Chapter 2 #2
Anger kindled inside his bosom and turned to ice as his father stared at him at his position at the head of the table.
"We need to discuss your courtship with Sally—"
"Now wait just a damn minute—"
"We do not tolerate that kind of language at the dinner table."
His mother's pitch was low as usual but carried steel as she looked down her nose at him, eyes frosty. "You know better."
"I do." Shoving back his chair, he stood there looking around the table at the faces with their similar expressions of distress and disapproval and realized he had had enough.
"Sally, I'm sorry you were shoved into this – this amazing spectacle and given the impression that I have any interest whatsoever of becoming your husband.
Or perhaps you were part of it and in that case, you can all go straight to hell.
" With that, he wheeled out of the room and left them sitting there stunned into immobility.
******************
Spending the night at the shabby house she had grown up in was creepy to say the least. She had called Caleb as soon as she settled and assured him she would be okay.
"Lock the doors," he ordered.
"Nothing ever happens here," she protested.
"Lock the doors," he repeated firmly. "You're conveniently forgetting that incident where some sick prick came from out of town and bludgeoned poor Jimmy to death with his own pitchfork. Not to mention the numerous break-ins over a period of two years. Lock the damn doors Jules."
So, she had followed his orders and secured not only the doors, but the windows as well.
The place smelled musty and abandoned. Her aunt had owned a dog who had died a few years ago.
Jules could swear that she could still smell old Rufus in the creaky sofas and rocking chair by the fireplace.
Going into the homey kitchen, she put the kettle to boil and rooted around for tea bags.
The silence was unnerving and had her checking the windows for any signs of life.
Had she ever been happy here? She found herself wondering as she added honey to the tea. Her mother had tried, but at the end of the day, she had been too worn out to make much of an effort. Too exhausted from working her fingers to the bone for that wretched family.
As Jules sat at the worn kitchen table, her thoughts drifted back to the conversation with Caleb. She couldn't shake the unease that had settled in her mind. The memories of Jimmy's tragic end and the break-ins haunted her, making her feel vulnerable despite the locked doors.
She took a sip of her tea, the warmth calming her nerves somewhat.
The house, with its creaks and groans, seemed to come alive with the past, whispering secrets of the times long gone.
Jules found herself wandering through the corridors, each step echoing with memories she had tried so hard to forget.
In the dim light of the living room, she noticed the old family photographs hanging crookedly on the walls.
Faces stared back at her, some familiar, others forgotten.
Her gaze settled on a particular photo of her mother, young and vibrant, holding a smiling Jules in her arms. It was a stark contrast to the worn-out woman she had become, worn down by the relentless demands of life.
Jules felt a pang of guilt. She had never understood the sacrifices her mother had made; the silent battles she had fought to keep the family afloat. This house, now a relic of those struggles, bore witness to their shared history, filled with both love and hardship.
She turned away from the photographs, her heart heavy with regret.
The shadows of the past loomed large, but Jules knew she had to confront them to find peace.
As she walked back to the kitchen, determined to face her fears, she heard a faint sound outside—a rustle in the bushes, a whisper of the wind.
Her breath caught, and she froze, listening intently.
"Maybe Caleb was right," she thought, her pulse quickening. "Maybe I should have taken his warnings more seriously."
Gathering her courage, she reached for the nearest object—a rusty old poker that had once guarded the fireplace—in case she needed to defend herself. She edged toward the window, peering out into the darkness, ready to confront whatever—or whoever—might be lurking outside.
Pressing against the window, she eased the curtain aside and peered out, heart hammering inside her chest. It occurred to her that instead of staying her by herself, she should have used commonsense and book a suite at the hotel in town.
Gripping the poker, until the old iron was digging into her skin, she waited with bated breath as she peered out.
The relief at seeing the racoon scampering along the creaky floorboards of the front porch.
Sagging against the wall, she closed her eyes and started laughing so hard, her knees buckled. Sliding to the floor, she placed her head on her knees and felt the tension easing for the first time since she returned.
*****
The cabin was in a remote part of town and was sitting on top of a hill.
It was not spectacular, just an old log building that had seen years of being pommeled by the harsh weather.
But the beauty was centered around the land the cabin sat on.
Lush green trees, wildflowers blooming in colorful and dazzling profusion.
It had belonged to his great grandfather and was considered a "fishing cabin." It had passed down until it was now his and Jordan used it as a means of escape whenever his family gets to be too much.
Like now. Shoving open the car door, he stepped into the brisk breeze swaying the trees and cold enough to seep through his jacket.
Sitting on the hood of his vehicle, he took out the packet of cigar.
Selecting one, he lighted it, dragging in the smoke and relaxing his tensed muscles.
He had turned off his phone as soon as he started driving.
The good thing about this place was the lack of cell service, which meant he would be left alone.
He had to do something to get them off his back. Arguing, dismissing them was not enough. He had to be drastic about it.
His sisters had followed orders all their lives. They had been told what to do, where to go and had gone ahead with whatever their parents had dictated without an ounce of argument.
He would like to think that he loved them. At one point, he recalled being excited to be a big brother. But somewhere between puberty and adolescent, he had lost them. Lost that closeness they had while growing up.
Jennifer was two years younger than he was and Henrietta, four years his junior. He had made one last effort to look out for them when he discovered that his mother had chosen men for them to marry.
Both their husbands were prominent lawyers who now worked for the company. Frick and frack, was what Jordan referred to them as. The two men were as humorless as corpses and had little or no opinion other than what was told to them by Harry and Jacqline Wainwright. He despised them on principle.
He could also see that his sisters were not happy.
They rarely smiled and were the exact replica of their mother.
It was depressing to see. Blowing smoke in the air, he tilted his head and watched as it curled and drifted towards the clear blue of the sky with the silver orb of the moon, surrounded by stars that looked as if they were near enough to be touched.
Flicking the cigar away, he wrapped his jacket around him and headed for the door.
His thoughts meandered like the smoke, drifting between memories and plans.
He felt the weight of his family's expectations pressing on him, a burden he desperately wanted to shake off.
He walked towards the cabin, his steps crunching on the gravel and fallen leaves.
Each footfall a reminder of the solitude he craved.
Inside, the cabin was as he remembered; rustic and simple, with the smell of aged wood and faint traces of past fires lingering in the air.
He tossed his jacket on an old armchair and moved to the fireplace, where a few logs were stacked.
Striking a match, he felt a sense of satisfaction as the flames caught and began to flicker, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
As the fire grew, so did his resolve. He knew he needed to confront his parents.
His mind was set on breaking free from the entangled web of control and manipulation.
Sitting on the worn-out sofa, he stretched his legs out and leaned his head back.
He was going to have to think of something fast. And the time had come for him to move out.
Find a place of his own. He knew that was going to be met with strenuous objections.
He had avoided doing so before now, because he could not stand the constant argument and looks of disappointment.
But to hell with all that, he decided. He was an adult and in charge of his own destiny.
Besides, the manor had started to feel overcrowded.
His parents expectations were like strangleholds around his neck, something that needed to be removed.
He would spend the night here, thinking of something to accomplish that.
Perhaps it was time he lived elsewhere. God knew he could manage on his own and it was not like he was close to his family.
He felt more like a stranger in that house than anything else.
He could live anywhere. They had properties in several countries.
The weight of depression descended as he thought about his career.
Wainwright Holdings was a multifaceted company that had its tentacles into everything from farming, real estate, banking, and minor investments in several vineyards.
They were also into logging. Jordan was not one to sit in an office.
Yes, he had one of course at the corporate building, but he was into overseeing the various renovations and acquisitions.
Right now, they were building an artifacts museum, which was in its final stages of completion.
He did not want to leave at this point. He had started the project and was going to see it through.
The warmth of the fire began to spread through the room, enveloping him in a cocoon of comfort.
Jordan leaned back, closing his eyes, listening to the crackling of the flames, and the distant calls of night creatures.
He felt a calmness he hadn't experienced in years, a calmness that signaled the beginning of a new chapter in his life.
He was going to have to find a solution to the problem dogging his footsteps and soon.