Short Story
5/19/2014

BURIED ROOTS

Adeline stumbled through the woods, rain lashing her face, wind tearing at her impractical dress. She pushed the loose pieces of sopping brown hair off her face where they were plastered. She looked out into the trees with despair, the cold light of the setting sun barely visible through the cloud cover. I cannot bear this anymore! Should I try to run the rest of the way home? Is there a place I can find shelter? Thunder cracked and she covered her face with a shriek. Not looking at the ground, her feet slipped in the mud and she fell with her back painfully against a tree trunk. The wind was knocked out of her and she started to sob, angry tears mixing with the rivulets of rain water already running down her face. As she sat crying, she wondered how such a beautiful day could have gone so wrong.
But was it a beautiful day? It had started—really started when she had been able to go to the palace. Her uncle worked there, but she rarely got to visit. She had spent her day following around the ladies of the court, all beautiful, chattering and laughing with each other. As her uncle sat at a desk, doing—ugh political stuff, she got to catch up on gossip, latest fashion trends and the multitude of other things she cared about despite how frivolous they were. Growing up a poor farm girl, the court had always fascinated her. Even after she, her mother, and two older siblings had moved into a townhouse in the city. Now, to be able to visit there, even just a few times this year, gave her joy, essentially kept that small part of her going even now that she was a grown woman.
She tried to stand up, a sharp pain shooting through her leg. As she started to walk, or rather limp, she stumbled with her arms out in front of her, barely able to see. Don’t think about this, she consoled herself. Think about the party. The celebration that afternoon, after a wonderful luncheon in the garden with those court ladies was absolutely lovely. Carriages had rolled up the front drive of Arnoux palace. It seemed like it had been a dream, standing in the darkness, without even a moon and stars. The room where the party was held was a diminutive but inviting ballroom, decorated in shades of cream and gold. It had a soaring ceiling sumptuously tiled with mirrors. The room was wallpapered in gold stripes, its shape completely round, on the outside of the palace, with tall rectangular windows. Through the windows was a view of the spectacular gardens of the palace, from this vantage, seeming to go on forever. The closest of these gardens was the topiary garden; its bushes shaped like humans and mythological beasts had been made by the land’s finest landscape artist. On the side of the room opposite these windows were tables covered in cream tablecloths. The room was lit by tall silver candelabras on the tables and a fireplace in one wall. The dark hardwood floor was highly polished, perfect for reflecting all that light.
That was exactly how it had looked when Adeline walked in with the fascinating lady Milcentia. This lady, a distant friend of the queen, was only at the royal palace for this weekend of celebration. Her brown hair was piled high on her head, a few loose curls evidence that she had ridden her horse into the wind that morning. She was really quite lovely, but most people were put off by the spectacles she always wore. She had a book tucked under her arm, despite the impending celebration. It seemed she was always reading something different, but today her book was Painting Technique for the Visually Impaired. She had grabbed Adeline by the arm, her eyes glowing with excitement as she began to whisper.
“Did you hear the news?”
“About what?” Adeline responded firmly, not quite in the mood for a guessing game.
“The paintings!”, she paused, but not long enough for an answer, “Well, did you?”
“No, Milla. Just tell me.”
“Well…”, Milcentia paused for dramatic effect, “The paintings made by prince Linden Wilhelm Arnoux, they found them! In an old storeroom, they found thirteen-something paintings made by the kidnapped prince.” She sighed, “It’s so exciting. Just think! If he had never disappeared, he would be our king right now.”
“I don’t know, I don’t think we could have a better king than King Alain. This other prince, his cousin, right? He doesn’t sound like as good of a ruler, from what I’ve heard.”
“Well, seeing as he disappeared when he was seventeen, I don’t think anyone saw his leadership skills.”
Just then the strains of the band warming up filled the room and cut short the ladies’ speculation.
In Adeline’s opinion, the best part of a room was the way the people filled it. Everyone looked their best, wearing clothes that were even more extravagant and lace bedecked than typical court attire. People stood around talking, the music about to start. And then Adeline realized she was crying again.
*  *  *
Linden sat by the warm fire in his cabin, a leatherbound book in his hand. The thunder outside his window cracked twice, followed by searing lightning. Looking up, he became more aware of his surroundings. The forest dweller relished the sound of rain on the roof of his cabin, not having heard  its rhythmic pattering in so long.
Suddenly Linden heard a scream. He immediately jumped up, the chair in which he had been sitting, fallen to the ground. He grabbed a large stick from the woodpile next to the fire, then dashed to the kitchen and grabbed an old rag. Working as quickly as he could, Linden tied the rag around one end of the stick, doused it in kerosene, then plunged the stick into the fire, lighting the rag. He shoved open the door with his shoulder, knowing its tendency to stick. He was hit with the bite of cold wind as he surveyed the area visible in the light of his weak torch. The rain had let up a bit, so the flaming stick hadn’t gone out yet. He looked around, wondering where to go. At the moment he didn’t know which direction the scream had come from, and his light source wouldn’t last long. Then thunder cracked again and with it came another frightened shriek. He ran off into the darkness.
*  *  *
Adeline sat under the shelter of a thick pine tree. She wiped at her eyes, wondering if she could stand to cry any more. She saw the faint yellow glow of something through a thick mist. The steady rain had abated, leaving only a cold fog in its place. As the light drew closer she realized it was a torch. As the torch drew closer she saw it was being held by a tall man. The man came down a rocky slope with practiced ease. Adeline still had enough time to study his appearance. Her heart clenched in fear.
He was wearing dark clothing, well worn, but not impoverished looking. If he was a killer, he must’ve been doing well. His face was what frightened her most. His teeth were tightly clenched, whether in anger or against the frigid night air, she was unsure. She could only see dark shadows where his eyes should’ve been, because the top half of his face was unlit by the outstretched torch. He came up silently on the wet oak leaves, carrying a certain presence. Time seemed to slow as he reached out a hand to help her up. He didn’t seem quite so big up close. Adeline searched for kindness in his face, but in the darkness it was hard to tell. The thunder rumbled like a growl, sending chills down her spine. She clamped a hand over her mouth and let him help her up. Adeline and her mysterious rescuer started upwards.
“My cabin is just beyond this hill. It won’t take long to get there.You can sit by the fire and have something warm to eat, if you want to.” Adeline was surprised by the sound of his voice. It lacked the gruffness she thought would be in the voice of someone who lived in the woods and was quite possibly dangerous. In fact it carried an almost aristocratic lilt. —But this man isn’t from the palace. Her thoughts broke off when she saw the cabin, its windows glowing warmly. It sat down in a valley filled with tall oaks, partially obscuring its existence. Whether this was purposeful, Adeline was unsure. They were now walking down a gravel hill. Little showers of the grey rock slid with each footstep. They reached the cabin finally, Adeline shaking in the cold. The man struggled with the door, which seemed to be stuck. Should I really go in? He seems nice, but I don’t know him. On the other hand, she would probably get sick if she didn’t get warm by the morning. But I don’t even know his name!
“What’s your name?” she asked without prelude.
“Miss, you look like someone from the high society, and I’m sure titles and all that nonsense are very important to you. Out here, in the wilderness, It doesn’t matter. You don’t need my name, just like I don’t need yours.”
Does he not know his name, or is he just not proud of it? With a final grunt the mysterious man got the door unstuck and let Adeline in. She thanked him and stood looking around the cabin. The interior surprised her. Looking around, most of the furniture and decoration seemed to fit with the feel of a cabin, but a few of the things didn’t, such as the sheepskin rug in front of the fire, a painting of Arnoux palace, and a few other knick-knacks scattered around the room. In one corner were more paintings like the one of the palace. There were a few of natural scenes, but more intriguing were the ones that seemed to be views of the palace interior. Adeline stepped closer. They were all in the same impressionist style, which seemed vaguely familiar. Milcentia would love this.
As Adeline had been looking around the living room type space, the man who politely refused to have a name was doing something in the adjoining kitchen space. On a wood burning stove, he had some soup heating up. As he stirred the soup, Adeline took a moment to survey his appearance, now that there was adequate lighting. His face was narrow and angular, with a long nose and sharp eyebrows. His eyes were a shade of green, but to Adeline he never seemed to look at her, only through her, or off to the side as if he was preoccupied with something. He had thick blonde hair, which he had to keep pushing out of his face with one hand as he stirred the soup with the other. His clothes, which Adeline assumed to be black in the darkness, were actually in varied shades of brown and burgundy. He was not how she thought he looked outside. It seemed this man was one of those people you couldn’t know just by looking at them.
*  *  *
Linden had the soup almost all heated up.
“Can I help you?”
“No I’ve got this, miss--”
“Adeline”, she supplied him with a name.
“Oh,” his eyes filled with sadness, “My wife had a sister named Adeline. They both died, last fall, when there was that bad epidemic.”
“I’m sorry for you. You must miss your wife.” She put her hand on his arm as if she wasn’t sure how else to comfort him.
“I’m all right now. She doesn’t have to suffer, anymore. She’s gone to a much better place than the rest of us down here.” He smiled sadly, “She wouldn’t want us to be unhappy for her sake though. I’m doing my best to move on.” after a brief pause he spoke again, “Would you like to sit there by the fire for some soup?”
“Oh, I can get it for myself.” Adeline rushed forward to the stove, where two mugs of piping soup sat filled to the brim. As she carried her mug back to the chair next to the fire, her foot caught on the poorly laid flooring. She tripped and dropped the mug. It hit the floor with a tremendous crash and a splash of hot liquid and vegetables on her shoes. Linden went into the kitchen area of the room to look for some towels, leaving Adeline to pick up the broken pieces. He turned around to see a groggy figure step out of a door to Adeline’s left. She looked up with a gasp. To her relief, it was a little boy. He had shaggy blonde hair and half closed blue eyes. He was dragging a blanket behind him.
“Daddy, I heard a noise.” he said, his eyes widening as he woke up. Linden sighed. It was enough work getting his son to sleep in the first place. It was likely the boy was a very light sleeper, seeing as Linden suffered from insomnia himself.
The boy turned to look at Adeline. “Who’s she?”
Before the aforementioned ‘she’ could reply with something foolish, Linden answered. “She is a lady who got lost in the woods. She came in about ten minutes ago, and is just stopping by for some soup before she heads back on her way.”
“Ok. Nice to meet you lady. What’s your name?”
“Adeline”, she replied, “What’s yours?”--
“Mine is Linden. But my daddy calls me Junior, because his name is Linden too.”
Adeline looked up, hitting the older Linden with a piercing gaze. Here comes the moment of truth, he thought.
“Your name is Linden?” The lady asked incredulously. No doubt she had been to the court before.
“What a pity, right?” he responded, “As if anyone would want that name after what the prince Linden did.”
“What the prince did? He was kidnapped through no fault of his own.”
His answer surprised her. Even after she walked out of the cabin, a few minutes later, having eaten some soup, she was still thinking about it.
“No, I don’t think you understand, miss. The prince wasn’t kidnapped. And he didn’t die like some of the wilder theories claim. No, the prince is alive and well, living as he choses. The prince, Linden Wilhelm Arnoux, he ran away.”