Chapter 15
All the little children were forcing their smiles upon me, even Mitch tried his best to smile. It was a sad little joy to see such a sight. His smile was beautiful, bright, and good and true. I knew it would be. I only wish I had seen it sooner.
“When is Father Bart coming?” a little girl, her name was Anna, asked me, as pieces of strawberry jam dripped from her lips. I laughed softly, “I do not know, but the longer I can spend here the better right?” I wiped the jam from her face with a handkerchief. Anna along with the other children put their heads down as I said this, their big sad eyes glancing round at the small little feast that sat sprawled about the tiny tables. We had chicken, jam, cake, and bread. There was some type of squash as well. I had cooked it to see how it would taste, and it was wonderful!
The day went by ever so slowly. The children were afraid to go play in the yard for fear that they would miss my leaving; and so they all played inside. They were too sad to truly laugh and run about, but too young to just sit there still and quiet.
They hummed lowly, flicking their powdered fingers in some child’s game on cheap fabric. Some children colored the fabric with smashed berries and rolled rocks and leaves, a primitive art of sorts. I smiled as they brought their little masterpieces to me, though they too were painted in their own art works colors. I made sure they washed their hands outside thoroughly.
The silent boy did not leave my side in all the time. He stared quietly at everyone and everything, a consistently blank stare in his eyes. The poor child, he knew few other expressions! The other children tried to talk and play with him, but it was as if he was in a different world. He would draw with them and smile as they did, but they were afraid of him. This was clear as they ran to me with their fear filled faces every time he approached one of them. They would not speak a word against him but scrunched their foreheads when around him, their big eyes telling me what their words did not. The presence of the boy perturbed them
The only children who seemed unafraid and even made an effort to reach out to him were Jelb and Mitch. Although Mitch was the only one speaking, there seemed to be a friendship brewing between them. This was true even for the boy who seemed to know and feel very little. When he was with Jelb and Mitch, he seemed calmer than he was with the others. This was visible even with the little reaction he gave. I knew he liked them, for the boy only strayed from my side to sit with Jelb and Mitch. He did not speak; he just sat there with them. I wondered if Jelb - Robert - was speaking. Was he whispering something? Was the boy listening? I do not know. Whatever the case, I was glad someone other than me could bring the, oh so rare, slight changes in his visage.
The boy showed little reaction when I hugged and kissed him, as I did with all the children, but those little reactions he did have meant the world to me. They were blushes, smiles, a closing of the eyes for a moment. They were such simple and little changes that few could probably perceive them. But it was these simple and little changes in his features that, to me at least, held such a colossal significance.
When a knock came at the door, Father Quetell curled his lips in a smile. Making his way through the hordes of children, he opened the door to the bright eyed Father Bart. Both their arms flew out like the wings from a great bird. Swinging themselves around one another, they laughed and smiled, greeting each other as grand old friends.
Father Bart was not in his priestly vestments, and neither was he dressed as a peasant as Father Quetell. No, he looked to be no poor man, but a nobleman! Besides the dress I had arrived in, I had never seen such nice clothing!
“Father?!” I gasped at the sight of him, and with a twisted smile he walked slowly to me. “Ah, I thought it was you.” His voice was calm, but his eyes wary. I had never known him to be so cautious and guarded. He took the same attitude as Quetell had the other day. There was a wariness about him as he peered into my eyes, locking them into a tight and unwavering grasp.
“I have not seen your eyes in so long.” The Father kissed my hand, his charming smile gliding up to the corners of his cheeks. My eyes? Well that is strange, though what should it matter at this moment? “To see someone I knew from my past, what a great gift it is to see you!”
Nodding with still wary eyes, he spied the boy clinging to my dress. “Well, well, who is this?” he peered at the boy. Suddenly, a strong passion swept over him. He reached for the hilt of his sword, but froze. Witnessing the boy’s lack of reaction, he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Excuse me a moment, Rosetta. Although I am so happy you have been found, I must speak with Quetell alone for a moment.” As the priests stepped outside together, I sat with the children in silence. Sharp whispering came through the hollow wooden door. It was harsh and cold. A cry of anger erupted every now and then. The children and I waited in silence as they continued on for nearly half an hour. When the Fathers finally returned, their faces were beat red. Whether it be from their yelling or the bitter cold, I knew not which, but whichever it was, they still smiled their gentle smiles upon their return.
“Well, I would usually stay for a while longer, but my garden needs me,” Father Bart said, his words clearly directed to the children who moaned and groaned.
At last, the dreaded moment had arrived.
Although they were brief, the goodbyes were painful, especially with Jelb, with Robert. In tears and blubbering, Mitch had to hold him down to keep him from hurting himself. I asked Father if I could take him, but he said it would be difficult enough to take the silent child, another would simply be too much. Understanding, I sighed, “I hope I will one day be able to return. Once I have found my family that is.” Father Bart smiled tightly, “Are you sure you do not wish to stay here?” His words were rushed, nervous, almost demanding.
“I cannot. I must find out the truth about my family.” Father Quetell moaned as I said this. “Do you know something I do not?” I asked, curious to his reaction. Bowing his head to me like a stranger, he then shooed the children away from the entry, not replying or even bothering to look at me. His eyes wandered off, reflecting nothing but pity and a strange displaced anger.
“Goodbye all!” I waved with the most motherly smile I could muster.
Although the pain of leaving and the fear of the future were very great ones, I knew a smile was something I had to at least give them. And so I did. It is best to leave this way. A smile is so much stronger and more beautiful a memory to hold than the shedding of tears and the awful struggling for the words to say farewell. Though perhaps it makes it all the more painful than the tears and wailing combined.
A carriage waited for us down by the road. Bowing to us, the coachman stared curiously at the young boy and me. In silence, we walked to it. His back to us, Father Bart stood tall and walked with a sense of pride that I had never seen in him before. Without a word to the coachman, he stepped inside the carriage. The coachman bowed to me as he helped the boy and I into it. Not exactly sure of what to do, I nodded to him. “Thank you very much, sir.” But he only blushed in astonishment and shut the door quickly behind us.
Heaving a heavy sigh, Father Bart smiled. “Our words are safe inside here; no sound will penetrate these walls.” He banged on the steel frame of the carriage, a resonating clang echoing through it as he did. “I had it especially made for such occasions as this. But enough of that, I must turn to the matter at hand. Firstly I must, Madam Rosetta, express my thankfulness to you.” He gestured his hand as if to bow.
“Oh, no, Father, I must thank you! You are taking me back to my home, and you are helping to protect not only this boy but those children as well.” He nodded slowly, “I suppose this is so, but still, I am thankful to you for what you have done for those children.” Although he spoke to me with a broad smile which lightened his visage, his eyes refused to meet mine.
“I did what any Christian, and any mother for that matter, should be obliged to do. I did nothing too great or beyond what I am expected to do. So please do not shower me
in your praise, good Father.”
“Humble as ever I see,” he mumbled, shaking his head. As if remembering something, his face twisted, his eyes glancing quickly back and forth around the carriage. It was like he was searching for something, yet already knew its location, and simply refused to look at it. His eyes lingered on one point of the carriage for a while and then glanced frantically around only to come back to the same point. Finally, after dizzying himself, he shook his head as if defeated.
“Oh, Rosetta, there is something I must tell you!” he said quickly, running his fingers impatiently through his hair. Squinting his eyes a few times, he finally met mine. “Rosetta, what I am about to tell you will be painful. It will be awful. It will be devastating.”
I silently stared at the Father, an uncomfortable but familiar feeling beginning to creep back into me as I did. Working up the strength to speak, I stuttered a response, but I think...I think I do not wish to hear his reply.
“W-What do you mean, Father? Has something happened to Jobel or Merek in my time away? What has happened over all these? Oh I do not even know how many years it-”
“Twenty-five.”
“What?” my lips quivered in shock.
“Your memory seems to be missing about twenty-five or so years of your life. Your son is nearly thirty, and you are nearly half a century old.”
I turned my hand over, scanning it, “But I do not look that-”
“Neither did your mother ever look old. Your skin has always been fine enough for you not to need anything to look young. But you still wear a bit of age. No doubt from the constant stress you are under.”
“What is that Father? What has become of my new life, that I wear such fine clothes? That I am under such stress that you speak of? What has become of me?” I motioned towards myself and the dress I wore. Before we left Father Bart had told me it would be best if I took the dress I had been found in, out of the drawer and wear it. He said it would blend in better with the city and with him. He also, for some odd reason, had the boy wear a hat which hid his face.
Father Bart sighed, “Well firstly your family has obviously found wealth. As such, you have been educated by the best, in all forms of education you could think of. The only thing forbidden to you is the art of war. This is because you are a woman and because your-” he paused, mulling over the word, “well for lack of a better word to describe him, we shall call him your ‘benefactor.’ Your ‘benefactor’ does not wish for you to learn any form of fighting.”
“What, this makes no sense. Riches? Education? Who is this ‘benefactor’ that he would do such things for my family and for me?” I swallowed the lump in my throat. I already knew the answer, what I had so long feared was true. It was all true.
Father Bart looked to the boy next to me, “He looks just like him does he not? But he has his mother’s eyes.”
“Why do you avoid the topic?” I stuttered. “Why do you not just simply tell me who this boy here is? Why my son-” I could not finish the sentence.
“You appear to have already heard,” he quietly said. His hard eyes would not soften as they spoke over my sobbing, “It is true. All you fear is true. Your son has become the ruler of this land. He has killed many innocents and persecuted many people. As you have witnessed, religion is one of the things he persecutes and despises most. It is unclear why he is so against it but-” He stopped to let me compose myself.
“I-I know this is no way for a lady to act yet- I-I feel myself crying every day, sev-several times a day. I-It feels a-as if I have been holding my tears b-back for years, as if my emotions have been trapped within me and I-I cannot take it! My family m- my-”
I felt my head began to pulse. “No! No! Father! Why do such thoughts pain me?” Grasping both my head and heart I cried once more, cringing in my seat because the overwhelming pain took from me the light. The sharp whispers of the Father’s voice faded ever quickly into silence.
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