I have always been fascinated with those unlike myself, and Cyprian Saunders was the antithesis of me. I did not see much of Cyprian on a daily basis due to my family’s wealth and status; we did not frequently mingle with those below our class. There was nothing much to my fascination with him; he was simply something interesting and foreign to gaze upon.
One fall evening, I was riding my horse far through one of my pastures when I noticed the sky had darkened alarmingly. I could sense a storm was brewing, but before I had even made it halfway back to the barn, the sky had begun to weep.
A deep, throaty voice suddenly erupted from behind me. “Get off.”
I shrieked and looked over my shoulder to see Cyprian walking hurriedly behind me.
“Cyprian Saunders?” I gasped.
“Hush! Don’t spook your horse!” Cyprian hissed. “Get off, I said!”
I insentiently obeyed and watched as he mounted the animal soon after I’d set foot on the muddy ground. “Get home,” he then ordered. “You should not be out in this wretched storm.”
I did not have time to ask him any questions before he was trotting away on my horse. I followed his instructions and retreated back to my house, waiting underneath the awning. It was about half an hour later when he rounded the corner towards my abode.
He seemed annoyed to see me outside. “For Christ’s sake, woman!” he exclaimed, looking me up and down as he approached. “Get inside, will you? You’re bound to catch a cold like this!”
I ignored his brash remarks. “My name is Margo,” I informed him — being referred to as ‘woman’ irked me. “Why were you in our pasture?” I then questioned, trying to keep my voice even against my shivers.
He rolled his eyes. “I’ve been cutting across your pastures for years now to shorten my travels from the west side of town to the east,” Cyprian explained. “It’s much quicker than going according to the roads.”
I widened my eyes. “You’ve been trespassing all this time?”
He shrugged. “Your family has never caught me, so why should I stop?” He grew a little cross. “Haven’t you enough over me, anyways? Letting me borrow the earth for my feet should not concern you, if you ask me.” He studied me once more, up and down. “I told you to get inside.”
I did not respond right away. “I suppose you’ll come in with me?”
Cyprian frowned. “This is not my home.”
“Yes. But you’re far away from home now, and this storm will last a while. You should remain warm and dry. It’s the least I can offer,” I said curtly, crossing my arms. “Haven’t I enough over you, anyways?”
His icy blue eyes narrowed as they darted over my face. “You’re a peculiar woman, Margo,” he replied, but he followed me inside.
I brought Cyprian to my parents and siblings, explaining the events that had occurred. I could sense my family did not want to come off as uninviting due to moral conscience, but they were definitely not as welcoming as they could have been had my guest been one from a similar walk of life. The evening turned into night, and still the storm raged. I offered Cyprian the guest room if he preferred to spend the night. He paused for a moment, and then accepted.
As we made our way upstairs, Cyprian caught sight of our large aviary. It contained two pure white doves my father had acquired from an old friend.
Cyprian scoffed. “Incredible that you people don’t see the irony in keeping birds of peace in the least peaceful of all habitations,” he rambled.
I was stunned and perplexed. “Whatever do you mean? The doves are safe and at peace with us.”
“They are trapped in a cage, Margo!” he snapped. “They are not at peace. They are restless for freedom; they’re meant to fly! True peace for birds is in the sky.”
“Have you seen the sky tonight?” I countered. “It is far from peaceful. They would certainly die if we released them.”
“Ah, yes, the freedom to die,” Cyprian susurrated. “Something humans will never cease endeavouring to deny.”
Cyprian disappeared into the guest room without another word. He had already departed when I awoke the next morning. My father was especially adamant that he never return.
I spent a long while after our encounter pondering the bizarreness of it. I realized soon enough that I was enamoured with the intrigue he set upon me. Every time I looked at the doves, I thought of him. And so, a few days later, I found his address in the phone book, hopped on my horse, and rode to his abode. I told my parents I was going to the bookstore.
He was wide-eyed when he opened the creaky, worn door. “Whatever are you doing here, Margo?” he inquired brusquely.
I gave him a charming smile. “I’ve come to learn more about Cyprian Saunders.”
He blinked, then grew cold. “There is no special story here, miss.”
“I am an avid reader, and not once in my journey of literature have I come across a character that did not have a special story of their own,” I countered boldly.
Cyprian rolled his eyes. “This is reality. Not a work of fiction.”
“And I have learned that fiction is based on different perceptions of reality,” I declared. “I would like to know more about yours.”
He studied me with squinted eyes for a moment, and then he parted the door wide enough so that I could enter.
I listened to Cyprian for several hours. When I finally made for the door, he seemed a little hesitant to let me go. I assured him it would not be the last time we spoke so deeply. It was not. We spent many secret afternoons together, and the following spring, he presented me with a ring on one knee. I accepted.
On the night before I was to elope with Cyprian, I wrote my family an extensive note explaining that I’d left to marry the man I loved. I was going to leave it on the kitchen table, but as I exited my room on tiptoe, I caught sight of the aviary.
I left the letter pinned to the open and empty cage, and as I secretly met my lover outside my front porch to make our escape, I set the two doves free.
