ROMANOV AUTUMN
Chapter Forty
Alyiah was buried on the hilltop
overlooking the garden. Jack stood watching as the undertaker lowered his
love's once lively, radiant body into the cold, dark earth. Olivia stood with
Esther, holding Macena in her arms, and kept stealing nervous glances towards
her brother.
Jack made no sign of interest
towards his newborn daughter, spending most of the day locked in the study. His
grief was painful to watch...if it wasn’t bad enough that they lost their
parents in that fire, God had to snatch up another person he'd devoted his life
to. He was clearly unfit to be a father at this point--and she feared he might
never want to be.
After the funeral, Esther came to
his side, taking his arm gently. He looked at his former guardian through
expressionless eyes, and she frowned.
"Jack, it hurts me to see
you this way," she said. "Alyiah would hate it, too. You have a
daughter, one who needs your care..."
He shrugged her away. "I
can't," he whispered brokenly, stepping backwards. "I have to
go."
"Go where? Jack..."
Esther was powerless against his despair, watching as he walked away once more.
Esther hurried to Olivia, offering to take Macena into her arms, and sighed.
"What will we do?"
Olivia asked, and Esther held the infant protectively to her chest. She had
large, dark eyes like her mother, and her father's nose. She cooed gently,
squeezing her tiny fists, and made a sour face.
"We'll have to let fate
decide," Esther replied. "Jack needs to come to his senses, and only
he can do that. I fear we'll have to parent this little one until that day
comes."
Olivia peered closely at her
niece, pride filling her soul. "She is beautiful, isn't she?" Olivia
placed a kiss on the baby's forehead. "Though I honestly must say, what
kind of a name is Macena?" She gave the infant a playful jiggle, which
caused Macena to stare at her in surprise.
"I think it's unique,"
Esther replied. "It probably was something Alyiah heard in Europe."
Olivia smiled in understanding,
and gave a slight shiver in the late afternoon breeze. "I'll look after
her as though she were my own," she replied. "After all, I am her
auntie."
Esther chuckled and smiled as
Macena drifted off to sleep in her arms. "We should go," she said
quietly. "There's not much to do here now."
Olivia agreed, glancing sadly at
the fresh gravesite behind her, and followed Esther in the direction of their
carriage.
*****
Meanwhile, Jack wandered through
his days in a fog. He had no idea where he wanted to go or when, but he had to
leave this place. Alyiah's presence still filled the house to the point where
he swore he could hear her whisper.
He eventually went up to their
bedroom, packing whatever he needed to survive in a single rucksack, including
what little money he had. Gazing around the once-familiar and happy
surroundings, he swept away as fast as he could.
When the ticket seller at the
train station inquired of his destination, Jack could only stand and stare at
the older gentleman. He hadn't planned that far ahead, but when the ticket
seller became impatient, he asked what train went the furthest.
"That would be
California," the man said, and Jack blinked. California--that was such an
innocent time--almost a world away. Still, the change in climate might be what
he needed. "Son?" the cashier cocked his head to one side. "What'll
it be?"
Jack purchased a ticket to
California, boarding the old train a moment later. It felt so strange to be
sitting in a seat without Alyiah--he missed her so terribly, it felt as though
a great chunk of his heart had been torn out. Or better yet--the fire that had
been glowing in him for so long was extinguished.
He slept for most of the long
journey, hardly tasting any of the food or drink he was given. When he arrived
in California, he immediately remembered the dry, mild weather. The first thing
he thought of was to find Harry and Bridget...he needed some guidance.
Jack went to the post office with
the intention of getting their address. It took a while, but they lived in a
small town called Perris, which was a good distance from Hollywood. This
surprised Jack, for he heard they were still involved with the film business.
Then again, perhaps circumstances had changed since the birth of their son.
Jack walked most of the way,
needing to feel the breeze on his face, to hear the sound of nature all around
him. When his feet were beyond forgiveness, Jack hitched a ride with a
carriage, curious as the small but pleasant town came into view.
"Thank you," Jack told
the driver, who wished him luck, and watched the younger man wander off. He
made a rough noise deep in his throat before turning the cart in the opposite
direction.
Harry and Bridget were equally
stunned to see Jack on the doorstep; they looked at each other and encouraged
him to come in.
"Dear, you should have
written--we would have been more prepared for your arrival!" Bridget
exclaimed after she led him into the parlor. "Where is Alyiah? I'm
surprised to see you here without her. Did you have a falling out?"
Harry carried his now year-old
son Thomas into the room, pride written all over his face. "Ah…there is my
precious darling!" Bridget stood to take her son, who had thick, curly
brown hair and startling green eyes.
"Jack, would you like some
tea? I daresay you've had quite a journey!" she offered, and Jack nodded,
watching as Harry went into the kitchen for supplies. Bridget sat down again
with little Thomas, bouncing him on her knee. "Tell me what is going on,
Jack," she begged, hating the blank, lost look in his eyes.
"Alyiah--" Jack cleared
his throat, his tongue feeling larger than usual. "Alyiah died a week ago,"
he replied, his voice very weak with pain and exhaustion. Bridget's face fell,
and almost at once Thomas began whining.
"Oh, Jack, I am terribly
sorry! What happened?"
Harry came in with the mug of tea
and sensed the change of atmosphere. "Alyiah passed away last week,"
Bridget told her husband, whose eyes grew large.
"You must be devastated,
Jack," Harry said, and Jack accepted the tea gratefully. "How...if
you do not mind my asking...did she pass?"
"She died during
childbirth," Jack explained. "We have a daughter, Macena Marie."
Bridget bit her lip. "Where
is Macena?" she asked, and Jack blew out his breath, feeling emotions
catching up with him again. Bridget handed Thomas to Harry and went to sit beside
her friend.
"She's with my sister...I
can't..." he choked, and Bridget put an arm around his shoulders.
"Perhaps you should go up
and rest in our spare bedroom," she suggested. "You've worn yourself
out."
Jack apologized, embarrassed--he
hated showing his emotions in public and dropping in unexpectedly.
"It's all right," Harry
insisted. "Given your state, I'm sure you made the right decision with
your daughter. But I insist you lay down for a while...you look as though you
haven't slept well at all lately."
Jack took another sip from the
mug, thanking him, and stood shakily. Thomas watched the new guest with wide
eyes and gurgled softly. Jack stared at him for a moment before Bridget
encouraged Harry to lead him upstairs.
"If you need anything, just
ask," Harry insisted once they were standing in the medium-sized guest
room. The walls were covered with a light cream-colored paint, and the windows
were large, facing the street.
When Harry left, Jack sat on the
edge of the mattress, rubbing his hands over his face. For several hours he
lay, just staring off into nothingness. He could picture Alyiah's face clearly
in his mind, and hear her voice as she danced...it was almost surreal that she
was dead.
Bridget came up to check on him
around suppertime, and sighed sadly. She could not remember a time when her
good friend felt so low...he was always in the best of spirits when they were
together, even when he felt awkward by her shower of affection in the early
days.
"What are we going to
do?" she asked Harry after they dropped off a plate of food for their
guest, and sat in the dining room once Thomas was down for the night as well.
"I feel so terrible, but I honestly doubt we can do much to help him. He's
so far gone."
Harry fiddled with the cloth
napkin on the table and leaned back in his chair. "Maybe we can suggest he
find work to keep his mind off of things?" he suggested. "I know
there are plenty of odd jobs he could do around here. He could work on a squid
boat...I keep hearing about the shortage of workers in Monterey."
Bridget smirked. "A squid
boat? Oh, Harry," she breathed, and he shrugged.
"What?" he asked.
"It would certainly keep him busy."
Bridget nodded in understanding.
"One thing is for certain," she continued. "It is not healthy
for Jack to be in that room all day and night. We must convince him to perhaps
go for walks with us in the evening...to get some fresh air. Besides, I do not
want Thomas subjected to such things."
"Thomas barely knows where
his nose is, let alone what Jack's experiencing," Harry argued. "I
highly doubt it'll have an affect on him."
"It's having an affect on
me," Bridget spoke up, and Harry stared at her. "I can't just watch
while he wastes away. I believe in healthy grieving, but this is
ridiculous."
"It's only been a week!"
Harry snapped. "Give him some time."
"At least encourage him to
join us for dinner tomorrow night," Bridget told her husband, and Harry
decided it was best not to argue the point further.
Before they retired for the
night, he knocked on the guestroom door, not at all surprised when no response
came. "Jack, Bridget and I are going to bed. Feel free to help yourself to
anything in the kitchen," he announced, and felt Bridget creeping up
beside him with a candle illuminating the hallway. "Well, good night,
then," Harry added when nothing happened after a few moments, and he
raised an eyebrow at his wife, urging her down the hall.
*****
Jack lay with his back to the
door...he could hear them, but they were a jumble of strange voices. How
could you do this to me? he thought, closing his eyes...he was completely
dry of tears. Please. Why is this happening to me? He hugged the pillow
close to his chest and tried desperately to drift off, but found it near
impossible. He didn't fall asleep until past midnight, when the moon was bright
and full, silver rays pouring over the rug and making patterns on his quilt.