Chapter Three: Reunion

Mr. Rigozzi looked up from his stack of untidy papers. His eyes met with a young boy’s eyes.

“Jared? Is that you?” He was surprised what the years had done to Jared’s face. His expression, though still childlike, had hardened with struggle and time.

“Yes, sir,” Jared said proudly. He smirked. “I’ve grown up a bit, haven’t I?

Mr. Rigozzi looked at Jared, from head to toe. He smiled and sighed all at once. He suddenly looked down at his desk with exhaustion, avoiding Jared’s eyes. Jared knew that expression well, disappointment.

Jared straightened up. “I know I need to explain what happened when my family left, sir.”

Mr. Rigozzi stifled a mocking laugh. “Well, it has been ten years. You can understand my concern.”

“Of course I can,” Jared explained. “But just hear me out. After my family fled the area, my parents took me to my Great Aunt Rita’s house. My parents had some business to attend to, and it wasn’t the kind of business that a nine year old kid should be involved in. Nobody ever bothers her at home, so they figured that I’d be safe enough.  So they left. But before they did, my mother gave my Great Aunt this.”

Jared held up a tattered piece of parchment, yellowed with age.

He looked up from the ground, where he had been speaking towards.  

“I was supposed to read this when times were bad, but I opened it a couple hours after my parents left. I’m glad I did.”

Mr. Rigozzi stirred in his seat. He was intrigued.

He fingered his stack of papers. “What does the letter say?”

Jared spoke clearly.

Dear Jared,

First of all, know that your father and I love you very much. Our leaving you with Rita is not a choice that we can easily make. You understand that we must join this revolution. The French cannot continue to be persecuted for mistakes made some two hundred years ago.

We understand that Great Aunt Rita will not live forever. And hopefully we will return to you before such a horrible event as her death would occur. However, if we do not, please seek out the aid of Mr. and Mrs. Rigozzi. I know they care for you deeply, as if you were their own son, and would be very willing to keep you, as well as some promises that have been made between our families.

Love, Mom

Jared crumpled into the chair before Mr. Rigozzi’s desk.

“A few months later I learned that my mom was in jail. My father has been missing since I was twelve,” Jared winced. “And I can’t stay with my Great Aunt Rita any longer. She died this morning.”

Mr. Rigozzi gave a look of deep concern and sadness. Jared could have sworn that there were tears in Mr. Rigozzi’s eyes. Tears of regret.

“Mr. Rigozzi,” Jared begged, “I know our families have radically different beliefs. Your company works with the government. My parents are some of the most hated immigrants in North America.”

He paused. “However, I am not my mother. I am not my father. I am a man of my own beliefs. I am willing to do anything to earn your trust.”

A hearty laugh escaped from Mr. Rigozzi, a clear change in his demeanor that Jared did not expect to see.

Jared loosened up a tad and asked, “Did I mess up that badly?”

“Heavens, no,” said Mr. Rigozzi. “I am just slightly amused. After all these years, the only place you can seek employment at contains the person who possibly despises you the most.”

“I’m prepared to deal with that,” Jared said, a frown escaping from his calm façade. “I will not let her dislike for me get in the way of my job proficiency, I swear.”

As Jared was speaking he noticed that Mr. Rigozzi’s jet black hair was now streaked with grey. A detail that wasn’t there a decade ago.

Mr. Rigozzi smiled. “Oh, fine then. We shall see. You may live here in the house, and the majority of your wages will be put towards living expenses. I will give you some pocket money, but I expect you to save most of it, of course. Do you understand, Mr. Portier?”

“Yes, sir. Most clearly.” Jared chuckled with glee.

Mr. Rigozzi beamed. “Welcome home, son.”

Chapter Two: Actual Reality

“I’m sorry, boy. She’s dead.”

The doctor covered her with a plain white sheet, and Jared covered his eyes with his hand.

It can’t be, he thought.

After speaking a few parting words with the doctor, Jared stared helplessly at the person on the grey couch who used to be Great Aunt Rita.

He swiftly pulled the sheet off of her and looked at her delicate, aged face. Her grey hair fell on her shoulders with a purposeful look. Her clothes were clean and well-fitting, even though she was one of the poorest women in town. He could have almost convinced himself that she was taking another nap.

Jared stared out the small window in the common room. Rita had loved the view. She could see the neighbor children playing, the mailman delivering, and the police patrolling- all at once. Today, Jared saw none of these things. He saw a group of men in worker’s clothes walking up to the doorstep. Jared stood up, wiped off his knees, and took out his stash of money from the shoes he was wearing. $500. These were good men, men that Rita trusted, and they said that they would provide Rita with a grave. Jared thanked them as they took her, and most of his money, away.

He laughed, with hints of insanity. Everything was gone. He had $50 to his name, and the house would soon be sold to help pay for Rita’s outstanding bills. Even Rita, the woman who had helped his family in the worst of times and who treated Jared with the best care that she could give, was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jared was nine, and Emma was seven. As usual, that playdate included a game of tag, eating some homemade chocolate chip cookies, and chasing around the Portier’s chickens in the backyard. Emma lived in the biggest house on the street, on the corner. Jared lived in the smallest house on the street, on the opposite end of the street.

That day, Jared and Emma decided to play a board game in Jared’s room. There were twelve different animals to choose from, and whichever one chosen would be the player’s main piece throughout the game. After choosing the duck for her piece, Emma looked at Jared’s room. There was a plain bed, a simple wooden desk, and a closet filled with some of his parents’ old clothes. Emma never could understand why Jared’s room was so bare. This board game was the only toy that he had. His parents refused to get him any others.

She decided to ask Jared why there were no toys.

Jared suddenly looked serious. He had the look that Emma had seen on his parents’ faces when they were talking quietly.

“My parents are afraid that if the police come here, they’ll take me away. If they see a normal room, they won’t know I exist.”

He spoke with such anguish; Emma knew she should never ask a question like that again. She didn’t like seeing Jared sad or scared.

He saw her fear, and with it, he turned and hugged her with all of his might. “I’ll always keep you safe, no matter what happens,” Jared whispered in her ear.

Emma relaxed. Jared never broke a promise. He would keep her away from the Rebels and the bombs and especially the Police.

As if He was trying to play a cruel joke, a sudden noise was heard outside of the Portier’s modest home.

Jared and Emma turned to one another, trying to validate if they had heard the same blood-curdling call that the other had heard.

Open up. Police.

Mrs. Portier frantically ran up the stairs into Jared’s room.

“Under the bed,” she whispered. “Now! Be silent!”

The two children climbed into a secret chamber beneath the floor, hidden by Jared’s bed. Mrs. Portier moved the bed over the floorboards. She closed the bedroom door behind her and joined her husband at the front door.

Jared was prepared for this. He held Emma close, never once letting her go. She was quiet, which was the most he could have asked for. She couldn’t help that she was shaking from head to toe. He couldn’t help that he was shaking, either.

The police entered the humble home. Mr. Portier meekly asked why they were there.

“SILENCE,” the main officer commanded. “We have the power of the United States behind us to search your home, you filthy French scum.”

One of the younger officers checked Jared’s room. He threw open the closet. Filled with only adult clothes, he assumed the room to be a guest bedroom and, after a quick glance about, shut the door.

Jared and Emma, slightly relieved, let out a bit of pent-up breath.

“Nothing upstairs, officer. No spy gear that I can see. No French propaganda in the least,” the young officer reported.

The main police officer gauged the response of the Portiers after hearing this news. Their faces never changed.

“We will be back. When the United States wins this war, we will take you away and put you in your proper place.” He sneered. “Au revoir.”

The police left and, when they were sure it was safe, Mr. Portier helped lift the bed up so Emma and Jared could climb out of the small hole in the ground.

Emma saw a certain look flash before the Portiers’ faces. A look that said, it’s time.

“Jared,” Mr. Portier said solemnly, “it’s time to say goodbye to Emma. Why don’t you walk her home?”

“That’s a very good idea, dearest.” Mrs. Portier gathered some of her paints in a small bag while speaking. “We’ll be leaving on a- a vacation! So you will not see each other for a little while. Say goodbye, and come straight home, Jared.”

Jared understood what she meant. “Yes, Mother.”

Jared walked with Emma, his arm around her shoulder, to the end of the street. He tried to comfort her, but he couldn’t help her. She had just experienced something too frightful for a seven year old to handle.

The two frightened children reached the gate that opened up to Emma’s front yard.

“Emma,” he said. “I’m so sorry that you had to be there for what happened today. I will never put you through that again. My parents and I are going away for a little while, but we will be back. I will be back. And when we come back, it’ll be as if I never left.”

Emma smiled. He will be back, she thought. She kissed him on the cheek, a kiss between two childhood friends. After a meaningful hug between the two of them, Jared walked away. It took all of his strength not to look back.

Emma waited for him. Everyday she asked, “Papa? Any word from the Portiers? When will they be home?”

Her father would reply, “I’m sorry, child. No word. I’m sure they’ll be home soon.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jared grabbed his belongings, a few rumpled shirts, two pairs of jeans, a guitar, a letter, and a picture of him with his parents from the days at the old house.

Before he knew where he was going or what he was doing, he was there. On that doorstep. He must have been running for miles, for hours. But there he was, looking for the key hidden under the mailbox that opened the front gate.

He unlocked the gate and walked up the well-kept stone path that led to the Victorian-style house. There was the wrap around porch and the comfy bench swing. He remembered it all from his childhood. Everything looked the same, but so much had changed.

He rung the doorbell, and a large woman opened the door questioningly.

The woman narrowed her eyes. “What do you want there, boy?”

He smiled softly. “A conversation, Madame. A conversation with Mr. Rigozzi.”

She shut the door firmly, running about the house to find Mr. Rigozzi.

Finally, Jared mused. A bit of good luck.

Chapter One: Looking Back

“Emma, it’s time to wake up. You’ll be late for breakfast.”

Emma peered out of her cozy blankets to glare at the booming voice. It was too early. It couldn’t possibly be time to get up yet. Mrs. Austen met her morning-eye stare with a look full of such seriousness that Emma felt obliged to wake up out of fear.

Mrs. Austen was a full-figured woman with a uniform that did not show off her “curves” in a positive manner. Emma had thought that she once was quite a voluptuous and sought-after lady of the town, but after having three children, her curves had turned to concrete. Though her thick brown hair was always in a tight bun, giving an unknowing stranger the notion that she was a mean woman, Mrs. Austen had a kind heart. She was both trusting and demanding; her job as the house maid made her this way. Mr. Rigozzi accepted her, and so did Emma. Mrs. Rigozzi wouldn’t have cared about her at all.

After a bit of a light stretch, Emma pulled open the curtains that covered the large window next to her. The sunlight streamed in without restriction. No riots today, she thought. No wonder I slept so well.

Mrs. Austen laid out her day clothes on the bed, told her that her father had a surprise for her, and that she needed to be downstairs in a half an hour. Emma grunted in response. Mrs. Austen gently shut the door behind her.

Emma slipped into her delicates, today a matching purple bra and boxer panties, and buttoned up a simple black dress that highlighted her petite build. Though she didn’t know it, all of Emma’s friends were jealous of her looks. Her long reddish brown hair, her penetrating blue eyes, her tiny yet womanly figure attracted looks from manly passersby. Emma knew nothing of it, of course, but her father was quick to hide his blooming daughter from anyone he deemed possibly “inappropriate.”

The Rigozzis had been an upstanding family in the area since her grandparents had immigrated to the East Coast from Italy. Her father had fallen in love with her mother when they were at college together, and they were only a year out of college when they decided to get married. Her mother had been a carefree woman in her youth, but during the birth of Emma’s sister, Samantha, her mother’s woes caught up with her. Mrs. Rigozzi died in childbirth but, miraculously, Samantha lived. That had been four years ago, when Emma was thirteen.

After the death of her mother, Emma often tried to relive some of her favorite moments of them together. When she was feeling alone, Emma would look up at the stars and recall the numerous times that her mother and she had tried to count them. They’d be lying on a blanket, trying to keep the bugs and dirt off of themselves, and end up counting around 450 stars. Usually when they passed this number Emma would fall asleep and her mother would stroke her hair.

Even if her mother were alive, they never would have been able to do that again. The Revolution had caused too much chaos, and the stars were rarely even visible, no less countable nowadays.

Emma glanced about her room, admiring the soothing blue color scheme that she had decided upon a few months earlier. Her bed, dresser, and desk all matched one another, and her favorite part of her room was the mirror. The mirror ran on the wall opposite her bed, and went from the floor to a few inches above Emma’s head. Its frame was made of thick and decorated gold. When she opened the curtains to her window, the mirror would always shine.

After approving herself in the mirror, Emma found a pair of black sandals that fit her comfortably, and, after exiting her room, flew down the stairs with the grace expected of a girl who had been cooped up for hours on end.

“Good morning, Father,” Emma beamed as she set herself down at the dining table. “How’s the war going?”

Her father, a rather burly man of middle age, looked up thankfully from his low-calorie breakfast to the gleaming smile of his eldest daughter.

“According to the papers we’re winning and expanding our boundaries. But of course you never know who the hell is writing these articles these days.” Her father paused, and, realizing that young Samantha was at the table, scolded himself for using such colloquial profanity.

Though Samantha was young, inheriting her mother’s beauty and sense of humor, she appreciated her father’s dialogue and smirked at her sister.

“So, Father, Mrs. Austen spoke to me about some surprise?” Emma questioned hopefully.

“Yes,” he laughed heartily, taking a bite of a blueberry muffin top, “there is a surprise. However, I’m not sure how you will be taking to it. Or should I say, to him.”

Samantha giggled. Emma scrunched her face in puzzled amusement.

“I doubt that a new business partner of yours is going to frighten me that much.”

Her father laughed deeply again. “Oh, my daisy, how delightfully wrong you can be sometimes. Well, Mr. Spencer is getting old. He can only run this home’s affairs for so long without feeling run down and spent. When he gets to that point, I do not want our family to suffer, nor him. Therefore, I have hired a new hand who will, hopefully, take Mr. Spencer’s place when I see fit.”

Emma had been collecting a plate of fresh fruit, swiftly popping pieces of cut up pineapple into her salivating mouth, while her father was talking.

“Well, Father, how splendid! I am happy that Mr. Spencer will finally be able to seek retirement. I am sure that you have made an excellent choice in your replacement. I do not see the problem with your logic.”

“That’s just the problem, my love,” Mr. Rigozzi sighed. “The replacement is a wonderful man. Actually, he is probably one of the few people I would trust with this job.”

Mr. Rigozzi took a large gulp of his coffee. Samantha stirred in her seat, growing terribly bored of this conversation.

“I hired Mr. Jared Portier,” said Mr. Rigozzi. He followed up quickly, trying to support his decision. “I know that we do not agree with all of his family’s choices during the Revolution, but after his parents were arrested, he was left with nothing. He is in desperate need of a job and a place to live, and I promised Mrs. Portier, before she was jailed for conspiracy, of course, that I would take care of Jared no matter what. I am keeping my promise, as any Rigozzi would.”

Emma was exasperated. Her childhood friend, whose parents had defied the government, would be serving her this afternoon’s tea. If the shower in her bathroom quit working, who would come to her rescue? No, not Mr. Spencer, who used to engage in witty banter with Emma and make her day, but instead, Jared. Jared Portier. He would be living, according to her father, just down the hall from her, in the designated guest room.

“Although he is working for our family, he is, and always will be, considered a guest in our home.” Emma looked at him with frustration. Her father continued, “We are helping him by providing him with means, dearest Emma. He will help us by providing us with a way to keep our household going. He’s a bright one, that Jared. He will go a long way, especially with our help.”

Emma took another bite of pineapple. Samantha asked to be excused and was escorted to her room by Mrs. Austen.

Trying to take this decision in stride, Emma looked for some positive reasons to dwell upon. She could think of only one.

Maybe now he’ll apologize.

Prologue: The Unknown

The girl stepped out of the carriage, with the help of a man’s hand. The air was humid, and it had been sprinkling on and off throughout the day. She brushed herself off and, making sure to avoid a pile of dirty leaves and a puddle, was gently escorted down the grey cobblestone path. They walked in silence. Step by step, almost in sync with one another, but just missing this equilibrium by a second or two. The man looked ahead, fearing that he would lose control if he even glanced at her shoes. The girl looked down, fearing that she would lose her self-respect if she stared ahead or lose her family if she walked back to the carriage.

The path led straight ahead to an old brick building that loomed above them. The rain began to fall, caressing the two as if trying to nudge them in the right direction. A strong wind came from behind them, ramming the delicate girl and pummeling her to the earth. The man caught her. He was strong, she could feel his arms firmly holding her but an inch above the ground. He pulled her up tenderly, afraid that she would break if he tried too hard.

They walked again, the man looking up, the girl looking down. The branches of a weeping willow on the side of the path swayed in the wind, reminding the girl of an old friend who might wave as they passed by. After only the briefest of moments, the two of them arrived at the door. It was made of dark oak, and it towered over them with a deliberate shadow. The man turned to look at the girl but stopped.

He lowered his eyes and spoke solemnly, “Is this what you really want to do?”

The girl slowly nodded. He didn’t see the tears coming to her eyes.

The man looked at her face, her beautiful face, for only a second. He stepped off the path and began the long walk back to the hill with the tree. The man knew that he could cry there, and no one would judge him.

The girl saw him walk away and did nothing. She wanted to scream. She wanted to go back to the carriage with him, his hand in hers, and run away.

But that didn’t happen. Instead, the girl sighed deeply and, with great sadness, opened the heavy door with all of her strength.

My Novel!

Hello, again! My novel-in-progress, Changes, will be posted here for lucky people (who stumble across my blog) to read and enjoy. I've finished 2-3 chapters, and I will post more as they come to me.

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The Power of the Written Word

Hello, readers! I have decided to create this blog for one sole purpose: to publish my written work! Whether it be random poems I create or the current novel I am working on, Changes you'll be seeing some great stuff here. If you'd like to see my Tumblr, it is http://www.alittlebittoponder.tumblr.com/.

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