Chapter 6: https://steemit.com/horror/@horrorguyian/birthright-chapter-6
1877 - The Porch
The summer sun shines on the lawn, making the scene of children running and playing tag even more lively than one could give account to. Avery climbs his way up a sprawling elm, avoiding the other participants by hiding in the Spanish moss that hangs from its branches. A mass of us are gathered on the porch, drinking and discussing the merits of the Reconstruction effort, if there were any to be had. In the midst of a spirited conversation, Uncle Garrett walks through the patio doors.
Peter brightens as he greets him, "Uncle! How do you fare? And how has France been treating you?"
"Very well, my boy! Although sadly, I can't say the same for its people. Seems to be a terrible depression going on, with no end in sight as of yet. But I will remark that it has enabled me to live like a king in my time there. And you, Peter? Will you follow me one day soon, to live out those swashbuckling daydreams of yours? It won't be long until Avery has learned the run of the place."
Peter replies, "I spent some time taking in operas while on vacation, and I must say, I think Italy may be my choice of destination. Did you know that there are rumors of a sound machine they say will be able to play recorded musical pieces? That way, the owner would be able to listen to their heart's content. Still, I daresay it would not be as invigorating as to see it firsthand. And Italy is the home of the greatest operas."
"Sounds like you have things well figured out then, nephew!" Garrett turns to greet myself and Olivia, giving us each a warm embrace. We speak of his travels, the family business, and of course, the children. He gives Luther and Avery a firm handshake, then scoops Evie up into the air as if she were light as a feather.
Olivia and I sat, listening in on the conversation for the most part. Our lives were not as exciting as operas and world travel, but a bliss of cherished touches and comfort within each other. Not exactly the makings of public discussion. I reach over to caress Olivia's face, her smile radiating betwixt the ruins of my fingers. Garrett does not mention my disfigurement.
Some time later, the patio doors part again to reveal a well-dressed family. Peter bounds straight from his seat to rush over, clearing his voice so that he may be heard over the farmhouse din.
"Ladies and Gentleman, I'm pleased to announce our guests of honor. I present to you, the Wyler family."
Charles and his wife shake hands and hold small talk with the rallying congregation. Peter manages to wind Bonnie through the throng of congratulators. He rests her directly in front of my oldest son. The young girl tries her hardest to hide her imminent glee. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Luther wipe his sweating hand on his pants. His quick, casual glance at her already developed bustline.
"Master Luther Cartwright. Miss Bonnie Wyler," Peter declares with gravitas as he grins at Olivia and I. My wife lays her head against my chest as we watch the event unfurl.
Luther apprehensively takes the little Miss' hand.
The smell of braised veal wafts from the plates as they are uncovered by the maids. Peter chimes a fork against his crystal glass, once again commanding attention for his upcoming speech. It is the same speech many of us at this table have heard once before. For Uncle Garrett, this will be the third in his lifetime. Peter's version of the speech holds a small aside for the remembrance of our father. Some attendants cross themselves, while others mutter assents of, "Hear, hear!"
Garrett whispers something to Avery, who looks up at his Uncle Peter with a sense of reverence. Olivia sits next to Evie, gently but lovingly keeping the child from fidgeting about. Luther steals quick glimpses across the table at young Bonnie in her summer dress.
A smile peeks at the corner of my lips with a slight tic. It comes from a sense of both happiness and fear. Because I love my life. I love my family. Peter, who will find his way to Italy. Evie, who will be free to pursue her heart or her education, whichever she chooses. My wife will live on and care for her boys from this grand farmhouse one day. I have no illusions that this laborer's trade won't claim me early, as it did my Father.
And I know that one day, my brother, my sons, and myself will gather at the cold wooden slab in that dim manor. The birthright will be assumed by the next generation. We will pray for their forgiveness and understanding.
For we all must make sacrifices. We all must suffer, so we do not take for granted that with which we have been blessed. Forever and ever.
Amen.
