The Beating of our Hearts
Julia wasn’t a stranger to material possessions, but she was to music boxes. Barnabas’ first inkling of that fact was in the interest she had initially bestowed upon Josette’s. At first he thought there was something peculiar about the way she examined it, and then it occurred to him that she was unfamiliar with the devices. Her interest was no different from the clinical interest he himself might have had while examining horses in a stockyard.
It was really quite a bizarre situation. Barnabas was far from an expert in this time he was in (and he just knew, deep in his bones, he never WOULD be), but he knew that, like so many other things that had been valued as rare in his day, music boxes were now as common as fish in the sea. Something of his pride was deeply assuaged in the fact that HIS music box remained quite unique—and valuable—but still...
Julia Hoffman had quite often astounded him with her knowledge. He had never before had reason to be astounded at her ignorance.
"It’s a lovely piece, is in not?" He inquired. The pale morning sun was filtering down through the birches, sending their small leaves to cast shiver-reflections and Barnabas was drawing the drapes wider to take advantage. It was the kind of day to send one outside with oils and chalks—or perhaps one of those camera gadgets, which privately left him paralyzed with ignorance.
"Yes, it is." Julia agreed. She was paying more attention to the mechanism that was sending Josette’s Theme gently through the air than what women normally admired about it: filigree, and the silverwork that framed it. Barnabas nearly dropped the heavy silk cords when he realized she was puzzling out the mystery of the music.
(Does everything have to pose a mystery for her?) He wondered. Aloud, he masked his numbness reasonably well: "What do you think of it? I bought it when I was in the Orient."
As if she didn’t already know...Julia looked up, but her answer was absent-minded. "It’s very beautiful...well done."
Barnabas had never quite heard the object d’art described of in such terms. "Yes, it is." He tried again. "Are you...familiar with music boxes? This one is rather unique."
"I’m afraid I wouldn’t know if it was or not." Julia laughed for the first time, a soft sound of depreciation. "I’m not all that familiar with them."
Now he was honestly and truly confused. "Forgive me, but I was under the impression that...musical jewelry boxes were a common possession of women and young girls."
"They are." Julia admitted, and set the box down as it finished playing. In that moment, Barnabas instinctively understood he had made what was called a "prying question." "I’ve just never had one before." She frowned slightly. "I mean, I’ve had jewelry boxes. But not the musical kind."
Julia rarely spoke of herself, or of anything that even remotely had to do of herself, that Barnabas could not help but notice her words. It was almost a confession, coming from her lips. Even then, with their acquaintance barely a year old (and thankfully, most of the fighting over and done with), Barnabas had come to realize certain things about his doctor. She was solitary but only by the choice of career, not from personal choice. Her first private baring to him was her hatred of being alone. Later on, he learned almost by accident, that she had a grandmother—not a surprising fact in itself, except that Barnabas never knew any of HIS grandparents, but her grandmother had given her the medallion about her throat, and she never showed any attachment at all, to any other ornament. Her jewelry was varied enough to drive a person mad. One day she would wear an antique pigeon-blood ruby at her breast, the next day, the cheapest possible things, what Quentin referred to as "costume jewelry."
"It’s all an act, Barnabas." Quentin informed his cousin with a smile. "Perhaps you haven’t noticed, Julia is a true master of camouflage."
"Camouflage?" Barnabas repeated.
His younger cousin only smiled and leaned back in his chair—Barnabas’ favorite chair, but as he’d consumed too many drinks again, the only way he could claim it back was to fight him for it. "Camouflage." He repeated. "It’s part and parcel of the image she’s expected to show the world as a professional woman. That is to say, cheap clothes of a not-always popular style, jewelry to match, and what is kindly referred to as "sensible" shoes. In other words, nothing that would at all imply there’s a woman underneath. Plus, the clothes are nearly invariably of an older make, to imply the professional woman is older than she really is."
Barnabas was too busy absorbing this. In all his days, he never imagined a woman would want to make herself look OLDER. It was normally the reverse that was true. "Why?" He finally asked.
Quentin sighed. "Well anything else, and she wouldn’t have a..."professional" image. If she can’t imply she’s sacrificed Hearth and Home for her career—in other words, wear the Habit of the Business Nuns-—people won't respect her."
That rather reminded Barnabas of his own difficulty in accepting Julia for what she was, back in the beginning. He had been willing to believe almost anything of her—and her cool demeanor at challenging him while wearing nothing more than a nightgown unsettled him to this very day.
Thinking of that, it DID reinforce his growing suspicion that Julia Hoffman had about as much interest in the fashion scene as an elephant would be in the Ivory Trade. Small wonder, if it worked so hard to jeopardize her identity as a woman.
The coolness she had originally displayed. Had he seen a faint edge of bitterness inside it?
Julia’s character was undergoing this verbal dissection under the glow of a nearly perfect evening. Now that the family was proven safe from Judah Zachary, Julia was back at her hospital. The Family History was finished, and was expected to undergo its limited print run early that spring. She stayed her nights at Collinwood generally when she was on call for the hospital, concentrating all else on her career. Barnabas understood, and he had no claim on her, but the sensation of being without Julia after such a long time of inseparable companionship was odd. It was almost, he mused, how a captain’s wife might feel when her other half was at sea.
Despite the demands on her time, Julia did make the effort to see him when she "was in." For his part, Barnabas always memorized the times when she would be off from her duties. The closeness they had achieved was reluctant to let go of them; even if there was nothing to do, no threats, no monsters, the habit of being together was bound in iron.
Quentin’s explanation on Julia began because Barnabas had noticed Julia was slowly starting to do away with her familiar tweeds. "The Discriminating Public Eye is starting to loosen up on the strap." The younger man had shrugged, and that spurred the conversation on.
Barnabas understood the give and take play-role on the matter of the sexes more than Julia would have believed. In his day, the emphasis on being a man was far stronger than it was now. Being a man meant more than the body; one also had to carry a certain image, and the responsibilities that went with it. Perhaps things had lightened up for his kind, but from what he could see, it hadn’t really done so with women. The clothing was far more seldom, and the perfume tended to be more distracting, but the overall package was designed to be appealing. And if it WASN’T appealing, it was expected to have its reasons.
Had Julia (who was currently at Wyndcliffe), been privy to his thoughts, she would have been quite amazed. Barnabas simply didn’t THINK about her. She accepted that as status quo. That he was not only thinking about her, but trying to understand her better, would have seriously disturbed her mental order of things.
Barnabas would have been disturbed at himself. His feelings were not as clear as they had once been. Things were no longer certain, or sure.
Time passed, slowly but surely towards the future, and the year would soon be replaced by another. The Collins family was berefit of outside threats, or even dangers of the most common sort. Paranoia that there HAD to be something amiss was gradually replaced with acceptance. For the first time in one hundred and seventy-seven years, Barnabas Collins was facing a period of rest and recuperation. It was small wonder, he did not quite know what to do with himself.
***
"You look tired." He said. Julia was stepping out of the back door of her office with her long trench coat over one shoulder, adjusting the strap on a small purse with the other. Some kind of meeting that Barnabas didn’t understand had acquired her attention, and she had dressed for the part with a long black skirt, sober gray sweater with a neck that went all the way to her chin, and black blazer. Boots had been the order of the day when she had risen from her bed, but the storm had passed, leaving steaming puddles on the sidewalks and the parking lot behind them. Somehow she failed to look severe, but active. The sunlight was pulling the gold out of her hair, strand by strand.
Julia paused, considering while she finished with the purse, and her expression was warm but resigned. "It’s been a long day." She admitted. "I didn’t expect to see you here."
"I was visiting Roger at the Cannery." They fell into step together, and she ran her fingers through her hair in a sudden expression of freedom from the stuffy indoors. "He knows of some of the old wrights who went to Glouchester and Friendship when we closed down."
"You think you can get them to return to the shipyards?" Julia looked up at him with a bright face. "Most of the life went out of Collinsport with the yards. It would be wonderful if they returned."
"I hope so." He confessed. He offered his arm as they neared the street; she took it. "At any rate, I have several hours...I was wondering if you felt like dinner."
"That," Julia said dryly, "Sounds like a good idea. After the day I had..." She paused and left that unsaid. "I usually cook to calm down and relax after a hard day. But having someone do that for me sounds even better."
"Then allow me."
There was a small restaurant that made good business because it was never closed and it was a step from the hospital. Barnabas instinctively chose a table bathed in healthy sunlight against the corner underneath large windows with growing things spurting out of narrow sill boxes. Julia had told him not long after their return that sunlight suited him as water did a plant. He had to agree with her; he FELT like something inside him was responding to the sun, and was determined to enjoy it as much as he could. The days were already getting shorter.
"Is it so strange, the confusion I am feeling?" Barnabas practically blurted it over his water glass. Julia stared over the rim of hers, and set her drink down. "There are no more threats, Julia. None. And yet something in me is afraid when we are split up. I feel as if something would happen to one while the other is away..."
"Barnabas..." Her hand rested over his, dwarfed by his size. "We’ve spent...HOW many years with circumstances forcing us together. And now for the first time, we’re..." She searched for words. "We’re all right. We’re fine. There’s nothing to worry about." Her smile was wry. "I know what you mean. I’m afraid to spend any time away from Collinwood, even though I know I should."
"No you don’t. You don’t have to spend any time away from us." They were both surprised at his vehemence.
"It’s my job." She said simply. "I can’t live at Collinwood forever. It wouldn’t be right."
"Julia..." Questions—and their equally confused answers—were cluttering his head as he returned her touch across the table. "When you leave do not do it for that reason. You’re a member of the family. You are one of us."
"Thank you." She said it simply, and his words had touched her. "But I still have responsibilities...and I must live up to them." A slow smile, that was crooked on one side, tilted slowly up.
He understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood. They spent so much time together when they could be, that he was aware that the gossipers still thought they were a couple...and it was a reasonable assumption. Time. Barnabas found it difficult to be away from her. After so much faced and endured together...so hard to describe. It was as if an entire world had died, and they were the only two witnesses to know that world ever existed. It gave them a closeness that no other relationship could touch. And it was bewildering.
"We need the rest." Julia’s voice had gotten low, taking his attention again. Her face had smoothed out many of the worry lines she had gathered. The familiar pain was there, that lonely longing she tried to hide when she was around him, but distant. Barnabas wondered often what would happen to her...to both of them, if he would have the nerve to speak of it. But as long as neither of them said anything, they could pretend everything was perfectly fine...
Her color had improved. "The rules are different now." Julia was saying. "We’re not at war. Time to beat the swords into plowshares." She was not quite joking. "For now, we’re obviously not needed. The future? Who knows. But its peacetime, and we need to take advantage of that. I need it," she said firmly, "And I know you need it."
Rest he did need. His mind was intelligent and restless, but for challenges that had nothing to do with the balance of human lives, and physical harm, and cold-eyed cruelty. Willie was marrying the woman of his dreams. Maggie alternated, in her dating, between Quentin and Sebastian. Eliot Stokes was as absorbed as a child, having found new sources for his occult studies. He and Hallie were smoothing over their differences slowly, and gradually. Hallie was no longer a frightened and demanding young girl. Chris and Sabrina kept in contact with flurries of letters as they traveled further and further north. Amy was settling back into Collinwood and Carolyn was dividing her attention between raising the child, and rebuilding her bridges with Tony Peterson (Quite the least likely of all the unlikely relationships going around). Even Liz and Roger were attuned to new development; Barnabas had never seen the siblings so amicable. Whatever had happened while he and Julia were in the past, it had been a good change for both of them. He wished he had been there for that. That his family had managed to find easements for their own sorrows made him happy. That he had not been there to share in that joy, created a small, tight core of loss inside his heart.
This was the Collinwood they had returned to. Even Angelique was no more than a faint dream. Barnabas had held her and kissed her and wished her the peace she had denied him... was it his turn to be at peace?
Their first night back in the future, Barnabas had stood alone in the Old House, preparing for bed, when the truth shocked him like the stab of an icicle. THIS was his rightful time now. This and no other. He often told himself how unfamiliar this world had become...but it was not that any more. Somehow he had grown to adapt to it, and to a greater degree than he had imagined. He was still ambivalent about many things; he doubted he would ever care if he had electricity or not. But his thinking was no longer than of an 18th century man.
The realization had astonished him. While Julia returned to Wyndcliffe and straightened out her affairs, she was all unknowing that Barnabas spent the entire time wavering in his convictions between past, present and future, trying endlessly to compare apples and oranges. At last, exhausted, he had come to realize that he had not been a villain by any time’s terms. He had simply been a man of his era.
And if Julia noticed that Barnabas appeared to be more at rest when she returned, she said nothing. It was not in her nature to ask him prying questions unless it was needed.
The warmth and leisure of summer shifted to the industry of autumn. Roger went hunting, and the entire family shared in the result at the dinner table. The last of seasonal vegetables had come in, and Thanksgiving had extra reasons for celebrating. Carolyn had mellowed into a calm, even supportive young woman. This might have been why Tony was spending more time at Collinwood, even though his career was finally starting its launch. Liz was so often wrapped up in her daughter’s unexpected happiness she almost forgot it had little to do with her. But she made certain that the guest roster at Collinwood was full, and Tony’s name was on the top of the list. If Quentin had thought she might ignore him in favor of the man she hoped to be her son-in-law, he was quite mistaken. No sooner had he returned from Sicily did she draft him into the honor of carving the birds at the table. Roger was glad that someone else had been given the responsibility. Barnabas, as the only other male adult Collins, soon found that Quentin had a heavy hand for slicing.
"I’m surprised you can move, after all the goose you and Quentin consumed."
Barnabas sighed; he dropped the manila of papers onto the library table as Julia came in, a large pilsner in a hand that was almost too small to hold it. "I was hoping to make some headway with the shipyards." He confessed. "But I cannot concentrate." His look was wry. "As you said, "Dinner was excellent."
"I agree. I’ve never eaten so much red meat in my life." She set the glass of gold liquid before him. "Sip it slowly." She advised. "You’ll feel better before you know it."
Expecting medicine, he was gratified to find a dry hard cider instead." Thank you." He said with feeling."
"Any time." She was wearing slacks; the holiday was sporting an awesome cold snap and Carolyn had demanded her attention at the stables later. She sat on the edge of his table and absently toyed with a depending earring that had begun its days as a gold coin from ancient Greece. Her ensemble was almost a celebration of autumn itself; a suit of soft brown sported a falling pattern of coppery aspen leaves across her shoulders, the last embroidered leaf ending at her left knee. "Roger was in a good mood; d’you think he’ll be able to settle on the boundaries?"
"I believe so." Barnabas took another swallow. "We own the land; it’s simply a matter of getting it all properly surveyed. Anyone can tell a shipyard was once there. The ground is black from the old oak planks. But that should be the last of the worries; the workers WANT to return, Julia. It was more than a source of livelihood for Collinsport when the yards were closed. It took away much of the people’s pride. Without the yards we’re really nothing more than two canneries and a train station. They are aware of this more than we are."
‘Yes." Julia looked up to smile at his words, smile at him, as the weak white sun cast its strength through the tall glass windows upon her. In that moment Barnabas could see every freckle on her smooth pale skin, across her nose and over her cheeks, and the green-gold of her eyes. She was smiling to melt his heart, and he was the reason for that smile.
Bitter autumns tend to give way to bitter winters. For all the luxuries this era took for granted, Barnabas was comforted deep in his soul that resourcefulness and industry was still just as valued for the extremes. Everyone concentrated on keeping warm, and building fires. Roger showed David how to roast potatoes in his fireplace without exploding them, and slow-baked pots of food were the preferred method of dining. When people braved the snow and ice, it was for a reason: sleigh rides, and choir practices, and shopping for Christmas.
"Sleigh rides..." Julia’s voice was muffled from the back of the stables while Barnabas renewed his friendship with the sleek matched ponies David would be ferrying Amy and Hallie in. The adults would be in the larger sled with the American Creams.
"Don’t you enjoy them?" Barnabas called back.
"I suppose I do...I’ve never been on one." From her tone, she was dubious about the attraction of sitting under heavy blankets and doing absolutely nothing while someone drove the family across empty fields of snow. Barnabas chuckled; he knew his doctor by now, and the way her thoughts ran.
"Julia, Roger probably just wants to show off those American Creams to the world." He pointed out lightly. "He’s very proud of them."
"I can see that." Julia said slowly. "I never heard of them before. I didn’t even know there WAS a draft breed native to America, and I grew up around the Amish!"
"Well I think they’re a fairly new breed..." Barnabas admitted. "Started in the 1930’s, I think he said." He glanced over at the horses in question, pale white with blue eyes and a patent lassitude towards the world.
"Barnabas..." Julia’s tone changed. She was curious about something. "What’s this?"
Barnabas left the ponies and passed the horses on his way to the front of the barn. Julia was staring at a mark cut deep into the timberframe. A large letter C, split with a pole that was slightly tilted to the right. The bottom of the pole held the stem and crescent bottom of an anchor.
"That is the Family Cut." Barnabas smiled to see it. "This was our...Property Mark." He pulled off his glove and touched the old wood gently, pleased to feel for himself how well the building had survived time, survived better than he had. "The letter C is for Collins...the top of the axis creates a sort of sundial; the bottom an anchor. Two useful things on a ship."
"A sundial on a ship?"
"We wore them about our necks." Barnabas held his hands up into a small circle the size of a silver dollar. "When you opened it up—it collapsed unless needed—and turned the piece north, the sunlight would go through a pinhole in the side of the ring, and fall upon the correct hour engraved on the inside. "Shepherd’s Watches" they were called."
Julia was fascinated. He knew she was memorizing the shape.
"That should go on the cover of the Family History, don’t you think?" She asked him.
"I think that’s a splendid idea. I should have thought of that myself."
Julia chuckled. "You, pull your head out of the shipyard sand? I think not."
It had been ages since anyone had teased him. He found himself moving a little closer. "How is the book coming?"
"No unforeseen snags; the gallery print will be in March."
"What is a gallery print?"
"A VERY small print run, without the final proofs, checks or exams against errors—from resource listings to typographical flaws." Julia explained. "It’s sent to agents for distribution companies so they know better if they want to carry the book or not. It’s not considered a real book, and should never be sold, but a small black market exists for collectors who want them." She smiled. "They asked if I wanted it out on the Ides of March, and I said no, the week after."
"Fitting." Barnabas smiled too. "March was the month of the New Year, in my time. March 23rd."
Julia looked surprised, but he saw she had solved the solution before he could explain. "Planting dates." She guessed.
"Yes. I thought you would reason that out. That was when the first crops were laid into the ground."
"Fitting." Julia agreed. "And too bad for us the calendar isn’t tied into Nature any more. We’ve all missed something as a result."
"I couldn’t agree more." The wind was picking up; she shrank back a little, not well protected from the cold, and he put his arm about her shoulders. The fold of his cape fell about her like a blanket. He was glad inside, when she rested her head against his chest, and they stood there for a time, sleigh forgotten, watching the snowflakes swirling in the wind.
***
Barnabas proposed to Julia after New Christmas date; by this time they were more inseparable than ever, only without the strain of silence in Julia’s large eyes. He did not speak his mind until that moment, but his heart displayed itself with his smile, his eyes, and his touch. Julia was not surprised when he pulled the ring out of his pocket; she had suspected as such when there was no present for her, by him, under the tree. Barnabas laughed, relishing how much easier and honest that sensation was now, and admitted she was too quick for him.
"But you are wrong about something." He cautioned. "You do have a present coming to you."
Julia lifted an eyebrow. "What’s the point?" She wondered. At his expression she burst out laughing. "I couldn’t resist." She confessed.
"I’ll have to remember that." He said ruefully. "No, really. You’ll have something under the tree."
"So I’ll have to wait for the Old Christmas date." She teased.
"I’m afraid you know what an old fashioned man I am."
To that, she only kissed him. "Wouldn’t change you for anything." She promised in a husky voice.
Barnabas didn’t ruin the moment by speaking, and pulled her tight to his chest.
Julia came to her room at Collinwood late; everyone was tired out from the festivities and the large house was still.
(Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse...) Julia felt her tired lips curl up in a smile, as she reached for the lamp. But as her fingers brushed the familiar object, she felt something square with a slick ribbon around it. Then the switch was on and she was looking at a small box of wood.
Well...
Julia went to the fireplace, and built up the bed of red coals to a soft yellow blaze before returning to the present. A large square of rag-content paper hung from a gold cord; she’d know Barnabas’ taste in stationary even if the card wasn’t dominated by the large, copperplate B.
She changed into a thick quilted robe and settled into the rocking chair before the flames, box in her lap. It was layered in different colors; she recognized some of the more exotic ones; the fine grained, silky sheen of persimmon, and the white-satin look of sycamore...light green locust, purple heartwood from Africa and blood red padouk...a subtle rainbow of colors without being gaudy or forcing the wood to be where it shouldn’t. Julia examined it closely, not recognizing the subtle style with the local carpenters, but then, Barnabas was a carpenter himself. A ship’s carpenter.
It deepened the smile on her face, to recall how everyone had thought that Willie had been the entire reason for the incredible renovations in the Old House. And all this time, it had been Barnabas, quietly guiding the young man into the skill. And now it was to the point where Willie was almost as good as Barnabas...and in some things, even better.
Her fingers slid the copper-colored silk ribbon off gently, then found the lid. It lifted off, no hinges, like Josette’s box. A soft melody began to play. One she had never heard of. Soft and Tender, the notes trippled across the scales like a slow waterfall, or the inexorable turn of a wheel. It was soothing and
Inside the depression where the jewelry would rest, was instead another square of paper. She fished it out with two fingers.
Julia,
Finding music that suited you was not a simple matter. I wanted something that would express the two of us...in the end, I had to have this commissioned by a music maker. I hope you will agree it is fitting.
Yours always,
Barnabas
Julia chuckled softly. "I’m certain it expresses well, Barnabas...but I don’t know what the words to the tune are...!"
The small woman leaned her head in her free hand, the other hand holding her new box, listening to the soft tune.
Back in the Old House, Barnabas was still up. His own fire burned in the living room, and he was at his desk, writing in the comfort of an old satin smoking jacket. What he was writing were the words to the very song that he expected Julia to be enjoying at that very moment.
AS I WANDERED BY THE BROOKSIDE
(author unknown)
As I wandered by the brookside
I wandered by the mill
I could now here the brook flow
For the noisy mill was still
No sound of grasshopper could I hear
Nor the sound of an angry bird
For the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.
He came no, no, he came not
The moon shone out alone
The twinkling stars now one by one
Shone round her golden foam;
I waited for one footstep
I waited for one word
But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.
Oh as I sat there musing
A touch came from behind.
A hand was on my shoulder laid
I knew the touch was kind;
It drew me more nearer,
I could not speak one word
For the beating of our own hearts
Was all the sound I heard.
He was not actually surprised when he heard the knock at his door. In fact, a part of him had expected it.
She was standing on the porch with new snow in her hair and amused exasperation twinkling in her eyes. "All right." She smiled. "What are the words that go with this?"
Barnabas began to smile, and it grew to a laugh. "I wondered if that would bring you here." He said, pulling her against his chest. "I know how much you hate a mystery."
The End