Southern Fury

Elizabeth stared at him. "Marry you? Young Marshland, I--"

He raised a hand to stop her. " 'Lizzy, everyone in this godforsaken city calls me, 'Young Marshland', as if it were a doting term. It isn't. Though my father was honorable amongst his patients, he treated my mother with nothing short of insolence. Please, 'Lizzy, call me 'Johnathan'. I think we've known each other long enough that, at least."

Elizabeth nodded. "Johnathan, you're married. I couldn't ask for you to divorce Gid--" she stopped and smiled, "I'm sorry, it's a force of habit. Gretchen. I couldn't ask for you to divorce Gretchen, it would not only shame you, but me in the process."

He shook his head. "Then we'll go far away. To a place where none can criticize us. Change our names, cut your hair, buy new clothes. No one will ever know, 'Lizzy, but I can't keep you for a mistress."

"I've loved you my entire life and I can't ask for you to break the heart of someone that I know you at least cared for. Johnathan, what would your children do? Heavens, what would mine do?"

He stared at her. "You have other children?"

She shook her head, laughing. "I meant Cecilia. I can't just run off again. It wouldn't be right. She'll eventually find out that she isn't Jeremiah's and will either hate me for leaving her, which she will of course, or hate me for marrying Albus. Johnathan, I can't un-thread both of our lives. I couldn't live with myself for it. I can't live with it anymore."

Young Marshland took a step back and, peering into her deep blue eyes, he saw that she meant what she said. Though he loved her, he could not, would not, break her spirit, and make her live with his choices.

Elizabeth smiled and touched his cheek with a soft hand. "We'll never speak of love again, you or I, and we'll go back to just the way things were, and--"

He pushed her hand away with a violence that surprised Elizabeth and backed her against the wall again, his hands firm about her waist. "Damn it, Elizabeth! I don't want to forget this--I can't forget this. If you won't take me for a husband, then I'll take you here."

Through the rapture that was passion it's self, Elizabeth lost track of her senses, all things besides his hands around her waist, lifting her dress, parting her legs, all things besides those sensations were lost to her.

His voice, like a siren, broke through her passion. Broken and husky, she heard it as clear as day.

"God. . . Elizabeth. . . I. . . I love you. . . I love you. . ."

And in her throws of passion, she, too, felt the love. "Johnathan, yes." she cried as she bit into his shoulder and wrapped her legs around his waist. His teeth sunk into her neck and she let out a mind shattering moan as his body fell heavy against hers. With her mind in a heavy fog, Elizabeth laughed. "Why, Johnathan Marshland, God only knew that you could carry such force."

His deep laugh vibrated into her stomach and she smiled at the uncommon sensation. "Elizabeth, I've got much more than that." his breath was warm on her neck and she swallowed to keep her mind straight.

So much had happened. So very much. Opening her eyes again, she looked at the ceiling. Dear God, by her mother's standards, she was going to hell. Or purgatory? Were they the same thing? Damn. No, she was a baptist. . . wait, what was their view on cheating?

Marshland stood, helped her up, and even turned his back to her as she got dressed again. She could feel it, she would always feel it when a person was slowly pulling away from her. His guilt was settling in, just as she knew it would, and she knew only to hold her breath and wait for the searing pain that was sure to erupt when he said the word.

Goodbye. Two small little syllables that could tear down, not only any woman's world, but any human being that had a heart; a soul; any meaning to themselves at all.

Elizabeth walked like a sleepwalked into her parlor, staring at the old furniture, "The very best for my baby." Albus had said the first time he showed her the house. At the age of fifteen, the three story mansion seemed a lot to take in, and it stood, in it's beautiful, dark glory, a lot like Albus. Had she ever loved him? She shook her head at the very idea. No, she hadn't loved him. She had wanted--needed someone to take her away from the family and the memories that pained her in so many different ways.

That had backfired in more than one way. He had taken a small, frail girl, and hardened her, broken--

That thought caught her off guard as she pushed it away. No, he had not broken her. He had--strengthened her. Set her up to fail and given her the reasons to show the world why she was amazing and deserved everything she had now!

Sitting down in the chair, she heard the front door close with a quiet click. Funny, he hadn't even said 'goodbye'. She would see him again. He was the only person in the world who knew her, had seen her at her very-- swallowing, she stood up again and walked to the glass case on the side of the room. A small box of matches sat beside the last doll of a Russian Matryoshka doll. Picking it up, she stared at the small painted face.

Closing her eyes, she fought back tears as she sat it back down again and in her palm, she replaced it with the matches. She couldn't stand the look of the mansion anymore. The 'chalet'. It disgusted her, and disquieted her very being. She would destroy it, every last bit of it.

Walking up the staircase, she stood in the nursery, looking at the dyed lace that hung over the side of the crib, the satin curtains that were piled high over the windowpanes, the pleats stiff and angry against the faded paint of white on the walls. This room had once been spotless and full of laughing children. Striking the match against it's starter, she walked to the crib and dropped it into the dust covered fabric.

The blue and red flames engulfed the sensitive fabric quickly, almost instantaneously. Elizabeth took a step back and watched as they leaped into the air, climbing onto the walls, grabbing at the black and white picture of Blanche.

Elizabeth turned around without a second thought as she continued down the hallway, dropping two--three--matches into the rooms that hadn't caused her as much trouble, the rooms that hadn't had a large part in her misery.

Stopping at the door to the Master-Suite, she took a deep breath as she pushed the heavy piece of wood open. The light was seeping through the curtains, creating the look of bars across the floor as Elizabeth took her time walking. She could smell the smoke from the others rooms and knew consciously that she shouldn't take as much time with this one, but, then again, when had she ever paid much attention to warnings before.

Stepping to the large bed, the pictures flashed before her eyes like angry demons, scratching at her heart. Shaking her head angrily, she struck a match and dropped it onto the thick, heavy maroon blankets. Suddenly, the visions in her mind began to dissolve and melt away, as if the flames were in her mind, burning out the pain and anger that she had carried on her shoulders.

Stepping back from the bed, she walked to the doorway. Closing her eyes, she lit and dropped two matches as her feet and the room was pulled into the red heat.

As she started down the staircase, Elizabeth remembered her fall, her running torment, little Blanche. . .

And then the memories of Jeremiah's little boy, David, bounding up the stairs to her, his smile. . . and Rose, young, smiling, her dark hair pulled into a loose bun as she picked up David, the way she looked as she had met her in the living-room on her first night back, a baby in her arms and the look of a mother ready to protect and kill for her children. . .

Sitting in the parlor, Elizabeth watched as the flamed rushed down the stairs and the rest of the house was brought into deep whirls of red and blue and purple. The heat was at first unbearable and painful, and then subsided into a quiet warmth. Elizabeth opened her eyes and the ghosts of her past stood before her.

Her father, sober faced and smiling. Her mother, sleepy eyed and laughing. Her aunt, kissing her new husband. Her step brother, Peter, her sister, Claudia, Jeremiah, Albus, Cecilia, all of them stood before her, their forms untouched by the flames as Elizabeth thought they should be.

With a smile on her face and her heart light with happiness, Elizabeth stood, and walked into the embrace of the flames.