- A Brash Act – Part I
- A Brash Act – Part II
- A Brash Act – Part III
- A Brash Act – Part IV
- A Brash Act – Part V
- A Brash Act – End
Ξ From the Journals of Edward Rochester ~ circa 1796 Ξ
“Father, you cannot allow…”
Rowland never saw the blow which sent him tumbling to the carpet. As he rolled over, clutching the side of his face which had been slapped, I could see a drop or two of blood trickle from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes, wide in surprise, rapidly filling with tears as he wiped his mouth on his coat sleeve.
Henry was unmoved. “Don’t you ever talk back to me, boy. Get out. Now.”
Rowland, who at fifteen tried to be as imperious and dictatorial as my father, had been laid out by one swift backhand. His astonishment soon became resentment, however, for as he staggered to his feet, I saw an angry scowl of hatred darken his countenance. Without a word, he stumbled out of the room, blubbering and sobbing as I had never heard before.
How I wanted to laugh out loud! For once, Rowland’s attempts to disgrace me had been thwarted. More injurious to him, however, was the wounding of his pride. To be humiliated in such a manner, and in front of me, was unpardonable. Alas, my ectasy would be all too brief. I knew that my brother would be waiting for me. Perhaps not today, but he would have his retribution. For this moment, however, I savored this triumph. It had not been won by my hand, but still, tasted sweet.
My sense of victory soon ebbed away, however, as a more pressing concern was before me. Henry Rochester now directed his full attention to me.
“Come here, Edward.”
Any hesitation to obey would not be tolerated. I stood up from the little stool and moved out from behind the table. But in my haste, I stumbled. Just when I thought I should land on my face at his feet, my mother’s quick hand caught me. As I regained my footing, I glanced at her face. Her eyes beamed, and I heard her whisper, “Courage, Edward.”
How her words invigorated my failing heart! Even as I trembled with the dread of what was to come, I felt my spirit expand within me, so much so that I suddenly knew that whatever my father was going to do, I would not this time wilt beneath his hand. Both Rowland and I indulged in our share of boyhood pranks, but riding his horse without leave was the most brazen, impudent deed I had ever perpetrated. For that reason alone he deemed it worthy of the severest punishment my father could inflict. What Henry Rochester’s assessment of the crime had been, I was about to discover.
I now stood before him, my eyes cast down. In spite of my mother’s bold words and my new-found resolve, still I was trembling. I knew my father’s anger was great, for his boots were still muddy. In his haste to confront me, he had forgotten to scrape them clean before entering the house. To risk my mother’s displeasure, in even a trifling offense such as this, was not his habit.
Not daring to look up at his face, my gaze followed after the muddy track he had deposited on the carpet.
~ End Part IV ~
© 2016 by R.Q. Bell and Imaginality Press; All rights reserved.