Chapter 51 - Twentieth Birthday
733 Words
Emily Johnson knew only one path to happiness, and she was determined to follow it. "Our twentieth birthday is in a month," she said as casually as she could, shifting her arm so her voice would carry better to her prey. Her twin, Emman Johnson, yawned, his eyes briefly going squinty, and continued reading a tea-stained copy of the Times, his boots dripping mud on her mother's favorite rug and his golden hair pressing rain into the fabric of her favorite green morning gown. "I hadn't forgotten." He yawned again, this time making a little noise in the back of his throat. "Twentieth." His wet eyes remained fixed on the news, and he was completely oblivious of her mere existence.
"You act as if you didn't think I'd live to such a ripe old age.”
"You did have me concerned for a while, she admitted, setting her book on the arm of the couch so she could more blatantly study him.
"I haven't heard from Santi. Do you think she'll show?" He managed to slip in his name in the conversation.
I shrug, not knowing what to answer. She was a sensitive topic for us both. Yet she meant much to us both.
"I doubt it," I tell Emman. He watches the clouds from afar, obviously stricken.
"What is it that bothers you, brother?" I ask, curious. Although I had an inkling as to what it was.
"It has been weeks since I've heard and seen her. It's strange to not have her around. It's weird to not have her presence constantly cloud me with emotions."
She absolutely loved the way his golden hair was flecked with darker shades of brown, and his crooked nose threw off the symmetry of his strong jaw; the way his untied cravat started to drift lazily down his left shoulder, and the button at his neck had long since given up concealing the light dusting of golden hair against a fading tan; the way his untied cravat drifted lazily down his left shoulder, and the button
She had seen him reading in a tree or fishing in the pond during the summer months when she strolled through the gate linking his property to her father's on her monthly excursion to visit his sister. Susan and her husband resided on the opposite side of the Johnson property. Susan, their housekeeper, never intended to allow her to walk home, even though it was just a three-mile walk. Most weeks, their father would be waiting with a horse and rode with her to visit his elder sibling, their uncle Maurice.
Uncle Maurice had never bothered to find a wife, despite inheriting a sizable estate that could support a family, and she had never managed to find a husband, despite her mother's best efforts to see her welcomed into society. She had decided upon her groom at an early age.
When he announced on his twentieth that he was on his way to finding a bride as soon as possible, Emily choked. Almost to death. His declaration to marry seemed rather fervent and a must-do rather than a dream. To find a bride in a short decade, she had felt no desire to do anything more than be polite to the few ladies who came calling. Susan, the house helper, who had her two younger sisters made suitable wives of themselves. Emily, on the other hand, felt that she could afford to live as a spinster for a few years if it meant the remainder of her life she would be Emily Johnson.
That plan, however, directly caused that her future husband should not be forgetful, and as much as she admired her current suitors, she would never describe Emman as a memory whiz. To be truthful, she only recalled his remark because she was listening intently to everything he said. There had been a lot of alcohol involved if he had forgotten. In such a case, she'd give him the benefit of the doubt.
But it didn't mean she was starting to question her wedding plans.
When her gaze returned to her brother, he was smiling languidly up at her. "Daydreaming?"
"I never know what you're talking about," she answered, rubbing her fingers across the leather spine of her morning read. "Do you have any concrete ideas in mind?" she probed.
His brows wrinkled and his lips squeezed together.
- Writer
