One year later
“Tia?” His voice is pleading, but the hurt and anger is just tearing me up; I can’t bring myself to speak just yet. The only sound is from his end of the line, background noise of God knows what. He hasn’t been home in over a year, and now he’s just told me he’s not coming back for Christmas. He missed my birthday again, and all the plans we’ve been making for what seems like forever are proving to be more elusive than my nightly dreams. Dreams that feel so real, I often wake either in a hot sweaty mess or in a flood of tears.
“What?” I snap when the silence becomes too much. I opt for cold hard anger rather than letting the pain escape. I know it won’t stop, if I release that floodgate. I miss him so damn much.
“Please don’t be like that. I miss you so much, princess. I wish I could change things, I really do. It won’t always be like this, I promise.” His voice is softly coaxing me, but the tension is palpable, and his usual effective techniques at soothing me are having little to no effect.
“You know your promises mean shit to me right now, Cass! You promised you’d be here for me, you promised you’d never miss another birthday…you promised me…us.” My voice wobbles, and I have to bite my mouth shut, grateful he can’t see the silent tears now flowing down my cheeks.
“I’ll make it up to you, Tia. Please, you have to trust that I will keep my promises one day.” I can hear the anguish in his tone. It goes some way to placate me, knowing this is just as shitty for him as it is for me, but it’s only marginal.
“When?” I manage to ask without audible evidence of my sorrowful state.
“Soon, just not right now. It’s complicated, and I need you to trust me. I love you; that will never change.”
“I don’t understand, Cass. I don’t see why you can’t just come home for a few days.” I rub my eyes dry.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, avoiding my question.
“Of course.”
“It will get worse before it gets better, Tia, but when it does get better, it will all be worth it. You will be mine, and I will spend every day of the rest of my life making you happy and making up for this. I hate it as much as you do, believe me. That’s a solemn promise. Just remember that this is not forever. Us, Tia, us is forever.”
“I still don’t understand.” The sadness in my voice is so damn pathetic, I wish I could take it back.
“I know, but you trust me, and that’s all that matters. Now tell me you love me.” His tone switches from sweetly sincere to cocky arrogant, which actually makes me laugh
“Arsehole,” I retort.
“Close, but I think you pronounced that wrong.”
“I love you, you arsehole.”
“Tia,” His playful tone drops with the warning way he says my name. I huff but comply.
“I love you, Cass.”
“And I love you too, princess. You’re mine forever, remember?”
“I seem to recall I made that promise at some point, yeah,” I quip, breaking the first smile in this entire conversation.
“Good, because I’m going to hold you to it.”
“I hate this long distance shit, Cass.”
“Me, too, Tia, me, too. Look I don’t have long before my next seminar. Tell me something else, because your heartbreak is cutting me up, and I can’t go to class all shaken and glassy-eyed,” he argues.
“You get glassy-eyed?” I snort at the ridiculous notion.
“Well, not exactly, but I hate that you’re hurting, Tia. That fucking stings,” he clarifies, and my heart clenches with the reflected pain I can hear in his voice.
“Yeah, it does. Not much to tell really. My art teacher thinks I should apply for a scholarship to study for my degree. She thinks with the unconditional offer from the Royal School of Art, I stand a really good chance, but I said I was thinking of taking the other offer. Do the business degree courses I had applied for, you know, study something that might actually make me employable.” I sniff and shrug, although he can’t see. My fingers twirl through the thick curled cord of the phone until the tips are a deep purple with no circulation.
“Your art teacher’s right, Tia, you have a gift.” Cass’s voice brooks no argument, and I smile at his obvious pride in my artistic ability. “You know, Grandfather spoke to me about offering to pay for your tuition. You don’t have to apply for a scholarship, Tia. If you want to go to art school, you don’t need to worry about money.”
“He did say something like that, and I’ll tell you what I told him.” I can feel my hackles rise, but I know the offer is kindly meant, so I keep the attitude out of my reply. “It’s very sweet, but I’m not and never will be a charity case. If I accept a place, I’ll pay my own way. I’m just not sure art is the smart choice, after all, you’re not studying sports even though you have a gift with a bat.” I counter his argument.
“I don’t have a choice, Tia. I have an empire to run when I graduate, and baseball skills aren’t going to secure the future of my family’s company. Besides, my gift is nothing compared to yours. Look, just think about it, okay?” he asks, and as with many things, I find I am unable to deny him.
“I will.”
“Good. Now, how’s Grandpa?”
“You know I’m the only seventeen-year-old whose best friend is an eighty-three-year-old man.” I snort, but the thought of Oskar brings a huge smile to my face.
“I bet he loves that.” He chuckles.
“I do, too. He’s great, Cass. He talks a lot about your father, and he’s helped me with my University applications. And he is still whooping my arse at chess and poker. If I had any money, he would’ve cleaned me out a hundred times over by now. He’s a devil.”
“That he is.” Cass laughs before asking one of the same questions he always does. “Have you been to any parties? It’s your last year of school, so you should go to a few, maybe.”
“Maybe.” It’s the first time I’ve given a different answer, but he’s right. This is my last year. It’s still not that simple, though. “I’m not great at mingling, Cass. You know that. And getting home is always such a pain.”
“I know. Just maybe make the effort this year, or you’ll be in for a hell of a shock when you get to Uni,” he warns. He’s quick to add, “Not that I want you getting drunk when I’m not there. I just hate the thought of you sitting around waiting.”
“I didn’t think I was. I don’t need your pity, Cass, I need you,” I snap, irritated at his change in tone and his inaccurate assumption.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that, Tia. I hate that I can’t make you happy, and I’m stupid enough to think encouraging you to get out will ease my conscience. Honestly, it would probably drive me crazy. This is hard for me, too, Tia. I comfort myself that this is a temporary hell, and it makes it just bearable.” He pauses, letting his voice drop low, and his words drift over my tender heart, soothing and healing the hurt. “One day we’ll be together, and I won’t ever let you go.”
“I’m not going to ask you to promise, but I very much like the sound of that,” I reply.
“I have to go, princess. I love you. Whatever happens, remember that.” He rushes his words, but they strike an uneasy chord.
“What do you mean, ‘whatever happens’?” I challenge, but he brushes me off with a light laugh and sweet words.
“Nothing, Tia, I love you.” Despite the churn in my tummy, I am quick to reply.
“I love you, too, Cass.”
“Good.” He ends the call before I can add anything else. The flat dial tone cuts through my muddled thoughts, and I find I’m left a little speechless, and I’m not exactly sure why.
I rest my heavy head on my knees. I slid to the floor when I took the call, and my bottom is now numb, and my back aches from leaning against the wall in our narrow hall. The phone receiver’s still hanging limply in my hand. We must be the only people in the country that still have a landline with a corded phone receiver permanently attached high on the wall in the kitchen. The monotone sound of the dial tone is now drilling through my skull, and the pressure behind my eyes is building to a substantial headache. I drag myself to my feet and replace the receiver. The momentary respite from the ear-piercing noise is welcome, but the headache is in full swing, so the relief is brief. It’s five o’clock. I rushed home from school to catch Atticus before his afternoon lectures, and now I’m not sure how I feel. The excitement of hearing his voice has been overshadowed by the depressing reality of this long distance relationship remaining just that for a few more months.
I let out a heavy sigh and decide to walk up to the Hall to do my homework. I used to hate being there when Atticus was away, but now, with Oskar to talk to, I draw a strange, familiar comfort from the place. With news of Cass’s most recent extended absence, I need that connection more and more. I grab my thick woollen winter coat and wrap my scarf several times around my neck and up to my ears. Slipping my portfolio over my shoulder, I brave the icy wind once more. It’s pitch black outside, and the road is deep with mud, slippery, and with the crumbling potholes, it’s treacherous. I make my way toward the Hall trying to avoid the darker patches on the road where the puddles could be anything from a few inches to knee deep. The ancient trees lining the drive creak and groan with the force of the wind howling through them, and the bare branches cast an ominous shadow against the cloud covered night sky. I shiver, but not from the freezing temperature. I don’t know why exactly, only I feel all kinds of unsettled since my phone call with Cass.
In the distance, the Hall blocks out the horizon as I approach, rising like an ancient monolith. However, rather than scaring me as it once did, I smile. Only one of the windows in the front elevation has the faintest glow from inside, the rest are lifelessly dark. Oskar is in the library. I walk around the side of the house to the rear entrance into one of the boot rooms. My mother will still be here somewhere, but I’m not here to see her, and she will head home when she’s done without hunting me down. I shuck my outer layers, kick my boots near to the radiator, and make my way directly to the library.
“Hello, my dear, I wasn’t expecting you today.” Oskar looks up from his newspaper, folding it neatly, and beaming his brightest smile my way. I’ve no experience of what a grandparent is, or how they act. I never knew mine. My only knowledge comes from Oskar, and I struggle to imagine there is a kinder soul than his out there. I quickly fell in love with his generous nature and wicked sense of humour. I flatter myself that he feels the same, his face certainly expresses his pleasure every time I enter the room. I have also seen him with people he doesn’t like, so I know he wouldn’t welcome me if he didn’t really want my company; he doesn’t suffer fools.
“No, I know, I hope you don’t mind. I’m a little out of sorts and thought I could finish my homework here tonight. I’ll go before your nurse comes back to help you to bed.” I slip my bag from over my shoulder and lay it on top of one of the freestanding bookcases. Oskar had an easel set up by one of the large windows for me to use, but I only need to work on some sketches tonight, and besides, the light is dreadful in this room this time of the year.
“Of course, you know you never need an excuse to come and visit. I’m not sure how many times I need to tell you that; you’re family.” The sincerity in his tone makes my nose tingle with the pressure of tears. I didn’t come here to cry. I shake myself and change the subject. I knew I felt out of sorts, but what the hell has gotten into me?
“You’re very kind, although I’m not sure Mrs Kruse shares your view.” I set my supplies out on the sofa opposite him. “Can I get you a cup of tea before I set up?”
“Maybe something a little stronger?” He nods toward the cabinet with a tray of cut crystal decanters and glasses on the top.
“Sure, whiskey?” I walk over and check the brass labels for his favourite tipple.
“Now you’re talking, you can help yourself, too,” he teases, only this time I surprise him.
“You know I think I will, just don’t tell my mother.” I tap my nose at our little secret. His wide eyes crinkle with pleasure.
“Oh, I’m very good at keeping secrets, you can trust me.” He mirrors my nose tap, chuckling as he does.
“I do trust you, Oskar.”
“Good.” He sounds just like Cass when he says that word, so commanding and certain. I actually pause with the decanter hovering over the glass. I take a steadying breath before I continue to pour us both two fingers of his finest whiskey. “So tell me, young lady, what’s got you needing your first sip of my ‘water of life’?”
“Cass,” I reply without bothering to turn.
“Oh, he told you, did he? Finally, I don’t know why he kept putting it off. You’re a sensible girl; he needed to give you more credit.” Oskar sounds relieved, and it just makes my heart sink that, to everyone else, this is just how things are, yet to me, this is a daily torture and unbearable heartache.
“Sensible or not, I still miss him.” I offer with a wistfully sad smile. I take the drinks over to where he is always seated, one end of the low sofa near the open fireplace. The flames are blazing high, licking the sides of the chimney flue. The firewood most recently added to the stack pops and hisses from the dramatic change in temperature. I love that sound, almost as much as I adore the rich aroma of seasoned logs burning.
“I know, my dear, but it really won’t be forever.” He takes the glass of neat whiskey and motions for me to sit beside him, patting the sofa lightly. I climb on and tuck my legs beneath me. This looks very much like story time, and despite the mountain of work I have to do, this is just what I need and the very reason I’m unexpectedly here tonight. I nurse my own crystal tumbler of amber liquid. The fumes assault my nose, so I’m a little hesitant to take my first sip just yet. “Let me tell you about Atticus’s grandmother, Aurora.” He swirls the liquid and inhales deeply, a tender smile momentarily smoothing the permanent crinkles and lines around his mouth. “She was the most beautiful girl I ever saw. She was an angel, and I knew when I saw her in kindergarten that I was going to marry her.” I snicker but don’t attempt to hide the wide smile that notion evokes. “You may laugh, Tia, but when you know, you just know, don’t you agree?” He peers over the rim of his half moon glasses and knowingly raises his thick bushy brows. I nod and let out a resigned breath.
“I do. How could I put up with Cass’s absence if I didn’t feel that in my bones.”
“Quite. Anyway, Aurora was the daughter of the village Rector, a very respectable family but not connected and not wealthy by any means. We were best friends growing up. I attended the local school because of her, and unofficially, she was my girlfriend. It would’ve been a huge scandal at the time for me to be dating someone like her, but once I turned eighteen, I was no longer under any obligation to hide my true feelings. We courted for three years officially before she was of age and I could formally propose. I was twenty-two and she was just eighteen. I’d never been so happy or so devastated as the day I was going to propose. As was right, I informed my father first as to my intentions to marry Aurora. He calmly informed me that he had other plans. My father wasn’t someone you crossed, ever. It nearly broke my heart, and I know it broke Aurora’s for many years. The men in our family have responsibilities.
“I was unaware that my family had arranged for me to marry the daughter of Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam. They were a very influential, political family, extremely well-connected, and my betrothal was crucial to the plans my father had for Kruse’s business expansion into Europe. I hated my father for this, and I told him I would never give Aurora up. He told me I didn’t have to. I just had to maintain appearances for ten years, enough time to secure the company’s future, then I would be free to marry whomever I chose. I had to have at least one son of course, but that goes without saying” Does it? Despite his warm smile, I feel an uncomfortably icy chill numb my veins. He takes a long sip of his whiskey, and I find I need to do the same. The fumes sting my eyes and burn the hair in my nose, warnings enough to caution my approach, but I take a large gulp regardless. The whiskey is like liquid fire in the back of my throat and scours its length with raw heat until I can feel it hit my stomach. I swallow back the cough that is fighting to embarrass me, making me splutter back up a bit of what I had managed to drink down. Clearing my throat, I ask for some clarification, because I’m more than struggling to understand what the hell I’ve just heard.
“You said you never left Aurora?”
“Indeed, I didn’t. I couldn’t.” He shakes himself with the mere thought, and I sink deeper into my own dark pit of confusion. This makes no sense, none. He continues, “When I married Arabella Fitzwilliam and we were set to leave for the States, Aurora came with me.”
“She was your mistress?” I can’t hide the horror in my tone. This fairytale romance has taken the nastiest twist and has my nerves on edge, my stomach in tight knots, and my mouth pooling with so much saliva, I think Oskar’s very expensive whiskey is about to make a surprise reappearance.
“No, Tia, she was never my mistress; she was my wife-in-waiting. I had obligations, and she understood.” His clipped tone does nothing to quell my need for answers.
“Potato, po-tah-to… What about your wife?” I push on despite the fact his back has stiffened, and he is now regarding me through piercing narrowed eyes. His voice remains calm, and he is impassive when he further explains this unique situation.
“Arabella knew I never loved her. I never lied, and I was a fair husband. It helped that we didn’t have children. Still, it was a difficult time for everyone concerned, but we muddled through. My wife filed for divorce on our tenth anniversary and was happily remarried to a Canadian chap until they both died. Aurora became my wife, and she fell pregnant instantly with Ole, Atticus’s father. Ole never fell in love. His marriage to Inga was entirely for the benefit of the family in order to secure the name, our fortune and the bloodline. It is the Kruse way.” He takes another sip from his glass, his tone has once again softened, and he falls silent, pensively staring off into the glowing embers of the dying fire. I’m not sure if the whiskey has made me pleasantly numb, but I think the edge has softened on my judgmental outrage. I take another large gulp of whiskey, though, just to be sure. Oskar turns to face me before he speaks, placing his glass on his small reading table beside him. “We never really spoke about the time before our wedding. It’s like it happened to someone else. In life, Tia, we all have to do things we may not want, but as long as you stay true to your heart, you can never really go wrong.” His bony hand reaches for mine, and I let him take it and hold it in both of his. His gentle smile eases some of the sadness I feel for his situation, but the anguish and anger that I thought was being subdued by alcohol rears its fiery head.
“But you didn’t stay true to your heart, Oskar; you married another woman!” I pull my hand free, because there is no way I can reconcile my emotions with his view of the situation. “Aurora must’ve died that day.”
“I hurt her, yes, but I was hurt, too.” His voice catches, and it kills any rage I had building. He looks so fragile and broken that I hate myself for attacking him at all. This wasn’t my fight, and I can see now the pain was very real for him, too. His eyes say it all, soul sad and full of regret. I take his hand this time.
“I’m sorry, Oskar. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I never left her Tia, and I never gave my heart to another. It always belonged to her. We just had to do what we had to do until we could be together. No one said true love was easy.” He shrugs, and I can see the effort to do that is exhausting. He looks world-worn and weary.
“I guess times were very different back then. It just feels unbearably unjust, horrific actually.” I sniff and let out a small laugh to lighten the solemn mood, which rests heavily on both our shoulders. Then I shiver when an icy chill hits my heart, my breath freezes in my throat, and I have to force the words out, because I don’t want to give them the oxygen to be heard. No! “Why are you telling me this, Oskar?”
“Atticus’s engagement to the senator’s daughter. You said he told you.”
The glass in my hand falls to the slate flagstone floor, breaking it into a million pieces, a little like my heart. “No, that must’ve slipped his mind,” I mouth, not sure if the words are being spoken out loud or not. The fuzzy noise of rushing blood in my ears is all I can hear. “Would you excuse me?” I think I say that, too, only I can’t be sure. I’m numb and yet consumed with unbearable agony ripping through me, decimating every plan, every hope, all our dreams destroyed by one sentence. I stand dazed, and silently walk from the room. I don’t pick up my bag, or my coat, not even my shoes at the back door. I just walk out into the night, hoping the darkness will take away this pain.