Fallen Elements

by Heather McVea

  Carol pulled Ryan into a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

  Ryan shook her head, and leaned back. “It’s not even about me. He’s just an unhappy asshole.”

  Carol laughed, and wiped an errant tear from her cheek. “It’s true.”

  “Carol.” Lucy stood in the doorway of the library. “I need to speak with you.”

  Rolling her eyes, Carol stepped away from Ryan. “Don’t you dare leave without saying goodbye.”

  Ryan grinned. “Promise.”

  She couldn’t image two more different people than Andrew and Carol, but Ryan felt fortunate to have Carol in her life. She hoped they might see more of each other now the awkwardness of trying to avoid her mother was no longer an obstacle.

  “Ms. Myers.” Michael Johannes stood behind Ryan, a sealed manila envelope in his hand. “You’re mother left instructions to give this to you separately, and while we were alone.”

  Ryan took the envelope from the man. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know for certain. She had me inventory it as an antique book.” The man turned and began sliding paperwork into his leather mailbag. “You will receive several certified letters over the next few weeks. You will need to provide wiring instructions, and/or authorize the numerous accounts to remain as is with the necessary ownership changes.” The attorney turned to face Ryan. “I would also recommend you get yourself a good tax attorney.”

  Ryan turned the envelope over in her hands. It was heavy. “I’m sorry, what?”

  The man smiled. “I don’t think you understand what’s happened here today, Ms. Myers.” The man reached for Ryan’s hand, his slim fingers encircling hers. “You’ve just inherited over twenty million dollars, and that doesn’t include the five properties. In total -” The man looked out of the corner of his eye, clearly adding numbers up in his head. “Nearly fifty million dollars.”

  Ryan was, once again, rendered speechless. She knew her family was wealthy, but it had always been considered in poor taste to discuss actual numbers. That, and the fact she had disassociated from the family before she would have had to know the financial details, made the number the attorney now gave her all the more surreal.

  “I - I had no idea.” Ryan felt sick to her stomach. She hadn’t wanted any of her mother’s money, and the obligations and responsibilities that came with it. It would seem though, in spite of Ryan’s best efforts, her mother had managed to snare her anyway.

  “I wouldn’t generally say this, but having spoken with Karen on several occasions, and -” The man hesitated before continuing. “And knowing a bit about you and she’s situation, Karen had confided in me her hopes that you would put the money to practical and philanthropic uses.”

  Ryan’s eyes shot up to Mr. Johannes’ face. “What?”

  The man shrugged, and took a step toward the door. “She said you were the most decent of the lot, and would make something out of yourself.” The attorney left the room, and a stunned Ryan.

  Ryan’s knees buckled and she sat with a plop on the Queen Anne style chair. Her mother had always been so critical of her. Even as a child, she was constantly being reminded of the importance of appearance, manners, and breeding. In return, and in spite of her best efforts, Ryan had always felt she fell short in her mother’s expectations.

  In the end, her mother had chosen to hold her above the whirl and wrath. She recognized her not only as her daughter, but as a person capable of something good and right. Ryan knew, in that moment, she had no real idea what her mother had endured, and they had treated each other badly. It was as much because of Ryan’s ignorance of her mother’s life as it was her mother’s willful disregard of Ryan’s.

  Chapter 3

  Ryan sighed heavily as she sank down into her window seat on the Baltimore bound train. She looked around, half expecting to see Leah. In spite of the absurdities of the past four days, Ryan’s mind still wandered to the beautiful blonde, and her connection to her family.

  Looking down at her lap, Ryan turned the large manila envelope over. Her name was scrawled across the front in her mother’s meticulous script. Now’s as good a time as any.

  Running her index finger under the fold of the envelope, Ryan opened it and pulled a brown leather bound book from inside. The book was worn along the spine, and a thin leather band was wrapped around the center of the book to keep it closed.

  Arching her eyebrow in curiosity, Ryan turned the book over. The smoothness of the leather and its weight made it feel substantial in her hands. Her fingers trembled as she struggled to untie the knot in the leather band, and she stopped, flexing them several times before continuing.

  It’s not the secrets of the universe, for heaven’s sake. It’s probably family recipes. How to get the perfect pie crust. That sort of crap.

  Ryan took several breaths, and finally managed to get the knot untied. Putting the band in the empty seat next to her, she slowly opened the book’s cover. Looking at the neat, tightly aligned script, Ryan realized it wasn’t a book at all. It was a diary.

  ***

  Diary of Remembrance Patience Allerton

  Plymouth Colony

  14 January 1628

  The winter has been particularly harsh. Snow drifts have blocked the main path to and from the village. I lay awake at night, the sound of the wind howling, sending chills along my backside. I have found worry and dread are my mainstays now, though Isaac assures me we will last the winter, spring, on into the year and beyond.

  In spite of my husband’s reassurances, I was awakened this morning by a dreadful sound of what I thought was a woman crying out in pain. One of our mares had gone into labor early, and Isaac was out in the barn with our servant William trying to ease her through it. It is tragic, but the poor animal died, along with her foal. Isaac is beside himself with the loss of the mare, and the compensation we had expected from her offspring.

  It brings to mind my own circumstance, and fills me with dismay as I ought to think about my own unborn child, and the fear that I should not survive its birth. Worse still, should the child perish along with me, and poor Isaac be left alone.

  My only comfort in this is my midwife, Margery. Though three years my junior at only seventeen, she seems to me wise beyond those years. I confide to her my darkest thoughts and fears, and she assures me they are baseless. My child, she says, will be fine.

  “Your baby with be born without incident, and you and your husband will make fine parents.” Margery promised as she held my hand the night before last. We sat huddled near the small fireplace in the main room of our home, and between the warmth of the fire and Margery’s kind words, I did feel better.

  ***

  20 January 1628

  I overheard Isaac speaking with Goodman Talis this morning. My husband did not realize I was walking from the privy back to the house, otherwise, I cannot imagine he would have been speaking of such things.

  “I have not the stocks to get the animals through the winter.” Isaac’s voice was strained as I had never heard before. “If you do not provide me the credit I need, the animals – and in return my wife and unborn child – will not survive the winter.”

  My heart felt as if it might burst, and there was a terrible souring in my stomach. My beloved Isaac is a proud man, and though Goodman Talis was a dear friend and business partner of Isaac’s father, his assistance comes at a high price.

  “I said you need not worry, Remembrance!” Isaac’s voice had risen above the howling wind as I confronted him that evening about the state of our affairs.

  “But I do worry, husband – and how can you tell me not to when I heard your pleading with Goodman Talis this very afternoon?” My voice had broken and I felt as if I might faint from the heat in my face.

  “What you heard was nothing more than a bartering amongst business partners.” Isaac’s voice was softer, kinder as he took my hand in his. “I would not lie to you, wife.”

  My eyes filled with tears, for I wanted so very much to believe him, but
my common sense did not allow me to so easily push my concerns aside. I touched gently Isaac’s cheek, his warmth and confidence providing me my only comfort.

  I am reminded of our time together during the passage from England. Though already eight years past, I can still so clearly remember fear of the unknown as we made our way across a vast ocean. Isaac had reassured me then, much as he does now, that we would not perish.

  Like his father, Isaac’s confidence in his own abilities is what drew me to him. Though I am fifteen years younger, he has always treated me with genuine respect and love. It is something I do not take for granted as I see the women around me struggle with dismissive, rude, and outright hostile husbands.

  It is because of this history, and the love I have for my husband, that I will trust his judgment as I have in all things.

  ***

  22 January 1628

  Margery arrived today, in spite of the frigid conditions, with her mother. Goody Sebille was widowed three winters ago when her husband fell overboard from his small boat while fishing in Russell Pond. I remember hearing news of the tragedy, and being perplexed as the day had been calm, and I seem to recall Goodman Sebille being an excellent swimmer.

  Alas, the mild currents pushed him to the bottom of the pond, and it was late summer before he was found. Bless Goody Sebille for she had witnessed her husband’s fall and untimely death. I am loath to admit this, as the poor man met an unseemly death, but he was rather the brute, and the town is better for not having him around.

  “Goody Allerton, you are looking wonderful!” Margery had been more formal than our relationship warranted, and I assumed it was because her mother would not approve of her referring to me by my Christian name as she works for me.

  Sadly though, the informality I enjoyed with Margery was something I looked forward to, and though I didn’t begrudge her the company of her mother, I felt my own enjoyment of the visit would not hold up.

  “Goody Sebille, I have not seen you since council a fortnight ago.” I greeted the older woman, who quickly made her way to the fire to warm herself.

  “I have been ill, or did my daughter not tell you?” The woman had looked at her daughter with such disdain, I feared they might have words in front of me.

  “Of course she did, and I am glad you are feeling better.” I took Margery’s wrap, a quick smile passed between us as she was clearly grateful for my lie. “You are better, yes?”

  Nodding, Goody Sebille recounted her illness, and then asked for mulled ale, indicating her stomach was still prone to spasms. She then took a seat in the chair usually reserved for Isaac.

  “My mother can be a burden, but she refused to stay behind this morning.” Margery apologized as I prepared the ale over the stove. “I told her she should not risk the cold given her recent illness, but she can be stubborn.”

  “I am happy for the company.” The truth was Isaac had been otherwise occupied with the dealings of the farm, and had spent the past two nights in the town to avoid the nearly blizzard like conditions that had taken hold in the area.

  Though our servant William was a friendly enough man, propriety dictated he and I maintain very little contact outside the company of either my husband or another woman. Though I respect the custom, and surely do not wish to put my virtue into question, the days had been lonely.

  “Are you having some as well?” I asked Margery while I poured her mother’s hot ale into a clay mug. Margery had declined, but I had always enjoyed Isaac’s family’s ale recipe. It was spicy and smelled of nutmeg when heated. I looked forward to any opportunity to enjoy a mug.

  I was happy to pass the late morning with Margery and her mother, and it wasn’t until nearly noon that I began to feel tired. Margery insisted I rest, and that she and her mother needed to go. I was sad to lose the company, but grateful for the rest.

  “When is your husband expected back?” Goody Sebille had asked as she wrapped her heavy shawl over her head and shoulders.

  “I expect him back tonight.” I handed Margery her wrap, and dreaded opening the door as the cold from outside was already seeping into the house and into me. Both mother and daughter nodded, and Margery said her goodbyes quickly as her mother hurried through the door.

  It was the strangest thing as they left. The snow was blowing in sheets across the fields like a fine dust, but as I watched the two women make their way over the small drifts, the snow seemed to lessen wherever their feet fell.

  I admit the light was dim, and my eyes may have failed me, but it was as if the snow itself parted for them. What a thing!

  ***

  Ryan stepped down onto the train platform. Looking up at the digital clock near the end of the walkway, she couldn’t believe it was only nine in the morning. Before putting her coat and gloves on, Ryan slid the diary back into its envelope and secured it in the front zipper pocket of her Samsonite bag.

  So far Ryan had found the entries interesting. Her ancestor was clearly well versed, and during her studies, Ryan had read other accounts of how absolutely terrified women of the day were to give birth. If Ryan was remembering correctly, the mortality rate was as high as four percent, compared to current rates in developed countries of around a tenth of a percent. Back in the day, getting pregnant was one of the more dangerous things a woman could do.

  Winding her way through the congestion of Baltimore’s Penn Station, Ryan felt more like herself now that she was back home. She had never realized her affinity for the mostly working-class city, but after the trials and tribulations of New York, the laid back atmosphere of Charm City was much more dear to her.

  “You made it!” Nicole Wright was standing in the passenger loading and unloading zone next to her 1997 white, Subaru Legacy station wagon. She was twenty seven years old, and just shy of 5’5” tall with a classic hourglass figure. Ryan had always admired her alabaster skin, light brown eyes, and long, thick, chestnut hair.

  The two women had been roommates for nearly two years. They rented a two bedroom/two bath row house in the Canton neighborhood in the southeastern section of Baltimore. What had started out as a convenient economic solution for both of the cash strapped students had quickly blossomed into a genuine friendship.

  “I barely made it, friend.” Ryan opened the rear passenger door of the station wagon and slid her suitcase into the backseat, taking care to avoid the stack of paperwork and the laptop strewn across the bench seat. Nicole had just began a new job at a local engineering firm, and in spite of her ambition, drive, and intelligence, she was one of the messiest people Ryan knew.

  Ryan slid into the passenger seat next to Nicole, and latched her seatbelt. Nicole put her hand on Ryan’s forearm, her eyes filled with concern. “Was it really terrible?”

  Ryan exhaled. “It was nice to see Carol. That’s about all I can say.” She had so much more to share, but had decided on the train she wouldn’t mention the inheritance until she knew what she wanted to do about it.

  Never one to linger in melancholy, or allow others to, Nicole smiled broadly as she put the car into drive. “It’s early, hon. Let’s pop over to Sip and Bite for breakfast.” Checking her blind spot, Nicole deftly maneuvered the Subaru into traffic.

  Laying her head back against the cloth head rest, Ryan grinned. “Sounds perfect.”

  “You’ve got your interview tomorrow, yes?” Nicole slipped her oversized tortoise shell sunglasses on as they sat at a stop light.

  Nodding, Ryan kept her eyes closed. In spite of the cold weather, it was a clear day, and the intense sunlight was giving Ryan a headache. “Can I still borrow your car?” She had never thought to get her own car. Parking in the city was difficult and could be costly. There had been many frigid winter mornings waiting for the MTA bus that Ryan envied the people who could afford the off street parking, and the cars that went along with it.

  “Of course.” Nicole smiled. “What time is it?”

  “Nine o’clock sharp on Monday morning. How alert do you think either of us wi
ll be?”

  Nicole chuckled. “You could talk community planning three pints in and on two hours of sleep.”

  Ryan rolled her head to the side, and squinting looked at her friend. “You flatter me.”

  Nicole shook her head. “You’re too modest.”

  “Humble.” Ryan smiled. “It’s a rare thing these days.”

  Nicole swerved to miss an encroaching cyclist. “Bastard.” Muttering, she moved back into the right lane. “Humble? Seriously? You’re like the smartest person I know.”

  Ryan closed her eyes again. “You have a very small, select group of confused people in your social circle is all.”

  “Speaking of - Greg called me three times while you were gone. Checking in on me, he says.” Nicole huffed. Greg Mathews was a strapping twenty eight year old, who was a tall, blond haired marathon runner. He was fresh out of the University of Maryland Law School, and gainfully employed at one of the more prestigious firms in Baltimore. And he was hopelessly in love with Nicole.

  “You poor thing.” Ryan feigned pouting. Nicole and she had met Greg through the Baltimore Sports and Social Club when the three of them were assigned to the same flag football team. For Greg, it was love at first sight, but Nicole tended to play the field. The idea of settling down while still in her twenties was the furthest thing from her mind.

  “Hey, don’t joke. He’s stalker material.” Nicole quickly maneuvered the car into a tight spot across the street from Sip and Bite.

  “Please, Nic. We’ve known Greg for over a year. He’s decent, funny, and even by my standards - hot.” Ryan unhooked her seat belt. “Let him stalk away.”

  The two women trotted across Boston Street towards the chrome plated Sip and Bite. From the outside, the restaurant, which had opened in 1948, still retained the look of a diner. The menu was eclectic, the food good, and most importantly, inexpensive.