Chapter Two, Episode Three - Sheltered - Situationally Theirs

 

Review, Revision, Edit and Outdate

When I reviewed this today, Emelina had made quite a few typo's. I never wish to correct the dialogue or writing of one of my characters, but knowing Emelina, I'm sure she would have preferred that I made the little corrections. They were really quite tiny - an unnecessary space and restructuring a sentence. 

Reading from Writing Tools - the Essential Strategies for Every Writer by Roy Peter Clark, he addressed the usage of verbs. I paid attention to my verb usage throughout this episode. I need more practice!

Sheltered

The week before, when everyone had returned to theirs homes from the staff meeting, there was only one person left with her thoughts. Emelina Beaufort. She climbed the stairs to her room. Who would she tell her story to? Who would even want to listen? She held her wedding picture in her hands. “Michael, what was our life like? How did I fit into this family? There is so much I want to tell you but not just to a picture of you. As much as I love Jeremy now, you are still the love of my life. Emelina set the wedding picture carefully back on her bureau. Going to her desk, she took out paper and pen and sat down to write.

~~~~~

When someone’s life turns on a very thin dime with no warning, there is a period of disbelief. Disbelief that the reality of the situation is real. Waking one morning, the morning of pandemic restrictions being declared, I yawned and stretched. My cosy warm bed begged me to stay until my maid brought my morning tea. Dozing off, I snuggled my face into the silken covers of my pillow. I woke only because it was too quiet. There were no delicious aromas of coffee from downstairs, no Cook bustling in the kitchen that was usual each morning. There was only silence. My annoyance was mounting. Where was Brigitte? Where was everyone? My china clock on the bureau told me it was past eight a.m. Surely Digby was here. He was always here even before Cook arrived. Gathering my silk sheets around me, I sat up and listened carefully. Was that a footstep on the stair? But there was nothing. Speaking outloud to myself and stamping my foot like a child I said “I’ll have to speak to Digby about this lapse!” My annoyance bubbled into frustration and flamed into anger. How on earth was I ever going to get my day started? I  had appointments and meetings to attend. Where was Brigitte!? Pulling on my housecoat and I slipped my feet quickly into my silken slippers and stood, tied my robe at the same time, and went to the door. I was about to wrench it open it when I glanced down. That’s when I saw it. It was Beaufort stationery - one of the thank you notes my butler, Digby sends out. What?! Opening it, I found an answer to the ever deafening silence. Three times I read it. Once, then twice. I set it down on the table by the door, stood still and listened again. My hand strayed back to the note. I read it a third time. 

That's when I began to feel afraid. Not just afraid, but terrified. I have never liked surprises and have always liked an ordered and orderly life. I've depended on my employees to maintain that order. Breathing deeply of the silence, I looked around me, seeing it with new eyes. I was afraid to open the door to my empty house, so turned away and went into my bathroom. My hair was a mess. Where did Brigitte keep my brush? I didn’t even know that. Shivering, I pulled my housecoat close. Was I cold or was it my fear of being alone that settled into my bones? There was no one to call, no one to help me. What about my appointments? My butler and housekeeper made certain that my maid knew her schedule in advance.

~~~~~

Emelina read over what she had written. Maid.  Butler.  Housekeeper.  Employees! Was that all they had been to her?! They all had names and lives besides serving her and making her life better. She went to her bureau, picked up her wedding picture again and touched the matte finish of her photographed face. She spoke softly “Michael, I’ve found my answer. I’ve made everyone fit around my life, without fitting into theirs. Until this pandemic happened and Dez came to me. Before all of that, you took care of me, your mother took care of me. Martha, Digby, and Brigitte took care of me, especially when I couldn’t take care of myself when you died. I'm living and loving a very different life now, and will always love you.” 

The photograph was placed face down in the bureaus's top drawer.

“The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend.”

~ Robertson Davies, Tempest Tossed