Welcome and thank you for joining me again (I hope).
A House Divided
London, 1883 - The Wells Residence
The women passing by the house that morning jumped and clutched their purses closer to them, men put their arms around them to protect them, and horses reared their heads at the terrible sound. The wails that emanated from the house were loud and frightening, to say the least. Not only was this cause for concern, but it was absolutely unheard of in the upper class section of the city.
Unless, of course, someone was being murdered!
The yelling caused a concerned neighbor to summon the police – again. Three of them appeared and one stepped forward and used the brass ring knocker to knock on the door. Much to the resident's horror, a small group of curious onlookers gathered across the street when he answered. The man apologized to the constables, and assured them that there was no need for alarm. The outburst was, he explained, a simple emotional reaction on the part of his daughter. The gentleman of the house was reminded that it wasn't the first time a flare-up like this earned him a visit, and although he expressed his regret profusely, they warned him that next time they were summoned unnecessarily; they would take the offender into custody. 'If you can't handle the situation, guvnor, I'm sure we can,' he was told. 'It's unladylike for a woman of seventeen years,' another said and the father raised his eyebrows in surprise they knew her age. Then, he thanked them, closed the door, and drew his handkerchief out to wipe the perspiration off his brow. His wife was standing there, arms crossed and her foot tapping. He knew she was waiting to hear how he was going to rectify the situation…. this time.
'I'll talk to her,' he said as he made his way to the door leading to the basement. His wife reminded him that he tried that last time and the time before that and the one before that. "Give her time," he pleaded as he made his own escape down the stairs. He had a very clear understanding of what it meant to be caught between a rock and hard place when this happened.
As he descended the stairs, he could see the room was in a worsened state of disarray. Not that it was ever neat, but he could tell papers had been flung and test tubes swept off the table. The clatter had been caused by objects being thrown as the perpetrator shouted how imprudent someone was not to listen to her.
Now, all he heard were the unmistakable sounds of soft sobs.
"Darling, what is it?" he asked, rushing to her side and lifting her tear stained cheeks to face him.
"He's dead, father!" she said and sobbed again, pressing her head into his jacket.
"Darling, who is dead?" he worried as his hand covered her head to soothe her.
She reached for the paper and showed him the morning paper. In it was an article reporting that the last quagga, a subspecies of the plains zebra once found in great numbers in Africa and now held in captivity at the London Zoological Society, had died.
It was, sadly, the very last specimen of its kind.
"Oh dear, Helena, I am sorry," her father said because it was sad news. "Were you particularly fond…?" he asked because she seemed so distressed.
The young girl picked up her head, cheeks tear stained, yet fury building in her eyes. "I could have saved him! Now, because they wouldn't listen, the quagga are extinct, Father," she explained. "Do you understand what extinct means?" she sobbed and meant no disrespect.
"Extinct? There are no….?" he inquired.
"No! The Dutch eradicated them in Africa in droves and there were but a few left in captivity and I told the damn fools…."
"Language," her father interjected because there was never an excuse for profanity from a young woman.
"I told them that the food was being stored improperly and if they continued to do so, they would poison the animal. But they didn't listen!" Helena said and the anger rose in her chest. If there was one thing George Wells' daughter could not tolerate, it was ineptness. "I want them hanged!" she shouted and her father begged her to keep her voice down.
"Helena, how did you know …about any of this?" her father asked, knowing this would be one of the first things her mother asked.
That caught Helena's attention. She was not allowed to go unchaperoned to the zoo, nor anywhere for that matter.
"Nickola…took me," Helena lied and her father saw through it.
"Oh? When was Mr. Tesla here?" her father asked, knowing fully well when the man visited because his wife kept careful tabs.
"He..was…recently," Helena tried, but her father knew she was lying. She never could look him in the eye when she was fabricating something. "I went …there…..last week. At night. I needed a sample of the quagga's blood…," she admitted and now her father wished she hadn't shared the details.
"Oh, Helena," he said, putting his head in his hands. The police showing up for noise was one thing, but they would surely haul her away if they knew she had broken into the zoo.
"It's fine," the youth said in her usual dismissive manner when she thought too big a deal was being made of something. "The thing is, Father, I told them that he was infected. I warned them that his food was getting contaminated. And they wouldn't listen!"
"Helena, what made you think they would listen to a…..," and Mr. Wells almost said the word that would certainly send his daughter over the edge. It was too late.
"To a what, Father?" she asked, her hands on her hips and her dark eyes becoming more stormy.
"Oh, Lord," her father uttered because now he was thinking he was safer upstairs with his wife.
"To a woman?!" Helena yelled and then the tirade began as her father begged her to keep her voice down, but to no avail.
Finally, she slammed her rolled up fists down on the table and declared; "Mark my words, Father, someday the world will come to the know the genius of Helena G. Wells and they will listen and they will be in awe!"
"I am sure they will….," her father tried.
"GEORGE!" Mrs. Wells yelled. "The police are here!"
"Someday, my dear, but today is not that day," he sighed as he climbed back up the stairs to address the police.
As the man of the house made his way to the front door, he heard the sound of the lock on the basement door as he daughter lashed out in perfect French. Anytime Helena felt her attempts to do something amazing, like saving the last quagga on earth, were thwarted, she cursed like a sailor in French and locked herself in the basement for days.
At least the police couldn't get to her.
That night, as the full moon shone brightly through the window of her laboratory, the young Helena Wells swore she would never let anyone …or anything …interfere with her experiments again!
Manhattan – Present Day – Bering-Wells Residence
Myka sighed and gently banged her head against the basement door frame. She had just come up for the third time that morning, each time trying to persuade Helena to join her for breakfast. Each time, Helena barely lifted her head from the table, unless it was to kiss Myka goodbye. Each time, Myka lingered there – hoping that the kiss wouldn't leave her feeling …something. Something not good. Helena's kisses were always warm and loving. Even when she was busy, Helena always slowed down long enough to make sure her lips pressed into Myka's and lingered. Now, it was a quick touch and it made Myka feel – like she was being tolerated. The Brit politely refused and barely listened when Myka asked her if she were going to work again. It was going on three weeks. At first, it was Helena working from home. Then it was late into the night. Now, it was missing from work for days, staying up all night, and falling asleep on the couch in the afternoons.
Myka understood her wife's scientific nature and drive, but she was bordering on obsessive now. Something wasn't going Helena's way and she was hell bent on changing that. What Myka understood to be how the life works sometimes, her wife decided the universe was waging war against her. And she was not about to lose.
Myka didn't want to admit it, but she was seeing something in Helena that she hadn't seen in a long time. The Brit was determined to find the solution to their problem, but unlike the days of "Solving puzzles and saving the day" together, this time Helena was going it alone. In fact, Myka was beginning to sense that Helena thought of her as a nuisance when she went down to the laboratory.
'Give her time', Myka had originally decided. 'She just needs to focus' – she told herself. But that was three weeks ago and Myka was becoming impatient. She missed Helena – at work and especially at home. Even when Helena was there at the table across from her, she wasn't there. She barely ate, but when she did, it was while looking over notes.
Myka was tired to eating alone, sleeping alone, of …being alone. She had never known a missing quite like this. Myka hated to admit it, but the very thing that should be bringing them closer, seemed to be coming between them. She had tried everything to persuade Helena to come out of the basement and nothing worked.
It if weren't for the 9 AM class she was teaching that day, Myka would have moved heaven and earth to stay with her wife. Unfortunately, she couldn't move sixty five first year law students because they were already traveling in route to Wells Corp in Times Square. There was a piece of Myka – a very small piece – tired of trying and getting shut down.
As Myka left through the front door of the Townhouse, someone was coming in through the back door in the kitchen. Knowing that something was terribly amiss, and seeing how Myka looked at work these past few days, she thought she could perhaps help. No one was happier to see her than Leena, who filled her in as best she could. The woman sat there listening intently and decided to wait for Helena to emerge from the basement. She took her coffee into the dining room.
She wouldn't have to wait too long.
The noise that swelled from the downstairs room at the 1866 Central Park West residence reminded the first floor occupant of the noise of an orchestra warming up before the performance; chaotic and loud. The woman continued to sip her coffee and turned the page over of the newspaper sprawled out in front of her. In other words, she didn't bat an eye in spite of the banging and yelling that rang in the hallway outside the room. It wasn't until she heard the distinct sound of French being uttered did she herself say – 'oh,oh'.
The switch to a foreign tongue was always a sign of complete frustration.
"C'est impossible! J'ai vérifié et revérifié chaque étape et ça ne peut pas être erroné. Je suis sûre de moi, et quand je suis sûre, le monde entier ferait mieux de s'accorder avec moi. Tu m'entends, Dieu ? Je n'ai aucune patience pour cela !" (This is impossible! I checked and rechecked every step and there is no way it is incorrect. I am certain, and when I am certain, the world best get in line. Do you hear me, God? I have no patience for this!)
"I think Myka is at her wits' end," Leena whispered as she poured Irene another cup of java.
"Then I pray for the rest of us," Irene said in response. Myka was never one to exaggerate a feeling.
"It's been awful here. I've never seen their auras so pale," the reader of energies shared.
There was another stream of yelling in both languages this time.
"I'm getting too old for this," Irene muttered.
"From the sound of that temper tantrum, I'd say it's Helena who's a little too …oh, gotta go!" Leena said as her boss appeared in the doorway. Helena glared at the woman and then turned her eyes on Irene.
In spite of Leena telling Irene how bad things had gotten, the woman was still a little surprised at the just how disheveled Helena appeared. For a woman who was always impeccably dressed, with nary a hair out of place, this was quite the transformation. Helena's hair was pulled back in a bun, but the sides had fallen out and were greasy strands around her face. She was dressed in black pants and a white blouse that was misbuttoned and wrinkled. The woman, who had perfect balance in three inch heels, was in socks.
And when she sat down in the chair, she was slouching.
"What are you doing here?" Helena asked, glaringly. Irene was still taking in Helena's current state when she realized what she wasn't experiencing. There was no Chanel No. 5 wafting into the room. In fact, Irene pulled back at the odor that suddenly invaded her space.
Myka had told her Helena had been working day and night in the basement laboratory. Apparently, she had been working up quite a sweat in doing so.
"The board of health called me," Irene said, staring at the woman.
"Why would the board…never mind. Is it possible that I could get a cup of what she calls ….no, I can't even say the word. LEENA?" Helena shouted and there was no mistaking her tone. Leena appeared with the teacup and placed it done, the whole time staring at Irene with pleading eyes that begged – "Do something!"
"What is going on, Helena?" Irene asked concerned at what she was seeing. Helena not appearing at work was unusual. Helena throwing temper tantrums was a little regressive, but not disturbing. Helena looking like hell was …..definitely a cause for alarm.
Helena waited for Leena to leave the room. "Where is Myka?" she asked as she winced at the taste of the tea. "Why is it impossible for that woman to make anything close to resembling tea? It's boiling water! It's a teabag! Did you know I told her not to bother with tea leaves?" Helena asked in horror. "I mean, really Irene, how much farther could I meet the woman?" she asked and quickly picked up the wet teabag to demonstrate how far she had sunk.
"Yes, you've been more than gracious….," Irene said not wanting to get off topic. "What is going on, Helena. I'm concerned." Irene didn't offer her sincerest thoughts so early in a conversation with the Brit unless she really was worried.
Helena shoved the teacup, spilling the contents. "Oh, bloody hell," she said.
"Helena?" Irene said softly, hoping to calm her boss down enough to talk.
Helena's eyes met Irene's and in that moment, the HR Director swore she saw them pleading – but it was short lived. "I'm busy," she said slowly.
"You look like hell," Irene said, deciding now wasn't the time to be subtle.
"Who the bloody hell asked you?" Helena said and scowled. There was no time to worry about appearances.
"Myka is worried, Helena," Irene said, deflecting the Brit's anger.
That got Helena's attention. "What do you want from me? I am doing this for Myka!" she yelled and Irene realized she had never seen the anger so close to the surface in her friend. She reached across the short distance between them and put her hand on Helena's.
"I want you to tell me what's going on," Irene said quietly.
Helena's eyes darted from her hand to Irene's eyes. It was meant as an aggressive move, but it didn't reach its intended target. Helena's breathing quickened and her jaw tightened. Irene swore she saw Helena's lips start to move, but instead of letting her in by sharing what had her so upset, she uttered one word; "No."
"Helena, please….," Irene started, but Helena didn't have the time or the patience, even for her dearest friend.
"Irene, I know you mean well. Your good intentions are noted. But I am in the middle of something very critical and I can't begin to explain it, nor do I want to. I have a problem and I want to be left alone with it! What is that so difficult to comply with?" Helena said, standing up now and running her hand through her hair, only to have it become more unkempt.
"And will you at least talk to Myka, about this problem?" Irene asked gently.
"Myka? Ha! You want me to talk to Myka? About this?" she ranted - her accent thickening as she spoke.
"Does that sound absurd to you?" Irene asked confused.
Helena spun around and threw her hands up. She huffed as air shot out threw her nostrils in anger. She placed her palms on the table, and pushed down into Irene's face, who could now see how bloodshot and tired her eyes were.
"For your information, madam, Myka….. is the problem!"
Irene didn't flinch because – the woman never did. But that didn't mean her heart didn't ache when she heard Helena say what she said. Helena stared down and saw the reaction in the woman's chestnut eyes and couldn't stand to watch.
"Please go!" Helena said, then turned and walked out of the room.
Within seconds, Leena came back into the room to a motionless Irene. "Bad, right?" the Domestic Director asked.
"Worse than I thought," Irene admitted. "Much worse."
Thank you to 69reggaetongirl for Helena's impeccable French.