The Locke siblings Argue

The repeated cree cree of the carriage spring gave her a headache. Maida could sense Jacob’s stare, the way the sun on a warm day heated your skin, but she didn’t turn towards him. Her gaze remained fixed on the passing landscape outside, willing it to morph into something recognizable. The curve of the river Churn entertained her eyes while her thoughts bubbled and burst without noting them.
The Oxford Road ran faithfully in front of the carriage, taking her home. She sensed they were close.
“Look, you’ve got to.”
Maida didn’t oblige her brother with a whisker of recognition. She told the window glass. “I do not.”
Cree, cree, cree. She rubbed one temple with a thumb as the road rolled beneath the wheels. At a crossing, recognition came when the carriage slowed. She kept the elation internal at being near home and didn’t allow it to appear one her face.
With a thump on the seat, she turned to her companion. “It’s no longer my home. I was driven out by father. I’ve explained why I can’t go back.”
“You need to forgive him,” he said in a noisy breath.
“I am continually asked to forgive people, poor scarred me. Does anyone think to ask the people who wronged me to make amends?” She had nothing else to say. They had argued almost every hour for the almost two-day journey from London. She sought safety.
“As your male relative,” he began, the words of an argument he had made a half dozen times since returning from war. A disastrous argument.
“Shut up!” she cried. “You’ve only succeeded in humiliating me with that argument. If you continue, I’ll say something I’ll regret.”
Neither spoke for the next part that led of the drive. By necessity, the coachman pulled the carriage into the posting inn near the crossing to Barnsley Cross. Her brother leaped down to pace the yard. Maida tapped a nervous foot. No more stops before she reached home. The entire London trip had been a disaster.

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