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The Portrait
Part 3
"G…Ghost?!"
"Yeah," Milliardo confirmed with a slight grin. "My grandmother used to tell us about it all the time when we were kids. How the house, and especially this attic is haunted. She heard about it from my grandfather who got it from his parents. Her stories seemed rather convincing too."
"What kind of ghost? I mean did she ever mention if it was vengeful or just…"
"Come on, Maxwell, you don't really believe in that kind of stuff, do you?" Wufei snorted. "The old woman was probably just trying to keep the kids out of the attic."
Duo didn't seem convinced. "Laugh if you want," he told his friend. "But I happen to believe that there are more things between heaven and earth than you and I will ever know. Ghosts are usually restless spirits that didn't move on after they died; mostly because they had some unfinished business. Could it be that someone died in this house?"
"Maxwell!" Wufei shook his head. "Back in the olden days most people died at home. So if you look at any house old enough, you will probably find that some time in the past someone died there."
"I'll have to go with Wufei on that one." Milliardo remarked. "I was really only joking you know. I didn't take my grandma's ramblings about a ghost serious when I was six and I'm not going to start now."
"Whatever you say!" Duo shrugged, but not without a long cautious look around.
"So, who's diary is that anyway?" the blonde wanted to know.
"I'm not sure…." Cracking the little book open, Duo picked a random page and checked when the entry was dated. "May 17th, 1889. I think that's what it say's; my cursive is a little rusty. That means it can't be your grandma's unless she was keeping a journal before she was born."
"Well I guess everything in that box belonged to your great-grandparents," Wufei assumed. "They lived here too, didn't they?"
"Yes, I believe they originally bought or inherited the house somehow."
"My daily walks to Whitten Park have become quite a bit more enjoyable of late, since I have been crossing paths with a most dashing and handsome young gentleman. Like clockwork he has been walking his dog in the park at half past three for the past four days now. I have been tempted to approach him and strike a conversation, but I just can not seem to find the courage to do so. Perhaps tomorrow I shall borrow Miss Rutherford's Poodle, and dare hope he might notice us and introduce himself…."
"…you go girl," Duo chuckled after reading that passage from the diary. "Milliardo, your great-grandmother seems to have been one smart girl. And I always thought using puppies to pick up chicks was a 21st century thing."
"Apparently not," Milliardo grinned. "And it seems to work the other way around as well."
"Hmm…I wonder if that guy ever noticed her," the other youth added.
"He would have to be blind not to," Wufei remarked. "Judging from her wedding painting she was a beautiful young woman. What do you think, could it be that the young man she met turned out to be her future husband?"
"Let's see if we can find out." Duo settled down on one of the old couches and turned the page to the next entry in the journal.
"May 20th 1898
Three days of rain; I swear it felt more like mid-October than May. But at least the weather changed in time for the weekend. Best of all, I met him again, at Church on Sunday. How fortunate that I decided to visit the early morning Mass this week.
He was sitting on the other side of the aisle, wearing a most elegant and stylish coat that matched the lights in his hair. A beautiful dark red rose adored its lapel. From the smile and the nod he greeted me with, I could tell that our chance encounters at the park had not gone unnoticed, after all.
After the sermon I asked Father Darrel to introduce us, and so I finally learned his name; Alexander, Alexander Khushrenada. A most befitting name, I reckon. He does strike me as someone who could conquer anything he sets his eye on.
He asked if he could walk me home, an offer which I was only too happy to accept. He is such a delightfully charming man, and so well spoken. Unfortunately the walk was far too short. But before we parted in front of the house, he implied that was interested in seeing me again. Perhaps, he suggested, we could meet for tea some day in the near future…"
"Man, and here I thought dating these days was complicated." Duo gave a sarcastic huff.
"So, it's not your great-grandfather after all," his friend added as he looked at Milliardo questioningly. "Any idea who that guy was?"
"Never heard the name before," Milliardo shrugged. "But hey, even back then people dated, right? They didn't just marry the first person they had a crush on. So there might have been dozens of 'handsome gentlemen' in my great-grandmother's life before her husband came along."
"True, I suppose."
Meanwhile Duo had started to thumb through the journal, skimming over a few passages here and there. "Well, well, they did meet again," he grinned, "and not just for tea if I might add."
"Okay, I think that's enough." Milliardo reached out and pulled the journal from Duo's hands.
"Aww, come on," the younger man complained. "It was just getting interesting."
"Have you ever heard of words like 'privacy' or 'personal'?" The blonde closed the book and set it aside. "Besides, I think it's time to call it a day." He stifled a yawn. "I need to get some sleep; have to work again tonight. I'll help you take down the stuff we put aside for the junk. As for the rest I'll talk to my parents about. Don't worry; I'll make sure they'll pay you if you have to come back."
"So you still talk to them? I thought you and your parents are on the warpath." Duo remarked.
"I see the rumor mill is still working strong," Milliardo laughed, but it didn't sound amused at all.
"Are you saying it's not true?"
"Which part?"
"That you are gay and that they threw you out of the house because of it."
"The first…" Milliardo glared at the younger man, "is really none of your business. But I assure you that my leaving home had nothing to do with my sexual orientation. Maxwell, you should know better than most how Marymount feels about male students wearing their hair long."
"Um… yeah, they went on and on about it when I enrolled." Duo confirmed.
"It was even worse back when I started school. They even sent a letter to my parents threatening to expel me if I wouldn't cut my hair. When I told my father that I wouldn't do it he gave me the famous 'as long as you live under my roof' speech. So I told him I'd look for a different roof to live under then. And that's all there is to the story."
"But what about Marymount; they just gave in?"
"Well, even though he tried to put his foot down with me, father apparently made it pretty clear in front of the school board that if I had to leave Marymount, the half a million dollar in scholarship funds my family donates every year would leave as well."
Wufei snorted. "Principles are principles but money is money, huh?"
"Pretty much. Well then, let's get that truck of yours loaded."
#
"What is it?" Wufei asked as Milliardo rummaged through his pockets, apparently looking for something. "Can't find your car keys?"
The three young men had loaded Duo's truck and were just getting ready to leave.
"No," Milliardo shook his head. "I got my keys right here, but I have no idea what I did with my phone. Probably slipped out of my pocket when I was sitting down. These slacks are just not meant to carry stuff around in them," he shrugged.
"Maybe the ghost took it," Duo teased. "I bet yah, he is sitting up there right now ordering pizza and x-rated movies.
"Yeah right. I'd better go wrestle it away from him, before he starts making long-distance calls, too." The older youth grinned as he turned to head back inside.
"You want us to wait for you?"
"Nah, no need. Go ahead and take off. You still have to drive to the dump, after all. I'll catch you guys in school on Monday I guess."
"Alright, see yah."
The large white truck drove off as Milliardo unlocked the front door and walked into the house. He headed directly back upstairs to the attic, the only place he could have lost his cell phone. As he pushed up the wooden trap door he remembered that Duo had taken the flashlights with him. But at least the sun had moved and was shining directly through the little round window in the gable now, filling the attic with light and an almost golden glow.
The young man searched the couch he and his friend had been sitting on earlier, and sure enough the phone was hiding right in the crack between the two back sections. It must have slipped from his pocket just as he had expected. Just when he flipped it open to make sure he didn't miss any messages he heard a noise behind his back, more of a thump really, as though something had fallen to the ground. Startled Milliardo jerked around, letting out a deep breath when he realized that it was just the leather-bound journal that had slipped off the stack of photo albums he had put it on top.
As he bend down to pick the book up, it flipped open, caught in a sudden gust of wind. Wow, Maxwell is right. It really is drafty up here! Milliardo looked up at the roof above him checking for missing shingles or large holes between them. This house is getting old, no wonder it is starting to come apart.
As he gazed down again his eyes caught the date on the page the diary had opened to and a soft smile curved his lips. Look at that, it's my birthday – about 80 years before I was bor, of course. I wonder what Great-grandma was up to that day.
The young man flopped down on the sofa only to realize that it was a good two feet to short for him. Either people were a lot shorter back then or catching a quick nap on the couch wasn't in style. And somehow elegance and comfort didn't seem to go hand in hand either. This thing doesn't feel much softer than a wooden board. I'll end up with a stiff back lying on it.
Still grumbling to himself, Milliardo suddenly remembered that there still was the leather couch in what used to be the entertainment room downstairs. It has been ripped on one side, but I bet it is a whole lot more comfortable than this torture device.
After making sure that he still had his phone in his pocket this time, the young man grabbed a couple of pillows and the diary and climbed the stairs down to the ground floor. The small room on the west side had always been a little darker than the rest of the house, because the daylight was partially blocked by the neighboring building. Maybe that's why Grandma used it as her entertainment room; it's perfect for watching TV, but not exactly ideal for reading.
Making himself a mental note to get the electricity turned back on, Milliardo headed into the kitchen and started to search through the build in cabinets. In a drawer beneath the sink he found what he had been looking for, a box of candles and matches. Using the metal lid of an old coffee can as a base, he attached half a dozen white stick candles to it and lit them. With his makeshift lamp in hand, and very pleased with his resourcefulness, the young man went back into the entertainment room. He moved a small round end-table next to the couch to set the candles on, fluffed up his pillows and stretched out on the sofa. "Ah, much better," he muttered with a content sigh.
"June 13th 1898
Last night during supper Father started to ask questions about the gentleman I have been spending so much time with of late. In all honesty, I'm surprised he had not brought it up earlier. Father has always made a point of knowing the people I socialize with. It is too easy, he always says, for a young person these days to fall in with the wrong crowd.
He asked me to invite Alexander for tea on Saturday, something I'm more than just a little nervous about."
Milliardo grinned as he turned a few pages in the diary. Some things never change in this family I guess. My father too wanted always to know who I and Relena hang out with. Luckily he never went as far as to actually asking me to invite my friends over for tea. Now about Relena's dates, I'm not so sure. In any case, I wonder what Great-great-grandfather thought of the mysterious Alexander Khushrenada fellow.
"June 16th 1898
Alexander's visit this afternoon turned out well, I reckon. Otherwise Father would have never agreed to letting me go on a two day trip to Newcastle with him, next week.
Alexander arrived by carriage, a few minutes before four o'clock – punctuality is very important to Father. He brought the largest bouquet of flowers I had ever seen for the lady of the House and a box of fine cigars for my father. How he knew that Father fancies a good smoke after supper, I have no idea. We took tea in the parlor, and mother asked the maid to use the good china, the one we usually only eat of on holidays or other special occasions. Alexander was charming as always and he never stopped praising my mother's cooking skills, insisting that he just had to have the recipe for her Scones for his own cook.
I knew the question would come up eventually, and as expected Father was not pleased when he learned that Alexander served as a Commander on a naval vessel. Father was a rather imposing figure who could be quite passionate about his believes in Pacifism. But Alexander didn't seem easily intimidated. After listening to my father patiently and politely he told him that he found his views quite fascinating, and that he agreed with most of them. But he was afraid the rest of the world might not be quite ready for such philosophies. I reckon he somehow managed to impress my father. And so, in the end when he asked for permission to take me with him to Newcastle, for a night at the opera and the opening of a new art gallery the day after, Father agreed with little hesitation.
I cannot even begin to describe my excitement. In all my 17 years I have never traveled as far as Newcastle. From what I have heard the new railroad can take one there in less than 6 hours now. How amazing…"
Milliardo yawned and rubbed his face. My eyes are burning. Maybe closing them for a while will help. I don't think I should drive like this right now.
As the young man settled into the pillows and closed his eyes his mind wandered back to the portrait of the handsome young man they had found in the trunk with the diary. I wonder…could it be that he is actually Alexander? The man in the picture could be wearing a naval uniform. If so, what happened to him? Apparently Great grandmother cared enough about him to keep his portrait around even after she got married. So many questions… And those eyes, they felt almost real, like he was looking straight at me…
Before he realized it Milliardo drifted off into a deep sleep, never even feeling the rush of cool air that past over his body. Second later the candles on the table died, as though someone had blown them out.
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T.B.C.
Author's Note: