A World Apart by Peter McAra

Eliza noticed her white skin turning brown, and worried that her mother might ask her how this had happened.
    â€˜I can wash myself, now, Mother,’ she said. ‘My friends at the Great House will think I’m a baby if my mother must wash me.’ Her foster-mother sighed.
    â€˜My beautiful baby is growing up. Let me wash you sometimes, child. I like to see how beautiful you’re growing. I was pretty like you when I was your age.’ Eliza nodded and slid away. Her foster-mother would not approve of the golden tan now covering her whole body.
    A string of smiling summers wafted over the village of Marley. Harry and Eliza grew to adolescence, still enjoying their naked afternoons by the lake each year. As Eliza’s shape changed from girl to fertile woman, she watched Harry’s body make its transition to manhoodfrom one summer to the next. Still, during their afternoons lying close and naked after their swims, they shared the innocent closeness of their time together as young children.
    â€˜We’re going to be married one day, Eliza.’ Harry said one balmy afternoon as they nestled close in a patch of sun. ‘Remember. All those years ago?’
    â€˜I know. I want to marry you.’
    â€˜I’ve already declared my intentions, remember,’ Harry said. ‘And you’ve accepted. So what happens next?’
    â€˜We wait, I suppose,’ she said, not wanting to hint at the blooming passion she had long felt for the youth she’d known for most of her life.
    How long do we wait?
    â€˜A very long time,’ she said. ‘Until you’re twenty one.’
    â€˜But that’s five years.’ He sighed. ‘Wait. I have a wonderful notion.’ It was not often that Harry took the lead in creating good ideas.
    â€˜What is it?’
    â€˜You remember Mr Harcourt told us about savages; their ways, their customs? How they live on islands and catch fish. And eat each other?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜And how when they promise something very special, they mix their blood, and that makes them keep the promise, even for years and years?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜So why don’t we?’
    â€˜What a good idea. But where do we get the blood?’
    â€˜Oh. That’s easy. Here.’ He pulled a pin from the lapel of his discarded jacket, and before she could protest, he had pricked his palm, grabbed her hand, and repeated the act. ‘I’m sorry, Eliza. I thought if I did it quickly, it wouldn’t hurt so much.’
    â€˜I suppose you’re right.’ She looked down at her hand and saw the trickle of blood oozing into the lines of her palm. He held it in his own bloodied hand.
    â€˜I promise that I, Harold James De Havilland, will marry Eliza Downing when I am one-and-twenty. So help me God. Now you say it, Eliza.’ She looked solemnly into his eyes.
    â€˜I promise that I, Eliza Mary Downing, will marry Harold James De Havilland when he is one-and-twenty one and I am twenty, almost, so help me God.’ She drew her hand away from his and looked at her palm. Already their mingled blood had become sticky. She kissed him on the lips. Kissing had always been a pleasant habit for them, though Eliza admitted to herself that for the last year or so, she had looked forward to it with a strangely melting passion. Through many a sleepless night, she held her pillow close, kissed it longingly, whispered sweet nothings to it. And wondered whether Harry might perhaps have begun the man’s version of the same. Now, they lay together on the grass, still naked, hand in bloody hand.
    â€˜How many children should we have, Harry?’ Eliza asked, tweaking her voice to sound lighthearted, jokey.
    â€˜Four. Two girls and two boys.’ He smiled, turned to her has they lay close. ‘Then there’s the simple pleasure of making them. Which I…rather look forward to,’ he said, and fell silent.
    Eliza had often