#I wrote this half awake pls no bully

[free-for-all-fics]

So… Turns out I wrote waaaaaay more than I thought because what I was hoping would be only a 3-part fic at most turned into 7 parts due to post limits. Whoops? Anyway, hope you Claude Rains fans enjoy this crossover fic. If you’re inspired by it at all pls tag me and I’d love to read it! 1/7 💜📸📝

Warnings: Harsh language, intense anger issues, bullying, time-period sexism, religion and antisemitism mentions, violence, age-gap romance (you’re in your 20’s, the Claude character is in his 40’s) Fanny Skeffington bashing and strained/tense mother-daughter relationship (in the context of the story, you’ll see.)

“I’m very happy, Fanny. How about you?”

“Well, at the moment, I'm more surprised than happy.”

“Don't you like children?”

“No. They always seem to be so wise.”

“Well, I think any child of ours has a fair chance of being stupid, Fanny.”

On April 16, 1916, Mrs. Frances “Fanny” Skeffington unexpectedly gave birth to twin girls, you and your sister, Fanny. When you were born, you screamed like your body was rebelling against your existence - as if you’d arrived in a world that made no sense at all. When you were very little, one thing ever upset you and brought tears to your eyes: When your father went away. While either of you were awake, Job would never leave your sister or yourself for more than an hour or two. But being a Skeffington meant he had duties to perform. As much as he missed his daughters when he was away, especially if it was for days at a time, and would have loved to have taken you and your sister with him on various business trips, even he had to admit that it was no place for children and, sometimes, you and your sister were better off staying in the safety and warmth of the house on Charles Street. You seemed to disagree most days. Temper tantrums were inevitably bound to happen, especially in very young children. Job knew this. You were so little, you just didn’t know how to regulate your very confusing emotions yet. Job didn’t think much of it back then. But there was one day where it was especially bad.

You, your father’s darling daughter, were sat in the middle of your nursery. Your small face was red and scrunched up in displeasure. Tears were streaming down your cheeks and onto the carpeted floor below. It was half past seven o’clock in the evening. You were supposed to be put down for bedtime thirty minutes ago, but nothing seemed to work. When it was bedtime, Fanny usually fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. But you were usually a bit fussy and didn’t want to sleep. You wanted more food, you wanted to play, you wanted to be held, you wanted something. The nanny put you in your crib like always, but you just tossed and turned, rolling this way and that until you kicked off your blankets, like always. You used the wooden bars to support yourself and stand up. You couldn’t climb over and out, so you just stood there, watching and waiting. The nanny tried everything she could think of, but you were determined to stay awake. So she brought in your father for help. Maybe you wanted him. He picked you up and lifted you out of your crib and, after holding and rocking you for a few minutes, placed you on the floor. It made your father’s heart hurt to see you this way, but nothing he said or did seemed to console you.

“I’ll be back very soon, my darling,” he cooed from where he was crouched in front of you, brushing back some of your baby hairs from your forehead. “It’s only for a short time. Then I’ll be back.”

Though you were little more than a baby at the time and couldn’t possibly comprehend what he was saying, it was almost as if you didn’t believe him. After a short pause, you leaned back and inhaled, and then let out a great wail of anguish.

Your father winced. “Please, sweetheart.” He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe your tears, but you turned your head every which way, hating the feeling of the soft cloth on your sticky, wet face. Job snatched a cushion off the nearest chair and threw it on the floor on the other side of the short-legged tea-table before lowering himself to the floor, sitting squarely opposite you. He moved quickly and quietly, sweeping you onto his lap and crossing his legs, allowing you to rest easily on his thighs, and gaze up at him. “It’s all right. No need for such tears!”

“Mr. Skeffington, I can fetch the nanny,” Manby said from her place by the door in a small voice. No doubt, she didn’t think it was suitable for him to be on the floor, holding a wet and weeping child.

“Nonsense. She’s my daughter, I can handle—”

His words were cut short by another wail, one so loud he doubted it even came from you. Was such a thing even possible? You were so small, and the voice was so loud… Suddenly, Fanny, his wife, swept into the room. Manby, still stood by the door, bowed her head in a polite nod to acknowledge her Mistress’ appearance. Fanny caught Job’s eye and, upon seeing him on the floor, frowned slightly. Clearly, it wasn’t just the household staff that thought the image of the Master on the floor of the nursery was an interesting one.

“I wondered what had happened to detain you,” your mother said slowly, making her way into the room.

“Apologies,” he replied, raising his voice slightly to be heard over you who, on seeing your mother, had begun to squirm and cry even louder than before. He turned his attention back to you. “There’s no need for that, my love,” he huffed, a sound halfway between amusement and a sigh. “As you can see, I was preoccupied,” he continued, bouncing his legs slightly, mimicking the flap of butterfly wings, hoping that the action might’ve pleased you and gave you a respite from your tears. It didn’t as, once again without warning, you let out another wail.

“What in all the world has happened to warrant such tears!” your mother asked your father with wide eyes.

Still bouncing his legs, Job explained, “I made to leave.”

Your mother didn’t understand, but Manby understood immediately. Job looked down at you with a small and sad smile, before raising his head towards the door. “You can go ahead and leave us, Fanny. Inform Mr. and Mrs. Malloy that I will not be at the dinner this evening.”

“Well… If you’re certain, Job.”

“I am. I’m sure Chester and Freddie won’t mind if I don’t come along.”

Fanny exited the nursery, Manby following and closing the door behind her, leaving just you and your father alone, the nanny not having been called. You sat in silence for a moment, your father watching as you sniffled and looked up at him with your large, wide eyes. Your face was still damp with tears and the color in your cheeks had dulled to a flushed, rosy pink. You were seemingly much calmer now, as if you heard the door click shut and had the keen awareness that your father had given in and opted to stay with you after all.

Suddenly, Job let his relieved smile, that he had stifled in your mother’s presence, show. He leaned forward to run his hand down your face. You finally let him brush away the drying tears and, while he was at it, he took the opportunity to also brush back your hair, trying to tame the wild strands that were messy and poking up in every direction. “Well, darling, looks like it’s just you and me tonight. I’ll tell you a secret: I didn’t want to go to that dinner party anyway. I’m sure Chester and Freddie will be pleased. Come on, sweetheart. Come on,” he said, somewhat gleefully. He picked you up like you were expecting but, to your disappointment, he laid you back down in your crib and covered you with the blanket. You were about to pout and fuss again, but his voice stopped you. “Darling?” your father asked carefully, “Would you like to see something? Something special?”

Another thing that you had in common with your father: A burning curiosity. You nodded furiously, and Job smiled. You watched, enthralled, as your father held a mobile in his two pale hands out in front of himself. He hung it up over your crib. It was beautiful, with butterflies of all kinds, all painted beautiful shades of blue, green, and purple. The light from your room illuminated it in a way reminiscent of the moon as it reflected off the spinning mobile. You watched in awe as the small butterflies began to move and fly out in all different directions. You laughed and wriggled, before reaching out your hands in the direction of the butterflies, as if to grab them. But you had no luck in reaching them, they were too high up.

“Dada!” you whined suddenly, dropping your hands in defeat.

Job froze, as did the nanny who had come in to check on you.

“Dada! Dada!”

The nanny raised her head to Mr. Skeffington, intent on sharing a surprised look, but instead, she noticed his eyes had filled, and he looked ready to cry, and yet he was smiling.

Nine years after your birth, your chubby little baby face had developed into a beautiful little girl. In your mother’s words, your sister, Fanny, inherited all of your father’s brains and none of her looks. As a matter of fact, Job said she looked like his grandmother. You, the other daughter, however, were the exact opposite. You inherited all of Fanny’s looks but none of Job’s brains. By the time Fanny was only six, she was as gentle as a hummingbird. She knew her courtesies well. Not only that, she was a model student. She had her struggles in certain subjects like every child but, unlike her, you were struggling and failing almost everything. It was around the time when you were both nine years old that the people around you, especially your father and Uncle George, began to really notice your behavioral problems. You began to exhibit hostile behavior. The littlest things seemed to set you off. One day at school, you and Fanny were playing on the playground, complete with a swings carousel, jungle gym, and a tall corkscrew slide made to look like a rocket ship, just like the other kids. You played amongst yourselves, but then you noticed something that made you stop short. A girl approaching on a bicycle. It was Emily. You didn’t know her last name, nor did you care. All you knew was that she was your main bully. She acted as ringleader to a group of girls whose mission it was to make your life harder than it needed to be.

You had a Christian mother and Jewish father, but you and Fanny were raised without an affiliation to either religion. You’d always considered yourself non-religious despite your regular conversations with God. You didn’t understand that your mother and father were of different faiths, nor the importance of it. Until you realized that, in New York, all the neighbors and other kids’ parents were either Christian or Jewish and their children were raised to be the same. One or the other, but never both. The group of girls always called you names. You didn’t understand what “crossbreed” and “kike” meant. You felt you had to make a choice to "belong", so you decided to do your own research about faith. You attended two Christian services with your mother and one Jewish service with your father, but you found the services boring and hard to follow (as you didn’t know the songs or the meanings of anything), and spent the time counting hats. You also dealt with the issues of growing up and puberty—including worry over periods, feelings about boys, getting your first bra, and jealousy about others. The girls at school pulled your hair, messed with your personal belongings… But Emily was the worst of them.

They didn’t go after your twin sister, Fanny. Just you. She wasn’t bullied, harassed, or tormented by other children like you were, probably because you were the much easier target. Fanny was a little lady, practically perfect in every way. She was everything you were not, but you didn’t envy her. She could be shy and soft-spoken at times, but she made friends easily, got good grades, and dressed and behaved in a way a girl should. You, on the other hand, were cursed with your late uncle’s temper at times, and the rudeness was all yours. You were furious when Fanny’s friend’s parents insisted that you both must be a Christian because your mother is one and faith passes through the mother—and they could overlook the "sins" of your father being Jewish. You were already angry at them for coming to visit at all, but them insisting on you being Christian was your rage breaking point.

“I found it odd you didn’t join us in saying Grace at dinner. With your father, it’s understandable, but... Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Your sister did.”

“She wanted to. I didn’t.”

“Are you one with Christ like your mother and sister, Miss Skeffington?”

“Your parents didn’t raise you and your sister to be of different faiths, did they? That’d be rather…unheard of.”

“How about you shut your damn mouths?”

“Language, young lady! Don’t use such words. The Lord hears everything, even after we say ‘Amen’.”

“You’re guests in our house. I’ll say whatever I damn well please. If you don’t like it, you can leave.”

“Won’t you tell us a story? My old man, God rest his soul, used to say that Jews are good at telling stories. You must have your father’s Jew blood in you.”

“You want a story? Fine. There once was a man who came to know Christ in a monastery. He wanted to be a priest. And under the guidance and discipline of the monks who lived there, he came to memorize both the testaments, the writings of Assisi, Aquinas, Erasmus, all the saints and scholars. His father, a vulgar man, did not think much of this education, and so he and his brothers conspired to pull him out, lock him away, where, between beatings, starvations, and the failure of Christ to intercede the beatings and starvations, he slowly forgot all about the testaments. Assisi, Aquinas, Erasmus, all of it.”

“Stop.”

“And so to answer your boring question, there is an ocean between Christ and myself. I hope that satisfies you. But who can say. Your brain must be collecting dust in your skull from years of disuse, you pigheaded fool.”

“Stop!”

“Then don’t do that shit here! Not with me, not with my sister, and not with my father. You understand?”

They left the house and never came back after that. You weren’t sorry to see them go, of course. You were only sorry that Fanny lost a friend because of you. Going back to school was awkward. Both for her and for you.

October 1925

Today was P.E. and we played soccer. Jasmine and I were team red. I think Kristina wanted to be team red too. Jasmine is really good at soccer. P.E. is the only subject I’m good at. I’m failing almost everything else. I hope Mother and Daddy won’t be mad at me. I don't like after school programs, especially ballet. It's difficult, and boring. And I hate proper etiquette. What's wrong with being myself? I don't need to be like Mother. Miss Brook came to pick me up from my after school program and defended me today. The kids walked away when she said her brother is going to catch them and put them in jail. He’s a politician or something. I don’t know. I want to be like her. I want to be the next Miss Brook! That way, no one will ever bully me.

November 1925

Yesterday’s classes were the worst! Mr. Davis was usually very nice, so I was happy to be in his class again today. But this morning, I was disciplined for the first time. During class, Mr. Davis caught me daydreaming again. I didn’t realize what I was doing until he called my name two or three times. He made me show him my slate, (a test to see if I was paying attention? A test I was doomed to fail?) and, instead of spelling, there were doodles all over it. I pleaded and insisted that I didn’t remember drawing anything, but…I must’ve. Why else would those doodles be on my slate? I said that I wouldn’t do it again, but he didn’t believe me because this wasn’t the first time. He had me stand up and come to the front of the classroom. He struck me. In front of the entire class. Something about being an example. I was terrified, but Mr. Davis said it needed to happen for me to learn and grow. He struck me. He hit the palms of my hands with his ruler so many times, it made me want to scream. I wished I could go numb to what was going on. I don’t want to experience it ever again. I can cover the marks with gloves and Mother’s makeup for now, but I just hope nobody will notice. It hurts to even hold a pencil or piece of chalk.

“Class is dismissed.”

“I hope this will teach her a lesson. Stuck up thing.”

“Miss Skeffington, you may close the door.”

“Mr. Davis, if I solemnly promise not to draw anymore on my slate when I'm supposed to be practicing my spelling, may I go?”

“Have I your promise?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. Give me your slate.”

“Oh, no.”

“Your slate, Miss Skeffington.”

“I beg of you.”

“The slate. Did you draw this, Miss Skeffington?”

“I-I think so.”

“Hand me the ruler. Hold out your hand. Higher. Higher.”

“I'm ready, Mr. Davis.”

“You may go, Miss Skeffington.”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you. Oh, thank you, Mr. Davis.”

Emily pretended to not see you and just rode right by. You watched, your face strangely slack, then started to follow her. Fanny gave you a confused look, but tagged along. You found Emily’s bike parked nearby where she was playing. There were kids playing and moms and dads watching. You ignored them all. Emily was climbing on the jungle gym with some other kids. You walked over with Fanny in tow and just watched Emily play. When Emily saw you watching her, she made a face. You just stood there, staring.

“What are you looking at?”

No response. Fanny tugged on your arm, but you were rooted in place, staring blankly at Emily. Finally, Emily couldn’t take it. She climbed off the jungle gym and walked away, and you watched her go. Emily got on a swing but, just as she started to get some height, you were right there, staring at her again. Fanny happily grabbed a swing for herself, but you were fixated on Emily.

“Stop staring at me! Stop it!”

But you were unwavering and couldn’t take your eyes off of her. Emily got off the swing and ran away, while you walked after her. You looked calm on the outside, but inside you were simmering with rage. She had to pay.

“Go away! Stop following me, freak!”

Fanny saw you following Emily and grudgingly got off the swing, hurrying to catch up. Emily gave the both of you an angry look as you followed her across the park, Fanny still uncertain about what was going on. Emily headed for the tall corkscrew slide. Steep stairs led to the enclosed top, the tip of the rocket ship.

Emily started up the stairs, then paused. She turned to you. “You go first.”

You didn’t move, but Fanny gladly took her turn. After a beat, you followed Fanny up the stairs. Emily stayed behind, watching. Fanny went down the spiraling slide, but you just stood at the top, looking down at Emily.

“Go!”

You continued to stare down at her for a beat, then turned and disappeared from sight. Only then did Emily climb up. Fanny ran to the stairs for another turn, while Emily reached the top and looked around. She saw Fanny, but where were you? She turned, and suddenly, you were right in front of her. You didn't go down the slide, you were just crouched out of sight. Emily gasped - then you spat In her face and pushed her down the stairs. Emily screamed as she fell, her limbs flailing out of control. She landed hard in the dirt and just laid there crying, clutching her arm and bleeding from a gash in her forehead. Emily’s scream drew alarmed looks. One of the playground mothers came running to help. But Fanny stood frozen, gaping at you in total shock. You stared blankly down at Emily from atop the slide, utterly emotionless. Emily’s father arrived on the scene. Emily said something to him and pointed at you and Fanny, who watched from a distance. The principal was called, who in turn personally called your father to come pick both you and Fanny up, cutting your school day short. You and Fanny waited outside the principal’s office, sitting in uncomfortable plastic chairs while he and your father were having their private discussion about the incident at recess and your involvement in it. You couldn’t hear anything of their conversation except for,

“Well, to begin with, your daughter has many good qualities. She’s intelligent. She has imagination...”

“Oh, this is gonna be even worse than I thought.”

And then the heavy wooden door closed, preventing you from listening further. Twenty minutes felt like an eternity to the two of you, especially since you couldn’t hear a word of what was being said from inside.

“Are you going to tell on me?”

Your sister shrugged, unsure what to do.

“I didn't mean to hurt her. I just wanted her to stop picking on me.” When you noticed the look your sister was giving you, you continued, “Don't you hate it when someone is mean to you for no reason? Wouldn't you do almost anything to make them stop?”

A beat. Fanny nodded. Finally, mercifully, the door opened and your father emerged.

“Come on, girls. Let’s go.”

You and Fanny both immediately got up, eager to be free from the hard plastic chairs. Your father walked between the both of you, holding your hand in his right and Fanny’s hand in his left. In your free hand, you clutched a sketchbook held together with a rubber band. Your feet were encased in saddle shoes and they clicked on the concrete as you walked outside to your father’s car. Activity on the playground stopped as the girls watched you leave. None of them looked sorry to see you go. You ignored them. Your father put your things - your backpack and your paintings - in the trunk of the car.

November 1925

Manby saw the marks on my hands and helped me. She cleaned my wounds. It was painful. I told her what happened, told her that I could not stand the degradation of being forced to attend school with a lot of ill-mannered girls who stick their silly noses into other people's business. Manby said I should be patient. But they threw stones at me. Manby told me to forgive and forget. She said they don’t know what they’re doing. I like Manby, but I hate the other kids.

"Sweet child, it is a myth that the strong bully the weak. It is those who cannot handle their stress with grace, who attack the gentle natured. You are attacked because you have self-restraint, a trait often only seen in adults. You are mature beyond your years, although you are still a child. Those bullied are often the "too much" children. They are too clever, too pretty, too kind... The things said to justify the abuse are false. They are excuses and no more. No person can tell you who or what you are, for you build yourself with your own choices, as do they. With every choice to be unkind, they build themselves to be unkind. You're different. That's good. With every choice you make to be kind, you build yourself into a kinder person. Every great person I know was bullied as a child. That which makes you a target now, will make you great in your lifetime. Through sadness we learn empathy, to know how others feel in pain transforms us, and we make ourselves kinder all the more."

She told Daddy. That made me panic. What did he do? What did he say to Mr. Davis? Is Mr. Davis going to punish me more? She said he didn't say anything to Mr. Davis. Not yet, at least. When she told him how I'd been humiliated, he merely told her that he would most certainly take me out of that miserable school. He told her he could not stay to discuss the matter with me just now as he had to prepare for Uncle George’s charity gala he’s attending tonight, but he will as soon as I get up and have my breakfast tomorrow. It’s a school night, but Fanny and I don’t have to go. He still expects us in bed at the usual time, though.

November 1925

Daddy told me this morning after breakfast that I won’t have to go to school anymore. He was looking at other options for Fanny too, but Fanny is gonna stay because she likes it there, has friends, and is a good student. Her teachers are nice to her, but Daddy says he’ll pull her out too if he ever gets even a whiff of trouble like he did with me. He says he's gonna teach me out of books and things. He says it'll be better for me. But everybody goes to school. I don't. Not anymore. Maybe I can't ever go anywhere. Maybe I’ll just have to stay home all the time.

You sat alone in your painting room in the attic. You could hear your parents below, but didn’t pay attention to what they were saying until you heard your name. You stopped painting and listened, suddenly apprehensive. Though you couldn’t see your parents, your mother sounded troubled by what your father had told her.

“We’ll talk to her about it tonight.”

“You think that’s enough?”

“What do you suggest?”

“I could take her to Dr. Jaquith.”

“I don’t think we need to call in the shrink just yet. We already had Dr. Melton examine her. We're not going to keep taking her to doctors until you hear what you want to hear.”

“That’s not what I'm trying to do, Fanny. I want this to work just as much as you do, but there are serious questions that we still don't have the answers to. If the school principal, Mr. Benson, was right about her, then children are getting seriously hurt because of her.”

“Maybe. It still could’ve been an accident. Kids fall off of things all the time. He didn't really believe that our daughter would intentionally hurt another child.”

“He didn’t want to believe it. But he was worried enough to think we should put her in Dr. Jaquith’s care until we found out for sure.”

“For all his good intentions, Mr. Benson is not a trained psychologist. I get what you’re saying and I’m not trying to dismiss or diminish your concerns, Job, I just don’t want to make a bigger deal out of it than it is.”

“The incident at the playground yesterday… It just reminded me of what Mrs. Saunders said. We really don't know that much about her.”

“She had certain suspicions about her and they turned out to be wrong. Dr. Melton told us she’s just going through a phase and that she’ll come out of it on her own. Why can’t you accept that?”

“And what if, down the road, somebody else thinks there is something seriously wrong with her? Somebody like Janie Clarkson? If it’s a dead end, I’ll drop it. But we have to get a second opinion at this point, and Dr. Jaquith is a specialist.”

Fanny considered what Job was saying. She didn’t want to be unreasonable. If you could be helped in the way she wished she could’ve helped Trippy, she’d take that opportunity. She nodded. “All right. See what you can find out.”

“Emily says you pushed her.”

“That’s not true! We were just playing and she tripped! I swear!”

Your father turned to ask Fanny, “Did you see what happened?”

You eyed Fanny expectantly. She hesitated, but eventually said, “It was an accident, Daddy.”

Job sighed, not entirely convinced. The door opened, and Soames appeared in the doorway of the parlor.

You turned on him with extraordinary violence. "Didn’t I give you the strictest orders not to come in?" you cried.

So much violence about so small a thing. Why shouldn’t Soames have come in? The poor man, still obviously in a state of inner turmoil, only wanted to take away the tea. You were their daughter and all that, but the strict orders and the violence did seem rather overstepping the bounds of what you might and might not do. Funny, how everybody and everything was that day. Nothing, since your mother left her bedroom that morning, had been in the least what she was accustomed to. Soames, met by this outburst, hesitated on the threshold. Yes, he had been told not to come in but, after a while, he had found it impossible to stay out. He was much too frightened. The silence, the death-like silence downstairs, had frightened him enough to begin with, but it was nothing to the fright which overwhelmed him when you started screaming blue murder. When you finally exploded, you didn’t go for the pictures or tchotchkes as usual, you went straight for him; pummeling, hitting, kicking, biting. Your father was quick to intervene and break up the distressing scene, grabbing you and pulling you away from Soames while you thrashed and bucked like a wild animal. Your father glanced uneasily across at Soames. This was the final straw. Despite your mother’s reluctance, your father knew he needed to consult with Dr. Jaquith immediately. It couldn’t be put off any longer. He should’ve gone to him months ago, but both he and your mother were still in denial, under the illusion that either you’d grow out of it or they could help you without needing a doctor’s assistance. Dr. Jaquith was a renowned psychiatrist that specialized in working with both children and adults. He’d know what to do, much better than anyone else in the household. Job knew it was time to swallow his pride.

“Fanny, darling, go find Marie and play with her for a while. Soames, call the doctor. It’s too late in the evening now and the last train has gone, but there may still be a late one if he drives into Waterbury. If not, tell him that we need him to get on a train to New York as quickly as he can. We’ll reimburse his travel expenses if we have to. Just get him here,” was all he said, and Soames hastily bowed and turned on his heel, eager to flee the room and follow his Master’s order. Fanny was a bit more hesitant, obviously concerned about you. A part of her wanted to stay but, after staring at you for a few more seconds, she realized her presence wouldn’t help you in this situation, so she left the room to find Marie as she was told to. Hopefully Dr. Jaquith would be here by the day after tomorrow and, until then, Job could find ways to console and calm you down.

“Messy things, pipes. I like them. Mr. Skeffington. Mrs. Skeffington. How do you do? I’m Dr. David Jaquith.”

“Dr. Jaquith. Of course. You’ve taken us by surprise. We weren't expecting you until tomorrow.”

“Yes, there was a mix-up. I had to take an earlier train. I apologize for dropping in on you unexpectedly. I know you may not want me here at this very moment since I’m a day early. If this is a bad time, I can go to my hotel and come back tomorrow.”

“Hotel? Don’t be silly. There’s plenty of guest rooms here. We can have Manby make one up for you. And it’s quite all right, Doctor. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Come in, come in. Clinton can take your coat. So long as you help our daughter, you’re welcome under our roof here. We’re happy to have another set of eyes and hands looking after her, but we do hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“How grave you make it sound. Of course, I want you to know that I’m here to help you with anything you need.”

“That’s real kind of you, Dr. Jaquith. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Skeffington. Though I could use a coffee, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. Manby, could you make Dr. Jaquith a cup of coffee? Well, thank you for coming, Doctor. Really, we’re honored by the visit of the foremost psychiatrist of the whole country. We think it was pretty sweet of you to come all the way from Vermont to New York. We know that, generally, you don’t come to see people. They go to see you.”

“That’s from lack of time, not from vanity. But the phone call I received from one of your staff - Soames, was it? - sounded very urgent. I had to come in person so I could properly assess the situation and determine for myself if your daughter is an urgent case or not.”

“The people who recommended you said you treat adults, too.”

“That is correct. But I’ve always found children’s minds to be more interesting.”

“What we’d like to know, Doctor, is if you can cure our daughter. Before we end up in a heap of ash.”

“As a psychiatrist, I treat mental and emotional disorders in my patients, and I try to alleviate their condition. I do not presume to cure them. If you don’t mind, I’ll have to ask you and Mr. Skeffington some questions first.”

“Of course. Ask us anything you like.”

“Soames said she’s been throwing inexplicable temper tantrums, that she’s been lashing out violently. How long have these tantrums and acts of violence been going on? Do you have any idea what could have triggered the first episode?”

Job had a flashback to when you were five years old. You pulled the rope next to your bed to ring the bell and call your nanny into the room. You asked her to retrieve him, hoping against hope that he was still awake at such a late hour. You knew he was rarely less than ten steps away. When he arrived you were crying in the corner, sucking your thumb with a teddy bear in your arms. He picked you up and held you, patting you consolingly on the back and combing his fingers through your hair while he paced back and forth around the room as you cried and screamed. At the time, Job thought it had just been a terrible nightmare. But maybe…maybe it was something more. Whatever it was, you just needed to let it out… Surely, if he could find a better outlet for you, then these episodes would stop or, at the very least, decrease in frequency.

“Since she was five years old, she’s had a history of temper tantrums and fits of violence. We didn’t reach out for help sooner because I was often called away on business, Fanny had her own engagements, and we didn’t think it was anything more than the usual temper tantrums and aggressive behavior that come with being a toddler. She was a holy terror but we thought that, with our help, she’d eventually get past it, grow out of it once she reached a certain age. But it’s been over four years and not much has changed. Now she’s nine and hasn’t shown much improvement, despite our best efforts to console and help her. I wish I could be here more but, as a banker and businessman, I’m always being called away without warning and without any say in the matter. As much as I’d like to, I can’t take my daughters with me everywhere I go. I’d much rather be here with her. Although…”

“Mr. Skeffington?”

“It’s just that it hasn’t been very easy for me to talk to her lately. Whenever I called her from abroad while on my business trips, which was at least once a day, she always seemed to fly off the handle for no reason. We’d be talking about the weather or school or something equally innocuous, and suddenly she’d bellow at me and slam the phone down, which doesn’t make sense. My other daughter, Fanny, has always been extremely level-headed and even-tempered. She never gets angry. But with her…”

As Job spoke of you, he mused on you, how you weren’t anything like your sister, but you weren’t like your mother either. You were like him in some ways but oddly, or maybe not so oddly, in many ways, you reminded him of Trippy, Fanny’s brother. Was it possible that you took after him instead? He kept that thought to himself.

“Are you sure you didn’t inadvertently say something…you know, argumentative?”

“I promise you, these rages of hers are totally uncalled for and quite…unbearable. Everyone in this house loves her dearly but…she is making things very difficult. Frankly, talking to her is something we’ve been quite unable to do lately. These temper tantrums of hers make rational discourse well nigh impossible. We’re just about at our wits’ end. We don't know how or why she is the way that she is, but we do know she's a good kid, underneath it all.“

“Maybe she’s just unhappy here.”

“We don’t know why. I mean, she was thrilled to start the new school year and couldn’t wait. Something has changed her. We’re just as bewildered and upset by her behavior as any parent would be.”

“The last doctor that examined her said that aside from a little dry skin, which is not unusual for her, she was perfectly fine,” Fanny interjected.

“I didn’t trust his judgment, Fanny, so I had to get a second opinion from a doctor who wouldn’t be afraid to give us an honest assessment, even if it upset you.” Job turned from his wife to the doctor. “My father used to say that when a child misbehaves, it’s a parent’s duty to correct that child. Now as a father myself, I’m inclined to agree, but… Never mind. You asked for signs and symptoms. The first signs of a tantrum begin with her breath turning from quiet and regular to a panting gasp. She sucks at the air like it’s suddenly become thick and is now almost too difficult to draw in. She becomes deaf to my soothing words, and I’ve had to rapidly back-track on my previously tough stance, offer her more than what she had asked for in the first place. But by then, it’s irreversible. Her next stage is always to smash whatever she can lay her hands on. Fanny and I have seconds to hide everything we care about. Most parents, like my father, would have just held the child down until their energy was spent or they became too big, but I don’t want to do that to her. That’d only frighten her and make an already bad situation even worse. There’s got to be a better way, but… I just don’t know what more I can do for her. I feel like I’ve tried almost everything. Please get to the bottom of this, David. You’re our last hope.”

“She’s just testing us, there’s no doubt about that. But I know we’re doing a good job. Maybe we’re not strict enough with her, but it’s been nowhere near as bad as we expected.”

“I’ll have to be the judge of that, Mrs. Skeffington. Can you describe to me her behavior during these fits? What kinds of things has she been saying and doing? Can you tell me of any incidents that stand out to you?”

“Impertinent. Upsetting rules. Thinks she can run the works. Talking back to me. Purposefully disobeying. I've been going out so much lately that, by the time I get back, I have no energy. I was exhausted after attending a dinner party and said I just wanted to relax...but the banging on the walls and slamming of the door was making it hard for me to unwind. If she would just be quiet for a little bit, everything would be fine. But…”

“Anything else? Mr. Skeffington?”

“Last year, there was the dinner party Fanny and I were invited to by the Cookhams. It was Sunday, the nanny’s day off. We had planned on leaving the girls at home and having George watch them, but something came up at the last minute and he couldn’t. So we brought them with us. Fanny was on her best behavior, but our other daughter hated the dinner we shared. I could hear my parents’ voices in my head, telling me I should probably teach her to eat things she doesn't like. I was forced to eat things I hated when I was a kid, but we were poor. You have no idea how poor.”

“You weren’t actually hungry?”

“My father sold chocolate bars with almond nuts on a pushcart. When he had a good day, we ate meat. When he had a bad day, we ate chocolate bars with almond nuts. The bad days had a slight edge. It had to be done. But then… My brother died of a food allergy when he was young. We couldn’t afford the medicine that might’ve saved him.”

“You remember a lot about when you were a little boy, don’t you?”

“Especially the lack of plumbing. I was afraid that same allergy might’ve passed on to her or Fanny, but I thought that limiting what my daughters did or didn’t eat because of an uncertain possibility could be just as damaging to their eating habits as the allergy itself. The world of medicine isn’t what it used to be when I was their age. It’s evolving every day. I can be thankful for that. There’s medicine and treatment now to cure many food allergies, not to mention safe and controlled allergy tests so that medical professionals can find out what patients are allergic to without putting them at risk. So that’s what I did with her and Fanny. I took them both to get tested, and they both got off scot-free. No allergies detected. With her and Fanny, the only rule I enforced when it came to food was that they had to at least try it first before deciding if they liked something or not. She and Fanny aren’t extremely picky. They’ll eat practically anything you put in front of them. It wasn’t the food that bothered her, but she threw her plate onto the floor, breaking it and making a mess. I had to take her outside, apologizing profusely to everyone, especially the staff.”

“What’s wrong with her? My friends looked annoyed when we left. Our friends, our neighbors… I hear them in the church… They’re whispering about what’s happening in this house. And now certain friends of mine don’t visit as much as they used to. I hope they don’t hate me... She definitely needs some form of discipline, but she still won’t take to it. If I don’t figure something out, I may never see those friends again.”

As a psychiatrist, Dr. Jaquith was always making notes. Not just on paper, but mentally as well. And what he was noting about Fanny’s attitude and priorities was…troubling. Though she didn’t say it, Dr. Jaquith had a feeling that Fanny used you, her daughter, as an excuse to arrive and leave dramatically and make herself the center of attention. Though Dr. Jaquith was a professional and kept his face neutral, he was less than impressed from what he was inferring about the household environment, if the parents were anything to go by. And, in almost all cases, it most definitely was.

“And she dropped some rather vulgar language on me a few days ago. I can’t bring myself to repeat it. It was language that is unbecoming of a lady, especially a Skeffington. I swear, we didn’t teach her to say such things. At first, I thought she could have picked it up anywhere. She probably heard it at school. But this wasn’t something she overheard. She knew what it meant. And the way she said it… I don’t even think she expected to get in trouble over it. If she’s saying it to my face, what’s she saying or doing when we’re not around? We have to be thinking about what kind of influence she’s having on Fanny.”

Dr. Jaquith raised his eyebrows in comic, exaggerated surprise. “No explanation necessary. I don't think there is anything that girl could say that would surprise me. But this is important so I must ask, is she only talking back and disobeying you? Or does she behave the same way with you, Mr. Skeffington?”

“Not with me, no. She’s never once disobeyed or talked back to me, at least…not deliberately. If she ever did either of those things, it was because she was in the middle of an episode and couldn’t hear me or focus enough on my voice to listen to what I was saying, like her body was there but her mind was elsewhere, somewhere far away and beyond reach.”

“I see. Soames mentioned acts of violence. Have there been any incidents where she hurt either herself or another person?”

“Well… A girl she and Fanny were playing with in the school playground got hurt. There were some broken bones.”

A beat. Dr. Jaquith was suddenly apprehensive, but tried to cover by asking, “Really? Is the girl all right?”

“She broke her arm and had to have something like eleven stitches, I think. She was lucky.”

“She doesn’t sound very lucky.”

“She's lucky she didn’t break her neck.”

“She broke that girl’s arm only days ago, and now this! Poor Emily. They had a…small fight. She just pushed her, but she had a bad fall. I’m so ashamed… Her parents must think we raised a savage.”

Dr. Jaquith seemed troubled by this. “May I meet her?”

“Of course. She’s in her painting room. She adores drawing and painting. Fanny wouldn’t allow her to paint or draw in her bedroom. She was afraid she’d get paint on the carpet or the furniture, so I suggested that perhaps she might like her own area in the house for her art. It was a good compromise. The attic was largely unused, so I had it refurbished and repurposed so she could have her own space to get as messy as her heart desired. I still remember when I first surprised her with it last year…”

~

Enveloped in darkness and trusting your father as he led you through echoing hallways was something you never imagined you would be doing on what had, so far, been a typical Tuesday. He was brimming with excitement though, and the smile on his face had been so genuine that you had let him tie a silk blindfold over your eyes so he could properly escort you to the surprise. You needed a bit of cheering up and, besides, his anticipation was catching. Well, that and the fact that his hand wrapped tightly and comfortingly around yours was sending little sparks of electricity that you knew to be excitement throughout your body.

“There’s a ladder here, darling. Watch your step. I’ll be right behind you in case you slip, but no peeking!”

Despite being blindfolded, you realized you were going up to the attic. You’d gone up there many times before, usually after school. It was your safe space, your tower. The temptation was so strong, but you refrained from peeking. If your father went to so much trouble to make something special for you, you didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

“Excuse me, darling. I just need to reach over you to open the door.”

You bit your lower lip to conceal a grin, one eyebrow arched above the blindfold. You felt your father’s chest pressed against your back as he reached an arm over and past you. You heard a door latch turn, and the creak of hinges.

“Okay. You can step forward, darling. The attic is just there. One more step.”

Once you climbed up and your feet touched the familiar wooden flooring, you walked a few paces forward to give your dad enough space to follow behind you. You had stopped and waited. "Can’t I take this off now?"

“Not yet. I told you, I want this to be a surprise.” Once again his hand slipped into yours, your fingers interlacing easily and naturally. He squeezed your hand and drew you forward. Immediately you were assaulted with familiar smells…but weren’t able to place them.

“Now?”

“Impatient girl,” he chided, tweaking your nose. “Not yet!”

He moved away, letting go of your hand, and you could hear the rustle of fabric. The darkness around you grew a tad brighter, as if he had opened curtains to let the sunlight in. You couldn't hide your smile. “Now?” You felt him loosening the knot at your nape, his energy rolling down your spine like a physical being. The blindfold loosened.

“Okay…now,” he said, and slid the silk away from your eyes.

Immediately you gasped, a hand fluttering up toward your mouth, changing its mind, and then settling against the base of your throat in amazement. Golden sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the twenty easels that stood guard over hundreds of pristine canvases, all waiting for an artist. Tall tables, regular tables and low tables were placed casually around the room, piled high with every medium on the face of the earth, oil paints, watercolors, charcoal, pencils, inks, acrylics, woodblocks, stained glass, beads, and brushes that ranged in width from the size of a Hoover vacuum cleaner to the size of a pinhead. In addition, stacked neatly along one wall were sketch books; two pieces of light shale wrapped in cotton with pieces of vellum and parchment sandwiched between. Everything you would ever need. A small platform with candles placed strategically around it for a model to pose from, and drop cloths in perfect rolls swinging from a hammock that was suspended from the cathedral-like ceiling. Tears glistened in your eyes as you walked slowly around the room.

“I don't believe it…I've never seen so much…in my whole life!” you said, awed and unable to find all of your words.

Your father saw the mixture of tears and happiness on your face and smiled nervously. “Does this please you?”

You beamed at him over your shoulder. “Yes, oh, yes!”

“Then it is yours,” he said.

No one had ever given you something so wonderful, so perfect for you. You rushed to him, taking his hands in yours and, without thinking, rose on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, thank you so much, Daddy!”

In surprise, he turned his head slightly towards you, questioning to himself if this was indeed the same angry and violent little girl who was responsible for that horrid playground incident. But you were so overwhelmed with joy that you didn't notice. In the span of one second it was no longer his cheek under your mouth, it was your forehead under his lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he locked his arms around your back, and you held each other in a warm hug as you both cried tears of joy and maybe relief. You lowered your head, blushing furiously and unable to meet his eyes, as if you suddenly came to your senses and were embarrassed by your emotional outburst. One hand rose to cup your chin, and lift your face to him. He was as cool and refined as ever, and only smiled at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He didn't draw unwanted attention to your own tears, only used his thumbs to stroke your cheeks and wipe your tears away. In this emotional moment, your familial bond grew stronger.

“You’re welcome, my dear.”

~

“But, Job, painters are not highly thought of in good society. And there is nothing so difficult to marry as a painter, especially one who’s female.”

The statement was so absurd, it snapped Job out of his reminiscent reverie and Dr. Jaquith out of his train of thought.

“Marry?”

“Marry? But, Fanny, she is not yet thirteen. She’s a bit young for us to be thinking of such things.”

“Not now, but someday, I mean.”

Of all the things to take away from what was being discussed about her daughter, Fanny’s main concern was her future marriage prospects. Disappointing? Yes. Surprising? No.

“She’s been really absorbed in her work lately. I thought she might finally be free of her despair, her anger, because she never before felt this inspired. She said she was going to put every last bit of herself into this piece. I found her painting today. It was almost done. While I did in fact encourage her to take up this new hobby, after seeing this piece I… Well, it sickened me. It made me question my own advice. It wasn’t her technique that gave me pause but, rather, her subject matter. She decided to paint two girls jumping off a roof. They looked exactly like herself and Fanny. When I asked her about it, she said they weren’t falling, they were flying without wings and that she’d like to think they left this place for something better. It’s a strange, swirling vortex painted in dark watercolors. My head throbs when I look at it.”

“Won’t she be coming down?” Dr. Jaquith asked as he stood up.

Mr. Skeffington followed suit. He took Dr. Jaquith’s arm and lowered his voice to a confidential tone. “It might be better if you went up. She’s a bit upset. There was a little trouble here this morning.”

Dr. Jaquith gave Mr. Skeffington a quick look. “What kind of trouble?”

Mr. Skeffington was quick to follow up with, “Nothing serious.”

Dr. Jaquith and Mr. Skeffington could hear humming coming from down the hall or, to be more precise, above it. They followed the humming to a room that was overhead. The ladder was already down, so Mr. Skeffington climbed the rungs. “Wait here a moment. She doesn’t let just anyone come inside, so I have to clear a path for you, tell her you’re a friend and can be trusted. She doesn’t trust easily.”

“Of course. I’ll wait here.”

You sat staring at the unfinished painting on your easel, willing yourself to just bring your brush down to it, to feel inspired, to feel anything other than numb. But instead of adding to your creation, you sighed and brought your brush to the cup of water. You watched as the colors stained the water red until nothing was left on the brush but the taupe of the pokey bristles. Lately you'd been feeling like the brush, like all the color had been drained out of you. This feeling wasn't foreign. Sometimes you felt stagnant, letting moments pass you by. Being there but not being a part of them, at least not how you wanted to be. From the floor below, your father knocked on the attic trapdoor in a unique rhythm. A secret code to tell you that it was him. Your humming stopped.

Dr. Jaquith could hear a little girl’s voice telling Mr. Skeffington to come in. As he waited, he could hear your father talking to you.

“What’ve you got there? Are you drawing something?”

“Nothing special. I’m just bored.”

“How’s it coming?”

“All right.”

“What’s it supposed to be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you mind if I join you? What’s the title of the painting?”

“I don’t know.”

“Darling, I hope you won’t mind, but I’ve brought someone to come and meet you today. He’s my very good friend, Mr. Jaquith. I ran into him on the street and brought him by for tea. I thought your mother and sister would be pleased, and I hoped you would be too. I’ve told him what a bright and talented girl you are, and he would very much like to meet you. May he come up? He’ll help you to paint. That is, if you don’t mind. Of course, some people prefer to do a painting alone.”

“I guess… If he’s your friend, Daddy, then that would be okay.”

“Wonderful! You can come up now, David.”

Given the all clear, Dr. Jaquith climbed the ladder to the attic. Light slanted in from a big-window, shining on you, a little girl in blue jean overalls and a striped shirt. You hated skirts and dresses since you were old enough to walk. Before that, ever since you were born, you’d always take off the bows and headbands your mother tried to put on your head or in your hair. Since your parents were always too busy, and Uncle George couldn’t be trusted to be knowledgeable when it came to girl’s fashion, Miss Brook often took you and your sister, Fanny, shopping, especially in the summer when a new school year was about to begin. But for you, it never went well. Trying to get you to conform to what was socially acceptable for a girl to wear was like pulling teeth. As you and your sister looked through racks of children's clothes, Miss Brook pulled a dress with flowers embroidered on the pockets. The material would be perfect for playing outside, while looking very stylish and pretty. But you scrunched your face in disgust and shook your head.

“This is cute,” she insisted.

“Dresses are ugly.”

“But, sweetie, you have to have something you can play outside in.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to look like a doll.”

As unconventional as it was, you spent most of your time in trousers. Girls often teased and bullied you for “dressing and acting like a boy” and called you mean names.

And there you sat in front of an easel, all alone, painting another extraordinary picture. Dr. Jaquith watched, curious. You ignored him and your back was to him, so he couldn’t see your face, just your hair messily pulled back, strands of it coming loose from your shoddy attempts at tying it back with a bandana or hair tie. It spilled down a bit over your shoulders and clung to the back of your neck, but so long as it didn’t get in your eyes, it didn’t bother or distract you. You never learned how to properly do your hair. Your mother tried to teach you, but you were stubborn and refused to learn, believing it to be a waste of time. She gave up on teaching you the importance of a beauty regimen quite early on. The paintbrush froze mid-stroke as you turned to face him, as if you suddenly decided you were ready to acknowledge his presence in your space. Like your sister, you had pale skin and bright, doe-like eyes, your delicate features framed by Shirley Temple curls. Yours was the face of a porcelain angel, a perfect little living doll, friendly and inviting.

“Why, what’s this? Did you do these? Are these paintings all yours?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Well, the point is how you could. They’re really professional. Do you mind if I look at them?”

“No, I don’t mind. They aren’t very difficult. Daddy gets the paints and materials from New York, so I have the tools. It’s just a matter of the doing.”

“And the skill. You know, this is very good detail. I have a great admiration for people who are clever with their hands. I was always so clumsy with my own.”

“I should think you were the least clumsy person I’d ever met. Do you really like them? Really, really?”

“Very much. They’re remarkable. Where did you learn how to do this?”

“I’ve just had lots of time to practice, I guess. My unfulfilled ambition is to paint a great many things, to tell stories about my adventures. I do know a thing or two about pirates.”

“What adventures?”

“I’ve yet to have them, but they will be perfectly thrilling. My paintings are stories that come from my imagination. This one’s about a sad mother wolf who can’t find her cubs. She’s dreaming about her babies. It’s the only thing that makes her happy.”

“Well, I hope she finds them.”

“She will. Look.” As you spoke, you dabbed your brush and painted little wolf cubs curled up in front of their sleeping mother. “They were lost in the jungle and they were so scared because they didn’t have a mother or father. But just when they thought they’d be alone forever, they found their mother sleeping under this tree. And they felt so safe that they fell asleep too. Now when the mother wolf wakes up, her dream will have come true. She’ll have her family again. Isn’t it lovely? Look at my new paintings.” You took Mr. Jaquith’s hand and led him around the room, eagerly showing him your other paintings.

He noticed a gothic mansion in several of your older paintings. “Is that a real place?”

“No. I just made it up. It’s a haunted castle where a beautiful princess was locked away. She waited so long and was so sad that she filled the moat with her tears, but then a handsome prince swam across it and rescued her. I like happy endings. Don’t you? I’ve even done a portrait for everyone in the family. And a painting of everyone together. Come see!”

The painting of your family was indeed extraordinary. You were all smiling and holding hands. But Dr. Jaquith couldn’t help but notice that your mother was missing from it. It was just your father in the middle, with you and your sister on either side of him.

While you were looking elsewhere, Job tapped Dr. Jaquith on the shoulder and whispered in his ear, “I wish she would have drawn her mother as well...”

In an equally hushed tone, Dr. Jaquith said, “Maybe she doesn’t realize she is part of your family?” He then turned to you and said in a normal volume, “That’s one good-looking family you’ve got.”

“I know. Aren’t they perfect?”

“You know, these are excellent.”

“You may have one if you like.”

“May I? Any one?”

“Of course. All except this one.” You took a ruined canvas off its easel and put it off to the side. “When I was working on it, my mother sent for me. My brush slipped and I spattered paint on it.”

“A pity to ruin such a nice painting.”

“Yes. I’ll get you something to wrap it in.”

“Oh, don’t bother.” But it was too late. You were already rummaging through drawers for brightly colored tissue paper. “Well, then any old piece of paper will do.”

While your back was turned, Dr. Jaquith and your father shared an amused look. Once you haphazardly wrapped the painting in pink tissue paper, you handed it to him with a big smile, showing off your baby teeth, though some looked to be missing or growing in. The tooth fairy had paid you a visit or two, it seemed. You then took him by the hand and led him from easel to easel. Dr. Jaquith saw all that you were working on, including the pencil and charcoal sketches pinned to your wall. In most of your paintings, you had captured the subject perfectly, but there was nothing special about them, nothing to show your personality, your personal touch.

“These are perfect copies of reality. But painting is not about replicating the world, it’s about interpreting it, improving on it, showing something you see.”

“Can you help me with my painting? Daddy said you might.”

Dr. Jaquith grabbed a blank canvas and set it on the easel in front of you and handed you a palette of paints and a brush. “Here, try looking from a new perspective, a different approach. Try to imagine something that doesn’t exist. Something you’ve never seen. Now, concentrate…on how it makes you feel…and let your hand drift across the canvas.”

You looked down at the palette of paints and your brush, then to the white canvas in front of you, waiting to be colored in. You dabbed your brush into the paint and closed your eyes, and just let your imagination guide your hand. You didn’t think too hard about it. In fact, you didn’t think about much at all. You just painted what you felt, what you questioned about yourself. Your identity…anger, doubt, hope, pain, sadness, belonging…who were you? What was hiding deep down inside you, just waiting to come out? When you opened your eyes, you took in your creation. Your masterpiece. It was almost done, but there were still some things missing.

“Give me more blue, please!” When you held out your palette, Dr. Jaquith did as you requested, grabbing a tube of blue paint and squeezing some out. “Thanks! Now, can you give me some red?” Again, he fulfilled your request. But the bottle of red paint was nearly empty and made a sputtering noise as he squeezed out what little was left. It wasn’t enough for you. You needed more to complete your creation. “More red, please!”

“I’m afraid the red is all out. Maybe you could use magenta or orange instead?”

“Out?…But…But we can’t be out.”

“It’s okay, you can ask your father for more and—”

“You’re hiding more red from me... I know you are.”

“I’m n—”

“GIVE IT HERE!”

And suddenly you snapped and lunged at Dr. Jaquith with teeth bared and nails out. But you were grabbed and held back by your father before you could make contact with your intended target. You were like a feral wolverine as you fought against his hold, foaming at the mouth and ready to bite or claw at anyone who came too close. You were desperate to make Dr. Jaquith bleed if it meant you could get your precious red paint. As you kicked and screamed, you accidentally kicked the light switch off, shrouding the attic in total darkness. While your father was about to turn the light switch back on, he stopped. Dr. Jaquith did too. The paintings they saw… The mother wolf and her sleeping cubs… The cubs were now dead and the mother's mouth was dripping with blood. The paintings that looked like typical family portraits in normal light were now nightmarish visions of death and violence. In one, your eyes had been gouged out. In another, your throat had been slashed. In the picture of the whole family, you and Fanny and your father looked normal, but your mother appeared in the background, only visible under darkness, and she was a decomposed corpse. You stopped fighting, but your father didn’t notice. He was frozen. He staggered back in shock, still holding you, while Dr. Jaquith just looked at you, expressionless. The telephone rang, startling all of you.

While you were sitting by yourself in a corner and curled up in a ball, the doctor said to Mr. Skeffington, “A violent temper is often the result of trauma brain architecture, which is a form of developmental mental illness. It can be fixed with a bouquet of coping strategies, from a calmer environment, to exercise and talk therapies. Music, dance, and the expressive arts are all wonderful for gaining good insights into the self. We can expand positive role models via movies or stage plays, because this is how we dream together, expanding the healing power of dreams into the community. We need to see the temper as a symptom and really tackle the cause, the need to develop a healthier brain, with multiple solutions at once.”

Later, you weren’t sure exactly how much later, you had calmed down and were suddenly very remorseful for your outburst. You apologized to Mr. Jaquith immediately, but were very afraid that he wouldn’t accept it. You didn’t mean to snap. You didn’t want to hurt Daddy’s friend. You didn’t want to hurt anyone. You just…you didn’t know. You didn’t know why you said the things you said, thought the thoughts you thought or did the things you did. It was like you blacked out and someone or something else took control of your body.

“Of course I accept your apology, Miss Skeffington. I’ve worked with many children just like you, so I know you didn’t mean to do it, that you couldn’t help it. I know it’s scary, even for you. But I promise that, through it all, I’ll still be your friend.”

What did he mean he’s worked with other children just like you? Was he a teacher? Or was he a doc…? You suddenly became apprehensive, unsure if you could trust a word he said. “My friend?”

“Yes. And since we’re friends, I wonder if I might ask you a favor. Would you be nice and show me around this house? You must be an expert and know this house in and out. One doesn't often get the chance. Yes, that's right, I had a look at the downstairs when I came in. There's nothing like these old New York homes anywhere. On Marlborough Street or Beacon Hill, you see them standing in a row like bastions. Firm, proud, resisting the new. Houses turned in upon themselves, hugging their pride.”

“Introverted. That’s what my teachers call me.”

“I wouldn’t know about that. I don’t put much faith in scientific terms. I leave that to the fakers and the writers of books.”

You didn’t take his hand again, wanting to keep him at arm’s length just in case it turned out he couldn’t be trusted after all, but you signaled for him to follow you. You climbed down the ladder, and Dr. Jaquith and your father followed. Your father was smart on his feet and quickly made an excuse to leave so he could give you and Dr. Jaquith some much needed one-on-one time. It’d be better if Dr. Jaquith got a chance to know you, the real you, without him lingering over your shoulders. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a mass of letters to write and phone calls to make before lunch. I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything, I’ll be in the library. Darling, please be a good girl for Mr. Jaquith while you show him around.”

As soon as your father left, you turned to face Mr. Jaquith. You suddenly eyed him skeptically, suspecting he wasn’t a Mister at all. The ruse fooled you at first, but you wouldn’t let it go on any longer. You were keenly perceptive, far more than most children your age. “I know who you really are.”

“You do? Who am I?”

“You’re not Daddy’s friend. You’re my new doctor.”

“No, I’m not. You’re quite wrong.”

“You can’t fool me. And I know why you’ve come here. To make sure I don’t run away from this place again.”

“Did you run away from here once? I didn’t know. Where were you headed when you ran away?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere but here, I guess.”

“What’s your name?”

“You know my name. That’s why you stood there and stared at me.”

“That was very rude of me. But, you see, you reminded me of somebody.”

“Who?”

“Well, if you must know…my wife, Charlotte. Of course, at your age. You’re about eleven, aren’t you?”

“I’m nine...nearly ten. You know my name, but what’s yours?”

“David.”

You nodded once then continued giving Dr. Jaquith a tour. “My mother’s room.”

“And your father’s also?”

“No.” The conviction with which you said the word made Dr. Jaquith raise an eyebrow.

“Your parents sleep separately?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know why?”

“They just do. It’s always been that way. I don’t want to talk about this. What difference does it make anyway?”

Clearly you didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so Dr. Jaquith let the matter drop. But already he was making mental notes.

“Fine room.”

“Do you think so?”

“Of course, I’d prefer to see what your room is like. Is it nearby?”

“I’m not your patient yet, Doctor.”

“Well, now, nobody thinks you ever will be. I’ve seen the rooms of lots of people who aren’t my patients. My friends. Of course, if you don’t want to...”

“It’s on this floor, down the hall.” You then brought Dr. Jaquith to your room. You stopped sharing a room with Fanny when you were six years old. You took out a key. “She locks her door, Doctor. Make a note of it. Significant, isn’t it?”

“Well, it signifies that it’s your door. I never heard it said that a girl’s home is not her castle.”

“My castle, Doctor.”

“You know, stuff like this was built to last a lifetime. Solid.”

“Enduring and inescapable.”

“Are you comfortable here?”

“I try to be. I’m here a good part of the time. It’s so boring here.”

“You don’t play outside with the other girls in the neighborhood? Sounds like they’re having fun.”

A beat. You were hesitant. “I don’t like playing with the other girls. I like going outside, but…the other girls and Fanny usually prefer to stay inside. That way they don’t get their dresses dirty.”

“Well, that’s very responsible of them, but couldn’t they find something else to wear when playing outside?”

“No. Image is everything.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. But I hear Mother and the other ladies say it a lot.”

“What about at school? Don’t you play then?”

“I don’t go to school anymore. I’m homeschooled. When I used to, sometimes during recess, Fanny and I played amongst ourselves or we split off and she played with the other girls while I played with the boys. They weren’t afraid to get dirty and were much more fun.” You knew many things that boys talked about. You played more with boys than with girls, and liked them better. You were a picture of energy and aggressiveness. You were common, but with a frank and engaging commonness. “The girls were prissies.”

“Upon my soul, how children are educated nowadays. Where did you learn that word? It’s not a very nice word.”

“I’m afraid I am not learned at all, Doctor. It’s true! They were all cowards. They were boring and just played with their ugly dolls and lame dollhouses. Dolls are ugly and stupid, and sometimes creepy. I don’t know why Fanny liked playing with the girls. They were stuck-up. Total snobs. They thought having the most popular or most expensive doll made them better than other girls. Karla and Jessica showed off their Princess Eliana dolls. During recess, Katie couldn’t play with them because she only had the Dearly Doll. She liked her Dearly Doll, but she thought Princess Eliana was really pretty and wanted to play with them. But they told her to go away. They wouldn’t let girls who didn’t have the same dolls play with them. I didn’t get why. Those girls were dumb and they made up dumber rules. I didn’t think it was fair for some girls to have plenty of lovely things and other, prettier girls to have nothing at all. Fanny’s too prim. If she doesn’t take care, she’s going to grow up and be an affected little goose.”

“Aren’t there any boys in this neighborhood you could play with?”

“No, there aren’t. So I stay inside. I want to explore the woods, but Mother wouldn’t like it if I tracked mud and dirt into the house, so Marie doesn’t let me go beyond the park. But there’s nothing to do at the park. I’m not even allowed to climb trees. I'm just different from everyone, I guess.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being different.”

“Yes, there is. Everybody says there’s not, but it isn’t true.”

“I’m just saying you could probably go outside and make friends, if you really wanted to.”

“I don’t care what they think. If I’m sad or lonely, I just come to the attic and paint a story with a happy ending and when people say they like my paintings, like you did, it makes me feel better. I think people should always try to take the bad things that happen to them and turn them into something good. Don’t you?”

Dr. Jaquith was taken aback. Before he could respond, your father came back.

“How is everything?”

The two men shared a look and gave a subtle nod to each other. Dr. Jaquith had seen enough. It was clear to him that you were a very precocious child and could be sweet at times, but that you’d need to spend a considerable amount of time at Cascade. Weeks, maybe even months depending on how you progressed. You definitely had spunk. A Skeffington needed that to get along in the world, but you needed to learn there were better times than others for it. Though they both knew you’d take it very hard and that it was going to be a big and scary change for you, it really was for the best, for your own benefit. Now was the time to tell you their decision.

“Your father has told me much about you. Both he and your mother have told me a great number of things, some good and some…not so good. What your mother and father have described to me, and what I’ve seen for myself, your latest peculiarities...your fits of crying, your secretiveness...indicate you’re on the verge of a mental meltdown.”

“I’m not melting down!”

“Now, nobody said you were. Not definitively, at least. But your uncontrollable fits of anger and violence, your lashing out is—”

“What Dr. Jaquith is saying, darling, is this is why we worry about you. We have given this a great deal of thought. Darling, believe me, we’re only trying to help you. Dr. Jaquith has a sanitarium in Vermont, I believe. Cascade has an excellent reputation. He’s suggested you spend a few weeks there.”

“A sanitarium? But that’s a terrible place, everyone says so! It's like a jail! Probably one of those places with a high wire fence and yowling inmates. If I go with him, he’ll drive an ice pick through my skull! I’ll be a vegetable!”

“Well, now, I wouldn’t want anyone to have that mistaken notion. Cascade is just a place in the country. People come to it when they’re tired. You go to the seashore. They come there. What you’re describing is called a lobotomy, a procedure that went out of fashion years ago and isn’t practiced anymore. At least not by any reputable doctors who still have their license to practice medicine. I promise you, you won’t be subjected to inhumane experiments. I’m a psychiatrist, not a mad scientist. I only want to help you.”

“But I’m not sick! I’m not a bad person, I’m really not! Daddy, tell him! Tell him I’m perfectly fine and don’t need to go!”

You looked close to tears and Job felt something tear at his heart, but he was determined.

“Of course you’re not a bad person. But, darling, sickness can present itself in many different forms. It’s not always a fever or common cold. There are people, both children and adults, who are afflicted with sicknesses of the mind. Now, while Dr. Jaquith may not be able to cure you, he can help you manage your anger, if you let him.”

“No! I won’t go! The other children will laugh at me! I’ll be the local failure! I’ll just die from shame! I’ll just die! I’ll just die!”

“Darling, please don’t dramatize!”

“There’s nothing shameful about my work or frightening or anything else. It's very simple, really, what I try to do. People come to a fork in the road. They’re confused. They don’t know which way to take. I just put up a signpost: ‘Not that way. This way.’"

“Girls emerge from there as refined young ladies well-versed in etiquette and manners, both of which you are sorely lacking. There’ll be girls and boys there that are around your age and just like you. Maybe you’ll even make friends with some of them.”

“But I don’t want to be one of those girls.”

Your mother entered the room, curious as to what was causing so much commotion. “Which is precisely why you must go. I cannot let your unbridled nature ruin your chances for a respectable future. Remember your courtesies, young lady. You will thank us for this. A lady, especially a Skeffington, needs to know how to control her temper!”

“Fanny, please.” Though she meant well, her presence and comment certainly weren’t helping. Your father turned to you with apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry, but we have to do what’s best for you, sweetheart. You’ll be angry with me at first, but you’ll see that this is for your own good!”

“I won’t do it. I’m not like those girls. I won’t go! I won’t go!” You fumed and angrily threw objects across the room, uncaring if they were breakable or not.

“Dr. Jaquith, could you leave us for now? I and the servants will get her all packed and ready to go and we’ll meet you outside within the hour. If you could just wait for us in the foyer?”

Forty-five minutes later, your bags were packed. Dr. Jaquith walked out to his car, concerned as he helped Soames load your bags into the trunk. He didn’t see you spying down from your bedroom window, just staring at him with that strange, blank look. Five more minutes passed, and Dr. Jaquith, your father, and yourself were in the car and on your way to the train station. You turned around in the backseat and looked out the window as Uncle George, Fanny, your mother, and the servants watched you go and waved goodbye. You put on a smile and waved back, but once the car pulled out of the drive, your smile faded. You seemed vaguely troubled as Dr. Jaquith drove, your father in the front passenger seat. You didn’t pay attention to their conversation. You were too deep in thought. Even when the three of you were on the train, you didn’t say a word the entire ride. Neither your father nor Dr. Jaquith pushed you too hard after their first attempts at engaging with you and making conversation failed. They realized you were still angry at them and giving them the silent treatment. They knew they wouldn’t get a word out of you while you were like that, so they let you be. You only focused on either looking out the window or drawing in your sketchbook.

Once you arrived at Cascade, Dr. Jaquith gave you and your father a tour of the facilities.

“The exercise room is over here. The music room is down the hall. The dormitories are upstairs, and you may have seen the playground. You look as if you like playing outdoors.”

Patients, both children and adults, were sitting on benches and sunning themselves, swinging on swings, playing games and sports, etc. So many patients were smiling and seemed to be having fun and enjoying themselves. It really was a beautiful place. It wasn’t at all what you thought it would be, nothing like the horror stories you heard, but you still didn’t want to be there. Your father stayed for a few hours to ease you into being there. He knew the transition would be uncomfortable at first, but he couldn’t stay forever. When it came time for him to leave, you cried and clutched onto him, begging him not to go. You didn’t care if you were making a scene. You didn’t care if people were staring at you. You were afraid. Deathly afraid. You didn’t want to be abandoned and left all alone here, surrounded by people you didn’t know. It was only when your father promised you that he’d write every week and call you every day that you relinquished your hold on him.

“Promise me you’ll be a good girl and try to make friends while you’re here?”

“I-I’ll try,” you hiccuped. You did your best to cease your crying and put on a brave face.

Your father nodded. Trying was better than nothing, and he was proud of you for wanting to make an effort. “If you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to call,” he told both you and Dr. Jaquith.

“We will.”

Your father shook hands with Dr. Jaquith before giving you one last hug and kiss on your forehead. Then he was gone.

A violent temper in the home harms the developing brain of the child in the same way as combat harms a soldier. Their PTSD is massively under-diagnosed. Additionally, such emotional harm influences the expression of over nine-hundred genes via epigenetic toward poorer health - survival mode over longevity. The child learning to cope with their own stress in positive ways through meditation, mindfulness, and self-awareness could be the most important thing Job and Fanny could do as parents.

At the end of your lesson, you were fuming at the nurse who doubled as your teacher. Your head pounded and your eyes were sore from constantly staring at the page. You left as soon as the lesson ended. You never wanted to see your nurse ever again. In fact, you would run away from the sanitarium and make your father miss you so much that he would find you and have to take you back home. That would really show him. You loved your father like none other, but he could be stiff at times. He was a great businessman and banker, you reminded yourself, and he was Jewish, which meant he was held to different standards than most men, though you didn’t understand why. Why did it matter if you could or couldn’t read? You would, in all likelihood, get married to a handsome and intelligent man when you were older, and you’d manage the house while your husband managed the money and signed all the important papers, just like Mother and Daddy did. Miss Trask tried to get you to do your homework, but you just ran away from her. You could hear her calling after you, but you didn’t listen and kept running. She couldn’t keep up and you left her in the dust as you ran and ran and ran until you reached your sanctuary. Here, you could be alone, enjoy peace and quiet as you listened to the sounds of nature. You climbed one of the trees and tried to forget all about your lesson by doodling in your sketchbook. You didn’t have any particular live subject. You just let your imagination run free and drew whatever came to mind, like how Dr. Jaquith showed you to do when you first met. Here you could lose track of time. You could stay here for hours, even as the sun set and the sky began to darken. You’d stay in the great outdoors forever if you could.

There was a quick, rapid knock on the door, and Dr. Jaquith looked up, frowning. Everyone knew not to disturb him when he worked on his patients’ documents. It must’ve been something important. He called for them to enter. It was Miss Trask, one of the nurses.

“Dr. Jaquith,” she began. Then she stopped talking.

“Yes?” he said, looking straight at her. “You came into my office during a critical time. Clearly you have something important to tell me.” Dr. Jaquith could see her swallow away the lump in her throat. His fingers drummed the desk, and he glanced at the stack of documents on it.

“Sir, it’s about Miss Skeffington.”

When Miss Trask said your name, Dr. Jaquith’s attention was immediately piqued. His stomach dropped. He wanted to swallow nervously just out of habit, but refrained from doing so. Oh, God, what happened this time? He thought you had been doing so well in your therapy sessions, but he knew that slip-ups and relapses into old habits could still happen. You’ve had them before. After all, this was a long process and progress wouldn’t be obvious right away. But did you do something as bad as break another kid’s arm again? Or something worse? Miss Trask, though, couldn’t tell his mind was going a mile a minute with worrying, for he kept his same stoic expression. A perfect mask of impassivity that took over a decade of hands-on experience to perfect.

“She’s not doing well in any of her classes. She’s failing almost everything except for P.E., and is especially struggling with her reading. I’ve been doing my best to help her, but she’s being stubborn and won’t cooperate. Now she’s run away again. I tried to chase her, but she was too fast and slippery.”

“Oh, dear. Again? Not to worry, I know where she is. I’ll see to her now. Thank you, Miss Trask. You may go.”

She nodded and left the room.

Dr. Jaquith looked over at the pile of documents on his desk. He had managed to finish the bulk of them, and had hoped he’d be able to finish them all, but it looked like they’d have to wait until tomorrow. He had to see to you, see what the trouble was right then. If Miss Trask personally came to his office to seek out his help instead of that of another nurse or Dr. Brine, it must’ve been more than serious. It must’ve been an emergency. Unlike his paperwork, you unfortunately couldn’t wait until tomorrow. He left his office, giving only a nod of acknowledgement or a quick but polite “Hello” or “Good Afternoon” to the patients and staff he passed by as he walked briskly through the sanitarium. Not wanting to alarm anyone unnecessarily or look unprofessional, he refrained from running or sprinting, but his pace was fast enough to signal to people that he had somewhere to be and couldn’t be bothered to slow down or stop for even a moment. He went through the gardens, then followed a dirt trail in the woods for about five minutes. It was technically outside the bounds of the grounds of Cascade, but was still safe. It was a perfect place where you could wander, explore, climb up trees…you could do almost anything there. Sure enough, Dr. Jaquith found you seated on a low yet sturdy tree branch of one of the larger trees. You looked to be sketching, so deep in thought that you didn’t hear his approaching footsteps. He cleared his throat so as to alert you to his presence without startling you too much. He didn’t want to make you jump and fall out of the tree. You weren’t very far off the ground, but you could still hurt yourself if you fell.

Your heart stopped. You turned to look at him and, seeing him standing there, it was as if you realized the danger you were in with his arrival. You swung your legs over and jumped off the branch and to your feet, smoothed your clothing and stood before him. Even though he grinned at you, you felt a shiver pass up your spine. You had been more than a little frightened of him.

“I want to talk to you.”

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you.”

“I thought you might.”

“Miss Skeffington, does Miss Trask know that you are skipping your lessons to go wandering in the woods by yourself?” He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from you. “Why aren’t you in your lesson, Miss Skeffington?” he asked, cutting to the point.

“I don’t like my nurse. She’s a boring tutor.”

“You’re learning to read, amongst other important life skills. Lots of children your age don’t get that opportunity. Someday you will thank me for everything I’ve done for you,” he said.

You glared up at him. “I just don’t like reading. I’m not good at it, and I can’t do it. No matter how hard I try, I don’t understand the letters.”

“Is that so? Have you told Miss Trask?”

The mention of that odious woman gave you flashbacks to your lessons with her and no matter how much you tried to forget it by coming here as some form of escapism, the memory of your horrid experience with her just minutes ago was brought to the forefront of your mind.

~

“What are you doing here?” you asked as Miss Trask entered your room.

“You need to study outside of your lessons,” she said firmly. “Where are your books?”

“I just got out of my lesson! I need a break!” you cried.

“Your mind is sharpest right after a lesson,” she said. “Do you want to learn to read or not?”

“I don’t want to learn!” you snapped. You had crossed a line, and you knew it.

Miss Trask’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You will read those books, Miss Skeffington, and I won’t ask you again,” she said in a low voice. “Your father went to a lot of trouble to get you treatment and an education here. You wouldn’t want to disappoint your father, would you?”

“No…”

A determined look flashed across Miss Trask’s face. “There was a boy that was like you. He was angry with me too, but now he can read. Ever since, I thought this might happen again with another child… and it looks to me like that child is you.”

“And how did he learn how to read?”

“I sat him down with me for three hours each day, which is exactly what I’ll do with you.”

“Miss Trask!” you cried.

She cut you off. “Be quiet. Don’t dramatize.”

“But three hours!”

“I expect you downstairs with your book in five minutes.”

You shrunk back, fighting back the tears that threatened to escape your eyes. You hated disappointing your father. He was your hero. But Miss Trask just didn’t understand how hard it was for you to read! You watched as she left the room. You didn’t move for a moment and, when she was gone, you threw your easel against the wall. You picked up the book and tried to read it, determined to show both Miss Trask and your father, but the more you looked at it, the worse your headache got and you found you just couldn’t do it. You didn’t want to visit Miss Trask, but maybe if you just studied for many hours at once, you could get it all done and over with. Hugging the book, you stomped past your broken easel and out the room. Every step taken was torturous. You really, really did not want to see Miss Trask. What did that old lady know anyways? Why couldn’t Dr. Jaquith have given you a fun nurse to be your teacher? You bet even he himself would’ve been more fun than Miss Trask. She was waiting at the table, but you walked right past her. When she called after you, you ran. You were worried that if you didn’t get away, you’d do something you’d regret. You were sent three hundred miles away to be educated. But what your parents didn't understand was you only wanted to step just outside your fence...so you did.

~

“I tried, but she just said I’m not working hard enough. But I am working hard! Really, really hard, Dr. Jaquith! I spent two hours looking at the same page, and when Miss Trask asked me to read aloud, I just couldn’t do it,” you argued. “All I do is stare at the page. I know the letters. I see her write them, and I can go through the alphabet. She says my penmanship is wonderful, but when I have to read a word, the letters move around on the page and I can’t make any sense of them!”  

Dr. Jaquith nodded, and you were quiet. He had heard of this sort of learning disability before, but it was rare. So rare that not very many teachers had ever personally dealt with it before, or even acknowledged it. You gathered your things that were resting by the base of the tree, including the book that Miss Trask was trying to force you to read. “I’m going to go now, if that’s okay. I don’t like to stay too long in the same place. Dr. Brine might find me.” You made to leave, but Dr. Jaquith’s voice stopped you in your tracks as he turned around to face you.

“Where are you off to now?”

You stared at him, fingers clutching the book. You wanted to run, but you knew you needed to be brave. He wasn't really a monster. He was frightening, but he was still your doctor and he only wanted to help you. Tina Durrance, so far the only child - heck, the only person you befriended - got along with him, and you trusted her judgment. If she could trust him, you probably could too. “I’m going to Miss Trask,” you said shortly. “I’m learning to read.”

“When you said you didn’t understand the letters… Are you mixing up the letters on the page?” Dr. Jaquith asked in a gentle tone.

“Um…” How did he know that was your problem? Did Miss Trask tell him? Or maybe Charlotte did? He was her husband, after all. But Mother and Father were husband and wife too, and they didn’t tell each other much, if anything. Maybe, as your doctor, he just had a way of knowing. Like a sixth sense. “Yes…”

“Just like some children that came before you, or so l hear,” he said. “You don’t need to go to Miss Trask anymore. I’ve already cancelled her. She'd only further bore you to tears with her lessons. It looks like she already has.”

He had a point. More than once you woke up with your face buried in a book. Books were makeshift pillows for you many times. Every time it happened, you panicked slightly but, by the sky outside your window, you knew it wasn’t time for supper yet. You’d always sigh with relief, then pick up the book.

“But I have to learn to read so Daddy will be happy,” you snapped, embarrassed.

“Yes, we must keep your father happy.”

“I need to go.” When you turned away, Dr. Jaquith gently laid a hand on your shoulder, turning you back to face him. You froze, remembering what your classmates had told you about shrinks. Dr. Jaquith looked kind of funny, but could he really be a monster like the inhumane doctors at insane asylums?

“D-Doctor,” you stammered, voice squeaking. You knew you’d been impertinent and were afraid he’d call you on it. You had been acting like you were no longer his patient, like you'd become a member of his staff with how often you tried to test and push boundaries.

“I have a proposition to make to you. Mightn’t Charlotte be your nurse instead? She will teach you to read.”

“Do you really mean it?”

“Well, I’m crazy, but if you promise to behave yourself and not to do anything like what you and Tina did again without asking my permission first.” His tone was final, but soft. It was true he was probably softer with you than most doctors were with children, but it was because you reminded him so much of his dear, sweet Charlotte. “I’d also teach you if I could, but I’m afraid my days are sacrosanct and I don’t have the luxury of the time necessary to properly dedicate to one-on-one lessons. Charlotte, however, doesn’t have anything to do with her time, so she’ll be teaching you instead. She’s read a lot and, like me, she’s even stumbled on some of the studies of the human brain that recorded other children with the same problems you were having.”

“You’d do that? Just for me?”

“Of course. We’re here to help you.”

“So Charlotte is going to be my new nurse?”

“Not just your new nurse. She’ll be your friend, if you’ll have her. She’ll stay with you. Pay attention to you. Make you feel wanted and important. Go back to your room for now. I’ll speak with both Charlotte and the other nurses and doctors about the changes in your scholarly pursuits. You won’t learn to read by supper, I’m afraid. You’ll have to come back each day, but I promise you Charlotte will make it much more painless than Miss Trask’s method. You’ll be reading in no time. Once you learn how to read, a great many worlds will open to you, worlds beyond this one that your imagination wasn’t able to comprehend before.”

Your lips quivered for a moment before breaking into a shy smile. You looked to be on the verge of tears again, but it was happy tears that time. You suddenly hugged Dr. Jaquith and he didn’t know what else to do other than stroke your hair. Though you didn’t say anything, he knew this was your way of thanking him. You gave him one more tight squeeze around his waist before letting go and stepping back.

“You're only on probation. Remember what it says in the Bible, ‘The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.’”

“How does it feel to be the Lord?”

“Not so very wonderful since the Free Will bill was passed. Too little power.”

And then you ran off. He watched you go, slightly amused, but slightly exasperated at your behavior. You were often unpredictable, always keeping him on his toes. He still remembered the day you and Tina skipped your lessons and went to the park to play without permission. That was a big offense, but since you and Tina were both found unharmed and it was the first time either of you had smiled or laughed in days, you were both given only a mild punishment and had to promise Dr. Jaquith that if you wanted to leave the grounds again, you’d have to ask him or a nurse for permission first so you could have a trusted adult to watch you. Maybe he liked your impertinence. Just a smidge. No day at Cascade was ever boring with you around, that was for sure.

You had been visiting Charlotte ever since. With Charlotte as your teacher, you were able to see improvements you never thought possible. Even Miss Trask praised you when you actually read two pages aloud and only had to pause a few times. What really confused you though was that you were actually starting to like your lessons. What would Mother say? Perhaps Father would be happy for you. Charlotte was kind to you and very patient when you made mistakes. She was constantly egging you on, but in a way that showed she really cared.

“You know this word,” she said as you hovered over the same word for over a minute. “You can do it...”

“Elfan... No, that’s not right.” The letters were moving again. “El...eh…Elephant!”

Charlotte applauded you, and you blushed. You then read the full paragraph aloud:

“‘She was a happy little train. Her cars were full of good things for boys and girls. There were all kinds of toy amin…animals. Gir…Giraffes with long necks, teddy bears with no necks, and even a baby el…elph…elephant. There were all kinds of dolls. Dolls with blue eyes and yellow hair, dolls with brown eyes and brown hair, and the funniest toy clown you ever saw. There were toy trucks, airplanes, and boats. There were picture books, games, and drums to play. The little train carried every kind of toy that boys or girls could want.’”

“Wonderful!” She said, “Wonderful! Can you read the next paragraph?”

“‘But that was not all. The little train carried good things to eat, too. Big, round oranges...fat, red apples...long, yellow ban…banan…nana… bananas...fresh, cold milk...and lawl…loli…lollipops to eat after dinner. The little train was taking all these good things to the other side of the mou…mountain.” Your voice went up a notch at the end. You glanced up at Charlotte, praying you'd gotten the paragraph mostly right and, by her smile, you knew you had. And again she applauded you.

“I did it! I’m learning to read, Charlotte! You’re the best!”

You kept improving, and you actually sought out books to try and read. Most of them you couldn't, but you could understand a lot more than you could before. Four days later, you were in yet another lesson with Charlotte. She and Dr. Jaquith no longer frightened you, and the words of the other kids at school seemed to fade from your memory. Those kids had no idea what they were talking about. Charlotte was ever so nice.

June 1926

Today a new girl came to Cascade. Her name is Christine. She is close to my age. Maybe I can be friends with her. I really like her, but I’ve never been good to new people. Nobody else seems to like her, so she must be a really awkward person. That’s okay, because I’m awkward too. I promised Daddy I would try to make friends. I overheard Charlotte and Miss Trask talking about her.

“By the way, her room is next to yours, so you’ll share the same bathroom. Don't be disturbed if you hear her crying. She has spells of it. Just ignore it. It’s one of her little tyrannies, like refusing to eat. Just ignore that too. Only if you could manage to get a little food into her tonight, it would help.”

“I’ll try.”

She was sitting alone at a table, a puzzle in front of her. She wasn’t at all interested in working on it, though.

“How’s it coming?”

“All right.”

“What’s it supposed to be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Here’s the little girl’s other slipper. Do you mind if I join you?” You sat down next to her. “What’s the title of the picture? Oh, ‘The Proposal.’ I’ll collect all the pink pieces, that is, if you don’t mind. Of course, some people prefer to do a puzzle alone. How long have you been at Cascade?”

“Ten days. Nearly eleven.”

“You don’t like it much, do you?”

“No.”

“Neither did I at the end of ten days. The first two weeks are the worst.”

“I shall never like it.”

“Do you want to go home?”

“No.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. My mother doesn’t want me at home. That’s why it’s helping Father for me to be here.”

“My mother doesn’t want me at home either. But Daddy said being here would be good for me. I didn’t believe him at first, but he was right. I stay here for Daddy. I know it’s wrong to have favorites, but I love my daddy more than my mother.”

“So do I.”

Whenever either you or Tina were feeling homesick, Charlotte made you feel better by helping you fall asleep or taking you out for ice cream and letting you call your dads.

“It’s me, Tina. Don’t be afraid. What’s the matter? Oh, Tina.”

“Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t till you’re asleep. Tell me, what’s the matter?”

“I’m ugly and mean, and nobody likes me.”

“You?”

“I’m not pretty in the least. You know I’m not.”

“Well, whoever wants that kind of prettiness, Tina? There’s something else you can have if you earn it, a kind of beauty.”

“What kind?”

“Something that has nothing to do with your face. A light that shines from inside you because you’re a nice person. You think about it. Someday you’ll know I’m right.”

“Will they like me then?”

“Who are they?”

“Everybody. All the kids at school, Miss Trask, and the nurses and the doctors. There must be something awfully wrong with me.”

“Do you like them? The kids at school, and Miss Trask, and the nurses and the doctors?”

“No, I hate them.”

“That’s something else you’ve got to grow up with. If you want people to like you, you’ve got to like people. That’s why Miss Trask asked you to cooperate, and that’s what Dr. Jaquith means when he tells you to play the game.”

“I bet you’re only fooling me.”

“You try it and see. In the meantime, if it’ll help you any, I like you. I think you’re very pretty, and very sweet.”

“All right?”

“All right.”

“Why are you so good to me?”

“Because somebody was good to me once when I needed somebody. Now, go to sleep. Close your eyes and let your muscles go all limp. That’s better. I’ll tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was afraid. A little girl who was afraid because she thought she was alone…”

“Listen, Tina. There’s the telephone booth. And here's my change purse. Do you think your father will be home tonight?”

“You mean I can call him now?”

“That’s exactly what I mean. Go ahead.”

“Help me, will you, please? I’m not sure I can run it.”

“Of course.”

“Number, please.”

“Long distance, please.”

“Long distance.”

“I want to put in a person-to-person call to...”

“Jeremiah Duveaux Durrance. Mount Vernon 2940.”

“...to Mr. Jeremiah Duveaux Durrance. Mount Vernon 2940.”

“2940?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Deposit 50 cents, please.”

“All of that?”

Depending on whose turn it was, either you or Tina would sit at the table with Charlotte so whoever was on the phone with their dad could have some semblance of privacy. It was your turn.

“I want to put in a person-to-person call to...Mr. Job Skeffington. Charles Street 2926.”

If Dr. Jaquith was the Lord, then Charlotte was an angel.

Job Skeffington hadn’t gotten much sleep the past few days, in part because the fools over at Wall Street were shortsighted and wouldn’t know whether to buy or sell or invest if common sense slapped them in the face, but mostly because he laid awake at night thinking about you. He had been pouring over documents and filling in terms and conditions and signatures all morning but, after lunch, he found himself again sat in his study, staring at a half-blank page as he tried to draft a letter to you. The postage stamp on your letter was not neatly in the top right-hand corner of the envelope, yet creatively positioned as if its landing place was an act of random joy. Job could only suppose that it was your first attempt at sending your own letter and he found himself smiling as he opened and read it. Never before had putting his thoughts to paper been so difficult. What could he have possibly said to you that he hadn’t already said over the phone?

My dear daughter,

I was sorry to see you in tears when I left. They say we cannot feel the pain of another, but your screams were agony seeping into my skin. I took it in, let myself feel it, and stayed right there to radiate the love I felt for you. Daddy understood - you were crying because you were being left alone. But today I made a discovery - All people are alone in some ways and some people are alone in all ways. Even after someone is grown up, she can be alone.

Dr. Jaquith told me that once you mastered being alone, then you were ready for the company of others. That didn’t make it easy though. When everyone's life journey separated from your own, when the only heart beating in this house belonged to you, it wasn't something most children would be able to take. There were days when your brain became a cold fire. Perhaps that was what others called panic, but when you were alone, who were you going to call? I guess the good news is that, in time, after many unpleasant days, you’ll be okay. Then you’ll find joy again, or maybe it will find you. After that, your journey can change, take on new and exciting adventures… I wish I could wave a cure for you who are alone, but there are some things you must learn the hard way, my love.

He couldn’t get your tear-stained face out of his mind. He didn’t particularly like upsetting his daughter, but he was determined to give you the best life he could. Being a father as well as a banker and businessman could be difficult at times. It was a delicate balancing act, and he worried he’d tip too far to one side. You had been much more rebellious than Fanny, so he at least should have been grateful that he didn’t have to deal with that when it came to her, but it didn’t make having only one daughter at home much easier. It had been two weeks, and while Dr. Jaquith kept him informed, he had to be honest about how you were doing, even if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He told him that, while you were showing signs of improvement, progress was slow. Though he tentatively suggested two weeks at Cascade, as the two weeks almost came to an end, he told Job that you’d have to remain at Cascade for the foreseeable future, maybe even another year or two. To take you out of Cascade prematurely would only be detrimental to your treatment and everything you’d worked so hard for would be lost. He trusted Dr. Jaquith’s judgment and agreed to keep you there for as long as the doctor saw fit, but that didn’t make him miss you any less. He talked to you on the phone every day, but he regrettably hadn’t been able to come see you at all in the two weeks you’d been away. Just when he thought he could get away, he was pulled back in by something. He couldn’t seem to catch a break from the incessant phone calls, business meetings, and so-called “emergencies” that his partners and associates seemed to find themselves in. Not since Russia had declared war on Germany in 1914 had he witnessed mass-panicking of this magnitude. He was heartsick for you. So was your sister, Fanny. She wrote you letters too and he felt awful that he couldn’t take her with him to visit you yet. He was broken out of his thoughts by his phone ringing.

“Hello? Yes? Hello? Hello? Hello?”

“Hello? Hello, Daddy.”

“My darling girl! Anything wrong?”

“Oh, hello, Daddy. Are you all right? Oh, Daddy, I just wanted to hear you speak to me. When are you and Fanny coming up to see me? I'm so lonesome here. Why can't you come tomorrow?”

“I’m sorry, darling, but I’m afraid I can’t. Tomorrow I’m meeting Mr. Parker at the station. We’re leaving at an early hour for a business trip up country.”

“But, Daddy, you promised.” Your voice was almost a whine as you said it, but you couldn’t mask your disappointment after waiting for so long, only to be told you’d have to wait even more. Two weeks felt like a lifetime.

“I know, I know. But I have other commitments that unfortunately can’t wait and need to be attended to first. It’s all rather dull, but it’s very important I finish with the bulk of my work before handing it off to someone else. Dr. Jaquith has been telling me what a good girl you’re being and I’m so sorry to have to break my promise, but as soon as I can get away, Fanny and I will come see you. The next time I see you, I’ll make it up to you. That’s a promise I will not break. Do you remember your promise you made me about making friends?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Have you had any luck?”

“Well… I’m not going to have a nurse anymore. I’m just going to have Charlotte. She’ll be my... What are you?”

“Your friend.”

“Yes. She’s going to be my friend. And she’s from Boston. And she’s ever so nice.”

“Tell her t…”

“What’s that, Daddy?”

“Tell her ‘thank you’.”

“He said to tell you thank you.”

“Charlotte sounds like a lovely person, but have you made friends with any of the other children?”

“Well… I did make one friend. Her name is Tina Durrance. Really it’s Christine, but she wants me to call her Tina. She was so unhappy here, but I’ve gotten to know her.”

“That’s such wonderful news! I'm glad to hear you’re coming out of your shell. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

“It’s just one friend.”

“One is better than none. And if you ask me, it sounds like you have three very good friends. Keep at it, and I’m sure you’ll make more in time.”

“And just as soon as Dr. Jaquith said we could, Charlotte made plans to take us camping in the woods. Tina adores camping, just like me. Of course, I couldn’t do it without your permission. I wouldn’t. We’re supposed to be heading out tomorrow, but if you want me to stay and study…”

“No, I want you to go. Camping sounds like a wonderful break for her and for you. Daddy’s got to go now, darling, but I’ll call you again tomorrow at lunch, as always. Have fun on your camping trip. I love you. Goodbye.”

“I love you too, Daddy. Goodbye.” You hung up the phone and turned to Charlotte. “Thank you for letting me call him. Thank you, thank you.”

The next morning, it was Saturday. Time for you, Tina, and Charlotte to go camping. It was your favorite activity. You loved it just as much as you loved your art.

“There you are, Mr. Skeffington. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Hello.”

“Good to see you again. Where’s Mrs. Skeffington? Isn’t she with you?”

“No, I’m afraid not. She had a prior engagement that she couldn’t cancel or reschedule, so I’ve brought her cousin, George Trellis, with me in her stead. He’s my daughter Fanny’s godfather and like an uncle to both of my girls. George, this is Dr. David Jaquith.”

Dr. Jaquith and George shook hands cordially, but the disappointment in the doctor’s eyes was hard to miss. “Well… I can’t say I’m not disappointed that her mother isn’t here to see her, especially after so many months of hard work, but I’m glad you’re here in her stead, Mr. Trellis. it’s very nice to meet you.”

“And same to you, Doctor.”

“And of course, you remember Fanny, my daughter. Say hello, Fanny.”

“Hello, Dr. Jaquith.”

“Hello, young Fanny. It’s good to see you. I’m glad you could come along to see your sister. Maybe you could help to lift her spirits.”

“Sorry we’re late. We lost our way a bit. Tell us, how is she?” George asked.

“Better every week. In fact, she’s almost well, but she doesn’t believe it. The prospect still looks dark to her. Going through a sickness like hers is like going through a tunnel. It’s pretty dark right up to the last few hundred yards.”

“Have you seen my daughter yet?”

“Literally speaking, no, but I did talk to her. Not that she told me anything. As I said, she’s in low spirits. You’ll find her feeling depressed today because this morning, I told her she’s a fledgling now.”

“A fledgling?”

“Well, it’s time for her to get out of the nest and try her own wings. Contemplation of going home has struck her pretty hard. I haven’t told her there’s any alternative.”

“Then you think well of my alternative?”

“It’s a gift from Heaven. But we won’t tell her about it till you’ve gone. Now, don’t expect to find her looking well. She’s a pretty sick girl.”

You were in your room, painting and cleaning with Charlotte. You hung up some of your paintings to dry as she did some tidying up around the room. You were a mess. Your hands, face, hair, and clothes were stained with both dirt and paint. Clearly you had been playing outside earlier in the day. Your father didn’t expect anything else, and it was a welcome sight. Your eyes lit up and you smiled when you saw him, Fanny, and Uncle George, but they quickly dulled again and your lips drooped lower when you suddenly remembered what Dr. Jaquith told you just that morning. Your excitement had been overshadowed by the realization of what their presence here meant. Fanny was quick to run up to you and give you a hug. You hugged her back.

“Darling, I’m so glad to see you. Dr. Jaquith says you’re much better, almost well,” your father said.

“Yes, that’s what he says.”

“Mr. Skeffington, Fanny, Mr. Trellis, this is my wife, Charlotte. She’s chief of my police force here and has been acting as Miss Skeffington’s nurse. Charlotte, this is Mr. Job Skeffington, Mr. George Trellis, and young Fanny, her father, her mother’s cousin who’s like an uncle to her, and, of course, her twin sister.”

“How do you do?”

“What’s this, sweetheart?” Your father put his arm around your shoulder and kissed you on the side of the head as he looked over at the canvas you were currently working on.

“I’ve been helping Miss Skeffington with her painting. Now you’ve come, if you’ll excuse me, I have a million things to do.” Charlotte and her husband shared a knowing smile as she left the room.

“How’s Mother?” you asked nervously as you played with your hands and picked at your fingernails before stuffing them in the pockets of your trousers.

“Fine. She’s been having a wonderful time entertaining, paying visits to all her friends and blessing them with her presence at parties. She’s spending the day with Mrs. Thornton and her sister at present.”

“Has Dr. Jaquith told you?”

“Told me what?”

“He says I’m well enough to leave here now. I’ve got to go home. Daddy, I dread it so terribly. I know it’s awful not to want to see Mother, and it’s wrong...”

“Stop, look, and listen. New England conscience on the track.”

“Perhaps you don’t have to go home.”

“Mayn’t I tell her, Dr. Jaquith?” Fanny asked.

“Later, maybe. We’ll see how she behaves.” When you looked at Dr. Jaquith quizzically, he explained, “We have a scheme, your father and I. Your sister knows about it.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not telling you yet. Marvelous chance, though, to use your re-education. Well, my time for pleasure is just about up. I thought I’d show your Uncle George around the place a little. You can show him and your father the rest of the works when we get back. Meet me outside in a minute, Mr. Trellis?”

“Oh, I’ve been thrown out of better places than this, Doctor. Fanny, would you like to come with?” Taking their cue, your Uncle George and Fanny followed Dr. Jaquith out of the room, leaving you and your father alone for a tearful and heartfelt reunion. As soon as the door closed, you hugged your father tight. You didn’t want to let him go. You told him all about your time at Cascade, not sparing any detail of your experiences and adventures, both good and bad. Though you often rambled incoherently in a way all children do, your father avidly listened to every word. He responded to you, asked you questions, matched your energy. He cared about you and your interests, even if they were so different from his own, and that meant the world to you. You couldn’t wait till you could show him the big surprise.

You never cared much for keeping a diary. You tried, but only wrote a handful of entries before your time in Cascade. But Dr. Jaquith said it could be a good outlet for you to let out all your pent up emotions and encouraged you to take it up again. Since you would be at Cascade for the next two weeks, possibly even longer depending on how you progressed, it seemed to be a good time to start keeping one again. When your time at Cascade went from two weeks to two years, you were so glad you followed Dr. Jaquith’s advice. Journaling the day’s events and what you were thinking and feeling helped you in more ways than one. Even after you were deemed well enough to return home and your time at Cascade came to an end, you still kept the diary going.

September 1927

It’s finally Daddy’s day off today but I can’t show him my drawings or how I’m coming along in my reading just yet. Daddy is so busy. He said that he was sorry, but he was hung up with Thomas, the lawyer. When he wasn’t sleeping, he was talking to Thomas on the phone. He seemed mad at him. I don’t know what lawyers do, but it sounds boring and tedious. Daddy is always working now, so I only see him on his day off. The babysitter’s name is Hannah. We talk about Daddy sometimes. I think she is Daddy’s friend. I am glad Daddy has someone who cares about him. She picked Fanny up from school yesterday since Daddy was too busy. Daddy said never to go with strangers, so Fanny had to call him just to be sure Hannah could be trusted. Hannah’s nice, but I don’t really like having babysitters.

You found yourself outside your father’s study. He would be finished with his paperwork any moment. You waited there, going over again and again Charlotte’s cheers in your mind. The door opened, and your father stared down at you, as if surprised to find you there. You drew yourself up as tall as could be, but he still towered over you.

“Do you need something, sweetheart?” he asked.

You nodded, but didn’t answer. Without a word, you strode right inside his study. You heard your father close the door behind you and follow.

“Is something wrong? Are you hurt? Sick?” he asked you.

You shook your head.

“Have you finished your studies today?”

You reached up and took the first bit of parchment off the stack.

“Careful, darling, those are important documents. They can't be lost—”

“Public notice… Pending dem…demo…demolition… This property will be demol…demolished as ordered by the Department of Ins…inspec…inspections and Lice…Licenses.” You looked up from the random sentence and hid your smile. Then you continued, and you read the entire letter out loud to your father. “No person may remove this notice prior to the approval date which the demolition may commence. The owner of this property has not been found and therefore this dwelling unit and the surrounding land will be placed under ownership of the state. The area is to become a natural wildlife refuge until further need or sale approval by the state courts. The structure and fou…founday…foundation of this property are not stable. Anyone entering the premis..is…is…premises under permit must take pre…preca…precautions and care. Multiple injuries have occurred due to the structural inte…inte…gritty…integrity of this property.” When you finished, he actually laughed, and you felt your cheeks go red. You loved it when you pleased her father. You had seen his smile more times than you could count, but you rarely heard a laugh.

“You see, darling? You are a Skeffington! You always had it in you!” he said. “You've got quite the attitude, but I'm proud of you. Keep up the good work.” He touched your face and then embraced you. “Come now, supper is waiting for us.”

You beamed at him, and you headed to the dining room together. You recounted the story to Uncle George, and he laughed first and then congratulated you. Then he hugged you. After supper, you returned to your room to practice some more and then prepare for bed. You still had much farther to go, and the letters still got jumbled, but you were determined to work hard. The next morning, you once again found yourself pouring over a book. You finished reading the paragraph aloud and looked up at Marie. She was absent-mindedly working on something with a needle.

“Um… Marie, I have a question,” you said.

“Ask away,” she urged you.

“Well, it’s just about something that I overheard. One of the neighbors said a Miss Rosalyn seduced her husband. She called her a whore. Marie, what does seduce mean? And what’s a whore?”

The needle suddenly slipped and pricked her finger. You felt bad for giving her an ouchie.

October 1927

Although they live in the same house, Mother and Daddy hardly speak to each other. Mother was very upset because Daddy had lady friends that came to visit him in his office at the bank, but Mother has gentlemen friends that come to see her at the house, so I don’t see the difference. Why was it wrong for Daddy to have friends? Mother and Daddy are always telling Fanny and I the importance of making friends. Can’t they just all get together for a play date like me and Fanny did at recess? It’s after dinner. Fanny and I have been sent to our rooms. Mother and Uncle George are arguing with each other. They're talking about divorce. Weren’t Mother and Daddy supposed to work everything out? Did something happen? What changed?

“Five secretaries in a row? I’m not that forgiving.”

“The second secretary must have forgiven him for the first. The third for the second, and so on. Can’t you be as forgiving as a secretary?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m very grateful to Job for making it so easy for me to divorce him. I must admit, at first I was very angry. And then suddenly, I realized that the five secretaries were five gates to freedom.”

“And now you can live with your conscience.”

“Well, yes.”

“I hope the two of you will be very happy.”

I thought I was being so careful, but Mother saw me peeking from the railing.

“What do you think you're doing, young lady? Upstairs. It’s books and study. Besides, your father and I have something to discuss.”

November 1927

I think I’m finally finding my study groove. My test scores are really good. I’m worried about how much my parents are fighting recently, though. They were yelling at each other again today. I asked Mother why, but she wouldn’t say.

December 1927

This is it. Test day tomorrow. But this Monday isn’t going to be like other Mondays. It’s different because it’s the last big exam day before the end of the semester. Daddy told me I should be proud of myself since I've worked so hard, so l’m feeling great. He’s not around very much, but I know he loves me, and I love him. Daddy, I’m going to ace this test tomorrow for both you and Mother!

December 1927

I did really well in all my tests! I studied really hard. I still have two more semesters to go, but I wanted to show Mother and Daddy. Maybe they will become happy if they see how smart I am. It’s winter break and I’m going to enjoy not having to do any lessons for the next week or two.

January 1928

Where’s Daddy? We haven’t seen him since Christmas. Uncle George won’t say. Fanny and I have been talking and playing almost all day, every day, except for the time we have to do our homework. Homework is boring, but it’s nice being in the same room together.

February 1928

It’s the day after Valentine’s Day. Usually it’s Mother’s favorite day of the year because she gets spoiled with even more attention and affection than she does on any other day of the year. Abundant gifts of chocolates, flowers, and other pretty and sparkly things from men take up so much space in the house, the servants don’t know what to do with it all. I don’t think even Mother knows what to do with it all. This year was much of the same. The men gave her presents and impassioned proclamations of love, but there was no payoff. But, today, she was very angry and upset. When I innocently asked her where Daddy was, she snapped at me and said he wasn’t coming home anymore. What happened? Did Daddy get a time out?

February 1928

Mother keeps getting visitors. Peter is still here. He showed up again with a smile on his face and flowers in his hands from the new place he was raving about. He was here last week too. I now know why the neighbors say Mother and Peter are more than friends. I would have called them a couple too if only Mother wasn't so…so… I don’t know what the right word is. I mean, she spends more time looking in a mirror than looking at people when she’s talking to them! Today, Peter got Mother a gift made from Goldstone. It’s already her second since he came here! Are there other presents I don’t know about? He bought Fanny and me a bunch of books and toys. He must’ve thought, that should be enough to keep us occupied, right? The last present I got from Daddy was at Christmas. When he still lived here. I know Peter is doing this just because he’s worried about us. He wants us to feel more comfortable with him in our home. Did he really think these things would be enough to keep us occupied and out of his way? It might be enough for Fanny, but not me. I feel like he’s giving way too much to Mother. I know I’m immature to think this way. Daddy hates when people are immature. Everything seems to be going well now that they’ve been going out on dates. But I don’t trust Peter whatever-his-last-name-is. He’s trying to take Daddy’s place. I won’t let him. I’ve taken a permanent offense at him and I’ll make sure he knows it. I’ll look him right in the eye and I’ll tell him, “I don't know who gave you the right to call my mother your wife. She's not your wife yet and will never be your wife.” I wish Daddy would come back. I need to stop thinking about stupid things.

February 1928

If only Mother and Daddy could make up. Mother, Daddy... Can you try to behave like a happy couple? Or wouldn’t that be rather dishonest? They haven't separated yet, but it is too late. Mother and Daddy are liars. They always told me I need to make up with my friends when we fight. They told me to forgive Sarah whenever she took and broke my stuff. But they won’t make up. Even though they aren’t together anymore, I still hear them fighting over the phone. Sometimes Daddy says he is going to keep Mother away from us. Daddy says that he is going to rescue Fanny and I from Mother. Why can’t they just stay together? Would it kill them to put on a show for a few more days? The thing is, I don't want to give Janie Clarkson any ammunition by extension. I’m “friends” with Brenda, who’s friends with Janie’s son, Jeremy. I know Janie and Mother don’t like each other. Yet Janie keeps trying to go out with Mother to lunch. Grownups are so confusing.

March 1928

I got a letter in the mail. It was one from Brenda again, asking how I was feeling about Mom and Dad’s break up. With a flick of the wrist, I threw it in the trash. It was none of her damn business how I felt. None. Just because Brenda had been the one I’d gone crying to, it didn't give her the right to keep on prying. Nosey parker. She was probably having a good old laugh about it with her friends. I know she’s a blabbermouth and is friends with Jeremy Clarkson. I didn’t tell her anything, so how did she find out? Fucking Jeremy. The twerp always sticks his snotty nose into other people’s business. Like mother, like son. He said his uncle saw Daddy at a speakeasy with a lady who wasn’t Mother. Miss Eleanor Morris. And that Mother was also there with a man who wasn’t Daddy. Max MacMahon. Neither of them knew the other was there, so their running into each other was an unpleasant surprise. Usually he’s full of shit, but this…I don’t want to believe it, but…it’d explain why Daddy is gone so much. I don’t know. I’m still mad at Brenda for telling Jeremy about Mom and Dad. Well, I’d show her. Come exam day I’d get the top grade. If there was anything I didn't understand I’d have Brenda explain it, then I’d go in and beat her. It worked like a charm every time. When Brenda didn't understand something I would just pretend I didn't get it either, even if I did. The phone is ringing. It’s probably Brenda again, something about a family emergency and she needed to talk. The last thing I needed was some crying mess wrecking my day. There’s more important things to do.

You sat at your easel, painting. Your father entered and sat down on one of the chairs. You bid him enter the attic, but you didn’t look at him. You were painting a sophisticated, stylized royal portrait of a fluffy cat dressed like it was a man from the Renaissance era. Why? You saw a stray cat in the neighborhood and thought it was pretty. Other animal portraits were already leaned up against the wall. You were either experimenting or going through a weird phase.

Your father shifted uncomfortably. “We need to talk about last night.”

“Do we?”

“Yes. There are certain things that grownups do, that kids aren't supposed to see. And that was one of them.”

You kept painting. You still didn’t look at him. It was the first time he was home in weeks, and the first thing he did was…that. With another woman. He hadn’t realized that when your mother, uncle, and sister went out for the evening, you had stayed home because you made an excuse that you weren’t feeling well. You didn’t want to believe Jeremy, (you mentally nicknamed him “germy” for good reason) but now you had to, because you had more than just his word. You saw the proof with your own eyes. When he realized you were there and what you had seen, your father was quick to react by hurriedly cleaning himself up and sending Miss Morris home, all but pushing her out the door with a million apologies on his lips. But the damage was done.

“Darling, I need you to listen to me.”

You paused. You deliberately set your paintbrush down and turned to your father. An awkward beat.

“See, when two grownups love each other very, very much, they like to…show that love to each other.”

“I know. They fuck. Like Mrs. Ledger’s basset hounds. Do you love Miss Morris? More than Mother?”

Your father was dumbfounded. You regarded him with a bored, aloof look.

April 1928

I miss you sometimes, Daddy. Today was a cleaning day and Manby found some of your books and cologne bottles that you left. I miss you. I smell your favorite cologne bottle just to remind myself what you used to smell like. Mother got so upset when she saw the bottle. She made me throw them away. I secretly kept one. I miss you, Daddy. Sometimes when you went to visit other places, you’d come back with candy for me and Fanny. You told me that you would write to me if you went somewhere else. That was three weeks ago now. No one wants to tell me if you went somewhere else. The neighbors and servants just tell me to keep my lips zipped. I'm sorry for what I said about Edward and Freddie at dinner. Is that why you aren’t coming to stay at home anymore? I know Mother likes them, I just— I just want you back and didn’t want them to replace you. I miss you, Dad. I love you, Dad.

I haven’t seen you for a while. I wonder when you’ll be back to visit me. Every time I entered Dr. Jaquith’s office, I could smell his tobacco. It reminded me of your study room, even though you don’t smoke. It was the perfect reminder when you were gone for so long. I miss you, Daddy. Mother wrote, but she never visited. She was always busy with her friends. She has no time to spare for me. Sometimes I wonder if Mother loves me. Maybe I should call Charlotte or Manby my mother instead.

For your whole life, seeing the world had only been a dream, but, with your parents’ divorce and your father taking you to Europe with him after gaining full custody of you and Fanny, it could be a reality.

#mr Skeffington #the wolf man #daughters courageous #now voyager #Claude rains #bette davis #crossover au #crossover fic #crossover #pls tag me if you’re inspired by this #I’d love to read it #x reader

[brahkest-fr]

Fuckin uhhh Taro musings and Janus is there

Taro flicked his tail, brushing gently against Janus’ leg who was at the moment spacing out over a stack of dishes messily smeared with this night’s takeout dinner.

“Here I’ll wash those,” he grabbed the stack and moved over to the sink.

His ivory hair was down and ruffled as was its usual state after a night of drinking and going out on the town in drag. He grabbed it up in a clean, tight bun and tied it back, a few strands hanging down the sides of his face. He adjusted his tube dress that was probably a little too short and not so comfortable for chores. He let the sink run and fill up, soapy water engulfing his wrists. He looked back at Janus who simply stood staring with his usual sparkling eyes that were now just a bit hazy with weariness.

Taro uttered a low laugh, “Hah, still buzzed, Janus? I told you, you couldn’t handle it.”

“Whatever grandpa,” he snapped up, “I’m not the one who almost fell down the stairs tonight sober,” he sneered, taking the clip on earrings out of his ear.

Taro’s lipstick stained mouth turned down as he narrowed his eyes, “Hmph, they're new heels and was breaking them in.”

“By breaking your ass?” Janus bent over and held his back in mock pain.

Taro whipped his arm and splashed Janus who scurried away beyond the kitchen into the adjacent living room. He toppled on the couch and groaned after a few snickers at Taro’s direction. The couch was cozy and he was a little groggy from their night out so he lounged, heavy and eyes fluttering, but the itch from his fishnets was nagging. He sluggishly sat up, reaching up his dress to unhook the garters holding up the stockings. He slipped them off and threw them on the coffee table, feeling relieved. After some minutes, Taro strode over with his purse, plopping down on a leather recliner. He undid his hair, letting it fall to his shoulders again and took out a packet of makeup wipes. He snagged a few then threw it to Janus who caught it with some difficulty.

Taro wiped his face, blush and dark eyeliner staining the cloth. He looked to Janus, “You going home or staying here?”

“Do you want me to stay?”

Taro was midway undoing an earring before pausing, “Why do you always answer like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like that! With questions.”

Janus smiled, “I like putting you on the spot.”

“Tch.” Taro gingerly placed his earrings on the table and combed his hair with finely manicured claws dotted with tiny pink petals.

Janus leaned in, half an eye smeared with mascara, smug as ever, “You didn’t answer me.”

Taro squinted, brow raised. Anyone else would have immediately received a sharp hook to the jaw for such brashness but it was never like that with Janus. Maybe a long time ago when they first met and Taro’s opinion of the fae was pond scum adjacent. Even then he couldn’t help but avoid punishing Janus for his impetuosity. He was simply too useful and good at his job.

-

That’s what he would tell himself anyway, as he sat irate in meetings with his officers who would complain about the brash young fae that threw his weight around as if he were a breed larger. Each request to restrain Janus was met with excuses from Taro, many of which were legitimate but others being deeply rooted attempts to disguise his favoritism. It didn’t fool anyone though and no one was surprised a sentimental Taro attached himself to someone else after his wife had left so suddenly. He was never really sure if Janus acted as some substitute for Mellow who was in many ways like him: loud and opinionated and a thorn in his side. The difference was Janus was here. And she was not.

He often tried to suppress those thoughts which he felt were more selfish than genuine. A piece of his life’s puzzle had long since been missing and for some time, Janus felt too lopsided and out of place to fit. He wracked with the idea that Janus could be anything more than a particularly talented goon but that was quickly drowned out by the many imaginings of how they could be something together. As years passed, Taro and Janus saw each other less as boss and goon and more as close friends. Taro persistently kept up appearances but his favoritism would often slip which, in the beginning, surprised Janus who wasn’t very well versed in reading Taro’s stone faced demeanor. Nowadays, he could read him like a book. It gave Taro a sense of weakness, being figured out so easily, but also a sense of comfort. He wanted someone to know him again. It was lonely, being at the top of the world.

Things became harder when Rose hatched. Taro was so desperate to keep what little shred of solace he had with Janus that used Rose to do it. He regretted it deeply but the damage was done. Taro made it his mission to make himself integral to their lives, in some part to atone for his actions and another to gain the sense of family that he longed for. He knew it was selfish and so did Janus but the fae never pushed him away or rejected the help. Taro felt good knowing Janus needed him but the guilt if it all reminded him that it was his fault in the first place. It was wrong of him to throw himself into their lives like a train without brakes but he always gave Janus the opportunity to refuse. He hoped at least, Janus knew that. It was never something the two talked about, always concerning themselves with Rose this and Rose that. Maybe they just avoided conflicting for her sake.

Taro focused much of his attention on Rose to compensate for the emotions running wild in his gut. It was easy to lose himself in the care of a hatchling. He was familiar with the motions, having taken the late night responsibilities of caring for his own kids when Mellow went to sleep. Rose was much like them in the way that the Icewarden was like the Flamecaller. She screamed a lot, bit anything within reach, and persistently tried to rip his whiskers off. He simply could not be anymore proud of the little girl with murder in her eyes laced with a softness reserved for only those closest. He felt himself go back in time with her, back to a period where he was a father and was allowed to be kind and open and vulnerable. But at the same time, she was like sandpaper: chaffing his conscience in painful ways that made him regret being a part of anything at all and yet... smoothed out all the hard edges he built up to protect himself.

He wasn’t keen on admitting it but Rose was everything he wanted in a child. Unlike his own, she was raised in the mob life, trained to defend herself and strike back with a ferocity not unlike his own. She grew up to be crude and calculated despite the cutesy exterior. Taro’s idea of family was twisted and warped by his chosen life path but he felt good - enabled by Rose and Janus, both of whom were very familiar with this unconventional lifestyle. They were the things Mellow and his children weren’t: warm and loving but violent and realistic, tempered by the brutal streets of Hewn City. Mellow... she dreamed of this life but when it came down to it, she couldn’t stay. The stars in her eyes faded once she finally reached the peak of the city’s high rises and looked down on everything she had to crush to get there. So, one day, she left with the children to reevaluate her life and Taro, miserable but understanding, let her. Rose and Janus however? They wouldn’t leave him. That particular thought always hit him like a kick to the gut.

Selfish.

He wasn't supposed to have this slice of happiness but he carved it out all the same with a confidence that disguised pained hesitation.

The first time Taro “mentioned” his feelings to Janus was a cold night on the balcony of his apartment. It was snowing that night and Janus busied himself to catching snowflakes on his tongue that he remarked tasted different than the ones back in Ice. Taro couldn’t be bothered to decipher the intricacies of frozen water and Janus noticed. He leaned on the railing beside Taro and bumped an elbow to his side.

“You alright man? Been kinda spacey today.”

Taro stared out into the heart of Hewn City, mindlessly following cars as they zipped around the grid of streets below. His whiskers drooped ever so slightly, a motion unnoticeable to anyone else but present company, as he mouthed a few nothings then spoke, “Of course I am.”

Janus pursed his lips, “Uh huh. Come on, Taro, you should know by now I’m not stupid.”

Like a book, Taro thought.

“Seriously, Taro. What’s up?”

Taro shifted on the railing, turning around to lean back against it, face to the sky. Snow fluttered down softly, landing on his face where they melted instantly from the flush of heat rising to his cheeks. Janus watched curiously as Taro tilted his head in his direction but just enough to keep his eyes out of full view.

He mumbled, “Been thinking about us.”

Janus perked his ears, “Us? What about us?”

Taro gingerly inched his tufted tail towards Janus’ and it lingered there, longer than it usually did. Janus was all too familiar with Taro’s little mannerisms, slight touches and quirks that he came to learn were the ways he preferred to communicate. It was easier than words for him despite how articulate the imp was normally. In many ways, Taro was as poor at talking about his feelings as Janus was at understanding them but in that moment on the balcony he understood. Taro didn’t look his way but continued hanging his head back, snow catching on the loose strands of hair sticking out of his ponytail. It was a pleasant moment the two cherished in silence, the feeling of mutual understanding as a warm embrace against the chill. Janus didn’t move a muscle in fear of Taro retracting and looked towards the sliding door of the apartment. Rose was inside on the couch, sharpening one of her many knives and oblivious to the two outside.

Janus halfheartedly smiled, not quite sure if he was doing it right, “I getcha.”

“Does it bother you?” Taro’s deep voice was barely audible.

“No, it’s just,” Janus scrunched his face, “I guess I don’t know how to feel about it yet. Sorry if I look weird, I’m just trying to figure it out. You know how it is.”

Taro inched closer, “I know. I just figured I should say something.” He gestured vaguely, “In some...way, before, you know, I die or something.”

“Pff, you’re not that old.”

“I could get assassinated you know. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Janus paused for a serious moment then quipped, “Rose does really like your apartment...”

Taro slapped his tail against Janus’ leg and he jumped away laughing. Times like this would occur over and over again as Taro became more comfortable with his little visions of domestic life with Janus and Rose. He gave away little signs and signals of his affection even if Janus did not always reciprocate, which was fine with him. He was simply happy being allowed to indulge in such gestures, only saddened when he was too embarrassed to be himself in front of Rose who had a rather big mouth and made it obvious that the two were being mushy gushy old men. It was funny how Taro could beat a dragon near to death in his office and order Rose to giddily mop up the blood but shirked at the idea of being too intimate with Janus. Part of him didn’t want to push the fae and another wanted to keep up appearances even though he could hardly care at this point and violently made sure no one else did either. He could be patient though. Janus was perpetually trying to figure himself out and Taro was happy to let him. He had an entire lifetime of coming to terms with his own feelings and wanted to afford Janus the same luxury.

-

Taro twirled a hair around a finger as he crossed his legs and lounged back. He cocked his head in mock thought, eyeing nothing in particular about the living room. Janus' shiny dress creaked and crinkled as he leaned in closer, elbows on the cusp in his knees.

"Come on man, I'm running out of leg here."

Taro smiled warmly, "Stay. Please."

“FINALLY,” he flopped back and slouched, “I’m going to bed. All my shit’s back at my place so gimme one of your shirts because there’s no way I’m sleeping in this.”

“I’ll give you that ‘Foxy Grandpa’ one Rose gave me for my birthday.”

“On second thought, maybe I'll stay in the dress.”

#I wrote this half awake pls no bully #anyway SOMEBODY said I was blueballing everyone with these fuckos so here you go some actual mush #smh making me actually advance my lore like some kind of content creator #fr lore #taro #janus #flight rising #imperial #fae #long post

[seijorhi]

asks :))

i’m bad at answering things :)) whoops.

ughhhh your writing is actually immaculate, you know?? like not only are your scenarios always hot and well characterized, but the writing itself is so. on. point. like the grammar/word choice/sentence structure and variety and i hate to sound like a english teacher but when an x reader does all that right... it just hits different idkkk - @gingersnaaps​

HI I LOVE YOU THIS IS SUPER FUCKING SWEET <33

Ok but imagine how awkward it is to be shoved into that room with the rest of Seijoh mannn what was the conversation lol

very, very awkward. but considering the wide eyed, confused and slightly terrified look on the reader’s face and how fucking pissed off mad dog was, it wasn’t too hard for them to connect the dots lmao.

Rhi ill be honest, all day i have thought about your kyoutani taking me home afterwards and trying to help me feel better with all the bruises i know he left and then judt fast forwarding to me being his perfect wife that adores him with her whole being so, thank you <3

i mean... yeah. if that’s the scenario/ending you wanna imagine go for it bby! haha, but thank you!

FIRST OFFFF your kyoutani fic is *chef’s kiss* i swear you never miss. now i didn’t fuck with that tennis ball mfer before, but after reading that fic— whewww officially a kyoutani simp

and second. what’s that drabble/teaser of the mc being “stuck between her husband oikawa, iwa, and a hungry young kageyama with something to prove”?? somebody pls provide the link👀

i can’t find it :(( but tbh it was like two sentences from memory, you’re not missing out on much. but yeah, kyoutani supremacy!

Omg thank you for writing Rabid!

I love Kyoutani and I feel like he’s super underrated especially in the fanfic part of the Haikyuu fandom. You wrote a masterpiece, it was wonderful! 🥺💕

You made me love Kyoutani more 😎

ahh thank you, nonnie!! kyoutani needs more love <33

whaaaa can we get the link to that drabble with oikawa, iwa, and kags pls?🥺

it’s not an actual drabble, more just me rambling and bby i tried to find it but i couldn’t :(( sorry!!

poly seijoh yakuza.......... those words have sparked such a strong emotion in me thank you

it’s just very sexy y’know?

You’re just so talented and I hope u really know that and don’t just accept compliments but internalize them because holy fuck your writing is amazing every time even for characters I’ve never cared for in the past

dear nonnie, you now have my heart. please be gentle w it 🥺

Hdjejehehdjdh I'm living and dying for the soulmate Au's that you have. Just thank you so much for the delicious food!

ahh thank you, bby!! glad you like em :))

Heyy :3 I just read your Kuroo Story "Gift wrapped" (I love it!) and i wanted to ask if there is going to be a fourth part because there still are some open questions (like what bokuto did to our poor reader and I wanna see Kuroos reaction to it! *^*). But yeah, I love your writings and I can’t wait to read more of them :)

you want a part 4?? from me?? who has to be bullied into writing part 2′s?? lmao sorry to disappoint bby but i don’t think i’m gonna write more for that fic, even if it is one of my faves. but i’m glad you liked it!!

Hey rhi!! Hope you’re doing well🌹🌹 would you ever consider doing a alternate POV for Like Nobody Else? I’m dying to know the details of what iawioi were thinking and what thoughts were running through their head as they slowly piece together that y/n is their soulmate 🥺🤩🤩 I love reading from the yandere pov it gives me butterflies 🦋✨ and ofc your writing gives me butterflies as well 🦋

have i thought about it? yes. did i try to write a lil something for you? also yes but it was bad and so i didn’t because i don’t wanna throw crap writing up onto my page for the sake of it. maybe one day? it wouldn’t be a full fic if anything just maybe a little drabble

Always and Inescapable are too much for my heart to take but I love it 💯 do you have a tag list? If so may I be added?

i do not because tag lists take forever, half the time they don’t work and usually i’m posting barely awake at 3am in the morning so it’s not a fun experience, sorry. but thank you!!

#whoops #just gonna pretend i haven't neglected my inbox for 3 days #my bad #rhi answers 💕

[whatyousaiddotcom-blog]

SOME CORRESPONDENCE OF SC

Correspondence between SC and JM (a member of the accountability panel), November 2014

SC     11/29/14    to JM

Dear JM,

it was nice to see you other other day at the demo....im not exactly sure how to start this email but our exchange keeps repeating on me...so i thought i would write to you... i was a bit irrked that you seemed surprised that I said I was feeling quite shit and when you asked me whats up etc

I'm starting to think you have no idea what the impact the bloomsbury ten stuff has had on me... i wanted to write to you so you had some type of idea...

as Im sure your aware everything sparked up again recently ( it actually sparked up (intensely) again a few weeks before K’s piece of writing but i wont go into that here ). and there is now a name and shame blog doxing me and the others and accusing us of various crimes.

I know you have not partaken in this and even tried to calm thing down on fb at one point.... but it doesnt help and things are really bad.

there are a BUNCH of people who read our intervention letter who have grossly and purposely falsified what we originally wrote -  you know many of these people  - ( ie NBa, RA-D, P, STA, etc many others ) and im sure you have seen this stuff circulating recently and over the last few years.

they accuse us of at least these things:

- victim blaming

-denying it happened

-calling her a liar

- asking for more evidence

- asking about her sexual history

-bullying and harassing her

-saying it was her fault.

yet anyone who read / reads the original letter and who has basic comprehension skills can clearly see that none of these things happened. these are projections onto what we wrote and not our words at all. obviously we cannot even defend ourselves publicly to refute these malicious claims without picking over detail and i think no one thinks it would be appropriate or right to do this as both the first email and our response have details of …. This has left space for others to twist and turn and lie about what we originally wrote.

Im not saying you should agree with what we wrote or our intervention but seriously these lies about what happened are more than malicious and completely untrue. equally as for the claims that we were were hiding behind anonymity  -  we went to BOTH follow up meetings after we wrote the letter and everyone knew who we were -  we also agreed to go to a third meeting but that never happened .... the only reason people have my name now is because i went to a meeting and made myself known like everyone else. i hardly think this is hiding ...

---

i want you to understand the effect this has had on me not just in the last month or so but over the last few years as well.

firstly i had so much self doubt to the point that i felt that i WAS a victim blaming rape apologist and that what we had written was of that effect. I had to read and re read what we wrote over a couple of hundred times ( and that is not an exaggeration )  -  i have read it over and over to try and understand peoples accusations...finally in desperation I showed it privately to (redacted) who were not part of writing the original statement -  from (redacted) to  (redacted)  - i showed it to very smart and honest people-  EVERYBODY was fucking shocked at the way what we wrote had been interpreted. It is only with the most decontextualised and ungenerous reading of about one line that you could move to a victim blaming reading...... this response /  projection is complete gas lighting and really hurtful and dangerous. ( esp for me as i have pretty serious mental health issues)

over the last weeks, basically after K wrote her piece, i repeatedly felt suicidal and got very very ill... al had to take time off to stay with me and look after me. I couldnt walk i couldnt eat and i couldnt sleep. i was completely haunted by the trial by social media ( i actually still am). and the very malicious smears against me and the others. I basically had a complete breakdown and had to be put in touch with a crisis mental health team and was very close to hospitalization.... and although i am on the mend now i am very far from being well and am dosed up to the eyeballs on meds and still have very low days. this has had an extreme impact on me.

Im not sure if you know this but i lost my father at the beginning on this year.... its really been the year from hell. I was just starting to recover from his death and then this stuff comes up and was the final straw and knocked me sideways...

many people of twiiter who tweet about this like its a fucking sport know not only that i lost my dad this year but that i have stress triggered mental health problems... this doesnt seem to stop them from massively false and malicious tweets. I have had PERSONAL abuse from R and there are a lot of men who have taken a delight in taking a stand against me ( victim blaming rape appologist ) and think its fine to stick my name on a blog and spread lies about me ( obviously i deserve it).....

to get proof of who was saying what I literally had to witness my own online abuse in real time as a live twitter feed -  i had to screen grab the lot before people could deny or delete what they were saying or block me - please try to imagine what its like to photograph your own abuse as spectacle on twitter. ....

anyway i have proof of a lot of what and who has been saying what now...

----

to be honest im not even telling you the half of what has gone on , on the impact this has had on me and others and of how upset i am by the sheer dishonesty, cruelty and sadistic abuse that has happened. ontop of that no one says anything and people like RA-D, M and NBa and P go on as if nothing has happened.

---

i know you havent joined in in any of this and you didnt ask for it to happen. I have to be honest with you though -  neither you , JB, SB, or MC [the accountability panel] have ever said anything and this really hurts. you were all part of the original group who wrote the letter and tried to sort things out.... no one has said anything and it has spiralled to the point that it has.... you all have been able to walk away.... it was very hard to have you bounce up to me at the demo and be surprised that i was not ok or ask why i was not ok.....

i am basically known on twitter as a rape appologist for things i haven’t done and haven’t said. have another look at what was written   - we never disputed what [REDACTED]  said once -  we criticised the process as we said we didn’t think things were being dealt with in a serious or appropriate way -  we NEVER disputed what she said or said it was her fault and we always said that it needed to be dealt with... its written in the statement which im sure you still have..

i dont really know why im writing this... i know you disagree with what we wrote  - i disagree with what was originally written  - but never did i think you were coming from a bad place -  i know you were trying to do the right thing.... i feel like people assumed the very very worst of me and others and that it is grossly ungenerous and now is dishonest and cruel.

i dont know what to say really - im still not ok about any of this and now every time i go on social media or to a demo I must wonder if i must see people like RA-D. NBa etc acting like nothing bad has happened, acting like they are not abusive and dishonest and that there will be no repercussion for how they have treated me and others.

— ( screen grabs sent including death threat screen grab)

i have plenty more screen grabs that just a very very small selection..

(redacted)

if you think about it " pls remind me who im missing out"

he purposely left my name out ( he knew i was part of b10 ) then asked people to remind him of my name in the  separate next tweet ... please run that around in your head and think about what that means and why he did that... he takes a massive pleasure in being purposely abusive to me personally... its a fucking sport to him..... and no body said anything.

———

sorry to keep emailing  -  only to say i probably have left my flat less than 15 times in the past two months /  two and half months since this has kicked off.... im basically non functional and i spent about a month uncontrollably weeping for most of the time i was awake... quite literally  -  u can ask anyone from a to DG or MH  to the crisis team or my dr -  who took it in turns looking after me during the worst parts of it.

that i have to put up with abusive men like RA-D or women like NBa and P ( because i deserve it for being a rape apologist ) is beyond a joke.

you know very little about my life and nor does anyone else - i have NOT had an easy life , the statistical chances of  me being relatively sane , functional and with a good post grad education are much less than 1 percent.

and now i have to put up with a bunch of very well educated privileged student activists who I know to have high comprehension and reading skills fucking lying about what i/others have written and done is a fucking joke.

and that they purport to do this in the name of countering gendered structural violence is a fucking disgrace.

JM    11/29/14    to SC

Hey S,

I had no idea it had gotten this bad and that it was ongoing.

DG mentioned some of this to me a few weeks ago but but then I had only seen a small amount of the backlash on M's facebook wall, which is what I responded to. It seemed like it had flared up around K's post but was beginning to die down. I don't use twitter that much, partly because of the irritating dogmatism and pernicious attitudes it seems to produce (case in point), so I hadn't seen any of the stuff on there. I either don't follow, don't know, or have stopped following the people you mentioned and have generally distanced myself from a lot of the left-crowd in the past year for a number of reasons - but partly because I find the language and mentality which seems to have developed so off-putting that I no longer feel a part of the same discourse - the result is that I'm perhaps more out of the loop than you were aware.

Whatever type of anarchism it is that justifies this kind of behaviour I don't want any part of, and can't think of anything more willfully destructive than posting people's names on the internet or threatening people with violence. I can understand why [REDACTED] is angry about what happened but I can't for the life of me understand how this will help anything beyond a misplaced desire for arbitrary retribution.

You know my feelings about what was written, but as far as I'm concerned it is in the past. I'm sure that if we could go back in time everybody would have gone about things differently on all sides. What matters to me is where people's heart is - I have no doubt whatsoever that people like yourself and MH are good people with the best intentions. I wouldn't maintain the fondness I hold for both of you if I didn't. JBR and some of the others I'm less sure about - there are some good parts to him, but I don't trust him enough to be as close as I once was; being polemic or 'critical' often seems more important to him than generosity of spirit, and he can consequently be quite nasty to people with very little reason. He is far better at sowing division than anything else. I think RB is a good man but sometimes lets his friendship with JB cloud his judgement, as it did mine at points in the past. I certainly don't harbour ill will towards him, even if I felt initially hurt by him, and I'm sad we're not as close to each other because of all this stuff - I feel like I lost an important friend. I haven't come across RL in the past few years but I'd like to hope we'd be able to clear the air one day if we did cross paths. I've never had any reason to doubt she's a lovely person who got caught up in an extremely difficult situation and any hostility she expressed was an understandable product of that.

As for now, I don't think anybody has any answers to this stuff and if we're going to come up with anything of meaning or value it will require thinking through the kind of criticisms K made in her post, many of which are inarguable. At the same time we can't just ignore issues when they arise for the sake of convenience. Unfortunately the political climate seems completely anathema to learning anything productive from what has happened and looks to bully people (how much easier) on social media instead - hence my increasing sense of frustration with the 'scene' and my desire to become more distant from it.

I haven't been staying silent because I'm okay with what's happening - I simply haven't encountered it except on M’s facebook wall, where I intervened accordingly. If this starts to happen again send me a message and I will offer whatever weight I have as someone who criticised the original statement. I'm wary of putting something up out of the blue lest it simply stir the whole thing up again, but if others are doing that anyway let me know.

I hope you're doing okay.  if you want to have a drink and chat about any of this or life generally just drop me a line.

J x

Correspondence between SC and JM (a member of the accountability panel), April 2015

to JM

and are any other accountability group members coming to the meeting?

JM    4/26/15    to sc

Yep that's fine for me - as to the others I don't know, I prodded them the other week but no one replied. I think I'm right in saying that no one was opposed to talking on principle but that there were reservations about it being a larger meeting, what the objective was, how it might be framed etc. If we're going with the 6th then I'll send a message and see what they say.

SC    4/26/15    to JM

no one is going to frame anything .i have always been open with you about my thoughts on this...i think its better for all of us that other people, who are wise and have good politics esp gender politics... are there to advise us all.... i would like people to stop abusing me for stuff i havent done, written , said thought, think etc.. i dont think its a big ask for the group to come considering they were at the heart of the process. i know none of them have been abusive towards me... however they were intitated a process that has become way out of control...i think people need to face up to what has and is happening in an honest way. as i have said many times i have evidence of people smearing me and abuseing me online. there is a very male core to alot of this abuse. i need to make this stop. my endurance for this has run out and its making me exreamly ill. please communicate to the the seriousness of this situation.

and apart from myself i ( unlike all the liars say) worry a great deal about [REDACTED]..I am totally unable to approach her to try and get aid with resolution for her, which she clearly needs.

basically JM i am not despite what many people write about me online , some type of evil bastard and neither is anyone else. the way we have been and are being treated is unjustifiable and it needs to stop, be confronted and people need to take responsibilty for their actions. i am sick of being hounded online and being villified to a large invisible audience. i am sick of people justifying their abuse cos they think i deserve it. - that actually is victim blaming and it needs to stop.

SC     4/26/15    to JM

i have a folder with 6 months worth of abuse  -  which is about 300 tweets, thats is just a tiny tiny percentage of what has been going on. within this folder i have a sub folder of people joking about putting me in a black bin liner, stabbing me, glassing me and saying that i should be killed.  when are people going to wake up?? i am a real person, this has a real imapct on me.  i suffer real mental health issues, which are classed as a severe disability. do u understand that if i have a sever breakdown i have zero garentee of " coming out" of a psycotic state? have you any idea what it is like to live with that thought?

how can i get this into peoples heads here??? i have STRESS TRIGGERED PSYCOSIS. -  i cant really understand how this cannot at least move people to take some kind of action? or is it that they think that cos i am a " victim blamer" ( which i am not ) that i should just suffer the abuse that i am receiving?

do they need doctors notes? i have access to 18 years worth. i am not making my health problems up....

SC     4/26/15    to JM

do u realise that this is not going to go away? i cant live like this.

they cant justify their abuse. because thats what it is.

SC     4/26/15    to JM

i hope that all of you in the accountability group will stop  not see this as an attack on you all and start to face up to what is actually going on here. i incuded people like np, tz and dg on the list becuase i am hopeing that you might talk with them and listen to them about this, you all clearly have zero respect for me and dont believe me.. but myabe you will listen to them? some other perspectives?

JM     4/27/15    to SC

I don't think I've given you any reason to feel I have zero respect for you, Sophie, or the others. I'm coming to the meeting - I'm just relating as best I can what other people feel. I understand their caution, and I can't force them to do anything. I will say that I worry about seeing me or the others as the solution to this - ultimately it isn't coming from us, and none of us share personal relationships or even a political outlook any more with the people involved. To me this is exactly the problem with abandoning the notion of being part of a community with obligations to each other, and what happens if there's no process in place that can bring closure to a problem - which takes us back to the original disagreements I suppose. This was an issue whether anyone wanted to address it or not.

SC     4/27/15    to JM

No one expects any forcing. Some of those in the accountability group are pretty close to some extremely abuseive people. I find it abhorrent. Maybe JB MC Sb etc might well talk to them off social media?  I don't know really. It seems odd that a group of people who used to be my friends and who profess to want to deal with gendered violence just shrug their shoulders and say this is a consequence of what u wrote. Or something similar. I have pointed out a number of times how what we wrote has been undeniably and maliciously distorted - and then this distortion used as a pretext for abuse. I m not the only person who think this, I have shown the text to NP, MV, TZ,  DG and other people I trust and asked them to read it for the things that we all have been accused of, (redacted) and said that I would apologies if it had blamed her, I lost complete trust in my own capacity to have faith in my own motivations and actions. That is actually gas lighting. Ikon wits not coming from u ( well I actually have at least one horrible grab from SB) but a lot of it is coming fro. People who were on that list or went to the meetings. Plenty people are making excuses for all this is more than shocking... It's like some bastard of Lord of the flies and the Salam witch trails on acid. I have men beating up on me online for things they know I haven't said. And even if I had said them it would still be unjustifiable.

SC     4/27/15    to JM

JM I'm sorry I'm a 35 year old working class woman with severe mental health problems. I was (redacted) and had (redacted). Before I went to university, at 25 my life was spent in (redacted) institutions and women's (redacted). Against statistical odds of probably less than one percent I have a post grad and had hoped to do a PhD. My life was for the first time on 30 years starting to settle. This is ruining me. It's making me ill. I have these disgusting middle class pricks hounding me online for sport and cred. I'm not MH and I'm not JBR and this b10 stuff does not play out in an equal way for us all. For me it is extreeamly traumatic due to who I am and the life that I have lived. As I told you it's making me ill, I am extreeamly lucky I haven't ended up in hospital. Please take time to get educate yourself about schizo effective effective disorder and its relationship to stress.

I hope that the other accountability group people will come to the meeting and stop being complicit and cowardly.

SC     4/27/15    to JM

I am hoping for some type of collective process or intervention. If this doesn't happen I am forced to take matters into my own hands alone to stop people abuseing me.

JM     4/27/15    to SC

I think it's best I just relate the things you're saying to me directly to the others because, as I've said, I'm coming to the meeting.

Are you alright with that, and if so, is there anything from this thread you'd want me not to pass on?

JM     4/27/15    to SC

to be clear I mean just c/ping the above so they can hear it themselves and decide accordingly. I don't think I can be any more use as a go-between now

SC     4/27/15    to JM

If you think it will help I suppose you should. Please do not copy sections but the whole exchange. I feel angry that I am I a position where I must disclose the shit life I have lived. And which still makes me feel a great deal of shame. At least maybe I won't have to go over it in A meeting publicly.

If I find that anyone had forwarded my email exchange beyond people who were in the accountability group I will be more than angry. Equally if it is subject to gossip or distortion on or off social media and I shall be more than upsset.

Thanks for trying to help.

Correspondence between SC and ZB (who had acted as a representative of [REDACTED] during the accountability meetings), October 2014

HI ZB,

I am writing to you as I have been told by people that we have in common and that i trust that you are solid feminist with good politics. I will try to keep this brief. i am not sure how much you are aware of what has been going on recently and for years. I do not have the energy to go over all of it.

The situation cannot go on as it is. I am getting very ill, I have sever stress triggered schizoaffective disorder. I have lost my father this year too. I have comrades and my partner caring for me, so don't worry about that.

I am worried about  [REDACTED]. ( not [person with same initials] the other one )

here are some of her tweets, i have a million more, this is a random selection. I have seen worse.

— ( screen grabs of [REDACTED] and other actors)

there are a lot of lies being peddled here. Of course i would be extremely angry too i if i thought anyone had denied my suffering and my experience, victim blamed and asked me to evidence it. ( actually the position that i am in now )

there are a network of actors here, between me and you and her, who have deliberately falsified what we originally wrote and did and have done since.  I think they do this to make a political point and to normalize a certain political practice. They can all read well. Im sure a;lot of them have read the original text that was written  ( i have attached it here along with my own writing ).

The ONLY reason myself and others have not defended ourselves in a public way is because we am worried about [REDACTED] safety and sanity . I cannot be a punch bag for these people. they are not her friends/ comrades either and not helping her at all. I feel she needs support but i cannot approach her.

There are a host of people getting a lot of pleasure out of all of this. I have screen grabs of the lot. in amongst them hide some very abusive men.  I have hard evidence of men abusing me on twitter and using [REDACTED]’s trauma as an excuse to do so. there are a bunch of women too who have played a very big part in escalating this to the situation as it currently manifests. I have had to  witness all  abuse play out as a spectacle on twitter.  I have ( had to ) screen grabbed the lot.

I am not asking help with anything other than a good support network for her. I feel that she is surrounded by some very dubious people, with bad politics and ethics.  People who call themselves feminists and communists, who are so far away from that its unreal.

I am sorry to pull you into this but i am worried that lives are at risk. i know you have just had a baby ( congratulations) and i imagine you are time short and tired. If you can think of any thing that might help please let me know.

Solidarity,

SC

ZB    10/13/14    To SC

Hi S. I will use the form on the tumblr to ask for it to be taken down. I don't know who is running it, I was only aware of it after A told me about it yesterday. I have no reason to think that whoever is behind it will listen to me but I will message them.

I have not seen [REDACTED] for almost a year, nor am I able to spend much time on anything political at present as I'm heavily pregnant. Beyond messaging the blog post there isn't anything else I can do at present.

ZB

SC     10/13/14    to ZB

Ok thanks for writting back. I worry for [REDACTED] I really do . Her identity seems very invested in all of this persecution and lies. I don't know how aware she really is in all of this or how much she has been gas lit by others. I am sure you can read and I  sure you can see that we never blamed her nor ignored or denied that it happened or her trauma. We disagreed and intervened  in all of it that is for sure  - we disagreed with how the process was manifesting. but none of us have ever bullied her denied that it happened or asked her for more proof or any of those vicious claims that are currently circulating .

Anyway thanks for your solidarity and for writing to the blog. I wish you luck with your pregnancy. X

Sent with one hand

4. Correspondence with an email list including JM from accountability panel, March 2015. This correspondence took place around DG’s banning from Goldsmiths Occupation. DG was not part of B10.

SC to List

sorry but this is not going away..  -  an argument about safer spaces - will NOT sort this out!

this is too much bs, i need some support i want to confront this its a pack of fucking lies i am sick to my teeth of this.. i want to call it...it absolutely needs to stop and be put right.

J M - YOU WERE IN THE ACCOUNTABILITY GROUP WHICH HAS BEEN COMPLETELY QUIET.!!!.... you need to meet with me and others and this needs to stop! im AM SICK of people spreading lies about me and others and abusing ME AND MY COMRADES on the web for things that were not said and done! I do not give 2 fucks about what any1 thinks the b10's intentions were.... i know what we wrote and what was said in the meetings after.. i also have a ton of screen grabs about all the malicious lies been spread about us...

i have cc'd Ad. into this who has been purged from SF. i hope he will help us sort this out. MB and U and J all vouch for him.

i CANNOT HANDLE THIS ANYMORE. IT NEEEDS TO BE PUT TO REST!

MB     3/28/15    to SC, kD, AL, B, AS, D, CB, DG, JM, JBR, AP, Ad.

Fucking right!

Apparently people have walked out of the occupation due to this, it wasn't democratically agreed upon at all. the occupation statement and the people behind it are fucking idiots.

JM [accountability panel]    3/28/15    to SC, kD, AL, B, AS, D, CB, DG, JM, JBR, AP, Ad.

Oh for fucks sake.

Alright, I've replied with this for now.

"I don't know where you have got your information from but as someone who was involved in trying to address the situation you're referring to I want to make it absolutely clear that DG had nothing to do with the B10 statement, and was nothing but helpful to me and others throughout the process. I can't see how suggestions to the contrary can be justified. Banning him or anyone else from giving talks runs counter to everything that was trying to be achieved at that time. For people with no knowledge of what you're referring to it also reads like an extremely serious implication about DG. Please don't put out statements like this without contacting people who actually know about the circumstances, and respect the spirit of their intentions. Get in touch with me or anyone else who was involved if you want to talk about this more, but I strongly suggest you remove this statement and cease implying falsehoods about DG, whether you want him to speak at Goldsmiths or not."

SC - I can only respond to what I see, and have done so when directed to obvious bullshit like this.

AP     3/28/15    to SC, kD, AL, B, AS, D, CB, DG, JM, JBR, AP, Ad.

Authoring the thing 'Bloomsbury 10' was so ridiculously stupid. It just sounds so ominous for anyone who hasn't a clue what this is about. I think those involved who havent come forward and defended themselves in writing should probably reconsider as this obviously isnt going away.

SC     3/28/15    to kD, AL, B, AS, D, CB, DG, JM, JBR, AP, Ad.  AK

All, JM,

I really do appreciate that you have made a clarification about DG.. however this for me does not cut it at all as it does NOT address the false claim against b10.

to go over this again, the claims are based on the letter that we wrote to the email list, which i attach again, with my underlined parts.

the claims that are made against us that i have screen grabs of, are :

- we victimed blamed and are rape appologists

- that we harrassed [REDACTED] and made her life hell in the ensuing years

- that we hid under a cloak of anonimity - ( WE WENT TO 2 FOLLOW UP MEETINGS in the following week -  making it obvious who we were and what we wrote)

- that was said she was lying /  making it up /  said it was her fault

PLEASE READ WHAT WAS ACTUALLY WRITTEN ON THE STATEMENT!!!!!!  IT IS ATTACHED!!!!!

to make this really clear pls read what i wrote in another p[rivate email to a member of sf earlier this month in regards to this letter:

----

I am prepared to take responsibility and argue over the contents of a letter i help write, discuss what it means, and the impact of it and its context... i am not prepared to accept falsifications of what was written, nor projections onto it by others of any inherent meaning or imagined bad motivation or intention.......

for example, i think a reading that is used to justify a lot of the victim blaming label attached to me ( and others ) in relation to the letter ( which after all started all this off more or less)  logically works like this:

the first move is to take a single paragraph out of the context of the whole document ( i mean the paragraph that mentions the accountability panels omission of the discussion of knife play - i think this section is what cause most but not all of the accusations of rape apologia and victim blaming etc)

the second move is then  to do two things with the de-contextualized paragraph:

1) make it stand it and negate every other written word on the b10 letter

2) and importantly then make the following argument:

something like ".. any mention of the context of the knife is TANTAMOUNT TO VICTIM BLAMING...." ... the claim is, the context of the knife is both irrelevant and at the same time any mention of it would only (be to) discredit her account...

er hello???? why do THEY think it discredits her account... (this is not what we ever said..we did however write that we fully acknowledge her account, this it needed serious responses which had already started, wanted dialogue and a different way of dealing with /  you can read those sections i have highlighted them)..  ..... this last move.. ( the context is discrediting) is their ( very troubling) projection onto what was intended, meant written, etc etc

im sure you see my point.

please think about the logic of that move....it is very odd and dubious....

-----

the accountability panel were criticised. NOT [REDACTED]!

when is this going to be put to rest..... THE ACCOUNTABILITY PANEL have said NOTHING.. for 3 years!!!!!! THIS IS TOTALLY UNFAIR.

you and others may disagree with me  / b10 questioning and disrupting the process. BUT NOT BY FALSIFYING WHAT WAS WRITTEN>

I have had to put up with 3 YEARS of gaslighting me, having "anarchist" men abusing me personally, of being doxed online. I CANNOT TAKE THIS ANYMORE. THIS HAS TO STOP> THIS IS NOT A SAVE DG’s REP CAMPAIGN>

i want a meeting with you JM JB MCe and SB and TJ [all the members of the original accountability panel] and you were ALL in the process and have said NOTHING ABOUT ANY OF THE FUCKING LIES AND ABUSE BEING LEVELED AT ME AND OTHERS.

i am sick of this its BULLSHIT.

i spent 4 years of my fucking life in a (redacted)l. i have a locked and hidden social media account FOR A REASON. I WANT THIS SORTED OUT AND THE TUMBLR DOWN.