brandbury hall; part 4

Jeremy

I was right. What a snoot!
     I stalked down the hallway, to the right, straight into the kitchen, and down into the servant’s quarters. The place was nearly empty, but I knew there would be some in the laundry room at the far end, and sure enough, a gaggle of women gathered around the wash tubs, rinsing and washing last night’s sheets. I took a seat, rolled my sleeves, and began my work at the washboard.
     “Ah . . .” crooned Jamila. “De handsome warrior return.” The women around her giggle with excitement as the Spanish beauty continued, “Tell, mi amore. Is la princesa malcriada?”Again, laughter kept building, creating the steam in the room to swirl into a cloud.
     “You know, I can’t tell. Sometimes she acts it, and sometimes she completely surprises me. I can’t tell what’s going on in that little mind of hers. Maybe she is sick.”
     The women erupted with maniacal laughter, mentioning ways our new guest might have gotten sick that would have made me blush had I been a few years younger.
     “Now, ladies. I wouldn’t assume such things of a woman much like yourselves. Rather unfair of us to judge, is it not?” I proposed.
     Gladys, the hefty mother of our beloved stable keeper Sean, puffed up and squawked, “Aye, laddie, you be right. Best let our Father in Heaven do the judgin’ round here.”
     “Si, Senora,” agreed Jamila and a few of the other Spanish women. “Mother Mary knows her heart. She’ll beg for mercy in the end.”
     Yes. So I mustn’t judge her. I told myself that. No judging, but how do I deal with her?
     “Adieu, ladies,” I said in parting. I took the hand of one of the older women of the group, Carolina, by name, continued, “And many thanks,” and kissed her hand, “for gracing me with your presence.”
     The women died when they heard my well-rehearsed line, giggling and gossiping and “doing as women do,” as my father would put it. I’d lied when I told them that Miss Brown was just like them. She was too dignified for such petty pleasures of gossip and other aforementioned things. She had an elegance about her I couldn’t quite place. It didn’t seem like the kind you’re taught halfway through your life but rather natural. Probably because it had been drilled into her since she was born. I can’t even imagine a little girl, meant for dolls and dreams and games, being forced to be a lady straight from the womb. No wonder she’s shy and cross and proper.
     I headed out to the stable, fancying myself a ride with Temperance. Instead, I found my time being spent cleaning with Sean and the other stable hands. Nothing like a good day’s work to calm the temper.
     But at the end of the day, my mind was still distracted by the strangely common yet proper girl invading Brandbury.

Arianna

It made me all the angrier to find that, as I stormed into my room, I had ruined a chance to solve my dilemma. I had nothing to do, and now I didn’t even have someone with whom to do nothing. I fumed, pacing around my room. That insolent little rich boy! Riding around his countryside. Ordering his servants around. I bet they aren’t even paid well. I bet they’re more a slave than a servant.
     I stopped there. My anger was moving to an irrational level. I wasn’t striking at the source of the problem; I was striking the person themselves on a personal level. I have no right whatsoever to judge him on that basis. Only God can fairly judge those who sin against him. I apologized through prayer and promised that I would no longer judge Mister Brand. Perhaps I had done something wrong or said something that angered him. Perhaps that’s what triggered his rude behaviour. In any case, there was no excuse for my replying behaviour. I had promised to be good and obedient. If this is what is expected of me, then I shall excel.
     With everything decided, I carefully and quietly trekked across the hall to the library. As I pried open the door, I prayed no one would be in there, especially not Mister Brand. After our scene in the entryway, I was not keen on seeing him again soon. I peeked around the door and, in spotting no one, picked the first book I could grab off a shelf. I ran, book in hand, back to the safety of my room.
     There I stayed all afternoon, reading my book. It was a dull pamphlet on the Articles of Confederation and its strengths and weaknesses. It amused me, however, to see that, just as Martin Luther left the Roman Catholic Church, America left their Mother and still held the same morals and laws as England. We had impressed so much onto them and their system that they kept practically the same constitution, tweaked it in some places, and changed the name from “monarchy” to “democracy.” Silly, Americans.
     As the hour grew later and later still, I was grieved to find that the household held neither afternoon tea nor dinner. My stomach was complaining so; I jumped out of my seat by the fireplace and skipped to the door when a knock rung out at nearly six.
     “Good evening, m’lady. So glad to see you awake and well,” trilled the young maid, a beaming smile in place.
     “Thank you very much,” I replied. “And what is your name?”
     “Charlotte, m’lady.” She was thrilled at my interest, that I would care what she was called. I was thrilled to find that my dream as I slept wasn’t a dream at all; it was true. This young one was concerned for me so much, she was about to enter my chambers without permission. I didn’t know why, but I liked her. I decided to make her feel very special.
     “Charlotte. Very pretty name,” I conversed as we both trotted down the staircase. “You know, I have an aunt Charlotte back in England. She lives near London. I used to visit her on occasion. London is beautiful, Charlotte. I’m sure you’d love it . . .”
     I continued this nonsense chit chat until we arrived at the dining room. I thanked her for her company and service, and she beamed her welcome. When I sat at the table on the left of Madame Swanson, I realized that that had been the most I’d talked at once the entire time I’d been here. Somehow, I noticed that before the fact that Mister Brand was not yet seated at the table.
     I inquired of Madame Swanson, “Will we wait for Mister Brand?”
     She snorted and explained, “Jeremy has made it very clear that if he is not on time for anything, he’s off doing better and greater things that require his immediate attention.” She huffed again. “He’s probably out rough housing with those stable hands again.”
     “Stable hands, madam?” What would a man of his class be doing with stable hands? My thoughts turned to the worse, and I prayed fiercely for the safety of the stable hands.
     “Oh, Lord, yes,” exclaimed Madame Swanson. “He’s out there more than he’s in the library . . . Ah!” She gestured toward the open door where Mister Brand stood in a new suit and wet hair. “Jeremy. Just in time. Please,” she nodded to his empty seat across from me. “This child is mad with hunger.”
     I blinked rapidly in confusion and slight embarrassment. Was it so obvious? Or did my stomach noise give me away?
     We didn’t talk much after that. I don’t believe it was expected at the table. Conversation was to be had in the parlour. I didn’t mind. I still felt the awkwardness of today between Mister Brand and myself and felt no need to ease it any time too soon. Despite my promise to God this morning, I found myself frowning at the thought of the possibly abusive man sitting across from me. I had to keep reminding myself that I had no hard proof, only assumptions. As I prayed silently for my meal, I begged God to open my eyes to see Mister Brand for who he truly was, whether I should stay clear or attempt to make amends and become acquaintances. At the moment, the latter future wasn’t looking too bright.

After supper, we did resign to the parlour as Mister Brand had said. Unlike as he said, however, not much conversation was to be had. Madame Swanson interrogated us both on our activities of the day, and neither of us was in a sharing mood. Mister Brand recited his day, telling us that he oversaw the work in the washing room and in the stable, examining that every worker there was doing his or her job to the fullest. He reported that he was satisfied. I told how I enjoyed a piece of literature from their expansive library. I reported that I was excited to read more. Finally, Mister Brand informed her that we had taken a tour of the house this morning and that he enjoyed my company. He never looked me in the eye.
     He never looked at me much after that. At breakfast the next morning, he was in and out within five minutes, explaining to Madame Swanson that he had business to attend to. Supper was much the same, and in the parlour he reported the events of his day, usually pertaining to monitoring the employees’ work and such with the occasional ride through the country, studies here and there. He never spoke a word to me, and if he did, it was to pass the salt. He never looked me in the eye. Perhaps I was too rude by walking away. Perhaps I was intervening by being here. Perhaps this was how he always acted. I thought not that latter excuse though because Madame’s attitude always dropped while he was around. While she was growing accustomed to me, and we would chat friendly about the day before supper or breakfast, when he stepped into the room, she grew sour. She didn’t say his name with pride as she did when I first came here. She said it with disdain and disapproval. Perhaps it was me. Perhaps I was intervening on their way of life.
     However, Madame and Mister Brand weren’t my only human contact. The young maid, Charlotte, was always the one to call me from my room for meals. We would talk as she escorted me downstairs to the dining room, twice a day. I learned about her family who lived and worked here. Her father worked in the town not far away, but he would travel all the way back to Brandbury at night. Her mother was a chambermaid, as she was learning to be, and her sister worked in the garden. It was comforting listening to her tales of family drama and friendship. A family working together to get passed the rough spots and still love one another. She was so sweet a child, I soon came to like her very much. She liked me too, for eventually, she would stop by my chambers just to say hello, on her way to help her mother or just to chat. It was so nice to have a friend again. When she would stop by, I would read to her the book I’d quickly grabbed from the library, and soon she began to be interested in learning how to read. She told me how proud her mother was of her newfound practice, and encouraged her to visit me as often as her chores would allow her. Heidi, her mother, even gave me a visit one day to share her thanks and appreciation for befriending her daughter. There weren’t many children on the premises, and Charlotte didn’t have many friends. She told me how I’d raised Charlotte’s enthusiasm and confidence in her work and self-esteem. The woman even dared to ask me for a hug.
     A hug. I hadn’t had that kind of human contact since I’d left my aunt and uncle’s almost a month ago. I welcomed her with open arms.

One bright and chilly morning, I awoke and washed and readied to step outside my door and find Charlotte there, waiting for me.
     “Miss! It’s snowing! It’s snowing!” She was jumping up and down and yelping in her child’s voice the good news.
     I laughed at her enthusiasm, and corrected her. “Charlotte, what have I asked you to call me?”
     “Oh,” she stopped as her eyebrows pulled together in thought. “Miss Ah-ree-ah-nah. It’s snowing!”
     “Yes, it is!” I exclaimed, being influenced by her excitement.
     “I woke real early this morning so I could finish my chores real early so maybe we could go outside and play!”
     Oh, the precious girl. She must have worked so hard just for this. How could I ever refuse?
     “Wonderful! But first,” I sighed, “I need to take my breakfast with Madame and Mister Brand. After that, I’m all yours!” I threw open my arms and scooped her up into a hug. Giggling excitedly, we skipped all the way to the dining room.
     I left her there and told her to meet me on the back patio in a half hour. When I took my seat beside Madame, I wasn’t surprised not to see Mister Brand there.
     I began conversation with my usual niceties: “Good morning, Madame. I pray you slept well. Will Mister Brand be joining us this morning?”
She huffed and took a swig of her water in front of her. “Who knows anything with that boy anymore . . .”
     Mister Brand did not join us that morning, but this did not stop Madame from eating her breakfast on time. We started at exactly eight and finished at precisely twelve after. She didn’t linger a few more moments in hopes that he would rush in at the last minute. The moment we finished, she rose and bid me a good morning. Wherever he was, he must have been doing something of more importance. Hmph.
     To be honest, I rushed much faster than was necessary up to my room to ready for the day’s activities. I donned my winter wear—boots, hat, gloves, and scarf—and hustled back down the stairs, through the dining room, and onto the patio. Charlotte was waiting patiently there, bundled and ready. She warned me to be cautious on the concrete for it was bound to be slippery from the night’s weather. I warned her as well, and off we went.
     I hadn’t been playing in the snow since long before the accident. My brothers and sisters and I had played the most creative games involving wolves and bear tracks and blizzards. I introduced them to Charlotte, and we played for hours and hours on end. She especially liked the one where we were trapped in our cabin by a blizzard and had to survive through the winter on sunflower seeds and jerky. Such the imagination that girl has! She reminds me much of my younger sister Louise. They would even be around the same age, I believe. As I thought, I came to the numbing fact that I didn’t remember when Louise’s birthday was. It was in June, wasn’t it? No, that was Lucas. January? The fifteenth? No, that was February fifteenth and that was . . . Mother’s? No . . . This realization that I was forgetting my family ultimately forced me to forget the events at hand. I didn’t hear Charlotte squealing at me about the nice little pond we had found, didn’t see her waving to me to come near, didn’t notice how she tested the ice spread so thin across the top. In my own selfishness, I didn’t realize she’d fallen through till she emerged and screamed bloody murder.
     My senses came back to me, but I was still as frozen as the ground surrounding me. All was now focused on Charlotte, my friend, my only friend, who was now being taken away from me. Just like my family. Just like my happiness. I forced my legs to move toward the pond and my lungs to scream for help. I managed a few stumbling feet and a hoarse whisper. Try harder! My lungs erupted with a shriek that resounded off the surrounding trees. My legs pushed harder and harder against the packed snow engulfing me, as the water was engulfing Charlotte. I screamed louder, words that were nonsense but that I knew would get people’s attention. I reached the pond and fell to my stomach, extending my right arm to Charlotte as I held myself to the bank with my left. It wasn’t far enough. I slid a little closer. My left hand was in the water now. The freezing water burned through my glove and through my skin. It was hard to ignore. I tried imagining that feeling all over my body, like what Charlotte was feeling now, and tears came to my eyes and poured down my face. Everything was blurred now. My tears burned my eyes with heat as the water burned my hand with the cold.
     I still couldn’t reach her. She was bobbing up and down and splashing and shrieking and moving too much for me to grab her. I turned myself around with the idea that I would walk in and carry her out. A heroic thought, but the moment my feet were submerged, I stopped with fear. So cold . . . My tears kept coming. Through the blurred shapes, I could see Charlotte’s movements slowing. Was that me? No! Charlotte! Don’t give up! Not now! I screamed it in my head. I might have screamed it aloud, but I couldn’t hear anything. I could see her giving up, see her freezing, see her drowning, see my house afire in the night, see my family being tortured inside.
     You weren’t there last time! Fight! Fight to save your family! Fight to save Charlotte!
     I pushed my fear and pain aside and slid the rest of the way into the pond. I slipped and was submerged in the icy death.
     When I broke the surface again, my body and mind was on fire: my body from the pain and my mind with stubborn diligence to save Charlotte. I pushed myself toward her, working my stiff and frozen legs as fast as they would go, pray to God Please, please, please save Charlotte. Please, please, please let her live. When I reached her she was barely moving. I saw through my teary eyes that her eyes were half open, but blinking occasionally. Please stay alive, Charlotte. Please, please, please. I grabbed her with clumsy hands and attempted to push us in the direction of the bank, but I couldn’t see the bank. It was all white. The whole world was white. I couldn’t see a difference between anything, no shape, no colour, just white. I tried swimming in the direction I thought I had come, but we were both so heavy and everything was so cold. It was so cold. I’m so cold.
     When we were ever in trouble or hurting, my mother taught the kids to repeat their favourite Bible verse, over and over. She told us that this would let us know that God is near and protecting us. As I floated there, dying, I couldn’t remember mine, but I remembered my mother’s. She would quote it to us whenever we were afraid, and now, I spoke it aloud for myself and for Charlotte:
     “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil . . .”

“. . . for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me . . .”
     “Has she gone mad?”
     “No, Senor. She, uh, saying Bible . . .”
     “She’s quoting the Bible?”
     “. . . Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me . . .”
     “She’s been spouting this off over and over since we found them. The little one’s made no noise.”
     “. . . dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. . . The Lord is my shepherd . . .”
     “Well, someone wake her already. Jeremy—“
     “Let’s just let her rest here. She’ll come to, Madame, don’t worry.”
     “She’ll come to as a nutter, that’s for sure! I’ll not be taking care of her if she’ll be acting like that.”
     “She’ll be fine . . .”
     “. . . he restoreth my soul . . .”