Paniolo Pete

by RJ Krause

Chapter 10

  Mrs. Monroe

  Now, y’all may be wondering what happened at the Monroe household after young Peter had run off to sail the high seas with his uncle Nickel. As you can imagine, Annie Monroe, like any mother was more than a little upset. When she first discovered her son was missing, she assumed he was just feeling sad about Nickel leaving and was probably upstairs in his secret spot in the attic. She missed her brother, too. Even though she always referred to him as a “sea urchin,” his infrequent visits were always fondly remembered. When Nickel left, there was always a noticeable void. Her house felt large and empty and the laughter was gone.

  Respecting Peter’s feelings about losing his new best friend, Mrs. Monroe decided to let him have his privacy. Peter was such a good and quiet boy. She wouldn’t worry about him until it was time for the evening meal. On that particular evening she was expecting several guests for dinner. She had been so busy all afternoon, she hadn’t realized until the guests were about to arrive that Peter was missing. As a matter of fact, she had not seen him since early morning. Still thinking he was up in the attic, she sent one of the servants up to fetch him.

  “Please make sure he is ‘respectable’ and send him down to dinner,” Annie instructed.

  As we now know, Peter was nowhere to be found. By this time Nickel’s ship had set sail out of Boston Harbor hours ago, and a seasick little boy was locked inside a smelly chest in his cabin. Peter had desperately tried to scream for help, but his cries went unheard. Nickel and the rest of the crew were up on deck working like mad to keep the ship afloat during a treacherous storm.

  “Madam, Mr. Peter is not here,” the servant reported to Mrs. Monroe. “I have looked everywhere and I cannot find him!”

  “What do you mean he’s not here? Of course he’s here! Where else would he be? I will find him myself!” She proceeded through the house to check all of her son’s favorite hiding places. She was soon joined in her search by her husband and all the household staff. They eventually had to concede that Peter was indeed missing.

  The police were called in immediately and because of the Monroe’s position in the city of Boston, every available officer was put on the case. Kidnapping was suspected at first, but as days went by with no ransom demands, it was finally ruled out. Another possible scenario was that Peter had gone down to see his uncle off and had been roughed up by one of the gangs that hung around the docks. Although a sizable reward was offered and an intensive search was centered on the dock area, there was still no sign of the boy.

  Annie Monroe was a stern mother at times and often didn’t spend as much time as she wished with her son, but she still loved him more than life itself. She was devastated by his loss. She had always felt lucky to have been given so many blessings in her life. She married a wealthy, handsome, and devoted husband. They lived in a beautiful house, wore the fanciest clothes that money could buy, and had been accepted into Boston’s elite. But it all paled in comparison to the joy she felt in having her son. Even though no one blamed her in any way for Peter’s disappearance, she still felt responsible.

  “If only I had paid more attention to him and spent more time with him, maybe he would still be here,” she said over and over again. “I should have taken him down to the dock myself to see Nickel off. This is all my fault!”

  As the months passed, Theodore Monroe expressed his grief of losing his only son by working longer hours at the bank. Work was the only way he could get his mind off it. He too, felt a deep loss, but he was of a proud nature that wouldn’t allow him to show his emotions except when he was alone.

  Many nights passed with Mrs. Monroe crying herself to sleep. Her husband didn’t know how to comfort her, so he just left her alone. They began to argue over meaningless things which led them to avoiding each other. They were both miserable. Mr. Monroe blamed himself for being inadequate as a father and a husband. Mrs. Monroe blamed herself for not being a more attentive mother.

  Years later, when I heard this story, I reckon it’s the only time I ever wanted to just punch Paniolo Pete right in the nose. I’d always had a secret crush on Annie Monroe from the day I met her. When she shared with me how her world had unraveled at the loss of her son, it broke my heart. But my feelings for Mrs. Monroe are a secret that will go with me to my grave. So any of you folks reading this right now better not breathe a word of it.

  Getting back to my story, the situation at the Monroe house was declining. Late one evening Mr. Monroe came home to find the house in a huge mess. The servants were huddled in the kitchen, and most of the lights were out or broken. The parlor looked as if an angry grizzly bear had torn through it. Chairs were overturned, lamps were reduced to heaps of ceramic dust where they’d been thrown against the wall, and crystal glasses had been shattered on the floor.

  Mr. Monroe’s first thought was that there had been a robbery or a fight, and his primary concern was for his wife. As he looked around, he saw an envelope with his name on it resting on the fireplace mantel. Strangely, while the rest of the house was in complete disarray, the mantel had remained undisturbed. The Monroe family portrait sat between two silver candlesticks. He stared at the handwriting on the envelope and knew it was from his wife. He had a sinking feeling that she had left him, and for nearly thirty minutes he couldn’t get himself to open it. But Theodore Monroe was not the kind of man to let fear get the better of him. He walked across the parlor, grabbed the envelope, tore it open, and began reading his wife’s words.

  Dearest Love,

  At long last, we received a letter from Peter today. He says he’s in fine health and is sailing toward Cape Town, South Africa with his Uncle Nickel. He said he’s sorry for running away and hopes he didn’t cause us too much heartache. He misses us both.

  I have gone to get my son. Please don’t blame yourself for my leaving. You are a good husband and a good father and God willing, we will all be together again soon. By the time you read this, my ship will have departed. I’m sorry to leave so abruptly, but I need to once again hold my son before I can start thinking about a future.

  All my love, Annie

  In all the years they had been married, Mr. Monroe felt that there was another side to his wife that he would never know. This refined Boston lady had grown up on the wild ranges of a Portuguese ranch. As a child she had little supervision, a quick temper, and a wild streak that most outlaws would be proud of. When he finished reading the letter, Mr. Monroe did the most appropriate thing. He picked up the one crystal glass that remained intact and hurled it across the room. He watched it shatter, then picked up his jacket and headed back to the bank for another long night of work.