House Wrecking Page 11

  “Papa, please, I’m begging you,” Emily said. “You don’t know what it’s like for him at school. He sits in the back of the classroom rocking back and forth all day long. The other children are horrible to him. They throw things and make fun of him. The teachers ignore him and they don’t bother to give him any work. Please tell me you’ll let him stay home for the rest of this year with Mama.” Emily swung her long brown braids behind her.

  “I’m sorry, Emily. I understand your point, and I appreciate your concern for your brother, but a boy needs an education. He’s got to go to school.” Charles smiled at his eight-year old daughter Emily.

  “Very well, Father,” Emily said, with an upturned chin. She got up from the table, planted a fast kiss on his cheek and marched down the corridor. “Thomas, come along. It’s time for school,” she beckoned up the steps.

  The shuffling of feet above alerted Charles that Thomas was getting out of Sarah’s bed. Charles had told both Sarah and Thomas that it wasn’t right for a boy to spend so much time in his mother’s bed, but the habit never seemed to change. He’d also asked Thomas to say hello to people when he came in and goodbye when he left - common courtesies a man should learn. Thomas couldn’t seem to remember to do this either. Moments later, the children pounded down the stairs and dashed out.

  With the children gone, Charles was alone in the dining room. Sarah never came down for breakfast or any other occasion, preferring to take most of her meals in her bed, where she spent the better part of each day. The marital bed he’d purchased for both of them years ago had become a haven for Sarah. If ever he was looking for her, he found her there; at times holding court with the children poised on either side of her or at the foot of the bed. He remembered his early hopes for the bed and his fantasies about what he and Sarah would do there when he first brought her to New Haven. From the moment Sarah joined him on the wagon to New Haven, she was angry. When her father Peter, died just six months after she left Colebrook, she became downright bitter. Thomas came along too soon, plunging Sarah deeper into a despair from which he’d lost hope of retrieving her.

  Charles was happy that Emily wasn’t in Sarah’s room quite as much recently, choosing her own fellowship or the new friends she’d found in books, but Thomas spent a good amount of his unsupervised time in Sarah’s bed, resting against her corpulent frame for hours at a time. Charles had observed them together, her staring out the window and him starting off into the vacant space, rocking back and forth.

  Emily was right; he needed to do something with the boy. Thomas wasn’t getting anything out of his experience at school and it broke Charles’ heart that he was being abused by his schoolmates, and even instructors. Charles pushed back from the table and dropped his napkin on his chair. He went up the grand oak staircase and paused to knock on Sarah’s door before going in. The door was ajar, and he could’ve entered. But being rarely welcomed into the room over the years had created a formality to his visits.

  “Come in,” Sarah said.

  “Good morning, Sarah.”

  “Charles,” Sarah acknowledged from the bed. Her breast leaked out of the wide arm of her sleeveless nightgown.

  But Charles felt no more for it today than he felt for the roasted chicken served for Sunday dinner. It was an amusing reminder of what he’d once wanted - a relic of his earlier fantasies.

  “Was Thomas in bed with you this morning before school?” Charles asked.

  “Yes, Charles. He must spend time with his mother before leaving for school.” Sarah said. The cloud of bitterness and resentment that surrounded her was almost visible.

  Charles refrained from smirking at her delusion. Sarah’s main role with the children was far from maternal, leaving the child care responsibilities to Mary and disciplinary issues to Charles. Since their birth, she discharged them from her room at the first sign of neediness or boredom.

  “He spends too much time in bed with you and it’s not healthy for a young man. We’ve talked about this, and you agreed. Thomas would be better suited taking his meals in the dining room and spending his free time with school friends.”

  Sarah glared at him. Her once shiny chestnut hair had dulled to a mousy brown and hung limp on her full shoulders, rounded by years of eating and little other activity. The shock of the glare was diminished by the food stains on her nightgown. “He doesn’t have any school friends, you idiot. If you’d find a proper nanny, she’d organize his activities for him.”

  Years earlier Sarah’s words could destroy his day, week, or month - but the impact of Sarah’s disdain for him lost its punch years ago. Her dependence on him had reversed the balance of power in their relationship. “Sarah, we’ve been through ten nannies in the past fourteen years. They keep leaving because of your lack of regard for them. The way you treat the staff has made it difficult to maintain any help around the house, except for Mary.”

  “Bring him to the store with you, if you believe he calls for more structured activity.”

  “I tried to bring him last week. When I left him there to take care of a few errands, I returned to find customers leaving. I asked Thomas what had gone wrong, but, he just shrugged his shoulders.”

  “Well, Charles, Thomas is your son and it’s your job to teach him to be a man. He demands more time to understand things than others might.”

  “Alright, I will. But if Thomas comes to you, you are to forbid him from entering the bed and send him to me. I will keep him with me at all times other than school for the next several months. We’ll keep Thomas in school until the children are released for the autumn harvest. Beginning tomorrow, Thomas will eat his meals with me and join me at the store after school each day, to receive all the instruction he needs to learn the trade.”

  “Of course, Charles.” She took a sip of coffee, dribbling it onto her already stained cotton nightgown.

  Charles knew that Sarah would do as she liked with little regard for his repeated requests to redirect their son. He also knew it was up to him to get the boy on track.

  “I’m off to the shop. Have a pleasant day.” Charles exited.

  Downstairs, he approached his Aunt Rosemary’s old desk to collect his correspondence. He glanced at the letter opener he’d retrieved from Sarah’s room years earlier, the tip caked in blood, and recalled Aunt Rosemary’s warning predicting a lifetime of heartache with Sarah. He marveled at the woman’s insight. What had his Aunt Rosemary known?

  He left the house and started downhill, stopping at the post office to drop his correspondence while pondering the problem of his son. Thomas had been a challenge since his premature birth two months after, he and Sarah were wed. The boy had come out looking alright, albeit small, but what a crier! Nothing seemed to satisfy him. Charles thanked the lord for Mary, who took to the boy as if he were her own and helped them get through the early years. Thomas had Sarah’s dark features and tended toward the plump and plodding side. The poor youth had started growing facial hair at a young age, and unless Charles reminded him to shave, Thomas was found with a dirty mustache and light beard on most occasions. The dark hair had spread all over the boy’s arms and legs, and with his stooped posture, he seemed apelike.

  Despite the boy’s outward appearance, it was clear from an early age that his mind wasn’t quite right. Charles heard that when babies were born earlier than natural their brains hadn’t time to develop properly and he assumed this is what happened to Thomas. It took him years to learn to eat or walk independently, relying on Mary to feed him and carry him around until he was three years old. The boy continued to soil himself until he was five. Each day after lunch, Mary would bring the boy to Sarah, who would coo and cuddle him, and he seemed content to lie with her and rock back and forth in her arms, retaining the habit when he wasn’t in her company. Despite the boy’s signs of irregularity, Charles had hoped for the best, but unless aggressive action was taken soon, he feared Thomas would rely on him for the remainder of his life.

  Dorothy & Emily

>   Lauren and her mother Beverly lunched at the diner before they climbed into Lauren’s minivan for the short drive along Route 63 to the nursing home in Woodbridge. They pulled into one of the many vacant visitor spots, remarking how the site planners had over-estimated the number of visitors’ older, nursing home patients entertained. The still cold sky was clouded over, and Lauren reached into the rear of the van to grab an umbrella before they cut across the parking lot into the nursing home. Seven older adults were gathered in wheelchairs, dispersed throughout the front lobby. Lauren and Beverly crossed through the crowd making idle chit chat with the residents about the pending rain.

  Dorothy was sitting in her comfortable chair by the window, eyes closed in an afternoon catnap. The presence of visitors seemed to force her eyes open and she said, “Hello!”

  Lauren approached first and gave Dorothy a hug. She’d brought a lily which she plopped on the window sill among the other plants. Beverly followed with a brief hug for Dorothy and sat on the bed.

  Lauren pulled over the other chair in the room. “How are you, Grandma?” Lauren asked.

  “Very well, dear. We had a delicious sliced chicken for lunch with nice, light gravy. No need to worry. All is well. Now tell me, how are things with you?”

  “Everything is good, Grandma,” Lauren lied. The kids are great; they’re getting big. I have pictures to show you.” Lauren reached into her wallet for the children’s recent school photos.

  “The kids are cute Mom - such a bundle of hugs and love at this age. Brian is starting baseball this spring, or I guess its T-ball, right Laur?” Beverly joined in.

  “Yes. The ball sits on a T and the kids are supposed to hit it off and run. They’re adorable at this age; they don’t know which direction to run in.” Lauren rose from her chair and squatted next to Dorothy to look at the photos together.

  “Oh the dears! Look at them,” Dorothy said with a wide smile. “This was my favorite age when my children were younger. Old enough to have sense, but young enough to be sweet and innocent”… She trailed off.

  “Perhaps you can come to a game, Grandma? They play on the weekends. Mom comes too. I can pick you up and you can watch with us,” Lauren offered, knowing the unlikeliness of such an event occurring. The logistics of transporting an older adult to a baseball field were challenging.

  “That would be lovely, dear.”

  “Mom,” Beverly changed the subject. “Remember Lauren’s new house? The one you said your friend Emily used to live in?”

  “Oh, yes.” Dorothy nodded at her granddaughter. “How’s it coming along? I remember you said you had a lot of work to do.”

  “It’s coming. We refinished the basement around Christmas time. Did you know there was a pub down there, with a big mahogany bar?”

  “Oh yes, a speakeasy – wasn’t it? Those were common in big homes. I suppose there will always be enough to keep you busy.” Dorothy took a sip of water from her bedside table and returned the glass to the same exact position.

  “I remarked to Lauren over the holidays - I get the strangest feeling when I’m there. Mom, did you ever bring me there when I was a child?” Beverly asked.

  Dorothy took a moment to answer. “You were there once Beverly, but I’m sure you were too little to recall the place.” She wrinkled her lips as if she had tasted something bitter.

  Lauren searched for questions to continue the conversation without further annoying Dorothy, but the old woman pressed on the arms of her chair to rise from her seat. She pulled the walker in front of her and started toward her dresser. “I found something I wanted to show you after you left last time, Lauren.” Dorothy said.

  Dorothy crossed the room and rested one hand on the top of the dresser to support her. She opened the top draw with the other, rummaging around and withdrawing what appeared to be an old black and white photo. Dorothy shut the drawer, reaffirmed her hands on the walker, using two free fingers to clasp the photo and returned to her seat. It seemed to take her forever to return to Lauren and hand her the photo.

  “I found this photo of Emily and me in front of her house.” Dorothy continued back to her seat. “I thought you might like it.”

  Beverly leapt off the bed and came behind Lauren to look at the old photo of two women in their thirties or forties. It was easy to identify Dorothy, who still had many of the same dignified features and wide smile featured in the photo. Lauren identified the porch and graceful tower of her house behind the two women in the picture. What struck her by surprise was how familiar the woman next to Dorothy in the photo appeared.

  “Oh Grandma, thank you for this! I feel transported back in time. You look happy with your friend. She seems familiar to me though.” Lauren locked eyes with Dorothy.

  “Yes, she looks familiar to me too, Ma” Beverly rushed in. “Are you sure I was only there once? Did Emily come to our house to visit?” Beverly asked.

  “Yes – once. I’m certain! You never met Emily. I already told you - we lost touch after the war. In any event, you can keep the picture. I thought you might like to see how your house appeared all those years ago. Now I ‘m tired. Would it be rude of me to cut this visit short? I must lie down.”

  “Of course, Grandma.” Lauren comforted her. “Let me help you.” Ignoring the walker this time, Beverly relied on Lauren’s strong arms to help her rise from the chair and pivot into bed. Lauren settled Dorothy on top of the covers and pulled the Afghan from the end of the bed. She gave Dorothy a peck on her papery cheek. Beverly pulled her eyes from the photo and did the same, promising to visit again soon.

  Lauren and Beverly headed through the antiseptic hallway toward the front lobby, passing the nursing station. Lauren informed the striking young nurse sitting at the desk that she’d returned Dorothy to bed. The nurse smiled at them and said in a heavy Cuban accent that she would go check on Miss Dorothy. At the entrance, the rain poured off the front portico in buckets, and Lauren realized that she’d left her umbrella in Dorothy’s room. She left Beverly among the older adults staring out the window and ran back to Dorothy’s room.

  Unexpected Optimism

  Charles flipped the closed sign on the doorway of the food market and packed his belongings. He gathered the parcel he’d obtained for Emily to assuage his guilt for taking her brother and compliant playmate away for his adult male training beginning this evening. He could make out the sight of his two children playing croquet in the yard at the top of the hill and his guilt at disrupting their childhood made him hesitate, but he knew he must implement his plan if Thomas were to amount to anything. The children ran to embrace him. While Charles returned Emily’s affection, he held Thomas at arm’s length, stating, “That’s enough now.” Thomas stiffened, but said nothing. “Wash for supper now. Thomas, shave your face and change into a clean shirt before you come down and please be prompt. Understand?”

  Emily barked a sarcastic “Yes, sir,” in response Charles’s uncharacteristic formality. Thomas looked confused. Charles left them standing there staring after him as he made his way across the yard to the back door of the house.

  Charles beamed with satisfaction when he came into the dining room to see both children seated at the table. Indeed, Thomas was clean and shaved, although Charles suspected that Emily assisted him. Regardless, he was pleased.

  “I thought you’d like something cold on this hot day.” Mary plopped a platter of sliced ham and tomatoes on the table.

  “Thank you, Mary,” Charles said. They each helped themselves and ate quietly amidst the clanking of silverware on china. Towards the close of dinner, he presented Emily with the copy of Little Women he’d purchased from the peddler.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Emily rose from her seat and planted a kiss on Charles’s cheek. “Can I be excused. I want start reading right away.

  “Of course, dear,” Charles replied. After her departure, Charles rose from the table. “Thomas follow me.”

  He led the boy through the parlor and the front hall
, opened the oak door at the end of the hall and told Thomas to follow him along the stone steps to the basement, bidding him care not to fall amidst their steepness. Seeing that Mary had finished cleaning and taken to her attic rooms after serving dinner, the basement was empty. Charles bent over and removed the thin stone covering the bottom step. Thomas gazed at him with an uncharacteristic interest when Charles pulled the lever hidden inside the stone which opened the concealed door to the left, revealing his hidden room. Charles climbed over the bottom step into the room, turning the knob in the light fixture. Thomas’ jaw hung as he took in the hidden space and entered the cozy cave. Charles squeezed another lever on the wall, closing the door behind them.

  “Now, Thomas, this is the man’s room in the house, and today you are a man,” Charles instructed his son. “Do you remember how to get in the room?”

  Thomas nodded, gaping at the space. Deep wood furniture, consumed the three walls along the narrow space. Other rugs, were rolled under the hope chest. There were also small tables, a dresser and six mismatched, stacked chairs. Atop the furniture, Charles had displayed Aunt Rosemary’s art so that pieces were visible from all vantage points. While it was mostly a storage room, Charles had gathered two easy chairs atop a rich red oriental rug in the center, with a table between.

  Charles continued, “from now on, you may spend your free hours in here as you wish, but it’s our secret. I’d also like to teach you a game called chess.” Charles indicated a mahogany table with a chess board painted on top and stacked with hand carved chess pieces that he cautiously deposited in front of the chairs.

  Thomas went over to the table and chose a piece. “I like the horse,” he said to Charles, holding out the chess piece for inspection.

  “Yes, that’s a knight. Would you like me to teach you how to play?” Charles asked, noting Thomas’ admiration for the room.

  Thomas nodded and Charles proceeded with a simple explanation of the tenets of the game. Despite his usual density, Thomas leaned into the game and opened actively. Rather than moving any pawn, he thought about his selection for a few moments before moving his first piece establishing an early advantage. Charles responded in kind. He was no expert but identified a possible opponent in Thomas and positioned a series of threats. Thomas responded more defensively than Charles imagined him able, castling his king into a protective corner and mobilizing his rook. After three hours there was no end in sight and Charles suggested that they resume the game tomorrow.