“Thank you,” Vance smiled, and then he pulled me to him, and kissed me on the cheek. “I will be looking forward to your letters,” he smiled.
I turned and ran to the buggy. I didn’t even wait for Mr. Giller to help me up and he raised his eyebrows at me, but he didn’t ask me what was wrong, because he could tell by the look in my eyes, I was not in the mood for talking.
As soon as we reached my townhouse, I jumped down from the buggy, and hurried into the house and up the stairs to Connor’s room. He was lying in bed, reading a book. I rushed in, and closed the door. Connor gave me one of his expectant expressions, and folded his arms over his chest. He was dressed in a night shirt, and I noticed how the folds of it depressed, when he put his arms against it. “What is going on?” he asked. “You don’t look too happy.”
“I think I have messed everything up,” I sighed. “Tamara hates me now. I told her all wrong, and she doesn’t believe me, and besides that…well I didn’t tell you before about how much Tamara was compromised, but she is going to have Sheldon’s baby, and she is bound to marry him, no matter what!”
Connor did not answer for a while, and his face looked grim. “Did you speak to her father?”
“He wasn’t home, and I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Good. I will take care of it. As soon as I am up from this bed, I will speak to Mr. Bronson, and explain why it would not be a good idea for his daughter to marry Sheldon, even in her condition. She can be sent to a nunnery, where the baby will be given to a childless couple, once it is born, and then she can return home, and start her life over again.”
“I only hope he will be able to accomplish that. Tamara was very upset at me and called me cruel because I was going to force Sheldon to become my servant, and not let him have the house.”
“No crueler than he treated you. Had you not escaped, he would still be using you, and keeping you in the tower room. It would be you having a baby as well as Tamara, only yours would be a bastard, turned into a servant, the same as you had been.”
I knew he was right. Sheldon deserved never to be a husband to any woman, I thought… just as I could never be a wife to any man, because of him. I thought of Vance, and how he wanted me to promise myself to him, but once he discovered the truth, after Connor talked to his father, he would be glad I never promised myself to him.
I thought about Mr. Giller, and wondered why Connor was even encouraging him, where I was concerned? He knew I never wished to marry. Everything was ruined because of Sheldon, and nothing could change that. It made me hate Sheldon all the more, just thinking about it.
Mr. Giller settled in, and began caring for Connor. Connor seemed strong, and was recovering nicely, according to the doctor. He didn’t like remaining in bed, and Mr. Giller finally gave up trying to make him remain in bed. Two weeks later, Connor had Mr. Giller drive him to the Bronson home. Vance had already left for school. He had stopped by and said goodbye to me, and gave me the address of the school he was attending. I waited impatiently for Connor’s return.
It did not take long for him to return, and when he did, his expression told me that things did not go well. “There is nothing we can do,” he said, the moment he came into the house, and met me in the entrance way. “Tamara and Sheldon went to Gretna Green and got married. Now he has the money from her dowry to pay on the mortgage. There is no way you can foreclose on them, as long as the payment is paid on time. Do you still want Giller to see if Chandra wants to come here?” he asked, with a shrug.
“I don’t see any purpose for it now,” I mumbled. It appeared I would not get revenge, and Sheldon would get his way instead. I doubted if Tamara would ever speak to me again. There was no point in telling Mr. Bronson about Sheldon, or his treatment of Tamera and myself, now. I would just have to put it all behind me, I decided. I turned and went to my room, spending the rest of the day there, with the door locked. I didn’t want to speak to anyone, and both Connor and Mr. Giller seemed to understand, and left me to my solitude.
I thought of all I had gone through to get to Heather Ridge House, in the first place, and then to get back to the city. It seemed that God was not rallying my cause. Maybe it was wrong for me to want to make Sheldon and his father suffer, the way they had made me suffer, and continue to suffer, because of what Sheldon had done. On one hand the Bible said to turn the other cheek, while instructing an eye for an eye, so it made little sense to me. Nothing was making sense to me any longer. It seemed it never had, ever since my parents died.
Mr. Giller was always watching me, as though he was about to say something to me, but then he would change his mind. I remembered how Connor had told him to go slow, and maybe this was his version of going slow. But it was best he didn’t even try at all. It would just be a waste of his time.
He was always very kind, and was constantly doing little things for me, but I knew why he was doing them, and instead of it making me like him more, for his kindness, it just made me more leery of it.
Connor often looked at me with troubled eyes. I had spent as much time at his bedside as Mr. Giller had, but it seemed to make him impatient with me, and he asked me why I wasn’t going about doing things to entertain myself? He had Miss Parker give me extra lessons, thinking that would keep me busy, or insisted I go down and play the piano. I liked doing that, because I knew how much Connor enjoyed hearing me play.
But now, a gloom had fallen over me. I could find little joy in doing anything, because the thought of Sheldon enjoying his life with Tamara, in spite of me, while working at restoring Heather Ridge House, and looking forward to Tamara’s baby, blackened my thoughts. Could I not find a shred of forgiveness for him, I wondered?
I had all the money I needed in life, and yet I could not feel happy. Tamara hated me, Chandra was destined to remain with a father and brother who had no morals, Vance, my only true friend, was away at school, Connor couldn’t wait to turn me over to Mr. Giller, so he could be done with his responsibility, and Mr. Giller was so kind, when I knew I did not deserve such kindness, since I did not love him, or wish to become his wife, even if he overlooked everything. Connor had assured me he had not told Mr. Giller my whole story, so I knew that once he discovered the truth, his intentions would change.
I suppose, I did not want to see the look in his eye, once I was forced to tell him. Connor said he had a strong character, but even if he did, it wouldn’t make any difference, because every time I looked at him, I would wonder what he was really thinking about me.
The walls of my room seemed suffocating. The whole house felt suffocating. But I always had to take Sally with me, whenever I went out. Even that seemed suffocating to me. I could hear Connor and Mr. Giller, laughing together over a game of chess they were playing, so I tiptoed down the back stairs, and left out the back door. Sam glanced up at me, as he was checking one of the buggies. I gave a little wave, and passed him. He waved back, preoccupied with his chore.
My feet started to carry me in the direction of the graveyard. I didn’t know why something drew me in that direction. The memories of my time spent there were unpleasant, and yet I wanted to make myself suffer with the memory of it, I guess. Why couldn’t I just be happy to be alive and an heiress, with my life ahead of me?
That was the problem, I told myself. Either I could live a recluse life, turning away any offer of marriage I received, or take on lovers and live a life of gayety, while becoming a disgrace to my family name. Either way, I would not be truly happy. I probably wouldn’t have been truly happy getting revenge on Sheldon and his father, either, I had to admit. But I would have gotten great satisfaction in making them pay the price I felt they owed me.
My new shinny boots clicked against the cobbles, as I walked. Before they had been wet and little rivers of black water had swirled between the cracks of the stones. Now they were dry, and my skirts seemed to disturb the dust that swirled around my feet instead.
When I reached the graveyard, I sank down besides the graves of tho
se poor pitiful people I had helped the old man take out of the wagon. I read the names on the markers. I didn’t even know who they were except for the fact that the names indicated they were a family. It made me wish that I had died with my parents, like those two small children had. But God had not even given me that kind of release from my misery.
I realized how tired the walk to the graveyard had made me, and I lay down in the grass, beside the graves, letting the tears of disappointment fall. I certainly was not crying over a family I had never met, until after they had died, I thought. I was crying for my own misfortunes, not thinking to even count all my blessings.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I was aware of was someone grabbing my arms. My eyes flew open to discover the face of someone vaguely familiar, looking down on me. His grin was wide, and his blackened and missing teeth started to bring back bad memories.
“There you are,” I heard Jim say. “I barely recognized you, for all your finery, but you are the same little winch, only a little plumper, I see.” I gave a shriek, and tried to pull away. “No one can hear you here, but the ghosts,” Jim told me. “I come to give you your just deserts, for trying to steal away the house from Mr. Bogart and Sheldon. He told me to find you, and make sure you never forgot him. It hasn’t been easy lurking around and trying to hunt you down, but Tamara told me where you were residing, so it made my chore a little easier, only I could never find you alone. Now I have you where I want you,” he chuckled, “so don’t make it any harder on yourself than it has to be.” His leering smile burned into my brain, and his breath offended my senses. I started to struggle more.
“None of that!” Jim bellowed, and I felt a sudden jolt to my chin, as his fist swung towards me. Then my memory seemed to fail me for a bit.
When I came to, I realized Jim was carrying me over his shoulder, and I could hear the familiar sound of that gate creaking on its hinges, as he pushed it open and deposited me on the floor of the mausoleum I had slept in that dreadful first night in the graveyard. My head hit the hard stone, and I gave a groan. I could feel warm blood, when I reached up to touch where my head had hit.
“I missed you, love,” Jim chuckled. He started ripping at my clothes, and although I reached out to try and stop him, I was feeling suddenly weak, as my head spun, and everything turned black.
When I opened my eyes, it was very quiet. I was cold and the floor felt hard. I could feel the cold air on my skin, and realized that the front of my dress had been ripped away, leaving my breasts bare. My skirts had been tossed to one side. I could feel fluid gush out of me, the moment I tried to move, and a burning sensation ate up my insides, the more I moved. My hair was matted with stickiness, which I determined must be the blood from my head hitting the floor, and a stinging seared my cheek. I thought it was because Jim had slugged me, but when I reached up to touch it, my fingers came away sticky with more blood. There was a long cut on my cheek. The blood had started to dry, but since I disturbed it, it started to flow once again.
I could barely move. I knew I could not walk back to my townhouse. I had been stupid to have gone out alone, I scolded myself. Once again Sheldon had found a way to punish me that I had not even suspected he would do. He hated me, more than he claimed he loved me, I thought. I would never be safe, unless he thought I was dead. Maybe it would be best if everyone thought I was dead. Maybe I should just lie there and die in that mausoleum. It would be a cunning end for God to give me. I could join my parents, wherever they might be. Connor wouldn’t have to worry about looking over me, and Mr. Giller could forget about wanting to marry me. Besides, now my face was disfigured. There was one more reason a man would never want me as his wife.
I could stay here, until life seeped from my cold skin, and they would never find me. No one would ever know what happened to me, except for Sheldon. It would probably make Sheldon very happy. I could not give him that satisfaction. I struggled to sit up. I gathered up the remnants of my top, and clutched it about my body. I pulled on the skirts, and then clutched the ragged opening of my bodice against my chest.
I managed to stagger to my feet. As I began to walk, the stiffness resided a little, and I forced myself to stumble along the dark road. It was too late for anyone to be out on the street, and that suited me fine. I didn’t want anyone to find me. I could never face anyone again, I thought sadly to myself.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Somehow I managed to make it to my parent’s house. It was no longer boarded up, because I had been planning on moving back to it, eventually. I found a window that had not been locked, and managed to drag myself over the seal. Once I made it inside, I collapsed onto a sofa, and fell into a dreamless sleep.
My eyes opened, and I looked around. I was having a hard time remembering anything that happened. I could not figure out why I was inside my parent’s house? It took great effort to pull myself to a sitting position. I stared at my reflection in the mirrored wall across from me. I did not recognize myself. One side of my face was swollen, and covered with dried blood. A small trickle started to seep down my cheek and drip on the sofa, as I moved. I was no longer clutching the front of my bodice, and my skin lay bare, bruised, and tender to my touch. My breasts throbbed with pain, and I could see teeth marks in the shape of angry bruises.
I stood, unsteady, holding onto the sofa for support. When I managed to find my balance, I took small steps towards the mirror, looking closely at my face. Beyond my swollen jaw, a long jagged cut traveled from the corner of my eye to my chin. The blood was still seeping, and dripping. I ignored it. I limped to the basement, and lit the boiler, which heated the water to the house. Then I pulled myself back up the basement stairs, and continued to pull myself upstairs to one of the bathrooms. There, I removed my tattered clothing, and crumpled to the floor, exhausted.
The rug felt soft beneath my cheek, and I felt myself closing my eyes. When I opened them again, the room had started to get dark. I lit one of the gas lamps, and turned on the water to test it. It came out warm and inviting. I began to fill the tub, and pulled myself over the side, sinking into the water that was slowly rising to fill the porcelain basin, glancing indifferently at the blood stained rug I had been laying on.
As the water began to fill the tub, I looked down on my body. Finger sized bruises were dark against my thighs, and stomach, and also on my breasts along with the teeth marks. A drop of blood dropped into the water, and turned pink, as it dissolved, followed by another, right behind it. I lifted the wash cloth to my cheek, and washed away the dried blood, which only made the wound bleed more, but I took a dry cloth and pressed it against my face, the way Mr. Diller had told me to do with Connor’s wound. I sat in the tub, soaking up its warmth, holding the cloth against my face, until the water started to turn cold. Eventually, I lifted myself out of the water, wrapped a towel around me, as best I could, with one hand, and stumbled into my parent’s bedroom. There, I snuggled under the covers, filling my nostrils with the smell of my mother’s perfume, and my father’s colon. They had burned all the old bedding but their sent still seemed to permeate the room. I drifted back to the past, and finally fell asleep, my cheek in my hand, which rested against the pillow, behind the dry wash cloth.
When I woke, sunshine was streaming into the window. The washcloth had stuck to my face, where the blood had dried. I had to gently pry it away, and then stop that bleeding again. Eventually, it stopped, and I noticed the cut was not that deep, but my face would probably be disfigured, because of it.
At that point, I didn’t care. No one would see me anyway, I told myself. I would stay hidden in my parent’s house, until I felt able to face the world. I was not as stiff, any longer, and I went to my mother’s closet and took out her wrapper. All my clothes had been sent to the townhouse, so I would have to wear my mother’s clothes, I decided. She was a small woman, and so her clothes would probably fit me well enough, but it would be difficult to wear them, I realized, with a stabbing pain in my heart.
; I started to wander through the house, looking around. Someone had cleaned it. The cots no longer were in the parlor. A lot of the furniture was gone, though, because they had taken it to my townhouse. I found enough bottled food in the pantry to tide me over for a while, and I would have to look up the cook’s recipe for bread, and try my hand at it, I thought. There was still flour, and dry goods, such as beans and rice, and oats I could cook, and use for my meals.
It didn’t dawn on me that someone would see the smoke from the chimney, both from the boiler, and the oven.
Three days later, I heard the front door open, and Connor was rushing towards me. He grabbed me up in his arms, and hugged me so close I thought he would break my ribs.
“Floriana, Floriana, we thought you were dead! My God, am I happy to see you!” Then he held me from him and looked at my face. It was then he saw the wound, and his eyes darkened, and then he was kissing my face, as though he could kiss the wound away. “Sweet ward, what happened to you?” he cried.
“Go away,” I said, trying to wrestle myself out of his arms. “Go back to the townhouse, and leave me alone!”
“I will do no such thing! You are my responsibility! I have not protected you, as I intended to, and now this. You must tell me what happened!”
“I’m fine.” I insisted. “I am just fine!”
“No you are not!” Connor stated. My struggles had caused the front of my mother’s wrapper to fall open. I had not gotten dressed yet, before Connor had plunged in. His fingers started to close the wrapper, but then he paused, and stared at my nude body. “Someone has attacked you more than just cutting your face!” he roared, and he reached out and gently touched one of my damaged breasts. “Tell me! Tell me who did this. I will have him shot!” he bellowed, and then pulled the wrapper closed, and hugged me to him again. “It was Sheldon, wasn’t it?” he accused.
“No…but Sheldon sent him. Only there is no proof. He will deny everything. It would be my word against his, and he would accuse me blaming him because of wanting to bring him down and being jealous and angry about him marrying Tamara and keeping me from foreclosing on his home. I know how they will twist everything. I won’t go to the authorities, so you can just forget about it. It was my fault for trying to get revenge against Sheldon and his father in the first place!”
The Fledgling Page 15