Escape From Purgatory
Page 29
Mitchell’s mouth curved into an expression of consideration. “That is an idea. There are buildings here that would make a good place for a hat factory.”
“You can rent or even buy my house up the road. Anna and I are moving back in this one. No need to have another house sit empty. Think about it, and let’s see if we can’t work something out. Workers can either follow you or not. I guarantee you’ll get excellent people here.”
“Oh, Mitchell,” Claire said, beaming, “why don’t you do that? And I can still help the way I used to. It would be wonderful to have you here. This area is a beautiful part of Tennessee. Not the flat land you see on the western side.”
“The more I think about it, I must admit that the idea hits me pretty well.” He nodded. “Let me get Adrian settled, and George, you and I will talk more about this.”
“You bet,” said George.
Later that evening, George drove Mitchell to the train station.
***
A rich woody scent from large, old oak trees hung thick and heavy in the West Tennessee afternoon air, penetrated by the occasional breeze carrying floral top notes from nearby bushes and wildflowers. A mixture so intoxicating at times, one good whiff lulled a person into a state of gentle relaxation, if not momentary sweet oblivion. Songbirds still found enough energy to muster up a healthy competition of trills and soprano chirps against the drone of insects. Summer had come around again, and Hatchie River Asylum For The Insane sat on its expansive green lawn, a powerful ruler, fit with gothic pointed windows and arches, lording over the whole world, it seemed. Faces of gargoyles on top of the structure leered down, some with lolling tongues, others with brutish grins, not unlike the faces of many an occupant who lived inside. An interesting paradox, this peaceful world outside, and the cruel, shocking world inside.
Adrian Wright sat alone in a chair on the lawn, resting his head against one of the trees, grateful for a quick moment of peace. Out of kindness, he’d been granted permission to sit here each day for a while, most likely a small reward for his former position in town. Yes, his former place in society, where his work had not only been sought after here in the sleepy little town of Ash Grove, but in various shops in the Southeast. His fine work as a hatter had given him license to practice his art with gusto, and in the end had made him a rather enviable living. Now he found himself here in this place, forgotten, struggling to make sense of the chaos in his mind.
A few moments ago, he’d watched in forlorn silence as his brother, and business partner walked away, deserting him. Again. He thought when they’d left that other town, he’d finally be going home. Now he lifted his head and stared at the empty chair beside him. Mitchell apparently had no intent on taking him back home, though he’d pleaded with promises to control his temper and to refrain from losing himself in forgetful moments. When he’d inquired about his wife, her whereabouts, demanding to see her, Mitchell’s answer proved shocking enough.
“She’s never coming back, Adrian,” Mitchell said, a mixture of pity and irritation flashing from his eyes. He patted his brother’s shoulder in sympathy.
“Never? What do you mean? Of course, she is. I nearly had her back one time, I think.” Adrian scratched his head. His lips trembled, and his eyes filled with tears as he stared up at the man sitting next to him, hoping he’d surely been joking. But the solemn expression he viewed gave no indication of such a thing. With shaky hands, he reached in his pocket for a handkerchief.
“I mean never, and that’s the end of that. Just let it go, let everything go. Nothing will ever be the way it was before.” Mitchell shrugged. “Some of it’s the nature of things, and some of it was your own doing.”
Mitchell had spent their visit together this time launching into a monologue of events that had now turned Adrian’s world upside down for good. His mind, riddled with past memories and the exhausting effort of trying to digest his present situation, sent him into a tailspin, finally plummeting him into an abyss of despair. Had he, in fact, created the mess in which he found himself, wrenched from an old life and thrust into a dark world where no one heard his cries for help, where no one understood him anymore? Is that what all the sympathetic looks he’d seen and the gentle pats on the hand had meant? He always tried to answer back, explain, but he only received silent nods, and those damned, gratuitous pats on the hand. Then they walked away, leaving him alone to wrestle with his own demons.
A small grey and blue-striped lizard scuttled close to his feet, making its way to the trunk of the tree. Startled by the rustle, Adrian jerked his head down and glared at the creature. The tiny reptile, somehow sensing the pair of eyes glaring down at it from above, stalled and waited. In anger, Adrian kicked out, trying to flick the poor, innocent creature away.
“Get out of here, you devil! You’re a mean, no-account devil, that’s what you are!” He yelled and struck out his foot again. This time the frightened animal made a bee-line for the tree and scurried out of sight. “There, that’ll teach you.” Adrian repositioned himself back on the chair and drew up his shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of someone, a young male, staring in his direction. Turning his head around, he faced the unknown gentleman and delivered a fierce scowl.
He threw up a fist, shaking it. “And damn you to hell too. You’re another devil if I ever saw one!”
The man answered back with nothing more than a silent shake of his head before hurrying to the front door of the building, where he quickly disappeared inside.
Adrian shook his fist one last time for good measure and turned back around, resting his head against the tree. At least he hadn’t received that infernal pat on the hand. And speaking of hands, his own hands trembled now, nothing like the steady tools for crafting the finest hats around. He wiped the drool pooling in the corner of his mouth before it dripped its way onto his shirt.
With a deep breath, he inhaled a hearty dose of air, the sweet aroma carrying him back to another time, a not so distant past where everything had seemed perfect—almost. He closed his eyes and tried again to recount in his mind the story his brother had just told him, especially about the part of her never returning. How long had she been away? How long had he been here without her? Was Mitchell coming back? What a chore, sorting fact from fiction! Determined, he spent the remainder of his time outside by the tree putting the puzzle of his life back together little by little.
Meanwhile, back in Knoxville, miles away on the other side of Tennessee, Anna and Claire sat curled together on a sofa in the wonderful stone block house they all called home. While the breeze floated through the open windows, Claire read Anna’s favorite story, Uncle Wiggily, while Lullabelle sat between them. Buzzie and Moo contented themselves with sitting on the floor and grooming their fur. Edna busied herself in the kitchen, preparing fresh-baked cookies. Up the road, George helped Mitchell move into his former home. Not far from Gay Street, movers and new employees readied a new hat factory for production of the finest hats around.
As Claire read to Anna, she couldn’t help but feel like a queen, the richest, most content person on earth. She’d come full circle, tasting the bitter with the sweet. Her losses had been many, but her wins embodied triumph at its best. Inside her, a new life grew, a new baby brother or sister for Anna. Her intuition had grown stronger as days passed. She felt happier than ever, more vibrant. Somehow, she knew beyond reason that her new life held even greater gifts than she could ever imagine.
End
About The Author
Scarlet Darkwood wields a mighty pen, or at the very least, delivers mighty punches to the computer keys when she’s typing furiously on a story. She likes dark and twisted, and the weirder, the better.
Always preferring avant garde themes, her stories take the reader on unusual adventures, exploring the darker parts of the human psyche as she whips out cunning prose wrapped in provocative themes. Sometimes she veers from her beaten path and takes a happy-go-lucky romp in the brighter sides of life, kicking
up her style into sharp, snappy dialogue and clever descriptions.
Writing in several genres unleashes her imagination so she never grows bored. From a young age, she's enjoyed writing and keeping diaries, but didn't start creating novels until 2012. She's a Southern girl who lives in Tennessee and enjoys the beauty of the mountains. She lives in Nashville with her spouse and two rambunctious kitties.
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