Chapter Three: Pots, Pans and Possibility

Middle May – 1806

I am getting tired of washing pots and pans.

I thought these women had so much to teach me. All sorts of skills that would carry me forward in my dreams of becoming a journalist. To live in New York…writing…informing the world…and these women seemed so worldly. So…confident.

But all that quickly fell away. Once William left, the true nature of the household has become apparent. It’s been almost two years since my brother left on his journey. A few weeks after they left, a man named Xavier arrived. I know not his last name. At first, it seemed like Xavier was a good man, merely here to help. But he’s only here for one thing. Our bodies.

Luckily, he has not attacked me yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

But it gets worse. Other townsfolk have noticed Xavier frequenting our house. Once, Anna tried to go for help. She told the village of who Xavier was and what he’s done. But alas, they did not believe her! They now see her and Laura the same way—as vile creatures unworthy of saving. And now that I’m here, and sadly, I fear I am here to stay, their reputation has been smeared on me. I can barely buy vegetables without women giving me an evil look and men eyeing me like I’m food!

I just hope Chadwick is having better luck than me. His letters have been far and few between. Though, the letters I have gotten are—disturbing. He writes of a strange Indian mound, a mound that he says is cursed.

Please, let it all be a legend! This family cannot bear any more curses! I am trapped in a loveless household, my brother is exploring dangerous lands and losing hope of survival, and Rosie and Flower…In the few letters I’ve received from Mum and Pa, they say no one’s heard from them in weeks!

Oh, I am so worried. But whenever I try to write back, Xavier shreds my letters, and tosses them into the fire. He believes I am writing to them in code, begging for help. I am not! I wouldn’t dare risk it!

But it’s no use.

I wonder, does my family miss me? Will Chadwick ever return?

If he does, will I still be alive?

“Diana! Stop writing in that cursed book and do the dishes!” Laura hisses at me. I look up, like a deer alerted to an unknown sound . Right. Pots and pans.

Always working. Laura, bless her, always pulls me away from my journal. Even though she runs the biggest risk of being hurt—she seems to be Xavier’s favorite victim—she always goes out of her way to help us.

She’s the only bright spot in this house of Hell. Even Anna has become desensitized to the violence. After she tried to escape, Xavier crushed all her will.

I wonder, how long will I be here until I start to go numb, too?

Pots and pans. Always pots and pans. Such a monotonous task, it leaves time to think. Too much time to think. A part of me envies Anna, in her numbness. Life would be so much easier if I couldn’t feel. If I couldn’t hear Laura’s and Anna’s screams and have a part of me scream with them. If I could float through my daily dirge without fear of blows.

“Good morning ladies,” Xavier says, coming downstairs with a cheerful grin. I do not understand him. Some days he is so glad, other days…so dark. So angry. I’ve learned to fear his happiness more than his sadness because it’s more unpredictable.

And his happy days are usually followed by weeks of anger so intense it makes the biblical flood look like a trickling stream.

“Morning, sir,” Laura and I chime in unison.

My smile is fake. But I’ve gotten good at faking a smile. Smiling at folks when I go to town. Smiling at Xavier whenever he’s in a good mood, so desperate to preserve a happiness that never lasts. Even when I was a child, smiling when Mother told me I would make a good bride. She couldn’t understand that I don’t want to be a bride. I don’t want to marry a man. Seeing the way Xavier treats these women is a reminder, a reminder that I will always be inferior to a man. I refuse to be trapped in such a way.

Yet, I know I have no choice. One day, I will be unable to prolong it. I will gain a husband. Maybe rich, but probably middle class, just like me. Certainly, I will marry no poor man. Father would never allow it. He’d rather amputate both his arms than allow me to marry a poor man.

Oh, this limited destiny of the times! Some days, I wish I were born in the future. But alas, no one knows what the future may hold. Those uncertain times could be worse than my own.

I scrub at the pans, only one thought in my mind now: Please, don’t notice me.

My hands are red and raw. The vinegar we mix with ashes has begun to irritate my skin. But I cannot stop. As much as I grow weary of pots and pans, I grow wary of Xavier.

The only break I get is sleep. Laura and Anna get beds, but me, I sleep in the pantry, lying on sacks of flour. I wake up dusty and cold, and my sleep is fitful. Sometimes, in wee hours of the night, I awake to the sounds of sobbing. I tune it out. I must always tune it out if I want to stay sane. In those moments, listening to the sobs of broken women and surrounded by food and grime, I pray to God. I beg of Him, please, save me and these women, for we have done nothing wrong. Please, in Your mercy, save me from this cruel man. You who are good and just, please hear my lowly cries and save us!

I know God is fair, kind, and just. Let Him in all His glory please aid me to escape this Hell.

I keep scrubbing pots and pans, waiting for possibility. The possibility of escape. Of safety. Of happiness.

I wish my brother were here. I wish he had fought to take me along with him on his journey. Even with the strange Indian mound that has plagued his thoughts, I would still prefer it to here.

My nails have been bitten down very low, the skin around them is ragged, and they sting when I scrub. But I must endure. I must push forward.

And when William returns—if he does indeed return, which I can only hope for—he may listen to his sister and wife. He may chase Xavier out once and for all.

“Laura, tell that lazy wretch Anna to wake up and come down here,” Xavier says. His good mood has evaporated as quickly and as surely as the rising sun.

“I will wake her,” I say. Anything to get away from pots and pans, from the despair of a dirty kitchen that seems as though it will never get clean. With every pan we wash, Xavier seems to make a new one.

I brush past Xavier, recoiling as my shoulder brushes his, and walk up the stairs with as much haste as I can muster.

Anna’s room is the one on the left. Simple, yet elegant.

“Anna?” I call, my voice a slight whisper. I am afraid of what I may find.

That fear only grows when I see blood on the carpet.

“Anna!” Though I try to scream, my voice stays in a whisper.

Then, I hear sobbing.

“God, oh God, please, no…God…help us. Help us, God…”

“Anna,” I say, pushing into the closet where she lies in a crumpled heap. “Anna, what is the matter?”

Anna stares at me with blue eyes. Eyes as blue as the ocean, but this ocean has been drained and diluted by pain and time.

“Dearest Diana, I am so sorry for this. So sorry. I should have told you to leave, to run far off from this land.”

“Anna, it is alright. Please, just tell me what is the matter?”

Anna looks down at her stomach.

“I am with child. Though it isn’t noticeable yet, I fear it will be soon. I know what being pregnant is like, although I have yet to produce a living child. This one, though…I feel it. Him. Her. Whichever it is, I will make sure my baby lives to be safe. Happy. Alive. And when Xavier finds out, he will kill the baby. He will be angry. I cannot let it happen. My baby…my baby…I must protect my baby…”

“Anna, you know what this means?”

“It means that I will be shunned. Cast out. My baby will be an orphan, or worse…”

“No, Anna. It means…it means we must escape.”

Late June

A month has passed since Anna confided in me about her child. I can see her growing rounder by the day. But God is with us—Xavier has not noticed yet. And he’s begun taking longer trips into town. I almost wonder what it is he could be doing, and yet… I also do not care. While he is gone, Anna, Laura, and I conspire, making plans to escape.

It is another month before we have finalized our plans.

Christmas Eve - 1806

But it was Christmas Eve, when Xavier came home smelling of the bottle where everything changed. Where the plans we made changed dramatically.

We’ve been keeping Anna safe, out of sight, for her belly is so noticeable that it is sure to cause a stir. But on this night, Xavier demands to see her, and will not be stopped.

I struggle to placate him, telling him Anna is sick, but he is too drunk to listen to reason.

He pushes me aside. My head slams into the handle of a pan. Of course it’s a pan. I’ve been scrubbing pans all day, all night. I know not where William is, or if he will ever return. Indeed, I have lost hope that he will. My vision is blurry, and when I touch the afflicted area, my hand comes away sticky. No. This bastard Xavier will not kill me. I will not lose. I will escape. We have all the plans finalized. All we need is a bit more time. And please, let Xavier not see Anna. He will kill her child. The other day, I pressed my hand to her stomach and felt a kick, just a tiny flutter. A life. Xavier has no right to take that life away.

I struggle to stand, bracing myself against the sink for support.

My hand closes around the handle of a pan.

“Xavier!” I say, willing my voice to be as loud as possible.

“You,” he says. “Do you dare talk to me like that? Lower your voice, woman!”

“Only if you lower your hand.”

“It is my right!” roars Xavier. “You are women! Servile! Quiet! Timid! It is your place!”

“Then I’ll send you to yours,” I say. “Hell.”

And without hesitation, I swing the pan into his head.

Laura gasps, and her hands fly to her mouth.

I drop the pan to the floor, where it lies still next to Xavier’s unmoving body.

Oh Lord, forgive me. I never meant to kill a man. I merely wanted to escape! I merely wanted to be free!

“Come,” I say, tugging Laura’s arm, averting my eyes from the body.

“Let us take Anna and run far away from here. Where we can be safe.”

Laura nods, speechless.

While she guides Anna out of the bedroom, where Anna has spent most of her time, I wash the blood from my hands and change my clothes.

Then Laura screams.

“Laura! Anna!” I yell, and sprint towards the bathroom.

Laura is cradling Anna’s head. Anna is moaning.

“What is happening?” I ask.

“She is giving birth.”

Has it really been nine months? I suppose it has. There’s no way of telling exactly when Anna got pregnant. Xavier has been here nearly six years in the community since William left, and talked his way into this family almost a year ago with his casual smile and jovial way about6 himself, which was nothing more than an act to have his way, a free place to live and a woman to consort with at his command--but not any longer!

“Get a towel, and some water,” I say. “We will have to deliver the baby from home.”

Anna screams, and blood soaks her skirt.

“We’re going to have to take it off,” I tell her. I don’t think she hears me through the pain.

I pray as I rip her skirt apart. So much blood. I will have to change my clothes again, but right now, that is not my concern. My only concern is making sure Anna’s baby is alive and healthy. Safe.

“Push, Anna,” I say. “It’ll be okay. I know it hurts. Just push.”

Anna screams again, but it’s quieter. She’s getting weaker by the second.

There. A head.

“A little further, Anna,” I say. “He’s beautiful. He’s alive. Healthy. Safe.”

Laura comes back with enough towels to clothe the entire patriot army.

With one last push, Anna screams again, so loud that it feels my eardrums may burst. The baby boy slides into my hands, crying out as his mother goes still. Laura wraps Anna in towels, and hands me one. I wrap the newborn into a towel, rocking him gently.

“What do I do?” I ask. “What do I do? Does he need food? What does he eat? How do I feed him?”

“Diana,” Laura whispers. “She’s gone.”

I stare down at Anna, tears running unashamed down my cheeks.

“No,” I whisper. “No, it can’t be.”

“You must take the baby and go,” Laura says. Tears shine in her eyes as well.

“What about you?”

“I will try to explain to William what happened. He is a good man, better than the rest. He will understand.”

“But Xavier—”

“I know,” Laura says sadly. “I know. But Xanier cannot hurt any of us any longer. I have seen to that. You and I shall bury his body ... take him on the carriage to a remote place out of town ... leave it unmarked, and if anyone should ask, which is dobtful to begin with, we will simply say he left for family reasons and is not known when expected to return.

I look into the baby’s eyes. Blue, like his mother’s.

I will raise him like he is my own son. Even if I don’t know how to do that. He will be a good man. A better man than his father. May he be as good of a man as his mother was a woman.

The baby stops crying as he looks at me. His slimy fingers curl around my own.

“Owen,” I say. “That’ll be your name. Owen Kincade.”

“Look,” Laura says, pointing at the clock. “He’s a Christmas baby.”

“My little miracle,” I croon. “Let’s get you cleaned up, little miracle. Then we’ll figure out what to feed you.”

“What should his middle name be?” Laura asks. “It must be a good name. To match a strong little man.”

I think on that for a minute.

“Possibility,” I say. “Because the possibilities of this little boy are endless. He could invent something that could change the world.”

Laura smiles as she watches us. It’s a bittersweet smile. Though they were sister-in-law’s, Anna was her best friend. Maybe mine, too. This past year has made the three of us closer.

Maybe Owen is not my child, but he is my son. I will love him like he is my own flesh and blood. I will teach him to respect women. I will teach him to be a good man.

I’ll do it for Anna. For his mother. For my friend.

One day, the world will know the name Owen Possibility Kincade.

My little miracle.

Written By: WhiteWolfe32