Victor Marshall and his guardian, Wendell, were given the sad news upon their arrival, that Sean had already passed on. Victor had taken it hard. Wendell had not taken the news well, either. He and Sean had become good friends over the years. Both of the men had hoped for a chance to say good bye.
Rebecca studied Victor. He was all grown up, and a strikingly handsome man. He was charmingly shy around women, much like his guardian. Wendell had done a wonderful job of bringing up Victor, and they all told him so. But Wendell credited Sean with all of the changes in the young man. Victor wanted to be the best person he could be, to make his parents proud. He said it all of the time, Wendell told them. Victor had wanted to say it to Sean himself, but they had been too late.
Victor had walked over to the parlor and was staring up at the portrait of Blair Marshall. Rebecca strolled over and joined Victor, then she, too, stared at the portrait. Seconds ticked and a blanket of sadness was beginning to suffocate the room. Rebecca wanted to talk to Victor, but the longer the painful silence wore on, the harder it was to break it. Rebecca turned suddenly and punched Victor in the arm. It surprised him—and everyone else, too.
“Ow,” Victor gave her a funny look and rubbed his upper arm. “You can hit pretty hard.”
Rebecca started laughing nervously, very much aware of how inappropriate her punching Victor—and then laughing about it—was. “Vic—Victor, I’m sorry. I honestly don’t know why I did that.” She looked over to her husband, who mouthed, what are you doing? She shrugged, embarrassed, and turned back to Victor. “I guess I, oh, I don’t know. We were all getting so morose and…mired in sadness; I wanted to change the atmosphere in here. But I also wanted to get your attention—”
“Well, Mrs. Tjaden, you certainly got that,” he smiled at her.
“Oh, Victor, you do remember me?”
“Of course!”
“I’m so glad. I am so happy to see you, Victor. You look so handsome, and you have your father’s ways. Can we talk?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He followed her over to some chairs by the window.
“Victor, I wanted you to know that your father’s last words and thoughts were about you. He had thought he had more time. He told me he wanted to look upon his son before he died. He wanted the chance to tell you he loved you, and to say how proud he was of you. You see, Wendell had been keeping Sean informed of your life. He really was so proud of you, Victor.” She saw Victor’s face contort as he fought back tears. “Darling boy, you don’t have to hide your tears around here. Lord, Victor, this house has seen an ocean of them.”
The young man broke down and cried. Rebecca reached over and smoothed his hair. She traced patterns on his cheek with her fingertips, just as she had done years earlier as ‘Aunt Rebecca,’ whenever she had held him as a baby. “He wanted to tell you he loved you, Victor. But, he was pretty sure you already knew it.”
At that, the young man lunged forward in his chair and threw his arms around Rebecca, and she realized that as much as Wendell had done with the young man, there were some things he could not accomplish; Victor was starved for a mother’s touch. Rebecca did her best.
After awhile Victor unwrapped himself and stood. Rebecca rose with him, keeping hold of his hand. She pointed to the portrait. “Sean wanted you to have that portrait of your mother. And, there is a red tricycle in the carriage house for you. Maybe for a child of your own some day.” She fished around in a deep sweater pocket for the letter. “He also wanted you to have this. Sean said Wendell has told you some things about your mother. I’m afraid this letter does hint at some mental…strain. I didn’t want it to be a shock to you. Your Pa said you had so few things to remember your mother by. That’s why he wanted you to have it. ” She handed it over.
“That’s okay. As you said, I know about my mother’s illness. It doesn’t worry me. I think my mother’s mind was brilliant. How she survived…all that she survived…” He looked up at the others. “My mother, she’s my hero…and my father is also my hero.” He turned to Wendell. “And you, Wendell, you are my hero, too,” Victor said, and he’d meant it. “I never could have hoped my life would turn out like this.”
Rebecca squeezed his hand. “And there’s this, too.” She had worn the watch around her own neck, beneath her sweater, so worried was she of losing it. She slipped it over her head and presented it to him.
They heard a sharp intake of breath. It was Wendell. “I’m sorry, I just…I wondered if the watch had been found. It was very special to your mother, Victor. That inscription there on the back, it was of some significance to her.”
“That’s right, Victor. Your Pa said those words had a soothing effect on your Ma. He even had them engraved on her headstone, so she could rest in peace,” Rebecca told him.
Victor opened the watch. It was pretty.
Wendell stepped forward. “She told me the reason she bought it was those painted calla-lilies. She said it reminded her of this place.”
Victor smiled. Yeah, he could see that. He turned the piece over to read some engraving he’d been rubbing his fingers over. “Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops — at all…” there was more, which he read silently. Then he looked up with eyes full of tears. He felt so close to his mother at that moment.
“Like I said, I never could have hoped my life would turn out like this. But my mother did.”
Thing With Feathers (9781616634704) Page 29