This is a part of the continuation of the short "Unlike Father" posted September 2019
Elias reflected on the day he’d made that speech in front of thousands of people at his fathers behest with mixed feelings. His father, the leader then, had demanded he speak. He’d even told him what to say, trying to force words on him that would strengthen his vision, his leadership. But Elias had rebelled and spoken against him. And he didn’t regret it. To this day, his father’s vision didn’t make sense to him. He didn’t understand how his father had fallen from a successful businessman, to the mad leader that he’d become. Had the power given him driven him mad? Had the pressure warped his once rational mind? Or had he been mad and irrational all along? Either way, Elias had refused to blindly follow. He’d stood on the dais and done the exact opposite of what was demanded of him. His words inspired change, unity, kindness, all the things his father never stood for.
The aftermath at home had been life-altering. His father, though always commanding and verbally abusive, had lost his temper and become physically violent with him for the first time. And when his mother or sister attempted to step in, he hit them too. They all thought it was simply a knee-jerk reaction to the speech, but the abuse continued long after. When his staff informed him his favorability was down and still dropping, he’d broken Elias’ nose and given Rose a black eye. When the media announced the unlikelihood of his being reelected, he’d broken a few of Elias’ ribs and given his mother a concussion. At first, Elias couldn’t understand why. But then Rose had explained it to him, as Rose could always explain things in ways he understood; the ramifications of Elias' speech had inspired people to unite and rise against their father. He was losing his power, and losing power was his greatest fear. Both he and Rose had secretly celebrated this. Elias, still young, had hoped it would mean his father would have more time to be with the family and in turn become a better husband, a better father. However, his plan had seriously backfired. Rather than spend more time with his family, his father worked ever harder to return to power, even to seek out new ways to do so. Rose had known this would happen, but Elias had been to young and naive to see it.
He walked through his parents' now empty home, his footsteps echoing and bouncing off of its high ceilings. Each room he walked by seemed to whisper in reminiscence of the fights and battles that had taken place throughout the later years. And yet, each room was still lavish with fine antiques, art, and furniture. Despite losing his power and status, the money had stayed. Elias had never known where their wealth came from, and it wasn’t something his father had ever shared with him. He could remember asking his mother once, but she’d simply stated that it was family money.
He passed the grand living room, the one used for guests and smaller gatherings, and stared at his mother’s chair. He wished she were sitting there. He could almost see her, her legs crossed, her hands in her lap, her calm face staring out at him. He smiled remembering her that way. He smiled until he heard a snap, and the memory of his father throwing him into it, shortly after his speech, had inserted itself.
“How could you betray me like that?” his father had bellowed, his voice echoing through his memories. His mother had stood behind him, stoic and still like a statue, no emotion on her face. When it seemed his father wouldn't relent and his temper was out of his control, her expression changed slightly. But it wasn’t until his father had hit him she’d finally stepped in. Wrenching in between them, she took a hard blow that threw her to the floor. Without a word, his father stepped back and turned away to look out the window. Despite a fear to move, worried it might upset his father further, Elias moved next to his mother and tried to help her up. She pushed him off and got to her feet. She looked at Elias and then looked to her husband who kept his back turned to her. Without a word, she exited the room. Elias was shocked. He didn't know what to feel. She’d protected him and then disappeared. What did that mean? From that moment on, barely a word had been spoken between them. With all of the publicity and popularity the speech had garnered him but turned his fathers world upside down, it felt like his parents hated him. If any few words were said, they were from his father and were harsh, unkind and demeaning. Meanwhile, his mother simply stood by and watched, a calm and empty expression on her face.
Believing both of his parents hated him, by the time he was old enough, he moved out to get away. As time passed, there had always been hope he could rekindle things with his mother, but it wasn’t to be.
He moved on to the kitchen to find her favorite mug sitting on the counter, cold tea sitting in it. He lifted the mug to his nose and as the aroma of green tea and lavender filled his nostrils, more memories came flooding back, but to a time of happier days. He could see his mother sipping her tea at the kitchen table while she watched him and his sister eat a snack. She’d always sat with them for meals and snacks. Right up until the speech. He placed the mug gently back onto the counter and turned to the fridge. He opened it to find mouldy food and an unpleasant odor. He quickly closed it and turned away, though he didn’t know where he should go next. He looked out into the garden and his eyes fell on the large willow tree he and his sister used to sit under together. The tree was still just as beautiful and vast as he’d remembered it. He’d invited his sister to meet him at the house that afternoon, but she’d apologized and said she couldn’t do it. Too many bad memories, she’d said. He understood and didn’t blame her at all. Still, he wished they could sit under the tree together now and talk. Perhaps it would bring comfort.
He walked through the house, a zombie, memories both good and bad flooding his mind as he looked upon items and pictures that stimulated them. When he entered his mothers office, a room she’d often secluded herself in and he'd been forbidden to enter, it was dark and stale smelling, as though years had passed without use. The shelves were spilling with books of all kinds. His mother had always loved reading. Smiling, he moved to study the spines, reviewing all of the titles. They varied from biographies written about historical figures and artists to collections of folktales he remembered his mother referring to at bed time when he was very little. His eyes came upon a very weathered book, Beauty & the Beast and other french fairy tales. He couldn’t help the warm feeling that came over him as he reached for it. It had been his mothers favorite. He pulled the book out and began to leaf through the pages. There were some notes on the side of some of them in his mothers handwriting. Words like “true love” and “don’t forget this'' were written over a few passages. Interested to learn more, Elias kept the book in his hands, promising himself to take it home and read the stories again, with his mothers notes on the side. He was about to turn and leave when he noticed something on the back of the shelf where the book had been. His brow furrowed as he tried to get a closer look but couldn’t tell what it was. He moved his hand to reach for it, but there were books blocking him. He quickly removed them to reveal a hidden hook, folded in to be flush with the back of the unit. He twisted his wrist to pull the hook out and then pulled on it further. To his surprise, the entire shelf suddenly popped out. A few books wavered, but none fell. Elias walked to the edge to find the shelf was like a door. He pulled it open, gently and slowly, anxious to know what it could possibly be hiding. It was more shelves, shallow but full of notebooks. Each had a number written on the spine, and they numbered from one to almost fifty, the last with no number written on it at all. Curious, Elias pulled number fourteen out and opened it to its front page. The inside cover had elaborate writing, My Life-My Truth, by Grace Morren, Volume 14. It was his mothers handwriting, her name, her maiden name, with dates written below. These were clearly journals of some kind. He flipped to the first page.
I remain David’s faithful and dutiful wife, though it pains and often kills me with every passing moment. Though I chose this role with open arms some years ago, its meaning and requirements have altered drastically. As much as I abhore and wish to escape, it is not possible at this time. David has me cornered and I will not leave my children to his madness to fend for themselves. I may have no control or say in what transpires in my life any longer, but damned if I won’t give my everything to try and protect Elias and Rose. They have had no say in anything since they took their first breaths. I cannot grant them freedom but I can provide a safe place for them until they carve it out for themselves. I will remain here as long as it takes. Even if it kills me.
His breath quickened and the room seemed to begin to spin. He had to move quickly to find a place to sit. The chair across from the window, his mothers reading nook, was closest. The room started spinning faster as he took his last steps to it. He sighed in relief when he was finally able to sit. He slowed his breath, trying to process what he’d just read. Tears sprung to his eyes. This was his chance. He’d finally be able to know the woman he'd never been able to. Within those notebooks and pages, was the woman who’d given him life. He looked over at the open bookshelf and the notebooks inside. There were so many of them. Why had she kept them hidden? What did she mean when she wrote that his father had her cornered? From what? And from what did she have to keep them safe? Without hesitation, he flew back to the secret cabi
net and replaced number fourteen to the shelf. He grabbed notebooks one through five, and ran from the room. He stuffed them in his bag and moved to go. Perhaps these notebooks would have the answers he’d always been searching for.
Ⓒ August 2021. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.
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