Eleventh Chapter!
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CHAPTER ELEVEN
My letters have finally arrived back from Greece. It has been almost a month since I have written home and now I run to my room, ripping open the letter from mother first.
My Isadora,
Sweetheart, it does my heart good to hear of your happiness in Rome. I knew your father would be too busy to keep you occupied but I’m glad you have found your stay with the Chandrenos’ an enjoyable one so far. I hope you haven’t been too much trouble for them, dear, as I know how restless you get when cooped up in a house all the time.
Timandra is lovely, dear and has met a fine lad. I’m sure she will tell you all about him as I know she is writing back to you as well.
Damaris and the lass from the other village have gone their separate ways. I fear it is Lydia’s doing. You know how she gets and how protective she is over her son. But do not fret too much over Damaris, honey. He is too busy helping Ptolemy with watching over the business to care much over that lass.
Aunt Charissa and Uncle Theo have indeed adopted Cleo’s baby. It is a shame that girl had a baby so young. Her parents marrying her off to an old coot and then he passes away (bless his old soul) and leaves poor, young Cleo alone. Widowed at only twelve years of age and pregnant. It makes me wonder what her parents were thinking. Luckily, Charissa was in the loving mood and took in the baby, freeing Cleo and leaving her to grow up with little restrictions. The baby was born a boy, who they named Stefan. Good little lad and very well behaved for a babe.
Well, I hope to see you soon, love. And take care and watch out for your father for me. I miss you both terribly and wish you both the best of luck.
Love,
Your Mama, Fedora Chatzi
Tears swim in my eyes as I set her note aside. I wish I would have seen the birth of my cousin Cleo’s baby, Stefan, and the adoption into Charissa’s, my mother’s sister, and her husband Theo’s lives. My heart throbs with the memory of Damaris and I feel a quiet moment of triumph at his failed relationship with the mysterious girl. He could have had me, I think smugly before turning to read his letter.
Isadora Chatzi,
It brings a smile to my face when thinking of you. Everybody in the village seeks your presence. Especially Timandra, who sourly misses you in the village. She is nothing to what she used to be when you and her used to get into mischief. It is a relief not to have to help you two wiggle out of various situations. Her gloomy nature puts a damper on things, to be quite frank, and I advise you to cheer her up or I fear she will slip into melancholy.
Things back here in Greece are in a state of normalcy. Nothing out of the ordinary has transpired. The livestock has all lived through the winter with good graces and the crop has been plentiful. The docks however, miss your father. Amycus’ demanding and superior nature has been missed in times of trifle. Arguments have broken out among some dockmen and my father was able to break them up in time. But please pass on the news to your father that the sooner he returns to Greece, the better.
My father is busy, as usual. I have come to help him in his daily jobs of talking with the men of the village. I help keep records of livestock and the harvest numbers. I have also become to understand scales and numeric equations. Father hopes to send me on to a university if I learn enough. I hear there are fine ones in the populated cities. Wouldn’t that be an adventure? To leave country living for a lifestyle in the cities. I can’t even imagine.
My mother is steady and tirelessly badgering me over a profession. She never lets up about my future. It grows quite tiresome after awhile. And I fear she is going to loose her voice eventually if she keeps yelling at me. She still hasn’t let me forget about that little fiasco with Agneta. You know the girl from the village close to our own. It wasn’t even serious yet she pesters me about the family image and how I have disgraced it.
It’s about time somebody shook things up anyway. Life was growing to routine for me. It was time to live a little.
Oh, how I envy you, Isadora. You are the only one who has truly been free to live as you choose. Heading off to Rome with not even a second glance and not a rumor spoken during your absence. Your descriptions of Rome leave me wanting more.
Well, spend, as much time away from home as you can, Isadora, because just as you think you are free, that little bit of freedom will be snatched away and you will be pushed into a marriage or a lifestyle that you never wanted before. Please heed my warning for you are too free-spirited to be a housewife.
Your friend,
Damaris Lekkas
I laugh openly at the conclusion of Damaris’ letter. But behind the curtain of humor, I see the restlessness and the hunger for adventure. Lydia is pulling the strings tighter and tighter on her son and soon, Damaris is going to break free and the outcome may be horrid if they don’t loosen the boundaries soon.
Next, I turn to Timandra’s letter, saving the best for last.
Darling Isadora,
You naughty girl! All the things you have done without me! I am pea-green with jealousy. If the girls knew about Nicandro Chandrenos, they would all sail for Rome in a heartbeat.
Oh, you are lucky, Isadora Chatzi. He sounds absolutely divine and you have him all to yourself. You lucky, lucky lass! You must ask for a painting or a sculpture from him. He would be most flattered and you get a remembrance of him.
But more of Nicandro later.
The news of the art left me simply gasping for air from all the giggling I did. How simply scandalous to be proud of the naked human body! Oh, your mother would faint if she heard that. You were wise to only write to me about such things. Besides the art, however, Rome sounds like a marvelous place. So much more interesting than Greece with it’s hills and prairies. You must convince your Pa to let me sail over to visit you! Oh, wouldn’t that be wonderful, Dora! Oh, you must, you must. Please promise me you will. Promise?
Good. You can write back with your word in the next letter.
Now, about this Chandrenos family. They sound simply fantastic. Evander sounds like an elderly man with a heart of gold and Delicia sounds gorgeous. But Nicandro…
He is breathtaking (by what your descriptions say!). He seems like a charmer and you must have courted him by now? But, knowing you, Dora, you would be deathly shy, hmm? I definitely approve of this union so go ahead and be audacious!
My cheeks flare red at this statement and an image comes to my head.
I am in a stained-glass chapel and the light is dabbled with color. Two other people and I are the only others present. In front, I face the priest, who reads in a shaky tremble of a voice. I glance to my right and my heart thumps when I see Nicandro dressed in a black-died tunic and his hair tied at the base of his neck in a pony, leaving tendrils to brush his thick eyelashes. They flicker over to me. His stormy-gray eyes pin me beneath their gaze. The priest stops talking and Nicandro turns to me with a wicked smile, lifting my chin. My eyes widen as his lips land on mine.
I shake my head, my neck and chest burning red along with my face. What wild fantasies I have? I scold myself. I hadn’t had a fantasy over another male since my last dinner before I left for Rome. Damaris had been there to wish me good luck. I had hoped he had come to confess his eternal love for me and plead for me to stay. But he had only come to present me with a bouquet of flowers and a friendly kiss on the cheek. The next day, I discovered the scandal with Agneta and him.
I breathe deeply and continue to read.
But the blonde you mention seems even more scrumptious. Hair of golden strands. It is the color of the gods. Surely he is the son of Zeus! You can’t refuse my visit now, since you have told me of the most handsome of men!
And he fights with valor and swords! How exciting! I understand your scorn of these games but how can you not honor this man with the utmost respect as he faces death every day of his life. He must have some sort of pride and morals if he wishes for such adventure and danger!
Oh, I almost forgot to tell you! I’m sure your mother has mentioned my new acquaintance Yanni Dranias. He is that cute lad from the bakery’s shop. He has grown into a very fine man and we have courted. I due hope that this works as I can picture myself with such a sweet lad. But, my mind is now a tumble with the thoughts of such handsome men in Rome. You have tainted me, Dora! Ha, I tease.
Well, I can see that you are having too much fun without me so I must depart. Do ask your father. I am deathly serious about coming up to stay. I have already subtly slipped it by my mother and she approved…somewhat. So it is all up to you now, Dora!
Take care and court that boy you so admire!
Hugs and Kisses,
Timandra Vlahos
I think of her wish to come visit, my heart soaring with the thought, and I smile the widest smile yet.
A deafening scream comes from down stairs and I jolt when a loud bang echoes throughout the home. I jump to my feet, abandoning my letters where they lay to discover what is making such a racket. I approach cautiously until I hear the booming voice of Evander and I halt.
“Who do you think you are?” Evander yells, his deep voice reverberating off of the stone walls with aching clarity. “This is your mother you are talking to!”
Nicandro’s voice joins his father’s. “She thinks this is all just a game!”
“Nicandro!” Delicia’s voice is soaked with sobs of grief and I long to embrace her, but I hold back as it is not my place.
“No, Mother! I will not bow down to you any more. Neither will I to you, Father. You all are blind to the ways of deceit and betrayal. You do not see the plan forming before your very eyes!” Nicandro shouts. I hear his feet and freeze as he whips around the corner. I cower as he snarls at me. “And look!” he calls back just as his parents arrive behind him. “We have spies in our own household!” he accuses, pointing to me.
My voice shakes as I try to defend myself. “I-I am no spy. I-I just heard yelling and I-I came—“
“Enough!” Nicandro silences me with a wave of his hand and a gleaming flash of his eyes.
Delicia swells with anger. “Do not treat our guest like dirt! I will not allow it.”
Nicandro sneers. “And what are you going to do, Mother? Trap me inside just as you have trapped Isadora!” He turns to me, whipping his head around to face me. “Beware of her. She wishes to train you like she tried to train me.” And with that, he storms passed me and up the stairs. After a few moments, his door slams with a loud boom and Delicia dissolves into sobs. Evander gathers her into his arms and looks to me. “Leave us,” he orders and I hear the malice in his voice. I am afraid it is I who have caused such hatred to enter his voice and quickly flee into the safety of my room.
~ ~ ~ ~
Breakfast is a solo affair. When I arrive, Lyra greets me with a sorrowful expression and quickly excuses her master’s behavior, repeating the lie to my ears from Evander’s lips. “He had to rush to a meeting and Delicia and Amycus joined him. Nicandro is visiting another family. They all send their apologies,” she says like a drone.
“It’s all right, Lyra. You don’t have to lie.” I sigh, preparing myself for a meal alone.
Lyra fakes innocence. “I do not know of what you mean, Miss Isadora?”
I shake my head, irritated by her loyalty to Evander. She was said to serve me during my stay and yet she goes above me to serve her master. My thoughts are nefarious and I quickly shoo them from my mind. Lyra seems perplexed by my sudden bitter mood and leaves as swiftly as she can, her hemline swishing.
I dig into my breakfast with little enthusiasm and soon give up on eating as my stomach revolts with jerking movements that cause me to push my plate aside with disgust. I stare heavenward, calling upon Athena to gift me with wisdom to deal with such rash behaviors the Chandrenos family are experiencing. I sit and pray, my eyes closed, and my mouth moving with silent words as I repeat them to the gods above. “What are you mumbling about?” a voice demands from the shadows and my eyes fly open. I glower when I see Nicandro step from his hiding spot.
“Lyra said you were out,” I snap.
“Lyra lies,” he says simply.
“So I see.” I narrow my eyes at him.
“What brings such a sour expression upon your face?” he sneers, eyes flickering briefly over my face before looking out to the horizon and beyond.
“I wouldn’t want to aggrieve you, good sir,” I say, my voice silky with contempt. I stand, brush the wrinkles from my skirt and blouse before taking my leave, the conversation done. Nicandro shocks me when he steps in my path. “Please move,” I command as politely as I can, but my voice shakes.
“No,” he says firmly, and I look at him, astounded.
“No?” I repeat, hoping that I had heard him wrong.
I didn’t.
“You heard me. We’re not done here,” he says with a commanding voice, but I have summoned the courage to defy him.
“I think we are,” I say with a steely gaze, side-stepping around him. His arm shoots out and he almost clothesline’s me.
“Oh, no you don’t.” He shakes his head. “Not until I explain for my parents behavior.” I look into his eyes and meet his stormy gaze. I am surprised to see a hint of regret there, hidden behind his mask of lies and I think that maybe he is guilty of his vulgar behavior and that of his family yesterday. “Are you here to apologize, sir?” I ask, eyebrows raised.
Nicandro grumbles. “Certainly not. I only came to help you understand.”
“Understand that your family has gone barking mad?” I say with a raised eyebrow.
I am, again, surprised when Nicandro doesn’t argue. “It would seem so, for someone who did not know the circumstances on which they appear to have gone mad.”
“And what would you tell that person who clearly knows not of what she speaks of?” I challenge.
“Nothing. I would just send her on her way with a smile and a nod.” I have pressed him too far and he nods at me but forgets the smile.
“Maybe not a smile…” I trail off with a coy up-turn of my lips, and Nicandro’s eyes widen briefly. I can feel his eyes on my back as I glide back into the home, my skirt flowing around my knees.
I reach the stairs when Nicandro is there, trailing behind me. “Isadora!” he calls, shuffling to catch up. I turn with a bemused smile and stop on the first step. He approaches me and I am eye-level with him. I cock my head to one side, asking silently what is it that he wants. He looks all around and I am bewildered to see him so awkward and confused. “Isadora, you mustn’t tell anyone about my parents and I fighting,” he orders finally, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. He ran after me to secure his reputation. Not to try to court me, as I assumed he would.
I nod, bored. “Of course. I wouldn’t do anything to upset you,” I drawl, starting back up the stairs. His fingers curl around my upper arm and yank me around. I tip and press my hands into his chest to steady myself. His fingers heat up on my arm, as do mine on his chest, as though I am burning his flesh. I gasp as sparks shoot up my arm from where he holds me. His eyes are wide and he quickly steps away from me. I wobble but grip the railing and stay steady. “Promise me you won’t,” he demands, slightly befuddled.
I reply breathlessly, “Of course.” He nods once before strutting off down the hall, messing his hair with his fingertips in that anxious way of his.
In my room, I escape to the balcony as my breathing has yet to return to normal. The garden seems less peaceful today, as though the flowers droop in response to their caretaker’s moods. I slouch against the railing, feeling my heart pound against my chemise. My fingers curl around the white stone and my knuckles squeeze the blood from the bone, making them appear deathly in front of my eyes.
Finally, my breathing subsides and movement catches my eye. I peer up to see another has blessed the garden. It is Nicandro. His walk is stiff and awkward, as though he carries a heavy burden upon his shoulders. His hair glints in the sunlight, lightening the strands of his onyx-black hair, the curls reflecting the light. His clothes hang loosely about him, as though he has lost weight, which I fear he has. His hands shake slightly as his journey leads him to the sculpture centered in the middle—the two lovers destined to be together for all eternity. He collapses on the bench and his head falls back onto the pillar of the female sculpture. I watch as his lids slip over his eyes, silencing the storm. His hands hang loosely between his knees and his foot twitches, as though what ever he thinks about torments his very soul.
I chew my lip, debating between joining him in the garden or staying put, content with just watching. I decide with the later, knowing that my presence would only disturb him further. Then, another movement disrupts the garden. My eyes widen when I see that it is Delicia. She halts when she sees her son’s slumped figure, his eyes still closed. I see her bow her head, contemplating, before raising her head and walking on, now with purpose in her step.
A mere foot away from Nicandro, she stops and lays a hand on the crest of his head. He jolts and looks up into his mother’s face. A spasm of anger crosses his angular features and he jumps away from her touch, standing. Their voices are muffled but I am able to make them out.
“Mother, why have you come?” he asks roughly, straightening his toga with hurried hands.
“Son, I apologize. I-I have wronged you,” Delicia struggles, and I take a step back, mortified, when I realize that she is crying. Nicandro’s face immediately softens into an expression I have never seen on his face before.
Love shines from his eyes and he takes his frail mother into his arms as her shoulders shake with heart-wrenching sobs. “Shhh,” Nicandro coos, patting his mother’s hair.
“Oh, Nicandro,” she cries out, “What are we to do?”
“We’ll figure it out, Mother. We always do,” he murmurs. I swallow and back slowly away from the balcony, the scene too heart-felt for me to bare witness to.
In my bedroom, I run a shaky finger across my bed sheet, my mind reeling. What is Delicia so distraught about? What brings such ache to her heart? I wonder, my head starting to pound with all the possibilities. From down below, a shout is heard followed by a door being slammed. When I realize that it is my name that is being shouted, I quickly leave the cover of my room. “Isadora!” Evander shouts, and I run to him.
“What is the matter?” I meet him halfway down the stairs. I notice the beads of sweat on his forehead and his wild, crazed eyes. I take in his tunic, usually spotless, but now it is faulted with splatters of grim.
“You must run to Lyra, with haste, and order for the doctor. She knows the way,” he orders, his eyes wide.
I frown. “But—“
“No, Isadora! Just go!” he yells before hurrying back down the stairs, just as Nicandro and Delicia enter from the garden. Delicia’s cheeks are still tear-stricken and Nicandro’s face still carries an odd softness usually absent on his face.
“What is the meaning of this, Evander?” Delicia demands, her voice shaking.
Evander glances anxiously at me before plunging on. “Delicia, it is…Amycus.”
My stomach curls inward. “What of him?” I demand softly, as Delicia and Nicandro glance warily at me.
“He is—“ But, then, three servants enter, carrying my father’s body. My knees knock together as I grip onto the railing, watching as they bring Amycus passed me, up the stairs. I see his face, white as stone with a dribble of blood running from the corner of his mouth. His eyes are half-closed, a crazed mumbling uttering from his lips.
At the sight, I feel my legs buckle under me and I tumble to the ground. Evander shouts and pair of strong arms catches me before I continue down the stairs. Evander is before me, his eyes searching mine. “Isadora…Isadora…” But, his voice is fading fast as my consciousness slips slowly away from me. All I can see is my father’s face and a ringing in my ears as I think, He’s dead…dead…
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