'Silence,
so much louder than spoken words.
Like the soundless flight of the
Messenger Bird.
Trembling,
stark, and lonely blue.
Revealing the scars of winters due.'

Wendyy Wolfe

⚖︎⚖︎⚖︎

-The UnBeloved-

"I have only been here for a month and yet I feel like I know you so well Constance."

Her eyes grew large and looked like deep green oceans. Byron smiled slightly but she took a small step back holding out the basket to him.

"I, I must be returning now Reverend. There are chores --," she uttered tightly.

He looked at her curiously. "I'm sorry, have I said something wrong," he asked lightly.

She shook her head a little. "No, not really, I suppose. I just was not expecting you to say such a thing."

"Have you never felt like you have known someone forever though you just met them?"

"No I cannot say that I have, Reverend. I am not well traveled having been born right here in my Grandfather's settlement."

"Oh? You were born here? That is quite interesting."

Constance laughed causing the smooth skin at the edge of her eyes to crinkle endearingly.

"I think not Reverend. I should think you have led the more interesting life. I have had the pleasure of reading my Grandmothers letters she often received from her sister in England and they are far more interesting than the life here!"

"You speak much of your Grandparents, but what of your parents Constance?"

"I never knew them," she trailed off absently.

"Oh," he nodded as a little tendril of understanding began to surface. "I am so sorry to hear that. What happened them?"

He watched her look around as if someone might overhear their conversation and he looked around as well.

"Come, let us walk around the property, I should still like you to give me your opinion for placing a chicken hutch," he distracted her from that nervous behavior he found so strange. She followed him to the side of the small manor.

"I was thinking of placing a garden here," he pointed. Perhaps the chicken yard could go to the other side of the garden!"

"Mmmm. That would be very attainable if you don't mind walking so far. Normally we place our garden closer to the kitchen and build a garden house against the wall. Therefore your chicken yard could be where you wanted the garden and both will be closer for utility."

She walked over near the wall and looked around. "I have never given much thought to arrangements for this home since I don't remember living here."

"Here?" Byron asked with incredulity.

Constance nodded. "I was born here. In this very house." She smiled faintly.

"Well, your life gets more interesting by the moment," he said with wonderment.

"You find that interesting?" Her expression told him she was doubtful.

"Of course Constance. The colonists who braved these wild lands hold my utmost respect. My own families not being keen to ever leave the homeland."

"I do believe my Grandmother missed England. She spoke if it often and of her family. She wanted them all to come terribly, but that never materialized. Someday I should like to visit."

Byron was enchanted by her simple thoughts.

"Perhaps someday you will. Tell me what your parents names were?"

My Father was Edward. Edward Patience Pennybacker. Grandmother named him after the ship by which they came here because he was born onboard."

"Oh my! What a story," Byron commented with admiration. "And your Mother?"

Constance sighed. "Her name was Sadie."

Byron noticed her melancholy and the way she cast her eyes at the ground as if it were a subject she wasn't comfortable with. He felt he discovered something in this telling reaction. He changed the subject because he didn't want her to feel awkward.

"Not to change the subject but could you tell me what kind of chickens I will be getting?"

She looked up with gratitude and he knew he had done the right thing.

"They are beautiful golden chestnuts! Nankins. My Grandfather brought two pair with them from England and we have raised them since."

Byron smiled warmly. She was truly an enigmatic young lady. Sweet and virtuous but at the same time very distant.

Whatever had happened to her parents directly affected her to this very day. He had seen such behavior in the children of the church's orphanage back home.

He would like to crack through that tough exterior and help her find healing as he had for them.

Perhaps he had not come here for the reasons he first thought, but the words of Bishop Swinburne came floating back to his mind, and the woman in the vision came unbidden to flood his senses. The world began to spin around him and he watched with horror, as her face changed. Ugly and skeletal, forming and fading and reforming until her beautiful face was birdlike, ghastly, with piercing black eyes.

Byron spun around to escape the unfolding descent into a hallucination he could not stop.

⚖︎⚖︎⚖︎

"Reverend? Reverend Dunleavy."

His eyes fluttered open and his tongue was thick and dry. "Water?"

Iris motioned to Constance. "Bring him some water dear!"

"What happened?" He drawled groggily.

"You passed out Reverend." Iris tsked. "You really must limit your time in the heat until you are able to stand it," she admonished.

Constance returned with a cup and Iris helped him sit up. She took the cup and gave him sips, until he could hold the cup himself.

Constance stood just behind Iris with her hand on her neck. Her expression was pained as if she could have done something to keep him from having the vapors. Iris turned to her niece. "Stay here dear, until the Reverend can get up on his own. I'll send Cecil by later, but I have wash in the bucket waiting to be hung to dry. Reverend, do you have clothing that needs washed?"

He shook his head. "I take care of my own thank you," Byron muttered.

Iris left with a nod of acceptance.

Byron looked at Constance. "I had a vision, when I fainted."

"A vision, Reverend?"

"Yes."

Constance sat down in the chair Iris had placed there earlier and leaned in to feel His forehead. "Well you don't have a fever," she asserted.

Byron smiled wanely. "I'm not sick," he told her gently.

Constance sat back with her hands clasped in her lap.

Byron saw the tension in her demeanor and sought to reassure her. "I think I am fine. It will be fine if you go."

Constance stood up slowly. "Are you sure? I should really go help Aunt Iris."

"Of course. I will be fine."

Byron watched her leave and then he got up and went to the window. He pushed the shutter open and looked out.

As Constance walked down the lane in the distance a faint movement caught his attention at the wooded tree line to the edge of the property. He shifted his gaze around and stumbled back in sheer disbelief catching himself on the chair and dropped to his knees.

He began a silent prayer and crawled back to the bed where he sat in differing amounts of fear until Cecil arrived to check on him.

Composing himself he reassured Constance's Uncle that he was fine and asked a favor of him.

"I'll do whatever you need Reverend," Cecil insisted.

"I'd like you to stop by the livery, and ask young Cyrus there to please ready my horse in the morning. I will be going into Jamestowne to meet with Bishop Swinburne."

"Very well Reverend. I will have Iris prepare you a knapsack for the journey."

"Thank you Cecil. Please give them my regards and let them know I am well and have recovered from my fainting spell," he added wiping his forehead.

"Would you like me to open the shutters around the house Reverend? It's awful hot in here."

"No, no, that will be fine Cecil. I will do it this evening when it cools off a bit."

"Very well then, I'll let myself out. Have a peaceful night."