I'd watched the boy for weeks. He was the Markenton's stable boy, though the word "boy" didn't quite describe him. He was a young man, to be sure: tall, tanned, muscular, a shock of tousled, amber hair on his head.
I'd tried striking up conversation with him on more than one occasion, but he would always smile and look away. He was a shy one, for certain. Never did I get much out of him when speaking of trifles and talking about other women in his life would cause him to excuse himself to resume his duties.
After watching him from hiding I found that he was not courting anyone. Eavesdropping, though not proper for a woman, revealed that, despite his shyness, he seemed to speak fondly of me when asked. It was enough to make my heart flutter and my mind to spin.
I am the eldest daughter of Jacob Twillings, aged 18, and, as my father will account, a free-spirited young woman. My father would have had me sent away abroad if he'd known I was showing interest in a stable boy, especially since I hadn't expressed much interest in legitimate suitors thus far. Our family had money, and as with all families with money, it was frowned upon to court anyone below our class.
Class! What does class have to do with love? Love? Why would I use such a word? I hardly knew the boy, but there was something about him. I would sit, hidden naturally, watching him bail hay or feeding the horses. He seemed to have gentleness about him, added to his strength, which melted me like wax.
Unlike most of the servants at the Markenton house he lived in a house, with his family, on the outskirts of the village. He would take a long and winding path through the copse of trees, then out across the grassy fields that stretched between our property and the Markenton's.
I had first noticed him, as I was coming up our drive, crossing this field. I was with my mother and riding high on our dogcart, so I had to wait to find out who he was. I happened to see him the following day, around the same time, entering the field from the Markenton place. I rushed from our gazebo to greet him.
I waited at our drive until he emerged from the tall grass. He seemed startled to see me there, but seemed courteous enough when I said, "Hello!" He chatted very briefly. I found that his name was Timothy. I told him that my name was Elizabeth. After exchanging a few other pieces of trivial news, he said his goodbye and entered the line of trees that lined our property.
I did not sleep a wink that night, my head filled with thoughts of meeting the boy whom I had seen. In the weeks that followed, I talked to him on a few occasions, but he was shy and would flush. Eventually, I made up my mind to do something that may have seemed rather unbecoming of a young lady: I followed him.
I waited in the tall grass until I saw him enter the field. The grass was as high as his waist and even higher against my own person, as I am shorter. There was only one path through the grass and that was the path which he tread. I lowered my head until I could just see him through the tips of the grass stalks. I was fairly certain he could not see me.
As he reached the other side of the field, the side where our drive was cut, he emerged from the tall grass. He crossed the drive and entered a fairly dense wood that stood on the other side. I knew this wood well as I had played here as a young girl. I silently followed him as he meandered his way through the trees.
After a few minutes I could no longer see the lights burning in the windows of our home and high branches obscured the moonlight. It was extremely dark in the wood, but I could still make out my quarry amongst the trees.
Upon reaching a small clearing, I saw him stop and stoop down behind a small stump. As I watched from behind a tree, I heard the sounds of metal and glass, then the striking of a match. The match flared behind the stump and then he shook it out. He lifted a small, brass lantern from behind the stump; it's light burning low. I flattened my back against the tree and covered my mouth as he turned the light up brightly.
I waited there, scarcely breathing. Eventually I saw the light recede from the clearing and I could hear his footsteps growing fainter. I cautiously stepped out from behind the tree to see him stepping over the crest of the small hill on which the clearing resided. I crept up the hill after him, eager to see where he was going.
The wood ended a two hundred feet down the hill and I could see him stepping out of the thin tree line. He played the light around the trees as if he knew someone was there. I lay flat on the hill, hiding myself from view. Satisfied that no one was there, he moved on across the field ahead of him.
I quickly and quietly came down the hill. At the edge, I hid behind a tree. Before me was a field of short grass. A small trail wound itself through the grass toward a small, squat wood house some distance away. I could barely make out a lone window, golden in the night.
Now I knew his destination and the way he traveled. Now all I had to do was figure a way to meet him along his way. The clearing seemed like an obvious choice, because he stopped there to retrieve his light. I smiled and nodded my head. Yes, that would be perfect! I rushed back home.
The following day, just before dusk, I left home with a large, wicker basket on my arm. I had to sneak out as neither father, nor mother, would have approved. Fortunately, Jennings, the houseman was my confidante and accomplice. He had prepared a basket containing a blanket, a bottle of wine, fruits, salted meats, and assorted cheeses. I hoped that a nice meal would relax him a bit.
I arrived at the clearing just before it got dark. I lay the basket down on the stump and opened one of the two coverings. I withdrew a small candle and box of matches. I struck the match with shaking hands and, after two attempts, lit the candle. I then busied myself with extracting the blanket and spreading it on the ground.
After moving the basket to the head of the blanket I retrieved a set of dishes: saucers, wine glasses, plates. I then pulled out cutlery and food, laying them all at their proper places. I laughed at myself as I retrieved the final item: a large bottle of Chardonnay from Chateau Latour, aged roughly 15 years.
Now, all I had to do was wait. I spread out on the blanket and then blew out the candle. I lay back, looking at the stars. Each one was a dazzling jewel in the sky. Before long my eyes became heavy.
The next sensation was being jarred awake by a hand on my shoulder. I cried out and pushed myself away. After a moment, I realized that it was Timothy. He had finally come. He sat the lantern on the stump behind him and leaned over me. "Are you alright, miss?" he asked.
"Y-yes. I'm fine," I said, still recovering.
"I can walk you back home, if you'd like," he said.
"No!" I said loudly, startling him. Composing myself I calmly said, "No, thank you," and then smiled.
"What are you doing out here in the middle of the wood at such an hour?" he asked, rising.
