My Daughter, Audrey [ON HOLD]

The Second Letter

Peter was too terrified by the memory he so wanted to forget that he didn’t even feel Phillip working the dull blade through his cheek.   It wasn’t until he jerked that he realized that he was being cut.  

               “Ya move ya ugly bugger, I’ll do it to the other side!”  Phillip warned.

               Peter felt warm blood trickling down his face and pooling in his mouth.  He coughed violently, and his body lurched and twisted while he tried to keep from choking.  “Git off of me!”  Peter cried out when the pain became too great.

               Phillip drew the blade away from Peter and stood up.  Tossing his head towards the door, he ordered his mates to get rid of him.  “We’ll jest say he quit!”   Phillip turned to Peter, who was still lying on the ground even though he had been freed.  “That’ll teach ya high arse ‘ow to speak to me.  Now, break!  Or I’ll be ‘aving yer bird squealing this time!”

               Peter scrambled to his feet and bolted out of the cabin.   He didn’t even grab his coat.   The rain stung his skin and blinded his pathway, but he knew his way home.   The blood washed down his neck and the warming water felt soothing on his deep wound.   He stumbled to the ground and struggled for his breath.   He had forgotten how afraid he was of his father.  He had forgotten all about how when he eight, his father would lock him in the basement and threaten to feed him to the family.   The sad thing was that his father was mentally impaired, and that he couldn’t help the way he acted.   Peter’s mother stayed true to him and cared for him, even when Peter left for Liverpool.   Peter took to the streets because violence was his only way to survive.  The beatings the lads gave him didn’t even compare to the ones he had received from his father.  

               Peter pushed himself from the slippery mud and made it to the streets.  The thunderstorm had shut off the city lights and the moon wasn’t even out.  Using only his memory, Peter staggered back to Jennie’s house.   He found the familiar doorknob with the familiar feeling of wood.  He was about to take out his key when he realized he had left it in his rain jacket.   He knocked on the door, crying out Jennie’s name.  He jiggled the knob and pounded on the door.   When his fist came in contact with the wooden door for the eighth time, he felt a piece of paper.  A note.  He jerked it down and tried to read it.  The the light was so poor he could hardly make out the writing, but with effort, he saw the words.

My dearest Peter,

               I am sorry for how I behaved.  I wish you were here.  I would like you to know that I love you, and that you mean more than anything to me.  I am going to America.  I’m searching for work there, and I will also have a chance to visit Audrey.  Please don’t think I’m leaving you—when I married you, I signed on for life.  I hear I am paid more in America, so hopefully we’ll have enough for Audrey.  I miss you, and I love you terribly.  Please don’t fly out—it was bad enough purchasing a ticket for myself.  Doctor Coates and Bill the tailor helped me buy one.  If you’re reading this, I love you.

                                                                                          Yours forever, Jennie. 

               Peter sunk to the ground, clutching the letter to his heart.  He needed her.   He wanted to tell her about the past he thought he had forgotten.   He wished he had told her earlier, for perhaps she could have erased them for him.  He was all alone now.  Audrey had been taken from him and his wife was called to the States.  All that was left with him were frightening images and sounds.  The voice of his father sent shivers up his spine and Peter swore he could see the figure standing behind the sheets of rain.   But it was all his imagination, and his father was still at the train station.   Peter stood up and dug in his pocket for any tool that could pick a lock.   His fingers fumbled over one of Jennie’s hairpins.   He pulled it out and went straight for the keyhole.  He twisted the metal pick and jiggled the doorknob until the door cracked open.  He stepped inside and closed it quickly behind him, keeping the rain from spilling in. 

               Peter flipped on the light and was afraid to see the empty, silent room.   He didn’t like being alone.  If he had an animal with him, like his cat or the yellow dog, he would have been more comfortable staying.   Peter walked over to the rocking chair and sat down, arms tight against his body.  His wound was still open and oozing clear liquid, but that wasn’t what occupied his mind.   Peter rocked back and forth, thinking of songs that had comforted him, but they all sounded like his father’s voice.  Peter closed his eyes and said a prayer that brought some peace to him.   His prayer for silence wasn’t answered until his eyes closed and the beauty of darkness swept him away.