Mia’s Story

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Ours isn’t your typical love story.  I was a victim of human sex trafficking and he’s an FBI agent.  My name is Mia and I’m 28 years old.  I was 18 when I ran away from home.  I was having problems with my mother who always made me feel like I was no good and that she was sorry that she had me.  And my father who was hardly around and when he was, he fought with my mother and ignored me.

Life at home was hell and sometimes I just wished it was a nightmare and that I would wake up in a different house and with different parents–people who loved and cared about me.  It got to the point that I knew that if I didn’t leave, I would kill myself.  One night after my parents had gone to bed, I grabbed my knapsack and sneaked out of the house.  I had some money which I took from my mother’s purse and my father’s wallet.  I didn’t have time to count the amount but it looked like it would last me for a while.

It lasted for a couple of weeks and then I was broke.  I had no idea of what to do.  I had no where to go.  I refused to go back home.  I called other family members but they hung up when they knew that it was me.  I was too ashamed to call my friends.  So, I decided that may be I should find a job at McDonald’s or some other fast food place.  It was better than staying on the streets or going to a homeless shelter.

I stood there trying to figure out where the nearest MacDonald’s was when a really cute guy came up to me.  He had the most incredible blue eyes and an amazing smile.  “Hi,” he said.  “Are you lost?”

“I’m trying to find a McDonald’s,” I explained.  “I’m looking for a job.”

“I see.  It just so happens that I work at a restaurant just around the corner and the manager is looking to hire a cashier.  Are you interested?”

My expression brightened.  “Of course!  I’ve worked as a cashier before.”

“Good.  I’m heading there now so I can introduce you to the manager.”

“Okay.”

“What’s your name?”

“Mia.”

“I’m Joe.”  He held out his hand.

She smiled and shook it.  “Nice to meet you, Joe.”

We headed in the direction of the Space Needle.  I promised myself that one day I would visit it.  As we walked we talked.  He was so charming and easygoing.  I found myself hoping that he didn’t have a girlfriend.  About ten minutes later, we stopped in front of a restaurant.  It was packed.  He pushed the door open for me to enter.  The smell of fried food assailed me and reminded me that I was hungry.

As if he read my mind, he asked, “Are you hungry?”

I nodded.  “I haven’t eaten all day.”

He took me by the elbow and led me down a long corridor and into a room.  “Sit here while I go and get something for you to eat.”

I sat down, grateful for his kindness and to be able to sit down after being on my feet for so long.  Fading light streamed through the windows.  The sun would be setting soon.  I hoped that Joe was right about his manager and that he would hire me.  It would be so cool working there with Joe.  I was feeling a little hot so I removed my jacket.  I pulled my hair back into a ponytail.  I was about to get up and walk over to the window and look out when Joe came in carrying a tray with a burger, fries and a soft drink.  He set them down on the table.  My mouth was watering.  “Thanks, Joe.”

He smiled.  “No problem.  When you’re finished just come to the front where the cashier is and I’ll be there.”

“Thanks.”  I waited until he left before I wolfed down the burger and fries.  They were sooo good.  I drank the Ginger-ale.  It was nice and cold.  I was half-way through it when I started to feel dizzy.  The room started to spin and I squeezed my eyes shut.  When I opened them again, I was in another room and there was a strange man standing over me.  Was this the manager?  Had I passed out or something?  Did I eat too fast?  All sorts of questions whirled around in my mind.  My head was pounding but at least the room wasn’t spinning and the dizziness was gone.  I tried to sit up but the man pushed me down.  Panicking, I cried out but he put something over my nose and mouth and everything went black.res

When I regained consciousness I was alone and I realized that I was lying on a bed.  I managed to sit up and I screamed when I saw that I was wearing red lingerie.  How did I end up here?  Who removed my clothes?  Where are my clothes?  I looked wildly about the room for my clothes.  I tried to get out of the bed but the door opened and Joe came in.  He grabbed me and tried to force me to lie back down.  I struggled wildly and he struck me.  I was so shocked that I fell back against the pillows.  Joe looked like a different person.  His eyes were cold and his expression impassive.  “You’re not going anywhere,” he muttered.  “You’re going to be here for a long time.”

“Where am I?” I asked, tears streaming down my face.  “Who are you and why are you doing this to me?”

“I don’t have time to answer your questions.”

“What is this place?  Why have you brought me here?”

“You wanted a job, remember?  Well, here you are.”

I struggled to get up.  “You told me that it was a cashier’s job at your restaurant.”

“You’re far too pretty to be a cashier.  You will make more money on your back.”

Then, it hit me.  He was forcing me into prostitution.  I felt sick.  I clawed at him until he clamped his hand over my nose and mouth.  Everything went black again.  I don’t know how long I was out but when I came to, I heard Joe say to someone, “She’s all yours.  I broke her in for you and she’s nicely cleaned up.  Remember to wear a rubber.  We practice safe sex here.  She’s no use to me if she gets pregnant and I’m not to spend my hard earned money on an abortion.”

I heard the door open and close.  Then silence.  I opened my eyes and I saw a man leaning over me.  I felt his hot breath on my face.  I struggled to get up but I couldn’t move.  Then, I realize that he was on top of me.  I pushed at him but it was no use.  I lay there helpless while he raped me.

When it was over, he got off me and I heard him moving about the room as he got dressed.  Then, I heard the door open and close.  I lay there for a long time, too terrified to move or make a sound.  Then, I pushed myself up and got up from the bed.  I put on the lingerie bottom which was lying on the floor and stumbled towards the closed door.  It was a washroom.  I felt for the switch and flicked it on.  I went over to the mirror and stared at my reflection.  I didn’t recognize myself.  My eyes were puffy, my jaw was bruised from where Joe struck me and my left shoulder had a bruise as well.  I turned on the tap and splashed water on my face.  I had to get out of there.  I went to the window and opened it.  I pushed my head out.  Outside was a fire escape.  I raised the window higher and climbed onto the ledge.  I reached out and pulled myself onto the fire escape.  I made my way down to the street below and ran as fast as I could.

When I was as far away from that place as possible, I flagged a cab down and when it stopped, I begged the driver to take me to the nearest hospital.  When I got there I went straight to Emergency and told the triage person what happened to me.  I was ushered into a room where I was told to wait.  Minutes later a nurse came in and asked me “Did anyone you worked for or lived with trick or force you into doing anything you did not want to do?” and other questions.  Then, she left and returned.  She asked me to get undressed so that I could be examined and left.  After the examination, I was given a gown.  I sat at the edge of the bed and waited.

The nurse who examined me came in and told me that I was a victim of sex trafficking.  There was evidence of forced penetration and bruising on my wrists as if I were restrained.  She asked if there was anyone I needed to call or somewhere to stay.  I shook my head.  I was in a daze.  I still couldn’t believe what had happened to me.  I had fallen for a pair of blue eyes and a charming smile.  The nurse told me that the hospital would help me with housing, transportation and any necessities I may need.  That was a real load off my shoulders.  I spent the night in the hospital.  I had trouble falling asleep because every time I closed my eyes I saw either Joe’s or that strange man’s face.  And I was afraid that I would wake up and find myself back in that room.

The next day, I was visited by two FBI agents who wanted to question me.  One was an older man with sandy colored hair, sharp eyes and a portly gait.  The other was tall, dark and very handsome.  The older one asked most of the questions and was very quick and direct.  Then, the other one said, “You were lucky to get out of there alive.  You did the right thing coming here.”

“I hope you catch Joe,” I said.  “I wish I knew the other man’s name.”

“It would be very helpful if you can give their descriptions to our artist,” he replied.

“I can,” I assured them tightly.  “I will never forget their faces.”

“Thank you, Miss Bautista,” the older one said.  “We will be in touch.  Good-day.”  He left the room.

The other one lingered for a moment.  “Good-day, Miss Bautista.”

“Good-day, Agent Fowler.”  I watched him leave.

I left the hospital that afternoon and was placed in Catalyst at Straley House where I can stay for 18 months while I work with my case manager to get connected to school and employment, and transition into permanent housing.   It turned out to be a really nice place.  I met a lot of great people.  My case manager, Rita was a tremendous help and support for me.  Before leaving home, I had graduated from high-school with honors but I hadn’t applied to any university.  After my ordeal in Seattle, I decided that I would move to another city in Washington.  I googled the best cities there and chose Spokane.  I applied to Gonzaga University and was accepted.

Before I left to go to live on campus, I received a visit from Agent Fowler who informed me that thanks to my descriptions Joe Cartwright and his cohorts were arrested.   The man who raped me was a prominent businessman who was a regular client.  Joe was a pimp and his victims included under-aged girls.  It turned out that Mr. Murphy had no clue about Joe’s nefarious business dealings.  Joe had used Mr. Murphy’s job posting to gain my trust.  I was very grateful to Agents Fowler and Benson for investigating and catching those monsters.  I hope that they will spend the rest of their lives behind bars.  I told Agent Fowler that I was moving to Spokane.  He smiled and shook my hand.  “I wish you all the best, Miss Bautista.”

As I watched him leave, I found myself hoping that I would see him again.  Years later, I did.  I had graduated from Gonzaga University and was working as a Youth Program Assistant which I loved.  I was on my way to lunch when I saw someone walking in front of me.  From the back he looked very familiar and then I realized who it was.  I quickened my pace until I was right behind him and I called out, “Agent Fowler.”

He stopped and turned to face me.  I could see that he recognized me.  Smiling, he held out his hand.  “Miss Bautista.  It’s good to see you.”

“I didn’t think I would run into you.  What are you doing in Spokane?”

“I’m here for my nephew’s wedding which is tomorrow.”

“Did you fly or drive?”

“I flew.  I didn’t feel like spending over four hours behind the wheel. Are you heading somewhere?”

“I was on my way to lunch.”

“Do you mind if I tag along?”

“I could do with the company.  There’s a bistro right up the road.  They serve the best comfort food.”

“Sounds good.”

We walked to the bistro.  Over local beef and regional fresh fish, we talked.  When it was time for me to head back to the office, he came with me.  As we stood outside the building, he asked me to have dinner with him.  I gladly accepted.  After that first dinner, we made arrangements to see each other again.  He spent the week in Spokane before he flew back.  We had a long distance relationship and saw each other in the summer, at Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s.  Then, one day when we were Riverfront Park, he told me that he was moving to the FBI office in Spokane.

I stared up at him.  “Why?” I asked.  I was thrilled, of course but taken aback.

He reached for my hands, his expression serious as his eyes met mine.  “I want to be where you are, Mia,” he said quietly.

I swallowed hard, my heart was racing now.  “Why?”

“Simple, I love you.”

“I love you too, Nathan.  And I’m happy that you’re moving to Spokane.”

He leaned over and kissed me.  I felt my head explode.  We drew apart several minutes later and holding hands, we continued our walk.  The following spring, he moved to Spokane and following a very short engagement, we got married in September.  The attendees were Rita, my case manager, my friends from Catalyst, my co-workers and his FBI friends and family.  My parents weren’t there because I didn’t invite them.  They are a painful part of my past which I want to forget.

Ten years have passed since my ordeal and what thing that I have learned from it is that “Our pain can be turned into purpose”  This March, I started a support group for former sex and human trafficking victims.

While Mia’s story is fiction, it is real for many.  Trafficking of any kind is an evil that must be wiped out and those responsible for it must be brought to justice.  Check out this video for a grim glimpse into the world of child sex trafficking and what is being done to save victims.

Here is a list of non-profit organizations fighting against Human Trafficking:

Let’s work together to stop trafficking and exploitation.  Let’s fight for freedom.

Sources:  FBI Video; Nurse.com; Nurse.org; FBI; YouthCare; Yelp

The Letter/Choices #writephoto

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Photo by Sue Vincent

As I stand here gazing at the calm waves, I think about my grandmother, Maude.  A lovely woman who was a nurse during the second World War.  She was twenty-three at the time.  I can still remember the sadness in her eyes when she spoke of the young soldiers who died.  There was one particular soldier whom she would never forget.  Every time she talked about him, her voice broke and tears sprang to her eyes.

“I will never forget that boy,” she said.  “He must have been about seventeen years old.  He had a boyish face.  I thought to myself, it’s a pity that someone so young was fighting in this terrible war.  He

“Nurse, could you write a letter to my mother and tell her that I’m in hospital?”

“I told him, ‘I’ll write it when I come back later.’  All he said was, ‘Okay'” and then I left.  When I returned later that evening, he was dead.”  It was at that point that she broke down.  “If I had known that he was going to die, I would have written the letter when he asked me.  If only I had stayed.  That boy never got to say goodbye to his mother because of me.”

For years, she has lived with this regret.  Even after she married my grandfather and they had four wonderful kids, she never seemed completely happy.  There was always a sadness in her countenance and it was years later when I found out the reason for it.  A young soldier whose name she didn’t know who had made a simple request of her because he knew he wasn’t going to make it through the night.  My grandmother thought that the letter could wait but she was wrong.  She made a choice that she had to live with.

Sometimes I think about that soldier whose single thought was of his mother.  I think of her.  As a mother, myself, I can’t imagine how I would feel if my son was away at war and I had no idea where he was–if he was hurt or even still alive.  Did that mother pray for her son–that he was still alive and would return home one day?  I can’t imagine how she must have felt when she found out that he had died in a hospital so many miles away from home.

When I leave here, I will go to the chapel and light three candles–one for my grandmother, one for the young soldier and one for his mother.  War is a terrible thing but I will always be eternally grateful to the brave soldiers, the unsung heroes like the young man, who gave their lives to win the war against the evil Nazi regime and for our freedom.

This story was inspired by a true account of a nurse stillld write it later.  When she returned to the hospital

Today is D-day.  Let us remember all those who sacrificed their lives and those who survived and the dedicated doctors and nurses who cared for the wounded.

 

This was written for the #writephoto Prompt – Choices at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.

Source:  Ranker;

David/Rooted #writephoto

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Photo by Sue Vincent

This was the tree where David and I met after school.  He was the sweetest boy I ever knew and I always imagined that one day we would get married and have lots of children.  It never occurred to me that laws would soon be put in place to make relationships such as ours illegal.

As soon as school was let out, I ran to the tree and he would be waiting for me.  He was so tall and handsome with thick black hair and gentle brown eyes.  We would hold hands and kiss but that was as far as things went.  We would sit under the tree and talk for hours.  Parting from him was always hard.  I always willed the hours because I couldn’t wait to see him again.

Then one day, I showed up and for the first time he wasn’t there.  I waited for hours but he never came.  I was understandably frantic.  After several days went by and still no sign of him,  I decided to go by his father’s shop and was appalled to see the word, “Jude” painted across the window and the star of David.  The shop was empty.  I ran home and asked my father what had happened to David.  My father sat me down and explained to me that the Germans had moved the Jews to the Ghetto.  I learned that they were banned from from entering certain streets, squares, parks, woods and other public places.  That meant that David and I couldn’t meet by the tree anymore.  It was in the woods.  David couldn’t go to my brother’s school any more.

After my father finished telling me everything he knew, I went to my room where I cried and cried.  David who was forced to live like an animal because of deeply rooted hatred.  My world had become a dark and ugly place of intolerance and ignorance.  I wanted so desperately to see him but it was out of the question.  My father told me it was best to forget about David.  There was no future for us.  He was a Jew.

I knew that I would never forget David.  I loved him.  He was my first and only love.  And I never gave up hope that we would be together again–not even when I learned that the Jews had been deported to concentration camps.  No one was willing to take them in and for some Jews, going into hiding would break up their families and that was unthinkable, especially those who with children.

The years went by, the war raged on and I became a nurse.   My father died of a heart-attack a couple of days after his fiftieth wedding anniversary.  Only my mother and I were left.  My brother was killed years ago after he was arrested for being a part of a  resistance movement against the Nazi Regime.  My parents were devastated but I was proud of him for fighting against evil.  I only wish I had the guts to do something too.  Instead I prayed that David and his family would somehow survive and that when the war was over I would see him again.

Well, the war is over and I’m the only surviving member of my family.  My mother died from a stroke a month ago.  I buried her next to my father.

Tomorrow is my birthday but I have no one special to celebrate it with.  It’s a nice afternoon so I decided to go for a walk in the park.  I head straight for the tree.  A man stood there with his back to me.  He was wearing a hat and a trench coat.  Something about him looked familiar.  My heart began to beat faster.  I could feel the color drain from my cheeks.  “David?” My voice was barely above a whisper and yet he heard me.

He turned around slowly.  “Ingrid.” He removed his hat and stepped forward.

“David!” I cried again and then we were in each other’s arms, laughing, crying and kissing.  I don’t know how long we did that and I didn’t care. All I knew was that David, my David was alive.  He had survived the ghetto, the camp and the war.

This was written for the #writephoto Prompt – Rooted at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.

Sources:  Holocaust EncyclopediaOxford AcademicHolocaust 

Rebecca Lee Crumpler

She changed the face of medicine

Rebecca Lee Crumpler

It was being raised by a kind aunt who spent much of her time caring for sick neighbors and her desire to relieve the suffering of others which led Rebecca Lee Crumpler down the a career path that would earn her the distinction of being the first African American woman physician in the United States.   In doing so, she rose to and overcame the challenge which prevented African Americans from pursuing careers in medicine.

Rebecca, a bright girl, attended the West-Newton English and Classical School in Massachusetts, a prestigious private school as a “special student”.  In 1852 she moved to Charleston, Massachusetts where she worked as a nurse.  In 1860, she took a leap of faith and applied to medical school and was accepted into the New England Female Medical College.

The college was founded by Drs. Israel Tisdale Talbot and Samuel Gregory in 1848 and in 1852,  accepted its first class of women, 12 in number.  However, Rebecca proved that their assertions were false when, in 1864, she earned the distinction being the first African American woman to earn an M.D. degree and  the college’s only African American graduate.  The college closed in 1873.

In 1864, a year after her first husband, Wyatt Lee died, Rebecca married her second husband, Arthur Crumpler.   She began a medical practice in Boston.   In 1865, after the Civil War ended, the couple moved to Richmond, Virginia, where she found “the proper field for real missionary work, and one that would present ample opportunities to become acquainted with the diseases of women and children.”  She joined other black physicians caring for freed slaves who would otherwise would not have access to medical care.  She worked with the Freedmen’s Bureau, missionary and community groups in the face of intense racism which many black physicians experienced while working in the postwar South.

Racism, rude behavior and sexism didn’t diminish Rebecca’s zeal and valiant efforts to treat a “very large number of the indigent and others of different classes in a population of over 30,000 colored”.  She declared that “at the close of my services in that city, I returned to my former home, Boston where I entered into the work with renewed vigor, practicing outside, and receiving children in the house for treatment, regardless, in measure, of remuneration.”

The couple lived in a predominantly African American neighborhood in Beacon Hill where she practiced medicine.  In 1880, she and her husband moved to Hyde Park.  It was believed that at that time she was no longer in active practice but she did write a “A Book of Medical Discourses in Two Parts”,  the first medical publication by an African American.  The book consisted of two parts.  The first part focused on “treating the cause, prevention, and cure of infantile bowel complaints, from birth to the close of the teething period, or after the fifth year.” The second section contained “miscellaneous information concerning the life and growth of beings; the beginning of womanhood; also, the cause, prevention, and cure of many of the most distressing complaints of women, and youth of both sexes.”

Rebecca Lee Crumpler died in Hyde Park on March 9, 1895.  Notes to Women wishes to celebrate this brave woman who had the tenacity to pursue a career in medicine, proving that women can change the face of a field which many wanted to bar her from because of color and gender.  Her passion to help alleviate the suffering of others was what led her to take this path.  Her courage and perseverance in the face of racism, sexism paved the way for many, not only African Americans and women but for those who like her, will seek every opportunity to relieve the sufferings of others.

Rebecca Lee Crumpler’s story is a reminder to all of us that we should never let anything or anyone prevent us from pursuing our dreams.

Selfish prudence is too often allowed to come between duty and human life – Rebecca Lee Crumpler

Sources:  Changing the Face of Medicine; PBS

The Enemy

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Photo Credit Susan Spaulding

He watched them in bed together, his wife and the German soldier. Hatred rose in his throat like bile. He’d suspected that something was going on between them but didn’t want to believe it. He noticed that she slipped out of bed when she thought he was sleeping and returned hours later.

One night, after she sneaked out of the room, he went to the window. He saw her go into the lighthouse where the German was. They’d found him hurt on the beach and she, a nurse, insisted that they hide him in the lighthouse where she could nurse him. Against his better judgment, he’d agreed. He would have agreed to anything she wanted because he was besotted with her.

What a blind, trusting fool he’d been. All this time, she’d been sleeping with the enemy. His hands tightened on the door knob.  He could have shot them right then.

Hours later, alone, Dietrich radioed the message, “Komm um 21:00 Uhr. Wird am Strand warten.”

“Kopieren Sie das.”

Dietrich rose to his feet and turning, he froze. “Herr Camfield, what–?” The bullet hit him and he fell to the ground.

“That’s for sleeping with my wife.”

 

198 Words

 

This was written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit Here.  To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

 

Abandoned and Rescued

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Photo Credit: C.E. Ayr

Retired officer Patrick Miller was sweeping his yard when he thought he heard what sounded like a baby crying.  He stopped and listened.  It was a baby crying and the sound was coming from the green dumpster.  Dropping the broom, he rushed over and threw open the top to peer inside.  The naked infant was inside of a garbage bag.

Patrick called for his wife who ran out to see what the commotion was.  She was shocked to see him inside of the dumpster. “What on earth are you doing in there?” she exclaimed.

“There’s a baby in here.  Bring a blanket to wrap him in.  Then, call 911.”

She raced into the house, got the blanket and when he handed the child to her, she wrapped him snugly.  When he climbed out of the dumpster, she handed the child to him then rushed off to phone 911.

As they waited for the police to get there, she, being a nurse, examined the infant.   “He’s suffering from hypothermia but once he gets to the hospital, he should be fine.  Poor little thing.  Who would abandon a baby?”

“You’d be surprised,” Patrick said.  “It happens more often than you think.”

199 Words

This story was inspired by a true story of a baby who was found in a dumpster with his umbilical cord still attached.  His mother had left him there and it turned that the man who found him was his biological father.  He didn’t even know that his girlfriend was pregnant.

This was written for Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Sources:  CTV News

Mr. Thornber’s Distress/Fall #writephoto

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Photo by Sue Vincent

After he washed and dried his face, Mr. Thornber walked to the window and looked out.  His room afforded him one of the most pleasant views of the grounds.  It was another rather agreeable afternoon.  The first signs of spring were visible.  He could see the buds on the trees and the emergence of the water in the pond which had been covered in ice not so long ago.  Earlier this morning on his ride back here, he’d stopped at the waterfall where he used to while away many happy childhood hours.   Presently, the quietness was broken by the twittering of birds.  He smiled.  He couldn’t wait to go back outside.  His eyes swept across the grounds when they were arrested by something.

The smile vanished from his face when he saw the two figures standing beneath the oak tree.  He recognized one as belonging to Miss Roth and the other belonging to a gentleman he had never seen before.  He leaned out as if to get a closer look which wasn’t possible from that point.  Who was this stranger?  Jealousy burned in him like a wild fire as he watched them stroll over to the bench and sit down, facing each other.  What was he doing here?  When did Miss Roth meet him?

His face pale now, he watched them, wondering what they were talking about.  And feeling like an utter fool.  He had cut his business short today just so he could rush home to be with her.  All morning she had occupied his thoughts, making it impossible for him to concentrate.   He enjoyed their walks and talks and had planned to take a turn in the garden with her as they had been doing for the past several weeks.  He was under the impression that she enjoyed his company too.  Perhaps he was mistaken.  She seemed to enjoy this fellow’s company a great deal.  They were having a rather animated conversation.  He appeared younger too.  Why shouldn’t she prefer a man closer to her age?

His hands curled into tight fists as he struggled to keep his feelings in check.  It was propriety and pride which kept him from going to there and demanding to know who this interloper was.  How would it look a man eight and thirty behaving like a jealous fool over a girl of nineteen?

What was he going to do now?  He couldn’t remain here watching them and torturing himself.  He had to leave Cedar Manor at once for he feared that running into Miss Roth would be his undoing.  He had no idea where he was going but he had to get out of there now.  He turned away from the window and strode over to where his jacket laid and swept it up, pulling it on as he left the room.

He ran down the steps two at a time and passed the housekeeper, Mrs. Westcott in the foyer.  She glanced at him in surprise, wondering what in the world could make him take off without so much a word to her.   Perhaps, he had urgent business to attend to, she reasoned.  Shrugging her shoulders, she continued down the foyer and went up to her room to have a nap.

Outside as Mr. Thornber was hurrying to the stables to get his horse, he saw his niece Emily returning from her walk with her nurse Ada in tow.  She broke into a run when she saw him. “Uncle Edward,” she cried.  She stopped short when she saw his face.  “What’s wrong?”

His distress clearly didn’t escape her notice.  “Who is the gentleman with Miss Roth?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Oh, you mean Julian?” her face brightened.  “I like him.  He’s very nice.”

Mr. Thornber’s expression darkened.  “I didn’t ask if you liked him, Emily,” he snapped.  “I asked who he was.”

“He’s Miss Roth’s childhood friend.”

“How long has he been here?”

“He came this morning.  He was in the school room with Miss Roth and me and then he had lunch with us.  After we finished my lessons, he and Miss Roth came with Ada and me for a walk but they came back before we did.  Do you want to meet him, Uncle?”

“No, I do not want to meet him.  Tell Mrs. Westcott that I won’t be back until late.”  And with that, he turned and strode away, his steps quick and furious.  Both Emily and Ada gazed after him in bewilderment.  Moments later he was racing out of the stables and away from Cedar Manor.

Emily turned to Ada.  “Why was Uncle Edward so angry?” she asked.  “And why didn’t he want to meet Julian?”

Ada put her arm around Emily’s shoulders.  “Emily, perhaps you are too young for me to be telling you this but I think your uncle is jealous.”

“Jealous?” Emily exclaimed, looking even more bewildered.  “But why?”

“Never mind, little one,” Ada told her.  “And please, I beg you, don’t tell your uncle what I said.”

Emily shook her head, thinking adults could be so strange sometimes as she and Ada walked to the house.

 

This was written for to the Thursday Photo Prompt – Fall at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.