Hearth and Home

The embers in the hearth illuminated cyclically, a repetitive glowing and dimming that demonstrated the cruel ease of nature to give warmth and light and in equal time take it away. The comforts of the world are ephemeral, an introduction always to the inevitable absence of the feelings of safety and belonging. To Sophia, the warmth radiating from a fire was associated with the cooling coals, after being snuffed out.

“Sophia, focus on your task. I need you to set the table for our esteemed guest,” Madame Lorna insisted. 

The stern command interrupted Sophia’s wistful state. Mesmerized by the glow of the fire, she remained forever thankful for its reprieve from a former life of hardship and survival, a punishment for being forsaken, recklessly abandoned by her parents as a child. Sophia was unable to remember the details from that time of adversity. The only vestige of it, still in her possession, was a wool scarf with a moon and star pattern, currently stashed under her pillow in her bedroom. The saving grace of the institution that Madame Lorna kept, a kind of orphanage with the aim to take in lost children, the discarded and undesired, provided a refuge for Sophia and others. Like an intrusive parasite, tucked safely into the soft tissue of a mollusk, Madame Lorna encases the ostracized children in a protective shell, shielding them from the world. With time and layers of refinement, the child will emerge back into the world as a glistening example of elegant rehabilitation. Sophia’s process of clarification had been underway for eleven years now. She entered the gates of the home at age seven, covered with dirty rags, too afraid or unable to communicate. Upon the celebration of her eighteenth birthday, she was allowed the rite of passage to a private room and the slow beginnings of discussion of her awaited transition to a citizen of the world beyond the home’s gates. She imagined herself a teacher, continuing a line of mentorship to other children coming of age. In her mind, she perceived her future as vast and constant as the moonlit sky above a forest canopy. Her past was a single tree there, shrouded in a dense fog, with roots of unknown origin, and her present the limbs reaching just beyond the threshold of visibility. 

Byron gently grasped the plates from the cabinet simultaneously assuring all present in the room, “I will do it, Madame.” Sophia glanced at her brother and gave a smile of gratitude. Byron was not her biological brother, but all the orphans in the home she considered to be her family, including Madame Lorna. Along with Byron, who was a year younger than Sophia, there was Marie, a girl of the age of sixteen, sent to Madame after she was found wandering the train circuit by a conductor. He found her eating the scraps in the kitchen, passing off as an explorative child of one of the passengers. There were many other younger children, and the residents of the home totaled fourteen, however, only the adolescents and young adults of the age sixteen or above were allowed at the formal feasts. 

“Thank you, Byron,” Madame replied with an audible sign of gratitude. “We must all remember to put on an impressive and useful air for our gentlemen guest, in hopes that he will choose to acquire one of you in employment.” These dinners were always an act of exhibition, a means to secure a position and purpose for the eldest residents. Previous guests in the preceding two months included a judge, a cleric, and a statesman. Gregory fascinated the latter with his knowledge of municipal law, and was invited directly to begin his occupation in local government.

This evening’s guest would be Mr. Albert Wright, an instructor at the private university and a venerated philanthropist. Sophia had sanguine expectations for this meeting, as his occupation aligned perfectly with her aspirations. Dinner would be served at 8 o’clock sharp, a three course meal of Soup a la Reine, pheasant and haricots, and a dessert of plum pudding. Madame Lorna took great pride in her culinary skills and the well applied funds from charitable donations for hobnob at these meals. She demanded the utmost respect from all the participating youth and the days leading up to the affairs had an ambiance of sober severity. 

Sophia let out a great sigh of relief as the last piece of cutlery was laid to the final place at the table, an expression that only slightly released a week’s worth of tension leading up to the event. A loud knock on the door signaled Mr. Wright’s arrival. Sophia, Byron, and Marie stood in an erect posture, remembering their etiquette lessons, dressed in their most formal wear, which consisted of garments donated to Madame Lorna from former graduated residents, to be used by their successors. 

The loud footsteps of a tall man followed, judging by the separation of sound and logical gait echoing through the entrance hall. Momentarily, Mr. Wright stood before all three of them, making introductions one by one, beginning with Byron, then Marie, and lastly, Sophia. The tall man towered over her. As he bent at the waist to take a bow, Sophia’s warm hazel eyes met his, with a piercing dark brown color, as she recalled an extinguished flame in the hearth. A wave of nausea moved through her as she sensed a guile quality in him. He stood up again and shifted his gaze to Madame Lorna, expressing to her his delight in the invitation with grace. Sophia attempted to ground herself and rally, but she continued to feel ill. As everyone in the room took their seat to begin dinner, she asked to be excused, or more or less made the statement as she quickly walked out of the room and up to her bedroom. She attempted to control her breathing and sat on her bed, clutching at her stomach. Perhaps it was the constriction of her dress that caused this spell, or just the accumulation of stress from the entire week. Sophia felt embarrassed and guilty at her prejudice and assuming this gentleman was ill-natured. Surely, she was no expert in judging character, barely leaving the house except for a few outings in her time there. She reached blindly under her pillow for the familiar soft sensation of her scarf and buried her face in it. The fabric seemed to have captured all the comforting smells and memories of her short life and in similar instances of a rogue anxiety attack triggered by other unknowns, she would return to a state of calm or at least of neutrality. She tucked the scarf under her pillow again, and stared at her reflection in the mirror, her soft brown curls framing her heart-shaped face. Her cheeks had gained a natural flush again, and she felt confident to return to the party.

When she arrived back to the dining table, the first course had been served. She apologized for her abrupt absence and was determined to finish the evening in good standing, and to not jeopardize her future on false intuition. She rationalized that this is her paradoxical fate as an orphan to be both misanthropic by circumstance of abandonment, and yet, to simultaneously believe in the altruistic nature of the guests that Madame Lorna invites, like any young and naïve animal yearning for humanity and unconditional love. Still, she felt the gaze of Mr. Wright sitting directly across from her weighing down on her like an anchor, and she wanted to submerge herself farther underneath the table, out of his visibility.

“Dearest Sophia,” he began, “Madame Lorna has informed me that you have the greatest interest in pursuing teaching. Is that correct? What draws you to the profession?”

“Kind sir,” Sophia stammered in response, taking time to calm her pitch and rhythm of speech, “that is true. I seek to replicate and pass on the amazing mentoring I have received from this home. I am so lucky to have come from the brink of terrible misfortune, and to be taken in by the benevolent Madame Lorna.”

“I am glad to see you are so humbled and forthcoming about your past,” he replied “and that it does not define your present. To speak candidly, I hope to discuss and opportunity for employment under my guidance.”

Despite the distressing feelings she experienced upon their first meeting, her sentiments had completely changed to hopeful and complete trust in this man who held her fate in his hands. She beamed at him and assured him she looked forward to speaking after dinner by the fireplace over some tea.

The rest of the meal passed with a more casual relaxed atmosphere. As Byron, Marie, and Sophia volunteered to clear the table, Madame Lorna invited Mr. Wright to follow her to the common room where she would prepare him a hot beverage. Immediately after cautiously setting the delicate plates near the sink, both Byron and Marie wrapped around her in an earnest embrace, congratulating her while expressing their sorrow at the possibility of her leaving the house of their upbringings.

“But of course I will visit frequently, while also continuing to assure the success of our other young brothers and sisters,” she said earnestly. Both nodded back. Their bond as siblings, brought together by fate, was so authentic. Sophia recalled the evenings telling secret testimonies about their past lives, all the emotions pouring out. As all of them had lost everything already, there was no need for reservations or a power dynamic.

“Shall we join them now?” Marie asked gesturing towards the door. They all swiftly left the kitchen and arrived at the living room. Sophia saw Mr. Wright craning near the mantle of the fireplace, a cup of tea in his hand. She prepared herself her own cup, and without hesitation walked to join him. Now that there was even less distance between them, she was able to observe the details of his appearance and mannerisms. 

“Should we discuss the details of your employment, Sophia? Hmmm…” he asked staring deeply into her. Sophia was unable to respond, unable to account for the physical reaction she was having again. She appeared catatonic. “You will live the same building as me, but have your own apartment, and I will cover your rent and provide you a stipend until you establish your independence. I will have you work as my assistant in my own classroom for one year’s time,” he advised. At that moment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver timepiece, and flipped it over in his hand. Sophia caught the initials SMR on the backside, and let out an audible gasp. She walked back to the stair well for a moment of privacy, forgetting to even excuse herself this time, while hyperventilating. 

A rush of memories flowed through her, still not completely lucid, and just beyond that dense fog. She could only remember the initial R for Rookwood, her own surname. This time piece belonged once to her father, and that she was sure of. But who was this man she recognized? She started to strain herself, trying to remember. 

“Are you alright, Sophia?” Byron asked in a worried voice. He had followed her from the room. 

“I don’t know, Byron. I am starting to remember some things from my past, but I can’t clearly understand it all. I know Mr. Wright from some time or place. He has my father’s watch, and I believe he might have been my father’s associate. I experienced an ill feeling when I first met him, and I don’t understand why. I feel as if I should not leave to work with him, or trust him in any capacity. Do you believe me?”

“Yes, I do believe you, Sophia. I wish there was a way for me to help you remember as I can see you are distressed,” Byron replied.

“I feel I already have made a fool of myself regardless,” she buried her face in her hands. “Will you walk back with me to the room?”

Byron reached out his arm, and Sophia took it as they slowly, and with hesitation, walked back into the room.

“Feeling alright, miss Sophia?” Mr. Wright asked. “You seem to be trembling. Perhaps, you are catching a cold. I’d like to offer you my scarf.” He pulled out a gray wool scarf and wrapped it around her neck in a way that Sophia could not fail to recall. 

At once, Sophia knew what role this man played in her past. He was both her savior and her devil. She clearly remembered a cold night, the night her father perished. There was a fire at their hardware store. Sophia watched her mother crumble and fall to the ground in grief as Mr. Wright revealed the truth. As she stood there alone, a scared little girl, with her small world falling apart and the security rug of normalcy swept from under her feet. Mr. Wright kneeled down next to her and wrapped a scarf around her, the very one with moon and stars hidden under her pillow, in the same exact manner. And yet, she did not feel any comfort from this man then, nor in the present. She remembered in the following weeks her mother was sent away for losing her faculties and ability to cope. She was taken in to Mr. Wright’s care after he received the small fortune from the loss of the store. There she was subjected to all his schemes and moods. He would sell her labor and send her away for days to strange men and women’s houses to do whatever work they wanted, placing her in constant danger and fear of abandonment. One particular incident with a terrible man with black greased back hair made her feel as if her life was threatened. She was sent to his house to clean, and as she was polishing the plates, one fell and shattered. He lunged at her and hit her in the head as she fell to the ground. She managed to dash for the door, and thus began her time on the streets.

She focused her gaze on the pulsating glow of the embers, smoke rising from the hearth, and without looking up she managed to speak into the flames.

“This man is responsible for my father’s death,” Sophia muttered under her breath. She felt a new sense of rage and need for vindication. Mr. Wright’s eyes widened and then narrowed again. Perhaps he didn’t recognize her after so many years.

“Are you alright, Sophia? You seem to be suffering from delusions. I have never met you before in my life.” Madame Lorna reacted in shock and disappointment. In rapid succession, Mr. Wright made a hasty leave from the house expressing his upset at an evening and future prospects ruined. Sophia barely heard Madame Lorna’s scolding as the fog cleared. She felt conviction in her future plans, seeing her tree limbs rising in a singular direction towards the moonlit sky. She would leave the house shortly. She would find her mother, undoubtedly forgotten in an institution somewhere. She would find a way for herself, and bring Mr. Wright to justice.