Death in the Beginning

by Beth Byers

  Robert’s frown didn’t dissipate, but Georgette could see that he was listening.

  “For me, because of my books, maybe I would be all right. For Marian, maybe she could go home, but of course, her mother would never let her forget things. For Evelyn, who does she have? Every bit of support and encouragement comes from your family. As long as she isn’t tied to you, she can probably keep that. She’s coming out of something hard, Robert. Her family wasn’t good to her. She needs to be able to trust you and trust herself, and she may not be there yet.”

  Robert believed that part at least.

  “You should read Middlemarch by George Eliot.”

  Robert paused and started to reply that he had. Of course he had. He was a book man and George Eliot was one of the greats.

  “Read it and think of your Evelyn, Robert. Think of how Dorothea made the wrong choice in marriage and how much suffering it added to her life. Unnecessary suffering I might add. Maybe things aren’t as hard these days for women. Maybe they can escape. But maybe Evelyn deserves you taking the same risk she would be taking in having you.”

  Robert sighed and then said, “Love letters?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “I could do that.”

  “You should do that. You should make sure she understands she can trust you with her heart, her body, and her future. Also,” Georgette paused, “she might not love you yet.”

  Robert slowly nodded. She could see the idea of Evelyn not loving him was enough to make him pause. She could almost hear him thinking, “Why wouldn’t she?” Georgette didn’t even disagree. Robert and Evelyn had a spark between them, similar interests, and they were both handsome. Robert was kind, thoughtful, and had a good position at a company that would almost certainly end in a partnership unless his books became so successful he could live on the income from those alone.

  “You might also invite her to write with you. She’s always so interested when we talk about books. Write one with her.”

  “Where does the stream end?” Robert asked.

  Georgette shook her head. He was changing the subject, so he didn’t have to dive any deeper into his feelings. Georgette let him do just that and took a deep breath. He wasn’t the only one assaulted by his feelings and self-doubts. There was something to getting out of the house, she thought. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Wentworth with all of her heart. She did. But she also needed to not jump at his every squeak.

  He was fine, she knew. Fine without her there. It was all right for her to step away a little and think. She followed the flight of a little brown bird across the sky and wondered if she should write a book about a young mother. Instantly, Georgette rejected the idea. She wanted to write something different. Something that was utterly foreign to her. Something that didn’t cause her to re-examine her status as a mother and whether she was doing it well.

  The last time she’d left her character Josephine, she’d been newly married. Children were often the sequel to such a situation. Maybe instead, Georgette would dive into something new. What if she were to write about another village?

  Or…Georgette’s mind returned to her old village. The stories of Harper’s Bend had moved from the people she’d known to something fictional. What if the doctor hired a pretty new nurse? What if the pretty new nurse had her head turned by the curate? What if…Georgette’s mind tripped over itself as the outline of a story unfolded before her and the clearest final scene struck her. She took in a deep breath, and her fingers almost itched with the desire to delve into the story and see what it would bring her.

  She glanced at Robert, but his mind seemed as encompassed as her own. So, instead, she reached into her pocket where she kept a small, hopeful notebook for story ideas. She pulled out its accompanying pencil and wrote while they walked. It was easy enough to record little snippets of her ideas to remind her of what she had started to grow.

  When they finally returned to the house, she fed the baby and escaped into the library. She had to uncover the typewriter, and as she tossed the cover aside, she was greeted with a cloud of dust. Her hands were almost shaking as she loaded the paper into the typewriter and then heard the familiar, comforting sound of the keys filling the air.

  In the kitchens, in Eunice’s arms, Wentworth hadn’t heard that noise before. His little frown appeared on his brow and the eyes that were slowly muddying into a dark brown screwed up. He didn’t, however, cry. Maybe he had heard it before. Maybe the familiar click-clicking had been the lullaby in the womb, and hearing it was almost as comforting as hearing Georgette’s heartbeat. Either way, he snoozed to the sound far longer.

  charles aaron

  When Charles came home and heard the noise, his eyes crinkled with happiness and he sought out his son, leaving his briefcase in his office to take the boy into the room with him. He leaned back with his pipe, reading to his son, while the last afternoon turned to evening and Georgette finally finished at the typewriter. She found them together, reading the newest submission from one of his better authors, and Charles asked, “Are we going to be seeing further adventures of Josephine?”

  Georgette scrunched her nose and told him, “I’ve ideas for her as well, but I found myself wondering about Harper’s Bend again.”

  “Harper’s Bend?” The publisher in him cheered. All of the titles under the pseudonym, Joseph Jones, sold well, but there was a near-rabid audience for Georgette’s first stories of the semi-fictional village of Harper’s Bend.

  “I was thinking of writing one more book for Josephine, but I have an idea for Dr. Williams and family that might unfold into three more books. Do you think that would be all right?”

  Charles’s sarcastic laugh made his wife pause, and her pretty eyes widened at him. Her cheeks had reddened a little in the sun that day, and the dark circles under her eyes had faded. She didn’t seem quite so fragile. The sounds of quiet pain she’d made while giving birth made him never want to have another child.

  The way she hadn’t seemed herself after Wentworth was born left Charles worried. It was as though she didn’t feel comfortable in her own skin. The fact she hadn’t been writing or even thinking about writing concerned him more. They didn’t need her income. He’d known, however, that she’d enjoyed her writing, and he wanted her to have joy. The money was welcome, but a happy wife was necessary.

  Her gaze was fixed on his, and she smiled softly at him before looking down at their son. “Did you ever think you could love someone so fiercely?”

  He wasn’t looking at his boy when he said, “No. I never would have imagined such a feeling as the one I’m feeling now.”

  3

  georgette Aaron

  The next day, Georgette fiddled in the library in front of her typewriter. She’d carefully brushed the keys and thoroughly cleaned the machine. Georgette oiled what needed to be oiled, refreshed the typewriter ribbon, adjusted the paper. When there was nothing left to do on the typewriter but she still felt an overwhelming pressure in her chest when she considered writing, her gaze moved around the room. Her eyes found the blank paper, her heart fluttered, but she diverted them quickly.

  Rather than stare at that demon-filled page, she focused on the library. She loved it. She’d loved it since she first peeked through the windows with Charles. The windows had been filthy and the room filled with trash. Some of the books hadn’t survived, but the room had. They’d filled it with their own beloved books. There were stacks of books everywhere, and Georgette didn’t see how she could possibly write a book with all of this clutter.

  She’d put away the books left out in the library along with the new books they’d acquired in the last few months. She considered the room again. They didn’t have a staff like people did in the old days. Servants to that level were a thing of the past. They had Eunice who was more family than servant, even though she looked after Georgette’s family. But beyond that, the children helped a lot, the rest of them did what they could.

  Georgette swept the room herself a
nd dusted the shelves. The windows needed to be washed, but her desire to avoid writing didn’t extend to scrubbing windows. She considered the typewriter again and realized her chest felt full. Wentworth wasn’t crying yet, but he would be soon. She went and found him, rocking him in the kitchen with a cup of tea to avoid the typewriter. When he was sleepy and full, Georgette laid him in his crib, left him with the nanny, and glanced around.

  She was somewhat surprised that Marian hadn’t come by that day and that Lucy seemed to be out of the house. She’d have bothered them if they were there, just to avoid the typewriter again. When she thought about what came next in her story, her mind blanked. To her sadness, the burst of writing that came the day before was gone and the blank page made her wonder how she’d ever written before.

  She heard Eddy leaving and chased after him. The baby was in his long morning nap and she had a while before she had to be back and feed him again. Georgette called after Eddy, “Hullo there.” What she meant was, please don’t leave me alone with my writing.

  Eddy turned, fishing pole over his shoulder, binoculars around his neck, a basket in his hand. Rather than smiling at her, he avoided her gaze. Georgette frowned internally as she examined him. Was he all right? She’d been fairly disconnected from the children they’d taken in since Wentworth had been born. It wasn’t deliberate, and it was only in looking back how apparent it was what she’d done. She was just wrung out and tired with the baby taking up her mind and thoughts and the knowledge the others were looking after the children. Had she hurt his feelings? Maybe she’d damaged what they’d been able to grow.

  She’d never been as close to Eddy as she’d become to the girls. He wanted to be a doctor, and he spent much of his time studying with a tutor Charles found to prepare him for college. When he was home, he was far more drawn to the Aaron men than Georgette. She had never thought much of it, as it left her the time to worry over the girls.

  Lucy, the oldest of the children, was out of school now, ready to move on with her life, and listless with what to do. Lucy knew what she wanted but simply knowing didn’t help much. She was, in many ways, a typical girl. She wanted to fall in love, marry, have children, and look after those she loved. She wasn’t aching for an education, though she was by no means stupid. She had no desire to break into a career that was mostly closed to women, nor did she have a desire for those typically female positions. She didn’t want to be a secretary, run a little shop, become a nurse, a midwife, nothing that was easily available.

  Georgette frowned as she considered Lucy. She’d been distant as well, and now that Georgette thought about it, Lucy had faded into the distance for the last few weeks. Had Georgette hurt Lucy’s feelings instead of Eddy’s? Georgette felt a sharp sense of disappointment in herself. Had she hurt them while she settled into motherhood of a helpless infant?

  Georgette was very much afraid she had.

  “Hullo, Georgette,” Eddy said. “Did you need my help with something?”

  The words were not said with a grudge, and Georgette wondered if she was reading something that wasn’t there. Instead, however, she noticed Eddy avoiding her gaze again.

  “I want to run away from my typewriter,” Georgette admitted and she got a quick grin from Eddy.

  “I…” Eddy didn’t say more, and instead, he just shrugged and waited until she caught up.

  “Are you fishing for anything in particular?” Georgette had to admit, she had no idea what he might even be seeking. Fishing wasn’t something that appealed to her. She just wanted to get out of the library and far away from her typewriter and anything that led to it.

  Eddy shook his head and then added, “Trout maybe. There’s a small lake in the woods near the base of the hills.”

  “There is?” Georgette was shocked. Not that it was there; it made sense given the geography. The shock was that she hadn’t heard of it. “Why haven’t we visited before?”

  Eddy snorted. “There’s this old wives tale. About a siren in the lake that drowns unsuspecting travelers. My grandmother told me of it before I would have ever gone. The first time I snuck off and visited it, my father whipped me black and blue.”

  “Why?” Georgette gasped. The Thorpe children were fond of their father and they missed him deeply. She wasn’t sure why as being beaten by your father didn’t seem to engender that kind of devotion.

  “His best friend drowned in the lake when he was a boy. My father tried to save him and nearly drowned himself. People don’t go there because of the number of deaths in the area.”

  Georgette gasped. Her mind immediately wondered what she would do when Wentworth inevitably snuck off and visited the haunted lake. She had no idea. Would she beat him like Eddy’s father had? Georgette wanted to telephone Charles and demand they start planning right then, but she imagined he might wring her neck for such a thing.

  Georgette took a deep breath and said, “He must have been quite afraid when he thought that you could drown like his friend.”

  Eddy glanced at Georgette and nodded. “I’m not upset with him. Father told me time and again not to go. I—he loved me. He wanted me to be safe. I—”

  Eddy looked guilty. It was like he’d finally matured enough to realize the terror he’d caused his parents and the opportunity to truly apologize was gone. Georgette knew what he felt and wished desperately that her mother could see her know. If only her mother knew she had found a place for herself where she could be who she was. Where people loved her as much as her mother did.

  Georgette sniffed, suddenly mourning her mother deeply as she spoke to Eddy’s concerns instead. “You shouldn’t have gone.” Better to avoid burdening the young man with her grief as well, so she kept the conversation to the pond and fishing.

  Eddy nodded.

  “Why are you going now?”

  Eddy frowned and admitted, “I—I miss him.”

  Eddy missed his father, therefore he was going fishing in a location that was a powerful reminder of him. Georgette’s eyes welled with the barely understandable love and longing of a son for his father. She felt instantly bad for joining him. “I can leave you be. I see that you are missing your father.”

  Eddy actually considered leaving her behind, and Georgette didn’t hold it against him. That being said, she would have given a lot to know what was going through the young man’s mind. They weren’t close. She wasn’t his birth family. She and Charles weren’t trying to replace his parents. Eddy had a father and mother. They had loved their children and had done their best. And it wasn’t necessary to try to be his parents to love Eddy as well as they did.

  “I—” Eddy shook his head. “No. I’d like it if you would come.”

  He held out his elbow, so she could put her hand in the crook of it.

  “How far is the lake?”

  “A few miles,” Eddy said.

  “I need to be back before Wentworth wakes.”

  “Then perhaps you will just walk with me there?” Eddy asked.

  Georgette smiled and nodded. She let her head touch his shoulder and snuggled him with a half-hug for a moment before she said, “Charles said your tutor was quite impressed with you.”

  “I don’t know,” Eddy muttered.

  “Did something happen?” Georgette frowned. He hadn’t been feeling down on himself when he came home.

  “I—” Eddy shook his head.

  “Tell me.”

  Eddy shook his head.

  “I won’t tell Charles, Joseph, or Robert.”

  Eddy didn’t say anything.

  “Eddy, something happened.”

  He waited for a long time, but Georgette had been the silent wallflower ignored by the entirety of the village who had known her since her birth. If they were going to have a silence contest, Georgette would win. For a while there, except for Eunice, Georgette had gone weeks at a time without being spoken to.

  “It’s just…”

  Georgette didn’t stare at him. She wanted him to be comfortable enough to
answer honestly.

  “I just ran into a few other students from here. One of the local boys brought his friends back with them. They made it clear I had miles to go to catch up. I’m not ready for university, Georgette. Maybe I never will be.”

  Georgette ignored the flash of rage and instead asked, “Do you think your tutor didn’t know what he was preparing you for?”

  “Mr. Wiley is brilliant. He took a first in chemistry and biology when he was in school.”

  Georgette then asked easily, “So he’s a liar then?”

  Eddy jerked. The scowl he gave her was so dark and so disturbed that Georgette simply lifted a brow. Eddy blushed. “I understand what you’re doing.”

  “Bullies are very good at sensing where we are sensitive and jabbing at those places. Those boys, whoever they were, seemed to know that because you have to work harder at getting there, you doubt yourself.”

  “They did,” Eddy snarled.

  “Did Guy Bayles say you weren’t ready?”

  Eddy nodded.

  Georgette lifted a brow again.

  Eddy flushed.

  Georgette paused when a bird flew over her head. Her gaze moved, following the bird and then they walked on in silence. Eddy didn’t need Georgette to tell him he’d let those fellows win. Finally Eddy said, “What a bunch of…of…jerks.”

  “Indeed,” Georgette said. She wanted to add that it wouldn’t be the first time. Eddy didn’t need to know that. Instead, he needed to know he did many things well.

  “You are a good kid,” Georgette told him. “You helped your sisters adjust to living with us. You worked hard to prepare for university. You were a good son while your parents lived, and I’m sure they died, with less worry, knowing you would be there for your sisters. Most important of all, you are a good human and a better brother.”