Chapter 67

Six weeks of tutoring turned into eight after Charles accidentally bumped into and dented the dining room wall one evening after supper.

Lengthening lessons didn't seem to matter much as I was beginning to think Charles could serve as a tutor for a century and Alex would still be a feral child cursing like a sailor as he ran the streets and terrorized the denizens of Paris.

"Your son is...spirited," Charles said after a particularly challenging day with Alex.

That was putting my son's behavior politely, which is what I had come to expect from Charles Lowry.

"The lessons are a bit more of a challenge than I originally thought," he carefully continued.

"Challenging?" I questioned. "Is he unable to be taught?" I asked over my shoulder.

I had walked into the study to return books to the shelves at the end of the night while Charles finished up some writing for the university. Meg had joined him once Alex was asleep for the night. I heard her humming to herself well before I walked down the stairs from my bedroom and was not at all surprised to see her reading beside her husband. She gave Charles an uneasy look as I voiced my question regarding my son.

Charles stared back at me, his dark eyes wide as his mouth dropped open. "No, no, Monsieur, quite the contrary," he assured me. "Alexandre is exceptionally bright for his age. He is fully capable of learning."

Nothing could have pleased me more. For months I had started to look for similarities between me and my son, but at the same time I feared the resemblance. My own parents had thought of me as a beast who could not understand what they said to me. Time and again I had been reassured that I was little more than an animal beneath their home, a simple creature of little worth who lacked intelligence.

"But, Monsieur, Alexandre is very difficult to keep focused," Charles added.

I left the book I was returning to the shelf precariously balanced on the edge and fully turned to face him. "I beg your pardon?"

Charles shuffled through papers on the desk next to him. "He is…" Charles made a sweeping gesture with one hand and grimaced, although I could not tell if he was physically uncomfortable or simply unable to find the correct words.

"What is wrong with my son?" I demanded.

"When I tell him he must sit or that it is time to listen, he becomes angry. He pounds his fists, holds his breath, and has made several attempts to hit his head on the desk. Today he attempted to turn over a chair when I asked him not to rip the pages from a book." Charles avoided my eye and tapped his fingers on the desk. "In all honestly, Monsieur Kire, I do believe Alexandre is not accustomed to hearing the word 'no' directed at him."

"That is utterly ridiculous. I most certainly tell him 'no'," I bristled.

Meg gave me a sideways look as she made a face as though I had lost my mind.

"I am sure you do," Charles said quite amiably. "Perhaps it is merely a matter of my technique in teaching."

"Indeed."

"Tomorrow we will try something new to garner his attention."

Annoyed by his words, I left the books crammed onto the shelves and trudged back up to my room where I shut and locked the door. Once I returned to my desk, I pulled a fresh sheet of paper from the drawer, unstoppered my inkwell, and sat with my pen poised as I considered making a list of all the times I had told Alex he could not do something.

It galled me that a man who had been under my roof for little more than a month thought of me as a lax parent allowing my son to do whatever he damned pleased. It equally galled me when I could not come up with a recent example of denying Alex anything at all.

"The post is here," Madeline said as she knocked on my bedroom door. "I apologize for not bringing it to your attention earlier."

"Leave it," I miserably replied.

There was a long pause, which I hoped meant Madeline simply left whatever letters had arrived outside of the door, but of course she had not.

"I walked all the way up here," she groused.

"All the way up here indeed. Eight damned stairs," I snarled under my breath.

I opened the door and Madeline stepped through without being invited. "Eight stairs on a cold day with stiff joints," she said. "And you and that language of yours."

She truly had the ears of a fox.

"May I assist you with something?" I asked impatiently.

"Charles is correct," Madeline said as she shuffled the letters and placed them on my desk. Without looking at me, she took her usual seat and smoothed her skirt. "Alex is far too accustomed to having his own way."

My jaw tensed, but I stayed quiet.

"You should see how he acts when it is time for his lessons. He turns from a charming little boy to a combative devil making every attempt to get his own way. Charles truly has the patience of a saint."

"I would have no idea how Alex acts," I shot back. "Not since the first day when I was told in not so many words by his tutor that he greatly prefers me to wait outside of my own study in my own home."

Madeline crossed her arms and shook her head. "You understand it is for the best that you are not in the study? Alex is far too preoccupied with you sitting out of reach to concentrate. I think he is looking for any little distraction."

I sighed. On three separate occasions I had sat in the study to observe lessons for a brief amount of time, but as Madeline had pointed out, Alex would not remain in his seat. He wanted to be on my lap, the back of my chair, or clinging to my leg rather than go over colors and shapes. After the third disastrous attempt, Charles made it clear that I was not invited into the damned study of my own damned house.

"You worry far too much," Madeline continued.

"And what precisely do you think I worry about?"

Madeline ignored my tone. "You worry Alex will think you have abandoned him," she said quietly. "You are concerned he will be unhappy, but his childhood is not like yours."

I looked at her sharply, my shoulders drawn up nearly to my ears and my jaw tense, daring her to continue speaking. When she said nothing further, I turned my attention to the letters he had placed on my desk and rifled through the stack.

"He will never know what it feels like to be struck," I said as I stared at the top envelope and attempted to keep my voice even. "He will not know what it feels like to go to bed hungry or to wake sick from lack of food. He will not know what it was like, not ever. No matter what he does, I will not…"

My voice trailed away, my chest tight. I had thought of my parents off and on in recent weeks as Alexandre became more mobile and curious of his surroundings. The doors had locks placed higher up and out of Alex's reach as he could easily unlock and turn the knobs in order to let himself outside.

With the past month, Alex had escaped through the front door on Madeline's watch and had walked around the corner and to the neighbor's house. Twice he had sneaked through the kitchen, quiet as could be, and let himself into the back garden while I was working in the study, completely oblivious to his actions. Meg found him the first time, muddy and cold in her dormant flower bed with one shoe stuck in the mud and his fingers blue from being outside without gloves. The wind slammed the door shut the second time, which was the only way I discovered him out of the house. To say I was bewildered and livid by his stealth was an understatement. If anything had happened to him, I would never forgive myself.

As much as I feared for my son's safety, I thought of how my own parents would have reacted if I had shown the same spirit as my son. I wondered if I had always been broken or if long ago I had been as carefree as Alex.

Memories of my early childhood were murky at best. I could not recall much of anything until I was five or six years of age and even then I wondered if I had truly lived the nightmares that continued to plague me or if I had filled in the empty spaces with my imagination.

"You will not hurt his feelings if you tell him he cannot climb up the back of your chair or jump on the bed," Madeline said at last.

"Do you know what my first thought was when I brought him back in from the garden the other day? I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and tell him he had scared the hell out of me and if he ever did something like that again I would make certain it was the last.

"I told myself that when I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back inside it was out of concern, but I was furious with him for sneaking out when he was already told he could not open the door himself. The moment I saw his face, I realized I could not give him a reason to hate or fear me. Already I do not know why he loves me."

Madeline's lips parted. "Erik, how could you say such a thing? Alex loves because you are his father and you have shown him nothing but kindness and compassion. If you raised your voice at him, he would still know you love him, but he would also know it is not appropriate to leave the house alone."

"What if I did not stop at yelling?" I asked. "What if I had hurt him?"

"You wouldn't."

"How do you know?"

Madeline reached out and placed her hand on my shoulder. "Because you are not your father. You will yell, you will slam doors and stomp up the stairs, but you would not hurt your son. Do you know what I see when he is on your lap or seated beside you? I see a man who has always, always claimed to have very little patience show endless tolerance for his son. Your bond with Alex is something you should take great pride in, Erik. Not all men would spend day and night with their child as you have done since the moment he was left here."

"Daaaaa!" Alex called from the nursery.

Madeline glanced toward the bedroom door and sighed. "He has not been sleeping well the last few nights."

"I am well aware," I answered as I left the post on my desk and started toward the bedroom door.

Alex had been up and down every few hours since Meg had returned with Charles. Much to my surprise, when he woke during the night, he asked for me instead of Meg.

"You know why he calls for you?" Madeline asked. "Because you rush to his side."

I paused at the bedroom door. "I do no such thing," I said as I prepared to rush to my son's side.

Madeline did not argue with me. She stood and glanced at my desk before picking up the catalog I had kept for several weeks.

"What's this?" she asked as she looked from the page I had open to me.

"Nothing," I answered.

"Daaaaa!" Alex called again. His plea for help was followed a moment later by Meg telling him to go to sleep.

"Are you ordering something?" Madeline asked.

"Of course not. There is nothing but poorly constructed nonsense and snake oil only a fool would purchase."

It did not matter what I said as Madeline had clearly seen the page open was for three different types of wheelchairs, a backrest made to improve posture, and a several other products made for invalids. I realized no matter what I said in protest, she would clearly know I had ordered something from the catalog once the crate containing a new wheelchair arrived in four to six weeks.

"Da, Da, Da, Da!" Alex chanted, followed by a horribly acted out cry.

"Alex! Go to sleep!" Meg yelled.

"No, May," Alex whined. He babbled something about water, then said he was hungry.

"He will go back to sleep on his own," Madeline said quietly. "He doesn't need anything."

Again Alex yelled that he wanted water, to which Madeline shook her head when I took another step toward the landing.

My pleas as a child had never been answered regardless of whether I asked for a drink of water, a bite of bread, or for my father to stop hurting me. There was not a single moment beneath their roof in the thirteen years I had been kept in the cellar that I recalled being cared for in any capacity.

My chest ached as I thought of how Alex must have looked in his crib with his wide, dark eyes and mess of curls bobbing as he impatiently jumped up and down on the mattress. I could see the quiver of his lip once he realized I would not come to his side and bring him a cup of water or read him another story.

No matter how exhausted or preoccupied with music, I never denied my son a moment of attention. Whatever he wanted, I did for him without question. Despite my shortcomings, I gave him every bit of myself so that he would know my love for him was boundless.

"He is fine," Madeline insisted. "Give him a moment to settle himself back to sleep. He must learn that once he is in his crib, it is time for him to sleep the night through."

I sighed and shook my head, frustrated by Madeline's sensible advice on child rearing.

"If he calls one more time," I reasoned.

"Maaaaaaaay!" Alex yelled.

Since I did not answer, Alex apparently decided to call out to the only person who had responded to him, but Meg did not reply. Seconds passed and Alex's babbling turned to a sigh of frustration and then-to my surprise-silence.

Seconds ticked by and Madeline smiled as Alex remained quiet. She squeezed my arm as she walked past me and offered a knowing, motherly smile. "You are not denying him," she said quietly. "You are giving him boundaries and rules."