~Late July, 1740~
Dear Journal:
I, Melatiah, have written because of great importance -- it has been such a long time since I have written and I feel the need to catch up! Mother and Father decided to have us move. To Charles Town, South Carolina! Oh, it was such a long, long ride by horse and buggy! I am so happy to be here at last.
Mother and Father gave the house to Aunt Hettie and Aunt Felicity. They promised to take good care of it. How sad they were to see us go! Aunt Felicity cried, and Aunt Hettie kept staring at the house, then us, then sighed in deep unhappiness. I was sad too, so little nine year old me gave them a kiss farewell. Yuck. Well, I'm older now. Can't you believe I am now twelve? I'm way too old to be giving sloppy, childish kisses. That stuff is for Charles. Not I, Melatiah.
I think my aunts were happy to receive the house. Mother has told me many things about it. She says it was very special. Naturally, they should be happy to have the house. I know Mother was sad. I think I know why. We had to leave many things behind because the horse couldn't carry too much weight. He's an old horse, anyway. Mother argued so much with Father. She wanted to bring an old clock. I don't know what was so special about it.
She begged Father, but he wouldn't allow her. Mother, I could tell, was heartbroken. Why? It was just an ancient clock! I don't believe it has any special significance or anything such as that...
One of the other things Mother was upset about was that we couldn't take Grandmother Elizabeth's portrait. I was a tad saddened, too. I am intrigued by her. Her very presence is in the vicinity of that portrait. I feel as though I'm being watched when I'm around it. It is not a bad feeling. It is a comfort. I think she is beautiful, too.
Well, I must be going now. I think Mother is calling my name... Yes, she is. It must be suppertime already!
Au revoir,
Melatiah
*************************************************************************May, 1740;
The house in Charles Town was similar to the Beaumonts' house in Detroit, though it was not a complete mirror.
The architecture was actually quite different from other angles.
The house was accompanied by the slaves' quarters...
...and, of course, a privy.
Emilie couldn't comprehend why Bernard had wanted to move so badly. The house, on the inside and outside, looked almost exactly the same as their prior home. Emilie had a sick, nauseous feeling at the pit of her stomach. The house appeared to be the same size...
The house was smaller. The house was smaller... THE HOUSE WAS NOT THE SAME SIZE, IT WAS SMALLER! Emilie panicked. She knew that they were not in the company of Exeter and Nancy (surprisingly, she was not too upset with Melatiah for setting them free), but Bernard had promised a larger house. Emilie could not believe it. Bernard had the house custom-made and he had it made SMALLER?
Emilie felt a burning feeling inside, a combination of quick, scared panic, and a slow, growling anger. She had left her home, her past -- HER LIFE-- in Detroit for this? It was not part of the compromise. Bernard had promised her something much better than this!
Emilie's rage grew with each step she took. She wanted to rip each strand of honey golden hair out of her head. Who cares if the garden is beautiful? Who cares? WHO CARES? I was tricked! Tricked!
She began feeling slightly faint, dull black was closing in on her vision. She slowly staggered to the safety of a wooden bench.
Bernard wandered about in boyish wonder; chasing after yellow butterflies and smelling iridescent flowers. Emilie watched in bitter jealousy, the dark cloud on a sunny day. Though, to her surprise, her unhappiness drifted away as she saw the joy on her husband's face. He was very happy. This place was everything he had wanted. He would be forever happy in this home.
"Isn't this just delightful?" He giggled happily. "I had this garden made specially for you, my love." Emilie decided at that point that if her husband was happy, she would try to be, too.
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Melatiah loved exploring the mansion. He crept through corridors, peeked inside the privy, and tiptoed on the trails in the backyard. He even stole a look at the slaves' quarters, which he frowned upon. Ever since he had set Nancy and Exeter free, he decided to set free any slave he had acquired. No exceptions. No exceptions at all.
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The girl had followed them. Goodness, was she tired from all that following! From Detroit to Charles Town -- it was such a long, winding path that she honestly wanted to drink a whole ocean of hot, steaming blood. Her throat burned from the lack of blood, her stomach growled, and at the end of the day, she had no source to drink from. She really was not the chattiest woman in town. She silently urged Melatiah to grow up faster. She was thirsty!
And, she was just about to depart from the home, when...
... she ran right in to Melatiah.
"Hey, it's YOU!" Melatiah screamed.
The girl, bored, sighed. "What a miracle. Now, will you please move out of my path? I'm trying to leave."
Melatiah did not notice her cold tone. He barely heard her words. "Father, help! Help!" He scrambled over to Bernard.
"Father!" Melatiah pulled on Bernard's sleeve nervously, "there's this strange girl and she followed us from Detroit! I know not of what she wants from us, but-"
"Melatiah!" Bernard snapped sharply, not looking up from his book. "There is to be no yelling in the house. And I see no woman in this room."
"But, father, she's right over there!" Melatiah pleaded desperately.
Bernard looked up, shook his head, then continued reading. "There is no woman there, Melatiah. Stop playing these games. I am not amused in the slightest."
The girl grinned an evil smirk and giggled to herself. Melatiah shot her a frantic, wary glance. "À bientôt, Melatiah."
Melatiah's fear, to the girl, was almost as enjoyable as drinking blood. She grew thirstier by the day. The girl began to find small animals like cattle and horses to stunt the thirst that held her in a hungry grip. She longed for the blood of little Melatiah, but attacking a child was out of the question. It would never be possible.
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When Emilie could not resist the tears, she let them fall. She wanted to return home, to Detroit, where she had always wanted to stay. She cried for Elizabeth, for little Charles would never remember her sweet face staring down at him from the portrait. She cried for all the future generations of Beaumonts because they would never know Elizabeth. They would never know her beautiful face, her classic, distinct smile, or her personality. She cried because she would never see the old clock again. Oh, that clock! That clock that survived the fire that killed Elizabeth Laurier-Beaumont!
I will never see my mother's portrait again. I will never see the clock again! I will always remember the happenings that occurred in that lemon-drop house. Time, after all, never really dies.
"Mama?" Melatiah whimpered at seeing his mother crying. Caught by surprise, Emilie wiped her eyes and tried to appear cheery and warm, a mask over her true feelings.
"Promise me one thing, my dear," Emilie smiled weakly. "Promise me that you will write down everything you know about me. We must begin a family tree. I will write everything I know about my mother, and you will write everything you know about me. And you will tell your children this and they shall do the same. We must remember our family. We must never forget."
Melatiah nodded solemnly. "I promise, Mama. I promise."
"That's my good boy." Emilie sniffed and gave him a hug. Melatiah told her about the strange girl. Emilie stiffened. Bernard had told her, angrily, about Melatiah's peculiar behavior a few days ago.
"Uh, how interesting. What is her name?"
"I know not of that," Melatiah confessed. "But I'm really scared. She always talks to me and I think she is quite pretty, although she scares me so much!"
Emilie didn't know to say. "Well, uh, just walk away when you see her, how about that?" Melatiah sighed and nodded, distressingly. He could tell that she just did not understand. He could not possibly walk away from the girl; she'd most likely follow after him!
Melatiah thanked his mother and watched her return inside the mansion with a slight slump in her shoulders. Before he could think about it more in depth, he saw the girl again.
"Good day, young Melatiah," the girl mimicked in an attempted manly voice.
"Who are you?" Melatiah asked worriedly. "What do you want?"
The girl pouted, knowing the questions had to come up at some time.
"My name is Aphrodisia Fledermaus. I'm thirsty," she said, putting it quite simply. A grin broke out on Melatiah's face. "Your name is Aphrodisia? I adore that name. It is graceful and unique."
Aphrodisia rolled her eyes. "Yada, yada, yada. The point is-"
"Where do you live? Where did you come from? Why did you follow us? Do we have something you want? Why am I the only one who can see you?"
Aphrodisia sighed. "I'm hungry..."
"My mother-"
"Your mother?" Aphrodisia interrupted hopefully, the fire in her eyes.
"Yes, my mother-"
"Is she nice? Is she a really good mother?"
"Well, yes, naturally!"
"Does your mother make friends easily?"
Melatiah looked at her strangely. "Uh, I suppose so."
"Hm. When can I meet her? I'm nearly starving."
"But she would not be able to see you-"
"You know not of that, Melatiah."
"But-"
"Stop." Aphrodisia's forcefulness surprised him. She was beginning to confuse him. "I cannot wait to meet her. You've been such a big help. Thank you, ever so much." She winked at him evilly. Melatiah shuddered. He could not help but think she had something up her long, intricate sleeve. There was something about her that he felt he couldn't trust, in the way back of his mind, but he was blinded by her beauty, and couldn't see beyond his eyes.
Melatiah's intuition was trying to tell him something, but he would not listen to it. In the events that followed the encounter between Aphrodisia Fledermaus and Melatiah DeCuir, young Melatiah would suffer greatly, and so would his family.
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*The Antique Legacy*
Melatiah DeCuir
