A Gift for Charity
Chapter 11- Both
August 17, 1887I stood there for a moment, shocked. Then I started to jump up and down in my heels that were really something that should have been made for someone much older than myself. "Yes!Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" I exclaimed, still jumping up and down. Charity just crouched there in her cell, unmoving. "I knew it!" I said. "I just knew it! Once Maria told me about how Daddy had been taken away because he was wrongfully accused of doing something bad, I just knew that they had sent him off to jail, and there is only one main jail, and here it is! Yes!" I said again, still very excited.
"No," Charity said flatly. "He's not my father."
"Who was your mother?" The Phantom (my daddy) asked Charity.
"Her name was Rebecca. She was very pretty and very smart," I said for her. Charity gave me a threatening look and let go of my hands. "Maria told me that she had blond hair like me, and blue eyes like Charity."
Daddy nodded as though that was something completely natural. Then he said, "Yes, that's exactly how she looked. I remember as though it were yesterday." His eyes took on a faraway look, as though he was back in the past.
Just then, one of the policemen who had come with us said, "Are you telling me that this man, The Phantom of the Opera, the man who killed several people, and then kidnapped a young girl, is the father of these two girls?" He looked incredulously at first Henri, then Daddy.
Daddy stood up to his full height and came close to the bars of his cell. I was amazed that Daddy was at least six feet tall, if not taller. "Are you suggesting that I would not make a good father?" He asked.
"No," the policeman said. "But I was suggesting that I do not believe any woman would want to marry you, let alone have a child with you." I am sure that I had a shocked look on my face. Then I came up to the blond policeman and I kicked him in the shin really hard. I was later to remember that the other policeman had left already.
"That's for insulting my daddy," I said.
"Dominique!" Gabriella exclaimed to me. She went over to the man and began to apologize profusely.
Henri smiled knowingly and Daddy smiled too. Charity was the only one who wasn't happy about the situation. She had slunk back into a corner, trying to be ignored. I wondered what she was thinking.
-
I crawled away from where the others were talking until I was completely hidden in shadows. I hated it. I hated it more than anything in the world. I tried to keep a straight face, but my eyes and nose, and everything else wouldn't listen. I pulled my knees up and hugged them to my chest. I tear trickled down my cheek and plopped onto the ground.
Nearly my whole life, I had been telling myself that all I had left of my family was Dominique, and that there was nothing else in the world for me, and nothing that I could do to bring my mother and father back from the dead. Then, suddenly and out of the clear blue, my father shows up in the most unlikely of places. I felt like killing myself. My whole world had been shattered. I had built up this wall; this safe haven, and then someone took a rock and smashed it to bits. Who wouldn't be a little upset? I sniffled quietly. Then Dominique noticed that I had disappeared into the shadows.
"Charity?" She called. "What is it? Aren't you happy? We have a daddy! We're not orphans anymore!" She sounded so happy.
I shook my head. She didn't understand, and she would never understand. She hadn't known our father. She hadn't had to experience first-hand what it was like to be ignored by the person that you loved most.
When I was little, my father was the person that I wanted to be. I don't remember much about how he looked, except that he had black hair and wore black a lot. But he was my whole world. He was everything to me. He made me want to do better, to try harder, and to learn and try new and interesting things. He was the first one to convince me to try to eat a snail, and then watched as I nearly swallowed a live one. He was a little bit like a big brother: Always trying to see what he could do to embarrass me, but only when he was the only one watching. And he was always the one to stop me from doing something stupid of silly, right before it happened. I loved my father. Then, that day came.
I was playing in the front yard, and a man dressed in a suit came up the walk. He didn't look particularly scary, but every nerve screamed at me to run. So I ran. I ran to the back of the house to the shed, where my father was working on something. It was shiny, and it was made of metal. I remember him saying some nasty words that I do not care to repeat. I burst in, and I said that there was a man at the door. He looked up, and he smiled, thinking perhaps that I was overreacting again. But I wasn't.
When he saw who it was, he told me to leave. I pretended to, but I didn't really. It was all for show. I hid in the next room with the door partly open. I don't remember exactly what it was, but I remember my mother crying, and then screaming. I remember running after that evil man's carriage, and I remember mother lying on her bed, with her hair spread out around her. She took my hand in hers and she said, "Charity. Take care of your sister."
And then she died.
-
I looked into the corner, searching for her. She was there; I knew it. It was the fault of those blasted bars! They prevented me from seeing my daughter, and holding her in my arms and telling her how sorry I was that I had left without even saying goodbye. How hard it was for me to see her mother in that state. And how I still had her little voice echoing in my ear, to that day. The cry she made as she ran after the carriage. Daddy! Every time I remembered, I cried. So tried not to remember. But when the days are long, and everything becomes quieter, I couldn't help but think of my family, and how I blamed myself for every moment that I had to spend away from them.
"Charity," I called softly. "Charity, it's true." My voice broke. I was glad that the policeman was preoccupied and couldn't hear me. "I'm sorry," I whispered softly.
I heard a sniffle. Then I saw her foot stick out into the light. Her blue eyes glimmered faintly in the dimness. "I don't wasn't a daddy," she whispered. "And I don't want a mother, and I don't want an uncle, and I don't want any relative of any kind besides Dominique." Her voice was high, and she sounded as though she was trying not to cry.
"Why not?" Dominique asked, coming closer to the bars of her sister's cell. "All you used to talk about was how it was like before mommy died."
"Because," Charity whispered. She wouldn't expand on that thought, but she didn't need to. I already knew what she meant. She meant that she didn't want family because family is a good thing, and all good things must come to an end sooner or later. I knew how she felt. But how was I supposed to tell her?
Then the other policeman came back. Henri told him the situation, and then I was told something shocking: When it comes to serving out a life sentence, it only really means twenty years. And Henri paid enough money for that to be reduced to ten years. Ergo, I was free.
They unlocked my cell, and then Charity's. When I stepped out of the cell, Dominique came over and hugged me. She seemed so happy. But Charity crept slowly out of her cell, and she stayed as far away from me as possible. I felt hurt that she wouldn't at least shake my hand, or even look at me. But I also felt that I deserved it. I didn't even ask if I could say goodbye to my little girl. How is a five year-old child supposed to know that her father loves her if he doesn't say so the day that he gets carted away for ten years?
A/N: I hope you liked that. I'm actually very surprised that I have two reviews in one weekend. It's thanksgiving weekend, too (you must remember that I live in Canada), so I'm going to my grandmother's on Monday. She makes the best food ever! It's probably going to be turnkey, and then pumpkin pie for desert. She might even have made lemon meringue pie, if she really wants to do something special. (For those of you who don't know, lemon meringue pie is my favorite.)