Cold All the Way Through, But Warming

Cozy

I had risen early the next morning, washing with the water from the ewer and pinning my hair into something resembling a style. I called for a maid to help me into my corset, the traveling suit needed it tighter than I could get on my own. I buttoned the nicest shirtwaist that had been packed, rows of lace over the the cotton fabric on the breast, on over it, and tied a black silk tie in a bow around my neck. The skirt, pleated around the back, fell into pleasing folds around my calves in their black silk stockings. The stylish waistcoat was made in a matching silk, and I couldn't help but admire how even with the jacket over it, my waist looked neat and trim. A pair of white cotton gloves and my straw hat completed the ensemble. I had walked what seemed an endless loop around the room in my polished black oxfords, the heels clicking across the wood, before a bellhop came up to tell me Ezekiel was here.

"Managed to get one of the Marconi boys to show me where he lives." Ezekiel looked rather triumphant as I stepped into the cab. The driver started off, and I could feel my gut begin to twist. This was the beginning of whatever would happen, and I could only sit and wait. We pulled away from the shops, driving into a neighborhood that seemed quiet, tall trees and hedges growing slowly along the sidewalks. The cab stopped in front of a two story brick house. It looked quaint, snug and comfortable. I reached for the door, but Ezekiel cut me off. "Just a minute, let me speak to him first."

I watched him walk up the door, waiting on the step until it opened. Will stood in the door, in a brown waistcoat and shirtsleeves. He looked well, there were no circles under his eyes and I watched him speak to Ezekiel for a few minutes, the latter gesturing back to the cab. My mouth was dry as I saw Will look over briefly before turning back. Eventually Ezekiel handed over a rather wrinkled envelope from his pocket, and Will tore it open. I could only see that it was written on fine paper, and Will read it slowly. When he came to the end, he folded it up, nodded and said something to Ezekiel, then went back inside. My fingers were tingling as Ezekiel came back to the cab, opening the door. "Go on Annie, he's-he wants to see you."

I felt like I floated down out of the cab, thanking the driver absentmindedly as Ezekiel handed me out. I looked to him, "What did you give him?"

"Something I'd been asked to. He said he'd be right back." Ezekiel looked over as the door opened again. Will had donned a jacket, and I could see his pipe in his hand, smoke slowly trailing up from it.

I could feel his eyes on me from across the small yard. "Thank you Zeke, for everything." I looked over to him, "Now, you should get back before Abe leaves you again."

"He only did that once Annie, and he came right back." He chuckled, stepping up behind me. "Now, go talk to him. Before he runs off again." I heard the cab chug away, Ezekiel's voice cut off by the door.

I was left alone, staring at Will, at the icy blue of his eyes, as he watched me. He spoke quietly, "Anastasia."

I felt my stomach twist. "William."

"Come inside." He stepped back from the door, and I walked past him and inside his home. It was a cozy house, and I turned to the front parlor, a chintz settee and a matching pair of chairs facing each other. I could feel his eyes on my back as I sat in one of them, crossing my legs at my ankles. He took the settee, resting his elbows on his knees, pipe smoke rising about his head as he puffed on it for a moment. "So, you're here."

"Yes," I looked down, I couldn't meet his eyes. Not with how he was staring at me. "I missed you." He kept quiet, and my gut twisted. "You didn't write."

"How could I write after what you said happened?" He fairly growled, "What could I say to that?"

A clock in the hallway ticked away, drawing out the silence. What could I say to him? I'd explained I had only done it because it was necessary, because otherwise something worse would have occurred. I tried to discern anything from his stern face, a twitch of his eyes, something. I twisted my hands in my lap. "You could have said something!" I whispered, "A telegram, something to tell me you still cared!" I gulped down air, trying to keep calm and I raised my voice. "I begged you to write, to wire. I just wanted to hear from you."