by Wendy Reakes
“Where have you been?” I asked. “What happened to you? We heard you were taken at Bridgewater.”
“Yes, I was forced aboard an American ship bound for Spain. Myself and many other able-bodied men. When they found out I only had one leg, they wanted to throw me overboard into the English Channel.”
I gasped. “Surely not.”
He smiled and kissed my hand again, caring most strongly for my peace of mind. “I persuaded them I was a strong worker, and that if I didn’t pull my weight and prove my worth by the time we reached the coast, they could abandon me and leave me for the Spanish. Then the ship became infected and most of the crew perished. I was only one of twenty left alive. We never reached Spain. Instead, after they left us quarantined for two months, we were taken aboard a ship returning to America.”
“America?”
He nodded. “The other side of the world.”
“My goodness.”.
“When the ship arrived, an incident happened….” He bowed his head. “I killed a man.”
I gasped, but even though what he had revealed was shocking enough, I still couldn’t imagine him hurting anyone. “Tell me what happened.”
“A fight broke out on the dockside. It had nothing to do with me, but suddenly I was caught up in the brawl and a man attacked me with a knife. To prevent him getting closer I stuck out my leg, knowing he couldn’t not penetrate it with his blade, nor hurt me with his mad stabbings. He fell across my foot and fell onto a leaning anchor. He died on impact.” Michael shrugged as he no doubt always shrugged whenever he related the tale. “I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s all, Marley. I didn’t intend to kill him.”
“Of course, you didn’t.”
“I was apprehended and taken with five other men to the courts where we were all tried and convicted with assault and murder.”
I shook my head. “That is ridic…”
He squeezed my hand. “I’ve spent the last twelve years doing hard labour for the Louisiana state penitentiary.” He looked at me as if he cared not for the story he was telling. “We had to work on rural roads, upgrading them from dirt roads once designed for horses, making way for the arrival of motorised vehicles.”
“I see.” Motorised vehicles. I couldn’t even imagine such a thing. “Go on.”
“I was released after serving ten-years. After that, I worked wherever I could to survive and to one day earn my right to come back to my homeland.”
“Why didn’t you write?”
“I wrote to the master eventually and he told me there was a home for me here if I wanted to come back one day. I’d just assumed you had left.” He shifted his position on the floor without breaking his grasp on my hand. “Marley, when I left you here, I was on my way to find a relative for you to turn to. I was planning to take you there after I’d made all the arrangements.”
“Yes, I’d guessed that.” I glanced over his shoulder to see Marley still on the terrace with her back to us. He turned to see what I was gazing at. “That’s my girl.”
“You’ve raised her here all by yourself.” He seemed incredulous, but of course he would be, as anyone would.
“I had Celia’s help. It has worked out well.”
He frowned with his eyes scouring my face. “Worked out well? My God.”
I offered my reassurances. “All was well, I promise” I turned the conversation back to him. “What will you do now?” I was unable to look him in the eye. I was afraid he’d tell me he was to go away again.
“I’m to have my old job back. The master has given the other groundsman the job of groom, since the other had retired. I hear many of the servants are to be let go. It’s a difficult time for His Lordship…for everyone.”
“Not Celia though, thank goodness.” Now we were chatting as if we had only seen each other yesterday.
“You are going to come with me now, Marley. I won’t let you stay here. We’ll talk to His Lor…”
“No! No, please. Don’t talk about me leaving…I can’t talk about that today.” I squeezed my fingers against his. “We can talk about that some other time.”
He frowned as he watched my face reveal my true feelings. He saw fear in my eyes. I knew that. “Perhaps you’re afraid of leaving…”
“Stop…Please. Don’t talk about it now.” I took a quick glance out to the terrace, where Rain was still absorbed in her project.
“Alright, but this isn’t the end of the matter,” he said with sincere determination. “You won’t stay here any longer than necessary, Marley. I’m going to get a place ready for you and then you’re leaving this attic for good. Mark my words.”
The whole time he’d stayed, from the terrace, Rain hadn’t looked up once. She couldn’t have heard him through the closed doors, so I was grateful for that. What would she think seeing a man for the very first time? The last time had been when she was just a baby and as I lay unconscious, Michael had pinned her to my breast to suckle my milk. I blushed at the thought, as I had blushed and privately groaned with pleasure at the memory of that time with him. Michael! He had come back to me, finally, defying all odds.
The following day; the day of Rain and Master John’s birthdays, it seemed the whole episode had been a figment of my imagination when Michael didn’t return. I hadn’t stopped thinking about him all night long, wondering about whether we had a future together or not. Thinking about the yearning I felt for him. The love and the unbridled passion.
Early that morning, Rain had taken off to the other side of the attic. It was a strange how we measured our existence. We treated the parlour as if it were our own private house, and beyond the first section, through the forest of furniture, we acted as if it were the world outside. Whenever she left to walk through the forest, I always told her to be careful and not to be very long as if it really was a forest of trees, and wearing an imaginary red cape, she should beware the wolf. That morning, after I had wished her a happy birthday, she went on her way after instructing me in sign language, to stay at home and not to come searching, and that she would soon reveal the surprise she had in store for me.
When she returned and I looked at her standing in front of me, my heart missed a beat as I secretly prayed for God to turn back the clock to the day when she was young and it was just the two of us and our darling Celia of course.
Rain stood at the entrance to the parlour, having had alighted suddenly from the forest of furniture. She was a vision in dark pink. Her gown of silk pinched in at the waist and a straight skirt fell to her ankles. It was an ungainly fashion, that fashion of the day, but on her, it was beautiful. She had braided her hair and gathered it at the back with tiny silk red roses. She stood next to Celia, both with anxious expressions on their faces, as they awaited my approval.
“Surprise,” Celia said. The announcement was lame and lifeless, without the shrill sound I had once heard as a child when I had been presented with a rag doll made by my mother. The day she died, I had been gathered up into the arms of my uncle and taken away. I never saw the doll again but I never forgot how I felt when I first saw it. I don’t know why I was thinking about that right then, when I was staring with disbelief at my very own daughter.
“We made it from the dress you found in the trunk. The dress belonging to Elizabeth,” said Celia. “We wanted to surprise you, because you’ve always admired it and never dared wear it.” She reached out and took Rain’s hand. Her words were rushing now, as Rain stood quietly staring at me, knowing well enough I was not happy about what she yearned to do.
“You’re not going,” I said flatly. Master John’s party is Master John’s party. You’re not invited. And you never will be. Do you understand, Rain?” My words were controlled but spitting. I had to leave her with no allusions as to my feelings on the matter. “Go and take it off.”
She shook her head. No.
“What?” I turned to Celia. “What have you been filling her head with, Celia? What have you done?” Now my words were quive
ring upon my lips. Everything about me was shaking and I couldn’t control it. For Rain to assume she could go out, to the outside world, was senseless. We had no business being out there.
The attic was our home.
Chapter 27
Rain
MY mother, Rain thought as she stared at Marley issuing her orders. Her mother wanted her to take off the dress, to undo the work Celia and she had undertaken over the past few days. It was her birthday, she deserved something new, something exciting. She wasn’t her mother, she was Rain and she was desperate to be free. But how…how could she hurt her mother so badly when she meant everything to her; that her only wish was to please her and make her feel safe, as her dear mother deserved.
No. No, I won’t take off the dress. She had never disobeyed her, but now it was time to stand up for herself, to make Marley see that not everything outside was dangerous.
A week ago, while her mother had slept, Celia had come up to the attic carrying a napkin wrapped around two fresh bread rolls, straight from the oven, along with a pot of homemade raspberry jam. Rain had used her hands to sign the words. ‘Shall I wake her?’
Celia shook her head. “Let her sleep,” she whispered back.
Rain held a warm roll to her nose and sniffed it. ‘The aroma alone will waken her.’
Celia chuckled as they both linked arms and went out from the attic, to sit on the terrace at the far end, behind the flowering foliage. “Your mother has done well to grow these plants. They were almost dead when I brought them up to the attic. She has restored them to life, beautifully.”
Rain nodded and spoke with her hands. ‘She has green fingers. She makes things thrive even up here in the attic.’
Celia laughed. “Yes, she does. Look what she has done to you. You have flourished, too, have you not. Rain?”
Rain brushed the palm of her hands over her lap before she answered. ‘She is the best mother in the world.’
Celia touched her forefinger with her thumb to form a circle. Yes. Celia could understand Rain very well. Rain’s ability to sign had been taught by her mother from a book Celia had taken from the master’s library. It had been designed to teach natives in Africa as another form of communication. Now all three of them could sign language very well indeed.
‘I want to go to Master John’s party.’
Celia nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that, darling. Perhaps you could go if we keep it a secret.”
Rain had dared not hope… ‘How?’
Celia paused as she chose her words carefully. “I think she might change her mind if we leave it till the last minute. Not give her time to ponder it…you know, make her worry unnecessarily.”
‘How?’ Rain’s pulse was racing, in anticipation of Celia’s scheme.
“You remember the dark pink silk dress…Elizabeth’s dress. Perhaps we could fashion it, to make it more modern.” She reached up and stroked Rain’s hair. “We could do your hair pretty.”
Rain’s heart thumped in her chest at the thought of going downstairs, and out, to be among people she had never met. People like her, girls like her. It wouldn’t be possible, would it?
Now, together, they had made it possible. They’d changed the dress into the fashion of the day, a loose bodice with a square neckline and a shorter hemline that stopped at her ankles. Fine White Lace covered the bodice and formed the short sleeves and Celia had found tiny red silk roses to place in her hair. Beneath, for the first time, Rain wore undergarments of knickers tied at the waist and a cotton camisole, and white stockings held up by a pretty pink garter. Celia had borrowed a pair of white silk slippers from Her ladyship. She’d assuring Rain that afterwards she would launder them and put them back and that no one would be any the wiser.
Now, she was standing before her mother, acting as if it was a surprise, when Rain knew it was not. Not a good surprise.
“Go and take off the dress, Rain.” Her mother’s eyes were penetrating hers, daring her to defy her, daring her to say no. Say no? To shake her head and try to win her over with her sad face. It was no use signing. Her mother wouldn’t listen to her argument through her hands. No, the two of them just used the words in their eyes to make everything very clear and well understood. Except…now Rain had a reason and a hearty passion to fight her case. She wanted just one small thing for her birthday. She deserved it. She deserved to be among people of her own age. Why couldn’t Marley see that?
Suddenly, as if a thunder clap had struck the rafters above the attic, a croak escaped her mouth.
Everyone stopped and stared. Her mother and Celia were aghast, as she too was aghast at a sound coming from her own lips. Was she imaging it? Was she?
She strained with every fibre and vein and muscle in her body. Forcing her lungs so strongly that her face turned red and her eyes bulged. Then it happened again. A sound. A croak, a murmur, a blessed noise from her very own mute mouth.
When it was time forCelia to escort Rain downstairs, the party in the garden had already started.
Her mother had succumbed to their pleadings. Not as a change of heart, but with the realisation that the matter had already gone too far, and that to stop her, at that crucial moment would change their relationship forever. Marley knew when she was beaten. She had been left with no choice to finally give her reluctant consent.
Rain had fallen into her arms, giving thanks for her being such a wonderful and understanding mother, allowing her to go to Master John’s party.
‘I will be back before you know it,’ Rain had said, moving her hands. Marley and Celia had encouraged her not to try and talk any more, for fear of her straining her vocal cords. ‘I promise mother, nothing will change. It’s just for this one night. Nothing will change.’
And before she rose to her feet to leave Marley for the first time in her life, her mother’s ominous voice had said, “No, dear, after this night, nothing will ever be the same again.”
Celia was now sneaking her along the servant’s corridor. She had walked and ran along it many times in the past, but never how she was dressed right then; wearing a gown of dark pink silk and red roses in her hair. The anticipation she felt in her stomach made her feel lightheaded.
Celia whispered as they walked. Watching for any open doors, she was happy in the knowledge that all the servant would be outside attending the food and beverages at the party. “Remember what I told you,” she said. “You are Porter’s niece and you live in Bridgewater with your mother. Your uncle invited you to come to the party since you don’t attend many others because of your inability to speak.”
Rain raised her hands to her lips. ‘I understand.’
‘You can say that…sign it…but you should remain quiet when asked any uncomfortable questions you don’t know how to answer.’
‘You mustn’t worry, Celia. No one will notice me anyway. They certainly won’t want to talk to me.’
Celia pulled her to a stop just before they were about to go down the steps to the floor below. “Everyone will notice you, Rain. Everyone. Especially the boys.”
‘Well, I won’t talk to them, Celia. Mother said never to trust boys.’
“I’m not sure that’s entirely true, darling. Your mother is just worried you will be hurt. Not every boy is like the black-haired lout, I promise.”
‘But mother said…’
“Never mind that now…I’ll be watching, so don’t you fear.”
Rain had been glad to have the discussion since it had distracted her from the strangeness of the situation she was in.
When they finally reached the bottom, they heard the music; the gentle tone of violins floating on chords of air to the back of the house. When they reached the door alongside the kitchen in the basement, Celia instructed Rain to wait, so that she could check the coast was clear, as she’d put it. Rain couldn’t count the number of times she’d heard Celia use that expression. And her mother too. Check the coast is clear!
They walked around the side of the building and as th
e music got louder and voices drifted on the back of a light summer breeze, they went through a tall garden gate inside a brick arch covered in climbing roses. Suddenly they were among people. Crowds of girls and boys, young and animated, laughing and talking. It was a shock for Rain. She had imagined the moment a thousand times since she’d heard the party was going to take place, but now, being among so many people made her head spin with trepidation. Had she been sheltered so much by her mother and the way they lived, that she now feared the thought of open spaces and being among other people? Well, if that were the case, she was going to try her best to dispel that fear. Nothing was going to stop her having a marvellous time. It may be the only party she attended in her life time. She was going to make the most of it.
A hand touched her shoulder. “Hello, Rain.” She spun about to see Michael the groundsman. He was to be her uncle for the evening.
Her fingers signed ‘Hello’.
Celia said. “I will leave you now as I have my duties to see to. Please be careful and come find me if you need anything.”
Porter offered a small bow of the head. “Where would you like to go. I will escort you.”
Rain looked about at the glorious colours of the party in the garden, the dresses, the flowers, and the lights, and the orchestra playing glorious music in a far corner. How she wished she could dance.
She signed. ‘I would like to watch the dancing.’
Porter’s face looked like he’d lost a penny. “You want to dance.”
She laughed silently. ‘No, just to watch,’ she signed.
He laughed. “Phew,” he said as he offered his arm.
They walked through the crowd of girls and boys, their escorts standing aside watching their every move.
Suddenly the crowd parted like the red sea had parted for Moses. Everyone stopped and stared. The boys looks of approval made her blush, for hadn’t she read about such a thing in one of the books from the library? The girls were watching her too, reminding her of poor Jane Eyre when the beautiful guests of Mr Rochester regarded her plainness. Porter spurred her on. He seemed agitated as everyone stared so openly.
