#first chapter!!

Hudson observed everything with interest as they stepped out of the carriage. He stepped to the side and offered his hand to Zenith. He took it, using it to aid him down the steps. Hudson let go as soon as Zenith touched the ground. Zenith gave a small nod to the carriage driver and they shut the door before getting in the front to find a parking spot. Hudson assumed his position slightly behind Zenith as they walked into the building before them. 

Zenith was graciously invited to one of the biggest pet buying events. Every month he would scout out a few to be bought and retrained so that he could sell them at a much higher price. Hudson didn’t always go with him, but whenever he did he never enjoyed it much. It was hard to block out the thoughts of products. They were always in a lot of pain, at least the ones that were sold on the main floor. If Zenith wanted any of the pretty ones, they were at the wrong auction.

Zenith stopped in front of the door, looking over his shoulder at Hudson. “I want you to pay close attention to the products on display. Find something you like.” Hudson nodded curtly, no verbal response necessary. Zenith looked in front of him again and opened the doors wide. 

Immediately, Hudson was hit with a wall of fear from the products and pure smugness from the sellers. There were stands set up as closely to each other as possible to fit as many as they could. To the left of the main floor was a maze of stands selling creatures and objects alike. On the right was the auction stage with rows of seats set up in front of it. The auction wasn’t going to begin for another half hour, plenty of time to glance over a few stands. 

Zenith led the way pausing a few times to look at creatures or blades that caught his interest. Anytime Zenith inspected a creature in a cage, Hudson would pretend he couldn’t hear their thoughts. Couldn’t hear them hoping to be bought or the opposite, hoping that they wouldn’t. But then Zenith would move on and Hudson could truly push it out of his mind. 

As Zenith was talking to a stand worker selling different types of poisons, Hudson let his gaze wander. His eye caught on a small stand behind them with a small creature working furiously. They were molding molten metal with their bare hands, not a burn showing up on their skin. Hudson was fascinated, watching as they shaped it as they liked, then dropped it in a bucket of water. The hot metal instantly sizzled, cooling down before the creature pulled it out again. They examined it for imperfections before placing it on a table near them with nearly identical blades made. 

As Hudson continued to watch, he observed the creature more closely then he did its work. They were small and frail, their bones barely covered by a layer of skin and muscle. Bruises and unhealed cuts littered their body, making it evident that either they disobeyed often or their owner was unnecessarily cruel. They were muzzled with a silver cage that left red marks on their skin from how tight it was. Its ears were flat against their head, tail tucked between their legs, showing every sign of fear except in their hands. A silver collar was strapped around its throat that chained them to the stand, leaving no room for escape. 

“Do you want to look at that one?” Zenith asked. Hudson looked at Zenith and followed his gaze to the same stand he was previously looking at. Hudson gave a simple nod, so Zenith led the way over. 

Being closer to the creature, he expected to pick up on thoughts of fear, but he didn’t. Instead its mind was quiet with the thought of working. He couldn't even tell if the creature knew that they had walked up. Moving his attention away from the creature, he noticed all the finished blades laid out on the table. They were beautiful. All handcrafted and fused with some kind of pretty rock or gem. 

“Like what you see?” 

Even though Hudson knew the man wasn’t addressing him, he looked up anyways. He was rugged and mean looking, a stark comparison to the skittish creature off to his side. Zenith continued to admire the blades before responding. 

“Are all of these your handiwork?” Zenith asked. 

“Yes sir. Everyone of them,” the man said, clearly taking ownership of the creature's labor. 

Zenith picked one off of the table and examined it closely. It was made of iron and infused with amethyst. It was certainly a blade made for display and not meant to be used in combat. Nonetheless it was still impressive. Zenith handed it to the man's outstretched hands, intending to buy it. The man grabbed the creature, making them drop the metal they were modeling onto the ground, and dragged them in front of himself. The creature cowered in his grip but didn’t struggle. The man straightened their arm and brought the blade down from their elbow to its wrist. The creature hissed in pain and sank to their knees when the man let go of it, holding their arm close. The blade slightly glowed from the blood dripping from it, before it evaporated like it never had been there. 

Hudson was barely able to contain his astonishment while Zenith acted indifferent. Zenith took the blade with grace then walked away with Hudson at his tail. Hudson glanced over his shoulder and saw the man yelling at the creature to get back to work. Hudson turned his attention to what was in front of him. It wouldn’t do him any good to get attached. That was the mantra that he repeated over and over in his head. 

…

Kori was relieved when the blade-maker took off his collar and threw him into his cage underneath the table. He shrank away from the silver bars that lined the cage, careful not to burn himself. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he looked for his only possession. A measly blanket, dark blue with a yellow star pattern overlapping it. It was stiff and soiled with blood and god knows what else. But no matter how much it needed a wash, it was his. He had stolen it the first time the blade-maker brought him to the medics, and too tired from wrangling him there, the blade-maker let him keep it. 

The blanket was almost three times his size, though he was a small creature compared to most. Nonetheless, it made it easy to hide underneath. His shield against the world, against his makeshift darkness. Kori curled up underneath his blanket, making sure to not leave any limbs sticking out. 

A table cloth covered the table and most of his cage, blocking most of Kori’s view of the passerbys. He watched their feet walk past, never pausing to come close enough. It was cold, a lot colder than Kori was used to. It didn’t help that the blade-maker often isolated him away from any kind of fire or sunlight, giving him no opportunity to build up his magma. Kori knew better than to steal heat from the hot metal so he could heal his wounds. He had done it once and when the blade-maker found out, he beat Kori till he could hardly make sense of the world. He was immediately sent to the medics afterwards, but it was a lesson well learned. 

Kori wanted to go home, wherever that was. He was never allowed out except to the marketplace or to the medics. Otherwise, he was underground shaping and fusing blades. It was better than anticipating when a buyer would walk up and he would have to spill blood to seal the blade. The cut down his arm stung painfully, making him aware of it again. 

Focusing on one part of his pain only made the rest seem so much worse. He closed his eyes and pressed his head against the cool steel plating of his cage. Despite himself, he felt himself getting tired. His eyes heavy and breathing evenly, he hoped that when he woke up that he would be back in his basement bedroom. 

…

Zenith found a spot in the front row of chairs, giving him an excellent view of the stage. His guard dog sat in the seat next to him, though he figured Hudson wouldn’t be paying attention to the show. Zenith didn’t really care if he did. He eyed the stage, watching as workers of the event raced back and forth to get last minute preparations in place. Shortly after, a finely dressed man came on stage. The man picked up a microphone and began speaking to his audience. 

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen to our monthly creature auction. We have over 30 creatures to display and auction off today, so be ready to bid. After all creatures have been displayed, speak to one of the staff and they will help sort out transactions. If any assistance is needed to transport your new pets, please speak to a courier outside. We will begin the show shortly.”

There was a small round of applause as the man left the stage. Zenith had already scouted out the creatures he wanted, most of them being breeds he had already worked with. A few of his clients were already looking for more pets when his stock was low. As soon as he could get ownership of a few creatures, he was going to send them to all his available personal trainers. By the next auction, he should have all these ones sold and waiting to buy the next batch. 

Though there was one creature that would be displayed that he had an extra keen eye on. He had been observing Hudson’s behavior for the past few months, and deduced that he was experiencing loneliness. Zenith already had another pet for Hudson to mingle with, though Hudson wasn’t one to be very social with others. He had tried spending more time with Hudson beyond his working hours, but it made little to no difference. So he decided he was going to get Hudson a companion, one he could truly bond with. Zenith was already wanting a third pet anyways, so it was practically hitting two birds with one stone. 

Zenith had allowed Hudson to examine the creatures on sale at the market before the auction to get an idea of what he wanted. Thankfully, Hudson found something. A small creature, one that looked like a fox. Its blade making skills and fire wielding abilities were definitely something that intrigued the both of them. Zenith figured he would have to retrain the fox given the conditioning it must have gone through. He thought about retraining the fox with Hudson, it could bring them closer together. It was certainly an idea to think about. 

Zenith brought his attention back to the stage when two workers pulled a cage into view. The announcer from before took his place on the stage. He took hold of the corner of the cloth that covered the cage before swiftly pulling it off. Inside was a standard Tursian, most likely already trained as a guard dog. It was tied down in a stress position to best display it while keeping it still. Zenith vaguely remembered Hudson being displayed the same way when he had bought him. 

The auction passed by as fast as it could for any bored onlookers. After buying a few creatures, Zenith reserved his attention for keeping a look out for the fox. Otherwise, he was thinking of who to contact for its first medical checkup. Zenith always benchmarked where his pets' health was when he first got them, if only so he could get an idea of what he was working with. Finally, as if watching a prized possession being passed around, Zenith eyed the last cage to be rolled on stage. The announcer picked up his mic and began to speak to the audience.

“This is the last creature on display for tonight's auction, I repeat, last creature on display.”

The announcer then quickly pulled off the cloth, revealing the little fox inside. It was on its knees with a collar tightly wrapped around its throat, a chain attached to it, tying it to the floor of the cage. Its hands were cuffed to its ankles, keeping the fox in place. Its tail was tucked underneath it, keeping it close to its body like its ears flat against its head. Zenith watched as its chest heaved with fear, barely able to voice a whimper with the muzzle clamped around its jaw. 

After a couple minutes of letting the audience observe what it was buying, the bidding began. Zenith quickly jumped in, not wanting anyone else to get a lead on him. Little by little he bought out his competitors, until no one else dared name a price higher than his. The auctioneer called it at forty-two thousand, naming Zenith the buyer. He grinned with glee, a rare sight to most.

The workers of the event cleared the stage and Zenith stood to leave. Hudson followed him as he made his way to a nearby staff member. They scanned his buyer’s ID and brought him to the back to let him have a closer look at what he bought. One by one, he was brought to each of their cages. He would sign all the necessary paperwork, write a check, then tell a moving staff where his trucks would be parked. When they reached the cage the fox was in, the staff member handed him a booklet. 

“What is this?” He asked. 

“It’s an infographic of this particular species. It is not one we commonly auction off, so health, safety, and training guidelines are different then what you might be used to,” the staff member informed. 

Zenith briefly flipped through the booklet. “A lynx?” he asked aloud, reading the title of the booklet. 

“Yes sir. They’re from the saturnine desert. They seem to act similar to foxes, if that gives you an idea of what to expect.” Zenith chuckled to himself at the thought that he wasn’t that far off for assuming the lynx was a fox. 

Zenith held out his hand for the clipboard to sign the paperwork needed. The staff member handed it over and he signed the pages quickly. He quickly wrote out a check for forty-two thousand dollars and handed both over to the staff member. 

“Would you like it to be placed with your other purchases?” The staff member asked, taking the items from Zenith. 

“Actually I have a kennel in my carriage I would like it placed in. Easier for transporting into the house,” Zenith mused. 

“Of course,” the staff member mimicked Zenith's tone. “Would sedating the creature be of help to you?” 

“What kinds of sedatives do you have?” 

“We have a wide range, from muscle relaxers to serums that’ll keep your pet out for days.” Zenith imagined he could hear the fox whimpering. 

“I think something that’ll keep it out till tomorrow morning will do.”

“Of course. We’ll have a courier bring your pet to your carriage, and a technician will meet you out there to administer the sedative. Sounds good?”

Zenith nodded and the staff member snapped at a courier nearby to get their attention. The courier came near and listened to the instructions the staff member gave them. They then followed Zenith out to his carriage, bringing the lynx with them. The technician met them there as the courier was unlatching the top off of the cage. The lynx struggled away from the technician as much as it could in the chains. In the end it was futile, as the technician stuck them in the neck with a needle. 

The technician capped the used needle and gave the lynx a small pet. “See? Wasn’t so bad,” they chirped. “Now you’ll get to sleep easy on your ride home.” The technician turned to Zenith, speaking to him in a normal voice. “Have a good evening sir, safe travels.” 

The technician left, and the courier followed shortly after once they had unchained the lynx. The lynx shrank into the corners of the cage, trying to fight against the sedatives. Zenith knelt down by the cage and offered his hand for it to sniff. The lynx tried to focus its eyes on him, daring not to move closer. Zenith gently pet the spot behind its ears, gently guiding the lynx to close its eyes. Once he was sure that the lynx was under, Zenith stood up and bent over the cage to pick it up. He noticed there was a blanket scrunched up underneath it, something hidden from his earlier view. He picked both of them up, realizing how disgusting the blanket was. He put it on his to-do list to wash it. 

Zenith waited patiently as Hudson opened the door of the carriage. He balanced the lynx carefully in his arms as he climbed up the steps, Hudson following in after him. They sat down on opposite sides, with Hudson sitting next to a kennel that Zenith had brought. He had intended to put whatever his new found pet was in it, but while cradling the lynx close, Zenith almost couldn’t bear letting it go. Then he heard his phone ring. Zenith grumbled and despite him trying to shift the lynx over, he couldn’t hold it and its blanket while trying to manage a phone call.

“Could you hold it for me?” Zenith asked Hudson, offering the lynx to him. Hudson quietly took it into his arms, wrapping the blanket around the lynx and holding it close. Zenith pulled out his annoying phone and answered the call.

As the other person talked, he looked outside the window and watched as the world passed by. In the corner of his eye, he watched as Hudson looked at the lynx with a new found sense of love. It was a look Zenith had never seen on him, and one that looked quite well on his dog. Zenith smiled to himself as he turned to look back at the window, glad of his brilliant idea to get a third pet. 

Thank you!!

The teachers were as you’d expect. We were scared of some, we loved some, and we despised some with every inch of our might. The morning porridge was burnt only sometimes.

I could have gone to a more illustrious institution, but I think my parents did not want me to be even farther away from them.

My dear parents. I do not think, a more lovely matched set of people could have been on earth. And that I had the good fortune to have been born to them.

When I was nineteen, I left St. Mathew’s School for the last time.

I was going back home, to Ferndean, and then from there, I did not know. At this time, I didn’t really know much of anything.

After being a student, I went to London for six months, then returned to St. Matthew’s to work as a teacher’s aid. Well that was what I was called by the rest of the staff, for I wasn't qualified to have really have been counted as a teacher, though it wasn’t unusual I directed lessons for the boys. Once back at the school I had become friends with a Mr. Brown.

He had been a lawyer, a barrister, and was of the same age as my own father. He had no children and thus took to teaching very easily.

And so when it came to advice, I found someone all too ready to give it. The distance from my Father was too vast for late night quandaries and morning walks.

The night of my departure, I heard his patterned rapt on my door. He presented me with a letter, for me to give to some people if I should return to London. He assured me that if I should find any difficulty and exhausted all of my own resources, then this letter would ensure I would be taken care of.

On one hand, I may have been assuredly embarrassed to him terming it as though I was an orphan being thrown into the cold world.

But I appreciated the letter very much. I appreciated him, very much. I would miss him, and still do to this day. As much as I miss my own Father.

I set off for home. A letter of recommendation in my pocket and aside from my luggage nothing else. Well there was a great deal of apprehension.

After all, I had been on earth for nineteen years, and had barely anything to show for it. I was unemployed. I hadn't yet made any leeway in the world. London was far away.

And where I was going was the complete opposite. The town that was closest to Ferndean was quite small. There were a few residents in town, and a few farms in the area from which people came in to buy goods, sell some, and go to Services.

Most of these persons were older, no children or their children had grown up. There had been a few young people there who I played with when I was younger, but it barely amounted to enough for a day school. There's wasn't a school actually.

My mother had tried to organize one with the Church, and that proved to be fruitless. She once tried to organize a school at home, but the children who would be attending were all, as claimed by their parents, too valuable to leave the farm, or their mother’s wing.

You can imagine there wasn't really much work to be found there. Certainly not the kind I had been trained for.

Such as it usually is, age has taught me patience. Life does not follow the meticulously planned order of events we want it to. Things can not happen at once in a day.

I knew that then, but I didn't know it. I hadn't felt the truth of it. Only partially, and then it was not a easy thing to feel.

I was not much looking forward to the following months. However I also had no other options in my mind. So the journey home was a show of reciting lines, and preparing for any sort of reaction I’d face.

My siblings were all on the lawn, ready to greet me. The twins had come home a week before myself, and Branwell was not yet old enough to be sent to school.

The Twins, Lloyd and Helen were the first off the grass and at the carriage door.

Lloyd, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and freckled boy. Mama told me she had a cousin who had the same affliction. So we did not hold it against him.

Even at that age, Lloyd was sociable, generous, athletic, and smiled in a way that would have made the sun bend to his will I am certain. Intelligent, despite what he may think himself. To this day he still gives all intelligence to Helen.

Sweet Helen-Marie, who mother always said, was “prettier than I had been", but at the same time was so obviously Mother's daughter. Helen was kind, and intelligent, and shy. She let Lloyd do most the talking as he let her do most the thinking.

They nearly toppled me with their combined weight.

And then little Branwell, who was then five years old, standing a ways away in the same spot they had been sitting. I gently pushed the twins to the side and knelt, and opening my arms wide.

He did succeed in knocking me over.

Five years old, but as big as an eight year old. Dark hair and dark eyes like I and Father. Already possessed a determined gait as though he was always going somewhere with a purpose of great importance.

To this day I still hold true that all the emotions and passions from our parents somehow got stored up just for him. So much so they spilled out easily. A horrible liar, an expressive face from the start of his life. He felt everything and expressed it without a thought. This could result in tantrums that made the earth shake, or expressions of affection that would bring tears to your eyes.

I felt my windpipe close under the might of his arms around my neck. Once I pried him off and sat up, the twins were immediately at our side.

“Mama said you aren’t to return to school.” Branwell said, “Is that true?” He had put his arms on my shoulder, and sat back on my lap, his long legs folded around mine.

“Yes.” I said.

“I thought you were to be a teacher?” Helen asked curiously.

“Who told you that?”

“No one.” She replied, “I just thought.”

“I thought so too.” Lloyd said, “After all you were there this past year.”

“Did you get too old?” Branwell asked.

When I answered yes, Lloyd declared he wished he was too old to go back. “I so hate it there.” He stated, laying down.

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do.”

“No you don’t. I saw you, you always had a group around you.”

“So?”

“So you made quite a few friends.”

“Yes, but just because you have friends doesn’t mean you are happy. And besides, I don’t love them as much as I think I should.” He said, “Some of them talked too much.”

“Sometimes you talk too much.”

“I didn’t like my teacher.”

“Most boys your age don’t.” I said. Rolling Branwell off my legs. He rolled back. “But from what I heard they liked you.”

Lloyd seemed to be the leader if anything, going by the times I had caught a glimpse of him. How many times had I heard as they passed a voice asked, “Well what do you think Rochester?” Or say, “I want Rochester to decide, he would know.”  

Perhaps he didn’t like these minions as much as he did us, but I hardly knew anything to suggest he had been miserable.

My first and up to third year at school, I spent alone. Keeping my mind occupied with the lessons and eagerly waiting news from home. I wasn’t even the sort to have followed the boys like Lloyd. I did eventually make friends who I visited every now and then during the holidays, but once we had finished our final year, I scarcely heard from any of them.

Moving like a ghost through most my school career, apparently set no precedent for my brother.

Helen had started telling us the tales of her time at school, when our heads all collectively turned at hearing someone call to us.

Mama had come from the house and was already halfway across the lawn. Branwell was the first to get up and run towards her, the twins and I not far behind.

I had to bend my head to kiss her on the cheek now. She kept my head down with the palms of both her hands for a moment to return the gesture.

“I thought I heard Joseph bring the carriage round.” She said with a smile. A gentle smile I was so familiar with.

It was the first time then I felt how truly I had missed being home. I always had, but that smile I had known my whole life, suddenly filled my heart with a intense pang of homesickness that was on the cusp of being remedied. I had missed her, and my Father more than I had realised.

“Father inside?”

“Yes,” She smiled, “Come, all of you,” She motioned for the twins, “Let’s all go and make sure Papa isn’t lonely.”

Branwell took her hand, and began to fuss over something, I can not remember, but Helen was quick to try and tell him to nevermind it now. During this, Lloyd walked next to me.

“Papa has been anxious to see you.” He said.

“I should wonder what for.”

“He didn’t tell me, but every hour on the hour he asked if any news of you had come.”

“As did I.” Mama said as I slipped my arm around her own. She told me she too had been anticipating my return. That I had been missed most ardently.

“You have three others here to amuse you.” I returned. “And another daughter who writes enough to give you an ample supply of amusements.”

“I crave adult company.” She returned, “And Adele hasn’t written to us in sometime. I think she rediscovered her true soi français, as she said.”

My elder sister, a ward of my Father’s who had brought Mama into his orbit. She had the past October gone accompanied with a friend of Mama’s to take a tour of France; her native country.

Father hadn’t been opposed, but he did not understand why she should want to. He remarked by now she was more English than French.

Our last exchange of correspondence, we had both regretted I was not able to wish her a farewell before she went off. She told me how sad she could not say goodbye to her petit doubles either, but was going to send them both something very charming and pretty when she arrived there safely.

Papa was sitting before the fire. Helen went straight to him, announcing that the last of us had come, and we were all together once more.

‘He is older.’ I thought when I saw his towering figure rise itself from the chair. As per usual, his injured arm bent at the elbow and hidden in his coat. His sight was at a disability. He could see well enough to move around Ferndean and even walk in the woods. Though he could not hunt or ride or read anymore. He could see our faces the closer we were to him. This all resulted from a accident he had been victim too, before we were born, we had been told.

Helen looking so minituare with his arm over her, hugging her to his side and if she needed to guide him to me.

He observed, “I see just enough to know you don’t resemble the boy I had once recognized.”

“Oh yes.” Mama took a seat, Branwell taking to her side like a spaniel, “At first I thought,  “Who is that strange man, playing with my children on the lawn? Oh it is not a strange man, it is one of my own.”

“Alas. That I am.” I said before Papa and I embraced one another tightly. He stepped back, searching my face, saying I looked well. He was not use to me being at eye level with him.

“Lloyd told me you were in a bundle to see me.”

“I did.” Lloyd said from the window, “I had never seen you before like that, Papa. Did you ever worry for Helen and I as much?”

“Oh, of course I did.” He said in Lloyd’s direction, “I was certain you’d both snap your mother in half.”

The rest of the evening was spent with the twins taking turns telling me all about their first year away from home.

Helen demonstrated how her playing had improved, Lloyd told me about some of the little minions I had seen around him. Branwell walked round the room, stopping sometimes at one of our elbows to lay his head, and sway, until that bored him as well.

I asked Mama and Papa about the neighbors, old friends in town. Mama said that a few new families had recently moved in, the children with them all grown of course and caring for their elderly parents, and then that several had moved away.

Thankfully, by some unseen force, no one asked outright about my doings or schemes since I last been home. Not the littles ones, not my parents. And though I was supremely grateful for that, I was also aware the more it was put off, the more it would be harder to get out.

Time was noted and the little ones made the usual rounds of kisses and goodnight, before going upstairs.

The three of us were now alone, and I felt the clock had finally struck the hour.

Mama and Papa had stayed where they were, but the silence in absence of the children was too pronounced for me not to think they weren’t also counting down the time for my announcement.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t seem to force my mouth open, or any sort of sound from my throat. I looked towards them every other minute, both of them were still as stone. I thought Papa had gone to sleep at one point, then I saw him blink.

Quiet in a room has hardly ever disturbed me, but there it felt suffocating. The heat from the fire felt so close to my skin, like a hot rod coming closer to my face. I could have got to open the window, but then moving felt like I’d break some sort of glass that was containing the silence, the heat, the space left with us before it came to an end.

When I would have to force words out and fill that air with every sort of word I had thought of on my way home. I had rehearsed those words. I had picked them carefully, but now they all seemed useless.

Right as I was about to succumb, I was saved by Maggie. She came in. Said a carrier had come, a bit of news for the Master and Mistress. She held a parcel in her hand, and gave it to Mama.

“At this hour?” Father asked, “I heard nothing.”

“I was about to turn in myself,” Maggie said, “As I was passing the kitchen window I saw him coming up a ways off. Very odd I thought he should come from the back way where the woods have no trail. He pressed the letter in my hand, and then rode off, without a word.”

Maggie was dismissed, and once she left us Mama began to open the letter. From where I was I could see the paper had not been folded long.

“What does it say my Dear?” Papa asked. “And who thought so much of us to send it this time of night?”

Rather than reading the contents out loud, Mama did so silently, before looking up at us both. At Papa a moment longer.

“Eddie,” Papa said, not looking at me, “I wonder if you could be considerate of an old man, who cannot remember things as well as he use to. I meant to ask you something but now I feel tired. So, tomorrow we will speak to each other.” He got up as he said this.

Mother put the letter on the sette next to where she sat before coming to me, “I suppose, you are too old for Mama to send you to bed, in which case I will advise you that considering your long journey home you may find it wise to retire.”

“And I tell you bed, now.” Papa said, “But only after sending myself. It is late.”

Indeed, I did feel tired myself. And even if I had not I wouldn’t have arguged. I bid them both goodnight, observed how wise they had become in their old age, and then went up the stairs. Conscious of the fact they remained in the drawing room, not following.

It always seems a conversation is harder to have in our own minds than it proves to be in reality. And so you can imagine laying down that night, and the feeling of incompletion that was mixing in my chest.

In any event since I hadn't been told to rise early or at a designated time, I found myself waking at the early morning.

Completing the morning routine I developed, down to breakfast with the rest of the family it was. While the rest were eating, for Father and I both had not much an appetite in the morning, he said, “Edward, I fancy a walk outside if you would oblige me.”

Once outside, he took my arm as though he needed help to navigate the footpath that had been formed by the years of passing.

For sometime we said nothing, which I didn’t object to. It wasn’t until the view of Ferndean started to be clouded by the trees, that Papa started conversation.

“I trust you weren’t too annoyed with the interruption last night.”

“It was obvious?”

“Oh indeed.” He said, “You were the whole evening, like a guilty man before The Almighty. You are like your Mother in that way. I could always tell what she was feeling, no matter how she tried to keep it from me.”

“I feel she’d disagree.”

“She would.”

“What was that Maggie had gotten from the carrier?”

“You’ll find out when we return.” He said, his face rose to the sky, to breathe the fresh air, or feel the rising sun. He exhaled, and patted my hand, that was wrapped around his lame arm. “Now, what were you saying last night?”

“I said nothing.”

“I mean what you were about to say.”

What I was about to say. “Mr. Brown.” I began, “Suggests, I start over.”

“I suggested the same months ago.”

“Yes, but he said that perhaps, I retake some courses in London before I do so.” I said slowly, my voice halted through out the sentence, my eyes kept to the ground. “A refresher, as he put it. Then I’d have another go at it.”

“I see.” He said. “Well, if you are worried about the money, which I know you are, I can assure you, it is not something you need to worry yourself with.”

“Father.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve already…”

“Yes?” He prodded, patiently.

“I won’t do that to you and Mother.”

“Then what do you plan to do?”

That was the question. One I had no answer for and when I didn’t answer him he asked again. And again I gave no answer.

Father didn’t speak either, for a moment, before he said, “Edward, many more illustrious men have sons who have commited worse sins. And those sins have actually bankrupted their families.”

“I am aware, Sir.”

“And you put yourself in those ranks? I wouldn’t even call your situation a “sin” or really even honor it with the title of “Misfortune”.”

How could I not put myself in the same ranks as those sons? Wouldn’t it be fitting? Failure. The money towards those years of education wasted. And yet nothing of the sort said by him. No reprimanding, not even a scolding for being so stupid. Thus was my thinking at the time.

“Sir, by most people I belong there.”

“For what reason?”

“You know, Sir.” Was a reply that came from me most ardently.

We stopped walking. Father said nothing for a moment, staring at me with his dark and damaged eyes. The lines on his face still. It was the picture I had come to know, and fear to a degree. Usually a prelude to a dressing down or some sign we children were in trouble. Whatever had risen in me melted away, and again the dirt path became quite an interesting sight.

“Don’t bow your head.” He commanded, “What is with you? Eddie, look back at me.”

I did.

“You think you are the only one in the world for this to have happened to?”

“Of course not.” I said, “But, it’s..” I couldn’t utter the word, but he did for me.

Embarrassing. Shameful. Humiliating, perhaps. I felt myself burn as he said each word. How could he say it so well, and while I squirmed? Each utterance felt like an arrow to my chest. They were just words, but I had read them so many eyes. Said them to myself.

“Oh don’t be upset with me for finding it a bit ridiculous. Your father is old, and has done things to cause real shame, and has paid for them. You’re young, and yes you have been met with a...” He searched for the corrected word, “Let’s say an obstruction. But you act as though the world is ending.”

‘You say that because it is not happening to you.’ I thought.

“You are going to get older, and find something to truly be in turmoil over, and this will all seem so small.” He another chuckle escaped him.

It perhaps goes without saying, I didn’t appreciate the wisdom that was being imparted to me then. The laughing felt more like a dismissal of a matter that had troubled me this past two years.

His talking so lightly of it felt an insult. I compared him to other fathers I had seen who would have been, what I considered, rightly furious. I thought, ‘Shouldn’t you be furious at failure?’

“I declare, My boy,” Father continued, “I have never met a young man who insisted his own head to be chopped off. I suppose I raised you with a sterner hand than I thought.”

I still remained quiet. My face had stopped burning, but I was now ready to drop the subject all together. It had indeed come across my mind since I returned to Kempton, that I was indeed overreacting.

Perhaps I had nothing to worry about. Perhaps it wasn’t something to worry over as much as I thought. But still there was the voice in our head, the one that whispers the loudest to us.

And it told me most people would indeed find that an educated and able young man in London, unable to find apprenticeship, for six months, is no little matter. That the failure to find even the cheapest and lowest establishment to take him in, spoke volumes on the young man.

It spoke to his character. His education. His family. And of course his intellect. A good education, but something that wasn’t good enough, for no one will take the poor boy. No one finds him adequate.

“Let's go back now.” Papa said, “Your Mama, well, I suppose now you are too old for that, but she has no doubt told the children the news.”

“Last night?” I asked.

“Yes,” He said, “The letter Maggie received was an invitation. One of the people she told you about the last evening who came into the neighborhood. They are having a sort of gathering, according to the letter last night, and had forgotten to alert us.”

“Oh.” I chuckled, “I see.”

“I think your Mother has spoken to the Mistress before, she was not offended.” He said. “You can prod her for more information once we return, all I know, I know from what she told me thus far. Which is they seem to own some property here, some ways away, and the gathering tonight is to acquaint themselves with all the neighbors. What neighbors there are, I suppose.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“They truly had forgotten us til the last moment.” I remarked. Though Father wasn’t quite done with the previous conversation.

“Edward, once you decide what is to be your next course of action, then let me know.” He said as we turned back, “And we will speak once more.”

“That’s all you have to say?” I asked, “Most Fathers aren’t so-”

“Are not so generous, yes I know.” He looked at me, “So be wise, that is all I ask of you now.”

We came home to a quiet house. The little ones were upstairs, and Mama was alone.

“Did you two have a nice walk?”

“I’d say so.” Papa said, sitting next to her. “I told him about the late invitation.”

“Yes, one of the families you told me about?” I asked, “Which one?”

“Foster. The ones who own that property that is where ours ends. It is called Almore.”

Indeed, I remembered seeing a manor house no so far, on the edge of where our property ended. A bit larger it looked than Ferndean. Yes indeed it came back very clearly as she said that.

I never saw anyone about the grounds and it had always looked shut up. The gate locked. All the windows dark. It reminded me often of a cemetary. I would go through the woods too peer at it, me and other children from town, sometimes dare each other to go up and climb over to the grounds.

We never did. We never dared to even go up to the gate itself and look. Even in the sunny clear days, looking at it had been something peculiar. It seemed dark and empty even when the birds in the trees above us chipped, and sang, and the sun shone down on it.

Mama continued, “They want their young people more acquainted with the youths here, Mrs. Foster was telling me.”

“Did you tell Mrs. Foster that here, “neighbors” is a very different definition than they may be used to?” Papa asked, “Even with the other new additions, I don’t think you all can expect a large crowd.”

“Father is not going?”

“Oh no, I am.” He assured me, “I was swayed that it be the neighborly thing to do.”

Mama smiled at that, then told me the children had been very excited to hear.

No surprise, usually we did not have things like this unless formally invited by friends who lived far away. Mama made social visits yes, but what the Fosters had put together wasn’t really that common here. Town, as I remembered it had few other children besides myself and then later the twins. And of the newcomers, Mama had mentioned only one or two had children with them. A place lacking young people did not make for a very active social environments.

The time to depart had came that evening. When the little ones materialized, Helen was immediately on me to ask what I thought of the gown she had chosen for the occasion.

“Adele sent it!” She cried, “All the way from France. I could not wear it at school of course. But Adele said she wanted me to have it before I grew too big. She said she thought of me when she laid eyes on it and bought it immediately. I almost thought it too pretty to put on, but Mama said tonight was the perfect occasion. Eddie, what do you think?”

I thought pink looked quite adorable on Helen. The dress looked indeed like something Adele would have picked out. My little sister was so very excited herself to wear it, she was nearly bouncing around as she spoke. Helen rarely became so giddy when it came to a dress or hat or anything else such as that, but a present from Adele was something that usually did the trick.

I told her that she better be close to her brothers all evening, for she would surely be the prettiest girl there.

She blushed, “No.”

“The youngest maiden in history to get married-”

“Eddie no!” She she pulled on my arm, “But Mama did agree I look quite nice.” She then asked Papa what he thought, coming closer to him for him to see her clearly.

“Jane, your eyes do not lie, tell me doesn’t that resemble a dress I had given Adele years ago?” He said studying it. “I thought that child’s vanity had been sucked out of her by now.”

“Adele had one like this?” Helen asked, her eyes wide. Reader, be rest assured she was more jubilant by the suggestion than anything.

Mama told her that it did, somewhat, but the colour of this particular dress Papa was referring to was the most common theme it shared, aside from it being French. Papa wanted to say something, I could tell, but he did not.

I noticed Leland was wearing a waistcoat I hadn’t seen, though the rest of the suit I had. He told me that his half of the present from Adele had been the smart looking waistcoat.

I must say the gift to the twins is perhaps the best way I could convey to you my elder Sister’s logic.