Life is Simple

Lesson 11

"How are you feeling, dear?" My eyes slowly opened to the world of light I had cherished but now loathed for blinding my sight. I shifted beneath a cover whilst attempting to retain any knowledge of what had occurred. My mouth was arid and tasted terribly like some sort of staleness. Lethargically, my eyes wandered over off to my side to see mother sat beside me.

"What happened?" I managed to speak with dry lips and dry teeth and a dry tongue of leather. A bandage itched at my temple where a throbbing pain emerged in the rhythm of my heartbeat.

"You fell at the Picrew's in their ballroom. Cain came to fetch us at once to tell us that you fell on the stairs. You are home now." Your mother explained to you with a generous, warming hand enveloped around your arm.

"Nay, mother. The story Cain tells is an untruth. He drank more spirits than his body could endure, and he lashed out at me violently." At once hot tears culminated at my eyelids but I dare not let them fall. I tried to forget about the events that had taken place, but now the entire evening flashed before my eyes ever so vividly.

"Analise, I beg of you to be true." My mother whispered below her breath.

"Have you a reason to call me a liar?" The throbbing at my temple intensified. I could feel the pumping of my own blood through the wound, which left me quite unsettled. Already ill, my mother enticed another reason to pick at my nerves.

"I recall you having a difficult time coming to terms with this possible engagement. Perhaps you are attempting to soil Cain's family name. I cannot say who is right, but I refuse to pick a side. If you wish, speak to your father about the ordeal." Now sitting back in her chair, my mother weakly sighed and clapped her hands down unto her lap. The amount of hate exerting my damaged body could not go unrecognized. How can a mother refuse to protect her child when her child is pleading for help? I realized I may be alone. No one may ever know what truly occurred within Cain's home.

"How dare you, mother. I am ashamed that you do not trust your very own daughter. Cain and I were getting along well at first, I do admit, but believe me when I say he abused me." I winced in pain as I tugged the cuff of my chamise up my arm to reveal a firm bruise. My mother looked on, but did not speak. As another piece of evidence, I exposed my ankle by rolling my leg lazily off the bed. A darkened handprint gripped at my heel like a shadow of the past. Fingers and the palm were both intact and evident on my skin.

"Perhaps I could learn to love a man, but I could never learn to love an alcoholic nor an abuser. Not only would I suffer, but the Bellemont name would as well." My mother did not like the words I spoke, but they were true words indeed. She continued to observe me in secret silence. Of course she understood my complaints, but what would my father say about them? He and the Picrew family were strongly intertwined and bonded heavily through their pasts. My mother chose the side of the cowards, but that is the very side I fought not to become.

"Leave me at once. I shall want a word with father immediately. Isabelle, go and fetch my father please." Isabelle curtsied before quickly slinking out of my chambers.

"You pain me, mother. Leave me." I closed my eyes in a revolution not to cry or appear weak to her. My hand rubbed the bandage about my head to disguise my nervousness. She left anticlimactically after another moment of observing me. For awhile I waited quietly in my  chamber, and the loneliness I felt made my heart burn up in flames beneath my bruised chest. The very thought of the events that unfolded nauseated me beyond comprehension, and so I tried very desperately to cling on to other thoughts, maybe even false hopes, to calm myself.

Isabelle entered with a shallow bow before stepping off to the side of the doorway so that father could make his proud entrance accompanied by his conceited gait. He produced an effortless sigh as a byproduct of his immaturity. The way in which his boots echoed across my bedchamber floor left an unease snagged at my throat, leaving my voice difficult to find.

"You called on me, daughter?" Father held his hands behind his back and edged his way to my bedside with aggressive footsteps trailing along his attitude. My mouth felt dry as anxiety doused me in its weakness. I looked up at my final chance of liberation, though the chances of my justice being recognized was nearly naught. My parched, cracked lips managed to part and allow words to flow from my mouth in a dry uncertainty.

"I would like to discuss Cain." I produced the simple sentence meekly while my hand found its way over the bandage on my head once more.

"What of him? Have you taken a fancy to him already?" Father lurched forward, raising his eyebrows in curiosity at such a thought.

"Quite the opposite, father. Mother refuses to believe I was assaulted by Cain in his own home. I was found unconscious because Cain had acted out against me and would not let me go. He was full of spirits as well, which ailed his soul even more in that dreadful moment." I shook my head in disapproval at the thought of Cain- a young, wealthy, charming man- endangering the life of an innocent, young female.

"Surely you are mistaken, daughter? I have seen Cain grow into a young man when visiting the Picrew family through the years. He always behaved agreeably and demonstrated manners fit for royalty!" Father's wiry eyebrows lifted in disbelief at my accusations, for why would he want to believe his daughter?

"I wish I was mistaken, but Father, know that although Cain is handsome, I refuse to further our relationship. I cannot court a man who lashes out so violently." I shook my head despite the acute pain that tormented my neck with every muscle movement. My eyes weighed heavy as I desired nothing more than rest.

"Annalise, don't you realize how important it is for me to secure you an advantageous place amongst the wealthiest in Virginia? Your brother inherits this home, and you shall move up the social ladder. Cain is the only young bachelor in the area I see benefiting your position. I beg of you to try again and make amends with him. Maybe it was nerves that lead him to act out." Father sighed as he pulled the cover up over my waist. I knew he was forging excuses for Cain's action. Part of me suspected that he did not believe me at all and that he played along to pity his daughter.

"Think about it for a few days while you rest up. I am in need of returning to my work." Father gave a quick smile, patted my arm, then left my room in silence. I would not need this time to think, for I knew wholeheartedly that I could never feel comfortable around Cain again. He scared me at how apt he was to change in a moment's notice. How sweet he presented himself mattered naught, for what he did to me in private was unfathomable.

I sat up in my bed, determined to mobilize within a few minutes. I refused to let Cain hold me from my day to day activities any longer. Slowly I tossed my legs, bruised and bandaged, off to the side of the bed and gently lowered my weak feet to the cold floor. Pains, both dull and sharp, crawled along my body and ate it up whole.

"Isabelle! My injuries are ailing me, have you a tincture or salve for me, or would I need a doctor to prescribe such a thing?" I groaned and pinched my face at the pains. Isabelle aided me at once by helping me to my feet and adjusting me to the terrible feelings.

"Perhaps d'ere es a remedy of sorts leftover from de bruises your brother received when he fell in de garden." Isabelle bowed at once and went to search the medicine chest kept in the house. I found myself alone again, feeling the heavy weight of misunderstanding upon my chest. I was hushed. My family attempted to convince me of Cain being a good-natured gentleman, but I simply could not forget the atrocities he made me live through. He followed me everywhere in the forms of bruises and scratches. The salves Isabelle had brought did no good, and she tended to me with great care. The bruises would not fade, and would only turn a different hideous shade for the week. Yellow, oh how I hated yellow, and purple, and red, the injuries would morph and change.