03-03-2011, 01:06 AM
500+
Jefferson brushed past her, and she took a shallow step closer to the pew she was using as her work bench in order to accommodate him, not thinking very much of it. She hadn’t asked where he had gone when he had left St. Augustine’s without her earlier; it did not make any sense to beleaguer him with questions that had no point to them. Despite his very recent injury, he continued to push forward, and she didn’t try to stop him, although she wanted him to slow down. There was no time to slow down, for either of them. With so much to do and so many in need right before her eyes, she didn’t feel justified in asking him to stop, if only for a while. It would have gone against his nature.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a clear view of the rocking chair that had once been Jefferson’s favorite place to sit; he must have recovered it from the ranch. Geneva wondered what the hearth must be like, if she could ever restore the old, braided rug that had once been the rocking chair’s companion by the hearth in their old home. Her vision blurred for a moment as quiet, unshed tears formed in her eyes. But breathing deeply, she pushed them away, swallowed them back down into the darkness that had pooled somewhere between her chest and stomach, a pit of black fear and anguish that had formed since the destruction of her home. Those tears would remain unshed. The last time she had stood, surrounded by the wreckage of the ranch house, she had sworn that she would not let that hopeless part of herself take over. She could be the woman who had laughed with her child and had loved her mate without question; she could hope against despair and reach into hidden parts of her heart to bring life and strength forward. The aftermath of the storm would not end her; she would resume. With passion alive and well in her heart, she would not yield.
Jefferson’s silence since sustaining his injury had not been surprising; he had never been a creature of many words. But the stretches of silence between them had seemed like an endless chasm, yawning to swallow her whole. Despite the fact that he had been injured, she still felt as though he was the strongest creature she knew. He was her rock, her meter stick by which she judged what strength really was. She felt strong without him by her side, but she never felt strong enough. Not to face every single thing, but his strength and energy seemed to be unfailing.
"I've never longed for spring as much as I do now," she murmured in reply. She could not argue. It was cold in here, despite the fact that it was shelter from the elements. She did not have the means to make this place more homey yet, but she doubted that it would honestly feel anything like the ranch house even when she did achieve her goal of setting this place up completely. She leaned against him, relishing this rare moment between him, trying to remember to be care. The single arm that remained used to pain him so. She suspected that it still did, although he seemed to ignore it. With a sigh falling from her lips, she leaned farther into him, feeling that this moment was sacred, before she turned within the circle of his arm to look at him. "I have something to tell you," she said, sounding tired and resolute. "It isn't pleasant."
Jefferson brushed past her, and she took a shallow step closer to the pew she was using as her work bench in order to accommodate him, not thinking very much of it. She hadn’t asked where he had gone when he had left St. Augustine’s without her earlier; it did not make any sense to beleaguer him with questions that had no point to them. Despite his very recent injury, he continued to push forward, and she didn’t try to stop him, although she wanted him to slow down. There was no time to slow down, for either of them. With so much to do and so many in need right before her eyes, she didn’t feel justified in asking him to stop, if only for a while. It would have gone against his nature.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a clear view of the rocking chair that had once been Jefferson’s favorite place to sit; he must have recovered it from the ranch. Geneva wondered what the hearth must be like, if she could ever restore the old, braided rug that had once been the rocking chair’s companion by the hearth in their old home. Her vision blurred for a moment as quiet, unshed tears formed in her eyes. But breathing deeply, she pushed them away, swallowed them back down into the darkness that had pooled somewhere between her chest and stomach, a pit of black fear and anguish that had formed since the destruction of her home. Those tears would remain unshed. The last time she had stood, surrounded by the wreckage of the ranch house, she had sworn that she would not let that hopeless part of herself take over. She could be the woman who had laughed with her child and had loved her mate without question; she could hope against despair and reach into hidden parts of her heart to bring life and strength forward. The aftermath of the storm would not end her; she would resume. With passion alive and well in her heart, she would not yield.
Jefferson’s silence since sustaining his injury had not been surprising; he had never been a creature of many words. But the stretches of silence between them had seemed like an endless chasm, yawning to swallow her whole. Despite the fact that he had been injured, she still felt as though he was the strongest creature she knew. He was her rock, her meter stick by which she judged what strength really was. She felt strong without him by her side, but she never felt strong enough. Not to face every single thing, but his strength and energy seemed to be unfailing.
"I've never longed for spring as much as I do now," she murmured in reply. She could not argue. It was cold in here, despite the fact that it was shelter from the elements. She did not have the means to make this place more homey yet, but she doubted that it would honestly feel anything like the ranch house even when she did achieve her goal of setting this place up completely. She leaned against him, relishing this rare moment between him, trying to remember to be care. The single arm that remained used to pain him so. She suspected that it still did, although he seemed to ignore it. With a sigh falling from her lips, she leaned farther into him, feeling that this moment was sacred, before she turned within the circle of his arm to look at him. "I have something to tell you," she said, sounding tired and resolute. "It isn't pleasant."