Soft Fantasy- First Chapter
I posted the first page of this recently and got some good feedback, so here is the finished first chapter. Any feedback is helpful! I haven't written much since high school (over a decade ago) and just want to know if it's flowing as well as I think. Thank you!
Chapter 1
Five Weeks on an Unprepared Horse
Nearly twenty-five years after the passing of his dear wife Edith, her garden still blooms with a vibrance that could rival Eden. Seamus has yet to see Eden, of course- perhaps Edith's opinion on the matter would be more accurate- but he can imagine the place well enough, and it holds not a candle to hers. For how could anything, even of the heavens, be so lovely? He was never one for gardening. But he had spent nearly every day since her departure diligently practicing the craft, refusing to allow the space to wither with time. Refusing to allow himself to wither with time. Edith would not approve of withering, you see. And so he gardens, and though he has learned much over the years, it still remains Edith's. He is simply the keeper.
It is a usual afternoon for Seamus, plucking weeds from a flower bed, Barnaby grooming himself nearby after just having returned from their midday walk- in addition to gardening, Seamus walks three times a day about the town, both a physical and social exercise for him- when the stranger arrives. Strangers are not usual in these parts, and so the arrival is quite the excitement for Seamus, to be sure. The stranger arrives on horseback with not a sack to sling across his shoulder. Dressed in a finely tailored suit and rather expensive looking oxfords, though the attire has certainly seen better days, now covered in the wear of trail dust and long sun exposure. His face bears a scruff that suggests it has not seen a razor in several weeks.
Seamus is entirely unbothered by the oddity of this and greets the stranger with the enthusiasm one might extend to an old and very dear friend, ushering the man inside with promises of tea before he can hardly offer more than a single word of greeting.
Seamus offers his most sincere apologies for the state of his home. It is quite old, you see - older than Seamus himself, if one could imagine. His father had assembled it in, oh, perhaps 1805. The very year he had made the acquaintance of Seamus's dear mother, in fact, and it had been constructed entirely for her benefit. Prior to its building the man had resided in what could only be described as a hut, down by the coastal portion of the - ahem - estate. But that would simply not do for Seamus's mother, who was the daughter of a rather well off fellow from Halifax. No title, but his family had inherited funds from a former employer - well, that is an entirely other story. The point is that Seamus's father had built the house to impress his would-be bride, who was quite impressed indeed. For the house was a sight in its time - a second story, and even glass windows. Those were rare, quite rare.
Seamus himself was no builder. He could fix a thing here or there, but his priorities had been elsewhere, and so the walls had gone a little worn, and the parlor table still listed on the leg that had cracked the afternoon one of Edith's chickens got loose and was chased through the house by one of the dogs, who in his haste had stumbled against the aged wood with rather dramatic results. The leg still held, more or less, and Seamus had not quite gotten around to addressing it. On the kitchen table, a single teacup sat waiting to be washed.
The man had hardly a moment to dismiss Seamus's concerns before Seamus continued on, with talk of the house and then the garden and then back to the house again, pausing at one point to retrieve Barnaby from a rather precarious position on a high kitchen shelf. Seamus had to use a stool, of course — he was no longer the height he once was and moved now with a slight slump in his back — but managed it just fine. It was not until the stranger's third cup of tea had been emptied and late afternoon shadows slid across the floor that Seamus thought to inquire of the reason for the man's visit.
"Oh." The man exhales, caught off guard by the sudden space in conversation. "Well, to be quite frank with you, sir, I am not entirely aware of my reason for being here."
"I see." Seamus replies, as if this were quite the normal circumstance. "Well, surely you were passing through the area on some sort of expedition?"
"I was not, sir. This location is very far out of my usual way, in fact. I simply felt, in one moment, that there may be some dealings in this place that I am to be a part of. That my presence here would be well worth the journey."
"The journey, you say? Then you must have come from a very long way indeed." Seamus regards him with great interest.
"Oh yes, sir. Quite the long way. Why, this is my first time out of America at all. I work in the city — New York City, that is."
"New York City!" Seamus proclaims, as if making the acquaintance had become an accomplishment of sorts. "Why, I believe you are my first acquaintance from the place. Well sir, have you any accommodations for the night? I regret that I have no suitable space prepared to offer you." He sounds very much sincere in the sentiment. "But I would be honored to escort you to the town inn. It is not so far, and Barnaby and I are just about due for our evening stroll."
As if in response, Barnaby drags himself from the footstool on which he slept and gives a small stretch before shuffling to the door.
"I would very much appreciate you showing me the way," the stranger says. "So long as it is no bother, of course."
"None at all!" Seamus exclaims, already removing his top hat from its stand. "And you are more than welcome to leave your horse — he will be far more comfortable here than in the town stables, and the path to town is not so suitable for a fellow his size, I'm afraid."
The stranger thanks Seamus warmly and follows him out the door.
Bentley - as it turns out - is the stranger's name. Edmund Bentley. Seamus had somehow gone the entire several hours of their acquaintance without thinking to ask, and it had only just now occurred to him, halfway down the densely wooded trail toward town. How very rude of him! He apologized profusely, of course, but Bentley paid it no mind. Men of Seamus's years could be excused for such a lapse.
Besides, from the moment the pair had stepped out the the door of Seamus’s home, Bentley has been quite overtaken by the curiosity of his new surroundings. You see, Bentley had been mostly distracted upon his arrival. It is not everyday, after all, that a man is driven to follow a rather insistent urge to leave his job midday, retrieve his horse from the animal's comfortable position at its stable, ride out of the city, then the state, then the country even, and continue on to - an admittedly quaint, but entirely ordinary town, lying on the outskirts of a city the man had almost no knowledge of. Americans, as you are likely aware, and specifically New Yorkers are not known for their geographical knowledge past the bounds of their own country, and Bentley is certainly no exception to this.
His journey had taken nearly five weeks time. It could have been quicker, perhaps, if any preparation had been managed, but alas, it was quite the last minute expedition. The horse had been practically idle before and was not prepared for the physical exertion. Bentley had brought no food and was therefore forced to make frequent stops whenever a fruit tree was spotted or a small town offering sustenance appeared. He attempted a nap or two on horseback, but that proved difficult, and the horse did not know the way, so it ended up requiring some course correction upon his waking.
Therefore, by the time Bentley had arrived at Seamus’s fence, he was understandably weary and had not the energy to pay mind to both the look of the place as well as Seamus’s enthusiastic greeting. The latter had simply won over. Now, however, with Seamus’s delightful tea and an hour or two of blessed sitting behind him, he was of full mind to examine the surroundings in which his long journey had led. And they were- there could be no other word for it- magnificent.
Bentley had simply been struck by the brilliance of color, smell, even the feel of the garden he was led through. Pillars adorned with trailing vines lined the paths, dotted with small but breathtakingly fragrant ivory buds. Tulips, spring lilies, and other sprouts that Bentley had never known the name for filled the area between large immaculately trimmed hedges of bell shaped fuchsia and plum colored flowers. Bubbling springs flowed merrily along the mossy route, containing a small variety of gold shimmering fish. Bentley had hardly a word to say of the extravagance, which was not so unfortunate as Seamus had started up on another long winded story.
He remained speechless, in fact until the moment that Seamus thought to inquire of his name. The question managed to startle him from his stupor and back to the wood through which they currently walked. Quite dense, yes, but what Seamus had neglected to mention was that the wood was a bit unusual in its foliage. For you see, this wood entirely consisted of colossal draping willows. Seamus had been quite correct in his assertion that his horse would be troubled on the path as Bentley himself had to duck under and push aside vines with nearly every step.
“Your timing was very lucky, indeed!” Seamus was continuing on, with much animation “For I was to visit Beth today and I had just nearly forgotten of the promise. She works at the Inn as their cook.” Seamus pauses a moment to smile back at his new companion. A smile that Bentley happily returns, though his own contains the addition of residual astonishment.
The pathway through the Willow Wood is not so long, and soon the men are emerging onto a rather narrow yet bustling street of shops. Tall, richly painted buildings of various heights and widths nestle against one another, their walls composed of wood, brick, and other unidentifiable materials. From their appearance it is quite impossible to guess whether the town had been constructed just that month or a thousand years prior- impossible to say whether the individual units had been shaped in accordance with one another or rather in competition for the very same lot, what with the crooked angles of the window and door panes set against impeccably lined stone parapets.
Regardless, the street is quite clearly well cared for. Not a spot of litter or a broken window hinge in sight. Seashell colored petals are strewn across the cobblestone like a wedding processional, having fallen from the large dogwoods that line the curbs.
The extent of Seamus's popularity is revealed practically the moment they set foot in the town, and Bentley is not in the least surprised to witness it. A woman and her two daughters are the first to greet Seamus with cheerful waves and large smiles, then it is a shopkeeper on his stoop offering a tip of his cap as he goes about his closing duties, then a very young boy and his dog, who both appear quite beside themselves in their dash to meet the old man in his stride- both doing so in their equally unintelligible languages before being rounded up by an apologetic father, who gives Seamus a familiar pat on the back.
Bentley watches the man with growing admiration before his attention is drawn to the orange creature at Seamus's heel. "A peculiar fellow," Bentley remarks of the cat, who struts along just a half step behind Seamus, never a threat of veering from his course. "I believe he thinks himself a dog.” Seamus finds this statement particularly amusing and his answering laugh is without restraint. Edith would have rolled her eyes at such an exchange, and that thought makes it all the more delightful for him.
Marigold Inn is located at the south end of Embergrove Way- the main street of Hedringstead. It is a quaint old building of canary yellow, with rounded windows that have been mostly obscured by a thick wall of ivy and a sloping thatch roof. The inside smells precisely of lavender and sea breeze while bowls of seashells rest on nearly every available surface. It is not Beth who greets the men, but a young lady with a head full of crimson curls and rosy freckled cheeks. Upon seeing Seamus she flashes a cheerful grin and runs off to fetch Beth, her bustle skirt bobbing behind her. Bentley stares after her with a look of awe, as if having just witnessed a fairy tale princess come to life.
"That is Anne." Seamus informs him. "A most outstandingly intelligent girl. I do not believe she has ever lost a game of chess."
Bentley's brows raise at the statement, but before he can respond a round dark-haired woman donning a lace-lined apron appears at the doorway, arms spread wide. "My dear friend, I was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten me!" the woman exclaims, in a heavy accent that although familiar, Bentley cannot quite place.
"Goodness, how could I ever?" Seamus replies, an affectionate smile across his lips. "I was only waiting for the tomatoes to ripen just so. I wanted to pluck them at the precise moment." He pulls a canvas satchel from his shoulder. Bentley wonders how he had missed the satchel's presence through the entirety of their walk, for he would have offered to carry it for the older man.
Beth squeals in delight as she examines the plump red fruit. "I know just the salad to make with these. Come!" She gestures for the men to follow her. "Sit and introduce me to your friend."
They speak of the weather and other matters for some time before introductions are managed. Beth, it would seem, shares Seamus's propensity for storytelling and catches them up on all the newest visitors currently in residence at the inn. There is a couple with their teenage son who have come for a fishing trip, a pair of sisters who live in opposite directions of Hedringstead and have travelled to meet in the middle for an extended weekend stay, a single gentleman here on- supposed- business, and a traveling salesman, of what wares Beth did not yet know.
Seamus pays close attention to Beth's news, nodding along with a rather deliberate expression as if the current guests of the inn were of great personal importance to him. It is not until they have exhausted every detail that they turn their attention to Bentley.
"Oh, good sir, you'll have to forgive me once again- I am terribly forgetful today, it would seem." He gestures to Beth. "This is the dear friend I was telling you about. Beth- Hedringstead's finest cook." The woman blushes. "And Beth, this is my new friend Mr. Bentley from- where was it again?" The old man furrows his brow. “Oh- New York! Yes, he came all this way from America.
Beth greets Bentley kindly, though upon hearing the reasoning- or lack thereof- for his being here, a note of apprehension becomes clear in her expression. "You arrived directly at Seamus's home?" she asks.
Bentley nods. "Yes, madam. Just at his gate."
"And you knew not of your destination when you set out?"
"No, madam. Only the direction."
"Well. That is quite curious, I would say. Would you not agree?"
"I would absolutely agree with the sentiment. Curious indeed."
"Quite curious!" Seamus exclaims, echoing them both, with a rather joyful expression.
"Well, Mr. Bentley- you must be terribly weary after such a long journey. Let's get you fed and off to bed!" Beth claps her hands and shuffles off toward the kitchen, pausing to offer Barnaby a scratch on the head.
When she returns the three of them share the generous meal she has prepared- not another word said of Bentley's odd arrival, only more town gossip and talk of weekend plans.
Bentley eats without quite registering the meal. Which is a shame, as the meal is just as Seamus suggested it would be- rather exceptional. But the exhaustion is catching up with him and he slips into a state of languor. Observing Beth and Seamus’s conversation as if from a dream.
A short time later, Anne returns to help clear the plates and show Bentley to his room. He follows gladly, thanking Beth for the meal and her hospitality, and letting Seamus know he will be by early the next morning to see to his horse. Seamus is elated.
As Bentley follows Anne up the stairs- not a piece of luggage to tow- Beth pins Seamus with a steady look. He meets it, but with a rather insouciant shrug and a smile, then extends his gracious farewell and leaves, Barnaby on his heel.