Ta-da! Two new chapters again this time, I just wanted to get this sad part over with. Hope you guys like them and find them adequate enough to be perfect closing chapters to Esme's human life. I also have a little request to make- please do review. I'd REALLY like to know what's happening in the minds of the readers, how you're taking it in, any particular things I should correct or watch out for... constructive criticism is definitely welcome! Enjoy!
Dusk
I settled in quickly to life in Milwaukee. The unpolluted country air was doing me endless amounts of good. The food was wholesome, the activities invigorating, and life tranquil. This makes me sound rather like a propagandist, but it was true. Life on the farm was very peaceful, and those few months were the best in the last year of my life.
Everyday I helped Emma with her chores, though as my pregnancy progressed, I was given lesser and lesser things to do. Though I quarrelled quite openly with both Frank and Emma, neither relented. Sometimes I felt they were too good to even exist in this harsh world.
So as my belly grew, so did my long periods of non-productive boredom- so I happily took Emma's daughter, Anne, under my wing. Little Annie was a delightful child, but she was rather shy. At more than three years, she still had a babyish lisp, still preferred to crawl- many other little things. I decided to help Emma with the child- there was enough to do on the farm without having to stay home and take special care of a child. Emma thanked me fervently for weeks, Frank actually bribed me with little candy treats. Annie adored me, and I don't really have to mention my devotion for her in turn. In short, life was rosy, life was perfect.
More than five months passed. My tummy had already grown quite a bit, though the simple voluminous Quaker-style dresses I wore hid much of the bulge. It was a beautiful September morning. The colours around me were changing from a warm, lazy gold to bright orange. It was beautiful. I sat under a huge chestnut tree with a glittering mane of orange with a copy of the latest H. G. Wells publication I had bought. "Mr. Britling Sees It Through" was one of the last books I had bought before Charles' return and never did have a chance to finish it. Though I was often criticized and laughed at for reading scientific romances, I never could deny the fact that the genre enthralled me. It somehow explained myths and superstitions in a far more efficient and believable manner.
In any case, there I was, under the chestnut tree, peace within and without me, ready to satisfy my curiosity and finally read it. But it was never to be.
I had barely started the first page, when the sound of a car door slamming distracted me. I looked up and saw Billy Young's(the monkey-faced taxi driver) taxi at the picket gate. And stepping out of the car was a woman looking absolutely incongruous to the scenery around her. She looked too urban, too well-dressed, and I watched with some amusement as she struggled to walk straight with her inappropriate patent leather heels.
I stood up slowly, the smile on my lips fading away, a strange feeling of dread rising in me. I knew that walk. I ought to know the face half-hidden under the rakishly angled hat. I ought to know her…
Before I could even acknowledge the fact that my brain had, indeed, recognised her, she walked right up to me and said, in a familiar drawl, "Forgotten me already, Esme?"
"Elizabeth," I wheezed.
Emma came out at that moment and invited Elizabeth in with some surprise. My sister declined politely(a little too politely, I thought), but I cut through her speech with a brutality that had once left my voice here in Milwaukee.
"Shut up and come inside, Elizabeth."- I muttered to her. I knew why she'd come. The fear and the despair at that knowledge would come later. At that moment, I was just angry.
She glared at me for a moment, then shrugged and marched away into the house. I followed her, trying my best not to scream or burst into tears.
"My, Elizabeth, you look lovely," Emma said, smiling. "Would you like anything?"
Elizabeth turned her beautiful eyes on Emma. "I'd like to talk to Esme."
Emma was flustered under the steady, insolent gaze. "Oh- o…of course. Esme, my dear, I'll be in the kitchen."
I simply nodded. I waited till Emma had shut the sitting room door behind her, then asked shortly, my eyes fixed on a window, "Well?"
"How are you?"
"Very well, thank you."
"The- baby?"
"No complications so far."
"Good."
Silence. I stole a peek at my sister. She looked perfectly calm, but something, somehow made me think that she was highly strung. She was fidgeting a lot, her eyes were on her clasped hands in her lap, her brow was shimmering with a light sheen of sweat.
"H-how are the others? Mother, Father, Eleanor?"- I asked awkwardly.
Elizabeth looked up me. "Worried, mostly. You know what happened to Eleanor?"
I frowned. "No, what?"
"James lost both his legs in the war. He's also still 'shell-shocked', apparently, some sort of medical term for war depression. Eleanor's looking for a job, but she isn't finding one."
I listened, horrified. Eleanor was the only one amongst us three that didn't want to work, she just wanted a comfortably settled life. And war had thrown her life out of balance, turned everything upside down. Now she had to take care of her invalid husband, and work for a living, something she had never been prepared for.
"Why doesn't she come here?"-I asked.
"Do you think she can leave her husband like that?" The question was rather pointed.
Ignoring the tone, I swept on, "I meant with him, of course."
"Apparently, James doesn't want it. He's too depressed, Esme. Feels worthless and such. Suicidal even."
"My God," I said fervently, shaking my head. Poor, poor Eleanor. She may have been hard to live with, but she certainly didn't deserve this.
"She doesn't know about you, of course. No one knows yet."
With a sudden, exasperated sigh, I turned to her. "What do you want, Elizabeth?"
"I want you back."-she said promptly.
"I'm not coming."
"Why not?"
"What did they tell you?"
Elizabeth shrugged. She knew implicitly whom I meant by 'they'.
"They said you panicked because of the baby and left."
"Panicked? Panicked?"
Elizabeth clicked her tongue impatiently. "Keep your voice down for Pete's sake, Esme. I didn't really come here to take you back."
"Well, why, then?"
"To warn you. Charles Evenson and Dad are coming here tomorrow."
The colour drained from my face. I felt myself sway, a sudden haze of black obstructed my vision…
"Esme!"-Elizabeth cried and caught hold of me in a flash.
"No."-I murmured. "No…"
"Esme, please!"-Elizabeth said desperately. "I didn't know… I didn't know how much you- oh, Esme please!"
I realised, shocked, as my senses slowly came back to me, that Elizabeth was crying. Tears were pouring down her face and her pretty red mouth was twisted in a melancholy grimace. Her composure had completely broken.
"I'm sorry, Esme! I'm sorry- it's all my fault!"-she sobbed into my shoulder.
"It's alright, my love, it's alright… why, what did you do?"- I muttered soothingly, without betraying the fact that my heart was still thrumming fast and fear was spreading through every inch of my body.
"I made you marry him!"-she bawled. "All me! Because of me! You married him because I told you to!"
"Oh, come now, Elizabeth, I didn't really-"
"Because I told you to!"-she cried, cutting in, without listening to a single word I had said. "Because of me and my stupid dreams- and Jonas tricked me! The dirty swine left me- he left me, Esme, and married some other girl last month- and I- I needed you so much and you weren't there because of me!"
I opened my mouth to say something, but she just took a deep breath and swept on, "And just because I told you- and about that kiss- you married that- that swine who ignored you for all that you're worth and you can't do anything- and now you've run away and can't and won't go back all because of me!"
"Lizzie- Lizzie! Darling. Listen!"-I cut in, hushing her. "It isn't your fault. You didn't hypnotise me into accepting him, did you? It was my decision, too. How was I to know he'd be a demented wife-beater? Please Liz-"
"What?"- Elizabeth cut in, her eyes suddenly dry of tears and big and round. "What did you say?"
"What?"-I said, pretending to be confused. I was in fact cursing myself mentally for letting it slip again as to what Charles really did to me.
"What did you say he was?"-she asked softly, suspiciously, the horror and anger burning in her eyes.
"Nothing! I- I just said he was a swine-"
"Did he hit you?"-she asked quietly.
"Oh please, Elizabeth-"
"Did he hit you, Esme?"
I hesitated for a moment, then gave up. No point in hiding something from her, even if I thought she was too young to know, though she probably wasn't.
"Yes."
"Just once?"
"Everyday."
Elizabeth gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. She looked terrified.
I went on monotonously. "He didn't just hit me, he did… other things as well. He tortured me, Elizabeth. That's all, nothing but torture." My voice, which had been firm all the while suddenly quivered. "I can't go back…"
"Do-do mom and dad know?"
"Yes."
Elizabeth stood up so suddenly that I jumped. "Get up, Esme," she said quickly, a hint of urgency creeping into her voice.
I stood up obediently.
"You have to leave. Now."
"Leave?"-I asked loudly, my voice still quivering. "But-"
"If you don't, they'll come here tomorrow and take you away. They will. I'm sure they will."
The tears I'd been holding back finally trickled down my cheeks. "I like it here, Elizabeth," I said quietly, then my voice rose in a quavering sob, "I was goddamned happy!"
Elizabeth caught hold of my shoulders and gazed into my eyes. "Listen, Esme. Whether you were happy here or not, it's not going to last. You have to leave. Charles Evenson is coming."
It was his name that did it. My eyes went dry, and my voice lost its quaver.
"Alright. I'm leaving."
"Write to us as soon as you're settled nicely," Emma told me tearfully.
"I will," I promised, on the verge of tears myself.
I watched my family, the one that truly cared for me, wave goodbye to me from the platform as the train started to move. Both Frank and Emma looked sombre, and Elizabeth, my lovely little Elizabeth looked like a ghost. She looked pale, gaunt, her thin mouth was set in a grim line, and her eyes were hard. She looked too much like my mother, and it frightened me. All the softness had seeped away from her when she found out what I'd sold myself into. According to her, Esme never could ruin her life- and yet there I was. And despite how much I tried to convince her otherwise, she blamed it on herself.
As the train drew away, my eyes were only on hers. We were both gazing into each others' eyes: a silent, last, fervent goodbye. I thought emotionlessly that the women of the Platt household weren't faring very well. We were all too alike. Mother, me, Elizabeth, and now perhaps even Eleanor. All frozen into hard ice by harsh circumstances, all disillusioned by life. All with mouths set in similar grim lines, eyes glittering like cold, hard diamonds, unfeeling and unrelenting. Fate was indeed cruel.
When I finally arrived at Ashland, the sun was setting, and with it set my hopes of a happy life. I was cold, alone and afraid; every face in the semi-darkness seemed too sinister to belong to a kind soul. With a trembling voice, I directed the taxi-driver to the address Frank had given me. "It's not much, but it'll do for now," he'd said. "We'll come for you once it all blows over."
But somehow, in my gut, I felt it was all over. I'd often reassure myself by stroking my bulging belly, but I still felt I had seen Frank and Emma for the last time. The same urgent despair had been there when I'd said goodbye to my sister. Somehow, I felt it was dusk, the dusk of my life. Soon it would be night, and then- well, then there'd be no more.
The address Frank had given me belonged to a certain Mrs. Hall, who offered lodging to young war widows. Her house was situated in a new neighbourhood of the little town, and looked very sleepily quiet and cosy when I arrived.
Frank had said he'd inform her in advance, but nevertheless, as I waited outside the door with my trunk, a had a very healthy fear of being thrown out of the house.
Mrs. Hall turned out to be a strict, rumbling woman close to her fifties, her hair a mixture of sombre grey and white, her eyes a disapproving beady black, her figure of healthy stout magnificence.
"Yes?"-she said in a drawling, nasal voice.
"Mrs. Hall?"
"Yes?"
"I- I come from Milwaukee. Frank and Emma Burnham sent me."
"Yes, I got the call. Your name?"
"Er- Esme. Esme Reed."
The last name that just slipped out surprised me. Of all names! I remembered the stick figure-like Tobias Reed. The man who made me fall from a tree into an angel's arms, ages ago, it seemed …
"Your husband is deceased, yes?" She looked at my bloated abdomen suspiciously.
I imagined she must have had rather some unfortunate young unmarried women calling upon her.
"Yes. He-he had a bit of shrapnel embedded in his, er, shoulder. He died on the operating table." Quick improvisation. It had been too long after the war. Had my husband died in war, I still wouldn't be pregnant- certainly not with his child, anyway!
Mrs. Hall scrutinised me carefully for a moment, and then widened the door open.
"Come in," she said, slightly more graciously. "Patty!"-she called out. "Get the new guest's trunk upstairs."
To my shock, I noticed she had an old black woman as her servant. The woman seemed gentle enough, and she clasped my trunk in a firm, strong grasp, and carried it up the stairs that were met immediately upon entering the house.
"Come in by the fire, Mrs. Reed," Mrs. Hall told me, directing me towards a large, overstuffed sitting room. I sank into a stiff-backed armchair thankfully. I was beginning to tire faster.
"Would you like anything? Some coffee, perhaps?" Mrs. Hall cold be quite gracious when she tried.
"No, thank you."-I said feebly.
"Well, I hope you make yourself comfortable here. If you need anything, you just let me or Patty know."
"Yes, I will, thank you so much."
"Your lodging fee, of course, will be-" Here the talk turned practical, cool business being carried out. When the terms had been amicably settled, she asked, "So you intend to work, Mrs. Reed?"
"Yes, I taught as a schoolteacher during the war," I lied.
"Wonderful. I'm sure you can find a post easily enough. There's an Elementary school three blocks away, newly opened. I'm sure they'll always welcome an addition into their faculty."
"That's perfect," I said, smiling. "Thank you."
At this point, Patty came in with two cups of steaming hot coffee.
"Now, Mrs. Reed, drink up. You'll need your strength."- Mrs. Hall admonished me when I tried to refuse. In the end, I gave in, too weak and too tired to protest. Everything was still very surreal to me, the quiet safety and cosiness of it all. As though Charles Evenson had never existed.
As I watched Patty return to the kitchen, I asked the first thing in my head curiously, "Patty… has she been here long?"
I was curious. Though I'd known everything about the Civil War(my father had been enthusiastic about the subject) and all the intricacies after the war, I hadn't realised that there were probably still many black people in servitude.
"Oh, Patty!"-Mrs. Hall waved away with a laugh. "My grandparents were Southerners, and Patty's family has been with us since a long, long time. She gets regular wages and weekly offs and everything, not to worry!" She laughed rather artificially. I suppose she had that answer ready for such a question. Then I wondered how many people really even bothered asking.
"You'll find she's perfectly adequate, Mrs. Reed. You don't have to worry. She's very faithful and she doesn't steal or anything." A small frown creased her narrow brow. I suppose she was worried I'd leave.
"Oh, no, I'm not worried or anything," I reassured her. "I was just curious."
"You really don't have to worry, Mrs. Reed," she still insisted. "This is your home now, and we'll take good care of you."
All I could think was that if the saying 'Home is where the heart is' was in anyway true, I suppose that it really was, in fact, my home.
Those final months passed in a blur. There was nothing about those months that stood out, except perhaps my schoolteaching hours. That part of my everyday life I adored, and I always fretted when the weekends arrived. Along with me, there were three other 'war widows' living with Mrs. Hall- Mrs. Boothe, Mrs. Ashley, and Mrs. Bosner. Of these, I got along best with Laura Bosner. She was close to my own age, and more importantly, she had had a child.
I have to mention that all the women in that household had no family of their own, nowhere to go, including Mrs. Hall, who offered her lodging services for the rent's sake. Mrs. Boothe was very much older than the rest of us, and she also taught at my school. Diana Ashley worked as a seamstress at a large hosiery shop. And Laura Bosner was a nurse at the General Hospital- but she wasn't just a nurse. She was a midwife.
Of course, Laura was a great help to me, especially in the final stages of my pregnancy. I also empathized with her. Laura's story was a sad one. She'd been married early- too early- and she hadn't been able to bear children at first. When her husband was called into war, she was pregnant, but lost the child due to a miscarriage. At the same time William Bosner died in the war, and she was left all alone- no child, no husband, no family.
"But don't you feel anything when you help the women give birth?"-I'd asked, rather tastelessly, but Laura and I had quickly bonded, so she didn't take offence.
"Feel anything? Esme, every time I help a woman give birth, it's like I just gave birth to my own baby. But when they take the child into their own arms, and I never see the baby again- well, it's as if my own baby has died all over again."
I could see the pain in her eyes. I apologised for the rude question, but I never forgot the look on her face. Nothing and no one to live for, and reliving the most tragic moment over and over again, everyday. Surely that was the worst kind of hell.
Before I knew it, 1920 was over. In the morning, on New Year's Day, as I dressed to go to school(I absolutely refused to stay home even though my pregnancy was in its final stages), Laura asked me in a worried voice, "Esme, do you think you should go?"
"Of course I must!"-I said indignantly.
"You were due last week!"
"Come on, Laura. You know very well these things are never accurate. Any day now," I said, a smile lighting my lips. Though I tried not to be too obviously happy in front of Laura, I just couldn't help rejoicing every now and then. The purpose of my existence was to arrive anytime now.
"It's too late," Laura said, biting her lip with worry.
"Nonsense!"-I said breezily.
"Esme, please. Don't push your luck."
"Luck? It isn't luck!"-suddenly, all my worry came pouring out of my mouth. "My baby hasn't arrived yet, do you know how much it worries me? I don't want anything to go wrong…" My voice trailed away. I was frozen.
"Of course nothing will go wrong, Esme, you just relax-"
I silenced her with an upraised palm.
"What?"-Laura asked.
"I think my water just broke."