Author's Note: This is my first story, feedback is always welcome.
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I can't remember a time in my life when he wasn't around. Patrick and I were born two days and two plantations apart. Our families were good friends and even better business partners. From the moment we were born, they dreamed of uniting their plantations just outside of Savannah, Georgia and producing another generation of devout Catholics. 1100 acres and 12 children total. Yes, it seemed Patrick and I were destined to be together.
He is a constant force in my childhood memories. Quiet, so quiet that you might forget he was there if it wasn't for his lanky, towering frame. At 19, he stands 6'2, dwarfing me at 5'5. One of my favorite things about Patrick was that he learned to respect me. My parents were traditional; they had strong convictions on what it meant to be a lady. I was educated alongside my older sister Elizabeth, but my parents discouraged my interest in mathematics. Instead, they attempted to re-direct my attentions to reading, sewing or dancing. They allowed me to draw until they discovered my drafts of a steam propelled rocket when I was about twelve. So we compromised with music and I became very accomplished in piano. The patterns appealed to me in the same way that mathematics did.
Patrick shook his head at my drafts at first, for he was my only audience. But when I fixed his model airplane, he was more accepting of my unladylike interests. And he loved to listen to me play piano and sing. It seems we spent countless hours like that, in the parlor. He would let his head fall back against the wingback chair and slowly close his eyes. Bach's concertos were his favorite. That was the only time I saw Patrick slump his shoulders, when he relaxed as I played piano.
As we grew older, these visits were restricted. In fact, Patrick and I were only allowed to spend time together when we were supervised by Elizabeth or his older sister Nora, who was Elizabeth's age. The four of us spent time together on occasion, but Elizabeth was very antisocial, she did not like to leave her room and was happiest when painting. She painted beautifully; her lines were clear and graceful, unlike my stark sketches. She painted portraits of Patrick every year for his birthday. I should think she would have been promised to him, had she not been deaf from birth. I believe she loved him but, being the noble soul she was, never gave the slightest indication of envy.
It would have just as well to have to two of the betrothed, for as much as I loved Patrick, Nora excited me much more.
Nora was beautiful and fierce like a summer storm. She had Patrick's green eyes and jet black hair. She was willowy like Patrick with an occasional, unmistakably feminine curve. Oh, Nora was too much for anyone to handle. She was sweeter than cane sugar when she wanted to be, but she could twist your arm by pursing her lips. I never saw anger distort her perfect features but over the years I noticed the tight-lipped manner she used to convey a cold rage, one that could freeze a well under the hot Georgia sun. Nora both fascinated and terrified me and I did my best to stay out of her way.
I couldn't help but stare at her, however. I'm sure she noticed this and when she happened to catch me, she smiled knowingly and sometimes she even winked! Winked! I was scandalized, imagining my mother's face if she ever knew Nora Kennedy winked at me.
Nora was promised to her cousin, Brennan Connolly. I only met him once; he lived in Atlanta, quite a source of embarrassment to the Kennedys. He was rough fellow, about eight years older than Nora. The Connollys used to live on a plantation just 6 miles north of us but Brennan's father was rumored to have propositioned young Sister Keenan over at Holy Cross Cathedral in Savannah. Naturally, this was the subject of much gossip and the Connollys moved to Atlanta where they managed a pub. Brennan was an only child; his mother died giving birth to his younger sister Claire. Claire was quite sickly and did not live past infancy. Brennan and his father were often at odds and when his father died in a bar room brawl, it was whispered in parlors all over the South that Brennan shot him. Regardless, Brennan was a surly and foul-tempered man who Nora disdained. My only encounter with him was during the Christmas Cotillion in Savannah last year. I met him outside in the east garden. Patrick and I were walking and we stumbled upon the two of them sitting by the fountain. It appeared that they were arguing and I could smell the whiskey on Brennan's breath as we approached them.
"I don't care if we are to be married, get your filthy hands off of me!" I shivered as Nora's cold rage made its way through my bones. Brennan laughed boisterously. I had known Patrick for all 19 years of my life and this was the only time I had seen him angry. He grabbed Brennan's arm and yanked him off of the fountain ledge, their footfalls unleashing echoes into the cold, stone courtyard. Patrick said through gritted teeth, "Let's go for a walk, shall we? Kaitlyn, could you please escort Nora inside?"
I internally snickered at the idea of anyone escorting Nora. I was certain she would have had no trouble deflecting Brennan's advances had Patrick and I not come upon them. But as we walked out of the East garden, she slipped her hand in mine. We came to a fork and she veered to the left, away from the ballroom and toward the harbor. "Enough dancing, let's walk awhile."
As much time as I had spent with Nora, I rarely received her full attention and certainly never on the bank of the moonlit Savannah river.
"Kaitlyn, do you love my brother?"
For some reason, this question brought a lump to my throat. I toyed with the pearls that fastened my gloves.
"I think so. I can't imagine loving anyone else."
Apparently this was a night for firsts, for Nora had nothing to say in response.
"Do you love Brennan?"
She laughed bitterly. "Absolutely not. But he's the only Connolly left."
"I'm sorry." I meant it, though I didn't know what else to say.
"Such is a woman's plight. I'll marry him on the first of April, love him or not."
I cringed, thinking of the night that would follow the first of April. Poor Nora, Brennan had leered at her all night, not even bothering to conceal his glances down her lacy white bodice. I watched him dance with her, his huge hands easily enveloping her slender waist. Brennan was enormous, as tall as Patrick yet much broader. He could break Nora in two and would probably try.
"Are you afraid?"
The cold rage returned her voice and she said "I'm terrified."
