The last chapter got eaten by the Internet, huh? Mm... let me see if I copied it to this computer... Oh... I did. Awesome. Okay, so without further ado:
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Chapter 7</center>
Aberdeen, Maryland, July 1881
Maxwell Evans’s house resembled a manor more than anything. It was larger than any house she’d ever seen. Large trees flanked a long, broad path leading to the stone stairs that rose to meet the front door of the house. Beside the stairs, flowerbeds lay, but the flowers had long since wilted, and the grass surrounding it was yellowish and dry.
Hesitantly, Elizabeth dropped her suitcase to the ground and reached for the knocker. It was made of a heavy, cool metal, and when she brought it down against the door, it created a loud, banging noise that startled even her.
To her surprise, Maxwell himself opened the door. He was younger than she had expected – maybe two, or three years older than she was – and despite of his young age, he looked fragile; broken even.
A little bit dazed, Elizabeth extended her hand while she tried to get rid of the nervousness churning in her stomach. “Elizabeth Parker,” she introduced herself, her voice wavering ever so slightly. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”
Maxwell’s lips produced something that was supposed to resemble a smile – at least, that was what she assumed – but it, in fact, made his face look even graver than before. “Maxwell Evans,” he said, and shook her hand a little bit too fiercely.
She blinked rapidly and tried to fight the flash she felt coming, but it was of no use. Inhaling in short, sharp gasps, she managed to keep the images to a minimum, and yet, she still got overwhelmed by the intense feelings sweeping through her.
They stood still for a little while, shrouded in silence, her hand firmly clasped in his. “Ehm… hello,” she smiled after regaining her composure, trying to keep her anxiousness from showing. Had he noticed?
He let go off her hand; she guessed he realized he’d been staring at her. His eyes, a mixture of mild interest and a sadness that never seemed to leave them, swept over her face. “Here,” he said as he reached for her suitcase, “let me carry that.”
“Oh, it’s not that heavy,” she protested, but handed him the suitcase anyway. “You have a lovely home, sir.”
Pretty much ignoring her comment, he ascended the stairs. She followed him, a little bit hesitant, and her hand automatically went to her medallion.
“This will be your room,” he told her, and, opening a creaking door, he ushered her to enter the room. It looked incredibly large, but she suspected that might have something to do with the many windows looking out over the gardens. Bright sunlight flooded the room, and its brightness was in shrill contrast with the darkness of the rest of the house.
Maxwell put her suitcase down and ran a hand through his dark hair. “I know it’s not much,” he apologized, waving his hand somewhat forlornly, “but I’ll ask Nora to help you clean. The furniture is decent, though a bit worn-out.” Frowning, he wandered towards a table and at his touch, it wobbled slightly. “I’ll fix that once I have time, Miss.”
Smiling, Elizabeth nodded. “That’s all right, sir. This room… it’s perfect. It’s all I need.”
“Excellent,” Maxwell said, and he was quiet for a while, without a doubt giving her the time to inspect her room. After a minute or so, he cleared his throat and cocked his head in the direction of the door. “Shall we? I want you to meet Lucas.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth agreed, and before they left, she hastily closed the drapes – the temperature in the room already had risen past bearableness.
Lucas’s room was an exact copy of hers – just as large and bright, and with just as many windows. Maxwell pulled on the deep blue curtains to close them further, and quietly walked to Lucas’ bed. His body had taken on a sudden tenderness she hadn’t expected it to know, and when he kneeled down next to the bed, she was surprised by the gentle way he caressed Lucas’s forehead.
Lucas was young – younger than a year, she presumed – and in looks, his father’s opposite. His hair was almost as light as Esther’s hair had been. His skin was fair and freckled, and his cheeks were full and round.
Hesitantly, she neared the bed, startled when Maxwell suddenly turned to look at her. “I expect you to take good care of him,” he told her. “He must be content.”
“I will take excellent care of him, sir,” Elizabeth promised, giving him an earnest smile. His eyes were deep, but a light shade of golden. Sadness seemed to be permanently bathing in the darkness of his pupils - she nearly gasped at its intensity.
He’d been through hell, this man. Apparently, Lucas wasn’t the only person in need of help.
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“You should marry him.”
Elizabeth turned sharply, one eyebrow raised in question. “What?”
Smiling provocatively, Esther neared her, her bare feet making a soft, patting sound as she moved over the wooden floor. “Marry him. This will all be yours!”
With a sigh, Elizabeth sunk down on her bed. “You’re crazy,” she said. “He wouldn’t marry me. Besides… what makes you think that
I would want to marry him?”
“You don’t have to love someone to marry him,” Esther commented, shrugging carelessly as she light-footedly walked from one side of the room to the other.
Elizabeth huffed disapprovingly. “Of course you have to love him! You’re giving him the rest of your life. You won’t be happy if you don’t love each other.”
“A marriage doesn't have to last long,” Esther spoke, her voice hollow and suggestive. She had to have seen the look of confusion that flit across Elizabeth’s face, for in a lighter voice, she continued, “Nah. Forget it. He’s not your type anyway.”
Blinking, Elizabeth’s eyes darted up to meet her sister’s. “Pardon me?”
“He’s not your type,” Esther repeated dully, but there was a challenging twinkle in her eyes.
Elizabeth raised her head in a slightly haughty manner. “For your information, I happen to find him very attractive.” She reached behind her head to untie the ribbon that was holding her hair in a tight twist. “He seems compassionate and caring, and, beyond that, he is very good-looking.”
Something flashed through Esther’s eyes, and while Elizabeth slid into her nightgown, Esther said, “He still loves her. It’s obvious.”
“He loves the memory of her,” Elizabeth corrected her sister, and, as she distinguished the candle’s flame and crawled into bed, she briefly thought of her own life, and the memory she loved.
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Aberdeen, September 1882
Lucas was, without a doubt, the sweetest boy she’d ever met. His eyes were a heavenly shade of blue – he must had inherited them from his mother – and his light hair and sweet smile gave him an almost angelic appearance.
She carried him around on her hip. He was growing heavier with every passing day, though, and she knew that soon, she wouldn’t be able to carry him as far and as long as she was used to.
Brushing a quick goodnight kiss over Lucas’s forehead, Elizabeth tucked him in tightly and tiptoed out of his room. She hesitated for a second when passing the stairway – should she go down? – and finally, she descended the stairs.
Maxwell was sitting in his usual armchair, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead.
“Can I join you, sir?” Elizabeth asked timidly, motioning at the chair next to him. “If you’d rather I –”
“No, no,” Maxwell interrupted her, and for a second, she could’ve sworn she saw the beginnings of a smile on his lips. “Of course not. Be seated, Miss. I’d like some company.”
She smiled gratefully, and she carefully sat down, reluctant to wrinkle her dress. “What are you reading?”
“The Canterbury Tales,” he answered, and showed her the book’s cover. “I’m reading it for the second time.”
Somewhat disappointed she couldn't talk with him about it, she nodded. “I’ve never read it. I’ve heard it’s an excellent work, though. Chaucer’s said to be a great writer.”
“Would you care to read it?” Maxwell closed the book and reached out to give it to her. “You can give it back to me when you’re done. We could discuss it.”
“I’d like that,” she answered happily, and reverentially, she touched the book’s cover. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He poked the hearth’s fire, and bright, orange flames flared up. “Miss… forgive me for my forwardness but… can I call you Elizabeth?”
“Oh, of course,” Elizabeth agreed, nervous excitement welling up inside of her. With her heart loudly thudding in her chest, she wondered if he was finally opening up to her. “Most people call me Liz, though.”
Maxwell gave her a poignant look, and seemed to close himself off again. “I’m not like most people,” he murmured, and staring into the flames, his eyes took on a faraway look. “I think I prefer Elizabeth.”
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I'm not sure who already read it... and who didn't. I haven't been on this thread since posting it before the board disappeared on us.
Anyway... I don't know when I'll be able to update. School's a pain in the ass.
Okay... so maybe not a pain, because I really like it here, but it's certainly keeping me busy.
Hope to see you soon!
Hugs,
Stefanie
I'll also send you the pictures of RJ I promised I'd send weeks ago. 
Merci beaucoup! 
Thank you!!) Blue*Soul (PMS?!