The Treeline.

Alice died four years ago today, the anniversary of her death was the only time I would ever cross that boundary of trees and brambles, the only time I would brush past the branches, feel my ankles catch lightly in the ivy and weeds.
I awoke early as always, the sky tinged with red, the sun not yet woken from its’ slumber. I sat up carefully, trying not to wake the body of my betrothed beside me, his pale skin almost glistening as the light hit him. I pulled my hair from its’ plait, the unruly curls tumbling down my thin back as I kept my eyes firmly on the tree-line, always waiting, expecting something to appear.
I dressed quickly, ignoring my finer clothes, even disregarding the corset, leaving it balanced precariously on a chair.

My grandmother would have a fit.
Instead I slipped a simple dress on, little embellishment, no hoops to hold it far from my body, instead it gently cascading around my figure, the sleeves growing tight on my wrists.
I glanced in the looking glass frowning, as I had grown older my clothing had grown with me, the layers, the bothersome hoops and corsets and stockings. Most of the time I long to be able to dress like a man, to wear trousers, to have freedom in my movements.

Today was my birthday, our birthday. But it was never celebrated, tainted with the loss of my dearest friend it remained a day of mourning, of reckless behaviour. I smiled to myself suddenly, seeing the discarded trousers of Edward on my dressing table, I grinned lowly, yanking my dress off and pulling them on, tying then tightly around my waist with his belt, slipping his white nightshirt he had neglected over my head and tucking it in.
I looked ridiculous.
I loved it.
Happy Birthday to me.

Edwards' cigars lay in a line on the table, the scent still piercing the air, it coated him. Added to his natural scent. I moved them out of the way, pulling some ribbon and tying my white blonde hair loosely back, a few of the more unruly curls flicking forward and framing my face. I leant forward, wiping the red lipstick across my mouth; it was another thing my grandmother had engrained into me.

Always look presentable, she herself was never seen in less than formal glamorous attire and red was her colour of choice. I placed it down gently, neatening it and standing, tightening the trousers and undoing the top couple of buttons from the shirt so I didn’t look completely swamped.

I almost made my reflection laugh, I had never taken my grandmothers advice properly and now was a great example, I was wearing stained mens’ clothes from riding but with my lips red and hair done.
I am a walking contradiction.

The door closed with a quiet click behind me, my bare feet treading the plush carpet, always more careful as I passed my grandmothers chamber. She was an extremely light sleeper and I dreaded her wrath if she knew of my plans. The house was already warm, a breeze drifting lightly down the hallway, some ivy peeking through cracks and bringing life to the dull surroundings.
I slipped into the last room along the corridor, dust gently coating everything. The books my father had spent years collecting, had caused his spine to stoop by obsessing over were filthy.

It was a room usually left alone, left to collect dust that began to blur the memories, to distort them. I came in here when I needed to be alone, a filthy rag lay on his desk, ruining its overly straight and organised persona. I ran it gently over the seat, pulling my knees to my chest as I sat, fingers drawing designs in the dirt, the tree’s, stars. The dust clinging to the air began to make me feel sick, I could almost feel the particles attaching to my tongue, sticking to my windpipe.

I moved, risking opening a window, the skin peeling from my fingers as I struggled against the swollen rotting wood, air pouring it and the wind catching my hair as it finally flung open, flesh air fighting with the dust, small whirlpools of the specks formed in the air.

I returned to the desk after a few minutes, always returning to the same draw. It was locked, had been locked as far back as I could remember, even when the room was used. Before my father had spent more and more time in the city, before he had vanished completely.
My grandmother had never recovered, and in a way neither had I, although I had spent my childhood used to his absence.

My hands ran over the handle again, the dust and engraving stinging my scraped fingers, as usual I pulled it sharply, it rattled but didn’t move at all causing me to frown. Today was the day I became a legal adult, the day my father’s possessions should, in theory, become mine.

I was opening that draw.

I scurried to the kitchen, the sun just beginning to rise and informing me I had little time to get out of the house otherwise I would be stopped by the maid when she came. Pulling a large kitchen knife into my hand I gently slid it into the keyhole, thrusting it in random directions, satisfied when I heard a loud click and a groan as it slid open a couple of inches open, I pulled it open quickly, expecting some kind of great secret, some explanation as to why it was the only draw locked in the whole house.

I was highly disappointed at first.

I pulled out a bundle of papers, bills and just rambles, skimming through I saw they were about a man, something Carroll, I couldn't make it out. I threw them aside reaching deeper into the darkness and feeling my hands clasp around something cold, retracting it.
It was a pocket watch, extremely large faced; the chain was short, hardly of any use and the clock looked wooden, its small arms till gently ticking as they moved around.
I held it out, observing it, turning it with my hands and smiling as I saw Alice’s and my names scratched lightly in the back.

We must have done it whilst we were little, I couldn’t remember ever seeing such an exquisite item.

The hands crossed, telling me it was half six and I still hadn’t left the house, I shoved the watch in the trouser pockets, rushing to the door and slipping my riding boots on, turning the rusted key in the lock slowly, sneaking from the back entrance in the hope of being more discreet.

The sun met me, warmth hitting the exposed skin of my collar bone and upper chest, a beautiful day. A beautiful day for Alice.

The day I was determined to work it out for myself.



As I thought I froze by the tree-line, it was dense, dark and the thought of it terrified me. But I was determined to do it, the last year I had only ventured a few metres in but this year, I was going all the way, to the places we played as children.
I took the first cautious steps, a small astray stick from the hedge scratching my face lightly, the thorns catching on Edwards shirt but a few minutes later and I was in properly. The trees spread further apart, light seeping through the gaps, as I continued the birds grew louder, a squirrel simpered past me.
The forest itself was not what scared me.
It was the fact we had never found her body. We had heard the screams, they had echoed over the hills, but by the time we had run, father had gotten men from the town a couple of miles in the other direction and they had searched for days.
Nothing.

No body, no clue.

What really scared me was that I could stumble, fall, find what was left of her.
The thought made me feel nauseas and I shook it from my mind continuing, smiling as I found a familiar tree. Our names and two others, the half-wit sons of a former maid we had known as children etched in, damp had filled the trenches, causing mould to illuminate the carvings. They were like a scar.

I pulled myself away, birds singing in the distance, towards the centre of the woods where we used to make dens, to hide up and around the tall oak trees. Before he was busy my father had shown us the place, had taught us how to tie knots, to make decent cover for the rain.
But then my mother died, and my grandmother took over, he did as she told him, I think he was scared of her, when I was little Alice and I both were.

I could feel myself sinking deeper into my memories as my feet followed familiar trails, ghosts of small girls with blonde hair tied into plaits ran past me, skipped around the trees, laughter echoed in the air. I smiled, my hand gently dragging along the trees, I leant down, pulling off my boots and letting my bare feet crunch among the leaves, the soil still damp.

I heard a strange caw and flung my head upwards, the visions fading away with the breeze. A raven, unusual. I kept my eyes up, looking for its next when I felt my foot catch in something and I squealed, tumbling to the ground and wincing as I saw a trap made of wire cutting lightly into the flesh. I struggled with the wire, screaming in frustration as it continued to dig in, hurting my fingers as well as I tugged. Footsteps appeared from behind me and I called, flinging my body round and glaring at the tall, skinny male figure that the footsteps resounded from.

“Is this yours?” I asked lowly, my jaw tensed, he shrugged wincing and quickly skipped over using some wire cutters to free me. Standing back as I leapt upwards. “What on earth are you doing?!” again he shrugged.

“I was trying to catch a rabbit.” his voice was higher than I expected, a strange accent I couldn’t place, “Well this is private land so technically you’re poaching.” my breathing was heavy, eyes stinging as I glared. He bit his lip and began to apologise profusely, offering a bright handkerchief from his pocket and placing it on my foot, taking my boots from where they had spilled and helping me place them back on. The silence awkward.

He stood, not much taller than me if it wasn’t for the unusual bowler hat he had on, stained with mud and feathers not too dissimilar from my grandmothers. I started to walk forward, him following, his footsteps uneven and heavy.
“What were you hunting?” I asked randomly, still annoyed at his presence in a place that I still believed belonged to my sister and I.
“Rabbits.” He answered shortly, my pace slowing until he caught up, “I didn’t know it was your land I swear, I heard the master ran off and...” he paused at the look on my face and began to apologise again.

“Stop apologising, my father’s failings are hardly your fault.” he smiled at me and I returned it, pulling the pocket watch out and admiring it as it turned just past eight.
“That’s real nice.” he said, looking as if he wanted to hold it. I obliged, placing it lightly into his grimy hands, finding the overgrown path that led to an old well, used by a cottage that stood centuries ago, now all that was left was a few stones, showing the foundation.

He handed it back and I rubbed it lightly on one sleeve before slipping it back into the trousers and he snickered suddenly, “Why are you wearing that?” I rolled my eyes, suddenly remembering how odd I must look.
“Why are you wearing that ridiculous hat?” he grinned, his teeth slightly crooked. He shrugged,
“It was my fathers, I like it. Was that yours?” I nodded and we continued onwards, he darted off ever so often to check his traps, grinning as he returned, a rabbit strapped to his belt that made me gag.

“I didn’t know people still lived in the manor, well apart from the old woman...”
“I don’t live there most of the time, I stay at Blackthorn” he nodded, recognition.

“You’re one of those girls aren’t you?” I froze at his use of the plural word and he grimaced, “I am so sorry I mean. I think I must be about the same age as you, my father owns a cobblers in town, he... helped look for your...” he trailed off and I nodded.

“You’re McLowreys boy? I remember my grandmother mention you, said she would never buy shoes from anyone else” he grinned and nodded,
“I’m Matthew.” we shook hands, he looked pleased that I hadn’t jumped him for mentioning Alice.

“Isabel,” I said lightly, smiling at him, “And I’m going this way, so...depending on how many laws you enjoy breaking I may see you again sometime.” he grinned and waved me goodbye his heavy footsteps leading to the right and placing some distance between us.
“Try not to get lost” he called back, causing me to roll my eyes.

Men always underestimate women, it infuriates me.