there is suffering to terrible to name
The small rocks that lined the round-a-bout in front of Mt. Vernon where pushed out of the way with a soft ripple as the dark blue ford fusion pulled up to the front door. As soon as the car fully stopped the back door was swung open and Gilbert Lafayette emerged. Speaking very quickly in French thanking the driver for the ride.
Gilbert was a tall boy, especially for his age and gangly as he had yet to grow into to his long legs and arms. His hair was pulled into a poof at the top of his head. The driver, an older man probably somewhere with in his late sixties spoke back to Gilbert without pause. Wishing the pre-teen, a good weekend before the door shut and the car pulled away.
Gilbert walked to the door with a skip in his step. The unbridled optimism that he was blessed with seeping through every pore of his being and sequentially effecting the world around him.
That is until he opened the front door.
For when he did open the front door he was met with a weighted silence that seemed to clog the air itself making it hard for him to breath normally.
Quickly he sat his book bag down on the long bench that sat across from the stairwell. Then he moved deeper into the house. Pausing at the door to the drawing room, and the sitting room room but continuing once he saw no one was there. Next he looked in on the kitchen. Once again the room was suspiciously empty.
Gilbert's stomach released itself from its knot and the lump in his throat was swallowed down. He resolved himself to the fact that his Godfather and Alexander must be out in the garden or maybe they ran to the market. After all he had not seen his Godfather's Bentley in the drive and it was a possibility that it was not in the garage either.
With the weight lifted off his shoulder's he entered the kitchen and pulled out a glass for orange juice and small bowl of fruit salad. As he sat down on one of the stools and began to eat his after school snack the feeling that something was wrong creeped up on him again. The house still felt wrong. After he finished choking down his snack a washing his dishes he resumed his search around the house.
The dining room was empty as to be expected. For Gilbert, would have could hear his Godfather and Alexander if that were the case. Then he slipped into the small hallway that separated the dining room from George's office. His original plan was to bypass the office door and move up the stairs into the family room. Alexander spend many hours there writing or reading books. His plan only changed when he heard a hiccuping sob come from the office.
'The office' his consciousness finally accepted and his shoulders sagged with the weight of relief. The was a sanctuary for both George and Alexander and one of the few unspoken rules of Mt. Vernon was never to bother either when they were in that room. It was the pair's sanctuary their place to hide within the house itself, just like how Martha's office on the third floor acted as a sanctuary to him and was off limits to George and Alexander.
He respected the boundary. He respected both George and Alexander's need for a place to escape. So despite a want to offer comfort to whomever it was that was upset he knew the closed door was a signal that they wanted privacy.
He twisted and walked up the stairs. Trying not to make too much noise on the staircase as he went. But as always his foot caught the loose board on the sixth step, the sneak step as George called it, and the resulting creek echoed for a minute.
"Alexander," George's voice sounded desperate as the door to the office swung open and the man twisted to look at the stair case. Upon seeing him Gilbert immediately knew his fears were right and something had happened. George's shirt was loose and wrinkled, his tie was undone, and the sleeves of his button down where rolled up hap-haphazardly.
"Aucun Père, juste moi." No father, just me. Gilbert said.
"Gilbert," He said, with a hard G and enunciated rt that differed from the French pronunciation that he had become accustom to hearing from the man the past few days. His gaze was unfocused and his body tense. His head whipped around to look for a clock as if trying to gage exactly how much time had passed with out his knowledge.
It took him almost fifteen seconds before he realized there was no clock in the hall and glanced down at his wrist to check his watch.
"Is it that late already." He breathed becoming entranced as he watched the watches minute hand click slowly around the circle.
"Père, y a quelque chose qui ne va pas?" Father, what is wrong? Gilbert asked and Geroge's gaze snapped up to meet his godsons. Then after a prolonged glance at the second floor landing he reached out and grasped Gilbert's shoulder in his large hand.
"Come with me Gilbert, we need to have a talk," George said as he guided Gilbert back to the office and walked him over to sit in on the couch.
"Où est Alexander," Where is Alexander. Gilbert asked seeing the boys backpack leaned up against the end of the couch. George's breath caught at the word Alexander and a silent sob forced its way through the large man's body. He closed his mouth pointedly and shook his head.
" Père, est-ce que, est-ce que tout va bien?" Father, what is wrong, is everything alright. Gilbert asked moving closer and resting a hand on Geroge's to offer some comfort. Memories of when Alexander had run away playing over and over in his mind.
"English," George said his voice sharp and tone cold.
"Where is Alexander?" Gilbert said slowly focusing on his pronunciation and tenses like Mr. De Grasse had been showing him earlier that day.
"Upstairs," George said and Gilbert let out a weighted sigh. So long as Alexander was still in the house he was certain whatever problem there was that between him and the Washington's everything would work out. "he is, well that is what we need to talk about."
"He is no well?"
"Mr. Jay, Alexander's social worker stopped by this afternoon."
"Qu'est ce qu'il voulait?" Why, what did he want.
"Please Gilbert," George snapped. "English," He said softer as if noticing that he had snapped and silently apologizing.
"Sorry Père." Gilbert whispered as his shoulders fell and his head declined.
"No, no I am sorry, today has just…." George began floundering for an excuse for his behavior. "There is no excuse. I am sorry Gilbert. I shouldn't have snapped."
"Mr. Jay came to tell us that Alexander's cousin Peter contacted them."
"Cousin?" He questioned as he came across the first word he did not understand.
"An uncles' child, a relative, um…"
"Family?" Gilbert provided.
"Yes family,"
"Pourquoi..." Gilbert began before realizing he was speaking in French and correcting himself "why,"
"Peter would like Alex to, well you see Gilbert sometimes, sometimes there are… there are things we can't, there are times what we want and what we…." George spoke fast, his words small but rushed and just complicated enough that Gilbert struggled to understand.
"Jay essaie de m'envoyer, de vivre avec un cousin, un homme que je n'ai jamais rencontré dans ma vie. Et le Général ne l'arrêtera pas. Et il se tint là. Il vient, il ..." Jay is trying to send me away, to live with some cousin, some man I have never met before in my life. And the General won't stop him. He just stood there. He just, he...
"Envoi vous loin." Sending you away?
"Oui, il me force à partir rentrée à New York. Mais je n'irai pas. Je ne veux pas. Je ne veux pas. Je veux rester ici avec vous et Docteur Martha et nos amis et ... Je ne veux pas partir." Yes, he is forcing me to go back to New York. But I won't go. I won't. I don't want to. I want to stay here with you and Doctor Martha and our friends and... I don't want to leave. Alexander was now openly sobbing. Gilbert rushed to his side to pull his elder brother into a hug. Though he was still confused on what exactly was happening he could understand Alexander's fear.
"Alexander," George spoke stepping closer to where the pair stood in the doorway of the office.
"Ne me touchez pas. Je te deteste. Je te deteste." Don't touch me. I hate you, I hate you Alexander flinched in Gilbert's grasp. The flinch was violent and ended with a type of tension in Alexander's shoulders the likes of which Gilbert had not seen since Charles Lee fought him two months ago
"Ne pleure pas mon petit lion. Tout ira bien." Don't cry my little lion. Everything will be alright. Gilbert smoothed running one hand though Alexander's hair and gathering it over one shoulder. The hair tie Alexander had used that day was now tangled in the edges of his mostly loose locks. With the other hand he rubbed small circles into the teens back trying to chase away the tension with his touch.
"Je ne pleure pas, je crie." I am not crying, I am yelling.
"Je crie," I am yelling. Alexander whimpered into his shoulder. Gilbert just whispered reassurances gripping tighter to his shoulder. Gilbert twisted to look at George, the man had his hands gripping tight to the legs of his pants. His knuckles white and hands clammy. But he did not seem ready to speak up at all. Gilbert gripped tighter to his elder brother and twisted his gaze back to face him.
"Venez. Montons à l'étage." Come on. Let's go upstairs.
"J'ai voulu saisir mon sac à dos," I just wanted my backpack.
"D'accord, d'accord, Je te l'aurai, d'accord?" Okay, okay I will get it for you okay. Gilbert said slipping from Alexander's vice grip and slipping Alexander's bag, that still laid on the couch in the room and slinging it on his shoulder.
"D'accord." Okay Gilbert repeated taking Alexander's arm and leading him back upstairs though the stairwell. When he got up to the second floor landing he lead Alexander into the bedroom. Setting Alexander on the bed and pulling away slowly. Then he tucked the boys backpack on the settee at the edge of his bed and toed off his shoes before laying down and offering his open arms for the older yet smaller boy to crawl into. Alexander did so willingly breaking down once again. Though his tears he attempted to talk, he spoke in a broken form of all five languages he knew. Meaning that at best Gilbert understood 1/8ths Gilbert then proceeded to hum the old lullaby his Grandmere used to sing to him on night when he was particularly upset about something. Soon Alexander's sobs subsided and he relaxed fully into Gilbert's embrace.
"T'inquiète pas mon petit, tout va s'arranger." Don't worry my little one, everything will work out. Gilbert whispered before letting out a long suffering sigh.
"tout va s'arranger." everything will be alright. He repeated pressing his face into his brother's hair, hoping more than anything that he was right and that this was all a just a misunderstanding.
But there was a feeling curling in Gilbert's abdomen that told him that things were not going to right themselves like he hoped.
