"Yet another bad ending to a story," you must be thinking. Fine, fine. I'll tell you. My father didn't end up killing me that day—because if he had the story would be over—but he didn't really take the advice of Sammuel. Being the stubborn man that he was, he somehow continued to believe that I was Sammuel's kid. He never showed it in public—he had a reputation to worry about—but I knew about it all. He reminded me everyday. "You left handed bastard," became almost like a second name to me.
Things got suddenly worse when I was seven, though. It started out with a bad day for Father. Everything went wrong. The maid spilt tea all over his new—expensive—garment. Then, he went to clean off, and fell into the city well. The man who finally helped him out had loaned him a large sum of money and was hoping to collect it. Father thought he must have offended God, so he went to the church to confess. There he found the priest making out with a nun.
He quickly left and rushed back to work, only to find himself late for a very important meeting, during which they fired him for the last several times he had been late. Along the way home, he was splashed by a carriage and threatened by a homeless man. That was a really, really bad day, but do notice, none of it was my fault.
When Father arrived home, he burst through the door and shouted, "Emily!"
She happily came from the living room to meet him. "Good day Mister," she greeted standing on her tip-toes to kiss him. Mister is what she called Father when she was in an especially good mood. After the kiss—and feeling his wet suit—she realized he hadn't had a good day.
"You had a bad day again, didn't you?" She asked pitying him.
Without answering, he turned toward the stairs and demanded, "Where's that child?"
"No!" Mother jumped back in front of him, "No, no, no. This is not Wesley's fault. You will not blame it on him…again."
"Elizabeth!" Father called, knowing Mother wouldn't give in. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was eleven, the age where girls cannot keep anything secret.
"Yes Father?" She skipped into the loft.
"Where is your brother?"
Mother was shaking her head no, but Elizabeth didn't notice it. Instead, she replied, "Oh, he's at Sammuel's house. Do you like my dress? Mother just bought it for me."
"Of course, it's lovely." In all reality, he hadn't even noticed it. "Go play." Elizabeth skipped back to her room, and Father turned back to Mother. "I'll be back soon," He said walking out the door.
I was at Sammuel's house. I went over there a lot. We would take turns reading to each other—which Father didn't like—and he would tell me stories about pirates—which Father didn't like. It was the only place I got to act like just a regular kid, though, so I kept going. His wife was a good cook too. She never said much, but she always sat in on Sammuel's stories. That day, he was telling me the story of Jason. Although, now I know Sammuel had made the stories up, at that point I thought he was a real guy.
Jason was a guy who fought for the good and the bad sides. He had killed over 300 pirates—so far—and was a pirate himself. Of course, Jason only killed the bad pirates, the ones that break the law.
That was how every episode started. This was the 301st story Sammuel had told me. Jason had been on vacation with his Spanish lover Esperanza when their ship was attacked by evil pirates of the ship Malevolence. The pirates were going to throw his Lady overboard because Jason had killed one of their crew a few years before. Jason had been tied to the mast where he would have to watch Esperanza walk the plank. That was how far we had gotten into the story. I do have to admit, though, Sammuel told it better.
"Then Esperanza heard a familiar voice behind her," Sammuel continued. "'Not so fast Captain Marks!' Jason had somehow gotten untied and now held his sword to the throat of Captain Marks." Sammuel held his sword out, pretending to be Jason.
"Jason demanded, 'Release her or else!' 'Else what?' Marks taunted. 'Or else, I'll slit your throat!' Marks glared at Jason, 'You wouldn't dare!' he exclaimed drawing his sword. The two of them fought vigorously, leaving Esperanza there surrounded by pirate onlookers." Sammuel was moving his sword left and right—and you could tell he didn't know what he was doing. Suddenly, he stopped.
"Where did my wife go?" He asked me, just realizing she had left.
"Someone's at the door." I replied, more interested in the rest of the story. "She'll be back. Keep going." I was right. She did come back, but Sammuel didn't keep going. It was my Father who was at the door.
"I'm sorry, I tried to stop him, but—" That is the only thing I ever remember hearing her say.
"Wesley, we are going home," Father commanded.
"Why?" I asked.
"We need to have 'a family discussion.'" He answered, grabbing me by the arm. He was trying to hide what he really meant, but Sammuel and I knew him well enough. Not to mention, when blabber-mouth Elizabeth came too, everything got let loose.
"Weatherby," Sammuel complained, "Can he not stay just a little longer? We have almost finished with the story. Your discussion can't be so important that it can't wait ten minutes, can it?"
"We must leave now!" He shouted pulling me a bit closer to the door.
"I think you will stay," Sammuel decided pushing Father into the only chair he had. "Here, have some tea, and a biscuit." Sammuel handed Father those things and continued, "Kick up your feet and relax. We're going to have a bit of a discussion." His wife escorted me to the other side of the room, just in case things got a little heated.
"About what?" Father scowled.
"About the word discussion…as it pertains to your son. He is a wonderful, very talented boy, Weatherby. But you will never see that if you keep blaming him for everything that goes wrong in your life. I don't care how bad of a day you had, don't 'discuss' it with him. He is but a child."
After a second, Father stood up and responded, "You will not tell me how to care for my family. He is my son, and I will raise him as I wish." Then, he turned to me, "Come along boy." I reluctantly got up, and we left.
Once we were gone, Sammuel complained, "That poor boy. I just wish I could help him…just once."
His wife put her arm around his waist comfortingly, "You do. Every time you try, and that's what matters. 'Tis not your fault, so Wesley forgives you."
"Yeah, I guess."
There were rules to the "game" Father played with me. One was that he always had to write a list of all the things I had done to make him mad. Father spent the whole ride home just working on that. We made him do that because it was supposed to make him stop and think, maybe cool off. It didn't work; in fact, it often made things worse. He just thought of more he could blame on me. The second rule was that I had to read the list before things started. That made things worse too.
When we got home, Father dragged me out of the carriage, in the house, up the stairs, and into my room. He shut the door, and two servants stepped in from of it right before freaked out Elizabeth and Mother could get to the door.
"Here! Read it!" Father shouted, shoving the list in my face. It read:
The Things You Have Done to Make Me MAD:
You can read this, which means
I have to waste time writing this and waiting for you to read it, and
It means you spend the majority of your life at Sammuel's house reading,
Which means that after a long hard day including a large debt and losing my job—
Which was primarily your fault because I had to stay home and baby-sit you when you got sick last week—
I had to go visit my worst enemy,
Speak to a poor woman,
Hold a slightly intelligent conversation with Sammuel,
And bear through a horrible story about horrible pirates, just to
Find out you told Sammuel about our 'secret'!!
It said mostly the same things as every other time, with the exceptions being four, five and ten. Five was a lie. Sure, he lost his job because he had to take care of me when I was sick. Yeah right. First he made me sick. Second, Mother did make him stay home, but he was going to lose his job anyways. It wasn't like I could stop Father, though, being only seven, even if most of it wasn't really my fault. I just set the list down and waited nervously.
My room was dark and gloomy most of the time. That was the way Father thought my entire life should be. I sat down on the foot of the bed—which took up most of the room. Father rolled his sleeves up and readied himself. Another servant, who loyally stood behind Father, hung his head in disapproval but did nothing. He could do nothing.
"As you can see," Father began, gesturing the servant to step forward. The servant was holding a silver platter. "There were ten reasons on that list. That means you have just upgraded to a level three punishment…flogging." He chuckled gleefully, pulling a whip from the platter so fast that Mother and Elizabeth could hear the snap. They paused for a second, thinking I had actually been hit, and then resumed their attempt to get into the room with more vigor.
I too had thought Father was hitting me already and closed my eyes in fear. He wasn't though, just teasing me. He was definitely too happy about this. I hadn't remembered that ten reasons made level three. Now that I knew, though, I had to convince him that it wasn't really ten.
"But I didn't tell Sammuel that, Father," I insisted backing up a little bit, "I didn't tell him that. It can't be level three yet 'cause I didn't tell him that." I wanted so bad to run away, but there was nowhere to run to.
"Is that so?" Father walked to me until he was so close it seemed he was towering over me. He picked me up by my neck, without choking me, but hard enough to show he could. "Then, who was it?" He whispered.
I didn't want to say that…get Elizabeth in trouble, but I really didn't want to be flogged. Plus, it was only one offense for her, not severe at all. Finally, I stumbled out, "Elizabeth." Father didn't believe me, though. He dropped me to the floor.
Before I could get up, he shouted, "Make that eleven, no twelve reasons!"
"What?" I looked up at him in confusion, figuring I had more time than I really did.
"You were trying to avoid punishment," he scolded, hitting my back with the whip. Before I could scream, before I could even feel there was a pain, he was on the second slap. It was accompanied by the twelfth reason, "By lying to me."
That time I screamed. Father just stood there waiting for me stop. When I finally realized that was what he was waiting for, I stopped screaming. I decided I should get up, even though I still had tears streaming down my face. I know I sound like a wuss, but that is not the case. I've seen many grown men brought to tears after their first flogging, and I was only seven.
"Quit blaming things on your sister," Father commanded. He was going to hit me again, but I saw it this time. I did a backwards somersault and quickly stood up, making Father miss. I got a gleam in my eyes. It wasn't often I could do that. Then, I saw Father again.
"I promise Father, I am not lying," I pleaded.
"Really? I find that hard to believe. Are you so sure you want to say that? Because we can surely step it up another level if you so wish it."
"No," I replied looking to the floor.
"Then, come back over here, turn around, and stop lying."
I obeyed; I had no other choice. There was another stroke, and I fell to my knees screaming—but not as loud this time. Just then, Mother and Elizabeth made it in. They were used to the "game," so Elizabeth walked right over to the bed and read the list to Mother. Father hit me a fourth time.
When she reached the last reason, Elizabeth's eyes widened, and she ran over to Father pointing at it. "No Father!" she exclaimed, "Stop! He didn't do that, I did!"
Father stopped his arm in mid-swing and turned to Elizabeth, ready and willing to bring it down on her instead. That was a nice thought, a nice idea, but the wrong time. When Father was mad, he stayed mad. "How dare you!" He growled moving toward her. She screamed and turned to run, but Father caught her by the arm.
I could hardly move. I was lying on my stomach, on the floor, but I had to save her. Hitting a girl just wasn't right. Plus, even if she loved to talk, that sometimes helped me a lot. It sure did make me feel better faster. It took all of the energy I had to get halfway up and crawl quickly over to her, pulling her to the floor and underneath me. The whip was already coming down, though, and Father hit me rather than Elizabeth.
Somehow I forced myself not to scream, but instead whisper, "You have to stay pretty." Then, I laid my head down because I couldn't hold it up any longer.
Father grabbed me by the arm so hard that it felt like he broke it—he didn't, but it still felt like he had. He threw me against the north wall of my room. I hit the wall hard and fell face first to the floor. I wasn't getting up again after that. However, Father still wasn't done. He still had to get Elizabeth, so he raised the whip and was about to strike when…
"Mister Swann," one of the servants called through the door, "There is someone at the gate to see you."
"I'll be down in a moment," Father said with a sigh. Dropping the whip, he left the room disappointed and still frustrated.
Mother and Elizabeth also sighed. Mother did because it was finally over, and she could breathe again. Elizabeth did out of relief that nothing had happened to her. I didn't even have the energy to do that. Instantly, they both came over to see if I was all right. Mother scooped me up into her arms, rocked me back and forth, and went into another of her crying sprees.
"Mother," Elizabeth began curiously, "when Wesley was trying to protect me, he said something. 'You have to stay pretty.' What do you think he meant by that?"
Mother wiped the tears from her eyes. "I don't know. Perhaps he meant these things aren't meant to happen to women. Women can never marry with such a scar, even one as beautiful as yourself." Then, she got up and brought me to my bed. She laid me down on my front and pulled the covers over, finishing, "I must leave. I have things I must tend to, but will you stay here and keep him company when he awakens?"
She nodded and sat in a chair next to my bed to wait. I was awake already. I wanted to tell them so. I wanted Mother to stay there and sing to me, and even if Mother couldn't stay, Elizabeth could sing. I liked it when Elizabeth sang, especially that crazy pirate song Sammuel taught us. She did it beautifully, but I didn't have the energy to say that. I decided, it might be best if I did sleep.
