The Bells

Family

Alice's cold society smile grated on his conscience. He had seen it, hundreds of times, flashed at gossiping ladies, bickering maids, former friends, but she had never unleashed it at him. It was surprising, really, how much it hurt,to lose her trust. He would no longer be her refuge, her safe haven, the person she showed her true identity. Not the facade of a bright socialite, but the sarcastic, intelligent woman underneath.

As he walked up the long drive to his home, Charlotte and Bess ran up to him. He instantly embraced his two youngest, for a split second feeling a little less wretched, warm and surrounded by love. His son shook his hand and told him that he, "was always certain of your innocence".

That reminder of his guilt coupled with the build faith in his children's eyes brought back all the feeling that, a moment before had gone. He repressed the frown, that had become his natural expression since the...incident, replacing it with a strained smile.

He then allowed himself to be drawn into a discussion about Charlotte's dollar's new dress and Bess's pony. He laughed when appropriate and smiled the rest of the time. A new smile. Gone was the old warmth and joy that used to eliminate from this expression, replaced with a melancholic darkness that hovered on the edges of his smile, that hovered on his face. Always.

Later, after all the children were in bed he braced himself for Alice's rant. He was expecting to see the anger she kept locked in a box, showing it only to those she trusted most. He had forgotten, somehow, that he no longer counted as trustworthy. He had betrayed her, cheated on her. He could justify his action, all his friends had mistresses. He repressed a laugh at that point, reminded of Owen, his son, protesters. All my friends do this, have this, get this. He also remembered his response, 'If all your friends jumped off a bridge would you?' The answer was normally a form of grunt.

Alice sat in the blue parlor, back straight, eyes fixed on her embroidery. She didn't look up as he walked in, did not speak or acknowledge his existence. She had sat on the winged armchair instead of the customary sofa, so he was forced to sit alone. Her auburn hair gleamed in the firefight and, eyes still kept down she asked, 'Did you kill her?'

He tried to answer, tried so hard to admit it, tried to force of a yes. All that came out was a strangled groan and the image of Isabella on the bed, surrounded by a halo of blood, blue eyes sightless. Be could feel the pain, like his heart was bleeding ripped in two, the gun renched from his hand. He could smell the gunpowder mingled with the copper of blood.

Alice thrust a glass of port into his hand, waking him from his nightmare.  She knew, probably always knew, right from the very first. Her cold silence forced him to speak, if only to listen something other then the reproach which emanated from Alice's body so forcefully he could almost hear it.

'It was an accident...She got in the way. Matthew..... He threaten to hurt her and I tried to stop him'. His desperation for her to understand, to tell him he wasn't all bad came through in his trembling voice.

' And the gun.. it was in my hand and I only meant to threaten him, but but she was in the way and then, then Matthew took the gun and the peddlers came and saw Matthew with the gun and he knew, oh, he knew that the only way to make sure I was never free, free from the guilt, was to plead guilty.' His voice got stronger, 'He knew that it would hurt me more, to see him hang for a crime I committed, then it would hurt him to die.'

Alice's cold stare intensified. 'What of me, and your children? If you had been found guilty, what would we have done? You should be on your knees thanking God, that you were found innocence!'

With that she stalked out of the room.

James buried his head in his hands and cried. Loud, anguished sobs that spoke of heartbreak and loss. Sobs that sang a tale of guilt, a tale of woe, of loneliness. He had heard people say that crying was good for the soul, that it relieved a guilty conscience.

People were wrong.