Truth

by Brittany Chapman

  Dr. Burnt asked if there was anything else I wanted to add and I told him I honestly didn't. My life had ended in that moment.

  I was a shell of my former self. I would never be the same, regardless of his intention for my ‘rehabilitation.’

  Chapter 37- Poinsettia

  An empty town car with a raised partition waited for me in front of the building after lunch. I hugged the staff members and orderlies, thinking of them as more family I had to leave behind.

  I wasn't ready to leave. I hoped I would be released under the same conditions as Abby, but it wouldn't satisfy Mother.

  I couldn't imagine what Mother had planned to torment me. I didn't think I could feel another ounce of pain. I had become so calloused to everything outside of my trauma that nothing could bring me to tears again.

  As I rode through the night, lying across the seat and dozing in and out of sleep, I didn't suspect to lose my last shred of innocence. I never realized I had a remaining molecule of hope left for my mother. I thought I had been through enough to have had all of my naivety shattered and swept away.

  The car stopped and the engine turned off. I peeked through my hair into the squinting sun through the tinted window.

  I sat up and pulled my hair back. It was inches from my waist and I hadn't cared about the unruliness of the tangles in a long time. Old habits made my hands rake through it.

  I stopped, remembering I was different. I wasn't going to be anyone but myself.

  No one waited on the stoop as the servants used to do. I sighed with relief. My heart thudded as I stepped out of the car. I retied my sagging sweatpants. I tried to reach for my suitcase but the driver shook his head and sauntered into the house with it.

  I stood for a moment, staring at the huge fortress in front of me. I was yanked out of my thoughts by the sound of my father's voice.

  He ran out of the house and almost toppled down the huge stairs. His arms wrapped around me and he lifted me. His body trembled with sobs.

  He whispered in my ear, “Run, baby.”

  I looked into his eyes and saw that he wasn't crying with the joy of having his daughter home, but in fear of my well being.

  I had no time to respond before Mother appeared on the porch. Her arms crossed over her chest as she looked down at us. She motioned for me to come to her.

  My feet wanted to listen to Father’s warning but the rest of me wanted to show my defiance. I stepped toward her and I realized she was no longer taller than me. She wasn't intimidating at all. Her skin was becoming loose and her hair was beginning to silver.

  “Go clean the stench of that place off and put on real clothes.” She spun and stalked into the house without another word.

  I trudged up the cold, curving, wide marble steps. The echo of my fall seemed imprinted upon them in whispers. I glanced toward William’s door and froze as my life stilled and my soul called out for the past.

  As I opened my bedroom door I cringed. Nothing had changed. There wasn't a speck of dust, the pale yellow duvet was pulled up on the bed, and the closet door was still thrown open from my hurry to leave.

  I sat with a huff on the edge of the bed. I sunk into the deep softness and realized how firm the cots at the institution had been. The house smelled weird. There were too many scents.

  I tried to enjoy my shower, closing my eyes and pretending I was in the dim, tiny bathroom I had used the day before. I had been in the same routine for a long time. After twenty minutes I instinctively turned off the water.

  I dried and wandered into my closet. All of the dresses were too vibrant and luxurious. I slid a pale green, cotton sundress from a hanger and pulled it over myself. It hung loose on my frame.

  As I turned away I caught the smiling yellow out the corner of my eye.

  It had been my favorite dress before William came, and I had grown to cherish it as our time together came to pass.

  I couldn't look at it. I never wanted to part with it but didn't have the strength to see it. I moved it to the back of the closet.

  Mother remained blissfully distant, forcing herself in my company solely for meals. Father often joined but held onto anxiety as though prepared for an atomic bomb.

  I stayed close to my routine from Lakeview as much as possible. It was a small comfort, but every night as I closed my curtains I would gaze down at my garden. I enjoyed the beauty from afar but feared climbing into that rabbit hole.

  I had been home for two days when I saw Hannah for the first time. She looked worn but happy. I assumed Mother had ruled with an iron fist in my absence. I asked her to sit with me in my room.

  She seemed afraid as she closed the door, looking around my room warily. I sat at the bench of my vanity and motioned for her to relax on the edge of my bed.

  She lowered herself gingerly. The fear was apparent, but I didn't feel like she had any reason to be intimidated by me. “I owe you an apology,” I began.

  “It's fine,” she tried to stand but I put a hand on her arm.

  “No, it isn't. I was cruel to you in a time when you most needed comfort. I'm sorry for the way I treated you, and the words I said,” I looked into her eyes and saw the guilt.

  I pulled back sharply, wondering what she had done. Her voice trembled, “I didn't know about you and William. I thought Elizabeth would be angry for you having a secret boyfriend. I didn't mean for any of this to happen,” she spread her hands as if holding the past year and a half between them.

  “You couldn't have known. Some things aren't within our control, I guess.” Something about her had changed. She was softened and easy to talk to.

  She looked like she wanted to hug me but instead wiped her nose on the back of her hand and stood. “Thank you. I'm sorry for the misery I brought you.” Her words were a whisper but I saw the light behind her eyes.

  I stood slowly, staring into her. I reached for her but she turned and ran from the room.

  She knew I had seen a peek of a secret, something she was willing to hide with her life.

  ✷✴✷

  The week lulled by, slow and torturous. Hannah refrained from being alone in my company and refused to meet my eyes.

  I spent most days in the library at the desk Father used as his own study. He had lost interest in the family business since marrying Mother so a private room was never necessary for him.

  I became more stifled than I had in the facility. I was too afraid to go anywhere that had been a haven for me and William. I knew I would regress into suicidal tendencies.

  I ventured outside in a pair of old clothes from Lakeview. My sneakers were still zip tied. I wanted to run on a trail around the woods lining the back of our property. My heart grew with a detached excitement at the thought of running without bars.

  With the pavement under me, I started to breathe a little better. The pain accumulating in my chest, restricting all of my senses, made room for the cool air. Christmas had come and gone. We had no tree or annual ball.

  I missed Hugh’s first Christmas.

  His first new year was days away. I wasn’t going to get to kiss the love of my life at midnight.

  I had missed his first laugh. I had missed comforting him after his first vaccinations. I was missing something new every single day.

  I tried to control my speed. I pretended Mr. Marcus was behind me. I could hear his demands to pace my anger.

  I missed a curve in the path and tumbled down into the trees and ice.

  I laid on my back and stared through the barren limbs into the dull gray sky. Hot tears fell into my hair, tickling my ears.

  My body was so cold when eventually I sat up that it hurt. I tried to wipe a tear from my cheek and found a tint of blood on my sleeve. Frustrated, I stood and wiped at the debris of dead grass and twigs on my clothing and in my hair.

  I was about to make my way up the small hill to the path when I heard the sweet tinkle of giggles.

  I froze. Was I imagining it? I heard it again, closer.

  I didn't know
anyone else had a child in my absence. I crept to the path and watched.

  Hannah wore a baby strapped to her chest. She grinned down, making faces to be met with more fits of beautiful, childish laughter. I smiled, trying not to sob aloud.

  At least Hannah got to keep her baby. At least one person possessed a happiness none of us could destroy. That must have been what she was hiding, and she hadn't wanted to tell me so as to not salt my wounds.

  I quickly dried my eyes as she strolled toward me, pulling myself up to the path quickly. The pure elation of motherhood vanished from her face as she halted on the path.

  “I didn't mean to scare you,” I laughed. “I was running and took a dive. Is he yours?” I pointed to the little blue hat on the infant's head. The baby struggled to turn, searching for where the new voice came from.

  She was frozen. Her eyes darted around as she backed away in fright.

  “Hannah, are you ok?” I tried to reach for her but she jumped away. Her shoes slid on a patch of ice and she tilted backwards.

  My instincts screamed at me to grab the baby and protect him from getting hurt as I flung out to catch Hannah, steadying her. She gasped and looked up at me as the tiny bundle finally caught my eye.

  My stomach dropped.

  His lightning blue eyes were a vibrant image of my own. His tiny chin, the shape of his forehead, and the cheekbones forming under pillow soft cheeks were painfully recognizable.

  I shook my head as I backed away. I was simply going through seeing a baby for the first time since I had been separated with my own. It had to be a natural reaction.

  My spirit snapped a I noticed the tuft of black curls springing from beneath his hat. He smiled at me with two little teeth and another one budding at the top.

  “What is his name?” I asked, begging her to say anything but the name of my child.

  “Ruth, please,” the desperation in her voice made me rip my eyes away from the gurgling beauty on her chest.

  “His name.”

  She could see it my eyes. I knew. I simply needed her to say it and force the reality into my logic.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, wrapping her arms tight around the child. My child.

  “Hugh.”

  Chapter 38- Forget-me-not

  I ran, finally listening to the advice my father had given me a week before. I ran hard, but not away.

  I slammed into the house and threw myself up the stairs, flying down the hall to the wooden steps leading to my mother's office. I flung the door open with a bang.

  Father already stood over her, his face menacing and his finger pointing. They both jolted at the sound. Their expressions shifted; Father’s from rage to sad realization; Mother’s from mild humor to pure, triumphant euphoria.

  “Are you serious?” My voice was barely above a whisper. She leaned back in her chair and I charged toward her, leaning over her desk as Father fought for my attention.

  I shoved his hands away and looked my mother in her eyes. “You are so abhorrent, you pulled that young woman into this situation. You used her to dangle my child in front of me for your own amusement?” She opened her mouth to speak but I shut her down, “I may not be old enough to take on the responsibility of a child, but I would have been a better mother than you.”

  I leaned back waiting, for her retort. Something in my words had stabbed a tiny hole in her inflated sense of pride.

  “I placed him in this home to make sure he got the best care that he will undoubtedly need, being the product of a disgusting incest.” She had practiced the words to Father so often I would have almost believed her, if it weren't for her lack of emotion.

  “What was his first food?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Babies start solids at five to six months. What was his first food?” She looked out the window and rolled her eyes as if the conversation wasn't worth her time. “What color are his eyes? How many teeth does he have? When did he first laugh?” She glared at me and stood, trying to intimidate me and regain control of the situation. I smirked, “I am not afraid of you.”

  She shoved at her heavy desk. It rammed me in the stomach. I held myself up with shaking arms. “You're pathetic,” I spat at her.

  “Elizabeth,” Father stepped beside me. He adjusted his jacket proudly and stood as tall as his plump body allowed. “Ruth will not be withheld from time with her child.”

  She laughed, “there is nothing either of you can do about it.”

  “No,” Father roared. Mother’s hand flew instinctively to her throat. “There is nothing you can do about it.”

  She looked lost as the power slipped from her fingers. “If you try to take that child from his mother, I will put you on the street with no way to care for it. He will be taken by the state and put in foster homes where he will be abused.” She snarled at me like a feral animal backed into a corner, ready to strike.

  I spun away and stomped from the room.

  I paced outside of Hannah’s room, trying to gather the courage to knock. Woes weaved in and out of my head. The little face peered back at me through curls in my mind. I lifted my hand, ready to knock.

  “What are you doing?” I turned to see her, still wearing my son, cradling him and bouncing on her toes.

  “I want to talk to you,” I whispered. I noticed her protective body language. She thought I would steal him back.

  I wanted to. I wanted to snatch him and run. I fought every fiber of my shaking being to not do so. He shifted at the sound of my voice again and I knew he felt the connection between us.

  He smiled up at Hannah and she cooed at him. They had a connection of their own.

  I could not tear him from her. I couldn’t bring myself to cause that pain to another human, or pull him away from the mother he knew. It would leave a hole in his soul to match my own and damage his innocence.

  “I'm not going to fight you for him,” I reassured her. She didn't trust me, but I could see she wanted to. “I simply want to know him.” I tried not to cry and reveal my desperation.

  “This way,” she said. I followed her down the long white corridor of servants quarters to the last door, and up a spiraling staircase to the attic.

  I looked around in wonder. The old storage room had been transformed. The tiny bathroom was widened to include a tub. A short wall cut off a quarter of the room for Hannah's bed. The rest of the room was scattered with toys, pictures, and various baby items. There was even a small kitchen area.

  I laughed, “he does have it good here.” A tiny smile lit Hannah's face. It was a home inside a home.

  We sat on the loveseat and she slid out of the carrier. She stretched her back and neck as my hands itched to hold him. She saw my need and asked me to help pull him out of the pouch. He was so big, I could almost pretend from behind that he wasn't my Hugh.

  She stood and set him in my lap. He wobbled a bit but I held him secure. I laughed as tears streamed down my face. I kissed his little face as Hannah pulled off the hat. Wild curls bounced in all directions.

  I held him to me as he gurgled happily, making little baby sounds and giggles. He pulled at my face and hair as if he had missed me, too. When his palm fell to my lips and his fingers closed over my kiss, my heart tore and fell at his feet.

  “Thank you,” I whispered to Hannah. She stood over us, tears in her own eyes. She nodded.

  “Thank you,” she answered. I inhaled deeply, trying to soak in the last six months that I had missed. She removed his coat as I steadied him. “What exactly do you want?” she asked, distrusting.

  “To be a part of his life, however small.” My face was in Hugh’s hair as his tiny hands smacked my cheeks with curios joy.

  I searched her face as she stared at me. “You won't take my son from me?” she asked again.

  I shook my head. Tears fell into Hugh's spirals. “No.”

  “He won't call you mommy?” Her voice was almost harsh, but it must have been difficult to say the words kindly.


  “He can call me whatever you want him to.”

  I wanted him to call me mommy. I wanted to cuddle him to sleep, soothe his teething and fevers, and to be the comfort and constant in his life. However, I knew my mother would be true to her word.

  She nodded, a small smile of relief on her face as her fear dissipated. “He can call you Ruth. Your mother wouldn't like it if we put a familial connection to it,” she added, as if trying to explain why she was murdering my soul.

  I agreed. I would be part of his life. He would grow up knowing me. It didn't matter what he called me, I tried to tell myself while ignoring the ache in my heart.

  We sat until the sun fell. She let me cuddle Hugh to sleep, put him in his crib, and feed him his bottle. She told me about everything I had missed, including stories of him screaming any time he was in the presence of Mother. I listened intently as she babbled happily about his sleep schedule, colic, and first cold.

  His first food had been pureed cherries.

  Father came by often, bringing her anything she needed to take care of Hugh. Most days he sat with him while she worked. She had to get onto Father a few times for letting Hugh taste pickles and other foods too early, none of which she minded as much as the maple syrup she once found Hugh covered in at four months old.

  We laughed and cried together. She radiated with a beauty that no one but a happy, fulfilled mother could carry. When she asked about William I didn't know what to say. I admitted to writing him often, but never sending the letters.

  She saw my broken being and comforted me. As we watched Hugh sleep her eyes began to droop.

  I gave Hugh a soft kiss on his silky cheek and left the room, though I wanted to stay. I had to prove myself worthy to Hannah. As I walked back to my room in the darkened house I realized the irony of our situation. Hannah and I had been enemies for a small moment, both waging a war for William. The moment we united, Mother lost the battle.

  She had intended for Hugh to live under the same roof as me, and break me thoroughly. She hadn't expected Father to stand up to her. She hadn't realized the strength of a mother who didn't have her own child, and she didn't understand the kindness that was in Hannah.