My Dear Aunt Mariam,
It is midday, and beams of light are shining through the clear glass. The scenery around me is lovely. The chestnuts are in bloom, the skies are heavenly, and I can hear the birds.
Though we have only been apart for a day, I have already experienced so much! So far, I have eaten breakfast and lunch, read three books, witnessed a rainbow, caught a ladybug, noticed two admires, finished my knitting, and spotted a bump forming on my chin. This day has truly been eventful. If only you were here to enjoy it with me.
Now before you start lecturing me about how silly my letter is, Aunty. I want to remind you that it was you who wanted me to keep you updated on everything that happens in your absence. So don't you dare scoff! I am just obeying your orders, like the obedient niece I am!
~~~~~~
I looked up from my writing and smiled at my own mischief.
I wonder how Aunty M will react when she reads this.
But the longer my eyes lingered at those words, the more the ink seemed to stain the page. My smile disappeared and I closed the book, looking away disinterested. The thought of my aunt made me depressed.
Poor Aunty M... Why must you always worry yourself?
My Aunt Mariam was related to my family by marriage. She had marred my only uncle, Phineas Ibre, and had a child, my only cousin, Joseph Ibre. When my aunt and uncle divorced, it was my Aunt Mariam who remained part of the family, and my uncle who drifted away.
Aunt Mariam and my cousin, Joseph, have lived with us for many years. They moved in with my father and I, after my aunt's divorce, when I was still a child. Life was better then. Dad was happier, Mom was still alive, and I hadn't ruined my life yet.
Aunt Mariam is a caring and nurturing woman. I've always thought of her as my second mother. When my mother accompanied the ancestors, I clung to Aunty M for dear life, for she was the only mother I had left. She became my nurturer, supporter, and source of comfort. She would often hold me, as we gazed upon the clouds or stars and tell me that a mother's love continues even after her soul leaves. So, though my mother was gone, her was always with me. I'm not sure if she made that up just to make me feel better or if she truly believed what she said, but it did help at the time.
I twirled my pen in my hand, thinking over again about what I had written. I decided to change my letter and write something with more thought and sincerity instead. The question is: what to write?
"Hmm."
While thinking this over, I thought back to the months prior, when I was assisting Aunty M in her packing, just weeks before we were about to leave to help in the preparations for my cousin's wedding. I saw the concern in her eyes as I placed her things in the luggage. I knew what she was thinking. After our trip, I would head back to Georgia with Father, while she stayed in Philadelphia in her own little house Joseph and his wife.
My Aunt continued to put on a brave expression. She wasn't worried about herself, but for us. The thought of leaving Father and I to ourselves for good scared her. Or should I say, leaving Father alone.
"Though your father is a responsible and well-put-together man" Aunty M had told me, "And respected by everyone in the community, he still does some crazy, outlandish things, from time to time. And when that happens, you must inform me about it at once! So, I can knock some sense into him!"
I tried not to smile. I remember the effort I had to make to keep from laughing at my aunt's rant. The sheer thought of a tiny woman like my Aunty Mariam beating up a big man like my father was hard to imagine. Father was a very intimidating man, especially when he was angry. Of course, half of the time he didn't mean to be that way, and unless you were familiar with him did you know this. The only people who weren't intimidated in the slightest by Father was my mother and aunt.
"And I know everybody keeps telling me stop worrying," my Aunty went on, "but I'm not worrying! I'm concerned about your father's temper! I'm not confident he has control over it yet. But!" she exclaimed, raising her hands in surrender. "Since the idea of me racing back, as Shamir puts it, discomforts everyone. Then I won't. Even when something does happen, I still won't come back. Why!? Because you all will clearly have it under control!"
Aunt Mariam placed zero effort towards hiding her sarcasm. She really doesn't have any faith in Father and I. In the past, such things would've made me anger. I did find Auntie's behavior a bit exaggerated. She doesn't think that Father could possibly take care of his work, the estate, and me without disaster striking. Not that I need to be look after. I'm more than capable of taking care of myself.
I never liked when someone put into question my own abilities or Father's. The only person I did allow this with was Aunty M, because her doubts were based off of concern, and I understand it completely. After my mom died, Aunty M really became the rhyme and reason of the family. I don't know how, but she always had a way of smoothing things over if needed and could convincing dad to do anything. I envy her in that regard. I can't convince Father to do anything, and Aunty M and I both know that I'm lacking in the damage control department.
In truth, I'm more like Father, causing trouble instead of diluting it.
I had spaced out for a bit as I finished putting away Aunty M's things but managed to pay attention at the last pit before being spotted.
"I do hope everything will go well, while I'm gone. It's just, I've always been the one to sense when Shamir is about to do anything out of the ordinary, put the pieces back together. But now..."
She sighed as her face slowly revealed her true feelings. I quickly went to her side.
"Aunty M..." I held both of her hands and met her eyes.
"I know that you've always been there for us... but sometimes, in order to help those that you love, you need to stop being the hero. So that the next chapter of their life can begin, as well as yours."
We shared a small smile. I squeezed her hands, and she quietly took a breath and nodded.
I smiled as I thought back to our final farewell. Aunty M had me promise to write her monthly and to keep her updated on everything that happens. My initial thought was to protest, but for her sake, I restrained myself and consented to her wish. In truth, though, I have full faith in my father. Especially due to the fact that I am an adult, and it will be I who manages the estate's affairs; not him. The only thing my father will have to concentrate on is his work and the books.
~~~~~~
A rhythmic beat of iron slashing upon metal played in the foreground, as I wrote my letter to Aunty. The tune was soft and could have easily been ignored. I looked up from my writing and peered around. By the majority of those around me, I could tell the sound didn't affect them at all. So why was it to me?
I placed down my pen as the tune continued. This tune wasn't the popular music of jazz, swing, or blues, but the song of the future. The music of iron, steel and timber, with an echo of coal, fire, sweat, and blood. Since its existence, the world has been told to be grateful for this tune; to believe that the old music of the industrial era had brought about progress.
But for me, I could only hear a beast rampaging through the land. The sound was unbearable. I couldn't concentrate. I tried distracting myself by watching the view through my window, but it was futile. A soft growl escaped my throat.
"Why must we travel in this disgusting thing?" I grumbled.
A chuckle escaped my father's lips. I froze. I hadn't realized I had spoken out loud and turned to look at him. Father's broad face and back, in addition to his dark complexion, highlighted his masculinity, while his high cheekbones and trimmed beard made him pleasing to the eyes.
"Because... it's convenient.", he replied. His eyes were still glued to his book.
"Convenient?" I was surprised by his response. "You can't be serious?"
Father simply turned a page, providing a brief pause, before replying.
"This is the fastest way home. I didn't want to waste time driving. I've been away from the manor long enough."
I found it odd that his answer reflected around himself.
Shouldn't he have said "we" instead of "I"?
I mused to myself.
I've been away from Hedge Manor much longer than him, yet he's only thinking about himself getting home. Why? What urgent business is happening back at the manor that he has to hurry back to? Did something happen while I was away?
"I know it might sound odd, but we really must hurry back home."
My father's voice is the most wonderful sounding thing in the world. It was deep and soothing as heavy rain, yet powerful as waves crashing upon rocky sea cliffs, but gentle as an afternoon breeze. I remember as a child coming to my father begging him to read me a story, just so I could hear the many fluctuations of his voice. But today, for some reason, his voice is lacking some of that luster.
"Why must we hurry back? Is there pressing business that I'm not aware of?"
Father had stopped reading upon hearing my question and lowered his book.
He paused before answering. "We are needed at the manor, that is why we are hurry."
"Father... Did something happen while I was gone?"
Father smiled at my concerned face and patted my hands.
"Nothing major. I'll make sure to tell you all about it when we get home. For now, let's not worry ourselves."
I wasn't satisfied with his answer, but at least he didn't dismiss it.
"Besides," Father continued, returning back to his book. "I thought you would want to get home as soon as possible. Don't you miss everyone?"
I gave an irritable sigh, trying my best to control my eyes. "Of course, I miss everyone. You know I miss them. I've been gone for months. How could I not?"
"Well that settles it then. Your own words prove that we should return home as soon as possible. Therefore, this is the best option."
He concluded his speech with a satisfied nod and smile. And with that, the conversation had ended. I stayed silent, not at all pleased with the outcome of the conversation.
I understand that we have to return home quickly, but I hate that we have to use a train to do it! If only we could get home with the snap of our fingers.
I sighed with a huff, feeling stumped and defeated. Eventually my anger subsided and the tension between Father and I had dissipated. Both of us finally resuming back to our previous activities: Father reading his book and I writing my letter.
My attention soon drifted to the scenery passing by. At that moment, I couldn't help but replay Father's reply over inside my head.
"Because... it's convenient. This is the fastest way home. I didn't want to waste time driving. I've been away from the manor long enough."
Just because something is convenient doesn't make it right. You and I both know that.
I looked at his reflection casted on the train window with dissatisfaction. It was as if he didn't remember... didn't care about what happened. How these trains changed our town; caused division amongst us; brought the one thing that caused our family's divide. Did he really forget? Or has he turned heartless?
How could he suggest that I might not miss everyone because I don't want to be on this infernal thing!? He knows why I hate trains, and yet he's deliberately pretending as if he doesn't!
My eyes pierced into his reflection, as I thought about it more and more.
"You are not the father I left six months ago. From the moment you had arrived at Philadelphia, for Seph's wedding, I could tell there was something different about you... That something changed you. I don't know what that was, nor why you allowed it to change you, but the father I remember wouldn't have wanted to use a train either."
"Is something wrong?"
I froze upon hearing my father's deep voice. His reflection showed he was still reading, yet he knew that something was amiss. I should have known I could never hide my feelings from him. Father always had this sense of knowing when someone had a troubled mind, and when this sense is activated, he confronts the individual without hesitation.
"...You used to hate trains." I finally said.
Father chuckled and slowly closed his book to look at me. I returned his gaze through the reflection. I didn't want to look at him, though my whole being told me to.
"Ebony."
I knew he hadn't said my name, but I could have sworn I heard it. Since all his energy was focused towards me, I could hear his spirit speak to me.
I held my breath and turned to face him, looking into his deep brown eyes.
"I know I did. I was at a different place then, but now I think differently. Besides, trains aren't the reason why our family became this way. So, why should I hate them?"
A wave of guilt covered me at his last words. My eyes averted away, as I remembered that fateful day. The day of my failure.
On one hand, he could've been referring to me and what I had did. On the other hand, he could have been speaking of that snake. Either way, both were connected to me, but I refused to let my convicted conscience reveal itself.
I returned my gaze back to meet my father's.
"Is it wrong to despise the tool as well as the person that used it?"
"I suppose it would depend upon the person."