The Inheritance.
by Thomas Leathan-drum
Introduction.
How sad a life of independence can be.
A story must start from somewhere or at a known time; could be just when a book falls from a shelf and opens at a random page; maybe before~or after at an event; maybe before~or after the main character has been made aware to the reader~We may learn of a happening before mastering the sequences leading to the meaning of the narrative. Will having knowledge of Sara arriving at the her grandparent's house, abandoned since their deaths; or some back ground to her family, making the reading easer or more confusing.
It was beyond the middle of June, nearly three weeks after Sara's twenty-forth birthday; the first birthday calibrated since the death of her father; now separated from all birth family and any known relatives, boarding with others with only emotional affections for her. If cut, no family blood would flow from their veins, yet they stand and support her in all that she had done, is doing, and will do, now and once she is twenty-five and any age ... for independence has disadvantages and rewards.
Freedom requires no effort to compromise with another's wishes, time or impatience; one can do as one pleases, take advantage of a situation without a thought of any consequence. One can satisfy a life's dream, even if only being a lonely and quite night before a fire; book and drink in hand with no conversation on either the story or the quality of the beverage; has the author conveyed the character in detail, has the narrative offered enough suspense, has the choice of words portrayed the intent; can you taste the fresh berries, does the sweet nectar satisfy your palate ~ you have none of this when you are without family or others who have only emotional affections for you.
How sad a life of independence can be.
Part One
Could this be the start?
Chapter 1
There is a time and place for everything.
We all know as one, that a pin size piece of gravel will give the impression that it's the dimension of a riverbed pebble; with pride of place is such an irritation we find in the sole of Sara's sandal, being the only stone now to be found on the surface of Quarry Road, so named for it serves the Burgers' Quarry~but the quarry now closed with passing, and with beginning of the war to end all wars. This war that brought to a closure a period in time, a lineage in family history, a family business and the lives of many ... as they had known for both them and those before them; from a single start in life, through love and marriage and children, through work, achievement and death~death … a war taking so many~many of the miners never returning, and their families left~left, leaving generations of memories behind solitary defending for themselves ... and here at the deserted house of the late Ross Burger; dead for many years; Sara a living relative, with her yellow hair free, wearing a hooded top most popular of girls her age and time; a pleated skirt light blue in colour and sneakers of a good brand ~ ventures into the past by her presence at the old wrought iron railings and gate, with each of supporting pillars, crowned with an exaggerated cast iron sculptured lion; once cold painted — in their prime when new, proudly did protect the garden and path leading to the threshold of a new beginning.
~~~~
Could this be the start? I fear not, for the story may start generations before … if I was so bold, I'd say the story starts in the last chapter; but of cause we don't read the last ... before we read the first.
Chapter 2
To be compensated with good fortune.
Showing no fear of the closed gate, having its measure and mastering and the opening; she has no dust to wipe from her hand for the gate handle leaves none. Unchallenged enters with freedom, evading cracks in the concrete path and the stepping on snails; she skips and dances towards the large red painted timber door, bright and cherry it shines before her eyes; inviting the entry ... in conjunction with a warm breeze softly dusting her face, blowing from the east and west, combined, encouraging her long un-tied hair to follow~ twisting the yellow strands into knots; not even the stray black and tan terrier laying with his companion mongrel on straw under the swing chair, vacant, left to its own motion can stop Sara from her inheritance.
~~~~
Sara alone that evening with purpose and justification not to venture out to play ~ to restless to be in others accompany took herself to rummage through her grandfathers belongings; taking herself for the first time to the bedroom of her grandfather; since his death a room sacred to his memory yet tonight it offers no boundaries to her enquires.
~~~~
We are all familiar with a tail or two when we hear, one has gone from having one pair of shoes to many, and from one coat to a coat for every occasion.
So when Sara's inheritance by chance found, not in hiding nor in view but placed with many other of her grandfather's objects of importance, safe and uncared for, subject to no ones interest, unopened ~ found inside a painted pine box with tarnished brass plates fixed to each corner and an oval escutcheon plate centre of front; to the top a little marquetry and some fine inlay missing, yet even in this state of repair it would fetch a handsome sum in auction ~ there is no key locking it, but a narrow leather belt buckled fast, untouched till now by the hands of Sara.
With the buckle free and the lid separated, the musty scent of time escapes, and not unlike a genie freed from capture ~ Sara becomes the guardian to the painted pine box and heir to the previous owners treasures~treasures hers to explore. Exploring is what all of us do time to time, or dream of doing if and when opportunity offers us the excuse to be where we should not, or somewhere no other had tread; it is in this state of mined we find Sara, caught between yesterday and today, lost with thinking of the future ... so did not notice the going ons to her left or to her right, even in her sight if she was looking in that direction; had she looked~she may have not raised her head to distract her thoughts from the treasures promised within the box, would her wits have returned to her, had she not her heard a voice.
'Come child,' the voice now real and free from her sub-conscience. 'Be not afraid, its contents will surprise you, and you will be compensated with good fortune'.
~~~~
With the contents within the box exposed to the light ... let us leave them for a short time.
Chapter 3
That of what is to come.
As old folk we know when the years encroach on our youth, age become captains of our domain; with age brings intolerance, demanding, ruthless and scathing, contributing unjustified attacks against our servants and lovers; yes, Sara can recall without great thought of when her granddad lost patience with her and brother Albert.
'If you were my children,' sternly spoken, 'I'd take my hand to you or better still, my stick.' Then he would look at their father, waiting for him to in-minister his own punishment upon the fleeing children; but he never did.
'Easy on dad,' their father would mutter, 'you be lucky not to bring a strain on your ticker and your right hand.'
So those among us older than those who are younger, need to tolerate insubordinate rascals ~ for the love of them; with the knowledge that sacrifices and inheritances must have jurisdiction over all~all that had gone and all that~that of what is to come.
~~~~
So it came. Sara's mother left taking with her Albert, with the understanding both will return once the pain had eased, and if the love that was between parents was once again salvaged; but as we know what is lost is lost, what is broken remains broken, and no amount of compromise or turning a blind eye or a cheek can full the cracks in a damage Victorian porcelain vase or that in a relationship with a many hole. To those either side of a break, be a handle to a fine jug, glass or a kettle, or a son or a daughter ... even a family pet, to see the trains coming, one from the north and the other from the south, both at a speed with no control, because each driver obviously to the others requirements.
Chapter 4
New relationship.
Rachel Sara was the daughter of Lawrence Albert and Mary Homestead. Albert being quarry manager of the open mine "Victoria" (belonging to the Burgers' mining company) and also the largest of quarries in the district of Newton; while Mary completed her roll in life as wife and mother; in addition to performing her social obligations to the best of her ability and skills~skills to be praised by those close and distant, related or known, spoken well of in high circle families and never a bad word used in describing her when not present.
We should not be surprised to learn of her relationship with Ross Burgers, for the distance between their hearts and their beds did not take any length of time to develop ~ once puberty sprung, bringing springtime love, and once the awkward stage of touching of a hand, an innocent brushing of bodies had been accomplished; and the first quick peck on a fresh cheek, followed by a soft wet kiss to the lips; that if a stop watch had been employed to track time, would show no time at all took place; in fact a nervous laugh followed the first encounter by both parties, before new courage was summoned, this time approaching the ordeal — although, using the word ordeal is far from the correct impression to consign to what was for both first time lovers a sensation new and exciting, as well seasoned lovers know, will lead to a greater pleasure, which neither of our lovers will experience on this occasion.
In common with most their attraction for each other grew from familiarity and time spent in and around family and friends, from birthday party's, dressed in their Sunday best to maintain social standing ~ yet interacting with the lowest dominator for (many) children of their age, before discrimination rose its ugly head; dinners and social dances; at first as small child with no sense of rhythm, but as jumping while running around in circles holding hands; Ross and Rachel enjoyed these times, still at this age unaware of desire. Together from school days, helping with reading and printing, from the smallest of their letters to whole words and sentences and stories, from picnics sharing an apple that had been lovingly cut into equal corners, wrapped in wax paper, eaten with little chewing, if a pip found, spat out with distaste and laughter. Then with age, intimacy and knowledge blossomed, showings its bright colours while close contact made possible by circumstances from walks in parks, on school holidays, adventures in books and moving pictures, trips to the quarries, playing in the gravel, finding freedom of behaviour due to their families connections through work and social activities maturing.
~~~~
Ross Burgers was the talk of the town when packed and left for university in Hinge-borne; those all for frighting for King and country looked upon the decision poorly, yet none spoke face to face to old Mr. Burgers, as it was not their custom to do so, but this did change with time; others under their breath and behind doors feet a slight arrogance and a default of duty to the country; however women folk especially Rachel were relieved as was George Steel-ford a long time admirer and rival for her company and affection, often at a local dance many a time insisted on a dance or two just to annoy Ross; and as we are well aware when one is king pin with money and the backing of a well to do family, owning mines and cottages and employs most of all working aged men, including fit and uneducated females of a tender age ... plus in their stables have more than ten horses, a house with the same number of bedrooms and with cooks, a pantry maids, plus gardeners ~ then ask yourself would you send to almost certain death your son and heir when you can send him to university?
George like many other young men volunteered; he although not against enlisting would not have done so, if not for his older brother James, always a bully, seeing only his side of an argument, always knowing what is good for any gander and never seeing the good side of another unless that person gained him with importance and reward-reward came to others whom have feared his strength, when death came to him within one hour of battle.
Six months have passed since Ross parted from all he had known since childhood; at the door that day his father, his mother, his brothers, a number of senior quarry managers, some in favour of his destination and others not so pleased, plus Rachel.
'You will not notice the time lost between us, before my return.' Rachel's hand in his as Ross spoke in a whisper for only her to hear. 'I will write everyday,' his moist lips so close, the breath from his words flicked around her ear tickling her senses, giving her goosebumps and a light sweet to form under her chin.
'Goodbye Rachel'. Not a word more was spoken.
He looked towards his parents, the house, his favourite horse, "Flame," who had sensed his parting and came close to the fence separating the drive from the paddock.
Chapter 5
Counting the days apart.
George was seen at Rachel's side more often than before, in his company she drank tea, went riding, sometimes alone; although never witnessed; it was told they had kissed, Rachel always denied, George always boasted of having done so and more.
The letters came each day, stamped Hinge-borne university ~ each day the letters came, eventually they came only once a month; still with long warm loving sentiments, words of love and how time will pass, how he longed to be in her arms, together as before; and how about the new friends he is making and the places he is going on his days free from university study; the letters are packed with names of other fellows of similar background. 'You will like Fredde,' he wrote on many occasions, for he already likes you; I've told him all about you and have let him glance his eyes on your photo'. 'Please send another'. Rachel in her letters as many as his at first when there was mountains of things to tell him, never once mentioning any encounters with a George Steel-ford - although never sure if his mother in her letters had done so. He asked about "Flame," 'was someone riding him to keep his back strong and his legs keen?'. There was no asking about the quarries or the men left behind, or about those that left to enlist; these questions he asked of his father. Rachel provided stories of the seasons changing, each bringing their own reasons for existence, fulling her pages ~ written before sleep, of the colours the new buds brought, of the new baby lambs, old Mr. Bridge she told Ross, the numbers were increased against the year passed with the warmer weather the reason he was sure of; each letter at the top she wrote, 'to my sweet love', and to the end, 'always missing you, Rachel'.
Six months into their separation the trees started losing their leaves, autumn had arrived and so did the train from the direction expected, and for the reason of obligation and duty.
Rachel's letter reached Ross four days from the day, it was written that night with tears~tears stains he could see on the paper, how he wished with his finger could brush them aside; he read of his friends in their best suits with suitcase in hand, with a loved one, either a sweetheart, a sister, a brother, even a mother clutching an arm; a sad but proud father at arms length standing with others.
Chapter 6
Solicits her opinion.
Sara has her revenge upon the pebble casting it far, she has mastered the gate, the latch no contest to her determination, she has championed the lions with her confidence and her look of authority, she is in the realm of her inheritance.
Twenty long or forty shorts steps are counted within Sara's head; each step inspected and scrutinised in the heads of the colourful chrysanthemums, like working bees between climbing roses, standing disciples to bamboo triangle frames, bedded to the left of the path and flowering in groups of like; to the right blackbirds without fear counting only the worms found and digested, having been fetched with yellow bills from the depths of the earth, struggling, taking no notice of the intruder; hovering above if one were to look, finches with stout bills and colourful plumage ~ yet unseen by the young girl; all mistakenly in flight that she below carries tip pits of wholemeal bread spread with butter and jam.
The steps of the front porch express no discomfort as she accomplishes all five; nor does the welcome mat with the turned up corner discourage her gentle footstep when applying weight upon it; even the word welcome smiles at her~her small hand reaches for the black cast iron handle, it owning the shape of a vertical bar with ring and chain, now only half attached but secure enough to complete the duty of the door ~ in her head the voice of Ross Burger implores her company, and solicits her opinion.
~~~~
The hall she walks is wider than two out stretched arms and longer than that of a game of skittles would be played between, so it is understood to be a long hall. To walk it without lifting ones eyes higher than the person viewing, in some cultures forbidden, yet not to look further than the polished timber floor and central carpet runner would be a sin~a sin not to feast upon the dark stained vatical timber dado topped in fine moulding, bracing from that point burgundy royal wallpaper with strips leading ones vision to the bold and wide architrave and ornate plastered ceiling; lit if night, by one glass candle chandelier at the end nearest the kitchen and the other, a newly installed electric light fitting — no less grand than the older chandelier hung at the door of the large room for entertaining; hung there to impress. Adding light to the long hall, not a solid timber door leading to the library but a glazed door, allowing visitors to cast an eye upon a family with knowledge and learning. Sara did just that, without opening the door her eyes fell upon the plush and soft library furniture, the circular carpet, the vast array of leather bound books neatly placed; on timber shelves, in size, colour, or author.
An archway with painted mouldings divides this hall between the rooms of learning and entertainment and those of living and a like. Sara's eyes peer silently through open doors as not to waken a sole while light footed stepping to a tune for marching soldiers, left, right, left right — time in sync with an old fashioned metronome, placed in view for the student counting the beats and holding them to ransom; she had discovered the music room; there in front of the bay windows with curtains closed a Steinway, the lid extended exposing the craftsmanship of the piano maker, the workings of wires and hammers all to marvel at for those among us interested in the workings of any fine instrument. To the left a violin for a young child, not of Stradivari reputation; left as was last played, with sheet music opened as was last read; a colouring in book and pencils a crayons, a glass paper weight holding a page flat, of a picture only half complete. Around the walls as with the library shelves, stacked with leather bound books, even modern magazines.
Sara's steps, one by one~left before right, forward in movement captivating the space laid before her and narrowing the years gone to the year present, bringing her back to now, was it the chiming of the long case clock standing alone with its white ceramic face and Roman figures counted round one to twelve by bronze hands energised by chain and pendulum.
With a miser's purse it's said once opened moths do fly forth, but not so this box; no moth, beetle or mite of any species has made this box a dwelling, only time has made a home within~within this time capsule an old family photograph, faded, almost yellow from age, holds Sara's by a spell; one by one, two by two or by seven, the figures once in ammonia, now no matter which way Sara rotates the photograph, does delay their departure; each image bringing given names from the back, each facing her anticipating a greeting, but wait they must for Sara places the photograph on the window ledge with a weight to steady it from a wind; an inquisitive hand moves to a folded parchment, not of goat or sheep skin but of fine paper, secured by a yellow ribbon tied by a gentle hand, the words printed in ink by an educated hand.
Chapter 7
"A plus" for effort.
When young the future holds no secrets or fears; a young mind sees only the present, giving little or no thought past the hour on the enamel clock face; sees no need to store seeds in the dark to generate for the next planting season, nor save that coin given with love from another with the hope that~that coin will be put to good use either by investing for a profit or interest on the capital ~ family money does shape a mind more than education, more than the lust of a simple maid, more than love of a lady from landed Gentry; honours for bravery, for service to King and Country, and the lucky few given power in the House of Parliament by right is the reward for wealth, another wealth once earned now received as an entitlement.
Of cause none of this Sara finds written by an educated hand in ink on fine paper, but what her eyes fall upon are letters flowing effortlessly across the pages in lines of uniform spacings, some in large print, others small; there a random word with a capital, a comer to brake the melodic rhythm of a clerks hand.
A child of her age should receive a discount as a reward for dismantling large legal passages and a "A plus" for effort.
'Bring the box to the light of the window child, for the contents are yours', the elderly voice filling the void of both the space and Sara's mind.
If we were there to witness the moment with our modern understanding of the supernatural, would we hesitate as did Sara towards the voice; coming she is convinced from the photograph under the weighted object ~ yet remember your youth when nothing halted a curious mind even if just temporary.
Light from the window reflects from the bevelled glass mirror, enlarging even the smallest objects in the pine box, the silver pencil with the slightest amount of lead showing, a porcelain thimble with tiny hand painted rabbits, a packet of needles complete in total; red ribbon attached to a medal earned for bravery~bravery beyond the call of duty the words jump out at her; a gold band ring with a pretty amorist, a necklace of perfectly circular pearls — wrapped in a handkerchief. C. B. sown with blue thread in the corner; initials, Sara convinced, are those of her grandmother. Exploring the contents further finding a lock of hair, of a loved one curled as was the custom to store in a locket, an infants tooth in tissue paper, a poem penned in a child's hand with no rhyming verse.
'Waste not a moment more child, read the document there before you; put aside these distraction detaining you, unfold the fine paper envelop; read your name in print' ~ and the child did as she was told once the voiced stopped, once the wind stopped, once the black birds rested from terrorising the worms; the black tanned terrier placed his head between its legs, even the hovering finches paused; even those fixed in the photograph lifeless waited, as Sara lifted the paper placing it upon her lap.
Chapter 8
'We have all made sacrifices.'
The wagons stretched back to Mull Street, a quarter of a mile from the quarries gate.
'Morning Mr. Thomas', words used each morning by young Ross Burgers, who's job it was to open the gates right on six o'clock. Mr. Thomas at this time of the morning was not the most talkative, just giving the young Burgers boy a smile; as was required to be polite for he is a Burgers son and carries himself much like his father.
~~~~
It was one of those days when the morning is cool yet come evening warm; although little wind brought the coldness and next to no sun provided the warmth. No rain had fallen over night or for the last four days, yet the weather was predictable and those in doors or out were able to dress accordingly, as we find Rachel did; and we find nature at its best with all the loveliest flowers on show; with early growth and promising new life, still the time to prune old wood was yet to come.
We find if looked further, woodlands beyond the manicured paddocks where in years passed both cattle and sheep glazed to their hearts contentment are all one summers green; the fields once selected for growing of hay now in weed; no wagons linger in lanes to carry off the harvested hay, no horses nor new reaping machines stand at the ready, in hope of work to be commence; none of those too small to earn a coin ~ spending their day picking blackberries can be found; we find if looked further, pastures once in colour now dull, we ask, will the corn reach its splendour shade of gold; will the lambs come this spring in numbers as last, we ask, will calves of many breads dance to and throw, unaware of what life will bring them in days to follow ~ we ask how long a period between seed sown and bread made.
It is with all these question confined within the heads of those the day war stopped and those soldiers speared death return to their families, met from the trains that did take them away those fours years prior are reunited; and that very day Ross Burgers return from Hinge-borne university better for the education than those worst for their experiences.
'Welcome home'. 'Thank you father, it is good to be home'. Ross with hat and coat in one hand and his suitcase in the other, gladly gave them up to embrace his mother; she with her handkerchief dabbed at a wayward tear, she had promised herself not to sheared a tear but this promise had been to great to accomplish and besides why could she not do so just because her son had go to university where others sons had go to war.
Old Mr. Burgers spoke to the gathered people in the town square, he spoke of courage; 'Our sons showed great courage.' Looking as he did at drawn and tired faces of young men who had aged so much more than four years would have done, had not the "Hun" forced this evil upon them. He spoke of bravery, 'Our sons were brave, facing down their emery, in the open battle fields and in the trenches of "Liege". Counting in his head those with limbs missing and heads in bandages. He spoke of the sacrifices. 'We have all made sacrifices.' Not now looking at any of their faces, the elderly or the young there looking back at him.
~~~~
Wedding bells rang out from the stone-church nest-like, quietly sitting next to the monument erected for the war dead, although built before the monument~monument with now names of those not returning, names scribed in gold gilt lettering on bronze ~ there for all to see.
The bells ring for the marriage of Ross Burgers to the girl, the women known to him forever; Rachel Sara Homestead ~ you will remember her, the daughter of Lawrence Albert and Mary Homestead, also I'm sure you realise their daughter Sara is the reason for the jumble of words you are reading; also, how from here, to now as she becomes heir to all, is confusing and complicated, yet not recorded or written here.
Old Mr. Burgers spoke to the gathered people in the church, he spoke of commitment; 'These two young people belong together.' Looking as he did at other couples once young men who had aged so much more than the years would have done, had they not married. He spoke of love. 'They have done nothing more than love each other from the day of their birth, they together with face down their demons, over come all that threats before them, will bring children into this world; made safe by those there named on our monument and the learning of those not.' Counting in his head those who are married and those with children and those who work for him. He spoke of the sacrifices. 'We have all made sacrifices.' Not now looking at any of their faces, the elderly or the young there looking back at him, his fear in his head is the number of men no longer there to work in his quarries.
Chapter 9
It’s possible the story should have started here; however it did not do so.
This is the last Will and a Testament of Ross North Burgess. Quarry owner and Merchant.
As I am survived only by my niece Sara Jane Burgess, I give the whole of my estate ...
Sara reads the words and reads the words again, pointing a finger to each word in turn; within her own head the two paragraphs linger, she pulling and twisting a strain of yellow hair, round and round, circling into knots; round and round in her head the paragraphs bouncing from side to side, each orbit bring understanding to the printed letters of their disciples preachings.
'I cannot hear a word she is saying, ask her to speck louder,' her grandmother demands, while her old fingers toile with needle and thread on a tapestry, its beauty to behold in film.
Tears full the sweet young round blue eyes of the beneficiary; small pear shaped drops kiss her slim tender lips — tasting of sweet sugar; as if held under a waterfall of bewilderment her body drips; unaware of time and movement, she has the photograph in her hand; seeing for the first time all five grey faces smile with sadness; grandmother has placed her sowing work to a table, her grandfather, his walking stick to the hall-stand, un-sure of the younger. The taller boy of three, handsome he is some say for sure ~ with a welcoming smile, and bright blue eyes, and a liking for a pretty face, it's said around the village; in his hand a small dog, not unlike the black tanned terrier we met earlier, has much the same good looks of his father and resembles greatly characteristics of her own father, the other two boys have similar features and mannerisms to her uncles Curtis and Eaton; for as she stared at one the other pulled a face by sticking two fingers into his mouth, pulling apart just like her uncle Curtis would to scare her and brother Albert before bedtime.
'How do you expect them to sleep now?', their mother's tongue could be sharp, but sleep was never far away? Yet sleep came difficult for their mother, for soon after both Curtis and Eaton found their maker; never again until this day does Sara lay her eyes on what would be short orange curly hair of her uncle Curtis if the photograph was coloured; yet there was no way in knowing if his curls grew out, and if he were to reach an age when they would be grey. No great memory of uncle Eaton clouds her mind, not even the photograph can recall an image of affection.
'Do make an old man happy my dear, read what I have provided for you, now that I have lost all but the thought of this gift to my son's child'.
This is the voice she does so recognise as that of Ross Burgers; he has with grace and elegance glided from a grey figure from an old yellowing picture to an elegant gentleman — far from his time to hold the hand of his favourite granddaughter, to enjoy with her his last words~words she cannot now control from coming forth for the document; again she sees her name in bold ink heading the processions of many others — as I am survived only by my niece Sara Jane Burgess.
I give: I give the whole of my estate and fortune to her to do as she may wish, in no way is she obliged to fitful any wishes of others, to adhere to any wish of others, to behave in a manor to please another, my means are a gift to her freedom.
'Grandfather you have favoured me to much,' their eyes meet. 'Hush child do read on', with his hands clasped behind his back and taking to smoking his pipe again, he places an arm to support himself against the fire mantel; there he enjoys the heat from the fire from a memory and is warmed by the young sweet voice of his granddaughter, sat in her grandmother's chair; in his eye he sees good times only, hears only laughter, memories of good harvests, of record stock sales, of high returns from Government stocks and of high demands for quarried stone.
'Grandfather please stand near'. Sara interrupting his thoughts that were once strong but now a little faded. 'Please help, if and when a word that needs reading is one I struggle with.'
'Child read the words following your name,' his voice soft and gentle, yet he is unable to hide his pride for selecting the words written by him and unable to resists from reading them with her.
Together the words are read, the older silently within his mine, the younger mouthing each letter, running them together with a finger forming whole words into sentences.
I give the whole of my estate and fortune; plus if I were the holder of the sky I would release my grip and settle it upon you, if master of the sun ... it would never leave your vision and your days would always be shined upon; the moon I would instruct to carry your image and all planets to worship your existence; however none of this I can bestow.
An old and a young hand turn a page, a word explained, a meaning given thought upon; an idea expressed, a pause to wipe a tear, time to brush a strain of yellow hair from an eye, an opportunity to glance towards the open window, a moment to reflect on lifestyles now in the pass, a new page brings its own promises and rewards. Again theirs eyes together settle on this new page and read.
I give the whole of my estate and fortune. The tiles from the roof of the gallery, the chimneys with their flower pot lids, the leaded windows of "Christ" and his "Twelve Apostles". The library with all the books of learning; all the volumes of "Shakespeare", the oil paintings; "The Milkmaid" by Johannes Vermeer, a favourite of uncle Eaton, he now looking on in his mind running his little fingers as they were when he first discovered the painting in the gallery when a boy, there playing with his brother upon a magic carpet square as one, sliding on the polished floor from one end to the other, never once did an object of value suffer from the game; and then alone before bed would return to sneak a look at the painting most viewed by male visitors, that of "Giorgione's", the painting, portraying a nude woman, whose profile seems to follow that of the hills in the background; so described by a critic of the day.
It was on this page Sara had to call on her grandfather for his help in conquering these foreign names, if she was not so concentrating on the words she would have able to witness a colouring of her uncle Eaton's face. The treasures flowed from the pages as they were turned, not one creased or folded poorly, and "Chippendale" furniture; the carpets as children once played on and walked their way, there and back; the wall tapestries hung by ancestors before our time; the portraits of those men and women dressed in their finest of outfits~outfits cared for by others with less; these were the people in their time showing courage to invest in industry, in grand buildings with extravagant architecture, in travel with an eye for fine porcelain, gold, silver, sculptures in bronze and marble; fulling these grand houses with wealth while making homes of them for their children.
'Do go on child I a ploy you;' 'Grandfather I require refreshment, my throat is very dry, I also feel great sadness and grief coming from yourself and those who have travelled far to be here and of those who left to be else-where; do you not consider I have sufficient and if you were to look further afield more deserving could be found to rewarded for the sacrifices made while providing you with so much to give away this day.'
His voice for the first time has an anger to it, nothing Sara had noticed before; his face more crimson than before, he places his pipe to the side table and moves to the window; even the light breezes that once cooling the room ceased to do so.
'No.' The word fills the room will fear, one would not think such a small word of only two letters could take so much air as it travelled across to Sara's ears.
'Read on child,' these three words spoken with a little less hostility.
So one who still obeys her elders, one not yet ready to question a command, one unable to turn a blind eye to authority or to disappoint, puts aside for a moment her thoughts of caring and sharing with others less fortunate, turns again her eyes to the papers before her. How short a thought for others can last when what is written and read is providing a life of riches and position, a mind of any age, none more so than such a young one could not but help to imagine a life full of luxuries, to be an owner of the most modern of all fashions, to travel the oceans in ships built for such expeditions, to own grand houses and throw lavish parties for royalty and all the great men of period. But now only those from the old photograph stand in grey clothing with drawn faces wait her return. It's takes only a soft cough and a slight movement of a hand from a pocket to a nose to waken Sara from her fantasy to her presence; again now feeling stronger and in control of those, she can at anytime return to the pine box without a thought of their demise, for who are they to her now; they are gone from this world and she is here, she is their mistress, she now owns all that is around her and more that she had not seen.
So we find, it is in her own time she returns to read again the words that are now easier to mouth, and not before she had drunk and eaten, refreshments of fresh berries and fruit, a home made apple pie with whipped cream just this minute stolen from the house cow and brought to her on the best of china, carefully by the hands of the most handsome of all men her eyes have ever been cased upon.
The time counted in hours, for the sun and the moon could have passed by the window several days; more seasons than two could have come and gone in this stagnated pose; neither set of eyes left the other, the tray floated between them, neither pair of hands left the tray, not a word was formed, if any were, not one left its creator. It took only a soft cough and a slight movement of a hand from a pocket to a nose to waken Sara from this reality.
With clear eyes~eyes for more than the words she reads. I give the whole of my estate and fortune to her to do as she may wish, in no way is she obliged to fitful any wishes of others, to adhere to any wish of others, to behave in a manor to please another, my means are a gift to her freedom~freedom to wonder the green and brown hills resting from the skyline to the north, to the south, from east to west, up and down valleys and ridges, to travel from dawn to dusk for three days in any direction before coming to rest again in her bed.
As master of all you have the right to dam or set free rivers, to plant or chop trees, to trap or release wildlife, to kill or give life, to befriend or banish a neighbour.
Tears filled Sara's eyes, teardrops slowly running down her cheek resting on her lips, with the cuff of her blouse wiped~wiped them one way and then another; these were tears of sadness, of happiness, of joy, they were for tears for wealth, for knowledge, sweet tears for love.
'Here take my handkerchief and please stop crying; your tears dampen the paper you read from and are of no benefit.' 'Thank you Mrs. Burgers.'
Sara exchanged the words for the fine silk cloth, slipping it into a pocket as the older lady turned away ~ for it was to precious to use on a moist nose.
'Let us have no further emotions showing this day, and you may call me Mary.' Mary Burgers once the lady of the house, the queen of all social occasions, who was greeted when out shopping~shopping not for preservation but for satisfaction and pleasure from wealth and her statues in the community; she the wife of the lord of business, the owner of the quarries and he the provider of employment ~ She when holding conference with ladies of near standing, sipping tea from fine porcelain in exquisite outfits; on a sunny day sitting under a shaded seat around a garden table, knows her husband maybe the lord ~ yet it is She with instrumental to all that is his before, now and in the future. That was then, now Mrs. Mary Burgers with only memories, listens to the sentences constructed by meaningfully expressions of love towards a new generation ~ yet to establish their place on this earth, is her grandchild, seated in the chair in her drawing room, accompanied by portraits of accessories in common, surrounded by antiques, some just old with little value, but sentimental, others with vast value and even when in time of great financial need, no one could part with them for they came with the period in which they were crafted and to some considered irreplaceable ~ vases, bronze and marble statues, paintings, works of art from many artist gathered by their predecessors while on their great expeditions of Europe and the Middle East. On what longing for those days, Mary has.
Chapter 10
Mr. Joseph Flint
'Stop.' Sara did placing the paper on her lap. The voice she did not recognise; it was that of her uncle Eaton ... there had been a knock at the front door and his attention draw to its immediate demand.
'That will be Joseph,' this was the voice of her uncle Curtis another (she was sure) hearing for the first time. 'Simon always arrives about now.'
Sara heard the door open and her uncle Eaton welcoming his friend. 'Come Joseph we have a guest and I wish you to meet her, you will like her and I'm sure she you.'
Sara recalls the distance from the front door to the room now seated and before completed uncle Eaton and his friend had arrived.
'Joseph may I introduction Sara, she is my niece, come to inherit. Sara this is my best friend Joseph - Joseph Flint. We have enjoyed each other's company since birth, for we were born on the same day. I to mother Mary Burgers and he to his, Glads Flint'.
Joseph is taller than his friend but of much the same build and features, colouring of hair (longer than the norm for the day) and skin, more olive than dark; he has bright eyes and white teeth, his hand now with hers clasped, gentle fingers intertwined are soft and warm, his cloths are not his working cloths - Sara is impressed~an impression based only on looks for at this time no further information is forth coming about Joseph Flint.
Sara found herself among those once in the photograph, in drab grey coloured costumes, caught by black and white film, when in better times, before failure in business and death in war ... Now in colour, as they did before the black and white photograph was taken, when all was well, living life as it was meet to be. Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters and good friends; sitting, having tea at a table covered with fine lace and fine bone china, eating with silver cutlery, the men folk drinking from long stemmed glass goblets, each engraved with the Burgers family crest. Sara was sat opposite Joseph, he sat between Eaten her uncle Curtis; Mr. and Mrs. Burgers sat at opposite ends. Mr. Burgers near the ale, Mrs. Burgers with the tea pot and the plate of cucumber and cheese sandwiches.
The sun with all its warmth is the other guest and a most welcome one at that, for with warmth comes love ... the eyes of the two we are following with immense interest are not far from each other at any one moment and the words each do speck are mainly directed towards each other with only the occasional to any other person; which I must confess has not gone unnoticed by all at the table. The men acted like young maidens snickering at such affection between to love struck pigeons or maybe a male peacock prancing around fanning its tail feathers. Mrs. Burgers eyes can only see a marriage and more mouths to be feed and in her eyes this is a good outcome to a relationship.
Joseph is listening but can only see Sara with her radiant yellow hair, comparing her to his favourite food, apple pie with fresh cream. Also holding his stare her white cotton top and her hooded cape, an outfit new to him; never has he seen a pleated skirt, light blue in colour and sneakers of a good brand, all have his heart turning in large circles for a young girl so beautiful. There is no time to be counted, no sun or moon to pass by the window, no seasons to come and go; neither set of eyes can leave the other, no tray floats between them, their hands are one, no words can be formed, for their lips are a pair locked together in the creator's doing. It took only a soft cough and a slight movement of a hand from a pocket to a nose to waken Sara from her embrace.
Chapter 11
Cure for love is reality.
The only cure for love is reality; before reality the heart rules the head — when once decisions were made with intelligence and from experience; to the rights and wrongs of investments and predictions on returns from those ... mapped out on spreadsheets. To purchase a horse with proper pedigree to that of cost; to sow seeds of the best stock to those unwanted by others; to turn a single bottle of red wine by hand (nourished from the fineness grape) to a dozen inferior by machine — all these decisions require an educated head (not a love struck heart). When once small coins saved to a cast iron money box, put a side for a new bonnet, a trip to the seaside, maybe a bucket and spade for a niece — now spent on ice cream and pop corn without thought of value; remember — look after the pennies and the pounds with look after themselves — a pound saved today can be a pound and a penny spent tomorrow.
Love can be brought by a dove, with its white feathers groomed to perfection~perfection seen within first light to an eye so young and inexperienced in love making and courtship. Ones name is only second to his or her cover and the clothing worn — of how he or she stands or sits, or of their posture and status in society at large ... or the colour of their skin, or the colour of their hair, or the colour of their politics. Love can come early in life, or near the end; one can grow from young adulthood with many lovers and children ... and on the other hand ~ another never knows the warmth of another's body or experience parenthood, or feel pride/satisfaction of a father, or pain of being the mother with whom had to bear the birth procedure. Yet without both fore-mentioned ...
Wedding bells again ringing out from the stone-church nest-like, quietly sitting next to the monument erected for the war dead, the monument now with names of those not returning, names scribed in gold gilt lettering on bronze ~ there for all to see ... those here today are here to witness the joining of commitments between the old world and this new world. To return a family of old to a family of new, to start from points of closure and termination. To relight old candles and chandeliers — hanging in dark hallways and bedrooms, bringing to boil kettles on open files and on stoves of iron and steel. To have children involved in learning and with play, and in education near and far. To hear the stone crushes reducing boulders to pebbles, and the wagons pulled by draft horses to and back from places they go to and have come from. To open windows that have been closed for generations and doors ... neither open or closed, to remove covers~covering furniture — placed — to dust off years of memories from items long forgotten by those along forgotten and gone from any living memory. This is what true love does to those so young, those with health — wealth and the means to be happy. Those who have choice to love whom ever ... best to achieve more than just happiness with good looks and good character; to be able to call on those less fortunate to serves one so young - Reader - This person you know so well. This person is Sara Burgers; heir of the late Ross North Burgess - Sara Burgess the owner of the grand stately house — sitting proudly before the many Burgess's quarries - Mistress to the vast estates past, and to the monument for the dead in pride of place; with names~names scribed in gold gilt lettering on bronze — there for all to see ...
Chapter 12
Before, now and back then.
With the contents within the box exposed to the light ... let us search the contents of the box that are now exposed to the light~light first captured and made prisoner all those years ago.
~~~~
After years of a young age - Sara with memories of friendships — having presented her family and friends with many trophies for successful achievements in many fields of education and the like — with a couple of lovers (boy friends) and one embarrassed married gentleman — set off in new directions to make provisions for her (current) and her future.
Bad luck — what is for one person — can be good for another. What can come at a bad time for one person — can come at the right time for another .... so, it was for Sara?
That day came after the laying to rest of her parents. The day was warm with the sun at its best ... she stood that day in the churchyard — surround with those also in mourning, the list to long to record. The morning that followed — sitting in the kitchen of her family home — one soon to be vacated, by general post came a black-bordered letter — addressed to her by name.
With the contents read many a time over and with each reading completed, her mind was settled on determination to follow out the information to proceed forward, and take advantage of situation now presenting itself.
Mr. Ross North Burgers is dead ...
Part Two
Her inheritance is safe.The heavy embossed (solid silver, Victorian shears — with the sovereign's head, the makers name and year date; 1888 - stamped with pride.) beg to be used.
Sara chops with the skill of an experienced craft hand; each image of those engraved — there held within the vintage photograph — there held for the last hundred years — there and then ... as they were found; dressed the day their images stolen (if they were stolen?) or maybe given with a willing heart, and with the knowledge this day would come. When Sara — this young girl from a period in history ... not yet upon those within the photograph, or having any knowledge of such a day. How could they imagine what the day would be like — would the sun be shining — would the wind be blowing — would the world be at peace or at war. Would any of them here now standing, side by side — in their best of all costumes ... each with secret thoughts and hopes and desires of love, be willing to be alive.Chapter 1
Away with the past.
Forgotten, the twenty long or forty shorts steps counted within her head; each step she had inspected and scrutinised~forgotten the colourful chrysanthemums; the worker bees flying between the climbing roses~climbing roses there ... growing freely strangling the lap-less standing bamboo triangle frames.
Forgotten and out of mind the path to the left with the flowers in groups of like; to the right the blackbirds, counting only the worms found and digested — each having been fetched with yellow bills from the depths of the earth — struggling~struggling. Sara takes no notice of the intruder — hovering above (if she were to look,) the finches with stout bills and colourful plumage.
NOW , unseen by the young girl.
Chapter 2
OFF: with their heads.
So it was. OFF: off with their heads. The black witch screams out from afar ... for she has no stomach for encounters of conflict.
Sara, without a tear to an eye or a thought to the needs of ones head ... gathers from where they fell, the images cut so carefully from within the silver frame (time before this calling,) laying each one in line of lineage.
The burden of responsibility on shoulders so young and all the new found friends when unexpected wealth is showered upon one so simple in mind and inexperienced in worldly affairs ... how easy it can become to be a slave to another ... when they / them, he or she is wiser and older in years (than you,) constantly, they tell you in mind; and that they have seen it all before; and like you — made mistakes when they to ... came into knowledge, wealth and new friends — many from afar. Reminding you, some will be family; many never knew of ... some a long lost brother / uncle / aunt — your true mother / father ... informing (after all this time,) you were adopted; for they wished you a better life ... more than they (because they were young,) could prove. NOW they have seen the error of their way, the mistake in their thoughts. AH - ah; they plead. Forgive us. We love you so much.
Chapter 3
Letter from an acquaintance.
Words on yellow paper written with numb and ink ... in old fashioned hand writing ... each letter joined together by a free flowing motion; as all notes were before mechanical devices.
The unknown (be they male or female ... young or old,) each are housed and clothed. The very young washed. They share furnished rooms, they are with pocket-money; many provided with all necessaries of living — the older ... instructed in all languages (living and dead,) good subjects thought; such as mathematics, orthography, geometry, astronomy, and many more to hoot.
Now all these people know you and of you, or know someone that knows you or of you, and they to now wish to know you or know more about you and to recall long lost school days even if never having been in a school with in or a school anywhere near you ... Ah! ah! FRIENDS the wish to be.
Chapter 4
Learning from and taking from ... things of the others, making a more enlighten future.
The iron gates have new paint, and the steel hinges oiled; the lion heads — their eyes shine again with replacement glass eyes. Polished are all the fence railings, and cracked concrete path replaced with new, and the flower boards replanted with modern variations of the old. Again worms flourish, growing into long juicy tit-bits for the blackbirds and finches to feed upon. The Roses pruned with the old wood cut back, allowing new growth to flourish. The old house wrapped in new cladding, replacement sash cords to the window frames, broken glass replaced ... catching the morning sun from any direction from which it comes. Saved from the elements of each season from the new shingles placed upon new bearers ... that support a roof dominating the country side. Drives and paths replenished either with pebbles (larger than those that trap themselves between toes of sandals,) or of and of fresh concrete; missing stones from stone walls once standing tall and straight — running once from front to back gates, and from kitchen doors to the kitchen gardens ... to the glasshouses of the gardeners out house and the sheds of farm workers. NOW all replaced once more by the quarries own efforts. For you (the reader,) now understand — Burgers's mines are once more is in full production.
Sara did not chop the heads from those within the silver frame ... those heads — once master and mistress, nor the heads of uncles, aunts, brothers and sisters — the heads of friends and lovers. For you (the reader,) will recall the will of Rodger Burgers — gave Sara the power over all ... to do, that, when and whatever; when-ever, with-ever. She has / had no reason to take council, advice, into account the feelings, the requirements, the desires, the wishes of others. She; Sara is / was the sole heiress and beneficiary. To what end she sees fit, must, and will be final and done.
Chapter 5
Everything is done in the name of Sara.
Reinstated are those to the silver frame (intact,) and placed on the mantel.
Burgers Queries - Victoria Mining company.
Sara, now answers to the surname of Burgers — no longer daughter of ... but sole owner of; "Victoria Mining Company". She has cast aside the black witches demands for heads, sorted and discarded many invites of family requests and invitations and friends — found and lost, plus those from behind unknown doors, opened once hearing of her wealth — we are all aware of people alike.
From the grave the heiress extracts her mother Rachel .... for a love of a mother cannot be duplicated, no matter how difficult many occasions; tore the feeling for each other in different directions. Can a girls's father be replaced with the love of a great-grandfather with greater wealth and opportunitIes to share? I fair the answer is yes. Is the need for a brother, when young fought against, made fun of his sister, her friends, read her secret diary~a diary of dreams — nothing in reality ... thoughts placed in haste and without understanding of consequences of the future; drawings of human body parts, drawn with amateurish ideas. A word once written, now out of contexts ... by another eye — how stupid. BUT all this gone before can be put right.
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The Burgers Quarry, once busy, once silent; a place for generations before ... fought Gods earth to extract forcefully from its grasp — the treasures stored for such a period in time. Once upon the surface, easy to gather with bare hands, gathered to construct simple shelters for man and beast. To construct defence barricades, fencing, paths ... all adventuring among landscapes, rendering the undulating surfaces to productive grass lands of productivity.
Beneath the beauty where green grass grows, where maidens weep for lovers who tender their flock ... initials carved with penknife — inside heart shaped symbols — for all lovers to witness when walking that way.
Deep-Deep in earth's care (but before the centre of existence;) entrusted to the soil of life, is the stone and rocks, sort for existence of the families wealth and wellbeing of not only the Burgers but for all those depending upon them. The must have aggregate to be with need, met and to be joined with riprap and sand. And the slate for roofs and walls ...excavated from the ground with care. Be the quarry that of an open-pit, like the days before digging, or now as Sara had found them to be; mines of great depth.
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The whistles~whistled, the horns~horned, the hoots~hooded; followed by a knock at he door. The man servant opened the door.
'I've called on Miss Burgers.' He was let in. It was Mr John Batts — the mines manager — calling as was his custom to do so ... at this time of each working morning — the time of Sara's breakfast. Together they discussed the previous day's production figures and any problems that may have accrued — again as was the case on other days, nothing had, or was a problem. Sally removed the dishes from the table to allow John to spread out plans, showing the intended quarries expansions. The "Victoria" mine was at full capacity, John was again as had become his habit to do so ... after all other discussions relating to their enterprise returned to this, his prime project of increasing out put. Sara as she does when he had his mind set on this sermon, reclines in her great-grandfathers favourite arm chair in the bay window ... allowing both the morning sun and Johns word warm her heart — or she both enjoys the new yellow raise, as they trickle through the pores on her face and the old, familiar words of John Batts — this man who both knows how to master her thoughts and body.
The knowledge of expansion and need for such is agreed upon many times over and pegs and string lines — by surveyors, have been acted upon (many occasion.) This ritual John Batts carries to its climax ... by rolling the plans, with large strong hands, then tucking under well musclier arm pit; his chest puffed in satisfaction of success.
'Shall we venture out and inspect the footings today Miss Burgers?'
Taking the two steps to reach her from the table ... and as is the custom once he has completed this movement — together leave via the doors into the garden. It is here their hands find each other and first names are exchanged in harmony, and on this morning as with many other mornings, Mr John Batts smuggles a kiss from Miss Sara Burgers.
Need the author paint a picture of this scene; or can the reader imagine from in ones mind ... maybe once or twice found wanting a connection between young sculptures ... laying naked on soft green grass; shaded from the ever warming rase of the sun and the effort of love making. Heavy in deep breath and interwind like ivy; growing ever so close to an end, and counting the minutes of discovery, if not this nanosecond, but is brought to an end, before the first wagon of metal passes by this very spot they lay.
Chapter 6
Where there is no pit, we must use the kinds washed up by rivers or by the sea... and other problems we must solve in similar ways.
The two great wars had come and gone ... done their dash; killed those with their names on any missile. Reduce families to threads of misery; torn loved ones to sinners, made widows of thousands, orphans a plenty. Riches to rags~rags to mutton cloth — took arms and legs; eyes and ears ... heads from shoulders. Then came the end. Than came a new — what to do with the disillusioned and the homeless, the unwanted, those no longer willing to fit in~those unable to be with others. Farmers return to land no longer theirs, homes destroyed — whole families wasted in time. Then come the new youth, dissolution and with grudges against authorities, the law — still favouring those with over those without. It was how David Maplin, young when enlisted — now twice that age, with thoughts of a sole his age~aged has he, no longer with youthful desires, of love, of marriage and children, of work, maybe a business of his own. But he now finds himself at the gates of Burgers Mines; and there David is put to digging drains~drains to fields and from fields, with comrades; many a retaining wall built, and road hedging — as fencing ... to paddocks and from paddocks.
From a hand full of returned solders to what could be call a brigade, put to good reward ... using only the less expensive stone as base material under roads, and railways. The better, the more refined ... those with colour and character, those with greater strength and structure, sorted and stored in great numbers, for those stonemasons with skilled hands … applying their trade to additions and alterations, placed upon plans that Sara Burgers has for her grandparents house.
~~~~
It has been said (with some certainty,) that madness is an excess of subjectivity; that is to say, a state in which the mind accords too much to mental labour and not enough to outward impressions.
This we find in Thomas Roch (this indifference was practically in front for all to witness.) Thomas Roch lived but within himself — he preferred is own company — over many others, other than that of Sara ... to the point a guard had to be place between them if they were ever to meet in a public place. But when Thomas did adventure out and by accident or not — they crossed paths — Sara was in no danger from him.
It was his likeness to those in the photograph, standing pride of place, that Sara saw each time a meeting took place, and on invitation into her parlour ... she was a custom to noticing the likeness every-time. To prey on this fixed idea (of this familiarity) to those within the photograph, brought him to this room on many uninvited occasions — which when discovered, lead to him be escorted out. Could he be a lost sole? Could he be a Burger? Could any circumstance occur to counteract this notion, within his head, to exteriorise it from within him. Thomas now knew only one person could provide the answer.
~~~~
The house once the grandest; imposing itself ... above all others in the county, standing as it did among the manicured garden and awash with natural and man made lakes; with orchards of fine fruit and berries trees — gathered from far off places. Kitchen gardens flushed with spices, sweet potatoes ... beans and root crops, in careful layout, tended with knowledge and care and love — of those whose charge it was to attend.
Stone walls of red brick run north, then south ... archways neatly sculpted by scholars of fine architecture — sculpted marble human figures of Roman times grace the land-scrap, further an eye can focus. Stone seats with carved heads and naked figures guide and encourage the visitor to rest awhile~while their minds come to terms of this period in existence. For many an eye from far or near have never enjoyed such beauty before ... few will ever again (because times (they,) are a changing.) The stables with the master's fineness horses, living in grander style than many who attend to their every need; to brush and comb, to make beds of straw, to feed and walk them — maintaining their presence of absolute ... characterising the individual quality, of form, of shape and elegance — occurring by itself — an animal not influenced by its surroundings. BUT; as not, in is not (as opposed to isn't,) one of mans most and admired creatures on this earth. Here we find Morleen Linkmira, (sweet seventeen,) the love of every stallion —housed with the stables; and to many (who abide in the cottages,) housing the young and the old — men and boy who share the work she does. It is Morleen to whom John Batts (you may recall — smuggles kisses from Miss Sara Burgers,) is mistress to his stallion — and she who has equal love for it, as she had for him ... and both on many occasions have experienced what comes from such flirtatious.
Chapter 7
The collieries took shaped.
The house better than its original. The new mined now commissioned, with new equipment ... state of the century's machinery; chewing from the earth all the stone once hidden, once for-bidden form her predecessors, once to greater a burden for man with pick and shovel, for horse and cart, for men large and strong ... like the gold, paid to extract from under God's care.
As what has now become the custom a Sunday lunch, held in the refurnished Great hall — once a longer gallery. The portraits of many ancestors, Kings and Queens ... friends and family; now replaced with modern landscapes — painted by contemporary artists.
Next to Sara sat, on her right (if you can believe what is written,) Mr Thomas Bourdon, helping himself to some quail.
~~~~
Thomas Bourden; a radical member of a workers union, who lead his fellow members strife and rebellion— while himself travelled in private life, following the best cooks, dining with the best people (with wealth and power,) never missing the opportunity to increase his own, and mixing with the Generals from all forces, in accordance with a wise and well-known rule — of do what I say ... but not of what I do.
The chair to Sara's her left — Mr. Tom Eskdale of Treadle, occupies. A young / handsome gentleman of considerable height, charm and culture; who has today gained a voice to over ride all others, and is becoming more then annoying — however, he has good habits of (at times,) being silent, and having, as he explained once to those still with ears for his chatter ... said everything that he had to say — he had said before now. That was before he felt eyes of the young heiress were squarely fixed on him and that she had moved closer within touching — this causing an onslaught of a thousand words praising the alterations to the house and gardens and the working of the mine. Sara was not short on storing praise for much of the work completed upon Mr John Batts for both could see he was taking an interest in their conversation — also conscious that most, if not all there were now straining their ears.
So many men to provide love (give and receive,) Tom Erskine, for one ... brilliant, fantastic, and irresponsible, free from much demands placed on him to reform, free to come and go as his will takes him — a man of independence and self financed. Then, John Batts; he with easy can charmed his listeners out of themselves, as they comprehend all that he can control of them ... as he does with her when an ideal fills his mind, for a new machine or more workforce to dig deeper. Maybe Thomas Roch (in some instant,) found himself invited ... never taking his gaze off any one of an interest to him. To Sara still is a mystery; how does one so resemble figures within the old silver frame, tonight moved to the display case. He sits there like one under a spell, smiling chasing her body within her clothes, undressing her, running wine over his lips; his eyes she cannot but notice eyes~his eyes growing grave — darkening in colour. Of cause the following description of Thomas is not true of him. I have just combined within these words — for it appeals to the author.
"The character of his face had been at all times remarkable. A cadaverousness of complexion; an eye large, liquid, and luminous beyond comparison; lips somewhat thin and very pallid, but of a surpassingly beautiful curve; a nose of a delicate Hebrew model, but with a breadth of nostril unusual in similar formations; a finely moulded chin; hair of a more than web-like softness and tenuity; these features, altogether a countenance not easily to be forgotten."
[Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)]
Chapter 8
A millennium can change an Individual, a Civilisation - thoughts and cultural understandings.
As with a seedling the gardener treasures; tending to its every need; for water and warmth, and shelter and nourishment ... be chemical or organic. Introducing the new growth to sunlight and natures rains, to free its roots from weeds and those wishing to steel the nourishment — snails and beetles, and birds supplementing their off spring sitting in nests waiting.
Reader; I can compare the above to any — if not all starts in life. With all ambitions of ones own or of something forced upon one or other ... he / she has options, so many ... gone are the old days of Cavemen, of Hunter Gatherers, of Nomads (if not all are the same.) Civilisation entered our minds, someone, somewhere, at an unknown period ... decided there must be more to life and brainwashed the many~the few to follow, ideas strange to current thoughts.
So; if not the next day ... maybe the next; stone was gathered from hills, riverbeds and fields with ample. Kings were proclaimed, Kingdoms and Territories — Countries ... large and small, carved with swords and death. Alliances formed by need, by marriage. Livelihoods based on farming — growing food for consumption ... trees felled for ship building — for fishing and travel ... factories for manufacture, flax and cotton; of tanning skins of leather, the making of jewellery from precious stones and glass ... learned from Roman times.
Chapter 9
Dinner had found an ending; all had eaten their full and if any more alcohol was to be consumed ... would flow without restraint to the floor.
Thomas with superhuman energy had found potency or a spell — to win over the heart of Sara Burgers; on many occasion he drew her eyes upon him undressed in his shower room, and followed him as he wonder through the house ... to and from the figures within the silver frames. She has studied his expression when un-seen from far or near, his fingers searching, tracing outlines, establishing any likeness to his own. Why, he has asked himself ... since discovering his semblance; Why, is his likeness hidden from these others?
From behind large antique wall panels to which the older Burgers dinned out on riches of success and power and deeds ... performed prior to wars and behind backs of others, becoming wealthy on backs of others and good fortunes ... and bad fortunes of others. Was it only stone that brought fortunes to this family, was there another treasure — more valuable, yellow in colour, softer in appearance — yet hard on the pocket?
~~~~
It was the work of a movement caused by air — or a bodily function (a sneeze,) causing familiar eyes so fascinated — fixed there upon the faces of relations ... those he had never known in life, but becoming accustomed to their existence. Turning from what held his attendance, becoming in contact with reality~more real than all he had seen in the trenches from scenes held fast in his inner-mind of dreams. The drawing room owned a burning fire with last years round logs ... sparkling behind brass guards with dogs at each side, holding black pokers and coal shovels. Pots of water hanging on hocks driven into stone surroundings, and ceramic decorative painted tiles of country scenes of doves and pheasants. Over the open fire — a large mahogany mantle, an exhibition of sporting trophies, for shooting, tennis, croquet and country fair best cooks.
~~~~
It was the opening of the window successfully carried out by Mr John Batts that drew all those in the room to notice the emaciated female figure (enshrouded,) of Sweet Peggie Munroe. There was blood upon her person, and evidence of a struggle ... for a moment no one there moved, or spoke a word in their defence; and she remained trembling and reeling to and fro upon one left leg, and then on one right leg — both supporting a diaphragm of a young girl full of beauty. Then, with a continuous moan (lasting for a whole two minutes,) she fell heavily towards; landing upon the person within reach. To his defence came young Morleen Linkmira (you remember, the kitchen maid,) listening from the adjoining door ... could not help herself (thinking it was John Batts,) in need of her rescue, threw herself with knife deep into flesh and bone.
Chapter 10
If they could see you now; they would (all,) turn in their graves.
IF — The word came from within the silence ... magnified by its single syllable. How often is used by all ... this word IF. How many events changed hypothetically applied when used. Remember your mother stressing upon you — this would never have happened ... IF — you had done as I asked. Pages of ifs — if this — if that — if what. IF — I had never come here, said Sara to those sat at the table (which we will touch upon later,)
Formally — to her right Mr. Tom Eskdale; the young / handsome gentleman full of charm and wearing his heart on his sleeve. Next, further to her right (if you know your right from your left,) Mr Thomas Bourdon — the once radical member of a workers union, who lead his fellow members strife and rebellion ... now well travelled, and dines with the best of people. Where do we find sat Mr John Batts? ... as he sits opposite — of the mistress ... holding the unclaimed position of master.
Yet as a challenger to that hold on the mistresses heart and affairs of business — maybe Thomas Roch (sees himself as such the man to command that entitlement,) sat as he does, his prolonged towards her. To him still is a mystery; his resemblance to theses figures within the old silver frame; sat uncomfortably for he feels out of place — between the young Christina and the very so much excited (her sister,) Kathleen ... There Thomas dressed in borrowed suit, his hair brushed with paste — is David Maplin (the young returned soldier put to work; now finds himself elevated by his efforts; has his eye firmly on the before mentioned Kathleen with thoughts of love and children (encouraged by Sara,) regardless to him being twice her age~aged the young excitable girl has no concern and has desires of love, of marriage and children of her own.
~~~~
When two objects are as twins — some say identical and similar and alike ... in every way: like two sides of a mirror with only the frame as divider and barrier for physical geography — like a shelf of ice~a front of snow while playing games of identity theft ... like two peas in a pod; all that know of them say constantly, when faced within the same walls or on a field of planted corn — yellow hair, bright eyes, smiles to charm a Legionnaire from his uniform. Either entering or departing, viewed from the back or from the front, to separate one from the other you would require two eyeglasses (per eye.) A tail often told by grandparents. So have pity on our randy Thomas Roch.
~~~~
His pasty yellow complexion was a contrast against his medium length charcoal coloured hair, and did not represent the average soul of his years. His look could have come straight from a boys comic journal ... a mixture of adventure, bravado, and fast thinking. He was dressed in a gold-coloured blazer, ridding trousers, red stock, and black like jogging shoes. On his head he wore (to one side, like a French painter's flannel cap. But un-like a superhero (of any generation,) had little to say and lived up to the first impression.
Given to all those sitting at the table, why this person of no ranking or importance was ever invited was a puzzle to most, especially John Batts — but accepted his audience. However after many interruptions (of serious conversations,) by the superhero person — whistling between his teeth, as he viewed the company, then in a loud (squeaky, nervous voice:) asked Christina to dance. His request was accepted. Lucky for her the unpleasant likeness on the face of her sister never registered with her eyes.
'Say,' as is her saying … 'turn up the music.' Not hearing the awkwardness and the squawking (of chairs,) all around.
'Say,' wouldn't it be great if we all danced?'
Here again that IF word came forth; what IF all did dance, or what IF no one danced ... what difference did that word IF have? Well it did on many there~there to win the love of our Sara Burgers — mistress, heiress, of the "Victorian Mines Company" and its fortune and newly discovered gold.
Chapter 11
'Bring the box to the light of the window child, for the contents are yours', the elderly voice filling the void of both the space and Sara's mind.
Her night clothes lay on the bed, the sheets turned down and her pillow fluffed. The bed side light, the only light to welcome her to sleep. The foot steps of others (she hears upon the stairs,) as they wonder to and fro towards their bed chambers. Un-dressed she stands between nakedness and night wear; her thoughts travel for and against inviting a lover from one of those who present themselves to be one. As many of us do when alone, with no clothes to hide the contours of our body ... running our hands, one at a time, or two at a time, or both at one time; following the outline of our figure; more than imagining what lies there, for we see it everyday; but travel the edge, or lines that defines or bounds our un-even shape we call our flesh and bones. The dictionary provides a meaning for contours as "An object of Phonetics." "A study of speech and sounds, a distinctive pattern of changes in pitch, stress, or tone extending across all or part of an utterance, especially across a sentence, and contributing to meaning." Sara feels all of this and understand none of it ... within this period the house has ceased to be alive, windows that were open, now closed. Lights that once shone — rest in peace. Birds have in nests completed their night chorus, as have singers of opera~orchestrate lay down their instruments, audiences applaud demanding for an encore.
We all experience moments of regret and loneliness (alone under warm sheets,) be they silk or cotton or flannelette. As our minds struggle for sleep, a thousand torments or peaceful recognitions ... fight for our attention, each hoping to keep us awake — afraid to lose control of our subconscious ... Sara finds herself at this moment of time — stimulating her sensations with moist fingers; endeavouring to bring to a climax sexual satisfaction. If there were to be a knock to the door — a word whispered by an intended lover; nothing she could accomplish herself conquer the desire to have a man inside her.
It is with these thoughts she wakes and leaves her warm bed to retrieve the painted pine box with its tarnished brass plates and its oval escutcheon plate. 'Yes, my precious box,' whispering not to awaken no one near or far ... for no one is near, nor far. Again as she often had at night opened the box and read all the papers within and studied the old photographs with new eyes and wishers for clarification. Within her box her old family lives — photographs, faded, almost yellow from age, again as on many occasions; holds Sara's by a spell; one by one, two by two or by seven (the figures once in ammonia,) now freed — no matter which way Sara rotates the photographs, or holds to the light does she has visions of Thomas Roch a likeness he has so much like Ross Burgers. A thought she had. If Thomas is a Burger ... why the surname of Roch — putting this thought aside continued to again read the will of Ross Burgers.
Now; we all from time to time read documents, correspondence, contracts, love letters, demands for payment and invites to events ... mistakingly reading dates and times — embarrassing ourselves and the hosts when arriving on the incorrect day too late or too early and not having brought a present or had bought a present when requested to do so or not to do so. I can put this down to old age, or poor eye sight, even laziness, even apathy; but so should this excuses be Sara's.
Now as never before did she scrutinise all the documents and photographs ... magnifying each letter, each word, total sentences and paragraphs. Each photograph taken to the light ... dusted, any particle dirt removed by soft tissue again lifted to the light — magnified; each face scrutinised for familiar features, a nose, long and short ... there is no colours to the eyes, yet could they hold answers? Are there shapes and sizes similar? Sara compares images of her mother, her father ... can she see features of her brother? Of Ross? Does Thomas look like Albert? Does Thomas look like Robert? Does Thomas look like her father or to any of them?
~~~~
Sara found herself in bed, dressed in her nightwear. The curtains and windows open, a light breeze meeting her face with pleasure, a refreshing feeling from what she remembers of last night. Sitting on the bed (at the end, with the box of documents and photographs,) John Batts, dressed ready to inspect the quarries.
Chapter 12
Secrets that are no-longer secrets.
The stillness between them lasted for a decade (if that was possible.)
'How long have been sitting there?’ Sara asked.
‘Long enough to take inventory of this box,' was his reply.
-~~~~
Stress; such a small word for so much damaged it can / has caused .... in all centuries the written word has been forged. From the point of birth (possibly, before conception,) when first eyes lay upon a naked body of either sex, exposing pleasure of both hand and tongue ... exploring as were children among natures gardens and farmers fields. Ones hand follows ones eyes across the universe of Galaxies — those un-charted ecstasies ... the over-whelming feelings of love and expectations of joy and happiness. Ah! For those times again.
Yes; stress, to achieve ones first climax and to relieve another of theirs ... hoping all is well in the weight of value and worth. Has the action on a body (of the submissive,) been of a balanced force; and or has the well being of the conquered ... strain or deformation results — for we all know the amount of stress, can be measured in pounds per square inch or in pascals. We are not covering the subject of music ... with the emphasis is on syllables, beat, melody, and rhythm. We are not focusing attention on
the physical pressure of love making or the pulling of strings enriching one purse, by draining another's pocket; or other forces exerted on one thing by another.
To quote a dictionary — "Stress; specific response by the body to a stimulus, as fear or pain, that disturbs or interferes with the normal physiological equilibrium of an organism, physical, mental, or emotional strain or tension." We will concentrate on anxiety (no need to burden the reader an explanation.)
~~~~
Sara's eyes cover the distance from her pillow to the contents of the pine box ... for all to see — if all were to enter her room.
'Why are you in my room?' Now that her thoughts have returned to the present.
'And what right have to you make good of reading, what is not yours to read?' Moving forward to retrieve and return its contents to where they had come.
John stood and offered his reason for being there. He only came to her room, as there was answer to his calls; he thought she may have been un-well — for no one had see her since last night. Had he had knocked several times, the last with enough force — that the un-locked door opened.~~~~
Anxiety; apprehension, together can cause pain to the owner ... how secrets become truths in hands of others; weapons; under-mining trusts, feeding egos, forging undesirable relations and partners in crime.
~~~~
Had Mr John Batts come upon her room before dawn, not only the secrets of the pine box be exposed ... but the body of Thomas Roch; for on the completion of dinner ... when all others had departed to rooms of lovers — of choice — he devoured hers, having left the bed of Christina - a half hour earlier.
In turn, if Thomas had ventured into the web — Sara had set all the males of all ages and stature and standing in honours ... he to would come in contact upon Tom Eskdale, with or without all his graces, smoothness and elegance ... enjoying the pleasures of the heiress.
Chapter 13
A step brother and a father. How un-lucky is the number thirteen?
Those superstitious among us. Ah!How they will cross the road; fear to pass under a ladder; step on a crack ... a black cat before one, or something of the nature — to name but a few.
Would thirteen guests invited and sat at a closeness ... be an awkward number to feed and converse with~with numbers favouring males of all ages, and few females of a younger age. How and where to sit such numbers and sexes and ages, as not to in-flame either of those sat next or adjacent to the youngest of females — still a virgin —Caroline ... if no one believed the rumours, spread and repeated by those in the know and by those of third hand knowledge, that no such standing can still be applied to her virtue. The older soldiers of rank — smelling of tobacco and whisky — with no hope of a erection; were splattered like shrapnel here and there between the younger solders of good looks and bravery; their new un-tarnished scarlet uniforms reflecting in mirrors and the polished brass fire dogs, and candle sticks. The household dash-hound lay — with prided, spread across the path to the roaring fire, deep in dreams of earlier days when younger ... he too feed on the best of beef (but not of the best of port,) as were those at the table. The larger of those sat; eating and drinking more then their share — a necessity to full the space between their head and their feet — belts loosened to allow the contents of continuous consumption ... if a study were to be carried out — reasons could be argued for or against their right or need to consume more if not all — before decay, or destruction ... could be brought upon the food not eaten. What when studied — men compared to swine; are jolly and robust, playful and harmless~but not armless ... when groping. Ask any young person, or anyone (in fact,) for we are all guilty, or are owners of a good old fashion grope.
Let's spend a moment to study this word. Groping. Moving or going about clumsily or hesitantly. Best of all ... to feel about with the hands; groping around in the darkness (or not,) to touch or handle someone for sexual pleasure. Ah! Those were the days
~~~~
"The King.” “The King". The shout rung out and the clashing of glasses followed.
Joseph Flint: 'You were with Edwards and Rupert - at the battle of Pine Woods, were you not? Joseph's right eye focused — blood shot, on young Christina, while the other on his pink steak ... the blood returning thoughts of battles fields.
Captain Edwards: 'I was.' His usual — short and to the point answers ... for he was not one for small talk.
Joseph Flint: 'What became of Rupert, and his sister ... Isabella?
Captain Edwards: He resigned his commission and married Isabella Shipman-Isabella Shipman ... a robust woman (even in her teenaged years, was a person not to cross — many a young chap, new to the skills of females, soon learnt the power of a woman scorned. They moved to Shellyton. I understand own a hotel on the coast.
Great uncle Eaton: with his left hand (because his right is missing,) removes a document from his pocket ... laying it open upon the table ... facing mr Lawrence Albert.
Lawrence Albert: 'What have you there? No one presents mr Lawrence Albert with a note — before having made an appointment with his secretary.
Great uncle Eaton: 'An IOU - for the sum of one thousand pounds.
Lawrence Albert: 'Who is the note for?
Great uncle Eaton: 'You, old boy — pushing the document with his good (and only hand,) across the table.
Lawrence Albert: His face (now a shade of Crimson.). 'This is no time to produce such a document.' But grabs it — giving it a home (to an inside pocket of his jacket.)
George (family friend:) Changing the subject ... joins the conversation. 'I thought she was killed on the Lusitania when it went down?'
Great uncle Curtis: 'No that was Jill — sister of Mary Albert — went down (15th. May,) same day as good old Simon took a bullet.'
Joseph Flint: 'Reports say over a thousand people went down with her (having said — went down on her ... he had that same thought about young Christina — to himself; asked if he could call on her after dinner;) they say crippled by a German U-boat's torpedo.
Captain Edwards: 'I was in the trenches about then; and as you see ... I'm one of the very few who is still alive to be at this table. My infantry regiment was almost wiped out — you know — how I got out alive is more than I can tell.'
Ross Burgers: 'Also ... my sergeant, my corporal, my lieutenant and most of my friends were killed — that day ... so many wounded.'
Great uncle Curtis: 'And thanks to them ... the Hindenburg Line held.' By the way, I sent you a cablegram — saying I was O.K.
Ross Burgers: 'Never got it old boy, I guess as you are here — the cablegram was correct.'
Great uncle Curtis: 'It said more than that — I wrote ... feeling fine and in the best of health hoping you all are the same. Give my best regards to all the children and ...' Here great uncle Curtis felt all eyes upon him. Was he wearing his heart on his arm — could all sat here, know of his love for Mary Albert? Had they realised the thousand pounds was for her? ... and after all this time summoned its return — for she had relinquished her heart to Lawrence Albert.
Old soldiers and old port go well together — in small doses for the old soldiers, and large quantities ... the old port. Like old stories told when sober, vary differently when told drunk. Like fish stories — the one that got away ... was three times the size of all those in the bucket. You opened for the school first eleven, scoring hundred runs and took four wickets for twenty runs. Your first girl friend was the prettiest and most sought after girl in the whole school; and you achieved an in all subjects. We all are aware of what happened to Pinocchio ... jackets, collars, shirts, buttons and belts — all became too small for body owning them. Released from their duties food and alcohol continued it's downward direction ... hands, tongues became loose and free of restraint ... words once kept as secrets — now spill like port from decanters — pouring across the battle fields like the blood of young boys ... sent to kill and be killed; words in all directions, all directed and landing upon bodies for no reason for accepting.
George: 'Do you recall that morning — it was so dark you could not see that you were peeing on my boots?'
Captain Edwards: 'I do. You told me at the time your toes were cold. I was just doing you a favour.'
Great uncle Eaton: 'Then we went over the top.'
Great uncle Curtis: 'My best mate ... Thomas must have got the first bullet — he was dead-dead before I had left the trench.'
Silence came to those at the table, like a signal to those there to attend ... they cleared away plates and empty glasses — refilled spent tumblers and cigar boxes. On the server under the mirror lay a paper — opened on page 3. George, standing to stretch his legs — caught himself trying to read the column ... unfortunately — the top left hand conner was-what called at school — dog eared ... turned over, obscuring a good section on the page.
.........…a little shell hole for cover on account of the flying shrapnel. All at once every gun in back of us opens up firing, all the shells landing right in front of us.........jerry German opens up his artillery..........shells right on our front line. ............little shell hole with our shells landing in front.........Jerry's in back of us. The shells were so close at times that they had us buried with dirt.........…fellows looks back and sees one of our tanks coming up. So we jumped up and dived into.........the Corporal sticks his head up and gets hit with shrapnel so we bandaged him up a bit and leave him there in the shell hole.
The story carried onto the next page — but made no sense: neither did the war. George said aloud — but no one was in hearing distance.
It was about now Sara remembered: OFF with their heads — the black witch had screamed from afar ... and now with hindsight; thought why had she not snipped off theirs heads — when she had the chance?
Chapter 14
A child is sort.
Circumstances of a time and a place, a feeling, a desire, or a need ... to free one from a trap, or a web — owned by a black or red spider, harmless or with deadly venom — to kill or main, to rob one of their inheritance.
Sara as with the pine timber box (all that time passed,) with its buckle free and the lid separated ... she mistress and lover of so many — finds herself face down, forced (although the with no retreat,) her face in the soft pillow of love — her naked torso angled at such a degree to receive her lover's~love organ ... as was with the old pine box opened, it's musty scent of time escaping (then compared to a genie freed from capture,) Sara becomes the guardian to the seeds and heir to their previous owners treasures~treasures hers to grow. Growing is what all of us do time to time, or dream of doing if and when life allows us the education to let us be or not to be, or somewhere no other had tread. Sara, we find caught between yesterday and today, lost with thinking of the future ... so did not hear or notice the door open — ever so slightly, and the head of another lover — sight the two naked persons involved with intercourse. Would she have cease had she raised her head or turn in that direction? Would she distract her thoughts from the treasures promised within those seeds, and would her wits have returned to her, and heed the voice within her sole?
Fortune has brought greed to all those with access to its key ... many great improvements near and far have been realise ... many families are better for the large suns donated, earned and worked for by bare hands, picks and shovels. Wars, death and sacrifices — by others to others, for others, and by others — a hundred years ago or just yesterday ... gone set in history, only to be read about, talked about by those willing to share ... but most to only burden themselves with their memories of family, fiends and comrade in arms.
No royalties from foreign book publishers or Hollywood movie giants. How many words should / can be written to describe the horrors of war?
The battles were discussed and digested as were the nuts, the pork, the lamb (not forgetting the port,) the home grown vegetables ... planted, nourished with manures (freely provided by God's animals,) spread by hands of kitchen maids with flat chests ... and once discarded by the old sods — found pleasure in hay sheds and upstair dormitories — warming the feet of man or boy.
~~~~
This were we find Thomas Roch - our person of interest — a likeness to old Ross Burgers, with his willingness to partake in the pleasures of those not so in endowed-that is to say bequeathed without wealth, property, knowledge ... saying NO would lead to (whatever.) In everyone's family photograph collection — in leather Victorian albums, or pine boxes secured for time with a leather belt ... is one such person (a black sheep, detested by all brothers and cousins but loved by distant aunties.) They are only located at funerals and reading of the wills — turning up once the table has been set for twelve, and insisting to sit at the head of the table — for sitting in the middle he/she would be required to pass the salt (and in their mind, is a job for a servant.) Often
their novelty to those with no knowledge — dominates a conversation for at least twenty minutes until all of interest evaporates and boredom sets in ... moving onto the weather. Ah! How true, is the short span of an interest with some who expect worship from others.
Before morning song is upon all, beds call their occupants to warm sheets — those with willing partners-part with haste ... take liquid refreshments. Those in grand boxes of a theatre house — can only watch as the actors and actress, depart for their dressing chambers; eager to complete roll play.
Sara: unlike the pied piper — or goldilocks, no music or bread crumbs are required ... like bees round a honey jar - her love nectar provides scent enough for all suitors.
Reader: let us return to the first paragraph of chapter twelve. Sara wakes, having put to rest two lovers — to find sat at the foot of her bed ... John Batts.
'How long have been sitting there?’ Sara asked.
‘Long enough to take inventory of this box,' was his reply.
~~~~
As we now find these two, friends and sometime lovers — even partners in business,
here ... finding themselves only a reach apart. And if we were to look else-where ... would find — at this very same-time, sat upon puffed up pillows — Wellington — his faithful retriever; asleep at his feet — Thomas Roch with morning paper in one hand and young Kathleen in the other. You could ask yourself, why a man who prefers to live within himself and prefers his own company ... have young Kathleen — naked — in his bed, within his reach, and his faithful retriever, asleep at his feet? He would say one can love himself, love his dog, and when needs must; love the body of a young Kathleen. And if asked two hours before ... his answer would be the same — only having substituted Kathleen with Christina. And if you were asks him two hours after — he could not but inform you that the naked body would be that of Sara. Ah! ah! Had he been asked this question fourteen months ago — the naked body laying between himself and his faithful retriever — would have been David Maplin. David (please remember,) was young when enlisted — now older and wiser, with love and thoughts of marriage and children ... did on only seven occasions find himself — naked — between a dog and Thomas Roch.
With only a few hours and minutes —either side of this same-time (that we have just discussed,) our Morleen Linkmira —kitchen maid and (casual,) lover to many ... but with greater passion for one; has paid her union dues to Thomas Bourden. Not only does he eat from the tables of the wealthy and the powerful — Thomas Bourden feeds from the bodies of the less well off (such as kitchen maids and scullery girls and stable boys.) Tonight he — the one time union official; with the welfare of the poor and downtrodden — top of mind — has only now the bottom — of Christina.
Where would you find a nicer man than
Tom Erskine — than having breakfast ... enjoying the morning sun~sun trying with all is might to force little rays of sunshine on all those who are awake ... or those near awake … or those naked, with rear ends towards a window. One such rear end, a few hours passed was that of our Sara. To his disappointment her stay was not long — yet ample for the tusk require of them. Tom Erskine has no need for per-longed relationships, or the demands of full-time lovers. Love them and leave them — was his motto; besides he's brilliant, fantastic, and free from much demands — free to come and go as his will takes him — a man of independence and self financed.
~~~~
In silence both John Batts and Sara study the secret~secret once in a hidden compartment — in silence both she and he study the photograph of Thomas Roch~Thomas Burgers (one of the same.)
Chapter 15
Just what we can do with secrets.
Come, come ... we all have secrets — be the old man with no dentures to eat by, or a hat to wear, or glasses to see through — even he must have secrets? The lowest of all servants, first to wake and last to sleep — even they must have secrets? Clergy ... must have more secrets than all others combined? Those with a writing slop or a fine cabinet of mahogany or oak, with delicate ivory inlay and gold edging to each surface ... doors, draws and glass ink wells — even these must have secrets? So why should a pine box once owned by another —not have a secrets? What do we know about secrets ... to list those with secrets would take us into the next millennium and beyond — but the only secrets to concern us now is that of what John Batts has discovered.
Sara's eyes rest upon the pine box, its lid open ... its contents spread asunder — photographs in no order of her understanding, envelops opened, letters free from capture ... paragraphs, sentences and single words free to be lost — and there in John Batts hand a key~key to a secret. Yes, even this pine box has secrets — and a key to access them.
Are secrets greater than knowledge?
Maybe one as important as the other — neither greater than either?
Is knowledge greater than privileged?
Maybe one as important as the other — neither greater than either?
Is the written word greater than a photograph?
Here we have both ... once hidden within the secret compartment — opened with the key~the key in John Batts hand ... used, and revealing the photograph — cut in half — as if the face of a passed lover, one no longer loved, removed; leaving the portrait of the familiar image of our Thomas ... and written on the back Thomas Berger — date and age.
Has life come to an end as Sara has known it? — a secret kept confidential — close-mouthed; in a secret drawer; sheltered, withdrawn: a secret hiding place beyond ordinary human understanding; limited to persons authorised. Who were these so people authorised? How many of the old family knew this secret — Sara thought of asking those within the photograph so loved and cherished~cherished within the silver frame, and when once did cross her mind to chop off their heads.
~~~~
There come many times for decision making ... a need to protect one's own well-being and security and status. To protect one's inheritance from all intruders — from those trying to lay claim to a wreath they imagine rightfully theirs ... or have been encourage by other in believing the wealth theirs by right of a father's name — or of birth ... either side of the sheets of the marriage bed when they were conceived — born — slipped out at night, taken to a far off place — to be brought up by a good-mother ... yet one not your own. From baby, to youth, to manhood ... believing you are just what you are and who you have been, since that day till this day ... happy with this knowledge. Without reason or cause, a photograph and a letter with now timeline of existence — other than to attach you to here in the house with these people of the past, the present ... and for some the future. Here (which ever Thomas?) his life now so near a end.
Chapter 16
Life and death — divided by a little time.
To late to conceal the truth of that night ... plus others since that night, by many there that night — whom by invitation or by acceptance of an open door, entered Cleopatra's web ... bring the Rome Empire to its knees.
'I will share my riches with no other person.' Sara — screams from her bed. With the knife, only hours before — warm and waiting to slit her wrists, she; like a Leopard ... springs forward — lurching the knife into the chest of John Batts. His The rain is short and to the point of lies meet the lips pucker falls forward covering her with his bloodied torso. More blood than she had ever seen in on place — ran towards her; it stained the sheets of her bed ... running over and onto the floor bleed. Sara reached for the pine box and slammed the lid shut ... the blood stopped; retracing the path it came. John eyes closed, his stare moved from her to the figure standing at the door. That figure is that of Thomas Bourden — nothing can cancel out that of what he can see.
'Please do not leave me.' Sara asks. Her lips part just that little — allowing her tongue to moisten. Thomas move forward, then retreats ... turning his head down the hallway. Who will now come at this very moment and accuse him of this death ... for whoever would think it was not him. No one would accuse Thomas Bourden if had come upon this sense ten minutes later — for the figure at the door would have been Tom Erskine ... he would have seen the dead body of John Batts, the knife in his chest, the pine box and Sara — and her request.
'Please don't leave me.' And witness those lips part ... just that little — allowing her tongue to moisten.
Can all the other lovers be accounted for tonight ... all at some point — could be standing upon this spot. In their minds (I assure you — Reader,) they are thinking; it could have been any of them Dead. And so they are ... each in their own time —ventured into death at the hand of Sara Burgess. They came one at time to claim their right, to claim her inheritance, her body — stripped of its clothing and wealth ... the keys to her properties — the house the mines of stone and gold ... the green paddocks of wheat and maze ... the mountains, the sky ... everything that was / is left to her — written in the will of Ross Burgess
And as she had done — all those years before, slaughtered her brother Albert; and now all her lovers lay at her feet.
Her inheritance is safe. But what she didn’t know — she would be dead within the year.
Part three
To Sara — a child is born.
Chapter 1
Allow me to introduce myself.
A friend, a lover, a father - all in one.
It's times like the birth of a child — a father is required, sober and in good temper — free from guilt and neglect ... full with pride — to cry cigars all round, and shaking of hands. Well done my boy ... congratulations are in order; a boy (a girl,) what ever? But who is the father? — Sara is sure in that. None of those fore-mentioned — Sara is sure of that. Only she ... looking into the eyes of her baby ... can see the true father there.
~~~~
Grand-parents, of many generations ... some of them, women and some of them men. Some gathered, freely, some were summoned — women were flushed with red faces from tears of joy ... men just angry, from parting of their leisure activities — while there in the centre of them all, with pale exported breasts — lay Sara the loveliest woman that ever a gold-hunter would wish to look upon. With her moist queenly head ... her uncombed hair, thrown back, draped across the pillow, her bare shoulders, her small breasts, her rounded stomach, white smooth long thighs ... running from her hips to her ankles — and on each of each foot (fine little toes,) exposed to my desire — inviting me to suck on each and every-toe — if the occasion so presented itself.
Dear reader, you have just read the sentence ... (allow me to repeat it,) 'exposed to my desire — inviting me to suck on each and every-toe — if the occasion so presented itself. Here I must introduce myself.
Chapter 2
My name is Bryce Peter Pollard.
Sara and I were at school together and in the same class — we were also neighbours; that seems so long ago now ... and I guess it is. Albert her brother (three years older;) together we were friends of a sort — he took after his mother. I thought a little week, however, better than taking after his father — not a good roll-model. Our parents were also friends of a sort; and on many occasion o spending time together ... this helped with Sara's and my relationship. Our interests were similar; also I was friendly with many of her girlfriends of that time. There was no jealousy between us as we grew — discovering other relationships — what ever happened to those people? Sometimes I thought about them. Sara was always an attractive person — an intelligent person, without going personality ... not even time could, or would, or will — change her; only time and age, could or would, or does (but not by much,) change her body shape ... as she grew form a young girl through her teenage years into adulthood.
I found she grew faster than I, and her mind, was often in a world of its own. I on the other hand moved within circles of boys our my time. The great wars had come and gone, and as we know ... leaving a wake of destruction in their path. Great families of the late 19th century and those of the early 20th century — with their great family-homes, and their farms, estates and businesses — changed forever.
I mentioned earlier jealousy-jealousy of cause ... can arrive at any interval — uneasiness from suspicion, even fear of rivalry by a new lover. As a young boy with old lead toy soldiers — learnt resentment, to and against others ... vigilance in maintaining and guarding from friends and those close — all that belongs to me. This is how I have always felt, and feel towards Sara (then and now,) as she was to me then my love for life.
~~~~
We married that following year in a small church in the village of Mayfield. She looked stunning-stunning — there are finer words to express beauty ... but stunning will do. Her father walked Sara into the church — prouder father you could not find. Her mother shared more tears than Niagara Falls. You are never really aware of how many friends you have ... until your wedding day.
We sailed to the Caribbean for our honeymoon — everyday was like a day in heaven (one can only assume,) we spent our time as newly weds do. Two days before sailing home — Sara fell — striking her head; she made little of it — never speaking of it until the night after arriving home. I had noticed a change with her speech —although putting nothing to much upon her change. The next day she never raised from her bed ... doctors were call. They advised she was in a coma — why, and how long, they could not say.
Three weeks she lay there unconscious, nothing done could make her responsive ... nothing could stimuli her brain from where it is or was ... nothing I could or did helped — it is/was, impossible to rouse my Sara.
~~~~
From a girl Sara owned a diary ... as many a girl does — recording thoughts and the like; desires of love, secrets of others, dreams and words remembered — said by would be lovers. We, as men — unless well trained by our mothers ... remember only that is of importance to our own need; where a women can recall a word give five years before and be able to recite — word to word.
In the weeks and months that followed, unknown to any ... Sara's body died, but her mind lived on, we sat together in her favourite room ... it's windows sharing the mountains, the fields, the rivers, the lakes, the sun, the rain, the animals ... hours we sat, counting the stars — once the sun had gone down. Then I would carry her to bed, leaving her within her cramped world to sleep.
Gone completely from this world — only her body to remind those who knew her ... she lay silent and still, not willing to give up life experiences. In this state, her limbs stationary ... unwilling or unable to rotate, to rise above level, to point to things important to her; birds, butterflies and beetles — her only understanding creatures. It is now I read from her diary, and from her own words I have told the story coming from out her dead imagination. No time in our combined world together; as children, as youths, as young adults, or in our short married years ... has what she has written, and what I have allowed you to read — I have never been master of, or had any knowledge of — this puzzle; as I'm sure (you,) the reader will have difficulty in understanding this strange story ... written in her diary.
Chapter 3
Four women — four children.
1)
Christina stands before the bed, towels at her feet. Her hair free from restraint — flowing with the delight of freedom — her face hot ... perspiration like her hair, freely flows down her checks. Ah! How sexy I look ... if only the father of my son — could see me now. Her child (a boy,) due in a fortnight. Christina is sure the baby is a boy ... for she promised its father — it would be.
2)
The once slim and slender body, now plump yet — beautiful ... the pregnant figure of young Kathleen; sits head in hand —exhausted ... drained of her strength and energy; fatigued by the constant demands placed upon her - by others — especially Sara. No longer can she perform the duties of a midwife-midwife for this un-great-full person. 'I am exhausted,' she weeps. 'My child was due the fortnight before. Why does he not come?' Kathleen is sure the baby is a boy ... for she promised its father — it would be.
3)
Morleen (Remember Morleen, I'm sure you do?) Like the plum and apple trees in the old kitchen garden ... always rip for the picking — at many had ... Before or after harvest time ... her child (a boy; as she promised the father,) now sleeps for the night.
4)
As is always Sara's true purpose in life (becomes the centre of attention,) a touch of defiance mingles within her sole - looking as she gazes round her like a creature of a different race of women ... of those now surrounding her.
Ah! I had not taken two steps from my view point, before she sprang to meet me, her new born trust into my arms - her blood-shot eyes forced from their sockets — like heads on a pole.
Screaming. 'Take this child - he is yours. You are his father.' Then before those there in the room - remove their eyes from my direction .. she falls upon her pillow - her blue eyes sparkling no more ... no joy or triumph in reward for the birth of her son. Sara is dead.
Within those seconds — how the baby blossomed, there in my presence, this baby boy - like the father before the first sight of his wife. He lit up the room with his manhood. His mother — before her eyes closed ... seeing my admiration for her efforts — her eyes fixed upon mine, seeing my pride of fatherhood, and, if my eyes were dry ... it seemed to me (then,) that I also could see something of the same in her own.
Sara cries, 'Now at last I am safe. My son is safe.'
'Yes, you are both safe,' I whisper.
I cannot resist taking the boys fingers into my own. I must reassure the readers ... no matter how old one is, or how un-related you maybe to another — the helplessness you feel when one has fingers (ever so small and innocent,) in ones own. You feel the need to kiss the forehead of the child you are holding. So this is what I did, as a sign that I meant what I was feeling.
If baby language was deciphered — the baby boy said ... 'Dad I love you. I am alive. I am free. What will you call me? Then he was silent — his eyes upon mine — as if he was waiting — there and then — for my reply.
'You are a Burgess,' I, at last cried. 'We shall call you Ross?'
I take the hand of Sara and kiss it gently and with passion (as if I am a French man — but I am not.) Yet she should not doubt my intentions. Then I turned upon the others there in the room — from my expression — they knew what was required of them. In an instant the room was empty.
~~~~The past can and does without a great effort depress many, and if allowed — kills ones spirits — some can, some do ... need to cling to the handrails of others; never taking risks or to venture far from loved ones and traditions, from king and country; or from fathers and friends.
So I collect Sara's diary, the photographs of the Burgess family (in the silver frame,) plus papers and letters ... favourites of all; personal secrets held in wait to spring upon further generations ... Now I place them all in the pine box, close the lid; securing soundly with the leather belt ... only to be opened by Ross Burgess.
Yes, The End.
by
Thomas Leathan-drum
Introduction.
How sad a life of independence can be.
A story must start from somewhere or at a known time; could be just when a book falls from a shelf and opens at a random page; maybe before~or after at an event; maybe before~or after the main character has been made aware to the reader~We may learn of a happening before mastering the sequences leading to the meaning of the narrative. Will having knowledge of Sara arriving at the her grandparent's house, abandoned since their deaths; or some back ground to her family, making the reading easer or more confusing.
It was beyond the middle of June, nearly three weeks after Sara's twenty-forth birthday; the first birthday calibrated since the death of her father; now separated from all birth family and any known relatives, boarding with others with only emotional affections for her. If cut, no family blood would flow from their veins, yet they stand and support her in all that she had done, is doing, and will do, now and once she is twenty-five and any age ... for independence has disadvantages and rewards.
Freedom requires no effort to compromise with another's wishes, time or impatience; one can do as one pleases, take advantage of a situation without a thought of any consequence. One can satisfy a life's dream, even if only being a lonely and quite night before a fire; book and drink in hand with no conversation on either the story or the quality of the beverage; has the author conveyed the character in detail, has the narrative offered enough suspense, has the choice of words portrayed the intent; can you taste the fresh berries, does the sweet nectar satisfy your palate ~ you have none of this when you are without family or others who have only emotional affections for you.
How sad a life of independence can be.
Part One
Could this be the start?
Chapter 1
There is a time and place for everything.
We all know as one, that a pin size piece of gravel will give the impression that it's the dimension of a riverbed pebble; with pride of place is such an irritation we find in the sole of Sara's sandal, being the only stone now to be found on the surface of Quarry Road, so named for it serves the Burgers' Quarry~but the quarry now closed with passing, and with beginning of the war to end all wars. This war that brought to a closure a period in time, a lineage in family history, a family business and the lives of many ... as they had known for both them and those before them; from a single start in life, through love and marriage and children, through work, achievement and death~death … a war taking so many~many of the miners never returning, and their families left~left, leaving generations of memories behind solitary defending for themselves ... and here at the deserted house of the late Ross Burger; dead for many years; Sara a living relative, with her yellow hair free, wearing a hooded top most popular of girls her age and time; a pleated skirt light blue in colour and sneakers of a good brand ~ ventures into the past by her presence at the old wrought iron railings and gate, with each of supporting pillars, crowned with an exaggerated cast iron sculptured lion; once cold painted — in their prime when new, proudly did protect the garden and path leading to the threshold of a new beginning.
~~~~
Could this be the start? I fear not, for the story may start generations before … if I was so bold, I'd say the story starts in the last chapter; but of cause we don't read the last ... before we read the first.
Chapter 2
To be compensated with good fortune.
Showing no fear of the closed gate, having its measure and mastering and the opening; she has no dust to wipe from her hand for the gate handle leaves none. Unchallenged enters with freedom, evading cracks in the concrete path and the stepping on snails; she skips and dances towards the large red painted timber door, bright and cherry it shines before her eyes; inviting the entry ... in conjunction with a warm breeze softly dusting her face, blowing from the east and west, combined, encouraging her long un-tied hair to follow~ twisting the yellow strands into knots; not even the stray black and tan terrier laying with his companion mongrel on straw under the swing chair, vacant, left to its own motion can stop Sara from her inheritance.
~~~~
Sara alone that evening with purpose and justification not to venture out to play ~ to restless to be in others accompany took herself to rummage through her grandfathers belongings; taking herself for the first time to the bedroom of her grandfather; since his death a room sacred to his memory yet tonight it offers no boundaries to her enquires.
~~~~
We are all familiar with a tail or two when we hear, one has gone from having one pair of shoes to many, and from one coat to a coat for every occasion.
So when Sara's inheritance by chance found, not in hiding nor in view but placed with many other of her grandfather's objects of importance, safe and uncared for, subject to no ones interest, unopened ~ found inside a painted pine box with tarnished brass plates fixed to each corner and an oval escutcheon plate centre of front; to the top a little marquetry and some fine inlay missing, yet even in this state of repair it would fetch a handsome sum in auction ~ there is no key locking it, but a narrow leather belt buckled fast, untouched till now by the hands of Sara.
With the buckle free and the lid separated, the musty scent of time escapes, and not unlike a genie freed from capture ~ Sara becomes the guardian to the painted pine box and heir to the previous owners treasures~treasures hers to explore. Exploring is what all of us do time to time, or dream of doing if and when opportunity offers us the excuse to be where we should not, or somewhere no other had tread; it is in this state of mined we find Sara, caught between yesterday and today, lost with thinking of the future ... so did not notice the going ons to her left or to her right, even in her sight if she was looking in that direction; had she looked~she may have not raised her head to distract her thoughts from the treasures promised within the box, would her wits have returned to her, had she not her heard a voice.
'Come child,' the voice now real and free from her sub-conscience. 'Be not afraid, its contents will surprise you, and you will be compensated with good fortune'.
~~~~
With the contents within the box exposed to the light ... let us leave them for a short time.
Chapter 3
That of what is to come.
As old folk we know when the years encroach on our youth, age become captains of our domain; with age brings intolerance, demanding, ruthless and scathing, contributing unjustified attacks against our servants and lovers; yes, Sara can recall without great thought of when her granddad lost patience with her and brother Albert.
'If you were my children,' sternly spoken, 'I'd take my hand to you or better still, my stick.' Then he would look at their father, waiting for him to in-minister his own punishment upon the fleeing children; but he never did.
'Easy on dad,' their father would mutter, 'you be lucky not to bring a strain on your ticker and your right hand.'
So those among us older than those who are younger, need to tolerate insubordinate rascals ~ for the love of them; with the knowledge that sacrifices and inheritances must have jurisdiction over all~all that had gone and all that~that of what is to come.
~~~~
So it came. Sara's mother left taking with her Albert, with the understanding both will return once the pain had eased, and if the love that was between parents was once again salvaged; but as we know what is lost is lost, what is broken remains broken, and no amount of compromise or turning a blind eye or a cheek can full the cracks in a damage Victorian porcelain vase or that in a relationship with a many hole. To those either side of a break, be a handle to a fine jug, glass or a kettle, or a son or a daughter ... even a family pet, to see the trains coming, one from the north and the other from the south, both at a speed with no control, because each driver obviously to the others requirements. Chapter 4
New relationship.
Rachel Sara was the daughter of Lawrence Albert and Mary Homestead. Albert being quarry manager of the open mine "Victoria" (belonging to the Burgers' mining company) and also the largest of quarries in the district of Newton; while Mary completed her roll in life as wife and mother; in addition to performing her social obligations to the best of her ability and skills~skills to be praised by those close and distant, related or known, spoken well of in high circle families and never a bad word used in describing her when not present.
We should not be surprised to learn of her relationship with Ross Burgers, for the distance between their hearts and their beds did not take any length of time to develop ~ once puberty sprung, bringing springtime love, and once the awkward stage of touching of a hand, an innocent brushing of bodies had been accomplished; and the first quick peck on a fresh cheek, followed by a soft wet kiss to the lips; that if a stop watch had been employed to track time, would show no time at all took place; in fact a nervous laugh followed the first encounter by both parties, before new courage was summoned, this time approaching the ordeal — although, using the word ordeal is far from the correct impression to consign to what was for both first time lovers a sensation new and exciting, as well seasoned lovers know, will lead to a greater pleasure, which neither of our lovers will experience on this occasion.
In common with most their attraction for each other grew from familiarity and time spent in and around family and friends, from birthday party's, dressed in their Sunday best to maintain social standing ~ yet interacting with the lowest dominator for (many) children of their age, before discrimination rose its ugly head; dinners and social dances; at first as small child with no sense of rhythm, but as jumping while running around in circles holding hands; Ross and Rachel enjoyed these times, still at this age unaware of desire. Together from school days, helping with reading and printing, from the smallest of their letters to whole words and sentences and stories, from picnics sharing an apple that had been lovingly cut into equal corners, wrapped in wax paper, eaten with little chewing, if a pip found, spat out with distaste and laughter. Then with age, intimacy and knowledge blossomed, showings its bright colours while close contact made possible by circumstances from walks in parks, on school holidays, adventures in books and moving pictures, trips to the quarries, playing in the gravel, finding freedom of behaviour due to their families connections through work and social activities maturing.
~~~~
Ross Burgers was the talk of the town when packed and left for university in Hinge-borne; those all for frighting for King and country looked upon the decision poorly, yet none spoke face to face to old Mr. Burgers, as it was not their custom to do so, but this did change with time; others under their breath and behind doors feet a slight arrogance and a default of duty to the country; however women folk especially Rachel were relieved as was George Steel-ford a long time admirer and rival for her company and affection, often at a local dance many a time insisted on a dance or two just to annoy Ross; and as we are well aware when one is king pin with money and the backing of a well to do family, owning mines and cottages and employs most of all working aged men, including fit and uneducated females of a tender age ... plus in their stables have more than ten horses, a house with the same number of bedrooms and with cooks, a pantry maids, plus gardeners ~ then ask yourself would you send to almost certain death your son and heir when you can send him to university?
George like many other young men volunteered; he although not against enlisting would not have done so, if not for his older brother James, always a bully, seeing only his side of an argument, always knowing what is good for any gander and never seeing the good side of another unless that person gained him with importance and reward-reward came to others whom have feared his strength, when death came to him within one hour of battle.
Six months have passed since Ross parted from all he had known since childhood; at the door that day his father, his mother, his brothers, a number of senior quarry managers, some in favour of his destination and others not so pleased, plus Rachel.
'You will not notice the time lost between us, before my return.' Rachel's hand in his as Ross spoke in a whisper for only her to hear. 'I will write everyday,' his moist lips so close, the breath from his words flicked around her ear tickling her senses, giving her goosebumps and a light sweet to form under her chin.
'Goodbye Rachel'. Not a word more was spoken.
He looked towards his parents, the house, his favourite horse, "Flame," who had sensed his parting and came close to the fence separating the drive from the paddock.Chapter 5
Counting the days apart.
George was seen at Rachel's side more often than before, in his company she drank tea, went riding, sometimes alone; although never witnessed; it was told they had kissed, Rachel always denied, George always boasted of having done so and more.
The letters came each day, stamped Hinge-borne university ~ each day the letters came, eventually they came only once a month; still with long warm loving sentiments, words of love and how time will pass, how he longed to be in her arms, together as before; and how about the new friends he is making and the places he is going on his days free from university study; the letters are packed with names of other fellows of similar background. 'You will like Fredde,' he wrote on many occasions, for he already likes you; I've told him all about you and have let him glance his eyes on your photo'. 'Please send another'. Rachel in her letters as many as his at first when there was mountains of things to tell him, never once mentioning any encounters with a George Steel-ford - although never sure if his mother in her letters had done so. He asked about "Flame," 'was someone riding him to keep his back strong and his legs keen?'. There was no asking about the quarries or the men left behind, or about those that left to enlist; these questions he asked of his father. Rachel provided stories of the seasons changing, each bringing their own reasons for existence, fulling her pages ~ written before sleep, of the colours the new buds brought, of the new baby lambs, old Mr. Bridge she told Ross, the numbers were increased against the year passed with the warmer weather the reason he was sure of; each letter at the top she wrote, 'to my sweet love', and to the end, 'always missing you, Rachel'.
Six months into their separation the trees started losing their leaves, autumn had arrived and so did the train from the direction expected, and for the reason of obligation and duty.
Rachel's letter reached Ross four days from the day, it was written that night with tears~tears stains he could see on the paper, how he wished with his finger could brush them aside; he read of his friends in their best suits with suitcase in hand, with a loved one, either a sweetheart, a sister, a brother, even a mother clutching an arm; a sad but proud father at arms length standing with others.
Chapter 6
Solicits her opinion.
Sara has her revenge upon the pebble casting it far, she has mastered the gate, the latch no contest to her determination, she has championed the lions with her confidence and her look of authority, she is in the realm of her inheritance.
Twenty long or forty shorts steps are counted within Sara's head; each step inspected and scrutinised in the heads of the colourful chrysanthemums, like working bees between climbing roses, standing disciples to bamboo triangle frames, bedded to the left of the path and flowering in groups of like; to the right blackbirds without fear counting only the worms found and digested, having been fetched with yellow bills from the depths of the earth, struggling, taking no notice of the intruder; hovering above if one were to look, finches with stout bills and colourful plumage ~ yet unseen by the young girl; all mistakenly in flight that she below carries tip pits of wholemeal bread spread with butter and jam.
The steps of the front porch express no discomfort as she accomplishes all five; nor does the welcome mat with the turned up corner discourage her gentle footstep when applying weight upon it; even the word welcome smiles at her~her small hand reaches for the black cast iron handle, it owning the shape of a vertical bar with ring and chain, now only half attached but secure enough to complete the duty of the door ~ in her head the voice of Ross Burger implores her company, and solicits her opinion.
~~~~
The hall she walks is wider than two out stretched arms and longer than that of a game of skittles would be played between, so it is understood to be a long hall. To walk it without lifting ones eyes higher than the person viewing, in some cultures forbidden, yet not to look further than the polished timber floor and central carpet runner would be a sin~a sin not to feast upon the dark stained vatical timber dado topped in fine moulding, bracing from that point burgundy royal wallpaper with strips leading ones vision to the bold and wide architrave and ornate plastered ceiling; lit if night, by one glass candle chandelier at the end nearest the kitchen and the other, a newly installed electric light fitting — no less grand than the older chandelier hung at the door of the large room for entertaining; hung there to impress. Adding light to the long hall, not a solid timber door leading to the library but a glazed door, allowing visitors to cast an eye upon a family with knowledge and learning. Sara did just that, without opening the door her eyes fell upon the plush and soft library furniture, the circular carpet, the vast array of leather bound books neatly placed; on timber shelves, in size, colour, or author.
An archway with painted mouldings divides this hall between the rooms of learning and entertainment and those of living and a like. Sara's eyes peer silently through open doors as not to waken a sole while light footed stepping to a tune for marching soldiers, left, right, left right — time in sync with an old fashioned metronome, placed in view for the student counting the beats and holding them to ransom; she had discovered the music room; there in front of the bay windows with curtains closed a Steinway, the lid extended exposing the craftsmanship of the piano maker, the workings of wires and hammers all to marvel at for those among us interested in the workings of any fine instrument. To the left a violin for a young child, not of Stradivari reputation; left as was last played, with sheet music opened as was last read; a colouring in book and pencils a crayons, a glass paper weight holding a page flat, of a picture only half complete. Around the walls as with the library shelves, stacked with leather bound books, even modern magazines.
Sara's steps, one by one~left before right, forward in movement captivating the space laid before her and narrowing the years gone to the year present, bringing her back to now, was it the chiming of the long case clock standing alone with its white ceramic face and Roman figures counted round one to twelve by bronze hands energised by chain and pendulum.
With a miser's purse it's said once opened moths do fly forth, but not so this box; no moth, beetle or mite of any species has made this box a dwelling, only time has made a home within~within this time capsule an old family photograph, faded, almost yellow from age, holds Sara's by a spell; one by one, two by two or by seven, the figures once in ammonia, now no matter which way Sara rotates the photograph, does delay their departure; each image bringing given names from the back, each facing her anticipating a greeting, but wait they must for Sara places the photograph on the window ledge with a weight to steady it from a wind; an inquisitive hand moves to a folded parchment, not of goat or sheep skin but of fine paper, secured by a yellow ribbon tied by a gentle hand, the words printed in ink by an educated hand.Chapter 7
"A plus" for effort.
When young the future holds no secrets or fears; a young mind sees only the present, giving little or no thought past the hour on the enamel clock face; sees no need to store seeds in the dark to generate for the next planting season, nor save that coin given with love from another with the hope that~that coin will be put to good use either by investing for a profit or interest on the capital ~ family money does shape a mind more than education, more than the lust of a simple maid, more than love of a lady from landed Gentry; honours for bravery, for service to King and Country, and the lucky few given power in the House of Parliament by right is the reward for wealth, another wealth once earned now received as an entitlement.
Of cause none of this Sara finds written by an educated hand in ink on fine paper, but what her eyes fall upon are letters flowing effortlessly across the pages in lines of uniform spacings, some in large print, others small; there a random word with a capital, a comer to brake the melodic rhythm of a clerks hand.
A child of her age should receive a discount as a reward for dismantling large legal passages and a "A plus" for effort.
'Bring the box to the light of the window child, for the contents are yours', the elderly voice filling the void of both the space and Sara's mind.
If we were there to witness the moment with our modern understanding of the supernatural, would we hesitate as did Sara towards the voice; coming she is convinced from the photograph under the weighted object ~ yet remember your youth when nothing halted a curious mind even if just temporary.
Light from the window reflects from the bevelled glass mirror, enlarging even the smallest objects in the pine box, the silver pencil with the slightest amount of lead showing, a porcelain thimble with tiny hand painted rabbits, a packet of needles complete in total; red ribbon attached to a medal earned for bravery~bravery beyond the call of duty the words jump out at her; a gold band ring with a pretty amorist, a necklace of perfectly circular pearls — wrapped in a handkerchief. C. B. sown with blue thread in the corner; initials, Sara convinced, are those of her grandmother. Exploring the contents further finding a lock of hair, of a loved one curled as was the custom to store in a locket, an infants tooth in tissue paper, a poem penned in a child's hand with no rhyming verse.
'Waste not a moment more child, read the document there before you; put aside these distraction detaining you, unfold the fine paper envelop; read your name in print' ~ and the child did as she was told once the voiced stopped, once the wind stopped, once the black birds rested from terrorising the worms; the black tanned terrier placed his head between its legs, even the hovering finches paused; even those fixed in the photograph lifeless waited, as Sara lifted the paper placing it upon her lap.Chapter 8
'We have all made sacrifices.'
The wagons stretched back to Mull Street, a quarter of a mile from the quarries gate.
'Morning Mr. Thomas', words used each morning by young Ross Burgers, who's job it was to open the gates right on six o'clock. Mr. Thomas at this time of the morning was not the most talkative, just giving the young Burgers boy a smile; as was required to be polite for he is a Burgers son and carries himself much like his father.
~~~~
It was one of those days when the morning is cool yet come evening warm; although little wind brought the coldness and next to no sun provided the warmth. No rain had fallen over night or for the last four days, yet the weather was predictable and those in doors or out were able to dress accordingly, as we find Rachel did; and we find nature at its best with all the loveliest flowers on show; with early growth and promising new life, still the time to prune old wood was yet to come.
We find if looked further, woodlands beyond the manicured paddocks where in years passed both cattle and sheep glazed to their hearts contentment are all one summers green; the fields once selected for growing of hay now in weed; no wagons linger in lanes to carry off the harvested hay, no horses nor new reaping machines stand at the ready, in hope of work to be commence; none of those too small to earn a coin ~ spending their day picking blackberries can be found; we find if looked further, pastures once in colour now dull, we ask, will the corn reach its splendour shade of gold; will the lambs come this spring in numbers as last, we ask, will calves of many breads dance to and throw, unaware of what life will bring them in days to follow ~ we ask how long a period between seed sown and bread made.
It is with all these question confined within the heads of those the day war stopped and those soldiers speared death return to their families, met from the trains that did take them away those fours years prior are reunited; and that very day Ross Burgers return from Hinge-borne university better for the education than those worst for their experiences.
'Welcome home'. 'Thank you father, it is good to be home'. Ross with hat and coat in one hand and his suitcase in the other, gladly gave them up to embrace his mother; she with her handkerchief dabbed at a wayward tear, she had promised herself not to sheared a tear but this promise had been to great to accomplish and besides why could she not do so just because her son had go to university where others sons had go to war.
Old Mr. Burgers spoke to the gathered people in the town square, he spoke of courage; 'Our sons showed great courage.' Looking as he did at drawn and tired faces of young men who had aged so much more than four years would have done, had not the "Hun" forced this evil upon them. He spoke of bravery, 'Our sons were brave, facing down their emery, in the open battle fields and in the trenches of "Liege". Counting in his head those with limbs missing and heads in bandages. He spoke of the sacrifices. 'We have all made sacrifices.' Not now looking at any of their faces, the elderly or the young there looking back at him.
~~~~
Wedding bells rang out from the stone-church nest-like, quietly sitting next to the monument erected for the war dead, although built before the monument~monument with now names of those not returning, names scribed in gold gilt lettering on bronze ~ there for all to see.
The bells ring for the marriage of Ross Burgers to the girl, the women known to him forever; Rachel Sara Homestead ~ you will remember her, the daughter of Lawrence Albert and Mary Homestead, also I'm sure you realise their daughter Sara is the reason for the jumble of words you are reading; also, how from here, to now as she becomes heir to all, is confusing and complicated, yet not recorded or written here.
Old Mr. Burgers spoke to the gathered people in the church, he spoke of commitment; 'These two young people belong together.' Looking as he did at other couples once young men who had aged so much more than the years would have done, had they not married. He spoke of love. 'They have done nothing more than love each other from the day of their birth, they together with face down their demons, over come all that threats before them, will bring children into this world; made safe by those there named on our monument and the learning of those not.' Counting in his head those who are married and those with children and those who work for him. He spoke of the sacrifices. 'We have all made sacrifices.' Not now looking at any of their faces, the elderly or the young there looking back at him, his fear in his head is the number of men no longer there to work in his quarries.
Chapter 9
It’s possible the story should have started here; however it did not do so.
This is the last Will and a Testament of Ross North Burgess. Quarry owner and Merchant.
As I am survived only by my niece Sara Jane Burgess, I give the whole of my estate ...
Sara reads the words and reads the words again, pointing a finger to each word in turn; within her own head the two paragraphs linger, she pulling and twisting a strain of yellow hair, round and round, circling into knots; round and round in her head the paragraphs bouncing from side to side, each orbit bring understanding to the printed letters of their disciples preachings.
'I cannot hear a word she is saying, ask her to speck louder,' her grandmother demands, while her old fingers toile with needle and thread on a tapestry, its beauty to behold in film.
Tears full the sweet young round blue eyes of the beneficiary; small pear shaped drops kiss her slim tender lips — tasting of sweet sugar; as if held under a waterfall of bewilderment her body drips; unaware of time and movement, she has the photograph in her hand; seeing for the first time all five grey faces smile with sadness; grandmother has placed her sowing work to a table, her grandfather, his walking stick to the hall-stand, un-sure of the younger. The taller boy of three, handsome he is some say for sure ~ with a welcoming smile, and bright blue eyes, and a liking for a pretty face, it's said around the village; in his hand a small dog, not unlike the black tanned terrier we met earlier, has much the same good looks of his father and resembles greatly characteristics of her own father, the other two boys have similar features and mannerisms to her uncles Curtis and Eaton; for as she stared at one the other pulled a face by sticking two fingers into his mouth, pulling apart just like her uncle Curtis would to scare her and brother Albert before bedtime.
'How do you expect them to sleep now?', their mother's tongue could be sharp, but sleep was never far away? Yet sleep came difficult for their mother, for soon after both Curtis and Eaton found their maker; never again until this day does Sara lay her eyes on what would be short orange curly hair of her uncle Curtis if the photograph was coloured; yet there was no way in knowing if his curls grew out, and if he were to reach an age when they would be grey. No great memory of uncle Eaton clouds her mind, not even the photograph can recall an image of affection.
'Do make an old man happy my dear, read what I have provided for you, now that I have lost all but the thought of this gift to my son's child'.
This is the voice she does so recognise as that of Ross Burgers; he has with grace and elegance glided from a grey figure from an old yellowing picture to an elegant gentleman — far from his time to hold the hand of his favourite granddaughter, to enjoy with her his last words~words she cannot now control from coming forth for the document; again she sees her name in bold ink heading the processions of many others — as I am survived only by my niece Sara Jane Burgess.
I give: I give the whole of my estate and fortune to her to do as she may wish, in no way is she obliged to fitful any wishes of others, to adhere to any wish of others, to behave in a manor to please another, my means are a gift to her freedom.
'Grandfather you have favoured me to much,' their eyes meet. 'Hush child do read on', with his hands clasped behind his back and taking to smoking his pipe again, he places an arm to support himself against the fire mantel; there he enjoys the heat from the fire from a memory and is warmed by the young sweet voice of his granddaughter, sat in her grandmother's chair; in his eye he sees good times only, hears only laughter, memories of good harvests, of record stock sales, of high returns from Government stocks and of high demands for quarried stone.
'Grandfather please stand near'. Sara interrupting his thoughts that were once strong but now a little faded. 'Please help, if and when a word that needs reading is one I struggle with.'
'Child read the words following your name,' his voice soft and gentle, yet he is unable to hide his pride for selecting the words written by him and unable to resists from reading them with her.
Together the words are read, the older silently within his mine, the younger mouthing each letter, running them together with a finger forming whole words into sentences.
I give the whole of my estate and fortune; plus if I were the holder of the sky I would release my grip and settle it upon you, if master of the sun ... it would never leave your vision and your days would always be shined upon; the moon I would instruct to carry your image and all planets to worship your existence; however none of this I can bestow.
An old and a young hand turn a page, a word explained, a meaning given thought upon; an idea expressed, a pause to wipe a tear, time to brush a strain of yellow hair from an eye, an opportunity to glance towards the open window, a moment to reflect on lifestyles now in the pass, a new page brings its own promises and rewards. Again theirs eyes together settle on this new page and read.
I give the whole of my estate and fortune. The tiles from the roof of the gallery, the chimneys with their flower pot lids, the leaded windows of "Christ" and his "Twelve Apostles". The library with all the books of learning; all the volumes of "Shakespeare", the oil paintings; "The Milkmaid" by Johannes Vermeer, a favourite of uncle Eaton, he now looking on in his mind running his little fingers as they were when he first discovered the painting in the gallery when a boy, there playing with his brother upon a magic carpet square as one, sliding on the polished floor from one end to the other, never once did an object of value suffer from the game; and then alone before bed would return to sneak a look at the painting most viewed by male visitors, that of "Giorgione's", the painting, portraying a nude woman, whose profile seems to follow that of the hills in the background; so described by a critic of the day.
It was on this page Sara had to call on her grandfather for his help in conquering these foreign names, if she was not so concentrating on the words she would have able to witness a colouring of her uncle Eaton's face. The treasures flowed from the pages as they were turned, not one creased or folded poorly, and "Chippendale" furniture; the carpets as children once played on and walked their way, there and back; the wall tapestries hung by ancestors before our time; the portraits of those men and women dressed in their finest of outfits~outfits cared for by others with less; these were the people in their time showing courage to invest in industry, in grand buildings with extravagant architecture, in travel with an eye for fine porcelain, gold, silver, sculptures in bronze and marble; fulling these grand houses with wealth while making homes of them for their children.
'Do go on child I a ploy you;' 'Grandfather I require refreshment, my throat is very dry, I also feel great sadness and grief coming from yourself and those who have travelled far to be here and of those who left to be else-where; do you not consider I have sufficient and if you were to look further afield more deserving could be found to rewarded for the sacrifices made while providing you with so much to give away this day.'
His voice for the first time has an anger to it, nothing Sara had noticed before; his face more crimson than before, he places his pipe to the side table and moves to the window; even the light breezes that once cooling the room ceased to do so.
'No.' The word fills the room will fear, one would not think such a small word of only two letters could take so much air as it travelled across to Sara's ears.
'Read on child,' these three words spoken with a little less hostility.
So one who still obeys her elders, one not yet ready to question a command, one unable to turn a blind eye to authority or to disappoint, puts aside for a moment her thoughts of caring and sharing with others less fortunate, turns again her eyes to the papers before her. How short a thought for others can last when what is written and read is providing a life of riches and position, a mind of any age, none more so than such a young one could not but help to imagine a life full of luxuries, to be an owner of the most modern of all fashions, to travel the oceans in ships built for such expeditions, to own grand houses and throw lavish parties for royalty and all the great men of period. But now only those from the old photograph stand in grey clothing with drawn faces wait her return. It's takes only a soft cough and a slight movement of a hand from a pocket to a nose to waken Sara from her fantasy to her presence; again now feeling stronger and in control of those, she can at anytime return to the pine box without a thought of their demise, for who are they to her now; they are gone from this world and she is here, she is their mistress, she now owns all that is around her and more that she had not seen.
So we find, it is in her own time she returns to read again the words that are now easier to mouth, and not before she had drunk and eaten, refreshments of fresh berries and fruit, a home made apple pie with whipped cream just this minute stolen from the house cow and brought to her on the best of china, carefully by the hands of the most handsome of all men her eyes have ever been cased upon.
The time counted in hours, for the sun and the moon could have passed by the window several days; more seasons than two could have come and gone in this stagnated pose; neither set of eyes left the other, the tray floated between them, neither pair of hands left the tray, not a word was formed, if any were, not one left its creator. It took only a soft cough and a slight movement of a hand from a pocket to a nose to waken Sara from this reality.
With clear eyes~eyes for more than the words she reads. I give the whole of my estate and fortune to her to do as she may wish, in no way is she obliged to fitful any wishes of others, to adhere to any wish of others, to behave in a manor to please another, my means are a gift to her freedom~freedom to wonder the green and brown hills resting from the skyline to the north, to the south, from east to west, up and down valleys and ridges, to travel from dawn to dusk for three days in any direction before coming to rest again in her bed.
As master of all you have the right to dam or set free rivers, to plant or chop trees, to trap or release wildlife, to kill or give life, to befriend or banish a neighbour.
Tears filled Sara's eyes, teardrops slowly running down her cheek resting on her lips, with the cuff of her blouse wiped~wiped them one way and then another; these were tears of sadness, of happiness, of joy, they were for tears for wealth, for knowledge, sweet tears for love.
'Here take my handkerchief and please stop crying; your tears dampen the paper you read from and are of no benefit.' 'Thank you Mrs. Burgers.'
Sara exchanged the words for the fine silk cloth, slipping it into a pocket as the older lady turned away ~ for it was to precious to use on a moist nose.
'Let us have no further emotions showing this day, and you may call me Mary.' Mary Burgers once the lady of the house, the queen of all social occasions, who was greeted when out shopping~shopping not for preservation but for satisfaction and pleasure from wealth and her statues in the community; she the wife of the lord of business, the owner of the quarries and he the provider of employment ~ She when holding conference with ladies of near standing, sipping tea from fine porcelain in exquisite outfits; on a sunny day sitting under a shaded seat around a garden table, knows her husband maybe the lord ~ yet it is She with instrumental to all that is his before, now and in the future. That was then, now Mrs. Mary Burgers with only memories, listens to the sentences constructed by meaningfully expressions of love towards a new generation ~ yet to establish their place on this earth, is her grandchild, seated in the chair in her drawing room, accompanied by portraits of accessories in common, surrounded by antiques, some just old with little value, but sentimental, others with vast value and even when in time of great financial need, no one could part with them for they came with the period in which they were crafted and to some considered irreplaceable ~ vases, bronze and marble statues, paintings, works of art from many artist gathered by their predecessors while on their great expeditions of Europe and the Middle East. On what longing for those days, Mary has.Chapter 10
Mr. Joseph Flint
'Stop.' Sara did placing the paper on her lap. The voice she did not recognise; it was that of her uncle Eaton ... there had been a knock at the front door and his attention draw to its immediate demand.
'That will be Joseph,' this was the voice of her uncle Curtis another (she was sure) hearing for the first time. 'Simon always arrives about now.'
Sara heard the door open and her uncle Eaton welcoming his friend. 'Come Joseph we have a guest and I wish you to meet her, you will like her and I'm sure she you.'
Sara recalls the distance from the front door to the room now seated and before completed uncle Eaton and his friend had arrived.
'Joseph may I introduction Sara, she is my niece, come to inherit. Sara this is my best friend Joseph - Joseph Flint. We have enjoyed each other's company since birth, for we were born on the same day. I to mother Mary Burgers and he to his, Glads Flint'.
Joseph is taller than his friend but of much the same build and features, colouring of hair (longer than the norm for the day) and skin, more olive than dark; he has bright eyes and white teeth, his hand now with hers clasped, gentle fingers intertwined are soft and warm, his cloths are not his working cloths - Sara is impressed~an impression based only on looks for at this time no further information is forth coming about Joseph Flint.
Sara found herself among those once in the photograph, in drab grey coloured costumes, caught by black and white film, when in better times, before failure in business and death in war ... Now in colour, as they did before the black and white photograph was taken, when all was well, living life as it was meet to be. Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters and good friends; sitting, having tea at a table covered with fine lace and fine bone china, eating with silver cutlery, the men folk drinking from long stemmed glass goblets, each engraved with the Burgers family crest. Sara was sat opposite Joseph, he sat between Eaten her uncle Curtis; Mr. and Mrs. Burgers sat at opposite ends. Mr. Burgers near the ale, Mrs. Burgers with the tea pot and the plate of cucumber and cheese sandwiches.
The sun with all its warmth is the other guest and a most welcome one at that, for with warmth comes love ... the eyes of the two we are following with immense interest are not far from each other at any one moment and the words each do speck are mainly directed towards each other with only the occasional to any other person; which I must confess has not gone unnoticed by all at the table. The men acted like young maidens snickering at such affection between to love struck pigeons or maybe a male peacock prancing around fanning its tail feathers. Mrs. Burgers eyes can only see a marriage and more mouths to be feed and in her eyes this is a good outcome to a relationship.
Joseph is listening but can only see Sara with her radiant yellow hair, comparing her to his favourite food, apple pie with fresh cream. Also holding his stare her white cotton top and her hooded cape, an outfit new to him; never has he seen a pleated skirt, light blue in colour and sneakers of a good brand, all have his heart turning in large circles for a young girl so beautiful. There is no time to be counted, no sun or moon to pass by the window, no seasons to come and go; neither set of eyes can leave the other, no tray floats between them, their hands are one, no words can be formed, for their lips are a pair locked together in the creator's doing. It took only a soft cough and a slight movement of a hand from a pocket to a nose to waken Sara from her embrace.Chapter 11
Cure for love is reality.
The only cure for love is reality; before reality the heart rules the head — when once decisions were made with intelligence and from experience; to the rights and wrongs of investments and predictions on returns from those ... mapped out on spreadsheets. To purchase a horse with proper pedigree to that of cost; to sow seeds of the best stock to those unwanted by others; to turn a single bottle of red wine by hand (nourished from the fineness grape) to a dozen inferior by machine — all these decisions require an educated head (not a love struck heart). When once small coins saved to a cast iron money box, put a side for a new bonnet, a trip to the seaside, maybe a bucket and spade for a niece — now spent on ice cream and pop corn without thought of value; remember — look after the pennies and the pounds with look after themselves — a pound saved today can be a pound and a penny spent tomorrow.
Love can be brought by a dove, with its white feathers groomed to perfection~perfection seen within first light to an eye so young and inexperienced in love making and courtship. Ones name is only second to his or her cover and the clothing worn — of how he or she stands or sits, or of their posture and status in society at large ... or the colour of their skin, or the colour of their hair, or the colour of their politics. Love can come early in life, or near the end; one can grow from young adulthood with many lovers and children ... and on the other hand ~ another never knows the warmth of another's body or experience parenthood, or feel pride/satisfaction of a father, or pain of being the mother with whom had to bear the birth procedure. Yet without both fore-mentioned ...
Wedding bells again ringing out from the stone-church nest-like, quietly sitting next to the monument erected for the war dead, the monument now with names of those not returning, names scribed in gold gilt lettering on bronze ~ there for all to see ... those here today are here to witness the joining of commitments between the old world and this new world. To return a family of old to a family of new, to start from points of closure and termination. To relight old candles and chandeliers — hanging in dark hallways and bedrooms, bringing to boil kettles on open files and on stoves of iron and steel. To have children involved in learning and with play, and in education near and far. To hear the stone crushes reducing boulders to pebbles, and the wagons pulled by draft horses to and back from places they go to and have come from. To open windows that have been closed for generations and doors ... neither open or closed, to remove covers~covering furniture — placed — to dust off years of memories from items long forgotten by those along forgotten and gone from any living memory. This is what true love does to those so young, those with health — wealth and the means to be happy. Those who have choice to love whom ever ... best to achieve more than just happiness with good looks and good character; to be able to call on those less fortunate to serves one so young - Reader - This person you know so well. This person is Sara Burgers; heir of the late Ross North Burgess - Sara Burgess the owner of the grand stately house — sitting proudly before the many Burgess's quarries - Mistress to the vast estates past, and to the monument for the dead in pride of place; with names~names scribed in gold gilt lettering on bronze — there for all to see ...Chapter 12
Before, now and back then.
With the contents within the box exposed to the light ... let us search the contents of the box that are now exposed to the light~light first captured and made prisoner all those years ago.
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After years of a young age - Sara with memories of friendships — having presented her family and friends with many trophies for successful achievements in many fields of education and the like — with a couple of lovers (boy friends) and one embarrassed married gentleman — set off in new directions to make provisions for her (current) and her future.
Bad luck — what is for one person — can be good for another. What can come at a bad time for one person — can come at the right time for another .... so, it was for Sara?
That day came after the laying to rest of her parents. The day was warm with the sun at its best ... she stood that day in the churchyard — surround with those also in mourning, the list to long to record. The morning that followed — sitting in the kitchen of her family home — one soon to be vacated, by general post came a black-bordered letter — addressed to her by name.
With the contents read many a time over and with each reading completed, her mind was settled on determination to follow out the information to proceed forward, and take advantage of situation now presenting itself.
Mr. Ross North Burgers is dead ...
Part Two
Her inheritance is safe.The heavy embossed (solid silver, Victorian shears — with the sovereign's head, the makers name and year date; 1888 - stamped with pride.) beg to be used.
Sara chops with the skill of an experienced craft hand; each image of those engraved — there held within the vintage photograph — there held for the last hundred years — there and then ... as they were found; dressed the day their images stolen (if they were stolen?) or maybe given with a willing heart, and with the knowledge this day would come. When Sara — this young girl from a period in history ... not yet upon those within the photograph, or having any knowledge of such a day. How could they imagine what the day would be like — would the sun be shining — would the wind be blowing — would the world be at peace or at war. Would any of them here now standing, side by side — in their best of all costumes ... each with secret thoughts and hopes and desires of love, be willing to be alive.Chapter 1
Away with the past.
Forgotten, the twenty long or forty shorts steps counted within her head; each step she had inspected and scrutinised~forgotten the colourful chrysanthemums; the worker bees flying between the climbing roses~climbing roses there ... growing freely strangling the lap-less standing bamboo triangle frames.
Forgotten and out of mind the path to the left with the flowers in groups of like; to the right the blackbirds, counting only the worms found and digested — each having been fetched with yellow bills from the depths of the earth — struggling~struggling. Sara takes no notice of the intruder — hovering above (if she were to look,) the finches with stout bills and colourful plumage. NOW , unseen by the young girl.Chapter 2
OFF: with their heads.
So it was. OFF: off with their heads. The black witch screams out from afar ... for she has no stomach for encounters of conflict.
Sara, without a tear to an eye or a thought to the needs of ones head ... gathers from where they fell, the images cut so carefully from within the silver frame (time before this calling,) laying each one in line of lineage.
The burden of responsibility on shoulders so young and all the new found friends when unexpected wealth is showered upon one so simple in mind and inexperienced in worldly affairs ... how easy it can become to be a slave to another ... when they / them, he or she is wiser and older in years (than you,) constantly, they tell you in mind; and that they have seen it all before; and like you — made mistakes when they to ... came into knowledge, wealth and new friends — many from afar. Reminding you, some will be family; many never knew of ... some a long lost brother / uncle / aunt — your true mother / father ... informing (after all this time,) you were adopted; for they wished you a better life ... more than they (because they were young,) could prove. NOW they have seen the error of their way, the mistake in their thoughts. AH - ah; they plead. Forgive us. We love you so much.Chapter 3
Letter from an acquaintance.
Words on yellow paper written with numb and ink ... in old fashioned hand writing ... each letter joined together by a free flowing motion; as all notes were before mechanical devices.
The unknown (be they male or female ... young or old,) each are housed and clothed. The very young washed. They share furnished rooms, they are with pocket-money; many provided with all necessaries of living — the older ... instructed in all languages (living and dead,) good subjects thought; such as mathematics, orthography, geometry, astronomy, and many more to hoot.
Now all these people know you and of you, or know someone that knows you or of you, and they to now wish to know you or know more about you and to recall long lost school days even if never having been in a school with in or a school anywhere near you ... Ah! ah! FRIENDS the wish to be. Chapter 4
Learning from and taking from ... things of the others, making a more enlighten future.
The iron gates have new paint, and the steel hinges oiled; the lion heads — their eyes shine again with replacement glass eyes. Polished are all the fence railings, and cracked concrete path replaced with new, and the flower boards replanted with modern variations of the old. Again worms flourish, growing into long juicy tit-bits for the blackbirds and finches to feed upon. The Roses pruned with the old wood cut back, allowing new growth to flourish. The old house wrapped in new cladding, replacement sash cords to the window frames, broken glass replaced ... catching the morning sun from any direction from which it comes. Saved from the elements of each season from the new shingles placed upon new bearers ... that support a roof dominating the country side. Drives and paths replenished either with pebbles (larger than those that trap themselves between toes of sandals,) or of and of fresh concrete; missing stones from stone walls once standing tall and straight — running once from front to back gates, and from kitchen doors to the kitchen gardens ... to the glasshouses of the gardeners out house and the sheds of farm workers. NOW all replaced once more by the quarries own efforts. For you (the reader,) now understand — Burgers's mines are once more is in full production.
Sara did not chop the heads from those within the silver frame ... those heads — once master and mistress, nor the heads of uncles, aunts, brothers and sisters — the heads of friends and lovers. For you (the reader,) will recall the will of Rodger Burgers — gave Sara the power over all ... to do, that, when and whatever; when-ever, with-ever. She has / had no reason to take council, advice, into account the feelings, the requirements, the desires, the wishes of others. She; Sara is / was the sole heiress and beneficiary. To what end she sees fit, must, and will be final and done.Chapter 5
Everything is done in the name of Sara.
Reinstated are those to the silver frame (intact,) and placed on the mantel.
Burgers Queries - Victoria Mining company.
Sara, now answers to the surname of Burgers — no longer daughter of ... but sole owner of; "Victoria Mining Company". She has cast aside the black witches demands for heads, sorted and discarded many invites of family requests and invitations and friends — found and lost, plus those from behind unknown doors, opened once hearing of her wealth — we are all aware of people alike.
From the grave the heiress extracts her mother Rachel .... for a love of a mother cannot be duplicated, no matter how difficult many occasions; tore the feeling for each other in different directions. Can a girls's father be replaced with the love of a great-grandfather with greater wealth and opportunitIes to share? I fair the answer is yes. Is the need for a brother, when young fought against, made fun of his sister, her friends, read her secret diary~a diary of dreams — nothing in reality ... thoughts placed in haste and without understanding of consequences of the future; drawings of human body parts, drawn with amateurish ideas. A word once written, now out of contexts ... by another eye — how stupid. BUT all this gone before can be put right.
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The Burgers Quarry, once busy, once silent; a place for generations before ... fought Gods earth to extract forcefully from its grasp — the treasures stored for such a period in time. Once upon the surface, easy to gather with bare hands, gathered to construct simple shelters for man and beast. To construct defence barricades, fencing, paths ... all adventuring among landscapes, rendering the undulating surfaces to productive grass lands of productivity.
Beneath the beauty where green grass grows, where maidens weep for lovers who tender their flock ... initials carved with penknife — inside heart shaped symbols — for all lovers to witness when walking that way.
Deep-Deep in earth's care (but before the centre of existence;) entrusted to the soil of life, is the stone and rocks, sort for existence of the families wealth and wellbeing of not only the Burgers but for all those depending upon them. The must have aggregate to be with need, met and to be joined with riprap and sand. And the slate for roofs and walls ...excavated from the ground with care. Be the quarry that of an open-pit, like the days before digging, or now as Sara had found them to be; mines of great depth.
~~~~
The whistles~whistled, the horns~horned, the hoots~hooded; followed by a knock at he door. The man servant opened the door.
'I've called on Miss Burgers.' He was let in. It was Mr John Batts — the mines manager — calling as was his custom to do so ... at this time of each working morning — the time of Sara's breakfast. Together they discussed the previous day's production figures and any problems that may have accrued — again as was the case on other days, nothing had, or was a problem. Sally removed the dishes from the table to allow John to spread out plans, showing the intended quarries expansions. The "Victoria" mine was at full capacity, John was again as had become his habit to do so ... after all other discussions relating to their enterprise returned to this, his prime project of increasing out put. Sara as she does when he had his mind set on this sermon, reclines in her great-grandfathers favourite arm chair in the bay window ... allowing both the morning sun and Johns word warm her heart — or she both enjoys the new yellow raise, as they trickle through the pores on her face and the old, familiar words of John Batts — this man who both knows how to master her thoughts and body.
The knowledge of expansion and need for such is agreed upon many times over and pegs and string lines — by surveyors, have been acted upon (many occasion.) This ritual John Batts carries to its climax ... by rolling the plans, with large strong hands, then tucking under well musclier arm pit; his chest puffed in satisfaction of success.
'Shall we venture out and inspect the footings today Miss Burgers?'
Taking the two steps to reach her from the table ... and as is the custom once he has completed this movement — together leave via the doors into the garden. It is here their hands find each other and first names are exchanged in harmony, and on this morning as with many other mornings, Mr John Batts smuggles a kiss from Miss Sara Burgers.
Need the author paint a picture of this scene; or can the reader imagine from in ones mind ... maybe once or twice found wanting a connection between young sculptures ... laying naked on soft green grass; shaded from the ever warming rase of the sun and the effort of love making. Heavy in deep breath and interwind like ivy; growing ever so close to an end, and counting the minutes of discovery, if not this nanosecond, but is brought to an end, before the first wagon of metal passes by this very spot they lay.
Chapter 6
Where there is no pit, we must use the kinds washed up by rivers or by the sea... and other problems we must solve in similar ways.
The two great wars had come and gone ... done their dash; killed those with their names on any missile. Reduce families to threads of misery; torn loved ones to sinners, made widows of thousands, orphans a plenty. Riches to rags~rags to mutton cloth — took arms and legs; eyes and ears ... heads from shoulders. Then came the end. Than came a new — what to do with the disillusioned and the homeless, the unwanted, those no longer willing to fit in~those unable to be with others. Farmers return to land no longer theirs, homes destroyed — whole families wasted in time. Then come the new youth, dissolution and with grudges against authorities, the law — still favouring those with over those without. It was how David Maplin, young when enlisted — now twice that age, with thoughts of a sole his age~aged has he, no longer with youthful desires, of love, of marriage and children, of work, maybe a business of his own. But he now finds himself at the gates of Burgers Mines; and there David is put to digging drains~drains to fields and from fields, with comrades; many a retaining wall built, and road hedging — as fencing ... to paddocks and from paddocks.
From a hand full of returned solders to what could be call a brigade, put to good reward ... using only the less expensive stone as base material under roads, and railways. The better, the more refined ... those with colour and character, those with greater strength and structure, sorted and stored in great numbers, for those stonemasons with skilled hands … applying their trade to additions and alterations, placed upon plans that Sara Burgers has for her grandparents house.
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It has been said (with some certainty,) that madness is an excess of subjectivity; that is to say, a state in which the mind accords too much to mental labour and not enough to outward impressions.
This we find in Thomas Roch (this indifference was practically in front for all to witness.) Thomas Roch lived but within himself — he preferred is own company — over many others, other than that of Sara ... to the point a guard had to be place between them if they were ever to meet in a public place. But when Thomas did adventure out and by accident or not — they crossed paths — Sara was in no danger from him.
It was his likeness to those in the photograph, standing pride of place, that Sara saw each time a meeting took place, and on invitation into her parlour ... she was a custom to noticing the likeness every-time. To prey on this fixed idea (of this familiarity) to those within the photograph, brought him to this room on many uninvited occasions — which when discovered, lead to him be escorted out. Could he be a lost sole? Could he be a Burger? Could any circumstance occur to counteract this notion, within his head, to exteriorise it from within him. Thomas now knew only one person could provide the answer.
~~~~
The house once the grandest; imposing itself ... above all others in the county, standing as it did among the manicured garden and awash with natural and man made lakes; with orchards of fine fruit and berries trees — gathered from far off places. Kitchen gardens flushed with spices, sweet potatoes ... beans and root crops, in careful layout, tended with knowledge and care and love — of those whose charge it was to attend.
Stone walls of red brick run north, then south ... archways neatly sculpted by scholars of fine architecture — sculpted marble human figures of Roman times grace the land-scrap, further an eye can focus. Stone seats with carved heads and naked figures guide and encourage the visitor to rest awhile~while their minds come to terms of this period in existence. For many an eye from far or near have never enjoyed such beauty before ... few will ever again (because times (they,) are a changing.) The stables with the master's fineness horses, living in grander style than many who attend to their every need; to brush and comb, to make beds of straw, to feed and walk them — maintaining their presence of absolute ... characterising the individual quality, of form, of shape and elegance — occurring by itself — an animal not influenced by its surroundings. BUT; as not, in is not (as opposed to isn't,) one of mans most and admired creatures on this earth. Here we find Morleen Linkmira, (sweet seventeen,) the love of every stallion —housed with the stables; and to many (who abide in the cottages,) housing the young and the old — men and boy who share the work she does. It is Morleen to whom John Batts (you may recall — smuggles kisses from Miss Sara Burgers,) is mistress to his stallion — and she who has equal love for it, as she had for him ... and both on many occasions have experienced what comes from such flirtatious.Chapter 7
The collieries took shaped.
The house better than its original. The new mined now commissioned, with new equipment ... state of the century's machinery; chewing from the earth all the stone once hidden, once for-bidden form her predecessors, once to greater a burden for man with pick and shovel, for horse and cart, for men large and strong ... like the gold, paid to extract from under God's care.
As what has now become the custom a Sunday lunch, held in the refurnished Great hall — once a longer gallery. The portraits of many ancestors, Kings and Queens ... friends and family; now replaced with modern landscapes — painted by contemporary artists.
Next to Sara sat, on her right (if you can believe what is written,) Mr Thomas Bourdon, helping himself to some quail.
~~~~
Thomas Bourden; a radical member of a workers union, who lead his fellow members strife and rebellion— while himself travelled in private life, following the best cooks, dining with the best people (with wealth and power,) never missing the opportunity to increase his own, and mixing with the Generals from all forces, in accordance with a wise and well-known rule — of do what I say ... but not of what I do.
The chair to Sara's her left — Mr. Tom Eskdale of Treadle, occupies. A young / handsome gentleman of considerable height, charm and culture; who has today gained a voice to over ride all others, and is becoming more then annoying — however, he has good habits of (at times,) being silent, and having, as he explained once to those still with ears for his chatter ... said everything that he had to say — he had said before now. That was before he felt eyes of the young heiress were squarely fixed on him and that she had moved closer within touching — this causing an onslaught of a thousand words praising the alterations to the house and gardens and the working of the mine. Sara was not short on storing praise for much of the work completed upon Mr John Batts for both could see he was taking an interest in their conversation — also conscious that most, if not all there were now straining their ears.
So many men to provide love (give and receive,) Tom Erskine, for one ... brilliant, fantastic, and irresponsible, free from much demands placed on him to reform, free to come and go as his will takes him — a man of independence and self financed. Then, John Batts; he with easy can charmed his listeners out of themselves, as they comprehend all that he can control of them ... as he does with her when an ideal fills his mind, for a new machine or more workforce to dig deeper. Maybe Thomas Roch (in some instant,) found himself invited ... never taking his gaze off any one of an interest to him. To Sara still is a mystery; how does one so resemble figures within the old silver frame, tonight moved to the display case. He sits there like one under a spell, smiling chasing her body within her clothes, undressing her, running wine over his lips; his eyes she cannot but notice eyes~his eyes growing grave — darkening in colour. Of cause the following description of Thomas is not true of him. I have just combined within these words — for it appeals to the author.
"The character of his face had been at all times remarkable. A cadaverousness of complexion; an eye large, liquid, and luminous beyond comparison; lips somewhat thin and very pallid, but of a surpassingly beautiful curve; a nose of a delicate Hebrew model, but with a breadth of nostril unusual in similar formations; a finely moulded chin; hair of a more than web-like softness and tenuity; these features, altogether a countenance not easily to be forgotten."
[Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)]
Chapter 8
A millennium can change an Individual, a Civilisation - thoughts and cultural understandings.
As with a seedling the gardener treasures; tending to its every need; for water and warmth, and shelter and nourishment ... be chemical or organic. Introducing the new growth to sunlight and natures rains, to free its roots from weeds and those wishing to steel the nourishment — snails and beetles, and birds supplementing their off spring sitting in nests waiting.
Reader; I can compare the above to any — if not all starts in life. With all ambitions of ones own or of something forced upon one or other ... he / she has options, so many ... gone are the old days of Cavemen, of Hunter Gatherers, of Nomads (if not all are the same.) Civilisation entered our minds, someone, somewhere, at an unknown period ... decided there must be more to life and brainwashed the many~the few to follow, ideas strange to current thoughts.
So; if not the next day ... maybe the next; stone was gathered from hills, riverbeds and fields with ample. Kings were proclaimed, Kingdoms and Territories — Countries ... large and small, carved with swords and death. Alliances formed by need, by marriage. Livelihoods based on farming — growing food for consumption ... trees felled for ship building — for fishing and travel ... factories for manufacture, flax and cotton; of tanning skins of leather, the making of jewellery from precious stones and glass ... learned from Roman times.Chapter 9
Dinner had found an ending; all had eaten their full and if any more alcohol was to be consumed ... would flow without restraint to the floor.
Thomas with superhuman energy had found potency or a spell — to win over the heart of Sara Burgers; on many occasion he drew her eyes upon him undressed in his shower room, and followed him as he wonder through the house ... to and from the figures within the silver frames. She has studied his expression when un-seen from far or near, his fingers searching, tracing outlines, establishing any likeness to his own. Why, he has asked himself ... since discovering his semblance; Why, is his likeness hidden from these others?
From behind large antique wall panels to which the older Burgers dinned out on riches of success and power and deeds ... performed prior to wars and behind backs of others, becoming wealthy on backs of others and good fortunes ... and bad fortunes of others. Was it only stone that brought fortunes to this family, was there another treasure — more valuable, yellow in colour, softer in appearance — yet hard on the pocket?
~~~~
It was the work of a movement caused by air — or a bodily function (a sneeze,) causing familiar eyes so fascinated — fixed there upon the faces of relations ... those he had never known in life, but becoming accustomed to their existence. Turning from what held his attendance, becoming in contact with reality~more real than all he had seen in the trenches from scenes held fast in his inner-mind of dreams. The drawing room owned a burning fire with last years round logs ... sparkling behind brass guards with dogs at each side, holding black pokers and coal shovels. Pots of water hanging on hocks driven into stone surroundings, and ceramic decorative painted tiles of country scenes of doves and pheasants. Over the open fire — a large mahogany mantle, an exhibition of sporting trophies, for shooting, tennis, croquet and country fair best cooks.
~~~~
It was the opening of the window successfully carried out by Mr John Batts that drew all those in the room to notice the emaciated female figure (enshrouded,) of Sweet Peggie Munroe. There was blood upon her person, and evidence of a struggle ... for a moment no one there moved, or spoke a word in their defence; and she remained trembling and reeling to and fro upon one left leg, and then on one right leg — both supporting a diaphragm of a young girl full of beauty. Then, with a continuous moan (lasting for a whole two minutes,) she fell heavily towards; landing upon the person within reach. To his defence came young Morleen Linkmira (you remember, the kitchen maid,) listening from the adjoining door ... could not help herself (thinking it was John Batts,) in need of her rescue, threw herself with knife deep into flesh and bone.Chapter 10
If they could see you now; they would (all,) turn in their graves.
IF — The word came from within the silence ... magnified by its single syllable. How often is used by all ... this word IF. How many events changed hypothetically applied when used. Remember your mother stressing upon you — this would never have happened ... IF — you had done as I asked. Pages of ifs — if this — if that — if what. IF — I had never come here, said Sara to those sat at the table (which we will touch upon later,)
Formally — to her right Mr. Tom Eskdale; the young / handsome gentleman full of charm and wearing his heart on his sleeve. Next, further to her right (if you know your right from your left,) Mr Thomas Bourdon — the once radical member of a workers union, who lead his fellow members strife and rebellion ... now well travelled, and dines with the best of people. Where do we find sat Mr John Batts? ... as he sits opposite — of the mistress ... holding the unclaimed position of master.
Yet as a challenger to that hold on the mistresses heart and affairs of business — maybe Thomas Roch (sees himself as such the man to command that entitlement,) sat as he does, his prolonged towards her. To him still is a mystery; his resemblance to theses figures within the old silver frame; sat uncomfortably for he feels out of place — between the young Christina and the very so much excited (her sister,) Kathleen ... There Thomas dressed in borrowed suit, his hair brushed with paste — is David Maplin (the young returned soldier put to work; now finds himself elevated by his efforts; has his eye firmly on the before mentioned Kathleen with thoughts of love and children (encouraged by Sara,) regardless to him being twice her age~aged the young excitable girl has no concern and has desires of love, of marriage and children of her own.
~~~~
When two objects are as twins — some say identical and similar and alike ... in every way: like two sides of a mirror with only the frame as divider and barrier for physical geography — like a shelf of ice~a front of snow while playing games of identity theft ... like two peas in a pod; all that know of them say constantly, when faced within the same walls or on a field of planted corn — yellow hair, bright eyes, smiles to charm a Legionnaire from his uniform. Either entering or departing, viewed from the back or from the front, to separate one from the other you would require two eyeglasses (per eye.) A tail often told by grandparents. So have pity on our randy Thomas Roch.
~~~~
His pasty yellow complexion was a contrast against his medium length charcoal coloured hair, and did not represent the average soul of his years. His look could have come straight from a boys comic journal ... a mixture of adventure, bravado, and fast thinking. He was dressed in a gold-coloured blazer, ridding trousers, red stock, and black like jogging shoes. On his head he wore (to one side, like a French painter's flannel cap. But un-like a superhero (of any generation,) had little to say and lived up to the first impression.
Given to all those sitting at the table, why this person of no ranking or importance was ever invited was a puzzle to most, especially John Batts — but accepted his audience. However after many interruptions (of serious conversations,) by the superhero person — whistling between his teeth, as he viewed the company, then in a loud (squeaky, nervous voice:) asked Christina to dance. His request was accepted. Lucky for her the unpleasant likeness on the face of her sister never registered with her eyes.
'Say,' as is her saying … 'turn up the music.' Not hearing the awkwardness and the squawking (of chairs,) all around.
'Say,' wouldn't it be great if we all danced?'
Here again that IF word came forth; what IF all did dance, or what IF no one danced ... what difference did that word IF have? Well it did on many there~there to win the love of our Sara Burgers — mistress, heiress, of the "Victorian Mines Company" and its fortune and newly discovered gold.Chapter 11
'Bring the box to the light of the window child, for the contents are yours', the elderly voice filling the void of both the space and Sara's mind.
Her night clothes lay on the bed, the sheets turned down and her pillow fluffed. The bed side light, the only light to welcome her to sleep. The foot steps of others (she hears upon the stairs,) as they wonder to and fro towards their bed chambers. Un-dressed she stands between nakedness and night wear; her thoughts travel for and against inviting a lover from one of those who present themselves to be one. As many of us do when alone, with no clothes to hide the contours of our body ... running our hands, one at a time, or two at a time, or both at one time; following the outline of our figure; more than imagining what lies there, for we see it everyday; but travel the edge, or lines that defines or bounds our un-even shape we call our flesh and bones. The dictionary provides a meaning for contours as "An object of Phonetics." "A study of speech and sounds, a distinctive pattern of changes in pitch, stress, or tone extending across all or part of an utterance, especially across a sentence, and contributing to meaning." Sara feels all of this and understand none of it ... within this period the house has ceased to be alive, windows that were open, now closed. Lights that once shone — rest in peace. Birds have in nests completed their night chorus, as have singers of opera~orchestrate lay down their instruments, audiences applaud demanding for an encore.
We all experience moments of regret and loneliness (alone under warm sheets,) be they silk or cotton or flannelette. As our minds struggle for sleep, a thousand torments or peaceful recognitions ... fight for our attention, each hoping to keep us awake — afraid to lose control of our subconscious ... Sara finds herself at this moment of time — stimulating her sensations with moist fingers; endeavouring to bring to a climax sexual satisfaction. If there were to be a knock to the door — a word whispered by an intended lover; nothing she could accomplish herself conquer the desire to have a man inside her.
It is with these thoughts she wakes and leaves her warm bed to retrieve the painted pine box with its tarnished brass plates and its oval escutcheon plate. 'Yes, my precious box,' whispering not to awaken no one near or far ... for no one is near, nor far. Again as she often had at night opened the box and read all the papers within and studied the old photographs with new eyes and wishers for clarification. Within her box her old family lives — photographs, faded, almost yellow from age, again as on many occasions; holds Sara's by a spell; one by one, two by two or by seven (the figures once in ammonia,) now freed — no matter which way Sara rotates the photographs, or holds to the light does she has visions of Thomas Roch a likeness he has so much like Ross Burgers. A thought she had. If Thomas is a Burger ... why the surname of Roch — putting this thought aside continued to again read the will of Ross Burgers.
Now; we all from time to time read documents, correspondence, contracts, love letters, demands for payment and invites to events ... mistakingly reading dates and times — embarrassing ourselves and the hosts when arriving on the incorrect day too late or too early and not having brought a present or had bought a present when requested to do so or not to do so. I can put this down to old age, or poor eye sight, even laziness, even apathy; but so should this excuses be Sara's.
Now as never before did she scrutinise all the documents and photographs ... magnifying each letter, each word, total sentences and paragraphs. Each photograph taken to the light ... dusted, any particle dirt removed by soft tissue again lifted to the light — magnified; each face scrutinised for familiar features, a nose, long and short ... there is no colours to the eyes, yet could they hold answers? Are there shapes and sizes similar? Sara compares images of her mother, her father ... can she see features of her brother? Of Ross? Does Thomas look like Albert? Does Thomas look like Robert? Does Thomas look like her father or to any of them?
~~~~
Sara found herself in bed, dressed in her nightwear. The curtains and windows open, a light breeze meeting her face with pleasure, a refreshing feeling from what she remembers of last night. Sitting on the bed (at the end, with the box of documents and photographs,) John Batts, dressed ready to inspect the quarries.Chapter 12
Secrets that are no-longer secrets.
The stillness between them lasted for a decade (if that was possible.)
'How long have been sitting there?’ Sara asked.
‘Long enough to take inventory of this box,' was his reply.
-~~~~
Stress; such a small word for so much damaged it can / has caused .... in all centuries the written word has been forged. From the point of birth (possibly, before conception,) when first eyes lay upon a naked body of either sex, exposing pleasure of both hand and tongue ... exploring as were children among natures gardens and farmers fields. Ones hand follows ones eyes across the universe of Galaxies — those un-charted ecstasies ... the over-whelming feelings of love and expectations of joy and happiness. Ah! For those times again.
Yes; stress, to achieve ones first climax and to relieve another of theirs ... hoping all is well in the weight of value and worth. Has the action on a body (of the submissive,) been of a balanced force; and or has the well being of the conquered ... strain or deformation results — for we all know the amount of stress, can be measured in pounds per square inch or in pascals. We are not covering the subject of music ... with the emphasis is on syllables, beat, melody, and rhythm. We are not focusing attention on
the physical pressure of love making or the pulling of strings enriching one purse, by draining another's pocket; or other forces exerted on one thing by another.
To quote a dictionary — "Stress; specific response by the body to a stimulus, as fear or pain, that disturbs or interferes with the normal physiological equilibrium of an organism, physical, mental, or emotional strain or tension." We will concentrate on anxiety (no need to burden the reader an explanation.)
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Sara's eyes cover the distance from her pillow to the contents of the pine box ... for all to see — if all were to enter her room.
'Why are you in my room?' Now that her thoughts have returned to the present.
'And what right have to you make good of reading, what is not yours to read?' Moving forward to retrieve and return its contents to where they had come.
John stood and offered his reason for being there. He only came to her room, as there was answer to his calls; he thought she may have been un-well — for no one had see her since last night. Had he had knocked several times, the last with enough force — that the un-locked door opened.~~~~
Anxiety; apprehension, together can cause pain to the owner ... how secrets become truths in hands of others; weapons; under-mining trusts, feeding egos, forging undesirable relations and partners in crime.
~~~~
Had Mr John Batts come upon her room before dawn, not only the secrets of the pine box be exposed ... but the body of Thomas Roch; for on the completion of dinner ... when all others had departed to rooms of lovers — of choice — he devoured hers, having left the bed of Christina - a half hour earlier.
In turn, if Thomas had ventured into the web — Sara had set all the males of all ages and stature and standing in honours ... he to would come in contact upon Tom Eskdale, with or without all his graces, smoothness and elegance ... enjoying the pleasures of the heiress.Chapter 13
A step brother and a father. How un-lucky is the number thirteen?
Those superstitious among us. Ah!How they will cross the road; fear to pass under a ladder; step on a crack ... a black cat before one, or something of the nature — to name but a few.
Would thirteen guests invited and sat at a closeness ... be an awkward number to feed and converse with~with numbers favouring males of all ages, and few females of a younger age. How and where to sit such numbers and sexes and ages, as not to in-flame either of those sat next or adjacent to the youngest of females — still a virgin —Caroline ... if no one believed the rumours, spread and repeated by those in the know and by those of third hand knowledge, that no such standing can still be applied to her virtue. The older soldiers of rank — smelling of tobacco and whisky — with no hope of a erection; were splattered like shrapnel here and there between the younger solders of good looks and bravery; their new un-tarnished scarlet uniforms reflecting in mirrors and the polished brass fire dogs, and candle sticks. The household dash-hound lay — with prided, spread across the path to the roaring fire, deep in dreams of earlier days when younger ... he too feed on the best of beef (but not of the best of port,) as were those at the table. The larger of those sat; eating and drinking more then their share — a necessity to full the space between their head and their feet — belts loosened to allow the contents of continuous consumption ... if a study were to be carried out — reasons could be argued for or against their right or need to consume more if not all — before decay, or destruction ... could be brought upon the food not eaten. What when studied — men compared to swine; are jolly and robust, playful and harmless~but not armless ... when groping. Ask any young person, or anyone (in fact,) for we are all guilty, or are owners of a good old fashion grope.
Let's spend a moment to study this word. Groping. Moving or going about clumsily or hesitantly. Best of all ... to feel about with the hands; groping around in the darkness (or not,) to touch or handle someone for sexual pleasure. Ah! Those were the days
~~~~
"The King.” “The King". The shout rung out and the clashing of glasses followed.
Joseph Flint: 'You were with Edwards and Rupert - at the battle of Pine Woods, were you not? Joseph's right eye focused — blood shot, on young Christina, while the other on his pink steak ... the blood returning thoughts of battles fields.
Captain Edwards: 'I was.' His usual — short and to the point answers ... for he was not one for small talk.
Joseph Flint: 'What became of Rupert, and his sister ... Isabella?
Captain Edwards: He resigned his commission and married Isabella Shipman-Isabella Shipman ... a robust woman (even in her teenaged years, was a person not to cross — many a young chap, new to the skills of females, soon learnt the power of a woman scorned. They moved to Shellyton. I understand own a hotel on the coast.
Great uncle Eaton: with his left hand (because his right is missing,) removes a document from his pocket ... laying it open upon the table ... facing mr Lawrence Albert.
Lawrence Albert: 'What have you there? No one presents mr Lawrence Albert with a note — before having made an appointment with his secretary.
Great uncle Eaton: 'An IOU - for the sum of one thousand pounds.
Lawrence Albert: 'Who is the note for?
Great uncle Eaton: 'You, old boy — pushing the document with his good (and only hand,) across the table.
Lawrence Albert: His face (now a shade of Crimson.). 'This is no time to produce such a document.' But grabs it — giving it a home (to an inside pocket of his jacket.)
George (family friend:) Changing the subject ... joins the conversation. 'I thought she was killed on the Lusitania when it went down?'
Great uncle Curtis: 'No that was Jill — sister of Mary Albert — went down (15th. May,) same day as good old Simon took a bullet.'
Joseph Flint: 'Reports say over a thousand people went down with her (having said — went down on her ... he had that same thought about young Christina — to himself; asked if he could call on her after dinner;) they say crippled by a German U-boat's torpedo.
Captain Edwards: 'I was in the trenches about then; and as you see ... I'm one of the very few who is still alive to be at this table. My infantry regiment was almost wiped out — you know — how I got out alive is more than I can tell.'
Ross Burgers: 'Also ... my sergeant, my corporal, my lieutenant and most of my friends were killed — that day ... so many wounded.'
Great uncle Curtis: 'And thanks to them ... the Hindenburg Line held.' By the way, I sent you a cablegram — saying I was O.K.
Ross Burgers: 'Never got it old boy, I guess as you are here — the cablegram was correct.'
Great uncle Curtis: 'It said more than that — I wrote ... feeling fine and in the best of health hoping you all are the same. Give my best regards to all the children and ...' Here great uncle Curtis felt all eyes upon him. Was he wearing his heart on his arm — could all sat here, know of his love for Mary Albert? Had they realised the thousand pounds was for her? ... and after all this time summoned its return — for she had relinquished her heart to Lawrence Albert.
Old soldiers and old port go well together — in small doses for the old soldiers, and large quantities ... the old port. Like old stories told when sober, vary differently when told drunk. Like fish stories — the one that got away ... was three times the size of all those in the bucket. You opened for the school first eleven, scoring hundred runs and took four wickets for twenty runs. Your first girl friend was the prettiest and most sought after girl in the whole school; and you achieved an in all subjects. We all are aware of what happened to Pinocchio ... jackets, collars, shirts, buttons and belts — all became too small for body owning them. Released from their duties food and alcohol continued it's downward direction ... hands, tongues became loose and free of restraint ... words once kept as secrets — now spill like port from decanters — pouring across the battle fields like the blood of young boys ... sent to kill and be killed; words in all directions, all directed and landing upon bodies for no reason for accepting.
George: 'Do you recall that morning — it was so dark you could not see that you were peeing on my boots?'
Captain Edwards: 'I do. You told me at the time your toes were cold. I was just doing you a favour.'
Great uncle Eaton: 'Then we went over the top.'
Great uncle Curtis: 'My best mate ... Thomas must have got the first bullet — he was dead-dead before I had left the trench.'
Silence came to those at the table, like a signal to those there to attend ... they cleared away plates and empty glasses — refilled spent tumblers and cigar boxes. On the server under the mirror lay a paper — opened on page 3. George, standing to stretch his legs — caught himself trying to read the column ... unfortunately — the top left hand conner was-what called at school — dog eared ... turned over, obscuring a good section on the page.
.........…a little shell hole for cover on account of the flying shrapnel. All at once every gun in back of us opens up firing, all the shells landing right in front of us.........jerry German opens up his artillery..........shells right on our front line. ............little shell hole with our shells landing in front.........Jerry's in back of us. The shells were so close at times that they had us buried with dirt.........…fellows looks back and sees one of our tanks coming up. So we jumped up and dived into.........the Corporal sticks his head up and gets hit with shrapnel so we bandaged him up a bit and leave him there in the shell hole.
The story carried onto the next page — but made no sense: neither did the war. George said aloud — but no one was in hearing distance.
It was about now Sara remembered: OFF with their heads — the black witch had screamed from afar ... and now with hindsight; thought why had she not snipped off theirs heads — when she had the chance?
Chapter 14
A child is sort.
Circumstances of a time and a place, a feeling, a desire, or a need ... to free one from a trap, or a web — owned by a black or red spider, harmless or with deadly venom — to kill or main, to rob one of their inheritance.
Sara as with the pine timber box (all that time passed,) with its buckle free and the lid separated ... she mistress and lover of so many — finds herself face down, forced (although the with no retreat,) her face in the soft pillow of love — her naked torso angled at such a degree to receive her lover's~love organ ... as was with the old pine box opened, it's musty scent of time escaping (then compared to a genie freed from capture,) Sara becomes the guardian to the seeds and heir to their previous owners treasures~treasures hers to grow. Growing is what all of us do time to time, or dream of doing if and when life allows us the education to let us be or not to be, or somewhere no other had tread. Sara, we find caught between yesterday and today, lost with thinking of the future ... so did not hear or notice the door open — ever so slightly, and the head of another lover — sight the two naked persons involved with intercourse. Would she have cease had she raised her head or turn in that direction? Would she distract her thoughts from the treasures promised within those seeds, and would her wits have returned to her, and heed the voice within her sole?
Fortune has brought greed to all those with access to its key ... many great improvements near and far have been realise ... many families are better for the large suns donated, earned and worked for by bare hands, picks and shovels. Wars, death and sacrifices — by others to others, for others, and by others — a hundred years ago or just yesterday ... gone set in history, only to be read about, talked about by those willing to share ... but most to only burden themselves with their memories of family, fiends and comrade in arms.
No royalties from foreign book publishers or Hollywood movie giants. How many words should / can be written to describe the horrors of war?
The battles were discussed and digested as were the nuts, the pork, the lamb (not forgetting the port,) the home grown vegetables ... planted, nourished with manures (freely provided by God's animals,) spread by hands of kitchen maids with flat chests ... and once discarded by the old sods — found pleasure in hay sheds and upstair dormitories — warming the feet of man or boy.
~~~~
This were we find Thomas Roch - our person of interest — a likeness to old Ross Burgers, with his willingness to partake in the pleasures of those not so in endowed-that is to say bequeathed without wealth, property, knowledge ... saying NO would lead to (whatever.) In everyone's family photograph collection — in leather Victorian albums, or pine boxes secured for time with a leather belt ... is one such person (a black sheep, detested by all brothers and cousins but loved by distant aunties.) They are only located at funerals and reading of the wills — turning up once the table has been set for twelve, and insisting to sit at the head of the table — for sitting in the middle he/she would be required to pass the salt (and in their mind, is a job for a servant.) Often
their novelty to those with no knowledge — dominates a conversation for at least twenty minutes until all of interest evaporates and boredom sets in ... moving onto the weather. Ah! How true, is the short span of an interest with some who expect worship from others.
Before morning song is upon all, beds call their occupants to warm sheets — those with willing partners-part with haste ... take liquid refreshments. Those in grand boxes of a theatre house — can only watch as the actors and actress, depart for their dressing chambers; eager to complete roll play.
Sara: unlike the pied piper — or goldilocks, no music or bread crumbs are required ... like bees round a honey jar - her love nectar provides scent enough for all suitors.
Reader: let us return to the first paragraph of chapter twelve. Sara wakes, having put to rest two lovers — to find sat at the foot of her bed ... John Batts.
'How long have been sitting there?’ Sara asked.
‘Long enough to take inventory of this box,' was his reply.
~~~~
As we now find these two, friends and sometime lovers — even partners in business,
here ... finding themselves only a reach apart. And if we were to look else-where ... would find — at this very same-time, sat upon puffed up pillows — Wellington — his faithful retriever; asleep at his feet — Thomas Roch with morning paper in one hand and young Kathleen in the other. You could ask yourself, why a man who prefers to live within himself and prefers his own company ... have young Kathleen — naked — in his bed, within his reach, and his faithful retriever, asleep at his feet? He would say one can love himself, love his dog, and when needs must; love the body of a young Kathleen. And if asked two hours before ... his answer would be the same — only having substituted Kathleen with Christina. And if you were asks him two hours after — he could not but inform you that the naked body would be that of Sara. Ah! ah! Had he been asked this question fourteen months ago — the naked body laying between himself and his faithful retriever — would have been David Maplin. David (please remember,) was young when enlisted — now older and wiser, with love and thoughts of marriage and children ... did on only seven occasions find himself — naked — between a dog and Thomas Roch.
With only a few hours and minutes —either side of this same-time (that we have just discussed,) our Morleen Linkmira —kitchen maid and (casual,) lover to many ... but with greater passion for one; has paid her union dues to Thomas Bourden. Not only does he eat from the tables of the wealthy and the powerful — Thomas Bourden feeds from the bodies of the less well off (such as kitchen maids and scullery girls and stable boys.) Tonight he — the one time union official; with the welfare of the poor and downtrodden — top of mind — has only now the bottom — of Christina.
Where would you find a nicer man than
Tom Erskine — than having breakfast ... enjoying the morning sun~sun trying with all is might to force little rays of sunshine on all those who are awake ... or those near awake … or those naked, with rear ends towards a window. One such rear end, a few hours passed was that of our Sara. To his disappointment her stay was not long — yet ample for the tusk require of them. Tom Erskine has no need for per-longed relationships, or the demands of full-time lovers. Love them and leave them — was his motto; besides he's brilliant, fantastic, and free from much demands — free to come and go as his will takes him — a man of independence and self financed.
~~~~
In silence both John Batts and Sara study the secret~secret once in a hidden compartment — in silence both she and he study the photograph of Thomas Roch~Thomas Burgers (one of the same.)
Chapter 15
Just what we can do with secrets.
Come, come ... we all have secrets — be the old man with no dentures to eat by, or a hat to wear, or glasses to see through — even he must have secrets? The lowest of all servants, first to wake and last to sleep — even they must have secrets? Clergy ... must have more secrets than all others combined? Those with a writing slop or a fine cabinet of mahogany or oak, with delicate ivory inlay and gold edging to each surface ... doors, draws and glass ink wells — even these must have secrets? So why should a pine box once owned by another —not have a secrets? What do we know about secrets ... to list those with secrets would take us into the next millennium and beyond — but the only secrets to concern us now is that of what John Batts has discovered.
Sara's eyes rest upon the pine box, its lid open ... its contents spread asunder — photographs in no order of her understanding, envelops opened, letters free from capture ... paragraphs, sentences and single words free to be lost — and there in John Batts hand a key~key to a secret. Yes, even this pine box has secrets — and a key to access them.
Are secrets greater than knowledge?
Maybe one as important as the other — neither greater than either?
Is knowledge greater than privileged?
Maybe one as important as the other — neither greater than either?
Is the written word greater than a photograph?
Here we have both ... once hidden within the secret compartment — opened with the key~the key in John Batts hand ... used, and revealing the photograph — cut in half — as if the face of a passed lover, one no longer loved, removed; leaving the portrait of the familiar image of our Thomas ... and written on the back Thomas Berger — date and age.
Has life come to an end as Sara has known it? — a secret kept confidential — close-mouthed; in a secret drawer; sheltered, withdrawn: a secret hiding place beyond ordinary human understanding; limited to persons authorised. Who were these so people authorised? How many of the old family knew this secret — Sara thought of asking those within the photograph so loved and cherished~cherished within the silver frame, and when once did cross her mind to chop off their heads.
~~~~
There come many times for decision making ... a need to protect one's own well-being and security and status. To protect one's inheritance from all intruders — from those trying to lay claim to a wreath they imagine rightfully theirs ... or have been encourage by other in believing the wealth theirs by right of a father's name — or of birth ... either side of the sheets of the marriage bed when they were conceived — born — slipped out at night, taken to a far off place — to be brought up by a good-mother ... yet one not your own. From baby, to youth, to manhood ... believing you are just what you are and who you have been, since that day till this day ... happy with this knowledge. Without reason or cause, a photograph and a letter with now timeline of existence — other than to attach you to here in the house with these people of the past, the present ... and for some the future. Here (which ever Thomas?) his life now so near a end.Chapter 16
Life and death — divided by a little time.
To late to conceal the truth of that night ... plus others since that night, by many there that night — whom by invitation or by acceptance of an open door, entered Cleopatra's web ... bring the Rome Empire to its knees.
'I will share my riches with no other person.' Sara — screams from her bed. With the knife, only hours before — warm and waiting to slit her wrists, she; like a Leopard ... springs forward — lurching the knife into the chest of John Batts. His The rain is short and to the point of lies meet the lips pucker falls forward covering her with his bloodied torso. More blood than she had ever seen in on place — ran towards her; it stained the sheets of her bed ... running over and onto the floor bleed. Sara reached for the pine box and slammed the lid shut ... the blood stopped; retracing the path it came. John eyes closed, his stare moved from her to the figure standing at the door. That figure is that of Thomas Bourden — nothing can cancel out that of what he can see.
'Please do not leave me.' Sara asks. Her lips part just that little — allowing her tongue to moisten. Thomas move forward, then retreats ... turning his head down the hallway. Who will now come at this very moment and accuse him of this death ... for whoever would think it was not him. No one would accuse Thomas Bourden if had come upon this sense ten minutes later — for the figure at the door would have been Tom Erskine ... he would have seen the dead body of John Batts, the knife in his chest, the pine box and Sara — and her request.
'Please don't leave me.' And witness those lips part ... just that little — allowing her tongue to moisten.
Can all the other lovers be accounted for tonight ... all at some point — could be standing upon this spot. In their minds (I assure you — Reader,) they are thinking; it could have been any of them Dead. And so they are ... each in their own time —ventured into death at the hand of Sara Burgess. They came one at time to claim their right, to claim her inheritance, her body — stripped of its clothing and wealth ... the keys to her properties — the house the mines of stone and gold ... the green paddocks of wheat and maze ... the mountains, the sky ... everything that was / is left to her — written in the will of Ross Burgess
And as she had done — all those years before, slaughtered her brother Albert; and now all her lovers lay at her feet.
Her inheritance is safe. But what she didn’t know — she would be dead within the year.
Part three
To Sara — a child is born.Chapter 1
Allow me to introduce myself.
A friend, a lover, a father - all in one.
It's times like the birth of a child — a father is required, sober and in good temper — free from guilt and neglect ... full with pride — to cry cigars all round, and shaking of hands. Well done my boy ... congratulations are in order; a boy (a girl,) what ever? But who is the father? — Sara is sure in that. None of those fore-mentioned — Sara is sure of that. Only she ... looking into the eyes of her baby ... can see the true father there.
~~~~
Grand-parents, of many generations ... some of them, women and some of them men. Some gathered, freely, some were summoned — women were flushed with red faces from tears of joy ... men just angry, from parting of their leisure activities — while there in the centre of them all, with pale exported breasts — lay Sara the loveliest woman that ever a gold-hunter would wish to look upon. With her moist queenly head ... her uncombed hair, thrown back, draped across the pillow, her bare shoulders, her small breasts, her rounded stomach, white smooth long thighs ... running from her hips to her ankles — and on each of each foot (fine little toes,) exposed to my desire — inviting me to suck on each and every-toe — if the occasion so presented itself.
Dear reader, you have just read the sentence ... (allow me to repeat it,) 'exposed to my desire — inviting me to suck on each and every-toe — if the occasion so presented itself. Here I must introduce myself.
Chapter 2
My name is Bryce Peter Pollard.
Sara and I were at school together and in the same class — we were also neighbours; that seems so long ago now ... and I guess it is. Albert her brother (three years older;) together we were friends of a sort — he took after his mother. I thought a little week, however, better than taking after his father — not a good roll-model. Our parents were also friends of a sort; and on many occasion o spending time together ... this helped with Sara's and my relationship. Our interests were similar; also I was friendly with many of her girlfriends of that time. There was no jealousy between us as we grew — discovering other relationships — what ever happened to those people? Sometimes I thought about them. Sara was always an attractive person — an intelligent person, without going personality ... not even time could, or would, or will — change her; only time and age, could or would, or does (but not by much,) change her body shape ... as she grew form a young girl through her teenage years into adulthood.
I found she grew faster than I, and her mind, was often in a world of its own. I on the other hand moved within circles of boys our my time. The great wars had come and gone, and as we know ... leaving a wake of destruction in their path. Great families of the late 19th century and those of the early 20th century — with their great family-homes, and their farms, estates and businesses — changed forever.
I mentioned earlier jealousy-jealousy of cause ... can arrive at any interval — uneasiness from suspicion, even fear of rivalry by a new lover. As a young boy with old lead toy soldiers — learnt resentment, to and against others ... vigilance in maintaining and guarding from friends and those close — all that belongs to me. This is how I have always felt, and feel towards Sara (then and now,) as she was to me then my love for life.
~~~~
We married that following year in a small church in the village of Mayfield. She looked stunning-stunning — there are finer words to express beauty ... but stunning will do. Her father walked Sara into the church — prouder father you could not find. Her mother shared more tears than Niagara Falls. You are never really aware of how many friends you have ... until your wedding day.
We sailed to the Caribbean for our honeymoon — everyday was like a day in heaven (one can only assume,) we spent our time as newly weds do. Two days before sailing home — Sara fell — striking her head; she made little of it — never speaking of it until the night after arriving home. I had noticed a change with her speech —although putting nothing to much upon her change. The next day she never raised from her bed ... doctors were call. They advised she was in a coma — why, and how long, they could not say.
Three weeks she lay there unconscious, nothing done could make her responsive ... nothing could stimuli her brain from where it is or was ... nothing I could or did helped — it is/was, impossible to rouse my Sara.
~~~~
From a girl Sara owned a diary ... as many a girl does — recording thoughts and the like; desires of love, secrets of others, dreams and words remembered — said by would be lovers. We, as men — unless well trained by our mothers ... remember only that is of importance to our own need; where a women can recall a word give five years before and be able to recite — word to word.
In the weeks and months that followed, unknown to any ... Sara's body died, but her mind lived on, we sat together in her favourite room ... it's windows sharing the mountains, the fields, the rivers, the lakes, the sun, the rain, the animals ... hours we sat, counting the stars — once the sun had gone down. Then I would carry her to bed, leaving her within her cramped world to sleep.
Gone completely from this world — only her body to remind those who knew her ... she lay silent and still, not willing to give up life experiences. In this state, her limbs stationary ... unwilling or unable to rotate, to rise above level, to point to things important to her; birds, butterflies and beetles — her only understanding creatures. It is now I read from her diary, and from her own words I have told the story coming from out her dead imagination. No time in our combined world together; as children, as youths, as young adults, or in our short married years ... has what she has written, and what I have allowed you to read — I have never been master of, or had any knowledge of — this puzzle; as I'm sure (you,) the reader will have difficulty in understanding this strange story ... written in her diary.
Chapter 3
Four women — four children.
1)
Christina stands before the bed, towels at her feet. Her hair free from restraint — flowing with the delight of freedom — her face hot ... perspiration like her hair, freely flows down her checks. Ah! How sexy I look ... if only the father of my son — could see me now. Her child (a boy,) due in a fortnight. Christina is sure the baby is a boy ... for she promised its father — it would be.
2)
The once slim and slender body, now plump yet — beautiful ... the pregnant figure of young Kathleen; sits head in hand —exhausted ... drained of her strength and energy; fatigued by the constant demands placed upon her - by others — especially Sara. No longer can she perform the duties of a midwife-midwife for this un-great-full person. 'I am exhausted,' she weeps. 'My child was due the fortnight before. Why does he not come?' Kathleen is sure the baby is a boy ... for she promised its father — it would be.
3)
Morleen (Remember Morleen, I'm sure you do?) Like the plum and apple trees in the old kitchen garden ... always rip for the picking — at many had ... Before or after harvest time ... her child (a boy; as she promised the father,) now sleeps for the night.
4)
As is always Sara's true purpose in life (becomes the centre of attention,) a touch of defiance mingles within her sole - looking as she gazes round her like a creature of a different race of women ... of those now surrounding her.
Ah! I had not taken two steps from my view point, before she sprang to meet me, her new born trust into my arms - her blood-shot eyes forced from their sockets — like heads on a pole.
Screaming. 'Take this child - he is yours. You are his father.' Then before those there in the room - remove their eyes from my direction .. she falls upon her pillow - her blue eyes sparkling no more ... no joy or triumph in reward for the birth of her son. Sara is dead.
Within those seconds — how the baby blossomed, there in my presence, this baby boy - like the father before the first sight of his wife. He lit up the room with his manhood. His mother — before her eyes closed ... seeing my admiration for her efforts — her eyes fixed upon mine, seeing my pride of fatherhood, and, if my eyes were dry ... it seemed to me (then,) that I also could see something of the same in her own.
Sara cries, 'Now at last I am safe. My son is safe.'
'Yes, you are both safe,' I whisper.
I cannot resist taking the boys fingers into my own. I must reassure the readers ... no matter how old one is, or how un-related you maybe to another — the helplessness you feel when one has fingers (ever so small and innocent,) in ones own. You feel the need to kiss the forehead of the child you are holding. So this is what I did, as a sign that I meant what I was feeling.
If baby language was deciphered — the baby boy said ... 'Dad I love you. I am alive. I am free. What will you call me? Then he was silent — his eyes upon mine — as if he was waiting — there and then — for my reply.
'You are a Burgess,' I, at last cried. 'We shall call you Ross?'
I take the hand of Sara and kiss it gently and with passion (as if I am a French man — but I am not.) Yet she should not doubt my intentions. Then I turned upon the others there in the room — from my expression — they knew what was required of them. In an instant the room was empty.
~~~~The past can and does without a great effort depress many, and if allowed — kills ones spirits — some can, some do ... need to cling to the handrails of others; never taking risks or to venture far from loved ones and traditions, from king and country; or from fathers and friends.
So I collect Sara's diary, the photographs of the Burgess family (in the silver frame,) plus papers and letters ... favourites of all; personal secrets held in wait to spring upon further generations ... Now I place them all in the pine box, close the lid; securing soundly with the leather belt ... only to be opened by Ross Burgess.
Yes, The End.