A/N: I read a story called "Orchestra of Breathing" (check it out, it's really good)about what what it would be like if Mary had married Richard. I thought it was a really interesting concept, so here's my take.
Summary: 16 year-old Robert and 15 year-old deaf Esther live with their mother, Mary, and their father, Richard, in New York. However, their lives change in the summer of 1937, when their cousin Matthew comes to stay-and makes Mary realize what she's been missing in her life. Meanwhile, Robert, a budding writer, starts to make his mark as an author, and Esther meets Tobias, a boy who makes her feel like she has a voice. Can Mary, Robert, and Esther become a happy family?
Chapter 1
Robert
New York City, New York, 1937
Breakfast, in case you haven't noticed, sets the mood of the day. If you have a bright, happy breakfast with all the family members laughing and smiling and pitching in ideas of what they should do together today, you'll have a great day. And if you have a breakfast filled with with frowns and grumbles and and parents arguing about the servants, you'll have a miserable day.
So when I saw the look on Mother's face when she read the letter, I knew today was going to be a bad day.
The letter, as it was, arrived on a silver tray with the rest of the mail brought in by our butler Curtis. Mother flicked through the mail with look of mild interest on her face. I concentrated on my eggs. I didn't expect anything good to come. Esther sat beside me, cutting up her bacon. And Father sat at the head of the table, reading the newspaper-The New York Times, of course. The New York Times was his newspaper's, The New York Daily, biggest rival. He always liked to see what the competition was up to.
Mother continued flicking through the mail, and then suddenly stopped.
She picked up a the letter at the bottom of the pile and opened it. Her eyes scanned down the page, and a look of surprise sprang to her face.
"Well," Mother said, laying the letter back on the table. "This is certainly interesting."
"What is?" Father said sharply. As a newspaper man, he was into things interesting.
Mother looked at us, and expression of faint shock on her face. "Matthew is coming to America, and he wants to know if he can stay with us for the summer."
I perked up at that. Matthew is my favorite relative. He's my Mother's distant cousin. He is also the the heir of Downton, even though he's middle-class and a lawyer. I hadn't seen him in almost two years, and I always enjoyed his visits. I glanced at Esther, to see if she had noticed. She was still eating her breakfast. I poked her hard, and she looked up, startled.
Matthew's coming to America and he wants to stay with us, I signed. Esther's eyes widened. Really? She signed back.
Father slapped the newspaper back on the table. "What?" He asked, his eyes alert. "Matthew's coming here? Why? What does he want?"
Mother picked up the letter again. "He says his law firm is representing some English firm that's having difficulties with one of their New York partners. Apparently there's been some legal issues," she said calmly.
"And he's asked to stay here?" My father asked, as if that were the most ludicrous suggestion in the world. "Are we going to let him?"
"Of course we are!" my mother said, rounding on him. "You know how families like ours work."
I shared a glance with Esther. We both knew exactly what was going on. Father didn't like Matthew. In fact, I don't think he liked anyone on Mother's side of the family. But he really didn't like Matthew, especially because he used to be engaged to Mother.
Mother was still talking. "You know Matthew hasn't been the same since Lavinia died." she continued. "It's better if he's staying with family."
"How long is he going to be here?" My father asked, all business. Better know everything about the enemy before he comes.
" He's says it might be until August," My mother replied.
I looked back at Esther again, to see if she was paying attention. She wasn't. It was hard for her to pay attention to conversations when one of us wasn't signing along, so she mostly just "tuned out". I decided to let her be until a verdict was settled.
Father studied my mother for a few seconds. My mother stared back. "He's family, Richard," She said. "We have to let him stay."
Silence resounded around the table. My parents watched each other steadily, a silent war of unspoken words waging. Finally, my father picked up the paper again and sighed. "Fine. He can stay here."
My mother looked pleased. "Well, then, I'll send him a reply now," she said brightly. "Best not to keep him waiting." She hurried out of the dining room. Esther looked up and as she left and then turned to me, a puzzled look on her face. It's settled. Matthew's staying with us, I signed. Her face broke into a grin. She went back to her breakfast, smiling at her plate. I did the same, noticing the yolk of the eggs spill out as the white flesh was pierced. For a breakfast food, eggs really suffered a lot; broken eggshells, broken egg whites....Hmmm, broken eggs. That could be a book title, I reflected. I quickly glanced in Father's direction, and then felt foolish. As if he could read my thoughts and then give me another lecture about how writing was a profession that wouldn't get me anywhere in life. I always hated those lectures.
I remember the first one her gave me, when I was eight. By then, it was obvious that my writing was more than "just a childish phase I was going through." I knew it was a serious talk, because Father sat me in the library, a serious room usually occupied by him. He sat in his favorite armchair, a pipe in his mouth, the smoke billowing out in rings and making a hazy cloud around us. "Remember, son," he said. "One day, you'll be in the newspaper business, when I'm gone, and then you won't have time for writing. Understand?" He puffed on his pipe again, sending another puff of smoke, and I coughed. "We aren't writers in our family. We're businessmen. Remember that." He leaned back in his chair, satisfied.
"But, Father," I said, "Can't I do both?"
He stared at me sternly. "No," he said firmly. "You can't. Your place is in the newspaper world. It's your destiny." He then picked up The New York Times lying on the side table and opened it with a rustle, my cue that our talk was over and it was time for me to leave.
In retrospect, my father may have been a bit hard on me, but that's the way it was in our house. The straight truth, black and white-like the newspaper. Esther and I were used to it by now, though it tended to make for a very tense household sometimes.
Esther finished her breakfast, stood up, and left the dining room. I decided to follow her. It was usually a good a idea to leave Father alone for while when he didn't get his way, especially when it involved Mother's family. As I left, I turned to get another look at Father. His face was completely hidden by The New York Times, like a general planning a surprise assault on the enemy-or a man who knew he had been beaten, and didn't want anyone to find out.
Reviews please! =) sorry this chapter was kinds short-i'll try to make the next one longer.