Claimed
Page 3
The house loomed like a large white castle on the crest of the hill, its foyer double doors marking the end of the driveway. But those doors were meant to greet the finer gentry of society. He took the usual turn to the side and walked round to the back of the house and through the kitchen.
The kitchen staff rattled busily as they prepared the next sumptuous Callum meal. The stainless steel bench was dusted with flour while one of them kneaded and punched at his ball of dough.
“John,” he greeted the head chef.
The chef looked up at him, his toque still remarkably balanced on his head despite the entire rigor with which he handled his dough.
“What are you doing here, Jared? Come to get Tara?” the cook asked him back, not at all surprised to see him appear so suddenly in his kitchen. “We were betting on how long it would take for you to get here?” He grinned at his staff.
“Is Sam in his office?” Jared asked, trying to ignore their jibing.
“He should be. Now that he knows you’re here,” the chef smirked, dusting off some stray flour from his double breasted jacket.
He left them laughing behind him as he headed into the lavish spacious corridor of the building. He had been here only a handful of times but he was already strangely abreast with the plan of the house. It had always been like that for Jared. He never did put much effort into learning anything. Instead, his skills had come naturally to him, such as his archery lessons from his father.
He stood outside the wooden door across him. He pulled in a deep breath before knocking onto it. He hated confrontations; particularly with Samuel Glover who always managed to make him look like a fool. He’d almost always leave his office feeling twice the idiot than he’d have felt when he walked into it.
The door swung open. “Jared,” the butler said in his deep, baritone voice. “Come on in. The guard told me you were here.”
“Is Tara here?” Jared asked, as he entered it.
“No,” the butler replied flatly, moving lithely around his table. “Why don’t you sit down for a minute?”
“I’m here for Tara. If you don’t mind letting her know that I’m here, I’ll grab her and get out of your way.”
Sam studied him thoughtfully and then settled himself into his chair. “Sit down, Jared.”
Jared stood obstinately at the door, refusing to let the older man have his way. He wanted to get out of there as soon as he could. And standing as close to the door was as comfortable as he could get in Samuel’s small office.
“If you’re trying to leave quickly, you sure aren’t doing a good job of it,” Sam said sternly.
Jared looked back at the man with annoyance. Seeing that his stubbornness was going to be futile, he relented and pulled out a chair. He slumped into it with his arms across his chest. His knee bounced uncontrollably under the table as he tried to keep his impatience in check.
“Coffee?” Sam offered.
“I’m okay.”
“It’s polite manners for a guest to accept a drink when he is offered one by his host,” Sam said, filling two cups of coffee.
“I’m not here for etiquette lessons, Sam.”
“Everyone needs etiquette lessons at some point in their lives. Milk?”
Jared sighed. “Thanks.”
He handed the cup over to Jared. “Nice day outside.”
Jared looked down at his cup of rich milk coffee steaming in the palm of his hand. He couldn’t afford such luxury. Not anyone he knew in Sector 8 Central could afford it. Had his mother ever tasted it? He put his lips to the thin edge of the dainty cup. He felt a sip of the hot drink run down his throat and he relished the smooth chocolaty taste.
“You like it?” Sam asked, his brow rose with curiosity.
Jared shrugged, still not comfortable enough to share his intimate feelings about a cup of coffee.
“It’s called civet coffee; produced first in the beautiful island country of Indonesia. Story had it that Asian palm civets or toddy cats used to feed on coffee berries. They’d scour for days looking for the best, the tastiest and the ripest of the berries. The poor locals who worked for coffee plantations discovered that civets ate the berries and then defecated the undigested seeds. Craving for a drink they couldn’t afford, some brave souls collected the droppings and plucked the seeds out of it.”
“You’re giving me coffee pooped out of some wild cat?” Jared looked at him gravely over his tea cup.
Sam ignored him and continued. “Well, it so happened, these poor locals had discovered a coffee that tasted far richer than anything their rich employers could produce. Coffee experts explain that the one reason that it tastes so good is because civets have the knack of munching on the best berries. The other reason was once the seeds are inside the digestive tract of the animal; it absorbs its acids and enzymes. It is this fermentation process that gives it its distinctive flavor.”
“All this money and you rich people prefer coffee shat out of a cat,” Jared put down his cup with a sigh.
“You’ve just had a drink of one of the world’s most expensive coffee,” Sam said, resting leisurely into his chair, observing him.
Jared lay back also, mirroring the older man. “That was interesting. Unfortunately, I don’t give a crap as to where you guys get your coffee from.”
“Well, you should.” Sam leant forward, his elbows on the table as he peered at him. “Why are you so hell bent against working for the Callums?”
Jared let out a puff of air, his eyes wandering over the pictures on his desk.
Sam followed his eyes. “My family. I have three sons and a daughter.”
“Do they live on the property?”
Sam chuckled. “No. They live in Sector 8 Central, just like you do.”
Jared raised his eyes in surprise. “I’ve never seen them. Surely, if they were as well dressed as you were, I would have noticed them.”
“I try and give them what’s important. And that is food on the table and the will to endure.” He bent to the side of his desk and pulled open his drawer. He lifted out a book, well worn-out from over-use, and laid it on the table. He opened the pages, revealing several old photographs “Two centuries ago, black slaves were kidnapped from ancient Africa, shackled and bundled into ships and brought here to work as laborers on the white man’s plantations. They were demeaned, raped, murdered and de-humanized at all levels. It took them two hundred years of endurance before they finally were legally recognized as equals to the white men and three centuries later before a black president would finally be elected. But for that first generation of black slaves in America, they never would have dreamt those days were ahead of them.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Jared shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“History has a terrible habit of repeating itself. It’s a chameleon disguising its several forms; you don’t even realize that it is the same animal.” He tore out a picture of a black African slave, shackled in irons and chains and gave it to him. “Tara is an honest hard worker. She is doing what she thinks is best for her family. Her contribution to her family is important to her. It gives her some value, some worth. It gives her perseverance to continue on with her life despite how bleak her future may seem at present. I know how she feels because I feel it too. So does all the others who have no choice but to work for the government or the corporations to survive. That doesn’t mean they don’t dream of a better world.”
Jared looked at the picture in his hand. It was obvious Sam treasured his old book. Then why had he torn a picture out of it?
“I don’t judge your choices or that of anyone else’s. But as long as I can protect my family, I will do so. When I can no longer do that, they will be the first to know,” he said aloud.
“It might be too late for them then. Don’t you think you’re letting your pride get in the way of your survival and the sustenance of your family?”
Jared’s eyes grew dark, a muscle clenched in his jaw. “How long will Tara be?”
“Yes, Mr. Glover. Right away, Mr. Glover,” Nessie mumbled rapidly into the phone.
Samuel placed the receiver back onto the handset. He made a noise in his throat. “If there is ever anything you need, Jared, you know where to find me.”
Jared pushed back his chair and rose out of it. “I’ll wait for Tara in the hallway.” He strode over to the door, slightly impetuous to leave behind the discomfiture Sam had deliberately caused in him.
“Jared,” Samuel said before he could turn the door knob. “This suit- it doesn’t belong to me. It is and never will be mine.”
*****
Tara bustled quickly through the large, opulent bedroom. “Your bath is ready, Miss,” she said as she laid out a soft, white cotton robe on the bed.
“Thank you, Tara,” the woman replied. She gathered her long hair into her hands and swiftly tied it into a bun at her nape. “How long have you been working at the house?”
Tara fumbled through the dressers, sorting through the clothes. “I’m just a temporary maid, Miss. A casual. I come whenever Samuel,” she hesitated and corrected herself. “Mr. Glover needs an extra hand.”
The woman leant against the tall bay window, watching her. “Samuel must like you a lot to have you on board his casual staff. He’s pretty draconian about who he hires.”
Tara chuckled. “Draconian would be just the word to describe him.”
The woman frowned and Tara immediately regretted her impulsive remark about her senior. “I’m sorry, Miss. I didn’t mean it that way. Of course, I’m very appreciative of Mr. Glover’s generosity,” she bit her lips, hoping that her employer’s daughter would not take offence of her chuckle.
The woman smiled. “How many are there in your family?”
“My mother and my brother. And I also have two children,” Tara answered, feeling a little uncomfortable with the privacy of the question.
“You live together with your mother and brother?”
“Yes.”
The woman pursed her mouth in deep thought. “Do you want me to put in a word for you to Sam about getting you permanent here?”
Tara stepped back, startled. “No, Ma’am! I’m absolutely fine with the arrangement.” She swallowed nervously. The woman was frowning again. But how could she tell her it was due to her brother’s resentment that she couldn’t work at the Callums more than she would have liked? “Children…,” she sputtered the excuse. “They need all the attention you can give them. It wouldn’t be fair if I leave them entirely to my mother to take care of. I am grateful that she does as much as she can already.” Thankfully, the woman nodded. “Miss Callum, if you don’t mind me asking, how is the Capitol?”
The woman smiled, apparently totally forgotten about her bath water cooling in her bathroom. “The Capitol is beautiful. It’s modern and chic. It’s a place where you can easily lose yourself into.” She turned to her side to look out at the luscious green hills of her property. “It’s not as beautiful as this, though.”
Tara raised her brow. Did she not know of the poverty that lay beyond Callum’s Hill? “How often do you visit Callum’s Hill?” The woman cocked her head to peer at her. “I mean… I’ve never met you before, Miss. But then again, I have only recently started working here too, so…,” she stammered. What was she doing? She didn’t want to lose her job.
The woman smiled again. “I’ve lived most of my life in the Capitol. I only come back here occasionally; to keep Dad company more or less. He’d rather I live there. The Capitol’s got the best schools, universities in the country. The technology there is remarkable as well- a far cry from Sector 8.” Her voice trailed off sadly, her dark eyes growing heavy and dismal.
Tara’s fingers uncomfortably wound the fabric at the sides of her skirt. She didn’t want to talk about the politics in the country. She didn’t want to be complaining about the pitiful lives of her family and her neighbors. Burrowing into such subjects ever only brought more trouble than good. “Will there be anything else, Miss Callum?” But the woman seemed to have drifted into her own thoughts, her eyes lowered to the pale, tiled floors. “Miss Callum?” Tara asked again.
The woman raised her head tiredly. She let out a sigh and tightened the belt on her violet, silk robe. She walked over to her table and picked out some fruit, placing them decoratively into a basket. “I love my fruit. Edmund dropped by yesterday and brought in a little extra for me. Unfortunately, I can never finish it. I’d rather someone eat it fresh than leave it to waste. Would you like to take some for your family?”
Tara looked eagerly at the basket laden with exotic fruit; her mouth watering with a sudden craving for it. “Mr Farriss must love you a lot, Miss. The fruit looks delicious.”
“They are. And Mr Farriss has to love me. I’m engaged to marry him after all,” the woman smiled as she held out the basket. “I’m sure your family would love these.”
Tara’s took a faltering step forward and then stepped back just as fast, sifting rapidly through her reasons as to why she should accept it. Ma and the kids would love them; in fact, Mae had never tasted plums in her life. But then, there was the matter of Jared. She loved her brother but sometimes he could be so stubborn to the point of irrationality- such as his resentment towards the Callums.
If she took the basket back with her, he’d probably leave the house in his anger just as he did the previous time when she took back with her a bunch of extra celery sticks Chef John had given her. She and Ma had not seen Jared for three days then. He had returned only when his anger had subsided. But together with her insistence to continue working at the Callums, he would most likely disappear for at least a week this time. Until then, they all would be terribly stressed over his safety and his whereabouts. Nobody ever knew where he went. It was some degree comforting though, that whenever he would make his disappearances, Wolf was always with him.
She looked at the basket again. It wasn’t worth the trouble she’d cause her family. Mae would rather have her uncle than a basket of delicious fruit. On the other hand, how do you politely turn down an employer’s daughter’s generosity without offending her?
“Miss,” she started but she was cut short by a series of desperate knockings at the door.
The woman walked up to the door and opened it. “Nessie?”
“Ma’am, is Tara here?” the older maid asked.
“Yes,” she replied and opened the door further to allow her into the room.
Nessie eyes floundered between the two women. “Tara, Mr Glover has asked to see you in his office. Right away,” she added quickly.
Tara paled, knowing exactly why she was being sent for. Jared had come for her.
CHAPTER 4
“Miss, can I ask for your leave?” Tara asked, swallowing a nervous lump in her throat.
“Yes, of course,” the woman replied curiously.
Tara and Nessie scrambled out of the room, whispering hoarsely amongst each other.
“Where is he?” Tara growled.
“In the hallway outside Sam’s office. He seems awfully angry. He was pacing in circles like a mad man. I had a peer at him before I came up to the Missus’ bedroom.”
Tara swore under her breath. Her brother had some nerve showing up at her workplace again in such a temper. If he had his way, he’d rather have Sam fire her. And the way he was doing it; there was every likelihood that this might probably be that day.
They turned the corner leading to the hallway. Nessie staggered behind her uncomfortably.
“Tara, I have tasks to finish…,” the older maid stammered. Clearly, she didn’t want to be a witness to a row between the siblings.
“Of course, of course, Nessie,” Tara waved her away. “Thank you for walking along with me.”
“Take care,”
Nessie squeezed her palm. “I hope you don’t take too long returning to work here like you did the last time.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let my brother run all over me,” she hugged her.
“I’ll miss you.”
“Me too.”
She watched her friend disappear into the inner complexes of the house. She rolled her eyes and headed down the hallway to face her very vexatious brother.
He ran his hands through his hair. Sam had successfully managed to make him feel awkward yet again. He didn’t want to know about the successful discoveries of some poor Indonesian laborers or the plight of African slaves. He wanted to resent the Callums and every government official freely without feeling guilty about it.
He pulled out the picture of the slave Sam had given him. The man wore an iron collar with prongs and iron hobbles around his ankles. His wrists were scarred but that was nothing compared to the complicated mesh of scars on his bare back. Evidently, he had been brutally lashed.
His fists balled in anger. What was Sam trying to prove to him? That regardless of their struggles and their discrimination, they were still fortunate in comparison to these slaves? There was nothing that could justify the contemptible way in which his people were treated by the government! There would never be anything to ease his pain.
“Jared!” Tara growled at him as she entered the hallway, breaking his attention from the slave’s photograph. “What do you think you are doing?!”
“Taking you home,” he let out flatly. “Are you ready then?”
“No, I’m not ready. You can’t come here and expect to just pluck me out of my workplace like this! This is my job for god-sakes!”
“No, it is not. You won’t be working here. I thought we discussed this before.”
“It’s my life!” Tara minced angrily. “I’ll do what I want and I’ll go work wherever I want to.”
“Not while you’re living under my roof!” he spat out in equal ire.
“Your roof? I don’t believe you said that! For your information, it’s just as much my house!”