Summer Chapter 5

5

As I sit in the gig, I watch the scenery pass by. The road that leads to the Chapman Estate is a very uneven one. Sam, who is escorting me to my dinner plans, is having trouble keeping the gig from swaying side to side. Every time we hit a pot hole, or the horses meander, he turns his head to me and says a soft, fast, but meaningful apology.

As I continue to stare I notice the birch and oak trees lining the paths. Some are extraordinarily massive. Tall with smooth or rough bark, seeming endless until branches sprout out towards the top. Just to look up causes strain on your eyes, for the sun will cast a glare upon them.

There are many wild flowers in bloom at this time of year as well. I can smell the sweet tasteful aroma of honeysuckle. The wild sunflowers spurt out of the ground towering over the daisies and daffodils. The ground is moist, and I wonder how my own garden is holing up, since all of my attention the past few days has been spent indoors.

My mind wanders back to the estates between my own and the Chapman’s resident and I find it particularly intriguing how different they are. Some of the estates have little villages with villagers who work for wage, in contrast to the hired parish help. Although many believe it is better to support our villages and hire them first, instead of cheating the parish workers, the village workers are treated no better.

They live in cottages that are not fit for rats at best. Made of stone and wood, most cottages are well due in time for maintenance. They all need roof repairs which are beyond the pan or pot fixation. Normally roofs are made of wood, or shingled in hay, but many villages use dead grass. It is stunning how they can make it through the winter, especially when most cottages don’t even have a fireplace. The ones that do are makeshift, falling over in dire need of new stone.

It is despicable how the Squires of these lands can manage the estate for merely profit and leave the village, no matter how low class, to suffer. People should never be treated with such indecency. That is where my Papa and I are sworn allies. We shall never hire and create a village on our land, for we will never know the outcome of the reigning of our future heirs. We would be heart broken to hear of such tragedy on such tranquil lands, like Summer.

My daydream was shattered when the abrupt turn of the carriage forced me to put my attention into gazing at the estate. The front gate was massive, but nothing in comparison to the house or the land. The gate was cast iron. It was in an arch form, with vines growing up the sides. The vines covered the intricate design. There were gods and angels, horses and farmers. It was a mosaic of beauty.

In the front plot there were 4 gardens that I could count. One for the attaching court yard to the house, another for flowers; this one was on both sides of the drive as you entered the estate. The last two were fruit gardens. In the garden that was on the north hill, strawberries and watermelons grew. Immediately I knew where Markus had gathered the succulent fruit from. The other garden held raspberries and blue berries. In addition to the gardens pear, apple, and mulberry trees dotted the yard.

The news of company must have been spread because all of the workers were no where to be seen. They were probably off at the village which is at the very end of the estate. It seemed eerily awkward, with no workers to be in any of the gardens, or in the fields that surround the house. The estate must be loosing a bundle of money by laying off the workers, even for one night.

The estate was the most primitive on the entire estate. It had 3 floors. A west and east wing of 2 floors, and a servant’s quarter. The parlor, which I could see from the windows, was the most delicate shade of pink, perfect for a lady, which seemed odd, for no lady, was present in the house. The house had a base of golden sand stone, and had a brick body. On the top floor and the wings, there was the most subtle blue that blended right in with the setting.

I hardly had a chance to glance at the rest of the lands, for Mr. Chapman and Markus came forth from the house and waited on the front patio. The gig continued for a round about the front drive and then, as easy that the ride started, the ride ended. My door was opened by Sam, but he gratefully withdrew when Markus stepped forward to hand me down and introduce me to his uncle. My eyes met with Markus’ and I knew my feelings for him had grown. I no longer though of him as a suitor and of this as a simple dinner, I thought him as a future husband, and this dinner as a formal introduction to his uncle, to gain his much wanted approval of us as a couple. On that note my stomach began to knot and I found I was speechless for the first time since I’ve known Markus.

My hand gently slid into his, and like on every other day, his warm lips kissed my gloved hand. I embraced that warmth, which only lasted a second, and left my seat. I gracefully stepped down the steps of the gig and Sam drew it away, but not without giving me a reassuring smile. I then could only turn to meet my, hopefully, future Father in Law.