The Warmth of His Eyes PART I

CHAPTER I. 
My Hopes Are Dashed

It was about 1888 when life at home seemed to crumble before my very eyes.  Mother and Father had drifted farther and farther away from one another over the past eighteen years of their marriage, and now, Mother would not stand any more of it – although I had only a vague idea of what ‘it’ was.
And even when I had such a flippant response to anything not so very delightful, deep down, I felt my heart wrench and I was sore unhappy for the state of my parents’ marriage.  Why must it end this way? I asked myself.  Why could not we all be together, at least?
It was a day I shall never forget, when I discovered what was to be done about ‘it.’  I had been to André’s once more, while Margaret had gone to town to visit some other young man – you see she had also been caught up in the whirlwind of them – and Conrad had been to a schoolmate’s house. We were very rarely all together at once (any of us) so that it surprised all three of us children to find Father, Mother and Richie in one room to greet us.
All of us were never respectable toward one another, but if servants were present, I made it a point to fool them and kiss my father and mother on entering.  Meg followed my lead on that particular day, while Conrad (a fine, broad-shouldered young man of fifteen) passed his father a Good Afternoon and seated himself lazily beside Richie.  I did not seat myself but dismissed the maid who had brought in our tea, and commenced to pour some for myself.
         “André is so charming!” I began, breaking the silence only because Father’s attention was due to a local gazette which he held, and Mother occupied herself by writing a letter at her desk.
No one made a reply or even an attempt at heeding what was said.  Then, Meg turned her witty head of blonde curls and laughed as she seated herself at the piano.
         “Yes, Kate!” said she.  “And so is Jackie.  Did you know he has a very large wart on his right arm?  But I told him I still liked him – it wouldn’t matter much, would it, Kate?”
         “Oh, I don’t know,” I replied impatiently, glancing at my parents momentarily again.  “Why ask me, pray?”
Margaret began to fiddle upon the notes before her.  Then she cocked her head to the side and smiled.
         “You’ve been at this sort of thing for nearly two years, if not more!” she said.
I beamed within myself, pride knocking on the door of my heart and being welcomed in a most friendly way.
         “And besides,” my sister continued, “you’re practically finished ‘husband-hunting’ – André will undoubtedly be yours, Kate.”
I chuckled when my mother rose to her feet heatedly.  On entering the room, I had seen the look of disgust in her hazel blue eyes, but it was nearly always there that I didn’t take anything amiss.  Now, she stood in rage and began pacing the floor with her hands on her hips.
         “I am sick of always being tread upon,” she was saying, as if to nobody.
Father continued reading his gazette as if she were addressing the wall behind him.
         “You won’t get your way this time, Edward,” she hissed, still pacing back and forth.
Meg continued to play her little tune, very slowly now, and my brothers and I only stared at our mother nervously.  What if the servants could hear her? 
Finally, Mother glided across the floor and tore the paper from my father’s hands.  Father looked up at her like a child in disbelief.  Margaret let the notes alone.
         “This nonsense will stop now and for always,” she said.  “I have been your mother for long enough, and it will not continue.”
         “My mother?” Father asked.
         “What do you take me for, Edward?” she went on, hardly noticing what was said.  “When we first married, I thought I should die – working me like anything as if a woman had no rights to speak of!”
She paced yet more, until at last, she took the rings off of her fingers (for she had many) and threw them into my father’s lap.
         “If you’re so rich now,” she said incisively, “you can certainly afford a divorce – can’t you?”
I glanced uneasily at Meg, who sat sulking at the piano.  Conrad and Richie seemed careless but excited that the entertainment was an interesting one.
Then I looked at my father, wondering why he only sat as a defeated servant, and mother: what had instigated this sort of revenge?
I stood in rage, unaware then, that my manner was much like my mother’s. But I did not address her.  I felt I could not, even if I were angry enough for the breaking apart of our family that she was scheming to do. After all these years? – and what would our friends say?  I was furious.
         “Will you do nothing, sir?” I asked Father.
He was defeated, but he was relieved.
         “What is there to do, Kate?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders momentarily.
I glared at Mother now, anger swelling beneath my heart of pride.  But more than anger, I could not believe what was happening to us.
         “You can’t do this!” I cried.  “You simply can’t do this!”
But my mother turned her cruel eyes toward me and replied indignantly,
         “You have nothing to say, Kate.  This is none of your concern, and besides – your father is quite willing.”
I gasped and looked at Father again.  He was drying the tears that filled his eyes by now, and I felt more sympathy for him than I had ever felt before.  Mother noticed it and impatiently began pacing again.
         “One of us must be strong for my children, Edward,” she said.  “And as it won’t be you, I must do my duty which includes what is best for the family.”
         “But what is best is remaining here with Father!” cried Margaret, now quite attentive.
         “You be quiet,” Mother demanded, “all of you!  I will not be persuaded – by anyone!  I will have the divorce, Edward, even if it means so much as my leaving you married.  But I have an attorney and he will speak for me.”
         “You will never get away with this,” I stated, turning and leaving the room indignantly.

Why it was done, I cannot even say.  But it must have been for my own good, if not for all of us.  But if Mother had given up her own way and Father had merited her more, I believe they may have loved one another still to this day.
I can blame no one, I know; it was in God’s will since time began and it has created in me a resoluteness to such an idea.
As I lay weeping in my bed that day long ago, I felt as if the flower of my youth had passed – at least, the one that dwelt beneath my heart – and that all my hope now lay in the one man I was determined to have as an husband.  Never again would my life be the same.
Some weeks later, the divorce was finalized, and Father was forced to relocate his home, now that he was left with next to nothing to live upon.  He was to house Conrad, and Mother was to take Richie to live with her – wherever she was to live upon £1,000 a year – while Margaret and I were left to make our own way in the world: at seventeen and eighteen years of age.