Timothy

Buried deep in the farthest corner of the downstairs library, under the oldest, most dust covered books, behind the burgundy arm chair, beneath the burning candles hung on the walls next to the old French paintings, a little boy sat. Bright, fascinated eyes were glued to the pages of one of the oldest books his father's library had to offer. His fingers turned each page with the most delicate touch a man could ever have. Timothy Larocque was no longer that curious little boy, but could easily imagine he was again as he flipped through the pages of the only medical book his father ever owned. It was the first he'd ever gotten his hands on. The thing that had introduced him to the world of medicine and the mysteries it held. The smell alone of the age old pages sent Tim reeling back to his childhood. He took in a deep breath. Curled in the corner of the old library, with the dust and the books long since forgotten, was where he found peace of mind. This was where he found solitude. This was where he felt at home.

But the feelings could not last forever. He'd been studying alone for well over an hour. Soon his father would be looking for him, to command him in the ways of the plantation, discuss the coming planting seasons, and perhaps even scold him again about finding a bride and marrying. These meetings with his father were never pleasant. If he could find something else to occupy him then perhaps the meetings would stall. So, carefully placing a small piece of folded paper into the page he'd been reading, Timothy returned the book to its forgotten place on the shelf and left the library in pursuit of something productive to do. Enough that it would keep his father off his back for at least another hour or so.

"Rachel, come sing to me again. That church song, the one you sang for us last Christmas..."

Timothy heard the call from his mother as he exited the library. It was close to noon now, she was most likely in the smaller sitting room, working on her samplers or taking tea. Timothy found himself smiling as he shook his head. Really, the ridiculousness of a woman's purpose these days. To pleasure her husband, to run her servants round the house, and to sew for decoration. Well, no wife of his was going to waste her time with nonsensical things like stitching samplers. It was an absolutely ridiculous way to pass time when there were so many other things she could do to help her husband and run her household. If Tim had his way, his wife would need to possess at least half the work ethic of just one of the slave children to ever make him proud. He loved his sister and mother, but really, some of the social rules they followed more carefully than the Holy Book itself were utterly senseless.

Following the main hall to the large sitting room, Timothy did indeed find his mother at her stitching. Rachel also was in the room, her soft voice filling the silence with a sweet melody. Tim smiled, kissing his mother's cheek before crossing the room to sit at the writing desk in the corner. He pulled out ink and quill and picked from the draw three blank sheets of paper and the ink blotter. Listening to Rachel was as much his pleasure as his mother, if not more so. The beauty of her voice was matched only by her eyes. He sat staring at the blank pages, doing his best to not steal too many glances. It couldn't look too suspicious should his father walk into the room. He also aimed to look busy so that he would not be taken from the room for any frivolous discussions of wedding and weeding.

It felt like an eternity that he sat there listening to music his friend made. His mother had at one point closed her eyes, putting her stitching aside for the sake of the song. They all loved Rachel's music. It was the sort of voice a person might never get tired of listening to.

Once the song was finished and she'd had enough of sitting, his mother bid Timothy farewell and left to attend to one of her many other duties as lady of the house, greeting her guests. Timothy knew he ought to go prepare for Emily's arrival as well, but now that he was finally alone with Rachel, no amount of duty would pull him from her. He continued to write though, seemingly paying her little attention as he enjoyed the mere notion of her presence. He waited, silently scribbling words on a letter he'd never actualy send, until she turned to leave. Then gently but commanding he instructed her, "Sing another."

She obeyed. She had to. He sat in frozen silence, hand paused above the ink well, as she began the song. The sweet words, the quiet tones, Timothy felt his lips curl into a smile as the music flowed through his entire body. He stood, leaving the attempt to seem busy. And with ever word she sang he turned towards her a little more or stepped a little closer to her. He paused, reaching the empty fireplace behind her. His eyes traced the curves of her shoulders, her hips, her slender waist. His ears soaked in the tenderness in her voice and let it wash over the rest of his body, relaxing him with more easy than his books. He loved it. Every moment of it.

He loved her.

As the song neared its end Timothy closed the gap between them. Walking slowly up behind her, he snaked his strong arms gently over hers, folding her arms over her stomach and pressing her back into his chest. He knew she was uncomfortable. He could feel how stiff her body was against his. He knew she hated this, telling him so every time he tried. But he couldn't see the harm in something so innocent as a friendly embrace. Friendly... Rachel had been his dear friend for many years but now...now she was so much more.

The song ended but he only pulled his arms tighter around her. He knew soon she'd want him to let go. If he held her for too long she'd ask him to release her. He didn't want that moment to come too soon. Pressing his cheek against her temple he whispered in her ear "Another." and so began his hundredth attempt at convincing her of his love. No matter how many times it took he would make her understand. And someday she would admit to what he saw in her eyes when he looked at her. She loved him too.