Chapter 4 #2
Uncle Leopold’s mustache twitched, and if I were Aunt Cornelia, I would have bitten my tongue then and there because that twitch was a warning sign that Leopold would soon transition from coolly polite to wickedly stern.
The wickedly stern was the part that was intimidating, and only twice had I seen him move beyond that to the violently awful part.
The result was a broken vase that Aunt Cornelia claimed was from her great-great-grandmother’s estate, and it almost ended with a slap to my aunt’s face.
She’d dodged it, of course, and afterward Uncle Leopold had marched from the room.
The second time . . . well, I’d rather not recall that time.
“When or why Preston comes to stay at Traeger Hall is none of your concern.” Uncle Leopold’s eyebrow winged upward. “He is pivotal to my business, which is something you would never understand.”
The insult was well aimed and very clear. No one was to question Uncle Leopold about his businesses and investments, ever, especially not a mere woman like his wife.
I took another sip of tea and watched.
Aunt Cornelia stood ramrod-straight and unyielding in front of her husband, her deep violet taffeta dress as frozen as she was. The high collar looked as if it might choke her, and maybe it did because she was turning a little purple in her cheeks.
I saw my aunt swallow, and then her mouth twitched with what I guessed were repressed retorts.
“Very well,” she managed. “I will make sure Aveline prepares the indigo room for him. As usual.”
Aveline was the housemaid.
Aunt Cornelia didn’t like her either, but I hadn’t figured out why yet.
Without a word of gratitude, Uncle Leopold took a few strides toward the door, apparently assured the matter was settled. But he paused in front of me and stared down at me as though he’d forgotten I was there.
“You’re not to try to impress Preston with your wits or wiles, is that understood?” he said.
Of course it was. I nodded. I had no intention of trying to attract Preston Scofield’s attention.
He was a lanky man, maybe ten years my senior, with a handlebar mustache that hung just below his chin and thinning hair that would likely be gone completely by the time he reached forty.
Besides, Preston reminded me of a rat, and I quite hated rats.
Shifty, beady-eyed creatures that scampered in the shadows, and no one actually knew what they were about. A rat could be—
“Is that understood?” Uncle Leopold barked, and I startled. Tea sloshed over the rim of my cup and dotted my rose-blush silk dress.
“Yes, Uncle,” I replied obediently. He needed a yes, not an explanation.
Eyeing me as he stood over me, I felt small, as I often did around my uncle.
And he’d been my uncle such a short time really.
Aunt Cornelia had been married once before, and that uncle had been kinder.
Mostly because he was absent or did not give notice to anyone around him.
But he had died of a burst appendix—an awful way to go, or so I’ve been told—and after that, Aunt Cornelia met and married Leopold Traeger.
My life would have been so much different had my parents not passed away when I was eight.
“Do you really think I don’t see through you?” Uncle Leopold’s question curdled my insides.
“I’m sorry?” I feigned innocence, though I was quite aware that he was quite aware that I was very aware that he was not a good man.
“Stay busy with what you must but stay away from my business. Is that understood?” Uncle Leopold’s eyes threw invisible daggers at me, but I still felt them. And I knew enough to surrender.
“Yes, of course, Uncle.”
He stared at me a moment longer, then exited the room.
I turned toward Aunt Cornelia, who stood across the room from me. She was displeased, that much was obvious, and she was also defeated. Though she wasn’t a particularly warm person and in some ways seemed suited to Uncle Leopold, I felt bad for her.
“I cannot stand that man.” Aunt Cornelia finally allowed her distaste to be heard.
“Uncle Leopold?”
Aunt Cornelia cast a startled glance toward the doorway, where Uncle Leopold had exited. “No! Preston Scofield.”
“Ah.” I nodded.
Aunt Cornelia stepped toward me, her skirts sweeping the rug. “You must stay far away from him, or I fear he’ll drag you right along with him into the muddle that is your uncle’s world.”
“Muddle?” I feigned innocence, all the while understanding that Uncle Leopold had his fingers in so many aspects of Newton Creek that one could hardly unravel the tangled knot.
That he owned the majority of Newton Creek hadn’t won him any friends, but it had earned him the right to hold his secrets, wield his authority, and essentially bind people to him not unlike a lord and his fiefdom.
“You know what I mean, Waverly, so don’t play coy.” She pursed her lips as she sank onto a chair opposite me. “If we knew exactly what was going on in your uncle’s world, we might both fear for our lives.”
I blinked.
Aunt Cornelia waited as if she expected me to respond, yet I wasn’t sure what to say.
Fear for our lives? This was the first time I’d seen a flicker of alarm in my aunt’s expression.
Fear of whom? The coarse men who worked at Uncle’s sawmill?
Preston and his rodent-like personality?
Or maybe it was Uncle Leopold himself. He owned the bank, the sawmill, and he held the lives of many of Newton Creek’s residents in his grip merely because they owed him money or were bound to him for their livelihoods.
But was there more I didn’t know about but Aunt Cornelia had an inkling of?
I attempted a smile to try to comfort my aunt, but it fell short.
That was when I realized the strict and uptight personality of Aunt Cornelia was only a charade. She was frightened, anxious.
Sometimes you knew what you were afraid of, and you fretted over the consequence of knowing.
But not knowing who or what exactly to fear was far worse.
The foreboding that something horrid was about to come down upon you and you were incapable of doing anything about it, well, that would cause anyone anxiety.
Especially when the bad had an inevitable arrival date.
Looking back, maybe I should have seen it. Maybe I should have understood it all. But it was far too complicated at the time. And now? Now I marvel at how it all transpired. And, for better or for worse, Aunt Cornelia had no way to escape what was coming any more than I did.