Evangeline, Alone. (Book 1): Evangeline, Alone

by Styles, M. A.

  With that, an impressed murmur from the crowd rose just slightly as they took note of the employ of the nations own servicemen. Mrs. Adams gave a few enthusiastic nods to the crowds response. “That’s right,” she said, returning to her proper voice. “We make it a point here at The Adams’ Manor to employ retired servicemen. It’s the least we can do. Now I would like to recognize a few.”

  With that, Evie knew what she was getting at. The bitch would not stand to be bested in her own home, especially by the help. But to have someone parading around, hiding their political connections, or political powers, was a betrayal bigger than anything in her book. She was not going to sit quietly and take Evie and her mother’s power play. But she would skillfully ruin the one thing Evie worked hardest to get for herself: anonymity.

  “Let us first speak of our head of security, Louis Burke.” She turned around abruptly and floated her hand to where he stood at attention, five stairs up from them. His expression showed his displeasure, but nobody seemed to care. “A well respected colonel in the United States Marines, he now heads our security here at the manor, and we have him to thank for bringing in such bright, accomplished people to take care of us, here today.”

  She turned back around and set her gaze out into the crowd. Evie spotted her target before he was even introduced, and he locked eyes with her too. He knew he was next. Evie’s mouth squeezed tightly into anger, and then Mrs. Adams started in.

  “One of our finest men on our grounds here is Steven Jackson.” She pointed at the front door which still stood open letting in the faint breeze of the summer’s night. He stood in the doorway, standing guard, Artemis by his side sitting obediently. She looked up at him as if she could feel him getting upset, but he looked on, past and over the heads of all the guests who turned to look at him. “A corporal in the Marines, he was wounded quite severely in the Middle East during his second tour of duty.” She lowered her voice in seriousness, “Causing him to lose his leg below the knee. But you’d never know it!” she said with inappropriate enthusiasm and the crowd gave him a cheer.

  The man’s dark skin couldn’t hide the flush of emotions on his face as his cheeks rose to burgundy. At the mention of his leg, he subconsciously shifted his weight to his prosthetic causing an almost indiscernible dip of his side. Evie watched the man’s face, flickers of memories flashing painfully across it.

  “And lastly,” Mrs. Adams began again, a look of delight crossing her face. “There’s one other veteran whom I am more than honored to introduce to you all. We are also joined by her family.”

  The statement sent confusion and intrigue throughout the entire event, but it wasn’t clear if it was because the person’s parents were in attendance as guests, or that the person was a “her.” Evie waited. Her eyes began to wander to Jackson’s again, but as soon as they met hers, he lowered his as Mrs. Adams made her next announcement. He knew she was coming for Evie. She then let her eyes drift up to Burke who was looking at her from the side of his gaze, eyes sad as well. They were two of her closest confidants, brothers in arms. They toured together for the last bout, with Burke in command of it all. They were all there for their rise and their fall. Together in those painful moments, Burke had taken care of them even on the outside after it happened, making sure they each got back up and moved forward. And now they were being paraded around like show ponies at the whim of a spiteful, unknowing monster who used the guise of respect and admiration to make them relive their wounds in humiliation for others entertainment. She thought of it as sideshow patriotism. No one really cared what they went through in their country’s name. They just wanted to ogle people who had gone through something violent and terrifying, scarred and changed, like mysterious talisman. They wanted to say things like: I could only imagine, while the survivors could only think: no, you never could.

  Evie was snapped from her spinning thoughts as Mrs. Adams hand swooshed out to the side to direct everyone’s attention to her. The crowd’s heads cocked to the side at first in confusion like they couldn’t be looking at the right person. For one thing, she’s not in a security black issued suit, and she’s a she. And then the words slid from her mouth. She savored every syllable as she took away the only thing that matter to her. Right at that moment Evie caught her mother’s eye, and she saw her mother’s face fill with slow burning anger and strength at this play, and it gave Evie back some strength. They kept eye contact the whole time, her mother even telling her to raise her chin up and own every word, taking away any power Mrs. Adams tried to derive from it.

  “Evangeline MacNamara, oh yes,” she interjected on herself at the crowd gasped, “sergeant of the Marine Corps., daughter of Lillian and Senator Charles MacNamara. How lucky are we?” Everyone oo’ed and ah’ed, and she watched as the heads turned away from her and at a man further up the wall from where she stood. Her father. He didn’t look at her, but he put on his proud Dad face and gave the crowd a smile as he nodded that she was indeed his daughter. “Two tours and honorably discharged after also being wounded. Now we are lucky enough to have her watchful, trained eye on my son.” She turned and gave Evan a yank from his father and down a step to stand in front of her. He saw Evie and waved. “Now serving her third year as our Nanny.”

  The word came out of her mouth heavy, just like she meant it to. Belittling the position to Evie, and some how bolstering it to the crowd. Mrs. Adams was a pointed and skilled, evil woman. People clapped, and Mrs. Adams looked all three of them in the face mouthing Thank you. Thank you! Spending a bit more time on Evie. People began to scatter. Some to the Adams’, others surrounded her mother. Her father was now completely converged upon by his peers. A few bold ones started for her, but thankfully, something rammed right into her legs, wrapping around them.

  “Evie! You’re so pretty.” He gave her dress a little stroke. ”Do you think I can have a meatball? Where’s your momma?” Evan was looking up at her still attached to her legs. His little face calmed her breathing a bit, and she looked back up to see Burke standing in front of her. He didn’t have to say a thing, they were both thinking and feeling the same. She turned back down to Evan.

  “Of course you can have a meatball. Have Burke take you to the kitchen. Chef has your own plate all ready for you.”

  He squeezed her legs, then reached up for Burke’s hand. “Come on Mr. Burke. I’ll share.”

  They left the way Evie came in to the event. She watched them go, then suddenly a hand wrapped hers tight, and she turned back around.

  “Evangeline! Oh my word. I haven’t seen you since your high school graduation party. What was that? A little over a decade ago.”

  She nodded her head at the man, and shook his hand, his bushy mustache giving her something to recognize. He was some assemblyman that was always invited to family events when she was younger. “Yes, sir. Closer to two decades now, I suppose.”

  “You graduated early if I remember correctly?” he tilted his head at her a bit.

  “Right again, sir.”

  He laughed. “Bright girl you were!”

  Suddenly a handful more old men took up the space in front of her, one of them being her father.

  “Evangeline, dear. You look beautiful.” He reached in, and took her by the shoulders pulling her in just enough so that his head was over her shoulder and whispered, “I see your mother underestimated her, huh?” He pulled away again holding her at arms length to keep up the charade of taking her in.

  His touch made her stomach drop. All the anger she held inside her towards him bubbled up in the space. She gave him a little smile and nodded, “Daddy.”

  “Now I just can’t believe it,” said some other man who looked vaguely familiar to her too. “You’ve been here the whole time? I was wondering where you had gone off to after serving, and what you were up to. The Adams’, huh?” He gave her a playful nudge. “Hope you’re not giving away family secrets.”

  The small crowd all chuckled at that. A cocktail waitress came past, and stopped a
t their group. On her tray were a few highballs of brown liquid. She would bet they were either bourbon or whiskey. The scotch was saved for more serious talks which usually followed the dinner. The other two liquors were for breaking into their social selves. The waitress looked down at her hand. She was still holding her empty champagne flute.

  “May I get you another one, Miss?”

  Evie placed the glass on to her now empty tray. “Yes, please,” and the waitress took off at the command.

  “So tell me, young lady,” a man with salt and pepper hair and bifocals straight out of the seventies began. “Last I heard you were off to Princeton to study… what was it now?”

  He paused in thought, but her father picked up for him. “Linguistics. Her sights were set on the U.N.” his face beamed with a show of pride, but he couldn’t look her in the eye.

  “So how did we end up in the Marines, was it?” the man asked.

  Just then the waitress returned with a fresh glass of chilled champagne for her, and she took it greedily. “Well, as mentioned before, I graduated a bit early from high school, and I did in fact go right on to attend Princeton, for linguistics. I was hoping to be a translator of sorts, but I was more interested in journalism. My father, of course,” she pointed her champagne flute just a bit at him, the liquid angling subtly, “didn’t think too highly of that. A bit too messy and not very respectable.” She made a silly mans voice for the last statement. “I’m paraphrasing of course, but those were my father’s words for the most part.” The little boy’s club that had begun to surround her all give the Senator a playful nudge, and agreeable hearty laughs, though he returned it all with a tense grin, and a raise of his head, shooting her a look of warning. She took a sip of her drink. “So, my father reminded me that, though I was on scholarship, he had the power to have me removed from the University at will if I didn’t choose a more suitable profession. As he mentioned, he began to push me towards the family business, touting the U.N. as a good segue of my linguistic credits so far. Maybe I’d meet a nice man there with some fine political ambitions.” The tone of the crowd started to change. A few gave her some nervous laughter, but the tension wasn’t hard to miss.

  “Now I was a stubborn girl, and I ignored him. Going on with my own life about to finish my first year, when he must have realized I was going to need more, let’s just say, motivation. So he told me I now had two options.” She took a sip again, and the men started to give each other uncomfortable looks, now trying to avoid looking at her father. The ones at the back started to drift away, back into the main area. “So, it turns out I was going to have to declare a political science major, even throwing my linguistic one away to prove to him I was heeding his orders. And if I didn’t, I wasn’t going to be allowed back into the house anymore, and he’d cut me off as soon as I turned eighteen, which if I remember correctly was a few weeks away at that point.” She put her hand to her mouth pretending she was whispering, but continued to speak normally. “Boy, did my mother not like that. So he gave me a different ultimatum. I had to serve my country in some way: politics or the military.”

  A few faces twitched over in her father’s direction, but she just kept going as he stood stock still taking quiet, but deep breaths. “So, obviously, as someone who never once thought about joining either profession, I began to think them over. I was never one to back the war hawks, murdering to line their pockets and touting their nation’s best interest as a cover for their misbehaviors, lies, and abuses of power all over the world while holding up the country’s flag to hide behind. I just didn’t have the stomach for it, you know.” She nudged the man closest to her and he swallowed hard. “So my choice was clear. Politics were not for me, so I joined the Marines.”

  All of the men stood there. Their polite faces of interest melted from uncomfortable to agitated quite quickly with her last statement. Some looked embarrassed, others ashamed, some angry. Her father’s face was calm, as it always is at his most lividness. She looked over them, and saw her mother making her way. Shit, she thought. She finished the remainder of her champagne in one swallow, grabbing another off a passing tray, not caring to exchange it for the empty one she carried in her other hand.

  "So nice catching up gentleman, please excuse me," and she turned and started back towards the kitchen. As she made her way, she noticed a group of men in deep conversation with Mr. Adams, respective body guards standing in the wings. She laughed to herself, but then noticed one was following her with his eyes, trying hard not to show it though. She turned to look at him straight on.

  "Fuck. Logan," she mumbled under her breath, and didn't slow as she passed him, even though he was staring at her with wide eyes, like a confused puppy dog. She almost cringed at the sight of it, until she realized what she looked like at the moment. He'd never seen her in anything other than her nanny attire: a mix of khakis and cardigans, occasional dowdy sack dress, though he had seen her out of them. She rolled her eyes and continued to the kitchen, starting in on her next glass of champagne.

  She sat on the window seat in the breakfast nook where none of the Adams' ever ate. It's usually where the kitchen staff and the rest of the house and grounds staff would grab a bite. She had her feet up on the long cushioned bench, and her plate precariously sitting on her knees. Her high heels had been kicked off and dropped to the floor below. She was looking outside at the yard where the party was set under the huge tent. Soon the guests would be flowing out of the house to fill it. She laughed to herself when she thought: more like a circus tent filled with clowns. Large and overly set tables glowed by candle light, more touches of the flag’s color scheme dotting the surface with napkins and plates. Sparkling strings of lights dangled from underneath with dimly lit Chinese lanterns in, of course, red, white, and blue. She shook her head and crammed another fork load of french toast into her mouth. Some of the berry syrup dripping on her chin. She was buzzed, and happy to be.

  "So, you going to tell me what all this is?" The chef came and sat down at one of the seats across the table, and pointed at her, up and down.

  She crammed another mound of food into her mouth. "No."

  He laughed and leaned back in the chair, flinging a dish cloth over his shoulder. Behind him a few of the hired wait staff were cleaning up a bit. "Well, If you want more," he pointed to her pile of french toast, "you're going to have to tell me something." He lowered his head and looked at her from the tops of his eyes. She looked at him and swallowed, then took another torn off piece of bread into her mouth chewing slowly while she looked at him stubbornly. He laughed again. "Alright." He stood up and went back to the kitchen island covered with various half empty trays of hors d’louvers and empty bottles of champagne. "I have to go to the back now and oversee this nonsense." He started to pick up the champagne bottles one at a time, giving them a quick jiggle back and forth until he found one with some still in it. He walked back to her and dumped what was left into one of the empty glasses she brought in with her. "When I come back, I'll make you another round, and you'll tell me a tale." He walked away towards the back door out to the yard.

  She looked back out the window to watch the animals. She chuckled at that thought. When she craned her neck and pushed against the glass at the one side of the bay window, saw the chef walk out and join his crew standing behind a huge row of tables all covered in extravagant dishes of food. At the center laid the pig from the spit, expertly sliced, the head still attached and seemingly looking at her. She speared more food off her plate and brought it to her mouth when the swinging door into the kitchen opened.

  From the corner of her eye she could tell it was a guest. He wasn't dressed in any black and white attire like the suited security or waitstaff. He wore a cobalt blue suit with a blindingly white, crisp shirt. When she turned to ask if he was lost, she recognized him immediately. How could she not. She took a deep breath and returned to her french toast once more.

  He walked over to the kitchen island and grabbed a room temperature coco
nut shrimp off one of the abandoned trays and popped it into his mouth. "Love these things," he said, mouth full. He tossed the tail onto a half crinkled napkin. "I see you still like french toast, too." She continued to look out the window, taking large, fluffy bites as she pleased. A few of the guests started to cross the grass into the tent. "I heard you also still carry the same feelings for our dear old Senator as you did before, too." He reached back for another shrimp as he casually leaned against the marble island. "The party wasn't even an hour in before you picked up your sword again."

  She turned to him sharply. "Is that why you're here? His back up? Funny how no one seemed to mention you'd be attending tonight or that you were even invited."

  "Well, I was informed this morning that this was in fact where you've been for the last three years. It seems the lady of the house doesn't mind an uninvited guest if there's a title in front of their name or a good headline following it."