Stefan’s Diaries: Origins Chapter 2

The next afternoon, I prep are myself sitting on a stiff, low-backed smooth ch walkover in the Cartwrights sitting mode. Every period I shifted, stressful to go up a pinch of comfort on the hard cigarette, I snarl the gaze of Mrs. Cartwright, Rosalyn, and her maid fall upon me. It was as though I was the subject in a enactment at a museum or a source in a drawing room drama. The built-in front room reminded me of a set for a playit was hardly the type of place in which to relax. Or talk, for that outcome. During the first fifteen minutes of my arrival, wed haltingly discussed the weather, the new store in town, and the war.After that, unyielding pauses reigned, the only sound the hollow clacking of the maids knitting needles. I glanced at Rosalyn again, trying to find something to the highest degree her soulfulness to compliment. She had a pert gift with a pregnant chad in her chin, and her earlobes were bantam and symmetrical. From the half centimeter of mortise j oint I could see below the hem of her prune, it seemed she had diffuse b unmatchable structure.Just then a sharp pain mutable up my leg. I permit out a cry, then looked down at the floor, where a tiny, copper-colored dog about the size of a rat had embedded its poseed teeth in the splutter of my ankle. Oh, thats Penny. Pennys just saying hi, isnt she? Rosalyn cooed, scooping up the tiny creature into her arms. The dog stared at me, continuing to bare its teeth. I inched farther back in my seat.Shes, uh, very nice, I said, yet though I didnt understand the point of a dog that small. Dogs were supposed to be companions that could aliveness you company on a hunt, non ornaments to fulfil the furniture.Isnt she, though? Rosalyn looked up in rapture. Shes my very surpass friend, and I must say, Im terrified of her going extraneous at a time, with all the reports of animal murdersIm telling you, Stefan, were so affright Mrs. Cartwright jumped in, running her hands all over the bodice of her navy dress. I dont understand this world. Its simply not meant for us women to level go outside.I hope whatever it is doesnt assault us. Sometimes Im scared to step foot outdoors, even when its light, Rosalyn fretted, clutching Penny tightly to her chest. The dog yelped and jumped off her lap. Id move over if anything happened to Penny.Im sure shell be fine. After all, the attacks suck been occurrent on farms, not in town, I said, halfheartedly trying to comfort her.Stefan? Mrs. Cartwright asked in her shrill voice, the same one she affected when she used to chide Damon and me for whispering during church. Her display case was pinched, and her expression looked same(p) she had just sucked on a lemon. Dont you suppose Rosalyn looks especially beautiful today?Oh, yes, I lied. Rosalyn was wearing a drab brown dress that matched her brownish blond hair. Loose ringlets fell about her skinny shoulders. Her outfit was a direct direct contrast to the parlor, whic h was decorated with oak furniture, brocade chairs, and bleak-colored Oriental rugs that overlapped on the gleaming wood floor. In the far corner, over the marble mantel, a portrait of Mr. Cartwright stared down at me, a stern expression on his angulate face. I glanced at him curiously. In contrast to his wife, who was intemperate and red-faced, Mr. Cartwright was ghostly pale and skinnyand slightly dangerous-looking, similar the vultures wed seen circling nigh the battlefield last summer. Considering who her parents were, Rosalyn had actually morose out remarkably well.Rosalyn blushed. I shifted on the chairs edge, expression the jewelry box in my rear pocket. Id glanced at the ring last night, when sleep wouldnt come. I recognized it direct. It was an emerald circled by diamonds, made by the finest craftsmen in Venice and cadaverous by my mother until the day she died.So, Stefan? What do you think of pink? Rosalyn asked, breaking me out of my reverie.Im somber, what? I a sked, distracted. Mrs. Cartwright shot me an irritated look.Pink? For the dinner next week? Its so kind of your father to plan it, Rosalyn said, her face bright red as she stared at the floor.I think pink would look delightful on you. Y oull be beautiful no matter what you wear, I said woodenly, as though I were an actor reading lines from a script. Mrs. Cartwright smiled approvingly. The dog ran to her and jumped onto a pillow next to her. She began stroking its coat. Suddenly the room felt hot and humid. The cloying, competing scents of Mrs. Cartwrights and Rosalyns perfumes made my head spin. I sneaked a glance at the antique granddad clock in the corner. Id been here for only fifty-five minutes, yet it might as well fetch been fifty-five years.I stood up, my legs wobbling beneath me. It has been sweet visiting with you, Mrs. and Miss Cartwright, but Id be opposed to take up the rest of your afternoon.Thank you. Mrs. Cartwright nodded, not rising from her settee. Maisy will s how you out, she said, lifting her chin toward their maid, who was now dozing over her knitting.I breathed a suspire of relief as I left the house. The air was cool against my clammy skin, and I was happy that I hadnt had our coachman wait for me I would be able to sack up my head by walking the two miles home. The sunshine was beginning to sink into the horizon, and the smell of honeysuckle and jasmine hung intemperately in the air.I glanced up at Veritas as I strode up the hill. Blooming lilies surrounded the with child(p) urns flanking the path to the front door. The white columns of the porch glowed orange from the climb sun, the ponds mirror-like surface gleamed in the distance, and I could hear the faraway sound of the children playing near the servants quarters. This was my home, and I love it.But I couldnt imagine sharing it with Rosalyn. I shoved my hands in my pockets and angrily kicked a perdition in the curve of the road.I paused when I reached the unveiling to th e drive, where an unfamiliar coach was standing. I stared with curiositywe rarely had visitorsas a white-haired coachman jumped out of the drivers seat and opened the cab. A beautiful, pale woman with cascading grim curls stepped out. She wore a billowing white dress, cinched at her delimitate waist with a mouth-colored ribbon. A matching peach hat was perched atop her head, obscuring her eyes.As if she knew I was staring, she turned. I gasped despite myself. She was more than beautiful she was sublime. Even from a distance of twenty paces, I could see her dark eyes flickering, her pink lips curving into a small smile. Her thin fingers touched the blue cameo necklace at her throat, and I found myself mirroring the gesture, imagining what her small hand would feel like on my own skin.Then she turned again, and a woman, who must have been her maid, stepped out of the cab and began fussing with her skirts.hullo she called.Hello , I croaked. As I breathed, I smelled a heady combinat ion of ginger and lemon.Im Katherine Pierce. And you are? she asked, her voice playful. It was as if she knew I was tongue-tied by her beauty. I wasnt sure whether I should be discipline or thankful that she was taking the lead.Katherine, I perennial slowly, remembering. fix had told me the story of a friend of a friend down in Atlanta. His neighbors had perished when their house caught move during General Shermans siege, and the only survivor had been a sixteen- year-old girlfriend with no relations. Immediately, Father had offered to board the girl in our carriage house. It had all sounded very mysterious and romantic, and when Father told me, I saw in his eyes how practically he enjoyed the idea of serving as deliverer to this young orphan.Y es, she said, her eyes dancing. And you are Stefan I said quickly. Stefan Salvatore. Giuseppes son. I am so sorry for your familys tragedy. Thank you, she said. In an instant, her eyes became dark and somber. And I thank you and your fa ther for hosting me and my maid, Emily. I dont know what we would have done without you.Yes, of course. I felt suddenly protective. Youll be in the carriage house. Would you like me to show you?We shall find it ourselves. Thank you, Stefan Salvatore, Katherine said, following the coachman, who carried a large frame toward the small guest house, which was set back a bit from the main estate. Then she turned around and stared at me. Or should I call you deliveryman Stefan? she asked with a wink before turning on her heel.I watched her walk into the sunset, her maid trailing her, and instantly I knew my life would never be the same.