“Hey,” I said. “I hope it’s okay I stopped by. I wanted to show your mom something.”
She opened the door and I stepped in. One look at the girl’s puffy eyes told me something was wrong.
“Should I—should I leave?” I asked. “I don’t want to interrupt anything.”
She bit her lip, shook her head fast.
I stepped closer. “Maddie, what is it?”
“I think you should talk to Mom,” she whispered.
“Where is she? Is your dad home?”
“No.” She pointed up the stairs.
I saw a faint bluish light coming from the living room, heard what sounded like a video game. “Is Caden okay? I can take you guys to your grandma and grandpa’s if you want.”
She nodded. “Can you talk to her first? I don’t . . . I didn’t know what to do. It’s never been this bad, and . . . I’m only a kid.” She crumpled against me, sobs wetting my shirt.
I stood for a second, shocked. Then my arms came around her and I stroked her hair, murmured that everything was going to be okay, even though I hadn’t a clue if that was even a quarter of the way true. Still, for the first time I felt like a real aunt, felt that I was doing something right in comforting, in caring. Maybe I did belong here, in this house I’d never set foot in. Maybe I was needed, even.
After a moment, I pulled away from my niece. “What happened?”
“She’s upstairs. Please?”
I squeezed her to me one last time. “Of course.”
Still clutching Louisa’s book of letters, I climbed the dark stairs, felt I needed to approach Victoria like one might approach a wounded animal hiding in an obscure corner, without throwing on bright lights and scaring her away.
The last rays of the setting sun shone through several doorways upstairs. I passed what looked like Maddie’s bedroom, then Caden’s, then a bathroom. At the end stood a closed door.
I knocked.
Nothing.
“Victoria? Can I come in, please?”
Still nothing.
“Victoria, are you okay?”
Sudden fear gripped my chest. What if she was in there and something terrible had happened? While she didn’t strike me as the suicidal type, maybe whatever Maddie spoke of had been the last straw. Or had she slipped some sleeping pills? Maybe she was out to the world. Did Victoria have a drinking problem or addiction I didn’t know about? And why should I? I hadn’t been a part of her life for sixteen years.
Still no answer. I raised my voice. “Victoria, open up.” I tried the handle, but it was locked.
“Go away, Taylor.”
I breathed a long sigh of relief. She was alive. Even sounded coherent.
“Can I come in? Please? I—I have something to show you.” Though I doubted she’d be interested in anything—even anything Louisa Alcottish—I had to show her in that moment.
“I don’t want to talk. Go away.”
I thought about leaving then. Victoria was a big girl. She didn’t need me to take care of her. But the thought of going downstairs and telling Maddie I had failed in talking to her mother made me stand my ground.
“Maddie asked me to come up. Dad’s going to be on his way over soon if you don’t answer Mom’s calls.”
Silence.
“Please, Victoria. I’m sorry about what happened the other night. If I could take it back, I would. I just . . . I didn’t realize I do, but I want things right between us again. I—I want us to be sisters again.”
I didn’t hear movement behind the door, so when it unlocked, I jumped. She didn’t open it, though, so I twisted the knob and went through, then closed it behind me.
Faint rays from day’s end came through a large bay window with a seat below it—just the sort of place Victoria used to dream about reading in. The room smelled faintly of Will’s still-familiar cologne and my gut twisted, but why, I couldn’t tell. I saw her shadow on the floor alongside mounds of scattered books at the foot of the king-size bed. Her hands were tight around her knees, pulled up to her chest, but I couldn’t make out her expression.
Tentatively, I sat beside her on the cool hardwood floor, brushing aside a copy of Louisa’s Eight Cousins. A chill raced up my legs. I’d demanded to come in, but now that I was here, I found myself at a loss for words.
She sighed. “What’d you want to show me?”
This wasn’t how I’d pictured this moment.
“It’s nothing—well, it’s something, but it can wait. What happened? Did you talk to Will? Did you guys fight?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She sniffed, and I felt that her brokenness, her vulnerability, lay just below the surface. That if I could just say the right words, it would wiggle its way to the open, perhaps toward healing.
“Maddie’s worried about you.”
“Are they okay?” she whispered.
“I—I don’t know. Yes, for now I guess. Victoria, what happened?” This time I put some demand in my voice. This had to end. Something needed to be done.
Again she didn’t answer, and I stood, went to the door, and swished my hand along the wall, searching for a light. Enough of this—this hiding.
“Taylor, no—”
But it was too late. A pool of light shone upon her. She was surrounded by a smattering of books. Little Women. Jo’s Boys. The Inheritance. Under the Lilacs. Little Men. A Long Fatal Love Chase. All Alcott books. I noticed the top shelf of her nightstand, empty of all but two of Louisa’s books—Moods and Jack and Jill. I searched her face and body for signs of injury, certain that Will had somehow hurt her physically. I remembered his rough hands from the other night, thought that was why Victoria hid in the dark—that she was physically hurt. But aside from a shiny face, wet with tears, and a slew of scattered books around her, I didn’t see any evidence that she was hurt. Physically anyway.
Did that mean the wounds weren’t there? No. I of all people knew that some of the hardest hurts to heal were invisible to the eye.
In some ways it would have been easier to speak if I’d seen evidence of violence, easier to condemn Will and champion Victoria. But what could I say that would support my sister?
Finally my tongue loosened. I moved it against the roof of my mouth, trying to work up enough saliva to speak. Still, no words came forth.
“I thought he was going to hit me. He never came that close before.” My sister’s tone spoke not only of facts, but of an intense, intense sadness that I would likely never be able to touch, that I didn’t want to touch because it just scared me too much.
“He was shouting at me, so loud I’m surprised the neighbors didn’t call the cops. Swearing at me. Throwing my books at me. Calling me words I never thought would enter this house.” When she told me exactly what words those were, I fell in a heap beside her.
“Will? Will said those things?”
I just couldn’t make sense of it. Despite his foolish proclamation of affection for me the other night, despite his uncharacteristic forceful grip on my arm that had left small bruises I’d seen in the shower. Not big enough to hurt or bother myself over, but a remembrance of the emotional destruction he’d left in his path.
“Yes.” She started to sob, curled up on the floor in a fetal position. “He said he wanted to hurt me. That I deserved everything, deserved to die even. I don’t know what I did to make him so angry. It was almost like he was somewhere else, another time, another place. The way he spoke . . . in such detail . . . The kids heard everything. Everything. I can’t take this, Taylor. I can’t take this.”
I leaned next to her, rubbed her shoulder, shushed her as if she were a baby. “It’s going to be okay, Victoria. It’s going to be okay.”
But was it? How could I be so sure?
“Has this happened before?”
“Not this bad, but it’s becoming a new habit it seems.” She swallowed, and her face looked wan in the dusky light. “I brought up what you told me yesterday. I was angry, and it made him angry, too.”
>
“Will you listen to yourself?” I couldn’t believe this was Victoria. My strong sister. She didn’t take anything from anyone. She was confident, secure, well-adjusted, came from the best family I knew. How had it come to this? And at the hands of a guy I thought was one of the best men I knew? “Victoria, this is not your fault.” I breathed deep, tried to gather myself, but it didn’t work. Instead, I got to my feet and paced back and forth before her, my mind spinning. “If there was ever a point in history that women should be empowered to stand up for themselves, to realize that there is never a reason for this, it’s now. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t hit you. You do not deserve to be treated like this. No one does.”
She sat up, clenched her fists on top of her bent knees. “You think I don’t know that? But you are not in my shoes. You do not have a family depending on you. You don’t understand what it’s like to want to make it work, to hope for better every single time. You don’t understand—you can’t understand.”
“I could if you told me. I could. I want to.” I did. Maybe not exactly about this, but about hoping and being disappointed.
More silence. I wondered if Maddie and Caden heard our raised voices. I tried again. “Kids are not a reason to endure this. Maddie’s a wreck downstairs. Do you think that’s healthy?”
Her bottom lip trembled. “I feel like if I stop trying, I’m throwing it all away. Do you know how scary that is?”
“Do you know how scary it is to know he’s verbally and emotionally abusing you—throwing books at you—and you’re trying to fool yourself into thinking it’s okay?”
“This is not your marriage, Taylor. This is not your life.”
“What is wrong with you?” No, I wasn’t in her shoes, but I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t running as far and fast from this situation as she could.
She crumpled back to the floor, and I fell beside her, alongside the bent spine of Under the Lilacs. I’d said I wanted to help, and I was doing a lousy job. “I’m sorry,” I said.
She didn’t say anything.
“Has he . . . has he ever hurt the kids?”
“No,” she snapped. “I’m not completely stupid.”
I tried not to argue with that statement in my head. What had happened to the strong Victoria I knew?
“Do your parents know?”
She shrugged. “They suspect things aren’t great. Though I don’t think they realize how not great.” She groaned long and loud. It ended on a hiccupy sob. “I don’t know what to do.”
I didn’t know either. To me, a virtual outsider, it seemed obvious. Leave the idiot. But to Victoria, it apparently wasn’t so simple.
“Start by breathing.” I inhaled an exaggerated breath, let it out, then repeated until she copied me.
“What’s this going to accomplish?” she said between breaths.
“I don’t know, but it’s the only thing I could think of.”
She cracked the smallest of smiles and I considered it a victory.
“Where’d he go?” I asked.
She shrugged, picked up Eight Cousins, and smoothed a bent page. “I don’t know. He stays away a lot now.” She licked her lips. “I should tell you . . . him kissing you, him cheating on me . . . it’s not entirely new.”
I rubbed my temples. “What?”
“I thought I was being noble trying to tough it out, you know? In a way, I thought he was even doing it for my sake. To make me realize how much I don’t want to lose him. It almost feels like a game sometimes. He’s always saying he’s sorry, that he wants to start new. And for a while, we do. And I hope. But then . . . something happens. This time it was you.”
I ground my teeth together. “This is not my fault, any more than it’s yours. You have to see that. This is crazy is what it is. You don’t treat people you love like this.”
She nodded. “I know. I know.”
“I just don’t understand. I mean, I saw his volatile side a couple times but nothing like this.”
“He’s angry. In some ways it’s grown with him. Angry his life didn’t turn out different, I guess. Angry about whatever happened in the Middle East.”
He looked so good on the outside. Good job. Clean-cut. Defender of our country. He’d been my angel when I was faced with that nasty date. Now Will was the nasty date.
She swallowed. “After we had the kids, things got harder. I think . . . well, I think he thought he made a mistake in marrying me, in not looking harder for you. He blames me. Easier than blaming himself, I guess.”
I thought of him standing on Main Street the other night, confessing that he still loved me. “Family is hard. But you don’t give up; you don’t treat the people you’re supposed to love most in the world like this.”
Victoria swiped her wet lower lids. “You just run, is that it?”
I gritted my teeth at the jab. I was pointing too many fingers when I had faults enough of my own.
“He’s not all bad. He has a lot of good qualities. We’ve had some amazing times together. Both alone and with the kids.” She clenched her eyes shut. “Two years ago we hiked Mount Washington. All of us, even Caden. It was hard. And we had to encourage one another, work together as a family. I remember reaching the top, linking hands, looking over at Will and thinking we could accomplish anything with our love. Anything. I never would have guessed this was where we’d end up.”
I filled my lungs. “I know it’s easy for me to come in here and tell you a simple solution, but you cannot live like this. It’s all kinds of wrong. If he’s not willing to get some sort of counseling or psychological help—and keep up with it—you need to leave. And even if he is, I wouldn’t blame you for leaving.”
She looked down at the hardwood floor at her feet. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she looked small—young and fragile at the same time that she looked old and worn. Nothing like the woman I knew her to be, the woman I desperately hoped was still alive somewhere in there.
“I’m tired of it all. I am, but part of me keeps hoping maybe this is just another bump in the road, you know?”
No wonder Maddie had seemed so desperate. I understood what she felt and that this situation could not be solved with the two of us alone, in her bedroom, especially if she couldn’t see past the truth of my words.
I looked at the mess of books around me, imagined Will yelling, throwing my sister’s precious possessions across the room with her as the target. “What would Louisa say?” I whispered. In some ways, it felt ridiculous to try to get to her by asking such a question. But in other ways, I realized it might be the only way to get to her—this teenager who wrote letters to a long-dead author in hopes of finding a historical connection. The woman who found her career in running the place where Louisa wrote her bestselling novel. The woman who poured her life into informing others and inspiring young kids who loved to write.
I remembered something I’d read just that afternoon. “Never mind. I’ll tell you what she’d say.” I picked up the book I’d brought to her house, took a moment to find the page, for I hoped the words would hit my sister the way they had hit me. “‘Painful as it may be, a significant emotional event can be the catalyst for choosing a direction that serves us—and those around us—more effectively.’ Victoria, maybe this is your painful time, a time that will foster change for you and your kids. But the ending doesn’t have to be bad.”
“This isn’t one of your stories, Taylor.”
“I—I get that. But you’re not alone. You have Mom and Dad. And you have me. You cannot stay with him right now. For your sake, for the sake of your kids. What if next time he does hit you?”
She gulped, her face pale beneath the recessed lights of her bedroom. “I know. I just—I don’t know if I have enough strength to do what I have to do.”
I held out my hand to her, remembered something I’d heard in church that morning about God being our strength when we felt weakest, about how He stepped in for us when we couldn’t do the work ourselves. I won
dered if I could do something similar for Victoria.
“You don’t have to. I’m going to be strong enough for both of us.”
It was a lofty promise, and I wasn’t sure I could fulfill it, but for the first time I felt like the older sister. Like Louisa might have felt taking on the responsibility of caring for her aging parents, her widowed sister and nephews, and later May’s daughter. I felt purpose and an assurance that it was a good thing I’d come to Concord when I did.
Victoria put her hand in mine and squeezed. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. Her accepting my hand—accepting me—was enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A great sorrow often softens and prepares the heart for a new harvest of good seed, and the sowers God sends are often very humble ones, used only as instruments by him because being very human they come naturally . . .
~ LMA
Taylor
VICTORIA TOOK THE NEXT DAY off from work, and I brought Mom to chemotherapy. By the time we’d gotten her and the kids settled in at the Bennetts’—for good this time—it had been late.
Mom and Dad had done a lot of hovering when Victoria brought the kids over. Still, she didn’t confide in them what had happened, only said she and Will were taking a break. She insisted this was her problem, that she only needed some time to get away from the situation.
While I wished she would tell them, a small part of me was honored that I was the one she chose to confess her secrets to, even if they were the ugly ones. Maybe especially because they were the ugly ones.
I spent most of the night reading up on domestic abuse. It turns out I’d done almost everything wrong when I’d spoken to Victoria. I’d practically called her stupid, practically bullied her into leaving her home. Really, was I any better than Will?
I should have been more supportive. I should have listened better and been nonjudgmental. But after reading, I felt I had a healthier handle on how to help. The domestic violence hotline website advised concerned loved ones to help their victim come up with a safety plan, to encourage my loved one to participate in activities with family and friends outside the relationship with the abuser, and lastly, to remember that I couldn’t “rescue” anyone, no matter how much I wanted to, no matter how determined I was to do so.
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