C h a p t e r T w e n t y-Five
Arther & Annabelle
I had never received a letter addressed directly to me in my entire life, so you must try and imagine my surprise when I saw a faded white envelope on the step right by the front door. I stared at it a minute before picking it up and examining it.
Annabelle Phoenix. That’s what it said.
I opened it and read, my eyes furiously scanning each word.
My Dear Annabelle and Henry,
This letter was written to tell you how much I care for you both, and deeply miss your presence. You are delightful children; of course, I think of Felix and Claudia just the same. I am coming soon, my doves. Expect my arrival sometime around the beginning of July. I shall do my best, and I am trying to prepare everything, and sell what needs to be sold. It is very hard without your mother, and I’ve missed her more these last few months. It has hurt me exceedingly, but I long to see all of your bright shining faces once again.
Your loving father,
Albert Cillian Phoenix.
My heart couldn’t fathom what excitement I felt. My feet could hardly move and so I stood there, stuck on the step, and called for Henry, breathless and loud, surely thinking my brother would be overjoyed.
And he was.
Until he read it for himself.
“Annabelle,” he said quietly, his eyes narrowing at me, not in a mean way, but a sad, hurt way.
“Well, what’s wrong? He’s coming back; h-he could be here any day.”
“This letter…the date. Did you see the date?”
“I hadn’t checked. Surely you don’t—”
“It was written the day after we left home. He must have written it knowing that it would take months to arrive.”
“Well maybe—”
“It’s July the twenty-first. If Father was coming, then—”
“I won’t believe it,” I said stubbornly. “Father said he was coming.”
“Annabelle, it’s an old letter,” he said to me with a hopeless sigh. “I think we should talk to the younger children about a few things. Instead of just…letting them wait and find out for themselves.”
“But Henry—”
“Just be quiet, Annabelle—”
“No!” I shouted and then all was quiet. “Stop trampling me. I can’t bear it.”
My eyes fell to the floor, downcast. I couldn’t accept that Father wasn’t coming to us. Words couldn’t explain how much I longed to be in his arms again. I wanted to make him better, even if it took awhile. I understood. Everyone has their hurts and everyone takes a different amount of time to heal.
“I’m sorry,” Henry said and took a step closer to me. He handed me the letter. “I’ll get the children.”
He turned his back but something in me wakened in that moment and I pulled his arm and stopped him before he reached the gate.
“Henry, please don’t go.”
“Why? They have to find out sometime.”
I sighed and looked up to the sky. “I have a feeling. A feeling that…something of some kind is going to happen. And I just…I don’t want to ruin Felix’s happiness. Claudia caught on, you know, but Felix is the last one of us who is…”
“Innocent?”
“Yes. Please don’t say anything. We’re all so happy right now. Felix may be the most happy. And I just wouldn’t want to break his heart.”
“I don’t mean to—trample you, you know.”
I blinked. Hadn’t he heard what I’d just said?
“I know. And I didn’t mean to get so angry.”
I think Henry understood, for his eyes never left mine, and he spoke very gently. Everyone has their faults, you know, but this was yet not the same Henry that stepped off the train that May afternoon, afraid of our new life.
“If this will satisfy you, then it will be so. I wouldn’t want to cause you any more grief. You need the strength, because you’re the heart of this family, now that Mother’s gone.”
“I’m not the heart,” I said. “I’m just me.”
“Exactly.” He sighed and shrugged and motioned his head towards the door. “No more grieving,” he said at last.
“Yes,” I complied, “I won’t grieve. Even now, I’m at one of my most happy times.”
Henry smiled a little. “I’m glad.”
That night, all of us—Artie and Charlie, too—ate at our little wooden table in the Lovingale. We had all helped to make supper, and I daresay it did turn out splendid enough. A lovely meal of bread and jam and cooked potatoes.
Artie cut a slit down the middle of his and poured in butter and pepper. “I never thought about cutting them like this,” he said thoughtfully.
“We just cut ‘em in slices,” Charlie said, and reached his hand over the table for another piece of bread.
“You mustn’t reach across the table,” Claudia scolded. “You must act with some property.”
“Do you mean ‘propriety?’” I asked her, amused.
Charlie looked confused just the same. “I ain’t got to be a property,” he objected. “No’m. No ma’am.”
“Yes’m, yes, ma’am!” Claudia fired.
“Propriety means to be proper,” I explained with a sigh. “But…we needn’t be so proper right this minute, Claudia. We’re just eating our supper.”
Claudia shrugged with a little “humph” and reached across the table as well. I think sometimes she was at a crossroads between going wild and staying true to her English breeding.
I just thought the whole thing was amusing enough to observe.
“I was never one for ‘taters,” Artie admitted, looking down at his food while he cut off pieces with a fork. “But I won’t protest too much for these. They ain’t that bad.”
“The proper word is ‘aren’t,’” Charlie said, and everyone burst into a laugh. How he figured that out, I wasn’t sure. I had a feeling it had something to do with Claudia.
It was dark outside. I lit another candle for the table. “Try not to knock it over please,” I said, sitting down. “A house fire right now would be most inconvenient.”
Felix flicked his imaginary hair, something he did when he was trying to imitate me, although I never did flick my hair, so I don’t know where he got his examples.
“I’m sorry for scolding you, Charlie,” Claudia said sadly, staring down at her plate. She looked like a puppy, disappointed in herself for not delivering the world to us. I thought that was very kind of her.
“You’re such a good boy Charlie, almost as good as Artie.”
“Claudia,” I gasped. I glanced at Artie, who stared at his food with a subtle grin on his face.
“I meant no offense,” she said quite politely.
“Nah,” Charlie shrugged. “That’s okay. Most people do like Artie more. That’s cause I’m…stupid, I guess. Don’t know what else to call it.”
I looked at him across the table until he looked back at me. But he never held my gaze, hardly ever. His eyes nervously looked at other things.
So I looked away, too.
“You know, Charlie,” I said, moving my fork about my plate. “Everyone lives their life at their own pace and there’s no set speed. No one needs to try and catch up with the world. Oh, confound it. In fact, those are the worst types of people and I despise it with all of my being.”
Artie and Henry looked at me with surprise at my sharp tone, which was louder once I looked back at the whole thing later that evening.
“There are some people whose goal and aim in life is to run with the crowd and catch up with everything and everyone. And they’re the most foolish, too.” I sighed. “You are not stupid. Don’t ever say it in my presence again.”
“It’s okay,” he said good-naturedly. “I don’t care.”
“I think you do.”
“No I don’t.”
“Charlie—”
“Stop!” he cried. I set down my fork. I was surprised at the sudden response. Charlie always was a good tempered boy.
Artie looked at me and didn’t smile. But he understood me.
I left the table and went outside.
I stood outside of the gate and looked down the road at the yellow lights dotting Averdeene. Such a peaceful town. Very different from where I grew up.
I knew I wouldn’t be alone too long. Artie came outside and apologized. I didn’t need him to. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, except mine, maybe.
“He’s not angry,” he insisted. “He was stressed out.”
“I wish he wouldn’t get so upset at me,” I said, my eyes tearing against my will. I hated that you could hear tears. Even in the dark he could tell I was crying.
“He adores you more than anyone else,” Artie replied blandly. “He’s a little different. That’s just a fact.”
“But he’s always angry at me. And he always changes. One moment we’re laughing and the next he won’t speak to me.”
“I’m sorry,” and Artie stood next to me, staring into the distance like I was. “I know you got a letter from your father,” was the next surprise I faced. “I saw it on the table. I didn’t read it.”
“You can, if you want. It’s not a secret.”
“I don’t reckon that Henry would want me to.”
I shrugged. “I think you two would get on capitally if you really tried. Henry likes you, you know. Even if he doesn’t let on.
“And I like Henry,” he said next. “Even if I don’t let on.”
I laughed. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Well, I don’t know exactly. I guess for simply being a friend. And for being so kind to us all, and to your brother, too.”
“You say things like that too much. I’m not ‘kind,’ I’m just…” he shook his head. “You are far too nice to ever get anywhere in this world.”
“I don’t want to ‘get anywhere.’ In fact, I don’t want to go anywhere, at least not now. I want to stay right here. I’ve only lived in this place for a short few months, and already it feels like home.”
“I never did care too much about this town,” Artie admitted. “Guess it’s because I felt trapped. Pa left and Ma died and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. Couldn’t go anywhere. Just stuck here, with Charlie.”
“I think one day you’ll leave this place,” I told him sincerely. “I think you’ll do grand things. What’s your dream? I’m sorry, I’ve never asked before. I feel like I should’ve. But you needn’t tell me if I’m prying too much.”
He rolled his eyes and stifled a laugh. “Needn’t?”
“It’s just a proper way or speaking.”
He shook his head. “Well, before, I probably would never have told you. But,” he looked around, as if his dream was floating somewhere in the air. “I like a lot of things. I like the stars. Maybe I’d be a good ‘stronomer.”
“An astronomer?”
“That’s what I said.”
I chuckled quietly.
“And I like the ocean. But I don’t reckon I’ll ever be a sailor.”
“What will you be then?”
“I think a teacher.”
“Who teaches about stars?”
“A teacher who teaches about all sorts of things. You know, figuring, old stories, writing even. Maybe you can help with the writing class.”
“I’d love that.”
“And yes, stars,” he sighed a dreamy sigh and his eyes trailed off. “There’s so much to learn about what’s really up there. But anyway,” he grinned, “I think I’ll be a teacher.”
I have to admit, this was not what I expected him to tell me. But in my mind I imagined him a fine teacher. A teacher who taught children about the world and really explored it for himself. A fun teacher, wild and adventurous. Not any dull, lifeless teacher who slapped children with rulers if they drifted off.
“…and I just figured it would fit me.”
“Oh. Yes, I think so too.”
“But you’ll be a writer.”
“I suppose I will.”
“I know how you love the way people twist and twirl words to make them rhyme. Make them flow all song-like.”
“You know,” I began with a chuckle, “the way I see it is, by nature I am a writer. By heart, a poet.”
“That’s nice. Did you write that one yourself?”
“I did. But just because I can twirl up a handful of words does not mean I could ever write a story.”
He shrugged with a grin that one might have called smug. “We’ll see.” He looked up again with a wondrous sort of unconsciousness, a sort that comes to one often lost in dreams.
“I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”
“We’ll all find something. And it might not be what we wished for or expected.” He smiled. “Might be better than that.”
It must have been late, for even most of the stars went to sleep, but none of us had the time, and so we sat outside together and didn’t worry about it.
We sat on a fence (not far from home) at the entrance of an old farm that had been abandoned. There was a scratched-up brown barn and mostly just wide fields that no animal inhabited.
“Look, a shooting star!” Felix exclaimed robustly and pointed his finger at the sky.
“Look Felix,” Charlie nudged him and then hung upside down, his legs wrapped around the fence.
“I’ll join you,” Felix said and did the same.
Henry shook his head with a chuckle-like sigh.
“Why are you always hanging upside down?” Claudia inquired to Charlie.
“Can see things better from upside down.”
“Oh,” Claudia mumbled. But a minute later, she was down with them.
“Claudia look, a snake!” Felix yelled and Claudia screamed and fell on her head.
Felix sat right side up and woke the birds by his roars of laughter.
“Felix!” Claudia cried.
“Oh come now, Claws.”
“You’re disturbing our peace,” Artie said in a fake scolding voice.
Claudia wasn’t too upset. Charlie offered his hand and helped her back up.
“That was very civil of you, Charlie dear,” Claudia thanked him.
I observed Charlie, secretly writing verses in my head. This boy was one to shout, run, sing and laugh.
I smiled to myself. Perhaps someday, I’d have the courage to show them my poem.
I told Henry because he asked me why I looked so mysterious all of the sudden.
“I’m writing a poem about you all.”
“Will you show me?”
“When the time is right and I’m not so afraid.”
“Are you in your poem?”
“I guess I’ve never really thought about that,” I said quietly. “But perhaps I shall be.” I looked up and sighed, as new dreams filled my mind. “It feels so good to be free.”
We were all of us happy, and no one could take this happy moment away from us. I looked at Artie and laughed as he looked back at me, a smile so fascinating when he looked up at the sky. His eyes sparkled with a pure sort of bewitchment that I found enchanting. How could one simple poor boy long for the stars so? I realized that perhaps, he didn’t just want to be up there, with the stars and the moons, but maybe he wanted what was really up there. Maybe he thought about God when he was alone or in moments like this one.
“Artie?”
The others were talking amongst themselves and our eyes drew to each other’s, and he waited for me to speak.
“Do you ever think about God?”
He looked down and his lips twitched. “I do.”
And we said nothing more.
One could no more steal a star from the sky than steal from us this here night, this moment, this memory.
That was ours and ours alone.
“To us!” Henry burst out all the sudden in a jolly, merry tone.
“To us six immortals!” Felix cheered. Charlie joined Felix in his triumphant cry of jubilee.
Us six immortals, I thought. “How interesting that we can think such things about ourselves and actually believe it.”
“It isn’t true though,” Claudia argued. “Everyone’s going to die some time.”
“Our memories won’t,” I grinned. “But just for today,” I sat up straight and shouted, “To us immortals!” And our voices echoed in our ears like heavenly bells.
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