trees was left behind her so she could more easily pretend she hadn't heard the soft high mutterings.

Stopping outside the house, not having taken the time to do a proper cool-down pace she gasped for air and made herself not look back behind her. She felt eyes on her and looked up, expecting to see one of the sheep only to see the Big man beside the barn looking her way. She wiped the sweat off of her brow and waved to him. He made no gesture back but simply vanished back behind the barn.

"Huh." She muttered to herself. "The sheep would have waved." She headed inside wanting a big glass of water and the comfort of walls around her.

 

[Discordant]

Ciprian returned to the entry hall with step latter in hand and worked at removing the portrait. However, the damn thing obstinately resisted his efforts, as if Margret's ancestor had no intention of relinquishing his place on the wall. Afraid to tug hard for fear of damaging the infernal thing, he practiced determined patience and finally managed to wriggle it loose. But the trek to the basement was no less challenging. While the painting wasn't particularly heavy, it was large and awkward. The narrow steps leading down were perhaps the most trying part of the journey.

Reaching the basement, he set the painting down on the concrete floor with a sigh and reached for the overhead bulb. Light pushed back the darkness, though not as thoroughly as he would have liked. The corners still harbored deep shadows. This level was the guts of the house, holding all those unsightly things which, while necessary for the function of such a large home, were better left unseen. It was also a place where Ciprian would spend a great deal of his time, making sure the house remained livable and comfortable. The two most prominent inhabitants were the boiler and the generator, both of which needed occasional care.

But the basement served a second purpose as well. It housed all those things that had out lived their usefulness but were either too valuable or to sentimental to simply throw away. It was among these boxes and crates that Ciprian buried the portrait. He probably should have grabbed a discarded blanket or table cloth to cover the painting, but he felt no urge to protect the thing. If time and the elements saw fit to wipe away the face of Margret's ancestor, who was he to say otherwise.

Ciprian was about to reach up to switch off the bulb when a sound stopped him. He listened, trying to pick up the nuances of the noise. Though the sound was slightly different in this part of the house, he soon recognized it as the sound of a crying baby, the same sound he'd heard two other times since he'd been here. The noise was so soft that its exact direction couldn't be determined, but it was there never the less. What the hell was that? It certainly wasn't an actual baby, at least not unless Margret had smuggled one through customs in her meager luggage.

Ciprian chanced a glance at the boiler and chuckled at his own stupidity. Of course that's what it was. All this time he'd thought he was hearing the sound of a whaling infant, and it was probably just the sound steam through the pipes. Who knew what kind of odd noises that could make?

Switching off the light, he ascended the stairs to the first floor, cursing himself the whole way for being so irrationally jumpy.

Back in the basement, the crying went on. It rose and fell in uneven tones. Though soft, it remained frantic. Somewhere in the darkness, a husky voice whispered. "Hush now," it said, "No more tears. Your mother will be joining us soon."

The crying stopped.

 

[Adelaide]

Margret stood over the tap in the kitchen and filled a large glass with cold water. Her eyes were fixed on the window behind the sink, out past the bit of yard upon which the indifferent sheep were grazing and into the bit of orchard visible from this angle. She frowned, her brows furrowed as she stared at the perfectly lovely, lush trees with their red fruits visible when the breeze tickled their branches. In no way did the scene look anything but picturesque. Sheep, trees, blue skies and a golden quality to the light that should have inspired and warmed her. It was lovely and pastoral and it was hers, she should have been swooning with delight not feeling a sourness in her tummy. What was wrong with her?

Unsettled she realized she'd never calm down enough to sit and write, not when she was so rusty. She was foolish to think she could and would just get frustrated by the attempt. She'd have to see if Ciprian was ready to head into town. Ciprian, she thought and felt warmed and soothed by the name.

Cold water trickled over her fingers and she gasped, pulling her attention back to the moment. Chuckling at herself and her distraction she grinned to hear footsteps coming up some stairs. Speaking of the devil, she thought as she put her rather full glass on the sideboard. Quickly she grabbed another and filled it before carrying both glasses towards the front hall.

"Ciprian?" she called. "Are you ready for town or for some of my inexpert assistance somewhere?"

 

[Discordant]

Ciprrian emerged from the basement to see Margret standing with two glasses of water in hand. He gratefully took one and immediately downed the contents. He was surprised to see that Margret was ready to go, or at least to tag along on some of his other chores. He'd thought she would want a little time to herself, but clearly that wasn't the case.

While he did have a few things to still do around here, he wasn't anxious to have her by his side. It wasn't because he disliked her company, quite the contrary. Unfortunately, one of the things he had to do was check in on the farm hands. After the incident yesterday, he was hoping not to expose her to them until the situation between him and the big Romanian settled a bit. He was feeling so protective of her at the moment that if the man so much as looked at her funny, Ciprian was likely to bury a hatchet in his head.

"Thank you," he said, handing the empty glass back to her. "I have a few more things to do, but they can wait until after we return from town. Why don't we just head out now?"

He pointed to the step ladder resting by the now empty wall. "I need to put that away first," he said, retrieving the ladder. It wasn't the easiest thing to pick it up while still holding the empty glass in the other hand. "It goes out back. You can come with me, or if you prefer you can just meet me out front. It will only take a minute."

 

[Adelaide]

He hesitated, even if just for a second, she saw it and noted it. Her smile remained in place, bright and broad but inside things began to crumble and curdle. She'd interrupted him, her intrusion wasn't welcome, that he'd been looking forward to a morning of peace, free from her needy company. Negative, nagging thoughts spiraled off of each other in a heartbeat and she stood, as he gathered up the ladder, with glass still in hand and acquiesced. There was no way to back out now, even though she wanted nothing more than to run and hide somewhere dark and ever come out. Would she never stop making missteps? She knew full well that sometimes, even if you stumbled, you just had to keep walking. Stopping or doubling back would only make it worse. So she squared up her spine and kept on her course.

"Let me." She said and took the empty glass from him. Her fingers were cold when they touched his, whether from anxiety or simply the cold water still in her glass it would have been hard to say.

"Um…" she began and took a deep breath trying to collect her thoughts. "I'll meet you out front. I'll do a quick change." That would buy him a moment if he needed it to find some excuse. She nodded as if agreeing to something rather than simply stating a fact.

"See you in a bit!" The fresh-air-apple scent of her run sweetened the air as she darted past him, heading towards the stairs. She had just looked up to admire the now empty wall when she drew up short and turned around, her face showing a little crimson.

"The glasses." She said and made a faster trip past him. She was cursing herself and her air-headed ways as she put the glasses down on the table in front of their chosen seats, handy for later use. She looked out the window again, her eyes seeking out the spots beneath the Orchard trees, searching the shadows for something, anything. Nothing out there but the indifferent sheep and the large Romanian standing in the back looking right in the window…

She stepped back from the window, startled and flustered as if she'd been the one looking in, not out. She smiled at him, thought her smile didn't convey anything like happiness. For his part he simply turned away and sauntered toward the barn. Flustered she turned and fled the kitchen feeling tossed about like a ship on unsettled seas.

"Running gear probably isn't appropriate for a visit anyway." She muttered to herself to hide the racing sound of her own heart as she fled to her room.

 

[Discordant]

Oblivious to Margret's internal struggle, Ciprian smiled at her and went about his business. If she was going to change, then he had a little bit of extra time. He whistled an odd tune, perhaps more random notes than actual melody, as he left out the backway with ladder in hand.

As he moved toward the Servants' cottage, the place he'd retrieved the ladder from in the first place, he couldn't help but shoot a disapproving glance at the pile of discarded trash he'd removed from the house. Battered cabinets, a sign of how the communists distained opulence, made up the bulk of the pile. Here and there, drawers jutted outwards, their paper contents threatening to spill out onto the backyard. But cabinets were not all that was in need of a trip to the landfill. Old piping from Ciprian's bathroom renovation were interspersed throughout the mass, all of it rusted and useless now. Broken picture frames, torn cloth coverings, and other unidentifiable items accented the whole thing. All in all, it had the appearance of some hellish installation art piece.

Ciprian stopped whistling long enough to curse under his breath, vowing to have this eye sore gone by the end of the week.

Returning the ladder, he started towards the barn. If Margret intended to changed, he probably had a few minutes to check on the hands. But a funny thing happened half way there. He lost all urge to look in on them. In fact, he felt a bit of revulsion at the thought of having to deal with the three Romanians at the moment. So he simply stopped, turned on his heel, and headed back to the house. He would see how things were going when they returned from town.

He rounded the corner at the front of the house, quite sure he would beat Margret there.