Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“So what did you learn today?” Mathias asks. “Normal stuff or something more…titillating?” He bursts into giggles at that, as if he was waiting a long time to use that word in an appropriate sentence.
I give him a placating smile. “You don’t learn much on your first day of college, Mathias. What did you learn today?”
While Mathias starts complaining about Roman numerals and why he, as an American, has no business learning them, I try and think about what I did learn. I know in Ms. Peters’ class, we went outside to talk about the plants grown in the class herb garden situated right outside the windows, but the details are fuzzy. The tour I took with Sister Margaret seems to be fading by the minute. All history of the school is forgotten. I don’t know why my sessions with Crane remain clear. Perhaps when I’m with him, I’m really paying attention. Perhaps he’s bestowing it on me.
When we eventually reach Mathias’ farm, the sun low and golden above the trees, Mary runs out to greet me, and I feel bad that I don’t have a lot of information to share with her. Not that I would be allowed to talk about what I learned even if I could remember, but I make a promise that by the weekend, we can have a real talk about my first week at college.
By the time I get home, untack Snowdrop, give her some mash, and turn her out for the evening, I’m more exhausted than I’ve ever been before.
“There she is,” my mother says as I stagger into the house. The warm and comforting smell of chicken soup on the stove, courtesy of our Dutch housekeeper, Famke, instantly makes me feel relaxed. “Supper is almost ready.”
“I’m going to put on my tea gown and freshen up,” I tell her, tired of this dress already.
I can tell she wants to ask me questions, but I bustle past her to the bathroom and let out a deep breath as I lean over the basin. It feels good to be home, though I have a feeling this journey twice a day, five days a week, is going to wear on me.
I splash water on my face and stare at myself in the mirror. I look different somehow, older and more mature. My cheeks have thinned out just a bit, my eyes deeper and brighter, my lips more lush, like I lost all remnants of girlhood this morning, as if the school and the magic helped usher me into the future. Until recently, I had been wearing my blonde hair down like girls do, but now that I’m considered of age, my hair is half up, adding to my maturity. I don’t necessarily look bad, but it’s a noticeable change. I look like a woman, not a teenager.
I wonder what Crane thought of me, I think. Did he think I was attractive? I had noticed him staring at my chest a few times. I have to say I liked his eyes on me as much as I liked the feeling of his hand around mine.
I just didn’t like what he was trying to do while holding my hand. Trying to read my memories? I can’t think of anything more invasive than that. Luckily, my body knew what was happening. I’m not sure if I was born with some sort of defensive mechanism against magic like that, but when his hand first touched mine, it was like the world went completely black, and I could see him in a large, black, empty space, just him standing in the void with me.
So I turned and ran. I put my back to him and ran through the darkness, and somehow, that prevented him from seeing who I really was.
Though perhaps that wouldn’t have been a bad thing. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt for someone else to have a look inside your mind. They might end up knowing you better than you know yourself.
I’m starting to think I don’t know myself at all.
I splash a little more water on my face from the basin and blink. Just thinking about what happened has me feeling off-kilter, but at least I still remember it, unlike the rest of the day.
Will my memories ever come back? I go to my bedroom and change into my tea dress, my fingers quickly working through the laces of my corset, stretching out my lungs in a long exhale. Then I unpin my hair and run my fingers through my curls before heading out to the dining room.
My mother is already sitting there, staring at me expectantly, the food dished out on the table. She smiles as if a little unsure of how to act. I can’t help but notice she’s looking worse today, her skin more pallid and waxy, her eyes downturned at the corners, her greying hair straight and dry.