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keyboardwhisperer · 26 days

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WIP chapter 2: “Save yourself.”

It’s been a while since I posted chapter 1, but I finally finished chapter 2!

Anyways, I think this chapter came out really really good.

In chapter 1, I introduced the characters and the main premise of the story. Devlin, a small town sheriff was blackmailed into marriage by his parents, but is unwilling to. So he finds himself a mail-order bride as a quick fix to his desperate situation. This chapter however, is not a direct continuation, but introduces Irene, who decides to marry herself off to Devlin. This chapter focuses on the events leading to her drastic decision.

St. Louis, Missouri, 1870

Internal monologue:

“All these years alone, I was always waiting for someone, waiting for something. Anyone, or anything at all to save me. To take me away anywhere, anywhere at all. Just, not here. I just want to be far away from here.”

“Every day of every week, I was nothing to everyone and something to no one. I’ve only wanted to be something. I’ve only wanted to be someone. I’ve tried so desperately hard to step out of the shadow, running even, but the spotlight would never stop moving away. Everyone would always have nice words for my sisters. But who would ever have any for me? Between Ingrid’s accomplishments and Iris’s upcoming wedding, I stood in the middle, where I had nothing but attempts at becoming something.”

“It’s in poor taste, I know that. But if no one is ever coming to take me elsewhere, then I’ll just have to give myself away. Maybe it’s insane, maybe I’m insane. But I'll be damned if I have to sit through my sister’s wedding knowing that I could’ve been anywhere else.”

Retaliation, it’s something as old as time can tell. For Irene Wintermeyer, it was something very new. Yet she had in mind one so drastic, it would shatter the picture perfect image of everyone around her. But could she have known that they would be letting her down, even in retaliation?

The city was a big place, but for Irene, it was as small as a townhouse. Because her life in st. Louis doesn’t exist outside her front door. She has had glimpses of the busy everyday life through her window. From the windowsill, the crowds walk up and down the little streets like a line of ants, while horses pacingly trod through the main roads. Irene would look on the streets below, and discover a group of people who lived life in a straight line. She would often try to see how many strangers would stop amidst the moving crowds to wave to another, or if horses could go any faster than trodding pacingly.

Irene doesn’t stop at the fridge six times a day to see if anything new appeared. Instead, she frequents the linen closet. She spends more time looking for stains than actually scrubbing, and spends more time waiting to wax the floor again than actually waxing. Feeling squeaky clean was one of the only ways she kept herself from scratching at the walls.

That was until this afternoon, when Irene didn’t even bat an eye at the linen closet. Because it wasn’t something that needed polish, it was her.

She was sliding her dress hangers on the wardrobe rail from one side to another. Sifting through the many dresses. Linen, silk, cotton and satin. With each hanger that passed through her hands, came a sigh. She walked to and from, between the mahogany closet and the standing mirror, eyeing harshly on each dress she draped over her body.

After going through half her wardrobe, she couldn’t help but breath out in frustration. Even the one dress she could always use as a last resort had failed to stay draped on her for long before being tossed onto the bed like all the other dresses.

It wasn’t something about the dresses that looked wrong in her eyes. But it was something about her sister in a white dress she just couldn’t let go.

Irene was full of grunts as she shoved the many dresses back into her closet and slammed it shut. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep, counting to five. The same thing she always did to regain her frozen smile. Every visit to the powder room, every time she needed to freshen up, she would do it all again and come right out with the same smile she had five seconds ago. She would find herself counting very often, because she was too afraid of what would come out instead of the smile.

This time tomorrow, she will have to see her younger sister get married. She lifted open her windowsill, leering at the city streets lining in straight lines beneath the tall buildings. Her eyes half closed with a slight tension between her eyebrows. Her lips opened ajar, slightly quivering alongside heavy sighing. She couldn’t wait for it to be over, but she couldn’t want more for today to last forever. As long as she can still count to five, she can still keep her smile during the ceremony tomorrow. Or so she thought.

Irene was on her knees scrubbing at the hardwood floor back and forth. Next to her was a bucket of soapy water and a bottle of white vinegar. The sandy rasp of scrubbing was her calm, the white noise that drowned out all other thoughts. Which is helpful for Irene, whose thoughts are almost always heavy with something.

Her only moment of quiet peace was cut short when the front door banged open.

“Irene!” It was her mother, whose jovial voice rang throughout the house. “When was the last time I came home with you anywhere else but the floor next to a bucket.” She kidded.

“It needs more soap.” Irene murmured, not looking up from the floor.

“Well,” her mother chuckled, “It’s not like the floor needs it once every day. I think we spend more on soap and vinegar than we did when we hired help.” She joked.

“Why should we hire help?” Irene continued to scrub. “We both know I would just come down to do it, correctly, after the help leaves.” She said with a low grunt in her voice. Her eyes glued to the floor beneath her, grinding the floor brush against the hardwood surface in silence. Her mother leaned over to peek at her face.

“Something bothering you?” She responded to Irene’s silence.

“Perhaps.” Irene sat up and turned to her mother, “I just couldn’t wait for tomorrow to be over.”

“Oh,” Her mother smiled wryly, “I’m nervous too, Irene. Watching your sister grow up has made me dread tomorrow more than I thought I would. Oh, if only you knew how your father feels about giving away his little girl. It’s like a very big piece of our heart is going away.” She sighed from her smile.

“Is that so?” She put away her brush. “I can only imagine what that must be like.” She pushed herself up, taking the bucket with her elsewhere.

Her mother was still oblivious to what Irene really meant, most people are. It’s not the way she says it, it’s the way she doesn’t. Because no matter how deeply upset she was, even if she could snap like a twig, the words out of her mouth were still pleasant. And that vague and distant smile, never clued anyone in.

Before today, Irene thought she heard it all. That was up until evening came. It started with a big family dinner, bright with the light of who knows how many lamps and chandeliers. She went in already expecting the worst, but she would be surprised instead.

It all unfolded when Irene welcomed her relatives, before she could finish her greeting, everyone pushed through her and the door looking for Iris—while her uncle Horace mistook her for the door girl. It was then made clear to her that perhaps the living room is not where she should be.

“Aren’t you excited?” Her cousin Grace slipped into the kitchen. “Everyone is in the other room with a drink in their hands. It’s like you want to miss out!”

“I’m quite busy.” Irene carefully nudged small pieces of food around a silver tray. “Are you here to help, or are you here just to check up on me?” She gave a passing glance.

“Someone should.” Grace approached with a mellow voice. “Because you’re here cutting up finger sandwiches when everyone else has a drink in their hands.”

“I’m perfectly alright.” Irene buttered the slices of bread, eyes glued to the cutting board.

“Come on, please. Just speak to me.” Grace leaned towards Irene from the other side of the kitchen island. “You don’t seem perfectly alright. Not to me. I’ve seen you smile enough times to know what it really means.”

Irene put down the knife in her hand and took out a small dish of something green, her smile still bright.

“This sandwich calls for some fresh parsley.” Irene sprinkled some into the mayonnaise. “But sometimes, I don't think I should even go through the trouble of chopping them up. The sandwich does just fine without the parsley. No one notices the parsley. People only care for the eggs, the ham, or the tomatoes. It's a party all on its own *without* the parsley. It wouldn’t make any difference if I sprinkled some, or none at all. Perhaps you could tell when it's not there, but as long as all the other stuff is, no one's going to ask where it went.” She picked the knife back up and placed a tomato on the cutting board, slicing it julienne.

“For what it’s worth,” Grace fiddled her hands, “I think the parsley should be there anyways. I think the parsley shouldn’t just *not* be in there with everything else because it’s not the ham, or the eggs. If you don’t feel happy putting parsley in the sandwich, that’s alright. But something’s going to be missing, and you’ll know that something **is missing. Well I don’t know about you, but I know I will.”

The knife in Irene’s hand froze half way into a tomato. For a moment, Irene paused. Her ‘smile’ faded. It did occur to her that she could just stay in the kitchen like this every time she had company, and no one would ask for her. But she will always be aware that she’s alone, knowing she could have walked through the door and chose not to be. It had just occurred to her that she could be next to nothing and be in the picture, or next to nothing and all alone.

It was a short moment when Irene froze. Bringing herself out of her own head, she dug the knife through the rest of her half sliced tomato. Grace made her way around the kitchen island.

“I know it’s hard on you.” Grace held Irene’s shoulders. “But if you decide to watch Iris get married, then I’ll sit right next to you. You know it’s the right thing to do.”

Irene knew Grace was right. When your family is getting married, you owe it to them to attend their wedding. She didn’t owe anything to Iris, but she would look like the worst hypocrite to not attend when her whole family endorses family values. So perhaps she ought to be in the picture starting this evening.

With two trays of finger sandwiches perfectly lined, Grace strode out head first to lead Irene, who cautiously swept her glance through the many faces.

Irene wouldn’t know what to do without her cousin Grace. She was the only person who could see Irene as a whole person, and not a disembodied smile with no past, no future. No matter what bothered her, Grace never fell apart. She’s strong. She’s not resilient, no. As a matter of fact, Irene has seen her temper many times. But Grace always has a way of bouncing back up. It’s easy to see that she’s often caught being too into the moment, but it’s even easier to see how she never lets her day get ruined.

She was many things to Irene. Someone to depend on would be the simplest way to describe it. And she would continue to be just that for this evening, until its bitter end.

Irene came into the living room walking half a step at a time. Looking left and right, unsure of her place in this picture. With only Grace to drag her across the room by the arm and pull her into new conversations, Irene thought for sure she would stumble and fall either in conversation, or on the floor.

In the span of evening until later that same evening, Irene would have spoken with her relatives more times than she had ever spoken to them in the last couple of years. For a moment, it was novel to hear the sentence, “How are things with you?” It wasn’t like she had never heard these words, only that they seem slightly out of place.

By the time the clock hands pointed nine, the thought of being forgotten had ironically been forgotten. For the first time in forever, Irene had an expression of joy. Not frozen, nor carefully crafted. It was the kind of smile that showed through her eyes, not just the corners of her mouth.

Then, a clinking of glass and silverware caught the attention of everyone. It was Thomas Wintermeyer who was prepping everyone for his toast. Irene didn’t pay much mind to her father’s speech at first. In fact, she had let go of her disdain in the spirit of celebration.

“We are all gathered here tonight,” his voice boomed out loud and clear, “to share a splendid evening with Iris for the last time as a single woman. Because tomorrow onwards, we will be having splendid evenings with her, as a married woman. I cannot begin to express my pride in her, as well as heartache to see her leave home.

He continued to give his speech. Family members held their drinks, waiting to raise their glasses. Looking around the room, some clutched their hands over their hearts. Some had bittersweet expressions of joy, while some smiled through small tears. And there was Irene, who found herself doing the same. Holding Grace’s hand to her chest. For once, she could smile with the rest of her family. Not that she found a reason to do so, but because she couldn’t find a reason not to. But a reason would come flying at her soon enough.

“I am proud to call these three as my daughters.” Thomas looked over at each of his daughters. “Ingrid, I cannot believe how far she has come. For those who have read last week’s paper, she was praised for her humanitarian efforts. I am proud to have raised her so well. Iris, who had come to celebrate the arrival of her wedding with us. If Honor and I knew that it would be like giving away a piece of our heart, we wouldn’t agree to give her away to the Wickhams in the first place.” He chuckled wryly. “And of course, we must not forget Irene. Cheers.”

Thomas raised his glass, followed by everyone else doing the same. Cheers and congratulations filled the room completely. And that was it. The end of Thomas’s speech.

There it was, the reason not to smile she thought would never come. Her name was the only thing her father mentioned in his speech about her. She was always aware that she didn’t stand out much from the crowd. But just now, it felt like she wasn’t even in the crowd itself. In that moment, she felt even less than next to nothing. Because that’s what his speech told her, that she really was nothing.

Caught off guard, even when she knew she shouldn’t have expected anything. But she let herself do it anyway. That’s when she looked around the room and realized something.

As long as she is still here, and as long as she is still Irene Wintermeyer, she couldn’t find a place for herself. Not even in her father’s speech. Maybe there’s no place for parsley in this sandwich. There never has been.

“Everything alright?” Grace pulled Irene by the wrist. “You’re clenching my hands awfully tight.”

Irene was looking down at her feet. She turned her gaze up. Her eyes darted around the room. Looking for something she couldn’t find, all over again.

“I can’t stay here.” Irene shook her head. “I’ve tried, I really have. But I can’t rebuild myself back up just for it to be like this all over again. I can’t do it anymore, I just can’t. I can’t find myself here, Grace. I’ll never stop demanding more of myself, trying to be demanded of something by someone. And I’m tired of asking myself for things I can’t find here, things I can’t find in st. Louis.” She looked up at Grace, her eyes almost glittering with tears.

“Irene…” Grace held up her other hand to hold Irene’s clenched fist. “What are you saying?”

When Irene told her cousin what it was that she planned to do on a moment’s whim, Grace couldn’t oppose the idea. Because even though it was ugly, even though it was something so out of line that she wouldn’t even agree to, Grace knew deep down that Irene deserved most to live on her own terms.

That night, Irene went to bed, but she couldn’t go any further than just lying in it. Because even if it was some sick joke that entered her mind for just a minute, it didn’t leave her head since then. It stayed there with her, asking her if she thought about it, then could she want it? Before she knew it, and before any time at all, it made a home in her head.

Irene Wintermeyer had no one to save her. She was constantly alone even when surrounded by people. And for the longest time she asked, *why can’t I save me?*

It won’t be until three weeks after Iris’s wedding that something eventful happened. A ray of sunlight beamed down on the kitchen island’s granite surface. The smell of fragrant tea wafted in the air. Floral, fruity, and citrusy scents filled the room warmly. Yet the air is thick with tension.

“I can’t believe it.” Grace stared at the reflection in her cup. “So you’re really seeing this to the end?”

“Yes, and so are you.” Irene took a sip. “You were there when I put up my ad in the papers.”

“I just hope you find whatever it is you look for.” Grace reached for Irene's hands. “So what is it, really?”

“Someone.” Irene gazed at the window, but she stared a thousand yards away. “Someone who wants me around. Someone who sees me. Someone who could see the difference it makes when I’m not there. All my life, no one could be this for me but you. But it’s too hard to be here, surrounded by a whole crowd of people who aren’t. And it doesn’t make it better that these people are my family.”

“But you don’t have to do this.” Grace cried out. “I didn’t stop you that night because I thought you'd be happier somewhere else, but it’s getting too real. Since you put up the ad, I have to stop here everyday to see if it’ll be the last time we share this kitchen together. Because I didn’t stop you then when I could have, and now you’re one phone call away from moving out.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that any moment, any day now, you could pick up the phone and there wouldn’t be tomorrow for us anymore.” Grace's eyes watered, her voice croaked in efforts to hold her griefs inside. “You’d be marrying some man—who you don’t even know—who I don’t even know! I won’t know if you’d be safe. I won’t know if you’d be happy. I couldn’t sleep these past few nights because how could I? How could I sleep when all I could think of is if you’d still be there answering the door when I knock?” She held Irene’s hand tightly. Letting out small hics through her breaking voice.

Tears rolled down Grace’s cheeks. For her, it could have been a real goodbye. But Irene knew nothing about the goodbye was final. Not yet anyways.

“I’m sorry.” Irene sighed. “I’m so sorry. I thought it’d be easier to leave this way.”

“I don’t think it’s easy.” Grace wiped away the tears from under her eyes. “I think it’s the hardest thing to do, ever. Maybe this is you saving yourself. Maybe this is the ending you needed to write for yourself, and starting to write it was the hardest thing you could have ever done. I just couldn’t help but worry about your life for you.”

Irene sat there in silence. Nothing written on her face, not even a single teardrop. Because for Irene, that goodbye wasn’t real. Because she *knew* she wouldn’t be going anywhere yet. Because before she could decide whether or not to really leave, she needed to know how much she was begged to stay. And when her parents came home from a dinner party, it was time to test the waters.

“I was hoping we could speak.” Irene stood beneath the door frame between the foyer and the living room.

“Is it important dear?” Her mother sighed out a yawn. “We’d rather be resting right about now. The Hendersons’ party was utterly dreadful.” Her father seconded the statement.

“Very much so.” Irene took a single deep breath. “I’ve decided to marry a total stranger.” She exhaled, her eyes waited for the slightest twitch on their faces.

“Now, what brought this on?” Her father froze in his stance. “Are you out of your mind? Irene, sweetheart, why in god’s good name would you decide to do this?” A look of concern plagued him.

“I might be gone by next week.” Irene grinned into the distance.

“This whole ordeal is very out of the blue,” her mother’s voice lost its usual joy. “Is this what you really want for yourself? Is this how you’re really going?”

At the slightest squeal in her mother’s speech, Irene turned to nod. Both her parents exchanged a simple glance during a brief silence.

“Then I suppose we can’t convince you.” Her father shrugged. His face unchanged in expression. Nothing, not even the slightest tension between his brows or the tiniest rise in his voice as he headed up the stairs with a yawn.

The grin on her face faded as fast as she could hear words. It shouldn’t be surprising. It should never have been surprising. After all the times she learned to not expect a single thing, she had always thought she had evolved beyond expecting. But it would have taken her this to realize she still had a sliver of an expectation that even she did not know of.

“Is that it?” Irene raised her voice up the stairwell. “Is that all you have to say? Are you not even going to ask if I would change my mind? Are you not even going to be the least bit concerned? For Christ’s sake, your daughter is marrying a stranger and you don’t even have the thought to ask her how she came to know him? All my life, you never made me feel like I belong. Like neither of you had enough place for a third daughter in your trophy case. I thought you never saw me, because I hadn’t quite lived up to this unspoken standard. So I try, and I try to live up to it. But I just wasted my time. I just wasted my life, trying to belong in this stupid oil painting when I should have realized I was never in it!” She scolded, wincing her teeth in disbelief.

“We had no idea.” Her mother clutched her handbag. “What can we do for you, before you leave?” Then her father walked down from the stairs.

“We really are horrible, aren’t we?” He placed a hand on Irene’s shoulder. “Please, please tell us there’s enough time for one last dinner party. We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Irene shook her head, her eyes narrowed into slits. She didn’t know who to leer at, so she turned to the wall behind. She lightly placed a hand on the wallpaper, before slamming at it with a fist.

“No!” She slammed. “Why are you sorry? I don’t want this! I don’t want your last minute apologies! Why can’t you do anything else but let me down! I don’t want to hear your regrets!” She cried out. “When you gave your speech at *her* party, you compared *her* to a piece of your heart when all I was in your speech was just a name. Your own daughter just gave herself away to a stranger, and you wouldn’t even try to stop it! Is that how little I matter?”

“If it were her, you’d all be pulling out every stop. If it were her, you wouldn’t even entertain the idea. But here you are, not even going to deny that you don’t even care!”

There was no argument, no response to her statement. Not even a no. Her mother looked at the ground. Her father tried to break the silence with a plausible answer, but no words rolled off his tongue.

“Oh my god.” Irene clenched her fists. “So it really is. I am done here.” She stormed off to her room.

For Irene Wintermeyer, her parents had let her down once again, even in retaliation. How could she have seen it coming? How could she have known that she would be let down, when she thought she would never let herself get her hopes up.

Irene stomped her heels loud against the cold hard floor. The snappy clicking of her steps moved through the hallway, heading towards the bleak end of it.

Having slammed the door shut, she threw herself on the bed. Clawing, punching and slamming her fists against the pillows and sheets. She screamed into the bed, but it could not muffle her anguish. Stifling screeches inside her throat, Irene pushed herself up and smacked the bed with a pillow until it erupted into a burst of feathers. But it wasn’t enough. Lying in a pile of feathers, every limb in her body was heavy with unrest still. Then her eyes met the telephone on her dresser.

She reached to rotate the dial. She had rehearsed this number in her mind countless times, but she dialed at half the speed of her thought. She wanted so desperately to stay, but the phone took her hand and made her finish dialing.

“Devlin Mayfair, who’s calling’?” A hoarse, half asleep voice answered the phone.

“Good evening.” Irene held her breath. “I’m terribly sorry to call you back this late. This is Irene Wintermeyer, we spoke on the phone yesterday.”

“I remember.” He exhaled. “You said you’d think about it. How’s that goin’ by the way?”

“Yes, well…” She paused for a moment. “Only if you can be here in st. Louis by tomorrow morning. St. Louis’s cathedral.”

“works for me.” He stifled a yawn. “Anything else?”

“That’s all. Please enjoy the rest of your night.”

Irene put down her phone. She let go of her breath which she held for the length of the call to take in another gasp of air with shaky breathing.

People cannot give themselves salvation, that was Irene’s take away from her reverend’s preschings, which she sat through with her family every sunday.

It’s not salvation she sought to give herself. But she was desperate, and she needed so much to be saved from it. She was desperate for it all. For someone who had the heart to care. For a place she can have a new beginning. For revenge to be served frigid cold.

Even if it’s not salvation. Even if it won’t save them, desperation will drive people to places of desperate measures. All just to have something as small as temporary asylum.

#writing #writeblr #creative writing #writerscommunity #my writing #original writing #original story #original work #original character #light angst #western #bad romance #mail-order bride

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