He does not deserve my forgiveness and I shall not give it to him. His letter, his presumption that I would even grace him with my presence much less spend an evening with him, is appalling. I know that I appear weak because of being at St. Agatha's, but I am not an invalid, I am a lady. I deserve better treatment and I shall not allow myself to be deprived of it. Yes, I too remember our conversation on the train and how I had avoided his apology. The deed was intentional. I will not give him my attention any further.

In other, more cheerful news, Hanny is arriving by this mornings train and we are set to go shopping just as soon as she arrives and is settled. We are both in need of new things and I'm more than itching to get rid of this morbid frock. It has only been a matter of days, but I miss her. We still have much to talk about regarding her lies about my mail, but I find myself less concerned with it now. That is not to say that she has my trust, but she still holds my friendship. I have yet to decide if I will broach the subject with her or if I should just allow this wrong to go unaddressed. A part of me recognizes that it would do no good to speak of it. She is no longer a nun and I am no longer her charge. We are on new, even, ground. Should I not just look forward?

Gabe has remained home from his office today and he sits in an armchair opposite me reaching today's newspaper. He is older than when I last saw him—he has become a man. My parents would be proud of what he has become. His business is successful, his wife is charming and his home is lovely. And he is kind to me.

Last night he called me into his study after dinner. He had black coffee and even went through the trouble of making me tea keeping the time on his pocket watch so that I might know when it was sufficiently cool. There was something in his body language, a stiffness that was uncharacteristic for him. Gabe is always incredibly well spoken, it is his strong suit—what my father always said would make him a good lawyer. His usual countenance seems faded, taken over by a spirit of exhaustion. Nevertheless, he tried to fake it for me. "Checkers or chess?"

"How competitive are you feeling?"

His mouth quirked up in the shadow of a smile and he said, "Should I be more competitive for one then other?"

I tapped my fingernail on the decorative wooden box containing the chess pieces, "I cannot uphold well-structured conversation while playing chess, I am far too out of practice."

"Sounds like cowardice."

"I do not hear you building a case to play it either."

He stood and grabbed the box from the table between us. "We shall play checkers then." He made quick work of putting it away and grabbing the box containing checkers from their place on the shelf. Since my tea was still cooling, I went to work setting up the game board.

He watched me work, his expression more serious than it had been moment earlier. "You look well, Merritt. I am very pleased."

I paused and looked to him. "I am well. Being out of St. Agatha's has done my soul good."

He slid the red pieces across the table to his side. "I am sorry I did not visit you more frequently. You deserve better than me."

"Don't say such things. I understand that things were hectic for you."

Even as I said the words, I could not look at him. My relationship with Gabe is that of a sister and her brother—and yet there has been distance between us for many months. The days of jokes and laughter between us seem to have vanished along with my childhood. He no longer knows what to do with me, nor I with him. I would be a liar if I told him I was not hurt by his recent neglect, he had been my only friend and visitor for three years and when that ceased nearly a year ago—I was hurt. Letters do not constitute hugs or verbal well wishes.

"I have no excuse."

"You were busy. Courting and marrying Lizzie."

"I wish you could have attended the wedding. I'd suggested having you as a witness and even went as far as to discuss it with Dr. O'Donnell but...with everything that has happened he didn't think it would be a good idea."

I tried to smile, tried not to do the math and think back to when he what referring to. He was married in January and it is June now. He would have secured witnesses around November or December. My eyes closed as I was forced to remember white walls and the absence of sunlight—the absence of people. For the first time in my life, I had been imprisoned, truly imprisoned. I had been locked away at St. Agatha's for a short time this past November. At that time, I'm sure Dr. O'Donnell would not have thought allowing me out to be a good idea.

It turns out, that when you are a ward of an asylum, to speak of something insane is to be insane. I learned that the hard way. Much to my dismay, the truth is not always the right thing to say. Some things must be sweetened to avoid catastrophic repercussions. I wish someone had told me that in November, back before I told the truth. I was foolish and I will not falter in such away again. I have since learned to tell lies. They fall from my mouth like leaves off of an autumn tree.

And yet, with Gabe's eyes on me, the lies seemed too bitter to speak. You see, he knows the truth—my truth. He does not pressure me, he does not even ask the question, and yet it sits between us like a solid wall. What is it you did, Merritt? Even without him asking it, I can feel the question in the stillness of the air. He is a patient man and he knows that I will tell him my secrets if he waits long enough. Gabe is lucky, for I trust him with my life.

I spoke softly, desiring that this conversation might remain between just the two of us. "What is it you know?"

Gabe stood and walked to his desk, which sat in a beautifully ornate alcove surrounded by stain glass windows. It fit nicely into the rest of the rooms dark and cozy feel. I watched warily as he shuffled through books and papers on his desk, his fingers danced along the surface of the desk, pulled open drawers and flitted through cream-colored envelopes. After a few moments he returned to me with a folded piece of parchment in his outstretched hand. When I did not reach for it he set it on the table before me.

With a sigh, he eased back into his armchair and tapped the tabletop next to the paper. "You need not read it now, but it is the letter I received from Dr. O'Donnell recounting the incident. I do not trust that he has given me all the details, nor that what he says is true, but it is what was told to me regarding your confinement. I would hope that you might soon trust me enough to recount it yourself."

I reached out and grabbed the note, sliding it across the table until is rested in my palm. I examined it, holding its well-creased folds between my fingers—sturdy paper, thick and expensive. He had splurged to make himself look good in front of my benefactor. "I'm sure whatever this letter says is the truth," I whispered.

"I am not so sure," Gabe said. "Either way, I should have stopped it. We will not discuss it. But, I know you. And I know your intentions are pure. I also know that you have not been explicit with your physicians about your condition. Despite my better judgment, I have defended you in this endeavor. I asked that this incident be removed from your record, as far as I know it was." He leaned forward, "I cannot begin to understand what you must feel, Merritt. Because of that, I cannot advise you on what should be done about it. I can, however, urge you to guard yourself. That is not to encourage you to be dishonest, but it is to ask that you use great discretion when choosing whom to trust about your condition. Do not allow yourself to make the same mistakes twice, my dear. Perhaps next time, do not linger and tempt yourself."

"So you do not think I made a mistake? Should I not have helped—?"

"What's done is done. Just in future, do not offer the truth to people who would seek to harm you with it." His serious manner lingered for only a few seconds more before an easy smile crossed his features and he nodded to the checkerboard in front of us. "Let us play."

—I shall stop here and return to recount more after I have greeted my dear friend. A carriage has just arrived at the front of the house and I have been told it is Hanny. Even as I write this, Gabe stands waiting for me at the door. I shall take my leave, although there is so much more to say. For my own sake, I have left Dr. O'Donnell's letter in the binding of this journal so that I might read it and perhaps write up my own defense. To say I am ashamed of it is quite the understatement.

*****

Hey fellow Victorians,
Thank you for reading up until this point! Don't forget to comment and like if you're enjoying what you're reading. We have some new characters entering our story. What do you think of Gabe and Lizzie? Should they be trusted? Let me know your thoughts.
❤️ Thanks.