Nora leaned against the tree trunk, her feet positioned carefully on top of the branch. Her auburn curls moved with the gentle wind, unobstructed. The sleeping gown she wore tickled her ankles as a lazy breeze passed. She had brought a cloak with her outside, but it lay on the branch in a careless heap. She found the temperature to be of fair comfort, though quite unexpected for early April, especially when the sun had not even risen to its full potential. She watched the sky – a thin strip of pastel yellows and pinks timidly peeking up from where the ground and sky met, mixing with the soft grey-blue that stretched on seemingly forever.

She enjoyed coming outdoors in the mornings, before anyone else was awake. There were some mornings where it seemed as though not even the birds had stirred yet, and the feeling that was awakened alongside such an occurrence caused Nora to yearn for the freedom and liveliness that seemed to stretch as wide as the sky, starting at the gates of the estate she lived on. She had discovered this vast freedom when she was nine-years-old. Nora was now on the brink of turning sixteen and still went to greet the sun whenever the conditions were favorable – and sometimes when they were not.

That morning was particularly calm and the breezes that did present themselves were gentle and amiable, at least to the extent that a breeze could be described as such. Feeling more and more at peace with her surroundings, Nora carefully sat down on the branch. Her feet dangled over the sides, the rather impractical slippers sliding off with the unusual angle they faced. With scarce concern, she looked over the side to see where about they landed. Her expression of little interest changed to one of anxious surprise when she noticed a figure making its way towards the tree – and her.

She opened her mouth, prepared to provide inquiry as to who was approaching the tree upon which she was relaxing (albeit improper in both manner and physicality). Before she was able to get out a sound, however, Nora re-evaluated the situation and realized it as being best to remain quiet. Such a decision was not out of fear or anxiety for villainous beings, but rather for losing her reservation-for-one at the tree if discovered by one of her parents.

“Miss Wickham?” a voice (a male, she deduced) called tentatively, the figure’s neck craned to look heavenwards into the giant Oak tree. She held her breath a moment, not looking down, pretending, perhaps, not to notice. Upon receiving no answer, however, the voice called again, “Miss Wickham?” Silence, still. It tried again, this time almost hopefully. “Miss Wickham?”

“Yes!” she finally spoke upon realizing that the voice was one she fondly recognized, quickly repositioning her body to allow herself to comfortably peer over the side of the branch. “Mr. Slade!” she called down, mock response to his own formality. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

Liam Slade stood beneath the vast branches of the oak tree. He turned his head to where the sound of Nora’s voice was coming. Spotting her was then easy, for the leaves on the tree had not yet fully developed. He could see her as she looked down on him, smiling as she awaited an answer to her question.

“Miss Nora, I believe I’m obliged to ask you the same thing!” he said with humor in his voice.

Rather than touching on her own purpose of being in a tree before dawn had even fully broke, Nora called down, “Won’t you come up? The view is brilliant.” She smiled, patting the side of the branch as though it were a horse being encouraged for its satisfactory behavior.

“Quite brilliant,” he agreed as he proceeded to look at her, his words uttered inaudibly beneath his breath before beginning to ascend to a sturdy branch. Unlike Nora, he wore day clothes – though his considerably less extravagant or expensive than hers. Practicality was held far higher than fashion for a servant boy’s garb. Soon enough, Liam managed to find a branch he thought to be enough to hold his weight and sat down upon it, turned enough to see his friend, who was once more standing on the branch.

“Do be careful, miss!”

She heaved a sigh and rolled her green eyes in due response. “Nora,” she demanded. “My name is Nora. I’d be ever so pleased if you just stuck to my name.”

“Miss Nora, I’m obliged. It’s only proper. I work for you.”

In a moment of silence, she carefully slipped onto a different branch, closer to where he sat. She that her violet, white-lace trimmed, previously pristine sleeping gown was being tugged at by the rough bark and that the dirt hidden in crevices was creating dirty spots; this piece of knowledge was, however, pushed to the back of her mind. She hated the thing, anyway. All the more reason to dirty it, she supposed. And thus, administering little-to-no care for the wellbeing of her gown, she sat down on another branch, this one closer to Liam’s.

“You work for my mother and father. Not for me. You’ve known me since I was nine, since you were nearly ten! We’ve been best of friends since then and you haven’t an obligation, Liam. You haven’t!” Nora’s pale-pink lips formed a faint pout, eyebrows drawn together, eyes holding a certain sadness that he was unable to place and that he had not noticed before while she was in his presence.

Liam thought it unusual to see Nora in such a dither. She would often hound him for attaching even the slightest formality to their conversations, but never to the extent that she was currently in. He could not uncover a way to make Annora Wickham, daughter to Mrs. Rosalind and Colonel Oliver Wickham, two people whose place in society was known by anyone who was anyone and anyone who was nobody, understand his reasoning. She was a girl of high class, or was at least expected to be so. Regardless, in comparison to Liam, Nora may have been an angel. He was nothing more than a servant boy, and was such due to the kindness and charity presented by Colonel Wickham. After all, the Colonel very well could have sent him to the first family that would take a dirty orphaned boy, indifferent about the conditions of the placement. Or worse, he could have left nine-year-old Liam in the poverty-stricken streets. To Liam’s unconditional appreciation, he was given a job at the Manor. He had ever since been working for the Wickham family, willingly and most obligingly. He owed his life to that family, Nora included. But, he thought, how could he explain such thoughts to her?

“Please, just understand that in the depths of my own mind I am what you think I’m not. The friendship is there, Miss Nora, but it does not account for absolute colloquial exchanges. Let me have that one bit propriety.” He looked at her warmly, mouth turned at the corners forming a small smile. His sandy hair was caught by a breeze, causing licks to stand up with no regard to order. Liam looked out to the sky, which had dulled considerably since his arrival outdoors. Grey clouds were rolling in, successfully concealing the rising sun and most of its light. “I think it might rain.”

“It was predicted in the forecast, Mr. Slade,” Nora responded, her voice crisp. She stood up once more, brushing some of the dirt from her sleeping gown before crossing back to the branch she previously occupied. She gently swung her feet as they hung over the side, watching them as they went back-and-forth like a pendulum. She purposely avoided Liam’s stare, conveying in her movements disinterest towards what he had to say.

He was silent for the moment, his eyes upon her as she feigned engrossment in the rhythmic movement of her bare feet. “You mustn’t be cross with me, miss,” he said softly. “I do wish you would understand.” Liam proceeded to watch her, his eyes matching the graying sky.

Nora sighed, her feet ceasing the sway as she turned and looked at him, lips forming a gentle smile. “I’m hardly cross with you, Liam. Just upset.”

“My intentions, let it be known, were never to upset you. I will never intend on upsetting you.”

She looked at him, smiling fondly. In all the years she has known him, Liam Slade had always been that way. He treated her splendidly. Though he had nothing, really, to offer than his friendship and loyalty, she found far better company in Liam than she ever would girls of her own social status. She opened her mouth to speak, lips ready to form a word; such an action was hindered by the sudden downpour of heavy rain. She let out a squeal of delight. “It’s raining!”

“Miss Nora, you ought to get yourself back inside – and quickly! You’ll be soaked to the bone. You may even catch a bout of pneumonia if you’re out here too long.” Liam began the descent to ground.

She laughed merrily. “It’s just a bit of rain, Liam!” She watched him as he made his way down from the tree, and, once he had reached ground, tossed her cloak in his direction. “Catch!” she said, the word muffled in a fit of joyous giggles.

He caught the cloak and she started making her descent as well, carefully placing her feet in the nooks of branches. Once standing upon a branch that she thought to be close enough to ground to avoid being dangerous, Nora jumped, gracefully spreading her arms as though flying. She made a sloppy landing, slipping on the grass and falling to her back. She laughed louder, almost to the point of hysterics. “What a sight!” she exclaimed through laughter. “Imagine what Papa would say, Liam! Imagine!” She laughed some more – the sort that was provoked by pure amusement. She lay flat on the ground, eyes shut and mouth open, tongue able to taste the sweet rain.

Liam couldn’t help to laugh at her amusement. It had been a while since he had seen her in such a state of pure elation. He knew of her stresses, though she had not yet mentioned them to him in length; still, he knew. Soon she would be sixteen-years-old and upon turning such a presumably splendid age, Nora would be expected to make her entrance into society. Which meant, in turn, that Nora would be expected to be courted by suitors approved by her parents. He wondered if this would be the last time she’d find so much joy and happiness. “I can imagine, Miss Nora! The Colonel would be absolutely dumbfounded.”

“That he would,” she agreed, her laughter subsiding into soft giggles before, finally, ceasing.

There was a comfortable silence that hung between them, the heavy rain providing the only noise between them. She wondered what he was thinking; he did look so very deep in thought, his eyebrows furrowed gently together, creating a small crease in his forehead. His shirt was soaked through, his hair plastered down by force of the descending water. She looked down at her own gown, its material clinging to her. To her embarrassed relief, the sleeping gown was made of a thick enough material that prevented absolute transparency. Still, her cheeks reddened at the prospect of being more revealing than even she thought necessary, she stood to her feet, slid on her slippers and stepped towards where Liam stood, her cloak draped over his arm.

He turned his head towards her. “Miss Nora, you must be freezing,” he announced. Realizing he still had her cloak in his possession, he gave a slight start. “Pardon!” Without bothering to inquiry about her desire for wearing the cloak, he wrapped the expensive, embroidery-adorned material around her shoulders.

She smiled at him, arms bent into her body, fingers grasping the edge of the cloak to keep it close. Though she would not admit it, the combination of the April morning and the cool, heavy rain did send her a slightly uncomfortable chill. “What time would you say it is?” she asked, her eyes on him.

“Nearing six, maybe a bit past the hour. I’m no good at telling time by the sun, though. Don’t hold me to it, Miss.”

Nora scrunched her nose in such a way that made her appear as though she just caught the scent of something foul. “We should probably head back to the Manor.” She started walking in direction of her mentioned destination before stopping and looking back to check that he was making similar progress. Once he was beside her, she continued in step.

“If it’s not too bold of me to ask, Miss,” Liam began, “how are you to explain the fact that your clothes are completely wet?”

She shrugged in nonchalance. “I’ll think of something.”

The rest of the walk back to the doors of the Wickham Manor was made in absence of speech. It was yet another comfortable silence, mirroring the one that had occurred between them before. The rain had slowed down a bit, the drops no longer hitting ground with such force as they had previously. Every once in a while, Nora would look from her feet to Liam’s profile as he walked beside her. Before this time she had not realized how much taller he was than her. He must have been at least six feet two, she figured. Her own frame was an average five foot five. As the Manor doors were finally before them, she felt a pang of sadness.

“I’m sixteen in seventeen days, Liam,” she said as he started to walk off in direction of his own housing. She had never been there, but he always marveled to her about the kindness of the Colonel to provide such exquisite housing for the Manor help.

He stopped his stride and turned around to face her again, smiling broadly. “That you are, Miss Nora. I’ll have to come up with something grand!”

She frowned. “No!” To his confused look, she added, “Remember how we used to play games when we were young?” With his nod of confirmation, she continued. “I was dwelling on those the other morning, Liam! I remembered the fun we had and all the laughing. They’re so trivial now, but then – then they seemed so important, didn’t they?” She smiled fondly in remembrance. “I do wish we’d play another game, at least one, before I’m sixteen.”

Liam looked at her; her cheeks were pink from the cold, her auburn curls wet and weighted around her shoulders, bright green eyes wide with expectancy of his response. The expression she wore reminded him of his childhood, of their childhood. They may as well have been ten years old again.

“I do wish that as well, Miss Nora.”

She beamed and, without missing another beat, started off in direction of where her room stood in the building. Liam watched her, not leaving until she was no longer visible to him. He supposed she was taking a different way inside. No, it was hardly Nora to simply waltz inside. He smiled, his feet taking him to his own room. I’m sixteen in seventeen days, Liam. Her words played inside his mind and he felt struck with sadness.

“She’s an angel,” he reminded himself in quiet reprimand of such feelings. Too far out of my reach, he thought. An angel.