Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 73963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“What was your childhood like?” I asked her, thinking of how differently her life must have been. Not because of the difference in wealth and title but because of the fact she had both her parents. I understood from her earlier words that she wasn’t close to her mother but what of her father? Was her relationship with her mother strained only because she was sent off to marry a wealthy man to save her family from poverty? There were so many things I did not know and the more I was around Miriam, the more I craved to know her.
I saw her shoulders drop just a touch, but it was enough to give her away. Then she looked at me. “The truth? It was difficult. Whitney made life bright and happy. The rest of it wasn’t a story one wants to share,” she said. I remembered her words earlier today about her sister bringing love and joy into her life. I had hoped she hadn’t meant her childhood had been difficult, but it appeared it must have been.
“How is that?” I asked, not wanting her to stop there but fearing I was pushing too hard for information she wasn’t ready to give.
“I wasn’t a boy,” she said halting my thoughts, and I stared at her confused by her words. “My father wanted a boy and I wasn’t a boy. My twin brother was the boy he wanted and he didn’t live past three days old. I was the child that he wished had died instead.” Her words were almost a whisper.
I remained silent. More from the horror of what I had just heard than anything else. Did she truly feel that her father had wanted her to die? My struggles with my father paled in comparison. How could someone as bright, witty, and beautiful feel as if they were unwanted by their own parent? My father had made me feel as if I were a disappointment, but I had never believed he wished me dead. No child should grow up believing something so horrible.
“What of Whitney? Did he want her?” I asked, needing to find a small fact that would clear away this belief that she was unwanted. The idea of Miriam living with that kind of horror bothered me deeply.
She shrugged then. “He didn’t much care for her either. She wasn’t a boy. However, he ignored her and that was a blessing. I was thankful for that. She’s gentle and sweet. Her spirit couldn’t have handled it if he had chosen to acknowledge her.”
There was a darkness in Miriam’s voice that warned me I didn’t want to know more. I wasn’t sure she meant to warn me, but it was there. A smart man would stop asking questions and lighten the mood. Wanting to get to know Miriam meant knowing all of her and this was obviously a very large part of who she was. A hate for a dead man began to burn in my gut and I felt helpless to do anything about it. How could I fix damage caused such as this? Knowing I needed to stop asking questions for the answers would only haunt me, I couldn’t seem to do as my head screamed I must.
“He didn’t ignore you?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No,” she said as she stared off into the darkness. “He reminded me every day that I wasn’t the child who should have lived. I wasn’t the son he deserved. My life was a curse.” Her voice broke as she said the last word and I closed the space between us.
I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to my chest. She didn’t cling to me and cry the way I expected her to do. Women normally broke down that way. I had experienced it more than once. Instead, she simply let me hold her. There were no tears or dramatic sobs. Just the silence of the night surrounding us. The part inside me that had twisted into an ugly hatred of a dead man needed her to cry in my arms so that I could help mend her. Nothing I could do would heal her past, yet I needed to do something.
“He was wrong,” I told her. I might not know Miriam Bathurst well, but what I did know was she was a loving niece who accepted her aunt no matter her faults and she would do anything for her sister. Even give up her own chance at happiness. Those two attributes were why we were here this weekend. The man who had raised her knew nothing of her. He had lived a bitter life and died without knowing the beauty his oldest daughter was. It was his loss and one he so rightly deserved. Yet as I held her, I knew none of these things mattered for there was a little girl inside who had just wanted to be loved.