"Aww. This was us at our wedding, Fred," said Aunt Krishta. She was flipping through their photo album. Uncle Fredrick and Lillian, on either side. They were celebrating Fredrick's birthday... And his brother's. He was now 39, not looking a day over 25, even with his red eyes and raw nose due to his ailment. The same could be said for Aunt Krishta. Still keeping that youthful glow. Her beautiful blue eyes were most coveted and so were her rosy cheeks. If it weren't for her dark hair, she wouldn't have fit into the Truit family. They were known for being comprised strictly of black-eyed brunettes. It never made any sense to Lillian.
"Alright, here is a photograph of you two." Krishta landed on a page with a tiny vignette displaying a black and white photo of two Uncle Fred look-alikes, about the age of seventeen, dressed formally in vests, ties, and tophats. The one on the right, leaning heavily on top of the other and laughing while his brother simply looked upward into the camera and smiled a short smile that revealed just a peek of his teeth.
Lillian's Aunt pointed to the first man, "This here is your father, Lillian. The year 1879."
"I know, he looks handsome."
"Well I should hope so, he looks like me," Uncle Fred noted.
Lillian and her Aunt both laughed. Krishta fidgeted with the pages for another picture of Fred and his brother when she noticed Lillian's leg shaking. "Whatever is it, dear?" She looked at her dear niece clad in her opulent silk evening gown in the color white, embellished with flowery embroidery and pearls. The short sleeves fell slightly off the shoulder. The dress flared down into a bell shape. She wore a black diamond butterfly brooch in the center of her chest, and a pearly choker round her neck.
Lillian just silently looked at her aunt with impatient eyes.
"Well, I think that's enough," sighed Krishta, closing the photo album, "you have a ball to attend."
"I'm really sorry, it's just, it's getting late."
"We understand. This is your big day."
"Happy birthday, Uncle," Lillian said politely.
"Oh thank you, my dear. Don't worry, I've had many birthdays. You only have this one night to make your debut, and I'm sure you'll do fine." Reaching over his wife he placed an assuring hand on her own, but quickly retracted it to cough a chesty cough. Krishta placed a hand on his back in concern.
"Thank you," said Lillian.
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The Preuve de Beauté Hotel was the grandest in Hiplum. The steps to the entrance were circularly terraced. The height of the building gave Lilian chills. Lilian and her relatives walked up the steps, locking arms. Doormen waited by the entrance. As they entered, the music that filled the atmosphere did well to ease Lilian.
They made their way to the Grand Hall where the music was coming from, which was entered from various openings. The room was white like the ladies’ dresses. The floor was made of white marble, and the ceiling was made of domed glass supported by bars and allowed for a breathtaking view of the stars. The white theme carried on with the filigree that adorned the walls, except for a few lovely green vines placed here and there. Lilian could imagine what it all must look like in daylight. The hall was lit by lanterns at each post, and a quartet played softly in the corner of the room.
There were many men and women seated at their tables placed at the outskirts of the room, waiting for their daughters to be presented. Lining the center of the room were chairs designated for the debutantes and their escorts. Lilian looked around for her escort. He’s supposed to be here. He promised he’d come. Probably got carried away with his studies. Lilian’s foot began to tap nervously.
“Oh, Paul. Where are you?” She whined under her breath.
“Right here, milady.”
Lilian turned around to see her best friend in the whole world. Paul Partridge: a young man of eighteen with brown hair parted at the side and combed down, and dim blue eyes. He was dressed in a clean black suit and tie.
“Paul.” Lilian refrained from the urge to embrace him.
“Well now, there is our son,” shouted Aunt Krishta. It was a wonder no one looked her way.
“Aunt Krishta!” Lilian whispered sharply, guiltily blushing. She hoped Paul received her aunt’s remark as a motherly endearing joke- the kind you chuckle lightly to and move on— and not an informal acceptance into the family. Though she wouldn’t be wrong. Paul was practically family and all the man Krishta Truit could ever want around her niece. He was everything Fredrick Truit could want in a potential nephew. And to Lilian, he was a dream, and everything she was not: smart, funny, adventurous. She had hoped that being around him would one day rub off on her. But when?
“Very good to see you too, Mrs. Truit.” He kissed the madam’s hand, then switched his gaze to Lilian, “And Miss Lilian,” and kissed her hand ever so softly.
Miss Lilian? He never addresses me that way.
Paul then greeted Uncle, exchanging nods and shaking hands.
The band stopped playing all of a sudden. They were preparing for their next piece. A pat on the back from Uncle Fred, let Lilian know she must go now. Paul took Lilian by the hand and they made their way to the main entrance of the hall where the presentation would begin.
From behind the arched doors, the announcer could be heard, “Presenting…” and the doors opened. Each debutante walked out when their name was called. Finally, he called out, “Presenting Miss Lilian Truit and her escort, Paul Partridge.” Paul and Lilian stepped forward and stopped at a good distance to bow and curtsy.
“Miss Truit is the daughter of Felix Truit, the world-renowned physician. She attends Hiplum academy and is the heiress to her uncle, Fredrick Truit’s lathe company.”
Lilian gazed at all the faces in the hall. Everyone looked at her with judging eyes. Even when the announcer proclaimed Paul’s background, the eyes never left her.
“Paul?” Lilian whispered, tilting her head slightly in his direction.
“Don’t worry. Just breathe.” His voice always did well to calm her; never any less than assuring.
They continued walking forward, then split up to sit in their seats parallel to each other. Many still had their attention on Lilian which caused her to break into a cold sweat. Did she do something wrong? Perhaps her curtsy wasn’t good enough? What was it?
The music started prompting the ladies and gentlemen to begin dancing. They all stood and walked over to their corresponding counterpart. Paul and Lilian met face-to-face, exchanged a bow and a curtsy, and began to perform the presentation waltz.
Holding one hand and standing side by side, they walked forward then back, forward then back. They joined hands and kicked. She turned into him, and he spun her. Now they were together. His nearness, giving her a different sensation than it used to. Either she was seeing things, or his smile was a little brighter than usual. The sight of his white teeth teased at the corners of her stagnant lips. Did she detect a subtle pull closer?
“How can you smile when everyone is looking at us like we hurt them?” Lilian knew her statement wasn’t completely true. Only she was getting the cold stares.
“Because,” he spun her, “I’m not here for them.”
“Why do you think they are?” They started walking forward, clasping one hand in a tango-like manner.
“Who knows why anyone does anything?” Paul said as he spun her again, then they both spun on their own.
She knelt, rose, and they joined once again.
“We didn’t hurt them, did we?” he said, raising his brows and smiling a smile that begged her to do the same. But she didn't listen.
They let go of one hand and continued their routine, going forward then back, forward then back. A dance that would only end once they revolved a full 360° around the dance floor.
Lilian waited till they were together again, “Why won’t you ever let me worry?”
“Because the moment you worry, bad things happen.” He gave her a telling look.
“I don’t make the bad things happen,” she protested, “I just feel when they do.”
“Well, please refrain from feeling anything. I assure you there is nothing to worry about. Don’t let anyone keep you from having a good time. Now smile Lilia—”
The sound of glasses smashing, a table collapsing, and a few gasps stopped all the pomp. Everybody turned to set their eyes upon an old man lying prostrate against the marble floor and hovering over him, a furious Fredrick Truit, panting and clenching his fists.
“Uncle Fred!”
Uncle looked up at Lilian. His red eyes, shot with confusion as if he did not realize what he had done. Lilian advanced toward him.
“Uncle, is everything alright?”
“IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT?!” shrieked the woman who was most definitely the poor smitten man’s wife, “Your uncle just assailed my husband!”
“Oh. I am so sorry. I- I… Uncle, why?”
No answer was given. In steps Krishta Truit to save her husband.
“Come on Fredrick. Le- Let’s go.”
“Go? Now? No. They're about to start dancing with the fathers.”
Aunt Krishta gave Lilian a look that let her know this was not the time for discourse. The two, inched away, Krishta’s hand on Fredrick's shoulder. Fredrick turned to place a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Watch her.” Paul nodded. Then Fred looked at his niece, “I love you. I’m sorry you had to see me this way.”
After Lilian watched them leave, she looked at Paul, “I don’t understand. My uncle never behaves this way.” She glared at the victim couple over her shoulder that was still going on about what had happened. She wanted to go over to the missus and say “Your husband must have done something to anger him.” But she couldn’t. That wasn’t her.
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After a long night, Paul drove Lilian home. But before completing their trip, he decided to stop at “the tracks”. He hopped out of the automobile and walked over to Lilian’s side of the car. He reached out for her hand.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Why are we here tonight?”
Paul thrust his hand again, “Oh, come on. You love it.”
She rolled her eyes and took his hand. He picked her up by the waist and plopped her down. Then they walked onto the tracks.
Paul took a deep breath in through his nose, “You feel that?”
“What?”
“Nothing,” He replied.
He was right, it did feel like nothing. It wasn’t hot, cold, or windy out. There were only a few times in Lilian’s life where she could recall the atmosphere being so nondescript.
She closed her eyes and tried to think of one good thing that happened tonight. Uncle Fred’s birthday. Seeing Paul’s face again. Dancing with Paul. She opened her eyes and saw her friend looking at her curiously.
“You were brave tonight,” he said.
“Brave? Me?”
“You survived the entire night. Every eye was on you, your uncle punched someone, and at dinner, the ambassador didn’t exactly have you in her favor. But you stood your ground.”
“Well, that’s not bravery. That’s endurance.”
“Bravery. Endurance. Synonymous to me.”
“They most certainly are not,” Lilian scoffed, “Which do you say is braver? A man who lets others bully him, yet survives, or one who fights them off.”
“I’d say it depends on the occasion. If it is a formal setting in which the bullying occurs, then a man who stays quiet would be what I’d consider brave. But if the same man fought back, I’d say he’s bold.”
Lilian was now offended. His reply was obviously a judgment against her uncle. “No. The man who beckons his beating is bold!”
“Calm down, Lil. Alright, duly noted. You seem to have taught me something.”
Lilian couldn’t calm down. She felt like she failed her family. Had sixteen years of preparation gone to waste? She was sure to have very few gentlemen callers now if any. She rubbed her forehead. Paul knelt in front of her, drawing her hands to his face. His dark blue eyes staring into hers.
“Lilian. Don’t worry.”
“I can’t not worry now, Paul. I was so sure of everything till today. I thought I was ready. I thought I was secure.”
“You are ready, Lil. If anything, you were too secure. Too comfortable. You love to hide behind your name.”
He then stood up and gestured all around at the tracks.
“Remember how we met?”
Lilian nodded. It was a cool day in March. Paul was a twelve-year-old newcomer to Hiplum and a student at the Hiplum Academy boarding school. Lilian was a spoiled ten-year-old girl, living a peaceful, pastoral life in Corlu. But business was bad for the Truits, at the time. And Uncle couldn’t be with Lilian as often. So she felt lonely and sometimes frustrated living in a manor alone with her aunt. A house of females can be exhausting.
Meanwhile, Paul was having a hard time making friends, being a very technical boy who believed what he believed and had the habit of infuriating people. They ran to the only place they could go where no one else was. The abandoned railroad tracks. There, Paul told Lilian of his plight, and she agreed to join him at school. They were friends ever since. It was Lilian who pointed out the significance of the tracks being somewhat of a border for both towns. There, they didn’t have to choose a place to belong. They were free of both. They mocked choice.
“It was you who told me, ‘Even if both Corlu and Hiplum are blown to smithereens, we’ll always have the tracks,’” said Paul.
Lilian laughed at the memory.
“Now, whether or not that remark had any logical standing,” Paul continued, “I chose not to bother you about it.”
“And why didn’t you?”
“Because I knew you believed it. I’ve always admired your faith. You're the dreamer. And I truly believe you will be something great one day.” He frowned, “But lately… you’ve been a stiff.”
“I have not been a stiff! Have I?”
“You have.”
“Sorry. I’ve just been thinking of… priorities.”
“I understand. You are a lady now. And me, I have to start getting serious if I want to be a doctor.”
“Paul, don’t you think you’ll ever want to get married?” She immediately regretted the words as they came out.
Paul took a few steps towards Lilian. She froze. His “stormy blues” caught hold of her. It was a long time ago that she decided she loved him. But she would never impart this unless she knew he felt the same. He opened his mouth to say something, but then the ground began to shake under them. The railroad rumbled furiously. Which could only mean one thing— a train was coming.
Normally the very sound of a chug and puff would have made Lilian act with immediacy, but she simply couldn’t believe it. She looked down the tracks, squinting for a light. In three seconds, A light showed. It was true! And the train came closer and closer and…
“LILIAN, MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!”
Clutching onto her dress, he dragged her close to him and threw himself with her, off the tracks, and onto the grass of the other side. Lilian looked up at his face, which was extremely close to hers. The warmth and weight of his body against hers had her disconcerted. His breath against her forehead. To him, Lilian appeared as a wind in her gown, shining bright in the night.
Though something was actually shining, and it wasn’t Lilian. Lilian tried standing, moving Paul off of her. She peered through to the other side as the carts of the train passed by. There it was. A bright man, unmistakably looking straight at her. His eyes like fire. Something familiar about him… Then she knew! Nearly becoming defaced as she jumped in the direction of the moving train, Paul pulled her back.
“Stop! What are you doing?”
Lilian turned her face to Paul, then looked back, and the man was gone. Once the train passed, they stood there in silence.
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Since it was very late, Lilian chose to shortcut through the trees in Corlu to reach her house. She came to their courtyard where hedges and flowers and cobblestones resided. They owned around 7 acres of land- enough for a garden, maze, and orchard. Lampposts illuminated the path to the front door.
Her jaded self raised a fist to the door. Knock, knock. The door opened by a lady in a black shirtwaist and a frilly white apron. Her eyes, peaceful, her visage, plain. It was the maid, Gracie.
“Oh, Miss Lilian. Thank El.”
Lilian stepped in, to the sound of “Oh, come on Fred. Don’t be so difficult.”
“Whatever is the matter?”
“What it always is, your Uncle won’t take his medication.”
“Say no more.”
Lilian walked over to the sitting room. The manor practically had “home for a family” written all over it: Picture frames, doilies, monogrammed blankets, little daisies placed in a vase on the coffee table, coats and hats hanging by the door, and a grand piano a few feet from the fireplace that was sadly, rarely used.
“Uncle Fred.”
Uncle Fred was sitting on the couch reluctantly holding a spoonful of cough syrup in his hand. Her aunt towered over him holding the bottle with one hand on her hip.
“Hi, Lilian, how did it go?” responded her uncle flatly, still looking at her aunt with a challenging expression.
“It…went. I heard you were being difficult.”
Krishta turned around and addressed her niece, looking awfully annoyed. “Won’t follow doctor’s orders yet again. Tell him.” Everyone in the house knew that Fredrick Truit could never deny his sweet niece. She always knew just the way to persuade him. And he was so amused by her attempts that he always let her try. But tonight, her skills were a little off, being as tired as she was.
Lilian sat beside Uncle. “Uncle. Please take your medicine. For me.”
“Sorry, but you can’t get me this time. It won’t make any difference, I tell you.”
Easily defeated Lilian, slowly looked up at her aunt. “Well, you heard the man. He won’t do it. I say we shouldn’t make him.”
Aunt Krishta twisted her face. “Really? That’s it?”
Uncle, to be frank, was a little disappointed she didn’t try harder, as well. He coughed a disturbingly gruesome cough. But if that wasn’t enough to give a fright, on his fist landed drops of blood. It wasn’t a cold. It was something much worse.
Lilian’s body sat still. She did not see the look on either of her relatives' faces. All she saw was the blood. Her uncle did not move an inch.
Gracie was the first to act. “Uh, here Master Fredrick.” She handed him a handkerchief. “I’ll get that for you.”
Lilian knew not what to do. She waited for her aunt to say something. And she did. But the words that came out were, “Oh dear.” That’s it. Flee.
She ran to her upstairs bedroom, leaving Uncle Fred and Aunt Krishta downstairs. Fred had no words. He sat there, staring into the distance as Krishta struggled to say something while refusing to look at him.
“You knew, didn’t you,” she finally said, breaking the silence.
He didn’t speak for a while, then said, “Girgum is toying with me, Krishta. I can feel death nearby.”
Fred’s wife ceased looking away and showed him her face. Her eyes tearing up. “Be it El’s will?”
“I think so. I know it doesn’t seem so, but I am an old, tired man at heart.”
Krishta fell to the floor beside him and placed her head on his knee, hiding her face. He smoothed a hand down her dark hair over and again.
“I know,” she said, nearly sobbing. “And I know you don’t want to leave us.”
“I don’t.”
Krishta picked up her head and held the face of the man with whom she thought she’d spend the rest of her life. His skin was clammy, perspiring, and feverish. She gave him one last loving kiss. “Then you will have to say as much as you can to her. Leave her with words of encouragement. Let her say goodbye without knowing it.” Krishta let go of him and stared off into the distance. “I never got to say goodbye to—”
“Don’t. Don’t say that girl's name in this house.” His voice was calm, but stern.
Krishta made no fuss, but said flatly, “Do you even know where she is right now?”
Fred sighed, “Are we really having this conversation—”
“Do you?”
“Of course not. You befriended her mother, not me.”
“And it was you who determined just how long our friendship lasted.”
“Ugh. Krishta, we’ve been through this. It’s what was best for Lilian.”
“Lilian needs her sister.”
“No! No. All she needs is you, me, and to grow up untethered to her past.”
Sighing, Krishta stood up again. “How long are we going to do this— pretend that Lilian’s father was a good man?”
“He was… a good man.”
“No!” She banged her fist against the coffee table and pointed to him, “You are a good man. And a father to her. It’s how she sees you.”
Fredrick shook his head, “Lilian— she’s a gift to us. But she is not ours.”
Krishta’s eyes widened, “How could you say that?”
“Krishta, you think it was easy for me to see those people at the ball pick her apart in their minds? No. I mean obviously not after what that old man said to us. But it was a lot easier knowing that she didn’t know why. If my brother can still be great in anyone's eyes, I want it to be his daughter’s.”
“The man is dead, Fred. He’s dead. And I want her to remember you, not him,” Her voice cracking, and throat getting sore as she blinked back the tears, “I hate this— this Truit pride. It’s been ripping this family apart for generations. I thought we left it behind when we moved here away from society and most of your family. But it’s still there. I see it in you. And it’s not fair, Fred. It’s not fair to either of us. I adore Lilian. I’ve always wanted to be called her mother but had to settle for you and your pride.”
For a while Fredrick was speechless. “I’m sorry. I understand your sorrow, I do. Just promise me you won’t mention anything to her. Not until she is well off and loved.”
Krishta thought about it for a moment. “Alright. I promise.”
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Lilian brushed her dark, curly, floor-length hair in long strokes. She wore it down for a short time; at just twelve years of age, she started pinning it. And heavy it was, atop her head. But in the name of all things proper, she’d suffer it. At least she now had a strong neck.
Lilian watched her reflection in the mirror: a round shape of a face, beady dark-brown eyes, thick brows, dainty pink lips, and a nose just so. A real Gibson Girl, she was.
Thoughts of the night's highlights revolved in her head. The eyes of the crowd, the man behind the train, and the blood on her uncle's hand. Eyes. Man. Blood. None of it made any sense. Her mind returned to “blood”; What if Uncle Fred is dying?
“NO.”
The thought made Lilian stumble off her stool and onto the side of her bed. It could never be, it isn’t right. Although, a normal case of the flu never makes anyone cough up blood. How did the doctor not know?
“Garbage, garbage. The doctors here are garbage.”
Then Lilian heard a sound; the sound of footsteps. She watched the door. As expected, in came Uncle. He stood there in the doorway, studying her face. She was currently in her nightgown.
“I hope you were not taken aback by what you saw,” he said.
“What specifically? The man you punched, or…”
“No, no— well, yes. But I’m talking about what made you run up to here.”
Lilian paused before saying, “I know it’s nothing, right?... It’s just blood. When have I ever been afraid of blood?”
“Lilian, it’s alright. Tell me.”
Uncle Fred’s words freed her to let a tear loose, then another, till she could no longer see beyond her watery eyes. She covered her eyes with her hands and sobbed. Uncle walked closer and brought her into a hug. He picked her up, sat down on the bed, holding her like a baby. Her hair, dragging across the floor. He waited till she was ready to talk.
Finally, gulping, she said, “Uncle. Are you going to die?” Then she buried her face in his chest to avoid seeing his reaction. She said it. It was in the air now.
“I cannot say,” she heard him say. “I will let El deal with me as he sees fit.”
“But El knows I need you.”
“Oh, Lilian. There is still so much I want to teach you. So much you do not know. But I cannot forget how alike we are. You have what it takes to learn what you need. You are slow to act, and you adhere to the teachings of Shersul. Lilian, you are a sweet, faithful, beautiful young lady. Anyone who doesn’t see that is wrong.”
And she wasn’t stupid either, “You're saying goodbye.” She looked up at him.
“I’m saying all that I’m saying.”
She put her head down again and stared at the wall.
He continued, “I want you to understand something. It’s a hard truth for us Truits but we are a stubborn people. And one day, you will have to be tested as I was tested.”
“Tested how?”
“Can you trust no matter what that El is thinking of you? Through loneliness- through darkness- through agony- through endless waiting?”
Lilian let his words resonate within her soul. Silently, she asked herself the question over and over. Could she trust El? Would she truly have to go through all of that? “Did you fail this test?”
“No.”
“And what happens after?”
“Joy. Peace. Relief. And blessings beyond your imagination.”
Lilian breathed much easier now. After some time Fredrick finally left. Lilian’s thoughts returned to “man”. She knew what to do. Over to the window, she walked. She gazed at the view of their garden. The blue light of the moon, pouring into her room.
She whispered, “Help me to pass the test. Help me to figure out what I must do, and where I fit.” She closed her eyes and said, “For Shersul’s sake.”
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“I sense a soul,” said Girgum. “A strong soul in the southeast region. Hmm, and of a familiar heritage. It must be ousted.”