The twenty-minute drive was relaxing, as her Aunt told her of the changes made around the estate, what had been going on in Albany’s social arena, and her latest conversations with Sen. Gallagher about Jessica coming on board. She listened intently and began to relax. A sense of peace washed over her, and for the first time, she felt safe.
“As soon as Clora is done fussing over you, I’ll send her out with Martin to pick up some necessary items you’ll need. Tomorrow we’ll make a day of it and do some shopping, if you’d like. I can’t remember when the last time was I had the pleasure of going on a spree. It’ll be fun. What do you think dear?” She patted her thigh lightly.
Jessica gave her Aunt an affectionate hug and kiss. “Oh, Aunt Florence. I’ve missed you so, so much. I’d be happy in rags, as long as, we were together, forever.”
“Well, that’s sweet, Jessica. But, a woman like you, deserves happiness and the love of a good man. It would be delightful introducing you to those young men I, in fact, know are worthy of your attention, and your heart.”
Jessica leaned her head against her Aunt’s shoulder and sighed disparagingly.
“Oh, Aunt Florence. I am so done with men. I thought I had married the greatest catch in all of Maine. It just isn’t right how a man of such fine breeding can turn out to be so deranged. Let’s hold off on that for a while, o.k.?” She gazed up at her Aunt lovingly. “I do love you though for the thought.”
Florence caressed her cheek with her palm and smiled before replying.
“I’ll not let you wallow for too long. That beast of a husband of yours does not deserve your sorrow. The holidays will be soon upon us and; I’m a festive woman. You’ve got until then.”
Jessica couldn’t help, but chuckle. Her Aunt was right and there was no sense arguing with her, because she knew in her heart, Florence was just the person she needed to help her get on with her life.
The wide waterway they began to cross was the Hudson River, separating the Counties of Albany and Rensselaer. There were so many changes, since the last time she was home. Two more lanes in both directions had been added to the interstate to accommodate the ever-growing traffic. They drove past new community developments with homes priced in the mid-two-hundred thousand range, a brand new elementary school, multiple strip malls, mega movie theatre, and a new Christian church, that looked more like an arena.
A massive Nano Technology Complex had been constructed in her absence, that stood impressive beside the Albany skyline, spanning acres with buildings five levels high encased in steel and impenetrable dark green glass.
It was a new Albany, and she rather liked it that way. As she was beginning a new chapter in her life, it made it seem all rather adventurous rediscovering her old stomping grounds all over again. Jessica realized this was the beginning of many new and wondrous changes in her life. For a long time, decisions weren’t her own. Every day she was told what to do, how to dress, who she could talk to, and what was expected of her. Freedom was going to take some time getting used to, and she welcomed it greedily.
The town car made a right onto a private road and Jessica’s breath caught in her throat, as she gazed in wonderment at the beautiful landscape before her. The modest estate was every bit elegant, and as they approached the circular driveway, the stately English brick colonial came into view, set off by three majestic, white pillars.
The grounds encompassing her Aunt’s estate, were an array of manicured lawns, shrubs, varied pines of blue spruce, Douglas fir and hemlock; and, an abundance of flower gardens of every color, style, and fragrance.
All Jessica could do was gasp.
“It is beautiful, isn’t it, dear?” Florence asked. “I feel the same way every time Martin pulls into the driveway. I sooo love this house.”
Jessica didn’t have a chance to answer as Florence’s housekeeper, Clora, exited the front door, squealing with delight.
“Miss Jessie, you is home, child. Praise the Lord,” she clapped her hands joyously and opened her arms wide to receive her. She embraced Jessica to her robust bosom and crooned.
“It sure is good to see you child, after all this time. And, you is all skin and bones,” she scorned, as she turned Jessica about for inspection, clucking her tongue in dismay. “Clora is gonna have to plump you up, and there is no better time than the present. Um um um,” she hummed, shaking her head. “The table is all set, and da food is waiting for consumption.” She wrapped a possessive arm about Jessica’s waist and led her into the foyer, leaving her mistress of the house and butler to chuckle and follow from behind.
Jessica looked over her shoulder at her Aunt and Martin, smiling as she watched Martin offer her Aunt his arm.
“Well, Martin, shall we?” Her Aunt waved toward the entrance. “Join us please, won’t you for something to eat, in celebration of Jessie’s return.”
He placed her hand in the curve of his arm, escorting her towards the front door and replied.
“I would be most happy too. This old house is smiling upon us, Mrs. Newcombe. It’s good to have her home, once again.”
Clora had outshone herself, as she beautifully set a table befitting a king’s honor. A duck had been roasted to a golden brown and served with a delicate orange sauce. The crab for the salad had been flown in fresh that day.
Florence ordered a special wine from her cellar collection to celebrate the occasion. Once dinner was on the table, Martin and Clora joined them to partake in the feast.
It was a glorious reunion. The last time they had been together was just shortly after her engagement was announced. They honored and respected the pain she had been through and no discussion of her husband Richard, or his death, was brought up at the table. Jessica loved how her Aunt included her staff to partake in special family celebrations. Martin and Clora had been in her Aunt’s employ ever since she was an infant. They were more than hired help. They were extended family.
Once desert was finished, the table was cleared and everyone retired to the sitting room, where a warm fire was already ablaze in the large fieldstone fireplace. Brandy sifters were passed around and a final toast to good health and happiness was made. Martin and Clora graciously retired for the evening, so Jessica and her Aunt could spend some time alone.
The warmth that emitted from the blazing flames, the crackling sounds of the logs as they burned, and the slow hissing of the moisture being drawn from the wood was inviting. Jessica settled back into a thickly-tufted oversized chair and sighed contentedly.
“It’s so good to be back home, Aunt Florence.”
“I’ve missed you too, dear.”
A moment of silence passed between them. She could not help but think of the child she had lost, and her palm slowly moved over her lower abdomen. She ached for that feeling of movement, that was no longer there. If only she could have gotten away sooner, she thought, her daughter would have had the chance to survive and be born into a safe, healthy, and happy environment.
My darling, sweet, little girl … my Suzanne. I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, and it constricted painfully, as she tried desperately to hold back the tears. She wanted to tell her Aunt about Suzanne, about how she lost her, about what Richard had done. She couldn’t. She hadn’t the strength to relive that horror also again.
As a tear escaped, she quickly wiped it away. She forced herself to think of something else. She couldn’t let that painful loss drag her back down, down into that dark pit of nothingness she had escaped to, when she didn’t eat, didn’t talk, hadn’t bathed and wallowed for weeks, after her loss. It had taken everything she was … to push herself … to move on.
It was then, she remembered, that when she was a young girl, she would sit and listen to her Aunt tell stories of their family’s history in this very same room. She realized, she wanted to hear those stories again more than ever. She needed to be reconnected to that person she once was, to reconfirm where she came from, who her ancestors were
, the proud heritage that made her the woman she had become, and had lost for quite some time.
“Tell me the stories, please.”
Her Aunt looked puzzled as she repeated Jessica’s request. “The stories, dear?”
“When I was younger … you know … about our family. Please. I need … “
She swallowed back the urge to cry, as her voice shook with emotion. “I just need to hear them again.”
Florence nodded knowingly and took a short sip of her brandy.
“Of course, dear. Should I start from the beginning?”
Jessica nodded her reply.
“Let me see now,” Florence paused briefly, as she gathered her thoughts and shortly began in a soft, soothing voice.
“When colonization became brisk, the Dutch West India Company was given a nice monopoly of American trade. Under its direction, Dutch merchants established friendly relations with the powerful Iroquois tribes, who welcomed them as potential allies against the French, occupying the St. Lawrence Valley. The trading company maintained posts as far up the Hudson River at Fort Orange, which later became the city of Albany.
It was at this post, Jessica, our history was born. Your great, great, great grandfather, Colonel Gerard Rochelle was the commanding officer at the Fort. Oh, he was such a resourceful and handsome young man!”
Jessica’s gaze met the portrait that hung on the far wall of the sitting room. He was indeed a very striking man, with eyes the same color green as hers, looking back at her.
“Your grandfather won the immediate friendship of the territorial natives and responsible for protecting the mixed colonies of Dutch, French, and Swedish settlers. Quite the crisis had begun to develop, when the English began to settle into the Mohawk Valley. They were a terrible lot, invading the hunting grounds of the Iroquois. The Indians had long been friendly with them, but it was feared such an insult would cause them to desert to France’s side, leaving them without a powerful ally.
So, the Board of Trade assembled a congress at Albany in 1754. It was attended by representatives from New York, Pennsylvania, Maryland, and the New England colonies. And my dear, because of the high esteem your grandfather was held by both red and white men alike, he was honored to represent New York at the young age of thirty-two.”
Jessica welled with pride. She had forgotten she was made of such fine stock. Being under the Wilton’s thumb for so long, and victim to their barrage of insults and abuse, had lessened her self-esteem over time. It had been a terrible struggle. Despite how strong of a person she knew she was, it was difficult trying to decide whether she should end her marriage. Her ambivalence was confusing … whether to stay or go … whether things would get better … whether Richard might change. It was like her Aunt knew what she was thinking at that moment.
“You come from greatness, Jessica. Your grandfather met the love of his life at that time, Florence Livingston, whom I’m named after. There has been a Rochelle representative at New York’s Legislature, up until your dad was killed in that terrible accident. Don’t ever question your worth, your strength, or your ability, dear … never again.”
Jessica pondered her words briefly, before she responded.
“When Grandma Rochelle raised me, she never spoke much about my mom and dad. Everything I know, is because of you. My dad must have been quite the Senator, hah?”
Her Aunt nodded and smiled wistfully, as she too reflected for a moment.
“My brother was something else, yes. His constituents and colleagues adored him. He would have never let you enter into such a marriage either.” She waved her finger matter-of-factly. “I hate to say it, but our mother was a conniving and manipulative woman. All she cared about was money and status. The way she misguided you, was unforgiveable.”
She watched as her Aunt rose and added another log onto the fire. She bent over to stoke the coals first, then placed the log over them. She rose and turned with a broad smile upon her face, as though she had some big secret to share.
“What are you thinking?” Jessica coaxed. “You’re up to something. I can tell.”
Her Aunt laughed heartily, as she seated herself and took another sip from her glass of brandy.
“Nothing really, dear. You’re going to fit in nicely with Bryan’s team. I just know it. It’ll be wonderful seeing a Rochelle back at the Capitol again.”
“I’m a little nervous about that. What if he doesn’t hire me? It’s been, my god ages, since I’ve conversed with people on such an intellectual level. Richard kept me prisoner, Aunt Florence. I rarely got out.”
Her Aunt waved her remark off. “Oh pooh. You graduated from Berkeley with honors in communications. He’ll hire you, and, you’ll assimilate just fine. Besides, by the time I give you some inside pointers, you’ll be one step ahead of those dimwits, who used bed sheets instead of brains and experience, to get their jobs.”
“Well, alright then. You’ve convinced me just fine.” She couldn’t hold back a long yawn that rose from nowhere and she chuckled lightly. “Sorry. Suddenly, I feel so drained. I guess we should call it an evening?”
“I’d say that’s a good idea.” Florence rose and closed the distance between them. Together they walked arm-in-arm out of the room and up to the second floor, where they bid each other a good night with warm embraces and sweet kisses.
The suite of rooms, which Jessica would use as her own, were tastefully decorated in soft floral shades of pink and grey. It overlooked one of the larger flower gardens adorned with American beauty roses. There was a window seat, where she could comfortably stretch out. It was lavished with the plumpest of pillows. Her bed was a queen size canopy covered with a quilted soft green satin comforter, dusted with pink and grey throw pillows of various shapes and sizes.
There was a private bath for her personal use, with a sunken Jacuzzi tub big enough to fit three people. The walk-in closet could fit a twin sized bed comfortably, and she knew that her Aunt would forcibly persuade her to fill it to capacity. She was thankful for her Aunt. Now that she was truly home, she knew that eventually her life would take on some sense of normalcy. She moved toward the window seat and knelt on her knees, leaning forward to open the window a little.
A soft breeze drifted in, along with those evening sounds that were calming and peaceful. The garden looked even more beautiful, indirectly aglow with soft lighting. She heard the distant hoot of an owl, the chirping of crickets, the croak of a few frogs that took up residence in the pond off to the left of the garden, where water cascaded from the fountain placed there to keep the water circulating. She was glad the estate was located far enough from the city. She enjoyed living in the country.
Her mind began to drift, and the shadows shifted as the scene before her changed, and she began to reminisce the past, and view the outside through the eyes of a young woman just eighteen back in Maine.
----
She was at her grandmother’s summer home on Mt. Desert Island, one of the most beautiful on the Atlantic Coast. It was dotted with refined, stately summer homes, like her grandmothers.
The only way one could reach the rugged, granite mainland was by a short bridge, where the beauty of forested, flowered bays and inlets could be seen, always brightly colored by sails of boats that skimmed the horizon.
It was that summer she was introduced to Richard, heir to the Wilton Empire. She did not know then a contract of marriage had been arranged. He knew though. He was adept and experienced with women. She was a virgin, naïve, and intent on her studies, even during Summer break. He played havoc with her feelings, inciting emotions she had never felt and could barely reign in.
He was expert at creating a fire deep inside of her, stirring a desire with hot, lingering kisses and passionate ministrations that dulled her senses and left her wanton and craving more.
By the time Fall had arrived, they were the talk of Maine. When he proposed, it was magical. Musicians serenaded as they danced beneath a twinkling night sky. They walked barefoot along a
moonlit beach, listening to the tranquil sound of waves crashing along the shoreline. When he avowed his love, and offered marriage, she had believed him with all of her heart.
Theirs was a Cinderella wedding. Her gown, which was designed in Paris, was an elegant, white satin. The yoke and collar were kissed with tiny pearls and sequin-embroidered Schiffli lace. The sleeves were luxuriously fitted and the bodice was covered in pearls and tiny Swarovski crystals.
The reception was grand, attended by the most influential of guests. A private jet took the newlyweds to the Greek Isles, and on the third day of their blissful getaway, the horror began.
A single tear trickled down her cheek as flashes of the mental and physical abuse she had endured, flitted behind her tightly closed eyes.
How he could have been so sinister … so heartless, would forever remain a mystery, forever buried with him back in St. Augustine’s cemetery.
Her eyes popped open and she wiped the tears staining her cheeks away with the heel of her palms.
Enough! It’s over. Your free … free to live life as you may.
It would still take a while, for her to believe the words, that echoed in her mind.
CHAPTER FIVE
Florence’s idea of shopping was short of mind-boggling. Jessica’s head spun over the numerous designer storefronts that graced one city block of Manhattan’s garment district. She argued profusely with her Aunt, when she realized where they were headed. She never paid more than twenty dollars for a pair of sneakers or heels, and the thought of her Aunt dishing out thousands for anything attached to a designer label was beyond ludicrous.
She should have known better, though. Her Aunt knew how to find amazing deals on designer apparel with sample sales. Florence knew where to go to purchase high-end merchandise at a fraction of the cost. They shopped for nearly three days, until she was fitted with an adequate wardrobe suitable for casual, formal and nighttime wear.
A Pawn for Malice Page 4