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May 10, 1773~

I woke up to Miss Mary's face.

Sunlight drifted through the window of my room and streamed across the wrinkles of my sheets forming a sea of cloth waves. I blinked and rubbed a limp hand over my drooping eyes. "Miss Mary…? What's the matter…?"

The woman smiled at my scratchy voice. "Oh, nothing Mister Matthew. I just came up here to wake you up for tea time," she said, brushing a straggling strand of hair out from her eyes. "Mister Kirkland wants everyone up and going."

I watched as she stood up straight from my bed and walk across the room. She picked up books from the floor and arranged papers that buried my desk, her nimble old fingers cleaning my room within mere movements. I rubbed at my eyes and finally rolled out of bed. I stood on shaky legs before walking over to Miss Mary. It was strange for me to find that I was now as tall as her or she was now as tall as I. With her ageing life, Miss Mary was falling behind in many ways—weather it was strength, energy or height.

"Here," I said while taking a box full of old toys from her grasp. "I'll get the rest."

She gave me a quick but tired smile. "Oh, don't spend too much time up here; your tea will get cold." She patted the side of my arm and trudged out of the room, coughing roughly into the hallway.

No one blamed the wariness that ran through the house. After Samuel's death, after all those men's deaths, Miss Jamie was caught by depression. Only about a year ago did she finally stop crying at nights, but even with that the spark in her eyes never came back. For the rest of the house, I can't really say. I'm still the same, a growing soul in a boy's body. White hair dominates Davidson's head, now no longer the strong young worker he once was. I'm not going to start on the subject with Alfred and Arthur—I believe everyone knows that story….

I began to undress from my night clothes and slip into my day clothes. My mind drifted off to some far corner of thought and I ended up sitting on my bed, shoes in hand, for another ten minutes. When I did get up I hurried down the stairs in a most clumsy way. I managed not to slip down the last step and jogged to the doorway of the sitting room. Stopping to catch my breath I peered in.

Arthur sat in his normal seat, legs crossed, one foot lightly resting on the small table in front of him. He had a face of stone. His eyes looked like they could cut right through you. Through it all you could see he was extremely tired, so tired that his hands shook slightly. I felt no pity for him, though. He deserved to feel the weight of sleepless nights like everyone else has.

Alfred sat across from him, head down looking at the hands in his lap. He wasn't the brother I grew up with. This person's face was etched with hatred and rage and confusion—this person's eyes were cloudy and dark.

The aura of the room made my spine tingle. I took a breath through my nose and straitened. Walking through that doorway became one of the greatest fears in my mind. I didn't want to be around any of them. However much I loved them, I could not get past the feeling a dread they emitted.

"Good morning," I said breathlessly when I took my first step into the room.

Both Arthur and Alfred's head shot up. Alfred was the first to put on his smiling mask. "Good morning to you too, Mattie," he said. He stood up from his seat and walked over to me. He grabbed my shoulder and kissed the top of my head. He moved aside and I caught a glance from Arthur. "Good morning, Arthur."

He merely nodded and said nothing.

Alfred walked me to the open seats and sat us down, Alfred to my right Arthur across.

We would still be sitting in silence if Miss Mary hadn't of come in. "Oh, sorry for the wait," she said. She slowly placed the tray of tea and cups on the small table. She handed us each a cup, rolling her eyes secretively when Arthur was the only one not to say thank you. As she poured my cup, I watch Alfred stare emotionlessly over at Arthur. How dark his eyes were.

When she came to Alfred's cup he told her to stop halfway. "That's enough, thank you." This seemed to catch Arthur's attention, but he remained silent.

Once everyone had a steaming cup in front of them, Miss Mary left to the kitchen, leaving us again in silence. Arthur immediately downed his cup like it was a shot of alcohol. I sipped at mine uninterested while Alfred stared down at his.

Arthur looked at him over the rim of his cup before speaking in a ruff voice, "Have you acquired a taste for observing your tea instead of drinking it?"

Alfred shot a look at the other before smiling. "Lost my taste for it all together really."

He stood up, cup in hand, and walked to the room's window. He gazed out into the lawn and sighed. Raising his cup and pouring all its tea into a flowerpot on the sill he said casually, "Lovely out today, don't you think?"

The steam could be seen rising off Arthur face. I stared, shocked, as Alfred came back and sat down. He stared at me then at Arthur, just waiting for something to happen. A vein came to Arthur's forehead as he scowled. His reaction was only half of what I was expecting. "What a childish thing to do," he said slowly, the fury not yet in his voice.

Alfred smirked. "Always a child in your eyes, aren't I?"

"Yes, but a more mature one," Arthur retorted. He went back to his cup. "Now drink your tea and stop acting foolish."

Alfred blinked silently for a moment before leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. "No."

Arthur gave a retched glare. "Drink."

Alfred shook his head. "No."

I jumped as Arthur shot up from his seat. He grabbed the teapot and Alfred empty cup and put the two together. The cup filled to the brim then he slammed both dishes back on the table. He pointed to the cup, still standing, "Drink it."

Alfred looked from the cup to Arthur and leaned forward. He stared up at the other in front of him. "No."

And with that, the morning was lost. I screamed, startled, as Arthur threw his arm and knocked every dish off the table. Alfred vaulted up.

The yelling began.

I left to the corner of the room. My shoulders were up straight and my heart was beating out of my chest. I watched with awe-stricken eyes as Arthur shouted and pointed and Alfred the same. They got closer to each other, their hands shaking terribly as if they were trying not to strangle one another. In a moment, some tightening grip on Arthur's mind squeezed and his hand struck Alfred's cheek. It was such a surprise to all in the room that the fight ceased long enough for Miss Jamie's cries to be heard.

"Oh Lord, boys!" The three of us looked to the doorway. Miss Jamie's tired eyes were wide and tear filled. Her hands curled in and out around the hem of her dress as she cried. God knows how hard it is for her to get out of bed in the mornings, and for her to actually get about the house easily only to be greeted by a roaring brawl must be hell on her nerves. She dashed back to the stairs and ran for her room before anyone could speak.

Alfred stood with his palm to his cheek; Arthur stood quiet. He wiped at his brow then stormed out of the room. I flinched as I heard the front door slam shut. That left Alfred and I. I heard a clink of glass and looked to see Alfred squatted near the ground picking up all the broken dishes. "Al…I can get those," I said quietly while walking over.

He shook his head and waved his hand. "Go—Go check…" his voice cracked and his lips were tight. He pointed to the staircase and nodded then said nothing.

I rubbed a sleeve over my eyes as unnoticed tears tickled my face. I whispered an O.K and left.

The upstairs were dark. When I turned the corner for Miss Jaime's room I collided with Miss Mary. "Oh, Mister Matthew…" she looked over my face and sighed. "Oh Mister Matthew, she's not all that well at the moment."

"That's alright," I said. "I just…want to speak to her."

Miss Mary nodded and sniffed. "Alright dear."

She walked on by and I stepped to the door. I didn't knock because why would you? All privacy is invalid in this situation. "Miss Jamie?"

I wasn't expecting what was behind the door. Miss Jamie sat in her vanity chair with her back slumped, her hand rubbing her temples. At the sound of my voice she looked up. "Yes?"

She wasn't crying like I thought she would be. "I came to check on you."

Miss Jaime pointed to the end of her bed for me to sit down. I did. As I leaned forward slightly I saw a thin piece of paper with a drawing on it: the drawing was of Samuel.

"He's so handsome," Miss Jamie said after seeing me looking at the paper. I nodded sadly. She sat silently for a moment before saying in a shaky voice, "He was the love of my life."

The tears came then; it was only a matter of time. "He was so wonderful. He—he told me he loved me, all the time," she said, voice rising in volume. Even if she was crying tears of pain a smile lit her face. "He told me he was going to marry me when we got a little older. He told me—he told me that we were going to go to Europe and start a family. I was going to be a seamstress and he was going to sail his own boat."

Suddenly her small smile fell and she collapsed into hysterical sobs. "I can't do it anymore, Mister Matthew! I can't do it!" She waved her hands at the closed bedroom door. "All the fighting and—and…"

She never finished speaking. She cried for the rest of the morning, I cried too. I hugged her and told her it was okay.

She didn't believe me.

When the clock chimed one more than two, she stopped. The picture in her lap, her beloved face, was dotted with tears. Her wrists had red lines on them from the pressure of keeping them bent to her face. I let kiss fall on her head and she quietly told me, "I have to get out of here, Matthew."

About a week later, Miss Jamie left on a ship to France.

Everyone except Arthur stood on the docks and wished her goodbye. She wore her prettiest dress—a white draping cloth that wrapped around her perfectly—and her blonde hair was tied up in a bow. She wasn't the young vivacious girl she once was. She looked older, if not to say old.

She hugged her mother quickly, for if she lingered Miss Mary would not let her go. I said my farewell's and then went to comfort Miss Mary. Her dear friend Bernadette came and cried through her handkerchief, she even brought a case with a new needle and thread in it as a goodbye gift. Alfred hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead, sadness in his eyes. Davidson, though, gave the hardest goodbye. No hugs, no kisses, he just reached out and brushed her bangs. "Ya go do good, Miss Jamie."

After that, all of us watched her step onto the ship. Once she was gone, she didn't look back.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I turned in my bed and stared at the ceiling. I decided that my mind was shot. So much had happened in only the time of a week: I lost a family member who couldn't stand the turmoil that brewed in the house; I am still as young as the day I came while everyone else looks near death, and, from it all, I'm still waking up in the mornings. It confused me that I could manage that.

While I laid in silence I thought of Alfred and the others and myself, but most of all, Miss Jamie. I wondered how she would fit in over there—France, Europe, outside this suffocating house. I started to remember my life in France. It was funny, all memories that were supposed to have him in it didn't. I had scratched him out. He was no longer in my life so I had no reason to remember him. I felt a pang of longing for those times back, but not because of him. I missed the way the air smelled there and how the sky was slightly bluer. I missed the people, the langue, the culture, the sense of bliss that floats through the actions and movements of those around.

I love Boston, I really do, but the time to stand and walk away was getting closer every year. I wanted out, out of this house, out of these thoughts that clouded my mind, out of this weak little boy's skin. I rolled on my side and shut my eyes. You're right Miss Jamie, I thought. I have to get out of here.


Hissy fits and drama~ thank you for reading and leave your comments :)