My Peculiar Family

by Les Rosenthal

  He’d drunk far too much wine that night and she’d known he would visit her room. Before bed she’d slipped out to the woods and cut a fresh vine. Carefully, she’d laid it along the base of the railing that lined the upper hallway overlooking the foyer. Then she’d waited, anger burning in her chest for every time he had touched her and everything he’d made her do that she wasn’t ready for. When he stumbled along the hallway toward her room he didn’t notice her sitting at the top of the stairs or see her hand snake out to touch the end of the vine. It came to life as she forced it to grow and twist, catching his ankle and wrapping around his leg.

  He’d thrashed and screamed, trying desperately to pull free. In his panic he hadn’t known what he was doing as he ran for the railing. He flipped over and fell to the foyer below. She could have saved him, could have made the vine hold tight to slow his fall, but instead she pulled it away, sucking the extra life from it so it was only a three foot piece again. As he lay screaming in the foyer, both hips broken, she’d smiled down at him and he had seen her. He had known that somehow she had caused the fall.

  He’d been confined to a wheelchair ever since, penance for his actions. Jessamine had been confined to the house, penance for her actions. Though there was no doubt in her mind he had deserved it, she’d still regretted losing her temper.

  “Come now, Jessamine, you can’t hit me. I’m an old man. Besides, if you aren’t a nice girl I may have to tell the people at that church of yours what sort of a witch you are.”

  “You’re an old man, uncle.” Jessamine dropped a blanket over his withered legs. “No one will believe you.”

  He laughed. “Care to wager on that?”

  Jessamine pursed her lips. “I’ll bring your supper in a moment.”

  He was still laughing as she left the room. She hurried down the long hallway toward the kitchen where the only maid, Lucinda, was finishing his meal. In Jessamine’s childhood she had been like a mother to her, and now she was the only friend she had.

  “How’s he doing this evening, poppet?” Lucinda asked as she slid a pot pie to his plate.

  “Ornery as always.” Jessamine gave her a small smile and took the plate. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll have our supper on the table in a few minutes,” Lucinda promised.

  Jessamine nodded and hurried back down the dark hall to the study. Uncle Charles rarely left the room anymore except to sleep. His eyes followed her every move as she put his plate on the table and then turned to wheel him over.

  “There any meat in this one?” He eyed the meal.

  “Yes. Lucinda does her best with what we have.”

  “Bah, she’s an overpaid fool. We should have more meat.” He lifted his fork with one shaking hand.

  “Delivery only comes once a week and the ice box can only keep so much.”

  “You tell that boy we want an extra order of meat each week then.”

  Jessamine blinked in surprise. Though her uncle had plenty of money, he was notoriously stingy with it. They’d survived on one delivery a week since John the butler had died five years ago. Delivery was expensive, but with no one to care for the old horse or drive the carriage they’d had no other choice.

  “I’ll let him know.”

  “Better yet, why don’t you walk to town and pick it up your own damn self.” That was more like the uncle she knew. “Maybe it would help you to lose some of that fat ‘round your middle as well.”

  Jessamine bit her lip. “I’ll see the boy brings a second delivery next week.”

  Uncle Charles grunted and began to eat. Without another word, Jessamine backed from the room and hurried to the kitchen. It was one of the only rooms that felt homey in the big empty house. Lucinda kept a fire blazing in the hearth all winter and there was always the sense that a fresh loaf of bread had just been pulled from the oven. Lucinda smiled as Jessamine stepped into the room.

  “Sit and have a bit of peace, poppet, you’ve earned it.”

  “Thank you.” Jessamine sank to her chair and Lucinda placed a plate in front of her. “He does wear on the nerves.”

  “You’re a saint for looking after the man. You should be married and raising kids at this point, not alone with a bitter old man and a sad old woman.”

  Jessamine smiled at her. “You are in no way sad. You’re as happy as anyone I’ve known.”

  “That’s as may be,” Lucinda said as she sat across from her. “All the same, I’d like to see you with some friends.”

  Jessamine shrugged. “I’m happy enough. There are books to read and I have my art.” She glanced to where a new painting sat at the end of the thick old table.

  She’d started painting years ago and now managed to bring in a modest sum from sales. A local gallery in town had sold them, but then a dealer from the city noticed her and began buying from her as well. The paintings combined paint and natural items she picked up on her walks through the woods. The sticks, leaves, and small stones combined with paint to recreate scenes from nature.

  “It just seems a shame a pretty girl such as yourself was never married.”

  Jessamine gave her a look. “We both know I’ve never been all too pretty.” She’d never quite outgrown the childish roundness of her face and her hair had never been anything but mouse-colored.

  “Nonsense.” Lucinda waved her words away. As an afterthought she pointed her fork toward an envelope on the counter. “I forgot to give you that, Postmaster sent his son up with it today, says it’s been at the office a few days now.”

  Jessamine wiped her face and stood to grab the envelope. She frowned at the unfamiliar return address and used a knife to slit open the envelope. Her heart sank as she read the words within. She fell back to her chair with an ache growing in her chest.

  “Poppet?” Lucinda asked, worried. “What is it?”

  Jessamine cleared her throat and read from the letter. “ Mr. Finnegan Morris, his wife, and their infant son Harrison were all killed in the fire, but a maid was able to rescue their young daughter Abigail.”

  Lucinda put a hand to her mouth. “Not my little Finnegan.” Tears fell from the corners of her eyes. “He was such a sweet boy.” She thought of Charles’s two sons as her own, much as she favored Jessamine as her own. “To think I’ll never see him again.” She dabbed at her eyes with the napkin. “And Isabelle seemed like such a sweet woman at their wedding.”

  “They’re sending the girl here,” Jessamine said hollowly. “Abigail. Apparently they didn’t think Gregory’s lifestyle was fitting to raise a child.” Everyone knew Gregory had never been in a serious relationship with a woman and had ‘rented’ a room to the same man for nearing ten years.

  Lucinda scoffed. “Gregory would give that little girl the world and I don’t mind saying it but his friend David is as kind and caring as they come.”

  “Agreed,” Jessamine said absently. She bit her lip. The idea of another young girl in the house brought a fear to her chest that she hadn’t known in years. Uncle Charles might be wheelchair-bound, but she had no doubt he would find a way to touch the girl if given half a chance.

  “It will be good to have a child around to brighten this place again.” Lucinda was oblivious to truth of what growing up in the house had been like for Jessamine.

  “Indeed.” Jessamine pursed her lips and set aside the letter. “Well you won’t have to wait long, she arrives tomorrow.”

  *

  Jessamine couldn’t help but remember her own arrival at the house as she watched Abigail climb from the carriage. Abigail was smaller and prettier than she had been by far, with a fair complexion and corn silk hair. Jessamine knelt and put her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “Welcome, child. I know it was a long trip, but you’re home now. You can call me Auntie, is that clear?”

  The girl nodded solemnly, but then gave Jessamine the slightest of smiles. Jessamine pulled her into a hug, vowing that she would not let one ounce of harm come to this frail little girl.

  “Well let’s se
e her.” Uncle Charles sat in his wheelchair at the top of the porch stairs.

  Jessamine held the girl’s hand and together they ascended to the porch. “Abigail, this is your grandfather.”

  He looked the girl up and down with a sideways smile before opening his arms. “Give your old grandfather a hug.”

  Abigail stepped forward and it was all Jessamine could do not to hold tight to her hand and pull her away. Instead, she let her hand slip away and watched with tense muscles as she girl leaned into his lap. He enveloped her in his frail arms, smoothing a hand over her hair and down her back.

  “So sweet,” Lucinda muttered from where she stood behind his chair. She wiped a tear from her eye.

  “Isn’t she a beautiful child?” he asked, grinning at Jessamine. “Reminds me of you when you first arrived. Lost and eager for love.”

  Jessamine reached forward and took the girl’s hand, pulling her back.

  “Yes, well, I’m sure the girl is tired. I’ll take her to her room.” Jessamine led the girl past him and into the house.

  He reached out as they passed and brushed a hand down the Abigail’s arm. “I’ll be seeing you, child.”

  Abigail nodded and Jessamine pulled her toward the stairs. “Lucinda, settle him and bring the girl’s bags up.”

  *

  Jessamine stood by the door in her room, ears pricked for any sign of movement in the hall. It would be easier if they had moved the old man’s bed into his study, but he refused. Instead he forced himself to walk up the stairs each night and down them each morning despite the pain it obviously caused him.

  Perhaps she was being overly cautious, perhaps he was too old now to be a threat to the girl. It had been nearly a week since her arrival and Jessamine was exhausted from standing vigil each night. But she couldn’t shake the niggling feeling that if she let her guard down Charles would break the girl as he had broken her. It was how he always managed to find a reason to touch the child. Not in a way that anyone else would think of as inappropriate. He would squeeze her shoulder, ask for a hug, brush a hand over her hair, but it happened too often. Abigail couldn’t get within a few feet of him without his liver spotted hands finding their way to her.

  A creak in the hall roused her from an almost-doze and she opened the door. Charles stood outside her door on the crutches he used to move around the upstairs. He grinned at her, unabashed to be found out in the middle of the night wearing only a long nightshirt.

  “Jessamine, dear. How good you’re awake. I can’t sleep and I’ve a hankering for something sweet.” He paused and she was sure it was just to let her think the worst of what he could mean by that. “Would you be so kind as to fetch me a glass of milk and one of the muffins Lucinda baked?”

  Jessamine gritted her teeth. “Of course, Uncle. Let’s just get you back to bed first.” She stayed a step behind him as he slowly crutched his way back to his room. Once he was settled in bed she leaned the crutches some distance away from him and practically flew downstairs to the kitchen. Moments later she was back in his room with a muffin and glass of milk. He sat in bed, only an oil lamp lighting the room, and grinned at her like a cat with a canary.

  “Thank you, Jessamine. You’re such a sweet girl. Almost as sweet as that Abigail. Such a pretty, pretty child. I could just eat her up.” He took a large bite of the muffin.

  She left the room, closing the door behind her and wishing she could lock him in.

  *

  Jessamine stepped back from the table, frowning as she looked over her newest work. She’d lined the bottom of a canvas with stones, creating a riverbed. She was working on perfecting the look of the water, some of it running over the stones. Abigail sat beside her, happily drawing with charcoal. A fire blazed in the hearth and the kitchen was warm despite the early winter cold outside.

  Abigail hummed to herself as she pushed away her drawing and stood. Without being told she moved to wash her hands in the sink. Jessamine was so caught up in her work that she barely noticed the girl’s movements.

  “I’ll be right back,” Abigail said, skipping out of the kitchen.

  Jessamine nodded absently, leaning forward to add flecks of white to the water. It was almost where she wanted it. A few more touches and she could practically hear it burbling along. Next she would work on the grass that grew along the river and swayed in the breeze as the sun set. If she could she would work in some blades of grass.

  Only as she cleaned her brushes did she realize how long Abigail had been gone. She let the brushes fall and ran from the kitchen. The dark corridor seemed longer than ever and she feared what she would find. She knew Abigail would be in the study. The door stood ajar and Jessamine slammed it open. Both Abigail and Charles looked up in surprise at the sound. Abigail sat on his lap, a book spread out on her lap. Jessamine could only see one of his hands.

  “Yes?” Charles asked, the picture of innocence.

  Jessamine regained her composure. “It’s time to wash up if Abigail wants to make cookies with Lucinda.”

  “Oh yes please!” Abigail squirmed and Jessamine wanted to scream at her not to. Charles lifted the book and sickness filled Jessamine as she watched one of his hands slip from where it had sat, innocently enough, on the girl’s hip.

  The girl ran to Jessamine, taking her hand and smiling up at her, but she didn’t notice, her eyes locked on Charles as he smiled and brought the hand that had been on Abigail’s waist to his lips. Jessamine clenched the girl’s hand and pulled her from the room. Halfway down the hall she stopped and knelt in front of her.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  Abigail frowned. “Grandpa? No.”

  “Don’t ever sit on his lap, do you hear me?” Jessamine shook the girl by the shoulders, only realizing she was scaring her as the girl began to cry. “I’m sorry.” She pulled her into a tight hug and then sent her toward the kitchen. “Get washed up, Lucinda will be along soon.”

  Still sniffling, Abigail ran to the kitchen. Jessamine stood and leaned against the wall, pressing her hands to wood paneling that seemed to wiggle under her tense fingers, begging to be brought to life once more. She could do it. Wood never forgot it had once been wild. She snatched her hands away. She couldn’t risk bringing the house down around them because of her wild emotions.

  “Poppet?” Lucinda asked as she walked toward her. “Is everything alright? You look pale as a ghost.”

  Jessamine shook her head. “No, nothing is alright.”

  Lucinda put an arm around her, turning her toward the kitchen. “Come now, nothing can be so bad a few cookies can’t help it.”

  Jessamine let herself be led toward the kitchen. It had been on the tip of her tongue to tell Lucinda everything, but no. That wasn’t the way. She had to finish what she had started so many years ago, guilt be damned. If God did not understand why she had to save the child, then he was no god to her anyway.

  *

  Darkness hung heavy outside the kitchen door. The cold that spoke of winter had settled in as night came and Jessamine shivered as she pulled a shawl tight around herself. She’d stood with the kitchen door open, working up courage for what she was about to do. Finally, she stepped into the night, pulling the door shut behind her.

  She crossed the yard to the woods in hurried steps. Entering the woods at night could be dangerous, but Jessamine didn’t fear the creatures within or the possibility of getting lost. It wouldn’t happen to her. She followed a narrow path to where she knew a large patch of vines grew. They twisted up over a dying tree, slowly choking the life from it. They were perfect. She pulled a small paring knife from her pocket and cut a three foot piece.

  Back inside the house, she dropped her shawl on a chair in the kitchen and steeled her resolve with two fingers of the sherry Lucinda kept on a high shelf for cooking. She wrapped the vine around her hand and left the kitchen.

  As she climbed the stairs, she felt the vine coming to life. It squirmed and twisted over her hand and arm, twining about her like a snak
e. She whispered to it in short breaths and sighs, language it understood, telling it what to do. When she opened the door to Charles’s room, he lay sleeping soundly. She went to the foot of his bed and watched as the vine slithered off her arm and onto his blankets. As it slid toward her uncle, he woke.

  “What the? Jessamine? What are you-?” He felt the vine moving then and let out a yelp. “Jessamine, there’s a snake in my bed!”

  She laughed, a low chuckle that barely made any sound. “Funny, there was a snake in my bed for many years.”

  The vine slithered up his chest and wrapped itself around his throat. Charles lay absolutely still. “Alright, you win. I won’t touch the girl. I shouldn’t have tested YOU.” Jessamine shook her head. “It’s too late for that, uncle. I’d hoped that perhaps you were too old to hurt her, but I should have known that wasn’t true. You enjoyed what you did to me too much. You enjoyed watching me turn from a happy, outgoing child into a wounded, isolated woman.”

  Charles smiled. “I enjoyed nothing so much as when your regret for almost killing me made you wait on me. You won’t kill me now because the regret would eat you alive.”

  Jessamine returned his smile with one so cold that his slipped away. “But I don’t do this for myself. I do this for a young girl who you have no right to ruin.”

  The vine lifted its head from where it had rested against his chest and the rest of it constricted around his throat. When his mouth opened to gasp for air, the vine dove in and down his windpipe. He tried to claw at the vine, tried to pull it out, but it was no use. Jessamine watched as the life left his eyes and she let the vine stay inside him a moment more just for good measure before circling the bed and pulling it slowly from his mouth. She let it twine around her arm once more as she headed back downstairs and outside. She left the vine coiled at the edge of the woods, its purpose complete.

  She went to Abigail’s room, slipping inside to stand over the girl as she slept. She’d kicked her blankets away and lay exposed to the cold in a tight ball. Jessamine pulled the blankets up to cover the girl again and smoothed hair back from her face. No harm would ever come to the child. Everything in Jessamine’s life had been leading up to the moment when she would be able to protect this small girl. She leaned down and kissed her forehead before leaving the room, hoping the girl wouldn’t be too upset when they found dear Grandpa had died in his sleep.