A Sadness Within (4 page)

“No, I didn’t come here to ruin things. You both asked me to come home and I didn’t object because . . . well, because the truth is that I have to lay low for a while. It’s just that …please, Celia. You have to trust me. You’re the only one left who can.” He loosened his grip and let me walk away. There was a pleading in his eyes and a longing as I had never seen. There was nothing to do but believe.

“Will, I’m still not totally sure what you need from us, but I have to ask… what is it that you want? I mean
really
want.” I turned to ask before I reached the doorway.

His back was to me as he stared out of the window. Running a hand through his dark hair, he sighed.

“I don’t know anymore, Celia. I just don’t know,” he whispered.

“Well, perhaps that’s something you need to figure out first.”

The angst was evident in his posture and I no longer knew what else to say. This was something for him to figure out on his own, at least for now. I slipped out of the room and left him to his thoughts.

An hour later, Will came
into the living room where my father and I were both reading. He stood silently, his posture defeated, and both of us looked up expectantly.

“Will,” our father greeted him curtly, a touch of annoyance still there.

“Father,” Will started, “I was thinking. Maybe I should stay here for a while.” His face was expressionless. “Perhaps I could get a job at the school or something.” He let out the breath he had been holding after he rushed out the last part of his statement.

Our father breathed in deeply and closed his book, using a slender finger to mark his page.

“Will, we have talked about this before. I would love for you to stay for a while, but your sister and I enjoy our life here and can’t afford to have you ruin it. You are welcome to stay, but it’s too soon for you to think about being out in the open.”

“I know that I’ve made mistakes before,” he stammered, “but I would like to try.”

Visible shock registered across our father’s face. Will had stayed or rather, been forced to stay out of obligation before, but he had never actually come right out and said that he wanted to try. My father stood and approached Will, still standing in the doorway. The sides of the sofa engulfed me as I sank deeply into it, trying to remain inconspicuous.

“You have forced this family to move a number of times in the past.” The tone of his voice began to rise at the memories, but he quickly controlled it. “You must understand my apprehension. This is our real home and we can’t afford to have you lose control here.”

“I am well aware of that,” Will answered through clenched teeth. He was trying to keep his composure, despite the interrogation from my father. “I’m telling you that I want to try. I thought this is what you always wanted me to do. I can’t explain it; I just really need to do this.”

Will stopped and seemed on the verge of actually telling our father about Julia.  His gaze met with mine, and I could see the conflict on his face. I smiled in encouragement, reminding him that I did believe in him. Then he turned back with intensity and resolve.

“I want this.”

The ticking of the clock echoed and counted down time while our father contemplated. I really hoped that he understood. This is something he had wanted for so long, but now that the words had been said, I hoped that he would actually give Will a chance. Even I could see that Will needed this now. Finally he spoke.

“Despite everything, you are my son, and I am still your father. I want to believe you Will, so I will grant you this. Perhaps I can help. Maybe I can call in a favor and get you some work at night, just until we are sure. But I have to trust you, Will. If there is any sign of trouble, you will have to leave as I can’t wait around for you to lose control.”

“I understand.” Will relaxed, the hint of a smile playing across his face. “Thank you,” he whispered and slipped quietly from the room.

The buzzing of the alarm
jolted me from my sleep. It was still dark outside and the sun wouldn’t rise for at least another hour, but my alarm went off at 5am every morning to allow me to get in a run before I needed to be at school. My feet hit the cool floor, waking me up a little and encouraging me to move. I slid on my running pants, t-shirt, track jacket, and running shoes and stepped outside into the chilly autumn air.

My breath floated in foggy wisps around me as I stretched briefly on the porch and turned on my favorite running playlist. My legs still ached from sleep, but I began to run, willing them to move forward.
The dark air engulfed me like a blanket, smelling faintly of cinnamon and dried leaves, and I pulled it deeply into my lungs. I allowed myself a glance at the magnificent Bradley estate at the end of the road. A faint light shone through one of the windows making me shudder slightly. The old Victorian had me entranced since I was a child. It was beautiful, with its English gardens and perfectly manicured grounds, but there was something innately creepy about its turrets and the windows that seemed to smile in the dark. The house had been the topic of much speculation over the years. Some people even claimed that it was haunted. It had been uninhabited, although it had always been well cared for. Then Celia Bradley, a student of mine, and her father moved in a few years ago. Apparently, they were relatives of the original inhabitants of the estate. They stayed to themselves and Celia was a quiet student who never offered up much information about her home life. No one bothered to ask her about it either.

As I turned out of the subdivision, my breathing became regular and even as my legs found their pace. I liked to run. I felt stronger when I could feel my muscles pushing to their limits and I liked having uninterrupted time to think. The day planned itself out neatly in my head as I thought about everything that I needed to get done. Today’s task was something as mundane as making copies and writing a test. Did I have a meeting this morning or was that tomorrow morning? In what felt like no time at all, I was turning back into my neighborhood, five miles under my belt.

Dawn was just breaking over the horizon and a few seagulls squawked overhead, reminding me that the lake wasn’t too far off. I slowed my pace and walked the last quarter mile to my house. It was modeled after an old farmhouse, with its wraparound porch and floor to ceiling windows, but it was only twenty-three years old. My parents built it when I was just three years old. We lived here together for sixteen years until . . . I hated to think of the events that had taken place in the past several years and did my best to keep them locked away. Now I was living here alone, trying hard to focus on the future while trying desperately to bury the past. Images warred within my head, but I wouldn’t think about such tragedy today. It was a good day when I could push them aside easily.

After a shower and breakfast, I set out for work. The school was only a mile away and was close enough to walk, but I liked to get there early to get a few extra things done. Today, I managed to pull into the school parking lot thirty minutes early. With any luck, I could get a few papers graded before the first bell. Keys in hand, I hurried to my room and almost ran into the blond student waiting for me at my door.

“Ms. Cavallo?” It was Celia Bradley, her curls looking perfect as usual and a bright smile on her face.

“Oh, good morning, Celia. You’re here awfully early. Is there something I can do for you?” Seeing her reminded me of the light on at her house. I wanted to ask her if she had been up, then decided against it… not really wanting to open the door to a conversation. She was highly intelligent and very beautiful, but there was something about her that set off alarms, almost like a warning not to get too close.

“I just wanted to get the vocabulary list for this week. I think I forgot to grab it.” She looked at me through veiled lashes, and I felt that her early arrival actually had a dual purpose. Considering she could easily get the list during class. and the test wasn’t until tomorrow, I began to wonder what else she wanted.

“No problem,” I shrugged. “The list is in the basket on the counter.” I watched her for a moment as she walked to the other side of the room to rummage around in the basket for the list, humming lightly to herself.

“My brother moved home for a while,” she called out casually, and I couldn’t help but think that this is what she actually had come in to tell me. Great. That’s all I needed. Students were always trying to set me up with their relatives. I definitely wasn’t interested. There was no room for anyone in my solitary life right now. Thinking that far into the future seemed a little premature when you were just trying to get through life one day at a time.

“Oh, that’s great. I bet you like having him back at home,” I responded casually.

“Yeah, he was away at school and then living in Chicago, so I didn’t get to see him all that often. It will be nice to have him at home for a while.” She found the list and began walking back toward my desk with catlike grace.

“I’ll bet. Well, I have to get a few things done. I’ll see you at 6
th
period,” I said, trying to kindly dismiss her so that I could get some work done, but by the time I looked up, she was already halfway through the door. I stared at the empty doorway for a minute. What a strange conversation. What a strange girl.

My eyes refocused on the stack of papers in front of me, but my mind wouldn’t focus, again drifting to thoughts of the Bradley’s. There was much speculation surrounding them, and their story had become somewhat of a local legend. Apparently, my neighborhood had originally been part of the Bradley family estate; some sort of farm. In 1910, the Bradley family, who must have been Celia’s great-grandparents, was caught in either a hotel fire, or train accident, or something while in Chicago. According to reports, their bodies were never found. Mr. Bradley and his two children were killed, while his wife survived. She was found dead a few years later, or so they say. Some say she died of cancer or in a fire, but I always thought she died from a broken heart and the pain of losing her entire family. Regardless, it was such a sad story. Sometimes, I couldn’t help but stare off at the house and its oversized windows and wonder about how she must have felt during those last few years. In a way, I could relate to her. I knew what it was like to be alone. Before the Bradley’s moved back to the area, rumors circulated that the house was haunted and that a woman could be seen walking past the windows from time to time.

A shiver crawled down my spine. I don’t know why I had suddenly thought of this.  I didn’t want to think about the sorrow of the Bradley family now. Today had started out well, and I didn’t need to let dark thoughts bring me back down.

“Hey, are you ready for Monday?” said a voice that bounded through the door. My best friend Kara, who also happened to teach across the hall, was one of the few good things in my life.

“Monday?” My mind anxiously thumbed through my mental files.  What did I need to remember about Monday? Auditions!  “Oh yeah, auditions! Um, I think so. I’m planning on having Steve help me out, but I haven’t talked to him.” It may be my first year here, but that didn’t stop them from asking me to direct the school play. Steve was another English teacher who I had hoped would help me out. The idea of being on stage again was exciting, but anxiety was growing in me as I wondered if I would really be able to direct something. Although, it would give me something to do at night for a few months out of the year. This year, we were attempting Shakespeare’s
As You Like It
.

“Well, I know that I’m not much of a thespian, but I can help you if you need me to.”

She laughed, knowing that I would never ask her, and then went back to her own classroom. She actually was quite a drama queen. She just didn’t realize it. Maybe I should ask her just to shock her.

First bell rang and my students began to trickle in, forcing me to focus on the task at hand. The rest of the day was uneventful as I continued through my normal routine. Discussions, reading, writing, etc. Ah, the life of a teacher. Finally, what seemed like days later, the 6
th
period bell finally rang. I could see Celia watching me casually, her blue eyes surreptitiously glancing through her curls, as I made my end of the hour announcements. 

“Don’t forget to read the next chapter in
Pride and Prejudice,
and remember you have a vocabulary quiz tomorrow.” My announcements fell idly on the backs of the students as they left my classroom. Within seconds, the classroom was completely empty and quiet and I was alone. Good. No one wanted to stay and talk. I flopped down into my chair and sighed deeply. There was always grading to do, and then perhaps, I would go to the auditorium and play for a while.

I lived to play the piano. I had taken lessons from the time I was in elementary school, all the way through high school and had even been in the school orchestra. Now I just played for me. The sound of a piano is always very calming. There was a piano at home, but there was something about playing a big grand piano on a stage that reminded me of what it was like to play in front of an audience. The sound reverberated through the empty space and danced off the walls, sending a small thrill through me. A concert pianist would have been a logical career choice, but I never had the guts to go through the pressures of practicing to perform.

By the time I had finished grading papers and getting the vocabulary quiz ready, the school was nearly empty. Only a few staff members remained and the auditorium was vacant, as I had suspected. I flipped on the stage lights and immediately felt the heat radiating from them. I was momentarily blinded as my eyes adjusted until the auditorium seats were a haze before me. The sound of the bench sliding across the wooden stage echoed loudly, and I sat gingerly. The ivory was cold and silky under my fingers. If I closed my eyes, the music would find me. I never knew what song would come, but it would be one of many I had learned over the years. I had never been very good at writing my own music. Today, it was Pachabel’s “Canon in D,” a favorite of mine.  It was like an old friend, its melody falling easily from my fingers. I let it grow and crescendo and then fade again, feeling the tension leave my body. When I played, I became someone else, and I was happy. Everything felt right, and I was able to forget. It was one of the few things that still made me feel alive.

Suddenly, I had the feeling I wasn’t alone, and stopped playing abruptly. My eyes desperately searched the auditorium expecting to see someone, but with the stage lights on, it was impossible to see.

“Hello?” I cried out tentatively.

No answer.

“Is there someone out there?”

I scanned the empty chairs but could see no one. Then, just like that, the feeling of being watched was gone, and I was once again alone. Unnerved, I gathered my things, stood up and quickly left, barely remembering to turn the lights off as I walked out. While people listening to me play did bother me, knowing someone was there and not being able to see them alarmed me even more. Probably just a student who was embarrassed that they had been caught listening. No big deal. Wow, my imagination was really overactive today. Perhaps it was a thought that hadn’t left my mind all day unnerving me. That of Mrs. Bradley walking through her empty house all those years ago..

Once home, I immersed myself in thoughts of all that I needed to do to get ready for auditions, and I was able to forgot about the incident at school. Takeout made for an easy dinner and would allow me to keep working. It was getting dark out and the house seemed all the more empty, making me jump when the delivery person rang the doorbell.

After dinner, I went out to the porch to take in what was left of the sunset. Pinks and oranges painted the thin clouds that hung over the lake, while the sun had just begun to dip into the water below. I loved to sit on this porch and just watch. A faint glow from the lights at the Bradley estate down the road served as an eerie illumination. I thought back to my conversation with Celia. She really was an odd girl. I started to think about the fact that she had an older brother and caught myself wondering what he was like. Was he tall and blond? Was he a little more social than she was? What did it matter? Was I jealous that she had a brother, and I no longer did?
No, not now
. I pushed those thoughts deep into the crack that I felt just beneath the surface, and mentally tried to patch it. Today had been a good day.  I didn’t want to think about my family tonight. I just wanted to make it through one day without calling on the sadness that was intertwined with my life now.