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Train rides were one of Theodore’s favourite pass times. There was something about the slightly glossy window and scratchy chair material that made him the right combination of irritated yet tolerant. It was like meeting an old friend, the bitterness of previous betrayals seasoned with fond memories of blissfully ignorant boyhood. Even the food, though drastically changed, always seemed to taste the same level of pleasantness. The only downside was that it was a social setting, and the way he was dressed meant there was always someone side-eyeing him. The uniform burned his skin like searing flames.
He tapped the edge of the windowsill anxiously, seemingly unable to stop. He needed to move to relieve the tension coursing through his chest, flowing all the way into his hands and fingers. Theodore shouldn’t have been sweating so much over a dead man, who he wouldn’t even be able to meet or learn about. Chances are the new owners knew nothing, and he was wasting his time. He should’ve just stayed at home. He should’ve brought a pencil to twirl or something, the idea of it being slightly off without having a book to match completely slipped his mind.
Theodore was on his third cup of tea when the waitress- was that what they were called? He felt like he should know this- asked him if he was feeling well. Only then did he feel the weakness in his limbs, and how they shook when he extended his arm to retrieve the cup. He pulled back a little too quickly, hitting the back of the chair with a thud. She seemed somewhat startled by that, so he tried to rectify it with a nervous smile. Jitteriness subsiding, he quickly thanked her and assured her that all was well. She remained unconvinced, but walked off shortly after. Somehow it felt like the whole world had froze in that moment, Theodore’s anxiety hitting a peak.
There had been times when he was so distraught by something, so debilitated one way or another, that he became physically ill. It was brought on primarily by panic, but he was half convinced he had some kind of cancer. It was worse to find out that it was psychosomatic. He felt out of his depth, in the wrong profession and completely alone. Yet another thing he had to hide behind gun salutes and polite handshakes. Theodore leaned his forehead on the glass, watching the landscape pass him by. It brought a sense of calm no person could sustain on their own. Theodore hoped that if he died suddenly, his body would be flung into a meadow or something. To perish among the gentle flowers would be better than any other place.
Theodore didn’t notice the time pass, only brought back to reality by the sound of a child laughing. His eyes glanced briefly in its direction, spotting a man with his son. The man was strikingly cheerful, more so than any person Theodore had ever seen. His brown eyes sparkled when he smiled down at his little boy, who had similar happy eyes. Even he felt like smiling at that point, hearing the man chuckle and cuddle his boy close, muttering something like ‘good try, Pat,’ they must’ve been coming back from something.
There was an odd calmness he felt in their presence, a sense of familiarity that perplexed him immensely. He probably wouldn’t have been able to articulate it without sounding like some kind of creep to a pair of cheerful strangers, so he looked over every now and then just to soak in the happiness. The grey strands of the man’s hair didn’t look like age, rather than his body being unable to contain his immense love of joy, and wearing from mortality. The crinkles around his eyes and mouth made him look somehow more like a dad, like an admirable figure Theodore wished he could be to his troops.
There had to be a passage of time he was missing, because he looked away for a second and then the pair were gone. It saddened him a little, even if he had no idea who they were. The cup in his hand had gone cold, the left over warmth of his drink disappeared. Theodore had brought his journal, but had forgotten the aforementioned pen. It made it much harder to document his travels, as he usually did. He kept lists of books he planned to read when he went to France, sketches of birds and flowers, and army layout plans. There was a full ache in his knee that again interrupted his thoughts, causing him to hum a tune and look around the cart.
He was quite alone, but the train was about to stop, so that may change. Theodore had seen some strange and wondrous people on the train, unable to garner the courage to speak to them. If you met him in his ‘normal’ clothes, you wouldn’t have guessed he was a fussy army Captain. All he could imagine was the begrudging walk he’d have to make back to the train station, when the owners of Button House laughed in his face. He should’ve just visited the grave, paid his respects, looked through records. They’d think him positively batty.
He was perfectly content with completely zoning out altogether when the door opened just beyond Theodore’s vision. He didn’t let it distract him, memorising the battle of Bosworth’s troop layout. There were a million seats away from him, whoever was stepping on- as he heard only one set of footsteps- would walk past him without a second thought. Just another soldier, a number, just like in the army. Perhaps it was his fault that he assumed it would be the same socially. The steps were calculated yet quick, like a fox trying to catch chickens.
“Hey, do you mind if I sit here?” Came a voice at some distance, deep but distinctly feminine. Theodore’s eyes were dragged upward, meeting a green stare so critical he was afraid he had overstepped simply by sitting in one place. She appeared in a state of assessment, analysing his movements and slight change in facial features. Even so, she was almost amused by it. She wore a grey suit with a green pin on the collar, Theodore wished he’d brought his glasses. There were small words on it he couldn’t quite decipher. Dirty blonde locks barely grazed her shoulders, like roots reaching for their source. She had a relaxed grin on her face, luckily mixed with a twinge of politeness.
Theodore’s jitteriness returned, his mouth moving without words coming out. He managed to get out “No, of course not” before huffing a side that made him sound bothered. He wasn’t, more curious as to why she chose to sit with him when there was so many places she could sit alone. Maybe she was lonely, but she was almost magnetic. Wealth seeped from her like an thick aroma, attracting pests. Theodore wasn’t interested in talking, but there was another pang of familiarity that deterred him from finding a way out.
The woman settled down casually like they’d known each other for years. Crossing one leg and leaning back confidently, Theodore immediately envied her. She was unapologetically her without saying a word. So he decided to beat her to it, his competitiveness flaring up.
“Nice day today, isn’t it?”
“Weather talk, you must be nervous. Hah! I’m kidding, it is quite nice actually,” She eyed the clear blue sky “it makes me wish I rode my bike instead.” Theodore couldn’t imagine her doing something so messy.
“Bike?” He prompted, perhaps a little too accusatory.
“Absolutely, I love the outdoors- I’m such a berk, I haven’t even asked your name” She glanced at him expectantly. He perked up, extending his hand instinctively
“Ca- Theodore, and you?”
“Rachel” They shook hands, his clammy and uncertain, and hers firm and definite. Suddenly she tilted his hand, a scar on his knuckle visible. Letting go, she smiled kindly.
“Did you punch something? I have one too” She pointed to a similar scar on her own knuckle. Theodore chuckled, more so at his easy it was for her to make conversation.
“Cutting pumpkin, actually.”
She huffed a laugh in reply. Theodore realised she was gripping a book in her hands, the hard cover red and golden. Noticing his gaze, Rachel showed him.
“Dracula, I’ve read it before” Theodore continued to tap on the windowsill, though less excessively.
“I prefer Frankenstein” he replied matter-of-factly. Rachel raised an eyebrow curiously, a mischievous look in her eye.
“Frankenstein? I wasn’t a big fan of all the death”
“Yet you like Dracula?” He questioned. She was clearly a fan of debate, leaning forward and leaning on her knees.
“It’s more interfering in Dracula, more impactful. I felt nothing at all for Elizabeth, but Lucy’s diary inspired some sympathy.” Theodore shook his head in amusement
“Philistine.”
Rachel chuckled in that warm kind of way, the one that made you laugh even if she hadn’t said anything funny. With this new found friendship, Theodore felt more confident to ask “Why did you sit here?”
Rachel merely shrugged her shoulders
“You looked lonely, thought I’d come over and brighten your life”
“Ha ha, well I am certainly changed by your arrival” he rolled his eyes without malice.
“Ah, you didn’t say negatively” she wagged a finger cheekily. He sighed breathily, looking outside the window once more. Rachel didn’t linger on him, instead pulling out a notepad and pen, writing something down.
Theodore remembered he wanted to quickly draw out the Battle of Bosworth.
“Could I borrow your pen when you’re done?” He asked a little too quietly, his nervousness having a moment to creep in. Rachel looked up, pretending she didn’t hear his stutter.
“Sure, knock yourself out” she handed it to him without a second thought. Her eyebrows furrowed for a moment as she watched him sketch into his journal. Theodore was worried for a moment she would think him too bookish, but she merely twirled the ring on her pinky.
“Do you play chess?” The ring looked worn, old, like a family heirloom.
“Sometimes, I haven’t found a good opponent” Theodore replied, placing the pen between the pages. He was finally able to give her a good smile, completely coming out of his shell, when she jumped up from her chair.
“Ah, bloody hell! I’m missed my stop!” Rachel stuffed her books into her coat pockets, darting back towards Theodore with wide eyes.
“I gotta go, kid, busy bunny, you know how it is”
“Kid? I’m probably older than you-“ Theodore started, his shoulders tensing like he was in a physical fight.
“See you around, Theodore!” She waved a hand and rushed down the aisle. Theodore felt the pen she left behind in his hands, anxiety overwhelming at the idea that Rachel may think of him negatively after he stole her pen.
This is what happens when he tried to make friends, he ended up stealing their pens and calling them names. This should’ve stopped bothering him after his teen years, but if he had nothing to worry about, he’d be worried about that. She’d probably go tell all her rich friends that he was some pompous soldier who insulted her on the train when she deigned to sit with him. His thumb pressed into what felt like a piece of paper, realising it was attached to the pen. He unwrapped it cautiously, not wanting to invade her belongings. There, written in black ink, was:
Richard III or Henry VII?
Checkmate.
Theodore needn’t worry, feeling rather compelled to complete his goal by Rachel’s good will and confidence. He envied her, and hoped to emulate her as the train halted at his stop.