Affliction

Unable to keep still, I busied myself with cleaning and straightening in a wild frenzy. My sense of alarm was great, I was in danger, there was no mistaking it. When he came back, I would know his wrath.

I prepared a large breakfast, poached eggs, fried ham, cornbread, and fresh coffee. It was a pathetic attempt at amending the situation, but I knew nothing else that might help.

He returned silently, gliding across the lake, his posture erect and severe. I could feel his eyes on me, and I struggled with whether to stop and face my punishment or avoid him in the hopes he might not retaliate. It would not take long for it all to come to bear.

“Come here!” he bellowed at me. I jumped, replacing the kettle on the stove with a loud clang. Obediently, I turned and walked to him, eyes cast down, wiping my hands on my apron.

“Sir,” I said softly, dropping a swift curtsy and not daring look him in the face.

“Look at me!” he snarled, grabbing my arm and jerking me nearly off of my feet. I gasped in surprise and snapped my head up to meet his scornful gaze. He was seething with anger, teeth bared, eyes narrowed, chest heaving. His bruising hold on my arm tightened until I cried out in pain.

“How dare you?” he hissed. “You disobedient…” I could not hear what he called me, for at the exact same time he said it, the back of his gloved hand collided with my face, sending me sprawling onto the floor. I could taste blood immediately, salty and metallic in my mouth. I struggled to hold back the tears, certain if he saw them he would only grow more enraged.

I heard his footsteps leaving then, treading in the direction of the organ. I did not dare move, keeping my face hidden. My hair had come loose with the force of the blow and my subsequent fall, and I hid behind it, nursing my split lip. It stung, and I winced, but did not cry.

I got up at last, when I felt it was safe, and quickly put my hair up, took a deep breath, and returned to the stove. Without a word, while he hammered out some ferocious tune, obviously taking the rest of his anger out on the poor organ, I assembled his breakfast tray and took it to him. I set it gingerly on the table behind him, then took a step back, clasped my hands together behind my back and waited dutifully to see if there would be anything else.

He ignored me for several minutes, though I saw him glance over his shoulder once. He delayed as long as possible, shuffling through sheets of music, plunking out a new melody that he was writing, scratching his head as though in deep thought. Finally he turned, and seeing me there, resolutely fulfilling my duty, bloodied lip and all, he sighed.

“I am a monster,” he said gently, coming over to inspect his handiwork.

I did not contradict him. He would get no solace from me. My lip throbbed.

He looked at me, hoping for a reply, but I gave him none. Resigned to it, he turned to the tray. “This looks delicious,” he said, and he looked at me again, attempting a smile.

I did not look at him, but I held my chin high and said, “Thank you, sir.” I could see him deflate, his olive branch soundly rejected.

“I am sorry,” he said in a whisper then. “It will not happen again.”

At this I turned and looked him squarely in the eyes. “No sir,” I said coldly, and I let my meaning sink in with the lingering gaze. He looked away first, uncomfortable and defeated.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” I asked, my tone sharp and biting. I would not be insubordinate, no never again, but he would know my mind just the same.

“No, Marie,” he replied, using my name to try and win back my confidence. I was having none of it. I gave him nod, whirled on my heel and left him to eat in peace.

The remainder of the day I spent avoiding him at all cost, though it seemed he had a thousand and one reasons to call me to his side. I never denied my service, but I did so with an obvious detachment, never meeting his eye, never smiling.

That night, before I retired to bed, he summoned me to him. I went reluctantly.

“You must hate me now,” he said softly. He was sitting at the organ, but had turned to face me. I stood out of reach, self-preservation overriding any sense of duty to the man.

I could see the plea for forgiveness buried in the statement, and I refused to placate him by offering any. It wasn’t that I found it unforgivable; I had been dealt much worse by past employers. I simply knew that this was a defining moment between the two of us. Bowing to him now, would mean my utter defeat.

“I see,” he said at last, in reference to my silence. “Goodnight, then.”

I nodded respectfully at the dismissal, turned and walked away.

Something would change, I thought as I laid in my bed staring up into the blackness. For better or for worse, something would change because of this. I touched my swollen lip, it felt enormous. Then with a sigh I turned onto my side and promptly fell asleep.