Broken Branches

Bernard was a descendant from the privateers operating South of New Orleans Louisiana and throughout the Caribbean Sea. They operated under the command of the Lafitte brothers, often smuggling slaves into the country. Bernard was not above doing some shady dealings himself.

Both Margaret and Esther were unusually quiet at dinner that night. The silence was almost deafening. No one seemed to want to break the silence until Bernard spoke up.

“See that I’m not bothered, Ruby” he ordered, getting up from the table and wiping his mouth with his napkin.” I will be retiring to the library”

“With a bottle a that ol’ Jack Daniels whisky, I reckon.” Ruby murmured.

This was Bernard’s usual routine after returning from a voyage at sea. He would retire to the library with a bottle of Jack Daniels and a good cigar. He was a harsh, proud man. He claimed to be of the Catholic faith and was noted for being hard to get along with, always giving the impression of being angry and aloof. He had little use for companionship, with one exception, his daughter Esther May. There was no rhyme or reason for his fondness toward her, and no limit to how far he would go to see that she was happy. Needless to say, this made for a very spoiled and conceited young woman.

Margaret quietly pushed her chair back away from the table. “I’d like to be excused?” she said, going directly upstairs to the safe haven of her bedroom.

“Daddy hasn’t as much as said hello to me since he returned home,” she mumbled to herself as she grudging descended the long stairs.

Margaret had warm green eyes and a pale completion. She could not tolerate direct sunlight on her delicate skin. The sun’s harsh rays would penetrate her vulnerable skin to the point of causing tiny droplets of blood to surface. She was quite tall with long flowing flame-red hair. She was a lonely brooding young woman, quiet and reserved, who kept mostly to herself and was much older than the twenty years she actually was. Her sister Esther was a year older then her, but everyone mistook Margaret to be the older of the two girls.

The girl’s mother, Hattie May, had died suddenly while the family was on a trip at sea when the girls were very young. Their father never remarried.

Back in her room, Margaret aggressively tugged at the stubborn bureau drawer until it gave way, nearly throwing her body off balance, spilling its contents across the floor. She gathered up the clothing, replaced the dresser drawer, except for her diary, then threw herself across the foot of the four-poster bed and began to write, I feel so alienated from my father. I know he favors Esther, after all, Esther is more like him and I am more like my mother. In a matter of minutes the pen slipped through her limp fingers as sleep overcame her.

Margaret kept a diary, her most treasured possession. It was a gift from her mother. Although she was very young at the time, she would never forget her mother’s words when she handed her the diary. She could still smell the sweet aroma of gardenia sachet that she had become accustomed to whenever she was close to her mother.

Keep this close to you always, child. It will capture in words just what is in your heart. It will hold the secrets that you must keep, and fill those empty spaces of time that otherwise would surely be lost.

 “How could Daddy do this to me?” Esther moaned as she sat alone at the dinning room table sulking with her head in her hands.” He never refused me before.” She began pulling nervously at her right ear, a habit over which she seemed to have no control. “You know I’ve been planning a party every day since Daddy left on his latest voyage,” she complained to Ruby.

Ruby continued to clear the dinning room table, making somewhat of a racket while stacking the china when Esther made her irritation more than obvious.

“Will you stop that dreadful racket?” she shouted, “I need quiet, I’m trying to think”

 “Is that what you be callin it?” Ruby chuckled, as she passed by the table where Esther was sitting, clanking the dishes even louder along the way. “You don’t need no quiet to think, missy, you needs brains.” She laughed. “And if you was to have a brain, you’d jist take it out and play with it.”

Esther jumped up from the table cursing angrily, knocking over her glass of wine, and letting the thin burgundy liquid flow smoothly across the thirsty white linen tablecloth as she stomped angrily out of the room.

 “What you be needin missy, is some a that good ol’ red bar soap my mama done used, to wash out that potty-mouth a yours.” Ruby shouted after her.

Ruby and Esther often tangled, albeit, nothing too serious. Esther’s little tantrums never did impress her. The Moody family depended heavily on Ruby. She was a special kind of glue that held everything together. She loved what she did, she said what she thought and she meant what she said. Her mother before her had been the housekeeper for the Moody family, and her mother before her was their slave.