Free William by Claire Cray

pleased you think so."
    "Are you pleased?" I asked, looking into his
eyes again. "Has it done the job, so to speak?"
    "I am much refreshed.”
    “Thank God.” I could believe it by the sight
of him, to my relief; and the more I looked at him, the more
captivating he seemed to me. God help me, was I really in for a
lifetime with this man, this beautiful, fascinating man, this
extravagantly elegant man? It was almost impossible to believe.
    "Do not worry," Merrick said, perhaps
noticing a dazed look on my face. "It will seem natural before
long."
    "I am not worried," I said with something
like surprise. "How could I worry now? This is better than anything
I imagined." I held my hand up before my eyes, turning it slowly
toward to admire the gleaming shells of my nails, the smooth
lengths of my fingers, the intricate lines of my palm. “It’s
astounding.”
    "There are many changes yet to come," Merrick
warned gently. "You will see. I will show you," he corrected, and
smoothed my hair with a fond look "Ah, William."
    The pleasure in his voice warmed me through
and through. After all the dread and gloom that had led to this, I
had intended to extract some heap of proof that he didn’t feel I’d
done him wrong. But perhaps words were unnecessary if he was so
obviously content to have me at his side. Questions lingered, yes.
But they could wait. There was time, now, to let them wait. And I
had a whole world of new diversions to help me bear the mysteries
he still held close.
    As if to underscore the point, the breeze
blew over my cheek again and drew my attention to the open
doors.
    "Shall we step outside?" Merrick asked.
    "Yes, let’s." I sat up more quickly than I
intended, and then, perplexed, I stretched my arms in front of me
and turned them up and down. My muscles had never responded so
neatly! My feet were so light I felt I was walking on air as I
followed him to the balcony. I reached out to touch the edge of a
curtain as I passed through the doors, transfixed by the texture
beneath my fingertip.
    And then, by the world!
    Leaning against the bannister, I looked down
in delight at the bustle of life below. We were in the heart of
Boston, and it was as lively as New York—noisier, perhaps, or did
it only seem that way to me now? No matter! The clatter was
spectacular. Every noise pricked my ears so that I could hardly
decide where to look. My eyes flitted from figure to figure,
lantern to brick, moving over the shining glass windows of the
coffee shop across the street and lingering on two men loitering by
a hitching post nearby beneath its sign. One had caught sight of us
above him and was staring absently; when I caught his gaze he
looked back at his companion. Both were bedecked in felt hats and
neat frock coats; the one facing us stood with a hip slightly
cocked, idly swinging a satchel. When a sturdy woman with painted
cheeks sauntered past them, he swatted his companion so they could
both take a gander; I followed their eyes, admiring the bold red
hue of her coat and the womanly way she moved. Moments later,
across the street, a trio of young men came rushing out of a
building and raced off up the block, their laughter echoing to the
rooftops.
    At length I tilted my head, puzzled, for
there was something strange about them all. The whole world, of
course, seemed new to me, from the beautifully crisp edges of the
buildings to the silky texture of the night air and the polished
grain of the railing beneath my palms. But the people,
particularly, were distinctly changed. I could not quite put my
finger on exactly how...
    "I hope the noise is not too much for
you."
    "Not at all." I smiled. "It's delightful."
Tearing my eyes from the crowd below, I looked back into the room
and around the stately veranda. "'Tis a fine house."
    "I'm pleased you like it."
    Forgetting we were in plain view, I reached
for his hand. With evident amusement, he turned from the street and
led me back inside, behind the screen of the curtains.